La Gatita Del Mafioso

The gang leader patted her head twice, scratching behind her fake ears. "Isn't she just adorable?" he said, in his gleeful Spaniard-Spanish accent. She had a deadpan look on her face, with a mostly-disinterested furrow to her eyebrows. Whoever the gang leader was bragging about her to, she didn't know or didn't care. She looked hopeless. Angry, but hopeless. It didn't help that the only thing she was wearing was her metal collar, chained to his 'throne', and some other 'accessories', like her black-cat ears to match her black hair. As he bragged about her, all the other gang members huddled kinda close, and laughed mockingly. Even so, when he scratched behind her ears, she did as she was trained to do and purred like a kitten, nuzzling her head against his leg.

"Look at the bitch, she's precious!" a man chortled.

"That's the gang pet!" one announced to another, as if sharing a funny joke with a friend.

"Hey, Mittens! Meow for me!" one scoundrel called lecherously, from the crowd. Her eyebrow furrowed a bit more, since she didn't feel obliged to obey. But then she heard her REAL master's booming voice from behind her, the gang leader on the throne.

"All right, settle down, you freaks," the Spaniard hissed, without a hint of reproach. Then, he snapped in front of Mittens, and her attention and her gaze immediately were drawn up to him. She cursed herself for that involuntary reaction, but didn't really resist, or care too much. He'd trained obedience into her. She knew what she'd become, even if she hated it. She knew she was his pet.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he smiled. He reached down and nonchalantly grabbed one of her titties, and she just accepted it without a second thought. He took her face with the same hand and opened her mouth, which she voluntarily opened the rest of the way. Looking down at her, he spit right between her lips. "Good kitty~" he said mockingly, though with notable pride of her in his tone; she visibly tasted the spit before swallowing it, and then meowed softly while squirming her hips and torso to show she was grateful. At this point, her trained habits were so ingrained in her, and made up so much of her life, that she wasn't sure if it was just habits anymore, or if it was HER.

The gang members started chanting, "Make her present, make her present," so the gang leader waved his hand in response.

"All right, all right, cáyense." He gave Mittens a little slap on the face. "Go on, niñita. Present to our guests." And so, with a blend of obedience, apathy and disdain, she went from sitting to all fours, to lifting her ass from the ground to crawl; to her master, by sitting up she revealed both the fluffy cat-tail buttplug stuffed inside her, and the burn scar on her round left asscheek from a brand-- "SV" it read. Not to mention the many lustful tattoos and the pussy piercings he'd given her.

She then crawled over and stopped in front of the 'guest', the stranger in the crowd, and with feline fluidity, turned around, pressing her face, breasts and pierced nipples onto the cold floor, while raising and swaying her bubbly ass seductively for the guest. "Presenting." Like a cat in heat. Anyone behind her could have a clear view of every bit.

She knew there was no dignity in this. She knew exactly where she was, how degrading and cruel this was. And she also knew she couldn't do anything about it-- they wouldn't even let her kill herself. So, she behaved. And she excelled at it, because when she was good, Master rewarded her. As she thought of him, she smiled gently and her ass began to gently sway, the kitty tail coming out the end swaying with her.

*******

It all started a couple months back. Her shitty boyfriend had gotten in deep with the loan sharks. If she'd known he'd skipped town, she woulda followed his example, but she was dumb for trusting him then, just like she'd been dumb for trusting him all the other times. She was a cynical, untrusting person, so for the life of her, she couldn't explain why she'd given him so many chances.

"Fucking asshole," she growled to herself, pacing around the apartment in nothing but her tank top and booty shorts-- it was a Sunday, she was allowed to be comfortable. "Fucker really ghosted me? Ah ah, he can sleep on the streets for all I care, he ain't settin' foot back in here--"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The audacity. That lousy slime really came crawling back to this doorstep? She was pacing to the door, anger seething tween her teeth, when the door shattered off its hinges, the lock with 'em. Her face went pale.

The door blasted down and in flooded half a dozen men-- thugs, street chumps, nothin' but young delinquents it looked like, yet they walked with an air of purpose that said they were working a job. She knew she shouldnta said nothing, but seein' these guys barging into every room of the place, turning things upside down, she panicked a little. "OE, no this ain't his place anymore. You gotta leave--!"

