by Marc Cabot
Best In Breed
Marc Cabot
Copyright Marc Cabot 2013
Cover Photo © Miramiska | Canstockphoto.com - Used Under License
Published by Unspeakable Publications at Smashwords
Books by Marc Cabot
Visit http://www.dreamsofcontrol.com for more information and for purchase links!
Dreams of Control Erotic Mind Control Books
* Also available in Trade Paperback.
Other Books
The Reunion
Unspeakable Publications Website
http://www.unspeakablepublications.com
Visit us for more unspeakable erotic delights!
Author's Note: This story does not take place in the "Dreams of Control" universe, where most of my stories are set. There are no catgirls there, alas. (At least, not yet.) On the other hand, there are no Sisters of Temperance there either. So thank Heaven for small favors...
It is largely like both the Dreams of Control universe and our own, but with a few twists - some obvious, some not. Call it the Universe Next Door.
Angeline Lincoln got a little careless that night. It was the wrong night to be careless.
She was walking back to her tiny apartment from her job at the fourth-rate coffee house where the brokest of the students at her university hung out. Angeline worked hard and got all kinds of subsidies designed to encourage catgirls to go to school, but her mother had never had much, including Angeline's father after the one-night stand that had produced her only child. So she was on her own and she needed the money to cover things the scholarships didn't. Little things like a used laptop and Internet access in an apartment that was cheaper than even the smallest dorm room. They added up.
Maybe she wasn't even careless... just tired and distracted and mostly thinking about how she still needed to study for her test in FeleoSapiens Studies the next day. Angeline wasn't a complete zealot - it didn't bother her to be called a catgirl instead of a FeleoSapien. But she felt a keen sense of being a second-class person, even in these enlightened times. She wanted to improve the lot in life of catgirls, all catgirls. To be a role model and a leader.
And somehow here she was, one of only five percent of catgirls who made it to college. She sometimes wondered, politically un-correct as it was, if part of it was that she was a sport. Her mother was a fairly unremarkable catgirl, generically pretty and with fine, honey-colored skin and hair bearing subtle graduated patterns - what used to be called (and still was by rude people) a Tabby. She wasn't stupid: catgirls rarely were. But she was easily distracted, more than a little lazy, and not good about planning for the future.
Which were all things most catgirls had in common. They were devoted enough to their fairly rare children - it was rude now to call them kittens, despite the fact that they always bore more female catgirls - and would work to provide for them. There was always work as a cashier or a waitress or a hostess (or a stripper) for a catgirl. Anything that being attractive and friendly helped with, they could do. That was about as ambitious as they typically got.
But Angeline had the dramatic facial markings and startling blue eyes of a Spotted Queen. She hated the fact that catgirls seemed to fall into strict breeds, but there was no denying it, even if it were impolite to mention it these days, just like race with HominoSapiens. (Or as those same rude people called them, "humans.") One in thirty or so catgirls bore the leopard-like markings, but they comprised half of the ones who graduated from high school and went on to college. Spotted Queens seemed to be more ambitious, more driven than most other catgirls.
She wasn't feeling ambitious or driven that night: as previously noted, what she mostly was was tired. Angeline should be at least partially excused for her lack of care, even as she walked down dark streets late at night. She was a superb example of her kind: a whiff of danger, and she'd be running - or fighting - with what could only be called catlike reflexes. And it was hard to take a catgirl by surprise. Their highly-placed ears pivoted, just like a real cat's, and constantly gathered sound. They were very sensitive to vibration and movement, like their predatory, nocturnal forebears. And their noses were keen, always twitching, nearly tasting the air. Yes, it was quite hard to take a catgirl by surprise.
Hard. Not impossible.
She remembered only the swish of the hood slipped over her head as she walked past a doorway that smelled of nothing but damp night air. Even with her feline reflexes it was far too sudden to avoid. She sucked in air to scream, a heavy scent filled her nose and even as she fell into blackness she realized that the inside of the bag must have been drugged. Then there was nothing.
###
She awoke slowly, her mind fogged and oddly disconnected. It felt like having a hangover and the flu at the same time. She blinked: the soft lighting of the room she found herself in was an unbearable pain in her head at first. Through squinted eyes she looked around. Just moving her head made the room spin a bit but the feeling was passing even as she roused.
The first impression, other than the pain in her eyes and a horrible taste in her mouth, was fear. Terror, really. Because she was lying on her back in sort of a reclined position and her arms and legs were firmly bound in place, spread away from her body. She could move her head and wiggle her fingers, and not much more. Her tail was free and exploring, but it found nothing but the bottom of the contraption she was strapped into.
It certainly didn't find any clothes.
Her glorious honey-blonde hair and the matching fine down that covered most of her - nearly invisible except where it grew slightly thicker over her ears and tail and between her legs - was the only thing between her skin and the air in the room. She drew breath to scream and became aware of a tightness in her face. Her mouth wouldn't close: some kind of metal ring was strapped into it, forcing it to stay open. She could breathe perfectly well but the nasty feeling of a dried-out tongue sent made her head thrash despite the fading vertigo. The scream turned into an awkward moan which ended when she became aware of another person nearby.
