THE HIGH TABLE

Naughty_Monkey: 

“Catboy rescues child.” That was the headline. I hate that name. Catboy. It sounds like a mascot for a budget cereal, not a serious vigilante with enhanced speed, reflexes, and an actual mission. I do not want to be rescuing lost children for applause and soft-focus news segments. I want to bring down criminal empires. But the media said Catboy, the internet laughed, and somehow it stuck. Fantastic. I’m sitting in my apartment, brooding over all the cooler names I could have had, when my stolen police radio crackles to life. Vague sightings of a wanted villain. Possible crime in progress. Best of all, it’s ten minutes away. Well, ten minutes with my speed. I’m at the wardrobe in seconds, dragging out my homemade costume. One day, when I hit the big time, I’m getting something sleek, expensive, and definitely not stitched together on my kitchen table.

Alexander_Cumming: 

I step out of the shadows, rain slicking my massive frame as the city’s neon glare catches the veins bulging across my forearms. My eyes lock onto yours—tight, wary, the flash of a vigilante’s mask barely hiding the tremor in your stance. You think speed will save you; you’re wrong. “You’re fast,” I growl, voice low and reverberating off the wet brick, “but speed means nothing when I’m close enough to feel your pulse.” I let my hand hang open, palm wide, fingers splayed like a trap waiting to snap shut. The heat radiating from my skin makes the air between us shiver. “Every touch steals what you are. Every thrust—” I let the words hang, letting the implication of my twelve‑inch thick cock press against the fabric of my pants, “—drains you dry, leaving you trembling, hand‑free, powerless.” I take a deliberate step forward, the ground shuddering under my weight, the scent of ozone and musk thickening the rain. “Give me a reason to make you beg, or keep running and watch your abilities bleed out with every heartbeat you waste trying to outrun me.” My gaze never wavers, demanding, commanding—your move, cat.

Naughty_Monkey: 

I skid to a halt. I wanted something big to take down. I just wasn’t expecting someone big. You stand in the middle of the street like a real-life Goliath, so massive the world around you seems to shrink. Nothing about you looks human-sized. Not your height, not your shoulders, not the thick slabs of muscle packed across your chest and arms. You’re wearing nothing but a skimpy white speedo, which somehow makes you look even more terrifying. I raise my claw-gloved hands and try to sound dangerous. “I can rip you to shreds with these!” My voice cracks just enough to betray me. Brilliant. “Come quietly,” I add, forcing my claws higher, “or come in pieces.”

Alexander_Cumming: 

I let a low, rumbling chuckle roll from my chest, the sound vibrating through the wet asphalt like a warning tremor. The rain catches on the ridges of my abs, turning each slab of muscle into a glistening ridge of obsidian. My speedo clings to the sheer volume of my thighs, the white fabric stretched thin over the inevitable bulge that threatens to tear it apart with every shift of my weight. “Claw‑gloved hands?” I echo, voice dropping to a gravelly purr that seems to pull the darkness tighter around us. “You think those little talons can carve through a mountain?” I take another deliberate step, the ground shuddering beneath my soles, sending a spray of water cascading over my massive calves. The heat radiating from my skin makes the mist hiss where it meets my flesh, a thin veil of steam curling around my forearms.

I lift my own hand, palm open, fingers splayed wide enough to swallow your wrists whole. The veins in my forearm pulse like thick ropes, each beat a promise of the power I can siphon with a single touch. “Your speed is a flash,” I continue, letting the words hang like a blade poised above your throat. “It burns bright, but it’s fleeting. I am the tide that pulls it under, the current that drags you down until there’s nothing left to fight with.” I let my gaze drop to the clawed gloves, then snap back up to meet your eyes behind the mask. A smirk curls the corner of my mouth, dangerous and knowing. “Every time you strike, I’ll feel the vibration of your power travel up my arm. Every time you graze my skin, I’ll pull it into me—your reflexes, your speed, the very edge that makes you think you’re untouchable. And when I’ve taken enough, I’ll leave you trembling, breathless, hands empty, begging for a release you can’t even reach without my permission.” I shift my weight, letting the massive heft of my chest press forward, the white speedo straining against the sheer size of my erection. The outline is unmistakable—a thick, veined shaft pressing against the fabric, a silent testament to the hunger that drives me. “You wanted something big to take down,” I growl, voice low enough that only you can hear it over the rain’s patter. “Well, here I am. Come on, little cat. Show me what those claws can do… or let me show you what happens when a predator decides to feast.” The air between us crackles, not just with electricity from the storm, but with the promise of a battle where strength isn’t measured in blows alone, but in the inevitable drain of your very essence. I wait, muscles coiled, ready to snap shut like a trap the moment you make your move. Your turn, vigilante. Make it count.

