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This is a pilot episode of a series I plan on writing about my complicated fursona. I don't feel it turned out great, but it only took an hour or so. A few furs have said that I should leave it up to YOU to decide, so here it goes!

So please comment, or if you're in a rush, leave an HONEST number of stars depending on how well you think it is written. Else I might end up writing an encyclopedia of mindless drivel. Remember guys, FEEDBACK!

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A deep sigh escaped Serban's short muzzle; a long, arduous noise signaling displeasure at his inability to fall back to sleep. He really didn't feel like getting up.

The room was cold, even for his thick fur, and the white tiger carefully moved closer to embrace the soft vixen beside him, pressing her chest close against his, feeling her breasts against his thick pelt as they cuddled.

His right arm was cradled underneath her, looping around so she lay on his bicep and his paw was on her shoulder blade. The left paw was settled on her waist, sweeping up and down her back in soft, slow movements, his claws caressing the vixen's fur. He'd met her last night, but couldn't recall exactly where. Somewhere rough, no doubt.

It was nearly pitch black, the only illumination coming from an electronic clock that leered from the dark, faint red numbers glowering angrily as it clung high on the wall, ever reminding him that he'd have to get up eventually. The light was just enough for the tiger to see, taking in his surroundings with each slow breath. His head was aching horribly, again, and last night seemed come back to him in slow ebbs, like small waves sweeping onto a beach as the tide rises.

He remembered the rapid fumbling and struggling. Kissing and biting. Undressing and wrestling, even though her slender frame was easily out-matched by his heavy build. His back definitely remembered the scratching of sharp claws with a faint, almost pleasant, tingle of pain. His sheath was dry now, but he remembered the sloppy wetness as he'd fucked her brutally on every surface, knocking tools and utensils out of the way as she screamed out and he roared. It wasn't often things went like that.

The thin sheet that covered them was sticky, as was their fur. The grey-white of his body, almost fused to the deep red of hers, the horizontal black stripes lining his limbs forming a barrier between the two contrasting colours. His left paw slid down, gently squeezing her bum. A thumb twirled idly around the stub of her tail, like it did on a nipple last night.

With reluctance, he slowly rolled away from her, leaving the sheet draped across her body. He'd been sleeping on a steel table, a thick blanket placed over it in a vain effort to improvise on a mattress. His foot-paws found the floor, crinkling the large plastic sheet that lay across his workshop from edge to edge.

He tiredly squatted down to pick up some of his scattered tools, before he stepped on them. They were mostly sharpened knives, saws and blades. It was a surprise that he'd not cut himself on them last night, as the pair bounced around the room, slamming into and onto every surface. Maybe he had, and just hadn't noticed.

A quick flick of a switch, and an old strip light strained itself into luminescence. The artificial glow gave everything a strange greeny-blue tinge, making the frigid room seem even colder. First things were first - he'd have to deal with her.

Stretching out and yawning, Serban examined his naked body in a polished, stainless steel door. He was a real mess this time - fur matted with residue from last night's exertions. It was mostly hers. He'd undoubtedly need a thorough wash before he could start work - It wouldn't do to have anyone see him like this. The tiger glanced at the washroom door that would lead him to a hot shower, and then looked back at the girl curled up on his table, before glancing up again at another, unmarked door.

It was always melancholic, in a way. It meant conclusion - the real end of the night. That it'd only be a matter of time before the feeling came over him, and he'd need another girl. Something to pacify the demon inside. Quietly padding over, he pulled back he sheet and laid a paw on her shoulder, rubbing the fur with a gentle touch.

Carefully, the giant tiger picked her arm up by the wrist - small enough to fit between his thumb and forefinger, and placed it across her breast. Then he found the other arm from across the room, lying in its own congealed pool. The blood had been caught by the tarp, forming a little burgundy lake. He didn't remember hacking it off, but it's not like he hadn't before. When he got into a frenzy, it was unpredictable what he'd have to do.

All appendages accounted for, save for three fingers (which he was sure he'd bitten off) and a small chunk of her shoulder that had been torn away, she was then rolled in up the sheet. He taped and sealed her, forming a plastic chrysalis lined with bloody smears, before dragging her over to the other door. He then searched around the room to find the key, eventually having to step out into the front, find his coat and retrieve it from the pocket.

Serban unlocked the door and pulled it open. The hinges squealed in protest, revealing a small closet filled with all the things necessary to clean and sanitize the steel surfaces, floor tiles, and butchers tools that made up his workshop. Taking out all the bottles, sprays, buckets and mops that sat on the floor, he bent down and clawed along the edges of where the wall met floor. Finding a notch carved into the floor, he caught it and swung up the trapdoor, revealing a dark, musty space below.

Hauling the encased vixen up with one arm, he threw her down into the darkness. A muffled thud confirmed contact with the floor, not too far below. Then the lid was dropped back down, covering the hole as if it were never there. He left the cleaning stuff out - he'd need them to mop up what was left of her. Gazing around the room, he saw the pile of her clothes pressed into the corner. Better get rid of those.

He picked up the tattered scraps of whatever she'd been wearing last night - what looked like nylon tights, a short skirt and some kind of white shirt, crushing them into a ball. Something dropped out of the bundle and hit the plastic below. Squatting down, Serban saw it was a small, milky-green stone. A hole had, seemingly naturally, formed all the way through. It had probably been around her neck, and the string had been broken... Earlier. He picked it up, twirling around in his bloodstained fingers for a while, feeling the smoothness on his rough pawpads.

Something suddenly gripped him from deep inside the recesses of his mind. A smokey shadow curled around his consciousness, its demonic voice whispering, a rasping sound like wind through the branches of twisted trees. He _ needed _ to take it. Still looking at the stone, he pulled open an inconspicuous drawer set into the counter. It was filled with seemingly random junk; a black ring, a string bracelet, a steel sharpener, a small plastic dinosaur, amongst other things. With a blank face, he dropped the stone in and shut the drawer.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the steel surface, fur matted with dry blood and sexual juices, Serban pulled a smile that could have been mistaken for a snarl. His pelt was adorned with messy swathes of ruby and crimson, staining between the black strips in bold steaks and splatters. It was soaked deep through his fur in some places, round blotches where he had been close to the mutilated vixen, during the night. He looked two toned; his back white, save for a few smears, and his front a mixture of every shade of red. Behind him, his tail swished, the bands of colour bright like some kind of snake as it curled in the air.

It was time for that shower.