The Dragon Invasion Chapter 2
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Typical New York City Friday afternoon back in the day: a dark Alphabet City shithole of a bar stinking of stale beer and cigarettes, the requisite old man sitting at the bar watching TV, two coked-out businessmen huddled in a booth in the corner, this goth girl dancing by herself over by the jukebox, some dilettante bridge-and-tunnel poet playing wannabe bad boy. The poet is currently trying to buy a drink by reciting a spontaneous poem to the hot bartender in payment (good luck with that). One of the businessmen slinks out the back door into the alley with the resident coke dealer. The old man argues incoherently with the talking head on the television screen.
Tobe sat at the far end of the bar from the old man and the TV, spying on the girl by the jukebox. The music was deafening, but she positioned herself right next to the speakers, rocking out to Concrete Blonde.
Tobe hated Concrete Blonde.
Much of what she wore was of the standard Lower East Side uniform: clunky black boots, fishnets, short black skirt, black mesh shirt with a black leather bra. Hot, but kind of a generic hot.
What set her apart was the choker.
Sitting at the bar, all he noticed was that she wore a thin leather strip around her neck. The strip of leather had silver letters embedded into it, and though he could not read them from this distance, he could tell that they were fake chrome, probably plastic. He could also tell, even from a distance, that the letters were poorly attached and aligned, and haphazardly spaced. The goal may have been a sleek metallic look, but the result was homemade and sloppy.
Homemade and sloppy was hotter.
He slid down off the barstool, nabbed his bottle of beer by the neck, and strolled over in the general direction of the jukebox, not directly toward the girl.
When he was about five feet away, he could read what the choker said: “BAD KITTY.”
His cock roused.
Only then did he notice that, hiding within her mass of artfully unkempt black hair, was a pair of lace kitty ears attached to a headband of some kind. They were cheap, with kind of a Halloween look to them, but combined with the choker they gave his cock another punch of blood. He had no idea why.
He walked closer to her. He said, “I love this song.”
Without even bothering to look up, she said, “You don’t even know this song.”
“There's a crack in the mirror, and a bloodstain on the bed,” he said.
She looked up for the first time, and said, “You were a vampire, and baby, I'm the walking dead.”
“Bloodletting.”
“Good song.”
She didn’t respond. He knew the lyrics because he had an ex who loved Concrete Blonde. She was the reason he hated them. He figured that he’d established enough cred to warrant another attempt at conversation. He said, “I like your ears.”
Her body slowed, still dancing but her movements now more liquid, her limbs curling into the space around her.
“Mew,” she said, and with feline quickness licked her lips. Her eyes shot to his face, shot away.
It was very hot. It really was. He didn’t know why.
“You like cats?” he asked, and it sounded incredibly lame the instant the words left his mouth. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t expect her to.
“I do. Cats. I like cats. I love cats. I have a cat.” He forced himself to quit babbling and shut up, before he made things worse.
“Name?”
“Me or the cat?”
“The cat. Let’s start with the cat.”
“Sophie.” She nodded, apparently approving of the name, but then retreated back into her own world.
He said, “When I was a kid and Sophie was a kitten, every morning when my alarm would go off she’d jump into bed with me to be petted, and then lick my face until I woke up and petted her. I’d turn off the alarm and pet her while I, you know, woke up. After awhile I didn’t need my alarm anymore. I shut it off for the summer and she just kept jumping into bed with me anyway, licking my face, demanding to be petted. She never stopped. I never used an alarm again. Still don’t.”
He paused, his heart beating a little quicker at the possibility she might respond.
“Is that true?” she asked.
“Of course it is.” It was.
“You still live with your childhood cat?”
"Yeah. I moved here from Iowa. Drove to New York with me in the front seat, her in the back.”
“You drove what, a thousand miles with a cat in the car? Really?”
“Fifteen hundred. She had a cat box and food and water in the back seat. She cowered back there the first day, but by the afternoon of the second day she was curled up in the passenger seat pretty much all day. It was a great road trip. Me and Sophe.”
She looked at him. She said, “That’s very sweet,” and he said, “Well, like I said, I love cats,” and he knew he was in, knew he had her, knew in the way she smiled as she said the word “sweet” that he would be fucking her tonight. The story about Sophie and the alarm was true. The one about the roadtrip was bullshit.
