Law And Order - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Whiskers ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer: No, no, and no.

 

Author's Note: Nothing more than a Halloween lemon for you all. If you want to think of this as a companion piece to “Take Me By the Ocean”, fine by me. I'll try to avoid any similarities.

 

Beta: Extra busy, she'll get to it in time.

 

Dedication: Moonbeamdancer. I'm running out of things to say about you.

 

 

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A blue moon glistens overhead an autumn Central Park — an ideal setting for her hunt. She lunges from branch to branch, swift as lightning. While she could prowl the artificial landscape, the park beckons a unique passion inside her. It defies the city's absorbing nature.

 

The moon beams its light upon her and her shimmering coat of fur. Were it not for her humanoid structure, she would have been labeled as a young lioness. The proper term is anthropomorphic or catgirl for the enthusiast. Her coat and tail are onyx with an ivory ruff and matching circles on her eyes and paws. The only dab of color upon her are two pale pink nipples on her petite human-shaped breasts.

 

Her head is adorned with receding whiskers and a mop of cascading raven-black human hair — illuminating faint traces of humanity. Despite her beauty and ferocity, a disarmingly cute pair of feline ears lays symmetrical upon her hair. She momentarily rests on a branch before restarting her vigil. However, a new craving now possesses her: her budding hormones.

 

She yearns to sate the recent desire, yet won't sully herself with a mere male. Sniffing the air around her, she locates an intruder's scent — a perfect distraction. The aroma is abnormally soothing to her. Her probing peaks whilst she bounds herself into an above position on the foliage.

 

The interloper is an aged human male with salt-and-pepper hair, a roman nose, and the woolliest eyebrows. Dressed in a standard grey business suit, he is the proverbial sore thumb in her primal playground. His bouquet piques her — strong yet not overpowering; gentle in its simplicity.

 

How this is possible for a human, the catgirl muses. She cautiously eyes the man and waits. Unfortunately, the limb she is crouching on gives way and she plummets to the ground. The adage “cats always land on their feet” is not pertinent as she crashes on her right arm, hissing and howling from the agony.

 

He tentatively approaches her. She swings to a defensive stance with teeth at the ready when he removes his ashen jacket and tears off the sleeves.

 

“Relax. I'm not going to hurt you,” he murmurs compassionately.

 

His tone of voice inexplicably reassures her. Nevertheless, she cannot afford to be deceived as she deliberates in her panic. With her arm possibly broken, he could easily have the fighting advantage.

 

She pores over him and garners an impression of surety from the elder human. While his eyes mesmerize her, he tenderly but warily swathes her arm into a crude sling. The pain ebbs away for her as she gazes into his eyes.

 

“There you go,” he states amiably.

 

She tugs at her sling in her irritation; he then grasps her jittering appendage.

 

“If you move around, then, it won't heal.”

 

The unruly cat uncannily ceases her activity. How could his words still her so? He lobs his mutilated jacket over his shoulder and totters down another path.

 

“Take care of yourself,” he avows whilst waving goodbye.

 

Her animalistic mind springs to motion: trail the fading character or carry on with her quest. As she ponders, his cologne permeates her brain in its thrall. The choice is clear — she stealthily tags along.

 

 

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Vaulting from branch to branch, the animal surveys her quarry: who is strolling through his unchanged route for the past three times. She notes his leisurely pacing mixed with his confident stride. Nevertheless, only his eyes and voice captivate the mammal. She recalls her unexpected tranquility in his presence. Her body interprets this with a minor tingling between her legs.

 

She suppresses the sensation by concentrating on her observations. The anthropomorph has always distrusted human men from her time as a kitten — her original master having rejected her. Since then, she has always guarded herself against both human and feline males until now. Her curiosity gnawing, she perches on a tree limb several yards above his head, her tail swishing.

 

As she continues her assessment of him, his fragrance again intoxicates her. Her apprehension dissolves and she nimbly skips downward, out of his eyeshot. A breeze passes by and he halts in his tracks.

 

“You can come down now. I could sense you from a mile away,” he genially chided.

 

She is astonished — how could a human detect such an agile feline? She hesitantly hops down and scans him from a distance. A straightforward smile is his response.

 

“You can come closer. I'm not going to bite you.”

 

The female ambles her way to him. His mild comportment aside, she still skims her surroundings for escape routes or barricades.

 

“You're certainly a cautious kitty, aren't you?”

 

She whooshes her tail and narrows her eyes — she refuses to be addressed as just a `kitty'.

 

“Something I said?” He peeks at her rustling tail. “I'm sorry, then.”

 

His apology pacifies her and she saunters near him.

