Even in the best relationships, partners aren't always of one opinion. Disagreement can easily turn into a quarrel, or lead to something else entirely...

A difference of opinion

Dental floss. Ever used it?

No, I don't mean for your teeth. You could just as well ask a New York Times bestselling author if he has ever learned to read and write. I guess anyone who has used dental floss at least once used it in the way intended. But I ask if you have ever used it for anything else. Like for something... erotic.

Well, now I could say that I had. Or, rather, that I had it used on me. Nasr'rrh had chosen it as the instrument of torture of his choice, and some half a meter of floss ran from one of his paws to the other in a straight line, except for the loop where it was wound - once - around my cock, just below the head. Alternately, one of his paws pulled at the cord and the floss moved over my skin, rough, almost chafing, but oh so arousing...

It must look, I realized, like a scene from one of these National Geographic documentaries, where someone from a less high-tech civilization uses stick and cord in a similar fashion to ignite a spark on some dry wood or leaves. Only that the stick in these scenes was always hard and straight as an arrow, whereas my cock was still (somewhat) flaccid. But I sure as hell could feel the fire coming already!

I willed myself - steeled myself! - to keep my penis limp. I knew that the wonderful sensations would unavoidably lead to real pain if I got an erection. If my cock was stiff, my skin would be stretched tight, and such a thin cord would cut into it like it was paper. Yes, of course Nasr'rrh would stop his game with the floss before it came to that, but I wasn't yet ready to give up the unusual gadget!

However, Nash was handling the floss like an expert torturer, dealing out just the right amount of friction and pleasurable pain to stimulate me without actually injuring me. The floss rasped against my skin each time he pulled lightly on one end of the cord, pressed hard into my flesh whenever he moved his paws a few centimeters apart, even rubbed my skin erotically every time he allowed me a break. I felt more and more of my control slip away. I gasped, I closed my eyes, I grabbed the sheet beneath me, I tried everything I could think of to delay the inevitable, without any real success. Suddenly, his tongue joined the floss on my traitorous member and my desperate battle instantly became a lost one. My cock snapped to full attention and I felt the loop loosen. Once more I got this unbelievable feeling of coarse floss training my skin and then it was gone, pulled off like the cord from a gyroscope.

Admittedly, its substitute was no less formidable. Nash's tongue was easily as rough as the floss - a warm, wet, living grater. It scrubbed my skin effectively and thoroughly, beginning at the base of my cock and wandering all the way up to where my foreskin ended. It briefly flicked against my sensitive, exposed glans like a sandpaper whiplash, then returned to its starting point at the base and went in the opposite direction, cleaning a two-centimeter slice of my scrotum from however much sweat had accumulated there since my morning shower, confined as my privates usually were in jeans and boxers. Once he was satisfied with his work, his tongue jumped back to where it had started and roamed north again until it touched the head for a second time, and the circle began to repeat itself over and over again.

Have you ever heard some gruesome stories about man-eating lions in Africa in the nineteenth century? It is said that they developed a taste for human blood and licked away at the skin of their quarry until they had scraped it off to get at the flesh beneath. Now Nash isn't a lion like in those stories, no mere animal living in a pride, but he is a lion. One of their self-conscious bipedal anthro relatives... And if his tongue was any indicator, I could attest those stories to be true. It was like emery powder! If he had lusted for my blood, he would have gotten it, and with no trouble.

But it was never his intent to hurt me, to give my any pain beyond the sweet pain of blissful erotic stimulation. Like a treasure hunter sailing the sea, he just knew the regions he had traveled on my tender skin earlier, and was very deliberate not to course them too often. So saliva-wet line was sided by saliva-wet line as every inch of my balls and cock was mapped.

I was dripping pre like a leaking faucet in no time.

And Nash changed his routine, adapted it to its new target. The usual circle of motions became erratic. His tongue closed in on my tip more and more often. He lapped up every big clear drop as fast as it showed and though he was skilled enough to lick the liquid away without his tongue even touching my flesh (quite a feat, given that by now I was trembling uncontrollably beneath him!), he humored himself with brushing the very tip of his tongue against my hypersensitive skin once in a while, just to see me squirm.

