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In Over Your Head

Friday night. The club sound system pounded like a sledgehammer in her ears. The air was thick and sticky like the sickly-sweet drink she sipped carefully, so carefully. She hadn't paid for it—she never did—but her goal wasn't to get drunk. Not yet. She needed to be sharp. She was on the hunt, and there was a target right in her sights.

He was tall and lean, with a swimmer's build covered in a light shirt a size too small. Button-up, the ugly kind that tourists wore around back home every day of the year. Slacks that pretended to be comfortable in the summer swelter, hanging over shoes that gave away his complete lack of it. He was a boy trying to be a stud, wishing he understood the fashion and that he had a single clue what women wanted. Judging by the look on the poor thing's face, it had been a long night filled with chatting up the bored bartender and supplementing his resolve with margaritas.

He was everything she wanted, and a morph to boot, a mouse or something, the shitty lights made it hard to tell. Bit big for the stereotype, but what did she care? Call it a preference, call it a kink, call it a fetish. She didn't care what you thought. They were exotic, just as much as she was, sought after like diamonds. But most girls wouldn't engage with a morph for love, money, or brain-shattering orgasms. It was bestiality, her mother would say. They have fleas and ticks. Even her best friends would say they had weird dicks and could only fuck a girl animal-style.

She could tell them entirely different stories: morphs were the same as any human she'd ever had in bed. They had the same cocks and the same holes and all the same instincts and functions. Most of them even tasted the same. And she knew a few things about tasting males. The biggest draw with morphs though was that lack of confidence. Every club, beach, bar, and hot spot in the country was dotted with morphs trying to fit in with the trendy kids and usually failing, usually through no fault of their own. And that's where she came in.

If you asked her parents, she was Catalina. Her closest friends got to call her "Cat". Most people just stumbled through her name while she laughed. It wasn't her fault idiot virgins and dweebs couldn't work their tongues when she was around. In the presence of a goddess even the strongest man might get shaken.

To people who didn't know her better and to men who knew her far too well, she was Jezebel, the woman who rampaged through a man's ego like a buffalo stampede and left them lonely, broke, and despondent. She didn't care. If a man couldn't handle the Cat then they didn't deserve her. Even if she had a reputation all over campus—hell, all over the city—the people who mattered most didn't pay any attention. There was a non-stop deluge of people every night of the week begging to find their way under her skirt, inside her blouse, to have a just one chance to bust a nut into the hottest pussy that had ever swam away from the tropics. They weren't always good. But they were always there.

Cat adjusted her bottle-blonde hair out of her eyes (black hair was for ugly old women), tucking it behind an ear before giving her tube top a tug. Whatever deity was responsible for tits had buzzed past her house and left her with lumps of coal. But what the spirits wouldn't give her medical science was happy to as long as sugar daddies who thought they'd be getting all the benefits kept the money coming. A scalpel, some saline, and a couple of tiny scars later she had a nice, firm pair of C cups to draw those eyes in. Not a hint of sag, not for what she'd made other people pay.

Though really she didn't need the tits. If the breast fairies had passed her by the Gods of ass had dropped in and bukkakked all over her hips, endowing "Little Kitty" with a backside that required hitting up specialty stores every time she needed a pair of jeans. It was firm, smooth and solid, a pair of half-globes that bounced with every step she took. There was no way to sit without sticking it out, stuffed into a pair of shiny yoga pants that tried to climb up the crack as she bent over the bar and nursed her fruity concoction, shifting her heels a bit now and again idly. If her tits were a tease, her ass was the main course, the 'tail' of her bikini bottoms pointing down at those glutes and leading the chosen few to hedonistic paradise. Cat wiggled a little, bending forward, elbows on the glass counter top.

She felt the morph's eyes on her. It was quick glance, the 'is she for real' kind. He knew she was out of his league, but he couldn't resist giving in to his urges if just for a second, nothing that would offend the sex bomb ticking away just a few feet away. Cat smiled to herself, sucking gently on an ice cube before swallowing theatrically, head tilted back a little, licking her fingers to finish the routine. Cat heard the bartender chuckle to himself—he'd seen this entire performance before, even been a participant more than once. For tonight, though, he knew better and moved his way down the bar, out of the blast radius.

Slate gray eyes turned to their right, peeking out the corners. She had his attention in every possible way, from his wide eyes to his slack jaw and tented pants. She could read his mind. At best, he thought, he'd go home and jerk off to just the shadowy glimpses of her body, dreaming about the things they could have done together if he was a better man, if he had more money or wasn't a fucking mouse walking on two legs like he thought he was a human. But fucking her? No, that'd never happen.

"Hi there," Cat murmured, one hand on his arm. "You look lonely..."

Cat clawed at the tile of the back of the bathroom stall, trying to find something to grab on to as the morph slapped his meat awkwardly into her snatch, jackhammering his hips against hers. It was a scene straight out of a low-rent porno, the kind that's light on story and high on over-acted moans and theatrical grunts. There they were, five minutes into their romantic liaison in the passably clean men's room of a neon soaked night club, her black skin-tight pants peeled down to her ankles and the mostly clean mound of her pussy on display, wet, hot, swollen under a thatch of damp hair.

She hadn't bothered remembering his name, though she was sure he'd said it between his nervous squirming and charmless stammering. With his shirt open, the mouse's chest was nice enough but he backed it up with a wet-tissue personality—all tortilla and no meat, one of Cat's friends had said once while they were bedding a couple of nerds in high school. Former friend, really. They didn't talk after Cat shagged her to-be-husband during his bachelor party. This guy was soaked in naiveté and run on cheap alcohol. It had been a total breeze to lure him back with a bit of sweet talking, a few giggles and a squeeze of his strictly average package flavored with whispers of a warm body to hold all night. Oh the things she offered him. A temptress with a silver tongue...

"Oh fuck, baby, you're so tight," he moaned, keeping up the whole cheap stroke film motif as he awkwardly worked himself through her snatch, both hands gripping her ass for dear life. It was all he'd done and she was already bored less than a half-dozen pumps in; at least he had an okay cock, six inches with a nice fat head on it that could at least get in there and stir up the honey. But it wasn't enough. It'd never be enough. She knew what was coming—after dozens of men exactly like this one, Cat could read the entire script a million pages in advance, and the squeaky bastard behind her that was using her as a breathing fleshlight was hitting all the cues one by one.

_"Ay, papi! _ Uhn!" She leaned her head back and gave him a lusty glance, tongue working over her lips as she pretended the gray thing was the best fuck she'd ever had. "Fuck me harder, baby." With one hand holding the toilet pipe and the other pressed tightly to the stall partition, Cat arched her back up, rising and falling with the cadence balls slapping against her ass. Two words and a little grunt—that's all it took to make the mouse shiver and shudder. Pump. Pump. Long sigh.

And that was it. The mouse throbbed inside her a little, and Cat could feel the slight warmth of a load dropping into the condom. It was substantial, maybe. With how good a fuck she'd was that wasn't a surprise. Everyone sprayed themselves down when her pussy was the target.

Not three minutes later and her 'prey' was easing himself back out of her, panting like he'd run a marathon. Cat sighed in annoyance and stood up, stuffing herself back into her top with all the seductiveness of a hippo with diarrhea. Her partner slumped against the door with a dopey smile on his face, adjusting his stupid hair out of his eyes. She glared at him.

"Sure you aren't up for round two?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Cat rolled her eyes hard, sighing again. "You call that a round? No way, Valentino. I don't bend over for minutemen."

"M-my name's not Valentino—" The mouse fumbled with the condom, managing despite his best efforts at sabotage to get the rubber off without spilling anything on himself. "But I thought you wanted me."

"I want a lot of things, niñito. Like an orgasm." She pushed him back onto the toilet, crouching down and pulling his wallet out of his pants. One quick shuffle confirmed him for a pump'n'dump chump tourist—he had over a grand in there, big fat bills for paying for a big fat time. She helped herself to a small handful, maybe two hundred bucks. It'd get her home and cover her next night out.

"What in the fuck—you slut! You fucking whore! That's mine!" Oh, now he was going to scream at her, whiny and shrill. If she wasn't pissed off already she definitely was now.

"You owe me for putting up with your needle dick. Next time you want a girl to lie to you about what kind of stud you are, hire a hooker." And she was out, letting the stall door crash shut behind her, stopping for half a second to watch the nasty remnants of that limp screw off her hands before going back to the club floor.

Cat paused and looked around a bit. Whoever that asshole was, he'd managed to not just be a lousy lay but he was a shithead about it too. Cat couldn't stand a bad lover, but one who wouldn't own up to it was even worse. And a plan was hatched.

She turned and waggled her fingers towards a massive rhino in a tight red shirt—club security, and one of the biggest brutes in the group. Queerer than a three dollar bill, but he was friendly and more than happy to help out a pretty lady if it meant the club ran smoother than Astroglide.

"Oh, oh Barry, I'm so glad to see you." On went the 'damsel in distress' face, one of a thousand masks Cat could put on with a blink to suit whatever purpose she needed. "There's some guy in the women's bathroom...I think he's watching the girls and...y'know..." A little pump gesture of her hand, and Barry went stone-faced, nodding and whispering something into his headset.

Cat walked out to the dance floor again. She didn't need to see what was about to happen to Valentino. There were other stallions in the barn to consider as she pressed body to body with the best and most beautiful of the city. Her people.

Smooth tanned palms stroked over the impressively firm ass of a tiger who had stepped in front of her without realizing it, Cat dancing close enough that he could hear her over the thundering music. "Hi there, baby." His partner scowled at Cat's cutting in, but she got nothing but disdain in return. "It's my last night in the city." Her fingers curled slightly, stroking over his belly and down along the bulge in his slacks, practically serving up a handjob while the bony bitch of a dog who'd had the pleasure of his company sputtered and wandered off to drink away the rage. He was the opposite of the mouse: confident and hung to distraction.

"Wanna come back to my hotel room and give me some memories?"

The morning after her flight home was not a party. It was more like a funeral and Cat was the corpse on display. A little too much partying, a lot too much partying, it all added up to a metaphorical thunderstorm in her skull.

