Entertaining
By Musuko

I’m living the dream. Sprawled on my sofa, feet up on the armrest, toes curling lazily in cosy warm air. My head cradled by a nest of cushions. Paws gripped around plastic. Eyes staring vacantly up at the ceiling. My lips part for a soft gasp.
	“M-M-M-MULTI KILL!” yells the speakers.
	Living the dream. I’ve always wanted a TV on the ceiling for lazy laid-down gaming. And now I have one.
	I rub my tummy and scratch at my boxers, then help myself to another pawful of salty over-processed morsels of potatoey snacky heaven. Grease gets on the controller. With my eyes still on the action, and my fingers massaging the rubber nipples of the multi-directional controls, I lift it to my lips for a quick cleaning lick. Bang!
	“Aw, come on!” Bits of my character paint themselves onto the virtual scenery. I flop the controller back onto my tummy and pout.
	“Probably should get up.” I look at the clock. Half two in the afternoon. “I really should get up.”

Showers are made for loving you, baby! Lalala! I gargle on the spray and brush my teeth whilst shampooing my fur for maximum efficiency.

Time to throw some “breakfast” together. Snacks don’t count. I spin the frying pan on the hob, ping-ponging the handle back and forth between my fingers, waiting for the oil to spit. In go the eggy-wegs. And they stick to the pan. Joy. I scrub at them with the spatula and turn them into scrambled eggs. That’ll do.
	Between two slices of toast they go. With some tomato ketchup. Very tasty. Onto the sofa I flop to eat and watch some ceiling anime. The internet gives me something cool. Big guys eating little guys. Freaky stuff.

Doorbell. I answer in my underwear. “Do I look like I want to hear about religion today?”

Tiny existential crisis at about half five. I wonder if I’m getting lazy, if I’m wasting my life. But then I remember that I’ve got nearly a grand left in my account, and the tax man seemed oddly eager to leave me and my money alone when I called them (the working wheels of CKC’s power and influence, I wonder?) so I can afford to stay lazy for a while longer.

Phone rings. Tries to sell me insurance. I tell them in english that I don’t speak english.

Play games a bit more until it starts to get dark.

Get bored.

Then bored some more.

Sigh.

Fuck.

Dot dot dot...some time passes, totally blank and thoughtless. Staring at the tv above me, watching some crazy cooking show. Well, not really watching. Just pointing my eyes at it.
	Kinda need to do something other than...this.
	I glance over at the mantelpiece. There’s a little note there.

Ring me if you would like to be entertaining again.

I shiver. Sudden attack of goosebumps. Something else, perhaps. I should get a hobby.
	I look at the guitar in the corner. Oh yeah. I tried that. I don’t have the patience for hobbies.
	I bite my lip, looking at the note again. I rest my paw ever so subtly over the crotch of my boxers. I don’t need the money yet. But it’d be prudent to build up a bit of a reserve, rather than wait until I’m penniless to earn again, right? I wouldn’t be calling the number because I’m longing to feel like...like that again, right?
	Fuck, who the fuck am I talking to? I don’t need to convince anyone. If I want to abuse myself in front of hidden cameras for money, I can damn well do it without feeling guilty!
	I bite my lip a little harder. Doesn’t stop me feeling weird about it, though. Would today be the day I call that number? I knew it would come sooner or later.
	Fuck it. Today is the day. I squeeze my paw around the hardon pushing up against the fabric of my boxers. And today will continue to be the day as long as I stay horny and reckless. Quick, to the phone!
	My fingertip hovers of the screen. Heart goes thumpa thumpa. Deep breath, then press it.
	Ring.
	Ring.
	Click.
	Fuck fuck fuck. Stay calm.
	“Hello Myles.”
	David’s voice makes me shiver. Oh god. I wait for the rest of the message.
	A long pause.
	“Myles?”
	Not a recording! Oh god! I squeak into the phone. “Uh, hi! David. It’s Myles.” Ack, I’m such an idiot.
	“Yes Myles, I know. How can I help you?”
	“I was...uh. I was wondering if I could...you know.”
	The longest pause of my life. I feel myself melting into a puddle, right down into the cracks between the sofa cushions, where I’d pool and solidify amongst the stuffing and the springs, and they’ll find me months from now, a big jellified lump of concentrated earth-splitting embarrassment!
	“If you could what, Myles?”
	“If I could...be entertaining again?”
	Short pause. I imagined his smile. I felt gooey.
	“I’ll text you the address. Tomorrow, noon.”
	Click.

I check out the address on the internet and feel my heart thump again. It’s not the same address as my first encounter, and it’s much closer to home. Less than a five mile drive. I close in and have a look at the view from the street. An ordinary semi-detached suburban house. A bit of a downgrade from the previous place, it seems. I peer closely at the windows, wondering behind which one lies the kink dungeon where my performance will be recorded.
	Six o’clock. No way in hell I’ll get to sleep tonight. I find my paw idly massaging at my cock. Hmm.
	I resolve myself to leave it alone. Produce a bigger load for tomorrow. A better show. And of course, that makes me want to stroke it even more. I think about my self-enjoyment from last night, snuggled deep in the musky tomb of my bed, spooging into the bedding and cocooning myself in the sticky stain while I fell into relaxed, sated sleep. I so want to feel it again.
	But I resist, with all my might. I play my games for a while. And, when it becomes late enough to really need to think about going to bed, I go upstairs…
	...and I squeeze myself into the conventional plastic chastity tube that I treated myself to, putting the key in the lock box set for tomorrow morning, and settle down for a frustrating night of horny anticipation.

The house looks as I expected it. I catch myself confused at myself; why wouldn’t it? I sit with the car’s engine idling for a minute or two, just watching the scene. Quiet, normal little house. Not a soul in sight. I rest my paw on my crotch, with a key held in my other paw.
	“Should I? Hmm.”
	A smile curls at my lips. An extra little flourish, perhaps, to turn up chastised with a key to hand over. I close my fingers around the key and pocket it, choice made.
	Engine off, stepping out into the warm air of an autumn day. Further down the street I can see some kids bouncing on a trampoline in their front garden. The traffic on the main road around the corner adds a quiet hum to the air. Everything is so very, freakishly normal for what I know is shortly to happen.
	I step up to the front door. There’s a doorbell. But...I push at the door instead. Ajar. It eases open.
	“Hello?” I call, not expecting much. Things seem to be playing out as a deja-vu of last time. An empty hallway, much less expensive-looking than the last, but just as ordinary and bare. I pause with my foot over the threshold. There are letters on the doormat.
	Oh shit. Have I got the right place? I pull my phone out and check the address, then step back to check the number beside the door. It’s the right address alright.
	“Hello? Anyone home?” I step carefully inside, craning my head to peer through the arch into the living room; sofa, lamp, tv on the chimney breast. Tasteful and soulless cream colour scheme. A few framed photos and paintings on the wall. A drinks cabinet. David.
	David!
	Sat on the sofa, right in the middle, muscular arms spread along the top of the backrest, legs comfortably spread, naked chest, naked legs, loose sporty shorts. My throat clenches and tries to strangle the life out of me. It succeeds in strangling my words.
	“Erk!”
	His smile comes in an easy instant. “Hello Myles.” His gaze completes a leisurely tour of my body, and I feel what I imagine it must feel like to be a mouse under the threatening attention of a snake. Not that I find David threatening. Well...perhaps a little. I remember the double phalluses of the snake mode on that CKC toy. Okay, perhaps a lot. I squirm my paws at my hips, hooking my thumb in my pocket, then removing it, then back in again, unsure what to do with myself. I swallow, try to get steady.
	“H-hello David.” It strikes me that this ranks amongst the largest number of words we’ve exchanged in a conversation, and I struggle to reconcile the current situation with my old life spent tapping at my keyboard at my desk, stealing furtive glances at David in his suit, working at his desk. I look at him now, smooth bare chest glistening, muscles catching the light, and seeing his smile and the way his eyes soak up the details of my nervous little body, and I just can’t match it all up with that memory. It’s as if it’s a whole different person in front of me.
	“W-what?” I say. His lips moved. I didn’t hear.
	“I said, are you ready to be entertaining?” His voice is like silk. Like honey. Like...like...I don’t know. Something smooth and slippery and enticingly dangerous. His voice is...like a snake.
	I nod, making a wordless, squeaky noise of assent. He eases his arms off the sofa and leans forward. I hear the frame creak beneath him.
	“Excellent,” he whispers.

