Wasn't sure how to tag this one. It's a little 1k word exercise. Should be at 979 words.
Let me know what you think, if anything, either here or in PM's 🙂
*
'My cream is for good little kittens. And good little kittens don't... Have... Orgasms.'
I'm supposed to be excited about celebrating our degree results in the gorgeousness that is Cornwall.
But honestly I can't bring myself to join in with it. I'm just sitting quietly, praying for even a moment's reprieve from my nipples pulsating against my bra and the storm of butterflies raging behind my pubic bone every time I look at her.
Which happens a lot, what with 'her' being my fiancée .
So I'm praying for the anaesthesia of sleep because I'm terrified I'll never again see orgasmic oblivion.
Penny's parents have finally exhausted their wedding talk.
Who would marry into this?
My phone's vibrating and while I'm tugging it from my skirt pocket I notice a flash of floral dress tumbling down smooth thighs.
Trainers off and airing in the footwell, frilly white socks and sculpted calves pointed right at me, she's swivelling in the seat and rearranging her dress. But only after I've noticed things are shaved today.
The notification says I have sixty nine unread messages and my knickers weep. I could cry, too.
I'm chanting my internal mantra.
I am a good little kitten.
Forcing a stony expression I tap Open.
My skin burns. My cutesy Pokémon phone case becomes wildly inappropriate.
On the periphery of smut, feet are slithering towards me, floating through the air and two damp crescents are evaporating from the centre seat. The wet heat of her arch steams into my thigh.
“Do you have your belt on, darling?”
“It's fine, papa.” She's smiling at him in the mirror, giving it a sharp tug. It locks.
My hairline's prickling with sweat while I'm trying to feign nonchalance. But I can feel her smirk beaming. She knows, and a heel burrows down. Hard.
Now the wicked nymph is grinding hot cotton into my Armani's and my hands are suffocating Ash and Pikachu.
I'm just thanking God her feet aren't bare.
I text: 'Please stop that!'
Then: 'Fuck off!'
Minute later: 'Penny! Please!!!'
A reply: 'Eyes on my pics, slut.'
I hate that I love being called that.
Scrolling through a blistering barrage of depravity I'm wishing I'd worn some kinda chain mail instead of fishnets.
Then darkness. We're in a tunnel.
A foot's teasing my neck. Toes tickling my chin.
I'm a good little kitten.
I'm a good... Little... Kitten.
Daylight.
They're back in my lap. She's smiling at daddy.
“Are you feeling okay, Tiffany?”
…
“Oh, erm, yes. Fine. Thanks.”
He hums. “Penny, get the girl a mint.”
Then disaster. Her right foot flicks my phone into the footwell, screen-down!
“What was that?”
I'm chasing after it and bang!
Her arch is a hot compress on my neck and my nose squishes into toes. She's scissoring my face and I'll never put vinegar on my chips again.
“Should I pull my seat forward?”
I'm holding my breath, screw trying to speak. I am not opening my mouth. I am not having an orgasm in her dad's Porsche.
I am a good, quiet little kitten.
“Tiffany?”
The seat squeaks as her mum shuffles.
Penny relents and it's like nothing ever happened.
On the verge of tears I snatch my phone, sitting back upright, air-con flushing the sour from my nostrils and Penny's already speaking for me.
“She got it. We're good.”
It's shaking in my hands when another text arrives.
'You're a very. Bad. Kitten.'
But for fear of screaming I switch it off and glare at the trees whipping by.
We stop at services an hour later. Penny's parents ask if we'll join them at the café.
My appetite has been somewhat suppressed of late, what with your fucking pervert daughter teasing the absolute shit out of my **** so fucking regularly.
I paraphrased that.
It's late. There's more staff than customers here.
Penny's standing by the doors of the shopping centre in a cloud of blueberry fog and I find myself in Boots staring at a leggy lady on a packet of Shine & Sheer tights with things downstairs feeling excruciatingly congested.
Penny's turning me into a junkie.
I grab an orange juice and some ibuprofen but before I leave I catch the words 'Power Paddle' blazing in neon peach lettering.
A smooth, rugged shaft.
In black.
Styling pins, staggered for grip and control while blow-drying.
In white.
An air cushioned pad for contour response.
In red.
Oh, my. Power Paddle, you're so not for hair.
“Are we friends?”
My sex demon appears in a cloud of jasmine and orange blossom, kissing my ear and pressing her boobs into my shoulders but I'm shrugging her away before I actually collapse into an erotic coma.
“What's with you?”
“Oh, let's think, Penny. Try you being a bitch. Try being horny for months. Months! Try humiliating me in front of your parents, AGAIN-”
“-Tiffyboo, they didn't see-”
“-Don't you fucking Tiffyboo me.”
“Or what... Tiffyboo?”
Okay. Screw her. She is not pushing me around for this entire bloody fortnight!
I grab the hairbrush-cum-instrument of torture and shove it in that sickeningly smug, disgustingly rideable face until her eyes cross and she's leaning back, fingers pressing the spikes.
“You'll feel what... Bitch.”
“You wouldn't dare.”
I'm actually going to scream.
“Penny, you have tortured me-”
I slap her hand down.
“-tortured, me, for three... Sodding... MONTHS! Believe me, I fucking dare!”
Penny's mouth opens but her dad's voice comes out.
“Everything okay, girls?”
Lowering my weapon, I smile.
“Penny was just asking me to tickle her feet with this hairbrush.”
“Wouldn't get too close to them if I were you, if she's anything like her mother.”
Over her dad's laughter I heard Penny's jaw drop.
But, hey, you keep poking the kitten and eventually you'll get the claws.
I'm gonna pay for this. Dearly.
