Galatea
Contains a hypnotic cat, a coyote of changing gender, and hookahs entirely unrelated to the ones from ||||||||.
A coyote spots a charming girl at the club. He ends up letting out his inner party girl.
Thanks to TomAtte for commissioning me!
While the beat rumbled away above them, Mel's hands grazed over a gazelle's clay-thick ass. Her fingers stayed in constant motion, like a potter's hands spinning a terracotta vase.
"Like a brick house, yeah?" the gazelle asked. She knew she looked great.
She thought she knew, at least. She'd been breathing in Mel's smoke for a good half hour, and Mel had been telling her she looked great, so she had to look good. If Mel told her that she knew French, she'd know for certain that she was fluent, even if the closest thing she knew to French was that 'si' meant yes.
Mel was proud of her sculpture. The gazelle was certainly better than she had been before Mel came into her life. If you didn't know who the gazelle had been, you wouldn't have been able to see the similarities. Those pieces were some of her favorites, the ones where where the end result was completely different, but at the same time so completely natural that it seemed like it was waiting just beneath the surface all along.
If she held onto the gazelle any longer, she wasn't going to be able to let her go. She'd spend hours tweaking the smallest details that no one would care about.
"Y'all go have some fun now," she said.
The gazelle pouted, but a kiss from Mel like fine china left her smiling.
"See ya later!"
Stylish and hasty and rough and flashy, the gazelle had been warmup. Mel felt ready. She wanted to make something fine and subtle. She needed raw material.
Michael no longer felt sick of the club. For the past half hour he had sulked in his seat with his glass of beer. Someone had to be the downer, and it was him, watching one of his friends ease his way up to women with a confidence that Michael found annoying. But when he saw her, he let go of his frustration and just stared. For a few seconds, everything was good and nothing was terrible.
The smile that flashed in the dim light made him wish he was out there, partying with her. Every step she took brought a bounce that shook her sharp red ringlets, sending them shimmering and bobbing down past her shoulders, down to the bright blue tips. He never paid all that much attention to hair, but hers caught his eye, like a matador's cape taunting him.
He rose from his seat. His glass sat on the bar, forgotten. What kind of cat was she? He didn't remember the difference between all the spotted ones. He couldn't say which was the one with golden fur and burnished copper spots. One or two of her spots flecked her cheeks, just underneath her eyes. They lifted her smile and blended smoothly into her long lashes. She blinked, and Michael breathed hotly.
Anything he could say to her fled his mind. Tell her she looked cute? That she looked like a Roman goddess? That he was having a shitty time and just seeing her made him happy so he really wanted to say hello to her even if she wasn't interested?
She raised a cigarette to her lips. Michael breathed in. The scent of strawberries mingled with the scent of smoke in his nose. It was the first sign that he was getting close to her. The second--she looked up at him. He smiled. He was caught in the headlights. Every little flaw lit up under her gaze. Scraggly coyote hair, lanky body, pants don't fit well, scuffed up shoes.
He had to say something. He had to captivate her. His appearance wouldn't do it for him.
"Hi."
She didn't speak. His cheeks began to flush. The words were all mixed up inside his head. That had been all he could get out. With one single, extended glance, she appraised him, head to toe.
"Hey there, sugah."
Michael glowed with sudden warmth. She was smiling at him now. A puff of smoke from her lips clouded the air between them, but he didn't mind the strawberry-tobacco smell. He sunk through the smoke toward her. His tongue wet his lips as he thought of something to say.
"I like you," he said.
"Y'know what, I think I like you too," she said.
Her arms drifted around his shoulders, leaning gently against his neck, pulling him in closer. Nothing he knew about women said that should have worked, but he was more than happy to be wrong. He'd imagined his arms around her, not the other way around, but he didn't complain. She moved her hands over him, stroking him in a tight way he'd never felt before. Her fingers moved on the edge between a grope and a jab and they ranged up and down his form.
They were dancing, which he hadn't noticed. He put his hands against her hips. She felt warm, far warmer than anyone else he'd ever felt. The whole world was frigid compared to her, and that drove him even closer.
