Spring; a time for budding flowers to reveal their colours, for birds to welcome the morning sun earlier every day with grateful song. A time for winter’s dreary gloom to vanish from the sky, giving way to light warm rains or refreshing afternoons basking in early warmth. It was a time of new life, fresh starts, of passion and vigour and budding desires.

Myra hated it.

It wasn’t the myriad scents wafting through the open car window as her trainer drove. Nor was it the extra hours of sunlight, which provided such lovely napping places around the house. She didn’t even mind the rains which often kept her indoors, or the awoken chatter of the wild ‘mons in the forest. No, it was the    other,    more personal   changes, which nettled.

“Here we are!”

She glanced out the window as Trent, her coordinator, slowed the car to a halt alongside a medium-sized, older-looking house surrounded by tall hedges, its wood-slatted sides painted white with blue trim. Trent hopped out, walked around and opened the back door for her, grinning like a fool. “Doesn’t it look nice?”

Myra cracked a yawn, her tail lashing. One forepaw folded over the other.

Trent’s smile faltered, dark brows knitting together. “Please, Myra, don’t make this difficult…”

Ugh, that pitiful whine of his. She half-closed her eyes, mulling her options. He could be dreadfully stubborn, so while she would be perfectly happy to bask here all day, he would continue to complain and nag until she finally gave in, just to stop his drivel. Or, if she did manage to outlast him, he’d likely resort to pulling out her pokéball, and    that    was an indignity she’d as soon avoid.

“C’mon, they say Dewberry House is the best in the region. What more could you ask for?”

What a loaded—and stupid—question. She looked up, staring into his hopeful eyes. Would he ever get the picture? He was clever enough, most of the time, so why was this so hard for him to grasp? But, wishing for her human to come to his senses was a waste of time. Best to get on with this, and save the crushing of his hopes for tomorrow when he picked her up. Arching into a stretch, rolling her shoulders and settling her mane, Myra rose and slid past Trent onto the pavement.

He breathed a long sigh, then slammed the door shut, and lead the way down the path to the front door of the house. Myra followed at her own pace. Let him wait by the front door a moment or two, and no amount of his eye-rolling and foot-tapping would hurry her! She had to admit, it was a well-kept building, and judging by the wings stretching back and rising to three stories, perhaps ‘mansion’ might have been more appropriate. Sauntering up the steps, she saw that the door’s carved wood depicted images of a variety of species—even a fellow pyroar—frolicking about. How degrading.

“Finished dragging your feet?” Trent asked, pulling the door open. “We’ve talked about this.”

Yes, and she’d never agreed. Just because it was that time of year didn’t mean she    wanted    this, no matter what ideas he had in mind. She tossed her head, offering a small growl. He knew how to read her well enough to interpret her, “Still don’t care.”

With Trent grumbling under his breath, they strolled into a richly carpeted lobby. Behind a welcome desk, a woman dressed in white blouse and black jacket awaited them. On the wall above her, a painting of an older human in a fancy suit looked down his nose at the world, proclaiming his combined ownership and disdain for it. Two sets of stairs lead deeper into the mansion behind the desk, and plush armchairs set in front of a stone hearth all lay below an elaborate chandelier. Crystal facets sparkled, dangling so high up, well out of reach, but fascinating all the same...

“Myra!”

Standing by the front desk with the woman, Trent glared. He had his arms folded—his ‘I’m serious now’ pose. Honestly, he should learn not to rush her! She indulged him by pacing over and seating herself at his side, examining the woman greeter. Lipstick, styled hair, a touch of eye-shadow, and a whiff of floral perfume tickling her nose. Good taste in clothing; modern cut, formal, but stylish. Couldn’t hide the mukrow’s feet at the corners of her eyes though.

“Welcome to Dewberry house, Mr. Goldberg and Myra,” the woman said, her voice throaty and the words purring with the cultured notes of Kalos. “We’ve already prepared for your arrival. I trust the premises are satisfactory?”

“You’re the one I spoke to on the phone?”

“May, yes, that’s correct.”

Trent nodded. “And the matter we discussed? About…” he trailed off, glancing down at Myra. She returned a lazy blink. Let him wonder.

“Sir, I assure you, our reputation exists for good cause. We guarantee results, and client satisfaction, even for difficult cases.”

A soft growl rattled in Myra’s throat.    Difficult?    He had some nerve, saying so of    her!  

“Ah, I know, I just… well, she’s rejected every single one previously. You’ll understand if I’m a bit anxious.”

“We have taken that into account, sir. Should the transaction prove unsuccessful, you will receive half of the overnight fee in refund, and naturally there will be no studding charge, but I can personally attest that our finest has been selected. Our handlers know their business.” Her smile nearly outshone the chandelier.

“I’ll leave her in your capable hands then.”

Nice of them to ask    her    opinion. What would happen if this place were to catch fire? Trent traded the woman—May—his money card in exchange for a slip of paper. This place would be expensive. If he wanted to waste their hard-earned contest money, that was mostly his right, but, it would have been far better spent pampering her and preparing for the upcoming Kanto circuit. Not on daydreams of pedigreed kittens.

“She has eaten recently? We will provide meals of course, but if she requires anything now…”

“She had breakfast, but she usually likes a mid-afternoon snack before dinner.”

“I’ll see to it that one is available in her quarters.” She looked down at the computer on her desk, keys chattering as she typed.

“Thank you.” Turning to Myra, Trent crouched, hands on his knees, looking her in the eyes, his expression open and earnest. “Listen, I know you’re upset with me right now about this, but all I’m asking is for    once,    alright? I promise you’ll never have to go through this again if you don’t want to. Please? For me?”

Fat chance. But, she supposed she couldn’t fault him overly much for trying. Bowing her head, she awarded him a nuzzle on the chin, followed by a flick of her mane, and a, “Roar.” He might not hear the ‘maybe’, but he’d get the sentiment.

“Thanks, Myra. Don’t cause trouble?” Grinning, he scratched behind her ear—just in the right place, how did he    know?—    and stood, turning to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Try to have fun.” With a wave, he headed for the door.

That, at least, she could arrange. Crushing the hopeful advances of eager males was    always    fun. What might they send her this time? Something flashy, no doubt, maybe an arcanine or a ninetales. She could already picture it, sending a big fire dog away, fluffy tail drooping forlornly…

“Miss Myra, if you would be so kind as to come with me? Your quarters are in the west wing.” May stepped out from behind the desk, revealing a dark, conservative skirt and nyloned legs, along with a pair of short heels bearing the scent of quality leather. Myra fell into step behind her, following up the staircase on the right. No sense dawdling now and losing herself in an unfamiliar place.

Reaching the second floor, May lead her through a long hallway covered in the same plush carpeting as the main floor, lit by false candles in recesses along the walls, and interrupted occasionally by closed wooden doors. A turn down an intersecting hallway, more doors, and finally May stopped in front of one. She produced a plastic card from a jacket pocket, and inserted it into a cleverly disguised slot set at the height of her waist next to the door. A green light below the slot lit up, and she pressed it, proving it to be a button. The door slid open with no more than a discrete    hiss    .

