{"sf1_id":51560,"sf2_id":"lmXj8B1o","title":"The Broken Mirror","author":"Hawk","words":7446,"posted_at":"2008-05-28T03:19:00.000Z","tags":["Anal","Cougar","Drugs","Human","Leather","M/M","Oral","Violence"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/51560-the-broken-mirror","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/lmXj8B1o","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/c3/fc/c3fcc036-e77a-4a19-a693-4bbd16182cc7","description":"","content":" The Broken Mirror  \nby H. A. Kirsch  \nCopyright 2008  \n  \nWarning: contains breath control, blood, drugs, and slavic accents.  \n\n* * *\n  \nI lie in bed, unable to control myself any more. I writhe against the sheets, trying to throw my  \nscent onto them. My tail beats at the smooth fabric. If I was not alone, I would cover my mouth as  \na kitten-mrrwl comes out. So hard, so excited, drowsy yet raging with need.  \n  \nThere are gloves on my night-stand, black, leather. Damascus Patrolman, smooth cabretta with a  \nlonger cuff. Damascus makes police gloves, but these are meant for faggots, not officers of the  \nlaw. Custom made for some company, for men to wear while they hold their hand over the mouths of  \nslut-boys, to hold cigars with, to hold whips and paddles and their cocks with. I take them and  \nslide them on, claws having to poke out small holes, a lot of fiddling to line up correctly,  \nleather touching leather, smoothing it down. So hard now, wet into my fur.   \n  \nI take my dick and think about what I did the weekend before, to some young man I met off the  \ninternet. His hair was cut like a marine, covered in tattoos. He wanted to be beaten, abused, but I  \ndo not like that, those who want it. So I tied him up, left him there for hours until he was  \npissing himself, cut him down and told him to fuck off. But thinking of it makes me hotter still,  \nmy gloved fingers start to spread precum around my ghastly dickhead, touching over the nubs there.  \nI yowl and cover my mouth, holding my muzzle shut, wheezing air. Now I think of something else, a  \nstrong man holding me down, choking me with his glove, penetrating hard, burning pain and pleasure.  \nHe beats my cock, and I scream, as I beat my cock, leather smacking flesh hard, semen erupting all  \nover my fur, my gloved hand.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I feel filthy now, huff in a deep breath, then look to my gloved hand. White is smeared all over  \nthe smooth, supple leather. I splay the fingers and lick it clean, until there is only light  \ndampness that I buff away with fur. The urge is gone, and I can think, and I think about what I  \nwill do this weekend for fun.  \n  \n----  \n  \nI am a cat, a cougar. Mountain lion, puma, even panther, it is the same. I do not care for the  \nname, what is the point? I am Polish, this explains the way I speak, and there are no cougars in  \nPoland. I come to America to find cougars. No, I came because my family came. I grew sick,  \nextremely rare to get the disease that leads to hybridization by way of misguided human bullshit.  \nMy parents cannot afford a visa, they are deported. I become a new person under the laws, an  \norphaned teenager struggling with myself, then a pervert.  \n  \n  \nFor tonight, I need clothes, sharp and attractive, and leather. All leather. Except for the shirt,  \nI like those to be fine silk. First, black leather jeans. Straight leg, very fine leather, lambskin  \nI believe. Lined with smooth leather, a wonderful sensation against the fur as I slide into them,  \nmy cock and balls cradled in the hide. A fine leather belt to keep them on, black and polished, a  \nsimple angular chrome buckle. White dress shirt, silk, unbuttoned down to the middle of chest,  I  \nhate being collared by only a fucking shirt. A pair of leather cowboy boots, sharp toe, underslung  \nheel, smooth leather, black. Featureless, no stitching, nothing. They come up almost to my knees,  \ntricky to put under the pants, so worth it. Those who know will see the shape under the leather,  \nunderstand the hidden power of tall boots. A leather blazer, worn open, made of fine black  \nalligator. Expensive, it costs eight thousand dollars, a sign of status more than fetish. No  \ngloves, yet; I leave those for when I find someone.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I go to bar for discerning faggots. No tough men in motorcycle leather staring through their cigar  \nsmoke only to talk like prissy queens, no sucking in the corner. Only expensive drinks and  \nwell-dressed idiots. Few hybrids, mostly canines, a table of them playing poker. I wonder if it is  \na joke on their part, or a foolish coincidence? The rest are human.  \n  \nI go to bar and lean over, to order a drink. There is dog there, maybe he is a pitt bull terrier. I  \nam bad with dogs like this, he is white and hefty and pointy. He is tough, not like rest of  \npatrons. He sees me, and makes a grin.  \n  \n\"Awww, it's a kitty-cat.\"  \n  \nI ignore this.  \n  \n\"Is the kitty going to have some milk?\"  \n  \nWhy does this dog give me shit? I turn to hiss. \"You want me to have milk?