Copyright 2017 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: this story depicts gay sex. If that offends you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
Theodore and Terrence
Theodore was a rescue cat. I hadn't gone to the animal shelter intending to get a pet. I had redecorated my bathroom and was getting rid of the towels which no longer coordinated with the verdant color scheme. Someone had told me the shelter could use old towels as bedding. But as I stood there by the counter on that memorable March day, this poor feline waif looked at me through the bars of his cage and I was smitten. I paid the price, which included a pet carrier and brought him home. I named him after my college roommate, the bottom boy who had made me feel good about my sexuality, but once he was in my home a few days,--the cat, that is, not the roommate,-- he was so fucking sweet and gentle I started calling him Teddy. Teddy's was the last face I saw on the pillow when I turned out the light, and the first thing to greet me at daybreak. I bought him the best cat food available and began cooking more fish dinners. I took him to a vet to examine him, even though the shelter assured me he had been neutered and had had all his shots. I kept his litter box immaculate, and none of my bed partners complained that my flat had that telltale cat smell. Speaking of bed partners, Teddy was so considerate in that regard. He knew when there were two stem glasses on the coffee table, the wine was chilling and I was wearing my skin tight lycra pants, that I would be using the bed later for something other than sleeping. He would then curl up on the divan, and try to ignore the climactic screams, the smell of jizz and testosterone-rich perspiration in the air, and the tempting colorful rubbers dropping on to the rug. Teddy would just wait until he heard the lover leave before joining me in bed. Such a sweetheart.
It was a heavy mid-August rainstorm that brought Terrence into our life. I was coming back home from a night at the local strip club, where I had scored more BJs in the bathroom than I remember, as well as two tender assholes, a cop and an airline captain, in a private viewing room. I was feeling good about myself, but when I climbed out of the cab in front of my building, there was this pitiful wet rag of an animal crouched on the stoop. I unlocked the front door, skipped up the stairs to my flat and rushed inside to the kitchen. Teddy rubbed himself against my wet shins. I knew he could smell my reek of sexual success. He jumped up on to the counter as I opened one of his tins and dumped it on to a paper plate, not his cut crystal dinner bowl. He gave me a look. Then I grabbed the cardboard mailer off the bed that I had opened earlier that evening. The one that had the rakish Stetson which had completed my outfit and may well have played a small role in making the evening at the club so successful. I hoped the rain hadn't ruined the hat, but at that moment I was more interested in the box. I grabbed my shears and cut a neat hole in one end, stuffed a perfectly good verdant towel inside and went back downstairs. The soggy animal was still there, but when I tried to approach him, he backed off. I placed the plate of food and the Stetson box on the stoop, and went back inside.
Teddy was pleased when he saw me take down his cut crystal bowl and open a second tin. He ate daintily and listened to my tale of exploits. He likes to hear all the details, especially when I mimic the bottoms whining, pleading for my cock, and when I smack my lips to portray the sound of a sphincter giving way to my penetration. However, as much as I knew Teddy wanted to hear about my evening, I kept thinking about the beast on my stoop. Did he eat the catfood before the rain turned it into soup? Did he figure out the purpose of the hat box and have enough sense to get in out of the rain? I couldn't resist. I had to peek.
I asked Teddy to excuse me and went back downstairs. When I opened the front door, I could see the paper plate had been licked clean. A corner of the towel sticking out of the hat box told me something had gone inside it. Reassured, I smiled and turned to go back and finish telling Teddy my story. However, that particular night, the story would remain unfinished, because when I got back in my flat, Teddy was perched on the highest shelf of my bookcase and the soggy animal was devouring the food in Teddy's cut crystal bowl.
At the time I couldn't figure out how he did it, but a couple days later, when I was telling the security man about it (following our weekly fuck,--you see, I always had a thing about fucking a man in uniform), he suggested we check the tapes. The cam above the stoop showed clearly that as soon as I opened the front door to peek at the poor stray who had me so worried, he had snuck right in between my legs. And all this time, I thought I always knew what was going on between my legs. The cams in the hallways showed him sneakily tailing me to my flat and then darting in as soon as I opened my door. In a flash, he had absconded Teddy's food. In the same flash, Teddy had sought refuge from this invader. And in the same flash, my entire world was turned upside down.
