Pussy v. Ferguson

The technological miracles and horrors of the 20th Century seemed to herald a dramatic race toward advancement. There was no halting the tide of technology that could be developed, there were no limits on what mankind could achieve.

Until science began to hit walls. It started with communications and computer technology. The best researchers, engineers, and scientists simply became unable to surpass certain physical laws and reality. Scientific progress slowed in most areas. It was still made, but in small, almost agonizing steps that required herculean efforts to achieve. As a result, even hundreds of years after the dawning of the new millennium, technology was not radically different.

The last area of research that became bogged down was that of genetic manipulation. Born of a desire to cure disease and regrow lost organs and limbs, it became something more. Something that had been a bright light of hope became dark oppression. In the mid-22nd Century, scientists in Scotland revealed that they had created a fully artificially created organism...a human-sheep hybrid named Dolly. Though their break through was for the sake of pure research, the genie had been let out of the bottle. Six months later, a US biotechnology firm created another hybrid. The initial specimens were hardly sentient, but as time passed, the industry quickly perfected the technique, disposing of the earlier "unsuccessful" experiments.

In a controvertial decision, a business friendly Supreme Court decided that as the companies had patented and copy righted the genetic strains and sequencing techniques that created the hybrids, often called mutants or anthros, anthros were the property of the corporation that created them and could be bought and sold as such. A new era of slavery began, much of the South and West eager to be able to hire workers that were stronger and hardier than humans, but didn't need anything like pay or medical plans. Though most nations declared anthros free, considering them human beings, there were some significant holdouts. Among them, the United States of America...a nation that had always had a long and contradictory history with slavery.

Some states allowed it, others did not. And so again the nation became divided into Free States and Slave States. The Slave States far outnumbered the Free ones, a new "curious institution" taking root in America. An abolitionist movement soon began, but was early on labeled as being Communist, as it sought to "steal" property from good, hard-working Americans who had paid for it legal and proper.

A minor victory was achieved by abolitionists after 30 years when a moratorium was called on making any new anthros. Only those that existed could be traded now. And their children, of course. More and more information began to emerge about how anthros were treated, and the horrors of slavery, and a slow shift began. One that could again plunge the nation into civil war. The incident that would prove the spark started on a rainy night in northern Kentucky, with a lone figure desperately running to reach the border of the Free State of Ohio...

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OOC: This is a closed thread for myself and HookerBoots. We hope many of you will read and enjoy a catgirl thread that, we hope, has a little more substance without being pretentious.

Character Profile
Name: Libertie "Libby"
Age: 22
Appearance: http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v316/angeicmar/?action=view&current=catgirl1.jpg
Bio: Libby was born in northern Kentucky, her mother owned by a man named Ferguson, who required all of his 'pets' to call him 'Master'. Libby's father had been owned by one of Ferguson's neighbors, and performed stud service, and she has never actually met him. Libby had a fairly normal anthro upbringing - living in a small kennel with her mother and two other mother-and-kitten couples, learning about service and proper behavior. And, at night, learning about the history of anthros, and their cultures. On her 8th birthday, Ferguson himself came to see her - the first time she remembers ever seeing a human. It was then that he named her Libertie; until that point, she was known simply as "Kitten", and he styled himself something of a patriot.

By the time was 15, she had been working in the house for a few years, cleaning and washing for the Mistress. After she turned 18, however, she was taken to Ferguson's bed, against her will, and at least once a week after that. Her 'elevation' wasn't a promotion in any sense, since she was moved from her kennel into a crate in the basement, which she was only allowed to leave when Ferguson wanted to play with her. No baths, no running water, barely enough space to groom herself minimally. After what seemed like an interminable time, one of the humans Ferguson used as lackeys for tasks he wouldn't trust to his 'pets' to do forgot to secure the latch on her cage. And after waiting for them to leave, it took her a few seconds of working, and the door opened . . . .


Cold. So cold. The rain was wet and cold and she was more miserable than . . . that wasn't true. She'd been more miserable the day she'd been put into her crate, the day they took her away from her mother. But this . . . Libby sniffled, then regretted it instantly. The dogs were maybe an hour behind, at best. She didn't have time for self-pity. Not until she reached the state line. Pushing herself off of the tree she was leaning against, Libby started running again, pushing her body to the limit to reach Ohio, driven by the thought of what Master would do to her when he caught her. Not when. He wouldn't. Faster.

Pushing her way through low brush, mewling softly as brambles scratched her bare stomach, Libby spotted a house in the distance. She thought she'd passed the state line, but that wouldn't stop Master if there were no one else around. And she was so tired . . . . As hard as it was raining, the house was a shape in haze until she was almost on top of it. There was nothing in the way, and her steps started to falter, unsure. Safety couldn't be that close, that easy. If she hadn't crossed, it would be the end. They would hold her until Master came, and then turn her over. Or keep her for themselves. There was no way to know.

