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Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

By: adoration



Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

     William Blake (1757-1827) 

It happened four years ago and it still sends a shiver up and down my spine when I think of it, whenever I hear the word "Detroit", or whenever I hear his name mentioned.

I was 35 at the time, and much as I am today – tall, about five feet nine, busty (37 inches, although that's no big deal today, is it?) with everything else in perfect proportion.

I'm a professional career woman, I wear glasses and men do make passes, believe me.

At the time I'd been to Detroit to make a presentation and was due out on the red eye shuttle to New York at 7.30 the next morning. I'd booked into a large, one storey hotel, not far from the airport, with its offices, dining room and bar in the middle and two huge wings spreading out from each side. My room was slap in the middle of one long corridor.

I'd eaten in my room, but decided to visit the bar for a quick couple of drinks before hitting the hay. I chose a chair at the bar in a rather dimly lit corner of the large, but quiet room. Most patrons seemed occupied by a baseball game on the various television screens.

Settling myself comfortably in the high-backed stool, I was faced by a handsome young barman. "Bourbon and dry," I ordered.

"A Rebel Yell coming up," he grinned and started to mix my drink.

Suddenly I felt a gnarled, bony hand on mine from a lean-looking man seated next to me. "Allow me to get this barkeep," he said, in a southern drawl, which I found amusing – well, that awfully old-fashioned term "barkeep".

"And I'll have another bourbon and branch water," he said, pushing his empty glass towards the barman.

I looked at him, squinting in the dark corner of the bar and made out a man with an almost hawk-like face, narrow nose and the most piercing brown eyes I've ever seen, so darkly brown they were almost black. They were the most riveting, hypnotic eyes and I found it difficult to look away.

"Thank-you, kind sir," I said, in an almost mocking voice, possibly brought on by his quaint use of the term "barkeep".

"And you're headin' just where, ma'am?" he asked.

"I'm off to New York in the morning," I told him.

He shook his head in a world-weary way, although he could have been no older than 28, 30 tops.

"Be careful there, ma'am," he said, in that southern twang. "Nasty town, vicious town, New York. Some really bitchin' things have happened to me there."

I sipped on my bourbon and dry. "Not like my home town, then?" I replied.

"Which would be, ma'am?" he asked.

"I'm from Boston," I told him, although I'm sure my Bawston accent had already given me away.

"Boston," he smiled, "oh, I can handle Boston, Boston's no trouble. You can get crabs there – the edible kind, I hasten to add, ma'am."

I smiled at his little joke. "Anywhere else I should steer clear of?" I asked. "Pittsburgh OK?"

He shook his head. "Dunno Pittsburgh, ma'am, it's a National League town and I'm more au fait with American League towns, like Philadelphia, for example."

Even with my limited baseball knowledge I knew that Philadelphia hadn't been an American league city for decades, but I guessed he was probably testing me out, so I let it slide.

"Philadelphia's all right then?" I asked.

He nodded eagerly. "Yep, it's fine. I can see myself ending up in Philly, some day," he said.

"And I suppose Chicago's on your list then?" I asked.

"Great little town, Chicago," he nodded, "my kinda town, ma'am. A blue collar town. No problems there – nor St Louis, either."

Now I knew he was kidding me. My younger brother is a Cardinals fan and I knew St Louis hasn't had an American league team for how long? Yonks.

My dark-haired stranger then ordered another round and as we sipped on our second drinks I noticed he wasn't watching even one pitch of the baseball on the television – I gathered it was a National league game!

I drank my second Rebel Yell quickly, then rose from my stool.

"Allow me to escort you back to your room, ma'am," he said. "Can't be too careful, even in Detroit."

I don't know why I said yes, but it must have been something to do with those piercingly deep brown eyes, because the next thing I recall is saying "Thank-you, kindly, sir" in what I took to be some sort of Southern politeness. He was gentleman enough to ignore it.

We walked down the long, long corridor till we reached my room. I slipped the key in the lock, turned it, then turned and looked at him. He looked, how can I put it? He looked so terribly lonely.

I kissed him on the cheek, in my heels I was about as tall as him. Then I said, and I can't to this day say why, "Would you like to come in?"

"That would be a pleasure, ma'am," he said, in the lovely old down South accent.

Once inside, I snapped on the bedside lights, and announced: "I'm going to make myself more comfortable. Why don't you do the same?"

I stepped into the small bathroom and stripped naked, and when I returned to the room, he was already in bed, only his head showing, his hawk-like features staring at the ceiling, as if he had spent most of his life staring at hotel ceilings.

Although it was a warm summer's night, I shivered, feeling slightly chilly, as I slipped in between the sheets and laid my hand on his side. I traced my finger down his well-muscled thigh and felt a long line of scar tissue.

"That must have been a nasty wound," I said, as he rolled and faced me, before he kissed my hungrily on the mouth.

"A spike got me, ma'am," he replied.

"What do you do to get spiked like that?" I asked.

"I'm what you'd call a sportsman, ma'am," he said, lowering his mouth to my breasts and sucking on my nipples, which became almost instantly erect.

Then he gave a bite to my left nipple. It hurt. "Ouch, watch it, buster!" I cried.

He pulled away, startled. "Sorry, ma'am, sorry," he mumbled, "but it's been such a long time."

Then he was diving down with his head between my legs and I felt his mouth laving and licking my pussy, which was already in a state of considerable arousal. After a moment or two, he rose and looked at me. I could see he was plainly puzzled.

"That's a real funny lack of pubic hair down there, ma'am," he said, which I thought "real funny" myself.

"Oh, my Brazilian?" I laughed. "They're all the rage, you must know that."

He shook his head in wonder. "Ma'am, you say some of the funniest things – Brazilian, well I never did."

And then he mounted me, his stubby penis thick and engorged but not very long I could tell when he thrust as deep into me as he could. I placed my hands over his back, feeling the sportsman's muscles rippling. He was certainly a thoroughbred – there didn't seem to be an ounce of excess flesh on him.

He buried his face beside mine as his thrusts became more and more urgent, then suddenly he seemed as if struck by electricity and everything about him froze as his ejaculate poured into me.

Almost as if apologising he muttered: "Sorry, ma'am, it's been so long. I'm sorry, ma'am."

I was nowhere near orgasm, but strangely it didn't seem to matter a darn, I felt oddly satisfied. The sportsman pulled from me, tracing semen across my thigh as he did so, then he lay back, staring once more at the ceiling, almost as if I wasn't there.

Climbing from the bed I whispered "I'm going to clean up", and when I got back from the bathroom I had put my panties on. A repeat performance was not something I would look forward to.

As I lay down beside him, the sportsman stirred and asked: "The time, ma'am? What time is it?"

I checked the digital clock on the bedside table and saw it click over to 11.35. "It's just 11.35," I informed him.

Then my sportsman flung back the sheet and climbed out of bed. "Sorry 'bout this ma'am," he said, "but I've got to be going. Things to do, people to see, you know how it is."

Sure, I thought, I know how it is.

Then, as he was dressing I noticed for the first time his clothing. It looked expensive, but it looked old-fashioned. His shoes were shiny, they looked expensive too, but they were more like hob-nailed boots.

His suit was made of a heavy serge material and his shirt had a wing collar! His tie was secured at the knot with a gold tie pin. When he put on his waistcoat, I saw he had a fob watch and chain in the pockets.

Then I sat up with a start and blurted out: "Look, you must think I'm an awfully easy lay, but I don't know your name."

He regarded me with those piercing eyes. "My parents christened me Tyrus Raymond, ma'am," he told me. "My friends, what few I have, call me 'Ty', some of 'em call me 'Peach', on account of how I'm from Georgia.

"My enemies – and heaven knows I've got enough of them, ma'am – call me words that should not fall on such pretty ears as yours."

"Ty?" I said, half talking to him, half to myself. "Ty? Ty – there was a Ty who played for the Detroit Tigers for years and years."

He made as if to speak, but I shushed him. "No, I'll get it. It was Ty, er Ty, yep – Ty Cobb!"

He gave me an almost courtly little bow: "Ty Cobb at your service, ma'am. And ma'am, it most surely has been a pleasure."

Suddenly a felt a chill start at the nape of my neck, travel all the way down my back, between my buttock cheeks, dive into my entrails then go all the way up to my breasts and their still-erect nipples.

I gaped at him, feeling suddenly as if I wasn't in the room. "But Ty Cobb has ..." And my voice trailed off. Then I tried again and it was if someone else was speaking my words: "But Ty Cobb has been dead for god know's how long."

He smiled, grimly. "I'm sure he does, ma'am. Life's a bitch, ain't it?"

And with another little bow, he was at the door and had left.

For a split second I sat, stunned. Then I rushed to the door and flung it open. I looked left, then right. The corridor stretched away in each direction – and it was, of course, empty.

