Trade
Playful Magic
Written by Amethyst Mare (Arian Mabe)
Requested by Latex, as my half of a trade
_ _
One thing after another - it was always the same.
Scuffing his trainer over the dirty carpet, the young man mussed up his brown hair, pacing through the antiques shop as if he owned it. His lips twisted in a childish face and he scanned the tags of items upon the shelves that he deemed worthy of his attention. A single room formed the extent of the tiny shop and Bert knew every nook and cranny like the back of his hand, yet what was sold changed weekly or even daily, the owner keeping on top of sales and stock with his keen business sense. The musty little store had a soothing element to it and he had uncovered many an item to sell on via eBay, and other profitable venues, within its confines. The choosier pieces, however, he kept for himself, like any true collector with an eye for the unique and valued. It was one of the reasons that he was now alone. His hoarding.
Bert paused at the back of the shop, tracing his fingers over an unusual, light brown clay pot. It did not appear to be native to the country or even the continent, though he was familiar with most Native American artefacts, history traded on for show. No, it was Egyptian, inscriptions depicting communication in a language he could not read. He relaxed into the process of inspecting the pot, forgetting what had happened earlier, forgetting his girl, the girl.
Bitch...
He looked over his shoulder, intending to enquire after the pot's origin from the shop owner, but the strange tiger had disappeared into the back room while he browsed, shuffling back and forth in his aged gait as he searched through boxes. Not entirely comfortable in the presence of morphs, a complicated merge of animal and human, Bert exhaled gently. It was good to have a little peace from time to time, though he was a common sight in the shop and the tiger was kind enough to him, saving the best finds for Bert to have first choice, if the items uncovered were of particular interest.
The clay pot trembled in his hand and Bert blinked, running his hand over the smooth, rounded surface and the lip at the top. He was being silly, the pot had not moved. He must have done something to jostle it. He did not believe what he had seen and made as if to replace the pot when it shook again.
It has been long since one has disturbed me. What do they call you, human?
_ _
"Uh...what?"
He needed more sleep. He was hallucinating. Voices in his head? How absurd.
Bert chuckled at himself, his folly, and shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. How insane he was to imagine that a pot in the antique shop was _talking_to him. That whore had really done a number on him. Then again, the stress of a break-up affected everyone. He was no exception to the rule. Perhaps he needed a lie down.
Amused at his own folly, he replaced the pot, a circle of dust surrounding the base. How silly. His friends would find the story funny after a few drinks later that night at the bar, but it was no more than that - a daft story. The bar and his mates would take his mind off Julie and any talking clay or whatever the pot was. Walking away, he looked down at the red and white patterned carpet, a walkway worn where customers traipsed in and out of the building, sinking his roots back into what he deemed to be reality. The tiger did good business.
This is not your imagination.
_ _
The voice in his head was disgruntled enough to make him pause, looking over his shoulder. He really was losing it. Turning about, he placed a hand on his hip, bone jutting hard against his tap-tap-tapping fingers. The chaos of the day bade him converse and, thinking that it would all make for an entertaining story at a much later date - that evening would be too close to the moment of insanity - Bert answered.
"So, how can I hear you if you're not my imagination? Pots do not speak to people. They sit on shelves."
He licked his lips, smug in his logic that did not quite make sense. What fun was there in making sense, after all? What was logic? Maybe the pot was sentient after all. A new breed of anthropomorphic beings: intelligent pots. Six dollars ninety-nine at your local supermarket. Bargain.
A red mark on the side of the pot, indecipherable as anything other than a squiggle to him, glowed and faded, leaving him wondering if he had truly seen the illumination at all.
"I think I'm crazy," he added when the pot made no reply. "You're not real. You're a figment of my imagination and shall remain as such. I'm as crazy as she said I was. But I'm not really crazy."
Perhaps you are challenged in the mind, the pot conceded, the rim flickering as if Bert saw it through a mirage. Yet I may prove my existence in the realm of the sane to you.
