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HornballPiglet here. I want to start by asking you, dear reader, to bear with me through the not-so-sexy exposition. I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible, since there are already volumes of it elsewhere. But it is a long story, after all, and you may think me a little crazy…but that’s okay, I’m used to that. You see, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about where I came from. Not just me myself, but the HornballPiglet persona…
The first incarnation of my soul was in the form of a bat-winged cat. I had the ability to change shape between your average Siamese, and a more humanoid form of somewhat below-average height. In human form, the black fur of my head became straight, shoulder-length jet-black hair; and the rest of my body remained covered in a fine tan fur. My wings were black in both forms. I lived with my clan near the ocean, on a grassy hillside next to the edge of a vast forest. I had been an orphan, raised and trained by the clan’s official record-keeper, the Storyteller, until his death when I took on the role fully.
Before he passed, the old one had asked the clan’s artisans to teach me the basics of their respective crafts. The hunter he asked to train me was an orphan as well, but an outsider. Solid black from head to tail, he had wandered into our encampment as a small child with no memory of where he’d come from, and was grudgingly accepted into our midst only after he’d proven his skills in the hunt. As we trained we became friends, eventually best friends, and apparently obvious to everyone but us at the time, fell in love.
But before anything interesting could come of it, the clan’s leaders learned of something from my past that threatened their power, and crafted a scheme of deception and persuasion around magic and threats. They convinced the hunter and the rest of the clan that they had to move the clan elsewhere, and that for their safety, it was essential they leave me behind. They traded not killing me outright to the hunter in exchange for his cooperation, as his skills were too valuable to the clan to allow him to remain with me. One night they drugged my supper, packed up our encampment, and used magic to erase any trace that we had ever lived there. I awoke several days later, alone on the grassy hill, and immediately began searching for my clan.
That is the bare-bones of what I have come to refer to colloquially as The Beginning. By the time I arrived at The End, most of those details were lost to me. All I could remember was that I had lost my clan while still relatively young, that I had been their Storyteller, and that I had been searching for them for a very long time. The End begins with my decision to resign my search and make myself a new, permanent home, alone.
That home was a small cove on the beach, at the edge of the mountains. I hunted the sea for my meals, trading excess catches and stories to a nearby human village for supplies and companionship. Against the village’s advice, I befriended two unique, immortal beings who lived high in the mountains: a giant bat-dragon hybrid, and her mate, a solid blue dragon. I also encountered a nomadic man-hawk, with whom I eventually fell in love. The question of whether he returned those feelings was overshadowed by the decision of the immortals to leave this life to embark unto the next, and their offer to bring me with them. I was intrigued by their offer, but the hawk believed it wasn’t possible other than to die. And so brokenhearted, I left him there on the mountain outcropping overlooking my cove, and followed the immortals into eternity.
The hawk was the first that I encountered in this life, in the form of my 7th grade crush. Things between us did not go well, either when I told him I liked him, or years later when I told him I suspected he was the nomad. I found the bat in 8th grade, she’s been my best friend ever since. We found the blue dragon in high school, along with several others with whom we had similar spiritual connections, some from that life, some from others. She and I pieced together The End, but anything before that remained lost to me until after graduation, when the dark hunter found me.
In our brooding teenage years, she and I wrote poetry and prose, and posted them on the infant Internet for all to read. A young man on the other side of the country read one of my stories and emailed me. Next thing I knew my new pen-pal was asking me out (he was the first boy ever to do so). Three months later I took a 5-day vacation cross-country, and from moment one in each other’s arms we knew we were meant to be together. Eventually I moved out there to be with him, and we were very happy. One night we lay in each other’s arms, and in a trance-like state the hunter and the Storyteller recalled The Beginning. It was also there that HornballPiglet first came into being as a piece of my personality. We felt an indescribably blissful peace together…which of course meant it had to come to a tragic end. Cancer’s bahis firmaları a bitch like that.
