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Night had fallen long before our conversation concluded. Lord Chatterlynx had tasked the kitchen servants with preparing a supper while we discussed our new working relationship; while he apologized in his same nervous demeanor, I could find no fault in the meal provided. Perhaps for a man of his status and affluence an array of cold sliced beef, cheese, and a most delightfully potent mustard was somehow substandard. I, being no such 'elite' individual, relished in something so basic after a long and uncomfortable day of travel. If it's good enough for the ploughman, I say, then it is certainly good enough for me.

"I am afraid I must retire for the evening, Mister Jones," Lionel said, hiding a yawn behind a kerchief. "There is to be a meeting of the fellows tomorrow afternoon, and I must be well-rested." He pressed his cheek to Victoria's, rumbling softly as they shared a moments' embrace. I had wondered if perhaps this was a marriage of convenience or perhaps circumstance, but if it were some sort of façade they wore it to perfection. "One of the staff will show you to your room when you are ready, Mister Jones, and I shall to you when I return from Ipswitch. Good day."

Lionel left silently, the soft swish of the door closing behind him the only sound to mark his departure. Victoria and I were left alone in the dining room, seated across from each other at the polished wood table. I felt a bit out of my element as I devoured chunks of meat or bread with only modest regard for manners, being far more adjusted to having my meals in the simplicity of my room or perhaps in the tavern house if I fancied some amount of company, rowdy though it may be. The blue eyes that had caught my attention at our first meeting watched me with a playful glimmer as the lovely feline sipped from a glass.

"I do hope I'm not making your meal unpleasant, sir."

I dabbed my mouth with a napkin, shaking my head. "Of course not, ma'am. I apologize if I am a poor conversational partner, but..." I paused, stumbling for the words.

"You're quite hungry," Victoria said over the rim of her drink. "I understand how that could happen. Quite a long trip here from...Chatholm, you said it was?"

"Yes, Lady Chatterlynx."

The tuft-eared feline laughed, leaning her head back with one hand on her chest and eyes wide with mirth. "Oh, oh my dear young man, there's no need to be quite so formal with me. Call me Victoria. Lionel may put stock in protocol and all that pompous nonsense, but I could care less."

I finished the last of my improvised supper, looking about the room. It was as lightly decorated as the others I'd seen, with only the table and an elaborate gaslight chandelier overhead to push away the shadows. Another room I had to suppose Lord Chatterlynx spent little time in.

Victoria must have noticed my wandering eyes. Her vision must have been quite remarkable, though it was more likely acute feminine wiles rather than any of the traditional senses. "Lionel doesn't believe in spending too much on anything but his library." She set her cup upon the table. "I let his thriftiness temper my own habits, and together we manage a household on far less than you'd likely expect."

"With all due respect, archaeology does not strike me as a most profitable endeavor." The lone servant awake at this hour offered a glass of wine with a small bow. "I presume his intellectual pursuits take much of the finances."

Lady Chatterlynx chuckled lightly. "Not as much as you might think." She tilted her head, adjusting an errant bang that had fallen over her eye. "You're not going to be managing the household budget, Mr. Jones." There was a slight look of irritation on her features, muzzle wrinkling. "Can I call you Jack? I think it's only fair."

"Well. It's quite informal, but then this entire relationship smacks of informality, doesn't it?" I allowed myself a small laugh. "I daresay I've never heard of such a thing as a 'companion'."

"I wouldn't think so, not in the circles you usually travel in. It's not something that's talked about by the common folk."

I leaned forward, taking extra caution to keep my elbows away from the tablecloth. No need to be a complete barbarian tonight. "Tell me, Victoria. From where do you hail? You carry the demeanor of a natural Englishwoman, but your accent betrays you."

The lynx smiled widely, a mouth full of delightfully well-kept teeth hidden behind full lips. "You're quite an observant lad, Jack. I met Lionel in Chicago as he was on his way to a Colorado site." Victoria nibbled lightly on a bit of cheese. "There have been some truly remarkable discoveries there, and while he would never admit it, my husband is truly fascinated by the idea of finding ancient life in the dirt."

"Are you a fellow archaeologist, then?"

"Mm, no. It isn't that I haven't tried, but dusty relics and bits of old clay hold simply aren't what I consider truly exciting. No, I was a housewife much like I am now, only far less well-off and without a husband." She looked down at her hands and I felt her mood shift.

