It is a quiet night. A few dying candles throw long shadows across the room, obviously a teenage girl's, full of plush and music and photos of friends, and snow drifts against the windows, building up in deep banks outside. A tigress lies sprawled on the bed, her vibrant orange fur a sharp contrast to the soft powder blue of the sheets beneath her. She tosses fitfully, and even through the black velvet sleepmask, it's obvious that she is wide awake. Despite the cold, her breath is slow, hot, and labored, and beads of sweat moisten her fur, following her stripes along the curves of her body before they soak into the sheets. Beads of another fluid entirely moisten the soft, creamy-white fur between her legs.
A low, pleading mrowl escapes the tigress's throat as she squeezes one delightfully pink nipple between her fingertips, and the tiny nub springs instantly to attention. Her plight is obvious, now, long familiar to many her age. The heat races throughout her body, and her stripes writhe hypnotically as she squirms, hunting for a lover that isn't really there.
Far in the distance, a clocktower strikes the hour, letting the deep, sonorous ringing of its bells chime and fade away twelve times.
Silence stretches on, first one minute, then two, interrupted only by the heavy breath of the tigress, thick with desire. The bells sing a thirteenth tone.
The candles flicker for a moment as a low, comforting growl fills the room. A handprint appears in the fur of the tigress's breast, and its nipple stiffens in excitement. The invisible hand massages her, big and powerful, cupping the supple flesh as it might an apple, and the imprints of sharp, eager teeth ring the pink cap of flesh, her invisible lover tugging gently and bathing it in the warm caresses of an invisible tongue.
A low, purring moan escapes the tigress's throat as her hands reach up, tracing their fingertips along the back of the invisible head nursing at her breast. They slide down, feeling its contours, as though sculpting it out of the air, and guide it upwards. Holding it at the curve of the neck, she begins a slow, tentative kiss, first nervously feeling her lips press and flatten against the warm air, then opening her mouth, letting the invisible tongue slip over her teeth and into her mouth. She mirrors the exploration, letting her bright pink tongue slide suggestively along invisible curves, long, rough, and serpentine.
Another handprint appears at the curve of the tigress's hip, pulling her up against the unseen body above her, and the fur on her belly flattens at the contact. Tiny red points appear in her creamy-white seat of fur as invisible claws mark her, and, ever so slowly, the kiss grows more aggressive, tongues sliding over each other as two pairs of lips try to devour one another in their excitement, the tigress's half the only visible half of the exchange.
Pushed onwards by the insistent call of her heat and her lover's sensuous, persuasive attentions, the tigress melts into the kiss, pressing her breasts against the smooth, flat expanse of an invisible chest. A low, whimpering moan escapes from the kiss as she grinds her hips against the solid air, desperate for sensation, in a little plea for more.
Her prayer is answered, in time, as her legs curl over invisible hips, pulling them against her. The camera sweeps across her body, stopping between her legs, and stares at the wet, downy fur between her thighs. Soft pink lips swell, trembling in excitement, and spread, teased apart by an unseen head of thick, invisible flesh. Big, powerful hands, invisible to the camera, massage her rear, letting the anticipation draw out.
The tigress breaks the kiss, still blindfolded by her sleepmask, and begins to beg. Her voice is sweet and smooth, like honey, as it begins, first demure and seductive, but her control slips, and soon she babbles a stream of wonderful obscenities, edged hard by desire.
A thick shaft pushes into the tigress, stretching her tight against its invisible sides. She is very wet, and the strong muscles within her body glisten as candlelight flickers into her depths. It beckons with the promise of impossible pleasures, growing and shrinking with the long, slow, sensuous thrusts that invade it, seeking its most intimate places and bringing them to full, ecstatic blossom.
Sharp, lusty mewling fills the room as the camera pulls away, watching the tigress in all her glory once more. She writhes beneath her lover, arching her back up to meet him, even as she strains to remain in control. It is hard, though, so very hard, like the invisible relief that comforts her, even as it makes her its own, taking her breath in heavy, ragged gasps. More, her body pleads, its stripes dancing hypnotically against the toned, soft-edged muscles beneath the fur. More.
Faint red marks appear on the tigress's neck, evidence of the hard, sucking kisses she so obviously enjoys. Like a drug, her lover-dream sweeps over her body, a thousand hot and forbidden ecstasies, every sensation a sparkling jewel of burning delight against the heavy black satin of the night.
The unrelenting demands of lust swell and overtakes the tigress, melting away her control like drops of steaming water carving away a sheet of ice. Slowly, she grinds her hips against her lover's, feeling the fur mesh and flatten against him. Her control crumbles like some marvelous backwards evolution, letting her slip from slow, coaxing gyrations to desperate bucking, hard, fast, and wanton in the mad tangle of limbs, and, finally, wonderful, screaming climax.
Strong, invisible hands lift the tigress up, pulling her hips against their own, off the bed, sliding deeper into her as it stokes the bright, dying embers of her pleasure. They seem to linger there for a few moments of blissful eternity, letting the tigress ride the crest of ecstasy until it fades off into the warm, gentle exhaustion of afterglow.
Content now, the tigress turns over, smiling beneath her sleepmask, and hugs her pillow close. A deep, rumbling purr fills the room as those invisible hands stroke slow, massaging paths down her back, and the room grows dimmer as a single candle flickers, gutters, and dies away.
The hands still stroke the tigress's back, slow-moving handprints in the soft fur, but their paths change subtly, now less gentle, now more predatory. One slides up, between her shoulderblades, to hold her securely against the pillow. The other slides down, gently spreading the cheeks of her rear, and the pink little star of flesh there flexes, tested by some unseen probe.
Surprised, the tigress rawrs angrily, trying to squirm away, but her hips seem to make their own decision, lifting her tail like some marvelous flag of surrender as they push back, eager for more.
Another candle dies, and something thicker replaces the fingertip, pressing hard against the base of her tail. The hand joins its mate, holding the tigress down in a strong, possessive grip.
As the tigress squirms beneath her captor, temptingly vulnerable in her body's betrayal, the candles gutter and die, one by one, as though loathe to abandon the luscious scene. Soon the final light flickers, just barely illuminating the soft, wonderful curves of her rear and the angry, red ring of muscle stretched taut against an invisible invader, and leaves the tigress to her screams of agony and delight.