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A Cuckold Named Kitty by Throne
🕑 Added 2026-02-11 22:48:42 +0000 UTCA Cuckold Named Kitty!
By THRONE
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.
Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.
A Cuckold Named Kitty!
By THRONE
Synopsis:Since she found out about her husband's crossdressing, Miranda has been increasingly dominating him. She puts him in fashions that are too extreme for him, along with some feline touches. What will happen if she finds an alpha male who wants to assist her, in more ways than one?
A Cuckold Named Kitty!
By THRONE
"Now, honey," Miranda said placatingly, "don't be a sissy sourpuss."
"But darling," her husband Kit said, "we should talk about this some
more."
"It's a bit late for that," she pointed out. "I think our agreement is
quite reasonable. You get to do what you want for kicks. I don't mind
that you like to play dress-up."
"Except that..."
She held up a silencing hand and went on with a smile, "And I get to
have my fun by seeing a certain gentleman."
"Brandon is no gentleman. He's pushy and loutish."
"The opposite of your, dear. That's what appeals to me. I like how
assertive he is. And his occasional crassness is a welcome change from
your prissy attitude."
"It's not right."
"Sure it is." She shrugged, as if accepting the inevitable. "You
weren't much fun as Kit but you're so amusing as Kitty. I mean, just
look at yourself. Go on, lover. The mirror is right behind you."
He cringed. Kit already knew how he looked. Even so, after weeks of
his wife taking control, ever since she'd discovered his crossdressing
habit, he was rarely capable of standing up to her. He turned around
and faced the panel mirror that now hung on the wall of the spare
bedroom, where she had set up his Sissy Sanctuary, as she called it.
Kit shivered. His reflection said so much. There was the headband with
black cat ears on it, atop a dark wig with a pageboy cut. Then came the
collar, studded with rhinestones. The black bodysuit clung to his
slender figure and fishnet stockings encased his rather shapely legs.
Under the suit were a pair of bikini panties. There was no hair
anywhere, since his wife had gotten it all lasered off. He took a step
forward, balancing easily on sleek purple shoes with square toes and
chunky heels.
"See?" his wife said. "You wanted to wear girly things and that's
exactly what you're doing."
"I didn't intend for it to be like this," he whined.
She came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her chin
rested on his shoulder.
Miranda whispered into his ear, "I think maybe you did." She let her
hand wander down to his crotch. "The little guy is certainly enjoying
what I picked for you to put on."
He couldn't deny that his penis was stiff from wearing the feline
outfit. She stroked it several times. What he especially didn't
appreciate was her calling it little. True, his dick was below average
size. He had always been in denial about that, so having the truth
stated regularly had eroded his ego. Her forearms rose and she fingered
his nipples through the thin material. He moaned in spite of himself
and his hips jerked. She licked his ear.
His cute wife went on, "Now, let's get your face made up before I go out
on my date. I'm sure you'll be happier if your image is complete."
"Okay. Fine," he agreed sulkily.
She tittered and released him. Without being told to, he sat in the
chair of the vanity table. She had found that piece of furniture
online, being offered by someone not too far away. The seller had
agreed to deliver it for a small added fee. When he got there, he was a
bit older than Miranda and Kit, who were in their early 20s. The guy
was tall and fit, which attracted her at once. He had on short sleeves,
so his muscular arms were visible. His name was Vince. When he and Kit
got the item out of the back of Vincent's pick-up truck, Miranda's
husband could barely hold up his end. He struggled as they carried it
into the house. Miranda suggested that he fetch the chair that went
with it, making a joke about how it would be an easier job for him.
After it was in and Vince had closed the tailgate of his vehicle, she
invited him to stay for coffee. He mentioned that, as a single guy, he
wasn't used to being served anything. Miranda had been mildly flirty
for the next half hour, while they sat at the kitchen table and chatted.
Kit, much to his shame, was relegated to washing some accumulated dishes
and then cleaning the countertop and inside the fridge. Part of him
wanted to not cooperate, but having panties and stockings on under his
slacks made him submissive.
So, there he was, at the vanity table, seeing his face in yet another
mirror. His wife went to work with the cosmetics she had been
purchasing just for him. She liked the idea that he had his own
collection of make-up. It included some garish colors of lipstick that
she would never use herself. Soon after she discovered his private
stash of panties and stockings, along with some other goodies, she found
she enjoyed holding it over his head and using it to regulate him. The
woman took special pleasure in inflicting small indignities, like having
him do housework while clad in only a tight panty girdle and shiny
stockings, with fuzzy slippers on his feet. She had always been too
polite and caring to mention his immature genitals in the past. Once
she found out about his duplicity and unmanly practice, it was open
season on them. She used terms like 'peanut' and 'shrimp' to describe
his member.
Now, she applied plenty of eyeliner and mascara. There was blush for
his cheeks. Special attention was paid to his mouth, outlining his lips
and then filling in the space with a color called Purple Passion. Over
that went a generous coating of gloss. She snickered at the results.
Miranda said, "Can't forget the most important part, now can we, Kitty?"
