Growing into the Job, Post 572: A Quiet House, p2 (Tiger Visits)

My face in her bra, I couldn’t see but I could hear, I could feel.

Not footsteps. Impacts.

Bare soles hitting wood with a soft boom that seemed to rise up through the frame of the bed and into my ribs. Each one made something in the room rattle -  picture frames against the walls and on dressers? Windows in their frames? When Melissa walked, she could make the whole building feel it.

Then a shift of air. A change in pressure. A pulse of heat leaving the room with her. I didn’t hear the door click. She’d maybe left it ajar. And then-

Silence.

I paused. For a moment, I didn’t breathe. 

What the fuck just happened???

What. The actual. Fuck??

Then, I drew a deep breath:

AHHHHhhhhhhh…..

I lay there on my back forming an ‘X’, arms and legs spread akimbo on the mattress of her enormous bed, lashed to the four bedposts by the stretch of four of her old bras. Was I feeling vulnerable? Exposed? YEAH. Being naked and sweaty and humiliated for one’s misbehavior by an overgrown twenty-something will do that to a guy. And then - maybe most humbling of all - I had the soft, warm, slightly damp fabric of the sports bra she’d been wearing all day wrapped over my face. Dense with her pheromones so I wouldn’t get sick, without her here. So I could live. 

Her bra. A blindfold. A barrier. A mask.

Her scent was thick in it: floral, warm, vaguely electric, and it filled me when I breathed.

I hated that it calmed me. I hated how completely it was beginning to override the humiliation. Because there was a lot of it, the humiliation - as well there should be. 

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes before I could stop them.

How had I become this?

A man - pretty well educated, maybe even respected I like to think - who used to run a clean, orderly geriatrics practice now reduced to… what? A doll? A pet? A disobedient child who needed to be scolded, carried, put down for “time out”?

But also - god help me - I couldn’t deny the pull her presence had on me. Even the absence of her was charged. It was like her footsteps had left a pressure in the air that still hadn’t dissipated.

I missed her already. 

I breathed her in, from the inner cup of her bra, again. Deeper this time, because I couldn’t stop myself.

It was her, it was all her.

Her scent wasn’t just gentle. It never had been. It was beautiful, enthralling, complex and utterly feminine. But it was also a command, a strong hand at the back of my neck, a promise of a warm blanket with a warning growl occupying the same breath.

Melissa, I knew, was that contradiction - the instinct to protect me and the fury from which I’d needed protection. And underneath it all a darker heat she rarely verbalized but never masked either. 

She wanted to dominate. To lead. To be in control.

And god help me, some part of me thrilled at it.

She wanted to be the boss. 

I turned my head slightly beneath the fabric of the huge sports bra, seeing if I could shake off at least a part of it, so I could see. It didn’t budge. That was deliberate too - she’d made sure I couldn’t slip free, either from this bra-mask or the straps of the bras tying me to the bed. The web of nylon pulling at my limbs was taut, not painful, but it kept me exactly where she wanted me. Exactly how she left me.

My breathing slowed, as I drew her in, breath by breath. My thoughts didn’t.

The whole day replayed itself in my head, ugly and disjointed. Waking up with the girls, the girls leaving me alone. The hollow, echoing sense of being abandoned in her office as messages and chats came in. The constant parade of towering, confident women - every single one bigger than me, stronger than me, a brighter light than me. All of them moving through the office and hallways with their easy, fluid superiority, while I slunk, pretending I wasn’t shrinking not just in height, but in presence and authority.

I couldn’t escape it, the way they looked at me - not cruelly, always, but familiarly. Like I was something delicate and manageable. Something they could use. I’d tried to stay calm. Tried to stay professional. But their height, their strength, their size and beauty, the way they filled the office…no, dominated it…it was too much. I’d felt trapped. Trapped in my four-foot (was I even that any more?) body. Trapped in a maze of hormones and pheromones and attention I didn’t understand - and couldn’t fight.

Then the bomb threat. The chaos. Bodies rushing past mine like tidal waves. The eyes and hands and mouths on me.

I ran. I didn’t think. I just fled. Drove. Stumbled past trees and through streams.

And then Melissa - enraged, unstoppable, inflamed with the kind of fury that topples trees - had found me.

So now I was here. Left alone, wrapped in her scent, pinned in a net of her discarded clothes like a reminder: You belong to me. You don’t get to run.

I swallowed hard.

The bra was pressed against my lips when I breathed, soft and warm still from the heat of her body. The air inside it was thick and comforting, and something else…

Drowsiness, yes. But also a slow, undeniable tug of desire. With each breath, my loins filled, heat pooled low in my belly, and my cock thickened against my will, I felt my pulse in my ears and the tell-tale throb between my legs. Not now, I told myself, even as I felt myself harden, lifting off my belly, God, not now.

But her scent didn’t care. It crept in through every breath, softening the edges of my thoughts, coaxing them toward stillness, toward need, toward her. I would gett harder and harder and harder. But - tied up as I was - I had no respite. Not my own hand, and certainly not hers. The ember was already starting to burn hot.

