A Kentucky Tea Party

Preface: Greetings, all!  What follows is my winning entry into the “Have a Drink on Me” writing contest here on TFT, which is also a stand-alone part of my Appalachian Monstergirls modern setting stories.  No prior knowledge is required, but it does include minor cameos of other characters referenced in those stories (and, for those familiar with those works, is set briefly before “The Wildcat’s Sister”).  The primary monstergirls in this work are a Cheshire Cat, a March Hare, a Dormouse, and an Alice.  This story does feature sexual content, as well as harem elements, although those are not stressed – this primarily focuses on a single romance.

     And, to conclude with a standard disclaimer: The monster girls featured in this tale, and many elements of the setting, are based off of the works of Kenkou Cross (and Lewis Carroll), and as such this work is intended to be a tribute to their creativity. The characters, however, are my own. Pray neither sue nor steal; I have very little to take, but I love that which is mine.

A Kentucky Tea Party

The Invitation

Time wasn’t on Theo Fayette’s list of priorities.  Honestly, lists weren’t on his list, either – which was why there was no such list at all!  Thus, Time was something that happened to other people, mostly the people that had to wait for him to show up, or to figure out why he had already left, or which of the two was happening today.  Really, Time was to blame, not Theo – but, considering Blame was also on the list of priorities that didn’t exist, it didn’t matter much at all.

But apparently time mattered tonight, at least according to Tim Boyd.  Typically, only girls mattered to Tim, but since impressing girls was on Tim’s mind tonight, it was very important for him that Theo be on time to the party.  And so Theo had been on time – his Time, not Tim’s time, which was different and inconsequential and almost rhymed.

“Come on, man,” Tim wheedled, almost dragging the much-more-muscular Theo into the noisy frat house, past mingling packs of girls and guys who were getting on smoothly thanks to the lubrication of ample amounts of alcohol and mind-numbingly-loud music.  Adjusting his green baseball cap atop his curly-haired head, Theo followed Tim past posturing blowhards boasting to giggling preeners, tables packed with throngs of fellow jocks racing to catatonia with breakneck pace, and cringing wallflowers hoping that someone – anyone – would be hypnotized by their obvious mystique and drawn inexorably to them (so that they could put in no social effort at all).  All in all, it was a typical Thursday at the Sigma Iota Pi frat house, at least from what Theo had seen in his previous few visits.

Theo was not the sort of person that enjoyed these parties.  Except when he did, of course, but always for different reasons than everyone else.  Theo had no time for Time, less time for stupor, but he always had time for Mischief, and these little soirees were always packed with easy marks.  Mischief made stories, and stories occupied near-drunks until they were full-drunks, and then mischief made them into new stories.  It was the cycle of life – or fun.  But these days, it was rather routine for Theo – and had gotten him rudely uninvited from several such establishments in the past – and, by now, was almost boring.

Theo wanted a challenge, and that was what Tim had promised him tonight.  Tonight, Tim had haggled, he had managed to invite several girls from Omicron Omicron Omicron, which was mostly home to monster girl athletes at their college.  Thus, not just any normal girls, but hot, physical, lusty girls – Tim’s type, though Theo was beginning to think Tim’s type would be the first girl to say ‘yes’ to Tim’s propositions, and those seemed at the brink of extinction.  Tim was a wiry weasel of a man, or a somewhat mannish weasel – Theo went back and forth on this frequently – and he had yet to find a woman who could fall for his charms, or even unlucky enough to stumble over them.  Tim Boyd was practically a statistical anomaly in that even the most aggressive, desperate monster girls tended to find themselves needing to be anywhere else when he came around – but he could be convinced to be a willing accomplice in almost any scheme if offered just a bit of booze, and thus Theo liked him.  Or, at least, the idea of him, which was good enough.

Girls were not the reason Theo was there.  They were something else he rarely had time for, except for brief flirtations.   Or perhaps it was the other way around, though he was typically considered handsome, charming, funny – and exhausting, for some reason or other.  But these girls wanted to be impressed, and that had led Tim to call on him, to recount his many mischiefs and misdeeds.  Theo wasn’t sure how this vicarious glory was supposed to help Tim seduce one of these Amazonian beauties, but Theo knew that he couldn’t pass up a chance to relive his greatest glories, and that was why he was there – that, and free drinks.

It also didn’t hurt that the Triple Omicron girls had an intriguing reputation of their own: they were widely considered trouble by those who worried about such things.  Tim could hardly list all the times he had been confronted by campus security about mischief that he hadn’t even done, only to find out later that it had been one of these ladies up to fun of their own.  Such a list, which he refused to make due to his distaste for lists, would reveal that someone among these femmes facétieux had a mind nearly as devious as his own.  That, he took as a personal challenge, and so tonight he was seeking out this most dangerous game – the ultimate mark to overcome.

“Right in here, I think,” Tim mumbled, weaving through two athletes who adamantly refused to acknowledge that they had become a human blockade of the frat house’s kitchen.  Theo, however, stopped just beside the pair, and waited, a broad grin on his face.  After a moment, the chatting duo noticed him standing there, and turned.  Perhaps it was the gleam in his emerald eyes, or his speckled reputation, or just the way he stood there smiling, just a shade too close to them – but, with mumbled apologies, the pair parted to allow Theo to pass, and with a congenial nod he did so, stepping into the kitchen.

This was the heart of the party – the milling masses might be scattered through the house, but everyone had to circulate back here eventually, refilling cups or pitchers before flowing back to the extremities once more.  Some lingered, deposits that choked the flow of people and alcohol, thus congesting the room so much that Tim had to stand on his tiptoes to search for whoever he was seeking, making him look even more tragically weasel-like.  Theo conducted a more leisurely search, slouching his way through the crowd, offering smiles and nods and winks to those who recognized him enough to point or wave.  He did pause as he recognized one familiar face he had not expected to see here: a teammate of Theo’s on the football team, and one of the few people that he considered an actual friend.  Josh Carroll was a living, moving wall: bulky and broad, but deep within that mass of muscle and bone was a heart of mischief modeled after Theo’s own.  Since they had become freshmen and roommates the previous year, he had been Theo’s accomplice, and also bodyguard when prank-ees took a little too much offense.  Not that Theo needed much guarding; as one of the tight ends for their football team, he was broad and heavy enough, but Josh took looming seriously – not merely professionally, but to the level of artistry.

Having spotted Josh in the wild, Theo’s curiosity was piqued, even as he started to wave and shout to draw the other’s attention.  Before he had gotten the call from Tim, Theo had invited Josh out for an evening of misdeeds and mayhem, only to have his bellicose friend beg out due to a previous engagement.  It was strange to see him at this gathering, since Theo would have gladly come along to have his playtime here.  But, before Theo could even begin to look for a deerstalker cap to replace his green hat with (for proper sleuthing attire), the mystery was anticlimactically solved for him.  Standing across the small table from the linebacker was a considerably-more svelte form, a winged blonde bombshell that wore her confidence like a leotard, close to her skin and emphasizing her curves with dangerous skill.  Theo blinked at the sight, but there was no mistaking the way that the girl with the dark eyes and the stinger-tipped tail looked up at Josh, nor the way that his bulky pal awkwardly tried to match her self-assurance, nor the drunkenness in Josh’s eyes that had nothing to do with the nearly-full cup in his hands.  Theo let his hand fall and shrugged, his smile softening into something far kinder despite a pang of something that he didn’t quite recognize. ‘Good for you, pal.’

“Hey!  Theo!  Here she is!” a voice chirped into his ear, and Theo turned to see the lanky form of Tim tugging his sleeve while his other hand pointed to a woman standing near the fridge.  At first, his attention locked onto the tray she held: amid a sea of nascent adults focused on flooding their stomachs with the most palatable forms of drunkenness they could find, she was hoisting a tray covered with a collection of cheeses, oversized Bavarian pretzel sticks, and a massive, foam-topped flagon, all with a waitress’s poise, delicately rummaging in the refrigerator for fine condiments to supplement her selection.  He next noticed her decidedly shapely brown-furred rear, accentuated by the fluffy cottontail sprouting from the base of her spine, and decided to linger there for a while to enjoy the view.  When she straightened, eyes drawn to Tim’s frantic waving, Theo grudgingly moved on to other locales that – to his pleasure – proved just as picturesque.  While the were-rabbit was a bit pear-shaped, there was plenty of fruit in the upper branches, as it were.  On her narrow face, her chocolate eyes matched her long hair and the fur covering her delightfully long legs (as well as her droopy, arm-length rabbit ears), and all of these complemented her nut-brown skin, making her seem like a sweet treat indeed. “Harriet!  Over here!”

Theo watched her walk forward with appreciation – she somehow swayed like a serpent when she was practically mostly leg, and yet the tray still perfectly levelled throughout the whole transit – and, when she stopped in front of them, Theo reached out to claim a square of cheddar and popped it into his mouth with a wink.  She nodded to him curtly, and, without a hint of discretion, let her eyes meader over his whole body.  He stood the inspection stoically until she returned to his face, an appreciative smile quirking at her dark lips, and, once he was sure she was finished, promptly returned the favor, letting his eyes pause for a break wherever they needed.  Beside them, Tim watched the exchange in mute confusion, but when the pair finally exchanged grins, he decided to continue with the introductions. “Harriet May, this is Theo Fayette, the guy I was telling you about.”

“Oh, we’ve heard of him,” the girl replied, and the fingers of the hand not occupied with the tray began to drum an irregular tempo on the hip they rested upon.

“‘We?’” Theo plucked the word from her casually-dismissive response. “Let me guess – the track team?”

“Cross country,” she corrected, one eyebrow arching. “And it’s rude to assume that, just because I’m a March Hare.”

“March?  I thought marching was more of a band thing, than cross country.”

“It’s a reference to the month,” she replied, rolling her eyes – but, importantly, smiling.

“Ah, then you are a September Hare,” he supplied, his green eyes twinkling.

Her grin widened, and she leaned close, almost whispering into his ear despite the tumult of voices around. “It’s always March somewhere.” The intimate tone of her words invited a pleasant shiver to visit his spine, and when Harriet withdrew, they smiled at each other for a moment longer.

“So, uh…” Tim interjected.

“Follow me,” she stated, and turned without watching to see if they did so.  For a moment, Theo had to quell his disappointment that she hadn’t said ‘Walk this way’ because it would have given him a chance to imitate her rolling, hip-swaying sashay, but he contented himself with just watching the bobbing cottontail and its proximities ahead of him as he complied, and Tim followed behind, unregarded by both.

She led them through the crowded kitchen to a set of stairs that led into the basement.  This space was cramped and only half-finished, but it had several couches and tables and dim lighting, and that suited the mood of certain party-goers just fine.  Along one wall, a table sat empty with two unoccupied chairs facing each other, and it was in this direction that Harriet slinked.  A plush armchair with a broken leg rested unevenly against the adjoining wall near the table, and this was occupied by a raven-haired young girl – perhaps too young to be at this party, fifteen or sixteen at most – and across from it was a long settee (mostly occluded by a support pillar holding up the living room above) with its back turned to the seat.  Beside the girl reading in the armchair, a short girl lay sprawled upon a heap of parti-colored blankets, drunken into slumber despite the early hour of the night.

As he drew closer to the unoccupied table, Theo examined the two girls more closely.  The first was dressed fit for the occasion more than her age, in a florid red and matte black dress cut to expose plenty of pale skin, like a high school sophomore with late-onset eighth-grade-syndrome.  In front of her red-hued eyes, she wore tiny tea shades with dark lenses despite the dimness of the basement, and her aristocratic face was sculpted in an expression of casual universal disdain.  She was reading a book about a prince – or rather, The Prince.  Theo noticed the black-colored, spade-tipped tail dangling over the armrest of the chair, and assumed a matching set of small black wings were pressed against the cushions of the seat, recognizing a succubus when he saw one – at least, this time.

Meanwhile, the dozing girl looked to be nearly the same slight height, and also had lengthy black hair, but the resemblances ended there.  Round, dark-furred ears topped her head, and a wormy tail was draped sinuously over the blankets.  She wore a hoodie and jeans, and beside the blankets were a teetering heap of empty chip bags and chocolate bar wrappers, but no cups at all –  a dormouse, then?  As he passed, though, he noticed her eyes snap open, and felt her gaze scurry over him as he strolled to the table.

“So…” Harriet began, spinning to face him once more, her fingers now drumming on the table as she still held the tray at shoulder-height. “First, introductions, and snacks.” She reached up to claim the flagon, and offered it to the gothic-dressed maiden on the seat.  Theo watched as the girl accepted the burly cup with the barest of smiles and lifted it to her ruby lips, and her delicate throat worked as she promptly set to draining the thing.  As the bottom began to lift skyward, Harriet continued. “We’ll start with us in Omicron Omicron Omicron.  I, and the rest of us, are sophomores here – like you, I understand.  This is Alizé Little, our roommate and Forensic Science major.”

Theo smirked as the girl finished the mug, then genteely wiped the foam from her upper lip. “Are you sure you didn’t confuse this party for the meeting of the baby-sitter’s club next door?”

Her eyes cut him with chill distaste. “I’m 20, asshole.”

“Going on 15?” He offered her a winning smile, which promptly lost, according to her lengthy blisteringly-profane reply that involved several impossible physical acts and a collection of barnyard animals.  The words lacked heat, however, and when she finished, he nodded, impressed. “I might just do it, but let me sell tickets, first.” He was rewarded by another ghost of a smile, and, after staring at him for a moment more, she returned to reading her book, accepting his general presence.

Next, Harriet moved to claim the plate of cheeses, and held it out to Alizé, who took it without looking up from her book and passed it on to the girl on the floor.  The dormouse accepted it and sat it beside her, popping a square of pepper jack as she pulled out her phone and began scrolling – though Theo noticed her eyes were tilted towards him instead of the screen. “This is Molly Treacle, another of our roommates.”

“Let me guess…” Ethan mused. “You specialize in sleep studies?  Dream psychology?”

“Programming,” the girl replied, through a spray of cheese crumbs. “And I’m here on an e-sports scholarship.”

When Theo’s eyebrow raised at this, Harriet offered aid. “You should see her on energy drinks.” As he digested this with an accepting shrug, Harriet moved over to the back of the settee, leaning over to place the final plate, this one covered in breads and condiments. “And finally…” she began, her eyes darting to him.

Spotting his chance for his own introduction, Theo straightened and puffed out his chest with mock officiousness.  Before he could begin, though, Tim chimed in from behind him. “That’s Theo Fayette, a football player,” he offered helpfully in his country drawl, and Theo let his in-drawn breath whistle out in a whoosh as he deflated.

“…Representing?”

Theo took a moment’s thought. “Alpha Delta Eta Delta,” he replied smoothly.

The unladylike snort from the other side of the settee made him pause.  He turned his head in time to see a thin, pale arm unfold skyward with languid grace, the blue-furred paw at the end coming to rest on the back of the short couch.  Using that for leverage, the unseen resident of the couch lifted herself to peer over its back, resting her chin on the hands she crossed on the couch’s spine, and the instant their eyes met…

 

It finally happened.  Time, Theo’s old enemy, had died.

Theo had his disagreements with Time, and lists, and Blame, but Trouble was his oldest friend, had been with him since infancy.  But those sapphire-colored eyes, which had swallowed him up and thrust him into deep water… this was Trouble as he had never met her before, Trouble that scared him to the bones, and that made him grin bigger than ever, even as a drop of sweat rolled down from the edge of his green cap.