 

“At least you're not that aloof,” he jested.

 

She snorts in her defiance. In divine retaliation, she then winches from the twinge in her arm. He advances upon her in spite of the probable danger.

 

“Just relax. I just want to look at it.”

 

The gentleman's words placate her as he scrutinizes and kneads her slung arm.

 

“It's just a sprain. I need to move the sling to be more effective.”

 

The consoling voice subdues her and he gingerly shifts the sling to roam his fingers on her arm. Her spasm subsides while the earlier stir she had between her legs returns — the components of a potent one-two punch.

 

“You're enjoying this, aren't you? I am, too.”

 

She rejoins with a rare purr while savoring his touch. The elder brandishes a simper before extricating his hand.

 

“Meow,” she mews angrily.

 

“I want your arm to heal first, then, I'll pet you.”

 

His words temporarily appease her. Whilst performing his ministrations, the man's eyes finally have their opening to mosey. Like all red-blooded males, he couldn't resist leering at her nude body.

 

“Sorry about that. I usually keep my hormones in check.” His face reddened from his ensuing blush.

 

His actions would normally elicit a hiss, whereas, she is pleased by his current restraint. He is indeed a special male, let alone human.

 

“I should get going and maintain my beat. Bye again.” He pats her on the head and marches off.

 

Twice the opportunity presented itself and twice he refused. The enticement is overwhelming for the frustrated kitty — the price for snubbing the other males. She would not wallow in the bittersweet irony. She proceeds to pursue him, when he revisits her.

 

“I have a feeling you're going to follow me, and I could use the companionship. Let's walk together.” The feline notices a trace of a blush upon his features. If it were not for her fur, she would follow suit. Another whiff of him seals her commitment as she escorts him down the present sidewalk.

 

“Meow.” She treads beside him.

 

“You're a quick one, aren't you?”

 

She retorts with a negligible purr. Her eyes dart the environment in case of trespassers — not that they would stand a chance against her. They meander endlessly for hours, silently enjoying the other's company.

 

A bitter gust abruptly blusters past, chilling the couple. She clutches her arms for warmth. He promptly drapes her with his frayed jacket.

 

“Meow?”

 

“I have clothes on; you don't. You'll need all the extra warmth you can get.”

 

She clasps the lapels together, accumulating heat. She stares at him with her culpable eyes.

 

“I'll be fine. I'm a strong guy, you know,” he remarks in a mollifying manner. She huddles next to him nevertheless, so he can partake in the warmness of her fur.

 

“You certainly don't have to.”

 

If she were human, she would shrug his comment off — she is merely repaying his benevolence. Although, the fact he is so adjacent isn't lost on her.

 

“Well, I'm not about to turn down such an offer, since it's freezing. But we need to get out of this weather or at least away from all these trees.”

 

Her mind sparking with contemplation, she ushers the human down another passageway to a bare grass field. They hike to the center and he cuddles up to her as the draft intensifies.

 

“We'll probably have to cuddle up next to each other for warmth. Don't worry; I won't touch you. I have to watch for your sling, anyway.”

 

He seats himself on the grass and palms the ground on his left. After a moment gauging the potential risks, the animal sheepishly accompanies him.

 

“You'll be safe. I wish I knew how, but I will make you safe.”

 

His guarantee conciliates her and she curls up beside the man. They swiftly doze off in their thawing embrace. Her mellifluous purr drowns all other ambient sounds.

 

 

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The hybrid's eyes flutter open whilst regaining consciousness. The squall has passed with no discernable damage to the twosome or the field. She budges her head to the unconscious person snuggling alongside her. His body heat, heady scent, and humanity engulf her senses.

 

She nuzzles his chest, subtly purring, until she revolves her unharmed arm to latch on his right shoulder and brushes against his bulging erection instead. She is curious by the unanticipated development and marvels how such a growth could occur. Her innate inquisitiveness requires her to have a proper look. She reluctantly extracts herself and inches to his crotch.

 

Another tang by the augmenting form amplifies his compelling odor a thousand times. Determined to uncover the source of this narcotic, she utilizes her viable forepaw's claws to shred his trouser inseam. She gawps at his swelling penis and tuff of gray pubic hair a few precise incisions later.

 

The primal instincts invade her being, causing her to investigate using her only implement: her nose. She explores base to head and uncertainly fingers his foreskin. The senior shudders yet remains out cold. A viscous fluid emerges from his tip after her momentary fondling session.

 

She timorously licks up the fluid and absorbs his virile taste. She is instantly addicted to the nectar and seeks for more. Lamentably, a feline's tongue is a quasi-equivalent of sandpaper and thus attesting to quite the awakening for the gentleman. His initial vision is one of the creature nestling his shaft with her whiskers.

