The Huntress
This is my first story. I welcome feedback, from praise to constructive criticism to flames.
Please note that this story contains themes that may offend some readers, including watersports. If the themes listed in the keywords could make you uncomfortable, you may not wish to read this story.
The Huntress
The tigress walks on paws as soft as velvet, their touch upon the forest floor as light as the breeze from a butterfly's wingbeats. Moist green leaves crinkle beneath her paws, redolent of the monsoon rains, the dampness matting the fur on the pads of her feet. In a rare respite from the seasonal precipitation, sunlight filters through the jungle canopy with difficulty, mazing the eye by dappling her coat with spots of light and summoning a hot, heavy mist from the ground.
The folds of her sex glisten in the diffuse light, exuding their own moisture as if in answer to the mist. Her own heat is more relentless than the sun's, spurring her onward more tantalizingly than a surreptitious rustle in the underbrush. The moist leaves stroke her paw pads like a lover's tongue; the breeze, like his breath. She comes to a brooklet and gratefully crouches in the rippling water, sighing strongly as the liquid laves her livid vulva. Far from appeasing her urgency, the ablution enflames it, the cool, liquescent caress accentuating the need for solid, rough warmth.
She arises and crosses the brooklet, then shakes herself vigorously, though the water only reached to her ankles. Her snub nose flares as she catches the scent of a male tiger. His pheromones, carried by the breeze, drive into her nostrils, then spill into her sinuses, making her reel with dizzy arousal. A low, throaty growl escapes her throat, rough with flagrant passion and with frustration at that hunger.
She moves onward. Her paw-pads indent the ground, rendering her easy to trace for any jungle creature arrogant or foolish enough to track a tigress. A chorus of cawing precedes her, the chattering birds warning the other jungle beasts to fall silent as the huntress passes. She turns down a winding side trail, her buttocks swaying sinuously beneath her upraised, twitching tail as she negotiates the narrow path with predatory grace. After she has walked some distance, she realizes that her goal has changed; what began as a search for food has become a hunt for the source of the enticing male scent.
As her discerning nose leads her closer to the male, the sharp tang of his urine intensifies. Her muzzle parts as she pants, both from the jungle heat and her own, filling her throat with the cloying fragrance. Her labia swell yearningly outward as if to drink that scent; her sex starts to seep its own pheromones, adding to the heady perfume. A slow, mischievous breeze blows in her face, tickling her whiskers and wafting more of the smell toward her. The tigress sits back on her hindquarters with a whine, which resounds loudly in the stillness her presence has begotten.
Her eyes slip closed to shut out the overwhelming sensations around her, but the loss of one sense only focuses the others: she can feel each individual hair in her sleek coat rippling, smell the burgeoning plant life beneath the animal scents, and hear quiet footsteps approaching with stealth to match her own. Her eyes fly open, then narrow threateningly, scanning her surroundings. As she seeks the creature that dares to stalk in her territory, her tail lashes like a whip and her fur stands on end.
She sees him then for the first time. He is resplendent in the unseasonable light. His coat is a rich, tawny hue, marked by hypnotic whorls on his face and long, bold stripes on his heavyset body. His huge paws and stubby legs suggest strength more than stealth, yet he approached in near-silence. The huntress' heartbeat picks up and her stomach roils. She is glad to be crouching on her hindquarters, for her legs are suddenly shaky.
She squirms, helpless to control herself, a spurt of her juices coating the rain-sodden leaves beneath her. She struggles with her urgency and tries to escape the male, though she has just sought him out. Stumbling to her feet, suddenly ungainly, she edges away from him. Unconsciously, her body language mimics that of the sambar deer she has hunted, her body growing rigid and her eyes huge. Relentless, he strides forward, slowing closing the distance between them.
She growls to the hunter, meaning the sound to be a warning, yet it comes out as an invitation, charged with raw lust. She drops her eyes, looking beneath his belly to his exposed member. In her state of arousal, every detail of the shaft stands out crisply. The erection is a mere two inches long, a brownish orange shade except for the black tip and the subtle white barbs nestled around the shaft beneath the foreskin.
He takes advantage of her brief distraction to close the distance between them in a bound, arcing high in the air as if to join the birds above. Landing with a thump mere inches from her, he rubs his cheek hard against hers, growling affectionately. She raises her paws and bats at his face, her claws sheathed, and snarls weakly at him. Undeterred, he presses back against those paws, roaring with anticipatory triumph.
Unable to deny her estrus any longer, she whirls about, presenting him with her hindquarters. Her tail lifts high and waggles around, highlighting her vulnerability and wafting the musk of her heat full in the male's face. A fierce shudder runs down her spine, born of the mingling of rampant need and the fearful anticipation of the hunted. The humid air moves sluggishly across her folds, but no flesh enters her to appease her urgency.
Looking up, she sees the male staring down at her, regal and unimpressed. Fiercely, she dips her muzzle to his face, lapping and nipping at it, the gesture a combination of grooming and a challenge. Growling, he bats her jaws away as she nears his neck. Her muzzle dips compliantly lower, roving along his near flank. The huntress knows a moment's satisfaction as she feels the tension in his sides, sourced in the same tangle of anticipation and fear she feels.
