The Mephit's Tales

(This entry is in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: << First | < Prev | Last >> )

Just under a dozen feline teens paused. Five boys and half a dozen girls turned, looking over their shoulders.

“Go on, girls,” said the middle-aged lynx man. “It’s just the boys I’d like to hold on for a bit.”

That was very unusual, and of course the girls were curious, but even if it hadn’t been obvious in his words, the coach’s hard gaze carried a clear dismissal; they filed off the pool deck and into the female showers. The boys shuffled in place, exchanging glances – well, four of them exchanged glances; the lion was a bit apart, and while he received a few wary glances, he himself kept his attention on the coach.

This didn’t escape the man’s attention; frowning, he paced in front of them. Once the door had swung shut behind the girls, he said, “All right, something’s up with you lot; it doesn’t take a genius to tell that. I’m not saying you all have to be best friends, but if there’s something that’ll get in the way of the team, that makes it my responsibility. And if I have any reason to think one of you is being harassed, that’s not something I can ignore. School rules won’t let me, and neither will the law, even if I wanted to.” His pacing came to a halt in front of the lion, whom he turned to face. “Well?” The words were said to them all, but the prompt was obviously focused on the one.

Mike Thorntree swallowed, aware of furtive glances his way. The other boys were worried now – and not without reason. All he would have to do – now, or later on in private – would be to tell the man what had happened a couple weeks prior after practice, and the other four would be in a great deal of trouble. All he’d need to do was say that he’d been all-but-raped – pressured into sex, with his only way out being to humiliate himself – and that the others had had sex in front of him, right in the pool showers.

It’d be easy. And not only would it ruin the swim team, it’d be dragging adult authority into a mess that he’d brought on himself. Nobody had made him say the dumb things he had, and he could have gone down the other road, giving up on the bet he’d made, not knowing the panther would actually call his bluff.

So he knew just what to say.

“Everything’s fine, Coach.” He even managed to smile a little, and it didn’t even feel unnatural or wrong.

“Are you sure, Mike? If you want to talk about it later, in private – “

It wasn’t often that any of them dared to interrupt the coach, but this really didn’t need to go any farther. “Really. It’s okay.” Quickly becoming aware that the man wouldn’t be content without some sort of explanation, he said, “I’ve just been going through some… personal stuff, and I guess it’s showing more than I thought. I’ll get over it. Nothing’s wrong at home or school or anything, just…” His words ran out; he shrugged. “Personal stuff.” His courage was not unlimited; that was as close as he could come to saying it was interpersonal stuff, never mind that it had touched on at least one of the other boys on the team.

Whatever; apparently that was enough to get something of the point across, because the coach backpedaled right away. “All right, all right – sorry to keep you all. Off you go, then, see you next week – just,” a pause, “well, if anything does come up, for any of you, you know where to find me.” And with that he turned to take care of whatever it was he did after practice each week.

In the showers, the panther lingered a moment – not looking right at him, giving him privacy through shower etiquette, but hovering by his shoulder, drawing a breath. “Hey, um…”

“Yeah, Aaron?” Mike didn’t look at him either, but that had more to do with still being uncomfortable meeting the other boy’s gaze and some deeper thing he hadn’t yet put his finger on than the usual courtesy.

“…Thanks. I mean, nobody would’ve blamed you if you’d said… what happened and all.”

Mike shrugged, shaking out his hair under the spray. “I would’ve.”

Aaron paused at that – even without looking, Mike could imagine the blink that went with that pause. And that seemed to be that; the panther continued on his routine. Mike let out a breath, and went about his own.

A bit later, dried off, dressed, and outdoors, he found a message on his cell phone. Angie couldn’t meet him as planned; family crisis. He swallowed a curse – not that he blamed her for it, but he could’ve used some friendly company; he really didn’t feel like hanging around at home right now – his parents were gone for the next two days, and he wasn’t in much mood to put up with his older brother.

Especially since he hadn’t kept it secret that he planned to visit Angie after practice. Dave would probably start by saying he was in the doghouse and go from there.

He turned around a corner of the school building. The track team was still at practice; they had to share the field with the football team, so they’d probably started later. Mike hauled his gym bag over to the bleachers and dropped it in front of them, sinking down to a seat on the first tier with his shoulders against the second and his tail hooked through the strap of his bag.

