A kitten’s fantasy [M/f] [D/s]

So to set the scene, I wrote this when I was 19, and had been asked by a Dom at the time to write a 500 word description of a fantasy of a scene I would like to try. Needless to say, my imagination ran away with itself, and a few hours later, I had this to show for it. Enjoy!

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Here we are again, it seems. Another day, another scene. This time is different. You’re waiting in the room for me this time. You booked the hotel, told me a when, a where… and what to wear. It’s early evening, and you’ve requested that I politely knock on the door at 7 PM – not one before, or one after… precisely 7.

But it’s six minutes past, and I’m running late.

You glance over from where you’re sitting, sprawled out with the view of the city behind you, to the bed. Your highball of gin splashed with tonic (and a lime, obviously) is relinquished to the table next to the plush leather chair you’re reclining in, and you take a moment to gently loosen your tie slightly and unbutton your collar. You are the picture of ease and seduction.

Various toys – for both pain and pleasure – are arranged neatly for later use on the silk sheets. You’ve got plans for me this evening. You asked me to describe in explicit detail what makes me tick, and tonight, you’re going to do exactly that.

We both know you’re a stickler for punctuality. It was one of the first things we talked about, and I’m well aware that these minutes are going to be severely paid for at some point tonight, when I’m rushing down the tungsten hallway and knock hurriedly – no trace of delicacy in my haste– on the door.

For while, I hear nothing on your side. I start to worry, thinking that some random is going to open the door, and see a pretty little thing wearing a trench coat with little else underneath. Maybe I’ve got the wrong room. A concierge is dealing with a client four doors over, and I’m realising exactly the picture I am: black stilettos, stockings climbing up my calves and under my deliberately slightly-too-small jacket. This is exactly how you wanted me to look.

I put my bag down by the door, and it catches the belt holding my jacket shut. I curse out loud, fumbling to shut my jacket before anyone sees it. I turn around, facing away from him, and bend over, trying to reclaim the belt. In my panic, I fail to notice the back of my coat rise up over my ass, exposing the black satin and lace in delicate crisses and crosses all over my thighs.

And, obviously, my ever-favourite rose-pink jewelled plug peaking from in between my cheeks, glimmering in the light from the slick of my pussy. You didn’t permit underwear, so my inner thighs are already coated.

Of course, knowing my luck, this is the exact point you decide to greet me, but I’m so flustered that I don’t even notice the door being opened. I’m there, bent over, entirely exposed, and unaware of what I look like. And both you and he can see.

You cough, and I freeze. Slowly coming back up – jacket still caught, mind you – my face is flushed and my hair already mussed. A slow smirk spreads across your face, “Are you alright there, pet?”

I’m so embarrassed that I’m unable to open my mouth. My lips, cherry red and glossy like you asked for, are sealed shut. “My, my, what have we here? Shy, are we?”

I can’t even bring myself to respond. I look up at you, eyes smoked with kohl and shadow, fluttering my lashes at you. You aren’t buying it for a second. I’m late, I’m a mess, and worst of all: I’m in trouble.

All of a sudden, your arm winds leisurely around my waist, pulling me closer until you press your toned body up against mine, almost lifting me up from my slightly slouched stupor, until every inch of my supple, warm body is against yours. You press your lips to the edge of mine, and I feel the slick ruby lacquer smudge as they run along my jaw. They feel soft, unhurried. I feel a sliver of tongue, and then you drag your lips to the base of my neck, where your teeth briefly bite down on the skin there. “Someone is a very talkative girl tonight”. A small squeak emanates from me, and I feel your bared teeth stretch into a smile against my clavicle. “We’ll soon change that, don’t worry”.

