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Andrea looked across her living room at the disheveled, pouting creature seated on her couch. Eyes glassy, lips quivering, his entire countenance one of a teenager trying their hormonal best to look tough but still on the cusp of a toddler's sobbing. It was hard to tell what she liked more: this, or his earlier expression when he still felt like he could fight her off and beat her blackmail. In a twist as old as treachery itself, she told him she had somebody ready to send the video of his anal rape to all of the celebrity gossip outlets in case anything unsavory should happen to her. Bullshit, of course, but it had served its purpose.

"You want another drink?" she asked amicably enough. Andrea was an evil woman, there was no dancing around that, but when she was in control and had recently busted a nut, she could put on a semblance of affability. "You were good for me." She nodded at the bottle of Smirnoff on the table with drops of condensation lazily rolling down from the midpoint of its glass walls. Half the bottle had been consumed just getting Kahnso's pants off. She insisted, "You can have another drink if you want one."

"I don't want another drink," Kahnso said tightly. He hugged himself, looking briefly at her, then her legs, her feet. He turned away and stared out the front window. Rain licked down the glass in heavy beads, obscured partly by the vertical blinds which shifted as the furnace blew through them. Thunder quaked somewhere far-off, reaching Andrea's house as only a dull rumble like the onset of a headache. "And I want to go home now."

The tiger smiled. She uncrossed her legs, scratched her naked balls, crossed her legs again the other way. "You can leave in the morning. My house isn't good enough for your rich faggot ass?"

Kahnso scowled but wouldn't look her in the eye. "It's you, you numb cunt. Your house is fine, I just hate you."

"At least it's not my decorating," Andrea snidely teased. She got up and stretched her hard body, tense muscles falling languid and bones popping. A thin dew of sweat clung to her bare, striped fur as if she had just exercised. Certainly she had burned off all the calories from the pizza. "Y'know, Kahnso," she chirped, walking around the coffee table and seating herself next to him, "you don't have to be raped. You can learn to like it. Fuck, I bet you said that to a girl at some point." She laughed and smacked his shoulder; he flinched like she'd shot him and pulled away to the armrest. Andrea intrepidly scooted after him, putting her side against his. She answered his unamused huff with a growl.

"Kahnso-o-o. Look at me, you prettyboy sum'bitch." Andrea grabbed his thigh and squeezed, barely pricking him with her claws for a promise of what awaited him. "Come on. Look at me."

He wanted to lean over the armrest, to slip off the couch and hide in the dark corner of the room. The horrible knowledge that this was a role-reversal of his sex life gnawed at his psyche like scarabs on a fresh body. "I don't--," he huffed, "I don't want to look at you. Just do whatever. I want to go home."

Andrea laughed warmly, the kind of gentle laughter a mother would use prior to assuaging her young child's fears. She slid her paw up his leg, cupping his genitals softly. "Poor Kahnso. Life sucks when you don't get your way, doesn't it?" The tiger forced herself on him, kissing his chin before nibbling his jaw.

Now he did start to push himself over the armrest, wanting nothing but to shrug the tiger off. "For god's sake, Andrea."

"For gawd's sake, Andwea, for ga-a-awd's sa-a-ake," Andrea cruelly mimicked, squeezing his balls to the threshold of pain. He winced and arched his spine out from the armrest; Andrea held him fast. "I'm a big, mean rockstar man, I'm only supposed to be on top during sex, myeh-myeh-myeh," she went on, her words painted by insufferable baby talk. She returned to her usual manner of speech when she thrust her snout into the cup of his ear and hissed, "Lemme lay it out like this, then, prettyboy." Every word she spoke was edged like a razor and very tight. "You're going to put out or I will make earrings out of your fucking gonads." She jostled his crotch as if jangling car keys. "You get it? Are we savvy on this?"

The toothy, miserable scowl on Kahnso's face could have put a tear in a killer's eye. He put both paws on Andrea's wrist, but she made no attempt to squeeze down just yet, instead waiting for his next move. Wisely, Kahnso slid his fingers off and cupped his kneecaps. "All right," he quietly said. "Let's get this over with."

Andrea licked his cheek, going against the fur and streaking it up. He made no effort to correct this. "Good boy, seems like you can be really smart when shit's serious. C'mon." She snapped her fingers and pointed at the hall. "Bedroom."

