Alley Cat

I take my time looking at her standing there in still and silent anticipation. Smooth black hair ends at her chin and neatly sets off the sensual contour from earlobe to shoulder to the heavy bow of her breast and the fat juicy cherry nipple on top. She's petite but her curves are all woman.

She's on edge from the tension of the day and alert for my next move, but the measure of her breathing tells me she's getting into the rhythm of this, too. Ali's been suffering and she needs me; she's offering the ultimate trust and I have a serious responsibility here. And sparking through it all is a live-wire of electricity, the high-voltage current of this sexually-charged ritual. I reach up to rub my knuckles over my lower lip, an unconscious habit. Her distinctive scent is on my hand and I need a taste.

Rich and earthy. A hint of salt. Slightly tart.

When I can't find any more of her on my skin, I step forward and pull the straps down on the other side to match. I want more though, and I tug until bra and cami both slip down to her waist, the straps hanging loosely below her elbows – just a faint impression of restraint.

For now.

Taking the hairbrush from her hand, I stroke the flexible plastic bristles. Outside the ordinary sounds of city life ticks along – tires on pavement, a buzzy motorbike engine, the creak and rumble of a lorry – but in the silence of our flat there is only the sound of her breathing and mine and the low crackle as the filaments bend and spring back under my thumb.

Ali's eyes dart just once from the floor to the brush in my hands and to the floor again. I circle behind her, lightly trailing the bristles across the bare skin of her back. At this pressure it's a barely-there rasp that's almost as much tickle as scratch, and I watch the downy hairs on her skin rise in its wake. The brush glides gently down the slope of her spine and the curve of her skirt as it follows her tail. I let it drift away from her skin and then with a flick of my wrist I bring the back of the brush down hard against the palm of my other hand–

CRACK!

The sound makes her jump. I gauge the sting in my hand and how long it lingers. The blow feels much harder here so close to the bone than it will against the flesh and muscle of kitten's backside, but it's a practical way to calibrate how much force to use and where to draw the line. Though I don't think I'll actually need to use the brush tonight. My hand is usually more than enough, but the brush is a symbol – the potential for its use is part of setting the scene.

I give her a quick little pat on the butt. It's light and over her skirt; there's not much to the physical feeling. It's all mental at the moment. And that's really the point, isn't it? It's my job to push the right physical buttons, to pluck the right mental strings, and to help Ali drop out of the chaos in her brain and into the clarity of her body.

With one finger I slip the straps of her clothing down one forearm, wrist, hand, and then the other. She's going to need the mobility.

"Knees, kitten."

She sinks gracefully to the floor – not rushing but not hesitating either. She's right here with me. I sit in the middle seat of the sofa and pat my lap. Her eyes are lowered but she can see the motion of my hand in her peripheral vision.

It's not far to crawl – our flat just isn't that big – but there is a certain thrill to seeing her come to me on hands and knees, not just because I said so, but also because I know she wants to. There's a delightful pale pink on the apples of her cheeks that spells out the embarrassment of being caught at something one "shouldn't" enjoy. It's different than the splotchy red of her anger or the way she goes terribly pale when someone shames her. There's no shame for her here. There is only acceptance: our love, our rules.

The flush on her face is also an echo of the excitement, the freedom of being let loose in her body – I can see it in the sultry sway of her hips, the glitter in her eye as she looks up at me from under her long lashes, and the slow, sensual, heavy-pawed movements of a cat on the prowl.

Kitten crawls up and lays herself out across my lap just the way we both like it. I put the hairbrush on the cushion just in front of her. Whether I use it or not I need to warm her up by hand first. Being able to see it, knowing that it's there within my reach...

She's soft and warm in my lap, yielding. My heartbeat is quickening.

I smooth both hands under her skirt and over her rear, squeezing and kneading for a moment before flipping her skirt up. Just yank them down or...? I let my blunt fingernails bite slightly into her skin and so, so slowly I build the suspense of the reveal, peeling her leggings and pet-me knickers down over the full curve of her luscious ass.

Elbows out and hands tucked under her cheek so I can see her turned face, her bare breasts are flush with the scratchy fabric of our old sofa. Her cami and bra are twisted wantonly around her waist with her pushed-up skirt, and her ass and her kitty are on shocking display.