The girl’s hair and flat-cut bangs were also the same blue as the fur of her paws, though streaks and one feline ear were a deeper hue, like the darkest seas, all but black.  Her face was round, and with a button nose, which on every other woman in the world he would have found ‘cute,’ but that word just didn’t fit right here.  There was too much sharpness in that little quarter smile, too much Trouble, for ‘cute’ to work.  She wore a choker with a small silver bell attached, though he hadn’t heard it ring when she had moved.  Her shoulders were bared, and that teased him to imagine what the couch hid from view – and the second he thought that, he somehow knew that she knew that he had, and her little smile got a little bigger.

“Bouverie Baker,” Harriet explained, leaning against the settee and motioning to the feline head and paws beside her. “Cross country and tennis, and undecided – and your opponent for the evening.”

Those sapphire eyes didn’t leave Theo’s – she didn’t search him as Harriet had, and yet he felt that she knew everything about him anyways, had taken his measure in a heartbeat, down to the thread-count of his button-up and what kind of underwear he was wearing – hell, which of his stones was riding higher at the moment!  But still, he smiled, feeling he was already underwater, but swimming deeper was just as good a direction as any. “Opponent?” he asked, and broke the gaze, walking over to the chair and sitting down – a tacit acceptance of the ambush, a dare for her to bring her worst.

“Timmy didn’t tell you?” Alizé demanded sharply, her eyes piercing over her small glasses. “Bad, bad boy.”

“It’s a game,” explained Molly, sitting up from her heap. “Tim was bragging to some of our girls about how crazy you are, and when we told him that you couldn’t hold a candle to our Bou-”

“You’d want a candlestick holder for that,” Theo offered helpfully. “Or one of those little, uh,  lamps.”

“Chickening out?” suggested the stunted succubus seated in the armchair behind him, lowering her book slightly.  He knew that the other trio were watching him just as intently.

“Of course not.  Just being helpful.” He leaned his head backwards to offer a slow, upside-down grin towards the dark-haired girl sitting a few feet behind his chair. “But I’m not crazy.” Once more, her eyebrow quirked, and he stared into her gaze, letting her witness the chaos in his green eyes. “You might be, though, if you think anyone can out-mischief me.”  For the first time, he saw a real smile on Alizé’s face, and as he turned back upright he saw the expression mirrored by Harriet and Molly.

Bouverie, though, was still staring at him with that quarter-smile.  She rose onto her knees above the settee, stretching out her back, and he saw that she was wearing an indigo frilled halter top that bared her smooth, flat midriff – the midriff was as far as he would apply ‘flat,’ as the top was doing heroic work holding in the curving skin assigned to it.  Those were much more than a handful – though not as much of a handful as she, herself, might prove to be.  He could tell she was letting him look, and so he did, but his smile faded – he swam deeper yet – and as it did, hers grew.

With a smooth motion, Bouverie vaulted over the couch – purple-and-black checked skirt flaring to reveal long legs with lean muscles –  and strolled up to sit across from Theo, her blue tail – banded in the darker color – gently waving behind her as she came.  She slid into the seat and leaned against the wall and table, her attention more on her roommates than on him.  Her disinterest let him turn his attention to the hare, who – he had noticed – had been the one to keep the settee from flipping when Bouverie had hopped over it.  His eyes flitted to Tim standing faux-casually nearby, then away, as Theo realized he was starting with a handicap: she had at least one wingwoman, and his was… a weasel. “But if this is to be a game, I need to know the rules to win,” he maneuvered.

“Sounds like a loser’s attitude to me,” opined the mistress with the maiden’s face from behind him.

“Rules are tiresome things,” Bouverie sighed, still not looking at him. “I’d much rather do without.”

“But then how can one cheat, if they don’t know the rules to break them?” Theo asked.

“Planning to be a cheater before you begin!” mocked Molly, sitting cross-legged and snacking on cheese.

“Me?” Theo asked, his voice reaching the impressive falsetto of a Victorian grandmother accused of fornicating in a church. “Never!” Savoring the four sets of eyes on him – Tim was looking at the rear of a girl across the room facing away from him – Theo spread his hands to proclaim his innocence. “One has to be caught to be declared a cheater.” He grinned wickedly, and the sapphire eyes blinked in his direction. ‘Winning already.’

Savories

“Then the rules will be simple.  Three drinking games.  First to win two, wins.” Harriet supplied, her foot tapping on the floor.

Alizé glanced up from her book. “Tim, dear, if you will get us some of the blue punch from upstairs, I’ll tell you the name of that girl I mentioned you may have better luck with, when you come back with it…”

“On it!” came the drawl.  And, as Theo had surmised, his sole support was gone – and likely for some time, considering Theo was willing to bet that there would be no ‘blue punch’ to be found.  Instead, he let himself focus on the contest before him.

“Wins what?” Theo asked, glancing again to the rabbit-girl.

“The game.” The hare blinked, realizing too late that she was being led into a snare.

“Well, isn’t it silly that I have to win two games to win one?”

“Then a prize, hm?” suggested the worldwise Alizé.

Bouverie straightened, her face composed. “Prizes are more interesting than rules; I like them.” She looked straight at Theo. “The winner gets to have drinks on the loser for one whole night.”

Theo chuckled at the suggestion. “Then we drink, in order to win, in order to drink more?” He glanced around the group, and they met his eyes – before they all, him included, nodded in unison.  It really did make sense, when you thought about it.

Leaning in over the table just a bit, Theo met Bouverie’s gaze. “Then how would you like to play with me?” His words carried just a bit of insinuation, and for an instant- gone!- there was a flare of redness in her cheeks at the shameless flirt. ‘A weakness.’ Theo’s grin grew.

“If I get to choose, then…” Bouverie leaned back in the chair – dangerously far, balanced on the tip of her chair’s back legs – and stared at the ceiling. “How about ‘Boasts’ for our first game?”

“‘Boasts?’” Theo asked, incredulous.

“And, since I chose the game, I will go first.” Bouverie let her chair settle forward, bringing her close to Theo for just a second – his face shocked at their closeness – and then away again. “How about this one: have you heard about what happened to Kimberly King during our basketball semi-finals last year?” The hint of a smile reappeared.

Theo frowned, and his mind offered an image of a pretentious, acerbic lamia, her scales patterned in a metallic brown.  She had a reputation for bullying the younger girls, particularly those who had the misfortune of being single. “Cottonmouth Kim?  The cheerleader?” A moment later, and he recalled the incident in question. “Itching powder in her cheer top.  She nearly ripped it off on camera, too.” He laughed loudly enough to draw glances from across the basement. “I got blamed for that for a while, you know?”

“Maybe because of the itching powder spilled outside your apartment,” Bouverie suggested mildly – and danger flashed in deepest blue.

Theo grinned broadly, beginning a slow clap. “Well played,” he admitted, and now he understood the game.  He took only a moment to think. “Well, then, have you heard about the Shoe Game?”

Bouverie’s nose wrinkled, and nearby, Harriet shook her head in disappointment. “Everyone has heard of your Shoe Game, except the people who keep falling for it,” Molly informed him. Theo would have thought that stranding hapless unconscious drunks in a camper in the middle of campus, naked except for a shoe, deserved more credit than they were willing to offer him, but this was hardly the play he was making, and it was time to up the ante anyways.

“It seems Mr. Kirkpatrick hadn’t.”

When their faces fell slack, he knew he had scored a point.  Kirkpatrick was a widely-hated adjunct professor in the math department, who seemed to take pleasure in ridiculing those who offered wrong answers in his class – whether they volunteered to answer or not.  Half of the freshman had it out for the man, and to know that he had suffered such a fate was delicious gossip. “Off campus, of course, or else he’d probably get fired and try to find someone to press charges on.  But it was a lovely spring day in the park, and we left him with one of his fine penny loafers, and I’m sure the stroll to his car on the other side was good for him.” That detail seasoned his story with just the right amount of verisimilitude, because everyone knew that area was near the parking lot for a bar frequented by the faculty, who had no desire to see students there.  Especially since it was the students they were drinking to forget, and thus they hoped to avoid watching those same students down beers in order to forget the professors in turn.  Also – and this was a secret only to Kirkpatrick himself – those same faculty couldn’t stand him, either, and might have helped to encourage the stupor that had led to his promenade au naturale.

“Very nice.” The half-smile grew, just an iota, and the cat across from him tapped her lovely chin with a single claw, before raising it ceiling-ward. “Dean Grey’s bumper sticker.”

That one took Theo a moment.  He looked around at the other girls for a hint, but none was forthcoming from the smirking succublette or the dark-furred dormouse.  When his attention fell onto Harriet, though, he found himself distracted by more immediate feats of a comestible nature.  The rabbit-girl was hefting a Bavarian pretzel stick of considerable girth, and, as he watched, dunked it into a deep container of what must have been a pale melted queso.  Next, she uprighted it once more, and, without noticing his notice, placed much of the pretzel – his eyes widened in unconcealed awe – into her mouth and far back.  As he watched, spellbound, her cheeks hollowed concave, and, like drawing a sword from its sheath, she withdrew the pretzel stick back from her mouth.  As it retreated back into the open air, Theo could see that it had been stripped of the queso – even the salt! – until she withdrew the denuded pretzel entirely with a ‘pop!’ of suction.  It was only then that she looked up and noticed his jaw hanging open, and blushed at his open admiration.

However, he shouted out “Aha!” as the memory clicked, spurred on by her formidable fellatic feat.  Looking back to Bouverie, whose tail was irritably twitching back and forth as she looked askance at the hare, he pointed in dramatic victory. “The Alps!”

Dean Grey was another frequent target of whimsical vigilante justice – some of it committed by a curly-haired hero in a green cap – especially over the past year.  Early in Theo’s freshman year, the Dean had made some crude, cruel public comments protesting a certain bar that had opened in the nearby city – specifically, about its specific clientele being drawn to their university, South-East Kentucky State.  When the administration had refused to even rebuke him for his statements, many of the students were outraged, and several of the Greek organizations had turned to take justice into their own hands.  One of the more devious pranks had involved his car, specifically a bumper sticker that he – or more likely his wife – had placed onto it to proclaim their love of their favorite vacation spot.  Someone had pasted over this sticker with one that had looked nearly the same – with the minor alteration of removing the ‘the’ from ‘I love the Alps!,’ and the graphical modification of turning the stylistic mountain range into a sort of femboy Mount Rushmore – or, Theo supposed, tomboy, more accurately.  The shared silhouette of the stickers had meant that the Dean had failed to notice the swap for over a month, and yet no one – not even his browbeaten subordinates in his own department! – had told him of the modification, instead each clutching to the schadenfreude of his eventual embarrassment like a treasured jewel.

“Excellent artistry in the facsimile – was that you?” he asked his rival with gleeful admiration.

Bouverie leaned back, resting one paw against her bosom. “Only the idea,” she admitted humbly. “The application of the sticker was Harriet.” She gestured to the side, where the rabbit was innocently dipping a new pretzel into a different cheese, threatening to steal Theo’s attention once more.

“I did the photo-editing!” chimed in Molly from the floor.  She preened as Theo offered her a sidelong thumb’s-up.

“Buuut…” Theo bargained, tearing his eyes away before Harriet could repeat her feat, “does that really match up to-”

“Then had you heard about the carolers?” Bouverie asked, raising the stakes just as Theo had done.  When he shook his cap-covered head, the Cheshire nodded, her eyes sliding past him, and when he glanced backwards he saw Alizé adamantly refusing to lift her gaze from her book, but smiling pridefully nonetheless. “We all know the dear Dean eventually offered a public retraction and apology, but did you know it only happened a week after a group of Christmas carolers kept showing up wherever he went?  Quite mysterious.  Poor dears must have been freezing, they couldn’t afford much to wear, and Alps tend to run on the lean side…”

Since her expression was merely smug, Theo grinned extra on her behalf. “His wife must have loved that.  But wasn’t it, like, early October when he apologized?”

“I suppose they wanted an early start to the season, when it might be a little warmer,” Bouverie suggested – and let a bit more of her smile show, like a sunbeam cutting through the clouds.  Warmed by the expression, Theo allowed himself raucous laughter, and the girls all preened at his unspoken praise of their concerted efforts.

When he finally settled back, Theo paused to think of his rejoinder.  He closed his eyes to flip through the mental scrapbook he kept of his greatest capers, weighing the value of each in turn.  It was the connection to artistry that caused him to hesitate on a particular snapshot, and his smile grew as he savored the recollection personally before pulling it out to share. “So,” he purred, “have you heard of the Great Dick Massacre at the Theta Omicron Tau Sorority?”

He let his gaze sweep between them, absurdly pleased with himself, as the girls mouthed the name of the event in halting contemplation and dubious synchronization, except for Harriet, who struggled to try because her mouth was already admirably occupied.  He let them digest the title for a moment, but Alizé was the first to hazard a guess before he could begin his explanation. “Oh, please, tell me this isn’t just drawing penises on people,” she moaned in despairing weariness.

“That’s it, exactly,” Theo beamed, immune to the various rolling eyes around him.  Such a reaction, he knew, was basest hypocrisy – he suspected (correctly) that each of these girls had participated in this time-honored tradition dozens of times.  But, perhaps that was the problem – while every child would scribble looping illustrations of daisies with their grubby crayons, only a handful of geniuses could become an artiste and produce the orchids of O’Keeffe – or their distaff counterpart.  And thus…

“Any chance you have a laptop, Molly?” he asked off-handedly.  She snorted as if offended by the insinuation that she might not have one at hand, and pulled one from the edge of her blanket nest.  She stood and drew closer – she was a bit more shapely than he had expected, on closer examination – opening the screen and typing in her password with quick-stepping fingertips.  When he motioned to accept it from her, she gave him a flat stare until he relented, instead drawing out his phone to send the images to her without his fingers straying onto her sacred territory.

With curiosity piqued, the other girls circled around the screen as the first image bloomed to life.  Leaning back, Theo offered them the front row to admire his handiwork more closely, offering them a moment to process the somewhat-dim tableau before beginning his ekphrasis. “This is the handiwork of myself and a single assistant, over the course of two hours and a half – not counting the prepwork that led to the subjects being brought to a workable state,” he described, his voice temporarily nasal and aristocratic. “There are over thirty subjects, primarily female with males supplying the larger canvases, and the art itself is done with permanent marker, black for outlines and an assortment of other colors for shading or embellishment.”

The picture was of the end result of a particularly hard night of partying at the sorority house.  Drunks were sprawled where they had fallen, though it could be presumed some had been shifted to permit for artistic vision.  The room was small, so the slumbering victims were tightly arranged, draped over tables, slumped over the arms of a couch or sprawled on the floor with heads atop the limbs of other prostrate participants.  And – without exception – each of the dreamers had been graffitied with phallic imagery, ranging the entire spectrum of artistic styles and effort.  Some were little more than three partial ovals with an elongated middle member, while other examples could have served as anatomical illustrations for advanced Biology courses, and some were almost pornographic.  They were placed randomly – on biceps, calves, breasts, foreheads, backs – anywhere flesh was available for inking.  If one so chose, a game could have been devised to find at least three on each visible body – especially when the second image revealed the same scene from a different angle, nearly doubling the amount of sketched schlongs.

“I mean… it’s still just dick art,” commented Molly, reasonably.

“Some are really nice dicks, though,” opined Harriet, tapping her chin unrhythmically.

