Chapter Text
Petra Ral staggered slightly as she stepped off the train at Utopia Central. She fought the compulsion to keep tugging at the hem of her skirt as she made her way along the platform, equally afraid it might rise up and expose her ass, and that trying to ensure she was covered would draw attention to it.
“Utopia’s fine, really,” Mikasa – the gloomy receptionist back at her place of work – had told her. “There are men there who'll perv on you and try to get you to go places with them, but they're not dangerous – just annoying. I just tell them to fuck off and keep walking.”
Mikasa apparently visited Utopia semi-regularly. The city was so-called because it had been established in times gone by as a cosmopolitan hotbed of culture – music, theatre, fine art, high fashion; any creative industry you could think of. Only the faintest traces of that legacy remained in more modern times; it had become better known to the likes of Mikasa for its alternative clothing market and lively nightlife, which most people claimed could cater to all proclivities.
Petra's first impression of the place was positive. The first thing she would normally become aware of on arrival someplace new was people staring at her. Here, it felt like nobody could care less if she had pointed ears and a tail.
The second thing she noticed was what a diverse and well-dressed crowd of people surrounded her. No wonder they weren't interested in hanging around gawping at a lone Neko.
She looked around the station for exit signs. Her ears sat high on her head, slightly turned out to either side to catch any sounds that might indicate a threat to her person – or perhaps where she should be going. She spotted a station map on a wall and tottered over to it in her new heels.
On her way over she caught sight of herself in a full length mirror mounted on one side of a concrete pillar. To her relief, her skirt still covered her ass, and she still thought her outfit was cute. She wore black over-knee socks, a pleated red miniskirt that matched her platformed Mary Janes and a white blouse with pintucks, cap sleeves and a Peter Pan collar. An olive green denim jacket, worn open, and a brand-new sky blue rucksack printed with little fluffy clouds completed the look.
Petra used the map to orient herself. From there, she confidently walked towards the station's east exit. She scanned her mobile rail ticket at the barrier and kept walking straight ahead until she felt the sun on her face.
“Excuse me, Miss…?”
She turned around to see who had spoken. A nondescript, clean-shaven man of indeterminate age, with short brown hair and beige clothes to match smiled down at her.
“Is there someplace you need to be? Perhaps I can help,” he offered.
Petra frowned dismissively. “No thanks. I'm fine. I'm on my way to meet some friends." This was a lie, but if past experience had taught her anything, it was to never tell a strange man that she was on her own.
“That's too bad,” he replied. “When I saw you, I thought that if I didn't come and talk to you, I'd regret it for the rest of my life.”
“You tried,” she said flatly as she turned her back on the man and walked calmly away.
Her bright orange tail flicked out and curled over itself as she went. It always did this after she dismissed or rejected someone. Had she been aware of this, she might have made an effort not to do it – but she rarely saw or spoke to people who saw it more than once.
She holed up in a nearby coffee shop to check the address of the hostel she'd booked for the night, and how to get there. She hoped she'd at least be able to mind her own business in peace if she paid for a drink to have that privilege. On the next table over from her, a group of boys, all with long hair and wearing black band T-shirts with illegible logos paused their conversation to look at her, then turned back to face each other and talked among themselves in hushed voices. She was used to these kinds of reactions from strangers, so while she remained vigilant, she otherwise ignored them.
At this point in her life, she was confident on a subconscious level she could attract any man she wanted – if she only plucked up the courage to tell him she liked him. Despite enduring a childhood of bullying for being “ugly” and “a freak” – if not because she was a Neko, then for having ginger hair – it seemed as though these things elevated her as a young queen. On a good day, she might even believe these attributes made her more appealing to a lot of people than women she thought of as more conventionally attractive than herself.
This surprised her to the point of disbelief at first, but over the course of her university studies she learned to embrace it via a sequence of short-term relationships, which happily always ended before they stopped being fun. The longest she was single between her second year and graduation was just one week.
Since then, she hadn't met any men close to her own age who interested her. She did meet men ten or more years older who could engage with her better in conversation – mostly at work – but they were always married, or bald, or just not interesting enough for her to want to see them in a different context.
