The Weekend Read online

  Bethany’s breath held briefly, yet at the same time she was trying to act all cool and collected. But when the smaller woman dropped to her knees and actually meowed like a kitten, like an actual squeaking, whiney, baby cat; Bethany could not help but make a cough that disguised something between a snort of laughter and a whimper of fear. How those two things came out in one sound is still unknown?

  The “kitten” crawled out of the room. Bethany now realized she actually had a tail sticking out of her leggings, and with further investigation the tail was coming from a hole in her pants. The “kitten” had a tailed-butt plug in her asshole. This was the first sign that Kitty Amour might be a club for those with a fetish of cats.

  The next sign came when she went into the main room and every freaking person was dressed like a cat.

  Bethany stood and stared… for a long fucking time. There was so much to believe, because she was having a hard time believing it. Her eyes could only take in so much. Her brain taking in even less. Front and center was the cat tower. It was a cat tower for sure. There was carpet all over it and toys hanging from strings. Though, this cat tower was not made for cats, instead it was fit for human beings. It stood tall, probably custom made in this two-story room. A man and woman, wearing cat ears and fury panties, were at the bottom of one branch. They played with a ball on a string. The two of them continued to meow with excitement each time the ball flew in their direction. On the next level laid several beds and curled up in them were different genders of “kitties”. The high corner branch held up a swing, a swing that restrained a woman in a very compromising position. Bethany knew the correct term for this was a sex swing. She just never thought she would see one in real life. Especially one with cat woman getting her pussy… umm… groomed. The top center pole and highest leaf, held a statue of a cat. It was shaped like that cat from those faux vintage French posters. The paint was a hand-sprayed gold. The texture was cracked. It was very possible that the tail fell off a few times. Yet, the low lighting in the room made you feel that there could be some value in it.

  Circling around the cat/human tower was a 70-something year old woman with a t-shirt on that read “crazy cat lady”. The old lady continued to pet the kittens and feed them little treats. The kittens responded to her like starving street cats. Fortunately there were no alley-cat-gangbangs going on. Unfortunately, plenty of other cat shenanigans were going on.

  If Crazy Cat Lady wasn’t bad enough, there was an actual fish tank in one corner of the room. Two middle aged women wore tiger print latex. Their muffin tops and rolls fought to push around the material of their clothing as they both sat in front of the tank, with feline-like interest in the fish swimming around.

  Her eyes took their final spin, when she realized a group of people were walking their “cats” on a leash in what appeared to be a cat show. One man in a bespoke suit was in control of a crop as he examined and judged these crawling, naked, human beings with cat ears. The kitties all flexed in their best form for the man and their owners ushered them in line. It was all a surreal moment, capped with a blue ribbon finally, as the winner was awarded with her very own orgasm.

  Her shock must have taken away her senses and time must have flown by in her daze. She had to be tapped twice on the shoulders before she realized someone was talking to her. It was Mrs. Madam- Leather- Trench-Coat. Standing next to her was Crazy Cat Lady.

  The dominant woman spoke, “Karen is going to take things from here. I trust that she can handle your situation.” Karen being the Crazy Cat Lady.

  “I… I, am not sure…”

  Karen didn’t allow her to talk. “You’re the girl my Bobby sent my way. I am sure I can help your situation.”

  Bethany felt a little insulted about her virginity being a situation, as both women referred to it as that, and perhaps it was, but what right do these women have calling it that. The insult led her to forget about her protests and she tried to stop the woman from continuing, “but…”

  Karen was already talking. “Bobby is in a committed relationship, they have their own kitty box and all. It is really hard to let them go, but sometimes you just have to cut the collar if you know what I mean.”

  “I am not…”

  “But then again they return licking their paws and begging to be petted again. I just can’t help myself when it comes to those that flew the coop but want a little master time. All my kittens are in need of masters some times. Which is why I am going to set you up with my little Peanut. He is such a great boy, doesn’t need a master too much.” Karen still didn’t give a chance for Bethany to object, because she yelled across the room for “Peanut”.

