The Cat's Paws

The Cat's Paws

I wasn’t expecting company, but the desert sometimes surprises you. It was high summer on the flats; no-one moves unless they have to. Certainly no-one—no-one sensible, at least—visits the garage and its solar farm. I was down under the old Srid-500—messing with a busted grav-thruster—when the proximity alarms went off. I climbed to my feet, kept my spanner in my hand, and made sure the cover on my holster was unclipped.

Two vehicles were coming down the shattered tarmac. One was an ElectricSpirit van, battered-looking, but hovering reasonably well—except that the right rear thruster’s alignment was a little off. The other, an Amaranth-TX hover-cycle; modded, and with flames on the side. Scrubbed off Flametongue decal. Not good; people who stole from the Flametongues are either stupid or dangerous. I was not in the mood for either.

But they were already slowing.

“Hi folks,” I said, “what can I do for ya?”

I kept my hands nice and visible. The one on the bike was a catgirl, or, at least, wore a catgirl helmet, with spaces for the ears. She also carried a long rifle across her back; looked like a Cassington-762, well cared for. The van driver was definitely a catgirl; she jumped out, also carrying a rifle. Both looked at me, but talked to each other. 

“This will work, won’t it?” said the van driver, looking at the white-painted adobe building.

“Best we’ve got,” said the bike rider. “Unless you fancy crouching behind a rock for hours.”

“What about this woman?” asked the van driver.

“Hey, hey,” I said, “let’s start with good morning.” I could outdraw one of them; their rifles aren’t too quick, even with cat reflexes. But the other one would then kill me. 

The biker looked at me; with the helmet on I couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed like she was evaluating. Hope she didn’t mind engine grease and sweat.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Garage,” I said. “And solar farm. Want your batteries topped-up? Or distilled water? Or mechanical maintenance?”

“You can’t get a lot of customers out here,” said the biker.

“Don’t get a lot of customers full-stop,” I said. “Electricity is free. Water and maintenance too, if you need it. No point charging for something that will get you a bullet through your brain instead. Why it’s neutral territory for the gangs; none of them want to have to find someone who’ll maintain the farm for no money. And would probably get gunned down in a week. So, neutral.”

I gestured towards the wall that bore gang sigils.

“By the way,” I said, trying some trickery, “might get some Bloodfeet or Flametongues through here soon.”

The van driver looked alarmed, but the biker chuckled. “I doubt it,” she said. “The Flametongues are down south, in disarray, and the Bloodfeet usually stay in camp at this time of year. Shame, I was going to let you live, but I’m not sure I want to deal with a clever girl.”

“It wasn’t that clever,” I said. She didn’t seem the kind to tell you before she shot you, so I was actually a little heartened. “And I promise not to do anything even slightly smart.”

“Must be a pretty smooth talker,” the biker said, “to stay clear of gang war.”

“I suppose,” I said. “My mouth has kept me out of trouble.”

The biker tutted and nodded at the driver. “Take her gun and her spanner, and bring her inside.”

Okay, I needed to work on not getting shot. They hadn’t shot me on arrival—stepping over a dead body got old fast, especially in desert heat—but leaving was a different matter.

⁂

“Nice and cool in here,” said the driver. She was the shorter and more muscular of the two, scars and a ragged ear indicating that she had been in a lot of fights. Probably won, too; she had that look to her. Pretty sexy, to be honest. 

“The solar power runs some air-con for us,” I said.

“Neat,” said the driver. 

The biker tsked at her, and pushed me down into a chair, cuffing my hands behind me, through the back of the chair.

“Okay, you’re going to sit here and behave, right?” said the biker, taking off her helmet. Definitely catgirl. Her features were refined and dark; no obvious scars, but an eyepatch across one side. She was lithe and long-limbed. It was a shame she was so unfriendly.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m Jasmyn, by the way.”

“Xanthe,” said the van driver, “and this is Melina.”