“Please make yourself comfortable. Your companion will join you shortly. There is a red call button next to the bed should your require any additional services at any time.” She gave a short bow. “Enjoy your stay, madam.”

This was a nice change. May was only doing her job, but the other places had always treated her like    property.    At least these people had proper respect, even if they were running a glorified prison.

Delaying the inevitable was pointless. She wasn’t exactly eager to meet the ‘handlers’ May had mentioned if she were to be too uncooperative. Myra stepped from the dubious safety of the open hallway and into the room, allowing the door to shut firmly behind her.

  At least he didn’t cheap out on the room.  

A large, green blanketed and thickly padded bed dominated the center of the space, which was thickly carpeted and panelled in dark wood, lending a cozy feel. Opposite the bed, a small stone hearth bore a single log, prepared for a real fire, not the fake electric kind. The tall window lay ajar, curtains drawn back, allowing fresh-scented air and shafts of late afternoon sunlight to dance through. Near the hearth, a bowl of water and a steaming dish of what appeared to be chicken lingered, letting off a savoury aroma. They certainly hadn’t wasted time with that meal service!

Not that she was hungry. Pointless, ultimately, but, nice to know Trent wanted the best for her. Huffing, she strolled to the bed and hopped up, stretching out across its center. The way it sunk down and squished to welcome her practically begged for a nap. What would it cost to get a mattress like this at home? More importantly, how long would she have to wait for her ‘companion’? The faster he showed up, the sooner she could send him away and get this charade over with.

Now that she was alone, with no distractions, her body once more cried out, making its needs apparent. Tail lashing, she glanced down, lifting a hind leg to inspect herself. So    unsightly!    The way her normally trim sex puffed out, lips engorged and slick with her season, begging for the attention of a male—    any    male who cared to look—and how her scent wafted, dominating her usual smell with this alien invitation. Ugh! If that weren’t bad enough, Arceus saw fit to punish her with the constant buzzing itch, her insides quivering for want of relief, which instinct whispered could only come from one thing—a potent male to fill her, claim her, grant her the gift of his seed.

Males weren’t so bad, precisely. In fact, some were rather charming. But, the moment the first buds began to appear on trees, her body would respond with this betrayal, turning her from regal goddess of the contest circuits to a common    cat,    fit only for bearing kittens!

So incredibly unfair! To make matters worse, Trent had gotten it into his head that she was going to give him prize-winning offspring, prompting this… silliness… every flame blasted year! A trip to one breeder or another, a procession of suitably lineaged and compatible males paraded in to her, all plying their assets and hoping to leave her with a bellyful.

With impeccable timing, the door swished open. A pair of midnight paws minced across the threshold, attached to powerful forelimbs sheathed in black, sky blue, and golden fur.

“Excuse me, I trust I’m not intruding…” The deep voice rumbled with a hint of accent—a foreign ‘mon, something Eastern, from her best guess.

“You are, actually, but I doubt that will stop you.”

Unsurprisingly, he took that as an invitation to enter, strolling in like he owned the place. Thick forelimbs gave way to a deep chest and bushy mane, which surrounded soft round ears, pointed muzzle, and alluring crimson eyes with irises of molten gold. That intense gaze fixated on her immediately, measuring, evaluating, glimmering with approval and barely concealed desire. By all accounts, he was a sleek, well-apportioned luxray; immaculately groomed, the star on his tail glittering, every inch of his posture—puffed chest to strutting gait to the tilt of his chin and swish of his tail—calculated to captivate her attention and weaken her knees.    Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll take care of you,    that pose said.

She hated him instantly.

“Does that line honestly work for you?”

“Serves for an introduction. Better than, ‘What’s your name? Great, mine’s Albion. Let’s fuck.’”

“I’m not sure. At least that doesn’t beat around the bush as to what you’re here for.”

“Point, but my mother raised me right—taught me to be polite to the females.”

“Good. Please leave.”

“Wow, I mean, they warned me you would be cold, but... You sure you’re a fire type?”

She unsheathed and studied her claws, contemplating the wisdom of sharpening them on his smug muzzle. Species aside, he could’ve been a dead ringer for Cruz, that self-righteous    alley-cat    liepard who’d managed to be a constant burr in her mane the past two seasons. Not that he was actually a    rival    to her, but even this latest circuit, the judges in both Lilycove    and    Camphrier—her hometown, no less!—had had the audacity to ribbon    him    above    her!    The conceited little…

“Alright, point taken.” Huffing, the luxray glided closer to the low bed, each fall of his paws leaving a faint depression in the thick carpet. He stopped at the foot of it, looking up at her, tilting his noble head to the side. “Might I get your name at least, beautiful?”

“Sure. It’s ‘get lost’.”

“Your trainer must have a strange sense of humour.”

“He paired me with you, didn’t he?”

He chuckled, muttering something under his breath that sounded like ‘challenge’. Sitrus oil and persim extract tickled her nose, nearly blotting out the darker masculine aromas calling to her baser instincts. Whomever cared for him certainly did a fine job. That was the same fur product she used, and every strand gleamed, from the darker coat covering his torso and hindquarters to the light blue satin across his middle, face, and parts of his legs. A handsome male, radiating strength, vitality, poise. Her nose twitched, catching that hidden musk, drinking in its primal savor. A shiver ran down her spine, her tail twitching of its own accord, fanning cool air across her burning sex. Yes… a fine sire, capable of gifting her with equally fine kittens that—

  No!  

A weight on the edge of the bed—he rested one paw, gauging her reaction.

Blast her stupid body, this stupid heat, the damned    stupid    season for muddling her up like this! She bared her fangs, hissing and puffing her fur, claws popping easily through the thick blanket. Oops. That was probably expensive.

“Your mane looks freshly styled. It would be a shame to singe it, don’t you think?”

He froze mid-jump, eyeing her. Wary was good, though not as good as scared. “Okay, now you’ve got me curious. I can smell you’re in need, and I’m obviously capable of helping you with that.” He offered a suggestive wiggle of his hindquarters. “What’s your deal? I promise I’m—”

That glittering star swayed hypnotically as he blathered on about his pedigree and prowess. Back and forth, back and forth—sparkle, gleam—back… She caught herself a hair’s-breadth before the indignity of readying to pounce, disguising her hunch with a casual lick at the back of her paw. As if    she    could be lowered to such a thing!

“—and I don’t understand why you’re here if you’re not going to… y’know,” he finished, scuffing the carpet with a paw and flicking an ear. “Most of the females I meet here can’t wait to get started.”

“Perhaps you should go find some of them?”

That brought a huff—part laughter, part exasperation. “Look, sugar, charming as you are, I’m sure you’re aware that we have a job to do here. We’re expected to perform, and honestly, it’s a pretty great job. They won’t punish us, per se, but they’re not going to be too happy either. This place has a reputation to uphold, and one way or another, they make sure to keep it. I know I’d much rather take care of things naturally, rather than have them milk it out of me, and I can assure you it’s much more pleasant to have me taking care of you than to have a cold tube shoved up your rear. Is this your first time? Are you not into males? It’s okay if not, I once—”

Myra’s throat rumbled, cutting off his torrent. “You talk too much.”

