The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kitty Kat

by Pan

I had the dream again.

I don’t know why it keeps coming back…it’s always the same. Even when some of the details are different, it’s the same. I’ll wake up, and instead of being me, I’ll…well…

I’ll be a cat.

And it’ll feel so right.

* * *

My name’s Kat. You’re probably thinking “Hey, that’s where the whole thing comes from,” but I really don’t think it is. My full name’s Kathryn, and the only person who really calls me Kat is my older brother, Duncan.

The weirdest part is always the first few minutes after I wake up…one morning, I literally found myself getting out of bed on my hands and knees before I worked out what was wrong. It’s the strangest thing—it’s not something I want, and if I knew how to get rid of it I would.

It’s just something that…yeah, something that feels right.

Like you know transgendered people? I’m not comparing my thing to that, of course, but…well, let’s just say I have a newfound appreciation for them. I’m sure that if they could, they’d push a button and be comfortable with the junk they were born with.

It’s not that I want to be a cat. I just keep having these dreams where I am a cat, and after I do, I feel weird for the rest of the day.

Hell, I’ve never even owned a cat. Where the fuck do these urges come from?

Ugh. I’m obsessing again. Let’s talk about something else.

* * *

My name’s Kathryn, like I said. I’m 22 years old. Up until two years ago, I lived with my parents and my older brother—my parents died in a car accident, which obviously sucked, but I guess I’m starting to deal with it. My brother—Duncan—and I inherited the house, and not much else.

I study health sciences online, I read, I make damned good coffee, I like to paint…oh, yeah—I’m a lesbian. I came out when I was sixteen, and everyone was super cool with it. My parents were really great about it—they were just pretty great generally, in fact. I miss them every day.

I work at a clothing shop—nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. When I graduate, I’m thinking of becoming a dietician—I haven’t really thought about it that much.

After the funeral, I went a bit crazy. Nothing dangerous—I just went out pretty much every night, found a different girl and went back to their place. My brother really worried about me for a while—he’d go weeks without seeing me, and I’d let my phone’s battery run out and be completely incommunicado.

I really didn’t care about anything—I distracted myself with sex, and had a pretty rough time of it. I burned through the small inheritance my parents left me, which I regret now of course, but I think I needed to do it.

Eventually I got through that, and fell into a bit of a funk. That’s why I went back to school—to get myself back into the “real world” as much as anything. It’s been good for me—I’ve made a bunch of friends, I’m learning heaps, and I’m keeping myself busy.

Duncan studies too—he’s doing a bachelor of psychology. I think he’s enjoying it—we don’t really talk about our studies much.

Anyway, the dreams.

* * *

They started about a month ago, maybe two. It’s hard to tell—the first one didn’t feel like the first one, if that makes sense. Dreams are weird things—Duncan could probably tell you more about them than me.

It wasn’t anything significant—I was in my house, as normal, but instead of walking around like a human, I was on all fours.

And yeah, I was a cat.

And in the dream, it wasn’t the first time I’d experienced it. In the dream, I’d always been a cat—it wasn’t a new thing, it was the status quo. I was a cat, with ears and a tail, eating cat food out of a bowl.

Like I said, when I woke up, it took me way longer than it should have to realize that hey—I’m a human. I have more to do than just lay around and sleep all day—tempting though that sounds.

I didn’t think too much of it, but then about three or four nights later, the dream came back.

It feels stupid, putting so much significance on dreams that were honestly not that interesting. It wasn’t like anything earth-shattering happened in these dreams—I’d just walk around the house, maybe have a snooze (dreaming about sleep—now that’s weird) and live out my normal, daily, cat life.

I’d just wake up, and walking on two legs would feel wrong.

The worst time, though, was when I went down and Duncan was in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I went to say, but you know what came out?

“Meow.”

Duncan just stared at me, one eyebrow raised. I blushed—hell, I didn’t even know I could blush, and tried to pass it off as a joke.