She had also never met any Nekos outside her own family. It was therefore easy for her to convince herself that this was the problem; maybe if she met someone like herself in that respect, they'd have more in common.
This was the purpose of her stay: to visit the notorious Utopia Neko Host Club.
It wasn't unheard of to find Nekos working in host or hostess bars in other cities, since they readily hired them – but the Utopia host club was the only one in Paradis ran and staffed entirely by Nekos. Even the hostess club under the same ownership, Little Kitty, was managed by a woman – but all of the hostesses themselves were queens.
Petra had spent a few months saving for this trip. She could have afforded the travel and accommodation out of a single month's pay, but besides the entry fee, the club charged by hour – and she knew from her research into how they operated that once she was in, the markup on drinks would be high. She had been avidly consuming everything from news articles to client testimony, vlogs and documentaries to prepare herself.
She sipped a caramel latte topped with whipped cream as she looked up the best walking route to the hostel, and from there to the club. When she'd booked her stay, it seemed perfectly sensible to be economical and just find a bunk in a female dorm someplace close by. Now she was here, her imagination had started working overtime on fantasies about hitting it off with a handsome tom, who might be persuaded to accompany her back to her room. She crossed her legs under the table and squeezed her thighs together as she tried not to zone out into her fantasies.
Soon.
She finished her drink and made her way to the hostel without incident. Once checked in, she found her dorm room and checked the time: four hours until the club opened. She locked her shoes, jacket and rucksack away, set an alarm on her phone for three and a half hours and shoved it under the pillow on her bunk bed. She then curled up on top of the duvet with her soft tail curled over her bare thighs and took a nap.
She dreamed of feeling someone else's purr reverberating against her back – and of fangs sinking deliciously into her nape.
When her alarm went off she sprung to her feet, panicking that her outfit had become creased as she slept. Thankfully, her clothes only needed a little straightening out.
"Sounds like you a nice dream," an unfamiliar voice said from across the room.
"Ymir, that's mean!" said another, more high-pitched voice. As Petra glanced up, a diminutive blonde girl was slapping a taller, tomboyish brunette sitting beside her on the lower bunk opposite with a sock, which she held in her hand. A suitcase lay open on the bed behind them.
"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry if I disturbed you," Petra said sleepily.
The brunette – Ymir – smirked back. "Oh no. You're fine."
The smaller blonde girl stuck her tongue out at Ymir as she pulled the sock onto one of her feet. Then she looked over at Petra and smiled.
"I'm Historia, this is Ymir," she said. "We arrived while you were sleeping. I hope we didn't disturb you?"
"Oh no," Petra said, blushing and rubbing the back of her neck. "I was dead to the world."
"You were in a better place, that's for sure," Ymir said with a chuckle.
"I mean, we are in Utopia," Petra quipped back.
"Yeah, but you were in Euphoria."
"YMIR!"
Petra chuckled to herself. That was actually pretty good. She turned away to retrieve her bag from her locker, and pulled out her makeup bag and a comb. "What brought you here this weekend, anyway?"
Historia opened her mouth to speak, but Ymir put her hand over it and simply said, "Sapphic Traffic."
Petra turned to Ymir with a look of complete seriousness. "If that's the name of a lesbian club night, it's the best thing I've heard all day."
Ymir smiled warmly back. She released Historia, who pulled a bratty face at her, then turned to Petra with a polite smile.
"Come with, if you're at a loose end?" Ymir offered.
"Thanks, but nah," she replied. "I'm all the pussy I need for now. Have a great night, though."
"What are your plans?" Historia asked.
Petra paused, wondering whether to tell the truth or not. "I'm hoping to get a look at some sexy toms," she said cryptically.
"Oh," Ymir said. "Say no more."
Petra raked her comb through her hair, applied a little makeup and checked her claws were clean before she put her shoes and jacket back on. Then she transferred her phone and purse to her jacket pockets, and set off for Utopia's infamous pleasure quarter.