Her hands measured the weight of his shoulders and the diameter of his biceps and the width of his neck. She pushed against him as if she was commanding him to move. Her fingertips pressed into his stomach. His flesh gave way and he gave no protest beyond his stifled instinctual grunt. His gut ached dully, insisting he move away, but the rest of his mind and his body wanted more of her.
His body shifted beneath her fingers. Every inch of him wanted her, so it was easy to ignore the feelings of his waist drawing smaller and losing the softness that came from a strong appetite and a lazy desk job. It was easy to ignore the pressure across his shoulders, like a hug that was just slightly too tight, squeezing his sides slowly together.
Her lips were inches away. The club lights gleamed off of the gloss, telling him about their sweet curve and sigh-soft pressure. He wanted her lips as much as he wanted the rest of her.
And that wasn't even considering her smoke. Michael kept breathing in that smell that made him yearn for strawberries and smoke and the feeling of it rustling the tips of the hair on his neck as she blew it toward him.
Her lips were an inch away and the whole club was inside that inch. His eyelids drooped in anticipation. He leaned forward and his eyelids fell. His lips pressed together and he breathed a hot breath and he pulled her closer to capture more of her warmth for himself.
He felt the tug of her lips and sunk deeper into the kiss. Her tongue darted out just briefly, brushing against his lower lip, dragging it. The skin was tender, the flesh almost swollen.
The cat's paws ran up along the front of his shirt. They dragged the fabric with it, and as they moved together, the heat of their fur mingled between their bare stomachs. Her hands gripped his chest tightly and they kneaded slowly, drawing together the scant soft flesh she could find.
Her hands rubbed along his neck on their way to his head, leaving his voice gently softened. She worked her fingers into the short, sandy-blonde hair and pulled, gently enough not to hurt but enough to make him aware of the pressure. Each time she combed her fingers through his hair again, it hung down a little shaggier.
Michael felt like he had spent hours with her now, like he'd known her for weeks, like her presence was normal, something he didn't want to be without.
"Oh, no, sugah..."
He raised his eyes out of his fever dream. He was still entwined with her, on the dance floor, but she wasn't dancing any more. One hand was on his back, fingers tracing a circle between his shoulders. The other held her phone.
She pouted the lips that had occupied his whole mind not a minute ago.
She told him, "I've gotta run. Absolute emergency. I feel just terrible, but..."
She leaned in, smelling of strawberry smoke and warmth, and whispered her number into her ear.
There was no chance Michael would forget.
Michael set his phone down on the bedside table.
"How about we meet up at the mall?" she'd asked. In less than a minute, his plan for today had changed.
Every anxiety had sprung to life now that there was a date in his future. Last night, at the bar, everything had run together so smoothly because there were no gaps for thought. In a moment she had gone from his eyes to his arms, or so he remembered. Now there were a million things that had to be made right, or he'd never get that close to her again.
Michael's hair. He had to tame it somehow. He took the brush from the bathroom counter and attacked his hair with it. His typical tactic of ruffling his hair with his towel hadn't worked this time. He'd ended up with sandy hair drooping down into his view. He needed to get a haircut. There was no time to get it done before meeting up with the gorgeous feline at the mall. He had to make do with neatly combed straight blonde hair tickling his cheeks, pushed back to keep it out of his eyes.
His hair was only one of his problems. His clothes didn't fit right, every last one of them. The jeans refused to make it all the way around his waist and bunched up on top of his feet like they were too long. His shirts hung off his body like he'd draped himself in bedsheets. Even the baggy shirts didn't hide the two small mounds rising from his chest.
Michael didn't understand how he could have shrunk and gained weight at the same time. Maybe his clothes felt baggy because he'd lost muscle mass--but he was always more sinewy and limber than anything else. He tugged off the seventh shirt he'd tried on and threw it onto the floor. He had to find something to wear.
He found what he was looking for curled up in the back of the drawers. Erica had left him about a year ago, but she lingered on in the things she'd forgotten to take with her. There in the back, clinging to the smell of clothes left unworn, were a couple of Erica's clothes that she'd missed while moving out.
