A Plush Punishment

Some notes: I wrote this story in the second person to challenge myself. Of course, it would also happen to be the one story that I finish. The submissive character is transgender and HAS a penis, which I refer to as her "hen." I don't personally take much issue with the usual euphemisms, but I challenged myself to see if typing the word enough times could normalize my perception of it. There's no sex in this story, but there is genital contact and some come. It's also disgustingly sappy.

Enjoy the story, "Mistress."

* * * * * * * * * *

Maine had disobeyed you.

You can honestly say that you expected better of her, but no curtailing of expectations could change the reality before you; the apartment was small enough in itself, and the mess that decorated the space only succeeded in suffocating what little breathing room there was. You search within yourself to find an excuse on Maine's behalf - you know how sensitive she can be - but your musing stops short when the garish pink case of her phone makes itself apparent against the countertop.

"Maine?" you call out, but silence is all that answers.

To be completely fair, the apartment was far from being in total disarray - untidy, sure - but it looked no different from when you had left to work that morning. But with the sun looming just above the horizon, you couldn't make sense of why Maine would stray from the expectations the two of you had agreed upon.

Perhaps you would need to go over those expectations again, together.

With a heartfelt sigh, you resolve to make sense of the situation. If Maine had made any plans for the evening, she certainly hadn't divulged them to you, and she never seemed one for spontaneity either. In any case, the presence of her phone remained absolute, and you doubt she would go far without it.

Which left one feasible option as to her whereabouts.

You enter the apartment's sole bedroom and pace around the perimeter of the shared bed. It isn't long before faint rustling sounds from beneath, confirming your suspicions: your grown-ass girlfriend was hiding from you.

"Maine, come here," you command firmly. A moment passes in deafening silence, interrupted only by errant sniffling. "Maine..." adopting a higher register, you continue to press your partner, "please come out from under there."

Eventually, a hoarse "I'm sorry" is all that's offered in return.

This was juvenile, even for her. But you retain your composure and play the waiting game. Frustrating as it was, your patience was all the support you could lend the anxious catgirl at that moment. "Maine, I'm not mad with you. Please talk to me, okay?"

A few minutes of sniffle-filled silence pass before Maine unfurls herself out from under the bed frame and kneels at your feet. Cowering before you like this, stifling tears and face buried in her hands, the catgirl was completely adorable. A loose tee concealed the sheer volume of her soft, silky fur while black and brown tufts poked through the rips in her jeans. Her pointed ears were turned back, and a bushy tail curled around her front for comfort. Despite her wide torso and average height, she was very good at creating the impression of being smaller.

"Hey," you say, crouching to almost level with the catgirl.

"Hey," Maine responds flatly. Though she doesn't take her hands off her face, her ears return to a more neutral position and her tail unravels to flicker behind her.

You pat Maine's head gingerly, and she leans into your touch. With reception to physical contact made clear, you reach under her arms and hoist her up onto the bed before you. She's deceptively light, and her hands remain on you for a moment longer than necessary.

"What's wrong sweetie?" you ask. Though Maine's hands now lay in her lap, her eyes are anywhere but on you. You stroke the side of Maine's neck gently as you reassure her that there isn't anything she can't tell you, and Maine's hazel eyes meet yours for only a moment before turning down to her lap.

Finally, the catgirl seems to find her voice. "I... I'm just being emotional, I'm sorry if I scared you."

As you take your place on the bed beside her, she continues: "I don't know, it's stupid. I'm just overreacting. I'm sorry." She envelopes herself with her tail for comfort and turns to you, head bowed, and lifts her hands once more to her face. "I just feel useless. I know you just wanted me to tidy up, but since you left this morning I just felt so lonely and I tried to distract myself. I-I just felt paralyzed to do anything, and then as the day passed by that feeling only compounded, a-and, and then it was too late to do anything. So I... just, just w-wanted to hide."

Maine's voice is trembling by the time she finishes expressing herself to you. The sobbing she had choked down resurfaced itself and the girl was soon lost in a fit of tears. You draw her hands away from her puffy eyes and dab at them with a tissue. With her hands free, you take hold of one in your lap and intertwine your fingers with hers, paying no mind to the dampened fur.