She'd seen photos of the outside of the building the club was housed within, but they were taken in daylight and it was now dusk. After walking in what she thought was the right direction for what felt like much too long, she began to wonder if she had missed it.
Fortunately, the club found her before she turned back.
“Hi there,” said a bright, cheery male voice to one side of her. “You look like you know where you're going. Can I convince you to come with me instead?”
Petra's first instinct was to ignore it, assuming it would only be some sleazebag, but for some reason she turned around anyway. And when she did, she gasped, thinking she might be looking at the most beautiful person she'd ever seen.
“Whoa there, careful,” he continued, playfully reaching out to press her mouth shut with two fingers under her chin. “You never know what might end up in there if you go wandering around here like that.”
The Neko stood before her was around a foot taller than her. He had high cheekbones and such striking green eyes they made it difficult to look anywhere else. His brown hair fell to his shoulders, and his ears had black tips at the very ends. He wore a dark grey suit and a black shirt. She might have assumed he'd stepped straight out of a magazine centrefold had it not been for his inane grin.
“Are you from the host club?” she asked.
“You bet,” he said. “Are you looking for work, or a good time?”
“What do you mean?”
The Neko boy huffed in amusement and rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess you're not looking for work, then.”
“No, I'm not,” Petra said. Before she could stop herself, she added, “You're gorgeous. Holy heck.”
“I'm Eren, actually,” he said with an impish smile. “It's nice to meet you.” He extended his hand. When Petra politely took it, he turned hers over and kissed the back of it. “Enchanté.” She giggled with delight.
“Look, I'll take you there, but for now I've gotta stay out here and drum up trade. I'll cut you a deal, though: if you wait for me to come back, I'll give you a champagne fountain on the house.”
“You'd do that for me?”
“Sure,” Eren said with a nod. “I won't let you drink all of it yourself, though.” He gave her a knowing smile.
“All right, what if I don't choose you?”
“We can still be friends, but I will judge you based on who you pick,” Eren said.
“Fair,” Petra replied, nodding agreeably.
She let Eren walk her to the street door of the club. “Take the elevator or stairs to the fourth floor, and I'll see you in a little while.”
The elevator opened directly opposite the club’s reception desk. A Neko with thick brown hair barely contained in a ponytail wearing an eye patch under their glasses smiled across at her as she approached.
“Good evening, Princess,” they said. “Welcome to the Host Club! I take it you're here for the hosts, and not to hostess?”
“Yes, I am,” Petra said. “You're the second person who's asked me if I was looking for work this evening.”
“I'm sorry about that,” the one-eyed Neko replied. “Most queens who come this way are looking for the other place.”
Petra was annoyed by that. “No, I'm here to hire a boyfriend for the evening. May I please see who's on tonight?”
“All business. I like that,” the Neko chuckled. Petra noticed they had a pin badge on their lapel that read Hange – they/them. "But as it's your first time here, we'll do a roll call for you.”
"How do you know it's my first time?"
They smirked. "Tell me I'm wrong, Princess."
Petra growled quietly to herself in annoyance, but quickly let it go. “All right, so what's a roll call?”
“All the hosts who are on tonight will spend a few minutes talking to you. Then you get to pick whichever one you want at the end," they explained. "It's completely free – but you still have to pay for the number of hours you want up-front. We start the clock from when you and your chosen host sit down at your table. Bit like speed-dating, but the toms are all pros.”
Petra considered this briefly. She understood that generally, returning patrons were expected to see their "usual" host – this was part of the clubs' etiquette. She was unsure if she would ever come back – but she'd already spent a lot of money getting here, and she supposed that if she picked someone solely on appearance there was a risk they'd have no chemistry.
"Okay, seems fair," she finally agreed.
“As you wish. How many hours?”
“Two.”
“You want a bar tab?”
“Sure. Why not?” Petra said with a shrug. She reached into her jacket pocket, from which she removed a card and flicked it nonchalantly onto the counter in front of her. She'd always wanted an excuse to do something like that. It might have looked flashy had the one she'd used not been a prepaid debit card, loaded up with the spending money she had budgeted for this evening.