He frowned and said, "No, Ma'am." After being made up, he became extra
obedient.
"Why don't you ask for it?" This was a new strategy. She was curious
to find out how it worked.
"Do I have to?"
Instead of answering, she told him, "I want to hear some purring."
He sighed. That was followed by several mewing sounds. Miranda
repeated her demand for him to request what came next.
Her husband said, in a small voice, "Would you please give me my
whiskers?"
"Only if you ask really nicely. Let me hear that pleading tone I like
so much." She had been getting more obvious about her pleasure in
making him debase himself.
"May I please have some long whiskers?" He knew what she liked to hear.
"Pretty please?" He punctuated that with a "Meow."
Miranda laughed out loud at his subservient attitude. She gleefully
drew the whiskers on his face. He had to watch it in the mirror, as his
appearance suffered that final indignity. She even gave him some candy
to suck on, which she knew would temporarily color his tongue a lovely
shade of bright pink. He accepted it, just as he had everything else.
As defeated as he had become, she was confident that he would endure her
going out on a date that evening, no matter how offensive it was to what
remained of his masculine pride.
She praised, "That's my good pussy cat, with the accent on the 'pussy'."
"Yes, dear," he said glumly.
"Now go sit in front of the TV. I have it all tuned in for you, to
something I know you'll adore."
He went silently. From the sofa he could hear his wife preparing to go
out. The thought of her with Brandon riled him. He hadn't met the man,
but she had shown him photos he sent her online and she let Kit
eavesdrop on their video chats, but only while he stood out of the
camera's line of view. He had to listen to her giggle like a schoolgirl
and make playfully naughty remarks. Her paramour had a deep voice and
was prone to ribald remarks.
Miranda might say something like, "I hope that when we go out, you'll
like what I'm wearing."
He would reply with words along the lines of, "I'd like you better if
you were out of it."
Hearing such repartee made Kit wince. There he would be, sitting off to
the side, dressed in some of the lingerie his wife had purchased for him
online. She found a company called Dark Butterfly that featured satin
underthings. He would be wearing an abbreviated baby doll top that came
down only to his bottom rib and had a big bow at the neck. That could
be accompanied by bloomer panties that reached almost to his knees,
where they were gathered and elasticized. That particular set was in
baby blue. When he first donned it, she chided him about blue being a
masculine color. As he listened to an hour of her and Brandon having
verbal foreplay, he was bothered by how his dick demanded attention. He
didn't want to get stiff from his wife's pre-cheating chats, but
couldn't help it. She checked him after each call, to make sure he
couldn't deny how his body had betrayed him. It was also another chance
for her to remark on his penis dimensions.
She would put on a concerned expression. "Is it these panties or are
you really as small down there as it feels? I mean, I know you don't
have much of a pecker but it seems like it's shrinking. Is that
something that happens with sissies like you, Kitten? Hmmm?"
Then, all sexed-up from her conversation with Brandon, she would signal
Kit that it was time to visit the bedroom. He would have to undress
her. While he did it, she would narrate about how she had picked her
clothes to tempt Brandon during their video communication.
"Do you think he liked how my nipples poked out against this top? I'll
bet he knows that it's partly because he gets me aroused. What he's
still learning about is that I'm also turned on by what I'm doing to
you, Cat Girl. You've heard me talking to him about my weakling
husband, who likes to be in panties and knows I'm preparing for some
serial infidelity." She snickered. "Do you think I should send him
pictures of you, just to make sure he understands that you're no threat
to his interests?"
"Please don't do that, dear."
"I don't know. He might get as big of a kick out of seeing you like
that as I do."
Once she was naked, Miranda would stretch out on her back on the bed.
Kit knew his place, which was between her legs, with his face close to
their juncture. He would be so near to her pussy that he couldn't avoid
inhaling its feminine muskiness. Before she knew about his tranny side,
their sex life had been bland, with them in the missionary position and
the act over much too soon for her. Between his small prick and
premature endings, it had never been pleasing for her. Then she
demanded that he forego intercourse and give her oral instead. He was
under her thumb firmly enough that he went along with it. The
possibility of using his mouth like that had always been repugnant to
him. The few times she had brought it up, earlier in their marriage, he
had flatly refused. Now he had no bargaining leverage, no veto power.
So it was that Kit had learned to please her with his lips and tongue.
She would remind him, "You stay down there until the job is done." It
wasn't over until she had multiple orgasms.
In this case, with him in full Kitty mode, he was told to use his tongue
on her furrow like a cat lapping up cream. He was also instructed to do
the same to her clitoris. That was slower to produce climactic results
than when he sucked on it, but while he was worshipping her body, she
was never in a hurry. Occasionally, between her big finishes, she would
have him raise his head, so she could see his whiskered face, his lips
glistening with her juices.
Because she was keeping him involuntarily celibate for the present,
while she tightened her grip on his body and mind, he became
increasingly needy. Miranda used that against him. His desperation
made his already disadvantaged position even more vulnerable. She would
hint about perhaps granting him some relief in the near future.