Yeah, he could’ve got the other boys in trouble, easy. But he’d meant what he’d said to Aaron – if he’d done that, he’d have felt bad about it. Because all they’d been doing was putting him in his place for being an idiot. Aaron especially had had a stake in it – it was his cousin that Mike had been treating badly, taking for granted, complaining about when she wasn’t at his beck and call.

And where had he even got that from? Nobody he hung out with at school – certainly nobody else on the team. None of his immediate family – Dad was in charge of the house because he brought home the most money, but he always listened when Mom had a complaint; Mike had never heard the shouting matches that some of his schoolmates had.

The only people he could think of that he’d heard acting like that – self-absorbed, bigoted asses, if he was going to be honest at least with himself – were his second cousins on his Mom’s dad’s side, and he didn’t even like them.

So why the hell had he been thinking like them? What was it about the way they thought that had rubbed off on him, even though he preferred not to be in their presence at all?

The fact that they always had someone else to blame?

That sure wasn’t anything like what Dad had taught him about being a proper man.

He sighed, shifting his hands behind his head, not-really-looking at the runners doing their laps. So he’d been screwed up in the way he thought about girls. What else had he got wrong? What else had he fallen into thinking just because some noisy people around him had thought – had taken for granted – it was how the whole world worked?

Well, one other thing came to mind. He shivered, despite the warm springtime sun, at the thought of it. But really – if he put all the things he’d learned as “true” from other people aside, if he just listened to himself, just looked at how things really were… if he kept himself from falling into knee-jerk denial… could he look at other guys and enjoy it?

He looked forward for real, focusing. One of the runners was just coming around the bend toward him – a cheetah, moving at an easy lope rather than the mad-dash sprint the race was known for; tall, a bit more filled-in than he, bare arms showing a fair bit of muscle that his jersey otherwise concealed, except about halfway down where it flipped up in the wind and bared an expanse of flat white stomach. So far as he could tell at this distance – and with the cheetah leading the pack, it was probably the case – there wasn’t a spare inch of fat on the other youth.

He tore his gaze upward, but that wasn’t much better; the cheetah’s golden eyes, so starkly offset by his dark spots and tear-tracks, met his, and the older boy flashed him a sizzling grin.

Mike looked away, feeling his ears flush and pin back. He had his answer: yes, he could. Very yes. He wasn’t sure just what had drawn him about the other boy, but it was enough to make him adjust his pants and resolve to stay right there for a few minutes, fixing his thoughts on his Trig homework for a distraction.

He went so far as to fish out his textbook when his imagination alone didn’t want to focus on graphs and equations, but that just meant he was caught by surprise when someone sat beside him and laid a hand on his knee.

A few confused seconds later, a gold-eyed, tear-marked face was grinning at him, its owner handing him his textbook, having grabbed it from mid-air when it went flying. “Uh, thanks. Nice catch,” he made himself say.

“Sorry,” the cheetah said, though his expression was no more than marginally apologetic. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at this part of the field before, but you’re in good shape – ” He sniffed. “A swimmer, yeah?” There was a definite accent to his speech, sharper and crisper than Mike was used to.

His last remark prompted Mike to sniff as well. He couldn’t smell anything on himself but shampoo and slightly-damp fur; but maybe his nose was just deadened to the chlorine from the pool. “Yeah, I do the two-hundred-meter…” He trailed off as his brain processed what the cheetah had said immediately prior.

“I don’t know how long that is for swimming, really,” the cheetah went on, “but it looks good on you, anyway.” Another grin, his hand coming to rest on Mike’s thigh again.

He remembered the look they’d exchanged while the cheetah was still on the track – even at that distance, there had been an eagerness to it… And now, the older boy was complimenting his appearance. Touching him.

Some corner of his mind was shocked, or amused, or both, to find that it wasn’t a bad feeling – but it was rather like stepping into a puddle only to find that it was twenty feet deep.

Apparently his anxiety showed; the cheetah lurched back suddenly, lifting his hands in a gesture of apology. “Sorry, sorry – “

“It’s okay,” Mike blurted. “I’m not… offended or anything.” He took a deep breath, leaning back against the next tier of benches again. “Uh, I mean, if I got the right idea and you were…”

“Attracted to you,” the other youth completed when he faltered; it wasn’t a question, which pretty much confirmed how Mike had interpreted things.

He sighed. “That. I’m just… kinda new to this. Spent a few years sorta running on the default notion that I was straight.”

