Quickie: Curious Cat

Note: As the title indicates, this story is shorter than usual for me. If you’re in the mood for world-building and a long tease, maybe save this one for another time. Otherwise, give it a shot–and thanks. FS

*****

Okay, this sucks, but here goes: our cat, Froofy Pie, rubbed against my cock while I was jerking off. No bullshit.

Unintentionally for both of us–I think. I can’t speak for Froofy Pie. And, yeah, I know it’s fucked up, but not as fucked up as the next part: my sister saw it.

It was a Wednesday night. Mom and Dad were doing their dinner/book club thing. Kristen, my sister, was off at college two hours away. The house was mine–well, mine and Froofy Pie’s.

Maybe I’m an eighteen-year-old freak, but on Wednesday nights, I come home from school, strip completely naked, and hang out around the house. I knock out my homework. I lift weights. I shower. I play video games. I eat. Then, I lay on the couch with my tablet open to naked babes.

So, I was on the sofa skimming through pictures of hot women on my tablet. I hadn’t even touched myself when Froofy Pie, a cross-eyed, blue-eyed, light-but-not-white-furred, black-tipped, long-haired ex-stray, leaped onto my belly. “Shit!” I whispered, dropping the tablet on my chest and directing an annoyed glare at the cat.

She didn’t care; she flopped down on my lower tummy and curled into a comfy little ball.

“No,” I said. “Froofy Pie, no.”

She slowly blinked at me.

“Okay, fucker, get off–,” I began, pushing her toward the edge of the couch. Then, the claws came out, punching little holes in my belly and hip. “Shit!” I hissed, freezing still. “Fuck–okay, okay.”

We stared at one another for a spell. She didn’t move other than to settle in and flick her back fur a few times. It seemed like a truce.

“Whatever,” I told the cat. Then, I picked up my tablet and resumed.

Froofy Pie, warm and chilling, began to purr.

Things for me had begun to move along, but the whole situation made me uncomfortable. Sighing, I lowered the tablet and stared at her lazy form. “This is fucking weird,” I whispered to her.

She raised her head, briefly opened those crossed eyes as if to say, “Fuck off, I’m comfy,” and then laid back down.

When I started jerking off, I decided, Froofy Pie won’t like the motion, and she’ll leave willingly. So, I kept checking out my pictures, and eventually, I got hard.

Once again, I lowered the laptop to figure out how I was going to do it with a cat between me and my dick.

Then, shit went down fast.

As I grabbed my cock, I heard squeaks on the wooden floor of the kitchen behind me. A woman shrieked. Froofy Pie’s claws deployed. I bucked and hollered, “Fucker!” The cat sprang from me and darted away.

Scrambling to my feet and trying but failing to completely cover myself, I spun toward the source of the scream and saw my sister, Kristen, backing up from me through the kitchen, her hands over her mouth.

Reaching out toward her, I pleaded, “No! Kristen! It’s not–!”

I should not have uncovered myself; my cock was pointed at her. Her eyes darted down and saw it. Seizing a cushion from the couch, I hid my junk–too late.

Kristen spun and strode away, moaning, “Oh, my gosh!”

“Kristen, wait!” I hollered.

Scanning around, I saw a second cushion and clutched it. Using one for my front and one for my back, I chased after my sister. She pounded up the stairs; I called after her. She strode down the upstairs hall and shut the door to her bedroom behind her.

I ran to her door and said, “Kristen! It wasn’t what you think! I wasn’t–I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t that!”

She didn’t say anything.

“Kristen! Please!”

“What were you doing to poor Froofy Pie on the couch?!” she cried from behind the door.

The implication was so ridiculous and the sound of her voice so replete with shock that I started laughing. “Not what you think, Kristen!”

“Then, what? And it’s not funny!”

It wasn’t; it was just one of those times when you weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan. “She jumped on me while I was–you know!”

“What?”

“Jerking off!”

This revelation was met by silence. Then, after a few seconds, she argued, “Why didn’t you just–?”

I knew what she was after, so I cut her off. “She clawed me when I tried.”

Kristen said nothing.

“I’m not fucking lying. You have to believe me.”

Nothing.

“Well, do you?” I hollered.

Her next utterance was from right behind the door. “Are you covered up?”

“I’ve got two cushions.”

“Fine.”

The door swung open, and Kristen glanced at the cushion in front of me before asking, “What were you thinking? Why don’t you just jerk off in your room? Why were you completely naked on the family room sofa?”

Sighing, I replied, “No one is ever here on Wednesday nights, and for that matter, what the hell are you doing home? Don’t you have classes?”