"Ohhh, kitten," I breathe, and it's almost a moan. "You look so deliciously lewd like this."

My praise makes her shiver. With a wicked grin I bring my hand down against her skin with a quick snap. "Hold still!"

She mews in surprise, and then freezes. I give her bum a pinch. I heard that.

This time she stays quiet, and I pause until I can hear the smooth cadence of carefully measured breathing that says ready and more.

No leggings or panties in the way this time – just smooth, soft skin that warms under my hands as I knead and squeeze her flesh. Rake my fingertips from the small of her back to the back of her thighs. Tease her slick pink bits with a light brush of my knuckles.

I reach my left hand underneath her, feeling for her little button. I find it with two fingers and press. It's hot under the pads of my fingers and oh Christ I can't help but remember the way it feels under my tongue. Almost without conscious thought my right hand lifts and then drops, landing with a smack against the sweet fleshy swell of her ass and my body responds like I'm plugged directly into that sound and the sting in my hand that made it. The way my pulse races, the wet I feel between my legs, the slight bounce in my knee. The rising smoke that curls up my spine.

She shifts slightly, trying to widen the space between her legs despite the limitations of the leggings bunched around her knees.

"You like this, too, don't you kitten. You don't just need it, you want it."

"Yes, B," she sighs.

Swinging again, fingers landing first and followed by palm, more stinging slaps bring notes of rosy blush to her skin. The blows are light but the color remains even after the sting fades. The slight acceleration of her breathing is more from the circle and press of my touch on her clit and the thrilling snap that breaks the silence each time my hand makes contact than from any real pain.

The palm of my hand warms too. The sensation lingers, fading less quickly and building with slap after slap. My fingers slip more fluidly over her clit as her body reacts. It would be so easy to get swept away in this piece – to spank and finger her to climax just for the pure unadulterated pleasure of watching my girl get off in my hands.

I pause to pull off my tank and drop it over the arm of the sofa before I rub down her sensitized skin, kneading the now-warm muscles. There's a reason she needs a heavy hand today. I shake my head and marshal my thoughts, making sure my anger at her dog of a boss doesn't show up in my touch. My Ali does not need to put up with his abuse. No woman does.

And we both know she can stick up for herself better than that. Just because she's laid out over my lap, ass and kitty under my hands and on display, doesn't mean she's weak or a victim. She just needs to feel her power again.

I can help her with that.

Raising my arm a little higher this time, I aim for the fullest curve of her backside. There's a quiet but satisfying thud that sets the muscle quivering and really gets her attention.

"You know why I'm disappointed, don't you, kitten?" She closes her eyes and bites her lip, her shoulders tensing.

"You forgot something, something important." I punctuate my words with more thudding smacks.

"You forgot that you belong to me." I pause, let my words land on their own, let the weight of them sink in and linger.

"Don't you." It's a question but the authoritative tone in my voice makes it clear what answer I'm expecting.

"Yes, B." I swallow hard at the plaintive note in her voice. I hate to add to the guilt she already feels but Alicia has placed her trust in me, given me the control, now it's time for me to take her where she needs to go.

"You're mine, kitten. Mine." I make every word count with the weight of my hand landing on her skin. At the same time, the force of the smack jolts her body so that her clit gets more pressure from my fingers. "Aren't you."

"Yes, B," she answers with a little more volume.

"And my kitten is a fighter, an alley cat."

"Yes, B."

My palm lays down a syncopated pattern of light slaps and heavier blows, covering her ass and making it bloom brighter red under the short but intense burst of my words. "You belong to me. I'm the queen bitch around here. If that dog comes sniffing around you again you hand him his ass, 'cause he's not allowed to treat my alley cat like that. You're my strong girl. You're stronger than that and you know it."

I rub her burning backside roughly as she struggles to catch her breath. When she takes too long to respond, my hand lands quickly again with a ringing slap. "Answer me."

"Yes, B," she gasps.

This isn't about raw unfiltered pain – she could get that anywhere. This is about intense sensation and suspense mingled with pleasure and guidance and trust.

