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Everyone’s favorite hero sat alone in the musty Spanish bar as he bemoaned the doctor’s diagnosis. Eight empty glasses sat in front of him, and when the barkeep passed his ninth he set to work downing that one with annoyed laps of his tongue. His famed boots hung just over the side of the stool that stood taller than the feline himself. Death found it to be a cute display, admittedly, but he didn’t come to admire. On the contrary, he came to take the last life Puss clung to, and he planned to take his time.
Normally he put aside his distaste for cats and their ability to cheat him more than once, but with Puss it was a different story. Every life he lost he did so in ways that confounded and enraged him. Never had he seen someone throw their lives away so callously. The death at the running of the bull, he could let slide, but when he threw himself off a tower? Crushed himself under heavy weights? Ate a dish he knew he was allergic to?! He didn’t deserve these lives, and Death wanted this last one for himself.
So he waited for the right time to make an introduction. Fortunately, Puss gave it to him when he requested the barkeep get him the strongest cream from the back. When he went there, he found Death instead. He didn’t want to kill him, but he needed to make sure nobody interrupted while he dealt with Puss. Besides, he had been scheduled to die tomorrow anyways. Heart attack, too much red meat and all that.
Once alone, he sat beside Puss while he self-aggrandized in the mirror, then whistled a tune that got his attention. He picked up an empty glass and studied Puss’s dumbfounded reflection, before he launched into the persona he thought for himself.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Puss in Boots himself. In the flesh.”
So close, he could tear out his throat right now and he’d wear that stupid look as he bled out on the floor. But Death had centuries of patience, and the idea to tear him down fundamentally made his heart race with anticipation. So after Puss returned his introduction with an awkward hello, he came onto him like a random fan. Something he’d be accustomed to despite his unsettling presence. But when he shifted off his seat to the one next to him, impatience won out and Death pulled out a wanted poster he found and slid it over to him for an ‘autograph’.
“Been following you for a long time, Puss,” he said, stressing emphasis on ‘long’. “Just sign right here.”
He tapped the word ‘Dead’ a few times to really drive home his intentions, and Puss responded predictably. With another laugh in his face.
“Puss in Boots laughs in the face of death, bounty hunter.”
Death rolled his eyes, tired of the constant bravado that spewed from his mouth. Not that that stopped Puss from an attempt at intimidation, as he stood on his seat and flashed his famous rapier. Death poured himself a drink and countered with another tongue-in-cheek quip.
“Everyone thinks they’ll be the one to defeat me, but no one’s escaped me yet.”
Puss, still under the belief of his guise, yawned. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” he said with a crack of his shoulders, and in a flash his sword appeared in his hand.
If Death were more easily impressed, he would be at this moment. Instead, he didn’t even let Puss finish his line before he swiped the blade from him and sent it into a barrel across the room. He relished the look of stunned surprise that came over Puss’s face and took another sip of his drink with a smile. And so the game began.
He let Puss grab his weapon to pick up their fight anew. Even snout-deep in a tankard, Death could hear the patter of his feet as he charged. By the time he thrusted forward with another sword swing, he had moved to the other end of the bar, drink still in hand. He gave Puss a coy smile, and he responded with another attack that he dodged as well. From here, Death played into his ego and mocked him with every sword stroke that failed to connect.
“Slow! Sloppy! Sad!”
Puss roared in rage and sent his sword down over his head, which Death blocked easily with the twin sickles he drew from his sides. He chuckled back and, for a moment, he saw something flash in Puss’s eyes. That’s when he knew he had him, and he pushed him off again. He twirled his weapons between his fingers and stood ready, daring Puss to come after him.
He readily took the challenge, and Death watched Puss sprint forward and leap from one of the barstools to the chandelier above. He didn’t move an inch when Puss cartwheeled off it and barreled down towards him. It almost felt too easy to pluck him out of the air with a single paw. As expected so far, all flash and no substance.
He brought him in close and whispered in his ear, “You’re not living up to the legend, gato .”
