Indian Ink
INDIAN INK
by Nikora Angeli
--This is an adult fiction created for those of a perverse mind...who are hopefully over the age of 18. Or whatever the legal porn age is in your country. Either way, if you're not, don't tell me. I'm not responsible for your perversion, I swear!--
Tags: Otter, vixen, oral, vaginal, bondage, master/slave, creation.
"Damn...out of black ink again." Zehpyr, a lanky otter of 23, examined the empty bottle and sighed, tossing it into the trash. His arms stretched above him as he yawned and contemplated the unfinished work taped to the drafting table. 'I could wait until morning to finish it,' he mulled quietly, the thoughts turning slowly over in his head. But he sighed and shook his head: 'it can't wait till morning...' He eyed the figure on the paper. 'I have to finish this tonight; the muse won't stand for it any other way.'
He chuckled and pushed back his chair, shaking his head at the muse that urged him to do art; the one that kept him up at nights to sketch a thumbnail of what he'd seen in his dreams, the one that insisted on this purple instead of that blue. A fickle thing, a muse. As he pulled his jacket on over his bare chest, he wondered whether it was possible to deny his muse. And as he turned to lock the door to his apartment, he decided it was impossible.
Fifteen minutes later, his beat-up old truck was cruising down the road with he windows down. With one paw on the wheel and one paw on his cap to keep it from blowing away and releasing his long brown hair, he whistled along to the radio. His internal map went on autopilot, and his vehicle slid smoothly down the street towards the art supply shop. He glanced at the digital display: 8:49PM blinked back at him amicably. He hoped it wouldn't close before he got there.
Luckily enough, as he rolled up, Sonja was still sweeping inside. He tapped on the glass, spreading his ink-stained paws on the window as he peeked in. She peered back at him searchingly, then brightened and unlocked the door, ushering him in.
"Zephyr," she chirred pleasantly, the petit grey goth cat greeting him with a friendly pat on his rump. He swayed his tail and grinned at her, blushing: as much as he tried to avoid staring, her cleavage was almost spilling out of her low-cut shirt. But she didn't seem to notice; she flicked her ankh earrings against her untidy short black hair and smiled at him, leaning on the counter. "What's the artsyotter need tonight, hmm? Seems like an emergency art run."
He spread his paws out to her. "I'm out of ink. I need more black, or else I'll never finish this picture." He kept a firm mental check to keep his mind from wandering into his pants.
She examined his paws and snickered. "Looks like artsyotter needs to quit using india ink as finger paints. Tcha, abusive to your art supplies!" Nevertheless she ducked behind the glass counter and rummaged around, her tail swishing playfully in the air. He leaned on the glass pane and looked over, waiting for her head to reappear with a paw full of ink bottles. But she didn't: she kept shuffling the bottles back and forth as he waited expectantly.
He finally drew away to gaze around and see what might have come into stock since last week, but it looked unlikely that anything had changed much.
"Looks like you sold your hand maquette," he commented, noting the empty spot on the shelf.
"Owch!" There was a heavy thump and he returned his attention to her as she glared at him over the glass, rubbing her head. "Gyaah, silly otters, startling helping kitties. Yes, Sonja sold the maquette."
"Oh. Erm, sorry." He smiled at the cat, who narrowed her eyes sourly and muttered gibberish, and ducked under again. He prepared to mosy over to the book section but she suddenly reappeared with a triumphant, "AHA!" She slammed a bottle down on the counter and laughed. "We are mostly out of black ink; we must be to get them in soon. Here." She pushed the bottle towards him, smiled again, and waved. "Two dollars."
"Gotcha." The money was already on the counter, and the bottle in his hand. "Thanks Sonja! I don't know where I'd be without you!"
"Wallowing in artsyotter misery, covered in rapidograph, no doubt." She chirred again. "Salujah, Zephyr."
"Yeah, see ya."
--
He thumped down in his chair again, jacket and pants discarded. He followed the Largo method of madness: naked is always the best way to work. 'Especially after Sonja's shirt,' a tiny voice in his mind put in, and he pushed it away unsuccessfully. It was all the more unsuccessful as he settled in to look at his drawing: the naked curves, the sultry pose, the unassuming smile....Why was he drawing this again? A slight tightening in his groin responded, you're a hornball, knucklehead.