“Well done, Xan,” said Melina. “Give her our home address as well, why don’t you.”

“Sorry, Mel,” said Xanthe.

“Is there a way up to the roof?” Melina asked me. 

“Yes, top of the stairs, there is a skylight and a ladder.”

“Good.” She turned towards Xanthe. “I’ll take first watch. Should be sometime today. You guard our bystander. Chill, but not too much, you get me? No sleeping, or resting with your eyes closed, okay? Radios ready.” 

Xanthe nodded. Despite the harsh tone, Melina touched Xanthe’s shoulder as she went by. Between that and saying “home address” not “addresses”, I reckoned they were more than just work partners. Pity, that meant turning them against each other would probably be impossible. 

Xanthe slumped on the couch opposite me, picked up an ancient copy of Mechanics Quarterly off the side table, and started reading.

⁂

Xanthe yawned, and dropped the magazine. 

“Got anything better to read?” she said.

“More MQ?” I said. I had been zoned out, getting a bit of rest.

“No,” she said. “I’m fucking sick of reading pre-shitstorm stuff. We’re never going to find out what the next generation of Durav-GO engines are like, because some fuckers nuked Michigan. Have you got anything recent?”

“Well,” I said, getting an idea, “I’m not sure I can trust you. Are you going to rob me?”

“No, I promise,” she said. “We just needed somewhere to snipe from.”

Yeah, that was what I thought. The playa was sometimes used for exchanges, because it was damn hard to sneak up on anyone there. The Splinterers, in particular, used it for their dodgy weapons deals. 

“There’s a box in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet,” I said.

Xanthe hurried across the room to fetch it. It was a shame that I wasn’t the sort of person who put booby traps around her home. The difficulty was, I lived here.

She opened the box up.

“Zines,” I said. “Photocopied, some printed. All post-shitstorm, all—”

“Shark-girls Give You A Jawing,” Xanthe read, in an awed tone. “Bee-girls Need You To Repopulate The Hive. Lizard-girls Spreading their Cloacas. Big Dicked Hyena MILFs. Is this porn?”

Well, it clearly wasn’t Shakespeare’s later, more experimental stuff. “Yep,” I said. “People sometimes trade them. The lady on page six of Hyena MILFs gave me that copy, personally, for helping her out.”

Xanthe flipped through to page six. “Oh yeah, wow, she’s signed it, and put ‘sorry about the soreness’, and some kisses.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Needed a lot of servicing, that one.”

Xanthe stared at the page and then leafed through the rest of the zine.

“Nice,” she said. “Very nice. Have you met any of the other girls?”

“Nah,” I said. “Oh, page four of Bear-Girls Guzzle Your Honey.” 

I waited for Xanthe to find the zine, and the page.

“See the bear-girl standing in the shredded tent?” I said. “Well, the woman who gave me that zine, said I was the spitting image of that girl.”

Xanthe looked at the image.

“Of course, I’m not a bear-girl,” I said, “and, unfortunately, my dick isn’t quite that big, but… well, what do you think?”

Xanthe looked across. I couldn’t really pose in my current position, but I stuck my chest out slightly. Fortunately, it had been way too hot for a bra today, so I knew my tank top barely concealed my tits. I think I saw Xanthe note my wide areolas shining through the thin and sweaty material.

“Yes, I see it,” she said. “Chunky but fit. Rough and se—” She went red, and turned away. “I see it,” she said.

“You do?” I said. “I always wondered if she was blowing smoke up my ass.”

“No,” Xanthe said, still red to the tips of her ears. “No.”

“Which bits, exactly?”

“Uh,” she said, looking away. “Just generally.” 

Xanthe made a show of reading, intensely. I let her have a few minutes. 

“I’m bored,” I said. “At least tell me which bits you’re reading.”

“Um,” she said. “The hive is being invaded by some bigger, stronger bee girls.”

“Oh, right, I remember,” I said. “And two of them hold our heroine down, right?”

