Something made me check my traps that night. Usually I'll swing by in the morning, at the end of my regular early morning walk. That way I can drop off any new ferals at the Centre Street shelter on the way downtown to work. It means taking a cab, but I figure I can afford that much of a contribution.
At past seven on a Friday evening, the subway was so packed I could hardly breathe. My high heels tortured my feet. My head ached from a long day of Mr. Alpert's demanding whine. I clung to the strap, eyes closed, imagining the bliss of sinking into a hot bath with a glass of chardonnay. Still, the thought of the traps nagged me.
I'd visited them that morning and found both of them empty, the bait untouched. Tomorrow would be soon enough, I told myself, but my sense of unease did not go away. Always trust your intuitions, my gram used to say. So I switched from the 2 train to the B at Times Square and got off at 86th.
It was nearly dark. I dug my penlight and my mace out of my purse. One in each hand, I made my way along the familiar path, the blisters on my little toes complaining with every step.
As I approached the hundred-year-old elm where I usually set the traps, a low growl reached my ears. I'd been right to listen to my inner voice. Clearly I'd caught something, though the shadows made it difficult to see what. I shone my light into the first cage. A pair of brilliant green-gold eyes glared back at me.
"Hey there, kitty." I crouched down on the grass beside the steel-mesh cage, my straight skirt riding up my thighs. "Are you all right?"
The massive black tom in the cage bared his teeth and hissed. I felt his rage and frustration. I wanted to reach into the trap, scratch behind those huge ears and comfort him, but I knew better.
"Shh! I won't hurt you, kitty. It"s going to be okay. Tomorrow I'll take you to a nice, warm place where you can have plenty of food." I played my light over his body, which was lean but not emaciated. Although his fur bristled, overall he looked clean and healthy. Then I noticed a wound on his left flank. It gleamed, wet and oozing, in the beam from my torch.
"Oh, dear! What happened to you? That's a nasty gash." I stuck the light into my jacket pocket. I only had two hands, and the mace was more critical. The cat's menacing growl turned into whimper as I picked up the trap, jostling him against the mesh. "Sorry, kitty. We"ve got to get you home and dress that. That will make you feel better."
The combination of the cage and my quarry must have weighed at least twenty five pounds. "You're a big guy," I commented as I picked my way along the tree-hung path back to the street. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, it wasn't too difficult. I glanced into the cage a few times. The tom's eyes glowed as though lit from within.
Getting him up five flights of stairs was another story. I paused to catch my breath on the fourth story landing, resolving yet again to find a better paying job.
Finally, I wrestled the cage into my studio apartment and set it on the floor near the window. My feline guest crouched in a corner of the trap, watching me with wary eyes as I stripped off my work clothes, donned an old sweatsuit, and went to fetch antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, cotton balls, gauze, tape and a towel from the bathroom. I sat cross-legged on the worn carpet next to the cage. Now came the hard part.
"Pussycat, I need to take you out now. I know you're scared and upset, but please, don't fight me. This is for your own good."
The cat's solemn expression suggested he understood me. Slowly, trying not to alarm him, I unlatched the door of the trap. I wrapped the towel around my two hands and reached in to grab him. I expected him to yowl, hiss or scratch. However, he didn't resist at all. I pulled him out, cradling him in the towel on my lap. Normally, I'd swathe a feral's body in the towel to immobilize him. This guy seemed so calm and quiet, though, I wasn't sure it was necessary.
I soaked some cotton in Betadine. "Sorry, but this is going to hurt," I told him, holding his forelegs in my left hand while dabbing at his lacerated hip with my right. He winced but didn't try to escape. In fact, he lay completely still in the hollow of my folded legs while I doctored him. In no time, I'd bandaged the injury, wrapping the gauze around his upper leg and securing it with surgical tape. The snow-white stripe across his haunches was a stark contrast to his jet-black fur.
He gazed up at me, his eyes glittering like paired emeralds. I ventured a scratch behind his ears and was rewarded by a low purr. "You're going to be fine, puss. But now I have to put you back into the cage."
