Posted by C on December 28, 2002 at 15:53:21:

Coming of Age: A Family Tale

By C

The faycat is admirably suited to bringing down all manner of fays. A fully-grown faycat is about the size of a lion, but with endurance more like a wolf’s: it can chase prey for miles without breaking a sweat. Its tawny, black-spotted hide gives it admirable camouflage in the sunburnt grasslands where it usually hunts. Though it is a cat, more or less, its mouth--long, wide, and shovel-shaped--resembles an alligator’s more than any feline’s. It is perfectly constructed for seizing and holding even the largest landfays until the venom of its many sharp teeth can take effect. Once it has subdued its catch, a faycat can carry even an adult landfay in its powerful jaws for many miles, if need be. . . .

Faycats are perhaps unique in hunting without either instinct or parental training to guide them. They have to teach themselves how to hunt. Not only must they acquire all hunting techniques on their own, but they also must learn by themselves the magic that enables them to hunt at all . . . .

                                       From: Mythican Predators, pp. 35, 36.

Part I

It was mid-morning when Mama announced that her milk had given out. Argus was thinking to himself how nice his next drag on one of her dugs would be-just a brief suck to keep him till lunchtime, when he heard Mama’s shrill voice: “All right, you little monsters, come to attention right now!” Argus ran so fast to her that he almost tripped over himself. Polly, Connie, Mavis, Boris, and Clovis all came up at a more leisurely pace; but unlike Argus, they weren’t perpetually hungry.

“Do I have your attention, you ungrateful whelps?” They were almost as big as Mama now, but she still had a height advantage, and she used it for all she was worth. Pulling herself up as far as she could, she favored them with her toothy, wide- mouthed grin. “I checked my milk just now, and there isn’t any. The well has gone dry. The spigot has been spiked. Do you catch my meaning?”

“Mama,” said Argus, “it’s almost my between-breakfast-and-lunch feeding. Where do we go for milk when yours runs out?”

“Ah, count on you not to catch my meaning. You don’t go anywhere, you little fur brain! Having put up with you and your irritating siblings for the better part of a year, I’ve dried out. And no one else is going to take my place. (I mean, I can barely stand you, and I’m your mother.) So, six little parasites must now cross the threshold of adulthood-or starve. It’s time for solid food!”

“Mama,” said Argus. “Do you mean you’re going to teach us how to hunt?”

“A good question for once. No, I’m not! You’re going to do what I did: learn how to hunt unaided, with no resources but your native wit to fall back on. For some reason, I’m not optimistic, but since I don’t much care, I can live with it.”

Polly now spoke: “Wh-what does Papa have to say about this?”

Papa stepped out from behind his wife at this point and said: “Papa concurs with Mama on this one, kids. It’s the way of our species: survival of the fittest, nature red in tooth and claw, and all that rot.”

“But Papa,” said Molly, “can’t you at least give us some pointers?”

“’Fraid not. It’s just not done, you see. No cheating, scout’s honor, conspiracy of silence, and suchlike. Look kids, if your mother and I could figure it out, don’t you think you might be able to pull it off, too?” The six cubs looked at one another doubtfully. “You see,” he said, “it’s like this. There’s a magic to our hunting: Darwinian magic, you might say.” (They stared at him blankly.) “You know, Darwin? Bushy British fellow? Oh never mind. Anyway, the magic won’t work unless you figure it out yourselves. If you can’t figure it out . . . well, try not to think about that.”

“One more thing,” said Mama. “You all must leave. Now. I’ll give you one pointer, and even that’s stretching the rules: the nearest fay covey is two miles that way. I suggest you practice on them. Goodbye. Oh, and it’s quite all right: no need to thank me.” She turned her back on them and stalked away.

“So long, kids,” said Papa. “Kiss, kiss.”