Worse all though: it was September 8th. That was a black day for all the dance hall Delilahs like Cat, because it meant college was back in session. Gone were the hot breezes of Malibu or Honolulu, smoldering sand pressed against scandalous swimsuits that were off as often as they were on. With the end of summer came the end of slacking around, looking for the next over-confident stud to bleed dry in every possible way. Instead of paradise she had herself a dorm room, a tiny bed and a couple of shelves to share with someone whom she couldn't find any fucks to give about in any of her boxes of stuff.

Cat cursed under her breath as a pair of half-wit jocks shuffled back and forth, toting those cardboard boxes about, filled with promises that they would be "rewarded" after it all was done. As if. The two brutes would lucky if she even let them stay for a beer and some weed. Cat's parents had insisted on picking her college for her, knowing full well she'd shoot straight for a party school, the kind where you got your degree in Human Interactions Below The Belt. So here she was at some Podunk shithole in the middle of Ohio with the hope, the desperate flailing hope against all odds, that maybe it would the hedonist out of her.

How naive of them. Li'l Kitty Cat had hit the ground running in her freshman year and churned the sleepy locals into a frenzy. It went without saying that she wasn't alone in her most salacious endeavors—there were dozens of them, all over the place, roving in wild packs that preyed on the spineless, the inexperienced, the over-confident. But no one was so good at it as Cat, no one so brazen and unscrupulous. It's hard for a girl to survive without a few skills. That entire freshman year had proven her parents had made one hell of a mistake.

"Cat, you bitch!" The quiet reverie of dreaming about cabana boys while a draft horse with an IQ lower than his waist size hefted a TV over the threshold was shattered by the shrill screech of a harpy with laryngitis.

Cat rolled her eyes over to the source of the explosion, giving it all the consideration of a parent to their brat who just shit their pants for the third time today. Jock #2 took one step to his left, dodging a girl half his height but ten times his force, all cranked into shooting daggers at Cat between deep panting breaths.

"What's wrong now, Heather?" The chubby little thing was exasperating, always worked up about this or that or what the fuck ever. They were technically friends, but being 'friends' with Cat could mean a few different things, and with Heather it meant being a lackey and a sycophant. Chubby little dorky Heather, with her impossibly messy brown hair and coke bottle glasses, her total lack of fashion sense and complete nerd complex. Cat used Heather as leverage, mocked her and stole from her. And the dumb bitch kept coming back for more.

Heather dropped her saggy butt into one of the cheap chairs that came with the cheap room. "You ditched me! After you promised you'd hook me up, too!" The little fatass pouted, arms crossed under tits, wrapped up in some stupid cartoon t-shirt. Cat scoffed. Twenty-two and still watching some kiddy shit about ponies and love and friendship. What a waste of flesh.

"Heather, sweetie, darling." This was the routine. A bit of honey would make the poison go down much easier. "I set you up with that fantastic boy! What was his name—"

Heather tossed a can across the room in pointless indignation. "His name was Juan. He was the barback, and he didn't speak any English! Do I look like an interpreter? Worst of all he was busy all night being the barback!"

Cat pulled on her patented Shocked & Apologetic face, patent pending. It never failed to turn Heather (and most anyone else for that matter) into a soft calm bundle of flesh Cat could quickly get rid of.

"Oh Heather, honey, I'm so sorry! You said you spoke Spanish..."

"I said I took two semesters! I can barely order a beer!"

Cat rolled her eyes as small as she could and kept right on going. "I meant well. Don't good intentions mean anything? You two looked like a couple to me."

Heather huffed and squeezed her ribcage, making her half-baked bust squish against Midnight Tinkle or whatever the damned horse's name was. "Good intentions don't get me laid like you promised. I spent three hours there fighting off creeps and getting drunk alone. Where the hell did you go?" Was that was this was all about? The pasty nerd didn't get any dick and Cat was to blame? Cat started to work up a story that never quite came out and said she'd gone to another club to ditching her 'anchor' but Heather did the heavy lifting for her. "No, wait. You were off getting fucked instead of me. Like every other time." Oh here it was, Passive-Aggressive Heather, the whiny bitch who was always me-me-me. “Why did I think it'd be any different?"

Cat put her hand on Heather's knee and cocked her eyes, forcing her little beta to figuratively kneel. Oh the little games that got played in this eight-by-eight dorm room; sometimes they players didn't even know they were playing.

"Honey, don't be like that. I really am looking out for you, don't ever think I'm not. We just got separated in that huge crowd." First cast the rod, then shake the bait. "Besides. Remember all the times I've hooked you up?"

The mousy loser paused, thinking about that very thing. Cat didn't always leave her 'friends' behind or else they might have gotten wise to the scheme. Sometimes, just when they least expected it, there would be a bone thrown, a confidence booster to keep the marks from realizing they were being used. "Yeah, but—" Heather was showing that glimmer of interest.

"But nothing!" And now to land the whale before it knew what hit her. "I know just two weeks ago that Aussie you found on the short gave you aftershocks for a whole day."

Heather blushed crimson. "Oh...oh him. Um, yeah, still—"

Don't let her break the line, not this close to reeling her in. "And the Christmas party? You and Rudolph? He rang your sleigh bells and sure as fuck came more than once that year!" And now the finishing blow. "Heather, hon. I'm not perfect. But you have admit we've had a lot of fun together. Cat flashed her winning smile and leaned in to hug her 'BFF' around the shoulders. "Just trust me, okay?"

Hook, line, sinker. Heather folded like a paper fan with some well-planned ego stroking. Cat felt the tension and anger just melt away. "You're right. Thank you, Cat."

"For what?"

"For being so good to me. No one else wants to."

Cat rested back in her chair. "Oh, don't mention it! After all, what are friends for?"

The horse, who'd been standing looking stupid the whole time, cleared his throat.

Cat's expression fell to pieces, going from reassuring calm to damn near murderous. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Well, ah." The brute adjusted his thumbs in his waistband. "Me an' Vinnie here, we was under the impression that was we was gonna get some, uh—"

The comparatively scrawny Vinnie leaned from the hallway, the most moronic smile this side of a mental home plastered on his fake-tanned face. "What Jerry here is tryin' ta say, miss, is we figured we was gonna get our dicks sucked. Y'know, like as payment. Cuz ya suggested an'..." Vinnie trailed off, one hand clutching his package, giving it a good squeeze. Jerry at least had the dignity to look away, though he was hard as concrete. With boys of his, ah, nature it was pretty damned hard to not notice.

The display may have been interesting, but Cat was not about to become the kind of unscrupulous slut who would suck down a couple of ball-grabbing assholes because they'd moved some boxes. She had standards.

The jungle queen was up like a shot, stabbing Vinnie in the chest with a finger, using it to punctuate each and every word. "What kind of a fucking whore do I look like to you? You guys did me a favor! I thought I could trust you, but NO! First chance you get you're waving your dicks at us like a couple of cavemen!" Cat reeled back and slapped Vinnie across the face before pushing him out of the doorway and onto his ass. “I offer you guys some hospitality and you think I'm gonna let you debase me?! You pricks!"

Jerry put up his hands to defend himself (as if that was really necessary). "I'm real sorry about Vinnie—" The horse was cut off by a pillow to the face, wisely deciding to cut his losses and hit the road.

"And stay out!" Cat slammed the door, trying not to smile too much as she leaned against it.

Grey eyes turned to Heather.

"Men, right?"

6PM, the next night.

“Come on, Heather. Do we really have to?" Cat stumbled her way down the hall in her frump-ware, eyes half glazed and face screwed into a mix of anger and annoyance. "It's dollar shot night at Hazy's!"

Heather, to her obnoxious credit, didn't give an inch--or more appropriately she wouldn't stop moving inches, dragging cat with her like a woman possessed.

"You can get wasted later. There's a floor meeting and we have to be there."

Cat whined again. "They won't miss me. You can go and take notes! You like taking notes! It'll be fine! You'll have fun!" No response. Cat sighed. One of the perils of having a bookworm for a roommate was they were always heading off for Academic Adventures and most of the time you got dragged along for the night. Total Twatfart Spackle bullshit.

Cat plunked her glorious ass down on a stiff plastic chair and crossed her arms like a petulant child. There weren't even any cute boys to flirt with—she wasn't allowed in the co-ed dorms until she could pay for it herself. Fucking Mother. A good two thousand miles away and somehow she still managed to screw her daughter's shit up with professional precision.

"Alright everyone!" The fat little thing that ran the girls' dorms clapped her hands to try and get at least a little attention. Cat never bothered to learn her name. Why would she? They never spoke a word to each other. Chunks McShitty Haircut stayed in the administration building and did...whatever they did there. Administrate shit. Maybe they just sat around and dreamed about when they were young and attractive. Saggy, broken old porky bitches.

"Now before we go over all the usual stuff for the new term, a few of you may have heard our Resident Advisor for Wolfe Hall had to leave because of...personal issues." Cat sneered. Personal issues, right. The old RA was sixty-five and couldn't deal with a building full of freshmen running on hormones and alcohol. Every day was like watching a tower of cards try to stand up in a breeze; a heart attack had knocked her all the way down. "We'll all certainly miss Leslie, and we wish her well." Chunks left a pause for the room to respond, which not a soul one did. "But you girls don't have to worry! We have a suitable replacement and I'm sure you'll grow to appreciate them the same as you did Leslie. Geoff, if you'd be so kind?"

Cat flicked her eyes up with total disinterest, focusing her attentions on texting random boys with pretty dicks she'd found on Mixxxer. 'Jeff' was a weird name for a girl. Maybe she was from some funky place in Europe? Another foreign girl would be cool but those Euro-types were just weird and not hot at all.

One glance turned into a stare right quick. A long, lingering, dry-mouthed panty-soaking thigh-clenching stare.

Geoff was not a girl from Whataslavia with hairy armpits and a penchant for eating rotten fish. Geoff was a man. A wolf. A wolf man. A gorgeous hunk of wolf like none she'd seen since leaving home, and even then he put those little boys to shame. Tall, with a physique chiseled out of granite—hell, with his slate gray pelt, you could pretty easily mistake him for one of those Greek statues with the big asses but weirdly small dicks. Cat would have definitely put one of them in her garden, that's for damn sure. And by garden she meant bedroom.

