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tobegiggledat · 8 months

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The World Should be Cats

Ch. 2: The Cat Who Lost Its Claws

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MINORS DNI

✦pairing: Yandere!Tiger x afab!reader (no pronouns or physical descriptors)

✦word count: 6.3k

✦summary: You’ve been taken where “cats” go to be declawed. Everyone who leaves there knows nothing other than piously serving the evil hands that feed them, groom them and punish them—your friend is no exception. You want to save her from whatever sinister ideals infect her psyche, but you’re afraid it’s too late. What makes things worse is you’re afraid they might be corrupting you too…

✦warnings: noncon, drugging, kidnapping, cults, orgasm control/denial, bondage, exhibitionism/voyeurism, humiliation, master/servant, aphrodisiacs, begging, collaring, fingering, clit torture, pussy spanking, furniture play, sex toys, vibrators, objectification, over-stimulation, mind break, oral sex, Tiger has a pussy, questionable quirk use

✦a/n: *purrs at you* (I lost my mind while writing this)

Read Ch.1 here!

Around a few hours must have passed since the fucking machine was first attached to you. Your legs continue to sting from the stretch of the spreader while your cunt has almost, almost managed to tune out the monotonous thrusting that afflicts it. A throbbing ball of flesh rests where your clit used to be, twitching and pulsing as if it’s a separate organism taking its own desperate breaths for a relief it’ll never receive. You’re certain you could drench several sponges with the fluids of your arousal alone. Not to mention your sweat, which coats your skin in a damp sheen as the air is heavy with moisture thick enough to make a small cloud.

The door to your torture chamber parts to reveal a wiry woman with glasses; “Hina” they called her. You survey her every movement, fingers blanched from being pulled into a stiff fist.

“Get away from me, bitch”, you hiss, although your words slip off her like oil.

She approaches you with a calm sway in her hips before she reaches to jam her nails into your cheeks. Once your lips are parted, you howl in pain as a cocktail of pills is forced down your throat, followed by a hefty stream of water you have no choice but to sloppily gulp to avoid choking. It’d be a terrible demise to suffocate at the hands of your captors, but when the main villain inevitably enters the room, you begin to think it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Bitch?” Tiger questions in his annoyingly cocky tone. “You're mistaken, we have no dogs here. Cats don't take too kindly to them.”

You scoff at that. “If you’re here to torture me, you’re going to have to do better than a bit of edging”, you goad. “I’ve gone months without cumming when I was with my shitty ex, so this is nothing.”

He smirks as he drops on the stool beside your restraints then cups your jaw. “Such a pretty mouth, it begged so nicely just before.” His thumb sweeps over your lips. “Although, I can hardly appreciate it when it’s always moving to say unsavory things.”

You part your mouth to let the warmth of the digit settle on your tongue, lathering the surface with saliva and drawing it further in. Your eyes betray the venom of your intent as you sink your teeth into his thumb, hard enough to cringe at the feel of your molars meeting bone.

A long chuckle crawls from his lungs, so deep and revertebrating you shudder. “I’ll try to cherish every moment of breaking you. Your type never tends to last long.”

You spit him out. “And I’ll cherish every moment of stomping your neck beneath my heel.”

“You’ve got fangs but they’re no match for mine.” The damp finger crosses the planes of your stomach before settling over the mess between your thighs.

He views your state in poised bliss, prodding your sore folds and pinching your pulsing nub in a clinical manner—a mad scientist stalking over his wretched creation.

“Fuck”, you hiss as he tugs at your clit and snaps it back like a meaty rubber band.

Tug and snap. Tug and snap. His fingers regurgitate the motion like the programming for his other movements have been hijacked.

His hand slashes up through the air, raising toward the luminous overhead lights then stretching and thinning, from the use of some sort of pliability quirk, into the shape of a riding crop. With pinpoint accuracy, the whip shaped digit collides with your clit in a throttling smack. You groan through the gritting of your teeth. A shameful bloom of arousal blossoms from the site, curdling with the burning sensation sautéing beneath your skin.

He presses firmly over the aching region. “Should I make this easier for you—”

Smack.