As she reached the house, Libby ran around one side. If she wasn't in sight, and didn't go in the house, she might be safe. It wouldn't matter if she weren't in Ohio yet, because no one would, hopefully, find her and turn her in. And maybe Master would pass by if she weren't visible immediately. It was raining hard, and the dogs wouldn't be able to track her scent well.

Sliding in the mud, and landing on her knees, she didn't stop to get up. Crawling through the mud, Libby made her way to a small overhang from a windowseat, and curled up, as much of her naked body tucked under it as she could fit, wrapping her tail around herself. And then she sneezed once. No. No no no no no no! She couldn't make noise, someone would find her! But her throat and nose wouldn't listen, and she started coughing, trying desperately to muffle it.

Characer Profile
Name: Samuel G. Hancock
Age: 24
Appearance: See the attached picture

Bio: Sam Hancock lives on a small farm west and a bit north of Cincinnati, Ohio. The farm has been in his family for some time, though for many generations they have rented the land to others rather than farming themselves. When Sam's parents passed away a few years ago, he inherited the land and the farmhouse on it. As his siblings lived far away, it only made sense for Sam to move in and keep the place up. He grew up in a family that did fairly well, though there were some hard times during the last recession.

An educated man with a double major Bachelor's Degree (English and History) and a Master's Degree (in Ethics and Negotiation), Sam's official job is as a negotiator. However, he works rarely, most of his income coming from a source he keeps rather quiet. Under the pen-name Samantha Beech, he is a prolific writer of popular romance novels, earning a generous living from the sales, residuals, and such. He is also a staunch abolistionist, donating money to anti-slavery groups.


Sam lifted his head from the thin screen of his computer. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he stood up, listening carefully. The house was still and quiet, only the sound of the rain falling steadily on the window and the roof, and the softly playing classical music could be heard. He frowned. He was sure he'd heard...

There! It sounded like someone coughing outside. By the kitchen window. For a moment, he stood still, thinking. It might not be that. It was probably just his imagination...or a trick of the old house. Then it started again, loud and then suddenly muffled. No, that was a person. But who and why? Anyone approaching the place could have seen lights on, they had to know someone was home. If it was someone here to see him or on business they'd have knocked or called him already. Which meant it was someone who didn't want to be noticed.

Great. Just peachy. He strode across the den to a cabinet, opening it up. He pulled out a pump shotgun with a dull finish, reaching up to unlock the bow that held the shells. He loaded a few in, slowly and as softly as possible pumping the gun to load a shell into the chamber. He pulled a flashlight from the cabinet as well, heading for the door. He set the shotgun just inside, easily within reach, then swung the door open and stepped out onto the porch. "Whoever is out here, come out or get lost. This is private property."

He could almost feel a sudden tension in the air. He swept his light over the yard, nothing. Sighing, he stepped away from the house, off the porch and into the rain. Nothing moving...what was going on here? He walked around to where he'd heard the noise, suddenly noticing a dark shape against the wall near the back. It was hardly moving, but he was sure it was someone. "Excuse me," he said, lifting the light, "But I think you..."

He gasped as the beam of light fell on a woman. A naked woman. She was curled up under an overhang by one of the small kitchen windows. Her skin was an usual tawny pink, covered with mud and grime, but it was the ears and tail that most got his attention at the moment. Good God. A runaway. He'd heard they passed through here sometimes, it was close to the Kentucky border. But he'd never seen one before...hell, he'd hardly ever seen any anthros at all. But if she was a runaway...then that meant....

He clicked off the light. "Miss, please stay calm. I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not going to turn you in. My name is Sam." He took a few steps closer, but stayed well our of arm's reach. Not for his sake, but for hers. "What's your name?"

She could hear the footsteps, and heard him yell, trying desperately to keep herself from trembling. And failed miserably. The surpressed coughing, combined with her fear of discovery and the certainty that she was already discovered, took all of her willpower out of her, like water from a bucket. The light he carried was on her now, and Libby tried even harder not to move. Maybe, she thought wildly and foolishly, if she didn't move he'd think she was dead and leave her there.

When he spoke to her, however, gently, kindly, Libby almost sat up in surprise. She'd never heard a human talk like that to someone like her. Never. Maybe she really was in Ohio. But . . . well, taking a risk was better than nothing. And she wouldn't be any worse off than she was now if he was lying. She sat up slowly, hands covering as much of her body as she could. "I'm . . . I'm Libby." Then the coughing started again, and she tried to cover her mouth. "You - you're really not . . ." she coughed again, swearing to herself as she did. "You're really . . . . really not going to . . . to turn me in?"

He had kind eyes. Even in the dim light the rainclouds let in, she could tell that much. Libby coughed again, then sniffed. "I don't mean to be . . . to be trouble for you, sir. I'll go now." She managed to get to her feet again, and even managed two or three steps before she stumbled, tipping over sideways. Maybe she was weaker than she thought. But she didn't want to bring this nice man any trouble, she really didn't . . . . Getting her balance again, far more wobbly this time, she took another step and caught her foot on a tree root, going over sideways again, unable to stop herself this time.