“Three of them,” Xanthe corrected. “But right.”

“Mmm,” I said. “That was so hot. I love the idea of being held down and fucked.”

“Um,” said Xanthe, and hurriedly turned back to her reading.

I was quiet for a little while. I noticed a couple of times her hand dropped downwards.

“If you want to touch yourself, Xanthe,” I said. “Don’t mind me.”

“No!” she said. “I wasn’t—”

“God knows,” I said. “I’ve had enough lonely days here, cranking one out, pretending I was the weakest shark-girl, as the others circled, teasing, baring their teeth. I’m not going to judge you for it.”

“No…” said Xanthe, a little bit less certain.

“Fuck, you got me,” I said. “What I really meant was: please touch yourself. You’re so sexy, it would be so fucking hot to see you pleasure yourself. Please?”

Xanthe looked so torn, I almost felt sorry for her.

“Pretty please?” I said.

Xanthe stuffed her hand into her jeans, and closed her eyes.

“Er,” I said, “Melina would probably want you to keep your eyes open.”

“Right, right,” she said, accidentally making eye contact with me. “Okay.” She started to move her hand. Her mouth opened slightly, in a way that was honestly adorable.

“I bet you’re the big shark-girl,” I said. Her hand faltered, but then resumed. “You scare away the others. The little shark-girl thinks she’s saved, but soon realises she’s wrong. She trembles as your beautiful, battle-scarred body swims around her.” Xanthe looks at me; briefly glancing at the tent my dick has pitched in my overalls, then making eye contact. “You move closer. Your sharp teeth nibbling, tasting her; first gently, then roughly, making her see how useless resisting you would be. How much the only thing she can do, the only thing she wants to do, is surrender, totally.”

Xanthe nods, hand working frantically. 

I stop talking for a few seconds. “Xanthe, why don’t you just fuck me?” I asked.

“What?” she said.

“You’re horny, I’m horny,” I said, and it was true. “It’s very unfair to make me watch you frig yourself, when you could fuck the shit out of me.”

“No—” she began.

“Do you not like me?” I said. “You’re so strong and beautiful, I suppose that makes sense.”

“No, I—” Xanthe started, then shook her head. “You’re our prisoner, Jasmyn!” she said, exasperated.

“I know!” I said. “And you won’t let me get the slightest benefit from it! If I’ve got to be cuffed here, I could at least have a powerful, striking catgirl grinding away at me! Are you really going to leave me with my cock erect and aching while you finger yourself?”

Xanthe looked uncertain again.

“Does Melina not allow you to?” I asked. “Jealous type?”

“No,” she said. “We’re not monogamous. But we can’t have sex on missions, because someone needs to be on lookout.”

“Okay, between the two of you, that makes sense,” I said. “But Melina is on lookout, now.”

Xanthe hesitated again. “I’m not uncuffing you,” she said.

“I should hope not,” I said. “That’s one of the things that’s really got my engine revving. The other being you, your stunning, brawny, sexy self. Please, Xanthe.”

Xanthe stood up and approached the chair; she went cautiously, as if expecting me to go ninja mode at a moment’s notice.

“You’ll have to pull my trousers off,” I said.

“This feels wrong,” Xanthe murmured. 

“I’m begging you, Xanthe,” I said. “Fuck me. Look, if it was you coming on strong, you might have a point. But it’s me pleading with you. I’m so horny; please fuck me! Do whatever you’d like to me; just don’t leave me wound up and frustrated.”

Xanthe crouched and tugged urgently at the top of my trousers. It was a bit awkward, as the top half of my coveralls were hanging down below my waist, but with some judicious hip-shaking she pulled it down past my knees. My underwear came along. Xanthe stopped and looked at my girldick.

“Don’t just look at it, please, Xanthe,” I said.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” I said. “Please, Xanthe, it’s so hard.”

She tentatively touched it, rough fingers delicately tracing their way up the shaft. 