You release me from your grasp, hand still at the lower of my back, and usher me into the room. The view from the room is so beautiful that I don’t even think to glance at what’s on the bed. I walk slowly over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, steadying myself against the glass. The heels you asked me to wear are an adventure. Traipsing across the city like this had quite a few glances coming my way. I wish I was more graceful in them, but—and this is something you’ll let me remember later on in the night—you find my momentary lapses of equilibrium to be oh, so endearing. You know it makes me angry and a little embarrassed that I can’t master them, stumbling around like some little baby doe in the woods, and that turns you on.

I hate that it turns me on, too.

You close the door softly, but I’m still taking it all in and don’t hear you come up behind me. With all the time in the world, you undo the jacket while standing behind me, and throw it on the back of that leather chair. What I’m left wearing leaves little to the imagination… Especially to your overtly perverse one. Your list of what I was to wear has paled in comparison to the reality itself, and you take you time to tell me this, whispering it into my ear. Minx… slut… tease… harlot… pretty little toy… a present to unwrap and spoil…

Your index and middle finger trail languidly from the nape of my neck over to my shoulder, and down my flank. You linger there for a moment, traipsing back up, and your other hand joins until you’re massaging my neck gently. I can feel the heat of your body behind mine, but you have yet to press up against me just yet.

Whatever false sense of security you’re lulling me into… It’s working.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are my quiet moans and your even, steady breathing as the pads of your fingers and thumbs press into my tense body. The calm before the storm… and I don’t see it coming.

Your hands move to my shoulders and then slide down my arms until they’re at my wrists. You grip them, but it’s still so gentle, I don’t think anything of it.

Suddenly the silence is cut, “Do you know what time it is, slut?”

Your words crash like ice water over my skin, and I feel my hair stand on end. I shake my head, feeling my hair tumble over my shoulders. You ask again, repeating your words slowly.

No response.

“Don’t make me ask a third time, Kitten”. The grip around my wrists grows tighter.

I don’t recognise the timid, trembling voice that comes out of my mouth, “I don’t know, sir.”

Your laugh is low and sultry as you finally press your body to mine, pushing me until I’m up against the cold window. I can feel the chill of the frigid evening on the other side of the pane, and my nipples harden against the satin of the corset. You’re getting hard, pressed up against my nearly-bare ass, and the buckle of your belt is cold against my lower back.

Without warning, you hoist my arms up and splay my palms flat against the window above my head. “Don’t move”, you whisper in my ear, and I don’t dare try anything. You move away, and in the brief moment of solitude, I notice quite how visible I am to the city sprawling below. Should anyone look up, they’d notice me spread against the window in seconds. Shit.

I hear you lift something off the bed and return to where I’m standing. It sounds like metal, almost chimes, and there’s a squeak of something else. One of your feet comes between my legs, kicking my feet further away from each other until they’re almost a metre apart.

I feel something lock around my left ankle, and then shortly after on my right. I look down, pushing my body away from the window to see your ministrations. There’s a thick metal pole stretching between my legs, with cuffs at either end. They’re padded black and red leather, and I’m unable to close my legs anymore.

Spreader bar. I’m trapped.

“What the fuck did I say about moving?”

You stand up, forcing my body back against the window, arching my back so that the tops of my breasts are squashed against it, and my ass is firmly out and ready for whatever you’re going to do next. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t think.”

“What happened to that smart little girl you were? Are you just some dumb little wanton slut all of a sudden? Can’t even get a syllable out without fucking it up today.”

You certainly like to call a spade a spade, and aforementioned spade in question is starting to feel the effects of your words. “I’m not sure.” I feel that heat starting to kindle ever so slowly, embers glowing after being stirred in a bonfire.

“Oh pet, are you nervous?” Your laugh is snide as your palm comes up and leisurely massages the globe of my ass.

“No, sir”

“Your thighs are trembling, sweets. I don’t appreciate dishonesty.”

I’m spiralling into a tunnel of trouble and I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.

“I asked what time it is. Do you want to know what time it is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm, so docile. Pliant. I think I like this monosyllabic whore, I’d like to keep you this way tonight.”

