[FM] On How I Submitted and Became a Kitten – Part 1

I wouldn’t really call myself a gamer girl, though most people I know online disagree
with that, based on the sheer quantity of time and effort I devote to both a certain game
and its community. Earlier this year, in April, I started to spend way more time online
than I did before, and I got to meet a ton of people, who were mostly guys, and far older
than me. The kind of game this is, it doesn’t attract many girls, and the audience tends
to be mostly men in their late twenties/early thirties. But I, around twenty at the time,
already had a slight preference for older men. You probably can guess where this is
going.

Anyway, the class I play in this game is mostly a support class, and very early on I met
one of the better players this game has for the kind of class I end up supporting. Without
getting too complicated, the idea was that our playstyles were compatible, and so we
ended up playing a lot together.

The thing is, when you’re a girl who is on the internet like this, you tend to get a very
certain type of attention, and topic often spiral into degeneracy. Especially if its past 3
in the night. So in about a few weeks of knowing him, not only did I know his most
secret fetishes, but he knew mine. We also realised we were both very much into BDSM
stuff, and he was a dom with over 10 years of experience. I’d been tied up only once
before, and it hadn’t been very serious, but I had loved every moment of it. I knew it was
what turned me on. He turned me on. The first time we talked about this kind of stuff, I
was wet in about half an hour.

After that, things only really got worse. I would send him flirtatious pictures of me,
because, despite being young and quite inexperienced, I was fully aware that I had (in
his words) ‘a fantastic body’, with long legs for my height and a stupidly large chest. I’m
quite short. I’d say about just below average, with dark hair and biggish eyes. I wouldn’t
call myself conventionally sexy, but rather more ‘cute’. Despite being 20, I would always
get IDed, and I definitely could look as though I was in my mid-teens if I made an effort.
The actual age difference, combined with the seemingly greater visual age difference, I
think was quite attractive to him. Combined with my personality, it created this idea of
‘innocence’ which he mentioned to me, and he loved. More than that, he loved the
thought that he could ‘break me in’. I loved the idea that he was so much older and knew
what he was doing, that every one of my fantasies was something he had played out in
the past.

One of the reasons for my relatively few sexual encounters with someone my age was
simply the fact that I don’t like my partners to be inexperienced. Being into video games,
and more or less ‘nerdy things’, it was really difficult to find someone who had even
kissed another human being before in my immediate real life social circle, and slowly,
but surely, I felt like I was going to go insane. After about 4 months of flirting non-stop,
I really had had it. I wanted him to do all the things he said he would. I wanted him to
tie me down, hurt me, make me cry. I wanted it more than anything. And so, of course
it came up in conversation, the idea of meeting up.

It was kind of complicated because of many circumstances. When we did meet up, it was
about two months after the idea came up the first time, but I was already calling him
‘Master’ sometimes as a joke. He had a cute nickname for me too, though he generally
called me ‘kitten’. I should clarify here, that what we were doing, broadly speaking, was
petplay. Of course he would spank me, and all that standard stuff, but he was my Master
(not ‘Sir’, and certainly not ‘Daddy’) and I was his pet cat (who would drink milk from a
bowl and get patted on her head for being good). It was wonderful.

(And because I expect this to come up in the comments: Yes, I had a safeword. Yes, I
had tested my safeword before. Yes, we had established both hard and soft limits. And
yes, we are both sane human beings and fairly normal people outside of bed.)

When the actual day came, I was terribly nervous. I think I spent hours getting dressed.
Wearing a short skirt, with a top that clung to my chest to highlight the shape of those
stupidly big breasts of mine, I walked out in public painfully aware of the fact that I had
rope in my bag (I had been practicing self-bondage for a while now), and a collar on
under my high-necked top. My heart was throbbing in my chest as I went to the meeting
spot.

So my Master, as I will now refer to him, was staying in a hotel room, and when I
actually was standing outside the place, I was sure I couldn’t do it. I dialled his number,
giving him a missed call to signal he should come out, and every instinct in my body
was telling me to flee. When he came out, I knew him instantly, but I couldn’t look at
him. I kept my eyes on the road in front of me, until he touched me. He patted my head,
gently. I meowed at him, almost instinctively, and suddenly, it felt like everything was
alright. Turning to him, I pressed myself against his chest, and he hugged me.

In about ten minutes, we were inside. The excitement and fear that had been rolling
around in my belly slowly started sliding down. Fear is a wonderful turn-on. There, in
front of me, was the man I had been calling ‘Master’ for two months now. The man for
whom I had done a variety of tasks in the past, ranging from putting clothes pegs on my
nipples, to not masturbating for a week (terrible, I know). I could feel the heat of his
body, smell his aftershave. I barely heard his comments about the weather, and how it
seemed to get dark really early these days.

‘Master’, I started, then I stopped. ‘Yes, little one?’ He sounded amused, curious. I didn’t
trust myself to finish. Despite being a pervert, and more open about it than most people
are, I usually have trouble easily saying words like ‘tits’ or ‘cock’. My sense of shame is
a strange thing. It’s really strong, but it also disappears very quickly the more turnedon
I am. The more desperate I get. I’d been waiting for this for months now. ‘Master,
please. Touch me.’

