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It's an immense burden juggling two separate passions in life. Farrah Curtis knew this all too well. The diminutive mouse was already entrusted with the demanding task of being a high school teacher. She taught British literature at Daniel Boone High School, and had done so for the past 12 years. It was a subject she was dear to, having been a devout fan of Shakespeare, Dickins, Austen, and many others long before she was the age of the students she taught. Learning about the brilliant minds who made such fantastical stories encouraged her to become a patron of the arts, attending plays, memorizing lines, and supporting acting troupes. It was only fair that she would share her devotion with the oncoming generations. She took passion in teaching her students everything about British literature, imbuing them with the knowledge she had etched into her psyche. She loved her students and treated them with unfailing patience, no matter how unruly or immature they were. They all deserved an education in the arts, and she tried her damndest to pass down her love of the subject on to them. She wasn't always successful, but that hardly deterred her. If she was able to convert just one student into the Shakespearen cult of personality out of a class of thirty, she considered it a victory.

None of that was without a toll, of course. It ached her heart seeing the failures and delinquents shy away from what she loved. She didn't blame them. It wasn't for everyone. She doted on those most opposed to the subject the hardest, even when her conscience had already pinned them as lost causes. The school year would end, and with it came the inevitable D's and F's she was forced to stamp on some students' grades. It was disheartening, but never enough to stop her. She still loved them, and wished them the best. There were always more students to come next year.

But of course, teaching was not her only passion. In the classroom during the school year, she was a kind, sweet woman. She showed her students respect and dignity, fostering a safe environment where they could truly learn and achieve something.

When she wasn't doing that, she was usually tying men up and stepping on their balls.

Farrah Curtis discovered her talent of being a dominatrix in college when her border collie boyfriend Max confessed to wanting to be put on a leash and treated like a slut. Farrah, the sheepish girl that she was, wasn't entirely sure if she could do it. She told him she had to think about it and decide if she was really comfortable with it. Truth was, she definitely wanted to. By God, it was a fantasy of hers for so long to make a boy bow to her and cater to her every whim, no matter how cruel or demeaning. For her whole life she had been the teeny little mouse girl to be pitied and cared for. People treated her like a child, disregarding the fact that she was a fiercely intelligent woman capable of taking care of herself. She wanted to prove that she wasn't some doll to be protected and coddled, but nobody took her seriously enough. That deeply buried resentment was crammed into a bottle fit to burst when Max made his suggestion. Expecting no opportunity like this would come again, she accepted.

She did better than either of them had hoped. She choked him, spanked him, insulted him, made him beg, and brought him to tears. It was an out of body experience for her. She hardly had control over herself as she bent him over her lap and spanked him silly. She didn't think she was capable of spewing the vulgarities she threw his way. She was disgusted by her lack of empathy when he broke out into boyish tears. I ended with him spewing cum all over his face and chest while he squealed like a girl. It got her so hot, she immediately forced him to eat her out, hardly allowing him time to recover from his mind-shattering orgasm. She came soon enough, blessing his face with a heavy torrent of her juices.

The two vowed that they would have sex like that every time from then on. Each following session eclipsed the previous in pure debauchery. Farrah became addicted, turning him into the pathetic slut she needed him to be. He became an outlet of the fury she had kept bridled deep inside of her, and he loved every second of it.

The two of them had a mutual break-up, and Farrah sought elsewhere to vent her sexual prowess. She found other partners, but none of them were so keen as Max to be abused. They saw her as that fragile little rodent, whose snow white fur and big ol' ears made her look so adorable. So for the next year or so she returned to the monotony of vanilla sex and rebottled her frustrations.

That was until she discovered something glorious: the internet. Here was a place crawling with degenerates willing to submit to the draconian will of a woman. There were websites ranked with women advertising themselves as cruel mistresses who would reduce even the strongest men into pansies. And they got paid? It was too good to be true. Wasn't it prostitution? Was she willing to do that kinda thing?

Hell yeah she was. During her senior year in college she listed herself on GigaGirl.com. She described herself:

Farrah's a little mouse-girl who's ready to teach you not to judge a book by its cover. She's small, but she's got a fire in her that's ready to burn you all over. Don't get on her bad side, or else she'll make you into the bitch you know you are deep down inside.

