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Kevin Miles (Kuroko)

fluffykuroko@gmail.com

Over the Moon

Garret knelt next to the chair. Throne, really, at least in purpose. Sure it was just a comfortably worn-in armchair, a little threadbare in places, but who it was for was important. He had been looking forward to this for a while, and the last few hours had been spent fussing with his appearance, getting ready, cleaning everything spotless. All the little preparations needed for-- Her. Just thinking about her made his heart skip a beat. His queen. He took a breath, held it, then let it out slow. Think, cat. Think slow. Settle yourself. It won't please her to be too eager, too excited. She likes you calm. She did, she had worked with him, training him to slow down, to savor things, not to rush. Which was a fair change of pace for a cheetah. While no one was sprinting across the savanna to tackle a gazelle, the stereotypes still had some bite to them. Until he met her, his whole life had been about moving fast. Driving fast, living fast, drinking a lot of coffee and just in general trying not to slow down, ever. Which, in a roundabout way, had dumped him in her lap.

_Shit shit shit I'm late for work!_Garret slid across the hood of his car, and hurried into the seat. Seatbelt on, trying to button his shirt with one hand as he slid it into reverse and pulled out of the space. Fast as he could out of the parking garage, and he was practically bouncing in his seat in agitation, waiting behind someone else at the exit. "C'mon c'mon c'mon! Move move I'm gonna be laaaaate!" It would be the third time this month, and it wasn't even half over. There were only so many times his boss was going to look the other way. And he'd already been written up once for tardiness. One more and it was back to unemployment, back to basic income and probably back to one of the dorm buildings, if he couldn't find another job fast. It wasn't terrible, but the rooms were pretty small, and communal bathing wasn't really his thing. So he was... hurrying. There was only so much he could push the car, before the traffic control programs would take over and lock him out, but he knew shortcuts, knew when he could push the limits a little to shave a few seconds off his commute. It wasn't a whole lot faster than taking the bus would have been, but it was faster, and he really, really couldn't stand to be any slower than he had to be. Which was, ten minutes later, probably a bad thing. The accident had been one hundred percent his fault. No one had been hurt, but tearing around a corner hadn't given him time to see the door opening into the street, and his little Aero had torn that door right off at the hinge. The wreck was going to make him solidly late, there was no way he would be leaving the scene. Not only was it stupid, illegal, and inadvisable, his car had disabled itself the instant a collision happened, and notified the authorities. So he had fifteen minutes to apologize awkwardly to the other driver. She was tall, fluffy, and apparently completely calm. He wasn't sure how, he'd come six inches from breaking her arm, and he'd done a lot of damage to her car, but she just acknowledged his apology and leaned against the trunk of her car, arms folded over ample chest. He wasn't sure, but it looked like more muscle than tits, too. It would fit with the rest of her. Samoyeds had an intense thing going, the almost too pure white and those ice-blue eyes made them very difficult to stand up to. And this one was physically imposing, too. Five minutes later, his phone pinged. He didn't even have to look at the screen to know who was calling. "Yeah, hey, boss I'm just--" "Fired. Fired, Garret. That's the word you're looking for. Whenever you decide to show up, your things will be waiting for you at the front desk." The line went silent, and he sighed. "Tough break, sparky. Yeah, I heard, these ears aren't just for hanging piercings from. Sounds like this rush to get in ain't a new thing?" "No, I just... I've been late a lot, and most of the time it's not late enough to matter. But I guess too many is too many." "Sounds like you'll have time to slow down now, at least." "Yeah I don't know how to do that." "Right, Cheetah. Ah, here's the law. Time for statements and shit." It took longer than he would have liked, and he felt worse and worse. The dog, whose name turned out to be Samantha Palmer, wasn't angry about it, she wasn't rude, she didn't even raise her voice. She also didn't hesitate to explain the entire accident in detail to the officer. Which made it entirely impossible for him to even pretend there was anything but him at fault, when it came to his turn to give a statement. "Yeah she... pretty much nailed it. I was rushing, came around the corner too fast, and took her door off. I'm very glad I didn't take her arm off, but it's not because I was prepared or anything. Just dumb luck." Car impounded, license suspended, and job lost, Garret was pretty much done. "Officially the worst day of my life." "Yeah, not great from my point of view either. Hey, I've got a while to wait before the tow gets here. There's a cafe right here. I'll buy coffee." She paused and looked at him a moment. "Decaf, in your case." Hours later, after the tow truck had come and gone, they were still talking. He was dead sure it wasn't because he was some sort of adept conversationalist. She was laughing now and then, but mostly she was grilling him for details. "Seriously Garret, you don't like working, and it's not strictly necessary, so why do it? What is it that kept you trying to hang on to a job you didn't really want in the first place?" "It's silly." "Try me." He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. It was a busted wish now, anyway. "I wanted to take a system cruise." "Oh, not cheap at all, no. How far off are you?" "Uh. Well, before whatever damage today is going to do, I was maybe five months of work away from a full year cruise. I could probably still swing a four month, but that's only Mars, the asteroid belt, and Venus, if the trajectories all line up. Still a fantastic voyage but not the full tour." "Yeah. I've been considering doing one, but it seemed like a shame to just go by myself, really." Which had seemed like a fairly strange thing to say, at the moment. Nothing she'd said so far had been haphazard or flippant. If anything, she'd been hunting with words, stalking and precisely leading him along, and he was aware of that. But also not particularly worried. After all, dogs might chase cats, but cats invariably got away. Right? Samantha broke the silence with "So what are you going to do now? At least you don't have to get up early tomorrow, right?" His sour chuckle prompted a grin from her. "Find a bright side, spots. There's one, if you look." "If I still want that full year cruise, I damn well do have to get up early tomorrow. I won't find another job sleeping in, and there's not much chance of getting out there if I don't pick up another job. Easy chain of events. Public transit's not so bad, and I can probably sell off the car for a little lump of cash, too. There's a bright side, I guess."