_ _
The voice was feminine, rolling off a silken tongue that sent cold fingers of thought into his mind. It was just like Julie's, full of false promises. Rolling his eyes, he leaned his weight back on his left foot, other leg kinked at an angle before him.
_ _
"How?"
Ask something of me.
_ _
Bert coughed into his hands, chest heaving. The shop was always so dusty. Blinking moisture from his eyes, he resisted the urge to sneeze.
"Like what? Can't my subconscious do any better than that?"
He laughed.
Anything. Your deepest desires may become true. All you have to do is tell me what they are. Ask me. Your wish is my command.
_ _
"Anything?" Disbelieving, Bert scratched his chest, nonchalant. "Fine..."
He would show her. He smirked as the skeleton of an idea formed in his mind and he pressed two fingers to the pulse at his throat, coating the beats of his heart. One, two, three, four and repeat.
_ _
"Change me into a woman," he said simply.
He stared the pot down, folded his arms across his chest and waited on its answer. It was a request off the top of his head, one that he did not expect to be granted as one may wish upon a genie in a lamp. Just a dream, something he'd thought of, though he felt himself quiet comfortable as a man in normal life. It would be fun to be a woman for a time though. Not that the wish would be granted. Bert coughed again. In the back room, the tiger hummed tunelessly to himself, a low purr rumbling through the baritone.
Done.
Bert's skin tingled. There was no time to speak as his skin rippled like water, melding itself into a new form. His chest swelled, skin flowing into two mounds tipped with tiny peaks, pressing through the pea-green t-shirt he wore, making it far more suggestive than it would otherwise have been, draped over his normal body. Groaning, he clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling the sounds, and arched viciously, eyes wide and bulging as his insides squirmed. A sick sensation rumbled in his gut and he contorted, resisting the urge to scream for help. How would it be explained? No, he had to be imagining things, a crazed reaction of sorts. His head itched, hair growing rapidly, tickling over his years in an awkward juxtaposition to the soul-wrenching agony. Mouth twisting in a silent cry for help, he sank into a crouch, hugging his knees to his chest as the pain faded, drop by drop. As if it had never been, the final vestiges trickled down to his toes, sharpness vanishing in an icy chill.
Straightening, Bert cautiously inspected his body, throat tight with emotion and the memory of pain. What had happened? Why had he done that? Was he really a...no. He would not think like that. It could not be real. It was his imagination. Golden-red hair fell into his face, cut in a jagged, edgy line around his face. Raising his hands, he touched his chin, jerking away as he found no evening stubble: his face was perfectly smooth. Groping his chest, he felt two womanly breasts instead of his small muscles, nipples as perky as if he was actually turned on. Bert gaped like a goldfish and dropped to a knee, legs trembling as they refused to support his weight. He could get up again, but he was not the same. He was a woman.
Shocked, he - she - looked down at her hands, turning them over to inspect her finely lined palms and fingernails, so intricately formed and ladylike. That was it. She truly had become a woman. The hands made her certain of it. Accusingly, she glared at the pot on the shelf, ragged bangs hanging over her eyes. She drew on her remaining scraps of energy and staggered to her feet, briefly thankful that her feet had not changed in size, being small already, and her trainers still fitted as well as they had before. She was a woman. Standing up straight and tall, she looked in a delicately framed mirror hanging upon the wall, balking at her reflection.
A pair of baby blue eyes stared back at her, shadowed in confusion. She raised an eyebrow, starting at how the face that was hers and yet not hers copied the action. Raising a trembling hand, she ran her fingers through her new, shoulder length hair, feeling how it kissed the cream of her neck. Her lips, flushed with pink, twitched and parted in wonder: she was beautiful.
And now she would show them all.