He laughed lightly, moving closer to me, and I leaned away, wanting him to fill that
distance, to take possession of what he deemed his right. He touched my neck, and I
leaned my face into his hand as he led me towards the bed. Being a hotel room, the bed
was essentially 70% of the space in the room, so it wasn’t particularly difficult to do this.
I reached it while walking backwards, and the instant my legs touched it, I sat down,
and I felt him lean over me. He seemed even bigger now, filling up the space around me,
and then leaning in to kiss me. It was the gentlest kiss I had ever had. He knew I was
scared, he didn’t want to make me nervous. His kiss was so gentle I didn’t know how to
respond properly, most of my experiences with kissing prior to it involving rough, drunk
tongues selfishly invading my mouth. This was more of a dance, and I had no idea what
the steps were, which he found rather amusing. Once again, I think my seeming
innocence was appealing to him, and I made a point of playing to that.

When he pushed me down, and moved his fingers under the bottom of my top, I
muttered a quiet ‘no’, but he didn’t stop. He peeled back the tight fabric, to reveal the
bra I was wearing. It was a black lacy thing, the sexiest one I owned, but he took it off
almost instantly, to my slight displeasure. But that changed quite rapidly when he took
my left nipple into his mouth, and sucked. His breath on my skin, and the hot, wetness
of his tongue made me moan, but it was when he bit and started to twist them that my
mind began to go blank. There is this idea of ‘sweet pain’, where somehow your body
starts to decide that pain feels good. Like how you’ve been spanked till you’re begging
Master to stop, only to realise you’re dripping down between your legs. What the mind
thinks it wants and what the body craves somehow desync, and things make less sense.

When he stopped, I gave a gasp of unhappiness, feeling his warmth disappear. Opening
my eyes, I saw him reposition himself, before grabbing my ankles and putting my legs
on either side of him. I pulled my knees together instinctively, but he pried them apart
and lowered himself down in between, pinning my wrists down above my head with his
hands. I cried out in surprise. Of course I wasn’t expecting things to be vanilla, but this
was just too much. I struggled somewhat feebly, and then more intensely when I realised
that my body genuinely was not able to move an inch. He leaned over my chest and I
felt his laugh rumble over me. ‘Go on, little one. Try to get away.’

I did try. I tried my best, and I couldn’t. It wasn’t just his weight, he was much much
stronger than I had expected, and I’m really not anyone who particularly exercises much.
This was what I wanted, to be made utterly helpless. To be unable to fight against a
being who takes control of me. He laughed at my helplessness, and I shuddered. Then
his mouth was at my neck, kissing sometimes, but biting and nibbling. I remember
writhing in pleasure, or rather, trying to, but failing. And the more this turned me on,
the more I moaned and struggled, and the more I realised my own inability to move,
and the more turned on I was.

The next conscious thought I had was him moving so only one hand was holding my
wrists down, and the other going down to tug at the hem of my skirt. I lifted my hips to
make it easier for him to pull it down, and then his hand slid between my legs. I had
three layers of clothes on: my underwear, my stockings, and a small tight pair of tiny
shorts I would wear to make sure my stockings didn’t slide down. I had soaked through
all three of them. His fingers danced over the wet area and slowly stroked up from my
butt, over my slit, over my clit, and then to the hem of the shorts. I shivered, both in
fear, and in arousal. I was properly in this headspace where I could feel that he was a
being to be feared. When I begged him ‘Master, stop’, I didn’t say it in the slightly
sarcastic, bratty way I had before, I meant it properly, my voice shaking. ‘Master, please,
stop.’

‘Look at you, little one. You’re dripping wet. Does it turn you on, submitting to me like
this?’ I think I gave an incoherent whine at this point. When I didn’t answer, he raised
his hand and spanked me square over my pussy. It didn’t hurt so much through the cloth,
but the shock of the impact made me scream softly, and then his hand was over my
mouth. ‘Don’t.’It was a quiet, but strong word of warning, and I nodded and bit my lip,
and his hand returned to what it was doing between my legs.

Every time his hand would stop and lift, I would flinch, because I never knew what
would happen when it came back down. The master administers pleasure and pain as he
likes, and this unknown quality only spurs the fear on more. After a few more minutes
of this, my breathing felt difficult, and as I closed my eyes, I felt him stop, so promptly
opened them again. He grabbed the shorts again, and pulled them down, slowly, before
following suit with the stockings.

My panties were also lacy, but this time he traced the edges with his finger instead of
rushing. He’d switched back to his gentle self for a moment. To date, I can never
understand how he does it so easily, switch between his rough and gentle sides. He
kissed the fabric, before pulling it down as well, and I whined, aware of my sudden
nakedness, drawing my arms over me to cover myself.

He didn’t take to that very well, and suddenly was hovering over me again, pinning me
down with his weight and strength, one hand at my wrists and the other sliding down
between my legs, and suddenly forcing two fingers inside. I bit my lip to hold back a
scream of surprise, as they intrusively wiggled in deeper and my hips tried to move away
to no avail.

And then he pulled them out, and I relaxed, before I felt his fingers at my lips. My eyes
flew open in alarm as he forced those in as well, and I tasted the hot wetness he’d taken
away from inside me. ‘Lick them clean’, he said, and I nodded, curling my tongue around
them, and double checking when I thought I was done.

‘Good girl’, he smiled, before lifting himself up and getting off the bed. Seeing me try to
sit up, he shook his head, ‘Did I say you could get up?’ I squealed and lay back down, but
this meant I couldn’t see what he was doing, though, I could guess. A few moments later,
out of the corner of my eye, I saw his shirt fall to the floor, confirming my suspicions. I
raised my hands to cover my face. There really was no going back now.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/7iq3vc/fm_on_how_i_submitted_and_became_a_kitten_part_1