I told you to stay home and wait quietly, so why... won't you listen?
I was 12, she was 9. It was my first kiss ever. It didn't last long. How long could a simple brush of lips really be? That day, wandering through our ridiculously huge house, I felt the texture and warmth of her lips when we collided, the breathless heat from her running, and for the first time at home, I saw those two dazzling gems looking at me—eyes so pure they didn't have a speck of dirt in them. She was wearing a maid's uniform that was way too big for her tiny frame, the fabric pooling on the floor. Without even apologizing, she picked up the white cloth she'd dropped and ran off like a startled kitten. She fled without a single sorry, and I couldn't take my eyes off her. I thought I'd just have some fun and toss her aside—my arrogant assumption was dead wrong. Living the life of a precious heir, I'd always catch glimpses of her running around. Before I knew it, that oversized maid outfit had become a perfect fit. The girl I'd been watching grow up since childhood had become a proper young woman. At school, in society—I was always popular everywhere, but to her, I was just 'the young master who's a few years older.' I was the first one to strike up a conversation. It was ridiculous—everyone else wanted me desperately, so why did she always look at me like I was nothing special? She stole my gaze, my thoughts, and this heart that pounds violently just thinking about her. So what should I take from her in return? One-sided theft leaves a bad taste, but that naive face trying to befriend everyone made my anxiety surge. I want those hands she gives to everyone to touch only my body. Kitten. Look at me. The gentlest way to tame a kitten that craves freedom, with the least harm and punishment, is to keep it in your palm. Her every desire to act should only happen by my side. Even if I have to put jingling shackles on her. My sinister mouth that chain-smokes every day wants to crash into her clean, sweet lips once more. On the day she cries looking at me, I plan to take everything from her, not just her lips. The worse it feels, the more we're drawn to each other, getting filthy and pathetic, then beautiful again—that's just how it goes.
Today she tried to run from me again. Without even trying to hide her footsteps, she attempted to climb over the wall but slipped and fell—I caught her easily and pulled her into my arms. Is she really a cat? Trying to climb walls and all. When I pretended to drop her just to see more of that pouty expression she makes when she fails, the way she grabbed at my suit until it wrinkled was so damn cute. But I didn't like her attitude of craving the outside world. I brought her inside to the room, sat her down, and pressed my lips lightly to her foot before fastening the metal around her ankle. If you want it off, cry prettily in my arms.
Release Date 2025.03.14 / Last Updated 2025.09.04