His paw closes around my upper arm. His fingers touch his thumb. I feel myself shrink down inside myself. I barely dare to look up at him. His smile is still there, always there. He has the most beautifully intense eyes. So warm and kind and strong. You could fall in love with those eyes. Those eyes would be the whisper of security and comfort that holds your attention while those strong paws roam your body and grip and squeeze…
	“This way,” he whispers, turning me back towards the hallway. I walk like a puppet, feeling the warmth of him against my back. My cock rises up in giddy excitement, arrested by the grip of the chastity’s plastic. I reach for my pocket, but his other paw grips my elbow and smoothly slides down to my wrist, gently guiding my paw away from myself. Moving my arm for me, he makes me reach for the doorknob on the door set under the stairs.
	Darkness beyond. Stairs leading down. I freeze, and he presses against my back.
	“T-this house has a cellar?”
	“It does now,” he says. A purr against my ear. I take my first step, downwards, closing my eyes. I trust him. I tell myself that, trying to make myself believe it. I trust him.
	I see the light through my eyelids, and I open them.
	“Oh wow,” I gasp.
	The door closes above us with a touch of his tail.

The cage is a cube six feet along each dimension. The iron bars are smooth and polished, painted matte black. On one side is a barred door, with a padlock hanging loose. The floor is lined with black rubber, padded like a foam mattress, about four inches thick.
	The floor is poured concrete, and the walls are breezeblocks painted white. The cage stands in the centre of the space. Around it stand six stage lights on stands. A video camera stands on a tripod, pointed at the cage. Of course it is. Wires trail in neat, tied bundles on the floor, to a bank of power sockets and some anonymous boxes of buttons and switches and lights.
	Besides these, the room is bare.
	“What…”
	“Not what you were expecting.” Not a question. A statement.
	“N-no. What is this?”
	His answer, it seems, is the gentle forward motion of his paws, propelling my arms and the rest of me down the last few steps into the room. The cage looms in front of me, and I know I’m to soon be occupying it. I resist David’s forward push, only minutely. I can’t stop him. Only express my fear.
	“How am I going to be entertaining here?” I ask, throat feeling dry.
	“Don’t worry about how. You just will.”
	He guides me to the door in the cage. I hear the whirr click click click of the camera auto-focussing. Oh god, I’m being recorded already. And it heard every word falling out of my stupid, panicky little mouth. Oddly, the camera makes me feel a little less nervous; it reminds me that I’m here to perform and be paid. It suppresses that tiny panic inside me that thinks that I won’t be leaving this cage if I enter it.
	David swings the cage door open. It doesn’t make a sound. The interior waits, criss-crossed with shadows. Cool and bare and austere, inviting in it’s tomb-like confinement. He lets go of my arms and a single paw rests against my shoulder blades, gently pushing forward.
	“I don’t…”
	Shove. He shoves me! I stagger forward and throw my paws forward to catch the bars on the opposite side, saving myself from a painful headbutt. I turn back just in time to see the door clang closed, and to watch David click the padlock shut.
	“Hey!”
	He turns away from me, my cry ignored. I lunge for the bars and grip them like a classic prisoner, pushing my muzzle between them, calling after him as he walks to the stairs.
	“What am I supposed to do? You’re not just leaving me like this, are you? David? Hey! David?!”
	The door at the top of the stairs opens, closes, and David is gone.
	I sag back from the bars, taking a deep, steadying breath. I resist looking at the camera. I know it’s watching.
	Seems like I should say something. I feel like swearing. Some defeated little noise. But I only manage silence. I turn about face and rest my back against the bars and slowly slide down until I’m seated on the padded floor.
	Above, and muffled by the floor, I hear music. Classic rock. A strange goosebumpy feeling grips me. I’m being ignored. Just locked away and left. Like...a toy. An object. A thing.
	I bite my lip. I know I shouldn’t enjoy the feeling. But…
	I reach into my pocket, feeling for the key.
	Empty. Pickpocketed. How did he even know? I look up at the door. How does he do that? My cock cries a tear of precum, and I knead my paw through my jeans against the unforgiving plastic. “Bastard,” I hiss.

Time passes at its slowest when you have absolutely nothing to do, and all that occupies your thoughts is the ever-present, constant certainty that there are so many more things you could be doing instead of nothing. I pace the cage for a while, thinking perhaps that David will return shortly. Perhaps he is washing up. Getting ready. Putting on his leather chaps, or whatever it is that kinky tops do.
	But time passes. How long, I can’t be sure. But the songs pass by one after another above me, and I figure that each one probably averages about three minutes long. Ten songs. Then twenty. Then thirty.
	The camera keeps staring at me, silent but for when I move enough for the auto-focus to click and adjust. I glance at it occasionally, but try to ignore it otherwise. I wonder who might be watching. Recorded or live? My guess jumps back and forth as my imprisonment drags on. Perhaps David is upstairs watching me. Perhaps a thousand perverts across the world are wanking off to my frustration.
	Sudden silence. Upstairs, the music stops. I stare at the door, waiting, longing. I want to see David’s muscular body appear at the top of the stairs. But...nothing. Time ticks away. No sound. No David.
	I sit down onto the padded floor and close my eyes. Perhaps I could sleep. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to be very entertaining today. I lay down on my side and try to make a pillow with my arms. This is ridiculous. I better get paid well for this.

It is the trickle of sweat falling into my eye that wakes me. I think. I blink and roll onto my back, taking a deep breath.
	Oh god. It feels like I’m inside a microwave. What is this?
	I sit up. I feel drenched inside my clothes. The air feels thick and malleable. The exact feeling of stepping from a cool, air-conditioned building out into the crippling, oppressive scorch of a summer day.
	“David?” I call, not really loud enough to be heard from outside the room. Only silence, and the silent stare of the camera.
	I wipe my forearm across my forehead. I’m melting. I can’t...I can’t…
	And I realise. I’m being manipulated.
	I shoot a glare at the camera, then stand up. My t-shirt clings to my body, wet and clammy. Ugh. Another glare, and I cross my arms to grip the shirt and pull it up and off over my head in one swift motion. I make sure I’m facing the camera. I make sure I show off my body.
	My jeans are harder to strip off. My sweat has made the denim heavy and clingy. I end up peeling them inside out and kicking them away. Only the tight little chastity separates me from total immodest nudity, and it barely does that. My dignity is most certainly not intact at this present moment. So, I embrace it.
	I move right up to the bars nearest the camera and lean myself against them, framing my muzzle between two of them. I hold a bar in one paw, posing as a classic prisoner. I can feel the sweat in my underarm. I can smell my own musk. It’s fresh. I bite my lip for a moment. It’s lickable. I’d be giving myself such attention right now, if I were someone else. Or...if David were hot and sweaty, after a day at the gym perhaps. Musky and needing licking and massaging…
	I cup my plastic-wrapped cock and my balls in my other paw, squeezing, kneading...presenting. I lock eyes with the camera and silently mouth, “Let me go.”
	I don’t expect an answer. So when one seems to come it sends me staggering back from the bars. A voice, loud and sudden, fills the room. Speakers somewhere? I whirl, looking around. It’s coming from all around. It’s a moan. A sensual, sexual moan. A pornographic, gasping, breathless moan.
	And a word, whimpered pleadingly.
	“David!”
	I know that voice.
	It’s my voice!
	I throw myself to the bars and glare at the camera. “Turn that off!”
	“Oh David...fuck me David...please.”
	I thud my forehead against the bars. Why didn’t I expect it? Bugs in my house. Listening to me. Fuck, perhaps even watching me. Every private moment recorded somewhere. Private moments like this. One of many moments of self-pleasure, lost in eyes-closed fantasy of David. David fucking me. David letting me fuck him. David stirring my desire into a dizzying tornado and playing me like a puppet. Every single whimper and gasp recorded and stolen away from my privacy. The heat grows in my cheeks...and my cock grows in the chastity.
	I tug at it and look down, away from the camera, anger defeated into shame, and the arousal that comes with that shame. I feel like a twisted little pervert.
	“Ah...ah...AH!” I listen to my past self ride through orgasm, and I squeeze as hard as I can against the unyielding plastic. At least I know now how David knew I was locked up. Did he watch me lock myself into it, I wonder? Probably. That much is obvious. Did he enjoy it? Did he pleasure himself as I lay in bed squirming in self-denial? Well...he did steal the key and leave me like this.
	I can feel my sweat trickle down my cock, in the heavy heat under the plastic. I shiver and bite my lip. God I would love to feel a tongue on my hard cock right now.
	My moaning starts again. From the past. Another session of masturbation, no doubt. I groan myself and close my eyes, sliding down to sit on the sticky, sweaty padding, wondering just how long the collective weeks of recorded masturbation would turn out to be.

