Purr by Paisley Smith

lay under the thick eiderdown coverlet on
the komtesse’s bed, dozing as Katarina stroked her hair. “Rest for now, pet.
And when you awaken, I’ll have that tight little ass of yours.”

Chapter Four
     
    Arabella quickly fell into a routine of readying the kittens
for the days their presence was requested in the den and then waiting for them
to return. When the kittens were not in service, they were kept separated from
the staff and allowed to walk in the gardens, read or play games in one of the
parlors—always under the watchful eye of the komtesse’s henchwoman, Gudrun.
    Helga supervised the attendants when their service was not
required. As long as the kittens weren’t using the garden, the attendants were
permitted to use it or to freely roam certain parts of the villa.
    While the kittens seemed to thoroughly enjoy their free time, most of the attendants complained of boredom. Helga seemed
sympathetic, but she never allowed favors that were strictly against the rules.
    At least the attendants had Helga. The kittens were
doomed to Gudrun, who oversaw every aspect of their lives outside the den. A
stern Prussian, she hailed from thick peasant stock. Standing over six feet
tall, she glowered at everyone, arms crossed over her ample bosom, never
offering a friendly smile. Her piggish eyes missed nothing and behind closed
doors, Gudrun tended to be the butt of many a joke. She held none of the charm
of the current fashion of elaborately powdered wigs, voluminous skirts draped
over broad whalebone panniers, ribbons and jewel-encrusted slippers. Instead,
Gudrun dressed daily in a drab gray frock and wore her thin blonde hair in two
tightly plaited braids wound into buns on either side of her head.
    Although Arabella had not interacted with the komtesse’s
lackey, she knew the formidable woman would be a barrier to any sort of
clandestine affair—especially with Giselle.
    Some part of her had adjusted to the flagrant nudity that
had so shocked and aroused her upon arrival. But nothing lessened her desire
for the komtesse’s favorite pet. Night after night, Arabella massaged herself
to orgasm, biting back Giselle’s name. Every day that the kittens were
summoned, Petra launched herself onto Arabella’s table, preventing any further
contact between her and the brunette kitten.
    Today, however, Petra hung back. Her bottom lip protruded in
a sullen pout.
    “What’s the matter?” Arabella asked.
    “My menses have begun. I will not be allowed to
participate.”
    Arabella tried to console Petra but when Giselle came into
the room, all coherent thought evaporated.
    Giselle shrugged out of her robe, revealing her voluptuous
body, and without so much as an apologetic glance toward the temporarily ousted
kitten, she mounted Arabella’s vacant table.
    Petra’s eyes flashed in a display of shock laced with envy.
Arabella tried her best not to show her own surprise. Knee-weakening
nervousness consumed her as she began to attend her charge.
    Even the scent of the kitten’s naked flesh invoked sinful
stirrings between her legs.
    “Return to your chamber, Petra,” Helga ordered as Arabella
took up her sponge with trembling hands and began to bathe Giselle’s back.
    Arabella tried to focus on the rivulets of warm water
trailing downward over the lush curves but all she could think about was the
fantasy of finding ecstasy in this woman’s arms. Her mouth went dry and the
back of her neck flamed. Perspiration beaded and trickled between her breasts.
Her inner thighs heated and dampness gathered in her channel.
    She’d longed for just this moment and now that it was
happening, she couldn’t enjoy it. God, what had turned her into such a
blithering bundle of nerves?
    Her fantasies faded when she noticed the faint bruising on
Giselle’s backside. “What happened to you?”
    But Arabella immediately regretted asking the question. She
suspected she didn’t really want to know.
    Giselle looked at her, her gaze penetrating.