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Jungle Law

By: armstrong_piet



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He'd made quick work of the poachers. Poachers in his territory never lasted long. He liked it like that. It meant the leopards he protected, claimed as his, were safe. Well, safer. Men with their guns and knives and lack of care for what they mutilated, killed, and destroyed were nothing but meat to him. Meat to be slaughtered. Not eaten, though. Never eaten. Left to rot as they left behind those of his kind, killed for their fur and little else. He had no patience for such destruction, and he had no mercy for the humans that infiltrated his forest.

In the midst of the attack, though, he'd lost sight of one of the culprits. Young with dark hair, slanted eyes, and a scent of pure fear that he remembered vividly. The boy had run from him, but the men had taken out their guns, shot at him, and he'd forgotten about the boy until it was all over. Still, the boy's scent was strong, intense, leading him along a mindless path through the dense, humid jungle. The boy was still here, somewhere, and he was determined to find the last interloper. He'd leave no poacher to return to the cities, to bring back tales of a vicious leopard that killed men.

No, no witnesses. If there were no witnesses, fewer hunting parties came looking for leopards. For him. He had to find the boy. At some point, the boy had washed his stink off in a little pool of water. The boy was clever, but that cleverness didn't help against a leopard. He could still smell the boy, potent and terrified, and then the boy's cleverness ran out.

Urine.

He could smell the sharp ammonia scent on a bush nearby. It was the third bush he'd smelled it on. This time, though, he also smelled blood. It would make the boy easier to find. Blood and piss. He followed the trail, moving silently through the dense underbrush, careful where each paw landed. He was close. Blood and piss and sweat now. Sweat didn't last as long on the air, so the boy was near. Probably by the lake. Fresh water was important, even to poachers. He'd find the boy there. His tail flicked impatiently as he stalked along an edge of water, the sun high and hot, the water inviting. But he ignored the water itself.

Piss and blood and sweat and vomit. Vomit and sour mushroom. The boy must have eaten one of the floor fungi. From the acidic edge he could scent, it was one of the blue-gilled ones. The boy, with or without his furious intervention, was on borrowed time. He almost wanted to leave the boy to suffer. His leopards hadn't been shown any mercy or peace, and so why should he offer them any? The boy would suffer a few days more before the mushroom's toxins took his life, and suffering...

He growled. If he did that, though, he'd be as cruel and terrible as the men who invaded his jungle. Damn it. Damn him. He followed the scent of vomit until he heard soft weeping, a rustling of dry vegetation. Cleverness, it seemed, had run out when hunger drove the boy to eat unsafe food. With a loud growl, he entered the small clearing, crouched low to the ground with his tail sweeping back and forth behind him, his teeth bared. The boy, writhing on a poorly made bed of fern fronds, saw him, cried out, and tried to scuttle back, but the pain wracking his body made it impossible.

The fear was thick on the air, and then the scent of urine struck him. The boy had wet himself. By all that was holy, this wasn't justice. It wasn't even a mercy killing. The pain in the boy's eyes—he couldn't be more than a year into his manhood—pulled at him. Compassion reared its inconvenient head, and he knew he wouldn't kill the boy. The boy wasn't a poacher. He wore clothing that was all but rags, and he was too skinny. Poachers, while lean, weren't skinny with hunger. This boy was. A tool, then. A tool that had been dragged into the forest without any knowledge of the flora around him. Now, that tool was his responsibility.

Another growl filled his throat, and he turned to run off into the forest. Dark would come soon, and he didn't have much time. It took him an hour to find the blue-gilled mushrooms. Near them, as was usually the case, grew the antidote. Hopefully, the boy hadn't eaten the mushrooms too long ago. In a fluid moment of thought, he shifted from leopard to man. Hands made cutting the vine easier. He used a sharp piece of rock from the forest floor, and then he took the vine and ran back through the jungle. If the boy was lucky, he'd make it in time to give him the antidote and light a fire. It would be cold tonight, and with how little clothing the boy had, he was surprised the creature hadn't died yet.

When he burst through the tree line again, the boy cried out once more, but when the boy saw him as man not beast, he relaxed. The boy said something, but he didn't understand. The language was wrong. Besides, he knew very little of the language spoken in his own lands, let alone a foreign tongue. He crouched beside the boy and used his nail to slice open the vine. He mimicked bringing the vine's slick interior to his lips, hoping the boy understood. The boy needed to eat the insides of the vine. Quickly. When the boy just looked at him, he growled and made the motion again, holding the inside of the vine up to the boy's mouth.

Understanding sparked in the boy's eyes at last, and his tongue darted out to lick at the vine. The boy recoiled an instant later, though, and his quick hand caught the dark hair and yanked the boy's head back toward him. He knew the slimy innards of the vine were bitter and unpleasant, but it was eat or die, and dammit, the boy was going to do as told. He growled and shoved the vine against the boy's lips, and even though the boy whimpered, he licked and chewed obediently. He chuffed and loosened his grip, moving the vine across to encourage the boy to eat more. When the boy tried to pull away sooner than he thought was wise, all it took was another yank, and that obedience returned, albeit with a groan of protest.

When the section of vine was eaten clean, he set the rest of the long coil aside and released the boy's hair with a satisfied hum. The boy said something again. It sounded like a question, but he had no answer for a question he couldn't understand. Instead, he just pressed his hand to the boy's chest, and then brought his palm to the ground. The boy spoke again, another question, but the boy pointed to himself and the ground, and it seemed he understood, so he just nodded with another purring hum before standing.

He had a lot of work to do and very little time to do it in. Nightfall was too close to waste time attempting more communication with the foolish boy. He went into the surrounding forest again in search of fallen wood. Only a few good logs were close to the lake, so he gathered them and set them down next to the human. The boy watched until another bout of sickness had him curled up on his side in pain. He needed more wood for a fire, though, so he abandoned the boy again, running to a tree he knew of that had once been struck by lightning. It was nearly overgrown, but the vines pulled away easily enough, and he ripped off a few branches, grateful the rains had been light enough to spare the brittle wood and bark from excess moisture.

Back near the lake, the boy was still curled up and groaning, but there was a new puddle of vomit nearby that made his nose crinkle. He'd have to force more of the antidote into the boy soon. As it was, he had gathered enough to start a fire and keep it going for a while. The rest of what he needed was hidden in the opposite direction, and after taking a few mouthfuls of water from the lake, he ran again, returning with a pack he had scavenged from poachers he had killed in the past. Most of what poachers carried was useless to him, but he didn't always stay in his feline form, and when he took the form of a man, there were some tools that made life infinitely easier. He had scattered the packs throughout his territory for convenience, but he hadn't thought he would ever use one to benefit some trespassing human.

The boy was sitting up again, and the initial fear at hearing his approach dissipated again with his appearance through the trees and vines. He set the pack down, and when the boy reached out for it, he growled. The boy probably didn't even know what to do with the contents. He spent a few minutes clearing the area and took out two containers and a pair of stones. He looked up at the sky and sighed. The sun was quickly setting, which meant their shelter would have to be simple for the night. The boy's eyes were on him most of the time, but he ignored him for the moment. He smeared a circle of semi-solid resin into a dip on a flat piece of wood and struck the two stones against one another until a spark ignited the resin. Building the fire was easy after that, and the scent of resin and wood smoke filled the area.

He spared a glance to the boy, who shifted closer to the heat of the fire with an odd combination of fear and awe in his eyes. The movements were awkward, a bit uncoordinated, and by the hue of the boy's skin, he suspected the boy had a fever. It meant another trip into the woods for a few herbs and barks, and he huffed his annoyance, pointing to a pile of larger sticks, which the boy handed to him when he held out his palm. He brought the boy lake water in a wooden bowl from the pack and set to making a proper shelter with a large piece of thick fabric which he tied up over the low-hanging branch of a tree right next to the fire. He used a vine to secure the middle of the fabric above them so they would be protected from rain in the night.

Just as the shelter was finished, the boy shifted away again. He only managed a couple feet before another bout of retching began. He sighed and pushed his own hair back from his face. It was going to be a very long night.

***

He hadn't managed any sleep by the time the night was half over. The boy's foolish appetite for poisonous mushrooms had seen to that much. Thanks to frequent bouts of vomiting, neither the vine's antidote nor a mash of herbs and bark to help the fever actually stayed inside the boy long enough to take full effect. By all things good and natural, he'd sired cubs that were less trouble! At least the severity of the vomiting was slowly tapering off. He had laid down a proper bed of broad leaves and fronds for them, but it was useless if the boy wasn't able to rest.

After a particularly unpleasant round of diarrhea from the boy that he had to bury—much like the vomit—the boy settled against him. By the lake, the air was cooler, and in his sleep, the boy shivered. He huffed a little, annoyed, and stood, changing his shape again from man to leopard. It was his preferred form, anyway. He was more leopard than man, and wearing the skin of a man was uncomfortable. At least as a leopard, he could keep the boy properly warm. He curled around the sleeping boy and licked at his shoulder and arm. The boy whimpered in his sleep, and then cuddled closer. He rested his head on the boy's filthy hair, and then fell asleep.

It was a pretty decent sleep until a scream woke him. The boy was on his feet, a dozen steps away from their shelter, and the sun was just beginning to warm the water. He stood up and growled. He was tired, and the boy was inconsiderate. He'd been quiet through the night, kept the boy warm. How dare the boy repay his kindness with screams and fear? If he'd wanted, he could have eaten the boy by now! Their fire had sputtered in the night, and his own belly rumbled with hunger. Fine. He would leave the boy to panic while he fetched food for them. Safe food.

Stupid screaming human.

He leaped from the clearing and headed into the thickness of the jungle. It took him a few hours to bring down one of the female peafowls, and even though he wanted to eat it immediately, he simply shifted back to the form of a man and picked up the dead bird. Another hour, and he'd managed to find mangoes, some bael fruit, two cashew fruits, some more of the antidote vines, and several tamarind pods. He thought he saw some palms that he could come back to later when the boy's stomach would be able to handle the more fibrous hearts. He returned with his bounty and found the boy in the water, washing himself. He couldn't blame the boy. After a night of unpleasant bodily fluids, he'd want to wash, too.

The boy looked up when he appeared through the tree line. Fear swirled in the dark eyes, but he didn't let it bother him. He put all the fruit down and took the peafowl to the water's edge. He crouched and began to pluck the feathers, eyes always darting back to the boy, watching him, ensuring he didn't slip beneath the surface and drown. Humans did that. He'd seen it happen. Just wander into strange waters and die because of their stupidity. How did the species manage to survive?