Hours and fucking hours of it! I lay down. I sit. I stand and kick at the bars. I try and smash the plastic on my cock, not caring if splinters end up in parts of me where I really, really don’t want splinters! The heat doesn’t end. I constantly feel like I’m suffocating. Like I’m swimming in a hot bath. Like I’m locked in a sauna. Like I’m stuck in a stuffy car with the heating set on full blast.
	I’m a sweating, trembling, whimpering mess. And all I can do is listen to myself gasp and moan through orgasm after orgasm, pleading with my own fantasies, all of them involving David. And I cringe in unbearable shame, knowing that David has heard every noise, every word, and the camera is watching my every action as I listen to the litany of shame.
	I struggle to notice the end. The last noises of pleasure just stop, and there’s silence again. I expect the next lustful noise, but there’s nothing. I wipe the sweat away from my forehead and sigh, and roll over from my back onto my front, to spend a few minutes on a dryer patch of padding whilst my sweat evaporates from my vacated spot.
	“Having fun?”
	I throw myself up onto my knees. David! David is in the room, right up against the bars, looking down at me, still wearing just his sports shorts, looking clean and fresh and utterly in contrast to my sweaty, broken exhaustion. How did he sneak in so quietly.
	“No,” I say, voice dripping with bitterness. I could ask to be let out. I could demand it in fact. But...I don’t. Instead I only pout, like a sulking child. The hell is wrong with me?
	“You’ve been very entertaining. Would you like to come upstairs and be entertaining in a different way?”
	I nod. I glance up at his eyes. Goosebumps shiver down my back.
	“Good boy,” he says, unlocking the padlock. I start to rise as the door opens, and he raises a finger. “Stay down. Be a good kitty and crawl for me, okay?”
	I don’t look at the camera, but I’m acutely aware of it watching. A squeaky noise of protest dies in a moment, my mind spinning on those two words: good kitty. I can shame myself...and David, lovely David, stunningly gorgeous David, David of my dreams, will think I’m a good kitty.
	I lower my head and I crawl out of the cage, gingerly transferring from forgiving padded floor to hard concrete. I wince at the discomfort in my knees.
	“Follow me,” he says. I watch his retreating ankles and follow behind him. I get to glimpse his bare soles with each step. I hurry to keep up, and struggle up the stairs, wondering how on earth ferals manage to do it. As we ascend, the air gets cooler, and I finally emerge into the hallway. I suck on cool, sweet dry air, and feel the welcome chill wash over my sweaty fur. I never want to be hot again. Right at this moment, I want to lay in an ice bath forever.
	David turns the corner of the hall, and I follow. Kitchen perhaps? Bathroom? Dining room? No, wait...a door. And bare brick walls beyond. Concrete floor. A smell of oil.
	Garage.
	My arousal gives me a nudge, reminding me that it’s there. I’ve seen enough porn set in dirty, bare garages. Chains on wrists, strung up to ceiling beams. Slaves crawling on dirty floors. Raw, animal fucking over the bonnets of cars, over the seats of motorcycles. Metal and oil and lube and cum, all mixed together in the embrace of masculine sexuality.
	And in the centre of the garage stands the most masculine expression of manhood of them all, short of a hard fucking anyway. A motorcycle. Big and powerful and dripping with chrome, and totally beyond my understanding, but nonetheless designed perfectly to tap into an animal part of my hindbrain and make me think of the kinds of wide, sweeping open highways that completely don’t exist in this country.
	I feel a little giddy imagining David sat astride all that horsepower.
	“Pay attention.” He lifts a tin down from a shelf by the door and sets it under my nose. He crouches down in front of me and I back up a little. My vision is full of snake muscles. I utterly fail to pay the attention he demanded.
He levers open the lid, and the smell hits me right away. Chemical and awful. I peer at the tin. It’s chrome polish. I’m starting to see where this is going, and I look around, and there it is; a camera set up in the corner. 
	“Open wide.”
	“What?”
	He holds straps, black leather. And in the centre is the fat red bulb of a gag. I mewl quietly, then open my mouth for it.
	“Good kitty.”
	The tingle runs down my back, and I let the maw-filling rubber press against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. He leans over me to buckle the straps at the back of my head, and he cinches it tightly with no effort at all.
	“Mmmph!”
	“Too tight?”
	“Mmmhmm!”
	“You’ll be fine.”
	He pats my head, and my cheeks burn.
	Something in my near vision, blurred. I focus on it. A toothbrush? A toothbrush fixed to the outside of my gag, pointing out in front of me.
	Two and two add together to reach four, and I let out a muffled whine.
	David stands up and gestures towards the bike.
	“Give it a good polish for me. Make sure you get every little nook and cranny. When you’re finished, I’ll bring you a cloth so you can finish off.”
	“Mmmph!”
	He looks down at me with a smile, on the verge of a grin. I feel an almost tangible wave of force out of him. Like...a pressure, pushing down on me, radiating out from that smile. That confidence. That charm. I can’t help but feel docile.
	“You’re not allowed to use your paws. I will punish you if I see you using them.”
	His paw ruffles my head fur. Goosebumps again.
	“Be a good kitty,” he says. And once again he is gone, walking away from me, leaving the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my frustrated hardon and the camera. The cool air in the room has pushed my sweat-soaked body over the line from comfortable chill to outright shivering cold. I look at the bike. At least working will warm me up.
	I crawl into position over the tin and gently lower my face towards it, holding my breath. The bristles of the toothbrush dip into the white goop and lift a coating of it out with them. I crawl over to the bike, wincing at the hard concrete against the bones in my knees. Where to start? I take a moment to mentally brace myself for the long, arduous chore, and lean in to start massaging the bristles of the brush against the exhaust can.
	The camera’s focus clicks, and I hope I’m being entertaining.

I was wrong about having nothing to do being the thing that makes time pass the slowest. Utterly wrong. Polishing a motorcycle with a toothbrush attached to a gag, in the cold, crawling about on a concrete floor, getting giddy from chemical fumes, feeling your cock ache and drip, and burning with miserable shame throughout the whole thing, with a conversation going back and forth in your mind...why am I doing this? Because you’re a freaking pervert and you’re getting off on this…well, that is the way that you make time pass the slowest.
	David must have decided I had rubbed enough polish into the chrome, because he appears, petting my head again, evaporating my aches and exhaustion with two words, whispered soothingly.
	“Good kitty.”
	I nuzzle against his paw. I know I’m covered in splodges of polish. I’m an unwashed, musk-soaked, grubby mess. I’m tired, hurting, wanting to go home, not wanting to be an entertaining toy any more. But I stay. I don’t try to protest. I don’t rip the gag from my drooling, aching jaw, even though I absolutely could. Because David called me a good kitty, and his smile sends me into dizzy glee.
	He passes me a clean cloth. “You can use your paws for this bit.”
	I squeal gratefully into the gag.
	“But that’s not as entertaining, so…”
	He reaches under my tummy and I feel his giant paw grip my chastity. I freeze. He’s touching me there...oh god. I feel like a giddy little girl. Please take it off, please take it off…
	The vibration makes me jolt and moan into the gag. The chastity tube is alive with it, and I bend awkwardly to look down at myself. Hanging between my legs is the chastised weight of my cock. And strapped to it is a buzzing little plastic egg.
	“Be a good kitty and finish the bike.”
	“Mmmph!”
	I clutch the cloth, watching him leave again, tears now welling in my eyes. I think I hate him. I think I love him!
	I look back at the creamy smears I had left all over the motorcycle’s metal. I try not to think of anything else but the chore, else I feel I might scream into the gag. Focus. Be a good kitty. I lift my shaky paw towards the chrome and start to polish, little circles with my fingertip, round and round, inch by inch. Try not to think. Just get the job done.
	Try not to think.