Her dance, while they talked, had gradually softened and morphed into a slinky, sinuous sway, first to one side, then the other, as she listened to him.
“I’m Toby,” he said. “People call me Tobe.”
She said, “People call me Kat.”
“What should I call you?”
“Whatever you want.” She smiled, shot him a sidelong glance.
He decided, fuck it, let’s do this now, see what happens, and leaned in to give her a kiss, slowly enough so that she would not be startled by it, quickly enough so that she would respond instinctively, without sufficient time to consider the act.
He kissed her sweetly, if not exactly chastely, but his lips lingered on hers just a moment longer than necessary, and the kiss momentarily turned deeper. He leaned back to gauge her reaction, hoping the reaction wouldn’t be a slap, or a beer in the face.
She made a sound.
Not her earlier “mew,” which he had found so arousing, but rather a soft, low vibration in her throat that did not even initially register as a human sound. The sound registered as extremely erotic, but in a way he could not exactly place.
Then he recognized the sound for what it was.
She was purring.
Prrrr.
The trill in her voice hit him deeper than he imagined possible. He still didn’t know why. It sounded so hot.
A kitty fetish. Huh.
Ears, check. Collar, check. Mews and purring, check.
Did he have a kitty fetish?
Was that even a thing?
They necked a little in the corner of the bar after that. Kissing, fondling, whispering secrets and innuendo. The kissing got a little more intense, the secrets dirtier, the innuendo less veiled. Jump-cut to the walk home, during which the necking became foreplay, occasionally spilling over so that they had to duck into the temporary confines of an alley or a dimly lit corner to continue.
When they arrived at her apartment building she fumbled for her keys as his hands—already under her black pleated skirt—caressed her ass through the fishnet. They tripped over the doorframe of the building, careened through the hallway, their ardor rising as they left the public streets behind.
At her doorway he pushed her roughly against the door; she kicked her leg and hooked her knee over the doorknob with animal dexterity; he slid two fingers deeply into her sodden pussy and took her face with his other hand and kissed her fiercely. They stayed that way until they heard the unlocking of a door from inside the apartment next door.
They disengaged and made a half-hearted attempt to compose themselves as the severe young woman exiting the apartment locked both the locks on her door. She threw them an open stare of disapproval, then turned her back to walk down the hall. They gave up the façade before she was even out of eyesight. Tobe pinned Kat against the door, fingering her. Kat haphazardly thrust the key into the lock and turned the knob and the door flew open and deposited them onto the hardwood living room floor.
Lying on his back, still attempting to recover his composure, he opened his eyes to an upside-down room. He looked up to see an improbably yellow cat regarding him warily, as upside down as the rest of the room, from atop a set of bookshelves. Its eyes glowed at him.
“You have a cat?” he asked.
She responded, “I have seven.”
“Seven.”
“Seven,” she confirmed.
He said, “You have seven cats.”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said. “Just making sure I heard you correctly.”
“That one’s Zenith.”
“Hi, Zenith,” he said. The cat bolted crazily out of the room.
Only then did it occur to him that while the day was bright and sunny, the room around them was nearly pitch dark. “Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.
“Black-out curtains. I don’t like the light.” He looked to see the upside-down window at the far end of the upside down room, and yes, bright lines of afternoon sunlight peeked from the edges of an imposing thick curtain.
“Why, are you a vampire?”
Kat rolled him over, until she was on top of him, straddling him, her arms outstretched, holding his wrists down.
“No, silly, I’m a witch. I turn all the boys I fuck into cats. Look around.”
He looked to his side. A sleek gray kitten watched him from under a table, mere feet away. He laughed uneasily.
“You Iowa boys sure are gullible,” she grinned, then joined him in his laughter.
She licked his face.
She purred.
Prrrr.
It was the same intoxicating low rumble he had heard back in the bar. He forgot about the curtains, the cats, the witches and vampires; his hard cock pulsed in response.
She said, “I know you didn’t really drive to Iowa with your cat.”
“Yes I did. I….”
“Stop it. No you didn’t. I bought it at first, but when you said the cat curled up in the passenger seat for the entire second day, well…bullshit. Bullshit. Cats don’t do that.”
