Saturday, July 10, 2010

Anonymous Confession of a Leopardess

Sometimes I enjoy to remember how I met my husband and also remember why I fell in love with him.
Sometimes I love to remember it for it still makes me horny.
And sometimes it is just good to remember it, for it tells me as well as my husband WHY we belong to each other.

So, today, I will tell you about it.


When I was studying, I was low on money. But I had friends, weirdos, but friends. I studied telecommunications, you have to know , something which in the early 80s was a rather uncommon study for women.
Actually I was the first woman studying that particular trade at my University.

So, I was a bit lonely in the students dorm, which was sorted according to the classes.
The two friends I had - cal lthem for easiness Tom and Jerry, were gay. Jerry was studying with me, and Tom was studying product design. And both vere seriously into Latex and Rubber. I had been an inexperienced country girl, I hadn't ever heard or conceived anything out of the ordinary in regards to sex.
Well, they let me peep and watch; that way I learned that there was way more about passion and desire than you learn in school.
They sometimes enjoyed themselves simply by reading stories to each other - which again was way more romantic in concept than I ever heard, and yet, the stories being pretty hardcore, was also more "Hardcore" than a little vanilla country girl had ever heard until that day.

But I was shy. Scared more than anything else from all that suddenly was possible. But Tom and Jerry were also Actors in the students theater, and they were great - but I knew from mpersonal contact that they were rather shy.
From them I learned that masks and clothes are the armor we wear and use to separate our self from our behaviour in public.

They had a friend who was building costumes for the theater, and who also repaired divers suits. They introduced me to him, and told me that I would need a suit to have as a "armor to face a wild party". By then I had already explored the pleasures of Latex, wearing most of the time a bra and panties of that material, hidden under my normal clothes however.

And that good soul, call him Ishmael, made from an old discarded neoprene-suit a body-tight, very shapely suit for me. Ishmael was a true Artist , too. When he asked me what I did admire most, what I would like to have the suit look like, I just said "Like a snowleopard" for that's my favourite animal.
Ishmael had thought about turnign the neoprene suit into the core of a dancing outfit, with long flowing skirt or so, but being an artist he rose to the request without further ado.

It was two years later - by then I earned a good bit of money dancing in a few bars that catered to the weird, dressed up as
a anthropomorphic snowleopardess, using a gasmask Ishmael had delicately remodeled as a facial mask.

And as Ishmael and Tom and Jerry had worked together on the suit, it was not only a craftful item in design, but it was, too, one oh delightful sexuality. It had sheaths in all openings.. yes, so that I could be taken, with reduced sensitivity so that I would last longer in the case of intimacy.
And oh how I delighted in having sex that way, It was the 80's , yes , but still: In a few raucuous bars and clubs in Germany there did meet those that enjoyed their sexuality. And I was one of them. I was wild, I was free, I was untamed. I was adored, desired, I was used, but it was not me in a sense. It was a wild animal that was in heat.. I just participated and enjoyed what this being enjoyed, and gladly I provided my body for it to be set free.

Some people really looked esplicitely for me. They craved me, they submitted to me if just I pulled they close, caressed their faces with mine, they groaned in glee when I sat down upon their faces to have them kiss my lower lips, they did melt to puddle when I growled and pulled them to my bosoms, they turned to babes, to kittens, when I rolled on the desk and permitted them to sink their lips to my nipples.

One of those, however, did caress me like a human would reasonably caress such a creature as I mimed to be. He shivered and blushed when I placed my hand on his lap one time or the other. But his eyes...
I was sure, I knew it that he would, in a more private setting, be wilder than the others. He who behaved like a human would - or should.. in his eyes I was sure glowed the fire that you would find in an animal. Yet, he was that boring, everyday.. and actually rather ...
Well, already balding at the end of the 20s, and with a visible belly.
But I dared one day to choose him to accompany me into the backrooms. I always did, usually two or three well paying guests, and then they all took turns or all together tried to "Tame the wildcat"... Easy to say that none of them ever succeeded. The suit demanded much from them, but little from me. Their seed often flowed from my orifices when they had all exhausted themselves, and I just had shakey legs, climaxing when I finally got out of the suit, mostly when the realization sunk in just what I had done, and the feel rose like a cloud to the skies, that none of them knew who I was. Like the "Masked Rider" if you still remember that book.

Instead of taking three paying customers one night I decided to take just him. I did not ask for money, I simply stepped behind him, and with the rubbery "fangs" grabbed him by his neck and drove him, under threatening growls, to the rear rooms.

There I undressed him. Usually the men got out their clothes as soon as I closed the door to my "Den" - He instead was lowst runnign his fingers over my rubbery suits surface, feeling the structure of the "Fur" that Ishmael had applied there using a large spaced comb and liquid latex upon the neoprene. when he was naked, well, I was a bit dissapointed seeign that his maleness was even more average than his looks.. actually , on the small side of average.
Well, one cannot always win, so I knelt on all fours and run the softly furred false tail over his belly and his inner tighs, behaving like a cat in heat.

I was Dissapointed.
I knew I would receive less money and even less satisfaction this time, but, well, I don't stop halfway when I find I could have done better.
I am a blockhead in a way.

And so I did my best as usual, until he reacted like if he'd was a feline, a big, muscular tomcat, he growled and jumped upon me, bitign my shoulder - that is - biting into the neoprene of the suit, but I felt remembered to the videos I had looked , on mating of felines, to get a feel how t omove, how to act...
Well, it seemed he had seen the very same videos.

Soon he came, but he didn't fell down exhausted.
From his coat he fetched something I had not imagined would exist.. it was a rubber dildo shaped after some large feline predator. Tiger maybe. He doesn't remember, and I don't either.

He lubed it and then he used it to fuck me, just again, just the same way, piling his body upon me, pinning me down, growling and biting.

Golly, I felt like my mind had taken a chair in the cinema and was watching a movie "Mating rituals of dangerous carnivores"

Whenever he had recovered he mounted me himself again.
And whenever he wasn't able to get it hard again, he stuffed me with the feline dildo again.

I do not know how long it took.
But orgasms came to me, until I was a mewling heap, rolling upon my back and surrendering.
Instead he knelt over me and kissed my neck, my throat, and asked with the softest voice, if I was pleased, if he had done it right.

There I cried, for the love of Mary, yes, I was pleased. I was so compeltely pleased as I could only feel pleased, pleased by him, his performance, his knowledge, his skill, his determination.
I cradled him to my bosom, and pulled him upon me, to be my blanket, to be his bed, wrapping him in my arms and legs, not wanting to let him go ever again.

And that I do still today, though nowadays it is usualyl me sleeping upon him. He doesn't weight less than back then you know? But We both are comfortable with it.

Oh, and the Tiger - I guess it was the Tiger - has many friends and company, from equine to canine to lots of other possible and impossible species fake male organs.

And the snowleopardess?
Well, the rubber of the mask wore out one day. As did the suit itself. And since a few years it is a reddish vixen, pretty busty, that my husband adores. And yo uguess, since our kids are beyond that age we eve nfound uses for their old suckling bottles - my husband loves to be permitted t ocuddle into the large softness of my bosoms and calm his thirst when he was a good boy.

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