“I’ve seen better.” The other girls gave Alizé flat stares, and she sighed, relenting. “Okay, well… maybe some of them are in the top tier of dick drawings I’ve seen, but the majority…”

“But then, you have to consider the limited time they had to work in, and the risk of waking their canvases,” Molly mused, serving as her own devil’s advocate. “That’s not much time to do so many different styles.”

“I like that one, hanging down her cleavage,” Harriet pointed out a particularly long, lumpy example that served as a pendant to a well-endowed holstaur woman.

“The proportions of the balls seem off, though,” Molly argued, flopping back to the other side of the debate.

Everyone is a critic, Theo groused, as he watched the girls cross their arms and contemplate the pieces of his handiwork.  He would only admit to himself that his real disappointment was that none of them had noticed the truly special flourish to the piece-

“Wait.” Bouverie leaned even closer, her eyes widening.  She glanced to Theo, suspicious, and he let his smile broaden.  Lifting one claw to touch the screen, she began to trace a line, elaborately looping and uninterrupted, across much of the screen.  As she did, he could see the lights dancing in her azure eyes – the waters at this depth were so, so beautiful – and knew she was at the brink of epiphany. “They all – every single one – point to each other in a line.” At her words, the other three crowded in, following the pointing arrow of each phallus in order like a grand connect-the-dicks. “What does it make?” Bouverie asked, meeting his gaze directly, letting the faintest hint of open admiration show.

“Just a pretty pattern, a bit art-nouveau-inspired,” he admitted, as if it were a minor imperfection. “But-!” He reached for the keys, and, seeing Molly’s eyes flash dangerously, instead motioned to the mouse to change the image back to the prior picture with its different angle.  Molly complied, and he drank in the delight on each of the girls’ faces as they realized that this image, too, formed a different looping design across all of the catatonic canvases. “I was inspired by this street artwork I heard of in Paris,” he continued, as he allowed the girls to admire his craftsmanship for just a while longer. “A temporary, living “art of place,” embodied by the driving motivator of many of its participants.”

Straightening, the girls exchanged conversing glances, before beginning to snap their fingers in quiet praise of his artistic vision.  Bowing as best he could while still seated, Theo accepted the praise, and let Molly carry the laptop away as he waited for Bouverie to reclaim her seat.  As the girls reclaimed their places, he sensed something shift in the air – knew that he had proven himself in a way that he didn’t need to understand, but that felt good.

When the Cheshire was seated once more, leaning onto her elbows, she stared at him for a long moment, and he let himself meet her gaze, emeralds glistening at sapphires.  There was something unreadable, unknowable, in that stare – he felt the coolness of the waters, all around him, but it was so comforting even as he knew he would need to breathe eventually – and in the three-quarters smile she was offering him.  And that wasn’t all of his reward, because this perspective also provided a path down the front of her top and the pale, soft Valley of Heaven there enclosed, but – though he tried valiantly – he couldn’t shift his eyes from hers.  When her tongue emerged to slowly wet those curving, plump lips, he felt like joining Harriet in tapping out an anxious beat on the table with his fingers, suddenly full of a nervous energy he usually only found in the middle of a grand heist.  Still, he had to keep his hat – and the head underneath – in order, and thus he forced himself into stillness.

“Well,” purred the dangerous feline, making him feel like she was slinking around him without ever moving from her chair, “I guess my answer would be…”

She utterly captivated him, but he almost noticed the way that Harriet, and at the corner of his vision Molly, leaned closer as well, eager to hear what she would produce as her next boast.

“The Board Report.”

He tilted his head to the side. “The board report?  As in, the thing the college does for all the rich stuffed shirts who decide how they spend our tuition?”

Bouverie nodded, her smile just the slightest curve, and he irrationally felt for a moment like a pupil who got the difficult question right. “The very same,” she answered, in no rush to elaborate.

He stared at her for a long moment, but she refused to move.  Finally, he felt compelled to ask, “And?”

She blinked in response – slow and lazy – and then drew in a long breath.

What followed was the description of a heist for the ages.  In her low, even, unrushed voice, Bouverie described the steps she had taken to acquire the draft of the board report, involving a subtle bribe to the secretary for the university’s president, a caterpillar woman who was deeply loyal to her boss and thus willing to trade the draft for some photographs of the man at a local gym and pool – and a selection of her favorite tobaccos.  Both the information and pictures had come from Bouverie’s sources within the sorority, and by using them together, the drive containing the draft fell into her capable claws.

Once she had acquired the draft, then the creative process had begun.  Here, she motioned to her immediate accomplices, ending with Molly, who was listening, spellbound, with a grin on her face – perhaps, then, the first time she had heard it all put together?  Molly had helped to edit the draft, along with several other artistically-inclined girls.  The version that would be printed, they left alone in order to leave less evidence, but the one that would be presented via projector was their target.  On it, they made gradually-increasing modifications: at the first, so minor that almost no one would notice, like editing one face per photograph to replace it with one in the throes of passion, or leaving nearly-transparent watermarks in the shape of genitalia (hypocrites, Theo thought to himself, to have so disregarded his art earlier), and then, including items among lists that would likely pass by unobserved or be dubiously questioned, like adding “BIO-169: The Kama Sutra and You” and “ART-332: Finger-Painting the Human Form” to the course listings.  The real climax, though, were in the last slides, which were heavy with images – typically the board members were the bored members by this point, even though the presentations weren’t that terribly long, and thus efforts were made to keep their infantile interest.  And these would certainly do so: each bank of photos would have one replaced with an image depicting one of the campus’s most notorious villains, like Mr. Kirkpatrick or Dean Grey along with some of the more two-faced senior students, in the midst of some raucous, licentious misbehavior (images that would be mostly forgeries, though with a few authentic ones acquired by devious sorority members like Alizé) – but, thanks to their computer-savvy cohorts, these images would only last for a few moments before permanently changing to another, more mundane one, similar in hue and composition but entirely innocent.

The effects of all this, Bouverie explained, would be to make the pompous nobility of the board to doubt their own sanity or perception, and to turn the university’s president into a nervous, sweating stutterer as he realized the modifications to the report as he was powerless to point them out without revealing his own failings in letting it be changed (At this, Theo crowed a laugh, remarking that it served the man well, since he’d heard the president was something of a pompous ass on his best day).  Also, it would sow seeds of distrust in all of the infamous rogues from the changing photographs, ones that had so harassed the students of South-East Kentucky State University, and, with no one else to lash out upon, the suspicious VIPs would likely blame those individuals, who were innocent in this but very little else aside.

And, finally, Bouverie explained, with a little distraction from a friend – as the caterpillar secretary famously had infinite patience and would listen to someone anxiously chatter on and on forever (here she indicated Harriet, who seemed to contemplate whether or not this was a compliment) – she had slipped into the unoccupied president’s office, and switched out the file for the presentation with the original, unaltered version, hiding all proof of their rascally sabotage.

“But,” Theo asked, unable to restrain the smile spreading across his entire face or his awe at this masterpiece of mischief, “how did you manage to get in to the office?”

“Oh,” Bouverie laughed, waving her hand before her face dismissively, “that’s the easiest part of all!” But she explained no further, instead basking in the applause of her three colleagues-in-chaos.

Theo sighed at her response, resigning himself to never get the answer to that particular question – though such was hardly the real reason for his sigh.  Instead, resting his elbows on the table and spreading his hands, he shook his head slowly. “Well… I guess that seals it.  I have no choice but to throw in the towel; you have me beat.” And he smiled at her and laughed loudly, his teeth gleaming in the dim light of the basement – and, with her lips pursed to keep her smile on a choke-lead, she watched him accept defeat with grace, drawn deeper into emerald green as he stared back at her with open admiration. “You inspire me with this, you should know.  I simply am going to have to try harder.” His smile grew wider despite his concession, and around him the three observers grinned just as big, sharing glances in celebration that their champion had won the first game.

Theo let them cheer her, watching as Bouverie preened.  He was being honest: none of his capers that he could recall would match up to something reaching so high into the halls of power and requiring so many extra hands to pull off.  This was a prank par excellence, and his envy mingled with his eagerness to race to challenge that new goalpost.  She deserved the title of Mistress of Mischief for sure. “I just can’t believe I hadn’t heard about this.  It should have gotten out somehow, been the talk of campus.  I mean-”

Something was wrong.  An off-note in the laughter, a pause, Harriet’s eyes going wide- chill trickled into his gut.

“Well,” Bouverie shrugged, idly inspecting one of her claws, “I guess the reason that you haven’t heard about it… is that I haven’t done it yet.”

Theo froze.  His eyebrow raised at her.  He could see, at the periphery of his vision, Harriet swallow a large lump in her throat.  He could hear a hissing in-drawn breath from behind him, and suddenly, Molly had pulled her phone back up and was feigning interest in its screen.

“After all,” Bouverie continued, “the game was Boasts.  And how many people tell the truth entirely when they boast, hmm?” And she met his eyes fearlessly.

He met that gaze coolly.  A moment passed.  Another.  And he could only hear, in his mind, a familiar foolish voice offering a confident proclamation: ‘One has to be caught to be declared a cheater.’

Theo Fayette leaned forward, eyes locked onto hers, and rested his chin on his hand.  He smiled – genuine and soft. “Well played,” he said, calmly – and it was that which caused a note of fear to appear in her eyes, as now she was the one being drawn further in, sucked into those emerald eyes and their glimmering warmth. “I say again: the game is yours.” And with heat in her cheeks she nodded, swallowing, before a smile to match his own spread across her face.

“But!” Theo leaned back, spreading his hands. “That was only one of three!  I still have a chance.”  He frowned, noticing something that should have bothered him long ago. “And, aren’t these supposed to be drinking-?”

“Punishment game!” declared Harriet, in a shout that startled most of the other occupants of the basement.

“Punishment game!” joined Molly, lowering her phone and beaming.

“Punishment game,” purred Alizé, with entirely too much focus placed on the first word for Theo’s taste.

Theo blinked, shocked into stillness as Harriet rushed up to the table.  Bouverie watched him with a smirk. “Triple Omicron wins the Contest of Confidence!” Harriet proclaimed, sweeping one arm to indicate the smirking blue-haired cat-girl, who tossed her hair as if she were sitting underneath a spotlight and falling confetti.  Harriet beamed at her friend with clear pride. “That’s our president for you!”

Theo’s eyebrow arched, and Bouverie cast a betrayed scowl at the chocolate rabbit with the hollow head, who, after a moment to recognize her mistake, cringed and giggled awkwardly. “President, hmm?” Theo asked, leaning closer to his opponent, grinning as he savored the unintended reveal. “I didn’t know I was playing with someone of such importance as the head of your sorority.”

Reclaiming her cool, detached persona, Bouverie shrugged. “You never asked.” Before Theo could tease her further, she nodded to Harriet once more.

Eager to make up for her slip, the hare pressed on.  “As she has won, her prize for winning the first game is to pick the beverage and quantity you both must drink before beginning the next round.”  Theo considered this, and nodded – that seemed reasonable enough, and would finally bring alcohol into the mix.

“Let’s start small, I say… maybe just a cup of tea?” Bouverie suggested, and once more Theo found himself on the back foot – especially when all three of the other girls hastened to comply with this request.  From beside her chair and behind some of Molly’s blankets, Alizé hefted a bulky teapot, while Harriet drew a lace doily from her back pocket and laid it out upon the table, which particularly amazed Theo, as he would have sworn nothing would have managed to fit within her back pockets and evade the inspection he had given her backside up in the kitchen.  Before he could hardly blink, the pot sat between them, and cups waited before both him and Bouverie – cups the size of bowls, better suited for soup than tea.  With the sudden genteel manners of a maid, Harriet took up the teapot and poured first for Bouverie, and then for Theo, likely draining the whole pot in the process.

Theo considered his cup, and watched as Bouverie lifted hers to her lips and sipped delicately.  Shrugging, he took up his – heavy! – container, and lifted it likewise, noting the lack of steam.  Well, that made sense, he accepted as the first bit of the tea entered his mouth; this was Kentucky, where iced tea was more-

Oh.

Theo controlled his reaction with perfect poise, sipping – slurping – the beverage, and letting it slide down his throat, even though it burned unexpectedly. When he lowered the cup back to its porcelain platter carefully, he exhaled an appreciative “Ahh,” as if relieved.  In truth, the drink seared its way down to his gut, every bit as alcoholic as he might have wished. “A fine beverage.  Kentucky tea, I would hazard to guess?” he suggested, naming the cocktail in front of him – though this one was especially heavy on its alcoholic components.

A note of genuine approval entered Bouverie’s gaze, and she nodded, impressed that he had gotten the joke. “I suppose the bourbon gives it away,” she admitted, and raised her cup to her lips once more.  A few minutes passed as they both drained their respective bowls, making faster progress than was perhaps wise all in order to return to their game once more.  Meanwhile, around them, the trio of spectators indulged in reasonably-small cups of their own, transforming this drinking game into an impromptu teatime, minus the scones.

Scones

Once both were finished, Harriet hastened to clear the table once more.  A pleasant warmth spread through Theo’s chest, and he offered his opponent a confident smile, reaching up to lift his cap to run his fingers through his curly hair in an old, pre-game ritual of readiness.  Bouverie watched him, the heat in her cheeks showing that the alcohol in the tea was likely getting to her a bit as well – it had been a rather strong version of the tea, and a deep bowl for them both.  Once the punishment game’s cleaning was complete, Theo let himself lean onto the now-clear table. “I suppose, since you chose the last game, then this one will be mine to pick.”

Bouverie nodded her assent, her paw open to face him in a gesture to continue.

“And I pick…” The idea that came to Theo was mad, simply mad, but… all the better. “Flirting.”

“Flirting.”  Bouverie blinked, several times, all hints of her smile wiped away. “Are you… sure?”

“You are challenging Bouverie, a Cheshire Cat, to a contest of flirting?” Harriet asked, incredulous. She looked over to Molly, who shrugged helplessly.

“I think our bold rival enjoyed the punishment game a bit too much,” Alizé suggested darkly. “He just wants to get the losing over with.”  She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Flirting,” Theo confirmed, and stared at Bouverie with a hero’s confidence. “Quickfire responses are the key.  The first to lose their cool and have nothing to reply with, loses.  And I will go first, just like you did,” he bargained civilly.

Bouverie stared at him for a long moment, and he could see her waver.  She didn’t want the game to end just this quick, after all.  But, finally, shaking her head, she gave him a quarter-smile. “Very well.  Try your best, then.”

“The second challenge has been chosen!” declared the herald, Harriet. “The Contest of… Charm, begins now!” She smiled broadly, especially pleased that she had come up with another ‘C’ word for this game to match the previous one.

And yet… silence reigned for several moments longer.  Theo stared at Bouverie the entire time, and his feline opponent met his gaze evenly, sparks of mischief dancing in sapphire depths.  The tension thickened, curdled – they faced each other like enemy gunslingers, hands resting on the grips of their pistols, reading their adversary’s face in search of a single weakness, a soft spot to aim for…

“You know,” said Theo, drawing his words out, “I’ve always wondered how much like a cat you Cheshires really are.” He smirked, and Bouverie matched his expression. “Tell me, if I run my hand down the small of your back, will you lift your butt for me?”

“Starting off subtle,” mused Molly from the sidelines.

“Perhaps, but it sounds like you are more interested in ‘doggie’ than ‘kitty,’” Bouverie replied, unimpressed, shrugging as she replied with the same level of circumspection. “We Cheshires like things face-to-face.  And, you should know, that is because we like to bite and scratch if it feels too good.”

