Pussy in Boots (Naughty Fairy Tales)

by Fox, Georgia

  "But sir you will despoil me," the woman under him murmured, breathless.

  "Yes," he grunted, hands holding her cheeks wide apart, his eyes fixed on the winking anus over which he rubbed the wet tip of his manhood. "A million times over I will despoil you. Every part of you, my fine lady. Fuck you and fill you up with my seed, so there is room for none other." His sac throbbed with need to empty already and they'd only just begun their sport.

  "I will not be fit for any other man after you."

  And the was just the way he wanted it. Surging forward, he began pushing his cock through that tight circle, forcing it open. The woman groaned, her soft cheeks trembling under his palms.

  "Oh, sir," she cried. "Oh, master!"

  He liked it when she called him that. He withdrew a little and then thrust forward again, felt her body giving way reluctantly to the rude invasion. Reaching under her soft belly, he slid his hand between her thighs. He stroked her moist valley, heard her breathing change, become raspier, quicker. He slid two fingers into her quim and felt her push back, struggling to take more of his shaft. Her walls tightened on his fingers, as his cock began a slow, in and out, each time working its way further, plundering another half inch.

  "Oh, master, will you leave no part of me pure and untouched?"

  "Never," he grunted, changing his tempo, wanting all the way in now and quickly. "I'll do as I please with you my fine lady. I'll put my cock where I please and you'll deny me nothing."

  He thought of Lady Serena, dolling out parts of her body for his kisses - hand, arm, shoulder, cheek —as if they were alms to a beggar. He was deemed not good enough to swive her, not noble enough to go all the way inside that aristocratic little pussy. Angry now, his thrusting became faster, harder. The woman under him screamed and mewled like a wounded tigress—or what he imagined one would sound like.

  But her cunt melted, creaming all over his fingers and her bottom pushed into his groin, urging him on. With his free hand he spanked her hard on the right cheek. Then, because it felt good, he did the same to the left. She cursed at him, but her voice was deepened by passion and her bottom opened around his cock, allowing him further inside. His fingers found her hidden nub and diddled it without mercy, forcing her over the edge in a climax that tightened both holes. As she shook and her juices flowed, coating his fingers, he put his other hand to use again, smacking her bottom hard until it glowed hot. Then, when he jerked out of her and emptied his seed, it made a thick white stream across her scarlet, throbbing cheek.

  He closed his eyes, fell forward and landed face down on his fleece. The dream had evaporated. The last thing he remembered was the rattling purr of his cat as it nestled beside his head and licked his ear.

  ****

  One day, out of curiosity— the kind that killed cats everyday—she followed the lady and her servant back to the Comte's manor and watched them ride in through the gates. She leapt into the back of a tradesman's cart, crawled inside a rolled up carpet and soon after found herself within the vast stone walls of Falaise manor, not even sure why she was there, only that she had to know more about this dainty young lady. For her master's sake.

  The servants here were all busy and efficient. No one noticed the sly black cat, trotting along, dodging in and out of barrows, feet and hooves.

  "Lady Serena!" A deep voice boomed out over her head. "Where have you been so long today?"

  Cat stopped, crouching behind a barrel.

  "I went for my ride, Uncle."

  "You should not go out without my permission."

  "I did not go alone, Uncle. The guard, Gideon, came with me. I was quite safe."

  Cat smelled the rush of sickly sweet perfume and watched Serena's fancy slippers dash by, her frilly petticoats trailing in the dirt of the yard.

  "How you do worry, Uncle. What danger could I possibly get up to in the forest? It is so peaceful there and I didn't see another living soul, except a rabbit. You may ask Gideon if you do not believe me."

  In the cloud of dust spat up by the lying young lady's petticoats, Cat coughed. Twice.

  A shadow loomed over her and she looked up, into a stern face with piercing silver eyes. "A bloody cat! I hate cats." A massive hand reached down and caught her up by the scruff of her neck. She hissed at the indignity, baring her pointy teeth and scratching at the air with her claws. "Who let this pest in?" The man roared. "No cats are allowed here."