“Oh.” A pause. “The look in your eyes, on my last lap – I thought you were used to looking at boys like that. Sorry again.”

Something about the accent and species finally clicked together. “Hey, aren’t you the boy who moved here from Germany back in October? It was in the school newsletter…” His name had been, too, but that particular detail wasn’t something Mike had put to memory.

“That’s right – from Mannheim,” the cheetah said, which Mike really hoped he wouldn’t have to admit didn’t mean much to him. Thankfully, the subject was promptly changed as the older boy went on, “I’m Sigmund – Sigmund von Klausen. Friends call me Sig. I’m hoping so will you.”

His grin was infectious; Mike felt himself grinning back as he shook hands, saying, “Mike Thorntree.” Reaching for words, he held onto the cheetah’s hand a moment longer than he was quite planning to, but the spotted cat didn’t seem to mind; after making one reflexive attempt to pull it back, Sigmund instead kept his grip close as well, fingers stroking over Mike’s.

It felt pretty nice, actually. Which didn’t make it any easier for him to produce, “Hey, sorry for flipping out there. I just wasn’t expecting company.”

“Why not?” Sigmund purred, grinning that much wider. “A fine-looking guy like you, well-spoken? You should.”

Well-spoken… ha, it was his mouth that had got him in trouble, first with Angie and then with the other guys.

Angie. Right.

“It’s kinda complicated, really,” he said. In answer, Sigmund shifted a little, getting himself comfortable, ears cocked toward Mike; he took a breath and went on. “See, I… kinda said some stupid things to my girlfriend. And then I said some stupid things about my girlfriend. To her cousin. He called me on it, and, um…” Unable to hold that gaze, he stared at the grass in front of his feet. “He kinda called my bluff on a stupid bet about it. Made me rethink a lot of things. I made up with Angie, and when I mentioned that, she… sort of encouraged me to see if I enjoyed doing stuff with guys, too.”

“Ah. Which is why you were here, enjoying the view, mmm? But not the other swimmers?”

Mike shivered. “God. Her cousin’s one of them. They were all there when he, uh… that stuff. I think I’ve made myself pretty unpopular with them, being a dick for so long.”

“Hey, now…” The cheetah’s hot breath washed over his ear. “There’s nothing wrong with dick.”

Again he shivered, and this time it was from a rush of sheer need. He swallowed a whimper. “Okay, bad word choice. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I – wait, Angie? Angie Norton?”

Mike blinked. “Uh, yeah, that’s her. You know her?”

“She’s been in a few of my classes,” said the cheetah, laughing. “She was one of the first friends I had here. Well, now…?” He looked at Mike, a very deliberate, sweeping sort of look that left the lion feeling somehow naked. “She’s been saying good things about her boyfriend, these past few weeks. So that’s you, huh?”

For a moment, Mike quailed. What else might she have mentioned, before these past few weeks? But no, she wasn’t the type to spread nasty talk about people behind their backs. Even when things had been at their worst between them, it had been Mike’s own dumb mouth that had let it slip, not her telling tales. “Yeah, I guess it would be,” he said.

Funny. A few weeks ago, he’d have taken such praise without a second thought. Now it just felt silly to do so.

“Well. You’ve made her happy,” Sigmund said, reaching forward to cup his fingers under Mike’s chin, stroking his jaw. “She’s made me… not that happy, maybe, but still. Maybe I can make you happy, too, mmm? Teach you a few things?” His voice was low, husky, full of both promise and want. And odd harmonics that sent a shiver racing between Mike’s ears and his balls.

He swallowed, mouth working but words failing him. He wanted to say something – even just a straightforward “yes” – but even that escaped him. Still, Sigmund seemed to get the point; he leaned in a little closer, hand slipping back behind Mike’s neck, and kissed him.

For all the strength in his approach, that kiss was surprisingly soft; a light brush of lips, a dab of tongue against them. It wasn’t a smothering kiss; it was one that left room for him to respond to it, to lean in, to let his tongue venture forth in turn, a purr slipping from the cheetah’s mouth to his as he did.

Then he remembered that all of this was happening right on the bleachers at school, and felt his ears burn. “This… really isn’t the best place,” he managed to say.

“Mmm. I’d invite you over, but my brother can be a bit of a pest,” Sigmund mused. “Your place?”

“My brother is usually a lot of a pest,” Mike sighed. Damn it.