“Oh, good to know,” Theo replied.  He turned over his hand to face her, palm up. “I’ll have to be careful, then, because I do take care to rub ladies the right way.”  Her eyes flicked down, to see that, while the hand gesture was innocuous enough, the fact that his index and middle finger were side-by-side and slightly curved added emphasis to his implication.

“Well, if you are still curious about the comparisons, I suppose I can reveal that an experienced hand might be able to make me purr…” Her eyes narrowed slightly, in contrast to her tone.

Theo felt a shameful blush rise into his cheeks – perhaps just the earlier cocktail. “Well, not ‘experienced’ per se,” he admitted honestly, since he had never had a relationship last long enough for such delightful intimacies, “but I’d be down to learn – or even go down to learn.”

“Enticing offer,” Bouverie replied, her eyes widening once more.  Strangely, Theo felt that he had somehow scored a point – she seemed to struggle more with coming up with a response to this rejoinder than the previous ones, and there was the ghost of a blush on her cheeks, which might also have come from the tea. “I feel much the same, but I do have a bit of curiosity of my own, first…” The redness deepened as she looked up slightly towards his green cap, her eyes narrowing. “Tell me: does the carpet match the drapes?”

Theo reached up to run his hand through some of the reddish-brown curls that escaped the prison of his cap. “I’m afraid not,” he replied. “Smooth as linoleum.  You see, I prefer to keep the lower grounds as pruned as a… garden on the moon.”

From her spot leaning against the settee, Harriet tilted her head to the side. “But… there’s no such thing?”

Theo pointed to her with a smirk and a wink. “You see, my gardener’s Brazilian…” The implication was true, even though it was a recent change and entirely due to a particularly vexatious – and hilarious – dare.  He was rewarded by watching Bouverie’s eyes widen in surprise, and despite herself her smile grew to nearly eighty percent. “How about you?” he asked smoothly, grinning as the Cheshire coughed. “I’ve always been curious about those hairless cats…”

“Damn, but you sure are a cocky prick, aren’t you?” Alizé muttered from behind him, with the faintest note of admiration in her voice.

“Does your mother know you speak that way, young lady?” Theo asked over his shoulder, meaning he couldn’t see the dangerous gleam in the succubus’s eyes behind her small glasses.

“Keep that tone up, and you’ll be calling me ‘Mommy’ by the end of the night,” Alizé threatened, in a voice like fire and honey.

This was enough to make Theo whirl in his seat, holding his finger up with his cheeks inflated in mock fury. “No outside help!” he scolded her, wagging the finger.  She merely smirked at him, the tip of her tongue tracing her blood-red lips.

Theo turned back to Bouverie to discover a new, hypnotizing light in the Cheshire’s eyes, and he wondered if she was just a bit drunk – or if he was.  Her grin was bigger than he had seen it yet, and she leaned towards him, offering another precipitous view down her top. “I’m not telling,” she answered, but she held one paw up for him to see.  As he watched, she reversed it to slide it past the edge of the table and further down.  His eyes widened as he watched her nudge her hand slightly to the side, realizing what she had just moved out of the way. “But, if you really want to know, you could look for yourself.”  Her eyes threatened to consume him in their chill depths. “Tell me,” she purred, “can you stand on your head?”

He swallowed – practically tasting the waters he was drowning in – but smiled all the same. “I’m a bit bottom-heavy for that,” said the broad-shouldered football player, “but perhaps, instead: can you sit on my head?”

“Which one?” came a quiet murmur from the blanket pile.

Bouverie laughed, and the furred hand returned above the table, to Theo’s lament. “A tempting offer, from a man with such a quicksilver tongue,” she chuckled, “but surely it must be tired from all this wagging already?”

“Trust me, I’m not all talk,” Theo assured her, “I have skill where it matters most.”

“Ah, of course, the big man on campus,” Bouverie teased, rolling her eyes. “Well, I can stand on my head, so if you would like to prove your boasting-”

“You misunderstand,” Theo raised one hand. “Of course, what you are thinking of matters – and I can arrange a lengthy privates tour whenever.” He glanced to the side and blushed as he saw Harriet drawing a new thick pretzel from the cup, this one larger than the previous ones, and beginning to upend it. “But that’s not the specific bit of my anatomy I meant.”

“Oh?” Bouverie prompted with a laugh, leaning in to what he was saying. “Do go on.”

In return, Theo leaned closer as well, resting his cheek on his hand, his pinkie covering the edge of his mouth.  He smiled, capturing her gaze, and saw her start slightly, as if he had brushed her skin with more than his eyes. “That – quite substantial – part can make a few places feel great for you, for sure.  But the tongue – with a little imagination, it has no limits at all!  Neck… earlobe… even the veins of your wrist. You cats have it right, after all – but I’m sure there are some spots even someone like you can’t give a solo tongue bath.”

Bouverie swallowed as she saw him look at each place he mentioned in turn, as if feeling the damp caress he was discussing, even as it traveled to places he hadn’t voiced. “I wouldn’t be so sure – I’m remarkably flexible,” she replied, in a voice that suddenly seemed a touch quiet.

“Perhaps.  Perhaps.”  She was trapped in his eyes now, and his smile bared his white teeth and beyond.  His voice was slow and faint, and she leaned closer to hear, her cheeks aglow.  “But… wouldn’t it be more fun to let me be the cat, instead?  To brush against you, to nuzzle… and to lap you like a bowl of cream.”  He smiled as he watched her shiver, and heard the faintest mewl from deep in her throat.  But even then, he didn’t release her from his gaze, letting his eyes speak for him now – letting her see just how serious he could make the offer feel.

For a moment that stretched – then snapped – then for the minute beyond, Bouverie was silent.  And yet he said nothing, refused to pressure her into a response.  Finally, his patience was rewarded.  She looked away with a blush, but her smile was growing – growing! past eighty-five, ninety… “He wins,” she said simply, not meeting the eyes of her sorority sisters either.

In the new silence beyond her proclamation, Theo straightened, ignoring the pretzel dangling from Harriet’s shock-widened mouth.  He allowed his own grin to spread just a bit further.  He had known this was the play from the moment that he had seen her blush, shortly after she had sat down at the table at first.  Bouverie was a Cheshire, but that breed of monster was known for its broad grins and incorrigible teasing.  Bouverie, however, held herself back, was much less openly sexually flirtatious – but those waters ran deep, and that meant the perversion in her depths was under even greater pressure.  He had played a dangerous game, her will to win versus her control, but he had still won somehow.

And yet, when her eyes shyly flicked to meet his, and his heart hammered at his ribs – he knew he was lost, all the same.

Clearing his suddenly dry throat, and feeling a heat in his cheeks that didn’t come from the last round of drinks, Theo glanced around at the other girls. “Punishment game?” he suggested meekly.

“Punishment game!” roared Harriet, dropping the pretzel to the floor and once more spooking the other residents of the basement who were still conscious.

“Punishment game,” added Molly, still shocked, on the brink of dropping her phone.

“Punishment game,” Alizé agreed with a frown, looking at her president over Theo’s shoulder, well aware of what had happened – what had gone too far, and not far enough just yet.

Once he recovered from the shock of the cacophony, Theo reached down to his pants.  Bouverie watched with curiosity as he pulled up one pant leg, releasing something strapped along his calf. “Emergency reserve,” he explained, “and my own, personal… concoction.” He drew forth the stainless steel flask, thumping it onto the table.  It wasn’t a large container, but somehow radiated an aura of menace, as if the sacred silver had entombed a cursed spirit just waiting to be unleashed upon the world. “Cups?” Harriet rushed to comply, setting out five of the smaller tea cups, and, after a moment of cognitive dissonance at serving this beverage in so fine a container, Theo shrugged.  He twisted the cap, and with a resounding ‘pop,’ the seal was broken.

Theo poured a portion into each of the glasses, saving a more substantial quantity for himself and Bouverie.   As the fluid cascaded into the cups, it gleamed in the pale light of the basement.  Once it was done, he sealed what little was left back within its prison, and returned it to its place along his flesh. “I call it ‘Mercury,’” he explained.  Each of the girls picked up their cup and glanced inside dubiously. “It’s, ah, moonshine.”

Bouverie decided there was too much of a hint of a question mark in that final word for her to feel comfortable raising her cup just yet. “Why?  It certainly isn’t because of the color,” she suggested, noting the absolute clarity of the fluid.

“No,” Theo acknowledged, “Mostly because it’s maddeningly strong.” He shrugged, and then looked into his own cup. “… and enough of it might cause brain damage.” And with that, he let the clear spirit flow into his mouth, wincing as it seared into him like a red-hot poker.

The girls watched him drink in horror, especially as he gasped, his face reddened and his eyes bulging.  He gave them a little smile of encouragement, which failed in its mission due to the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and the fact he was rendered unable to speak for a moment.  Instead, a look passed among them, seeking support at each stop and finding none.

“Molly?” suggested Alizé, who knew the mouse-girl was used to consuming beverages made of unsettling ingredients and with uncertain health effects, though this was no energy drink.  The dormouse looked at her with a high eyebrow, but when she looked at the imploring eyes of the other two girls, she shrugged with a huff.  With one final glance at her reflection in the depths of her cup, she took a deep breath, and then downed her smaller portion of the brew in a throw.  Instantly she went shock-still… and a moment after fell straight back onto her blankets, eyes rolling back into her head.

The remaining three shared a panicked glance.

“Pun-ish-ment.  Pun-ish-ment,” chanted Theo in a low, scratchy voice.  He glanced back to the succubus, singling her out.

“You know,” Alizé replied in a tone honed to a razor’s sharpness, “we can always make the next ‘punishment’ a bit more literal.”

“Come on, you only taste it the first time,” Theo cajoled her.

“Not helping,” she snarled, then upended her cup in a valiant go.  Immediately her eyes widened, and she beat at her chest as if trying to put out internal flames, coughing mightily.

As Alizé gasped, Theo turned his gaze towards Harriet, who glanced at her cup as if it were a dead animal.  Then, with a shrug, she dashed the liquid down her throat.  She reddened to a deep walnut shade, but when she opened her mouth, she released a throaty gasp, a sloppy smile spreading across her face as her eyes lost their focus. “Damn, that’s hot stuff,” she mumbled, hiccuping as punctuation.

“You get it!” Theo cheered in delight, his color almost returned to normal.  He turned his attention to Bouverie, who was still looking into the depths of her cup, her nose wrinkled in disdain. She looked up at him dubiously, and he offered her a gleaming grin.  Sighing and rolling her eyes, she tilted her cup heavensward, and he watched her thin throat work as the moonshine poured into her body.  She lowered the cup, but kept her face upturned, eyes squinted shut and mouth closed tightly as she focused on fighting the fire inside.  Finally, she released her trapped breath with a bursting exhale, likely cleansing much of the air before her of bacteria just from the fumes.  Her eyes were wide and a bit bloodshot as she glowered at him. “Is that stuff paint thinner?” she demanded hoarsely.

“Probably could be used that way,” he answered, shrugging.  Then, he smiled at her. “But it works quick.  Buckle up.”

She stared at him, and he watched her blink as if trying to get her eyes to focus right once more. “Yeah… I feel that,” she replied, her eyes narrowing. “But it’s not going to be enough.  You’re-  this last win is mine, you hear!” She leaned back, crossing her arms before her chest. “This one is for all the marbles.”

“Fine by me,” Theo grinned, leaning forward one more time. “Lost mine ages ago, so what do I have to lose now?”  And she smiled at him, ninety percent or more.

Sweets

“What do you have to lose?” asked Bouverie, her smile suddenly became just a bit predatory, her fangs gleaming in the basement’s dim light. “Why, more than you know!  Tell me, what is the difference between a man’s pride – hic! – and his pride and joy?”

Theo considered the riddle for a moment, blinking.  He was absolute dogshit at this “difference between a raven and a writing desk” kind of thing. “‘And joy?’” he suggested, pedantically.

“One is the most vulnerable part of his body – and the other is his favorite part.” Bouverie grinned, rocking a bit side to side.  Her joy was infectious, leaking out of her – the alcohol was doing its work, loosening the seal on her just as he had done so for his flask.  Theo could tell she wasn’t all the way free of her constraints, but he still had one round to make it happen. “And so that I can give one – or both! – of yours a squeeze, I declare the game for the next round shall be…” She raised one paw in a regal flourish, and, when nothing happened, shot a glance to Harriet, who mouthed “Oh!” and began to drum on the back of the settee. “Chicken!”

Theo raised an eyebrow as his head began to rock a bit back and forth.  “We are not driving,” he insisted.

“Oh, she never does, anyways,” murmured Molly, who seemed to have recovered from her stupor.  Instead, she was struggling to sit up once more, a blanket draped over her shoulders.

“She’s not driving, either,” insisted Alizé, motioning to Harriet, who was staring cross-eyed at the pretzel stick she was licking like a popsicle.

“And I doubt you have your permit yet,” opined Theo, who was forced to duck as something smacked against the back of his chair.  By the time he glanced back, something that looked like a riding crop was disappearing up the sleeve of the maiden’s dress, and she smirked at him dangerously.

“Not driiiving,” insisted Bouverie petulantly, with a frown.  She raised her claw once more, and Harriet began to drum again, until Bouverie waved for her to stop, since this one was a false start. “Not driving,” she began again, smiling at three-quarters, “Stripping.”

Soberness slammed into Theo, and he bounced off. “Did you say… stripping?”

“Yep!” She placed her elbows on the table, looking as if she were about to army-crawl towards Theo in her eagerness to gloat.  “Gettin’ naked.  Butt… naked.”  She grinned, maybe ninety-five percent there, and a shiver danced a merry jig up and down his spine. “Off with your shirt, and your pants, and your boxer-briefs.”

Theo frowned, not least of all because she had either guessed correctly, or had worrying amounts of intelligence on his wardrobe habits. “Is that it?  I know you don’t like rules, but…”

“Oh, there’s rules,” she conceded, waving one paw dismissively. “Simple.  We take turns taking a piece off.  First one to chicken out, loses.  If you have nothing to take off, then the other person gets to give you a dare instead – a place to go, still in your birthday suit.” She smiled at him, her eyes a bit unfocused. “Sets of things count as one, like two socks.  Any – hic! – questions?”

Theo sat there for a moment, sucking at his teeth, trying to mull this over.  Part of him was suspicious at how quickly Bouverie was showing signs of intoxication.  He wondered if she was exaggerating that in order to get him to let his guard down.  Of course, he was doing the same thing; he was swaying a little more than he necessarily had to, or at least he thought so.  He needed to be careful, think this over… but that wasn’t especially easy at the moment.

Count.  He needed to count.  He began a tally of what he was wearing: cap, shirt, undershirt, pants, boxer-briefs, and then the small things – shoes, socks.  Oh, and his flask!  He could use that.  So that was… seven?  Eight?  Shoes, socks, flask, pants, underwear… shirt and undershirt… seven.

He let his eyes flick over Bouverie.  She would have on four pieces for her main outfit, of course.  When she had flipped over the couch, he had noticed the sandals she wore, but no socks, so that was an advantage to him.  But she had the bell.  And probably some trick up her sleeve, too… so, seven.  They were tied.  But she would have to go first.  One more count, just to be sure…

“You realize,” he pointed out absently, “we’re hardly alone in here.” He motioned to the side, beyond the section they occupied, to the twenty-ish people occupying the rest of the basement.  He raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t mind all of those guys over there getting a nice view of all you have to offer…”

“Oh, I’m sure the other ladies in here will appreciate their eyeful, too,” Bouverie smirked at him. “Especially if your earlier boasting wasn’t just tongue-wagging.”

