Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The gravel of his voice sets me off. Again, I imagine it’s Reuben. Always fucking Reuben.
I push down on both the toy and the plug, trying to focus on pissing. It’s just a dribble at first, but it speeds up into jet like bursts – settling into one long stream that soaks into the kitty litter. It sounds fucking filthy. It feels fucking divine.
“Dirty pussy,” User 209 says, and yanks the mouse out of me while I’m still dribbling piss from my slit. I’m ready for a decent fucking slamming when he replaces it with his cock, still hoisting my tail in the air so he can see my straining asshole.
Fuck, yes, I’m going to come this time. I meow and meow and fucking meow, rutting back against my owner when he takes hold of my collar and jams in hard. His dick is as long and savage as his fingers, I just wish he’d fuck my plugged up ass with it as well as my cunt.
I’m a mess when I come – literally. Face covered in filth, and a piss filled tray between my legs that I manage to scuff with a thigh while he’s ramming me. Litter goes tumbling onto the carpet, but he doesn’t let up – just keeps on coming as I do.
We come in sync, the dirty kitty cat with her collar bell jingling and her filthy owner grunting and cursing, and it’s fucking perfect. Worth chowing down a bowl of gross dinner for.
Luckily, it’s not more cat food that comes as a reward this time. It’s a fresh bowl of milk. Real milk that will taste like heaven on my foul tongue.
I’m a happy kitty as I lap it up from the bowl, with milk dribbling down my chin and piss dribbling down my thighs.
Priscilla adores User 209.
She’s a very happy kitty with a very happy pussy.
“What shall we watch next?” he says as I settle once more on the sofa with my head on his lap.
I give an attempt at a purr, because I really don’t care what crap we watch.
He strokes my fluffy ears as he flicks through the channels, coming to rest on a baking programme and the contestants are displaying their efforts. Fuck, how my belly rumbles.
It makes me think back to my belly rumbling at dinner with Reuben. How he smiled. How he handed me the menu.
“If only cats could talk,” User 209 says, “what are you thinking about, kitty?”
Another mewl and I nudge his groin with my head.
He chuckles. “Don’t you worry, kitty, let Daddy rest awhile, and then we can play bouncing on my lap. I know that you just love that game.”
He’s not wrong. I do love bouncing on his long dick.
Another purr. Another snuggle.
While Daddy rests up enough for a fresh round, I watch the blonde girl on TV, using her bare hands to slather icing on her cake.
But in my mind, they are my hands, and the cake morphs into Reuben’s cock. A cock I have certainly felt but never laid eyes on.
It’s going to be a long nine hours with kitty Daddy, but in my head it will be Reuben’s cock I’m bouncing on.
Reuben’s hands stroking me.
Reuben, chasing me and grabbing for my tail.
Reuben, ordering me to piss in the litter tray.
Reuben, Reuben, Reuben.
I’m fucking doomed.
13
REUBEN
I’ve been feeling anything but jolly since I left the grotto earlier. I have always loved my Santa days, seeing the smiles on children’s faces as they tell me how excited they are for Christmas. It’s magical. My own little taste of how festive family life could be, and likely the closest I will come to it. I’ve resigned myself to that fact.
Or I thought I had.
That’s what is hurting today. An unfounded hope I never expected to be feeling.
I’m possessed by the memory of Tiffany’s shocked eyes as she entered the grotto. Her smile at dinner. The incredible pleasure at seeing the true woman underneath Creamgirl.
I want so much more from her now. So much more that it’s insanity at its finest. I’m having dreams I haven’t dared consider in years.
Imagining her playing kitty for another man last night churned me up in a way I haven’t felt in decades, and that chewed-up sensation came back with a vengeance as soon as my charity time was over earlier.
I battled it all the while I prepared myself for the founders evening, but it’s a fight I could not win. There is not a single hint of excitement at the prospect of using Harlot to her filthy extremes, and as my driver turns into Bryson’s driveway, the sensation ramps up so severely I feel sick to the stomach.
I’ve participated in founders’ scenes so many times that I should be able to run on autopilot. Harlot is nothing more to any of us than a plaything in a hood, making a fortune out of her session, and for most of it I could be standing on the sidelines, watching on as my fellow founders take their fill. I could focus my attention on the practicalities, like clamping her nipples and binding her in position. I could back away quietly, and remain on the outskirts, barely making my presence known.