Twist The Blade (M/M)
Twist The Blade
by H. A. Kirsch (HawkWolf)
Copyright 2008
A day shy of his eighteenth birthday, on the last day of school, David Van Der Horn was walking out towards the student parking lot after picking up his diploma. Passing the computer lab, the cheetah realized why he was actually there. He ducked into the lab to say goodbye to his favorite teacher, but the room was empty. The cheetah picked up on a smell, a cat, familiar. The source of the smell stepped out of the second lab: a cougar, clad in a black motorcycle jacket, black jeans, cowboy boots, a scowl on his face, splayed ears, ruff of head fur that looked unkempt. Tomasz, who was rumored to be human-born, hence the odd hair-ruff, the awkwardness.
"Uh, hey, have you seen Mr. Parker?" David said, head ducked down a little. "I wanted... never mind," David said, and turned to leave. Tomasz didn't do anything immediately, only leaning against the door to the second lab.
"You are David? In some of my classes. Were in some of my classes. You always look at me."
David stopped. "What?" The cheetah backpedaled. "I... I mean, what? You stare at people, it's hard not to notice."
The cougar crossed the gap between cats, boot heels thumping the carpet, eyes locked on David. David started to back away, oblivious to the easy escape of the hallway door to the right, and quickly got stuffed into the corner where the teacher's station was. "What-"
David turned away from the approaching cat, reached out to grab something, but the cougar pulled him back. Tomasz muzzled the cheetah with a hand, a hint of unsteady nerves in that powerful grasp. It happened so fast; David's pants yanked down just far enough, the smell of sex and leather and feline, the warm push against his rump. Tomasz's low and Slavic-accented voice growled into David's ear, but the words went unheard. The cheetah was too preoccupied by the unique sensation of penetration, body frozen no matter how much the young cat tried to will himself away. Pain, more pain, then the sick break of pleasure through violation. "Do you want this? Do you?" the cougar rasped.
"I don't know," David mewled into the hand that gripped his mouth, the cheetah's own hand braced against the desk in front of him. The cheetah sobbed dry, the emotions swirled away before they could form tears, urged by the relentless push at that one sweet spot deep inside.
"That isn't, 'no'," the cougar growled, and his body started to lurch. Hot flesh pumped into David, followed by damp frantic breaths against the cheetah's neck, then nothing but the ungodly haze of reflex pleasure. into him. Tomasz pulled back and David slumped forward, the cheetah's passage vacated. David turned; Tomasz was walking away, towards the other lab, tail lashing hard enough to bang against anything it came near. David yanked his pants up and ran out, hitting the outside doors hard enough that his body crashed against the hard metal, side finally crushing the push-bar and dumping him into the relative safety of the half-empty parking lot.
The cheetah was halfway home when he realized the crotch of his jeans was soaking wet. He wiped at it and sniffed his shaking fingers; semen. His own.
David never told anyone what happened, leaving time to bury the memory of sudden violation, cover it over with metaphor and symbol, wishful thinking and the sting of shameful memory. It still came back now and then, those few minutes when Tomasz and David had collided after four years of furtive glances and next to no words spoken. Someone would grab David, and the cheetah's heart would turn over. David would try to have sex with one of the virile sluts in the LGBT social group at college, only to balk when it was his turn to be on the bottom. Masturbating late at night, the memory of Tomasz would return. Sometimes it made David go soft. Sometimes, it made him harder.
Soon after graduating from high school, David was well on his way to making something of himself. Thanks to being born in South Africa, he won a scholarship for African-Americans, even though a cheetah of Dutch ancestry wasn't quite what the stewards had in mind. He started on an engineering bachelors and hoped to get into medical school to work on bio-med engineering.
In his junior year, David's life fell apart. Several weeks after having been given I.V sedatives for a wisdom tooth extraction, David's left arm developed a sore, crooked lump. The campus doctor said it was an inflamed vein from the injection and gave him ibuprofen to cut down the swelling. The tortured blood vessel rebelled thanks to the accidental overdose of ibuprofen, and threw a blood clot that lodged somewhere in his brain. As he walked into a review session for his engineer midterm, David suddenly saw everything to the left turn gray. When he reached out a hand to grab at a chair, he grabbed at nothing and fell over onto his side. When a group of students gathered around him, David opened his mouth to tell them to call for help, but he couldn't even remember how to make a sound. Hours later, he woke up, unable to comprehend where he was. It took a week for him to be able to understand that he'd had a massive stroke.
