Posted by Sawney Beane on April 05, 2006 at 23:31:13:
In Reply to: Story Posting posted by Sawney Beane on April 05, 2006 at 23:28:28:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #2
THE LADY AND THE TIGER
by Sawney Beane
23 September - 1 October 1991
5,997 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual female and male snuff and vore. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is, like its predecessor, somewhat rough in style and execution. However, I am quite fond of the theme. Granted, the sex scene leaves a lot to be desired, but Sunday feedings at the zoo are still pretty cool.
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I felt the girl's tongue searching frantically around the inside of my mouth. It felt good, so I allowed her to continue. This extended kiss was typical of the girl's many endearing characteristics. This was part of the reason that she was my girlfriend and fiancée.
As her tongue brushed across my front teeth yet another time, I experienced fond memories of the night before. We'd had great sex.
I arrived at her apartment early that evening and was greeted with a similar passionate kiss. She looked good. Tanya-that was her name-was dressed in a tight-fitting strapless black dress that extended to just above her knees. I glanced approvingly at her beautiful body. She noticed and assumed several model-like poses. I, by the way, was dressed in my nicest black suit and tie. We walked out of the apartment hand-in-hand, stopping just long enough for her to lock the door. We exchanged kisses in the elevator and walked out of the building to my waiting car.
Tanya and I rode to the nicest restaurant in town amid animated conversation and radiating love. After an excellent dinner which cost me a week's pay, we returned to her apartment. She closed and locked the door and put on music by my favourite group. Then she danced across the room and pulled the window shades.
Tanya grabbed my tie as she danced past me and dragged me into her bedroom. She deposited me silently on her bed and closed the door while kicking off her black high-heeled shoes. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her graceful motions with awe. I was very happy to be the beloved of such a lovely creature.
The beautiful woman knelt before me and untied my shoes. She pulled them off and tossed them into the corner. My socks followed shortly. Then she crawled up onto me and forced me to recline. I put up only token resistance. Tanya used her tongue and teeth to remove my tie. She ripped it slightly in the process, but I did not complain.
The girl of my dreams kissed me gently on the lips, and I closed my eyes. I felt the soft waves of her long black hair flow across my face and neck. She slid her arms into my jacket sleeves and pushed the garment down my back and onto the floor. She again kissed me gently and placed all ten of her long black-painted fingernails near my throat. Suddenly, she dragged her hands down my chest with violent force. In the process, she ripped all but one of the buttons off of my white shirt and tossed the article onto the floor. She also left ten red stripes running from my neck to my navel. Again, I did not complain.
I was aroused by her passionately violent job of undressing me. She undid my belt with her teeth and pulled it from its loops. My pants and underwear did not last long. Soon I was lying naked on the bed with Tanya standing over me in her black outfit. She looked me over carefully. I looked up at her, waiting to see what she would do next.
Sure enough, the next step was interesting to watch. She danced around the bed-it was in the middle of the room-with cat-like grace. When she hand made three circuits and returned to the foot of the bed, she gracefully removed her black panty-hose and tossed them in my direction. Her beautiful legs were thus revealed, and I looked reverently upon what was arguably the most attractive part of the wonderful girl's body. She again danced around the bed and stopped at its foot. She reached around her back and unzipped the only thing keeping the black tube of cloth on her shapely body. It slid to the floor, and she kicked it at me. More of her beautifully tanned flesh was revealed.
Tanya had always had a wonderful complexion and had been able to maintain the perfect level of tan with little or no effort. However, this summer she had been unusually interested in achieving the perfect dark tan. I had often asked her why she was thus concerned. Every time she had evasively explained that I would find out later. I was very curious.
After one final lap around the bed, Tanya removed her bra and I was privileged to view her wonderful breasts. Perhaps her legs were not her best feature. It was close.
