Bathhouse
_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car
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The coon's ass was high in the air, his chin resting on the sweaty wood of a sauna bench, and the only thing he seemed to feel more than the cock pressed against his tight asshole was the eyes on him, on every part of him. He felt the collar tight around his neck, he felt dull tremors of electricity course through him as another paw traced along his spine. He felt as if his whole body must be visibly shaking, felt like he'd been hit with a tuning fork, like the paw that traced his spine traced a guitar strings of his soul, not to be overly dramatic or anything.
He wondered how the jaguar could have known how to tease him so well. Was it dumb luck? He didn't question it too much, how the jaguar knew how to scratch a single nail over his back and play him like a record, a chorus of moans and excitedly reserved pleas coming from his throat. He felt many things, but he didn't feel himself. A bathhouse will do that, though. He wondered about the eyes on him. Wondered how many there were now, his own eyes had been shut too long and the sound of a door constantly opening doesn't tell you how many more have come to see the show. He wondered what they stared at, his stocky belly, his thick thighs, his ass like two mounds of perfectly scooped ice cream, his ringed tail swishing, occasionally struck stiff but a powerful shock that seemed to come from nowhere. He wondered just how big the jaguar was, the cat's towel not coming off until long after he'd been bent over and had his own towel taken off with a flourish.
He awed at just how much strength has been in those jaguar's unassuming limbs. They were sleek, svelte, firm, but no one understood the jaguar's power like the coon did. The way the jaguar had simply lifted him up and bent him over, without even a huff, the strength in his muscles was just astounding. He awed at the jaguar's length as it teased him between his cheeks, the long length slick with spit grinding against his hole, each time the head threatening to finally break through the tight seal and sink deep, deep down inside that warm ass to find spots unknown, only to slip aside for another tease, the coon yelping a dull cry in expectation of something fiercer.
He heard the indiscriminate moans of his audience, heard the lewd requests, the exaltations of fans and lamentations of critics. He heard towels come off. He heard the door opening, again and again, the footsteps and the complaints of a lack of seats. His eyes were closed, and he heard everything with a distinct sharpness that only managed to whet his curiosity of just what, exactly, those sounds were and meant.
Then, finally, he felt a tug on his collar. He felt more than a tug. He was forced up onto all fours, as his back arched, as his throat opened in a shout, as his ass was split open with a deep thrust. He heard cheers, moans, applause. He took the dick to the hilt, first thrust, he took that dick like you take a dick when you're in a position to complain about how you're being made to take a dick. It's not romance. Bite your lip and if you feel the urge to say anything, just groan instead. Authoritative thrusts, thrusts you felt in your shoulders, confident thrusts that seemed to demonstrate a pride in being a top. He was fucked, he felt the word never rung truer before. The jaguar slapped his hips against those ice-cream asscheeks like wonderful percussion, he kept silent and let his audience provide his soundtrack. The coon blushed. He bit his lip, still, he groaned, still. A little less, but he had to, still.
A paw tugged the shock of neon green hair that was messy on the coon's head, lifted his head up for all to see the expression on his face, wound tight into a contorted expression of mad passion. Paw on his collar, paw in his hair, each pulling to meet every thrust, each contributing its share to the coon's cries, coloring them to a tone and pitch that perfectly matched being fucked deep while your hair is pulled and collar choked. And he was fucked deeply, oh so deeply, deep like being drilled for oil. He knew damn well how long that cock was, now. The jaguar didn't lack for thickness, but he reached spots inside the coon that couldn't be penetrated by ultrasound. He bit his lips a little less, he groaned a little less, and God love him, he even pressed his hips back to meet the jaguar's advances. No thrust was overlooked, no hump was skimped for inches, the jaguar pumped like he wanted the coon to memorize every inch, know by heart how every vein felt when it entered his plump ass.
The paw on his hair left for a moment, reemerging beneath him, stroking his cock already dripping.
"But don't you dare," the words sunk into his ear, "But don't you dare..."
He understood. He understood and he moaned, a moan deep and rich that filled the small room. The paw was relentless, it squeezed and tapped against his balls and stroked begging for the bliss of defiance. "But don't you dare..." the cat purred again, leaning over the coon's back, his thrusts coming quicker, the crowd becoming louder as the telltale tones of the delight of orgasm began to be heard. His eyes didn't open, he let himself imagine it. And if he kept his eyes closed, he wouldn't cum. If he didn't open his eyes to see the men staring at him as he was fucked on the hard, hot wooden bench, he wouldn't cum, he wouldn't dare open his eyes to that. And so he writhed. He writhed and he squirmed and his body shook with hopeless convulsions of joy as he fought back against the pleasure the jaguar thrust upon him.
He saw spots, he felt hot in the head, he wondered about eternity, he held back, he kept his eyes closed. His ass was beat with a rough, almost savage locomotion, a constantly drubbing, an inexorable piston of inches that brought him boiling with a brick on his lid. And the paw, the paw just stroked and stroked, dared him to cum, made his balls bounce until the pulled tight against his body, made him leak in puddles onto the bench.
A thrust buried him, made his weak knees give, and suddenly he was flat on his stomach, the jaguar throbbing on top of him, inside of him, staccato moans escaping his throat. The jaguar thrust still as if to sink him further into the bench, as if to bust him right through it. The coon could hear each jet in the jaguar's grunts, could imagine each thick and heady jet from the way the jaguar's paw tightened even more around his collar.
He felt the jaguar get off.
Eyes closed, he laid there among the heavy breathing.
His dick felt heavy, too.
He felt a new body on top of him. He heard a new voice in his ear. It said, "Don't you dare."
He bit his lip, again, he groaned, again.