The Lion and the Mouse

by Emmy Chandler

  "No that's not— This is a different issue. All of me wants to ‘mate’ with you. Just not on the table, this time."

  "You would prefer to be on your hands and knees? That position is uncomfortable for women, and no man worthy of his own cock would ask the woman he—“

  Loves.

  Can that be true? I’ve felt affection toward several of the women in my community over the years, but nothing I would call love. Yet Syrie has been here for just three weeks, and she’s infuriating and confusing, and…

  I think I love her.

  But she is staring at me with fire in her gaze, her teeth clenched in frustration over something I can't seem to understand. This is not the time to tell her that she is mine.

  "No man worthy of his own cock would ask a woman to assume such a disrespectful position. But if that's what you want…"

  "No, that's not what I'm saying. I want to show you something different. A position that a lot of humans tend to favor. Not that we don't also enjoy doggy style on occasion, but that seems to be all you guys ever—”

  “Doggy style?" I know the individual words, but I can assign no meaning to them as a phrase.

  "That's what we call it when the woman is bent over, while the man takes her from behind.”

  "And you associate this position with dogs?” I've never seen a dog, but I understand that it is a four-legged animal often kept as a dependent companion—a pet—by humans.

  “Well, yes.” She smiles. “Though you can rest assured that for the rest of my life I will always think of it as a lion-style.” She's told me several times about these large cats, which she believes my species to resemble. “But my point is…I mean, do you always bend your women over the table? Or over something? Don't you ever do it on the bed, for instance?”

  "The bed? Wouldn't you still be on your knees? I suppose the fur would mitigate bruising, but—"

  She laughs. "No, I mean— Come here please. Just trust me. This will work." She extends one hand, and when I take it, she tugs me toward the bed, where she sinks onto her knees, sitting upright. “Now just lie down on your back, and—"

  “I’m not ready to sleep. The day is only half over and I'm not tired. If you don't want to have angry sex, I'm really fine with any kind. I just thought you might like to try our way of resolving arguments. I swear it's much more fun than hurling angry words at each other."

  She laughs again. "I'm sure it is. And no, we're not going to sleep. You're in luck. I'm still mad at you, and I'm about to grudge fuck the shit out of you. But on my terms."

  I recline on the bed, and she leans over me. Sometimes, as we sleep, she drapes her body over mine, to cuddle. Or for warmth. But that's not what this feels like. The look in my little mouse’s eyes is unaccountably fierce, and while I find her aggressive demeanor arousing, this position also feels…

  I catch her by both shoulders before she can climb on top of me. "You should never climb over a reclining male,” I warn her. “This position makes a man feel like prey, and it triggers his defensive instincts.”

  “Shut up," she says as she throws one leg over my hips. My hands automatically find her waist, as she settles onto the hard length of my cock, and suddenly I understand what she's trying to show me.

  "This is a position humans assume for sex? With the woman mounting the man?"

  "Sometimes. We use a lot of different positions, but this is one of my favorites.” She smiles down at me, and I have to admit that seeing her from this angle is… arousing. Her long, dark mane swings forward over her shoulders to brush my chest, and the delicate feel of it trailing over my skin gives me chills. My cock throbs beneath her warm weight. I am intrigued, but…

  "This is all very interesting, and you feel amazing," I admit, as I run my hands up her sides to cup her breasts. Normally I can't do that during sex, obviously, so there's a novel appeal to this approach. "But I don't think I will enjoy…?” I'm not quite sure how to finish that thought.

  "Having little control?” she suggests.

  "Yes," I admit. "That may be it."

  She laughs. "You will have a chance to deny your consent.” Then, before I can acknowledge that she is throwing my own words back at me, she slides down onto my upper thighs and takes my cock in her hand, stroking slowly. A groan leaks from my throat. This is not the first time she's taken me in her hand over the past week. Two days ago, I woke with her stroking me, staring down at my cock as if it were a mystery to be solved. Or perhaps a challenge to be mastered. So this new position should not come as a surprise, yet it does.

