Gerlinde thrilled as she listened to Lisle kitty's mewling.  Her eyes lidded like she was the contented cat.  Purring was nice, she thought.  Crying had its decadent deliciousness to it.  But<em>this </em>was<em>the </em>sound.  This was the sound Lisle puss was meant to make.<br/><br/>She said as much, stroking the soft sweep of skin under Lisle's jaw with a single finger and tracing the red marks latticed like fresh velvet on Lisle's rump with the tip of the riding crop.  Her penis had ceased to dribble after that singular, stiff bead of jellied semen.  Its pulses now came with the smooth sweep of a rocking chair, rolling through the broad, bone hard flesh.  It lounged, and so she lounged, speaking as though they were both at a philosophical salon together.<br/><br/>"My, what a noise."  Gerlinde said, following the rise of a particularly prominent welt with the crop's flap.  "My, how you mewl.  This is the sound good kitties make.  This is the sound that pleases so well.  So you take note, Lisle puss.  You listen to what Gerlinde tells you.  If you are scared by the people around, or if you think they might be in a mood, or you just want to be sure - very sure - you are pleasing, you rub like this.  You rub.  And you make this sound."<br/><br/>Gerlinde frosted Lisle's face with swift, wet kisses.  "You make this sound, this sound, this lovely mewling sound."<br/><br/>She traced and kissed and stroked, and Gerlinde felt something intense - a feeling that pushed at the barrow of her tightened, sensitized skin with a sublime trembling.  It was the feeling, she thought, that the clouds must feel when watching their snowflakes fall in just the right configuration:  The feeling of seeing something wild and delicate settle just the right way.  "This sound.  Yes, Lisle kitty; yes, Lisle puss, yes, yes - just like that - cry...<br/><br/>"Cry." Gerlinde implored Lisle.  The plucking kisses gave it a tone of entreaty.  The press of the crop on Lisle's rump emphasized it as command.  "Cry and cream; good kitty.  Good kitty."<br/><br/>The tinkling of the bell, muffled somewhat by the moist pocket of Lisle's convulsing vulva, crescendoed.<br/><br/>After a time, the kisses ceased.  They dropped down to a fine tempo in time with the shivering bell.  Then Gerlinde stood.<br/><br/>She gave herself a moment of majesty:  A moment of enjoying how she must look, standing with breasts titanic and radiant with red, their peaks summit-stiff and chiseled with tension; standing with her slender form in blushing sweeps, from set shoulders under the russet mane of her hair down past hairless birthing hips and veined cock, down to her wide and shapely stance; standing like an officer above a conquest.<br/><br/>Which she was, Gerlinde thought.  She looked down at Lisle with eyes sliced from the skin of summer at noon.  She lay the warm crop along the line of her thigh.  She parted her lips and smiled.<br/><br/>"Now that was a fine spectacle, Lisle puss."  Gerlinde said.  "But I want your finest yet."<br/><br/><em>With the exception</em>, her heart qualified with a subtle ache,<em>of how you looked at me when I was inside you.<br/><br/></em><br/><br/>"I want you to follow me with your best kitty walk.  Your very best, most sensuous, most pleasing, most elegant kitty walk."  Gerlinde's tone sharpened, fine as kitten teeth.  "What errors I see, I will correct with far more violence than usual.  I will make your body remember them, because you must remember them to survive and flourish - and I want no less for you than to have you flourish."<br/><br/>With that, Gerlinde strode to the other end of the Den.  There, a vast aquarium stood next to her plants and her window.  There were her prismatic perennials in their wide, turquoise window box.  There, in a lush plastic garden, sheephead tropical fish swam in rainbow.  There, her window looked out on a naked stretch of frosted yard.<br/><br/>And there, under the low window, sat a litter box big enough for even a Lisle kitty.