Yossarian Lives

Heres me today. Too much jewellery. Too much.

This wine is gorgeous.

 

I woke up this morning, and amongst all the clutter, this was in my inbox. When it was finished, I realised I had not taken a breath for the full 1 minute and 19 seconds.

 

 

Thank you again, Kitten.

Here’s me, in my poorly painted bedroom with no curtains, for no ostensible reason. I had something kind of funny to say here, but I forgot what it was. Unrelated: I sleep with no curtains because I like to see the sky when I wake up.

 

Oh yes, I remember. It was something like, “I don’t seek attention. I demand it.” But something funnier than that.

 

Yeah, I know this is boring. But whatevs.

 

Here’s my new watch. It’s kinky.

 

I love hearing dirty things from pretty mouths, so you can understand my excitement when I received the following voice message from an incredibly sexy stranger. Her voice has a rare and unusual effect on me so it gave me incredible satisfaction to hear her saying such filthy things to me.

Just pretend like you didn’t hear my real name in this.

Sometimes, I love my life.

Thank you Kitten.

Joe heard a meek knock at his door and after a deliberately, torturously long time he opened it and regarded his new pet. Amy was a tiny 22 year old girl with a slim frame earned, he had learned during their correspondence, through years of gymnastic training. She talked about her cat a lot, and that spoke volumes to Joe.

He could immediately see he had been right in all his assumptions about her, he had read her very well. Amy was pretty but not sexy, attractive but incredibly shy. She stood in his doorway with her shoulders tight and her head slightly bowed, her eyes glancing occasionally to her sides and at Joe’s shoes, but never to his face. Her fingers played nervously with each other as she waited for Joe to speak, and Joe could tell she had doubts; she was already ashamed of herself that she was there. Joe stared intensely at her, his stomach knotted with anticipation, eager to exploit her obvious inexperienced nervousness.

He held the door and stood aside without saying a word; Amy slid her tiny 5’2” frame past him and paused in the hallway, awaiting further instruction. As she passed, Joe breathed in the scent of her thick, long black hair that hung in slow, natural curls. The top of her head barely reached the centre of his chest and that inflated his sense of power.

“Wait here,” demanded Joe, coldly.

It was the first time she had ever heard his voice, and the subtlety of his tone made her shrink further still into herself. She wondered if she had made a mistake coming here, to this stranger’s flat. She regretted contacting him; she regretted the split with her loving and sensitive – but ultimately bland – ex-boyfriend. She wondered if there was still time to back out. She heard drawers being opened and Joe’s heavy footprints wondering around another room and thought perhaps she could simply slink out the door before Joe returned. Before she could though, Joe came back and stood in front of her.

He was tall, slender, unsmiling, a little older than she and dressed smartly. He smelled of expensive, woody aftershave. She still hadn’t looked him in the eye, but had certainly noticed what he was holding: in his hands was a pair of pink and black leather cuffs, a tiny pink collar with a little bell in the centre, tiny little cat ears on a hairband and a long, fluffy black cat’s tail with a white tip protruding from a mahogany butt plug. Her eyes were transfixed on it. She experienced feelings with which she was totally unfamiliar; a blend of fear, intimidation, nervousness and excitement. Though she had never explicitly said it, they both knew she had come to him for degradation, for dehumanisation and to forgo her own will in favour of his.

“Strip” said Joe quietly, never taking his gaze from her pixie face.

Amy let her handbag slip from her shoulder to the floor and she began to undo the buttons of her plain raincoat. Joe was keen to see if Amy had followed his instructions.

The raincoat slumped dejectedly to the floor and Amy stood in a black bra, a black suspender belt holding up black stockings and black heels – and nothing else. She had travelled through busy Central London dressed like this and it was the bravest thing she had ever done. Joe guessed, correctly, that she had bought the suspender belt and stockings specifically for this occasion. He guessed, again correctly, that she had never worn a suspender belt before, and that she had never fully shaved before.

Amy was blushing intensely, and the longer Joe stared, the harder she blushed. She drew her shoulders in close, trying to conceal and protect as much of her petite body as possible, and Joe could barely contain how much he adored her already. He fought to keep his composure. As a younger man he would have fucked her the moment he had opened the door to her, but now he was more patient than that. He wanted to enjoy her modesty as long as possible instead of destroy it immediately. He was going to give her everything she never knew she wanted.

Joe moved closer and with his free hand brushed a trail of hair away from Amy’s face, tracing his fingertips down her neck and resting it on her shoulder. The intimacy surprised her.

“Put your hands out,” Joe whispered.