He shrugged. “Better than glaring at each other.”

“Debatable.” They’d actually go so far as to    force    a male’s seed into her? How barbaric! The fancy surroundings took on a new light. The place oozed money, and no wonder, if they were able to guarantee the highest tier toms paired with the best-bred queens. Her typical tactics of pushing away her suitors wouldn’t be enough here. She’d need a new plan.

“Can you answer the question at least?” Large head canted to the side, the genuine curiosity in his garnet eyes tugged at her. “If you’re really that opposed to it, I won’t force you…”

That made her chuckle. “Open your eyes, kitty cat. You couldn’t force    me    if you tried.” She examined a forepaw, claws flexing. “I may not be a battler, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak.” Rolling onto her belly, she rested her chin on her forepaws, looking down at him. Assessment had never been her strong suit, but, with a bit of concentration, his aura pulsed, just beyond sight. Strong, yes, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The difference in height offered by her perch on the bed felt… appropriate.

“But,” she continued—no harm in indulging him a little, “no, you wouldn’t be my first, and no, I don’t prefer females. The answer is really quite simple. Care to take a swipe?”

“You’re into humans?”

That brought her up short. “Arceus,    no!    ” She’d heard of such things before. The contest community in particular was always abuzz with rumours, given how close coordinators became with their partners. Given the smug looks she’d seen Cruz share with his female trainer, it was a good bet that those two, at least, gave truth to the gossip. “Trent—my collaborator—is sweet, though a bit clueless at times, but    never!    I—    ”  

He was smirking, and she snapped her mouth shut, skewering him with a glare.

“Not humans then, but something else. Dittos? I once knew a samurott who refused to go with anyone else. Said something about once you’d been with a ditto, you could never go back.” At her flattening of ears and lashing tail, he continued. “No? C’mon, you    must    have a ‘type’, in that case, if you’re so set against your own. I refuse to believe you ignore your heat altogether.”

“I don’t have a    type,”    injecting the word with as much scorn as she could manage wasn’t hard, though it wasn’t completely true. “I merely have no wish to be encumbered with…” she paused, the very thought slipping through her mind like tar. “    Eggs.    ”

“Ah, so that’s it!” His muzzle parted, revealing glittering fangs, a purr rumbling along his words. “You don’t want to risk it with someone compatible, for fear of having kittens? What if—”

“Please,” she spat, “don’t even try that ‘I’ll pull out’ nonsense. We both know you won’t.”

“—I were to find a condom?” he finished, unperturbed by her outburst. “Believe it or not, they do make them for pokémon, and I know they have some here. Dewberry House has another wing, not for strictly pokémon couples…”

Catering to deviancy? Not something she would have expected of such a ‘high-brow’ establishment, but, then again, stud fees couldn’t possibly explain all the wealth. “You certainly know your way about this place.”

A shrug. “Been here quite a few times. My services are in high demand.” The self-satisfied smirk was oh-so-clawable.

“Good for you. But, no, I wouldn’t trust you with a condom either. I am    not    risking my contest season to lie about and grow    fat.    ”

“Perish the thought,” he murmured, the smirk remaining plastered in place. Maybe just one swipe, enough to teach him his place… “Personally, I think you’d make quite the radiant mother-to-be. Mellow out some of those sharp edges. You really don’t want kittens?”

“I…” Sparks crackled through her, the primal need blazing in her loins clamoring, halting her whip-crack retort. His mocking aside, the compliment had borne a ring of truth to it. “I couldn’t. Be a mother, that is. Not now. My career is important to me, and I’ve seen several other ribbon winners fade into obscurity after they start to breed. You know how it is, once you’ve proven capable of producing champion stock. Why stop at one egg?” Her tail lashed, taking on a life of its own. “Not to mention the stretching, and pain, and the time and energy spent caring for kittens… No, once I take that step, my contest days are over.”

“Don’t have to be. I still compete from time to time.”

“You’re a    male!    ”

His bass chuckle reminded her of approaching thunder. “Glad you noticed. Honestly though, I’ve seen enough females go through with it to know…” He leaned close, stretching so that his muzzle lay close to her ear, warm breath tickling the lobe. “You’ll be just as lovely afterwards, if not more so.”

Breath caught in her throat, her heart thudding in time to the seductive call of his body. So close, the perfect solution to the irritation plaguing her loins, powerful and sleek, his musk flaring in her nose. Drat this crafty cat and his honeyed words…

His paw once more rested on the bed next to hers, his weight dimpling the soft surface. Myra’s lip curled back into a snarl, her mane bristling. Planting a paw on his forehead, she shoved, driving him away. His shocked expression made the indignity worth it.

“Nice try, but I’m not ready. Perhaps some day, when I’m bored of competing, I’ll allow it.” She rolled away from him, resting on her side and staring at the head of the bed. “Maybe I’d even allow it from    you    , if I were so inclined. You’re not so bad as some of the others I’ve rejected.”

“I’ll take that stellar compliment to heart, thanks.”

“You’re most welcome.” No matter if he was projecting sarcasm—her compliment had been sincere, and he’d be wise to take what he was given and be grateful! “For now, though, I’ll seek my own means of relief—one that    won’t    leave me out of contention for several months.”

“You think your trainer will be okay with that?”

“No, but he’ll live.    He’s    not the one who has to grow fat!”

A low chuckle, shuffling steps, his scent fading slightly. “Point taken, no hot lioness action for me today. Pity, I really could have shown you a good time.”

She didn’t justify that with a response, merely lashing her tail and ignoring him a bit harder. There was the button May had mentioned, glowing faintly red. What would happen if she pushed it?

“I guess there’s no point in me staying here,” Albion said. “Short of finding a way to turn into a golem or something, since that’s what you’re into…”

She couldn’t help a soft giggle—the absurdity!

“No? Maybe a blastoise? You don’t seem like you’d be into type-dominance, at least, not on the receiving end, but… Alright, that tail says ‘no.’ Dragons, then? We do have a haxorus around, but I think he’s in the other wing.”

She’d never even seen one of those, let alone judged one to be attractive. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“I’m seeing it as a point of pride at this point. C’mon, there must be    something    you like.”

She levelled a ‘honestly’ look over her shoulder at him, only to have it deflected by that incorrigible smirk. “Will a hint keep you quiet?”

“Maybe.”

“Not good enough.”

“Fine, if it’s a good hint.”

She considered, then nodded. “Scales. I’m rather fond of scales. And flowers are nice, but nothing grotesque. It’s more about the scent.”

Mischief danced in his ruby gaze, leaving her to wonder if she’d said too much. “My my… Grass types? Would    not    have expected that. You, my dear, have a naughty streak, like it or not. You’re also in luck.” He laid a paw on his chest. “I happen to know there’s someone of that nature in residence right now, who’d be happy to meet you. In this very wing, in fact.”

Chuckling, he turned, padding towards the door, pausing in front of it and looking back at her. “Shame I can’t give him your name, though perhaps I could pass along… no, I think I’ve given you enough of a hint. You’re a big girl, you can manage the rest on your own, if you want it.”

