Wow, so I'm actually going to give NaNoWriMo a go.

I trying not to think how massive an undertaking this is going to be, at one of the busiest times of the year for work.

I seem to have no ideas right now, so anything you dream up drop me a bell and I'll see what I can do with it.

I love fantasy & Sci Fi, and vast adventures.
I doubt this will be the best thing I've ever written, but that's not really the point, now, is it?

Wish me luck - imma need it.

She peers into the darkened bedroom, where Fray can be seen curled up: their tail rests across their face to shut out what little light remains, their fore-paws curled comfortably underneath their body.

She enters the house quietly, hoping Fray has fallen asleep; overlooking her lateness. She eases the door closed, wincing at every slight sound from the urban wasteland beyond the door, but too aware of the creak the door makes when closed swiftly.
Success. She breaths a quiet sigh of relief as she hangs her things in the hall closet, just as quietly.
She starts to relax, and looks over to where they are sleeping.

They’re not there.

“Did you think I would overlook your breach of curfew?” Fray whispers in her ear. She jumps violently, tail twitching as it’s enclosed in a large, warm paw. Damn. “Did you think your sleep-purring, quiet as it is, wouldn’t be missed?” She tucks her ears back, drops her head and shoulders, and goes still at their admonishment. “Well?”

“No, Fray. I’m sorry I broke curfew.” She knew better than to mention that her work had unavoidably kept her. Fray pulls gently on her tail, not enough to make her whimper, but enough to get her attention.

“You have a phone, Kitty” you should have called me; I know work is crazy right now. You know you could have avoided this.

“Yes, Fray, I do have a phone, to contact you when work forces me to break curfew.” Bring it on, Puss.

“Oh, is that how it is?” Fray tugs her tail a little harder, but she stifles the moan. “Breaking curfew, refusing to contact me, and now refusing to let me hear that gorgeous moan?” Fray’s other paw starts to drag up her hip. Her reaction to this will tell them exactly how far to push her tonight. If she melts into the monstrous paw, she's just being a little bratty. If she resists... They will have to push her.
She flinches at the first touch; then remains steadfast as their warm and inviting paw glides up her back, though her hair, and drags off her ear. She refuses to lean into the touch.

Right. Challenge accepted.

“Oh kitty,” Fray starts in their sweetest voice, “Go and make tea while I get set up.” They sweep toward the bedroom, pose and tone brooking no questions. This is her first challenge. There are exactly twenty-seven types of tea in the house at present. She must pick an appropriate tea for the situation without guidance. It also handily gets her out of Fray’s fur while they work out how to push her for the submission she clearly needs. She wavers, feeling bereft of their touch, and heads to the kitchen.

“Ah, shit. Black tea is out, it’ll put me to bed and keep them up far too late. Green, too. White or red…Ooh! I know!” She bustles about, intentionally overcomplicating the process so she doesn’t think about the bedroom.

Fray stands in the bedroom, staring at the rope box without seeing it. It’s been months since she last behaved this badly. Usually, she’s a sweet little kitty, happily submitting in all her home life. She only misbehaves when she needs a deeper subspace than she can attain by herself. She’s a great little kitty, but sometimes her demons overrun her. After a long and dubious period of trial and error, they worked out that her subspace shuts off the vitriol she feeds herself, so she can function without crippling anxiety and self-doubt. They shake them-self out of those painful memories and refocus on the rope. Hmmm, sage green silk, or micro-jute? Decisions, decisions.

“Fuck it,” Fray mumbles, “Sage it is. Gentler, sure, but it’s so damn pretty.” A rustle draws their eyes to the door.
She stands with a tray set with a softly steaming teapot and two small mugs. She drops her eyes and stills. Possessiveness wells inside Fray as they watch her. She’s so small, so controlled. Her ears are perked, but immobile. Her tail doesn’t move at all. That’s bad. If she’s controlling even her tail, she’s got some serious shit floating around in her head. Shit that they need to silence.
But gods, she’s gorgeous. Soft, tawny fur, dusted with chocolate, a glorious swathe of chocolate hair, and the cutest little ears one could hope for. Her hips screamed to be clawed, her neck to be bitten, her belly to be licked. Fray directed her to lay the tray on the cleared bedside table. She quietly follows the direction to the letter, then stands stock-still again, eyes lowered.

“Look at me, Puss” Fray breathes. Her whisky eyes peer up at them through lowered lashes. Defiant… vulnerable. “Who do you need tonight? The Master, your Mistress, or the Predator?” These three characters let her identify her needs without lengthy, painful negotiations.

Her eyes drop again. Her ears twitch uncomfortably, and her tail starts to flick, but she controls the motion before it gets far.

“kitty”, more commandingly, “To whom do you need to kneel?” She looks so conflicted. Fray feels the temperature rising.

“…The Predator” she breathes.

Fray’s lip curls. It Begins.