As his eyes trailed over her outline that faded into sketchy graphite, he wondered vaguely why he'd risen to his friend's badgering to draw his dream girl. And to draw her attractively.
You're a hornball, his groin piped again, letting its presence be known.
He shook his head and sighed at the vixen, his claw tracing the dry ink. He was tired: he ought to finish this so he could sleep. He pulled the ink bottle out of the pocket of his jacket and set it out, dipping his spoon pen in and scratching away once more. As he inked--a mostly mindless process--he let his mind wander, feeding his cock with a reason to stand up and plead.
His arms wrapped around the soft, black-furred body of the vixen as he pressed his muzzle passionately to hers, his tongue seeking to wrap and caress around her own. He felt his cock rub into the lustrous belly fur and moaned: not only was she soft, she was damn wet...
He shook out of his reverie as he realized he'd spattered some ink on her white paw and cursed softly. He reached for the whiteout, but it was long empty. Damn, so he'd forgotten that too...oh well, a task for the morning. For now, inking.
And daydreaming, his cock reminded him.
Now she was all tied and bound, bent on the floor with her ass in the air. Her tail presented him with exactly what he wanted as it flopped to the side and she moaned in heat. He grabbed her hips, his rudder-like tail lifting in anticipation, and without preamble, shoved his way in, snarling. She whimpered and shrieked in obvious pleasure as he took her ruthlessly, giving her a good smack across her ass for good measure. She jerked deliciously around his cock, ears flattened in ecstasy...
He murred softly under his breath. He gazed down at his work. She was done. The black vixen smiled innocently up at him as she showed off her large and well-curved breasts, her rounded hips, her natural thin waist. Her tail, fluffy and full of luster, lifted behind her invitingly, and off-set her perky nipples in its composition. Perfect, he thought, admiring it. 'Not often I actually like something I do,' he chuckled inwardly. He stroked her soft white paws then stood, his cock aching with fantasy.
"I guess it's bedtime..." He murmured doubtfully, but he flicked off the light anyways. It really was getting late and he best be asleep soon for work.
With a yawn, he flung himself onto his bed, turned out the light remotely, and dozed off to the harsh red blink of 1:25AM by his bed. The colors danced on his eyelids, but he didn't notice...the bed was soft, the room was dark, and he was bone-tired. His mind swam with images and ideas in a subconscious sort of way as he dozed in the half-darkness of his thoughts. With a soft snort, he rolled onto his side and hugged the covers to his chest, his tail wrapped around his legs.
As the minutes ticked by, the ache in his cock got stronger, urging him to do something about those fantasies: the dreams he was having were none too clean anyways. An entire room full of beautiful females, showing themselves to him, licking and caressing each other, locking into embraces with full-tongue kisses...he groaned and rolled over, coming awake from his fuzzy slumber.
There were eyes. And the bed around him was pressed down with pressure. Someone was there with him.
He yelped and flailed, throwing his would-be attacker away from him, grabbing his knife from the bedstand, and hopping awkwardly to his feet. "Who are you! What do you want!" He roared with authority, his hefty plank-like tail swishing through the air with speed and intent. There was a soft scramble on the floorboards as the figure tried to move--to get away, he thought. He leaped forward, tripping on his discarded boxers, and was sent careening into the wall as he attempted to regain his balance.
The figure was crawling towards him -- he could see that much. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he flashed his knife in the red blink of 2:23AM. He waited for his fate, wondering what they would do...but it was only silent as the figure crouched there. He waited, watching them warily. His muscles tied themselves into knots, taut and full of anxiety.
"...Master?" came a tentative little voice.
He squawked in surprise, his rudder slamming into the wall as he backed up. He sprang again to his bedstand and fumbled for the remote, and suddenly the light flooded the room.
