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Even as I put pen to paper, I’m still unsure why I’m doing it. Just the way it sits in my fingers is a little awkward, a judgment on how long it’s been since last I’ve written… anything. It’s coming back to me though, especially since I’d never been fond of keyboards, and countless hours of scribbling have left my hand with the necessary muscle-memory. And memories are what it’s going to take to fill these pages.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing. Maybe I’m ashamed that I’ve brought this journal with me and that after the years have ticked by it pages are still blank and pristine. After all, the life I’d once envisioned was to be filled with writing. Not like the words I’m setting down now. Those were to be papers, essays, treatises and dissertations, as serious as the people who would (bar a few eccentric exceptions) read them.

This is different. I’m not sure anyone apart from me will ever see this, and few of them could make sense of it. I’ve taught Riga the English language, and even though she doesn’t seem interested in writing herself she can make out my handwriting just fine. I’ve taught some of the younger girls but… well I’ve still got too much modesty to let impressionable teens read through what I suspect will wind up on these pages!

As for the rest, well I know what their response will be without even asking. They know these things, they were there as they happened. Why read about them? I explained to them about books and they agreed that if people know how to put a useful skill down on paper so that they could teach (in a manner of speaking) someone they’ll never meet, that makes some sense to them. But writing chronicles and histories down? Those are things the young hear from their elders, and repeat to the new young once they grow into adults. As time goes on the story grows longer, but it’s the story everyone in the tribe knows.

I mention that I’ve studied tribes and peoples who have disappeared and are known only by what they’ve written, but that sort of talk is sure to make muzzles wrinkle. ‘What good is that to those people?’ they’d ask. From their point of view, they should have made sure the tribe lived, and the stories got told, rather than relying on writing.

They are fiercely protective of their… of our tribe. It had been a rocky road being recognized by the others in the savannah but now they all agree that the Yarinya are a people in their own right. And as primitive as these strange new people seem, they have clear laws regarding tribal behavior, laws that stand even without any real authority to enforce them. What do you have to say to that, civilization?

“Bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t want to leave the Congo, oh no no no no…”

I put the pen down and giggled as I sang the refrain from that old song. The lyrics were kind of the story of my life, or had been for some time, even though the closer of the two republics bearing the name ‘Congo’ was far to the west of us, and the actual river even further. This was a savannah, a huge grasslands plain that stretched out as far as the eye could see, and if you roamed along it you could cross the borders of several countries without anyone knowing or really caring. The New Peoples in Africa were seen as fairly peaceful and orderly, and they hadn’t been here long enough for anyone to have a grudge against them.

The first time I got here had been with an expedition and I was here to make a start on what I’d hoped to be a promising career. I came back here alone, turning my back on the aforementioned career and not regretting a thing about it. And despite the song I was still humming I really didn’t have anything against civilization. But I’d left something here I realized I can’t live without. And since the idea of taking her back home was laughable, I had to rethink where home would be…

*******

“Professor! Glad I found you…” I said, a little winded as I stood at the entrance of his tent. To be honest, the canvas living/working quarters were the last place I expected to find him. He was quite familiar with the locals and more importantly their lingo, so he spent a lot of his time among them, either talking to them or just observing and making notes.

“Ahh, Miss Thompson! Go ahead and come in. My mosquito net is always open to you, but make sure to close it as soon as you can to keep the creepy-crawlies out…” the old man replied jovially. The first time I saw him I was sure he was one of those academics who was hopelessly lost the moment they found themselves off campus, but looking at him here and now it was clear that this was in no ways ‘roughing it’ for him.

“Thanks. And you can call me ‘Amy’…”

“Oh? Something wrong with Amalthea?” he asked, missing the slight wince my first name caused me. “Very important goat, that one. Kept the infant Zeus safe and fed… without her we’d have never had the Olympian pantheon…”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t such a big hit on the playground. It used to be just a funny name, until we got a new teacher and he thought it would be interesting to tell us about that myth. And after that I had to do whatever I could not to be known as the goat-girl…”

“Ahh, well I can appreciate that. And I can hardly draw attention to someone being particular about how they’re addressed. After all, I hold two doctorates but I still insist that anyone using my last name address me as just ‘professor’.” He said, and I hardly needed explaining why Frederick Arthur Jones was touchy about throwing ‘doctor’ in the mix. Not that the balding, bearded and slightly pot-bellied professor would easily be mistaken for Harrison Ford. His hat was straw and he misplaced it all the time…

“You know, I can’t help but wonder if they ever made caprine hybrids the way they did with predators. And if so, if anyone had come upon the idea of secreting them on the slopes of Crete’s mountains? I really should make the trip, find out for myself…” he mused, and I jumped on the chance to get him back on track.

“So, I’ve been thinking…”

“Good! That’s what I need from my research assistants. I can make my own coffee…”

“So… what are your plans? About moving on?” I asked, trying to hint at my gist while Professor Jones just furrowed his brow.

“Moving on? Why would we do that?”

“Well there other tribes nearby?”

“Well yes. I should say that in this region there’s a dozen or so groups of jubatus sapiens alone…”

“Well we’ve been in the same one for two weeks, and I understand this is your second trip among them. I kinda thought we’d be moving on to one of the other ones.”

“Oh of course we will. Just as soon as one of the other tribes agrees to have us. You know, it took a lot of groundwork for me just to be allowed to visit. A fellow from Matongo who I’ve worked with years before occasionally does a bit of trading with them and I managed to talk him into taking me along on one trip. And you can be sure that we were stopped well before this village when they saw me tagging along with him!”

“But I thought that the cheetahs were peaceful?”

“Oh very! Most of the New People are. But peaceful means they aren’t aggressive. Defensiveness is another matter entirely and they are very touchy about territory and who enchroaches in it.”

“Weren’t you scared?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit apprehensive now that I knew the two-legged apex predators I’d been living with for over a week weren’t absolute pacifists.

“Well of course. I mean you’ve seen them in their every day, and they still look formidable. And when they want to look intimidating, they tend to be scary. But I think that’s part of why they let me in – an aging man, not particularly physically fit, with a healthy fear of those who are stronger than he is… Certainly harmless enough to endure for a day. And I daresay my friendly demeanor, inquisitive nature, as well as some well-chosen gifts convinced them to let me stay a bit longer, and now even to bring more people in. And make no mistake – just as we’re studying these people, the other tribes are studying us…”

“What do you mean?”

“Word gets ‘round. They’ll want to know if we’re a threat, a disruptive influence, a nuisance or if they might have some gain by letting us study them. Part of what we’re doing here is getting our foot in the door, so to speak. But I should think that even studying this one tribe is an amazing opportunity. We both know that these people weren’t born on the savannah. The origin of all of the New People is invariably some state-of-the-art military complex, at least state-of-the art at the time. And the oldest among them do remember those environments where they were trained. They were born among the industry of the mid-twentieth century, but have found their ways to the savannahs, steppes and mountains of the world and have carved out a niche there. As anthropologists we’ve seen tribal people being swept up by the torrent of Progress, so you have to admit it’s quite fascinating to see people like these who are doing just fine swimming against the current, so to speak.”

“I can’t really argue with that.” I admitted. I’d done my homework for this trip, after all.

Genetic engineering had started long before the first works on the subject were published and made available to the academic community. In the Second World War the big powers were desperate for anything that could give them an edge, and as it happens several of them had tried making a new kind of soldier. Hybrid organisms tailor-made to suit any environment, every bit as smart as a human. They could fend for themselves in the wilds indefinitely, operating in harsh environments without any support, but cagey enough to make use of any equipment they got their hands on and -unlike actual animals- quite at home in urban environments.

They never got deployed, and even in the frantic arms race that marked the cold-war period both east and west agreed to abandon such projects. Nobody’s really sure who let most of the first-generation of what we now called the New People out. It had been an ethically admirable feat but legally very iffy, without anyone claiming either credit or responsibility. Fortunately the released humanoids found a place for themselves in the wildernesses of the world without coming into conflict with their creators, so tentative attempts to establish peaceful contact were underway all over the globe. Hence me being here.

“So what do you need me to do?”

“Well for starters, how’s your grip on the lingo?”

“Not… as good as I’d like. I managed to get pretty proficient in Swahili before coming here, but…” I trailed off with a shrug.

“Ahh yes, but that’s just a drop in the bucket that is the Bantu language family. If you factor in different dialects there’s over five hundred of them, and the New People have made up a few variations of their own. If we were linguists we’d have a field day with that, but since we’re anthropologists it’s just a frustrating obstacle. Still, Swahili’s a good base to build on.”

“Yes but, given their origins… well shouldn’t the oldest among them be fluent in English, German, Russian…?”

“Oh, you’ll have no luck there. Especially with the old ones. Pretty much all of the New People have purposefully forgotten where they came from and why they were created, and you’re especially unlikely to have any luck with their elders since they are the ones who established the taboo. The young learn at their parents’ knee just as their parents learned from their grandparents and their grandparents pretended that they came by their knowledge the same way. That their skills at hunting, foraging and medicine came down from their supposedly distant ancestors, and not from survival manuals and guerilla warfare training. So there’s really no substitute for learning their language. Just keep talking, listening, asking questions… you’ll soon get the hang of it.”

“That’s what I do but when I use the wrong word or pronounce something the wrong way… well sometimes they giggle…” I said, feeling a bit silly.

“Good! Let them…”

“W-why is that good?” I asked, since I really couldn’t see the positive in being laughed at.

“Amy, have you ever considered how creepy what we’re doing can be? We are complete strangers to these people, alien even, and we follow them around, watch them in their day-to-day routines asking our questions and taking notes. Sometimes they’ll do something completely mundane from their point of view and it will send us into a flurry of scribbling. All of that for some vague purpose they can’t quite understand…”

“I guess…”

“So now you see why a little laughter is a good thing, even if it is at our expense. It eases tension, breaks down barriers… it makes us seem more human, if you’ll pardon the anthropocentric term. And I expected there would be some tittering when I asked you to focus on the young and the females, but everyone relaxes a little more when around someone near their own age and gender, and I’m sure you’ll have an easier time talking to them than I have had, once the language barrier is gone. Until then just do the best you can…” he finished and I had to admit he was right. And besides, even though the cheetah kids laughed at me and the young females tended to titter when my broken speech struck a funny bone, at least I was reasonably sure none of them were calling me goat-girl…

*******

As I scanned the shimmering horizon I began to ponder the mistakes I’d made. Not bringing binoculars, that was one. They would have worked better than my pointless squinting as I tried to shield my blue eyes from the glare of the equatorial sun. A satellite phone would have been a good idea too. Or maybe not breaking off from the group just to cool down. That would have been a superb idea. But the five of them had looked like they were taking a break, and the sound of rushing water nearby had drawn me like I was a rat hearing the pied piper play.

