by Ily Goyanes
My hearing in this form is excellent, my now pointed ears capable of hearing a thousand times better than a human, so the lack of yelling confuses me. Roxy should be pushing me away and running for her life. Screaming and hollering and begging for mercy. Instead all I notice is a low, rumbly sound, like the purring I imagined just a few minutes ago. I open my eyes and nearly keel over in shock.
The Roxy I thought I knew is gone. In her place is a fur covered female with shocking purple eyes and a dark brown tail to match. I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, even though our coloring and our builds are noticeably different. She’s dark where my fur is light. She’s curvy and I’m a lot more muscular. It’s obvious though that we’re the same type of being. I’m speechless.
It takes several attempts to form a full sentence and when the ability finally returns I’m questioning my own sanity.
“What the...? But you’re...?” I know I’m not making any sense so I try again. “How in the hell is this possible?” I lean close and press my nose to her cheek. “You smell completely human.”
She’s smiling when I look down into her face. “A little trick I learned right after my escape pod crash landed here. Certain Earth fragrances actually block the pheromones from emerging. Once I remove the perfume, I’ll put off scent like any other Sexter.”
I want to smell that. I want to rub my body all over hers until we’re both covered in each other’s aroma. Then I want to fuck her until she comes screaming my name. “Get it off. Right now.”
Her eyes widen at my command but she doesn’t protest. Instead she grabs me by my mane and pulls my head down to her neck. “Lick me.”
I don’t protest her order. My inner beast just wants to smell my mate the way nature intended. My tongue darts out instantly, stroking over the pounding pulse in her throat. She tastes like oranges and lemons. As I eat away the remnants of the citrus-scented cologne, Roxy moans and whines beneath me. When the last of the perfume is gone Roxy’s natural Sexter scent and taste blossom forth, overcoming all my senses. Like cinnamon and honey, equally sweet and spicy. My clit swells in response. My other questions will have to wait. Sex is the only thing on my mind and I have to have it now!
She reaches around my back and grabs the tip of my tail, tugging it hard. The sensation hits me right between the thighs, and I can feel the wetness seeping from my swollen pussy. As a breeder of one of my kind, she knows what pulling a dominant’s tail is going to get her. Fucked. Hard and fast. Multiple times.
“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?”
“No, but a tiger has my tail and if she keeps playing with it she might get bitten.”
Her eyes brighten further.
“Do you like that idea?”
She nods in reply.
I move my mouth upwards until my lips brush her earlobe. “Do you want my fangs in you? You want me to mark you as mine? Want me to latch on tight with my teeth? Bury them deep in your skin while I ride you until you scream?”
Her only answer is a throaty moan as she slides downwards almost faster than my vision can track. Her lips latch onto one of my breasts, nibbling and sucking as she tastes the sheen of sex sweat that covers my body. I’m so horny my skin is slick, the mating pheromones oozing out of my pores. There’s a chemical in my sweat, similar to that of an Earth aphrodisiac. The more she ingests, the hotter she’ll get. It’s nature’s way of readying Roxy further, not that either of us needs it. I’m actually worried that if we don’t hurry up I’m going to come before she does, and that isn’t acceptable.
I pull her off, noticing she’s left an imprint of her dainty teeth in my skin. When she looks up at me and smiles, I notice her fangs are much smaller than mine. “You’re a Breeding Bitch?” Once again she just grins an affirmative.
Holy shit. Thank you, God! My worries about rough sex fly right out the window. In fact I may have to re-evaluate my plan. Breeders can’t orgasm unless pain is involved. I flash a smile of my own, sure to show off my huge canines. Roxy gasps as she realizes what she’s looking at.
“You’re a True Dominant?”
I nod. “Mmm hmmm.”
Her eyes are suddenly so bright I have to squint or go blind.
“You like the thought of that?” I reach one hand down between her legs, finally touching what I’ve been fantasizing about all evening. She’s so drenched my fingers almost slip past her opening. My previous worry over my claws vanishes. To her kind bloodletting is a sure sign of good sex. The more it hurts the more she’ll like it.