Michael breathed out between his teeth and pursed his lips. His pride was already aching, but he reached in and pulled out a pair of her jeans and a delicately blue tee shirt.
Half of him hoped Erica's clothes would fit him so he wouldn't have to look like he was wearing his older brother's clothes. The other half of him hoped they wouldn't fit, because he didn't want a girl's clothes fitting him better than his own.
Michael swiped a lock of hair from his eyes.. He looked up at the mirror, at the slender coyote looking back at him. He pulled his lip back, but it naturally hung out just a little, like a prelude to a pout. He could almost swear his eyelashes were thicker. He rubbed his face, then looked back at his reflection. The pastel tee shirt fit snugly but comfortably on him. The jeans sat low on his waist, but they too fit without an issue.
He was open-minded, but not open enough to be comfortable like this. Between his strangely slim figure and his chin-length blonde hair, he was convinced that he looked femme. He tried pursing his lips, sneering, scowling, but none of it helped make him look tougher.
He laced up his shoes with a lilting sigh. Maybe the feline girl would like his girly looks. There was a chance she would, and that hope carried Michael out the door.
"I didn't get your name last night," Michael said.
Mel smiled, and that made things feel really all right and very good all over.
"It's Mel. And you, sugah?" she asked.
"Michael," he said.
They were both quiet for three seconds.
"I like your hair," he added.
Overnight, she'd turned the thick, wild curls into short, tidy, even bangs just above her eyebrows and long ringlets bouncing down over her shoulders. Mel said nothing, but she slipped her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and let her fingers lay against the fur of his waist.
He drifted on a smile between those moments. They were too small to be scrutinized. At times, he worried that he was only tagging along, trailing behind her because he wanted her, but then she would soothe that feeling with a gentle press of her shoulders or the way her fingers would tighten against his waist to tug him along when he started to fall behind.
She kept a hand on him, whether around his waist or cheekily drifting lower to rub along his ass or sliding her paws through the fur on his neck. Maybe she was training him, he joked to himself. The joke held a shadow of the truth, though. He would lean into her fingers and tilt his neck invitingly and just coolly smile. He wanted her to touch him. Her fingers knew form and texture, and he wanted them to teach his body.
Mel lifted her hands off of him. They'd reached where she was headed--the lingerie section. Michael had hardly even noticed when they'd entered the store. He didn't mind standing by and watching Mel drape colorful bits of underwear across her chest.
"So what do you do?" he asked.
"Bit of an artist," she said.
"I thought so," Michael said, then added, "It's the hair."
Mel flicked her fingertips through her curls and smiled.
"Now sugah, you wanna help me with something?"
Michael's whole body perked with his ears. Mel held a hanger out toward him, one with a low-cut blue bra and matching thong panties. He took the offered hanger politely, then glanced between the lingerie and Mel. He wasn't sure what she was getting at.
"Are you gonna model them for me, or just hang on to them?" she asked.
Michael's cheeks flushed and his heart beat quickly. This was a razor-thin tightrope to walk.
"I know I'm femmy, but do you really want me trying on your underwear? We don't even have the same figure," he said. 'My hips aren't as wide as yours' came to his mind before 'I'm a guy and you're a girl' did.
Mel took a half-step closer and lifted his eyes to look into hers. He had gray-blue eyes like soft rain.
"I wanna get a look at the cut. Come on, I'll go into the changing room with you. You don't hafta let anyone see but me," she said.
When she put it that way, it made Michael's claws quiver and his tail wiggle. They'd barely met, and already she was dipping into the cutesy-kinky stuff. Maybe she'd want them to wear costumes soon. Michael would take care of that when the issue came up.
For now, he just let Mel pull him into the changing room and lock the door behind them. Her fingers slid up around his scalp, sinking between strands of his hair and pushing it back, almost like a stylist toying with his hair. Hair tugged back behind his head, Mel leaned in and her lips pouted. Her eyes drifted closed and her lips met his. He breathed down a lungful of fragrant smoke and his eyelids drooped and vanilla soothed the ache of his shyness.