“A smart cat doesn’t expose their belly to just anyone as it's a sign of trust—”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Why? Because having your most vulnerable spots on display puts you at risk”, he continues as he winds your clit. “Consider your position, pet. It is more than just your belly on display before me.”

Misty tears glitter your eyelashes at the searing pain. “D-Doesn’t matter, I’m human”, you sniffle. Your walls flex around the toy of the machine still thrusting inside you with each of his rough passes. Feral desire builds in your nethers, licking the sides of your sex and broiling in your gut, but to call it a proper orgasm wouldn’t be quite right.

“To be a cat is a philosophy and way of life, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He rubs your pearl in harsh swirls but it’s already too raw for it to be pleasurable. “I’m trying to help you. If you can be broken by me—which I’m most certain you can be—then you're no match for the real world. You are meant to be domesticated by someone worthy enough. Is that not what you want most out of life, to fall in the hands of a loyal protector?”

“I can’t take you seriously with my pussy being slapped—”

Smack. Smack.

“You know the circumstances prevent me from going easy on you, but I’m willing to talk.”

“I don’t need any therapeutic talk, especially—ouch—coming from the likes of you”, you fight a shriek. “I don't think you’re actually trying to change any minds here. You intend on forcing your ideals on me eventually. Plus, it’s not like you can give me what I truly want out of life anyways.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want my friend back. She’s the only thing that matters to me.”

“And why is that?

“I don't need to answer youuaugh”, you groan as his touches become fleeting and teasing.

“You'll find that answering me can be rewarding. So what is it, pet?” He gives more soothing swipes to your clit, attempting to coax your compliance but you don’t utter a word.

The silent refusal cues another cycle of slaps, each wet thwap alighting you with a pounding throb.

The conflicting sensations of arousal and agony seem to border one another as pressure builds in your core, threatening escape—but what should’ve been an orgasm never arrives, it sizzles away like a defused bomb even with the attention given to your clit.

“If you’re trying to cum, you can’t—not with the added serotonin to your system”, he says. Your disappointment must be palpable.

Smack. Smack.

“V-Very sciency—mmm—didn’t know there was a thing for that.” Your throat concocts a strained moan, eyelids fluttering at the weight of the pain.

He hums in agreement. “I can be quite imaginative with my punishments.”

Smack. Smack. Tug. Snap. Smack. Tug. Snap. He fiddles with your pussy like a meaty bongo.

Twistedly, you can’t help but ponder if he’s just as creative with his rewards. The thought shouldn’t please you but it thoroughly does. You’re grinding wildly against his hand, tongue lolling and dampening your tearing lips as you chase a high you’ll never get but can’t fight against trying to obtain.

Please. Please. Please. You recite within the confines of your head, desperate to keep it from escaping.

“Your dear friend insisted you'd need the cruelest of punishments to get you to convert to our ways. I thank her for the warning because it makes planning all too easy.”

“Y-You got into her head just like you're trying to do to me. She had no choice.”

“She was the one who suggested you for recruitment, not the other way around.”

Your thoughts are plagued with the memory of her tranquil expression as she recounted events that sound like horrors to the normal person. Doubt reawakens in your gut.

“It doesn't matter, either way. I forgive her for it”, the lie slips from you easily. “I'll stop at nothing to save her regardless of what she’s caused me.”

“Admirable effort, but you should see things from where I stand.” His hand swipes at your features before he displays his glistening palm. “It’s as if a river current passed over your face.” He smirks in satisfaction as his eyes begin to trail over your form. “And you’re trembling like a newborn fawn. Your body has already begged for you, why can’t your head do the same.”

When your muscles start to fight against you, with your lips beginning to shape into the syllables needed to make a small plea, he calls for Hina.

“Don’t get your hopes up. This is only the beginning”, he hastily adds.

When Hina arrives, a needle is jammed into your arm, and you all but graciously welcome the comfort of sleep.

In a bedroom void of windows, your eyes part to the warm white lighting of an arrangement of bulbs poking from the ceiling.