She takes a single susurrant, stealthy step, bringing her head to the male's enticing member. The modest muscle hangs fully out of its sheath, the raised barbs promising to tug and tease at her womb. Darting her rough tongue out, she laps at the smooth skin and feels those barbs. A faint flavor of urine and sweat lingers on the shaft; she swallows it hungrily, taking at least this much of the male inside her.
Meanwhile, her tail swishes across the male's whiskers and cheeks, spreading her vaginal fluids and the musk from her anal gland across his features. He sneezes, then flicks his tongue out, running it hard along her folds. She grinds against him, seeking a modicum of relief. Just as the brooklet stirred her to great urgency, that feline tongue brings her to new heights. The reek of her need grows even more intense; though any huntress knows to ignore her own scent, she cannot block out her body's message.
The male's member jerks against her muzzle, answering her burst of scent. She pants and feels it slip inside. The meat throbs in her mouth like an offering; she presses her teeth into the flesh out of habit. With a yowl, the male pulls free and steps back, his sex livid with the indentations she left. His forepaws come up, batting at her face and shoulders, the male snarling. She lifts her own forepaws in answer, protectively, mewling at him. His sheer weight pushes her to the ground, her chin cushioned by the wet leaves. Betraying her, her tail arcs high over her back, flagging her sex urgently.
The hunter disregards the offer and moves astride her face, his member coming to her muzzle again. His paws weigh heavily on her, the claws extending just far enough to demonstrate his power. Her tongue lifts up and tastes the tip of the flared shaft longingly; she hears a moan and realizes it came from deep in her own throat.
Carefully, the male sinks into her muzzle again, his muscles taut as he recalls her bite. The huntress savors his fear, her heart racing with exultation. She does not bite again. Instead, she lifts her head, impaling herself on the barbed shaft--and the hunter thrusts, his growls turning to roars as he mates her throat. His barbs rasp across her tongue in payment for her earlier nip, the slight pain making her spasm with helpless need.
The tenor of his vocalizations changes and his member twitches inside her heated mouth. She waits, panting. His hard penis softens slightly, letting a trickle of urine drip out. She swallows, savoring the acrid taste, and enfolds him; her tongue moves in long strokes along the underside of his sex to coax more of the waste fluid out. The hunter obliges, spilling his pee in a slow trickle, her tongue keeping him half-hard and slowing the flow.
They stay merged like this for long minutes, so long that the boldest animals start to creep hesitantly back to the area. The jungle comes alive again with sound, the wild cacophony of sweet, high bird trills and shrill monkey chattering nearly masking the vocalizations of the mating tigers.
At long last, his bladder empty, the male withdraws from her muzzle. He circles the huntress, sniffing with interest at her puffy, sodden folds. Acting on instinct, she rolls over, bringing her legs upward and inward to expose her slit and neck to the looming predator. He sinks down easily into her, his member slickened by her saliva and his urine, her vaginal fluids and the mingling of their musky secretions, and even the earlier wash of flowing water. The male tiger parts his jaws, wrapping them around her vulnerable throat.
She goes suddenly limp, aware that a single twist of his jaws could snap her neck. His
forepaws grab the ground on either side of her head, his claws cleaving muddy furrows through the leaves and dirt. His erection glides in and out of her, his barbs tugging at her inner walls, calling forth the huntress' estrus. Her inner folds squeeze and relax against him, her hips rising to meet his member. The two mewl, growl, yowl, and roar on a rising note of defiant lust, their voices strangely harmonizing, melding into the symphony of nature.
The hunter presses close, his groin tight against the huntress'. She feels him pause--and then it happens. A wonderful spreading warmth flows out from his penis, rushing past her folds, coating her walls, and entering her womb. Unbeknownst to her, his sperm cells dash themselves against the citadel of her fertile eggs, seeking to calm her heat as no other fluid--whether water or saliva or urine--could do.
His teeth tug at the scruff of her neck possessively, then slip free. As swiftly, his sex slips from her own and he pads a few steps away. Bending inward, he licks his penis, cleaning it as it shrivels back into its sheath. In this contorted position, the powerful hunter looks curiously vulnerable. After being drawn irresistibly to the huntress by her heat, he seems more like her prey than a hunter. Finishing his grooming, he stretches languorously and looks around with renewed focus that bodes ill for the nearest careless prey. Proudly, the hunter stalks off down the path, momentarily less interested in mating than in feeding.
She lies supine, her belly exposed, confused and lethargic after the fierce mating. Soaked in her fluids and the hunter's, compelled by her heat, she feels more like his prey than a huntress. A macaw's mocking call shakes her from her stupor at last. She stands up, growling and shaking herself, a thin spray of fluids falling away from her sex. Briefly free from the urgency of her heat, the huntress pads up the path away from the male, seeking the suddenly-quiet prey.