"Maine," you assure your girlfriend, "you know I'm not ever really mad at you when it comes to play stuff like this, right sweetie?" She inhales deeply from her nose, snorting, and meets your gaze to nod. You pull another tissue from the nightstand and put it to her pink nose, allowing her to blow into it. "If you feel more comfortable not doing this sort of thing, that's perfectly fine."

"No." Maine's voice still wavers, but she's quick to object. "It's okay... it's fine. I like it, I'm just bad. I'm sorry."

You shift back against the headboard, taking your place in line with the various stuffed animals arranged by the pillows. "Plum," a large stuffed cat which Maine had affectionately named, sits directly at your side. With legs splayed to either side, you beckon the catgirl to take her place between your thighs. She obliges, facing away from you as she moves in snug, but not before taking hold of Plum; pinning the stuffed animal firmly between her arms and stomach.

You pet the catgirl before you, and her sniffling quickly subsides as you run your fingers through her soft curls and lightly scritch at the areas she so often begs for. Her grip on the plushie slackens, and a faint purring sounds from Maine as you stroke behind her ears and beneath her chin.

"S-so, is it okay?" Maine asks you.

"It is very okay."

The catgirl shifts between your legs, digging her claws into the stuffed animal while burying her face into it. A minute passes, and Maine lifts her head to sharply inhale as if in anticipation to say something, then resigns to bury herself in the plush again. It takes her a further few attempts before she can overcome her apparent reticence, but during that time you're sure to give her the patience she needs.

When she does finally speak, it's to ask you: "A-am I sti-still going to be punished?" A smile creeps upon her face as she looks to you with anticipation.

"Well," you respond, "you did disobey my direct order."

Maine's shifting grows more restless. "Yes, ma'am. I did."

The tail furled in your lap twitches. You run a finger along the inside of Maine's collar, feeling the fur damp with perspiration. The catgirl shudders under your touch, her breath picking up as she stiffens her back reflexively and embraces the plushie tighter against her breast.

"Now remind me, do disobedient girls get rewarded?" you prod.

"No."

"No?" you say with false incredulity.

"No Mistress," the catgirl corrects herself.

Hooking an arm beneath her breast, you pull the catgirl closer. Her faltering composure is made all too apparent as she subtly grinds against your lap. The feeling of your pet squirming against you for pleasure was a bit too enjoyable to put an immediate end to, and anyway, you'd decided to be a bit more lenient tonight.

"That's right," you say. "And what is it that disobedient girls get?"

"B-bad girls get, um, p-punished. Mistress."

"And do you understand why you're being punished?"

"I didn't clean up like Miss-Mistress told m-me to."

"That's right!" you exclaim with an all too saccharine tone. Turning her around in your lap, you ask her quite seriously, "And does my little kitten remember her safeword?"

"Red."

"Good girl," you coo. Maine flushes and tries to avert her gaze, but you hold her face between your hands and command her attention. Little thought registers behind her vacant stare. You giggle softly at your precious lady and pet her gently before pulling her into a kiss. Her lips are warm and soft, though she makes little effort to kiss you herself; allowing only for you to do as you please. The abrasiveness of her tongue had proven this to be for the better, anyway.

When you pull back, the catgirl stares back with star-filled eyes and drool pools from her slack mouth.

"Arms up, silly girl," you order.

Maine does as you say, being the tamed kitty-bitch she is, and lifts her hands high. In doing so she relinquishes the tortured plush cat, which you arrange back alongside the row of stuffed toys beside you. Lifting the hem of her shirt over her shoulders, you take in the view of your malleable pet. Her brown fur, tinged with black, covered every inch of her. You run your hands over her wide shoulders, feeling the silkiness of the thick ruff that dipped between her breasts. From beneath her bra, the effects of HRT on your pet were pleasant to feel firsthand. With the way Maine trembled and sucked in air through her teeth when you grazed her nipples, you suspected that she enjoyed it too. A firm but restrained squeeze put a momentary end to that.

Without the oversized stuffed cat to cling to, Maine seems oblivious as where her hands should be. She pulls at the covers, grips her thighs, and wrings her hands, unable to find the same refuge that the plush provided her. With your hands now off her, she turns desperate for stimulation. Her eyes dart between your breast and the plushie beside you, as though weighing the punishments for violating either. She manages to restrain herself, however; your girl had only been trained to be the best (more or less).

