Priscilla, Queen of Cats Pt. 02

PART TWO: An All-New Black Beauty

This was almost the final straw for my overtaxed brain, and I believe I did start making somewhat foolish and helpless noises as I tried to deal with this extra twist in the day's already twisted events. While I stood there and gibbered uselessly, the woman smiled in a benevolent, amused fashion, and then she suddenly rolled in the bed as though I had temporarily ceased to exist, running her hands over her ebony-dark skin and making noises of deep and intense pleasure. There was something oddly familiar about the languorous, contented, heedless, possessive, devil-may-care way this woman sprawled upon my bed; connections began forming in my recovering mind, and when she eventually opened her eyes again and I realised they were a particularly familiar shade of iridescent green, I managed to put two and two together.

"So that's what you wished for?" I said, slowly, stunned.

The newly human Priscilla flashed a wide grin, treating me to a view of dazzlingly white – and worryingly pointy – teeth. She made a noise that matched the manner in which she lay upon the bed: it was a long, low, contented "mmmmmmmmmmm..." which spoke an affirmative to my question and also managed to say a whole lot more.

My jaw, already swinging low in shock, swung a little lower. "Oh my," was the best I could manage, as she took one last roll in the sheets – evidently enjoying the intensely pleasurable sensation of the material against her newly smooth, hairless skin – and then she started moving towards me. She prowled across the bed on all fours, her eyes cool, unwavering, locked into mine, her shapely rear pointing at the ceiling – if it still had a tail, that tail would be swishing and twitching; coming to the end of the bed, she frowned a little as she suffered the extremely un-cat-like indignity of having to stand and walk. Even so, the manner in which she took her first human steps to close the distance between me and the bed were unmistakably feline: the gentle sway of her hips, the hunting, piercing steadiness of her gaze, and the quiet confident smile all combined with her stunning, fantastic nudity – and her apparent obliviousness to being nude, her utter lack of self-consciousness, as though there was no other way to be but naked – all combined to push me deeper into a bewildered, helpless, and increasingly aroused state.

Priscilla was upon me now, quite literally, for she pressed herself against me and made her intentions known. There was not an atom's worth of empty space between us. Her face nuzzled my neck, curiously yet confidently. Her breasts, shapely and generous, pressed against my chest, unabashed and unrelenting. Her groin rubbed unmistakably against my upper thigh as her legs intertwined amongst mine. The air was thick with an unrestrained, animalistic sexuality that spoke volumes of needs, wants and long-held desires; this gave me pause, and a question left my lips before it had even crossed my mind:

"Why me?" I asked.

Priscilla looked up at me, eyebrow raised. "I mean," I stammered, "of all the wishes you could have wished... why this? Of all the guys you could have picked... why me?"

She smiled again in that unmistakably feline fashion of hers, and I sensed that she was readying herself for another untried task: human speech. The words came from deep within, and she spoke in a typically unhurried, languid fashion. "Because..." she said, and her smile grew wider. "Because... I like... the way... you scratch my tummy."

The words were in some ways so ridiculous, so incongruous, coming from this knock-you-down stunning black beauty; but on another level, it presented a clear and simple logical sense. My bewilderment suddenly up and left, and the dependable voice of reason in my brain simply said "never mind the why – get to the what, when and how, ya dickhead". It was clear that Priscilla had wished her wish with one objective in mind, and the gentleman in me couldn't bear the thought of depriving a lady of her one most sincere wish.

"You like how I scratch your tummy?" I echoed.

"Mmmmmm," she purred in the affirmative, into the hollow of my neck. "You have... kind hands."

"Oh really?" I grinned. I had been told as much before by the ladies, of course, but being told by an ex-cat seemed to add weight to the compliment. "Well then, Priscilla: would you like me to scratch your tummy now?"

"MmmmmmMMMmmm!" was the encouraging – nay, demanding – reply. So I obliged.

