Pussy stops pussy Play
|A salutary tale for girls who play away from home about a rabbit, a bird and a cat named Jack|
On my latest housesitting excursion I watched three cats for ten days for a lady named Karen. One was a Siamese and the other two short haired grey and white tabbies; virtually identical siblings called Jack and Isabelle. The Siamese was named Madeline but three days into my stay I had to act as a search party to find the strange missing cat. I wasn’t sure Madeline even existed as I'd never seen the little four legged ghost. Isabelle was almost as non-existent as Madeline. I saw her once a day or so, gazing at me from a distance with a hint of distrust in her green eyes. Jack was a whole nother ball of yarn. He became glued to me the moment I walked through the door. When I first met him, he seemed a normal feline with a special talent for fetching toy mice. But I was soon convinced that he was not a cat at all, but a devious human being trapped in the furry body of a feline fiend. An ex-boyfriend, perhaps. Someone who likes heavy petting and seems to have good intentions towards me, but whose real motive was to drive me slowly insane.
Karen, bless her vacationing little soul, subscribed to digital cable, which meant that among the regular channels I’m used to getting at home, I could now see channels like the BBC and the Independent Film Channel, not to mention half a dozen HBO stations that broadcast soft core porn late into the small hours. What these movies lack in plot and acting, they make up for in sheer arousal power. I’m like any other channel surfer in the dead of night — wide awake and horny. So one night I brought out my latest purchase; a cute vibrator called the Rabbit. I set HBO to some stupid but steamy sex movie and I proceeded to seriously molest myself. I started off under the covers, having thoughtfully spread my jammie trousers beneath my naked waist and legs. Careful ejaculation is a necessity in a strange house and if I did dribble I wanted to do it on my own clothing and not on Karen's very expensive couch. Imagine explaining cum stains to a woman whose cumming days, I’m guessing, ended sometime during the Reagan administration? I began rocking slowly back and forth, legs spread, my Rabbit’s rotating shaft lodged deep between my perspiring thighs. I began playing with the levels of intensity, teasing myself, as two bad actors disrobed on the screen to cheesy, romantic music.
Muting the TV with one hand, I manœuvred the Rabbit with the other. My head dropped back as I approached my big moment while the Rabbit purred on into the night. I began to grunt softly, which meant I was on my way, fitfully opening and closing my eyes. Once when I opened them, I saw Jack sitting on the arm rest of the couch in front of me, his ears perked to the mysterious humming beneath the blanket. His eyes were glued to the movement of my bucking hips and curiosity was getting the better of him. I was now so close to climaxing that I was temporarily distracted by the watching cat. I saw his haunches rise, his tail twitch. Then his front paws started to dig into the couch like a sprinter waiting for the gun. I knew this posture and panicked. Jack pounced.
Anxious to get at my Rabbit, Jack pounced me right out of my orgasm. Luckily the little bugger was declawed. I rolled over and pouted for the rest of the night, too stubborn to try again. When I awoke in the morning, Jack was curled up between my legs. And the little monster was purring. Can you imagine that?
The next night, I decided to outwit my feline foe. I sprawled on the living room floor, flipped on a slutty movie and sat atop my buzzing best friend. This new posture seemed to fit me better, either that or I was feeling it a bit more that night, gagging for it like a teenager on her first date. Jack could only watch from afar, which put me off slightly but only when I looked at him. I wanted to say to him, “Don’t just sit there you furry bastard, squeeze my titties or something!”
I got off shortly afterwards and had one of the best orgasms of my life while Jack could only sit and watch like the evil pervert he was. He tried approaching once or twice but simply flipping my Rabbit into high gear scared the little demon away. After I came, I collapsed on the floor, my body limp, my mind relaxed. I glanced over to Jack and snickered triumphantly. Defeated, he adopted an air of superior indifference, looked away and started grooming himself.
All seemed well. He awoke at the foot of my bed the following morning. I scratched his ears and made coffee. As it brewed, Jack meowed at the door and I let him out. Barely ten minutes later he was scratching at the front door with a dead animal in his mouth. At first I thought it was a squirrel but when I looked closer I saw that it had feathers and a beak. Jack had brought me a dead bird. A cardinal, no less. Probably one of the birds Karen fed in one of her many bird feeders. A helpless victim to Jack the Cat — aka Jack the Ripper in feline form. He looked up to me, meowing, as if to say, “You have your hobbies, I have mine.” I hid the dead bird in the garden and washed away my guilt with an entire pot of coffee.