It really was quick – I’d jumped in with all my clothes on, and climbed back out less than a minute later, delightfully dripping and momentarily cool. And I am reasonably sure I’d managed to retrace my steps to where the others were, but I haven’t found the young hunters waiting for me. I couldn’t really blame them because we’d told them not to pay attention to us unless we’re conversing with them (or trying to in my case). Besides, they had more important things to do than babysit me. Hunting was always serious business because it fed the tribe, and for these feline youths it had been their first hunt, and there was a lot of pressure not to come back empty-handed. If they’d seen prey, they would have to leave and hope I’d find my way back to them.

Which was what I’d been trying to do, despite having no tracking skills whatsoever. I’d wound up wandering in the tall grass, the clothes I was wearing going from damp with water, to dry and then to damp with sweat as the phrase ‘hopelessly lost’ surfaced in my troubled mind. And I was close to panicking when I spotted several tall, lanky frames moving in the distance. Grinning with relief I cried out and began running towards them, the elation making me blind to several important details until it was too late.

It was only when I got close that I realized this wasn’t the hunting party I’d set out with. That one had included three boys and only two girls, whereas the quartet eyeing me with suspicion if not hostility was made up entirely of females. Now you may wonder how I could have made that mistake since the cheetahs didn’t wear any clothes apart from a loincloth, not counting the occasional piece of hand-made jewelry. But the males in my party were quite young and still didn’t have the broad, muscular shoulders that were the mark of a man among the cheetahs (or at least, the mark a loincloth didn’t cover). And the girls had yet to give birth which meant that their unbound chests were hardly something you could spot from a distance.

Two of the females near me had obviously born cubs but there was no maternal compassion in their eyes as they regarded the blonde, smooth-skinned stranger standing in front of them. It only then occurred to me to try and open my mouth, tell them who I am and assure them that I meant no harm (hoping desperately to hear them say the same). Hell, if nothing else, maybe my poor grasp of their tongue will make them laugh at me. At this point I figured anything was better than this silence.

“I... uh… come, study…” I stammered out as best I could and I think I had been close to forming a sort of sentence when I felt a leather loop fly over my head and slip around my throat. “Hey, what are you…” I said, reverting to English but stopping dead when the leather tightened just a little harder around my neck. Just a little but enough to make it clear it could be much tighter…

As my captor turned to the side I caught sight of the implement she was using to restrain me. It was just a pole with two prongs sticking out in a ‘Y’ shape, each one with an end of the leather strap tied to it. It formed a loop that easily slipped over my head, but a few twists of the shaft were enough to make the bonds tight enough around my neck that there was no hope of getting free without overpowering the cheetah holding it.

And that was a laughable idea. The female holding the staff had the lean, lanky build that all of the biped cheetahs shared with their four-legged ancestor, but their spotted fur couldn’t hide the flow of feline muscles every time one of them moved. Combined with the reflexes of a hunting cat and all the intelligence of a human, it meant I wasn’t going anywhere without their say-so. The female (and from this distance my captor was clearly a female) said something in their tongue, but it was just a burst of sound in my frazzled state. She repeated the same thing, and only when she rephrased it did I catch the word ‘still’ in there somewhere.

“Still…” I repeated after her, looking into her ochre-yellow eyes even as she stared at my own with a hint of typically cat-like curiosity. “Sti-mpffh!”

I was about to reassure them that I wasn’t going to try and resist, but was startled when someone came behind me and stuffed some fabric into my mouth, quickly looping a length of rope around it and effectively stopping any clumsy attempt I might have made at negotiating with them. The same person grabbed my wrists and soon I felt them tied securely behind by back, but fortunately not tight enough to cause harm. It was bound like that that I was marched towards my new life, even though at the time I wasn’t sure how long that was going to be…

*******

It was a fairly long walk back to the village of my captors, or at least it was long for me. It had taken hours and the gag had stayed in my mouth all that time, so when I was finally pushed into a round, mud-walled hut and given a clay cup of water I downed it gratefully, my body desperate for both the drink and the shade. As I was led among the tribe I had seen curious faces and had become aware of the murmuring my passage caused, reasonably certain I detected no malice in neither the looks nor the speech of those gathered. I still wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t recall spotting a single male among those watching, but then again I chalked that to fatigue and the possibility that the grown males were busy elsewhere, and that I might have confused a few boys in the crowd for young women.

What I had noticed was that while many of the dwellings had a woven mat or cured hide for a door, the one on the hut I was in was not only wood, but also had a bar. On the outside. Another piece of proof that I wasn’t to be a guest here. The female holding the staff fastened around my throat stayed in the hut while the rest went off, calling out for someone and trying to keep curious onlookers from crowding the door. The door I couldn’t help but notice remained wide open even when the leather strap around my neck loosened and the whole thing was slipped off. The female that had caught me with it made a point of resting the thing against a wall, within easy reach and a subtle warning for me not to try to escape.

Without anything better to do I turned to regard my captor. She looked young, although with a body that had obviously finished growing and settled into the sleek shape of a biped-cheetah in her prime. Although they tended to age remarkably well and fur was great at hiding wrinkles, the flesh under the spotted coat still seemed supple enough to make me doubt this girl was much older than twenty, and judging by the way her pert breasts still rode high to the point they were just large, firm bumps spread over her pectorals, I doubted she’d had cubs. A bit peculiar among a people where a thirty-five year old female is practically a spinster.

I was studying her almost out the corner of my eye, not wishing to antagonize her but also still a bit uncomfortable about the way these females went about bare-breasted. During college I had lived in a dorm with a roommate, so I wasn’t a stranger to both of us spending an hour or so in our underwear trying to decide on what to wear, offering each other input and occasionally pieces of our wardrobe. But there had been the unwritten agreement to change in and out of our underwear with our backs facing each other.

And apart from the fact that the female I was now sharing a room with had no shame about walking with her (admittedly modest) breasts covered I nothing but her fur, she also seemed to have no inhibition at staring at me. Their eyes had round pupils unlike the slits common to most felines, and as they dilated in the relative darkness of the thatched hut they lost some of the fierce intensity they had when I’d first glimpsed them under the glare of an African afternoon. Her hair was a nut brown with coppery streaks where the sun had bleached it, formed into a mess of long, slender dreadlocks that had been gathered up and bound into a thick tail just above the nape of her neck.

I didn’t really begrudge her the way she stared at me, since I might very well be the first human she’d seen up close. I could understand curiosity and a desire to study those like you but still fascinatingly different. And I remembered how only a day or so ago Professor Jones had pointed out how creepy it could be to be the object of such study. It still didn’t explain why her stare made me want to blush and wish my shirt was buttoned up a little higher.

Before I could puzzle out why I was almost ready to squirm under the young female’s gaze a shadow fell over me as two newcomers stepped in, closing the door behind them. One of them was carrying a small tallow lamp, the burning wick combined with a few rays slipping through the gaps in the door no doubt providing ample illumination to feline eyes, while for me the room was filled with an ominous gloom.

The first one who strode forward greeted my captor and as the younger of the two felines responded I caught the subtle reverence in her tone as she returned the other’s greeting. As the two conversed I couldn’t help but notice that the way the newcomer carried herself. Her shoulders were squared, her chin high, suggesting importance even without the ropes wound around her neck and wrists, the lengths of woven cord decorated with polished claws and teeth, a testament of a life spent hunting some of the most dangerous creatures the savannah had to offer.

And she was obviously my captor’s elder. Even though she appeared strong and vital, the flesh under her fur was less supple, the sleek musculature clearly outlined under the spotted coat. Her voice also hinted at a late middle-age, sort of an Eartha Kitt rumble that would have made her sound like a cliché of a talking feline if she wasn’t so imposing. Her breasts also sagged a little, or at least by the standards of the cheetahs, a hint that she’d given birth, at least once. It also made me realize that apart from an apparent absence males, I hadn’t seen a single child in the tribe. True, they might be keeping them away from their prisoner, but the cubs were raucous at play (and when laughing at someone who can’t speak their language properly) and I surely would have heard some of them by now.

The other newcomer to what I suspected was my cell was quite frankly… scary. Her hair fell all around her feline face in lanky braids, many of the mahogany ropes decorated with feathers of various sizes and hues. Her own decorations seemed distinctly esoteric, and combined with the reddish-brown face and body paint covering her (which I hoped was some clay-like pigment, rather than a more organic source of oxide-red) proclaimed her to be this tribe’s shaman. But unlike the wizened old cat-lady in the village I’d first visited, this one was still fairly young and a lot more… intense. She began chanting something and even though I barely caught a word or two I gathered she was invoking a blessing. That filled me with some hope. After all, you don’t bless a prisoner, do you? True, it’s the sort of thing you’d do to a sacrifice, but I was desperately trying to steer my brain clear of that train of thought.

Once the chanting was done the painted cheetah approached me and began to fiddle with my shirt. I was sure she was about to rip it open, scattering the buttons over the hut’s floor, but it didn’t take her long to work out how the buttons worked and how to undo them. To this day I assume it was some practical feminine instinct that kept her from damaging a useful article of clothing. The bra I wore puzzled them and neither of the three felines seemed to have an idea of how to take it off. I was still petrified with fear, but even if I wasn’t I’m not sure I would have been willing to bare myself to those big glittering eyes.

The one who initially caught me fumbled with the strap behind my back much like a frustrated teenager desperate to see his date without her bra on. Unlike an inexperienced young man, however, the cheetah behind me had devilishly sharp claws, one of which was brought into play when her patience ran out. I felt a quick tug as she sliced through the strap, followed by the bra going slack just before the shamaness pulled it off me.

As they regarded my bared chest the cheetahs seemed pleased, and if I had been more rational I might have recognized their looks for what they were. As it was, I was scared and in such denial that I actually reasoned that having my chest covered might have offended their sensibilities, much like going bare-breasted in public would cause offense in most civilized societies. They muttered to each other as they sized me up, and when I recognized the word for ‘udder’ a part of me wondered if my epithet of ‘goat-girl’ had traveled through time and space to find me once again.

It was only when the painted feline in front of me cupped my mounds and let them bounce free that I realized it was the size of my breasts that fascinated them. Not all that surprising since their chieftain had the most generous bosom of the three of them, and even her dainty pair would have easily fit in a B-cup.

My notion that they would stop after having bared my chest was sunk when the shamaness undid my shorts and pulled both them and my panties down to my ankles. More approving murmurs followed as I stood stark naked in front of them, and as implausible as it may sound I still had no idea what was going through their minds, even though I’m sure at this point it might seem fairly obvious. I thought that they were maybe admiring my physique, possibly envying my generous curves the way a late-bloomer does when she finds herself in a locker-room with girls who developed a little early. Or maybe they thought that I looked fat compared to their sleek feline figures and I was the victim of some teasing.