He offered her a grin in return, but the heat in his cheeks wasn’t just the work of the Mercury.  He could feel piercing gazes upon him, and a flicked glance to the side showed it wasn’t from anyone further afield – it was all from Molly, Harriet, and Alizé, who were already stripping him with their eyes, their grins glowing in the dim light.

“Fine,” he declared resolutely, trusting in his count. “Ladies first.” He extended a faux-gentlemanly hand towards the Cheshire. ‘I’ve got this.’

“Then let the Challenge of Courage begin!” trumpeted Harriet, pumping her fist as if cheering on a boxing match from ringside.

With a grace that surprised him, Bouverie stood from her chair, tossing her hair as she did so.  With a smile of challenge aimed at him, she reached down to her waist, undoing the clasp of the slim belt she wore, and pulled it from its place at her waist, extending out towards Harriet.

‘Belt!  Wait, no, I have one too…’ Accepting her taunt, he rose from the chair, realizing for the first time that he was more than a head taller than her.  Without breaking the connection of their eyes, he unlevered his own belt, and smoothly pulled it from its loops.  He pulled it taut, unintentionally making a sharp crack that made Alizé purr behind him.  He then set it on the table, daring Bouverie to make the next move.

She locked eyes with him, taking one single step forward.  Without ever letting go of his gaze, she slowly bent over that leg, reaching down to undo the buckle of her sandal.  Trailing her hand up that long, smooth leg, she repeated the process with its twin, letting him go – she knew he was watching, his breath caught in his chest, his eyes free to roam that toned, pale skin.  When she straightened again, she offered both sandals to Harriet, who dutifully placed them onto the couch.

Theo sucked his teeth for a moment, and then shrugged.  He didn’t know how to make such a show himself, and so he stepped on his heel, pulling his foot free of his sneaker.  Stepping out of it, he lifted the other leg to pull that one free, then bent to pick up the one still on the floor.  As he did, he heard a low whisper from behind him, and glanced back to see Alizé’s eyes locked onto his rear, a single pale hand extended out with her thumb raised as she communicated her approval to the others.  Molly, likewise, had leaned over, craning her neck to get a similar view.  Keeping himself – except, perhaps, his upper cheeks – cool, Theo straightened and dropped his sneakers onto the table.

Bouverie’s eyes flicked to his socks, and then back up.  She reached up to her left feline ear, and pulled free the small silver stud that pierced the corner of it.  She repeated the process with the other ear, and held them over to the March Hare, who took them and slipped them into her own pocket for safekeeping. ‘Earrings… I counted those, right?’

Theo’s socks were the next items to end up on the table, and he watched Bouverie as he placed them.  They were getting closer to clothes that would actually matter now – surely she would take off the bell, and then-

Bouverie reached behind her, working something behind her back, and when it clicked open she pulled it free. ‘A tail ring?  I definitely didn’t count that…’

“Nice trick,” he complimented her. “But…” He pulled up his pant leg enough to regain access to the strap that held his emergency reserve flask.  Once it was free, it and the Mercury it had secured joined the pile on the table.

“Oh,” Bouverie said, but her bland tone showed how little she had been surprised. “Well, in that case…” He watched – could do nothing else! – as she hiked the right side of her skirt.  His eyes feasted on the expanse of plump thigh revealed, only stopping when they reached the edge of – ‘A garter!  Damn!’

The lacy elastic band made its way down her leg, and she stepped out of it, beginning to reach it to Harriet before hesitating. “Unless… you would like to hold onto it?” she teased.

“Check back with me in a few more items,” he replied, frowning.  He was running his tally once more to see where he stood.  They both had the big four, but… she had her bell, and he had nothing else left.  Watching her toss the garter to the rabbit, he crossed his arms before his chest. “This is about to get spicy.  Ready for the audience?  They’re all going to make their way over here as soon as they realize what’s happening.”

“Perhaps,” she purred. “But… I get to see first.”  She waved him on, her eyes ready to pounce.

Shrugging, he reached up to undo the top few buttons of his shirt.  She watched him hungrily, following his fingers as they worked their way down.  Satisfied, he reached down to his waist, bunching the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head.  It got caught for just a moment, but he threw it onto the table callously.  Standing there in his undershirt, he waited for her examination to finish – and waited a moment longer yet.

Her pink tongue tracing her lips, she reached up to play her trump card, the thing that gave her the distinct advantage over him.  Her claws worked the clasp of his silent bell, and she pulled it free, handing it aside. “Why wear a bell that makes no sound?” Theo asked.

She grinned at him. “It was a gift from my father, but I took the tongue out – it was pretty, but I didn’t need anyone knowing when I come and go.”

“Fair enough.” He reached down for the edge of his shirt, but her voice stopped him.

“Wait, just a moment.” She turned to Harriet, and smiled. “Go ahead.” The March Hare nodded with a devious grin, and placed her fingers to her lips.

A shrill whistle rang through the basement, and, across the room, the other inhabitants of the dim room began to move as one.  The girls led their male counterparts toward the stairs, or directed bulky athletes to pick up the slumbering residents and carry them away.  Every one of them ascended the stairs without even so much as glancing towards the distant side of the room, though many of the monster girls wore wide smirks on their faces.  As Theo watched, aghast, the basement quickly cleared, until, just over a minute later, only the five of them around the table remained.

He blinked at the suddenly-empty room across from them, realization gradually trickling into his clenching gut.  This wasn’t just an ambush – it was a power play, from the sorority’s president.  Now, Bouverie had no male eyes to ogle whatever she revealed, while he…

He glanced around at the girls.  Harriet was leaning against the settee, biting eagerly at her lower lip.  As he watched, she drew two of the remaining pretzels from her cup, one she had gnawed to a nub, another that was untouched.  She held both up, glancing between them – and then towards him, specifically near where he had removed his belt.  Beside him, Molly had her phone up – but something told him that she also had her camera app up as well.  And… Alizé was watching eagerly, her fingers stroking the shaft of the riding crop she had allowed to slip from her sleeve.

Bouverie audibly purred as she rested her hands on her hips, thrusting her chest forward as she grinned at him, nearly completely.  Theo felt like a mouse trapped between her paws, now that her trap had been sprung.  He was at their mercy as the game went on, and the next move was his.  Still, if his math was right, she would be the first one to have to bare something private, and even if she didn’t mind her roommates seeing, she would have to do it in front of him…

With that small victory in mind, he met her eyes fearlessly, and shrugged.  His hands seized the bottom of his undershirt, and he pulled it over his head, more careful not to get it stuck this time.  He tossed it onto the pile, and stood, bare-chested, among the wolves.

And, in Pavlonian fashion, they eyed the raw meat in front of them with glee.  Theo was no wall of muscle like Josh or some of the older players on the team, but his leanness was still balanced by the definition that his time in the gym and practice field earned him.  He could feel their eyes upon him, and little shutter clicks from Molly’s direction.  He noticed her waving towards him, and he turned slightly in her direction – a few clicks later, and she nodded gratefully, allowing him to turn back towards Bouverie.  The Cheshire was taking her time, making trails all over, from top to bottom and side to side, before making a second lap, or maybe a third.  Her eyes seemed to slow down for the patch of curly hair in the center of his chest, and the faint bit of the same that lingered below his belly button.

Finally getting embarrassed, Theo cleared his throat. “Your turn, I believe?”

“Oh, I’m fine if you want to take another,” Bouverie purred, gaze lost somewhere around his abs.

Suddenly, a sound from the stairs distracted them all.  Clumping feet stamped their way down as someone emerged from the kitchen, precariously balancing five sweating red plastic cups. “I never did find that blue punch that you were talkin’ ‘bout, but I did find some blue Gatorade and Everclear, and I just poured ‘em over some ice and-”

Theo had never been so glad to see Tim Boyd in his life.

The gangly gadfly tromped closer, his eyes widening as he realized Theo’s lack of a shirt – and that Bouverie was also down her shoes and a few other articles of apparel. “Now what’s going on here?” he asked, a sloppy smile spreading across his face. “You should’ve invited me along if you all were going to be-”

“Her name is Kerry, and she’s a slug-girl.  She’s a transfer student from Ireland, she thinks accents like yours are adorable, and she talks slow too.  But she told me she was leaving an hour ago, so if you hurry, you might still catch her in the front yard,” barked Alizé from behind Theo.

“Gotta go!” shouted Tim, without even bothering to sit down the cups.  Before Theo could give voice to his complaints, choked by the betrayal, Tim was galumphing upstairs once more, leaving his friend to the tender mercies of the ladies.

“Good work, secretary Little,” smirked Bouverie.

“Ah,” sighed Theo, seeing things a bit more clearly. “Then, if I had to bet the bank on it…” He glanced over to Molly, who preened as her phone clicked again.

“And I’m the vice president,” acknowledged Harriet, leaning back against the settee, pretzels of varied length still in hand.

‘They feel less like a sorority than a gang,’ Theo thought to himself, ‘though I suppose I’ve met others just as ruthless.’ “Your turn, madam,” he reminded the Cheshire, who nodded her head in acquiescence.

“Now that we’re alone…” she said throatily, and Theo almost found it worth it to glance meaningfully to the three other girls around him to debate that point.  Instead, he watched intently as she grasped the bottom of her halter top and pulled it upwards with crossed arms, pulling the garment up and over her breasts.  Her bra, he discovered, was a lacy dark blue, which revealed bits of pale soft skin beyond, but those tantalizing teases were never enough to be satisfied with.  It also dipped low, letting the broad swell of the upper side of her breasts be open to the air, and his palms itched in a desire to feel that obviously-transcendent softness.  Her stomach was toned and lean, though not muscled, and her arms had only slight definition.  He looked, maybe for as long as she had – he told Time to bugger off once more – but as hard as he searched, he couldn’t find a single flaw, a single detail he would change.

“Like what you see?” she asked, and waves broke in her sapphire depths, a whirlpool of confidence and doubt and lust and shyness, and he was dragged ever deeper.

“I’m more of the hands-on type,” he told her, grinning. “If you don’t mind a brief inspection-”

“Flirting was last round,” Alizé corrected him, with the hint of a growl in her voice.  She had no intention of remaining patient for much longer, obviously.

Sighing, Theo let his hands sink to his waist.  He braced himself for the next step, knowing how embarrassing it would be.  Mustering the nerve, he reached for the button of his jeans.

“You know you still have-” TWACK! From beside him, Molly yelped, and when he glanced to the side, Theo discovered the dormouse was clutching a stung hand, which was glowing red from the lash of the riding crop.  Theo swiveled in time to see Alizé sliding the small whip back into her sleeve, otherwise the perfect image of innocence – if innocence looked like a Hot Topic teenlet with pretentions.

Theo, frowning, turned back to Bouverie, who didn’t meet his gaze.  Shrugging, he unbuttoned his jeans and dragged the zipper downward, then grasped the sides, letting them slide off his hips and pool at his ankles.  Fighting to keep some of the heat out of his face, he stooped to pick up the jeans from the floor-

“Damn,” came a soft appreciative mutter from the succubus, amid a fusillade of shutter clicks.

Theo straightened, folding the jeans with the steely composure of a marine facing inspection, and set them atop the pile, standing in his boxer-briefs alone.  Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed his arms before his chest in a show of confidence that was really more of a confidence game.  The basement was suddenly rather chilly, he lamented, though the blush rushing to his face offset the environment’s invasive touch.  He also felt distinctly uncomfortable with his backside oriented in the direction of that riding crop.

Beside the couch, Harriet’s inspection was focused and direct.  Her lips were curled in a sloppy smile and her eyes twinkled as she tapped her foot both eagerly and erratically.  Staring at unveiled secrets, she popped the nub of the pretzel into her mouth, then, glancing at the other one she held and then back to his groin, turned around to search her cup for an even larger one.

Bouverie allowed her own roaming to leave the borders of his boxer-briefs, her eyes squeezing his calves, brushing the curve of his thighs – then hefting everything the thin cloth enclosed.  Only when she had her fill – for a moment – did she look back up to him with a lopsided smile. “Oh, I think Alizé’s trying to get your attention,” she lied nakedly, licking her lips.

Sighing in grudging indulgence, Theo turned himself around to face the succubus, rolling his eyes at the staccato fusillade of shutter clicks. “Damn,” Harriet moaned.

“Damn indeed,” purred the Cheshire, and despite himself Theo shivered, feeling like she was right behind him.

Alizé was just as tactful as he had expected.  She not only stared, but met his eyes to make sure he knew she was staring – and then lowered to stare once more.

Eager to no longer be the single focus of attention, he turned back to Bouverie. “Your turn,” he grumbled, noticing that none of the other girls had given up their stares.  The Cheshire, though, met his eyes – and stepped closer.  When he didn’t step away, she did it once more, almost within arm’s reach now, and stared into his eyes – her smile so close to complete…

“Don’t look away,” he heard her whisper, and his heart – his throat – his eyes – seized in place.  Her sapphire depths pressed in on him, as her skirt slipped down to her ankles, and she straightened, flexing her back to stretch; never blinking, never breaking her gaze, until – almost-perfectly smiling – she glanced down slowly, giving him the freedom to do the same.

His eyes drank in the smooth, milky skin of her thighs, surrounding the thin dark-blue triangle covering her most intimate secrets, skin even showing at the sides of that geometric denial of his hungering gaze.  Her hips swayed as she rocked slowly in place, her tail slipping sensuously before her, curling around one of her legs as if to tease him, able to touch while he could not.  She was slim and sleek, feline at an elemental level, and he… ached.

“I think Harriet needs your, ah…” he managed to croak.

“No she doesn’t,” Bouverie called his bluff.  And then she slowly turned.  From behind, her panties – risque in their meagerness, frustrating in their existence – formed a smaller triangle just below the base of her spine where her tail emerged, with a thin strip of dark-blue cloth down the center.  Those perfect legs ended in a pair of cheeks for which ‘Damn’ was absurdly insufficiently profane.  He knew that he needed to look away, but he also understood that he had never understood the term ‘erotic’ at its truest level until this moment.

Bouverie turned her head, and watched his reaction, panting slightly as she saw what was written in bold upon his face.  Again, she licked her lips, and let herself turn once more, facing him directly.  “Your… turn.”

The quiet words jolted Theo, and he remembered the game, where he was.  It was harder to think now – the Mercury had sank into his system, but the tectonic drumming of his heart offered proof that he had found a much stronger intoxicant.  He was tapping his fingers on his hips through his briefs, trying to spend the electricity running rampant through his system.  But, she was right, and he needed to think.

He blinked, and realized he had, somehow… lost.

Boxer-briefs, versus bra, and panties.  One versus two, and it was his turn.  How… how had he miscounted so badly?

If he stripped, then he would be truly naked.  And if she took the next turn, she would be topless, but she could dare him, a full turn before she would have to match it.  He would always arrive first at a breaking point from here.  He… he couldn’t win.  So… why take the next turn?

“You know you can-” began Harriet.

“Ahem,” snarled Bouverie.  She glanced at the March Hare, who met her gaze stubbornly.  When her friend raised her eyebrow sharply, Bouverie sighed in a sort of surrender. “Not… now, please,” the cat begged quietly, trying to avoid Theo’s attention.  Dubious, Harriet crossed her arms, but said no more, leaving Bouverie deeply aware of the three sets of eyes focused momentarily on her.

