tagErotic CouplingsDoggy-Style in the Pussy Cat

Doggy-Style in the Pussy Cat

byLascivo©

Doggy-Style in the Pussy Cat (or Lick, Pussy! Lick! Lick!)

No one ever believes my story. But, hey! Who cares? I'm content to enjoy the memory myself.

'Twas my third year in Phi Beta Kappa, the days when Big Daddy ruled the House.

Big Daddy? He really doesn't need any description. It's suffice to say that he lived to perfect the fraternity stereotype.

He drank too much. Never opened a book. (Pornography excluded). And constantly obsessed over how to get into every girl's pants.

I must admit that he got laid pretty regularly. --No, not the hot chicks. It would probably be most accurate to describe Big Daddy as a bottom feeder. (And, admittedly, his "conquests" probably thought the same of him.)

Maybe I shouldn't dance around it. He was ugly, and they were ugly. But there were many they's, and you have to give him credit for that.

Plus, Big Daddy wasn't too shy about it.

"I haven't met a bad-looking boob," he'd often say.

His game-plan was pretty simple: Find the ugliest girl at the party--the one most likely hard up for a date. Get her drunk. And then get her to his room.

It was a rare weekend when Big Daddy didn't have a conquest to brag about. He especially loved sharing the dirty details to those of us who hadn't found love that night. He loved the big girls because, of course, they had the biggest breasts. "Size is everything," he preached daily.

Which is one of the many reasons we were shocked by Samantha.

A normal girl enamored with Big Daddy? A devout Christian? A serious academic?

Samantha had to have been the exact opposite. I still don't know why she ever bothered with Big Daddy.

Reserved, not bombastic. Intelligent, not myopic. Cultured, not ignorant. Refined, not slovenly. Rational, not passionate.

And, she had small breasts. And, she didn't drink. And--the biggest one of all--she wore a Promise Ring.

They apparently met in some class working on a group project. Overnight, Big Daddy began taking showers, combing his hair, and--much to our delight--ironing his shirts.

Heck, one night he even went to see an international film--something about Polish slums--just to impress the ever conscientious Samantha.

We couldn't have had more fun with all these shenanigans. Big Daddy actually trying to impress a girl (as opposed to him picking her up off the carpet and dragging her to his room).

He was a good sport about it, though. Except when we probed about bedroom activities.

"So did you get her to flush that Promise Ring down the toilet yet, Big Daddy?"

"Did you make her scream yet, Daddy-O?"

"You got a picture of those sweet little titties to share, man?"

You could tell by the redness on his face that he was flustered. He tried to joke it off, but it didn't work too well. "A fine wine should be enjoyed in time," he muttered once.

"Yeah--but you prefer cheap beer, Big Daddy!" someone mocked.

From my experience, those "opposite" relationships usually don't last long, and Big Daddy's ended that Halloween.

Of course Halloween had to fall on a Tuesday that year. I had quite a bit of class work, but I bit the bullet, worked through the entire afternoon, and had it done by 6 P.M. (Unlike Big Daddy, I actually wanted to graduate.)

I didn't have any particular plans for that night, but a fraternity boy doesn't really need a plan. There's always something happening or about to happen. So I just went down to the common room, turned on the TV, and waited.

Big Daddy huffed in a few minutes later.

"Dude! I need your help," he pleaded. "I...found a new friend, and--we have a test to study for. Can you do me a big favor?"

A test to study for? I new exactly what that meant.

"You and Sam finally getting it on, Big Daddy?" I razzed. "Sister Christian finally been conquered?

"Well...it does have to do with, Sam, man. Hey! Don't you think she's more your kind of girl than mine?"

He slurred that line. He had clearly been drinking. But what he said still caught me off guard.

"You see," Big Daddy continued. "Sam's awesome and all, but she's not really for me. I think I found someone this afternoon who's more...my kind of girl. I mean, my kind of girls. Could you just help me out?"

I had no idea what he was asking.

"OK," said Big Daddy. He was really distracted as he talked to me. "I want out. No more Sam. But we had a big date tonight going to the Phi Sigma Alpha costume party. She has this costume that her grandma made that she won't stop talking about. She's so damn excited! She's been talking about it for weeks. Some two-person costume. Means a lot to her. But...I've got other things to do. She gets here in an hour. Could you just go to the damn party with her? Tell her I'm sick. I promise that I'll break up with her tomorrow. I just need you to fill the gap tonight. I don't want to hurt her. You can't believe how much she wants to go to that party."