On the ground, sitting submissively, crouched a lovely fox. He eyed her with the gaze that read that something impossible and unbelievable had happened--that wild, enraptured sort of look. She was all black, except for her paws and the tip of her tail. Her wide blue eyes were locked onto his face and she looked worried and abashed; as she kneaded her front paws anxiously, he saw that a speckle of black spots spread over her right palm...right where he had spilled the ink. He swore softly, stumbling suddenly into the table as he backed up.
"You...you..." he fumbled.
She strode forward on her paws and knees. He flattened against the wall, staring her down, unable to take his eyes from her crawling form. Her swaying breasts caught his attention like a pendulum, holding him rapt. Suddenly she was kneeling at his feet and her claws were raking down the inside of his thighs, scrubbing through the soft fur there.
"Master," she said again, her voice soft and melodic, "I must leave in the morning. Please tell me what to do -- I am yours." To emphasize this, she ran her long, soft tongue slowly up his half-erect shaft, making him shiver and close his eyes.
He tried to regain his senses, reorder his thoughts. She was leaving in the morning--he'd created her. She was quite literally his. To do with as he pleased. And she was quite willing to do anything for him, it seemed. And being as she was his dream girl...however way he treated her would be exactly what she wants.
She whined and nuzzled between his legs wantingly, her tongue poking out to caress his balls. A slow smile spread over his lips.
He knelt down and grabbed her muzzle roughly, clapping it shut. "Alright, slave, you will listen to your master now." He stared into her sparkling but deferent eyes, feeling himself steel his will. "Erm." He suddenly realized he had no idea exactly what he wanted to do -- or rather what he wanted to do first. He searched his mind, closed his eyes, and shrugged. He'd buy himself time. "Slave, I want you to take control. Tease your master; make him happy." He let go, and eyed her.
Almost instantly a change came over her: her soft doe-gaze turned into a sultry stare, seeming to penetrate to the depths of his desires. Her ears laid back and she murmured--obviously enjoying it--"Yesss, master." She stood up, turning and sauntering to the drawing desk. His eyes followed her ass, how it swayed and moves and revealed on occasion the soft wet pinkness that filled the room with musk. His cock stiffened against his belly, its sheath revealing it in its entirety, his paw sliding across his thigh to stroke it.
The vixen turned, returning with numerous straps and restraints in her paws, all as pitch black as she. She stood over him and curled her lips up in a triumphant smile. "Up, Master. Go stand by the bed."
His nostrils flared as her heavy musk increased with both her nearness and the fact that the nearest part of her to him was her pussy. He gazed up at her from his spot on the floor and nodded. "Yes, mistress." He stood and she smacked a leather strap on his ass, causing him to yelp and jump. He blushed furiously and tucked his tail. That, he had to say, was not his favorite sensation by any means. Nevertheless, he obediently stood by the bed, watching her.
She stepped towards him, and his mind ground to a halt as she stood only an inch or two away from him. Her muzzle was hovering so near his own, and he could smell her pheromones--taste them. His knees wobbled with aching desire. Her paws slid down his arms, warm and commanding, and before he knew what was going on, his arms were up and restrained against the bed. His eyes widened as he tugged at the inky black bands. "Hey!"
But she wasn't listening: she bound Zephyr's ankles to the bed as well, leaving him standing spread-eagle. He protested, pulling against the bonds, but they were tight and he wasn't moving anytime soon. His ears flattened to his head as she stared him in the eye.
"Master will not speak." She pressed a paw to his lips. The paw swept back into his long hair, brushing it away from his shoulder. Then she leaned in and kissed him passionately, her muzzle pressing against his and molding affectionately. Her lips parted and a tongue slid into his mouth, probing for his. Her paws slid down his chest, to his nipples, caressing and rubbing them to stiffness. He sighed and closed his eyes...her attentions were amazing. She licked across his cheek and down into his neck, nipping and growling softly.
"Master will answer when spoken to. Does Master want this?" She stepped back, sliding her hands slowly over her breasts and along her slim form, to her round and luscious hips. Her tail lashed slowly.
"Y-yes..." he gulped, his eyes riveted to her hands.
Her response was commanding. "Master will answer in a certain manner, not with this wavering voice." She leaned in, fondling her own breasts. "Slave will ask again. Does Master want this?"
He took a deep breath. "Yes."
