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  Coach’s Little Kitten

  A KITTY PLAY SCENE

  Quin & Perin

  Copyright

  Cover Artist: Quin&Perin

  Editor: Sharon Stogner

  Proofreader: Tanja Ongkiehong, Karen Meeus

  Coach’s Little Kitten © 2020 Quin&Perin

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  Intended for an 18+ audience only. This book contains material that may be offensive to some and is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

  Trademarks

  The authors acknowledge the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Contents

  Coach’s Little Kitten

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  Synopsis

  Baxter has rules. Firm, set rules.

  No repeats.

  No students.

  No attachment.

  But when he spots someone familiar wearing a set of kitty ears, he begins to wonder whether he should break them. All of them. At once.

  ***As a standalone scene, COACH’S LITTLE KITTEN features detailed adult m/m content, BDSM elements, a major age gap as well as "kitty play."

  Coach’s Little Kitten

  A Kitty Play Scene

  Baxter slipped his wedding ring past the first knuckle of his finger, pausing with it held between two fingers. The yellow lights of the parking lot reflected off the highly polished gold band, glittering and gleaming with the memories of all his infidelities. His wife was at home, no doubt curled up in front of the TV while watching terrible true crime shows. As far as she was concerned, Baxter was at some kind of dance club, hunting meaningless sex—something that she didn’t want to give him—with strange women. She wasn’t far from the truth.

  Leaning over, he opened the glovebox and flicked his ring into it. It shut with a loud thump and a click of finality. He slipped out of the car, stretching his arms over his head and listening to his back pop. He’d been in the car for an hour, and though he used to be able to drive long distances in one go, he was getting older, and even a short drive made him stiff.

  Brown eyes of a deep, dark color turned toward the nondescript black building. It looked absolutely uninteresting. Its windows were painted over with no light peeking through, and there wasn’t any sort of flashing neon to announce what happened inside. No sign of the sins that took place in there. No hint of what twisted things lurked in the darkness. An anonymous place where Baxter could be nameless. Pretend he was someone different. Or perhaps stop pretending and let his true self surface for a few hours.

  Thick, muscular legs carried him across the asphalt and toward the heavy metal door. He walked like a bull, charging at its goal with no regard for anyone who got in his way. A holdover from his days of playing football. When everyone fell before him, helpless to resist the sheer force of his wide, sturdy body. Sometimes he missed it. But like so many things, time had passed, and they had changed.

  “ID?”

  A tall, decently cut man with the tiniest pair of black leather shorts and a rather exquisitely crafted harness sat at the counter behind a large ledger. His hair was cut with a tight fade on the sides, long brown curls tousled on top. Baxter recognized him. He was one of the club owner’s boyfriends; he liked helping out...and dancing naked in a cage.

  “Yeah. Here you go.” Baxter passed it over without a thought. The leather-clad man carefully copied down all the information. He knew from experience that at the end of the night, all those pages were shredded and thrown away, but while there, they needed them for security reasons.

  The man handed him the ID back. “Haven’t seen you here in a while,” he commented, peering up at him. They’d gotten friendly enough, and Baxter allowed the man to have some familiarity with him.

  “You know how it is,” he said with a chuckle. “Shit gets in the way.”

  “Yeah, but you’re here now.” The man smirked. “And you know what they say, waiting for a good thing makes it better.”

  Baxter laughed, a proper, rumbling laugh. “You’re very right.”

  With the boring formality finished, Baxter finally walked through to the next door and entered the sprawling club. It was beautiful chaos. Sex and lust hung heavy in the air, coating his lungs as he took a deep breath. A scent sweeter than even the most expensive of perfumes. Accompanied by a symphony of flesh slapping against flesh. Leather cutting into skin. Moans, whimpers, cries. Sobs. A debauched soundtrack of lust; his favorite song. Baxter could already feel his thick cock swelling in anticipation of sating his twisted desires.

  First though he made his way to the bar. He didn’t get to do this as often as he liked, so when he did, he enjoyed taking his time. Savor every moment. He’d go to the bar, get a nonalcoholic drink, and then form a plan of action. He felt eyes on him while he moved; he knew he wasn’t unattractive, even if the spark with his wife had long since died.

  He was big, stout. His body might not have been as cut as it used to be in college, but even twenty years on, he was still strong. Broad-shouldered with thighs like tree trunks. Kinky hair shaved at the sides and kept short on the top, and his black goatee was starting to be sprinkled with white. Dark brown skin almost flawless, except for a scar on his chest above his right nipple. He missed his defined abs. However, so far he hadn’t gotten any complaints, and he still had that deep V leading down toward his dick that drove everyone crazy. Past forty, he could still keep up with younger men. In fact, it was rare that they could keep up with him. His hunger for sex was insatiable. Always had been.