Then it became, "How about this? If my first date with Brandon goes
really well, I'll do something nice for you."
By that point, he was frustrated enough that he agreed with that
unreasonable offer. She was tickled. It would give her a perfect
opportunity to gloat over it after she had been with another man. If
Kit was getting a delayed reward at the same time, it could be an
effective first step in acclimating him to her unfaithfulness, and
perhaps, if she worked at it, taking him to the point of being
stimulated by it. She had done some research into the kinks of
crossdressers. There was a lot of variety, but some of them were hooked
on the scenario of being dominated by wives who cuckolded them.
Manipulating him into that role, even though she could tell that he
clearly didn't wish for it, would be so entertaining. Just imaging him,
stuck in girly fashions and craving her cheating, at the same time that
he hated it, got her wet.
After convincing him to allow that one-sided deal, she let him do all
the work of satisfying her, with the added bonus that she intended to do
nothing for him in return. An idea for how she might gift him after her
initial tryst with Brandon began to form as her husband dutifully
slurped away. Exactly what she would do came to her in a flash of
inspiration. It also arrived just as she was being launched into her
third of a trio of quivering vocal finales.
Let's get back to that fateful evening when Brandon was due to pick her
up. She sent Kit to sit in front of the TV, where home shopping
programs were running. He had to watch an endless procession of ladies'
fashions and accessories, which was calculated to keep his mind on being
feminine. She spent considerable time getting ready. When she
reappeared, he was not happy with what he saw. Miranda had on a pale
green blouse with a high collar, over which was a vest in a darker shade
of the same color, that was fashionable but relaxed. Her earth-toned
skirt was short and a statement belt made of large links drew attention
to her trim waist. Attractive black pumps finished her look. The sum
effect was as if she was trying to play down her desirable body but
instead drawing attention to it. Her make-up was conservative, which
added to that theme.
She approached Kit with something in her hands. It turned out to be a
pair of gloves made to look like paws. They were black and had no
fingers. She snugged them onto him and fastened them with attached
clips at the wrists. He was thus deprived of the use of his hands.
"Perfect," she said. "Now I won't have to worry about you getting into
anything, Kitty." Miranda grew serious as she continued with, "And you
won't be tempted to play with that spare finger you've got where there
should be a full-size cock. I'll bet Brandon won't disappoint in that
area."
"You're not going to doing anything with him," Kit said, choking on his
concern. "I mean, going all the way."
"I'll go as far as I want to," she assured him with confidence. "Or as
far as he makes me. A man like him sometimes takes what he wants."
Kit wished he could sink between the cushions of the sofa and somehow
disappear. He pressed his thighs together. He wanted to adjust his
wig, which suddenly felt crooked, but wasn't sure how much he could do
with his hands incapacitated the way they were. His wife put herself
next to him. She toyed with his nipples until a bump appeared in his
panties.
"Look who's up and ready to be played with." She stroked his thigh.
"The poor neglected miniature model wants attention. But you're going
to be a well-behaved Kitty and not try to rub one off. You know I'd
find the mess that left behind."
He made a face. "Please..."
"What's the matter, princess? Does that bother you? The idea of
getting all wet and sticky from your shorty going off? I'll keep in
mind how you reacted to that maybe happening. Right now, however,
Brandon is due to arrive very soon. Don't worry. There's a regular
marathon of shopping shows on for hours to come. I'm sure you'll see
all sorts of lovely items that would work on your girlish figure." She
patted him patronizingly on top of is wig, between his cat ears.
Miranda's phone buzzed. She read the message on the screen. Brandon
had arrived and was waiting out front. She didn't appear to mind that
he hadn't bothered to come to the door. Why were some women drawn to
unmannered types like him when they could have quiet respectful ones
like Kit, her husband wondered. She threw him a kiss as she whisked out
the door and toward what sort of experience her spouse didn't know. Kit
would spend the following hours obsessing over what was taking place,
stressing about where it might lead, and not wanting to think too much
about how it might change his wife. Unable to free his hands, he sat
mutely watching the host of the show talking to an effeminate male
designer, with both of them gushing over the clothes for sale. He
slipped into a trancelike state, dimly aware that some of the selections
he saw would indeed be welcome in his wardrobe.
When Miranda arrived home after midnight, it startled him. She was
flushed and giddy. The first thing she did was to come to him, take his
face between her hands, and kiss him hard on the mouth. Her tongue
glided all over his. He didn't realize until after she had started and
was in the midst of frenching him that there was an unfamiliar taste.
There was also a sliminess. OMG. It was semen.
As he shuddered, she pulled away. With a wicked grin she confirmed, "I
just gave Brandon a blowjob in his car. You and I have so much to talk
about, Kitty. I can't wait to share all the juicy details with you.
Want another smooch?"
"No." He shook his head violently. "I can't believe you did that."
"Why not? I owed him something after the great sex he gave me earlier.
You are definitely out of the running in that department, dearest. I
mean, there's no comparison. Your bitty boy-part doesn't come anywhere
near to the jumbo joystick he's got."
