Filth Kitten

My breath strains: body tied, gagged and splayed. Condensed milk drips down my hair and over my ruined stockings while spittle rattles out the air holes of my oblong gag. The foldable chair squeaks as I struggle against the twine binding my wrists tight behind my back. In front of me, my Miss towers over my helpless body, steel-toed combat boots clacking over the hardwood floor. All the while, my cellphone buzzes loudly a few feet away on the kitchen counter.

My eyes plead for it to stop. By this point, the difference between the buzzing of my phone and the buzzing of the hot pink vibe taped to the inside of my thigh muddies in a fog of frustration.

I only need to tap out to stop the torture, just a flick of my fingers to say no, but my Miss knows I won't. I'm in too deep.

Her lips curl, two red wine cushions of perfection, "You're so fucked, cuntmeat."

And she's right; I am fucked. Absolutely. Utterly. Fucked.

A wicked grin teases behind piercing eyes, beautiful cinnamon-brown eyes that trapped me in their aromatic snare as soon as my toe slid into the pool that is curiosity and sunk me with the force that is addiction. I fight my bonds. My Miss answers the phone. My phone. Her demeanor spells sweet victory while I submit to bitter fate-- resigned, vulnerable and a complete mess. God, I'm such a filthy, disgusting mess.

It's glorious, and I hate it.

In other words, this isn't how I expected my Monday to go.

~

6:00 P.M. An hour before the madness.

Rough black nylon. Smooth wood floors. I paced. Impatient. Thigh-high stockings brushed back and forth over the sparse one-room flat, work clothes folded neatly in the corner. How I got away with it, I'll never know.

I had gone to work as I always do, wearing my navy blazer and pencil skirt like I always do. Underneath, though, that's where my secret stayed nestled, screwed deep inside my tight asshole. I always thought the fuzzy black tail plug added an extra layer of perverted class. Steel, heavy, a constant reminder. No one had noticed the strange bump or just didn't say.

When I clocked out and descended to the parking garage, I couldn't help but unbutton my white dress shirt and fondle my breasts under the micro bikini, its skimpy black straps crisscrossing my body, hiding nothing, accentuating everything.

'Greedy cunt-licker...'

'Fuck-kitten...'

'Piece of meat...'

The barrage of messages drove me insane.

Would my co-workers fire me if they discovered what a raging cumwhore I was? At least that's what I emblazoned proudly in red over my tits and midriff: NEEDY CUMWHORE. My fingers lovingly traced the self-inflicted lipstick trails. Knowing it's been carved into my skin all day made me want to trace more than red-blocked lipstick stains.

Covert bathroom breaks and stolen moments-- edging at work. I'd been hyperaware of my clit and throbbing cunt all day, not to mention the heart-racing anticipation of meeting one Dulce Hernandez, also known as my Miss, or more accurately, my kryptonite.

As soon as I locked the car door, I adorned my kitty ears and collar. All black save the jingly steel bell which rung out as I stepped on the gas and booked it down the highway with my shirt askew, windows down, hoping other drivers would catch a glimpse of those flimsy straps looped over my small tits.

Good thing swimsuits were made to get wet.

~

And as I waited patiently in the flat like a good little whore, my phone buzzed. Nervously, I twirled my pigtails between thumb and forefinger, fantasizing how she would use them like reins later. Dulce had arrived and despite the sweetness of her name, it was her cruelty I was after. Dried cum already stained the nonexistent crotch of my bikini with musk at the thought. I reeked of pussy.

Time stood still, the steel bell of my collar and tail plug resting heavy as I kneeled in wait, breath held until the latch clicked. My heart quickened like metal on anvil. Anyone outside in the adjoining hallway could have seen me there in my skimpy outfit and kitty ears, but none of that mattered in the face of my Miss.

"I missed you, fuck-kitten."

Her voice purred, sending goosebumps down my spine. How long had it been since we last played? A week? Two?

Brown eyes appraised me, raking over my body with her powerful gaze. Like a pedigree dog groomed for her pleasure, she stroked two fingers under my chin and evaluated me, her touch warm and gentle.

"Mine," she whispered.

So lost was I in her stare, hypnotized, I could barely breathe. All I could do was nod, wondering what games she had planned for her oversexed, over-wet fucktoy.

