Kitty's Diary Read online

  Kitty’s Diary

  By Simone Scarlet

  Copyright © 2017 Simone Scarlet

  The right of Simone Scarlet to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which in it published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  Author’s Note

  Back before I moved to America, I worked in sales – and was the original bossy career bitch. As part of my transition to the newer, happier lady I am today, I started writing a diary about the weird sexual dynamic my husband and I tried to create; with me lowering my “bitch shield” when I came home from the office and becoming a loving, dutiful sexual submissive instead. For over a year, I kept a diary of this journey – complete with its ups, downs and near-divorces. Little Kitty Slave is the collection of those diary entries – from the day I first took pen to paper, to the day I stopped trying to pretend to be a “writer” (the irony being that I would, many years later, actually become a writer.)

  Reading it today is kind of embarrassing; but also pretty sexy. My life has gone through such a tremendous alteration since those days – and it’s kind of weird to hear these strange words and these strange events suddenly come back to life in my head in an accent I hardly even have any more. I hope you’ll enjoy reading my diary as “Little Kitty Slave.”

  Simone Scarlet

  New York, July 2017

  Chapter One:

  Collared

  My husband bought me a collar for Valentine’s day.

  I know, it’s not exactly a gold ring or a diamond necklace. But it’s something we’d been discussing for a long time now and actually it was the sweetest present. Not the collar itself – although that’s damn cute, to be honest. It’s a little pink doggy one with little silver bones on it.

  No, it’s what the collar meant.

  A few weeks ago, our marriage almost hit the rocks. It had been rocky for a long time. This is because Hubby is a complete pussy and I’m a total bitch. He’s a lovely guy. He’s kind and loving and considerate. But people walk all over him. On the other hand, I’m a bossy bitch. People demand results from me. I have to get my team at work to hustle their arses and I do that by being tough on them.

  The problem is, this behavior follows me back from the office and it’s how I act at home. And it’s miserable for both Hubby and me.

  I was yelling at him for everything. Not having dinner ready for me. Paying too much for the weekly shop. Getting bills wrong. It was that especially which pissed me off. If he left me to sort out bills or paperwork, I would fly off the handle at him. I was responsible for all this shit all day! Why did I have to be responsible for it at home as well?

  I wanted to come home from work and just not have to be responsible for anything. I wanted him to be in charge. I just wanted to be told what to do. I just wanted to surrender all those responsibilities.

  Our marriage was in trouble, but one aspect that had always been good was our sex life. Hubby was always eager and horny and while he was a complete pushover at home, in bed he tended to be aggressive and dominant and that was the Hubby I loved.

  I just loved him to heft me about with his muscular body and bend me into any way he wanted. About the only time I felt truly safe and comfortable in our marriage was when he had my face buried in the pillow and was fucking me hard and fast.

  I wanted that feeling all the time.

  A few weeks back, we had the most enormous argument. He’d spent the last year and a half being the loving, obedient husband and when I raised my voice one time too often, he blew up at me.

  He yelled at me. He told me to stop being such a spoilt, stuck up little bitch. And when I tried to slap him, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around.

  Now I swear, I ought to nail the bastard for wife beating, but Hubby put me over his knee, ripped my trousers down and gave me the kind of spanking I haven’t got since I was a little girl.

  I swear. Slap! Slap! Slap! My arse was bright red by the time I finished.

  And the weirdest thing? I totally melted.

  From the moment he had me over his knee, I stopped struggling. I normally treated Hubby like shit. He was always so eager to please and did everything I asked (or demanded.)

  To suddenly have him dominate me like that – to just throw me over his knee and spank seven shades of shit of out me – made me moist like you wouldn’t believe.

  Now I’m not condoning what he did. I think guys who hit women are scum. But the fact is, hubby didn’t hit me. He just spanked me, like a naughty little girl.

  I got so turned on by the fact that he was strong enough to subjugate me to his will. For the first time in the last five years, I actually felt powerless. And it felt wonderful.

  I literally melted in his lap.

  When Hubby was done spanking me, I slid off his lap onto the carpet and I swear, my arse was so hot you could have fried eggs on it. I had tears rolling down my face and the bastard had ruined my makeup. But I shut up.

  For the first time in the last three years, I shut up.

  I just sat there and sniffled. And Hubby was like a changed man. Instead of being so eager to please, like a little puppy, he looked tough and powerful.

  I realized then and there that I wanted him to be in charge. I wanted him to dominate me, just like I dominated the girls in the office all day long.

  I wanted to come home and switch off. Basically be his slave. God, that was such a turn on for me, the thought of being him submissive little slave.

  And of course, Hubby wasn’t arguing with this suggestion. When I told him what I wanted (it was a couple of days later, when I’d worked up the courage) he was so turned on by it he yanked my skirt up and practically raped me on the carpet (and although I struggled, I loved it.)

