Title: Hellish Reward II Part 2

Category: Paranormal
Author Pen name: Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com
Description: A year after the disappearance of the dude from Hellish Reward, three old friends quest to find him. He probably owes them money. Meanwhile, he’s in Hell.

Part 2 contains: M/F (The Ring Parody American version, forced,), M/F(mutant cat-girl, romantic), M/F (affectionate pub dog)

The following events are based on a true story. Anything that can happen throughout reality, does happen. There is a world where Earth is a giant dancing banana. There is a world where you read this and spurt all over the monitor/frig yourself senseless. There’s even a world where you find it funny. The point? There’s a world where the events portrayed happened but a shadow’s width away. Pray you never find your way into it.

Now on with the show!

The Thin Cat Free House, Norwich

“LAST ORDERS AT THE BAR!” called Jenny, causing Pete and Dave to twist drunkenly in their chairs and stare wildly at the suddenly crowded bar.

“You wanna last drink?” Dave asked, pushing himself to his feet, hoping that if he fell over he would hit the ground as missing was always embarrassing.

Pete nodded, worried about the spinning world. Of course, if it ever stopped spinning things would be worse – he just didn’t want to watch it. Jim-Bob had announced some twenty minutes ago that he was going for a slash, and Pete was starting to think he’d gone to America looking for the former Guns’n’Roses dude. Dave elbowed his way to the bar, to find himself directly in front of Cats-eye Jenny who was doing the business with pump and optic, aided by the usual malcontent bastards who staffed the joint. Not that the author’s bitter at the occasion lax service or anything.

Drunken horniness barged into his consciousness as he beheld the vision of loveliness before him, failing to take into account the possibility that he was wearing beer goggles. Tragically, the normally suave and sophisticated media studies student tended to resort to cheesy lines when drunk. He also refused to believe silly stories about cat’s eyes or the rest of Pete’s crap about the barmaid.

“Hey… Can I smell your cunt?” he asked, barging right through cheesy to fucking stupidly rude.

Silence descended on the rowdy crowd of locals who knew and feared Jenny’s fearsomely swung knobkerry. Jenny herself was utterly shocked, nobody had dared speak to her with anything less than total respect in the three years since she’d started working the bar – no matter how drunk they got. Actually, very few people hard dared to try and get close to her at all, and she sometimes felt lonely on that score.

Pete groaned into his hands, fearing for his friend’s safety and far more urgently, his own. Lynch mobs could form in Norwich quicker than crowds of protesters at a Gibson film.

“NO!” Jenny finally spat out, in reply.

“Oh…” Dave said cheerfully, “Must be your feet then”

(Joke copyright the 1970’s. or maybe the 1960’s. Fuck it, someone tried it on Godgifu of Coventry before her famous ride.

Reused here without permission.)

The tough 24-year-old barmaid’s slap knocked Dave to the floor, where he stared quietly up at the old-fashioned signs and memorabilia that covered almost every surface. The locals ignored him as best they could, and got on with ordering drinks. Jenny stood half in shock behind the bar. People were less willing to look her in the eyes than guests at a gorgon house party. Dave pushed himself to his feet and elbowed his way back through the crowd, which dropped back into silence.

“Hey… If I said you have a beautiful body would you take your top off and rub your tits in my face?”

Dave got a fist in the throat from the redheaded barmaid this time that sank him to his knees. He clutched at his bruised windpipe gasping for air. Pete’s jaw hung open, and he was now feeling uncomfortably sober in his own shock. He tried to will himself to his feet, to drag his friend to safety. His body wasn’t having any of it. It liked being in one piece.

All eyes were on Dave as he pulled himself back up against the bar, looked Jenny in her wide green eyes and said “Hey, babe, can you smell what The Dave is cooking?”

Jenny raised her fist again, but Dave turned away and called over to Pete.

“Hey! Pete! Whad’ya drink?”

“I’ll dr…”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU DRINK!” Dave called, laughing in hysterical drunkenness at a joke that seemed funny at the time.

He turned back to Jenny, gave her his most winning smile, and said simply “Would you like to come and have a coffee with me Miss?” Dave was blinking slightly, as he took in the redheaded barmaid’s ponytail, and the curls that hung from it cramped under a large soft fabric had, her intense green eyes and firm, hot body.

