And I could see where things between Priscilla and I were likely to head. This wasn't going to be another mutual, meaningless tummy-rubbing session; Priscilla could never browbeat me into submission as a cat, so she was obviously going to try to win the war as an incredibly gorgeous, slim, lithe, overwhelmingly sexual and achingly desirable woman. Did she think she could fuck me into belittlement? Did she think she could finally win my everlasting and undying loyalty and servitude by means of a quick, frenzied shag? Boy, was this little kitty in for a surprise.
My musings were taking too long for Priscilla's liking, I could tell. For more than a minute now I had done little more than trace my fingertips over the skin of her stomach, marking a slow and tantalising trail over her abdomen, up to – but not over – her ample bosom, and down to – but not through – her last remnants of tangled black fur. I knew of the intense, tingling pleasure that arose through such a light and simple touch, having used and suffered its delicious effects myself more than once in the past; and while Priscilla was clearly enjoying my ministrations, the urgency of her moaning purrs signified that she was impatient for more. So I gave her more: I reached up and I grabbed a couple of handfuls of ample bosom.
This provoked a sharp intake of breath on Priscilla's part, which of course made those lovely breasts of hers stand up and say g'day – which made for quite the sight. I grinned, and gave those breasts of hers a good, long, slow squeeze; Priscilla made a moaning, groaning, approving noise that was encouraging to say the least, so I leaned down a little and kissed her on the neck, just beneath the corner of her jaw. To my surprise, Priscilla reached back and ran her nails along my leg; less surprising was the fact that her nails were razor-sharp. I made a careful note of this – those 'claws' could come into play later, especially if I didn't watch my step.
Priscilla moved suddenly, breaking free of my enveloping embrace and bounding onto my bed, where she did a hell of a thing: she settled down on all fours, pointed her delicious rump at me, and spread everything as wide as it could be spread. There she was, all of her, in her fullest glory: dark skin lightening to pink, slick and moist with her excitement. And after allowing me a quick second to drink in the view she looked back at me over her shoulder, sending a look that could be recognised in any language of any species, a look that said "come get some, stud."
Well. There was a part of me – a rapidly growing part of me, thank you kindly – that dearly, desperately wanted to obey, and I had to fight hard to ignore those instinctual voices that were shouting "GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" As tempting as it was to simply get it all over and done with in one frenzied ten-second burst, which is what Priscilla's eyes were asking – no, not asking, DEMANDING of me, I was still determined to go about this MY way: I wanted to show her that humans didn't just do it, we stretched it out, delaying the inevitable until it was unbearable. So instead of shredding my clothes and leaping aboard that exquisitely inviting rump of hers, I simply matched her stare, and gave her a look. The look said: "Patience, my pet. I've a better idea."
Priscilla decoded my unspoken message – not surprising, given that she and I had spoken volumes over the years without ever uttering a sound – and arched an intrigued eyebrow; "Better, eh?" said her look of reply. So she rescinded the invitation of her spread wetness, turning about upon the bed and settling back on her haunches, her breasts sitting just so as she waited for me to make my move.
She didn't have long to wait; I advanced upon the bed, and continued across the mattress in a slow, prowling crawl similar to her preferred mode of travel. As I entered her personal space I noticed her tense up a little; she was wary, on unfamiliar ground here, and I knew that any sudden moves on my part would likely result in a heavy swot over the ear. So carefully, as non-threateningly as possible, I inched closer and closer to her, my eyes never leaving hers, giving her as open, non-threatening and beguiling a smile as I could manage; the space between us shrank further and further, until our noses were almost touching; she refused to flee, but at the same time she couldn't pick what I was up to, and I could sense her trepidation and her excitement mounting. I could feel her breath upon my lips, hot and heavy – and totally without the stink of cat food, which was a refreshing change from the usual – and then, finally, my lips found hers and I kissed her, softly and gently.
She was frozen, as I treated her to this new and uniquely human experience. It began completely innocently: just a soft collision of lips, softly pressing mine against hers, waiting for her reaction. I usually close my eyes when kissing, but for this kiss I watched her like a hawk: her eyes were initially wide open, stunned and unsure of what to do or how to respond, but slowly the lids fluttered; her look grew heavier, almost dreamy; and then her lids dropped and her eyes closed, as the tender, sweet passion of the kiss won her over. That was the encouragement I was seeking, so I raised a hand and cupped it gently against the side of her face as I kissed her again, slightly harder this time but with no less tenderness. Priscilla responded again, the tension in her body relaxing as she gave in a little more, so this time when I kissed her again I slipped in the tongue.
Priscilla reared back a little and her tongue retreated from mine, not out of revulsion but more through surprise; I went with her, my hand still against her face, soothing and reassuring, and I waited a little until, slowly, uncertainly, Priscilla's tongue returned and brushed experimentally against mine. So I kissed her opened mouth again, and again, treating her to a little more tongue each time, and in this manner I taught Priscilla, the ex-cat, how to kiss. She picked it up very quickly – I've always felt that kissing is the most basic and primal human ritual, to the extent that one would have to work awful hard to actually be bad at it. In being granted her new body, it seemed Priscilla was also granted the innate subconscious knowledge of kissing that all humans are born with – I was simply dredging this knowledge out of her subconscious, and bringing it to the fore.
And so we kissed onwards, all thoughts of getting straight to the fucking long forgotten. As Priscilla warmed more and more to the concept of the kiss, I inched closer and closer again, until we were well and truly in each others' arms: my hands caressed her back and the tops of those amazing buttocks, and then up her neck and through her thick, mane-like knot of curly black hair; and she was testing out the use of her newly-humanised limbs, her hands and fingers testing out the nooks and crannies of my ears, neck and shoulders. The kissing stretched onwards, time passing without notice, until I eventually decided to take this little kitty to task.