She took his muzzle in her paws and licked the tip of his nose. "Yes what?"
"Yes...mistress?" he ventured.
She purred, a soft melodic sound. "Goood..."
Click. He had been too mesmerized to realize what was going on ... again. His neck was bound by a collar with a long inky leash that was wound tight around her palm. Those eyes, so alluring, hovered in front of his vision, beckoning him.
"Would Master like a kiss?" Her hands were still on her own breasts, fondling and caressing. In response she was panting oh so lightly, that glaze of desire in her eyes that was locked on his.
"Would...oh, yes! Yes, mistress!" He snapped out of his reverie (as much as he could, anyways) and remembered what she had asked. He was panting heavily, and his cock was definitely throbbing with want. Hot damn, he thought, I can feel my heartbeat down there...
She slid closer. Her muzzle was only an inch or two away. "Then kiss me..."
He lunged for her lips but his restraints kept him a healthy two centimeters away. He whined, gazing into her eyes and begging, but she remained where she was. Her gaze looked hurt. "Doesn't Master want me?" Her ears drooped slightly and she looked shyly through her hair, as if hurt. Not just hurt...crushed.
"No! No! Master wants you! Of course he does! I mean, I do!" he stammered, his heart beating quickly. What if she left him there?
She peeked at him coyly. "Then why did Master not kiss me?"
He struggled again. "These damn...cuffs..."
"Try harder." She became an alluring temptress again, growling softly.
He thrust his body forward, reaching, reaching for her lips but falling...just...short. She clucked her tongue, and he sagged against the bed posts, his heavy tail drooping between his legs. She moved in slightly, her tail lashing. He glanced up through his hair and saw this tiny movement, and something in his brain exploded into action. He lunged at her, grabbing her lips this time in his, and kissing her passionately, to her utter surprise. Grunting with lust, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, whimpering pleadingly.
She gasped and stepped back to get a hold of herself. She stretched her arms above her head and eyed him. "Very good, Master..." She strode around him, arriving at his side as he strained at his binds. Her hand ran softly over his chest fur, scritching the otter's sensitive belly, and down around his pelvis, carefully avoiding his stiff and blatant erection.
"Oh Master, you're very soft," she murmured. He grunted in response, trying to maneuver his cock into her hand, but she was too quick. Her hand kept to the perimeter, stroking the inside of his thighs and along his hip bones. His hips mimicked a few thrusts in need which she promptly ignored, concentrating on the fingertips gliding over his soft underbelly. Every touch sent bolts of pleasure and sensation through his body, causing him to pant softly into the warm bedroom air. The inky vixen smiled at her work approvingly, and suddenly grabbed his cock.
He gasped. "Ooh-oooh-ooh!" he stammered, frozen in surprise. She smirked and began to stroke softly, her thumbpad rubbing across the head briefly before taking up a rhythmic pumping. He squirmed, gasping at her ease and deftness with her hands, his head dropping back.
Then without warning a smooth, warm tongue slid up his cock, slooowly from base to tip. He yelped in shock, and his hips moved into the affectionate vixen's tongue. She licked again and he moaned in pleasure...which became all the more audible when she took his cock into her mouth. She slid forward, taking all of him into her muzzle and running her tongue around the shaft in her mouth. He felt his breath leaving his body in shallow pants and his hips moving in time to her ministrations.
"Oohhhhh," he moaned, his eyes clenched shut. She purred and picked up her pace, sucking lightly and delighting in the ample amounts of precum she could taste. He sighed and panted hard, pounding his cock as hard as he could into her mouth, with a squeak or moan of pleasure at each movement.
His cock quivered and he felt the pressure getting greater; his pleasure was peaking. He snarled and pounded faster, wanting it, needing it--but she stopped, leaving him aching at the edge. He trembled, panting hard, staring at her needily, at her voluptuous breasts and her juicy pussy, at her round ass and curved figure. He needed her. Badly. And she teased him, licking the bits of precum off her lips with a slow flick of the tongue, while her hips moved and undulated in the ecstatic mimicry of sex. She rubbed her breasts and pinched her already stiff nipples eagerly. Her tail swished and flicked as she swayed nearer to him. Her hands slid down between her legs and she mooooaned softly.