"Oh. You're awake."
She turned her head as far as she could and the figure of a man came into focus. He was wearing a white lab coat and behind him was a table with bottles and jars and other alchemical equipment. Angeline had never been much for science, but it looked like a very serious setup.
The catgirl squinted as the man walked toward her, carrying a small paper cup. "This is water, nothing more. Your mouth is probably dry. This will help." He very carefully poured a few drops of it into his mouth without touching the cup with his lips, and swallowed. Her ears were working fine and it was deathly quiet in the room. The sound of him swallowing the water was a faint glub in her head.
"See? Now a sip for you." He moved next to her and just as carefully poured some into her mouth. It was cool and felt nice on her leathery tongue. Now that she was awake and could move it, she managed to moisten it with the water and then let it go down. He gave her a bit more and then walked back to the table to set the cup down.
"If you were wondering, and I'm sure you are, I'm not going to hurt you or do anything bad to you. I just need your help." He came slowly back to stand just to one side of her. He was a tall man, with a short black beard with hints of grey. Her recovering eyes could see that his were as blue as her own. It was hard to see his body under the coat, but he seemed solidly built. His voice was deep and strong and sang in her ears even as they strained for some sign that someone else might be near.
If he really doesn't want to hurt me... She tried to talk and found the gag made words almost impossible to form. "Eese lt mhh guh. I hnt ell annyun."
"Soon enough." He looked over at a small glass beaker which was warming over an electric heater. The smell of heated water and odd chemi
cals - the air was thick with them, which made his own scent of musk and soap with what might have been peppermint beneath it quite hard to focus on - filled her straining nose and almost made her sneeze.
"Yes, it's just about ready. There's only one more thing it needs. I am sorry about this. Like I said, I am not going to hurt you. But you woke up just a few minutes too soon."
He picked up a small plastic device from the table along with a bit of what could have been a paper towel or a rag. That looks like... As he turned the base of it it began to buzz and her eyes widened. It is. Angeline loved sex as much as the next catgirl - which is to say, she really loved it. She had obtained what her best friend called a "battery operated boyfriend" to take the edge off and keep herself from prowling bars when she should be studying. She knew one when she saw it.
"I know this sounds stupid, but please stay calm. I'm not going to put this inside you and I assure you it's quite clean." He walked over until he stood between her legs, and then gently ran the device over her fuzzy little pussy. It was set low and she jumped but did not scream.
"Nuh, nuh, pls, nuh!" She was shaking her head frantically. Her tail was lashing at his hands but did not have the strength to push them away.
"Shh. This will just take a second." He ran the vibrator over her lower lips and she twitched. After moving it up and down, making her moan involuntarily, he pressed it to her clit and she jumped again.
After a few moments, during which she cursed her traitorous body for enjoying the skillfully applied vibrations, he brought the small bit of paper up and ran it up and down her slit, which was already damp and sensitive. She felt it slide over her, almost teasing the tight little opening, and braced herself. But he simply lifted it and quickly walked back to the table. The paper went into the beaker, where it instantly dissolved.
"That's all. It just needed a bit of your... essence." She could hear a smile in his voice although his back stayed to her as he stirred the contents of the beaker with a glass rod. "I already put in mine. It wasn't hard to obtain, I just looked at you and thought happy thoughts."
He jerked himself off while he looked at me naked and passed out. Angeline reached for the fury and used it to burn away some of the fear. She said nothing, straining to hear everything, remember everything. I'll get loose. And when I do... A vision of herself sliding her sharp fingernails into his eyes flashed in her mind. Catgirls weren't usually aggressive, but they were Hell on wheels if you pissed them off bad enough.
"Now it just has to boil for a while," he said after he finished stirring. He turned up the heat a bit. "So let me tell you what's going on. I'm sure you're very curious to know."
Once more he walked over directly in front of her, between her spread legs but several feet away. He sat on a stool which was placed right where she could see him - and he could see her. After he got settled, he spoke again.
"This is really not my idea. It was a friend of mine who discovered it. But he... he never got the chance to use it." His eyes clouded and his head dipped with some remembered sorrow. "I'm doing this for him as much as for myself. He deserves to be proved right." The expression cleared and he smiled at her faintly. "And of course I'm sure he would approve. We were very good friends. He would never begrudge me such a pretty pet."
I'm not a PET! The fury was seething, but she was determined to give away nothing. I'll show you "pet," you fucker.
"Anyway, my friend. He discovered a completely new method of scrying. He could look at anything in the past - but it had to be at least a hundred years ago. Well, a thousand lunar cycles. Close enough. Not good for spying, but perfect for research." The man's speech was filled with odd pauses. Memories seemed to flash over him as he told the story, and his eyes drifted in and out of the here and now.