My captor and the one I was reasonably sure was the chieftain admired me from a few paces away, while the painted cat circled me, scrutinizing my body with a more critical eye. My eyes themselves became her focus next, her muzzle an inch or so from my nose as she pulled my eyelids open and seemingly examined my sclera. She then grabbed my chin and pulled my mouth open, pinching my tongue and drawing it out in order to examine it better. I was still trying to process what she was doing when the fingers slipped into my mouth, her lips moving as she actually counted my teeth!

I was still afraid and confused and trying to conjure up a myriad scenarios about what this cheetah was doing and what the rest of them had in store for me. I was still in denial as the painted feline began to sniff her way down my body, the furrows showing on the spotted brow reminding me that her nose would be telling her a lot more than mine would to me. But it was when her hand slid down my pubic mound and over my labia, settling there just before two fingers were pushed into me that I tensed up. My eyes went wide as the feline’s digits invaded my body, and when I felt them curve and probe around inside me all doubt vanished and I could finally see their intent with perfect, dreadful clarity.

I felt nothing but dread as the shamaness’ fingers stroked my insides, but the stimulation had been sufficient to ensure the fur covering the long, nimble digits was noticeably damp. I could feel my heart in my throat as the most menacing of the three cheetahs brought her fingers up to her nose for a sniff, and felt sickened as she ran her tongue along them, licking up… well, licking them clean.

Clean had been one of the words the shamaness had uttered after obscenely cleaning the paw that had a moment ago been pumping between my legs. A distressing realization had formed somewhere in my mind but denial was still keeping it from surfacing. It was only when the painted feline’s hands settled on my chest, squeezing my mounds in a way that made it clear she wasn’t mocking my ‘udders’ that my eyes shot open wide and my breath caught in my throat.

“Y-you can’t… I don’t want to… I won’t let you…” I began to stammer, hoping to sound firm and resolved as I struggled to find the words in the still unfamiliar tongue. But my quavering voice made it clear just how panicked I was, and how little I could do to stop them. Nor did my distress make them rethink what was now obviously on their minds, they eyes now brazenly sizing me up in a way that stirred nothing but fear and revulsion in me.

Without any males in sight, I had been sure that whatever my grim fate was to be, it wouldn’t be rape. But the intent to do just that was written all across the spotted faces of the three females looking, touching, even sniffing the air around me as their tails lashed behind them. If they had been males… well the truth was that I still didn’t want this! I was scared and wanted only to be returned to the village where I had felt safe, or even back home. Somehow the exciting career I’d set out to build was no longer a priority.

But still, had these three been males… well the ones I’d seen were without exception impressive specimens, their luxurious coats covering tall, slender bodies packed with enough muscle to make them appear distinctly masculine despite the fluid, feline grace of their movements. And I’d have to admit to having a few bouts of unprofessional curiosity as to what such specimens had behind their loincloths. If three male cats had me at their mercy like this I still would have been afraid, I still would have felt the dread at the knowledge that I would be taken against my will by several complete strangers. But I would have felt something other than revulsion if a male cheetah had touched me the way the shamaness was now doing, strong fingers digging into the soft flesh of my breasts as the brazen cat kneaded them with a look of distinctly feline curiosity.

It wasn’t that I believed homosexuality was wrong, or that being with another woman (or three!) would get me sent to hell. I just never found members of my own sex appealing. Even in college, where young adults tend to explore and have some sort of same-sex experience I never felt the need to look further than boys on those occasions I looked up from books. And if I wasn’t drawn to females in a relatively safe environment where I could have pursued such curiosity without any real risk, I definitely didn’t feel comfortable having such affection forced on me!

“No! Stop!” I cried out, managing to break free from the shamaness only to stumble back into one of the other cheetahs. It was their chieftain who caught me, her arms sliding under mine and her hands tightening around my wrists. The one who caught me came up next, bending a little as she wrapped her arms around my waist, and with astonishing ease hoisting my lower half up. Professor Jones had hinted that the cheetahs were even stronger than their athletic but lean physiques would suggest, and now I had definite proof as the two felines easily held me up horizontally, serving me up to the third member of their group.

I tried struggling and despite the fact I wasn’t close to breaking free the feeling of whispers and a hot breath against my neck warned me not to try. Feeling equal part revulsion and helplessness I was reduced to mewling pitifully as my thighs were spread and I felt the shamaness sniff my mound before she dove in.

I felt my whole body grow stiff the moment that muzzle was pushed in my crotch and a broad feline tongue swiped over my lips several times, the slightly raspy surface only making the sensation seem more intense and invasive. But I didn’t know what invasive meant at that point, at least not until that same tongue pushed its way past my labia, entering me as if had every right to.

Now I could say that it was mostly the fear and confusion that had my stomach in knots and my eyes tearing up, but I remember those first days in what was to become my tribe in perfect clarity, and I remember that I genuinely felt repulsed by what was being done to me. The fact that the shamaness was far from ugly wasn’t a factor – I wasn’t attracted to women, or at least had never been up until that point, and the idea of having someone force themselves on me was equally repellant. So the fact I had another female lapping away at my sex while two others held me immobile was at that time the worst experience of my life. It’s sort of like how looking back on your childhood you can appreciate how silly you were to be afraid of the dark, but you still remember the fear that gripped you whenever the lights went out…

I suppose I could have tried to pretend the muzzle pushed against my sex belonged to a male, if not an actual human, but the experience was far too different than what I’d come to think of as cunnillingus. The guys who’d been willing to do the honors had always been fairly gentle either because they were being courteous or because they weren’t exactly sure what they should be doing down there. The Feline whose eyes I could glimpse staring at me from behind my pubic mound showed no restraint whatsoever. The fact that the two-legged cats had muzzles meant that their tongues would also be longer than a human’s, but that alone wouldn’t account to just how deeply she was getting in me. It was the way she was doing it – savage, almost hungry strokes of the raspy appendage plunging in and out of me as her black nosepad pressed against my clit.

I felt violated, sickened by the fact there was nothing I could do to stop this bizarre, wild-eyed female from entering my body over and over, this complete stranger taking something precious from me that should have been mine to give. After a minute or so of her slurping away at my crotch I heard (and more to the point felt) her begin to purr, the large eyes losing some of their focus as the hut filled with the deep rumble.

Enough of the predatory glint left her eyes for me to guess the cheetah was busy with her own sex while ravenously eating out mine, her purring becoming less steady as her tongue lost the rapid in-out rhythm. A few minutes later I could feel the warm huffs of her breath against my clit, her muzzle mashed so tight against my folds that I wondered if she was trying to push it in. I closed my eyes tight when I heard her yowl into my abused sex like an overgrown alley cat, allowing myself some hope when the raspy tongue was pulled from between my labia.

When I was lowered back to my own two feet and the feline behind me let go of my arms I stood for maybe three seconds before my knees gave out. My arms were trembling as I clumsily used one to cover my breasts while the other one slid between my thighs, my head bowed as I knelt there, trying to keep myself from weeping.

The chief of the three felines stood in front of me, the claw-and-tooth bedecked cheetah looking even more imperious as I was forced to look up at her. She said something and I could tell she was addressing me, but my mind was in no state to comprehend a language I barely had a grasp of. Her intent was made quite clear when she undid the binding at her hip and let the zebra-hide loincloth fall to the ground, revealing a wet feline slit now less than a foot from my face.

She seemed to wait for a few more seconds, obviously expecting me to take the hint and completely missing just how close to panic I was. I was trying to compose myself enough to plead for them to stop, to let me go, but before I could open my mouth to speak I felt strong fingers dig into my hair and the aforementioned mouth was pushed against the impatient cheetah’s sex.

Now since I figure I did a good job of explaining just how distressed I was to being subject to oral sex from another female, you can imagine what it felt like being on the giving end. Well, maybe you can’t. It was revulsion fighting terror. A male (and no doubt some females) in my situation would have hesitated for a moment if at all, especially those with a preference for assertive women. To them the musk of the feline sex would have been tantalizing, and the sensation of the cheetah’s smooth, moist folds mashed against their face would no doubt have had their heart racing and their tongue slipping out to dive into the feline femininity.

To be honest, even with men I was never enthused about giving oral, but I liked being licked down there well enough so I saw it as a fair trade. And yes, I was one of those girls that began every blow-job session with ‘Warn me when you’re close!’. Always a disappointment to guys but as a consolation I’d always aim their shafts at my cleavage as I jerked them to completion and let them give me a pearl necklace. I wasn’t really grossed out by sperm but the taste of it… bleargh!

So if it had been a male cheetah forcing my face against his crotch I suppose the worst part would be the knowledge that swallowing wouldn’t be my choice. Then again as the chief of these felines ground her slit against my mouth I would have gladly accepted to swallow the load of half a dozen males than be forced to do what she quite obviously expected of me. She must have realized I didn’t want this, despite the fact that most of my expression was hidden away between her legs, but the grip those fingers had on me told me that what I wanted didn’t matter. This cat wanted to cum and she seemed perfectly determined to keep my face mashed against her sex until that happened.

But the idea that I could make this over with sooner at that moment seemed… well sort of like I could have some control of the situation. It was the only thing that made me part my lips and push my tongue out, letting it slip between the feline folds and then past them. I could feel the other woman’s body respond, the soft inner walls pulsing briefly around the tip of my tongue as she tried to push me even harder against her slit. She seemed to wait, expecting more from me but at this point I lacked both motivation and experience to do… anything.

Her only response was a little grunt of what sounded like frustration, and I wondered if she’d fling this useless, clueless human away in disgust, deciding I wasn’t worthy of someone of her obvious stature in the tribe. I was about to learn that despite her station, the chieftain didn’t mind doing the work herself. I could see the wall of fine muscles in front of me flex, the feline’s trim abdomen growing taut as she moved her hips and flexed her back. It was an impressive, sinuous motion that resulted in her slit being pushed both back and forth and up and down on my mouth.

“Naca… naca!” she growled as she rode my face, repeating a word I would latter learn corresponded quite closely to ‘fuck’.

It was certainly what she was doing, and while I could imagine how a guy could do such a thing to a woman’s face, I was quite frankly surprised by the fact that it was another female doing it to me! And it must have done something for her, because despite the fact I was still just kneeling there with my tongue stuck in her slit, my lower face was soon messy enough that I could feel some of it dripping down my chin and onto my breasts.

