Good Kitty

Then there was this girl I dated.

True story.

Man, I was in love with her. Maybe the first person I ever fell in love with, I don't know. But I loved the shit out of her. We got along well, had some common interests, and, of course, the sex was fantastic. I guess we broke up because of the distance and stuff, I moved about 100 miles away a few months into the relationship. We tried to hold it together, but it just wasn't happening. The slow death of our love was painful, but shit, it was beautiful while it lasted.

She had something called POTS, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. She was fragile as fuck. I mean, not everyone with POTS is as fragile as her, she had it pretty severe. She had to use a wheelchair 24/7 because if she stood up or walked, she would faint. Yeah. It sounds crazy I kinda didn't believe anyone could be that frail, until I saw it happen myself. But she was stubborn and, even though she was physically fragile, her personality was strong as hell.

Actually, she was even more stubborn and strong than me, and I can't say that about many people. She was actually one of very, very few who I've ever let dominate me. It was so fucking hot, honestly, because it was the epitome of submission. I guess I won't settle for anything less. Here I was, a six-foot-tall giant of a person, muscular and strong and somewhat stereotypically "butch;" and there she was, five-foot-five, she weighed less than half what I did, and in a wheelchair no less, yet I gave her absolute submission. I could have overpowered her without even trying at any time, but I didn't want to. I was happy to give myself over to her, to be her obedient pet.

She dommed me like you wouldn't believe.

When we were in D/s mode, she'd call me "pet," because having a proper name was too dignified. She'd order me around, have me do things for her, whether she could do them herself or not. Her condition was better on some days, worse on others, sometimes she could walk for fifteen minutes before her blood pressure dropped, other days she was so sensitive that even propelling herself in her manual wheelchair would make her feel faint. Regardless of her actual abilities on a given day, when we were together, she made me do everything for her. She acted like the Queen of Sheba, and as far as I was concerned, she was.

On date night I would get a text saying something like, *Pet: pick me up from work today.*

*Yes, mistress.*

Before I left my apartment, I snapped on my collar. You'd think she would have me wear something at least remotely aesthetic, right? Nope. I wore a plain old nylon dog collar with one of those plastic squeeze buckles. The nylon collar was purely symbolic, though. Later she'd have me in a choke chain, but not until we were alone.

I'd done it a dozen times before, so I knew the drill. I went inside and told the receptionist I was here to pick her up, they'd buzz me in (they knew me by then), and I'd go up to her floor. I'd greet her coworkers and make small talk until she was ready to go, and by all appearances we were a perfectly normal, adorable lesbian couple.

"Hi, baby," she said, slowly backing her chair up from the desk. "Thanks for picking me up." Her voice was so sweet and gentle. I shivered in anticipation.

"Sure thing, hun. Are you ready to go?"

She glared up at me with an expression that said "I'll damn well tell you when I'm ready to go and you'll be punished later for your impertinence," but said nothing.

"Yes, let's go," she said, shutting off her computer. "Please push me."

That was the last "please" I would hear for the night. I obeyed, admiring her soft, shiny hair as I took her to the elevator. Once the doors closed in front of us, the air crackled with the fire of her transformation.

"Take my bag," she said coldly, a completely different person from the sweet, mild-mannered HR rep from moments prior. I picked up the purse off her lap. "Kiss me."

I bent over from behind the chair and kissed her cheek. She turned her face and permitted me to kiss her lips one time before the elevator doors opened and let us out. I wheeled her to the parking lot and helped her into the car, then folded her chair and put it in the back. She couldn't drive, so I got in the driver's seat. Otherwise, she had assured me before, I would've been riding in the back, preferably in a dog crate.

We rode in silence. She took a leash out of her purse. It was a very thin, short, lightweight leash, the kind you'd use to walk a chihuahua or a cat or something. I could've easily broken it with my bare hands, but instead I tilted my head, giving her access to my neck, my pussy getting warmer as the metal lobster clasp closed on the collar ring.

When we got to her house, I took her chair out and helped her into it. She kept a hold of the leash as I brought her inside. She locked the door behind us, then turned to me.

"Strip down to your underwear, filth," she told me. "Animals don't wear clothes."