We were both naked at that point and she danced over to me and allowed me to stroke her fine figure. My hands enjoyed every moment they spent in contact with her soft skin. On this occasion, they spent many moments. She rubbed her body against mine and kissed me passionately. I was filled with an eternal feeling of happiness.
After a long bout of stroking, kissing, rubbing, and sighing, Tanya stood up suddenly and announced her surprise. She pulled a black marker from one of the drawers of her dresser and handed it to me. As she did so, she explained what I was to do with it. I did exactly as she requested and was enchanted by the result.
Imagine lots and lots of black stripes along the back and sides of a lovely naked woman. Imagine further that the girl's skin had already been carefully tanned to an orangish-brown shade. Add to this Tanya's ever-present cat-like grace, and we arrive at a female that looks vaguely like a tiger. The illusion was convincing enough to make my heart race. Of course, I had to avoid noticing the plush mane of black hair that this particular tigress sported.
Tanya bared her teeth and began to stalk around the bed. She had not revealed all of her surprise. Tanya removed four sturdy cords from the dresser drawer and proceeded to tie me to the bed. She carefully secured my wrists and ankles to the bed's four corner posts. I was completely immobilized. I could not have escaped the girl's attacks if I had wanted to. I did not want to.
The tigress continued to stalk her prey around the bed. After several laps, she crouched at the foot of the bed. I could not see her clearly in my restricted state. Suddenly, she sprang and landed forcefully on my chest. Her claws dug into my flesh. I closed my eyes and groaned. The tigress sniffed my limbs curiously. Her eyes appeared inhuman to me. As I looked at her, I saw a carnivore about to devour its prey. I was the prey.
The tigress pressed her sharp teeth into my upper left arm. I felt a surge of pain, but it was strangely exciting. When she removed her mouth, I saw the pink indentations produced by her shapely teeth. I was enjoying myself immensely. The tigress then attacked with vigour. Every inch of my skin felt the pressure of her jaws and the scratch of her claws. She bit and chewed and clawed her way around my flesh intently for nearly an hour. This period was filled with a fair amount of pain and a huge amount of pleasure for me.
My personal tigress was very enthusiastic in her work. At one point, she got a little too enthusiastic and went so far as to draw blood. I watched as the two little spots of blood welled up in the indentations made on my upper right thigh by her fierce fangs. I watched the spots for quite some time. She eventually licked the blood off and made a favourable comment about its taste.
When my tigress had finished her meal, she fell panting at my side and curled up in a tight ball next to me. I looked myself over and was strangely excited by the wasteland of welts and teeth marks that my skin had been transformed into. Most of them had healed by morning, but a ring of teeth marks remained where the tigress had drawn blood on my thigh.
The dormant tigress suddenly awoke after remaining curled up for ten minutes. She gracefully remounted my body and forced me into her. I was still tied up, so the position was a bit awkward. It was nonetheless satisfying. The tigress pushed herself back and forth until she had worn herself out.
We eventually disengaged and drifted off to sleep almost immediately. We had both been exhausted by the exciting ordeal. I dreamed of Tanya and the tigress she had become. In my dreams I watched the lovely lady transform herself into a tigress and back again. I saw this process over and over again. I was thrilled by the concept.
I awoke late the next morning. I still preceded Tanya to consciousness. I remained by her side for an hour watching her chest rise and fall. She still bore the markings of a tigress. I still bore one mark of the tigress' teeth. I listened to her gentle purring and wondered how I had ever managed to find such a precious woman. I suppose I was just lucky.
Eventually she awoke and we showered together. I repeatedly complimented her on her orchestration of last night's sexual fantasy and she said that she was glad that I had enjoyed it. She said that she certainly had.
That was the night before and morning after. Now I could still feel Tanya's tongue massaging my teeth. I think she must have been going for the world's record. When I thought that the kiss should be coming to an end, I pulled myself away gently. Tanya's teeth clamped down on my tongue and prevented my exit from her mouth. The kiss continued.