"Rowrr!" His sudden growl startled me. I managed to capture him in the towel before he could run. "Pfftt! Rrr-owl...!" He raised his voice in obvious protest as I tried to bundle him back into the trap.
"Hush, puss! Shh! Do you want to get me evicted?" My lease said no pets. I reasoned that the ferals I occasionally kept here overnight didn't qualify as pets, but I wasn't eager to test this theory.
"Rowrr!" my guest insisted. I scratched his ears again, then smoothed the fur under his chin. He settled into my arms.
"You really don't want to go back in, do you?"
"Mrrow," he agreed.
I was so tempted to agree to his wordless plea for freedom. I could imagine how awful it must be, to be locked up when you were used to roaming free. Of course, given his willingness to let me touch him, he might not be feral at all. He wasn't wearing a collar and it was clear he hadn't been neutered, but still, the shelter should check to see if he'd been microchipped.
He rubbed his cheek against my arm. His hefty body vibrated with his purr. Then he stretched out his neck so he could lick the back of my hand. His warm, rough tongue sent a delicious little shiver up my spine.
"You're very hard to resist. Do you know that?"
"Meeow." I could have sworn he was smiling.
"Okay, you win." After all, it was one room. The doors and windows were locked. Where could he go?
I filled my rubber dish pan with a layer of litter and set it down under the bathroom sink. My guest limped over to sniff at it, then looked up at me as though to signal he understood. After taking the cans out of the carton of cat food I'd bought for the shelter, I spread the towel across the bottom of the empty box. Without any prompting, he curled up inside the makeshift bed. His stiff movements made me suspect he was in pain.
I ran my hand over his head and down his velvety soft back. He nuzzled my fingers, then butted his forehead against my wrist. "Be good, Tom," I told him, aching at his beauty. "Or else it's back in the cage with you."
He pulled his rangy body into a tighter knot and closed his eyes. As I moved around the apartment, though, I noticed he had one eye open, watching me.
It was barely nine, but I was exhausted. I didn't have the energy to pour myself that glass of wine, let alone make something to eat. I unfolded the sofa bed, stripped to my underpants and lay down, certain I'd be asleep in a matter of minutes.
I was wrong, though. I was tired from working all day and sore from hauling the cat trap, but my mind wouldn't quit. I'd have to bring Tom to the shelter first thing tomorrow. I hadn't noticed any other injuries, but one of the vets should really do a thorough examination. Maybe I'd hang around; tomorrow wasn't my usual day to volunteer but they always needed help on Saturdays, the biggest day for adoptions. Anyway, what else did I have to do?
I must have sighed.
"Mrreow?" came a low whirr from the box across the room.
"Sorry, Tom. Go to sleep." I reached over my head, stretching the kinks out of my muscles, then rolled over onto my stomach and tried to follow my own advice.
The mattress pressed against my pubis, setting up pleasant hum deep in my sex. I squeezed my thighs together. The tickle grew stronger and more insistent. Tightening my butt cheeks, I rubbed myself against the sheet. Mmm. Very nice. I rocked gently, barely moving, letting the pressure build and build some more.
Of course I was horny. How long had it been since I'd had sex? It must be six months at least since I'd broken up with Jared. Not that I really missed his nagging or his exercise obsession, but he did have a fine cock, a thick dagger of flesh that curved in just the right way... But I didn't want him back, complaining about how I never had any money and how I wasted all my time on a bunch of mangy animals. No, I needed someone else, someone who respected me as much as he wanted me. I pictured a faceless man, sleek and lean, with chocolate-hued skin molded smooth over taut muscle. He'd have skillful, knowing hands; sharp white teeth; a long, agile tongue; and of course the perfect cock, granite hard, just big enough to stretch me, to break me wide open.
I wriggled my hands under my pelvis and dug my fingers into my soaked panties. Not enough. Flipping onto my back, I dragged the bikinis down to my ankles and kicked them away. Now I could touch myself, skin to skin. I grazed my clit with one finger. Pleasure rippled out from my center in ever-widening waves. I flicked at the swollen bead, each touch sparking new bolts of sensation. My inner muscles clenched on emptiness. I needed to be filled. With every brush of my fingers over my clit, the ache grew deeper and more demanding.
