tagNonHumanThe Woman Who Loved Wind

The Woman Who Loved Wind


The west wind was wandering that night. She could hear it approaching through the silken leaves that were paper-thin and pale green with early spring. The moon lit everything around her silver, making artistic black and whites of every image. Grass tickled and caressed her toes as she twirled around, arms spread, reveling in the beauty of this night. Her slim arms cut ivory lines through the dark air, the hollows of her shoulders and the dips of her collarbone shadowed, drawing the eye down to the soft curve of her breasts, barely covered by the semi-sheer night dress she wore.

She knew she was far from prying eyes as she danced in the moonlight, uninhibited, ignorant of her nymph-like beauty. The satiny sheer of her dress brushed and tugged in the breeze, sliding over bare skin. Brianna laughed softly, running across the lawn as the west wind pulled at her hair, covering her face with balmy kisses. She had always loved the wind.

On many other occasions, she had gone wandering at night—slipping out of her clothes to go walking down by the river, shivering at the delightful feel of a spring breeze stroking her skin. She could never resist going out on evenings when the air sighed and bumped the windows, as if calling her. Often, she would pull herself to the very top of a tree, to be the very first to greet the gradually intensifying wind of a coming storm. She would leave her clothing hanging in the green boughs and shriek in delight as the gusts tossed the branches, wrapping her body in an enthusiastic embrace.

Some of her friends—when she had had friends—had teasingly nicknamed her Windspeaker, saying that it was her Iroquois princess name, since Seneca was in her blood. They kidded her ceaselessly because she sometimes even talked to the wind, but Brianna liked the moniker, and had always felt that it was her alter-ego. She liked nothing better than turning her face to the west and allowing the breeze to wash over her.

Tonight, she had decided to brave the mosquitoes to sleep under the stars in her hammock. There was supposed to be a meteor shower later in the early morning and she wanted to see it. At first she lay down with a light sheet to cover her, thinking that the steady zephyr would chill her too much. Soon, however, the soft draft had wooed her into pulling away the blanket and she was surprised to find that the air was warm as a gentle breath. The west wind made sure to blow any mosquitoes far from her tender skin.

Brianna sighed luxuriously, spread-eagled on the hammock, shivering as the silk of her slip riffled in the breeze, tickling her nipples and sliding over the smoothly shaved skin of her mound—she was not wearing panties or a bra. A puff of air snuck under her skirt to brush the lips of her pussy. Startled, she jumped, then slowly spread her legs wider, the wind unexpectedly sensual against her delicate skin.

The west-wind grew stronger, pulling at the hem of her negligee, flipping the fabric up to bare her legs to the hip. Brianna quivered, warmth bathing her flesh, seeming to soak into every pore. The breeze worked its way up her body, slowly covering her calves, then her thighs, then tugging the bunched fabric at her hips back and forth. Trembling as the silk glided over her clit, Brianna laughed in delight. She imagined that the wind was her lover, gently touching her all over, kissing and caressing her curves.

"Oh, alright," she said aloud, and began to pull her slip over her head, as if finally convinced. She gave a muffled yelp as a sudden, powerful gust whipped the gown over her shoulders to drop into a heap in the grass. Giggling, she fell back into the hammock, happy that the wind was cooperating with her fantasy.

A waft of cooler air nipped at her breasts, drawing her nipples up into hard tips and sending tingles down her entire body. Her long hair was lifted and tousled, brushing her throat, tickling the sensitive, rose-colored skin of her areolas. Writhing, she cupped her breasts and kneaded with her palms, moaning slightly. An almost hot breath wafted over her labia from bottom to top and a steady wind picked up, blowing over her clit with excruciating pleasure. Pulling her thighs apart even wider, she lifted her hips slightly, whimpering.

The wind from the west came stronger and stronger, rolling over her form with firm currents that snaked up the insides of her legs and over her breasts, slid over the mouth of her cunt, and massaged her smooth buttocks. Brianna closed her eyes, lifting her lips up to kiss the rushing air; its almost solid warmth pressed back, slipping into her mouth to make her tongue tingle.

Arching her back, she kept her eyes shut. She could so easily imagine hands running over her shoulders, squeezing at her tits, and swooping down to rub her clit. She gasped as the wind against her pussy grew harder, a hot pressure against her tight, pink opening. Crying out, her fingers grasped at the air as a blazing heat swept through her. The muscles of her cunt spasmed, clenching around an exquisite warmth. Her pussy was drenched, her juices running down over her ass.

She reached the peak of her climax with a scream, the wind all around her, her unfocused eyes snapping open as her body thrashed. Her entire being felt enveloped in searing ecstasy; the hard pressure of this fey west wind against her breasts as they bounced, against her throbbing clit, against the convulsing walls of her pussy. With one last scream, she fell back, limp as a rag doll, her blood pounding in her ears.


When Brianna woke, sunlight was filtering over the horizon. She was still naked, but she had pulled the sheet up around her in her sleep—either that, or it had blown up to cover her in the wind. She felt wonderfully refreshed, lighthearted, and satisfied. She would be convinced that last night had been a dream, if her pussy wasn't still tingling. But what had really happened? Shivering, she glanced about her apprehensively. She remembered the moment that she had opened her eyes, or at least thought she had. Brianna shook her head vigorously as if to shake the vision from her head. She must have been dreaming.

