I’ll tell you what I look like.
I have a mane of curly brown-gold hair, falling between my shoulder blades. I have an oval face, plump cheeks, a beauty mark by the side of my mouth. Hazel eyes. My throat is very soft. Sometimes my chin looks double when I lower my head to type or write.
I’m not sure where the hair starts. Perhaps it begins under my chin? Or further down, around the collarbones? It’s plush and tawny, like a new child’s toy.
One thing for sure, my large breasts are bare. They are delicately soft, and pure white, with large nipples. Two rows of smaller pink nipples, like those of a bitch, run down the curve of my plump furry belly. At their end there is bare skin again, around my slit and anus.
In profile I am a lioness—a sphinx—with a large belly and a tufted, lashing tail.
When the Colt and I am talking, playing games with text messaging or IMing with our webcams—this is how I imagine myself. I don’t know how he sees me when he’s having the happy fantasy of me much larger than him, pressing him down under my heavy body, licking him with raspy tongue. It’s as much a costume as a French maid’s or a slutty little outfit to go clubbing in, and it gives us both the same sudden freedom to do as we like, to let a part of ourselves out we can’t show to anyone else.
There is one big difference, though. Since it is all a fantasy that we’re writing together, existing only in the shifty realm of cyberspace, we can do things that are impossible in the ordinary world.
MISS LIONESS: Purr?!
THE COLT: I prefer Lioness growl!
MISS LIONESS: —Nibbles your tummy! —
Then nothing for an hour or two. I was in bed asleep when my phone buzzed on the table.
THE COLT: My phone died I so sorry Lioness!
MISS LIONESS: Rawr!
THE COLT: Furgive me lioness!
MISS LIONESS: You know what lionesses do to little beasties like you!
THE COLT: —shivers— What do they do Miss Lioness!—
MISS LIONESS: They eat them! —gulps you down in a single bite—
THE COLT: —gasp!— isn’t there some sort of compromise we can reach?!
MISS LIONESS: Nope, ur in my tummy! —patpat. burp!—
THE COLT: What can I do!
MISS LIONESS: You’ll never get out!
THE COLT: —squirms!—
In the half-trance that writing and wanking puts me in, I feel the pleasure seize my belly. I imagine I have a little colt snuggled inside it, pushing up on the inside of my skin, a acidless biteless full-body fuck.
THE COLT: I could escape if I wanted you know!
God, I think, rubbing my heated belly, I like this.
Image is of the Guennol Lioness.