My place sat at the dead end of Chickadee Pond Lane, a restored two-story farmhouse painted traditional white. Behind the homestead sat a white barn, where I had a play area built for a pup. I had no plans to take Harley out there. He seemed like he might enjoy cuddling on my bed with the rain pelting the windows while I petted him… and maybe, if I was lucky, he would arch that perfectly slim back of his and present me that pretty ass.
Breathing out a long, shaky breath as I parked the car in the driveway beside the house, I leaned my head back against the seat. What was I doing? It seemed like Harley was a sub, and I knew how to handle someone like that, but he had… triggers. So far he hated being touched by strangers and didn’t seem to like other animals. Would he object to being tied down or held down? Would he get mad at me if I didn’t already know how to treat him?
Traditionally in BDSM scenes all this would have been talked out beforehand, but we were doing animal play, and part of the fun, and terrifying reality, was sometimes feeling out the other person and learning their triggers by accident. He could tell me that he would try to flay my skin from my body by force when I tickled the inside of his right thigh, but I suspected in true catlike fashion he’d want me to find that out for myself.
For a long time I sat and waited. My eyelids began to get heavy, and I sighed as I hopped out of my car, optimism making me snag the toy wand I’d brought home from Black Out to take inside. There were no lights in the driveway. It was still pelting rain, and I couldn’t hear an engine in the distance over the patter of water on the leaves of the trees surrounding my house. There were no headlights coming down the lane.
“Fuck, he changed his mind,” I grumbled and stomped my way over to the wide front porch. I hadn’t started the evening expecting to have sex, and even if Harley was here, it might not end with my dick in that unbelievable ass. We barely knew each other, but… it still hurt to get brushed off.
All at once I felt gritty and disgusting in my sweaty game clothes and my face itched, and I wanted to shower. I pulled the screen door open and pushed the heavy wooden front door wide to go inside, leaving the screen door the only thing between me and outside in order to bring the strong breeze into the house. I stood there for a second enjoying the cool air. In a fit of hopefulness, I flipped on the front porch lights. I tossed the cat toy into the den and then went directly up the stairs to the bathroom at the top of the landing.
More violently than necessary, I turned the light on. The clawfoot bathtub was built in with oak, something I’d done myself, and I climbed over the wooden lip and inside. I shucked my wet clothes and tossed them before pulling the curtain around myself. The knob wanted to stick, but a hard twist moved it. Freezing water splashed my toes. The water needed a minute to warm up, so I stood there impatiently waiting before pulling the diverter. The water was still lukewarm when it shot out of the showerhead and sprayed my face. I tilted my head to allow my cheeks a direct blast. Ducking my chin, I opened my eyes and watched glitter cascade in a shining river to the white tub below me. The fun of the night swirled down the drain with that glitter, and I picked up a bar of soap, dutifully scrubbing off. Bed was sounding better and better.
I was clean, dry, and dressed in a T-shirt and a new pair of soft black cotton shorts, when a gentle tapping on the front door lured me from my bedroom and out into the upstairs gallery walkway. I leaned my elbows against the railing and looked down toward the front door, a spark of excitement flaring in my chest. “It’s open,” I called.
“Why is it open? That’s unsafe. Do you know how many home break-ins occur each year?” came a crisp reply, and a thrill at the familiar voice rushed tingles along my skin. I made my way down the steps to the door and ended up laughing.
Harley stood out there on the porch in his skintight kitty clothes, no suit in sight, except now he had some adorable ears perched on his head. The kitty ears were on a headband that had somehow gone askew, and they were white and furry with black tufts on the tip. But they were wet. His hair was black from the rain and water ran down his face. Sheets of rain whipped the trees into a dangerous dance beyond the porch, and a large stick broke off and landed in the yard.
He pawed at the screen on the top half of the door—my poor little lost kitty—dragging the tips of his fingers along it. I laughed, and opened the door for him.
“Do you….” He glanced down and his body language shifted to something like scared, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was right. His shoulders drew in and he rested his hands on his sexy exposed stomach. His feet were bare, and I wondered if he’d driven here that way or if his clothes were in his car.
“Come here,” I whispered. “I’ll make you comfortable, pretty kitty, and give you some nice pets, and then we can see what happens.”