“I forfeit,” Theo breathed, letting himself slump. “You win.”

The room went silent for a moment, and perfectly still.  Bouverie watched him, her smile frozen, until she was certain he wouldn’t change his mind. “Then I accept my victory from you,” she said softly, sapphires sparkling, and stalked closer.  He watched her come, mouth dropping agape, as that perfect form drew within reach, leaned close to him, dampening her lips with her tongue as she craned upwards, and he lowered down to meet her-

And her hand plucked his cap from his head.

He could only blink as the fundamental mathematics of the universe ceased to function, gears grinding and then stripping, as if dividing by zero suddenly made sense and two plus two equalled orange.  He couldn’t stop blinking, actually, as he struggled to comprehend.  When had he- no, he counted his hat, but why hadn’t he – what was it supposed to – ?

And with her biggest grin yet – nearly-perfect!, she plopped his hat on her head, a trophy fit for a queen.

“I’ll, ah, want that back,” he managed, somehow.

“Of course,” she conceded, with a shrug. “I wouldn’t take away the hat your little cousin gave you.  The one in the fifth grade that idolizes you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he inspected her face closely. “You have good sources.  But there’s only one person who knows that here, and only one way that you would have gotten it from him.  Your blonde friend upstairs better not be-”

“She’s completely head-over-heels for him,” Bouverie interrupted him gently, reassuring Theo that the manticore flirting with Josh hadn’t been another of the Cheshire’s little games. “But I can appreciate a man who looks out for his friends.” And with a flourish, she took the cap off her head, and extended it back to him.

Accepting her words as the truth, he nodded, and offered her a wry grin as he replaced his hat atop his curls.  “So, what’s next?  Another punishment game, or-?”

She considered him, for a long, silent moment.  His heart chilled as he watched her grin fade, until all that was left was the slight smile that she had worn when he had first seen her.  Somehow, that felt as profound a defeat as his concession.

“We’re leaving,” came the Cheshire’s declaration, sharpened by a bit of cruel mirth, and the words pierced into Theo.  He was not alone in gaping at her as she walked over to begin recovering her clothing.

“Bou…” warned Harriet, eyeing her friend narrowly and tapping her fingers on her arm in an uneven uptempo.

The catgirl sighed as she slipped her top back on, and then looked at her friend for a long moment. “We’ll talk outside, okay?” she requested, but it still wasn’t enough to placate her allies. “But, I promise…” She glanced at Theo, and he saw her smile spread, just a little. “You’ll all get your turn to play, okay?” At this and as she continued getting dressed, she looked to each girl in turn, and something unspeakable passed between them in the minutest of nods, in a silent language that Theo had no means of understanding.  He could only see them nod, and see the beginning of smiles that were hidden as each girl turned to gather their things.

Theo rocked back and forth unsteadily, for reasons that had nothing to do with insobriety.  He felt tortuously betrayed by this sudden change in pace.  He felt like he had somehow committed some grievous offence that he didn’t understand.  What had he done…? Was it just that he had lost?  Was that all it took, to earn this… dismissal?  A turbulent sea of emotions swelling inside him, he reached out to reclaim his clothes, hoping that being physically covered would remove some of this sudden vulnerability.

He dressed in silence, and the girls began to walk away without another word.  Only one, trailing behind, offered anything to him.  He felt a small hand grip his wrist, and turned to see Alizé standing there, a strange smile upon her lips – and she winked one red eye at him, before releasing him to follow the others.  He found no more answers in that than he had in anything since the game had ended.

“Oh.  And one more thing.” He was nearly dressed when Bouverie’s voice called to him.  She was several steps up towards leaving the basement, and her smile was faint, but he stepped closer, not hiding his frown. “You owe me my prize.”

“Your… wait, do you mean…?”

“Tomorrow night.” Her smile spread, racing across her face even as she tried to hold it back, and there was something akin to a giggle in her voice as she leaned onto the stair’s railing. “My drinks are on you, remember?  Don’t be late!” And then she, and the others – they were smiling too, huge eager smiles with eyes that gripped him for just a moment! – climbed the stairs, and left Theo alone in the basement, utterly confused to what had just happened.

Alone… but not without hope.

 

Another Cup

The nozzle of the shower squeaked as Theo closed it, and with a sigh he stepped out and closed the glass door behind him, reaching for a towel to dry himself off with.  He scrubbed himself another time with the towel, before wrapping it around his waist and making a quick cinch.  He stepped out into his bedroom and glanced around at the general disorder, before nodding to himself and stepping out into the hall.  He had wanted to have a chat with Josh, anyway – and he had no idea where he’d left his deodorant.

As he walked through the living room of the shared apartment, another of his roommates passed by.  This one was the newest member of their household, a freshman who had moved in just over a month ago.  Ethan Yates was broad-shouldered and muscular, though not as much as Josh – instead, he was all hard angles and square chin, under neat black hair.  The rocky freshman was all but the polar opposite of Theo, though Josh – who had graduated from Shallow Creek, the same high school as the kid, just a year prior – assured him they had the same sense of justice, just different methods.  Ethan was stodgy and quiet, but after a little harassment Theo had decided to let him be on his own without much grief, realizing this target was too guilelessly kind and hardworking to justify even friendly torment.

“Heading to the library on a Friday, nerd?” Theo teased, his tone keeping the jibe friendly.

“Pretty much,” Ethan agreed, shrugging. “It’s a tough semester.”

“And somehow, most people get through it half-drunk.” Still, he shrugged. “Good luck, and say hey to Weston if you see him later.” That was another new member of their team that had graduated from Shallow Creek, a towheaded backup quarterback who lived in co-ed housing with his girl.

“Will do!” Ethan said, stepping out into the mid-day sunlight.  Theo watched him go, in full view of the door still in just his towel skirt, before shrugging as the door closed and moving towards the next bedroom in line.  This one was a touch neater than his own, though not to the same degree as Ethan’s.  Inside, the curly-haired miscreant grinned as he saw that his closest friend was going through a similar procedure as himself, checking his hair in the mirror as he worked the buttons of his shirt.  Josh seemed to have survived the previous night’s party well enough, considering the lopsided grin on his face, and Theo could hardly resist the urge to needle his pal.

“Heading out without me?” Theo asked, searching the nearby dresser for the item he had come out to find.  Sure enough, by a small photo of a younger Josh standing next to his dad and ruffling the hair of a scrawny younger brother by a trio of four-wheelers, stood the other athlete’s deodorant, which had a better scent than Theo’s own, typically.  Uncapping it and giving it a quick sniff, he kept his eyebrow raised as he watched the larger man jump slightly, and then pause before turning to face him.

“Yeah, I, uh…” Josh’s face was red. “Well, hell, you know by now, right?” He looked up at Theo with an apologetic smile.

“I think I’ve put things together well enough,” Theo answered with a grin, rubbing the deodorant under one arm.

“Well, in that case, I’ve got another confession for you.” Josh looked a bit ashamed, but he read his friend carefully as he continued. “I might be – just a little! – responsible for what happened last night.”

“How do you figure?” Theo asked, his eyes narrowing as he finished with the other arm and recapped the deodorant.

“Well, a while back, I might have sold you up to Patty, when I was bragging about some of the things you and me get into.  She’s pretty close to that group, so word got to them, and…”

“Ah.” Theo shrugged, and then took on a serious expression and tone. “Then, in that case, I have a small request for the next time you decide to share information about me.”

Josh raised an eyebrow, but nodded and waited.

“Make sure to do me justice, okay?  They obviously didn’t know how magnificent of a VIP they were dealing with.  No red carpet, no adoring crowds throwing flowers…”

Josh barked a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.  Maybe if you don’t lose next time-”

Theo smiled, but cringed internally. ‘Damn, I hoped that wasn’t public knowledge just yet.’

The moving boulder smirked at him, reading his face like his favorite picture book. “You seeing her tonight?”

“Yeah, going out for drinks – my treat.”

Josh whistled low. “Going to be expensive – those four girls are pretty much inseparable, so you’ll have a crowd.”

“Tell me about it,” Theo sighed, his mind racing over each of the four girls that had challenged him the previous night.  He dreaded seeing the bill to come.  On the other hand, he didn’t dread spending another evening with all of them… Bringing his mind back to the present and his own preparations, he glanced up at Josh. “I’m going to get dressed and ready to go out, but… good luck, hey?” He stepped out of the door, but turned to offer a grin of support. “You’re punching way above your weight class with that girl, and you’re not used to that.”

Josh’s laugh was loud and harsh, and he eyed the half-naked other standing half-through his door. “You’re saying that to me, and then going out with Bouverie Baker?” Rolling his eyes, Josh turned back to his mirror, taking back up his comb. “I’ll pray for you.”

And so the two friends turned their respective minds to their challenges to come, too quietly nervous to spend much thought on the fate of their comrade now – only on the girls waiting at the end of their paths tonight.

 

******

 

Theo’s car roared as it pulled into the apartment complex that Josh had given him directions to, and then grumbled into an idle, the sound reverberating off the walls of the building like a metallic heartbeat.  Taking a breath to steady himself – and a last check of himself in the rear-view, arranging a few errant curls sticking out of his cap – Theo opened the screeching door and stood up, looking at his destination.    Much like his own apartment complex, this one was newer than a lot of others, since it was offered primarily to those on athletic scholarships.  Theo had pranked some girls a few buildings away, and hoped they wouldn’t catch sight of him, but that was the least of his worries for now.

He slammed his door, stepping away from the car.  It was a patchwork monstrosity, wearing spots of rust like old scars and a mismatched paint job like a knight’s coat of arms.  Under the deceptive hood, the engine practically gleamed; he and his uncle had built it themselves, tinkering until they were satisfied it was as ferocious as they could make it.  Theo figured there was some sort of symbolism there, but he never bothered to figure it out; instead, he just savored having the perfect getaway car.

Tonight, it would be the chariot with which he ferried around the victor of last night’s contest, though he was already thinking of ways to reclaim his title from this beautiful upstart.  He hadn’t, ah, figured out any of those ways just yet – but one would come to him, surely.  So, steeling himself, he stopped to lock his car’s door and walked towards the entrance of the awaiting apartment.

To his immense surprise, there was someone standing against the railing of the stairs leading up to that entrance: a familiar slight figure with ravendark hair and round mouse ears, dressed in a different hoodie and tights.  As he approached, Molly Treacle turned her head to face him with a wide smile, her hands buried deep in the central pocket of her hoodie. “You’re early, just like she said you would be.”

He frowned at that.  Bouverie hadn’t given him a time to be there, which was only fair, considering his contentious feelings about Time, but… yeah, he guessed he was early, after all. “Well, I-”

“You know,” the mouse purred, though it was hardly appropriate for her species to do so, “I got some pictures of her too during the last game, last night.  If you happened to want them for a memento, that could be arranged…”

Theo reached for his wallet before he could think.  Pausing, he cringed, and withdrew his hand. “Perhaps I should wait until after I see what the bill is tonight, actually.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine,” Molly reassured him – in a tone he found deeply un-reassuring. “We’ll work out some kind of payment later, hmm?” As his eyebrow arched, she looked up the stairs. “Oh, here come the others!”

Sure enough, Harriet and Alizé were descending the short stairs towards them.  Alizé was dressed a bit more casually for the evening, though still in dramatic shades of red and black, while Harriet had opted for leggings – which displayed her impressive amount of leg with sublime skill – and a caramel-colored top that dipped low in the front. “Well, the prince arrives,” smirked the stunted succubus, as Theo tipped his cap towards them.

“Off to a boy band concert?” he replied, and her crimson eyes skewered him as her tight smile promised great, intimate violence.

“No, we’re going to a new bar across town, and then we’re going to crash at-” the March Hare began helpfully.

“A-hem.”

“I mean,” Harriet chuckled, paling as she glanced down at the wrathful maiden, “we’re going… out.”

“I… see,” Theo said, not seeing at all. “Aren’t you all coming with-?”

“Have fun,” Alizé chuckled, descending past him on the stairs. “She’s waiting for you inside.”

Harriet followed behind her, stopping to give him a wink, but turned when she reached the bottom of the stairs. “By the way,” she said, her face innocently bright, “how do you feel about pineapples?  Because I’ve always heard-”

“Come on, Harriet,” growled the sinister shortstack, who was walking with the dormouse towards the parking lot.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll ask you tomorrow,” chirped Harriet, and, to his surprise, she blew him a kiss before hurrying after the other two, drawing her jangling keys from her pocket.  He watched her go, as curious about her words as much as he enjoyed the view, before he turned to ascend the stairs towards the hallway waiting beyond.

When he reached the door bearing the number Josh had given him, he knocked – five times, then a pause, then twice – and waited, projecting an air of casual indifference he certainly didn’t feel.  Bouverie had thrown him more than a few curveballs the previous evening (and at least a couple of grenades), and now that he knew what to expect, he had no idea what to expect, and that… excited him.  And terrified him.

The door swung open, and Bouverie stood there, looking just as she had the previous evening – even down to the same outfit.  He blinked at that, surprised – he had dressed up a bit for a night on the town, and she was wearing the exact same clothes as before. “Come on in,” she said, with that tight fractional smile, and he followed her into her apartment, closing the door behind him.

The layout wasn’t far different than that of the apartment he shared with his teammates, though the girls had a much finer hand at cleaning and decorating than four college bachelors.  He hadn’t quite expected a table to be set out in the middle of the living area, complete with several tea pots and place settings, but he was sure it would make sense to him soon enough.  Other than them, the apartment sounded unoccupied, but something stood out to him as odd as she led him over to the tea table.

It was the carpet on the floor of the living room, thick and white and fluffy- no.  No, not carpet.  Towels.  Why were there so many-?

Bouverie spun to face him, leashing her smile. “So.” The declaration hung in the air, waiting for his next move, and he tore his eyes away from the layer of absorbency on the floor to look at her.

“We’re not… going out for drinks, are we?” he asked, suspicion dripping off his slow words.

“That was never part of the prize,” she informed him, raising one finger like a correcting schoolteacher.

He let his mind retrace that initial part of the last evening. “Winner gets drinks on the loser,” he mumbled hesitantly.

“And in return, I think, your drinks will be on me.  It’s only fair.”

He nodded, reluctantly, and glanced over at the tea pots. “And those are the drinks?”

She swayed back and forth, biting her lip in excitement. “Exactly.”

His eyes fell on the floor once more, and he knew he had solved the mystery.  He took a deep breath, and then – willingly, consciously – looked into her eyes.  He plunged right back to the bottom… he had never left, ever since that moment last night when her head had first popped over the edge of the settee… perhaps he never would, even as his chest burned for breath.

Knowing his lines as if they had been scripted, he let himself utter the words to begin their play. “And how, exactly, will your drinks be on me, then?”

She grinned – she knew that he knew, and he knew it – and she reached over to pick up a tall carafe of tea. “Let me show you.” And his heart clenched as she knelt before him, and he let her take his hand in hers, and hold it out above her face.

The tea was cold as it flowed over the skin of his finger, and ran in a rivulet down into her waiting mouth.  But that chill lasted only as long as the flow of the fluid, and then – she lifted higher, sucking the dampened finger into her mouth, her tongue twirling around the digit as she cleaned it of every last sticky drop, until she pulled away – her eyes glued to his the entire time.  Only when she let the finger slide past her lips and away was he able to breathe again.  Still on her knees, she looked up at him for a long moment, and then straightened.