I feel my entire face grow hot with shame. “Okay, sir.”

“Delightful. It’s inspection time, by the way, if you were paying any attention.”

“Yes, sir”

“Don’t move. Do you understand? You know what will happen.”

“Yes sir.”

“I don’t want to hear a single sound either, slut. I like to conduct thorough inspections without distraction.”

The words ‘yes, sir’ are on the tip of my tongue, but I catch myself before I disobey that quickly. I look at you and nod.

“Mmm, good girl, learning so quickly. Maybe you are good for something besides being a come slut with pretty eyes.”

Your words, however mean they may have sounded, were laden with praise and affection, and I feel the heat between my legs stirring further.

Suddenly your hands are on the inside of my thighs. My trembling, soaked thighs. “Oh, you little thing. So worked up already”. They move to my rear, “Oh, what I’m going to do to this ass tonight,” but you say it so quietly that I’m not even sure you wanted me to hear it.

I’m trying so hard not to let out any noises while you’re looking me over, but having you feel around like I’m some product on sale at an auction is making me bite my lip to hold it all in.

You spread my cheeks and tap the plug once, twice, three times. I let out a shaky breath, fogging up against the window. Your nails scratch down the inside of my cheek, where the thigh meets the ass, and my back curls slightly up before I can stop myself. You freeze, grasping just above the lace of the stocking, half way up my thigh.

“Oh pet, you were doing so well.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Your hand moves to inspect my shaved pussy, making sure it’s as smooth as you like it.

“Oh, kitten. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t do it in the first place.” A tap on my ass is delivered quickly, resounding around the room. “Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet, whore?”

I keep my mouth shut, ashamed of being reprimanded as if I’m some child.

Without warning, two fingers press into my pussy, curling up and hitting me square in that sweet spot. A moan tumbles off my lips before I can contain myself.

“Oh, my. You’re asking for it, tonight. What’s gotten into you?”

I’m embarrassed. I can’t even obey basic instruction to keep my mouth shut and my body still while you stroke my g-spot. My face is glowing red and hot, and I feel like a live wire.

A small squeak escapes me as you apply pressure to the base of the plug with your other hand, and I hear your tsk tsk—your disapproval at my unimpressive behaviour. The butterflies I could feel in my gut are going berserk now, trying to break free of my body.

“I know what’s getting into you.”

And again, you move away to grab something else off the bed. Fuck, I think, I wish I looked over at the bed to see what toys there were… there could be anything on that bed.

You’ve returned, and there’s definitely something that sounds like a bell hitting metal, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. It’s familiar.

Suddenly there’s cold metal right on my pussy, and I flinch. You spank me again, harder than before.

“I hope you know I’m counting every moment you disobey tonight, kitten. You’re not going to get away with behaving like this”.

The freezing metal slips inside my pussy, and I realise it’s a ball. You push in another one, and it dawns on me… it’s a fucking set of benwa balls.

“How does that feel, pet? Nod for yes, shake for no.”
I don’t really find your question to be a particularly easy one to answer, but I nod my head regardless.

“Good, stand up straight please, princess.” I’ll do almost anything to hear you call me a princess again.

Standing up takes a small second of adjustment. Every acute movement causes the benwa to chime, and the weigh within each ball is a miniscule tap against my g-spot.

This is torture. And I’m loving it.

You spin me around, but given the spreader bar, the stilettos, and those fucking awful balls, it takes a moment. You hum, taking in the sight of me, spread open and made up delicately in silk, satin, and lace. You place your hand on my throat, edge me backwards until my ass hits the window, and then slide your hand all the way down… between my breasts, over my abdomen, until you hit the soft skin at the top of my pussy. Massaging for a second, you slip lower until two fingers circle on my clit, alternating pressure for a minute or so.

My jaw is slack, I’m trying so hard to keep my breathing even, but you and I both know that I’m failing.

