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A spur of the moment quickie to wrap up the summer!

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I have to say, if you can plan when to have a baby, plan for a birth in May. I didn’t, I just got lucky. The weather is beautiful but still not hot, everything is lush and green, days are long and lazy. I’ve always wanted cubs so I really can’t imagine myself having baby-blues, but I definitely couldn’t have any on a gorgeous morning like this one. And it’s kind of a no brainer, isn’t it? If you’re talking about a May birth it’s going to be an August conception.

What else are you going to do on vacation?

*******

“Fuck Joan! If you keep that up I’ll… nghhh!”

“You gonna finish that threat?” I asked, letting my hubby’s cock slip from my lips as I gave it a parting kiss and a stroke. A close call, but I didn’t really need him to warn me at this point. I could read his body like a book. You know what kind…

“I was hoping to finish somewhere else…” he said, putting a finger under my chin and ‘pulling’ me up until my muzzle was pressed against his. We did, after all, have the same finish line in mind.

“Okay, just stay hard for me while I go to the bathroom.” I said, feeling my heart break a tiny bit at the way Lyle’s ears folded back a little. I planted my ass back down and gave him another kiss, getting that striped tail to swish a little. “Look, I know I’m being a bit difficult.”

“Don’t say that. It’s a big deal for us, but a bigger one for you. You know I don’t wanna pressure you…”

“I know, and I love you for it. And you know I want one. To start with, at least. I know deep down that I wanna be a mom and I want you to be the father of my cubs… It’s just that whenever I kinda feel like taking the plunge I get a little antsy. Maybe… maybe we should do it? Tonight? I feel like I’m wussing out every time I go and get my trampoline…” I said and we shared a giggle at the term.

My body doesn’t seem to like birth control pills, wrapping a feline cock in a condom really takes away what a ‘pussy’ is expecting to feel, and the little silk cord of an IUD can get caught on a male cat’s barbs during intercourse leading to… ouch! So we’re stuck with a diaphragm, or trampoline. That’s what we call it. I once confided to Lyle that I felt bad for his swimmers, for putting a wall to keep them from going where they wanted to go. He assuaged my guilt by saying that they had a great time - they got to go down a water-slide onto a trampoline! Anyway, that bit of pathetic self-pity back there got me another kiss and a hug, so…

“You’re not a wuss! You’re my fierce little jagger!” he said, and I rolled my eyes at the name.

He was right, of course. Lyle was a pure-blood tiger, and so is my mom, but dad’s a jaguar which made ma a jaguar-tiger hybrid or - jagger. I’m not very happy about that. Ever since I was a kitten I was jealous of my parents for their coats. Mom’s got the classis stripes and a shock of white down her front just for extra flair, and dad’s fur pattern was just dazzling. Instead of their designs combining into something double-awesome, I was left with fur that was an admittedly attractive shade of orange-yellow, but with only these faint smudge-like markings of cinnamon-brown for decoration. I love my figure though – jaguar-lithe and tiger-curvy is a hell of a combo…

I have a white muzzle that I’m glad of, and a nice diamond-shaped patch of white that runs from my collar-bone down to my belly button, flaring out to cover the insides of my breasts. Cute, but I was blessed with a tigress’ ample bust, so my cleavage eats that bit of color right up. On top of all that, I’m stuck bearing the name of a liquor, and to make it worse – liquor that has a deer on the label! God, I seriously hope our cubs get their daddy’s fur…

“Sure you won’t mind another practice run?” I asked, nuzzling up for effect.

“Have I ever complained? And practice does make perfect…” he said, falling for the nuzzling.

“And that’s what I’m gonna give you. Perfect little cubs. And soon! I can feel it, this is going to be the year!”

“Well we are ready for it, more ways than one. Dad told me that he’ll hand the shop over to me by next year. He’ll stay on as a consultant for a few more years and then its early retirement. He and mom are moving down here.” he said.

I smiled at the way he and Hank still called their family business ‘the shop’. It had been, back when Lyle was a little kid and his dad was working for his own father, but the family business was entering into its third generation and had grown. The first time I’d seen what those two called ‘the shop’ I was tempted to call it a hangar. They worked on some sort of industrial machines – huge engines, generator and what not. Too gearheady for me, but apparently good business. Lyle’s folks had bought this big house near a little out-of-the-way beach with the profits of their hard work. I’d feel envious, but the two of them were always eager to have their son and his wife stay over wherever they were, so I’d get plenty of use out of this place too.