But the cheetah looked thoughtful. “Well, hey – it’s warm out. I just need to shower – if you’ve got time, we could head out to Beech Park?” He grinned. “Plenty of trails – and plenty of places just a bit off the trail, out of sight, close to running water so it’ll cover a bit of noise…”

It didn’t sound all that cozy, but if there was a chance it’d mean not getting teased by some sibling who didn’t understand the words “go away,” it was worth a shot. Somewhat reluctantly, Mike agreed.

Inside half an hour, they were weaving through some of the lesser-used trails. Sigmund set a brisk pace, but Mike was used to more vigorous exercise than that, and kept up readily enough. His feet weren’t exactly so sturdy, and his sneakers weren’t the best for a hike; his feet were starting to sting a bit when Sigmund came to a sudden halt, crouching down to peer through a tangle of bushes. Then he grinned, dropping onto his knees and crawling right into them, dragging his gym bag behind.

Somewhat nonplussed, Mike followed – and very nearly bonked his head against a slanted tree trunk; the brush concealed the wood from more than a few inches away. He went on from there more carefully.

Sigmund suddenly vanished – dropping down and out of sight, with a soft clatter of shifting stones – and he froze; but the cheetah’s hands came back into view, then his head, grinning, one hand beckoning to the lion.

The tangle of thick brush concealed a place where a few trees grew close together, right up against a four-foot ledge. There was enough to grab that he could lower himself to the rounded stones. One of the park’s small streams had cut a channel here, and they were on a smallish ledge on one side of it, with the water gurgling past a pebbly beach of sorts; the trees sheltered it from the path, while their branches and a number of smaller bushes screened it from sight of the stream.

Sigmund put a hand up against Mike’s arm when the lion made to bring his gym bag down; instead, he shifted it over somewhat, fishing in his own for a smaller bundle, then hefting his bag up, wedging it in the gap beside Mike’s. “There,” he said. “Anyone who tries to get here will have to move those first.” He unrolled the bundle he’d dug out, which proved to be a beach blanket wound around a small overnight bag; the former he laid over the smooth stones, and sat.

Sitting with him, Mike had to admit that it was better than he’d expected. The stones were rounded by water, and not all that uncomfortable even on their own; the blanket was enough padding to make it reasonably pleasant. The little nook was shaded and a bit cool, but apparently that just gave the cheetah an excuse to lean against him and wind an arm around.

Which wasn’t such a bad way to go about it, really. Not even when he felt the older boy’s warm breath on his neck, nor even the grazing touch of his teeth.

“You’re trembling,” Sigmund murmured. “Not to your liking? Or am I going too fast?”

“None of that. Just nervous,” Mike made himself say.

“Don’t worry. That path might as well be Lovers’ Lane; nobody will bother us even if they do notice us here – and as for you,” the cheetah grinned, nudging noses with him, “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just relax and let me show you a good time for a bit, hmm?”

He started to… not exactly protest, but sitting idle was exactly what he’d been trying not to do in his love life lately; but Sigmund pressed a finger against his lips, shushing him, and he shushed.

Then Sigmund started exploring him – hands running along his sides, sweeping over his stomach and chest, then back down, for now still over his shirt; muzzle pressing under his, rough tongue teasing at his throat. Again he was struck by the sheer need in the cheetah’s touch; this time, his anxiety expressed itself in a moan.

Sigmund turned his head upward, one hand sliding behind Mike’s head, drawing him into another hungry kiss. The other one slid down, sliding along his thigh, kneading – stroking over the firm ridge that was rising in his jeans, making him whimper into the older boy’s mouth – moving onward, up under his shirt, claws ruffling through his fur and scoring the skin beneath. Another moan, more urgent still, slipped out of him; body tensing, he brought his hands up in turn, feeling along the youth’s back. Where Angie was sleek and smooth, Sigmund was more defined, firm muscle – unmistakable even through his shirt – under Mike’s questing fingers.

Some indescribable time later, their muzzles parted, though not by much; Mike saw the sides of Sigmund’s mouth turn up in a grin, but their breaths still stirred each other’s whiskers. “You feel nice,” the cheetah breathed. “You don’t know quite what you want, but you want it, mmm?”

That seemed like a good description of Mike’s scrambled thoughts; he just nodded.

Sigmund’s hand slipped down to his jeans again, squeezing, kneading, fondling. “I think I know what I want,” he breathed, grinning as Mike tensed and squirmed under the touch. Even through the thick fabric, the cheetah knew just how to squeeze and stroke. “I want to know what you look like, sound like, and feel like when you come.”

