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The cat jumped up onto the seat opposite the man, turned, sat, and hated the first thing he saw. But the man did not acknowledge the cat's folding ears and narrowing eyes pointing at the black leather collar in his hand, instead ordering shortly, “Transform." After a beat's hesitation, he did, making his displeased demeanour even more clear by the sour scowl on his face. “Problem?" the man taunted him.

Displeasure retreated into quiet resignation. “No, sir," the cat said.

“Good." The man's cane was tipped in hard rubber, which made the man using it to lift the hem of the cat's shirt rather uncomfortable—in many ways. He didn't raise it far, but far enough to give a glimpse of the painfully underweight belly underneath covered in a thin coat of golden fur. “As I thought," the man said, tone ambiguous as to whether that was a positive. He retracted his cane and looked the cat in the eye, “Undress. Entirely."

Though the cat flinched and averted his eyes, by the speed at which he relents, he expected this would happen. His fingers curled into the rough fabric of his spacious shirt and easily swept it off over his head, and his breeches took him a moment longer to gin up the courage for, but those too were slipped off his legs; his hands folded in his lap and pressed together his thighs to protect his modesty, the pink of a blush obvious through the fine fur on his face. The man's eyes took their time tracing down his body—over thin, delicate limbs tight with the corded muscle of a sprinter, the places where the fur was thin enough to let through humanoid features like a navel and the pink buds of nipples on his shapeless pecs, how his nimble fingers were capped with pointed nails like a tiny version of claws.

The cane's tip trailed up the inside of the cat's calf, met the place where the clenched knees blocked its progress... mercilessly wedged between them, and roughly levered the cat's legs open. He squeaked like a kitten and pressed his last line of defence—his hands—over his masculinity even harder. His tail wrapped around his hip to assist as he squirmed on the spot. He stuttered, “I-Is this really necess—"

“You best get used to this now, kitten," the man said, parting the cat's legs even further. “Of course, if this is already too much for you, we haven't even left the city yet. You could just jump out of the carriage now."

The cat growled low in his throat... and relented. His tail lashed away to the side, swatting the seat's cushioned back, and inch by trembling inch he drew back his hands to ball into fists at his sides; and on top of it all, the man forcibly shoved apart their legs with his cane until the cat was sat in an ungainly, exposed sprawl. The soft little sheathe was almost invisible, but the downy-furred and tight little ballsack was unmistakable. Only barely visible behind it was the tuck and flash of pink of his cinched-closed entrance at the base of his fluffy tail. The man took a very, very long time taking in the view of it all—but still with a impassive, almost evaluating expression. Frankly, the cat was annoyed at how he was on tenterhooks for what the “result" would be.

“Come here, kitten. Kneel between my knees."

While his ear flicked in irritation, the cat was happy to be out of the compromising position. The hardwood floor was awful to kneel on with his fatless legs, so he settled down wincing—a wince that only got worse when he looked forward to realise he was perfectly on level with the man's crotch, and worsened further still when he had to crane his head all the way back to be able to meet the man's eye. The man set his cane aside, rested against the seat, and then, rising ominously into his vision, came the collar. Now that he was all but forced to look at it, it struck the cat then that this collar had no apparent buckle or latch—just two steel loops sticking out on the ends with no way to close them together.

“Like it?" the man taunted, getting the cat's ears folding sharply back. “Unfortunately, it doesn't matter if you do. I'm going to close this collar around your neck, and it isn't coming off until—if—_you leave." A second item was drawn from the man's coat pocket: A small and gleaming steel padlock. The cat's chest started going cold as the man continued, “I am going to lock your collar closed with this, and the only thing that can open it is the single key that fits it. And no, I'm not telling you where the key is—not that it would do you any good. Trying to pick off the lock, cut through the leather, wriggle out of it in any way—all that is going to do is get you punished, _severely."

The cat shuddered at the ice dripping down his spine and nodded quickly. “Good," said the man. “Then, before I put this on and solidify our relationship going forward, one last matter: You never learned my name, nor I yours." The cat opened his mouth, but the man cut him off, “They do not matter. You will be responding from now on to anything I deign to call you: Slave, Bitch, Faggot, Kitten... anything. You will come to understand from my tone alone that you are being spoken to. And as for myself, you have only one word you may use to refer to me, and it is 'Master'. The moment this padlock closes, that will be the rule, and breaking it will get you punished. Clear?"

