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Carrie Prim created by Waverly Pierre III and used with permission. Artwork inked by Terrie Smith.
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Strangers in the Night
Plotted by Dave Bryant and Waverly Pierre; written by Dave Bryant
“Kitten” Tom Clowder created by Dave Bryant
Other characters and background created by Waverly Pierre and used with permission
This work is copyright 1998 and is not in the public domain
“Kitten” Tom Clowder was tired. Not just worn out or sleepy—though he was both at the moment—but weary in his bones of the day-to-day scramble his life had been for the past few years.
His lanky, khaki-clad form lay bonelessly in one of the half-dozen or so tattered passenger seats the old twin-engine tramp air freighter carried as a grudging afterthought. He glanced disinterestedly out the porthole his cheek ruff leaned against and noted that, at long last, the small port city of Hepzibah was below, its twinkling lights visible in the fading twilight. The seaplane was making its final approach, spiraling down toward the part of the waterfront reserved for its kind. The thirtyish black-furred cat sighed.
Late as usual. Nobody would still be open at this hour, so he’d have to pare enough cash out of his reserves for an overnight stay somewhere in town. “Someplace cheap,” he muttered to himself as the plane set down, jouncing across the water. “And clean . . . I hope.”
The familiar tumult of unloading surrounded him as he debarked and carefully picked his way along the crate-strewn wharf. Eventually, he looked up to see a burly wolf, clipboard in hand, rather impatiently directing the handling of this relatively small consignment. It was obviously after his shift was supposed to be over.
“Hey there,” Tom hailed him, waving his sturdy walking stick. When the foreman turned with a scowl, the cat held up a placatory hand and continued, “Uh, I’m just looking for someplace I can find a cheap room this time of night. It’d be even better if it weren’t a dump.”
The larger man managed a brief half-smile. “Best place around here is Granny Prim’s Bed and Board. This time of year, you can get a pretty good deal. Just go down Waterfront, here, and turn up Main. It’s about a mile or so inland, on Bayview.” Then he saw Tom’s leg brace and hesitated. “Uh, well . . .”
Tom waved him off. “I’ll make it. I’m used to walking.” He turned to start off. Behind him, the wolf stared for a moment, shrugged, and went back to his haranguing of the stevedores.
The strolling pace forced on Tom by his crippled ankle gave him time to take in his surroundings. Waterfront was a typical shoreline port street, and he kept a weather eye out until he made the turn onto Main. True to its name, it was a major thoroughfare, though in this small city it carried little traffic after sunset. Most importantly for Tom, it did not seem to include buses or taxis.
He was almost ready to give up, his ankle on fire from the gentle uphill climb, when he spotted the street sign he’d been looking for. Bayview turned out to be a residential street skirting the low hills that surrounded the port. The tree-lined road wound past large, well-kept homes set well back from the sidewalks. He let out a low whistle. There was money here, quite a bit of it. Maybe he could find some good cargoes in Hepzibah after all.
He looked across the street at the largest house of all. Two stories, with a wing at each end and a gabled main structure, its size alone was enough to convince him that it was his destination, even without the well-lit sign on the front lawn. He felt vast relief as he hefted his shoulderbag and trudged across the street, heading for the front door.
The cheerfully lit front parlor, which doubled as lobby, continued the homey, turn-of-the-century feel suggested by the picket fence and furnished porch. Overstuffed chairs and divans lined the walls, and greenery flourished in a profusion of planters. The restful quiet was broken only by the door chime and the slight clatter of Tom’s leg brace and walking stick.
He’d turned to look up the stairwell to one side of the door when a honeyed voice sounded behind him. “May I help you?”
Startled, he snapped his head around, nearly losing his never very certain balance. Standing in the archway that housed the registration counter was a buxom skunk of about his own age. Her welcoming smile turned to a concerned expression as Tom grabbed a nearby table to steady himself.
“Yeah,” he responded when he’d found his feet again. “I’d like your cheapest available room.”
The woman’s bright green eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. “Just for the night, I assume?”
Tom looked a bit sheepish as he limped to the desk. “Um, that’s right. I’ve got business in town tomorrow.” He was suddenly distracted by the scent of honeysuckle in the air around her. She was beautiful, her bountiful figure complimented by the light, scoop-neck summer dress she wore. Her mane of silver-white shoulder-length hair gave her an attractive pixieish look.
