Because I want to see your face when I do what I’m about to do to you.
She hesitated. Clutching her waist, he swung her around so swiftly it made her dizzy.
She stared at his legs flung wide open. He swung them together.
Spread your thighs and sit down, Ceci.
She did.
Now let’s see if I was right about you and those cats, he murmured.
Cats?
The four cats on the stationery. The rare ones Pixel told you about.
He placed his hands on her thighs and began to stroke them. Lowering his head, the iron mask swayed from side to side as he gazed at them.
The Amur leopard is known for its agility, he purred, swung his legs out, spreading hers wide so unexpectedly both her breath and heart tripped.
Hmmm … he took one finger and slid it over her soaked pussy, teasing the edge of her vagina, circling it with his finger but stopping before it reached her clit.
He lifted his head. She stared into those two slits and saw only darkness.
The black-footed cat employs different tactics when hunting. The “fast hunt”—he grabbed her ass cheeks and thrust her up. One finger toyed with her opening, just before the tip of it entered. She cried out but made no sound because he swallowed it when he attacked her mouth with his own, his breath and liquid tongue moving at a deliberate and leisurely pace. Had he removed his mask? No, he’s still wearing it, she thought, when he finally released her lips, removed that finger, and pushed her back down. How did he do that? Then there’s the “slow hunt,” he growled, his hands twisting and turning like a snake up her thighs until his thumbs grazed the edge of that neatly trimmed triangle. And suddenly stopped.
Move them, she kept thinking.
But he didn’t.
And lastly, he said, not even trying to hide the hint of amusement in his voice, the “sit and wait” tactic.
She squirmed, trying to lift herself, shift her position, place her clit on his thumbs, coax them to move. But he wouldn’t let her. He held her firm and chuckled as warm liquid that had pooled between her thighsdripped onto his cock.
Now the Iberian lynx is a prey specialist, He lifted her and placed her pussy on the bulge in his pants. His mask tilted as he looked down at it and then up again at her.
It only has one prey.
It scratches trees and leaves its scent to mark its territory.
His spine slackened, melting into the back of the chair. One quick tilt of the mask indicated his crotch.
Go ahead, Ceci. Mark me.
She rubbed against his cock, the coarse material scuffing her pussy, making her wonder who was marking who.
That mask tilted back as he groaned. I bet you taste good, Ceci.
She felt her wetness seep through his pants and a humming vibrate between her thighs as she rubbed up and down his dick, which kept twitching and thrusting, pushing against the confines of his pants.
The mask slung forward. My cock is soaked, Ceci.
The last cat is the fishing cat, he said in a low whisper she had to lean forward to catch.
This cat has an affinity for water.
Now be a good kitty cat and stroke my cock with your wet pussy, Ceci.
She looked down. His pants were gone. There was just his rigid, pink dick.