“Can you...?” Her eyes glance between my legs.
“Yes, and I’d love to show you if it’s safe. When was your last heat cycle?”
“Three Earth weeks ago. It’s safe. I can’t conceive right now. Please!”
She’s purring consistently as I slide two fingers inside her and begin working them in and out. She’s tight and my Dominant form is rather large. I need to do a bit more prep. Her hips pump the air as she drags her claws down my arms, leaving thin bloody trails in their wake. It’s a good thing I don’t mind pain either.
Her mouth opens on a gasp as I slide a third and then a fourth finger in alongside my other two. While she’s occupied with most of my hand, I close my eyes and will my body to change one more time.
It’s been so long I hope I still remember how to do it. My talent is definitely something I couldn’t share with the few Earth women I’d bedded in the past. I bow my head and hope the end result is satisfactory to my partner. The pounding between my legs intensifies as Roxy busies herself riding my palm.
“Oh my God!”
Roxy’s comment is all I need to know I’ve succeeded in enlarging my clit to its maximum size.
“So much better than a strap-on and more convenient.”
Her reply is a quick giggle but before I’m able to see the results Roxy’s hand is wrapped around my newly-formed appendage and she’s stroking me for all she’s worth. I’m forced to pull back or finish early. I’m determined that when I reach orgasm for the first time it’s going to be inside of her. After that, the choice is hers.
Although my hands are on her shoulders to hold her back, Roxy still manages to swoop downward once again, this time all the way between my thighs. In an instant her mouth engulfs me whole. The growl that flies from my lips is one of pure lust. The things Roxy can do with her tongue are mind blowing. Her hands join the dance and I almost lose it down her throat. It’s a bare miss but I manage.
I scoot back and straddle her waist, kicking the coffee table out of the way as we take up what’s left of the living room floor. Her legs spread wide of their own accord so I rise up and settle myself eagerly between them. The tip of my huge clit brushes her opening and we both shiver with excitement. We’re equally tired of waiting but Roxy manages to put her need into words first.
“Now, Audrey. Do it now. Damn it. I need you. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Make me come!”
It seems rude to make her ask again. I push forward, sheathing myself fully in one quick motion. She’s so wet my upper thighs are already slick with her juices. There’s no way either of us can last very long. My hips piston back and forth and my tail whips around so fast it’s just a golden blur in the background.
After that we’re nothing but two crazed beasts caught in the frenzy of mating. I’m writhing and moaning and fighting to make Roxy come first. Below me she’s doing the same thing. Among Sexters it’s an honor to satisfy your partner first. For True Dominants, it’s our main priority. I refuse to come until Roxy does. That’s just how I’m wired. If she doesn’t find release soon though, I’m going to be in trouble.
I grab both of her ankles and push them as far apart as they will go, exposing her slick sex completely. Her clit is huge and swollen and I swear I can see it throbbing in time with her three heartbeats. An idea suddenly strikes me. I’m so used to trying to be gentle I forget pain is a must among Breeding Bitches. I fuck her mercilessly, adding in tiny taps to her
distended clitoris. The smacks get harder until finally I use the tip of my claw and she arches her back off the floor, letting loose a howl that rattles the windows in their frames. That’s my cue.
I explode inside of her, coming over and over again until I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. I’m still shaking from small aftershocks when I finally collapse on top of her.
“Was it good for you?”
Roxy’s question is so outrageous I have to laugh. “Any better and I’d be dead.” I raise up enough to look her in the face.
Our human forms return as we settle into the afterglow and some much needed rest before round two. Roxy is quiet, almost shy. “Are you mad at me?”
I flop down on my side, wrapping one arm around Roxy’s middle as we spoon on the rug in front of the fireplace. My extra bits have disappeared with my fur and she fits against me perfectly, her ass snug against my pelvis. “For what?”
Our beasts are perfectly content to lie where we’ve landed. I’m too tired to move anyway. Once my three hearts start racing it takes a bit of time for them to slow back down.
“For hiding from you.”
