Black Iris Chapter Eleven
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
I watch a beam of light dance across the ceiling, and I fight the urge to chase it. The sounds from the street below seem to be magnified by 10. Sirens, screeching tires, boisterous teens peacocking for potential sex partners as they wait outside a club. Two hours tick by, and I’m no closer to falling asleep now than I was when I first laid down. Lincoln, on the other hand, is snoring away, which isn’t helping.
Alcohol would knock me out for sure, but I think I need to give my asshole the night off. Catnip would have the same effect, but I don’t have any at the moment. I do have some sleeping pills left… I should probably flush those down the toilet.
Sex. Even in my darkest moments, I float peacefully off to dreamland after a good orgasm. After my suicide rebirth, the plan was to go on a lust rampage, but the air conditioner accident and lawsuit took the wind out of my sails. I haven’t gotten laid since that one time at the Eight Deadly Sins. Mandi and I have been trying to get together, but she has been working odd hours as of late. She did say she had tonight off though, so I call her.
“Hey, Snowball,” she says through a yawn.
“Hey, Mandi, you up?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, if you feel like it. I mean we haven’t hung out in forever. Not since I became, you know… whole again.”
“Right. Honestly, I’m totally beat. Today was my first day off after nine consecutive 10-hour night shifts, and I haven’t gotten out of bed all day.”
“Hm. Ok, I guess I’ll let you — ”
“You know what? Fuck it. Some of that cat tongue might be just what the doctor ordered. And I’d love to take your new dick for a spin.”
“You sure?”
“Be over in 20.”
Not much can be done to make this place presentable in 20 minutes, but I do my best. That amounts to stacking my drawings in a pile, Zamboni-ing the rest of the floor with the push broom, and dusting the wood furniture with a damp paper towel. There’s nothing I can do about the smell of burnt wood, but her inferior human nose probably won’t even notice.
“Why does it smell like a campfire in here?” she asks as soon as she arrives.
“Sorry. I made charcoal earlier.”
“What do you mean you made charcoal?”
“To draw with. I ran out.”
“Ah.” She scans the walls that have been graffitied with flowers. “And I guess you ran out of paper, too.”
“I did.”
“Well, it’s good to see you,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.
“You, too.” I rub my face against the top of her head. She smells beige like store-brand shampoo. It’s nice. From here I have a perfect view of her cleavage. I recognize her loose-fitting scoop neck t-shirt as her summertime pajama top. Below her midriff are low-riding shorts with a dangling drawstring. I fight the urge to swat at it.
Lincoln comes out from behind the door and grunts a hello.
“Hey, big fella.” She gives him a vigorous petting.
“Want something to drink?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Are you going to be doing that rod thing? ’Cause I don’t really want to see that.”
“I could always do it in the other room. But no, I wasn’t planning to.”
“I’ll just have some water, then.”
Lincoln follows me into the kitchen, where he’ll stay with his paws over his ears until the sex is over.
By the time I come out, Mandi is naked on the couch. Her sleepy eyes perk up when she sees me approach.
“Uh, I wouldn’t sit there if I were you. That thing is all kinds of nasty.”
“But at least it’s dry now.”
“Yeah, but there’s definitely something growing in it.”
She springs up from the couch like someone just dumped a bucket of ice on her.
“Here.” I hand her a mug of water.
“Thanks.” She devours it in one long gulp. “So where should we…”
“Spread your feet,” I say, shimmying out of my boxers.
We have a shorthand, she and I. That hug we shared when she first came in is all the foreplay we need.
I drop to all fours, and she opens her gait, giving me room to crawl between her legs. The savory aroma of dried sweat washes over me as I lick her inner thigh on my way up to her clit. She inhales deeply and grabs a fistful of fur. The wetter she gets, the deeper my face sinks into her pussy as though it were quicksand.
When she cums, she tears out a toupee’s worth of my hair. The empty mug slips out of her fingers and crashes to the ground.
“Sorry about that.”
Usually, her “O” is bigger. She must really be tired.
“It’s ok. The mug didn’t break, and I’ve got plenty more fur where that came from.” I lay down on the rug.
She lies down beside me and runs her hand up my inner thigh. “So, this is your new cock.” Her hands are soft for someone so strong.
“Yep. What do you think?”
She giggles. “Too early to tell. It looks just like the old one. Let me see how it tastes.”
She circles the ridge with her tongue before wrapping her lips around it. Up and down, she goes, while at the same time cradling my balls. Her mouth feels like home.
And yet something is off. The sensation is there, but my cock is not growing.
She keeps at it, but as her neck gets tired, she begins to slow down. Eventually, she has to come up for air.
“Snowball, uh — ”
“I know.”
She collapses onto my chest. “It moved a little this time. That’s something, right?”
“I guess.”
“It could be me. I’m pretty tired, so my blowjob game could be off.”
“No, you’re fine. It’s… I don’t know what it is. It was working the other day. Before — ”
“Before the air conditioner fell on you?” She scratches under my chin.
“That was three weeks ago. I’ve jerked off a couple times since then.
“Wow, it’s been that long? We never talked about it.”
“No, we didn’t, because I knew you were going to be pissed.”
“Why would I be — ” She sighs. “You killed yourself, didn’t you?”
I nod.
“So, the air conditioner thing was…”
“That happened later. Like, three hours later. And now, I’m down to my last life.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” I run my claws through her lush mane. “But my dick was working. After the suicide, I went to a strip club and got a BJ from a dancer, and all cylinders were firing. Then the air conditioner fell on me while I was on my way home.”
“But… if that killed you, everything should be back to normal, right?”
“It should be. I mean, I just wanked two days ago. Though, I guess this is the first time I’ve actually tried to have sex since the accident.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was preoccupied with trying to sue the assholes that own the building where the air conditioner fell from. And I haven’t been sleeping or eating, and I’ve been pretty cranky.”
“How’s the lawsuit going?”
“It’s not. The judge threw out the case. Something about there not being any evidence that I actually died.”
“Well, that makes sense, actually.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No, seriously. Was he supposed to just take your word for it? The judge doesn’t know anything about demigods or Aaru or cat-man superpowers. He has to apply the same laws to you that he does everybody else.”
“Why? I’m not like everyone else.”
She sits up. Stray bits of my fur stick to her stomach. “That’s your problem right there. You want to live among us, but you don’t want to be one of us. Well, it doesn’t work like that. And it seems like you’re learning that the hard way.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“It’s coming from the fact that you fucking killed yourself and now you don’t want to live with the consequences.” She gets dressed hurriedly.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m tired. And I can’t sleep on your hard fucking floor, or your ash-covered rug, or your moldy couch.”
“I can’t believe you’re pissed! I’m the one who died!”
“Congratulations. Now we both have the same number of lives. Welcome to the club. Only you’re still in a different club, aren’t you, because you don’t age or get sick, and you have fucking superpowers.”
Lincoln is drawn out of the kitchen by the commotion. Mandi ignores him, and he whimpers.
“The universe doesn’t owe you anything,” she says before slamming the door behind her.