Callista, the Mountain Lion, was a beast that could turn heads at every stop, and she liked it that way. As her friend and now coworker, a local opossum named Leif, trotted off to help the fox with some directions to Toh’s Beans, Callista finished what was left of her cream-filled donut.
Detecting a trace amount of the custard filling from the donut had found itself in the corner of her mouth, she flicked her tongue out and lapped it up in a smooth, sensual motion. The small gesture caught the attention of a pair of dachshunds that were passing by, the male stopping dead in his tracks at the sight. The female that had happily been walking arm-in-arm with him until that point showed irritation painted across her small, cute face.
The lioness smiled and gestured her coffee in greeting in their direction as the male found himself practically being dragged down the street and away from the alluring sight of the lion.
Callista would not be the first sight one would expect to see strolling down Main Street in such a backwoods, minuscule town. Always appearing as if she’d just walked off a photo shoot for Vogue, the lioness sported a long, thick head of pale green hair with various waves of a deeper green strewn randomly throughout. Her face was drop-dead gorgeous, flawless save for a few freckles atop her snout. Yellow eyes, glimmering like two precious gems, rounded out her beautiful face. The only aspect to otherwise mar the whole thing was her fangs had overgrown just enough that they protruded beyond her upper lip.
She giggled as the pair of canines disappeared quickly out of sight, bickering with each other. That had probably been no way for the new town doctor to act in public, and truth be told, she hadn’t even seen the couple before they crossed the sidewalk in front of her.
She only hoped the town wasn’t full of touchy-feely perverts or overly sensitive religious folk because her summer attire was going to be a hell of an eye-popping experience for these folks.
The opossum with the neon green hair came jogging up the sidewalk to her, a massive grin on his face.
“What did you do?” he asked, gesturing to the dachshunds that were now arguing with each other on the corner. Callista just smiled.
It’d only be a few more minutes into their stroll down Main when a grubby-looking feline stops them dead in their tracks, eying down Callista with the energy of a horny thirteen-year-old discovering porn websites for the first time.
“Well, ah’ll be damned! Two pretty new faces in one day,” he said, literally grabbing his crotch as he eyed the lioness up and down. When he finally realized the smaller male had been standing beside her, his face flashed a wry expression. “Well, if it ain’t Jezabelle! Still running ‘round pretending to be a boy ah see,” he smirked, his vomit-green eyes dull blinking as he wriggled the half-assed mustache.
The opossum’s expression dampened as he lowered his head. “Don’t use my dead name…” he said quietly.
It was all Callista needed to hear.
Stepping forward, one long, elegant leg in front of the other, she approached the grimy-looking feline with an aura that she’d not emanated since her days back in LA. Gone was the beautiful, tame modern-day lioness, and in its place was a beast from eras long since passed.
The woman drew her mouth back in a snarl, exposing the entire length of her overgrown canines and the sharp teeth that lined up behind it as creases cut across her face.
The scrawny grey cat shrunk back as it clicked in his mind what the bigger feline had been doing: She was beckoning her Primal form, an ability that was borderline magic and natural ability, something only the greater beast species could do.
And it was dangerous to both the potential victim and the beast using it.
“F-f-f-fuckin’ shit!” Had been what he wanted to yell, but quickly interrupted as Callista’s hand wrapped around his throat.
“If I ever hear you speak to Leif or any other beast in this town with such disrespect like that again, so fucking help me, I will rip your throat out through your ass!” Her voice was powerful, with a reverb that sounded as if she had two voices in one.
“Y-y-yes, ma’am!” He spat as the tightness around his throat began to loosen. “Would you look at that? There’s a pretty fox there that I forgot to give my name to!” He slipped past the lioness, who had quickly reverted to her usual, sexy self, and then to Leif, to whom he promptly apologized before making a mad dash down the street.
“Do you think that was a good idea, Ms. Reigns? Showing your Primal side like that, I mean.”