  Peanut was not so little.

  He came running towards Bethany in a surprisingly graceful, feline matter. She could have thought him a ballerina if he weren’t built like a linebacker. It also didn’t help matter that he was only wearing what seemed to be a jock strap. This outfit was pushed farther when he dropped to his knees and started strutting in front of Bethany with his butt up high. Of course he also wore a tailed- butt plug.

  “Peanut is the best-behaved pet I have. When I read of your situation, he was the only one that came to mind. He will do the job well.”

  Bethany could not do this. “Oh, I don’t think.”

  “Non-sense. He will do great.”

  “No. I mean I don’t think I want to.”

  The crazy cat woman, Karen, fully looked upon Bethany. “Is there something wrong with Peanut?”

  Both Peanut and Karen were looking at her with a little hurt and expectation.

  “No, I am sure he is lovely.” Bethany placated a smile at the beast. The bastard purred.

  Karen perked up, “I will give you two a little privacy.”

  Bethany watched Karen stroll away as if there was nothing abnormal with leaving a virgin with a purring beast named Peanut. She was so out of her element here. So far lost, that she didn’t catch Peanut before he latched onto her leg and started humping it. She smacked at his hands and shimmied from his grasp. “No. No. You are not a dog. Cats don’t hump legs.”

  Peanut tipped his head to the side, as if she challenged him. “Meow.”

  “Don’t meow me. This is not what I asked for.”

  Peanut, the beastly bastard, smirked. He grabbed her foot again and began licking her toes. She didn’t have any time to escape and he was attached strongly, over two hundred pounds of muscle. He really was like a linebacker and it hit her that maybe he was actually a linebacker, she didn’t watch many sports, but she knew the Seahawks as her dad was an avid fan. She paused. He looked up like he was happy she was giving in. She shook her head and muttered, “I am never going to look at football the same ever again.”

  Peanut went back to licking her toes and Bethany fought a little longer, trying to bring in other techniques of ridding a human cat from your leg.

  “Peanut, No kitty,” She smacked him on the head. He purred.

  “Peanut.” She called out. “Go play with the other kitties.” Peanut bit her ankle.

  “Bad kitty. Bad kitty.” She pulled at him some more, then thought to hiss at him. This idea elicited a response. She might be able to escape. He stopped. His head lifted to look at her; it tilted in a strange sort of scary movie type of way. And then Peanut pounced. He hit her hard to the mat below. She was under him and he was kneading her body with his finger nails. His tongue continued to lick at her. His big muscled gut rubbed upon hers in ways like... well, a linebacker would rub. The front of his lumpy jock strap rocked her belly button.

  And, if things couldn’t get any worse she accidently touched his butt tail with her hand in the scuffle. She screeched in the most lady-like of manners, like coming across a mouse in your closet. The dry heaves started coming up. This should have been the finality of Peanut’s attack. It only edged him on. Her body was about to break down. She was going to pass out. She thought she was going to die from this feline dry- man- humping. It all should have been the end.


  But one thing Bethany knew, it was never the end without a fight. How do you make a cat stop? She looked around the room. All she saw were cats. Well, humans acting like cats. And that is when it hit her. They wanted to be treated like cats.

  Bethany grabbed the skin of this man’s neck -his neck being bigger than his head. The man became the cat, and suddenly he was paralyzed. She carefully kept a hold of what skin she could grab and leaned the man off of her. That’s right Peanut, who is boss now. He followed directions like he was pinched immobile, but he wasn’t a fucking cat. It was all an act. She was gasping for air still, from his previous attack, but she held on. She held him down next to her. She eyed him real hard. As if he were the quarterback and she was going to tackle his ass. Then she said, “Peanut. I am going to have you castrated at the vet, if you ever touch me again.”

  Peanut’s eyes widened. Then she pushed off of him to her feet. He stayed on the ground and looked up at her with what she could only assume were his puppy eyes. She wanted to remind him again, that he was not a dog, but she didn’t. She got the hell out of there, reminding herself why she never got a cat, and will never have a cat.