The scrawny human exited the lake just as he finished gutting the peafowl, and he washed it briefly in the water before gesturing for the human to follow him to the fire. He fed the flames back to a cheerful height, and then set up a stand that would hold a roasting skewer for the peafowl. He used the wooden bowl from his supply pack to catch the juices from the mango as he cut it open with the sharp end of a stone. He handed the bowl to the boy and motioned to his mouth. The boy seemed to understand. That, or he simply smelled the sweetness of the mango and knew without asking that it was safe to eat.

The boy ate voraciously, and he had to reach over and tug the bowl away for a moment, growling softly. He took a piece and demonstrated that the boy had to eat slowly. The stupid human was going to make himself sick all over again at this rate. He huffed his annoyance and took a large stone to try to break open the hard shell of the bael fruit. He soon had all the fruit prepared, and the peafowl sizzled above the fire as he turned it. The skin would be fatty and crispy. It seemed a waste of excellent meat, but he knew humans didn't like it raw.

The boy moaned softly with pleasure at the first bite of hot meat, and the sound brought him the smallest hint of satisfaction. There were murmured words that sounded appreciative, and he reached over to hold up one of the blue mushrooms the human had been foolish enough to eat. He pointed to the bounty of food around them and motioned to the boy's mouth with a nod and purr. He presented the mushroom as a contrast, crossing his arms and growling as he tapped it against the stupid human's forehead and tossed it back into the trees away from their shelter.

His message must have gotten across, because the boy turned a deep shade of red, and he could practically smell the rise of blood and heat, the scent of shame. Perhaps the boy could learn. He didn't have to be so weak, didn't have to be a tool to be taken advantage of by the poachers. Then again, he didn't want the boy around long enough to actually teach him all that. He frowned at the thought and sighed as he settled into his own seat and took a bite of meat. It was contrary to his usual diet, but in his human form, it tasted wonderful.

When the boy leaned over and kissed his cheek, he recoiled with surprise. As he stared down at the human, he was graced with a contrite, vaguely grateful smile. The boy leaned close to him again, and he didn't move away when he was gently kissed a second time on the cheek. It was a lingering touch, one that brought the human's natural scent to his nose. When he wasn't covered in vomit and excrement, the boy actually smelled good, and it brought the smallest of smiles to his face. He rubbed the side of his face against the boy's dark hair, which was soft now that it was clean and dry.

At least the boy recognized he had been foolish. At least he was grateful for the care he'd received. It almost made the boy worth the effort of saving and nursing back to health. Almost. They settled into their meal in a comfortable silence. The boy was scooping a few fuzzy seeds from the bael fruit when a spider scuttled across the ground in front of them. The silly human nearly threw the fruit in fear and reached for one of the sticks intended for the fire. He knew what the human was about to do with that stick, and he snatched it away with a growl, barking a wordless reprimand and putting the stick back on the pile before reaching out to delicately pick up the spider. It was a harmless creature, and the stupid boy's first instinct was to kill it? He glared at the boy and held the spider, letting it crawl over his alternating hands.

The boy nodded, but didn't reach for the spider. Good. What was with humans and the killing? If he wanted to kill, it was for survival, nothing more. These humans... they just killed. It made no sense. He let the spider scramble off back into the woods, and he turned his eyes back to the boy.

The boy patted his own chest. "Deshi." A look of frustration crossed his face as he pointed to himself again. "Deshi."

What was the boy saying? His brow furrowed as the boy repeated the gesture. Then it dawned on him. Deshi. The boy's name was Deshi. What a strange name. He pointed to himself. "Kaanan."

"Kaanan?"

"Kaanan." He pointed at the boy. "Deshi."

Deshi smiled at him. He felt a smile curve his own lips. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He didn't even know how to get the boy out of the jungle. This was his home. He didn't travel beyond his territory, and if he left, he couldn't be sure poachers wouldn't come in and take over. Which put him in a difficult position. Deshi was here. He couldn't take Deshi out. Deshi wouldn't be able to find his way out on his own. He huffed and tugged another piece of meat from the bone.

He was stuck with the boy.

Dammit.

***

There was precious little time when moving about as a human in the jungle. As a cat, he could have gotten more done in both the daylight and nighttime hours, but with Deshi around, he'd had to rely on his human form more. It was yet another annoyance, and it made him uncomfortable, but it didn't frighten Deshi as much to see him walking on two legs. He had compromised for nearly three phases of the moon now, almost a full cycle since he had picked up the scent of the poachers and started hunting them down. It was starting to wear thin on him, though. He longed to sharpen his claws against a tree, stretch and flick his tail, let out a proper chuff and growl as he enjoyed a meal raw. With Deshi demanding nearly constant attention, though, he didn't have the chance to shift except to hunt.

Now that Deshi was well again, the boy insisted on helping, and that meant that this excursion into the forest wasn't the hunt he would have preferred. He held out his hand, stopping Deshi behind him. "Wait," he rumbled over his shoulder, relieved to see Deshi nod and stop behind him. At least they had worked out a few words in each of their languages. It certainly wasn't enough to hold a true conversation, but Deshi had surprised him by being expressive with body language. There was intelligence there behind the dark, slanted eyes, but that knowledge seemed focused on things up in the air, things that were far removed from the earth and jungle and life.

He scented the air for a minute and motioned for Deshi to follow him. There was a particularly thick area of vegetation, and he led Deshi around it, using a machete he had taken after going back to fully loot the poachers' bodies. He smiled when they made it past the dense patch, and he pointed to a large tree with several roots growing downward from the branches. It was a beautiful, almost sacred tree to him, and its shade was a wonderful respite from the quickly building heat as the sun climbed higher in the sky.


Jungle Law



"F-food?" Deshi asked hesitantly in the local language.

If Deshi was uncertain he had said the word correctly, then he had nothing to worry about. He purred as he nodded at Deshi, cupping his hands into the shape of a fruit. "Yes. Food." He pointed upward and walked close to the tree, working his way up one of the aerial roots to a main branch. He sat on the branch, and when Deshi stared up at him with awe, he shook his head. The boy wasn't even going to attempt to climb up after him and help. He huffed and called down. "Deshi wait. Kaanan food." He motioned that Deshi should catch what he dropped, and he just hoped the boy wouldn't miss. He wanted more than smashed fruit to eat.

It took three tries before Deshi was able to catch the ripe figs he sent down from the boughs of the tree. Each time Deshi missed, he barked at him, glared, and sent another. Fourth time, Deshi caught the fruit and crowed triumphantly. He couldn't help but smile at that, and he moved from branch to branch, plucking ripe, sweet fruits and tossing them down to Deshi's waiting hands. By the time he shimmied down the roots and to the jungle floor, he was coated in sweat, his stomach rumbling. Deshi's shirt was cupped, filled with the figs, and the bright, eager smile on the boy's face brought an odd, pleasant warmth to his chest.

They sat beneath the fig tree eating the sweet fruit, only the occasional moan of enjoyment from the boy filling the air. The moans made him feel strange, a desire unfurling low in his body as Deshi ate the light meal. His eyes kept sliding toward the boy, kept watching as the pink tongue slid out to lick at juices running down a forearm. By the time Deshi began to lick fingers, he was oddly aroused, shifting his leg to hide the growing erection between his thighs. Deshi turned to him, his dark eyes bright and curious, but he seemed completely unaware of his companion's problem.

Deshi pointed at him. "Kaanan..." The boy sighed and swept his hand in front of him, motioning at the forest. "Home?"

Home. It was an odd word, but if Deshi was pointing at him, and then the jungle, then the boy had to be asking if this was where he lived. He nodded, barking out, "Home."

The boy smiled. "Man?"

He knew that word. Men were poachers. He growled, his upper lip lifting to bare his teeth. "No man."

"No man?" the boy repeated, his smile quickly turning to a frown. He grunted his affirmative, and the human sat in silence for a minute. He watched the subtle twitches and shifts of Deshi's expression as he digested the information, and when Deshi's eyes sought his again, he could tell there were many questions the boy didn't know how to voice.

He shook his head, growling a little more as he remembered the rage and despair of finding the leopards under his protection caught in snares and skinned, the rest of the beautiful cats mangled by the many scavengers of the forest. His hands trembled as he clenched them in his lap. He jumped a little when Deshi rested a hand atop his, giving him what he supposed was meant as an encouraging squeeze.

Deshi licked his lips and scooted closer. "Kaanan no man. Kaanan...?"

Ah, now they came to it. The way Deshi trailed off meant his true form was finally the question. He looked at Deshi, wondering if the boy had actually put some of the pieces together already. There were myths of beasts such as him, at least two in local lore that he could vaguely remember—snakes that were sacred to a local goddess and could shift to do her will, the king stag who protected all prey who took refuge in the sacred groves—but did Deshi know those myths? Perhaps Deshi's home had similar stories. He swallowed thickly, hesitating to admit his own identity. He couldn't trust just anyone, but the boy was stuck with him, dependent on him. He was tired of staying in human form so often; his skin itched to be allowed back into its furry state, and he hadn't relished a proper hunt in days.

It was selfish, but that decided it for him. He would tell Deshi if it meant being able to shift into his leopard form without Deshi going into another fit of hysterics. He leaned over, untangling his hand from Deshi's in order to grab a stick. He smoothed over a patch of dirt in front of them, and then drew his cat form. It was a simple drawing, probably far too simple, but it showed a four-legged creature with a tail. When he finished, he pointed with the stick. "Kaanan."

The scent of fear was unmistakable, but Deshi didn't scramble away from him or make one of those horribly shrill screaming sounds like when he saw him in feline form. Instead, Deshi's eyes merely darted back and forth between him and the little drawing. After a few seconds of silence, Deshi reached for the stick, and he gave it to Deshi without a fight. Deshi leaned over the drawing and poked the tip of the stick into the form over and over. It looked like he was giving the little figure spots, and Kaanan fought not to smile as Deshi looked up at him and rasped out, "Kaanan?"

He nodded, and Deshi stared at him before nearly bursting into what sounded like birdsong. Too many words all strung messily together in a quick twittering that nearly made him wish he hadn't given away his secret. "Deshi... Deshi! Wait!"

The order instantly made Deshi quiet like he'd wanted, but the wounded look on Deshi's face tugged at something in his chest, and he petted the boy's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He held up another fig in apology, offering it to Deshi with a small smile. "Food. Kaanan home, Deshi home."

A smile graced Deshi's lips. It seemed his message had gotten across. Deshi was welcome here. He wouldn't let any harm come to Deshi while Deshi was under his protection. Deshi leaned into him as they resumed eating their figs, and he couldn't help but smile when Deshi tried to rub against his shoulder like a cat might. Yes, there was intelligence in Deshi's mind, even if some human habits needed to be relearned to respect the forest. A soft purr lilted from him, and he ate until his belly was full, promising himself that he would hunt that night for something more substantial.

