"That man has cat eyes."

It started at one of those interminable New York fundraiser cocktails, little black dresses and rented tuxes making inane conversation over weak champagne and rubbery shrimp in a sterile lounge whose only charming aspect was its 80th story view of the city at night, spread out below us in dreaming lights and distant music.

"Excuse me?"

"That dark haired man in the three piece suit and old fashioned watch chain. He just looked at me and he has cat eyes. Yellow, slit pupilled, you know."

I looked at you, bemused. You were usually more hardheaded than me and often likely to tell me to get my head out of the clouds and thus not likely to spin weird stories for attention. Yet I had a hard time believing you'd have said something so outlandish if you were simply mistaken.

"Maybe he's wearing novelty contacts."

"I don't think so. They caught the light, reflected it." You look strangely excited by the idea and something turns over in my belly. I watch your profile as you scan the crowd, searching for him. I frown a little, trying to remember when you looked at me with such interest.

Nearly half an hour later, when we were both at the bar refilling our drinks and discussing how much longer we needed to stay before we could politely leave, I saw him. Lounging against a pillar, swirling a clear drink, surveying the crowd with a crooked smile and eyes that belonged in a panther's cage. I nudged you and you looked up with a gasp.

That was when he came over to us. He moved with an easy, liquid, languid grace, and the cut of his suit suggested a body both supple and powerful. I felt the softness of my belly straining at the buttons of my rented tux. A surge of jealousy shot through me, watching you watching him, transfixed by his physique, his sly smile, his gleaming wilderness eyes.

"Would the lady care to dance?" The party had gotten a little rowdier and the younger crowd was gyrating on a strobe-lit dancefloor, music I barely recognized pulsing over them.

"Oh! Oh no, I couldn't, I'm with my husband -- " Your demurral said one thing, the flush in your cheeks said something else. I felt myself squirming uncomfortably. The strange man turned his jungle gaze on me, still smiling.

"Surely you don't mind! I promise to return her in one piece."

You looked at me, trying not let me see your excitement, trying not to show how eager you were, how much you hoped I'd agree to it. My throat was dry, but I managed to smile a plastic smile and say, "Oh, all right. Go have fun, love."

He'd bowed graciously, taken you by the wrist, and led you to the dancefloor, where I soon lost sight of both of you amid the writhing bodies.

Not until the witching hour struck, nearly two hours later, when I was deep in my fourth scotch, did you return, flushed, glistening with sweat, a wild light in your eyes. "I'm so sorry, hon! I just lost track of time -- "

"'s'all right," I slurred a little, eager to be out of here, more than a little grateful I didn't see your dance partner anywhere. "You ready to head home?"

"Um, no, actually, Thibault -- my new friend, his name is Thibault -- wanted me to ask if you minded me stepping out with him for a bit. I'll meet you at the apartment."

I just stared at you, watching the shine in your eyes with a wariness that cut through my mild inebriation like a blade, the way you shifted from one foot to the other. "Step out with him where?"

"Oh, just around," you replied vaguely, glancing over your shoulder, smiling brightly as you caught sight of him and waved. "He had some stuff he wanted to show me."

I continue to stare at you, purely incapable of believing this was happening. "Like what?"

"I don't know. It's supposed to be a surprise. So, do you mind?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to say hell yes I mind, but something in your face -- the sheer excitement that seemed to transcend normal arousal and arch toward something like joy -- made me doubt myself for a moment; made me think you'd be incredibly resentful of me putting you on a leash.

Also, I have to confess, the idea of waiting for you in the apartment ... not knowing who this guy was or what you were doing with him ... was strangely alluring, tickling an old desire I thought I'd put behind me a long time ago.

At last I shrug and throw back the last of my scotch. "I ... suppose that'd be okay. Enjoy yourself. Text me if you get into trouble."

You clapped your hands together and kissed me on the mouth, lingering a moment before darting away, toward your new friend. A worm of unease in my belly, I threw down my tip and left.

I didn't see you again until well past 3 a.m., restless in our bed, unable to sleep. I heard the apartment door creak open and felt a stomach-churning mix of emotions, chiefly relief you were home before dawn mingled with dread at what I was about to see and hear. You'd slipped into the bedroom on silent, bare feet, looking a little muddled, standing in front of the full length mirror and slowly stripping nude.

I watched, my arousal growing with shocking speed, pulsing to hardness and beyond, to the point where I could feel my heartbeat pounding in every inch of my length.

Once you were down to your panties I could see your back was covered with long red scratches.

You'd turned around and our eyes met. Something wild was in them.

"Honey?"

"Yes."

"What did you do tonight?"

Slowly you prowled toward me, skimming your panties off, the smell of sex wafting from you to me, your eyes burning into mine. With a start I realized your pupils were now little slits.

"Let me show you," you'd purred, pressing your mouth to mine, sliding your body into bed with me, raking me with your claws.

Inspired by Stephen Vincent Benet. Many directions this could go, though I'm chiefly hoping to explore shapeshifting or metamorphosis. The cuckold aspect can be kept or not, as you prefer (and I can play Thibault if he intrigues you), but humiliation isn't really what I'm looking for here. Hope you all liked it.