Tygra, I Pwn You Forever!
"Water: Tygra, I Pwn You Forever!" by Abraxas (2009-08-20)
citrus_taste, kink, #22, "Honey Dust"
I wait until the dead of night to make my move. As I crawl out of the bedroom into the passage, my palms sweat, my breath races. Despite this, that veil of silence that separates the sleeping and the awake, night is a weak disguise. My hobby - it is as dangerous as if I attempted it under the light of day.
How could it be explained if discovered? It is beyond words! It is impossible to understand by the sane....
By the gods, just, let the lair be asleep again. If Liono and the kittens are up and about it is too dangerous to continue. Or, worse, if Snarf prowls the hallway - the racket that imp makes, pestering and irritating me with questions, it would be enough to awaken everybody. Then it would be finished.
There are only so many excuses - and ways to divert attention - until a pattern emerges even within the mind of a Mutant.
The others would have guessed I was beset by yet another addiction. They could not have known what, exactly, I craved. Unless they probed deeper and deeper.... No mountain of lies is enough to mask it.
It would be the end of me, Tygra, if the truth were merely suspected. Because there is no way to come back from this precipice. The Silky Fruit was not my fault. The Keystone simply exposed a weakness. This - this - this is me! All me! I cannot be forgiven. Just the thought of what I do in the middle of the night would be enough to alienate me forever.
My Honey Dust! Its white, salty ash dusting my fingers. It impels my devolution into this animal frenzied by the satisfaction of the fetish. I want my pollen fresh and clean direct out of its source and for its taste I face the ultimate physical danger every single night I attempt to collect its nectar. Not only the danger of getting caught but the immediate and violent reaction against my methods.
I know he would not appreciate it....
Where it started, my lust, I recall as if yesterday.
It was a long night of work alone within my study. Various sketches and models detailing a new Thundercat outpost were scattered about my workbench. I had been working the better part of a month and only showed a pile of scrap as progress.
I could not stand it so I fled into the depths of the lair to renew my mind.
Whenever struck by architect's block I find solace communing with machines. Their harmonic, cycling ways always soothed my spirits. My favorite spot was the laundry and it happened that Snarf was in the midst of a wash already. There, surrounded by the humming of motors, I curled by a machine and dozed.
Without my notice Snarf reloaded the machine. The rest of the night would have passed without a stir except that suddenly I was shocked awake by a pungent, feral punch. I looked - a piece of underwear was atop my lap. The odor was coming out of it.
At first I was repulsed by being that close to it. But as it was the aroma turned my revulsion into a kind of curiosity. And it awoke something inside of me that I thought age would have withered away. It was like those surges of excitement that come, spontaneously, at puberty....
I grasped the article and while Snarf was distracted I sniffed it and it was then and there that the obsession started.
I was ablaze by a furry of inspiration! With the scent fresh across my fingers - sniffed and licked raw - I finished the plans. I admired its sleek, long suggestive lines. Its rigid (and sturdy) body. How I stroked the length of that model I erected. Yes - the Tower of Omens is my monument to my Honey Dust!
I press my ear against the door and listen. The tell-tale snore echoes out of the abyss. I wrap my whip about my body - invisible - I crack ope the entry and sneak into the chamber.
He sleeps with arms tucked under pillow. Legs spread. As if to invite me to my quarry.
I often wonder if he knows and assumes that posture to lure my fly to his web - alas - that cannot be but the vagaries of my madness.
I wait. Salivating at the thought of the joy yet to come. Hovering above the bed, above his crotch. I reach the waist of his loincloth and yank it to expose a tuft of rough, blue fuzz. Slowly, gently, I bring his penis into view. Erect, it is as long my hand from the tips of fingers to the wrist. Impressive yet it is not the dimensions of the beast that lures me night after night....
I retract his foreskin while I stifle a moan at the sight and feel of the violation.
I swat the air about his tip - already, like kittens to catnip, I am dizzy with my Honey Dust!
I bring my face toward it until my nose touches its tip. I inhale as if imbibing out of a bong burning the essence of a weed. This is my drug of choice! It is what awakens the tiger within me. The forbidden nature of it. The unspeakable description of it. The danger of getting caught. All of that at once compacted into the shape of a penis held like the bud of a flower in my hand. This is my reason to live!
My Honey Dust - I want you fresh! Flaky. Crusty. Raw like the pollen that sticks to bees. I want to rub you against my fingers and snort you into my brain.
Who would have thought in Panthro's manly essence I would have found the key to paradise?
END