Around midmorning I went out to examine Jack’s victim. Its neck had been broken. I half expected to find a note pinned to its chest saying: 'Wank off again and the blue jay gets it!' Quickly digging a hole in the garden, I laid the cardinal to rest, whilst furtively glancing around for peering neighbors, or worse still, the police chief who lives three doors down the road. The last thing I needed on my police record was 'seen digging shallow grave in neighbour’s garden.' Jack watched me work from the kitchen window, coyly licking his paw and squinting his eyes from the glare of the noonday sun. I swear the little fiend was smiling.
I knew then that Jack was nothing if not a devil in furry disguise with pointy little whiskers. Even writing this now, the damnable creature lies in my lap, silent and seemingly angelic. But I know better. I know I have in my lap a furry demon with an impish tail that wags each time an evil thought pops into his pea sized brain. That poor bird was probably chained to a tree and tortured by Jack. Somewhere in the house I imagine the walls are lined with the mounted heads of the real mice the little sadist has dispatched.
That next night, I outsmarted my feline foe. I locked him in the bathroom with a can of Fancy Feast Beef in Gravy. Then I trolloped back to the couch and had my way with myself. I was so happy that I went at it again, and my second trip to the moon was even better than the first. Satisfied both physically and mentally for having outwitting Jack, I slid my Rabbit into its hiding place under the couch. Once the blood returned to my trembling legs, I opened the bathroom door and let Jack out. Having devoured the beef in gravy, he was licking his lips, pretty pleased himself, and seemingly unaware of my clandestine cum fest. His beady little eyes never left me all night, waiting for the onset of a horniness that never came. I disappointed him by keeping my clothes on well into morning.
A knock on my door awoke us both. It was my mother with breakfast. I introduced her to Jack and he meowed back, batting his paw on the door to go out. Oh no you don’t, you little bugger. If I let you out no creature on the block will be safe. I scooped him up in my arms and walked with my mom into the living room. He meowed again, wishing to tell secrets. 'Jack’s such a stinker,' I said, scratching his ears and muzzling his mouth. 'Do you know he can actually fetch? Here, look.' I set him down and gathered up one of his toy mice, which were scattered randomly around the house and tossed it across the room. He didn‘t budge. 'Come on, Jack,' I said, fetching the mouse myself. I threw it again near the couch and he lazily sauntered over to it, glancing back when he got half way as if to say, 'Like this? How’m I doing?'
My mom sat down and picked up the TV remote because I’d bragged about the digital cable to her. Meanwhile Jack began fishing for something under the couch. Unknown to me as we played with the TV, Jack was pawing at something very intimate underneath the couch. Moments later I heard a faint but familiar buzzing. Jack had discovered yet another animal, only this one didn’t fly and I had no intentions on burying it in Karen’s garden.
'What’s that sound?' my mom asked. Unfortunately my mom is not yet old enough to be deaf. I turned up the volume control on the remote and rattled off some excuse about the TV sound being out of whack. 'What’s the cat doing?' said the woman who'd given birth to me, suddenly noticing the fiend from hell she assumed was a feline.
Resisting the urge to explain Jack’s true nature, I only said, 'I don’t know.' Slowly, teased by Jack’s vicious paws, a rubbery purple penis peaked out from under the furniture. Somehow, perhaps with his telekinetic powers, Jack had managed to flip the switch and my Rabbit’s rotating shaft was causing the toy to crawl inexorably out from under the couch. I leapt out of my seat and knelt down on the carpet. Mom had pressed the mute button on the TV at precisely the same moment I managed to switch off the Rabbit. My fingers scrabbled over the carpet as I pushed the vibrator as far under the couch as I could and pulled out Jack’s toy mouse.
Presenting it to my mom, I threw it across the room and Jack bounded after it. 'See,' I said, with my heart in my mouth. 'He fetches like a dog.' Jack the Cat retrieved the fake rodent and dropped it at my feet. He looked up at me with an evil glint in his eye, and winked. Looking down to the devil at my feet, I conceded defeat. I knew I was outsmarted. My mom left that morning none the wiser about my nocturnal habits. But I didn’t so much as tickle myself for the remainder of my stay. From then on, Jack behaved like an absolute angel.
Story © 2004 Jennifer Gardner. Construction © 2004 utterpants.co.uk/ 161204