New Territory
By Musuko

*   *   *

I allowed myself only a moment at the door to compose myself. I could feel the bouncer's eyes on me. Or perhaps they fixated on the sparse clothing so shamelessly strapped and buckled around my form, revealing all, hiding nothing. I glanced back at him. He didn't look away.
"Fuck off," I said, pushing open the door and stepping through. I knew for sure that his eyes followed my rear, his stare burning holes through the ridiculously skimpy leather shorts that clung to my cheeks. I felt a fool. But if my brother wore these clothes on his nights out, and if I wished to impersonate my twin, then these clothes I would have to wear.
Around me, the nightclub churned, a den of noise and heat, swarming with the heaving host of this city’s most overt wildlife, each one on the hunt, searching out their prey with not a single pretension of doing otherwise. Their leers and flirtations leaned towards the crude, and my pride would not let me mimic them, despite my pantomime requiring that I should. I felt for sure that I must have looked out of place. Little white mouse, albino eyes shying from the bright, spinning lights. It felt alien, infuriating, to venture so far into an environment where I did not feel in control, where I could not rightfully claim mastery. I retreated to the bar, which became my refuge, as did a glass generously loaded with whiskey. There I could sit and wait.
Lady luck rewarded me with Musuko's punctuality. Dead on nine-o-clock, just as arranged. I felt a paw land on my shoulder and heard a close voice audible even against the din of the room. Smooth and sultry, always carrying a hint of sarcastic amusement; that familiar and hateful voice. I despised it, largely for sounding far too like my own.
“On the hunt already, little mouse? Or are you still recovering from the other night?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath to steady myself. Sharp words bubbled and threatened to fall from my tongue. I released my tension with an artificially trembling exhalation and turned to face him, masking my face with the smile I had seen my brother wear all too often. I call it his “please fuck me” smile. Wearing it on my own face scored up a humiliation that I would need to even with the feline later.
“Just waiting for you,” I said, roaming my eyes down his body, an action intended for his notice. A smug little tabby cat carelessly stuffed into an unbuttoned suit, plain black, with a white shirt, maroon tie pulled askew, cheap black shoes, scuffed, no watch, no jewelry. I detected the faint smell of his body odour; clean, unperfumed, but offensively feline. I felt a momentary pang of conflict as one nasty, traitorous part of my psyche reflected that he could easily have picked his outfit from my own wardrobe.
“You got my message then,” I said, carefully watching his expression. If he had any suspicion of my subterfuge, he didn’t show it.
“Of course. I make sure my staff deliver all your correspondence into the official slutty mouse in-tray. And seeing as you begged me so nicely, who am I to turn you down?”
He placed his paws on my knees, squeezing his fingers through my fur. I managed not to flinch, and kept my smile in place. He leant over me, lifting his mouth to my ear once more, closer than necessary. He seemed well aware of the sensitivity of a mouse's ear, ticklish to even the lightest of breaths. My composure wavered. I released an only partially-faked squeak, humiliation number two.
“Back to mine?” he said.
I shook my head, just slightly. “To mine. I have a surprise planned.”
And as easily as that I had him, my prey, my cat, arm in arm, walking out of the club and into the waiting embrace of a dirty little taxi. Off we sailed, through the heart of the city and out the other side, into the quiet, gentrified docklands, where my brother's flat awaited. I let us in. He stroked his paw across my rear, before gliding over to the kitchen, extracting a bottle of beer from the fridge and setting it down on the marble counter. The flat brooded with sensual elegance under lighting planned to exquisite perfection. As well it should; my money paid for it.
He watched me from the kitchen. The bubbles in the beer retreated back down the neck of the bottle.
“Down on your knees,” he said.
I obeyed, settling onto the hardwood floor. I didn't hide my discomforted wince, and felt reassured by his smiling response. He ignored the beer, strolling his way over to me, the cocksure little fuck. He stood legs apart, his crotch level with my nose, and flashed a grin that told me he had done that intentionally.
“What do you have in mind, mouse?”
I tilted my head back, my eyes mimicking my brother's most manipulative look; wide and vulnerable, pale pink orbs that carry so much subtlety in their absence of detail. I nodded my head towards the bedroom door.
