I was trying to read, but the damn thing kept looking at me out of the corner of it’s eye. I can tell when I’m being eyeballed – call it a Mistress’s sixth sense.
No matter how much of my body – dressed head to toe in stockings and Domina attire – I partook to cover up , still I was being incessently eyeballed.
“Alright” I said, slamming my “Pandemics for Dummies” book on the sofa and watched it bounce twice like a rock skipping across a lake before landing upside down and open faced on the linoleum floor.
I struted toward it , pushing my cleavage – which was aching to burst from within the tight latex top it was hidden beneath – out towards my prey so that my tits looked like two black shiny cannons ready to lay any gawkers to waste.
“You want something to stare at you fucking pussy?” I scoffed while grabbing the stuffed cat from my bookshelf. “Fine, I’ll give you something to see and smell at the same time” I said as I pushed the head of the willfully submissive stuffed cat under my perfectly curvatious ass.
Then without notice I let rip a fabric bursting fart right into the feline’s nostrils and was stunned at the complacency it exhibited thereafter.
Indeed this stuffed submissive cat had experience in the ways of Femdom and servitude.
“Fine” I huffed. “You’re used to the dank smell of a Mistress’s farts are you?
“Then behold the rank odor of my pussy” I laughed as I jammed the cat’s head into the crevice of my pussy – covered only by the thin strip of G-String of my panties.
Again the cat was stoic. “This is one hard core slave” I thought out loud.
“Smell it you pussy” I yelled as I damn near suffocated the furry thing by jamming its whole nose and cute pink lips as far up my clit as any man or stuffed animal has ever been.
Yet, still nothing. Not a word of complaint from my submissive feline.
“If my ass and pussy cannot break you” I said , as I trampled it under the weight of my gorgeous leg …
“Then perhaps my foot will.”
And I squished its face into the floor, letting the feel of my fishnet stockings caress the top of its head.
I reached down to insert a finger ito it’s ass , but no hole was to be found.
“Ah, you think asexuality can protect you from total submission do you?” I asked quizzically.
But no reply escaped my stuffed cat’s lips.
“So be it … slave” I taunted.
I taped the furry slave upside down on the sofa and proceeded to sit on its face for the rest of the night as I watched John Wick on Netflix for the ninteenth time in three days.
I’d found the perfect slave.
Nary a whimper nor a meow’s worth of complaint ever escaped its lips.
I exhaled a sighing breathe of discontent and longed for the return of my slaves from around the world so that I may begin my search anew – for a slave as perfect as my stuffed cat.
xx
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