So I moved back home and spent a few years sobbing and trying to find myself again. Once I found her, so did my future husband. He and I also fell in love quickly and effortlessly, but in what the cat thinks of as “a very human way.” We didn’t have an immediate spiritual connection, but rather we bonded on a lot of things in this life. The cat was actually surprised at how deep a connection we’d forged, something she never expected to feel again after losing the hunter.
I tend to think of my psyche like Herman’s Head (and yes, I’m fully aware of how that dates me…shit, it’s more accurate than carbon). In the back of my mind, on a bamboo mat and often sleeping except when I really need her, sits the cat, the Storyteller. She sometimes has to mediate between Logic and Emotion, who sit on the couch near the front windows (my eyes) and argue incessantly. Off to the side, in leather and flowing sheer mesh, toys everywhere and chains on the walls, lurks HornballPiglet. She and Emotion like to take the helm together on occasion. Thinking of them as separate entities is a bit of a trap, because really they’re all one in the same. If the cat is the first incarnation, then technically they’re all part of the cat. All of them together are Me. My first and my husband are the only two men all four voices have ever agreed on.
One thing my husband had going for him while we were dating is that he didn’t think I was crazy when I told him about the cat. He found it ironic, though, as he’d always been a dog person. But hearing the story didn’t trigger any great awakening in him or free any long lost memories in me. For the longest time, I had no memory of anything that had happened to me during “the Middle,” during the long search for my clan. The others rarely talk about it anymore. Most of them sleep in the back of the minds of their humans, even the cat sometimes. It seemed the time of finding new souls from the first life had passed. I hadn’t found anyone from The Middle yet, and since each major recollection seemed to be triggered by someone familiar, I didn’t expect I would ever remember it.
That all changed one night while my husband was nailing me from behind.
See, I didn’t forget why you’re here. I’m almost done, I promise.
He was just over 500 lbs when we first met. At that weight, you can’t really do much except me on top, which gets old and doesn’t always do it for me. And he didn’t really care for intercourse all that much, he found it painful and preferred blowjobs. So eventually we worked out a sort-of arrangement, I’d take care of him manually and orally, and he’d take care of me orally and with toys; and this worked fine for us for a good long while. I could always feel a great deal more hardness under the surface of his excess weight, and around 400 lbs we started being able to get into other positions again. At some point we figured out the reason he didn’t like sex is because the condoms hurt him. I was down there one night and noticed it cutting off the circulation to his dick, literally turning it purple. The same thing had happened to my first one time when the condom broke, his dick had been pushed through the break and was being strangled by it. So I switched my husband to Magnums, and suddenly sex wasn’t painful anymore.
Oh, Intercourse, how I’d missed you!
He’s 300 now, and essentially doubled in length compared to what was exposed and usable when we first met. After our second child was born, he had a vasectomy, and the sex since getting the lab clearance has been mind-blowing. He occasionally growls, and it sends shivers down my spine straight into my pelvis. Doggie-style has always been one of my favorites, and one night he says, a syllable with every thrust, “I…Love…This…Position!”
It was in amongst this period that I began writing my autobiography, and really thinking about myself and why I tick the way I do. Logic and Emotion are very obvious voices for me, for anyone who knows me. I am the epitome of “Vulcan in the streets, Klingon in the sheets.” The cat was similarly in need of no additional explanation. But where did HornballPiglet really come from (aside from my need for a Literotica handle)? I’d masturbated plenty in my life, but she did not manifest in my mind until I began to experience sex with my first partner…a partner who also happened to love doggie-style. In thinking of all my voices as a part of the cat, Logic argues that HornballPiglet would also be, in some way, born of the cat. Since over 25 years’ worth of storytelling had failed to reveal any further details about my first life, I began to look at other sources.