***

He was sprawled out on a large rock near the lake it seemed they'd claimed as theirs. His tail thwapped gently against the stone, his eyes always on Deshi. The boy moved slowly through the shallows of the lake, staring into the clear water. When he'd come back from the morning hunt in his true form, Deshi hadn't batted an eyelash. The acceptance had warmed something inside him that hadn't been warmed in a very, very long time. It worried him. No human should mean as much to him as Deshi did. Still, the moment Deshi crowed, holding up a sleek, silvery fish in his hand, an intense wave of pride washed over him. The boy was learning.

Of course, Deshi had no idea how to handle the fish now that he'd caught it. It meant he needed to shift and become a man once more so he could demonstrate what needed to be done. He huffed softly, and then rose, padding toward Deshi. With a thought, four paws became two feet, and he stood behind Deshi, watching the boy bring a rock down on the fish's head. It was a quick blow, the life ended in the blink of an eye, and he was glad to see the lack of hesitation in Deshi's movements. The first time Deshi had caught a fish, the boy had balked at him until he'd growled, barked at him, and then Deshi had made a mess of the fish with his rock. This time, it was quick, efficient, and little of the fish would go to waste.

"Deshi."

Deshi turned, a little worry in his eyes. "Kaanan."

"Good." He smiled, the expression awkward on his lips, but the boy seemed to respond well to the non-aggressive baring of teeth. He pointed to the fish. "Deshi hunted fish."

"What now?" Deshi asked, holding up the fish.

He crouched in the shallow water and motioned for Deshi to do the same. "Clean. Make ready food." He offered Deshi a sharp stone from the ground and motioned along the fish's belly. "Cut. Take insides out."

He watched as Deshi obediently gutted the fish and followed his instructions to scrape off the scales and remove the bones. His language was still broken, but it seemed Deshi was bright enough to understand, even with his limited vocabulary. A purr rumbled up out of him by the time Deshi had skewered the pieces of fish and placed them over their fire. Deshi didn't need any help in tending the fire or positioning their food to cook, and it made pride bloom inside him. The boy was learning quickly.

Deshi took one of the pieces of fruit they had brought back to camp and sliced it. When Deshi offered him a piece, he didn't refuse, taking the bit of fruit and chewing happily. The sweetness of it was still strange to him, but it felt much more natural to enjoy the sweet in his human form than as a cat. All he hungered for as a cat was a good cut of raw meat.

One piece of the fruit led to another, and then another, but when he reached for the fourth, Deshi pulled it back before he could grasp it. He frowned and reached again, but Deshi chuckled and kept the slice of fruit just out of reach. "Open," Deshi ordered softly, pointing to his mouth.

His frown deepened, but he did as Deshi said, opening his mouth a little. Deshi placed the fruit past his lips himself. It was a little awkward, and he didn't understand the significance of such a ritual. The only time he had ever fed another was when his cubs were too young to feed themselves. He chuffed at Deshi. "Kaanan not weak like cub."

Deshi's cheeks turned a vibrant pink at that. "No. I see Kaanan," Deshi breathed, gesturing to help add meaning to his words. His name was spoken with Deshi's hands cupped outward at his forehead like feline ears. "Kaanan strong... smart... beautiful."

Each word was given a motion, but the last one made no sense to him. He tilted his head, trying to understand. "What beautiful?"

He watched Deshi's face flush up, and the scent of arousal pricked at his nose as Deshi motioned to different things around them. "Fire. Water. Sky. Kaanan beautiful."

It was a compliment, then, one that obviously meant something special to Deshi. And Deshi was saying it not only about his human form, but about his natural feline form. He couldn't help but purr at that, and when Deshi offered him another piece of fruit, and then bites of the fish from their roasting sticks, he allowed Deshi to place it into his mouth without a fuss. It was when Deshi's fingers were replaced by Deshi's lips that he finally tensed again, staring at his human companion.

Deshi pressed his fingers to his lips again. "Kiss."

"Kiss." He knew that caress of lips to lips. He'd had female mates in the past. There had even been two males in his long history of protecting this forest. None of them, though, had been part of a poacher's party. Deshi had come with the humans who had intended to take the skins of his brethren. He shifted, frowning. "Killer. Came with killers of the cat," he said. "Kill the beautiful."

Horror filled the boy's face. "No!" Deshi shook his head. "Killers bought me."

He frowned, growled. Bought? What did bought mean? "Tell Kaanan."

Deshi huffed. "Mother, Father, owed coin. They had no coin. They had me. Sold me to killers."

Bartering he could understand. Debt owed and coin scarce. He remembered a distant winter when he'd gone into a village for supplies he'd been desperate for. He'd needed to give something in order to receive the supplies. What Deshi was saying, though, meant that the boy's own parents had used Deshi as the coin to fulfill the debt owed. What debt was so great that parents would barter their own child to killers? "What debt?"

"Food."

A child for food? "Food?"

"Food. Village starving. Needed food. Traded food for me." Deshi tossed a stick into the fire. "Village had food then."

Food for child. Probably with a promise that the child would be well taken care of. He growled. "Deshi worth more than food."

Deshi flushed. "I am?"

He nodded. "Yes. Deshi smart. Quick." He looked Deshi over, trying to see him with an eye for pleasure. "Pretty."

"Pretty?" Deshi laughed, the sound pleased, amused. "Kaanan beautiful, Deshi pretty."

"Yes," he declared.

Deshi scooted closer to him again. "Kiss?"

He held Deshi's gaze, considering. Kiss often led to mating. Did Deshi want to mate? Was that what this was? "Kiss. Rut?"

"Rut?"

Ah, a new word. He sought a different word, but he knew no other, and so he drew in the dirt by the fire. It was a crude, simple image, but to the point. "Rut."

Deshi looked as if he'd spent too much time in the sun, his face was so red. The boy stared at picture, and then nodded once. "Kiss. Rut."

He purred. It wouldn't be terrible, and he was fond of Deshi. The boy was important to him now. He nodded. "Yes."

This time, when Deshi leaned close and sealed their lips together, he was prepared. It had been a very long time since he last kissed and rutted as a human, and even longer since he'd mated with another male, but he remembered well enough. Cupping Deshi's face with both hands, he pulled the boy closer and deepened the kiss, tasting the musky spice of him mixed with the jungle fruits that had been their morning meal. The flavor was a little strange, but appealing, and he purred when Deshi emitted a sound halfway between surprise and outright encouragement.

What he had said before about Deshi had been true. Deshi was pretty for a human, and the sounds that kept coming from the boy as they continued to kiss were also pretty, not feminine by any means, but still submissive enough to send a distinct tingle through his body. He let one hand wander down Deshi's body, and when he encountered the cloth covering Deshi's groin, he tugged at it until it gave way. Deshi wasn't very large in his palm, but he was hard, and that was more than enough for Kaanan.

With a needy growl, he picked Deshi up and, despite much unnecessary wiggling on Deshi's part, deposited him onto their makeshift bed. Deshi stared up at him with wide eyes, and he scented the slightest hint of fear amidst the human's potent arousal. He frowned. Why was there fear? He wasn't biting or clawing. To his mind, he was on his best behavior, so why did Deshi stare up at him like that? He chuffed when a thought occurred to him.

"Wait," he told Deshi before grabbing one of the packs they had looted off the dead poachers. It took a little rummaging, but he purred triumphantly when he found the flask of oil he had remembered seeing. The humans used it to clean their weapons, but it didn't smell bad, so it would do.

The boy was staring up at him with wide eyes, and lust mingled with fear in the air. Both made his body hungry for Deshi's, and he knelt between Deshi's legs once more. It was awkward, kissing while he oiled his fingers, but it seemed to ease the sense of worry in Deshi. If face to face and kissing were what the boy needed, he wasn't going to deny him. Within moments, he had wormed a finger inside Deshi's tight body. Very tight body, and the way Deshi was screwing up his face... He frowned, tilted his head, and stilled his finger's probing until Deshi opened his eyes. Deshi was covered in sweat, panting, flushed. He fought for a word to give Deshi, to clarify what he was pretty sure they both knew.

There. That word. "New?"

Deshi swallowed visibly and averted his eyes, but gave a nod. The boy hadn't ever been with another. Deshi was giving that to him. He slowly smiled and captured Deshi's lips in a sweeter, less savage kiss. It was a promise. He wouldn't just take and rut. This was special, even among his own kind. There weren't many of his kind left, guardians of these forests and jungles and the animals within them, but when they did meet, breed, if one was untouched, then care was taken to ensure the mating was gentle. He began to move his finger inside Deshi once more, gradually shifting in and out until he was filling Deshi with the full length of it.

The sounds the boy made! Between the soft, wet kisses and the unskilled fumbling of Deshi's hands on his body, the sounds offered up were sweet, submissive, and sparked the protective cat inside him. No one would harm Deshi. Deshi was his. If not forever, then for now, and if the boy ever went back among the idiotic humans, then he would remember the jungle cat that had possessed him for this little while.

One finger became two, and he left Deshi's lips for his nipples, licking and nipping at them until the boy cried out. Fingers dove into his hair, tugged, and he grinned against Deshi's flesh. Muscles clung to his fingers, teased his senses. The heat of Deshi's body pulled at him, made him want to be restless, but the little whimpers of pained need forced him to remain slow in his foreplay. It was a reminder to him of how important connection was, how lonely he'd been before he'd found Deshi. The boy wasn't like the poachers, wasn't like other humans at all, and he stared down into the young face twisted with pleasure in awe. He might not understand most words out of Deshi's mouth, or Deshi understand his, but they'd come this far. Deshi knew his true form and still kissed him. Still wanted him.

Deshi's body gave way ever so slightly around his fingers, and he took that as a sign that Deshi was ready, or at least as ready as one could be the first time. He knew it wouldn't be easy for Deshi, that it wouldn't be comfortable, but there was little more he could do to prepare Deshi for their joining. A rumble of a purr escaped him as he licked his way back up to Deshi's lips. He shifted until the tip of his sex nudged at Deshi's entrance, and he drizzled a little more oil into his palm to slick himself liberally with a low moan. Deshi looked up at him, and the boy's hands tightened in his hair and at his shoulder as he eased forward.

He watched as pain and shock moved over Deshi's face, and the whimpering cry that came from the boy's throat was one of the most beautiful things he'd heard in so long. There were countless birds and beasts in the jungle, and each had its song to the creators, a special sound it made in moments like these. The sound of innocence being lost was a sacred thing, something he would hold close and cherish, even if Deshi never knew.

