I close the door behind me, heart in my throat as it's been every time I come home for the last six weeks. I keep thinking I've gotten used to it, but of course I haven't. How could I?

"Hon?" I call out, hoping you don't hear the trepidation in my voice. But of course you do; you hear everything lately. "How's your day?"

And then you come in, stretching languidly, prowling on all fours. It sends an icy wave of apprehension along my spine. When this first started, you resolutely stayed on two feet. But more and more you move on hands and knees -- paws and knees? -- and every time, it looks more natural.

"Hi," you purr, nuzzling at my thighs, your tail arching high in the air. "I missed you. Glad it's the weekend."

Lightly I trail my fingers along your spine, fascinated at the way your pelt ripples and your tail twitches in response; enraptured by the gleam in your feline eyes as pleasure rumbles from your throat. "Want some dinner?" The basement fridge is stocked with fresh fish and raw meat; we've learned I need to keep it locked or you'll rifle through it and eat until you're fit to burst. I still remember finding you stretched out on the kitchen floor, licking your whiskers as you dozed.

You look away. "Not just yet. I caught a mouse. Just a snack."

A mouse. That's new. "Well ... at least we don't have to hire an exterminator."

You glance at me sideways, your ears twitching in that way I've learned means irritation, but when you see my smile you purr all the more deeply, leaping onto me and nuzzling my chin. Grinning, I carry you to the couch, where you stretch across my lap, luxuriating as I take up the silver-backed brush and begin sweeping down your spine in long, slow strokes. Carrying you isn't so hard lately -- you've gotten smaller since the transformation. You don't stand on two feet much anymore, but when you do you're barely a shade over four feet tall. I suppose it makes sense. You didn't become a tigress or a lioness, nor even a puma (though you're about the size of one). Just a plain house cat, more adorable and domesticated than fierce and savage. Not for the first time I almost ask you if you'd like to wear a collar, but I think better of it when your tail brushes my lips.

"It's bad today," you murmur as the brush glides over the velvet curve of your ass.

I know at once what you mean. "Is it?" I set the brush aside, fingers dipping under your tail. Yes. It's very bad today. The heat is like a fever, pulsing from you. Instantly I find myself growing hard, biting my lip as your sleekly furred backside rises up, rounding out. Sometimes the heat hits you in the middle of the night and you attack me in a dead sleep; sometimes you wake up with it and I find you clawing at the sheets, mewling. But this is the most common way: you left alone, roaming the house in your new body, the heat slowly building hour by hour as you explore new instincts, away from me.

"Yessss," you hiss, rolling over, panting, arching up, your breasts inviting. I dip my mouth to them, amazed at the softness of your fur on the firm flesh, tongue grazing your nipple, eliciting a snarl. You told me once everything is more sensitive than it ever was, like all your nerve endings had doubled. Maybe they have.

Your sex is pulsing, molten, musky feline juices dripping freely down my hand as I slip two fingers into you, breathing hard at the way you writhe and thrash and yowl in my lap. I know my fingers will bring you some relief, but I also know that before long we'll both be on the living room floor, maybe you on your back, maybe you riding me, but most likely -- as is true more and more -- you on all fours, me savagely fucking you from behind, like --

Well. Like an animal.

How did it happen? We can discuss that. Maybe it was meddling with science; maybe we crossed an evil witch (it is Halloween soon, after all), maybe a la Franz Kafka you just woke up one day to find yourself in the body of a sleek and lovely cat-woman. The emphasis here is on how we're adjusting to your new state of existence (though I'm more than happy to explore the transformation itself if that intrigues you). At first we were both, naturally, horrified and confused, but as time passed we've almost gotten used to it ... and begun to revel in it. One thing I'd like to focus on is the feedback loop: you enjoy being treated like a cat, even if only subconsciously, but the more I do so the more catlike you become.

Kinks: Petplay (obviously!), humiliation (the longer you stay this way, the easier it is to simply treat you like a cat), cuckqueaning (the more I think of you as my pet, the likelier it is I'll look for someone new), cuckolding/beast (your new body is filling you with hungers I simply can't satisfy, but perhaps one of the specimens at the zoo can ... ), and plenty more.