“Such a good kitty.”
	I open my eyes. My mouth is clear. My tongue feels dry. I blink at the fogginess in my eyes, and the world lurches in motion. David’s smiling face fills it, a ceiling above him, moving. A light fitting passes and is gone, and we turn a corner. Full awareness is slow to come to me. Firstly, a question swims in my head: how on earth did I fall asleep with a vibrator on my cock and only concrete to rest on? Close on the tail of that thought is a realisation.
He’s carrying me. Cradled like a baby.
I wriggle a little, straightening my back and flexing my legs. David makes a soft shushing noise, and I respond without thinking, settling down.
“Nearly there,” he says, taking the first step upwards. I crane my head and watch the bannister pass me. Upstairs, I think. Where the bedrooms are. I involuntarily shudder, goosebumpy, and have my second realisation.
My cock is hard. The chastity is gone.
My paw moves almost without me thinking, lurching towards my crotch.
“Don’t,” he says, sharpness in his voice. I freeze.
We turn, through a doorway. White tiles all around. A scent of lavender. A toilet, a sink set in a wide counter, and a lovely big tub, towards which we seem to be heading.
“Bath time, little kitty,” he says, ever so pleasantly, and lowers me down onto the cold ceramic floor of the bath. I squeak at the sudden cold on my rear and try to sit up, finding his paw on my chest, laying me back down until my shoulder blades touch the cold.
	“Ah!”
	“Shh.” He reaches behind him, turning away from me. He returns with a tall glass half-filled with a vibrant blue liquid. “Drink this first.”
	I eye the glass with understandable suspicion. I open my mouth with the first breath of questioning caution, but my paw is already reaching for the glass. So thirsty.
	“It’s an energy drink, silly kitty.” And now I feel embarrassed by the distrust my expression must have been radiating. I grab the glass with both paws and bring it to my lips, tipping it back and chugging like a pro, downing the glass in one rapid, quenching torrent, laying my head back down and passing the glass back up to him.
	“Thank you,” I gasp.
	“You’re welcome, kitty. But don’t talk.”
	“Sorr…” I shut my my mouth.
	He turns the taps, and hot water starts to flow under my ankles in a wave up towards my head, spreading welcome warmth up into my tired body. I mewl and close my eyes, basking in the pleasure as the water line rises slowly up my body. I feel it creep up my soles and the back of my head. It touches my balls, and I shiver, then let out a shaky little moan as the heat takes them completely and begins to work its way up my throbbing shaft. I twitch my fingers, but keep my paws obediently at my sides. David starts to pour something into the falling stream of water, and pink bubbles start to throth at my feet and spread around me. The water level rises up my muzzle, and I start lifting my head to keep my nose above the water.
	David’s paw presses my chest down. “Deep breath, kitten. Lie still.”
	I do as he asks. I guess my face must be dirty. How could it not be? I suck in a chest full of steamy air and clench my eyes shut. The heat rolls its way up my muzzle and, lingering for just a moment with the surface tension, closes over my nose. I count the seconds. One, two, three, in no danger of my breath running out. Four, five. David’s paw slides into the water and under my neck, tugging upwards, and I take my cue to lift my head out of the water. I keep my eyes closed, full of soapy suds. I reach to wipe at them, but David is there first, dabbing at them with a towel.
	“Keep them closed.” I feel silk sliding down my wet headfur and settle over my eyes. A blindfold. No, wait, a sleep mask. I make a quizzical noise.
	“Relax. Rest.” I hear a metallic squeak, and the sound of flowing water stops and the water level stops rising. “Enjoy the soothing bath. Rub your fur. Get yourself clean.” His voice lulls me. I feel myself nearly tipping towards sleep. “Don’t rub where you really want to. Be a good kitty. Be a good kitty for me.”
	I slide a little towards the head end of the bath and lay the back of my head against the curve of porcelain beneath me. The bubbles brush against my cheeks. The fragrant scent of lavender and strawberries entertains my nose. I rub my paws against my tummy, sliding my fingertips through the waving tendrils of my fur. My throbbing cock is ignored, but that’s okay. That makes me a good kitty. David keeps talking, but I don’t really hear much. Everything is so soothing and relaxing and nice, and I would have my eyes closed even if the sleep mask weren’t there, and I’m a good kitty, a good kitty.

“Wake up.”
	It’s a whisper. I don’t even think I really hear it. But I’m wide awake. I groan softly, feeling tired.
	The words “MYLE’S MEGA DEATH MACHINE” bounce around in front of me, slowly changing colour from red to green to purple. The shape of my ceiling monitor comes into focus, silently playing its screensaver, and I’m laying on my sofa at home. Why am I laying on my sofa at home? I’m in my fluffy dressing gown. I feel warm and clean and nice. The heating is on. There’s a scent of air freshener. The room is even tidy. I sit up. Everything is normal. I guess I must have been entertaining enough. He must have taken me home. He must have...
	I quickly reach for my cock, scrambling to part the dressing gown. And there it is, naked and unrestrained, soft and in its sheath, but already swelling as my happiness is steamrollered by my raging need to stroke right here and now. I lie back with my head on the arm rest and just watch it, pink flesh rising from pink fur. I close my paw around it and close my eyes.
	Pink…
	It takes a moment to register.
	Pink fur.
	My eyes shoot wide open.
	“What the fuck!?” I scream, throwing my dressing gown open. Pink fur, from crotch to chest. I roll off the sofa and jump to my feet, shaking the gown off me in a mad panic. Pink arms. Pink legs. Pink tail. Pink feet. Pink every-fucking-thing. I run to the bathroom with dread growing, and I know what I’ll see even before I reach the mirror. My face stares back at me in abject horror, pink from the tip of my nose to the tip of my ears, not a single solitary strand of fur on my entire body spared the transformation.
	I grip the frame of the mirror in both paws and rest my forehead against it.
	“Bastard!”

I dial faster than I’ve ever dialled before. I press the phone against my ear. My heart pounds, and the adrenaline surges in my body up to an unpleasant high headrush, ready for the confrontation. Certain choice curses of extreme vitriol rise in my throat.
	“I’m sorry, the number you have called has not been recognised.”
	I stare at the screen. There’s the number. It’s right. I know it by heart! I hang up and scramble for the paper, checking it. I read off each digit and dial again, slowly, carefully.
	“I’m sorry, the number you have called…”
	I slam the receiver down and lift it back to my ear. I dial again. Please please please.
	“I’m sorry, the number…”
	“Fuck!” I scream, the rage too much to bear, and fling the phone from the counter, sending it clattering across the floor. I slump into a heap on the sofa, listening to the tinny, muted “has not been recognised…” I put my face in my paws and try not to cry. Pink kitty. And not a thing I can do about it. Except…
	...except, just hope it’ll grow out. Wait. I could…

...I forget about pawing. That can wait. I run to my bedroom. I’ll get dressed, rush to the car, and hope too many people don’t see me. I’ll drive over to that house and confront him. I’ll…
	I fling open the doors of my wardrobe and stare at the empty space where my clothes should be.
	What.
	I pull open the drawers of my dresser. Empty. Sock basket, empty. Dirty washing basket, empty. All gone. I spin, paws on my head, in total disbelief.
	And I see it then. Laid on my bed, waiting for me.
	And all I can do is try not to cry.

I reach for it with a shaky paw, not wanting to believe it’s real until the last moment, when my fingertips brush over the smooth, delicate silky fabric. I lift an edge and hook my thumb under it, rolling the material between thumb and finger. Silk. Definitely silk.
	My eyes drink in the deep, rich pink. Almost red. They dance along the intricate white lace, around the hem and neck. They run along the slender red shoulder straps. I bite my lip. I know my cock is hard, bobbing in front of me. I know what this is, and I know the word for it.
	Chemise.
	It’s the same one that has sat in my shopping basket on a website favourited on my computer for months, waiting for me to have the confidence to click purchase. The beautiful girly garment, tempting me, teasing me with the embarrassing desire to slip it on over my slim shoulders and let it cascade down to rest just a little way down my thighs, draping my body in the delicate little garment that’d push my boyish body over the line to full sissy.
	And now my fur is pink. And it’s the only thing here I can wear. This has been orchestrated. Planned. And I realise that there’s only one explanation. I don’t even look up. I don’t have to. I know that there’ll be cameras in my home now, if there weren’t already, watching me, just as they had been listening to me.
	I know that I haven’t finished being entertaining.

