Posted by C on December 27, 2002 at 13:46:05:

How Catgirl Bagged the Boys

By C

Part I

It was a fine Spring morning. When she arrived at the outer reaches of Bois de Berengaria, Catgirl was in high spirits. As well she should have been: an attractive young cat woman with orange fur and black stripes, garbed in a fashionable green mini-dress and matching boots, with an air of complete confidence, she simply must have been someone in charge of her own fate. She shrugged off her backpack, adjusted the pink feather in her green Robin Hood cap, and scrutinized the forest in front of her. This seemed as good a place to enter as any. After resting her arms and shoulders a bit, she put the backpack on again and plunged into the dense, tangled greenery.

She had brought more with her than a backpack. At her right side (she never removed it) was a triple crossbow, capable of hitting three targets in quick succession. If that didn’t do the trick, she had other goodies in the pack. The Boys might as well just give up now!

Ah yes, the Boys. Unconditional surrender was anything but likely here. The wicked trio had been terrorizing the Kingdom of Berengaria for years. In that time, more than one hunter had tried to bring them down-and failed miserably. Their senses were preternaturally sharp, it was said, and they were at least as fast as any other forest fays. Arrows had a way of swerving around them-or so it was rumored. But Catgirl just knew she was good enough. She would nab them where all the others had failed. She would force their pants down. She would turn their insolence to bitter tears . . . .

She tripped on a root and hit the ground with a thump. As quietly as she could, she got up, dusted herself off, and made sure her crossbow had not been damaged. The terrain was rougher than she had thought; she needed to be more careful. Moving now with the maximum stealth she could manage, she worked her way slowly into the forest.

It was almost noon when she found herself on the edge of a clearing. Very quietly, she reconnoitered, and when she’d made sure the clearing was empty, she went in. Feeling a little thirsty now, she slipped out of her backpack once more and took out her canteen. Then she settled down on her haunches to sip her water and check the breeze for scents. Sure enough, there was a sweet but vinegary tang on the air: the aroma of boy cream and stiff boy cocks. But where was it coming from? It seemed to be everywhere, a part of every breeze she sampled.

Just then, she glanced to her right and saw two fays, each about a foot long, with big green moth wings, who had fluttered into the clearing and alighted on a bush just a few feet from where she sat. They appeared not to have noticed her. Giving hardly a thought to the matter, she rocked back on her feet and sprang. She caught them, one with each hand. They screamed pitiably and writhed in the grip of her envenomed claws. Before long, the venom told, and their struggles weakened. She could now observe them more closely. They were boys, quite pretty with their golden hair, their big moth-like antennae, and their bright green wings. They were nude, so it was easy to see that their little cocks were very erect. Catgirl looked up just in time to see a flock of fays from the same species go fluttering by. There must have been fifty or more of them, and she noted with some astonishment that they were all male.

A male-only fay species? She’d never heard of such a thing, but female-only species were not uncommon. Perhaps these boys could contrive somehow to lay eggs. She looked them over and saw nothing that appeared to be a suitable orifice. How very puzzling!

“Are there girls in your species?” Catgirl asked. The boys, who had been weeping profusely all this time, just kept on crying.

“I said: are there girls in your species?” This time Catgirl punctuated her question by drawing her rough tongue across each victim’s genitals. Both of them screamed, and then one gasped out: “No . . . girls. No girls.”

“Were there never any girls, or did something happen to them?”

“Once they were here . . . but now . . . gone,” the boy said. “P-please don’t hurt us!”

“They died,” the other boy said. “Please, please . . . .”

“Do you know how?”

“The . . . the big boys made it h-happen. Y-years ago. Please, oh Dear God, please . . . .”

She tried some more questions, but elicited no further information. She had a good idea, however, who the “big boys” were. “Thanks for your help,” she told her hapless prey. Then, with the needle-sharp claw on her index finger, she jabbed their pouches in turn. Two shrill little squeals-and soon the orgasmic pressure began to build. She helped it along with her tongue. It took several minutes, but it was worth it: she got what must have been a mouthful of boy liquor from each stiff little prick. When they’d been thoroughly milked, the boys whimpered a little, kicked out two or three last times, and expired. Then she opened wide and, one after the other, swallowed them whole.

