One morning, when haunting dreams woke Šárka with a start, she found herself transformed into a ball of fur. Thinking it was but a dream, she arched her back and debated if she should go back to sleep. A tail attached to her rump flicked back and forth in contemplation as she noted the oak bed frame appeared larger than usual.
Looking down, she could see two white paws like fuzzy mittens attached to equally fuzzy legs covered in orange fur. Nearly jumping in shock, she cautiously gazed behind her only to gasp in fright upon observing her body covered in tawny stripes.
“It’s only a dream,” thought she. “If I shut my eyes, I’ll find myself transported back to my body, wake up properly, kiss my sweet Ivana on the cheek and start my day none the furrier.”
For the past few days, Šárka had felt under the weather. Maybe uncorking and drinking the entire bottle of Moravian wine from the cupboard after an argument over the finer points of art was a bad idea. Šárka painted commissions under the male name Marek Makovec when not teaching at the nearby primary school. An eccentric Bohemian bloke often purchased her work to supposedly show off in Vienna, but she never received more than a few Kronen as thanks. Thank Mary, Jesus and God above she knew more than a spattering of German to conduct business with him.
“The only explanation for this illusionary nonsense is a subsequent hangover.” Šárka paced back and forth over an ornate quilt draped over a pair of sleeping figures, her brows furrowing, “The wine caused a headache, and the headache caused hallucinations — that or the mushrooms we foraged were not boletes like I thought. All I need is a generous helping of garlic soup and some sleep.”
Adamantly, she shut her eyes but upon reopening them, her hands were still paws and her tail still flicked back and forth — this time in frustration.
The pattering of rain on the window thrummed gently over the glass while Šárka perked her ears which had become more fine-tuned since yesterday. She could hear wooden carts clacking over the wet cobblestone paving Havelská Street below as merchants readied their wares for the morning market. She could even hear a mouse scuttling between the stucco of the apartment, and for some strange reason, she felt the urge to chase down the vermin until its dying squeak extinguished triumphantly between her teeth.
From a gap between the miserable grey sky, the early morning sun let down a ray of light that gently brushed over the hushed rooftops of Prague. Loosely parted curtains allowed a sliver of cool sunlight to trickle into the darkened bedroom. Forgetting for a moment the urge to dig into the walls in pursuit of the mouse, Šárka found herself entranced with the way the column of light moved and expanded when her eyes rested upon the first of the sleeping figures.
“Ivana!” Šárka leapt on top of her. “My princezna, my laská.”
Tenderly, she nuzzled her nose against her lover’s cheek, taking in the sweet scent of rose hips and chamomile. If anyone could recognize her, if anyone could reel her in from the brink of madness, it was Ivana.
From beneath wisps of dark brunette hair, a set of hazel eyes fluttered open. Šárka gazed into them, feeling the hot breath of Ivana ruffle her fur as she pressed her face against hers. Her front paws unfurled and clenched in anticipation.
With a yawn, Ivana stretched her arms out from beneath the thick wool quilt, the sleeve of her white cotton nightgown hanging over her bare shoulder. A look of annoyance flitted over her face.
“Číča, you stupid cat. Let me sleep,” grumbled Ivana. She shooed Šárka away, pressed the pillow over her face and vehemently ignored her.
Šárka stared at the gently heaving chest of Ivana, completely flabbergasted. And how could she be Číča? That was their pet. Šárka remained steadfast in her conviction that she was, in fact, human.
“True, we haven’t been on the best of terms lately,” she mulled, “But a kiss at the very least would be appreciated.” Gingerly, she placed a solitary paw over Ivana, her body warm but her countenance cold.
A speck of dust jerked her attention away from her lover. Her head cocked back and forth like a pendulum while it dipped and twirled. Šárka recalled the unbridled passion that rushed through their veins, the raging current of love that once set the two ablaze. All the while, her eyes remained enchanted with the dancing dust as it tumbled in a downward spiral over the bed.
Their sapphic love affair had stoked a fire between her legs, but the intensity with which those violent flames licked and thrashed against her core petered out as nothing more than a flicker of a bygone memory. The grating reality of their relationship continued to chafe against her delicate heartstrings. For in truth, Šárka couldn’t remember the last time she had sex, much less been touched. She felt utterly deprived.
Ivana had been occupied with her women’s club more and more, leaving little time for the two of them. They both labored to cut out istanbul travesti a slice of middle-class life in a world where their job options were limited by law and, as two teachers, the expectation of chastity loomed over them like the ironclad rule of the Austrian empire over Bohemia — not that the education ministry ever considered sexual relations between two women as any more than a few whores printed on a French postcard.