Devastatingly to-the-point, that little speech… Mike shuddered. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so close to doing just that with all his clothes on. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse moan emerged as the cheetah kept fondling him. Swallowing, he tried again, with more success. “J-just a note… I, uh, don’t think you’ll be waiting long. But I can usually go again soon.”

Sigmund’s eyebrows arched; he grinned like a kid who’d just found where his parents hid the cookies. “Oh, my. Well, this is an opportunity, isn’t it? I can experience like that in a few different ways in a row, huh?” He kept right on fondling; his other hand ventured up Mike’s shirt instead, sliding over his stomach, walking past his ribs, claws circling a nipple.

Part of Mike wanted to object, to at least be given a chance to fish himself into the open, or to have the other boy do so. But those hands were very, very good at what they did; they kept Mike squirming, unable to utter more than a series of escalating moans, for the better part of a minute, and then he felt a delicious ache in his balls and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back in any way. Seconds later it crashed over him, a dizzy rush that kept his body arched and his throat tight, relenting now and then just long enough to let one breath slip out and the next rush in to replace it, all the while his cock pulsed against that snug pressure, putting a sticky dampness in his boxers that he hadn’t felt since his first clumsy explorations years ago.

Sigmund kept feeling him through it, more gently down below, but with more attention higher up. When Mike started to relax under him, he finally moved his hands, catching Mike’s shirt and lifting it upward. Even in the rush of afterglow, Mike wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t lift up his arms to make it easier; Sigmund grinned, nudging noses as he folded that shirt a few times and set it down. “Sorry about the mess,” he said, though he didn’t sound like he meant it all that much. He tugged Mike’s belt open and undid his fly as he went on, “That was just too precious to resist. Usually, if I get a guy off, that’s the end of it – so doing it while he’s still dressed isn’t so nice.” His fingers chased around Mike’s waist; as the lion lifted up, letting the cheetah free his tail, Sigmund went on, “You, on the other hand – well. And I see you weren’t exaggerating.” He drew Mike’s jeans and boxers off together, pausing with them at his knees to give a light stroke to Mike’s freed and stubbornly-rigid erection. “Mmm. Very nice.”

Mike tugged in turn on Sigmund’s shirt, getting it up to his shoulders while he finished stripping Mike down; that done, he let Mike slip that off, too. “Do I get to make requests?” the lion asked, flashing a nervous grin as his fingers ran down through pale fur. “Or is this all your show?”

“If there’s something you want, I’m all ears,” the cheetah sighed, stretching upward. Under the concealing fur, his stomach was a fair bit more defined than Mike’s own, without the layer of insulating fat that a swimmer cultivated.

“Good.” Mike shifted around somewhat, sitting up with his shoulders against the tangled roots that held up the soil. “’cause there’s something I’ve only done once, and it was in kind of a stupid situation. I’d kinda like to try it in a way that’s a bit more relaxed.” Before Sigmund could ask for details, he curled his fingers under the waistline of the cheetah’s jeans, pulling him closer.

He got the idea right off, planting his feet well apart and leaning against the ridge as Mike loosened his belt. Under the denim, the cheetah had on a pair of black boxers, tenting quite prominently through his fly as soon as they got the chance; loose enough that the finer cloth served as a cushion between the denim, and the metal of the zipper for that matter, and the hot, firm flesh that Mike could feel against his fingers. He wasn’t nearly so deft at getting Sigmund’s length into the open as the cheetah had been about stripping him, but the older boy didn’t complain.

Then he got a good look at what he’d unwrapped, at what was bobbing inches away from his snout, and quailed. Stared, too. The cheetah’s length was massive – and he didn’t think it was just perspective, or the situation he’d invited; when he wrapped his hand around its base, there was quite a bit more poking free than he was used to. All told, it had to be eight inches from tip to base. At least. And it was thick, too.

“Hey…” Sigmund shifted over him, reaching down to stroke his flattened ears, as though trying to nudge them upright. “Don’t worry about it. Deal with what you can, and not an inch more, yah? Nothing says you need to get it in at all, never mind all of it…”

Mike risked a glance up. The cheetah’s expression was eager, yes, but there was a definite tenderness there. And a measure of experience; he’d probably got this reaction before.

