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Easy-Access Catboy

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Ned wakes at dawn with a growing erection and the scent of catboy in his nostrils. He stretches lazily in bed, recalling the events of the night before with satisfaction—and anticipation for the day to come. It’ll be nice having a convenient way to take care of his morning wood. He gets out of bed and grabs the oil.

He finds Sasha still asleep on the rug in front of the low fire. Right where he left him, with his wrists in manacles and the chain stuck to the floor with a deep-driven dagger. The little curled-up catboy looks so peaceful and quiet. The only evidence of his struggling and misbehavior is his tangled hair, the bruises on his throat and hips, the red marks on his wrists where he must have been yanking on the manacles—just like Ned told him not to. He must be exhausted, if he can sleep so deeply chained up like this. Delicate blue shadows circle his eyes like bruises. Ned almost feels guilty at the idea of waking him up.


He slicks up his cock, then kneels down and pulls his toy into position. Sasha grumbles faintly, barely stirring, until Ned lifts his tail and pours the oil directly onto his hole. The cold splash against sensitive skin shocks him awake, and he yells, attempting to twist and scramble away. But he’s still chained down, and Ned grabs his tail hard to keep him right where he wants him.

The little hole’s just as tight as he remembered, and thrusting in is no easy feat, particularly with Sasha squirming and struggling. But the catboy’s struggling only excites Ned more, and he’s soon sheathed fully in the tight heat.

It’s just a quick fuck to take care of his morning wood, and a few deep pumps later, he releases into the squirming catboy. He sighs contentedly, staying in until he’s spent every last drop, then a couple more lazy thrusts for good measure. His kitten’s little hole just looks so good like this, all red and distended around his cock. But he can’t stay there all morning. There’s a big storm due by nightfall, and he has chores to take care of before it hits.

He withdraws with a groan, and sits back on his haunches to look at his trembling pet. He really can’t pay attention to Sasha all day, but he can’t risk him running away either. He has too much to do to waste time on a hunt today. Maybe he should just leave him here, or lock him down in the cellar. But even though Ned has things to do, it would be a shame to fully waste Sasha’s first day in his new home.

A slow grin spreads across his face as an idea begins to form. He slaps Sasha’s skinny ass, then returns to the bedroom to get dressed and get started on his first project of the day.


A candlemark’s worth of woodwork later, he sets the results on the kitchen table and pushes the chairs out of the way before returning to Sasha. First he yanks the knife out of the floor, so Sasha can sit up shakily. Then he debates with himself for a minute before unlocking the manacles. Sasha rubs his red wrists and looks up, his ears down and meek. “Are you going to let me go?”

Ned laughs and pats his head. “Never say never, but I’m not near done with you yet.”

“What were you doing out there?” Of course, he’d have heard the hammering and sawing.

“You’ll see.” Ned yanks him to his feet.

Sasha cries out, staggering, almost falling over. He has to clutch Ned’s shirt to stay upright; his thin limbs must be all cramped up from being stuck on the floor all night. Or his ass is sore from being stuck with Ned’s cock.

He certainly limps gingerly enough as Ned leads him to the door. He doesn’t get his clothes back, but Ned lets him put on his boots and one of Ned’s big coats to head to the outhouse. He’s shivering when he gets back, skinny legs rattling under the comically oversized garment. It’s cute, but Ned really prefers him naked.

He makes him strip again, then lets him eat by the fire before leading him over to the kitchen table.

The wooden device on the table is simple in design and function. Two matching slabs of wood, each with two little half-moons cut out of one side, and rings nailed into either end to be padlocked together. It’s similar to the wooden stocks used for public punishment in southern villages, but portable, and without the neck hole.

Sasha doesn’t seem to get it at first, but he does soon enough, when Ned bends him over the table and starts pulling his arms into place. He starts struggling wildly, his lean limbs flying and scrambling against the table, against Ned. He can’t escape, of course, and his wriggling’s hot enough to start Ned’s blood pumping, but it takes Ned a remarkably long time to get him in the stocks. Eventually he has to slap his ass hard enough to shock him into submission. Sasha moves meekly enough after that, letting Ned arrange him bent sharply over the edge of the table with his arms stretched out before him. His wrists fit perfectly in the half-circles on the lower block.