We were standing amidst a large crowd in the Big Cat Building at the zoo. I had attended the Sunday feeding of the tiger every week for the last fifteen years. The first time was on my twelfth birthday. My parents had taken me to see the event, and I had been enchanted. Sunday feedings were always crowded. It was a very popular event.
My first experience with Sunday feeding fifteen years earlier had been quite exhilarating. I remember standing with the enormous crowd on the bleachers facing the large steel-barred cage. The cage was empty when we arrived. I had never seen a tiger before, and I could hardly wait. I had heard so much about them.
Suddenly, the crowd cheered loudly. I couldn't see what they were so excited about at first. Then I saw her. She was an absolutely gorgeous human being. I was only twelve at the time, but I was duly impressed.
I didn't know who she was then, but I later discovered that she was a world-famous fashion model. Her name was Teresa Montaigne, and every teenager knew it well. The females wanted to be her, and the males wanted to be with her. The press was ablaze at the time because this magnificent woman had decided to abandon the modelling business. Her presence at the zoo that Sunday was to be her final public appearance. Of course, her managers and publicists and everyone else who was getting rich off of her beauty were frantically trying to lure her back. They did not succeed.
She stood on the three-foot ledge in front of the empty tiger cage and waved to the enormous crowd. I looked up at her in awe. She was wearing a long black dress that stopped abruptly just above her famous bosom. A ruffle of black satin sat tenuously balanced on her chest. Her long brown hair extended to the middle of her back and flowed enticingly around her shoulders and neck. I could see the gleam of her emerald green eyes. I saw my own personal twelve-year-old version of God in those eyes. She smiled confidently and continued her waving.
An announcer unnecessarily informed the crowd of her name. The cheering intensified. She bowed modestly. The announcer asked that we all close our eyes and observe a moment of silence before the show. The roar quieted to a murmur and then to a reverent silence. I did not close my eyes but glanced around and saw every eye in the house shut tightly. Even Teresa Montaigne stood as if at attention with her beautiful eyes concealed behind painted eyelids. She smiled as if in anticipation. I had no idea what was to occur in the zoo that day.
Eventually, the moment of silence ended and the cheering resumed. I waited impatiently for the action to begin. Soon, two muscular men in tight black and orange striped bathing suits appeared on the narrow stage, apparently to assist Teresa Montaigne in her performance. Ms. Montaigne took a step forward, and the crowd grew silent of its own accord. She kicked her black shoes one by one into the crowd.
One of the men attended to the zipper on the back of her dress. The garment slid quietly to the floor. Montaigne picked it up and tossed it far into the mass of awe filled humanity before her. She stood proudly before the once again cheering crowd. She wore only a tiny bikini. I saw the smooth tanned skin of her legs and abdomen. I was entranced by her beauty. I had never seen such an apparition. She removed her diamond earrings and tossed them into the outstretched hands of the people before her. Teresa Montaigne was determined to make her last public appearance a memorable one. She was succeeding.
The renowned fashion model pulled several bracelets from her wrists and tossed them as far as she could. She was obviously enjoying herself. One of the men helped her remove her gold necklace complete with tiger-shaped pendant. This piece of jewellery soon flew across the auditorium. Teresa Montaigne laughed a divine laugh and unfastened the clasp between her breasts. She tossed her bikini top far into the crowd. Her newly-revealed features bounced pleasantly as she moved. This was the first pair of breasts that I had ever seen in person, except, of course, for my mother's, but I did not remember those so very well.
Teresa Montaigne stood before the crowd in all her glory as her two assistants stepped to her side and simultaneously untied the knots of string at her hips. The remainder of her bikini fell to the floor. She stooped to retrieve it and showed us a very nice angle of her chest. When she stood, I was surprised at first to see the curly clump of hair between her legs. I recovered quickly and stared enviously at the high schooler who caught her bikini bottom as it flew past him.