“I’m on Fall Break.”

“But isn’t that over Thanksgiving?”

“That’s Thanksgiving Break.”

“I didn’t even bursa escort hear you come in.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky.”

I sighed, “But do you believe me? About what happened and–and Froofy Pie?”

“I believe you, but here’s something you need to believe.”

She paused. I waited.

“The last thing in the world I ever want to see again,” she said, “is your boner.” Then, she shut the door.

***

Kristen has always been a tough older sister for a playful but mistake-prone and irresponsible little brother like me. From the earliest days, we were never equals. She, as the older sibling, was in charge. There was no commiserating with her about parental injustice. Mom and Dad were her allies and, therefore, always right.

Oh, the day our parents quit hiring babysitters and put Kristen in command! So smug. So critical. So eager to impress our parents with her responsibility and find fault in me. I remember her end-of-tour report usually lasting about five minutes and often including such transgressions as inappropriate facial expressions.

Kristen was perfect. Straight A student. Captain of the cheerleading team. Student Council President. Didn’t drink. Didn’t vape or smoke. No drugs. No sex before marriage.

Boys loved her because there was nothing about her face or body to complain about. Breasty, not flat or obnoxiously huge. Fit, not skinny or fat. Strikingly cute, not beautiful or homely. She almost always braided her long, white-blonde hair to perfection in the mornings. Her light blue eyes could be as suspicious as they were welcoming.

I remember standing in line behind her on the stairs of a tall waterslide one summer not long ago. Kristen was in a conservative navy bikini, and during those minutes in line, I found myself scrutinizing her body. It was a cloudy day, and I watched goosebumps rise on her skin as she shivered, waiting for the line to keep moving. The chill brought her body to life before my eyes, but it showed me something else that was new, too. For the first time I could remember, she looked vulnerable and exposed, and it unsettled me. I felt pity for her.

I wanted to caress the goosebumps on her lovely legs. I wanted to hold her body close to mine and make her warm. Maybe I could tell her, I thought, that I was trying to turn my shit around because I wanted to impress not Mom and Dad but her. I wanted her to think her little brother was a good guy.

I didn’t tell her. Twenty minutes later, when she told Mom that I was being weird and ogling her in the line for the slide, I once again decided she sucked.

A showdown loomed. I think we both knew it. There was simply too much pent-up righteous fury for me and too many vexing disappointments for her. Our confrontation would be explosive. I hoped when it happened that I would have something more than “bossy” to hurl at her, though.

My earnest wish as a teenager, before and after the waterslide affair, was to catch Kristen doing something wrong–passed-out drunk or cheating on a test, anything. Nope. My gosh, the number of times she had caught and reported me to our parents, though!

I assumed Kristen would tell them about the Froofy Pie/Masturbation Debacle. She didn’t. Maybe, I thought, college was mellowing her.

***

A month or so after catching me jerking off, Kristen returned home for Thanksgiving break. It was another Wednesday night, and Mom and Dad were out. I, of course, knew better than to attempt a naked night.

But I did consider a shorter version. Kristen was in the shower, and I knew I’d have some privacy for twenty minutes or so.

Grabbing my tablet, I stopped beside the couch and set the device down. Before settling in and stripping down, I had a thought. “Froofy Pie?” I called out suspiciously, scanning around myself. Then, I went looking for her, hoping to trap her in a room while I jerked off.

I couldn’t find that damn cat.

Not upstairs anywhere. Not on the first floor. Not even in the basement.

Whatever.

I returned to the couch and began to strip down. When I heard the water in Kristen’s shower shut off, I decided not to get completely naked. I wasn’t afraid of getting caught again, but I needed to race a little bit. So, with jeans and underwear down to my thighs, I started checking out the babes online.

Having found several pictures I really liked and set their windows in order from “starting off” to “cum now,” I began. About midway through the pictures, I heard Kristen call for me.

I waited, hoping she would figure out her problem on her own.

Again, she called for me.

“Fucker,” I whispered, cranking everything down and pulling up my jeans.

Kristen yelled my name a third time.

“I’m coming!” I hollered. Then, I made sure the bottom of my shirt would cover my boner and went upstairs.

“Where are you?” I called out.

“Bathroom!”

I went to the door. “I’m here. What?”

She said nothing for a beat or two, and when she spoke, her voice was strangely subdued. She sounded embarrassed. “I–I need your help. I’m stuck.”

“Stuck bursa escort bayan how?”

“I’m stuck–I’m stuck in the toilet.”

I laughed. “You’re kidding, right? ‘In’? How does a person get stuck ‘in’ the toilet?”

