A Break from Tryst & Fusion – As Promised, More “Bad Kitty”

He wasn't too kind to the other kitty in the room either.

I can be a bit of a brat. What, you’re not surprised? Huh. And here I thought I’d hid it so well.

As you’ve probably seen, Ad and I tease and play a lot sexually. I poke and prod, he laughs and pokes back, but it’s not to get him riled, because he doesn’t play that way. W doesn’t either, for the most part. Play punishment – funishment – is not his style, and in fact when I have played with others, say, for a spanking scene, who use that kind of interaction to fuel the play, I always feel a little silly. “You’re such a bad, bad girl – you need a spanking, don’t you?” “Oh yes, I’ve been very bad. Please don’t spank me!” I can mouth the words, but I know, fundamentally, how untrue they are. I want that spanking, dammit!

But then there’s this other thing, this bratting. A poke, a nudge, a prod to try and get a reaction. Most times all I get is the raised eyebrow. W just doesn’t…rise to the bait often, you know?  “I don’t need a reason to beat you,” is his frequent refrain in these situations. And then, of course, he goes on to prove it, usually punctuated in slash marks across my back. Ad doesn’t rise to the bait either, as such, because our interactions are always that back-and-forth taunting and teasing. There isn’t an element of provocation to it, as such.

What Ad does do well, though, is instigate me to provocation. One of his favorite games is to get me to poke at W, and then to get W to react, and then to feed the fire of that reaction. “Assist” W in retribution for the provocation, either directly or simply by egging him on.  They have actually learned to play off each other quite well in that way (one such example being the “whipping through the camp” impromptu scene they did at Tryst on Saturday.)

(As an aside: It’s an interesting dichotomy that W has learned to play this way (and enjoy it) but we haven’t yet found the key to W being able to instigate the same thing in Ad. Perhaps because W really does have this playful devilish side that he doesn’t let out often, but which he allows Ad and this kind of play to bring forth, but Ad really doesn’t have a darkly sexual, sadistic side to him, which is what W would like to bring out in a similar, reversed situation. Ad certainly has the devilish side (as evidenced by his glee in instigating me to provoke W) but his doesn’t have the dark side.)

So anyway. I’ve known about W’s dislike of cats (on principle) for a long time. Whether that is the genesis of his dislike for Hello Kitty as well, or if he has a specific, unrelated dislike of Hello Kitty, I don’t know, but it’s been a fun tool with which to poke at him.  And poke at him I do.

Or rather did.

The last time was (surprise!) at Ad’s instigation. We were shopping at Target. We had set out to do one of our Alphabet Challenge pictures, and decided, on the spur of the moment, to do another letter, but I didn’t want to wear the same clothes (oh vanity, thy name is woman.) So, off to Target we go. And into the cart goes three t-shirts, one of which is a Hello Kitty t-shirt.

You have to understand the timeframe of this occurrence, by the way. The Alphabet Challenge evolved, if you will remember, as a way for us to have a little “play” that really wasn’t. I was on “light duty” for a month(ish) after my recent surgery, and knew that I would die without some kind of kinky interaction.  Although he’s been a trouper in trying to go there, W’s just not that into more…cerebral?…type of play (D/s control games that didn’t involve physical play)…or sexual D/s types of play that don’t involve S/M (you know, fucking a girl with sex toys and the like.)  So I decided to take matters into my own hands, and found the Rope on the Run group on Fet, and the Alphabet Challenge, and knew it might be something that he would enjoy and take an active part in (the “active” part being key, because what I need is for him to instigate play…so, even though he hadn’t instigated the Challenge, at least once it was in motion he was as active and enthusiastic as I was, so it worked for what it was.) It’s light, it’s playful, but I still got some rope play, and both Guys have got to engage in it, using their creativity in ways that we haven’t had a chance to before.