Death kept his tight grip around Puss and slammed him into the bar top. He dragged him over its surface, knocking over glasses left and right, before he threw him into a chair by one of the few tables the room had. This time, Death pushed the offensive. He played with his food long enough.
He didn’t give Puss a chance to breathe, let alone counter any of his oncoming attacks. He smashed the chair Puss sat on into splinters just as he jumped onto the table and flipped it over. With a single stroke, he split said table in two, then redoubled his assault on the now-exposed cat.
Death bared his fangs and snarled with every slice. He pushed Puss back more and more while he weakly deflected every strike. But on the third swing, Puss blocked at an awkward angle, and allowed Death a singular cut across his forehead. Just one, non-fatal, slice that sent him to the ground disarmed.
Before Death even saw the hairs raise along Puss’s body, he knew the damage had been done. He could smell it all over him.
Fear.
A scent he longed to smell from Puss, the so-called ‘fearless’ hero, and he told him as much. With barely any effort on his part, he had broken him. His heightened senses could practically hear his heart as it threatened to burst from his chest. As he stalked closer to him, his sickles dragging sparks along the ground, the cat cowered before him. Such a delicious sight, he felt drool escape from between his toothy grin.
With every step forward, Puss’s breathing increased and his pupils dilated. It didn’t take Death long to figure out the reason behind his shell shocked state. He had seen this look from men and women alike, moments before he greeted them.
“What’s wrong? Lives flashing before your eyes?” He taunted.
He relished in the state of primal panic he thrust Puss into, but he would feel no victory killing him like this. His foot brushed against the thin needle of silver that was Puss’s blade, and he kicked it over to him.
“Pick it up,” he commanded. Puss remained frozen, reliving all eight of his lives, and Death became irritated.
“Pick. It. Up,” Death demanded with every syllable.
Whether he overcame his fear, or remained captive to it, Death didn’t know, but Puss eventually reached down and grabbed his weapon all the same. Or perhaps the situation simply called for his action. From where they stood, Death couldn’t see a way out for him after all.
Puss shook like a leaf in the wind, all gusto and bravado taken out of him from one short bout with Death. He extended his hand forward and pointed the end of his blade at him, or rather all around him given how much he trembled. His eyes remained wide and fearful, and his chest heaved from the singular effort to keep the blade aloft. Blood continued to trickle between his eyes, yet he ignored it and kept his attention on him. His last brave act.
Death, however, laughed cruelly at how pathetic he looked, and once more took the sword out of his hand with a swipe of his sickle. The sound of metal clashing on metal forced Puss into a fetal position and he covered his head with his hands. He cowered before Death, and the wolf chuckled again.
All that remained of the once-great hero was the tiny kitten that lay before him. Although he dreamed of a fight to Puss’s final end, he couldn’t wait forever for him to regain that will. No, he couldn’t come back from this. But as he gazed over his small form, he thought of another way he could derive his satisfaction. Something he hadn’t felt in years, and perhaps the legend held more talents beyond the sword he brandished.
Death licked his lips and replaced his sickles before he picked Puss up by the scruff of his neck. “It’s almost pitiful to see you like this,” he said with a sneer, “especially after all that talk, it’s honestly kind of embarrassing for me.”
Puss didn’t respond, just kept his hands in front of his eyes as if it would make Death go away. He thought for a moment if he should reveal who he is now, but figured it would be more fun to keep the story Puss made up for him.
“Whatever bounty is on your head? It ain’t worth it. Not if it means killing you like this,” he nodded to all of him, not that Puss saw it.
“But,” he continued, brushing Puss’s fur with his other hand, “I bet you still have your uses. And I intend to find out what they are. Starting with this.”
Death grabbed a seat with his empty hand and dragged it behind him so he could sit down. He popped the simple button on his pants out of its notch and slipped them down around his ankles. As the cloth passed over his thighs it exposed his sizable sheath, and the already-erect cock that pushed against the fabric. Once removed it sprang up and pulsed in the air, ready for Puss.