Chunky started talking again, trying her hardest to pop Cat's happy bubble. "I know what some of you are thinking, and I understand your confusion. Wolfe Hall is a women's dorm. We, ah..." Pudge fumbled with words for a bit, looking lost. Geoff must have that affect on people.

Geoff, who had been a cross-armed gargoyle with washboard abs so far, demonstrated that he could in fact speak. "I signed up late. This was about the only room left." What a voice it was, a basso profundo that rolled out of his mighty barrel chest and punched your eardrums with authority before climbing into your panties and squirming. For a moment Cat stopped breathing, sure that her body's entire water supply was pooled between her legs. Geoff's ability to fill out his clothes with as much authority as he spoke certainly wasn't hurting her fantasies.

"My name is Geoff Daley. Former military. I've been back in-country for about a year." His cadence was slow, steady, and he spoke few words but Cat knew it wasn't because he was dumb, far from it. He didn't need to say much to get his point across—his presence spoke for him. Potent, authoritative. The voice you'd run through fire for.

Madame Doughy stuck her nasty voice into Cat's daydreams yet again. "That's it in a nutshell. And before any of you girls get any ideas, just remember: Geoff is an employee. I was young once myself—" Cat scoffed, loud enough to catch the woman's attention and earn a sharp glare—"but we can't allow fraternization of any sort between staff and students. I'm trusting you to keep your hormones in check, ladies. Don't let me down."

Geoff gave a small shake of his head, showing off a tightly trimmed head of 'hair'. "Rest assured here won't be any problems." He sat down, hiding away his sweat pants and t-shirt from view, leaving Cat and her memories to try and blot out the rest of the 'meeting's' endless blather about rules Cat had no intentions of following and things she wouldn't be caught dead doing, hell no.

In fact, her brain was racing with ideas on how to break a particular one, break it between her thighs and make it call her Queen. Sure, he was big. And he was older than she was, and being an Army guy he was probably really disciplined. But it didn't matter. She'd wear him down, bust him open, and leave him empty.

Li'l Cat always got her way.

Cat practically purred. Since that brief reveal of the most perfectly constructed male she'd had the good fortune to stumble across, she'd spent her time swapping between plotting ways to bring Adonis to his knees and tearing through the local male population to try and quiet down the growing she-wolf tucked between her thighs. That wasn't much of a change, though for the past few nights her heart and her loins hadn't really been in it. Cat wasn't surprised; with a target like Geoff nearby the tiny-pricked types who'd cream themselves for just a touch couldn't possibly keep a Colombian panther satisfied.

And with bigger fish came the need for better bait. Cat knew all too damn well that someone like Geoff would never be felled by the basics. Nothing so crude as a flash of cleavage or a wiggling ass would conquer that mighty beast, no sir. In fact, Cat kept a particular set of weapons tucked away for special occasions and while she'd rarely needed to use them, the effect was powerful. The stuff of legends.

"Are you really going out there like that?" Cat rolled her eyes. Heather had asked that same question three times now, like at some point Cat would say it was all a joke or give into the ugly mouse's squeaking and change her ways. As if.

"Yes, Heather, I really am. What is your damage?" Cat adjusted her tits underneath the side of cut-off cotton shirt that had some college mascot on it. Whoever it was no one could tell anymore—between age and a little creative tailoring, it pulled tight over her artificially enhanced bustline so tight that the smiling whatever was just a suggestion.

Heather sighed from behind some nerdy book about nerdy stuff that only nerds cared about. "You're gonna get expelled. Or arrested."

Cat slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her shorts and gave them one more tug, making sure they cradled her heavenly ass in just the right way. "You're just being negative." While her undeniably hot rack was something to see as it bounced just on the verge of slipping free from under her half-shirt, Cat's 'shorts' weren't even trying to hide anything. On a woman with half her endowment, the gym shorts would have been snug. On her granted-by-the-goddess glutes and Holy Hell Hips they pulled tight, so tight, nearly too tight for her to even move, forcing her to strut like a model with every step and bounce her ass hypnotically. Only the sheer power of will kept the back from disappearing right between her cheeks; the narrow triangle at the front barely tucked away her pussy, neatly shaven with just a little bit of muff to guide men towards the promised land like an arrow, hugging her mound and putting on just a hint of cameltoe. Cat bit her lip. She really was the hottest piece of ass around. She'd definitely do her.

Heather grunted in frustration. "You're moaning. Again." Cat flipped her off.

"Listen, Heather, sweetie. I'm only going to do some laundry. Nothing's going to happen."

Nothing that Cat didn't want to happen, anyways. Stares and sighs, insults and catcalls, they were her soundtrack as she sauntered down the hallway towards the community laundry room. She knew they wouldn't forget her, whether they wanted to or not, whether they hated her or lusted after her. Every sway of her hips was a metronome tap for the symphony of seduction that was Catalina.

For most people, putting on a show like this would be overkill, especially when your destination was what Wolfe Hall called a laundry room, a tiny little thing straight out of a time capsule. For most of its life Wolfe had been for the upper crust kind of students, the kind who didn't need to use some rusty coin-chomping beast to make their whites whiter. Times had changed, and the university had been forced to wedge some machines wherever they'd fit. Sure they were nice machines and all that shit but the place was so tightly packed that two people practically had to fuck each other to get past the washers, and the ventilation was woefully inadequate. Maybe in some kind of brainless porno she'd be the 'victim' to some vicious, bone-shattering rutting, but in reality all she could look forward to was lint and barely avoiding heatstroke.

Cat sighed theatrically. She hadn't actually been lying to Heather, not entirely anyways. This really was the only clean outfit she had left after weeks of spending her nights in a drunken haze and her days either slutting it up or sleeping it off. Without the luxury of someone handy she could bribe into being her butler for the day, Cat just had to suck it up and wash her own damn clothes. At least she wasn't some brain-dead bimbo who didn't know how to handle a machine and some soap. But she didn't have to like it.

An hour later, Cat sighed for the fiftieth time, each a little more dramatic than the last. In all those minutes, no one had come into the laundry room. Not a soul. She'd quickly become bored with poking Facebook for whatever drama was going on outside, and after sorting through the same dozen big cock videos, there wasn't much else to do but watch the timer on her washer slowly count down to zero and bake gently in the heat.

Slam. The sound of a washer door shutting broke Cat out of a smoking daydream (one of her favorites, the one with the rich sultan and his deliciously hung brothers initiating her into their harem) with a jolt. Someone must have slipped in while she was 'out'.

Cat peeked around the aisle and broke out in a smile that would have made a Cheshire jealous. It was the wolf of her sticky, feverish dreams himself, Geoff, reduced from a titan to just a mere demigod washing his shorts. She supposed even colossi had to wash their socks now and again. The gears in Cat's head turned frantically, working overtime to cook up a plan with her limited tools...

Step one, grab his attention. Easy enough. Cat slipped like a panther around the aisles she came up behind the wolf, leaning herself against the washer with her arms crossed over her belly. With just a little stretch, she could put her tan and trimmed body on display, firm abs and mighty thighs on display like a model from one of those men's fitness magazines.

"Hi," she purred in her bed bedroom voice, watching as Geoff sorted socks, admiring the way his massive biceps shift under a snug gray t-shirt. "I'm Catalina. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He didn't so much as look up. "Hi." That was it? That was all she'd get back on a prime investment in seduction? Mmf. Didn't matter. She'd figure him out. Every male had a trigger and she'd figure his out one way or another.

Cat pushed back up to her feet, stretching her arms over her head with an exaggerated yawn, giving her hips a little wiggle as she unwound. Prowling silently on through the aisles she moved towards Geoff, a technique she'd learned from an actual cougar girlfriend during a short tryst one summer. There are so many things to learn from the animals...

"Ugh," she huffed, leaning over a washer one over from the wolf's, arms resting on the surface. It was close enough to be seen in all her glory but not close enough to seem desperate. "Could it be any hotter in here?" Cat pulled on her shirt to try and fan some air between her glistening tits, pretending to not notice that it put both of them on blatant display to anyone who had two eyes and a pulse.

Geoff must have been blind because he didn't even shift his gaze. Not so much as a blink or a deep breath. The big son of a bitch just kept on shoveling clothes into the black hole. Cat fought back the urge to scream—was she actually jealous of a washing machine right now?

Finally he gave her a little grunt and a shrug, pouring some kind of blue liquid shit into the machine. "Been in worse." Still no eyes on her prizes. Cat started to wonder if she'd have to strip naked and throw herself his lap, writhing and moaning, to make him fucking pay attention.

"Oh, me too. I'm from Colombia. You know, down in South America. This stuffy dry heat gets to me. I'm used to the breeze off the ocean." He nodded, like that was nothing. LOOK AT ME, she thought to herself, hands balled into fists._ I am a fucking exotic beauty in a wasteland of skinny bitches and fat sluts and you can't even make small talk?_

Cat pulled herself together and pushed a little harder. If this was the way he wanted to play the game, she was more than happy to follow his lead. "I really miss where I grew up though. This time of year, it's exploding with color and beauty. An amazing place to be." That was total bullshit. Cat had grown up in a boring barrio that could be switched for any shitty American suburb without anyone picking up the difference. But he didn't know that.

"Sounds nice," Geoff said with as much interest as someone reading junk mail after ten hours at work.

Cat kept up the tactic. "Maybe you should visit sometime. My mother would love to meet you."

Geoff made a dismissive sound and grabbed his basket, heading towards the doorway without another word. Cat's face scrunched up in juvenile annoyance, a hair's breadth from stomping her foot. Not only hadn't he buckled he was...was he angry at her come-ons? That would was pissed off that she was flirting with him! Well--well fuck him, she thought to herself, arms crossed in a powerful pout, doing her very best impression of Veruca Salt. And then she sighed, sagging a little. There were other fish in the sea, she convinced herself. She'd just have to go fishing again. She knew the bait was good. Maybe he was a big honkin' homo? That'd explain why he left the Army—they don't take kindly to ass-pirates there. Yeah, that had to be it!

Bzzt! In all that being annoyed over putting on her best sexy for no profit, Cat had completely forgotten the entire reason she was in baking here in the first place: her laundry. Clutching her basked, the flustered sex-beast headed over to the machine, popping open the door with a little more force than she needed. She was angry, angry as she'd ever been, and the fucking laundry room was going to have to deal with it.