At the same time, my stomach twisted with hunger - a deep, gnawing ache that felt as instinctive as breathing. I hadn’t “eaten” since morning - when I last had a drink of the formula I still liked to call my “protein shake”. I hadn’t had a moment to rest, to think, to feel anything that wasn’t fear or pressure or adrenaline. But now the hunger was here, along with the arousal.

Under her scent, many things softened. Even the fear, the shame. The house had gone impossibly quiet. No footsteps. She’d left the room topless - maybe Melissa had clothes downstairs? To wear back to work?

Now there was just me, my heartbeat, my hunger - and the swelling monster throbbing to life over my stomach as her perfume coiled warm and heavy in my lungs and around every thought I had left, feeding it all. The perfume had calmed me, but now the hungers - in my gut, in my loins -  were starting to make me panic. How long would I be here, alone? How bad would they get?

“Melissa…” I whispered, groaned, into the softness over my face, my voice barely audible even to myself.

But something answered me.

“Meow.”

What?

Another meow, closer this time, almost conversational.

“Meow?”

Oh, god, no. Though blinded by Melissa’s bra, I knew who this was.

Not impacts, but footsteps, little ones.

Then the mattress at the foot of the bed dipped -a deliberate, springy little bounce. Four soft points of pressure, spaced like paws, began to walk up the duvet on which I lay, toward me.

The cat. Melissa’s cat - ‘Tiger’.

I jerked against the restraints. The polka-dot strap bit into my right ankle; the white mom-bra yanked my arm so hard my shoulder screamed. Nothing gave. I was still pinned, still naked, still spread wide like a specimen. I really didn’t want this cat here, not now.

A low, rumbling purr started - I could almost feel it in my sternum before I heard it. The sound rolled through the mattress and into my bones, lazy and self-satisfied. Then a cold, wet nose nudged my shoulder, then the edge of the sports bra that covered my face. Once. Twice. Sniffing. Deliberate.

I froze, every muscle locked.

“Go away,” I said, my voice muffled through the cups of Melissa’s bra, “Go away, Tiger. Shoo!”

The cat didn’t care. Maybe it smelled Melissa, on the bra, and knew exactly where her scent was strongest because it pressed its nose right into the damp under-band and inhaled like it was sampling wine. Then a paw - warm, heavy for a cat - settled on the cup over my mouth and pushed, gently but firmly, sealing the fabric tighter against my lips and nose.

“BLUrph!!” I blurphed.

I couldn’t see anything except the faint gray glow through the stretched spandex, but I could picture it perfectly: Tiger, the long-haired tortoiseshell tabby that Melissa swore was a boy, perched aside me, green eyes narrowed in curiosity, tail flicking.

Another soft push of the paw, as if testing whether I was really stuck.

I was.

The purring got louder. Affectionate? I dunno.

Cats, right?

“Heh heh, hey Tiger,” I tried again, “Go away. Go on. Get.”

And then the weight of the cat shifted higher, soft paws padding up onto my chest, settling with deliberate care onto my bare, helpless stomach right in the middle of the perfect, pasty ‘X’ its owner had made of me. The thing probably only weighed eight or nine pounds but on my shrunken, scarecrow frame it was a significant mass, and brushed across my…across the shaft of my…

 I…I shuddered.

Holy shit no. 

My cock twitched, rubbed by the soft fur of the cat.

‘Shoo!”

Nothing, it didn’t flinch. I tried again:

“Shoo!!”

Fail. Not even household pets listened to me anymore. The cat was on me now, right next to my erection. And it obviously wasn’t hurrying away anytime soon. It did pause, though, weight balanced on my sternum, and then did something that made my blood turn to ice water.

A paw batted at the bra over my face, several times, and then - deliberately, carefully - hooked under the edge of it and tugged it aside just enough for one of my eyes to see free. Cool air hit my cheek, and the sudden half-vision was a bit blinding after the humid darkness. I blinked, frantic, and found myself staring up into glittering, emerald-green eyes framed by thick tortoiseshell fur - orange, black, and cream swirled together like someone had spilled paint and decided to call it gorgeous. The cat’s pupils were wide, analytic slits.

For a heartbeat we just stared at each other. It cocked its head at me. I think it was amused.

Then, the cat backed up, on my chest. If I didn’t know any better I would have said it was very deliberately, to rub its back quarters against my traitorous nine-and-a-half inches, which stood rigid up over my belly like a flagpole in a hurricane.

“Tiger…NO!”

A low, rolling purr answered.

I tried to speak again, making eye contact with the thing, this time being a bit more diplomatic. “T-Tiger, no-”

The cat turned in one fluid motion, tail curling high, and showed me that - despite the fact that Melissa named it “Tiger” and called it “he” - it was, for sure, not a male. It then dragged its entire soft, warm flank along the length of my cock in a slow, deliberate rub. Then it rubbed its head against my rock-hard shaft. Once. Twice. The fur was silkier than it had any right to be, and every stroke sent sparks straight up my spine. The perfumes in Melissa’s bra, over my face, kept me in a state of erection that could not be ignored. Even this, as sick as it was, felt electric.