"I'm sorry if I'm prying--"

"It's not that." She raised her head and set her gaze on me. Again her eyes mesmerized me thoroughly, as though they bored into me much like her husband explored the earth. "I was very young. It was the sort of love the people who knew better scoffed at, but we persevered." Claws came out of her fingertips, the only sign of tension she allowed herself. I opened my mouth to offer a change of subject, but she ignored it and continued her story despite herself. "Hindsight is wicked sometimes. Had I known then that he would leave me at the very idea that I could not bring him children, that I wouldn't forever be the barroom beauty that had caught his eye, that he would throw me away like so much filth at the opportunity to cavort with a girl half his age--" Her voice had risen to a near shout, harsh and staccato, and I recoiled in my chair. For a woman of her age and modest stature, her words carried force. My ears flattened against my head instinctually.

She stopped and fell to speaking in a hushed whisper. "I am sorry, Jack. Bitter memories leave a lingering taste." She stood, padding across the room with silent footsteps. "I should join Lionel before he starts to worry. We'll speak more in the morning, about more pleasant topics I hope."

I watched her leave, slipping away into the dense shadows at the periphery of the room. I dared not ask how many years she had seen; they seemed to carry not an ounce of weight. I found myself staring in a manner most ungentlemanly as her stub tail swayed gently with each footfall until she was gone. The housemaid suggested I retire as well and showed me to my appointed room. She was somewhat short with me, but I accepted it with good grace; it was quite late and I gathered that the poor girl had been pressed into an unusual position for my sake, something which I admit made me somewhat guilty.

The room was much the same as my meal. By Chatterlynx's standards, it was likely plain and unassuming, but to a man such as myself who had dedicated much of his life to simply having a bed to himself free of pests the very idea of a thick mattress that a body could sink into. It was almost uncomfortable after many years of the complete opposite, and I found it somewhat difficult to fall asleep. It may have been the twinges of doubt about this new endeavor that I could not shake. And maybe, if I were pressed, I would admit a degree of excitement about the entire affair. It was a bit of childhood Christmas mornings, all over again. I silently hoped that mornings began late about the Chatterlynx household as I bound myself up in my comforter for warmth. Winter would be upon us before too long and the room's chimney let the chill night's air in.

I could not begin to say what time it was when I heard a soft squeak of a mattress behind my head. I had perhaps managed to half-sleep, trying to find comfort in a strange bed and even stranger situation. Someone was settling themselves into bed; I could only hope they found sleep easier than I, though the repeated sounds of shifting and muffled grunts indicated otherwise.

"Mmf. Is that you, Victoria?" The accent was distinctly Lionel's, though he had likely been woken from a rather deep sleep and was greatly displeased. "Where have you been, love?"

I could hear Victoria's rumbling as she finally found comfort. Our beds must have been next to each other--every sound the pair made was as if it were happening within my own room. I chastised myself for eavesdropping, though there was nothing I could do to about it. It was not as though I was taking great pains to overhear their conversation. I rolled to my side and busied myself with again trying to sleep before the hour grew too late and I would be useless in the morning.

"The housekeeper was unhappy we kept her so late. But I've dealt with the matter, and now..." She giggled playfully, and again the comforter rustled. "And now, it's just you and I." The tone of her voice was sultry, smoldering, and I found myself blushing at just the implication of her words. She truly had a aura about her that broke down my defenses and left me a stammering teenager first falling in love.

Lionel sighed. "Darling, you have an entire wardrobe of the finest nightgowns and lingerie in Europe, but you never wear a single one of them. Do all American women prefer nudity?" The image that appeared in my mind was shockingly vivid, filled with buxom felines bereft of a single stitch of clothing. If I was flushed by her voice, I was stirred quite deeply by the thought of Victoria. I struggled to get comfortable now, the woolen blanket now suddenly far too warm.

There was a pause before he spoke again, his voice slightly tensed, as if he were struggling against something and failing. "Victoria, darling, I must be up near dawn. You must let me sleep." He was quickly stifled by something--heaven only knows what--and his words were replaced by a long, languid sigh, the sign of a man resigned to his fate. I envied him, though I would be loathe to openly admit to anyone.

"You don't need to do anything, dear boy. Just lie back against the pillows and let me do all the work." Neither spoke after that; for several long moments there was naught but silence, and I surrendered myself to being left alone with my dreams and my aching arousal as I pushed myself back towards sleep.

