by Unknown
I frowned, but nodded for them to continue. I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes tight, bracing myself against the ropes.
“You’ll want to use less force, gentle is better than hard,” Mason instructed. “When she starts dancing, you’ll know she’s feeling it.”
My eyes fluttered open to see Kane nod and look at my pussy, spread wide just for him. Only his gaze was not one of lust, but the way a hunter considers his target.
He didn’t slap me to start. First, he pushed the crop between my pussy lips to stimulate my clit. The sensation was rough, but tolerable. Maybe if he’d kept at it, there could’ve been pleasure, but he pulled back and then smacked me with a swift underhanded stroke.
I gasped and panted my way through the sting, thankful he was at half power. My clit burned, but I could also feel it swelling, ripening under the harsh impact of the crop. After that first hit, Kane struck in a steady rhythm. He would give me a few seconds to absorb the blow, to work through its effects, and then strike again.
I don’t know when my body crossed the line from pain to pleasure, but the hits just didn’t hurt anymore. Shocked, I realized my body had become accustomed to the pressure and intensity. With the pain fading to a dull roar, a heightened pleasure came to the forefront, searing my nerves.
It reminded me of how I liked to really grind my clit on either Mason’s or Kane’s pubic bones when I was on top. A pressure hard enough to toe the line of pain, but without crossing over. With the crop, I’d way crossed that line, but had then reached the point where each slap brought a burst of pleasure with it too.
I began to understand what Mason had meant by his dancing reference, because I couldn’t stop moving. The pace Kane had set was too slow for me to do anything with those little bursts of pleasure and my hips were on an involuntary search for a way to string everything together into an orgasm.
By then, I was moaning in tandem with the crop. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mason watching with a satisfied smile on his face. He had taken off his clothes and had one hand wrapped around his cock. What I wouldn’t give for him to be inside me, expanding my pussy from the inside out. My stomach clenched as I imagined what it would be like to have them both at the same time. I would take all sorts of punishment for that kind of reward, I decided.
Time ceased to exist. Or rather, its measurement changed from the tick of seconds to the thwap of the crop against my skin. I was lost in sensation, in a world where I welcomed the pain greeting it with soft sighs, begging it to love me harder.
In the end, they untied me and removed the bar keeping my legs apart. I collapsed to the ground, my arms and legs tired from all the physical tension and the strain of holding one position so long. Mason gave each of my wrists a gentle massage and then did the same for my ankles, helping bring them back to life.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered, helping me into position. He kneeled behind me and grabbed my hips, cock just touching the entrance to my pussy. “Kane is going to keep your breasts bouncing while I fuck you like a wolf.”
“Can I come?” I asked, knowing from our previous sex play that I couldn’t take any orgasm for granted. And just then my priorities were tightly focused on my pussy getting the release it needed.
“Oh yes, many times over.” With that he entered me in one smooth move, pulling my hips back as he did so. At the same time, the crop zapped a nipple and I yelped, but Kane ignored me and kept zeroing on my sensitive nubs, which just made my pussy ache even more for release.
Pleasure and pain mingled as Mason pumped behind me. His cock filling me was bliss and my pussy squeezed him tight. Kane worked my breasts over with the crop, keeping that direct line they had to my core alive.
My body strummed with pleasure, the contrast of the intermittent pain from the crop heightening my senses. The sting blended into the coming orgasm and now I craved its cruel touch.
Mason slapped my ass, alternating cheeks as he rammed in and out. Somehow there was a spot on each ass cheek that, like my nipples, fed the liquid heat of my pussy. With Kane at my breasts and Mason smacking my ass as he filled me with his cock, the stimulation brought me to a quick and harsh climax.
My body shuddered just before I came, completely overwhelmed with sensation and desperate to find a way to relieve the pent-up pressure. When the orgasm hit full force, I bucked and screamed, half sitting up. Mason pushed me back down and grunted his own release, slamming me down his shaft with a hard pull on my hips.
He rolled off me to be replaced by Kane. I was still coming when my Alpha entered me and it caused pleasure to reach to another peak again before beginning the slow spiral back down to normal. Mason returned though and upped the ante. He handed something to Kane and said, “Use this and watch her go.”
A second later, Kane’s hand went to my clit and a vibrator sent a strong vibration through me. I gasped and writhed as the last vestiges of my orgasm roared back to life. Spurred on by the vibrator, I pushed back to meet Kane’s thrusts, increasing the speed, reaching for another climax.
Mason sat in front of me and reached out to grasp a nipple between his fingers. Now when I moved back, it meant my nipple was stretched taut in his hand. If I went too far, it hurt. If I didn’t push back far enough, Kane’s cock didn’t hit my g-spot.
I glared at Mason who responded with an innocent smile and by taking the other nipple in his hands. I tried to inch up toward Mason and have Kane follow, but my alpha just grabbed my hips and held me back. I realized, then, that they were colluding.