  Lady Serena looked at her, surely recognized her as Peter's cat, and then turned away, hurrying inside without a word, clearly not caring what her uncle might do and certainly not about to confess she knew the cat's owner.

  "Dirty creatures!" The man dangled her before his face. If she was any closer, she would have scratched him. Marked that fine, noble nose with a scarlet slash. The Comte de Falaise was not so old and heinous as she expected, but the lines of his face were sharply carved, not the sort to be often—if ever—softened by a smile. The light in his eyes was cold, like that of a winter afternoon when the sky was heavy with snow soon to fall. His hair was dark, a slight sprig of grey at his temple.

  "What do you think you're looking at?" he demanded of her, faint surprise sparking in his gaze.

  Don't know, she purred saucily, it's not labeled.

  His eyes narrowed but almost imperceptibly.

  It was the lady's bodyguard who stepped up to save her. "I'll put it out, my lord."

  "See that you do." The Comte looked at his emptied hands as if they'd been soiled by holding her. "I see that thing in here again, Gideon, I'll drown it. And the owner."

  "Yes sir."

  The guard carried her across the yard, briefly scratched her behind the ears and released her through the small door cut into one side of the main gate. "Off with you, pretty Puss. Stay far away from this place if you know what's good for you." Before he put her down, she noticed Lady Serena's scent was strong on his skin, almost draped over him. Interesting.

  She stood a moment, watching as the door creaked shut. Pest indeed! Threaten to drown her would he? Ha! She may only be a cat, but she could still bear a grudge against those who mishandled her, just as she could remember and repay a kindness.

  Cat trotted along the wall, following her nose to where the scent of smoking fish told her she neared the cookhouse. The wall was too tall to leap over. She sat, pondering her dilemma, determined to get inside and find out more about the lying trollop and her cat-hating uncle. Something about the Comte had caught her attention. That damn curiosity again, she supposed.

  A low rumbling noise approached. Ducking quickly under a hedge, she waited until another cart trundled into view, this one loaded with green bowers, blossom and cuttings from the forest. She sniffed at the sweetened air as it passed. Castles were decorated on feast days and tomorrow was the first day of May, a celebration of spring and fertility. Cat ran after the cart and leapt, burrowing quickly under the greenery, and traveling back into the ill-tempered Comte's lair.

  Chapter Five

  His wealth was quietly evident, but not displayed ostentatiously. Inside the castle all furniture was best quality, the tapestries some of the finest she'd ever seen. Candles were neither rationed, nor excessive. The stone floor was warmed with carpet that felt strange under her pads, made her want to flex her claws and draw lines in it. But she could not be distracted. Slipping along under chairs and around hanging curtains, Cat explored the castle, keeping an ear on the servants' gossip, occasionally dodging away from the reach of a vigilant guard. Breathless she cantered up the cool stone steps of a tower. The strumpet's chamber must be up here. Weren't maidens always kept in towers?

  Heavy footsteps approached. Uh oh. She crouched thinking to hide unseen, but then made up her mind to leap ahead and outpace the man coming behind her. Heart leaping, blood pumping, she took the last steps at a stretch and darted through an open door, almost rolling over in a ball as she skidded under a high bed and then lay flat, eyes wide.

  Only moments later the feet entered that same roo
m. Boots. Men's boots. The door slammed shut. She blinked just once and then watched those boots stride from one side of the room to the other, her head swiveling slowly, ears pricked. She could hear his breath, saw the swirling, fur-lined hem of a coat sweep the floor as he hung it over a chair.

  The coat she recognized. Bugger. She'd only gone and put herself directly in the Comte's bedchamber. One of her lives was about to be snuffed out. She'd better hope she still had some of the nine left, because she couldn't remember how many—

  He approached the bed. She flattened herself even lower, including her ears. His feet turned. He sat. The straw-stuffed mattress over her head bowed, the wooden slats creaking ominously. Abruptly he began to whistle.

  Cat was amused. From the look of him she would never have guessed he had an ear for a tune.