His first thrust forward was slow, gentle. Even though the pressure was exquisite around him and all he wanted was to bury himself in a single snap of his hips, he kept a tight hold on his control. He refused to move too quickly as Deshi cried out and clung to him with trembling hands. "Wait," he breathed against Deshi's lips, keeping their eyes locked. It was his only advice, the only word he could think to say. Wait for it to get better. Wait for Deshi's body to adjust. It would only take a minute or two for most of the pain to subside. "Wait."

A soft, pained sound fluttered against his lips, but he felt Deshi nod, and he smiled as he offered the boy another kiss. It was something he could do to distract from the pain as he rested against Deshi's body, joined with him as deeply as possible. Deshi was hot, tight around him—so very tight—and it took all his willpower to stay there for another minute, tasting the need on Deshi's lips. When he shifted, made that first true thrust, Deshi gasped against him, and he growled possessively. Deshi was his, and he would make this first time count, make it a memory that would see them both through the future, even if that future pulled them apart.

He set a slow, rocking rhythm. No matter how hard he tried to be gentle, he knew a bit of pain was inevitable, but the sounds that came from Deshi slowly changed. The pain he could hear went from bright to muted, and then it mixed with something deeper, something more desperate. The boy's nails dug into him, but instead of weakly pushing him away, Deshi yanked him closer, into a kiss more passionate than the others had been.




Jungle Law



He growled low in his throat, and Deshi shuddered under him. They didn't need words. Sounds, scents, and heated glances told him far more than any new word could. Deshi whimpered when he shifted their position a little, and then the boy cried out with the next thrust. He couldn't help but grin ferally into the next kiss.

In the humid warmth of the jungle floor, he took Deshi, pleasure and possession dancing through his senses. Everything else fell away. His world narrowed to the sweet moans and thick musk they created together. He tried to draw it out, but the gripping tightness of Deshi's body worked against him. The fire of release rolled through him, gaining strength the longer he rocked into the boy. Deshi was firm against his belly, and he gathered his wits long enough to snarl, reach between them, and take Deshi's cock in his hand.

Deshi arched, shouted, and clawed his nails down his back. The potent scent of seed filled the air, twined with pleasure and pain within him, and the sheer joy the boy took in the coupling shoved him over the gaping precipice. He came with a roar, his hands gripping with bruising force at Deshi's hips. After a moment of bright tension, he collapsed against the boy, panting, his head still spinning. He didn't know if it was the heat of the forest or the lingering ecstasy from the rutting, but he didn't care. He felt wonderful. Deshi's fingers began to comb through his hair, and he couldn't keep his purr quiet.

He lifted his head after a moment and licked from Deshi's collarbone, up his throat, to his lips. The silly smile on the boy's face caused something to tighten in his gut. He purred a little louder and licked over Deshi's lips. "Deshi well?" he asked, the words trilling with his purr.

The flush gracing Deshi's cheeks darkened just a little. "Yes, I'm well."

"Good."

He wrapped his arms around Deshi as he pulled his softening cock from him. After pulling Deshi against him, he nuzzled his ear. Sleep clawed at him. The heat, his full belly, and their spent passions conspired against him and demanded a mid-afternoon nap. Since Deshi seemed to be in the same boat, he decided not to fight it. He'd hunt when they woke up, and he easily fell into dreams of running through the forest on four legs with Deshi at his side.

***

The scent of the forest had changed. It was a subtle thing he might not have noticed if he had spent all his time as a human. Luckily, with Deshi so receptive to his feline form, he had been hunting each day as a cat, only shifting into a man when Deshi desired a little conversation or rutting. They had fallen into a routine that allowed him more time as a cat. This seemed to be yet another reason to be grateful for Deshi's understanding. As he stalked through the undergrowth and brush of the forest, he sniffed the air again. It was slight, but as a breeze moved hotly through the semi-darkness of the jungle beneath the canopy, he caught a whiff of it.

Humans. Oh, he couldn't smell them yet—not from this distance—but he knew the changes that signaled humans approaching. From the odd birdsong above him to the scents of other animals changing their marking and hunting patterns. Beasts only changed those habits when new, powerful hunters were suddenly introduced to the area, and there was no predator more dangerous than the human.

He spared a thought for Deshi before deciding to track the humans. If there were more poachers approaching, it was best he take care of them himself so Deshi wouldn't be bothered. Close enough to cause the changes around him was closer than he liked to the den he'd made with Deshi by the lake. With Deshi out gathering more figs, he knew exactly where the boy would be for the next few hours. That comforted him, enabled him to hunt the poachers without the distraction of worry.

They weren't difficult to find. Tracking the changing scent to its source only took patience, and he had that in abundance. His ears and tail twitched when he scented the distinct musk of them, followed closely by the first sounds of human voices. The voices were joined by the sound of metal impacting the ferns and trees. The humans had weapons, then. Large ones, from the metallic clangs that raked over his ears. He growled low in his throat as he sat and waited downwind, shifting only to track their path.

It was perhaps another hour before they did as he feared they would, moving along the same path the poachers had taken into his territory. He would have frowned if his feline face were capable of the expression. Why were they following that path so closely? It was almost as if they weren't tracking prey at all, and that was odd for poachers, odd enough for him to creep closer for a better look at the party.

He was careful, remaining downwind as he silently aligned his path with theirs, glimpsing them through the trees and vines. His eyes narrowed as he took in the appearance of the group. They were clothed appropriately for the forest, but weren't armed to the teeth like poachers. They had devices he had never seen before, and they didn't reek of blood and anger. If they had hunted, they had done so carefully, or infrequently enough, for it to have been only for food.

It took him a minute to identify what he was looking at, but the realization finally hit him like a blow to his sensitive belly. This was a searching party. They were probably looking for the poachers' remains, perhaps even looking for Deshi. His tail drooped a bit at that thought, and he felt a pit begin to form in his gut. If they were looking for the boy, then the kind thing to do would be lead them to him. Deshi might have begun learning to take care of himself, but the deep wilds of the jungle were not Deshi's home. This was his home, his world, and the boy had just fallen into it with those poachers. This was Deshi's chance to return to his own world, maybe even to his family now that he was free of the poachers.

The thought of losing Deshi nearly stopped him in his tracks, nearly sent him running away from the party of humans, but he couldn't just leave the humans to wander. They would find nothing, and eventually give up and return wherever they came from, but could he live with himself if he forced Deshi to stay? Could he live with himself if he selfishly kept the knowledge of this search party to himself?

He deftly moved through the jungle again, this time, he intentionally made noise. It took the idiot humans several minutes to catch the sounds, to begin following his trail. They would call out after every noise he made, but he kept leading them along. Any other beast would know it was being led, but not the humans. They believed themselves to be the top of the food chain. If they'd seen what he'd left of the poachers, maybe they'd be a little more wary of sounds in the jungle. For now, their arrogance served his purpose, and he made sure his tail and paws left markers behind for the humans to follow.

The closer he drew to the copse of fig trees, where Deshi's scent was strongest to his nose, the doubt began to claw at him. Did he truly want to give the boy up? Deshi was his, wasn't he? He'd taken the boy in, ensured he'd survived, even taught him about the food and forest itself here. Yes, should Deshi return with the humans, his life would return to the pattern it had, protecting the leopards as a leopard once more, but... was it enough anymore? He loved the leopards, loved the jungle, but Deshi... did he also love Deshi?

It didn't matter. The jungle wasn't the boy's place. Deshi should be with his own kind, thriving with a wife and children, working fields and growing old in the safety of a village. The forest was unsafe, and he needed to protect the leopards; Deshi made it difficult for him to think of anything other than Deshi. He growled softly the minute the boy came into sight, and the smile Deshi offered him—his arms full of ripe figs—nearly broke his heart. The humans weren't far behind, and he had to make sure they found the boy.

"Kaanan!" Deshi rushed to him. "Figs all over."

He chuffed and looked over his shoulder as he heard another shout from the humans. The boy's head snapped up, his brow furrowed as he looked out into the jungle.

"Kaanan?" Deshi asked, dark brown eyes darting to him.

He couldn't explain, but padded around Deshi and gave him a hard nudge with his head.

"Humans." The boy turned around. "Humans coming!"

He chuffed again and nodded as best he could. Yes, humans were coming. They were coming for Deshi. The boy glared at him, and he decided staying as a leopard wouldn't help explain to Deshi. He willed the body of the cat away, replacing it with the body of a man, and then he opened his eyes and stared at Deshi. "Go with humans."

Deshi's eyes widened, the almond shape of them disappearing with how much white showed around the expressive, dark depths. "No!" Deshi gasped, dropping all the figs to the forest floor and gripping him tightly by the forearms.

Kaanan frowned at him. Why was Deshi panicking? "Deshi go with humans. Home with humans."

Deshi's grip on him tightened, and Deshi shook him, actually shook him. The boy's voice was soft, though, hushed as if he were afraid speaking would alert the approaching search party. "No! Home not with humans. Send them away, Kaanan!"

Send them away? After leading them all the way here, Deshi wanted him to lead them away again? He growled in his confusion, glancing behind Deshi at the trees that still stood between them and the humans. "Deshi not want humans?"

"No, I don't want the humans. I don't want to go!" Deshi released him, but the boy stepped in half a dozen directions, obviously unsure what to do or where to run.

It made no sense, but he knew they had to act quickly. He gripped Deshi's shoulder tightly enough to make him stop moving about like a bug stuck in a spider's web. "Tree. Climb. Now."

"Kaanan..."

"Go!" Kaanan hissed, pushing Deshi toward a suitable tree and scattering the gathered figs so they weren't such an obvious marker. He followed Deshi up the tree and motioned for Deshi to climb higher, supporting the boy when he hesitated to go higher. He hugged Deshi against the trunk of the tree when he heard the humans break through the tree line of the more wild forest surrounding the fig trees. They were high enough for the branches and foliage to mask them, but Deshi's skin was so pale that he did his best to cover the boy's limbs with his own, just in case the humans happened to look up.

He could feel Deshi's heart pounding, could scent the fear on him. The boy began to open his mouth to speak, but he pressed his finger to Deshi's lips, simply whispering into Deshi's ear. "Safe. Wait."

Below, the humans milled around. He couldn't understand their words. The language was fast, trilling to his ears. They looked up into the canopy, but only briefly, and then they were moving on. The humans turned from the direction of the home he'd made with the boy, wandered deeper into the forest. He waited until his muscles ached and sweat dripped down his back, and then he began to shimmy down. He tugged at Deshi, encouraged him to follow. Once they were on the ground once more, he pointed toward their home. "Go. Wait."

"Kaanan!" Deshi hissed. "Talk."

"Go. I will follow humans. Keep them away." It was so strange using that singular word, but he understood it now. "Go. Wait."