Cat could feel someone move in behind her but she couldn't afford to pay them more than the bare minimum of fucks. She took a half-step back, bending over at the waist to try and reach an errant pair of panties that had gotten tangled around the spinny-thing at the back. It made it hard for whoever was behind her to get by, wedging them between her ass and the other machines like some kind of kinky-ass wrestling hold. Fine. If she was going to have a shitty day in this sauna, so was everyone else who came her way.

Finally Cat had everything stuffed in her basket (except Geoff), seething the whole time about the injustice of the situation. Whoever it was back there seemed content to wait for her back there, thighs pressed to thighs. Well fuck. She'd run probably into some greasy perverted fuck who wanted to cop a feel of the best body on campus so he could jerk his little prick off later. Cat growled, trying to sound a bit like her namesake beast, slowly straightening up to give this sick asshole a piece of her mind.

She got as far as halfway up with her head turned and her mouth open, basket hovering over the washer. A little voice in the back of her head was waving cue cards and trying to remind her what the plan was. It got nowhere. Catalina was stalled completely, trapped like a truck axle-deep in the mud.

Geoff quirked an eyebrow and reached past Cat from where she had him pinned against the dryers, grabbing his detergent bottle. "Forgot this." His voice was detached and disinterested yet it made Cat's heart stop, the panty-soaking baritone climbing into her head and flooding her brain with all sorts of salacious images. His arm was like a rafter, hanging there, showing her at close range just how his musculature was crammed into that t-shirt, filling the sleeve out the way she filled out her pants. He was immaculate.

But it wasn't his biceps that turned Cat's mouth into a desert and started the monsoon in her crotch. Nor was it his impossibly tight abdominals or thighs like concrete pillars built by gods to support an Olympian torso designed to suck the breath from the lungs of any who gazed upon it, all defined in stark relief through gray fabric.

No. it was none of these things.

In getting herself twisted around like she was, Cat had wedged her ass hard into Geoff's lap, or at least where it would be if he'd been sitting. Cat may have been even more gobstruck if that'd been the case. Tucked up against her like some kind of bag of treats was the biggest, widest, honest-to-god most spectacular icon of maleness that she had ever borne witness to. Geoff's endowment could have reached mid-thigh easily if that trouser snake was let free to prowl. The weight and heat were palpable, like someone had put a hot stone on her lower back. And—holy shit, she screamed in her head, it had a pulse. That was all him, entirely and completely Geoff, a cock that would make some horses jealous, and it wasn't even hard yet! It was this massive flaccid! Oh god, the potential!

Cat wiggled a little, as if that bundle of bagged beef would vanish into a dream and leave her there standing alone in the laundry room. It shifted and swayed a little, but no, it was definitely real. Pure 100% tube steak, as more than she'd witnessed in her adult life, and there wasn't much debate as to how much dick Cat had witnessed. Every move she made to try and maintain her balance sent Geoff's bulge rolling obscenely over the curves of her ass, the outline of the wolf's equally prodigious balls pushing to either side underneath his cock. It was some sort of lewd Newton's cradle, with a big piece of Army Strong sausage laying down the middle, trapped by a waistband Cat figured was either the luckiest piece of fabric in the state or one that was seriously reconsidering some seriously poor life choices.

Cat gulped, then turned her a bit further, catching Geoff's eyes. The huge wolf was even more of a colossus from this angle. Cat's head swam from all the stimulation, his scent, his build, his warmth, so many possible masturbatory dreams running through her skull that she nearly fainted, many of which started (and ended) with her being slamfucked right here and right now until her joints creaked. If she'd been a sodden trollop before, Cat's twat was now Niagara Fucking Falls, soaking into her shorts and leaving a mark that would be hard to explain. Geoff was the best female Viagra in the world.

Geoff coughed again. Cat plummeted to a nasty landing in reality right as her dream-self was being bathed in a sea of lupine come, her real-world eyes wide. For a second or three, the air in the room just stood there, stiff and perhaps embarrassed for what was going on inside it.

There was a tiny chuckle, and Cat would swear she saw Geoff smirk the littlest bit before tucking the soap into his basket. That was it. The scene out of a horny 15 year old's stroke fiction on the Internet was over almost as fast as that hormone-drunk teenager blew his wad. It left the 'queen' with sweaty tits, a wet lap, and frustration as thick as Geoff's cock.

That was it. She had to have him and had to have him soon. And as often as possible.

Cat grabbed her clothes. This would be easy. But first, a stop in the bathroom to unwind with Rosie Palms and then she could start plotting the downfall of Geoff. It would be quick and it would be easy.

December. Fucking December. Three months Cat had been trying to drag the Adonis that haunted the hallways of her dorm, and three months that he'd pretended she didn't exist. No, actually it was worse than that. He pretended he wasn't interested. It had to be pretending. There was no way in Hell that he couldn't want to slot her like a cheap whore, to get his dick all up in her award-winning pussy and ride her fat ass until he walked like a cartoon cowboy with the driest balls in the state. It was just that Cat couldn't figure out how to break Geoff's resolve.

It wasn't that she hadn't tried. At first, she was kind of subtle—at least for Cat, anyways—rubbing up against his side in the hallways, standing too close in the cafeteria downstairs, sucking on her fingers all the way to the bottom knuckle while she made the most bedroom eyes known to humanity at the wolf. When that didn't work, she took it up a little with flirtatious emails attached to photos of her latest lingerie that covered less than dental floss, or maybe some snapshots from her last trip back home, strutting around in a micro-bikini with a gaggle of tanned studs following close behind, maybe a little drip of jizz on her chin. You know, the kind of thing that suggests but doesn't come right out and say what she wanted--an invitation to rattle her hips but not just screaming "fuck me" at the top of her lungs. All her efforts earned her was a stern warning that Geoff's RA email address was meant for building issues and not 'inappropriate behavior'.

The last half of November she'd spent wearing nothing but hot pants and suggestive t-shirts, and not the kind that showed off her fantastic tits but ones with things on the front, wrong things, the kind of things that made people raise their eyebrows and shake their heads. Puerile, nasty things like "I Like It Doggy Style" or "Bury Your Bone Here" and even "Say Hi, I'm Knot Shy". Ones with stick figures fucking, others starring incredibly attractive women deep-throating bananas. It wasn't hard to figure out who she was talking about—Geoff was the only canine morph in the building and one of the few on campus. By Thanksgiving everyone knew about Cat's one woman crusade to get pinned under Geoff and tie the knot—literally. For most people it would have been embarrassing to walk around half-naked with her intentions written on her bust like a jiggly billboard with piercings. He ignored her even harder. Was she fucking invisible to him? Could he not see sexy people?

No one knew this better than Heather. Cat's roommate, patsy, and general dumping ground for frustrations had been forced to play witness to the sex bomb being turned down by Eros given flesh. No, that was wrong; it wasn't even turned down. It was ignored entirely. So far Geoff hadn't even paid her so much as an ounce of attention. Any other man would have blown a load in his pants at the first graze of her backside brushing against them; Geoff had taken her sitting in his lap during a floor party without even a little stir in the trousers.

"Maybe they neuter the dog-types when they go in the Army? That would explain it." Cat was irrational now, making up stories to try and rationalize the situation.

Heather rolled her eyes for the twentieth time this conversation. "Or maybe he's just not into you." She flipped another page in her magazine; since this whole thing had started Cat had been impossible to live with. The sex goddess was pretty much the same as ever, except cranked to eleven—not being able to have Geoff depressed Cat endlessly, so she drank more, slept more, and fucked a whole lot more. Every day was skipping classes and masturbating furiously until the room smelled like a brothel. Every night was a new anonymous guy and two hours of slamming headboards until Cat passed out in a drunken haze. Heather spent as much time as possible elsewhere, avoiding Cat's 'anti-depressants', usually delivered by a big cock up her ass.

Cat buried her face in her pillow. "Don't be stupid. No one's not into me. That would mean I'm not attractive or something, and we both know that isn't true." A long sigh, another eyeroll from Heather.

"Whatever." Heather stood up and adjusted her skirt, tossing the magazine somewhere to be forgotten and admitted defeat, finally paying actually attention to Cat.. "It's almost Christmas break. Where are you going this year?"

Cat opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. Wait a second. She had plans, right? Of course she did. Winter was terrible here, just buckets of snow and empty clubs day after day after miserable fucking day. She couldn't have possibly forgotten something as important as getting the fuck out of here. There's just no way it'd slipped her mind. So why couldn't she remember where she was flying off to?

Cat waved her hand dismissively, putting her smug facade back on. “I don't know. Somewhere hot and sandy. Mom's going to surprise me for my birthday. Y'know, it's a really important age where I'm from..."

It was an hour later when Heather wandered off to class, suffered in strained silence through the majority of whatever Cat was blathering about, be it the lovely beaches or the fantastic fuckmeat that she'd be drowning in or how going around naked and tanned was perfectly acceptable in her home town (with a little passing barb about prudish Americans). It wasn't an original production, not a word of it; Cat performed the same perfectly rehearsed script every few days. Heather knew it by heart. She even mimed it a little when her roommate's back was turned.

What came after was definitely a new addition to the show: a laborious, tear-riddled thirty minutes of hell as Cat pleaded with her mother in every way she could think of for some way to get out of this Ohio wasteland before the snows boxed her completely in. No tact got around the simple reality that if she were going anywhere, Cat should have made those plans months ago, and now there simply weren't any options. Everything the little harlot would even consider was either booked beyond capacity or would cost way more dinero than the family was prepared to pay out just for Li'l Cat's carnal happiness. Besides, Mrs. Moreno would counter, Catalina's grades simply weren't any good. A few weeks of quiet studying were just the proper medicine for a lazy ass. And potential alcoholism.

“Listen, Catalina." Cat's mom punctuated the final argument with a tone reserved for putting children back in their places when they got out of line. “You're not a little girl anymore. Adults don't get vacations all the time, and certainly not luxurious ones. So it's time to grow up a little." Everything was one-sided now. Cat had no bargaining chips and definitely no way to get herself anywhere.

Mom made a half-hearted offer to have Cat home to the barrio in the summer, and suddenly the conversation was over. Cat's pout was audible through the handset but you can't fight City Hall and you can't tell your mother she's wrong. Mother had made the situation perfectly clear: Cat had failed to make her bed and now she was going to have to sleep on the floor. It would be a lonely winter in the dorms with fast food, Netflix, and vibrators.