Sam could see that she was so weak she could hardly move, let alone stand up or walk. He saw it before she did, it seemed, as she tried to do just that after her rather plaintive statement of departure.

He was moving before she started to fall, having tripped on that root a few times himself. He wasn't close to passing out from exhaustion though. He caught her in his arms, simultaneously alarmed at how cold she was to the touch and astonished at the silky feel of her skin. "Easy, now. It's all right. Yes, I won't turn you in. I promise."

He had to get her out of the rain. Now. He had no idea how long she'd been running...but even though the border was close, it was still not THAT close. Her body, lush and strong though it was, was cold. Dangerously cold. "I'm sorry for the hands, Libby, but you need to get inside, and this is the fastest way." So saying, he lifted her up into his arms, carrying her held to him like she was his newlywed bride. She was light in his arms, despite his feeling of her firmness of the muscle beneath her skin.

Sam carried her around the front and back into the house. For a moment, he thought of taking her into the part of the basement where the men would go to take off their farm clothes and shower off before coming to meals. But the basement was cold and it was just a shower. Not very comfortable. Taking a few moments to kick the door firmly shut behind him, then step out of his muddy slippers, he took her into the house proper.

He took to the upstairs bathroom, not the master bath but the other, walking slowly in the darkness until he used a shoulder to flick the lights on. He took her over to the tub, letting go of her legs. God, look at her body...although those marks...no, no. Don't look at her! She's been abused enough, the poor thing!

"Sit here, okay? I want to get the water hot first, you're cold enough already." With the hand that was free, he reached over, turning on the hot water. Thankfully the house had been updated by every generation of the family to live within it, so it was only a few seconds before the water that flowed from the spigot became warm. He ran his fingers under it, made it a bit hotter, then nodded.

Sam set Libby down in the slowly filling bathtub. "There. Just relax. You know how to use one of these, right?" At her numb nod, he smiled. "Okay. Let me get you a washcloth...or a few, so you can get clean. Take your time and warm up, all right?" He stood up, "I'll be right back, I'm just going to make sure that no one's coming up here looking for you." He turned away, "Don't worry, if they are, I'll tell them I didn't see you. I won't turn you in. You're safe."

His clothes and arms were . . . warm. And he was holding her so gently that it was like a dream. Libby had never imagined that someone would be this tender with her. She didn't pass out, but everything sort of faded into a haze as he carried her into his house and up the stairs. She knew it was warm, and it felt so nice to be warm. And even though she knew it was silly, she felt a rush of gratitude that was so strong it was almost like love for him. He was being so nice. And even if he was going to turn her in, at least she'd be warm and clean when they took her away again.

As he left her in the bathtub, she looked at her knees, dirty and scraped from her run and her crawl through his yard. And she coughed again, her body wracking with the force of it. "Thank you . . ." she managed to get out between coughs, "I'm sorry I'm such trouble, sir." He handed her a washcloth, and she took it with a grateful little mew before going to work on her filthy feet and legs.

As he left the room, she hurriedly washed her private parts, then scrubbed more leisurely at her legs, turning the cloth to keep from just spreading the dirt around on her skin. This was probably the first bath she'd had . . . in seven years. Master had occasionally given her a bucket of cold water and a sponge, but that wasn't the same at all. It felt good to sit in the warm water, to feel the dirt loosen from her skin.

But the dirt had hidden some of the more lurid bruises, and she winced, letting out little meowing yelps when she scrubbed too hard against one that she hadn't known was there. She hadn't realized it was quite that bad . . . at least none of them looked permanent. That was something. It was so warm that she was feeling drowsy, but she had to finished cleaning before she slept. It wouldn't be right to miss the chance to clean up, and even if she just curled up on the floor, she didn't want to dirty up the nice man's house.

Sam stopped in the master bedroom to change, stripping off his dirty shirt and pants for clean ones. If someone did come looking for her, it might be hard to explain the mud on his clothes. As he did so, he tried to think of what to do i they did come, and not to think about the proportions of her naked body, despite the much and grime clinging to it. She must have been a house slave, looking like that. No field work for her. But obviously it had still been bad enough to risk injury and death to escape...

He tapped on the bathroom door, opening it a crack to let his voice in. "There are towels in the cabinet you can use to dry off when you're finished. If the water gets too dirty, it's okay to let it drain and re-fill the tub. I'm going downstairs to check on things. You should stay up here for now, okay?"

He pulled the door shut again, heading back downstairs. An anthro like Libby was probably worth a good piece of money to her owner. Meaning whoever it was was not likely to give up looking. Although...the rain was hellacious out there...and from the weather report it was just as bad on the other side of the border. Maybe they'd wait until the storm passed...

Flashlights in the distance. He paused at his window, frowning. For several minutes, he watched them getting closer. Closer yet. "Damn." She must be very valuable...or her owner was just that stubborn. It wasn't a good sign either way.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, flipping it open, then paused. Maybe he'd be lucky and the guy would be aggressive or stupid enough to make this a little easier.