What sort of game was this? The prospect of seeking out another male, one who could satisfy these ridiculous urges, while leaving her body unchanged… “Myra. That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

“Myra…” He appeared to savour it, like some exotic fish. “It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Myra. They’ll be in to check on us later, you know. I’ll wander my way back here before then. Of course, they’ll know if you haven’t bred yet, and that’s when they’ll start making ‘alternative arrangements’ to ensure results. Up to you if you want to let them see what they want to see, or…” A shrug. “Until later, then.”

Reaching a paw up to his neck—she hadn’t noticed the collar hidden beneath his mane—he touched a hidden button, and the door slid soundlessly open. His gait struck her as oddly light, almost prancing out into the hallway, his star-tipped tail bouncing in a way that showed off his backside and ‘assets’—a nice view, she had to admit. What did    he    have to be so thrilled about? Perhaps he merely enjoyed tricking the humans? Why was he helping her anyway? If it was even helpful. It wasn’t like she could leave this room without one of those collars…

The door was still open, and wasn’t closing.

Myra eyed it, half expecting May or the ‘handlers’ to walk through at any minute, or some other hopeful and tedious male. Several breaths later, no shadows darkened the doorstep, and it remained stuck open, beckoning. Myra half rose, slinking closer to the edge of the bed. Was this a trap of some kind? Would she set off some sort of warning system by walking outside?

Only one way to tell. Besides, what would they do? Send her back into the room and shut the door? Tossing her mane, she leaped down from the bed and peeked out into the hall, checking left, then right. No sign of Albion, May, or anyone else. Perhaps this wasn’t a fancy prison cell.

Which way to explore? Wandering back downstairs was out of the question. She would be caught immediately. If Albion was to be trusted—what he would gain from lying, she couldn’t fathom—she needed to find an incompatible male, and soon. But, how?

She prowled into the hall, sampling the swirl of scents. Lingering luxray musk (absurdly tempting, and frustrating), some kind of citrus cleaning product (disgusting), a hint of human perfume (high-quality), a soup of older scents, too intermingled to define even if she’d wished to (unsurprising, and a touch unsavoury)...

One other teased her nose. Her muzzle parted, seeking a clearer measure of it as she drew it in. Dry, like the feraligatr she’d once had the pleasure of entertaining—now    he    had been a male worth pinning down and putting to good use!—but also ripe with a certain vitality, much like new spring grass. In this wing, he’d said…

Myra followed the scent, stalking down the hall opposite the way May had lead her. The aroma strengthened, gained definition, until she stood before a closed door with a plastic card stuck in the slot next to it, and an inviting button glowing green below. How appropriate.

  Let’s see what we have here.  

The door    hissed    open, revealing a perfect mirror of her room, complete with half-open window, though with the notable addition of a large, vivid-hued pokémon sprawled on the bed with its back to her; huge, leafy tail rustling, one elbow crooked, the attached forelimb moving in rhythmic twitches over his belly. Twin rows of bright yellow orbs lined the emerald scales of its back, matching the colour of the eyes which fixed on her as that flexible neck craned about, the lewd motions of its—no, certainly    his—    forelimb uninterrupted.

“You’re not room service, or my date.” His voice vibrated with a delicious foreign rasp, words rolling from a long, agile tongue flicking between his lips. “But, who gives a shit when opportunity knocks? Come in, gorgeous.”

She’d already raised a paw to step closer when the tone sunk in. He thought to    order    her? Her paw slapped the carpet. Standing tall, she gave a flick of her mane, tilted her chin and gazed down her muzzle at him. “Who, and what, are you?” she growled, giving him the, ‘I don’t truly care, but you’ll do it anyway’ look.

He let out a hiss—at first, she thought it was anger, but the shaking of his ruby throat indicated amusement. “Right back atcha, babe. But, seems you have the advantage, so…” He rolled over to face her, revealing a long, pink, smooth-tapered cock standing proud over his rounded belly, gripped in a three-fingered claw. “Might as well make a proper introduction.”

Similar to her feraligatr, no sac hung below it, though this male’s endowment had a wide bulge at the base, and none of the curious grooves. His claw squeezed, massaging the exposed flesh, coaxing a clear dribble of fluid from the narrow tip, and she caught a whiff of sweet, sticky,    satisfaction    . “They call me Nitro, and I’m up here, hun, though I don’t really blame ya.” The smirk he wore rankled, but, sun and moon, her entire being    quivered    with the barely suppressed urge to pounce!

“Never seen a sceptile before, eh?”

“Not in the flesh.” She’d seen one on television, competing in a Hoenn contest, though this one seemed quite a bit larger than she’d thought the species might be, easily topping her by a good two feet or so head to tail.

Another hissing chuckle. “Doesn’t get more ‘in the flesh’ than this, though I don’t see you complaining, kitty.”

“Not much to be said about your manners,    lizard.    I am Myra, though I think    you    may address me as, ‘Mistress.’” Warmth radiated through her, desire, impulse and anger acting as one. Flexing her claws, she prowled into the room, allowing the door to swish closed, and stalked closer to her prey. That smell—that other-worldly, delectable aroma—pulsed in her nose.

“Never had much use for manners. Still get plenty of tail without ‘em.” His only reaction to her approach was a swish of his bush-like tail, and a slow squeeze of his pulsing maleness. “The girls around here practically fall over themselves to get me to fuck them, and once is never enough. Good thing I got me plenty of stamina. I get the feeling you’re gonna be begging for more the second we take a breather, and I’ve got a date coming up, so I can’t fuck you    all    day. Maybe long enough to—”

“It seems you have failed to comprehend this arrangement,” Myra growled. A bunch of her haunches, a quick shove, and she landed gracefully on the foot of the bed, closing in. He started to sit up, letting go of his cock finally, but she met his rising chest with a forepaw, slamming him onto his back, causing the bed to bounce and creak. “You have one job, and that’s to please me enough    not    to leave you crispier than usual when we’re done.”

“Fire types,” he muttered, unresisting, and still grinning, agile tongue cleaning his upper lip. “Gotta love ‘em, even when they’re bitchy.”

Her claws flexed, raking a path down his chest, rattling against the scales—not enough to draw blood, but close. “You would do well to guard that tongue more carefully.”

“Hey, just callin ‘em how I see ‘em. Don't like it? I ain't forcing you to stay. I get it, you’re horny as hell, so quit fucking around and let’s bang already.”

Ignoring him, Myra savoured the rare opportunity, keeping him pinned with a single paw (not that he fought against it, but it was the principle of the thing), and taking a moment to explore her prize. And    such    a prize! Dipping down, leonine tongue met scaled flesh, dragging a slick path along the curve of his belly, crossing over a v-shaped slash of red marking, circling his bobbing arousal. Sunlight and summer danced across her tongue, the tiny bumps of his scales exotic and entrancing. She drank in the intoxicating aroma of aroused male, her sex throbbing, moisture soaking into the fur of her loins, primal instincts surging to the forefront. Foreign, savoury tang mingled with his sticky-sweet odour confirmed what she'd already known—powerful and virile as he was, she could ride him all day with no fear of eggs.

