Kitten's Life

I wake my owner every morning, like a good little kitten would. He groans and turns to the side - let's face it, he's not a morning person. I jump on his bed and lick his nose and chin a little, until he opens his eyes.

- Good morning, kitten.

- Meow, I say and nudge him with my little paws. He knows that I am hungry, that I want food, that I want some milk before we have to leave our perfect little world to go to work.

He gets up and I jump off the bed to follow him into the kitchen. Down from the floor where I sit I watch him yawn and stretch, watch his beautiful muscle tighten under his tanned skin. Before anything else, he switches on the coffee maker and I listen to the relaxing sound of it grinding coffee beans and boiling water. Then my owner reaches down to get my milk bowl. He washes it in the kitchen sink, drys it with a clean towel and puts it back on the floor.

- Is my little kitten hungry?, he asks and I wiggle my butt in anticipation.

He gets some fresh milk from the fridge and pours some into my bowl. Impatiently, I nudge his hands and sniff his feet but I know, it isn't my turn to eat yet. He raises one finger.

Instantly, I sit still and wait for his signal. For a moment, he looks at me sternly, then opens his hands and I am over my bowl in no time, drinking milk, while he fills a bowl with oatmeal and fruit which he also puts on the floor for me to enjoy. He is a great owner, he always feeds me first before he pours himself coffee and makes himself sandwiches. I show him my gratitude every morning, after I finish up, by snuggling up at his feet and purring.

Then the alarm goes off and I have to get up, walk on two feet like any woman would. It feels more natural to my body, but much less so to my mind. My husband, who still sits at the kitchen table, kisses the side if my chest.

- Good morning, beautiful, he whispers.

- Good morning, handsome, I whisper back.

I get into the shower to wash the oatmeal and milk off my face, brush my hair back into a tight bun and dress in a work-appropiate outfit, all light grey and somewhat asexual. I pack a lunch for me and my husband, put a little note in his box that says "Love you! - K". Could stand for Kate, or for Kitten.

Work isn't very fulfilling. I have an important meeting, I have another less-important meeting, I have a scheduled presentation and a way-too-short lunch break. Everyone calls me Kate and only when my husband opens his lunchbox he sends me a quick text: "Can't wait to see you in your new necklace." I know he is talking about a collar he ordered for me that is scheduled to arrive today. I cannot wait to get back home.

It is half past six when I finally open the door to our apartment. Luckily, the house is soundproof, otherwise the neighbors would get an earful every now and then. Even kittens misbehave occasionaly. My owner is already waiting for me in the hallway, he must have seen my car pull in the street. In his hands he hold a gorgous leather collar and a leash.

He likes order, so I undress, fold everything tidily onto the bed, while he watches. I feel his eyes move across my body, examining my bruises. No woman's body was built to crawl and hop around on her hands and knees all day. To be honest, I hardly feel the bruises anymore. I welcome the dull ache when I go down on all fours. It reminds me that I have a place in life by my owner's feet.

I am about to let myself fall, when he raises his hand. Attentively, I await his next command. He circles his finger, so I slowly turn for him until he holds his hand up again: stop.

- I want to fuck you first. His voice is rough and low and makes me shudder. We have simple rules: No sex while I am in pet-mode. It isn't healthy for your mind, it comes too close to actual beastiality in our opinion. Right now, he is somewhere between my husband and my owner, a loving man either way.

Sex with him is harsh and often times painful. He doesn't talk much, he just does. All his commands are given by motion of his hands. He tells me to open his pants, suck him, and look at him. Even though I am his wife, not his kitten, I am well-trained. That's how I please him: with obedience.

I feel him harden in my mouth until he pulls back and signals me to turn around, bend over, spread my legs. I obey instantly. Without warning, he burries himself inside of me. My body produces fluids but gives me no pleasure. This is for him, this is purely to make him happy. He finishes on my back, scoops his cum up with his tongue and feeds it to me by spitting into my mouth. I hear him moan as I swallow and I know that he will want me again later.

After he is done, he cleans me up and now it is my turn to twitch with anticipation. Impatiently, I let myself fall to the floor. He grabs my kitten ears that look so cute and innocent and adorable, and then the new collar.

- Look, kitten, he says. Look at the pretty collar.

It is gorgeous. The brown leather is engraved with pink and golden flowes, the hooks are golden, too. I whimper, waiting for him to put it on me. He pushes a few strands of hair to the side and then places the collar around my neck. It feels like coming home. My body relaxes and almost without noticing it, I begin to purr.