She stared at me, as if trying to decide if I was being serious or not. I could see all of the thoughts running through her head, wondering if I meant what she thought she’d heard. I just waited.
“Well…” she began slowly, “will you hold my drink for me?”
Oh, that first victory always tasted the sweetest.
“Of course.” I took the glass from her, watching her awkwardly slip her hands inside the pink satin lining of the paws. She had certainly done a good job, to bother lining them at all. It made me wonder how much she enjoyed the thought of putting her hands inside there, feeling herself just that little bit immobilized, not being able to grip and hold and reach.
“Can I have my drink back now, please?”
It almost made me want to laugh, her trusting naïveté.
“I thought we established kitties don’t drink from glasses, but from saucers?”
“Did we?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me, a sudden panic flashing across her features as she realized what I meant, at the same time wondering if that really was what I meant. “Don’t worry though,” I soothed her, “I’ll fetch a saucer for you, seeing as you can’t do it yourself. Wait there…and don’t move.”
I made sure the last words held just the right amount of force to let her know that I expected her to do as I said, and left her there frantically imagining all of the horrors a saucer could bring. I kept glancing back at her while I went to the kitchen, and sure enough, she didn’t move an inch. Such a good girl. I surveyed the contents of her glass, which didn’t look like anything I wanted my kitten to drink, so discarded it. I felt a real kitty should probably drink milk, but seeing as mine was a special one, she deserved something a little more special. A rummage round the back of Lynn’s fridge yielded some rather interesting-looking white chocolate liqueur—most likely just as bad as the junk I had poured away, but at least of a somewhat higher quality. Delicately balancing my saucer, I returned to my pet, who was obediently standing just where I had left her.
“Have you been a good kitty while I’ve been gone?” I inquired, smiling at how the very words made her fidget.
“Um, I…er…”
She didn’t know what to say. Slowly, languidly I sat myself down on one of the dining chairs that had been dragged into the lounge to provide more seating, observing that, oddly enough, the entire area around us seemed to have gathered quite a crowd. I imagined Lynn was fuming at the “spectacle” I was making, but I didn’t care. There was something deliciously satisfying about humiliating a girl in public, especially in front of a crowd of strangers. I knew Lynn’s friends were pretty easygoing, so nobody was going to have a problem, but it made it more excruciating for little Susie to have all these people looking at her while she did all the things she didn’t realize she was going to do yet.
I placed the saucer on the floor.
“Drink it.”
I looked up at her, standing there above me, with an expression of such sheer mortification on her face I wanted to kiss her right then and there.
“Um, it’s on the floor?” she responded uneasily.
“I know. And you will be too in a minute when you get down there and drink it. Don’t you want to be a good little kitten for me?”
This would be the turning point, the tip over the edge. No sane woman would get on her hands and knees and lick from a saucer in a crowded room unless she really, really needed this.
“Yes.”
Her voice was a hoarse whisper, almost inaudible, but a sound that sent sparks down my spine. Beneath my glistening latex I could feel a slick sheen of sweat on my skin, the rubber seeming to cling even tighter as I absorbed that beautiful moment of admittance. She would be mine.
“I think you should perhaps get on the floor and drink the milk I’ve brought you then, don’t you?”
It was almost as if I could see the devil and angel battling on her shoulders. To give in was to shame herself, to show all these people she had just met that she wanted to be told what to do by a woman in shiny rubber and six-inch heels, but to give in was also to give up, to surrender her self-control and let herself be carried away with the calming pleasure of complete obedience. I don’t even know which one was the devil, and which the angel, but one of them won, and she gradually, painfully lowered herself to her knees, her cheeks burning. I glanced at our fellow guests, most of whom didn’t seem that interested anymore, since the subtleties of mind games were beyond their comprehension. Never mind, she didn’t need to know that.
“That’s a good little kitty,” I murmured softly, reaching out for her shiny brown hair, feeling it slipping through my fingers as I stroked it. “A very good little kitty. Now drink your milk.”