Deshi glared at him once more, and then turned toward their camp, ran through the brush. With a thought, he shifted from man to cat and, on four paws, ran after the humans. He snarled, growled, circled them, frightened them. The humans shot their rifles, shouted in their odd language, but he was faster than they were. He chased them, drove them far from the home he'd made with the boy. If Deshi wanted to stay, if he and this forest were now Deshi's home, then he would ensure no one came close enough to threaten them.

It was almost nightfall when he padded from the tree line to the soft, sandy land their home was built upon. The boy had already started a fire, and the scent of cooking fish flesh tickled his nose. He growled, and Deshi's head snapped up from watching the fish on the fire. The boy's cheeks were damp, and it broke his heart that he'd made Deshi cry. He padded over and nosed Deshi, licked at salty cheeks.

"Kaanan." Deshi stroked his fingers through his fur. "You would have sent me away." Desperation tinged the boy's voice, and he licked at Deshi's face again. "Do you not love me anymore?"

Love? Love. He loved the leopards. He loved the jungle. He loved Deshi! He chuffed, stepped back, and shifted from leopard to man. "Deshi," he said, voice gruff, thick with emotion. "I... love Deshi."

"Then why send me from our home?" Deshi demanded, giving his chest a weak shove. "Why bring humans to our home?"

He frowned. How could he explain it all to Deshi in words Deshi would understand? "Deshi human. Deshi home always with humans. Lost in Kaanan's home. I hear humans; I think humans help you. Be Deshi's home again."

Deshi sniffled and shook his head. "Deshi's home not with humans. Deshi's home with Kaanan. With you. I want my home to be with you!"

Heat moved through Kaanan, settling in his chest and belly. He tightened his grip around Deshi, not letting Deshi's weak protests succeed in separating them. Why did Deshi say he wanted to be close, but then push him away? It didn't make any sense to him. What made sense was the love he felt, that warmth and desire to keep Deshi safe and close to him. He tried to think of the correct words, form them in his head before speaking them carefully. "I... want Deshi—" He paused for a moment, trying to use the words Deshi was teaching him. "I want you... to stay."

Deshi stopped struggling against him, and he leaned in to lick away a couple more tears as they fell down Deshi's cheeks. "I stay, you teach, and I learn?" Deshi asked, his voice soft. When he leaned in close to sniff along Deshi's skin, he smelled that sweet fear again, the kind that was softer than survival. It was more like hope. Deshi was hoping for his answer.

He purred as he smiled, brushing Deshi's hair back from his face. "Yes. Deshi stay and learn." He liked that thought. "I protect you."

"No bringing humans back," Deshi said, leaning into his touch.

"No more humans," he promised in return. Deshi smiled faintly. The boy brought a hand up to stroke along his chest, and his eyes closed for a moment. "Deshi help protect cats."

Deshi's smile broadened. "Yes. Protect Kaanan, cats, and jungle."

It was a sweet promise, one he knew Deshi could hardly keep. The boy was perhaps a hundred pounds soaking wet. But that Deshi wanted to... that was worth everything to him. He took Deshi's mouth in one of those hungry kisses the boy liked so much, and he pulled their bodies together. Deshi fit in his arms as if he'd been made for him, and he couldn't help but deepen the kiss. Soft sounds of want filled the kiss as Deshi moved against him, and he quickly bore Deshi to the ground.

With a swipe of his large hand, the cloths they used to cover themselves were cast aside. He let his weight settle against the boy, and he thrust, rubbing their bodies together as he devoured every little whimper and cry Deshi offered him. It was base and hungry, careless and thoughtless, and he would have simply turned Deshi onto his belly and taken him if Deshi hadn't stopped him in the middle of doing just that.

"Wait!" Deshi panted. He frowned as he watched Deshi crawl to their shelter, motioning for him to follow. He growled, stalking into the simple hut, and Deshi waited, holding up the small clay pot of oil they'd been adding to each time he'd found some coconuts. "I don't want to hurt," the boy murmured, kneeling on the pad of grasses they used for a bed.

He growled and chuffed, joining Deshi on their mat. He took the jar from Deshi. "Kaanan will not hurt you," he swore before drawing Deshi into another heated kiss.

Deshi melted against him, slowly crawling back into his lap. It was like the boy accepted his promises without a moment's hesitation. To be given such faith, such utter trust and submission, was one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs he'd ever experienced. He wouldn't betray that trust. Deshi was his, and he would take care of the boy, tonight and always, be it lovemaking or teaching Deshi to hunt and gather.

He wrapped an arm around Deshi and dipped the fingers of his other hand into the small pool of oil in the pot. He curled his tongue around Deshi's, nipped his lower lip, and reveled in the soft, desperate sounds Deshi gave in return when he brought his fingers to the boy's hole. He pushed two fingers inside without too much trouble and made swift work of spreading the oil, adding a bit more to his fingers before pressing a third digit inside Deshi as well. The foreplay was delightful, and the way the boy moved against him was almost sinful.

"Kaanan," Deshi whimpered, burying his face against his neck. He purred, nuzzling and nipping at Deshi's earlobe to try to distract from the momentary discomfort. They so rarely needed words in moments like these, and he liked it that way. It allowed scent and touch and taste to become just as important, and he could feel when Deshi began to open to him, relax into the gentle thrusts of his fingers.

It was when Deshi's hand snaked between them and stroked him lightly that he groaned. A low, possessive growl escaped him as he nudged the pot of oil toward Deshi. The boy needed no more instruction after that, oiling a small hand. Deshi's grip was blissfully slick after that, and he shuddered, shifting up into Deshi's hand. He could easily have spent himself just like that, but as his need became more acute, he pulled Deshi closer and positioned himself, unwilling to wait any longer.

Deshi sat back onto him with a cry, and he stared up at the boy, the line of his neck, the arch of his beautiful body as they joined. If there was pain for Deshi, it must have been lost under the rush of pleasure for the boy to make such sounds. He arched his own neck, nipping his way up Deshi's throat and jaw until their lips closed in another consuming kiss.

With the slightest encouragement of his hands, Deshi began to move against him. The boy rocked in his lap, and the movement brought a growl rumbling up out of him. Every sound he made was devoured by Deshi's eager lips. As Deshi adjusted to him, the rocking turned into bouncing, and kissing became impossible as Deshi moaned and moved on him.

Despite the boy's eagerness, he grew frustrated. The cat within him wanted to take, to lay claim to its mate, and with Deshi astride him, it was impossible to fulfill that need. He snarled, bit at Deshi's throat, and then rolled their bodies. In the blink of an eye, Deshi was sprawled across their sleeping mat, and he was buried balls-deep inside the boy's squirming body. Deshi's cry echoed in his ears, and he licked at the indention left by his teeth. He gave them both just a moment to gain their bearings, and then he let the cat have sway.

His hips were powerful, his thrusts hard and fast, and his mouth left several bright marks behind on Deshi's throat. Deshi was wanton beneath him, nails scratching down his back, urging him onward. The scent of sweat, musk, and coconut filled his nose. Teeth and tongues, nails and the squeeze of thighs, everything compounded to drive him mad with need. The boy's shouts and whines did nothing to help him bite back the oncoming storm of pleasure building within him. He took Deshi's mouth in another searing kiss, and he felt the boy's hand worm between their bodies. He opened his eyes, gazed down at Deshi's flushed, damp face, and when he saw his own pleasure mirrored in those dark eyes, he let himself go.




Jungle Law



He collapsed against Deshi, his yowl of completion fading in his own ears, and Deshi's body was still quivering around him. His flesh was sensitive, and he whined, licking at Deshi's lips as they came down from the high of release together. The scent of their come mingled in the air, and the smug satisfaction he felt in that moment couldn't be topped by anything else. He began to purr, and Deshi's fingers combed through his hair, caressed his sweaty brow and cheeks. He grinned down at the boy, all teeth and pride, and Deshi laughed breathlessly up at him.

"I love you," Deshi said.

He chuffed and nipped the inside of Deshi's wrist. "I love you."

They may not have had many words to express themselves yet, but those three were the most important. They were understood without any explanation, without any need for fumbling, and they were the ones that bound them together more tightly than any others. They loved their jungle. They loved their cats. They loved each other. Together, they'd defend the leopards against the poachers, and as he settled beside Deshi, held him close in his arms, he couldn't think of a better path to walk.

THE END



Jungle Love



Lionel and Veronica had been dating for almost four months and he was starting to think that maybe she was the one. He had liked many girls in his twenty-three years, loved a few, but never like this. Veronica was perfect. Oh, sure, he could have found a thinner girl, or a prettier one, or one with bigger tits, but they would not have begun to compare to Veronica. She was a blend of almost ideal physical features and a sharp, witty and sometimes dark mind. She was exactly what he had been looking for all his life.

It was a late, dark winter night, but they were cozy and warm, curled up together in front of a roaring fire while a thick blanket of snow fell soundlessly outside their cabin. It was only a few miles outside of town, but you would think it was deep in the wilderness for all the visitors they got. That suited Lionel just fine. He was sort of a solitary guy anyway, and he loved having Veronica all to himself.

"Hey, sweety," he asked suddenly. "You ever think about getting married?" He had been thinking about it for a week straight.

"Sure, I suppose everyone does," she answered. Then surprise dawned on her face. "Oh, you mean to you?" He nodded. "Yes. Are you asking me?" He gave her his trademark lopsided grin.

"I was thinking about it. I wanted to know what you thought first." She took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

"Always so considerate. I think it sounds great. But maybe we should take it slow. Get to know each other better." Lionel felt his smile twitch toward a frown, but he pulled it back into place.

"I know I love you. Isn't that enough?" She kissed him again.

"Of course, but don't you want to know my secrets?" He almost laughed.

"What secrets could you possibly have?"

"Did you know, when I was in junior high, I stole my step-brother's car and wrecked it into a tree?"

"Well, no, but it doesn't matter. I love you anyway." Now she laughed.

"I never meant for you not to. I just want you to know everything about me and I want to know everything about you." He smiled, but it felt so fake. Would she still love him if she knew? He was afraid not. "So, tell me a secret. Tell me something you did as a kid that you never told anyone about."

"Well," he started, thinking. "When I was eleven I threw a rock through the window of my English teacher's house."

"So? Lots of kids do that."

"The rock broke not only the window, but also a priceless Ming vase."

"Oh. OK, my turn. Ask me something." He smiled deviously.

"What is your darkest, most perverse sexual fantasy?" Either she would refuse to answer, ending her little game, or it would lead to a bout of vigorous love-making, accomplishing the same thing. He watched her face flush bright red.