Was this not what she wanted? A smile spread across her face. She would be more beautiful than Julie ever was. She would be more woman than Julie ever was. The pot had been a blessing in disguise, despite the pain. What was pain? She had borne it, had she not? She could do it again, there was no argument otherwise. And, when she had had her fun, she would ask the pot to change her back. It was just that simple. Not entirely convinced her sanity and the truth of the situation, she scooped the pot from the shelf and hugged it to her chest.
Stalking up to the desk, she tapped the old-fashioned bell with one manicured hand, ring sounding through to the back room where the tiger worked. She smiled at her reflection in the brass of the bell, angling her face to show off her best features, the angle of her fine cheekbones. She pursed her lips together, pouting cutely. She was perfect.
The tiger strolled into view, clad smartly in a white, button shirt and corduroy trousers in light brown. He stroked his whiskers back and extended his paw in welcome. She did not dare take his paw, fearing his claws on her flawless skin, and nodded politely instead.
"Hello, young lady," he said pleasantly, striped tail swinging back and forth to his rear. "I have not seen you before, not in my shop. What peaks your interest here?"
She smiled coyly, confident in her form.
"On the hunt for something a little more unusual," she answered, placing the pot on the counter. "I'd like this, please."
"Certainly."
The tiger busied himself wrapping the pot, removing the square price tag and collecting tender from her once offered. He thought it strange that the woman had the same wallet as the young man he so often saw, but it was likely a coincidence. A wallet was a wallet, even if he saw more ladies with purses and more tightly fitted jeans. He just couldn't keep up with fashions these days.
Taking the prettily packed and bagged pot in one hand, she smiled sweetly at the tiger, nodding her thanks instead of speaking aloud: she was unused to how her voice sounded with a feminine lilt and it unnerved her even more than the change in her body. She turned her back and stepped towards the door, nipping her lips as the prospect of embracing the world, quite literally as a new woman, enthralled her. The tiger recalled her attention with a cough, paw curled around his white furred cheek and hazel eyes swirling with confusion.
"I didn't catch your name..."
The tiger trailed off, expecting clarification of where he knew this quiet lady from. The answer tickled at the back of his mind, evading each and every swipe of his claws. Sweeping her hair over her shoulders, she thought for a moment and smiled, lifting her hand in farewell.
"I'm Bernie."
*
At home in her comfortable flat, Bernie knew exactly what she wanted to do. What would any man do if he suddenly became a woman? Stripping, she stood in her bathroom, naked from head to toe, and marvelled at her body. Skin flawless right down to her toes, the young woman posed with a hand on her hip, one perfectly groomed eyebrow curiously cocked as if to invite in an admirer. She outstripped Julie on her best day. Her lips curved upward and she dug into the medicine cabinet above the sink, fingers questing. Snatching up the desired tube of lipstick, an old trophy, she held it aloft and then stroked it across her lips, turning them a deadly crimson. A stripper's colour, she felt every inch the part of a femme fatale.
But there was more to explore with her new body than the mere application of lipstick and appearance. Every nuance of her body was different as a woman - a fact that she was swiftly growing to appreciate. Stroking her milky-white breasts, she groaned as the nipples rose eagerly to her touch, nerve endings sensitive to the lightest of strokes. Her hand crept down her body, daringly pinching and groping patches of skin previously denied by the prude who had not let him touch her. Obscene, she had said. Touch was never obscene. Neither was pleasure. Meeting her own eyes in the mirror, she bit her lip, lipstick staining her incisors, and darted a hand between her thighs, spreading them to explore her new sex.
She danced her fingers over the soft, feminine folds and laughed out loud at how her body responded, heat colouring her pussy darker with a rush of arousal. Pulling back her folds, she teased over her clit in slow circles, flicking the swelling nub with her nail until she gasped, hips thrusting like a slut denied. Her fingers delved into her cunt, forcing entry to the previously pure hole, stretching it around two and then three digits, cramming in as many as she could. She wondered what it would be like to have a cock inside her and her pussy immediately grew slick with increased moisture, arousal hazing over her thoughts until it was hard to latch on to a single one at any time. Hissing, she groped her breasts with her free hand, pumping three fingers into her sex, and imagined it was a cock driving into her, making her sore. Her imaginary lover groaned and drove in need as he exploded, pouring ropes of cum into her. After she was done with that man, it would be on to the next in the game of pleasure that was hers alone to dictate. It was illicit, it was dirty and it was utterly sinful. It was all kinds of right.