“So, by the time our baby’s born, its daddy is going to be the boss?” I asked, stroking my hubby’s ego, among other things.

“Yeah, on paper. Dad’s gonna be breathing over my shoulder until mom drags him down here. But one paycheck’s definitely gonna be enough for the three of us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Mhhhh, so you’re asking me to give up the glamour of being a barista? I suppose I’ll still get to serve you coffee…”

“You change your mind about school?” he asked, and got his answer when my ears folded.

“No. I could do it, but that’s a career path…” I replied. Lyle got it, bless him.

The only thing I was really any good at was numbers. More to the point – money. It’s either nature or nurture, but either way I got it from my mom. And it’s a great life skill to have – anything Lyle brings in, I can put it to work for us and our kids. But as proud as I am of my mom for being a career woman and as grateful as I am for the way she sacrificed so that I’d have everything that I needed, one of the things that got sacrificed was mom/daughter time. I’d never shied away from work, but I like the idea of working for my family more attractive than working for a company.

“So… this is the year, huh? Our summer of love?” he asked, kissing the side of my neck and I bared it obligingly.

“Mebbe. It might wind up being in the fall… you know, long rainy days with nothing to do but play board games or play with each other. But at the latest – Christmas! If it doesn’t happen by then, I’m giving you my egg as a present!” I said, with Lyle chuckling into my collarbone.

“Isn’t that more of an Easter thing? Then again if you want your egg nogged…” he said, grunting as I pushed him away and rose from the bed.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute. If I didn’t find you so attractive that pun would have killed the mood. Possibly the marriage. So while I go in there and get ready, you just stay hard, stay quiet, and think of some way of reminding me why I fell in love with you.” I said. And he did. Twice. Luckily our room was on the opposite end of the house from his parents’. And if the neighbors heard, I doubt they’d expect anything other than a feral cat to make noises like that.

*******

“Oh my, is that the time? I’ll need to get going if I’m to get dinner ready…” Amanda said after checking her phone her hand shielding the screen from the sun’s glare. Some of the visitors to the beach were safely gathered under parasols, but cats love to sun themselves and the two of us had been doing just that before a dripping Lyle roused us from our cat-naps. I was tempted to suggest we just get some take-out but my momma-in-law was a mean cook when it came to seafood, and I’d seen her put something away to marinate before we set out.

“Yeah, and that seems to be headed straight for us…” Lyle remarked, squinting on the horizon which was looking a disturbing shade of blue. “We start home now and we can probably avoid getting soaked.”

“What about Hank?” I asked, looking at the distant figure swimming the length of what the locals liked to call a ‘bay’ even though it was just two jutts of rock on either side of the little beach.

“Dad’s a big boy, he can handle himself…”

“Well why don’t you two go on ahead, and I’ll hang back here until tiger-shark over there’s exhausted himself.” I suggested casually, trying to keep my tail from lashing and betraying my excitement.

“Look Joan, I know you like storms but they aren’t a laughing matter here. This isn’t really a bay but the rocks on either side tend to funnel the waves in when the wind whips them up…”

“Yeah, but I won’t be in the water…” I said, knowing what was going through his mind.

Yes, I did love summer storms, and I happened to really love being up my neck in water when a downpour starts. I got into a habit of it at a lake I used to vacation on with my folks. When the wind suddenly turned the air cold the water felt deliciously warm, and when the downpour hit the lake would come to life as big heavy raindrops pelted the normally still surface. I would spend minutes grinning from ear to ear with my fur plastered to my skin and my hair plastered to my fur, my ears filled with the sound of a million blips and plops until the shower died down. Lyle wouldn’t let me even think about trying that here. He insisted the waves were strong enough to drown people in three feet of water, making it impossible to swim as they broke or impossible to stand as they pulled back and swept the ground out from under your feet.