Her big brown eyes implored me to not make her, but I remained firm. A girl needs to learn to do as she’s told, even when it doesn’t suit her. Gently I nudged her head, watching even her ears turning redder as the humiliation raged through her, until her pretty face was right next to the saucer, her paws resting either side of it, her little pink tongue creeping out of her mouth.
“Drink it.”
I could feel the slippery wetness like a sticky river between my legs, arousal almost choking me as I watched her do as I said. Tentatively at first, then with more enthusiasm, she lapped at the contents of the saucer, with an adorable little cough of surprise when she realized it wasn’t milk after all. She looked so subservient, curled up on the floor like that, her hands motionless inside their fluffy black prisons, and I could only imagine how difficult it had been for her to do this. That thought made me glow with desire for her.
Once she had nearly drunk half of it, I reached down and took hold of the pink leather of the collar, tugging on it to motion her upward. Creamy white splashes of the liqueur clung to her lips, dribbling down her chin. Her wide eyes looked up at me, as if waiting for me to ask her to do something even worse. But I didn’t. I just stared at her, absorbing every detail of her face, every flicker in her eyes, so close I could smell the sweetness of the chocolate in the liqueur, until I couldn’t bear it any longer. Tenderly, I took her chin in my hands and pressed my lips against hers, making her almost gasp, my kiss so light it almost wasn’t there. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she brushed her lips against mine again, as if we were each testing the other, wanting the other to want it as much as we did. And we wanted it so much.
Her tongue pushed between my teeth, parting them until I could feel the coolness of her mouth, taste the sugar and cream and desperate need, my fingers twisting in her hair now, bringing her closer to me. Her body was tense, wanting to reach out and touch me but not being able to, her hands still encased in satin and fur. My poor, helpless little kitten… Just the thought of it made me want to immobilize her more, see her tied up tightly and unable to escape, struggling in her binds as I covered her body with kisses, but I knew this was no place for that. My treasured innocent would have to wait.
“Take me home.”
I almost didn’t hear her, her voice muffled between my lips that were kissing away the sound of the words. I almost didn’t dare hope that was what she had said. But she had.
I pulled away, studying her face, making sure I understood what she meant, smiling back as she smiled up at me.
“Please?”
Who could resist a girl who asked so politely? I stood up to leave, my heart pounding with anticipation, waiting for her to stand up too. She just stayed there, on her hands and knees, looking up at me so beguilingly, waiting for me to lead her. Lead her like a pet, a cherished creature, a purring kitty for me to take. That one moment of offering herself, of taking on her own humiliation without even my request, was the moment I think I fell in love with her. Slowly, so slowly, I walked across the room, not even needing to look behind me to know she was crawling after me, my adoring pet following her mistress to her lair. I waved good-bye to Lynn, whose jaw was almost literally on the floor at the sight of her sweet little neighbor crawling behind me, bu
t none of that mattered now. I waited for my kitten to catch up with me, to crawl to her flat downstairs, where she unlocked the door and wriggled in, letting me follow. I knew I would follow her anywhere.
Her bedroom was just how I expected it, pink and white and girlish and feminine, with cushions scattered across her bed and a teddy bear in the middle. She was waiting for me, curled up on the end of the bed, her back arched, poised for whatever it was I would do to her. Thoughts crossed my mind of how much I wanted to hurt her, to make her cry and beg and scream, then kiss all those screams away, but that didn’t seem right for her. No, that would come later. Little kittens don’t cry, they purr with pleasure, and lick and stroke and play, and I wanted nothing more right now than to feel that pretty little tongue dancing all over me.
“You are a good little kitty, aren’t you?” I enthused, rubbing her ears and making her giggle with girlish pleasure. “You don’t want to be naughty, though, do you?” She shook her head vigorously, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be asked such a question, as if she hadn’t been standing next to me at a party just a few hours before being taken aback at being asked her own name. “Are you going to show me what a good little girl-pet you are then?” I enquired, getting even wetter just at the thought of it, slowly beginning to unzip my suit, revealing inch after inch of my skin to her. “Are you going to make me come all over your pretty kitty face?”