So the Boys had contrived to eliminate females from their domain. Why? Catgirl got up and went in search of more answers.

Part II

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

“Excuse me, uh, sir . . . but could you tell me . . . .” she began.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why thank you,” said the otter.

“I mean-such a big quarry! I’d worry I was biting off more than I could chew.”

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

“I’ve been hired by the Berengarians to capture the Boys.”

“My, my,” said the otter. “Good luck. You’ve picked some tough pouches to pierce.”

“I wonder if I might ask you for some information?”

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

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

“Now,” said Otho, “what would you like to know? Let me say right off the bat: I know the Boys are powerful, but I don’t know what exactly gives them their power. I don’t even know where they live, so I can’t point you at them. As I said before, I may not be much help.”

“Are . . . are all the fays in this forest male?”

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

“Why?” said Catgirl. “Why no girls?”

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

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

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

“How diabolically clever!” said Catgirl. “You say you’re the only fay-predator left?”

“It certainly looks that way.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

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

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

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

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


“I mean, you’re a predator and you’re still here.”

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

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

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

“No,” said Catgirl. “That’s far too generous!”

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

“Why . . . thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Now put your hands at your sides.”

“We won’t!” said the brunet. “We won’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who do you blame for all this?”

“The Boys!” the blond wailed. “Those . . . lying Boys!”

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

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Well, are their pouches bleeding, do you think?”


“Are their cocks stiffening up for the last time?”


“Are they crying their pretty eyes out?”


“Are they about to die?”

“No! No! They’re not! They’re not!”

“Would you like them to?”

“Yes! But h-how?”

“Tell me everything you know.”

“Well . . . I . . . . ”

“Don’t!” cried the brunet. “She’s a predator . . . she’s an enemy!”

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

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

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

“I don’t care,” said the blond. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

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

“Yes, kill them!” said the blond. “Make them cry! Make their pouches bleed! Make them go stiff for the last time!”

“All right,” said Catgirl, and she swore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re . . . phenomenal,” she said.

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

“I think so,” and she recounted what the mers had told her.

“A talisman,” said Otho. “One that requires blood. That’s way out of my line.”

“I know a little bit about these things,” said Catgirl. “I’ve got a notion at least of what I’m up against.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for your lovely company. And be careful.”

Part III

Catgirl had gone up one side of the big hill and down the other, and so far had found nothing. Then, one afternoon, three days after she’d entered the forest, she at last met the Boys. She was resting in a glade on the hillside, her three-shot crossbow at her side, when they appeared, about ten feet in front of her. One was a curly-haired blond, dressed in a blue, long-sleeved shirt, blue knee-length boots, and white briefs. Next to him stood a wavy-haired redhead, in shirt and boots of bottle green. His briefs, too, were white. A little behind these was a boy with straight black hair, in a red shirt and boots, with-of course-white briefs. All appeared to be slender but strong. And all were breathtakingly beautiful. Their skin was alabaster--as smooth and hairless as any human girl’s. Their faces were perfect, except that they lacked even a hint of sympathy or kindness.

The blond, whose especially arrogant demeanor marked him as the leader, spoke. “I don’t recall extending you an invitation. Just who might you be?”

“Catgirl. Everybody calls me Catgirl,” said Catgirl.

“And we’re the Boys,” said the blond, “the Boys of Bois de Berengaria. More specifically, I’m Alcimus.”

“And I’m Alexius,” said the redhead.

“And I’m Anytus,” said the one with black hair.

“Now that introductions are out of the way,” said Alcimus, “just why are you trespassing on our hill?”

“I’m here to bring you to justice,” Catgirl replied. “Will you come quietly? Or do you insist on being difficult?”

“Well, you’re a cheeky bitch! I should warn you: this isn’t a friendly environment for females.”

“Then I’ll have to be quick,” said Catgirl, and, in less than the wink of an eye, she’d grabbed her crossbow and released three quarrels, one at each of the Boys. That should have been it, but just before they could hit their targets, the three shafts twisted in mid-course and missed completely. “Uh oh,” said Catgirl.

