Kitten Tamer

My workspace is dark, because I prefer the darkness. Shafts of light are permitted to pierce the gloom through the windows, a slide of blue from the signs outside my building advertising drinks, girls, and boys. This part of the city is a tightly-packed pedestrian thoroughfare, forbidding visitors from sweeping through on wheels like gawking cowards, attracted by sin but too afraid to indulge in it. No, this place forces one to walk towards it and remain or run.

This is why I've set up my studio here. Others ply the same trade I do, and still more insist on naming us all whores. What a common, vanilla way of thinking. Most often I don't fuck my clients, and I don't let them cum. They come to me for control and pain, and I give it to them. Sometimes it's with ice, and sometimes it's with heat. Sometimes it's the tense, burning cramp in lungs disconnected from their air, and sometimes it's the throbbing ache of muscles stretched to the point of snapping. Typically, I know what they want ahead of time, but there are occasions when they surprise me.

It's just brushing past 11pm, and the smell of hot food from pubs and small hole-in-the-wall restaurants wafts in through my open windows, mingling with the aromas of the sandalwood incense I burn and the clinically sterile latex and PVC that I wear. The material groans softly with every movement I make as if I'm either punishing it or arousing it, and that suits me well. The shining black arrangement is a pair of shorts just barely long enough to cover my ass entirely coupled to a corset of the same material that supports my lower back with the severity of its lacing. Shining, pliant gauntlets of PVC flow from just above my elbows to my hands, with five bands buckled tightly along each limb to keep the material obediently snug against my skin. Similar straps at my thighs are only there for show, and a belt of black, stiff plastic ringed with steel buckles rests low on my slender hips, lending me a gunslinger's look.

Often I clip the tools of my trade to the belt, and tonight that tool is a black leather riding crop. The flap caresses against the fishnet stockings I wear as I stand, and just barely touches the top of my knee-high black stiletto boot when I sit, like I am now. Slender shafts of light flow in over my shoulders, just highlighting the curves of my arms beneath the jet-black fall of my straight hair. My lips, tinted red, curve slightly as I hear the creak in the hallway floor boards beyond my front door. That will be my client.

There's a knock at the door, but if indeed this is the person I'm expecting, they'll know that I've left out a key for them behind the potted plant a few feet away. The spare key doesn't typically live there at all hours, only when I'm expecting a guest. If they have an appointment, they can find the key. If they don't, they can't. Soon enough I hear the key click in the lock, and the door opens to reveal the silhouette of the girl I'm expecting.

I've met her in person before now, having talked with her online through emails and meeting face to face in a cafe to go over specifics. She knows what she wants, she has the money to make it worth my time, and she has the maturity not to make me regret it. I always interview clients before I work with them - one has to, in this incendiary line of work. The girl, named Katie, enters my workspace, a studio apartment decorated as one might be inclined to expect. The edges of black leather upholstery and glass and iron fixtures gleam with the blue light from outside. My sectional couch faces the entrance, and that's where Katie sees me lounging like a queen as she locks the door behind her and carries in a back pack and a take-out bag.

There's a small, cushy area rug right at my feet, and the girl immediately kneels down on the thick white pile before me. "Good evening, Mistress. Thank you for seeing me tonight."

She's sweet, and she's nervous. I already knew both these things about her when I met with her a few days ago. Katie's red hair is on the side of carrot orange, and a fitting match to the freckles that dust over the bridge of her button nose. Her blue eyes were bright then and now keep their gaze steadfastly on the toes of my boots, and her skinny form hunches forward. My attention moves to her clothing, and I note that it's nondescript, comfortable, and easily removed - slippers, leggings, and a baggy tee-shirt.

I hold out my hand expectantly, and she gently hands over the key and the plastic, warm bag from the eatery next door. For a moment I look inside, using the light from the window to inspect her selections, and then I nod in satisfaction. That earns her a gentle caress along her hair as I rise to my feet and head to the closet to fetch a few items. "Take off your clothes, kitten." After a brief pause, I purr "Let's see that tattoo you told me about." The sound of fabric rustling and being stuffed into her back pack assures me of her obedience, so I select a few items from the back of the closet shelf and return to where she kneels.