I slammed the door shut, bolted it, deadlocked it. Then I felt a chill. The room was decidedly cold! I leaped into the bed. The sheets were cold. I swiftly switched the electric blanket on, then realised I needed noise in the room.

Using the remote I turned on the television and was greeted by a black and white Marx Brothers movie. I begged the electric blanket to warm the bed up and listened to Groucho and his brothers performing their mad antics.

I must have slept, because at 6am the bedside alarm woke me. I showered, packed and checked out of the hotel in record time. A surly, big black taxi driver drove me to the airport in his battered, but thankfully warm cab.

After checking in for the red eye, I pulled my laptop from its leather valise and called up "Ty Cobb". A large web site informed me that "Tyrus Ramond Cobb, also known as 'The Georgia Peach'" had ended his career with a lifetime batting average of .366.

A lifetime average of .366 – a lot of ballplayers who call themselves big league batters are pleased to have an average like that in one season!

Then I looked down his club affiliation. Detroit, Detroit, Detroit, it went on an on and on, until there – right at the bottom I found two seasons with the Philadelphia Athletics.

I tried to remember what he'd said about Philadelphia – something about how he might "end up there one day".

Then I went to the top of the wesbite and there, after the words "Bats left, throws right" was his date of birth and his date of death: "July 17, 1961."

I reached down for the previous day's USA Today, which was still in my briefcase, knowing exactly what I was going to find. Sure enough, on the front page the date "July 17, 2001" leaped out at me. Yesterday had been the 40th anniversary of Ty Cobb's death!

I felt another shudder run down my spine, then thankfully my flight was called. I left the newspaper for the cleaners at Detroit Metropolitan and walked as swiftly as I could to the gate.

I was glad to be quitting Detroit. Suddenly New York seemed warm and inviting.

THE END

Tiger Tiger Burning Bright



This is my first story for Literotica and is entered in the Halloween contest. If you like it, please vote and feel free to comment. All characters in adult situations are 1) adults over 18 and 2) fictional. This story is, of course, copyrighted. I hope you enjoy. 

(I rushed a bit to submit this on time for the contest. Thanks to those who commented and brought up issues I had missed. This is now a revised version.) 

Prologue

One Year Ago

The air was thick with moisture. Marta, the taller, redder-haired woman, pushed her knuckles deeper into the smaller blonde's back muscles. She leaned her weight onto her hands for pressure, the toned muscles in her long lean arms flexing. The force compressed the mattress of the day bed more below them, and elicited a prolonged groan. 

"Relaxed?"

"Very." It sounded slurred. 

Well, you know I love this tattoo." She ran her fingers up from the blondes naked ass, following either side of the spine. Red-hair's face trailed close behind her hands, inches from the smooth, athletic back below. 

They traced, both hands and eyes, the series of intricate tattoos, nine in all, that ran up her petite companion's back. Nine paw prints, similar from afar to many tattoos of paws. But up close these were very different. Up close she could see the details, even in this flickering light, fed by the red and white candles encircling them. And she knew deeper details lay out of her sight, details she'd examined under strong light and high magnification.

Someone had gone to great trouble to produce these. Tiny runes and scripts in several extinct languages wove through geometric and symbolic designs, but so small that they seemed to be shading in the art, nothing more. This was some of the finest eldritch tattooing she had seen. Detail work totally impossible with mundane tattoo needles and mere ink. Someone attempted a powerful spell on this back. On this woman.

It hadn't worked. There was Art here. High Art. But the spell had failed. Or it hadn't been finished. That's what she hoped. No spell had been cast. Yet.

No artist she knew could produce this kind of Art, but it was still only a framework, a focus, for the spell. Without the right spell, without being used as designed, it was just a beautiful ink job on a hot chick.

She stroked the beautiful back beneath her and got another low groan. Red leaned in close and nibbled, with just her lips, on the blonde's ear. Her voice was like silk, smooth and comfortable. "So you don't mind? I have always wanted to try a spell like this. And you bring me this exquisite Art, just begging to be fulfilled. You've got these lovely claw marks, but they're empty. You need claws to fill them, make them whole. Everyone should get in touch with their inner animal. Bring out their totem. Right, sweetness?"

The last was a purr followed by another nibble, this one with the teeth. "Okay?"

"Uh-huh." Faint but audible. It was so easy to go along. The voice just dripped with reasonableness and begged for agreement.

Red sat up. "Good. That's settled."

Without warning, matter-of-factly, she slid her hand hard between the blonde's thighs. "Yes, you do think it's okay. I thought you were wet before."

Red pushed fingers up and smiled when the little round ass lifted up for more. She retrieved her hand, getting a small whine of protest, and straddled the smaller woman at the waist. She stuck out one exaggerated finger and began to draw unseen lines on Blonde's back 'where the wing of angel spring forth' as the incantation book instructed.

"Relax, baby. This may sting a bit."

The Present Day

The last few days had been a blur. A lawyer had called from Southern California, 2000 miles away. Steve was now the owner of a small apartment complex that his aunt and uncle had owned near San Diego. It had been his home too until recently. Technically it belonged to a trust that Steve now controlled, but he still had a lot of questions about the situation he hoped to get answered when he met with the lawyer later today. The drive had taken two very long storm-filled days and he felt drained. He'd pulled over and caught some sleep in the car twice, but that didn't count for too much.

At least it was sunny here. A perfect day.

With an armload of groceries and his duffel bag loading him down he almost ran over the young blonde rounding the corner.

He'd tried to juggle both bags while at the same time fishing keys from the front pocket of his shorts. She smiled as she dodged him just as one bag slipped. He whipped his hand from his pocket in time to catch it, mostly. One glass jar of tomato sauce tumbled from the unstable top of the overstuffed bag. He saw it too late, only having a chance to watch it fall towards the ground before a tiny but strong looking hand reached out of nowhere to snag it.

He looked at her again as he said thanks, smiling and a little embarrassed at his own juggling. She wasn't as young as he had thought but in the wife beater tank top she had almost no breasts and it didn't look like a bra either. Not young, perhaps, but youthful. Small and perky, her pony tail swinging out the hole in the back of her ball cap. He caught a glimpse of an extra bump on two in the cloth of her shirt and immediately wondered whether her nipple might be pierced. He tried not to look again. Thank you, California. Tank tops in October.

Her smile was bright as she asked, "Need any help? Besides with this." She waved the jar.

His key ring was half out of his pocket so she quickly reached down and fished the rest out, held them out with one hand while neatly scooping the errant bag from his grasp with the other, freeing him to undo the lock.

"Can I ask why you are going into Steve and Marta's apartment?"

"Well, Steve and Marta are...away for a while, and I'll be taking over. I'm Steve too, my mom named me after her brother, my uncle. I used to live here with him and aunt Marta until a couple years ago. And you are?"

"Stevie." She nodded as understanding dawned on her. "Marta told me to look for you. You were quick. We just moved into the back unit a few months, err, about a year ago now. I mean Sandi. My name's Sandi."

With her upbeat bouncy manner and the blonde bangs showing under her cap's brim, of course her name was Sandi.

She'd mentioned the back unit, which is what they called the seldom-used apartment he'd stayed in, the one that shared the private spa area with his aunt and uncle's unit, cut off from the others on the property. She must be describing the two bedroom near the back entrance.

He got the door open and all the bags onto the long counter in the kitchen when an exasperated girl's voice came from the open door, "Mom, what're you...oh, hi."

The voice changed as the speaker saw Steve. She had a tiny frame like her mother but with a little more baby fat: a rounder face, pretty but with a pouty teenage half sneer of disgust at anything requiring extra effort on her part to handle, a slight bulge of muffin top above her low cut jeans, revealed by the snug fitting stretch shirt pulled down over her hips. Either her bra was an enhancing one or she had substantially larger breasts than Mom.

Mom? He had revised his age estimate upward to about his age, 25, perhaps a few years older after a second, closer look, but not old enough to have a daughter this age. Unlike mom, the newcomer had dark, almost black hair with a long chunk of bright pink running from forehead down over her face. She pushed the pink back behind one ear. 

"Mom, I gotta go! I'm late. The keys."

The blonde's mouth made an 'Oh' as she remembered. She quickly fished a set of keys out her baggy sweats and tossed them to Pinky, who snatched them out of the air. "Jessica, honey, this is the new landlord. Stevie, that Marta and Steve always mentioned, that used to live here."

"Steve," He said, "Aunt Marta's the only one that still calls me Stevie."

Jessica actually looked at him, for maybe a quarter second. "Nice to meet you, Stevie. Gotta run. I'll be home to change and get ready tonight, Mom."

The last half was yelled over her shoulder as she sprinted out.

Sandi shrugged up at him and smiled. Under the fluorescent light of the kitchen he could see tiny hints of age around the eyes. Early thirties, maybe? 

"That was whirlwind Jaz. From Jess. Short for Jessica. Don't let her blow you down." They both caught her unintended double entrendre and he changed the subject.