He followed her dourly, as if being led to his execution. His eyes stayed on her swaying, perfect bottom but no interest tickled his libido or spurred his erection. His eyes were operating on instinct, focusing on what Kahnso loved without realizing the gift was unwanted.

"Here," Andrea said, grabbing his shoulders. She shoved him on the bed where he landed with a slight bounce. "Just wait there. You're gonna love this, I bet." The tiger disappeared into her restroom with a cackling laugh.

Kahnso laced his fingers over his chest. He looked at the ceiling fan, its blades not spinning and its cluster of white globes dark. The nightstand's lamp cast a moody orange glow across the bed; Kahnso's own body shadowed the far wall and the master bathroom door, through which Andrea had disappeared.

This is my life now, he thought miserably, thinking about the men and women he'd mistreated: the tarot reader who wanted only to help him; the eager journalist who would do anything for an interview; the shy young mouse who just wanted an autograph from the Kahnso. Their sobbing and wincing and pleading blended together, the combined pain becoming the face of his misfortune. He rolled onto his side, facing the window. A blackout curtain covered it but he could hear the rain tapping the sill, beating tunelessly and endlessly with no interest in the rape about to take place behind the glass.

Andrea touched Kahnso's foot and startled him into a kick. She snickered and reached out, smacking his ass, her claws not part of this strike. "For fuck's sake! Easy there, boy. How did you not hear me coming?"

"I was thinking," he muttered.

"Ah. Don't do too much of that, you'll give yourself a stroke or somethin'," Andrea blithely said. She pounced the bed, moving as giddily as a kitten, and pulled him onto his back by his shoulder. "I got a surpri-i-ise for you."

Kahnso grumbled. "Are you gonna hang yourself?" He huffed. "Never mind. Fuck surprises."

"No, fuck you." She flicked his ballbag, shooting short-lived but potent agony through his stout body. She watched him curl in upon himself and smiled. Tersely, "You're gonna cum."

"From that?" Kahnso bleated, gawking at her, his jowls quivering in front but pulling up to snarl in back. "Are you fucking stupid or what?"

Andrea laughed. The malevolence she was known for fully occupied her face, turning tomboy beauty into classical wickedness. "Stupid? That would be you, fucknuts."

Bringing no special attention to its presence, Andrea took her bottle of lube and squirted some of its contents on her index, second and third fingers, weighing down thin fur. She peeked at Kahnso's face, looking for the recognition of what was about to happen, but either he had a better poker face than she realized or he was simply too stupid to know he was about to get a prostate rub.

Andrea did not wait for the lube to grow warm. She wasted no time in telling him what she planned to do. Asking permission was similarly skipped; the very concept of permission died the moment she had revealed her blackmail.

Kneeling beside Kahnso, tail swishing and cock starting to stiffen, Andrea took Kahnso's ballbag in her clean paw and lifted it up and out of the way. She pushed her slippery fingers against the pucker of his anus, its surface swollen and red from the quick fuck she'd used him for not ten minutes after he arrived. That had been over an hour ago.

"Fu-u-uck you, cunt," Kahnso moaned, glaring between the blades of the ceiling fan.

Sadistic pleasure tugged at Andrea's lips, coaxing her to grin. She started to sink two fingers into the rock singer, guessing correctly that her earlier use of his body had loosened him. Despite that, Kahnso hissed. He bunched the sheets in his fists and his legs drifted slowly apart, toes curling. Andrea looked at his face again and noted how ugly his grimace was and how his ears had splayed against his skull. Her prettyboy looked anything but.

The tiger was knuckle-deep inside of Kahnso in a scant few seconds. She let go of his balls and slid her free fingers up his pelvis, belly, then breast. She rubbed him in loping clockwise circles, smoothing fur down noon to six, smearing it up six to midnight. "You're gonna squirt," she reiterated, her tone exulted, as though she were sharing some divine gift with the singer instead of predatory sexual abuse. "You wanna cum, don'tcha?"

"What I want is to die," Kahnso bitched.

"Well, as long as you don't want me dead," Andrea clucked. "Hey, moan for me." Andrea gave him something work with, beckoning with her fingers, smearing lubed pads along his inner walls. Before her coy eyes, his sheath began to thicken, inspiring cruel amusement but also unexpected pride in the tiger. "C'mo-o-on... you're gonna start gettin' hard, so moan for me."

