Filth Kitten
Not every kittnen gets the cream.My breath strains: body tied, gagged and splayed. Condensed milk drips down my hair and over my ruined stockings while spittle rattles out the air holes of my oblong gag. The foldable chair squeaks as I struggle against the twine binding my wrists tight behind my back. In front of me, my Miss towers over my helpless body, steel-toed combat boots clacking over the hardwood floor. All the while, my cellphone buzzes loudly a...