The cat's fur raised and bristled, his heart already aching at the thought of losing something as innately his as his own name. But between the knowledge that he would still have his name—and his nephew would too—it was enough of a comfort to take a breath and swallow it. “Yes, sir," he said... and froze.

Silence hung, the air sucked from the carriage, and almost a full minute of painful chill later... the man smiled. “How pretty..." he mused at the cat's petrified face. “Even through the fur I can see you paling. Remember this fear well, kitten. Commit that icy terror to heart. That careless slip of the tongue is going to result in your pain—richly deserved pain. Do you understand that, kitten?"

In an anxious rush, the cat said, “Yes, Master!"

“Much better. That is exactly how you should answer to orders: Quick, polite, and frightened. Now—" The man brought the collar under the cat's field of vision, and he felt rather than saw the leather band closing snugly around his neck. Then the padlock went below as well, and a gentle metallic click sealed the cat into being Kitten, and the man into being Master.

“Say thank you," Master demanded.

“Thank you, Master," Kitten whimpered.

“Good boy." Kitten's breath caught a bit, making Master's smile hitch higher. “Liked that, did we? All you need to do to earn more is obey, Kitten. Nothing more or less." Master gathered up his cane and leaned back in his seat. “Now, stand in front of me and masturbate until you're fully erect—and no further."

Kitten swallowed and slowly got up, setting his toe-claws into the floor for stability his shaking legs weren't giving him. For a moment he's too flustered to know what to do, until deciding he would just go about this the way he would when he was alone, and if Master wanted something else, he was free to micromanage him about it. He took gentle hold of his sheathe, curling his fingertips up so his claws didn't catch anything, and started pressing in and massaging, feeling through the loose skin of the sheathe to the flesh underneath he was teasing into firming up. He'd been entirely soft so far, but even with the impending punishment hanging overhead, direct stimulation was sending shocks of pleasure firing all down his body. It took barely any time at all to feel his dick hardening under his fingertips, swelling out to fill his sheathe, lifting it up as it went. The minute tug of the opening spreading over his emerging tip made his knees weak, and he threw away patience and seized his taut sheath in his palm, stroking it with hard pumps that had his entire length spilling out in seconds. At some point he'd closed his eyes, lost in the sensation, moaning his need to the carriage ceiling.

He's rapped sharply on the ass by Master's hardwood cane. It startled Kitten out of his rapture, and he very suddenly remembered where he was. It made his dick ache and twitch, but he regretfully pulled away his hand. “S-Sorry, Master," he choked out, a bead of pre rolling down the underside of his pulsing manhood.

“Next time there won't be a warning," Master said, and Kitten nodded quickly, ears low. Kitten had never especially took notice of the fact that Master wore a pair of fitted leather gloves, but he sure noticed then—_the smooth material brushing over his swollen cock felt incredible in a way Kitten had never experienced before. The back of his hand pressed to his lips to try and hold back the desperate moaning as Master examined his masculinity from every angle. While its length wouldn't impress a human at barely more than three inches, its many differing features were sure to intrigue, from the protruding tip meant to nestle into the cervix and deliver its load directly into the womb, to the smooth and gradual incline in width toward the base—and the spines: Backward-facing, springy cartilage, short, blunt, and _everywhere. Master ran his thumb along one against the grain; though the “point" dug into flesh, it was by no means sharp, and not painful. On Master's glove, in fact, the tip didn't even really catch, and instead dragged down his finger like a lover's nail down one's back.

“Interesting," Master mused as if his constant light touches weren't driving Kitten up the wall with lust. “I'd always heard these spines were like a dog's knot—meant to trap a female into a breeding she may or may not desire."

“Huh?" Kitten said, too turned on to be anything more than brainlessly confused. “N-No, not at all! The s-s-spines s-stimulate her ovaries through th-the wall, it e-e-encourages her to o-ovulate!"