“Through there. May I lead you through, sir?”
His eyebrow raised. For a heart-gripping moment I feared I had misstepped. My brother had never shied away from recounting the details of his exploits, especially with this, his most favourite of felines, but I realised at that moment that he had never made clear how formal a powerplay he enjoyed with Musuko. Had I just slipped character? My chest thumped. The moment dragged on, and I watched his expression intently.
A smile slowly blossomed across his face. “Very well, slave,” he said, the emphasis on the last word telling me that he had moved into an area of experimentation. Sweet relief.
I rose to my feet, bringing my body up close to his. Our noses nearly touched, and I turned my head away with the appropriate level of humility I felt my charade required. I walked slowly to the bedroom, stopping briefly at the doorway to look back over my shoulder, before entering and stepping to the side.
The cat strutted in after me like the king of all, casting a superior smile my way. Before him on the bed lay chains, drawn from each corner post, terminating in thick, luxurious leather cuffs. I have fed a lot of money to my brother over the years, and he has invested it well, by his own standards.
“Is this the surprise? I've seen these before, little mouse.”
I moved behind him and gently placed a paw on the small of his back. “Lie down, sir.”
The smile stayed painted to his face. If anything, it grew larger. I knew the play between my brother and this cat went both ways, but the rapidity of his climb onto the bed still surprised me. He rolled onto his back and obligingly shuffled into the centre of the bed, spreading his legs and arms towards the corners. He lifted his head, aiming that smile at me.
“Like this, slave?”
“Yes sir.”
I moved along the side of the bed, touching my fingertips to his arm and tracing them down to his wrist. My other paw pulled the leather cuff into position beneath it.
“Do you want me to take off my clothes?” he said.
“No sir.”
I closed the cuff around his wrist and pulled the strap through the buckle. It slid smoothly, the leather creaking the song of crafted quality as I pulled the cuff tight and closed the buckle.
He grunted and flexed his fingers. “You don't normally pull it that tight.”
I froze, thinking quickly. “All part of the surprise, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Thankfully, he said nothing further. I worked my way around the bed, closing the cuffs around each limb in turn. Once bound, he made a show of tugging at each cuff, making the chains rattle. I moved to the foot of the bed, standing over him.
“The chains are a little loose,” he said.
“I want you to have room to struggle.”
He stopped moving and fixed his eyes on me, brow knitted. “Huh?”
My smile must have had the intended effect. He resumed tugging at the chains, in earnest now, grunting softly while the the straining leather creaked. He flopped back still and looked at me again.
“What's going on, Lethias? I'm not sure I like this.”
“You're going to like it a lot less very soon. Lethias went to visit his mother yesterday.”
His expression fluxed wonderfully; first confusion, fresh and lovely. His eyes pleaded disbelief, rising in intensity to a panicked rejection of reality. Then the shift, a binary flip into fear, when acceptance of the unwelcome situation forces him to face it, and to realise that his future does not look rosy. He started to shake his head.
“No, no, no. No, you're not him.”
“No?”
He let out a soft, strangled noise. The sound of defeat. He whispered, “Terik. Don't do this.”
“Do what?”
“Don't play games! What do you want?”
I moved to the corner of the bed and looked up at the ceiling. I drummed my fingertips idly against the sole of his shoe.
“What do I want? I can explain that easily enough.” I looked squarely at him. “I hear you like to boss my brother around. I don't mind that. I respect his choices.”
I moved to the side of the bed and leaned over him.
“However, you need reminding of the true order of things. Mice above cats. Always remember that.”
He went very quiet. For the moment, I struggled to read his expression. Fear, yes, but something too. Frantic thinking, perhaps. I crouched down and reached under the bed, lifting up a hair dryer, plugged in and ready to go.
“Anything you want to say, cat?”
His eyes fixed on the appliance, and he shook his head quickly. He caught his lower lip and bit it, and a soft, barely audible whimper escaped past them.
“Ah,” I said. “Getting the idea now?” I flicked the switch and the howl of the motor filled the room. I wafted the flowing stream of air over my palm until it warmed up, then held it pointing away into the room whilst I slowly, methodically, unlaced his shoes with my free paw.