"He thinks you're weak. Not my kitten. You're stronger than that manipulative little shit, aren't you. So, so much stronger."

"Yes, B," and her voice is getting stronger, more clear.

"You forgot but you'll remember it this time, won't you kitten."

"Yes, B." It's like a mantra, a mediation of sorts as she sinks into the experience – the sting, the pleasure, the sound of my voice and the message in my words, her repetitive, positive response. I watch her body – watch her find her power, watch her shed the tension layer by layer, cutting her way out of the threads that trap her.

Indecision.

Snip.

Self-criticism.

Snip.

Guilt. Shame. Fear.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Until she's resilient again – until her spine is no longer one single rigid rod but the series of supple joints meant to pulse and undulate with life, energy, fire.

"Look how strong you are. Can't you see how brave and fierce you are?"

The sting builds with each slap, intensifies, until the whole sensation reverses and the sharp electric connection as my hand lands brings more relief than the slow burn that remains when my hand drifts away, until she's backing up into it, looking for my hand to land earlier, harder, faster, and fucking herself on my fingers.

Her breathing gets quicker, shallower, until it spikes as a gasp and the only way to take the pain in and break it apart is that long slow inhale... pause... exhale... pause... repeat.

There it is.

And for Alicia – because I know her so well, know how deep she loves, know how much she takes on – I know there's one string left to cut. This one is the least rational, the most emotional, and runs the deepest.

"It's not your fault, kitten." Smack.

Silence.

"It's not your fault, kitten." Smack.

She nods tightly this time. I'm not fooled. We're not done with this yet.

"It's not your fault, kitten." Smack.

Deep inhale, loud exhale. Nods again. "Yes, B."

Almost. Almost...

"Kitten, it's not..." smack... "your..." smack... "fault." Smack.

She's holding her breath through it and holds it still in the silence after the last time my hand lands. I'm holding my own breath, frozen in anticipation, waiting, waiting, the seconds tick by and suddenly Alicia's shaking sob of an exhale explodes the quiet and I can breathe again. Speak again.

"What are you going to do the next time he says something? What are you going to do the next time he touches you without your permission, without my permission? What are you going to do, kitten?"

"I'm going to kick his bloody arse!"

There's my fighter. There's my hissing spitting alley cat. I gather her into my arms, stroke her face and kiss her deeply as she comes down.

"You've been so strong, kitten. Worked so hard, haven't you?"

"Yes, B." Now the words are a sigh so relaxed – so effortless and complete, so devoid of any struggle of conscience or negative thought. I feel a clench inside my ribs and my eyes start to sting. I'm so full of love for my strong, brave girl it almost overwhelms me.

Underneath that though my brain is a buzzy euphoric jumble and my body is humming.

"Kitten," I coo and she opens her eyes to look at me. She is so exquisitely open right in this moment, so raw, so trusting. "Don't I take good care of my girl? Don't I always give you exactly what you need?"

Her face shines with reverence as she whispers, "Yes, B."

"Don't you want to thank me now?"

"Oh yes, B," she entreats. I tap her flank and she slides off my lap, waiting for my instruction.

"Unlace my boots."

She makes quick work of my laces, slipping my boots and socks off my feet. She places each one carefully to the side and folds the socks together as well. I wouldn't actually care if she threw them over her shoulder after getting them off me. This need for neatness and order is all Alicia. I let her have what she needs now so that I have her full attention after.

When she is done, I stand. "Undress me."

Kitten leans up onto her knees and reaches for my belt buckle, her slender fingers unclasp it and then slide into my pants to undo the buttons one by one – the tiny enticing touches make the muscles in my belly flutter. Her fingertips are so soft as she gently pulls down my jeans and skull and crossbones girl-boxers together, helping me to step out of them. I sit, curb my impatience, and wait as she folds these too, even my damn underwear.

Deep breath in. Slow exhale. She wants to serve me.

I mean to let her.

Hands on thighs and down-turned face serene, she lets me know that she's finished. Ready. I scoot to the edge of the sofa and lean back against the cushions, legs spread wide and one knee hooked over the arm rest. Then I crook my finger at her and point to my pussy. I'm done with waiting. I want her mouth on me.

