How Catgirl Bagged the Boys

Part II

It wasn't long before she found some. An hour or so of hiking brought her to the edge of a big lake. She was pondering which direction to take now when the largest otter she had ever seen surfaced about thirty feet away and then swam smoothly up to the shore. When it came out onto dry ground, she could tell that it was at least ten feet long.

She addressed it, as courteously as she could: "Excuse me, uh, sir . . . but could you tell me . . . ?"

Just then, the otter's ears perked up. "Hang on a moment," he said, then turned quickly and slid back, quite silently, into the water.

For a while, Catgirl heard only the chirping of some distant birds and saw only the smooth green surface of the lake. Then, about a hundred feet from shore, that surface exploded with a loud whoosh of foam and spray. There was the otter, clinging to something big and violently thrashing: a gray, dolphin-like tail. Almost as soon as she saw them, they disappeared. They burst up from the water once again, even farther out, and as quickly vanished. Then, for many minutes, there was nothing at all. At last, the otter surfaced once more, about forty feet away, this time smoothly and quietly. He had the gray tail in his mouth, just where it fanned out into two big quivering flukes, and he was bringing his burden to shore.

He came up onto land, pulling his catch behind him. It was a merboy, a big one, twelve feet long at least. The boy was blond, strongly built, beautiful in every way--and utterly, utterly overcome. His tail and torso trembled violently. His hands clutched spasmodically at his pouch, which was seeping blood. His stiff, pointed spur jutted out between his hands and dribbled pink cream as Catgirl watched. He was sobbing bitterly, his eyes red and full of tears.

When he had pulled his prey all the way out of the water, the otter released the tail from his mouth and spoke: "What can I help you with, Miss?"

"My name is Catgirl, sir. Let me say first, as one predator to another, I'm very impressed by your technique."

"Why thank you," said the otter.

"I mean--such a big quarry! I'd worry I was biting off more than I could chew."

"Well, I've been lucky there. Long ago, we giant otters developed an exceptionally strong venom. I catch my prey by the tail and bite down for all I'm worth. Then, if a minute or so goes by and I haven't been shaken off, I know the boy's been pretty badly weakened. I let go of the tail and climb up to the pouch. That puts an end to any serious struggle. Oh . . . where are my manners? My name is Otho. And, if you don't mind my asking, what brings you to the Bois de Berengaria, pretty lady?"

"I've been hired by the Berengarians to capture the Boys."

"My, my," said the otter. "That's a tough assignment. Good luck."

"I wonder if I might ask you for some information?"

"I'm not sure anything I know will help you, but you're welcome to hear it. I don't get much company these days. Just follow me to my den." He took up the tail in his mouth once more, and pulled the merboy (with no visible sign of effort) towards the tree line. Catgirl followed.

Just a few yards in among the trees was a steep ravine. Otho lived, and fed, at the bottom. He had captured another mer earlier that day--a handsome brunet--and, like the blond, this one was stiff-cocked and weeping from the sting of Otho's teeth. The otter lined up his new victim right next to the first.

"Now," he said, "what can I tell you that might be useful? Let me put it plainly right off the bat: I know the Boys are powerful, but I don't know what exactly gives them their power. I don't even know where they live, so I can't point you at them. That's not much help, I imagine."

"Are . . . are all the fays in this forest male?"

"Ah, something I do know about," said the otter, and he sighed. "Yes they are, and you can't imagine how tired of it I am. Just one tight little mer cunt would bring some dietary excitement back into my life. But I don't expect to see--let alone taste--another one, ever again."

"Why?" said Catgirl. "Why no girls?"

"That's the Boys' doing," said Otho, "about twenty years ago. They were the servants of an evil sorcerer named Torvald. Evil and negligent. One day, while he was sleeping off a night of heavy drinking, they got into his book of spells and found . . . something that would kill all the females in the forest. The Boys bashed Torvald on the head with a stone, then put the spell into effect. Within two or three days, all the female fays got very kicky. The dominant fay males were overcome with grief; they snuffed it a day or so later. Then, by the end of the week, the female fay-predators all died. Not too surprisingly, nearly every male predator left the forest not long after that. For all I know, I'm the only one left."

"The goal was to kill off the female predators, I assume?"

"Mostly. The Boys received an oracle once that said no hunter, only a huntress, could ever take their pants down. But (how do I put it?) they didn't have much use for girl fays either. And so, of course, they didn't like dominant males. I'd say the spell gave them a lot of what they wanted."

"How diabolically clever!" said Catgirl. "You say you're the only fay-predator left?"

"It certainly looks that way."

"Why didn't you leave?"

