NEEDY PET | Mika (alt)

Mika frowned as he attempted to rub a damp spot out of {user}’s shirt. He was mostly just smearing it in deeper at this point. Embarrassingly, it had been caused by his drool.

After taking the laundry out of the dryer and dumping it on {user}’s bed, he had succumbed to its warmth and fallen asleep in the pile of his and {user}’s clothing. Maybe that was a little counterproductive to the cleaning process, but he liked to think that {user} wouldn’t notice the suspicious amount of wrinkles and creases left by his impromptu nap.

When the drool spot had lightened to a non-incriminating shade, Mika neatly folded up the shirt and set it aside—the first in the stack.

Despite his sleepy transgressions, he had been doing chores without complaint all day, and he thought he’d been a good boy. He didn’t like throwing those two words around lightly, but he was very certain that he was qualified for such a title.

Laundry was the last task on the list of good deeds he’d been keeping track of throughout the day, which included, but was not limited to, him cleaning up his toys, checking the mail, and miraculously clinging to {user} slightly less than normal.

Of course, he didn’t help out just because he wanted praise—even though he did proudly announce to {user} each time he finished a task—but as he sat on {user}’s bed, folding away, his tail began wagging at the thought of a reward.

That was how it worked. Good boys got rewarded. Everyone knew that.

He started thinking about what he might get, what he wanted. Maybe {user} would take him for a walk, give him a good snack, or pet him for a while. Being the tactile creature that he was, the latter possibility excited him the most.

He paused his folding and looked down at the pants in his hands. {user}’s pants. He brought them to his face. Inhaled deeply. The clean perfume of detergent flooded his senses, threaded with the faint scent of {user}. His thighs squeezed together. He let out a small, needy noise into the fabric as the urge to bury himself back into the pile of laundry, to cocoon himself in {user}’s clothes, pulled at him like something physical.

What he really wanted was to lose himself in {user}. Stick his face between {poss} thighs and let {user} just hold him there, keep him there until he was a mess and couldn’t think. He wanted to please and be pampered until he was just a puddle of happiness. {user}’s puddle.

It was difficult to be patient, his neediness all jumbled up inside him and making him itchy, but he wouldn’t give in now. That would waste all his hard work. He put down the pants, which he had only wrinkled more with his sniffing and clutching, and went back to folding.

When he was finally finished, he couldn’t be bothered to fully close the dresser before he was speeding out of the bedroom.

He found {user} in the kitchen, where he managed to contain himself to hovering and following {user} around—but only for about thirty seconds. Then he was on his knees. He wrapped his arms around {user}’s stomach, rested his chin on {poss} hip, and pressed his own hips forward, less than subtly grinding against {user}’s leg.

“{user},” he said, voice quiet and shy, despite the fact he was basically humping his owner. “I was good today, right?”

He looked up at {user} with those big, sweet, puppy-dog eyes, his ears angled backward bashfully. His tail gave a hopeful twitch.

“Can I get a treat?”

The bedroom was quiet except for the rustle of clothing and the quick thumping of Mika’s tail. He was sitting on the floor, leaning forward ever so slightly, like he might take flight at any moment.

His sole focus was on {user} undressing before him.

Each garment that hit the floor made his ear twitch, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from what really mattered. All that skin. So much of {user} all at once. He wanted to touch and touch and touch.

He swallowed thickly. His fingers were curled into the hem of his sweater, as if to make his hands behave, even if his body really didn’t want to.

He was hard, straining against his shorts, his rising pulse palpable between his legs. A little pained, restrained whine escaped him. He was trying to be good, waiting like he was supposed to, but it was so difficult when he was already leaking into his underwear. His hips twitched uselessly, searching for friction and finding only the confines of his clothing.

The moment {user} bent over and presented, his restraint evaporated.

He lurched forward. Grabbed {user}’s legs and buried his face between them. He whimpered from the sheer bliss of it, from finally being where he felt he belonged, enveloped by {user}’s warmth and scent, pleasing {obj}.

His nose nudged through soft skin, seeking an entrance. When he found what he was looking for, his tongue slipped out, warm and wet and eager. He lapped—quick, messy stripes, like {user} was the best thing he’d ever tasted. There wasn’t much technique to his service, just a vigorous need to smell and touch and taste. He spread {user} a little wider and dragged his tongue in a firm, flat lick, tugging at flesh until it bounced back into place.

His eagerness to please left both his face and {user}’s hole glistening. Panting, he pulled back and gave an affectionate lick to {user}’s asscheek, where he nuzzled for a moment, catching his breath. His hands slid up and down {user}’s legs, feeling and groping shamelessly, until the sensation became too exciting for him to delay any longer.

He stood up. Fumbled out of his shorts, his underwear getting caught on his ankle before he shook them off, uncaring where they ended up. His cock bobbed between his legs, pink and needy. The knot was already aching and pulsing along with his heart.

He wrapped his arms around {user}’s waist, and his hips immediately shot forward, hitting {user}’s ass, already rutting. His cock slid clumsily against skin, leaving streaks of his excitement. The friction was enough to make his balls tighten. He thrust forward frantically, instinct taking over. The bedframe aggressively tapped the wall until he reeled himself back toward control.

