The Stranger
I wake nervous. The television still flickers, the sound low. I shift my position on the couch and my empty TV dinner tray falls to the carpet. My whiskers quiver. A roof beam cracks as it settles. A soft, extended sigh wafts up from the baseboards as the furnace kicks in.
At 3:45 A.M., the room is an impressionist's study, without definite edges or shapes. The orange street lamp outside the windows gives just enough light to see the path to the kitchen. My black rodent eyes flit about the room. It's all as orderly as the Night Before Christmas, every angle exact, every darkness-blurred object accounted for.
I am a light sleeper, but this is different, somehow. If I concentrate all my attention on the black, still room and the faint traffic outside, I can almost feel it. A nagging subconscious itch that something is wrong.
I reach for the lamp on the end table, but the shadow pooled on the opposite couch to mine extends a paw that grips my wrist. I feel warm, pliant leather. My entire body spams in shock and I let out a squeak. Then I begin to freeze in place, my already rapid heartbeats speeding into a feverish staccato.
Someone is in my house. Someone has me by the wrist and, though the grip is not tight, my first instinct keeps me rooted to the spot. I quiver, shut my eyes, fight panic. They haven't hurt me. If I can get them to release me, maybe I can find a way to reach a phone.
"Wh..what d-do you want?" I manage.
A leather finger taps my lips, a silent order not to speak. I can sense him, now. It is very definitely a male presence. The sheer bulk of it could allow for no other option. The scent I get from him is the pungent warmth of the leather he wears.
I cannot even see his eyes. A mouse has some of the best night vision of any animal, yet his face is an obscure mask. Still, I can trace the outline of his head, ears, snout. I freeze in place all over again.
Every mouse knows the set of those ears, the shape of that muzzle. As if sensing my realization, the feline head gives a slow nod. Then he moves toward me.
I blanch again at his size. Yes, I am only 5'4, and yes, he is most likely some form of larger cat species. But that doesn't account for all of it. I can't even see the kitchen doorway behind him. The swell of his body blocks all else.
He's leaning closer, now, with great heavy paws pushing gently on my shoulders, making me lean back into the cushions.
I shiver. Without speech, he's not quite real. Briefly, I wonder if perhaps I'm dreaming. But then his leather-clad fingers pinch my nipple, as if testing for a reaction, and I know I'm not.
I give a tiny high-pitched gasp. Half fright, half not. His touch sends an electric shock down my body on a direct course to my crotch. The tip of his finger swirls over the tip of my nipple.
My lips flutter, begin to form words. He wags a finger and shakes his head.
Those big gloved paws hug my sides and stroke downward. It's a strange kind of massage that ends with his fingers hooking into my boxers.
My cock surges to life within them at having the touch of another male so close. His thumbs slide along the upper curve of my thighs, in my pubic fur, but not close enough. He drags my boxers off.
My little mousey prick jumps like a flag pole in a pop-up book. His head surveys it, tilting slowly from side to side, studying it. He runs a pinky finger down the shaft and I squirm, but I dare not move.
I shut my eyes as he pets my cock again, then turn my head to glance around for the phone. It's there. I can make out the white receiver over his bulging black shoulder.
He stands over me. He plucks at his wrist until the glove starts to loosen. He tugs on the fingers. The glove slips free and exposes a paw. Inky black, the fur throwing back the faint light outside in a translucent sheen like a flawed opal. Soft, faintly pink paw pads. Thick, round knuckles connected to rippling sinew.
He pulls off his other glove. He folds them and sets them on the end table. I watch him reach up and start to unzip his leather mask. It opens from the back, along the spine of the neck. He pulls it outward and then off.
My mouth starts to fall open. One of the sculptures of Bastet in the city museum must have come to life and come hunting for me. His face is perfect. The contour to his muzzle, the turn of his black lips. The golden eyes slide open and I am staring at some shadowy god.
But why me? I have no connections to the gay scene, no job that would make me valuable as a hostage, no enemies or..come to think of it..friends who might have set up something like this. Where in God's name did this man come from?