Jenny’s fist stayed in mid-air for a moment, and then – to the surprise of all-present including herself – she said “Sure. I get off at closing. Wait around a while.” Jenny found herself thinking “What the hell, least he’s an entertaining arsehole, and he’s gotta have balls e’en with the drink.” Dave definitely had something about him, as she looked over the bar at his athletic but not overly muscled body, his winning smile, and the kiss he blew her as he walked away from the bar.

“That just did not happen…” muttered Peter, shaking his head in the traditional fashion “Things like that just don’t happen… ever… well… maybe once… How the fucking fuck did you pull that off?”.

Pete’s mobile phone began to ring and he answered it as Dave staggered his way back from the bar – having forgotten drinks - with the widest grin seen since the Cheshire Cat discovered Prozac.

“Jim-bob?” Pete asked, for it was his name ‘pon the screen.

“PETE! SCHURLP! SCHURLP! SCHURLP! SCHURLP!” There was a strange licking/kissing sound in the background, and Jim-Bob was excitedly calling into the phone. He sounded very, very, drunk. Though as the guy could get drunk watching beer commercials this was no great surprise.

“I’VE PULLED, MAN! BEW-TIF-AL BLONDE! SCHURLP”

Pete noted with concern that his friend’s glasses were on the table where they’d been drinking.

“uh… right mate… uh… you’re glasses are uh…”

“Can I take her back to your place?” Jim-Bob was giggling but speaking in a more normal volume.

Pete rolled his eyes and realised that both his guests had pulled, while he wasn’t getting any.

“Sure… why not… Aren’t you coming with us now?” Pete realised Jim-Bob must be round in the other part of the bar.

“Not just yet! We’re having fun!”

“YOU UNBELIEVEABLE BASTARDS!” Pete thought angrily, as the green-eyed monster reared her ugly head, and was sick in the toilets. Proving not all girls with green eyes are attractive. Some girls are classed as “9 pinters;” they called the green-eyed monster ‘The Brewery’. “Alright, Jim-Bob… there’s a backdoor key under the yellow flowerpot… Dave and I are off in a few minutes so let yourself in that way… I’ll bring your glasses with us I guess.”

Pete clicked off his phone, cutting Jim-Bob’s “Thanks m- “ off. He picked up Jim’s glasses and slid them into his pocket.

“Why the hell am I always the sensible, good guy? The quiet one?” He muttered.

Dave had returned to his chair and was watching Jenny behind the bar, catching her eyes whenever he could. Pete realised that his wasn’t the only jealous one in the place tonight.

“Jim-Bob not coming? I will be!” Dave chortled at his bad joke and Pete returned his embarrassed head to his hands.

“Dave, calm down. You’re making a fool out of yourself,” Pete, the sensible one, told him.

“I cannot believe you actually said that to Jenny. You’re lucky to be alive… They say she’s kin to vampire and tax collector!”

Dave just grinned, “Some guys got it! Some guys don’t! And I’m getting it!”

Dave’s sureness that he was going to get laid by the fearsome angel of the pumps was starting to grate on Pete, who’d carried an entire candelabra for her since he’d first had her glare at one of his inappropriate jokes near the bar. He remembered his heart skip like a crack-addled schoolgirl as she’d noticed him. Pete dropped his head on his chest and sighed. At least Dave had stopped with the ‘rescue-mission to hell’ bollocks.

“Dave… I kinda like to get laid too.”

“Sure Pete, you will.”

“Yeah.. When?”

Dave grew momentarily serious, and said “I think… before you die you see some action…”

“Thanks mate… that’s a big help.”

Time wore onto closing and the quiet fella watched Dave head back over to meet Jenny as she came around the bar wearing a long weatherbeaten leather coat, with her bag over her arm. Pete didn’t catch, or really want to catch, their conversation, and headed for the door to lead the way back to his place. He sighed bitterly as the fast working Dave already had an arm around Jenny, who stood herself at nearly six foot. Her skirt ran down to her ankles, and Dave didn’t hesitate to notice that it was loose enough to facilitate a good, swift, kick.

He blew a kiss at the solid bar that’d stood between them earlier, to Jenny’s slight confusion.

Stepping out into the night Pete swayed slightly, glad the snow had stopped.

“Before I die I see some action… yeah…” Ever the optimist, Pete rubbed his hands and headed off down the street.

“You’re a student?” Jenny asked Dave, huddled against him for warmth and comfort as they followed Pete’s slightly erratic path through the snow.

