Maverick

I noticed her watching me halfway through my act. The lights were too dim for me to really get a look at her, but I liked what I could see. The tiny top she wore left little to the imagination, especially with the way she was leaning on the stage. Three degrees lower and I knew she'd pop right out. Her huge yellow eyes were distracting, catching on the flashes of blue and purple light that danced with me. I had to keep glancing her way, to see if she liked the way I moved my body to the heavy beat of the music, to see if she was watching as I rubbed my cock against the cool steel pole.

I've been an exotic dancer for years, but no one in my audience has caught my eye like this one. As I stepped backstage, I had an itch to get a closer look at her. I slipped a tight pair of blue jeans on, glancing at myself in the mirror as I buttoned them closed. I'm a lion, but big even for my breed. A white lion. That's perfect. I have violet eyes that could stop traffic. I keep the four suits of cards dyed into my fur, on my thighs and arms—mostly because I like to take chances, but also because I like the way black and red look against my fur. Other than that, though, I don't have a single piercing or tattoo, like some of the other dancers.

I pass one of those dancers on my way out, a rat named Tommy. He's got his dick pierced, he's also gay, and there's two things we disagree on. But he's all right, and I pat him on the back before stepping out into the nightclub.

She's watching the door like she knew I'd be walking through it to see her. A smirk on her feline face almost gives it away. Damn, she's sexy. I love a woman with a little weight on her, and this one's got it in all the right places. She's a tabby cat, much smaller than me, but already I'm imagining her pinned beneath me. As I'm walking over to her, she's walking to me, and we meet somewhere in the middle. Tommy's taking the stage now, and I have to raise my voice over the music.

"Tryin' to get out of here?" Some women like cocky. I can tell she's one of them.

Her long tail flicks out to the side, swishing against her green skirt. I already know she's not wearing anything beneath it. "I've got a place," she says.

We walk the few blocks in silence. I watch the way her hips sway when she walks, the way her tail follows, and I notice she has something around the base of her tail, but it's too dark for me to see what it is. I slip my thumbs into my pockets and enjoy the scent of her—heady, female, and aroused.

She leads us into an apartment building, up a few flights of stairs, and to a door—apartment 92 B. The door's unlocked and we go inside.

Her apartment is not what I'd expect of a woman who frequented nightclubs. Books lined one wall. The furniture was expensive and the rooms were clean. She'd been burning candles before she came to the club—I could still smell the smoke.

Gods bless this woman, she is not here for small talk. She came up to me, pulling the little camisole over her head and throwing it to the side. Her breasts are perfect. I grab one, squeezing it, as I pull her against me. She's grinning up at me while I grind my hips against her, letting her feel my cock.

"For me?" she asked, coy. I feel her fingers trace the outline of it through the jeans, making the confining bottoms even more uncomfortable. As if she'd read my mind, she deftly pops the button open. The strength of my organ pushes the zipper open, bouncing out into her waiting paw. I grip her ass as she strokes me.

We make it over to the couch and she pushes me down on it, squatting between my legs. Before I know what to expect, she's sucking on my dick like she'd been born to do it. Her rough tongue reaches almost all the way down to my balls when she dips down, and she doesn't let them go unattended for long, either. The hand that's angling my length to her lips slides down to the base, her fingers sliding beneath my heavy sac, and then she starts to roll my balls like huge marbles.

It feels great, but when I go, I want it to be between her legs, not the other way around. I place a paw on her head and draw her back, hungrily stealing a kiss from those delicious lips before pulling her up on the couch with me. I kick my jeans away as I slide my paws beneath her skirt—no panties, as I'd known—and damn if she isn't soaking wet already. The smell of her sex is making me drool, and I know I have to get a taste of that.

She doesn't argue when I push her back on the couch, tugging away the long skirt and tossing it into the background. Soft cream fur covers her belly and her breasts, the gentle tabby stripes barely touching her middle. I run my paws over her thick thighs before spreading them and diving in. That hungry little pink mouth kisses me almost as sweet as honey, and smells even better. I nuzzle against her clitoris, slipping my tongue into her tunnel, slurping up whatever she can give me. She's sighing and rubbing my ears, her fingers twirling in my mane. When I feel her thighs start to tighten around my head, I pull back, licking my lips.