“It’s actually not funny.”

“Okay, but how, Kristen?”

“My arm,” she explained, “is stuck in the bowl–in the drain part.” Before I could ask, she said, “I dropped something in there, and I was reaching for it.”

It made some sense. “Okay. So, you dropped a turd, and it hid from you in the drain. You wanted to clap your eyes to it before flushing it down because you’re a freak, but when you tried to fish it out of there, your hand got stuck. That about right?”

Silence, as if she were processing the image. Then, faintly, “Oh, my gosh.”

I said, “Come on, Kristen. Let go of the turd. You can do this.”

“You are horrible!”

I laughed. “Have you tried flushing the toilet?”

“I wasn’t fishing a turd!”

I laughed harder. “No! I’m being serious now! Flush the toilet to see if it lets you get your hand free.”

“I don’t want to lose what fell inside. In fact–,” she hesitated. “I can feel it with my fingers. I’m–so–close.”

“Well, don’t get stuck deeper, idiot.”

The sounds of a brief struggle ensued. Then, she sighed with annoyance.

“Get it?”

“No.”

“Still stuck?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get the lock-picker and come pull me out,” she said. “Only–not just yet.”

The little wire prong to unlock the bathroom door was sitting on the trim above it. I grabbed it and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Wait.”

“Kristen, are you naked or something?”

“I just got out of the shower and my clothes are–they’re too far away. All I’ve got are my towels.”

Suddenly, I jumped because, from behind the door, I heard an inhuman howl. “What the fuck?” I spat.

“This is your fault!” Kristen snapped–but it didn’t sound like the words were meant for me.

Another howl.

“Is Froofy Pie in there with you?”

“Yes!” she sighed angrily. “The little shit got in here somehow, and she surprised me. I dropped my–my thing that’s in the toilet.” After a beat, Kristen said, “Yes, you!”

Froofy Pie meowed mournfully.

I laughed. “Aw, poor Froofy Pie!”

Another sad meow.

“Okay,” Kristen called. “You can come in. I’m covered up.”

I plugged the lock pick into the small hole in the center of the doorknob, heard a click, and twisted the handle. The second the door cracked open, Froofy Pie darted through the gap.

“Good riddance,” Kristen called after it.

I stepped inside.

Beyond the little alley separating the vanity from the tub shower, directly across from me in the small toilet stall, Kristen was on her knees. Her right arm plunged into the toilet bowl. Her hair was wet. She had draped a towel over her back crosswise to hide her breasts and another longwise on top of the first to hide her ass.

“How did you do the towel thing with only one hand?”

“It wasn’t easy,” she said. “Come on, and don’t bump me or they’ll slip off.”

I walked into the toilet stall. On the way, I noticed the remnants of steam on the mirror and around me. With it, there lingered in the air all the smells of Kristen’s shampoos and soaps–and something else, something I couldn’t yet name.

Kristen’s eyes swept up and down me, and they stopped at my crotch. She groaned and spun away. “Oh, my gosh!” she hollered.

“What?” I asked, looking where she had looked. Ah, Shit. When I’d reached up for the lock pick, my shirt must have caught on my belt. The tubular bulge of my erection formed a prominent column from my crotch to my right pocket.

“Were you jerking off again?”

“Maybe. So?” I dropped my shirt over the bulge.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Fuck you, I was horny,” I replied. “What? You never get horny? You’re asexual?”

“I,” she stated definitively, “have self-control.”

“Whatever. Let me see your arm.” I leaned over the bowl and looked down. “Holy shit, Kristen!” Her entire hand and forearm were in the drain. The only part of it I could see was her elbow.

“Yeah,” she said. “This sucks.”

“I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Kristen is small. Five-one and maybe a touch over a hundred pounds. Her hands and arms are small, too, but until then, I never really understood how tiny.

“What the hell did you drop in there that was so fucking important you decided to stick your arm up there like you’re–like you’re birthing a calf?”

She giggled nervously, replying, “It doesn’t matter. Help me.”

I stepped over her, careful not to screw up her towels. Straddling her back, I bent down and took her shoulder in one hand. I held her bicep in the other. Before I could begin, I caught that interesting aroma again.

Releasing her arm, I rose.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What did you lose in the toilet, Kristen?”

“Nothing–my watch. What do you care?”

“The black watch with the gold face that Dad gave you for escort bursa your birthday?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care. Help me get out.”

“I’m going to your room to see if the black watch is on your jewelry tree.”

“Don’t go into my room! That’s private!”

“I’m going. You’re stuck.” I stepped over her again and began walking toward the bathroom threshold.