Her presence stoked the embers of unrelenting lust that had been building all day. I could only imagine how soaked she was under her flared leather dress and fishnets from the camwhore pics I'd sent while playing with myself at work, orgasm-deprived cunt stench smeared over my lips like lip gloss. By this point, the internal bonfire raged for release, and I became putty in her hands.

It didn't take long to find myself with my ass up, face pressed into a metal dog bowl on the floor with my Miss's boot.

"Are you going to be a good kitty for me?" Her voice flowed like molten honey. How could I say no? From the corner of my eye, I spotted her securing her glossy black curls out of the way with a red bandana. That was never a good sign.

"As long as you let me cum, Miss."

"Needy cumwhores need to prove they deserve it. No guarantees."

As if to further her point, her rubber sole dug further into my cheek, rubbing my face back and forth like a mop. I groaned, feeling my hardening nipples burst from the black micro-straps as they grazed roughly over the floor.

With my vision obscured, I could only hear the clanging of contents within her purse, then a metallic crack as a lid was peeled open. I smelled it first. Vile was the nice way to put it.

"I thought since you're my fuck-pet, you might as well eat like one," she chuckled.

I retched. Fishy mystery meat screamed out at me as the contents of the can plopped into the dog bowl, some splattering over my pigtails.

"Friskies special formula wet food..." my Miss started reading the label, "Chopped liver and mackerel your furry friend can't resist."

False advertising and lies.

"Expiration date..." Her voice trailed off as she searched the can for the fine print, "late last year, but I'm sure it's still very yummy. I expect my furry pet to enjoy every last bite." She smirked, "Bon appetit, bitch."

Something creamy or cummy, that's what I'd expected her to feed her fuck-kitten, not this nose-shriveling, face-wrinkling, questionably-edible cat food. Stomach in knots, I held my breath and did what I was told.

Well, at least I tried to.

Staring at the lifeless gray gloop, my lips sucked themselves into my mouth as if trying to run away from guaranteed disaster. A stray chunk of mechanically separated organ meat tumbled from my hair and onto the floor with a gelatinous splat. Heart racing, I felt conflicted. On one hand, I'd do just about anything, but this was just gross. But I also knew the punishment would be worse than some expired wet food.

My Miss removed her boot from my face and positioned herself behind me. Hot breath rasped against my ear, thick with lust, while she leaned over and stroked my kitty ears, "If you finish before you cum, I'll let you eat my pussy for dessert."

The game should have ended there, but her offer was catnip to my ears. Against my better judgment, I found myself responding, "Yes, Miss."

My cunt decided for me.

Tenderly, she reached around to jangle my bell playfully before trailing her hand down, tracing the word NEEDY and pinching my nipple. "Show me what a needy cumwhore you are. Show me how far you'll go for your Miss."

A whiff of sensuous leather from her dress teased my abused nostrils. Eyes shut, I tried to hold onto that rich aroma as I reluctantly parted my lips and flicked my tongue over the wet food. The more depraved, the more I blushed, the more I craved. Judging from my Miss's raspy breaths, she was working herself up over my ruthless treatment. Something wet oozed over my buttcheek. Spit, cum, didn't matter.

My tongue barely grazed the disgusting glop when I felt my Miss's fingers flick my bikini to the side, exposing my dripping center and plugged-up asshole.

Groaning, I sunk into her expert touch, fingers circling my clit while I writhed in place, collar tinkling. The Friskies were forgotten. That is, until I felt a tugging on my tail, setting off an explosive torrent of expletives, much to my Miss's amusement.

In vain, I tried to shift my position, but the tail served as an anchor, forcing me to endure the bursts of pleasure slowly flooding my body. It didn't take a genius to figure out how fucked I'd be if I failed, and my Miss seemed determined to play on hard mode.

Desperately, I buried my face in the dog bowl. Thankfully it didn't taste as bad as it smelled. Bland but doable. No longer hesitating, I slowly chewed and swallowed, glancing back to try and gauge my Miss's reaction. I hoped this pleased her. I hoped she'd let me touch her. And I hoped to some crazy fuck-deity, that it'd all be worth it.

"Good kitty."

Her praise soothed any bad taste in my mouth. Afterwards, I'd bury my face between her legs for a different type of euphoric pleasure. But my Miss didn't stop with my clit. Something large and cylindrical pressed against my tight entrance, tighter still because of the steel plug weighing it down. Somehow she managed to squeeze the rigid phallus up my dripping cunt.

