Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Waiting for Roxy Harte - M/M, Toys & New Worlds

Sounds like a great title for a book, eh? But since Real Life intervened, Roxy won't be joining us until later today.
Since Roxy loves "toys", I thought it might be fun while we're waiting to do some
"themed" Flashing. The Flashes should include the following:
Your favorite toy

The scene can be m/m or m/m/f
And the genres must be paranormal/fantasy/scifi or anything other worldly

Shapeshifters and vamps are more than welcome!
I'll start:

Good Kitty
How had I gotten myself in this mess? Naked, my human dick ringed, my claws still sheathed?
I strained at the padded collar around my throat. The Maine Coon shifter had done a good job keeping me from changing. He prowled around me, just out of reach of my chains, his full, taut rear and well-hung body typical of MC shifters. He hadn't gone full shift so the deep golden striped fur merely covered his human form and his erect tail indicated his intent: Fucking.
But first, like all good MC shifters, he wanted to play with his prey.
He held out the cat o' nine tails and laughed as I jumped for it while he slashed my back.

I yowled, then fell to my knees.
"Good Kitty."
Your turn!


Jeanne said...

Since we got our little kitties, I seem to be developing a thing for cats!
Good Kitty #2
From my postion on all fours I could see that the MC was aroused. If I raised up off my knees I'd be in perfect position for licking that taunting, waving cock.
Or biting it off.
His tail curled around his dick, moving up and down and pulling his foreskin back and forth.
As a Bobtail shifter, I lacked that one enviable piece of equipment: A tail long enough to masturbate in Tail shifter fashion. It did no good to argue that length didn't matter. In my world, the short-tails had to overcompensate for their obvious lack.
We went for stamina and ingenuity.
Now, I remembered.
The bet.
I'd bet the Khattkool, the head of the MC pack that I could endure twenty-four hours with their Master Hunter.
I should have known that I'd be the prey.

Jeanne said...

Good Kitty #3
He opened the cage and stepped closer.
"So, Tailless one, are you ready for me?"
The MC purred his words, his tone indicating his superiority by purring as if to a kitten.
First he caled me, "Kitty". Now he named me "Tailless one".
And purred
I unsheathed my claws, hiding the act by curling my fingers into my palms. Though I couldn't change all the way, I still had some weapons left.
And I used them.
I sprang forward, tearing the collar from my neck, my unsheathed claws aimed at his face.
Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield his eyes.
I grabbed the CON and threw it to the other side of the room size cage I'd been in.
I twisted his arm behind him and, used the momentum to bring him down beneath me.
Then I purred into his ear, baiting him with the strongest epithet to which a MC would object.
"My turn, Raccoon."

Jeanne said...

Good Kitty #4
"What's your name, Raccoon?"
He hissed but remained otherwise silent. I pulled on his arm harder. "Your name."
"Akod, damn you!"
"Akod," I purred. "Have you ever been flogged by a Cat o' Nine tails?"
"A CON? Never! I mete out the whippings. I am the Master Hunter."
"Not now, Akod. Not now."

Roxy Harte said...

Arggh! So sorry I'm LATE! A last minute trip into KY was the final straw to one disaster after another weekend which obviously left me no time to prepare but also stretched my nerves to their last thread!

Finally...home...exhausted, tired, cranky and not feeling very erotic...but that said...

Did you say toys?

I love toys!
Especially floggers!

Jeanne said...

Hey, Roxy!
Know what you mean about disasters!
I was just toying --ouch-- around with the idea of Cat shifters since I'm reading Anita Blake right now and she's doing stuff about were tigers. I thought of our little kitties and the title
"Good Kitty" popped into my head. That led to what might be a variation on a flogger and I thought Cat o' Nine Tails from good old British writing - and wouldn't that be cute for a were cat to use on another were cat?
Thus the first few flases.
Real Life intervened with me, too
Gotta finish a sequel!

Jeanne said...

That's flashes with an "h"!

Savanna Kougar said...

Hey, Jeanne, like your kittie flashes.
I just wrote this and put it one my blog a few days ago. You might like it, even without the 'toys'.