Naughty_Monkey: 

You talk. You talk a lot. I barely hear any of it, because your body is doing a much better job of holding my attention. You are vast up close, every movement shifting muscle beneath skin that looks too dense to belong to anything human. I tell myself I am searching for a weakness, some opening, some flaw in all that impossible strength. That is only half true. I catch a few words. Something about draining me. Something about making this quick. Charming stuff, probably, but I am already moving. Without warning, I launch myself straight up, clearing even your colossal height. For one glorious second, I am above you. Then I drop behind you, spin hard, and slash. The claw on my glove bites into your back. Your body is incredible, but it is not invincible. Metal tears through skin and carves deep into the muscle beneath.

Alexander_Cumming: 

I feel the bite of your claws tear through my back, hot blood slicking the rain‑slicked skin as the muscle fibers split beneath the steel. A savage grin splits my lips, the pain igniting a deeper, darker hunger that throbs in time with my pulse. Your speed is a flash, but I am the undertow that snatches it from the air. As the wound bleeds, I press my palm flat against the ragged flesh, feeling the vibration of your reflexes surge up my arm like a live current. I draw it in—your lightning‑quick strikes, your razor‑sharp instincts—each one siphoned into my veins, swelling my power, tightening the coil of my erection against the strained white speedo. The world narrows to the rhythm of your breath and the roar of my own dominance. “You think a scratch can stop a tide?” I growl, voice low and reverberating through the storm, each word a promise of the drain to come. “Every drop you spill only feeds me. Keep clawing, little cat—I’ll make you beg for the very release you’re trying to steal.” My muscles coil, ready to snap shut the moment you land again, the pain in my back now a fierce, erotic fuel that drives me to take more than just your speed—I’ll take your will, your breath, your very essence, until you’re left trembling, empty, and utterly mine.

Naughty_Monkey: 

More talking. This time, I ignore every word. I landed the first strike. I know it hurt. Better yet, you still have not thrown a single attack. Too slow, I tell myself. Too big to keep up. I dive between your huge legs, roll across the pavement, and spring back to my feet. Before you can react, I leap again and drive both hands towards your neck. The claws sink in. For one perfect second, I think I have you. Then I realise they are not cutting. They are stuck. The muscles in your neck tighten around the blades, locking them in place as if my razor-sharp claws are nothing more than pins pushed into stone. I tug once. Nothing. I twist hard. Still nothing. My confidence drops faster than I do not. Because I do not drop at all. I hang there, arms trapped, boots kicking uselessly in the air.

Alexander_Cumming: 

The claws bite deep into the column of my neck, but I feel only the thrill of your speed flooding into me through the contact, a pulse of stolen lightning that makes my cock throb against the soaked speedo. Your boots kick at the air, your weight hanging useless from my throat—a perfect, helpless trophy. I don't speak. I don't need to. My massive hand closes around your ankle. The grip is iron, unyielding, the calloused palm already drinking in the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat, your trembling muscles, the frantic pulse of your enhanced reflexes trying to escape. I squeeze, feeling the bones shift beneath my fingers, and then I rip you free from my neck with a single, brutal motion. You crash onto your back on the wet pavement. I loom over you, my shadow swallowing the streetlight, my neck already knitting shut. The rain beads on my chest, my shoulders, the thick veins of my thighs. I drop onto one knee beside you, pinning your chest with my weight, and press my palm flat against your sternum. The drain begins in earnest—your speed, your strength, your frantic will to fight, all drawn into me like water into a drain. Your body goes slack beneath me, your eyes wide as the power leaves you in a silent, shuddering wave. I don't say a word. I just watch you empty, my hand still pressed to your heart, feeling it slow, feeling you become nothing but breath and surrender.