	His writhing mind must have finally caught up and focused. He tried to wriggle his feet away from me. I kept position with ease, working his shoes off his heels, then tugging at his socks.
“Don't do this. Terik, please! I'll stop playing with your brother!”
“You can’t change what you’ve already done.” I flicked his socks away behind me. His bare paws pulled to the extents of the chains, as if moving the extra few inches away from me somehow benefited him. “Can you?” He remained silent.
I settled myself down on the floor at the foot of the bed, sitting with my arm resting on the bed covers, my head positioned nicely to admire his wriggling soles up close.
“It pains me to admit this, but I don't see any reason to lie. You have some pretty nice-looking paws here, cat.”
I lifted the roaring vent of the hair dryer up to his sole, positioning the hurricane blast of heat a mere inch from the smooth, pink skin. His response came instantly. He screamed. Oh how he screamed. His head tilted back and his back lifted off the bed. His heels and his head carried the entirety of his weight, before he collapsed back in a wailing, thrashing mess of panicking agony. I couldn't have hoped for better.
“Oh my,” I said. “You scream louder than a murder victim. And you know full well that I would know what that sounds like.”
“You sick fuck! Let me go!”
I clicked off the hair dryer after a minute or so, when his screaming started to grow ragged. His sole glistened with sweat, and an ugly dark pink patch slowly swelled in its centre. I watched it for a while. His toes continued to flex randomly, and his breathing sounded rough and blubbery all around me. I waited until he seemed to calm slightly, only then sliding myself across to the other foot and turning the hair dryer back on. His anguished wail mingled with the roar of the motor, and I closed my eyes to enjoy the sound in its purest form. Bliss.
My desire for consistency ensured that his second sole received the same length of treatment as the first. Upon removal of the heat, the sight of a second identical welt met my eyes. I laid the hair dryer down and waited again for him to calm down, listening as his cries settled eventually into wet, miserable sniffling.
“Mmm. Roasted cat.” I said, prodding a claw tip against his sole. He shrieked and yanked at the chains, diving once more into frenzied sobbing.
“P-please stop. Please! I’m s-sorry, just stop!”
“Not yet. Soon.” He could not have provided me with a better moment, for now I lifted another of my brother’s possessions from beneath the bed; a gleaming pair of hairdressing scissors. I snapped them a few times in the cat’s view, and tried not to imagine what my brother liked to trim with them. The cat’s eyes grew wider than I had seen them before. I knew that expression, and it ranked right up at the top of my list of life’s pleasures. Here, my little victim displayed the look of mortal terror, and I did nothing to correct his panicking imagination.
The blades slid easily through the fabric of his clothing, skinning him of his suit from the ankles upwards. All the while, he pleaded incoherently, twisting away from the blades that skimmed so close to his flesh. One particular statement stood out enough for me to pause, my blades halfway through his shirt, hovering above his quivering stomach.
“They'll hunt you down! Not just the police, my company too. You can’t get away with it this time. I’m not just some homeless kid you can pick up and dispose of without anyone noticing!”
I looked him in the eye with a stare that he withered beneath. I flexed the scissors a few times, then resumed cutting up towards his collar. As it advanced, I did too, lowering my head down towards his, until my lips almost caressed his cheek. At that range, he could easily lunge upwards and bite me, but he didn’t. I suspect the fact that the scissors had finished up poised with the blades open and pressing into his neck had something to do with it.
“Oh, little kitten. From where did you get such an idea? They haven’t caught me yet, and I’ve made far more important people than you disappear.” I twitched the blades at his neck. “If I want you gone, nobody would ever find you, and they would never find me.”
He let out a strangled squeal not too dissimilar to the noises my brother made in similar, if somewhat more consensual, circumstances.
“But people saw me leaving with you. Wait...they saw me leaving with Lethias. They’ll come after your brother! You wouldn’t do that to your brother!”
“Do you want to bet your life on that?”