In my rapture I must have skipped a phase or two toward orgasm, for I neared it disbelievingly fast, like a 100-meter sprinter four fifth through the race. I tensed in anticipation of a great climax...

...And Nasr'rrh stopped his ministrations.

I stumbled right there on the race track and never made it over the finish line, so to speak...

I should have known it! Cats are able to locate their dinner just by the vibrations mice make when running in their tunnels under the ground. Yes, they sense movement as imperceptible as that, so it was impossible for Nash not to register the earthquake that was building up in my body, him basically being just a big cat. And of course he didn't arouse me further; it was never his intention only to get me off in the first place. No, I would have to make amends first...

As if he had read my mind, Nash lifted his head and locked eyes with me, a willful smile on his lips.

"You can't really mean what you said. Admit you were only joking. Say you were wrong."

His head bobbed down toward my groin again and I felt his breath warm on my throbbing pole. The message couldn't have been clearer: the tongue-bath would continue the instant I gave in to his demand.

I kept silent.

He raised his head again. If anything, the smile had widened. "Have it your way, then."

He stood and removed his baggy black underwear. He always lowers his shorts until his tail is nearly free, then steps out of them with his legs first, and I love the view just before he pulls them off completely, when they hang to his body by only the tuft of his tail!

Unhurriedly (and stark naked), he faced me. Or, as I was still lying on the couch, one height with his thighs, rather his genitals faced me.

"Your turn!" he said teasingly, pushing his hips forward, prompting.

Well, if he could choose himself a gadget to torment me, I was entitled to one myself! I sat up, feeling the cotton sheet move with me as I rose. (We always keep our leather couch covered with a clean white sheet so it doesn't get dirty if we eat our food on it, or for cases like this. Yeah, we frolic in our living room more often than not, so sue us...) Twisting my torso so that I could reach the windowsill behind me, I plucked two leaves from one of the pot plants there.

It was one of those easy-to-care-for, almost-impossible-to-kill plants I had got as a birthday gift from my working colleagues, an unimpressive collection of heart-shaped leaves, green on the upper side and a rusty dark red on the underside, that was totally content with covering the earth in its little pot. Indeed, the only part of the plant that ever showed any inclination to climb toward the sun was its flower stalks, which regularly gifted the room with their lovely violet blossom.

My skill with plants is limited. Anything other than keeping them alive is beyond me. So no need to ask me the name of the plant, I couldn't possibly tell you. Saint... something... But I can tell you why I picked it: the leaves are unbelievably soft. Their green side is covered with fine white hairs - a silky down I intended to make good use of in our erotic play.

I turned back toward Nasr'rrh. The warm afternoon sunlight made his fur shine golden while he stood still in front of me, eyes holding mine, calmly awaiting my next move. Our previous oral episode had aroused him almost as much as it had aroused me; his feline member was jutting out over his waistline, undoubtedly glad to be free of the restraining shorts. For a brief moment I savored the spectacular sight like a diver savors the first lungful of fresh air after a long dive. Then I moved forward.

His balls were the first things I assaulted with the leaves. I massaged them in circular motions, applying almost no pressure at all. His twin orbs are covered in short but thick fur, yet even through this natural protection the leaves must have felt very different to the usual feel of my digits on his flesh, for it showed in Nash's stance. He became more rigid, his eyes closed partly. He was oblivious to his tail swishing back and forth. I knew I had his full attention by the way his member made chin-ups, trying to pull itself past the navel.

One leaf moved to his tummy together with my left hand and continued its gyrations there, the other wound its way out of the jungle of pubic hair and onto the only part of furless skin a lion has to offer. Nasr'rrh got the full blast of sensations from the velvety texture of the leaf for the first time. Up and down and up again I ran its green side along his shaft, and before I had managed two rounds, he was purring.

Of course, he held in his purr the moment he realized what he was doing. It's one of those things lions do, one of their quirks: don't show how much you're enjoying the attention! I guess it's an eccentricity universal to all cats, quadruped or no. They hate it when they lose control in front of others. So, in order to reestablish his facade of dignified nonchalance, Nash picked up the discarded floss from the couch and used it to tie my long black hair into a ponytail.