Your muscles remain blighted from hours of immobility, yet the hospital bed was swapped for the plush mattress beneath you as deep fuchsia covers tangle around your limbs and a cat-eared headboard holds a silk pillow beneath your neck.

You're never given that moment of clarity one would usually possess upon waking up. The pain tormenting your lower lips is instant and debilitating, in fact, it seems to grow with each movement.

Fruity tones of perfume swamp your senses as you slip throughout the room, noting the other tacky feline-themed embellishments that line the walls. True to its style, an elaborate scratching post that extends from roof to floor lies at the center of it all. Knitted balls on string tassel the thick, glittery-green yarn that adorns the pole while a shelf curves down around it from top to base. Whether the piece exists for design purposes or not is unknown, but the idea of being expected to use it makes you want to gnaw your lips to slivers.

Your skin is clear of yesterday’s stickiness, and while the smooth cleanliness brings you comfort, you tremble as it suggests someone else has bathed you while you were incapacitated. This discomfort is heightened further upon glimpsing at the ridiculous cheetah patterned shorts encasing your thighs to match the fluffy-edged crop top and red bow on your chest. You feel a gust of wind against your buttcrack and when you swiftly trail your fingers along the back of your pants to meet the source, your index snags on a neatly cut opening.

Fuck no.

You make a dash toward the closet at the opposite end of the room, nearly throwing the sliding doors off their hinges to look for something else to wear, but there’s no suitable replacement. Every piece is tailored to be tight and revealing. There isn’t a single neon leotard, polka-dot bow or stretchy v-neck that doesn’t make your stomach toss.

Before you’re able to brew with any more disgust, anger settles over your nerves at the sight of pink-lined, piercing yellow eyes.

“Mornin’, kit kat!” Ragdoll chirps, food tray in hand as she enters with your friend tucked at her side. “Hope you had a good cat nap. Mar Mar here will be your guide as you make your transition here. Once you’ve settled, she'll take you to meet the rest of the clowder today.”

Mar Mar?

“Here’s brunch since you already missed your first two meals.” Ragdoll paces your direction. Wafts of smokiness hit your nostrils as a tray of succulent grilled river-fish, fluffy rice and tender vegetables is handed to you.

“Also, you’re free to try to escape as you please…”she adds. Eyes dark and lips curved mischievously, she bares her talons. “But it's not like you’ll get very far.” She threatens before she struts away with a feline-esque pounce in each of her steps, leaving you to shift in the silence of an awkward reunion with your friend.

“I love Ryuko and I love being here, so please don't be worried.” The chords of your most unwanted memory are struck at the sight of her.

“Morning! Shall I begin with the house rules?” your friend says, cheerfully. If she’s aware of any tension, she doesn’t mention it.

You nearly choke on a hefty gulp. “About the other day—”

“Excellent!” she says while humming with misplaced excitement. “Since it's your first day, you were allowed to sleep in, but tomorrow you must be awake by at least 09:00 for breakfast. There is no set time for sleep so you’ll be fine to go to bed at any hour as long as you wake up on time. Naps are also permitted.”

You can’t listen as closely as you’d like to with the jarring way she recites the very rules that corrupted her. Every bite of food tastes bland on your palate despite the use of rich seasonings.

“You're to refer to the other cats by the names given to them by their owners or some variation of ‘kitty’”, she continues. “So you’d call me Mar or Margay.”

Despite her instruction, you recite her old name once more, breathy and soft, almost like a plea.

“No-No-No”, she wags her head. “It's M-aar-gaay. Or M-aar”. Her tongue flips dramatically with each syllable. “You haven't been formally named yet so I'll just call you kitten for now. However, our owners are to be addressed with a title, like sir, master, etc.”

“I’m not responding to anything other than my actual name”, you bark.

“You have to, silly. It’s the rules.”, she scolds you as if you’re a child. “Anyways, onto the next; You’re not allowed to touch yourself or others in a sexual manner unless given explicit permission to do so by your owner. Failure to comply with house rules will result in punishment followed by a week's shunning.”

“What’s a shunning?”

“When a cat is shunned, all the other cats must avoid interacting with them. Their owner may visit them from time to time, but contact is limited. Failure to participate in shunning another cat will result in two weeks shunning for you as well.”