Bereft of her constant stimulation, Maine begins to cool down. Her breathing slows, and she regains herself in your lap. Just to fuck with her, you tug at her collar such that she can only face you and place a hand at her side. She clings to your touch eagerly and can only peer up at you, eyes wide in submission, as you trace your hand along her body. Her soft hands wrap around your arm as you follow upwards along her ribs, reaching her shoulders, and then her neck. Her absent gaze remains fixed on you, and when you reach her cheek drool begins to pool once more from the corners of her mouth. Finally forgetting her humility, she shuts her eyes and leans her into your hand.

And then you take your hand away.

Maine groans and squirms in your lap with an anxious vigor. Your teasing finally has Maine where you want her, and the tent in her pants is more than obvious. You can't help but feel a little turned on as she naughtily grinds against your lap, but you allow her the brief indulgence before pushing her out of your lap.

"Strip," you command with a snap of your fingers, and she obeys, stripping her pants and panties. Your heart melts a little as she tries - hopelessly - to hide her erection between her thighs.

The catgirl falters, however, at her bra. She finds a great apparent difficulty in unhooking the strap from behind her back, and in her mounting frustration bites at her hands and whines. Once she's finished aggressively bunny kicking at the bed, she looks to you with dejection and asks all too meekly: "Mistress, can... can you please help take my b-bra off, please?"

"Of course, kitten. All you need to do is ask," you reassure her, patting her head before unhooking the bra straps with ease.

"Th-thank you, ma'am," Maine sputters, embarrassed.

She sits before you completely naked now, her modest breasts compounding the difficulties in maintaining one's modesty when forbidden from the means to do so. To touch herself - or you - was plainly off limits. And so you find her eyes fixated again just beside you. You silently wonder if she would ever muster up the courage to grab that stuffed cat again. You never explicitly forbade her from doing so; it seems simply taking it from her had instilled that reservation in her. It was that her inhibitions were rooted in a lack of clarity that only your words or her actions could elucidate the matter. And of course, it was much more funny not to say anything.

"I think I've decided what your punishment will be," you state after a moment's pause. "You just seem so awfully attached to Plum today. And if you're going to tease my poor girl as much as you have, you'd better be prepared to give her more than that, kitten."

The mortification on Maine's face becomes plain as she slowly registers your meaning, much to your delight. "B-but," she begins in meager protest, "but Plum can't consent."

You stew in the silence of that bedroom as you consider her words.

"What."

Maine wrings her hands, shame subverting her inattentive desire to occupy herself with anything else. "Plum, she can't, she... what if she doesn't want to be touched by my, by my..." her face is set aflame as she finds the confidence to sputter "hen" before taking solace in her hands once more.

That would make a bit more sense. You assure your kitten that Plum would of course love to touch her adorable hen. The consent was like, basically implied or whatever.

Though your words seem to placate her somewhat, you decide to reinforce the sentiment. Slipping two fingers beneath her collar, you tug so that her face is almost even with yours. You trace a finger down her sex, and Maine moans lightly and shudders at the touch. "You do believe me when I tell you that any dyke would feel blessed to toy with a hen as cute as yours, right?"

Maine nods, flustered, but seemingly finds the comfort she needed in your words.

You slide off the bed and lay the stuffed animal before the catgirl, then push against her back so that she must steady herself on all fours. Her breathing becomes labored and her tail flops excitedly against the covers at the minor assertion of dominance. Relishing her eager submission, you tug at her scruff and lean into her ear. "I want you to think about everything you've ever dreamed of doing to your Mistress," you command. "Every carnal desire I've driven out of that simple mind of yours. I want you to show it all to me, with Plum. And remember," you add, ruffling her hair, "no coming without my permission, pet."

Maine nods at your words, her purring turning to a whimper as soon as you remove yourself from her. Following your directions, she positions herself over the plushie with plain reluctance. She hesitates there, and you strike her bottom firmly with an open palm. Maine yelps at the spanking and, needing no further incentive, leans in to violate the inanimate cat. She grinds her sex against the plushie, whispering to it apologetically as she does so.