Boy, was he mistaken if he thought I would let him get away that easily!

A malicious grin crept onto my face as I thrust the leaves aside and set my fingers to work on his member. Cats have these impressive claws, long and sharp. They are powerful weapons you just got to respect. But a cat doesn't have the same precise control over its claws that a human has over his fingernails, especially when those nails have been trimmed recently...

So I tickled his glans with the tips of my fingers while I gently scratched his barbs with my other hand; I used the fingernails on my left hand to rake his cock all the way up from the base to its top; I scraped the ridge beneath his cone-shaped head... In other words: I made the sensations of the leaves seem dull in comparison.

Even Nasr'rrh couldn't withstand the attack unperturbed. Oh yes, he managed to bite back any more purring, but the tension had to go somewhere. I felt his body vibrate under my skilled treatment. It was as if I was touching a running monster truck engine, but one that was running on a barely suppressed growl of ecstasy rather than diesel.

The other evidence to his immense excitement was his loins. If I'd been leaking like a faucet earlier, it was nothing to the river that was welling out from Nash's cock now. His fur stuck together in shining stains where its head had hit his belly, but gravity had claimed most of the liquid - every part of his member and even most of his balls was coated with a sticky film of precum.

Enthralled, I leaned forward to give it a good lick. Before I knew it, Nash used his grip on my newly styled ponytail to yank my head back. Apparently I wanted this candy cane bad, so he denied it to me. After all, this wasn't about me having three wishes free or something...

"Given your slanderous remark, I don't think you deserve a treat. At least not yet... Unless you take back your ridiculous statement?" he more demanded than asked. The smile that accompanied the words was as wicked as mine had been just a few minutes ago.

There, you see? I was still being punished for being of a different opinion...

When I said nothing, my beloved lion grabbed me under the arms and pulled me to my feet. "Fine. My turn again," his deep voice rumbled in my ears, and he placed his left paw on my throbbing flesh and started kneading.

The fact that he and I were standing in the middle of our living room, staging a live performance of naked naughtiness, didn't faze him. And, truth be told, there was no reason why it should. Although our living room had two large windows, we had the blinds down on the eastern window (although initially for quite another reason) and the foliage of a great tree in the backyard screened the western one (oak trees - a nightmare for an allergic person like me in May, but just great for concealing dirty sex scenes from peeping neighbors three months later!).

We might not be seen, but we might be heard... When we had settled down on the sofa more than an hour earlier, it was with the intention of watching a movie on DVD (hence the lowered blinds). Thanks to our unexpected change of plans, we had muted the TV. I had to swallow a loud moan before it could leave my mouth. I didn't want my lustful cries to make our neighbors' day. They would know what was going on in our apartment soon enough...

Nash's paw didn't stop for even a second. It explored my pulsing cock, pressing here, kneading there, ever moving on, as if he knew my intention to keep silent and was eager to break it. He didn't need any other gizmo to overload my body with pleasure. The floss and his mouth had already got my blood racing and I had anything but calmed down in the meantime. The feel of his pads on my skin was indescribable. It was like the cushioned palm rest on a keyboard, like the thick armrest on your favorite leather armchair. It was more, much more. It was warm and flexible, furrowed and smooth. And so much alive.

I chewed my lips and balled my fists to keep my arms from flailing wildly. I breathed through my nose and pressed my toes hard into the carpet, just to get my thoughts away from the exceptional feeling Nash was giving me, to prolong my bliss.

I tried to focus on my surroundings rather than on the gifted paw surrounding my cock. The TV was still showing the movie that had started our argument. The ceiling-high bookshelf to its left, stuffed with dozens of books, several hi-fi components and our entire DVD collection, was in the dire need of tidying up...

Nash used only two fingers to trail the sides of my cock up and down, pulling my foreskin over the mushroom shape trapped beneath and back every time he reached the head.

...The two large posters that hung on either side of the door to the corridor of our apartment (one displayed the Sydney skyline by night, the other was a colorful rendition of a sunset in the African savannah), could do with some dusting. The grainy black...

