"From what I understand you've got your hands full with the festival already. So I'll get straight to the point.
Not only a wandering gentleman, but I am also a heads salesman of sorts with deep, deep pockets. What is a heads salesman you ask?
Well it is exactly what it sounds. I'm willing to part from my valuable collection if the price is right. And the price is severed heads of those participating in the festival!
Macabre, I know. But you get used to it. God knows I did.
This is what I have to offer. It is quite a nice collection even if I say so myself.”
Da'an has just started testosterone, and he is feeling so very needy... so desperate for release. Pocketcat is more than willing to provide motivation for Da'an to throw aside his pride and play in the moonlight.
This fic includes transmasc Da'an with breasts and bottom growth. Voyeurism, exhibitism, public exposure, public masturbation, Pocketcat providing corruption, humiliation/embarrassment, object-fucking, and Pre-Elise's death setting.
Da’an was sitting in his bed, rubbing his thighs together with clenched teeth.
He was burning up, his face flushed and red. And his dick was throbbing with need.
He had gone on Testosterone not very long ago, and it had been a torturuous few weeks. He was so horny, he couldn’t think straight. It was hard to concentrate on anything – on the Baron’s teachings, on his discussions with Elise.
It wasn’t proper for him to feel like this – a slobbering beast, wanting nothing more than to be pounded and bred. Like his earlier life, selling himself on the streets.
No, he would never go back to that life.
So he gritted his teeth and bore it.
But tonight… tonight it felt as though there was something in the air. Pale moonlight filtered through his window, as he struggled to keep his hands to himself. It almost felt as though there was a form there, on the side of the bed.
Leering at him.
“Well, old chap, you seem to be in a bit of a pickle.”
Da’an cursed at the grinning figure – the entity that had been haunting him ever since he was young. With its hand in its pocket and a smile splitting its purple face.
“Pocketcat,” He said, stiffly. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you, of course!” The creature scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek. He barely felt it, like the kiss of a ghost.
It was an apparition, after all.
“You seem to be… in need of my services.” The grin glittered with moonlight.
Pocketcat always did this – whispered in Da’an’s ear, put thoughts into his head. Like a demon luring him to sin, telling him to give in to his basest and most animal desires.
It was torture.
“Go away,” Da’an whispered, so as to not wake any of the other inhabitants in the house. “I don’t want your disgusting hands on me.”
Pocketcat held his paws up with a wounded expression. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry if I offended you. I only want to help. I’ve seen you suffering,” Pocketcat said, in a low voice. His hand (paw?) brushed against the blanket, slowly pulling it away from Da’an’s body.
“I’ve seen your cute little dick throbbing for a touch,” Pocketcat purred.
Da’an immediately wanted to cover himself up. Somehow, his underwear had slipped down, revealing that he was fully erect. His newly formed bottom-growth was red and swollen, and he was dripping.
It was mortifying, evermore so under Pocketcat’s lecherous gaze.
“T-That’s none of your concern.” Da’an tried to gather the blankets back, but Pocketcat grabbed him by the arm. And despite the fact that it was an apparition, it dug its claws into his skin.
“Isn’t it, though?” The leer was unbreaking, as though it were carved into a mask. “You’ve been hiding yourself for so long, oh dear. So many nights denying what you truly crave – what you really are. It breaks my heart to see you this denied.”
“Y-You’re just a pervert,” Da’an muttered.
The cat chuckled. “To-mayto to-mah-to, friend.”
Pocketcat’s paw was on Da’an’s thigh, no. He shivered – it was tantalizing having anyone be so close to him. He felt his dick twitch, and knew that it did not escape notice.
“And so you are you,” Pocketcat purred. “We’re both aliens in society, our feelings forbidden, our love estranged. I’m here for a midnight rendezvous, to help you unveil a little bit. Just a peek into who you truly are, what you are capable of. Call it a brief… slip of composure, if you must. A small loss of control. You can go back to your suits tomorrow, friend.”
The paw finished sliding up his thigh and squeezed Da’an’s dick.
“Tonight, you’re just an animal like me.”
Da’an wanted to squirm, to curse the beast and throw it off him. But the touch sent electricity roaring throughout his entire body.
God, he hadn’t been touched like this for a long, long time. And with his sensitive new dick, it felt ten times stronger than he had remembered. He forced his lips shut, aware that he was starting to drool a bit.
God, had he always been this wanton?
The Baron had tried to teach him manners, decorum, control. Was it like teaching a rabbit not to hump during breeding season?
He thought about it, struggled with his internal monologue.