Hange placed it in a small black tray and stood up with it. "Head through that door on the left," they said as they pressed a button under the counter to unlock it.
Petra nodded and pushed the door open. As she entered the main club, several pairs of pointed ears turned in her direction.
She paused to take in her surroundings. The club's interior was smaller than it had seemed in the photographs and video footage she'd seen. Immediately to her left was a plush corner sofa, which was unoccupied. To her right was a cloakroom booth, and then a bottle bar with a coffee machine on the counter behind it. On the shelves above it were bottles of expensive-looking liqueurs and spirits with labels tied around their necks, decorated with pretty hanging adornments. Opposite the bar was a row of booths with tables, which continued around the far corner of the room to the back wall and stopped before three doors – two of which had unisex toilet signs with cat ears, while the middle one bore a polished chrome "Staff Only" sign. All the furnishings and fixtures were black, in a variety of textures: the bar was polished granite; the floor carpeted but for faux-slate tiles around the bar area; the seats were upholstered in leatherette; the bar and booths were clad in stained wood panelling. The room was atmospherically lit with waterfall lights hanging on the walls and uplights embedded in a recess beneath the ceiling.
Somehow, these elements combined to create an atmosphere as classy as it was seedy.
"Welcome!" several of the hosts called out cheerfully in unison. Petra smiled bashfully into the room, suddenly feeling exposed and unsure of which direction to move in.
"All right, guys," said a soft voice coming from her right. "Let's not scare off our first guest."
Petra turned to see who had spoken. Walking towards her was a young Neko with an infectious smile. He was the sort of blond that made her think of seashells and ice cream, with huge, watery blue eyes that looked like they might never lose the sense of wonder they conveyed. His ears were a sandy colour, and his tail had faint tabby markings. He wore a pinstripe suit with a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.
"Good evening," he said as he approached her. "I'm Armin – it's nice to meet you. I understand it's your first time?"
"Petra," she said with a nod. "Yes, I think I get a roll call?"
"That's right! Allow me to show you around," he said. "Can I take your jacket?"
Petra shrugged it off her shoulders. "Uh-uh," said Armin. "Allow me." He walked around behind her and removed it, taking it over to the cloakroom and handing it over the counter to an attendant she couldn't see.
"Shall we…?"
As Armin gestured with one arm into the room, his jacket shifted open and Petra saw he had braces on over his shirt. They were black with gold hardware. She saw him notice her looking, but he only smiled sweetly and waited for her to walk on.
"You know how this works, right?" he asked.
"I get to spend a little time with all of you?" Petra asked.
"That's right – three minutes," he confirmed. "We use a timer. Since I was here first, I'll guide you, and you can see me last."
"But Eren's not here," Petra said, a little more curtly than she intended.
"Oh, he got you in, did he?" Armin asked breezily.
"No, I was coming here anyway. But he did help me find my way," she replied.
"Eren's my best friend," Armin beamed. "But I suppose if you don't like anyone you chat to here, you can always pick him since you already know you like him."
Petra was taken aback. She thought the hosts would be more competitive than that. She wondered if perhaps this unflappable cheer was Armin's way in.
"And first: Marco! You're up. Good luck…"
The dark-haired Neko sat in the booth closest to the door gave her a polite nod. He had a pleasant smile, and she thought his freckles were cute.
Armin gestured for Petra to take a seat at his table. As she sat down and shuffled in towards him, he placed a timer shaped like a toy mouse sitting on a wedge of cheese on the table, and set it going.
Before Marco engaged her in conversation, he offered her a soft, fur blanket.
"I'm fine, it's not cold," she insisted.
"It's not necessarily to keep you warm," Marco explained. "Some of our patrons like to put them over their laps, so nobody can look up their skirt."
Petra turned one ear back in confusion while she processed this. She glanced around the room. "Oh. That's… pretty nice, actually," she said. Marco smiled and handed it to her. Once she had it folded over her lap, he started to ask her questions about herself, and listened attentively as she gave disinterested answers.
The timer went off with the shrillness of a mechanical alarm clock. Armin reappeared. "Time's up! Onto the next one." Marco insisted Petra keep hold of the blanket as she moved on, saying he could easily fetch another if he didn't see her again.