There she stood. Ms. Teresa Montaigne was the first woman I had ever seen naked. She was quite an impressive introduction. She pulled a silver ring from her finger and tossed it into the crowd. Then she removed the last thing on her body. She held the orange and black striped crystal ring in the light and stared at it admiringly. I later read that it was her most prized possession. She kissed this tiger ring and tossed it as she had all of her other clothing. I reached up and felt an electric thrill flow down my arm and into my chest as the ring struck my palm. I placed it securely around my finger and examined my prize briefly. However, my attention soon returned to the unclothed young beauty before me.
Montaigne stood nonchalantly before her droves of lusting admirers and accepted the microphone from one of the young men. She spoke into the instrument, and her musical voice bounced off of every wall in the building. She thanked everyone for their admiration and support. Then she apologized and said that the life of a supermodel was not the life for her. She then explained that she had known for most of her life what she was meant to do with herself but that she had tried to put it off as long as she could. Unfortunately, she was unhappy with her fame and fortune and had to face her true destiny. She said that she had displayed her body for the last time and bid everyone a fond farewell. The crowd reacted uncertainly. They were happy for her but knew that she would be sorely missed.
With this speech, she placed the microphone on the stage and grasped the hand of each of the muscle men. They led her into the cage gently. She went willingly. She seemed more eager than they were. Their leading her was merely a formality to make things more dramatic. The trio stopped before a stone platform about three feet wide and seven feet long raised about a foot above the gleaming stone floor of the cage. The two men trembled slightly and squeezed her hands. She kissed each of them casually and wiped the tears from their eyes. She thanked each of them as they walked like zombies from the cage. One of them closed the barred door behind him. Teresa Montaigne smiled at the silenced crowd and knelt before the stone platform with her eyes closed.
I grew more and more excited and could hardly wait to see what would come next. I soon heard a low rumbling growl and saw a square door behind Montaigne open. A large tiger emerged from the opening which closed behind the beast. My body tingled with the suspense as the creature approached the lovely woman.
Teresa Montaigne opened her eyes slowly. Her look of confidence and fearlessness did not wane in the least. The tiger walked in several circles around the young woman and growled several times. Eventually, it stopped in front of her and stared cautiously into her emerald eyes. She never showed any nervousness as she patted the cat on the head gently. The crowd cheered as she stroked its neck and hugged it tightly.
The cat gave her an odd look and growled as if to say that it was ready. Teresa Montaigne clasped her hands together and, still kneeling, held her arms straight out in front of her. She closed her eyes and waited.
I watched in utter astonishment as the tiger's mouth engulfed the woman's hands and forearms. I heard a terrible crack. The crowd simultaneously cheered and sighed. Montaigne opened her eyes slowly and did not seem at all concerned to see that her arms now ended with a jagged bloody twist of bone halfway between her elbows and the former location of her hands. The tiger carefully chewed the first bite of its dinner.
Montaigne rose to her feet gracefully and stepped to the stone altar. She sat on the platform and then stretched herself out along its full length. Her feet rested on the edge nearest the crowd, and her recently shortened arms extended above her head to the far edge. Her reclining and still stunning body covered the distance in between. She smiled and closed her eyes again. I don't think she ever opened them again.
The tiger roared its approval as it finished chewing and moved in for another bite. The model's left foot was selected and devoured. The beast sank its teeth into the left side of her chest soon thereafter. I felt an extreme sense of loss as I saw one of her perfect breasts so destroyed. I continued to watch in thrilled horror as the remainder of the woman's legs and torso entered the jungle cat's body bit by bit. I closed my eyes after seeing the tiger step to the girl's head and enclose her long-dead face in its strong jaws. I saw her long brown hair flowing out of the cat's mouth as my brain refused to accept any more of the strange ceremony.
I opened my eyes again ten minutes later and saw that very little was left of the most beautiful creature I had ever been privileged to observe. I saw only a few bones and a lot of blood. A few scraps of flesh littered the altar in places. It took the crowd a long time to settle itself down. No one left until the last bite had been taken and the satiated tiger had settled down in a corner of the cage to lick the blood off of one of supermodel Teresa Montaigne's thigh bones.
