Lustful Growls and Purrrrfect Love #MasturbationMonday

On the very first day we played, H growled. From that moment on my response to that noise has been visceral. It subdues me, it scares me, it arouses me. I will stop whatever I am doing, hold still and look down. I will hold myself tight, shrinking in the presence of the beast.

This day, H and I had played already with painful and pleasurable release. We were snuggled together tightly cuddling. We pulled apart after a while, it was a hot night and we needed a breath. We moved apart, H leant over the side of the bed for a drink I think, then rolled back.

“There’s a Pratchett quote,” They said, “which talks about a growl that starts in one throat and ends in another.”

I knew that quote! I was about to tell them that when they growled. And I stopped in my tracks as the noise grew and they got closer, looming over me as the vibrating roar grew all the louder. They buried their face in the crook of my neck and their growl turned into a bite.

I was a puddle of lust.  When they pulled back, my excitement took over.

“You have never before been hotter to me than you are now.” I whispered huskily.

“It was the Pratchett quote wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. They grinned and echoed my own smile.

“I recognised the quote,” I continued, “in fact I read it and wrote it down because it reminded me of you. I’ll show you.” I rolled over the other way to get my phone off the bedside table.

They growled as my fingers wrapped around it. I immediately shrunk back into myself.

“Okay, no I won’t.” I cowered back down into my pillows, prostrating myself for their mercy. Again they loomed over me, this time ending the growl in an all-consuming, ferocious kiss that left me panting.

When they lifted up. They meowed. Cute, sweet and endearing, the noise spoke directly to my heart. Their face softened from the beastly growl to the needful meow. I melted.

“Aw, Kitty.” I cooed, reaching up to stroke their hair. They grinned, purred and snuggled into my strokes.

“Such a cute kitty.” I murmured, lavishing my kitty with my care and my love.

“I am your cute kitty.” They replied, smiling up at me. Their smile radiated love and pride and contentment.

“You are the cutest kitty.” I crooned. And they are. The cutest kitty and the scariest beast. That is an integral part to why I love them so very much.

“Only you can call me Kitty,” They said, reaching out, stroking my arm as I cupped my hand around their head, my fingertips entwined in their hair. “Others can call me kitten but I am only your kitty.”

I cried. Happy tears and thanked them over and over again.

What a beautiful gift. To be given something, so personal, so precious. They are my kitty and my kitty alone.

I don’t mind admitting that I’d had some issues with jealousy whilst H and I were parted for 3 long weeks. I want them to enjoy life to the full, I want them to have all the experiences, all the love but there is a deep set insecurity inside of me. I’ve told you about it before. It’s the questioning voice deep inside asking:

Am I enough? Am I too much? Am I worthy?

They had reassured me time and time again of their love. Giving me what I needed and more. Taking time to help me through my issues when they were busy and tired. I appreciated that so much.

So this gift, this dedication, was the icing on the cake. It gave me a part of them that is mine and only mine.

Some of you might be thinking that it’s just a name. Why was I getting so choked up over a name? But it is more than that. So much more than that. As anyone knows, you can’t own a cat. They own you and likely half a dozen other humans too. But they come to you sometimes, because they need you. They answer to the name you call them, communicate in ways they know you’ll understand because they love you. You are their human. They’re your cat.

H was giving me that little bit of ownership. They were showing they needed me, that they wanted me, that I was special to them. My kitty and my kitty alone.

I sobbed. So happy, so overwhelmed with love, with the deep, tenderness of their gift. I felt so special, so cared for and valued.

From growling beast to purring kitty, they give me what I need.

All the incarnations of their love for me.

For the curious, the quote is actually from Good Omens, which I’ve recently re-read. And goes like this:
“It was already growling, and the growl was a low, rumbling snarl of spring-coiled menace, the sort of growl that starts at the back of one throat and ends up in someone else’s.”

Victoria Blisse

Victoria Blisse is known as the Queen of Smut, Reverend to the kinky and is the Writer in Residence at Cocktails and Fuck Tales. She’s also an angel. Ask anyone. Mancunian Odd Duck, her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories along with her own particular brand of humour and romance that bring laughs and warm fuzzies in equal measure. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

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