He hadn't gotten another job. His string of tardiness reports hadn't done him any favors, and with jobs a limited supply item, the competition for them was always cut throat. A head for numbers couldn't outrun a reputation for just being hard to get going, and his earnestness made it hard to project a cool, calm front.

Two days after he'd moved back into one of the towers, going from a relatively spacious 800 square foot studio to a closet-like 200, he got a call from a code he didn't recognize. Audio only, to start with then. "Hello?" Samantha's voice was a surprise, but a pleasant one. "Hey spots! How's the job hunt going?" "Poorly. I'm back in the dorms, and it looks like that's a closed chapter on my space-faring dream." "Aw. That sucks. Sorry to hear. Not all hope is lost, though. Meet me for dinner, I might have a proposition for you." "Are you buying?" "Sure. Hope you like Brazilian, then, because that's what I'm in the mood for."

He could smell the place a block away, and followed the heavenly aroma all the way to the front door. It was a nice place, and he felt underdressed when he got there. It wasn't black tie or anything, but faded jeans and a T-shirt didn't fit in. They certainly didn't match Samantha. Some things never went out of style, and the little black dress was one of them. Blue, in her case, black would have been awful against all that white fur. And it matched her eyes. He hadn't even seen them again, and he knew the shade matched exactly. A realization that startled him, somewhat. "I asked if you have a reservation, sir?" "Oh sorry, sorry. I'm with her, actually." The maitre d' gave him the kind of judgmental glance reserved for teenagers and con artists, then shrugged. "Miss Palmer said she was expecting a cat, so I suppose you might be with her. If you're not, we all get to watch a show." Which sounded a little ominous, but Samantha turned and grinned at him as he walked over. What sort of 'show' the host had implied slid right out of his mind. "You look good, Sam. I'm feeling like I need to run around the corner and find a tailor to fix the sin that is this outfit, next to you." "Psh, flattery will get you a lot of things, cat. Sit down, there's a slab of meat with our names on it wandering around here. Plenty of time to talk after we eat." The food was as good as it smelled, and plentiful. The kind of place that sold you a seat, and kept feeding you until you got up, without anything so annoying as menus or waiters. Just guys wandering around through the crowd with huge skewers loaded with meat. "Okay I haven't had a meal this good in ages. Thanks, Sam." "Thanking me already. I guess I picked the right place to butter you up before the deal." "Deal?" Sam sat back in her chair, tipping it up on the back legs as she took a drink of beer. "I'm headed on a two year system cruise in a month. Won't be back in town for quite a while." "Oh. Is this an offer to make some money watering your plants? I can do that. No wild parties or anything." "Tempting, but my sister's already on that one. Come with me. There's still open slots in the roster. I know you don't have enough to handle the cost on your own, but I have extra. Geology is a pretty lucrative thing, if you know where to dig." It was a very, very tempting offer. Not only his dream, but twice as much of it. "What's the catch? There has to be one. No one offers this kind of extravagant bait if there's not a string attached somewhere." "Okay, fair, but it's not that devious. Come back to my place, I'll explain over drinks, yeah?" Garret couldn't have said no to that. There was just too much on the table, so to speak, for him to walk away.