His naked paws press themselves to my chest. He kneads my flesh with them. I've heard house cat owners describe it as "making muffins," and it's supposedly a sign of deep contentment or affection.
This dark panther god makes it more like a sign of approval, and no house cat ever made muffins this sensually. His finger pads give just enough friction to feel like a strange form of kissing through my soft, thin fur.
He bends over me, one knee pressed into the couch cushions directly between my legs. His paws grip hard. His lips meet mine.
I don't care. I don't care any more who or why. His tongue owns every inch of my mouth while his lips conquer me. I've thirsted, physically thirsted for kisses such as this. Kisses where time stops. Where thought dies. Where reason melts and then bubbles, and then sizzles into lustful flame.
My little paws slide up his exposed neck, feeling the velvet fur, the rippling neck muscles. My paws can't even close around the girth of it. I tentatively return the affection.
His tongue sweeps from my mouth and welcomes mine into his own. I explore the mouth of my natural enemy. I taste his long, curved fangs.
Now I want more.
His eyes catch the street light enough to glow as they narrow with his triumphant smirk. He reaches up. My large round ears catch every snap of the zipper he slowly, teasingly, undoes down the front of his jacket.
He stops just before the zipper's end and leans forward again. My little paws slip within and my mouth floods with saliva. Muscle. Tight, hard, massive, smooth muscle. Skin taught and nearly bursting with it. His chest seems to go on and on for acres, the mounds swelling outward like watermelons before tapering downward beyond what I can reach.
Now I know why he is so big. It's all flesh. The leather getup is paper thin, almost like latex, and the rest is all him.
He smiles down at me. My reaction is just what he wants. He knew. Somehow he knew exactly what my dream guy is built like. I wonder if perhaps he's stalked me. I fantasize that he knows every secret fantasy of mine, that he's researched me from the shadows, watching me slow my car whenever I pass a gym, peeking in my window at night to watch me stroke myself to screaming climax over muscle worship videos.
Yet I know nothing about him. Not even what he sounds like. And none of it matters. Because he is here and he is not going to leave until he deigns to go. And I am going to beg him to stay. I am going to beg on my knees if he wants me to. I have a feeling he's that type.
He grips the edges of his jacket, spreads them slowly wider. I can see more of him now.
I count his abs twice. Eight of them. I could fit my paw around any one of those abdominal mountains. Obliques ripple and streak off to the sides of his abs like jet contrails. I trace the cuts down into his pants. I can only imagine what the southern hemisphere is like.
I explore northward again, up into the continent of his chest. He has adorable, perky little pink nipples that are just the right size for my little mouth. When he breaths, his pecs tense, and the smooth surface shreds into a ripped cloth of striations.
He nods to me again, smirking wider. He tenses his abs, his pecs. They swell even more, if that's possible.
My throbbing dick squirts precum like a squeeze bottle.
His arms. I have to see his arms, now. But he doesn't let me yet. Instead he grips my wrist again and guides my quivering fingers up the sleeves. He squeezes the top of my paw, and I obediently squeeze his right arm just above the elbow. I whimper. It doesn't give an inch. He makes a fist, rolls his wrist slowly back and forth. The hidden, huge muscle slides under my palm and then up along my fingers, fat as a ripe Thanksgiving squash.
His soft purr-growl tells me I've done well. I feel his supple silken tail coil around my waist. He wants me for himself, and my cheeks burn that such a vast male would have desire for a mouse like me.
His great paws cup me under my back and lift me like a doll into his incredible arms. I groan. I make for his nipples, but he presses his thumb against my throat and pushes me back. I'm not allowed, yet.
He moves like a cloud through my house. His huge bare feet squeeze my carpet with their thick toe pads and distribute his weight perfectly. Not a floorboard creaks as he carries me to my bedroom.
All I can do is cuddle into his warm darkness. I listen to the slow thud of his heart, the soft rush of his great lungs. He is real, made of flesh and blood. A single thick finger keeps stroking my head fur, lulling me into a half trance. I sink into this wonderful state halfway between sleep and waking, mixed with the raging hard on that his mere presence keeps from going away.