Keeping his voice level – with effort – he managed a bit of bravado even as he felt his heart and lungs begin to work at lightspeed. “Well, that’s all fine and well, but if my drinks are on you, just know I tend to take big sips, so I’ll want a bigger cup.”

She smiled, fangs open to the air, and slowly – dragging his eyes with hers – glanced down to the beginning of her soft valley of skin, the press of her cleavage. “I think that can be arranged,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself to squeeze that cleft tighter. “But I would so hate to stain this outfit…”

Theo laughed, the chuckle-sigh of a man accepting his fate. “That makes sense, then, that you would wear it again tonight.  You never meant to keep it on for long.”

Bouverie met his eyes, and he could see her withdraw a little.  She still didn’t have faith that she had him hooked – not yet. “Well…” she began, with faux-casualness, “I figured I could give you a second chance at the last round of our game, so why spend all that time getting dressed up?   We could pick up where we left off, since I know you’re a competitive kind of guy, and that loss had to sting.”  There was mockery in her voice, and teasing – but behind it all was the insecurity of her truest offer, what she wanted him to take.

Theo looked at her, and Time froze at the edge of the knife of his decision.  He had a choice to make here, he knew – maybe more than one.  He had spent most of the hours since she had climbed out of that basement thinking on just this moment, on her and how she worked; it was rare any topic kept his interest that long, but he knew nothing would have changed had he instead been forced to wait whole days for this.  Bouverie was a specific sort of Trouble: she planned, she plotted, she was the control in the middle of the chaos.  She wasn’t like him, since he preferred to be bold and impulsive.  He could see that she had planned this all out to get exactly what she wanted, a script that would end precisely where she wanted it to – taunting and teasing him until he had to give in, had no choice but to surrender.  But he didn’t have to follow that script – because he wanted this to be his choice, just as much as hers.

“No.” At the sound of Theo’s voice, Bouverie blinked, and her expression immediately fell.  His face was unreadable, his word cold, and when he looked down at her, he could see the uncertainty in her gaze – the need, the fear, the aching, behind all the schemes and facades. “You’re right that I’m usually competitive… but not always.” She looked at the brink of panic, and her hands raised as if to reach out to grab hold of him. “Really, at my heart of hearts…” He stared into her eyes, and the world was blue, blue, blue. “I’m more of a team player.”

She blinked, not certain what he meant – suspecting, but not willing to hope just yet.  She swallowed, shivering, and he could see her draw closer, desperate to seize this dream. “Then… a team!  Is… is that… what you want us to-?”

      He was at the bottom of that sapphire ocean, and he was out of breath.  Darkness seized at his vision, but even now he could try to swim out, to escape, though he doubted he could make it away even if he did.  He had a choice, a chance, but… He opened his mouth just slightly, and breathed in his forever, inhaled every sapphire drop of all he would ever want.

He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers.

She didn’t resist, but she didn’t cooperate either, at first.  Instead, she froze – her plans shattered, her control lost.  But there was a mewl deep in her throat, a sobbing cry of relief, and he felt her arms wrap around his neck, not embracing but clinging to him, and then she kissed him back.  It was a sloppy, clumsy kiss – and not just because of their mutual inexperience, but also because of their repressed need erupting volcanically.  They were in no rush to separate, wanting to drink deep of this confirmation that yes, yes, this was right and what they both craved – that it hadn’t just been a game.  Finally they drifted apart, chests heaving, staring at each other in mute amazement, and then-

She smiled.  Fully, and then more and more, impossibly wide, ear-to-ear – all restraint lost, all masks discarded.  More than a Cheshire grin – his Bouverie.

And, with all control abandoned, she wanted more.

Theo grunted as she lunged into another kiss, and could only smile into it as he felt her reach up and pluck the cap from his head, flinging it blindly across the room.  With that obstruction gone, she tangled the thick furry fingers of one of her paws in his curly hair, using that to pull him deeper into the kiss.  He returned the favor, his hand on her lower back just above her tail, but instead of caressing downward, he pulled her tighter against his body, and her other arm tightened, until it felt like they were trying to squeeze themselves into the other.

They broke apart to gulp more air, and in her sapphire eyes, madness danced joyfully. ‘That’s nice, but your buttons poked me,” she complained, not at all caring so long as the problem was immediately remedied.

“Simply unforgivable,” he condemned them, already yanking at them, until the shirt – and its accomplice underneath – were launched across the room, draping over the arms of an antique loveseat that was sized for a certain succubus.

“You missed one,” she noted, already pulling her own shirt up and over her head, sending it cartwheeling into the hall. “Actually, no, let me get it.  A worthy punishment.”

The verdict was unanimous, and he watched as she undid his belt and the button underneath, pulling the mouth of the pants open wider despite the protesting zipper.  Her hands gripped his hips, and – he yelped as he caught his mistake – she pulled downward, her claws hooking the edge of his boxers and dragging them along for the ride.  Her eyes widened in delight as she enjoyed the dangling fruits of her efforts, and her grin spread impossibly wider.

Blushing, Theo coughed. “I think that definitely counts as cheating,’ he pointed out, even as he obligingly stepped out of his pants while peeling off one shoe, and then the other.

“Hey, we’re on the same team now,” Bouverie pointed out, but – still eyeing her prize covetously – she reached behind herself to pinch the clasp of her bra.  Then it was Theo’s turn to gape in slack-jawed wonder at what was revealed: perfection incarnate. There was only one way those could be more perfect, he decided – by being in his hands, right then.

“Hey,” she protested, purringly, “who said you could touch?” Despite her unhearted complaint, she sighed as his hands caressed her breasts, relaxing into his caresses.  They were rougher than he had intended thanks to desperate need, but deliciously pleasant to her – partially because of the naked lust in his eyes.  The feeling of his thumbs rolling over her nipples was also a treat, and she closed her eyes and let him do as he wanted for just a moment – but her eyes shot open as she felt his hands depart, only to catch the sides of her waistband. “H-hey!”

Theo grinned, his heart beating hard enough that it should have sounded like the thrum of his car’s engine, staring at the smooth skin ahead him as he knelt on the floor, his hands releasing Bouverie’s skirt – and the panties underneath.  In that delicious inverted triangle between the uppermost limits of her thighs was a small diamond-shaped patch of blue hair, immaculately trimmed, and all else was bare.  He smiled up at her, and she looked down at him, a hint of vulnerability mixed in with her eagerness and amusement.  “Here’s another cup I wouldn’t mind drinking from,” he teased, and she shivered, leaning subconsciously closer as if to make that happen sooner.

“One at a time,” she scolded, but reached for a tea pot (marked with a label stating ‘Drink Me’) all the same.  He straightened, and reached to help her remove her belled collar as she held the vessel patiently.  Now they were both suitably naked, with all the awkward eagerness of sharing that profound intimacy for the very first time together.  As he set the collar down carefully on the table, he turned to find her offering him the tea pot, and once he had taken it she wrapped her arms around her own chest, squeezing her breasts tightly together.  Aiming above the triangular depression at the top of her compressed cleavage, he tilted the spout of the teapot, and a trickle of the sweet fluid began to collect there, though she shivered as some escaped and began to wind its way further down.  Once he had filled the depression enough, he leaned in to noisily slurp from it, savoring her giggles and squirms more than the taste of the drink, even though it was a pleasant peach blend.  Between his efforts and the leak, the tea was soon spent, but he continued regardless, lapping at her chilled skin and delighting in the sweetness.  Once she noticed the tea had all gone, she opened her arms and eyes, watching as he delved further into her cleavage, licking the damp trail on his way downward, to the height of her stomach, down towards her navel…

“I think that’s all of it,” he lied as he neared her waistline, and she shot him a teasingly-irate glower as he straightened to replace the tea back on the table.

“Well, I can always arrange for that second cup now- mmmph,” she said, as he leaned in to kiss her, and his tongue danced with hers, sharing the peach flavor.  When they broke apart, he almost laughed at the unfocused gleam in her eyes, the hedonistic joy making her almost drunk, but her chest was rising and falling quickly and he knew she was too eager to luxuriate in the pleasure just yet.  Instead, she reached back to claim the teapot she had originally used. “What to drink from next, then?” she asked, looking his body over.

He subtly moved his hands in front of his groin. “Considering how cold this tea is, perhaps not…”

“Aww,” she teased, her smile still ear-to-ear. “I don’t think a little shrinking matters that much, but if you are sure…” She raised the carafe to the level of her face, and poured a line horizontally across his chest.  He shivered as the chill rivulets raced down his bare skin, and leaned down so she could lick each of the descending lines, though he noticed she left three spots for last.  She took her time with both of his nipples, hardened by the cold tea, before finishing the ascending lines, and then turned to the patch of curly hair at the center of his chest, ending with a kiss and pulling away to meet his gaze.

They hesitated there, but it was clear to them both that restraint was never going to be part of this game.  His eagerness was visible, and he had no doubt of hers either, and so he wasn’t surprised when she pulled him over to a towel-draped chair.  She sat on the edge of the chair, only the curve of her rear supported, and watched as he reclaimed the tea he had poured on her earlier.  This time, she pressed her thighs together, and gasped as he poured the tea in the triangular gap between her thighs and that diamond-shaped patch of hair.  He dove in to drink, but Bouverie did nothing to help matters as she quickly spread her legs, letting what remained flow further down – largely onto the towels on the floor, but partially along her lower lips. “Whoops,” she said without a hint of remorse, and she peered at him as she waited for him to repeat his earlier clean-up work.

Theo did not disappoint.

Bouverie soon was crying out loudly enough to disturb the neighbors, her fluffy fingers entangled in his curly hair as he diligently lapped up all the spilt tea, and more besides.  This cup had proven decidedly leaky, as it was quite wet down there, but he lived up to his earlier flirting – what he lacked in experience, he made up for with attentive effort, and she only had to guide him for a short while before he got the hang of it.  Still, she didn’t let enjoyment of his improving skill get in the way of her most fervent intentions, and as the feeling built inside of her, she closed her legs and nudged him off-course, and after a glance up to her face he understood why.

Swallowing – partially out of nervousness – Theo stood and turned to recover his pants.  Blinking in confusion, Bouverie watched him digging in the back pocket, but a moment later he turned to face her, a slip of shiny plastic in hand.  She extended her paw, and, momentarily unsure, he offered it to her. “I figured you would want…” he began, trailing off in slight embarrassment at his own presumptiveness, despite how much work she had put in to scheme out this entire festival of debauchery.  She turned the square over in her fingers, noting the circular shape encased within.

“Aww, look, so cute.  How dapper – a little matching hat for him, too.” Purely coincidentally, the condom was indeed green. “Let me open it for you, and- oh, oops.”

Theo blinked, staring at the claw that had pierced through the center of the condom.  He looked up at her, and she stared back, unmoving. “You wouldn’t have any more, would you.”  The response lacked the faintest hint of a questioning tone.  His mind darted to the handful more that he had brought with him, in an overabundance of caution, but it seemed like she had no patience for prudence at the moment.  He had heard monster-girls were less concerned with pregnancy – it was far, far more rare for them, and usually considered a huge blessing – but her eagerness both excited and terrified him.

“Ah, no?”

Bouverie offered him a brilliant smile and a callous shrug. “Oh, well.” He watched her bite her lip and spread her legs in a clear invitation, and with anticipation making his heart nearly hammer its way free of his ribs, he walked closer.

Suddenly, his mouth was dry, and he paused… froze.  Internally, he raged at himself – he was a Prince of Pranks, a Margrave of Mischief – so why now, at this crucial moment, was he losing all of his nerve?  Where had his boldness, his impulsiveness, fled to now?  But… what if he messed up?  Hurt her?  Disappointed her?  What if he wasn’t as good as she deserved?

Theo met her eyes, and saw her smile soften – not shrinking, only showing that she understood.  He breathed in, drawing strength from what he saw there – it was a word, an emotion, neither of them were ready for just yet, but already their hearts knew exactly what they were feeling – and stepped even closer, ready to give her his all.

Bouverie squeaked a giggle as he swept her into his arms, but nuzzled into his neck, peppering it with nipping kisses that tickled enough to threaten his grip on her. “Bedroom?” he asked simply, and she pointed down the hall.  By the time he shouldered open her door – her room was surprisingly orderly and luxurious, albeit with a reliance on shades of deep blue and purple and a playing card motif – she was furiously trying to trip him up, nibbling on his earlobe as one of her fingers rubbed at his nipple and the other hand lightly clawed at his back.  He, as delicately as he could manage with her breathy moaning in his ear, laid her out upon the bed, and she quickly settled, offering him even better access than before.

He stared down at her, and she up at him; her arms extended, an offered embrace, and with a smile he sank down onto her, drawn into her grasp.  Swallowing his nervousness, he reached down to take himself in hand, and – with a little guidance from Bouverie – he found where he was meant to be, and pressed himself slowly into her.  He went as slowly as he could, though it was harder than he had expected, and her inverse hiss made him freeze in place for a moment.  Her encouraging smile and the pin-pricks of her claws on his back as she faintly kneaded at him told him that it was okay to continue, and so he gradually pressed deeper and deeper into her, rocking himself minutely even as the incredible sensations gnawed at the foundations of his restraint.

That restraint soon crumbled, once he had reached his furthest extent – punctuated by an unabashed moan from Bouverie – and he found himself picking up pace, his reason fading away in the face of a pleasure and joy he had never expected to exist.  Bouverie was a vocal partner – not just helping him to find what felt best for her, but loudly spurring him on when he gave it to her – and again and again their lips found each other; with words becoming harder to form, those kisses were the only means for their lips to share how good this felt.

Theo had his pride, and wanted this to last forever, but in the face of this transcendent ecstasy, he could only manage to hold on for so long.  Still, he fought to last – for her, so she might feel the same release that was threatening to crash over him.  And so he reached between them, his fingers finding the nub that made her jump and yowl, and he rubbed it in circles as his hips mechanically pressed him into her.  She looked up at him, and he could tell that his earlier efforts in front of her chair were going to pay off: she was reaching her limits just as quickly as he was.

Still, that realization – and her clenching grasp on him – pressed him faster towards the end, and he fought to distract himself, screwing his eyes closed as to not see Bouverie’s beautiful face awash in pleasure.  He even resorted to thinking up lists – lists! – as a way of taking his brain away from the warm crush of rapture that was sending waves of shivers up his spine.  But suddenly, he felt a convulsing spread of piercing pains on his back – too late to stop what was inevitable, but enough to bring his eyes shooting open.

Bent over her, their faces close, their eyes wide, they stared into each other in a recursive reflection: blue reflected in green reflected in blue reflected in-

And their worlds came apart at the same moment, and they collapsed into each other, bodies and hearts and souls.

By the time either of them could think once more, by the time the world outside them reasserted its existence, they were both panting and suddenly exhausted, as if this release had taken every bit of energy from them.  Theo carefully let himself roll off of her, and he had barely settled on his back when she pressed against him, claiming his shoulder as her pillow.  He glanced down at her, and saw her staring up at him with her broadest smile, and in her eyes he could read what she saw that made her smile so: Her Theo.

They didn’t speak for a long time, letting their hearts slow and their nerves recover from the surge of sensation.  All the while, they learned the feel of each other – she found the perfect place to rest her face, and he learned the scent of her hair, the way that she purred when she rested and the way her paw kneaded at his skin.  Every now and then, she would reach up to play with his hair, and he let his hand stroke hers, which she clearly enjoyed from her deep, rumbling purr.