December 20th. Dead silence in Wolfe Hall. Winter Break had started not five days ago, but everyone was out and gone before 24 hours had whipped by--a few had even run out early, giving finals the middle fingers. Not that they were going to pass anyways, what did it matter? Those lucky sons and daughters of bitches were off to parents and huge dinners, beaches and sunshine, or maybe ski lodges and hot tubs. Even Heather and her garish purple luggage stuffed with ugly as fuck clothing had caught the last flight to the coast. Bar Street was closed. The fraternity complex was deader than Overseer Pudge's sex life, the sorority girls were in Malibu or Daytona getting baked, and tumbleweeds were the only things dancing in the clubs. This was a college town, and without the college part there wasn't a town. Even most of the locals packed up and went south for the winter to get out of the cold. Cat was virtually alone with a few retail workers, old people, and fast food 'chefs' to keep her company.

Well, and a few more personal friends who came in funny colors and sometimes required batteries to really reach their full interactive potential. At this very moment, the one she called The Captain was a full eight inches into her cunt, the simulated knot on the canine-shaped phallus pressing against soggy folds, soaked in lube and honey until it shone like polished brass. Every stroke drew up a loud slurp, mingling with the quality dialogue of the seventeenth porno Cat had watched this week. She didn't care about how loud she had her bluetooth speakers cranked up or how her door was wide open to vent the thick funk of hot pussy—there was no one else around to hear. Fuck privacy. Fuck! At that moment right there, as the thickest part of the dildo hit her clit and made her shiver, she would have let anyone watching come in and ride her like the town whore or jizz on her face until she looked like a glazed doughnut.

Glassy eyes soaked in sweat flickered detachedly to the screen again. Her subconscious was trying to tell her something, coaxing her towards some yet another hour of smut starring hybrids on both sides of the chain. Maybe she'd turned into one of those furry fetishists she kept hearing about on the Internet. It didn't fucking matter. The 'actors' played their roles to the throbbing hilt; some lucky human with a cock the size of Cat's forearm was buried to the nuts in a literal cat, soaking her bony ass in spunk. She snorted. Some of these girls could use a sandwich or two in their diets. Did guys really love the flat-assed bitches?

Cat reached for the remote to fast forward but the next scene started faster than she could move and just as quickly stole the air out of her lungs. Wolves. Big wolves. Two big wolves and a smaller woman, some generic blonde with big fake tits on her inappropriately scaled ribcage. Cat didn't even notice her, other than she was handling two massive red cocks, one in each hand...if there was some kind of god out there, he had the number straight to her vagina and was dialing it hard.

The world blurred. The details of the movie faded away as Cat's brain pieced together its own scene, one with her own personal crush Geoff and herself. There wasn't a need for two of him. One was plenty.

Oh how he fucked her as she fucked herself raw. Her pussy ached deep inside, where the crown of the fake cock rested at the end of its strokes, hormone-fueled imagination attaching it to Geoff. His strokes were raw and his voice was feral. The girth drove her thighs open wide. She was so stuffed full of cock the taste trickled into the back of her throat and made her drool, soaked in sweat until it matted her hair against her scalp.

Cat came so hard it hurt, back arched and head tossed back as she rolled off the bed and landed on the floor, still grinding the sex toy deep inside. The waves of pleasure were ridiculous, ludicrous, her belly rippling and toes curled against the cheap carpet of her dorm room as both her plush thighs clamped together tight enough to crack walnuts.

She rolled back up and on to the bed, sliding the soaked toy out of her cunt and resting it on a towel, panting loudly. The scene on her laptop had reached its inevitable end, the woman soaked in spunk, making a ridiculous show of working it around her tongue and lips. It was the same boring tripe as ever. Suddenly she jolted as a loud “ding!" announced an urgent email, popping up and blocking the beginnings of an orgy that had all the authenticity and unscripted grace of the plastic dick next to her.

Cat squinted slightly, forcing her eyes to focus on the banal shit in the message. It was from Geoff, saying he'd had to cancel his travel due to some terrible weather and was making himself available for anyone who needed the RA. And that was it. It was as formal and terse as Geoff had always been. Never one to waste time or energy, that wolf...

But it was enough. That meant that the building was just her and Geoff. If there was anyone else, she gave no fucks about them. It was her and her wolf. Her fuck fantasy. Her Adonis, the god that drove her crazy.

A plan started to form in the wicked corners of her mind. Cat smirked to herself. Yes. That would work.

But for now, she grabbed a new toy and set to work on her pussy—that last orgasm had been nice, but she wanted more.

The corridors of Wolfe Hall were as silent as a church on Christmas Eve. The university was wrapped up in snow and ice, its parking lots filled with piles of the stuff as the city used the abandoned lots to stash what they plowed until it melted down. The doors and walkways hadn't been scraped clean in days and no one was salting shit. Classes were canceled until January. No one was around. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Except one. A cat, or more specifically Cat, prowled the dimly lit and poorly heated passages, running her fingers along cheaply painted walls and motivational posters picked up on the cheap. Nails tapped wooden doors, their bearer fully aware no one was on the other side. A few were even empty, their temporary owners on their way to any number of places fantastic and mundane. January would be a wave of renewal, with new women for Cat to compete with and new men to screw out of their minds (and their minds). But for now, this was her kingdom. Or more appropriately her dungeon—she'd managed to trap her quarry deep down inside the labyrinthine passages, even if he didn't know it. Footsteps as soft as whispers carried her along towards her quarry, her bare feet barely even disturbing the dust.

Shoes weren't the only part of her attire Cat had skipped on. Instead of the normal half-shirts and yoga pants that would have at least been acceptable if questionable on campus, the woman had draped herself in nothing but streams of silk ribbon, a novelty item someone had bought her from one of those cheap 'erotic gift shops' that sprung up on every highway and in every suburb. He'd wanted to unwrap her slowly but she'd been more intent on getting her quota of Spring Break cock. She left him high, dry, and probably without a way to pay for the hotel suite they'd demolished in a drunken fuckfest. At the time she wondered what had possessed her t take the ribbons with her; now they were having a second life, trying to hold her bigger-than-your-hands-can-manage tits back in place, curled around her ass, tied into a bow on her belly that would come apart so easily. All it took was a little tug...

There it was. The cage. The Resident Advisor's apartment. It was off, away from the main rooms, a special little place with a tiny office attached so he could pretend to actually have work to do here. Maybe Geoff did something—he definitely wasn't the usual administrative type. Not a pencil pusher by any stretch. More of a button pusher. And he was all over hers. Cat was already hornier than a strip club full of frat boys on dollar beer night, and every single little step here had made it even worse. Vibrators had stopped helping days ago. Even her usual go-to horse cock dildos didn't make a difference, not even stuffed to the median ring up her ass with five sticky fingers buried in her cunt until she could taste her nail polish. Could human beings go into heat? Cat could barely walk a dozen steps without having to fight off the urge to frig herself into oblivion. Her pussy ached...

Three knocks. Then three more. There was a little bit off shuffling behind the oddly heavy door mingled with confused muttering, too soft for Cat to make out clearly. Maybe she'd woke him up or something? It was late, but that was all part of the plan...

“Who is it? Can't it wait until morning? I didn't even know anyone was even here..." The door came open with a loud click and a creak of old hinges. “What's so important—"

Geoff stared in open shock at Cat, standing there on what passed for his doorstep, far past decent into the realm of pure decadence with desperation clinging like cologne. Slowly though, his face melted into pained exhaustion, the worn face of someone who put up with this shit for far, far too long.

If she gave a fuck, it didn't show.

"Miss Moreno, what in the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Silly, I'm your present!" Cat bounced on her toes, hands behind her back, tits swinging like sandbags without much holding them back. She put on her best smile and bent forward, giving Geoff the kind of show most men couldn't pay for on the best of days, tits bouncing and ass swaying sinuously. "Merry Christmas!"

The wolf sighed quietly to himself and stepped back from the doorway, looking side to side. "Get inside before someone sees you and calls security. Again." Cat didn't need to be told twice, sashaying into the apartment with her hips going like a pendulum trying to win a swinging contest. She took a moment to drink Geoff's room in; it was larger than hers but that wasn't saying much, and no one would ever mistake it for lavish. If anything was military-style, simple and efficient, the kind of pad a bachelor would keep if he wasn't some kind of frat bro.

Geoff pointed at his plain-Jane standard issue dorm couch, giving Cat the glare usually reserved for a naughty child who's smeared paint on the walls. "Sit."

"Nuh-uh," Cat purred, picking at a ribbon with her fingernails. "I didn't come here to have coffee, baby."

Another eyeroll. Brute arms crossed over massive pectorals. "Listen, brat, I am not going to lose this job over you." Geoff tensed his jaw, making the tendons in his neck bulge, demonstrating his authority in the matter as clear as crystal and strong as steel. Cat could swear she saw snowflakes as the temperature in the room dropped a half dozen degrees.

"I said sit."

Cat sat whether she wanted to or not. The decision apparently wasn't hers to make—her body did it on its own.

Geoff nodded his chin. "Now you stay right there while I find you something to wear." The wolf turned and walked off, towards what Cat could only guess. She wasn't going to follow him.

...the fuck she wasn't. Not even sixty seconds had passed before Cat was fidgeting, thighs pressed hard together, grinding her pretty little pussy under the silk ribbons. Fuck, she was so close. Geoff was hers now--he'd let her over the threshold and surrendered all control. He might be the big bad wolf out there, huffing and puffing and blowing her approaches down, but Catalina Moreno was no one's timid little bitch. Directing from the bottom? She didn't have a big problem with that. He could be the beefcake fuckbeast all you wanted, but you did it on her terms. She could be the power bottom with the powerful bottom if the situation called for it.

The frustration was palpable and getting worse every second. Five whole minutes he'd managed to ignore her! Well fuck this. Geoff was probably in his room, avoiding her so he could try and keep up his resistance to her charms. "Mm. No such luck, puppy dog," she whispered to herself.

She peeled herself off the sofa and set towards his hiding spot, dropping the ribbons as she went. If Geoff thought Cat was shocking before, wait until he got a good look at her snatch, all pink and hot and inviting...