  After he received his soda, glass cold against his fingers, he rested back with his elbows against the bar and scanned around for his first victim of the evening. For a moment, his gaze lingered on a slender redhead wearing a pair of tight leather shorts that did little to hide his erection. He was lying on a couch, reclining with half-lidded eyes. His feet rested in the lap of a portly older man who lathered them with lotion; the guy looked at them as if they were dinner. The redhead’s body was appealing, though for now, he seemed content where he was. Baxter made a note of him before moving on. He was an option.

  Dark eyes flicked around, favoring the young doll-like men, on the search for the perfect porcelain twink to bounce on his cock. He had a type, and he couldn’t help it. He craved it. A lion hungering for its next prey. All of a sudden his gaze halted, and his eyes widened. He glanced away and then back, blinking a few times and letting out a breath.

  No.

  He recognized that figure.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Shaggy golden hair fell against pale white cheeks. Blue eyes were ringed by long lashes. The boy—Baxter knew for a fact he was barely eighteen years old—was lithe, almost too thin. Porcelain skin stretched over a petite, delicate form. Cute pink nipples were pierced through by barbells, and a thin red collar with a large silver
bell wrapped around his willowy throat. He knelt in front of a large black couch, near the stage area. An elegant silver chain was connected behind the bell, and the end of it was held by a hulking man with a deep tan and long black hair who was seated. But what really caught Baxter’s attention was a set of white, fluffy ears nestled in the boy’s hair. When he cocked his head to the side and looked up at the man holding his leash, he looked exactly like an inquisitive kitten. Something about the sight sent blood rushing to Baxter's cock.

  Baxter set his mostly empty soda on the bar and headed toward the boy. His eyes were fixed on him, large hands clasped into massive fists by his side and heart pounding out an anxious rhythm in his chest. He felt drawn to the figure, a moth to a flame that could burn him up and destroy his carefully curated life.

  As he got closer, he could see something white and fluffy draped in the boy’s lap. His fingers stroked across it absently, and Baxter realized—with a twinge in his gut—it was a tail. He couldn’t see where it disappeared to, but he had a very good idea.

  When he stopped a few feet in front of the little kitten, blue eyes peered up at him. Recognition and a blush shot across that delicately pretty face. He looked embarrassed at the situation he was caught in, almost as worried as Baxter felt. It calmed him. Reassured him. The boy wasn’t going to tell a soul what he had seen.

  “Caleb,” Baxter murmured, giving him a nod of greeting.

  He knew the boy quite well. In one of his last semesters, he’d been a student in his gym class. Caleb was definitely not an athlete; that had been clear from the very beginning. He seemed frightened of balls. Soccer balls, baseballs, volleyballs; he cringed away from them all. Whenever Baxter attempted to speak to him about it, he would just blush and look down at his sneakers. Always polite, always quiet. He didn’t seem to have many friends. The more athletic boys loved to make fun of him, calling him a fairy. There had even been a very nasty incident that ended with Caleb getting a bloody nose and Baxter having to bench one of his best football players for three games. Baxter had tried to stop them, but asking teenage boys not to be dicks was like asking a politician not to lie. He’d felt bad for the kid. Boys like him didn’t have much of a life. Or so he thought.

  But now dorky little Caleb knelt half-naked on the floor of a sex club, collared and leashed with fluffy ears and a tail.

  “Do you two know each other?” The man holding the leash tugged at it, looking between Caleb and Baxter.

  Caleb nodded, lowering his gaze while Baxter slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The boy didn’t speak, pale pink tongue darting out across his lower lip. Baxter wondered if he was allowed to speak or if he was being a good, obedient little whore that let his master speak for him. “Yeah. I know Caleb,” he said, keeping his eyes on the boy. Fuck. He looked gorgeous like this. Baxter had always thought he was cute in class. With those soft, rose petal lips, shiny hair, and delicate features, he should have had other guys throwing themselves at him. But he never seemed to.

  “Oh?” Pulling Caleb close so he could grab his chin, the tan man yanked his head up and stared into his eyes. “Where do you know this man from?”

  A red flush burned bright on Caleb’s cheek and all the way down to his chest. “Meow?”

  Holy fuck.

  Baxter had not expected that quiet sound to come from Caleb. It threw him for a loop and made his heart give a mighty beat that pumped a surge of blood straight to his cock. Baxter had seen puppies at the club before. Very attractive men, covering their faces in intricate leather masks and walking around on all fours. Some had tails, though nothing as pretty as what Caleb was playing with. They didn’t speak either. Pups had never done it for him. He’d given it a try, but most of the ones at the club were a bit too built for him. A bit too strong. He liked delicate things. Waifs and twinks. And...kittens, apparently.

  The man, Caleb’s Master he supposed, tugged at the leash again and smirked. “You may answer the question,” he assured him. “Now, where?”

  “School.” There was that featherlight voice Baxter was familiar with. The voice of a shy boy who didn’t like speaking up in front of people.

  “School?” The Master tilted his head to the side. “Is he a teacher of yours?”