He gave me no answer. Only fearful silence and eyes that wouldn’t stray from the scissors. I finished my work, cutting away his sleeves and then hopping off the bed to drag the tattered remains of clothing from beneath his body and throw them to the corner of the room. There he lay, one naked cat, chained to a bed, his fur slightly damp with sweat, his pores soaking the air with the smell of fear. My attention caught on something further down his body, and his eyes detached from mine to look where I looked. Despite his predicament, or more likely because of it, his cock stood at half mast.
“Well, little kitten. I knew I had in my claws a perverted little slut bag, but this goes further than I had expected.” I sat myself beside his hip, reaching over with the scissors to prod with the parted sharp edges against his shaft. He flinched and yelped, but stayed tensely still.
“Nothing to say to that, cat?”
He shook his head quickly, eyes on the scissors.
“Nothing at all?” I squeezed my fingers and the blades closed together a minute fraction, pinching his soft flesh between them. He exhaled a shaky cry and his cock swelled just a little bit harder.
“You still have nothing to say, cat? You don’t have the urge to, I don’t know, explain why you’re getting a hardon from the threat of ending up a serial-killer’s next victim?”
“I can’t help it,” he breathed.
“Can’t you?” I squeezed the blades closer. His cock now swelled above and below the corset-like pinch of the blades. “Even if you knew getting soft would save your cock?”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re going to kill me!” he cried, with every symptom of speaking before his brain could work on the statement.
“Who says I will?”
“You!”
“I might. I might not.” I eased the scissors open and scraped the blades up either side of his rapidly-engorging cock, flicking them off the tip, before turning the handles round in my paw and wielding the parted blades like twin daggers. “I could say it all depends on how I feel, but in truth I have my brother to consider. For reasons I can’t grasp, he likes you, and I suspect his enjoyment of your existence depends on you remaining alive.”
His body untensed momentarily. His cock swelled fully hard and proud now. I pressed the blunt edge of the scissors against it until it lay flat between his legs, eliciting a groan from him, then released it to spring back with a slap against his tummy.
“Fucking disgusting.”
I touched the open blades against his tummy and gently raked them towards his side. His skin welted and bristled out his fur as it did, leaving a ragged line of disturbed fur where my blade had travelled. He whimpered in protest.
 	“S-so what are you going to do?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
I crawled up onto the bed and swung my leg over his waist, kneeling astride him and resting my rear on his thighs. He looked up at me, and I looked down at him. I waved the scissors and his eyes detached from mine, watching the blades instead.
“Where do you think I should cut you?”
“Nowhere!”
I swung my paw down, blades kissing his tummy. Too gently to wound. Instead, they scraped, cutting a stinging path that crossed the first, leaving a large, uneven X across his bellybutton. I must have pressed a little harder this time; a small spray of cut fur fluffed up around my paw. His scream disappointed me. The passion had left his voice. My fault, of course. I had made him aware of his safety far too early. No matter.
“Where?”
His voice quavered. “N-nowhere!”
I slashed again. A short, nimble flick down his side, leaving a foot-long welt down his ribs. A few more severed hairs settled onto the bedding. He heaved himself up from the bed. I rose up on my knees to avoid him bucking me off. He choked on a single sob. Frustration. That, at least, substituted nicely for fear.
I raised an eyebrow, scissors held up ready.
“M-my chest,” he said, ever so timidly.
“Good boy. See? You can train a cat.”
I leant forward, draping myself over his body, feeling the warmth rising up from it. His cock momentarily touched against mine through the leather of my brother’s tight, slutty shorts. I knocked it to the side with my fist. It no doubt left a smear of feline precum on the leather. The smell of his arousal touched my nose and I shook my head to clear it. I opened the scissors to their widest extent and pressed one blade down hard onto the centre of his chest, aligned vertically. I pressed, watching him gasp and squirm, his head rolling side to side, mouth open and gasping like a fish’s, his cheeks wet with tears. I pressed until I saw the tiniest hint of blood beading around the blade. I never really enjoyed the sight of blood. I felt it one of the strangest ironies of my life’s pleasures. To let too much of it flow, I felt, betrayed a clumsy, excessive nature. A small, slight scrape pleased me. A tease of maiming, so to speak. Just enough to make the victim fear more.