The smooth skin of her back shows the narrow strip of her spine and the shapes of her shoulder blades, but not to such a degree that it's revolting. There's a tattoo of a four-leaf clover on her right shoulder, the design small and easily covered. Clearly her body isn't made for what I would consider rough use, but then my own standards are pretty far afield from the lovers she typically favors. When I bend down to affix a narrow collar about her throat, the girl's breathing hitches and she grows tense. Of course we had discussed a safeword for her to use, and she knows that were she to utter it at any time I would stop. I don't wait to see if she'll say it, and she knows that I won't wait. That is part of why she's paying me; she wants her limits pushed.

The tops of my fingers softly brush against the quivering tenderness of her throat, and politely she tips her head back to give me room to work. I assure that the collar gives me enough room to slide two fingers between the leather strap and her skin, which allows her to wear it comfortably without it flapping around with every twist of her head. A small, silver tag glints in the light, and while she can't read it, the label is fitting all the same - kitten. That tag hangs from a steel D-ring at the base of her throat, and to this I clip a slender leash in black.

I let the leather slide through my fingers as I sit down once again, and gesture down to my left ankle. "There is a box under the couch. Pull it out and open it, kitten." Nothing I do is hurried, especially my words. We have all night, as far as I'm concerned.

The girl nibbles her lip, the expression adorable, framed by her unbound, wavy hair. Those locks hang hangs down over her naked shoulders to frame the black line of the collar around her neck and the dark droop of the leash attached. With a soft nod she looks down and finds it, the box the same size as an attaché case, and she pulls it out carefully to rest on the floor by her right knee. After a glance upwards at me, she unfastens the latch and opens the lid to find that a pair of new dog dishes in gleaming chrome wait inside, along with a bottle of water.

I watch her as she processes what she's seeing, and as she goes through that emotion unique to BDSM (namely, dismay and arousal wrapped into one) I begin pulling out the food from the take-out bag. There's a salami sandwich and a bottle of lemonade for me, a few napkins and plastic cutlery, and a box of popcorn chicken for her. I hear a clink down by my feet, and the bowls have been taken out, the suitcase pushed aside to keep it available but out of the way.

"Kitten, pour the water into your first dish."

Katie nods and gulps, taking up the water bottle, twisting the cap off and pouring it out. The rest of the studio is so quiet that even that bit of sound seems terribly loud, and I smile as she winces until the last drop lands in the chrome dish. I hold out a hand for the bottle and receive it, slipping it back into the take-out bag which now serves as a trash bin.

"How neatly done, kitten. Have a treat for being so clever." I pull out a small piece of salami from my sandwich and offer it between pinched fingers to her, looking her in the eyes heavily until she understands that she may not use her hands to eat. Very delicately she shifts forward and takes the meat from my fingers, even going so far as to gently lick them clean. "You're so very sweet" I muse, and that makes her smile, cheeks flushing. "Now, hold up your second dish so that I can fill it. You may use your hands for this task, kitten."

Gulping with a nervousness that assures me she's now well into the spirit of our game, Katie picks up her second bowl, still empty, and holds it up to me imploringly like an extra from a performance of Oliver. I pour the little pieces of popcorn chicken into her bowl, then dispose of the empty container in the take-out bag, saying "Place your bowl on the floor by my foot, and you may have your dinner."

"Thank you, Mistress" she says, practically in a whisper.

Katie's dinner bowl is soon on the floor, and while I eat my sandwich comfortably I watch as she lowers herself onto all fours. Her natural showmanship causes her to collect her hair and drape it over the shoulder farther from me, so that I can watch her without impediment as she plucks the pieces of food from her dish with her lips and tongue alone. Occasionally she turns her head and sips from her water, and perhaps that's the reason I decided to take on this client who's only 18. Some might try to suck up to me by licking at the water like an actual cat and making a useless mess of it. Katie doesn't - I told her to eat and drink, so she obeys without any fuss. I think this deserves a reward.

My own sandwich is finished off, and after having Katie lick my fingers completely clean, I wander back over to the closet while sipping the remnants of my lemonade. By now Katie is done with her supper, so I lazily pat my leg and call to her. For the time being I've let her leash hang slack, so when I feel her nuzzle against my knee I stoop down and collect the loop at the end, pulling it onto my wrist. The box I'm looking for is towards the back, and I must move a few things out of the way before I find it, pull it forward on the shelf, and take out what I'm looking for.