  Caleb nodded and gave a quiet mew of agreement. The Master’s eyes scanned over Baxter, and then he chuckled. “Let me guess...the gym teacher,” he said, loosening his grip on the leash and leaning back. “I think Caleb told me about you. Coach Baxter?”

  Baxter’s cock swelled at that realization. The pretty little blond twink had been talking about him? He only hoped it was about how much he wanted to wrap those sweet lips around his cock and gag on it. “Been talkin’ about me, huh?”

  Caleb refused to make eye contact with Baxter, hands twisting in his lap and that blush never fading. He leaned into the Master’s legs, turning to hide his face against his thigh.

  The longer Baxter looked at Caleb kneeling on the floor like that, bashful as a virgin on her wedding night, the more he wanted to have him. He was just about to broach the subject of whether or not Caleb was available to lend out when the Master spoke up. “Would you like to play with my pet?”

  Blinking, Baxter tilted his head to the side. He was playing innocent. As if he hadn’t just been thinking about that himself. “Hm? Me? Well, if he’s available…”

  Baxter would be stupid to turn it down. He wanted him. Since Caleb was no longer in his classes and was of legal age, there was no reason why he couldn’t indulge himself by playing with him. Technically at least. He would definitely get fired though. “Of course he’s available. He’s an eager little whore, and he’s been very good lately. Might as well give him a reward.” The Master rose to his feet, and Baxter noticed the large bulge protruding from his tight pants. Impressive. The leash looped around the man’s hand before he pulled at Caleb, making him fall forward onto his hands and knees. “The bigger the cock, the more he begs for it. Isn’t that right?”

  “Meow,” Caleb agreed quietly. The position he was in now made it very clear where that tail was coming from; the white faux-fur a complement to the bright red of his ass cheeks. The perky cheeks were cupped by lacy white straps, like a jockstrap but...more delicate. Did...did the boy have a lace jockstrap? A white lace jockstrap? Christ on a fucking cross, that was almost too much.

  Struggling hard to maintain his cool, Baxter pulled his hand from his right pocket, dropping it down. He grabbed the outline of his cock through his pants, squeezing it so Caleb could see just how long and thick it was. Almost fully hard thanks to the kitty boy in front of him. “I certainly have enough to get him beggin’.”

  A dark chuckle left the man; he looked to Caleb, still on the floor next to him. “Does my pet want to go play?” he cooed in a singsong tone as he made Caleb look up at him. “Wanna go see what the coach has there for you?”

  Caleb nodded bashfully. It hit Baxter in all the right ways. He wanted to stain those cheeks pink as he struggled for air around his cock. Wanted to hear the sounds he made when he fisted his hair between those ears. Would he meow when Baxter’s cock was stuffed inside him? Or would he sob in pleasure?

  Unwrapping the leash from around his hand, the Master passed the end of it over to Baxter. The metal was so delicate Baxter was certain he would be able to snap it in half without much effort. It wasn’t necessarily the sturdiest of leashes, but he had to admit that the delicate nature of it suited the boy.

  “Here. He’ll not speak unless you ask him to, and he’ll crawl unless you specify you’d like him to walk. He’s pretty well trained.” The Master was dispassionate with his words, very matter-of-fact while listing the qualities of his pet. It was all very businesslike, and Baxter wondered how often they did this. Lending him out like that. If Caleb was his pet, he didn’t think he would be able to share.

  “Any limits that I should know about?” He gave the lightest of tugs to pull Caleb toward him. The boy stayed on his hands and knees, crawling over with surp
rising grace. His chest was lower to the ground, back arched, and ass stuck out with that long white tail dragging behind him. He moved to kneel next to Baxter, leaning lightly against his legs. The soft brush of his shoulder was very distracting.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, the man shook his head with a wolfish grin. “Nothing permanent can be done to him. No cutting. No piercings. He likes being covered in come, but that’s it. Other than that...not really,” he assured Baxter. The man’s attention was already drifting toward a flogging taking place on one of the nearby couches, and he blatantly adjusted his erection in his pants. “He’s a hard pet to break. So masochistic for someone so young. He’ll give you his safeword and use it if he needs to. Enjoy.”

  With that, they were dismissed, and Caleb’s Master took off toward the sound of gagged moans and leather against flesh. Now that they were left alone, Baxter examined his new toy with hunger. He liked having him on his knees, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to examine every inch of him—take it all in. His large hand engulfed Caleb’s arm as he tugged him up. “Come on. On your feet. Let Daddy see you.”

  Baxter lifted Caleb with absolutely no effort. In fact, the boy was so light he pulled a bit too hard and nearly hauled him off his feet. Once he was standing, lecherous eyes took in every detail of that pale body. Stiff pink nipples begging to be nibbled. Baxter’s large hand could easily wrap around the boy’s thigh and have his fingers meet. Hell, the boy was so petite it looked like Baxter’s hands would easily meet around his waist. Like he could squeeze and snap him in half.