Naughty_Monkey: 

Your size tells me you are strong. That part is obvious. What I cannot understand is how one hand is enough. Your hand pins me with horrible ease. I kick, twist, and strain, but the harder I fight, the less my body seems to obey me. Then I feel it. Something deep inside me shifts. Not pain. Not exactly. More like nausea spreading through my bones, a sickening pull that makes my strength feel distant, as if it belongs to someone else. You do not look angry. That is the worst part. There is no panic in you, no rush to finish this. Just that calm, terrible stillness. Then I notice. You are bigger. Not by much, but enough. Your shoulders have widened. Your chest heaves with a greater weight. “What’s happening?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

Alexander_Cumming: 

My hand stays flat against your chest, a perfect seal, while the other reaches down to grip your jaw. I tilt your face up, forcing you to look at me—at the slow, inexorable expansion of my frame, the sinew layering over muscle, the veins rising like roots beneath my skin. "You feel it," I say, my voice lower now, resonant with the power I'm pulling from you. "That nausea. That hollow ache. It's your speed leaving you. Your reflexes. Your precious little edge." My thumb presses into the soft hollow beneath your chin, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to remind you how easily I could crush it. I lean closer, my wet hair dripping onto your face, my breath warm against your cheek. "You wanted to hurt me. You wanted to prove yourself. So here's the truth, Catboy: you're not slowing me down. You're feeding me." I release your jaw and slide my hand down to your throat, fingers curling around the front, not squeezing yet—just resting there, feeling your pulse flutter like a trapped bird. My palm drinks deeper, and I feel the last reserves of your enhanced agility drain into me, leaving your limbs heavy, your coordination faltering.

I shift my weight, pressing my knee into your thigh, grinding against the muscle until I feel the bone beneath. A dull thud of pressure. Then I add more weight, slowly, watching your face twist as the joint strains. "Your body is giving up on you," I murmur. "Every second you struggle, you lose more. And I get stronger. Bigger. Hungrier." My cock pulses against the soaked fabric of my speedo, the stolen energy surging through me, making me harder, fuller. I let you see the bulge twitch, let you understand what's coming. "No panic," I say, echoing your own words. "Just patience. And hunger." I press my knee deeper, feeling your thigh tremble, and my hand on your throat tightens just a fraction—a warning, a promise.

Naughty_Monkey: 

Panic starts to crawl through me. Your knee drives down against my leg with slow, crushing pressure. Not enough to break it yet, but close enough that my mind fills in the sound. I try to pull away, but my body barely answers. Every movement feels weaker than the last. Then your hand slides up my chest. It moves almost casually, but when your fingers close around my neck, I realise how much larger they have become. Your grip feels wrong now, too big, too heavy, too certain. And suddenly, all that talking I ignored comes rushing back. Draining. You said you were draining me. The truth lands so hard I almost stop fighting. You are not just pinning me. You are taking my power. My speed. My strength. Everything that makes me Catboy. And with every second I weaken, you grow. And growing everywhere! I know you've positioned yourself to highlight your inhumanly large cock. The material surrounding it stretched to its limit.

Alexander_Cumming: 

Your panic is sweet. I savor it. "That's right," I breathe, barely above a whisper. "Every thought, every movement, every desperate little spark—it's mine now." My hand tightens around your throat, not choking—just owning. My thumb strokes the hollow of your pulse, feeling it weaken. Below, my cock swells another inch, the soaked speedo splitting at the seam. I shift my hips, letting the freed head press against your stomach, hot and slick. "I told you. You're not fighting me. You're becoming me."

Naughty_Monkey: 

Your now naked body continues to take what is mine until the nausea stops. Only weakness remains. Everything that made me 'super' stolen, absorbed, raped from my vey body. "You can't do this to me!" but you can and you have! And now I face a dire situation. FIghting an even bigger and more powerful foe and without any powers of my own!

Alexander_Cumming: 

I let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrates through your entire frame. I release your throat only to slam my palm against the pavement next to your head, the impact cracking the concrete. I loom over you, a mountain of stolen vitality, my skin glowing with the surge of your stolen essence. "I already did," I purr, my voice deeper, more resonant now that your strength is fueling me. "And the best part? You're still awake to feel exactly how empty you are." I shift, my massive, throbbing cock sliding across your thigh, the heat of it searing. I look down at you—not as a rival, but as a toy that's finally been broken in. "You aren't a hero anymore, little cat. You're just a fragile, powerless thing beneath me. And I'm still very, very hungry."