But Callista shrugged it off. “There were no witnesses beside you and him, and I get the feeling—“
“Toledo. His name is Toledo.”
“Toledo, there has a history of causing trouble. Feline’s intuition.” She shot a smile at the opossum before gesturing him to follow.
It was her first day in the office, and she didn’t want to be late.
“Ma’am, please. I’m just trying to help—“
But the lion’s voice flew over the head of the old, feeble grey mouse as she swung her cane about wildly. Her voice was bleeding with the whiny, high-pitched, elderly tone.
“I refuse to speak to you! I want my doctor right NOW. Get Doctor Taylor in here this instant.”
“Mrs. Oniker, please, Callista IS the new doctor. Mr. Taylor retired—“ the opossum tried to say but was met with a swift strike from the old mouse’s cane.
“Poppycock! He would have told his patients if that were going to happen!” She argued.
“Miribel, please, the office made sure to call and contact each patient. Twice. We even sent letters in the mail stating that all of your records were being left in the hands of—“
The mouse’s focus turned to the nurse, glaring, “I don’t want to hear another word from you, Jezebelle.” She said, dribbling the opossum’s dead name out of her mouth with all the venom she could muster.
“Mrs. Oniker, please, that is enough—“
“Don’t you ‘Mrs. Oniker’ me, you whore! If you expect me to believe that the good old Doctor Taylor would just up and leave all of his precious patients with a big-boobed harlot like yourself, then you’re as retarded as this opossum.”
The back and forth between patient and doctor and nurses went on for nearly an hour, delaying the scheduled appointments of many other, more welcoming beasts.
Ultimately, a call to Mr. Taylor had been made, and the record set straight over the phone, much to Miribel Oniker’s dismay.
Callista Reigns was here to stay whether the hateful old mouse liked it or not.
The spring sun had long since set, and the doors of the office closed and locked. Callista would remain on call, but no further office visits would be taken unless it was an emergency that teetered on the fine line between the emergency room and the local office.
Making quick use of the office bathroom, Callista changed out of the black blazer set she had worn to work today and slipped into something casual, with far more enticing views.
The lioness would be the first to admit that she loved sex. She loved sexuality in general, wielding it like a samurai might wield a katana. Learning how to intelligently do so had benefited her greatly in life, another fact she would not deny.
Sex was a powerful weapon. It sold, and it could bend the will of even the strongest men and women.
Stripped down to her underwear, she looked herself up and down in the mirror and grinned, always pleased by what she saw.
An incredible figure on a six-foot-tall frame. With the legs of a supermodel and the ass and breasts of a top-dollar porn actress.
All natural, all Callista. She had the body and the brains, and she knew how to use both. A true femme fatale if there ever was one.
First, she popped the clasp on her white full-cup bra, feeling a bit of relief as her heavy breasts fell free from the professional but equally uncomfortable bra. They were quickly propped right back up in the comfy confines of a black push-up bra, heavily accentuating her expansive cleavage as the tops of her breasts bulged out of the garment’s half-cups.
Was this any way for a small-town general practitioner to dress? Probably not, but she doubted there would be many complaints, if any.
Slipping on a pair of leggings that hugged her ass cheeks perfectly, the outline of her panties showing through slightly, then slipping on a simple purple halter vest over her bra, the lioness was prepped and ready for tonight’s stress-relieving activity:
Hunting.
Stuffing her uptight clothes into the duffle bag that she had left at the office the day before and slinging it around her shoulder, the lion exited the bathroom and the building as a whole.
“…You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding, Leif.”
Standing at the top of a flight of stairs, she looked down into the darkness, keen feline eyes trying to find the entrance.
“It’s at the bottom of the second set of stairs, yeah. I’d come there and show you myself, but, uh, Apollo’s parents weren’t home.” The sound of giggling that certainly wasn’t Leif’s could be heard just out of range of the phone’s mic.
