Your Poor Kitty of Mine

The Romantic Dominant
Image by dholl from Pixabay

As your Daddy, the only place that feels like home is inside of you.

Inside your thoughts. Inside your mind. Inside your body.

Just inside of you.

Inside your consciousness and understanding you. Understanding, just a little bit more each day about the extraordinary submissive tigress inside of you. The needs you have summon a visceral ache inside of me to fulfill them. I crave to be just a little bit closer to the visions that cross your mind.

To feel what you feel, when you kneel.

To sense what you sense, when you ache.

To know what you know, when you crave — me.


A week in recent memory now overcomes your thoughts on the regular, where you recall the serene feelings you felt upon relentlessly submitting all parts of yourself to me. I know you know better than you know yourself; I have a strong idea of what you are thinking, or at least what you will be, very soon.

Hell, even your body alone is telling you what to think.

A solid week of what I do to you tends to takes its toll on your physical being. Multiple times, every day, day after day after day, with no filter to our passion, your orgasm threshold was crossed within a day, and by day two, you were telling Daddy your kitty was tender.

“I know little one. I know. Let me kiss it for you and make it better,” I’d think.

Go ahead, Kitten and cross your legs for me right now, and you will see that I am right. Just cross them for me, as I command, because there will be a book report later. Pay attention to your throbs and soddenness specifically.

I know — you still feel me as you read this. It’s faint by now, for it’s been enough days to heal, but it’s still there, dull as it may be, beginning to beat like a drum. Clench up and feel me for a moment. Don’t worry, you won’t need to soo, because you will throb by the end of this one whether you want to or not, Kitty Cat.

As I write this — I see you — my Orange Sky, in all ways a person can see another.

I see what you think and I see you in my mind as I write.

I see, the most beautiful brown eyes staring back at me, as she kneels in front of me. Long brown hair and face that makes me melt for her like I am a teenager, no matter how grey my beard gets. My hand reaches out to her, extending out to the top of her head as I stand, fully clothed, and you kneel, completely naked and presented to me, both physically and emotionally.

Bare and raw — in your most exposed form.

I am such a blessed man to have this from you.

The submissive goddess I have come to worship, who I wake up and fall asleep to for as long as I can remember. This has been the case, every single day, since the moment my heart really started beating.

I see you in my eyes — every time I put words down. I’ve always seen you.

Right now, I envision you crossing your legs, with your soft, olive, easily-bruised skin calling out to me. Your kitty is getting warm and beginning to tingle now. You are now remembering the details of what it feels like to have Daddy owning you, in the physical form, aren’t you?

No? Do you need a reminder?


Shall I remind you, of what you felt, to have your cunt licked and sucked to climax while my fingers were stretching you, and you gripped my smooth bald head for stability? Holding on for dear life as your naked legs were pressed against a window, 12 stories up, exposed for the world to see your Daddy devour you with sadistic ego-driven pride while you came for me.

Dinner at the steakhouse, no panties, white dress looking like a black and white movie, lifting your cloth upward as my fingers brought you heaven while we sipped our bourbons. How did your fingers taste that night? I seem to recall they were delicious.

I seem to recall a lot.

But those details are just for us.

I just want to remind you that to I own your honey drip, little one. Go ahead and close your eyes and think about the lipstick. Think about the purchases.

Think about the chair I sat in, and the servitude, when you knelt, that last night.

Think about what I said to you when I placed my commitment upon you.

Think about the window seat. Think about a lot.

But most of all, think about next time.

I love you, Kitten. I own you, so fucking ache for me, Babygirl.

Feel that ache beating like a slow drumbeat as you get wet for me. Ache for me. Ache to feel full with me inside you, taking you as I decide pleases me and know I see that when you give me this, you become whole when you do.

I know you are getting wetter as you read each word by now. Each thought produces a little more of your tasty juices.

I know this, because I know I own your wetness.

It’s this very idea that brings your subby heart salvation; it’s the act of leading and guiding you that brings me mine.

The very idea, that the man who owns you, who empties his seed wherever he so chooses inside of you and you eagerly give me your holes — it’s this idea that saves you. That the man who grips you by the neck and squeezes you red doesn’t do it for himself and his own selfish wants, but because he adores the spiritual look in your eyes that succumbs you when he does it.

So flood yourself, darling.

So drip away and touch. Put your fingers in that pussy of mine and test my theory out. And when you find out that I am right, remember it’s Daddy that made your kitty come to life.

Permission to cum.

The Romantic Dominant

Written by

Passion. Love. D/s and erotica from a male perspective. Middle-aged American Dominant. Read-Enjoy-Touch. Very taken, by an Orange Sky.

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