In the wake of the stroke, the brain-work of school dissolved into grueling and humiliating physical therapy. Engineering and neuroscience homework was replaced with lessons on how to put food from a spoon into his mouth. After a couple of years, David had made great strides and was released to the rest of the world, where he got a job working at a nearby city hospital as a janitor. Another year of drudge work and David had worked himself up to a computer technician position with hospital IT, something that would have been no sweat as a student. While he had to take notes continuously to fend off the unexpected moments of brain fog that would waft over him, the job satisfied his animal need to move around. David was quite content to jog - with a slight lurch unless he let his mind go and let instinct take over - around the hospital to 'put out fires'.
The stroke would have killed a human; the doctors chalked his stunning recovery up to being a hybrid. There was one significant complication, which only surfaced after a year and a half. While watching television, David felt the room start to spin, existence itself closing in around him, pressing on his skin like wet fabric. The sensation intensified into the literal sensation of clinging wet clothing, and the cheetah could barely will himself out of his chair. Panicked, he crawled to the phone and dialed 911. The terror-stricken cheetah found himself CT scanned, MRI scanned, EEG'd, poked with needles again and again. Nothing particularly was out of the ordinary.
The revelation came while David was in the waiting room. As an educational program on Celtic culture came on the TV, wet cloth dragged over his body, compressing him. More profound than the terrifying sensation was deja vu; something was the same as before. It was the television show, specifically a segment on the haunting uilleann pipes. It took one of the interns working for the neurologist to piece together the diagnosis: physical synasthesia. As David's brain came back from the stroke's damage, neurons rerouted themselves into patterns that never existed before. In David's brain, sound became touch. A baby crying felt like Kleenex on the fingerpads, a trumpet solo felt like cool wet grass underfoot, "Moonlight Sonata" felt like someone was literally sitting on David's chest, a blood curdling horror scream felt like he was chewing on meat.
David learned to live with the cross-stimulation just as he did the bouts of fog that clouded his mind from time to time, the weakness down his left side, the slight aversion to anything on the left. He could mostly blot out the world of felt sound with some odd ambient electronic music that made him feel like he was inside of a cloud. For five more years, David jogged around the hospital, eventually becoming lead desktop technician. While it wasn't his first choice in career, it worked. David always thought of going back to med school, but it just never materialized.
The cheetah became friends with one of the other neurologists, and started helping him out after work for extra cash. The doctor needed some photo paper as part of a cataloging project, and sent David out to pick it up along with some food for both of them. David jogged downtown to the store the doctor had told him about, "Jay's Printing". The cat milled around the aisles, ears distracted by the rhythmic synthetic drones and blurps pumped into his head by his iPod. The cheetah held out his PDA, trying to match the badly-taken picture of the right paper with the shrink-wrapped packages. The doctor was a little anal-retentive; David knew that any brand would work, but he didn't want to be on anyone's bad list.
Sound started to invade David's music, a voice. The cheetah couldn't help but try to listen in, especially as the speaker was agitated.
"... these prints, this is the sample you gave me, see? Very nice. This, this is what my client received, different paper, somehow it's too dark, why is this? Why?"
David fingered his iPod in his pocket, stilling the music and leaving only the agitated voice. The sound froze him in place, a spike of electric tingle down his lower back.
"Look, okay, so one of the guys screwed up. It happens, we'll do it over." This voice was a slightly-thuggish inner city accent. It made David feel like he was touching a fresh strawberry with his right palm.
"I don't think you understand. I am an artist, I take pictures of moments, moments of life, and my clients expect this to be flawless! What do I say, 'I'm sorry, someone else fucked up,' that isn't forgiveness. You don't charge me," The Bad Voice said. David tried to concentrate on what he was doing, but the sound drilled through his brain and spine until his tail fluffed out. The sensation was so familiar and so unexpected that David didn't place what it was, only that it was Not Appropriate.
"Hey, I can't do that. I can make it right, but I can't... this is the top of the line stock, it's expensive. It's a big loss."
"I don't care if it is loss! You are here to make money, you want to rip me off! Asshole!" The Bad Voice growled, escalating in pitch. Familiar. Paralyzing. More than that; the crawling miswired feelings moved from the cheetah's spine to between his legs, and there was no way to avoid the feeling. Sex. David's heart started to pound in his chest.
"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, you can't, you can't yell like this in the store-"
Something fell off the sales counter and made a loud bang on the floor. David spun his head around just in time to see the maker of The Bad Voice grab the salesperson by the shirt. The angry customer was feline, a cougar, wearing an expensive-looking black alligator leather coat, black leather jeans, black cowboy boots. Everything flawless and glossy black. Past connected with present; David knew exactly who the cat was.