You make me look at you, instead of down at your ministrations, as your hand slips lower, past my pussy, and straight to the plug to apply pressure again. I’m shy, embarrassed to look you in the eye for you to see exactly how much I’m enjoying it, but I don’t want to disobey. My tongue darts out to catch my lip briefly, and I watch your eyes follow it across.

You look up into my eyes again and smirk, unaware of what that smile does to me.

I moan, almost stuttering, encumbered by guilt.

You pull away. “You clearly haven’t paid attention, so it’s time for you to learn how to keep quiet when I ask you to.”

You slide your belt out of the loops, and drop it unceremoniously on the floor in front of me. The leather chair, black and inviting, is spun so you can sit in it and face me, scantily clad and glued to the window. A deer in headlights, my mind springs, such wonderful headlights. My trench coat, still slung over the back of the chair, is hung up on the back of the door. Your pace is slow and deliberate; my skin is itching to be touched.

You return – eventually – and relax into the chair, spreading your legs. You massage your thighs, and take a minute to gander up and down every inch of my supple skin.

“My, my, my, pet, look at you. So beautiful, spread like this. All for me. Divine.”

Having praise sung of me lifts my spirit and helps with the nerves, but I still have no idea what’s going to happen. Before all this, back when we were still just talking, I told you that I knew what I liked, and that most of what I liked involved being told what to like.

“What am I going to do with you, slave?”

Your voice is like drizzled honey. I love how it sounds; It’s embarrassing to admit, but every time I speak to you, I soak the panties I’m wearing.

Given that I’m still not permitted to speak, I shrug instead; it’s all I can do without getting myself in more trouble. Your quiet chuckle is sultry, sinister… The adage ‘all bark and no bite’ comes to mind with the way you look at me with that grin, but I have every confidence that the bark comes with a bite, too.

Good thing I’m not averse to being bitten.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Something got your tongue? Oh, poor thing.”

Your teasing does little to abate my nerves. I feel exposed and vulnerable pressed up against the window like this. There’s some metaphor at play here, with the cold from the city outside, and the warmth from the heat of your eyes on me in here… but I don’t dwell on it for too long. You’re beginning to unbutton your slacks like you’re unwrapping some sort of present for me. I can see your cock straining against the cotton of your boxers, and I want to do anything I can to get my hands – or my mouth – on it. You see my eyes zero in on your hands, and there that laugh is again.

“Eyes up, pet. Honestly, I’m not just some piece of meat.”

My eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and they’re glimmering, daring me to make the response you know is just behind my lips about being a piece of meat… But I’m no brat.

Not today, at least.

You lean an elbow on the arm rest, placing your chin in your palm and reclining slightly, momentarily taking my focus off your crotch. Your hands are big, rugged, and distracting. I don’t know why I like hands so much, particularly yours, but I find them to be so elegant – erotic, almost – in the power they wield.

There’s so much for me to enjoy looking at when I can watch you like this… Watch you watch me like this. The way your eyes glint and shine when you look at me; the shadow of your stubble across your sharp jaw, begging for me to kiss and lick my way across; the red hue of your lips; the way your white shirt stretches just so over your pectorals; your silk tie, knotted perfectly – of course – pointing directly where I want to be; the way the arms of your suit jacket bunch at the crease at the inside of your elbow from your biceps when you flex – not overtly, but with a pleasant bulk that suggests you have more strength than originally meets the eye; the slight of your waist; the toned firmness of your thighs.

You’re a picture, just the way I am.

My daze is cut short by the sound of metal at my feet. I cast a glance downward, and see your leather belt slouched over the spreader bar like a snake on a branch. I’m almost worried you’re going to take me over your knee and deal with me using that thing, but I can see you have something far less painful – but equally as demeaning – in store. I look back up at you, and the smarting grin has disappeared, a full blown teeth-baring beam in its place.

“Pick it up, pet, we’re going to play a game.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/991h0q/a_kittens_fantasy_mf_ds