Purrr

The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.

You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.

You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.

Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.

That's when you see her.

She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.

Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.

She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.

Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.

Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.

She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"

You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."

She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.

"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"

"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."

She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.

You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.

"I don't even know your name, cat girl."

"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."

The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.

"No? What's tonight about then?"

She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.

"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.

You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."

Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."

"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.

"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."

"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."

There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.

"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."

"What's the other half?" you ask.

Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."

"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.

She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."

The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.

You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.

But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.

"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.

All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.

Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.

The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.

Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.

"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."

You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.

"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.

She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.

"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.

She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.

She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.

"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.

Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.

She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."

She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.

She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."

She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.

This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.

She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.

"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.

This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.

You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.

Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.

When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.

She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.

She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.

She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.

"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.

She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.

"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.

Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."

"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."

You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.

You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.

"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.

She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.

You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.

You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.

"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."

You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.

"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.

You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."

She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.

You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.

"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."

You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.

She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.

"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."

Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.

You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.

"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.

Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.

She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."

But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.

Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.

"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."

You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.

"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."

You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.

You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.

"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."

You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.

"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.

"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."

You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.

"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.

"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."

"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.

She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."

You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.

When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.

"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.

"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."

You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.

"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.

"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."

You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.

You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.

"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.

You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.

She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.

The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.

"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."

You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"

"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."

That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.

The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.

She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."

Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.

"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."

She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.

That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.

Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.

The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.

It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.

When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.

"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"

You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."

She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.

She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.

She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.

"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."

You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.

"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.

And somehow, you know you’re about to be drained more than you already are.