I grabbed a firm, yet kind, hold of her, and spun her round; she obeyed – giving every indication that she did so only because she deemed the action entirely acceptable, and not through any submission on her part – and pressed her back against me as tightly as she had pressed her front. While she began rubbing herself, very slowly, up and down against my body, and paying particular attention to grinding her delicious rump against the growing mound in my pants, I reached around her and, using only the lightest touch of the tips of my fingers, I traced a relatively innocent path up and down against the incredibly soft, wondrously smooth skin of her belly. I could see her pleasured grin grow wider and more pleasured, and I grinned too as she recommenced her human equivalent of a contented purr. And as I kept tickling her tummy, I took some time to consider my plan of attack.

Priscilla and I had a long history, going back to when Blinn moved in with us nearly three years ago and brought the cat with her. From the very minute Priscilla strolled through the door, she treated the place like her own personal queendom and all of us mere humans as her sworn and dedicated serfs. Now I am not the sort of person to tolerate this behaviour from anyone, cat or human, so I refused to submit; I never made the kissy, smoochy, besotted noises that everyone else made when they laid eyes upon Priscilla, and I never begged the creature to come on over and grant me the special, savoured honour of deigning to sit in my lap so I could run my hand through her hallowed fur. No sir; I made it very clear through my manner, demeanour and the occasional thrown object that Priscilla was in MY house, and her comfortable existence within these walls was only due to MY serene and benevolent allowance – NOT the other way round, as all cats would try to have it.

And wouldn't you know it – I don't know why, whether it was a result of some feline respect for authority, or whether it came about through some typically cat-like perversity – but Priscilla seemed to respond to this treatment by hanging around me more than she did the other various occupants and visitors of the house. I always suspected that Priscilla paid me particular attention only because she had everyone else firmly under the paw, so she had to expend extra efforts in order to somehow win over me as well. She never did win, of course, and eventually our relationship settled into a kind of grudging stalemate. Every now and again a temporary truce would be called, and Priscilla would mosey on over and treat the both of us to a bit of a tummy-rub; I always thought that there was nothing in them, that they were just a convenient and mutually therapeutic session that meant little and signified nothing, but now, with the newly human Priscilla in my arms... did those tummy-rubs mean something after all? My pride and strength of character, my obstinate refusal to submit to her beguiling feline charms: could such perverse and uppity behaviour actually turn a cat on?

It sure seemed that way.

And I could see where things between Priscilla and I were likely to head. This wasn't going to be another mutual, meaningless tummy-rubbing session; Priscilla could never browbeat me into submission as a cat, so she was obviously going to try to win the war as an incredibly gorgeous, slim, lithe, overwhelmingly sexual and achingly desirable woman. Did she think she could fuck me into belittlement? Did she think she could finally win my everlasting and undying loyalty and servitude by means of a quick, frenzied shag? Boy, was this little kitty in for a surprise.

My musings were taking too long for Priscilla's liking, I could tell. For more than a minute now I had done little more than trace my fingertips over the skin of her stomach, marking a slow and tantalising trail over her abdomen, up to – but not over – her ample bosom, and down to – but not through – her last remnants of tangled black fur. I knew of the intense, tingling pleasure that arose through such a light and simple touch, having used and suffered its delicious effects myself more than once in the past; and while Priscilla was clearly enjoying my ministrations, the urgency of her moaning purrs signified that she was impatient for more. So I gave her more: I reached up and I grabbed a couple of handfuls of ample bosom.

This provoked a sharp intake of breath on Priscilla's part, which of course made those lovely breasts of hers stand up and say g'day – which made for quite the sight. I grinned, and gave those breasts of hers a good, long, slow squeeze; Priscilla made a moaning, groaning, approving noise that was encouraging to say the least, so I leaned down a little and kissed her on the neck, just beneath the corner of her jaw. To my surprise, Priscilla reached back and ran her nails along my leg; less surprising was the fact that her nails were razor-sharp. I made a careful note of this – those 'claws' could come into play later, especially if I didn't watch my step.