“Mmm,” I said. “Go on.”

She hesitated, and then put her mouth to it; her lips taking in the head. She kissed and sucked. I moaned again.

Suddenly she broke off, a strand of saliva stretching and snapping. She stood and hurried out of her jeans and panties. 

“Oh god, you’re so lovely,” I said, gazing at her muscular and somewhat scarred legs. Multicoloured tail flicking behind. “Fuck me, please.”

She came forward. Her cunt was beautiful, generous lips, glistening with moisture, under a tuft of dark hair.

“Is it alright—”

“Oh god, yes, Xanthe,” I said. “Fuck me before I paint the ceiling.”

She guided my dick with one hand, lowering herself on to it carefully, until she sat in my lap, facing me. She was wet and so warm. I moaned. She started to rock, to ride my girldick. She put her hands under my tank top and caressed my breasts, weighing them, circling the nipples. I mouthed at her tee-shirt. Xanthe pulled her hands out of my top—I missed them—and pulled off her tee-shirt, unclipped her bra. Her breasts weren’t huge, but were very shapely. I suppose some idiots might have turned their noses up at the ragged scar atop the left; it was the first place I kissed. Xanthe purred and presented the other breast to my mouth. I kissed and licked, mouthing at the softness. She gave a quiet meow. There was a moment when she paused, clearly wondering if I could somehow go from her nipple in my lips, to defeating two rifle wielding catgirls while fastened to a chair. She picked up the pace, growling slightly as she sat up, tits away from my mouth. She thrust her hands under my top again, massaging my breasts roughly, catching the nipples between fingers and thumb. I groaned again.

At this point she was bouncing up and down on my cock; I was close to coming, the jerky/silky movement was electric. Xanthe was murmuring now; just yes, yes, yes, and just there. 

I came, groaning, closing my eyes against the toe-curling static of orgasm. A few seconds later, Xanthe came as well, making meows and yowls as she shuddered her way through a long orgasm.

As the tremors slowed down, she put her arms round me, kissing the top of my head. I placed tiny kisses on her collarbone. We stayed like that for a while.

Then Xanthe eased herself off, hesitated a moment, then licked my detumesced cock clean.

⁂

“Your turn,” said Melina, coming down the stairs. “No activity on the playa. What’s… why is our prisoner not wearing trousers?”

“They were too difficult to get back up,” said Xanthe.

Melina took a deep breath, sniffed. “Okay. But why—”

“We fucked,” I said. “It was my idea.”

“Obviously,” she said, and sighed. “Xanthe, your turn on the roof, get up there.”

Xanthe nodded and grinned at me, then ran up the stairs.

“I know what you’ve been up to,” Melina said, slumping on the couch.

“Oh good,” I said. “I thought I might have to explain sex to you.”

“You attempted to build intimacy and connection with Xanthe, making her less likely to kill you,” said Melina. “And because she’s a sweetie, it probably worked. Well, it won’t work on me.”

“Wow,” I said. “Talk about entitled; I haven’t asked you to fuck. Don’t worry, Mel, I prefer a proper top.”

She didn’t take the bait, just grumpily started to clean her gun.

“So, professional contractors,” I said. “Is that fun?”

She sighed. “Don’t try probing for information,” she said. “It won’t go well.”

Now it was my turn to sigh elaborately. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I said. “You are too scared to fuck me, and now I can’t even make conversation.”

She tutted. “I’m not a fool,” she said. “You really think that calling me scared will persuade me to fuck you? I’ve seen rhino-girls with more subtlety.”

“Oh, how do I persuade you then?” I asked.

She snorted. “You don’t,” she said. “Your best bet to survive is just to behave and not annoy us.”

“I don’t think being as quiet as a piece of furniture, silent and obedient, is going to help,” I said. “No reason then for a professional not to just tidy you up as a loose end. No, you have to persuade them you’re a person, I think. With Xanthe, that meant intimacy. Not that I minded, of course; your partner is extremely hot. With you, I’m not sure. Of the strategy, I mean; you’re obviously hot.”