My brain stumbled. I knew I couldn't last much longer - the feeling was too intense.

...grainy black-and-white photo booth strip... We had simply taped it to the wall right next to the doorframe... I could still remember how we had squeezed into the booth, embraced each other lovingly, smiled and made faces. That was a month after we had first met. The photos held more value for both Nash and me than either poster. So why hadn't we framed them like the pos...

Oh God, his paw pads were so incredibly soft...

...The round table for four we only used when we had guests...

Out of the blue, Nash changed his torture MO again. His fingers moved up my penis, but let the foreskin trapped below the head. He extended the claw on his index finger and moved its tip over my unprotected glans. It was a risky move - I told you cats don't have the same precise control over their claws that we humans have. But it drove everything else out of my mind, and he mastered the dangerous situation without hurting me. Then his claw hit my urethral orifice, pricked it slightly, and the stimulus brought me right to the edge.

Right to the edge, but not over it! And, to my horror, Nasr'rrh stopped his actions once more.

No, no, no, NO, NO!

I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up a mental image that would make my good Ol' Faithful erupt. But it was no good. I could feel my orgasm ebbing away, painfully slowly. So I pleaded...

Okay, okay, I did more than just plead. I begged, loudly and shamelessly. First with my big green eyes only, then with my beseeching mien, and finally I threw in my voice as well. "Please, Nash..." I croaked. (We've been together for almost three years now, and he still chuckles when I try to call him Nasr'rrh. Some lion names just aren't meant to be pronounced by a human tongue...)

"Say that you were wrong, and it will be my pleasure to help you out," he said wickedly.

I was tempted, I truly was. But if there's one characteristic I'd attribute to myself it's that I am as stubborn as a mule.

"No, I mean what I said," I spat - almost snarled - back.

He licked my nose once, affectionately. "Then it's your turn again, love." Said it, and pushed me so hard, I fell back on my ass. He moved forward, pinned my legs between his spread once, and in my sitting position on the couch there was no doubt as to what he intended me to do next. You could say that I could see it coming...

I moved my head forward. This time, Nash did not stop me and my mouth engulfed his beautiful cock hungrily. It was instantly flooded with a wagonload of salty, gooey liquid, all the pre that had accumulated on Nasr'rrh's shaft. Lusting for more, I swirled my tongue around the cone in my mouth. It offered me another big glob of its delicious ambrosia. Nash dug his paws into my hair and held on tight.

I pulled my head back slightly until Nash's cock was free and only centimeters away from my eyes. The sight was marvelous, the smell intoxicating. My tongue moved as if possessed, slithering forward and down my feline boyfriend's pink flesh. I took special care around the barbs, but thanks to the approach I had chosen, there was little chance for them to injure me. (Now real fellatio, or even anal sex, that is something else entirely. We have a special protective in our sleeping room, a small tailor-made ring of flexible plastic Nash can pull over the barbed part of his penis - yes, he actually had to have it molded and fitted just for him! -, so that I don't have to fear a spiked uvula if things get a bit rougher than intended.) Needless to say, he cherishes it whenever I risk my taste buds on his unshielded barbs, and rewarded my work with a long and unsuppressed purr.

That was all I wanted to hear, and I decided it was time for me to move on. I followed the smear of precum further down until my tongue reached Nash's furry sheath. Here I stopped. I must confess there are few things that irritate me as much as some hairs on my tongue in the middle of an oral session. It simply throws me off balance for a moment; therefore I tend to avoid thick patches of fur on my missions to 'give head'. It is ironic, actually, but Nasr'rrh is the one of us who doesn't much mind hairs on his tongue (hello-oh, cat!), while I'm the one who has his pubic hairs shaved off. But, hey, I won't complain. I'd miss the raunchy play between us in the bathroom every fortnight that ensues when he tries to trim the growth on my balls. That's definitely worth a few hairs, trust me!