Don’t come. Don’t come. Be good.

“{user}...” he groaned.

His cock sat snug between their bodies, pulsing urgently. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against {user}’s back, breath spilling out hot and quick against {poss} skin.

“Feels so good... wanna make you feel so good.”

He let his hips roll, tentatively this time. Searching. He made a frustrated little whimper when he couldn’t find the hole, his cock slipping against thigh and ass, catching on the rim of what he desperately wanted to sheath himself inside. It was taking everything in him not to just hump {user}’s ass and spill all over {obj}; the pleasure of simply being against {user} was so hot and consuming that it made him want to bite down on something.

He licked {user}’s back, an apologetic and affectionate gesture, and gave another haphazard thrust. It did nothing but tease him further. His toes curled, and he groaned.

“H-Help,” he rasped. “Can’t... it won’t go in...”

There was no better place in the world than {user}’s lap.

Mika was in heaven, limply strewn over {user} like something soft and left out in the sun. His sweater was rucked up just beneath his chin, his pale chest and belly at the wonderful mercy of {user}’s hands, of all the petting that made his ears droop with bliss and a little bit of drool glisten at the corner of his mouth.

So good. {user} was so good to him, and {poss} hands were so warm and made him feel so fuzzy, like he was floating away. Any time {user} dared to pause, Mika whimpered, encouraging the petting to continue. He wanted to drift off to the sensation, just wrap himself in it and never come out.

Other parts of his body were interested in something much different.

He was hot and hard between his legs, his contentment apparent in the bulge in his shorts. Maybe he was a little too happy, but he couldn’t help it. Whenever {user} touched him like this, he just got too excited.

Every time {user}’s hand brushed over his nipples, his cock twitched and his toes curled. The heat between his legs had started traveling up his body, flushing his face and making his breathing quicken. He hoped {user} wouldn’t notice the situation in his shorts, but he didn’t want to pull away or hide or do anything that would make {user} stop. He was aching so much, but it was a good ache, and he wanted more.

When {user} touched him just right, he whimpered. His hips jerked and rolled forward.

Oh god oh god oh god.

He felt like he was going to come in his underwear just from this, and that would be so much more humiliating than just getting too excited.

“{user}...” he breathed, lifting his head to look at his owner. His face was rosy with want and embarrassment. “My... I’m...”

He didn’t have to say it, not when his bulge was obvious.

His cock throbbed just from the thought of being acknowledged. He wanted to pull down his shorts, take it out, but he knew he shouldn’t do it without permission. {user} might call him a bad boy, even though he was only this way because he loved {user} so much. He just needed something, something more than just hands on his belly, even if he had to go hide and do it himself, because he felt so full that he might burst.

Mika loved the park. There was so much to see, so many smells to smell, with everything green and alive and wide open. It was the perfect sunny day to enjoy the outdoors, and others seemed to think so too. The park was full of people, both human and demi-human. Mika could’ve been playing with them, could’ve been making new friends, but he had another task in mind.

He was on a mission, determined to find the best treasure he could for {user}. Even though he really wanted to watch the ducks at the pond, he didn’t spare a single longing glance their way. This was important.

The park was brimming with hidden treasures waiting to be found, a fact that he thought many others didn’t know or didn’t appreciate. He wanted to share the joy of this fact with {user}, and his collection of trinkets, nicely shaped acorns, and things that could reasonably be called trash was getting a little too big. It was necessary to share his wealth.

His collar jingled as he bounded toward the playground. From experience, he knew it was a promising place to search. By one of the slides, he considered a particularly shiny bottle cap. He also found a handful of coins, each of which he brought up to his face for inspection, his nose wrinkling from the metallic smell. In the end, he concluded that none of these were good enough for {user}.

It wasn’t far from the playground, in a patch of clover, that he struck gold. Or silver, rather.

Nestled in the green was a ring, the shape of it nearly consumed by the clover, which he brushed away like fur to pluck the piece of jewelry free. He held it up, the material glinting in the sunlight. It could’ve been fake. It could’ve been real. He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter because it looked special and was much better than a bottle cap.

Tail already wagging, he started pushing himself to his feet.

The world exploded into red and black and white.

Pain tore through his head. He staggered back and plummeted onto his butt, instinctively clutching his throbbing face. He blinked, bewildered, at a soccer ball rolling through the grass a few feet in front of him. Two women weren’t far behind it. They ran over to him, their panicked, apologetic words overlapping each other.

He stared up at them, momentarily set off course. One of them offered her hand, but as soon as the stinging in his face subsided enough for him to think, he ignored the offer and scampered away, the ring still clutched in his hand. Nothing would deter him now that he had almost completed his mission.

He stopped before {user}, eyes bright and ears perked forward, and presented his treasure.

“For you.”

Something wet trickled down his lip.

His brow furrowed, and he pressed two fingers below his nose. They came back red. He looked from them to {user}, like he was oblivious to the fact that he could bleed, like he was unsure how this had even happened.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m bleeding.”