I shrug. “Maybe a little, but I’m not now.” I yawn so long and loud my jaw pops with the motion. “I understand why you did it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And just for the record, you can pull my tail anytime.”
Labels
Jean Roberta
Whizz McCall loved spring. Now, as she rumbled down the sidewalk on her beloved old skateboard, she felt the wind caressing her scalp beneath the spikes of her newly-gelled platinum hair.
Cracks in the concrete were a challenge, but her limber knees and ankles were flexed to serve as shock absorbers, and her feet in venerable rubber-soled shoes landed on their narrow wooden platform again and again. Whizz never grew tired of skating when the ground was free of snow. The constant growl of wheels on cement and the subtle whiff of newly-applied oil that rose to her nose in gusts were like the bass line and the melody in a favorite song.
Two young skaters in similar striped shirts waved to Whizz from the other side of the street. They rode their boards like baby birds learning to fly, their arms stretched out and wobbling from side to side.
“Hey, Whizz!” yelled a tenor voice. Whizz grinned back.
Little bounces and bigger jolts ran up through Whizz's lean body from the soles of her feet. Her cunt was awake, and it reminded her that spring is mating season for everything in the natural world. A snug sports bra under Whizz's faded black t-shirt prevented her girlish breasts from jiggling, but she was aware of them anyway. The five silver earrings in her ears and the ring in her nose felt like little branding irons against her skin.
A flurry of drumbeats from the park announced the presence of the Youth Pipe Band practicing in the open air. A moment later, the skirl of twelve bagpipes rose into the air, sounding to Whizz like the mating call of an endangered species of strong, proud, dykey birds. Whizz remembered filling the pipes with her own breath until she was dizzy, trying to play in tune while marching in step. Quitting never seemed like an option while she was in high school, no matter how many sunny weekends had to be sacrificed to band practice. Whizz's father had played in the band as a boy, and Whizz was his only child. The band was steadily dwindling, and she thought that was a shame.
The sound seemed to be growing louder. Whizz briefly turned her head to see if the band was approaching. Like a kayaker going over the rapids, she was carried down the slope into the park. Her control diminished as her speed increased. Whizz was about to jump off her skateboard when she saw her buddy Len deep in conversation with a young lady whose full ruby lips were as noticeable as the orange-and-purple paisley halter top that barely covered her perky breasts.
“Whizz!” yelled Len. “Watch where you're going!”
Whizz hopped off her skateboard and grabbed it just in time to prevent it from running over the girl's painted toenails. Her flimsy sandals were clearly no protection.
“Sorry about that,” muttered Whizz, who hated having to introduce herself with an apology. And in any case, Whizz wasn’t sure how to treat the girl. She looked very heterosexual to Whizz, who wondered what Len was doing with her—or hoping to do.
“That's a pretty low-tech vehicle for you, Whizz,” cracked Len, trying to defuse the tension. Len was a short, plump dyke with irrepressibly curly hair who usually tried to keep the peace. Sometimes she even succeeded. “Why aren't you working on my car?” Len grinned to show her audience that the question was rhetorical.
Whizz was the owner of McCall's Brake, Muffler and Transmission ever since her father had died of a heart attack brought on by a combination of overwork, tobacco, booze, and greasy food: the hazards of his generation. Whizz was an excellent mechanic and a good-enough businessperson to support herself and her mother, but she could never forget the value of fun.
“Joe's working on it,” Whizz told Len. “In fact, I think he's finished. I'm the boss, so I get to take the day off. Come by tomorrow and see if your Ford doesn't run better than when you bought it.” Len rolled her eyes. The Ford was thirty years old and covered with rust, but Len couldn't afford to replace it. Whizz's generosity and the skill of her men enabled Len to keep a set of wheels that still ran.
“Whizz,” smiled the girl, tossing her long brown hair over one shoulder. “I've heard so much about you.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” muttered Len, turning red. “Whizz, this is Candace Hart. She's on the Pride Week Committee. She's designed all the posters and flyers. She's an artist.”