And so, sniffling a little but trying to be brave, the six cubs wandered out into the veldt. To look at them, one might have expected more confidence. They were nearly adult faycats, after all. But they knew literally nothing about hunting, except that it sounded like a lot of work. Mama and Papa had always gone out to hunt together without ever taking the children along. And they never brought their prey home. And they only rarely talked about it. But nothing could be done now, except to go in the direction Mama had suggested

Part II

After what seemed like hours of walking under a steadily hotter and hotter sun, the high grass gave way to humbler growth. And there was the covey! Fifty or so very pretty gazelle girls were gathered near a water hole. They were tall, and slender, but full-breasted. Their hair was thick and luxuriant, always reaching at least to their shoulders. They had every complexion imaginable, from palest pink to darkest chocolate-brown. All wore halter tops, in a prodigal variety of bright colors, but their panties were invariably a brilliant, immaculate white. Their magic high heels, which could carry them at speeds a faycat would be hard-pressed to match, were glossy black without exception.

“There they are,” whispered Argus.

“Shush, you idiot,” said Polly.

:”What do we do now?” said Connie.

“Go in for the kill, I guess.” This was from Mavis. It sounded like a good suggestion to the others, and they darted out from their cover and made for their intended prey.

When the gazelle girls saw the cubs, they did something that seemed very strange, until later. Instead of running immediately, they stood stock-still until the cats were almost on top of them. Only then did they take off. And what a chase they led their would-be captors! The girls dashed back and forth, turning with far more nimbleness than any of the cats could manage. The cats darted here, and there, and everywhere--now after this girl, now after that; but their jaws never closed on anything but air. At one point, a fay that Argus was chasing doubled back and ran right over his head. If his skull had been thinner, her heel would surely have punctured it. Argus and his sibs kept at it as long as they could; but, untrained, unexercised as they were, they finally had to give up. Panting, gasping, cramping terribly, they staggered back to the high grass. From there, they could see and hear the gazelle girls laugh, cheer, and high-five one another.

Suddenly, six of the younger girls began a marvelously coordinated dance. (They were all lovely of course: three white blondes and three black brunettes.) First they turned their backs to the still-panting cubs, then they shook their rear ends in exactly the same tempo. What followed next was a perfectly synchronized sequence of two-steps, high kicks, pirouettes, cartwheels, and the like. As they performed, they sang a song:

“Do you want to waste these?”
(They pointed at their breasts as they sang this.)
“Do you want to taste these?”
(They high-kicked and pointed at their groins.)
“Well you CAN’T,
And you SHAN’T,
‘Cause you’re UGLY!
Uh-huh, Uh-huh,
You’re not the least bit WARM or SNUGGLY,
Nor would I say you’re NICE and HUGLY;
I think life must be GRIM and STRUGGLY
For cats so UGLY!
Uh huh, uh huh,
You’re Just Plain UGLY!

And they all threw their arms up and high-kicked with happy abandon.

“They seem to be mocking us,” said Argus.

“Ya think?” said Polly, who closely resembled her mother in mood and manner.

Now the voices of some of the older fays drifted over to them. “Stop teasing them, kids! Just let them die, like all the other cubs.”

“That’s right, dears. Their situation’s cruel enough.”

“Oh all right,” said an especially pert-looking blonde with a lavender top. She turned again and stuck out her tongue, right in Argus’s direction.

“I can’t take it any more,” said Clovis. “Let’s beat a hasty retreat, shall we?” So they all slunk off into the high grass. When they thought they’d reached a private enough spot, they sank to the ground to marinate in their humiliation.

“Oooh,” said Boris, “every time they raised their legs, the scent just about floored me. I’m so hungry! What are we going to do?”

“Well,” said Polly. “This is supposed to be a learning experience. So what did we learn today? We learned that they’re fast. They maneuver well. They like to tease us. And we’re not in very good shape. I’ve got it: we need to start an exercise program!”

“What, are you kidding?” said Connie. “We’re famished. If we exercise without eating, we’ll just starve that much faster.”

“Oh,” said Polly. “Well, let’s see what else we’ve learned. Oh, I know! I know! We’re not the first cubs they’ve encountered.”

“Right,” said Clovis, “and what happened to them? They died.”

“Maybe the fays made that part up,” said Connie.

Just then, Argus decided the stone he was sitting on was too uncomfortable. He got up, had a better look at it, and said: “Guys. I think you should see this.” They all looked where he was pointing. It was no stone, but a sun-whitened, shovel-shaped skull. No one spoke for a long time after that.

Part III

After a cheerless, hungry night, Argus roused himself early and crept back to the edge of the high grass. He knew he wasn’t the smartest faycat alive, but he had an obstinate streak to him, and he was damned if he was going to waste away without a fight. We need to learn more, he thought. And so he spent the next few hours observing.

