A Plush Punishment

You take hold of Maine's collar as you climb back off, forcing her up into a sitting position. She looks actually mad now, a rare sight to behold, and you can't help but audibly snicker at the sheer scorn on her face. Retracted claws splayed on her lap threatened to dig into her own skin, and you realize that your laughter was only compounding her anger, but you were too caught up in the positive feedback loop of the situation yourself to stifle it.

"Well?" You attempt to remind Maine between your errant giggling of Plum, whom she had yet to satisfy. Eventually Maine's glaring gets to you, and you find purchase in anger yourself. "Cut the attitude, brat, or I won't let you come at all."

Maine turns her attention once more to Plum, pinning its arms hard against the covers and roughly thrusting her tumescent hen against it. "I'll make you come," Maine rasps, a low, guttural growl sounding from within her. "Come you stupid brat, fucking stupid, bratty Plum." You watch as Maine's bum bounces helplessly with each thrust while her tail flickers wildly behind her. Her aggression mounts until she snaps, digging the claws of her feet and hands into the plushie and biting fiercely at its neck. Instinctual aggression seems to take hold of Maine, and she molests Plum on her back, kicking at it violently and shaking her head, teeth clamped with murderous intent.

Alright. So this was a disaster.

The sight of your partner pushed to such an extent was kind of enthralling, honestly; you didn't know she even had the capacity for such aggression. But it was also a bit frightening, and you worried she might not have the awareness to communicate her displeasure. Plus, she might actually damage Plum if she didn't start controlling herself, and you did not want to deal with the emotional fallout of that.

"That's enough," you command, hoisting Maine roughly by the scruff. She goes limp instantly, and you notice the sound of her labored breathing. "That is no way to treat a submissive. You will apologize to Plum now, lest you earn yourself a real punishment."

You let go of her, and she collapses against the covers with shaking arms. Her panting turns spasmodic.

She doesn't do anything you told her to, because she says "red."

Your first instinct is torn between that of happiness and fear, the latter seemingly winning out. You want to find joy in the mutual trust the two of you shared - a trust exercised through the use of that single word - but anxiety grips you, and your reflex to console Maine is motivated more out of guilt than caring.

"Maine, are you okay?" The urgency in your voice is plain; the game was over. She nods her head in response, a gesture that is almost imperceptible as she makes no effort to face you. Her attention seems focused instead on delaying the inevitable: another fit of sobbing.

You aren't certain whether Maine needs space or comfort from you, but for your own sake hope the latter. You quietly take your seat on the bed, being sure to keep some distance between the both of you. The action goes unrecognised, and you stew in the silence of that moment, a silence defined by rasped breathing and the whistling of air through clenched teeth. You bite your lip as pangs of guilt overwhelm your reasoning.

You should have stopped as soon as she got angry, or at least made sure she was in the proper headspace to continue. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea; she was already in such emotional turmoil to begin with.

The silence of your partner and the cacophony of guilt becomes too great to bear. You needed clarity, for both your sakes.

"Maine," you ask, "would you like to come here?"

She finds it in her, somehow, to croak a "yes" and collapses against you. The simple utterance was all it took to betray her suppressed feelings, and the tears that welled within began to cascade down her cheeks. Her feeble weeping signified a release that simply needed to be heard, and you were more than grateful to hear it.

You lift the catgirl from under her arms and pull her into a tight embrace. She reciprocates by lazily draping her arms around you and nuzzles against your breast. Maine's body is hot against yours, and you feel each shaky exhalation and heartbeat against your core. The two of you simply sit there, holding one another, until the sound of fitful crying subsides.

Maine surprises you in being the first to speak. "I-I'm sorry I freaked out. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I think you should have, and I'm glad you did," you respond. "I'm sorry for not paying enough attention."

"No, you were great, OK? I just freaked out, and I didn't mean to. It was just too much and I had to stop, I'm sorry."

You sigh at her words. Massaging between her shoulders, you softly coo your response, "Maine, it sounds exactly like you needed to use our safeword. Don't be sorry."

...

"M-mistress?" Maine asks shyly.

"Yes?"

"Did I hurt Plum?"

"Maybe. I doubt it's anything that a few stitches can't fix."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Hurt me? Silly, how could you have hurt me?"

"I don't know. I just f-felt so, um... intense."

"Sweetie, I think you were just looking for an emotional release," you assure her, kissing the crown of her head. "You definitely could have hurt me when I stopped you, but you didn't."

...

"Do you think... um, maybe we could continue?" Maine asks hesitantly, making eye contact. "I still haven't finished m-my punishment yet, right?" Despite her timid demeanor, a sheepish grin spreads across her face.

"Sure, but maybe a change of pace would be for the better, kitten." You stroke her hair and elaborate, "I think Plum would prefer to dom now, does that sound alright?"

Maine's smile widens and she nods her head.

First, however, it was time to hydrate. When you return from the kitchen with water you find Maine perched at the edge of the bed in a rather cat-like pose, and she smiles at you. You hand her the mug, and she laps at the water like a cat, too. Once all is done, you resume your play together.