“Well,” she said, leaning back on the couch. “I suppose you could try explaining your logic; that might work on another cerebral person.”

I smiled. “Did it?”

“No,” she said, smiling back in an unfriendly way. “You are barking up the wrong tree there. If it becomes necessary to shoot you, I will shoot you. All the chatting, joking, sex, whatever, makes no difference. I do what needs to be done.”

I squirmed my legs together. “So you’re saying there’s no reason we shouldn’t fuck? Since it definitely won’t affect you.”

She chuckled. “Are you really this sex mad? Or is it a facade?”

“I live all alone in the desert,” I said. “And two absolute smokeshow catgirls turn up. One is a muscular bruiser, but with the gentlest hands. The other is svelte and precise, with steely self-control hiding… something. I might not have much life left, and my kink is handcuffs. Damn right I’m thinking about sex.”

She smiled again. She might not be counting, but I was. “Well, sorry to disappoint.” She stretched. “But one time with the ‘muscular bruiser’ will have to do.”

“Oh, I see,” I said.

“What?”

“That your thing is denial,” I said. “I ought to have put it together when Xanthe told me you didn’t fuck on missions.”

“That’s because we are professionals!” said Melina. “Professional killers, not professional sex workers.”

“Oh, that poor pussy,” I said. “You work her up over the course of a mission, being all lithe and sexy. Make her wait till you’re back at base, and then finally—when she’s pleading and begging—fuck her senseless.”

Melina shook her head, but in amusement. “You have quite an imagination.”

“You’re saying I’m wrong?”

“Yes,” she said, lying, in my opinion. “Entirely.”

“Oh, I see, it makes you wild as well, the denial,” I guess. “Eventually you get so horny that it overcomes your reserve and you just go crazy, fucking her ferociously. Okay, now I’m officially jealous of Xanthe.”

“You’re getting hard off your own fantasy,” Melina said, looking at me. My underwear didn’t let me hide much.

“You get thirsty in the desert,” I said. 

Melina paused for a millisecond. “You’re insane. I’m not going to fuck you, I’m not going to tease you; just be quiet and give me some peace.”

“Yes, mistress,” I said. She rolled her eyes.

“I’ve often thought that the desert must drive people mad,” Melina said. “I mean, the cities are authoritarian and kind of twisted, but out here is something else. The stifling heat has baked your minds, like mud into rock. And do you ever get used to sand and sweat in your crevices?”

“I thought you weren’t going to tease me? Mentioning your crevices like that,” I said, smiling. “But, no; if you don’t want to exfoliate places that don’t need exfoliating, you wash as soon as you can. The bathroom has a solar shower.”

“Oh yes,” said Melina, dryly, “it would definitely be a great idea to go into a separate room, maybe drop my guard, and leave you here to escape. Should I leave my rifle or your pistol within reaching distance of you?”

“It was just an idea,” I said. “Honestly, I don’t think I’m likely to develop psychic handcuff-breaking powers while you take a five-minute shower. Or maybe I could pick up the chair and run, trouserless, into the desert; hiding on the featureless flat plain from two snipers. Great idea.”

Melina bit her lip; thinking, I expect. She picked up my gun. “Careful,” she said, and walked around behind me. “No sudden moves.”

I felt the handcuffs unfasten; it seemed like they were fingerprint coded. A bit of fiddling, and she fastened them again, except no longer through the back of the chair. She rammed the muzzle of my pistol between my shoulder blades.

“Up,” said Melina, grabbing my arm. She bundled me down the corridor, and into the bathroom. Unlocking one of the cuffs again, she pointed the pistol straight at me. “Lock your hands around the towel rail,” she said. I did so; there was no point trying to escape, and besides, I was curious. 

Melina put the gun and the radio on the shelf, well out of my reach. She began to strip.

