Kitty: The Sequel Chapter 6
"Mikey, baby. You awake?" Bob murmured, fingers dancing up my side under the blanket.
"Mmhmm…" I curled toward the touch, folding myself further over Bob, breathing in the scent of his neck.
"I need to go to Chicago for a few days." his hand had migrated down to my tail, stroking it the way he knew made me turn to putty.
"Huh?" I was a bit distracted by his roaming hands, that familiar warmth spreading through the bottom of my stomach.
"I need to visit my grandma, she's sick."
"But, Bobby…" I was slowly catching on, "If you leave, who will take care of me?" what about me that needed taking care of made itself quite present to his hip.
"Aw, poor baby. Don't worry, it'll only be for a little while, a week at the very most. She's a total bitch and this is just a curtsey call so my mom won't kill me."
I knew it was for his grandmother, but seriously, what was I going to do without my Bob for so long?
Well, I would just have to make good the time I did have. Bob didn't seem adverse to my train of thought either, hands moving with firmer intent and filthy purpose.
I had been exceptionally horny lately, something Bob was obviously enjoying. I don't know if it was some weird side affect to my feeling guilty for spending too much time with Ray or what. Just that it felt fucking awesome to ride Bob in the early hours of the morning with the blankets pooled around us and sun shining through cracks in the blinds to bounce softly off his fair hair.
Yeah…fucking great.
I danced Bob into the bathroom, about half an hour later, tail swishing and smirk firmly in place.
"Clean up time, Bobby."
He grinned, sweeping me up in his arms in the cramped space and nuzzled at my neck.
"Only if you promise to help me out."
I giggled, squirming in his bridal-type grip. Seriously, no way I could survive the week.
I sat in the middle of the living room, carpet warm on my bare backside, staring at the wall and moping. Bob had left almost two hours ago(after almost three days of solid fucking to tide me over) and I had no idea what to do; besides think about how he had left, even with me clinging to his leg. About how he had scratched behind my ears just-like-that-so-good and promised to bring me back a present. After which, I had huffed and puffed and planted myself on this little square of carpet and sulked.
Eventually, I realized that being miserable was getting me nowhere and I started picking up the room. Then, straightening a few magazines and fluffing a couple pillows somehow turned into a full-blown war on filth.
Not that the apartment was all that dirty (which, under the circumstances, frustrated me to no end) what with my OCD-like cleaning tendencies and Bob's general neatness. But I needed something to do or I would go insane with my lack of Bob-ness.
It accrued to me, half-way through scrubbing the bathroom floor until it shined impeccably, that having so much sexy-time with Bob right before he left for a week was probably not one of my better ideas. My body had become over-accustomed to him being right there for me to have my way with. Now it was basically screaming at me to get off, and I made the tiles I had just polished dirty once more. Well, at least I had more to clean.
That night, muscles burning from the intense cleaning session, I tossed and turned and generally made a mess of the bedcovers. I couldn't get comfortable without the solidness that Bob provided, he was warm too…and he smelled so fucking good.
Dammit, now I had to jack off again. I hated doing that, so messy and lonely.
Tomorrow, I had work. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
It was bad…
There were too many people, people with their smells and motions and not-being-Bob. I was a wreak by noon, had spent my lunch break jerking off in the employee bathroom and felt worse for it. Not just because that was in no way correct worker conduct, but because it didn't help…not one little bit.
I went home sick, well not sick precisely, but very, very horny. Supervisors don't normally except that as an excuse, so I went with food poisoning; she seemed to buy it. When I got to the apartment, it smelled like Bob, and I let out a little keening whine that would so mortify me if anyone else was around to hear it.
I stumbled into our bedroom, following the nearly visible trail of his passage, my nose twitching. I crawled up on the bed and groped around for the shirt I had tucked under my pillow, burying my face in the black fabric.
My ears fell back against my skull as I inhaled deeply, fuck yes. My tail curled up and around my waist, skin too hot in it's cloth prison. But I was way too far gone to do anything about it, could only flush and hunch over and bury my face further into Bob's shirt.
It smelt so fucking good, like warm nights and rough skin and strawberries…I freaking loved strawberries. Bob knew I loved them, that's why he bought that body wash and always brought me treats; he loved me so much. I breathed in his essence again, deeper and more fully than before…
A wet spot spreading though the front of my jeans had me falling down out of cloud nine and straight onto embarrassing-ground-of-pointy-rocks-and-shame. I had creamed my pants just thinking about Bob, from fucking smelling his shirt. Shit, what was wrong with me?