Masturbation alone was not what she sought, however. The bar was her goal and, though she had originally intended to enjoy the evening with her male friends, she could not see them with such a body. She could only imagine their reactions (interesting enough to entertain), although it was certain that they would never believe that she had been turned into a woman. To them, she would be an entirely new person and that may very well work to her advantage. She winked into the mirror and her reflection winked back at her, coy smile turning wicked in the blink of an eye.
Unwrapping the pot, she set it carefully on the shelf above the sink, pushing aside a blue toothbrush. She ignored the white stain of toothpaste - it was none of her concern - and stepped back, eyeing the pot expectantly. As if on cue, the symbols glowed in turn, lighting up in an intricate pattern that she could not have repeated or mimicked if she'd tried.
Yes?
_ _
The voice in her mind was sugar sweet.
"There's more that I want to do," she said, voice echoing oddly in the bathroom: strange acoustics.
Amusement tickled the edges of her mind but she brushed it aside, focusing on more important matters. Mentally formulating the question, or demand, that she had considered for too long already, she fingered her sex slowly, contemplating how far she was willing to go.
What would you ask of me, human?
_ _
The artefact was impatient. Taking a deep breath, Bernie traced her tongue across her lips.
_ _
"I want you to turn my skin into latex."
The pot was silent for a few seconds and then vibrated with a low hum of what she thought may have been approval, though Bernie could not be sure. How could one be sure of an inanimate object? Or was it animate now? She could still be insane, or dreaming.
An unusual request...
_ _
Unlike the first change, the second wish was not accompanied by pain. Her skin sang, the pitch rising higher and higher as it took on a shiny gleam, seeming to stretch over her muscles, a skin-suit that fitted her as closely as lycra. Pleased with the development and the lack of pain - her skin only tingled as if with the remnants of pins and needles after sitting quite still for an extended period of time - she twisted to look at her back, the curve of her buttocks especially enticing with an alluring shine.
That was not the entirety of change, however. Before her eyes, her skin turned yellow, black spots appearing in the traditional rosettes of a cheetah. Her stomach and between her breasts turned white, though her skin did not fluff up as if to become fur and remained the latex she had asked for. Her fingers pricked as claws appeared, extending and then retracting immediately, like those of a truly feral feline. Her hair remained around her face, shortening slightly but otherwise not making any change that she could discern, stomach churning as she gaped at the pot. Was this a side effect of the latex or a trick? Had she pushed things too far? Was she stuck like this? Her face itched and she shook her head as if to ward off flies.
Lips twisting, she looked in the mirror and jumped as a cheetah stared back at her, amber-orange eyes sceptical. Though refined and elegant in its own way, the latex cheetah-head was far from what Bernie was looking for, lips edged with black. She glared at the pot, hand-paws slamming into the sink with enough force to make the soap dish jump.
"I didn't want this!" Bernie exploded, extending her claws with a strangled gasp, throat working furiously to articulate her words. "What the hell have you done with me? I only wanted my skin to become latex! This won't give pleasure to men! I'll be a freak to them! No one will want to fuck me!"
Did your mother never tell you not to toy with magic? The pot laughed, mirth tinkling through her mind. I like you better this way. It pleases me.
_ _
Besides,_the pot added as an afterthought. _You shall not be a freak if you wish to seduce males at the bar. Felines are all the rage and a cheetah shall be the most exotic of them all. You will lure in all the men and cocks you desire.
_ _
Suspicious, she rolled her shoulders, raising her gaze back to the mirror. She did look beautiful, even if a cat. The bathroom light gleamed upon her latex skin and she smiled, angling her head to better examine her rounded, black ears.
