Posts Tagged ‘cat’

Priss Loves Paper

June 13th, 2013 2 comments

Yes, that’s Cara. She never really answered to Cara, so her name became Priss. She loves paper.

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If you’ve had your dose of Cute today, you might want to read this tomorrow.

May 30th, 2011 Comments off

<Disclaimer: We at are not responsible for Cute Overdose. Know your limits.>

So a while back, we went to the Farmers market downtown. While we were there, we picked up some organic catnip, because it’s much fresher than store bought, and Cara smelled it the moment we walked in the door. We walked home, and by the time we got here, I’d forgotten we bought the catnip. So when she did this, I wasn’t sure what was going on:

But when the catnip (and only the catnip) came out in her teeth, Read more…

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Wedge/Ramp Shoot Bloopers: Featuring Cara… Of Course

December 16th, 2010 9 comments


Because we’re totally that dorky couple who always talks about their new pet, and because this is the second time Cara insisted on being in the pictures when I pulled out that yellow sleeping bag, I decided to share with you a few of the photos I took of her while she was refusing to get out of the way.

Dad, her iz liar. I no in way.

Read more…

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There’s no eating in the bird room. -or- Meet Cara, M’s kitty.

October 22nd, 2010 8 comments

Meet Master's kitty, Cara. Cool background, huh? M says it was an accident. It's our new Liberator throe, and my red and black corset.

Bear with me.  I’m getting somewhere.  And while this isn’t exactly BDSM-related, it is very much Master-and-our-relationship-related.

I’ve had cats on and off since I was nine.  My first was a kitten, and she was a gift from my father.  While I was at summer camp, Dad brought home a black and white furball, and let my sister name her.  Pajamas.  PJ for short.  Sis said her markings made her look like she was wearing jammies.  But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who PJ belonged to.

When I was somewhere between ten and twelve, PJ got out the house by pushing the screen out of my bedroom window.  A dog chased her all the way to my house, and killed her in my backyard.  The only people home were me and Mom.

I went out to the backyard with my baseball bat, by myself, to chase the dog away.  And my mother? Stayed in the bathroom curling her hair.  When I told her I thought my cat was dying, she said she didn’t know what to tell me.  As I lay in the backyard stroking my dead cat’s fur, she came outside and told me I’d better get my ass in the house and get ready for school.  Then she told me I would never get another pet again.  It was my fault my cat died.  Read more…

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It’s really nice, right here.

October 20th, 2010 Comments off

M seems pretty intent on taking a Wanton Wednesday series.  Of which, I’ll probably be able to “borrow” a photo for HNT.  Unfortunately, He’s still working.  So here I sit, waiting for instructions.

We have a cat. A black cat with awesome golden green eyes.  Her name’s Cara.  She sleeps all the time.  Except at night, when she peeks her nose under the cage cover of Zedd’s cage and freaks him right the fuck out even though she can’t reach him.

And here come the instructions.  He’s talking about hoods.  Oh dear god.


There’s something to be said for a man who can respond to “That hurt my elbows.” by looking around the room and saying, “Yeah, I think the guy who gave a fuck left.” without missing a beat.  And then look at my shocked and appalled expression and laugh.

“I was hoping it would hurt.” He said as He walked away.

He locked my wrists to either end of a homemade spreader bar, and put me on my knees.  Then He tugged the hood over my head.

For the first time ever, Master put clothespins on my tongue.  Ow! Four of them! Quadruple OW!

And the panic that rose every time the material clung to my nostrils was exacerbated by the pain in my calves and knees.  He has this habit of walking forward as He thrusts, which makes me bend backwards, which makes my calves and knees hurt more than they would if I just knelt there.

And as He’s reading this, He’s probably rubbing His hands together, and planning His next face fucking on my knees without the use of my hands.  He’ll probably figure out a way to make it less comfortable.  He’s already told me I need more practice on my knees.  But truth be told, the kneeling was only half of it.

I still don’t do well with things over my face.  And it didn’t help that the hood kept going up my nose in the few brief moments M would back out of my throat just far enough so I can get a breath through my nose, but like… You’d think Id open my mouth or something, but instead, I keep my mouth tightly clamped around His shaft as He lets me attempt to suck in a breath.

And like… There was something over my face, man.

But I had no trouble cumming on my back while M rubbed one off on my hooded face with only my tongue sticking out.

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