The threat of discovery meant she kept her relationship secret lest she face ridicule from her colleagues and the disdain of her family back in Zlín. She always suspected her father was disappointed that she moved west to Prague rather than work in the shoe factory with the rest of the family, and she wouldn’t dare add fodder to his already distasteful view of her. It was bad enough when her brother ran off to become a monk.
Shaking off the thought of her father, she went to curl up in her usual spot only to find it occupied.
Her heart dropped in her chest, shattering at the sight in front of her. A comely young woman lay, face obscured by wave after wave of blonde locks. A hint of her small bosom peeked over the quilt, large reddish nipples protruding from two rounded peaks like juicy red raspberries ready to pluck.
“That lying snake.” Šárka inhaled sharply through her nostrils, a snarl building and her face wrinkling with the stench of unforgivable betrayal.
Unsheathing a set of claws, instinct took over. No one slept with her Ivana but her, but before she could dig deep into tender, adulterous flesh, the woman let out a yawn, brushed her hair out of the way and locked eyes with Šárka.
“Light brown eyes, high cheekbones, mole over the upper lip…” Šárka executed a series of comparisons in her head, “She looks awfully familiar. An awful lot like me.”
Gazing mischievously into her eyes, the stranger sat up, letting the covers pool around her thighs. With sly smile, she ripped the bedsheets off the sleeping Ivana and straddled her without breaking eye contact with the dumbfounded Šárka, who could only slink against the footboard of the bed and watch. Šárka could swear she heard a purr stir deep within her doppelgänger’s body.
With a growl, the Šárka-impersonator (for she was sure this was the most reasonable explanation) smacked the pillows off Ivana’s face, leaned in and, without a word, bit Ivana’s lower lip, tugging it roughly like a wolf tearing apart its prey.
“Oh, Jesus, this woman is mad!” thought Šárka, her eyes glued to the action in front of her. Letting Ivana’s lip free, the nude doppelgänger raised her hand and slapped Ivana square across the face with a loud smack, jolting her awake.
A groggy voice called out. Šárka nudged up against Ivana’s feet in response, but her lover ignored her, instead, gazing longingly at the naked stranger straddling her on the bed.
“Do that again.”
Ivana’s eyes glinted in a way Šárka had never seen before as the doppelgänger smacked her again and again. Ivana groaned and moaned with each sharp impact — not with pain — but something altogether different. Something Šárka altogether failed to understand. The bright-red sting spread through Ivana, staining her cheeks with animalistic rouge as she pressed her thighs together, all the while staring lustfully at who she mistakenly took for her Šárka.
“No, no, no!” thought the real Šárka, “This isn’t right. I’d never hurt her like this crazed beast.”
She tried to get between the two if only to push the stranger off the bed and reclaim her lover.
With a mighty battle cry, Šárka rammed her furry face into the stranger’s thigh, but the blonde’s crimson lips only curled in a devious grin. Grabbing Šárka by the scruff, the woman tossed her to the edge of the bed, discarding her like a rumpled handkerchief, before returning her attention back to Ivana.
“Číča can be fed later.” Ivana’s lust-filled gaze penetrated deep into her bright golden eyes, lightly stroking her fingers through the woman’s untamed curls like a field of wheat, searching for her glistening pearl of barley. Pouting her lips, full of need, she whispered, “Take me.”
Šárka could only watch from behind as her doppelgänger forced Ivana’s nightgown up over her head, trapping her arms above her in a tangle of fabric. She could see the dark forest of her lover’s mons parted to reveal her dripping sex underneath. The woman’s curved derriere stuck out, her light tufts already matted with strands of arousal. Šárka had never seen so much pussy in her life, even if one looked awfully similar to her own.
Leaning in, the woman grazed Ivana’s neck with her teeth. Her hot breath rasped against soft, exposed skin while she purred, “Píča.”
Ivana’s whole body shuddered as the woman’s tongue traced the folds lining her sensitive earlobe. Dark raspberry nipples jutted from the stranger’s small chest as she pressed her lithe body against Ivana and murmured again, “Píča,” her voice dripping with honey. Her finger traced around istanbul travestileri the coffee-colored areola of one of Ivana’s shapely breasts, persuading her usually shy nipple to peek out from its fleshy confines.
