The Milk | bondage diary story | sex, catsuite

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"The milk tasted funny this time. I know, I know . . . I've said that before. But this time instead of tasting slightly foul and of chemicals it actually tasted . . . well . . . good! Like a creamy whipped topping on homemade cupcakes. I think I'm beginning to like this stuff."

December 10th,

Dear Diary, I have been kidnapped! Last night walking home from my last finals examination I was approached by a man wearing a masked wool hat. My rental house lies a few blocks away from campus. I thought I was safe and I figured that he was just as cold as I was. I averted eye contact until he blocked my path, but by then it was too late. He forced me into the back of his van which was nearby. When I tried to scream he grabbed my hair and slammed my forehead into the side of the van's metal door. I woke up here. It's just a cement box with a heavy oak door at one end. I have enough room to do a few jumping jacks! I have a cot that hangs from the wall, a metal grill covering the fluorescent light above me, a dull, stubby pencil and you, Diary. I don't know why he let me have you, but I think it has something to do with what they're feeding me. I don't know. I've begun to feel a little funny since they first gave it to me. Writing this has made me tired. My head hurts a little. I will be back.

December 22nd,

They shove the milk through the slot at the bottom of the door every four hours when I'm not sleeping. They put it in a cat dish which is bolted to the tray on the ground. I can't pick it up and have to drink it from the floor. That disgusts me. For the first few days I refused to drink it, but I got seriously hungry seriously quickly, and I had to. I knew immediately something was wrong with it. To begin with, it was much thicker than even whole milk, which I hadn't had since I was a kid. That almost made me gag! To my horror it tasted more like chemicals then actual milk, and the aftertaste made me think of rotten eggs mixed with peppermint. I was surprised, however, when, after drinking a few bowls of it, I no longer felt hungry. That was my one relief. The taste was awful but at least I wasn't hungry all the time. Those first few days of an empty stomach were maddening and I thought often of just how pampered my life had been before now. I had never known hunger.

My head hurts again, Diary. I need to put this pencil down. Also, my chest feels sore lately, like the day after doing push-ups, and I don't know why.

December 27th,

Christmas came and went and my only presents were more milk and a collar. I have been naked in this cell for three weeks now. The man who gives me the milk under the door tells me what day it is whenever I ask. He ignores all my other questions. I think he does this for you, Diary. Christmas morning he slid the collar through the door on the tray that holds my milk. I told him I would never wear it. After that he would just slide the collar under the door without the milk. I'm looking at the collar now while writing these words. I've exhausted all my energy on verbally abusing my captor and I've cried enough tears to make a small puddle in my cell. I don't know how much longer I can hold out. I'm so hungry! Again!

January 8th,

I didn't hold out for much longer after my last entry, Diary. After locking my steel color around my neck I was rewarded with more milk. The milk tasted funny this time. I know, I know . . . I've said that before. But this time instead of tasting slightly foul and of chemicals it actually tasted . . . well . . . good! Like a creamy whipped topping on homemade cupcakes. I think I'm beginning to like this stuff. As much as that disturbs me, it's much worse because I think this stuff is affecting my body somehow. I recently noticed my breasts were much bigger than usual. I thought it was just swelling due to my period at first. They also feel especially sensitive and for the first time since I've been here I've begun to think about sex. Between that and the headaches, which seem to always happen when I think too hard, it's fair for me to assume that this "milk" has some illegal drugs in it. My head hurts right now! I have to go.

January 13th

I've been wanting the milk more and more often now. Also, instead of planning escapes and lodging unanswered complaints like in the beginning I spend most of my time thinking about sex and fingering myself. I'm so embarrassed! The man behind the door told me to stop or he'd take my milk away. I've been trying to obey but it's getting harder and harder to do. Yesterday he promised to give me a present if I went two full days without rubbing my pussy. So far, so good. He also told me to call him "Master". . . . I told him I'd think about it.

January 15th

Master, and yes, I agreed to call him "Master", gave me a shiny black leather catsuit to wear. It has an open front letting my ever expanding breasts hang out freely. The whole thing included a leather cat mask with pointy ears, some high-thigh boots with heels, and an opening at the mid-section exposing my naked sex. The buckles around my limbs and torso had to be tightened by him. He came in and made a big to-do about me behaving myself and getting rewards. I held back a bitter retort and let him lecture me. It was the first time I had seen him without a mask on. I thought he looked kind of cute and wondered why he didn't just ask me out from the beginning. He was only a few decades older than me, and it's not like I've never seen a body that's out of shape before. I might have done him on the third or fourth date. You never know. . . . Maybe.

I'm not sure I like the catsuit yet, but it is interesting. I'll give it a week and then maybe ask to have it taken off. We'll see.

January 30th

Please help me, dear Diary! I think I'm in love!

It happened this past weekend. But let me start from the beginning. After a few days in the catsuit I started playing with myself uncontrollably, especially after meals. Master warned me not to come and that I would be punished if I did, but two days in that suit and my pussy was ripe and ready to burst. My breasts would also make me gasp with pleasure every time they rubbed up against my arms or the floor when I would lap up my milk. I remember mashing at my hole with my leather gloves and mewing uncontrollably before the orgasm. Master had instructed me to "mew" when I wanted something. Usually it was for more milk but it could also mean when I wanted affection. He came into the cell flushed with anger and locked my hands and feet in shackles. The chain for each was about a foot long, but the stainless steel wrist cuffs were also connected to my collar leaving my reach just short of my, by then, constantly throbbing sex. For a week I crawled about my cell in my catsuit writhing about with very little to rub my pussy up against. I understood by now that the milk was warping my mind, but I no longer cared. By then I had concluded that milk was the most delicious substance I had ever tasted before. No longer foul to me, it was the only thing I craved. It seemed as though the bigger my boobs got, the more I craved it.