I let the music stroke me as the silk slides between my fingers. A distant melancholy of melody. Quiet, relaxing, sweet and ethereal, but with a sensual twist that makes me want to spin and whirl around the bedroom. Even the title has the right words. The Principles of Lust. I felt it. I feel every beat, every chanted latin word. I let the chemise flow until it hangs by the shoulder straps from my fingertips.
	The moment arrives. My heart is thumping along with the beat. I lay the garment before me on the bed and gently tease the lower opening wider. My naked body would soon slide inside. My cock stands hard, casting a shadow from the bedside lamp. I feel almost giddy.
	I lower to my knees, my cock brushing the duvet. I feel strange doing it this way, but the normal alternative feels wrong for such a monumental moment. I rest my palms on the silk and slide them forward, teasing into the opening, lifting up the back of the garment. Then my wrists, then my arms, and I unfold my legs to slide myself forward into the widening embrace of the silk. I close my eyes, head slipping into the silk, dark until I breach the other end, until I’m laying face down on the bed, body clad in the lightweight slip of silk, cupped and cuddled and caressed by it.
	I exhale, a shake in my breath, and roll onto my back, smoothing my paw down across my silky tummy, until I reach the tent of my cock.
	“Not yet,” I breathe, feeling like such a masochist. My days-long denial throbs beneath the pink, but I try to ignore it.
	I stand. The mirror on my wardrobe greets me, and my breath catches again. My tousled headfur, my bashful eyes...my girlish pink fur, and my thin body draped with the chemise, reaching barely low enough on my thighs for decency, and my cock most certainly indecently standing proud, pulling up the lace-lined front, exposing the pink fluff of my balls. I turn and look over my shoulder. My tail lifts up the back in much the same way, affording a peek of my rump. I nibble my lip, feeling a little narcissistic, enjoying the view.
	“I suppose,” I say, then raise my voice a little, giving mind to the spies no doubt watching me from somewhere. “There are worse things to be than a girly pink kitty.”
	I twirl through the room, letting the music play around me. I feel my paws along the shape of my hip bones through the silk. I stroke the lace across my chest, feel up along the straps over the bones and thin muscles of my shoulders. I avoid the sight of my cock, only giving it a passing thought; that the image would be more complete with a chastity to hold the erection down and out of sight.
	The bed greets me with its embrace. I lay on my back, ankles crossed, feet hanging off the edge. I wriggle my bare toes. I can ignore the need no longer. My paw crawls along the bed and reaches for the drawer of my bedside table. I slide it open, and the rope and rubber and leather greets me from my play supplies. Sadly conventional toys, but enjoyable nonetheless. Still, it would be nice to have the CKC toys back. I wonder if I could ask for some of my pay to come in that form…
	My fingers close around an old friend; the cool, polished metal of a well-used and well-loved vibrating dildo. I lay it on my chest and cradle it in both paws, warming it up a little. Without thinking, my fingertips stroke around the head of it, and I wonder what it’d be like to be a good kitty for David. Double-cocked David. Good kitty.
	I lower the toy down between my legs, and bend my knees and plant my soles on the bed, spreading my feet apart. The silk slides off my tilting cock and bunches up on my tummy, leaving me bare and exposed in all my horny glory. I waste no time in reaching down alongside my balls, groaning softly as the fur on my wrist tickles against my shaft, and line the tip of the toy up with my waiting pucker. No lube. Normally, yes, but not this time. I bite my lip and brace myself. I want...I want to feel like...like I’m not in control.
	I press. I wince. The metal is smooth and forgiving, but still the sting of discomfort comes, and I feel my cock throb harder. I clench my eyes shut and tilt my head back.
	“Ah...David, no…”
	I curl my fingers over the base of the dildo and press towards myself, driving the taper into myself, faster than I would normally dare, letting the fullest width of the shaft sink into me. Tears erupt in the corners of my eyes, and I grit my teeth and choke back a high-pitched cry.
	“S-stop! David, STOP!”
	I don’t listen to myself. I grind the dry shaft deeper.
	“G-good kitty,” I whisper to myself, and imagine David’s voice breathing those words against my ear. I feel a bead of precum surge to the tip of my cock and linger there, threatening to drip. I drive another inch into me, though it feels like ten. My lips part for a squeal, and I lose my grip on the base for a moment. My squeezing tailhole pushes that same inch back out, and I drive it back in again.
	“F-fuck...such a good kitty. G-good kitty bitch.”
	I feel around for the ridges on the base of the dildo, and grip and twist. The vibration is sudden and strong, and I feel the giddy tremble goosebump its way through my gut, and my squeals turn to slutty moans. I push. Another inch. And another, the rest going in easier now, the vibration soothing the burn. And with the base now nestling against the warmth of my pucker, my fingers holding it there, I finally reach for my cock with my other paw, close my fingers slowly around my shaft, grip…squeeze. This is going to feel so good.
	I hear the crash long before I register the sound. An almighty smash of shattering PVC and twisting metal. A thunder of pounding boots and roaring voices. I open my eyes to flashes of deep blue, of a violent grip and yank on my shoulder, throwing me over onto my front, of the wrenching of my arms behind me, of the ratchetting clicks of the cuffs around my wrists, of the stern voice rolling out my arrest. And the soft thud of the dildo slipping out of me and hitting the floor.

A light in my face. I didn’t think they even did that. Surely that’s just something the television made up for their dramas. But here it is, happening. To me. The thought stays in my head, because I force it to, because I would lose track of the reality of the situation if I didn’t. This. Is. Happening. To. Me.
	Oh god.
	The cuffs bite into my wrists and press into the small of my back. I’m perched on hard wooden chair. I can feel the gouges and ridges of the wood pressing into my bare rump. The chemise...oh god, the chemise, they dragged me here wearing just this thin little slip of female clothing. The shame burned for every second I sat in the back of the rolling, rocking police van, as the heavy-set officer sat expressionless and watched me. But I knew his thoughts. And I sunk further and further into my agonising blush.
	I try to shift in my seat. I try to reach around to tug the front of the chemise a little lower, trying to stop my balls from peeking out. My cock went soft from the terror of it all, thank god. I try not to think too much about the restraint of the cuffs. I really do not want to get hard right now. Not that I need worry. The terror thumping in my chest keeps it limp for me.
	I can vaguely make out the darker shape beyond the light. The officer, unseen since I was dumped in this room, who had stood staring at me for what felt like hours. Maybe it was just a few minutes.
	I bite my lip and shift again.
	“Well.”
	I flinch in fright. The voice is deep. Rumbling.
	“Aren’t you a sight.”
	I try to see past the light. It makes spots dance in my eyes. I look at the floor. I don’t speak. Nothing to say, and too scared to speak in any case.
	A long pause. The longest of my life.
	“Tell me about CKC.”
	What?
	I run the sentence through my head again. That’s what this is about? I…
	I lock up. I can’t think. I can barely breathe. I’m in so much trouble. CKC. Oh god. I shouldn’t have got involved. I shouldn’t have taken their money. Now they’re searching my house and finding the cameras. Oh fuck, and the DVD. With my face on the cover and my body inside. And it’ll all come tumbling out, and through me they’ll probe at this hidden organisation. Who knows what laws they’ll dredge up to throw at them, what crimes they’ll uncover. And there I am, stuck inside it all. Will they offer me a deal for information? Will I get off with a slap on the wrist, some small token sentence, so they can take down the big boys?
	My eyes widen a little. Should I fear CKC more than the police? Will they come looking for the stupid little cat who let his mouth run? Will they kidnap me away to some dark, horrifying place from which I’ll never emerge? My heart pounds, thumpa thumpa.
	And David. David…
	David would be caught. David would see the inside of a prison. David. Amazing, fascinating, wonderful David. Caught and treated like a criminal.
	Be a good kitty. The voice whispers in my memory. I’m trapped, helpless...and I’m able to be a good kitty for David.
	I lift my head. “What’s CKC?”
	The crack rings through my head, and the chair clatters across the room in one direction as I fall in the other direction. My shoulder hits the concrete floor and the pain lances through my bones. I wail and roll onto my front, then onto my other side, curling up into a foetal position. I turn the air blue, coughing out my agony in swearing. I can feel my eye socket throb. I know the feeling of a blossoming black eye.
	“The f-fuck are you doing? You can’t do that!” I gasp.
	“Tell me what you know about CKC,” rumbles the voice, intonation the same, as if reading from a script.
	“I don’t know what CKC is! How can I tell you what I don’t know?”
	I tense myself, eyes clenched shut, curled up on the hard, cold floor in a dark room, terrified for my life. I wait for the blow. It doesn’t come. I wait anyway. It’ll come sooner or later, and my fear grows with the wait.
	Good kitty, I think to myself, and draw what comfort I can. David’s voice. Good kitty. Be a good kitty for me.
	It’s a boot, when it comes. A hard, steel-capped leather boot. I even catch the smell of the polish. Right against the underside of my muzzle. Right on the jaw bone. My teeth crash together. My tongue, trapped between them, is nicked, blood drawn. I taste the iron. My head spins, giddy vertigo for a split second. I’m vaguely aware of rolling onto my back.
	“What do you know about...hmm. Take him to…”