Well, if Mike gave up now, it probably wouldn’t be easier in the future. He took a deep breath, tilting that spire of pink flesh right toward his snout; Sigmund eased forward for him, following his touch – more or less; Mike had no idea what the easiest way to go would be, but the cheetah had a notion. Rather than face it end-on, he wound up with the cheetah’s shaft jutting upward past his snout; if he crossed his eyes, he could focus on the slick moisture beading at its very crown.

Gingerly, he licked at it – touched the tip of his tongue right under the crown of the other boy’s cockhead, dragged it upward slightly. A rather gratifying shiver chased through those strong legs, and he did it again, and again. The taste of the boy was unfamiliar – not unpleasant; he was clean, with traces of scent still lingering from the soap he’d used; strong, almost spicy smells, not quite eclipsed by the heady scent of sex.

After a few moaning moments, he slid a hand back toward the base of Sigmund’s rod, onto his jeans, pushing upward gently. Again the cheetah obliged him, pushing upward a little, enough that he could straighten that pole and aim it toward his parted jaws.

On his first fumbling try of this, back in the showers weeks past, he’d thought so little of it – Aaron had made it look so easy – that he’d tried to go all the way down at once. With Sigmund, he needed no further warning not to; the boy’s imposing length was warning enough. He coaxed the runner forward, feeling the broad head slip against his lips, and once he felt the rim of the glans slip past, he was content with that; he suckled on it, felt Sigmund tense and heard his rush of indrawn breath, and with that encouragement he started licking, leaving the rest of the shaft to his fingers.

After a bit he got bolder, dipping his head to take some portion of an inch more, then drawing back. His tongue stroked a little harder, a little faster, and after a bit of experimenting he found a spot right under the head that really made the cheetah shudder and moan; he didn’t want to overwhelm it, but every now and then he did let the tip of his tongue linger there for a while. Sigmund made things a little easier on him by taking over the in-and-out motion, a shallow roll of his hips that let him just keep his head upright and against the roots. Soft words, almost lost amidst the cheetah’s panting breath, praised him and urged him on; and when the cheetah’s tense voice warned that he was getting close, Mike just closed his eyes and redoubled his efforts.

A deep groan gave him a split-second’s warning. When the first sticky squirt struck his palate, he almost coughed, shivering with the effort of resisting it; the rest, mercifully, pulsed more gently over his tongue. The sticky feel of it was still strange, but he’d expected it and swallowed it down anyway – and the heavy moans overhead, the shivers running along those powerful legs, the lashing of the cheetah’s tail – all of it spoke of strong pleasure.

The awareness that he was giving someone that kind of pleasure was a rush all its own. That it happened to be another boy this time just meant the cues were different; it made the rush no less powerful.

Sigmund eased out of his mouth and sank downward, panting, to straddle him; the lion shuddered, a moan quivering in his throat, as the cheetah’s flagging but still firm flesh brushed against his own rigid arousal. “You say you’ve only done that once?” the older boy husked, grinning. “I’m not sure I believe you there. Now, give me some of that…” He silenced Mike’s incipient protestations of honesty by pushing their muzzles together. This time, the kiss was far from gentle; his tongue pushed between Mike’s lips, diving in, exploring his mouth, eagerly lapping at – presumably – whatever traces of his own climax the cheetah found there.

Some time later, the kiss parted, both of them panting in its wake. “You greedy thing,” Sigmund purred, grinning all over again. “You certainly didn’t leave much to share.”

Mike laughed, in spite of the burning in his ears. “It was either swallow or let it spill over,” he said.

“And you’re enough of a mess already, mmm? Well, now.” Sigmund swung off and settled beside him, wiggling around a bit as he peeled out of his jeans at last. “I’m going to need a bit of time to recharge, not being blessed with your stamina. But I think I know just the right medicine for that.” With another broad grin, he slithered down along the blanket, newly-bared toes nudging past its edge and stirring a few stones around “And you’ve given me a powerful thirst for it.”

It didn’t take a genius to see what was coming, and Mike was neither so naive nor so far gone as to miss it. He brought a hand up and set it atop Sigmund’s head, grinning down at him; one last grin back, and Sigmund dipped down, fingers wrapping around Mike’s erection, holding it up as he lapped at the tip.