  But the problem was, I couldn’t do it. I found a real problem switching into submissive mode when I came home from the office each day.

  When I went to work that morning, I’d be full of good intentions. But by the time I’d come home, I’d be tired and pissed off and just wanted dinner and a glass of wine. Or I’d find out he’d forgotten to do the car tax and get pissed off that there was more responsibility I was left in charge of.

  It was better. I was submissive some of the time. But as soon as something went wrong, or I broke the mood, I was back in bitch mode.

  It didn’t look like it was ever going to work, until Hubby, being the academic sort he is, told me about Pavlov’s dog.

  Pavlov’s dog was trained to water at the mouth when a bell rang. It’s a conditioned response or something. And Hubby suggested we could do the same thing with me.

  It was based around the collar.

  He was going to buy me a collar. I’d take it to work with me in my handbag.

  I could be my normal self at work – the super bitch. But before I opened the front door to step back home, I had to open my handbag, take out
the collar and put it on.

  And as long as I wore the collar, I was his slave.

  It seemed like a really great idea, because before I couldn’t establish the different roles and kept turning into super-bitch when I was meant to be a slave. So with a collar, it was like a constant reminder that I was in slave mode.

  It was a sexy idea and I was excited when I opened my Valentine’s Day present to find that cute little collar in there.

  Chapter Two:

  A Pimp by Any Other Name

  Well, this weekend started what Hubby has been calling ‘training.’

  I slept in my collar for the first time last night and from the moment I woke up today, I was under strict orders to be in slave mode.

  That in itself was fun – but Hubby and I did come across our first problem. What on earth did I call him?

  ‘Hubby’ is hardly a very authoritative term. His real name is even worse. For anonymity’s sake, I can’t tell you what Hubby’s Christian name is, but it’s firmly in the ‘Tim,’ ‘Toby’ and ‘Ronald’ mode.

  Can you imagine? “Do me harder, Toby! I want to swallow your cum, Toby!”

  We needed a name.

  Hubby, nerd that he is (I’m taking a short break from wearing the collar, so I can be honest about hubby’s nerdity,) wanted to be called “The Man.”

  Like, you know. “Who’s The Man?”

  And we’d just seen that film with Samuel L. Jackson and as much as I love my Hubby and am willing to submit myself sexually to him – he’s nowhere near cool enough to pull off “The Man.”

  This whole collar thing wouldn’t last five minutes. I’d be sniggering so much I’d accidentally snort his cum out of my nose.

  The second suggestion was “Pimp.”

  And I know my Hubby loved that one. He just loved the idea of the pimp coat and hat and I’ve got a feeling the idea of “pimping me out” rates pretty highly on his list of fantasies. But it was all a bit too much like an episode of Scrubs for me.

  Finally, along the lines of "Who's the Man," he came up with "Daddy."

  Like, "Who's your Daddy?"

  And this one went down like a lead balloon. I mean, if he's not "The Man," he's hardly qualified to be "The Daddy."

  So when he demanded: "Who's your Daddy?" I yelled: "A little guy from Napoli."

  Because my Dad's from Napoli. Just to clarify.

  Anyway. Having ruled those three out, we eventually decided to just go with 'Master.'

  He’s my master. I’m his Little Kitty Slave.

  That seemed fair enough. It’s not exactly original, but until Hubby and I have tried this lifestyle for a bit, it’ll have to do.

  Hubby has told me that he will be changing his name down the line (most probably to Pimp, the geek,) but for the moment, I convinced him to stick with the more mundane.

  Chapter Three:

  Disciplinary Proceedings

  The Master slave relationship has been going on less than 48 hours, but we already hit a small obstacle.

  For the second night, I slept wearing the collar and woke up this morning warm, snug and happy. And immediately Hubby… sorry, Master… shook me awake.

  “Today,” he told me, “you will spend the entire day naked.”

  “Well, switch the fucking central heating on,” I told him. I was wearing a camisole and thong and I was freezing as it was.

  But apparently, dear readers, a snappy comeback is conduct unbecoming of a slave.

  “What did you just say?”

  I think this was the first test of our Master/Slave relationship and Hubby… sorry, Master… would have blown the whole thing if he’d let me get away with it.

  Maybe that’s why I was doing it. I’m a manipulative little bitch sometimes.

  Anyway. He didn’t.

  I’m proud of him. Master yanked back the covers and I felt the cold chill hit me. We really ought to stop being cheapskates and put the central heating on.

  “Okay,” Master said, very firmly. “We better set some ground rules, Slave. From now on, you can keep your smart little asides to yourself, understood?”

  I nodded.

  “Get your arse out of bed and go and stand by the wall.”

  Pouting I did as I was told.

  “No,” he snapped. “Over there, by the window.”

  I shuffled over to the window.

  Master climbed out of bed himself and yanked back the curtains.

  Now this I didn’t exactly like, because suddenly I was standing against the window with the entire town able to look in at me.

