Sometimes, even at 4'9", I feel big.

In a bed-futon big enough for us that we could both lie down at opposite corners and not touch, right in the centre, in a nest of blankets, is Chloé and I. There's only one piece of clothing between us -- a leather strap-on, holding my cock in place as I thrust slowly into her.

She can't keep still against me. It doesn't help with the thrusting, doesn't get the cock in deeper, but it's glorious yellow pleasure to feel her back gyrating against my breasts, to feel the soft curve of her butt against my hips. If my tail wasn't buried under the weight of the blankets, it'd be lashing hard enough that it'd probably hit her in the thigh. As it is, it twitches like it wants to. 

Hers is wrapped around my thigh, twice. It twitches when she squeezes down on me, like a built-in biometric sensor. I can feel her, even though I can't feel her.

We haven't said anything for about ten or fifteen minutes. There's nothing /to/ say. We've hit a rhythm, my hips moving in and out, my lips against her shoulder. She isn't doing anything except enjoying herself, just like I want. My arms are around her, elbows against her sides, hands on her breasts, toying with the piercings in her nipples. Twisting, tugging, rubbing.

They did something to her, the piercings that bear my beads, the ones she picked out because she loves me so much she wanted to match. Her breasts are more sensitive than they've ever been. She told me as such. She had the data to back it up, in fact, data that I pored over like expense reports. When someone you love gives you a manual for their pleasure, of course you're going to study it and put its lessons into practice.

I haven't touched her clit. She didn't want me to. That surprised me, until she told me she wanted to try to come with only vaginal and breast stimulation, not clitoral. She thought it was possible. So we're doing an experiment.

After the initial experimental process to find the thing that gets her going the most, I've stayed with that, letting her pleasure ride and build as much as it can. There are times when I want to spend an hour or two toying with her, and I keep her off-guard, make her feel different things so she can't get used to them. By the end she's a squeaking, squirming mess. This is not one of those times. This time, I want her to know exactly what's coming, no surprises, no fake-outs, just easy, uncomplicated pleasure she can drink in as long as she's thirsty.

And god, she was thirsty when she came to me. Her body doesn't make serotonin right, so she's physiologically depressed. Sometimes she copes. Sometimes she comes to me sounding like a robot and asks me to remind her that she's not eaten, a ghost divorced from the reality around her. I can't save her from that. But I can love her, and make it easier.

Her hand flaps in front of her, where I can see it. It's a signal she uses to signify she wants to say something, but can't. "Tell me what you want to tell me, Chloé," I murmur in her ear, never stopping my thrusting or my fondling.

"I would like you to pull my head back by my hair and talk me into having an orgasm," she muffles, eventually. It's quiet, timid, her fluttershy voice.

My stomach flips, my ears fold, and my arm is moving before I even know what I'm doing. My fingers slide into her short, blonde hair and I make a fist, then tug back. She whines as her head lifts from its place burrowed in the softness of the blankets, and she's forced to look up, or would be, if her eyes were open.

I shift my other arm to tease at her nipple across her chest, and lean up to growl in her ear, and I can /see/ the adrenalin pouring into her system, feel the trembling against my skin and the quickening of her breath. "Little mouse wants me to make her come, does she?"

"Yes," she replies.

"Little mouse wants one last moment of pleasure before the big mean cat eats her."

"...Yes."

I chuckle darkly, and pull her against me by her hair. My head descends on her neck, lapping broadly, and she whimpers. "So tasty," I tease her. "I could eat you right now."

"Please..."

"Please what?" My hips grow, not faster, but stronger, driving my cock into her with more power. "Does the little mouse /want/ me to eat her?"

An incoherent sound follows, and then a meek "Yes."

"Good girl." I lean in and sink my teeth into her neck, and she cries out, flailing, hands grasping onto the blankets and pulling them against her. It's a hard bite, right where all the nerves are. I can picture what it must be like -- white over red, nearly blinding, fading into blue-red blotches.

I bruise her. I do it more than once. I /force/ pain into her, sharp and bright, like a beacon in the fog she's lost in. I nearly draw blood on her shoulder. It's what she wants; her limits are far past mine.

Afterward, I stop, and give each spot a little lick, satisfied. "Mmm, delicious." Hand kept in place, fingers twiddling her nipple, hips still rocking back and forth, an organic machine inflicting pleasure on her until she tells me to stop. "But I can't possibly eat you all at once. I'm going to keep you, so whenever I get hungry, I can eat you again, and /again/, and /again/--" I time each 'again' with each thrust. My voice gets intense, encouraging. I'm telling her to come by inflection alone.

"Cay, ah, Cay, I--"

"--and /again/, and /again/, and /again/--"

"Ahh, ahh, ah ah ah ah--"

"--and /again/, and /again/, and /again/, and /again/, and /again/--"

She stiffens against me, slowly, over a few seconds, freezes, her mouth hanging open; as I thrust, I can feel the change in resistance as her pussy clamps down on it, even if I didn't have her tail grabbing my thigh.

I don't say anything more. There's nothing /to/ say.

Still, I thrust into her, I play with her nipples, I hold her head back and I let her come, silently, powerfully, her body trembling and quivering in my arms. When her body quiets and she curls up, I let go of her head and wrap my arms back around her. One arm under her neck, holding onto the opposite shoulder, one around her waist. Cock still inside her. I squeeze her tight. Mine.

And I feel, in that moment, like I'm big: big enough to prey on her, big enough to protect her from her own genome, big enough to be anything she needs me to be.