"You don't look old enough to have a teenager yourself."

"Funny, her father kept telling me how mature I looked 19 years ago. I felt so grown up too. Raising a kid taught me I had no idea what that felt like. That little girl wanted to be grown up so bad, and now I keep appreciating the moments I feel like a child.

"Like I said, Marta said to look for you. She left a letter by the sink. She said she gave everything else to the lawyer."

He was supposed to meet him in an hour or so.

"What else did Marta say? Where are they?" He asked. The lawyer had been very vague.

"Not much. Just that you should read the letter. She was in a rush to the airport. She said if I didn't see them in a couple of days, you would be coming to take over. That was when she put the envelope down. And gave me those instructions."

His aunt and uncle had always been eccentric, and owned diverse properties and investments around the world. Every Halloween she seemed to get more interested in 'positive magick,' and Uncle Steve tended to like reading about secret societies a little too much, but this was still odd. Why were they giving him this property? Where were they?

Sandi touched his forearm lightly, before she headed out the door her daughter had left open. "Listen, you must be tired after your drive. I made pizza dough this morning. If you'd like home-made pizza and a salad tonight, it's yours. Marta also did say to take good care of you."

He was distracted by a thought of what Aunt Marta might include in 'taking good care of him.' Sandi had already closed the door when he remembered to confirm she was in the two bedroom on the far side. He couldn't imagine they were in what Marta called the back unit, since that would give them access to her private jungly spa retreat. And Aunt Marta definitely considered the retreat area hers.

Marta, who had married his mother's only brother, had taken Stevie's virginity when he was 18, on Marta's daybed, in its curtained alcove beyond the spa. She had also taught him most of what he had learned about sex during the seven years since then. Feedback with other women indicated she taught him well.

His relatives had given him his first job out of high school, eager to get away from his Midwestern manufacturing hometown and his asshole father. He had stayed in what they called the back unit, which had been his uncle Steve's office and storage until then.

Always good with people as well as tools and mechanical systems, young Steve had learned the principles of apartment maintenance and management quickly. When he moved out, it was with their help to invest in and run his own income property, nearly two years ago. Now it and the property next door that he had swung a deal on last year were profitable and smooth-running enough that he could trust his manager, a woman twice his age, to hold down the fort while he found out what was going on in California. 

After scanning the letter, a quick shower and a meeting with the lawyer, he knew more but not all that much. The letter indicated that Marta and Steve were fine, not in any legal trouble or other danger, but would be overseas and out of touch for a while.

They had 'consolidated their holdings' and, since they had no children, thought he could best use this property he had 'put so much into.' Steve was shocked by the generosity: the low-maintence, debt free, eight paying units - 10 with theirs and the back unit - would provide solid income. And the books showed almost $200,000 in the expense account for the property. All owned by the trust that he now owned and controlled, after the lawyer had steered hi toward a nearby bank where he confirm his signature on the accounts.

What he needed now was to relax in the spa and get a nap. Then maybe pizza would be a good idea. With the lovely Sandi. She'd looked damn good in that tank top. Fit, tiny, and cute as hell. So was young Miss Jaz, now that he thought about it, but he was done with teens and felt no need to go back that way.

According to the letter, Sandi had been fulfilling some of his former duties for most of the past year. She had all the current emergency phone numbers, collected rents, and according to Marta she had been 'able to fill some needs unmet since you left.' Hmm.

He slid open the glass door to the enclosed retreat, feeling the moist tropical atmosphere his Aunt had encouraged with the dense plantings she had put in and the water they required. As soon as he stepped through the door, he could see down the path to the spa. Steve saw wet blond hair above a slim but muscular back with tattoos running up either side of her spine. In no way covered by the tied string of a white bikini, the sexy back, hips, and shoulders were stretched between the handles of the ladder that hung over the far wall of the spa. He wished the path to the spa was shorter, so he'd have a closer view.

Sandi pulled herself up the rest of the way out of the water as she turned, spinning before he could identify what her tattoos were. She wrapped a large beach towel around her, thick and white terry like a good hotel robe. "I didn't think you'd be back so quick; I'm just done, almost a prune. When do you want pizza?"

He was glad she was talking. It gave him time to register her presence here, that she must be living in the back unit after all, and how hot her athletic little body looked coming up those stairs. What were those tattoos?

"I'm still hoping to get a nap in; I drove most of the night last night. And the night before. Maybe seven thirty?"

She slid open the back unit glass door across from the one he had used and smiled at him. "Perfect. I'm glad you'll make it."

 He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. A shower had helped wake him up but Steve was still exhausted. After his soak, but before any nap, a tenant had knocked on the door. Mrs. Daugherty in Unit 4 had been there when he moved in at 18. And then she went to tell the Avillas in Unit 5. Everyone wanted to catch up with little Stevie. No nap.

The petite blonde opened the door, blue eyes gleaming beneath perfectly horizontal bangs. She ushered him in with a bright, almost leering smile, openly eyeing him up and down. "Ooh, you clean up nice."

He had pictured her back and the white string of the bikini several times this afternoon. And in the white tank top, her nipple showing signs of metal adornment. Some tasteful tats and piercing were definitely a plus in Steve's mind. He was definitely not expecting her to greet him in a authentic looking cheerleading outfit, down to the skirt, white socks and sneakers and what had to be a well-padded bra based on curves she hadn't had earlier. And he was even more surprised when she immediately pressed her whole petite frame against him with a soft, moist kiss. 

He felt her firm breasts press up and against his chest as she rose on her toes. He took in her fresh cinnamon breath just before her tongue teased his lip, then found his own tongue, kissing him deeply.

As he responded, his arms going around her tiny but curvy frame, she pushed back with a giggle. She spun, causing the pleated skirt to splay out a bit, and called up the stairs behind her, "Mom! You're date's here."

"It's not a date, Jaz," came the answer as Sandi started down the steps, dressed in more appropriate jeans, fitted t-shirt and vest, but making them look stunning. Steve caught a glimpse of a very flat belly as the shirt rode up above her low slung pants when her foot stepped down to the next stair. The defined muscles in her slim arms made him think - hope - there was a six pack hiding under that T. The towel had covered her before he'd had a chance to see in the spa room. Steve had a thing for athletic, toned bodies, going back at even before his Aunt Marta.

The mischievous young cheerleader turned back to Steve, so her mother couldn't see her face. She ran her tongue over her lips.

"It is now."

Sandi paused with her hand on the rail, taking in his slack-jawed confusion. The cheerleader took the opportunity to slip by him out the door, calling back over her shoulder with another giggle, "He's a good kisser, Mom. Don't do anything...you know. Remember I'm staying at Brit's tonight, after the Costume contest."

She quickly pulled the door behind her.

Sandi shook her head, trying not to laugh at his shocked look. "Sorry about that. She must have got the idea to fool you since she wearing that wig again tonight. My little Coyote."

He looked more confused. "You know, Coyote, the trickster in Native American stories. That's her Mom wig. I have a black Jaz one we dyed pink in the front. We went as each other for Halloween last year. Confused a lot of people that night. I have a matching cheerleader costume too. 

"Apparently this year she and her friends are going as zombie cheer girls. She's Blonde Zombie. You know, the one with no brains."

"Isn't Halloween tomorrow?"

She waved him further in so she could shut the door. "But the parties are tonight. It's Saturday night. Apparently there's a Best Group costume prize at the all-age club and the zombie girls wants it. They wants it bad. They conned some movie make up guy who claimed to work on The Lord of the Ring movies to do their faces. That's where she's going now."

His shocked system began to thaw. "I thought she was...I wondered why you were wearing...she kissed me."

Now she did laugh. "Poor fella. You drive across country on short notice, through that storm, and then get hit by Hurricane Jaz."

She took his hand and led him back to the kitchen. "I'll bet you could use a beer."

"Unless you've got anything stronger."

She pulled a large beer bottle out of the fridge, two pint glasses from the cupboard. "I have a couple Scotch ales. Still technically beer, I guess, but it is definitely stronger."

"A woman after my own heart." He finally relaxed enough to smile and shake his head at the situation as she handled him a pint glass filled from the bottle.

"Out of curiosity," she started, after clicking her glass against his and a quick swig, "my precocious daughter said you were a good kisser. I take it that means not only did she kiss you, you kissed her back."

They both took another swig of the malty, strong ale while he stumbled over how to answer. She rested a hand on his arm to reassure him, surprising herself with the thrill she felt at the hard muscles under her fingers. "It's okay, I know you thought it was me."

Her hand traveled to his chest, "But I do feel kind of left out."

She rose up on her toes and kissed him lightly, lips soft and relaxed. Both of them wanted more but held back, both not wanting to push things yet for their own reasons.

"Sorry, but I don't feel safe enough for more. Yet." She said through her lashes as she took another drink.