  “Syrie,” I moan, my back arching as her grip tightens, mimicking the feel of her cunt around me. It is a delicious torment.

  "Turnabout is fair play," she murmurs, still staring down at my cock. "Fortunately for you, there is mercy in my heart." She releases me and slides forward, rising onto her knees to hover over me, one hand braced on my chest. With her free hand, she reaches between us and guides me toward her entrance.

  My hands find her hips, and I watch, fascinated, as she slowly sinks onto my cock, devouring it with her body. The sensation is like nothing I have ever felt. The angle is different, her slight weight a tantalizing new awareness. And somehow, in this position, she is able to take all of me, even though we have not yet warmed up with shallow thrusts.

  "What do you think so far?” she asks, smiling down at me. There's a bright-eyed triumph in her gaze, as if she already knows how I'll answer.

  "You feel amazing," I admit. “But I worry about withdrawal in this position. I have no control. I cannot hold you still. I'm afraid you will hurt yourself."

  "Why the hell would I do that? I don't need you to hold me still, now that I know what will happen if I pull away too soon. So you're just going to lie there and let me show you something new." And before I can object, she begins to move.

  Syrie leans forward, placing her weight on my chest with both hands as she lifts herself off of my cock, almost all the way. Then she sinks back onto it, pushing her hips back with the stroke, taking me deep. I groan, and my grip on her hips tightens. She continues like that for several minutes, impaling herself over and over, her body tightening around me with every upward stroke, so that all I can think about in the seconds between is that moment when she will sink down onto me again.

  I am losing my mind. I've never felt anything like this.

  She begins to move faster, her eyes closed, her head thrown back with her long, dark mane—her hair—trailing down to brush the tops of my thighs in tantalizing, teasing little sweeps. I've never been able to see this before. I've never seen what pleasure looks like on her face, because she's usually bent over in front of me. Seeing it now, watching as each sensation plays over her features, pulls me closer and closer to the edge. But unlike the men of her species, as hard as I might chase that release, it cannot come under my own power.

  I must wait for her orgasm to trigger my own, and Syrie is a very patient woman. Which means that this woman-mounting-man-sex is really nothing more than brutal sexual torture. But, after what I did to her outside, I suppose I deserve this.

  I shall bear my sentence with grace.

  But then she begins to…gyrate with each stroke, twisting her hips a little, and despite my determination to remain stoic, I find myself arching up into her and grinding her down against me, my grip on her hips surely bruising. I can't help it. She's held me right on the edge forever, denying me release she draws out her own.

  “Syrie,” I groan up at her. Her eyes open, and she stares down at me, but her steady strokes never pause. “Syrie, I need you to come. Please, little mouse, I need to feel you come around me."

  She smiles, but her eyes are ablaze with lust. With need. "Working on it. But it won't hurt you to gain a little patience." When her smile widens, I realize she's teasing me. She's doing this on purpose, to exert control.

  My cock throbs even harder at the realization that this is her snarling. This is her version of turning to snap at me, to make me work for th
e privilege of mounting her. She does not have sharp teeth or claws with which to exert her will. She has this. This endless restraint and stamina. This ability to keep me on the edge as long as she wants, until she's ready to give us both pleasure.

  She is fierce, my little mouse, mastering me without a single drop of blood drawn. With nothing more than her hot, wet, relentlessly patient cunt. But she has made her point. "You're teaching me a lesson?"

  Her smile becomes a heated grin. "Took you a while to catch on, that time."

  “I admit, I underestimated you." I thrust my hips up at her and she squeals, thrown off balance for a second, then she groans, her eyes falling closed. My little mouse is not so unlike the women of my species. She likes it rough sometimes too.

  And suddenly I see the way out of this predicament. If humans can mate facing each other, with the woman on top, then…

  I pull her down until she's pressed against me, then I roll us over, and now I'm looking down at her, with her legs wrapped around my hips. "Hey!" she whines, yet she's grinning up at me again. "Well played," she says. "But I want back on top."