“Look, worst case scenario we get a shower half-way home. Just have some towels and some hot fishy ready to warm us up. Or, you know, if you can think of a better way of warming up a soaked kitten caught in the rain…” I purred into his ear. Either I was too stubborn or the idea of playing hero to a soaking wet girl appealed to him, so he left it at that and left me at the beach.

Hank had either had enough or he’d decided his swim was canceled on account of rain. The clouds really did look mean and inky as they billowed forward, but I loved the way the air felt. There were flashes in those dark clouds and the wind pushing in from the sea felt electric. I could see Lyle’s point as the waves rose and practically pushed out the orange body towards the beach. It was starting to look kind of scary, but the family didn’t call Hank ‘tigershark’ for nothing. I managed to get our towels before the wind did and before the big orange cat had shuffled onto the beach the first heavy drops fell. By the time Hank was walking towards me it was already a downpour and the wind was really starting to whip up.

“Lyle and Amanda ran away at the first sign of trouble, but I…” I said, almost shouting to be heard over the storm.

“...you were worried about the old fool swimming during a tempest? I appreciate it, but you really should have…” he began to chide but stopped when the rain did. The storm clouds weren’t done, but they had moved on from the appetizer of water to the main course - ice.

Before I knew what was happening I felt a paw grip my bicep firmly and practically drag me along to a parasol someone had left open. It seemed like a respite for all of twenty seconds before a gust whipped up and tore the canopy from the lower half. I managed to see the umbrella-like thing fly off only to fall and crumple up on the sand like a dead spider. The hail was heavy, little pea-sized balls of ice stinging even through my thick fur as they pelted down.

I was being dragged again, a hand pushing my head down so all I could see was my feet plowing through wet, ice-pocked sand, my heart pounding as adrenaline laced blood rushed along my veins. Hank’s paw was so massive it was serving almost like a helmet, shielding the top of my head from the growing balls pummeling us both. There was something big and blue blocking my way, and a moment later a striped orange arm shot out, lifting the beached, overturned boat and pushing me under it.

Hank soon joined me, his other hand gripping the lower half of the parasol - a white pipe with a spike on one end and a hollow meant to hold the now ruined top of the parasol. He jammed it into the soaked sand and rested the rim of the boat on it.

The noise of now walnut sized ice beating down on the fiberglass hull was deafening but the little half-shell we were under was safe. The wind picked up and swept through the gap, blowing into our shelter with such force that the boat began to lift. Hank’s paw lashed out, grabbing a handle that would normally serve to stop someone from falling overboard if the boat was rocking. His fur was soaked through and I could see the muscles in the thick arm bulge as he held the boat down, keeping the figurative roof over our heads.

The icy barrage wasn’t dying down, nor was the racket it caused, but the echo in our shelter was so strong that I could hear myself gasping as I lay on my back. Under Hank. There wasn’t exactly a lot of room and the bulk of the tiger holding the boat down took up quite a lot of it. Storms always excited me and thrilled me but I have to admit this one scared me on top of it all. I was so hyped on adrenaline I almost felt high, gasping wildly and audibly as my chest heaved. Hank looked at me with what I was sure was concern. And it must have been, but…

In the mad dash my bikini top had slipped a little, leaving one nipple bare. Not that it mattered. The swimsuit was soaked and the cold made my nipples so stiff that the one covered by the thin fabric was quite clearly visible. And with me gasping for breath, my chest wasn’t staying still. Any man would have looked. And any man would have reacted…

I didn’t even try to fix my suit. There wasn’t enough room to move in there, not while avoiding wriggling and touching the male above me. The male who’d just finished swimming back and forth across the little bay and whose every muscle was bulging and outlined under wet fur after the workout. The male who’d just saved my life, which tended to make a lady swoon at the best of times. I didn’t swoon. Like I said, there was no room. I just looked down…

His swim-trunks were thin, but dark. They wouldn’t have shown anything interesting if they hadn’t been soaking wet. But they were and that made them cling to the rather obvious erection Hank was sporting. Could we have looked away? Where? Facing the gap between beach and boat meant the risk of getting your face blasted with sand whenever the gale blew their way. So neither of us looked away. My nipples didn’t get any less prominent, and neither did Hank’s erection.