But then, another man, the last to walk through the door, interrupted her-- a twenty-something-year-old with a cap, a toothy bandana 'round his face and a sleek set of combat boots. "Take the hoe."

"Wha-- NO!" she screamed, before an arm slipped swiftly 'round her throat from behind. She tried kicking and shrieking, but it was all over when another guy pressed that heavy-scented cloth to her face.

She found herself waking up groggily some time later. She could tell she was being carried, tossed up over someone's shoulder-- a degrading position to be in. Her eyes fluttered open and her gaze rested on her own arms hanging below with wrists bound by a ziptie. Pacing below her field of vision, she could make out the combat boots on the man carrying her. It was him, that same bastard with the bandana.

"-...nahh, that rat really landed himself some piece of ass, ah?" She heard him rumble as her hearing faded back in.

"You said it, man. Fat ass, too." Someone else said, "Hey, lemme have a taste--"

"Back off," snapped Mr. Bandana. THWAP, she felt a hard swat on her booty-short-clad ass, which she was sure had it dancing like jello. "She don't want your dirty hands."

"Mmmph!" she yelped groggily, in defiance at the slap, but her body was still too tired to do much else and her lips were duct-taped shut.

"Oh, we got a live one!" laughed the one carrying her-- he seemed to be the leader, or at least above the other grunts. "Mmmm," she whined again, softly. She should've been terrified, but she was passing in and out of consciousness.

She again snapped awake when she was thrown carelessly onto a leather sofa. The woman found herself in a new room now, an office of sorts. The floor was a rich-ebony hardwood and the walls covered in crimson damask. The guy in the combat boots, cap and bandana-- after throwing her on the couch-- sat nonchalantly with her; he tossed his heavy arm round her shoulders like she was his cute little girlfriend.

"Mmmph!" She struggled uselessly against her zipties and away from him, an angry blush covering her face. But his arm just hugged her tighter. "Ey keep still," snapped Bandana Man, gripping her face and smushing her cheeks. She didn't let up, but she felt a couple degrees more helpless while he grabbed her by the face like that.

"So she's all he had. Is what you're saying." Her attention turned from Bandana Man, to someone else in this foreign room. Someone behind an ebony desk, hidden in shadows-- though she could see the golden glow of his rings, his cross earrings, his brow rings and fancy watch.

"Yeah man, this guy really was the cheapest of skates," Bandana responded, turning back to her. "Dunno how you stayed with him. You poor girl..." he mewled, with a smile in a mocking tone, followed by a nice slap on her jiggly cleavage, protected only by that same tank top she'd had on since that morning.

"MPH!" she whimpered. Did he really just--

"Hands off the bitch," the man growled. His accent didn't sound Latin-American, like hers was; no, it was the first time she'd heard that Spaniard's deep, silky manner of speech. Sexy, but lighthearted-- and at the same time manifestly dangerous. Mr. Bandana, without another quip, did as he was told and pulled his arm off her. Whoever this man was, it looked like Bandana answered to him.

The boss stood up. He had a big, broad figure, the silhouette of it being just visible in the dim lighting. The large silhouette stepped around the table, towards the couch. The captive winced when she saw, once he entered the light, the scowl he was glaring at her. The man had a close-cut, but unkempt, thick, black beard. It seemed like the thick messy fur could scratch her just by looking at it. His skin was olive-tanned, complemented by the vibrant green of his penetrating eyes. His charcoal hair was tied up into a messy, loose ponytail, which had the same roguish-pirate air to it as the rest of his vested black-with-red-accents suit.

The man leaned in close to her, making her furrow her eyebrows in nervous hostility. She felt more afraid of him than of any of the other men. His glare was cold, scrutinizing. She kind of missed having Mr. Bandana's arm around her-- not out of any damn affection, she just didn't like the way Bandana distanced himself while his boss approached her.

"All right. I'm keeping her."

That's when she snapped back to reality. He's keeping her? She wasn't boutta be 'kept' by no one, not without a fight. Nah this wasn't her being unaware of the danger of rebelling, this was her being perfectly aware of that. Being kept meant she'd probably never see the light of day again, meant she was boutta lose her personhood and become some type of dolled up arm candy on a short leash for this gang leader the rest of her life. Powerful men like whoever he was, disappeared women like her on a regular basis-- especially someone as estranged from friends and family as she was. She either fought now, or she might not get the chance again.