“Your definition of ‘no teasing’ is unusual,” I said.

She continued to dump her clothes on the floor. “I’m washing,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You’re just here so I can kill you quickly if I need to.”

She shimmied out of her panties. Her cock was beautiful; long and slender, somehow stylish, like some abstract art or something, smooth and aesthetic. I mean, mine was nice, but it looked like a tool for smashing. She wasn’t erect, but was not completely inert either.

“Oh god, you didn’t need a gun to kill me,” I said. “Your cock is amazing.”

“It’s a shower, not a striptease,” she said, crossly, but not that crossly. She fiddled with the controls for a moment, then stepped into the shower. She only half drew the curtain, leaving a gap to reach the shelf, and to monitor me.

Her body was lithe and elegant. She had a few scars, healed bullet holes; one in her shoulder, one in her side, level with her navel. They somehow, like the eyepatch, didn’t disturb the aesthetic; they were flaws that added to the whole. Like a heavy brushstroke in a painting, or a slight finger mark in some pottery. Shit, she had me thinking in art school metaphors. What I’m saying is she had nice breasts, a lovely bum, and a sweet cock.

“If you need any help—” I said.

“Oh yes,” Melina said, briskly washing. “I am totally that much of an idiot. I will completely let my guard down with a prisoner. What a good idea.”

“So,” I said, “if the situation was different, you wouldn’t mind me sponging those tits, or soaping that cock?”

“The situation is as it is,” she said. “I should have blindfolded you.” But her cock was more erect. 

“Mmm, adding more kinks, I like it,” I said. “Okay then, what are you picturing?”

“I’m not pic—”

“You have cuffed and blindfolded me,” I continued. “Probably I’m sitting on the floor. You force your fingers into my mouth. I gasp in surprise, and you take my chin and laugh.”

She sighed, but she was also getting hard. Not that I could comment; I had popped out of my underwear a while ago. 

“I am a professional assassin,” she said, “not some porn star amateur actress.”

“What would you do then?” I asked.

“I’d—” She stopped and shook her head, her ear twitching as it hit the water. “I’d concentrate on my job.”

“Well, porn Melina knows that taking some ‘me’ time is important,” I said. “So she gets her dick out. Rubbing it against my face, so—even blindfolded—I get an idea of how long and hard it is.”

I wondered if Melina realised she’d been stroking her dick for a while. 

“She runs the head over my lips,” I said. “Making me beg for it. God, do I beg for it. Finally, she slides into my mouth. Then there’s only one decision she has to make…”

Melina looked at me. She rinsed herself off and turned the shower off.

“Okay, what?” she said, with considerable irritation. She towelled off her tail.

“Whether we’re talking sensible blowjob or full throatfuck,” I said. “Which do you prefer?”

“I… I think you should stop this nonsense,” Melina said.

“I think you’re an angry throatfuck fan,” I said. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

“I am not putting my dick into your mouth,” she said. “A place where you keep your teeth.”

“You can trust me,” I said. “And you’ve got the gun. You can put it to my head, and remind me that you don’t want to feel any teeth.”

“Enough,” said Melina. “You’re amusing, but I’ve got no time for distractions.”

She picked up the gun.

“Surely there’s no harm if I desc—”

“No, enough,” she said.

“I’d lick it first—” I continued.

“I said that’s enough.” She looked angry but stunning; still naked, still erect.

“Test the mouthfeel—”

“E-fucking-nough!” She strode across the room and pointed the gun at my face. “I am not,” she shouted, and then paused and continued more softly, “going to put my dick in your mouth. However nice that would be.”

I looked at the barrel of my pistol, close enough that I had to go cross-eyed. It was a knock-off .375 Benzaiten slugthrower; I’m not sure how reliable it was, I didn’t fire it much. Melina’s finger was well away from the trigger too, and the safety was on.

I leaned forward and kissed the muzzle. I don’t recommend this; it was metallic and oily.