I named him Terrence after a young man who had similarly crashed my place a few years earlier, making himself at home, eating my food, using up my condoms. Terrence the human stayed about three months. I wondered how long Terrence the cat would be in my life. Three days later, with no little difficulty, and more than a few scratches, I got Terrence into the carrier and brought him to the vet, who gave him the required shots and removed the contents of both my wallet and Terrence's scrotum. I thought a neutered male of any species was supposed to become more docile, but Terrence played hooky the day that lesson was covered in cat school. His demeanor was just as cocky after castration as before. I began to call him Terrence the Terrorist. I was now the owner of two cats, two very different cats.
The Terrorist was not the finicky cat Teddy was. Sometimes he pissed in the litter box, sometimes on the living room carpet, the back of the closet, the bedspread. Apparently, he was marking his territory. He managed to keep his defecating confined to the litter box, but when he covered his turds, he kicked litter out three feet. He wasn't picky about food and ate his generic cat food from a disposable metal pie plate; then proceeded to glom whatever he found left in Teddy's crystal dish. I had to sneak Teddy extra treats to make sure he ate enough. I had long discussions with Teddy about our new roommate. I asked him many times if I should put the Terrorist back out on the street, but he always insisted on giving him another chance. Teddy was very forgiving. As the Terrorist stole his food, Teddy would simply lay on his back, belly exposed, waiting his turn. So I kept the Terrorist, and bought a rug shampooer and lots of air fresheners.
My love life changed drastically. Battle-wearied war veterans who had endured the smells of blood and napalm and gunpowder, couldn't stand the stink in my apartment. Navy officers who did manage to stay long enough to doff their trous and assume the doggy position, ended up with claw marks on their ankles and wrists. There were numerous coitī interruptī. Ex-Marine POWs insisted we fuck at their place rather than endure the torture at mine.
Mark was the exception. A big burly fireman, Mark was 6'3", 230 lbs of well toned muscle. Able to descend a ladder bearing the weight of a victim over his shoulder. Whether in uniform or naked, his appearance was commanding. Mark was also married with two kids he adored. His wife never questioned his erratic schedule, so he was able to come to my flat on a regular basis every Thursday at 7:15 PM. And Mark was a sub. He got his jollies from being dominated. Other Masters he had gone to had St Andrew's Crosses, whips, chains, ropes. I had Terrence. While I used Mark's naked muscular body as the cum bucket it was intended for, the Terrorist used it as both a scratching post and pissing post. Mark would leave my flat with dried jizz on his face, wet jizz dripping from his asshole, bleeding from open wounds and smelling from head to toe of cat piss. Those Thursday sessions that autumn were satisfying for all three of us.
And then I fell. It was stupid, I know. Well, falling is never the brightest thing one can do. It was the first Thursday in December. Terrence and I were preparing ourselves for an evening with Mark and Teddy was settling down for a quiet nap. Looking over my supplies, I realized I was short of condoms. On principle, I don't do bareback. It was already after 5:30, so I slipped on a jacket and ran down the block to the drugstore. Literally ran. It had drizzled that afternoon and I didn't realize the puddles had frozen. Three feet from the drugstore door, I slipped and fell flat on my ass. I couldn't move. Someone called 911 and soon I was riding in an ambulance to the ER. Only victims of gunshot and accidental poisoning get immediate attention in an ER, so I knew I was in for a long wait. I began checking out the staff. Shit, those guys in their scrubs were a lovely sight. Then, I remembered. I called Mark's cell phone and explained; he was already on his way to my flat. As a fireman, he knew it was important for me to get everything checked out. Then I called my brother.
I should explain. Julian and I were never that close. We have very little in common besides our parentage. He's the typical homophobic beer-guzzling, sports-crazy, pussy-chasing straight. But one thing about Julian: he knows about cats. He's a behavioral biologist, working on his PhD. His thesis: cat behavior. He agreed to go to my flat and see that Teddy and Terrence get fed. I warned him about the Terrorist.