_ _
"Fine," Bernie muttered, stroking her arm, the feel of latex soothing. "I can make this work."
Confidence returning, she straightened her posture, a tail that she had not taken note of curling against her calf.
"Maybe I'll even stay like this a while longer."
*
The noise level in the bar swelled with the number of bodies contained within. A popular establishment, the regular crowd took up all stools at the bar itself, hunched over their respective poisons and chancing snatched conversation with those only in their circle of trust. The younger, more raucous crowd clashed pint glasses together, filling the air with their babble, utter nonsense that would be forgotten by the next day. The slickly decorated bar had been there for years and was not set to disappear anytime soon, if the bustling clientele was anything to judge by.
Bernie slipped into the dark interior of the bar with catlike grace, though her presence did not go unnoticed. Heads visibly turned as she strode through the throng of people. Humans and anthros mingled amicably enough, but there was a distinct gap between the two, a distance between their tables and chairs that could not be placed as anything other than a separation between their two species'. The cheetah was an exotic sight amongst house cats and canines and commanded attention as she wove through the crowd, a smile flickering across her lips. It was good to have attention focused on her. She deserved to be looked at.
Dressed in skin-tight leather trousers that cut off at her calves, she had also chosen a pair of killer stiletto heels in matching black from the shop on the way. She could not name the clothing store, if asked to recall, as one for ladies attire was hardly something that she had frequented before. The staff, however, had been helpful in choosing her a suitable outfit for the evening - almost too keen to be of assistance, considering the boyish clothing she had entered the store wearing - and had outfitted her with a crimson blouse with slices cut out of the back. It showed off the sinuous curve of her latex body, skin shining in the bar lighting. She walked with surprising confidence in the heels and swayed her hips, eyes roaming as she sought a suitable target.
There. That one would do as well as any other. Bernie zeroed in on a young male human who looked to be in his twenties. Perhaps he was younger. She did not care. His dirty blonde hair was styled so that it fell above his years and he had the look of an Australian about him, blue eyes wicked with bubbling humour. Leaning back against his tall, round table - he had not snagged a seat - he took a swig from a pint glass, the amber beverage within swilling up against his lips.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. Purring, she took the glass from his hand and took a gulp herself, a cocky grin upon her lips. He raised an eyebrow and followed her paw with his eyes as she replaced the glass upon the table, a mouthful of liquor left within. She rested a paw on his shoulder, sliding it around to the back of his neck, and licked her lips, desire rising. He was exactly what she wanted.
"Care to join me?"
The second eyebrow rose to join the first and he raised a hand to place it upon her waist, feeling the curve of her body with a murmur of approval. The man shifted and pulled her closer, both arms encircling her waist as a disbelieving smile tugged at his perfect lips and revealed a line of straight, white teeth. Bernie purred, fingertips dancing over the back of his neck, and brought her lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss that was full of unspoken promise.
Men were so easy.
"A cheetah?" The blonde dipped his head as if shy. "Well, all right, if you're offering, kitty-cat."
Her lips twisted at the name - she was more than a simple cat! - but she did not complain, trailing the tip of her latex fingers over his cheek to his lips. Letting him kiss her fingers, she smiled and took his hand tightly in her paw, striding towards the back of the bar. There she would find more privacy - perfect for what she had in mind. Their passing was highlighted by the clip of her stilettos and she shivered in delight at how they announced her passing, making heads turn and attention drop to her long, long legs.
The blonde-haired man pulled at her paw, unable to break her iron grip. His skin caught on the latex and he stepped closer to examine her.
"You feel weird," he muttered. "Never had a cat before. What's wrong with your skin? Don't you have fur?"
Bernie bristled.
"I'm an anthro cheetah, not a cat. And you won't have me unless you play nice, boy."
She dropped his hand as they neared the bathroom and rear exit, crossing her arms across her soft, full breasts. He shook his head and looked back over his shoulder, only then locking his gaze with hers. Her sharp eyes challenged him.