The Boys now advanced, spreading out to cut off her escape. Quick-thinking as always, Catgirl pulled a little leather bag from her belt and tossed it at them. It hit the ground near Alcimus’ feet and exploded in a huge cloud of black smoke. When the smoke reached their groins, their cocks stiffened involuntarily. Thinking that lethal magic had struck them where they were most vulnerable, the Boys cried out in dismay. Then they took off, as fast as they could run. In fact, Catgirl’s trick was anything but lethal. A chemical in the smoke caused sudden, but harmless, arousal in male fays. All the Boys knew, however, was that they were painfully erect. If brought to orgasm against their will, they must die-and so they ran quite literally for their lives.

Catgirl ran as well, putting as much forest between her and the wicked trio as she could. She couldn’t afford to be caught like that again. Their magic was stronger than she had thought. She’d hoped she might be able to deal with the boys and leave the talisman alone. But it protected them. Clearly, she must destroy its power first, or she’d never destroy them. When she felt she was safe, she stopped and sniffed the air. Ahhh, she had them! Each fay cock has a unique scent, and now she knew theirs. She’d double back before much longer. Then she’d follow them-to their lair and to the talisman.

Three days of frustration followed. She found the lair all right: a stone outcropping, with overhanging trees for concealment from all but the most determined searcher. But no talisman. So she kept following her quarry, in the hope they’d pay the talisman a visit. But they hadn’t, and her time was running out.

She thought she could feel the first effects of the female-killing magic. She grew tired more easily now, and she felt a kind of itchy tremor in her tummy. With concentration, she could lessen the strange tingling, but she couldn’t eliminate it completely. And it seemed to get stronger by the day. Even if I leave before the week is out, will I recover? she wondered. There was no way to know.

As she shadowed them, she could hear bits and pieces of the Boys’ conversations. On the third day, things started to get promising. They stood in a clearing together. Catgirl lay hidden beneath some low shrubs when she heard the black-haired boy, Anytus, speak.

“I . . . I think there’s more to it, Alcimus.”

“Nonsense! Nonsense!” Alcimus said. “The effects of whatever that bitch threw at us wore off in half an hour. We were fine, and we’re still fine.”

“Then why do I feel . . . so funny down here? My stomach’s all fluttery! And I keep getting erections-for no reason at all!”

“When have you ever needed a reason?” said Alcimus.

“The same things are happening to me,” said Alexius. “And I’ve only been that way when there was real danger.”

“If she’s still around,” said Alcimus, “she’ll be dead very soon. No danger then."

“But she isn’t dead yet,” Alexius replied.

“Look,” said Alcimus. “I’ll admit: I’ve had the flutters a few times myself in the last few days. But that was . . . very upsetting, what she did to us. I think we’re all just taking a little time to get over it.”

“We should go to Khaphre,” said Anytus.

“Now why should we do that? Once a month, he always says, and he gets very cross when we bother him more than that. We have two weeks to go. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want him blasting me or something.”

“Anytus’ lower lip quivered, and tears began to roll down his cheeks. “I . . . I’m afraid! You know what the prophetess said. And then . . . this huntress shows up. And we don’t kill her . . . . And the way we’ve been feeling since . . . . I’m just afraid!” And he began to sob.

“He’s not the only one,” said Alexius.

“Don’t you start blubbering, too!” snapped Alcimus as he went over to Anytus and took him in his arms. He began to stroke the weeping boy’s hair. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. The prophetess only said a huntress could take our pants down, not that a huntress would, or that this one in particular would.”

“For every fay, a catching day,” said Alexius.

“Oh you’re no help at all! We’ve discussed this a hundred times, and Khaphre agrees. Females are all we have to worry about, and females can’t survive here. So we have a very real chance . . . of living forever. Huntresses have shown up before, and what’s always happened?

“They’ve died,” said Alexius.

“So why’s this bitch any different?”

“Because . . . because . . . I don’t know why! But I can’t make the . . . trembly feeling go away! I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . .” And Alexius began to cry as well.

