Bravehunt Goes to Spacy's (revised)

Bravehunt Goes to Spacy's

Bravehunt was a young male faycat, whose parents had named him more optimistically than accurately. As it turned out, he could catch what he had to in order to live, but he wasn't going to stop the kitty presses any day soon with courageous exploits.

When Bravehunt caught sight of all this, he almost sprayed right then and there. Unfortunately for him, she saw him just as he saw her. Her eyes widened, and she made a frightened little "Oooooo!" sound. Then she turned and ran--and the speed of her magic heels was something to see! He set off after her, but she'd gotten too big a lead, and he soon gave up the chase.

He was dispirited for a moment; but, as it often did for him, gloom quickly turned into hope. “She was afraid of me!" he said out loud with a kind of exultation. "She must know I can capture her! Small as I am, I must be big enough—my venom must be the right sort—to bag her!" (It didn't occur to him that a fay might naturally bolt, seeing a cat of any size or kind.)

So he began to make a habit of lurking in the Park, near the trees where she had first appeared.

A week went by, and then another week, and his not terribly well-founded hopes began to diminish.

Then, in a different part of the Park entirely, Bravehunt saw her again! It was morning, and she was leaving the Park, stepping with a lightness (indeed a daintiness) remarkable in a creature so large. As he had the first time he'd encountered her, Bravehunt stiffened dangerously (he really had to get himself under control). Staying as quiet as he could, he followed her onto the streets of the City.

How very odd! None of the humans crowding those streets appeared to notice the strangely dressed woman. After a while, it dawned on Bravehunt: the lady was a Fannyjandrum. Fannyjandrums can move unseen among mankind--a useful skill, for these fays feed on the psychic energy of humans, and their feeding often brings bad dreams, madness, and even suicide. Usually, their victims never know the cause. She soon proved beyond any doubt what she was by reaching out and touching the head of this or that passerby. The unfortunate man or woman would stagger for a moment, as if suddenly dizzy.

Fannyjandrums are formidable fays, said the hunter to himself. I must then be quite the formidable faycatcher! Armed with this impeccable logic, he stepped up his pace.
For the better part of the day, his quarry wandered here and there, down one big avenue after another. It was not until late afternoon that she entered the famous department store, Spacy's. Bravehunt counted to 50 before entering himself. Ever since the Great Fairy Incursion of 2010, faycats aroused little notice and were allowed to go pretty much where they chose; but there were still humans who'd give you away by pointing or saying: "Hey, there's a faycat!" He wanted her out of eye- and ear-shot if that happened.

He got inside without drawing unhelpful attention, but of course he no longer knew where she was. Not a problem! Those tight black panties could muffle, but not completely conceal, her girl-scent. It took some effort, but he caught it again: an unmistakable mix of sassafras, and musk, and the slightest dash of vinegar. Not much longer! he thought. Not much longer at all . . . .

By the time he caught up with her, she'd reached Ladies' Wear. He peeked out from behind a brassiere display as she had a look at one big, pretty blouse after another. Then, evidently desiring privacy and a full-length mirror, she gathered up a few of the blouses and took them into the women's dressing area. She'll be cornered! he crowed to himself.
He slipped into the dressing area, just in time to see her stroll behind a pair of blue doors. More carefully than he ever had before in his life, he tiptoed to the doors, which she hadn't bothered to shut behind her. He looked in, and all the wonder he had felt before was revived:

Such a full, delightfully curved derriere! How sweet it would taste, how tenderly it would give, when he plunged his teeth into it! Such legs, big and shapely all at once! Such thighs! Such calves! Such ankles! Such pretty toes! And how those lovely legs would kick when he brought her down--and then stripped her of her panties! Saliva streamed from Bravehunt's mouth, and his cock was about to explode. By some miracle, she didn't notice him at all.

All she had eyes for, it appeared, were the blouses she was inspecting. She picked up a powder glue garment and seemed completely absorbed by it. Bravehunt decided that this was the time to strike. Running and leaping all at once, he bit down hard on her bottom, and gripped her thighs with his claws for good measure. She screamed and dropped the blouse. Then she backed into the wall, fast and hard, so that he was almost crushed by the impact. He fell to the floor, and she ran forward, taking one of the blue doors with her in her effort to escape.