That had been nine months ago. They were eight months out from Earth, and had moved on after refueling and a few weeks on Mars. The terraforming process was coming along nicely, there was green in places, and the atmosphere would soon be thick enough to breathe unassisted. It had been a really pleasant two weeks, touring through the expansive agricultural domes and the deep cavern cities. And he'd done it all at Samantha's side. That's where he'd been for almost all of the last nine months, and the ways that had changed him were already evident, at least to him. They moved at her pace. He wasn't on a leash, but he knew that any pulling at the metaphorical one would get soft admonishment in public, and sterner rebuke in private. He was learning, and while parts of it still felt like a challenging game to him, it was very... calming. He was still easy to get fired up, he still wanted to move through life the way a cheetah was supposed to, but she was helping him adjust. "Make it a conscious choice," she had said. "Don't just go fast on impulse, do it because you decide to. There's nothing wrong with being fast, or being slow, as long as you choose to do so." He was doing well, most of the time. Sometimes old habits got the better of him, and he'd zoom off to chase some thought or activity. She was always waiting for him when he remembered, and the first time had been an abrupt lesson in expectations, and the consequences of not living up to them.

"So, spots, what did you think you were doing?" Garret contemplated, for a moment, his position. Pinned to the floor, with Sam straddling his chest. One hand was trapped at his side under her thighs, and she had the other wrist over his head. No chance of getting loose like this, not with her size advantage. "I went for a run." "You went for a run. And what did you forget to do?" "Tell you where I was going." It was, he thought, kind of a silly rule. But she'd made it part of the arrangement. She was covering a big portion of his being here, on this trip. So she had made following her directions part of the price he was paying. It wasn't exactly an uncommon arrangement on the ship, and at least he wasn't on an actual leash. Unlike Mister Neville-Smyth. His wife had him on a literal short leash. The old guy had a pretty impressive six-pack to go with his enormous mustache. "You forgot to tell me where you were going. So we're just going to have to punish you, and provide you an incentive to not forget next time." Punish him? He was uncertain about that, but if she said it was part of the rules, well... He probably ought to have spent more time reading those before he'd signed the agreement. Moving fast had given him trouble, again. "So what should we do. Hobble chain? Give you a foot of play between your ankles and see if that slows you down? Nah, kind of severe for a first offense, and I don't want you to trip and fall all over the ship. But it still has to be something you'll remember, something you'll feel." "I get the feeling you already have something in mind and you're just dragging it out to be mean." "Spoilsport. Fine. You'll like it, anyway. Probably. Eventually."

"It" was a chastity cage. Not uncomfortable, really, though it took some getting used to. Curved and nicely fitted, so much so that it might have been a custom job. Though how she'd have gotten those measurements was a mystery. It didn't show after he put his briefs back on, but he could feel the weight of it with every step. "One day for your first mistake. It will go on longer every time, until either you stop making mistakes, or it just never comes off." Given the way she was grinning, and the way she was cupping his bulge, she didn't intend to make the day easy on him.