Farrah cringed writing that up. Too much? Too dirty? Was it enough to make men horny? She would have to wait and find out. She logged back into GigaGirl the next day and saw that her inbox had a few messages. In them were descriptions of her most flattering and scandalous. They begged her to make them her playthings, to defile them, to spit on them, to spank them, to insult them, to... Oh, dear God... to step on their balls. Farrah was both amazed and disgusted. How many men were secretly like this? How many wanted to be humiliated just as badly as she wanted to be the one humiliating them?

The answer was a lot, in fact, and she performed for every single one of them. She spanked, whipped, spat, stomped, pegged, humiliated, and even pissed her way through her senior year of college, becoming one of the most popular girls on GigaGirl. She excelled at turning grown men into grovelling babies, stripping them of any and all masculinity. She met a plethora of different men from all walks of life and species. She never said anything about it, but she did see her fair share of men with suspicious imprints wrapped around the roots of their ring fingers. They were the ones she treated the harshest. They loved it. There were no more looks or words of pity, as if she needed consolation for her diminutive size. She was a goddess, a very, very wrathful one.

She graduated college and was faced with the dilemma that would nag her for some time: she wanted to teach, but didn't want to stop being a dominatrix. She applied to be a teacher at Daniel Boone and prepared to give up her debaucherous career and demote it into a hobby. To both her great joy and chagrin, Daniel Boone accepted.

That was not, however, an end to Farrah the vengeful goddess. She relegated it to a summer and spring break job. She made regular clients who spent loads of money on her in the few months she could work. There was always the lingering fear that the school or, even worse, a student would discover her activities. She never knew for sure if that would get her fired, but she was confident it would've. During her 12 years of being a teacher, she successfully evaded being discovered, or at least wasn't told on by anyone who did. Even so, there was always the lingering fear that she would be called into Principal Lakem's office and be told to pack her things up and leave. She felt lucky every time she finished a year without that happening.

Another summer was approaching when Farrah worked hard to ensure her students were ready for exams. She was huddled up near the edge of her couch one night, legs folded up onto the cushions and underneath her. She was wearing a white sweatshirt and black sweatpants, her usual lazy attire once she got back from school. Her laptop and a chaotic assortment of papers sat on the armrest in front of her. A lamp was all that lit the dim living room where she sat. Her laptop screen reflected in her thick glasses as two white squares. She had graded several essays and was posting the scores online.

Ba-ding!

Her email alerted her to a new message. She dashed through the rest of the scores from that class and checked it. It was an alert from GigaGirl.com. She had an invoice from a potential client whose username she did not recognize. FireTiger32. She ignored it for now, returning to the next set of essay scores she needed to post. It was May, not yet summer. She had explicitly stated in her bio that summer was the only time she would be accepting clients. TigerFire32 was going to have to wait for now.

She finished the last of the scores and got ready to shut her laptop off. Instead, for no conscious reason, she decided to read the alert from GigaGirl. It had a link that brought her to her DM's. There at the top was TigerFire32's message with the subject Hello! She opened it.

Hello! I hope this finds you well. I was in the search of a local dominatrix to hire for my pleasure when I came across your profile. You instantly struck me as a woman more than adept at your trade, and I must say you are stunningly attractive. I read your bio and understand that you are not strictly available until this coming summer, which I understand. I'm more than willing to wait for your services until then. I merely wished to reach out to you and establish contact, as I have some questions regarding your availability and service. I appreciate any and all of your time and apologize for any possible inconvenience.

Sincerely,

TigerFire32

It was incredibly formal, written like a letter. If he hadn't called her beautiful and mentioned pleasure, she would've thought it was a school email. She'd received messages like these before, but only a few times. They were always from men new to the BDSM scene who were usually very young. She pictured some cat still in High school, maybe even Daniel Boone, who was desperate to lose his virginity before he graduated. He would be a frail, nerdy kid, sweating and shaking profusely as he typed up his message. Obviously, if it was a student, the answer would be a staunch 'no'. She would be forced to redirect him to another woman and hope that he wouldn't be too disappointed.

With no other grades to post online, she decided to respond.

Hey, sweety! I appreciate you trying to contact me for my services. You seem very kind and I am flattered by your compliments. That being said, I cannot take any new clients until this coming summer as stated in my bio. I can still take your name and age so I can keep you in mind. My spaces for clientele will open on the first Monday of June, the 7th. Until then, be patient and I might let you have a spot!

From,

Farrah

She sent the message and sat back on the couch. If it was the young feline she imagined him to be, she knew he would be disappointed. Still, she made things clear in her bio. He should've waited until June 7. Even then, if he was a student or younger than 20, there was no way she would give him a spot.

Ba-ding!