He placed the timid cat on his pelvis so his back sat flush with the rigid member. Death watched his head shoot out of his hands, eyes widened and face flushed, and he slowly turned to face the monster he released. Even with the knot still contained within his sheath, the tip poked at his chin and coated it with pre. Death could sense the trepidation in the small cat as he realized what he meant by his ‘uses’. If he thought to back down, he didn’t say as much. Not that he would’ve allowed him to.
He prodded his frazzled back with a finger and nodded. “I think it’s obvious what I want, yes? Better get to it, unless you’re feeling brave again.”
Death saw Puss’s head dart over to where his sword lay, and for a moment he dared him to pick it up. Whether it was that sword or the one Puss lay on, either way he’d have his fun.
“After all,” Death continued and stroked a claw along Puss’s cheek, “doesn’t Puss in Boots laugh in the face of Death? Funny, you sound pretty quiet right now.”
He would’ve expected a witty retort from the frightful feline, but with how his body still shook his mind had no doubt gone blank. With or without the sword, he must’ve known by now he was completely outmatched. Even if he did go for his weapon, Death would have been right behind him to carve his last life into his blade’s edge. In Puss’s mind, his only way out was to comply.
So Death watched Puss twist himself around and straddle the thick member. A brief pause held between them as Death waited expectantly for his next move, then he gasped when he felt his tongue against his tip. The giant wolf shivered and arched his back under his small, careful licks.
“Ah, oh, fuck! I forgot you felines have those rough tongues. Might get me off sooner than I like if you keep this up.”
At this, Death felt his licks pick up in frequency as Puss worked around his twitching head. A tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and he panted heavily. Clearly Puss wanted to make him finish faster. But Death didn’t want to end things this way. He already had a plan for him, so with a large paw he grabbed Puss’s head and forced him to stop.
“That wasn’t encouragement,” he gasped, then took in a few deep breaths. “I want to take my time with you, so why not ease up a little and try to enjoy yourself?”
He dragged his hand down from Puss’s head along his soft back, and watched him stand up and arch into his touch. He knew he did it reflexively, but it didn’t stop him from appreciating the view he got once he exposed his rear to him. Death took it in two great paws and pressed his thumbs against either cheek, drawing them apart and stretching out Puss’s tight hole. He grinned at the sight, then rolled out his tongue and pressed it against his entrance.
He quickly slicked it up as he coated his entire ass in saliva, and even drew out a low moan from the hero in the process. Death gave it a few more licks and he felt Puss’s hands wrap around his cock for stability. With every lick he pumped his dick up and down as his tongue pushed him back and forth. Death felt Puss’s legs grow shaky, and he used his other fingers to hold him upright while he continued his assault.
He felt the cat’s hole stretch more and more to accommodate his tongue, until he finally slipped it inside. Puss’s legs buckled below him, and finally Death felt him return the favor as he lapped against his shaft much like he did with his cream earlier. He did so much slower, as requested, but even then the wolf felt unsatisfied. While he greedily ate Puss out, his tongue lazily dragged up his length, then just as slowly back down with barely any effort.
He felt no stimulation like this, and he growled as he pulled himself out of Puss’s winking hole. “Ok, gato , now you’re just being difficult. I said I wanted to take my time, that doesn’t mean forever. Open your mouth and blow me!”
His hand snapped down and grabbed the sides of Puss’s face. With his fingers, he forced his jaw open wide, then he raised him up and he shoved his tip inside the open space. It was a tight fit but, with a grunt, Death managed to cram a quarter of his cock down Puss’s throat. Despite his muffled protests, he began to lightly hump his mouth, and relished in how the cat gagged and sputtered over his dick.
Death practically purred himself while Puss struggled, but the cat dared not to fight back lest he draw out his ire. So the wolf took advantage and pushed as much of himself inside as he could, until his choked breaths were muffled completely. Not to say he killed him yet, Death could feel he still lived. But he’d definitely have a hard time breathing while he slowly fucked his throat.
In the meantime, Death returned to Puss’s wet hole and he pushed his snout back against it. If he wanted any hope of taking him, he’d need to be prepped a lot more. Although he couldn’t deny he loved the taste of him as well. For a while, silence pervaded the room, interrupted only by the wet smacks of Death’s tongue as he worked Puss’s loose entrance. He continued to thrust into Puss’s mouth all the while, and the cat simply lay there and let him work both of his ends.