If Da’an didn’t get release soon, he was going to do something completely unhinged. He wasn’t sure if Elise would respond to his advances, if she even thought of him as anything other than a weirdo picked up from the street by her eccentric father. The thought broke his heart that she saw him as nothing more than a sexual deviant.
He couldn’t bear the worry of doing something that would prove her suspicions.
At least this… creature… wouldn’t look down on him. It wouldn’t berate him, or mock his feelings. And it also wouldn’t tell anyone.
Pocketcat could hear his thoughts, see his swirling emotions. The entity purred, slowly winding Da’an’s dick in its grasp. He felt something slide inside him – something that wasn’t quite a finger, but not quite a pawpad, but in between. He loathed to think about what this creature really was.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and let out a low moan, rocking his hips into the movement.
“My, you really were pent up,” Pocketcat said, with sympathy. Da’an was dripping onto his hand, even wetting the sheets below him.
The further that he went, the more that Da’an felt his mind dissolving, giving way to something fuzzy and needy.
The desperation to keep chasing this feeling, even if it debased him.
Pocketcat let Da’an rock against him for a little longer before pulling away.
“Wouldn’t it make you feel better to take your shirt off?” The cat purred. His paw slid over Da’an’s, guiding it to his chest, to undo the buttons.
Da’an found his hand moving without his control, as though under a trance. His body was electric with need, his breathing heavy.
“Good boy,” Pocketcat said, and Da’an was mortified at the immediate moan that he gave, which made the cat snicker, devilishly.
“Doesn’t that feel better?” He asked. “Your chest exposed to the night air, your beautiful… bosom freed from its compression.” Pocketcat’s eyes were on the curve of Da’an’s breasts. They were small, just the right size to fit into the palm of your hand. The nipples were puffy, soft, suckable. They hardened easily under Pocketcat’s grip, as he gave them a teasing twist.
Da’an didn’t know why he wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t fighting back.
But it felt so good to give in. To give up, just for one night.
To feel something other than shame.
He blinked, and Pocketcat was suddenly by the window, as though he had teleported. Eying the curtains, with a strange leer.
“Wouldn’t it feel nice to feel the moonlight on your skin?” He asked.
“Y-Yes,” Da’an breathed. His legs were shaking as he moved across the room, his heart pounding in his chest.
Pocketcat stepped aside as Da’an pushed aside the curtains and opened the window, standing in front of it.
The moonlight did feel nice, but Da’an shivered in the night air.
Anyone could see him like this, he knew. His window was visible from outside – his naked form. His exposed breasts, his throbbing dick. So sinful, so debauched.
It only made him clench, his breathing growing rougher.
“Wouldn’t the glass also feel nice against your skin?” Pocketcat whispered, into Da’an’s ear. This time, his paw felt even less like an apparition when it cupped his chin. Like flesh, like fur. Like the demon was becoming more tangible with each of his actions.
Da’an pressed his chest against the upper part of the window, smooshing his breasts against the glass. His bottom half was facing the open part of the window, aching in the night air.
God, it felt exhilarating. Horrifying. Freeing.
The demon’s hand was moving inside his pocket, his eyes tracing every inch of Da’an’s form.
“You look very empty,” The cat purred. “Don’t you want to fill yourself up?”
Da’an darted back inside the bedroom. His mind was a blur, his head empty. Nothing mattered except that voice – except this feeling, this animalistic drive.
He scanned the room, but there wasn’t anything especially phallic-shaped. Except a rounded statue of Sylvian, which the Baron had insisted he keep in his room.
…No, he couldn’t, could he?
It was… the thought was absolutely unacceptable. It felt like a slap in the face, like his past coming to haunt him.
And what’s more, it was big. Larger than his fingers, than what he was used to. He absolutely couldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Pocketcat’s hand was on his, pressing his fingers to the statue. “But don’t you want this?”
The voice wrapped around him like smoke, smothering him.
Yes, yes, he wanted this. He needed this. And there was nothing else.
When the creature released him, the statue was in his hand.
“Good boy,” Pocketcat repeated, whispering it into Da’an’s ear with a gentle kiss that made Da’an tremble.
“Now, you have a job to do.”
Da’an started for the bed, his dick throbbing with every heartbeat. It felt like he was nothing more than lust, that he was completely dissolving.
“No, no,” Pocketcat laughed. “Inside? But it’s so hot in here. So very stifling. The night air is much nicer, much more freeing. Don’t you agree, friend?”
He couldn’t…
But it did feel so very hot in here. Like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.
“Yes,” Da’an gasped. The statue shook in his hand, but he returned to the window. There was a small door beside it, that led to his balcony. A balcony where he usually basked in the moonlight, deep in contemplation of his studies.
It felt even more sacrilegious to do this here, but that in itself was delectable.