And as the increasingly animated feline humped her dripping sex against my face, all I hoped for was that she’d be done soon and that I’d be left alone, even if it did mean being locked up in this hut. I know it might seem a bit over dramatic, because they weren’t harming me, and even in my panic and despair I knew that. But being used like this, without any notion of what my fate would be… it was terrifying. And I wasn’t all that brave to start with.

When the cat grinding herself against me dug her second hand into my mess of blond hair I actually whimpered, the noise drowned out now that there were two strong paws pushing my face between those furry thighs. I could feel tears run from the corners of my eyes, and it was only partly due to the fact that with my mouth pressed tight against the growling cat’s sex and her clitoral hood mashed against my nose (plus the fact that I was genuinely panicking now) I was having a hard time catching my breath. Her climax was as unsubtle as the way she’d used me to reach it, and as her sex gushed against my mouth I tried to console myself that the taste wasn’t as bitter as what a male would have pumped past my lips.

It was only when she released my hair that I realized she’d almost been holding me up. My muscles felt like jelly and without her grip I found myself crumpling up at the tall feline’s feet, my stomach roiling as every ragged breath I took carried her scent into my lungs. To be honest, now that I look back on it from an objective distance it wasn’t really disgusting. They had all been quite clean, as befitted both females and felines, and while my attitudes have changed over time the taste of another woman for me was an acquired one, and one that took a while to acquire.

Later on I would have more encounters with the chieftain (or Ayene as I now call her) and my impression of her hadn’t changed that much since I’d first laid eyes on the proud feline. But it was softened by the memories of that fierce female trembling with the most peculiar noises coming from her parted muzzle as my tongue flicked and danced between her thighs. There was nothing soft about her back as I lay at her feet, curled up in a fetal position and hoping that they were done with me. I heard the trio talk and even though their bare feet were as silent as any cats, the sound of the door creaking open and closed filled me with some hope, until I saw the last one of them had remained. And by the look in her eyes it was obvious why she’d stayed behind…

“N-no more… please…” I said, my voice breaking, the words close to being sobs.

I lay there curled up, desperate to hide myself from her, my ears failing to catch even the slightest sound of those feline paws and with only the long shadows cast by the little tallow lamp telling me the remaining cat was circling me. She squatted down in front of me, and with her legs spread I caught sight of the furless, wet strip of skin between those slim thighs. When a hand reached out I was sure I was about to have my hair grabbed and my face pushed against that sex, but instead she took hold of my chin and pulled it up until I was looking up at her.

Even though her pupils weren’t slitted her eyes were like a feral cheetah’s and showed no whites, making her gaze seem intense as she stared into mine. I wondered why she was doing it, what she was waiting for. From where I was standing, or lying to be precise, it was impossible to miss the fact that she was aroused. I didn’t see any pity in those eyes, nor any inkling she might take mercy on me and sate her needs with her own fingers, or perhaps another member of her tribe. But I could see curiosity in that stare, and it only served to confuse me. Why was she doing this? Her tribe-mates had been interested in entirely different parts of my body, and yet this one seemed unable to take her eyes off mine. I mean, what are you supposed to say to someone in that kind of situation? My breasts are down there?

After a while I guess the feline urge for a staring contest wore off and other needs swam to the surface of the young cheetah's mind. Her touch was gentle but insistent as she slowly but surely unfolded the ball I'd curled up into, exposing my body to her still curious gaze. I knew what was coming, at least in a general sense, and even though I had no more desire for her affections than those of the other two... I was tired. Physically, emotionally exhausted and possessed of the knowledge that even in full strength and with all my wits about me I couldn't stop this intense female from getting what she wanted.

Her hands roamed my body as if she owned it, and in some corner of my mind I wondered if by their laws she did. She was the one to snare me, after all. One hand settled on my waist as I lay on my side while the other settled on my breast. She cupped my mound, looking as if she was weighing it before her fingers dug slowly but firmly into what was without a doubt the biggest tit the feline had ever seen. My breasts had always been sensitive and as I felt my nipple stiffen against the softness of the pawpad-like palm I could only hope the spotted cat wouldn't notice. It was another dashed hope and the feline was soon tweaking and tugging the hard nub between thumb and forefinger. I whimpered softly in what I hoped sounded like pain or discomfort. The truth was that I was exhausted and that reality was becoming blurry. My body didn't seem able to tell the difference between the touch of someone molesting me and the way I'd play with my chest on those night I needed to work off some steam and I'd stick something buzzing between my legs.

My nipple was still stiff when the cheetah released it, her hand sliding along my stomach (trim, but still soft compared to the sculpted abs of the felines) and inevitably finding what had drawn the interest of her tribemates. She shifted nimbly and soon I found my leg being hoisted up, the sudden rush of air across my slit feeling cool and letting me know that my body had reacted more than I'd guessed to the cat's tugging and tweaking.

"Please...don't..." I said, weakly and without any expectations that this plea would work when the other hadn't.

"Shhh..." the cat just replied, taking her eyes briefly off the wet spot between my thighs to look me in the eyes.

I had resigned myself to another round of abuse, turning my head from the cat's hungry gaze to stare at the wall. I'd expected to feel either her fingers or her tongue enter me and was surprised when instead I felt soft heat against my lips and soft fur against the insides of my thighs.

I looked down to see the feline comfortably straddling one of my legs as she held up the other, resting it against that slender body of hers. Her muzzle was parted and I could see her chest swell as her breath quickened, as sure a sign of her arousal as the wetness I felt against my slit. She was looking into my eyes again and something about her look now disturbed me more than I could explain, either then or now. I just looked away, resigning myself to my fate and hoping the cat wouldn't take long in reaching her peak.

The experience was bizarre, even more than my first two unwilling homosexual forays. I know it seems naive, but I had no interest in lesbian sex and had never even heard of tribadism and yet there I was, subjected to it against my will. And at that point I still wasn't attracted to my feline molestor but I was exhausted, my nerves spent on both fear and despair to the point I couldn't really care. I couldn't think and without that my mind was left with nothing but sensation. At first even that was just too alien, too unfamiliar. The sensation of the warm feline sex pressed against mine, the slick mess being spread all over my crotch as the cat mounting me began to move. But when she settled into a steady rhythm, I was aware my body was starting to respond.

It reminded me of my first attempts to sate my budding desires, or at least the first successful ones. I was a late bloomer but my urges came in before my body developed the curves I'd need to attract boys, so I was the one who had to take care of them every time they threatened to drive me crazy. I had been really afraid of breaking my hymen, so the notion of putting anything in there, even if it was just my finger, made me anxious. So I'd settle to using my fingers outside, and to be honest even these days when I need to... clear my mind in a hurry, I just settle for using my fingers on my labia, occasionally sliding one along the cleft between them as I keept my palm mashed at the little joy-buzzer hidden away in its hood.

Neither my fingers or the cheetah’s were anywhere near my crotch, but the habit meant that the outside of my sex was quite sensitive and just having the feline slit rubbing along my own was having an effect on me. And I no longer had the willpower to be afraid, or disgusted. To feel distraught at being used like this, to do anything but lay there at the mercy of my nerve endings which didn't see any problem with what was happening.

The purring caught me by surprise, a rumble originating somewhere in the cheetah's powerful chest and traveling all along her body, including the parts pressed against me. The vibrations against my labia only served to confuse me, bringing to mind lonely but enjoyable nights spent blowing off some steam or just having a bit of guilty fun with a new toy.

I didn’t want my body to react the way it had. I didn’t want to ever associate those fluttery feelings that I’d always enjoyed with something as traumatic as this. And I was worried about the sort of ideas my captors might get if their abuse actually drove me to orgasm. But the cat even now working her way towards her own climax seemed intent on taking me along. It was the way those eyes would focus on various parts of me – the stiffness of my nipples as her grinding and humping caused my breasts to shake and bounce, the trembling of various little muscles along my body as I fought with it. I could feel the heat of my face and doubted those keen eyes would miss the way I was blushing, especially since unlike her I had no fur to hide mine.

A few seconds later I thought for a moment she’d reached her peak when her intense gaze became glassy for a few seconds and the arms holding my leg against her toned body tensed up. Her purring had barely faltered so that was no clue, and the place where skin touched skin was already a mess. Either way my hope that she was done with me was short lived, just as the hope that I’d get through this before I reached my limits.

To my credit I did last… well, longer than I thought I would. I was biting my lip near the end, my hands clenched into fists while the rest of my body remained slack. I was drained, without so much as an atom of strength left in me while the cat grinding her sex against mine wasn’t even winded. When I felt the inevitable approaching my hands flew to my face, a desperate attempt to hide from the fierce yellow eyes of the feline who’d done this to me.

I was startled when I felt long fingers grab one of my wrists in an iron grip and cried out when both of my hands were pinned on the ground. The feline was still humping, her back bent at an angle a human contortionist might just manage, provided he was staying still. But the cheetah was still humping away, her sex mashed against mine and her eyes staring into my own just before mine lost focus. I drew in a few shuddering breaths before whimpering, finally giving in to my own body and this feline.

The cheetah didn’t relent even as I lay shuddering under her, and while her earlier climax had been subtle, her second one was anything but. She actually yowled out, bright white fangs flashing in the dim light as her muzzle yawned wide. Her hips finally went still with her sex pressed against mine so tight I could actually feel the twitch and pulse of her femininity as she rode out her orgasm. I saw the powerful chest swell and contract as the cheetah took deep breaths, the nubs crowning her budding chest hard and stiff in the little furless patches in the center of each pert breast. As she caught her breath I was worried she’d just keep going, and was relieved when she gracefully disentangled herself from me.

“Riga.” She husked, repeating the word after I just stared blankly back at her.

“I… I don’t… meaning…” I stammered out. I was in no shape to talk in a language I didn’t speak, but I figured the sooner I could communicate with these women the sooner I could plead my case.

“Riga.” She insisted, while I just stared blankly at her. My mouth was open to explain once more that I didn’t understand what the word meant when a pair of wet fingers pressed against my lips. “Riga.”

“Riga…” I repeated, without any idea what it meant. It seemed to satisfy my captor, since after that she pointed me to a straw mat in one corner with a thin blanket covering it

It would be sometime later that I realized that she’d been telling me her name. An odd introduction, to be sure.

*******

“Come. Clean…” the feline I’d learned was Riga said. Well, her sentence had been as crude but it was all that I’d caught.

It had been four days since my capture and I could catch a little more of the felines’ tongue, provided they remembered to talk slowly and enunciate clearly. And it was mostly due to this particular cat that I’d managed to grasp anything at all. With the others the conversation soon boiled town to ‘naca’, but Riga seemed intent on drilling me on their tongue.