She was groggy, but that wasn't gonna stop her-- she sat up and shoved the man away (or more accurately, pushed his heavy chest with her dainty, ziptied hands and barely made him budge). The door was right there. She dodged off the couch, fell on the floor and made a break for it, when--

"GNGH!" She choked. A hand was around her neck, and around it tight. She couldn't breathe. She scratched and clawed and pulled at it, but it only held her tighter, more ferociously in response.

"Nah. Your little boy toy owed me, shorty. Shouldn't get yourself involved with little bitches like him. Now, you're my consolation prize."

She tried kicking back. The light was leaving her eyes. She felt lightheaded. Then suddenly, SLAP. The grip round her neck was gone, and suddenly she was on the floor with a painful burning in her cheek, while she gasped for air.

"You don't know your place yet, but you'll learn. The bitch boy took something of mine. My cat." The man was on one knee, and the expression in his eyes terrified her. The look in his eyes told her he really didn't like having his cat taken from him. "He thinks holding that poor thing hostage is gonna save him. Ahí veremos. In the meantime, I think you'll make a good replacement kitty, ah?"

Oh no. Oh, hell, no. This was leagues worse than before. She scrambled up again immediately. She didn't give a shit about the choking or the slap anymore. She had to get the fuck out of there. She didn't get far before she felt herself get roughly thrown back onto the floor by her hair. "MMPH!" she yelped in pain. Suddenly, she felt something new around her neck, tightening firmly into place. It was his belt. When she tried to get up again and pull herself away, she got thrown back onto the floor, yanked down by her new leash.

Finally, she brought up her hands and yanked off the duct tape over her lips. She hadn't needed to before. All she had left was to plead.

"Please. Don't do this, please lemme go. I hate the guy as much as you do, I never wanna see him again. I'll stay outta your hair I swear to god, please don't do this to m--"

S L A P.

"Bitches don't talk in front of me without permission. You ain't the exception. Next time, I'll have my boys rape your pretty mouth."

The frightened woman shut herself up real quick. She felt humiliated. Her place as a woman in that room right then was real apparent. She hadn't given up, but she'd tested the waters and pushed her luck. It wasn't the right time to escape.

"Strip her naked and shove a kitty tail up her ass. I want her to know she's my cat now." Mr. Bandana nodded, with a slight smirk-- which almost threw her into a panic. "But no playing with her, boy. She's been a good girl." He turned to her, "And you let me know if he does."

It sure as hell wasn't consolation for the grotesque fate that was waiting on her, yet as Mr. Bandana got up to take her away, she looked up at the other man, thrown off by his evenhandedness. She was just a 'bitch' to him, but he gave her the consideration of not letting his boy fondle her.

She was boutta get up, but Mr. Bandana had a little fun with her. He pulled hard on the leash, yanking her back onto the floor. She was boutta cuss him out, when she remembered she wasn't allowed to speak in front of the big boss. And no matter how feisty she was, she wasn't an idiot; she was scared of that man. So, though her face burned red, she glared at Mr. Bandana, she still stayed silent and just tried to pick herself up again. Course, the moment she did, Mr. Bandana yanked her down to the ground again. That made her grit her teeth.

"Ground's where you belong now bitch. You gotta learn. Don't get up again." She could tell Bandana was having fun with this. She was seething. But the big man hadn't intervened, so she assumed he had no problem with this. Then Mr. Bandana tugged again, and off they went, the woman angrily crawling behind, just barely keeping up, dragged by her 'leash'.

As she stumbled forward out the office door, the armed men stationed outside got a great view of the crawling woman's fat ass swaying behind her in them booty shorts. She cringed at the 'woots' and catcalls they yelled at her-- and she couldn't do a thing to cover herself up, given she was forced to crawl away from them, ass towards them and all.

"Damn, baby, what you packin' back there?"

"Absolute dumptruck on that bitch. She's gonna be a fun one, ain't she."

She didn't get away from their leering eyes 'til Mr. Bandana dragged her into a side room. The brute threw her onto the floor, shut the door behind him and crossed his arms. "All right, hon, get undressed."

A couple minutes later, the woman was walked back towards the office, crawling her way there.

"UUUY, que linda~!" one of the guards had mocked the now-naked lady.

