Bored Kitten

The afternoon light cut through the bay window in thick, honeyed slabs, warming the white fur of my thighs until every tiny muscle twitched with the need to stretch. My pink collar sat snug against my throat, the matching leash draped over the arm of the sofa and pooling on the hardwood floor. I hadn't bothered to move it in hours. What was the point? The apartment held nothing but my own breath and the soft hum of the refrigerator. My hand drifted lower without a plan. Just a lazy touch, the pad of my finger pressing into the heat that was already building between my legs. The cushion gave under me. I drew a slow circle and my hips answered, rolling up to meet the pressure. That first slick sound made my ears swivel forward. I could be quiet about it if I wanted. There was no one to hear anyway. I didn't stay quiet. A second finger joined the first and I worked myself in a rhythm that matched the ticking, a steady pulse that pulled a breathy little sound from my throat. My tail lashed once, then curled around my own ankle. I thought about the way my master's hands felt when he cupped the back of my neck, the way his voice dropped when he told me I'd been good. That thought sent a shiver up the length of my spine and my fingers curled deeper. I needed more. Turning over was a scramble of fur against fabric. I planted my cheeks against the velvet cushion, my tail hiking high enough to reveal everything. The leash slithered off the sofa with a soft clatter. With my face pressed into the throw pillow, my fingers found me again from behind. This was better. Deeper. The new angle made my toes curl and I let out a muffled whine, pumping now with a focused, desperate need. The smell of my own arousal tinted the air, a warm musk that mixed with the dust motes hanging in the sunbeam. My thighs trembled. A tight, pulsing ache gathered right at the edge of something enormous. I was almost there, mouth open against the pillow, spit dampening the velvet. The lock clicked. The front door swung open with that familiar creak I knew better than my own heartbeat. I froze. A low chuckle rolled across the room from the doorway. "Well. That's quite the welcome." The zipper of his jeans descended in a slow whisper. I felt the blunt heat of him notch against me, and my whole body went taut. Every nerve woke up at once. "Look at you," he murmured. A question that wasn't a question. "You want this?" "Please." My voice came out wrecked and I didn't care. "I need you to." He pushed inside in one long, unbreaking slide. The fullness wiped my mind clean. My claws dug into the pillow and dragged four furrows through the fabric. He stilled, letting me feel every inch, and my inner walls fluttered around him in a series of involuntary clutches. A sound crawled up from my chest, half purr, half sob. Then he moved. His hips snapped forward with a force that scooted the sofa an inch across the floor. My cheek mashed against the cushion, eyes squeezed shut. He found a rhythm that was punishing and perfect, each stroke dragging a cry from my throat. "Feel that?” He leaned over me and his chest pressed against my spine. One hand closed over my own where it clutched the pillow. "You were so close when I walked in. Still that close?" I nodded, the motion jerky, and his grip tightened. He slowed. Deliberately. Cruelly. A long, teasing drag that pulled him nearly out before he sank back in with aching patience. My vision blurred at the edges "Don't you dare come yet." The command pinned me harder than his body did. I bit down on the pillow, grinding my teeth into the damp velvet. My master shifted, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades while the other hooked under my hip. He guided me down until I was fully flat, prone, my legs trapped together with his thighs bracketing mine. The new position squeezed him inside me in a way that made us both groan. He fucked me into the sofa with short, grinding thrusts. The leash still dangled from his grip, the leather loop swinging, occasionally brushing my flank. I bit the pillow so hard I thought I'd tear through the fabric. Every muscle from my shoulders to my calves went rigid, holding back a climax that was tearing at the gates. "Master." I gasped it into the cushion, the word muffled but clear. "Please, I can't, I'm right there." He bent low, his lips finding the velvet-soft space beneath my ear. His stubble caught on my fur. The bell on my collar chimed once more, a tiny silver note. "Look at me." I turned my head, eyes wet, and found his face an inch away. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight. He didn't slow his thrusts. If anything, they got harder, shorter, each one a sharp punctuation. "Now," he whispered, and the word was a tether snapping. "Now you can—"