I did as she said, and she took my clothes from me.

"Make dinner," she instructed. "I'm going to go change."

"Are you sure-" I started to ask as she stood up from her wheelchair at the bottom of the stairs, but she glared at me and silenced me with a look. I was going to ask if she didn't need help getting upstairs, but I swallowed the rest of my question, the leash dangling in front of me as I skulked to the kitchen to prepare her meal.

Half an hour later, when dinner was practically finished, she came into the kitchen wearing a black silk bathrobe. My heart beat a little faster because I knew what she was wearing underneath. I guess she was having a good day, POTS-wise, because she wasn't using her chair at that moment, although she did make haste in getting to the table to sit down before she got too dizzy.

I put a plate in front of her loaded with precisely one cup of green vegetables, half a cup of brown rice, and four ounces of baked, lean fish. I think part of her poor health was because she didn't eat enough, but whenever I tried to broach the topic, she got crazy upset, so I mostly stopped trying and just obeyed. That was all she wanted from me, was unquestioning obedience in every way. That was part of why the relationship didn't last, I think; subbing for her was fun in the bedroom, but I couldn't keep doing it all the time.

She could tell just by looking at the plate whether I had tried to give her extra. I only tried that once, and spent twenty-four hours in a dog crate as a result.

"You can eat now," she said as she picked up her fork and started eating.

My "dinner" consisted of cat food. She thought it was funny because my name's Kitty. Get it? Ha-fuckity-ha. I had thought it was cute the first time, but now it was genuinely sort of upsetting. I knew to eat a big lunch on date nights when we weren't planning to go out because I couldn't very well fill up on cat food. Tonight she had taken pity on me and given me the wet stuff, which was nauseating, but less atrocious than kibble. When she was feeling especially charitable, I got tuna, but that happened, like, once a month, maybe.

Oh, and I had to eat on the floor, of course. That part I liked. My dish was on the floor beside her chair. I crouched down and put my face up to the food. I had to pretend I was eating until she was done, that was just how she liked it. I also had to eat at least a mouthful of the cat food "or else." My gorge rose as the sickly smell of poor-quality meat and bland, clear, slimy sauce overwhelmed my senses. One of these days I was gonna vomit. Today was not the day, I guess. Part of me was getting desensitized, a little. I breathed through my mouth, blocking off my nose, you know, as I stuck my tongue out to get a little lump of the wet cat food. I felt her fingers trailing along my back. I shivered a little as she petted me.

"Good Kitty," she cooed as she heard me gagging on the cat food. The tone of her voice was precisely the tone of voice one would use with an actual cat, and it made me wet as fuck when she talked to me like that. I loved being praised like a dog by her, it made all the degradation completely worth it. My heart was pounding as she grabbed my ass and said again, "Good Kitty, what a good, nice pet you are, you make Mama very happy."

I wasn't allowed to talk now unless it was absolutely necessary, so I stayed put and stayed quiet. I wasn't supposed to move until she told me to. I heard her fork against her plate, I guess she was still eating. My stomach was queasy as I kept getting waves of the stench of wet cat food and the smell of it lingered in my mouth and throat. She'd let me cleanse my palate soon, but I had to wait. I fucking hated waiting.

"I'm done," she said at last, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She scooted out her chair and I got so fucking excited as I felt her gathering the leash in her tiny hands. Something about letting this delicate little woman have all this power over me with her delicate little leash was just too hot for words. I was shaking a little as she tugged on the leash, indicating that I could crawl out from under the table now. I obeyed, keeping my head low, as she got to her feet.

Another wave of wetness flooded my pussy as she swung her leg over me and sat on my back, her black silk robe cool on my skin. She was so tiny I could easily carry her any way she liked. She draped her legs forward over my shoulders so that I could see her graceful, manicured feet dangling in front of me. She snapped the leash like reins on a horse, indicating that I was supposed to start moving. I had perfected my walk over the months, and now I could carry her on my back, crawling all fours, perfectly smooth, because I didn't want to jostle my frail mistress when she rode me.

"Giddyup, bitch," she said. "Take me upstairs."