“Ha ha,” he said, but he kept looking at me strangely all day.

* * *

After what I call my “dark time”, Duncan really took care of me. I had no money and no job at that point, and I hadn’t helped out with the funeral at all—Duncan really came through, and I’ll always be grateful to him. He made sure there was always food in the house, water in the pipes, and when he found out I was having trouble sleeping, he even went and got me one of those white noise machines.

Five or six months later, I asked if there was anything I could do to thank him for everything he’d done.

“Just look after yourself,” he said earnestly in response, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mind taking care of you when you need it, but I sleep better knowing you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” I replied with a smile, and I never brought it up again. I’d find some way to pay him back, some day, if it was the last thing I did.

* * *

I haven’t mentioned Christie yet. Christie is…well, I could say a friend, but that wouldn’t really be the whole story.

I met Christie during my bad period. Duncan doesn’t like her, I know—he’s never said anything, but I think she reminds him of not knowing where I was for days on end.

She’s a bit of a “free spirit”, I guess you could say. The only things she likes better than drinking is drugs, and the only thing she likes better than drugs is…well, me.

Christie started as a one-night stand. We kept in touch after that—she’d sometimes convince me to go out with her, and I’d wake up at some stranger’s house…one time I even woke up on a park bench, with Christie nowhere to be found. (Duncan came and got me, and it took forever to convince him that no, I wasn’t going back to who I was).

Lately though, we’ve been hanging out more and more. I don’t know how it happened—how do these things ever start?—but it’s been really good for both of us. Christie makes sure that I actually leave the house from time to time, and I make sure that she takes care of herself a bit better -

I like to think I center her—God knows she needs it. She doesn’t really have anyone else. She’s got no brothers or sisters, and her parents live on the other side of the country—they don’t talk much. She doesn’t even get along with her housemates particularly well. She probably sounds difficult from all that…in truth, I think she’s just used to being alone.

In the last two months or so, you could even say we’ve gotten pretty serious. We haven’t declared our love for each other or anything like that, but she sometimes even comes ’round and we don’t get drunk or go out, just chill and watch a movie.

I try not to let her stay the night, just ’cos I know it makes Duncan uncomfortable seeing me with her, but if that wasn’t a factor, we’d probably be about a month away from a “moving in together” discussion.

So yeah. That’s me. Or at least…that’s who I was.

* * *

My work was having a Halloween party. Costume, of course, and Christie had invited me to a big LGBT party straight after. I needed something that would be professional enough for my workmates, but sexy enough for to wear to one of Christie’s things.

She likes to show me off. I think it’s because I’m so tiny—I’m a bit under five foot. Black hair, which I keep pretty long, and I try to keep myself in shape. “Petite” would be the word, I guess—I’m small all over.

Christie’s not exactly a big girl or anything like that, but compared to me she’s tall. Compared to me, pretty much everyone is tall though—it doesn’t bother me much. It makes me a bit of an attraction, I guess—a lot of lesbians want to dominate me, and without going into too much detail, I’ll tell you that I don’t object too hard. I like to be held down…and that’s all I’m saying on that topic!

Anyway, it hardly took me any time to work out the costume I wanted to wear—I wanted to be a cat. Totally suitable for work, and I could take off a few outer garments, and suddenly be wearing a sexy clubbing costume for wherever Christie wanted to take me.

The night was a blur, honestly—I have no idea why I didn’t go back to Christie’s, but I woke up the next morning in my own bed, still dressed as a cat…and having had, by far, the most intense cat-dream I’d ever had.

This time, for the first time, I wasn’t alone. I couldn’t see him, but I knew I had an Owner somewhere—I could hear him (and it was definitely a him) calling my name. I didn’t come—I was a cat, after all—but when I got hungry, I knew that Owner would provide for me. If I needed affection, I knew exactly where to go to get it.

I woke up with this strong feeling of belonging, of being…and when I glanced over at the mirror and saw that my cat ears were still on, it felt so right that I literally couldn’t bring myself to take them off.

