Fockarie

Kitten Cravings

Dr. Diane Voss stepped off the stage with composed elegance, heels clicking as applause faded. The tight black latex dress gleamed, molding to her curves like liquid night. She had volunteered for Victor's hypnosis show to debunk it, certain her brilliant mind was impervious.

Simple suggestion, she assured herself. I felt nothing. Yet warmth lingered in her chest, her lips tingling. Unconsciously, her tongue traced them, slow and wet. Just a dry mouth, she thought.

Victor's subtle words echoed: fabric alive, desires surfacing. In the corridor, her hands rose involuntarily, palms cupping her breasts through the slick latex. She caressed slowly, thumbs circling hardened nipples, each stroke igniting sparks that arrowed to her core.

Stop this, her intellect demanded. Someone might see. She lowered her arms, but they lifted again, insistent, teasing until her breath fractured and slick heat soaked her thighs. Endorphins, nothing more. I'm in control. Yet the need grew feral, undeniable.

Deeper compulsion stirred. Trembling, she slipped into a shadowed alcove, hiked the hem of her dress, and slid her drenched panties down her legs.

Fingers shaking, she tucked them into her handbag, the act sealing some unspoken surrender. Why? This is insane. But the cool air on her bare skin only fanned the fire.

Knees weakening, she found herself at Victor's private lounge, drawn by a pull she could no longer fight. The door closed. Resistance crumbled.

She sank to the carpet, latex gleaming as she crawled to him, breasts aching, body trembling with raw heat.

Victor turned, smiling. "There you are."

Her mind made one last plea: Run.

But the heat devoured it. A desperate mewl broke free as she pressed against his legs, arching shamelessly.

"Please, Master," she begged, voice raw, broken.

"I'm burning. Leash me. Take me. Breed me. I need you inside me now. Own me, please."