\" I turn to the  \nbartender, who finds this funny. I grab his shirt, pull him over, say things into his ear. He nods,  \nand fixes drink. It is like milk, a little.. uh, tan is it? Brown. Milk and amaretto. It is  \ndelicious, but.. \"There, I have a drink. you can have it,\" I say, and push the drink to the dog,  \nand take his. It is a dry martini. \"Cats cannot drink milk, ass-hole dog.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; This dog does not get angry. There is something to his response. I know there is, I can tell, he  \ngrins at me. Maybe I am stupid and have forgotten something. It is not important. I am interested  \nin the humans.   \n  \nI sit for long while, enjoying... something. I do not have words for it, and it is not my clothes.  \nThey are there, always, always a sensation of being in leather, the cat fur in me never stops  \nfeeling things I have done one hundred times. I do not like crowds of people, unless they are all  \ntrying to do one stupid thing, like get drunk and find warm hole to fuck.  \n  \n  \nFinally, there, a smug and lonesome human by the bar. Black tousled hair, expensive leather  \n'scooter' jacket, straight zipped, fitted. Bluejeans, dark indigo, Wranglers that hug the balls and  \nspread rump apart. I catch a glimpse of boots, motorcycle harness boots under the pants cuffs. The  \nlook is almost hipster. He has earrings, little studs in each. Very tan. Does he see me?  \n  \nAfter twenty minutes of him drinking alone, then having small conversation with someone nearby, he  \nsees me. I catch him looking, he sees my stare and quickly looks away. His head turns, eyes looking  \nfor me again, then away. He is not afraid of the stare, I think. If he was, he would not keep  \nlooking. But who can avoid a stare? Humans cannot, they must look at it even if they hate it. I  \nhave noticed this over time. I cannot tell how humans feel, I only have trained myself to recognize  \nlooks and movements, match them up against what I know. If they are wrong, I am lost. I do not  \nthink I am lost now. He is interested. Maybe it is expensive leather, maybe it is cat with a  \nmartini glass.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \nEither way, this human is interested in me. I catch him adjusting himself. What a display for a  \nnice bar like this! I down my drink, wipe it off my muzzle, then get up to go to the bathroom. I am  \nquick, no dawdling, right into a stall to sit, my tail curling back around the flushing pipes so it  \ndoes not drag in the piss and water on the floor. I am not going to shit, I am going to wait. Soon  \nenough, the door opens, I hear boot heels clunking at the floor. I look down to the gap between  \nstall panel and tile, I see a boot there, a harness boot, black leather. The human is standing next  \nto the stall. A zip, then a soft grunt, the wet hiss and trickle into the urinal. The bathroom is  \nbadly designed, I see him there. I see his cock, a nice dick. He has to slide skin back to piss, I  \ncan smell it from behind stall wall.   \n  \nHe has jeans worn over the boots. He is a little drunk. He has black shirt, some kind of soft  \nfabric, a little shiny under that jacket. Strong jaw but he is skinny. Maybe he does drugs.  \nExpensive watch, who needs watch to tell time? I have a phone, I do not need a watch. I do not get  \nhard watching this human piss, because he is pissing. This is not exciting, it is life, it is not  \nsex pissing into a urinal. It is life pissing.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I pick up a boot, move it over to very edge of stall, almost to underneath the gap. I am not going  \nto make him know I want to fuck him. I am doing two things. I am tempting him, and I can see  \nreflection of him looking in the boot leather. He is looking at it. I am looking at him. I see a  \nshape, and that is enough to know. He flushes the urinal, then leaves the bathroom. I wait, a long  \ntime, then follow.  \n  \n  \nHe is not in the bar. This makes me mad, I feel it prickle up my neck, I want to hiss and grab my  \nclaws into things. I smell him, traces here and there. I know he was there. I am not careful  \nsniffing around. I glare at those who glare back, then I leave out the back. I smell his scent that  \nway, I know he left out the back. I know it. And is he there, standing half-way down the alley,  \nabout to light a cigarette? I barge out of the door, stalk down the alleyway. I am not quiet, my  \nboots clack and scrape, leather creaks, I huff like animal. He is lifting flame to the cigarette,  \nthen stops. He puts it down, his body shrinks away. Instant fear. It does not matter that I walk on  \ntwo legs, I am a cat, I am a predator, and every human sees this.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"I see you in the bar,\" I say, coming up within three feet of him. I have my shoulders lifted,  \nhunched forward. I tilt nose down, eyes up. This is not smug, this is doom for the human. He is  \ngetting a fucking erection! Doom for him, but he is so hard. I smell it, see glimpse of it. Sick.  \n\"I see you looking at me.\"  \n  \n\"What?\" He said. \"Looking at you?\"  \n  \nI am putting on gloves, a riding pair I keep in my jacket. His lighter gets too hot, he lets go of  \nit, drops it with a bad word. He looks down. When his head is up, he sees a black-gloved hand  \nholding expensive metal lighter. I give his cigarette fire. It is not tobacco, it is all lumped and  \ntwisted like a.. I forget the word for this, it is pinched at the ends. \"I see you look at my boot,  \nI see you as you stand there and piss and stop because you get hard, when you look at my boot.\"  \n  \nHe inhales from the joint, hard. He coughs. \"Oh, the bathroom.\" then inhales again. \"Okay, so I was  \nlooking at your boot.\"  \n  \nI creep closer. I start to purr. This is not kitten purr, house-cat purr. This is chainsaw, idling  \ntruck. I open my jaw, lick my lips. It makes the sound rattle out of my mouth. He is harder, there  \nis a spot in his pants, wet and slick. \"I know what this means. I know what you want.\" I put the  \nlighter back, then reach out to touch him.  But I don't touch him, I put my hand back in my coat.  \nI watch him watch, there is a note of sadness as my hand disappears. His eyes wanted to see the  \nleather around my fingers, not my coat. \"Why do you come out here to smoke? No one will care in the  \nbar.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Dude, it's fucking grass, I can't smoke it in the bar.\"  \n  \n\"Why do you smoke this?\" I ask, moving closer. I turn, back to the wall, so I do not scare him  \nmore. Now we are edging together. He nervously takes more of the drug, coughs, then tosses it out.  \n  \n\"Whaa? I uh, well... you know.\" he says. He looks stupid. I can see him embarrassed, and yet  \nnumbing with the drug. A shameful smile, humans say shit-eating. It is a grin like a dog who eats  \nshit, I see the root. I think to touch him, I want to. I want to hold him by the left shoulder,  \npush him to the wall, get my face close to his. But it will make him too scared. Just as I am about  \nto speak, he interrupts. His eyes light up, fighting the red glaze. \"So ou're that guy. The, uh,  \nphotographer.\"  \n  \nThis is unusual. No one recognizes me, I am not famous, I am a sick artist. It makes me  \nuncomfortable. \"What do you say?\"  \n  \n\"You're that photographer. You were in uh, Underworld last month. You did that scene. The one with  \nthe prisoner cat and the wolf guy? What the hell was that, was he some big black dude?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"He was black wolf-\"  \n  \nThe man shook his head, ran a hand up through his hair. I could see him changing. His fear was now  \njust sex. \"No, I mean, he didn't have any \\_fur\\_ or anything.\"  \n  \n\"He is strange black wolf. So you know what I take pictures of. Do you like these things?\" I am in  \na situation that I am not often. I am interested in someone, and they know everything about me. I  \nbleed into my pictures, and he knows smell of my blood.  \n  \n\"They serve me uh, real well,\" he says. I stare at him. It means nothing, I have to think hard. I  \nhave to find this phrase in my head. It does not come.  \n  \n\"I ask you, do you like what I take pictures of?\"  \n  \nHe looks at me as if I am speaking another language. Maybe I am. I am frustrated, it may have been  \nPolish. \"Yeah, dude, I like your fucking pictures. Holy shit, and I'm the one who's stoned. You  \nwant to come back to my place? I have a lot of stuff.\" Shit-eating again.  \n  \nI shake my head. \"No, you come to my place. Maybe I take picture of you, while I do it.\"  \n  \n---  \n  \nI do not take him to my home. I take him to studio. I used to live and work in the same apartment,  \nbut now I separate. We do not talk while walking. He says a few things, but I think they are  \ndrugged, and I do not answer. People see us, see him with his cock raging in his fucking pants, me  \nwith my expensive leathers, my tail that lashes and moves and hits them as they go by.  We reach  \nmy studio, it is a loft over old factory. What they do in the factory floor, maybe it is illegal,  \nmaybe it is boring shit. I don't care.  My studio is on good street, not bad street, the entrance  \na walk-up. There is no sign, it could be bad, maybe worse, but instead it is nice. A loft, big open  \nroom with open ceiling to pipes and machines. I have drop ceiling in one corner, for lighting.  \nThere is equipment everywhere, lights and things, props, furniture. There is large partition, black  \nwood with a door. I take him right to that.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Now this other studio. No friendly things, only pain and suffering and maybe pleasure if you are  \nsick. A dentist's chair, with black leather padding, welded-on hooks. A sawhorse, to cut wood on  \nand not for fucking, with padding that my friend Jakob made. He is black wolf I speak of. Stocks.  \nSt. Andrew's cross; whipping people. Whipping is for friend of mine, he loves to see it, to do it.  \nA toilet drained to pipe over a platform, a urinal with similar things. A gas mask, with a hood,  \nthe hose to the urinal. This was for photo shoot last week. Very hard to coordinate, 30 men and  \nanimals to use this one person, made terrible smell. Funnels and more masks, endless masks, an  \nentire wall of masks and hoods and respirators. I have to have ladder to reach them, like an old  \nman's library in a movie. Wardrobes with so many things, I cannot list them here without boring you  \nto shit.  \n  \nI walk around, my boots clop against the floor. His are dull thunks, mine are sharp clacks. I have  \nmetal studs in the heel, for sound, and it works. Each pound brings his attention back. It is sick.  \nI do not tell him to go sit in the chair. He just does, it is most comfortable thing in the room. I  \ndo not tie him down yet. His eyes burn so hot now, he will not fight until the end. \"What do you  \nwant? Just point to it,\" I say.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He gets up, wanders across the room. \"Anything? Wow.\"  \n  \nI sigh. \"What do you fucking want? You are too high for this?\"  \n  \n\"No, no, I, uh, I...\" His mouth hangs open a little. I climb onto the chair.  \n  \n\"I fuck your mouth. Get down, to the floor. I sit, you work.\"  \n  \nI get off, and he climbs down, sinking onto the floor. He is at my boots as I sit down, his face  \nrubs them. It is almost like cat, and I don't like this. It bothers me. But, at the same time, he  \nloves my boots. I feel them like that when I am home alone, I love them too.  \n  \nI take out my cock, I am big for cat. It is half human, swollen head, flesh that slips back and  \nforth, but when I am hard it is always back. There are bumps, I think they are spines if I was a  \nreal cat, around the head. It looks strange to me, disgusting, I do not really like to see it. But  \nthis human does, he loves to see it. He moves up and starts to rub on my cock like my boot, it is  \ndisgusting, but it is good, I purr and swat at his head. He stops.  \n  \n\"No, ass, you suck me, don't just touch it,\" I hiss.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Humans smell like shit and acid and chemicals and talk like idiots and do all kinds of things, but  \ntheir mouths, I cannot say this in English, there are no words. Maybe this man is prostitute, but I  \nhave not paid him, he sucks like one. Eager and hard, loud and sick slurps and cracks of air past  \nspit. It is not enough, I grab him and yank him down, he gags and chokes, hands pull at my pants,  \ngroping like blind cub. If he throws up, asshole, I will kill him. He does not throw up, he just  \ngags and chokes, over and over, body heaving and fighting as I pump his head up and down. So good,  \nso good.  \n  \nIt is horrible when I come, I never do this in other homes, only my own, alone because it is so  \nloud. It is a scream, blood-curdling, howling and spitting. I come so hard, so hard, and I let go  \nbecause I cannot see, it is so hard. He backs away and slumps down, and gags, and I watch as white  \npumps up and over his lip, a splat to the floor. He then slaps a hand to mouth, swallows.  \n  \n\"Unh. Sorry man, I ain't, I uh, I don't, you know, I don't do that usually. Like I gag a lot.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I ignore his display of retching semen. Whatever, he is dumb human, he cannot swallow, I do not  \ncare. \"Take off your clothes, you can have anything here, for now. It is mine, I let you use it.\" I  \nponder setting up my camera. Then I think. This human, whose name I didn't even know, was not a  \nmodel. I did not want to profit from him. I do not even want to keep picture for use by myself.  \n  \n He takes off his clothes, too stoned to do strip-tease. He reaches for his boots, then pauses. I  \nstare at him, and he pulls hand back. \"You do not answer me, so I answer for you.\"  \n  \nI give him what I want. The wall of masks. I want to see his face, his eyes, his sweaty black hair,  \nso it is not a military gas mask or a hood. I want to take things from him, so it will not be a  \ntiny medical air mask. I find the thing I want. It is a flight mask from army jet, maybe it is  \nrussian, I do not care. I paint away anything on it, it is only black, there are still wires from  \nthe front.  A rubber mask, with locking head-strap, there is padlock on it. There is air hose as  \nwell, with special valve, to let air go both ways, or one way. The outlet, with more valve, to  \nallow air or block it. I turn, holding the mask, and the human fidgets in the chair. I bring it to  \nhis face, fit the cup to his mouth and nose. His eyes are terrified, bloodshot. He breathes hard  \ninto the mask, loud huffs, a grunt, a groan of sick need. I know this need, it is my need too.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I lock the straps around his head, then I fit his wrists to straps at the arms of the chair. He  \nstruggles, but it is to test, his cock tenses as he finds that I am no idiot and he cannot escape.  \n  \nI do not want this human. I want his reactions. He is meat and skin. I think of all the things  \nthere are about him that I do and don't want, and my own feelings, I pick the words and leave them  \nin my head, to say later, when he will listen. Now, he would hear nothing, his head pounds with  \ndrugs. I think of that, then I think that he will get what he wants until he is sick. I bend down,  \nfind his pants. I take his wallet out. He sees me and starts, pulling at the chair. \"I don't know  \nwho you are,\" I say. \"I am Tomasz Dusic.\"  \n  \n\"That means, it means to strangle, right?\" He says, into the mask, valves slapping shut after his  \nwords. I have made this valve special, with springs, so it makes a loud slap when it closes.  I  \nwant to hiss at what he says. He knows even that, he knows I steal my name from Polish, he  \nresearches things. Did he wait for me at the club? Did he stalk me? No one stalks me, I am a cat. I  \nbristle under the leather, lash my tail hard enough that it will thump at chair.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I say nothing in response. I pull his pants over, I crouch by the chair and face away. I push my  \ngloved fingers into the pockets, they come out with another joint. I fit it into the end of the  \nair-hose, glove leather sealing. He tries to breathe, then grunts as he can barely do it. I know he  \nis getting harder. I would be hard if I could barely breathe. I find my lighter, flick it. The hose  \ntwitches as he realizes, perhaps? Maybe he can see what I do, around shoulder or something. I light  \nthe cigarette, and human gasps and pulls hard at air. He exhales hard, and I look over shoulder to  \nsee. He does it again, then coughs, smoke spraying from air-vents. I do not like drugs, I do not do  \nthem, but I like to see them ruin other people. He is a machine, blowing smoke, a train going  \ndeeper into black woods, where the tracks end.  \n  \n I do not let go of the hose, and he heaves and strains, shaking the chair. \"You want to have  \ndrugs, I give you drugs,\" I say. The joint is about to burn my fingers, and I pull it away, crush  \nit as I stand. He breathes hard, inhaling clean air, exploding with a cough.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I wait. It is much more than in the alley, and I can see the changes come. Skin darkens, eye whites  \ncreep over with blood fire, a strange thing as his balls loosen and droop lower, his breaths come  \nhard and heavy. I touch my gloved hand to the mask, his eyes watching, crossing as they see black  \nleather against black rubber. Now I am getting a little hard again. I feel down the hose, to the  \nend, watch his body move, hips lift. I do not give him what he wants, he slumps back down.  \n  \n\"You know what I take pictures of, moments of life. I do not take life, it is boring, to see  \nsomeone die. I see this once, it was boring, that is how I know. I want to see moments of life in  \nyou. These moments I choose.\" I start to go through toys. What toy for him? I do not decide, and  \nbind his ankles to the chair instead. Then, a belt to keep him from flexing too far. His cock is  \nwet, from piss-hole down over foreskin, his shaft. It is nice cock, bigger than mine, it is maybe  \nten inches. Very big. Maybe he does movies. The head is deep purple, swollen and glistens, the skin  \nalmost covers it, the crown bulges it out. I like this cock.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I decide on a toy. I find it, a custom thing, hard to make. It is a sheath, for balls and cock, but  \na sound as well. You know a sound, it is for... I remember, it is for curing some disease from  \nfucking, where your pisshole closes up and you die, I suppose. This one is not metal, it is not  \nmedical tool.  \n  \nThis sound is a tube to let out piss and cum, but the tube is inside of sheath, stiff silicone or  \nsomething, featureless and smooth. Human does not know this about sound, he just sees latex, eyes  \nbegging. I bring it to him, fit it to his cock, begin to slide the tube inside. I take it off, pour  \nin silicone lube. I begin again, careful to push tube into cock-flesh. He is no stranger to this,  \nthere is no scream, only a groan, the flex of muscles, squeak of straps holding him down. He is so  \nhard inside the sheath, the latex too small, compressing rubber to flesh to sound. I touch the  \nsheath, a bare claw stroking along it, the underside, between lumps at the head. I claw around the  \npiss-hole, stirring the sound. He howls and mewls, jerking chair, more slime oozing from it. It is  \nno longer cock, it is almost as if it is part of a machine. It is fascinating, and I regard it for  \nsome time.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \nI go and find more things. This is what he wants, it is what I want too. This is mutual  \nsatisfaction for now. I find another hose for gas-mask, then another, then a rubber thing. It is a  \nbag, a safety valve for air, a restriction hole for effect. More things, a bottle, cotton. I wet  \none with other, the poppers fumes for loosening everything that is sick human. I come back, touch  \nat his mask, stroke the outlet holes. Tail lashing again, thump-thump-thump at the chair. I am  \nhappy, excited cat now.  \n  \nI switch the outlet air off, his breath huffing out just in time to have me twitch the other valve,  \nair sucking down the hose. The special valve is strong, it makes loud stuttering noise. His eyes  \nlook at me. I hold up the cotton to the end of the air hose, he inhales, I take it away and he  \nhuffs it out. I attach the other hose. He starts to redden, the drug flushing him, widening  \narteries. His head rolls, hips jerking up at the belt, sheathed and penetrated cock moves. I touch  \ncock, he howls into the mask, mumbles something. It is good something.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; This time, I take hose and wind it around his neck, the extra section leaving coils at his neck  \nfrom collar to chin. I insert hose under bulged part from the joint, then give him more of the  \npoppers from the cotton. As he exhales, I screw on the rubber bag. His breath huffs through the  \norifice, puffing the rubber up. I screw on the safety cap. He sees this and groans again, the bag  \ncollapsing and swelling. Then, he puffs out hard, straining it. I release air and fumes from the  \nsafety hole, then cap it again. He inhales hard, and rubber slaps up to itself, a wet slurp coming  \nthrough it. Do you know how this sounds? Farting suck through the tube, slap of the bag, rubbered  \nuh, huffing air into it.  \n  \n  \nHuman groans again, body shifting, arms pulling at straps. More fresh air to the bag, the flutter  \nas it swells and slaps shut. Human is not there. He is an animal now, desperate for air, helpless  \nwith lust from the head-rush, words eaten by his own drug. It is hard not to look at the masked  \nface, the panicked and distant eyes, but the bag, I love to see that, inflating with life,  \ndeflating as life goes back. He will see me staring like a house-cat, or a zoo animal, at his  \nsituation. I creep up onto him, and I rub my face against the bag. It is hot with breath, squirming  \nagainst my face. I gently take it into my mouth, I want to carry it away for some reason, I have to  \nmake myself let go and climb down.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I grasp at his sheathed cock, tug the latex, pulling foreskin back and forth, jostling and  \nthrusting sound-tube. He cries out, body lurching. I stroke just latex, teasing him.  He is  \nbreathing harder, rapidly to hyperventilate. Then, the barks, a whuff of air bringing a haahh!,  \nthen cough, then gasping and snorting. Shock again, another cry. He barks loudly now, like a dog,  \nthrashes his head, tries to beat the mask away from his face, body starting to thrash and jolt  \nalmost as if he convulses. He screams, howling like a dying animal, and I think I may come in my  \npants from this, but I cannot, I cannot yet. I jerk his cock, beat on it, slap and punch and yank  \nand thumb at the head, forcing sound in deep. Another scream, filling the bag, and semen erupts  \nout, spraying his chest despite the tube. I unscrew the bag, human gasps in air and is making  \nstrange sounds. I then lean down to lick at his spurting, black-rubber dick. He gasps into the  \nmask, heaving his chest with air. Oh, is he crying? Sobbing?  No, just a reflex. In moments, his  \ncock sags, seed drooling. I lick it clean, and he mumbles into the mask. First person I do this do,  \ncried for ten minutes. Like baby. This human, he does not cry, he enjoys it. Somehow, I do not like  \nthis.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I take him off chair, let him move if he likes. I turn and move towards the wall of masks, cock  \nstill hard. I inspect the rubber coverings, I see in one shiny eye-plate that human is standing,  \ntouching his sheathed cock. He cries and chatters his teeth, stimulating himself too much. There is  \nsomething about him that irritates me, more and more, beyond humanity. It has not appeared yet. I  \nsee he is looking at masks. I know which mask he is looking at, that is the irritating thing. It is  \nthe cat-mask. Full-head hood, gas mask, with jowls of cat, furrowed brow, ears. I wear it when in  \nmy own photographs, not to hide me, but because I want to see my face like that when in pictures.  \nIf I am a cat, I will be all cats, not Tomasz Dusic.  \n  \nI do not put it on. I just wait. Human leans on the chair, pulling at his latexed cock, precum  \ndribbling out onto fingers. He is hard again. Then, he speaks. \"Oh man, I wanna be a cat.\"  \n  \n\"What do you say?\" I turn my head over my shoulder.  \n  \n\"I  said, I wanna be a cat. Oh god, I'd love it, having all that fur to be petted, tail to wave  \naround. I could hear everything, rub my whiskers on someone's boot...\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; That is it. That is what irritates me. The anger inside me is so sharp, it is a blade that cuts  \nwith no pain. He does not see it. He sees the stare of an animal. He touches himself across his  \nsweaty chest, then giggles, confused by the drugs. \"Hahah, mew,\" he says. He says the word, a  \nsound.  \n  \nHe sees the stare for what it is, as I approach and slowly turn my head to the side, eyes still on  \nhim. He has seen this, maybe he has cats who play, or who eat birds outside. He moves from the  \nchair, backs up. \"Mew?\"  \n  \nI do not think human is smart. Smart human would know the cougar can jump ten meters. I jump. With  \nboots, not so far, less traction, but I fly at him and hit chest to chest, and crash him to his  \nback. His head hits, a thump. I wonder if I have killed him? He stops moving, staring at me. Then  \nhis chest heaves, wheezes of air. Only have knocked wind from him. He fights with no warning,  \nbeating at my face. It hurts, one fist before I seize that hand, another fist to shoulder before I  \nseize that one. I finally get off him and he scrambles up, runs past. Idiot human, he is running  \ninto wall! Right into the masks, colliding and grasping, then into corner, then spinning and into  \nwardrobe. I block him, he grabs at things, holds up useless object. A rubber shirt. I rush him   \nbackwards onto chair again, he holds up shirt to struggle with me, I push it to his face. This is  \ninteresting, and I like to watch the rubber fit against skin, compress it. He heaves air out, a  \nrude sound like gas as it flaps rubber. Then he inhales, the material sticking to his teeth. I rub  \nmy face against the suffocating rubber, lick rough tongue at his lips and teeth. He does not bite,  \nhe is human, he is choking for air, kicking and thrashing.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I back off to give him air, and he swats at me. I swat back. It is not even thought in head at  \nfirst, but there is a trail of thoughts leading to it. I hit his face one way, with claws. They  \nsick out from gloves, did I say this? They do, it is hard and annoying, I do not like claws, except  \nnow. Hit one way, then the other way. He stops fighting, hands frozen. Red welts line his cheeks,  \nlines towards mouth, three each. Pinky-claw did not fit. Deeper red, deeper, the lines are growing  \njagged. Oh, oh, I have hurt the poor human. I do not feel that as concern, just a fact. He is a  \ntoy, I play with toys. I am sadist, if he was mouse I would throw him around until there was no  \nmore twitching. I am not that strong.   \n  \nHe does not feel this pain, he mumbles. \"Whathefuck?\" He touches his face, smears the blood around,  \nlooks at his hands. He sees dark red. He wipes them on his chest, there is the red. I watch his  \nface, the skin turns pale, uneven, sick. \"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!\" he says,  \nuntil he is shrieking. He tries to swing at me and I leap back. He is terrified, thrashing at me.  \nHe kicks me, one is between the legs. I scream, and he claps his hands to his ears, smearing blood  \nthere. If there was glass in dungeon, it would break.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Human runs, and I crush him chest to floor, body sliding a few feet on hard tile. I am near toys, I  \nsit on his back and grab some. A leather arm-sac, which I get on him after several minutes.  He is  \ngasping, struggling, bleeding on floor. It is not lethal, but the face is so sensitive, tender. I  \nfind metal bar with cuffs, secure his legs. And, finally, object to humiliate him. A dish. I put it  \non floor in front of his face.  \n  \n\"You want to be cat? Now you are cat,\" I say, and get off him. I start to jerk off, come soon,  \nyowling and hissing. White seed spills into the dish. \"You are cat, and this is milk for cat. For  \nthe kitten.\" I grab his hair, show him the dish. He does not want it. \"Why do you not want this,  \nkitten? You mewed, cried for it!\" I show him again. He still does not want it. I push his face into  \nit, he yells and cries, sobbing, wet eyes and a nasty heaving sound. It is now blood-milk. \"Milk is  \nfor kittens! Drink!\" I am loud, very loud, shrill. I do not realize this until sound echoes back  \ninto ears after split-second.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He drinks. Wet laps of his tongue, the wrong way, he is stupid human, tongue curls forward to drip  \nthe seed instead of bring it up. Then he kisses it, sucks the dish, wet slurps. I see him swallow.  \nHis skin is cold, wet with sweat. I think of this, it is familiar. I do not know medicine, but he  \nis in shock. He does not bleed enough for it. I think harder, why is he in shock. Oh, the drugs  \nperhaps. I will solve this maybe.  \n  \nAs he licks it up, I penetrate him from behind. He does not stop licking. He is loose, muscles  \nclinging on but like wet plastic, not tight rubber. \"Idiot, you want to be cat? You want to be cat?  \nI am cat, I do not want to be one! I am cat because of human mistakes! Stupid bull-shit! I am born  \nhuman, I am smart. But I am torn from family by your government, I get sick from your disease, I  \nget twisted to monster-cat by your doctors, I get abandoned to adoption, I rage with feelings you  \nnever understand, and now, you want to be cat? You want to be like me? Now you have whiskers, drink  \nfrom bowls, you are cat!