"The bitches killed him for it, they monitor for 'disruptive influences.' I found out. You can find out if you're careful. They don't run everything. Others oppose them. But without powerful protection... you're dead if you piss them off. Even if you don't know you've pissed them off." He hesitated, then continued with a rough, pained voice.
"They killed him. But not soon enough. Not before he could learn the truth. They detected it somehow. But not right away. Not before he could tell me. And make sure I could get his notes if something happened to him. And he knew. He protected me. He never told me how it worked. They murdered him, but he still won." He grew silent and looked into an unseen distance, far beyond the walls of the room. His eyes were narrow and his face was grim. Minutes passed and he merely stood there seething.
"Ut ruth?" She hated sounding like a cartoon character. But he was just standing there and the look on his face was frightening her. His eyes stayed distant but he responded in a faraway voice.
"He fell in love with a catgirl when he was young. She chose another. He became... obsessed. With your kind. When he found his new method of scrying, the first thing he did was trace you back. All the way back. The night before he died... he told me. He told me everything. They came to me like they came to everyone who knew him. They were dressed like police but they weren't police. They asked me if I knew anything about his scrying research. I told them under mage-oath I didn't, and it worked, because he had been so careful not to let me. But they only asked about his scrying. Not about what he had done with it. They didn't think he'd had time. Arrogant fools!" His head snapped back to the here and now, eyes fixed on hers. He rose and took a few steps to stand beside her, watching her face intently. She tensed but he made no move to touch her. He simply stared with unfathomable eyes.
"Did you know catgirls were created by humans?"
She just glared at him.
"Of course you didn't. But they were. And they were intended to be our servants. Our slaves, not to put too fine a point on it. Or pets, if that sounds nicer. We bred you. Like any other livestock. Most people believe the official story, that it was a mystical cross-breeding, some demigod's idle fancy, that catgirls are humans, just different. Or at least have some human blood. It's a lie."
Her heart was pounding: her eyes were slitted so tight even she would have had difficulty seeing in dim light. No one knows... where we came from... but this... no... not true... can't be true... He watched her face with a certain satisfaction and then spoke again.
"There's not a drop of human blood in you. At least, I really don't think so. He didn't. Why do you think there are never any catboys? Catmen? Whatever. The wizards who bred you up - I call them the Breeders, their name was Egyptian and wouldn't mean anything to you - had no use for them. Male cats would make terrible servants, even with fingers and the ability to talk. If anything, they'd be worse than the regular kind." He chuckled.
She just hissed through the gag.
"When you have children, they're not really the products of your mating. Why do you think the traits never thin out? Why don't you ever have more human babies, even by chance? You reproduce by yourselves, that's why. Originally, when your master wanted you to. Now, when you want a baby hard enough. That's all. You have to be mated, it stops you breeding without a man's help. They thought of everything. But nothing human comes through. Not really human."
She shook her head angrily, silky hair waving around her face where it was not captured by the straps of the gag. We are human, we are! We only bear female children, but that's because we're magic mutations, it's just how our genes work, everybody knows... His story was taking on a terrible consistency. It did explain a lot... NO!
"I don't know why the genetics haven't tipped the secret. I'm guessing the Sisters have a hand in that. They do everything else." He grimaced angrily. "DNA analysis gets cheaper and easier every year. Sooner or later it will come out. But it hasn't yet. Maybe by that time they'll have some new made-up theory that allows for you to be human despite having nothing but feline genes. Or maybe the Breeders did put some human blood in you and it's enough for it to be plausible. He might not have seen everything."
The Sisters? There was only one thing that could
mean and a brief burst of fear pounded through the anger that filled her. The Sisters of Temperance killed his friend? For making up this bullshit story? The Sisters worshipped a feminine Creatrix who had no name other than "the Goddess" and mostly held themselves apart from society, especially the male parts. They did offer education, including magical education, to women who came to their temples and they had various charitable activities. But there were whispers and stories and fearful jokes about what they did to men who angered them too much. And it was very easy to anger them.
Mostly you just had to be a man.
"So, you are probably wondering, why is it a secret in the first place? Why doesn't everybody know that the Breeders made you and what they made you for?" The scent of his own fury became strong, strong enough to drown out the boiling mixture and the smells of sulfur and alcohol and the dozens of others that kept prickling her nose.
"Because the fucking Sisters of fucking Temperance found out about it, that's why. The Breeders tried to keep it secret and they mostly succeeded. They had finally gotten their creations perfect and were just about ready to start... well, we'd call it mass production." He snorted.
"They were going to sell you to kings and emperors and the high and the mighty. But the Sisters found out what they'd done and what they were about to do. They found out and they realized that if it wasn't stopped eventually any man who wanted a catgirl would be able to have one once there were enough of them and that would mean women would lose their only weapon, their only real advantage over men... sex and love. Beautiful, loving, obedient catgirls... enough to give men anything they wanted. Women for heirs, catgirls for everything else." He laughed. It was an ugly, bitter sound.