You don't imagine the act to be particularly stimulating; though Maine picked up her thrusting with a bit more enthusiasm, she had visibly softened. And as much as you loved to see your pet relegated to her primal urges, it was an awfully boring show. Nothing but passionless grinding and poor eye contact, and you liked to believe your pet could achieve a standard slightly beyond that of heterosexual pornography.

You let out a performative yawn, a gentle reminder as to your presence within the scene, and slowly stroll around the bed. Maine visibly tenses up at this, and her dutiful thrusting is betrayed by an anxious whimper. You approach her from the side, and she tilts her head away from you - which was, of course, unacceptable. You put an end to Maine's insolence right there, tugging firmly at her scruff and rendering her arms to dangle helplessly before her.

"What's wrong, kitty?" you lean into Maine's ear, a sadistic edge in your words. "Can't look the thing you're fucking in the eye? You can't honestly tell me that this is the extent of your wildest fantasies with me."

Maine makes no effort to struggle against you. Nor does she make any effort to move her otherwise inattentive, stimulus-seeking self at all, resigned to being fully within your grasp. You continue your prodding, "I think Plum might fall asleep before you have any hope of getting off. I want to see passion. If this is all it takes for you to get off, then my effort has been wasted." With that, you release Maine's scruff and shove her face against Plum's.

Maine struggles against the hand pushing against the back of her head, and you relent at her muffled pleas. Between gasps, the catgirl stammers "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry ma'am, sorry sorry sorry..."

"Good. I want to see you dominate Plum now."

"B-but-"

"I won't hear it. She wants this too, don't disappoint her."

"O-okay. OK," Maine sputters, eyes locked on the plush in obedience. "OK Mistress."

You were pleased to see that Maine, being such a slut for humiliation, was fully erect. You felt some remorse for having been so rough with her, hoping not to have caused her any serious discomfort, but ultimately confided in the trust you had in Maine's awareness of her own limitations. You were awfully curious as to how your instructions would play out, though; the image of your lady, enraptured in her headspace, dominating so much as a pillow was near impossible to conjure.

The extent of your imagination ceases to matter, though, as Main does exactly as you directed. With newfound intent, Maine pins Plum's arms above its head and kisses the plushie on its embroidered lips. She begins to thrust once more against its cushioned body.

Maine's voice rises above the hushed apologies from before and takes on a new, raspy sound. "Uh, I'm going to f-fuck you," she begins, almost with malice. "And I... I'm gonna hurt you if you d-don't do what I say, okay? W-which is, um... which is what y-you're doing now." You stifle a giggle at the dialogue, and Maine's ears flatten in response. Still, she presses on.

"Now, get on your tummy for M-Mist... Mis- uh... Mommy." Maine turns the plushie on its back, giving pause to her grinding. She rakes her tongue along the side of Plum's face, and the sound of her papillae rasping against the fabric makes you physically cringe. "Good Plum, th-that's Mommy's good girl," Maine purrs into the plushie's ear. "I'm going to... to touch your bum, now, OK? And if you don't - if-if you want me to... you can say 'red' when, wh- fuck whatever." She lifts at the plushie's sides and thrusts needily, her hen twitching with delight.

"Such a good subby slut, such a good subby... subby... mm," Maine gasps, then jolts away from the plushie. With bated breath and both arms raised over her eyes, she sits on her knees, tense. Her hen throbs once with painful deliberation, then appears to recede from its perilous edge. She heaves a sigh and collapses over Plum, cradling its head in her arms. She seems to forget about your presence entirely as she occupies herself with kissing the thing, all while profusely muttering something that sounds like "good girl."

"Aww," you coo over your partner, "my kitty is such a good girl for controlling herself." You run your fingers down her back, feeling the soft fur slightly matted with sweat. She purrs gently and leans into your hand, falling onto her back before you when you rescind your touch, giggling.

You climb onto the bed above her, supporting yourself with hands and knees to either side of the catgirl, careful not to make contact. Her eyes go wide, fixed intently on your body, and you hear the rustling of an excited tail from beneath. "Buuut," you adopt a deeper, more sultry tone and accentuate your words with a gentle boop to her nose, "I don't think I told you to slow down, pet."