She rushed out into the store. In her fear, she must have lost the ability to conceal her presence. People everywhere were screaming, and running or jumping frantically to get out of her way. Some weren't fast enough, and the knocked them aside with no apparent effort.

Although he was hurting everywhere, Bravehunt forced himself up and took off after her. Intoxicated by the one sweet taste he'd had, he put on more speed than was his custom. It also helped that she was careening frantically up one aisle and down another, looking for a way out. Perhaps she didn't go to Spacy's often; or perhaps his venom had disoriented her. He decided to try and cut her off, so he dashed up an aisle that intersected hers, and pounced as she hurried past. This time his teeth closed on her right thigh. She screamed again, and knocked him from her with a backhanded swipe of her arm.

Struggling to get up again, he wondered why his venom wasn't having more of an effect. Could he have been wrong? Might she be immune to a bite from his kind of kitty? No, he wasn't going to accept defeat now. He resumed his pursuit.

And what do you know? Something must have worked, for she was running more slowly now, more raggedly. He came up behind her and bit her splendid bottom once again. Another scream, and she twisted madly to knock him loose. She succeeded, but only at the cost of losing her balance and falling, hard, to the floor. He bit her again on that marvelous tush. He might have imagined it, but her scream this time had a higher, more desperate sound.

And still she shook free of him. She took off at a mad dash, for now she had an unobstructed view of the main exit. Bravehunt took off after her, snapping at her pretty heels. With a whimper, she picked up her pace. She just had to get past a big display of children's clothes . . . .

BANG! She ran right into it. If the venom hadn't dazed her before, it was doing so now. The display exploded, but she couldn't run right through it. She caromed off a large mess of plywood, spun round, and fell on her back. Coming up right behind, Bravehunt leapt onto her and bit her fantabulous breasts: once, twice, three times.

Shrieking in terror and pain at his assault, she seized him with trembling hands and hurled him about ten feet. He smashed into some shelves filled with slacks, then righted himself and returned to the fight. This time, though, he kept a respectful distance as he looked for a new angle of attack.

She spoke then, in a voice that trembled, not just with fear but also indignation. "W-why won't you leave me alone?! I'm not . . . I'm not your prey!!!"

"Huh?" said Bravehunt.

"Your . . . your venom is weak . . . it wouldn't affect me at all . . . if you hadn't kept biting me . . . and you shouldn't have been able . . . able to keep biting me . . . but I got confused . . . confused! I've . . . I've never been here before. I just wanted to check out the clothes! You're not . . . not on my list! Not on my list! So you can't catch me . . . so leave me alone!"

"You keep a list?"

"Of . . . of every p-predator I need to worry about. Ever since I was a little faygirl. And you're not on it! You're not! So follow the rules . . . AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Had this lady ever really been little? Bravehunt could ponder that, or he could try to secure his next meal. He came closer, and the landfay raised her wondrous legs. Her heels were very sharp and were aimed right at his head.

"One m-more step," she raged, "and I'll kick you . . . kick you to pieces! One more step!"

She could no doubt deal death with her heels; but it was foolish to expose that expanse of black silk between her thighs--especially when her reflexes were sluggish with kitty poison. Before she could react, the cat darted in, right under her heels--and his jaws closed on her cunt. Her legs shot forward, her thighs snapped together, and she almost broke his neck. But he held on tight. She shook, and twisted, and bucked, and kicked; but nothing would dislodge him. And as he held on, his venom, however weak it might have been, entered her pussy, drop by stinging drop. It took her a few seconds to realize fully what was happening; but her scream then was the essence of hurtful despair.

She fought for a while, thrashing and kicking for all she was worth, but at last her struggles weakened, till all she did was tremble. He let go, and stared for a moment or two into her eyes, wide with terror and perhaps disbelief. Then he seized the waistband of her thong in his teeth and tugged it brusquely to her knees. Thus was exposed a magnificent mons Veneris, plump and moist, with a full blonde pelt, dotted with blood where he'd bitten her. Two things happened next: the big fay burst into tears and began to sob helplessly; and, all around him, Bravehunt heard loud cheers and applause.

