Scarfspension
#2 of Speed-Writings
This is just a tiny little request piece done for a friend for free, to get good practice with erotica. It has some grammatical issues somewhere, probably, but I was satisfied with it.
The little, frail, oh-so-soft feline found itself dangling from the ceiling of a room, the fluff of their coat paired with its color lent itself a cloudlike quality to who was made a chandelier. Bits of pink hair strewn around the colder parts of their body, and only two clothing items could be found on their own body. A long, elegantly tyrian purple scarf, covering them in whole, hanging them by their ankles, and it also politely, loosely draped around their neck too. The arms and chest box-tied, the legs nicely coiled together into one trunk hung high by ankles. Cute little paw pads on display to the world, or the taller ones of it anyway. The only modesty given to the cat was similarly hued hiphuggers, tight and where they should be.
How very silly, to be decorated in such luxuriously dyed fabrics. The colors of a royal, hanging like a royal in revolution. Breathing easy, heart calm, no pain, no immediate danger; all there was, was just helplessness and exposed self was all they found thrust upon themselves. The cat was right to be anxious, but there was someone, was there? The room itself was well-maintained and clean and even lit, however simple it was.
"Hullo." One fluffy tail jumps up and wags, upset. There was the someone.
"Where am I? Can you please put me down?" Meows they.
"You're in a château, chat. Just be patient, I'm keeping you company." She--or was it he?--remarked, a deathly unnatural voice, more fit for curses than speech. Hooves thump on the rug and loop around to look at the awake face of his partner for the evening. Goodness, what an angular monstrous silhouette, it maintained a calm expression however, looking into jade eyes with its own pairs of garnet, of tanzanite.
"I can keep you company whilst I am on my feet! I'm hungry!", feline complains once more.
"Listen, kitty, you'll go down when you will. You're not hanging for nine nights and nine days, you're not losing an eye. Cats are used to awkward situations, and you aren't all that uncomfortable, no?" He doesn't even give them the time to respond, to open their mauve mouth, "Good. I'm glad to hear that."
The tail keeps wagging and the poofy, meowing cloud finds itself purring, confessing they are scared. Their legs wiggle what teensy bit they can, the toes splay and stretch, the fingers loosely fiddle with the fabric before balling up. They try to swing, and a cimmerian claw holds them by a lavender ear. They protest.
"Please! I need to go to the bathroom! This isn't funny anymore!"
"And why not here, dear lissom cat? You could scratch up the rug if I untie you."
"Then stain the rug? Come on!"
The goat backs up, then kicks the corner of the rug, and thankfully it has the politeness to roll up straight, to neatly place itself in the corner of the room, out of the way. The cold floor lay bare and exposed beneath the cat. The type that is easily mopped up, the type that is varnished and does not soak liquid.
Feline nose points toward the wooden boards, then to its crotch, tail shaking with upsetedness. "You expect me to do my business here? While upside-down? Am I to splash all across my head hair when I may simply be let down?" A hiss begins to accent their voice.
"Be quiet, do you not know to quit asking for things which you know will not come? You are hanging from there, even if that bothers you. Close your eyes."
They sighed, she had a point, eyes squinted together, the gravity of the world spun around. The cat was jostled around, a pair of hands over their eyes, a few more doing work with the scarf. There were others actually petting them, for behaving and complying, for closing eyes, hushing complaints, and being a cute lilac nimbus. Where are all these hands from? They let go, gravity is correct. Now they hang from their shoulders, the issue is addressed. The growling one crowned in horns speaks again.
"Much better, you closed your eyes, and you were rewarded and let me do my work. Now you can do what you need to, mmhm?"
The kitten looks down, and away, embarrassed. They still are stuffed into panties, and legs still bound, the scarf seemed to have been pulled along their body, but they felt none of it. There's no doubt the goat demon used magick for such a trivial purpose, it was almost honoring in a sense, that much for something so comparatively small.
"Why?" they asked, as a general question, not particular to the conversation.
"Carpe diem. Are you going to do your business?"
"Are you rushing me?"
"I think you want to get along with it, but worried it would wound your pride. You are a cat, not a lion, you need not act so dignified."
"I'll follow along if you quit berating me! Gosh! Fine!" Cries out the temperamental cat, an invisible inexplicable hand scratches the ears to ease them down, the ear wiggles, the tail quits protesting. The goat smiles. An phantom prod to right above the hips; a nudge on the bladder, the dangling toes curl.
Neither speaks, it's obvious one is having fun. Both are, one won't admit it. One chuckles, the other bites their lips. The legs dance in their purple cage. The lower abdomen is massaged, in just the right, ticklish ways. A dark spot forms on the underwear, then becomes a patch. The cat wears a dumb, embarassed look, the demon does not change expression, but does grin. Warm flows down the middle of the now still lap, down the calves, the feet. It dribbles onto the floor, loudly. A puddle is made, the yellow contrasts perfectly to the deep violets. What a mess.
She unceremoniously gets up and toward the door behind the kitty, not intent on cleaning any of this up. "We're being here a while, do you like ice wine, or absinthe?"