I think I'm in love when I don't even have to say anything. She's as hungry for me as I am for her, and the very moment I sit back on the couch, she's in my lap. She faces away from me and I get two good handfuls of that perfect ass before I realize I can see the cuff at her tailbase now. It's leather, tooled to say "spank me". I'm pleased to oblige.

She purrs and looks back to me after I give a couple open-palmed slaps to her rear, arching her back and backing it up against my chest. I can feel her wet pussy kissing my stomach, but more importantly, she's stroking my cock again. I slide my thumbs between her cheeks and find her sex, pushing both digits inside until she decides it's time to quit fooling around.

I'm hard and she's wet, and even with the size difference, I slide in pretty easily. She's so hot it makes me gasp, my hands clutching her hips and holding her down.

She moves with a rhythm all her own, and I am subject to her will. That beautiful body sliding over my own is a pleasant addition to the steady motion. I get an eyeful and a handful when she leans back enough for me to be able to grab her tits. She moans as I stroke the pads of my thumbs over her nipples, one of her hands on my stomach behind her so she doesn't miss a beat. I can feel my dick stretching her—she's tight, no fooling, this girl does her Kegels. The amount of control she has of those muscles is amazing enough. I can't wait to feel her come.

All of a sudden, she wants to switch positions. This is done so fluidly, I never even have to pull out. My new tabby cat friend is also very flexible. She lifts her leg and turns in my lap so she's facing me, leaning into me to kiss. I kiss her back, but I'm sloppy—way more interested in fucking than making love. She understands, and takes two big handfuls of my mane as she leans back. We're on the floor in seconds; it doesn't take long for me to realize what she wants. I'm over her, and her legs are up in the air as I pound into her, going deeper now.

I'm attacked by her orgasm. Small cats tend to be mouthy comers, but this one just lets out one steady yowl, shuddering when I don't stop my already brutal assault of her pussy. She's still holding onto my mane, tugging, her claws extended. The muscles clenching around my cock are tightening still, and I know she'll be over the edge again in no time. I plan on joining her there.

I lean over her, my hips jarring against hers in short, hard thrusts. I can feel my balls start to tense just as the kitten below me starts to meow again. This time, as she's milking my cock, I'm giving her all I've got. I come like I haven't come in months and I feel it leaking out, dripping past my soggy balls.

We lie there for awhile before she nudges me over. I flop over obligingly onto my back, still panting. What a night.

I can hardly believe my ears when she asks me if I'd like a bowl of ice cream.

A Day in the Life of a [Caged] Slave

My life fell into a kind of strange rhythm. In the morning, they lined us up. The cold water was always a shock, but at least it got us clean, at least it washed out all the filth left on us from the previous day. As they toweled us dry, the servants would gossip about the latest scandal; bets at the games, trysts in the castle, bastards born in the street. To we slaves, knowledge of this caliber was hardly useful. I'd been fucked by princes and paupers alike. It seemed to me that if it involved gold or a cunt, they'd get their dick in it.

The march outside was once so frightening. Though we were a staple in this community, many of the passersby ignored our passage. I no longer had the urge to run away, naked and barefooted, through the busy streets of the city. The icy cobblestone hardly bothered me. In comparison to where we were headed, the crisp air and open sky were a treat.

Once inside the den (as they called it), we were each locked into our own cages. They were only big enough to fit one, standing, with little wiggle room. We were on display, but not for sale. We were the slaves that failed to auction, too dumb to write, not pretty enough to warm the bed of some rich lord. So we were rented. It cost a silver piece to get into the den. I'd seen slaves murdered for the price of that silver piece. Girls like me usually just get fucked, which is only so bad the first few days. After a while you don't really care so much. After a while, maybe you start to enjoy it a little. Boys, if they're pretty enough, sometimes they get fucked too. But sometimes the guests just want to kill someone, and it's usually the guys that go.

Mornings are slow. Our usual fare is probably sleeping off last night's drink. I try and get myself wet by thinking about what might happen to me today. I'm hoping it'll be busy later, because then the day goes by quicker, and they don't feed us 'till we get back to the slave quarters at the end of the night. They used to give us breakfast, but there's only so much come you can swallow after eating eggs and bacon before you yack it all up. And the guests don't like that so much. Or maybe some of them do.