“Yeah… I’m over at Leicester normally, visiting the big guy there today.”

Jenny nodded, and rested her head on Dave’s shoulder. It really had been a long time since she’d been walking close to a guy, even a drunken student perhaps 3 or 4 years her junior. The streets were well lit, and Dave didn’t notice that her eyes seemed to be away from him whenever they would’ve been in shadow.

“I was a student, too. I went to Oxford, and graduated top of my year,” Dave could see Jenny’s eyes were focussed on the past, her voice tinted with nostalgia.

“Why are you working behind a bar then, baby? The Dave thinks you could be a model.” Dave asked, failing utterly to be tactful. (Dave was so tactful while sober he’d managed not to laugh while accidentally mis-directed through the Accidental Anal Insertions Ward of the local hospital.)

“I did Media Studies,” Jenny explained, frowning at, yet enjoying, the tacky flattery, “I don’t normally go for coffee with people in the pub… There was just something about the way you asked… Cute.” She finished with a half smile. Dave winced at the media studies.

Their eyes met and they enjoyed a gentle kiss in the street, beneath a suddenly embarrassed streetlight.

“Here we are…” Pete’s voice called. Living only a short distance from the pub, across the infamous Dereham Road, the journey had taken even less time than it took for Unreal Tournament 2003 to suck, or Norwich-centric jokes to confuse.

The house of Pete, Communist, Student, and Gentleman of Letters

He opened the door, led the two straight through his own ground floor bedroom and shut the door behind them after they reached the sofa-room/kitchen, with a firm “Good night, use the back door when ya leave, or see you in the morning.” Dave winked at him, and mouthed “Thanks, mate”.

Pete sat alone on his bed for a moment, and then took a mighty pull from a warm glass of water by his bed, refilling it from a chipped glass jug. He realised he hadn’t even had takeout – surely going for a drink and not getting trash-food was breaking the law?

“Bastards!” he didn’t mutter this time, but spoke it bitterly. “Jim-bob… Dave… nice one guys! Come and visit and trap off with the local talent! Whoee! Dave with… with… Jenny for god’s sake… Jenny! Jim-Bob finds some blonde with such a lack of morals she’d do it with him… I bet he talks about molecular biochemistry in the sack for Gorby’s sake.”

Pete recalled the scientist’s glasses and put them beside his bed snickering at the thought. In the days before political correctness he would have sniggered as well.

“Well… Maybe she’s not all that, Jim-Bob’s girl… They can’t both have drunkenly pulled nice girls. Statistical impossibility. Especially in Norwich.”

Pete lay back on his bed, and stared at the ceiling. He could hear Jenny and Dave talking in the next room, but couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t feel tired, though he was starting to feel a little hungry. He looked at the clock, just past midnight and into the period voyeurs call the Watching Hour.

Playstation 2? He was well into a pre-owned copy of one of the resident evil series and yet to die.

“Nah. Too much drink… The zombies’d just eat her over and over and over again… Reminds me of that porno cartoon I borrowed off Akido… I’ll watch a film.” He tended to talk to himself more when somewhat drunk and alone.

Pete climbed off his head, and walked over to his large collection of videos and DVD’s, looking for one he fancied.

“What the fuck is this?” he cursed, finding a case without a box or label. Pete was used to lending and borrowing cassettes with friends and he assumed that one of them had left it behind without telling him. He examined it.

“NTSC? So it’s American...” Pete had set himself up with multi-format multi-region equipment letting him buy and watch cheaper American dvds and videos as well as rarer second hand ones. Only one of his friends tended to lend him NTSC, and the friend in question had recently died.

“Poor old Si… what a way to go…” Pete recalled hearing he’d been at the zoo with his girlfriend, who left him for a few minutes and when he came back, Si had fallen into the gorilla enclosure and been supposedly mauled by an enraged mother gorilla. It was weird, they said he’d come bursting out of the information hall with the nature-video screens, slipped on some water or something, and gone right over the side. But nobody could say why he’d run out so incautiously.

“On the bright side, if it’s a great video I won’t have to give it back!”

Every cloud has a silver lining, you can tell the treacherous ones that have the lining in 30 pieces. Pete sighed, and decided to watch it and see if it was any good. Si tended to have good taste in films, so he undressed ready for bed, climbed into his dressing gown. He put the cassette into the player, before sitting back on the bed and hitting play on the remote.

A large O appeared on the screen.

