The British hunter’s combat boots made soft crunching sounds on the fallen leaves. Sweat dripped into his eyes under his pith helmet. His gaze settled down to a forest opening where the leaves and debris gave way to an expanse of fresh, wet mud. Naked, human footprints decorated the mud’s surface.

The hunter gripped his shotgun in his hands. He was close.

Reports had spread about a strange, wild woman living in the jungle. She was rumored to be half woman, half tiger, a bizarre chimera monstrosity. Artist interpretations of brief eyewitness accounts gave the woman an enormous, snarling tiger’s head, six tiger legs, two tails, and rows of swollen cat teats.

The hunter shuddered. He doubted that those illustrations were accurate. They were just more material for the penny dreadfuls, but the crude pen and ink drawings floated on the surface of his consciousness.

The subtle, almost imperceptible whisper of rustling leaves tickled his ear behind him.

The hunter turned on his heel, shotgun ready.

She was stalking him, low to the ground like a jungle cat. She was naked. Her squatting legs were massive, her thighs rivaling the size of her torso. Her breasts were each larger than her head and hung down like udders, her large nipples threatening to kiss the forest floor. Dark wisps of pubic hair decorated her pussy under her taut and flexing abs. Sticks and leaves stuck out from the storm of unruly black hair flowing from her head like dark flame. Streaks of dried mud reminiscent of tiger stripes decorated her dark skin.

The last thing the hunter noticed was the spear clutched in her hands. Ruby freckles rested in the pits of the jagged stone tip, glittering like sparkling crystal in the glaring sun, biting through the trees. Dried blood.

Her eyes met his for an instant. She seemed surprised that he heard her, that he had enough instincts to turn around before the spear plunged through his lungs.

The hunter could not breathe. His eyes were drawn, magnetically, to the obscene naked display in front of him. He had never seen, even in the most bawdy of literature he perused in his youth, had never even imagined that breasts could be so large, could never have imagined that the maze of sinew and muscle sewn into her body, which was so very unladylike, but still so very captivating.

“GGRRWwwwOOWW,” a throaty, rumbling roar, deep and sinister and full of hunger, somehow exploded in a breathy exhale out of her lungs, breaking the silence.

The hunter stumbled back, his shotgun went off, but she was already gone, leaping up through the trees, transforming into a blur of naked flesh and hair.

His survival instincts kicking in once again, the hunter walked backward quickly, almost jogging. His eyes darted through the trees, struggling to keep up with the rustling, leaping blur of the tigress as she hopped and sprang from unseen branch to unseen branch. He knew that any second the spear could be cast down like lightning and impale him.

He had one more shot.

He jogged backward, keeping his head low, scanning the trees as best he could. The heel of his left foot met crumbling dirt and empty air. A glance behind him revealed that she had led him to a cliff’s edge. Below, the forest continued in a sea of branches and leaves, but she would have the advantage.

A disturbance in the trees and a whistling flash, and the hunter twisted his body out of the way as the spear exploded from the trees and soared towards him. It missed him completely, but the twisting momentum sent him plunging off the side of the cliff.

He landed chest-first on a broad branch. His feet dangled in the air.

His shotgun fell to the forest floor below.

Clutching the branch with his hands and shoulders and chest, he pulled himself up onto the branches’ swaying length. He didn’t dare stand. His combat boots did not provide him with the balance and footing he needed on the narrow wood.

The tigress screamed a series of barking cursing in a language the hunter thought sounded like Hindi and leaped, her breasts flopping and shuddering in the air. She landed on a branch opposite him, one of the many in the network, the twisting nest of jungle branches that filled the air wherever he looked. Her bare, calloused feet were better suited to this terrain. Her toes gripped the branch, and her feet were positioned wide on the branch to balance herself.