"All right, all right," he held up his hands, keen to not let the pitched tent of his jeans go to waste. "So what's your deal? You charge?"
Her smile reappeared in the form of a coy grin. Oh, he was so innocent, much like she had been. But she had a better game to play now.
"Oh no... This one's all on me. Anything for a blonde, I always say. You...capture me, stud."
She kissed his lips, trapping him in a deep, sloppy kiss that conveyed all the passion of the moment in the pounding of their beating hearts. He rested his paws on her hips, pushing them under her shirt and up to her breasts, groping the fine latex curve. She backed him up against the wall, lips parting briefly only to crash together again, the man taking his time in exploring her body, cock insistent against her abdomen. He only wanted one thing from her and Bernie was more than happy to provide it. After all, he served her need. She wanted to please him, give him pleasure that he had never felt before. One hand found her nipple and pinched it between two fingers, drawing a sharp mewl of pleasure-pain from her lips. Bernie liked it.
Breaking the kiss with a little moan, the cheetah licked her lips, tasting the male upon them. He wore the shadow of her lipstick on his mouth, a smear that betrayed exactly what he had been doing to anyone that cared to look closely. Meeting his feverish eyes, she gripped his shirt, pulling him away from the wall.
"Come with me."
She dragged him wickedly by the collar and led him to the emergency exit, only ever used by smokers from time to time. He followed eagerly, cock forming a hard bulge in his loose jeans that could not be disguised. Pushing open the door, they slipped into the cool alleyway one after the other, dodging bags of refuse to find their ideal spot for their dirty liaison. It was clean enough and neither of them would be down on the ground. Was that not what bar alleyways were for? Fucking?
The man, whose name she still did not know - did not need to know - leaned against the brick wall, pulling her with him. His hand slid up from her hip to her breast, giving her a clumsy squeeze that she pushed into, mouth dry with anticipation.
"Come here, darling..."
She arched against him, hips grinding up to his in an intimate dance. Their lips crashed together and she moaned into his mouth, gripping his shirt as if she wanted nothing more than to rip the clothes from his body. She would have to lure the next man back to her home or to a hotel at least. Her wallet was heavy in the too-small pocket of her jeans and she dug her nails into the man's shoulders, crazed feeling sweeping over her. She would be reckless and do all the things she had wanted to do before, yet had never had the courage to do. She would spend and enjoy and please.
Pulling away, a string of salvia hung in the air between them, the man dazed by her pure ferocity. Bernie winked and pressed her paw to his bulge.
"Let me."
She grinned and did not give him a chance to reply. She would have what she wanted regardless. Dropping into a squat with her legs spread lewdly apart, she unzipped his jeans and pulled his loose boxers (classic) down low enough to free his cock. He was average in size: the perfect tool for her to start with.
Wrapping her paw around his length, she pumped it slowly, recalling how she had enjoyed a hand-job previously, what movements had been performed on her. Tightening her fingers slightly to increase the pressure, she stroked from the base to the tip over and over again, other paw fondling his balls. They were not as heavy as they could have been, she reflected. Likely he had spent himself in some bitch earlier that day. Maybe he had even drained his balls into his girlfriend. Maybe he was cheating on his girlfriend with her, with Bernie. The cheetah shivered, wet between the thighs. He moaned above her, hands pressed flat to the cold bricks. In the next street over, a police car wailed by, tyres screaming on the tarmac. It was above their attention.
She tipped forward with bated breath, parting her lips to take the soft, uncircumcised head of his cock into her mouth. One hand rested encouragingly on top of her head and she allowed him to push her down, taking the full length - perhaps six inches or so - between her lips, though the head touched the back of her throat. It did not seem like it was about to trigger her gag reflex, so she more boldly bobbed her head along his shaft, confidence growing with every downward push, lips pressing to his crotch. He was not too big for her at all, just the ideal size for her to try out for her first 'trial run', so to speak. She squeezed his balls, delighted by his groans. He was the perfect feline plaything.