My parents led me through the crowd as it filed reverently past the cage of the idol's devourer. I looked up into its green eyes and saw something that I did not expect. I had assumed that I would be looking into the cruel eyes of a destroyer of fine works of art. However, I saw the proud eyes of one who had done nothing wrong and had nothing to hide. The tiger's eyes seemed to reflect an unexpected innocence. The tiger had consumed the woman of my dreams because she had invited it to dine upon her fine flesh. Teresa Montaigne had destroyed herself. The tiger was the means and not the cause of the tragedy.
I reflected for several days upon the incident. My horror turned into reverence. I realized that the tiger had done no wrong because the event had taken place only because Montaigne had desired it and had entered the cage explicitly for that reason. I could not understand this desire to be consumed, but I was dying to find out more about it.
All week long I frequented the magazine stands. Teresa Montaigne's picture was emblazoned across the front of each and every periodical. She was always smiling and wearing a black or tiger striped outfit. These outfits were always revealing. In almost every case, there was a picture of a majestic tiger in the background. I read countless interviews with the woman made during the last few weeks of her life. The nagging question that every interviewer asked her was why was she going to allow herself to be eaten by a tiger. Her reply was always cryptic and hard to follow. She used beautiful language to express her decision. Unfortunately, I could not understand its content. I kept trying.
The following Sunday, I begged my parents to take me to the zoo. They did so, and I watched a young man of twenty-three slide down the throat of the tiger. This man was not a celebrity but a normal citizen who had had similar desires for death. The crowd was not as large as that for the special event of the previous week. However, the attendance was still considerable. I later learned that these Sunday feedings had been conducted for twenty-five years with only a minimal decline in attendance. Of course, celebrities drew larger crowds than ordinary people. Teresa Montaigne's death had been witnessed by a record-setting crowd.
As I watched his blood being shed, I finally understood what drew this man and Teresa Montaigne to their similar deaths. This was, I think, a show of considerable insight for a twelve year old.
In this high-pressure and dangerous world, life is often unsatisfying and always uncertain. There are so many ways to die, most of them unpleasant and pathetic. There is nothing beautiful about dying in a car crash, drowning in a swimming pool, being caught in a burning building, or expiring in a hospital amongst the dying and diseased. This is quite a shame as death is one of the two most important elements in a person's life. The other would have to be birth, which people take great pains to celebrate and glorify. There is a serious lack of balance here.
The key to the solution, of course, is to find a way to die beautifully. Unfortunately, this is not easy to do. For one thing, one must not wait too long because an inelegant means of death might beat out the beautiful expiration you have planned. This leads a person into the strange position of choosing between a short life and satisfying death and the possibility of a long life and pathetic death. It is very seldom that one can have both an elegant death and the longest possible life.
Of course, most people choose to have the longest life that they can, and this is nothing to be ashamed of. However, a few like Teresa Montaigne prefer the other option. It seems entirely appropriate that a woman as physically beautiful as she was would want to die beautifully.
Now we get to tigers. Surrendering one's physical body and life willingly and honourably to one of the most proud and respected members of the animal kingdom is, in my humble opinion, one of the most beautiful exits a person can make from this world. The concept of sacrificing one's self for the nourishment of the awesome tiger seems appealing to the sort of person who volunteers to be the main course at Sunday feeding. Whoever started the event was undoubtedly doing the community a service in allowing the voluntary acceptance of a beautiful death to become a socially acceptable and, indeed, entertaining event.
This is what I realized that Sunday as the tiger gnawed the last of that fortunate man's bones. I, of course, did not envision the entire concept as thoroughly as I have just expounded it. However, I did pretty well for my twelve-year-old brain. I haven't missed a Sunday feeding since that day. I will never forget the sight of Teresa Montaigne standing before her crowd of admirers moments before she gave herself to the tiger. I have cherished since that day the last object ever to adorn her perfect body. I kiss the tiger ring every night as I feel the mistiness of sleep cross my mind.