"Take off your shirt, sugah. I'll help you put the bra on," Mel told him.
None of Michael's nervous energy had escaped soothing smoke. He stared ahead, a gently vacant smile on his lips. He threw his girlfriend's shirt onto the bench, but left her pants on for now.
"You're gonna feel a squeeze," she said.
She unclasped the bra and slipped the straps over Michael's arms. Her paws reached from behind, underneath his armpits, dragging her paws back through his fur. Her pawpads traced his ribs and shoulders and gauged them by touch.
Trailing behind her touch by just a second or two, a rising feeling swept over Michael's chest. His stomach drew in and his chest lifted. The smoke made him calm, too calm to think clearly about what was happening. He let out a sigh that slipped through his nose. He looked past his softer chest and slimmer shoulders in the mirror, and looked into Mel's eyes instead.
Michael breathed slowly and let the bra rise and stretch against his soft chest. Without asking, Mel slid her paws down, sliding over Michael's waist and resting on the waistband of his girlfriend's pants. Just as soon, the pants were down around his ankles.
Again, the sweeping feeling trailed just behind Mel's paws. The slight cock of his hips he had stood with now seemed more visible, accentuated subtly by the curve of his figure. He bent one knee and pressed his thicker thighs together.
Mel clicked her tongue behind parted lips. "Look at you, wearing that sorta underwear! Now y'all tell me how that's sexy."
Michael frowned and stared down at the dark boxer briefs, then back up at Mel, dismayed but confused. The feeling had emerged fully-formed inside his head, flowing straight from Mel's words into his mind.
"I know you're shy but you gotta get frisky sometime," Mel said.
Her paws swam down past the waist of his underwear. It fell to his ankles and he couldn't have cared about being naked in front of Mel. Not after she nudged his head and trailed after his lips and sank against them in a smoky kiss that numbed his will.
Her lips moved with the same knowledge as her fingers, the same confidence of action that she knew how to kiss, and she knew how a kiss should feel, and she would make their kiss feel like that. She was firm and tight and grazed his tongue and let her lips linger. She held his head with one hand and sank her fingers into his longer hair. With steady, gentle pressure and delicate strokes from her claws, she drew his willow-straight hair out longer.
Mel's other fingers wrapped around the base of Michael's shaft. She didn't grip it tightly. She didn't stroke it. Her thumb hooked over the top, her pawpads pressed between his balls. He didn't have the presence of mind to tell her it felt uncomfortable and tight and hitching in the pit of his stomach. A closely-held tingle popped inside of him. He'd heard the prostate was sensitive but he wasn't sure if that was what he'd just felt.
Mel's fingers moved in their sculptor's patterns. She dragged and pushed skin like clay, and the most Michael felt was the pressure, the feeling from the outside as things deeper in shifted. Mel's fingers were warm against the terra cotta flesh. They sunk in and left their mark. Each motion imprinted a new space, perfectly made for her fingers.
Michael's breath hitched in his throat. Mel's lips were on his collarbone, then on his neck, and they pressed through the fur, down to his skin. The gasp that left his lips was almost a squeak.
Michael's claws sunk into the carpet. Mel carved delight into him, a bubbling ecstasy that reached from between his legs, climbing up his spine and settling into his head like a sweet, fruity fizz.
Mel's lips brushed against Michael's ear as she extracted her fingers. She whispered one word to him.
"Michelle."
Mel was right.
--
Mel had left. She'd had some appointment to get to. That left Michelle alone in the mall, and without Mel's gentle coaxing, she felt like she could pick the things that she really wanted to wear.
The coyote girl ran her fingers over a long dress, then pulled it off the rack to see how it would look against her body. She didn't have all that much in the way of hips, but even with her figure more slender than anything, no one passing by would have mistaken her for a boy, with her shoulder-length hair and petite waist and neatly perky chest.
Even so, she wished she could look like Mel. She wished she could even just dress like Mel, but if she climbed into clothes that skimpy, she wouldn't be able to get out of her apartment for how embarrassed she'd feel. She wished she had Mel's confidence.