The hunter forced himself to stand, just in time to react to her lunging strike, a clawed hand going for his throat. He grabbed her wrist and was surprised by the steely resistance he felt in her tendons. They grappled on the creaking, jostling branch. He pushed her arms away and then leapt from the branch, falling to a lower perch, this time on his feet, arms outstretched like a bird to stop himself from falling.

“If I can just get low enough to jump to the ground,” he thought, “Then I can get my gun.”

The jungle woman jumped after him in their feral treetop dance. She grabbed him by his belt and, using inhuman strength, threw him across the jungle treetops.

The hunter reached out and barely grabbed onto an extending branch, and then, using the branch like a gymnast, he flung himself to a lower branch, near the base of the tree, and much closer to the floor.

The broad shapes of his combat boots almost slipped, but he found his footing again by leaning against the wide surface of the tree trunk.

Then, a looped vine entangled his wrist. From the branches above, the tigress had fashioned a long lasso out of vines. He looked up, staring with gasping shock at her pink, wavy pussy lips, an alien and unfamiliar sight. Taking advantage of his stunned reaction, the tigress darted through the trees. In a split second, the vine was looped around the back of the tree behind him. In another second, it looped again in front of him, binding him, back-first to the tree trunk. The vine looped a third and then a fourth time, securing his torso to the tree.

“There is only one chance,” the hunter thought. He tried to lift his leg, hoping that the small knife hidden in his left boot could reach his entangled left hand.

Before he could succeed, the tigress landed like a cat on the branch in front of him. The entire tree shuddered, but she still moved across the branch like a blur, her clawed hands reaching for him, grabbing at…

His pants.

With a soft woosh of fabric, his shorts and underwear were pulled down, bunching around his ankles and constricting his legs.

More importantly, it also exposed his cock. His tiny baby dick was so short it barely moved with the descending fabric. The stubby little nub of a penis was pale and exposed in the warm jungle sun. His tight, small ball sack was almost nonexistent under it.

And she laughed. A crowing, cackling laugh that shook the birds from their trees. Her broad mouth split open, and her eyes winked with absolute joy at the sight of his puny, pathetic cock. She held her fingers together in a pinching motion, measuring the tiny length of his cock between her index finger and thumb.

“It is not funny!” the hunter shouted. “This is an unheard-of and barbaric way to treat a citizen of the British Empire! Wait, what are you doing?”

She was slinking toward him. The smile remained on her face, but her eyes were half-closed, seductive, hypnotic. The hunter could barely hear it over his protests, but she was purring, a deep, rumbling sound growing through her heaving, shaking chest.

“Woman, I must protest!! I am a married man! Well, engaged! What would my dear Margaret say if it came out that I was cavorting with the locals? Not even the locals, some sort of feral, jungle-dwelling, she-beast! Why the scandal would be- OH MY LORD!”

Her lips closed around his penis. It was easy to take the full length of it into her mouth, even as the Vienna sausage shape of it started to stiffen and grow ever so slightly.

“Ohno ohno ohno…” the hunter whimpered. He wiggled his hips, trying to escape the warm, soft, wet enveloping sensations of her mouth, but only succeeded in rubbing his cock against the sides of her mouth and her exploring, probing tongue.

He had never experienced this level of intimacy in his life. She sucked his shrimpy dick. Her tongue moved up and down his stubby excuse for a shaft. It twisted and curled with confident flexibility around the acorn shape of his cock head. His legs trembled. His eyebrows furrowed as if in pain, and he pulled his eyes to the heavens, trying to think of Margaret, slim, dainty Margaret. Flat-chested, moon-faced, paste-y pale, boring Margaret. The hunter’s eyes looked down, meeting the upward turned eyes of the tigress, his cock in her mouth. She had been watching him the whole time, reveling in his hilarious, twisting dismay. Her eyes were amber colored, somewhere between gold and brown. The tiger stripes across her face were delicate, intricate, a mesmerizing abstract fingerprint in mud across the captivating curves and plains of her features.