He'd forgotten all those humans! Dozens of them--hundreds, perhaps--had been watching the whole time. And when it was clear that the cat had prevailed, and that an evil Fannyjandrum had been vanquished, their response was heartfelt. Amid the cheers, cameras began to flash, and someone shouted: "Don't just call the cops; call the press!"
Understandably, this all went straight to poor Bravehunt's head. Proud and erect (in more ways than one), he planted his forepaws firmly on the bosom of his weeping catch. (This would be his pose on the front page of the New Gotham Times the very next day.) He felt at that moment that he could do anything, capture anyone.

He let the landfay have a good hard cry. When the sobs had died down somewhat, he asked, quite needlessly: "So . . . have I caught you?"

"Y-yes (sniff!). You've . . . (choke!) mastered me . . . though I'm still not certain how
. . . .”

"Would you like more time to lament your discomfiture?"

"V-very ch-chivalrous of you, Sir, but I think . . . I think I'd better warn you of something." Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

"What's that?"

These filthy . . . h-humans . . . they're not going to let you . . . let you keep me."

"How's that, you say?"

"I heard them. They're calling the police . . . and . . . and . . . Special Projects. The men in white c-coats will c-come to take me . . . take me away . . . for experiments . . . torturous experiments! You see: I'm a . . . a Fannyjandrum."

"So I'd already guessed."

"Well . . . if you want to keep me . . . ."

"I do, I do . . . ."

"Then you'd better use your c-cat magic very soon . . . I think it's something you cats can all do . . . . You know: go to another place . . . and take me with you?"

"Quite right," he said. "We can all do that. Now close your eyes." Since he had captured her, she had to obey. Then, without removing his paws from her breasts, he uttered a long and tuneless yowl.

The air surrounding him and his catch began to crackle with the power of cat magic. Feeling the change in the atmosphere, the closest humans prudently backed away. Then, in less time than it takes to say it, a shimmery shield, bluish but transparent, took shape around Bravehunt and the fay.

She opened her eyes, saw Bravehunt, and gave a shuddery little "Oooooo!" sound, just like the one she'd made when she first encountered him, two weeks before. She also tried, with no success, to pull away. Then came a new flood of tears: “Oh my!” she cried, “Oh m-my!”

Seeing her evident distress, Bravehunt smirked and said: "You were hoping I'd transport us somewhere else, weren't you? And while I did that, you'd use your own magic to come down in a different destination from mine."

"Not at all! No!"

"Funny . . . I've heard of a few caught fays playing that trick on their captors. Very embarrassing for the cat, I'd say."

"No, I had no intention . . . really . . . really . . . ."

"It doesn't matter. Anyway, I've put a special shield around us. They can see in, but they can't take you away. So you get some of what you want."

"Some," she said with a bitter pout. "But . . . suppose I gave you a reason to let me go?"

"Such as?"

"Well, I have great . . . ."

Just then, three men in white coats came up to the magic shield. Though he was standing just a foot or so away, one had a megaphone and spoke into it: "You must drop this shield immediately! By order of Special Projects, I command you to . . . ."

"Oh, fuck off," said Bravehunt, and the three men were thrown backward, about 15 feet.
The crowd cheered wildly.

"Thank you," said the fay. "As I was . . . trying to say, I have great power, too. You've
. . . you've . . . vanquished me (choke!): so all that power can be yours . . . to use! To use and keep! You know some cats have done this: taken fairies to be their servants . . . their familiars . . . I'd be a fabulous one for you . . . I would . . . I really would!"

"I don't think so," he said.

"Look at me!" she cried. "You have some human in you, right? From when they made you? You find me beautiful . . . you desire me, don't you?"

"Mmmmm," he said, "I surely do."

"Well, just cast the right spells, and you can have me, for the rest of your life!"

"Not the best choice of words," said Bravehunt. "Any cat fool enough to keep a fay for a pet isn't going to live much longer. Don't mistake my meaning: I will have you, but in a way that's safe for me. And, as they all say, a fairy is never more beautiful than when she's crying and kicking her life away."

"Then . . . there's . . . no hope?" she said, her eyes filling yet again with tears.

"No. I'm sorry, but there isn't. I'll repeat my offer: do you want more time to lament?"