"You are such a dirty boy," she said. "I've never told anyone that, I never intended to tell anyone that, but if we are to be married, I suppose you should know." She lowered her voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "I once read an erotic story about a woman who let her cat lick her, and ever since, I've wondered what it would be like." He was staring at her in wonder and disbelief and she misread his expression. "Don't get me wrong, Lionel, I love the way you touch me, but I've always dreamed of feeling that little sandpaper tongue stroking me to orgasm--" she stopped, for his expression hadn't changed. "Oh, I've appalled you, haven't I?" She started to turn away, but he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.

"You are the one," he said, burying his face in her hair. "I always hoped--" He pulled back and looked solemnly at her. "I have to tell you something. My secret. The one I expected to take to my grave." She laughed weakly, her eyes confused.

"It can't be worse than mine."

"Oh, it is. It's the kind of secret that gets people killed, so you have to promise me that you will never tell anyone, ever." He was being a bit dramatic, but this was serious.

"Lionel, you're scaring me," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

"Don't be scared, I would never hurt you. You know that, right?" Now he could see some of her old confidence back, for she did know.

"Of course, and whatever it is, I can accept it and I will never tell anyone. Promise." He gave her an excited peck on the cheek, then jumped up and stepped back.

"OK, here goes," he said. Suddenly, he was gone and a lanky black and white patched cat stood in his place. The cat looked at her for a moment, then Lionel reappeared in its place. "So, what do you think?" She stared at him, her mouth agape, and he waited until words came to her.

"You're a--a cat?" she asked.

"Sort of," he answered, suddenly embarrassed. "Sometimes."

"You're one of those Were, aren't you? A Werecat."

"Sort of," he said again. "Sometimes. Do you hate me now?" He was afraid she did, but she got to her feet and leaped into his arms.

"Of course not. I'm just in shock. I've never met a Were before. I have so many questions."

"Ask away," he said. "I've never been able to talk about it before. I like this."

"Where do your clothes go?" 

"They become part of me, I think. I can even change the way they look," Suddenly, his baggy jeans and Batman T-shirt changed into an elegant tuxedo. "but the go back if I take them off." He let the tux fade away.

"How is that possible?" He shrugged and grinned.

"You got me. Magic, I guess."

"How did you get this way? Were you born a Were? Were you Bitten?"

"Now, that is a long story, and I'm sure we have better things to do right now. I'll tell you later."

"What do we have to do now?" she asked.

"How about fulfilling a little fantasy?" It took her a second to realize what he meant.

"Oh, no, I couldn't! That's--that's bestiality. Isn't that illegal?" He laughed merrily and swept her off her feet.

"Only if it's with a real beast. I am a man, regardless of what form I assume." She started to grin wickedly.

"What would my mother say!?" she chuckled, but he could see she was willing. Quickly, she stripped off her clothes, her tits taut and bouncy, her bush neatly clipped. "How should we do this?" she asked, trembling with excitement.

"Here," He spread a blanket on the floor. "Lie down and open wide. I'll do the rest." She lay on her back and spread her legs like a whore, her pussy gasping open and shiny with her juices. Boy, was she ready for this. Lionel changed form to the little black and white cat, licking his lips as he padded over to her. She let out a squeal before he even touched her, and when his raspy little cat tongue flicked into her hole and then up over her clit, she shuddered and moaned.

Encouraged, Lionel began lapping at her like he was lapping milk, sometimes working at her hole, sometimes at her clit, moving back and forth, trying to give her all the pleasure he could, but he tongue was too small. She was groaning and panting, but he was sure he could do better. Without missing a beat, he changed to a bobcat, his tongue filling her slit with every stroke. She noticed his change with a cry of ecstasy, humping her hips at him a bit.

I know I can do better, he thought, changing again, this time to the biggest cat he could think of; a Siberian tiger. She screamed in orgasm as his rough tongue worked into her hole and on her clit, lapping up her cum like cream. He kept at it until she groaned and moaned and screamed her way through three orgasms, then he sat back and licked his lips. He could do that again any time. He glanced down at the bright red tip of his dick, his meat throbbing as it poked out of his shaft. Wasn't there something about tigers that he had forgotten? Veronica had rolled over and was trying to get up, her muscles loose after her orgasms, using the coffee table to get to her knees.

Suddenly, the sight of her on her knees, bent over the table with her ass sticking out registered with the tiger part of him and remembered what he had forgotten. Tigers had the fiercest sex drives of all the big cats. The body walked over to her and placed his huge paws on the coffee table on either side of her. Lionel tried to resist, but that was danger with this form. It tended to have a mind of its own.

"Lionel, what are you doing?" she asked. He didn't answer, but she figured it out soon enough. "Oh, I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet." She tried to push him off, but he now weighed five time as much as she did. She tried to climb out from under him, but he was pressing her against the coffee table. Luckily, there was a folded blanket under her, which would keep her from bruising. His big, red dick slithered out of its sheath and poked at the entrance to her pussy. She drew her breath in sharp as the pointed head nudged into her hole.

Lionel could only sit back and hang on for the ride as his body found what it had been looking for. With a swift thrust, the tiger dick buried itself into Veronica's pussy, filling her tight little box and then enlarging its new territory. She whimpered, but there was a note of amazement at the end of it. He thrust and thrust again, squatting over her little human body and nearly smothering her in his fur. Lionel was appalled at what was happening, but damn, it felt great! She was so tight, squeezing his dick like milking a cow and he thrust deeper and harder, feeling his cock brush the far wall of her vagina.

She was moaning now, all her reservations gone as his huge cock touched her in places so dark she hadn't even known they were there, let alone how good it felt to have them stroked. She reached her climax after only a minute of his urgent, frantic rhythm, cuming again and again and he jabbed her faster, reaching the point of his own release. When he came, buckets of thick, hot tiger cum filled her pussy and squirted out around his cock as it throbbed, pumping her full.

His urge fulfilled, the body climbed off of Veronica and Lionel was in control again. She lay, gasping, draped over the coffee table while tiger cum oozed from her gaping hole and dribbled down her legs, pooling on the carpet.

"Oh, God, Ronnie, are you all right? I am so sorry." She looked up at him, her face flushed, sweaty and striped with tiger hair.

"Sorry? For what? That was the best time I've ever had." Lionel just stared lovingly at her and realized that she really was the one. Later, after they had cleaned up a bit, they lay on a blanket in front of the fire, watching the firelight play on each other's naked bodies. "Lionel?" Veronica asked lazily. "When I asked you if you were a Werecat, you said sort of, sometimes. What did you mean?" He half-grinned and played with her hair.

"I'm a very special Were, it seems. I'm not really any one specific species. I'm more like a Were-mammal than anything else." She looked up into his eyes, a greedy look on her face.

"You mean you can become any mammal?" He nodded and she was silent a moment, thinking. Then she said, rather casually; "I hope spring comes early this year. I don't think a horse could fit in our bedroom."



Jungle Love



If you’re a White Man and have never had a Black Woman, You really don’t know what you’re missing. There is nothing like it, I’m not sure if it’s the TABOO surrounding it, especially being from the South, or just that the Black Women really are something different. My Dad told me when I was 12 years old, 

“Your not a Man until you fuck a Black Girl!” 

Then for the rest of my life told, 

“Stay away from those Niggers!” 

Uh, make up my mind. You can’t have it both ways, unless you are rich enough to get away with things I guess, and I’m not.

I was working in a Delivery Service and meeting the people was the best part of my job. I would say I’m a people person, loving to make a joke to pass the time with my Clients and hopefully I made someone’s day by doing it! My route had a variety of people on it, some very nice, some assholes, but a different job for sure. I made some good friends on my route in the 4 years I had it. I had some heavy load days but Thursdays were extremely light days, I could be done by lunch if I hurried.

At my last stop on Thursdays, there was a really sweet black lady named Theresa, She is hilarious, always keeping me in stitches with her good humor. She is 48 I’m 26. I always kid her in front of everyone in her office telling her, 

“If I was 10 years younger and you were 10 years older, and we weren’t both married Id ask you to marry me!” 

“I’m not married!” she would say back to me, everyone there at the office having a good laugh, while I did my job. 

Theresa is a little overweight but is really a sexy woman if you know her. In a perfect world, where the Models body is the only thing to go by, then she would have to lose about 50 pounds, but with her winning smile and personality, she is a doll!

The Christmas season was here and it was cold as I ran inside her office,

“Merry Christmas!” 

I said to an empty office. Looking around I only saw Theresa there. 

“Where is everyone?” 

She looked up “Home, I sent them home, since it’s Christmas Eve and nothing going on!” 

“I always said you’re a sweetie, no matter WHAT everyone else here say’s about you!” with a wink. 

She smiled her Award Winning smile, but had a sad look in her eyes.

“What’s the matter Theresa? You look kind of sad there.” 

She looked up at me.

“I really have gotten to where I hate this holiday, my husband left me 4 years ago, 3 day’s before Christmas and it’s not really one of my happier memories.” 

Since this was my last stop of the day, I asked her to go get some coffee of lunch with me, to try to cheer her up. Her eyes brightened up. 

“Great, let’s go, I could use some!” she happily replied and getting her coat we left.

“Can we take your car since I’m in my work truck?”

She led me to her new Mustang, 

“Sweet!” I told her, “I always figured a sexy lady like you would drive a sexy car.” 

Her laugh was infectious, as she drove out of the parking lot leaving a good bit of her tires behind us as she did. I snugged up my seat belt, her smiling as I did.

We stopped at a little diner a few blocks away, 

“Lunch or just something to drink?” I asked.

“Just a drink.” She answered. 

So I ordered two coffees from the waitress.

“Cream and sugar?” the waitress asked. 

“Black, please, like my woman.” I winked at Theresa “Hot and Black!” 

She laughed again, I really love her laugh. We talked about what was going on in her business and that it was doing well, about me, my job and life etc… just having a great time. As we talked, some rednecks came in and made some smart-ass comments about whites and blacks, so I scooted around the booth close to Theresa and put my arm around her, just to piss them off. It worked.

“I hope you don’t get into a fight or something about this.”

“Most of those rednecks don’t have the balls to fight a man that believe in something Theresa.”

I was right, they ate in relative silence, while we chatted like lovebirds, I would lean over and whisper in her ear then we would laugh. It was hilarious watching those rednecks looking at us all pissed off mumbling snide remarks to each other trying to be a MAN, Bah, their wives had their balls I know. 

We finished up our coffee, I paid, kissed her on the cheek and put my arm around her as we walked out. We died laughing when we got in her car to go back to her office. 

“You are ONE Crazy white boy!” 

I smirked and asked, “Who told you? I’ll whup em, but good!” 

