Musco could barely even think straight anymore.  His purring went from the tips of his ears down to the feet that scrabbled for purchase in the dirt.  Molly was fucking him right back with such force that he could only barely keep himself in place, let alone control the rate he ground himself into her.  He mewled weakly, his sandpaper tongue licking eagerly at the small of her back.  Her skin almost tasted as good as the milk, though salty and positively alive with desire.<br/><br/>His legs finally kicked up with claws fully extended, and he hooked his feet into her thighs to keep himself firmly in place.  Almost instinctively the claws in his hands dug in too, and he set about lapping up the blood that issued forth.  Musco was overcome with so many new sensations that his head swam.  The taste of blood and sweat against his tongue, the exultant feeling of molten flesh hugging his prick and gliding across his taut young muscles, and the deep pleasurable bellowing that reverberated through him as Molly reached each successive peak.  Truly a cat had never known such bliss!<br/><br/>There was a pressure rising in his abdomen that he just couldn't place, but for some reason it frightened him.  He didn't want it to build any further, but to stay exactly where it was so that the thrusting and mewling and intoxicating rush of fluid coating his creamy brown thighs could just continue on all afternoon without end.  He tried not to focus on it, instead scratching painfully at Molly's back and focusing on the heady scent of new blood.  The slapping of flesh against flesh.  The gushing of juices that ran down his thin legs down to the toes that dug into Molly's skin.  The moment was everything; the climax could wait.