Amy obediently did so still without lifting her gaze to meet his, and Joe fastened the leather cuffs around each of her wrists. Next, he gently raised her head with his finger under chin and closed the little pink collar around her neck. She noticed the word “PUSSY” printed on it in studded diamante gems. He flicked the bell as he withdrew his hands and smiled as it rang out cheerfully. He slipped the ears onto her head. She already looked so pretty; Joe’s heart was melting.

“Kneel.”

Amy hesitated. She had had no idea what to expect when she arrived at Joe’s; she had trusted him to guide her, but she had not been expecting anything like this. She knelt.

“Good girl. Now go down on all fours and push your hips up into the air.”

Amy lowered her face to the coarse carpet. A draft from an open window somewhere made her feel more exposed and more vulnerable than she’d ever felt before. She heard the pop of a bottle opening and managed to catch in the reflection of a glossy door that Joe was pouring lubricant onto the mahogany cat-tail butt plug. She was anxious; she was an anal virgin and had only ever experimented alone. Now she had put herself in the hands of someone far more experienced, far darker, and despite herself she knew this is what she wanted.

Joe knelt down next to her and touched the tip of the butt plug against its destination. He rubbed it against her slightly, moving it in sensual little circles. Amy was breathless; the cold of the butt plug and the feeling of being dangerously far out of her depth was utterly exhilarating and her whole body was alive as she gasped in anticipation. With his left hand he soothed her hair.

“Are you ready to be my pet? Are you ready to be a good little pussy?” breathed Joe, sadistically.

Amy found herself nodding vigorously and Joe began to overcome her resistance, easing the plug in a fraction, then back out, then in a little further, then out, repeating this over and over  and pushing the plug in a little more each time, until finally Amy winced as her body suddenly accepted her tail. She breathed quickly and heavily as she became accustomed to an entirely new sexual sensation, and Joe watched her pussy flood with wetness.

Still kneeling beside her, Joe stroked the long, soft tail knowing that Amy could feel every sensation and every subtly different pressure he applied to it. He slowly pushed a finger into her pussy, making her moan against her will, and moved the finger to her panting mouth so she could taste her wetness. She sucked eagerly, and then burnt with shame at her own behaviour. She was already so utterly under his control; her wetness forced her to confront her own subconscious desire to submit.

“Good pussy,” hissed Joe once he was sure the tail was comfortable. “Follow me. Come on.” Joe rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in front of Amy’s face and let out a repeated tutting noise, the noise one makes when summoning a kitten. He walked slowly towards what turned out to be an office, and Amy crawled on all fours after him, trying to peek round his legs to see where they were going.

In the room there was a large cream leather sofa with a laptop on the arm and computer screens on a table in front. The rest of the room consisted of a larger glass table, chairs and bookshelves. It was obvious Joe lived alone; everything in the room was set up exclusive for him, by him.

Amy slinked into the room on her hands and knees and looked around, her humanity already beginning to recede as she found herself willingly, excitedly sinking into this character Joe had unexpectedly forced upon her.

“This is your home now, Pussy. Explore,” said Joe as he sat on the sofa in front of his computer and began typing, as though he was already accustomed to her presence, like she had always been his pet.

Amy glanced at him, the first time she had really looked at his face, which looked oddly gaunt and inhuman in the neon glow of the computer screens, and then began to quietly crawl around the room, investigating the books and the decorations, before she spotted a group of items on the floor in the corner of the room. She approached them with suspicion. They comprised a little red plastic bowl with “PUSSY” printed on the side, and to her horror, a litter tray. She realised that Joe was intending to train her.

Her shock was suddenly interrupted by Joe’s voice.

“Ohhh, does Pussy want some milk” he called, almost mockingly, as he spotted her regarding her bowl. Amy made no response as Joe got up and left the room.

He returned moments later carrying a large bottle of milk and he poured it carefully into her bowl. He tutted repeatedly and said,

“There you go, thirsty puss.”

Amy edged towards the bowl. Joe knew that she had not accepted her submission as such; she was beyond that. She was no longer submitting; submission is active. She was no longer conscious, no longer human, and as she lapped the milk meekly with Joe towering over her, she was no longer thinking at all. She had already become a good little pussy.

Joe returned to his computer as Amy trotted about, exploring the rest of the flat. She found the bedroom and stroked her side against the soft bed and mewed a little. She slinked around, her movement becoming more recognisably and comfortably feline with each step. She stroked her face against the curtains and she sat staring out of the window. Joe was in the other room; she could have checked her phone or adjusted her collar if she’d wanted. But she didn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to; it was that those concepts were simply beyond her now. Instead, she dug her fingers into the carpet, yawned and stretched decadently.

An hour or so passed. Eventually, after she had familiarised herself fully with her new environment and had nuzzled anything soft, stroked herself along anything hard, stared at herself in the mirror and quietly licked the back of her hand in a corner, she slinked back towards the office in which she could hear Joe typing. She stopped and sat in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked at Joe, who was conspicuously ignoring her. She licked her wrist pathetically as she watched him.