"Why don't you start by letting Plum know just how sorry you feel for your little tantrum," you tease Maine, presenting the plushie to her. Fortunately, she had exercised just enough self-control to barely rip the fabric. It could handle a little more play. Eager to make amends, the catgirl caresses the stuffed animal, kissing and licking at each of the spots that had been the focus of her aggression.

With Maine slipping into her more usual role as a bottom, you decide to assume a bit more control over the situation as well. You start by pushing against her breast so that she lays upright against the bedding and pin her there. The catgirl giggles at your direct touch and squirms with the anticipation of receiving.

You suppose Maine had dealt with enough punishment for the evening: some relief was in order. You opt to pair Plum with a "back massager" and tuck the head of the wand between the plushie's stubby legs. The wand hums to life at the press of a button, and you position the plushie over Maine, who shifts in her excitement at the familiar droning.

You instruct the catgirl to thrust her hips against Plum, and she follows your instructions well at first. Each thrust brings her hen against the wand, muting the incessant whir for as long as she keeps it there. It isn't long, however, before Maine begins to lock her hips against the stimulation for longer than you deem fit. You lift Plum beyond Maine's reach each time she strays from your instruction, which results in her whining and gripping at the covers - until you remind her that she's only being rewarded for her good behavior. Even so, it isn't long before her inhalations turn to a rasped purr as she loses herself in the motions.

"M-mistress," Maine sputters between gasps, "c-can I, uh-um... hold Plum, please?"

"So long as you keep humping her like a good girl, you may."

Maine giggles at your approval and wraps her arms around the plushie, bringing its head to her breast. You keep the other end of the plushie suspended where it is, however, and Maine's thrusting picks up until the bed creaks against her unabashed bouncing.

The catgirl moans softly as you push the tip of the wand against her with each thrust. Her voice soon strains with the promise of climaxing, her pleading vocalizations resembling mewls the further she's pushed towards the edge.

"Don't forget kitten, you still need my permission to come," you tease Maine lovingly. The catgirl sighs deeply, clinging harder to Plum in response. You feel her tail furling around your leg for support, and the minor act of intimacy warms you.

Still, Maine's humping goes unfettered. You draw Plum away each time her whining threatens to tip over, filling each interim with hushed praise as you gently caresses along her thighs. Her tails tightens around you during each respite, and the act forces a smile upon your face each time. The deprivation edges her on, her exasperated cries pitching higher each time her hips reach to find nothing above.

"Beg for it," you command.

"Please M-Mistress," Maine pleads, "please please let me come, I've been a good girl, I, I... please-"

"All right, all right, I think you've earned it," you coo deeply, pinning her waist to the covers and leaning Plum in such that the wand makes direct contact against the tip of her hen. Her body recoils under the pressure and your pet, lost in her hedonistic impulses, can only sputter a series of half-vocalized "come" and "comings" before finally crying out.

You feel thick, silky fur constrict your thigh and find Maine's half-lidded eyes on you. You switch off the wand and set Plum aside, taking hold of Maine's throbbing sex and give her a few gentle tugs while she basks in the climax. Her moaning quivers at your touch, and a hot, clear glaze seeps from her and coats your hand.

"Good girl." You reach to caress the girl's cheek, finding her face damp with tears for the third time that evening. "Have you enjoyed yourself?" you ask with an earnest smile.

"Y-yes ma'am, um, thank you Mistress."

"Come here, cutie." Before she can make any move of her own volition, you grasp her scruff with one hand and tug her around so that she lays against your lap. She groans at the mild discomfort, but otherwise complies.

"Now clean up," you command gently, dangling your sullied fingers before Maine's lips. A coarse tongue meets your hand in obedience, lapping at the clear fluid. You slide your fingers between her lips and she sucks at them eagerly, enveloping your touch in her warmth. You scratch along her hairline as she cleans the mess she had ever so carelessly made, and you take the moment to simply enjoy her presence.

When Maine finishes, you dry the saliva on your hand between her breasts and clean the residual glaze around her hen with a tissue. You lie on your side and pull her into an embrace, simply laying there together. Maine locks eyes with you, and the deep hazel of her gaze disappears behind a slow, feline blink. You imitate her blinking, and she giggles with the embarrassment of having recognized her actions.

You kiss the crown of her head, then assault her face with a series of smooches. She giggles and resists playfully. "Stop, stop! This is gay! You're gay!" she pleads. "Gay! Gay gay g-" Her pleas are interrupted when you reach her lips, and her hands move from playfully pushing against you to clinging around your neck. It's a different kiss than before, less submissive this time, but she still doesn't dare touch you with that hellish tongue.

You release your partner from the kiss and chuckle. "Not as gay as you, slut," you tease, booping her nose at that final word. She giggles and turns her head down shyly.

Finally, the time comes to discuss more important matters.

"Want to listen to a podcast about serial murderers?" you ask.

"FUCK yes," Maine exclaims, huddling deeper into your embrace.