Michelle pulled a blouse off of the rack and added it to the small pile in her other arm. Her wardrobe was full of lazy clothes, the kind of unisex tee shirts and jeans that anyone could wear when they didn't feel like dressing up at all. Michelle wasn't that shy that she avoided dressing pretty, though--just dressing sexy.
The door to the changing room clicked shut behind her as she unloaded her armful of clothes onto the bench. Tossing her hair, she tugged off her shirt and pants, then pulled on a slim, swishing sundress. She smoothed the fabric over her taut, slender belly, and looked into her reflection's dry-blue eyes. They stood sharp from beneath her tan fur, but her reflection looked almost tired.
Makeup! She didn't know how she'd forgotten, but it was obvious.
With two broad bags hanging off her shoulder, Michelle meandered toward the department store at the end of the mall. She lingered in front of stores, taking her time to look in at glittering earrings she was too humble to wear or high-heeled leather boots that she'd never be able to put on.
"What look are you going for?" the squirrel behind the cosmetics counter asked.
Michelle tried to think of what makeup she normally wore, but came up blank.
"I...uh," she mumbled.
The squirrel went on ahead. "With all that blonde fur, you're definitely a spring. I'd suggest some light blues and pinks, if you're going for a casual look, or maybe rose and teal if you want a more dramatic look."
Michelle nodded. "Casual, please."
Michelle tried her best to be casual, but it was so hard around Mel. Every moment, she was watching to see if Mel liked the dress she was wearing, or if she liked her gently-applied eyeliner and the color choices she'd made for her eyeshadow and lipstick. She couldn't be casual when it felt like she was trying to prove herself.
"You ever been down here, sugah?" Mel asked.
Her hand was on Michelle's waist and her fingers were stroking her hips.
"No, I don't get out that much," she answered honestly, as much as she didn't want to look like more of a nerd.
Michelle hadn't explored the city much, so she'd never been to the downtown shopping district. A few blocks of cobblestone pedestrian streets, cute boutique storefronts, and the sort of shopping that wouldn't have interested Michael in the slightest sat right in the middle of the busy downtown.
Mel's hair was still in tight curls, but no longer in ringlets--now they were left free to curl and bounce like some wild-haired Grecian priestess. She had no idea how she changed it so often, but she loved it all the same.
Michelle had tried a volumizer on her hair, but she hadn't gotten anything like Mel's curls. Her hair flowed in lush golden tresses to her shoulders, but it was as straight as anything. Michelle wanted to lie on the sofa back at her apartment with her head on Mel's lap and Mel's hand stroking through her hair, just enjoying each other's presence, but Mel was eager to get out for another shopping-date.
"That's a shame. You really should get out more, hun."
Michelle looked around at the handcrafted jewelry in one of the stores they stopped in, following Mel up to the counter on instinct.
"She's lookin' to get her ears pierced," Mel said.
Michelle turned toward Mel and saw the slightest bit of smoke drift from her lips.
Mel asked, "You wanted to get earrings, right?"
Michelle thought earrings were too flashy for her...and they would look just perfect on her.
"Yeah," she said, cheeks flushed, voice dreamy.
Fifteen minutes later, Mel and Michelle sat in a hookah bar. Michelle tried not to tug on the gold rings that now hung against her hair. The weight tugged at her ears, making her constantly aware of its presence, but her ears were still tender from being pierced.
Mel drew in a long breath from the hookah, then blew it out in Michelle's direction. The coyote smiled as she breathed in the vanilla-scented smoke.
"You don't need me pushin' you into everything," Mel said.
The waitress, a sandy-golden jackaless, stopped by with their drinks. Michelle sipped at her lemonade and Mel took a few cooling gulps of iced tea.
Mel's foot nudged Michelle's leg.
Her eyes bobbed in the waitress's direction.
Mel said, "You should flirt with her."
Michelle blushed violently and pulled her shoulders up toward her ears. "Why?" she asked.
"Because I'm babysitting a wallflower," she teased.
The booth they sat in curved in a small semicircle, so when Mel scooted to the side, she scooted right up next to Michelle.
Mel looked her in the eyes. "It won't hurt you."