She jumped at the jingle. It hadn't even been five minutes.

Me again. I'm 42 years old, so my age should not be an issue. What might be an issue is who I am. Don't be alarmed, but I know you personally. We're both teachers at Daniel Boone, which is why I was so quick to message you. I wanted to establish contact and assure you that I would keep this a secret. You teach 11th grade English in room E102. I don't mean to threaten you with this knowledge. I simply want to prove that I know you. I'm comfortable with telling you who I am, I merely want your promise that you'll respect my privacy like I have yours. If you are not comfortable with this, I will leave you alone and you won't hear from me again.

TigerFire32

Farrah stared at her screen, eyes wide and jaw slack. An icy dread toiled like a storm in her belly, dissipating into her limbs and fingers. So abruptly, without warning, she was confronted with one of her greatest fears. She had been discovered. Someone at Daniel Boone found her page. She didn't know what to do. Her paw hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to close the browser or respond. If she did the latter, what on earth would she say? Tell him that she's uninterested? Ask for his name? Curiosity begged her to do the latter. Who was it that she knew would want to be dominated? She thought of all the feline teachers at the school. Any of them could've been the type. After over a decade, she knew that any man, no matter the species or temperament, could be the type to want his masculinity stripped. Maybe he wasn't a cat. Maybe the tiger part of his username was misleading.

Her fingertips gradually fell onto her keys. With little more than morbid curiosity driving her, she began to type.

Hey. It is certainly a surprise to be recognized by someone for the first time on this website. You're the first person to do so in over a decade. If you are indeed a fellow teacher, I'd like to know who you are since you clearly know who I am. You have my utmost sincerity when I say that your identity, along with every single other of my clients', will be kept totally private.

Farrah.

With a shaky wrist, she hit Enter, and sat back on the couch. She rested there with the potent fear that it would come back to bite her. This was a student pretending to be a teacher who would reveal her secret to the school, turning her into a pariah. She would be a source of ridicule for the students. She would be hated by the parents and staff who trusted her with being around the kids. The job she loved so dearly would be gone forever. She would never know the joy of sharing Shakespeare with another child again.

Ba-ding!

She immediately opened the message.

I'm happy to hear we have each other's trust, at least a little bit. This is David Shaw, the football coach and gym teacher. We've never gotten to know each other that well, but we have met in the past. I can send any form of proof you need that it's me, and not someone else. I have another email that isn't the school's we can chat through, if you want.

David Shaw.

Once again, Farrah stared at the computer screen in numb shock. Mr. Shaw? The siberian tiger and football coach? He wanted to be dominated? Farrah chuckled, then guffawed, then broke into a heaving laughter that threw her head back and made her fall backwards onto the couch. She rolled and bounced with intoxicating laughter until her gut felt ready to burst. She felt so much lighter now, as if the stress of the past few minutes had been lifted from her shoulders like an anvil.

David Shaw, the hunky, loudmouthed, arrogant, super-swol, Herculean tank of testosterone wanted to get topped. Of course he did. Why hadn't she thought of him? TigerFire32? That screamed him. Maybe because it was too obvious. Nobody in their right mind would make a username so indicative of who they might be. Granted, Farrah wasn't one who could make fun of that. She was the one selling raunchy services with her name and face on it.

She typed her reply.

Oh! Why, hello there Mr. Shaw! It's fancy meeting you here! How are you? I hope everything is well. I trust that this is you. If you want you can send me your personal email and we can chat from there!

A few moments later:

Excellent! I'm doing great now that I'm chatting with a pretty woman like you. I hope you're doing fine as well~ My email is d**************@gmail.com

Farrah chuckled and rolled her eyes. So now he starts acting all arrogant. He even added a tilde. What a dork. She clicked his email and typed her response through her own personal address.

Hey there! So, I'm curious as to how you found GigaGirl. You want a woman to treat you how a big tiger like you really deserves, huh? You saw me and just haaaad to pick me, didn't you?

Her shift in tone reflected the way she usually addressed her clients. It gave them a taste of what she was like, a tiny sample that would intensify their appetite for punishment.

You know I had to. I want to get trampled by the sweet mouse teacher everyone thinks wouldn't harm a fly. I'm a bad kitty, and I deserve punishment.

Farrah snickered into her paw. Gone was the image of the frail teenage cat behind his laptop. Now she imagined Shaw's huge, lumbering frame sitting in a rolly chair way too small for him. He was hunched over a tiny keyboard, licking his lips greedily as he typed away. A bulge rose in his crotch which he rubbed his paw against subconsciously. I'm a bad kitty. How original.