Kit was so rattled that he wasn't able to respond. She took him by the
wrist and he got to his feet. His wife walked him into the bedroom.
With his hands out of commission, he couldn't help her to undress, so
she did a striptease for him, though it was speeded up. After she was
naked he saw that she had come home minus one piece of clothing.
"Where are your panties?" he asked numbly.
"Those? Brandon kept them as a souvenir. I told him I'd just borrow a
pair of yours. He thought that was hilarious."
"Miranda, you had no right..."
"I had every right. Your dinky dick, hair trigger squirts and love of
lingerie give me all the rights I need. They're my Miranda rights. Get
it?" She laughed at her own joke.
He said, "At least take these things off my hands."
"Why? You don't need your hands to eat my pussy. Of course, it might
be fun if you included your fingers while you were doing it. But this
way you can concentrate on using your mouth. Brandon took me to a nice
restaurant and I had the Blue Plate Special. You're going to get the
Deep-Dish Pink Plate Surprise. And he did go deep. He told me to
remind you that you'll be using your lips and tongue where he had his
ginormous cock a few hours ago."
She dropped back onto the mattress and spread her legs. Miranda pointed
to her womanhood. In a daze, her husband got into his usual spot. He
stared at her precious pinkness.
He wanted to know, "Did you at least use protection?"
"We did this time. I'm back on birth control but want to make sure it
has started working before I let him ride me bareback."
Kit choked. "Miranda..."
"You know what? He has to get the magnum size condoms. I told him you
could use the finger from a latex glove. Just snip off the pinky and
slip it over your winky."
"I'm not that small," he insisted.
"Close enough. Anything under the legal limit isn't a keeper. Now do
the one thing you're good for in bed."
He was shaken up to such a degree that he just went along with it. No
other course suggested itself to him. His head went down, his tongue
came out, and he licked from the bottom of her furrow to the top,
pausing there to flick her button with the tip of his taster. He
repeated those moves several times, eliciting soft contented sounds from
her.
"Slow and easy," she advised. "Brandon left me a bit sore. That thing
of his should be licensed as a weapon."
It was like muscle memory took over for Kit. He worked nonstop, trying
not to think about what had been inside her so recently. Gradually, he
built her toward a happy ending. When she got there, he used just a bit
more effort to make it stronger. It was different than he was
accustomed to, milder, obviously because of the sexual energy she had
expended earlier. Her back arched and then she slowly relaxed, making
no effort to suppress a long sigh of satiation.
"Thanks," she told him lazily. "Now let me tell you all about my date.
Or rather, let me tell you what happened after we got a room. Brandon
intentionally picked a placed that was less than luxurious. In fact, it
was a cheap motel out on the highway. He said he wanted me to feel
trashy. I have to say that he's good at reading me. It was plain to
him that I needed something downscale, with no fancy trimmings, to help
free me up and get me past any sense of propriety I had. That worked
like a charm. I didn't have any qualms about hitting the sheets with
him. It was so deliciously illicit that I insisted on helping him
undress. That's why, when I was down on my knees and lowering his
pants, his killer cock was directly in front of my face. I gasped out
loud. That jawbreaker was gorgeous. I would have got it into my mouth
right then, but I didn't think he'd want to kiss me after that."
"You've never used your mouth on me," Kit whined.
"Because you were always too queasy to use yours on me. But now that
you're eating my snatch on the regular... I still won't put my mouth on
your dingaling. That poor excuse wouldn't even make a decent appetizer.
Brandon's is like a thick slab of steak."
"I've heard enough."
"No you haven't." He was still down in his pussy serving position. She
clapped her thighs against the sides of his head. "We were on the bed
ASAP. He got on top of me but, instead of sticking it right in, he
kissed me and ran his hands all over my body. It was like I was his
first and he wanted to explore every inch of what I had to offer. At
the same time, it was like he'd been with countless women and knew
exactly how to arouse one. It was amazing."
She was still gaining momentum in telling her lurid account. Kit,
dressed as he was, demoted to oral slave, and replaced by another for
the main job, murmured some disjointed syllables that sounded like
supersaturated self-pity.
Miranda went on, "I ended up begging him to get it inside me. He
laughed and gave me the privilege of fitting a rubber over it. Even
that was a thrill. Just to be handing such a whopper was an honor. I
got that rascal wrapped and made it obvious that I was ready, willing
and able to be humped. He got back in the saddle and put the head of
his wang against my pouting pussy. Jeez, I sound like a dirty book.
When he eased it in, I just about blew a gasket. By the time he was
balls-deep, it was like I would faint. Then he began pumping. Brandon
changed his speed. He varied the angle. There were moves he made that
I didn't fully follow. At one point I think he bit my ear, twisted a
nipple, and gave a half dozen hard thrusts, all at once. It hurt so
good that I nearly swooned."
"Honey..." That was all he got to say before she crossed her ankles,
putting him into a loose scissors hold. He understood that he needed to
take a break from interrupting her.