“Have you ever been punished?”

Her eyes glaze over as her blinks slow to a stop. She pouts her lips slightly before tugging it back into a taut grin.

“Cats must not leave their rooms without wearing their tail and ears”, she continues like she was never interrupted. She shifts to retrieve a suede, circular box from the silvery nightstand beside your bed. “Shall I help you dress? The first time can be tricky—”

You snatch the box, internally cringing as you’re met with the sight of a butt plug upon opening it. “Absolutely not. I’ll do it myself.” You’ll begrudgingly comply with these debauching tasks if it means finding a way of escape—but first, you’ll need to get an idea of what the other cats are like.

Her unwavering smile grows tighter. “You are allowed to roam the mansion freely, although the doors leading outside can only be opened with a fingerprint. Access to them is given to those who gain the trust of the Owners.”

She lists off a few other rules about getting along with the other cats and the scheduled times for meals. Food is accessible at all times, but you’ll have to show up during designated meal hours even if you don't eat.

“More rules may be given to you by your Owner, but you'll be expected to follow the basic ones before the day is up. It can be hard to remember all of them at first, so I got you a pamphlet so you don't forget.” She hands you a silky, folded paper reminiscent of a cult brochure.

“Once you get dressed I can take you to meet the other cats.”

I am dressed. You wish to refute but it’d be wasted breath.

“Fine, just give me a moment.” Box in hand, you shuffle to the bathroom in your fuzzy slippers that have their own whiskers.

You ogle the puffy striped-tail, resting neatly in the box on your bathroom’s marble countertop, for a while before you steel yourself enough to attempt inserting. You place a dollop of lube around the head of it, gritting your teeth as you thread the slippery bulb through the hole in your shorts before shivering at the cold gel slicking your walls.

You waddle out the bathroom penguin style, pointy ears on head and flinching with each stuffy step. Your friend seems to be delighted at the sight of you.

“You look purrrfect!”, “Mar” squeals. “Now, let's start the tour!” You fight against your blaring instincts to bolt as you trail after her, silently.

“These hallways contain the cats’ bedrooms, but they’re hardly occupied because our Owners prefer it if we sleep with them”, she explains just outside your door. “Their rooms are in the wing opposite of this one.”

As you traverse along the porcelain tile, you notice the rest of the decor is surprisingly tasteful with a olive-green coat and curled borders lavishing the living room walls and traditional art pieces lining most of the interior. Large windows allow you to overlook the backyard’s neatly-trimmed meadow as it sits beneath the warm smudges of orange and turquoise that paint the evening sky. And while you can’t see anything beyond flowery pastures, your heart seizes beneath your ribs imagining the possibilities.

I can break that glass, you plot to yourself before turning to follow your friend to see what else awaits.

The next stop is behind a set of wooden double doors, and upon opening them, you’re greeted with a barrage of flashing strobe lights and the ticking and grunting of arcade machines.

“This is the game room”, Mar says amidst the click-clacking of balls being struck repeatedly.

They’re two others occupying the room, the one with white and black cat ears hooked over a pinball machine catches your glance.

“Hey, you’re the new kitty I’ve been dying to rub noses with”, he says loopily as he approaches.

“Not literally, of course”, he clarifies upon seeing the dismay you fail to conceal. “I’m Lyon by the way.” When he smiles, his skin looks as if it’s melting. He points back to the “cat” behind him whose right arm repeats a propelling motion, preparing to aim a dart. “The one ever there is Lynx and we’re both owned by Ragdoll. They’re the real quiet type, but they’re goofy once you get to know them.”

Lynx gives a polite wave before firing to hit the triple ring on the dart board.

You give a small smirk. “Nice to meet you”, you say, outstretching a hand toward Lyon which he takes firmly.

“Mar’s been really excited about you coming. She’s gone on and on about how you’d be a good fit, but what do you think? Have you gotten settled in yet?”

You opt for telling the truth put nicely. “It’s certainly a lifestyle I’ve never considered before…I’m not sure if settling is something I’ll ever do.”