The tall, thin cat squeezed shut eyes that felt like they’d been filled with sand. Her obvious appeal was a jarring reminder of how his life had crashed as thoroughly as the desert runner he’d been flying that hot day years ago. The sandstorm he hadn’t been warned about and the subsequent firing, orchestrated by the same jealous pilot who’d told him the weather was clear. The medical bills, most in vain, as doctor after doctor told him that his ankle was shot. Years of making a precarious living as a freelance cargo broker, unable to fly at all until a young acquaintance had helped fashion a pilot’s leg brace.
Even after he’d regained his license, though, he found that his braced ankle allowed him only a few hours of flight time before he needed to rest. So he’d been forced to continue his hand-to-mouth existence.
He blinked, his unpleasant reverie broken by the skunk’s warm voice. “Just sign right here, and I’ll get the key. It’ll be room six.” As he signed, she turned away, her generous, well-groomed tail bouncing and twitching as she scanned for the key.
When she turned back, she handed him the key and spun the registry back around. “All right, Mr. . . . Clowder. Would you like to pay in advance?”
“Hm. Sure. How much will it be?”
The smile reappeared. “Five dollars for the night. Have you eaten?”
Tom shook his head. “I flew in about an hour ago, then walked up here.”
“Well, it’s a little late for dinner, but I can bring you a supper for another two dollars. If you like, you can join us for breakfast tomorrow. That’d also be two dollars.”
Tom’s mood lightened. He had just realized how hungry he was. “Sure. Sounds great, um . . . Miz—”
“Prim. Carrie Prim. All right then, I’ll bring you some sandwiches and whatever else I can scare up in, say, a half-hour or so.”
The black cat grinned for the first time in several days. “Wonderful. Um, listen, would it be possible to get a bath in the meantime?”
Carrie nodded. “Certainly. We’re completely plumbed here.” As Tom headed for the stairs, she shook her head, still smiling, and bustled off to fetch the food.
Clean, dry, and dressed in his robe, with his long hair unbound, Tom relaxed in one of the wing chairs that served the room’s small round table. He jumped when a knock came at the door, followed a moment later by its opening. Carrie adroitly worked her way into the room, carrying a large, heavily laden tray. When Tom made to get up and help, she shook her head.
“No, don’t get up. I could see that you’re exhausted, and I’m sure that the walk up here was more than you should be doing with that bad leg.” She busily set the tray on the table, arranging the food with the skill of long practice.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I really didn’t expect you . . .”
“—To go to this much trouble? Nonsense. I’m usually up fairly late, and there isn’t much need for service this time of night, so it’s no trouble at all.”
Tom nodded. “Well, thank you anyway.” He sat up to eat, wincing as the heel of his injured foot hit the floor.
Carrie shook her head and tsked. “Dear me, that foot must be terribly painful. I told you that walk wasn’t good for you. Here, let me look at it.” She waved off Tom’s half-hearted protests. “You’ll need to be able to stand on that foot tomorrow if you expect to get anything done.”
As he ate, she examined his ankle professionally, letting out an occasional hmm. Finally, she stood again and admonished him once more not to move. Then she left purposefully, only to return minutes later with a small washtub and a box of Epsom salts.
By this time, he’d finished the excellent meal, and she directed him to move to the bed while she filled the tub with hot water. Finishing this task, she spread some towels on the floor and placed the now-full tub on them. As she measured out the salts and stirred them into the steaming water, she continued.
“That bath wasn’t long enough to really do that foot any good. Here, now. Put it in the tub and let it soak for an hour or so.”
“Okay. But what if I fall asleep? It’s late, I’m tired, and this feels pretty good.”
The skunk’s smile returned, and she sat down next to him. “Well, we can talk. I’m sure conversation will do the trick.”
And so they did. Tom learned that Carrie and her mother had inherited the boarding house from the older woman’s mother, and that each of them took turns administering the place. Carrie did so during the summer, when she wasn’t teaching at the nearby college.
Tom, in turn, told her of his rather less idyllic life, including the wealthy parents he’d left to pursue his own dreams of flying, parents he’d been unwilling or unable to turn to when disaster had struck. By the time the water had cooled, Carrie regarded him sympathetically.
“You looked so lost when you came in. I knew you’d had a rough time of it. Are things any better now?” She looked up from where she was checking the water and his ankle.