There were three men, two smaller, skinny types and one larger man. One of the smaller men was holding a pair of large hunting hounds who were sniffing about the muddy yard, the other had a rifle and a flashlight. The larger man had a trimmed but bushy black beard and had the burly shape of a linebacker who'd gone to seed. He had a slightly protruding belly, thick arms and legs, and a beetled brow over keen eyes. "C'mon, now! Find her! Sooner we do, sooner we get outta this mess!"

"Suh, ah don' think she's here," the man with the rifle said.

The other yelled back, "Damn dogs ain't got nothin', Ferguson. They's sniffin' but in this wet there ain't nothing to sniff!"

"I said find her, damn it! She has t' be here!" Ferguson wasn't sure of that himself...but this was the first house he'd seen on this side of the border, so it stood to reason she'd make for shelter. Probably in the barn...

A sound like thunder but meaning something far worse boomed out from the front of the house. All three men froze as the floodlights on the barn came on, illuminating them in the graveled driveway. On the porch was a young man with blond hair and glasses, and more importantly, a shotgun which he had been pointing in the air, and was now leveling at them. "In the state of Ohio, a man has the right to defend his land and property against trespassers with lethal force. Now...get off my land."

Ferguson could appreciate the boy's feelings. He didn't care for strangers on his property either. But this was a special case, "Son, now we don't mean no harm here. We're just lookin' for somethin' of mine that ran away. If you'll let us look around fer it..."

*ka-chik-chak*

The sound of a pump shotgun loading is one of the most unmistakable sounds in all the world. Particularly when said weapon is pointed at you. "Sir, if you'd had the manners to come to my door and ask, I might've said yes. But you didn't. I don't have anything of yours."

Sam lifted the gun and took aim. "Get. Off. My. Land."

Libby had just finished scrubbing her upper body clean, and was looking at the sad state the water around her was in a little miserably. She'd gotten so dirty! But then the man poked his head in and said she could fill the tub again, and let her know where the towels were. That was so nice of him! As the door shut again, she opened the drain and waited for all the dirt and messy water to drain out before turning on the hot water again. It started cold, and she twitched her feet up and out of it, hissing softly. But it warmed quickly, and she felt her muscles relax slightly at the warmth spreading over her legs and tail again.

By the time the bath was up to her waist, she'd turned sleepy but bright eyes to the bottles lining the sides of the tub. Which of these would be good for fur . . . hair. The hair on her head was hair, not fur. But if it was good for one, it was probably good for the other . . . right? Libby picked up one bottle and twisted the cap off, sniffing the inside and smiling. That would be good. It smelled nice, and after she was done washing her face she should wash her . . . hair. She picked up one of the clean washcloths, and dipped it in the water.

She'd just pressed the cloth to her face when she heard yelling in a familiar voice, and started to cower instinctively. Master was here! And he was angry . . . angry at her! There was no god for anthros, that she'd ever learned about, and she'd never felt any special spiritual connection to the human gods she'd learned about. But as her legs pulled convulsively up to her chest, and her head curled down to her chest, rolling into a little ball sitting in the warm bath, Libby started to pray that the man that had taken her in was a man of his word, that he wouldn't let them take her.

Then the shotgun blast frightened her even more, and she almost lept out of the tub. Instead, she curled around, almost in tears. If they had shot him, they'd be here in a second, and that would be the end of any freedom she might have had. Another prayer, asking whatever god listened to runaway catgirls to please let them not find her, please let her be safe for at least one night.

There was quiet, and no sounds of men running through the house. And light was spilling in through the one window over the tub. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked over the sill, keeping her ears flattened to her head as she peered down. A little surprised mrow! escaped her lips. Master was there, and the nice man had a gun pointed at him. How brave he was! One of the men seemed to glance up, and she squeaked, trembling as she ducked again. She shouldn't have looked, she shouldn't have looked! Maybe the man hadn't seen her. He probably hadn't. Had he?

The two men underlings looked frightened, the dogs the one had been leading cowering behind him. Sam's eyes however were trained on the leader. A slave owner. God only knew what he'd done to that pretty girl up there. For a moment...Sam hoped the man would give him a reason.

To his credit, Ferguson didn't look too afraid. Respectful of the weapon, and even the man holding it, but not really scared. He seemed more frustrated than anything else. A man used to getting his own way without trying, suddenly up against an obstacle he knew was insurmountable. For the moment, at least. "All ri'ht, son. We shouldn't a trespassed, an' that I'll grant you." He looked back at the other two, jerking his head up the driveway toward the road. "Let's get, boys." The other two, almost looking grateful, hurried up toward the main road where a large truck was idling.

The bearded man looked back at Sam. "You got some balls, son. I can respect that. Not many earn Jimmy Ferguson's respect first time he meets 'em." The smile on the man's face did not reach his eyes, eyes that were thick with suspicion and barely concealed fury at being thwarted. "But I ain't going to stop looking for what's mine. An' if that trail leads me back here...well. That'll be an interestin' day, won't it?"

