The rain-slick roads were lined with with parked cars as I walked towards the club entrance.  My overcoat shielded me from the light drizzle, but more importantly it hid my clothing from view.  I was nervous enough about tonight without having to worry about getting ogled by random passersby, though as I got closer to the club that became less of an issue.  As soon as I was within a block of the place it seemed every third person had on something revealing, restraining, and/or made of latex, leather, and the like.  By the time I reached the door I felt a little more comfortable, though my heart was still beating nearly out of my chest.  I hesitated for a moment at the main doors, trying desperately to ignore the grim-faced bouncer outside, took a deep breath, and entered.

    The interior was nondescript and generic, just another club entrance, another cashier's counter, another coat check room a little ways down.  Looking around I saw a couple taking off their overcoats; the man, middle-aged and reasonably fit, pulled off a tracksuit to reveal a leather body harness over tight leather shorts.  His wife (I spotted matching wedding bands) was attired as every bit the dominatrix, from the stiletto heels to the black stockings and of course the leather corset.  The two kissed, long and deep and obviously full of love, and then the woman was leading her husband into the club proper, pulling him along by a leash I hadn't seen her clip to his collar while they kissed.  As they passed through the doors and out of sight I couldn't help but sigh wistfully, longing to feel that kind of love and devotion.

    "Awwwwww, muffin."  The sarcastic remark made me twitch, but I turned and greeted Ralph with a smile, albeit a withering one.  I was too nervous to come back with anything, so all I said was, "hi Ralph, thank you for doing this."  He smiled and leaned down to give me a hug, which I returned.  Ralph isn't all that tall, but I'm very short and very slender: just a hair under 5 feet tall and well under 100 pounds, the result of short grandparents and a childhood fascination with gymnastics, respectively.  "Carry-on size" is how Ralph used to describe it, though his threats of stuffing me into a roller bag never did actually go anywhere, not that I would have let him.  Someone else, on the other hand... but maybe I should explain Ralph first.

    Ralph is quite possibly the most unnerving and, for lack of a better term, perverted person I have ever met.  His tastes in sex and kink are wide and varied and he makes no effort to hide that, which I suppose is why I tried seeing him for a while.  The problem I had with Ralph is that he has a very limited grasp of tact, decency, and normal human interaction, even when he tries.  In a bedroom or dungeon setting Ralph is in his element, but anywhere else... well, suffice to say we didn't last very long.  Our breakup wasn't particularly bad though (I think Ralph was annoyed more than anything) mostly because I'd determined that Ralph was a good guy.  He was (and is) a man of his word, caring, loyal, and honest (sometimes painfully so).  I knew I could trust Ralph with my life, it was just a shame his personality made my skin crawl after a while.

    Ralph let me go and straightened up. "So you're really going to go through with this," he asked.  I nodded, at the moment having trouble with the simple word "yes".  "Okay," he said, "hang up your coat and we'll do this." I walked to the coat check and then peeled off my overcoat, taking a deep calming breath; it did little to settle my nerves as the coat was taken from me, revealing my outfit.  My top was a bit thin but no worse than what I'd worn to other clubs, and my skirt was short but, again, nothing I hadn't worn on a night out before.  What made the outfit a first for me was the collar and the matching cuffs on my wrists and upper arms.  I'd anticipated my extreme nervousness and had already slipped small padlocks through each of the cuffs, lest I chicken out while applying them; all that was left was to click them shut, which I did.  With a slight happy shiver I reached into my purse and pulled out the last and most important part of my outfit - my kitty ears: a thin, light headband with attached furry cat ears that (mostly) matched the color of my long flowing brown hair and the long tail already attached to the back of my belt.  I slipped them on as I'd done so many times before, positioning them by feel alone.  My ears in place, I pulled a handful of clanking metal from my purse, handed the purse to the coat check, then turned to face Ralph.  I took a few deep breaths while he stood there, waiting with inexhaustible patience for me to continue.  After a moment I looked up at him, and then, never taking my eyes from his, gripped his hand, turned it palm-up and put the metallic handful in his hand.  He smiled, calming and creepy at the same time, and then motioned for me to turn around; I did so, jittering nervously.

    There was a brief jingling behind me as Ralph sorted out the bundle, then his hands were gripping my arms above the wrists and pulling them behind me gently.  When my wrists were a few inches apart he stopped, and then I felt a bit of movement and a few snaps.  His hands moved up my arms but my wrists stayed where they were, now linked together by a short, double-ended bolt clasp.  With my arms bound just like this I could probably work a thumb around and open the clasp, but I'd planned for this too.  Ralph drew my upper arms together, leaving them maybe an inch further apart than my wrists before he linked them together, this time with a short chain with clasps on either end.  A few tugs and he was done; I was now helplessly bound until someone unlinked my cuffs, and both he and I knew it.  I also knew, hearing the jingling still coming from behind me, that even when unlinked these cuffs weren't coming off without the keys Ralph had in his pocket.  I turned to face him and suddenly I felt another clasp being clipped to me, this time to the front loop of my collar. "Hey!" I shouted, looking down to see what he was up to.  Ralph's hand moved away as I looked, allowing me to see a plastic plaque hanging from the other end of the clasp, bearing print large enough to be read from several feet away.  With a little concentration I was able to translate the upside-down text.  "STRAY", the plaque said in large block letters, and underneath in smaller text was the addition, "Free to a good home."

    I looked up at Ralph and glared at him.  "This wasn't part of the plan," I said angrily.  That damn lopsided smile of his grew even wider as he let out a little chuckle, then he said, "you said the plan was to meet someone tonight, but I know you Kitten."  I rankled at his use of my pet name, but he ignored it (or failed to notice it) and continued: "you'll hover around the people you find interesting and then take hours working up the nerve to cross those last few feet so you can talk to them.  By the end of the night you'll be lucky to have really talked to one person.  This tiny little addition to your outfit should speed things along a bit."  I glared at him harder, even more angry because I knew the bastard was right.  He noticed this and grinned wide again, but in a rare moment of social awareness he dropped the grin a bit and motioned me towards the door.  "C'mon," he said, "no point arguing over details when we have the big picture to worry about."  He prodded me lightly with a finger and I grudgingly began moving towards the door, pausing only for a moment while Ralph opened it for me, and then we were into the club.  My plan was going ahead as intended.

    As soon as we were in two bouncers began to approach us just to make sure we hadn't somehow smuggled glass containers or automatic firearms past the first bouncer, but slowed a bit as they noticed Ralph.  Ralph's loyalty and honesty were big factors in asking him to help me out tonight, but a slightly smaller factor was that he worked at the club part-time and was well-liked here; that meant no cover charge for either of us and Ralph wouldn't be the only one keeping a special eye out for me.  Sure enough, after shaking hands with the two suited gorillas and exchanging niceties Ralph explained what was going on, at least as far as they needed to know: I might be leaving with Ralph, but I might not; if I was leaving with someone else and they didn't show them my key ring (which he had pulled out) then it very well might not be by my choosing, or at the very least they shouldn't be leaving without the keys to my cuffs.  The bouncers seemed to have no problem adding this to their existing list of things to check, and with a nod and few more handshakes we were off again.