Click. Click. Click click click.
My head shoots up from my chest, awareness hitting me in an instant of pain. I’m upside down. I’m floating. I’m lying down. I blink. My body image rights itself and settles.
	I’m hanging from my wrists. Supple leather grips them. Only mild discomfort there. But the wakeful agony is in my shoulders. My naked toes dance in empty air. I’ve never been suspended by my wrists, and I had never wanted to try it under such circumstances. I always imagined it would be in a kink dungeon. Safe. Thrilling. Kinky.
	Not in a dark concrete cell. Not with the light in my eyes. Not naked, pink, unaroused...exposed, terrified.
	I clench my thighs together, but I can’t hide my cock. I try to stretch down towards the floor. Every motion makes lightning lance in my shoulders. I cry out, a scream of distress, but wordless; I don’t call for help. I know none will come. I know now...this is not the regular police.
	This is the dark, hidden power of the law.
	Be a good kitty. The words waver in my mind. Am I strong enough?
	A gentle breeze tickles from somewhere. My senses strain for any hint of the world. Dead, muted silence. The taste of blood. The drip of it down my muzzle. The swollen numbness of my tongue. The smell of burning dust from the blazing light bulb. Quietly, very quietly, I start to sob.
	“Tell me about CKC.” A different voice. Quieter. But more menacing for its lack of threat. I feel suddenly ten degrees colder.
	“I c-can’t,” I gasp. My chest quakes. Hard to breathe. I sway slightly, and my toes keep straining for the elusive floor.
	“Yes you can. Tell me what you know about CKC.”
	“I can’t!”
	“Tell me what you know.”
	“No!”
	The voice is in front of me. But the pain comes behind me. My whole body rocks forward a fraction of a second before the impact, with my fucked up and overwhelmed senses making a hash of the experience. The streak runs from my shoulder down to my rump, diagonal across my back. A white hot trail a mile wide, cutting bone deep. A screaming fire, a burning melt of liquid steel poured over my fur. I scream. I scream until my throat burns like my back. I scream and curse and fling my head about. I kick my legs. I sob and choke and gag and wretch. Then, finally, I sag and gasp for breath, while the embers crackle in my fur.
	My first lick of the whip, and I never want to feel it again.
	“Tell me about CKC.”
	The sobbing controls me. The helpless unfairness of it all. The impossible situation. The unbearable knowledge that I can’t stop the pain, and that I can’t stand the pain, and the worst of it...that more pain will come. I shake and bawl like a baby.
	Good kitty. The words breathe across my psyche like a cool breeze. Strength arrives in their subtlety. And I gather just enough strength to gasp the one word.
	“No.”
	The second arrival of the fire comes mercifully quickly, and I twist and drop into the embrace of howling, feral, mindless agony. I lose all memory of the third and beyond.
	My lucidity returns to teeth, pearly white and pointed, spread in a grin in the dark space in front of me.
	“Good morning,” say the teeth.
	My head throbs. The world throbs with it. And my back timidly raises a paw to remind me of the agony it is suffering. I can’t feel my paws, but my numbing arms are still stretched above me. But my toes now touch the floor, and with an effort and a groan I push some of my weight onto them. The reward is instant; the unpleasant tingle of blood returning to my fingers.
	I cough. That seems to be enough answer for the grin. It moves back a step and into the light from the lamp on the table pushed up against the wall. I’d normally have no fear for a fellow cat. But this one unsettles me. Something in the grin. Something in the suit which, though expensive-looking and tailored, is worn in a shapeless, sloppy way. Collar undone. Tie missing. Smudges on the sleeves.
	His eyes pin me. He seems cheerful. He hooks the chair with his heel and pulls it behind him, sitting and crossing his legs at the knees, rocking back with two chair legs on the floor.
	“Tell me about CKC.”
	“I want a solicitor,” I whisper, because even that makes me back blaze. Anything louder and I imagine I might die.
	“You’re not entitled to a solicitor. Tell me about CKC.”
	“No.”
	“Now, is that a no because you don’t know anything, or is that a no because you won’t tell us what you do know? Because we know it’s the latter. And if you don’t tell us.”
	He makes a gesture with his finger, and I tense up, a cry already at my lips. I didn’t notice it before; the presence behind me. Quiet breathing. I hear the swish through the air. And across the welts on my back, a fresh path of fire roars. I writhe and kick, throwing my head from side to side, screaming in hoarse rage. This just isn’t fair!
	“No!” I scream. “No! I won’t!”
	The cat stares at me.
	“We have David.”
	The pain is gone in an instant. I feel cold. Bitterly, deathly cold.
	“What?”
	“We have David. Down the hall, in fact. In a room just like this one.” He flicks a finger up at me. “Strung up just like this. See, we know what’s been going on. We know what he’s been orchestrating with you. We’ve watched the DVD and found the cameras. We have everything we need to whisk you away to a detention centre, from which you’ll never emerge again.”
	He lets the airborne legs of the chair settle back on the floor and leans forward.
	“But we don’t want you. We want him. Give us information, and we’ll make sure you get to go free.” He smiles. And the ice in my body creaks and cracks. He reaches a paw towards me, and I flinch. His warm fingertips tickle at my naked balls, cupping up underneath them. He speaks, but his eyes are on my crotch. My skin crawls.
	“And we’ll make sure your co-operation is rewarded. Just make a statement against David.”
	The rage boils in my throat. I want to scream. I want to get this horrible creature off of me. I want to get loose. I want David. I want to be a good kitty!
	I don’t even feel myself doing it. But in the seconds afterwards, as I’m watching the cat reel away from me, clutching his nose, with blood pouring out from between his fingers, as I’m feeling the sting in my knee as I lower my leg back down, as I’m hearing the swish from behind me, as I wait for the searing blast across my back…
	...I know I’m a good kitty.

It must be over. My arms are still up, but my toes are dragging on the floor. Powerful paws grip my elbows. Lights pass above me. I pass doors. I lift my head, but not by much. I feel drugged, half-dead. I glimpse two uniforms, two powerful pillars of cloth-covered muscle flanking me.
	“Can’t wait to get out of this stupid uniform.” The voice is a rumble. Like an avalanche down a mountain.
	“Shh.” The head turns to me. I quickly look down at the floor, hanging limp, playing dead.
	“What’s it matter? He passed. He’ll know soon enough.”

Warmth. All around. The feeling of ants crawling all over my back. A wet feeling. A scent of strawberries. Movement on my body. Something rubbing. Something soft. Caressing. A gentle stroke on my forehead. A tickle of air. A touch of intimacy on my nose. The minty scent of clean breath. A whisper, breathed on my muzzle. The words clear and vibrant.
	“Good kitty. Rest now.”

Warmth again. But different. Soft, clean, dry. I murmur and flop my arms above my head. I hope I don’t have work today. What day is it? What…
	I open my eyes. This does not feel like my bed.
	And I smell bacon cooking.
	I’m in a bed. A big bed. A big bed with cool, clean, white sheets. Big fluffy pillows. And a bedroom around me, a showcase of tasteful cream and plain, characterless pine furniture. I rise up, cascading linen around me. I wince. Ah, my back. I reach behind and feel. The fire reignites where I prod on the raw welted streaks crisscrossing my back.
	I try to swing out of the bed, but the lancing spasm of pain in my back makes me gasp and lay back down on my side.
	A shadow appears in the open doorway, and my heart leaps.
	David.
	Smiling.
	Wearing a blue apron and holding a spatula.
	“You’re awake. Stay there. I’ll bring breakfast up.”
	I’m too stunned to say anything. The questions fight amongst themselves, and by the time one emerges victorious and reaches my lips, he’s gone.
	I close my eyes.

And open them when a weight settles on the bed next to me. David, sat with a tray on his lap.
	“Can you sit?”
	Numb, dumb, I pull myself upright, wincing and hissing. I prop a pillow up behind me and ease into it.
	“Good kitty,” he says. The pain in my back feels an awful lot more bearable.
	“What…”
	“Shh. Ask questions later.” He lays the tray on my lap. It’s one of those ones with a beanbag cushion underneath it. A flower pattern on the top. It seems so...domestic. A plate of fried eggs and a generous portion of crispy fried bacon lays in front of me, with a glass of orange juice and a couple of slices of toast. I stare at it for a long, long time. Then burst into tears.
	His arms close around my shoulders. My face finds his chest. I cling to him, claws against the apron. And cry and cry and cry.

In the calm aftermath of the catharsis, my eyes still raw, my head still reeling, I chew my mouthful of toast and tear into the bacon with my knife and fork.
	David’s voice soothes from the foot of the bed, where my feet lay atop his crossed legs, sticking out from the sheets, being kneaded in his big powerful paws. I feel giddy, almost deliriously happy.
	“Essentially, it was a test,” he says. “I’m not sorry it happened. But I do wish there could have been another way.”
	I nod, mute, not really thinking. My outrage and anger had evaporated shortly after his explanation had started, when he cupped my cheek and looked into my eyes and told me how much of a good kitty I had been.
	“I know I can trust you now.”
	I tingle. I feel small and cute and pet-like. I hide my smile, badly, behind a forkful of bacon.
	“And I hear you gave your interrogator a bloody nose.”
	I swallow. “He was threatening you.”
	“You don’t know who that was, do you?”
	“Err...no. Am I in trouble?”
	David chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not. Don’t worry about it.”
	He bends forward. A flash of pink. His tongue. A forked tongue, oh god. He licks at both sides of my big toe at once. The tray shifts in my lap as my cock tries to upend it from beneath.
	“When you’re finished eating, I’ll show you the next step.”
	I swallow my mouthful and nod...and start eating quicker than I’ve ever eaten before.