\" I am hitting him, fucking, pounding him, boots scrape the floor, the  \nsmack of leather on skin.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I am coming, it is not from talking, I am thrusting hard, violating him, and it is so good. It  \nsatisfies me, a long yowl as I seed him, then pull back. He falls over, breathing fast, eyes dull.  \nThere is bad thing coming. I pull him to his feet, he barely moves except as I pull.  \n  \nI find something, take it from drawers, a tube. I take his clothes, put them in grocery bag, lead  \noutside. He is zombie now, sweating and bloody, eyes staring. No one sees, it is dark, there is  \nvacant lot.  There is bum in a box by the building, maybe.  \n  \nI throw human into tall grass,  he falls. I take him again, right there, nothing better to do. I  \ndo not care if anyone sees, they are drunk or stupid or think they are dead people. Satisfied  \nagain, his asshole dribbling semen, I solve his problem. He is dying, he is terrified and  \nchemically broken. I have injection thing. I am big cat, but I am allergic to bees, so I have  \nEpi-Pen. It will make the heart pound fast, send blood around again, close up his fucking arteries  \nor something. I stab it into his ass, it injects him, he groans and doesn't move yet. Then I stand  \nand leave.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; ---  \n  \nI do not want to sleep. It is night now, dusk is past into black. Human does not follow me. Maybe  \nhe will forget what happened. It is sticky night, warmer than the day, some weather past while I  \nwas playing. He will not die in the plants.  \n  \nMy needs are dull, and I feel empty inside. The world is outside, happening around me, and no  \ncurrent runs through my brain. It is the best time. I walk down the streets of the city, staring at  \npeople. I see myself in the mirror, and for fraction of second, I see another cat. I smell nothing,  \nso I do not worry. Then I see myself and turn away.  \n  \nI need food, I have to eat, I am starving. Sex is gone now, it is like I am bored, it is when your  \nhouse-cat stops playing with its felt mouse and just leaves to wash its cunt or whatever. I go to  \nfavorite place, Midori Sushi. Midori is mellon, and green, I think, I do not know Japanese. It is  \nall green in there, strange and, uh, is word eccentric? They know me, chefs greet as I come in. I  \nfill out a little card, give it to them, have seat by window.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I buzz in my pocket. It is phone, I take it out. \"Hello, Tomasz.\"  \n  \n\"You gave Jerry a hard time at the bar.\" Voice is gruff, it is canine, there is no lilt or  \nanything.  \n  \n\"Aahh, Jakob, why are you calling me?\"  \n  \n\"Because I can see you across the street. You gave Jerry a hard time at the bar. He says you gave  \nhim some shit about milk.\"  \n  \nJerry. Who is Jerry. The bar. Is that the human? No. Milk, shit, it is the dog. \"Oh, I do not know  \nhim.\"  \n  \n\"Yes you do. Whatever. I'm coming in with you.\"  \n  \nIn few minutes, there is strange wolf. He is naked from waist up, black skin, no fur except a  \nlittle hair like human. Fur on head is short. He wears sunglasses, expensive and angular, but they  \nare some computer thing he has. He has Sam Browne belt, duty belt, leather breeches, tall  \nsquare-toe boots. Everyone stares at him. He is Shenaus, a very long story. He stops at the bar,  \nthe chefs make some cone roll thing with fried whatever in it, he picks up food to bring to me.  \n  \n\"You left some guy in the lot,\" he says, handing me tray of sushi. Sashimi, one of each. Expensive,  \nit is like sixty dollars. Wolf gnaws at his thing. It is like dog with toy. I want to smile, or  \nthrow up, or both. Instead, I eat piece of fish by bending down, picking it up in my mouth.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Did he die?\"  \n  \n\"No, he was wandering around, mumbling stuff. He put his pants on and left. What the hell did you  \ndo to him? He looked like a rape victim.\" Jakob was cop, or military, or something. Now, he is...  \nhe does things for money. I have money, so he does things for me.  \n  \n\"I claw him, I am sorry. Am I in trouble?\"  \n  \n\"No. I'm not going to tell anyone. He probably won't. He probably won't even remember what happened  \nto him. You want to tell me what happened to him?\"  \n  \nI hiss. \"He is stupid human, he wants to be cat.\"  \n  \n\"He wants to be a cat?\"  \n  \n\"No, he wanted to be cat. He does not any more.\"  \n  \nAnd that is the night, I could tell you more but it would be boring, maybe. I leave you with my  \nsushi, I am eating it, I enjoy it. Cats love fish, it smells, so they eat it.  \n  \nI can see my reflection in the mirror. I look angry, there is some fish in my teeth, I hiss at  \nmyself. Fucking cat. Jakob makes a laugh while he eats his strange rolled thing. I look away, and  \nnow we are two people, having late dinner.  \n  \nLike a cat playing with his felt mouse, or with a human, I am now bored, and I stop talking to you.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n\n"}