He nodded. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’m getting by.”
Her look turned more penetrating. “No. They aren’t, are they?”
Tom slumped. His voice was quiet and thick. “No. I’m just treading water, wandering from port to port. I haven’t seen any of my friends in months. I’m not even sure I have any friends left.” Lost in thought, he barely noticed as Carrie took the tub away to dump it.
A minute and some sloshing and clanking sounds later, he was startled to feel the bed settle slightly behind him. Carrie’s strong fingers came down on his shoulders, then began kneading the stiff muscles of his neck and back.
“You’re like steel cable all over. You worry with your back, don’t you?”
Tom nodded, but made no other reply. The skunk slid his robe off his shoulders to allow her a firmer grip, then worked silently for several minutes, deftly smoothing out the seemingly innumerable knots.
By the time he no longer felt her hands, his eyes were closed and he felt more relaxed than he could remember being. Grateful, he turned to thank her, his eyes coming open and focusing on her face just inches away. She was sitting next to him once more. He blinked at her unexpected proximity, and his mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that his robe was still half off him and that his heartbeat raced.
Her brilliant green eyes met his cloudy grey ones, and with the same perceptiveness she’d already displayed, she whispered, “It’s your move. . . .”
Tom’s hand trembled as he traced the line of her jaw. He leaned forward, his lips gently meeting hers, and tears sprang into his eyes. “Hush,” she murmured against his mouth. Her strong hands cradled his cheek ruffs, and Tom was lost in the moment.
He embraced her, forgetting the robe, which fell open around him. She ran her hands through his dark brown hair, longer than her own, and chuckled quietly. He shifted his attention to the base of her neck, nibbling and licking at the glossy black fur where it paled slightly on its way down between her breasts.
Carrie’s hands roamed across his equally black pelt, exploring. When his attentions became more serious, she diverted his muzzle with a hand. He sat back, a bit puzzled. She, in turn, stood and with a half-pirouette, unfastened her light gingham dress and let it fall away. Underneath was nothing but a satin slip, the straps already down around her upper arms.
Tom also stood, entranced, only force of habit preventing him from putting too much weight on his bad leg. She leaned back carefully, letting his arms go around her again. The thin cat caressed her face and teased under where the undergarment split at her waist. She buried a hand once more in his hair, luxuriating in the thick, fine mane. He drew closer, breathing deeply of her sweet scent.
The silver-haired woman felt his body against her back and smiled. His readiness pulsed warmly against her flank. Then she drew away, taking his hand in hers and towing him onto the bed. As he knelt on it, she half-reclined, letting the slip slide away.
Guard hairs glittered in the half-light, contrasting with Carrie’s erect shell-pink nipples and mostly black pelt hairs. The bright highlights emphasized her pert breasts and generous hips as she rolled slightly to lay more comfortably. The great fluffy skunk tail quivered with her excitement when she held out her smoothly muscled arms to him.
Tom went to her welcoming embrace then, his robe covering them both. He let out a small sound as Carrie’s gentle fingers guided him to the equally pink moistness between her sheltering thighs. She gasped at his sudden entry, her legs crossing over the root of his tail and her fingernails digging into his wiry biceps.
At first he proceeded fairly slowly, breathing deeply and raggedly. The skunk purred throatily, caressing his face and chest as he moved within her. He went taut all over, his eyes tightly shut, his hands gathering blanket fabric into knotted fists.
Green eyes searched the haunted face above her. “Shhh,” she breathed to him. “Not so tense . . . you’ll undo all the good of the massage.”
Tom lay down along her, his arms sliding up her back, and choked out, “I want you—”
Carrie nodded understandingly. She caught her lower lip in her teeth and slid her hands to either side of the dock of his tail. She nodded again when his eyes opened. He started to move faster, years of enforced celibacy and general frustration driving his desire. Her head went back and her mouth opened as he began to thrust into her harder, his own breath hot on her neck. Both made small whimpering sounds as their rhythm steadied.
At long last, she could feel him winding up like a spring. “That’s it,” she crooned. “Let it out. Don’t be afraid.” She trailed off with a squeak as he stiffened and cried out, his hips meeting hers as he climaxed, physically and emotionally.
Long minutes afterward, as they lay catching their breath, Carrie looked down at the careworn face pillowed on her round breasts. “It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”
He nodded, his eyes still shut. “Years. . . . It hasn’t been for you, though.”