“Yeah, like that, sweetheart? That's what a real male smells like.”

Myra fixed him with a withering glare. Certainly, his mouth could be put to better uses, though she had more pressing urges to see to. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and pressing a cocky male like this one into her service held its own charm. Stepping up to place both paws on his chest, she straddled the sceptile, meeting his slit-pupiled gaze as she slid her hips down his belly, marking him with her own arousal until that firm, tapered tip kissed her lower lips.

“You're mine,” she growled. “For as long as I want you, as fast or slow as I want you, as many times as I want you.” Wriggling, she settled herself, feeling out the warm nudges of his flesh, working the tip into the notch of her engorged entrance. “If I want your tongue, I'll command it. If I want your claws, I'll use them. If I want your cock...” Leaning back, bracing her hindpaws on the bed, she slipped down, parting her aching folds around several glorious inches of throbbing maleness. “I'll take as much, or as little, as I please, until you beg me for more, or plead for me to stop.”

Nitro's smirk—briefly interrupted by a grunt as she pierced herself on him—grew with each affirmation. Reptillian claws fell to her hips, massaging with a powerful grip.

“Whatever you say, kitty. I'm just gonna enjoy this tight little snatch of yours.”

His own hips rolled, meeting her controlled plunge and driving several more inches into her sopping tunnel, forcing a gasp from her throat. Sun and    moon    that felt good! The burning itch inside, too deep for her tongue to soothe, eased with the stroking of that turgid flesh, her walls clamping down on the welcome invader.

A second shove, and he bottomed out, the oversized bulge at the base of his spire battering her spread lips with an obscene    splut.    Ecstasy seared a molten path through her, sensitive bits deep within lighting up like firecrackers. Withdrawing, the retreating shaft left her aching, her pussy squeezing desperately to hold on... Until he sunk back in, impaling her on his throbbing hardness, meeting the wild need dictated by her body and rampaging hormones.

No! She needed to be in control, this was her—

A powerful thrust, driving a long moan from her. Lewd slurping of their meeting flesh coloured his grunt. Their scents collided into an erotic perfume. Pleasure roiled through her shuddering loins.

Forget it. Her body and urges had won. She'd have him in proper order    after s    he'd seen to this overwhelming need.

Abandoning control entirely, Myra threw herself at the sceptile.

His eyes widened slightly, showing more of that fetching gold as she slammed down, burying him deep, grinding her dripping mound against the wad of flesh at his base. The narrow tip stroked places inside her too long untouched, coaxing an ecstatic yowl. So perfectly long and thick, with that graceful taper allowing her to easily adjust…

Gyrating her hinds, she worked the throbbing length, squeezing her eyes shut to enhance the wonderful sensations. The rippling muscles inside her sang out, aching and clenching when she rose, then relaxing at the relief of stretching out to welcome him again.

Claws tightened in her fur, dimpling the hide beneath. She barely felt the pinpricks, lost in the fervor of the moment, a slave to instinct. His shaft twitched, warm, thin fluid painting her walls, cooling her raging heat. Each frantic stroke appeased her needy body, built the buzzing euphoria higher and higher. Every    smack    of their joined sexes brought forth a gush of mingled fluids, his hips bouncing in time to match her fierce hunching, bedsprings protesting the abuse.

“H-holy shit, kitty, you tryin’ to race someone?”

Myra’s lips parted, pants escaping in answer to his grunt as she clamped down, revelling in the    fullness    , barely registering the words. How had she denied herself this incredible relief for so long? Her trembling loins tensed, wet    squishing    sounds marking their increasingly erratic thrusts. That odd bulge at his base hammered her stuffed folds, demanding entry. Begging was obscene, so far beneath her as to be unthinkable, but, she just… needed… a little… more...

Nitro quaked beneath her, barely restraining his peak, his rigid spire leaking a steady stream down her shuddering walls. Powerful legs drove his hips from the bed, his claws pulling her to meet him. Flesh slammed into flesh, edging closer to burying all of him inside her, ecstasy crackling. Myra looked down at her conquest, his long neck, half-lidded eyes, panting mouth… Her claws flexed, skittering on scales, a growl rumbling as she bared her fangs inches from his exposed throat.

“Give it to me, you damned lizard!”

Hissing, Nitro complied, thrusting double-time, her own efforts forgotten in the rush of primal vigour from the equally needy male. His pulsing shaft strained, flexed, pummelling her sodden passage, claiming every inch for himself, that leaking tip reaching so near her receptive womb, until at last he buried it deep, spurts of thick seed flooding into her inner sanctum…

Myra threw back her head and roared her climax to the heavens. Her spasming walls hugged the proud maleness, milking it wildly, a gush of steaming feminine nectar anointing their union. The roar melted into a purr as she marvelled at the unique sensation deep inside her; jets of warm lizard cum flowing through that final barrier, splashing into her womb. A rich, heavy pool of heat and life. Her entire body tingled like her fur itself was aflame, her inner fire flaring in response to the incredible high.

The only good thing about being in heat—the mating sessions were    far    more satisfying.

Beneath her, Nitro let out a long sigh, his iron grip on her haunches gradually relaxing. “Damn, been awhile since I had a fire-type. Nearly forgot how bloody    hot    you get down there. Right unwelcoming environment.”

She awarded him a slow blink and a show of fangs. “I could make it hotter if you wish.”

“Pass. It'd be right cruel of ya to scald me tenders. Didn't figure ya for a    cruel    mistress.” The subservient wording might have had better effect if he hadn't twitched, bouncing her in his lap and grinding his pulsing, spurting shaft inside her spasming passage. Her purr rumbled loud in her throat regardless, her eyes half-lidding. Even the weakening dribbles of thick seed soothed; a balm for the torment of her season. It wouldn't last, naturally—only an egg in her belly would truly put an end to the ache—but for now, the incompatible spunk settling in her womb would serve to quell the fire.

“Didn’t take ya for the sex-crazy type, y’know. You enjoy that cock, kitty. Bet you ain’t felt anything like    that    before.”

Myra’s eyes snapped open, fixing a glare on his smirking visage, her tail lashing. No matter how good it felt, this male was    insufferable!    “As a matter of fact,” she said, her tone glacial, “You were merely adequate. I’ve previously had the pleasure of a feraligatr, who put    you    to shame.” She wriggled, testing their union, bearing down on the wad of male flesh resting against her stretched lips. “You couldn’t even follow my instructions and get    all    of it inside.    He    certainly didn’t have such difficulties.”

Nitro shrugged. “Pity. Guess ya won’t mind if I call for some room service then. I’m gettin’ a mite peckish.” He reached behind him for the glowing red button.

“No!” Myra struck, pinned his forelimb beneath a paw, snarling.

