“I hate you calling me Kitten.” I have to say something, because otherwise, after what he’s just done to me, I would have bowed my head in supplication to his words. Because I’m an idiot. And those eyes—they get me every time.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s the name I’ve chosen for you as my sub.” I can’t tell if he’s more vexed that I haven’t answered his question, or that I’ve dared question his taste in names. His irises have gone dark and his stare engulfs me. For a moment I forget the strange, unfamiliar, full feeling caused by the butt plug as I wonder what he might do next. I have this dreadful feeling that he might grab my clothes, and bare my backside to every passing stranger. I’m not sure he cares about anything—being embarrassed, or arrested. Or me. Does he care about me?

“I just find it—a bit…”

His whisper is in my hair, permeating my memories. “Don’t you remember when you used to mew for me? I only had to touch you like this.” His fingertips slip across my shoulder blade and down my side until I writhe at his touch over my ribs. He is up close, so close that every part of him is touching me as his hand slides into my waistband and finds the elastic of my knickers. I let out the noise the moment his finger makes contact with my clit. “See, Kitten? That’s why. You’re going to mew for me.