She hadn't made that day easy, he reflected. Nor any of the ones after that. Each mistake added a day to the clock. And the clock didn't reset, as he'd found out after a series of poor decisions had her adding a week to his time, before he'd even been unlocked. And then another week. And another. The door to the cabin slid open, and for a moment Samantha just stopped and leaned on the doorway. "Something special today, spots?" She was teasing, he knew. She'd made a point of telling him how long she'd be out, and to wait for her. When he just grinned at her, she grinned back and closed the door. The shopping bag that had been hidden behind her hip caught his eye, and he turned a curious glance to her. "This? Just a little something to make things even more fun. I bet you really want out of that cage, don't you." She slid into the seat, wiggling a little to get just the right angle. "Yes please." Short, deliberate sentences. Good boys don't rush or ramble. Good boys are polite. She had so many rules, but they were all very sensible, once you knew them. "Remind me, how long has it been?" "Five months, eight days, and," he glanced at the clock on the wall, "fifteen hours." Good boys are as precise as they can be. Clear and concise information is a good thing. "That's a very long time, kitty cat. Are you sure you don't want to keep it on longer?" "Very sure, please." He stayed kneeling next to the chair, but not fidgeting was taking a lot of effort. He'd been carefully keeping track of the days, trying to keep himself from screwing up, and really, really, really hoping for some actual release. "You don't want another nice slow drain? We've been doing them every week, just like clockwork."

"Ah, it's been a full week, it's Saturday now. Still have three days to go, but I think it would be unhealthy to keep you pent up too long. Besides, you need to get used to how we're going to relieve the pressure next time, if you screw up again." Garret wasn't sure what she was talking about, but given the way she'd slept every night, spooned up against his back with a hand on his crotch, he was feeling very pent up. She'd made a point of masturbating too, or sitting on his face while she played with his cage. He was feeling very, very sore about that. Sore in general. "Alright, I guess. What do you want me to do?" "Oh, nothing! You're going to just get on all fours on the bed, and try to relax. I'll do all the rest." So he did, bare naked on his hands and knees as she set a bowl under his hips, and started to rub under his tail with something. "Slow and easy, kitty cat. Just relax." Her other hand was massaging his neck and shoulders while she slowly worked him open. Whatever the lube was, it was warm, and slick, and penetrated well. And the toy wasn't big, but angled a little, the end hooked down just a bit. When she flicked it on, and the vibrating motor nestled in right against his prostate, he let out a throaty groan. It wasn't, exactly, an orgasm. There was none of the euphoric rush, none of the breathless ecstasy. But he could see the semen pouring out, slowly. Draining in little spurts into the bowl. It wasn't exactly orgasm, but it felt good. A little relief after a week of teasing and blue balls. When the vibrator stopped, he was completely empty, but still wanting, still needing full release. "And that's exactly how a good boy should be," Samantha replied, when he mentioned that persistent desire.

