Kitty Shop Tryst
Story Codes: MF, Consensual, Exhibitionism
Kitty Shop Tryst
By Christine Stoddard
When you headed to the pet shop on the corner that evening, you harbored only the most
mundane of expectations. You would walk in, grab the same cheap kibble as always, and quickly
return home to flip through a classic novel or fill out a crossword. It was supposed to be another
tame Sunday night. Relaxing, but nothing special.
Instead, the moment you enter the shop, something other than white mice and gurgling
aquariums catches your eye. Yes, a giant pyramid display of cat food is on display but so is
something---or someone---else. He’s fishing out a ferret from one of the massive wire cages for a
little boy to take home in a flimsy cardboard box.
Tall, a little gangly, but adorable in that irresistibly nerdy way, this guy has the most stunning
eyes. You sight them even though you’re standing several feet away from him. His eyes are darkly
lashed, like the camels printed onto the paper background for the tarantula terrarium and as blue
as the pebbles lining the beta cups. His hair is casually messy but not by any means dirty, just
boyishly unkempt. You pretend not to notice him and scurry to the cat food display.
But you can’t escape him. A moment later, a handsomely gravelly voice greets you along with the
soft touch of a hand against your shoulder. The hands, you see upon turning around, are large
and elegantly long-fingered---strong yet poetic.
“Excuse me? Do you need anything?”
You turn around and meet his gaze, tempted to respond with a few dirty words. He is that
gorgeously geeky; you’re almost surprised he’s not donning Clark Kent glasses. You relent,
however, and give your standard response. “Uh, no, not yet. Thanks.” Your smile is subtle yet
flirtatious. He grins and lingers a few seconds longer than an uninterested party would.
“That brand’s on sale,” he says and points at the massive yellow poster hovering above you.
You nod and smirk, “Yeah, I see. Thank you.”
“It’s really good, I hear.”
“The cats told you?” You try to suppress a giggle but everything about him makes you want to
He blushes. “They tell me lots of things.”
“I guess you’re a regular Dr. Doolittle then.”
He blushes again. “Yeah, you could say that.” He pauses. “I’ve never seen you here before. Do
you come here often?”
But before you can respond, the front door’s bell tinkles. He strolls over to the next customer, not
in any hurry to leave you.
You place a couple of cans in your basket, maybe more. Who knows? Your mind isn’t on minced
liver at the time but rather a different kind of meat. You proceed to inspect the gerbils, hamsters,
and other small, furry things. As he helps an elderly woman out with the parrot toys for at least a
quarter of an hour, he keeps glimpsing over at you. She asks question after question and he
politely answers but it’s clear he’s more focused on you, in your cute librarian chic.
When he finishes speaking to her, he runs up to the cash register and announces that the store
will be closing in ten minutes. The old woman pays for her parrot knick-knacks and leaves. No
other customers remain.
You are poised over the rabbit cage when he parks right in front of you, on the opposite of the
cage. Your eyes lock briefly and then you both glance at the rabbits again. A brief spell ago, they
were romping around like creatures in a storybook. Now a brown rabbit has mounted a black-and-
white patched bunny. They are copulating, humping rather passionately for two animals that
previously appeared so innocent. Those two rabbits prove to be very inspiring.
Pet shop guy pops up and rests his chin on top of the cage. You follow his lead. Seconds later,
your mouths are hardly an inch apart. You can feel his humid breath against your skin. He grabs
your face and presses his moist lips to yours. You begin nibbling on his lips so demurely that you
surprise him when you thrust your tongue into his warm mouth. At first, you just dart your tongues
back and forth in a sweet tease but then your tongues start to dance. Already you have
established your own rhythm, with only the small zoo surrounding you as your witness.
When you finally pull away to breathe, he delivers a sweet peck to your forehead, like one of the
lovebirds in the corner of the shop. Not a second later, he jogs to the front door of the shop and
flips the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed.’ You are now truly in private. He races back to you, sweeps you up
in his wiry arms, and brings you to the storage room at the back of the shop. You are alone and in
You continue where we had left off, kissing fervently, but this time as sloppily as playing puppies.
Your wetness above quickly matches your wetness below. Your panties are absolutely soaked and
he hasn’t even gone beyond first base yet. But that soon changes.
He shoots his hot hand up your shirt and rubs the outside of your thin, padless bra. In an instant,
your nipples harden. He continues rubbing, alternating between firm grips and gentle strokes while
you bite his neck. Even though he smells faintly of turtle food, you can’t help but let him grope you.