 

“I…uhhh.” Bliss supersedes both his being and mind. She cranes her head upward and peers at him. His eyes and his liquids inundate her core in ecstasy — the primordial longing is paramount.

 

“I…” His logic and reason discard themselves for his throbbing erection. “I don't want to do this. I don't want to hurt you. I…” His concern for her triumphs, however, his waning will cannot withstand the biological imperative. She purrs at his empathy, heightening her emergent affection for the human being.

 

She pauses to consider herself but her own raging hormones impair her judgment — her body is wet for him and what the kitty wants, the kitty gets. She roves her forepaw upon his baton, further beguiling him.

 

“I should say no, I want to say no, but I can't. My body is telling me otherwise and I haven't felt this aroused in a long time. I can't seem to resist you, so...,” he sits up, grips her shoulder blades, and hoists her up face-to-face. “Do what you will.”

 

She slavers his face and chafes him chest-to-chest, his eyes then stray downward to her exquisite breasts. Aware of his coveting, she lowers him with her forepaw and a Cheshire grin. He salivates before diffidently pressing his lips on the areola and suckling her nipple. Her purring increases volume as she cradles his head into alignment.

 

She caresses his hair whilst he firmly consumes her furred flesh. Her wetness is now a torrent, soon to gush forth like a river. In time, his timidity vanishes as he scrapes his teeth on her. He then progresses to the other breast and sensitively kisses the fur around the areola.

 

His hands are not conversely idle for he places one by the base of her tail and the other on the previous bosom. He pumps the tail while manipulating the previous mound of flesh, additionally stimulating her. A grumble is released from her as her torrent converts into a cascade. He murmurs in agreement, as he directs his maw to the nipple and repeats his sucking.

 

She grits her teeth, emits her claws, and carves his jacket into ribbons. She sloughs the tattered clothes off him and casts the pad of her forepaw all over his chest. He quivers and returns the favor. He innocently slides his hand by her sopping vagina and contacts the feline anthropomorphic issue of the clit.

 

She cries out in her rapture and collapses on the ground. The female splays open her legs, mewling for more. He smirks and does what a decent individual would do to a sodden kitty: dry her off. He stoops before her moistened opening and coyly laps up one of her folds.

 

She quakes by his tongue, unleashing extra dampness. She invitingly thrusts her crotch to his face, imploring for more. He complies with a slurping up on both her creases. Nothing else matters for him as he glances at her flushed visage before resuming. He then employs his index fingers to part her orifice in twain to expose the supple tissue within.

 

“Meoooow…” The lone sound she could emit under the circumstances.

 

The male delivers no rejoinder for he inserts his tongue inside her, her solution streaming into his mouth. Her arousal has no bounds as he persists in his prying. She fumbles her fingers through his hair and drives his head farther into her. She vows her death if he discontinues his precious stoking.

 

His tongue slots in farther and accesses her core. The pussycat now has her mate and all is perfect. He withdraws his tongue and strokes himself to mount her.

 

“I'll never hurt you. I promise,” he pledges dotingly.

 

“Mew,” she pronounces in a permissive attitude, prodding her saturated fissure against his unyielding dowel. He unhurriedly steers his engorged head inside her. Her fervor flares alive while another voice thunders in the background.

 

“Abbie?”

 

She disregards the disembodied voice and aims her attention only on her penetrating human lover.

 

“Abbie?”

 

He is ready to imbue all of his being in his cat. All is right with the world with each affecting inch.

 

“Abbie. It's time to wake up.”

 

Abbie flickers her eyes ajar as they focus the blurred image of Jack settling across from a table. She is in one of the D.A.'s offices, cozy in her fort of hardbacks.

 

“What happened? I guess I fell asleep,” she utters in her mortification.

 

“You did.”

 

“So, why didn't you wake me up?”

 

“You needed a rest as it's now 2:00 A.M. and it looked like you had a good dream. Who am I to interrupt that? The criminal justice system can wait an hour or two.” Her eyes rouse to life by the eerily parallel pitch of her superior's voice to her dream lover's.

 

“Thank you. I owe you.”

 

“Don't mention it. Shall we go back to work?” He proffers a law tome to her.

 

“I hate to sound like a ten-year-old but I need to go the bathroom first.” Her countenance colors itself appropriately.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Thank you.” The woman sprints to the restroom like a bat out of hell. There would be many queries about her and her E.A.D.A.; nevertheless, there is a pair of drenched panties for her to attend on first.

 

 

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I'm so going to perdition. Anyway, leave a review if you wish and see you in the funny papers.