Alpha Males conquered earthly men part 3
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Keeping to the shadows he progressed the last few hundred yards to the club entrance without being seen. He waited in deep shadow until a small group of patrons showed up. He tagged onto them, and deserted them once through the door, disappearing into the shadowy confines of ‘The Pink Bar’.
‘The Pink Bar’ was not an Alpha-Primes first choice of establishment for a meeting but Tom had business, female business. He looked around carefully noticing the darkened stairs leading to… god knows where, he reasoned from those stairs he would be able to see all of the bar.
Moving carefully, keeping in the shadow where possible, crossing the pools of light with a swift almost sinuous movement when he was reasonably certain of not drawing attention to himself he made the stairs. Swiftly and silently Tom mounted the first eight stairs.
With his eyes almost at ceiling level he hunkered down on the eighth stair. Shimmying to the open edge he looked out over ‘The Pink Bar’.
From this vantage point the bar area was laid out like a map for Tom. He could see everything from here. A pocket-handkerchief size dance floor with a motley crew of dancers, some were dancing as couples, some to the music and others to a beat in their own head. Further over in the back corner three bull dykes were doing their up most to get four girlie girls drunk. The main bulk of the area surrounding the dance floor comprised of tables reasonably filled with limp wristed doe eyed doughnut punchers, these in turn were in all stages of openly staring to covertly watching a rank of leather clad tail gunners jostling for bar space.
Against the far wall on a slightly raised floor section were ten tables, which were virtually deserted. This was the area of Tom’s interest. One table in particular, currently unoccupied but reserved by virtue of the carafe of red wine (Chilean cabernet sauvignon) and the up-turned wine glass placed upon it. His eye/brain began computing routes to arrive at that table. Once sure of the layout he settled to wait, his demeanour giving no clue to the impatience he felt or the fire coursing through his body.
Lionel Wernik, a florid, nattily dressed, grade one arsehole was making his way to ‘The Pink Bar’. Lionel was OTT in every way you could think of but of the old school. A pink shirt, dripping with gold rings and a seal point Siamese cat on a lead. Complete with rhinestone knickers? I kid you not, rhinestone knickers! Expensive ones. £90.00 a pair, tailor-made at Harrods, but still rhinestone knickers, and with the walled courtyard at the back of Lionel’s house the poor bloody cat did not have a chance to get away.
There were two things in Lionel’s life, the first was making money and at this Lionel was good. He came from if not a rich family at least a prosperous one, boasting a retired bank-manager for a father. (Long dead), and a gaggle of helpful cousins in the ‘Professions’. A long-term mason with connections. Lionel decided to serve the community. So he launched into local politics. County councillor, Town councillor, chairman of this that and the other committee. Yes there was not a back-hander or bent deal in the district that didn’t pass through Lionel’s sticky fingers.
The second most important thing in Lionel’s life was his sexuality, he did not like himself let alone his lovers. He was however very good at humiliating people as his lovers found out to their cost. The end result, Lionel was a very lonely man so he had a cat on which he devoted time and money and rhinestone knickers.
If anyone had noticed Tom they could be forgiven for believing him to be asleep. He was not. Every sense was picking up every nuance in the bar. When Lionel pushed the door open and paused for dramatic effect Tom came down the stairs in a silent blur, while Lionel surveyed the scene working out how long his dramatic effect pause should be Tom crossed the floor area, slipping between the rank of leather clad tail-gunners and the not so engrossed dancers unnoticed, as all had their attention on the man with the cat.
Well unnoticed by all but one, Candy. (For that is what Lionel called his cat. He would have run a mile from a real slut but could give the cat what he thought was a sluttish name). Candy had seen Tom literally from the moment he’d started moving, her eyes followed him across the floor, under the rail around the raised tables and into a pool of shadow beside Lionel’s reserved table. Candy could not see Tom in the shadow but she could still sense him there.
Lionel scooped Candy up in his arms and began his mincing progression towards the raised area, stopping a couple of times to talk to or share a joke with the ‘limp wristed’, the ‘leather clads’ taking no notice of him. It was early evening and like most males on the hunt they required their intake of Dutch courage, especially before tackling somebody like Lionel.
Lionel eventually reached his table and bent down placing Candy on the floor. He turned slightly to secure the lead to the table leg, at this point Tom struck! A ginger streak with claws exposed and teeth bared Tom slammed into Lionel’s arm, the one holding Candy’s lead. Tom’s back claws raked the back of Lionel’s hand and his teeth pierced Lionel’s jacket.
Lionel screamed loudly and tried to bat the feral beast away from him, he needn’t have bothered. Once his hand relaxed on the lead Tom lost all interest in him. Lionel was batting at thin air. Lionel staggered back crashed into a chair fell over it and onto the floor, still yelling blue murder.
Before Lionel hit the floor Tom had Candy’s lead in his mouth and the cats jumped, table, windowsill, through the open fanlight and with hardly a sound landed on the same dustbin lid in the side alley of the bar, thence a short hop to the ground.
As they hit the ground Candy took off for the darkened end of the passage. Tom dug his feet in, the lead went tight and Candy might as well of hit a brick wall. Her back end overtook her front end and Candy was a sprawled heap on the ground facing Tom. She scrambled upright and growled, Tom growled back. Candy had literally just come into season. Tom knew this. It was his interest in her. Candy a true slave to her submissive female hormones obeyed them and approached Tom.
As she came up to him her head dipped and rubbed the side of his neck getting secretions on her fur from his scent gland. Then she turned around presenting her bottom to Tom. Although of prime importance to Tom it was not what he stopped for. He inspected the knickers. Brains or instinct, who knows? His teeth closed on the Mother of Pearl button and it was no more.
He now had two flaps of material at the waist but the knickers were still held in place by Candy’s tail. He tugged at the material, nothing. Tom began shaking the knickers, Candy was a fully grown, big boned Seal Point Siamese, her back legs came off the ground and her whole back end was shaken like a rag doll. There was press-stud holding the knickers closed around the tail, it did not take kindly to the treatment Tom was giving it so it popped open. When Tom felt it give he let go and as Candy’s back legs settled on the ground gravity done the rest and Candy stepped out of the knickers.
Tom had met leads before and had seen cats hanging from all sorts of things by them, from dead through dying. He would chew it off later. Tom picked the lead up again. It would not get caught up that way. The two cats took off at pace down the passage and over the fence into a derelict factory site.
It was a good five minutes after the cats had gone before four of the limp wristed could be persuaded by Lionel to go and look for his cat. They were somewhat reluctant having seen the blood and claw marks on Lionel’s arm.
They got a little braver when a couple of the leather clads came out and leaned against the wall, like shepherds watching over sheep. Eventually a couple of them reached the far end. Now they got much braver being reasonabl
y certain there was nothing there they started looking properly.
It wasn’t long before one of them found the knickers. Conference time, who was going to have the dubious pleasure of telling Lionel?
It happened while this thorny question was being debated.
Primeval and vibrant it rolled up the passageway on the mid evening air. They all knew it for what it was. The leather clads did not want to know that sort of competition wherever it came from. They disappeared from their sentry post immediately, the limp wristed looked around them. Their look was a mixture of nervousness and envy. When it came a second time they hurried sadly back to the bar knowing the cry of a full Alpha Prime (of whatever species) revelling in its conquest was very unlikely to be screeched over their submissive and prostrate form.
The end
© theniteliner 25 Aug. 07
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