Candace held out a manicured hand, and Whizz picked it up as though it were breakable. “Pleased to meet you,” said Whizz, raising an eyebrow. She had to make an effort to pull her eyes away from a tattoo of a rose with thorns just above Candace's cleavage.
Is that trendy now? thought Whizz. I don’t know what’s in any more. Maybe I never did. Sherry always had more of a sense of it.
After two decades of living with Whizz, Sherry had moved out two years before, drawn by the siren call of a bigger city. Since then, Whizz had enjoyed a few flings with bar dykes, but a bar lifestyle of drinking, toking, snorting, and a chronically altered consciousness felt too self-destructive for her taste, and she was wary about forming attachments.
Candace had a less discreet gaze than Whizz. Her eyes traveled up Whizz’s lean body to her tattooed shoulders to the hardware that decorated her honest, freckled face, and on to her laughing blue eyes. Candace smiled as though she liked what she saw. “Whizz, we’re looking for people to sit on the panel on gender diversity for Pride Week. Would you be interested?”
The challenge in Candace’s eyes made Whizz feel reckless. “Sure,” said the invitee. “What do you want me to do?” Len looked uncomfortable.
“It’s really up to you,” promised Candace. “We can’t tell anyone what to say because that would defeat the purpose of a free forum. We just want panel members to talk for five minutes about what their gender identity means to them and then answer questions.”
Whizz was intrigued. “Gender identity? As in, how do you do, I’m a dyke?”
“Whizz,” prompted Len, “it’s more complicated nowadays. Remember what we were talking about?”
“Oh, I get it! I’m butch but only a transman when I’m working on vehicles, something like that? I could say I’m a social drinker but not a drunk, I’m kind of toppy with a submissive streak, I’m the Mad Piper in a kilt, I’m sort of a Celtic pagan but not fanatic about it, I'm a carnivore but try to limit my red meat and I wouldn't beat my wife unless the bee-atch asked nicely. Would that work?”
Len laughed. “Perfect!” cooed Candace.
“And I’m the gift of the Goddess to dykes! That’s part of my identity.” Whizz gave Candace a grin full of teeth.
“Would you say you’re a boi?” Candace asked sweetly.
“Like Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up? Sure, if my girl parts—or my age—don't disqualify me. I still play with toys, i
f that's what you mean.” Whizz looked at Candace in a way that made Len look away and shift from foot to foot.
“That's 'boi' with an 'i', Whizz,” Len explained. The dyke seemed to have taken on the role of straight man in a comedy routine.
Whizz and Candace both laughed, adding to Len's discomfort. “You too, Len?” quipped Whizz.
“As if spelling wasn't hard enough before. Are we still 'womb-men' or 'womyn' with a 'y' too?” Whiz flexed two fingers of each hand in the air. “I'm not really into labels anyway. 'Dyke' works for me. Unless I'm in a role-playing game.”
Candace was beaming. Whizz wouldn't have been surprised to see her revealing her own gender identity in a strip-tease, right there in the park, to a sexy ringtone on some little device from her purse. Candace was gently bouncing in her girlish flat-heeled shoes. They looked like the ones worn by actual dolls from Whizz's childhood, given by well-intentioned relatives and now collecting dust in her basement. Candace jiggled and shimmered in the sun, reminding Whizz of a flower in a breeze.
Whizz wanted her, but she felt played. Not here, thought Whizz. Not now. Dangling her skateboard from one hand, she glanced at her watch. “Oh hey guys, I have something to do, and I’m late. Candace, when are you having this panel discussion?”
“I’ll send you the whole write-up on Pride Week if you give me your email address.”
Whizz, Len and Candace all pulled scraps of paper and pens from pockets, a backpack, and a purse. Information was exchanged.
“Have to rush. See you both later!” Whizz called, pushing forward on her skateboard.
Before her humble vehicle took her beyond earshot, Whizz heard Candace say to Len, “Labels are so limiting, but they serve a social purpose.”
Whizz rolled along on the cracked concrete, enjoying the promise of a fine spring day. There's unfinished business between us, thought the skateboarder. The pheromones were flying, but I wonder if the woman really knows what signals she sends out.