"That it will. Good night, Mr. Ferguson." The man nodded, Sam following him with the barrel of the gun until he got in the truck. After a few moments, the powerful electric motor started up, and a three point turn later, was heading back south.

Sam stood there for a few minutes in the rain, just to be sure. He was also stunned by the potential implications from his actions so far tonight. "I do believe I've made a new special friend," he said to the rain. Ferguson was going to be trouble. Even if he had no proof that his slave was here, or even any reason to suspect, he'd be back.

He headed inside, locking the door. After a moment, he engaged the security system too. It was something he rarely did, but after that little interlude...it was wise. Returning the shotgun to the gun safe, he looked at the stairs. How was his guest doing now?

Sam made his way up, tapping on the door. "Miss Libby, it's Sam." If what he'd read was right, she'd probably smelled him anyway, but still. "I think we're fine for tonight. If you're done in there, I can show you to the guest bedroom. Uh, if you're hungry, I can go heat something up quick and bring it to you too."

Libby had barely recovered from the fright of almost being seen before she heard another noise that she couldn't recognize. But she didn't want to look - what if they did see her this time? So instead, two shaking hands lifted the washcloth again, scrubbing at her face - washing away the dirt and the tears that had been startled out of her. When her face was clean, she picked up the bottle of soap and put some on her hair, rubbing it in with her hands.

She was just ready to rinse her hair out when he tapped on the door. She looked up, her hair rich with suds. "I'm . . . I'm almost done, I'll hurry . . . ." Libby didn't want to say she was hungry, but she was. She was really hungry. But if she'd been taking too long, he might feel like she was being too demanding. Ducking her head under the water, she riffled her hair under the water, then surfaced with a small splash.

Standing up, she resisted the urge to shake herself and instead let the water out. "I'm done, sir. I'll be out in a second." Libby grabbed a towel and scrubbed her hair to dry it off, then wrapped it around her body. Fumbling at the door, she stepped out into the hallway, legs a little more steady than they had been. "I'm sorry I took so long . . . if it's not too much trouble . . . I am a little hungry."

She looked down, studying the floorboards between her feet. ". . . Thank you. They're . . . they're gone? I'm . . . sorry I made trouble for you."

"Uh..." She looked amazing. Far too sexy and sweet to be real, though he knew that she was. Her skin shone from the bath, her hair still damp and tousled, here and there droplets of water beaded on her bare body. The towel was wrapped tight around her, accenting and hinting at her ripe curves, the makeshift garment teasing as much as it hid. "...yeah..."

Wait, that made no sense. Get it together, man! Sam blinked, looking away with a flush. "They're gone, yes. You're safe." He smiled a bit at her, "I know you don't have a lot of reason to trust humans, but...I told you I wouldn't turn you in, right?"

He gestured for her to follow, "Come on, let's get some food in you. The bath probably helped, but a full stomach's an even better cure." He went down to the kitchen, not bothering to look back or wait for her. He didn't want to...take the lead that much. She might have been a slave in Kentucky, but he didn't want her thinking she had to obey him or anything. He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, then went to work.

Hmm. Coffee might be good to give her a bit of energy, maybe make her a little calmer. Fortunately, there was still plenty from the pot he'd brewed just before this all started. He poured a cup for her, setting it at the table. "I don't know how you like your cofee, Miss Libby, but there's suger here, and..." he went to the fridge, "here's milk for it, if you like."

Now then...what should he give her? It needed to be good for someone who was exhausted and cold, but it had to be ready fast too. "Soup." He went to the pantry, speaking softly to himself, "Soup's just the thing...mmm..ah, thought I had some."

As he started to heat up the can of chicken noodle soup in a saucepan, he looked back at her apologetically, "I'm sorry, I'd usually make it from scratch, but I figure it's best to get you something sooner rather than later." A bit of salt added, and some pepper...yeah, that would be good. "It'll just be a few more minutes to heat up all the way through."

Her eyes followed him down the stairs, watching him move, a sound suspiciously like a purr starting in her throat. Then Libby blinked and hurried after him, her feet padding on the stairs softly. It wasn't right to think of him like that, and she . . . she wasn't human. So it didn't matter.

She sat down, a little awkward, in the chair he'd pulled out, still holding her towel closed. Her black tail wrapped around her hip and rested in her lap, the tip of it flickering nervously. She wasn't really sure what to do or how to act. She'd never been in the kitchen with a human before. What if she messed something up, or something? He might get mad, and she didn't want him to be mad at her.

The cup he sat in front of her stunned her, though. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten anything besides water . . . or the cream that Master made . . . to drink. Hesitantly, she reached out and picked up the cup in both hands, pleased at the warmth from it. She didn't know how she liked her coffee either, so she took a sip of it black. And made a face. Ick! That was bitter! So Libby added some milk and sugar, stirring it carefully, and sipped again. It was better. Warm, and sweeter, and it seemed to comfort her a little.