His initial urgency was somewhat lessened, so he could sit back, relax, and enjoy it. Not entirely passively – the cheetah was good with his rough tongue, putting just enough pressure on to tease and tickle without being too harsh, and his fingers kept busy, not only around Mike’s shaft – that sometimes vanished entirely in the cheetah’s hungry muzzle anyway – but over his balls and, lightly, teasing, just under them. When that light touch made him shiver and squirm and arch up, it became not so light anymore. The feeling as one of those questing fingers spread him open was unfamiliar, intense, but very, very nice; as another finger joined it, and then as they slid deeper into him, it only got stronger and better. He was moaning with each breath, his toes curling hard enough to ache, his lashing tail sliding against Sigmund’s side; he couldn’t put together a single coherent word of warning, but Sigmund really didn’t seem to mind, guzzling down his load without a moment’s hesitation.

Once he’d had a chance to catch his breath and they were both lying down – somehow, Sig had wound up with Mike atop him – the lion drew a breath. “That feels a lot better than I ever thought it could,” he admitted.

“Hmm? What – oh, right.” Sigmund laughed, giving a lick to his nose. “You’re only getting started, there. It’s even stronger in some. Maybe you’d like to see how good it feels for me, mmm?”

Mike blinked at that. “What, you mean…?” He wiggled his fingers a bit.

Grinning, the cheetah slid a hand in between them, wrapping around Mike’s length. “Not with your fingers, since you’re so wonderfully quick to recover.”

Oh.

“You, uh… you sure? I mean…” Mike bit his lip, and forged on, “I have no idea what I’m doing, there.”

“Better to learn with someone who’s used to it, knows what you need to do, yeah? Instead of someone else who doesn’t, making it clumsy all around.” Sigmund’s other hand wandered over, snagging the bag he’d set out when they’d first got to this little nook, tugging it closer. “Sit up a bit, I’ll get you ready.”

Mike pushed himself upright, onto his knees, watching with some curiosity as Sig – they’d just shared three climaxes between them with more imminent, Mike thought to himself, if that wasn’t friendly he didn’t know what was – squeezed some clear gel onto his finger-pads. Curiosity turned to understanding when those fingers then met his penis – it was a little cool, but the shock of it felt rather interesting, and it was plainly very slippery.

“You like that, don’t you?” Sig purred, grinning up at him.

“Someone’s hand getting all over my cock? Kinda, yeah.” He grinned back.

“Well, don’t get too into that, of course. Here…” The cheetah shifted under him, propping up his knees, then curling a little tighter from there. “Get your arms in here, would you? Help hold me up like this.”

Mike obliged, slipping his elbows around the cheetah’s knees, leaning down toward him in the process. With a hand on his hip and a bit of coaching, Sig got him into place; a bit more fumbling, and the cheetah told him to start leaning forward.

“I can’t quite feel the difference,” he admitted.

“You will,” Sig assured him. “And you’ll get to know it, if you keep doing it. Gently, now… ooooh, yeah, that’s it, just like that…”

He hadn’t felt that he was in position, but he certainly felt it when he started slipping into the other boy. It wasn’t the same snug warmth he was used to with Angie, but it was snug and warm.

“I think,” Sig croaked, swallowed, and tried again, “I think you like this even more, yeah?”

“So do you,” Mike sighed over his muzzle, still sinking into him. So long as the cheetah didn’t tell him to stop, or – wait, there was the other thing he was alert for; a shiver, a surge of tension, a squeeze around him, body and cock both. He froze. “Too much, or – ?”

“God, no, keep going,” Sig whimpered, still trembling. “You just… just got to the good spot, is all.”

“It’s that strong?” He hadn’t noticed any such thing, but then he hadn’t really been in a mood to enjoy it when he’d had another boy there.

“God… god, yeah.” The cheetah squeezed his shoulders, squirming under him as their bodies pressed together. “I’m not that good at giving head – I don’t think you’d have come quite so soon without my fingers helping.”

“Okay,” Mike laughed; he had to concede the latter point, even if he personally thought that mouth had been very nice. “But it didn’t feel like a magic button.”

“It’s just enough all put together to get to me,” Sig murmured over his ears. “You should see what it’s like if you come in from behind – then you’re pushing against things a little more. Now move in there, silly.”

Mike yelped; the cheetah had actually gone so far as to nip one of his ears, and the sudden prick had caught him rather by surprise. “Sorry! Kinda new to this,” he reminded the other boy, but did try to draw back a little, a few inches at least, then push back in.