“You want me to… go with you? Follow?” I asked as she stood by the open door. At a nod from her I got up, still a bit wobbly. I could tell by the glare from outside that morning was about to give way to noon, and even though going out in that heat wasn’t enticing, the idea that I could wash was. And even being drenched in my own sweat would be preferable to what I must smell like by now. Even though many of the felines licked me clean once they were done with… once they were done, I still felt dirty.

When Riga led me through the little village (and at about seven dozen felines that’s pretty much what it was) I actually placed one arm over my chest and used the other to cover up my privates before realizing how pointless it was. I was their plaything, and many of the females had seen me naked, and those who didn’t could do that and a lot more any time they wished. And as I squinted in the bright sunlight I once again didn’t see even a single male. But considering what the women of this tribe were doing to me, I didn’t think they really needed any around…

I walked ahead of Riga without any sort of restraints, occasionally turning either left or right when she told me to. Not that she needed any restraints. Even fully rested I knew it was an absurd notion that I could outrun someone like her. Her sleek body was built for speed, and even if by some miracle I did manage to get away I had little doubt she’d have an easy time tracking me through what was in a way her back yard. I could smell the moist air before I saw the river through the tall grass, and just the sound of rushing water drew me forward the notion that at least for a few minutes I wouldn’t smell like… well if you’ll pardon the vulgar pun – pussy.

The water ran quite fast but it was only when I stepped in that I realized how cold it was, at least compared to the heat of the late-morning sun. My bare skin immediately goose-pimpled, but after a few tentative splashes I acclimated enough that the cool sensation became pleasant. I heard Riga wade in behind me, holding out a hard white chunk in one paw. When I tried to grip it in one wet hand and almost had it slip from my fingers I realized it was soap. Well, they can’t really reach enough of their bodies to groom like actual cats, and anybody with access to lard and ashes can work out how to make soap. Some flowers in it to, or maybe medicinal herbs I figured as I began to vigorously lather myself and a pleasant scent filled my nose.

“Here, let me…” Riga said, taking the soap from me one the front of my body was covered in white foam. I still felt a little apprehensive as she disappeared from view, but my shoulders sagged in relief when I felt her running the soap over them. It was only when the bar slid lower that I let out a little hiss, tensing up at the sudden sting.

“Who made these?” I heard her ask, her tone strangely concerned as she seemed to notice the scratches on my back.

“Uhh… black hair, single braid…” I said, remembering the feline if not the name.

I also remembered she was a… peculiar one. I thought of her as young, although it really was hard to tell with these women. I guess there was something frustrated and angsty about her demeanor that brought to mind a girl in her late teens, chafing from being under her parent’s roof and desperate for the freedom she expected dorm life would offer. The black-haired cat’s visitations had been few but bizarre – she would force me to lay on my front and straddle my behind, grinding her sex against either of my cheeks and flexing her claws against my back. I had no idea what went through her mind when she did it, but after a while she would lay down on top of me and begin to savagely hump against me, slamming her hips against my rear as if she was trying to sodomize me with a shaft she naturally didn’t have. Although she was quite… energetic about it I still don’t understand how such a display could provide her with enough stimulation to climax, but the wet smears she’d leave all over my buttocks left little doubt she did.

“Zenha?” Riga asked and I nodded as the name slipped into place. “Will talk to her. Not allowed to hurt you…”

“Not allowed?” I asked, and I still remember how outraged I’d felt at those words, and how Riga hadn’t even remotely picked up at it as I turned to stare at her. “You all hurt me!” I accused, mortified at this feline’s supposed concern about a few scratches when she showed no remorse for catching me, imprisoning me and subjecting me to daily violations.

“You are harmed? Injury?” she asked, and the tone of her voice and the expression on her muzzle made it clear she was genuinely surprised, maybe even concerned. I had been almost certain her interest in my well-being had been some cruel game or a taunt, and had I been in a more level-headed mood I might have remembered how different our cultures are and that our sense of right and wrong might differ as well. But that still didn’t mean I had to accept their view, especially at my own expense…

“You… when you use me it hurts…” I said, trying to explain myself to the feline who just gave me a puzzled look. “It… terrifies.” I said, hoping that would give her some clue. I know that was a big part of my distress. Some people might get a thrill out of BDSM scenarios, but the reality was that these felines could and did do whatever they wanted with me and it was that notion that filled me with fear and a helpless despair whenever I was forced to… mate with one of them.

“But you enjoy it. Not always, but I’ve seen you. Smelled you…”

“That’s just… my body!” I barked out, since ‘physical reaction’ was still a bit beyond my linguistics skills. That last remark was also disturbing. Were their noses really that keen? And had my body been betraying the reactions I’d been so desperate to hide from them? “I don’t enjoy it! I don’t… I don’t want it…”

“You don’t want it… because of the fear? Your body enjoys, but your mind is terrified, yes?” the cat asked with a genuinely thoughtful expression on her muzzle, one that gave me hope that I might get through to her.

“Y-yes…” I said, figuring I’d keep it at that. I considered explaining that I wasn’t attracted to other women, but my command of their language was still shaky and I was worried if I might accidentally call them unattractive. The last thing I could afford to do at this point was to call the whole tribe ugly!

“You needn’t fear us. No one will harm you…” she said, getting us right back to square one. But she did lay her hand on my arm and it seemed like a genuinely caring gesture, making me wonder if I had made some progress with her. “I will prove to you. Touching without fear, yes?” she said, stepping on to the riverbank and beckoning for me to follow. She broke off one of the thin reeds growing on the shore and stabbed it at the ground before lying down on her back.

“Closer, come!” she said and I still had no idea what she had in mind. I figured she just wanted to let her fur dry, but her next words dispelled that notion. “Knees here…” she said, patting the ground at either side of her head and I could feel myself blush as I realized what kind of position that would put me in.

“Y-you don’t understand…” I stammered, but I did as I was asked. I was worried that if I didn’t she’d insist we trade places.

“We don’t understand. But we find out, yes? You are now above, and I am trapped. Not scary for you, yes?” she said, sneezing a little as a drop of water fell from between my legs and onto the black nose pad situated just below. It was as comical as the notion that I was really in charge. Yes, I was the one on top, but only an Olympic wrestler would have stood a chance of actually pinning the cheetah under me.

“Less scary…” I admitted, hoping that honesty would serve me well with her.

“It is almost mid-day, yes?” she asked, gesturing towards the reed sticking out of a patch of wet sand. The improvised sundial was indeed casting only about two inches of shadow. I still didn’t realize how that was significant. “When shadow is gone, you can get up. You can make me stop, yes?”

“Make you stop whaaaAaaahh!” I squealed out, reaching an impressively high pitch as Riga suddenly hooked her arms around my thighs and gave my exposed slit a long, hard lick with her tongue. “N-not so hard!” I heard myself stammer out, surprised that I didn’t just say ‘no’.

But what also surprised me was that the nest swipe of Riga’s tongue against my nethers was gentler by far, as well as the next one, and the next… oh my God! There were too many thoughts buzzing around my head and I was rapidly losing the ability to deal with them. I was very aware that we were doing… this in the open! Anyone from the tribe could wander over for a dip or to do some laundry and they’d see! Not that I think they’d mind, or that Riga would be upset to be discovered with her muzzle between my legs, but I still had enough modesty to be embarrassed for both of us!

I looked down to try and talk her into maybe finding somewhere more private but the sight I saw made me forget whatever I was about to say. I’d never tried anything this… bold even with one of my boyfriends. It had always been me lying on my back with my legs spread whenever anyone had their face down there. There was something about this new angle that made the experience seem… different.

Or maybe it had been Riga’s eyes. I still remember that look and could only imagine the expression on my face as those intense yellow orbs focused on me. It wasn’t the look of a young man trying to weigh my reactions and figure out if he was doing well down there. Riga knew what she was doing, knew how it was making me feel, and that steady gaze was challenging me to deny it.

Her tongue had a rough surface, at least compared to those I’d felt before, but she was using a light touch so the tiny little bumps just felt… intense. It was also longer than any I’d had in there, but more to the point the feline it was attached to was totally uninhibited. A stark contrast with me since I was just one big inhibition at that point. I was confused, I was questioning my sexuality and I needed the time and brainpower to process that, neither of which I was likely to get with the spotted feline slurping away between my thighs.

It’s hard to hold on to the idea that you aren’t attracted to women when you had an admittedly stunning one laying under you, her muzzle pressed against your sex as her tongue flicked, licked and dipped, driving you a little crazier each time it did. And those eyes… they really weren’t as scary now that I wasn’t looking down at them. The lack of whites combined with the sort of natural eyeliner around them made them look so penetrating. I was aware that Riga must have been enjoying the view from where she was – my sex spread open and served up to her, my bare skin still wet and shining from my bath earlier and my breasts rising and falling with every ragged breath I took. The thing going through my head was that those little round ears looked kind of cute.

It had been… well, I’m embarrassed to say quite a while before I remembered the cheetah’s improvised timer. Glancing at the reed I’d caught it at the exact moment when it wasn’t casting a shadow at all. This was it - I could get up now. It… it would prove my point. It might change Riga’s mind about how they’d been treating me. If I just… stopped her. Right now. The sensible thing to do.

“S-stop…” I almost moaned out, the hands immediately releasing my thighs as the feline tongue stopped the moment the word was out of my mouth.

No doubt about it - a cat of her word. When I started to lift my knees I guess she expected I would be getting up. Even I was expecting I would get up. But I wound up just turning about-face, so to speak, and the rising feline under me wound up bumping her muzzle against my slit. So I knelt there now, looking dead ahead of me, frozen in place with my cheeks on fire. Riga seemed confused by just what was going on, but after a few seconds of me just straddling her face without moving a muscle she decided to test the waters.

I gasped when I felt strong hands settle on my behind, even though her touch was gentle. It was a question of sorts, one that I answered by arching my back and pushing my cheeks back against the feline’s palms. She slid her hands along the curve of my rump and a second later I felt her tongue return to lick between my folds. I still had no real idea of what I was doing, but I guess that’s what people feel like when they say they are exploring their sexuality. After all, if you know where you’re going, you aren’t exploring, you’re just traveling.

I still wasn’t sure where I’d wind up but I knew why I’d turned around. If I was being honest, Riga was doing an amazing job back there, curling her tongue up inside me as she sought out my most sensitive spots, those ears catching every variation in the funny little sounds I was making at this point. If this was going to be sex (the idea that it was lovemaking was still far away at this point) I felt like it should go both ways. And with her sleek body laid out before me it was quite obvious where I belonged.

The sixty-nine position would seem like the sensible, and ideally reciprocal choice at this point, but even though Riga was slurping away between my legs with every sign of enjoyment I was still hesitant to place my face between hose spotted thighs. At this point the idea of putting my mouth on another woman’s privates was intensely unappealing. To be honest, even today it isn’t really my favorite way to have fun, although I’d never hesitate to do it for Riga.