The mind-crossed cheetah dropped the package of photo paper on the floor with a splat; both other heads turned to look at him. David panicked and looked around. Luckily, the supplies were at the front of the store, no doubt to put the expensive things farther in the back where street kids couldn't rip them off as easily. David simply bolted out of the shop, his task failed.
Almost back to the hospital, he realized he actually had to get paper or he'd get a very long lecture about how he had to be more careful about writing things down. He turned and ran back towards the store, flustered at the thought of seeing.. the cat... and then finally found another camera shop. Back at the hospital, he came in panting and dumped the paper into the doctor's office along with his sack of take-out. The doctor wasn't there. David got out his food and started shakily chewing on an egg roll. He went to slug his PDA into its little cradle, but his pocket was empty.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," he hissed, muzzle twisted up on the right. David frantically searched online for the first store's telephone number and called them up. "Hi, I was just in your store, I think I left my PDA there. I was over by the paper. Yeah, I was, I ran out, sorry. I thought that guy was going to shoot you or something. Is it there? It's not, shit, can you, can you look under something? It's not mine, it's work's, I guess I can call the cops. Did, did that c-c-cougar pick it up? You didn't see? Isn't there a camera? Not on the paper! You're kidding! What, you want to give me his number? No, I'll, thanks." David hung up. The cheetah scribbled a note for the doctor, left the change from dinner under it, and took off for home.
That night, David tried to relax after his evening run but was jolted by his cell phone. The number was unlisted. He sighed and prepared to interrupt some script-reading sales person with the fact that it was illegal to telemarket to cell phones. Instead:
"Owner name, David van der Horn. Phone number, what I am calling. If found, please call." The Bad Voice. David wanted to put the phone down, but he couldn't.
"Who are you?" The cheetah said, voice coming out with a startled rrwrl.
"I have found your device. Your name is familiar... You went to school with me." Tomasz. The cougar's voice was instantly recognizable; condescending and stilted, accented, always a hint of upset. "You have spots."
David felt that crawling sensation descend down his spine again, then creep between his legs. At the store, he hadn't wanted to put a name to the cougar, in hopes that it would be a cosmic coincidence. Now, he had to. Prickles and tingles and running water sensations were normal, things that he didn't like but were used to. Occasionally the sensations felt comforting instead of upsetting, food in his mouth, the soft cloud of his music, warm flannel sheets for rustling newspaper. Never before had it felt sexual. David's memories of Tomasz made the cheetah far more scared and humiliated than they did excited, but the voice forced pleasure into the mix.
"I want to return your lost thing, there is no address."
"Don't call me! Don't call me again or I'll call the police!" David yelled into the phone, then hung up. He put it on silent and tossed it across the room onto his desk. He sat in bed, tail swishing on the covers, staring for nearly twenty minutes to see if it lit up and started buzzing its way across the desk. Nothing. The cat buried himself under the sheets, panic welling up, then subsiding, then welling up again. He remembered the brutal violation, in such a public place, how he could have been caught, what the cougar had said. "This is the last time I see you. I make it mean something," a second before the cougar had pushed inside. David heard those words again, and even in memory, his cock leaped to attention from the helpless surge of synaesthetic pleasure.
David didn't have work the next day. He spent most of it nervous, trying to ease his mind, running around town and keeping up on his exercises. When he imagined the phone call, that twinge of sexual excitement came back and the cat fought to get it out of his mind. The cheetah couldn't get over the coincidence, the incident in the store replaying over and over again. Tomasz was pissed off and about to... what? Punch the sales clerk? Stab him? Claw him? Bite his neck open? David thought back to high school, the few times Tomasz had been in fights. The malcontent cat was left alone after the second one, and for good reason; the aggressor had - rightfully - been mauled.
Dinner left the cheetah drowsy, and he fell asleep to the burbling synth sounds of his sound-blocking music, only to be jolted awake by the ringer of his phone. David unplugged an earbud and held up the phone. "Mrruh?"
"I still have your device, David," the voice on the other end said. David squeezed out a breath, chest feeling tight, hands prickling, vision posterizing as he started to faint. Then, the electrical jolt of sex.
"Stop calling me!"
"There is nothing interesting on it. Your schedule, I see, which looks boring. You play with computers?"
The cheetah started to breathe harder, and each of the words came into his ear only to send warm waves of electricity down towards his groin. After the initial shock the previous day, the sensation was more manageable but still profound. David took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. The call was at exactly eight o'clock at night, the same as the previous day's. "Why are you doing this?"