He started to protest. She put a finger to his lips. “Stop it, I said. I don’t care. I really don’t.”
“Okay.”
She said, “I want you.” She smiled with hot, loopy radiance.
“I want you.”
She leaned down to him, kissed him deeply. She said, “I like that you like my kitty ears and my collar.”
“They really turn me on.”
“I know,” she said. “I saw how turned on you were in the bar.”
“I don’t know what it is about the ears and the collar and the….”
“I want to be your kitty.”
A hush fell. Fire shot through his veins in a rush. His voice grew gravelly. “You wanna be my kitty?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to make you my kitty?”
“Yes. A slutty little kitty.” She licked his face again.
He took her gently by the throat, and held her face inches away from his own. “Pet you? Train you?”
“Pet me. Train me. Please.”
“And after I have you petted and trained? What do I do to you then?”
“Fuck me. Use me. Take me.”
His grip on her tightened. He pulled her face closer. “Fuck you the way you need to be fucked.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck you until I use you up.”
“Yes. Use me up.”
“Make you my kitty. Fuck you like a slutty little kitty.”
“Make me your Fuckkitty. I want to be your Fuckkitty. I need to be your Fuckkitty.”
He reversed the roll so that he straddled her, pinning her wrists with his hands. The room finally returned to right-side up. His heart pounded, his cocked throbbed, his mind swam with color and red heat.
His Fuckkitty. She wanted him to take her and make her his Fuckkitty.
It was hot. Fuck, it was hot.
Her just-ate-a-canary smile showed she knew what effect she had on him. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and slipped out of his grasp before he was fully aware she was in motion. As she walked into the bedroom she turned in the doorway to say, “I want you to get up and come into the bedroom in about five minutes. Wait five minutes. Okay?”
He nodded his assent, too lust-stunned to speak.
“You’ll not hear another word from me.” She walked into the bedroom and closed the door.
Those five minutes felt like an hour. He fished his phone out of his pocket but there were no messages, nothing of interest. He stared at the time and counted down with the clock, his hard cock almost painfully sensitive, desperate for release. He waited at the door for the last full minute, his hand on the doorknob, barely able to contain himself. Exactly five minutes after she had asked, he turned the knob and opened the door.
The lights were off, the room was dark except for the light spilling from the open door of the bathroom off to the side, painting a bright diagonal stripe across the room and onto the bed. A blackout curtain identical to the one in the other room hid the window in the corner.
He walked into the room. He closed the door behind him, hearing the soft click of the lock.
His Fuckkitty crouched in shadow just at the edge of the light. The light glanced against her flexed thigh as she sat on her knees, bending forward to lap from a bowl of water next to her. After she had slaked her thirst she rose, met his eyes and licked her lips. Then she bent down to the bowl again, picked up something with her lips, rising then to present it to him as it hung in her wet, ripe mouth.
She held between her lips the thin black leather handle of a leash. His eyes followed the serpentine of the leash from her lips down to the floor, through a puddle of curls, then back up to her lovely neck, where the leash clipped to her BAD KITTY choker.
In silhouette, he could see the kitty ears, perched on her head like a tiara. He found himself aroused even more.
Tucked in the corner, behind her, in the shadows, shone two feline eyes.
He crossed the room, reached out, gently took the leash from her teeth. He pulled on the leather and she rose to face him, her body unspooling like thread.
His cock bulged from his jeans just in front of her face, straining to be let loose.
She leaned her cheek against the bulge in his jeans.
She purred.
Prrrr.
The quiver of her soft cheek against the cloth of his jeans lit every nerve afire, a jolt spreading from his balls out to his fingertips. His cock pulsed and a small, perfectly round pearl of cum formed at the tip of his cock and soaked into the rough fabric, staining it wet and dark.
She continued to purr as she turned her face toward his cock and nuzzled it, mouthing and licking and biting at the thick shape beneath the fabric, her lacy ears tickling his skin when they brushed against his stomach. The vibrations from deep within her throat as she mouthed him were dizzying.
He pulled on the leash to hold her tightly against his cock. She kneaded the bulge with her entire face, her cheeks and forehead, her open mouth, her lolling tongue.
He groaned loudly. The tone of her purr changed, rising in pitch to a satisfied “mmm” which vibrated even more forcibly against his pants. He pulled tighter on the leash. She grabbed his cock with her mouth, and looked up at him with untamed eyes.