But…right about the 3rd week of my light duty I began to feel…ready for more. Needing some S/M play. W was adamant about not doing anything that could damage me while I was healing, though.  Of course I had been whining behind the scenes to Ad about wanting to play, about feeling like W was being too restrictive, and why wouldn’t he play with me?? (insert whine) There were other parts of my body available! He could fuck my mouth, take my ass, fuck my cunt or abuse it or devise some sort of scene that didn’t involve those body parts that had been affected by the surgery, right?? (insert heavy sigh)

Ad felt for me. Or perhaps he just wanted to get me to stop bitching. His eyes lit up when he saw the Hello Kitty t-shirt. And so a plot was hatched.

Or Jade’s demise was planned.

Or Jade enthusiastically threw herself under the bus.

However you want to phrase it, the day Hello Kitty died started out like any normal day. I’d actually forgotten about wearing the shirt as a red flag to wave in front of my Mean Guy bull. I just happened to like it…

It was a Work from Home Day, but he wanted to do some junk shopping on Cherokee Street, so I dressed in jeans and my Hello Kitty t-shirt, and we set me up to work at a little cafe on Cherokee Street and he set off to do some shopping. Three hours (and one cool new chair) later, we headed home.

He never gave a the slightest hint that he had anything even remotely kinky in mind.

Apparently he did. And had been thinking about it since I’d put the shirt on that morning. The moment we walked in the door, he grabbed me by the wrist. “It’s time to say goodbye to Hello Kitty,” he said, and took me down to the basement, where he tied me to the post in the center of the room.

I really had no clue what was to come, but I was starting to get an idea as I watched him gather his tools and implements. And I was realizing that this might really be the end of my favorite t-shirt!

Awww…Goodbye Kitty!

I soon realized Kitty had much more in store for her when he brought out a heavy flogger. Apparently he *was* perfectly aware of what areas of my body were okay to play with as he beat my tits – I mean Hello Kitty – brutally.

Still…I giggled. So…he got more serious.

Hey!

The application of pliers on my tits soon squelched the giggles.

At one point, he decided he needed me to hold his flogger for him while he prepared more implements of destruction. One of which was an 8lb window sash.

Pliers off and another severe round of whippings later, I was starting to get the idea that he really didn’t like Hello Kitty much.

He wasn’t too kind to the other kitty in the room either. (Click to see how else he abused my kitty.)

But it wasn’t over yet.

I don’t have any pictures of the next thirty minutes or so. He pulled me down from the post and shoved me to my knees, then made me crawl over to where he had seated himself on the bottom of the basement stairs.  After whipping my arms, back and shoulders again, he undid his pants and shoved my mouth down to his cock by a hand in my hair.

“Suck it til piss comes out,” he said.

I jerked reflexively away and he pulled viciously on my hair, bringing me back to where he wanted me.

“Three swallows,” he said, “and then the next I want you to hold it in your mouth.” He held my head down–and I swallowed, gagging, as he counted. Then held the last one in my mouth, revulsion turning my stomach at the acrid taste.

“Now spit it all over fucking Hello Kitty,” he said. I choked, and spit on myself.

Still with his hand in my hair, he drug me over to an alcove in the basement with a wooden, slatted locking door. Inside is power tools, junk, a lawn mower, dirt, grime – and spider webs.

I was instantly whining, cringing and whimpering, pleading with him to let me out.

“Not until you rip that t-shirt off.”

In spite of my fear of the spiders I KNEW must be lurking, ready to jump on me, I finally managed to tear off the t-shirt.

I scraped my knuckles as I pounded at the wooden slates of the door.  He opened it and drug me to the center of the room by the hair before shoving me to my knees.

“Get your ass up!” he said, when I tried to curl away from him and his camera.  Then he wrote his message on my raised ass before doing exactly what the message said.

Good bye, Kitty!

Comments

  1. ctredford

    I just had this conversation last night before reading this post. I was informed we are never further than 10 feet from a spider at any given time. Further more, and this is the creepy part, we inhale 40 spiders a year in our sleep! Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs, er spiders bite.

    Reply

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