Carefully I held out a hand toward him and then waited. This was completely different than playing with a pup. There was very little confusion with a puppy—warmhearted and excitable, most dogs would have bounded right over to me. Maybe even kissed me while wriggling all over the place. Harley tilted his head carefully and leaned forward, almost like he wanted to sniff at my hand, and then rubbed his cheek along my fingertips in a glancing caress. I tried to reach for him, and he backed off again.
We did that sultry get-to-know-you dance for about a minute, and it became apparent he was sinking into his other self as we played this way. There was nothing I could have pointed out exactly to someone who wasn’t familiar with animal play, but his eyes were brighter, and his body language was smoother—less human. I held the door, and he stepped lightly past me into the front hallway. Crack! The door clattered closed from the wind. He spun toward me, a shocked frown on his face.
“Sorry.” I laughed.
Harley didn’t speak, no huge surprise, and instead he eased to his knees. I held in a moan. He was as mouthwatering in those tiny shorts as he’d been at Black Out, but now that he was soaked, the shirt was sheer and clinging to his skin, and those shorts were hiding nothing. My breath caught. The cloth stuck to each perfect globe of his asscheeks. The tail that had attached to the outside of his shorts was long gone and now one poked down the left leg to replace it. He had a plug in his ass holding that new fluffy tail in place; I’d bet my life savings on it. Warm tingles sank low into my groin and I was hyper aware of my dick. He was here, in my home, and it was both arousing and had my heart thudding in a frantic way. The light from the globe on the ceiling above us made his wet hair gleam.
“What should I do with you, beautiful boy? Huh, pretty kitty?”
He shot me a hooded look and began to carefully slink toward the doorway to our right with his tail swishing behind him. He stuck his head into the room.
I thought about telling him that was the den, but instead let him creep inside. I had no idea what to do with him, so I followed. He nosed around the black leather couch, then carefully crawled up onto the cushions and turned, sitting on his butt with his legs crisscrossed and hands between them, frowning at me, water still dripping down his cheeks. Laughing, I went over and got on my knees in front of him.
“Guess kitties never really follow orders, huh?”
He sniffed and glanced away from me. I ran my hands carefully over his shoulders and down along his arms, not so much petting him as softly touching. He wriggled around and allowed my caress but didn’t seem quite satisfied.
Everyone liked treats when they were their animal selves, or so I thought anyway. I left him there and went to the kitchen. A few seconds of rummaging in the black enamel fridge I’d bought this summer to match the farmhouse, and I found some heavy cream I normally used for my coffee. I pulled a black saucer out of the cupboard, filled it with the cream, and then went back to the den. He stared at me with interest as I set the full saucer on the wooden floor in front of him.
“What do you think, kitty cat?”
He raised an eyebrow in my direction and climbed down from the couch. I sighed out happily as he bent to lap up the cream and pointed that beautiful ass in my direction. I crouched and stroked a hand along his back, and he arched into my touch, but didn’t stop going after the cream. My dick liked the sight of his pretty pink tongue dancing across the saucer. I shouldn’t have been shocked at my reaction because I loved taking care of puppies. But seeing him do something so completely not human—let go of his inhibitions—and the way he moved his smoothly muscled body—he obviously wanted me to touch and stroke everywhere —had my engine revved and dick throbbing.
Eventually he had the plate licked clean enough I would have believed it had gone through the dishwasher, and he let out a soft humming purr that was wonderful to hear, every bit as good as a puppy whuff. He turned and butted his head against my hip, and I dragged a hand along his spine.
“Can we dry you off now, kitty?” He froze, and then a soft chirrup was my answer. Not quite a meow, but it sounded positive. I crouched and brushed his hair off his forehead. He stopped to blink up at me. I forgot how to breathe when he raised up a bit and rubbed his cheek along mine, the soft scrape of his late-night stubble deliciously rough against my skin.
I turned to kiss him, and I wasn’t sure if I’d startled him or what, but the second my lips grazed his sweet ones he shuffled away from me, back arched, chest heaving. He narrowed his eyes.
“Too fast, kitty cat?”
He let out a high-pitched irritated sound that was crazy close to the times I’d heard a real cat getting ready to swat at someone.