I know what I do with bad kitties. I give them the treatment they deserve, despicable vermin they are. Tell me, how does this little kitty deserve to get punished?

She bit her lip eagerly. She was wildly curious about what he was into.

I'm a really bad kitty. I should be stepped on and spit on. I should be fucked by a big cock that puts mine to shame. I should dress up like a bitch. My cock is really small. I should have my pictures taken and worship your godly body. I'm scum and should be treated as such.

Farrah giggled her head off. Fuck, Shaw was depraved. He wasn't the most pathetic of clients she had encountered, but he was up there.

Ugh. You sound pathetic. A miserable piece of filth such as yourself needs to be put in your fucking place. I'm gonna make you my little bitch and you're going to fucking like it. I'll fuck you in your tight ass and make you squeal like a little girl, you degenerate fuck.

There was an extended period where Shaw didn't respond. For a moment, she worried she had gone too far. Her fears were assuaged in the next email.

Oh my fucking god im so hard right now. can we continue on the phone i wanna hear your voice.

Normally she charged for phone sex, but she was having too much fun. Hearing the manly Shaw whimper into the phone would be payment enough. She sent her phone number. Her phone rang within seconds.

She answered. "Hey there."

"H-hi..." responded a deep yet shaky voice. There was no doubt. It was Shaw. She recognized his voice from the many times she had heard him screaming at his players during football games.

"So, tell me again what the bad, bad kitty deserves." Her voice was throaty and menacing. It rang with a heated edge that made the strongest of men crumple.

"Uh... I should... Mmf..." She heard him gulp. "I should have my little balls stepped on..."

"Oh, I'll step on your fucking balls alright. I'll make it fucking hurt. Somebody has to smush your tiny grapes, you little bitch." The wrath in her voice belied her position on the couch. She was laid back, lazily batting her worm tail against the cushions. Her face reflected her fury, but it was undone by the way she twirled her white hair.

"Ohh..." groaned Shaw. "It hurts when you step on my balls... But I deserve it... I'm a little bitch."

"Damn fucking right you are. I'll squish your pathetic sack underneath my foot and grind it on your nuts so you feel every bit of the pain. I'll make you cry and beg for it to stop. But you know I fucking won't."

"Uhh... My cock is real small... Are you gonna laugh at that?"

Farrah scoffed. "You have little dick? Ha! That's hilarious. Anyone would think a big guy like you would be hung. I bet you've got the tiniest dick in the world. I'll take pictures of it and send it to my friends. I bet you don't get any pussy with your little baby dick. No woman would want to get fucked by you, you pathetic excuse for a man."

"Nnnnh..." The microphone distorted under the beat of his breath. "I have a tiny cock... Mmm... I'm sorry."

"I don't give a fuck!" Farrah growled, scratching the topside of her foot with her toe. "If anyone deserves to have a little cock, it's you."

"Huh... Do you have any... You know... Any..." He paused.

"Any what?"

"Any... dildos?" His voice cracked.

"Oh, I've got dildos, perfect for showing you what a real-sized cock looks like. I'll stick them in your tight pussy and make you cum like the slut you are."

"Are they big? Do you have strap-ons?"

"You better believe it, you little bitch." Farrah lifted her head to check the clock on her laptop. It was 6:13, and she still hadn't had dinner. Damn, I'm hungry. What do I still have in the fridge? "I'll put on my biggest cock and fuck you to death. You'll be moaning and begging for it, then you'll make cummies and ask for it again." Do I have any stuff for lasagna?

"Huhhh... Oh God..." He went silent for a moment. She could picture him tugging on his little cock, leaned back in his chair with his jaw agape.

"Are you jerking your little kitty cock?"

"Yes..."

"Are you gonna cum?"

"Yes..."

"Fine. Make cummies you disgusting slut. You fucking like having your pathetic balls stepped on and your baby dick laughed at. While your touching yourself, think of me fucking your ass with my biggest horse cock."

"Uhh..."

"I'll grab you by your waist and fuck you down to the balls. I'll make your ass jiggle and spank it. I wanna hear you say my name you little bitch."

"Farrah..."

"That's right. Louder."

"Farrah..! Farrah..! Oh God... I'm gonna cum, Farrah!"

"You're gonna cum? You're gonna cum for me, you piece of shit?"

"Yes!"

"Then fucking do it! Fucking cum with my giant cock in your ass you dumb slut! I said fucking cum!"

