There was no point in being jealous of a cat. And he wasn’t really. But he indulged the fantasy that the cat knew they were rivals for her affection. He eyeballed the wee fucker when she was hugging it and stroking it, like just a minute ago, when she had walked naked from the bedroom to the bathroom with the cat in her arms, its fur against her skin, keeping her warm.
Tom knew what he wanted. He wanted to press himself against Lisa’s skin, especially her soft breasts, the comfort a woman has for those she privileges, her child – none in this case – her lover – himself – or the fucking cat.
“Bitsy, Bitsy, Bitsy,” she said, stroking it from the top of the head, along the back with a finger point. “Bitsy, Bitsy, Bitsy,”she said, ruffling the fur underneath with the hand in which she bore its weight, before lowering it – a fat mackerel tabby with a nasty temper – down over her belly and thighs, until she was compelled to bend at the knees to ease it onto the floor carpet.
“Oooh, Bitsy, Bitsy, Bitsy. I’m going to have a bath now, and you don’t like the bath, do you?”
He stepped towards her and held her by the hips and kissed her nose then raised his hands to hold her breasts in them, surely not to remind her of his own claim, but yes: to check if she would be just as affectionate with himself.
“Hmmm,” she kissed him back. And that close, she felt his cock prodding her belly and smiled. She held it for a moment, the way she might hold a broom handle, thumb towards him, and gave it a squeeze.
“But I’m going to have a bath,” and she entered the steam and closed the door.
Tom was happy.
The cat had shown little interest in this exchange. It – well, she – was secure enough in the affection she needed not to feel threatened at all. He picked her up by the loose flesh at the back of the neck and scrutinised her limp body, hanging like a bag of vegetables. He was reminding Bitsy who had the power. A cat can do nothing until it feels its own weight coming under its control. Then it activates.
And Tom felt it.
Well, he didn’t at first. A cat’s claw, like a razor can slice through surface skin and you feel nothing for a moment. Tom wasn’t sure it hadn’t just brushed against his cock. He thought he’d felt static from Bitsy’s fur before.
Then several sensations claimed his attention almost at once.
One was pain, a stinging laceration.
One was shock at the fact that he was bleeding and that blood was seeping through his fingers as he clutched the stricken and pulsing flesh.
And another was the convulsive disgorging of hot semen.
“Are you OK?” Lisa had never heard him cry out quite like that before. She could not tell whether it was from rapture or ruination, exultation or despair.
And he had not expected ever to be touched so deeply in the heart of his sensual being.
He had never had an orgasm like this one.
And he was afraid that it might be his last, not just because he had been scarred there, but because he felt so emptied by the panic and the spasm that he would never be filled again.
He opened the bathroom door to show Lisa his wound. She was sitting anxiously in the suds looking over the top of her magazine at him with his cock in his hand.
“You were wanking?”
“The cat scratched my cock.”
“Serves you right if you were wanking.”
“I wasn’t wanking.”
“Let me have a look at it.”
He stood closer to the bath where his groin was near her eye level.
“You were wanking.”
“Does it look bad?”
“No, go and put some Dettol on it.”
“Will that help?”
“It’s just what you need right now. I don’t think you are going to die.”
That night in bed, Lisa was feeling affectionate again. She also reasoned that she should show a little concern to balance the laughter with which she had greeted Tom’s first acquaintance with Dettol. “What sort of boy grows up not knowing what Dettol does?”
“I will never forgive you,” he had said.
“Let me kiss it better for you now.” She worked her way down under the duvet, kissing his neck and his belly and thighs until she was able to rub her nose against his erection, not a very impressive erection yet, but she would soon fix that.
He lay quietly, almost as if he was listening, while she turned the knob towards her face, drew back the foreskin and took the large olive into her mouth and out again.
“Nyuk! I thought you’d washed it.”
“There isn’t a cleaner cock in the country,” he said.
She started sucking again, first on her tongue and between her cheeks, until it firmed up and she could allow it deeper without feeling that she was swallowing a marshmallow.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
But nothing was wrong. She applied herself to the knob again, even brushed Bitsy aside as he leapt onto the bed beside her and as he purred and stiffened beside Tom’s thigh, the cock hardened and grew to a fullness that restored her confidence in her charms.
This bold grandeur wasn’t to be wasted. Lisa came away from him for long enough to reposition herself across him and take deep into herself a cock she had hardly known before.
“You surprise me.”
He moved gently under her, almost as lightly as he might move on the sea just to stay afloat.
“Just give Bitsy a shove,” she said.
“He’s alright,” said Tom. “Let him be.”