"I don't want to moan," he said in a voice on the verge of cracking. "It's not--, i-it's like... this is cheating, you fucking whore."

Andrea touched his muzzle reverently. Her fingers traced his jowl's crooked line and the inside curve of a fang before coming to a rest on his neck. She lolled her eyes down his body, drinking in the scale of her fuckpet, thinking of the money and power he wielded. She didn't want his status or funds, but enjoyed the knowledge that she could have had them at her command.

"If you're not gonna moan, then at least you're gonna sa-a-ay," Andrea dragged the word out much like she wrenched apart her fingers, making a pained oblong of Kahnso's anus. She was thinking of what she wanted her rich boytoy to parrot back at her, but his wince and whine at being opened up distracted her, making her smirk and snicker. True of any cat, a display of suffering thrilled her. She trailed her finger down his heaving body, dipping the tip into his navel before grabbing him by the sheath. A firm squeeze and a tug pulled it down, exposing red dogcock drooling precum.

Kahnso's claws sank into the sheets. His teeth bared savagely. He hissed through them, "What do you want me to say, cunt?"

She picked up where she left off as though there hadn't been a pause. "I want you to say thank you for fingering my boycunt, mommy. C'mon now," she urged, laughing. "Say it."

Kahnso made a sound of perfect disgust. It was the sound he'd made when a female fan had mailed him some used feminine hygiene products in misguided tribute. Kahnso thought of that now and wondered if Andrea with her cold, evil calculation was better or worse than a random crazy.

Andrea squeezed Kahnso's penis. She rubbed his prostate gland haltingly, not knowing precisely where it was; she likened her technique to carpet bombing or spraying napalm in that a little pressure all over was sure to hit the target eventually. "The longer you wait to say it, the longer I'm gonna beat you with a bar of soap in a sock, prettyboy."

"You fucking wouldn't!" Kahnso snapped, glaring at her pointedly. His ears stayed flat, betraying his fear. Andrea could read his half-snarling, half-groveling face as if it were skywriting.

"I would if I thought it'd make you fucking listen. I might even if it won't." She chewed her lip, pinching it white. Her finger pads raked along Kahnso's rectal walls and across his nestled, hidden prostate gland. She knew when she struck on it again because Kahnso shuddered and whined and looked away from her. His cock drooled fat runners of precum into her paw, guiltily she thought. She masturbated him slowly. "Say it already, you big ol' buttslut."

Kahnso gnawed his jowl. He rubbed his temples, then let his arms fall slack above his head. He would have looked relaxed if Andrea hadn't known better. "Thank you for--, god, I hate you."

"I know you do." Insufferable arrogance. Kahnso wanted to tear off her face, nail it up somewhere--. "Thank you fo-o-or? Come on... thank you for fingering my boycunt, mommy." She fingered his boycunt even as she fed him his line. She fingered it hard, lubed fingers digging deep, rubbing insistently. She had zeroed in on his prostate and was abusing it. Kahnso's cock had grown fully from its sheath and a fat, bulbous knot throbbed below her fist.

In a flat tone, Kahnso repeated: "Thank you for fingering my boycunt," hesitation, "mommy."

Andrea beamed. She laughed so sharply it was a giggle, and so strongly that her tits bounced. "Good! That was really good. Nice and clear for the recording."

"You cooze!" Kahnso bellowed, slamming his fists into the bed. He glowered at the ceiling impotently. He was a mess and he knew it. Red cheeks, throbbing cock, swollen and reddened asshole. Andrea had him wrapped about her finger, and not only in the figurative sense. He thought crazily that if he could go back and apologize to the tarot reader, give her respect and money and care, she might fix this for him somehow. Maybe the journalist could get him out of this--

"Gawddamn, you're fucking hard," Andrea murmured, her tone sultry and just a bit admiring. She dared a lick from the middle of his meat to the pointed tip. His precum was bitter on her tongue, its overall flavor one she was unused to. Her fingers worked with brutal efficiency on his prostate which took the pleasure whether Kahnso wanted it or not. It was impartial, but it was very happy with this arrangement.