I felt better though, lighter somehow. Maybe it wasn't so much the getting off, as another person doing it for me. Or, close to it anyway.
This did not seem the least bit normal, this bombardment of sensation, this feeling of drowning in primal need, was definitely not covered in sex ed. (though how anything got covered with the amount of giggling and crude jokes that went on was questionable)
No, this was something that probably only happened to me…people like me. Ray would know what was going on! Ray could tell me why I was humping my bed-dammit! I scrambled to my feet and glared at the slightly mussed spread, as if it were all it's fault I was so horny.
I decided to ignore my current state and instead wriggled out of my sticky jeans and peeled off my shirt. Feeling instantly more relaxed, if not entirely back to normal. My head cleared and I realized calling Ray would not be the smartest move, I should just try and wait whatever this was out. Bob would be back in a few days and everything would go back to the way it was, really…it would.
I lasted three days, well two and a half…and only because Bob called me and we had the best phone sex since the invention of the device itself, at least in my opinion. Bob seemed pretty into it too, so yeah.
But insane long-distance-dirty-talk only went so far in relieving the ache in my body. I hadn't told Bob about anything, it would just worry him and I so didn't want that.
Ray picked up on the second ring,
"Hey, Mikey, what's up?"
I jumped at little sudden voice,
"H-hi. I was…wondering if I could, like, talk to you about," I took a big breath, "…stuff."
"Stuff, or stuff?" I could practically hear the smirk in his voice, my tail twitched.
"The second one." I muttered into the phone.
"Let me guess, you feel smothered and inexplicably turned on all the time?"
"Yes."
"Nothing you do makes it go away?"
"Yes."
"You feel like you might just die if someone doesn't fuck you soon?"
"Yes." shit, it was so true, I was shaking with the intensity of it.
"Mikey, calm down. It's fine, you're fine." Ray's voice was soothing, "Why don't you come over to my place, we can talk more. I can explain things to you."
"Just talking, right?" he chuckled,
"Yeah, Mikey. No worries."
"Al-alright." I nearly choked on the word and dropped my phone. Talking was good, I could do talking. Ray would explain everything that was going on with me and-and fuck if I knew what then. Just, I needed to go. Needed to.
I barely remembered to put on some pants and zip up a hoodie over my bare chest before rushing out the door.
The bus ride was pure torture, I curled up in as tight a ball as possible on the hard plastic seat; my tail wrapped tight around my knees and ears flat as they've ever been. By some New York magic, no one even looked twice at the weird kitty-boy having a breakdown two feet from them. Meanwhile, I just tried not to start rubbing up against anything…or one.
My knocking was a little sporadic, but I was twitchy and nervous, so whatever. Ray answered quickly anyway.
"Hey," fuck, he smelled good, "come on in."
Ray's fingers were like fire on my back as he shuffled me inside; my breath hitched.
"You-you said you'd explain what was going on with me?" I couldn't look him in the eyes, no more than I could stand still; pacing felt good, steady, constant.
"It's actually quite simple, Mikey." I glanced at him quickly before looking away at the sight of that smirk, pacing faster.
"What's wrong with me?"
Ray chuckled quietly, though not in a mean way.
"You just in heat, Mikey, nothing to worry about."
What the fuck?
"What the fuck?" I had stopped my frantic movements, and just gaped at Ray.
Ray who was much too close and smelled way too good.
"It happens once a year, around this time. We start to give of pheromones," I sniffed involuntarily, ear flicking, "start to get the cravings," he winked, " and have a lot of fun for a couple weeks."
"Wha-?" he was stepping closer, eyes dark, I couldn't find the strength to back up.
"Of course," his voice was as dark as his eyes, dripping sweet, life giving words, "it's only really fun if you have someone that can last as long as you need them to…"
Fingers brushed over the zipper of my hoodie, breath hot across my cheek.
"Do you want me to help you, Mikey?"
I nodded, vision hazing over with pure need, and want, and nghh.
The last thing I register before everything is heat-wet-yesyesyes, is Ray's smirk and a fucking sharp twinge in the corner of my heart.