Priscilla moved suddenly, breaking free of my enveloping embrace and bounding onto my bed, where she did a hell of a thing: she settled down on all fours, pointed her delicious rump at me, and spread everything as wide as it could be spread. There she was, all of her, in her fullest glory: dark skin lightening to pink, slick and moist with her excitement. And after allowing me a quick second to drink in the view she looked back at me over her shoulder, sending a look that could be recognised in any language of any species, a look that said "come get some, stud."

Well. There was a part of me – a rapidly growing part of me, thank you kindly – that dearly, desperately wanted to obey, and I had to fight hard to ignore those instinctual voices that were shouting "GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" As tempting as it was to simply get it all over and done with in one frenzied ten-second burst, which is what Priscilla's eyes were asking – no, not asking, DEMANDING of me, I was still determined to go about this MY way: I wanted to show her that humans didn't just do it, we stretched it out, delaying the inevitable until it was unbearable. So instead of shredding my clothes and leaping aboard that exquisitely inviting rump of hers, I simply matched her stare, and gave her a look. The look said: "Patience, my pet. I've a better idea."

Priscilla decoded my unspoken message – not surprising, given that she and I had spoken volumes over the years without ever uttering a sound – and arched an intrigued eyebrow; "Better, eh?" said her look of reply. So she rescinded the invitation of her spread wetness, turning about upon the bed and settling back on her haunches, her breasts sitting just so as she waited for me to make my move.

She didn't have long to wait; I advanced upon the bed, and continued across the mattress in a slow, prowling crawl similar to her preferred mode of travel. As I entered her personal space I noticed her tense up a little; she was wary, on unfamiliar ground here, and I knew that any sudden moves on my part would likely result in a heavy swot over the ear. So carefully, as non-threateningly as possible, I inched closer and closer to her, my eyes never leaving hers, giving her as open, non-threatening and beguiling a smile as I could manage; the space between us shrank further and further, until our noses were almost touching; she refused to flee, but at the same time she couldn't pick what I was up to, and I could sense her trepidation and her excitement mounting. I could feel her breath upon my lips, hot and heavy – and totally without the stink of cat food, which was a refreshing change from the usual – and then, finally, my lips found hers and I kissed her, softly and gently.

She was frozen, as I treated her to this new and uniquely human experience. It began completely innocently: just a soft collision of lips, softly pressing mine against hers, waiting for her reaction. I usually close my eyes when kissing, but for this kiss I watched her like a hawk: her eyes were initially wide open, stunned and unsure of what to do or how to respond, but slowly the lids fluttered; her look grew heavier, almost dreamy; and then her lids dropped and her eyes closed, as the tender, sweet passion of the kiss won her over. That was the encouragement I was seeking, so I raised a hand and cupped it gently against the side of her face as I kissed her again, slightly harder this time but with no less tenderness. Priscilla responded again, the tension in her body relaxing as she gave in a little more, so this time when I kissed her again I slipped in the tongue.

Priscilla reared back a little and her tongue retreated from mine, not out of revulsion but more through surprise; I went with her, my hand still against her face, soothing and reassuring, and I waited a little until, slowly, uncertainly, Priscilla's tongue returned and brushed experimentally against mine. So I kissed her opened mouth again, and again, treating her to a little more tongue each time, and in this manner I taught Priscilla, the ex-cat, how to kiss. She picked it up very quickly – I've always felt that kissing is the most basic and primal human ritual, to the extent that one would have to work awful hard to actually be bad at it. In being granted her new body, it seemed Priscilla was also granted the innate subconscious knowledge of kissing that all humans are born with – I was simply dredging this knowledge out of her subconscious, and bringing it to the fore.

And so we kissed onwards, all thoughts of getting straight to the fucking long forgotten. As Priscilla warmed more and more to the concept of the kiss, I inched closer and closer again, until we were well and truly in each others' arms: my hands caressed her back and the tops of those amazing buttocks, and then up her neck and through her thick, mane-like knot of curly black hair; and she was testing out the use of her newly-humanised limbs, her hands and fingers testing out the nooks and crannies of my ears, neck and shoulders. The kissing stretched onwards, time passing without notice, until I eventually decided to take this little kitty to task.