She puts one soft hand on the top of each of my feet and smoothes them up my legs, her touch slow and light and almost ticklish along the insides of my thighs until she reaches that sensitive crease where limb meets hip.

My breathing deepens and I sink more heavily into the cushions behind me, watching in heavy-lidded fascination as she finally leans in. The sight of her little pink kitten tongue darting out to lap me up is almost too much already and I give up the struggle to keep my eyes open. Long, slow licks start soft and shallow and my entire focus is drawn to the sensation. Each drag of her tongue over dip and valley registers twice – once at the nerve endings in my skin directly under her touch and again as flames of hot and cold fire licking at the base of my skull.

I cover her hands with my own. She reads me just right and grasps my thighs more firmly, little kitten claws biting into my skin, the strokes of her tongue getting stronger, deeper. The heat and wet between my legs is growing, growing and the purring hum of satisfaction she makes as she drinks me up goes straight to head.

I open my eyes to watch. I have to see her face. My chest is heaving, my pulse is racing, and my kitten is devouring me like I'm her last meal – lips and tongue, sucking my flesh into her mouth, slow even pressure or teasing scrape of teeth. I let it build, build, build as long as I can stand it, and when I can't ride that edge any longer I put one hand in her hair and direct her mouth to my clit.

She gives me exactly what I need to take.

When I let myself go, let myself shatter with my thighs shuddering on either side of her head as her kitten tongue flicks over my clit, it's that grip I have on her hair, holding her tight to my center that anchors me, keeps me from getting lost in the storm.

I'm boneless, immobile as I float down, and for many moments the only part of me that can move is the barest brush of my fingertips through the straight silky strands of kitten's hair. She moves up so her head rests on my left breast. Arms wrapped warmly around my waist, her own soft full breasts press against my belly as she listens to my thundering heart. She holds me together until my body comes back under my control. Sometimes I wonder if she even understands how completely she owns me.

I let the ends of her hair slip through my fingertips and slip one hand between us and down to find her. She is still wet, still wanting. Bites her lip and squirms minutely under my touch, then covers a yawn with her delicate hand. My sweet kitten is exhausted. After all she's been through tonight already, the huge physical and emotional peaks she's already climbed, if I tucked her into bed with her head on my shoulder she would probably drop off quite easily into a heavy sleep. But after all that, I can't let her go without giving her some sweetness first.

One finger under her chin tips her face up to mine for a kiss and my reaching hand slides around to her bum. "Bedroom. Now," I speak quietly against her lips and punctuate the order with a tiny swat to her still tender ass.

My hands are on her hips and my lips on her shoulder as I follow her down the short hall, urging her to step out of her remaining clothes and leave them in a trail behind us. Once in our room I pull back the covers and lay her down gently in our bed. Her eyes are soft, her smile is soft, and her body is relaxed as I hover over her, dropping kisses on any spot that calls to me. Cheek. Belly button. Knee.

Ali raises her arms over her head, crossing her wrists over each other as they rest on the pillow. She's still my kitten just a little while longer.

Leaning back on my knees, I run my fingertips from wrist to elbow, down arm, over ribcage, teasing collar bones, sternum, the side of her breasts, enthralled by the way her skin responds, the way her nipples tighten and darken. The flames in my spine had died down a little – cooling somewhat in the wake of my satisfaction against her mouth – but the living, breathing, touchable fantasy come-to-life under my hands rekindles the fire.

I think of the black vinyl bondage tape and safety scissors in the drawer of our bedside table, chew my lip as I weigh possibilities and desire against needs.

Another night I can tie her up and push her to orgasm after orgasm just to see her fall apart on my tongue and my fingers and our toys until she can't take any more. Tonight I just need to cherish her, to lavish her with kisses and soft touches just like this.

Instead of opening the drawer, I pull the elastic out of my hair and run my fingers through it to loosen the braid. The soft smile on kitten's face changes when I let the long strands drape onto her naked body. Her mouth goes lax as I make the soft ends drag and tease.

It's time to remind her how soft and gentle these same hands can be, stroking and touching every part of her from the shell of her ear to the tender spaces between each of her toes. I use my hands, my hair, let my calves and thighs slide against hers, and drink up her breathy gasps and little hums of pleasure.