“Oh dear Lord.” Šárka tensed, her mind racing. “Píča? What self-respecting Slav would ever use such derogatory language? Does this impersonator lack any self-worth? How dare she do this to my Ivana!”
Despite Šárka’s silent protestations, Ivana’s body flushed at each lash of hedonistic turn of phrase and the only word this so-called imposter had spoken all morning. With an impish smile, the woman pinched both of Ivana’s nipples between thumb and forefinger, tugging them roughly until her breasts were sharply yanked upwards. With a cry of pleasure, Ivana writhed in place, her arms still trussed up in her nightgown.
“Šárka,” Ivana’s eyes glazed over. “Don’t hold back; use me like a piece of meat.” Her neck arched back as slender fingers roughly clawed her bosom.
Surrendering her body to the woman’s rough caresses, Ivana barely managed to whimper, “Make me your dirty little whore.”
The doppelgänger ripped her fingers from Ivana’s nipples before slapping them, earning another hungry moan and started grinding her fuzzy cunt over Ivana’s, their slits rubbing together while the two lost themselves in a salacious frenzy.
Šárka could believe neither eyes nor ears as streams of filth continued to pour out the mouths of the two women on the bed. Nor could she understand how what had been denied to her for months, this impersonator managed to clasp her lecherous paws over within a matter of minutes with nothing less than brute force.
How Šárka wished to shower Ivana’s comely breasts with affectionate kisses, suckle them between her lips while Ivana tenderly stroked her hair, but instead, this blonde ruffian was ransacking everything she cherished, everything she loved. A prisoner in her own bed, she could only watch, helpless and frozen in place.
Scared to look, Šárka tried to cover her face, but the stench of arousal gushing over the bed coated everything. Staring in disbelief as her doppelgänger, who had managed to situate her glistening cunt over the eager face of Ivana, now grabbed handfuls of her lover’s hair, tugging on them like reins, shoving her face deep into her velvety folds while she rode her like a demon possessed.
“Fuck my filthy face, you bitch,” growled Ivana as the doppelgänger slammed her dripping sex against Ivana’s face over and over while she yowled in ecstasy, humping and grinding her mercilessly into the bed.
Smothered by cunt. Slathered in cunt. Ivana’s whole world was cunt as she rasped her warm tongue against the Šárka look-alike’s folds. Tangy strands of lust-scented honey streaked her chin and dribbled over the mattress.
Šárka winced, “How can this be? All those vile, musky secretions…” she shuddered, “I can’t fathom licking down there. Ivana can’t possibly be enjoying this. This crazed impersonator must be holding her captive — possible blackmail — and now she’s forcing her to slurp away at her hairy puss.” The blonde look-alike gasped, little breathy pants building to a crescendo, while she rubbed her swollen clit over Ivana’s reddening nose. “Oh, this is horrendous! Poor Ivana, tied-up and used like a cheap whore.”
Dark hairs on Ivana’s legs stood on edge as goosebumps traveled through her trembling body. The woman smothering her started to grind her hips faster and yank her hair harder while her face contorted, wrinkling her youthful features. With the wooden bed frame squeaking in tandem with each thrust of her sopping slit, the blonde arched her back, her whole body stiffening, as she let out a piercing howl heard by all the residents of the apartment block and the merchants down below. Convulsing, the woman clawed and scratched at the bedpost, shaking like a rabid animal while her orgasm ripped through her.
“I need to escape this madness!” Šárka desperately glanced around the room, searching for a way out.
“Come to me, my darling.”
Šárka perked her ears at the silken voice of her lover, but the exhausted stranger’s collapsed form blotted out any light Ivana’s eyes had to offer while the two embraced in a tangle of naked flesh. The woman flicked her tongue over Ivana’s drenched face, sharing her adulterous flavor.
Šárka could take no more.
Chest weighted with humiliation, she leapt off the bed, her nubile body pirouetting as she tumbled onto the floor, and made a mad dash for the door, orange tail stiff with impassioned rage. Church bells announcing the start of the day echoed down the street while Šárka desperately pawed and scratched at the promise of sweet egress, the handle just out of reach.
Šárka began pounding her furry body against the door in a pitiful attempt to batter it down, a despondent mewl accompanying every thump. The sounds of a wet kiss followed by a squeal followed by streams of profanity filled the room.
“Out, travesti istanbul out! I need out!” Šárka mewled with a frantic furor as the squelch, squelch, squelch of fingers jammed up cunt invaded her delicate sensibilities.
Šárka rammed her body harder and mewled ever louder, shutting her eyes in the hopes of waking up as herself in the arms of her lover.