He lies me on the edge of my bed and towers over me, bulging arms akimbo, cocking his head with an amused half smirk. He's so massive his huge thighs can almost straddle my entire mattress. The darkness makes him look even bigger.
He pulls his leather jacket open. The thick slabs of his dark pecs ripple as he starts to work his huge arms out of the sleeves. The flaps of the jacket pull away from those shredded abs like a pair of curtains. I watch while they swell and shrink in time to the sway of his body. First one shoulder, then the other becomes bare.
They swell upward from either side of his thick traps, his own personal Aztec pyramids, holy mountains of black flesh as solid as those ancient stones. The jacket sleeves slither down the swell of his biceps and catch for a moment. He's forced to physically yank them down over his elbows, and not gently either. Those sleeves must have been so tight to his arms they were cutting off circulation. And that jacket has got to be a double extra large.
Once free of his biceps, gravity does the rest, and the jacket falls from his bulging forearms into his waiting paws. I hardly notice. I'm too busy trying to tear my eyes away from the biceps, now that I can see them.
It's rather like the difference between knowing a tiger weighs a quarter of a ton and seeing a quarter of a ton of living animal in action. The lower bulging edges of his shoulder slice inward toward themselves, framing the expanding swell of the bicep's head, a muscle so big it could swallow my face within its depths. No veins visible, at least not in this light, and it gives him a polished, perfected look.
He drops the jacket and pulls me toward him, my body sliding across the mattress. He turns me around, then grips both my wrists in one huge paw. His fingers squeeze them behind my back, forcing my face down against the sheets. I hear the jacket rustle.
The leather sleeves loop around my wrists and he tightens them into a makeshift knot. I give a soft, squeaking whimper and squirm, utterly helpless now. As if to reassure me, his huge paws slowly rub over the small hard mounds of my bare ass.
"Mmmmmmm!"
The sound ruptures from my throat. His fingers are so silky and warm. One huge paw cups my throat and raises me back upright. I'm kneeling like a slave facing the bedroom wall, quivering in anticipation. My little mouse prick is like an oversized pencil of pink flesh, twitching between my legs.
He starts to kiss my neck. I always expected cats to purr when they made love, but my shadow lover is utterly silent, and it only adds to the surreal situation. His lips are thin but incredibly soft. I can feel them smear against my skin, the very tip of his rough tongue swirling in small dances between them. Occasionally one or the other of his massive incisors will gently scrape my skin, sending primal shivers through my body.
He pulls me closer, wrapping me within the aura of heat coming from his enormous body. His big black paws slide around my waist from behind. Claiming me. He extends his broad pink tongue and rolls it across the width of my jugular, slurps it under my little chin. Each lick elicits a soft gasp from me. It is the only way I'm breathing now...lick, gasp in, lick, gasp out.
One of his paws slides between my legs. His strong fingers conceal my cock in darkness. My eyes squeeze shut and I begin to moan at the top of my little mouse lungs. He doesn't stroke me. He simply holds my cock in his warm fingers, firm and steady, giving a squeeze every so often. It makes me desperate to hump his paw, but I don't. I just kneel there - body rigid, mouth groaning, cock dripping rodent pre into his clenched paw.
His paw pulls away. I hear him wash it clean. I hope he enjoys how I taste.
I get my answer when that same paw cups my jaw and pulls my head back. We kiss, hard and lustful, both of our throats thrumming with soft noises of pleasure - mine gentle squeaks, his deep sensual purrs. My back is arched so I can meet his kiss, my belly pushed outward into the night air.
He extends his claws. Thick daggers of ivory hiss gently through my belly fur on their way to my chest, leaving faint trails of bare skin in their wake as they shear me. My squeaking swells into a yowl of utter need.
He uses the knot in his jacket that holds my paws helpless to yank me around and gather me into his arms. Those magnificent, titanic, bulging black arms sandwich me to his immense bare chest. Its firm curves of flesh press against me from my throat all the way to my balls.
