lesbian kitty

The high ceilinged atrium of the resort is a playground of sensory overload, but your eyes lock onto a specific corner. There, perched on a plush, white faux fur rug, is Maya.

Not long ago, Maya was the fiercest woman you knew. A professional athlete with a black belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, she was a proud, outspoken feminist who viewed men as little more than a mild annoyance. She had spent her entire adult life training her body into a weapon, her mind into a fortress, and her heart into a cold, impenetrable stone.

But the "Animalization" process of Pet Play Paradise has stripped all of that away.

Maya is now a creature of pure instinct. She is still athletic, her toned, tanned body a masterpiece of lean muscle, but her pride has been replaced by a ****, needy submission. She is wearing nothing but a delicate black leather collar with a tiny silver bell that tinkles with every jerky, feline movement.

She is hunched over a shallow, wide porcelain bowl, her spine arching in a graceful, sensual curve. Her breasts, firm and high, sway with each motion as she laps contentedly at a thick, creamy, bleachy white slurry of semen. She doesn't use her hands; she uses her tongue, lapping up the warm fluid with a rhythmic, lapping sound that echoes through the silent room. Her eyes, wide and shimmering, are fixed on the bowl with an obsessive focus.

As you approach, her ears painted on with intricate, professional makeup twitch. She looks up at you, her lips smeared with white, a tiny drop of semen trickling down her chin and disappearing into the valley of her breasts.

She doesn't say "hello." She doesn't ask who you are. She doesn't remember that she once held a degree in Political Science or that she could crush a man's windpipe with a single strike. All of that is gone.

"Mew..." she chirps, her voice a high, breathy, fluttering thing. She rubs her cheek against your leg, arching her back and purring loudly, a deep vibration that you can feel up your own leg. She looks up at you with an expression of pure, vacant adoration, her hips swaying in a slow, rhythmic beckoning. She isn't a person; she is a pampered, spoiled pet, a little kitty who lives only for the pleasure of being stroked, fed, and bred.

She tilts her head, a single, moist drop of semen clinging to her lip, and lets out a long, demanding meow, her eyes pleading for you to pick her up and carry her to your room.