Pressing her hands around the cup, she watching from the corner of her eyes as he moved around, heating up something that smelled . . . her nose twitched. It smelled delicious. Soup . . . she hadn't had soup in years. And he would have made it . . . from scratch? "This is . . . wonderful, sir, thank you. You're very kind."

Sam blushed brightly at that. He didn't get that kind of compliment from, well, from anyone! Let alone a pretty girl. A pretty catgirl. "It's the least I can do. You're welcome, Libby. Tomorrow I'll be sure to make you something better though. I'd rather not do my least, for you."

Ooookay, that was not the way to be thinking. This was not a romantic interlude. Rescue fantasies notwithstanding, she was in no condition for him to be putting any kind of moves on her. Even if she was, who knows what that man had done to her? She probably wasn't too keen on humans, and he didn't blame her. And...even if she was...wouldn't he be taking advantage of her somehow? Just like her Master had.

The soup was hot through and through, and he lifted the sauce pan to pour it into a large ceramic bowl. He picked it up, turning to bring it to her, and paused. Oh, Lord have mercy...she looked so sweet and so cute there at the table. He felt his heart seem to sigh and ache, and almost winced. Shit. The last thing either of them needed was for him to fall for her.

He brought the bowl over and set it in front of her. "Here you are, Libby." There was a spoon in it, but he didn't know if she knew how to use one or not. "Oh! Right, right...bread." Another trip across the kitchen and a few moments at the toaster, and he returned with two pieces of warm, slightly browned toast . He set them beside the bowl, and nodded. "Go ahead. There's no waiting on ceremony for meals here," he added with a smile.

She knew how to use a spoon, but her hesitation was mainly because of the fact that he hadn't given himself anything. It wasn't . . . right for her to eat when he didn't have anything. Was it? Libby picked up the spoon, blushing. "I'm sorry, I'm just . . . aren't you going to have any?" She took a mouthful of it, almost moaning at the delicious, salty, chickeny warmth as it flooded her mouth. Had there been anything this wonderful ever before?

Another quick spoon, and then another, and Libby decided to pace herself. And not look like a pig. She set the utensil down, and picked up one of the pieces of toast. It really was something like a miracle that she had restrained herself this long. It smelled amazing, and it was like her hands were moving on their own. Food, that she didn't have to beg for, or do anything for but reach out her hand . . . he was so kind, so good!

Swallowing a gulp of coffee, Libby, looked up at him, blushing. "I'm sorry, I haven't . . . had anything this good in a long time. Is there . . . you just brought me in, did you want to know anything about me?" Another bite, and the toast was gone - how did that happen? - and she went to work on the soup again, slurping up the noodles with an almost greedy hunger.

God, she just got more and more adorable. The amount of restraint she was exercising right now was impressive, and a bit sweet. To think she was worried about causing a scene after everything else tonight...

"I ate earlier, Libby, so don't worry about me." Sam did pour himself a cup of coffee, and after adding milk and sugar, he put the milk back in the fridge. He sat down at the other chair, just watching her with a smile. She was easy to watch. Very pretty, with elegant facial structure and lines that made her look as glamorous as a movie star.

"You don't have to tell me anything about yourself, either. You can if you want to, but I won't ask." It wasn't really fair of him to do so, for one thing. For another, if she was trying to get away from her past, she likely didn't want to talk about it. At least not right now. Perhaps once there was some greater distance between her and it. "I imagine there are things that are best left until later. Right now, I'm happy to have you as my guest. Uh, and you don't have to call me "sir", you can just call me Sam."

As the last spoonful of soup disappeared, Libby sighed happily. It had tasted so good, and she felt . . . good. Taking another sip of her coffee, she pulled one foot up onto the chair with her. "I'm sorry, I guess it's just a habit, s . . . Sam. And I can't thank you enough for taking me in." Her hands curved around the cup, looking down at the tan liquid in it. He was so nice, and kind and handsome. And he kept watching her like she were beautiful.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, tilting her head to one side. " . . . I thank you for the offer of the guest room . . . but I've been . . . sleeping alone in the basement since I was 18." Her eyes looked down, studying the smooth wood of the table. "They took me away from my mother, and I would really like to . . . if it wouldn't be much trouble, I'd like to sleep with you tonight . . . please?"

Her voice broke a little on the last word, and she looked back up at him, eyes wide and a little wet. She wasn't really that upset over it, but this had been a a very bad day. And the added warmth would be great, and comforting. She might even be able to sleep.

Shit.

He couldn't say no. It wasn't right. It was...exploitation somehow. This young, beautiful, big breasted, curvy, long-legged thing sleeping with him. Okay, it was so wrong that he was thinking of her like that. Knock it off. Get control. It was just..wrong somehow. It was like he was demanding it of her as "repayment" for what was an ethical duty in his mind. Not that he was asking, she was.