    Ralph guided us along on a beeline to the dance floor, which with the current crowd was less about dancing now and more about decadence.  A few pieces of furniture had been set up around the dance floor, most of them occupied.  In the far corner was the same couple I'd seen a few minutes ago, the wife-cum-Domme guiding her husband-cum-slave onto a St. Andrew's Cross.  A crowd had begun to form, and I got the impression that these two had enough of a reputation that while people didn't know exactly what to expect from them they knew it would be good.  On the other side of me was a spanking bench, now in the process of being vacated by a corseted and gagged woman bearing a dazzling array of red marks along the entire back side of her lower body, as well as a vacant, blissful look in her eyes.  I was eying the rest of the room when we suddenly stopped and Ralph turned me around to face him.  "Okay Kitten," he said, "don't get into any trouble now.  And if you do get into some that you can't handle, use your safeword, okay?"  I looked back at him, suddenly quite nervous. "You aren't going to stay?" I think I managed to keep the tremble out of my voice.  He smiled at me, this time all charm, no creep, as he said, "Me hovering next to you won't win you any conversations.  I'm going to be," his finger pointed to the couple I'd seen earlier, "over there, near the crowd gathering around Cynthia and Steve.   It's just a few feet away, where I can keep an eye on you without being in the way."  I stammered for a moment, trying to come up with some reason for him to stay that wasn't, "I'm scared"; finally I gave up. "I'm scared," I said, though I was sure my eyes had already told him this, "I don't think I'm ready for this."  He rubbed my arm softly and leaned in: "they tell actors that the day they no longer feel stage fright is the day they should stop acting."  He smiled, "of course you're scared, but that's normal.  It'll pass."  He planted a kiss on my forehead, a privilege he'd lost when we'd broken up but one I was glad to grant him now for the comfort it gave me, and then he started walking away.  "You'll be alright. Just remember," he said, turning to face me as he walked backwards, "'stage fright'."  He flashed me another smile, though this one definitely missed the "charming" mark and sailed well into "offensive", and proceeded to the edge of the crowd.  He settled in and stayed there, positioned so he could see the cross and me at the same time.  I sighed nervously; except for emergency help, I was now on my own.

    The first few minutes alone were agonizing.  My heart and mind raced along with each other as I stood meekly amid the crowd, and I was certain at any moment something horrible was going to happen.  As it always does the fear and excitement gave rise to a different kind of excitement, one which started between my legs and began spreading.  I was suddenly very conscious of my breasts; though already thrust out by the way my arms were bound, they were becoming more noticeable as I felt my nipples get hard.  I'd decided to wear panties but not a bra, and the thin top now left little to the imagination.  This of course led me to become more afraid, which in turn made me more aroused; inch by inch I was working myself into a terrified, horny frenzy, mind completely focused on my situation and not my surroundings, which is why I yelped loudly when someone gave my ass a quick grope.  I'd known this kind of thing was going to happen, and was even looking forward to it when I'd planned the evening, but at that moment it just scared the living daylights out of me.  I turned in time to hear a quickly muttered apology and see someone darting off, probably sure I was going to sic an army of simian bouncers on him.  I sighed again: the evening was not going well.

    Over the next half hour I managed to calm myself down, and after slowly making my way around the dance floor-turned-play area without another incident I felt far more comfortable.  When someone finally did reach out to touch me again (this time a slow, caressing touch along the bottom of my butt) I didn't yelp, I purred.  As I turned to find the person attached to the hand it traveled up my body lightly, finally running alongside my face and stroking my hair as its owner came into view.  She was a Gothic beauty, tall and well-built with pale skin and black makeup, squeezed into a tight corset that made her ample frame look divine and blasphemous at the same time.  From the corset down all I could see was polished latex and thigh-high boots; from above it exposed skin.  Had I seen her on the street I might have stammered, but inside the club, bound and dressed as I was, my inner kitten was already starting to take over.  I mewed at her softly and rubbed my head against her hand, fixing my eyes on her with a pleading-yet-expectant look in silent request for more petting.  "What an adorable kitten," she said, obliging my silent request with some light strokes behind my ear.  "And without a home, too, how sad."  I gave her my best "sad kitten" look, something I'd practiced for months; she smiled again, playing along with me as she ran her hand under my chin.  "Aww, don't be sad little cat, I'm sure someone here would be willing to give you a bowl of cream and a place to sleep."  I purred again, the sound coming from my throat and not my tongue; it was another skill I'd practiced for months to get perfect, and it made me feel more kitten-ish than the ears or tail ever had.  The woman let out a soft laugh, rich and deep and sending a shiver up my spine, but then she sighed.  "It's a shame my pet cage is already full for the night."  I frowned a little, and was on my way to making some sad pleading mewing noise when she tugged the leash in her hand and guided... well, something out from behind her and in to view.

    To this day I'm not certain if she was leading a man or a woman around on that leash; no skin was visible, save for the eyes, which were glassy and somewhat panicked at the same time.  The rest of its flesh was covered in tight latex, also perfectly polished, and even that was covered by a mass of straps, buckles, and thick rubber restraints.  The full head harness gag was obviously inflatable looking at the pump attached to the front, and judging from the swell in its cheeks it had been inflated a good deal.  It's arms were bound firmly in a black rubber straitjacket; it had zippers over the nipples, but they were closed over tightly-bound skin and (I had learned) zippers over the nipples meant nothing as far as gender.  The zip in the crotch of the catsuit also told me nothing, other than this bound creature was well wired judging from the four sets of leads coming out of the top of the zip and leading to two control boxes clipped to D-rings on either side of the straitjacket's bottom.  The legs were not exempt from bondage either, and were linked together by a set of rubber ankle and thigh cuffs joined by several chains crossing paths with each other.  The final touch was the pair of ballet boots the ankle cuffs were locked over, forcing the feet into a brutal en pointe; again, this said nothing about gender, only something about sore feet.  I couldn't help but stare at the outfit and the poor creature wearing it, part of me wishing I was wearing an identical outfit.  The woman obviously saw this; with a grin she reached into the space between her cleavage and produced a small remote, which she toggled.  The reaction was immediate and unmistakable: the leashed thing began to writhe and then jerk a bit, teetering dangerously on ballet heels while the woman steadied it.  A whining noise I'd been subconsciously tuning out suddenly got more intense and ragged, and I realized that it was the bound thing's muffled moans and cries, now made consciously audible by its induced climax.  Whatever bits of flesh the electrodes were hooked up to they were obviously the right ones, I thought.

    The woman must have toggled the remote again and placed it back in its hiding place, because I didn't see it when my head swiveled to look at her as she grasped each of my suddenly pert nipples through my thin top.  This time it was her that purred (though not nearly as catlike as I would have); I remained speechless as she leaned in and whispered in my ear.  "I'll have a free cage available one of these days though," she said, her voice dripping with sadistic lust.  I shivered; she told me her name, one I recognized as a "safe player" according to Ralph, and then continued: "I could give you a home for a week, I'm sure, maybe two.  I know you'll enjoy my hospitality, it's hard to resist."  The dance floor suddenly felt very, very warm.  She straightened, brushed an errant lock of hair out of my face, and then gave the leash a light tug.  A second later she was walking off slowly, the leashed thing wearily struggling to keep up with her (which it did, to my impressed stares).  As she left she turned her face to me and gave me a smile, somehow full of kindness and the promise of unspeakable sadism at the same time.  "Don't be afraid to show up on my doorstep some time, little cat," she called out to me, and then she was out of sight beyond a wall of moving bodies.  "Oh, I'll be afraid," I thought to myself, "so afraid I might cum right there on your doorstep."  I was only an hour into the evening and already I'd met someone I would definitely describe as "interesting".  The thought of being under that woman's control... I shuddered.  Indefinitely?  Definitely not.  On the other hand, two weeks was conveniently the same length as how much vacation time I'd have at the end of this month.  I would certainly return to work "refreshed", for lack of a better word, after spending a vacation in that kind of care.