Michelle opened her mouth to say that many people had gotten hurt as a result of love and passion and flirting. Mel parted her lips to kiss her. Mel won.
All Michelle could do when her girlfriend was excited was to sink into her paws and gaze into her spots and her curls and her sparkling eyes. The dazzling feline kneaded her fingers from her shoulders down to her thighs. She was intimate with Michelle's whole surface.
People had to be staring. Then Mel breathed gently and Michelle couldn't care about that. She pressed her fingers underneath Mel's top and kneaded her back, but it wasn't the same touch, not even close to the same feeling of pushing and pulling and tugging.
"You're gonna go over and flirt with her," Mel said.
Michelle's chest pulled against her shirt like she was taking a quick breath in. Mel's fingers squeezed together and beneath them rose tender skin, aching at the feeling of tight fabric just above it, holding it back. In a shared wiggling, Mel helped her slip the bra free from her chest. Michelle stretched back and Mel's fingertips pushed up from underneath and grasped the coyote's soft bosom.
"And I don't want you comin' back until you kiss her."
Michelle, her eyes lidded, nodded. Mel's hips held her steady against the seat. Her paws roamed down her sides and to her waist. She rubbed, and Michelle's tail started to wag. Her fingers, claws gently extended, grazed up and down across her ass. Michelle parted her lips to breathe. Her panties dug into her hips. Her ass lifted her slowly from the seat.
"I know you're the flirty kinda girl. Just let it out."
Mel's lips pressed tightly against Michelle's and her fingers worked their way between her locks of hair. She gripped and pulled and leaned in closer. Michelle made a soft noise, stifled in Mel's kiss. Only Mel could make her lips tingle like static at a single touch. Only she could give her that feeling like each moment in the kiss, her lips were plumper and softer.
Michelle batted her eyes as she left the kiss. Mel slid back into her seat and puffed on her hookah. Michelle took a mouthful of smoke for confidence, then smiled at Mel.
She said, "I'm going to do it."
Michelle knew she was cute. No--she knew she was_hot_
Michelle stood in the middle of the Stacy's, sorting through the DD-cup bras on display.
Michelle knew she was hot no matter what she wore, but she wanted to pick something that complemented her look. It was just luck that she needed to replace half of her wardrobe anyway. Weird, how she'd hit a sudden growth spurt in her twenties.
Her phone chirruped from her bag. The caller ID said 'Steph (jackal hookah bar cute butt)'
"Hey, Steph," she said.
Michelle tossed aside the shimmering golden curls she'd gotten not fifteen minutes ago. She wanted curls, and even though it took a visit to the salon, she was proud of them, the way they spilled across her back and nearly draped down into her cleavage. She cradled the phone against her shoulder while she gathered up the bras she wanted and headed over to check out some shoes.
"Yeah, I guess we were...she's...well, it's open, y'know? As long as we let everyone know, that kinda thing."
Michelle turned her feet from side to side, admiring how her sandy fur looked against glossy golden sandal heels. Her claws needed some polish, though. Au naturale was fine for shopping days, not fine if you wanted to go out clubbing.
"Really? Do you live in the dorms or--yeah, apartments are better. Can't get in trouble for drinks."
Michelle held the phone to one ear as she plucked a few colorful shades from the nail polish display, then eased on over to take a look at the bright colors in the lipstick section. She'd need some jewelry too, but she'd find more colorful stuff at another store in the mall. Right now, it was miniskirt time.
"I was going to go out clubbing with Mel tomorrow night if you wanna...oh, that's fine. Maybe Saturday? Sounds cool. Text me your address, I'll pick you up."
Michelle tossed into her basket a glitter-purple skirt and a blue one with a pink belt draped across it and one with brass hoops along the sides so that it'd show off her fur all the way up to her waist. While she was at it, she picked up a couple pairs of leggings, ranging in subtlety from leopard print to thunderbolt-stripe.
"See ya then!" she chirped.
Michelle stuffed her phone back into her bag. Now she could try on some tops since her arms were free. She was definitely thinking something in the bare midriff range. Gawd, she almost wanted to apologize to Mel for being so shy last time they went to the mall. She'd be sure to let Mel know she appreciated all her help.