Three fingers, four, stuffed into my pussy, weren't enough. I reached into the drawer of the end table for my favorite toy, a silicone dildo I'd bought with my last Christmas' bonus. It was pitch black, wound with veins, fatter than Jared had been but with a similar arc. I ran my fingers down its length, smearing it with my juices, then positioned it between my lower lips.
I pushed. The massive toy slid partway into my pussy, dragging against my clit on the way. My body leaped up the slope toward climax. My nipples suddenly screamed for attention. I twisted one nub while driving the dildo into my depths. My body screamed in pleasured shock.
I paused to allow myself to become accustomed to the bulk. My slippery folds embraced the fake cock with a wet suction as I dragged it partway out, then thrust it back, as deep or deeper. White-hot sensation seared me, inside and out. I teetered on the edge of orgasm.
The toy had a motor, but I didn't bother to turn it. I didn't need it, not this time. I jerked my hips, impaling myself again and again on the spear of silicone. It was my faceless lover who slammed into me with such delicious force, knowing by instinct what I wanted. My pleasure was his as well. I sensed him climbing with me, holding back as I drew ever closer to that pinnacle of irresistible pleasure, wanting to tumble with me. "Shaina." I imagined him moaning my name, holding me tight, sending me into new spasms every time he buried himself in my quivering pussy.
All at once, I was there. There was an instant of silence, the calm before the storm, then everything let go. My body dissolved in a flood of sensation. Dimly I felt my limbs twitching, my muscles convulsing around the toy, but my mind was somewhere else, floating in a glorious cloud of dazed relief.
Sleep closed around me at last. Images flitted through my dreams: forests alive with shadows; ripe cocks dripping pre-cum; sleek ebony fur. Blurry, illogical, tantalizing, the pictures twisted and changed. I felt wonder, terror and awful desire.
Wetness, between my legs. Roughness, raking over my clit. Hardness, plunging deep once again. My lust surged, crested, left me shuddering and weak. Then it began again, teasing, suckling, fingers-tongue-lips-teeth all playing in my sex, driving me wild.
I tried to open my eyes but they seemed sealed shut. The dream continued, lush and decadent, flesh on my flesh, probing, opening, taking possession of my every orifice. I tasted smoke, smelled dew on the grass. Hair brushed my belly, softer than velvet. A sweet sliver of pain arced through me as my dream lover clawed at my thighs, spreading them wide so he could dive deeper into the heart of me.
I came, came again, and yet again, until it seemed that eternal climax was my natural state. I relaxed into the flow of pleasure, letting it bear me away, finally, to a dreamless place of peace.
The rising sun tickled me awake. I curled into a ball, back to the window and the light, seeking again that gentle darkness. But the dream had fled.
My muscles ached as though I'd run a marathon. The room smelled of musk and male cat. I thought that perhaps I should skip my walk. The shelter opened at eight. It would be best to get my feral guest there as early as possible.
I sat up and looked over at the makeshift cat bed. It was empty.
"Tom!" I called, padding barefoot into the bathroom to see if he was in the litter. "Pussycat! Do you want some food?" There was no sign of the wounded feline. "Don't be naughty, now. Come on out!" I poured some kibble into a plastic bowl and shook it, hoping he'd be attracted to the rattle. "Aren't you hungry, puss?"
I got down on my knees and peered under the sofa and my one armchair. I looked behind the drapes, on top of the cabinets in the kitchen nook, in back of the refrigerator, in the bath tub. I searched the closet, the bookshelves, every nook and cranny in my little apartment.
Behind the toilet I found a stained length of gauze that I recognized as his bandage. My chest contracted at the thought that he was running around somewhere with an open wound. But where? How could he have possibly escaped?
A sense of responsibility weighed on my spirit. I should have kept him locked in the trap. I knew better than to let a feral run free.
It wasn't until I set out for my morning walk that I discovered the apartment door was unlocked. I've lived in New York City all my life. I knew I hadn't left it that way.