    The woman's name now firmly etched into my mind I continued around the dance floor, now much more comfortable in my bondage (aside from the lingering dampness between my legs).  It was fortunate that I was feeling so comfortable, because apparently the Gothic angel wasn't the only one who was paying attention to my reactions.  Every few minutes I was being touched, sometime an innocent pet on the head, sometimes a light grope elsewhere that was anything but.  Nobody seemed very interested in doing anything much more severe to me... well, almost nobody.  At one point a young, leather vest-wearing man with entirely too many toys on his belt grabbed me from behind and forced his hand between my legs harshly, fingers inexpertly gripping at my lips through my thin, damp panties.  He'd gotten half a syllable into saying something I'm sure he thought was arousing when I cut him off abruptly, bringing my right heel down on top of his toes very hard to emphasize my point.  There was a light snapping noise that was *not* my heel; regardless of what I'd hit that made that noise I didn't feel sorry at all.  As I walked away somewhat jittery I caught sight of Ralph, who had silently appeared and was (judging by the look on his face as his mouth moved) informing the "True Dom" about proper play etiquette and the consequences of not observing it.  The knowledge that Ralph was dutifully watching over me calmed me, and by the time he showed up to comfort me there was little for him to do.  He checked my circulation, re-adjusted my ears for me (which had apparently slipped a little), and then unexpectedly slid a hand down to my ass and gave it a quick squeeze.  I objected a bit of course, but I realized what the grope really was: a signal to the rest of the crowd that I was not traumatized and their touching could continue, and it did.

    It was two and a half hours into the night now and I had to admit, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.  My arms were still comfortable bound behind my back, though I could tell they might be getting stiff soon.  The inner kitten had asserted itself firmly, and the unavoidable gropes and touches had led to a lot of purring, some nuzzling, and the occasional warning growl as hands tried to go places I didn't want them to.  I'd watched a few people use the furniture with rapt catlike attention, and even scampered around happily (as well as one can scamper without use of their arms) when someone started tracing a laser pointer around the floor near my feet.  It'd been almost an hour since I'd even spoken a word... no, it'd been almost an hour since I'd remembered that I could.  I was flying high, deep into kittenspace, and then suddenly I needed a drink.  I hadn't noticed, but between the light sweating, heavy breathing, and the constant dampness which now seemed to afflict my crotch I had lost a lot of fluid.  I scanned the crowd for Ralph and spotted him over at the bar, conveniently enough, and started to make my way to him.  After some careful weaving I was there, watching him as he held a glass of something nondescript while chatting up a girl in a tight latex dress and nothing else.  Instead of asking for water my kitten instincts firmly guided me towards another course of action: I ran my head into his leg and rubbed a bit, mewing loudly and (this was the authentic touch) annoyingly.  Ralph smirked as he looked down at me, very familiar with my mewing sub-language.  "Does the kitten need something?" I nodded, punctuating it with a loud "mrrrrrrrrow!"  He asked, "are you hungry?"  I shook my head.  "Thirsty?"  I nodded again and gave him a little smile.  He turned to the bartender and asked him for water and a straw, then caught sight of the girl he'd been chatting up.  She had a half-perplexed, half-"oh this is how it is" look on her face, which was apparently unsubtle enough for Ralph to notice.  "Err... Trish, this is Kitten.  She's a friend, I'm just minding her for the evening.  Unless she finds someone more to her liking here," he added quickly.  Trish paused for a moment, digesting this new information, and then nodded and simply said, "Oh."  That seemed to be enough for her, until the bartender returned with my water.  Before Ralph could take it from the bar she picked the glass up, placed the straw in it and then moved close to me, bending down to bring the water and straw within reach of my mouth.  "Here you go, Kitten," she said.  My lips wrapped around the straw and I started drinking, not really caring about the exchange between these two.  I paused for a moment to take a breath, and suddenly Trish's free hand was gripping my head gently and pulling my lips to hers.

    Now I should really clear up something here: I'm not all that "in to" women.  Point of fact, I like men more.  Men are more forceful, more rugged, and it's more touching when a man cares about my feelings because it's harder for them.  (Generally, anyway)  Women aren't bad though: they understand me better, they understand the female body a lot better too, and they're soft.  This woman was soft, anyway; certainly her lips were.  The kiss was tender and deep and at the same time with ample amounts of tongue.  The purr that came from me as her lips and tongue explored my own was involuntary, as was the futile tugging of my arms against their bonds.  Trish broke the kiss and pulled away from me, setting the water on the bar and fixing Ralph with a sultry stare.  "I think I'll be taking Kitten home with me at the end of the evening.  Unless I find someone more to my liking here," she added, heaping on enough emphasis that Ralph could have understood the implication if he were in a coma.  She walked off towards the dance floor, leaving Ralph to figure out his next move.  He stammered a bit, fixing me with a confused "did that really happen" stare, and finally managed to get out a "sorry" before he walked (quickly) after Trish.  I smiled to myself, glad Ralph's evening was not going to be unproductive, and then turned to get more water.  Unfortunately for me the bar was high, meant for those sitting on the high stools and just a few inches too tall; no matter how hard I tried, how far up on my toes I stood I could not reach the straw poking out of the water.

    A well-manicured hand grabbed my water glass and held it down for me; I'd drained half the glass before I looked up at my good Samaritan  He was modestly handsome, perhaps a bit too wide in the face, a bit too narrow in the eyes.  His hair was as neat as his fingernails, as were his shirt and slacks, business casual in sharp contrast to the attire most everyone else was wearing.  My eyes moved down his body, towards his legs (and his crotch) until I caught sight of a loop of chain in his other hand.  My eyes continued along it, following it until they found...

    ...a kitty!

    The light chain ended with a small padlock attached to her collar, a thin bejeweled thing with a bell on it.  The rest of her outfit was matched to perfection: white, fuzzy ears emerged from her flowing, platinum blond hair, matching the similarly fuzzy bikini top and skirt she was wearing.  A tail peeked out from under the skirt, held aloof by some sort of wiring inside which also lifted the back of the skirt a little bit, exposing the thin... no, sheer panties she wore.  It was adorable and exhibitionistic in one delicious package; I immediately wanted it and (I'll admit) her too.

    My reaction to her appearance must have been very obvious, because both of them smiled knowingly.  There was an unspoken exchange between them, a look, a meeting of eyes, some quirking and nodding of the head, and then the platinum kitten was walking towards me, rock steady on impossibly high platform heels.  Her hands gripped behind my neck and she leaned down, pulling her face close to mine.  I closed my eyes and parted my lips, expecting another kiss, but none came; instead she pressed her face against my neck, inhaling deep... no, sniffing me.  As goosebumps made their way across my skin she moved her head up my neck and stopped at my ear.  There was a purr, light and seductive, a small nip on my earlobe which made me moan softly, and then she stood straight again.  The man had stepped forward while my attention was elsewhere, and with one hand on her shoulder he spoke. "Dan," he said, motioning to himself, "this is Felicia.  Come with us, kitty."  He started walking away, leaving the end of Felicia's chain in her hand.  I puzzled at this for a moment until she took the end of it, brought it behind my neck and then around the front, holding the two sides of chain together with her one hand and forming a loose leash loop around me.  Then she gave it a little tug, just enough to guide me, and I followed dreamily.

    I have always had a thing for being leashed, long before I'd ever touched on my inner kitten.  Something about the obvious symbol of control a leash represents makes me quiver, and that's not even touching on the *actual* control it represents (which Felicia made expert use of).  By the time we'd reached the dance floor the leash had had its effect on me and I was deep into kittyspace once more.  This section of the dance floor was still being used for actual dancing and once we were there Felicia and I started moving with the music, her hand still holding the leash around my neck.  Dan stood off to the side, lightly shifting with the music but obviously more interested in watching his kitty play with the stray he'd found.  As she pulled me close the music's lyrics came in.

        Monsieur Dan, can I come with you?

        As you both look awfully kind...