"It went on like that," she said dreamily. "On and on and on. I was
possessed by him. He made me climax when he wanted me to. Finally,
after the best sex of my life, he let himself get ready to fire his
shot. Part of me wished it had been safe for him to do it without the
condom. I knew I would feel more like I was his if he spurted inside
me. But I had to settle for merely being launched into the
stratosphere. When Brandon ejaculated, I orgasmed right along with him.
It was indescribable. From now on, any time you're wondering why I
don't want sex with you, just remember what I told you now."
She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Her hand went to his chest.
She felt around, found a nipple, and fingered it. Her other hand went
down to take hold of the front of Kit's panties. She squeezed his dick
and then relaxed her grip, doing it over and over.
Miranda said, "Remember earlier, when we talked about how you don't like
messes? I still want to give you your reward for being such a good
sissy, and now a sweet cuckold, but I don't want you to enjoy it too
much. That's why I'm going to jerk you off inside your panties. After
you pop your cork, you can sleep with your cream in your sexy undies."
She snickered. "Plus, you can't take too long to get there. That
should be easy, since you've always finished too soon in the past.
Hurry up, Kitty, or you'll lose your chance to score at all."
He groaned. Despite the tale she had just related, and his knowledge of
what his future sex life would be, and what it would lack, he became
wildly aroused. Kit told himself the reason was that he hadn't been
granted any relief for a while. Part of him, however, suspected it was
because he actually did appreciate those darker fantasies that in the
past he had only flirted with in the recesses of his mind. She used the
ball of thumb under the head of his baby dick, while also using short
hard tugs.
She sang in his ear, "The yanks are coming, my hand is so clever. So
fire your pop-gun, it's now or never."
He let out a strangled cry. His balls emptied themselves, coating the
inside of the panties' crotch band. His slime got all over his dick and
balls. At least, since his wife had rid him of pubic hair, there was
none of that to get sticky. With his pleasure peaked and now sinking
away, momentary ecstasy was replaced by shame and guilt and remorse. He
could barely believe what had happened. Could it get any worse?
Miranda answered that unasked question by saying, "I can't wait to have
Brandon come here and meet you. He thinks it will be a hoot."
That was Saturday. The man his wife was cheating with would be there on
Wednesday at eight. In the intervening days and nights, Kit felt like
he had a boa constrictor curled up in his guts. Miranda taunted him
about her upcoming second round of adultery. She tantalized him
verbally and physically. There was no shortage of insults to his male
appendage and about his performance evaluations. In bed, she encouraged
him to nestle against her, to add to his frustration. He didn't have to
use his mouth on her because, as she said, she was saving herself for
Brandon's muscle of love.
During that waiting period, she made sure to dress Kit in especially
emasculating outfits. One was a cheerleader uniform she had found in a
thrift shop. I had come complete with pom-poms, which she made him hold
while he performed impromptu cheers that were in support of Team
Brandon. Another was harem pajamas, which turned up at a costume shop.
She even bought a cleopatra wig to go with them. Eye liner was used
like kohl, to dramatic effect. There was even a rubber asp for him to
carry. She considered each costume as a candidate for what he might don
when Brandon was coming. Another one in the running was a slut
simulation. There was a bikini top, the cups of which she filled with a
pair of his dress socks, to give him a modest bust. Then came mini-
shorts, with their rear seam deep in the crack of his ass, and the lower
part of each cheek exposed. To heighten the illusion of him being a
hooker, she gave him torn stockings and F**k Me shoes that had thick
three-inch heels and platform soles. In them, he tottered through the
house to the spare bedroom, where he had to sit in front of the vanity
mirror.
"I want your make-up to project cheapness, so you can put it on
yourself."
He tried to strike a compromise between what she intended and something
less appalling. With his wife coaching, her wishes prevailed. She
crowned her creation with a black punk rocker wig. In the end he
resembled a whore whose base of operations was an alley in a rundown
urban neighborhood. Unsurprisingly, Miranda took pictures of each
persona he became. She didn't send them to Brandon, as she wanted him
to get the full impact when he saw Kit in the flesh for the first time.
For the big occassion, Miranda decided that her husband-without-
privileges should look and act like her French maid. Sure, it was a
cliche, but sometimes the old styles are still the best. To make sure
it was naughty enough, she bought it from an online kink shop ahead of
time and paid for rush delivery with her husband's credit card. There
was no risk of overusing the card, now that he wasn't allowed to put
anything on it without her explicit permission.
"Let's get you into your work clothes, Kitty," she said cheerily when
the time came.
He was too beaten down to object and too fearful of Brandon to do
anything else. She was an amused observer while he dressed himself,
which she had him to well ahead of time. From the tiny cap to the lace
choker, from the abbreviated dress to the small apron, and from the
requisite fishnet stockings to the modest black shoes with their low
heels to afford him steady balance, he was the perfect picture of a Fifi
or Mimi or Marie. It bothered him that there were no panties under his
dress. He hoped he didn't accidentally flash the others. Kit's make-
up, which his wife handled, was standard, except for excess rough on his
cheeks to create a doll-like effect. His own hair was fluffed up and
gel was used on it to maintain its additional volume.