So I leaned over, using one hand to support myself while the other one trailed along the feline’s body. God, the muscles under that fur! The cheetahs are all fairly tall and long-limbed and combined with the fur covering them you don’t really get a good idea of just how powerful those feline bodies are until you’re running your fingers over one. But it wasn’t her washboard abs that I’d set out to touch. I had to admit my hand wasn’t really steady by the time it slid across the bump of her pubic mound and between those slender legs, and I was in for quite a surprise when the tips of my fingers finally settled on the cat’s smooth labia.

She was drenched! Obscenely wet from nothing but going down on me! I could feel the feline nectar under my fingers as I rubbed along the outside of her sex first, rubbing the cat’s mess into her folds until I worked up the courage to push one slender digit in. It was like I hit a purr switch and I could feel my own thighs tremble as Riga revved up, her muzzle pressed tight enough against my femininity that all those vibrations seemed to be going inside me.

It was different than out last time and I guess being on top really did make me feel like I was in control. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d stopped when I told her to earlier. It made me feel like I could trust her and that went a long way towards making me feel safe. And after I started feeling safe, I started feeling all sorts of other things. It was kind of strange – I was fingering a pussy and I was feeling giddy and excited, which was nothing new. But it wasn’t a finger or two delving between my lips, nor was it my slit my fingers were buried in.

Two for now, but after I felt the muscles of Riga’s femininity clenching around me I decided to try my luck, and soon enough I had everything but my pinky and my thumb pumping away between her legs. She’d already made me cum once by then, but since she was still ravenously licking and purring back there I figured I owed her to finish what I’d started.

I could tell she was close by the way she’d braced her legs against the ground and spread her thighs, so I did my best to push her over. My fingers were starting to get cramped and I was having trouble catching my breath as the nibble feline tongue pushed me closer to my second climax. I had my palm pressed against Riga’s clit and my fingers curled up inside her, desperately looking for that little spot that I knew for experience would make all the difference at this moment.

Riga’s climax had been anything but subtle. The muscles along her body were practically dancing as her sex tightened, holding my hand in as I wriggled my fingers against what I suspected was her sweet-spot. Her purring devolved into peculiar mewling noises which I felt more than I heard just before her fingers dug into the cheeks she’d been so gently palming so far. They were like steel as they dug into my behind and it turned out that having my ass practically mauled by the climaxing cheetah was what did it for me.

I dismounted Riga’s face when I regained enough confidence in my wobbly legs, and as we both got up and caught our breath our eyes met again and it felt like… well it sounds silly but like we’d accomplished something. When we got back, Riga took me along with her to see her chief. The two felines weren’t speaking slowly for my benefit so I didn’t catch much of the conversation, but I guess Riga had convinced them that I was terrified of them and negotiated some perks for me. That night I was taken to a hut with windows in it and a door that was just a hide flap so it couldn’t be shut like the last one. Honestly it was a nice change, but even before I got my first ‘visitor’ the next morning I was sure that my role in the tribe would remain what it was for the foreseeable future.

*******

Looking back I still can't really pinpoint the moment I no longer saw myself as a prisoner. At first I could roam the village, aware that keen feline eyes were following me. Sometimes it was surveillance, keeping an eye on me, but there were also more blatant looks, ones that would often result in a willowy cat approaching me and letting me know, subtly or otherwise that she expected me to fulfill what was still my role in this society.

If I had a desire or need to venture beyond the little settlement, I would always be chaperoned, and almost always by Riga. I was aware of a growing affection towards her even though I still wasn't willing to put a name to it. It was physical, but then again I had that sort of relationship with almost all of the women of the tribe. With Riga there was more - I genuinely started to enjoy her company and she in turn didn't seem to begrudge a single minute spent on me. She seemed to enjoy talking to me and I'm sure that had motivated her to teach me their tongue as best she could. She'd been a stern taskmistress, approaching linguistics with the same fierce determination that she approached everything else with, but thanks to her efforts I could speak and understand them well enough, although I'm sure my accent would still mark me as an outsider as assuredly as my appearance.

Not that we spent all out time talking. I... it's strange, but I still don't think I could find a human woman attractive, at least not enough to desire her. Riga had initially forced my body to respond to her touch, but as her efforts became gentler I found my mind following. With the others... I still think I see it as a kind of affectionate play, I guess. A way for two girls (or often more) to have some fun and relieve some stress. Whenever I was with the other females I didn't really get the impression there was anything more than that going on.

With Riga... it was hard to think of it as just playful encounters. There was an intensity to my times with her that I never felt with the others, and I guess that on some level I was aware there was something that she needed from me, something more than smooth skin and soft breasts. Sex with her was more... involved, more urgent despite the fact she always took her time with me. It wasn't playful, or at least not just playful. It was intense, thrilling, and often involved a joy that couldn't be attributed to a skilled feline tongue or the mischief of nimble fingers.

It was funny how I no longer wondered how long I'd stay there. When I first arrived all I could think about was when I'd be released, but as days ticked away weeks followed them and I rarely thought about how much of my sentence was left. Oh, that’s right - I was studying them! It's amazing how silly an excuse it seems as I think of it now, but it had seemed so reasonable then. After all, didn't I want to study a different tribe? And did I not have the opportunity to study a unique one? So what if I wasn't keeping a professional distance from the females I was studying. Hadn’t Professor Jones told me it was a good idea to break down the barriers a little, to get them to open up? And all ridiculous denial aside I was learning. And one day about three weeks into my stay, I was in for a poignant lesson.

I noticed everyone rushing for the little clearing in the middle of the village that the communal meals were always served in and that everyone gathered in each morning, just to have a chat in the blissfully cool hour before the Sun emerged. But there was nothing festive or communal about the mood, and you could see the tension of the situation by the lashing of the long feline tails and the murmurs of shock and grief as the story traveled from muzzle to ear, spreading outward from whoever arrived to report it.

I noticed Riga in the crowd and I still remember how grim she looked, the usually fierce eyes looking... resigned?

"What happened?"

"Saari had been too long on her hunt. Those who just returned went to try and find her..." she said, and it took me a few moments to remember Saari - a huntress a few years Riga's elder. At first I thought she'd been killed, since despite their strength and skill Riga had told me hunting accidents were not unheard of, even fatal ones. But the reason Saari always went alone was that she was skilled at tracking and catching small prey, tasty critters unlikely to harm me, let alone one of the cheetahs. Judging by Riga’s answer, my confusion must have been plain to see.

“She was taken.” I heard her reply, and as she did her shoulders seemed to sag, seemingly in resignation.

“Taken… who by?”

“Another tribe.”

“Did… did she wander into their territory?” I asked, still shocked by this. Seems strange since I was myself abducted, but I was a stranger who’d strayed where she had no right to. By their law and custom, they had every right to capture me.

“No, she knows better. She will not be harmed, and they will release her. A year, maybe two. Then she will find her way back to us…”

“But why… why would they take her in the first place?” I asked, and Riga though of answering but instead just took my hand and led me away from the slowly dispersing crowd. I could tell she was upset despite her stoic front, and didn’t object when she led me towards a big tree under whose shade we’d often sought a little privacy every now and again.

“You know we are not like the others? The other tribes, yes?” she asked, sitting me down on among the roots and joining me.

“Yes. You’re… you’re all women.” I said. I still couldn’t believe I was bashful about stating the very obvious, but Riga didn’t mind.

“At first, those like us would run from home. Some were cast out. We wandered the plains, we met up, learned there are others like us. More than we thought. We welcomed those we recognized – girls, women... gave them a place to feel safe, belong.” she said, and I couldn’t help but note a hint of pride as she recounted what I suspected was her people’s history.

“We decided – there were enough of us, we would be a new kind of tribe. We staked land that no one claimed, but others would come. Some seeking runaways, some angry, believing we stole their daughters, sisters… There was fighting in the early days, but we won. And winning earns respect. They admit we are a tribe of sorts now but they believe we hoard blood…”

“Hoard blood?” I asked, stunned by the rather graphic image the words conjured.

“There is a blood-bond within a tribe, and that is good. But new blood is needed. It joins yours and makes you strong, yes?” she asked, and a light seemed to go on in my head. Felines in general are susceptible to various complications if the gene pool isn’t varied enough, and it would seem that the two-legged cheetahs were aware of this danger to their progeny.

“Yes.”

“A match with someone who is not kin to you is good. But a match with someone from another tribe is better. A tribe sometimes sends a son or daughter away to a different tribe, but welcomes another. Tribes share blood among each other, and so all tribes are made strong, yes?” she said. She was finishing her sentences with a ‘yes?’ again, something she hadn’t done since teaching me her people’s language. It made me realize this was something important, something she wanted to make sure I understood. And I quickly got her gist…

“Tribes share, but yours…” I trialed off and she nodded.

“The others think, to claim hunting grounds – we have a right. To mate with one another – we have a right. But our tribe… we take in daughters, but neither daughters nor sons are ever sent from us. To others that seems greedy – we accept but give nothing back.”

“So they took Saari…” I said, my voice low as I shuddered despite the heat of the day.

“They will not hurt her…” Riga said, and memories flashed before my eyes of her insisting her people, and she herself weren’t hurting me in those early days when they’d force themselves upon me. I wondered then and sometimes still do even in happier times if I’d ever be able to fully reconcile with the casual way they approach what I couldn’t help but think as sexual assault. “But she will be mated. Bred by a male.” She continued, and seemed almost surprised by what must have been a look of shock and despair on my face. “The cubs will be loved by the father’s people. Precious. And Saari will be allowed to come back to us…”

“…after she’s paid your tribe’s debt.” I finished, and Riga nodded. I understood it now, and from an objective standpoint I could see it as sensible – neither side feels wronged and grudges aren’t allowed to fester and endanger the peace. It was fine, as long as I didn’t think of Saari. “Won’t you… can’t you get her back?” I asked, but the expression on Riga’s face answered before she spoke.

“No. Hard to know who even took her. And if we did, there would have to be fighting. A lot of it. Those who took Saari, they believe they are in the right. Ayene, our chief, she knows how they think, knows their reasoning, yes? They wish for their offspring to be strong, healthy, not to keep Saari from us. But she became chief in the bad times for us. We had to fight for every sister, to prove to the others we were a tribe. Fighting back then meant we got respect. Fighting now would mean we get war. All she knows is how to fight, and she knows she can’t do this. So she will wait for Saari to return.”

“Is there no other way?” I asked, the question coaxed from me by the strange tone and thoughtful expression I saw on her muzzle.

