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“Do it again.” Husk pants, pushing her ass harder into narrow hands and sharp, curling fingernails.
The table is a mess of empty liquor bottles and scattered cards and Alastor can't help but chuckle, the booze in her bloodstream is as much to blame as the still fresh memory of the casino’s feline fatale and owner crawling directly across the table while demanding to check red clothing for hidden cards after too many losing hands. There were no extra cards, just a streak of bad luck and enough whiskey to affect a mind usually good at counting cards- or such is the rumor of Husk’s gaming success. Alastor certainly hasn't invited the other woman to tumble into her lap and frisk her intently but it doesn't seem like a thing that would not have progressed so quickly and easily had they both been remotely sober either.
One thing led to another, as they say…
“Alastor, again,” Husk whines when they have taken too long.
“So demanding of a guest in your establishment! What a sloppy host.”
Though Alastor visits often enough, she hardly feels like a common guest at Husk's tables. Slim fingers wind a fuzzy tail a little tighter around them before closing firmly and tugging.
Husk mewls and throws back her head so the sweet, desperate sound reaches twitching deer ears. Alastor doesn't understand how they've come to this but the wet patch growing on her thigh and soaking through thick stockings as the other woman rocks in her lap and the barely there tears gathering at the corners of gold and black eyes make Alastor feel powerful. Without even the need to spill blood or crack bone, she has a wealthy and ruthless overlord shaking and at her mercy.
Alastor works more fingers into the wild hair framing a heart-shaped face with its curly bob- the youthful, rebellious sort of look Alastor once admired in dance halls on the lovely women she didn't have the understanding of her own self or the suicidal courage in that era to approach. Alastor closes her hand tightly near the scalp and yanks. This reaction is tasty as well though the arch of Husk’s chest into Alastor’s isn't as breathy or as satisfying as the results of efforts elsewhere.
Cheeks are almost rouged with the warmth of a good rye buzz and such delicious entertainment. Alastor blows gently into a tall ear and watches it spasm. Giggles when the bunched skirt and warm flesh in her hand presses back for more.
"The tail," Husk prompts. As if Alastor is too stupid to read desperation and desire.
It is her right to mock in turn. “Does the kitten enjoy having her tail pulled that much? What a masochistic little pet.”
“Not a kitten. Not your pet,” Husk mumbles with a hint of claws digging into shoulders.
But Husk gasps and squirms harder against long legs, rubbing her sopping pussy into a nylon covered knee when her tail is tugged again, lengthening her entire spine to arch back into the pull and she clings to red shoulders.
“Maybe not yet,” Alastor coos, resting her flaming face against an equally hot and fuzzy cheek. “But soon, dear, very soon I think.”
Alastor pulls hair and the tail again and wonders how wet and desperate Husk will be at the yank of a soul-bound collar.