“eeeuuhllll…” was the inhuman, wincing struggle noise that escaped from the hunter’s lips. His cock throbbed. His heart raced. He tightened the control of his cock, desperately tensing his pelvic muscles, trying to hold back his first-ever orgasm.

SSPRRLLT

“OOUhHHUUUU…” he moaned. The sudden orgasm caught him completely off guard. He bucked, trying to force his whole cock down her throat in instinctual, animal thrusting, but his spraying penis barely reached past her bicuspids.

She sucked on his throbbing little cock, sucking the juice from him, pulling his jizz out of his tiny balls with her cheeks, tongue, and throat.

It was over in two seconds.

” I-I’ve been drained…” the hunter gasped, stupidly.

The tigress leaned over the side of the tree and spat out the collected orgasm. He noticed that under the soft nest of her pubic hair, her pussy lips were slick and dripping their juices onto her inner thighs. Her brow furrowed in disappointment. The hunter’s stamina had proven nonexistent, just as his member had, which began to wilt and vanish, its meager inches slipping away.

The tigress bent down, muttering in Hindi under her breath. The hunter could pick up stray curses.

“Now there’s no need to be rude!” the hunter said.

She met his eyes with a withering gaze and then brought her breasts up to his pathetic, wet nub of a member.

“Oh dear lord!”

The hunter’s cock was resurrected by the soft, warm feeling of her breasts, expanding to its full, tiny, but erect potential.

She stood and leaned against him, planting her hands against the tree on either side of his head. She was slightly taller than him, and her breasts fell against his collar bone. Her erect nipples prodded at him through his shirt.

The tigress, with incredible flexibility, lifted a leg and shifted her body to swallow his cock with her pussy.

“OH! Oh my!” the hunter gasped.

His stupid little rod slipped across her wet, wavy folds, and that brief sensation was enough to make his penis start to pulse, throbbing sensations traveling up and down the short, three-inch distance.

She grunted and tried again, this time drawing his cock into her, feeling the warm hardness of it begin to explore her. She took a deep breath, gripping the tree with clawed hands, and began to ride him.

The hunter bit his lip. His memory of Margaret grew fainter in his mind, evaporating with each quick humping, smothering thrust, a photograph disintegrating with each breathy motion. It was seconds, but a bursting explosion grew in his cock.

And then it slipped out. His useless stubbiness fell out of her wet, relaxed, eager pussy just as a single spurt of jizz escaped from his cock head. White goo splashed against and clung to the tigress’s pubes like a shameful cobweb.

The tigress pulled herself off him and grabbed the jizz with her hand. She held the snotty substance, less volume than a sneeze, to her face, inspecting the shallowness, the weak smell, the aura of feebleness radiating off the juice of his disgusting, pitiable manhood, his glorified cum-shooting little clit.

“Miss, I do apologize for the mess. It just seemed to slip right out, you see, and-”

She cut him off, barking something in Hindi, fast and angry and disappointed.

Hands tore at the hunter’s shirt, ripping buttons apart, tearing cloth to pieces.

“Now wait a minute, I don’t think I can go on…” the hunter said.

She glared at him.

She ripped off his boots and threw them away, and then took his shorts and underwear and ripped them to shreds in his bare hands.

“Woman, that is my property! You cannot treat a man’s property with such flagrant disrespect!”

Ripping the vines apart, she tossed him down to the forest floor with one arm like he was a sack of flour.

“EAAAgghh!!!”

The hunter screamed before hitting the ground. He struggled to rise to his feet with his hands clamped firmly over his slobbery, oozing penis. Bare ass naked, he danced around on his feet.

“You cannot be serious! Never in my life have I been mistreated this way! Never have I been-”

“GWWWRROOWWW!!!!”

The piercing roar made him bolt. Covering his cock forgotten, the hunter ran out of the jungle with his hands waving in front of him while dribbling spit and cum out of his tiny, shrinking member.

 

The End.

 

 

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