Damn.
The thing was, I needed Kane’s cock more than I needed to keep my nipples pain free. Decision made, I adjusted my stance so his cock penetrated me to the hilt. While my nipples were uncomfortable at first, same as the crop, it all morphed into hot pleasure. Mason kept things interesting by periodically changing the direction of tension or twisting my nipples slightly.
Soon I was throwing my head back and moaning as my orgasm gained speed. Kane slipped a finger into my ass, something that caused me to pause and open my eyes wide, but the double penetration felt good, so I resumed the rocking motion we had settled into. I was filled with sensation and pleasure pulsed through me in a continuous loop. Kane’s finger wiggling in my ass, his cock pounding my g-spot, the vibrator whizzing away while Mason made sure my nipples didn’t feel left out, meant I screamed and panted through the rush of another climax, my stomach dropping as if I was in a car cresting a hill at hundred miles per hour. When it was over I sank to the ground, hips writhing as the vibrator kept sending shockwaves through my over stimulated system.
With gentle strength, Kane lifted me back up on my knees and removed the vibrator. He was still hard and pumped in and out of me for a few more minutes before shuddering his own orgasm.
We all fell to the ground in a heap, like a litter of puppies. Kane lay against one side of me with Mason on the other, just the way I had often fantasized. I looked up at the full moon above us and resisted the urge to howl.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Justice had to be served.” Kane craned his neck to look at me.
“But you could’ve done it differently. Thank you for listening to me.” I kissed each of them in turn, tongue probing their mouths in a languid caress. “I really do love you both.”
Hands travelled my body in such quantity and at such speed, I couldn’t tell who was who. All I knew was that I had the two wolves of my dreams in my arms and somehow everything was going to be okay.
-The End-
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About the Author
NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author Michelle Fox lives in the Midwest with her husband, kids, the occasional exchange student and two, sweetly disobedient dogs. She loves fantasy and romance, which makes writing paranormal romance a natural fit. Occasionally, she goes through a maverick phase and writes contemporary romance. In her spare time, she's been known to shake her bon-bon at Zumba, make spectacular cheesecakes, hoard vintage costume jewelry and eat way too much ice cream (Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra for the win!).
A Cat’s Tale
by
Melissa Snark
Dedication
To my friend, Elanor,
for all of her support and feedback,
and always being willing to put up
with one more round of werewolf spam.
Prologue
Somewhere between Virginia and California
It happened in a nowhere town at a shithole bar off the main highway somewhere between Virginia and Los Angeles. Jared Kohl pulled off to get a drink and a burger. Okay, more than one drink, and a pile of burgers. But a werewolf had to eat and it took more than just one shot to get him buzzed. Whatever the case, he never did get to order.
The bar was dim and cheap with its 60s themed movie and rock posters, and a jukebox pumping out Jimi Hendrix and The Stones. Jared took a seat at a corner table where he could stretch out his long legs and appreciate the classic image of Marilyn Monroe and her billowing white dress.
As a stranger to this community, he was bound to attract attention. Jared measured a neat six-four and two hundred twenty pounds of pure sinewy muscle. His dark brown hair had gotten too long, so stubborn curls tumbled across his forehead. His neat mustache and beard covered only his chin, framing his mouth. He was handsome and knew it. He had his father’s good looks—broad forehead, strong nose, generous mouth, and square jaw. From his mother, he’d inherited startling topaz eyes. A cleft divided his chin.
As distracting as all the eyes upon him were, Jared got hard the second he scented her—rich and musky and designed for fucking. His posture remained relaxed as she walked up behind him. He did not glance up until she ran a hand over his shoulder. Her fingernails were painted fire-engine red and sharpened to points. The light scratches she left on his skin healed thanks to his regenerative ability.
“So a werewolf and a werecat walk into a bar…” Her voice was low and husky, pitched to create a seductive resonance within a man’s crotch. Beneath the pheromones, he smelled sadness and anxiety, which intrigued him more than the blatant come on. She seemed more complex than she wanted to let on.
Jared looked up from his drink to get hung up on a pair of pretty knees clad in white stockings and red lace garters encircling slender thighs. Her plaid skirt was the right length of short, stopping just shy of crotch level, low enough to tease him. She wore a prim white button-up shirt with a collar and rolled sleeves. Her skin was Asian mocha, and her hair was black and worn in pigtails secured with red ribbons. Her almond-shaped eyes were bright blue with slit pupils. The ornate gold collar around her neck seemed incongruous with the outfit. She was working the Japanese schoolgirl angle hard, but he judged her to be in her early twenties. Sometimes with shapechangers, it was hard to tell.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Jared said. “Does the wolf eat the pussycat?” He smiled, showing a hint of fang. It had been a while since he’d eaten, and he was hungry enough to consider her the entrée. Jared met those cobalt eyes but did not worry about dominance. He was smart enough not to get into a staring contest with a cat.