His spit floods into my mouth and drips from the corners of my lips as his tongue rams into my throat. I respond with hard, feverish humps into his muscular chest.
We fall onto the mattress together like two eagles spiraling from the sky with talons locked. His weight starts to push against me immediately. His massive, muscular embrace begins to make it hard to breathe.
I try to break from the kiss and start to struggle in his arms. His purr grows into a deeper, lustful predatory snarl. I fight panic. I work on freeing my paws, and once I do, I shove them with all my strength against his mighty pecs.
Nothing. Not even a budge. His body just continues to sink inexorably down onto me, the proverbial cat relaxing all his muscles at once to become a living sack of lead. He snickers at my futile struggles.
I'm gasping now, my lungs pressed so hard they can barely move, his thick bulging arms a vice around my body. I punch his rock hard muscles in desperation. His hold on me relaxes. He presses down onto the mattress with his paws, easing off of me just enough to let me breathe freely.
Once I've recovered, I notice him cocking his head with a sly smirk on that dark face, as if asking if I enjoyed what he just did. He was toying with me. And he still is by waiting for me to make the next move.
A part of me is furious at him for scaring me. But another part of me thinks it's the hottest thing any man's ever done to me in bed. I compromise. I try to guide our session back into the gentle vein by sliding my paws up his chest, two little boats caressing a vast black sea of flesh.
His smirk grows, approving, encouraging. It's like groping two pliant boulders, the skin smooth under the short black fur. He glances down at his own chest and then rolls first one thick pectoral, then the other, then both at once. He flexes them as slow as it takes a grown man to breathe, so that I can feel the muscle literally roll in a wave up and down my fingers.
I can't resist leaning forward and giving them a kiss. His pink tongue washes me between my ears and I groan, forgetting how he nearly suffocated me just moments ago. I wrap my arms - puny by comparison - around his immense back. My paws aren't even close to touching each other, and I start to grip his hard bulging back in great fist fulls as my lust rushes to new heights.
I'm eating them, now. Literally chewing on them with my flat mouse incisors and lips, tasting his fur, his skin, flicking with my little pink tongue in some attempt at returning pleasure. It seems he doesn't mind the mild pain, because the huge cat starts to purr all around me.
I roll my hips, starting to hump him again, ploughing my thin prick up the central furrow of his deep cut abs. The inner edges of the bulging muscles brush either side of my shaft, almost like rolling pins laid next to each other, except that these are living steamrollers of pure muscle that flex and contract with each breath he takes.
He flexes black thighs as thick as my pelvis and our cocks collide in a supernova of pleasure. We both gasp in unison, cocks nuzzling like lovers. I bite his chest hard, as hard as I can, and fuck the consequences. I want him close. I want him to surround me. I want him inside of me in any way I can take it, even if it's just a bulge of his muscle in my mouth.
His only reaction is a slow, lustful snarling purr, and the feeling of his thick shaft growing so hard it twitches, utterly immobile, a steel piston of man power.
He flexes his abs into a slow crunch and the muscles squeeze my shaft like a fist. I can picture my little prick vanishing within the folds and creases of his muscles. I gasp the deepest lungful of air I've ever taken. Our eyes meet. Hold. He shifts his big hips slowly back and forth so that his contracted abs do a slow wave and ripple all around my cock. He gazes into my eyes as I scream and squirt a stream of man milk into the depths of his six pack.
The orgasm sends a lightning bolt all the way back between my thighs to the base of my tail and leaves my balls, loins and cock with a red hot sensation of pleasurable warmth that just makes me want to fuck against his body harder.
His pecs twitch, a silent order. I pant and smash my face into them. I work my little pointed muzzle like a wedge, cramming myself against his godliness, wanting his gorgeous ebony body to absorb me.
He rumbles, a shifting mountain of a sound, and gives me what I want. He slowly lowers himself down onto me once more and this time keeps his bulging arms out away from my body as he gives a single, hard flex of his chest. The pectorals smash against my cheeks. The pressure forces my mouth open in an exaggerated pucker and I stick my tongue tip out to clean the depths of them like some sort of anteater. I can hear his heart in my ears, his slow, steady breathing. Like a rock, this man. His control of his own desire is perfect. Nothing rushed, nothing given freely or without conscious choice.