But then, Death paused when he felt Puss shift on his chest. He felt his hands wrap around the sides of his shaft as best they could and, without any input on his part, Puss began to service him. His muzzle clung tightly around him as he bobbed up and down along his member, and he felt his sandpaper tongue drag along his head in wide circles.
Such unexpected and fervent motivation surprised Death, and he pulled out of Puss with a groan and leaned back against the chair. He let him work his entire dick while he lay awkwardly on his chest. His hands worked the areas his mouth couldn’t reach, and oh did he try to reach. The soft friction of his paws coupled with his tight throat had Death’s eyes upturned in bliss.
Puss certainly made a turnaround from his earlier disposition, and Death felt himself build to the edge. He nearly finished there and then, but with great restraint he pushed himself out of his seat and sent Puss tumbling to the floor. He shouted briefly before he landed face-first on the floor, with his ass raised high in the air. Which suited Death just fine as he took up a position behind him. His form easily dwarfed the small cat as he looked between his legs and aligned himself to Puss’s hole.
“ Bein. Mue Bein, ” Death hummed pleasantly. “I think we’re ready for the next part now.”
He prodded against Puss’s rear, which prompted him to snap his head around and look at him. While he had been nonverbal until now, he immediately sobered up and shook his head.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?! Are you trying to get me-”
“Killed?” Death cut him off with a sinister smile. “I believe that was the original idea. Plan’s changed, of course, so maybe if you relax you'll still walk away from this.”
Death could see in his eyes that he knew, much like he did, that this was bullshit. Still, that didn’t phase him as he plunged his tip into that tiny hole, then stretched Puss out further as he sunk halfway into him. He let out a low moan with half-lidded eyes; he couldn’t believe how tight Puss was. Their differences in height were staggering, so he shouldn’t have been too surprised, but he didn’t expect how good he would feel. Nothing in his past experiences compared.
While Puss cried and whined about his overabundance, Death appreciated the squeeze Puss gave him before he shifted out and thrusted back in again. He kept one hand planted on the ground, while another came under to hold Puss’s distended tummy. He felt where his cock lay inside his body, how it ended midway up his chest, and it drew a pleasant hum from deep in his throat that he cut short with another thrust.
His stomach shrunk and swelled with every hump, and it spurred Death to pick up the pace. His faster pistons allowed him to open Puss up even more than before, and soon most of him easily slid into the famed hero. With his versatility successfully tested, Death relished in how Puss slipped over his comparably massive length. His fingers squeezed around his body to give himself more of that prior resistance.
As he held him, he felt Puss’s tiny prick slap against his pinky with every slam forward. His brutal thrusts clearly aroused the pussycat, and he could tell as much from how his tearful cries had changed into soft, pitiful mewls. He hunched lower over the feline and really drove himself inside, while he listened to how he pleaded for him to slow down in-between his moans.
“Slow down?” Death grunted teasingly. “I expected you to tell me to stop. You enjoying yourself, Puss? I bet you are.”
He answered his own question, then grunted again when he felt Puss clench around him with whatever muscles he hadn’t stretched beyond repair. This, in turn, prompted his knot to finally slip out. Ready to breed his little toy.
“Well don’t you worry, gato ,” he said as he leaned back and pushed Puss’s face into the floorboards, “I’ll be slowing down soon. How you handle that, we’ll see.”
He heard a confused grunt come out of Puss just before he slammed his bulbous knot against his rear with a punishing thrust. He savored the sharp cry that emitted from underneath his paw, and the fresh wave of fear as Puss figured out his intentions. Just as a word of protest left his mouth, Death silenced it as he picked up into a savage pace.
He snarled and growled as he plowed relentlessly into the small feline. He felt how his body lurched from his immense length and how he flopped helplessly while he pinned him to the ground. His knot smacked repeatedly into him, threatening to push inside but never going in all the way. Despite Death’s efforts, his clawed feet dug into the floor and scratched against the wood, he couldn’t seem to get Puss to accommodate him.
