Tygrrrrl
by delicious
animal love 








I had heard of these creatures. My colleagues and I were, of course, 
constantly discussing the game we were supervising. But in truth, 
while some of us were sympathetic to the living beings we held in 
trust, on the Lower Reserve, a few of us were profoundly empathetic.

Or it could be presented as a kind of self-interest.  When you love 
your work, and you love those you work with, is it work any longer?

No one seems to read our work any longer other than the other 
passionate devotees of our specialty, the hybridization that has 
become necessary to preserve life on this planet.  This account will 
probably be of interest to very few. If you're a human chauvinist, 
convinced of the inherent superiority of our genes and don't question 
our right to subdue other species, perhaps you should stop reading 
now.

But we had heard of this particular hybrid combination. The ancient 
name was "sphinx", although this peculiar name was only found in 
books, and not attached to any specimens.  Another book had led us 
astray, with its fragmentary image of a griffon; that is, until we 
located another picture of a griffon, this time, in a book that 
WASN'T all tattered and torn.  She is exactly like a woman, except 
that she has the claws and the size and the strength of a lioness.

She was barely alive. 

I had seen the signs, in the damage to the capricorn herds, 
especially in the deep gouges missing from the victims. These were 
not the bite marks of a small dainty mouth, but of a ravenous 
killer.  In addition to the size of the bites --which would remove 
whole haunches, if not halving the animal awkwardly-- there was the 
additional damage caused by her size.  Had I not seen it myself, I 
would not have believed that such soft feet could crush ribs.

But then, who expects to see a giantess, with lion claws and a girl's 
face? 

This is, in effect what I found. Shivering with the profound fever, 
probably contracted from the various verminous creatures she had been 
reduced to eating, she was, nonetheless, beyond the scope of any 
anatomy I could fathom without reference to mythology.  Curled up, 
she was easily fifteen feet long, concealing an untold additional 
length.  I couldn't reconcile the herd animal -- her hide reminded me 
of a horse-- with the jungle cat shape I saw from a distance.

And then she rolled over onto her back, in the height of her fevered 
delirium.  I saw the face of a girl I might have seen on the streets 
of old earth: a starving waif, begging for food, her eyes hollow with 
despair.

But I was not so taken with the girlish face that I forgot simple 
precautions.  We injected her before putting her into the back of the 
truck. Even so, when she convulsed with one of her rear legs, the 
impact of the claw ripped a man's leg open from crotch to knee.  
But his wails didn't wake her, for this was a sleepy movement only.
And so we moved her back to the compound. Fortunately we had the big 
lifter with us or we would never have got her aboard.... thousands of 
pounds of gorgeous killer.

While he would never walk again, this man was not her last victim. 

What moves a man to take such a risk, I wondered? Four men have now 
hazarded her chamber.  Two are still alive, but crippled by the 
experience, while the other two didn't survive.  I have spoken to the 
survivors, and they tell me a little of their desire.  But I see more 
in that haunted stare.  I think that once they are healed, they will 
do something stupid, like go back into her cage.  

They are desperately in love, even if it will kill them.

And so, maybe as an experiment, or perhaps as another case where 
work and self-interest blur, I feel I must see for myself.  But I am 
not one of these smitten young fools.  I protect myself.

She is bound, immobile, on the great gurney in the lab.  She is on 
her back. Her face is uncovered, but deeply drugged.  I approach.

What is this, then, I wonder, this fanatical response? I listen to 
her breathing. Moaning...the table creaks as she turns in her sleep.

How can she move, when so deep in slumber, so profoundly 
anaesthetized?  The theory says this isn't possible, which might 
explain how these men came to such mischief.  I raise the dose in the 
I.V., dosing her with more drugs.

The moaning fades.

She is immobile, quiet, still. I go closer. Her scent hits me. What 
is that scent, I wonder? I have smelled this before. But I can't 
place it.

Sweet, and provoking hunger, yet, paradoxically, suggesting satiety, 
fullness. I am not confused, but, at the same time, there is a 
disquiet I feel. What shall I do? I must approach, not really thinking 
clearly anymore.

I bend over the face. Such a face...a babe asleep, but such a big 
babe, the girl in junior high who was grown up before I had even hit 
puberty.  Puberty.  When all the girls were so big, and so healthy, 
and all the boys wanted to be men, but weren't big enough for these 
gigantic girls, towering above us.

I am remembering the battles of those early years.  I am little, she 
is big...she is woman, full- blown. Who cares if 12 or 13 is 
considered young? There is nothing underdeveloped about those 
breasts, that ass.  Women, with boys...

I see the nipples, rising with each breath.  I blow lightly upon 
them, teasing, and the moan is now audible, like an underscored 
accompaniment.  She's playing our song, and it's irresistible. I 
must, that's all I know.  Huge huge nipples, so soft, floating on the 
soft breast flesh, jiggling flesh.

My mouth closes on a nipple...sucking, hard....god these nipples are 
so big, that they fill my mouth, three hard inches across. But she is 
insistent now, jamming her chest, her arm behind my head, and 
cradling me.  The moaning is now the throb of a motorboat, as it 
bounces on the waves of her passion. Rmmmm.  Rmmmm.

She flips over, and suddenly, I am under her, but she is on all 
fours, above me....her pelvis pulses, as the nipple is moved in and 
out, pressing insistently.  And the rmmm rmmm becomes the throb of a 
mounting earthquake's rumble.

My pants are shredded in a fraction of a second.

I am behind her, and she has put me against the wall. Her clawed arms 
hold me....oh my, her claws are going through my arms like teeth 
through cheese. And through my shoulders.  It doesn't hurt....yet.

I'm busy, I'm very busy with her glorious hind quarters.  I stand, 6' 
tall, while her massive thigh-haunch-ass comes back, into my face. 
Back.....back.... she is swollen and puffed with desire.  Those 
massive lips pucker, open for me.....my head, pressed deeeeeeep, into 
that wet sweetness that I....slipppppppppery, sliding, so sweetly,
sliding, softly.

Bash. She pushes me back, into the wall, like a truck with a 
pedestrian caught behind her accidentally...and instead of a beeper 
for her backing up, she simply roars, and moans.....and sinks her 
claws into my chest, pulling my face deeper , deeper.....

I am in her. Whatever is left of me, I am in her.  She slams back, 
like a glass cutting a piece of white bread,...what's left of me goes 
into her, deep, deep, into her, inside her, muscles pulse, 
squeezing me.....oh yes.....

I am fading, but all that's left is her roars, her smell, her 
wetness, and I suppose, my wetness too.  

I am hoping she enjoyed it....