She looked quite speechless now, her eyes a mix of disbelief and sheer, unadulterated lust, watching as I pulled the zip past my aching cunt and parted my legs for her. I could feel the tightness of the rubber even more now, the coldness of the air making the rest of me feel even more contained in its latex casing, my head spinning with the need to feel her mouth on me. She flexed her body around to reach me, her hands resting either side in their cute little paws, her tongue slowly, unbearably licking the length of me, making me want to scream and grab her head and make her lap at my clit until I came right then and there. But I knew this would be better. This agonizing wait would make me see stars; I just had to endure it first.
She knew this. I could tell from the way her eyes glittered as she looked up at me, the tip of her tongue firm against my clit, circling it so slowly I thought she would almost stop. The cat ears were still perched atop her head, such an irresistible combination of adorably cute and clit-teasingly evil, I knew for certain whatever Lynn had said about her being a “nice girl” was ridiculously unfounded. Or possibly truer than she thought, depending on which way you looked at it.
The flat of her tongue was rubbing languidly against me, my pussy throbbing with a growing warmth as I climbed higher and higher, sparks darting through me, the sensation building almost painfully inside. Just one more flick, one more lick in the right spot, and I would be…I would be…
I came. Waves stronger than I had ever felt before engulfed my body, my wetness splattered across her face as I screamed until my throat felt hoarse. My hips writhed into her, my limbs spasming like I never thought was possible as pleasure jolted through every inch of my being, exhausting me beyond measure. I lay, motionless, unable to speak, as my kitty curled up at my side, planted an affectionate lick on my cheek, then finally spoke.
“So…my slave girl will probably be home soon…” She paused, almost smiling, as if trying to gauge my reaction. “I should go and get her hot chocolate ready for her… You don’t mind having two pets for the night, do you?”
I just stared at her, for the first time completely, utterly lost for words. Well.
There’s certainly nothing quite like nice girls.
SHE NEVER WEARS PERFUME
Sid March
The night is gray; the clouds are charcoal streaks of glitter and snow across an endless urban sky. I am stretched out on my bed, a worn mattress on the crooked wood floor of our apartment on the Plateau Mont-Royal. She is sitting by my feet, trailing her fingers up and down my calves.
She lowers her green eyes and her ballerina lashes project kaleidoscope shadows on her face. She looks so breakable.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says, and tugs lightly at the ankles of my black jeans.
“I know.”
“Will you miss me?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
“I’ll miss you.”
The air in the room feels so thick. I can barely breathe.
“Christy, I don’t want to talk now. I’m tired.”
She is wearing too much mascara and four silver rings. I see every last detail. I’m afraid to forget her.
“I’ll miss you,” she says again.
This is like a monsoon, la fin du monde. I stare her down; I change my mind. She can’t drown me. I don’t blink until she closes the door behind her.
I can’t imagine this place if it’s not our place. I need to get out. I count the seconds, count her footsteps so I can leave unnoticed. I put on my jacket, my favorite boots, a dark gray scarf. I might blend into the sky.
I slip out the front door, dragging my feet as I walk down our narrow block. I want to drink until tomorrow morning when she will have disappeared, I want to wash away the last few years of my life. There’s no point in trying to avoid her. She will never leave without saying good-bye.
I wander down the Main. It’s always crowded with the beautiful people, all so young and fashionable, hot women in sky-high stilettos and miniskirts despite the season. I try to expand my chest with a deep breath; I hold my chin a little higher. I try to distract myself. I smile at a slim girl with the most beautiful mocha skin, a tight dress and a tailored men’s jacket. Her eyes linger on me a second too long; I taste her pheromones as I pass.
