Learning a Lesson
_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car
If you enjoy the story, please leave a comment!_
"Hey sweet cheeks," the tiger said, walking at least ten steps in front of the lithe and luscious Fennec he'd met - though he'd use the term "picked up" - at a bar only a few hours beforehand. "Which of these apartments is yours?" He stood swaying lightly at the door, a smile like victory on his face. He knew he was in. Now he was just getting impatient.
"Hold on," Amelia said as she fished through her purse for her key, "it's just one door down. Be patient. And quiet down a little!" She was deathly afraid her neighbors might wake up to see a strange man being let into her apartment. She blushed as she turned the key and opened the door, wary of her neighbors waking up to see her letting a stranger into her home, who probably smelled of booze from a hundred yards away. She had twinges of regret bringing the man home, but he had been captivating enough at the bar, showing off his muscles with a confidence that never quite pushed cockiness, telling her a few jokes that might have been too dirty, drinking buckets of beer as a demonstration of his inherent male virility or something. He wasn't quite prince charming, she wasn't quite desperate, but both were close enough that he scored a trip home with her. The way she saw it, if she was set on getting laid tonight, the tiger might have been as well as she was going to do anyway.
"Where's the bathroom, honey pot?" He asked with a smile displaying the kind of condescension you can only get away with after a few years of marriage. Amelia swallowed her pride, hoped this new and sudden confidence was just the last drink in the cab home talking, and pointed him away. He left her with a smack on the ass. She turned to shoot a look of contempt at him, but his back was turned, his broad shoulders to her which in their own special way placated her. She didn't like being treated badly, but guys... it's just what some guys do. Maybe he thought he was being silly.
She stepped into the bedroom and stripped off her top that smelled of smoke and slipped into a tight little number she liked to call The Drool Collector. It was a negligee, a pearl colored little thing made of silk that displayed all her best features in a way that kept them hidden still, kept you waiting like for a teaser after the credits of a movie. It wasn't tight, yet it seemed to follow her slender body exactly, the kind of elegance of fashion you get for maxing out your credit card. In it, she felt sexy, she felt alive, she felt beautiful and radiant and desirable. She followed her own body with her hands over her hips, curvy like a mountain road. A little bit of it might have been the alcohol, but oh damn, she felt wonderful.
"You gonna take that thing off?" The tiger asked, surprising her a little as he leaned against the door frame. "No reason to hide that sexy little body of yours," he added with a clumsy wink. She sighed.
"I think it looks good on me, don't you?" she asked, hopeful.
"Fine, ok, wear it. You'll be taking it off eventually, I'm sure." the tiger drawled. He sincerely thought he was being suave, she could tell. Her confidence suddenly wavered, and she felt a twinge of regret. Men changed the moment they got in the cab to drive home. His kisses seemed so less passionate with each mile closer they got, his hands so much more welcome to wandering. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She felt herself a strong woman, and a man veering off course didn't mean she couldn't bring him back with a little passionate reminder of what women want. He sat down in bed, leaning backwards on his elbows, the collar of his shirt half undone. She climbed up with him, close her eyes, and pressed her lips to... his hand?
"Woah," he said, "what are you doing?"
"I was... trying to kiss you..." she said, bewildered.
"We, um... didn't we do that on the way home?" He said. He was oblivious. "I think we did. I might have forgotten!" He laughed easily, like it was supposed to be charming.
"We did," Amelia said through her teeth.
"Oh, well then, now aren't we at the part where you blow me?"
Amelia looked in his eyes with a hateful stare the tiger must have drunkenly mistaken for catty exuberance. "Maybe," she said, trying her luck, "we're at the part where you eat me out. Did you ever think of that?"
"I don't do that," the tiger said flatly, with a tone of decidedness like it was civil disobedience, a just cause. "I just don't." He looked annoyed now, too. "I never have, I never will. That's just... that's just not something I do. If you don't like it you're welcome to pass me up," he said, already laying in her bed with his pants unzipped. She wanted to spit in his eye, but she counted backwards from ten. He's got a bit of an attitude problem, but more importantly than that, he's got a dick, and the tease of the cab drive home had only made her more intent to scratch that itch that she could live with tomorrow's regret.
She pulled down his pants. She was almost disappointed to see that the tiger at least had a dick to back up his cockiness. He was packing the kind of meat that gives you the right to not feel guilty buying a sports car. The kind that, to her own guilt, almost made her forgive his attitude. It hung over her, half-hard and bowed toward her nose, escaping from his pants like a jack-in-the-box. He had the kind of dick you wish nice guys had. With a sigh of something almost like defeat, she gave the head a lick. She could be sensual here, at least, with kisses at the base of the rod by the meaty balls, and long slow licks under the whole length, pressing her lips against it softly, using her tongue like it was something more than a slick wet muscle. She heard the ooohs and low moaning sighs that seemed to approach sensuality.