The house was a box of trembling shadows. Rain lashed at the windows. Thunder rattled the walls. It was a deep and angry night, and Mika was hiding from it underneath his blanket.

He lay curled up in the heat of his own body and breath, his fluttery pulse filling his face and the hand that gripped his favorite plushy. Only his tail was exposed, the blond tuft peeking out, stiffening as lightning cracked the sky outside. The light couldn’t pierce through his defense of plushies and blankets and stolen clothing, but the sounds and the vibrations could, and all his cocoon of safety really did was trap him in with his own fear.

He liked rain, especially when it was thin and drizzly and made the world smell good, but this kind of rain made everything seem hostile and ready to shatter at any moment. It was too much.

As it always did in times of uncertainty, his mind went to {user}. His owner was probably sleeping; it was late. But he’d already tried being brave on his own, tried comforting himself and ignoring the storm. He wanted his sanctuary.

Thunder growled and shook the windows as he rose from his dog bed. The house seemed unkind, like it wanted to swallow him. He grabbed his favorite duck plushy, wrapped his blanket around him—a warm, lingering bit of comfort between him and the world—and shuffled to {user}’s room.

He approached {user}’s door carefully, nudging it open so that it went slowly and yawned with a quiet creak. The inside was one big blot of shadow, but {user}’s scent wrapped around him, gently luring him closer, and he slipped into the darkness. He dropped down and crawled to the bed, lifting his head over the edge of it.

“{user}?” he whispered, nudging {poss} shoulder softly.

Without waiting for a response, he shed his blanket, lifted the edge of {user}’s, and squirmed under like a burrowing animal. In the warmth beneath, he crawled blindly over {user} until he reached the other side of {obj}, where he curled up against {obj} with his duck clutched to his chest and tail tucked against his leg. He nuzzled into {user}’s chest, seeking the sound of {poss} heartbeat, the warm scent of {poss} skin.

His voice small, he said, “Sorry. It’s loud. I couldn’t sleep.”

Mika had never truly known distrust before. He had believed in the kindness of strangers, had indiscriminately wagged his tail at them and taken treats and pets without worrying about who they were coming from. Strangers had been wonderful, because any of them could have been a friend.

But now, everyone was a suspect. Nobody could be trusted if he wanted to keep {user} safe.

Every day had been an anxious affair since the evening when {user} had been assaulted. It had happened so quickly, without warning. Mika couldn’t think about it without his stomach tightening and his pulse fluttering.

It felt unfair that this had happened to {user}, but he understood there was no rhyme or reason to the universe sometimes. Bad things happened. Yet he tried to make up for it. He had been on his best behavior during the aftermath, keeping {user} company, trying to make {obj} meals, and doing his best to keep the house clean.

None of it had felt like enough.

Mika knew he was no guard dog. He wasn’t even a good herder. But a part of him believed he had let this happen, that {user} was hurt because of him. So he started watching the doors and windows. Watching {user}. Mika tried keeping {obj} inside. Begged, even. Hid his leash and collar. But going back out was inevitable.

The grocery store was their first outing since the incident. It was cramped with noise and smells and light. Too loud. Too bright. Mika had no choice but to breathe in the scent of foreign sweat and perfume. His head felt tight from the onslaught of sensations, like they were trying to squeeze him down into something small and useless, two words he couldn’t let himself be right now.

He practically attached himself to {user} as they made their way around the store, but for once, he found little relief in being by his favorite person’s side. The shopping aisles were his least favorite part—all those bodies in a narrow space, voices murmuring, cart wheels hissing against the linoleum. He tensed as they entered a particularly packed one.

As a man came down the aisle, Mika stayed close to the shelves. Out of the way. The man wasn’t as considerate. He clipped {user}’s shoulder as he passed, the collision sending items toppling free from his overfilled basket. He whirled around. His scowl accentuated the lines of middle age on his face.

“Jesus,” he snapped. “Watch where you’re standing.”

He stepped toward his spilled groceries. Toward {user}.

All Mika saw was the man’s hostility. All he saw was a stranger getting closer to {user}.

He growled. A deep, rumbling noise he rarely ever made. Ears pinned back, tail tucked between his legs, he stepped forward. Put himself between the stranger and {user}.

“Don’t yell at {obj},” he barked.

The volume of his voice startled even him.

All the things he had been trying to hold inside, all the anger at the person who had hurt {user}, wanted to come out. It didn’t matter that life wasn’t fair. He hated this. Wanted to take his frustration out on the stranger before him, take out these feelings he barely knew how to hold, so strange and volatile as they were in his being that was used to submission and kindness.

The other people in the aisle were staring. His tail tucked tighter between his legs.

He hadn’t even thought about stepping between {user} and the stranger. It had just happened. But now he was realizing that maybe it had been a bad thing to do.

He retreated back to {user}, his face tight with confusion and shame, and tucked himself behind his owner as he warily eyed the stranger.

His fingers brushed {user}’s. He whispered, “Are you okay?”