Even if we did, if we could, I doubt it would have helped. Like I said, there was so little room in there. We could hear the echoing of each other’s labored breathing, and whenever the wind would fail to howl through for longer than a minute the air would fill with the smell of wet fur. I could pick out Hank’s own scent in the thick, moist air, and had little doubt he could pick up mine. So there I was with a strong, half-naked man above me, my heart racing, my nose twitching, one breast exposed and my eyes anchored just below Hank’s waist.

I tried putting myself back there, under that boat and under that icy barrage. Under him. Tried to find some reason why I did what I did. I had never been unfaithful, to Lyle or anyone else. If not for certain tangible consequences I might have dismissed the whole thing as a dream, a tawdry and cliche fantasy. A vivid one though. I don’t know why I did it but I could remember my hand shaking as I reached down to cup the heavy, hard outline against wet fabric so thin it might as well have not been there.

“Joan…” came a rumble from above. One word, my name, but loaded with meaning. A question, a plea, and admonishment. His eyes were on mine as we stared at each other, maybe looking for some hint. Maybe I was waiting for him to stop me. I wonder if he was doing the same. Either way, no one stopped anyone, and he certainly didn’ stop me when I dug my fingers into the waistband of his trunks and pushed them down. The atmosphere changed the moment his erection was freed and my nostrils flared in response.

God he smelled good! Soaked in seawater and rinsed by summer rain it was the smell of a healthy male untainted by deodorant or body wash. I could smell the heat of his cock before I wrapped my hand around it. He groaned, flexed, but didn’t tell me to let it go. Ice was threatening to bury us but it suddenly felt hot under our life-boat. I certainly felt like my breath was warm enough to melt the hailstones. The little balls of ice were no longer just embedding into wet sand. There were so many of them now that occasionally one would hit another and a cold lump would ricochet into our shelter. I could feel one melting against my right side but it wasn’t enough to cool me down. If anything it only made things more intense.

Hank didn’t say anything when I began to stroke, as much as the tight confines would allow me. One of his hands was pressed against the sand to the left of my head, the other still gripping the handle on the side of the boat. Huge, looming over me, but not intimidating not after that rescue, not after he led me to the safety of this boat. And smelling so... healthy! Maybe that was it? We were cowering from the elements, sheltering in what might as well have been some tiny cave… did that reduce my thinking to cavewoman sensibilities? A strong caring male, a suitable mate…

So if I was thinking at all, it was on some stone age level. The hail was still beating, but I didn’t even notice it at all, busy stroking the sabertooth in my grasp. I had made a choice at some point, and it was a pretty big one. This was going to happen, it was up to Hank to stop me if he didn’t want it to. I laid my free hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle of a male who didn’t let his body slump in his middle years, the heart pounding under the pec. Good genes too. My Lyle had the same ones, of course, but Lyle wasn’t under this boat with me. If he had been he’d already be inside me, of that I was sure. I was also sure that soon enough Hank would be.

His hands were otherwise occupied but I could feel his eyes on me, could see his own nostrils flare as he no doubt picked out my scent in the moist feline miasma pushing out the scent of storm and sea. I pulled my wet top all the way down, freeing two breasts covered by clinging honey colored fur, except for the splash of milk-white between them. His chest was heaving and I could feel each breath roll across my bare breasts as he began to buck into my fist. When he saw my free hand move down he didn’t stop me from pulling my bottoms aside, peeling away the fabric that wasn’t soaked in cold rain or sea water. When I began to wriggle and angle my hips he brought his down, letting me guide him.

I’m sure I was steaming down there but his pre still felt warm as the squirts struck my slit. Still, it couldn’t compare to the heat of his tip grazing my clit before I angled it down. I found myself almost reluctant to let him go once I had him wedged in my inner lips parted around his glans. Maybe it was because I knew that I’d be letting go in more ways than one. I still had control, I could stop this madness and stroke him off until he came on my belly. I gave him one last stroke, feeling the flares against my paw-pads before letting him go. I guess deep down, under that boat and in that storm, I didn’t want control. I knew what I wanted, and a second later I got it.