Closer to the time Brandon was due, Miranda got herself prepared. She
let her spouse watch. First, she put on black lingerie. The bra and
panties were lacy and did little to conceal her charms. There was a red
garterbelt that held up shiny dark stockings that were the color of
pewter. Red stilettos amplified her lust-provoking image. She slipped
into a brief silk robe, a dark one embroidered with a pair of yellow
dragons down the front, symmetrically placed. There was a narrow belt
with fringe on its ends.
Kit cautiously advised, "Don't wait until too late to put on the rest of
what you'll be wearing."
She gave him a devilish smile. "This is the rest. I want to incite
lust in my man. And my man isn't you."
One of them did have last minute add-ons to what they wore. It was Kit.
He was given white lace gloves. Then there were cat ears that fastened
in his hair and didn't conflict with the maid cap. The last humiliation
was cat whiskers, drawn on by Miranda with consumate skill. He was
freakishly sexy and laughable, too.
Shortly after those surprise additions, they heard a car pull up out
front. Then there was a loud knock on the door. Kit was spared the
mortificatin of having to answer it, because his wife wanted to make a
bold first impression on her new bedmate. She flung open the door.
Brandon took one look and his eyes popped. He swore colorfully.
Kit saw the interloper in his life. His wife's first choice was tall
and broadly built. He appeared athletic but not well maintained. Like
a football lineman who had retired and let himself go, he had a sturdy
build but also the start of a beer belly. His tan sport coat and
slacks, with a navy blue shirt and slip-on shoes, brought to mind the
guy at the end of every working-class bar.
He wrapped Miranda in his long arms and pulled her in for a tight hug.
His lips met hers, which she parted willingly. Kit had to see them
passionately kiss. The big man's hands roamed lower, to squeeze her
buttocks. She ground against him shamelessly. When they at last
parted, both turned to Kit.
"That's my hopeless husband," announced Miranda. "I call him Kitty."
"Hello, Kitten," the new arrival said with smug condescension. "Or
should I call you a Frenchie name like Brigette?"
Without thinking, Kit answered in a subdued voice. "You may call me
whatever you wish, Sir." Why had he said that?
"I would anyway, you candy-ass." He went to the husband and patted him
on the side of his face two times. "And there's nothing you can do
about it. Just like you won't do a thing later, when I take your wife
to bed and screw her senseless. Right?"
Kit took a step backward. "Um, yes. Of course. Whatever you say."
His eyes went to Miranda but he found no sympathy there.
She told him brusquely, "Get us a couple of beers from the fridge,
Kitty."
"Yes," he squeaked. "Yes, Ma'am."
The male maid with cartoon whiskers scurried off to the kitchen. He
opened the fridge and saw the bottles of beer he had picked up on the
way home from the office that afternoon, under his wife's orders. Kit
put a pair of them on a tray with two glasses. He didn't even think of
taking one for himself. When he returned, the pair were on the sofa, in
quiet conversation. He waited respectfully for them to pause. Only
then did he come close and offer them their beverages. They each took
one.
Brandon, sounding more reasonable than previously, said, "We were
talking and Miranda doesn't want this to be too hard on you. What she
needs is to hear you say it's alright for her to jump in the sack with
me." His stare was cold, somehow threatening.
Kit said, "I'm not sure."
The seated man leaned forward. "I hear you. It's just that if we don't
do it, your wife will be disappointed. See? So why don't you do the
right thing and give her permission."
"I... guess."
"That's not good enough, Kitten. She'll still feel bad if she doesn't
think you mean it."
"Well..." Kit eyed the roughneck nervously. A chill ran down his
spine, just like in some scary story. "Okay." He wasn't about to stand
up to Brandon. "She can do it."
"You need to tell her, not me."
This was going to be harder. Kit tried to look at his wife without
gazing into her eyes. That robe she had on was open in front enough
that he could see plenty of skin. His dick stirred.
He took a steadying breath and told her, "It's fine, dear. You can go
to bed with Brandon."
She asked, "Is that all? You're not really saying much. Can I have sex
with him?"
"It's... I'm not..." He swallowed with difficulty. "You can do that."
"Do what?"
"Have... sex... with Brandon."
She shook her head. "You're not convincing me."
This was slipping out of control. It hadn't been right to begin with
but now it was growing more awkward by the moment.
Kit just wanted it to be over with. This time he told her, "It's not a
problem if you go to bed with Brandon and have sex."
"How about if he wants to get freaky?" she inquired with a straight
face.
"Yeah, Kitten," said the man who had already bedded Miranda and been
gone down on by her in his car. "Like, you know, if she needs a
spanking?"
"No," Kit said reflexively.
Miranda pouted at him. "But sometimes a girl deserves that. She
misbehaves on purpose, so a strong man is forced to smack her bottom."
Kit was more mixed up than ever. How could she ever forget it if he
kept acceding to their wishes? Would she ever not remember this night?
"Whatever you want is acceptable," Kit said, his voice threatening to
crack like he was an adolescent kid.