"Well . . . I was, let us say, unlucky at love in my earlier years. I'd gotten used to being a bachelor, I liked the location, and so I stayed. But I have to tell you, after twenty years it's starting to get to me. Take a big sniff of the air."

Catgirl did. "Fay cock," she said. "I noticed it before."

"Yes. Males can't reproduce on their own, of course, but the Boys are great advertisers: 'Come to the Bois de Berengaria: no yucky girls, no muscle-bound dominants to push you around, and NO PREDATORS.' So the forest is overrun with fairy immigrants, stiffening up and spurting every chance they get. I used to love the scent, but now it's a little cloying."

"I can see how it might be after a while," said Catgirl, though she hadn't grown tired of it yet. "It's false advertising, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you're a predator and you're still here."

"Oh my yes," said Otho. "It's a source of great bitterness to the merboys. They swarmed into the lake system here for fun and frolic. And then they met me. I can imagine the feeling: you dream of nodding off on the shore, alongside a boy as pretty as you are--and next thing you know, I'm the one putting you to bed. The poor things! They stay, because there's less danger here than everywhere else; but they all hate the Boys for their deceit."

"They do?" said Catgirl, and the gears in her mind began to hum. "May I speak to your, uh, guests?"

"Of course, my dear. In fact, let me be a good host here and let you have the two of them."

"No," said Catgirl. "That's far too generous!"

"Not at all. They're pretty as all get out, but not too bright; so I don't have much trouble catching them. I've already eaten my fill today. I was going to bring these two off tomorrow; but go on, they're yours."

"Why . . . thank you."

"I'll give you some privacy. We can talk more when you're done. I'll be back at the lakeside." And with that, he returned the way he had come.

"Thanks again," said Catgirl and approached the two bagged beauties. They were whimpering quietly now--still sheltering their wounded pouches with their hands. "Wh-what are you?" said the blond as she came up beside them.

"I'm Catgirl, and the otter's made me a gift of the two of you. I'm going to dispatch you both, very soon."

The boys shuddered and gripped their wounded privates even harder. "No! No!" they cried.

"Yes. Now put your hands at your sides."

"We won't!" said the brunet. "We won't!"

"Mind me now," said Catgirl, and the mers discovered they had to obey. With obvious reluctance, they let their hands drop. She could now see that each had a little pubic thatch--one of gold, the other of chestnut curls. (Otherwise, their faces and torsos were completely hairless.)

"That's better." She dropped down beside the blond and began to clean away the blood with gentle strokes of her tongue. He shuddered once more, and his tail twisted and writhed. "Mmmm," she said, getting every salty drop. She then looked at the row of neat little punctures on his scrotum. "Ahhh, a master of his craft! You've been undone by one of the best. I mean--so economical! Just a nip, really, here and at the tail--and you're in the bag!" The boy began to sob again in answer.

She then turned her attention to the brunet. His pouch had gotten the same expert treatment as the blond's. As she licked him, his cock--which couldn't have been harder--squirted a few drops of pinkish honey. "Not yet, beauty, not yet," said Catgirl and wiped up the efflux with one stroke of her tongue. "Mmmm, blood and clover blossoms!"

She had to get a grip on herself, or she might wrap things up too quickly. Pulling back by force of will alone, she addressed her two charges: "You miss the water, don't you?" Tears and sobs for an answer. Then: "Were you two ever . . . lovers?"

They glanced at each other. "N-no," said the brunet.

"But you could have been; isn't that right?" No answer now. "It's okay," she said. "If not you together, then you with somebody else. A lake to explore, and lovers to enjoy, and to enjoy you. Until this happened."

"Oh God!" cried the blond. "He came out of nowhere! Everything was fine; I was happy; I was going to meet my boyfriend; and then . . . something biting my tail . . .p-pulling on me . . . then higher up! He got my pouch! And I'm caught! Caught! I don't want to be caught! I don't want to die!" And then he just cried and cried, and the brown-haired boy cried with him.

"And who do you blame for all this?"

"The Boys!" the blond wailed. "Those . . . lying Boys!"

"And what do you think is going on with them right now?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Well, are their pouches bleeding, do you think?"

"N-no."

"Are their cocks stiffening up for the last time?"

"No."

"Are they crying their hearts out?"

"No!"

"Are they about to die?"

"No! No! They're not! They're not!"

"Would you like them to?"

"Yes! But h-how?"

"Tell me everything you know."

"Well . . . I . . . . "

"Don't!" cried the brunet. "She's a predator . . . she's an enemy!"

"I won't deny that," said Catgirl. "But here's my proposal. You're free to take it or leave it. Make no mistake: the story's ending for both of you. But you have some say in how it ends! I can finish things up really fast--and none too gently . . . or I can slowly, sweetly, tease the cream out of you. If I do, I'll give you pleasure no amount of cocksucking ever brought you."