"Safety first," he agreed. He fought down the urge to push her back against the fridge and take the 'more' right now, but she seemed so cautious, so timid beneath her surface confidence. The strength of the urge surprised him.

She looked at him appraisingly. "Marta, your aunt, often said that."

He laughed. "Yes she did. She does like to feel safe." Safe was the code word his family used for being high, as in "let's take a safety break" before starting a project meant smoking some pot, getting good and 'safe.' 

"Now that I think of it I haven't felt 'safe' since I got the call from the lawyer. It's been days." His tone exaggerated his depravation as though it had been days since he had eaten or seen the sun, a tone she knew well from raising a teenager.




Tiger Tiger Burning Bright



She giggled, reminding him of her daughter. She raised one eyebrow as she looked up at him, "Wanna get safe before pizza?"

He smiled, liking that they we're speaking the same language. "Safety first indeed."

She bent at the waist to check the oven window. it gave him a chance to check out her small, well rounded ass, looking as good covered by denim as it had in the bikini bottoms. Again her caught a glimpse of a tattoo but could not identify it. She turned off the oven with a flick of the wrist and a "that'll stay warm."

After topping off their glasses with the thick ale, she opened her sliding glass door, revealing an dark opening surrounded by thick green leaves. "Follow me, young man."

He shook his head. "How did you get those two to rent you this unit? They always left it vacant so they could keep this place private. I don't think the other tenants even know its here."

"They don't. I owe a lot to your aunt and uncle." She paused and her voice dropped to a whisper, almost to herself. "They've been good to me, especially Marta, better than I could imagine."

He could already feel the moisture on his body, sweaty like a sauna. At her words he felt his temperature rise and trickle of sweat rundown his spine. He almost twitched at the images that came to him from her simple statement.

Uncle Steve, his mother's brother, had married a strong, tall woman, several years his junior. She had been a competitive beach volleyball player and swimmer. They had met when Steve was a visiting business instructor at UC San Diego and she was a graduate student. Steve would always say in way of explanation, "She forced herself on me and I couldn't resist."

Marta would usually shush him then, or just shake her head. "You shouldn't go telling stories, you bad, bad boy."

He had only seen Uncle Steven back here a couple times. This was Aunt Marta's retreat. She liked it tropical, sultry. And Marta generally got her way.

Sandi lifted the seat of one of the teak chairs, revealing a hidden compartment, and pulled out a small tray with some crumbled pot on it and pack of papers. She sat and carefully crease the paper, then piled a health amount of green on top and started to roll the joint. It would be a fatty.

As she busied herself, Steve's thoughts went back to his first stay here, how his tall hard-bodied aunt looked in this spa, her athletic cut aqua blue two piece clinging wet to her body, and how she had taken his virginity. Taken was the right word, as she gave him little choice in matter. Not that he would have said no if she'd asked.

That summer and the years following she taught him how to please a woman, and many ways a woman could please him, but he had eventually also learned that he liked much the same thing Marta did. They both liked to be in control, in different ways. She liked to use more 'toys' to get that control; he just preferred to feel dominant. Shortly before he was to leave, the next to last time he had sex with his Aunt, he had taken control from her for the first time. Done what he'd wanted, positioning her how he could best get it.

She had taught him well, making it easy to turn the tables on her. It was still one of his peak experiences, and often images from that day cropped up in his fantasies. Even after he realized she had still been in charge. Leading him on to help him recognize something important about his own wants and desires. 

The sound and flicker of the lighter in the dim, filtered light brought him back to the present, and the beautiful athletic woman, much shorter than Marta, he was with now. He was aware of the arousal his memories had brought with them.

"I hope you don't mind second hand smoke," she said as she walked over to him, then drew hard on the fatty, causing the end to glow brightly as she inhaled.

"Not this kind," he replied. "Did you get that term from Aunt Marta too?"

"I got a lot from your Aunt Marta." Her voice sounded constricted as she held the smoke in. He caught her smile in the half light as her eyes flicked to the far corner of the enclosure where a thin curtain no doubt still hid a comfortable daybed. A daybed equipped with some surprises to aid Marta's 'games.'

The first time he had experienced her idea of 'second hand smoke' his wrists had been cuffed to that day bed. After endless teasing, Marta had sat back and taken a long slow inhale of pot. She'd leaned over his face, stroked his cheek and whispered in the same tight voice Sandi had just used to speak without exhaling, "Open your mouth and inhale, slowly."

Then she had covered his mouth with hers, timing her exhalation with his inhale to blow the pot smoke directly from her lungs into his. "Good boy. Now hold it in as long as you can."

Marta's tongue had teased his lips then as he held it. When he tried to meet it with his, hers pulled back. Kissing, like everything else, was always on Marta's terms. 

He took a long gulp of the strong ale and set the glass down.

Sandi reached up on her toes and tilted her head back, her lips parted. Her hand that was not holding the joint went lightly to the back of his neck. Without their lips touching, he inhaled as she exhaled, breathing in her breath. Anyone watching closely could have seen a thin column of smoke passing between them.

He held his breath in as she held his head. After he couldn't hold it any longer he blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, rather than into her face, already feeling that familiar warm feeling coursing through his blood. It had been a while. And Marta always had killer buds. Back home in Ohio, he had only been able to get really good stuff like this once, last Fall, visiting a friend who lived near Athens. Lush hills perfect for growing herb.

His lips found hers. His hands went to her hips as his tongue flicked lightly over her upper lip. The kiss deepened, but stayed soft and comfortable as their tongues lightly met, slid over one another. His fingers found belt loops and tugged her hips tightly against him, his thumbs tracing over the smooth bare skin of the belly he had glimpsed coming down the stairs, now slick with a sheen of sweat. With her hips held to his she could not miss the bulge pressed against her. She leaned in further.

Almost inaudibly, she moaned, like a sugar-loving dieter savoring their first chocolate morsel after weeks of denial. "Mmmm." He could feel the vibration more than hear it.

After a moment she used one hand to gently push herself back, enjoying the feel of his chest under her palm, and looked up at him. He still held her lower half against him, forcing her back to arch. "Thanks. I needed that; it's been a while."

Pushing him away harder, with almost a slap to his chest, she cocked her head to the side as her brow furrowed. He released her hips from his grip. "You didn't kiss my daughter like that, did you?"

He laughed, more aware of the growing bulge the second kiss had brought on now that it had no one to press against. "No. She was too...urgent. Quick out of the gate and in a hurry to deliver the punch line. Probably lasted about a second."

"Good. She has more ideas than she does experience. But enough curiosity to get into trouble. Fortunately Johnny, her boyfriend, was a late bloomer too. So from what I gather they are still at the awkward fumbling stage. What scares me is she's a quick study once she sets her mind to something."

She grabbed his hands, entwining her fingers with his while pulling them low against her thighs, leaned in and kissed his cheek, then sent another thrill to his groin when he felt her teeth ever so lightly nip his jawline. "Well, enough about you kissing other girls. Ready to eat?"

"Almost," he replied. With a quick twist he pinned both hands behind her lower back and pulled her to him. He covered her surprised gasp with his mouth and kissed her hard. She pulled briefly against his grip then pressed into him, her groan louder this time. Yes, Marta would like this little one.

He released her hands, one of his going up to her neck, pulling her head against his chest while the other arm tightly circled her waist. He felt a shudder run through her body before she relaxed, leaning heavily against his frame.

Now it was his turn to push her back, enough that he could kiss her forehead lightly. "Almost ready. How bout another hit first?"

Another second hand hit and what followed led to the idea of of soaking in the large spa again before eating. He had stripped down to his boxer briefs; Sandi slipped off her vest and jeans, but left on her T and simple cotton panties.

He had gone down the ladder into the hot water first and stood in the middle of the round spa. She had had eased herself down the ladder facing him, forcing her chest to push out against the thin cotton. Standing just in front of Steve, she dunked herself under, then stood upright again.

Once wet the T hid little, accentuated much. Her breasts were tiny but perfectly shaped. He could clearly see the shape of a bar piercing her left nipple. She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him with a frenzy that contrasted with the comfortable closeness from earlier. She was hungry, and not for pizza.

Wrapping him tighter in her arms, Sandi hopped up in the shallow water and slung both legs around his hips, locking her ankles behind him. Steve caught her with an arm hard around her slim waist and the other hand cupping her ass cheek.

She pressed hard against him and her tongue got more frantic as he felt her nipples, so hard they felt almost sharp, poke his chest. He was completely hard now, trapped between them. 

His head was spinning. Mainly because of this beautiful sexy little creature who was grinding against him, combined with a lack of sleep, mental exhaustion, strong scotch ale, and good Cali green bud.

She lurched as her hips pushed harder against him and he stumbled back in the water. His knees hit the spa bench behind him and he sat, surprising gracefully. Sandi had unwrapped her legs as he fell back, so she ended up standing facing him. Her breasts were right in front of his face, beautifully enhanced by the thin, clinging wet shirt. Smiling, he slid both hands under her top and up, until each cupped a perfect little tit, amazed by how hard her nipples felt under his palms. Steve groaned. He slipped his hands back down to the hem of the shirt and started to pull it up and off her.