“I’m not fixed on it being my mouth,” I whispered. “I don’t have teeth everywhere.”

She lowered the gun, then used it to lift my tank top. She traced around one of my nipples with the muzzle. I stayed extremely still.

“Don’t tempt me,” she murmured. 

“As long as that glorious cock ends up inside me, I don’t mind,” I said. 

“Shut up,” she said. She unfastened one of the cuffs, and then backed off hurriedly, keeping the gun pointed at me.

“Stand up,” she said. “Turn around, hands behind your back.”

I did as I was told. She moved in behind and fastened my hands together. There was a long pause.

“If you’re—” I began.

“Oh god, shut up.” She put a hand on my shoulder and slammed me into the wall. It was still damp from the shower’s moisture. I felt the barrel of the pistol next to my forehead, as she moved in close. Her girlcock pressed against my bum, deforming the fabric of my underwear.

“You don’t want this, prisoner,” she hissed, voice rough.

“Oh fuck, I really do.”

She tutted, grabbed my arm, and hurried me from the bathroom. She slung me over the arm of the couch; I went over, face and breasts hitting the cushions. My legs flailing for a moment and then finding the floor.

“Lube?” asked Melina, very briskly.

“Bottom drawer of the filing cabinet,” I gasped, trying to arrange myself in a way that looked, if not sexy, less like a gravity thruster accident. 

I had a sideways view of her stalking across the room to the cabinet, wonderfully naked, tail flicking. On her way back, she noticed I was watching, and stopped. She squeezed lube on her girlcock, and massaged it in with long strokes.

“You sure about this?” she asked, voice still gravelly.

“Absolutely.”

She stalked out of my vision, and I felt my underwear being yanked down. Honestly, I think this day’s events had pretty much done for the elastic.

There was a brusque squeeze of my buttocks, a rough, well, I wouldn’t say massage exactly, more Melina indicating ownership. Then the sudden chill of lube. I was aware of my hardness, hanging in the air.

Melina pushed into my ass without preamble; slowly if not gently. Her girlcock was lengthy rather than being particularly thick, which helped. She inserted herself with a sort of remorseless urgency. I could hear how ragged her breath was becoming. I groaned and gasped, feeling the fullness inching forward within me. 

“Not so talkative now, are you?” said Melina, gasping out the words.

Well, I didn’t need to be, did I? But I played along. “No,” I whimpered.

She gripped the chain of the cuffs with one hand, jerking it a couple of times, to reinforce the point. I was hers; impaled upon her cock. She needed me to be subject to her ferocity. And I was; the idea of Melina, taut and hard, standing over me, in me, was so arousing that I was having difficulties with other thoughts. 

Melina’s other hand held the gun casually against my side. If it went off, it probably wouldn’t hit me, but I would get muzzle burn, and gun safety nuts (every gang had one) doing pained expressions. I didn’t care; I was enjoying the feeling of being a sleeve for an elegant catgirl dick.

She began to thrust, in and out, quickly accelerating from nothing to a rapid pace. I gasped and moaned, almost overwhelmed by the harsh joy of being used.

“Take it,” Melina whispered, mostly to herself. “Take it, you little slut.”

I was more than happy to. I was drooling on the couch, my mouth open in some wordless gasp. My cock was almost painfully hard, grazing against the arm of the couch. My feet slipped and scrabbled against the floor; the urge to turn my toes in was not helping.

Melina got faster, and more wild, breaking her rhythm. Like there was a frantic pressure that would not bend to any routine. I smiled, inwardly; Melina really was wild under that controlled exterior. She pulled back on my arms, thrusting herself even deeper, and came. It felt like a lot, but I guess one’s guts are not a great judge of such things.

She was moving slower, pumping now, delicious wetness trickling out.

“Sorry,” whispered Melina, still moving slightly, even as her cock became less hard. “Sorry.”