The first few guys to come in take other slaves. I watch avidly as the girl in the cage next to me holds onto the bars in front of her as she's taken from behind. Her tits are bigger than mine, and they sway with every enthusiastic thrust of the man behind her. I've always liked watching, at least as long as I can remember, and I can feel my arousal rising. When he comes, I close my eyes and imagine that feeling, that hot, filled feeling. My thighs are slick and I'm ready for my first customer.

A petite gentleman is standing in front of my cage. His clothes are fine but simple, almost a leisure suit, dark gray with a white vest and red shirt. His features are soft, but it's difficult for me to make out the details of his face in the dim light. I'm amazed to see that he's clean-shaven—it's rare that a man doesn't have a mustache at least. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” I ask.

“Turn around,” he says, almost a whisper, husky. I see him tightening the black leather gloves he's wearing before I obey. My rear cheeks press against the bars as I lean forward and I feel his fingers urging my thighs apart. I bet he can feel my fire even through those gloves as he probes down my slick slit. I arch my back, trying to give him better access to my pussy. I'm wet and hungry, probably dripping, and the relief makes my knees weak as he slides two fingers inside me. They curve down and press into the sweet spot, and at the same time, his thumb comes up and rubs a slow circle against my hard clit. Omigod it feels so amazing, I'm sure I groaned out loud.

He leans in close behind me. I can feel his heat, even though he can't get too close. “You like that?” he asks, pressing deeper inside me, his thumb doing wild things to me. “You want to feel my cock?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Please.”

I hear the metal clinking of a belt, the sound of a zipper. “Turn around and suck my cock, get it good and wet for you.”

I spin and crouch, licking my lips. But when I see his cock, I freeze.

It's a strap-on.

I look up, reassessing my judgment. The slight frame, the hushed voice. This isn't a man—it's a woman, pretending to be a man.

“Is it too big for you?” she asks, mockery in her voice. I press my lips together and take another look at the tool attached to her groin. It's just a cock, pretty lifelike actually. I feel her fingers in my hair and she pushes my head forward, my forehead against the bars. “Suck it, open that pretty mouth.”

I want to touch it. To oblige her, I kiss the tip of it, slipping a bit of tongue, raising my eyes to her face. She's watching me. I can smell her sex, musty, wet against the leather harness. The cock tastes different, but not bad. I've had worse in the real thing, in unwashed males, used dicks, filthy men. The clean synthetic material is almost a blessing. It gives a little under my fingers as I pull it closer, my lips sliding over the realistic head. She groans over me as if she can feel it and her fist tightens in my hair.

“That's right,” she croons, holding my head still as she pushes into me. “Get it nice and wet. I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before.”

Promises, promises.

I stay quiet as I go through the almost mechanical motions of cocksucking. I can't tell you how many pricks have spread these lips, but this was certainly the first one not made of flesh. I'm just beginning to appreciate the lack of all the things that made it an undesirable activity when she suddenly yanks my head back. A line of spittle breaks between the bobbing end of her dick and my lower lip. “That's enough,” she says. “Stand up and spread those legs. I want you to hold onto the top of your cage—like that, yes, now bring your hips forward...”

I'm straining as hard as I can to get my cunt where she wants it. She probes at me with her fingers again, then lifts her gloved hand and licks my honey from her fingertips. Her eyes are on me steadily for this and I refuse to look away. She steps forward and holds my waist steady, my hips almost painfully pressed against the cold iron, and she impales me in one stroke on that long cock. I cry out, not in pain, but relief.

She is relentless. There's no building up, she just pounds away. Though the air in the den is heavy, she's not even panting. I want so badly to wrap my legs around her and grind, feel that dick in the deepest of places inside me. I'm sweating, grasping to the horizontal bars on the top of my cage, coming closer to coming with every thrust.

When I do come, she doesn't stop. Doesn't even pause. I'm standing on my tip-toes, cries ripping from my throat. When my arms start to shake, she commands me, “Don't you dare let go of those bars,” and keeps right on fucking me. I don't dare, and I don't dare to ask her to stop. I lose count. My body is wracked by climax again and again, my knees shaking, my mouth dried out. I lick my lips, panting, and look down at her as she's thrusting away. Just beneath the heady scent of my own sex, I can smell her arousal. From what I can tell, she hasn't come yet. She's just fucking me for the sake of the fuck for all I know. I gather my nerve.