“I sanded those down pretty good, but let me know if I missed any splinters,” Ned says. He picks up the heavy upper block and carefully aligns it with the lower holes. “Don’t move, this thing’ll crush your fingers.”

Sasha holds perfectly still as he lowers the slab over his wrists.

“There’s a good kitten.”

Padlocking the ends together is a bit redundant; the wood’s too heavy for a little thing like Sasha to push free from anyway. He locks him up anyway. There’s something to be said for the psychological ritual of it, the way Sasha’s ears twitch with each clink and clatter.

Ned pockets the key and considers, then pushes the stocks just a bit further across the table—there, perfect. His little toy is bent at the hips, his feet flat on the ground, his body flat on the table. His thin ribcage is heaving from his early struggling. The edge of the table hits just below his navel, letting his soft little cock and balls hang free between his thighs. His face presses to the smooth wood, and his arms stretch out in front of him, firmly restrained. There’s still a red mark lingering on his ass cheek, from the earlier slap. He’s completely helpless and vulnerable and he knows it, by the distressed twitching of his tail and ears.

Very good.” Ned leans over the table and rubs his kitten’s back, taking extra care to massage into the bruises and red marks. Sasha wiggles extra hard when he strokes his soft tail. “Now, I’d love to stay and play, but I’ve got work to do around house. But don’t worry. I’ll be sure to check on you throughout the day.”


He really does have a lot to do. Boarding up most of the windows against the first blizzard of the year, due tonight or tomorrow. Restocking on firewood. Some repairs he’s been putting off, a busted chair and cabinet from the last full moon. But true to his word, he makes some time in his busy schedule to play with Sasha.

He takes his first break around mid-morning. Sasha hasn’t relaxed at all; he’s still tense as a bowstring as Ned uncorks the oil and starts fingering him. Unlike their earlier fuck, Ned wants to take it slow this time. He spends a long time just rubbing the oil over the twitching pink hole, working into all the creases. The sensitive hole warms to his touch, and Ned can smell Sasha responding to the stimulation.

He adds more oil before sliding his index finger in. The oil drips down Sasha’s pale thighs, gleaming. The little hole is as tight as ever around his finger—no surprise, since he can see the tension in Sasha’s spine, the clenched fists on the other side of the stocks. Ned’s blood stirs, aroused by the palpable resistance to every movement of his finger.

The second finger encounters even more resistance. Ned shoves forcefully in, wringing a muffled whimper from his pet, so he can keep playing and pumping through the tight hole. On a whim, he crooks his fingers downwards, towards Sasha’s belly, until he finds the spot that makes the catboy yelp, writhing on the table.

Sasha’s been very good. Maybe Ned should give him a little reward before taking him again.

He massages that spot gently at first, and Sasha’s response is just beautiful. His little ass practically dances as he tries helplessly to evade Ned’s fingers, then instinctively presses into them, then tries escaping again. His tail lashes with every intimate press. When Ned looks down, he can see Sasha’s cock starting to tighten.

“Do you like this, kitten?”

Sasha shudders and moans. “No. No. I don’t—” His protest breaks off in another yelp.

Ned digs in harder, enjoying his pet’s squirming and moans of unwilling pleasure. “I don’t care if you like it,” Ned tells him cheerfully. “What matters is I like it. You have the tightest little hole I’ve ever fucked, and you feel so good squirming around on my fingers right now.”

Sasha arches up. “Please—please stop—”

“That’s it, kitten, you sound so hot begging like that.” He has to lean his free hand on Sasha’s lower back to hold him still. Sasha’s getting really hard, and he writhes so responsively against Ned’s hand. “How about a third finger?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, and Sasha just gives a strangled cry as he shoves his third finger in. The little catboy’s close, judging by the way he’s straining against the stocks, the way his balls tighten up. The way he’s clenching on Ned’s fingers. Ned works him fast and steady until he comes, arching against the table, shaking in his bonds.