As we entered her office she told me how nice it was to have the coffee with me and that it was really sweet of me, then gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. As she hugged me I couldn’t help but feel her hard nipples poking me. It aroused me to say the least, and in my uniform it didn’t hide a lot since the pants were tight western cut style.

I blushed as I felt myself getting hard so quick and from just a hug. She had to know I was hard, I saw her look! I had nothing better to do so but go back to the shop so I stayed and we talked about her Ex-husband, and how she hadn’t dated but a few times, most of them real jerks she said. They all just want ONE thing, I had to take their side I told her. She looked puzzled asking me why. I looked at her breasts and told her 

“Well, promise you won’t get mad if I tell you? I don’t lie, so if you don’t want the truth stop me now!” 

She wanted to know. 

I took a deep breath, said, “OK, Here goes, 

1. You have a great sense of humor. Men love that. 2. You have a beautiful smile, We love that too 3. Your Smart, own your own business 4. You just exude your sexuality without trying 5. You have a body that just excites the hell out of me!”

SHIT, I didn’t mean to say that, now she is gonna be pissed at me, but instead she smiled at me with those deep dark eyes, melting me like dark eyes do. 

“Do I really excite you? Overweight as I am? I’m old enough to be Your, uh, older sister!” she said with a smile. 

I could only nod yes.

“What excites you about me?” 

I reminded her about the Don’t ask me, I wont lie, thing, then told her everything I had thought about her for the last year I had been delivering to her office. The way she held herself proud, the way her body was, her large breasts and the way her ass stood out high even though she was large, but mainly her self assured inner beauty! (Yes, that even sounded stupid to me, but it WAS the truth!) 

I don’t know if a black woman can blush but she did a good impression of one, she then reached over and held my hand pulled me to her and kissed me, this time with passion, not like the peck on the cheek one I got earlier. Her mouth was so sweet tasting, our tongues in a battle to win the prized tonsils. 

Her hands groping my ass, and mine on hers. It was a good thing she had locked her outer office door out of habit when we got back, and that we were in her office. She pushed me to my back undoing my work shirt, kissing my chest, telling me I was the first man she wanted in the 4 years since her husband left. Never stopping on her travels down my stomach undoing my belt and pants, I lifted my hips as she pulled them down. Still kissing every part of me she uncovered.

As her sweet black lips covered my cock, my mind flashed to the myth of the “Black Mamba” size the black men had. And me with the dreaded white mans disease “Teeny Weenie” Well not a John Holmes anyway. But my size of six and a half inches didn’t slow her down, as she sucked me deep and soft. 

I raised my hips to meet her mouth as she made slurping noises and jerked it at the same time. I always loved a woman who got excited when she sucked me off, and Theresa defiantly was excited as she rocked her face on me. I asked her to stop and take her clothes off to so I could finally enjoy seeing what had me so hot the past year.

She stood up and undressed slowly, only exciting me more. I would have never thought a large woman could be so sensuous, but Theresa most certainly was. Her large breasts hung down with deep dark nipples that stuck out and were thick as a good cigar, and her ass was tight for being as large as it is, her legs weren’t flabby but firm. I was impressed and hotter than hell, ready to give her all I could give. 

I told her to lie on the couch and worked my way from her neck sucking and kissing all of her beautiful dark skin. She held my head as I worked my way south, taking the 50 cent tour of her tits in fact it was probably the 75 cent one. I sucked her huge thick nipple and tweaking her other slightly as I did. 

I Kissed all over her oversized stomach fucking her belly button with my tongue, then moved towards the prize of her honey pot! As my face closed in on her mound I loved the wiry feeling of her pubic hair on my lips. I pulled it with my teeth licking and sucking it, then moved my lips to her moist pussy slit. GOOD LORD, she smelled fucking great, the smell of her musky sex was an aphrodisiac, making me harder than I ever remember being with anyone before. 

I held her hairy pussy open with my fingers as I licked her wet pussy lips, the sounds of her lust coming from deep within as she ran her fingers through my hair. I kissed her clit lightly then nibbled it with my lips sticking my finger inside her dripping pussy, feeling her heat on my finger, tasting her juice, I slid another finger inside her, amazed at her vaginal muscles, as I felt her pussy working on them. Her legs wrapped tightly around my head squeezing me as she came, her hips working on my fingers and face. She made a whimpering noise as she came, I needed air, but was willing to pass out to keep her Cumming, but she let me breath! She then began to cry, not a hard shoulder shaking crying, but a soft almost soundless cry. 

I eased up to her face kissing her feeling how warm she was on my body as I did. 

“Why are you crying Theresa? Have I done something to make you upset?” 

She wiped her tears and shook her head No.

“I guess it’s just because I haven’t had such a strong orgasm in I don’t know when, I’m sorry, I’m just an emotional old woman!” 

Smiling at her, I told her “If you are was old then I can’t wait to be old too.”

And she grasped my hard cock pulling it gently, saying how pretty it was and how good it tasted. I informed her if wanted something that tasted good to just kiss me and taste her self on me. Well, she did, then I moved my hips and she stuck my cock in her wet slit. 

Like I said before, if you’re a white man and never had a black woman, Dude, you Really don’t know what you’re missing!!!! Theresa has the most wonderful feeling pussy in the world as far as I am concerned. I fit in her so snugly that I had to really force myself to enter her, and I am not a hung guy. She is so silky smooth and slick from her juices, her inner vaginal walls felt like the finest silk made, and her body’s heat could bake a cake she was so fucking hot.

She held me close and smiled her sexy smile

“Fuck Me!” she said softly, “Please fuck me!” 

Her legs closed around my waist and pulled me tightly I started slow and soft just working my cock around teasing her. I nibbled her neck and face with my lips. I reached down and felt for her clit, I found it, fully engorged with her hot blood, standing at full mast begging for attention, which I gladly gave it. Lovingly pinching it between my fingers as her orgasm began. 

She wrapped her arms around me hugging me tight, as she thrashed her hips against me. I pushed up with my arms outstretched so I could watch as my cock slid in her beautiful hairy black pussy, her thick pussy lips clinging to my cock as I pulled it out before ramming it back. I loved the sight of her black pussy swallowing my hard white cock, my white skin contrasting against her cocoa colored skin, her large breasts like giant chocolate covered pleasure mountains. The thick nipples dark and hard, they were the sexiest things in my world. I could take no more!

“Fuck Me, Oh Shit, I’m Cumming Theresa, Fuck Me with your hot black pussy, Make me Cum for you!” I cried out. 

She began to “Shake that Booty” as they say, and we fucked each other frantically, both of us wanting the other’s pleasure to be unforgettable in our passion. Her Orgasm came first but I don’t think hardest, her cries ringing in my ears, 

“Fuck Me Chris, Oh God in Heaven, Fuck Me Hard, Now baby NOW, Fuck Me with that white cock, Give me your hot white cum!”

I pounded her black pussy as fast and hard as I could feel my thick cum boiling up from my heavy loaded balls as they slammed against her ass, slick with her pussy juice. 

“Fuck Yeah, Fuck Me Theresa, I’m Cumming, Oh SHIT I’m Cumming!”

I pulled out and jerked my cock furiously, shooting my thick white cum on her sweaty chocolate skin, Load after Thick Spurting load of it, It was splattering her from her beautiful black thick tipped nipples to her wiry haired pussy, Great globs of white cum. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed, White on Black. I have never cum that much in my life or so hard. I fell across her chest, not worried about the mess I was falling on, I just wanted to hold her, in fact I even wiggled my stomach on hers to smear my cum all over us, FUCK it felt so sexy, so right!

As we lay there in the afterglow of our lovemaking, we hugged and kissed for what seemed like hours, giggling, teasing each other about who cried out the loudest when we came, like teenagers. We didn’t care, we were just happy to have someone to hold for awhile. I was glad to know she had a shower in the back of the warehouse, and we went in to use it. I loved the sight of the white soapsuds sliding down her dark breasts to her bush, as I washed her off. 

Then sucking those beautiful thick nipples as they hardened in my mouth again. Scrubbing her pussy clean, kneeling down to eat her out, almost drowning in the process as she came on my face. Then her washing me, taking extra care with my asshole as she went down on me sucking my cock. I was still in awe at the sight of her black lips on my white cock devouring it, as her finger slid into my ass. Her finger feeling my prostate, forcing me to ejaculate into her mouth. She swallowed it without any hesitation, moaning her pleasure at the taste of me.

As we dressed, I had to smile at her, never having imagined that we would actually ever have sex in reality, maybe just a white man’s fantasy. She kissed me goodbye with her sexy full lips, her tongue threatening to tear out my tonsils as she squeezed my ass tightly. I told her by, and I was hoping to repeat this as soon as possible. She agreed.

The next Thursdays delivery as I walked in and told everyone Hello, I looked at Theresa and said, 

“And how’s my Sweet Hot Chocolate Today?”

Like I said before, I don’t know if a Black Woman can Blush!

Authors Note: 

This story is Pure Fantasy, it never happened, it was only written for, You the Reader and my own enjoyment only! I do NOT believe in, or participate in Incest, Violence towards Women OR the Sexual Abuse of a Child of any age, consenting or not! If you enjoyed this story, please drop me an email with any suggestions or fantasies you would like to read about. Yes, I am a warped individual, but at least I still have my sense of humor! ;-) Thanks, mustanger7up



Jungle Love



Jungle Love, or The Silk Scarf Interludes

Turning and turning in the widening sunlight, Saxby Chambers tossed her suitcase on the white matelass coverlet of the bed, and opened the louvered shutters opening onto the porch. Her bungalow was perfect, isolated by a winding gravel path and opening onto a rainforest view of hundreds of brilliantly colored butterflies fluttering in the trees. On the porch was a woven hammock, and given the seclusion of her cabin, she could lounge au naturel if she wanted and was careful to avoid rope burns. 

No, Saxby Chambers was not the daughter of Marilyn Chambers, and she was tired of answering the question. She had looked at photographs of the young Chambers. Saxby had the same lean, shapely figure, the same fresh, innocent mien. Not that Saxby had ever seen "Behind the Green Door" or any other such Politically Incorrect movie. Or would admit to it. 

Yes, there were times when Saxby grew weary of her name. She was tired of telling people she did not play the sax. If one more fellow in a smoke-filled bar called her "Sexby," violence would not be out of the question. But she had to be fair, even to male chauvinist pigs. She knew men would wonder how sex would be with Saxby. 

Saxby went into the tiled bathroom and turned on the Jacuzzi. Turned on. Those were appropriate words. She stood up, stretched like a jungle cat, then began to remove her embroidered demi-bra. As the delicate fabric fell away from her body, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. The years of aerobic (not to mention isometric) exercise had molded her body into a firm, athletic creation. Even the fleeting moment of self-admiration caused her nipples to begin to swell. Or all moments fleeting? No matter, she ran her fingers over the left nipple, lazily flicking a thumb over it, sighing involuntarily. Slowly, almost playfully, she undid the side-tie thong. Even more slowly, she removed it. It fell gently to the floor, as if reluctant to release its contact with her supple form. 