Lady Victoria Chatterlynx would not let me rest quite so easily.

The first squeak was soft, indistinct. My mind explained it away as part of a dream, something in not in the real. The second and third were far harder to ignore, and as they continued I simply could not pretend were coming from anywhere from behind my head. At first, the pattern was irregular, but it quickly grew into a cadence of sorts, like a muffled drum-beat punctuated with an occasional grunt of effort or a half-hearted complaint from Lionel. "Victoria, darling, I'm tired--" Squeak. "I am not in the mood--" Squeak. " Are you even list--" Squeak. It was rather funny to listen to, all his feeble complaints dismissed away by the motions of his most enthusiastic partner.

And how so very vivacious she was. What had began as a simple affair between them, what I imagined as a delicate coupling between two loving adults, something perfectly common throughout the rooms and beds of Great Britain, had quickly shifted into a far less modest tone. How I longed to see through walls simply to catch a glimpse of the goings-on. The rapping of the headboard against the wall behind me, the stressed whine of the iron bed frame as it struggled to maintain itself against the most vigorous bouncing of Victoria's lush body against Lionel's.

I will admit, I lost myself in those images dancing through my head. Oh, mercy, I had met the woman only a few hours before and yet here I could resist the salacious thoughts reserved for teenagers and the perverse. I watched from the foot of the bed as the dream-cats coupled noisily, thick grey-furred thighs spread to each side of her smaller husband. The short tuft of her tail provided no protection against prying eyes as it flicked over the crux of her legs, serving as a signpost pointing towards the gaping folds of her pink womanhood as the Lady Chatterlynx forced Lionel's maleness deep inside her.

"Oh, dear, you're so large...I'm so stuffed full..." I believe my heart skipped a beat at that moment, hearing those words come from unseen lips. I had never been driven to such heights merely by sound and nothing else. It made the fantasy even more vivid, sucking my breath in as Victoria arched her spine and hissed through her teeth. Locks of hair like platinum caught traces of moonlight through the windowpane, glittering as they shifted with her motions, sinuous and graceful. It was as a predator upon a lesser creature, nature's dance, built to satiate a feral hunger. Victoria's soft hips swayed and plush buttocks bounced as she thrust her weight down onto her husband, burying his shaft within her to the hilt, yowling and moaning each time. The dreams found synchronicity with the reality, producing a performance that would have left an entire auditorium breathless. Even her breasts refused to remain still, rising and falling with her breasts and her cries of euphoria as they reached an epic crescendo.

I cannot put into common words the wail of orgasmic pleasure that Victoria let loose as she peaked. There is not an onomatopoeia which would be even remotely similar enough. Suffice it to say, dear reader, that she and her Lionel produced the sort of cry which made my ears ache and would have disturbed anyone in the immediate area who was trying to remain in the arms of sleep. The walls echoed with pleasure and lust, and then became silent again, as if not a thing had transpired.

I awoke with a start some time later, blinking my weary eyes at the unexpected intrusion of light through the drapes. The last vestiges of the phantom felines were burned away by the morning sun, and I rose slowly. When had I actually fallen asleep? I threw back the covers and shifted to my feet, wincing at sudden discomfort. What in blazes...

My pyjama bottoms were soaked quite completely through, matted and still slightly tacky. In fact, my entire belly and thighs were an embarrassing mess of sullied fur, with an obvious cause: Victoria Chatterlynx, I realized, was not the only person in the house to reach a climax during the night. It would take quite some time to clean this entire bloody affair up, and what exactly does one say to the servant who must tend to your...emissions?

The answer, I came to find, is nothing out of the ordinary.

"Of course, sir." The small rodent nodded her head gently and collected my nightclothes with nothing but the strictest professional grace without another word. Warmed water and soap was brought in as well, all without a single word on my part. Later the thought that perhaps she had smelled of my situation rather than needing to see it did cross my mind. To be perfectly frank I cared not, setting to scrubbing the filth away and hopefully the inappropriate odors along with..

Victoria met me in the vestibule late in the morning. Not a sign of last night's goings-on were apparent; she was again immaculately dressed in what I presume was the fashion from somewhere on the continent, hair sculpted about her ears and tucked under her hat. I sighed to myself and drank in the hourglass-like figure of my new...what would the correct word be? Taskmaster? Employer? Mistress? I am not sure. But regardless, she came to me on soft cat-feet, smiling sweetly as I bowed to her.