With a bit more coaxing, he worked up into a stronger, steadier rhythm. He wasn’t quite sure how much play he had, how far he could go without maybe slipping out entirely, but Sig was plainly happy with how much he was doing, and it was certainly doing wonderful things for him. Especially as the cheetah’s hands started roving about his back and shoulders, claws stroking his skin here and there.

“Think you can keep going?” Sig hissed over his flattened ears, at some point when he had his cheek against the other boy’s shoulder, panting over his collarbone. “I can feel it in you, yeah, not far now… I’m a bit behind, but maybe if you can stay in there, go for two in a row…”

Mike shivered, turning his head to nuzzle along the older boy’s collarbone. He’d done something of the sort once, with Angie, pausing only long enough to discard one condom and roll on another. And, well, Sig couldn’t get pregnant; they didn’t have that layer between them, didn’t have that step to worry about. Which was probably why he was already feeling his balls tighten; this sort of stroking was something he just couldn’t get with rubber in the way… “I can try,” he panted. The time he had done it, his balls had ached for a week.

He tried to prop himself up with one arm, to stroke the cheetah with the other; but he hadn’t done more than a half-dozen passes along that hefty, quite rigid flesh before Sig tugged on his wrist. “Some other time,” he said, grinning wide. “Not that I don’t enjoy the thought, but I just want you to go wild, now.”

So he did. More or less. He planted both hands under him, putting a little more weight into the motion as he drove in deep, grinding against the cheetah for a second or two, then thrusting into him as fast as he dared. It was a bit rough, and the stones were rather uncomfortable even through the blanket, but it just felt so amazing that he didn’t care. And at some point, that feeling spilled over, exploding through him in a shivering rush – but he forced himself to keep going, to keep driving his cock in and out of the other boy even as he felt his spunk rushing through it.

Sig pulled him into a kiss, drawing the laboured breaths of the lion’s climax into his own lungs. He was starting to squirm under those frantic thrusts, one hand slipping from Mike’s neck to his shoulder and squeezing, the other between them, tugging urgently on the cheetah’s shaft where it bobbed over him.

The snug heat around his piston was just so intense, in the wake of one climax, that it was almost unbearable – almost. It was almost a mercy when, a minute later if that, he felt another one welling up inside – but somehow, Sigmund beat him to it, a muffled cry slipping into his mouth as the cheetah tensed under him, spasming hard around his cock, the heavy smell of fresh semen teasing at his nose as it streaked over the older boy’s chest. That smell was what finally tipped him over – it felt like something snapped inside him.

This time, he couldn’t bear to keep thrusting – he just drove in deep and stayed there, squirming, straining to push in just a bit more as fresh orgasm gripped him hard. He wasn’t sure he actually had any spunk to offer, this time around, but that didn’t matter; the other boy just felt so good.

By the time he could focus on anything other than that, Sig had caught his breath somewhat, and Mike’s chin was on the cheetah’s chest, fingers rubbing behind his ears. He was starting to get rather sore from holding himself up; drawing a deep breath, he eased back, letting Sig’s legs down, shuddering as the motion pulled the older boy off of his very sensitive cock. He was still rigid when he pulled free; by the time he’d turned over and wiggled in against the cheetah’s side, though, it was finally conceding defeat.

“If I hadn’t seen how you reacted on the bleachers,” Sig murmured into his ear, “I’d never believe this was anything close to your first time with a guy. That was incredible.” his fingers again sought out Mike’s ears, stirring between them.

Mike rolled onto his side, leaning his cheek on Sig’s shoulder and letting a hand splay over his chest. Yeah, it felt a bit odd to not find a breast there; on the other hand, it was that much easier to splay his hand right out, to feel the thumping of the other boy’s heart beneath it, the swell and ebb of his chest as his breathing steadied. “I think that’s supposed to be my line. That last bit, I mean.”

A laugh. “I’d hope I don’t give the impression you’re my first, no.” Those stroking fingers slid down under his chin. “Do you think Angie would mind much if we switched it around, sometime soon? Fingers really don’t do it justice.”

Angie…

Inspiration dawned.

“You know, it’s her birthday coming up in a little,” Mike said.

Sig blinked, but nodded. “Ja…?”

Mike’s ears were burning with the memory, but he went on anyway. “She told me something interesting, lately…”

As he went on, a broad grin spread over Sig’s muzzle.

Oh, yes. The near future promised to be very interesting.

(This entry is in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: << First | < Prev | Last >> )