“Huh? Is this O? That historical BDSM stuff is dull as…” Pete frowned. The story of O wasn’t Si’s kind of film. He’d found Men in Black II philosophically challenging.

More images streamed on the screen, including a woman brushing her hair

“Hairbrush spanking action maybe?” Pete said hopefully, then “What is this shit? Outakes from a music video? Madonna’s Frozen minus the soundtrack?”

He saw maggots, and found them a fitting reference to the current state of British Music. He watched a woman go over a cliff.

“Ah… something Goth maybe? Gee, Si, do my last memories associated with you have to be this surrealist piece of crap?” Pete voice had lost the bitter anger, and sounded merely bored. It would take more than a video to creep the goatee’d one out.

Pete was really feeling quite hungry now and picking up his phone he hit the speed-dial for his local pizza place. By the time he’d found something he felt like watching, he’d be well up for a pizza. He took his attention from the TV and the annoying noises it’d started making.

“Hi There! I’d like the extra crusty, cheesy-rim everything-on-it Senor Pizza special…”

There were a couple of beeps on the line just after the video finished on the TV.

“Someone’s trying to get through…” Pete commented, and wondered who’d call him that time of night, but glad that his service provider had the function like BT. Pete never even considered calling through and finding out if Dave and Jenny wanted to order anything, as he confirmed his address from previous orders.

“Remember, I like it really crusty, okay? How long will it be? 40 MINUTES? 40 DAMN MINUTES? Shit, boys, could you make it take any longer?”

Peter finished the call, and sarcastically slammed the phone down having foolishly guaranteed himself a pizza with extra gobbed-up lung butter and ass-sweat, and if they were feeling really vindictive… the accursed anchovies. Pete stood quickly from his bed in anger, paced up to the TV and back, sighed, restless, and had another look at his films collection. The phone rang and Pete jumped, dropping his copy of “Razor Blade Smile 2:Queen of the deep voiced damned” and held the receiver to his ear, listened to the voice on the phone, and exploded in anger again.

“SEVEN DAYS?” He shouted, “LISTEN THE FUCK UP! I’M NOT WAITING SEVEN FUCKING DAYS! YOU GET THAT CRUSTY BITCH HERE RIGHT NOW! YOU HEAR ME? RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

He slammed the phone down, again, muttering about slow pizza delivery. The TV went to static behind him. At least someone knew how to provide a quick and efficient service. The screen showed a well in a meadow, and then black haired girl climbed out of it and walked towards the screen.

Pete paid no mind, as he was trying to decide between watching Blair Witch 3: Another steaming pile of crap or Jason vs Predator vs The Terminator vs Aliens vs Freddy vs Critters vs The Evil Dead: The franchise that wouldn’t die. Then his nose began to bleed.

Pete reached a finger to his nose, then unexpectedly heard dripping water. The big guy spun around to see a girl in a white dress with black hair hanging over her face. She was standing by the telly and looking at him. His belly caught up a moment later; he stumbled back and fell onto his bed. Icy terror gripped his heart, though it was the nervous terror of actually having a girl in his bedroom and that managed to override all else even the annoyance at the water damaging the carpet.

The girl, who film fans would know is called Samara, pulled her hair back to reveal her face; it was as gnarly as her arms. It wasn’t the scariest thing he’d ever seen, but then he’d read the GA requests page. No fool he, Pete jumped instantly to the right conclusion on her intensions, and switched into proper terror.

“This isn’t fair! I don’t want to die a virgin…phone customer…” Pete finished lamely, trying not to sound bad and failing “I’ve never even had sex… uh.. with a supermodel…” The light bulb died, leaving the only light in the room the TV screen.

Pete’s horrified mumbling dribbled into incoherence. He just stared at the woman in front of him before she crossed the floor quickly, she seemed late teens/early twenties, having tits, ass and the rest being easily as tall as he. She looked as angry as a feminist watching a Max Hardcore video.

Pete’s thoughts were jumbling, he was starting to shake and a thin wail escaped his lips. He tried to call for Dave and Jenny, but like the girl in the mouldy peaches song, no words came out. His bladder and bowel control were excellent thankfully preventing this from becoming that sort of story. Mate of mine wrote to an author once, and requested water-sports in his next story. The author did something about windsurfing. Anyway, back to the terror.