  Chapter 3

  Aged Whiskey

  Bethany walked into the bar at the Four Seasons looking like a hooker. Her red dress was now just a reminder that it was in fact cheesy, and the bellhop gave her a cautious look when she walked in, like he would have her escorted off the property for, well, escorting. It also didn’t help matters that she spent the whole taxi ride crying and feeling sorry for herself. She wondered if it was really that hard to rid of her virginity. You would think men would be jumping at any chance to pop the cherry of a fairly ripe 22 year old. Well, any man apart from Peanut.

  She sat at the bar. The pretty bartender was standing in front of her fairly quickly. Pretty in that the bartender was a he, and dressed in a perfect bow tie and suspenders of a purplish color. “What can I get for you darling?”

  She glanced up at his face. “Whiskey.”

  “What kind of whiskey?”

  She shrugged, because she didn’t know and because she didn’t know the irrational part of her brain thought it was a good time to cry again… in front of the pretty bartender. “I … I just want something good.”

  She couldn’t look up at him, and continued to cry in her own radius of self-pity. Surprisingly the man didn’t ignore her or kick her out. Instead a tumbler full of some amber liquid appeared in front of her. She was shocked and her face must of shown that when she met his eyes again. He smirked, again really being too pretty, and said, “try that, it will take the edge off.”

  She sniffed the glass, it was strong. Exactly what she wanted. She dropped it back like it was her cure for everything. This elicited coughs as she choked on the burn in her throat. The bartender only tried to aid her with a few pats on the back and a glass of water. When her little fit was over, he was leaning over her. “Feel better?”

  She took a big breath. “Not really, now I just feel sick.”

  He smiled. “Well, I won’t give you another one then.” He flopped a menu on the table. “Have you eaten anything tonight?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s passed ten, but we still have some light snacks. They’re on the back page. Pick something out. It will help with the alcohol.” He moved to wipe up the counter, like bartenders do. She studied him closely. He was cute. He had a nice body. And he had been nice to her for the last three minutes. Bethany wondered if he could fix her problem. There was only one way to know, and so Bethany ordered another drink.

  She was drunk. Even after eating the fancy nachos made by the hotel, that she might mention was forced upon her, she was still drunk. But she felt good. At the moment, a Japanese business man was sitting up next to her. She laughed at nothing. “You’re tie is cricked.” He laughed at her, but she continued, “And your face is spinning.”

  “I am sure it is,” called the bartender across the bar from her, “because… darling. You had too much to drink.”

  She flopped her head and arms across the counter, “I am drunk. And I am wearing my mom’s dead dress.”

  “You’re dress doesn’t look dead, darling.”

  She giggled with a snort. “My mom’s dead.”

  “Oh, I am sorry.”

  She breathed in. “Why do you keep calling me darling?” She always changed the subject when it came to her mother’s death. She has since she was five, and still does. Even when drunk.

  The bartender shook his head with a smile on his lips. “Because darling, in that red dress, that is what you should be called.”

  “I look like a hooker, don’t I?” She turned to her Japanese seat companion. “Did you think I was a hooker?”

  The man opened and closed his mouth, “No. No. Madame.” He had a very strange accent.

  “Oh, well, I am not a hooker, if you must know.”

  “Of course. No. Madame.”

  She giggled. “Madame…I met a Madame tonight. She was trying to scratch me with her claws.” Bethany made a kitty-cat noise while flexing her fingers at the poor man.

  The Japanese man chose that moment to get up. “Where are you going, sir?” She again laughed at herself for her choice of words.

  “Sleep. Madame.” He nodded, left a bill, and walked away.

  She was still laughing when she turned around. “He totally thought I was a hooker.”

  The pretty bartender said, “Well, if the red dress fits.”

  She was coming down from her laugh high now. Things didn’t look very promising. Her head shook as she said, “the funny part was, is that I was totally trying to get me some tonight.” She looked up at the bartender “Would you fuck me?”