He withdraws his fingers from the pink, twitching hole, and unfastens his belt. The mingled scent of arousal and terror is irresistible.

Sasha’s legs are still trembling, his breath still coming in great broken gasps, when Ned pulls out his cock and shoves into him. It’s far bigger than his three fingers, and Sasha cries out again at the sudden invasion. Ned wastes no time driving all the way into him, falling into a deep, pounding rhythm.

His little kitten must be extra sensitive after his orgasm—he keeps whimpering and yowling and begging him to stop. But his slick tight hole feels too hot and good around Ned’s cock, and he settles in for a leisurely fuck, enjoying every inch of the catboy’s trembling body.

Afterwards, he hitches up his trousers and leaves Sasha on the table, legs dangling limp over the edge.


Around midday, Ned decides something is missing. Sasha looks good bent over like that, hair all messed up from struggling and thighs gleaming with oil, cute little ass up and waiting for Ned whenever he wants it.. But still, something’s missing.

He rinses the wood dust off his hands at the pump, then detours into his bedroom to open up the same chest he pulled the manacles from the night before. There’s a velvet-lined wooden box inside containing three glass plugs. One is so small he’s not sure why he bothers keeping it. The other two are large and very large, respectively, and for a few moments Ned is torn with indecision. He eventually decides the very large one might be too large for his kitten. They can save that for another day, when Ned has the time to slowly ease it in. Today, he just wants something to quickly shove in.

The middle plug is perfect for that. Deep blue glass, solid through and heavy. The narrow neck of it isn’t really so narrow—it’s about as thick as his cock, maybe a bit thicker, and the body of it swells into a large rounded spearhead shape.

Should keep his pet entertained for the day.

Ned likes the way Sasha tenses at his return, the way he still tries to wiggle away even though it’s pointless. He sets the plug on the table, and Sasha’s ears flick back at the new sound. “What is that?”

“Just a little present, kitten.” He pulls the fluffy white tail out of the way to check whether Sasha’s still wet enough. Hm. Probably. “Now, try to relax.”

Predictably, to Ned’s delight, Sasha does not relax. He flinches as the first touch of cold glass to his fuck-warmed ass. Ned shoves one thigh between his to keep him from closing up, and sinks his left hand into a trembling ass cheek, spreading him open and holding him against the table. With his right hand, he starts working the narrow, blunt tip of the plug in.

There’s enough oil left in Sasha’s ass that it slides in with minimal effort at first. As the plug widens, Ned has to shove harder, spurred on by Sasha’s keening cry. Then it’s in, the flared base flush against the little catboy’s reddened hole. Ned doesn’t consider himself artistically inclined, but he decides the dark blue glass looks very nice against the pale skin.

He pats Sasha’s ass, then heads back outside.


Ned gets caught up in his work, and it’s all afternoon before he takes another break to play. The most he does in the meantime is swing past the table every so often to twist Sasha’s plug. Never fails to draw a distressed moan from the helpless catboy.

Around five candlemarks past midday, for the dozenth time, Sasha begs, “Please, can you take it out, I can’t take it anymore.”

Ned’s ignored these pleas all afternoon, but he’s in the mood for another fuck anyway. So this time, he answers, “Sure.”

It’s kind of comical the way Sasha goes still with wary surprise. “Really?”

Ned strokes his ass. “Take a deep breath and relax.”

This time, Sasha actually tries to obey. His ribcage rises and slowly falls in a clear effort to calm himself. But there’s not much he can actually do to cope as Ned gets a grip on the plug and starts working it out. The thick bulb is even more difficult to pull out than it was to push in, and Sasha’s poor red little hole has to stretch even wider around it. He whimpers pathetically.

