"Pumyra!"

By RD Rivero

October 8, 2000

Liono was staying at the tower for a few days to give Bengali a long-deserved break. Pumyra had just finished lunch when she decided to check up him. Bored and lonely, she suffered from a deep, consuming desire that so desperately itched for relief. She had always been fascinated by the lion's well-developed body and -- hoping his mind was as immature as the rumors suggested -- she planned to seduce him and lure him to bed her.

She looked for him everywhere before turning to his room. Quietly, she listened to the soft resonance of the agitating spray of the shower head. She reached for the knob and found that the door was open.

She boldly entered the windowless room, dark but for the slant of light that shone out from the partly-open bath.

Liono showered, humming to himself a little tune Snarf had taught him: "La-la, lalala, la-la, la-la-la-lala-la-la-la, la-la, la-la."

She opened the bathroom door -- it did not creak, to her relief. In the small antechamber the air was hot and steamy. A swiftly flowing fog was thick and visibility was greatly limited.

She stepped in slowly, on tiptoe, struggling to keep from gagging.

The sound of rushing water was loud for the stall was open. Open enough for her to look and she saw him, every inch of him. His mane, once wild and superannuated, was flat and had collapsed conforming to the shape of his head. His hands ran through his soaked hair, rubbing the foamy bubbling lotion in his scalp. The shampoo bottle lay on its side by his feet, open and half empty -- it was his third lather and he would not finish until the fourth was complete.

Heavy froth had formed over his eyes -- he could not see, he could not sense her presence, feel her hot, heavy breathing even though she stood not more than a few feet from him. He waved his arms -- strong, dense muscles flexing -- he stepped under the shower, spraying water out everywhere, on the floor and walls -- on Pumyra's clothes where it trickled and coalesced into large wads.

Her body quivered, her excitement swelled. Her eyes wandered down from his chest -- he had turned around, facing her -- down to his exposed and uncensored waist. She never would have thought he would be so large. All that time she wondered if it was not simply a cup or a support that he wore in his shorts responsible for his great genital bulge -- the kind of thing Bengali would often do. Only then did she understand that it was indeed his real size.

Drool dripped down from the sides of her open lips.

He was flaccid but six or seven inches long, his head covered in thick, soft folds of flesh -- a tan, yellow flesh, fuzzy in a thin coat of fur, dotted with the slightest hints of faint spots that all lions have around their coats. His sack was slightly darker and fuller and hung loosely, dangling freely from between his legs.

"It must be the heat," she said to herself. "It's just the hot water, that's all," she convinced herself.

In the meanwhile Liono had rinsed off the last of the shampoo that covered his head. Pumyra ducked out in time. With his eyes open he could have easily seen her.

Back in the bedroom she stood pressing her hands over her breast, over her racing heart. She wondered what he would feel like cupped in her palms -- she reached out her hands, her fingers extended, stroking the air. She wanted to see it grow hard -- she wanted to stick it in her mouth and suckle it dry.

"Ahhh, ahhh, ohhh," she moaned -- she had her hand up her dress, ramming herself with eager fingers. She was hot and wet -- dripping wet.

Pumyra stripped down quickly, thinking she would simply run back into the bathroom, into the stall and lure him with her nude body. She flung her stained dress across darkness -- it came to rest on the stand where the claw shield and the sword rested, knocking them down. The sound was loud and she was afraid the disturbance might alert her presence.

She sprinted to the fallen objects -- the shield she put back in place, but the weapon -- she held the Sword of Omens in her hands. It was small and it pointed down. She brought it close to the bed where she examined it closely.

"It looks just like him!" she said aloud, running her fingers across its cold, shiny length. She cupped the hilt of it in one hand and, while it still pointed down, she brought it up toward her face. "Why, Liono, you're so cute, I could eat you all up," she rubbed it firmly, kissing the tip lovingly. "Mmmm," she licked around the pointy end, teasing it with her tongue, letting it into her mouth.

Gradually, the metal -- the sword -- began to warm and grow. At first it sputtered a little here, a little there, reacting lightly to her oral manipulations. Then it expanded steadily. Even the eye was opening, glowing in a red aura.

Pumyra stuck the head of the sword into her mouth, sealing it with her wet lips. She wrapped her free hand around its length and, starting from the top, stroked the hot shaft that continued to expand. With her other hand she struggled for it throbbed and moved by itself vehemently in response to her lightest touch -- it had become more and more sensitive. She noticed that its taste had changed, too, from metallic to something else, to something different -- and it seemed to her that there was now a strange, thick liquid in her mouth.

She stopped suckling and looked at the sword. She giggled and stroked it with her fingers. It pointed up, fully extended before her face. The eye was completely open -- a soft purring came from the red-black cat figure. Around its tip, slowly trickling down its shaft was a shiny, dense liquid but she paid it no attention.

Down around her straddled legs the sheets and blankets on the bed were wet, soaked with her moister. More excited and turned on than even, she spread herself open and rammed the sword into her vagina. She thrust it in and out, slowly quickening the tempo. She shoved it all the way in then pulled it out, a spray of thick fluids squirted into the air, in a dizzy haze.

"Liono! Liono!" she shrieked aloud -- the pangs of her orgasm spread throughout her body and for a moment the world all over went black.

The last thing she heard before she collapsed was the fierce roar from the Eye of Thundera.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Liono rushed out of the bathroom -- his waist covered by a tightly rapped towel, dripping water in slippery puddles on the floor. "Something's wrong, if the sword's --"

It was dark but he could tell someone was on the bed.

"Who is it? Who's there?"

He turned on the lights and shrieked in horror --

Pumyra lay on her back, across his bed, blood had trickled out of her open mouth, her lips torn and serrated. Pools of blood had formed around her legs from where the Sword of Omens had torn into her body, held in place by hands whose palms and fingers had been cut to the bone.

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