"No thank you, I'd really like to be unlocked now." Polite but firm. Good boys don't push, but they aren't push-overs. Finding the middle ground there had been difficult, but he was pretty sure he'd managed. "Okay. But we're going to take it slow. You've been locked up for a while now and we don't want any accidents." Accidents. No, those weren't going to happen. She got up from the chair, then took a little time getting him positioned how she wanted, with his arms folded on the back of her chair, knees against the seat. "Now you hold still. Don't move until I say." Not the easiest instruction for a very, horny and very excited cheetah to obey. Especially when she was being teasingly slow about the whole thing. He felt her breasts, bare against his back, all that lush fluff and soft, tender flesh. Felt her hand on his stomach, then both hands. Down, until both hands cupped his cage, his balls. She squeezed, just a little. They'd found out early that pain was not a happy thing for him, but a little bit now and then wasn't bad, and she loved to make him squirm. She got the squirm from him, and the little gasp, that she'd been wanting, and kept one hand cupping while the other went to wherever in her fur she kept the key. There was no overt indication when she found it, but something, maybe a change in scent or a quickening of her heartbeat, told him she had it in hand, and he held extra still for her, just in case she was looking for a reason not to unlock him. He felt the moment of pressure as the key slid in, the integral lock almost seamless in the chrome of the cage. Felt the sudden change as it disengaged, and loosened. He was free, but he didn't move. She hadn't said go, yet. And she didn't. Oh, the cage came away, dropped on the chair, but she stayed pressed against his back, both arms wrapped around him. One hand splay-fingered on his chest, the other slowly stroking him. It took very little, after so long captive, to get his prick up and ready, eager in her paw. "So how would you like it, kitty? I know what I'll be doing, it won't change a thing, but what do you want?" No hesitation, immediately, "I'd like to fuck you, ma'am." He hadn't, yet, but he'd tasted her enough, smelled her constantly. Had fingers and tongue inside her. "Tsk, so fast? No dinner first?" She was teasing, still stroking him as she laughed with her muzzle on the back of his neck. "You're doing such a good job of holding still, kitty. Take it slow. Just use your hips. I'll hold my hand still for you. Show me how slow you can go." He felt her hand still, and the hand on his chest left, bracing against the back of the chair. The instinct, the desire, so harsh he could taste it, was to go fast, run hard for the pleasure and relief he'd been aching for. But he didn't. That was the whole point of all of this, teach him to be slow, to make his pace a deliberate choice, a thing he had control of. His hips moved, slow and gentle, forward and back, stroking himself with her paw. The sensation made him shudder, that mix of soft and downy fur and smooth skin on his cock. He'd already dampened her palm while she'd teased him, and the motion was a smooth glide, no friction to cause hesitation. It was kind of strange, some tiny part of him mused. There was nothing really stopping him from telling her no, from telling her he was done playing her control game, and part of him really, really wanted to. But she'd never been even a little bit mean about it, always cheerful and helpful, and she did seem to have his best interest in mind. A surge of sudden pleasure made him shudder, her hand tightening for a moment, ramping the pleasure up as he thrust. His hips were jerky, uncontrolled for a moment, and he gasped a little cry of want. "Easy kitty, easy. You'll get what you want, and it will be even better for the wait. Take it slow, slow, build it up nice and easy." Her voice was calm, cheerful, her breath still hot against the back of his neck. He could feel her excitement, the way her breath caught when he pushed forward. He wasn't sure if it was his pulse or hers that was throbbing around his malehood. Probably both, but so fast and strong he wasn't sure. Slowly, slowly he worked his hips, worked himself in her paw, and the long wait was making it harder to resist just going for it, popping off an orgasm in a rush. But he didn't. He wanted to, but more, he wanted to see if doing things her way paid off. He was breathing harder, ragged, so close that it ached, when she whispered "Stop" in his ear. He shuddered to a stop, holding still as his pulse pounded in his ears, and he throbbed in her hand. "Hold still right there. I'll be right back." And she stood up, walked away, leaving him panting and alone above the chair. He wasn't surprised at the puddle of pre he'd left there, or the way he was still drooling it in drips and drops. Her return earned flattened ears and a worried mew as she placed the familiar bowl under him. She responded with a gentle laugh, and hugged around him again. "Don't worry, you're going to get a good solid orgasm, I'm not just going to drain you out and leave you needy. You earned this. But I don't want you losing