The gazelle girls seemed to love two things most of all: playing and lounging. Their games included tag, hide and seek, blind girl’s bluff, and styling each other’s hair. When not at play, they napped anywhere it suited them. But they were clearly light sleepers. If a bird chirped, or a twig snapped, they were on their feet and glancing about them. At all times their alertness and grace were evident, and when they ran, so was their speed. How could you bring down something so fast and agile? It hurt Argus’s already aching head to ponder that problem.

Well into his vigil, he discovered another thing they loved: making love. Just fifteen feet from where he sat hiding, two of the girls who’d tormented them yesterday lay down and began to pleasure each other. It was the pert blonde who’d stuck out her tongue, and an equally saucy-looking black girl (this one wore a pink top). They cuddled for a while. Then, when their excitement had built, they took down each other’s panties. Such pretty little muffs! And the scent of their pussies: sweet yet vinegary! Argus didn’t think he could take much more; but he forced himself to keep watching. Each girl now teased the other’s cunt with her tongue. In little time at all, the tongues grew stiff, and when that happened, their owners thrust them in, deep and hard.

“Mmmphhh! Mmmmpphmmphh!” they said.

That was enough for Argus. He started to trudge back, wondering if he had anything of value to tell the others. As he walked, his mind touching on this or that subject, something occurred to him that made him come to a sudden stop. “Let me think; let me think,” he said. Yes, it seemed he was right; but he’d have to run it by the others.

Part IV

When he returned to their refuge and they saw him, they all looked as disconsolate as ever. And why not? Why would they think he had anything of value to say? Well, he’d give it a try anyway. “I went back and had another look at them,” he said.

“So?” said Polly. Her temper was not improving.

“I saw two of them make love.”

“Well I feel much better now!” Polly snarled. “The rest of us are trying to find a way out of this . . . mess, and you’re getting a little inter-species thrill!”

“That’s not it at all,” said Argus. “I wanted to see what I could learn from watching them. I saw them playing, and resting, and then . . . well, what I just said.”

“And . . . ?” This was Boris.

“And they’re very fast and very fleet-footed . . . .” (Polly groaned in disgust when she heard this.) “But I thought of something else entirely. Their love-making made me remember: Mama and Papa always make love before a hunt.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous!” Polly said. “That’s . . . .”

“No, he’s right,” said Clovis. “They always do. So you think there might be a connection?”

“Maybe,” said Argus. “Just maybe.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you,” said Polly, “before you get any bright ideas. None of us girls is feeling receptive just at the moment. Remember how Mama’s, uh, backside gets all red and swollen before they do it? Well, I am very un-red, very un-swollen at the moment, thank you very much, and so are Mavis and Connie!”

“Ah,” said Argus, “Mama has the same problem from time to time, and here’s what Papa does about it.” With these words, he jumped on Polly and, with his considerably greater strength, forced her to the ground. She shrieked with rage and put up a brave struggle, but it was no use. He held her in place, and as he did, he shoved his head beneath her tail and nipped her, hard, on her vulva. Polly screamed of course. The two other girls tried to come to her aid, but Boris and Clovis tackled them and gave them the same treatment.

When they’d all been nipped, the girls just huddled together on the floor, crying their hearts out. Sure enough, their privates began to swell, and redden, and exude a most enticing scent. The boys stiffened up, and went to work. More screams and crying from the girls; but they didn’t struggle nearly as much now.

When they’d all gotten off, the boys withdrew and rested for a moment. Then Argus spoke: “Well, I may die before much longer, but I’ve learned one very important thing. Mama may talk the most and the loudest, but Papa is the real boss. Polly?”


“I think we’re husband and wife now. I want you to try to be less insolent.”

“A-all right, dear.”

“Okay then. Now why don’t we all go out and see if we can’t manage a little better than yesterday?” And so they headed back to the scene of their previous debacle.

Part V

When they came to the clearing, the gazelle girls were still there, still delighting in simply being alive.

“Now let’s do this right,” said Argus. “We lacked focus last time. Today, we’re each going to pick one girl and follow through with her. And I know just which ones I want us to go after. Mock us, will you? We’ll see who mocks best.” He chose the pert blonde for himself, and he assigned one each of the other five dancers to his sibs.