Duncan was having breakfast when I came downstairs, and he almost choked on his cereal at the sight of me.

“Jesus, Kat…” he said, and I smiled and meowed in response.

Deliberately, that time.

“Where’s the tail?” he said, and I obediently turned around and showed him.

“Cute,” he said with a grin, and though he went back to his cereal, I could feel his eyes on me the rest of the morning.

* * *

I was still wearing the cat ears when I met up with Christie that night. She smiled at the sight of them, and grabbed them off my head when I leaned in for a kiss.

“Hey!” I said, momentarily panicking, and when she saw the look on my face, Christie gave them straight back.

“Sorry…” she said, slightly confused, and I suddenly realized how stupid I was being.

“Where’d you get to last night?” I asked, changing the topic.

“Your brother wouldn’t let me in.”

“What?”

“Yeah—we ended up at your place, and he point-blank refused to let me in. Paid for the cab to take me home. What’s up with that?”

I sighed. I knew I’d have to have this talk with Duncan sooner rather than later—I’d just really hoped it would be later.

“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll sort it out—sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” she said, reaching out and scratching me behind the ear—something that I wish I could say I enjoyed less than I did. “I have some ideas of how you can make it up to me…”

* * *

The next morning, Christie dropped me home, and I went upstairs to change. As much as I was enjoying the outfit, it was two days after Halloween, and it would be a struggle to get Duncan to take me seriously if I was still wearing the ears and tail.

I’d dreamt of being a cat again the previous night—not as strongly as the previous times, but it was the first time I’d had the dream anywhere but my own bed. It didn’t take me as long to adjust when I woke up, either—maybe that meant it was going away? Who knew.

After a shower and a change of clothes, I went to Duncan’s room and knocked on the door. We’d kept the rooms we’d had our whole lives—it would have felt too weird, one of us moving into Mom and Dad’s old space.

“Come in,” he said casually, and I pushed the door open to see that he was programming something on his computer.

“What’s up, Kitty Kat?” he said, and I rolled my eyes and sat on his bed.

“I want to talk to you about Christie,” I said, and in response he just pressed a button on his computer. The room filled with white noise, louder and stronger than the stuff I listened to while I slept, and I immediately lost my train of thought.

* * *

I was a cat. There wasn’t much I was sure of, but I knew I was a cat.

I looked around—the house was familiar. It was where I’d lived since I was a kitten. My limbs felt heavy, ungainly—I couldn’t move as quickly as I would have liked, but I could get around.

The stairs were more of a challenge than they should have been. In my heart, I felt like I should be able to race up and down them, but my arms and legs were long—longer than felt right.

Still, without much effort I managed to get upstairs, curl up and have a nap.

* * *

When I woke up, I saw something strange. My ears—and I knew, just as strongly as I knew I was a cat that they were my ears—were laying on the ground. That wasn’t right. That needed to be fixed.

I picked them up with my mouth, and took them to Owner. When I dropped them at his feet, he laughed, and attached them to my head. I felt a strange relief wash over me.

Everything was back to normal. Good.

* * *

Owner likes to pet me behind the head. I like it too—I stretch as he does it, and sometimes fall asleep on his lap. Sometimes he talks to me as he does, and I just let the words wash over me. Words are human business—the only words I care about are my name, or “food”.

Sometimes I’d tune in and catch bits and pieces of what he was saying. He was worried about me, worried that I was going down a bad path. Silly human. Cats don’t change—we just lay around and let people look after us. Humans, they’re the ones who change—always going around doing different things.

Owner has nothing to worry about. His cat isn’t going anywhere. His cat is an indoor cat.

* * *

Time—that’s another human thing to worry about. For cat, there’s only awake and asleep, and counting the difference is more effort than it’s work. After many sleeps, Owner decided that Kitty needed a bath. I fought, of course—the only thing I hate more than the water is being forced to wake up, but once I was in, I had to admit that maybe I needed one.