Struggling to retain a bit of composure, she said: "I . . . I wish I could . . . that is, I mean to say . . . if only we . . . you could, if only . . . ." And then it must have been too much, for she began to sob once more. "Ohhhhhhhh!" she groaned, "I just . . . I just . . . wanted a new blouse! And now . . . now . . . my panties are down . . . .! You weren't a . . . a cat who could catch me . . . you weren't on the list at all! But you caught me all the same
(you wouldn't follow the rules!) . . . and you took my panties down . . . where all the humans can see! And now I'm all kicky!” (Indeed: with those words she began to kick again: sharp thrusts against the hard, paneled floor.) "Just 'cause I wanted a blouse
. . . I can't stop kicking now . . . . Oh, it hurts . . . it hurts to be caught! My pussy hurts! Oh God, the humans can see me caught! Bad kitty . . . bad kitty . . . to break the rules . . . and catch me (choke!). . . to take my pretty panties down . . . and show me to everyone! Ohhhhhh, such a . . . such a naughty kitty!"

He let her wear herself out with tears and sobs and kickiness. Then he gazed long and intently at her, as she trembled and sniffled and whimpered, and he said: "It's true! You're more beautiful now than ever!

She looked up at him and said: "Th-thank you, I guess. I have to say: I owe you . . . a debt of gratitude."

"Why's that?"

"You . . . didn't let the . . . men in white coats take me away."

"No, but that that was for my benefit."

"I know; but still . . . I'll do you a favor in return . . . one that also benefits me."

"Really?"

"Yes. You've always been a . . . a mediocre hunter . . . ."

"Well now, just a minute . . . ."

"Please . . . let me finish. I have true sight now: you're mediocre; just accept it. But I'll give you talent at hunting . . . real talent . . . but only for the biggest . . . plumpest fays. 'Cause those . . . those are the ones you love best . . . isn't that correct?"

"Oh, yes . . . ."

"And those are the ones you've never been able to catch . . . until now (sniff!)."

"Sadly, yes . . . ."

"Full-bodied . . . with mighty b-bosoms, and bodacious hips and thighs, and big, beautiful p-pussies, all moist and nicely furred. Just like mine . . . oh God, like mine . . . ." And she started crying again.

"There, there," he said, stroking her cheek with his paw. "It'll be blissful . . . I promise it will. Now I'm grateful for this benefaction, really I am . . . but I have to wonder: how does this help you?"

"That's easy. If I have to turn my toes up . . . 'cause you like big girls so much . . . then why shouldn't a b-bunch of the others snuff it, too? Why should they laugh in the sun, instead of weeping in the Underworld with me? I won't be the only full-bodied fay you bag . . . I won't! But be warned: there'll be nothing subtle to this new talent of yours. You'll win only by . . . by unremitting, violent attack. Keep it up, p-pouncing and l-lunging and b-biting, from every angle you can--and about once in every three attempts
or so . . you'll have a big, b-beautiful girl crying her eyes out at your feet!"

"Well, again you have my thanks."

"And another thing. I think . . . I hope . . . that you'll be gentler now . . . because of this
. . . this favor of mine."

"A little." And with those words, Bravehunt slipped the girl's thong past her toes, then made her spread her legs.

"Ah," he said, "Plump, moist, and with a delicate musk. Yes, I do love your kind best
. . ." With a growl of pleasure, he settled in between the girl's trembling thighs. "Oh dear
God!" she cried.

The crowd of shoppers, who were beginning to wander off, came running back as the call went out: "He's going to finish her! He's going to do her in!"

Well, not just yet. He wanted her maximally kicky, so he put a drop or two of venom on his rough kitty tongue and massaged her pussy with that. Thus he gave her cunt a stinging, prickly itch that grew stronger with each stroke. She began to moan and whimper, and when the pressure built, she kicked hard with each tremor and each spasm. When she at last came, sweet fay-nectar spurted from her, and he lapped it up. Then he made her come again, and again, and again.

He thought it time now for a short rest. So for a while he just nuzzled her, and took in as much as he could of her bewitching scent. Then, thinking she might be nearly ready for her death fuck, he asked her: "Does your species have males?"

"Y-yes. (Oooooooo, I'm still pretty shuddery!) They're m-much smaller than we are, and when we're done mating . . . we kill them and eat them."

"Uh, well, hmmm . . . . Anyway, it seems then that what I have to offer shouldn't be too traumatic . . . ."