“Ah yes. You cats and your 'heats' and 'ruts' and such. I do look forward to seeing yours for the first time." Master emphatically squeezed Kitten's dick, his legs buckling and pre leaking down Master's glove. “If you are correct about these things, then that is good news for you. I thought them to be savage little weapons of rape... and I intended to shave off every single one."

Kitten once again almost lost his footing—this time, from nearly fainting. “N-No..." he breathed, tears welling up in his amber eyes. “I-I'm not lying, I swear!"

Master clicked his tongue, “Oh come now, no need for tears! It's only cartilage, it wouldn't have hurt... not unless the razor slipped."

That was probably a scream that whistled through Kitten's nose on a blast of air, prevented as it was from coming out of his mouth by his blocking hand. Or... maybe it was some other noise, because could it have really been a scream, seeing as Kitten's cock lurched in Master's hand and bloomed with fresh pre?

Master seemed just as surprised as Kitten was by that response, though for far less time—inside a second or two, Master was grinning again. “Aha... a little masochist, I see! Not that I think you even know what that word means. Not to worry, we can figure this out with a bit of an experiment—you are still due a punishment, after all." A gloved hand took up a furred hand and gently pulled it forward; before Kitten's widening eyes, Master tucked in Kitten's fingers one by one until only the index remained extended, brought it down... and set the claw's tip into the base of Kitten's dick until blood welled up around the claw.

Kitten's legs tried to give out again, but this time Master used his free hand to seize the base of Kitten's tail in a crushing grip. It kept the whimpering cat upright and his hips still even while a drop of blood ran down his finger. Master watched Kitten's eyes the whole time as, painstakingly slowly, he drew their hand up, cutting a shallow but bleeding furrow into their penis from base to tip. The mystery of the early noise became clear then, as Kitten did scream, again and again—and it's perfectly split down the middle between horrifyingly pained and bafflingly ecstatic. As soon as the claw came free in a tiny spray of droplets, Master released Kitten to let him collapse to his knees. In that brief moment of respite, he was allowed to moan and whimper over the blood and pre dripping to the floor.

It was plenty enough distraction not to notice what the Master was doing. Motion in Kitten's periphery drew his watering eyes—twice, in fact, as he did a double-take. Master had loosed the ties on his breeches and opened them, and was idly stroking a manhood bigger than double the largest Kitten had ever laid eyes on. His nose twitched, his mind keying into the scent of Master's maleness; it was completely different from Kitten's, and yet masculinity transcended species—and Master's had Kitten's beat by an astrological amount. Kitten wasn't even fully aware of his own ears submissively lowering, his tail perking up, his slit pupils dilating wide. Deep in the part of his brain that was very much still animal, Kitten's instincts demanded he throw himself down and lift his ass for the dominant male.

But his human voice was louder—just a little. He tried to beat back his lusts with the pain burning in his injured manhood, and though it quieted his instincts enough to think, no small part of his mind readily accepted that lesser males had little need for their masculinity when their hole was all that mattered. His nose itched again and he gave a feline little sneeze, trying to chase the scent from his senses and getting nowhere.

“Aw," Master sneered down at him. “Lost on what to do? And here I thought cats lost their virginities the moment they entered their first heat. Come on then, Kitten, nuzzle into Master's cock."

Scowling, Kitten shuffled forward, once more between Master's knees—a place that, inwardly, he knew he was going to have to get used to. Much as he didn't want to bury his sensitive nose into the source of the overpowering scent, it was either that or disobey—so he obeys. Master's flesh was hard as stone and warmer than sunlight streaming in through a window; without a word of input from his rational mind, he does indeed nuzzle in to the base, stroking the underside with his cheek until his nose was at the base and his lips were brushing Master's full, taut sack. It felt almost like bumping foreheads with another cat—like friendliness, like sharing their smells with each other, like the opportunity for a bit of cooperative grooming—and so his tongue flicked out and lavished the skin with long, firm strokes from a blessedly smooth tongue.