Theo let his mind rest – it never had before, had always raced and cavorted, but now it understood peace.  He was aware of what this all meant: monster girls mated for life, and from now on they would be a team.  Whatever plans they had both had for their lives ahead of this, now they would share them, shape them around each other.  He felt like that should probably cause him a little anxiety, but it didn’t; he’d never bothered trying to plan out his future in any great detail anyways, but he could tell that she was the sort to do that, and together they could work it out.  He bent his neck to kiss the top of her head, and she looked up at him, mirroring his contentment.

A short while later, she stretched, pressing her softness against him. “What time is it?” she asked, and he merely chuckled in reply. “Fine, then, I’ll check,” she teasingly groused… and then glanced at her naked wrist.

“What does it say?” he asked, playing along.

“Looks like it’s a few minutes before ‘Time for a Second Round,’” she replied, meeting his gaze with mischief gleaming in sapphire.

Theo laughed out loud, rolling to face her, pulling her body taut against his own. “Who am I to disagree with Time?”

 

A New Blend

It was almost noon when Harriet pulled back into the parking lot of their apartment, and she wasn’t surprised to see Theo’s mottled car still sitting where it had been when they had left the previous evening.  She glanced over at the other two girls in the car, and Alizé and Molly grinned back at her.  They were eager to hear how the previous night had gone, but knowing that Theo was still there was a very promising suggestion that it had gone according to plan.

The doors to the car slammed behind them, and the girls hastened across the parking lot, eager to see the results of their efforts for themselves.  Each of them had their own predictions for what they would find: Molly assumed the new couple would be passed out asleep after a night of carousing, Harriet figured that they would still be at it hot and heavy, and Alizé had decided that Bouverie would be lounging on the couch while Theo served her delicacies in the nude.  Pausing before their door, they shared a glance, bracing themselves to discover who was right.

They were not prepared for what they would find – which was all of these, and none.

As the door swung open, a figure paused in the middle of its flight though the living room, its desperate search for what it needed.  The person was ‘dressed’ in a frilly blue and white dress with a lacy white apron in front, all of which had been nearly-completely unstrung so it could somewhat fit upon the broad frame of its wearer, although even then it only covered the front.  The person half-in the dress was otherwise nude, which was hinted at by the fact that the skirt failed to entirely cover what it really needed to.  Beyond the maidenly apparel, he also wore hints of make-up: lumpy patches of rouge on the cheeks and a smear of lipstick.

Theo Fayette blinked at the three girls standing in the door, and, with a piercing falsetto, covered himself with maidenly humility and shrieked.

Before any of them could speak, another person raced out of the hallway.  This person also wore a dress that didn’t quite fit, especially about the chest, but this one was black and red.  She also wore a sparkling tiara, and had splotches of red splattered across her skin, heart-shapes drawn in lipstick along with the repeated shape of lips that matched Theo’s.  She also hefted a plastic yard flamingo above her head, and was swinging it and chanting, “Off with your dress! Off with your dress!”  And, more than anything else, she was smiling – grinning bigger than they, her friends since first grade, had ever seen before.  Even as she saw them standing there, and saw what they saw, she beamed uncontained joy, and laughed loud enough to shock them all.

“That,” Alizé snarled, “is my dress.”

“Which one?” Harriet asked, leaning down and turning her head slightly to peek at what was emerging from beneath the white ruffles of Theo’s skirt.

“Both of them,” smirked Molly, and dodged a swat from the age-locked succubus.

“Looks like you had fun,” commented Harriet, nearly bent horizontally in her intrigued efforts to peer further underneath the football player’s ruffled skirts. “O-oh – lots of fun.”

Behind Theo, Bouverie nodded enthusiastically.  Both she and Theo had dark circles under their eyes, since they had slept only sporadically throughout the night.  They had made a game of it: whoever woke up first got to choose how they woke the other, and so they had settled for cat naps, sleeping lightly to avoid the more ingenuitive efforts of their respective lover.  That was why Bouverie still had a dab of dried whipped cream on her nose – and more in a few more intimate areas – and was probably why Theo was in Alizé’s dress.  They were both exhausted, and sore – but the exhilaration was clear in their eyes, and it was clear this game would continue until they were both so physically spent that they were forced to pass into a long, deep sleep.

Even though his cheeks burned from Harriet’s continuing examination (as well as his embarrassment at his current attire), Theo faced the three newcomers with an intense smile. “Bou was telling me last night about what Triple Omicron is really about for you girls – a chance to set things right on campus, to make things better for everyone in ways that the administration never can.  I think I can help with that.” He proudly planted his fists on his hips, standing heroically with chin lifted. “While I can’t join your sorority for some dumb reason or other-” At this all four girls pointed to what was hanging from beneath the skirts of his dress – “I’ve decided that I will instead become your champion!  Someone not officially connected to you, who can help you on your quest for campus justice!” At this, he planted his foot on top of the couch next to him, taking an even more audacious stance – which tragically left him even more open to the elements.  Deciding to play along, Bouverie mocked swooning at his side, slumping onto the ruffled towels but looking above her with mischief in her eyes. “And so, whenever you need some blowhard humiliated, some fraternity exposed, some- oh, Bou, please stop that -” Beneath him, catlike, Bou was swatting upwards at a dangling pair of cat toys beneath his skirts, which was strange and embarrassing and not exactly pleasant for him, yet he continued in a strident cry, “then I will be there to be your hero!”

And, as he said this, the door to the apartment swung open, and another man walked in, speaking in a powerful, aristocratic voice. “Bouverie, dear, please tell me that you are getting ready.  The Alumni Association luncheon is in an hour, and your mother and I-” And he froze, eyes locked upon the football player in rouge and lipstick with his junk hanging out of a schoolgirl-styled dress, and Bouverie beside him, her paw up those skirts.

Theo’s eyes widened as he recognized the man.  He had seen his portrait before, in the student center.  He was a broad-shouldered man with dark hair and deep blue eyes, along with a neatly-trimmed moustache.  He did not have curving, penis-shaped horns and a forked tongue – such had been Theo’s additions to the painting, when he had snuck into the center after hours dressed as a ninja – but he did have the same intense expression.  Theo’s mind flicked to the placard that had been under the portrait, which had proclaimed him to be Dr. Louis C. Baker, President, and a football-sized lump of ice formed in his stomach. Baker?

‘Oh, shit.’

The man’s voice rose an octave as he shook free of his shock. “Bouverie?  Bouverie, please tell me- Bouverie, do you know who this man is?” The president of South-East Kentucky State University shook a damning finger in Theo’s direction. “He’s the one who painted glow-in-the-dark penises on half of the statues on campus!  He’s-”

“I think,” Theo interrupted, unwisely, “you still have to say, ‘allegedly.’”

Dr. Baker’s sapphire eyes hardened to a razor’s edge. “Do you know how many rules you have broken, just by being here?  I should-”

“Dad,” wheedled Bouverie, still wearing her wide smile as she approached her father, “you always said you wanted me to find a young man who was intelligent and driven.  Well…”

Theo smiled at the compliment, even as the president turned a livid shade of crimson, a shout surging up his throat.  Meanwhile, Molly grabbed his hand and tugged him away, towards the hall. “You need to hide,” the dormouse insisted, as the shouting began.

From there, all was chaos.

In Molly’s room, the dormouse quickly showed him around: the pile of blankets and mats forming her bed / nest, a remarkably-expensive-looking computer set-up, and a half-finished sculpture formed out of energy drink cans with labels in languages Theo didn’t recognize.  The art might have suggested that the girl could have had a future in architecture, while the sheer quantity of emptied energy drinks suggest that she might have a future of organ failure.  The room was dark and cozy, if otherwise undecorated, and Molly led him towards the bed. “This is the comfiest bed in the apartment,” she promised, with a gleam in her eyes. “Don’t ever hesitate if you want to come in here anytime and take a long nap, or share some snacks, or cuddle-”

Theo didn’t quite hear the last word as the president burst inside. “And another thing!” he bellowed wrathfully.  Theo quickly discovered that, while he personally had no patience for lists, the president loved them: lists of rules, lists of punishments, lists of reasons that he should seek legal counsel.  Blame, too, was one of his personal favorites.  Bouverie, meanwhile, was countering her father with a list of reasons why she had chosen Theo (“He’s fun and he’s caring and he’s an athlete like you suggested and he’s brave-”), which he found more interesting, but not worth the clear and president danger at this very moment.  Instead, while the shouting volleyed between the two, Theo found himself being dragged away once more – though, with greater anxiety, he noticed that Alizé was the one guiding him.

Back in Molly’s room, the dormouse contributed her efforts to assuage the president’s rage. “He’s a really good guy, I promise!” she added, though her words bounced off the wall of his bellows.

“Yeah, he was a lot of fun to play with!” Harriet chimed in, not quite getting the crux of the dilemma. “And he agreed to hung out with us on like an hour’s notice!”

“Hang,” Molly corrected.

“What?” asked the oblivious hare.

“You said, ‘hung.’”

“Oh,” said Harriet, blushing greedily. “Yeah… he’s that, too.”

And, somehow, the volume got louder.

Meanwhile, in the grim abode of the midnight-winged daughter of the shadows, Theo found himself staring into the crimson eyes of Alizé, who stood beside the ebon-covered four-poster bed that took up much of the room.  She smiled at him, and it was like the smile of a butcher who loves her work a little too much.  She nodded to his chest. “Take off the dress.  It’s mine.”

“Well,” bargained Theo, “you see, I’ve been looking for my pants since-”

“Take. It.  Off.”

Theo swallowed. “I don’t see how that is going to help my other problem, just so you know.”  The shouting was getting either closer, louder, or both.

“Well, then… at the least, I am sure you would like to see my collection of toys.” Alizé grinned, and the air chilled. “They all need to be broken in, you see.  Sooner rather than later.”

Theo froze in place. “No… no, I don’t think I would like to see-”

“Well, then, I want to show them to you.” Alizé walked to a locked cabinet, and pulled off one of her bracelets that had a key dangling from its band. “I think you’ll enjoy them all a great deal.”

“No… no, I don’t think I’ll enjoy them-” Theo stopped as the doors opened, and his eyes widened at the horror show within.  The collection gleamed, glistened, and menaced: rope and metal and leather and wood and translucent plastic that visibly wobbled.  None of the toys looked particularly delightful to him.

“Now, let’s see…” growled Alizé hungrily, reaching into the cabinet for a decidedly- unpleasant- looking example. “Let’s see how loud this one will make you-”

The door burst open, and the president stormed in. “You should know,” he declared vengefully, “that I have the right to reconsider your athletic-” Dr. Baker’s eyes fell on the opened cabinet, and he made an incoherent cry as his eyes bulged in alarm.

Theo took that as his cue to escape, but didn’t make it far.  Back in the living room, a new person was standing alongside Bouverie, and the resemblance was immediately apparent.  Mrs. Baker had purple fur, and within her shape-hugging formal gown she was generally more rounded and soft-looking, but the mischief in her amethyst eyes was entirely too familiar.  She offered Theo a warm smile that put him at ease immediately, though her eyes falling downward reversed much of that effect. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Baker,” he said politely, with his winningest smile, “it’s an absolute pleasure.”

“Indeed,” she said, and showed that she had a smile like her daughter’s.

“Please forgive me, I would love to chat and get to know you better, but…”

“Oh, my dear, I entirely understand.  I’ll accept a rain check, considering the circumstances – perhaps dinner at our place later this coming week?” Her eyes sparkled, and she absent-mindedly tapped a long-stemmed cigarette holder against her hip. “I’m sure Louis will have settled down by then.”

At the reminder, Theo paled, and when Harriet grabbed his arm and pulled him away, he let himself be dragged along. “N-nice to meet you-!”

Mrs. Baker leaned so she had a better view of him retreating down the hall in his backless dress.  Once the door to Harriet’s room slammed, she glanced to Bouverie with a grin. “You weren’t kidding about him being a ‘tight end.’”  Bouverie smiled even wider, nodding in self-satisfaction.

Once ensconced in Harriet’s room, Theo looked around for an exit, but the – surprisingly-girly and plush – room had no other exits, except for a window that was largely blocked by a fan.  Confused, he looked to the March Hare, his alarm growing. “Where am I supposed to go?” he asked, and she blushed, tapping her foot erratically.

“Well,” she said, her eyes tracing him, “I just wanted to invite you in, so you know where I sleep, in case you ever want to…” She looked to him meaningfully, and he looked back in confusion. “You know…” Still confusion. “Go down the rabbit hole.”

His eyes widened, and as the last puzzle piece fell into place, he realized just how inseparable these girls – and now him – truly were.  This was even more Trouble than he had planned on, and – at any other moment than now, he would be ecstatic and terrified and intrigued, all at once.

But right now, he could hear the conversation going on just outside the door.

“Dear, please!  Surely, if they used protection, then the imprinting doesn’t count, right?” The president sounded like he was on the verge of hysteria.

“Darling, you know-” Mrs. Baker had studiously kept her eyes on her husband, but Bouverie’s gaze betrayed her, and when her father followed that trail, he discovered the skewered green square lying on the floor, a soldier cut down tragically before the first shots could be fired.  Even through the door, Theo could hear the president make a sound rather like a giraffe choking on a grapefruit, and then all went quiet.

“Maybe another time?” Theo responded to Harriet, who was biting her lip and reaching for the skirt of his borrowed dress, and he almost felt relieved when the door burst open and Bouverie rushed inside, throwing his pants (which she had hidden under the sink around midnight) at him in her rush.

“Get dressed, we have to go,” she said breathlessly. “Dad is calling campus police, and they’ll listen to him.” But she was still smiling, ear-to-ear, and despite his panic, he smiled back.

And so, moments later, Theo found himself rushing out of the apartment, shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the wind, headed for his car with a runner’s grace.  Behind him came Bouverie, laughing and grinning, already planning their grand escape, as behind them at the edge of the walk her dad howled in rage, phone next to his ear, and her mother stood smoking her exotic tobacco with a grin of her own.  Behind Bouverie dashed Harriet, Molly, and Alizé, barely stopping to close their door behind them.  Each of the girls wore huge grins of their own, as if Bouverie’s glee was infectious, and they were all laughing as Theo’s car roared out of the parking lot, headed for parts unknown.

Theo Fayette was having the Time of his life.

---

Author’s Note: For those who are curious about the relative chronology of this story, it is set in early September, while “The Wildcat’s Sister” is a couple of weeks later and “The Wildcat’s Rival” is near Halloween, and “The Sweet-Dreamer’s Sleepover” is in mid-December.  I have no current plans for a sequel to this work, though I do know how things go for them from here; these characters will almost surely show up in cameos in later works, like Theo’s appearance in Ethan’s story.

Also, I tried to include as many elements or variations on the classic story as I could – Theo’s conflict with Time, his quick and easy friendship with Harriet, Bouverie’s comments about standing on heads, and almost all of the names, except for ‘Baker,’ which is a reference to Gatsby, which inspired the persona she affects when they first meet.

I hope this story was enjoyable for you, and, if so, I point you to my other works, which span many different genres (beyond the chaos-comedy of this particular tale).  I deeply appreciate comments – it’s how I improve, and how I manage to write so much as fast as I do.  I look forward to seeing what you thought of this pranking protagonist’s path to pleasant pandemonium.

But, after such a marathon sprint to get this done in time for the contest… I need sleep…

~Wynn Pendragon

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