"You are the David van der Horn who was at Park Ridge High School? You don't go to school reunions. I remember you used to look funny at me all of the time. We did a project, you were bright, sullen, quiet. Maybe you still are bright. Are you well?"
The phone's distance from David's head didn't cut down the bizarre, helpless prickles of arousal at hearing Tomasz speak. "I... I guess."
"You are upset."
"Do you, do you even remember what you did?" The cheetah sighed. "I don't want to talk to you. Please stop calling me, or I'll call the police."
"That never works, they just tell you to change your number, then you have to tell everyone," Tomasz said.
"Then I'll change my number," David said. The cat's ears reddened as he realized that changing his number would be a minor inconvenience; he had barely anyone to tell.
"I don't believe you," Tomasz said, and hung up. Shaking, David curled up and felt his resolve slowly weakening away. He clutched a pillow to the side of his head, then started licking his wrist, grooming the fur down in even straight lines. The regression was humiliating, but at the same time it made the terror of anxiety go away, leaving the last ripples of helpless erotic pleasure behind before he yawned and fell asleep again.
Another day, more work, more worrying. At home in his apartment, David kept looking at the clock while he ate dinner. The nervous anticipation escalated until he staring even as he pushed food into his muzzle. 7:57. 7:58. 7:59. Just seconds after his clock reached 8:00, his phone rang.
"David, I am still holding your device," Tomasz said, a hint of play in the Slavic accent.
David tried to walk around his apartment, but found it difficult unless he went around in counter-clockwise circles. Walking subdued the filthy tingles, but only slightly. "Are you stalking me?"
"I liked you in school. Are you the same person you were back then?"
The cheetah shuddered and turned his head to the side, clutching the phone to his head as he went to lick at the fur on his arm. "I don't know, I don't think so."
"Something happened," Tomasz said. "Something bad, you are upset."
David was naked, and his cock quickly slid free of its vestigial sheath, words stroking it like a hand. "My plans for the future got w-wrecked, but I'm fine." The cheetah caught himself and slid back to being defensive. "Why do you care? You're a creep."
"I am broken, but I know this," the cougar growled. "You talk to me, so I talk back."
"Every day at the same time?"
"To make you relax, I did not think of you for at least a decade. I have other things to think about, my soul, my career, whatever there is in my cat-head. Now, I have something from you."
If David had been attacked in a park, knifed and robbed, raped and left for dead, it would be easy to simply hang up on Tomasz. Instead of brutal rape, David had just been fucked. Tomasz had even asked if the cheetah wanted it, complete with a pause for an answer. That, along with the titillating trembles from the sound of the cougar's clipped Polish-American words, made David realize that his nervous waiting for the cat's call was not out of dread. "Oh, I see." David sighed it out, breath shuddering a little.
"Are you doing something right now?" The cougar asked.
"What do you mean? I'm, I'm just... I just sat down," David said, depositing himself onto the bed. The words came through his head and made him want to lie back, hold himself, touch, feel. The cheetah's ears grew hot.
"The way you breathe, it sounds... like you touch yourself," Tomasz said, voice preceded by an amused mrrwrl.
The cougar was right. David chirped and hung up the phone. Not from anger, but shame. He rolled over in bed, again and again, urged on as a cat to roll his scent around. The cheetah let out a mrrwrl and a chirp. Then, horrified, he started stroking himself again. All he saw in his head was Tomasz violently holding the hapless store clerk from the print shop, but it was enough.
The phone calls stopped, leaving David to get increasingly worried about his missing PDA and the repercussions at work. While heading out to lunch a few days later, David took a shortcut to avoid a mass of onlookers gathered around a traffic accident. His phone startled him halfway down a side street.
"I can see you," the voice said. Tomasz again.
David froze, blanching before the warm trickle of sex could take hold. "You can see me?" He said, eyes looking around, trying to spot where the cougar could be.
"Yes, I am up in my studio. I will flash a camera at the window," the cougar said. A little glint caught David's eye and he turned around. Then again, a flash strobe up in a third-story window. Next to the flash was the outline of a cat wearing a black suit.
"Are you following me?" David said, afraid to move.
"I decide to stop calling you, but what happens? Then you walk past my window. I look, there is a spotted cat. Would you like your device back? I can come down and give it to you," the cougar said. He moved away from the window. David quickly jogged to the end of the block, where there wasn't line of sight.
"Look, keep it, I don't fucking care!"
"In that case, perhaps you want dinner instead?"