Alcimus sighed: “You come to Daddy, too.” Now he held two weeping boys. “This isn’t making either of you a bit more attractive! Mmmm, I guess I can thank the bitch for one thing, though: it’s getting awfully tight down there for both of you. Ow, me too! Now Anytus, I don’t mean to frighten you or anything, but someone’s about to take your pants down.” Anytus laughed as Alcimus tugged his briefs to his knees, then helped him step out of them. Next, Alcimus did the same for Alexius. The two worriers than pushed their leader to the ground and stripped him.

“Good Lord, it’s all they ever think of,” said Catgirl under her breath.

It didn’t take long before the scent of fresh spunk filled the clearing. The three happy reprobates lay side by side, still stroking each other. “You still want us to go to Khaphre, don’t you?” said Alcimus.

“Yes,” the others replied.

“All right. I’ve lived through his hissy fits before. Let’s go.”

At last! Catgirl took especial care not to be detected as she followed them on their path out of the clearing. They came to what looked like just another stretch of hillside, about a hundred yards below their lair. Then Alcimus murmured a few words, and a cave opening was revealed. Catgirl slipped in behind them and hid herself in the shadows.

The cave was lit, poorly, by a few torches. At its end, on a ledge of granite, stood the stone image of an erect cock. It was about two feet high. On the cave floor in front of the ledge was a metal basin. Alcimus peeked inside this and said: “We’re out of human blood. He’s really going to be ticked. Well, dears, you two wanted us to talk to him. You know what that means.” The other boys gulped, then once again removed their underpants. Anytus went first. He stood over the basin, and Alcimus picked up an iron pin that had been lying on the floor. He used this to jab the other boy’s pouch. Anytus whimpered as Alcimus squeezed him to coax some blood into the basin. Alexius suffered the same treatment next, but more stoically. Then Alcimus reached his right hand into the basin and withdrew it, smeared with blood. He now stroked the glans of the talisman (for that’s what it was) with his bloody fingers.

Catgirl had a good notion what would happen next. And so it did. The atmosphere in the cave seemed to change, becoming somehow heavier, more charged. The torches dimmed. Then a gleaming green cloud, about the size of one of the Boys, appeared in front of the talisman. The cloud pulsed and quivered like a living thing, then drew in on itself. It was a living thing, and soon it took its proper shape: a beautiful male fay, with tawny hair (just like a lion’s), feathered antennae, pale smooth skin, and fluttering white insect wings. Like the Boys he wore a shirt and boots, though his groin was bare (his pubic patch was tawny as well). His garments were a shining, spotless white. He was a djinn, the guardian fairy of the talisman, who dwelt within until summoned by someone who knew the correct ritual.

“You’re early,” said Khaphre. I hope there’s more blood for me than this.”

“I’m . . . afraid not,” said Alcimus. “You see: a sort of emergency has come up, and

. . . .”

“Emergency? You dolts! I’ve told you a hundred times: if you call me too often, I may get stuck out here. Then what good am I to any of us?”

“We know,” said Alcimus. “Please don’t get mad. It’s just . . . it’s just that a new huntress has appeared and . . . .”

“Why is that a problem?!” Khaphre shouted. “Just use my magic to evade her weapons and give her a week to snuff it!”

“Well, of course . . . but it’s this funny feeling we’ve all had since we saw her . . . .” And then Alcimus described the fluttery sensation in each boy’s tummy, the sudden unexplained stiffenings, and the ease with which tears came. “You can surely divine the answer here. Are we . . . are we about to get caught?”

Khaphre furrowed his pretty brow for a moment, then said: “I dunno . . .maybe. Why is this my problem?”

“Why? Why? It’s a huntress, you arrogant jerk, or haven’t you been listening?”

Khaphre drew his wings up indignantly. “Do you twits think that just because I don’t like girls, my destiny is the same as yours? I’ve been to a prophetess, too, and huntresses are nothing I need to worry about. No, what I need to steer clear of are, uh . . . never mind.”

“Well, if we get kicky,” said Alcimus, “who’ll get you all that nice blood? I’d say that makes it your problem, too!”