He didn't want to agree. He felt kind of dirty for it. But he just couldn't say no. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when she'd been alone in the dark all these years. Not when she'd been taken from her mother...

"A-all right," he agreed. He looked over her, "But it would be best if you put some clothes on first, for the sake of...umm. What I mean is...it's not proper for a man and a woman to sleep together naked...no, that's not right either. I mean, it is, but..."

He shook his head. Oy. "Anyway. Yes, you can s-sleep with...with me." He swallowed nervously. "Whenever you're ready, w...we can go up and go to...um, to bed."

She nodded, taking another sip of her coffee. "Thank you, Sam. I'll wear whatever you think is best." He would give her clothes as well? She hadn't had clothes to wear to sleep in . . . ever! Her smile was small and sweet, and her cheeks slowly colored. "I promise, I won't take up too much room."

Setting the cup down, Libby put her leg down and stretched, arms going over her head as she groaned, the groan turning into an extended meow. "I think I'm ready to go now. If you are, of course. I don't want to disrupt your plans for the evening."

He seemed nervous. She hadn't meant to make him feel strange. But . . . she really wanted to have someone with her tonight. It would be so nice, just to sleep in a bed with a blanket and a pillow . . . and to have someone there . . . such heaven!

God, she was killing him. Just killing him. The way her body shifted and moved under the towel when she stretched was just criminal. Not to mention borderline indecent. And her meows were so cute it was sinful. Still, somehow despite all this he had to sleep in the same bed and NOT do anything. No touching, no wooing, keep your hands to yourself. "No, that's all right. Let's, uh, let's go then." ...this was so strange.

Checking to make sure the security was on and everything else was off, Sam led her back upstairs. Taking a girl to his room had never felt like this before. Though...still the act of it, and the thought that she might brush up against him...he felt a familiar surge below as his body reacted to those concepts. He almost growled. Damn it, yes, he knew that was the right physical reaction...but this just wasn't a good time! "Here we are, come on it."

The master bedroom was large, with many windows. The biggest was a set of three that had a small sitting bench built into the wall under them, so that one could sit there and look out at the land. He had several sets of drawers and an old armoire, an large wooden desk with a high backed chair. The door to the generous master bath, expanded greatly by his mother, was in the east corner. A door in the west corner opened into the walk-in closet. The bed dominated the room. It was very large, the frame was wood with four high, sturdy bedposts. The frame had an nicely styled head and foot boards, and there was a line of pillows sitting fluffy and comforting along the head board. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll grab a few things for you to wear, and you can decide which you'd prefer."

The closet gave him time to think about what he was going to do. He couldn't go back on his word to her, but...there was no way he could...it would just frustrate him and drive him insane to be nestled up against her..ooh, so nice...wait, no! Don't think like that! Sighing, he pulled down several things, nodding. Wait...he used three blankets on his bed. A thin, fine-weave one, then a much thicker comforter atop it, and another thin quilt-style blanket atop that. He could just use the top one and put her under all three. That should keep things proper. Well...as proper as they could be, anyway.

He took another moment to change into his sleeping clothes, a faded red t-shirt and loose dark blue sweat pants. Then he emerged, carrying a white button down shirt, a long sleeved gray and blue flannel shirt, and a dark green sweater. "I think one of these could work. Take your pick."

Libby flushed a little, looking at the shirts Sam held out to her. She'd followed him after a stunned moment looking around the room. Even Master's room hadn't looked like this, so big and comfortable and bright! But as she came back to herself, she'd realized he'd gone into the small room attached to this one, and started after him, a little nervous about being alone in the room. And as she'd rounded the corner, she'd seen . . . first, he was facing away from her, and she'd seen his rear! And it looked . . . so smooth, and round and she . . . she liked it. Then . . . then he'd turned, and she saw his maleness in profile before she ducked back around the corner, frightened he might see her and be upset over her following him.

But as she walked over to the bed, sitting down with her knees together, feet spread apart, Libby chewed on her lower lip. It . . . it looked so good. She had never really wanted to do anything with Master's . . . but his . . . and then he'd walked out with the shirts, and Libby blinked up at him, standing reluctantly. "Umm . . . ." Looking at the choices, she pointed at the green sweater. "That one, please."

He handed it to her, and she turned around, dropping her towel and slipping into the sweater - which was too big for her. The neck slid over one shoulder, and the hem reached mid-thigh, but it was warm and soft. Libby turned around, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, s-Sam." She glanced at the bed, then back at him. "I suppose we should . . . sleep."

It was in the moment before her towel feel that Sam realized she wasn't going to go into the closet or the bathroom to change. He caught a glimpse of the lines of her back, and the curve of her side-boob before he looked out the window until the rustling of cloth had quieted down.

At her thanks, he looked back at her again. Oh...she was SO cute! it was just adorable...but also sensual. God, she had those two matched up just perfectly. It was nuts how sexy and adorable she could be at the same time. "Yeah, we should." As nervous as it made him, she needed to sleep. It would also be very warm under the blankets, and despite the bath, chill was still a danger to her. She'd bounced back well, but it was likely this was just a second wind. Exhaustion and that kind of cold tended weren't dealt with so easily.