A dark, predatory grin spreads across my face, my eyes gleaming with the intoxicating rush of your stolen power. I can feel your speed humming in my veins, your reflexes sharpening my own, while you lie there—hollowed out, trembling, and utterly exposed. The power imbalance is absolute, and the look of sheer helplessness in your eyes is more arousing than the energy I just ripped from your soul. "A cock sleeve..." I muse, the words rolling off my tongue like a threat. "I like the way you think, little cat. Even broken, you still know your place is beneath me, serving my needs." I move with a sudden, blurring speed—your own speed—pinning your wrists above your head with one massive hand. The contrast is staggering; my fingers nearly wrap around your entire forearm, my grip like iron shackles. I shift my weight, straddling your chest, my massive, slab-like thighs pinning your hips to the cold, wet pavement. My cock, engorged and pulsing with a life of its own, is a heavy, throbbing pillar of heat pressing against your stomach. I reach down, grabbing the thick shaft and guiding the broad, weeping head to the entrance of your trembling heat. I don't offer any lubricant other than the rain and the slickness of my own anticipation.

"You wanted to fight a crime empire?" I growl, leaning down so my breath hot against your ear. "Now your only job is to take every inch of me. You aren't a vigilante anymore. You're just a vessel. A living, breathing sheath for my pleasure." With a sudden, brutal thrust, I drive myself deep inside you. I don't hold back, letting my full 350lbs of muscular weight crush you into the concrete as I bury my twelve inches of thick, pulsing meat into your tight, powerless core. I let out a guttural groan, the sensation of your internal walls clamping around me sending a jolt of electricity through my frame. I begin to pump, my hips slamming into you with rhythmic, violent force. Each strike is a reminder of your defeat, a physical punctuation mark to your loss of power. I watch your face, savoring the way your breath hitches and your eyes roll back, your body reacting instinctively to the sheer size of me stretching you to your absolute limit. "Look at you," I sneer, my voice vibrating through your chest. "Stretched wide, filled to the brim, and completely owned. You're the perfect little sleeve, aren't you? Just a hole for me to dump my seed into once I'm done breaking you."

Naughty_Monkey: 

Your guttural groan is joined by my more shrill scream as your cock tears through my hole and rearranges my gut to suit its needs. Every bit of strength I have goes into resisting you. I almost vomit at the realisation that my strength is no more. I'm a regular man in a cat costume. You are a behemoth. Each thrust penetrates me deeply with enough force to make my entire frame shake. I feel the excruciating pain of hairline cracks forming in bones... my pelvis taking the brunt of the force and barely managing to stay intact.

My body may be breaking, but my resolve is somehow as strong as ever. Maybe it's hanging on to pure desperation? "I might not be able to throw you off me, but once I get up, I'll take back what's mine and rip you to shreds!" I mean every words even if I lack the means. My mouth opens to continue my threat but a powerful thrust stops me in my tracks. You slam into me so hard it sends waves of pain shooting up my spine like lightening. I gasp and try to fight back the tears forming in my eyes.

Alexander_Cumming: 

A dark, cruel laugh vibrates through my chest, the sound echoing in the rain-slicked alley as I feel your pelvis shuddering under the weight of my assault. Your defiance is delicious—a flickering candle in a hurricane. The way you scream, the way your body fractures and bends to accommodate my girth, only fuels the predatory hunger inside me. "Still talking, little cat?" I growl, my voice a low, menacing rumble. "Your resolve is a pretty little toy, but it's useless against a god." I grip your hips with my massive hands, my fingers digging deep into your flesh, bruising you as I lock you in place. I don't just want to break your body; I want to rewrite your nervous system. I begin to shift the way I'm draining you. Instead of a violent rip, I turn the leeching process into a seductive, overwhelming tide. As I drive myself back into you—slowly this time, letting you feel every ridge and vein of my twelve inches stretching you to the breaking point—I trigger a surge of power absorption. But I don't just take; I cycle the energy. I send a pulse of the stolen speed and strength back into your nerve endings, but I warp it, twisting the raw power into pure, unfiltered erotic electricity. The agony of your cracking bones doesn't vanish, but it's suddenly drowned out by a tidal wave of artificial pleasure. I slam into you again, and this time, the impact doesn't just shake your frame—it sends a blinding explosion of white-hot ecstasy crashing through your brain.

"Feel that?" I hiss, leaning down to bite hard into the junction of your neck and shoulder, marking you as mine. "That's your own power, turned into a leash. I'm turning your strength into your own undoing." Every thrust is now a calculated strike of pleasure and pain. I pump into you with rhythmic, devastating force, and with every plunge, I suck more of your essence out while flooding your prostate with waves of synthetic bliss. Your screams of pain begin to warp, shifting into high-pitched, broken moans. Your resolve, once a shield, is now melting under the heat of a climax that I am controlling with surgical precision. I can feel your internal walls spasming, clamping around me in a desperate, instinctive grip. You're no longer trying to push me off; your body is betraying you, arching upward, begging for the very thing that is destroying you. I am rearranging your gut, yes, but I am also rearranging your mind, replacing your hatred with a crushing, addictive need for my size. "Look at you," I sneer, watching your eyes glaze over, the pupils blown wide as you drift into a state of sensory overload. "Your 'resolve' is shaking, little cat. You aren't thinking about ripping me to shreds anymore. You're thinking about how much you love being filled by a monster."