His attention was rapt.
She began to finger herself slowly, rubbing her swollen clitoris with the juices of her pussy. The juices her could smell quite potently from where he was, he noted. And oh god, the pheromones....As her hips began to sway and gyrate to the inward beat of her sensuality, his eyes are completely locked on her form, wide and needy. Her hands are working faster, and she gasps and pants, obviously getting close to orgasm as her head drops back and she howls out "oohh!!" with every breath. He pants with her, wishing he could be shoving his cock into that wonderful-smelling cunt, and make her howl even louder. He grunts, straining again, but to no avail...she's coming without him. Not that it's not great to watch...she falls to her knees and grabs her breast with one hand as she howls in ecstasy, gyrating and kneading and rubbing quickly to prolong it.
As she winds down, she extracts her fingers, licking the juices from them and smiling up at him coyly again. He's dumbstruck, horny, and god if she doesn't look like she needs a good ravishing! He whines at her, his cock proffering itself to her.
She stretches, and walks in a small circle as if deciding what to do. He watches her anxiously: will she let him have her? She gazes at him and strides forward, leaning in to bite his neck before climbing on the bed behind him. She stands up, slipping under his arm and swinging around to the front, so that his nose is level with her breasts and her feet are clinging expertly to the edge of the bed with her legs straddling his body. He yipped and buried his nose in her breasts, lapping and nipping pleadingly, but they disappeared. She slid down his body...and something else had his rapt attention.
She had lowered herself into a crouch, which left her hot, inviting pussy millimeters away from his throbbing cock. He stared at her, and she stared back in a most commanding way, with a look that said, Don't move.
It took all his willpower, but he didn't. He bit his lip and clenched his fists, but he did not move. She slid down again, tempting him. His toes curled but he remained steadfast. She leaned in and licked his neck sloooowly...and suddenly thrust herself down on him, eliciting a cry of pleasure from both of them. He gasped: she was so tight! He thrust into her with relish, panting and growling with need, and felt the slick pussy muscles grabbing and holding his cock with perfect pleasure. He moaned loudly, fucking her as hard as he could in this unusual position.
Her muzzle was parted in ecstasy, and she howled, moaning and whimpering, her body thrusting against his and pushing along his cock. She shuddered, moving faster, faster, faster, and suddenly her muscles clamped around him as she yowled. He cried out in response, his breath ragged, and his hips thrusting hard. Within moments, he felt the torrent of pleasure and he pumped spurt after spurt of hot cum into her. She kept moving, though, and was obviously not finished; and frankly, after all the build up, neither was he. They fucked hard, his restraints keeping him from fondling and caressing her like he wanted to, and instead he thrust himself up inside her, again and again. She squirmed and yelled, tightening again around him, and he responded in kind, feeling his balls drain themselves to nothing.
So it went all night.
By the time light sent tendrils across the night sky, he was exhausted. He sagged against his bonds and his knees wobbled, threatening to reject his weight. His creation looked at him with a gaze of sleepy affection and snapped her fingers. His bonds disappeared and he collapsed into her arms, resting his head against her ample furry bosom.
"Oh, Master," she chirred softly. She lifted him onto the bed, her muscles straining under the otter's weight, and laid him down. He smiled and reached out to her, his indian ink princess, and pulled her into his arms. She snuggled against his chest, and within moments.....
BZZ! BZZ! BZZ! BZZ! BZZ!
Zephyr woke with a start, feeling groggy and underslept. He rubbed his eyes and slapped at the alarm, silencing its angry buzz. He sat up, wondering where his nighttime companion had gone to as his mind turned to all the things that had happened last night...
But his own drawing coming to life? Ludicrous. Must have been a dream. He yawned and stretched, and looked down with a yelp. All of his chest fur was soaked with black ink, as well as in thin bands around his wrists and ankles and neck. And there was a particular abundance around his now tuckered-out penis.
He looked down at the bed and saw more ink splattered here and there. Did he just go nuts with it last night or something? He jumped up and ran to his art table.
In place of the picture was simply a note:
"Until next time, Master."