"I don't know," Miranda said unhappily. "You're ruining everything for
me, Kitty."
The hybrid of maid and cat wrung his hands. He told Brandon, "Do it.
Spank her. And she can blow you again. Lick your balls. Anything."
His wife scowled. "There's no need to get crude. I'm offended."
Brandon nodded agreement. "That was bitchy of you, Kitty Cat. Bitches
get themselves into trouble. Then they have to be punished. There's a
chance we can avoid that. You owe this pretty lady an apology. Let's
hear it. It'll be more sincere if you get down on your knees in front
of her."
Kit shivered. He did as he was told. Kneeling directly in front of his
wife, he was more aware than ever of how she radiated sheer sexiness.
His puny pecker did more than twitch. It rose to half fullness.
Even though he didn't think he had done anything serious, he said, "I'm
so sorry, Miranda. Please accept my apology. I'll try harder not to
say the wrong things."
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Maybe if you gave me a kiss to
make-up."
"Honestly?" He feared this might turn into another misunderstanding.
"Sure." She spread her knees wide apart, exposing the front of her
skimpy panties. He could see her narrow labia slightly through the
lace. "Go ahead. Kiss it. And keep on saying you're sorry."
He sniffled. His first thought was to hold onto her legs for support.
That idea was quickly rejected. Touching her would likely irritate
Brandon. Instead, Kit put his palms on the floor and leaned in with his
lips puckered. It was so demeaning to be in his current outfit,
dominated by the intruder without even being touched by him, through
pure undiluted fear. And cowardice. His mouth met the lightweight
material of the panties and he delivered several butterfly kisses.
Kit told his wife, "I regret every mistake I've made. I'll do whatever
it takes to make it up to you. I was stupid to speak without thinking.
I'm deeply sorry. Please accept my humble apologies."
She pulled aside the narrow front of her panties. "Get it wet, so it's
easier for Brandon to screw me. Since you and I got married, I never
had a proper cock in there until I hooked up with him. Some extra
wetness would be helpful. I'm sure you don't want that long thick
exceptional piece of manhood to hurt my underused pussy, Kitty."
He couldn't form words. The best he could do was to snivel and try not
to break down and cry in front of her. He belatedly realized that she
hadn't asked for him to speak. She had a better use for his mouth. Kit
extended his tongue. He spied peripheral movement and turned his eyes
to the side. Brandon had lowered his face so he could have a close-up
view of Kit lapping his spouse to prep her for a bigger cock than she
was used to. The defeated husband licked her groove slowly but
steadily. She murmured her approval.
"That's right, Kitty. Make yourself useful. Isn't this nice for me? A
real man for sex and a fake one to help out as needed. I might require
some more service after we ball."
Kit wasn't sure what she meant by that and couldn't focus enough to
think about more. His eyes went up again. This time Brandon was
locking lips with her. The big man's hand pawed Miranda's breasts. Her
eyelids fluttered and her chest heaved, thrusting her bosom into even
greater prominence. Brandon got his foot under Kit's ribcage, forced
him to sit back on his haunches, planted his heel in the center of Kit's
narrow chest, and shoved him forcefully. The helpless husband ended up
on his back.
Brandon snapped his fingers and motioned for Kit to follow him. He
instructed, "Don't bother getting up, Kitten. You can go on all fours,
like a cat."
The powerful man helped Miranda to her feet. They kissed again, hands
roving over each other. When they began to walk, Kit crawled behind.
With him denied panties, his felt cool air on his butt. His wife looked
back with a mix of amusement and disgust. He bit his lips to keep from
sobbing.
In the master bedroom, the lusty couple soon had each other undressed.
There was another embrace. When they separated, Brandon's enviable
organ was erect. From Kit's low angle it appeared even larger, and his
heavy balls were in plain view. Miranda took a foil packet from the
nightstand, opened it, and extracted a condom, which she lovingly rolled
onto the capable one's cock. She got on the bed on her hands and knees.
Brandon knelt behind her. He aimed his cock at her slit, poised for
entry. Kit trembled. His wife told him to sit up for a better view.
She made him hold up the hem of his little dress, exposing himself.
Brandon sunk his shaft into the willing wife and set up an unhurried
rhythm. After a few minutes, he increased his tempo. Kit couldn't turn
away. He was mesmerized.
"Incredible," Miranda said breathlessly. "I can't believe how much time
I wasted with Kitty's ludicrous lollipop instead of what you've got,
Brandon."
"We'll make up for lost time, girl."
"And he can repay me with overtime oral obedience."
After that, she was too exhilarated to say much, though she did manage a
few more enthused compliments for the sexpert she was with. She made
sure to fix her gaze on Kit several times, so he could read the disdain
for him in her features. Then her look turned to one of mirth. She was
mocking him. He cringed inwardly. The action on the bed went on and
on. Even though it was his wife and she was cheating, he was stimulated
by it. His little pecker poked out. Between distractions from
Brandon's fantastic performance, she saw it and sneered at how he had
become stiff under those circumstances.