Sandi pushed back away from him and his hands. Momentarily, he thought he had crossed a line. Then she crossed her arms and grabbed the hem herself, pulling the soaked T up and over her head. She turned to throw it back onto dry land by the ladder.

He gasped. When she turned, he finally got a good look at her tattoos. He had never seen anything quite like it, and he could feel the sight sow how confirm his compelling attraction to this woman.

Nine paw or claw prints ran up either side of her spine. That in itself was not unusual. It was the detail. These weren't simple paw prints. The shadowing, the detail, made it look like an animal, with nasty claws, had pressed the imprint deep into her back. Each paw ended in dark shadowy holes where each claw would have dug in, piercing her flesh. The illusion was incredible.

He stood again and leaned closer.

Each print was beautifully wrought with tiny lettering and symbols forming into almost conventional looking tiger paw prints, but shaded to make it look like they were really walking up her back, pressed into her flesh. He could not make out the words, written in letters which would have been completely invisible if viewed from more than a couple feet away.

He placed both hands on her back, a little spooked by the appearance of the mystic-looking details. One hand fell on either side of her spine, each covering one paw print. He ran a finger over the claw marks, almost expecting to feel the holes left by the beast.

Suddenly he seemed to know that the beast was a tiger, and the tiger's paws were his paws, claws mainly retracted into pads pinning her down, pressed hard into her flesh. He was the tiger, and she was his.

He saw himself pounding into her from behind with a very human cock while he had to fight the urge to bite her at the joint between her shoulder and neck with all-too feline canines. Without thought he growled deep in his throat. The vision left as quickly as it came.

He felt light headed, and sat back on the submerged seat in a daze. Sandi backed up to him and sat on his lap. She leaned back against him, her back to his chest, then pulled both his limp arms around her waist. He responded by hugging her tighter and resting one cheek against her back. He felt suddenly drained.

She started to speak. "You're the first man to see my marks in a very long time."

She paused before continuing. Steve's mind and body were slowly recovering from whatever had happened. Her voice was low, with more than a trace of bitter sarcasm. "He would have Pan Lo, this old Thai wise man fly in and give me one tattoo each time I earned it, he said. The ten step path to the ultimate, when the ten mystic secrets of tantric pleasure would manifest themselves. It took nine tattoos and too many years for me to wizen up enough to realize what an asshole he was. It took five more years before the rest of the world realized it."

"Huh?" Steve was still feeling tired and high, but more normal. Sandi was leaning back against him as they sat and she had to feel his raging hard on between the first two paw prints just above her ass. He hadn't realized how acutely turned on he was. He pulled her back a little more and rested his chin on her shoulder from behind. He could see over her shoulder to the glint of metal on her tiny nipple. 

She explained 'he' was Richardus Martin, the cult leader suspected of all kinds of things before being convicted of extortion and witness tampering. He had been courted by politicians and pop stars before the truth came out. 

She shivered. "I don't know why I told you that. I never talk about him."

"Well, I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. There had to be a story behind those tattoos. He held her closer.

"Thanks for making me feel safe." she said, before she leaned up and back and kissed him softly. As she moved back against him his hands slid over her. The left hand went down her belly under the spa waters, the right ending at her left breast, first brushing the pierced nipple with his palm, then cupping the perfect small orb from below while his thumb and first finger gave her nipple a slow, slight pinch. She moaned and flicked out her tongue, finding his. His pinch turned to a rolling action. He could feel the metal inside her sensitive flesh. The unpierced right nipple had crinkled into a tiny button under his touch. She squirmed back against him.

She kissed him deeply, for only an instant, then twisted away, ending up facing him just outside his reach, her mouth open and eyes wild.

" Are you sure I'm safe with you?" she asked, staring into his eyes.

He smiled and glanced over toward the half joint on the table nearby. "I can get you safer if you want, but I can assure you that, yes, indeed, you are safe with me."

"Thanks." She moved back to him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her fingers running through his thick wet hair as she knelt over him, one knee on each side of him on the submerged spa bench. She bent down to kiss him and whispered. "I needed to be sure. I hardly know you but something keeps telling me not to stop."

The tip of his cock, still rock hard and half convinced it was attached to a horny tiger, bumped into her thigh before sliding up to find the thin fabric of her panties. He heard a soft 'mmmm' sound and felt her move down on his lap enough that his cock slid up between them, bouncing against her belly before she rose up enough that the tip again just pushed against her cloth covered opening.

Hands still in his hair, she pulled his head forward to her chest. His mouth eagerly sucked in her pierced nipple, not gently, flicking, sucking, kneading. He could feel her sensitive flesh and the metal underneath it with his lips and tongue. 

Her hands tightened in his hair, her lower body thrust forward, trapping his cock between them, pressing so hard he could feel her lips wrapping around him through the thin wet cotton. 

Without using his nails too much, he dug all 10 fingers into her black like claws, raking down from her shoulder blades to her hips while pulling her in to him forcefully and rolling her nipple harder between her lips and tongue. Again, a growl like a tiger escaped him without conscious thought.

She came. She groaned, pulled his hair, whispered "No, I can't, I can't." Her body racked against his in wave after wave as he struggled to hold her. Her back arched, her sudden movement pulling them together off the bench. Her legs wrapped around his hips again and her arms surrounded him squeezing. "I can't stop."

He held her tight, whispered, "Don't stop. Let it go. I've got you." And she did let go as she convulsed again and again, the full-body spasms finally diminishing until she just shook in his arms, gently stroking her hair, floating together now in the middle of the spa.

He felt her lips soft on his neck. "Wow. . I don't usually...I mean it takes more...I think I should be embarrassed, but I'm too relaxed."

Still, she pushed her hips against him, focusing on where he pressed back so hard against her. He heard laughter in her voice at her own line she said, "Well, enough about me."

She reached down between them with both hands, gripping his hard cock and pumping it through the wet fabric with one while the other hand reached under his waistband. "Let's learn a little bit about you."

Steve's stomach chose that moment to gurgle so loudly they both heard it above the sound of the spa. They both made the same mock surprised face, laughing.

Sandi looked down at his face more closely. "You're not going to pass out on me are you?"

Steve seemed to droop as he considered. "I don't think so. But I am so tired. As bad as I want to pick you up and carry you over to Aunt Marta's bed - my bed now - then throw you down and do unspeakable things to you, I'm running out of gas."

He explained his afternoon's lack of napping, and it dawned on him he hadn't eaten anything since a drive through breakfast near Magic Mountain. They agreed it was time for pizza and both demanded and received promises to continue later where they left off.

An hour later, they reclined together on the couch, watching reruns. Pizza happily digesting. Steve's thoughts wandered again to those tattoos. Tiger's claws. He knew. Somehow.

Just like he knew how it felt to dig those heavy claws into struggling flesh, to open wide the huge toothy jaws of the jungle cat. 

Sandi looked up at him, laughter in her eyes. "Is somebody ready for Round

2?"

Tent pole. His crotch was the circus Big Tent. A small hand explored his outline through his pants. It squeezed a bit. "You're awfully hard, young man. Does it hurt?"

He couldn't resist a slow pitch strike like that. "Not if you go slow and use lubricant."

She unzipped his fly popped the button. With his underwear in her dryer, nothing stopped the tent pole from popping straight to vertical. She laughed and grabbed it, bringing it to her mouth. "I can't promise but I'll try."

She got most of the head past her lips the first try, the ridge around the base wet with her saliva with the second, and found room for half his length somewhere in her mouth with the third.

She reared back and sucked in a deep breath, and then pushed herself to stand above him. "Stay here, I want to show you something. But I need to rinse off first. Wait for me."

She turned at the door. "And when I get back, whatever happens, please try to be gentle. I think I like you."




Tiger Tiger Burning Bright



This was already a night to remember, and he was so turned on, but he also felt so worn out. His eyes were drifting closed even as he checked her right little body out as she left the room. All he had to do was wait for her. She didn't say he had to keep his eyes open.

He is walking with a beautiful woman he realizes is Sandi. She is dressed in a simple but elegant skirt suit, more bright tan than serious beige. They are downtown on a busy sidewalk, heading toward the lawyer's office he visited today. He knows it is Sandi even though her hair was a different style and she seemed somehow...altered.

He doesn't hear all the words, but knew the intent. Four young punks lean against the building, smirking and sniggering at the two of them, but mainly leering at the beautiful blond he is with. The one who called out to her grabs at his crotch.

Steve puts a protective hand on her back to guide her past them. He sees a flash of her tattoo and his claws. Feels the beast inside him.

Mr. Crotch was takes a step forward, looking like he has more to say. Steve spins toward him with a snarl, baring his teeth. He could feel the hair on his nape raise. "You say something, Punk?"