    My focus changed quickly as Felicia began rubbing herself none too subtly against my thrust-out breasts, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide my hard nipples.  Suddenly I found my arms straining against the cuffs and links holding them as I tried to grab the taunting kitten in front of me and... do something.  I don't think I had much of a coherent plan beyond cleaning her entire body with my tongue (very catlike, you see), but the self-imposed bondage I was in made sure her plan, not mine, was going to win out.  Releasing their grip on my makeshift leash her hands circled my arms and then pulled my body into hers hard, every curve and rise of her feline form now indelibly etched into my memory as our skin was now separated by millimeters (or fractions thereof) of fabric.  A half-moan half-mew escaped my lips as she smiled mischievously at me.

        I'll sing to you my mewing charms

        Looks like you both could use a pet

        And purr my purr all night long

        I think a pussy's your best bet...

    Still gripping my arms, Felicia pressed her lips to mine and kissed me, no tongue but forceful all the same.  When she released and pulled away something felt strange; I looked down and saw that while her lips were distracting me her hands had been moving and pulling my top. The straps now hung around my arms, held up by the cuffs, while the rest of it hung lower, no longer covering my breasts.  Before I could find some way to cover myself her hands were on my exposed tits, rubbing lightly, brushing my aroused nipples.  I could feel myself getting wet (or wetter, really) as the helplessness of my exposure hit me, and a moment later she felt it too as her hand ran under my skirt and against my crotch. Then she wasn't touching me anymore, instead standing a few feet away (further into the crowd) and beckoning me to follow.  Filled with the buzz of arousal and the firmly re-established sense of kitten curiosity I was helpless to resist.  I moved towards her after letting out a somewhat dreamy "meow".

        I love to lap a spot of cream

        and I assure you that I'm neat

        But you never know what you can expect

        when a pussy is in heat....

    I don't know for sure how long we danced for, only that it was several songs and not nearly long enough.  To be fair I wasn't doing much real dancing, cuffed as I was and in the state of mind Felicia's "wardrobe alteration" had put me in.  She used me less as a dance partner and more as a prop (a role I was happy to play at the moment), part of a show she was clearly putting on for Dan's benefit but at the same time one she was happy to let others watch.  Her body rubbed and pressed against mine, her hands teased my breasts, my thighs, my ears and under my chin, bringing on a variety of purring, mewing, and just plain moaning noises from me.  Finally as the current song wound to a close she stopped dancing, turned and gave me a kiss on the nose, then started walking off the dance floor after a departing Dan, pulling me along with her index finger holding the ring in the front of my collar.

    Arriving at a secluded booth near the back of the club, Dan took a seat and slid in towards the center.  I moved to follow but Felicia stopped me.  Confused, I watched as she got on her knees and pulled me to mine as well, then she lifted the tablecloth and crawled under the table, pulling me underneath with her.  Underneath the table was almost as comfortable as the the booth itself appeared to be, and well cleaned.  No gum spotted the underside of the table, and the carpet was clean and surprisingly comfortable. (Ralph later told me extra carpet padding had been added to the booth area shortly after the club began catering to a crowd more likely to have members of their party kneeling on the floor)  It was, I have to say, very cozy, a perfect place for two kitties to curl up and rest for a while, or perhaps get into more trouble.  The latter was obviously on Felicia's mind as she pulled me tight against her once more, tucking us between Dan's legs, kissing me deeply with tongue as her hands moved down towards my hips.  Moments later my panties had been pulled down around my knees and her fingers were feeling my shaved slit; I spread my legs a bit and pressed into her hand, and then her fingers were inside of me, probing, moving, driving me wild.  She broke the kiss but left her hand there, still keeping me on edge as she reached her other up and slowly unzipped Dan's fly.  His cock sprung out from his pants, already stiff from watching the two of us dance earlier.  Grabbing it with her hand, Felicia smiled at me, let out a soft mew in my direction, and then took his cock into her mouth.

    We stayed like that for a while, Felicia sucking, bobbing on, and jerking Dan's cock while her other hand kept me similarly entertained.  She even kept it up as someone approached the table and briefly spoke to Dan; neither said anything about us or even seemed to notice we were there, beyond Dan's obvious physical reactions.  After a while Felicia pulled her head off his cock, keeping her hand there, and her other hand moved from my now-soaked cunt to my mouth, letting me taste myself.  I found my inner kitten telling me to clean her hand thoroughly with my tongue, which I did, causing both of us to purr.  Then her index finger was gripping the ring in my collar again, and she pulled my head closer to her, closer to Dan's cock still in her hand.  She gave out a soft, cooing mew as she moved a bit so I would be unimpeded taking over for her.  Finally realizing what she wanted me to do, I started pulling against her gentle tugging.

    It might seem strange, given all the other liberties I'd let her take with me up to this point, but letting Felicia make me service Dan was something I was absolutely not willing to do.  There was the fact that he wasn't wearing a condom, and the fact that I'd spent very little time getting to know him (though ample time getting to know her).  Frankly, I just wasn't attracted to him, and as intoxicating as Felicia was it wasn't enough to make me want to do this for her.  I tugged back and shook my head, letting out an uncooperative grunt.  She stopped tugging almost immediately, fixing me with a questioning look and a matching inquisitive mew as she still held the ring of my collar.  I looked at her, looked at his throbbing, saliva-slick shaft, then looked back at her, shaking my head "no" as I kept my eyes on hers.  She seemed to crumple just a little, obviously sad that her new kittyfriend wasn't up to what she wanted, but then she leaned forward and placed a single soft kiss on my forehead.  Releasing my ring and Dan's cock (and wiping her hand on his pants) she gently pulled my top back up over my chest, hiding my breasts once more.  She motioned for me to turn around and I did, unsure as to why.  As I turned she was suddenly pulling my panties down further, pulling them past the bend of my knee as I had one leg barely in the air; the other quickly followed suit as I shifted in surprise, and before I could really react they were over my shoes and off of me.  I turned again in time to see her secreting my stolen underwear away in Dan's pants pocket.  Finished, she gave me a little wave and a happy meow; I returned the meow after a moment, deciding to let her keep a trophy if she wanted.

    Before I could turn to leave I heard Dan's muffled voice from above saying, "what's going on down there?"  Felicia's hand was suddenly gripping Dan's cock again, only this time her nails were digging into his tender cockflesh as she squeezed his organ and growled.  Dan fell abruptly silent, and suddenly something clicked into place in my head: Felicia was the one in charge here, not Dan.  The collar and leash she wore had thrown me, but she'd been calling the shots all along.  We hadn't been following Dan, we'd been letting him clear a path for us, and Felicia's (and my) sensual display on the dance floor hadn't been to please him, but to tease him.  Even now she was testing him, keeping him on the edge of orgasm without letting him cum, all while forcing him to endure this torment in public.  It was little wonder why I'd been attracted to her more than him. I giggled a little to myself, then flashed Felicia a smile and turned to move awkwardly out from under the booth on my knees.  Their dynamic was something fascinating, but now wasn't the time to ask questions about it.  I heard her return to pleasing/teasing Dan as I left, accompanied by his grunts of (I now realized) frustration.

    Emerging from under the booth I looked around the seating area and almost immediately spotted Ralph and Trish.  They were seated several booths away and across from me, within earshot and line of sight... well at least for Ralph.  Apparently he had convinced her to go home with him rather than me, because Trish's line of sight ended at the black leather blindfold tightly strapped across her eyes, further held in place by the straps of the matching panel gag covering her mouth.  It looked quite natural on her and went well with her tight red latex dress, and Ralph's good spirit was no doubt helped by her stunning bound appearance.  As I wandered closer I saw a leash looped around his wrist which hung off the table and seemed to end somewhere behind Trish, who was sitting with her arms behind her; knowing Ralph I was sure if I checked I would find it ended clipped to a pair of leather cuffs binding her wrists together.  "Hi there Kitten," he said as I got close, "did you have fun?"  I smiled and nodded vigorously.  "Good.  Not going home with them though?"  I shook my head and made my best "pouty kitten" face.  He said, "aww, that's too bad.  The night's not done yet though.  Do you need anything?  Cuffs adjusted?  Food?  Water?"  I shook my head to each of these and let out a happy "mrrrrrrrow!"  Truthfully I was feeling a bit hungry, but given that Ralph was quite clearly occupied I didn't want to intrude.  "Well if you change your mind we'll be around, not that Trish has much of a choice.  In anything."  He ran his hand over her shoulder lightly as he said this, and Trish squirmed a bit, a few muffled noises of fear/lust/excitement coming from behind her gag.  Ralph would undoubtedly be adding more items to her outfit before the night was through, and it was clear we all knew this.  I "mrrrrrow"-ed again to let Ralph know I understood, nuzzled my head against Trish's arm to say "bye" to her, and then I walked away.