“Sounds like a temporary problem to me at best. Look, I’m sympathetic, but what can I say? We hit on a great plan together: it emptied the forest of predators (not to mention girls) and filled it with the kind of boy we like. But permanent success just isn’t guaranteed. You give me all the blood you can get; I’ll stay in the talisman and keep its magic at maximum strength, and we’ll probably be okay. Obviously, this bitch has had no luck with her arrows, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s true,” said Alcimus.

“So the magic’s working.”

“I guess so,” said Alcimus.

“Terrific. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to be getting back.”

“Well, okay, but since you’re here . . . and we’re here . . . how about a little recharge . . . just to make us as safe as possible?”

“After the piss-poor offering you gave me? I ought to show all three of you the door! Still . . . suppose you did get kicky . . . I know I’d have trouble finding suppliers half as good. So . . . since it is my problem to some extent, come on over while I’m still feeling friendly.”

And they did. Alexius and Anytus, who had stood as far back as possible, now knelt on either side of Alcimus, who’d already gotten on his knees. Khaphre, who’d always said that Anytus was the prettiest, gave his cock to that boy first. Anytus took it in his mouth and worked it with such skill that that within less than a minute, Khaphre was groaning from the scarcely bearable pressure. When he at last exploded, both he and Anytus were weeping. “Strangest . . . strangest thing,” said Khaphre, wiping his eyes before he staggered over to Alcimus. More tears and groans, from both giver and receiver. Then the djinn serviced Alexius, and there was more of the same.

“I don’t . . . I don’t really understand this,” said Khaphre. “Now get out.” And so they did.

Catgirl saw Khaphre perform a little ritual with his hands; then he became smoke once more; and then the smoke disappeared. She stepped out of the shadows, looked around her, then walked over to the talisman. The quickest way should be to smash it. If caught inside, Khaphre would die then and there. The power would disappear; and the “recharge,” which merely focused that power a little better, would do the Boys no good at all. She placed her hands on the talisman . . . and then someone seized her from behind and hurled her against one of the walls of the cave.

It was Khaphre. “I thought I sensed you,” he said, “so I played a little trick. It seems you figured a few things out. Unfortunately for you, you’re already dying. He extended his right hand towards her, and Catgirl cried out as a sharp spasm racked her groin. “You have (let me see) one day left, but I can accelerate that. Here goes.” He pointed at her with his index finger.

This time, the trembling little itch in her tummy, which Catgirl had almost forgotten, grew by a factor of two or three, and spread downward. She fell back and clutched at her panties. Somehow, she had contrived to wet them. And the itch got even bigger. The pressure of her panties on her skin was almost unbearable; soon she’d have to tear them off. A thought occurred to her: this was, more or less, what her victims felt. Clearly, she was done for.

Then Khaphre’s hand dropped, his eyes grew very wide, and he said: “No. No. It . . . it can’t be!” Catgirl looked back at the cave entrance. There, seated on his haunches, was Otho.

Terrified and trembling, the boy backed up against the ledge. He glanced behind him at the talisman. His hands performed intricate motions, and-nothing. Either fear spoiled his magic, or he had left his refuge once too often. He was stuck right where he stood. With surprising speed, Otho darted forward and caught the boy with his powerful front paws. He forced him down to the cave floor, then held him in place as his jaws found Khaphre’s pouch. Kicking madly the whole time, the boy screamed, and his scream filled the cave, filled Catgirl’s head, filled everything, it seemed. Then, mercifully, he passed out.

Catgirl slowly got up. The strange tremor was gone. She walked over to the otter, then collapsed on the floor.

Part IV

When she came to, she was still in the cave. Otho was watching her, with a worried look on his face. Khaphre still lay unconscious where he’d fallen, his pouch wounded and bleeding, his cock very erect. Otho had bitten off his wings. Then he had flung the talisman to the floor. It had shattered, and its pieces lay everywhere.

“I don’t know if you’ve fully shaken off that anti-female magic,” said Otho.

“I think I have. Why did you . . . come after me?”