It - his voice, a force, he's not sure - comes out of him like a shock wave. Crotch takes two steps back and his back was against the granite building. Steve had always been one to slip and dodge through confrontation. Just now, his voice had a deep, gravelly menace that scared him.

His arms rose wide, making himself appear bigger. The hairs are all raised. "Any of you assholes got anything to say to the lady?"

There are four of them, but they shrink back from this unexpected fury. Though it doesn't seem strange at the time, the busy street is suddenly empty of everyone but the Boy, the Girl, and the punks.

"Ok, then." His voice is low, but clear. Dripping with menace. Was he growling? "I suggest you shits get the fuck out of here. And next time little dickwad here thinks about opening his trap to a lady, before he gets you all in an unpleasant situation, I'd suggest you shut it for him."

They seem to literally shrink. Then they slink around the corner like chastised puppies.

He hurries her into the deserted lobby of the building. The reception desk sits empty. He is on alert, taking her by the elbow into the elevator, waiting for the door to seal before he relaxes, releasing her. Then she grabs him, hugging close and crying, his hands wrapping around her. Another flash of snarling teeth as he touches her back. He sniffs the air like a wolf might and then her hair and neck. Somehow he knows she feels a surge run through her body. He is vaguely aware he is erect and hard against her.

The elevator dings open and he pulls her into an empty room across from the doors. There is no one in the halls. She is shaking. He wraps her in his arms again. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. What about you?"

He pulls away, snarling, "Asshole punks, first sign of trouble and they run. God, it felt so fucking powerful to see them wilt in front of me!"

She leaned back into him, one hand on his chest. "I know. I've never seen anything like that. You were amazing, kinda scary but amazing." She looked up at him.

"Thank you, you're my hero. You're lip is bleeding." He has no idea why he might be bleeding but none of this made sense and that seemed okay. Maybe he'd bit his own lip.

On impulse she leans in and kisses it, one hand on his cheek to steady herself, like kissing a booboo better. Then licks it, a tiny but almost lingering flick with the tip of her tongue. Tasting his blood. Savoring the drop she carries back between her lips. He knows that's not normal for her. But none of this is.

He growls, then he pushes her back with each hand gripping a bicep. "What is that smell?" 

He sniffs the air, and she can see he has the same look in his eye as he had when he turned to her after chasing off the punks, when he held her in the elevator, when she'd felt him,so swollen, against her in the elevator. A literal rager.

He seemed totally unaware he was pressing it against her again now, he was so focused on the scent.

He grabs a handful of her hair - it's longer and hanging down now - and pulls it to his face, inhaling deeply. He breathed in through his mouth and nose, as though tasting it too, extracting all the pheremonal information he could.

His nose presses under her ear, pushing her head back slightly. He sniffs more intently, measured, mouth closed, his nose nuzzled closer until she felt it brush her skin. She lifts her chin with a gasp and pressed against him, surprised by the intimate invasion and her response. 

He drags his sniffing down her neck and her head tilts back further, giving in to him. A tendon ran down the side of her neck, from her ear to her shoulder. As she exposes her throat, the tendon bulges outward under his lips. Something broke loose.

It doesn't matter whether his lips found the side of her neck, or her smooth skin, slightly sweaty now because of fear and adrenaline, pressed outward by the stretched tendon, found his lips. Either way, they both groan. They both press themselves together as his teeth find her exposed neck. 

He doesn't bite or nip at her. He claims her, tastes her, his teeth wide open and pushed into her flesh, indenting it, where they both feel the threat that if those teeth did choose to bite, they would clamp down on a deep part of her neck, not on but near her throat and major arteries. 

He is so intent on her intoxicating scent he almost doesn't catch her when her knees buckle. His hands drop to her hips as she slumps, his leg riding up between hers, her unsupported upper body falling back. 

He makes the impact into the wall behind her a controlled landing. His weight leaning into her, his hands cupping her ass cheeks tightly to keep her from falling further. With a grunt, he hauls her up the wall and gets his feet under him. This forces her legs outward and there is no hiding his hardness dragging across her hip to her center, still pinning her against the wall.

He buries his face in her hair and neck again as she clung to the back of his head, her chin straining up and back, her legs and belly open to him, pinned to the wall. His breath is warm and wet, ragged and penetrating on her skin. He leaves no space between them from their thighs to their loins, stomach, chest. He can feel her responding to this closeness as her hips start to grind back against him.

-----

He must have dosed off. It was dark, but he could still make out the blonde kneeling down next to him on the couch, her hair falling forward as she leaned toward him. He felt foggy headed from lack of sleep, the ale, the pot, and all the whirlwind of events. Even in the half light he could see she'd put on twins to the cheerleader skirt and top her daughter had worn out earlier. 

She was trying to be silent, so he kept still. She peeled the light blanket off him. Her heard a tiny gasp when she saw the result of the crazy dream before he felt her take his very hard cock in her hand, followed by a tickle of blond hair on his belly before she turned the swelling head into a lollipop. He could make out little more than her silhouette, the skirt riding high on her legs, her ass now higher than her head, short socks rising above her white sneakers. Her hair and the light hid her mouth and hand.

Her tongue flicked over his head and her lips sucked the tip but no more, his hips starting to thrust as they wanted to explore further again into her mouth. He reached out to her. One hand slipped between her knees, slid upward. One finger found her wetness, circled. She had wrapped one hand around shaft. Her lips and tongue worked on the head as though trying to find the special center inside the sweet candy shell.

"That's it, Little Girl. Take as much in as you can. Good girl, make it good and slippery." If she was going to play the cheerleader, he was going to play his part.

She moaned at his words, sending vibrations along his spine. Two fingers slipped part way inside her, felt her squeeze tightly in response. As tight as she felt, she was as slippery inside as he was hard.

Slurping sounds reached him along with the wet, wonderful sensation of her pumping fingers transferring more of her saliva down over his shaft. She rose up and stepped over him, kneeling above him, her back facing him. He pictured the tattoo under her thick white top. He thought he could make out the lowest part where her cheerleader top separated from her skirt. She guided his cock head to her wet slit, running the head along it, the tip barely inside.

He brought his hands up under her pleated skirt, gripping her hips to pull her down on him, to impale her, to push into her as he'd pictured when his hands became the tiger's claws. His hands sank into the soft flesh above her hips.

"What the fucking hell are you doing?" cried a male voice from the hall entry. She froze above him as Steve's hands realized Sandi had not had that much flesh on her hips.

An angry female then voice cut in as Sandi stepped into the room from the kitchen. She was wearing her cheerleader outfit, matching her daughter's perfectly, her daughter whose hips were held in Steve's hands, about to be impaled on his cock.

But she confronted the newcomer, not the twosome. "What the fuck are you doing in my house? And if you've gotta ask what the fuck they're doing, you've got a lot to earn, young man."

Jaz laughed nervously from above Steve and beneath her blonde mom wig. Sandi turned to them. "And you, young lady, you've got a lot to learn too. Stay right here. I'm going to take Johnnie here and teach him a few lessons."

Johnnie was still standing slack jawed when she grabbed him by the arm and led him down the hall. "Jessica, Steve is in charge of your lesson."

The two disappeared upstairs and he was letting the last few moments seconds sink in when he felt soft hips move under his hands, slippery lips slide over him. Her voice was almost to low to hear, whispered and facing away. "Will you teach me a lesson? I've been bad."

She had been bad. Twice in one day. Fooling me by the door and then sneaking in here like this. This was a fantasy come true. Marta had liked playing the teacher. And she'd know he would

"You have been bad, little Coyote." He felt her stiffen at that name. He used the language her mother, her primary authority figure. Almost as tiny as her mother, Steve was easily able to lift her and flip them both over.

He didn't want to hurt her, so he let his head and shaft slide along her slit as they turned. His hands never left her hips, the pleated skirt pushed up on both sides. She landed on all fours on the couch as he eased her down.

She pulled away from his grasp and twisted. She ended up on her back, legs spread with his weight on her, the hard, wide cylinder of his shaft just above his balls pressing her open, much more of him inside of her - without penetration - than the tip she had been teasing when they were 'discovered'. 

He held her there, trapped and vulnerable. The light was better looking this way and he could see her face beneath him.

"Here's what we're going to do. 

"First, you're going to apologize and take responsibility for what you've done.

"Second, if I accept your apology, we'll kiss and make up.

"Third, we will decide on your punishment."

He enjoyed watching the expression change on her face, serious brows suddenly arching and then clinging together in worry. As he spoke he moved his hips ever so slightly up and down, pushing her open with his root.

He reached up with one hand and slid off her wig, already askew. Pink bang fell onto her face as her shiny black hair was revealed. 

"What are you going to do to me?"

"That's the tertiary question. And one you'll help me answer, soon. Lets start with the first."

She was lost, stunned, so he continued. "First, apologize and take responsibility for what you did, little Coyote."