“S-s-stop - please -” I gasped, trying to keep my hips from jerking but merely holding them to spasms. The bras still strung me out starfished and my convulsive movements only made the restraints creak and my shaft slap helplessly against the cat’s side, exacerbating my dilemma.

Tiger ignored my complaints completely, and turned again. Instead of stopping, she butted her head affectionately under my chin, through Melissa’s bra  - once, twice - then flopped sideways, pressing the full length of her body against my chest and abdomen like it was a heating pad. A paw came up, mischievous but almost dainty, and - god help me - batted at the head of my cock, playful at first but then again…softer next time, pads brushing the sensitive underside, claws sheathed but still terrifyingly close.

I groaned despite myself, a broken, humiliated sound that echoed in the quiet room. Tiger stood again. Heat flooded my face. This was a cat. A house-cat. And I was - still at the mercy of Melissa’s pheromone-bra-mask - as hard as I’d ever been in my life, leaking now against tortoiseshell fur while the animal rubbed its flank against me again and purred like it was the best thing in the world.

Another slow drag of fur along my length. Another gentle paw-tap that made my hips buck involuntarily.

I couldn’t stop the whimper that tore out of me. I couldn’t stop the way my thighs tried to close and only barely rattled the bedposts. And I couldn’t stop the frantic, mortified thought screaming over and over in my head:

I’m going to come from Melissa’s cat rubbing on me and there is literally nothing I can do to stop it.

The cat nuzzled in closer, her flank pressing firmer now, the soft underbelly fur gliding along my shaft in a rhythmic side-to-side sway that felt too intentional, too knowing. A whisker tickled the base; her tail flicked lazily across my thighs, the tip brushing my balls like a feather duster. Somehow through the bra I caught a whiff of scent of her - faintly musky, like clean fur but also something sweeter, vanilla maybe? If I hadn’t known better I would say it was a woman’s perfume. Mixed with Melissa’s lingering pheromones it had turned the air thick and heady.

“Get off - please,” I begged, voice cracking higher and coming out as a moan. My hips betrayed me again, thrusting weakly upward, rubbing myself against her side like some desperate animal. The humiliation burned deeper: naked, bound by old bras, a cat’s plaything while Melissa was off saving the office. And god, the purring - vibrating right through her body into mine, buzzing against my cock like a toy set to low.

She batted again, paw pads soft but insistent, tapping the head, then dragging down the underside in a slow curl. Pre-cum smeared into her fur; she didn’t seem to mind - in fact, the purr deepened, almost triumphant.

No. No no no. I clenched every muscle, trying to hold back, but the build was relentless: heat coiling low in my gut, my balls tightening, the bra-mask forcing Melissa’s scent deeper with every panicked breath. The cat shifted, rubbing her cheek against the base, marking my shaft with her scent glands, her glittering green eyes half-closed in lazy contentment.

One more drag of her soft cheek against me and I shattered.

The orgasm hit like a freight train, hot ropes spilling across her tortoiseshell flank, immediately soaking the swirled orange-black-cream fur in sticky white streaks. I groaned - long, humiliated, my frail body convulsing against the unyielding bras, hips bucking uselessly and the cat watching me curiously as the climax, and then the aftershocks, ripped through me. I grunted, I groaned. Tears leaked from my one free eye; shame flooded hotter than the release as I finally came back down.

Tiger froze for a beat, then - as if satisfied I was done, though I was still panting, still twitching in the aftermath - hopped off with a soft thump, onto the floor, and then leapt up, landing on the nearby dresser. I caught a glimpse through my tear-blurred vision: her tail high, fur matted in front and along one side with my mess, glittering green eyes flicking back at me with what looked like smug satisfaction. She settled beside a framed photo - young Melissa and a red-haired girl with tortoiseshell glasses, arms linked in an embrace, both grinning wide - and began preening, pink tongue darting out to lick the soiled fur clean, slow and deliberate, lapping up every drop dutifully.

Another wave of humiliation crashed over me in waves: bound, spent, a cat cleaning my shame from itself while I lay there exposed, the bra-mask still smothering half my face, the room reeking of sex and fur. Details burned in: the photo's glass glinting in the light, Tiger's whiskers twitching with each lick, her tail curling lazily as if savoring the taste. All the while, Melissa’s big teddy bear had sat watching quiet sentinel from a high shelf.

Through the quiet, my stomach rumbled. I was hungry.

The cat, at this point, looked up from its preening, as if the roil of hunger from my belly caught its notice. For a bit, she seemed to be thinking, watching me, considering me. I didn’t yell, I didn’t try to get rid of it. Then, it seemed to come to a decision and as easily as she’d come, Tiger leapt down. I heard the soft pads on hardwood - and then saw it saunter out the ajar door, leaving me alone in the silence, trembling in my web of bras.

=======================

thanks to brother-at-large Beetlebomb for the base image in the picture frame