The two of them built toward a shared crescendo. They reached it at the
same time. There were cries of release and the scents of sex filled the
air. Kit slumped and closed his eyes. Brandon didn't miss that. After
the sated pair had relaxed and were lying side by side, the dangerous
man propped himself up on one elbow. He glowered at Kit.
Brandon said, "I saw you shutting your eyes after our big bang, Kitten.
That's a no-no."
"I didn't know that," the beaten one said.
"Too freaking bad. Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Now I'm going to
have to charge you, try you, convict you, and deliver your sentence,
which I will then carry out. How about this? You are charged with not
paying enough attention while your wife was getting plowed. I find you
guilty. You are hereby convicted and sentenced to have your ass tanned.
The court will not carry out the sentence. Is that good enough for
you?"
"It's not fair," Kit said weakly.
Ignoring him, Brandon said, "And when we came in there, I spotted just
what I need to do the job." He got off the bed and went to the dresser.
Lying there was a wooden backscratcher. He grabbed it and held it
aloft. "Get up, Kitten. Turn around, flip your skirt up in back, lean
over, and put your hands on the dresser. Then stick out those soft buns
to make a good target."
Kit whimpered but did as he was told. Miranda sat up and watched
avidly. Brandon gave her a conspiratorial wink. He turned to the job
at hand and raised his instrument of discipline. His victim tensed up.
Brandon swung and there was a smack, accompanied by a wail of pain. The
cruel man's arm kept moving, landing one blow after another on his
target. Blotches of red appeared, being added to steadily. Kit started
crying and couldn't stop. His legs trembled. When his knees buckled
and he had to lean on the dresser for support, Brandon stopped swinging.
She squatted down, reached under Kit's bottom, found his testicles and
enclosed them in his big hand.
The sadistic brute said, "I could give these a hard squeeze and a sharp
twist. After a few of those, they'd probably be damaged. Permanently?
Who can be sure? Is it worth risking that? Or are you going to be a
good kitty?"
"I'll be good," Kit said, barely audible. "Please don't hurt me, Sir."
Brandon chuckled good-naturedly. "Naw. I won't hurt you, as long as
you're on your best behavior."
Miranda wanted to know, "Can you make him do that other thing we talked
about?"
"Sure thing, babe. I wouldn't want to spoil your fun. Let's head to
the kitchen."
She brightened up like a happy schoolgirl. "I'll bring the you-know-
what."
Kit followed wordlessly. At least he was allowed to walk upright. In
the kitchen they waited for a moment until Miranda reappeared. She had
something hidden in her cupped hand. From the cabinet she got a shallow
dish. At the fridge, she filled it with milk. Putting it on the floor,
she turned to Kit.
"Go on, Kitty. Drink your yummy milk."
For a moment he didn't comprehend. Then he understood what she expected
of him. He got down on the linolium floor, in front of the dish.
Lowering his head, he began to lap it up. His rear end, blotchily
florid, was again exposed. What was one more humiliation piled atop all
the others? At least this one wasn't as awful of some that had come
earlier. When he had consumed most of the milk, Miranda came to him.
She showed him what she had retrieved and been hiding. It was the extra
large condom Brandon had just used. The open end was knotted. She
snipped it with a pair of kitchen scissors, inverted it over the bowl,
and milked out a heavy dollop of the man's spunk, which plopped onto the
plate.
"Go on, Kitty," she urged. "Lick up that cream, too."
Kit choked. It wouldn't be the first time he tasted Brandon's semen.
There had been that gooey kiss. But somehow this was worse.
Nevertheless, he lowered his face, poked out his tongue, and began to
gather the slimey deposit. He forced himself to swallow it.
"How about that?" said Brandon. "Our pet likes it." He took the
drooping rubber gingerly between his finger and thumb. "Open wide," he
commanded Kit.
With his willpower gone, replaced by mindless compliance, the cuckold
did it. His nemesis popped the used condom into his mouth and pushed up
on the bottom of his jaw.
Brandon told him, "Keep it there until one of us tells you otherwise.
Maybe later on, after your wife is on birth control and I'm riding her
bareback, you can eat my cream from somewhere else."
Miranda backed her new love up with, "You heard him. Keep that scumbag
in your mouth. And check out your hard baby dick, Kitty. You're
getting a sick kick out of all this."
Kit's ass was still burning. He was utterly disgraced. His maid-meets-
feline outfit was so humiliating. And his wife had been taken away from
him in no uncertain terms. Seeing her now, he could tell the high
degree of twisted pleasure she got out of the destruction of his manhood
and elimination of his pride. She would never take him back as what he
had been before. Brandon leered down at him. That primitive bully would
be there often to keep the conquered one underfoot, with an atavistic
need to demean the man whose mate he had stolen. Kit shifted the limp
contraceptive around with his tongue, which made some of its contents
leak out. The rubber was so much bigger than what would fit his own
undersized penis.
And his wife was correct. Against his will, Kit was getting a perverse
thrill out of the unwanted things that were being done to him. Miranda
was right about that. From now on, Miranda would be right -- ALWAYS.