To completely overturn every convention and utterly debase himself… why, it felt better than anything that he had ever experienced.
The cold wood against his body made him gasp, as he leaned over the railing. He was still so hot, so very warm. He needed to be as close to the night as possible.
His breasts hung in the air, scandalously. Ripe for anyone to see, to watch him as he slipped the statue between his legs and aligned it with his swollen cunt.
The head of the statue disappeared into him easily. He was so wet, dripping onto the balcony. The body was wider, however. Wide enough that he still wasn’t certain that it would fit.
But he had to try. He knew that he had to be filled, he had to feel complete.
Da’an pushed the object inside him, inch by inch. Feeling his insides stretch, his walls clenching with each gentle thrust. Until finally he had it up to the base, bulging his abdomen obscenely.
It felt amazing. He finally felt as though he were exactly where he belonged – exactly what he had always needed to become.
“That’s so much better,” Pocketcat crooned, appearing beside him. “You’re so pretty in the moonlight. So hungry…”
The creature’s hand was moving very quickly, and then suddenly so was Da’an. He pumped the statue in and out of him, gasping at the feeling of being filled and emptied, stretched and released.
God, if anybody saw him… If the Baron or Elise or one of their servants came by. They would just need to look up, and there he would be. His tits hanging over the railing, puffy nipples on full display. His exposed dick red and erect, his cunt clenching against a statue of Sylvian, dripping whorishly onto the balcony.
God, the idea… it made him moan, perhaps too loudly. Perhaps as though begging for somebody to find him. To watch him, to mock him for being such a slut. For doing this without any regard for his new masters and the house that they shared. Was this how he repaid them? By masturbating fiendishly on their balcony, where anybody in the world could see him?
Yes, yes, yes!
Da’an suddenly felt something wet against him, warm against his dick. He opened his eyes and saw that Pocketcat had positioned himself beneath Da’an, swiping his textured tongue across Da’an’s aching clit.
“N-Not there,” He gasped.
“Why not?” Pocketcat purred. “You’re not fully complete, are you?’
No, he supposed that he wasn’t. And it didn’t matter, he was already gone. Da’an rutted against Pocketcat’s tongue, his face. Moaning loudly and wantonly, without any worry for who saw him and what they thought. He shivered in the moonlight, gasping with each thrust of the statue as it penetrated him.
In and out, in and out, as the cat devilishly licked his clit with slow, agonizing strokes. Giving a few kisses, a few teasing sucks. Just enough for him to-
“-Please, please,” He begged. “Do it right-”
Pocketcat laughed. “My, how quickly we fall apart.”
He started sucking, lapping with intensity and precision. Making Da’an twist and moan more loudly, riding against him. The tide was rising higher and higher, and he felt as though he would never feel this horny again, never feel this complete again.
Until he came with a short scream, before his hand slapped over his mouth in a moment of sudden clarity.
Horror spread over Da’an just as he finished trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Horribly, his mind returned.
He was naked, exposed for all to see, with a statue of Sylvian sticking out of his cunt, and his cum drenching his thighs.
Quickly, Da’an scanned the ground, and was beyond relieved that nobody appeared to be there. He quickly pulled the statue out of himself and ran inside, slamming the window shut and burying himself under the covers.
All that he heard was the gentle but fiendish laughter of Pocketcat, as the creature welled back into the moonlight.
“I hope that we’ll see each other again soon, old friend! Very, very soon~”
.
Baron Eihner Von Dutch watched the young figure retreating back into his room with a rounded, studious smile.
He had been observing the man for a long time, as part of his studies, yes. The Cult of Sylvian gave much insight into modern medicine.
Watching the man fuck himself on the patio, why it was a very interesting act, but not unheard of for a worshipper.
The man had looked as though in a trance, his mouth open, drooling onto his chest. The Baron had been surprised that Da’an had breasts and a cunt, but it didn’t seem very out of place. Somehow, it felt almost right that he did, and he no longer could see Da’an any other way.
He had watched Da’an as his mind lapsed into nothingness, as his eyes glowed with something strange and otherworldly. His hardening nipples, his twitching clit, how he pumped the statue in and out of his clenching cunt with almost desperate hunger.
What an interesting ritual indeed.
The Baron noted every detail in his journal, and looked forward to seeing even more from the figure that he had rescued.
After all, what good were such talents if he couldn’t get a first-hand demonstration?
Kill Kitty - A Fear and Hunger Playlist for Pocketcat! (L1nk in notes)
I love the way you sweat when you lie
Hearing you beg always makes me smile
It turns me on when your honey starts to drip
As I put on the thumbscrews and tighten their grip