When all was ready, they went loping towards the covey. The magic they’d stumbled onto didn’t make them expert hunters, of course. Instead it allowed them to understand better what they had already observed. And since their understanding had improved, they felt a new determination. The gazelle girls must have sensed this, for fear showed on their faces, and they fled right away, rather than await the onslaught.

It was obvious now: the cubs had no hope of running as fast as gazelle girls, or matching their devious twists and turns. Instead, each kept up a manageable pace, and stayed always behind the chosen prey, and never let her rest.

The pert blonde darted one way, then another, then still another. She looked back and saw-to her evident horror-that Argus was still pounding along at a good distance behind her, never changing his pace and only making the most leisurely turns--never taking her bait. She had made an error: wasting her energy in frantic maneuver when she needed to save it for a long chase. She ran in just a straight line then, but the harm had already been done.

Out into the veldt he followed her. Her pace became more and more ragged, and soon he could hear her gasping. Argus thought it time to close in before he tired as well, and so he did. Now just a foot or so behind her, he surged forward and swung his big head against her ankles. She was knocked sideways and fell shrieking to the ground. He leapt on her and, holding her down with his big forepaws, he bit her again and again on her bosom. She kicked, and twisted, and squealed with each bite. But his venom soon did its work, and the worst of her struggles ceased. She cried with utter heartache when he tugged off her now soaked panties, but that was all.

Having depantied her, he sat down to get a well-earned rest. She kept up her crying for a while; then, at last, she spoke. “Oh, please sir, I’m so (sniff!) very young. Couldn’t you . . . catch someone older? I’ve . . . I’ve had so little time!”

“You should have thought about that before you did your dance.”

“Oh . . . that. Sorry about that . . . . High spirits, you know. (Ow! You really bit me hard!) Say . . . I know where every covey in the neighborhood hangs out. Wouldn’t that (ouch!) be worth something to you?”

“I’m sorry, Miss; but part of the challenge of being a predator is the research. And I’m starting to enjoy the challenge. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pay a call on those other girls without your help.”

“But . . . no! I mean . . . no, you can’t! You can’t! You just can’t! (Ouch! Damn, my breasts hurt!)”

Rather than argue with her, he seized her at the waist with his mouth and scooped her up. She’d regained some of her energy, and she squirmed and fought for a while, crying “No! No! Oh please, no! (Ooch! Ouch! Aahhh, those teeth!).” But the new dose of venom overcame her completely, and before long she fainted.

Argus now made his way back to his brothers and sisters. When they rendezvoused, each had an unconscious, pantiless fay in his or her jaws. “Here’s as good as anywhere,” Argus said. So they laid out the six girls side by side and waited for them to come to. All were very apologetic about their little dance, but it didn’t help them; nor did their many pleas for mercy and offers of useful information. Mavis discovered that when you bite a gazelle girl’s pussy, she screams and cries (of course), but she also raises her legs till her high heels point skyward. “They’ve surrendered,” said Boris, when all the girls had put up their legs and were sobbing with the bitterness of their capture. He was right: thrusting a venom-coated tongue into each twat was now an easy matter. That made the girls start kicking: a sort of high kick, given their posture, but less cheerful than the high kicks of the day before. Kicky as they were, they soon began to come. Argus couldn’t tell just how many orgasms his little blonde was having, but he gulped down plenty of honey-tinged ejaculate. With their last tremors, they dropped their legs, still kicking, and tore up a good bit of grass with their heels. Then they died. Strong jaws now seized each fay by her pretty feet; and with many grunts of pleasure, the faycats swallowed their victims whole.

The hunters then reviewed what they had learned. At the end, Argus spoke: “That was a little over the top, folks, going after the youngest and healthiest. We can’t count on always pulling that off. I suggest that next time, we shake up the covey and see who falls behind. That should be easier. One more thing: we’ve all paired off. Now I imagine each couple will head out on its own, like Mama and Papa. That’s fine, but I propose we keep hunting together. I can see a place for cooperation in this business. And let’s all come back here periodically with what we’ve bagged. It’ll be good to compare notes. Any objections?

There were none.

“Are you ready, Polly?”

“Yes, husband.” So off they went.