"Do the gentlemen here still bow, Jack?"

I shrugged slightly, adjusting my waistcoat and jacket into place again. "For a lovely lady, I feel I am obligated to do so."

She laughed. "There's no need to flatter me. I hardly need to have my confidence bolstered--I'm quite aware of my beauty."

Together we stepped out of the manor house. I took a deep breath, awestruck by the crispness of the air and the lovely bouquet it carried. Too long had I been near the sea or in the industrial portions of town, buried to the tips of my ears in smoke and fish-stink. It was remarkable how different everything was, once one was free of the city--the chill of cobble and grass under my feet, the sound of the breeze drifting through the browning leaves above our heads and insects moving about in the distance...it was quite intoxicating.

"How long have you spent away from the fields of Ireland, Jack?" Her question brought me back from my reverie suddenly, and I stumbled for an answer momentarily.

"Ah...twelve years now, ma'am."

Victoria nodded and peered off into the distance as we strode down a worn trail. "I can scarcely imagine leaving this for the bustle of a city. For so many years I thought that the tenement and the noisy, dirty city were perfect. And then Lionel brought me here."

We came into a clearing tucked into a grove. A pair of stone benches sat in the centre, dotted in all directions by coarse stones and wildflowers in constantly expanding circles. Victoria sat upon one of the benches, gesturing for me to do the same.

"When I first arrived, Lionel brought me to this exact spot." Her tone was wistful, eyes focused off somewhere in the distance and hands resting gently in her lap. "For the first time, he let the cold intellectual façade come down, and he confessed how absolutely lonely he was. He poured his very soul out on the ground here."

I nodded, looking at the flora that ringed us in and the sun as it shone nearly perfectly upon us through the trees. "He seems to genuinely care very deeply for you. Some would be very jealous of the two of you."

Victoria turned to me, eyes turned down somewhat. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, worried deeply that I had offended her in such an impossibly short amount of time.

"He...he very much does, Jack. For twenty years, my Lionel has doted on me as much as he's able. It's difficult for him, sometimes, to manage both his love for me and his intellectual pursuits. They both demand everything from him."

"Is that why I've been brought to the estate? Am I to act as his surrogate?" I winced at the poor choice of words. "I don't mean that I should be his replacement--"

A finger was placed gently against my lips. "Hush. I know what you're trying to say." She shook her head and sighed. "I lose Lionel for weeks or months at a time. Sometimes he goes away to faraway places. No mail, no telegraph. He may as well have vanished. " Victoria was putting up a strong face, but her resolve would not hold.

I took her hand, trying to be supportive. I hadn't ever consoled a woman before, certainly not one such as Lady Chatterlynx, but by God I must at least try. "Could you go with him?"

She shook her head, adjusting that stray lock of hair that refused to stay within the pins and clips. "He won't hear of it. The fellows would never consider bringing a woman along to their sites, particularly one who has nothing to contribute. And Lionel is right when he says that I'd be every bit as bored and just as lonely, trapped in a stuffy tent all day and most nights." She stroked over the back of my palm, her ears fallen to the sides of her head. "Even when Lionel is home, he spends much of his time I town with the fellows or in his damned study buried in his books and notes." She was growing angry and despondent with every word.

I thought my next words over very carefully. "He must still care for you deeply. Enough to try and find you a 'companion' when he cannot be everything you need, at the very least."

The lynx nodded, lifting her eyes up to mine. "I know. I tell myself that each and every day when I wake up and he's already gone off to do...whatever it is he does. I would be lying if I said I understood." She tensed her fingers. "Am I being stupid, Jack?"

The answer came to me more quickly than I had expected. "You're only a being, Victoria. One has to expect that you would feel the need to be needed and appreciated. Lionel is doing his very best to be that for you."

"But he can't all the time. What does that mean?"

"He's only a person as well. He wants the best for you." I leaned to her, clutching her hands, holding them tightly. "Your husband accepts he can't be that. And I..." I put on my softest smile, my most supportive one. "I will do my best to do that."

Victoria Chatterlynx brightened, nodding. "You're a wiser man than I'd expected, Jack Oliver. Let's hope you can be more than just a pretty face and flowery words, hmm?" She rose to her bare feet, tugging at my hands. "Come on, we've got more of the grounds to see, and I'll need you to help me decide on supper."