  “Stick your bum out,” Hubby breathed in my ear.

  I wiggled my arse, which looked pretty damn sexy in a thong. I jauntily stuck it out at him. And Slap!

  His palm made contact against my right arse cheek and the fat jiggled painfully.

  I must have leapt forward three inches, my big breasts pressing themselves against the icy glass.

  Slap! Slap! Slap!

  Three times his hand stung my butt cheeks, landing two firm slaps on each buttock. I gripped the window sill, by boobs and cheek pressed against the glass.

  “Right then,” Hubby… I mean Master… warned me. “Are you done with the witty jokes?”

  I nodded.

  “Get out of your clothes.”

  “But the window…” I was painfully aware that Mrs. Monroe, down in 23, was pottering about in her garden. Nosy old bitch.

  Slap!

  “Out of them! Now!”

  My butt must have been glowing red by this point. Obediently I wiggled out of my thong and kicked it aside. I lifted my camisole and by big boobs swung free.

  I stood naked by the window, shivering.

  “Good,” the was a curiously detached hunger to Master’s voice. “Excellent.”

  He kicked aside my ankles, spreading my legs. I moment later, I gasped as I felt his cold fingers reach between my thighs and touch my cunt.

  So the rest of the me was fucking freezing, but the spanks and his authoritative voice had made me moist.

  His fingers sunk inside me and I moaned, leaning forward until my tits were pressed against the glass again.

  I heard the rustling of material as Master yanked down his boxer shorts. Then I felt something hard nose around the entrance to my pussy.

  The horny little bastard must have got a hard-on spanking me.

  Without any foreplay, Hubby guided his cock to my moist pussy and pushed. There was a moment’s resistance, but then I opened up and he sunk deep inside of me.

  It was rougher and quicker than I liked it, but the urgency was very sexy. I groaned, closing my eyes.

  Pressed against the glass, my bum stuck out obscenely, Hubby then proceeded to fuck me, hard and fast.

  Although my face was pressed against the glass, I could see Mrs. Monroe peeking up at me from her back garden, watching the girl with the big boobs pressed against the glass, her Hubby grunting and thrusting from behind her.

  Shocked, she scurried on inside.

  Hubby was groaning deeply. His breath was ragged. I knew he was close to cumming, which disappointed me since I think I’d have only been a few minutes behind him.

  “Don’t cum in me,” I warned. I’m not on the pill anymore and it’s about the right time of the month to get a neatly knocked up slave instead of just an obedient one.

  Slap!

  His hand impacted with my thigh. Hot tears spurted out of my eyes and rolled down my cheek.

  His breath was hot in my ear: “What have I told you about giving me orders, Slave?”

  His cock swelled up inside of me. If he could just hold out a moment or two longer, I was sure I’d be able to ride the coattails and get to cum too.

  But, oh shit! I think he was going to cum in me!

  I felt my orgasm flowing the wrong way, as the implication of getting knocked up by my Hubby hit me. Oh, sure, it was all fucking sexy while he was pounding the shit out of me with our neighbors watching. But I had a job. I was the breadwinner.
I seriously wasn’t ready to get pregnant.

  “Don’t,” I warned him. “Don’t cum in me!”

  Slap! Slap! Two more stinging handprints on my bum.

  He grabbed a big fistful of my hair and yanked my hair back. Then Hubby’s voice was loud in my ear, his rasping breath making my neck wet.

  “If I want to cum in you, Slave,” he groaned, just seconds away from cumming, “I will do. And you’ll like it, okay?”

  Oh God. My orgasm was back. Just one yank on my hair and my pussy gushed and my clit throbbed. And like that, his swollen dick was rubbing deliciously against my g-spot.

  “Okay,” I groaned, just sinking into the moment. “Okay, just cum in me. Cum in me.” I closed my eyes. “Do whatever you want, Master.”

  He groaned. He was cumming, I swear.

  Just as my orgasm was about it hit, I felt Hubby slide his dick out of my dripping cunt and then scalding hot spurts of cum burnt my ass.

  “Oh fuck,” he was groaning, wanking himself off over my bum. “Oh, Christ.”

  I stood there, pressed against the glass. My cheek and boobs were icy cold. Hot globs of cum were like lava on my arse. My clit throbbed.

  I lowered one hand and touched my clit and mercifully, I came.

  My orgasm hit me and I shuddered and groaned just as Hubby was squeezing the last of his impressive load off over my buttocks.

  We stood there gasping for a second.

  God. I felt great. I hadn’t had an orgasm for weeks and that felt blissful. I was tingling. But already the hot cum was cooling, feeling sticky and uncomfortable on my bum.

  “I’m going to get a towel,” I told Master.

  “No,” he pressed me against the glass. “I told you I’d keep you naked all day,” he hissed, “and you’ll wear my cum all day too, understood?”

  The whole thought grossed me out. But it made my tingling pussy throb.