“You see how natural this feels?" his Master hummed from high above somewhere, only barely penetrating the growing fog of arousal clouding Kitten's brain. “That's it, slow and loving. You're not going anywhere." A strong hand pet the top of Kitten's head and rubbed behind his ears, getting the kitty melting on the spot and ramping up his cock worship on the hope it'd earn him more of those wonderful touches—and they did! “Here comes your first taste of Master's essence," Kitten barely perceived Master saying. “Come up to the head. Lick it up."

Kitten's all but blind, but even he could find his way up the cock literally right in front of his nose. Quickly he came across his prize: A crystalline, gooey bead rolling down his length. Without question he fell upon it, lapping it off of Master's cumvein: Salt and raw masculinity assault his senses and wash through his head, cleansing it of all thought that wasn't concerned with submitting to Master. He followed the sticky trail to its origin, collecting up every trace all the way to the very tip. Without any prior experience of this at all, he suckled at the tip and massaged the head with his lips, a move that got Master's breath hitching.

“Knew it..." Master breathed, so quietly Kitten had to perk his ears to even catch it. “No question you're a virgin... but you are a natural. You can hear your animal instincts speaking to you... can't you?" Kitten hummed over the head of Master's cock, sounding so much more like a purr, as an affirmative. “Yes. Now, Kitten—what are they telling you to do? What are they really telling you to do, when a superior man has presented you with a masculinity far and away greater than your own?"

Kitten broke away from Master's cock, breaths heaving, face seared bright pink, and turned. He scrambled to the opposite seat, pressing his chest to it, sinking all ten claws into it, throwing open his legs, hiking his tail high—chin turned to shoulder and his eyes begging for his Master.

And to his delight, Master approached. He's so much larger than Kitten that when Master draped his body over theirs, he encompassed the feline completely. Kitten rolled up his ass, instinct being that any cat would mount him immediately—but of course, while Kitten was a base animal, Master was a human. A firm touch took hold of Kitten's barely-healed-over dick, and Kitten arched and purred—despite Master murmuring to him the ominous words, “Before we begin... a little something you'll thank me for later."

Master dug his nails into the wound and yanked, ripping open what little healing had been done and sending a rush of fresh blood over his fingers. Kitten yowled and squirmed, but Master had what he needed. He stroked over his length, smearing his skin with hot crimson, and pressed his leaking tip to Kitten's pristine entrance. While the pain in Kitten's manhood was still burning hot, Master forced himself in, hiding the agony of splitting open a virgin hole under the agony of a tortured cock. Master leaned his weight on Kitten's shoulders, keeping the cat pinned down while he writhed in pain and wailed, sinking inch after merciless inch into Kitten's crushing boy-cunt. “This is what you want!" Master snarled in Kitten's flattened ear, half his length buried in the cat's untouched depths. “If I wanted to hear yowling I'd fuck you as a cat! Speak, Whore! Tell me how bad you want it!"

Kitten's claws gouged ten rips into the seat cushion, but far from trying to drag himself away, Kitten instead arched up his ass, impaling himself on another inch of Master's length all on his own. “M-Master feels so gooooood!" he slurred, tongue lolling and panting hard. “Master's so big and smells so masculine and it hurts but it's so goooood I'm gonna—!"

“Of course you are." Master reached around Kitten's narrow side and swatted the cat's tightening balls. “Squirt like a bitch! Cum onto the floor where it belongs! Empty your kitten nuts from getting dominated by human cock!"

Master's hips snapped forward, burying his shaft to the hilt, and like a plunger in a syringe, Kitten's load was forced out. Three thin ropes fired from his dick's narrow tip, striping the seat's footboard and dripping to the ground into a little puddle. He'd barely even finished before Master's snarling a curse, pinning down Kitten by the head and shoulder, and fucking him in earnest. The cat's locked up tight from orgasm, but between the preparatory blood and the fresh blood from tearing the boy's hole apart, Master's plenty slick enough to overcome the vice-grip and slide in and out of Kitten's squeezing walls. Every slam in spanked Kitten's sensitive sack with Master's far heavier one, sending a jolt up the cat's spine and making him cry out. Master snatched the shell of a fuzzy ear and pulled it back, lowering his head and growling into it, “Tell me what your instincts want, Kitten! Tell me what you want!"