  "No," I snarl. "That was a good way to begin, but this is a good way to finish." Then I begin to thrust into her.

  Syrie whines, and tries to roll us back over. So I thrust harder and she groans. Her legs tighten around my hips, and her eyes close.

  “You will come for me, little mouse," I growl softly. “You will clutch at my cock with your formidable inner muscles and bring me, groaning, with you. Then you will hold still while I pet you, until it's safe to withdraw. Do you understand?"

  Her only answer is another moan as her hips arch toward me.

  I thrust hard and fast. It doesn't take me very long to get the hang of this new position. Of the angles and the leverage. Soon I am lost in her again. In the hot clutch of her body. In the soft little hungry sounds she makes.

  I am achingly close to release. I've never needed it so badly in my life I've never needed anyone so badly. I watch her face as lust rolls over her. As she tightens around me. As her grip digs into my arms, her blunt little nails threatening to break the skin. I hope she does, but even if her faux-claws are not up to the challenge, I will take pride in any bruise she leaves. They are every bit as satisfying as a love bite.

  Finally, her breathy little sounds reach a fever pitch. Her hips arch up at me desperately, scraping her hungry little quick-start button against my pelvis with every stroke. "Come for me little mouse. Come for me now."

  A strangled sound catches in her throat as ecstasy washes over her, threatening to carry her away from me. I grab her chin, and her eyes open, giving me this moment. Letting me see it as it happens. And with the last little clench of her body around mine, I explode inside her, shooting my seed deep, over and over. This orgasm is endless, rolling over me like a manufactured storm throughout the enclosure, washing me free of everything that has come before. Every pain and every doubt.

  What's left of me when I look down at her, resisting the urge to pin her with my body to keep her safe, is a new man. Her man. I am nothing more nothing less. She has made of me everything I need to be.

  I lower myself until my nose is buried in her hair, just above her ear. "Be still," I remind her.

  “I wouldn't move if I could," she assures me. "I want to stay here forever. Just like this. Tell me we can. Lie to me, if that's what it takes."

  "We'll stay like this forever,” I promise her. And I'm not even sure it's a lie. Whether it's possible, even though it's what I want.

  I nuzzle her, nibbling gently at her ear, licking her neck in soft slow strokes, careful not to move my hips at all. I will not risk hurting her, but I love the intimate moment this forces between us. Guaranteeing me these minutes with her against me. Beneath me, whether looking up at me from the bed or splayed out on the table in front of me.

  When my barbs relax, I pull out of her and roll her over to face me, her leg thrown over my hip. "That was much more satisfying than I would've anticipated," I admit.

  "You never have sex facing each other in your culture? Not ever?"

  “No, but I'm starting to believe we are missing out. The look on your face as you reach orgasm… I've never seen anything so beautiful. I want to see it again."

  "Right now?" she asks, eyebrows arched high. “Already? Fetoji men have phenomenal stamina.”

  I am pleased to hear she believes that, but it's clearly a different kind of stamina than what's required by men of her own species.

  "Okay," she relents. “But this time I get to stay on top to the end.”

  I have some doubts about this arrangement—I cannot fathom giving up all control—but I would agree to anything right now, in order to feel her tight, hot passage slide over me again.

  This time, as she comes, I will tell her that I love her. That she is mine.

  I roll onto my back and lift her so that she’s straddling me, careful not to commit to a specific ending to this round of mating, and Syrie immediately impales herself on my cock. I groan. She still wet and swollen. Still aroused. And her rest cycle was much shorter than usual, this time.

  She’s perfect.

  Syrie sits upright—a delicious new angle for me—and begins to rock back and forth, rubbing herself against me with her head thrown back, her neck a long, graceful line begging to be licked. I reach up for her and find myself sitting up, which changes the angle again.

  “Yes,” she moans, taking a hard grip on my shoulders. Her blunt little nails bite into my skin and she begins to rock harder—

  Suddenly the light changes all around us. I look up, and through the newly translucent thatch-pattern of my roof, I see the sky, bright blue and accented with wispy clouds.