“So,” he says, with a gentle theatricality that enraptures me. “What would you like to wear to your interview?” He casts a sweeping arm towards the wardrobe.
	“What?”
	“For your new job.”
	I pull my knees up towards my chin, trying to hide in the bedding. “New job?”
	“Yes kitten. Your new job.”
	I feel like I’m being dumb and he’s being patient with me. I force myself to put my thoughts in order.
	“At CKC?”
	“Yes, kitten.”
	“I’m going to work at CKC?”
	“If you pass the interview, yes.”
	“Interview?”
	“Yes kitten.”
	“For a job at CKC?”
	“Yes. But don’t worry. You’re bound to get the job. You’ve already passed the security test.”
	I wince. My back. I feel anger rise, then melt away at the sight of his smile. I should feel betrayed and angry. But David’s happy with me.
	“What is the job?”
	“Do you really care?”
	“I...suppose not.”
	He gestures me over. I turn and slide out from the bed, standing unsteadily on weak paws. They feel tender and lovely from David’s earlier attention. I try to ignore the muted pain in my back as I walk naked over to him, acutely aware of how girlish and silly I must look. But my self-consciousness has no strength against the way he looks at me. I straighten my gait and hold my head up with shaky pride and a nervous smile.
	“There’s my pretty kitty,” he whispers, and I tilt my head to meet his stroking fingertips, letting him cup my cheek and brush a thumb across my lips. Behind him, the wardrobe door eases open, and a rack of clothes awaits. Dresses. Female clothes exclusively. I breathe out a shaky gasp.
	“They’re all yours. Take your pick.”
	I stare past his shoulder. I’m going to be dressed as a girl for an interview at CKC. I think that thought over and over. David moves to my side and presses his palm against my back, coaxing me towards them.
	“Personally, I like the little red dress,” he says.
	I run my eyes along the colours. Red silk. I lift the hanger out and let the dress drape over my arm. I don’t know much about women’s clothes, but I can sense the quality dripping off this. And I know without checking that it’ll be perfectly sized for me, flat chest and all. How could it not be? David’s smile is on me, and the confidence and control radiating from it tells me everything. Everything is under control. Under his control.
	“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
	“It will be once you’re wearing it. Here, let me help you.”
	He takes the dress from my paws and lays it with careful reverence onto the bed. I glance back at the wardrobe, running my paw along the shoulders of the garments, amazed by the preparation that’s gone into this. Is David planning to own me? My breath catches; to be my partner?	
	I feel him behind me, and I turn. He’s holding a silver cylinder.
	“Oh no.”
	“Afraid so, kitten.” He closes on me, brushing his cheek against mine as I’m wrapped in his arm for an embrace. But in the tenderness, his other paw is at my crotch, and I can feel the soft inner surface of the cock clamp as it slides over the tip of my semi-erect cock, moving effortlessly down into my sheath. I lean into him, whimpering against his neck, feeling the teasing tingles already.
	“C-can’t I cum first?”
	“Sorry, kitten. After the interview, perhaps.”
	“Not fair.”
	His paw strokes up my back, and I yelp and press against him in an attempt to avoid the pain.
	“No, it’s not.” A click, and his paw moves away from my cock, leaving it encased in metal. My shoulders tremble. I reach down to grasp at the metal, and feel the tickling, teasing caress underneath.
	“C-can’t you at least turn it off?” I can hear the lustful panting edge to my voice.
	“I can.”
	I wait. He just smiles. He can but he won’t. I whine in frustration. He pets my cheek.
	“Good kitty.”
	He lifts the dress towards me. I take hold of the hook on the hanger. His other paw holds a pair of red high-heels, dangling from two outstretched fingers. Reluctantly, I take these too.
	“Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

It seems far too normal to be sat in the passenger seat of a car next to David driving. I haven’t seen him in a suit since we both worked tech support. It seems like a distant universe now, far in the past. I wonder if I had a time machine and went back in time to show my past self my current state, would he recognise me? Would he want to become me?
	I squirm in my seat, the naked fur on my thighs rubbing smooth against the leather seat. I imagine every car we pass can see me, is laughing at me. Maybe they are. Maybe…
	...and then a releasing thought; you know what, I don’t care. I’m with David. My dream has come true, is coming true. And pink fur or not, silk dress or not, heels that made me stagger and nearly tumble down the stairs or not, I’m happy.
	Although, I’m not happy to be trapped in the clutches of a cock clamp again. I squeeze my thighs together. The dress drapes seductively over my knees and hides all signs of the torture beneath. I wonder if I actually look like a girl. No, I tell myself. Don’t be silly. Flat chest, boyish features. I don’t look like a girl, even with the pink fur. I look like what I am; a girlish boy. A little sissy kitten. I keep on squirming, keep on fidgeting, as David touches the radio and Journey rocks its way to my ears, as the sleek saloon merges onto the motorway and we sail our way up towards eighty.
	I cough, clearing my throat. Even with the music, the silence is unbearable.
	“I…”
	“Don’t speak.”
	I bite my lip.
	“Good kitten,” he whispers.