The rest of the day was a blur of activity as Victoria and I ran from one corner of the property to the next. She insisted quite vocally that we see as much of the estate as physically possible within that single day. At first I protested just as loudly. As a reward, I was given an expedient education in the wiles of an older woman; specifically, if Lady Victoria wished to drag me from the livery stables to the servant flats and back again, then I should best sacrifice my own intentions and allow myself to be dragged. By the time we reached the manor house at sunset, I was beyond simply exhausted and I fear I had formed a layer of frost along my muzzle. I must say, the lynx must have had an advantage on me in some regard--the September chill caused her absolutely no discomfort.

"Victoria, dear, please! Give me a moment to catch my breath!" I fell into a chair, working my toes to try and push some warmth back into them.

The lynx simply laughed at my discomfort, holding up her skirts as she danced lightly around me, bristling with energy. It wore me further down to see her like that--a woman of a mature age should not wear a strapping lad to his bones quite so easily, and yet!

"Oh come now, Jack. Lionel convinced me you were a man in his prime, and you certainly don't look like frail. I'm practically an elderly woman, yet I'm outlasting you with ease!" She clutched at my hands, tugging me onwards, but I would not budge. Finally she gave up and fell onto the sofa with me, laughing like a child. It was infectious; before long I had joined in, drawing odd glances from the servants who drifted through the room, cleaning up our damp footprints and taking my jacket.

Victoria shifted her feet, wiggling the toes as well. "Did you know in some countries, they wear things called shoes? I can't possibly imagine how that must feel, having your feet shoved into a leather case..."

I nodded slightly. "Sometimes, it becomes necessary." I lifted my own foot up, pointing at a thin line along the heel. "This scar is from a piece of metal cutting that fell into a walk way. Had I not been wearing my boots, I would have been far worse injured, or possibly crippled."

"Perish the thought." She leaned back, adjusting her hips for comfort in her chair. "I've done so little in my life, Jack. I've gone from a housewife in a tenement to housewife in a small mansion, so much change and yet none at all. You're so much more experienced than I am..." I puffed up slightly, my ego being well-stroked. Felines and females both have a way about them, a way they pad a man's confidence and allow him to feel quite vastly superior to his peers. Some would call it an artificial sort of ego boost and maybe even something I should fear--a plotting feline is a dangerous feline, even to a cunning creature such as a fox.

A servant interrupted our conversation with a curt clearing of his throat. "Madame, sir, supper is prepared. Master Lionel returned home earlier in the day and will be joining you." The staff of the estate was every part the template of the English servant--proper, stiff, and perhaps even somewhat cold. It was disquieting, their stone-faced nature, much like Lionel's own normal demeanor. I suppose like tends to draw like.

We returned to the dining hall where the prior night had concluded. It was far better lit now, prepared for a proper meal rather than a weary traveler gorging himself upon what was left from hours before. Lionel was already seated, and Victoria took a seat across from me at the modestly large table, placing her husband between us. It could have easily provided space for threefold, and it felt somewhat out of place with so much unused surface and empty chairs.

Lionel rose and came to Victoria's side, leaning to her and kissing her gently on the lips, purring his satisfaction at her closeness. "I hope your day was eventful, love." He rose and adjusted his jacket before sitting again. "And yours as well, Mister Jones." Lord Chatterlynx never wavered in his nature, except when engaged with his lovely wife.

Victoria smiled as he stepped away, nodding gently. A servant placed bowls of something quite strong with garlic before us. "Indeed I did. Jack and I explored the grounds, and I introduced him to a few of the servants. He met Daliah this morning." I surmised Daliah was the slim girl who had collected my clothing, then; I would need to remember that name, as I had to assume I would see her again with regularity.

I saw Lord Chatterlynx's eyebrow rise ever so slightly at the use of my first name, but he showed no other response, slipping his spoon into his soup. "Is this the crème of garlic soup you were mentioning, Victoria?" The lynx nodded, tasting her own bowl. "Intriguing." If he was satisfied or delighted, he did not show it; he may as well have not been eating with us.

"And your visit with the fellows, did it go well?" Victoria took a portion of buttered bread, nibbling softly at the edge.

Lionel huffed. "I am not sure at all what to make of their thinking anymore. They prattle about revisiting Egypt or Libya. I cannot convince them that we have seen what there is to see there, and the true endeavors of note are in America..." Victoria grew somewhat distant as he spoke, concentrating on her meal instead of her husband; his detachment from her was quite apparent.