  What was that noise?

  The muffled sound of clothing unfolded and a belt buckle unclasped. The Comte broke off his whistle and uttered a low sigh of content. A worn leather gauntlet dropped to the floor by the bed, followed by his belt.

  The mattress moved and she watched his booted feet slide further apart.

  Cat swallowed a startled purr. A flicker of light caught her eye and she turned her head. There was a tall, angled looking glass in one corner of the room. She crawled cautiously into a better position, from which she could see a partial image of the man on the bed—just enough to prove that he was indeed handing his cock. And what a cock it was. She wriggled further, wanting to see more. She licked her nose. Ummm. Now she could smell fierce sexual heat. His big hand was wrapped around a phallus of considerable girth, sliding up and down at a quickening pace. That was what he was in such hurry for to get to his chamber, she mused.

  His cockhead bulged, blushing dark burgundy as he worked at his self-pleasure with a tireless fist. Suddenly he stopped, mid stroke, and sneezed. Thrice, in quick succession.

  He hissed, "Fuck that cat. I knew I should never have touched it."

  But he resumed his mission, too far in to stop.

  Cat watched the dim reflection in the mirror, mesmerized by the motion, the sights, sounds and smells. He spread his thighs wide and she saw his balls, hard and full. His hair was darker than Peter’s and there seemed to be more of it. Both men were brawny, well made.

  She shouldn't watch. Was she not being unfaithful to her master? Ah, but Peter loved another—or thought he did. What harm could it do to watch?

  The man on the bed groaned, breath straining. Above her the mattress shuddered.

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted his play. He paused, cursed. Cat's pulse tightened as she tried to make herself even flatter, sliding back into the shadows again, tail curled around her haunches.

  "Enter," the man on the bed grunted, scuffing his boots irritably on the floorboards.

  The door opened and two pairs of bare female feet entered.

  "Ah good, you bring clean clothes. Put them on the chair."

  The feet moved swiftly and silently. Cat sensed a nervous note in the air, an anxiety to please.

  "Now come here and suck me. Both of you."

  The girls knelt, one on either side of the Comte, and soon Cat heard the gentle sucking and his low, contented moans, interspersed with tense commands, directing their mouths and their hands where he wanted them. Within a few moments he finished, with their help, the job he'd begun alone.

  "Ahhh."

  Cat imagined that thick stream of man cream sliding down her own throat. She almost purred, until she remembered where she was.

  "Good slaves," he muttered, breathless. She heard kissing sounds and soft giggles. "Now get out."

  The barefoot girls, scurrying out, almost colliding with two more sets of feet—these booted—entering through the door just as they made their exit.

  "My lord, you wished to discuss Lady Serena's potential suitors."

  Cat felt the cool, welcome draft from the open door ruffling her fur, teasing her whiskers. Perhaps, if she was fast enough, she could slip out between their legs and get away.

  But just as she prepared to make that chancy leap, the Comte's big hand reached down for the dropped belt. A second later and his little finger would have contacted with her nose. "Come in and close the door."

  The other men advanced into the chamber, closing the door with a heavy thud and Cat was trapped again. Well, nothing else for it now but to wait until that door re-opened. She licked her paw and wiped her ear, dampening her whiskers. Cat was very fastidious about her grooming and it had become a comforting habit in stressful moments.

  She listened, ears pricked, as the new arrivals discussed the merits of each man vying for Lady Serena's hand. For her uncle, this marriage was a business transaction and he meant to get a high price for his niece's maidenhead. The men hoping to win her hand offered gifts to the Comte—land, coin, robes and jewels, even heads of cattle. The nobleman's advisors described to him, in length, the parade of riches being laid at his feet in tribute—at least on parchment— and he laughed scornfully, clearly unimpressed, yet coldly amused.

  Peter Proudfoot, humble carpenter, didn't stand much chance then, thought Cat. And Lady Serena, that little strumpet, knew it. She led him on for her amusement only. To her it was a game.