it early. So I'm going to make sure, when I bend over for you, that you're going to have the staying power to do the job right." Another thing she'd made a point of often. Sprinting to the finish got things done quick, but if he wanted to do it well, he had to take the time to do it right. A point she made about almost everything, from eating, to travel, to eating her out. And, apparently, sex as well. It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. And there was no use arguing. She'd done it again, dangled what he wanted in front of him, making it a reward for something that he was less enthusiastic about. If he wanted to fuck her-- and he very much did-- he had to submit to this excruciatingly slow preparation. It was part of her, this urge to slow him down, to drag it out, and she was his queen. There was no arguing with her. To do so would have been unthinkable. Again, she snuggled up behind him, hips to his ass, breasts on his back, and a hand wrapped around his dick. "Slow, kitty. You know how to go. You know what to do." She barked a happy little laugh as his hips moved again, slow and easy, working himself in her hand. It wasn't hard to get back to that edge. It was where she wanted him, and once he got there, it was all careful, slow pushes. He huffed once, and she understood the unspoken message, and let go. The orgasm started, but faltered without any more contact or touch, and his release trickled, drooling from his tip with no force or power, emptying into the bowl. She waited, then wrapped her hand again. "Two more, kitty." There was no need for a rest between, not with these. Ruined orgasms, incomplete and unfulfilling, could be had back to back, and it only took a few minutes of thrusting to get back to the brink. And again, a tense huff of breath told her when she needed to let go. More of him drained into the bowl, and he trembled for a moment. His desire to obey and be hers was at odds with the instinct to complete the act, to achieve orgasm, and he shook his head a little. He was surprised how harsh his voice sounded. "Please. No more of this. Can I please not ruin another one?" He was well aware of her hand, still on his belly, rubbing absently there. Knew it would take very little to put him back to the brink again. "You sure? Well, if you're sure. Take a quick breather, get your pulse down, and I'll get myself ready." Which let him stand up, and stretch. He was... sore and tired, worn out. Holding still, moving slow was a strain, not something he was good at. Not yet, but he would be. It was just a matter of practice, and she was apparently dead set on giving him a lot of that. "Well, kitty, what do you think?" He turned at her voice, and stopped to stare. That extravagantly curved and fluffy body was decorated. Not covered, not concealed, merely adorned. There were black and silver threads woven into her fur all over, making her sparkle in the dimmed light, and each nipple carried a heavy barbell, either end capped in diamond. More glittering silver at her ankles and wrists, braided silver cord bracelets and anklets. She leaned against the doorway again, grinning at the stunned look on his face. "I'll take that slack jaw as approval, and the renewed strength down there," she pointed at an erection that had been flagging a moment ago, and was now right back to full mast, "as an appetite. Well, kitty. You earned it. I think you said your favorite position was, amusingly, doggy? You want to get up behind me on the bed and show me a good time?" He just nodded, still a bit dazed. Damn, did she look good. Sure, he was faster, but she had the curves and the padding, the height and the mass. He wasn't going to pretend that he was able to physically dominate her, but if she consented and played along, well... nothing wrong with that. She strutted past him, a fingertip tracing under his chin to drag him along, and he followed in her wake. No collar, no leash, but it didn't matter. He followed her anyway to the bed. Their cabin wasn't huge, but enough space to be comfortable aboard the giant cruise liner, and the bed was more than big enough for what they wanted. She crawled onto it, tail up and wagging. The only part of her that she couldn't tame into being as slow and sultry as the image she wanted to maintain. It did what it pleased, and sent messages she couldn't hide. Right now, it was calling him forward, and as much as he wanted to just hop up and mount her, that would have been an awful waste of an opportunity. Besides, the way she leaned forward, ass up, wiggling her hips, he knew just what he wanted to do, and what she wanted. She was always clean, and he was pretty sure she had stopped on the way back to the room for a fresher, because the only scent he picked up on, even with his nose under her tail, was her. Just her. Her lust, her excitement, her delight, but all her, nothing else. He kissed her lips with enthusiasm, parted them with his tongue and tasted her. Just like the first time, there was that heavy flavor, something raw and animal in it, that stoked his hunger for her and sharpened it to a live, dangerous thing. He wanted to consume her from the bottom