“Don’t!” she cried. “I don’t go into your room!”

“See you, Kristen,” I called back.

“Wait!” she hollered when I crossed into the hall.

I stopped.

“It isn’t my watch.”

“What is it?”

Another frustrated groan later, Kristen sighed and said, “It’s a–a toy.”

“What kind of toy?”

“A toy for girls.”

I laughed. “A dildo?”

“Oh, my gosh.”

“A dildo?” I repeated.

“Yes!”

“Tell me about it,” I said, chuckling and returning to her side. “Describe it.”

Kristen stammered.

I interrupted, “I’m guessing it isn’t a twelve-inch super dong if it got stuck in the toilet. Go ahead.”

“What do you care?”

“I want to know, or I’m not helping you.”

She sighed. “It’s pink.”

“Does it–how shall I put this?–require batteries?”

“Yes.”

More laughter from me. “What else?”

“It’s called a bullet vibrator.”

“When I bent over you a minute ago,” I explained mirthfully, “I could totally smell pussy. Hell, I knew almost the minute I walked in here.”

“Oh, my gosh,” she muttered.

“Two things,” I said. “One, your pussy smells pretty good, so congratulations. Two, and much more importantly, you are a total hypocrite.”

“Jerking off completely naked on the family room sofa is not the same,” she argued, “as doing it in a bathroom with the door locked.”

“No-no-no-no. I think you called me ‘disgusting.’ I think you said you have ‘self-control.'” I provided full air quotes for her benefit.

Kristen sputtered.

“Admit you’re just as bad as me,” I said, “and then I’ll help.”

She groaned in vexation before muttering, “Okay, you’re not disgusting. Okay, I don’t have any self-control either.”

“And admit that Froofy Pie is the greatest masturbation cat detective in all the world.”

Kristen burst into laughter, yelling, “You are so stupid!”

“Admit it.”

“Froofy Pie is the greatest cat that ever caught masturbators in the world or whatever.”

I chuckled, stepping over Kristen. “Thank you,” I said. “Ready to be free?”

“Yes!”

I took up her arm and shoulder, and said, “Ready?”

She nodded.

“Go.”

I pulled; Kristen tugged. Nothing happened.

“Again,” I said.

No change. We relaxed.

“Wiggle it side to side,” I suggested.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?”

“Right,” I sighed. “Have you tried straightening it out–your arm, I mean–as much as you can?”

“I guess not.”

“Try it.”

Kristen scooted back carefully, extending her right arm as much as she could. “I think this is going to hurt,” she cautioned.

When I took up her arm, she told me to wait. I let go.

“Don’t pull my arm; I know that’s going to hurt. Let me wiggle it, and you pull my hips. Try it that way.”

I looked down at the rise of her ass and the blue towel draped over it. Shrugging, I said, “Okay.” Then, I stepped out from straddling her back and stood behind her.

I knelt and took her waist, trying to ignore the thrilling curves of her body and the proximity of my crotch to her ass. “I’m ready,” I murmured.

“Pull me,” she said.

I did. Kristen hauled on her arm, wiggling and twisting it. Her butt grazed my crotch. Again. And another time. I watched my half-hard erection, suddenly reviving, receive the soft touches from the towel-covered, bulbous curve.

She stopped, and so did I. Taking a few breaths, Kristen said, “Let’s–.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Let’s try again. You–you can pull a bit harder.”

“Okay,” I said, swallowing a lump and feeling torn between guilt and excitement. I put my other knee on the floor, straddling Kristen’s calves. Adjusting my grip, I held her hips.

“Go,” she said, lurching back. I pulled her ass into my groin, and she bounced off of it.

Kristen hesitated, gasping airily. A moment later, she drove her body back again, tugging steadily on her arm. I watched my cock indent her ass for a few seconds. Then, Kristen began to rock. Her ass bumped against me–two, three times before she quit.

Fuck, it felt good. I was as hard as could be.

She started again. Something felt different. It felt like less of her energy was devoted to the removal of her arm and more to the rocking of her body. After a particularly strong bounce, Kristen gasped. “Oh, no! Stop them!” she cried.

I couldn’t move. I saw the towels slide off her right side. Kristen’s left hand snapped behind her back, pinning the sagging towels against her body before they fell completely. Her left hip and much of the left side of her ass were completely exposed. “Oh, my gosh,” she moaned.

My eyes riveted to the view. My mouth dried up.

Kristen fought to cover herself, dragging her left hand over the top towel to urge them both back into place. It didn’t work; the towels slipped further to the right. The cleft of her ass crept into view. Again she had to settle for pinning the fabric to her body.