The shaky cry torn from my throat drowned out the sound of his groan but I could feel it reverberating against the hull of the boat. Combined with the noise of pounding hail, I hoped it also drowned out the squelch I made as he sank in with a single stroke. He didn’t force it in, but he didn’t ease it in either. I wondered if the same madness gripping me was clouding his mind, but I wondered very, very briefly. I was holding him, my slick walls wrapped taut around the hard mass he’d pushed into me, and that intimate invasion seemed like the only thing that really mattered.

My arms flew up and my hands met behind his powerful neck. I wanted to pull him down onto me, to feel his weight on me but Hank still had enough sense to keep his grip on the side of the boat to keep it from flipping over. Honestly, I’m not sure if hail beating down on his back would have made him pull out at that point. He stood still for what felt like forever, a nice gesture even though I wouldn’t have complained if he’d started fucking me right then and there. He was no bigger than Lyle, but my hubby had never sheathed himself without letting his fingers or his tongue get me ready first. I was sore later, but I was eager right there and then. And it felt so similar, so familiar…

There was one difference though - the feel of his glans pushing against my cervix with no silicone membrane in the way. In spite of that reminder, that call to sanity, I was the one who started moving. There wasn’t much room, I was on my back, but I am a feline. My back arched, my hips ground against him as I whimpered, driven to it by maybe half an inch sliding in and out. It was the barbs of course. They still weren't actually flared, just a little bit of extra texture to tickle a pussy the right way. They would flare, once Hank was close, and by then I’d be grateful the storm drove everyone away from the beach.

I felt saying being mashed into the wet fur on my back and my ass as I writhed and bucked under him, every bit a cat in her sexual and physical prime. Every muscle that could do something was flexing and straining, from my arching back, to my quivering thighs and the muscles massaging the male embedded in my snug slit. It was cramped, it was awkward, and I was doing little more than grinding myself against him and maybe sliding an inch off him before pushing back against his sheath, but it was bliss!

After a minute Hank decided to put me out of my misery. He pulled out, not very far but enough to make me mewl. I knew then why I couldn’t think. I was horny, hornier than I’d ever been since leaving puberty. The thrill I got from storms in general, the adrenaline from being genuinely afraid of this one, they just fanned the flames. The ones that lit up once every month and that I can normally handle. But nothing had been normal on that beach, at that moment. And once Hank bucked his hips and drove back in, I didn’t care if it was…

My ears flicked back and my teeth clenched as his blunt tip once again pushed against my cervix. He kept going even though I was quivering and clenching around him. It took me a moment to realize what had happened, and once I did I still didn’t believe it. I’d just orgasamed! It was a small one, so small I didn’t recognize it at once, but it had never happened to me so quickly and so suddenly. I suddenly felt scared, almost like I was a teen kitten taking that first big step into womanhood. For the first time in years I had no idea what was happening to me or how my body and mind would respond. But it wasn’t Hank I was scared of. That was why I lifted my hips the next time he thrust.

At some point the sharp pounding of hail had turned into the rushing sound of a summer shower without either of us noticing. It was just background noise now that our own noises were echoing inside the overturned hull. Occasionally some of my cries resembled words, but even the unintelligible noises seemed to be encouraging the male on top of me.

Hank wasn’t being rough, but he wasn’t gentle either. There was an urgency to this madness, as if we both knew that we had to finish before the storm did. Who was to say that once the howling wind and pouring rain calmed we wouldn’t do the same? I should have welcomed the idea of coming to my senses before things went too far, but at that moment it only made me whimper and pull on Hank.

He lost his mind along with me, releasing the handle and laying his hard, wet body on top of mine. He rested on his elbows, keeping some of his weight off me, but not all. I felt pinned, trapped under the big, muscular male and the feel of my nipples poking into the fur plastered over his hard pecs almost made me cum again.

I wrapped my limbs around him as only a feline can, claws poking out a little with each jab of his cock into my squelching slit. He wasn’t pulling out much but he managed to put a lot of force into every thrust. I knew for a fact that once I got up there would be an imprint of my ass in the wet, compacted sand under me. The wind rushed in, but we no longer cared if the boat would overturn. We were rutting like wild animals anyway, what difference would it make if we did it out in the open? We were the only ones crazy enough to still be on this beach…

I sometimes feel guilty now because I felt no guilt back then, back there. What I was doing was wrong but it felt right and doing anything but letting it take its course was unthinkable. Irresponsible, immoral… but he was so warm, he smelled so good! And the cock driving in and out of me in rapid, sharp jabs was taking me to heaven, thrust by thrust. Nobody could have stopped us. If the boat flipped and cold rain poured down on us, it would still be too little too late.