"Cover up, whore!" the other laughed. Once seated on the office floor, the woman quickly tried to cover her large, overflowing breasts with her hands, but it didn't really do much; she was sure she looked intensely erotic anyways.

Mr. Bandana had led her into the room by her belt-leash, the woman in nothing but her birthday suit, her belt-collar, and a brand-new, black, fluffy buttplug kitty-tail sticking out of her sore back end. She was burning red in the face, humiliated beyond comparison. She glared so hard at the men responsible-- the man responsible-- that, despite her rage, her soft face with its tan puffy lips ended up making her look like she was pouting.

In the other room, she'd resisted undressing for Mr. Bandana at first; but after Mr. Bandana had made it clear that she'd be stripped down and plugged whether she fought or not, she reluctantly peeled off her white tank-top and booty shorts. The buttplug was a little harder; she was mortified to have to stay still with her big naked ass in the air while Mr. Bandana pushed his lubed up fingers into her asshole, and even more so when she felt the round object get pushed up inside her. Though she'd squealed, it squeezed its way in there eventually, with a satisfying 'pop' as her asshole swallowed up the plug. When she took a look back and saw it there--a fluffy, black cat tail, coming out her ass-- she wanted to cry.

Now back in the office, the belt-leash switched hands and Mr. Bandana let himself out, closing the door behind him. She couldn't stand how pathetic she felt, kneeling naked and alone now, dressed up ridiculously for this powerful man. She felt like a toy. The Spaniard raised an eyebrow at the clearly mortified woman. "I know what you need." Those words scared her. The man took her nape and she was forced to follow, crawling unwillingly behind him led by his firm grip. Onto the couch she went, easily picked up and thrown by the large man. It was too easy for him to throw her around. She felt even smaller. More afraid. More self-aware of how soft and plump her body was, it curved around her. How her hefty breasts spilled over her shameful hands, and how, despite her hostile glare, she must've looked like nothing more than an adorably-feisty, defenseless, and damn-fuckable lil thing.

He gripped the woman's wrists and trapped them tight above her head. Her opulent chest bounced down free, but he saved that for later and trailed his fingers past, over her naked abs, down to the crotch her thighs were tightly crossed over. His fingers rested on her thighs, dangerously close to her naked lips.

"Show."

She didn't want to. She kept her thick legs crossed tighter, glaring in fear and defiance at the man.

S L A P.

Her face burned and her eyes watered. "Do as I tell you, little cunt," he reprimanded in a patient tone.

She choked out a sob. She didn't want to. But there was no more point in resisting at this point, even if she hated that she had to accept such a thing, that letting herself get raped was the best option. Slowly and reluctantly, her thighs unclenched, the one hoisting itself off and away from the other. And there it was, her bare, bushy pussy.

Suddenly, possessively, the Spaniard took her by the hair, pulled her up and kissed her. She flinched, hating him, afraid of him, and yet unable to keep herself from surrendering a bit to the rich passion of the kiss. And as she did, without warning, she felt his rough fingers slide smoothly into her pussy. It was just the index and the middle, and yet they stretched her lips apart already. She hated the feeling of the fingers inside her, definitely. The violation made her want to close her thighs again, but she kept them open reluctantly. It felt wrong, he wasn't supposed to be in there. That was her body. And yet, as the man massaged her insides, she couldn't help that her fingers and toes twitched, that her breath faltered. The smooth rhythm was like sweet music, like honey on her tongue. Her hips wanted to jerk. Her traitorous pussy moistened in response, and from her mouth was forced a tender whimper. She glared at the man, and yet felt even less imposing with the warm and lusty blush on her face, and letting out those little sounds she couldn't keep herself from singing.

"Good little cunt," the man praised, gladly condescending his bitch, praising her for being a good slut and taking it, for wetting herself so nicely. She didn't want to like this, it wasn't fair that she had to sit here and take it. But, as she laid there in the nude with a kitty tail up her ass, taking it was all she could do.

Once the man built her up enough, her pussy twitching with greed and excitement, he took his fingers out from the woman's crotch. He pulled his trousers off and shoved his hard cock rough into the woman's pussy, making her spasm and scream. She was so close. She didn't want to be, but she was.

His thrusts were aggressive but buttery and smooth. Her fists gripped the couch she was laying on. It didn't take long; she yelled out, her little pussy unbearably satisfied, and came onto her new owner's dick just like he knew she would.