According to Wikipedia, multiple males will be attracted to a female cat in heat. The males will fight over her, and the victor wins the right to mate. At first, the female rejects the male, but eventually the female allows the male kaçak iddaa to mate. The male bites the scruff of the female’s neck as she assumes a position conducive to mating known as lordosis behavior, or presenting (the naturally occurring body posture for sexual receptivity, characterized by a lowering of the forelimbs, dorsoventral arching of the spine, and raising of the hips and tail). The female utters a loud yowl as the male pulls out of her because a male cat’s penis has a band of about 120–150 backwards-pointing penile spines, which are about 1 mm long; upon withdrawal of the penis, the spines rake the walls of the female’s vagina, which acts to induce ovulation.
And why is doggie-style called doggie-style anyway? Why not kitty-style?
Anyway, jump back to that night my husband was doing me (ugh) doggie-style. I was on the edge of the bed with my back arched downward, my ass in the air, my hands stretched out in front of me for support, and my husband spreading my ghetto-booty thighs to gain more access. I don’t normally care for hickies, but I suddenly had an overwhelming desire for him to bite my neck. And then the whole story just kind of exploded in my head.
So as the bulk of my autobiography is intended for my children, this part’s for my husband, the love of my life…
Much of The Middle remains a mystery, and I suspect that is because it was relatively uneventful. I never found a trace of my clan, hair nor tail. The longer I searched, the more evidently hopeless it became. One part of that I did remember from that time was meeting a human on the road. I may have been leaving the town he was venturing towards. I remember him approaching me with a look of astonishment on his face. He had never seen one of my kind before. I was not surprised. I told him about having lost my clan and searching for them. While I had found several clans of other types (lions with eagle wings, tabbies with angelic swan wings, and the like), never had I found another bat-winged clan. He further clarified that he had never seen a winged cat of any kind. This did shock me, as our stories told of a number of other types of clans (though my clan had been relatively small compared to those in our histories). We had once been far from rare. Was I somehow the last? Or had this particular human never traveled far enough from his home to see them? I would never find answers to these questions. I continued my quest, determined but increasingly losing hope, until something happened to throw my search into chaos.
I went into my first heat.
I had been expecting it, but I was completely unprepared as to how to handle it. In the clan, the other females would have guided me. In the clan, I would have mated. My heart cracked as I thought of my hunter friend, as I realized that I had loved him dearly, that certainly he would have been the one I’d choose to be mated to for the rest of our nights. And my heart was equally broken thinking of the others, wondering constantly if they were alright, where they were, what had happened…
But the timing of its arrival could not have been worse. I found myself in a mountainous wasteland, being hunted by the native beasts. At the last village where I’d stocked up on supplies, the humans had warned me about the beasts, but I was insistent that I search everywhere possible for my clan. I assured them I was skilled enough to evade most hunters, and that I would return this way to assure them of my safety.
They were pack hunters, little more than dogs themselves. They were lean and muscular, not at all like the large lumbering dog-creatures that had roamed the plains near our seaside home and had sustained my clan for generations. They immediately knew an unknown creature had entered their territory and began stalking me from a distance, keeping an eye on me, prepared to spring should I get too close to their dens. But then a few days later when I went into heat, there was nowhere in the rocky valley where my scent didn’t permeate, and the pack started advancing on me.
They were intelligent, clever, and evading them proved to be more difficult than I’d imagined. I was sure it was my suddenly unruly hormones attracting them, making it nearly impossible for me to avoid them. In my cat form I darted between and through every tiny nook and cranny I could to escape their snarling maws, but eventually they had me cornered. Five of them, soon six, were certainly too much for me even in human form, which I now assumed. The pheromones I was producing were somewhat dampened in this form, but not enough to stave off the pack.
So why were they now backing down? Perhaps my transformation startled them. My appearance now no longer completely matched my scent, as far as they could tell. But suddenly a hulking grey form dropped down from the cliff above us, landing between the pack and me in a flurry of the dust it disturbed upon hitting the ground. A low, threatening kaçak bahis growl followed, and the pack scattered backwards, crouching down in deference to this greater beast. Apparently it was clear to the pack, as it was becoming to me, that this prey was spoken for.