He releases me. I sink back onto my mattress with a high-pitched little sigh. I start to caress myself. I'm so horny I have to do something to shed the excess energy. His big black paws cover mine to stop me. He gently pushes them aside and takes over for me.
Those big delicious fingers are much stronger than mine, able to penetrate deeper into my skin, spreading the warmth of my afterglow through my body like a knife spreading butter.
Two pairs of fingers close over my tiny nipples. I grin at first, but then his tendons snap into sharp relief, pinching hard, almost viciously. I gasp and instantly start to writhe. The pain mixes with the pleasure like hot and cold water.
He curls his lip and gives a deep-throated snarl. I try to relax. I concentrate on breathing while he slowly twists my nipples back and forth, waves of sharp needle pain sparkling into my chest from his actions, becoming a white hot ache throbbing in time to my heartbeat.
He pulls on them as he lets go, then lowers his mouth to one. I screech. I squeak. I moan. My fluttering paws stroke behind his ears. With all the blood rushing back into my nipples, they're hyper sensitive, and his slow sucking licks are amplified ten times.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, it feels so utterly glorious. And once again I wonder who this man is. Or if he is even a man at all, or instead if he really is a god.
He gives me a single, exaggerated, slow lick up the center of my chest to my neck and then we're kissing once more.
He is panting - slow, steady and bellows-like. I'm fighting not to hyperventilate. We're both ready to finish this. I have a feeling his load is going to be as huge as the rest of him.
He grips my shoulders, slams me..literally slams me down onto my back in the bed, making it creak, and devours my mouth with his. All I can do his hold my mouth open while he works it from one end to the other.
I make a flailing grab toward his crotch, but I'm sluggish with the overwhelming pleasure and my rebuilding lust.
He gets that impish coy smile again. He lifts his massive muscular body up onto all fours and crawls like his feral cousin over my body. His crotch sways, heavy and dark, closer and closer to me. Then he's straddling my face, cutting off sight of everything but his immense bulging thighs and those beautiful ebony jewels, so plump and perfect behind his proud feline spear with it's moist cockhead.
He kneels with my head between his legs, then works his thighs even higher, rubbing his balls up my chest, against my neck so that my muzzle is buried in the gentle musk under his shaft.
I open my mouth. He arches his lower back and raises his ass, then relaxes it and lowers himself again. I swirl my lips and tongue around those fat testicles like an ice cream cone. And it is delicious. His balls are semi-smooth, not full of thick crotch hair like you'd find on a bull or a bear. The skin glides easily once my spit lubricates it, and he slowly, teasingly bobs his nuts in and out while I worship them in exaggerated French kisses with my paws wrapped around his waist, fingers slowly caressing that gorgeous black ass.
He makes leonine huffing sounds through his nose. I can feel the tension in those huge muscles like a gathering storm.
I stop on his nuts and roll my little mouse tongue in quick flicks all the way up his shaft to the tip. I only slip his head into my mouth when he digs his huge claws into the sheets and lets out a purring roar.
It's the most sound I've heard from him. Rich, nutty-salty cream bursts into my mouth from his twitching man meat. His self-control shreds a little and he bucks his big hips to milk my mouth for all the pleasure it can give. It must feel so wonderfully small and tight around his cock. I have to squeeze hard with my lips so that his cock is shielded from my big incisors.
He pulls out with that long, satisfied sigh a man makes after a really good orgasm. I lie on my side, my head resting on one of my paws, and smile up at him. He purrs softly and lies down next to me.
We snuggle and kiss for perhaps another hour before he washes me under the chin one last time. By then, I'm in a half awake state of bliss, already semi-dreaming of him on top of me, listening to my horny little squeaks as his thick pink head yawns open my pucker like the key to a vault, over and over.
The absence of warmth wakes me. He is gone. Only his scent lingers, an incense of man in the air, on the sheets as I smell them. I will not wash these sheets for a week.