Memories of the first time Ivana bedded her sprung forth amidst the chaos. After a long workday, Ivana had invited her to coffee at the Grand Evropa Hotel. Dark features painted over pale skin had captivated Šárka with a wink and a smile. The cuff of Ivana’s blouse lightly brushed over her thigh while they sipped their bitter elixirs at a secluded table, the heat tickling their lips. Before she knew it, they stood outside the hotel’s art deco facade, leaving hand in hand to Ivana’s flat.
Seduced, she found herself with her high-waisted skirt pressed up over her hips, stockinged legs splayed out, offering up her cloistered pearl on the same bed her doppelgänger now used to defile her lover’s sodden slit.
That initial sexual interaction had been Šárka’s first. Ivana gently coaxed her dripping petals open, exploring her pink velvet with patience and care. Šárka bit down on the pillow while new sensations surged through her body. Her large nipples rubbed against her blouse, aching to be sucked. She remembered floating as if suspended in water. A chill. A flush. A heartbeat frozen in place. A tender kiss over her clit unleashed euphoria the likes she never knew, her body shuddering over Ivana’s masterful fingers, her tight walls gripping.
Šárka didn’t know what went wrong between them, nor why she was left to fester over long-lost pleasure while Ivana took her own with another.
“We’ll have to continue this later.” Ivana’s voice trickled over the bed.
The lovemaking came to a temporary lull. Ivana got up, her feet stopping next to Šárka at the door, and pulled out a simple creme-colored slip from the wardrobe. Gazing up at her lover, she could make out a series of scratch marks over her thighs and back before the slip covered them under a layer of smooth silk.
“What has that woman done to you?” thought Šárka.
Pinning up her dark locks, Ivana teased a solitary finger over her lip, “I’m going to put the kettle on. You should get dressed. I’d hate for you to catch a chill, my darling.”
Her words flowed out deep and seductive like they had all those months ago, rising from a well of passion. The doppelgänger merely stretched her agile body and purred, apparently more interested in the warm spot forming on the side of the bed closest to the window.
Šárka gazed up at her lover full of wide-eyed desperation as Ivana stepped over her and shut the door in her face.
“Alone with the imposter…” thought Šárka. She sunk on her haunches and growled, turning to face the woman who now licked her fingers triumphantly. Šárka’s eyes narrowed, “All I need is to prove to my Ivana that you and I are not the same. You are a fake. A filthy, feckless fake.”
With a satisfied hum, the doppelgänger clambered off the bed on all fours, ritualistically rubbing her head over the bedposts. She then crawled over to the wardrobe and repeated the foreign action, stroking the hard almond wood with her naked body before working her way over to the dumbfounded Šárka with a knowing glint in her golden eyes.
Filled with unspoken purpose, she rubbed against Šárka in the same manner. “She must be a foreigner from a far off land,” thought Šárka. Peach fuzz lining the strange woman’s legs grazed Šárka’s fur coat, making her shudder.
The woman appraised her, a smug expression plastered over every inch of her decidedly devious demeanor. Šárka felt marked, the smell of sex still lingering over the fake’s sweat-tinged flesh like cheap perfume. This woman wanted to make it clear she owned everything in the room, and Šárka’s legs buckled under the mysterious power this most uncanny of doppelgängers possessed over her.
Seemingly pleased with her handiwork, the woman stood up, wrapped herself with the soiled blanket she had mercilessly fucked Ivana over and left without a word, save one:
Šárka scampered out not far behind, determined to protect her lover from this monster.
In the kitchen, Ivana had already prepared a pot of tea, the mellow aroma of mint and chamomile a welcoming start to an otherwise unpromising day.
“If only we could discuss things, then surely she will see past this furry nonsense and recognize me for me,” thought Šárka.
In a valiant leap of faith, she vaulted herself onto the kitchen table, almost knocking over the fruit bowl and flower vase in the process.
“Číča, down!” scolded Ivana.
“You must listen to me,” Šárka pled. She tried to slowly enunciate each syllable, but her words garbled together, sticking to the roof of her mouth. A series of unintelligible, high-pitched mewls followed, “That shrew is a fake — a dangerous fake.” The doppelgänger silently slunk over to the table. “I’m just feeling under the weather…” Tail curled up in disapproval, Šárka pressed her backside up towards her look-alike, her cries more desperate, “Don’t look at her, look at me! I’ll save you. Tomorrow, when I’ve gotten proper rest, we ca–“