The top ten reasons you might be living with a black cat woman... and have a bad case of black cat fever, forever...

10. If one of her favorite songs is YEAR OF THE CAT, which she purrs along to while undulating in time to the music, a beatific and superior expression on her face.

9. If you’re surprised to discover that pound of raw shrimp you brought home last night, has disappeared out of the fridge as if it never existed. But you don’t care.

8. Every time there’s a full moon and the alley cats yowl, she opens the window wider and instead of hurling a shoe at the racket, she leans on the window sill and hums along while you watch her swaying bottom, and plan just what you’re going to do to her.

7. She insists you meet her parents at the most expensive Sushi bar in town, despite the fact that you’re allergic to tuna. And you happily comply after a token argument.

6. Every time you play one of your favorite rock tunes, CAT SCRATCH FEVER, she smiles, kneads your shoulders enthusiastically, then rubs her pussy against you even more enthusiastically. You play it more often.

5. You discover a stash of natural herbal hairball paste in her bathroom cabinet while fetching one of her huge towels to rub her dry with, an act which seems to keep her contented...and, yes, purring softly. Okay, you forgot to buy her catnip tea, and this will cause her to forgive you.

4. When it’s your turn to vacuum, you see what looks like black cat hair, but you don’t have a cat. And neither does she. Although there is usually a copy of CAT FANCY on the coffee table.

3. She refuses to come no matter how nicely you demand it, unless you promise to make her come, and invite her to bat your balls like playthings.

2. The love bite on your shoulder felt like the nip of needle-sharp fangs, not human teeth. And you only want more.

1. No matter what she wore to bed, when you wake up in the morning, she’s often utterly naked and smells like outdoors. After throatily purring *black cat fever* she impatiently mews for the vigorous use of your cock in her pussy. You never deny her, even if it makes you late for that all-important appointment.

Jeanne said...

Thanks for posting Savanna!
I especially like #3!
Maybe if my dh lets our threesome kitties do that they'll come when he calls! ;~D

Roxy Harte said...

Mmmmm. Sleep Good. I actually feel human again!

I reread your post this morning and laughed out loud when I read "good Kitty" because it was a line I wanted to use in Sacred Secrets because when Celia Brentwood, reporter, infiltrates the behind the scenes world of Lewd Larry's Fetish Fantasy Nightclub...she is made his sex slave but also asked to behave as a cat...

Here's the scene:

“At The Oasis, the slaves are divided into two classes, canine and feline, and they behave accordingly. Once you see the members in action, you will have a better idea of what I am talking about. Most nights, we will be here until after closing, meaning a very long night. Tonight, we are only going to make an appearance, so that the members can see what all the fuss is about.” Garrett shakes his head and chuckles to himself. “You have really stirred things up around here.”

Me? I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I stay silent.

“These people are also my friends, so treat them respectfully at all times and, while we are here, you don’t speak. On occasion, I will give you permission to speak, but only then, understand?”

I nod my head.

“Meow,” he commands.

“What?” I exclaim.

Garrett glares at me and I know I’m in big trouble. I’m supposed to be an experienced slave but I have no real idea how to behave and reading all the books in the world would not have prepared me for tonight. Quickly, I drop to my knees and lower my head. “I mean, I don’t know how.”

“Do you have a cat?”

I nod in answer.

“Well, then, you know how. I am being lenient because you are new to me, but once you know all the rules, there will be consequences to your failures.”

I remain silent.

“Do it!” he barks.

“Merroww.” I do my best imitation of Monet. I will not cry because I miss my cat. I am sure Garrett sees the wetness straining to slip free of my lashes.

“Very nice, Kitten.”

Roxy Harte said...

And here is one of Celia's (now called Kitten) first moments in the Oasis:

Scene begins here...

I fight the urge to cry as I am led from table to table and put on display. An eternity later, Garrett chooses a table to sit at and, carefully, I sit on the cushion at his feet, tucking as much of my nakedness as I can behind a shield of arms and legs. By the tone of the conversation, it is obvious that Garrett has been joined by three of his closest friends.