She stayed in the next night, curled up in her bed with the windows shut snugly, curtains drawn. All night long, she dreamed of the most beautiful man. He was powerfully built, with long, blue-black hair pulled back from his face in a braid. His forearms were encircled with dark, tattooed symbols. He was completely naked except for a loincloth, treating her eyes to quite a lot of darkly tanned skin.

Waking with a start, Brianna gave a frightened squeak, clapping her hand to her mouth to try to muffle it. One of her bedroom windows was open, the curtains billowing lightly. Stealthily, she reached down over the side of her bed to grasp a heavy flashlight. Holding her breath as she strained her ears, she slowly got out of bed. A quick survey of her room revealed nothing, so she bolted to the window and slammed it shut, locking it. Brandishing the flashlight, she flipped on the lights and gave her room one more search. Nothing.

Any sensible person would have called the police. Brianna, however, was stubborn. Clutching her flashlight, she took a blanket, wrapped herself in it, and crawled under her bed. For the rest of the night she watched, jumping at every rustle in the trees outside. In the morning, she crept through the house, going through every room. Nothing was out of place. She checked around the yard, but there were no traces out there either. At last, she gave in and phoned the police. After relating her story, she was told that they would send a patrol car by later that evening and to call them immediately if something else happened, instead of waiting 'til morning.


A week went by, with no further disturbance. Gradually, Brianna's disquiet subsided, and she put the incident behind her. Soon, she resumed her evening wanderings, taking long walks at dusk, no longer afraid of what might be lurking in her darkened house when she returned. She did, however, start thinking about getting a dog. She thought her tabby, Fern, might object, though. Besides, if Fern was with her, she knew she would alert Brianna if something unfriendly was about. A few nights later, Fern did exactly that.

Brianna had been out for a walk, Fern accompanying her, and was returning home through one of her favorite spots: a thick grove of beech trees. The sun had set, and Brianna was preoccupied with thoughts of dinner. She almost stepped on her pretty little tabby cat as the feline stopped dead in front of her. Fern let out a rasping hiss, eying the dense growth of saplings to their right. Pulling out her pocketknife, Brianna flipped out the blade and waited, ears pricked. There was the slightest rustle in the underbrush, and Fern just about lost her mind, spitting and yowling like a mad thing. Brianna caught a whiff of a sweet, musky odor.

That's when she saw it. In the fading light, a wisp of smoke seemed to move through the trees. Straining her eyes to see through a patchwork of leaves, she suddenly met a terrifying, golden-eyed gaze. She felt like she had turned to stone. Holding her breath, she could only stare as the shadow circled, drawing nearer.

Paw-pads touched soundlessly to the forest floor. There was a glint of shiny, silver-black fur, a throaty murmur, and a prick of fine whiskers. Brianna finally breathed in with a gasp, stumbling back. She knew she should scream, yell, scare it away, but it was too beautiful. The dark panther stepped out onto the path, its yellow flame glance piercing.

Carefully, she backed away. It took a step closer, shoulders rippling, and growled at her. Losing her nerve, Brianna shouted and waved her arms at it backing away in a stumbling run. When it did not move to pursue her, she turned and sprinted for the house.

In the safety of her living room, with Fern on her lap, Brianna looked through every reference source she could find. Panthers, more commonly called cougars or mountain lions, were decidedly not supposed to be in her region. They had long been driven out. What's more, panthers with black coats were supposed to be only mythological and had never been recorded among North American cougars, although this pigmentation infrequently occurred in their cousin, the jaguar.

Try as she might, Brianna could not explain what she had seen. The most sensible explanation was that a rare, black jaguar had escaped from a zoo somewhere. She searched website after website, but no zoo within a few hundred miles had ever had such an animal. It was an illegal pet then. Someone had been keeping some poor jungle cat captive in a dog kennel in the back forty. She realized now that it hadn't been growling at her—it had been purring!

As an animal lover, Brianna immediately felt terrible. The huge cat probably didn't know how to survive in the wild. It had approached her so blatantly because it was looking for help and looked at humans as protectors. She had to go back out.

Armed with her trusty flashlight and zip-lock full of ground beef, Brianna headed back to the woods. It had now become completely dark out, but there was a half moon to cast some light. Cautiously, she shone her flashlight into the edge of the beech grove. Even if it had been a pet, she knew the panther could still be quite dangerous. Quickly, she opened the zip-lock and dumped the meat on the ground. Retreating to a low bush in the open of her yard, Brianna switched off the light and waited.

For a long time, nothing stirred. Brianna looked at her watch and realized she had been waiting for half an hour. Sighing, she decided she would have to try again tomorrow, perhaps call animal control. It was then, as she crouched there, tensing her muscles to rise, that she felt hot breath on the back of her neck. Choking down a scream, she oh-so-slowly picked up the flashlight. Whiskers tickled her hairline, a deep purring started up. Trembling, Brianna turned to face the powerful cat.