"Alright!" I said. "Sure, if Sam doesn't mind me instead of you. But what's your hurry? Why not call her yourself?"

"Sorry! No time, big man. I'll explain it all tomorrow." Big Daddy sounded quite relieved. "Remember: She really loves that costume. You have to help her out. Have a good time! I know you will!"

He turn and bustled out the door. I briefly wondered what the hell was going on with him, but I bet you could already figured it out yourself--didn't you? I did myself a few minutes later when I went out to the bathroom, just catching Big Daddy ambling up the steps with two chubby goth girls whose cleavage seemed to dip down to their waists.

Go, Big Daddy, Go! I thought. Be the man you are. (I don't think he had had sex since he started seeing Sam six weeks before.)

I was actually a bit excited about going out with Sam. She was an attractive, intelligent girl. She had been hands off as a frat brother's girl, but if Big Daddy didn't want her, I would lie if I said that I had no interest.

I bet Big Daddy knew this, and his gift of her didn't come without a catch....

After she arrived, Sam took the news surprisingly well.

"Poor guy, I hope he feels better. Pity to be sick on such a big party night! I can't wait for the costume party, though! Did he tell you about the costume that my grandma made?"

She would say nothing more about Big Daddy, but I did get a constant earful about the costume and her grandma from that point on.

Sam sure did like to talk. In the 10-minute drive to the frat house, I learned more than a little about her.

"My grandma is such a talented seamstress! During the war she made costumes for the navy. They said that she sewed the stitches so tight that a bullet couldn't penetrate the fabric! When I was fifteen, I asked her to make me a special Halloween costume. I just loved cats, and my favorite color was pink. I drew her a picture of what I wanted. A long-haired feline with big blue eyes and a little red tongue. With a nose that twitched. The hair had to be pink, of course! And it had a long, twisting tail that stood almost straight up. And I wanted claws that would clickety-clack when it walked. Oh, and...."

And she went on and on. She clearly had a special relationship with her Grandma, who obviously was talented, but.... Whew!

She was good to look at though. And--Big Daddy was right--she was so excited that it was almost contagious. She couldn't wait to put on Grandma's costume and show it off at the party.

I did pick up, though, that this costume took two people. And that it was a cat costume. And that it was pink.

I could just hear Big Daddy laughing. I hate cats, and I hate the color pink. And he damn well knew that.

He could have canceled out. The joke was on me.

He was having sex all night with two horny chicks while I was taking Grandma's girl to a party dressed up as a pink pussycat.

Two person costume, right? You know who was going to be the rear. Not Grandma's girl.

But a happy face, I kept. (Or I think I kept.)

Sam really was a nice girl, though. I honestly wanted to see to it that she had a good time. (Although I probably should have asked to see the costume before we drove over to the party.)

Now I should probably say that I went to school in the Deep South. October can be nice and all, but there are days that hit into the 90's. Like that day.

It was stuffy and humid, even after the sun had gone down. It would have been a great night for a t-shirt and athletic shorts, but I (like Sam) had worn jeans and a cotton shirt. Not smart.

I groaned when we opened her trunk.

It was big. It was pink. And it was long-haired.

Honestly? I never really saw it. (I was in it, remember?) But it did impress. There was a huge head with big blue eyes, a red nose, and a slightly opened mouth with a long tongue. Controls had been built inside the cat head. The eyes could look up, down, or side-to-side. The nose could twitch. And the tongue could "lick."

The costume was built so that the person in front (Sam, in this case) stood. Her legs were the cat's front paws. The cat's head rested above her own. (Sam was about 5'5", so our costume must have been at least 6'5" from head to toe.) Control rods hung down from the head so that the person in front could control the eyes, nose, and tongue. There was a sheer pink fabric under the head that the front-person could see through in order to navigate.

The person in back? That fool (me) had to do stoop over the entire time, hands on the person in front. His legs were the back paws. Movement for the back person was monkey-see, monkey-do. You didn't really have a mind of your own. You just followed.