    Out of everything that happened that night, what came next is the part I'm the most ashamed of.  It wasn't deviant, or sexual, or even sensual, but it was definitely humiliating for someone who likes to consider themselves catlike.  I was walking, an admittedly simple task of putting one foot in front of the other and repeating, and then somehow I forgot how to do this mid-step.  My body moved forward, my feet did not, and with my arms firmly strapped behind me my face was suddenly rushing towards the ground very fast.  The smartass part of my brain wondered if it would be my friend.  Fortunately I never found out; I was instead stopped by a pair of large, soft arms, holding me by the shoulders and waist just a foot from impact.  Then I was being lifted, slowly but at the same time with ease, and the previously soft arms suddenly seemed anything but as I felt muscles rippling as they pressed against me. Eventually I was able to get my feet under me and stand on my own.  Straightening myself as best I could without use of my arms, I turned and looked at my second Good Samaritan of the evening.  He was seated at the edge of the nearby booth, adjusting his clothes after leaning over to catch me as I fell. Where Dan had been impeccably dressed my latest rescuer was more casually attired in jeans and a leather jacket; the only bit of fetishwear I could spot on him were leather bracers on each forearm.  Before I had much chance to eye my new friend any further he spoke: "are you okay?  Need any help?  Oh...." He reached down and grabbed something off the floor, and then he was standing in front of me very close and doing something I wasn't very clear on because I was suddenly very distracted.  He was tall, towering over me a great deal more than Ralph, Dan, the Gothic angel, or anybody else I'd had any real contact with this evening; my face barely made it higher than his abs. Underneath his jacket and the simple T-shirt he wore I could tell that his body (at least his torso) was much like his arms: strong and soft, a deceptive layer of padding over a muscled frame.  That wasn't what was grabbing my attention so much though...

    There is a... scent, an odor that is unique to men, a sort of primitive flag that says, "why yes, I DO produce testosterone, thank you for noticing."  It's one of the things I love and hate about men, because it can quickly become overpowering and, frankly, offensive.  But then and there, standing just a few feet from my unnamed benefactor, there was the barest, smallest of hints of it mingling with the scent of freshly laundered clothing and his well worn leather jacket.  It was intoxicating and wonderful, unexpectedly so.  As I stood there, letting him do something to my hair, he suddenly stopped moving.  For the briefest of moments I wasn't sure why, until I realized I could hear myself breathing deep. No, that wasn't quite right... oh God, I was SNIFFING him!  "Maybe you can pass it off as catlike behavior," I thought, but I felt a blush coming to my cheeks, rationalization or no.

    "Well hello to you too," he said in response to my sniffing; my blush reddened as any hope of him not noticing it went out the window.  He continued: "unless that was meant as a thank you for fixing your ears. At least, I think I did.  Let me be sure."  As he stepped back to check the ears I hadn't even felt come off my head I got a better look at him.  From far away he probably looked average, ordinary, definitely not a head-turner except for the height, but at this distance he had a certain impressive charm to him.  I found myself eying him up and down, eyes wandering until they moved to his face and then locked with his own soft, bright eyes.  Then my eyes were looking at the floor, certain he'd seen me sizing him up.  The blush was fast becoming a full-body one and seemed like it wanted to stay a permanent feature of my attire for rest of the evening, especially when the creeping hot tingle extended towards my pelvis and reminded me that my panties were several booths away, keeping Felicia and Dan company.  The gentle giant took a step closer as he said, "yep, all sorted.  You're catlike again.  My name's Rick, by the way."  He paused, a moment of (relative) silence lingering with the unasked question of my name.  Still looking at the ground I managed to meekly say, "Kitten," my inner kitten completely silent in the face of my growing awkwardness.  "Jesus Christ," I thought, "get a grip.  Pull yourself together and LOOK at him."  I mustered all my self-control, shoved the (mostly) irrational embarrassment down and prodded my kitten-ness into activity.  It wasn't much, but it was enough for me to turn my head to look at Rick, fix my eyes on his and let out a soft (very soft) "mrrrow!"

    He chuckled and smiled at me, suddenly at ease as I realized he'd been feeling my awkwardness as well.  Now that it had passed his body untensed, enough to drop his height maybe an inch.  "Well then, Stray Kitten, happy to meet you.  I hope you'll stay around for a bit, but I know how you kittens do so love to wander."  Rick motioned to the booth.  "Seat?"  After the rollercoaster of emotions I had just been through sitting down sounded like a good idea; with almost no hesitation I sat down on the edge of the booth and slid in slowly, arms still cuffed, Rick taking a seat opposite me as soon as he was sure I'd be able to manage on my own.  He smiled at me again and then leaned against the table. He asked, "So! What brings you to the club tonight?"  It was a question I couldn't really answer with mewling noises (except maybe with Ralph), but I reminded myself that the point of the evening was to meet someone, which couldn't really be done on any meaningful level without SOME conversation.  I cleared my throat, reminding my vocal cords that they could make a wide variety of non-catlike noises, and spoke: "Just... sort of an experiment.  I'm trying to let my kitten side out in public more." This was also true, since I rarely acted kitten-ey around this many people.  Rick nodded in understanding. "And the cuffs are part of the experiment, or...?" His question trailed off, but I could tell what he really wanted to know. "Yes," I said, smiling, "they're my idea and my cuffs.  A friend of mine is holding on to the keys." I emphasized the word "friend" a bit much and then caught myself, and the blush threatened to return to my cheeks; I kept talking to keep it at bay.  "So far it's worked.  I've met a lot of interesting people tonight, too."  I started to relax in the booth as he did the same, both of us easing into the pace of a casual, pressure-less and pleasant conversation. "I hope that includes me," he said with a half-chuckle and another smile.  Leaning forward a bit, I fixed my eyes on him, returned the smile and said, "I think we'd need to talk a bit more before I'd say that."

    And so we did.

    I wish I could give you a full account of everything we talked about, all the words we spoke and the looks we exchanged while we did, but I can't.  The conversation started off with the basics: a little bit about yourself, what you do for a living, why you're here.  He was a specialized technician for some high-tech startup ("part code monkey, part freight mover," he joked), and was just here to enjoy not having to hide this part of himself like he did at work. Somewhere the conversation turned from office politics (who we hated at work) to what we did on our days off (how we blew off steam from dealing with people we hated at work), and then the conversation bunny-trailed (or kitten-trailed) to topics both interesting and meaningless for a while.  We might have talked like that for hours longer if a waitress, clad in a black-and-pink PVC parody of a cocktail waitress outfit, hadn't come by and set a plate of food down in front of Rick.  She apologized for the delay (he'd ordered long before I did my almost-faceplant in front of him) and gave him a curtsy before departing, leaving us again.