Sam pulled the blankets back for her on one side, then went around to the other. Okay, so far so good. On his side, he flipped only the top blanket back. Good. Nodding, he went to close the door. "Ready?" He switched off the lights at her affirmative, finding his way back to the bed from memory. Sam sat on the edge for a few moments, trying to relax himself. It was nothing. She just wanted company. It wasn't anything else.

He slid into bed, trying not to think about how the warm body sooo close to him was a beautiful woman, or of how long it had been since he's last had sex. No, definately don't think of that.

The bed was so . . . soft and warm . . . as the light flicked off, Libby closed her eyes, purring softly. This was pleasant . . . amazingly so. She felt the slight movement of the bed as Sam sat down, then shifted to lay next to her, under fewer of the blankets than she had. Maybe . . . well, she had been very cold, and maybe he wasn't that cold? But she couldn't really think about it now . . . she was so tired . . . .

In less than two minutes, Libby was sound asleep, her hair spread over the pillow like a white halo. And almost as quickly, she slipped into a dream that was more wonderful than any she'd had in a long time. She was running through grass, and it was warm and dry and the sun was shining. In the bed, her legs started to twitch, the rest of her body moving slightly as the dream-Libby pranced through an open field.

The dream went on, and she found herself lying down, rolling back and forth in a patch of sweet-smelling grass almost exuberantly. In the bed, however, she flipped over onto her side, facing Sam, curling up against his back through the blankets. The warmth permeated into her dream, and she started to purr happily, snuggling closer to the source of heat she'd found.

Sam lay awake, his eyes wide open. He was trying not to think about the warm body pressing up against his back. Or about the softness in certain parts of it. Or about how it seemed to snuggle closer and closer. Oh, that purr. It should be driving him nuts, but it wasn't. It was soothing and comforting, and made him want to turn over and hug her to him.

Which would be completely and in all ways unacceptable!

Damn it. He was NEVER going to get to sleep.

He lay there for hours, not sure how long exactly. Until that purr...that cute, sweet, relaxing purr...finally lulled him into slumber.


"Mmm..." He woke slowly. It was light out...not much though. So he hadn't slept in late, that was good. His alarm would probably be going off in about 20 minutes or so. He usually woke up before it. God, it was so warm and nice in bed...maybe he'd sleep in today. What with her so close, and her leg and arm draped over him...mmm...

Wait.

His eyes snapped open, a startled breath rushing into his chest. The events of last night flashed through his mind like a blur, and he glanced down. Yup...naked leg, light coating of fur, definately female over him, and an arm too, though the arm was at least partly in one of his sweaters. If she was on him like this...then that warmth he felt back there...that was...

"Ggk." Not the most eloquent utterance, but it summed his feelings at that moment. Okay, okay. Don't panic. She hasn't noticed or woken up yet. Just inch forward...slow...slow...tumble off the bed, and she'll be none the wiser...

"Mmmmmmm!" In her sleep, Libby tugged at what she was holding, pulling it closer to her. It was warm and nice and she didn't want it to leave . . . hold on a minute. There was something in her arms, sure enough, and it was warm and slowly moving away. But she didn't have anything in her crate . . . only a blanket, in winter when it was really cold. And she was warm all over, so it wasn't winter, and she . . . it was soft beneath her, which meant she wasn't in her crate . . . oh, right!

She opened her eyes slowly, taking in what she could from her position. The back of Sam's head was there, and she smiled slowly. It was so nice being here like this. Warm, and safe, and with someone who liked her - or at least treated her like she was a person. Oh, and her leg was curled over his. Maybe that was why he was moving, he was uncomfortable? Or . . . did he want . . . oh, that would make her happy!

"Good morning, si-Sam," she said softly just a hint of a purr in her voice, the hand over his chest stroking absently. "I . . . if you wanted to, um, let me please you . . . I would be happy to."

Sam felt his defenses crumbling rapidly. He'd stopped moving once she'd seemed to notice and had pulled him back. Her strength surprised him. She wasn't as strong as he was, true, but she was much stronger than a human woman her size would be.

The way she spoke, with that almost purr in her voice. The way she cuddled up, pressing herself to him. The way her hand stroked and petted his chest. God, it felt good. She was so pretty and so sexy. She was willing...seemed eager, happy even. And it had been so long...

God, he wanted to say yes. He did. He really did. But...he couldn't. It would be wrong. It would be taking advantage of her just as surely as her former owner had. He didn't have any right to expect her to...service him. But then...he hadn't asked her. She volunteered. Did that make it better?

"Libby, I...I want to say..." Don't do that. How could he...fuck, what the hell was he...he wasn't a saint! "I want..but..." Damn it.

Sam took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips and kissing it, giving it a light squeeze. "Tell me why. Why are you offering, Libby? I'm not upset or anything, just...I have to know why before I can decide."