  Time passed and Cat began to get hungry, but still the men talked. The droning made her sleepy. Perhaps she'd take a nap. That would keep her mind off food. So she rolled onto her side, stretched and closed her eyes.

  ****

  She woke abruptly to find that night had crept up on her. The chamber was dark but for a soft glow of candles. All was silent. If she didn't get out of here soon, she would transform into her human form again as she did each night and then escape would be even trickier. With relief she saw the door was ajar. The opening of it must have awoken her.

  For a few seconds more, she lay under the bed, listening for sounds of any other soul in the room. She sniffed the air, but her nose captured only, waxy candles, herbs of some kind and charred wood. Good. The men had gone.

  Carefully she slithered out from under the bed, eyes pinned to the door as it creaked slightly in a draft. She crawled across the floorboards, inch by inch. Almost there.

  A hand reached around her and slammed the door shut. She stared at the thick veins in the back of his hand and the large ring on his finger. The Comte.

  Chapter Six

  "Who the Hell are you and what are you doing hiding under my bed, wench?"

  Horrified, she realized she was standing, a woman again. And she was stark naked.

  Night had come too quickly and with it her human body.

  He kept his hand flat to the door. "Speak, wench!"

  Clearly she could not fool this man into thinking he dreamed. His other hand grabbed her by the back of her neck. "You try my patience," he hissed. "Who sent you here to spy upon me?"

  "I am no spy."

  His hand tightened and then he spun her around, away from the door, flinging her across his chamber. He too was naked and the large wooden tub beside his fire pit explained why. Cat stared as he strode toward her, his cock half-erect. His body was well muscled, dark hair across the top planes of his wide chest and thighs.

  "Why were you hiding under my bed?" he demanded again, his eyes shooting flaming arrows.

  She had to think quickly. What possible excuse could she make?

  He closed upon her, backing her up against the bathtub.

  "I was s-sent," she stammered, "sent to you…as a…as a gift."

  "A gift?" Now his smoking hot gaze drifted down over her naked body and she felt it tickle her skin like the tip of a feather.

  Think you fool, think!

  "Who would send me such a gift?" he sneered.

  "An admirer. A man who wishes to please you, my lord."

  His hand seized her around the neck again, but not so roughly. This time his thumb pressed under her chin, so that her face was tilted upward and the warmth of candle light from a nearby torchiere touched her cheek. "Name this man."<
br />
  She blinked, swallowed. "The Marquis…the Marquis de Revellaux. A nobleman of great beneficence, who wishes to court your niece." Not bad, she thought, for a hasty lie. Fortunately she'd always possessed a vivid imagination and a talent for thinking on her feet.

  "And he sends you as his calling card?" The Comte arched an eyebrow and his lips curved stiffly in a wry smirk. "How original."

  "My master hoped to capture your attention with such a gift, my lord."

  "Oh, he has." He released her throat and let his hand trail down to her breasts. His touch caused her nipples to peak immediately, even before he caressed them with his fingertips. "And what am I to do with this gift?"

  She caught her breath. Was that fire in his eyes? She was sure she saw flames. Could be the reflection of his candles, of course. But there was definitely orange there, deep inside his irises which had previously appeared gun-metal grey.

  This close he smelled of earth and sun-warmed leather. She glanced down and watched his fingers circling her right nipple, making her dark areola pucker. His cock was hardening, stretching toward her belly. "It seems you know what to do with me, my lord," she muttered. She would have to go through with it now she was there. Damn her curiosity! Why had she ever gone to that castle?

  She was naked and in his bed chamber. What else could she expect from the horny old bugger?

  Not that he was so old. Yes there was a sprinkling of grey at his temple and lines of white in his sun-browned face where he must often crinkle up his eyes and frown. But he was not by any means decrepit.

  He had not asked her name. Why should he care to know it? His hand now cupped her breast as if measuring, weighing. "Your master must be a clever man to know that this would please me, as the other offerings have not."

  "He is very clever," she replied, chin up and proud. "And very rich. Richer even than you."

  "Why have I not heard his name before then?"