"Now kitten, you're being so good that I'm going to let you up on my bed. Would you like that?"

Her teeth glint in the blue light as she beams up at me, saying breathlessly "Oh yes, Mistress!"

"Come along, then." The girl lingers only long enough for the leash to exert some force, but I don't punish her for it. She's a hedonist, which is honestly what I'd expect of someone into pet play, especially of the feline variety. Within the moment she is crawling on all fours beside me, careful to keep her hands away from my boots while still keeping up.

I pat the bed and she clambers up onto it, her nipples hard little points and her cheeks likely hurting from how much she's smiling with excitement. With her rewards in one hand, I use my free hand to prop her chin up as I kiss her. There's a risk of her losing the plot, so I keep it brief, and when it ends she seems to still be in the zone, as it were.

"Press your chest down to the bed and prop your ass up, kitten."

Watching her body move through the bars of blue light is exquisite, and I have to wonder if she's done this before. I may ask her when we're done. My hand slides over her hip and the curve of her right ass cheek before my wrist turns and I dip my fingers down between her thighs. The girl is wet, soft, and hairless, and even the slightest touch makes her grip the sheets tensely, a little puff of breath escaping past her full lips.

"Do you like it when I touch you, kitten?"

With a whimper, she whispers "Yes, Mistress."

"Would you like a pretty tail?" I ask, spreading a bit of her arousal over my thumb before pressing the tip against her tight star.

"Oh yes, Mistress!"

My thumb sinks slowly into her tight portal, every knuckle popping in like a rude party guest. "Then you will have a pretty tail." Katie moans into the sheets and shivers as I loosen her with my finger. I lift the silicone tail plug to my lips and suck on it, amused by the fact that traces of spice from the salami and mustard of my sandwich will be left in the wake of my tongue. Without wasting much time, I replace the intrusion of that digit with the plug, twisting it slowly past the clench of her anus until it pops inside and stays there.

The design of the tail is such that when the butt plug is lodged, all that remains is a lovely, fluffy orange boa of fake fur some three feet long. Katie, red-faced and panting, is allowed to turn and look as I pet along her back. She smiles and reaches down to touch it, shifting her hips to feel the shape inside her. While she takes her time doing that, I drop her leash on the bed and pull open the drawer on the side table nearby, and from it I withdraw a Feeldoe.

Katie catches sight of it as I stand by the edge of the bed and pull down my shorts in preparation. Enthusiastically she crawls on all fours over to me, nuzzling my hands and the toy with her hot, eager cheeks and temples, and it doesn't take much coaxing to get her to fellate it. The soft nudges and movements don't bother her as I insert the thicker end up into my pussy, lodging it firmly in place before I pull my tight shorts up again. These shorts are designed for this toy specifically, to hold it firmly in place. A slit in front remains for the forward jut of the toy, and after I'm dressed again I collect her leash and wrap the slack around my wrist slowly.

With one hand pulling on her leash and the other cupping the back of her head, I finally get the girl to deep throat me entirely with barely a sound of protest. When I let her pull away, thick strings of spittle connect her lips to the head of the phallus, and I stroke the toy as I guide her to face away from me while commanding her to remain on hands and knees.

I press my right knee to the bed, and my left hand, around which the leash is wrapped, presses to her hip while my right guides the tip of my silicone cock up against her slit. "Are you a good kitten?" I purr, raking my nails along her hip and over her ass cheek.

She shudders and almost wails in desperation "I am, Mistress!"

"Do you promise?" I tease.

It's almost a sob as she pleads "Yes, Mistress!"

A deep hum buzzes in my throat in amusement as I push the fat toy slowly into her velvety grip. Her body tenses and she shivers, biting her lip as I fill her. Her tight fit resists me without success until finally my hips are against the curve of her ass and the soft fall of her new tail. My toy, however, is special, and the hand still gripping the base of it clicks a little button on the underside to show just how. The vibrator inside both ends of the Feeldoe thrums to life, and I press my lips together tightly to remain professionally silent.