The nick name seemed to bring her focus back. "I tricked you. Twice, with the wig."

"And?"

"And I apologize for it."

"Is that all?"

"All I did or all I'm sorry?"

"I think you just answered your own question. Let's hear all you did, then we can discuss your apology itself. And remember that this effects parts two and three going forward."

She whined, caught. Her unsure teenager snarl came back, "Jeebus Crisco, you know you're almost fucking me with that thing?" She groaned as he slid his wet length up over her clit, wiggling gently side to side across it. She raised her hips to protect that sensitive spot and he dropped his lower. He slid past her opening until he felt her round cheeks squeezing either side of his shaft. His hips pulled back enough to slide back up. She froze.

He pushed the neglected head against her, amazed at how readily it popped into place to part her wet lips. He braced himself for a thrust. His hips reared back and started to buck forward hard. Then stopped. Her eyes went wide. He let the tip slip onto her belly again, pressing into her with only the root, the underside of his thickness. "No, that's almost fucking." 

She was breathing heavily. "So what's this punishment, anyhow? I thought I was supposed to be getting a lesson."

"I said we'll decide on your punishment. Do you have any requests, something that will be sure to teach you a lesson?"

She whined again. "This isn't the way it was suppose to happen! You're supposed to teach me, not spank me or something."

This was making sense. Steve leaned back and really looked at her. "How else have you tried to trick me? How was it supposed to happen? What was the plan, little girl?"

She knew she was caught. Steve wondered if Johnnie Boy was enjoying his lesson, or if he would figure out he'd been set up. Jessica truly looked panicked now. He relented.

"I'm not going to make you rat out your mom." She looked so relieved he laughed. "Though you might want to work on your poker face."

He lowered his head, close to hers. "Tell your teacher: what kind of lessons were you looking for?"

She squealed like a kid who forgot today was Christmas, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a smack on the lips. Their eyes met briefly and they kissed again, making up for the missed step, catching up their mouths to where other parts had already advanced. 

"Everything." She blurted during a breath, breaking apart from him for an instant. "Show me it all. I don't wanna look stupid. I wanna be good."

He smiled. This was going to be fun. "I'll help you. But we can't cover everything in one night. "

She nodded.

He began. "Let's start with the basics, how to not look stupid and be good. Or good at being bad."

She giggled, and kissed him again, more thoroughly. After starting off under false pretenses and quickly sliding past shortstop territory, she was enjoying backing up a couple bases. Though first base kisses don't involve what their other, lower parts were still doing, sliding naked against each other.

"It's all about giving and receiving, and enjoying what gives your partner pleasure. I'll show you how to give me more pleasure, and how to get more. But I need to take care of a couple things that have been on my mind. First let's get this top off you."

She pulled it up and over her head. He could clearly see her nipples poking through the light bra underneath. It followed. Her breasts were definitely larger than her moms but could only be called large in proportion to her undersized frame. Her nipples were light pink and crinkled up tight. He drank the sight of her in and said," Beautiful. Beautiful eyes, beautiful breasts, beautiful girl."

And she was. She wiggled at the attention and the compliment.

He increased his movement against her. She could feel the ridge under his head, then the entire length of the belly of his cock down to his balls, now slick with her juices, slide over her clit. Up then down. 

The ridge bounced back down over and slipped between her lips. He pushed until he felt the whole head inside her. She gasped but her eyes stayed locked on his as he scanned down her hungrily. His gaze traveled down past her parted panting swollen lips showing her small white teeth, over the pulse in her lovely neck could almost taste, to where he could see her lower lips held open and ready.

Almost spellbound by the sight of himself disappearing inside her, he slowly and lingeringly eased and teased his way into her, both of them slippery and very ready now. He gradually became aware she was making a noise, so quiet he could not make it out at first. 

He likely may have been able to continue all the way in to the root, burying his entire length and girth in her. A part of him recently awakened wanted to try.

Instead he slowly withdrew. Her soft whine pitched lower. He gently used the back of his hand to push her pink bang back from her face then stroke down her cheek. She smiled and leaned into his caress and he slid back into her, not stopping until her groan became a gasp as she felt filled, opened, stuffed. He buried his pelvic bone against hers, held her there, impaled. 

"Is this almost fucking?" She couldn't resist asking. The strain was evident in her voice.

"Almost. It could end up there without warning at this point. We have the mass; we have the volume," he flexed inside her, "but not the intensity, which may be indicated by an increase in velocity, and/or amplitude."

"You're almost making this unsexy." She kissed at his neck almost urgently. "Don't you know cheerleaders don't like science class? Shut the physics up and teach me."

"All right." He agreed. She pouted openly when Steve pulled out of her and stood up. "Let's pick up where you started."

He stood facing her, holding his cock. It was shiny with her juices. "When I woke up, you had my cock in your mouth. Or at least part of it. That's where we'll begin."

He gestured for her to approach with one crooked finger. Jaz brushed the pink bangs from her face and sat up. She tucked her feet underneath and sat on her heals, leaving her inches from Steve's erection jutting up and out toward her mouth.

She lifted her big blue eyes to him. Steve stroked the pink hair away from her face this time, then kept his hand at the side of her head. He smiled slightly down at her. "Go ahead, little girl. Show me what you can do."

He watched her wrap her hands around his shaft and lower her mouth to the tip. Steve at 25 preferred older women. Definitely. And he had unfinished business with a very hot MILF somewhere in this house. But if that hottie wanted him to teach her little girl something, who was he to object? 

Jessica bobbed his head in and out of her mouth rapidly. She held him a grip just below the sensitive ridge so that her lips would hit her hand before more than the head was in her mouth. He smiled and stroked her cheek. A teachable moment. 

"Baby girl, hey." He whispered while his thumb urged her chin and eyes up toward his. "Slow down. Relax."

He put his hand over hers. "Easy. Relax your hand and move it up and down. Yeah like that. Yeah. Feel how the skin slips up and down with you?"

She nodded. Her eyes had dropped back down to his cock. He continued. "Now use your mouth again. Slowly at first. You don't need to suck.

"That's it! Yeah. Move your hand and your mouth together. Damn that feels good."

The way she was kneeling, her pleated cheerleader skirt had fallen back to where nothing was exposed. Looking down at her suck him dressed like that, he thought of the tight wet depths he had been buried in minutes ago, now hidden under that skirt. 

Steve started to thrust into her mouth, meeting her hand and lips as they came forward. The fingertips of his right hand, still at the side of her head, began to massage the strong tendons at the base of her skull. 




Tiger Tiger Burning Bright



"Show me how much you can take in your mouth." He said it softly, but it was not a question. He had stopped his slight thrusting and stood still. Jaz looked up at him briefly. She looked nervous.

She wrapped her first finger and thumb around him as far as she could. She pumped his shaft several times with just those two, but squeezing more than before and a little quicker. He inhaled sharply.

She brought her lips close to his head and used her two fingered grip to lift him higher. Catching his eyes again with hers, she gave a slow exaggerated ice cream cone lick from the bottom of his shaft to the very tip. He could see a clear drop of precum, forced up by her pumping fingers, swept up by the tip of her tongue. 

Steve saw Sandi in a flash, bent over to take him in her mouth. He could see her tattoos, claw prints coming toward him. The tiger.

He growled. "Show me now much you can take. Now."

His fingers were curled at the base of her neck, massaging slightly again. She pushed her thumb and finger down to his base, against his groin. With his free hand, Steve pulled hers away from him. "No hands."

His fingers tightened on her neck. Not pushing her, still controlling. She bent forward and took more of him in. Looking down he could see her back. Where Sandi's tattoos would be.

Grr. Had he actually growled out loud when he thought of her tattoos? 

Those tattoos. His claws. His hunger for her, to dig his claws into her and make the sexy little bitch his. A wild urge ran through him to sink teeth into her nape that sensitive joint where spine became skull.

Whoa. Where had that come from? Sandi was hot and and he was unusually attracted to her, but ...

Sandi's daughter squirmed under his grip. He heard her cough wetly, as though at a distance. He realized his hand was clenched on her nape, pushing her onto his cock. He released her head. As he bounced free of her mouth she inhaled deeply, and he was struck by how almost painfully beastly hard he felt.

He had trouble forming speech so he took a deep ragged breath before beginning. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what came over me."

Jaz the cheerleader leaned back on the couch, her feet still tucked under her and hidden by her skirt. She was panting and her eyes watery. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"It's okay. It was like all of a sudden you went all animal and shit."

She stared at his hard-on, still pointed out toward her. She continued. "I thought you were big and hard before, but damn, right when you growled that thing swelled up in my mouth.

"I thought you were going to crack my jaw when you shoved me down on it like that."

"I am so sorry." He really was. He turned and sat beside her, his cock still standing out, but at least not pointed at her face.

"How do you growl like that?" She was smiling.