Since coming here I’d never been able to reconcile myself with the almost casual way the felines saw what to me was clearly rape. I guess it would be like some outsider seeing a person sentenced to community service, and being aghast at what they perceived as slave labor. Something seemed to be gnawing at Riga, even though she’d never showed any real guilt about how she and her tribe-sisters had treated me when I was first caught.

“Ayene has told me… she intends to step down soon. She believes I should follow her as chief.”

“So she picked you as her… successor?” I asked, a bit startled to find I had been having a happy dalliance with an heiress.

“No, among my people the leader is picked by speakers.”

“Speakers?”

“In a household everyone has a voice, everyone speaks, yes? The head of the house listens, considers and decides. Within a tribe, the head of every household is a speaker. With the voice of those under his roof, yes?” she asked, making sure I understood before continuing “The speakers agree who the chieftain will be. As they speak for a family, the chief speaks for the tribe.”

“But you said ‘households’? You don’t have…” I began and Riga just nodded before continuing.

“With us, speakers are our best hunters, some of our elders, out of honor… and the tribe’s shaman is always a speaker, for she speaks with the voice of those dead.” She said, outlining the peculiar little democracy they had among them.

“So you would change things?”

“Yes. That’s what Ayene wants. We believe a chief shouldn’t change the way they are. It seems… flighty, lacking in will. When a tribe must change, it needs a new chief…” she explained, and while it did seem like rigid thinking to me, I had to admit there was something impressive about a leader giving up power willingly rather than compromising who they were. And to these felines it allowed for the chance to have a strong, unyielding individual in charge, but also a way of adapting and changing when needed.

“So how would you change things?”

“Ayene won respect for herself, and for us, as a fighter. I would try to do it as a friend.”

“Even to those that took Saari?” I blurted out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I considered them. Even after all the gentle moments I’d shared with Riga she was still fierce in my eyes, and it was strange to hear her speak of friendship with people who might even now be forcing themselves on one of her tribe-sisters. But one look at her eyes told me she hadn’t forgotten Saari, making me feel stupid for even considering Riga would abandon anyone for the sake of inter-tribal politics.

“We would talk, and find a way for us to share our blood. There are those among us who do not object to the company of a male. For a lifetime they want a female, but for a night or two a male is fine, yes? And there are others who do not desire a male at all, but would be willing to lay with one, if it meant a child…”

In retrospect she hadn’t really put emphasis on that last word, but the weight of what she said soon sank in. I was stupid for not seeing it earlier, but then again I’d had so little time to think since coming here. The tribe was all female, and all of them to some extent of other would have a maternal instinct. And apart from a few pubescent girls who found their way to them, they had no young. In my studies I’d read about tribal societies that got along just fine without nuclear families as we know them, but not without children.

“So how… how would that work?”

“When one of us went into heat and wanted to conceive, we would make sure she could safely go to one of our neighboring tribes. She would pick a male to mate with, and in a day or two she would be allowed to return to us.”

“But why do you think they’d let you? Isn’t the whole reason they took Saari to keep her child?”

“We are a tribe of females who desire females, yes? This would never change. Those of our daughters who are like us would have a home here for all their lives. But those would be few. Most of our children, when they grew big enough to have urges…”

“They… they’d leave, wouldn’t they?” I said, finally understanding Riga’s intent. Most of the girls would want a male, and a tribe that was well stocked with them, and the boys would desire women who desired them back. It was sensible, even genius, but then…

“Yes. And there would be tears at those partings. But a child leaving to find happiness, a mate of their own… these aren’t’ the tears that break a mother’s heart, yes? We would let our children find other tribes, even as the daughters of those other tribes have found us…”

“The blood would flow both ways…” I said, realizing how Riga had envisioned to breach the final gap between them and the other tribes of the savannah.

Those would be bitter-sweet partings, to be sure, but I knew that to the mothers it would be a price worth paying to have the village filled with children, male and female, young and small, loud and quiet (but let’s face it, mostly loud). That notion still didn’t stop me from having a restless night. I suppose after my own experiences a nightmare or two about Saari’s predicament was to be expected, but fortunately I had Riga beside me to soothe me back to sleep with her purring. Saari would be fine. After all I was and I wasn’t nearly as strong as her.

*******

“Stop, that tickles!” I squeaked, but remained stretched out with my hands clasped behind my head.

“You know for a fact it is me? Perhaps the wind is blowing blades of grass…” came a response from below my neck.

“The wind doesn’t have this we-eeEee!-ird fascination with my body. You do!” I protested, wondering how much of Riga’s tickling I could endure before I was forced to act. She certainly didn’t show any signs of stopping. You’d think a cat would have an ingrained respect for the sanctity of basking in the sun?

And there was grass all around us, long and green this close to the river. A particularly nice spot. Life in the village began the moment the sky went from black to some shade of blue. Riga would generally nudge me awake and we’d immediately crawl blearily out of our little hut, just as everyone else did the same. The cats would rub the sleep from their eyes as they said their good-mornings and teeth would flash in the twilight as the felines yawned, a hell of a sight to see before you even properly woke up. Some of the women would gather to the open communal area of the settlement, making small-talk and discussing the plans for the dawning day, while many others would slip away to spots like this one, almost always in groups of two or three.

It was hard to get used to the ‘Get your ass out of bed!’ way of waking up but I soon saw the wisdom of it. These were the best hours of the day, the magnificent cool that you got before that African sun climbed the sky and began to beat down. Sure, the nights were nice, but if you had human eyes like I do you couldn’t really see much unless the moon was full, apart from a magnificently star-spangled sky. Namely, you couldn’t see much of the person you happened to be with.

But in the early morning the light went from silvery to gold, and the dew still clinging to the plants made everything smell amazingly alive and green. Not to mention that after a good night’s sleep everyone felt well-rested, and the air was still cool enough to urge you to do something to get your heart pumping and warm yourself up a little.

I think that was on Riga’s mind, but I just felt like taking a few more minutes to be gloriously lazy. Seemingly an easy goal, but less so when you have a cat huffing and nuzzling away under your arm. Still, it said something for how comfortable I felt with her that I didn’t really mind her seeing me like this. It’s the fact that she was poking her whiskered muzzle in there that was making me squeal.

Back in the civilized world I would have been mortified if someone I was intimate with had seen me in this state, which I suppose is a statement on what I used to consider intimacy. Despite the fact that I was in an all-female community, there was a distinct lack of pink-handled razors when everyone but you was sporting a fur coat. And so I was going with the ‘natural look’ because the idea of shaving some quite delicate parts with a hunting knife didn’t appeal to me.

Not that I really had a lot of body hair. The sparse fuzz on my forearms and calves had been fair to start with and had been bleached by the same sun that had turned my once milky skin a nice pale-coppery hue, everywhere except for the part a loincloth covered, since I had gone native as far as fashion was concerned. It had meant that I got a very embarrassing sunburn once parts of me that had always been covered up in public got their first taste of UV rays, but it did make keeping cool a breeze, provided a breeze was blowing.

But the emergence of my body hair had caused quite a stir. It had happened in my less than idyllic early days, when a mature feline called Gadise made her way to my hut to make use of the tribe’s prisoner. Like quite a few other she’d been fascinated by the idea of a smooth skinned lover and it had been while she was running her tongue down my belly that she noticed a little patch of short blonde fuzz just above her intended destination. I was puzzled when she dashed out, and even more when she came back with Yenenesh, the shamaness.

I was taken outside so that the painted feline could study me in better light and soon what seemed like the whole tribe was clustered around us, muttering and jostling for a better view of the commotion. I had gotten a better grip on their language, enough to understand some of the mutterings. They were shocked that I was apparently growing fur (apart from my ‘mane’) and began to wonder if this was something that happened when their kind mated with humans. Some were wondering out loud if those who’d lain with me would start shedding their fur the same way I seemed to be growing it until I spoke up and managed to explain that what was happening to me was perfectly natural for a human woman. So, kind of the speech I got from my mom when I hit puberty, although she hadn’t seen the need to include the word ‘human’…

After that initial spectacle few of them paid any attention to the little blonde patches under my arms and the golden tuft gracing my pubic mound, other than the sinuous cat even now pressed against me, indulging in this peculiar new fetish of hers with the only person she could do it with. And apart from the tickling I really didn’t mind indulging her. Even though I’d always been an indoorsy sort of person, my body had taken to this life. As most women back in the civilized world, I’d grown used to a whole array of cosmetic and hygiene products. Now they’d all been replaced by simple lye soap, and if I wanted any fragrances in it I had to pick the herbs and flowers myself! But even though I bathed and swam at least once a day even I knew that without dedicated perfumes and deodorizers I smelled like… well, like me. And the spotted feline I was with seemed to prefer it to Channel No. 4.

“Eeeeeep! All right, that’s enough of that…” I said, putting my arms against my sides and protecting my vulnerable parts (or at least some of them) from the frisky cat beside me.

“You have one more…” Riga almost purred out, twisting nimbly until her toned behind was facing me as she advanced on the little blond patch just above my sex.

Well, if she won’t let me bask in the golden rays of dawn she might as well make me squeal in a way we’d both enjoy. I was ready to feel that feline tongue slide along my skin and knew just how Riga prefer to do this. She’d press the raspy appendage hard against parts like my tummy, or the insides of my thighs, the soft yet rough surface feeling incredibly intense as every lick cause my skin to break out in goose bumps. And then there would be the feather-soft flicks against my slit and between my folds, right up until the point I was so far gone that I didn’t care about rough or gentle and just wanted deep and fast.

But instead of that all I got was her goofing around the little tuft of hair, occasionally huffing, puffing or brushing her whiskers against the glistening folds under it. I thought of telling her I wasn’t in the mood for a very one-sided tickle fight, but with her rump still in the air, I decided words had failed me already, so I just gave the spotted tush a little swat. Her expression was priceless – the flash of injured dignity that wouldn’t have been out of place on a housecat whose owner had just reached for the spray-bottle.

“You used to fear me…” she mused.

“Well you were quite intimidating back then…”

“No, you used to be afraid. Terrified. You would shake and shudder when you laid eyes on me…” she continued, bending over me and bringing her face a little closer to mine with each word. She was laying it on thick, but those intense yellow eyes of hers seemed to be daring me to call her a liar.

“You don’t miss that, do you? The fear? The tears…” I asked, and she immediately brought her muzzle to my cheeks and gave it a quick lick, as if wiping away a non-existent tear.

“The tears, fear… no, I don’t miss these.” She husked, giving me a few more lick-kisses to make her point. “But the shaking, the shuddering… maybe I miss these a little. Maybe I can find a new way to make you tremble…” she mused with her muzzle close enough to my ear that I could feel the heat of her breath against it.