She stepped in, squeezing some scented body wash onto her sponge and running it over her svelte, supple legs. She paid special attention to her toes, and indulged herself in her recurring fantasy of having them licked and kissed. Would she ever find a lover who realized that sensuality was not only ankle-deep? Before long, she was knee-deep in sub-ankle dreams. In those dreams, a Valentino-like figure hovered over her toes, his swarthy countenance bending toward them. She hoped the dream-figure was not Saddam Hussein, but then nobody knew where he was. 

Out of the bath, into the hammock, Saxby picked up her Catherine Coulter book, took a look at it, and tossed it off the porch into the jungle. Did she have a tendency to litter? Oh no, she knew the paperback would swiftly biodegrade in the humidity. She thought she heard a waterfall in the distance, which sparked another fantasy. Feeling restless, she eased out of the hammock and wandered back into the bedroom to begin unpacking. The first items to come out of the suitcase were her silken scarves. Arranging them in the dresser, her eyes strayed to the posts of her bed. Four posts. The posts looked large and strong. 

Saxby thought back to the stories told by her friend, Susan Harriman. Ah, that Susan was a wild child. Susan had a degree in psychology, but was uninterested in studying for a Ph.D. in that subject. And so, like many others, Susan sought employment in a bureaucracy. There, lost in tedium, she was soon bored. Her mind turned to her real interest, which was sexual exploration. She did not long to translate, like Richard Burton (no, not that Burton). Susan longed for experience rather than scholarship. 

Saxby was certain that Susan's stories were far more accurate than those filed by Jayson Blair of The New York Times. Susan told her about asking a guy to assist in her explorations. Susan had asked this fellow, John, to tie her with silk scarves and to use her little 12" toy whip to gently tease her to multiple orgasms. At first, John was reluctant, concerned about the feminist ideal of freedom. But his position, no matter how noble, could not be defended. Susan was determined. She promised that there would be no actual knots, that she would be free to move. She promised sensual afternoons in which both of them would have delicious multiple orgasms. And thus it was arranged. 

Enough. At least for now. The images whirled through Saxby's head. She would think no more of Susan's adventures. At least for a while. Either Saxby was going to have to go to the beach to check out fellow travelers that afternoon or she was going for a long ride on horseback in the jungle. She couldn't decide. 

But the warm sun caressed her skin, the hammock swayed slightly in the breeze, and Saxby did not move. Unbidden, Saxby's mind turned again to Susan's stories of her afternoons with John. What were those afternoons like? Susan had told it all. On the morning of a scheduled meeting, Susan would feel the tension increase. Soon, her body would tremble with pleasure. 

At the meeting place, Susan would slowly remove her outer clothing, revealing tantalizing demi-bras. John was not affected by such bras, unless one counted the almost uncontrollable urge to kiss them. Susan would slowly remove her skirt, revealing g-strings no more substantial than one would find in an old Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue. She would walk around the room thus attired, selecting a TV channel, getting a glass of ice water, knowing his eyes were upon her. Finally, she would seek his help in removing her undies, knowing as she did that the only proper way for a g-string to be removed was for a fellow to grasp it in his teeth. The method sounded harsh, but in reality it was quite gentle. 

Susan would ask to have the silk scarves loosely "tied" around her ankles and wrists, then draped around the bedposts. Susan could easily undo them at any time, but she liked the "psychological drama" (her words). Then John was asked to shave her. Patiently, he assembled the water, a warm towel, and shaving cream. She flinched and laughed as the shaving cream made contact. Sometimes John created a thin landing strip. Or a tiny triangle with its base an inch above her clitoris. As an outlet for creative energy, it was matchless.

As he labored, brow furrowed in concentration, she would shiver involuntarily with the tension. The warm water, the shaving cream, the gliding razor, and the sense of exposure combined to tease her unbearably. And, given her vulnerable position on the bed, she was left to wonder if he would find it necessary to test the smoothness of his handiwork with kisses, thereby giving her an initial orgasm. 

As the hammock moved, Saxby could not rid her mind of Susan's 1001 wicked tales. She knew that, on other occasions, Susan had asked John to pretend to secure her face-down on the bed. Sure, the knots were loose and she could remove the scarves at any moment with a flick of the wrist. But Susan said she felt no desire to remove them. Face-down on the bed, Susan would have John slowly rub baby oil over her shoulders, her back, her ankles, her thighs. And then (not fearing the baby oil because it might preserve his skin and prevent it from ending up as ravaged as the skin of Tommy Lee Jones) John would kiss the backs of her thighs. At Susan's request, he would administer gentle little taps on her hips with the mini-whip. He watched her shapely hips writhe, at first fleeing the little strands, then seeking their taunting little touches. Susan liked to remain poised on the edge of orgasm, wondering what would cause her next spasm of pleasure.

But did John ever kiss Susan's toes? No, he began by kissing her ankles, then journeyed in a northern direction. Never once did he even think of kissing her foot. His toe competence was not on a strong footing. John's eyes did dilate at Susan's bag of toys, and at her brazenness in bringing them along. But he liked the fact that Susan aggressively sought her own pleasures. He concurred with her argument that, if Hitler and Stalin had enjoyed better sex lives, millions of lives might have been spared. Who said there were no lessons in history? 

As the sun penetrated the triple canopy of the jungle, it grew warmer in the hammock. Saxby thought again of Susan's stories of her bag of toys. Susan, who, with the aforementioned bag of toys, often reminded Saxby of a sexual Santa Claus, except that she was not white-bearded, fat, or even, in fact, male. True, there were parts of her body that did shake like a bowl full of jelly, but in some cultures, Saxby reflected, that might even be considered an asset.

As the sun's warmth fell across her thighs, Saxby imagined it was the hands of a lover caressing them. She let her mind wander, thinking of his rough, yet elegant caresses. As she let the images take total control of her imagination, she focused on a frangipani vine entwined around a post of the porch, the blossoms reminding her of a Georgia O'Keeffe painting. As she touched herself, she imagined herself sinking down into the voluptuous, arching petals. She closed her eyes and let her fingers move lightly over her body, brushing the slightly convex surface of her tummy, just grazing her turgid nipples. She writhed slightly, thinking of a lover's tongue, flicking in and out of her navel, teasing her to the point of erotic frenzy. What need did she have of toys, given her fevered imagination and her lush, willing body? Still, she'd like to see what kind of mileage she could get out of the Insatiable G Vibrator she'd viewed at a sex toy site. 

Her body trembling, Saxby thought again of Susan's stories. After Susan had experienced her first orgasm, she would delve into her bag of delights and pull out her strand of tiny anal beads on a black nylon string. Susan believed that the added sensation was too intense for an initial orgasm, but enjoyed adding a little extra zest to later ones. John admired her ability to prioritize her orgasmic potential. Yet he was also distracted as he watched her stretch the beads out on a towel, pour oil over them, slowly roll over on her tummy, and then begin to insert one. He saw her hips flex and twist in pleasure, heard her involuntary gasps of pleasure. 

Although the conventional use of such beads was to withdraw them at the apex of pleasure, Susan had arrived at the belief that keeping them in during orgasm maximized their potential to heighten pleasure. When, at long last, she had enough beads in position and could tolerate no additional teasing, Susan would ask, her voice husky with passion, for an ordinary white vibrator (buzzing insistently with D batteries) to be gently teased across her shaven labia. Obedient to her every command (as all men should be), John would conduct this procedure slowly, deliberately delaying her orgasm to intensify it, waiting until she could wait no longer.

As Saxby reflected, tiny drops of perspiration dotted her lightly tanned skin. Technology had advanced in the ten years since Susan had first assembled her bag of toys. Inspired, Saxby had checked web sites and found that modern manufacturers produced Jelly Love Beads without the connecting string. If memory served (and Saxby's attention level was high on this point), the superbly sensuous 10 " strands of jelly beads made the perfect addition to any sensuous encounter. She scoffed at Ronald Reagan's jelly beans. 

Were the Jelly Love Beads difficult for Saxby to find on the web site? Yes. First she looked in vibrators, then the subcategory anal, then in vibrating plugs/probes/beads/balls, and on page 2 she encountered success. Regularly priced at $8.95, they were on sale for two dollars less. 

Saxby speculated. She wondered, purely in scientific terms, what would happen if she combined the above-cited Jelly Love Beads with the Insatiable G. Saxby knew that the Insatiable G was a beautifully designed vibrator made of purple jelly, with an insertable G-spot arouser offering breathtaking pressure while the nubbed clitoral stimulator fairly waltzed. She wondered if she could bear the pulsating blend of sensations as they coaxed the user to orgasm after orgasm. 

Then Saxby considered the opposite approach. In stark contrast to Susan's efficient and oily path to ecstasy, Saxby remembered the guy with whom she had engaged on a regular basis in hours and hours of tantric sex, though that, too, could incorporate the use of toys. She recalled being lightly teased with a feathery puff, her partner dipping the brush into a jar of cinnamon-flavored body dust, then stroking it on her body, just enough to create increasingly heightened levels of pleasure whenever the feathers brushed against her body. 45 minutes of cinnamon body dusting and Saxby was audibly whimpering, more than ready for the next tantric pleasure. 

She could never decide which she preferred, the body dust or the multi-flavored pack of nipple nibblers. Either was fine, actually, and just because the label deemed them "nipple nibblers", Saxby was not averse to using them elsewhere on the body. She was a free spirit, not to be constrained by the rigid dictums of sex gel labelers. 

She had been particularly disposed toward the mint body gel, as it fit right in with the tantric credo of prolonging sensation. When she and her partner became so hot they could easily have burst into flames like mythological phoenixes, the arousal gel cooled things off a bit, and Saxby felt a slow burn, not unlike what she'd felt when doing the Jane Fonda workout in the 80's, except infinitely more pleasurable and just as aerobic. 

Saxby fanned herself. But enough of sex toy nostalgia--it was time to hit the beach. She rolled lightly out of the hammock, but once again, the bright butterflies fitting through the trees sparked a memory, that of the butterfly position. Not the Venus Butterfly immortalized by Stu Markowitz on L.A. Law, but the the one from the Kama Sutra that had the woman on back, feet on man's shoulders as he stood in front. That, in turn, reminded her of her Victoria's Secret butterfly mesh thong, and she turned to her suitcase, images whirling in her head, feeling as reckless and devil-may-care as Paul Wolfowitz with a news reporter in front of him.