I’d tried to lick myself clean, but it didn’t work as well as I felt it should. My tongue wouldn’t reach certain places, for one, and there was all this cloth everywhere. After the bath, the cloth was gone, but I still couldn’t reach all the places I wanted to clean. The patch of fur between my legs, for one.

It was some time later, after many baths had passed, that Owner started touching me on my fur. The fur on my head he touched all the time, but the fur between my legs—that was a new one.

It felt good, and I knew Owner liked it, so I let him do it. Sometimes I’d even push back and purr, just to show him how much I enjoyed his touch. He’d rub his hands all over my body, ending up between my legs, and his fingers would pump in and out until I shuddered and lay down for a nap.

* * *

One time, Owner closed all the doors and wouldn’t let me leave the kitchen. I hated the kitchen—climbing on top of the fridge felt like it should be so easy, but it constantly alluded me, so I stood near the door and listened to Owner’s voice.

“I told you, she doesn’t want to see you!”

“You can’t keep her from me!”

“She’s asked me to keep you away, okay?”

I thought I heard a mouse, and got distracted for a few minutes—when I started listening again, the voices were softer but still there.

“…her phone, her work. She hasn’t even submitted any of her assignments!”

“I’m sorry, Christie, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Something about what they were saying sounded familiar, but I couldn’t work out why, and it was far too much effort to think about for too long. Instead, I amused myself by running in circles around the table until Owner opened the door.

* * *

It was a long time after that when Owner decided to mate with me. Rubbing between my legs had become almost a daily routine, and I could see how much Owner liked doing it. He’d call my name, and if I felt like some affection, I’d come and let him rub me until I shuddered.

Sometimes he’d take off his clothes and touch himself…maybe he did it every time, I don’t know. I’d fall asleep, more often than not.

This time though, he started rubbing me, then said “Fuck it,” and took off his clothes.

That was normally a sign that he was finished, so I arched my back and meowed at him, but he positioned himself behind me, and began to mate.

It felt fantastic—if I had to be more specific, I’d say it fell somewhere between “nap” and “food”, and even after I shuddered, it didn’t stop feeling good.

After a while, he finished inside me. I lay down on his lap to sleep, and when I awoke, I noticed that I’d leaked onto his legs.

Owner was just looking at me with a smile, and so I repositioned myself, and began to lap up the spill. He seemed to really like that, and soon he was behind me, mating again.

After that, the mating became a regular thing—once or twice a day, like clockwork. He tried to put it in my mouth once, but I hissed and threatened to bite it, and he soon relocated behind me.

Every now and again I’d bleed, and while it didn’t bother me, Owner didn’t seem to want to mate while that happened. I still wanted to though, and after insistently meowing and putting my parts in his face a few times, he worked out a solution—it turned out he could mate with my other hole. It didn’t feel quite as good, but he’d reach down and stroke me while he did, and that felt good.

* * *

It’s been a long time since I bled, though. My belly is starting to swell, so I guess it means this cat is having kittens. That hasn’t stopped Owner from wanting to mate—good thing, too. Being full has put me in heat, it seems, and I need to be mated more than ever. Owner is taking better care of me than ever, though he still insists on putting me in the kitchen whenever that visitor arrives.

“She’s becoming a problem,” he said thoughtfully while feeding me once. I have my own bowl on the floor, but we both like it when Owner feeds me by hand—especially if he rubs me as he does. “I think I know what to do, though…how would you feel about having a little kitten friend, Kitty Kat?”

Honestly, I like having Owner all to myself, but some company while he’s at work would be nice as well. I just meowed in response, knowing he’d interpret that to mean whatever he liked.

Hell, maybe it would mean no more baths. If there were two cats, we could just lick each other in all the spots one part can’t reach.

As Owner put another piece of food in my mouth, I swallowed it down, then rubbed against his legs.

All this thinking was exhausting. I just wanted Owner to mate, and then have a nap.

It’s a good life, being a cat.