The tiger's masculine paw slid down around Kahnso's knot. She squeezed its bulk, thinking strangely how it felt like a pair of tennis balls in a sausage casing. Her grope made the shaft twitch and sling its bitter-salty precum across Kahnso's belly. Now Andrea's fingers slipped lower, under the knot and above the slack mouth of the sheath. She squeezed down, forming a loop with her fingers. It was her intent to throttle his cock, and throttle it she did. Kahnso hissed and winced. He rolled back his eyes until whites teased with red veins showed.

Andrea sighed. Her tail was lashing; primal delight at her writhing prey. "You're gonna pop like a fuckin' firecracker." Triumph. "Gonna shoot your stuff like a good boy. Ain't that right?"

No response. Not really unexpected, either, but Andrea had no tolerance for a dead fish. She stabbed her fingers into Kahnso's prostate, or at least a close approximation of its location. He gasped and pushed himself up with his legs, giving the impression Andrea was lifting him by the ass. As he heavily dropped and panted, the tiger sneered, "Lose your voice? Can't talk, shithead?"

"I can talk," groused Kahnso. "I just don't wanna talk to you."

"That's not very nice." Her work went on. She reached up again, holding his meat past the knot. She didn't stroke him. Intervening like that would have been cheating, she felt, but his asshole was still her playground, and she pushed his prostate (if this is his pussy, his prostate must be his clit, gotta remember that shit) over and over again, kneading it so firmly and insistently that she wondered if he could ever cum again without something stiff in his ass.

Andrea's dark, uncut cock throbbed. It was unbearable not being able to fuck Kahnso. She felt like a little girl on Christmas morning who just wanted to tear into the presents Santa had left. Kahnso was her pet, her boytoy, and she craved that perfect jock asshole of his. She wanted him milking her cock like she knew he could, but that wasn't part of her little self-imposed challenge. Soon as he's done, she promised herself. Just make the idiot cum. Then I'll fuck him 'till he can't stand up anymore.

She'd never admit it, but Andrea flinched when Kahnso grabbed her knee. She anticipated some kind of underhanded groin attack; instead he just held her, squeezing a little harder than she hoped, but that was better than the alternative. She looked at his face but he was gone, staring at the ceiling with glazed, resigned eyes. Andrea almost felt bad. Almost was as close as she ever got to true remorse.

"I'm gonna cum," he uttered from his far-off location. There was a tiny amount of strain in his voice.

Andrea licked her lips. She didn't care for the taste of semen, and unless it was hers and splattered across some bitch's face or ass, even the sight of it didn't do a lot for her - but she was eager to see Kahnso's fly. She worked at his ass brutally. Her paw squeezed fast on his cock, still not stroking, but throttling throbbing flesh. "If you're gonna cum, then let's see it, prettyboy. Your mommy's waitin'."

Another thirty seconds, give or take, and then Kahnso grimaced and grunted, clenching his jaws and anus in the same go. His toes curled and he lifted himself slightly, again as though Andrea were holding him up by the asshole. His body stayed taut but his face fell oddly serene as he came, his strangled cock twitching in Andrea's paw before erupting. It arced in a high, wobbly spurt which came down with an inaudible splash on his belly and chest. Zigzagging lines of offwhite congealed in his silvery coat, each new spurt adding to the mess.

Andrea's eyes were fiery and feral. Her tail lashed and her nostrils quivered at the coppery stink of semen in the air, noting how similar it was to the delectable flavorsmell of fresh blood. She yanked her slippery fingers out of his gouged asshole. Kahnso winced, muttered something bitchy but impotent, and Andrea flushed with pleasure. The tiger uttered a sultry, low yowl and pushed her lips to his.

The kiss was sudden and brutal; she bit his lip and made it bleed, leaving her fuckpet fussing and squirming. He thrust Andrea away by the shoulders but she came back like a slingshot and pinned him hard. Her flawless belly ground into his, semen smearing into their coats like jelly. It was hard to keep herself under control; sinking her teeth into his throat seemed like an incredible idea. Firm, lustful laps across the pulsing arteries satiated her only mildly, and as she forced her dry cock into the lubed passage of Kahnso's ass, she was fully under the influence of her baser desires.

Come the next morning, when the cold, rain-wet grass glimmered under the rising sun, Kahnso did not return home. He stayed in Andrea's bed, pinned under Andrea's body, filthy with Andrea's sweat and musk and semen. He cried into the pillow as Andrea's snores droned against his skull, and he wondered if the tarot reader had cried herself to sleep the night he raped her.