The immense pressure of two hard toys stretching me almost sent me over the edge, but through some miracle of the aforementioned fuck-deities, I staved off the inevitable. Processed sludge stuck to my cheeks while I devoured bite after excruciating bite in a race to the finish. Usually, I loved when she used me, but now wasn't the time to get filled and fucked.

Vibrations started racking my core. Everything went fuzzy. I think I screamed. My collar jingled. My Miss giggled as she yanked my plug so hard it popped out. Sensory overload.

"You should see your gape, pet."

Everything shot off like gunpowder. I barely heard her, succumbing to a supernova of an orgasm, razing and rippling against every fiber of my being.

~

"You're so fucked, cuntmeat."

And she's right. I am fucked. The half-finished bowl of cat food taunts me from the floor between my feet while the vibe I came on thrums over my clit with a low hum, her punished humiliation slut.

She answers my phone. "Speakerphone," she mouths, placing it next to the chair I'm tied to with kitchen twine. She might as well have stuffed my butt with a cooking thermometer like a roast chicken but instead, she serves her torture sweet. Condensed milk coats my thigh-highs, hair, everything and I can't stop the sticky cascade as I'm stuck, frosted like a glazed donut.

"Hello?" A disjointed voice crackles from the speaker, a voice that I know.

The gag stuffing my mouth muffles my spit-drenched pleas.

"Safeword?" Her dark bronze complexion glows in triumph, daring me to tap out.

I hate how I must look-- covered, unrecognizable, a complete mess. So why must I love the way the thick strands marinate over my skin and micro-bikini?

"Are you okay? Who is that?" There's no mistaking the deep voice on the other end of the line. My partner, Ariana. This probably isn't the best way to come clean about sleeping with the kinky tattoo artist who did the rose tat on my back.

My Miss licks a strand of condensed milk from her dress and winks. "Your girlfriend's a bit tied up at the moment."

"What? I don't have a girlfriend. Just a fiancée."

Fuck. I haven't told Dulce about the wedding plans either. She raises her eyebrow and pulls a canister out of her purse.

"I don't think you know your fiancée very well."

My eyes widen. I don't like where this is going, but my overstimulated cunt vetoes any thought of backing out.

With a hiss, compressed cream coils and curls, slathering my body in a cold lather, making me shiver.

"What's going on?" Ariana again. Panicked now.

Never breaking eye contact, my Miss bites her crimson lip as she presses the metal nozzle against my asshole and fills me like a cream puff. She doesn't stop until all the contents shoot and fizz deep inside my rectum. I've never been happier to have cleaned beforehand. Grimacing, I fight the building pressure, pucker clenched while the vibe relentlessly buzzes on.

Tossing the can to the side, my Miss unzips her dress, showing off her curved figure, soaked slit pressing against her fishnets. God, I knew she was a bit of a sadist, but she's even wetter than me. Grabbing the phone she aims the lens at her creamed kitten while her fingers disappear one by one between ripe pussy lips in perverted bliss.

"Video call," she grins. "Such a dirty bitch, defiled in front of your fiancée." The squelching of her cunt fills the room. I can tell she's close. "Cum for me fuck-toy. Show Ariana what you do behind her back for your Miss."

Discomfort rising, I can't stop the maelstrom. Her words twist deep, each a prong of mental pain and pleasure. Face flushed. Secrets spilled. The last remains of dignity demolished as the edge from the vibe shatters, my orgasm rippling through my ruined form. Humiliation and embarrassment surge through my empty cunt with each spasm.

Losing control of my sphincter, the frothy whip I'd tried so hard to hold in shoots out in a powerful arc, white globules clinging to my stockinged feet and filling the dog bowl.

About to blackout, I'm only vaguely aware of the tinkling of my bell. I hear a shocked gasp, then silence as my Miss drops my phone on the messy floor, her own climax not far behind.

After a timeless lapse in space, I awaken in Dulce's arms, the most bittersweet of lovers. Some may call me greedy, say I get my cake and eat it too, but behind closed doors prying eyes can't judge what they can't see. And this moment, like magic, shared between only us, is ours.

A kiss on my cheek, "Same time next week?"