To remedy this, he changed positions. Midway through his thrust, he pressed himself as hard as he could against Puss’s rear. Then he grabbed Puss around the waist and threw himself back on his haunches. He placed one hand behind him to steady himself, and with the other he held Puss aloft while he fucked up into him.
Puss groaned in time with his thrusts, too dazed for words, and Death worked him in opposite strokes like a living fleshlight. He could feel his load swell in his balls, his knot expanded to its maximum width and ready to fill the unfortunate on the receiving end. His growls calmed to a steady grumble, and he slowed his pace to long, sharp thrusts.
Death hadn’t felt this pent up in eons. His balls hung low and heavy, his cock throbbed somewhere in Puss’s intestines, and his knot ached for release. The effort to force himself all the way in had him breathless, which was more than he could say about their initial fight. All the while the hero continued to hang on, and even enjoyed himself. In a way, the wolf found it somewhat impressive, but he didn’t want to give him any commendations. He had something more tangible for him instead.
Death took his time as he drew from Puss’s ruined hole, then slammed him down to the knot. Each time he felt him accommodate a little more than the last, and he could tell it wouldn’t be long before he pushed all the way in. Puss could tell too, as he heard his voice return.
“W-wait… p-please… ah… don’t…” he begged between every labored breath.
Too late. Whatever Puss tried to say died in his throat as, with one final thrust, Death pulled him down hard on his knot. He pushed just as hard against him, and with an audible pop he finally slipped all the way inside. The wolf threw his head back and clenched his cheeks as he humped the first salvo up to his quivering tip. Then groaned as his load surged out of him in thick, hot waves. Granted sweet release, he coated Puss’s insides and felt his belly quickly swell underneath his fingers with his seed.
At the same time, he felt Puss reach his own orgasm as cum splashed against his fingers and arced to the floor below. He heard Puss cry under him, a tortured moan that soon devolved into choked gurgles. Curious, he looked down, only to be greeted with a flood of white as his own cum gushed out of his mouth. It spilled out all over his chest to mingle with the puddle that formed on the floor, as his ass just as quickly filled to the brim.
While at first the sight took Death by surprise, that self-satisfied grin came over his face once more. The cat tried and failed to hold the flood back with his hands, as every shuddered hump brought more seed spilling out his open maw. Soon even he saw the fruitlessness of the act, and his hands dropped to his sides before his head rolled back to look at the wolf who speared him.
Death kept his eyes on Puss while his body shuddered and quaked. As he did, he realized Puss didn’t actually look at him. Or anything for that matter.
Slowly, he sat down on the soiled floor while his seed continued to drool lazily from the cat’s orifices. He noted how the cat’s hands sat limp by his sides, that his chest had stilled save for the twitching member buried within him, and Death could tell he had passed this mortal realm.
Puss’s final life had come to an end.
Nearly half an hour had passed since Puss met his demise, and Death still sat tied to his temporary lover. His body continued to milk whatever little seed he had inside him and slowly reduce his rounded growth. Albeit a bit morbid, the wolf derived continued pleasure each time his member flexed and added to the load inside the once-great pussycat.
When he felt the last of his essence spill out, he exhaled a great sigh, then pulled his shrunken knot out of the orange cat. He popped out like a cork from a vintage wine, the excess he kept in spilled onto the floor from Puss’s gaping hole and left him in a sea of milky white. Death stood up and pulled his pants over his slowly receding penis, all the while he kept his attention on the motionless form below him, and not just to admire his handiwork.
While he had closely monitored Puss throughout all his lives, he wanted to make sure this one really was his last. If he came back at all, he wanted to be there to end it again. And, perhaps, have a little more fun as well.
But when an hour passed and the body only grew colder, a smile grew over his face and he took out a sickle. With a single claw, he etched a cross through the final cat’s head. At long last, the great hero Puss in Boots had met his end, and so too did his legend.
Death placed the sickle back at his hip, then whistled a tune as he departed the lifeless bar. Ready to bring the next soul to the ferryman.