The next two hosts she spoke to seemed much the same. Both were charming and cute enough, but they opened with general small talk and failed to get much of a conversation going with her. Moreover, they both made a point of telling her they were pleased to have a Neko in the club. She had really hoped that in this environment, no-one would make anything of it.
When the timer went off for the third time, she was already beginning to think she would simply hold Eren to his offer of a free champagne fountain and wait for him to return.
This time, when Armin came to collect her, he walked her to the bar instead of the next occupied booth. "The next guy's kind of surly," he leaned in and said quietly to her as they walked. "We all call him 'Captain,' 'cause he's been doing this the longest out of all of us. And he's… kind of old."
Petra wondered if Armin was trying to put her off, but his saying he was "kind of old" piqued her curiosity. "I can cope with surly," she said confidently.
Armin looked at her sidelong, and then down at the bar. "Take this as a sweetener," he said, and handed her a teapot and two cups.
They walked over to the final occupied booth. The Neko sat in it was hunched over his phone as Petra slid in beside him. She put the cups and teapot down as Armin set the timer. He moved away quickly, as if he'd lit the fuse on a firework.
The older Neko slid his phone into his pocket and straightened up as he looked up at her. He had a mildly threatening aura. "Tea?" was all he said at first.
Petra stared at him bemusedly. He wore a plain but extremely well-tailored black suit with a pale grey shirt and a white cravat tied in a coachman's knot. His ears and tail were jet black, and his hair fell around his temples with what looked like an undercut. His eyes were sharp and grey. Where Petra would have described Eren as beautiful, this tom was pretty – but beyond that, he had an air of unforced elegance about him.
She certainly didn't think he looked old.
"Uhh…"
While she was at a loss for words, he poured himself a cup of tea. He lifted it to his lips, holding the cup by the rim in a strange but dainty fashion. Her eyes followed his hand, transfixed.
"Suit yourself," he said as he lowered it back down onto the tabletop. "I am meant to pour it for you, but you can always just help yourself, if that's less of a challenge for you."
Petra blinked and slowly shook her head. She wondered if she should be offended. At first glance, he looked like the kind of person who might be able to recite Byron or Shelley on request, yet when he spoke he had the voice of a street thug. Or, at least, what she imagined a street thug would sound like: gruff and laconic.
She was about to protest that he hadn't asked her a single question yet, nor even for her name. As if he had read her mind, he asked, “So, what am I calling you?”
“Uh, Petra. It's nice to meet—”
“You don't have to give me your real name, you know," he said flatly as he took another sip of tea.
“How do you know that's my real name?”
“You threw your bank card face-up on the front desk where anyone could read it, idiot.”
Petra was visibly taken aback. She hadn't realised there was anyone else in the foyer when she first arrived.
"Well, the least you could do is tell me your name instead of insulting me," she huffed.
"Levi," he said. "Listen, do you want this tea, or not?"
Petra looked down at the empty cup, and then back at Levi. "I was hoping for something stronger, to be honest," she said.
"Most people here are," he said. "So, what's your poison?"
Petra's brain suddenly engaged. She remembered from her reading that hosts earned commission from drinks sales. She decided to try and barter.
"Actually, I met Eren outside," she said with a smirk. "He said if I waited for him to come back, he'd do me a free champagne fountain. Very tempting offer, to be honest..."
"Tch." Levi rolled his eyes. "I taught that brat everything he knows, and now he's always just ahead of me on the leaderboard." Somehow, as aggrieved as he sounded, Petra detected a hint of pride. "Do you even like champagne?" he asked her.
Petra cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know," she admitted. "Never tried it."
"Well then. Since you're trying to strike a deal, you've got options. You could take the brat up on his offer – and lose nothing, since it would be him forking out for your disappointment when you find out it's overpriced fizzy piss. Or you could just answer my goddamn question – and see if I might offer you something you know you'll actually enjoy."
The timer went off.