up. Just as they'd found he didn't really like pain, he knew she had some delight for it, and the way she gasped and moaned when he bit her thigh hammered that home. He wasn't sure how hard he could bite, and didn't want to go too far, but the little nips had given way, slowly, to larger and harder things. He was careful, always, but she shuddered so well, moaned so nicely, that care was eroding. He was going to go too far one of these days, and he hoped it wouldn't go badly. But for now, she loved it, she pushed back at him when he bit, panted delight when he licked or nuzzled his nose into her folds, kissed her button. Midway through he took her little nub in his teeth, held it carefully there and flicked his tongue over it while she squeaked and shuddered pleasure. Her squeaks were delight, all out of place to the big, controlled, capable image she projected. The first time he'd laughed, she'd swatted him on the nose. But not in anger, mostly in amusement. It was cute, he'd argued, and the way she blushed had made him just plain happy. That was one thing he was absolutely in love with. Outside of their respective roles, aside from the pageantry of sexuality and chastity and teasing, it was very easy to just be around her. And god, did she taste good. The flood of her soaked his chin, and he knew from experience that he'd be tasting and smelling her in everything for hours. How awful. And the way she shuddered and squirmed in front of him made his next move all too clear. Now was a good time. One hand slid around her, under her body, and he planted his nose at the back of her neck, then bit there. No attempt to take her scruff, to take control. That wasn't what he wanted, he wanted to fill her, feel her around him, and wanted her willing and eager for it. Which she certainly seemed to be, pushing her ass back against him and grinding hips, rubbing her soft furred cheeks against a profoundly eager erection. He was glad for the earlier play, for the draining, because as soon as he slid inside her, he had to simply stop and pant, try to retake control of himself. "As good as you were hoping, kitty cat?" Her voice was a little rough, but carried her usual tone of teasing amusement. "Better than," he panted in reply, then started to work himself in and out. It had been way too long since he'd been inside a woman. Or anyone, really, sex unrelated. And having smelled, tasted, and slept next to this one for half a year had left him with an enormous appetite, a pent up lust, and a very, very solid want for Sam, specifically. That it was happening now was seriously the best thing he could imagine. She kept pushing back against his hips, the mass difference giving her all the leverage she needed to do as she liked with him behind her. And she wanted it nice and slow. No rush, just savor every thrust and slide, every inch of friction. If he tried to rush, she'd just put an end to it. He didn't want that, and that seemed to be the point. Slow and steady, easy and soft, no rush, no hurry, taking it easy in a position that either of them could stay in for a while. More than once he felt himself getting close, and slid to a stop. She was cooperative, there, letting him get his breath back and come back from the edge before starting to push her ass against him again. It was a comfortable, slow thing, very unlike the hurried, frantic expression of blazing lust that most of his earlier hookups had been. Those had been flashfires, hot and fast and intense, but over quickly. This was more like a fireplace, slow and hot and calm, no rush, just time to bask in it. "Hold on kitty let's..." Sam pulled away a little, and rolled onto her back, then grinned at him, and hugged her arms around her knees, wagging her brush-tail across the bed underneath her. "Try like this hm?" She was tighter, with her thighs together like that, and she giggled at the expression of bliss and effort on his face. "Silly cat. Don't have to fight so hard to hold back. You've done a lot of slow and easy, but you don't have to grind to a halt for that. Just take it easy, take it slow, ride it out." Some minutes later, her giggles turned to moans, his panting more ragged and his hips finally uncontrolled, Moving on their own against her. And then it was over, he slowed to a stop still buried inside her, panting and shaking a little in the haze of euphoria. She wasn't much better off; the bed (and quite a lot of her fur) was soaked in various tasty fluids, and she was still making tiny half-giggled moans, trembling as much as he was. "Ooooh, good kitty. Good. You understand now?" And he did. Finally understood what she'd tried to get through to him for months. "That's it, ain't it Sam? Life's too short to live fast." "Pretty much, yeah. Hey, let's get clean, kitty. They're doing classes after dinner for the solar sail boarding thing on the way out to Jupiter. I signed us up. Think you can remember how to go fast?" "Six months teaching me to slow down, and now you want me to go fast?" "Yeah. That a problem? I can probably find a buggy whip somewhere on this barge. Need to learn how to be a sled dog?" "Uh... no?" "Then mush, kitty, the shower's waiting."