  Fuck.

  12

  Syrie

  He's not going to let me stay on top. I already know that. But as good as he is with that “sex stick,” I can't really complain. I've been sleeping with him for more than two weeks, and he hasn't left me unsatisfied even once. His species doesn't believe in a pleasure imbalance, even if the men could pull out and jack off, but beyond that, he seems to take personal pride in bringing me to orgasm as often as possible, whether or not he's inside me.

  He's very fond of the quick-start button.

  So I'm okay with the fact that he evidently has to finish on top. In control. But for now, I'm in the driver’s seat, and holy shit, this angle hits me in all the right places. I'm starting to understand why Fetoji women come so fast. Not to mention so often. Though the fact that Lohr can last a while and can go for multiple rounds pretty much makes him the best of both worlds. And hands-down the best I've ever had.

  I'm going to miss him.

  The sudden realization catches me off-guard, and I make myself put a pin in that for now. I don't know what it means, but I know it's true, and it's way too complicated to analyze while he's still buried deep inside me.

  For now, the goal is to ease him into the reverse cowgirl position, and blow his fucking mind.

  My eyes closed, I throw my head back and run my hands through my hair, stretching my torso out for his viewing pleasure. He growls—the hungry growl—and thrusts up beneath me, his hands on my hips to help keep me steady. I rock forward, grinding against him, and—

  Lohr tenses beneath me and I freeze. Something is wrong.

  My eyes fly open, and for a second, I don't understand what's happening. There's too much daylight. I can see…everything. “What the hell?” Suddenly I’m riding Lohr’s cock, my head thrown back with abandon, in the middle of a glass fucking house.

  As exposed as I feel, I might as well be on stage. On a vid screen.

  My heart pounding, I cross my arms over my breasts as I glance around, trying to spot the source of the sudden change. Then I realize that if I can see our audience, our audience can see me. So I throw myself onto the bed and pull the largest of Lohr’s furs over me.

  “It’s okay,” he says, and I snarl at him. I don’t even know where the sound came from. Cle
arly I've been spending too much time with my new, snarly Fetoji lover.

  "It is not okay," I snap. These habitats don't become translucent unless there's someone around to see through them. Unless they’re triggered by the presence of a tour pod or an employee’s com device. "Just pretend I'm not here." The triggering range is pretty long, so it’s entirely possible I haven’t been spotted.

  "How am I supposed to pretend you're not here, when my cock is still wet with your fluids?” Lohr asks. "When I'm still fucking hard?"

  "There shouldn't be any tours coming through for at least another week, but there could always be workers,” I whisper from beneath the fur, ignoring his question. “Do you see a vehicle?"

  I lift the edge of the fur, and from beneath it, I see him sit up and look around, staring through the translucent wooden walls of his hut.

  “Not yet.” He stands and heads for the fire pit in the center of the hut, where he stirs his stew with a wooden spoon. As he scoops out a bit to taste, he turns to look out over the landscape, and when his bearing stiffens, I can tell he's found it. "It's not a glass pod," he says, blowing across his spoonful of stew. "It's a small vehicle with a flat bottom. The kind that looks hazy underneath, like heat rising from a fire.”

  "That's a surface glider," I tell him. “An employee vehicle. Do they usually stop here?"

  "No. When I see them, they're always on their way to somewhere else. I'm not even sure what they do out there."

  "That depends on who's in the vehicle. Some take soil and water samples, or test air-quality,” I tell him. “Some use infrared scanners to inventory the wildlife populations, to make sure they're in balance with the local apex predators. Which, in this enclosure, would be your community. Some do maintenance assessments of all the habitats. So, really, they could be doing anything. Tell me when the vehicle is gone."

  But he’s staring at me now, and I realize I've said too much. I know too much. “Lohr, are they leaving?"

  He blinks, and then he focuses on something I can't see. “No. They're getting out of that glider.”