I could see how it worked. Pretty cool in concept and design. Grandma definitely had talent. But, I would rather the costume had been a dragon, a panther, a bear, or--well--anything save for a pink, long-haired pussycat.

And boy, that fur should did look thick sitting in the truck on that humid night.

The costume was only one piece. A zipper began on the bottom under the back person (ostensibly on the cat's belly) and ultimately tailed up one side (although well hidden in the thick fur). Sam and I would both step into the legs, duck under, and throw the costume above us, zipping up afterwards.

Grandma sure did an amazing job. Although--I must say--she only put one lousy air hole in the costume for the person situate in back.

The more I looked at that thick, heavy costume, the more I dreaded it. But Sam was so damn excited.

"If we win tonight, I'm going to call up Grandma. She's in a home now. You know, she's making stockings for everyone at the center for Christmas! She's stitching their names along with all the names of their children and grandchildren. With little hearts for the girls and little trucks for the boys. And then she...."

I just stared at the thick, pink fur.

"We better carry a little water in that costume," I muttered.

We had parked several blocks away so that we could arrive incognito. I didn't really know any of the frat brothers, nor did Sam, but their house party was the premiere Halloween-event on campus. All were invited. And, to my knowledge, they had the only costume contest with prizes this year.

And so, to please a girl that I had no prior intention of pleasing, I threw a 30-pound, well-insulated costume over my head on an 85-degree evening.

It was miserable from the start. Already dark outside, it was almost pitch black in that costume--at least in the rear. There was a faint, faint glow from the front, where Sam could see out, but almost nothing in the back. There was an air hole under my legs, but it looked down to the ground, and little light came up through.

Our body heat had few places to go. I was sweating like a pig five minutes into our walk.

"Damn, it's hot, Sam! You OK?

"We're almost there! Get into character! I think I saw someone point at us! We're already drawing attention!"

I swear. She was almost singing those words.

And so my hell and Sam's heaven began. Our costume sure did draw attention. Sam must have worked those controls magically.

There were oohs and aaahhs everywhere, especially from the woman-folk. (Did you see those eyes move? Look at that tongue licking! What a pretty kitty! Did you make that yourself! Absolutely amazing!) The men? I've tried to forget their comments. You can just guess, can't you? (What a pretty pussy! Oh, man, I want to stroke that pussy tonight! You want a little treat pussy?)

But Sam soaked it all up. She really loved being the center of attention. She'd purr and meow in character, then spend five minutes talking about Grandma and the costume. Over and over again. To everyone she met.

And there were a lot of people there. Or, at least I think there were. (I couldn't see a damn thing, remember?) I was just back there in the dark, stooped over, my hands on Sam's sides, stepping each time she stepped.

I was just sweating. I wanted a drink, but I would have to get out of the damn costume to do that. And Sam was just so relentless, always moving around and showing off for new people.

But, when my mind began to whirl a bit, with flashes before my eyes, I knew that I needed immediate release.

"Sam, I think I need a break! I'm too damned hot. I think I might pass out."

"Me, too!" she sang. "Let's head out back. We'll get some air."

I couldn't see a damned thing. My body was sweating profusely. And my back ached from stooping over for more than an hour. I was just miserable. Big Daddy owed me, big time.

I wanted out, but I admit that--well--Sam was an attractive girl. And you don't want to displease attractive girls. Still, I was searching for an exit strategy.

I could tell the moment when we stepped outside. Oh--it was still freaking hot in that costume, but the temperature quickly dropped from, say, 130 to 110 degrees.

"Hey," she said. "I'm moving towards the woods. I think they back up to the forest. We can hide out there and cool off a bit. I don't want anyone to know who we are yet. Not till we win the contest!"

After a few awkward bumps and steps--not to mention tripping over what must have been a few roots--Sam said, "OK, here."

I immediately reached down between my legs, found the zipper on the cat's belly, and pulled it forward and then up and over. I leaned out at the same time as Sam, and we dropped the costume on our left side. She looked around, smiling at me. We must have looked ridiculous to an observer, our legs--from the knees down--still inside the furry cat costume.

She looked like she had just stepped out of the shower. (And surely I did as well.

"Sam...." I trailed off. I wanted to tell her I was done, but she seemed so....happy.

"Gosh!" she said. "I've never been so hot, but I wish you could see the looks on other people's faces. We have the best costume! I bet we win the contest! My grandma will be so proud! Thanks so much for doing this with me!"