I loved having her ride on my back like that. It made me feel so strong and powerful, in a way, because she was so small and weak, as she leaned down to hold on to my neck and shoulders while I mounted the stairs on all fours. The first time we tried it had been a hilarious disaster, she'd fallen off my back a few times, but by now we could do it without breaking the scene at all. She breathed right in my ear and licked my earlobe as I carried her into the bedroom. I loved having her breath in my ear, so loud and warm, roaring against my ear drum; it was such a turn-on that my arms almost gave out as my pussy spasmed in response.

We made it to the bedroom. She reined me in and steered me over to the bedside, where she opened the drawer to the nightstand and there was a familiar jangling sound that made me shiver. I closed my eyes in anticipation, and suddenly she slipped the cold chain over my head. She switched the leash from the nylon collar to the choke chain. Lucky for me it was not one of those choke chains with the spikes inside, although she'd threatened to use one when she got upset with me. She gave the leash a good yank and I gasped, partly out of fear, partly from arousal. It was terrifying to have a cold metal choke chain around my throat with a crazy little Domme at the other end, but it was also incredibly arousing. It was arousing that I gave her this control over me, and arousing to know that she couldn't choke me- not seriously, anyway- even if she wanted to. She was weak as hell. Her yank hurt a little, but only a little. No way could she exert, much less sustain, enough force to choke me around my strong, thick neck.

At least, that's what I told myself.

"Good pet," she murmured, caressing my neck, feeling the chain against my skin. I think she loved putting the chain on me as much as I loved her doing it. I could feel her pussy against the naked skin of my back. She was hot and wet through her silk robe. In fact, I realized, as she was leaning forward and enjoying the chain around my neck, I could feel her pressing herself into me. Dry humping me. She was doing it slowly and subtly, I'm not sure she was even aware of it, but fuck, it was so hot! I was shaking with the desire, the need, to just throw her down on the bed and fuck her senseless. But I could never, ever do that of my own accord. I had to wait for her to tell me what she wanted. Sometimes she would Domme me and we'd never even fuck, but those nights led to some epic masturbation sessions for me when the date ended.

She climbed off my back and slipped off her robe. I stared, slack-jawed, as the black silk fluttered to the floor. There she was, in all her weak, petite glory, clad in sexy, lacy, black bra, panties, and garters. The lace was there only to tease, because it was transparent all over. I could see her hard pink nipples through the sheer black lace of the bra cup, I could see the cleft of her immaculately shaved pussy through the skimpy, low-cut underwear. The garters clung to her skinny legs, purely aesthetic, of course, since she wasn't wearing stockings. She sat on the bed and smirked down at me.

"You like what you see, don't you, pet?" she cooed at me, in the precise tone one would use to ask a dog if he wants a treat.

I nodded vigorously.

"Show me."

I cocked my head to one side in confusion. I was about to ask what she meant, but before I could speak, she pressed her toes against my mouth.

"Show me how much you adore me," she elaborated, curling her toes against my bottom lip. "Kiss my feet." She leaned back, bringing her other foot up to rest on my chin.

I had never been a foot person before, but the masochist in me fucking loved it. I loved being degraded and used like some kind of ungodly animal-servant hybrid. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, then pressed my lips to the ball of her foot.

"Good kitty," she purred. I uttered a small moan as my kisses advanced down her foot, I pressed my cheek to her arch and nuzzled it, and kissed her ankle.

She moaned.

God, her moans were like crack to me, I'd do anything to get one out of her. She was so good at controlling herself that she could mete out her noises of pleasure as rewards, and her moan told me that she was enjoying herself immensely, and that I was doing and a good job.

"Kiss the other one," she whispered, her head tilting back. The foot I had just kissed came to rest in the curve where my neck meets my shoulders, while I turned my attention to the other foot. This time, I held her heel in my hand, and caressed the top of her dainty little foot, and kissed each toe. She sighed in pleasure as I ran my tongue along the entire sole, then took her big toe into my mouth and gave it a suck. I licked the pads of all her toes, making her sigh again, and I would've kept going, but suddenly she withdrew her little foot from my grasp and pressed it into my face. She used her toes to turn my head by pressing my jaw. She tightened the chain around my neck and smushed the ball of her foot into my cheek, letting it creep up, until her whole foot was jammed into the side of my face, and my neck actually hurt a little bit from the awkward angle of the pressure.