The smirk on his face said it all—he knew. But, it couldn’t be helped. If the handlers caught her in here, the ruse would be wasted! Not to mention, she’d get put back in her own room, waiting for a ‘suitable’ male to service her, where she couldn’t avail herself further of this irritating, self-satisfied, incorrigible lizard…

Rising on trembling limbs, she allowed his softening shaft to slide from her used passage with a wet    slap.    Thought he had the better of her, did he? Mingled fluids leaked from her stretched petals, trickling wet trails into her tan belly fur. So unseemly! She’d need a good grooming down there to get things in order, but, why go through all that effort herself? Tilting her chin, she looked down her muzzle at Nitro, weighing his grin against his relaxed posture. How much trouble was he likely to cause if she let him up? Probably untold amounts. He struck her as the, ‘make mischief first, avoid blame later’ kind.

“If you’re so eager to run that mouth of yours, I can think of better uses,” she said. Stepping across his supine form, she turned about, balancing on his belly, one paw on either side of his shrinking maleness. Odd, how it slipped so neatly into that vent of his—just like her feraligatr—tucked away from sight so as to fool the eye into not knowing his gender immediately. Though his personality would surely spoil any attempt at illusion! Glancing over her shoulder, she met his amber gaze, and flicked her tail to the side, giving him an unobstructed view of her feminine assets.

“Need I explain what’s expected?”

Those slitted pupils travelled the curve of her haunch, fixing on the center of her display. “Naw. Only right for a fella to clean up after himself.” A soft, hissing chuckle. “And anyone can see you’re all but begging for another go. I’d be a monster to leave ya unattended.”

Myra’s lips skinned back over fangs. She dipped her hips, thrusting into his nose and smearing a line of their mingled fluids onto his scales. “If your tongue isn’t hard at work by the count of three, I can think of some very uncomfortable places to sink these claws.” Illustrating, she trailed a single sharp point around his slit, circling lower, seeking the tender flesh she knew must lie between his legs…

“Arceus, kitty, no need for that! I promise you ain’t felt nothin’ like    this    lizard’s tongue-”

“One.”

“You really don’t give a fella much time—”

“Two.”

A sigh. Clawed digits grasped her haunches once more, this time gently spreading. A smooth, scaled muzzle nudged between her thighs, warm breath ghosting across her sopping folds.

“Least ya smell good. Cinnamon and spice.” Before she could reply, something firm and wide kissed her swollen lips, dragging a wet line from top to bottom, gathering the mingled juices. Myra grunted, settling. Another lick, circling her petals, gently teasing her tingling sex.

“Better.” Myra draped her tail over his shoulder and relaxed into the more sedate delight of a strong tongue cleaning her soiled nethers. He’d never do a perfect job of course, but, it would do, and having another tend to her in such a way was its own unique pleasure. He was suitably attentive, minding the matted fur of her thighs, grooming away the evidence of their union, before working back up to her blushing mound. Pebbled flesh slid across her lips, tickling her exposed clit in a way that revved her purr back to full volume.

“Once the fur is clean, you may continue in that area.”

He snorted. “Right gracious of ya.”

“You’re welcome.”

She could almost sense his affronted expression, which brought another round of rumbling purrs. Teach him to sass her! Besides, judging by how his slit was beginning to bulge, a fresh wave of that uniquely    green    scent stirring in her nostrils, the task was indeed a privilege. She’d have more from this one alright.

His efforts grew quicker, more focused, slicking down the fur surrounding her entrance until no more of the disturbing itch of    unclean    marred the area. Myra shivered as his muzzle pressed in, meeting her pussy and shooting a tingle up her spine. A sharp inhalation of breath—the rosy tip of his shaft poked free of its home. Her purr hitched as that wide tongue slipped into her folds, slid over her clit.

His claws settled near her mound, gently spreading her snatch, allowing him better access. Continuing his duties, he lapped at her exposed flesh, tending the sensitive inner walls. A soft chuckle met her ears when she twitched, reflexively hunching into the treatment.

“Don’t stop,” she growled.

“Nopth thlanning foo.”

Good to his word, the sceptile attacked her inner folds with vigour, drinking down the remaining mixed fluids, and lapping up the new splashes of her juices bathing his eager tongue. Firm pressure stimulating her engorged nub drew yowls from her throat, and he seemed to delight in changing the pitch of her vocalizations, first circling and teasing, then gripping it in his lips and suckling, earning a scalding wave of feminine nectar for his efforts.

Between Myra’s forepaws, his shaft swelled rapidly back to its full pride, the tapered spire nearly bumping her nose, his masculine aroma fogging her mind.    Strong mate. Good mate.  

A bead of clear liquid rested on the tip, and, on impulse, she lapped at it, causing the shaft to pulse, its owner shuddering. An odd, salty-sweet flavour crossed her palate, with a hint of smoky aftertaste she couldn’t quite place. She graced his tip with another few licks, enjoying the resultant grunts and shivers, and earning a few more droplets of his pre. Squeezing the pads of her forepaws around the base, steadying the thing, she gathered a sense of the sheer girth of that bulge. Yes, she would have this next, no ifs, ands, or buts!        

Her hips shuddered, jerking in time with each assault on her once-more clenching and spasming nethers. He mumbled something, but she couldn’t make out the words between the lewd slurping sounds and her own gasping cries. It wasn’t as satisfying—no firm flesh to grip and milk and fill those deep places—but the sheer focus on her erogenous areas had her ever so close...

Reptillian lips fastened on her clit, suckling like his life depended on it. Myra arched, tail whipping about, and tipped over the edge of ecstasy. She roared, her passage rippling frantically once more, this time with nothing to hold but that wide tongue, her nectar gushing free, some caught by his mouth and tongue, the rest surely to splatter his muzzle. A muffled gasp, a small spurt of pre landing on her nose (quickly lapped clean), and he pulled free of her clenching folds, coughing and snorting.

“Dammit, kitty, could at least have the decency to warn a guy!”

Breathing hard, riding the current of divine sensations washing through her, Myra could only chuckle in response. Her hips and tail twitched, the wild undulations of her tunnel slowing. His respectfulness would probably never change, but, perhaps this might teach him a thing or two about keeping a lady happy! She had to admit—he’d kept his promise. No male had managed to bring her to climax like    that    with only his tongue, heat or no.

Purring, she squeezed his erection between her paws, working it side-to-side. “I’m afraid your body tells your true feelings, my dear. This is suitable. Once I’m ready, I’ll allow you to—”

“Once    you’re    ready?” He hissed, claws landing on her hips in a possessive grip. His voice dropped to a mumble, only the words “cats” and “fire-types” clear. Myra tensed, freezing at the sudden threat implied, suddenly acutely aware of how much larger he was, even if she had a type advantage...

“Let’s get one thing straight, kitty. You and I, we’re here for one thing and one thing only.”

Before she could react, a quick shove knocked her forward onto the bed, the sceptile using her rump for leverage to slide from beneath her, his claws pinning her rear. Looking over her shoulder, she met the feral, predatory gleam of desire in those golden eyes as he loomed over her, all the wounded pride of his masculinity on full display, his bobbing erection ready for action. Even with his face stained by her juices, even with the clear lust colouring his intent, he made for an impressive creature, and he descended upon her with a ferocity that belied his earlier care.

How    thrilling!  