“Oh, I was brooding over what I’d said to you just before I sent you on your way, and it sounded more and more cowardly every time I replayed it in my head. The fact is: I’d acquiesced in a bad state of affairs so long that it was easier just to sit there and do nothing, bad as things were. So I followed you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Thanks. So, I suppose you’ll be wanting to finish our friend here off?”

“No. Let’s take him and his accomplices to the Berengarians. They can deal with all four of them-and maybe you’ll get a bonus.”

“That’s . . . really sweet of you!”

“Not at all. As I’ve already said, I’ve had it up to here with fay cock.”

“Well,” said Catgirl, springing to her feet, “not that your venom isn’t marvelously strong, but a few tricks make absolutely sure that a fay isn’t going anywhere.” She got her backpack, pulled out a length of rope, then used it to bind Khaphre’s wrists behind him. “And there you’ll stay, pretty boy, till we decide to move you. What time is it?”

“About an hour past sundown.”

:”Good. Let’s go get his partners in crime.”

Out they went into the cool spring evening. Soon they had climbed up past the rocky ledge that served as refuge for the evil trio. Catgirl sniffed the wind. Yes, all three were there, somewhere under the trees. They’d made love since coming home, so with any luck, they’d be asleep. She positioned herself about twenty feet from their hideaway and rummaged through her backpack. Soon she found what she needed: two bolos. She whispered to Otho: “I want to give them a foretaste of what the Berengarians have in store.”

She took up the bolos and began to twirl them, one with each hand. They made a whoop! whoop! noise, no doubt unfamiliar to the denizens of the hill. Soon, the boys wandered out, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, to see what was making that racket. Catgirl let fly. No last-minute swerving this time. One bolo caught Alcimus around his neck. The other got Alexius and Anytus, who were standing side by side. They all gasped, and clutched at their throats, then fell choking to the ground. Otho made sure of them with a hard bite to each pouch. Three gurgling screams, and they were still.

For trophies, Catgirl stripped them of their pissy, blood-soaked underpants. Then she bound their wrists, just like Khaphre’s, and draped them all, face down, over Otho’s back. Some more rope was needed to secure them, and then the hunters returned to the cave. There, Khaphre was placed alongside his confederates. Cat and otter worked their way down the hill next, then through the forest. At the forest’s edge, the hunters camped for the night. The next morning, Otho bit the four victims once again to keep them quiet for the journey, then Catgirl tied them to his back as she had before. They now took the road to La Rochelle, largest town in Berengaria.

They got there about midday. A crowd formed to gawk at the strange-looking hunters and their impressive catch. “Someone summon the Mayor!” Catgirl shouted. Soon a stout, middle-aged man appeared, Mayor Bourguignon.

“Zut alors!” he cried. “You got them-and brought them back alive!”

“I believe that entitles me to a bonus,” said Catgirl.

“But of course. Uh, I thought there were only three of them.”

“One’s an accomplice. I claim the usual bounty hunter’s fee for accomplices.”

“Certainly. Would you bring them all to the town square? We shall prepare the Justice Tree.”

“Excellent,” said Catgirl. The Mayor snapped his fingers and gave orders. Several men rushed off.

“Uh, it is just a formality,” said the Mayor, “but . . . .”

“You want proof that these are the Boys? You have a truth elixir, I presume?”

“Right here with me.” He pulled a stoppered bottle out of one of his pockets, then walked over to the four, still unconscious fays. He unplugged the bottle and poured a few drops in turn on everyone’s groin. Each time he did so, a cloud of cinnamon-scented blue smoke rose up. This meant the four were exactly who Catgirl said they were. The crowd began to cheer.

“Marvelous!” said the Mayor. “I’ll have your money for you shortly.”

Catgirl and Otho moved slowly through the happy, curious crowd. At last they reached the square. The Justice Tree, a huge, ancient oak, was ready. Its strongest branch was now adorned with four nooses.

Catgirl untied the boys from Otho’s back and laid them out side by side on the pavement of the square. She paused for a time to admire their beauty and the hardness of their cocks-soon to be spurting their last. Then she blew some wake-up powder on their faces. “Rise and shine!” she said.