“Sounds a lot like my first time, but the Owners were very thorough in their methods. I came around eventually, and I love it here.” His droopy grin returns and the eeriness of it is certain to be imprinted on your synapses for the rest of the day.

What is it about this place that makes everyone’s eyes so vacant?

After you’ve finished your greetings, the tour begins anew, although the only promising bit you’ve gathered is that access can potentially be granted to the outside, even if the process is lengthy. Any rooms that can be used for escape, such as the tech room and the garden also utilize the fingerprint system.

Chants of hazy sighs and moans echo off the walls, and as you follow Mar further into the mansion, you twist every direction to determine whether they’re genuine or hallucinations.

Turning a corner, you snag on the sight of Mandalay pressing a man against a wall, his hunched form grinding into her as his head rests against her shoulder. One of her hands rhythmically stroke at his cock while the other tugs at a leash around his collar.

“Don't be too surprised, that’s a typical occurrence”, Mar nearly bops heads with you to murmur into your ear. “Our Owners can be insatiable, but I don’t mind it.” She giggles like a schoolgirl.

“Anyways, that over there is Munchkin. I think you’ll like him, everyone does.” She points to the man glossy with sweat.

He meets your eyes and his lips curve, impishly. You have a full-body shiver.

When dinner time arrives, the crew gathers to sit at a long dining table, each person seating themselves in a leather chair shaded a hue of red. A wispy, spider-like chandelier illuminates the paw print wallpaper and speckles shadows across the frilly placemats and tablecloth.

Your attention flits around the large selection of foods, salivating at the crisp tempura and gyoza, the warm, savory curry and the soft, silky tofu. A sweet vanilla aroma hovers before you as a bowl of taiyaki is slid in your direction, which you help yourself to with the plastic utensils you’ve been given (everyone else has metal ones). The waffle-like exterior crunches with each bite while the sugary bean paste coats your tongue and sticks to your teeth.

You’re seated across from Munchkin whose peculiar mannerisms extend to the dining table as he probes a sliver of beef before inspecting his fork.

You’re desperate for conversation with him, but as you attempt to reach out, his focus shifts to the opposite end of the table, and following his gaze there gives you the reason why.

Standing at the head, is Tiger and Mandalay. Mandalay raises a champagne glass to tap the edge of it three times with a knife like a bell.

“The World Should be Cats”, the group hymns, but your lips remain sealed.

You’ll never grow used to that creepy Pavlov shit.

Mandalay looks at Tiger expectantly then returns to her seat.

“Good evening, cats and companions”, Tiger greets, a plastic smile gracing his features. “As you all know, tonight’s dinner is a very special one with our latest addition to the house, who I’d like to formally introduce.” He locks gazes with you. “Can you come over here for a moment?”

Your throat knots, but you nod, walking over to cement yourself the closest to him you can muster. You’re keenly aware of his warmth as he’s beside you.

“I’d like you all to meet the latest addition to our family—the fierce yet lovable; Pallas!”

You feel like a circus animal standing amongst the blaring round of applause, but you reject the idea of putting on a show they’ll actually enjoy. You’re more of a Tiger than the man beside you, you think. If you’re a cat, you’re a wild, deadly one. You’ll roar and claw at any tamer who opposes you, enduring every harsh thrash of the whip meant to keep you in line.

Cool metal meets your skin as a collar with the dreaded name, Pallas etched in calligraphy is placed around your neck.

You swat at Tiger’s fingers before the chain can be secured. “Like hell my name is Pallas”, you snarl.

All eyes widen as they snap to meet you, a few gasps tumble from gaping lips, but your resolve is unwavering.

“I’m meant for far greater than serving you creeps—we all are.” You turn to meet the stare of the other cats but they’re still enlarged with suspicion. “I’m going to save the rest of you”, you say, brimming with conviction. “And you.” You peer at your friend. “You’re not Margay because that’s not who I fell in love with.”

Her gaze hastily falls to her lap. “Pallas, please, not now”, she says softly.

To hear such a debasing name emit from the voice of someone you care about makes your stomach pit, icy-hot anger lashing through your veins.

It's all his fault!