"Oh Wolfy," she moaned in a sing-song voice, slinking towards the doorway. Huh. The light was off. Did he fall asleep? No, of course not. He was waiting on her—he knew she was the boss here and was letting her make the first move. Coy, but Geoff could have at least fucking let her know! Still. It didn't make any difference.

Cat pivoted into the doorway, arms over her head, one leg cocked saucily as she ground her crotch against the frame. "I'm no little pig," she murmured before stepping in, fingers framing her damp pussy and the little patch of hair above it. "But I can be your Little Pink Riding Hood..."

She scarcely noticed the shadow that rose up behind her, filling the doorway, silently sucking the light and warmth out of the air. Cat looked around the room in complete obliviousness. "Geoff? Come out and play with your toy..."

"I told you to stay put."

The self-proclaimed jungle queen's heart stopped dead in her chest, eyes wide. Geoff's voice was always big and powerful just like he was, but those six words were different. They had an edge, a potency, a tonal quality that carried additional meaning beyond just a handful of syllables. He was...not angry. Angry was the wrong word. Disappointed. Displeased. Annoyed.

"I...but you...I didn't mean to—" Cat stammered, lost for a moment as she tried to figure out how to calm the beast down and get her footing back. She was off the rails now and heading for a violent crash in the foothills of failure. But she convinced herself it was alright--she'd dealt with angrier men than this more times than she could count, so why should this be any different?

The little trollop put her foot forward, screwing up a bit of confidence and getting her game face back on. "I was gonna surprise you, baby." Cat put one palm on Geoff's chest, running her fingers through the thick fur. She hadn't realized how dense it really was, and how the muscles moved as her fingertips grazed them. Was it his winter coat? "You're so warm, wolfy. I should help you cool down."

Geoff huffed. The wolf must have had a glacier in his lungs, because that simple little puff of air sucked the last little bit of warmth out of the air and left Cat covered from scalp to toes in goosebumps. One of those big wolf mitts wrapped around her wrist and pulled it off him, dropping it to her side like a dead weight with particularly fantastic nails. Cat recoiled slightly, moving back maybe a half-step with a shred of panic that maybe, just maybe, she'd gone too far.

"What is it with you?" The wolf reached over and flipped on the light, closing the space between him and Cat. "I've met a lot of women. Never one like you." Cat started to answer, a smirking smile on her face, but she got cut off like an old lady driving on the freeway—fast, sharp, and completely unconcerned with her fucking feelings. "That wasn't a compliment." A sudden rush of light as Geoff turned the lights on didn't make the brute look any less bestial, a conundrum given flesh—she wanted him, wanted him so badly, couldn't think of anything but him even as he growled at her, warned her she was getting into something she couldn't handle. Without his shirt on, she could make out lines and crevices, the shelf of strong pectorals that rose almost imperceptibly as he took breath.

"I don't get you. Don't you have anything better to do than make a damned fool out of yourself?"

"I'm only doing it for you, honey. I want you to know how I feel about you."

"Bullshit. Everyone on the damned campus knows how you 'feel'. The only thing more transparent than your 'feelings' is those damned shirts you wear." Geoff poked a finger into Cat's shoulder, making her wince. "I know trouble when I see it. And you, you're nothing but trouble. You stink of trouble." The fingers clenched. Cat tensed. Was he going to hit her? If he did, he'd break her face open. Had she gone too far this time?

The only force she felt was Geoff's palm pushing hard, forcing her bend down all the way to her knees, finally coming to kneel in front of the wolf. Cat tilted her head and looked up, a little confused—it wasn't a new position for her at all, but with all his hemming and hawing, well, she didn't expect to be there with him, not right now!

His expression was thinly veiled annoyance. "This isn't for you. This is to shut you up so I can get some rest." Geoff's hand slid up and cupped the back of Cat's head like a bowling ball, giving a less than gentle push forward. The scale of the situation sank in suddenly; down here, knees to the cheap carpet, the gray lupine was like a monolith, easily twice her height. And that pressure on the back of her head was forcing her towards something else of substantial size: Geoff's package, stuffed into yet another pair of the generic sweatpants he seemed most comfortable in. The scent alone made her head swim; once those practiced fingers got in to that cotton wrapper on her meat snack and pulled it up she was practically drooling down her chin. The weight alone was remarkable, easily the heaviest cock Cat had ever handled, red as her favorite lipstick and smooth as marble. She let go, letting it hang over the elastic waistband, momentum making it swing a little. Cat was, for lack of a better word, awestruck at it even while the whole thing simply dangled flaccid.

The prick of fingernails against the back of her head broke the reverie and made her squeak. "Is that all you're going to do? Stare at it?" Every move made Geoff's meat bounce just a little, gravity carrying it back to its resting place against the oranges he called 'testicles'. If he was annoyed before Geoff was pissed now, complete with a growl brewing up in his throat. "It's late, I'm tired, and I'm pissed off. I don't have the energy or the patience to deal with some lazy bitch who doesn't commit." She looked up at him again, gray eyes finding brown ones that burned into her head like lasers. It made her whimper despite herself. She'd never once admit it, though, not in a million years.

Her wolf was unaffected. "Listen. Either put up or shut up." It was a challenge.

Cat never backed off a challenge. Geoff might have just gotten in over his head.

And head was the first thing on her mind, the primary target being that fat musky fucker right in front of her face, pretending it wasn't interested in her at all. She smirked a little and pressed her lips up to it, smearing cheap lip gloss along the skin, dragging her tongue in a slow circle around the base. Oh it was lying to itself. She knew it, feeling a pulse like a bass drum build up underneath her clutching fingers, holding onto Geoff's cock like a treasure. Her own personal precious. She was in complete bliss sampling the delightful taste of it. Lifting it up like a sausage, Cat looked the head straight in its one eye, rolling the very tip of her tongue through the slit and gathering up some precome, sweet and salty.

Geoff grunted, and Cat did much the same. A great start had only sort of made the wolfdick throb a bit, swelling but not impressively so, the monster fuckpiston she knew he had still hiding away. Huff. The gentle approach wasn't working. That wasn't anything new—some men didn't get rock hard on just being worshiped and ogled, and being stroked by the softest fingertips in the county just wasn't much more than a tickle and a distraction. A girl like Cat who spent a lot of time doing this very thing knew better than to go into battle without a backup weapon in the arsenal. It just wouldn't do.

Cat leaned her head back, looking up at her 'lover' with softly lidded eyes. "Big beast like you must need a lot of attention to howl." Both fists pumped Geoff smooth and steady, slick palms going over the whole length like working clay out into handles or snakes or whatever shit pottery people did. Cat wasn't about making ashtrays. She was about making men spunk down her throat until they passed out.

Geoff shrugged again, still as unimpressed as ever. “Not really. Are most of your 'conquests' one-pump chumps, girl? You got a thing for minute-men? Take off the kid gloves already." It wasn't a slight against the less-than-long-lasting partners she often sought out because they were easy marks for the hustle. Cat growled deep in her throat and had trouble keeping up the impression that she was in control as she struggled a little, knocked off her pace. She should have know that the usual wouldn't make her wolf pop like a bottle of champagne—after all, hadn't she convinced herself that he was no ordinary fella?

“I wouldn't say it's a thing." Cat shifted her weight on her hips to ease the stiffness in her knees, taking an opportunity to nuzzle her tongue into Geoff's sac. She startled as the scent flooded through her nostrils and into her brain—it was masculinity, the kind that didn't need to play games or make gestures to prove it. Cat's belly fluttered and her eyes lidded while she drank it in. “There aren't a lot of real men around here. You're unique."

Geoff's hand cupped the back of her skull like a baseball, finger-claws pricking through her hair to the flushed skin of her scalp. “I don't get off on ego stroking." Five gray fingers pushed her palm off his cock and replaced it, hefting the red spire up, the crown resting a dream and two puffs of breath from her lips. A bead of gleaming precome hung from the tip like a pendant, a piece of obscene ornamentation beckoning to her. Luring. Taunting. She took a deep breath and let it go slowly, air whispering past her quickly drying lips.

Geoff, that great gray bastard, took the initiative. With his fingers pressing down on her skull the way you would check to see if a cantaloupe was ripe, he pushed the swollen helmet against her mouth then through, forcing Cat's jaw to part like a portcullis allowing a foreign invader to raid the castle. The wolf brought a substantial army with him, more than Cat would ever comfortably fit, the girth already putting the ache to her jaw joints. But there it was, an entire gaping maw full of throbbing cock, lipstick and musk smeared on her cheeks and making her look—and smell—like a complete whore. The effect was immediate, though: Geoff's bitch-breaker swelled like a cork in water, going from 'meh' to hard as diamonds in a handful of breaths. Cat struggled to breathe around the mass, eyes tearing up and nose working overtime to take over from otherwise occupied lips. If it hurt, she couldn't tell; the smell of Geoff, the sight of the great gray plain that deified the term 'torso', and the all-penetrating taste of him, salty and strong, making her tongue tingle as it dragged over the underside of his phallus, feeling blood pump through the massive vein that brought it to life. Cat swallowed deeply, head tilted back just so, letting everything adjust to the profound changes in its condition.

There wasn't time, though. Within just a palmful of seconds the great intruder of legend slid from her mouth and came to rest sloppily on her chin, dribbling precome like a broken spigot. Geoff was such a drippy, messy beast, pearlescent rivulets finding their way down to her breasts, streaking her faded tan like baby oil. Then it pushed in again with a force that made her neck sting from whiplash as his cockhead slammed into the back of her mouth and threatened to push its way down her throat, giving not a single solitary fuck about the sizes, shapes, or the tiny opening of her throat. This was not oral sex, this was not mere fellatio; this was facefucking. Cat's face was an convenient orifice to bury innumerable inches of dick in with deep strokes of his body-builder thighs. Through widened eyes she watched those muscles shift and flex like pistons driving a sex machine, Geoff's two meaty mitts keeping her head perfectly in place as he went full tilt at her maw like a wolf possessed. All Cat could do was be the vessel, her hands pressed against Geoff's thighs for balance, gagging and gasping whenever enough room opened up for her to grab a raspy breath and cough out anything her throat hadn't had time to swallow. The tide had turned, and not in a way she had expected.

