It’s been a year.
A wonderful, thrilling, exciting, exhilarating, amazing year.
Last week, the Big Bad Cat and I celebrated a year since the day we met and fell in love at first sight. Or, as he called it, “the Loverversary.”
This week, it was the turn of my ass to relive the experience of being flogged red and shiny for the first time by a flogger-weilding feline.
Not forgetting my arms, which celebrated the anniversary of the first time they held him close to me, naked, content, post-orgasmic and purring.
And especially, a celebration in homage to the first time he straddled me across the bed, arms akimbo, secured to the bed posts with leather cuffs and canvas straps, and delighted in causing me to gush over and over again with sheer and ecstatic pleasure.
One whole year of my life, in which I have found myself completed in ways I did not even know I was fragmented.
I am truly blessed.
Removing my restraints, he settles himself into cat nap pose, and indicates that I should join him.
“Come here, my cuddle-slut.”
“Ha! Talk about the cat calling the kitten pink. Look at you — you’re as much of a cuddle-slut as I am!”
“No, no, Pinky le Tab — you are the cuddle-slut. *I* is a cuddle-aholic.”
“No fair, why can’t I be a cuddle-aholic?”
“You can, you just need to pass the ultimate test first.”
“And that test would involve…?”
“The usual. Probing.”
“Er, probing of where, exactly?”
He slides a finger into my ass, and holds it there, knowing how I am aroused by this.
“When all his (*significant finger-wiggle*) fingers join him. Then you can achieve the ranks of cuddle-aholic.”
I’ll keep you posted.