"Except . . . except yours'll kill me! Please don't do that . . . please!"

"I thought we'd gotten past this."

"Oh," she said. "I'm just supposed to . . . have a good cry and resign myself to it?"

Bravehunt sighed. "I suppose not. I never lingered over a kill like this before, so I don't know all the protocol. Well, make any sort of fuss you like; I'm going in." As he spoke, his kitty cock had fully engorged. He was not a large cat, but even his modest equipage far exceeded in length and thickness anything a male fay could muster. The evident terror on the girl's face confirmed as much.

"No!" she begged. "No, really! I can give you so much more . . . such pleasure . . . delights you've never known . . . I'll . . . . Aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

The crowd went wild. And Bravehunt did a praiseworthy job, making the big fay kick and come as never before. Ten . . . fifteen . . . twenty times she spurted sweet fairy liquor-and a good deal of blood.

At the end, still kicking, she had this to say: "V-vanquished . . . " (kick, kick)
"de-depantied . . ." (kick) "and fu-fu-fucked . . . to death!" (kicky-kick) "Oh, what a . . ." (kick) "killer . . ." (kick) "cock . . . " (kick, kick, kickety-kick) "Oh my God, I'm dead
. . . I'm so dead . . . . I'm . . . ohhhhhhhhhhhh . . . ."

The crowd cheered.

Bravehunt was a sorber. He waited till his prey was completely still, then gave an ear-rending yowl. Within seconds, her body went from full-figured solidity to a flowing, roiling . . . cloud? mist? liquid? Whatever it was, it surged and pulsed, until the cat opened his mouth wide. Then it frantically tried to escape. No use: Bravehunt breathed in, and whatever it was, it went down his gullet. The onlookers could hear a faint, despairing wail as it disappeared.

Epilogue

It turned out just as the Fannyjandrum had predicted. About once in every three attempts, Bravehunt took a pretty pussy. And not one of his catches was skinny, or even mid-size. He soon gained fame and notoriety, not just among cats and humans, but also among the full-bodied fays he hunted. They cursed him with every imprecation they could think of; frightened their children with tales of his prowess; and ran or flew off in a panic if they even suspected he was in the neighborhood. But nothing they said or did could put him the least bit off his game. Quite the contrary:

One morning, a Puff-Breasted Pouter called on all the demons of the Six Nether Hells to blast Bravehunt into very small pieces. By sundown, he was resting his paws on her puffy breasts and giving her a great deal to pout about.

One night in her fairy bungalow, a Buxom Budgie read a bedtime story of Bravehunt's exploits to her little ones, to warn them of the peril he posed. Before the night was through, he crept through a window and put mom and her six chubby daughters back to bed, minus their panties. (He'd always preferred pussy with a pelt; but he couldn't refuse such a pretty, kicky, tearful, nighty-wetting bonus!)

And countless were the stories of fays who'd fled him, only to run or fly right into his grasp. It soon became clear that the game was magically rigged. So plump fays everywhere gave in to bitter fatalism. They gritted their teeth and awaited his onset, and they fought back hard when he attacked. And, two or so times out of three, he slunk away, bloody and bone-bruised. But then would come that third (or fourth, or fifth) attempt--when, after another exhausting struggle, he would preen and a captured girl would cry.

So it was when he pounced on a lovely black Plushbottom, largest of flying fays. Her wings crumpled by his assault, she had to stand her ground. So, for fifteen minutes, she hit him, and kicked him, and tore out hanks of his fur. Once she even tried to gouge his eyes. But he kept up his attack, lunging for her bosom again and again until he bit it just one time too many. His venom, never strong, finally told, and she fell with a despairing sob to her knees. Then it was no great matter to put her on her back and tug her panties down, as she cried with the bitter ache of capture.

Later, he took a break from priming her pussy for the fatal fuck, and he decided: why not share his story? So he told her how he'd caught the Fannyjandrum and become the bane of full-form fays everywhere. When he was done, he said: "That's how I achieved greatness; and now you get to make your own small contribution to that greatness."

"I do hope," said the girl, ". . . that you'll . . . you'll kill me . . . before I have to hear any more of this."

"You just can't please some people," he harrumphed. Then he gave her puss a good, hard nip and smiled to hear her wail.

THE END