At the moment I couldn’t remember the words for “you have nothing to apologise for,” but I tried to moan in an approving way. She really was good.

Melina reached a hand beneath me, and took hold of my cock. Her fingers were long and smooth, and felt cool against my feverish girlcock. I was almost there anyway, so it only took a few caresses until I came, mostly into her hand. A warm flash of white noise behind my eyes, added to the mental cacophony of being well fucked.

We lay in that awkward position for a while, Melina purring. I don’t know how long; I was in the grip of euphoria. 

Finally, Melina detached herself from the sticky mess. She reached forward and popped one of my cuffs, and then staggered over to the chair. She gestured vaguely with my gun. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up.”

I very clumsily got myself the right way up, and to my feet. “Not worried I will run?” I asked. Since I could barely walk at the moment, that did seem fair.

Melina shrugged. “There’s not a lot of point in me being professional now,” she said. “Don’t fuck the bystanders is lesson 101.”

“Even if you’re really good at it?” I said.

She smiled. “Get to that bathroom,” she said. “I want to go next. I really want to wear clothes and not drip everywhere.”

“Wow, I’m learning so much about being a professional.” I went to the bathroom. 

“... on target,” said the radio, tinny and muted, still on the shelf. “Repeat: I have eyes on target… Melina, where are you…?”

“Melina, radio!” I shouted.

“Fuck!”

She ran in and grabbed it, dashing out again.

I finished cleaning myself up, then wandered out to the empty room. I sat on my chair; the dangling cuff was annoying, so I snapped it onto the same wrist as the other one. I leafed through Jackal Girls Jill Off. 

I heard several muffled shots. A pause and the two of them came barrelling down the stairs. Melina headed immediately for the bathroom. Xanthe was just staring at something. 

I followed her eyes; my gun was on the table. Probably should have noticed that. It might not just be Melina who has been fucked right off her game.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” I said. “And you’re not going to shoot me, right?”

“Against my better judgement,” said Melina, hopping into the room putting her trousers on. “Right.”

“I can’t believe it,” Xanthe said. “I’m normally the one that fucks up, while Melina is super cool. Melina had to do an assassination naked! And left a bystander with a gun! I have so much bully material.”

“You mention it again,” said Melina, tail swishing. “And I will make you regret it.”

Xanthe winked at me. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“We’d better get going,” said Melina, businesslike. “The Splinterers have probably worked out where the shots came from, and some of their vehicles might be usable.”

“That sounds dangerous,” I said. “For me, I mean.”

“Just talk your way out of it,” Melina said.

“They might not arrive in the mood for talking,” I said.

“That’s a you problem, I’m afraid,” said Melina. She wouldn’t meet my eye. She headed for the door.

“Sorry,” said Xanthe. Her gaze lingered on the box of zines.

“Take them,” I said. She moved towards them. “And take me.”

I heard Melina stop in the doorway.

“Can we?” asked Xanthe.

“No!” said Melina. “You can’t go around adopting bystanders.”

“I’m a mechanic,” I said. “Your van is pulling on the right, yeah? I can fix that.” 

“And your solar farm?” said Melina. 

“Someone else will have to look after it,” I said. “It was here before I was, and I don’t see how me dying will help it any.”

I looked over at Melina. She was caught in a look of panicked indecision.

“Look, you fucked me and gave me jewellery,” I said, rattling the cuffs, “you can’t just leave me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” said Melina. “This is such a mistake. Come on then.”

I grabbed my gun, put on some shoes, and hefted my toolbox. 

Melina grabbed my arm. “You can keep the cuffs for a bit,” she said, giving me a look that made my knees weak. “I’ll see you get some use out of them.”

I piled into the back of Xanthe’s van, with my hastily grabbed junk. She fired up the thrusters, and we sped off up the road, Melina alongside on her hover-bike. There was smoke from the playa, but no-one followed us.  

I wasn’t expecting any company today, but the desert sometimes surprises you.