Not so, Katie. She jerks in surprise and wails with lust and slight distress. Surely the feeling of the vibrator up against the bulge of the plug through only the thinnest wall of tissue must intense, but I've not heard her use the safeword, nor say stop. The buzzing heats me up, and every thrust, every shift, feels like pure bliss. And the harder I fuck her, the better I know it will feel.

To tease both her and myself, I withdraw slowly, feeling her cunt lips suck on the toy, gripping at it desperately as I pull it back. Again I push it into her, my back supple and sinuous as I fuck her perfect body. "Pretty little kitten" I murmur, petting along her back, just teasing with my fingertips. Katie whimpers, holding her breath, waiting for the pain. Wanting it. I reward her by taking a second pass with my nails only, sinking them in hard enough to welt her skin angrily. The girl arches and quivers, squeezing the sheets in balled fists.

Only once her body relaxes do I start to ravish her. My love making isn't gentle, but it's considerate of the needs of people who want this. Katie begged me to leave her an aching mess, and that's precisely what I'm going to do. But she's not going to finish. Not yet.

I click off the vibrator and withdraw sharply, leaving her empty, tingling, sodden pussy neglected while I roll her onto her back. Katie whimpers and looks like she's this close to begging me to continue, but she's good. She sucks it up and bites her lip to stay silent as I kneel by her head. With my permission she eagerly starts sucking me off again, but I command her to stay on her back with her legs spread. And then I unfasten the riding crop from my belt.

At first I just rub the flap along her swollen petals, and I can feel her groan rumble through the Feeldoe and into my body. Then I slap her cunt lightly with it before rubbing her again, making the girl jerk and tense before relaxing and, to my great amusement, thrusting her hips a little higher in offering. She likes it. The hand on her head pets through her hair, and I murmur "Such a sweet kitten" before hitting her between the legs mercilessly, her cries buzzing with agonized delight into my false cock. The strikes land on her inner thighs as well as her pussy, each one refusing to form any sort of pattern with the last. Sometimes I land the hit on her stomach or one of her tits before moving it back to her crotch.

She's close, and so am I, and I'll be damned if I'm going to wait any longer. I order Katie to remain where she is while I move over her, my hips sliding in between her legs. My right hand guides me back in and clicks on the vibrator, and I fuck her. The bed complains with the force I use, and Katie is inescapably pinned, her legs wrapped around my hips and her arms gripping at my shoulders as I kiss her. My mouth gravitates towards her neck and I latch on, my teeth sinking into her skin just enough not to slip without drawing blood. I can feel every gasp and cry through that bite. I can feel every hot exhalation against my cheek. And I can feel her body surge up beneath mine as I take her for my own selfish pleasure.

At some point she cries out and jerks beneath me, her back arching sharply and shoving the soft girlishness of her body against my hard PVC curves. Flashes of white burst beneath my clenched eyelids as I cum hard, my pussy gripping at the part lodged deep inside of me. After what feels like an eternity my right hand numbly reaches between our bodies to click off the vibrator, and both she and I grunt at the sudden lack of stimulus.

My mouth and lips still tingle, so I kiss along her neck, her throat still arched as she pants softly. I delicately tongue at her name tag and lift it between my lips, suckling on it to leave it bright and gleaming in the blue light from outside. Very slowly I move away from her, and she gratefully accepts the fresh towel I hand her to wipe away the sweat, spit, and cum from her skin. While she tidies herself up I unfasten the toy from my body and clean it in the bathroom, rinsing it, soaping it, and then leaving it to dry on the counter. The flap of the riding crop is washed too and hung up to dry in similar fashion.

Yet when I come back I notice that Katie is still lounging on the bed luxuriously, resting on her side in seductive feline form. I smirk and take a seat on the edge, sliding my hand through her hair to pet her. "Did you enjoy yourself?" I ask quietly.

She nods lazily into my touch, and yawns wide. God, this girl is irresistibly cute. "Kitten, will you be getting home alright?"

Katie rubs at her eyes and shrugs. "Yeah. I'll walk. It's not far."

A glance at my clock reveals that it's nearly 2am, and I think about the environment outside. This isn't a bad part of town, but when the bars start letting out, not every drunk is friendly and considerate. "Is anyone expecting you home?" That's a bit more personal than I tend to get, but she just shakes her head. Her sleepy eyes look up into mine, and the very last bit of my resolve crumbles away.