And oh how the fear flooded back as my paw started to move. I could smell it on him, drenching the air that filled my nose. I felt giddy. I could get drunk on it. He had little to fear in regular life, I could tell; no practiced self-control moderated this flood. He sweated his fear at full volume. If this little kitten found himself deep in the dark woods, lost and afraid, he would draw in every predator for miles with that stink.
My blade cut. Innocent scissors turned to such a cruel purpose. They traced the path a surgeon might cut to open the chest. They left a thin, red line of blood down the centre of the white fur of his underbelly.
“Perfect,” I whispered. I flung the scissors away over my shoulder. They hit the veneered floor with a thunk. I didn’t look, but knew they must have embedded themselves at the points, standing proud like Excalibur. I looked down at him, knowing that my heart raced. My chest rose and fell in hurried pants. My composure had slipped. My own cock had risen shamefully, enjoying itself despite the age and species of my victim. It strained against the confines of my brother’s shorts. He watched me. This stupid cat could see me. He knew.
“Are you finished?” he breathed.
I closed my eyes and breathed, one heaving chestful of air. “Oh, not even close, little kitten...”
The bed rocked as I pulled myself to my feet, standing on the mattress, boots planted either side of his naked middle. He cowered beneath me, but something in his expression didn’t fit. His eyes met mine, even while his head turned away. Some hint of knowing smirk dwelt there. He fucking knew.
I lifted my foot and placed the heavy, chunky sole of my boot on his chest. Slowly, I rocked my weight forward, meeting the resistance of his ribs. The look in his eye wavered and disappeared, swamped by a pained grimace. I smiled. Much better. His continued hardon pleased me somewhat less. I heaved more weight onto his chest, my other foot lifting off the bed completely.
“Stop!” he cried, between straining, breathless gasps. I grinned wider, rocking my weight from heel to toe and back again. I imagined I could hear his ribs creaking. He struggled for air, having difficulty inflating his lungs against the pressure crushing down on his chest. I kept my grin drilling down at him, driving out any shred of that cocky smirk. Finally, I relented, stepping off him.
“Pathetic,” I said, punctuating with a sharp kick between his legs, the hardened leather of my boot smacking his balls. His body convulsed, and his scream of pain segued into mangled, miserable retching. He tried to roll to his side, tried to double up, tried to pull his paws free to massage the ache away, but the cuffs wouldn't let him. I dropped down onto my knees, landing astride his head. My leather-clad crotch hovered just over his nose. It took a while for him to return from his agonised stupor, but when he did I could see the understanding in his eyes. My cock still strained at the leather. It clouded my thinking. And he fucking knew!
I grabbed a pawful of his hair and wrenched his head upwards, slamming his nose against the bulge. He let out a low moan, and I knew I had crossed a line. I couldn’t do anything about it now. That smirk probably still lurked in his eyes, but for now they remained hidden behind his closed eyelids. The little bitch rubbed his nose against the leather, moaning like the worst kind of needy slut. Half of me wanted to throw his head back down and then beat him until he couldn’t move. But the other half...
I gripped his hair tighter, and he gasped in pain, right against the bulge of my cock. Perhaps it didn’t matter if he knew. After all, my enjoyment of his suffering could not possibly have evaded his attention so far. Could using him for this more direct pleasure really shame me so badly?
“Don’t mistake me for my brother,” I said. But my paw moved to the zip on the front of the shorts. He looked up at me, his nose still buried in my crotch. I pulled down the zip, knocking his head out of the way, more roughly than necessary. His muzzle came right back, trying to push into the parted leather before I could get my cock free.
I pulled his head back, just out of reach. He let out a meek little whimper, and I knew for sure he had forgotten who he lay beneath. I had my brother’s cock, after all, sheathed in my brother’s clothes, exuding my brother’s scent. I allowed myself a moment of pride watching him try to reach it, his mouth open, tongue extended, his whole existence trapped in worshipful exultation. But the moment soon ended, and I knew I could remind him of the differences between myself and my brother. My flat palm hit his cheek with a crack. I threw his head back and let go of his hair. He cried out, but my cock silenced him, shoving down between his lips and not stopping until his nose hit fur. His pained whimper made my desire surge. But he did not gag. That disappointed me, but only slightly. I couldn’t expect this rampant slut to react the same way as some innocent, terrified kid. No matter.