“Please, sir,” I whisper, “let me suck your cock again.”

She stops, looking up at me, deciding. Her finger is on my clit, stroking lazily, but I've come so many times already that even that gentle touch is almost painful.

“All right,” she says, and steps back, sliding out of me. The cool air, the emptiness is a shock, but I close my thighs together and kneel down, my arms tingling as blood recirculates. I don't hesitate to take as much of her length in my mouth as I can, unperturbed by the layer of my come thick along it, sucking like my life depended on it. I'm still breathing heavy, my heart pounding. I take my chance while I can, sliding one hand down the length of her cock, bumping against the supple leather harness and quickly slipping a finger between it.

She gasps. But doesn't pull away. In fact, she pushes forward, nudging the head of her cock against the back of my throat. I keep sucking, stroking with my tongue, as I locate her slit and stick first one, then two fingers inside her. I feel her hands on the back of my head again, fingers curling and tangling in my hair. Her legs spread a little, belt buckle jingling. “F-f-f-f-f-f-uck yes,” she whispers. Her hips buck, taking my mouth with almost the same ferocity as she took my cunt.

The rhythm grows erratic, her pussy contracting around my fingers. She's as wet as I'd ever been, hot. When she comes, she shoves against my jaws and holds my head steady as if she's shooting down my throat. Her entire body shudders.

Inexplicably, she shoves my hand away, yanks her cock from my mouth. The corners of my lips are sore and my groin is throbbing, though from hunger or use, I couldn't say. She tucks her cock into her pants and tucks in her shirt, does up the fly, buckles her pants. I stay crouched, hands steadying my body on the bars, looking up to her. She avoids my gaze completely. The transaction is over.

I watch her leave, and even from behind any hint of a female figure beneath the suit is hidden. This interaction is just one unique stone in a riverbed of rocks. Though as I feel my mind slipping back into the usual stoic, bored state, I can't help but notice something else there. Something a little like curiosity.

Red

It was the 1940's or the 1930's. Everything in the world was some kind of gray; colors were washed out, but there was still a kind of city beauty, a steampunk elegance. The stars in the sky were unnaturally bright. As we walked down the sidewalk towards the tiny restaurant, all I could hear was the sound of your boots and my heels tapping against the pavement. You're wearing a white shirt with a black vest, holding your jacket in your right arm. Though it's not cool yet, we expect it to be chilly by the time we finish our late dinner. Your left hand is clasped in my right. I'm wearing a very red sequined evening gown. It makes my skin look pale and milky in the moonlight. My shoes are a strappy kind of sandal with a high heel, but you're still just a little taller than me. My nails and my toenails are painted in the same blood red as my dress. When I glance over to you, I can see the color reflected in your eyes beneath the brim of your fedora.

We go into the restaurant like we've done it a thousand times. My hand slides up to rest in the crook of your arm as you tell the hostess we'd like a table for two by the window. I'm your lady tonight, I'm thinking, but I still have to smile nervously as you pull the chair out for me. We sit. I'm sure there's conversation, but all I can remember is the color red dancing in your eyes and the flash of your easy smile. We leave your jacket and your hat at the table to dance. We dance close, it's very movie-like, kind of fuzzy. I don't know the song but you do, the words are foreign, and you whisper them in my ear as we sway.

When we leave the restaurant, I am light-headed and giddy. I remember dancing around you on the sidewalk as we make our way back towards the train station. The world is dark except for the sparse street lamps, but I can see you clearly and you never look away from me. I realize it's gotten colder and without a word you drape your jacket over my shoulders. I sigh and snuggle against you, my arm wrapped around your waist, my fingers beneath your leather vest to feel you more clearly through the cloth of your shirt. Feeling the sway of your body against mine as we walk makes me hungry to have you closer.

The train station is huge. Chandeliers the size of small homes dangle sparkling crystals and flickering yellow lights above our heads. Our shoes echo off the vaulted ceiling. Tall gothic windows arch up the domed roof and the stars shine through. The moon is fat and round, so much bigger than it should be, it seems, peeking in through the glass. My fingers curve around your hip, pulling you closer against me. There's time before our train comes and I am soaking up your warmth next to me. Did we have wine at dinner? Maybe brandy or bourbon?