"Do you still love me?" she demanded.

"Yes," I said.

"Tell me," she said.

"I love you-" I started to say, then the unoccupied foot inserted itself between my lips.

"Keep talking," she said coolly.

"I love you," I mumbled around her toes, suddenly engulfed by an overwhelming mix of conflicting emotions, love and affection for my girlfriend, humiliation at having her feet in my face while she forced me to profess my love, even as she hindered my speech, and on a level I genuinely hated her for everything she did and was doing to me, but I also loved it. A tear slipped from my eye as I kept talking, barely ale to articulate. "You are my Goddess, you are the sun my world revolves around. You are the most beautiful, evil woman I have ever met-"

"Good." She shove both feet into me to punctuate her statement, then brought them both to rest on my shoulders. I looked up at her, my heart pounding with arousal as she leered down at me. "You're sexy when you're mad," she cooed. "You make me wet as fuck, pet. You're a sexy pet, aren't you?" She reached out to pet my hair, then her fingers tightened and she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head forward, between her legs. I muffled a grunt of pain as I hurried to follow her movements. She could have just asked, or told me what she wanted, but she liked to do shit like that. And I didn't care what she did because I fucking loved eating pussy in general, and I loved eating her pussy specifically because she only let me do it at certain times when she was in a certain mood... believe it or not, this was a more gentle night for her.

"You know what to do," she said.

I didn't say anything. She was sitting with her hips near the edge of the bed, leaning back on her arms, and I knew she wouldn't be comfortable that way for very long. Her arms would get very tired soon, as she'd already been leaning on them for several minutes. This was not my preferred position for eating pussy anyway, so I took a chance on her "good" mood, and did something she didn't tell me to do. I stood up, and she gasped in surprise at my disobedience, and I picked her up like a ragdoll with my hands under her arms and moved her to the top of the bed. I nestled her head on a pillow, and kissed her mouth, my hand wandering down to slip a finger between her warm, swollen pussy lips. She gasped as I pressed her clit, and bit back a moan.

I started kissing my way down her body, running my tongue along her collarbones, kissing down her neck. I paused at her breasts and they were small enough I could fit them in my mouth in their entirety. So I did. I sucked her nipple and pressed it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. I opened my mouth a little wider and groaned softly, barely above a whisper, the kind of groan when you take a bite of the best cheesecake you've ever had. Her breasts were so small and perfect. The flesh was so soft and pliant in my mouth. She was doing her best to keep silent, but little tremors running through her body told me that I was on the right track.

Her stomach was very flat, nearly concave, and her skin was very soft. It was a pleasure to kiss my way down her stomach, kiss the softness just beneath her navel, feel the heat coming off her cunt. She had great hip bones. I kissed each one and then took them in my teeth.

"You sick fuck," she growled, bucking her hips toward me. "Do it again."

I obeyed, this time dragging my teeth along her skin a little bit, and the sensation drew another irrepressible moan from her throat. She held her breath as I finally plunged my face between her legs. It was so quiet as she withheld all sounds of pleasure, even her breath was limited to measured, even gasping (not the erratic panting I longed for). The only noise was the sound of my tongue flicking in and out of my mouth against her hard little clitoris, soon joined by the wet, slick noise of my fingers, just two of them, inserting into her pussy. I licked her slow and gentle, applying plenty of pressure on the upstroke, my unoccupied hand resting against her thigh. Because she was holding her sounds back, her body diverted the pleasure to her limbs. Her legs were shaking. The tremors intensified and ebbed with each slow lick of her clit. I stroked the inside of her pussy just as slowly, but like pistons in an engine, my fingers went in as my tongue pulled away; my tongue went in as my fingers slid out a little.

I was determined to make her vocalize before she orgasmed. I made a little "come hither" motion with the fingers inside of her, caressing the spongy spot just inside her opening, and finally, it happened. She lost control of her breathing and I glanced up from between her legs to see, with a wave of gratification, her rib cage heaving, and then I pressed her g-spot again and her breath grew loud and ragged, gasping. I had her.