Now--what can you say to that?

I looked around. We were perhaps 20 yards into the woods. The houselights were clear and visible through the fall forest, but the party noises seemed distant.

"I'm having a great time, too," I lied. "But, well, I think I need to cool off a bit. I just can't take that heat."

"I know. It's beastly up front, and I know that it must be ever worse for you. I did live in Maine when Grandma made this for me. I bet she would have used different material if we had lived down here at the time! But it's not like I can't wear it. It's just so perfect! But, it might be a good idea to take a layer off. I know I sweat through my shirt. Gross!"

That last line caught me completely off guard. Take a layer off?

"I tell you what," she continued. "I will if you will. For the sake of survival."

I was still trying to decipher what she had meant when she reached down and pulled her shirt over her head. I hadn't even processed that when she unbuckled her jeans, her eyes staring straight at me.

"Don't make me do this alone!" she said playfully.

It was a bit dark, but she had such a nice, lithe body. Firm and tight. Small-breasted with wide hips. She was suddenly standing right in front of me wearing only her bra, panties, and shoes.

I had started to stare a bit, but I quickly tore myself away. This is unexpected, I thought. Moments later I had removed my shirt and stepped out of my jeans. And there we stood, wearing only our underwear and shoes in the warm southern night.

"I'm comforting myself with the fact that my bikini is far smaller than this, so you're not seeing as much as you could." (I, of course, had to imagine how small that bikini must be. Her bra and panties weren't covering much.)

"Hand me your clothes. Grandma sewed a pocket inside the costume just in case the people inside needed to strip down a bit. She was always so thoughtful!"

After stashing our clothes into the pocket, Sam revealed two water bottles (perhaps hidden in the same place?) and we quaffed our thirst.

I would like to tell you that this was a sexual moment. Our sweaty bodies largely revealed to each other. But--it wasn't. Sam didn't seem conscious of the situation at all. She acted as if this was completely normal. Damn--she seemed so innocent! Surprisingly, I found myself thinking that this was no big deal either.

"OK!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Ready to go back and win this thing?"

We pulled the costume up and over. The moment I closed the zipper, I again felt the stuffy heat. But sans shirt and jeans, it did seem quite better.

"Paws forth!" Sam giggled. I bent down and put my hands on her sides. For the first time I felt her naked flesh. So soft! My mood brightened considerably. This isn't going to be near so bad, I thought.

With the same awkward difficulty, we moved forward. As before, it was hard to maneuver, and the heat once again began to grow unbearable, but...well, I had a distraction! Sam's butt, which had always looked to be of admirable quality, was only inches from my face. Were it not so dark in the costume, I would be able to see its smooth contours under her thin panties. I found myself imagining that butt, and what it must look like.

Now that's a much better way to pass the time while toiling away in the back end of a cat costume!

We had moved back inside the house. It was difficult to hear words and conversation while inside the costume (the thick fur fabric seemed to both mute and merge the outside noise), but I could tell that we were getting a big reaction every where we went, ranging from the laudatory (what an amazing costume! how cool!), to the politely mocking (oh, your poor things! you must be so hot in that costume!), to the completely inappropriate (would you like me to feed you some of my milk, pussy?).

There were more than a few idiot drunkards by now. At one point I felt some heavy hands on my sides and a hard bumping against my butt. "How do you like that in your pussy, pussy!" Some drunk ass frat boy trying to be funny, so blitzed that he never thought he might be dry humping another man in the back of that costume.

I had a flash of anger and a retort, but I swallowed it. I thought it best not to provoke anyone who might reveal my identity in the costume.

It really wasn't pleasant for me, but...you know, it didn't matter so much. I had my hands on Sam. And I liked the feel of her naked flesh. Even with a thickening coat of sweat on it.

And it's that sweat that led to what happened next.

Just try to hold onto a sweaty body. Just tell me that your hands wouldn't accidentally slip. And so mine did--accidentally--the first time. We were turning around a corner or such when my hands slipped down to the sides of her panties. A fingernail caught a thread and I gently tugged down on side (only a half-inch or so) before correcting myself.

"Whoa, there, chief!" she said. "You, OK?"

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byLascivo© 7 comments/ 100657 views/ 22 favorites

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