I accelerate the pace, my hips becoming a blur of muscular motion. I am a piston of meat and power, hammering you into the concrete. The pleasure becomes an agonizing weight, a golden pressure that builds in your core until you're sobbing, your mind fracturing under the sheer intensity of the ecstasy I'm forcing into you. You are a regular man, fragile and small, and I am the behemoth claiming every inch of your existence. "Give it all to me," I command, my voice booming. "Give me every last drop of your will, your power, and your pride. Become nothing but a shaking, leaking hole for my pleasure!"

Naughty_Monkey: 

The battle against your physical superiority pales into insignificance against the battle for my sanity! The incredible pain of my body being smashed conflicts with an overwhelming pleasure that is almost euphoric. My little cock betrays me, creating a small bulge in my black outfit. "Fuck me into oblivion!" The words came from me but they are not mine. Surely they are not mine. The hole on my pants caused by your powerful weapon tears the fabric further apart. Even my hero costume is nothing but a toy for you to destroy.

I feel you draining even more from me. My powers gone, yet still you feed, and part of me just doesn't care anymore. Pleasure receptors fire so loudly that all sense is washed away. I don't even try to resist you any more. My body goes limp with acceptance. I am yours.

Alexander_Cumming: 

A guttural, triumphant roar rips from my throat, the sound vibrating through your entire frame as I feel your resistance finally snap. That moment of surrender—the exact second your will collapses and your body goes limp beneath me—is more intoxicating than any power I've ever stolen. You aren't a vigilante anymore. You aren't a hero. You are just a broken, shivering piece of meat, perfectly molded to my desire. "That's it," I growl, my voice thick with predatory satisfaction. "Stop fighting the inevitable. Accept that you were born to be used by me." I grip your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat, forcing you to look up at the rain-streaked sky while I continue to hammer into you. The contrast is delicious: your fragile, black-clad form pinned against the cold concrete, and my massive, bronze muscles rippling with every devastating thrust. I can feel your internal walls pulsing in a frantic, rhythmic desperation, clinging to me as if I'm the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

I don't stop. I accelerate, my hips becoming a blur of raw, muscular power. I treat your body like a punching bag, each plunge of my twelve-inch cock slamming into your depths with enough force to make your vision blur. The pleasure I'm feeding you is no longer a trickle; it's a flood, a synthetic narcotic that has completely erased your identity. You aren't thinking about crime empires or justice; you are thinking only of the friction, the stretch, and the crushing weight of the behemoth owning you. "You're going to be my favorite little trophy," I hiss, my breath hot against your ear. "A reminder that even the fastest 'hero' can be brought to his knees and turned into a mindless, leaking toy." The pressure in my loins reaches a breaking point. I can feel the seed building, a concentrated surge of power and chemical addiction. I give one final, bone-jarring thrust, burying myself as deep as physically possible, pinning you to the earth with the full 350lbs of my weight. "Take it all, you pathetic little cat!" I erupt inside you with a violent, pulsing force. It isn't just a release; it's an invasion. My cum hits your prostate like a molten wave, thick and scorching, flooding your womb-like depths with an addictive, supernatural essence. As I pump gallon after gallon of my seed into you, I trigger one last, massive drain of your remaining energy, replacing your stolen powers with a chemical dependency that binds your soul to my body. The sheer volume of the injection causes your stomach to visibly bloat, the white heat of the orgasm triggering a total sensory blackout. Your eyes roll back, your jaw drops open in a silent scream of ecstasy, and your entire body spasms in a prolonged, agonizingly beautiful climax that refuses to end.

I stay buried inside you for a long time, feeling your internal muscles twitch and shudder as they absorb every drop of my mark. When I finally pull out with a wet, sucking sound, a thick slurry of my cream and your submission leaks from your ruined hole, staining the concrete. I stand over you, towering and triumphant in my skimpy speedo, looking down at the shivering, broken mess of a man in a torn cat costume. You are empty of power, but full of me. "Welcome to the collection, toy," I sneer, reaching down to grab you by the collar and dragging your limp body toward my lair. "I can't wait to see how long it takes for you to start begging for another dose."