The friends’ slaves are driving me nuts.

The first begins by sniffing around my nether parts and, not sure how much hostility on my part is acceptable, I settle on hissing, which draws the amused attention of the poodle’s owner. I choose poodle because his bright copper curls are caught in two cutesy, pastel pink bows, and he wears a diamond collar with a tag that reads Fluffy. The poodle barks at me in an irritating, high-pitched yap, yap, yap. A hard slap on his rump silences him.

Chastised, he curls up into a ball and leaves me alone, but not without a sly smile and an ass wiggle. A screaming red handprint is his trophy.

The other two are not going to be as easily dissuaded. Working as a team, they sidle up on either side of me and take turns doing the sniffing routine. The leader, an ebony beauty with long braids, is relentless and crosses the line by nipping at my nipple. Canine, I assume. Growling, drooling, she bares her pointy little teeth at me. Okay, I don’t do Dobermans—not in reality and definitely not here. Hissing and my claws flailing, I finally get Garrett’s attention and he pulls me into his lap. Thankfully, I nuzzle my head into his neck, not sure what else to do, and he playfully scruffs the hair at the base of my skull.
The Doberman lunges and growls, though she is held at the end of a thick chain attached to a hook in the wall. “Heel, Luscious!” her owner commands, but she continues her verbal assault.

Not quite as lucky as I, Luscious is dragged to what can only be labeled as a very elaborate, very expensive-looking whipping post. Teak and brass. For now, she is secured in satin-lined leather cuffs. I should be glad, but I worry she will be beaten. It is my fault. Bile wells in my throat.

“Here, Kitten.”

Garrett offers me a bit of cut up steak from his fingers. I quickly shake my head no and swallow hard. I receive a stern look and he non-verbally offers the meat a second time. Burying my face into his shoulder, I refuse, knowing my disobedience could cost me; by rights, I should be at the whipping post right now. I steal a look at the Doberman. She is crying.

“Cats,” one of Garrett’s table companions spits out, like the word is a bad taste in his mouth. “Too damn finicky for me.”

Roxy Harte said...

I want to thank everyone for tolerating me hanging out here for awhile...and while I'm here I want to leave one last excerpt from Sacred Secrets (available as Book 1 of the Chronicles of Surrender series)...

This was my favorite scene...

The man is a social butterfly. I have never seen anyone cover a room as he does. Everyone loves Lewd Larry. Except right now, the everyone seems to be crowding a little too close to our table. The main focal point being me. And I don’t really understand it. Sure, the man was insane and spent way too much money, and I’m sure they all think they have to take a peek just so they can go home and tell their friends they saw the quarter-of-a-million-dollar slave—but hell, it’s just me. Go away, already.

Hissing doesn’t work.

I hiss anyway, and paw at the air.

I make a great show of taking a bath, thinking that they would get bored watching me, pretending to be a cat, licking myself clean. Obviously not, the crowd doubles around our table.
I see Garrett enter, double time, but then he comes to a complete halt and, like the crowd, looks at me, though more pointedly than the crowd. He gives me that look. But I figure, you know, Buddy, if this is what it takes to get you to notice me, so that I can at least communicate that I need a drink of water—I’ll take a really long bath.

Locking his gaze with mine, I stop licking my hand but only to stroke my head and face with my damp paw; going right from there to licking down the length of my arm, slowly, lots of tongue, never taking my eyes off his.

He doesn’t look away; he doesn’t even blink.

Jackie titters. She’d given me a warning glance when I’d climbed on top of the table in the first place; however, I knew I wasn’t in trouble, not with her anyway, when she granted me one of her amazing full-face smiles. She, at least, is enjoying the show. And I have not felt this good, this free, in years. Making a complete fool of yourself in public is very liberating, I decide to do it more often.

I pull my knee up to my face and catch the bend under my shoulder, thank you very much three years of yoga, and lick the length of my stiletto.

Uh-oh, uh-oh, I may have gone too far.

Jeanne said...

Thanks for posting, Roxie!
I'm really thinking of a short shifter story. I'm a research nut, so I think cat shifters are gonna be my thing!