    I'd been a little hungry when I'd sat down to talk to Rick, but that had been at least 40 minutes ago.  From where I sat I could see his order: some type of chicken sandwich, un-breaded, lightly seasoned, and looking thoroughly delicious.  As the smell of the chicken wafted over to me my empty stomach let out a completely unladylike growl, causing him to look up and me to blush again.  He smiled, pausing for a moment before he said, "I'm happy to share if you want some, Kitten."  I nodded and mumbled something unintelligible but affirmative; he began to cut small bite-sized chunks of chicken while I scooted around the booth closer to him.  I stopped just a few inches away from touching Rick, watching him cut with his plastic knife and fork.  After a moment he stopped, set the knife down and turned to me, giving me an odd look.  I quirked my head, puzzled; he smiled again as he said in a deep and unexpectedly firm tone, "I don't remember kittens being allowed to eat from the table."  He fixed me with a look while he spoke, a glint of something dark and tantalizing and mischievously gleeful in his eyes, and suddenly a tingle was running from the center of my spine outward, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up while at the same time reminding me of my all-to-absent panties underneath my skirt.  I faltered, dumbfounded; how had the tone of our interaction changed so quickly, and (more importantly) why was I suddenly planning to move to the floor per his indirect order?

    My mind was abuzz with thought as I slid down under the table and started awkwardly shuffling for the outer edge.  Had the conversation really changed all that quickly?  We'd talked for nearly an hour, and there had been plenty of flirting interspersed throughout.  I'd even briefly touched on the topic of kittyplay in talking with him.  My inner critic reminded me that this was hardly as overt a "move" as I'd let Felicia make with me earlier, and I sure knew Rick better than I'd known her.  He was friendly, modest, and charming, and I didn't feel any danger signs floating around him at all. Shuffling past his legs my inner kitten decided to weigh in as well, and abruptly I was running my head into his shin, rubbing my ear against it while I let out a practiced and authentic rendition of a hungry cat's meow.  Obvious to the growing mental consensus, the rest of my mind took a backseat and watched while my kitten side took over.

    And so it was that I found myself shuffling out from under the table and kneeling next to the booth beside Rick, finding the most catlike position I could muster without the use of my arms.  His hand stroked my hair and I found myself purring, not reproducing a cat's purr but really purring as his touch made my skin tingle wonderfully.  He continued to pet me as he took a bite of his slightly less-heavy sandwich, keeping me quite happy even though my stomach was still grumbling about the obvious proximity of food which was not currently in it.  Moving his hand away, he picked up the fork, skewered a small piece of chicken and brought it down just a few inches in front of my face; I wasted no time in taking it off the fork, though enough of my non-kitten brain remained awake to ensure I chewed quietly and with my mouth closed.  After a bit I swallowed, my stomach thanking me immediately, and then looked up at him.  He was taking another bite from the first half of his sandwich, one hand free and perfectly capable of petting me if he was so inclined, and I very much wanted him to be inclined.  I ran my head against his hand to "remind" him of the hungry feline kneeling beside him (as though he could have forgotten), which prompted a chuckle from him as he quickly set down his food.  "Aren't we a demanding kitty," he said as he looked down at me with another one of those looks he'd given me earlier.  The familiar tingle struck me while I stared back at him with the appropriate feline expression (uncaring enthusiasm) and let out a short, simple, and energetic, "Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow!"  If I'd been able to move my pinned-on tail on its own, at this point it would have been swishing through the air quite fast.  My response heard, he turned back to his sandwich and continued eating, though his free hand did start to gently stroke my hair.  After a few bites another morsel was brought before me, which I ate as quickly as the first. We continued like this for a while.  Rick would take a bite or two of his sandwich, petting me all the while, then pause for a moment to feed me another table scrap.  By then I was purring nearly the entire time, the volume growing louder the longer I knelt by him.  After a while, when the next bit of chicken came something was different: Rick was holding it gently between his thumb and forefinger instead of skewering it on the fork.

    From what I'm told I wish I could have seen my own face as I took the next bite of chicken from Rick's hand, eyes fixed on his; I have trouble believing that I could really produce an expression that sultry, that smoldering and seductive at all, much less when I was in the process of lightly nipping a man's index finger while taking a piece of chicken from between it and another.  Even so, I know that whatever kind of look I gave him it had an effect, at least based on the light shiver I could see traveling up his body.  He fed me one more piece of chicken like this until I decided I was full, refusing the next piece to his thinly hidden disappointment.  Wasting no time he finished the rest of his sandwich and (after using an included wet-nap to wipe his hands) returned to petting me.  I adjusted my position a little and went back to happily purring, my eyes now closed in deep kitten contentment.  Every few minutes I would open my eyes and glance up at him; a few times our eyes met and we exchanged looks, wordless and revealing that our content feelings were mutual.

    Our not-so-brief moment stretched on for what seemed like forever, until a faint and distant voice in the back of my mind reminded me of something.  Taking a moment to re-establish my connection with the rest of the world I took a look around the club and spotted Ralph, still escorting a progressively bound Trish.  I struggled to my feet with some assistance from Rick and then turned to face him.  Doing my best to communicate with mews and meows I tried to ask him to stay there; either he understood or he was curious to see what I was up to, and he remained seated while I made my way over to Ralph.  He had spotted me in return as I made my way to him, and he turned to face me with a grin.  Trish, no longer blindfolded but still gagged, gave me a muffled grunt in greeting as I arrived.

    Ralph said, "So how's it going Kitten?  Need something finally?"  I nodded my head, then leaned down and did my best to poke my nose at his pants pocket (which elicited a confused grunt from Trish, who I imagine must have thought she was witnessing something completely different from her vantage point).  Ralph understood my intent quickly. "Found someone you want to hold your keys?" he asked.  I nodded and mewed, a happy sound that somewhat surprised me; I hadn't realized how pleased I was at this development.  I turned and did my best to motion towards the booth Rick was still seated at.  Chuckling, Ralph said, "I see.  I figured you two were hitting it off.  The part where you let him feed you by hand clued me in."  He mock-whispered this last part as though it was some kind of secret, at the same time reaching into his pocket.  With some jingling he produced the small keyring and held it out.  With my arms still cuffed (for the moment, perhaps) I leaned in and grabbed the ring between my teeth, tugging a bit.  Ralph neglected to release it, however, and I let out a puzzled "mew" and looked up at him.

       "Just be careful, Kitten.  Rod's a good guy to let hold your keys, but I still worry.  I care about you, you know.  Always have, always will, even if it's just as a friend."  He smiled and released his hold on the keys, and in one fluid motion ran his hand down the length of my hair, a light and fleeting pet for someone he once owned and cared for.  "Now go on, chase the dream, and all that." He held up his other hand, still holding the end of Trish's leash, and his smile widened. "I sure as hell am."  Before I turned away I glanced at Trish; even with the leather face of the panel gag covering her mouth I could tell she was smiling from the look in her eyes.  There was no misunderstanding there, no jealously, just a reassuring, comforting warmth that came from knowing the person holding the other end of her leash had a heart of gold, even if it was wrapped in the body of a socially inept and diabolically sadistic bastard.

     

       Keys in hand (well, mouth anyway) I threaded my way back through the crowd to the booth, knelt beside Rick again, then leaned over him and dropped the keys in his lap with a happy "mrrrrrrrrrrrt!"  Stunned, though hiding it well, he picked up the keyring (subtly wiping off the kitten drool on the edge of his pants first) and held it questioningly.  "I take it these are…" he paused, then continued, "the keys your friend was holding?"  His eyes turned to look at me, and I barely managed to contain my own nervousness, which I quickly covered up by nodding rapidly and letting out a loud and happy "mew".  That familiar smile returned to his face, though underneath I could tell the significance of this was still fresh for him.  "Well…" he said, again with a long pause before he continued, "I guess it would be only gentlemanly of me to escort you home."  The air between us was tense, nervous excitement almost palpable. After another long, forever pause I was finally able to reply with a weak, throaty purr and a smiling nod.  He returned it, and then I started moving to the side so he could exit the booth.