Shaw announced his obedience with a shuddered gasp followed by a pitiful whimper. He huffed and puffed into his phone. Farrah could picture the stringy tendrils of white leaping from his bitty penis.

"That's right. Make cummies you whore."

Shaw's breathing steadied after a few seconds, but remained a heavy pant. "Oh my God, Farrah. Sweet Jesus. That was..." He transitioned into hearty laughter. "That was fucking amazing! Holy shit! Ugh! I've got cum all over me! You vile diva!"

"Hush now," she cooed, trying not to laugh. "If anyone's vile here it's you, my bad little kitty."

"Oh, you're right. This kitty made a big mess." He groaned deeply. She heard the creak of his chair from what must've been him stretching. "Damn. I feel lucky having discovered this side of you, Mrs. Curtis."

"Oh, you can still call me Farrah," she said, transitioning back to her normal attitude. "And thank you. Like I said, you're the first person to find this out about me, and I've been doing it for a while. Or at least you're the first person to come to me about it."

"Well shit, then I'm really lucky. I know I'm jumping the gun with this, but can I get a slot to be with you this summer?"

Farrah twisted her lips. "I really don't know. I've got a lot of repeat customers who have been eager to have me back all year. They take up most of the spots. I really only have room for two or three. I'm sorry, but it would be unfair to those waiting for openings to give one to you before they even had a chance."

"I understand, don't worry. Is it first come first serve?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be the first one to sign up. What time?"

"Noon."

"Noon it is. I'll be ready."

Farrah giggled. "Easy, David. You sound like a stalker."

"Heh, I guess I'm a little fired up. Damn, I still can't get over how hot that was. I know it's not guaranteed, but I can't fucking wait to get with you. God, I want you to destroy me."

"I can't wait either, but seriously, don't get your hopes up." She could've been addressing either him or herself. She wanted to dominate him more than any other man she had in a long time, perhaps ever. Shaw was the paragon of athleticism. He was the stereotypical gym nut who fussed over his physique like an artist over a canvas. He was immensely athletic, boasting strength and speed to the highest order. He knew it too. Arrogant and brash, he said what he wanted when he wanted to, knowing nobody had the balls to correct him. He carried himself with a self-imposed swagger that kept his chin lifted and chest out. That made him the perfect man she wanted to top. There were few things more empowering than taking down those with the most confidence. She adored watching men, normally so stoic, cry their eyes out and beg for mercy. The bigger they were, the harder they fell. Maybe it was a Napoleon complex, she didn't know. All she knew was that fucking Shaw with a strap-on was going to be the thrill of a lifetime.

"I won't, I won't."

"OK, my little kitty. You take care now."

"Heh, you too. Bye, now."

* * *

The next day in school wasn't much different from the rest. Farrah spent the day helping her students cram for exams. It was during her free period that she passed by Shaw. He was walking his class out of the gym to go outside when they spotted each other. They shared a saucy grin before she slipped past him. She could practically feel his eyes focus on her ass as she walked by. He shot her another email that night, asking if they could have another 'chat' on the phone. She was happy to indulge him.

"I wanna hear you say my fucking name while I step on your tiny balls you piece of shit," she hissed into the phone while she sat back on the couch and watched Dateline on mute. She filed away at her nails nonchalantly, the phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek.

"Ohhhh, Farrah..." Shaw whined. "Oh God... I'm so sorry... I deserve this... Farraaaaahhh..."

"That's right slut. It fucking hurts doesn't it?" She held out her fingers, inspected her nails, and resumed filing. "Squeal, you little bitch."

"Ohhhhhhh~... I'm gonna cum... Can I cum, Farrah?"

"Why the fuck should I let you? You're a dirty little kitty. Give me one good reason why you should cum." She looked at her nails again. Satisfied, she switched paws.

"Mmm... I'll be a good kitty... I promise... Please, Farrah... I wanna cum..." His breathing accelerated. By the sounds of it, he was about to burst whether she said yes or no.

"Fine. Bust your tiny nut, you pathetic waste. Just make sure you say my name. Ow!" She accidentally slid the file across the meat of her finger just below her nail. She stuck it in her mouth and sucked it.

If Shaw heard her, he didn't mention it. He was too busy orgasming. "Farrraaaahhhhh~!" he moaned. The volume in his voice faded as he put the phone down, losing himself in ecstasy. There were a few seconds of silence before his frail yet baritone voice returned. "Uhhhhh... Oh shit... I came."