With a pink spaghetti-strap tank top in her hands, the coyote slipped behind the changing room doors.
Mel slipped off Michelle's tank top with a single flick of her wrists.
She'd come to meet Michelle at her apartment before they hit the club. Michelle was ready to go, but Mel wanted a bit of pregaming. Michelle didn't need any smoke to agree with that.
Mel spread Michelle out on the couch and straddled her. The blonde coyote, with her permed curls draping out over the cushions, panted up at her. All Mel needed to use were her hands.
They rested against Michelle's waist and stroked back and forth, digging through her fur, plucking at her bellybutton. Her firm velvet pawpads pressed inward, squeezing like Michelle was a vase on a potter's wheel. She breathed out, and her body rose against Mel's fingers. The pressure tightened against her organs briefly before she exhaled. Michelle's waist was alluringly slender, teasing at the shape of her hips.
Mel leaned closer to Michelle. Their lips met while Mel's paws gripped Michelle's breasts. Her pawpads swept over them like she was crafting the perfect shape, pulling outward, pushing upward, rounder and perkier at the same time. Michelle's nipples were stiff. They caught Mel's fingers, and she gave them gentle pinches. Michelle had to wonder whether they were always that big and tender, but after breathing in a smoky kiss, she wasn't worrying.
Their soft pecks slid into one long kiss. Mel's paws trailed against Michelle's face, holding her tight. She stroked from cheekbones to jaw to chin and back and down to her shoulders in one smooth motion. Michelle couldn't have told the difference in a mirror, but she could feel the difference. She felt like a model. And she still couldn't compare to Mel.
Mel's lips parted from Michelle's.
"I want you to go after that jackaless, sugah," she said.
Wisps of smoke left Michelle's mouth as she nodded, jaw hanging open.
"Don't worry about me. We're friends, that's all."
Michelle might have felt hurt, but her mind was too used to Mel's smoke to resist for a moment. Mel was a friend. A really good friend. A friend who was nestling back on the sofa and bending down over Michelle's waist.
"Mel," she started to say.
Then Mel's lips met Michelle's folds, and everything melted into warm moans. Michelle's arms flopped against the sofa. Her fingers gripped the cushions and she tugged weakly. Mel's paws moved up and down her legs, her fingertips hot against her fur. She stroked not just her sensitive loins, but all around her legs. Up and down, slowly reshaping her legs--tapered, thick, curvaceous.
Michelle had forgotten about Mel's lips and rough tongue, she was so focused on her fingers. They crashed back to the forefront of her mind with the growing heat and the ache between her gorgeous legs. Michelle's mouth was dry and her cheeks were burning, and then, at the very peak, she howled.
"Ahwoo!" Michelle howled from a wolf's back.
Her thighs clung to his neck and her heels danced around his abs. She leaned over his head, looking down at him, while he looked up at the shape of her breasts from underneath, barely covered by her top from this angle.
"Thanks for the drink!" she said.
Michelle patted his dark hair. She carefully rolled down his back, then ducked under one of his arms to lean against the bar. She toyed with the streak of pink running through her thick, untamed golden curls.
"I owed you after that dance," the wolf said. "Think I could--?"
Michelle recited her number before he was done asking. She grabbed his shoulders, lifted herself onto her tiptoes for a kiss, then ducked back under his arm.
"Call me!" she said.
There was nothing more fun than clubbing. Not only did she get to drink and dance and party, but she got to set up dates with all the hot people she found.
Michelle saw Mel's bright hair from across the room, sitting at one of the booths and stroking a blushing lizard girl's cheek. Good to see her friend was having fun too, though she'd never known Mel to have any problem finding fun.
Michelle spotted a pair of black horns and followed them down to glittery gold earrings and a curvaceous gazelle tearing ip up on the dance floor. Her tail wagged a little, but she played it smooth.
"Wanna dance?" she asked.
The way the gazelle's eyes lit up when she saw Michelle told her she'd made a smart choice.