“That's a fine mouth, girl. Let's see if the rest of you can compete." The shock of Geoff's cock was swapped out fast with the sudden feeling of motion. Cat was moving through the air at some kind of crazy speed, held by the hips by Geoff's hands. She'd assumed he was strong, but enough to toss her around like a sack full of air? That little voice in the back of her head pinged again and muttered something about sleeping giants. She didn't give a fuck about any of it. Too many hormones shorted out the synapses in her head and made it impossible to concentrate on anything that wasn't 'dick' or 'wolf'.

“Well if that isn't a beautiful sight there," Geoff grunted, stripping himself with one hand while pumping his meat with the other. “It's like a pastoral. View of a Country Slut. Landscape with Whore." The wolf looked straight into Cat's eyes, mouth a thin line and jaw set hard. “That's what you are, right? Only sluts beg for a fuck as hard as you do. You can drop the act and admit it." A coarse padded palm ran up her thigh and the fingertips pressed to Cat's steaming snatch, molesting without penetrating. Her mind reeled. He wasn't anything untrue or that she hadn't heard a thousand times before, but you don't just admit these things when some fucking brute throws them in your face...

“Cold feet? Maybe you don't want it after all." A sneer, carried mostly by the tone of his voice. “Maybe it's just too much for you to handle."

That hurt. That was a calculated blow straight to her ego, meant to upset her and make her act like she didn't want to just for the sake of fragile pride. But she couldn't just let it slide—he'd insulted her, that (literal) son of a bitch, and that just wasn't something she'd let anyone ever get away with!

Cat rolled back on the bed, pushing her feet against Geoff's torso. “Listen." The queen of the quickie threw her feet up, spreading her mighty thighs open like the golden arches, a rainbow of bare skin that lead to a pot of gold right at the bald stretch of her crotch. “You won't ever get better pussy, baby. Slut or not, I need you to fuck me. So come on." She tried to make it sound like she was the one making the demands. It was her show, for fuck's sake. She came on to him. She pressed him. He was doing it because she told him to! This was her! So why did that pleading tone keep creeping into her voice?

Geoff's fat cockhead made one grazing pass at Cat's kitty, a shallow push not anywhere near a goddamned pleasurable moment. That big fuzzy motherfucker was teasing her, taunting a girl who was just about to fucking pop like a balloon. This frustration was completely killing her! His smell, his silhouette in the shitty fluorescent lights of his apartment, the way his muscles shifted and made his pelt move like grass in wind...fuck, it was all adding up like some wicked cocktail that was going to blow her mind clean to the moon. Geoff had been wedged in her mind like a splinter for weeks already; now that beast was going to be tattooed on her soul forever.

“Come on," she pleaded. Whined. Cajoled.

A smoldering sigh rolled out of her mouth and dribbled down her chin as the wolf gave her the start of that unholy cock, pushing in just enough to spread her twat like a glove. But that was it—just a quick shot of manmeat that vanished again, back to bobbing in the air just short of her reach. Eyes looked to eyes again, pleading—was she whimpering now?

A tiny smirk, smaller than Cat's sense of shame cracked the lines of Geoff's muzzle. “That's a little better." A calloused palm rolled up over Cat's perfect belly and along perfect tits with perfect nipples, pads and claws tracing lines. Maddening. It was simply maddening.

“Beg." The word hung in the air like a smoke cloud, heavy, stifling, almost suffocating. Cat dragged a slow breath in and blinked in confusion. Geoff's hand shifted, turning to clutch Cat's chin, cupping it softly like a prized possession. “If you really want it..." Five fingers tensed and squeezed, making Cat jump. The wolf's muzzle came to rest mere inches from her face. “Then beg for it."

Time stopped entirely. Cat could feel the heat in the air go still and hang there like raindrops in zero gravity, beads of sweat resting on her hot skin with nowhere to go. The only sound was her heartbeat echoing hard in her ears as the sexual olympics drove her body into a self-consuming frenzy. How had she come to this? It was like losing her virginity all over again, only more so. For that endless minute she watched his face, white teeth standing out from peeled back lips in a show of dominance. Clawed fingertips left red lines like furrows down her thigh until they reached her sodden twat, the red monster that bounced with his own pulse and gave off waves of heat like a radiator. The room was a sauna, hazy and sweltering.

Cat had lost her bid to be the top dog. She knew it, her brain screamed it at her. She was the bottom player in this game. There were no chances to switch it up.

Fuck it. It was worth it.

“Please, Geoff. Give me that cock. Fuck me. Breed me, whatever, I don't care what you do. I have to have you." The words were breathy, liquid, dripping from her raw throat and pooling on the floor before turning to steam.

The wolf smiled for the first time she could remember. “That's my girl." And he thrust. Just once. It was enough.

The head alone was sweet agony, an electrified I-beam pushed into a sopping, desperate cunt that despite all its bravado was not and would never quite be prepared to put its proverbial money where its orifice was. Just the head, the purple-red mass that could have passed for a baseball, was enough to make her entire body shudder and seize. Cat had taken on big dicks before—even bigger than this—but the build-up and the haze of unadulterated dominance from Geoff had left her vulnerable and raw, nerves standing as erect as he was and twice as eager. Building, growing, the sensations climbed with each inch of turgid maleness that went into her. Geoff's motions were effortless; even as her pussy grew more and more strained and pulled tighter in reflexively, her lover—if that was even the right term, she'd never be absolutely sure herself—hilted himself with no strain, no grunting, no stress. He was a total professional.

So much so that Cat was slammed to earth by the sudden slap of Geoff's pelvis against her own, the entire mass that somehow tucked away inside his shorts most of the time now deeply nestled within her. The enormity of it hit her sharply as the haze of pre-fuck euphoria started to clear Cat's breath came in short hiccups as wide eyes looked down then up at Geoff. The wolf was just like the Adonis he so resembled, statue-stiff, chest rising in a slow cadence as he too observed the decadent valley laid out before him. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and Cat's breath caught in the hallows of her throat. She knew what was coming.

And he thrust. It was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill game of cock and pussy, but a show of power and prowess. The drawback was gut-wrenching, warmth and near bruising fullness replaced millimeter by burning millimeter with emptiness and the hard sting of muscles recoiling back to the proper dimensions, enough damage left to remind Cat without a word of what she had brought upon herself. And it was brought down upon her with a lust-powered fury, a drive of the hips so potent Cat would swear she heard something inside her crack and crumble away. Maybe it had been her bones giving way to Geoff's battering ram, shattering into a million pieces that would never ever be remotely the same again. Or it could have been her skull refusing to take another crashing blow against the pillows, scared it'd end up in the same state as the headboard that slammed against the wall with shotgun reports. Or possibly, just possibly, it was her own mind throwing up its hands in utter disbelief and heading on to greener pastures where it could think straight and not have to swim in a sea of hormones and confused responses from fraying nerves. All of them, none of the above, any combination thereof, Cat couldn't focus on a single thought well enough to tell. The only thing in her vision was Geoff as he canvassed over her entire body, leaving her in his shadow but certainly not cold.

The deposed queen of the bedroom reached up with both hands and grabbed on to Geoff's pelt, tangling her fingers in it as he built up a cadence, holding on to him as best she could. He was even firmer now, so strong and so positively powerful against her trembling fingers. The authority he radiated even as he pounded her pussy until his balls slapped on her bare, sweaty thighs...it was unmistakable. This was a very different fuck than Cat could remember ever having, a new unfamiliar dance where she didn't know the steps and wasn't in the lead. It was a rush. Little white firecrackers went off in the edges of her vision, watching her wolf growl, eyes cinched shut as he pleasured himself with her, not the other way around. Feral. Potent. The dog had chased the jungle cat to ground.

Minutes passed like seconds inside Cat's mind, wrapped up in the hazy heat of Geoff's libido. Her contributions to their carnal opera were limited—what all could she do that a god of sexual congress would even notice? She moaned his name and sang his praises to the heavens above in a voice so shrill and loud it made the glassware in the nearby kitchen rattle. Fingers dragged their nails down his arms, leaving furrows in their wake; toned legs with broad thighs wrapped themselves around his waist and spread wide in alternating steps. Her world was Geoff. How many times had he made her shake on the edge of climax? Did it matter? His teeth grazed her neck, pricking the soft skin there, making her suck in her breath and arch until her spine hurt. His cock was electric, shocking her insides until they ached but begged for more, more that he was willing and most importantly able to give. A thought bubbled up from the euphoric abyss: was this what it was like for other people that she fucked? Did they feel a few minutes of coital bliss, the warmth of her talented pussy and the dance of her hips, contented for just a few heartbeats until their world evaporated into a spurt of come? There was a tiny pang of regret in the back of her mind...

One more push of his cock sent all those thoughts tumbling to the floor like sheets of paper scattering everywhere, all sense of comprehension lost. Cat flicked her eyes up through a sweat soaked lock of hair at Geoff. There was no speaking to him, not through the long whine of pleasure that her throat had set itself to. He was panting too, the exertion finally taking its toll, chest heaving and the smell of wet fur seeping into the stink of sex that permeated the room. His face was twisted in an expression Cat knew all too well—it was a man who wanted to keep going but knew there wasn't any way he was going to. The end was too damn near.

With a loud slurp of mingled liquids, Geoff yanked the meat-based auger he'd used to plow damn near through Cat and straight to China out, squeezing the base and holding it up high in utter defiance of gravity. Cat stared in awe as the entire length glimmered and glistened, dripping in a steady stream, staining the sheets and probably the carpet. He looked at her with unmistakable lust burning In his eyes like a bonfire.

There were but two words.

“You swallow?"

She nodded gently. It wasn't her favorite but it made men go positively giddy when she offered, like they were virgins getting their first run at an experienced girl's throat. In some cases they were but that wasn't the point.

As soon as Geoff's hands grabbed her waist and whirled her about on the bed like a lazy susan, Cat realized that she'd made a grievous miscalculation. Geoff was not one of those desperate limp-dicks that she picked off at the clubs like so many sick and worn out gazelles around the watering hole. He was big. He was very big. And as he pulled her body around effortlessly, positioning her shoulders at the end of the bed with her head handing free, that size was very much apparent. Cat's eyes went almost as big, a spatter of natural canine lubricant hitting her cheek without attracting her attention.