She wanted attention.

She crawled slowly towards Joe and smoothed herself over his shins. He smiled and tickled her ear, muttering “puss puss puss, puss puss puss.” She turned and smoothed herself the other way, this time pausing. She propped her chin on his knee and put a paw on his leg.

“Aw, does pussy want to come up?” Joe tapped his lap, giving Amy permission to crawl up onto it. She curled up in his lap and he began to stroke her hair. She shivered at the contact, and the soft purr she emitted was totally beyond her control. She felt safe in his lap, she felt content. She fell asleep.

She didn’t know how long she had been asleep when she was awoken by him leaning over and typing. She rubbed her head in his lap and noticed his hardness. She would never know, but he’d been hard since he had inserted her tail, and the whole time she’d been on his lap. Joe exhaled with lust as she nudged his erection, and he continued to stroke her hair when she did it again. He’d been patient enough. He needed her right now. He needed to fuck her. Joe motioned to her to get down from his lap, and then led her to the bedroom. Amy stopped at the bed and put her paw on the mattress, looking at him, imploring him for permission to climb on. He patted the duvet and she hopped up.

“You’re a bad little pussy, aren’t you” breathed Joe as he fumbled in a drawer and produced a large, heavy suede flogger. Amy shrank from it and Joe loosened his suit trousers.

“Get on all fours, Pussy,” demanded Joe, now with menace in his voice, and as she did so he laid the flogger out next to her.

He only had to look at her to see how wet she was. He climbed on the bed behind her, and with almost no preparation he mounted her and pressed his erection into her. He plunged it deep into her, stretching her painfully despite her wetness. He held her by the slender hips as he slid ever deeper into her, the furry tail stroking him along his length as he began to fuck his new little kitten.

The butt plug narrowed her pussy making her even tighter then she was naturally; Amy had never been penetrated so intensely. Her moan was a long, unbroken single whine, and the pitch increased as Joe wrapped has hand around her narrow throat.

He gathered speed. His teeth were gritted. He stared with venom at the back of her head while he stroked forcefully into her. He wrapped his other hand around her throat so he was knelt behind her, still fully clothed, pulling her back onto his cock with both hands. Each time he yanked her back onto him, his body pushed the plug into her making her feel utterly full.

He was increasingly brutal with his little pussy. She was lost in a world of feline fantasy. She wanted him to go harder. She imagined a barb tearing at her pussy; she wanted it to hurt. She wanted to be made to shriek like a cat.

“You – bad – little – kitten” spat Joe with every thrust. “You – fucking – nasty – little – pussy – cat.”

Joe’s orgasm was already building in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m gonna cum” he said through gritted teeth.

Amy wanted it. She wanted him to flood her pussy, to complete her degradation, but Joe was not feeling that generous. Instead, he used her pussy to bring him to orgasm, and when he reached it he suddenly ripped his thick erection out of her and with a long, agonised groan, he shot jet after copious jet of thick, hot cum onto the tails of the flogger on the bed next to Amy. He rubbed his cock, his orgasm was colossal, his eyes were closed and he swore as he squeezed every last filthy drop onto the flogger.

Joe caught his breath.

“You were a bad pussy, weren’t you? You didn’t even try to stop me from fucking you. You should be punished for being a slutty little kitty.”

Joe reached for the cum-drenched flogger and held it in front of Amy’s face so she would know exactly what was about to happen to her. Her eyes widened with exhausted anxiety as a bead of Joe’s filthy dropped from the flogger onto the back of her hand.

Joe stood up and moved around to Amy’s petite little backside.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=

Part 2, “The Cat That Got The Cream,” coming soon…

Here, in my unworthy hands, I hold a solid gold butt plug. It’s the most decadent sex toy in my possession… I think. Apart from my platinum double-ended dildo. (I wish.)

 

If you and I ever hook up, there’s a very real chance you’ll leave with a sticky face. As strange as it sounds, I don’t think I have any particular kinks or fetishes; kinkiness itself is my kink and fetishism is my fetish. There is one exception: cum.

My cum is sacred to me. I treat it with reverence. I give it out sparingly, and it needs to be treated with respect. When I was 14 I ejaculated on a water biscuit and made my then girlfriend eat it; it was one of the most powerful events of my sexual career and it instilled in me a love, a passion and a veneration for my own semen.

Forcefeeding a sub cum, or dressing her face with it, is an instant and hugely gratifying way to humiliate her. Nothing says ‘slut’ more than masturbating in a sub’s face. It’s without question my favourite thing to do.

You need to earn it. You need to love it. You need to respect it. I’ve given you something special, you filthy little whore.