A gasp forced from her lungs when he settled onto her back, forelimbs fastened tightly about her waist, his hips already lined up and jabbing his needy cock against her rump. Precious seconds of mutual frustration ticked by as he thrust blindly, until at last that dripping, triangular tip found the teardrop notch of her sex.

He let out a bestial grunt—an odd sound, from this reptillian plaything of hers—and plunged in, heedless of her tail slapping him on the nose for his dallying. Before he’d buried half himself within her welcoming tunnel, he was already yanking nearly free, only to pound home, powering with his hips and weight, claiming ownership of her needy folds. A slight adjustment, centering himself atop her, and he found his pace, grinding his hips into hers and slamming their bodies together.

Myra’s claws sunk into the bedspread, bracing herself against the wild assault, uncaring of the rents she tore in the blanket and possibly the mattress below.    Yes!    Even so recently sated, her body welcomed this rough, primal treatment, this complete disregard for all except the basic urge to    mate.    Her entire passage felt alight from within, trembling beneath Nitro’s powerful thrusts, pleasure rocketing up her spine, buzzing through her skin...

“How’s this for givin’ it to ya, kitty?” His words were breathless and guttural over the noisy slaps of their union, but she could sense the satisfaction of his victory. “Cat got your tongue?”

“H-harder. You can still… talk.” Arching, she shoved back, bearing down on his pistoning endowment and trying to force the meaty bulge at his base inside her. “Gimme.”

A hissing chuckle, a hot strand of saliva dripping onto her neck. “You betcha.”

His weight on her back, the pressure of his clawed forelimbs pinning her shoulders, the looming presence over her, surrounding her with his scent while he ploughed her quivering folds, drawing blissful yowls from her throat... There was an inherent wrongness to allowing it, allowing    him,    to dominate her. An inferior type, who she could easily conquer, and yet she gave herself over to him. If Trent were to see her like this, squirming and roaring like a virgin lioness in her first season, beneath a    grass    type...

So deliciously dirty.

Jets of runny pre slicked her inner walls with every thrust, her sodden passage straining to both contain him and draw him deeper. He was    hers,    and she would not be satisfied until she had    all    of him! She could feel her lips stretching, gradually giving way to the mighty bulge demanding entrance, a little more of that fleshy knob squeezing in each time their bodies met. Its presence ground relentlessly against her clit, jolting her with bursts of pure ecstasy, tipping her over the edge into sunbursting climax once, twice, a third time...

Needle-sharp fangs latched onto her scruff, tiny pricks of pain to colour the blooms of delight. Sharp lizard-musk joined the obscene perfume of her own arousal, their combined scent spiralling through her nose at once wrong, yet so right. Scaled forelimbs tightened around her waist, drawing her to him in a final, mighty shove    .  

  Pop!  

Stars whizzed and burst before her eyes. Her roar likely shook the walls, but she didn’t care. She floated on a sublime cloud, her body trembling in the throes of mighty, blessed release. Nitro sagged on top of her, his weight holding her in place while geysers of warm, thick cream pumped into her womb, adding to his earlier offering. His cock sealed them tight together with that    absurdly    huge bulge, her sex clenching and straining to contain it all, while frantically milking him for every last drop.

His grip on her scruff loosened, withdrawing with an apologetic lick. He might have drawn a bead or two of blood, but no matter. She closed her eyes, squeezing his buried and spurting shaft, appreciating the tapered mass and the delightfully    full    sensation it offered. The groan from the sceptile was an added bonus.

“Feelin’ better, kitty? Got what you were after, didn’t ya.”

“That…” she paused, considering, and squeezed again, containing a chuckle at his grunt. “That will do. You followed instruction adequately.”

“Fuckin’ fire-types…”

She couldn’t stop the giggle at that, trailing into a purr as he rolled onto his haunches, his buried meat probing, even while the heavy spurts of cream filling her womb slowed to a trickle. Leaning to the side, she glanced down, half expecting to see her belly swollen and distended, but it remained pleasantly flat, save for her erect nipples peeking through, and the woeful disarray her fur had become.

“Do you treat all your females so?”

“Nah, only the ones who ask for it, and kitty, I ain’t met    no-one    who’s asked for it like you.”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t a—” meeting her half-lidded gaze, he clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, then glanced down at their union. “Nevermind. Look, much as I’d    love    to cuddle and all that, I do have a date comin’, and you’d best not be here when she gets in. Things might get a lil’ messier than they already are.”

Just like a male. Once things were done, “Goodbye, and thanks for the sex! Be sure to clean up nice for me next time.” Myra snorted, her tail writhing about on the sceptile’s hip. But, true enough, she needed to find her way back to her room before she was caught out.

Thankfully, her abused sex had undergone enough stretching to make his withdrawal easier—though his shaft remained obstinately hard, requiring a mutual effort to pull it free of her burgeoning folds with a noisy slurp. A gush of pearly juices followed, pooling on the bedspread, ensuring it to be quite thoroughly ruined, between the shredded portions and the stained.

Myra grumbled, her soiled tunnel clenching uselessly; satisfied, yet missing that wonderful firmness. The burning itch was gone, for now, replaced by the delightful ache of well-worked muscles and the memory of pleasant exertions. She straightened on shaking limbs, arching into a stretch that brought gratifying pops from the joints of her spine. Grooming herself back to some semblance of presentable would take    hours    , but, sun and moon, they were hours she was happy to spend!

“Not bad, kitty. Should do it again sometime.”

Nitro reclined against the headboard, watching her and smirking, his shaft gradually retreating into its hidden home. She recognized that look—a male    far    too proud of himself, and in need of a good humbling. But, she lacked the energy, and besides, she doubted he would ever change.

Part of her didn’t want him to.

“Maybe if you’re lucky,” she retorted, stalking to the end of the bed, ensuring her tail swayed in a manner which failed to disguise her well-bred sex from the male’s lingering eye. Hopping to the floor, she nearly toppled nose-first into the carpet when her knees buckled. Was that a hissing laugh? She refused to look back at him, stalking to the door, head held high. Drat that lizard for taking so much out of her! If she weren’t so tired and pressed for time, she’d pounce right back on him and… and…

“Happy to be of service, mistress.”

Her ears twitched. For an instant, his tone had shifted, losing the gravelly hiss, deepening into a richer, smooth register. She glanced back, met that slit-pupilled gaze. No, just her sex-addled mind playing tricks.

“Farewell,” she said. All she could think of. The door slid quietly open at her approach, freeing her into the hall, into air not laden with summer grass, masculine presence, and wild lust. The barrier shut her away from the sceptile, leaving her with a memory of those golden eyes and verdant scales, that clawed grasp around her hips...

Half in a daze, she wandered several steps in the wrong direction before realizing her mistake. How much time had passed? Had her transgression been noticed? Her muscles weighed far too much to run, and the distance between Nitro’s room and hers seemed to have increased tenfold. Thankfully, the door remained open, spilling the dying light of the sun through the window across the un-marred spread of her bed. The bowl of chicken also lay untouched, and she limped over to it, eagerly wolfing down the cold, yet salty and delicious snack, washing it down with half the contents of the water dish.