You dash for the nearest plate, hurling it on the ground then bending to clench the largest broken shard in your palm. “My name’s not fucking Pallas!” You point the piece at Tiger, waving it near his lashes, panickedly.

“Careful, Pallas. If you keep this up you'll be punished”, Munchkin intervenes, and for some reason he grins here as well. Your breath catches in your throat. The feeling of something dizzying penetrates your skull and makes your determination wane, but you're hasty to shake it off.

“Living here is already punishment enough!” You shake with each word. “I just want to know why I’m here. There are plenty of other people like your fans or whoever who’d do this willingly, so why me?”

“Because I chose you”, Tiger says calmly. He steadily approaches as if you’re a feral creature, arms splayed and inviting, but you begin to step away. “Once I’ve set my sights on something, I’ll do anything to have it.”

“Well, I’m not yours to keep!” You lurch for Tiger, tempted to take him down even with all his muscle and the history of heroic feats he’s gained as a result of them.

I’m the fucking Tiger!

A hand is stretched out to wrap around your body, securing your torso in a rope of Tiger’s flesh. Your world is tossed every which way as you tumble toward the ground from the brunt of his shove in retaliation. You thrash around like a cat in the bath as he plucks the shard from your palm with ease.

It’s not over. “I-I’ll make a deal with you”, you pant against his features as they hover above you. “Let my friend go and I’ll—I’ll stop trying to put up a fight.” There’s still a chance.

His face crinkles into a grimace. “I don’t need you to hand over your cooperation when I can simply take it”, he says, haughtily. “Do you really think you can bargain with the likes of me?” He flips you so that your stomach is pinned to the ground as his knee finds the dent of your back to keep you there. Like clockwork, Hina arrives out of thin air to provide the proper ropes needed to secure your hands behind your back before you’re brought up to your knees. “Bring me the rest of my tools; tray, gag, everything”, Tiger orders.

Hina nods, swiftly retreating towards the storage room while you’re dragged across the mansion by the throat for what feels like a mile.

Your body is flung onto the expensive, wool carpet of his bedroom and stripped completely.

“Let this be another lesson for an unruly kitten like you”, he says as he obtains a spreader to place between your kneeling legs. The assortment of random objects that Hina arrives with has your mind reeling at how they’ll all connect.

“Another?” You question. “What makes you think this one will be any different? You’re clearly not skilled enough to get it right the first time.”

He doesn’t answer as he continues to strap you up with urgency. You can’t tell whether to be satisfied you’ve put an end to his remarks or terrified at what awaits.

A tray neckpiece akin to a beverage hawker is placed around your upper body as a wearable vibrator is secured to your sex with the leather straps meeting at your backside.

One by one, he methodically places the gold-accented liquors and shot glasses from his cherry-oak desk onto the tray.

A slurry of humiliation and arousal churns your system when the vibrator thrums to life and you’re forced to wobble awkwardly to prevent yourself from keeling over.

“Listen carefully, pet.” He holds your chin. “You are to stay put until I deem you too weak to be a proper cup holder. It may take 3 hours, 8, who knows, but you’ll hold still throughout it. Move too much and spill my drinks, it'll only last longer. Is that clear?”

You nod but his hand finds your neck.

“Y-Yes, Sir”, you gasp as sharp arousal begins to stir in your cunt.

Even with every mental brigade you’ve set, your mind unconsciously tumbles to the idea of what lengths he’d go to reward you instead of punish you. Your walls abruptly clench as you’re propelled over the cusp of your first of what will be many climaxes.

And like a masochist, you reluctantly recall how his fingers stretch, thinking of how they could mold to the shape of your insides despite your cunt accelerating toward overstimulation. You cum much quicker than before from the heightened sensitivity, a brazen cry parts your lips.

It feels rejuvenating to climax after being denied for so long, but deep down you know you’ll come to regret it.

You feel the weight of something slide across the tray and you clumsily lean backward to stop a bottle from falling in the nick of time.

Tiger laughs at your franticness, you furrow your brows and bare your teeth.

“Take it all in.” He looks over your weeping form. “And remember how easily I can make your pleasure a never ending pain.”