"I heard. Did it feel good?"

"Yeah..." he chuckled, returning to his usual self. "Damn. That was just as good as last time. I gotta shower now. Whoo!"

Farrah giggled. "That's a good kitty. Clean up that mess you made, you dirty boy."

"I sure will. Do you think you'll be available tomorrow night?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't. Email me around the same time, and you and I will have some more fun."

"Awesome. God, I can't wait for summer. I want you to fuck me hard."

Farrah scoffed. She still wasn't quite used to hearing him say such things in his usual arrogant tone. She was distracted with that humorous thought when she spoke next.

"Why wait?"

There was a brief silence.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Farrah's eyes went wide. Shit. What did I just say? "I mean..." You know exactly what you said. You meant it too. Say it again. "I mean, why wait until then? Why don't we see each other this weekend?"

"Oh shit. Are you serious?"

Am I? She thought for several moments. Yes, I am.

"Absolutely. I can't explain it, but I want to have some fun with you pretty urgently. You've got me excited like few men have."

"No shit. That's amazing!" he said, voice booming with pride. As if a guy like him needed a confidence boost. "Alright! I'd love to! I'm free this Saturday. How does that sound?"

"It sounds perfect! Do you want to come here or should I go to your place?" It was protocol for clients to come to her house, where all of her equipment was. This being a special occasion, she was willing to drive over to his place if he so desired.

"I think I should come to your place. That's where you do it normally, right?"

"That's right. Here's where I've got all of my stuff. Come on over after lunch at around 2 and we'll discuss what we'll do together."

"Hmm..." he pondered. "Is it OK if we discuss it now? I have an idea."

"Sure. What is it?"

"Well, I kinda have a fantasy I was hoping you could indulge on."

Of course you do. "Tell me what it is."

"I wanna come over and act all manly and confident, kinda like a bully. I wanna hit on you really rudely. Then I touch you inappropriately and you punch me in the face and put me in my place. Can you do that?"

"I sure can. I've done roleplays similar to that before."

"Awesome. Maybe I come over because you owe me money or something. I act all vulgar and rude. Maybe I offer sex instead of money, or something like that. You go to your bedroom for your purse or something and I grope your butt. Then you punch me."

"You really want me to punch you?" She'd never been asked to do that before.

"Yeah," he said excitedly. "As hard as you can."

"As hard as I can?"

"As hard as you can," he reiterated. "Then you pin me down and put me in cuffs. You strip me down and make fun of my cock. Step on my balls a little and tease me. Make me suck your biggest strap on and then fuck me with it. Make me cum and then feed it to me." The way he spoke sounded malicious. This was a deeply caged fantasy he had wanted fulfilled for some time, clearly.

Farrah listened with some concern. She could perform these things easily, but his request to be pegged posed an issue. Her biggest dildo, an equine cock modeled after Chance the stallion, was massive, featuring a flared head that would tear even the stretchiest of recipients open. She reserved it purely for women naturally built for it, such as bovines and horses. She doubted Shaw could survive it. She had another Chance dildo that was unflared. That one at least gave him a chance to keep his organs.

"OK. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Dress me up like a bitch and take pictures. Tell me you're gonna send them to your friends and the internet. Make me eat your pussy and let me worship you."

Cunnilingus was usually off-limits, as was any other vaginal contact. She was willing to make an exception for him, though. "Alright. I can do all of that. Anything else?"

There was a long silence, as if he was digging through the most decrepit corners of his subconscious for more and more sexual fantasies. "No... That's about it. God... I'm hard again just thinking about it."

"Well, save it for Saturday. I'm gonna turn you into my little bitch and have you spew all over yourself like the filthy kitty you are."

Shaw growled seductively. "That's right. Oh God, I can't wait."

"Neither can I," she said honestly. In spite of herself, she felt a creeping moisture coming from her loins. Her paw slid into her pants where she teased her fingertips into her cunt. "One more time, let's go over what you want."

They discussed in detail what they would do that Saturday. Shaw would show up pretending to collect Farrah's debt. He would act inappropriately and grope her. From there, all hell would break loose. She gave him her address. Shaw asked how much it would set him back.

"Nothing," she said. "First time's on me."

"Awesome. Thank you so much, Farrah."

"You're certainly welcome. See you then~"

He hung up, leaving her in the solitude of her living room. Her fingers were deeply entrenched in her feminism. They started moving, beginning a mission Shaw had assigned them. It wasn't too long before they completed it.