Beastly
The smell was going to attract someone. I'd pretty much figured that out already—hiding in some alley was only going to work for so long, the way I was panting and dripping. I was glad I pretty much never wore panties anymore, but I'd already dropped one ben-wa ball and I could feel the other one slipping. I rolled my head back against the wall, my ears pricked, every feline sense working to detect company. My hands kneaded at the bricks as I tried to fight the waves of my withdrawing orgasm, feeling the heavy metal ball slipping lower and lower.
I caught a whiff of smoke, heard the scuff of boots on the asphalt. I stayed calm, quiet, still catching my breath. I have perfect vision in the dark, so I kept my eyes squinted as I looked towards the mouth of the alley.
A large goat wearing nothing but a pair of torn jeans was coming my way. The black and gray fur around his throat and chest was messy and fluffed. I knew enough about goats to recognize that meant he was in rut. Almost instantly, I felt the heat in my loins rev up again. I lost the grip on my ben-wa ball and just as the goat was approaching me, it slipped free. I was too slow to catch it. The metallic ping-ping was enough to make him pause, and as the ball rolled into the light at his boots, he took a long draw from his cigarette and looked down at it.
I knew he could smell me, and that he knew where I was standing. No point in hiding out. Rolling the other ball in my hand, I danced out into the alley way, flashing him a sure grin as I bent at the waist to retrieve its partner. He blew out a long cloud of smoke once I rose. The clinking of the metal balls in my paw was the only sound for awhile. The smell of his cigarette was sweet, not like a regular smoke or even a cigar. It actually reminded me a little of candy.
"I'm Tarragon," I said smartly, my heart going all pitter-patter in my chest. I found myself wondering about the size and shape—but mostly the size—of what he had between his legs.
A too-long smile snaked back along his muzzle. I couldn't tell in the dim light, but his horns looked deep red, and his eyes didn't seem to have any color at all. Looking into them, I suddenly felt afraid, which is very unusual for me. I hook up with strangers on an almost-daily basis, and I know how to take care of myself.
"They call me the Beast," he said. His voice was very low, rumbling, a predator's voice. It sent unwarranted chills down my spine. He took another drawn-out drag of his cigarette before flicking it off to the side, letting the smoke escape in tendrils from the corners of his mouth. There was definitely a hint of cherry to the smoke.
"Mmm," I said, "Wonder why they call you that?" I couldn't help myself. The ben-wa balls were just a warm-up, and now I was ready for the real thing. The scent of my musk from the balls in my paw combined with the goat's own strange flavor was intoxicating.
Suddenly, I was up against the cool brick wall again. The Beast's larger form over me got my heart jumping in my chest again. I admit, I was excited with the risky location as much as the goat's fervor. His mouth tasted like cigarettes and chocolate, and his long, flat tongue forced its way into my mouth in a way I might expect from a larger predator. I felt his blunt fingers on my thigh; he'd already pushed my skirt up, and was grabbing my ass, pulling me against him. Through the thick denim of his jeans, I could feel the hint of his organ. It wasn't even hard yet, but I could tell it was big.
I caught a breath of air when he pulled back, licking his black lips. I noticed that the Beast had fangs—a goat with fangs—so he was probably not all goat. It explained a bit—I may be a cat, but even I am usually larger than a goat. The Beast towered over me by at least a good foot.
"You like danger," he said. It wasn't a question. "That's good. I am very dangerous."
As if in response, my heart began to race, pumping more adrenaline through my veins. I could feel his breath on my whiskers.
Suddenly, he spun me around. I pressed my cheek against the brick, my eyes closing as he shoved my skirt up around my hips. My tail flagged, but he grabbed it, moving it aside. I knew he was looking at the leather cuff around my tailbase, and sure enough, a second later his hand came down on my rump with a sound slap. I gasped, instinctively spreading my legs further and bracing myself against the wall. My rear lifted on its own, silently asking for more. I was not disappointed.
I can't explain why I enjoy being spanked. I certainly don't always enjoy being talked down to, and I am nobody's pet or slave. The feeling of a well-placed palm on my ass sends jolts of pleasure right where I need it, and that doesn't really need explaining. It just feels fucking good.
The Beast knew just how to slap me, too. Fingers together, slight cup to his hand, on the bottom of my ass cheeks. He squeezed just before moving his hand away. My gasps were becoming more vocal as the vibrations traveled to the sweet spot between my legs and I was sure that there was a puddle beneath me by then.
When the Beast was finished with that, I felt him squeezing my rear with his large hands. The flesh beneath his fingers was hot and throbbing. I moaned unabashedly. It was taking all the strength I had to keep my hands splayed on the wall on either side of my head—I wanted so badly to dip my fingers into my slit, to quench the fire that was burning there. I told myself to be patient.
Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long. I felt the rough tips of his fingers slide up between my sopping lips, rubbing, but not penetrating. A groan escaped my clenched teeth as I arched my rump higher still, my back aching.
"You're so fuckin' wet," I heard him whisper, just before his fingers moved away. I bit my lip to stifle a plaintive cry, my entire body thrumming like a taut chord. I heard him strike a match, smelled the sharp sulfur, and I knew he was smoking again. The sweet smell of his flavored cigarette wafted over my shoulders as he leaned against me, his almost hoof-like fingertips pulling my camisole up, over my breasts. I wasn't wearing a bra, either, and my breasts filled his large hands. I heard him take a drag of his cigarette, the soft crackling of the burning paper close to my ear.
He spun me around again, grabbing one of my hands and pulling it to his fly. I'd realized by then that he was not the type to get hard over just a little stimulation—he was going to need some special attention. I knew just the thing. As I diligently unbuttoned his pants, pulling the tight zipper down, he puffed away on his smoke, the cigarette dangling from his slightly parted lips.
The Beast wasn't wearing any underwear, either. He didn't have a sheath, at least, not one like other furs. His organ hung down into the right pant leg. I was surprised that I hadn't noticed it earlier—even flaccid, I could see the shape of it perfectly pinned against his leg by the denim. My mouth was watering already. I tugged the heavy flesh out, feeling its sleeping weight in my paws. Without direction, the Beast moved silently back just enough for me to kneel in front of him.
"What a beautiful cock," I heard myself say. His fingers through the fur between my ears let me know that my words pleased him. I pulled back the skin over the flat head of his penis, enticed by the salty-sweet smell, entranced by the feeling of his blood at last flowing into this piece of meat. I opened my mouth, knowing that once he was hard, I wouldn't be able to get it in there. My tongue slipped beneath his foreskin; the slight abrasiveness on his sensitive parts made his length twitch with anticipation. I sucked on his tip, rewarded by a few drops of hot liquid on my tongue.
It wasn't long before I had to let him pop out of my mouth, but I didn't let his organ go neglected. I pushed it up—must have been at least a foot long, by now—and licked the underside of it, all the way from the thick, curly fur at the base to the still-glistening tip. My hands danced around his cock, pulling the mottled flesh, massaging more blood into it. I let my drool lube his length, all the while imagining how it was going to feel, my own sex pulsing with hunger.
"Get up," he grunted finally, just when I was beginning to consider letting one paw slip between my thighs. I couldn't move fast enough. Finally standing, leaning back against the bricks again, my heart was racing and I couldn't seem to catch my breath. When had I dropped my ben-wa balls?
The Beast did not give me long to linger. He pushed up my skirt again, his cock leaving damp spots on the thin fabric as it bunched at my waist. He lifted me and I placed my hands on his arms, superficially delighted in the bunching muscle under my palms as he steadied me against the wall.