David looked at his phone like it was a foreign object. "What? Dinner? Are you f-fucking kidding?"
"Dinner, lunch, breakfast, coffee. I would suggest drinks but that might be frightening to you."
The cheetah kept walking, looking around, panicked that the cougar might appear on the streets. Only the usual pedestrians. "I, I don't know why you think I would want to do that-"
"It could be something fast, I don't know, I do not like fast food as in American trash, it is foul. Do you like sushi?"
David stopped by a bus stop enclosure. It was simply too distracting to walk and talk on the phone, especially with the crawling sex that was moving over his back, stomach, crotch as the strange cat talked. "Yeah, sushi is okay."
"There is a place, Midori, not far. If you come there at eight o'clock tonight, I return your device to you, and we could eat together. Goodbye," Tomasz said, and the line went dead.
David's curiosity got the better of him. The last day of high school was years in the past, and he needed to get the PDA back. Filing a police report and admitting he had dropped it out of fear would be awkward, just another mistake, just another unfortunate situation.
The cat took a seat at Midori at ten to eight, heart pounding, tail curled around the legs of the chair. The restaurant was nothing visually fancy, although it ranked high according to some reviews. Midori smelled like fish; the salty smell of a meat market, not the rank smell of fish gone bad. The interior was also alarmingly green.
David busied himself with a ginger-dressed salad. Another side effect of the stroke's brain-mangling was that crunchy food was abnormally comforting, even if it was something un-catty like a salad.
At one minute after eight, Tomasz showed up. He was dressed exactly the same as in the print shop: black alligator blazer, white dress shirt unbuttoned to mid chest, black leather pants, black cowboy boots. He fixed eyes on David and beelined for the cheetah's table, then sat down. "You look the same," he said.
"I guess, you do too?" David squeezed his knees together, feeling the stir as Tomasz spoke. He had a little control over the sensation now; It felt like the flush from having a strong drink on an empty stomach.
"I now wear fancy clothes," the cougar said, and picked up the the little check mark order sheet. He ticked off a few boxes with a stubby pencil. "I still eat raw meat, even if it is only fish." David produced his own sheet and the cougar ran them up to the sushi bar. Tomasz returned and sat down, muzzle tipped down.
"I just fix computers," David said. "You don't need a suit to do that. They'd outsource my job to the other side of the world if shipping wasn't so expensive."
"I'm sure Mr. Parker would be proud," Tomasz said, leaning just the slightly bit closer. David squirmed and looked away. He was about to stand up and leave when one of the sushi chefs dinged a bell.
"Hey Fancy Coat! Sushi is ready!" The chef waved a knife as he put the serving tray onto the top of the counter and dinged a bell.
"Do you see, that was fast, efficient," Tomasz said, stalking over to the bar and taking the two trays with a bow. "Fucking gourmet, no McShit." The cougar's tray was lined with only sashimi. David's was a mix of colorful nigiri and maki, half vegetarian, one of the rolls looking like it had glistening green twigs sticking out of it.
"Yeah. I heard this place was fast and uh, colorful," David said, trying to speak slowly to keep from stammering. His face felt weak from nerves, cock hard in his pants from the sound of Tomasz's voice. The cheetah dipped the fish-end of a nigiri into some soy sauce, then put it away in his muzzle, right hand cupping under it, left resting on his thigh.
Tomasz leaned and sniffed at his fish, then switched his eyes back and forth. "I do a bad thing," he said as a stage whisper, leaning closer to his food. Instead of picking up one of the slabs of fish with chopsticks, the cougar lowered his muzzle down to the plate and grasped it in his teeth.
"Oh my god, don't..." David said, looking around, ears burning red inside. He chuckled with a stutter as Tomasz dropped and licked at the hunk of meat, then picked it up again in his teeth, the cougar quickly jerking his head as he chewed it by dropping it and catching it again, finally putting it down with a swallow. David stared.
"Are you surprised? I am a cat," Tomasz growled, then turned towards the bar and grinned. One of the chefs slapped knives and grinned back. "I come here all the time, they are used to it. It is like watching the animal show for them."
"Oh," was all David could manage. The cheetah took another piece of sushi and the two sat for minutes with no words, no sounds except eating. Slowly, David's arousal waned, cock slacking inside his pants.
"You see I don't have your device," Tomasz said after a swallow of the last sashimi. The cougar wiped his fingers on his napkin, but not before looking at his hand like it was going to attack him.
"Why do you call it a, uh, device?"