The beast turned to me and looked down on me with piercing red eyes. It was tall and bipedal, but clearly also canine. Its muscular bulk cast a shadow on me as I crouched down close to the rock wall. I saw no way to escape, and was preparing myself for my inevitable death at the hands of this creature, to become nothing more than an easy catch, and later a pile of offal. I was not prepared for it to speak.
“I am the Alpha,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “God of Dogs.”
I was going to die anyway, so I laughed.
“How dare you mock me! I am their god, the Eternal, the essence of all things canine.”
“And quite full of yourself, apparently,” I said mockingly. Maybe he would kill me faster in anger.
Instead he froze for a moment and said nothing. I froze as well. Then slowly he knelt down in front of me, still managing to tower over me, and stared at me with a disturbing hunger. I didn’t know what he was waiting for and wished he would just get it over with. Maybe I would be reunited with my clan on the other side of existence, where souls went after death. But he didn’t attack; he merely stared at me. Then he moved toward me, looking me over as if assessing me. I could feel the heat of his body, his breath, closing in on me. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he started sniffing, my tail, my wrist, up my arm to my neck, behind my ear…
“You may do,” he snarled hungrily.
He grabbed me by the wrists and practically dragged me off the way the pack had gone, and we walked rapidly for a great many paces. Finally we came to a circular round of dens, the home of the same nearly-upright pack that had hunted me, though I couldn’t tell if my assailants were among them. Some of them appeared to be on the verge of human-like sentience, wearing crude clothing and decoration; but most were still wild beasts, or even domesticated. But every one of them froze at the approach of the Alpha, as he walked this cat creature through their secret home, to a large cave opposite the entrance to the round. He led me through the mouth and around a corner into what was clearly the pack master’s den, complete with stone throne, bonfire, and couch of pillows to which he directed me. He then left the cave, and I could hear him outside, addressing the others in the strange, guttural language of canines.
When he returned, he did not acknowledge me, but took his seat on his throne and watched the doorway. I stared at him for a moment, at the large muscles in his arms and legs, the solid grey fur and wild mane; and the long snout with sharp canines peeking just a bit past his lips that still seemed to snarl even while he sat there at rest. A moment later, several wolves came in with offerings of food, fresh catches that were still raw and bloody. They tried not to look at me, but I could see that they were intently curious. They must have been female, because they did not seem bothered by my scent as much as the males who had hunted me. They departed almost as quickly as they’d come in.
“Eat,” he said to me.
“What did you mean before about being eternal?” I asked instead. I wasn’t going to fatten myself up for this beast, his pack. Let curiosity kill me, I thought to myself (I swear to the gods I did not intend that pun, but it was right there, I just had to).
“Eat,” he said again. He picked up a leg of something and thrust it under my nose.
“What is it?” I asked. If I had been human, I would have wrinkled my nose. “I’m very particular about not eating certain things.”
“The humans call it cow. No more questions.”
“Something like this I would have to cook,” I replied. I wasn’t being deliberately ornery, but we always cooked larger animals, if not always small ones or fish. But he was obviously becoming frustrated with me, carelessly throwing the leg into the fire.
“Are all cats this picky?” he asked me.
“You’ll have to ask them,” I said.
He left the leg in for a few minutes, allowing it to cook. He then reached over behind me and removed a piece of fabric from the bedding with which he grabbed the leg out of the fire and in the same motion tossed it to me. I looked at him strangely, but did start to eat, picking at the meat with my claws.
“Why am I here?” I asked. “You could have let your pack take me, I’m sure I would have sustained them for several days in my human form.”
“You are the first mortal shape-shifter I’ve ever met,” he told me. “I have only known other Eternals to be able to do so, though I myself cannot.”
Eternal shape-shifters? “You’re a Moonchild, aren’t you,” I realized.
He nodded. “The Alpha. King of Dogs, from which all other branches of canine in this world descended. But those descendents were mortal, and as canines evolved further away from me, they lost many of my traits to become what you know of now, to become like those who hunted you, like those you and your clan once hunted.”
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