Charlotte let the rat grasp her waist and pull her to his side. She stumbled a little in her steep ballroom shoes, took hold of his shoulder to steady herself, and gazed down at her first ever sight of a nude male rodent.

His long, fleshy rat penis filled and pulsed upwards with raw, perverted lust for a feline daughter of the noble houses – a girl he should not desire, a predator he should respect. It reached its full height and throbbed there, taught and smooth to a tapered point, and he breathed deep, heavy, and hot at the revealing bodice of her ballgown.

She’d gripped the gown behind her from nerves, but pulled the parting aside now, baring her leg and her thigh to him with a bitten lip.

His seedy gaze followed, invited, and his grasp around the small of her back tightened, ushering her closer. She stepped into his hold and pressed her fluttering bosom to his bare chest, his touch rough and boorish through the delicate silk of the gown.

He chuckled a little and spoke, his gravel-deep voice seeming to come straight from his well-endowed balls. “Like wot ya see, Luv?”

She shivered at that voice – so rough, so unrefined – and couldn’t take her eyes off that tapering, low-born rat dick. The repugnant, yet strangely-alluring scent of rodent desire filled her nose. She inhaled his close scent too – the exciting spice of prey, but unwashed, behind grease and dirt from the kitchens.

She’d first caught sight of him behind the ballroom's buffet cart earlier in the evening – an ordinary servant rat belonging to the house. They’d locked eyes, he’d grinned, and she’d known instantly that her startled expression had shown him weakness. Opportunity.

She’d danced the evening away with suitors and nobles, dainty and skilled in the tall shoes and with eye-catching flourishes of her sexy, borderline-scandalous ballgown. The rat’s unwanted stare had followed her through every step, and when the dances had finished, she’d endured his open ogling from mere feet away as she’d mingled by the buffet. She’d caught him staring at her chest, her legs, her backside, even her feet – but he’d just smiled when she’d glared, and none of the men had noticed to put him in his place.

Now, he gripped her though the delicate silk of her dress, his claws pressed through to her feline fur. Why had she gone with this pervert, this letch, when he’d gestured for her to follow him at the end of the night, and led her through the house with her hip-swaying steps clacking after his filthy grin?

Her half-soaked silk panties and the burning itch against them was the humiliating answer. She bit her lip in shame and just ogled his pulsing cock, her heart fluttering, and let him ogle her body in return – his heavy gaze on her breasts, the open parting in her dress, her feline toes under the straps of her heels – wherever he wanted, as much as he wanted, to surge more lust for her into that filthy rodent dick of his.

He repulsed her at a deep, instinctive level; she couldn’t deny it. A female predator always had a strong taboo for seeing male prey as anything sexual. It would be humiliating and degrading for a her to give a rat even a single shiver pleasure from the stroke of her paw, or a lick from her rough tongue…

And yet…

Faintness washed over her as though she'd swoon, her legs aching from dancing in the heels and her knees weak. The thought of turning her back on her species, her upbringing, and her noble status? Of dropping to her knees and licking the sticky, reeking ooze from that length while the rat grinned down at her in gloating pleasure? It welled itching damp against the silk lingerie clinging tight to her and flushed heat though her abdomen.

Her heart raced in her chest. Her shocking, scandalous desire for that prey penis grew the more she stared at it, her tongue already pressed to her lips with the thought of drawing long licks along its underside and watching his reaction. She needed to look away, to preserve her dignity as a predator and a feline. But she just kept staring. Her knees were on the verge of bending to lower her to the floor. Was she really – really – about to do this?

The rat grinned at her lusty, breathy gaze and rocked his hips forward, jutting his cock up at her: vulgar, crass, and intoxicating with male confidence. “G’aan, Luv.” He licked his lips at her breasts and squeezed her through her dress. “It won’ bite.”