"Why do you turn red in the ear - and your left one wilts - when I talk?" Tomasz responded. David had no answer except to turn his muzzle down. His eyes watched the cougar take out his wallet and put down cash for the meal. The cougar then simply walked out. David rushed after him, bursting out onto the street.
"Hey! You can't just leave-"
"I have it at my home, it is an excuse to invite you," Tomasz said with a jaw snap, twisting on a boot heel to face David. The cheetah trembled and nearly fell over, left arm flailing out and banging a light post before seizing hard around it.
"Invite?"
"I want you to see my apartment, my studio. To prove I am a real person," Tomasz said over his shoulder as he stalked down the sidewalk.
David let almost a quarter block go by before he ran after Tomasz. The cougar didn't slow, or even look behind. "I guess that's, that's... okay," David said. He almost wanted to cover his mouth. No, it wasn't okay, but that didn't matter. If Tomasz spoke, David could not resist the sexual pleasure that came over him. Tomasz said nothing, not even looking back to see if David was following. They reached the same brick building from earlier in the day, and Tomasz opened the door to go inside. Still without looking, he held it for David.
The first part of the apartment was a sort of a lounge that led to to the kitchen through a curtain. Paneling the walls were huge photo prints, all of them starting at 'fashion' and ending at 'creepy'. Nothing X-rated, but there were several alarming scenes that looked better placed in war journalism. "These are pictures I take, I hang them for prospective clients. Do you want a drink?"
"I don't, I don't drink," David said, stroking at his left upper arm. The cougar didn't make himself anything.
"Neither do I, but I ask." The cat walked across the room, boot heels pounding the hardwood floor. "I ask you something else, are you lame?"
David felt his heart start to race; it was something in the way the cougar walked. A subtle, gut feeling. It lifted the fur up the back of his neck. "Am I lame?" The cheetah perked his ears up in disbelief at the rude question.
"Like a horse, broken legs, you walk strange, never use your left arm," Tomasz said as he latched the door. Then he moved past David, towards another door, going into the adjoining room. David carefully followed, looking in through the door frame, left side of his body facing the wall.
"I... I had a stroke a few years ago. It kind of messed everything up, but I'm better now." The room he was looking into was full of an odd assortment of furniture. A leather sofa, all alone, with everything else pushed up against a far wall. A contrived living room. "Uh. This is weird."
"It is my studio. Come in if you want," Tomasz said. Against his better judgment, David stepped in, lured by that patronizing clipped English. The cougar stood near the couch and regarded the jumble of stuff at the far wall. Coffee table, chairs on top of it, end tables, a single bed frame, lamps, rolls of some kind of material. Tomasz walked over to the door and flicked a light switch. Cold fluorescent light gave way to impossibly bright incandescent spots, which the cougar dialed down to a dusky glow. They were all aimed at the couch. The cougar then closed the door most of the way, and walked back over. "I will not take pictures."
"Uh, good. I don't think I'd make a good model," David said, tail thumping against the couch.
As Tomasz stood there, he took out something from his pocket, a pair of black gloves. He slid them on over his broad hands, having to fiddle with the leather so his blunted claws could stick out little holes in the fingertips. "I disagree."
David's eyes fixed on the gloves, staring as the leather fitted over tawny fingers. He felt a stir in his crotch, but not from the cougar's words. Then fear, and he backed up, forced to sit down as his legs met the sofa. "No, really, I don't, I mean my eye sometimes wanders, and I get this far-off look... and my arm has this huge scar on it-"
Tomasz lunged and seized the cheetah by the left bicep. David froze, so panicked he could not move. Moving his left arm was an act of will, and his will was gone. "You are hot, you were hot ten years ago, sheepish and sullen. You are hot now, sheepish and sullen and broken." The last word came with a sneer, a sweep-back of the cougar's ears. The words stroked through David's cock, swelling it inside his pants. "When I talk to you, you get.. hard, you get scared. Helpless, aroused. Do you think I can't smell it? I smell everything, all the time, it drives me insane, along with everything I hear, all the feeling, wind in my fur, someone bumping my fucking tail."
David struggled and pulled at his arm, having to lurch his body. "Let me go-"
"No," Tomasz hissed, and grabbed David by the other wrist, the cheetah fighting. "I talk, it runs through you. Your ears are hot, I see your dick in your pants."
The cheetah tried to fight, but the vicious words buckled his knees, body sinking back down to the couch. He tried to kick, but his left leg didn't want to cooperate. He opened his muzzle, but only a stuttered chirp came out. Tomasz sunk down as well, until he was straddling the spotted cat's lap, gloved hands holding David's arms back against the couch. The cougar then leaned forward, rubbing his forehead against David's face, muzzle then touching muzzle. The cheetah twisted his head, chirped, let out a high growl.