With the food settling pleasantly in her belly, mirroring the other satisfying fullness resting within her depths, Myra made her way to the bed, blinking at the daunting task of jumping up. Maybe she should just curl up right here… No, the call of that soft surface was far too inviting. A bunch of her haunches, a quick spring, and she made it, padding gratefully to the center and flopping onto her side. She didn’t even bother to groom. That could be done when she awoke, refreshed from a nice, long nap.

Cracking a yawn, Myra allowed her eyes to slip closed beneath the weight of exhaustion. Overall, this hadn’t been a    complete    waste. Trent would still be disappointed, but she’d deal with that when the time came. Perhaps he’d finally get the picture, and allow her to deal with her heat her    own    way.

She almost didn’t notice when Albion padded in and jumped up to curl around her, wrapping a warm forepaw around her chest.

 

***

 

Morning arrived to the tune of fletchling singing outside, a still-warm luxray-sized indent in the bed next to her, and a fresh bowl of fish steaming at the foot of the bed, teasing Myra’s nose with its elusive scent. Yawning and stretching, she followed her growling belly’s urges and pounced on the food, accepting its offering.

Aside from a bit of lingering soreness from yesterday’s exertions, she felt better rested than she had in months, and, surprisingly, the itch of her heat was almost non-existent. Not that she would complain about a temporary respite from such horridness. Moreover, the night had been free of molestation, proving Albion to be far more the gentle-cat than she’d given him credit for. If she saw him, perhaps she’d even say so. He deserved that much.

Meal consumed, and after seeing to her body’s other needs in the small connected restroom, Myra began the arduous task of putting her disheveled coat back into proper order. Cleaning around her nether regions brought a rumbling purr to her throat, recalling Nitro’s impressive tongue-work. Unlikely as it was that she’d ever see the sceptile again, it would be nice to have him around to assist with the task. The mess was mostly    his    fault, after all.

Grooming took her the better part of an hour, and she was just putting the final strokes through her belly fur when a knock on the door preceded May, who stepped inside and offered a short bow.

“Miss Myra, your caregiver is here to collect you. Would you be so good as to follow me?”

With a ‘roar’ of acknowledgement, Myra hopped off the bed and joined the woman, who was dressed today in a smart brown pantsuit, and sported the same perfect hair and makeup. Together, they walked into the hallway, allowing the door to    hiss    closed for the final time.

“I trust you enjoyed your stay, Miss?” May’s pace was brisk, business-like, but her tone was surprisingly hopeful.

Myra flipped her mane—humans usually saw that as a ‘maybe’. Let them see what they want, Albion had said. She could keep that illusion.

“Ah…” May glanced down, her brows furrowing briefly, before smoothing back into shapely arches. “He wasn’t too rough with you, I hope? While he is one of our highest rated studs with the best success record, if there was any misconduct we would certainly hasten to correct such behaviour.”

They would actually take their males to task based on their performance? Myra’s opinion of Dewberry House rose marginally. But, she had no desire to see the innocent luxray punished so she shook her head with a negative, ‘Py’.

“Good!” A faint smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s mouth. “Then I shall rate him as ‘satisfactory’ in terms of client feedback?”

A giggle tickled Myra’s throat, but she disguised it with a cough, and nodded. Yes, that would do quite nicely.

Trent awaited them at the reception desk, dressed in his usual casual button-up shirt and jeans, and he welcomed her with a smile. “Morning, beautiful! How’s my prize-winner? I hope everything went well. Did you have a good night?”

Myra tilted her head to the side, gave him a slow blink, and yawned. Let him wonder. His smile faltered a bit as she padded over to join him, but he still gave her a quick scratch behind the ears which she accepted with grace. How    did    he know?

Turning to May, who’d situated herself behind the desk once more, Trent said, “Good news? What’s the damage?”

“I’m pleased to say that the transaction was a success, as expected,” May said, picking up a sheaf of paper and handing it to Trent. “These are your copies of the papers. As you can see, everything is in order.”   

Trent read over the documents—pointless things, given that there would be nothing coming from this after all—and let out a low whistle, straightening the papers and tucking them under his arm. “That’s quite the pedigree. Between his bloodline and hers, these kittens are sure to be kings and queens of the circuit!”

“Indeed. I did mention he is one of our best. Now, there is the matter of the studding fee…”

“Of course. It can be charged to the same card.”

“Very good, sir. Is there anything else I may assist you with?”

“Not right now. Probably best if I get Myra home. You might see us again though!”

Myra snorted. Fat chance of that! Though, if it meant another chance at her sceptile… And perhaps, one day, she’d make good on her word to Albion. Once she was ready for it.

“We will look forward to your next visit. Good day to you both.” May bowed, her, ‘pleased to be of service’ smile perfectly intact until they turned to leave. Trent, ever the gentleman, opened the door for Myra, his painfully obvious exuberance lending itself to a dramatic, “After you, m’lady. Ready to go home?”

Myra held her head high, and stepped out into the sun.

 

***

 

May watched the two leave, the haughty lioness remaining regal right up until the door closed behind them, allowing her to at last let out the breath she’d been holding. There were difficult cases, and then there were cats. She glanced across the lobby, at the third armchair which had ‘mysteriously’ appeared next to the regular two by the hearth.

“Keeping an eye on your handiwork, Darius?”

The ‘armchair’ shimmered, resolving into the crouched form of a handsome zoroark, who met her critical eye with a cheeky grin, rose, and prowled towards her, his long mane bouncing with each step. “Observant as always, May,” he said, his deep tones hitting her ears as English, thanks to his extraordinary ability. “But, then, you do know me better than most.” He slid around the desk like smoke, one clawed paw reaching to encircle her waist.

Rolling her eyes, she slapped the paw aside. “Not while I’m on duty, you know better!”

“Mmm, and yet, I learn slowly. Teach me again?”

“You are insufferable. Didn’t you have your fill with that lioness?”

His rich chuckle sent shivers down her spine. Laying a paw on his chest, he said, “She was rather fun, if a bit pushy. I don’t envy her trainer in the coming months. I had to invent a new persona for her—though I must say, I rather like Nitro.”

“She seemed to as well.” How did he manage to portray such poise, even when she knew part of it to be illusion? No wonder his kind were so adept at trickery and seduction.

Another laugh, those blue eyes sparkling with unresolved mischief, his paw wandering once more towards May’s waist. “Indeed. I’ll have to keep him in mind for others like her. Perhaps you’d like to give him a whirl yourself?”

This time, she fended it off more gently. “Later, perhaps.”

“Pity. What did she rate me anyhow?”

May hid a smile. “Satisfactory.”

Amazing, how gratifying it was to watch his ego imitate a pricked balloon. Shame that the pyroar hadn’t been here to see it, though she suspected that one was adept in the practice already. Once her shift was over, maybe she    would    see what all the fuss was about for this ‘Nitro’. They needed to keep their stock in peak condition after all. A bit early for a performance review, but…

It was spring, their busiest season. No one would blame her for getting ahead of the game.