I love those little flashes of what-if, but tonight, that kind of charged moment can’t even touch me. I consider going to sleep in a snowbank. Instead, I walk toward Carré St-Louis. The snow is piled high around all of the benches except one and a man is occupying the far end. His jacket is dirty and his beard is matted. I sit next to him and stare at the sleeping fountain in the middle of the park.
Gruff-voiced, he mumbles good evening. He’s francophone. I return the greeting.
He offers me a drink and a crooked smile. It’s a new bottle. I christen it for him and ask his name.
“François.”
How perfect. I introduce myself: “Frankie.”
His smile gets broader and he asks me why I’m not wearing gloves. Offers me another drink.
I tell him I forgot because my best friend is leaving tomorrow and it has me all fucked up. He says it isn’t every day your wife divorces you and I should be there to make sure she doesn’t give away our cats.
I tell him I will miss her.
He says she will definitely take the cats. Another man is approaching the bench and François grins and calls out something I can’t really understand. I catch his eye and wave good-bye. He tells me if I hurry she might have saved me dinner.
I wonder if his wife had been anything like Christy.
I head off slowly toward the apartment but there’s a rock in my stomach, a knot of dread caught in my throat. Blocks later, my key is in the lock. I try to turn it silently. It’s dark inside.
“Frankie?” She calls from the front room, her room, where the walls are painted burgundy and the curtains match her bedsheets.
“Christy?” I respond dryly as I head toward the kitchen.
“I really want to say good-bye to you.” She is talking a little louder than she ought to, her Maritime accent jangling and frantic, her words clipped short. She’s in the hall behind me, but I don’t turn around.
“I’m going to have a drink and hit the hay.” I throw a few ice cubes into a glass and pour myself a bourbon. Without looking at her, I go into my bedroom, I sigh audibly. I toss my jacket over the chair in the corner.
She knocks at the door. She has such perfect hands.
“I told you I’m going to sleep.”
“Please can I come in?”
Another sigh.
I turn
the knob and she’s standing there with her own glass. Her eyes are shimmering like a blizzard. “Please, Frankie.”
Wordlessly, I let her pass. She sits on my bed. I take a heavy swig, put down my drink. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’m going to miss you so much. Why won’t you talk to me?” She stares up at me, almost begging.
“I have nothing left to say.”
“I have so much to say to you though; this isn’t supposed to change anything.”
“Christy, this changes everything.” Maybe I’m selfish.
“I wrote you a letter.”
I look down at her. Her legs are crossed at the ankle and she’s wearing sheer black stockings and a short black skirt. I can see down her shirt. Her bra is red.
“Leave it for me when you go.”
“I want to give you something else,” she adds and reaches toward me. Her fingers slip into my belt loops.
My heart trips. “What?” I hold my glass tight and put it to my lips.
“Please,” she whispers, pulling me toward her. Slowly, I drop to my knees. We are so close I can smell that she is wearing jasmine; she never wears perfume.
I swallow my whiskey and then her mouth is on mine, she tastes like drunken cherries and at first she feels brave; I start to recoil and her soft lips tighten but this is her chance. She puts her hand in my hair; she’s pulling the blonde rattail hidden in my short mess of dyed-black. She kisses me again.
“Frankie,” she whispers, “I—” she thinks better of it. She starts to unbutton my shirt, tentatively. She looks at me. Her eyes seem unsure, but I can feel that her body is certain.
I don’t think we should be doing this, I’m whiskey fueled and guilt ridden but she’s leaving tomorrow; I’m going to miss her so much.
My gaze hardens and my jaw gets tight. Her fingers slip to my belt buckle; she slides it from my jeans and I push close to her; I press her body against the bed. Her hooded eyes flutter.
I rake my fingers down her neck, across the smooth skin of her chest, across the perfect orbs of her full breasts. She sighs and pulls my hair tighter, my face closer to her. I kiss her and she drags her teeth across my lower lip. I glide my hands up the satin of her thighs and press my fingertips hard into the gentle softness of her flesh.
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