A scowl forms easily on your features despite the throbbing of your nethers, but he ignores it, opting to leave you alone and basking under the glow of the lamplight.

He claims this is all for your benefit yet you’ve seen firsthand how it has drained your friend to a subservient husk.

That won’t be you. You’ll save her, right? You’ll save—

You succumb to your third climax. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Then the sixth.

Your entire lower half is sweltering throughout the duration of an unintentional kegel workout as your walls contract rapidly around hollowness. Your pussy has its own rhythm, seizing and puckering from the unwanted stimulation, that rivals the beat of a hummingbird's wings.

The bottles begin to clink and jolt across the tray from the magnitude of your trembling thighs. Hot globs of tears soak your chin, caking from the waves of sobs that wash over you in increments. Your back aches at the weight sitting across your chest while your knees threaten to snap close with them pushing so heavily against the spreaders you’re afraid it might fold like a tin can.

You don’t know where one orgasm ends and another begins.

Your insides feel like scorching glass on a stove, with the heat in your body gradually rising and rising at the tormenting of your folds until you shatter—squirt trickles down your leg from your nth climax. The bulb in your ass presses against your most sensitive parts, aiding the extension of your pleasure fits.

You begin to familiarize yourself with the furniture of his room; cumming with each Victorian picture frame and music poster you count. Your limbs long to stretch across his pillowy canopy bed as much as your pussy craves a moment of clarity.

Amidst the silence, your thoughts drift to “Mar”, after all, she marks the very beginning of your circumstances.

“I’ve already found love”, she said after abandoning you. “I love Ryuko”, she said after pumping you with drugs. “I love being here, stop worrying about everything”, she said after you attempt to save her despite it all.

What’s the point of fighting if you're doing it for someone who doesn’t want to be saved?—No, that's not—

Hushh. That piercing feeling from before returns with a vengeance, liquefying your brain into a spasming glob of pudding.

He can save you. You can be a part of this family and permanently reunited with your friend once more.

He’ll love you, he’ll take care of you. An Owner loves his cat more than anything else in the world, right?

You cum harder than before.

After at least a few hours of brutal assault against your clit, Tiger wordlessly returns, shaking you as he dents the edge of the mattress you’re pressed against. He reaches over you without regard to swipe up a bottle of burgundy liquid before filling one of the glasses and pressing it to his lips.

“S-Sir”, you sob, not recognizing the strained, throaty voice that comes out of you.

He mirthfully chuckles, the sharp lines of his face creasing deeply when he goes to stroke your cheek.

His fingers drag down your skin to tap at your lips and you unhinge them to accept the silent order. “Furniture doesn’t talk.” His voice rustles you from your dream-like state. The light from behind him shines around his head like a halo and for a moment you can briefly accept him as your angel.

“So docile, and only after a few hours.” He makes a sound of disapproval. “Might be a new record.”

You should be humiliated at your compliance, but instead you’re only betrayed at the thought of there being others before you.

He’ll love you, he'll take care of you. You’ll be the best he’s ever had, you’ll be special to someone.

You take his fingers further into your mouth, peering up at him all glassy-eyed and desperate to please.

In an odd display of softness, he allows you the mercy of resting your head across his lap, but he pays you no mind.

You moan against him, careful not to grind your teeth into his fingers, even against the brunt of your orgasms.

“Not biting this time, are you?” He asks almost mockingly. His fingers retreat from your mouth and you fight a whine at the loss.

“It pains me too when I have to do this to you.” His wet fingers caress your cheek. “My dear Pallas. You’ve been so strong for me, haven’t you?”

Amidst the daze of your perpetual bliss, you unconsciously nod against his lap, no longer twitching at the repulsiveness of the nickname.

You think his mercy has been extinguished when he swiftly reaches for the vibrator wrapped around you, but he only removes it along with the bottles and neck piece.

“ ‘m sorry, Sir”, the words are yanked from your trembling lips as if it were life or death. “ ‘m sorry. I—”, more broken apologies tumble from you and coagulate the rigid air.

“You did well, Pallas.” The milky pools in his eyes melt you as his praise warmly settles over your skin.