Tanya's tongue seemed never to get tired. I opened my eyes and saw the large crowd that had gathered in the auditorium as we kissed. Tanya's tongue made one last round of my mouth and slid back between the girl's soft lips. Those lips disengaged themselves from mine slowly and reluctantly. I saw the tears in Tanya's green eyes. I placed my hands on her bare shoulders and took a step back. I looked closely at her elegant black dress. A very thin strap passed around my love's neck. Her breasts were nominally covered by the smooth black fabric as was her abdomen and a very small proportion of her thighs. Her tanned back and legs were exposed. She looked good, as usual. I felt very sorry for her. She was in mourning. Causing Tanya pain is the one thing in my life I regret the most.
Two women in revealing black and orange striped bikinis stepped alluringly onto the narrow stage. They were attractive but nothing compared to my Tanya. I kissed Tanya gently and told her that I would always love her. She told me that she understood. She didn't, but she was doing her best. I said goodbye and held her tightly for a moment before accepting the hands of the girls on the stage. They pulled me up to their level, and I turned to look down at my beautiful lover. She was trying desperately not to shed too many tears.
As I turned to face the crowd, the mass of people cheered expectantly. An announcer announced my name for all to hear. Everyone cheered. I waved to them with universal love in my heart.
The two women next to me removed my jacket and handed it to me. I tossed it as far as I could into the crowd. I watched an overweight woman in the back row grab it greedily. The girl to my left pulled on my tie, and it fell into my hand. As she did so, I could smell her excessive perfume and feel her blonde hair on my cheek. I pitched my tie into the audience. I never liked ties anyway.
The two young women took turns unbuttoning my white shirt and removed it. I sent it through the air and saw it land in the hands of an attractive girl I had known in high school. I stood bare chested before the large crowd. I felt more than a little bit nervous. My admiration for Teresa Montaigne's cool demeanour was increasing by the minute.
The girl to my right yanked my belt from its loops with a dramatic whirl of her brown hair. The belt made its way into the crowd. I kicked my shoes so far that one of them bounced off of the back wall before landing in the hands of a young boy. I slipped off my socks and tossed them casually.
My pants were unzipped for me, and I slid them off of my legs. They didn't fly very well, but made it into the hands of a man about my size who could very easily have used them. I self-consciously realized that I was now standing in my underwear before thousands of people. The blonde girl to my left soon remedied this by pushing my underwear down to my ankles. I kicked it into the hands of a sex-starved housewife who enjoyed the reception far more than any human should have.
I stood for a moment absorbing the fixed gazes of my cheering audience. I was a star for a day. It was a nice feeling. I removed my watch and tossed it into the hands of a twelve-year-old girl who looked up at me curiously.
I was now wearing only a black and orange striped crystal ring. It was my most prized possession. I slid it off of my finger and bent down to the wet-eyed woman directly in front of me. She clasped my ankles with both hands. I pressed the tiger ring onto her finger, and she smiled faintly. I kissed her and again told her that I loved her. Then I stood and accepted the microphone from one of my assistants. I spoke a few words to the crowd as a farewell attempt to explain the beauty of Sunday feeding. My audience applauded me enthusiastically, but few of them understood my explanation. To most it was just an entertainingly gruesome ritual. I clasped the hands of the two women assisting me. Their touch was soft and welcome.
The two girls led me into the cage, and I sat on the stone altar. They had very serious jobs for a pair of college women earning extra money on the weekends. I allowed them to clamp my wrists and ankles into the steel rings attached to the corners of the slab.