“Take it out,” he commanded. “Take out my cock. If you are a good kitty I’ll let you suck it.”
He relaxed his grip on the leather strip. She pawed at his cock with her hands, as if unable to grasp the belt clasp, the button, the zipper. As if she had no fingers. As if she were a kitten.
So fucking hot.
She bent to his belt and deftly pulled the tail of it from the loop and clasp with her teeth, as her hands rubbed and padded against him like paws. She unloosed the belt, popped the button, plucked the tab of the zipper out with warm plump lips and then grasped the tab in her teeth and unzipped him.
His cock plunged from his pants like a thing alive. The feeling of release was so great that he threw back his neck and wailed. She joined him with a feral cry, the two of them howling in the dark, their duet echoing in the bright urban streets outside these thin brick walls.
A shadow of a black cat jumped onto the top of the dresser, then settled down next to a mostly empty wine bottle to watch, eyes shining.
She pressed his cock against her cheek. She closed her eyes. Again, she began to purr, and he felt the vibration of it at his core.
Prrrr.
She opened her mouth. She yawned, stretching her back and arms as she presented her mouth. When she closed it, her tongue peeked out from between her lips, just the tip of it, a cute pink wet oval. She bent to the base of his cock and licked slowly up his shaft, the wet path of her tongue followed by the gentle brush of her lips.
She reached the tip of his cock, and only then did she open her eyes, looking straight up into his own, innocent and rounded and pleading, not a hint of mischief as her tongue tip traced delirious circles around the head of his cock. She bathed the head with attention, never taking his eyes off his as her lips and tongue played at the crown, rolling back and forth across the ridge of it. He loosed his grip on the leash entirely, giving into pure sensation. He could not stop gazing into her eyes.
He could swear they glowed in the darkness of the room.
She took him into her mouth so softly, just the head of his cock and no more, her lips stretching over the crown as if her mouth were so small it could barely contain his cock. Her hands brushed and stroked beneath his balls, pawing at his skin, tickling.
She took him incrementally deeper into her mouth. Her mouth felt so tight, the pressure on his glans so extreme, he felt his balls begin to tighten.
She took him deeper. Then, deeper again. The look on her face was so serene, her eyes so comforting and docile.
His cock now fully sheathed between her lips, he put his hand at the back of her head, but did not take control; he felt conflicted at forcing his will on such a gentle creature. He petted her hair dreamily, watching her suck him. Such a dirty, pretty, perfect picture before him: the slash of backlight from the half-closed bathroom door rendered her face into a dark mask, her face in shadow, her eyes shining through the darkness, the pointed shapes of her kitty ears visible above the sexy tousle of hair, the outline of his thick pole of cock inside her throat, that cute little slip of tongue beneath it.
The sight engorged him, he felt the tension gather in his balls and reach out to every nerve and muscle.
Not yet, he thought.
He grasped her hair in his fist and, in a gesture not unlike a mother cat picking up a kitten by the neck, he gently lifted her mouth off his cock.
“I need to fuck you,” he told her.
And she was on the bed.
Just like that.
He didn’t see it. He had no idea how it had happened. She was on her knees before him, he spoke, and suddenly she was no longer in front of him but to his side, spread across the bed, lying on her side, adjusting her kitty ears with exaggerated care. Her leash looped down from her collar, down the side of the bed, the handle still hanging loosely in his hand.
A regal Siamese lay near her shoulder, eyes closed. Purring, of course.
He followed the short loop of chain to the side of the bed, stood on his knees in front of her. Her eyes grew huge, studying him.
He jerked on the chain, lifting her head from the sheets. The Siamese jumped off the bed.
“On your hands and knees,” he said. “Now.”
In a move nearly as quick as the impossibly fast leap from the floor to the bed, she rolled and sprung up off the surface of the bed. When she landed her knees and hands hit the mattress simultaneously, perfectly balanced and in position, her tight, muscled ass offered to him like a gift.
He needed to fuck her, but not just yet. Her petite ass and shaved wet pussy summoned him, and he obeyed and kneeled and began licking at her wet holes, first her pussy, then her ass. She responded with a whimpering sigh and a shiver. As his tongue explored her ass he slid two fingers into her pussy, probing both her holes at once.