I know we're in public, but I want to kiss you anyway. It doesn't look like anyone is watching us, so I turn towards you. As if you were reading my mind your lips meet mine. Behind your cool facade I can taste your hunger, all worry of voyeurs evaporates as you tell me how much you want me through your kiss. When we part, I lick my lips so I can still taste you. Is your heart beating as quickly as mine? Suddenly we remember that we aren't alone, and with a furtive glance around the grand tunnel, we escape, hand in hand, to the ladies' room.

In here we are blissfully alone. You slide the lock of the door and it clicks into place, a sound that means we won't be interrupted. I'm suddenly shy, leaning on the porcelain sink that I've laid your coat across, watching you in the reflection of the mirror on the wall. My heart is racing. I'm reminded of a rabbit under the scrutiny of a large predator; basic instincts grinding just below the surface, to fight or to flee or to fuck. I want to be closer to you, but I have the feeling you could be dangerous. And strangely, I want you to be dangerous.

I don't remember moving, I don't remember you moving, but suddenly I'm pressed back against the cool tiled wall and you're kissing me again. I'm an addict for these sensations and it makes my head fuzzy. Your smell, your taste, your touch, I know without certainty that at this very moment I would die without them. I cling to you like you are my life, the air I breathe. I want you so much, my ears are ringing. I have no time no room for doubt or hesitation. Your hand finds the long slit in my dress and where your fingertips touch my skin I can feel the fire.

My thigh lifts so I can wrap my leg around you, pulling your hips towards mine. Your hand slides back, grabbing my rear and tugging me closer still. I wonder if you can feel the heat of my core as it's pressed hard against you, how starved my body is for you, how ready I am for you. I'm gasping when our lips part, but I need your kisses more than I need to breathe.

We don't need to speak; our bodies talk the talk. It's a rhythm familiar to both of us, we know each others needs, and without my asking you start to unbuckle your pants. I know you're packing, and already I'm imagining how warm the soft silicone will be from resting against your body all evening. At times making love to you is like poetry; this is more like O Fortuna. Our hearts beat the heavy bass and the tempo is ever increasing.

The slit in my dress is high enough so that it can be moved aside, your hand, your fingers probing me. I'm as wet as I am hot and the sensation of your fingertips running over my clit makes my jaw clench. I'm afraid to cry out, afraid that if I make too much noise, this will have to wait until we get home and I don't think I can wait. You're rubbing the tip of your cock between my lips and my hips unconsciously arch forward, my body begging.

You don't make me wait. I press my face into your neck as you slide into me, slowly, waiting for the little sigh I give when I feel filled. I give into you, nothing exists but us. My fingers twist into your hair and I pull you closer yet with my leg around your hip. I love your hands on my waist, steadying me, holding me as you pull back just the slightest bit before hilting again. I groan against your throat, licking, kissing, breathing you in. You fill me, ride with me, carry me, sustain me. I want you impossibly nearer as I rise and fall in the waves pulled by your gravity.

Even now in the fuzzy haze of my own passion I am thinking about yours. I know the harness rubs you but I also know I can rub you better. Bringing you to orgasm brings me right there to the edge, and thinking about it while you're pinning me to the wall with your rhythm nearly makes me peak. I lean my head back, eyes closed to better feel your body against mine. Your lips are like fire on my jaw, my throat. My back arches and I turn my head to the side, my fingers pressing you forward. I am rewarded. The delicious flash, then slow throb of dull pain and ferocious pleasure of your bite flies down my spine. I know at this point my hips are grinding against yours when they meet. The noises escaping my lips are probably too loud, more moan than sigh, sounds that pressing my lips together cannot muffle.

My legs start to tremble, my toes scrunching up in the strappy sandal shoes. As I grow less vocal, more concentrated on breathing, my body tenses up. The room is filled with the near-silence of wet sex until it is viciously broken by my cries. As soon as I start to come, you increase the pace, increase the pressure. I ride my ecstasy through yours, delirious, still clenching against your cock even as you pull away, panting, trembling, your eyes shining like stars. I can smell you and it makes me want more of you. I have flashes in my mind of the two of us in bed, amidst blankets, a tangle of flesh and sweat and heat.

I wake up with the taste of you still on my lips...