But not before she gets hers.
*
Let me know what you think, if anything, either here or in PM's 🙂
*
'My cream is for good little kittens. And good little kittens don't... Have... Orgasms.'
I'm supposed to be excited about celebrating our degree results in the gorgeousness that is Cornwall.
But honestly I can't bring myself to join in with it. I'm just sitting quietly, praying for even a moment's reprieve from my nipples pulsating against my bra and the storm of butterflies raging behind my pubic bone every time I look at her.
Which happens a lot, what with 'her' being my fiancée .
So I'm praying for the anaesthesia of sleep because I'm terrified I'll never again see orgasmic oblivion.
Penny's parents have finally exhausted their wedding talk.
Who would marry into this?
My phone's vibrating and while I'm tugging it from my skirt pocket I notice a flash of floral dress tumbling down smooth thighs.
Trainers off and airing in the footwell, frilly white socks and sculpted calves pointed right at me, she's swivelling in the seat and rearranging her dress. But only after I've noticed things are shaved today.
The notification says I have sixty nine unread messages and my knickers weep. I could cry, too.
I'm chanting my internal mantra.
I am a good little kitten.
Forcing a stony expression I tap Open.
My skin burns. My cutesy Pokémon phone case becomes wildly inappropriate.
On the periphery of smut, feet are slithering towards me, floating through the air and two damp crescents are evaporating from the centre seat. The wet heat of her arch steams into my thigh.
“Do you have your belt on, darling?”
“It's fine, papa.” She's smiling at him in the mirror, giving it a sharp tug. It locks.
My hairline's prickling with sweat while I'm trying to feign nonchalance. But I can feel her smirk beaming. She knows, and a heel burrows down. Hard.
Now the wicked nymph is grinding hot cotton into my Armani's and my hands are suffocating Ash and Pikachu.
I'm just thanking God her feet aren't bare.
I text: 'Please stop that!'
Then: 'Fuck off!'
Minute later: 'Penny! Please!!!'
A reply: 'Eyes on my pics, slut.'
I hate that I love being called that.
Scrolling through a blistering barrage of depravity I'm wishing I'd worn some kinda chain mail instead of fishnets.
Then darkness. We're in a tunnel.
A foot's teasing my neck. Toes tickling my chin.
I'm a good little kitten.
I'm a good... Little... Kitten.
Daylight.
They're back in my lap. She's smiling at daddy.
“Are you feeling okay, Tiffany?”
…
“Oh, erm, yes. Fine. Thanks.”
He hums. “Penny, get the girl a mint.”
Then disaster. Her right foot flicks my phone into the footwell, screen-down!
“What was that?”
I'm chasing after it and bang!
Her arch is a hot compress on my neck and my nose squishes into toes. She's scissoring my face and I'll never put vinegar on my chips again.
“Should I pull my seat forward?”
I'm holding my breath, screw trying to speak. I am not opening my mouth. I am not having an orgasm in her dad's Porsche.
I am a good, quiet little kitten.
“Tiffany?”
The seat squeaks as her mum shuffles.
Penny relents and it's like nothing ever happened.
On the verge of tears I snatch my phone, sitting back upright, air-con flushing the sour from my nostrils and Penny's already speaking for me.
“She got it. We're good.”
It's shaking in my hands when another text arrives.
'You're a very. Bad. Kitten.'
But for fear of screaming I switch it off and glare at the trees whipping by.
We stop at services an hour later. Penny's parents ask if we'll join them at the café.
My appetite has been somewhat suppressed of late, what with your fucking pervert daughter teasing the absolute shit out of my **** so fucking regularly.
I paraphrased that.
It's late. There's more staff than customers here.
Penny's standing by the doors of the shopping centre in a cloud of blueberry fog and I find myself in Boots staring at a leggy lady on a packet of Shine & Sheer tights with things downstairs feeling excruciatingly congested.
Penny's turning me into a junkie.
I grab an orange juice and some ibuprofen but before I leave I catch the words 'Power Paddle' blazing in neon peach lettering.
A smooth, rugged shaft.
In black.
Styling pins, staggered for grip and control while blow-drying.
In white.
An air cushioned pad for contour response.
In red.
Oh, my. Power Paddle, you're so not for hair.
“Are we friends?”
My sex demon appears in a cloud of jasmine and orange blossom, kissing my ear and pressing her boobs into my shoulders but I'm shrugging her away before I actually collapse into an erotic coma.
“What's with you?”
“Oh, let's think, Penny. Try you being a bitch. Try being horny for months. Months! Try humiliating me in front of your parents, AGAIN-”
“-Tiffyboo, they didn't see-”
“-Don't you fucking Tiffyboo me.”
“Or what... Tiffyboo?”
Okay. Screw her. She is not pushing me around for this entire bloody fortnight!
I grab the hairbrush-cum-instrument of torture and shove it in that sickeningly smug, disgustingly rideable face until her eyes cross and she's leaning back, fingers pressing the spikes.
“You'll feel what... Bitch.”
“You wouldn't dare.”
I'm actually going to scream.
“Penny, you have tortured me-”
I slap her hand down.
“-tortured, me, for three... Sodding... MONTHS! Believe me, I fucking dare!”
Penny's mouth opens but her dad's voice comes out.
“Everything okay, girls?”
Lowering my weapon, I smile.
“Penny was just asking me to tickle her feet with this hairbrush.”
“Wouldn't get too close to them if I were you, if she's anything like her mother.”
Over her dad's laughter I heard Penny's jaw drop.
But, hey, you keep poking the kitten and eventually you'll get the claws.
I'm gonna pay for this. Dearly.
But not before she gets hers.
*
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