Pete was about as petrified as he’d ever been, even scared more than the night he’d first watched Nightmare on Sesame Street: Big Bird Goes To Hell. He didn’t feel like he was about to die from fear, though, and Samara seemed confused that he still lived. The fact was that Pete simply didn’t really believe that it was happening, with a steel-core of communist belief he couldn’t be arsed with supernatural crap, and it protected him from instant heart stoppage. Scary dead girls, as far as Pete saw reality, did not appear in your room past midnight even after lots of cheese just before bed.

Samara’s lips curled back to reveal a traditional British smile. She would simply have to convince him she was real. That was a first for her.

The girl reached out with clammy dead hands and pulled Pete’s head up to her face, tangling her tongue into his mouth. The shocked Pete tried to pry her grip from his face, but she was far, far stronger than him. He screwed his eyes tight and felt the slimy cold tongue slither around his mouth, before Samara pushed him down onto the bed and, dripping water, climbed on top of him tearing his dressing gown open. Her white dress rode up around her waist, and she tugged it further to reveal she wasn’t wearing panties.

Pete was a heterosexual 21-year-old man, he had a naked woman rubbing on top of him and so he popped a boner. It didn’t matter that she was cold, wet and looked like a runner up for Miss Evil Dead 2004. If he;d stayed flaccid she’d have had to scare him stiff. The adult Samara slipped his tool inside her with a hand that felt like a hard fish and began to ride him, starting fast and scowling, staring deep into his eyes. She was as wet as the bottom of a well.

Pete’s steel-core of certainty was being eroded by his fear and the physical sensations. It was fast becoming far too real and he felt pain start to grow in his chest. The eerily flickering TV still showed the well in the field, and it’s light illuminated the goatee’d student’s rictus of terror.

He could see Samara was missing nails on the far-too-white hands that now scratched his hairy chest, drawing warm blood that trickled down. He grabbed a hold of her wrists, closing his warm hands around them and yelped as his fingers slipped and slid on her wet skin. Her cold wet pussy tightly gripped Pete’s hot meat which was warming it each time she dropped her weight on it.

Pete was moaning in terror, but the tone was changing as the heat in his groin outstripped the heat in his heart. Samara was strong, and had excellent muscle control. Her warming wet pussy was kneeding and caressing his cock perfectly and Pete’s hands wandered onto Samara’s breasts. He began rubbing and groping them through her sopping-wet dress, filling his hands with the dead cold flesh that bounced over him.

He tried not to think about being energetically fucked by a girl without a heartbeat and failed.

Samara lent down suddenly; her tangled black hair dropping on either side of Pete’s face. Pete was humping up into her now, and he knew he was close. Her eyes filled his whole world in the darkness, dead, evil, angry. Only the pain in his heart and the pleasure in his crotch registered beyond them. Samara kissed him as he came, shooting his load into her as his heart stopped. His face frozen half in orgasm, half in terror, as death twitches drove his tool into her with his spurts.

Never had Gary Larson’s “Grisly, yet strangely hilarious” ever been so apt as it would be in describing Pete’s face then.

Samara’s expression didn’t change, but her body shuddered as if she too was coming, followed by the briefest of smiles – she now had a new way to kill. She stood from her victim and, spunk leaking down her thighs returned to the TV screen, which flicked into static and then off.

Out in the back garden, Jim-Bob was lying on his back passed out, with his blonde “date” licking his face. Yes indeed, the affectionate dog from the pub – this story’s most well loved character by far in a recent poll, had bagged herself a man. She was a large female Labrador whose owners had named her Minty Foo Foo for reasons that never became clear. She had met Jim-Bob on his knees just outside the door to the pub, where he’d been trying to clear his head in the drifted snow that lay everywhere and was swearing and oft-sworn oath to never drink again.

Jim-Bob could get drunk just standing downwind of a half of shandy. His eye’s flickered open; all he could see was blurred darkness, surrounding lights… and blonde hair.

“babysh! Shh DOO IT!” he said, managing to force his trousers down. He didn’t notice the cold, and managed to twist enough to get onto his knees, sitting back on his heels Minty Foo Foo turned around and began rubbing against her ass against his crotch, her tail a little to one side. Though far too drunk to cum – shit, we all been there right? – The stimulation got him hard enough to start trying to feed his meat into Minty. He encountered a little problem with the plumbing differences between dogs and girls.

The author would like to thank Officer McGurk of the Norwich Police Force Dog Handlers Unit for his drunken descriptions of said differences although he feels that, overall, he’d have been better off not knowing.