"I liked you in school," Tomasz purred. "So scared and lonely, looking at me when you could, tail curling around your chair. Do you think I don't notice? Why do you think I fucked you? What could I say so you like me? I talk like shit, I get in trouble, fail classes, I have to think hard just to keep from growling like a cat or talking in Polish," Tomasz scowled, and let go of the cat's lame arm, reaching over to pet his face. "You still look good, slender. I like that."
"Sssstop," David hissed, ears burning hot as gloved fingers touched his face, nose sniffing hard at the musky smell of leather.
"You don't like being touched there?" Tomasz said, leaning back. He pulled on David's lame arm, twisting the cheetah's upper body. The cougar kneeled off the cat's lap and started turning him to push him towards the arm of the sofa. "Then I fuck you again. Everything is sex and meat, and when I eat some, fuck some, there is only more! Born human, twisted into cat!"
A lame cheetah was no match for a burly cougar. Tomasz was strong, and wielded that strength with little grace. He put his forearm down on David's back and shoved the cat's chest down against the arm of the couch, then drew the other hand down over the cheetah's rump. "Take your pants down," Tomasz growled. "You like this, you like my words, I smell it, so hard."
"No, I'm not! I'm not hard!" David yowled, arms clutching at the sofa, then shoving back against the crushing weight between his shoulder blades.
"Don't lie to me," Tomasz hissed, and stuffed his free hand under the cheetah's waist. David was lying. Tomasz didn't fondle, but simply undid the top button with a yank, pulled the zipper down. The cougar let out an excited rrwrl as the cheetah's tight, spotted rump came free. Gloved fingers stroked from David's shirt down to his tail-base. The cheetah yowled and squirmed, tail lashing, hiking over to the side, back arching to push his rump up. "Ahh, you're a fucking cat too, you can't resist this."
"Stop, I don't want to, I don't, I don't-" David mewled, then shoved his face into the arm of the sofa. The touch was irresistible, eons of cat racial memory eroding the cheetah's human desire to flee as he was petted. "I w-wanted to see..."
"You wanted to see me? Is that what you say?" Tomasz chuckled. The cougar massaged at his own crotch with a black hand, then unbuttoned the fly and reached in to expose himself. Half-feline, tapered point with nubs around the crown, thick otherwise, curved up, already glistening at the head. One hand stroked the length to milk preseed out. The other wiped a little onto a gloved thumb, then grabbed the cheetah's rump-cheek and stroked thumb overtailhole. David mewled again, breath catching in his chest, the hole flexing and squeezing. Tomasz slowly pressed in, until David rrrowrled and slapped his tail around at the penetration. "You are not so tight, you get fucked often?" David said nothing, so Tomasz pulled his thumb back, then smacked the cheetah's rump with a hard swat. The cheetah yowled. "I said, you get fucked often?"
"N-n-nhrhr," the cat whimpered, hiding his face. He quivered and twitched, then let out a stuttering intake of air and a sniff through his nose. Tomaszcouldn't see it, but David's face was burning, scrunched up, tears watering down the black trails in the fur around his muzzle. The cheetah sobbed hard, each convulsion twisted with the relentless twinge of sex from being touched, penetrated, not to mention the sound of Tomasz's voice.
The cougar growled, moving so his cock could ride at David's cleft, pushing through the white fur there, the tapered head quickly entering. David's stuttering sobs turned into an alarming cat wail; Tomasz simply shoved in, then tugged back, leathers creaking as he started up into a forceful rhythm. ten years collapsed into no time at all, David in exactly the same place he had been the last day of school, mounted and confused, excited and ashamed.
"Sometimes I think of you, seeing my dick slide into asshole, smell you come into your pants, how satisfied I felt to conquer you, and I touch myself,"Tomasz growled. The sound of it stung down through David's body, the cheetah unable to keep from writhing himself forward, cock pressing against the sofa's smooth leather. The penetration stung suddenly, and David reached back to shove Tomasz away, only to have gloved hands latch onto his biceps like metal vices. The cheetah struggled as Tomasz thrusted, the force only growing. Tomasz leaned down, licked the cat's ear. "You come for me again, as I tell you that you are slut for coming here, letting me fuck you, again."