Well, at least for a time.
"Oh, fuck..." The male trailed off, gnawing the inside of his cheek.
He grunted and moaned and bucked his hips as if he could not control himself, actions inordinate to the blowjob she gave. If she had been elsewhere, she would have rolled her eyes at his exuberance but it did not hinder her too much. Gripping his leg with one paw, she dug in her fingers and sucked his length hard, cheeks hollowing from the effort. The latex on her cheeks dipped in and he hissed through his teeth, pounding his free fist into the wall with a thump that sounded painful to her rounded, little ears. She hoped that meant he was enjoying, feeling herself as yet inexperienced in the art of giving oral sex. He was only practice to her.
Pre cum dripped on to her tongue and she shuddered, the taste an aphrodisiac. Salty in her mouth, the viscous fluid drooled a line between the tip of her tongue and the back of her maw and she gulped it down every time she pulled back off the rocking male's shaft. Rubbing his balls between her fingers and thumb, careful not to cause undesirable friction with the latex, she increased her pace, breathing through her nose to continue sucking as fiercely as she had begun. It was only then that she realised that her latex lips moulded perfectly to his dick, leaving no gaps at all and her mouth forming a flawless 'O' shape. Inwardly, she smirked. She was built to give males pleasure. That pot had served her well, better than she could have originally imagined.
Twisting his fingers into her hair, the man threw his head back, eyes closed and teeth bared in a feral grimace. She looked up at him, for the first time noticing the five o'clock shadow under his jaw. He was unkempt and dirty, threads pulling at the cuffs of his jeans. It made her hasty blowjob all the sweeter for knowing what a specimen she was getting off. Feminine moisture soaked through her panties, staining the inside of her jeans. Though part of her hoped it would not soak through the denim, another more slutty part wished that all could see her arousal and use her as they saw fit. She would have someone fuck her soon.
The man shuddered bodily and she tightened the seal of her lips about his cock, balls twitching within her careful, teasing paw.
"Ah... Oh, baby," he moaned. "Hold tight, I'm gonna cum right in that pretty little mouth of yours."
So quickly? If her mouth had not been stuffed full, she would have frowned. It was okay, she reassured herself. She would find a horse anthro with a fat cock to stuff right down her throat next, or perhaps even a rabbit. They could go all night and never get tired of fucking. She had known one once.
Pressing her tongue to the underside of his shaft, she bobbed her muzzle quickly, imagining that a stronger, more virile male was grabbing her head to fuck her mouth instead. He gave a strangled groan at the onslaught of pleasure, tensing up to a crescendo until he moaned loudly and thrust his hips forward, crotch flush with her feline nose and balls tightening up to his body that fraction. In the next second, he shot ropes of cum into her mouth, painting her tongue and the back of her throat until she gulped lustily, the latex ring of her lips disallowing the waste of a single drop.
"Good kitty..."
She purred at the nickname this time, tail lashing from side to side. It was easy to forget the limb but she gained more and more control over it as the minutes past, the salty taste of cum in her muzzle. The blonde man must have had a good diet, for he was delectable upon the tongue. Or perhaps she was falling prey to her lewdest fantasies of giving every male that desired her ecstasy upon ecstasy. Either was fine by her.
All too soon, the man's shaft softened between her lips and she suckled pitifully, trying to keep the lusty rod hard for just a few moments longer for her to play. Hips rocking, he petted the top of her head as if she was an animal.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he groaned, fully softened cock flopping out from between her lips. "You come around here often?"
Sitting back on her heels, Bernie licked her lips, ensuring they were spotlessly clean, and stood up with sinuous grace, calves aching from holding the position for so long while wearing heels. That had not been her best idea in hindsight.
She twisted her lips and winked at the man whose name she did not, and would never, know. Though she did come to the bar often, she doubted that she would ever meet him again as a female. That would be a jest indeed to confer with him as a man. He would never even know!