I held him there for some time, pressing down into his throat. I felt that feeling again, the one from the bar. I had strayed into new, unknown territory, and made myself vulnerable. The points of his teeth touched my shaft. I knew he could bite, and the scissors lay far beyond my reach. He could hurt me in the worst of ways. But he didn’t. Instead, his mouth flexed and his tongue rubbed up and down as he suckled like a baby, making the most undignified of slurping noises in the quiet room. The physical sensation...well, it felt wonderful. No doubt my brother sampled this exact same pleasure all too often.
“I won’t kill you,” I breathed. His eyes opened, staring up at me. “And you won’t try to find me. You will keep my brother happy. Make him your little bitch. And you...”
The little fuck squeezed his lips tight and sucked hard. I did the worst thing possible in the situation: I squeaked. That fucking shameful noise that some joke of evolution inflicted upon my species, making even the best of us sound like timid little prey. I slapped his cheek again, but not quite as hard as before, not wanting those teeth to move too much.
“And you will pay for it with me, whenever I deem it necessary. We will even the score, and my brother need not even know.”
I rose up slightly. My cock slid in the wet warmth, the released inches meeting empty, unforgiving air, cooling the saliva coating. I pressed back down, hilting again, feeling his throat convulse around my tip. I could feel myself leaking into him.
“Agreed?”
He nodded without an instant’s hesitation, as best as my cock would allow. I moved my tail in a slow horizontal sweep, probing, bumping into his erection. He closed his eyes and moaned quietly around my cock. I had my answer, from his body and from his mind. And for the first time in my life I had that most novel of experiences: a not entirely unwilling victim.

*   *   *

When it came to it, I felt awkward releasing the cat, and I had serious second thoughts. The scissors beckoned me while he remained bound. The final end and delicious silence could happen so easily. I couldn’t recall ever having releasing a victim, save for my brother. He didn’t move until I had unbuckled all four cuffs, and only then did he slowly sit up, agony momentarily gripping his features as he clasped and rubbed his cramping limbs. He looked wrung out, wet with sweat and other unsavoury liquids. I watched him from the other end of the room, rubbing my paws with a towel. I made sure to glare.
He made as if to speak, but caught my eye and shrunk back. He turned to the pile of his chopped up clothes and crouched down to fish through the pockets, retrieving his phone. I tensed, watching him carefully, mind racing to take inventory; the scissors on the floor, the knives in the kitchen, my wires and chemicals in my suit pocket in the living room. I could end him and disappear well before any police arrived, if I had to.
He touched the screen and put the phone to his ear.
“It’s me. Send a car. Yes, the mouse’s place. Thank you.” Another tap, and the call ended.
I watched as he rifled through my brother’s wardrobe, pulling out a simple band t-shirt and pair of jeans. He started to dress. The cat didn’t match the tall, slim frame of myself or my brother, and the clothes swamped him. But he managed to restore some modesty. He touched at his chest through the t-shirt, wincing. The red line down his chest would remain a sore reminder for days to come.
“I imagine you’ll want to get going before my driver arrives. If she figures out you’re not your brother, she'll tell the police.”
“Most probably.”
“I don’t approve of what you do, you know. I should be trying to stop you.”
“And why don’t you?”
He looked down at the floor beside me, and I didn’t need to follow his gaze to know his attention focused on the scissors, still stuck point down in the floor.
“Because I suspect your desire to see your brother happy wouldn’t save me if I tried.”
My instincts tickled at the back of my head, and I had enough experience to know never to ignore them. That car would arrive soon. I started moving towards the door.
“Don’t trick me next time,” he said. “You know how to reach me. If you call, I’ll come.”
I could no-longer ignore my need for flight. I hurried from the room, scooping my suit from the coffee table in the living room without breaking step. In moments I had slipped out the front door and down the three flights to the complex’s garage. My car awaited, and I soon fell into its embrace and glided away into the amber darkness of the city’s night. My instincts eased. I allowed myself a smile.
My night hadn’t exactly followed my expectations. Instead, it had spun off into something else entirely. New territory.
I couldn’t have wished for better.