You can feel his body heat up against yours and around the same time feel his dick tapping your
thigh. He begins unbuttoning your shirt and then pulls back for a moment. Pet shop guy looks
directly into your eyes. You beam and he beams back. There’s something really sexy about how
respectful he is. You nod.
He removes your blouse, tears off your bra, and then pecks your back almost like he’s doting
over a kitten. He even gnaws on it in places. Then he lays you against a stack of dog food bags
and buries his face into your breasts. Your stomach quivers and your pussy aches.
Pet shop guy licks your cleavage while massaging the sides of your breasts. Meanwhile, you
work your hand down to his pants, which you swiftly unzip. You wiggle your hand into his plaid
boxers and seize his throbbing dick. You move your hand up and down his solid dick as he sucks
on your nipples. At this point, you are both breathing heavily but he has yet to make you truly
His mouth grazes your breasts, neck, shoulders, sides, and stomach. He even toys with your
navel for several seconds, sliding his tongue in and out of your belly button, but then his mouth
shoots back to your nipples as his hands migrate below. He massages the crotch of your jeans
and then undoes the zipper. His fingers rotate around and around the crotch of your panties
before he slithers them under your panties. Every inch of you trembles now.
He pets your vulva with one hand and rips off your pants with the other. You are completely
naked. He feels your lobes between his fingers, and then strokes your clit over and over. Your
pussy gushes. You bite his bottom lip and tug on it with your teeth. He squeezes your ass.
Immediately a sharp shiver pierces your lower back.
Now you begin moaning. The combination of him fondling your breasts, licking your body, and
kneading your pussy is too exciting for you to play it cool. Finally a man who knows how and where
to touch you. Now you owe it to him to return the favor. You flip him over and heave your breasts
onto his face. Eagerly, he eats them. It’s hard to tear away from his enthusiastic slurping but
somehow you manage to do so. After all, you want to explore his body some more, too. You rip off
his shirt and kiss him everywhere---his toned abs, his shoulders, his neck, his firm arms. You lift
yourself off of him, pull off his pants, and nestle your face in his crotch.
First you lick his dick, sliding your tongue up and down his shaft, as he faintly groans. Secondly,
you tea-bag his balls. You pop one into your mouth, roll it around your mouth, and release it,
ready to taste the second. His flesh is so clean and yielding. All the while, his hands sweep over
your ass. Occasionally, he tickles your anus and then squeezes your thighs. You yelp in delight.
This man lives to please his customer.
Once you finish tea-bagging his balls, he flicks you over on your back and opens your legs. His
tongue goes straight for your clit. He flutters the tip of his tongue over your juicy pussy as you
moan and rub his shoulders. He run his hands over your legs and sporadically pinches your inner-
thighs. Between the pussy investigation and the thigh grasping, you come. You howl, which
prompts him to lick harder and even lightly chew your labia. This lasts for a solid ten minutes.
When he finally stops, he draws up and kisses you very coyly on the lips. You start making out
again with more soppy kisses.
Shortly after, he slowly enters you. You gyrate against him. He lets out a giant sigh. Then you
nibble each other’s lips some more; he bites your neck and slavers your breasts. You grope his
Then he rests his head on your chest and closes his eyes. You rest there for a moment and then
tap his cheek.
“I have to go,” you whisper, sad that you have work in the morning.
He nods but doesn’t get up. You gently push him away and you start to dress each other.
Right as you finish, he pecks you on the forehead again when you hear the doorknob to the
storage room rustle. The two of you stare at each other. Then a middle-aged man rushes in,
donning a tacky tropical shirt and a faded baseball cap.
Then you inspect his clip-on nametag. It reads MANAGER. It’s pet shop guy’s boss.
“What are you doing here?” the boss asks and glances at pet shop guy and then you. He must
notice how flushed both of you appear.
“Oh,” pet shop guy says and shrugs his broad shoulders, “I was helping her with her pussy.”
“Yeah, I have a pretty hungry kitty,” I mutter.
So much for a boring Sunday evening alone at home with the cat.
Copyright© 2009 Christine Stoddard
Christine Stoddard is a writer and interdisciplinary artist from Arlington, VA. Her work has been featured in a variety
of university literary journals, 'zines, blogs, magazines, and newspapers. Since high school, she has interned at
several companies and organizations, such as the Smithsonian American Art Museum and Washingtonpost.
Newsweek Interactive. She is also the founder and coordinator of the annual Neo-Indie Arts Festival. Learn more
about Christine, her writing, her acting, and her visual art at www.christinestoddard.com