After two nights in the hospital, multiple sonograms, EKGs, Xrays and CAT scans, the medical staff failed to discover any broken bones, concussions, or damage to internal organs. I was sore all over but was declared healthy enough to leave. Julian came to drive me home. I studied his hands. No scratches. I cursed him assuming he must have forgotten to tend to my little menagerie. No, he maintained, he had lived in my flat the entire two and a half days and the cats were just fine. I asked if he wore oven mitts the whole time. He laughed. He asked if I ever noticed that Teddy had no Terrence-induced wounds on his little body. I realized for the first time that my sweet little Teddy was unscathed despite over three months of living with the Terrorist. Then Julian began explaining to his ignorant brother about cat psychology:
Terrence is the alpha male in the house. Always was, always will be. Teddy knew this from the beginning and immediately accepted his role as subservient to Terrence despite his seniority. Terrence must make sure everyone else learns that he is dominant. Of course, my status in the house is somewhat complicated. I am not at the top of the totem pole. That is Terrence's perch and his alone. However, he recognizes my role as provider and caretaker. He also has come to respect the way I don't let anyone else who comes in boss me around. As long as I serve a useful function in his life, Terrence will tolerate me as another almost alpha, but one he will need to keep a careful eye on. To Terrence, everyone else is just a bitch, and the sooner they learn that, the better all around.
So I asked Julian what his role was. Oh, definitely a bitch. No question. As soon as he arrived at my flat the evening I fell, he could size up the situation. So he proceeded to let Terrence know in no uncertain terms that Julian was his underling. If Julian were a cat, he would have flattened his ears and tucked his tail between his legs. Lacking the proper anatomy, he instead turned his face away to avoid eye contact, lowered his head and crouched down low. He lay down on the floor, on his back, a vulnerable position that indicated his acquiescence. When the Terrorist began to relax, although still on guard, Julian turned over on his belly, crawled next to him and rubbed Terrence's cheek with his own cheek. Then he turned back over on to his back, this time perpendicular to Terrence. He lay like that a long time, and apparently Terrence got the message. Julian knew his place in this household. From then on, Terrence allowed him to stay, to bring him food, to change his litter box, and to sleep, although not in my bed. Terrence wouldn't let him go that far. Julian had to throw a blanket on the floor and strip down to his skivvies for the night. Teddy was happy to have another submissive in the house.
All this was proving extremely interesting to me. I could see so many parallels between Terrence's treatment of others and my own. For all those pre-Terrence years, whenever a man rang my bell, regardless of what uniform he was wearing, he had to learn quickly he was in the presence of a true Dom. His role in my flat was to serve me, to fawn over me, to pour my wine, to strip for me, to suckle my cock in his cunt mouth and swallow my jizz, to present his cunt asshole to me for ramming, and to thank me when it was all over. That is the whole purpose of having bitches in the world. Teddy was right. It would have been a huge mistake to get rid of Terrence, and I count myself fortunate that the Terrorist chose my flat to sneak into that rainy night.
In the months that followed, Mark resumed his weekly visits. I made sure Terrence had plenty to drink so he could give Mark the piss bath he deserved. I never explained to him how to show true submission in feline language, for he wanted to get scratched. Some other men began coming by on a regular basis for similar abusive treatment: a park ranger, a ferry boat captain, two twin cops, and a doorman from up the block. In appreciation, Terrence, who no longer felt he needed to mark his territory, saved his piss for the litter box and for our visitors. Sweet Teddy wanted to show these guys how to avoid getting scratched, but he didn't understand that a true human bitch wants to get clawed. Julian and I began to form a true fraternal bond, and when he completed his PhD, he dropped by my flat wearing his cap and gown,--shit, it's still a uniform! Terrence and I gave him the treatment we had perfected by then, and my straight brother got his virgin cunt asshole deflowered. He slept on the floor that night for old times sake, while I rested fulfilled on my bed, Teddy curled up on my right and Terrence with one eye open on my left. I promised the Terrorist for our one year anniversary I would go to the animal shelter and bring home another little Teddy for him to lord over. I know a Dom can never have too many bitches.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.