Lydia’s waiting, kneeling, at the door when Scott gets home. She glows at his soft whistle, the sound of appreciation she knows she deserves. Her skin is creamy against the black fur bra, the bell collar tight against her narrow throat. She’d be a treat for any man.
“Aren’t you a pretty little kitty,” he murmurs. A big hand reaches down to cup her chin; his thumb rests just against her lower lip, and her tongue darts out to taste it.
“Mmm, do you want to play, sweetheart?”
There’s only one answer to that question. Lydia goes to her hands and knees. Her ass is high in the air and her face low to the ground- every line of her body asks yes, please.
Scott’s fingers tangle in her hair. He’s gentle, doesn’t tug or yank, just urges her to her feet, careful not to disturb the cat ear headband nestled on her head. Every time, every time, it’s the gentleness that gets to her. He’s the only man she’s ever met who is soft with his power. So she arches into his hands and purrs as he brushes a kiss against her nose.
“Go get on your bed, princess.”
She was wet before he even opened the front door, but hearing his special nickname for her gets Lydia’s pussy tight and wanting. Only years of self-control let her slink into the bedroom, rather than indulging in an ungraceful scramble. Her thumbs hook into the fur of her panties, only to be stopped by Scott’s order to leave them on.
God. Half her brain is gone at the thought of it, him hooking the slick-wet crotch of them to the side as he fucks her. Lydia rolls onto her back, legs spread, every line of her body a ready invitation.
“Is that what you want, baby? You want me to take that little pussy of yours?”
The bell on her collar trills as she nods.
“You know what to do then, princess.” He stands at the food of the bed, waiting.
She does know what to do, and the thrilling humiliation soaks her fingers as she pulls the crotch of her panties to one side and spreads her pussy-lips wide open for him to see.
“Do you think you’re wet enough to take me?”
Lydia has a hard time making her mouth answer when she’s like this, made harder still by the sight of Scott stripping off his work shirt, pushing down his jeans. He’s hard, hard enough to make her mouth as wet as her pussy. She nods instead, and the bell sounds its enthusiastic agreement. Her hips arch up in a silent plea.
“Ssshhh, sshh, princess,” he whispers, climbing onto the bed with her. “I always take care of my girl, don’t I?”
Sometimes he teases, rubs the head of his cock against her for what feels like hours, until they’re both wet, until she’s sobbing and he can’t hold back any longer. Sometimes he makes her sit on his cock and not move, driving them both mad with it, watching the way she squirms and pleads.
But not tonight.
Tonight he shoves into her, hard, into where her fingers still hold her pussy open and waiting. He wraps her up in his arms, one hand sliding behind her head to bury her face in the smooth skin of his neck. She licks him there, tiny kitten nibbles that make his hips pump faster and drive a grunt from his mouth.
“Fuck, Lydia, god, you’re so wet-”
Yes, please, she thinks, please Scott, just like that, just like that-
His thumb lands on her clit, hard and pressing, rubbing at the top of her in time to his thrusts until she has to bite back a scream. She muffles it into his skin, writhes against him, drags her nails down his back and clenches them into his ass, determined to leave a mark on his body the way he’s left a mark on every part of her.
“Close, close, Lydia, baby, I need you to come for me, be my good little girl and come for me, do it, do it now, come on-”
And who is she to say no to such a sweet plea, as her pussy stretches around his cock and his thumb works her clit just the way she likes it? She can’t help but answer, hips shuddering as she clenches tight and comes and comes and comes.
He pulls out at the last minute, hand wrapping around his cock, jerking hard as he spills over her open pussy, her black kitty panties, the soft pale skin of her stomach.
When he’s done, he collapses onto the bed and tugs her into his side. She curls up there, warm and sated, rubs her face against his sweaty skin. She’s content to linger in the scent of him, the feel of his arm wrapped around her, the matched heave of their chests as they come down. She flicks her tongue against his nipple just to hear his half-aroused, half-exhausted laugh.
“Love you, princess,” he says.
Yes, she thinks. Yes.