"If we . . . tell you what we know," said the brunet, " . . . about the Boys . . . will you . . . will you use it to hurt . . . someone else?"

"I'm a predator," said Catgirl. "I use everything, every power or advantage I have, to bring down fays. And when it happens, they all seem to agree that it hurts. So, the answer there is probably yes. What of it?"

"I don't care," said the blond. "I'll tell you everything I know."

"I . . . I guess I don't care either," said the brunet. "But swear the strongest oath you know: that you're going to use what we tell you to. . . to kill the Boys if you can."

"Yes, kill them!" said the blond. "Make them cry! Make their pouches bleed! Make them go hard for the last time!"

"All right," said Catgirl, and she swore.

So the mers told her what they knew. The Boys lived on the big hill, just north of the lake. They had worked their wicked magic with a talisman of some sort. What sort? The mers didn't know, except that the Boys brought it offerings of human blood, every month or so. Where was it? Again the mers had no answer.

"Oh . . . one more thing," said the brunet. "You have . . . just a week from when you entered the forest . . . to capture them. No female can survive here for longer than a week."

"I'll have to keep track of the time," said Catgirl. "Now . . . since you've been so helpful, I'm going to help you. It stings to start with, but it gets nicer and nicer. I promise." Scarcely had she said this, when she knelt down and bit the blond's pouch, right where the otter had hurt him before.

His scream--high and ear-rending--must have carried for a mile or more. He clenched his fists and beat the ground with his tail. It was cruel, but it was necessary to prime him for what came next. Now Catgirl stroked the luckless boy's scrotum again and again with her rough tongue. The bite had shocked him into producing honey at three times the normal speed. Each touch of her tongue kept up the pace. Soon his pouch was full almost to bursting. Next she turned her attention to his cock: this she nipped and licked until he was ready to spout--and then she withdrew. She waited for the pressure to subside--and started again. He whimpered and groaned all the while.

She took him almost to climax about five times, relaxed the pressure five times. At last, she brought him all the way. Hot white honey exploded from his spur, and he cried out: "Oh God! I'm dead, I'm dead!" Then came another burst of honey. He had little need of her help now; quite on his own he spouted another four times. With his last discharge, he gave a choked little sigh, said once more "I'm dead," and was still.

"D-do you have to bite me like that?" the brunet asked. In answer, her teeth closed on his sac, and he screamed just like his companion in capture. He climaxed eight times. "I'm dead, too," he whimpered at the last.

Catgirl had licked up their come each time it jetted out. It was good, but she wanted a more filling meal. With the claw on her right index finger, she cut a slit along the base of the dead blond's pouch. Then she put her lips to the slit and began to drink in mouthful after mouthful of his fluids. Soon she had sucked him quite dry, and he crumbled into a heap of white powder. Then she did the same for the dark-haired boy. Such is the magic of Mythica that she could gulp down the essence of two big mers--and just feel pleasantly full.

She went back to the shore to join up with Otho--only to find that he had caught two more! Both were brunets this time. Lined up side by side, they trembled and wept and smacked the dirt with their tails--for all the good it would do. Otho was resting next to them as Catgirl came up.

"You're . . . phenomenal," she said.

"Not at all," he replied, though he seemed pleased by the compliment. "These two were making love on the shore when I came out of the woods. I don't think they really fathom how quiet I can be. Did you learn anything useful?"

"I think so." She recounted what the mers had told her.
"A talisman," said Otho. "One that requires blood. That's way out of my line."

"I know a little bit about these things. I've got a notion at least of what I'm up against."

"What you're up against may be more than you can handle," said the otter. "You have a week to vanquish the Boys. Wait too long, and you'll die yourself. That would be a shame, I'll venture to say. It hardly seems worth the risk."

"Well," she said, "you have a point. But there's the matter of my word. I made a pledge to the humans of Berengaria: I'd bring the Boys back, dead or alive. It's a business transaction, and I'm getting good money for it, but my word isn't just for show. And think of all the innocent blood they've taken for their abominable rituals. It's long past time to make them pay."

"Ah, one's word," said Otho with a sigh. "If one survives, one learns to be less generous with one's word. Will you give me your word you'll be careful?"

"Certainly, sir," said Catgirl. "I wonder . . . could I interest you in this venture? You're such a fine hunter. How about a sixty-forty split?"

"No thanks," he said with a laugh. "The Boys scare me too much. I've gotten used to things being just the way they are, and to being alive, and I don't want to risk anything at this point. Disappointingly cowardly, I know, but there it is."

"I understand fully," said Catgirl, getting ready to go. "Well, thank you for a lovely meal."

"Thank you for your lovely company. And be careful."