The plug slides out at last. It’s wet with oil and warm from Sasha’s body. Ned sets it aside and grabs Sasha’s ass with both hands. The little catboy seems so exhausted and relieved to have the plug out, he doesn’t even try to wiggle away from Ned’s rough kneading. The rare moment of limp compliance gives Ned the opportunity to fully admire his toy’s light curves, lean muscle over narrow bone. Ned usually likes a bit more cushion to grab onto, but he likes how well the little ass fits in his hands. It’s too bad the handprint from this morning faded, that was hot.

Ned grins. There’s an easy solution to that.

“I wanted to leave you plugged for six candlemarks, but you only made it to five,” Ned says, squeezing gently. “You’re going to have to make up for that.”

Sasha tenses. “No. Please. Please don’t, you can’t—”


Ned slaps his ass hard, a perfect strike on his right cheek. He smacks the same spot again, and Sasha jumps and yells. “Don’t worry,” he says, striking a third time. “I won’t put the plug back in today.”


Ned hitches his tail up and out of the way. “Good kitten, keep yelling for me.” He smacks further out next, then more towards the middle. His palm collides with a sharp sound each time, and he watches in fascination as the skin goes white, then pink with every blow. Then red, as the skin heats up and Ned keeps hitting.

He switches his hands, so he can hold Sasha’s writhing tail with his right hand and start smacking his left cheek comfortably. “Just balancing you out,” he explains.

Sasha just whines in pain as his left cheek turns as red as the right. His little ass jumps and jiggles with each smack. Ned angles upwards from near his thighs, and the impact actually knocks him up into the air a little. He has to scramble to keep his footing, knocked this way and that by the vicious blows.

Ned pauses to stroke Sasha’s ass. The red, abused skin is hot under his hand, and must be sensitive by the way even these slow, soothing touches make Sasha quiver and moan. He paws carelessly at him, heedless of his rough calluses.

He’s pleased with his work. Just a few quick smacks and Sasha’s entire ass is glowing red, a delicious contrast against his pale thighs and snow-white tail.

Well. Almost his entire ass.

Ned switches hands again and tightens his grip on Sasha’s tail. Lifts him just a bit higher. “We’re almost done,” he says reassuringly. “Just five more hits.” Then he brings his right hand directly onto Sasha’s hole.

It’s hardly a forceful blow, but Sasha yells his loudest yet. He only shuts up when the second, harsher blow lands, shocking the breath from him. Then the third. His whole body shakes with that one, oversensitive nerves cascading through him. His pointed ears flatten to his skull.

Ned pauses to rub the little hole, all swollen and tight. It’s so hot against his probing fingers. Maybe five hits was an overambitious goal. But Ned isn’t about to go back on his word.

He delivers the last two hits in quick succession; Sasha’s still recoiling from the one when the other lands. His yelp is ear-piercing. Ned winces. Definitely a downside to having a wolf’s sharp hearing.

He lets go of Sasha’s tail, which droops down, then jerks back up again. Even the touch of soft fur must be too much against his tender, stinging ass—anything harsher would be unbearable. But the exercise has gotten Ned hard again, and he’s done enough work with his hands today, and his little toy is just so enticing, red and squirming like that.

He grabs the oil and starts lubing up his cock.


Two fucks and three candlemarks later, Ned unlocks the makeshift stocks and releases Sasha. The little catboy doesn’t move at first. Then he shakily pushes himself upright, staggers back from the table, and promptly collapses.

Ned picks him up from the floor, hitching trembling limbs close to him. Sasha doesn’t cuddle, but he doesn’t try to get away either. He just lies limply in Ned’s arms and lets himself be carried towards the fireplace, where Ned sets him down on the unused armchair. He curls up there, face turned into the fabric, like he’s hiding.

His arms especially look bruised and raw from tugging against the stocks all day, and the manacles the night before. Ned sighs, exasperated. He’d like this toy to last, and there’s no way he’ll be able to chain him up by the wrists again tonight.

He’ll have to chain him up by his ankles instead.