David's face burned as he sobbed for a moment, the convulsions fading much faster into helpless pleasure. 'Letting me fuck you, again'. That was the truth; David was strong, he could have screamed the banshee wail of a cat, bitten and clawed, but he didn't. His tail thumped at the cougar's chest. "Please..." he begged, face mashed against the leather arm of the sofa, lips moving against the wet of drool and tears.
The cougar stopped, mid-stroke. "What? Is this please stop, or please fuck harder, please come into your asshole like you are whore?" Tomasz's gloved hands eased up on the cat's arms, fingers moving to stroke the cat's back, down towards the tail, triggering a shuddering lift of the cheetah's rump, a powerful spasm in David's tailhole. "Do you want it? This time?"
All that time, and David was still bent over and fucked. "Yes," he chirped, head swimming as a wave of dizziness came over him, hole squeezing on the invading cougar.
Tomasz moved from ear-licking and back-stroking to biting at the cheetah's scruff, and that was it. David shuddered and mrrrred, the sound dropping at the end to the throaty and unearthly howl of a female cat in heat. The cheetah shook and arched his back, prickled the fur along his spine, fluffed his tail out; his cock sprayed at the sofa, seed landing in wet splats. His ears splayed, ashamed and terrified, wishing he wasn't a cat so it would take much longer, so he wouldn't come, but it was far too late when the thought came. David gasped and struggled, not to fight away the cougar, but to jerk his body back and forth on the penetrating flesh, push his cock into the wet puddle on the smooth sofa leather.
Tomasz pounded, snarling and grunting around the cheetah's neck scruff, gasping turning rhythmic as his own climax came, seed squirting in through the tight hole. The cougar backed off almost before he was finished, a last spurt pushing out against David's tailhole before the black-clad cat simply stood up and stomped out of the room, a flurry of boot heels and leather creaks. From the other room, sounds filtered in. Water running, a few fabricky smacks. More boot heels on the hard floor.
Alone, David felt empty. Literally, as his hole squeezed tight, trying to restrain the cougar's seed inside. The cheetah looked down, wincing as he saw the slimy streaks of white on the couch. He sniffed, the pungent smell of his own seed. An urge slid up his spine and he leaned down, ears splayed as he could not resist the need to clean, letting out a kitten mrrewl as he licked up the mess. As soon as it was gone, the urge vanished, leaving David hunkered down and panting.
Tomasz re-appeared in the doorway and threw something at the sofa, a silver metal thing landing with a thump on the leather. "Here is device. You see the door, you go out, turn left down the hall, there is fire-escape. Put your dick into your pants or you will be arrested." Tomasz's eyes looked anywhere but at David. The cougar then clutched the doorknob and yanked the inner door shut, leaving David alone again.
The cheetah panicked upon seeing the cat, vision going spotty as he felt shame turn to panic, knowing he was caught licking up his own spunk. Then, Tomaszjust left, leaving David with only confused relief. The cheetah looked over to the other exit, hand absently clutching for his returned PDA. David leapt up to his feet, hurriedly yanking his pants up and fumbling the fly shut. Heat flooded his face, but no tears came, just panic.
David found his way out onto the fire escape. He paused, head flicking around, trying to pick out any watching eyes. The ladder went down into an alley, where no one else seemed to be. He quickly rushed down it, and took off as soon as his feet touched ground. David usually limped somewhat, having to think to move his left leg. But a reflex like running, he had no problems with that, and was soon at top sprint, bolting down the street, the world turned into a blur around him as he instinctively retraced steps to his apartment. He flew into the lobby, raced up the six flights of stairs, and nearly bashed his own apartment door down. Once inside, he collapsed into bed, panting for air. He ripped his clothes off, rolled back and forth against the sheets, then sniffed at the air.
Tomasz's scent still clung to him. It wafted up from the heat between his legs, asshole still wet with the cougar's sex. Naked and quivering, David reached back to feel the damage. His hole was sore and wet. When he brought his fingers up, they were smeared with whitish ooze, not blood. David felt thankful for a moment, ashamed the next. He wanted to take a shower, clean off the smell, but then he remembered Tomasz's voice, the sound reactivating all the mixed feelings, sex and fear. He remembered the words, the cougar's claim that he wanted it. He remembered how it felt to be forced to come from inside, helpless. He remembered back to school days, brain finally hitting the full realization that he had a crush on the strange, dark-clothed cougar who stared at him. Being violated twice was no coincidence; Tomasz had wanted it, and David let it happen. Thinking about it made the cheetah mewl and tear up again, but he was hard. He lay back, ears burning hot, tail lashing the bed, and started to imagine Tomasz taking him again. The thoughts kept coming until David came.