Her confidence came back in slow waves as she began to wrap her lips around the tip, gently flicking the tip of the tongue against the bottom of his head. He kept his low, almost hushed moans, not saying a word as she delicately worked his meat over, loving herself every lusty lick she played barely across his skin. She felt she may have won him over, gotten him to relax, gotten him to appreciate her sensuality. Until she felt a paw on her big ear push her down the shaft, her eyes opening wide with surprise as the shaft pressed into the back of her throat.
"What was that?!" she demanded, wiping her mouth. "You almost choked me!"
"Haha, am I really that big?" he said with self-satisfaction.
"That was incredibly rude! You can't just try to shave my head into your crotch!"
"Well baby, you just need to learn to suck a cock like how a man wants it."
The end.
It took the the promise of a massage - which would relax her and get her better in the mood to do exactly what he wanted - to get the tiger on his stomach. With the cunning that comes only from adrenaline, she snapped the cuffs over his wrists without him hardly noticing. Those cuffs themselves were quickly secured to the headboard before the tiger knew what hit him. It was all over before the tiger could say "What?" He could only look behind him and watch with a look of startled curiosity as Amelia disappeared into the closet. She emerged a moment later having swapped her negligee for a black corset and, a sight that must have sobered the tiger up rather quickly, a punishingly big strap on that hung between her legs like a mallet. Had the tiger been able to break his staring match with the daunting toy that put his own unit to shame, he would have seen a look of defiance on the fennec's face.
She jumped into bed and took a spot behind him, lifting him up onto his knees, immediately pressing the shiny black dildo against his hole, having to lift his tail to make the threat. Now she grinned from ear to ear, her heart beating with a sense of power she'd never felt before, a sense like finally she decided what was happening, to who, in what spots.
"What are you doing?" he asked in a tone that begged not to be answered, not a drop of authority left in his voice.
"Teaching you a lesson," she said curtly, holding her hands against the tiger's hips. She placed the toy against his hole, and awed in herself for a moment as she felt the tiger writhe beneath her.
"Oh God!" he said, "Please don't! I'm not gay, I'm not meant for this!" he pleaded.
"You're not gay and I'm not a tramp, but one of us already got treated as such, now it's the other's turn."
The tiger fought against his cuffs, turned his hips, tried to wrap his tail around the toy, any single move he could think of to try and shake the toy threatening his virgin hole. "Please don't, really, Please please please please..."
"And how about I pull your hair while I fuck you?"
He whined.
"And how about I see if just a spit lube's enough?"
He whined louder.
"And how about, while I'm spreading you open, I think of the best possible way to tell my friends later I fucked a nice big burly tiger right in the ass?"
He whined louder, and begged. He didn't say sorry, he didn't make amends, he simply said "Please please please."
She repositioned herself, got in front of the tiger, had a chance to look him in the eyes. "Bitch, if you don't want this to go in dry, you better lube it up real good!" He bowed his head, stared at his punishment, and did so. He gagged on the length, coughing as he tried to ease the beast back into his mouth. Amelia put her hands on his eyes and helped through the gags, thrust her hips slightly just to give him those unexpected coughing fits. His cheeks burnt so hot they could have melted the rubber, and though his muzzle was stuffed you could hear his high pitched whine as he sucked at his shame.
Pulling it from his lips, he almost fought for a little more, wary of the need for lube, but she was back behind him before he could sneak another lick, lifting his orange tail and pressing the slick toy against his hole. She couldn't stop smiling. She rehearsed inside her a million different lines to say as she made her first defiant thrust. Her heart beat fast, she felt a tingle in her large ears that stayed perked up, she felt like biting his shoulder. It was power. Looking at the tiger, broad body and all, face buried in the sheets and ass high in the air, she felt powerful. She grabbed his hair, he yelped. She pushed, he screamed. It didn't even go in. She pushed again, he wailed. Still didn't go in. She grabbed his shoulders, shifted all her weight against him, and broke his seal. He split open and his throat opened wide too with a hearty wail, hushed quickly by the biting of a pillow.