    It took maybe a minute for us to reach the club exit, but to us (to me at least) it seemed like forever.  Rick guided me through the crowd gently, protectively; I could tell he wanted to remain as close to me as I did to him.  He held the key ring in his right hand the entire time, gripping it with a determination as though it were a rare treasure. (I suppose, in a manner of speaking, it was)  The bouncers at the inner doors let us by without a word, though one shot the other a wry smile just as we passed.  Retrieving my coat and purse from the coat check (okay, Rick helped), I turned around to face away from him and waited.  Instead of the snap hooks being undone, I felt my overcoat being slipped over my shoulders.  I mewed questioningly but remained still, letting him turn me and button it closed in the front.

    Rick held me by the arms and looked into my eyes, his excitement now overpowered by a deeper, more mature cousin of that mischievous glint I'd seen in his eye earlier.  "Relax, Kitten," he said, "I don't see any reason to uncuff you before I escort you home."  I gulped nervously (something I'd thought only happened in cartoons before now) but said nothing.  After a moment I took a deep breath and then ran my head into him affectionately.  This was scary, but a good kind of scary; I trusted Rick enough to let him do this, and so with Rick clutching my purse and key ring in one hand he guided me with his other out the door.

    The drizzle had vanished in the hours since I first entered the club, and we stood on the curb in the still-moist chilled night air, side by side and still nervous with anticipation.  After some curious looking about on my part Rick fixed me with a slightly sheepish look and said, "I took the bus."  Had this been any other date I might have felt irritated, or at least I would have not stayed in such a "swept off my feet" kind of mood.  As it was the pressing knowledge that my lingering bondage was only hidden by an overcoat kept my mind much more focused, and with a nod I began walking with him towards the bus stop.  The bus arrived almost as soon as we'd made it to the stop.  The ride was uneventful but pleasant; Rick eased me into a seat and sat next to me, and I tucked myself comfortably against his large frame and softly purred for the duration.

    We'd made it maybe 10 feet from my stop before my right heel snapped mid-stride, an unexpected reminder of my brief encounter with the "True Dom" earlier in the evening.  Before I could repeat my earlier faceplant attempt Rick grabbed me and steadied me.  I stood wearily for a moment, trying to figure out how I could possibly manage the relatively short walk to my door, and then the problem was taken out of my hands.  Rick's soft-but-strong arms once more wrapped around my torso and legs, and with a small grunt I was off the ground as he carried me, almost cradling me in his arms.  My senses were overwhelmed, his sweat-scent and laundry freshness teasing my nose, the heat of his body flowing into mine as he held me tight to him.  I heard him saying something, his deep voice rumbling through his chest pressed against my ear, and eventually I understood it to be a request for directions, which I gave him.  After maybe 100 feet of walking Rick turned and began climbing up the stairs, still carrying me with almost no difficulty while my mind suddenly was whirling with thought.  He was kind.  He was chivalrous.  He was funny.  He was modest and geeky.  He was deliciously dominant.  He smelled like heaven.  More and more of these thoughts built up in my brain, and by the time he set me down on the top step I was fast approaching a decision.

    Rick had pulled the overcoat off me and was working to unhook the chain binding my upper arms behind my back when I spoke, surprising us both.  "No," I said, "don't."  I could feel him freeze, suddenly unsure, and so I turned and look up at him, my eyes locking with his.  "Don't leave it here," I said, and then pressed myself against him, my breath hard and heavy as I rubbed my face into his chest, "don't go.  Stay with me Rick.  I want you to stay, please."  I remained there for a moment, our bodies pressed together in a warm, armless embrace.  Then I stepped back enough that I could look into his eyes.  And then his arms were wrapping around me, lifting me up again in a far less chivalrous fashion with one arm under my ass and the other behind me.  I spread my legs and wrapped them (or tried to) around his torso, and then our lips met, parted, and pressed together hard.

    Somehow Rick managed to get my keys from my purse and unlock the door, though I was only dimly aware of the change in location as we proceeded inside, through the entry room and some hallways, and eventually (after some inadvertent detours, one spilled glass of water and several more minutes of kissing) into my bedroom.  Somewhere in there the issues of birth control (him condoms, me the pill) and safety (both clean six months ago) were raised, and then there were no more concerns to distract us from our distraction.  He dropped me on the bed gently, though enough to make me bounce on the mattress, and before I had come to rest he was shedding layers.  His jacket and shirt went almost instantly and across the room, and his shoes and socks followed suit.  Then he was sliding into the bed next to me, his lips planting small kisses up my quivering, bound body until they came to rest at my neck for a moment.  Suddenly he was rolling me onto my front, far less gentle than he had been before, though I was hardly complaining about the change.  I felt his hands working at the chains linking my arms again, much quicker, fueled by a newfound motivation.  My arms groaned in relief as they came free from behind my back, then they complained when I was turned again and they were rudely lifted above me as Rick pulled my top off in short order.  My half-nakedness lasted sheer seconds before he had undone the belt around my waist and pulled my skirt down and off of me just as quickly.  He lingered for a moment to undo my shoes, and then he was back on the bed, laying on top of me locking his lips with mine once more.

    I felt Rick's hand moving up towards my arms, laying limp on the bed above me, and then some motion, jingling and snapping noises.  Pulling back from me he sat up, and I looked behind me at my arms long enough to see that the short chain was now clipped between my still-cuffed wrists, keeping them lightly restrained.  Moving off of me he stood just near the edge of the bed and beckoned with a single finger.  "Come here, Kitten," he said quietly, the firm edge still in his whispered tones, "on all fours.  Come to me."  I rolled over and moved around as gracefully as I could until I was up and facing him on my hands and knees, legs slightly spread.  My slit had long since grown wet, and the feeling of the relatively cool air of my bedroom meeting the moisture there added to the growing tingle which, while concentrated at my most sensitive of regions, was spreading outward rapidly.  With as much lithe agility as I could manage with my wrists loosely chained I crawled to him, eyes fixed on his.  Finally I came to a rest, hands at the edge of the bed, head raised and tilted slightly to look into his eyes while I waited, patiently, obediently… happily.

    Rick's one hand came to stroke my hair, brushing lightly over the kitty ears still perched atop my skull.  I closed my eyes and purred/moaned at him, the full-body tingle now finding a new place to concentrate as his fingers brushed my scalp, my skin, and along the line of my collar.  Then his hand rested there, holding me gently while I saw his other hand moving out of the corner of my eye.  My head turned to follow it, watching his fingers starting to grasp the zipper of his jeans.  There was a split-second of hesitation on my part before I was moving, my head leaning forward and pressing towards his crotch.

    Several years ago I had learned something that was not what you would call a parlor trick, unless your parlor was filled with a VERY exclusive gathering of friends, but a mildly impressive talent nonetheless. As my head moved closer to his still-covered crotch I pressed my nose into his hand, trying to push it away so he would release his grip on the zipper.  Eventually the pressing nature of my lust made me nip his fingers lightly, eliciting a whispered yelp from him which I soothed with cooing, mewing noises.  Kitten noises still in full swing, I leaned in, arched my head and gently lifted the metal zipper pull with my tongue, then quickly gripped it in my teeth and pulled it down.  A little gentle nosing on my part let his already hard cock free from his jeans.  It was... well, proportional to the rest of him, though not the biggest I'd seen (or taken).  Immediately I did like a good and caring kitten should: I began to "clean" it.  I was very thorough; my tongue ran from the base to the tip several times, around the sides, the top, anywhere I could.  His cock had grown much harder (and had even swelled a bit more) by the time I licked up the underside of it and then took the head into my mouth.  The taste of precum was faint, but present, and I couldn't help but moan.