"Want to meet up here tomorrow, same time?" He pressed, hand stroking over her breast and stomach through the crimson shirt. "I'd like to see that pussy of yours. You're gagging for it. To be fucked."
Bernie fought down a shudder. Please. There were other males she could suck off and fuck, bigger men then him. Furs and humans alike: she would have them all. Or, more accurately, they would have her. But she would not frustrate this one, so she flashed him a winning smile.
"Sure," she said, without any conviction. "I'll see you then."
He yanked up his boxers and jeans without ceremony, fastening the button and zip as he walked away, his back to the latex cheetah. She would never see him again, she thought as he disappeared back into the bar, letting the fire exit door slam closed at his heels. There was too much, or too many, to do to waste her time on an average male.
She would try for a man of colour next. She heard they were well endowed. A feral grin caught her lips. Oh yes, she would see if the sayings were true. A fat cock in her latex pussy was exactly what she craved.
Resting her shoulders back against the wall, she reached between her breasts and pulled the small pot out of her bra from where it had been carefully cradled. Thanks to the tight fabric of her shirt, it had stayed in position all through her walk to the bar and the impromptu blowjob, exactly as she had hoped. The man hadn't even noticed it. He had been too busy thinking about what she could and would do for him to notice a tiny, abnormal lump.
Stroking the pot, she brought it to life in a faint glow and purred, trailing her fingers over it as she would to a true lover.
"One more thing, before I head off."
She tickled the artefact tenderly, setting off the vibrations and glowing lights as it responded, curiosity pricking at the corners of her mind. It wanted to know what she wanted next. Had it seen everything she had done? Was it aware? Bernie shook herself and shook her head too for good measure. That did not matter. She had a request to ask of it.
"Change my feet into paws," she ordered, lifting one foot, which had remained in a human-like shape. "They do not match. They're nice enough for the shoes, but I have better uses for them."
Bernie licked her lips, imagining wrapping some large, soft paw pads around a male's shaft. Oh yes, those would do her very nicely. Another way she could pleasure men. Julie had never been able to do that, had she?
Done.
_ _
The feline's feet tingled as if stuck with a thousand pins and needles. Latex moving like fluid running over stone, they reformed into larger, softer hind paws - like those of an anthro. Curling her toes, she groaned as pain sparked and disappeared in the next instant, coolness enveloping both her paws and her calves as the bones shifting, adjusting to bear her weight in a different stance. Larger than the pretty heels she had bought, the growing hind paws forced their way out of the confines of her stilettos, bursting the straps, but she did not feel bad. She no longer had any use for human shoes. She could buy some fit for anthros if she so desired.
Taking a step away from the wall, she shuddered as pleasure vibrated through her soles. Thinking she had imagined it, she tried a second step and then a third, muzzle heating up with an invisible blush beneath the latex that radiated heat. Her tail warmed as if in front of a fireplace and Bernie curled it around her stomach, eyes widening as it grew larger and more plush, the same pleasurable tingles radiating through her body as she brushed it with her fingertips. The sensation was addictive and she repeated, cheeks heating up as she panted open-mouthed.
"Oh..." She rolled her head back, lips parting. "What is that?"
An addition of mine, the pot answered, voice tinged with wry amusement. You cannot simply ask one thing of me. This way, you gain pleasure too. With every, single step that you take. This is what you truly wanted.
_ _
Yes, Bernie thought. It was exactly what she wanted. Formed as she was, she had her pick of males and could have herself changed back any time she wanted. She was in complete control. The pot vibrated between her paws and she tucked it away between her breasts, letting it rest there as she set her sights on the bustle of activity beyond the alleyway, furs and humans laughing drunkenly as they went about their night. The night was still young and Bernie had much to do. She smiled. With her new hind paws tingling erotically, she pranced into the night to find her next victim.
And who would deny the latex seductress?