“My Fuckkitty needs all her holes filled, doesn’t she?”
His Fuckkitty mewed loudly.
“You are my Fuckkitty and I own all your holes.”
His Fuckkitty howled like a jungle cat.
“It’s time for me to take them,” he said, and without waiting for her wordless response he grabbed her hips, handle of the leash still in hand, and slid his cock deep inside her warm, dripping hole, dizzy at the feel of it. She arched her back as he entered her. Her pussy felt as unnaturally tight as her mouth had, and it spurred him to take her hard and fast, one hand still clutching at her hips, the other now wrapped around the leash, pulling her back onto his cock with growing ferocity as the full erotic potential of the leash began to reveal itself to him.
He howled; she mewled. As he fucked her in the dark room he imagined the sounds of a veldt of animals joining in with them: the roar of lions, the cackling of hyenas, the shriek of falcons. He could feel the cum building in his balls, his legs quaking, his pulse quickening. She seemed to feel it too, and so instead of meeting every thrust just planted her hands and feet and knees deep into the deep cushion of the bed to brace herself, and took his pounding, crying out with each hard thrust.
He pulled hard on her leash, slammed his cock into her pussy one last time and then pulled out.
“Last hole, Fuckkitty,” he snarled, teasing her asshole with the head. “Are you ready?"
She hissed in response as she pushed her ass toward him.
He slid his cock slowly into her, taking his time as he gave her every thick inch. Rather than thrusting in and out, he began grinding into her, shuddering and moaning, knowing he was close. He let go of the leash and grabbed both her hips and continued to grind, filling her utterly. She responded by grinding against him, opening her legs more widely, taking him even deeper than he thought possible.
She suddenly howled and swiped back with her hand and dug her nails into his leg, clawing at the skin, and that was all it took: he roared and let go, pumping plume after plume of cum deep inside her. Her howl turned into a high keen, one that might have been mistaken for a cry of pain were it not for the raptured contortions of her body as she arrived at her own orgasm.
Only when the last drop had been drained out of his cock and he fell to the mattress did the jungle sounds disappear, replaced by the normal everyday sounds of crowded city streets.
He dozed. He dreamed of panthers crouching behind distant hills, of jaguars leaping from tree to tree. When he awoke dusk was falling, the light from the edges of the blackout curtains dimming and darkening.
He awoke to find two cats sat staring at him from the floor, eyes aglow.
He was grateful to confirm he hadn’t been turned into a cat.
Or a vampire.
Kat lay sleeping next to him, in the corner of the bed. Her kitty ears had fallen off her head, and several of the flimsy metallic letters had broken off her collar, so that it now said “BA KIT Y.” She slept so soundly she made a soft snoring sound, but as hard as he tried he could not conjure it into purring. It sounded like mundane, everyday snoring.
She looked like a regular Lower East Side Girl now, with predictable fashion choices and musical tastes. No glowing eyes. No impossible leaps from floor to bed.
No purr.
Just some Lower East Side chick with seven cats.
He was tempted to wake her, so that he could say goodbye, or say something. But she looked so peaceful, and he didn’t really know what to say. Plus, he was fairly certain that if her were to say something to her, she would answer back in actual human words, breaking her hypnotic “You’ll not hear another word from me” vow, forever puncturing the bubbled moment, allowing the magic to seep out of the tear until all that was left was ordinary and unremarkable air.
He stepped off the bed, deftly avoiding the orange tabby that lay sleeping on the floor near the bed. He retrieved his clothes, dressed quietly, got ready to leave.
He looked back.
On impulse, he returned to bed, and ever-so-gently, so as not to wake her, he slid the kitty ears back into her hair. He then walked to the bathroom door and opened it a few inches more, so that the light from the room reached the girl and she lay slumbering in a rectangle of light, like a kitten asleep in sunlight. It was how he wanted to remember her. Even if it required a little cheating on his part, by opening the bathroom door to provide the light, the memory seemed worth the artifice.
A kitten lying in a rectangle of warm sunlight. His Fuckkitty. For an afternoon, anyway.
It was how he wanted to remember her.
He left the room, closed the door, and stepped out into the approaching night.
Cathalina
- 19.05.2022
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