  “Do you mean literally, or hypothetically?”

  “Well, both.”

  “If I were straight, I would.”

  She sighed heavily. “Oh. Well, I guess there goes my night.” She propped her head in her hands, elbows on the bar. “I met a man named Peanut tonight. He thought he was a sex kitty. The next man thought I was a hooker. The final man was gay. I am never going to lose my virginity now.” She was talking to herself still and not paying attention to anyone else, including the bartender who was looking at her with sympathy and a little bit of shock. She shook her head again. “I guess I will call it a night. Bill my room would you?”

  “You are staying here?”

  She nodded. “Why would I be drinking here, if I wasn’t staying here?”

  The bartender shrugged. “Just thought you came off the street.”

  Bethany snorted out, “you totally thought I was a hooker too.” She was still laughing as he handed her the bill. She looked down at it, 45 dollars a drink! All of the drinks were labeled, “top-shelf whiskey”. She looked up at the bartender wanting to complain, but he was waiting and she did say “something good”. She would have to just put it all on her credit card, it should have just enough. She wrote down her room number and signed the bill. She pulled a 20 out of her purse. The last bit of cash she had. The rest had gone to the taxi drivers from earlier and tipping the bellhop. She gave the pretty-gay- bartender the tip. And got up from the bar, wobbling.

  She was sure she walked a straight line to the elevator. She got in right after another tall man in a business suit. The man hit the button for his room but didn’t ask her what her floor was. She wondered if that was rude or something. The door was already closed when she said, “14 please.”

  The man cleared his throat, but didn’t make a move to the buttons. She said again, “I’m staying on floor 14, please.”

  The man turned. Shit, he was striking, quite beautiful with tan skin, and blue eyes. He said sternly, “it is on 14.”

  Her mouth parted. Her eyes bugged out. Something must have made her brain short circuit, because her voice didn’t work. Then her head rolled, his face spun, and she was out. Hopefully he caught her.

  Chapter 4

  Floor 14

  1:14 p.m.

 
Bethany’s head hurt. It spun. It pounded away at her brain cells. And it made her really nauseated. She needed to puke fast. Very fast. She rolled off the bed, feeling like chunky chili in a generic can splattering on the floor. She actually had to crawl a few notches before being able to pull herself to her feet. Then she scattered and tripped her way in to the bathroom. The toilet couldn’t come fast enough. Neither could the spewing. Speaking of chili, did she eat some yesterday? She wasn’t sure. But it looked like it. And it was mixed with vomit of sickly sweet whiskey. Once. Twice. Three times she threw up chunks. It burned and turned. Then she dry heaved because of the vomit smell. Then she let some more go. Then she gagged again. It felt like a bunch of “thens” because it just kept happening. The puke just kept coming. Then nothing was left. Finally.

  After cooling off on the marble floor, she managed to pull herself off the ground and to the sink. She was aware she was in the hotel room, but couldn’t find any of her supplies. So she just washed out her mouth several times with water and followed that with some hotel mouth wash, rinsing her mouth out a few more times just to be sure.

  She felt gross. Her reflection in the mirror showed her just how gross she felt. So she stripped on down and crawled into the shower tub combination. It took what little effort she had to get the hot water going out of the shower head. It sprayed upon her. This was her soothing technique, lying under hot water. She was so out of it, she fell asleep again.

  2:03 p.m.

  In Bethany’s dream a beautiful man picked her up in his arms. She always fantasized about this. The prince, preferably Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty, had rescued her from her hundred year sleep. This time she had been numb from a spell and cold from the witch’s storm. Yet his strong arms had held her, his heat enveloped her, and his hands soothed her. She was dreaming good tonight. And so when she felt herself waking up from this dream, she forced herself to stay asleep. She slept comfortably.

  5:46 p.m.

  Bethany was waking up. The normal amount of disorientation she felt in the morning seemed to be amplified. She wasn’t in her bed. That was the first wrong thing. She was naked. Something she has never done in her life… sleep naked. And she was using a man’s chest as her pillow.