I would have preferred to have offered myself unchained to the beast as Teresa Montaigne had done, but new regulations in the past few years had mandated the restraints. These regulations had been made necessary by a few ugly incidents in which unscrupulous boyfriends bored with their girlfriend had convinced the latter of the advantages of being eaten by the tiger. These girls had always realized their mistake once they were inside the cage. The beautiful sacrifice in these unfortunate circumstances became more of a gladiator show than anything else. There is nothing beautiful in watching a pretty eighteen or nineteen year old girl run screaming for her life around a twenty foot square cage until the cat catches her and breaks her small thighs in its vice-like jaws. This is not beautiful. It's pathetic. Unfortunately, many of the audience members actually enjoy these performances more than the elegant ones. One can always tell the serious admirer of the tiger sacrifices from the casual enjoyer of gore in these circumstances. After several of these young women had died their horrible deaths, stricter selection regulations were instituted to ensure that the volunteers really wanted to be devoured. Also, the restraints were mandated to reduce the gladiatorial nature in the event of a mistake.
As I pondered the more unpleasant deaths I had witnessed, I heard a growl and the grinding noise of a steel door opening. I could not see behind me as the tiger entered. I saw a flash of orange as the beast made its first revolution around my deathbed. I could hear the soft patter of the tigress' paws. I stared into the crowd whose cheers I could clearly hear and saw only one individual. Tanya filled my view. She stood straight and rigidly with tears streaming from her green eyes. Her gaze met mine, and I knew she wanted me to be happy no matter how unusual the fulfilment turned out to be.
After three revolutions, the tigress stopped in front of me. She blocked my view of Tanya. The beast looked searchingly into my eyes as if to say that we humans were very odd. I nodded, and the tigress licked my face with her coarse tongue. She was content to take her time. She knew that her lunch would not be going anywhere. I knew it too. I didn't mind.
The tiger walked around me a few more times. Now I could not hear the crowd. I could only hear Tanya's gasps and sobs. I smiled at her reassuringly. The tigress stopped near my thigh, and I steeled myself for the experience that I had been on a waiting list for three years to undergo. The tigress growled and took the first bite.
I watched the circle of Tanya's teeth marks on my upper thigh. I watched the powerful jaws of my executioner encircle the small marks of my lover. I felt a stab of pain and saw that every trace of Tanya's marks had left my body and been replaced by a much larger set of teeth marks. I watched the blood pour from the large wound in my leg. The tigress chewed noisily.
I was in pain, but I was immensely happy. However, I felt a sense of loss as Tanya's impressions were removed from me. I looked in her direction. She was still there, but she seemed infinitely further away.
The tigress stepped back to my body and removed another large chunk from my thigh just above the knee. A few moments later I heard and felt my pelvis crack between her jaws. I looked into her eyes and was surprised to see, not a tigress, but my own beloved Tanya. Granted, this vision had much longer teeth than the original, but it was her just the same. I told her that I loved her, and she took a large bite out of my loin. I began to feel faint. I had lost a lot of blood. I looked down and saw that most of my right leg and a fair amount of my right side was missing.
Tanya enclosed my right underarm in her jaws and clamped them down. I heard a crack and felt my right arm leave my body. My vision was blurred, and I was not thinking clearly. I saw Tanya outside the cage one last time. Her green eyes were covered by her tanned hands. I saw tears dripping from her fingers. Then I looked at the other Tanya. Her green eyes and sharp teeth sparkled. I could see my own blood on her lips.
I closed my eyes for the last time. As I did so, I felt Tanya's warm breath on my face and felt her teeth encircle my chin and neck. The kiss ended in a loud crushing noise and my lower face shattered. It didn't hurt at all. I thought sincere loving thoughts for both Tanyas and remembered the amazing calmness of Teresa Montaigne in her last few minutes. Hers was a truly beautiful death. Mine was almost as good. In fifteen years I had witnessed seven hundred and sixty-eight persons devoured by tigers. This was my seven hundred and sixty-ninth Sunday feeding and the only one that I ever left before the last bite was taken.
And then I was no more.