She giggled. “No. But it’s been a little while.”
Now he did look up at her, levering himself up on one elbow. “Did you . . . ?”
She shook her head, then, at his chagrined look, quickly assured him, “No, don’t worry. I had a wonderful time.” He seemed unconvinced, so she traced his hairline with a fingernail and went on more firmly, “You did fine. And I think it was more important for you this time, anyway.”
Mollified, he lay down again. She cradled him softly, and in minutes he was dozing. They always fall asleep, she thought with amused resignation. Still smiling, she shut her own eyes and reached over to turn out the light.
When she awoke again, she had no idea of the time, only a consciousness of the man next to her and of their mingled scents. It was still dark, and she was uncertain what had awakened her until Tom stirred and moaned. A bad dream, she realized. She sidled up against him, an arm slipping across his narrow chest, and whispered reassurances into his twitching ear. After a few moments, he settled down again, and she passed a hand over his face. A frown still seemed to linger. She sighed. Poor dear. She sighed again as another thought occurred to her. It felt entirely too good lying against him. She debated briefly, then shrugged.
Why not? she thought impishly. I’m sure he won’t mind. . . . Her hand stole across Tom’s chest, stroking the short, slightly rough fur, occasionally stopping to brush across a nipple. When that didn’t wake him, more than her words sought his ear. The tickling of her tongue and lips along the delicate hairs inside the shell of his ear galvanized him.
“Wh—wh—wha?” the black cat gasped, half-panicked, half-confused, as he struggled to wakefulness from the depths of his dream. Carrie hushed him and resumed her patient ministrations. Her lips moved down the curve of his ruff, stopping at the base of his throat, where she nipped playfully before continuing to lick along his collarbone. Her hand wandered downward to find his phallus, gently toying with it as her lover moaned softly in response.
It was only a few minutes before she looked down at him and chuckled throatily. “Ready again, my little kitten?” When he nodded hesitantly, she observed, “Still can’t quite believe it’s real, hmm? It is, honey. It is.” She caught her breath then as she lowered herself onto him.
Carrie went slowly, her hands roaming over him as Tom’s did over her. This time, his attention focused more on her than on the ghosts in his mind. He caressed her breasts softly, then ran his hands down her sides, watching as she shivered. She began a rocking motion, her own hands balled into fists in midair, her eyes shut in concentration.
Carrie could feel him inside her, warm and sturdy despite his slight build, and knew that just as she had given to him before, he was trying to give back to her now. His hands brushed gently across her, stroking here and there as he watched her reactions.
When Tom found the dock of her tail, she gasped aloud, her eyes flying open. He chuckled and investigated further with one hand while the other climbed her torso to her muzzle, stroking under it firmly. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and her breath whistled through her open mouth. Her steady tempo was broken, and she moved more shakily.
She shook her head once and leaned forward until she could rest her hands on the bed to either side of his head. “Mmyess,” was all she could manage as she took up the pace once more, this time on all fours.
They continued that way for what seemed an eternity, Tom’s hands sparking her heat further, her warmth around him. It was slow and relaxed, almost languid, but at long last she began to increase her pacing. Tiny sounds escaped her as she pushed closer, culminating in a mewing cry. A sheeting, powerful warmth passed through her from womb to extremities. Before she recovered completely, Tom also gasped and came into her; she just felt his stream through the ebbing sensations.
After long moments, they relaxed, Carrie lowering herself onto the cat’s chest, him still inside her. The voluptuous skunk nestled her head under Tom’s chin as their breathing steadied. “Before you ask . . . yes, I did this time.” They both chuckled.
After a few moments of silence, Tom spoke up haltingly. “Um, Carrie . . . I—uh . . . listen—”
He felt her stir uneasily. “Dear, that’d better not be ‘I love you’.”
Despite himself, Tom laughed out loud. “I’ve been around. I know better than that. . . . No, what I wanted to say was ‘thank you’.”
Carrie pushed herself up until she was leaning on both elbows, one on each side of him. “Why?”
Tom sighed. “You’ve . . . well . . . made me a man again. All these years I’ve been ‘just a cripple’. Now . . .”
The skunk woman snuggled up to him again. “Now you’ve found a friend. One who knew just what you needed. Hush, kitten. Let’s sleep now. And no more bad dreams.” Ω
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