Steve looked shocked as he considered it. "I have no idea."

He tried a growl. Tried again, to make it more snarly. Jaz looked confused.

"That's not even close. Before, you, sounded like an wild animal, like a ..."

"Tiger." He said.

He heard her take a quick surprised breath. "Yeah. A tiger."

Steve rubbed his eyes and face with both hands. This was too weird. First the street punk thing earlier today, and that smell on Sandi that had driven him crazy. Then his hands like tiger claws digging into her back, the vision of thrusting into her, biting her, as he took her from behind. 

He had felt close to tearing her throat out earlier too, in the elevator. Or at least make her submit like an animal would, with teeth on her exposed neck. Those damn tattoos. Just thinking about them, and he had almost lost it with her daughter just now.

He was pretty sure some of it was a just dream. Sandi hadn't been downtown. But it all seemed to blend together.

His eyes shot open wide behind his palms. Jaz had wrapped her hand around his still hard cock as he sat beside her.

She almost whispered near awe. "It is so thick, so hard. I know it was hard before, then you growled and...it grew."

He felt her move next to him and uncovered his eyes. She slipped off the couch and onto the floor in front of him, kneeling. Looking down, he had to agree. He didn't think he he had ever seen himself look this swollen, feel this stiff.

She leaned forward and gently nuzzled his cock against her cheek. He could barely hear her low whisper. "So hard, so thick. I don't know if it will fit."

With that she slowly, softly wrapped her lips around his head and let him slip into her mouth again.

Steve kept his hands pressed against the couch on either side of him as the beautiful young girl sucked him. He didn't want another vision to leave him forcing her head down on him again, choking her, without him being aware of anything but the urges of a wild beast.

Eyes closed, he again saw long black claws press into the flesh of a soft, smooth, muscular back. Felt his mouth, his huge carnivorous jaws, open wide and his feral eyes looked down at his target, pinned beneath him. He growled.

Steve's eyes popped open as he heard a gasp from the area of his lap. Jaz was looking up at him, one hand still wrapped around him. "You growled again. Like the tiger."

"Come here." He pulled her up beside him. He held her face between both his hands, staring at her. Her eyes were wide, almost frightened, but obviously turned on. "I am so sorry, little Coyote."

She smiled as he continued. "Something is going on that I don't understand. But I don't want to hurt you. And right now, I don't think I can control myself."

He exhaled as he considered the situation, tried to calm himself, before he continued. "This involves Sandi...your mother. I think I better go find her, figure this out."

As soon as he uttered the thought, as soon as he concluded he needed to find Sandi, his body knew it was right. The beast inside him knew it was right. At least he could still think as the tiger awoke this time. He had a purpose, a goal. Or was it that he had prey?

He kissed the young girl hard, but pushed her back before her arms could wrap around him.

"I'm sorry." He said again. It came out as a ragged sound, barely human speech. He was on his feet and headed for the hallway. Now that the beast was awake it would not be delayed. He had lived here before, so didn't need to think where Sandi's bedroom would be.

Her door flew open when his open hand struck it. It was only later that they noticed he had split the wooden jam when he hit it. A very startled, very naked, and very young looking teenager spun as Steve entered. Steve snarled at him. "You. Git. Now."

The youth did not hesitate. He had enough sense to grab his pants off the floor as he ran out of the room.

Sandi reclined on the bed, propped on both elbows, eyes wide. She was shocked by his sudden intrusion, but now was mesmerized by the vision of this very erect man standing over her, glowering. A man radiating a very beast like intensity. A man she could feel a compelling, almost physical, magnetic attraction toward. She sat up and scrambled to the foot of the bed near him, completely naked. 

"You. Come with me."

Neither were sure afterward if he had scooped her off the bed or if she had jumped into his arms. He said "come with me," and her arms and legs were wrapped around him, his right arm holding her tight to him by her waist as he strode rough the house to the glass door leading to the spa.

Dimly, somewhere in her mind, she was aware that he had not felt this big, this hard, pressed against her belly earlier. Steve was unaware of anything in his mind, except lustful hunger and knowing that he had his prey now.

He carried her directly to Marta's special alcove, and pushed the curtain back to expose the day bed. It sat higher than a normal bed. His arm around her waist relaxed as did her legs around his. She kept her arms around his neck as he eased her to a standing position.

She lifted her face to his, to kiss him, but he pulled her arms off of him and spun her around. He growled, the inhuman tiger growl he did not know how to make, as he finally saw the tattoo running up her spine again. He pressed her forward, the height of the bed guiding her to bend at the waist.

They both groaned. This was much more than any sexual tension either had felt before. He leaned forward to put both hands where they belonged on her back, using his weight to pin her upper body to the bed and forcing her up on her toes. His cock was firmly planted between the round cheeks of her ass.

He snarled in hungry delight. Steve the rational human was almost completely submerged in the animal urges swirling through him. His hands had disappeared, replaced by huge clawed paws, covered in fur. Dark claws deeply dented her back, pressing far into her, miraculously not rending her delicate flesh. As if old voids were finally filled.

Raw, animal energy surged through him now that he was again not merely thinking of her tattoos, but planted on them. Sandi moaned beneath him. He was forcing her with his weight to breath only shallowly, but she was gasping for ragged breaths far more than his weight could cause. She felt the beast released, the beast that had her pinned and helpless. The beast about to ravage her.

In contact with her tattoos, and what they released, they both felt his cock expand again. He pulled his hips back from hers. The angry red head sprung forward, right at her wet core.

He leaned forward, forcing more air out of her lungs, and thrust. They both cried out. Neither really heard the noise, overwhelmed by sensation. They were both primordial animals making noises animals make. Both felt an almost electrical energy fill them.

She felt herself open to take the onslaught of his now huge erection. He felt her open to him, barely, felt himself tightly enveloped in her squeezing pulsing center. He was locked in her, bound to her.

With claws, he grabbed both her arms above the elbow and hauled her up and back onto him. She hung limp between her shoulders as he held her weight above the bed, still bent over at the waist. His huge cock filled her again and again, fucked her body and soul.

Snarling, growling, whimpering. They both made sounds they were totally unaware of. As unaware as they were of the time. It may have been brief seconds or long minutes of fevered thrusting before he pumped his cum into her, her arms now pinned almost behind her. His cum seemed to be an endless flow, filling her. As it left him, so did much of the beast. As he came, his ability to think slowly returned. 

He was aware that he had never felt like this, had never pumped out so much cum in his life.

As thought returned to him, the gift of language, of words, also returned to them. Her first words still sounded rough and animal like. "Yes. Fill me up. Mark me. Mark me. Make me yours."

The words weren't rational, or something she decided to tell him. The words were her body, her core, gifted with language, expressing deeply felt urges and needs that she had no control over.

He knew what her body meant. She was his. He was marking her, inside and out. Steve eased her down onto the day bed. Somehow, as he released her arms, Steve could see his hands and the tiger paws at the same time, images overlapping.

He lightly, reverently, placed his palms on her back. And he exploded. He emptied his balls into her in a way he didn't think possible. A flash released in his skull. A roar released unbidden from his throat.

He collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. Satisfied, sated. Almost human again. 

But not the same. Something had changed. For both of them.

He slid off of her and felt his cock ease out to slide wetly over the back of her thigh, and she rolled so her face was next to his. She looked at him and smiled, then rubbed her nose against his. It felt intimate and still a bit animalistic. He wrapped an arm around her as she snuggled closer, burying her face into his neck.

As his arm completed its journey around her back, he felt a surge of the tiger again. Lightly this time. Almost like a deep contented purr radiated from her tattoos, down his arm, to vibrate through the rest of his body.

"Wow." He barely heard her voice.

Steve pulled her more closely to him. He wrapped her in both arms. Then he surprised himself with words he made no conscious decision to speak. "You're mine now."

It was not a wish, or a desire, or an endearment. It was a physical fact. He felt several light kisses on his neck before she replied. "I know. You marked me."

He felt a glow inside he had never felt before. A rightness. She pulled back enough to look at him and he saw that same glow in her eyes. She looked near tears. He leaned in and kissed her, softly and tenderly.

He stood then and offered her both hands to help her to her feet. He pulled her close to him again and she clung to him. Steve kissed her forehead, then took her by the hand. "Come on."

She let him lead her through his door, opposite the entrance to her apartment. She followed him to the master bedroom, his room now, and crawled in when he held back the covers. He crawled in behind her, spooning her from behind. 

She was asleep moments after her head hit the pillow. 

Steve was exhausted, but just before unconsciousness hit, he felt something sharp under his pillow.

He felt under the pillow and found a crisp folded letter. Sandi's steady breathing showed she out. He rolled onto his back and unfolded the paper. It was in a neat, confident scroll he recognized as his Aunt Marta's.

"I hope Santa Claws cums early for you this year. Maybe around All Hallows. Enjoy, Tiger.

- With Love, M"