He moaned heavy moans into the pillow as Amelia began to pound away, a sick smile on her face never fading as she pounded him. She bent over him, grabbing his hair and lifting him up, reveling in the pained expression on his face. "Is this how you wanted to make me feel? Is this how you think women are supposed to enjoy sex?" He could only answer with a pained "No, no!" She pulled his hair as she thrust again, making him cry out. "You just wanna do whatever you want and hear us tell you we just love being the bitch, don't you? Tell me you love being the bitch!" She ordered him. He was hardly even adjusted to the toy, and she found the thrusts were hard to even manage herself. She spit on the toy and humped firmer into him. "Go on, tell me you love being fucked like this, it's exactly what you would have expected out of me." He still refused, only grunting through clenched teeth as he was spread open.
"I'm just going to keep fucking you like a slut until you say it, that you want to be fucked like one, because that's all you expected out of me."
He fought with the words, now, his mouth moving dumbly, not saying anything. She had taken to quick, powerful thrusts, waiting with her fake dick buried inside him as he moaned with the deep penetration, waiting for him to finally say it. Then she pulled back, waited a moment, giving the occasional spit lube, and thrust again. His own dick swung beneath him, hard and dripping now, betraying his sudden begs to "stop, please," as if he wasn't enjoying it.
"What's that?" She asked, egging him on to ask again.
"Please, please, I'm sorry, I'll kiss you, I'll hug you, I'll snuggle you, I'll eat you out, I'll do anything, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" The confession seemed to drain him more than the ass-pounding. Satisfied, Amelia pulled out her toy to see a battered hole. She slipped off her bottom, then found her way in front of the tiger, his whiskers drooping, his breath heavy. Without a word, she pressed his head into her snatch. An easy transition, for her at least, and he seemed to take to it soon enough as well, with a weariness attributed to drunkenness, or, possibly, the fact he'd just had his ass reamed for the first time with a ten inch strap-on. He licked slow, long, tentative licks, getting deeper each time. She rubbed his ears, feeling exhausted herself, coming down from the high of her power trip. Having taken off the strap-on, she didn't feel the same person. She could hardly believe only a few moments ago she'd been mounted up on his ass, making him cry and beg, yet with the tiger between her thighs she knew that whatever she'd really done up there, it worked. He lapped over her lips, and for the first time that night, she moaned, too.
It wasn't any type of eating out experience she had before. The tiger didn't slurp at her with lustful fervor, he didn't wriggle his tongue in sensual waves, he... it would be hard to describe how he did it, though the fact that it was the first pussy on his tongue was evident. And yet, with this queer feeling, Amelia was in ecstasy, her back arching and her paws gripping the rounded ears rough. The tiger whined, his tongue dipping slowly in, but not hesitatingly, penetrating deeply if not quickly like water dripping through stone. She still couldn't quite place what it was that was making her writhe like this. It wasn't that the tiger was hitting all the right spots. It wasn't that he had a sudden lustful energy that she couldn't help but return. And yet, every time his tongue made that long and dutiful journey into her she moaned a little louder.
Suddenly, it hit her: Obedience.
The tiger was going at the pace of obedience. Not the pace of being forced. Not the pace of enthusiasm, or even disgust, or anything else. He was eating her pussy because he knew it was what he had to do. He was in his place, and Amelia reveled in the fact that he'd put him there with her ten inches of justice. He slurped at her clit with the patience of a man sentenced to life, he sucked at her lips with the temperance of a fasting man sipping water. He explored every inch his tongue could reach, experiencing it like he was just learning about pussy for the first time. He painted the outer lips with his spit, then teased the lips inside with the tip of his tongue. He prodded at her hood, making her almost blush in excitement when he found the prize inside, with a little help of direction from some not-so-subtle ear pulls.
Her chest heaving with deep breaths of lust, she buried two fingers in with the tiger's tongue, working herself over in a way the inexperienced tiger never could have. She was so close... she teased her clit and pressed the tiger's muzzle so firm against her his nose was buried in it. She was panting now, her legs were shaking, her toes curling. She shoved the tiger's head away and, quickly repositioning herself as she fought through gasps and moans, squirted on his face. He recoiled in surprise, but only a few inches, not near enough to avoid the second spray (or the the third). His fur gleamed with the wetness. It dripped onto his lips. He whimpered a low, dulcet, sad cry as he opened his stinging eyes.
Amelia collapsed back against the headboard, her chest still rising and falling in great huffs, her eyes closed as she collected her senses. When they opened, the tiger laid there still looking up at her, not a word spoken, not an inch moved.
"Now," she said, looking down at him as if he was a problem to be dealt with, "do you see what it's like to be fucked like a bitch, bitch?"
He nodded sheepishly.
"Well, let's make sure this lesson stays with you," she said as she reached for the strap-on again.