At the end of that torturous week, Master entered my cell and confessed that he loved me! He admitted that he'd had a crush on me and that he only kidnapped me to show how me the depths of his emotions. He said he understood my sexual agony, but that he didn't want to take advantage of me by fucking me. He said if I asked him to fuck me he would feel better about it, because then it wouldn't be against my will. I cried and scolded him for not asking me out in the first place and that of course he could fuck me! I loved him too!

I held his face in my gloved hands while he positioned himself above me. I spread my legs as wide as my ankle chains would allow and actually wept with joy when his penis finally slid inside me. The room spun violently as I began to climax over and over again. Master ejaculated inside of me in about 30 seconds. He explained he didn't want the night to end so quickly, and that he was saving his energy for the next round. My arousal was still very high and I mewed for him while sucking gently on his balls and rubbing my then triple-D breasts on his flaccid penis until it got hard again. Before letting me climb on top of him, he poured me a second helping of milk and had me wiggle my ass at him while I lapped it up. He lasted much longer from then on for the next two days. He only took short breaks to sleep or eat and then I was alone again, but for the most part he was with me. The single cot was replaced with a double and when we weren't fucking we held each other and talked a little. It was funny! When I asked him if he would take off my catsuit, he answered that I didn't really want him to take it off. He told me that me that I liked being his pussycat and that I love him and want to make him happy. After he said the words it was like a light bulb went off over my head. Quite simply, he was right. I did like the catsuit and the cuffs and especially the milk.

I have to go now Diary, Master is coming to feed me and then have sex with me. I feel so satisfied when he's inside me! This love will last forever.

April 3rd,

I always want sex after a feeding. Master says it's because of the drug induced high which seems to last for less and less time after every meal. He explained that the heroin addiction he got me started on is slowing down. That the cells in my body are dependent on it and that I'll get sick without it. I don't think about it much. Master promised to wean me off of it if I be a good kitty.

Sex after a meal always gives me the most intense orgasms. I feel so hot and sexy in my catsuit with my tail plug rubbing against Master's hard, thick meat while he pounds into me. I like it with him on top so he can squeeze my massive, milky tits! They're so big now; Master can no longer cup them in one hand. Between orgasms I howl like a cat in heat for him, which he gives me instruction on how to do. It's difficult because the milk makes me lightheaded and woozy sometimes. All I know is that after I lap up my milk my pussy and nipples burn until I can get off. Master won't give me relief until I mew and stick my ass up at him while on all fours. He won't start fucking me until I arch my back and rock my hips with enough enthusiasm.

He told me yesterday that soon he will start talking to me less. He says that real pussycats can't understand words. They only beg for food and affection, and they don't use words to do that. He said I could make him most happy if I could someday learn to communicate with him without using any words. At first it made me sad, but after thinking about it for a while I thought it might not be so bad.

July 18th,

Dear Diary,

Life is settling into a pretty good routine these days. Master likes to leave a gag in my mouth at bed time and between meals. He calls it my muzzle gag and that I can still "mew" through it, which is all I'm allowed to say now. When I thought about it, it seemed to make sense. He was right, as always. As long as I get my milk and Master's love, I don't need to talk. On a typical day I'll wake up and begin mewing and pacing at the door for my first feeding. I wear a tail attached to an anal plug constantly now and particularly like swishing it against the door when I'm agitated. Then Master will come in with my bowl and say something like, "Good morning, pussy!" while he yawns and shakes the cobwebs out of his eyes. He then removes the gag and lets me slurp in front of him. Most days he'll unbutton his pajamas and let me use my mouth on him when I'm done. I still can't use my hands to rub myself because of the chains. He leaves for several hours and I'm left writhing my hips and pinching my nipples with anticipation. I don't complain about this anymore because Master says I actually like it, and when he comes back and fucks me I have to admit that he is right. I do like waiting. And, he says, it makes me appreciate it even more. That's important and I believe him. If you can't appreciate a good fuck, you can't appreciate life. And I love a good hard fuck after a bowl of milk. I can never thank Master enough for giving such gifts as my suit and my tasty, wonderful milk. Sometimes, when I'm lapping it up, I feel like I'm about to come! I have trouble these days distinguishing between my lust for sex with Master and my hunger for milk. My life is a whirlwind of sloppy cream lathered flesh exploding with pleasure and release!

December 9th,

Master says that since I won't clench my pussy when he's inside of me he will now only fuck me in the ass. I tried so hard to please him but I get lightheaded so often now. I can't think straight and can only seem to respond with feelings of helpless lust. He pierced the lips of my pussy with several rings and sewed it shut with a gold chain. He says if I'm a good cat he'll rub my clit while he fucks my ass. I miss feeling him inside my love hole, but I have to admit I've been feeling much more passionate about anal sex lately. The slippery, tight sliding makes me feel like a dirty animal! It always makes my pussy drip and throb with need. Just a little rubbing of my clit makes me cum hard, which causes my ass to squeeze Master's cock. My sphincter twitches right now just thinking about it. Master also pierced my nipples with rings. It hurt me a lot at first but now I'm glad he did. I love twisting them after feeding and while pleasing Master. And I love that my nipples always stick out fully now. They are bigger since the first feeding, like the oversized nipples on a baby's bottle. Master promised to hang bells on them when I become fully trained house pet, as a reward.

Which brings me to the end of my story, Diary. Thank you for being there for me, but I don't need you anymore. I'm a good pussycat, and pussycats don't need words. They only need Master's love and lots and lots of milk.


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