Petra jumped in her own skin, which made Levi smirk for the briefest of moments. As she collected herself, she frowned and looked back at him. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Levi didn't answer. He only looked at her from over the rim of his teacup as he took another sip.
"Oh, I get it," she said. "Time's up, so we're done talking, is that it?"
"You're smart, I'll give you that," Levi admitted.
Armin appeared at her side. "All right! My tu—"
"Thank you, but I'm not done here," Petra said, cutting him off. "My two hours starts now."
"Oh. Okay," Armin said. He looked surprised, but not offended. He looked at his watch and made a mental note of the time. "I'll go let Hange know. Have a wonderful evening!"
Petra turned back around to face Levi with challenge written all over her face. "All right then, gimme your best offer."
He glanced down at his own watch. "Just tell me what you want to drink."
Terse as he sounded, he already knew he liked this queen.
Levi escorted Petra out onto the street to bid her farewell after her time came to an end. As was customary, he gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and asked her to come back and see him again soon.
"Oh don't worry – I will," she said.
He watched her totter away in her ridiculous platform heels. He had never understood why girls made themselves vulnerable by wearing shoes that offset their balance and even damaged their feet. It wasn't as if they made them look prettier – although he supposed some people must think they did.
Damn. I should have said that to her.
He looked at his watch and heaved a heavy sigh as he turned back inside. He suspected it was going to be a long night. Petra was the first patron in, and though she had paid to extend her time with him by an hour, she'd spent less on drinks than she might have done had he not given her that bottle of plum wine on the house. It was now behind the bar with her nametag hanging from its neck, and some iridescent glass beads she had excitedly picked out to decorate it with. The cost would be deducted from his next paycheck.
He didn't mind. When they came back, they usually spent more on their return visits – so the occasional loss on a tourist was unimportant.
He stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor. As the doors closed, he reflected on his time with Petra; he hadn't had a client quite like her in a while. He liked the fire he saw in her eyes when she realised he'd played her during the roll call – and the contrast of how sweet and open she became after a few drinks. Most of the women he saw at the club were jaded with either life or men on some level, or took their fetishisation of him to an uncomfortable level. Petra, by contrast, only seemed full of hope and optimism – with an innate sort of cheerfulness that was infectious. He'd actually had fun with her.
As he stepped out of the elevator he was greeted by a familiar scent. He glanced up to see a Neko with golden eyes and short, dyed-red hair that contrasted with her black ears and calico tail.
“Ah – Nifa,” he said as their eyes met. “Pleasant surprise.”
“Levi,” she said with a smile. “I had to cut work short. I'm coming on.”
“Oh,” he said, glancing at her and then at Hange behind the counter. His tail flicked out behind him.
“It's fine,” Hange said with a shrug. “I mean, it's you who loses commission. And you.”
“No penalty for finishing early?” he asked.
Hange rolled their eye. “Since you're taking care of one of our queens, I'll look the other way.”
Levi nodded and turned back to Nifa. “Usual place?”
“Yeah, usual place.”
Levi patted down his pockets to make sure he hadn't left anything out back before gesturing for Nifa to take the stairs. They headed out onto the streets.
“How are you always so calm about this?” he asked her as he took his place beside her.
“I record all my heats in a microjournaling app to get a sense for when they're coming,” Nifa replied nonchalantly. “When it hits me out of the blue, I just use smelling salts to ground myself until I can work things out. I guess my line of work means I'm not exactly touch-starved, anyway.”
Levi shrugged. "You ever tried catnip? I heard it calms you down."
"I have. It doesn't work on me," she said.
Nifa worked at Little Kitty. It was essentially the same set-up as the Host Club, although the hostesses’ male clientele objectified them more openly, and would often proposition them for paid sex outside the club. Not all hostesses chose to capitalise on this, but Nifa was one of the ones who did. Still, working when she was in heat wasn't worth the risk – even if some clients might offer to pay a high price for that privilege.
“It doesn't do anything for you at all, does it?” she asked Levi as they walked.
“It’s not as if I feel nothing,” he replied. “But it's a base instinct. Like scratching an itch. I don't walk away feeling like I want to start a family with you, or anything.”
