Page 11 of Awakened (Bound Kitten)

January 28, 1:00am

Mmmmmm.I crawl into bed after a long day. Everyone has already gone to sleep ages ago, but I can’t sleep. I have my own tried and true method of putting myself to sleep, which is quite nice when I have privacy. And I do. I listen, but it’s absolutely quiet. No mouse stirring.

It’s oh so quiet, and I deserve a bit of self-pleasure! I allow the images of Thor and Jane into my head, as I touch myself. I re-create the scene in my head. Imagine her lips on mine, his hands on my waist. But my stupid, silly mind insists on wandering.

And I don’t know why this happens, I swear I don’t, buthepops into my head, too. And the other two vanish.I’m not attracted to David. I’m not! It’s strictly professional. I’m in his home. I’m caring for his children.But something in me wants to feel his hands on my skin. Softly brushing my hair from the back of my neck before grabbing tight and pulling my neck back so he can claim my mouth.

I am a curious kitten. I want to know, I think. What does he feel like? Does he think about me? I whisper his name, softly, and allow myself to think of nothing but him.It’s all innocent. It doesn’t mean a thing.I moan softly as my fingers trace patterns on my wetness, and my mind falls into the abyss, because in my mind, I am the one in power. I choose my destiny. My fingers dance, as my mind wanders,

She wears tight red dresses, six-inch heels. She looks at you like she’s looking through you. Diamond nails to scratch your back till it bleeds.

She picks– him. She knows he’s too weak to ever leave. But he wants what she has to offer, she sees that in his eyes. Why wouldn’t he? His girl is cruel, petty. Belittles his concerns, his job, his…everything. Spends his money like water.

And then she comes along, swinging her hips and her flashy red hair. She can tell he wants her. When she flaunts herself and her stories? All her exploits. She laughs, as if pretending it’s just something she’s made up. Perhaps something she saw on TV. But she sees the question behind his eyes. Is she for real? Oh, she thinks, you have no idea.

He tells her, I don’t usually do this kind of thing. As if she cares. Pray to me, I’m your goddess. Who else makes you feel like this? Who else cares for your pleasure? Worship me like the God they tell you about every Sunday. Make it count.

She says, “I’ll keep you my dirty little secret.”

She doesn’t care. People call women like her whore and home wreckers – and she writes those words on red lipstick on her oh so soft breasts, her wide ass. A body men and women dream of. And she gives it freely. Well, perhaps not freely. She is a whore, but a damn fine one.

But not money, no. She demands their time, their attention. Give me what you won’t give your wife. What your wife doesn’t notice she’s not getting, because she’s elsewhere fucking the pool boy. Take your desires from me, snatch it from my pussy.

So, she takes them out, dances all night, rubs herself against their crotch, dares them to take her right there in the bathroom.

And spinning on the dance floor, she laughs,

Just dance.

January 28, 2:45am

Weird. I just woke up from a dream where I met the Queen of England and we drank purple champagne. Well, I drank purple, and she drank pink. We were celebrating something at a cast iron table painted white. There was something stuck on my chin. It was a Doctor Who Lego piece. It looked like the TARDIS and it was blue and clear. And there was a large ruby floating above a fountain. I kept thinking I lost something. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but my semi lucid state would kick in and tell me that it’s okay, this is only a dream, but then later I would forget and panic. Then the Queen and I were tumbling around in a big, satiny bed, literally bouncing up and down like we were on the Moon. Then we fell off the bed and went back to the table to have tea. With my mother. I started to clean up after, but the Queen told me she had a servant for that. My friend showed up with a paper wreath, and I threw it into a large bonfire.

* * *

6

Kitten Does Adulting

At twenty-five, Elizabeth had just become Queen of England. At the age Elizabeth became queen, I had just met my master.

I wonder if Queen Elizabeth knew what she was getting into. She must have had some inkling, what with her mother’s rather poignant life lesson. She may have been young, but she wasn’t born the day before her coronation.

Then, too, Elizabeth wasn’t even supposed to be Queen at all. She only became part of the line of succession (after having been removed when her mother fell out of favor, her father being rather fickle about this sort of thing) because of her stepmother. I wonder how life would have been different if Anne Boleyn had lived a happy life with some lord, instead of seducing the king and getting her head chopped off.

Queen Elizabeth left no children behind. She left a legacy. I, in my arrogance, believe I might leave behind a similar legacy to cause generations to talk about me for an infinite amount of history and time. Perhaps I will.

Maybe one day they’ll hang a portrait of me. A lovely oil painting, so that people can say, “She is an oil painting.” What a thought!

* * *

February 6

I’m keepingmy thoughts to myself. I don’t look at him with anything that reveals my very inappropriate thoughts. I shouldn’t risk anything. Work is going quite well. Not merely the time I spend with the children, although I’m good at that. I’m also starting to get comfortable with the alternate weeks where I work with David learning the business side. He’s got a small team managing a few clients— and he needs help on the client side. Managing the relationship between the client and the company. I’m an adult, and I can keep my feelings in check.Some days I enjoy being an adult. I even feel like an adult. Maturity is a bitch, but she’s a determined bitch. Weeks, months pass.Andnothing bad happens. In fact, quite the reverse. I start to feel comfortable.

I know, there’s noreasonfor anything bad to occur. Still, that’s me. I expect bad news. I remember every little thing I’ve ever done wrong. I practically throw myself at people who don’t like me to try to convince them that they’re wrong— and I’m oblivious to those who crush on me. There’s probably something wrong with me, and, if there is, I’ll find it one day.

But, as of now, nothing bad has happened here. Time moves quickly, even flies. One week, I’m all domestic. Pancakes, coloring books, homework, dinner. Child approaches me with two ice cubes, “Please warm them up for me.” Do this for a week. Sleep, wake up, rinse and repeat. Next week, wake up, suit up for online calls. Check email, check email— and check email again. Respond to emails, coordinate meetings, rinse and repeat. Every so often a mini crisis requires my full attention. I appreciate the change of pace. Then it’s back to the steady ebb and flow of the work grind.

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