"I...I'm quite sorry. I am rambling." Lionel came down from his diatribe with an almost audible thump, his face falling and voice soft. I knew that posture: a man who has made a grievous error and is begging forgiveness without saying such. Pride and shame, acting together.

Victoria smiled. Her smile was disarming in its honest and simple sweetness. "Dear Lionel. I wish I could understand your field so I could share in it."

"Perhaps one day I will take you along. But so many of our 'expeditions' are dull and uncomfortable...I wouldn't dare wish a single moment of discomfort upon my wonderful wife." A pang in the back of my mind whispered that his words were disingenuous; I hushed it. If Lionel Chatterlynx were a liar, he was an excellent one, and I would not be the man who would reveal the man behind the curtains.

My ears lifted up as I felt something brush against my shin. I reached down and swiped my palm against my trousers, hoping to knock away whatever it had been. Satisfied, I went back to my meal, nodding quietly as the second portion was served--a delightful beef dish, heavy with herbs and olives. I silently thanked whoever could hear that I had found a home of sorts with omnivores; I could scarcely imagine trying to live on an herbivore's diet!

Lionel turned to me as he carved his own supper. "I take it you find my estate to your satisfaction, Mister Jones?"

Again there was a brush at my leg, higher this time, longer. I looked down briefly, but saw nothing and dismissed it as tiredness. "It is quite exceptional, sir. I've not had the pleasure of servants or such wonderfully kept grounds to spend time on." I felt a pressure now, insistent, stroking over the curve of my knee. The darkness of the region under the table's top left me unable to see what it could possibly be, and it was most frustrating.

"Are you alright, young man? You seem skittish." Lionel watched me with one eyebrow raised.

"Ah...yes, yes sir. I have a cramp--too much laying about before today's vigorous exercise, I'm sure." The unknown thing rose, higher, drifting over my thigh now, and I swore I could feel the gentle prick of something sharp through the thick cotton of my trousers. I sucked in my breath and did my very best to maintain my demeanor as my leg seemed to gather a mind of its own. Was it a poor reaction to the food, perhaps?

Lionel seemed satisfied with my quickly-muttered explanation. "Oh, yes, a common problem among the youth, Doctor Melvinstern has told me. Far too much loafing and dallying, not enough physical labor and exercise does dreadful things to the blood..."

I allowed Lord Chatterlynx his time to speak. I had studied a degree of physiology myself and the behaviors of the body were not entirely foreign. Medical science marched onwards though, as did the ceaseless beast resting itself in my lap. Dexterous, broad, and most of all shameless, it stroked against my groin in slow, smooth motions. I could feel my face flush and I tensed slightly, chewing on a piece of beef as I fought away the indecorous responses my body was drifting towards.

I heard the soft purr as it vibrated the table, and looked over across our expertly prepared dishes at Victoria. She said nothing as she cut a portion of potato away and continued eating with complete nonchalance. Her eyes, however, rose to meet mine and the tiniest hint of smugness curled itself into the corners of her mouth. I opened my mouth only to feel what I now was fully convinced was Victoria's foot press firmly against my groin and roll, the soft pads as effective as any hand I had ever felt. Through it all she never lost face. To the outside observer, only I showed any distress. As I said earlier, reader: a plotting feline is a dangerous creature.

"Tell me, Mister Jones. Richardson said you had studied at university. At such a young age, too. What were your studies?" I wished the old cat would simply chose to eat in silence or perhaps speak with Victoria, but no. I was to be his conversational partner tonight.

I clutched my jaw tightly and concentrated on my response. To say the lynx was skilled at the task at hand (or should I say foot) would be a painful understatement. Toes and heel worked in perfect unison along the length of my tucked away maleness as it strained against stitches and button-fly, creating an equal measure of comfort and discomfort. I will not boast and claim to be some aberration with a monstrous endowment. Even the most modestly gifted lad will admit to not enjoying the distinct agony of being too tightly bound within his own clothing, however.

"His...history, sir. Particularly our ooooown." I must have sounded like a right idiot at that, stammering over simple words like a simpleton. But the constant drifting of delicate fur and flesh over my turgid girth would not let me speak clearly.