Groaning, the captured fays came to. “Wh-where are we?” said Alcimus.

“At the end of the story,” said Catgirl, and pointed to the Tree. As soon as they realized what they were looking at, the four beautiful criminals began to shake, and cry, and then beg for some way out. When the pleas for mercy, the offers of magic powers and treasure started, Catgirl shushed them, saying: “I give you permission to cry, and tremble, and be kicky, but that’s all.” And since she had bound them, they had to obey.

She turned to Otho and said: “I have to go secure my fee-our fee, which we’ll be splitting fifty-fifty. I’ll be right back.”

As Otho kept watch on the fays, Khaphre paused from his sobbing long enough to ask: “H-how did she know?”

“Know what?” said Otho.

“That only a . . . only a male otter could catch me. How did she know?”

“She didn’t. It was just a matter of luck. You know,” said Otho, “I’ve lived by the lake for years. Didn’t your associates here ever tell you?”

“No . . . never. Never! You idiots, you never told me!”

“Well, you never asked!” cried Alcimus.

Otho intervened quickly. Stroking each wounded pouch in turn, he said: “Destiny, my dear pretty boys, destiny. It had to be this way.”

“Yes,” said Catgirl, who’d just walked up with a big bag of gold. “It was foolish, Khaphre, to think you had a different fate from your friends. Destiny’s a simple thing in Mythica: all fairies get caught; all wicked fairies get brought to justice; and fairy partners in crime all meet justice more or less together. Don’t whine now because you didn’t do your homework. Well, it’s time. The mayor has allowed me to . . . bring things to their proper conclusion.”

With these words, she helped each fay to his feet. Then she lined them up and had them walk (weeping very softly) beneath the branch that bore the nooses. There was no pavement here, just bare dirt. “Now face the crowd.” Khaphre, Alcimus, Anytus, and Alexius all turned to see what must have been more than a thousand people filling the square. All, amazingly, were quiet (it was the custom in Berengaria). Catgirl now went behind the four fays and cinched a noose around each neck. Then she took a few breaths and repeated an old incantation the mayor had taught her. A creaking, splintering noise came from within the Justice Tree. The branch with the nooses twitched, and then moved slowly upward: three inches, six inches, a whole foot. And it drew the boys up with it.

Their faces twisted with pain as the nooses bit in. Their feet kicked and writhed, in search of something, anything to stand on. Their cocks got even stiffer, and soon they were watering the soil beneath them. Then their death orgasms began. A terrible pressure, like nothing any lover had ever contrived, built up in their groins, and they kicked even more frantically. When it was too much to bear, jet after jet of boy honey splashed down on the dirt. They kept on like this, kicking and coming, until they were spurting blood. Only then did their bodies relax and go limp. The crowd, which hadn’t uttered a word until now, began to cheer wildly.

The dirt soaked up their urine, their honey, and their blood. And the Tree grew another foot in height before the day was over.

Part V: Epilogue

Three months later, Catgirl received an invitation from Otho. “Come back for dinner,” he had written. They agreed on a date and time, and she returned to the Bois de Berengaria. It was now high summer, and the forest was even more overgrown and gloomy then in spring. Not to mention hotter. But the scent of the air was . . . more healthy, more balanced.

At last she made her way to the lake, and there was Otho. With him was another giant otter, a female!

“I told you I had some surprises for you,” he said. “Catgirl, this is Felicity, my wife. We married a month ago.”

“Congratulations!” Catgirl hugged them both.

“Now I know you’ve had a long trip, and I’m sure you’re hungry. So let’s go to the ravine. Dinner’s waiting.”

Sure enough, when they arrived, she saw a trophy line of three caught mers. They belonged to the same big species as before, but every one of them was a girl! Pretty blondes all, they wept and sheltered their bosoms with their hands. Otho explained: “The tail first, of course. Then I climb up, pin her arms at her sides, and bite her breasts.”

“Her last embrace,” said Catgirl with a smile.

Otho laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that! Girls are all I ever hunt now. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” said Catgirl. “Not at all.”