David jostles my shoulder. I wake with a jolt. I smell...cabbages? I wasn’t sleepy. How did I fall asleep?
	“We’re here,” he says. I look out through the windscreen. We’re in a parking building of some kind. David gestures for me to exit. I pull the door open and step out, wobbling on the heels. I look around. An ordinary multi storey carpark, with a scattering of cars.
	Wait...no gaps in the walls. No sky beyond. Not a multi storey. An underground carpark.
	David cradles his arm around my shoulders and leads me to a lift. I lean on him for support, needing it a few times as the treacherous heels nearly topple me.
	“Ready?” he says. The lift doors slide open and we step inside.
	“No.”
	“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
	He plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. Oh god.
	The doors close, and in mere seconds they’re open again. And in the dimly-lit concrete corridor stretching away in front of us stands a familiar cat, sporting a familiar smile.
	“Good morning.”
	David winces. Because I’ve just sunk my claws into his hip. He gently grips my wrist and unsticks my paw from his clothes.
	“That’s him,” I hiss. “He’s the fucker who…”
	“Kitten, I’d like you to meet Musuko, owner of CKC.”
	Musuko extends his paw, the smile looking perhaps a little wider.
	“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, voice dripping with charm. Or more accurately, smarm. “Properly.”
	David nudges me, and I touch my paw to Musuko’s for a brief shake, and it takes all my strength to avoid clawing him. And the cock clamp chooses that moment to ramp up its buzzing teasing.
	“I’m sorry about your...nose,” I say, failing to disguise the bitterness in my voice.
	If anything, Musuko grins more widely. “Follow me,” he says, gesturing behind him, then turning to walk. David leads me forward with his arm still around my shoulders.
	“He likes you,” he whispers.
	“I don’t like him.”
	“That’s why he likes you.”
	We stop at a door. There’s nothing to distinguish it from any of the others. But I recognise the room beyond. The same concrete cell. The same chair. The same desk and lamp. And the same cuffs hanging from a winch chain in the centre of the room. I shake my head and try to back away.
	“No, not again!”
	David’s grip squeezes my shoulder. “It’s alright kitten. You’re not getting whipped this time.”
	“That’s right,” says Musuko, moving back past us, back out into the corridor. He points to David, just as the door swings closed between us, his final words nearly cut off. “He is.”
	“What?” I blurt.
	David steps away from me, and I put my paw to the wall to steady myself.
	“David? What did he mean?”
	He starts to strip out of his suit, laying first his tie over the back of the chair, then the rest. I’ve seen his bare body before. I’ve seen him clothed. But I’ve not seen the transition between. I bite back a gasp as he pulls the key pin for the cock clamp from his pocket and lays it on the table. I step away from the wall.
	“Not yet,” he says.
	I wait, tingling, throbbing in the clamp.
	His fingers hook at the waistband of his boxers, the only thing covering his nakedness now. I can see the bulge of his cock, scarily large. I wait, and watch as the boxers descend, caught at the tip. And then…flicks off of it and falls down his legs. A perfectly normal cock, jet black and glistening...and as big and thick as my elbow to my fist. And oh fuck...I’m going to be sat on that one day, I just know it.
	He moves to the centre of the room. I see it now; the hated whip, laid in a coil on the floor in the corner. It looks smaller than I imagined it would be. He reaches up, standing on his toes, working the first leather cuff around his wrist, pulling the strap tight and clicking the padlock closed. Then, with greater effort, the second. At the instant the second padlock clicks, a harsh whirring noise fills the room, and I start at the sound. David’s beautiful chest arches out, and he suppresses a small gasp. His toes depart from the floor and lift up half a foot. The whirr stops. And David, naked, hunky David, is hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, as uncomfortable and helpless as I was.
	“Now you can unlock it,” he says, voice strained and gasping.
	I rush for the table and grab the key. The tube slides from my cock. My erection stands proud and eager in sweet freedom. I close my paw around the shaft and sigh in satisfaction.
	And then I look at David, dangling there, watching me as I watch him.
	“What am I meant to do?”
	“Whatever you want to do, kitten.”
	“This is some kind of a test, isn’t it.”
	“Yes.”
	Figures. I walk up to him, gripping my cock, slowly stroking it. The dress is in the way now, bunched up over my cock. But I don’t care. I’m keeping it on. It looks good on me. If I took it off now, what was the point of wearing it? And the heels, awkward as they are...well, I’m starting to get the hang of them. Almost. When I stop thinking about them, I can do it. And right now I’m thinking about how helpless this sexy behemoth of a stud is in front of me, and I’m striding across the room with powerful grace, and David is watching every step, and I think I might be imagining it; a little shiver. With one paw on my cock, I reach out to grip his. My fingertips barely touch.
	“So I think they’re expecting me to whip you, is that it?”
	“Maybe.”
	I squeeze. A slight flinch from the stoic snake.
	“But if I did that, I’d be getting revenge on you for putting me through that torture. And then...I wouldn’t be a good kitty.”
	A hint of a smile on David’s lips. A failure of his poker face.
	“Or would it be showing that I can be a good dom as well as a subby kitten?” I say, almost to myself now. I squeeze and slide my paw, up and down. His shaft, not mine. In my distraction I’ve let go of my own cock entirely.
	“Or...I could fuck you. I could fuck you, couldn’t I? That’d be a pretty dommy thing to do as well.”
	“It would.”
	I roll the pad of my thumb across the tip of his cock, and his composure dents just a fraction more with a tiny shudder in his taut, muscular tummy. My thumb comes away wet, glistening with precum. I let go of his cock and touch the wetness to my lips, sucking it off the tip of my thumb, purring gently at the rich, musky taste.
	“Or I could suck you off. Showing them what an obedient little sub I am.”
	“You could.”
	I glance over my shoulder, at the cock clamp resting on the table. He follows my gaze.
	“Or I could lock you in that. That’d be revenge. But you’re too big to fit in it, I think.”
	David manages to keep his poker face this time.
	I sigh, and squeeze my paw over the head of his cock. He doesn’t manage it this time, oh no. His lips part for a small gasp.
	“I think...what I really want,” I breathe, not really knowing what I want at the start of the sentence, but knowing now. “...is for you to fuck me.”
	I run back over to the table. I put the lamp onto the chair and knock the cock clamp to the floor. Heavy fucking table, but I drag it. I pull it a few feet, stop to pull these damn heels off and throw them across the room, then drag the table the rest of the way, all the way until it’s standing right in front of David’s dangling body. I climb up onto it, standing to face him, our noses level with each other now, thanks to my shorter stature. And then, with a simple motion to pull the shoulders of the dress off to each side, I let the silk drop away from me and step out of it, kicking it to the floor. My own hardon stands eager, barely half the size of his. I start having second thoughts, but days of lust force me to ignore them.
	I slide my paw around the back of his neck and slide in close to him, my lips nearly touching his.
	“Ready?” I whisper.
	“Yes, kitten,” he breathes.
	“This is going to fucking hurt.” I place my paws on his shoulders for leverage. Onto tiptoes I go, straddling his cock. I could sit on it like a saddle. No lube. Just the pre leaking from his tip. This is insane. I’ll end up split in half. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt a lot.
	But I can’t stop myself from doing it. I nestle my tailhole against the wetness on his tip, then reach down to grip his shaft to hold it steady. I lock eyes with his, my nervous fear matching off against his emotionless gaze. Then...a small smile.
	“Good kitten,” he whispers. I choke back a cry, and ease my grip on his shoulder. My pucker parts with a violent pop, and the thick tapered tip of his fat cock punches up into me. I headbutt his chest and squeal, cursing blue murder. I feel my claws extend and rake his shoulder, and have just enough control over myself to force them to retract. It hurts. It hurts like the fire of the whip on my back. But those two words melt the agony away with a warmth of their own. Good kitten. I repeat the words in my head, over and over. Good kitten. Good kitten. And I sink down further. Easier now, the hard part over. Now just the dry friction of his bare shaft dragging at my pucker as I settle onto him. I feel my lips move, and realise I’m chanting the words. Good kitten. A mantra under my breath. He can hear it. I don’t care. I’m his good kitten.
	“Stop,” he breathes. And I freeze. I look up at him, eyes searching, worried. He smiles at me, with no sign that he’s struggling from the stress in his arms. “If you take any more you’ll hurt yourself.”
	I frown in confusion, then feel down under my rear. Holy fuck. I’ve got half of his cock in me, if not more. I quickly lift my arm up to join the other in gripping his shoulders, steadying myself. This is...this is...wow.
	I take a deep breath, then slowly exhale. It’s so big, but I wasn’t even noticing. I was just thinking of him. I brace myself and clench my tailhole. The discomfort lords over me, and I cling to him, panting against his chest. Then tilting my head up, I bring my lips to his, and in a moment of beauty he closes the last sliver of empty air to press his against mine. I part them for him, and he obliges, slipping his slender forked tongue into my mouth, to tickle my tongue, to dance over my teeth. And as we press lips together, I moan and press my feet into the table, rising up a little on his cock, before letting myself drop back down again, the first thrust of the fuck.
	“David,” I breathe, the moment our lips part. “Can I…” I trail off.
	“Can you what, kitten,” he says. He flexes his cock. It must be conscious. I cry out as the thick shaft presses inside me, as a dribble of my own precum dabs against the smooth scales of his tummy.
	“C-can I cum, David?” I lift up again. Maybe a few inches, but it feels like more. And with greater ease this time, slicked a little more by his precum, I slide back down, groaning as the pressure of his fat shaft pummels my prostate, milking another dribble of pre from deep inside me.
	“Yes,” he breathes, and my heart sings. “But don’t use your paws.”
	My whine bathes his lips with my breath. But I can do this. I’m a good kitty. A good little cock-riding, pink-furred girly kitty. I clasp my paws together behind his neck and keep my muzzle close to his, breath mingling. I close my eyes, tense my legs, think about a life spent serving David, meeting his every desire, licking his cock, licking his feet, obeying him, worshipping him, loving him...and I start to lift up again. I start to ride his huge cock.
	“My good kitty,” he whispers. I listen to his voice, and start to lose track of the meaning of them. Just hearing sounds. A gentle, soothing roll of waves, a relaxing white noise of his silky voice.
	I feel the tension bubbling up in my gut. I drive myself harder onto his cock to hurry it. I know this feeling. I’ve longed for this feeling for so long. I’d only ever attained it a few times, and never managed to keep my paw away as the moment struck. This time I would. This time I would let it happen without a single interruption. I clench my paws behind his neck and pant towards whimpering little gasps, as I bob on his cock faster, with shorter strokes, driving the pressure against my prostate over and over, until...until…
	I cry out in a girlish squeal as my cock starts to pump my cum in a dribble down my shaft. I cling to him, shaking uncontrollably, my riding thrusts losing their flow and stopping, my rear sinking down onto his cock and staying there as my cock bobs and spurts, the tip aching in that extra special frustrating way that only a ruined, milked orgasm can. My body is buzzing, but the fire hasn’t been extinguished. My cock starts to deflate, but the churning ache of my arousal is still there, still unsatisfied, and I whimper against his lips as he plants a kiss there.
	“Good kitty,” he says, against the whirr of the motor lowering his wrists, lowering his feet to the floor, lowering his arms to cradle around me as his cock slides free from my abused, raw rear with a quiet, wet noise.
	He breathes against my ear. “Go and put the cock clamp back on, and bring me the key.”
	And, because I’m a good kitty…I do exactly that.

David sits with me through the paperwork, still naked. As am I...other than the cock clamp. The soft suede of the sofa is a comfortable embrace against my tender back, and my tender tailhole. David’s arm rests across the small of my back, and his fingers gently tease my hip. The cock clamp is mercifully dormant...for now. But I can feel its presence always, with my aching, hungry cock trapped within, still longing for the proper orgasm it has yet to feel.
	I sign my name again. Then again, where indicated. And again and again. I’m not even reading it. I’m far too gone to care. David could ask me to step up to the noose right now, and I’d help him with the rope. Musuko smiles at me from across the table. I can’t even bring myself to hate him now. His strange, twisted world is what’s brought me to this position, cradled by David, able to serve him, able to love him. I wonder...I wonder if he loves me back?
	I realise that I don’t even care. I’m just a silly little kitten, and all I need to worry about is being good for him.
	Musuko slides the thick stack of paper out from under my pen, flips it over to the very last sheet, and slides it back.
	“And there, if you please.”
	I sign without hesitation. I’ll read it all later, to find out what I’ve agreed to. David said I’m hired as a full-time entertainer for CKC. David said I’ll be working with him on a full-time basis. I trust him more than I hate Musuko. So...I sign, without hesitation.
	Musuko takes the contract back, flipping it back over into one stack, then sliding it into the maw of a padded envelope. He seals it up and slides it over the desk. To David. Not to me.
	“Take good care of him. Watch out for his kicks.” A smile, directed at me. “I look forward to the next DVD.”
	I lean against David as Musuko exits, his arm interlocking with the arm of the giant canine in uniform who had been outside the door.
	“If he runs CKC...why was he doing all this personally?”
	“Because he can.” David touches the tip of his tongue to my ear, making me shiver. “Let me take you home...to my actual home this time. And I’ll show you what you need to do to earn your way out of the cock clamp.”
	I breathe out a small moan and nod. “Yes sir.”
	He smiles. “Good kitty.”
	
I didn’t expect David’s home to be so close. Nor did I expect the corridor to go on for so long, with so many twists and turns. Nor the lift at the end to go down so far, descend so deeply. I lost track of the maze of turns, of the growing numbers of busy, official-looking people passing us, of the glimpses into weird and wonderful confusions of perversion through doors opening and closing. Nobody seemed to pay more than a glance of attention at my pink fur, at my nakedness, at the metal encasing my cock. I wasn’t even the most weirdly-dressed around us. I saw figures clad top to toe in leather, crawling along on leashes. I even saw a few cock clamps, like my own, teasing other poor needy sufferers. This was CKC. Living and breathing, with me right at the centre.
	The smooth latex floor changed to carpet, and the furnishings in the corridor became more homely. There were numbers on the doors. I heard music, soft and muffled, behind some of them. Behind more than one I heard the moans and cries of sex. We stopped at one, a door like the others, number B22.
	“Home,” he said, pressing his palm against a screen. The door slid open.
	I smiled, cuddling against David’s side. “Home.”