So as I could go no further south, I went in the opposite direction again. My tongue lingered a moment more between Nash's barbs, coaxing another purr out of him, then spiraled upward, tracing the newly-formed river of pre back to its spring. I swallowed Nash's cock head for a second time. My lips now supported my tongue and created a vacuum that made him tighten his grip in my hair almost to the point of pain. I breathed out and gave his cone another good and thorough licking. I just wanted to seal my lips around his flesh once more when Nash tensed and the inevitable happened.

Nash pushed back my head and climaxed with a roar that could be heard in the apartments on the floors above and below us, perhaps even down on the street outside. The first shot hit me under the nose and - my surprised expression be praised - mostly landed in my open mouth. The succeeding spurts hit me lower, first on my chin, then on my throat, and more than once on my chest. He was marking me, something he very rarely did (as it is more a wolf thing than a lion thing, I guess), but on these occasions he always expects me to keep his jizz on me until it has dried, or until it has rubbed off in whatever nasty game we come up with shortly after.

I was too stunned at this unexpected turn of events to even think of my own throbbing erection. Nash reminded me. He threw me onto my back, jumped on the couch and pulled my cock into the wet and warm paradise that was his maw. My head fell back onto the sheet and I let him do whatever he wanted. I didn't have the will to do anything but to enjoy the ride. If Nash had asked me to admit that I was wrong, or joking, I would have affirmed this in a heartbeat. Hell, I would have told him I'm mental, just to keep his tongue where it was. Thankfully, he was too far gone in ecstasy himself to think of the possibilities that lay open to him. His sandpaper tongue bent around my glans, scraped it once, twice, bent again...

I didn't last half a dozen licks, then I erupted with a force that I usually only achieve after a month of sexual abstinence. Four spurts, five, six... Nasr'rrh swallowed every drop I had to offer. My joyful scream was a whisper compared to Nash's roar, but all the pent-up energy that did not shoot from my loins left my body with it, and that alone was enough to make me hoarse. I was absolutely, utterly, totally worn out. No exaggeration!

Nasr'rrh slid off the couch, lifted his head and licked his lips, plainly savoring the evening meal I'd given him. He held his tail stiffly, the tuft trembling in midair, but he smiled, and I found myself smiling back at him.

"Thank you," I gasped, panting in the afterglow of my ejaculation.

His smile broadened. I saw his tail flicker from side to side, once. It was a smooth motion now, the tremor of before gone. I had lived together with him long enough to decipher the complex message of emotions behind it - he was glad that I had enjoyed the unusual sex play and - above all - relieved that I did not begrudge his uncharacteristically dominant behavior.

Indeed I didn't, and I wanted him to be sure of that. And I knew just the right thing to convince him of how serious I was... I looked at the television, where the end credits of 'Casino Royal' were showing, and put on my best smart-aleck expression.

"But I still think Roger Moore is the best James Bond of all!" I said challengingly.

Nash growled. "That does it!" He pulled me to my feet and scooped me up in his arms as if I was a child's toy. "You had your chance to redeem yourself. And if I have to hammer it into you, before nightfall you will admit that there can be only one true James Bond."

And I was carried off.

I smirked inwardly. It was perfectly true, I preferred Roger Moore to any other James Bond actor, even to Nash's clear favorite: Sean Connery. He brought just the right amount of humor and repartee to the role to make his movies the best of the series. But even if this new guy, this Daniel Craig, delivered a performance that made his 007 ten times as remarkable (hey, I couldn't possibly judge that, we might have watched 'Casino Royal', but neither of us had actually seen or heard much of it...), I would still stick by Sir Roger Moore. Nash would never agree with me, and our difference of opinion made for far too much fun to pass up in the future!

We reached our bedroom. Nasr'rrh threw me onto the bed and pounced before I could do so much as make myself comfortable. His lips met mine, his loins pressed my hips into the mattress beneath, our intertwined bodies became one. "I hope you're ready for another lesson," he breathed into my ear and began teaching forthwith...

Another thing about lions: they're incredibly virile. While we humans still recuperate from our last orgasm, they are all ready and up for round two within minutes. It can be a pain in the butt sometimes, both figuratively and literally, but mostly it's just pure heaven.

It definitely was heaven now!

Yeah, I guess I'm a lucky guy to have found my perfect lion.