1.
As the sun sets, Marta pours another glass of wine and fans herself as the spaghetti boils on her stove. It's the middle of October, and by all rights, it should be chilly outside, but Autumn has been timid as of late, letting some of Summer's heat linger like stragglers at a party. She wipes sweat from her brow and is reaching for a can of tomato sauce when Marta hears the chirp of her mobile phone, announcing that she has a new text message.
"It's Howard," She thinks. "He's canceling on me... Again."
She takes her phone and flips it screen down, not bothering to read whatever bullshit excuse he has this time. Anger and disappointment twist like crooked vines inside of her, and suddenly Marta doesn't want to think about her flimsy Boyfriend. Instead, she gulps down her second glass of wine and is preparing to pour herself a third, when she hears the doorbell.
She peers suspiciously down the hall at her front door. It is mostly glass, and she can see out into her front the yard, only there isn't anyone there; no dark figures like in horror movies, no black-eyed children, and certainly no Howard.
Marta turns off the stove and shuffles quietly to her front door, where she presses her head to the glass and looks all around her porch. She closes her eyes and is momentarily distracted by the cool touch of the glass on her forehead before opening them again. Her porch is empty, but just beyond the steps leading down out into her trim yard, there appears to be a box, or crate, or a chest, or something.
Marta opens the glass door, and a quiet night breeze surprises her. It blows her long dark hair into a bramble just behind her shoulders before she steps out onto her porch.
Outside, there is a smell that greets her. It isn't the sort of harsh musk that reams her nose, but a light scent that tickles her senses. It's a warm smell and, without really knowing why, she thinks it's oddly feline.
It turns out it isn't a crate in her yard. Instead, Marta sees a double-walled box, one of those big ones twice the size of a footlocker. From the porch, she can read the note stapled to the front that simply read, "Free cat."
Inside the crate, she hears something move.
"Hello?" it seems silly to speak to a cat, but to Marta, whatever is in the box seems too big to be a cat. She takes a step closer, curious enough to try and peer inside, but not wanting to get too close. Then the thing in the box began to stir, like a waking animal.
Now, she takes a step back and watches as two hands appear on either side. Then, pulling itself up slowly, the thing stood.
It was a man, painted up and down in shaggy browns and eggshell white stripes to look like a cat. He looks at her curiously beneath a cheap dollar store cat's mask before stretching up to the Autumn sky. He even stretched like a cat.
Marta looks him up and down and feels dregs of fear drain from her. He was naked except for the mask, and she thought the paint job was good, probably airbrushed on. Then her eyes drifted to his thick cock, which drooped sleepily between his legs.
"Oh my." The two words are lubricated with wine and slip between her lips almost too low to hear, but the man in the cat mask catches it. He stops stretching and steps out of the box and onto her porch. Marta catches a glint of silver around his neck. "A collar?" She says aloud. "Kinky!"
She reaches out and reads the name engraved on the small plate. "Shakey?" She looks at her, and beneath his cat's mask, his eyes glow marigold. "What kind of name is Shakey for a cat?"
She expects him to speak, or maybe even shrug. Instead, he stands quietly. Marta shrugs before reaching a hand out to touch his chest. Some part of her expects to push right through him as if Shakey the cat is a dream or a wine-induced delusion. Some part of her expects a flash, a puff of smoke, and then he's gone. But there is no flash. There is no smoke. When her fingertips land on warm flesh, Marta exhales hot excitement and feels her tongue dance in her mouth.
2.
"Did Howard put you up to this?"
Shakey looks at her as if Marta is speaking another language, and after a moment of silence, she waves a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, fine. Keep your secrets. I had spaghetti on, let me just take care of it."
She leads him inside, shuts the door, and eyes him as she undoes the top two buttons of her blouse. She hears him purrs deep in the back of his throat before Marta brushes by him, trailing her fingers over his chest. Then it hits her. She sniffs the air and realizing that it is his scent she smelled on the porch.
"Follow me," she commands through a flirty smile.
In the kitchen, Marta wonders if Shakey is hungry and feels a pinch of guilt. "Should I offer him something to eat?" She thinks before another voice answers inside of her. "No, let him work up an appetite."
She drains the pot of spaghetti, feeling Shakey's eyes all over her. Sweat rolls down her back and between her breast, and she tries to convince herself it's from the steam rising off of the water.
When the labor is finished, Marta eyes the bottle of wine and debates on whether she should indulge in another glass. But before she can arrive at an answer, she feels Shakey's body press up against her, his hips almost pinning her against the counter. For a moment, she wonders if his body paint will rub off on her clothes, then decides in a huff that she doesn't care all that much.
Marta breathes out her nose, flaring her nostrils before as a hand wraps around her waist and curls down the front of her blouse. She peers down and watches Shakey's hand rub the length of her pussy through the thin polyester of her slacks. The feeling is exquisite! She recalls Howard's clumsy fumbling below her waist and how he seemed uncertain and exploratory. In contrast, Shakey seems to know exactly to rub where the rubbing is best.
"Maybe Howard didn't put him up to this." In her sober mind, this thought might have frightened her, but the wine in her belly has taken the express elevator to her head and convinced Marta to roll the dice.
She can feel his cock stirring against her ass as if awakening from a slumber. In a moment, it is as hard as steel and Martha startles as if it is a current running through her body. With his hand massaging her upfront, and his cock stiff against her back, if she was in danger, it certainly didn't feel like it.
At last, after teasing her for what felt like hours, Shakey reaches down and unbuttons her slack. They slide down her legs and puddle at her feet. Marta steps out of them before spreading her legs in an invitation. The idea of his thick shaft reaching deep into her makes Marta's heart race in anticipation, and she can't help but arch her back and push against him affectionately.
"Alright, Shakey," She felt his cock nestle between her ass cheeks, and shivered. "Show me what you have." Marta felt the head of his cock rub up and down her pussy lips, smearing her lust around her inner thighs.
He struggled to get it inside of her, and Marta realized that he was too tall, so she raises up onto her tiptoes and leans forward against the counter. A moment later, he's sliding into her, and she feels Shakey's cock fill her from wall to wall.
Howard had felt good, but as a man quickly appropriating his fifties, maintaining an erection had been more of a chore for both of them. She didn't fault, especially since his mouth had proved to be useful, but sometimes Marta just wanted straight cock, with no chaser.
She catches his scent again, although the steam and the smell of spaghetti have somewhat muddled it, she can smell his excitement as Shakey's grip tightens on her shoulder. The idea of fucking a masked stranger comes to her, and as Marta breathes out her greasy black fears, she breaths in the rough slate thrill of it.
He bucks into her under the florescent light in the kitchen, and to Marta's surprise, she cums. The rush of it blindsides her, but she welcomes it with trembling thighs. It wasn't a whopper of an orgasm, she usually didn't even get off just on penetration alone, but this climax felt as good as it did peculiar.
The weird thing was, she'd cum earlier today. This morning, before work, she'd decided a little self-love would be a great start to her day. Now, as Shakey's cock slows like a big rig coming to a halt, Marta thinks just how different the two orgasms had felt.
Before she could put any real thought to it, Marta feels Skakey pull his cock free of her clenching pussy, and gasps. A groan of protest rises out of her, but her feline isn't having any of it. He slaps his cock of her ass, with a meaty thwack, glossy with Marta's nectar. Marta jumps a little in her skin, not because of any pain; instead, the shock of it hits her, striking her quiet and leaving her to wonder if it will leave a mark.