Minty Foo Foo whined and twisted and suddenly Jim-Bob hit the right angle, slipping his cock into her doggy snatch. He then virtually collapsed over her, with his head resting on her wet, furry back as he began to thrust in and out. Minty Foo Foo barked her joy, panting hard and licking his face when it was near enough.

“Wow… beautiful blonde an me… doggy style…” Jim-Bob said, kissing into her back and mistaking it for a thick sweater.

After a few minutes Jim-Bob slipped back onto the heels of his shoes, dropping his hands – warmed by Minty Foo Foo’s fur, into the snow. Minty turned around and began vigorously, and yet gently, licking and cleaning Jim-Bob’s tool, which was still hard.

“S’cold… s’too cold… nnnyeeess… we need go in…” He fumbled at the brightly coloured yellow flower-pot he somehow remembered as holding a spare key, and crawled to open the door, with Minty Foo Foo still trying to get all she could from his meat. Getting the door open, he pulled himself inside followed by the affectionate dog, managed to shut the door, and passed out again on the floor, trousers at half-mast. After a few more sensual licks, Minty Foo Foo lay down, rested her head on his stomach, and slept too.

Meanwhile, Dave had sobered up a little more with two cups of black coffee, and had just gone upstairs with Jenny who was looking forward to her first shag in a few years and third shag ever. The student had really grown on her, alternating between sophisticated charm, bad jokes and his stolen “The Dave” persona to form an electrifying combination. He’d even taken the time to freshen his breath.

Dave, for his part, found her aggressive manner, the sweetness beneath it and her beauty irresistible. They were kissing passionately as they stumbled up the stairs. Dave fumbled open the door to the room he’d borrowed, and flicked on the light to see it for the first time.

Their passion was cooled by Pete’s housemate’s life-sized Jar-Jar Bink’s cut-out - with strange white stains down it.

Dave braced himself to touch the thing, and turned it to the wall while Jenny stood in the doorway.

“This is Not my room,” he shuddered.

“I know.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Dave stood in the middle of the room, and flashed his most winning smile at the barmaid, who steeled herself, reached up and flicked off the light.

“Cat’s eyes…” Dave gasped, as her eyes in the dark looked like glowing cat’s eyes in a car’s headlights. Jenny didn’t look at all confident then, obviously worried about his reaction. Dave decided he didn’t give a damn he sure as hell wasn’t a bigot. “Very Fetchin’” he told her, having searched for the right words and failed.

It was enough, Jenny’s nervous smile blossomed and she walked all the way into the dark room. The two met in a strong embrace, lip-locked tongue wrestling. Lustful eyes, human and mutant cat-girl, held the new lovers gazes. Dave reached up and pulled of Jenny’s hat to discover a pair of pointed cat ears that matched her hair. He’d actually been expecting it and did a very respectable job of not choking on her tongue.

Jenny was groping his ass with one hand, and holding him close to her with the other. They broke apart slightly, still kissing, and started stripping each other. The horny barmaid tossed Dave’s shirt across the room, as he dropped her blouse to the floor and reached behind to release her bra and free her breasts. Jenny freed her hair from its ponytail, and shook her head spreading the hair loose.

Only two nipples, and Dave dropped his head to put quick fluttering kisses on Jenny’s breasts. She slid her fingers down the back of his trousers and continued to hold his ass. The mutant cat-girl half closed her eyes and enjoyed his lips and tongue, before he pushed her skirt down to the floor, dropping to his knees as he did so. Jenny swished a long tail, furred the same colour as her hair, around onto his shoulder. He couldn’t see it, but the tail emerged from her ass, over the top of her panties. Pete had been right with his silly rumours.

She was looking down at him; concerned he wouldn’t accept the latest revelation. Dave realised that much of her aggressiveness and self-confidence behind the bar was over-compensating for the worries about her body. He gave her yet another of his winning re-assuring smiles and eased her panties down her legs until she stepped out of them.

“You’re beautiful, Jenny” he told her, and began to kiss her legs, up her thighs. Jenny’s tail swished around and she felt warm inside. No man had ever gone down on her before. “You’re a drunken asshoooo…” she told him, affectionately, breaking into a moan as he kissed her just right. Dave reached a curious hand round, and began stroking the base of her swishing tail, while tasting the cat-girl’s… pussy.