"I say, lad. Your condition must be quite terrible. I should call for the doctor in the morning, perhaps--"

I put up my hands, shaking my head vigorously, both to dissuade the elder feline from bring in another party but also to try and clear my steadily more addled thoughts before I could only focus on the lewdness carrying on below the table. "No! No, that won't be necessary. I'm s-sure a good night's rest will cure all." My eyes went slightly wide and I gripped at the arms of my chair as one of the feline's toes slipped carefully along the front of my trousers, the startlingly sharp claw cutting away the buttons with ease, leaving only the thin cotton of my underthings holding my erection in place.

Lord Chatterlynx did not seem convinced of my well-being. "Are you quite sure? I don't want you to come down ill--you know, influenza is quite a threat..." Those toes, those bloody toes, they had made a mockery of my restraint and left me a panting mess at the supper table. They granted no quarter, even less so when the other foot joined with the first, catching me between them. I had quite soaked the flannel through with drippings, the flow increasing with each touch of toes against me.

"This is a wonderful dish. Victoria, please make sure the cooks are complimented on their creativity." Lionel worked on the last portions of his beef, swallowing a large chunk as the button of my union suit came open, a rush of cold air meeting my belly as my unfettered phallus fell forth, landing against the cushion of my chair between my legs. Pads met my cock directly now, both rolling around it, stroking as if they were hands...

I felt a sudden tap against my left shoulder and tensed sharply, looking up in the eyes of the serving girl, a wisp of a blue bird who took a half step backwards at my sudden jerk. "Eek!"

"I...I'm quite sorry! I'm not...not feeling well...v-v-very exhausted..." It was all I could to burble a stream of words that formed an apology. My climax was standing on the horizon, and I could only hold it back for so much longer.

"Yes, yes, Emma. Please excuse our Mister Jones. I believe he may need to adjust to our night air as well."

Emma nodded, smoothing her skirts. "I see. I quite hope ye feel bettah soon, sah. Shall I bring dessert?"

I nodded, as did the felines, and the bird turned back towards the kitchen. Though I could have sworn she winked ever so slightly before I lost sight of her face...

"I'm glad you've chosen to indulge, Jack," Victoria murmured, rolling her heel over the broad head of my member as if to push her inferred point harder. "Our cook is a wonder with chocolate and cheesecake."

Dessert was served without any more ceremony than the courses preceding it. Above, I was treated to a delightful blend of chocolate imported from France and cheesecake, a thick dessert I had not had a chance to try before--we in the working class rarely were able to afford such things. Below, Victoria maintained her equally delicate and rarely-enjoyed treat below, her immaculately kept feet stroking me to distraction and beyond. I was genuinely worn from the constant exercise of our afternoon; resisting the ever-growing desire to release my seed onto the wood floor of the dining room was a terrible strain place atop. With my stamina at its breaking point, I shoved the last portions of my confection into my mouth all at once and bit down, burying my groaning shout inside of sugar and eggs as come spattered itself all about--where exactly I could make no guesses, but I was sure it was quite substantial, the euphoria lingering for long, smoldering moments as Victoria milked my semen free...

The female looked at me as she tapped her dessert fork against her lower lip. "I think he enjoys it, Lionel. I've never seen a man make quite that face when eating dessert."

Lionel stared at me with an air of confusion, but simply shook his head and pushed away from the table. "I believe I will retire to the yard. Emma, please bring my aperitif later in the evening." The cat turned to me, clapping one hand on my shoulder. "I insist you find sleep early. I'll hear no argument, and if you show the slightest signs of illness in the morning I will call for the doctor. And Victoria, love, I should hope you find your way to bed at a reasonable time. Such long days are not good for your constitution." With that, he was gone, leaving me to collapse panting in my seat, holding my head in my hands.

Victoria stood herself, placing a cloth on the table before walking to my side. "It wouldn't be ladylike to track such a mess around the hallways," she said, each word rumbled so deeply it made my very soul vibrate.

"Why did you..." She pressed her finger to my lips again, ending words before they were spoken, leaning down to look me directly in the face. My sight was filled with teeth, ever so slightly predatory, glorious tourmaline eyes locked tightly to mine, and a great expanse of slate cleavage hanging tantalizingly below.

She turned and walked away, smooth steps and swaying hips like music to my eyes. I could not stop staring like a hungry man would have devoured the sight of my recent meal.

"I shall see you again in the morning, companion Jack."

What in the name of heaven had I gotten myself into?