“Well what did you have in miiiiaaaAaahh!” I cried out, completely ruining the soft seductive timbre of my voice as I suddenly found my legs being hoisted up and then pressed against my chest. God damn it, I know she’s a cheetah but it still shocks me to realize just how fast she can move, especially once she gets an idea in that spotted head of hers.

“Here, hold them…” she said, only letting go of my ankles when I had my hands behind my knees, holding my legs folded up against me and spread apart a little, just enough to point my hips up for whatever diabolical purpose Riga had in mind.

“Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable in this position? Of the two of us, you’re the bendy one…” I said, although I really wasn’t all that uncomfortable. I felt like I could stay in this position for a while, given the proper motivation…

“But I am the stronger one. More stamina, yes?” she asked, and I just rolled my eyes at the boast but I knew she wouldn’t let this go.

“Yes.” I said, knowing that every time she ended a sentence like that she wouldn’t drop it unless I acknowledged her point.

“And before you came to us, you wanted males. Men, yes?”

“Yes.” I ceded, still wondering what she was going on about as she set her legs on either side of my up-turned hips. I got an idea when her own hips began to descend.

“A strong mate, towering. And you frail and eager beneath him, yes?” she asked, and I was still wondering what she was going on about even as I watched her sex slowly but surely approach mine.

“Right again.” I replied, although if I was being honest she could have wiped the floor with all of my previous boyfriends at the same time. But she had a smug look on that spotted face and I didn’t feel like feeding her ego…

“Then maybe I try taking you like that. Maybe make you shudder and shake…” she said, and I was about to ask what she meant when she pressed her folds against mine and I found I was no longer in the mood for talk. She pressed down a little harder, grinding our lips against each other before bucking her hips and actually humping against my sex. In my current position it actually pushed my hips up a little and when they fell back down I could hear the little smack as my bared sex met Riga’s.

Teeth flashed as the noise I made brought a smile to Riga’s face, the grinning feline pausing a little before repeating the same peculiar motion. And after a few more experimental thrusts she picked up her rhythm and was actually humping me! The contact between the increasingly moist clefts between our thighs would be brief but I could feel my heart starting to race as my ears filled with a very distinctive rhythmical slapping.

I had to admit, she did have a point when she said this was the sort of thing that would make me shudder and tremble. I guess I really did like the idea of an assertive lover, strong yet gentle and bright enough to read my body and give it what it needed. It’s just that I’d always associated those kind of traits with males, but the fact that the figure looming above me now was unmistakably feminine, as was the sex pounding lovingly against my own, didn’t spoil the illusion.

She was stronger, after all, and wilder. With the heart of a huntress and a hungry look to her eyes, the ones that had at first been too intense for me to look at. These days I always feel reassured when I gaze into them, although I couldn’t help but notice Riga’s eyes were not on my own as she drove her hips against me. Her rhythm never faltered as she reached out, each hand settling on one of my breasts as she began to play with the soft mounds that had been shaking with every hump of her sex against mine.

I felt kind of like this was cheating, since she knew how sensitive my breasts were. Then again I didn’t really feel cheated as those long fingers began to kneed away, my nipples soon hardening under Riga’s palms, something I was sure the canny cat wouldn’t miss. She took some more time to lovingly paw my tits before zeroing in in my little nubs, toying with them until my squeaks and moans drowned out the rhythmic and increasingly wet slapping of our moist mounds.

To my credit, I managed out hold out quite a while. I guess I wanted to put Riga’s supposed stamina to the test, to see how long she could keep up the peculiar thrusting before tiring out. All that really meant that by the time I was past the point of no return my body was the one desperately crying out for release. My desperate panting, flushed face and dripping sex must have been a dead give-away because Riga really let me have it.

Anyone other than a feline would have surely slipped their disk trying to do what she did, and I could feel droplets from between us splattering all over my front as she drilled me until my vision blurred. My arms had been doing a fine job of holding my legs up but they failed along with every other muscle in my body and I just flopped down, eyes blank and mouth slack as my chest heaved under Riga’s palms. The cat was on me in a second, worked up into a frenzy of her own. There was no longer any rhythm to her movements and I could feel her body, hard under that soft coat just writhing against me. Her hips were still working, messily pushing away between my legs as her muzzle found my lips.

In this climate, you learn a new kind of thirst. The kind when you come in from the hot sun and you know you want a drink of water, but don’t realize how badly you want it until you bring the jug to your lips and feel the cool rush of it slide down your throat. Then it becomes like a madness and you just want to drink and drink, as much of it as your body will hold and you eventually stop swallowing only to take a breath.

In that moment, that was how I felt about Riga. I literally couldn’t get enough of her. She was already pressed against me but I needed her closer, I needed to feel more of her, on me and in me, and I was desperate for her to feel me – to touch, caress and squeeze, to lick, kiss and nibble every part of me. It was a madness I was sure had her in its grip as well and I can only imagine how we would have looked and sounded had anyone been there to see us – a writhing tangle of two supple bodies, emitting the most bizarre moans whenever we failed to press our lips against each other’s. Who knows, maybe someone did see us? Hell, the whole tribe could have gathered and I doubt either of us would have noticed.

I honestly have no idea how long we’d been at it like that. It had seemed like just a burst of passion, a sort of blissful madness that left both of us exhausted. The mingled sounds of my moaning and Riga’s purrs still rang in my ears as we peeled away from each other, both of us shocked to see that the sun was already quite high. We waded into the water, fully expecting it to hiss as we dove in to cool off and wash the worst of the evidence from each other. On our way to the village I couldn’t help but admit Riga had gotten what she wanted. She’d felt me shudder and tremble under her. But then again, I got the same…

*******

I had been on my own, taking advantage of a somewhat cloudy day to do some foraging. It was my own way of making myself useful since I didn’t have it in me to be a good hunter, and my skills at weaving were still amateurish at best. Six spotted felines emerged from the brush, and the fact that they had males among them told me immediately they weren’t from my village. They must have noticed I was scared since one of the females stepped up to calm me.

“Don’t be afraid. Jones sent us. Professor?” she said, the name taking a while to click in my mind. Not that it should have. It was a very recent past, a matter of two, maybe three months, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Jones… why… why did he…” I spoke, or tried to. I was struck dumb as flashes from my former life surged to the surface, dragged along by the utterance of a familiar name.

“He hired us to track you, bring you back. Rescue you?” she said, puzzled and obviously wondering if I understood what she was saying. After all, what other reason could I have for hesitating at the thought of being freed from my captivity?

So I went with them.

Even as I write this, even after having so much time to get my thoughts straight I’m still not sure why I did. Was I worried it would be impolite to say ‘No thanks!’ to a rescue? I guess it was my old life taking the reins, the Amy who’d studied hard and had an academic career to consider, obligations to colleagues, family…

I was in shock when I got back, but then again no one was surprised by it. I had been a prisoner for so long, after all, and even though I was obviously unharmed, there was bound to be a period of re-adjustment. I tried to think about it like that at first. That I’d been a prisoner among those women. I remembered my first week there – kept in a cell, used for their pleasure. If I had been rescued then, it would have all been perfectly clear – black and white. But then I’d think of Riga, and the whole notion would fall apart.

At first I tried to write it off as Stockholm syndrome, but that didn’t work. Then I conceded to myself that the two of us shared something, but surely I have a duty to my life, to pick up where I’d left off? I tried to trivialize it, as something that would always stay with me as a pleasant memory, something like a summer-camp romance. And maybe I would have pulled it off if it hadn’t been for the nights.

It happened almost every time I went to sleep. I’d inevitably dream of Riga and our time together, the dream would end, and I would lay in my bed with nothing but a gut-wrenching sense of loss, crying myself back to a hopefully dreamless sleep. I somehow managed two weeks of that. The last night had been every bit as bad as the first since my return. My memories of her were torture, but I didn’t want to even try to forget her. So by week three I was making preparations.

I told everyone I knew that I was going back, and would be staying in the wilds of Africa for some time. To my parents, I made it clear it might be for good, without telling them why. They were confused, but they’d seen me nearly have a breakdown after I got back, and they saw that only after making this decision I seemed like my old self again. They also knew that they raised a smart girl and that I’d never done anything impulsive in my whole life. They knew that I’d thought long and hard about this and they didn’t try to stand in my way.

The trip back there was… confusing. The last time I’d come here, it was only for work. To advance human knowledge as well as my career… it had been so important to that Amy. And after she was done she would have left this place and moved on. Back to a university, to write, edit and lecture, maybe plan a new expedition in some other part of the world.

I’m not really a tracker or much of a navigator, but when I got back to the savannah I had a map, a compass, and a pretty good idea of where I was going. When the wilds began looking familiar I began to wonder if I’d actually meet her out here before getting to the village. As it happened I met a few of the females who recognized me easily enough. I could put names to most of the furry faces but I didn’t need to. Only one tribe in this area would send out an all-female hunting party. After a few brief words one of the felines took me by the hand and almost dragged me behind her as I struggled to match her sprint. We soon reached what is now my home, and as we did more familiar faces appeared. And if I’d had any lingering doubts that I was doing the right thing, that I made the right choice, they were gone the moment I saw the expression on Riga’s.

She never asked me about my disappearance, or why I had returned. I guess she figured she didn’t need to know the former, and the latter she knew.

*******

Ours had been the first wedding in the tribe. The Yarinya had never seen a need for it. The felines weren’t monogamous, and a marriage was something you did as a prelude to starting a family, which at the time they didn’t do. But Riga had insisted. I hadn’t found my way to the tribe the way the others had, and she wanted me to formally become one of them – a sister to the others and a mate to her.

It wasn’t long ago after that that Ayene stepped down as chief, and even without her voicing her support for Riga it was obvious who the speakers would chose as her successor. Word had spread among them about Riga’s plans, and it turned out to be a future many of the females wished to see come true. Being a chieftain’s wife might sound glamorous, but trust me when I say our life hasn’t really changed. Well, no more than anyone else’s.

It was louder now. Riga’s plan had worked and the tribe was infested with children and filled with the sort of chaos children always seem to inspire in a society. They were playing, learning, growing… and in time most of them would leave to make their home with one of the neighboring tribes. The bitter-sweet parting’s Riga had foreseen, but ones that would heal the rift between the Yarinya and the other peoples of the savannah. It also meant the daughters of those tribes who felt their hearts drawn to other girls would no longer need to steal away in the middle of the night in order to find a new home, but would be able to say a proper goodbye to everyone they’d grown to care for.

So for all their noise and mischief, the children are a welcome novelty. But it is a good idea for females going off in pairs or little groups to find a secluded spot to indulge in a little intimacy to check the grasses and bushes nearby for any curious cubs. They are stealthy but immature little voyeurs, and tend to giggle at the worst possible moment…