Nifa smiled. “That's why I trust you with this.”
Levi kept walking forward, eyes downcast, hands in his pockets. He could smell it on her and he was already half-hard. She was brilliant, this girl – so self-aware, such great mastery of herself, but not so proud she wouldn't ask for help when she needed it. “Helping” her through her heats had earned him a reputation among the other Neko hostesses as a safe pair of hands for the task, but he didn't like committing to it with anyone else. It was often a grim affair; queens in heat tended to become aggressive when they didn't get their way, and Levi disliked deceiving them into thinking he wanted to breed them for real.
They arrived at a block of serviced apartments at the edge of the pleasure quarter. Nifa rented one with another hostess for in-calls. She punched a door code into the intercom and led Levi inside.
He'd been there several times before; everything inside was brilliant white, pine veneer or polished brass, and it always smelled of the same cleaning products – all the way from the front door to the interior of the apartments themselves.
Once safely locked inside her apartment, Nifa allowed her tail to twitch and roll to one side. A feminine, feline sound escaped from her lips. Levi gripped the back of her neck with one hand. She froze, arching slightly into his touch. He walked her forward into the closest of the two bedrooms and pushed her face down onto the bed. “Stay there. Don't move,” he instructed.
Nifa got onto all fours and began to purr. “Can I take my clothes off?” she asked breathily.
“Sure,” Levi replied. He made his way to the head of the bed. He started to remove a pillowcase from one of the pillows.
“There's restraints by that headboard now,” Nifa explained as she wriggled out of her clothes.
“Are there?” Levi asked, dropping the pillow and reaching down behind the mattress. He saw them – a pair of simple, faux leather cuffs with buckles, clipped to webbing straps that protruded from under the mattress. “That's smart.” Last time, he'd tied a pillowcase around her hands and wrists to keep her claws away.
Nifa purred quietly, visibly quivering with need. She stared fixedly down at the sheets between her forearms to maintain her grip on herself. In a somewhat businesslike manner, Levi reached for one of her wrists, which he used to yank her up the bed. He rolled her onto her back and firmly secured both wrists in the cuffs.
“There. Just relax now,” he purred. Nifa growled in response. She looked different now – skin flushed, eyes glazed over, lips parted. Her large ears pointed directly at Levi wherever he moved.
“All right, all right,” he said, removing his clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on the floor. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a box of condoms, removing one as he threw the box down onto the nightstand. Nifa bucked her hips towards him as he knelt on the bed and tore at the foil wrapper. He crawled between her spread thighs as he unrolled it over himself, glancing at her clean-shaven pussy to determine how wet she was.
She hissed at him as he notched his glans beneath her folds. “Yeah, I know,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “You'll thank me for it when you're not completely gone with the need to breed anymore.”
With that, he pushed into her inviting heat. Nifa yowled and canted her pelvis up to meet his. He held still and drew a breath as he felt her insides clench around his length. Then he knelt upright and placed his hands over her breasts, which he knew she liked, and began to rock his hips up into her.
Nifa was not at all quiet about getting fucked. Taking her wanton mewls as encouragement, Levi quickly began to pound into her faster and harder, keeping his eyes and ears fixed on her face for her reactions. While neither of them were really there for a good time, he did still prefer that she enjoyed herself.
Nifa orgasmed suddenly with a freaked snarl. She pulled so hard on the cuffs around her wrists Levi was worried the headboard would come off the bed. He growled and cursed as her pussy throbbed and squeezed around his cock, and came with her. Transferring his weight onto his forearms, he lay down over her and sighed through their aftershocks.
Nifa's purrs gave way to soft pants as she recovered her breath. Levi went the opposite way, purring as he felt her heartbeat next to his. He slid his arms under her shoulders and held her close for a moment, then sat up and reached down to hold the condom in place as he slipped out of her.
“Thank you,” said Nifa, sounding lucid again.
“My pleasure,” Levi replied, getting up off the bed. He headed for the bathroom without freeing Nifa's wrists. “Holler when you're ready to go again. Let's rut this out of you tonight if we can.”