Geoff adjusted himself with tree trunk thighs to either side, framing Cat's face like a pair of arches. She could scarcely make out his face from her angle, effectively blocked by a pair of balls bouncing against their owner's crotch. The wolf's cock arched down toward her mouth and came to rest on her lips, soaking them in that same salty richness as before, only more potent and heady. Her brain swam. But what was he going to do...

Wait. No. He couldn't possibly plan to—

With one mighty grunt he pushed at her, prying that jaw apart once more time with no small amount of force, pouring cockmeat through the opening until there was nowhere else to go...and then beyond. Cat tensed in sharp panic as her throat was literally speared open and crammed to capacity with hard wolf mating muscle. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grabbing on, knuckles white. It was mathematically impossible to fit and yet there it was, bulging down the line of her neck ridiculously to dribble its warning shots down into her burning stomach. The back of her skull tapped the sheets as Geoff built himself a straight fuck-tunnel from Cat's nose to damn near her collarbone, dragging the sweaty and musky expanse of his testes and cockbase of her face without a second thought. She was his.

Geoff flexed and hunched forward, bent at the waist with both palms on the bed next to Cat's shoulders. The struggle to pound his length through her throat was real, and in his near-spent condition he was in no state to fight the good fight for more than a moment. She felt him shift his tempo, growls growing louder and rougher and his fingers tensed into fists with the tendons in his arms tight as piano wires. But he kept at it, holding himself back by sheer force of will, belly pulled until the lines of his abdominals stood in stark relief under the gray of his pelt. Cat ground her thighs together and flared her nostrils to grab any little stream of breath she could around Geoff's colossus.

She felt more than saw or heard the figurative climax, the point where Geoff's stamina failed him. There was a slight change in his stance, a hitch in his breathing, a choked growl through tightly clenched teeth. It was the one-beat rest before the deluge poured into her stomach with a Biblical force, washing away every thought in her mind in a flood that no ark could ever sail upon. Her beast was better than anything that old Noah punk had with him anyways, and she didn't need two of him to get the job done. Cat coughed and gagged and sputtered as lines of come spurted out from the corners of her lips and trickled out her nose. Finally Geoff yanked himself free with a barking exhale of breath. Spunk as thick as salad dressing and twice as rich poured down her chest and turned the pale tan there into a white wonderland that soaked into her skin, hot and viscous, the fountainhead moving further up her body until the jets landed directly in her vision. Shot after shot blinded her, eyes stinging, mouth full until she worried she might drown, streaks rolling down through her hair. Cat stank of him; even as the wolf's mighty cock started to flag and sink, more come trickled out and added itself to the gooey lake that covered her from chin to forehead and pooled on the carpet.

Two fingers reached down and scraped semen away, letting Cat see, though the room swam in front of her eyes. “Are you okay? I might have gotten a little...carried...away..." Geoff's voice went distant and the words bounced off the walls, echoing...

Cat woke up with a start in her own bed in her own dorm room, wrapped up in a robe she was pretty sure she didn't own. For a half-second she wondered if the whole experience was a really fucking hot dream, but one good attempt to swallow made it clear that either she really had been throat-fucked by a wolf with at least a foot of sausage in his pizza box or she'd tried to gargle razor blades. Hacking and wheezing she scrabbled for anything nearby, finding a bottle of Gatorade and slamming it back. Once the panting passed and the stars faded out of her eyes, Cat stopped and blinked. She didn't keep any of this shit around. Hell, she didn't keep food in her dorm room. The fridge was all Heather's fatty-fat-fat snacky shit and a few beers and Red Bulls for special occasions.

Cat flipped open her cell phone. One email. From Geoff.

Hi. I hope you're okay. You kind of passed out on me there. Sometimes the beast is a little hard to control. Anyways. That's that. I hope you got what you wanted because that can't ever happen again. I'm not risking my livelihood over you, or any other woman. Nothing personal. _ Cat cringed. That was pretty harsh, there, big guy. _If it helps you lived up to your reputation, and I enjoyed it. A little risk never hurt anyone. _ A tiny smile crept up her mouth at the thought. Risk and reward, indeed. _I'll see you around campus if you want to hang out. As friends. I trust you won't go gabbing about last night to all your friends. Merry Christmas.

That was it. Cat sighed a little to herself, tucking the phone back on her nightstand and taking another swig of fruity bev. The wolf practical with his words as he was dominant, that was for sure, but he was probably right. Chasing him down wouldn't do any good. She had gotten what she wanted out of the whole fiasco, hadn't she? It had been a magnificent screw. The afterglow was still on her hours later, taking the edge off aching muscles and sore joints. It was probably for the best she move on. No interest in a relationship, and the odds of another night being as memorable as that one were pretty slim.

Cat went to her window to watch the snow come down in waves on the abandoned parking lot, the wind making landscapes out of drifts. She still hated winter, but she had to admit that from this distance, tucked behind the glass, it wasn't quite such a death sentence. And honestly, it was refreshing to have been the one being dominated, even if it might have left bruises. They were the good kind of bruises.

January. The campus was alive again, the corridors and social spaces that made up Wolfe Hall's blood vessels filling with students and their parents. Some were new, starting in the winter semester for whatever reason, trying to get their bearings and hoping their parents would both hang around and leave already. Others dragged back in from their personal vacations with regrets weighing heavy on their heads—some drank too much, some didn't fuck enough, and not a one anywhere was happy to be back to the grind.

Heather was among them, sitting in her room, cupping something from the overpriced coffee house on the ground floor and cringing as the cold seeped in despite her best efforts. A month in Ibiza had given her a tan to rival Cat's and a hangover that would last the better part of a lifetime. To be honest, Cat had to admit she looked good. A little time to unwind could do a body wonders.

“I never want to go to another party again," she moaned.

Cat laughed, sprawled out on her bed, flicking through Mixxxer absently. Once her pass-time, always her pass-time. “You'll get over it." She pushed up on her elbows. “You look good, honey. I think you lost a little weight with all that dancing."

Heather raised an eyebrow, looking down at her belly and poking it with a finger. “I...guess?" A pause. “You never compliment me. Must have been a great fucking Christmas break wherever you went."

You don't know how right you are, Cat thought to herself with a giggle. “Oh, I didn't do anything special. I'm just giving you credit where credit's due, darling. And besides." Cat stretched out, adjusting her tank-top over her tits. No reason to be hanging out too much, not right now. Heather wasn't interested. More shows would come later.

Before Heather could react much more to the rare appearance of the Nice Catalina, there was a hard knock at the door. Both girls turned towards it, catching a nervous looking Jerry standing there, carrying a pizza under one hefty arm. The horse looked nervous with good reason, seeing as the last time he'd been in Cat's dorm he'd been slapped and chased until security had to get involved.

Heather looked the equine over, as confused as ever. “What's up, Jerry? Where's Vinnie?"

Cat pushed up to her feet and bounced on her toes to their guest, taking the pizza box and tossing it on the stack of plastic totes that passed for a table. Jerry gave Heather a shrug and the winningest smile he had, adjusting the nicer-than-his-usual polo shirt over his standard issue rugby player's chest. “I dunno. Vinnie's doin' his own thing. I got tired a'gettin' hit every damn time he opened his mouth." He nudged his snout towards Cat. “An' she invited me. Dunno why either but hey, better'n sittin' around jerkin' off."

Heather didn't know what to say. Cat smiled, hands knitted behind her back just above the hem of her one-size-too-small khakis, resting on the sculpted curve of her ass. She was feeling just a little self-conscious for once; her tan was shot from spending a good month inside and the lethargic 'sit around and wait' lifestyle had made her just the tiniest bit pudgy. Imperceptibly. No one but her would ever notice. But you tell that to a cat.

“See, Jerry," Cat said in a voice so saccharine it would give lab rats cancer as she slipped behind the horse and closed the door. “It took a while, but I realized I was kind of a bitch to you back in the summer. You were just trying to be helpful, and it was Vinnie who was rude." The 'panther' put her soft palm to Jerry's chest, feeling his heart beat hard, looking up into his soft eyes from a good foot lower. “You were just doing what you thought I'd meant. That's not so wrong."

Cat could feel Heather suck on her teeth at the scene. Her roommate knew exactly where this was going—fuck, the entire campus could read the script a million pages in advance. Jerry whickered softly, managing a not entirely nervous chuckle. “Well that's right nice a'you, ma'am. So..." He looked over to Heather, then around the dorm room. “You wanna watch a movie?"

“Well." Cat purred now. Figuratively anyways. She was secretly jealous of the morphs that could really purr. “I figured we could Netflix and chill." With a smooth whip of her arms Cat tossed her shirt over her head, hands going right to Jerry's straining zipper and pulling his jeans open. The horse made a few sounds, strained and startled at once, somehow alarmed that the easiest girl at the college was coaxing his already dropped cock out, watching with dreamy eyes as it rose to half-hardness.

“Christ, Cat. I've only been back an hour." Heather threw a magazine to the floor and grabbed her purse, stomping angrily past the little slut who made her life unpleasant and the completely overwhelmed stallion with his dick hanging out like a flagpole. “You have fun with your fuckbuddy. Text me when I can come back, and for once air the fucking room out. I hate sleeping in pussy-stink."

“Hey, Heather..." Cat grabbed Heather by the shoulder and pulled her back, the more demure of the two stumbling on her heels a little until she came shoulder-to-shoulder with Cat. A slim hand slipped around Heather's waist, stroking along her lower back, red lips against an ear. “We can share him, you know..."

Heather's eyes went wide, bouncing between Cat's face and Jerry's monster mottled cock, a foot and a half easily with a head wider than either girl's palm. Her mouth hung open, trying to figure out what to say as Cat molested her from behind, coaxing the hem of her shirt up over Heather's impressively fat tits, cupped tightly in an otherwise mundane bra. “You're kidding," she whispered. “You—him—he—"

A finger pressed Heather's lips. “Hush. I think there's enough for both of us."

And thusly the next hours were filled with noise complaints, a broken bed, an entire box of condoms and finding out that Heather was not quite so averse to having her pussy eaten by another woman, if the mood was right. It was the stuff of legends. Like Cat herself.

The game hadn't changed. But maybe Cat would change how she played it.

*END*