Pallas. He whispers it so breathily, delicately picking apart each syllable as if it’s fragile.

Why were you ashamed of such a beautiful name?

“I only pick the strongest among the pack to mold, you mustn't feel shame in being mine. Feel pride, feel fortunate that you’ve found someone who can make use of you in ways no one else could.”

His encouragement makes you wonder how his praise would feel in a situation in which you were truly worthy of it.

Of course, he’d never leave you—not after all he’s done to mold you into his perfect companion. Why hadn’t you seen this from the start?

With potent arousal still circulating your nerves, you find yourself mouthing at the fabric of his skirt and soaking it with drool. As your enthusiastic ministrations near his sex, he holds your head still, taking in the sight of your puckering lips.

“Please, Sir. I want to”. You paw at him lovingly.

In a swift motion, he tears his garments away with a mere curl of his index. “Show me how badly.”

You shift your thighs together while your eyes are blown with want. Your lips latch on the apex between his thighs, fervently going at the pebble with long licks then curling teasingly at his opening below it.

The smoothness of skin melding with your own washes away the belief that you belong anywhere other than on your knees before him.

Your nose nuzzles into the lightly cut patch along his slit, your tongue flicking tenderly across, becoming familiar with the textured planes of his skin.

He releases a low grumble and hot dampness begins to spread in your lower half as the affectionate sound reignites your pleasure. The tight pressure of his thighs against your head fills you with a sense of security while his thick musk stuffs your head, suffocating and thick like cotton.

The feel of his palms on your scalp, stroking you encouragingly has your eyes twitching shut, and lashes fanning like a parasol to bathe in the gentleness of his touch.

His juices glaze your lips, the taste an elixir to the ailment of your desire. With each of his soft sighs, your nerves buzz erratically in harmony with them as you purr into his cunt.

“Thisss is what you’re meant for”, he says breathily, his fingers burrowing deeper into you. “Your mouth should be for sucking my cunt and nothing else. It feels better around your lips than words, doesn’t it?”

You devoutly nod into him, too reluctant to pull away from his sopping folds.

The curved expanse of your back, head bobbing happily between his legs and hole plugged with a pretty tail is the ideal form, he thinks. He cums at the view of your submissive presentation, more of his fluids trickling down your chin which you eagerly lap up.

You blink up at him through your lashes in awe of the rise and fall of his chest and the flushing of his tan features.

He pulls you up on your wobbling legs to place you onto his lap before capturing your lips with his own, bitter with the taste of alcohol, and creating a wet, sticky and warm tunnel between you. His tongue grows to suit every divot of your mouth, letting not even an atom escape past the choking intrusion as it sucks and curls along your teeth. He expands a bit more until he's touching the back of your throat and you shakily slurp around him as if breathing were an inconvenience.

It is only when dots speckle your vision that the heat of him disappears to leave your lips damp and desperate. “Meow for me, my Pallas”, he whispers, breath brushing over you.

Your fingers delve into the stretchy fabric of his hero costume, brushing against the hardness beneath it while your head tilts to meet chiseled black diamonds.

“Meooww”, you comply, skin prickling with goosebumps. When you go to tuck your head against him to hide your embarrassment he tugs at your neck.

“Don’t hide from me, pet. You make such pleasant sounds.”

His approval sends spine-tingling ripples through you.

Something warm and textured swipes at your aching nub in tantalizing motions, the stroke of it which you recognize as the unmistakable curve of of his perfect, stretched fingers as they begin to stimulate each dent in your walls. You think this feeling is a distant, falsified memory and that the very idea of such a touch could’ve never been granted to you after being denied it for so long.

When he graciously throttles you over the summit, a long whine is strung from your diaphragm, shaking and boisterous. Cumming from his touch is far different from the feel of the toy; it’s calculated as it manages to convince your overworked parts to eagerly comply.

It was agonizing to go so long without the feel of him, you’d forgotten that it was what you needed most.

“Who are you?” He asks as if sensing the drastic shift in your demeanor.

You’re a stranger to your past self.

You swell with satisfaction. “I’m Pallas, Sir. And I am yours forever.”

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