My next climax was unmistakable because it was that special one. Felines know what I’m talking about. His barbs had started to flare, and tickling had turned to something much more intense, something that had my ears folding and my tail luffing up, drenched and covered in sand through it was. Every time his cock slid out my teeth would grind and my toes would curl, pushing me past reason as dozens of tiny little nubs scraped and rubbed against the most vulnerable part of my body.

I buried my face in his neck… God, the smell of him! Wet, wild… male! My limbs tensed up, pressing me against him as every little movement of his shaft in my slick sex made fireworks go off in what was left of my mind. It hit me then, a big one. Bliss, rapture, sweet merciful release… and then a release of a different kind. Every woman knows that twinge, but for most they know the date when they can expect it and not the moment.

Not cats. Our bodies don’t release an egg until we gets proof that there’s a good reason. Like a rutting male seconds away from washing your womb with a torrent of thick, warm kitty-batter. It was clear even in the heat of my orgasm - a sharp pain, lower belly, this time a little to the left. It was’ a sobering pain, oh no. This was oil on the fire. My claws extended as I instinctively shared the delicious pain, and the growl I could feel through the soft flesh I was pressing against Hank’s chest ensured him that he knew what I was doing and why. He knew, he could have stopped it, but I don’t blame him for not doing it. There were plenty of chances for me to stop it, and I’d ignored all of them.

Growls, grunts, whimpers, yowls… all of them echoing under that boat, loud and obscenely feral. I was floating down from my peak but I knew Hank was close to his. I clung to him as my heart slowly wound down from the wild pounding, waiting for what I knew for a fact was inevitable. I had vowed to become a mother by the end of that year, and it was about to happen here, under this boat, before the rain stopped falling.

With a final roar and a thrust that pushed me along the wet sand, Hank came. His barbs flared fully, turning every bit of movement into pain, nature's way ensuring the kitty stayed still until the male was done, ensuring a capricious feline couldn’t change her mind in the crucial moment. Not that anyone could have pried us apart. The flares made his throbs more intense, lighting nerve endings on fire and forcing my attention deep down, a spot a little under my belly-button. I’d let Hank go just a little deeper than I’d ever let Lyle, his cum so thick and hot I could feel it as it seeped into my womb, making sure it was thoroughly seed before my egg even reached it. The rain was dying down, as if the storm knew that the show was over, the damage done. I still clung to him, and kept my face buried in his neck. It would be over the moment our eyes met, I knew it. The madness had passed, popped like a bubble and the look we were destined to share any minute now was the guilty look of conspirators, not lovers. So like a coward I clung to him and hid my face as his flow tapered off, his barbs smoothed down and the length that had been as hard as steel grew soft and slipped out. I should have gushed. I always did when Lyle slipped out, and the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. But there was only a trickle, warm and thick against my bruised folds. My body was keeping the rest where it needed to be…

*******

It’s May now, and here I am in my bedroom, dappled morning light creeping along the floor as I hold a purring bundle of joy to my bare breast. Our little Danny, as pretty a cub as I could have wished for. He even has a proper tiger’s stripes which I was really glad to see. Takes after... well, after Lyle’s side of the family. The doctors couldn’t pinpoint the date of conception down to the exact day, of course, so there’s no real way to know for sure without a test. Hank was first, but we only did it once. After I came back Lyle and I spent a sleepless but productive night. Does it really matter?

There won’t be a test. Hank’s keeping quiet and I will too. He’s got a pretty good poker face, thank God. When Amanda first cooed and gushed over her grandson and told Hank that Danny has his eyes, my tail had almost puffed up but the proud smile of the new (grand?)father never faltered. I… I don’t really regret what I did. I still can’t understand why or how it happened. I don’t love Hank, not as anything more than a father in law and I don’t think he loves me half as much as his wife. I love Lyle, and I love our little Danny. I know that my husband will be the father of my next cub, and any other ones. As for Danny, well he’ll just stay mommy’s little mystery…