Dave drove his tongue into her, tasting her, loving her, opening her up a little. He gave her clit a little time to warm up, and guiltily worried about furballs. A little suck on her clit and she Jenny was humping on Dave’s face, getting really wet. She felt a truly mind-blowing orgasm building and wrapped her tail around Dave’s neck as far as she could, holding him in with her grasping hands.

“ohoo…ohhh yeah… ooohhh Dave… Dave…DAVE!” Dave had gently slid a finger into her, alongside his tongue and then another. Coming hard, Jenny’s leg’s gave out and she yowled like a cat, dropping down in front of Dave on her knees. Thankfully, her tail unwound from his neck with ease. He went back to licking and sucking on her now highly sensitive nipples and breasts as she gasped for breath, moaning over his shoulder. Little shudders kept jolting her body as she came down from her orgasmic cloud.

Dave kissed up her neck and then wrestled tongues with the cat-girl, tickling behind her ears in her red hair. Breaking the kiss for air he told her “Come on, pretty-kitty. We don’t want carpet burn…”

Jenny’s legs were still a little weak as he helped her over to the bed, thanking god that the filthy bastard who usually lived in the room had put clean sheets on the bed for him. He helped Jenny to sit on the bed, then turned on the bedside light and walked back to turn the main-light off, dropping the room into a more romantic light than the bland ceiling 60watts.

“Mwooar… Get back over here! I wanna get my claws into you!”

Dave reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out his wallet and extracted a condom. Unwanted pregnancies weighed heavily on his mind since his elder brother had told him of the fateful night he’d jerked off in the bath just before their mum had jumped in to wash something off quickly… and Dave had been born nine months later. Co-incidence. Suuuuuure.

“You have claws?” Dave said, stepping out of his pants and even pulling off his socks. He left only his cross necklace about his neck and his WWJD? Wristband about his wrist. Jenny held out a hand, and inch long, human-sized, cat claws burst through barely visible slits in her fingers.

“…ouch…” Dave said, eyes wide, thankful that they hadn’t burst out while she was gripping his head. Jenny retracted them, suddenly looking sad. Dave remembered she was still very worried, being a mutant cat-girl in human society. He’d gotten right through her tough demeanour. He wondered how long it’d been since she’d actually been with a guy.

“I’m sorry. You are very beautiful.” He apologised sincerely for any offence, no longer sounding very drunk, and walked over to Jenny.

He sat on the bed next to her, and they kissed again before moving around to lie facing each other on their sides, still kissing. If this were The Princess Bride, that little kid would’ve been bitching for sports about 2000 words back.

Student and cat-girl barmaid rolled on the bed, groping, and feeling and fondling and kissing before Dave stopped for long enough to rip out the condom and roll it quickly down his cock, dropping the wrapper off the bed. Then, lying on top of Jenny missionary style, looking directly into her eyes, he gently nudged his way into her, having little trouble pushing into her soaking warm hole.

Jenny purred, and Dave tickled her behind the ears. He gently withdrew, and then thrust in again, and again, and again. Jenny reached a hand down and rubbed her clit, providing a little extra stimulation. Their hot, sweaty bodies writhed together as Dave found himself suffering little from the drink and building towards his climax, his cross hanging down and bouncing between them. Jenny reached both her hands up round onto his back, pulling him close and kissing him deeply. Dave felt he was getting into a good rhythm as he fucked the cat-girl when she suddenly probed his asshole gently with her tail.

His eyes flicked open, and he blew his wad into the protective rubber, continuing to thrust a few more strokes until Jenny came again, wrapping both legs and arms tightly about the athletic blonde student, and yowling. She barely managed to hold her claws in.

He collapsed a little heavily onto her, breathing hard, and then slowly pulled out. After another quick kiss, he sat back onto the bed, and rolled the condom up, off his meat, doing his best not to spill any and tied a knot in the end. A flick of his wrist put it into the bedroom bin, through a miniature basketball hoop.

Jenny lay naked before him, eye’s half closed, chest heaving and legs still spread as her pussy dripped juices on the bed.

“That was… the best…” she told, Dave, who was starting to worry that he’d fallen in love.

Soon they slept spoon-style in the darkness and tomorrow was another day.

End of part 2!

Coming soon in part 3:

The Return of Pete! As a ghost!

The Return of The Narrator! Who isn’t called Ty[SPOILER]den!

The Return of a library book!