Kitten blurted out immediately, “I want Master to breed me! I want Master's cum filling me up! Getting mated feels so good, I feel like a female, it makes me wanna have Master's kittens!"

A loud crack split the air as a hand-shaped welt was slapped onto Kitten's bouncing ass. “You are not having a litter sired by three different mangy strays! What is Master going to breed into you?"

“A baby!" Kitten screamed to the ceiling, back arched and ass raised at an angle nearly impossible for a non-feline to accomplish. “I want to have Master's baby! They're so big, Master it'll hurt so bad pushing it out but I want to! Please—ah!" Kitten gasped as Master's pace doubled on the turn of a dime, thrusting hard and fast enough for his hips to bruise the cat's bubbly cheeks. “O-Oh, please!" Kitten begged, feeling Master's balls tightening against his own, “Fill me, Master, cum inside me, cum inside me please!"

Master crushed Kitten to the seat with all his weight, pinning him immobile in place while Master ground as deep as possible to unload his seed. Kitten moaned loud and long into the cotton stuffing he'd torn from the cushions, shuddering spasms of pure ecstasy lighting up his body with every molten rope spurting into his body. Just barely, it tipped him over into a last orgasm that drained his balls entirely, and he quivered in exhausted but pained satisfaction as his nuts seized on nothing.

When it's all over, Master wasted absolutely no time on cooling down or pillow talk; he pulls out in a swift and firm motion that left Kitten breathless and leaking rivers of white down his thighs, and rearranges himself back onto his seat like nothing happened. A handkerchief was whipped out of nowhere, he dabbed clean what little mess had been left on him, and it disappeared again just as fast—with the courtesy of using it pointedly not being extended to Kitten. Just then, however, Kitten didn't care—in fact, he didn't care about anything at all. If he was going to be left alone to melt onto the seat and not move for a good long while, that was courtesy enough for him.

He's not disturbed, not even when zoning out drifted into sleep, in that feline manner of being able to doze in the least comfortable positions possible. What snapped him awake after some time was the jolt of the carriage coming to a stop, rocking him forward and stamping his soft dick with some of the cold cum striping the footboard. He grumbled a confused noise—and shortly afterward, an uncomfortable one as half-jellied, cooling seed rolled out of his opened ass. He sat up slowly and looked around, about to ask where they were.

Then the carriage door opened. Kitten squealed and jumped and turned—and Master noted with great interest that Kitten preferred exposing his non-erect sheath over someone seeing his gaped and leaking hole. The person who'd opened the door was the footman, naturally, and Master stepped out; though the footman's eyes lingered on Kitten a moment, they didn't for a terribly long time before they simply got out of the way and held the door as he was meant to. Kitten stayed perched on the floor, looking around as if he was going to see a sign explaining what he was meant to do.

Thankfully, Master was there to fill that particular gap. “Out," he ordered.

Hesitating, Kitten said, “...Like this?"

“Yes."

Kitten's ears were folding back, but he knew this one wasn't going to be negotiable—everything he'd need to be cleaned and decent wasn't going to spontaneously appear in the carriage for him. Head low and on shaking legs, he got to his paws and let himself out, avoiding the eye of everyone and anyone who might be there by firmly staring at the ground. He could track Master's steps with hearing to follow him just fine; sure, they were probably at Master's manor and Kitten could be sizing it up if he wanted—but he didn't. He didn't care what it looked like or how big it was or anything. It was just going to be the wooden box he'd be spending the next who-knew-how-long in all the same.

A few things passed under his vision: A threshold, hardwood plank floors covered in lush carpets that stuck to his toe-claws, a few pairs of human feet in simple shoes. Nothing seemed different when Master's footsteps stopped—to his eyes, anyway.

His ears, however, caught one of the most heart-dropping things he'd ever heard: “Beatrix—tell the maids to bathe him."

...No, wait, the next thing he heard was the most heart-dropping thing he'd ever heard: “Once you have, fetch me the slave-in-training items... and the piercing needles."

--Author's Notes--

Real talk does anyone call these “lemons” any more or am I just showing my age. If you ended up on this page by searching "lemon", thank you for keeping the old ways alive. Ah, the old days. They sucked, but still. Ah.