“N-no, it’s okay. I mean, I definitely found it, but I didn’t think it was at the sub-basement level. Anyway, thanks for taking the call. I’ll see you on Monday.” She said and swiped the red button, bringing an end to the call.
The building she stood beside was, at one time, a firehouse, but later, it was renovated and turned into an office of some sort, though the for what or who was not clear. She wondered if the pub pre-dated the office and if it was something the fire teams used to unwind after a fight or if the building had been sold piecemeal.
No use standing around in the chilly night air and wondering when she could find the answers to her questions below.”
The bar felt far deeper than it needed to be, she thought as she descended the final few steps onto what was a relatively well-kept entrance. The door was atop an eight-or-so-inch platform with a drain at the base preventing rainwater from flooding the bar. There was even a rug for beasts to wipe their paws or shoes on before entering.
Gripping the metal bar, Callista pushed inward, the mechanisms pulled from place as the door unlocked. She was greeted by a rush of warm air and the smell of… cabbage.
Well, it was called Fingal’s Pub, she thought, stepping through the doorway.
Inside, the atmosphere was more akin to a club from the 1980s or even late 70s because of the honest-to-god disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Beyond that, however, everything looked fairly modernized, with both an old-fashioned jukebox and a newer one with a fancy touchscreen.
More than a few heads had turned as she stepped into the landing; a few had even winked at her. A bit on the old side, but she had options at least and certainly wasn’t against taking an older beast to bed for a night.
Stepping up to the bar itself, the bartender stands behind it doing what bartenders always seem to be doing before somebeast places an order: Washing a mug with a rag.
“Oy lass, ain’t seen ye in here befur; Ya new to toon?” His accent was delightfully authentic. “Can I get ye a gargle?”
Her expression was a mix of confusion and amusement. “Excuse me?”
“Aye, a gargle. Beer.” His pronunciation sounded like ‘Bee-ya’.
“Oh!” she giggled, “Yes, please. A pint.” She dropped a few dollars onto the counter, but the barkeep pushed them back when he returned with her mug.
“First is on the house, lass.” He winked and clicked his tongue, then walked away.
Seeking out a nightly was a fun time all of itself. Sometimes, she’d hit a home run; other times, the beast had simply been waiting on someone else, or the beast was happily married, or just simply not interested. Granted, the latter happened only once, and the beast had been a two-time murderer who, just later that night, had committed his third and final act after the police tracked him down. He’d killed himself as his third and final victim.
No, after the day she’d had with that particular patient, she’d just let tonight’s fun come to her instead. Let some other beast do the work for a change.
Barely ten minutes had passed before she got her wish. It was a rather athletic-looking doberman with an undercut, and the tips dyed red. She wore a tight-fitting t-shirt that showed the outlines of her pierced nipples beneath but no actual breast to speak of.
“That seat taken?” She said in a deep, sultry voice that betrayed her appearance by quite a bit. Her eyes connected with Callista’s as the two shared a brief look into each other’s souls.
Callista smiled and patted the stool. “Was getting worried I was going to have to go on the hunt.” She said, taking a sip of her beer.
“Well, tonight is your lucky night because the prey came to you. Are you new in town? Don’t recognize ya.” the dog said, sitting down in the chair beside the lioness, crossing her legs. Red gym shorts riding up high and exposing her underwear or rather her lack thereof.
“Why yes,” Callista said with a smile, resting her head in her palm as she eyed the dog down, a smile streaking across her face. “I’m the new—“ But she couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Exposing her Primal to a disrespectful punk was one thing, but fishing for one-night stands on your first night as the new local GP was something else entirely. That COULD have ramifications.
“I’m new, yeah. Just moved in last week. My name is Callista.”
The doberman held out her hand, fingers extended, and exposed the black paw pads that lined it. “My name is Elliot Chandler.”
“Well, Ms. Chandler, tonight is your lucky night.”
No comments:
Post a Comment