“Does the wolf want to eat the pussycat?” She trailed a suggestive hand down his chest and then sat on his lap. Unless he was mistaken, she wasn’t against the idea of being splayed and licked. Hell, she might go for biting if her kink was pain.
“It’s been a while since I last ate,” he said. She wasn’t what he expected of a werecat. But then he’d never met one until she walked up and sat in his lap, so he was free of preconceived notions.
“You’re new to town,” she said. “Are you here with your pack?” Oh man, she was leading him without any subtlety. He smelled the trap big time.
“I’m on my way to LA,” he said. “Sorry, but I’m afraid it’s just me.” He watched her reaction, trying to figure her angle. She had fire and spirit, and the air of a creature abused.
Her smile widened. “So, you’re a lone wolf?”
“Not exactly,” Jared responded with caution. He shrugged. “It’s more a matter of circumstance than choice. It’s complicated.”
“I like complicated men.” On his lap, she shifted, rubbing her buttocks against his swollen cock and working the denim for friction.
Jared sucked in air between his teeth. Oh yeah, a baited but obvious trap. “What’s your breed?”
Anger flared in her cobalt eyes. She withdrew several inches away from him. He held up a staying hand. “I only meant—” Fuck, what had he meant? “Are you Persian? Burmese? You smell like a purebred.”
“You know cats?” She seemed thrown. Mistrust glittered in her pretty eyes, causing her mask of sophistication to slip. “I’m Siamese.”
He grinned. “My mom had a Siamese. He was a crazy cat.”
“What happened to him?” she asked in a way that could only be described as catty. “Was he eaten by a werewolf?”
“Sol passed away at the ripe old age of twenty-one,” Jared said. At twenty-six, he had grown up with the cat and loved it a great deal.
Restless, the werecat shifted. He smelled her fear—fear of him. His protective instincts rushed to the fore. He opened his mouth to ask why when she twisted on his lap to straddle him. With a glance, he got a good look at her crotch as the skirt bunched up high across her thighs. She had no panties on and a manicured pussy—Brazilian waxed.
“Want to fuck me?”
Jared swallowed hard. She hadn’t bothered to ask his name. No doubt, it was a trap. Jared nodded and followed her out of the bar anyway. He wanted to fuck her that bad.
“Sweet ride,” the cat said, rubbing her painted fingertips across the leather seats of Jared’s ’67 Pontiac GTO, a classic American muscle car.
“Thanks, she’s got a V8 6.6 liter 360 horsepower and Rally II wheels. I rebuilt her transmission myself,” Jared said with a wolfish grin. He reckoned that the amused glimmer in the cat’s bright eyes was at his expense, but he could have cared less. He loved his baby.
“Show me how fast she goes,” the cat said. Her hand caressed the gear shift, and then slid to his denim-clad thigh.
“Oh yeah.” Jared swallowed so his Adam’s apple bobbed and stepped harder on the gas. He felt ready to explode. It was a fucking miracle he hadn’t wrapped the car around a tree.
As it happened, the werecat lived in a mansion outside of town. Jared parked in the gravel driveway beneath a willow tree. He followed her inside, cautious but confident in his ability to handle any trouble the cat might throw at him.
“Nice place,” Jared said, glancing around at the antique packed main room. “Does it belong to your grandmother?”
The cat shot Jared a glance over her shoulder. “My aunt,” she said. Her scent and body language underwent a subtle alteration.
Jared gave her a sharp look. He smelled the lie. “Really?”
“Great aunt.” She poured him a drink of dark amber liquid in a brandy snifter. She hadn’t asked if he wanted one; she prepared it.
“Did your aunt give you the fancy collar?” Jared envisioned a strand of blue sapphires about her slender throat instead of the gold necklace.
“It was a gift from an admirer,” the cat said.
“No offense, but your admirer has gaudy taste.” Jared allowed his glance to shift from the collar to their surroundings and the bright floral wallpaper. In his mind, the existence of a great aunt remained very much in question.
“That’s true.” She laughed with forced humor. She placed the drink in his hand and then ran her hands over his body, seeking to distract him. It worked.
“What’s your name?” Jared asked. He slammed the drink back before glancing around the room. Unlike her, he kept his hands to himself. The scent of fear remained prominent about her. She aroused his protective instincts and compelled a sense of caution. If curiosity killed the cat, Jared would be the next victim.
“Does it matter?” she asked, cocking her head.
His brow rose. “Hell yeah, it matters.” Jared sniffed and then sneezed. The room was stuffy and dusty, and a blanket of incense obscured everything else. It reminded him of a funeral home or a Catholic church.
“Is that frankincense?” He sniffed again and identified an underlying odor. Something…dead. Jared worked to identify the source of the offensive scent but was distracted as his vision blurred and his thoughts clouded. He dropped the brandy snifter, and it shattered on the hardwood floor.