    I don't normally enjoy the taste of semen, and strictly speaking even then I didn't enjoy it.  What I enjoyed was tasting him, being used by him for his pleasure.  I wanted him to use me.  I wanted him to defile me.  Like a pet.  His pet. I did my best to make that happen, for several long minutes which he seemed very pleased with, but he had other ideas.  After a time his hands gripped my hair, gentle and firm, and pulled my head back as he removed his cockhead from my mouth.  His fingers untwined from my hair and then ran down the side of my face.  I couldn't help but press my lips to his palm and kiss with a half-moan half-mew.  When I looked to his face Rick's smile told me everything; I was already moving by the time he told me, "turn and face the wall."  As I moved I could hear him unfastening his belt and the rustle and jangle of metal in pockets as he stepped out of his pants.  Shivering with anticipation I faced my headboard, my legs spread again, ass arched to display myself to him.

    There was a soft grunt of exclamation behind me followed by some nondescript shuffling.  My curiosity piqued but I kept facing the wall, ever the obedient kitten (for now anyway).  It was maybe a minute more before I felt him climb onto the bed, his hand touching me first, then his chest pressed against me as he moved in close and growled in my ear.  The near-orgasmic tingle that ran up my spine made me moan, soft and involuntary, and without warning he was pressing something into my mouth between my teeth.  Startled but not scared, I stayed still while he shifted his weight and reached around my head with either hand, and as he buckled the straps behind my head I finally recognized the ball gag he had pressed into my mouth.  There was a nervous shudder as my mind pieced together the shuffling noises I had heard earlier: he had found my toy drawer, probably half-open from when I'd retrieved my cuffs all those hours ago, and had done what came naturally.  Another lusty moan, now muffled into a pathetic mewl, came from my gagged lips; I wondered if he knew how much I loved being gagged.

    It was perhaps seconds before Rick found out.  He had moved around behind me while I was distracted by the new addition to my bondage, and his hand was now firmly pressed into my wet mound.  He said nothing, only let out a very satisfied (and somewhat amused) grunt, but I could tell the effect of the gag hadn't been lost on him.  His hand lingered for a moment, teasing me, keeping me aroused; strictly speaking he wasn't as technically talented as Felicia had proven herself to be, but my budding feelings for him and the ever-increasing degree to which I was at his mercy made up for that and then some.  My mewling gag noises became louder and more insistent, until I no longer felt his hand.  I had seconds to recognize the sound of a condom being adjusted, not nearly enough for my lust-addled kitten brain to anticipate his sheathed cockhead abruptly pressing against my now dripping slit.  Thinking back, even if it had been enough time my reaction would likely have been the same: I purred loudly, and in another second he was pressing slowly into me.

    Sex, that is proper penetration, with someone new is always unique the first time.  Nothing ever compares to that first encounter, one way or the other, and it leaves an impression.  Sometimes its a categoric inventory of everything that happened, every "trick" executed, every kiss and lick and thrust.  With Rick it was quite the opposite; I can't tell you exactly how he fucked me, because a moment after I felt his hips pressing against mine all thinking ceased.  My inner kitten took over completely, and I became a bundle of animalistic lust and yearning.  Bits and pieces stand out in my mind still: pleasure as he thrust into me while stroking my hair, pain as he gave one of my nipples a light twist; a collection of purrs, grunts, mews, mmmphs, and even (I think) tearful gagged begging; the first orgasm which shook me so hard I collapsed face-first into my pillow as it hit, and the last which was gentle but long as Rick held me close and tender as his manhood spasmed inside me.

    When I regained my higher brain functions I found myself on my back near the center of the bed, ungagged, Rick curled on his side against (almost around) me.  Dimly some part of my brain told me to look up, and I saw he had discovered the rings I had persuaded Ralph (with food!) to add to my headboard.  Almost flush with the mattress and normally hidden by pillows and the bedspread, Rick had still spotted the sturdy ring and had clipped my wrist chain to it with the other double-ended snap hook.  It wasn't anything I couldn't undo myself (possibly only because he hadn't found the small box of padlocks in my toy drawer) but I didn't even consider removing it; Rick had bound me here, had obviously wanted me like this, and so this was how I would stay.  I purred very softly, content in this vastly simplified way of thinking.  Rick began to stir.

    As his mouth (apparently unconnected to his brain) slurred incoherent something-or-others something else finally reached out from the back of my brain and brought itself to my attention.  Once the blithering appeared to be more-or-less coherent I spoke. "Sir?  Rick, Sir," I said, stifling amusement at my hoarse voice, "do you know Ralph, who works at the club?" There was a groaning noise, some muttering, and then what sounded like the word "yes" from a very deep, sleepy, and surly well.  I forged on with my question, asking, "why did he call you Rod?"  There was a pause before Rick sat up and fixed me with a look.  Even through the bleariness of interrupted sleep I could see the smile in his expression. "Because that's what I tell most people my name is.  I only told you my name was Rick because...." He paused; I waited patiently and he continued, "...because you got me flustered, and the name Rod kind of sounds like a bad pornstar name.  And because my real name is Roderick."  His look changed to one that promised dire consequences if I laughed.  I did.  After a moment, so did he.

    When the laughter stopped there was an awkward pause.  A part of me felt like now was the time to share something (besides bedspace and skin) since he had done the same, so I looked at him and spoke. "My real name is Quinn.  I use Kitten because my name isn't very catlike." He quirked his head in a way I used when feeling kitteney, and with a wry smile I explained: "in some interpretations of Gaelic, Quinn means 'wolf'."  There was a long, insightful pause, before he said, "so what you're saying is that your parents named you so you'd grow up to be a bitc-- HEY!" The last part came as I leaned over and bit his arm, firm but playful.  He responded in kind, and things escalated (a bit one-sided since I was still bound) until his threat of getting the spray bottle sent us both into giggles again.  When we calmed down again we simply laid there against to each other, happy.

    We might have drifted off to sleep then, but an internal debate raging in my mind finally came to a conclusion, and my eyes snapped open.  Daring punishment or (worse) tickling I unhooked myself from the ring at the top of the bed, crawled off the mattress and over to my toy drawer.  Rooting around with my hands still loosely linked made things mildly difficult, but in less than a minute I'd found what I wanted.  Gripping it in my teeth I turned around and crawled back to Rick.  He was watching me with curiosity, trying to figure out what I had in my mouth.  Recognition only dawned when I dropped it on the bed in front of him.  His hands reached out cautiously and picked up the leash; it was ordinary chain with a snap hook on one end and a leather strap on the other, nothing special beyond not being made from nylon and/or by child laborers in some third world country.  But to me, to Rick, it was very special, and it was clear he understood my intentions.  His somewhat conflicted expression finally melted into a smile, and with a single finger he beckoned me closer. I complied quickly.  His hands moved fast, a little too fast, rushed by excitement.  I heard one snap hook open and close as he removed Ralph's inventive plaque, and then another as the leash was attached in its place.  As he leaned back I looked up at him, eyes wide and focused solely on his own as he spoke.  "I think it's time to sleep now.  Back in bed, my sweet Kitten."

    Three words was all it took for me to feel one of the greatest joys I have ever felt.  Tears welled briefly in my eyes... both of our eyes I think, though Rick would never admit as much to anyone but me if it were true.  But they cleared quickly when my obedience prodded me to action.  I hopped up on the bed as best I could, purring loud (very loud) as I padded next to him and curled up.  He laid down, and in seconds we were snuggled up together, his one hand holding the leash with a fervent intensity I'd never seen before.  It stayed even after he nodded of into a comfortable sleep, leaving me awake and my mind buzzing.  My eyes wandered for a while, around my bedroom and possessions, Rick and his sleeping form, until they came to rest on the plaque Ralph had made.  It had been set on the bedside table, visible but upside-down, but the word "Stray" was still very clear in the dim light.  I smiled; "not anymore," I whispered happily to no one in particular, and cuddled myself closer to Rick.  Exhaustion and contentment tugged at my eyelids, and within moments they were too heavy to keep open.  Body pressed against my new Sir, I slept.