He was sitting behind her, tail curled neatly about his paws, glossy chest almost touching her back. Nose to nose with a black panther, Brianna could only stare into those endless golden eyes as if hypnotized. She shrieked softly as he pushed forward, rubbing his muzzle against her hair. Still feeling shaky, she started to laugh. Tentatively, she reached out a hand. When he didn't draw back, she let her fingers sink carefully into his thick, velvety pelt.

They crouched there, the woman and the panther, sizing each other up. Quietly, she began to talk to him, asking where he'd come from, telling him that she was a friend. The immense, jet black feline seemed to like the sound of her voice, because he stood to rub against her, twining his body around hers like a house cat, practically knocking her over.

Brianna was infatuated. She had never seen such a magnificent creature. Still in semi-disbelief, she ran her hands over the cat's sinuous back, growing bolder by the minute.

"I wonder what your name is," she said aloud, scratching him behind the ears. The big cat tackled her in reply and she gasped in fear. He licked her hair, purring, his wide paws kneading her chest. Relaxing again, she buried her fingers in the deep, soft fur around his neck. She giggled and tried to pry his paws away from her chest; he was giving her breasts a very thorough massage and she felt strangely turned on. She felt his rough cat's tongue run along her jaw-line.

"My name is Dajoji."

Brianna almost fainted. A voice had spoken right next to ear, a man's soft, husky whisper. She looked wildly around before meeting the golden gaze of the panther.

"This is impossible. This is ridiculous," she muttered, half to herself. "I'm going crazy."

"You are Brianna. You are Wind Speaker."

Brianna found that her mouth was hanging open. The voice had definitely come from the panther. She finally decided that she must be dreaming. She had been having a lot of wild dreams lately—why not a talking panther? She had simply fallen asleep waiting under the bush for the cat to appear. The gorgeous feline was nuzzling her face, his breath hot against her throat. Shivering as chills spread across her skin, she thought that she might need to go see a sex therapist, or something, whenever she woke up.

Suddenly, she felt a brush of razor sharp teeth and yipped. A button popped off the front of her blouse. Shaking, she held very still as the cat gnawed at her shirt, a rain of buttons falling to the ground. She twitched as she felt his mouth close on the waistband of her jeans.

"Oh, no you don't!" She wriggled away from him. "Those are my favorite jeans!" Shucking off her shoes, she shimmied out of her pants. "Are you happy n—" she began to ask, trailing off with a whimper. The night-dark creature's sandpaper tongue ran over her breasts sending jolts of pleasure through her body. His fur was downy soft all over her, brushing her skin warmly, tantalizingly.

"Do you remember the other night, Wind Speaker?" he asked, purring.

"What? What do you mean..." Brianna lost her train of thought as the cat's tongue wandered lowered. She yowled loudly as it slithered under her panties and across her clit. It felt as if tiny firecrackers were going off throughout her body. Back arching, she mewled, digging her fingers into his shoulders. There was a ripping of cloth, and she looked down to see shredded black silk dangling from his claws—all that was left of her panties. He lapped at her cunt, which was dripping in unexpected excitement.

"Oh my God... I'm going to fuck a cat?" she wondered pointlessly.

"I'm not a cat." The black panther was rubbing his body into hers, rolling on the lawn with her, making her moan.

"What are you, then?" she challenged. He only laughed, then sank his cock into her. Hissing with pleasure, she pitched her hips up to meet him, mewling with need as he filled her. She had shut her eyes, but now she opened them. She was in such a haze of desire that it did not surprise her at all that she saw no cat.

Closing her eyes again, she nibbled the soft skin at his shoulder with her teeth. Brianna groaned as his thrusts quickened, bucking beneath him, sinking her claws a little into his back. He flipped her over and took her from behind, slamming into her dripping cunt as it tightened around him. Her breasts swung with every thrust, brushing over the grass as she leaned into him. He drove into her pussy until his balls pressed against her glistening lips with every plunge. They writhed together, sweating, pushing desperately against each other, a wild blend of fur and flesh. As they orgasmed, both let loose an inhuman, unearthly scream.

Lying in a panting heap, Brianna purred blissfully, kneading at his powerful, dark chest. She rubbed her face against his, nuzzling noses, licking his whiskers, stretching luxuriously, her tail twining around his hind legs.....


Brianna awoke in her bed. The blinding sunlight told her it was sometime after noon. Thank goodness it was Saturday. Sitting up, she gasped and wiped at her eyes. Her sheets were a muddy mess, covered in leaf litter and twigs, her blanket plastered with soft black fur. The night before was a confused jumble in her mind. What was happening to her?

"Dajoji," she murmured. It had to be real. Her bed was proof. Rising, she wandered downstairs, still completely naked. She felt the slickness of warm cum on the insides of her legs. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she stepped onto the porch to survey the yard. A flutter caught her eye. Her jeans, tattered blouse, and destroyed panties were draped over the railing. Retrieving them, she went back inside to do some research on her computer.

After a couple of tries on the spelling, she found a link to a mythology page. Brianna's jaw dropped. "Dajoji:" it read, "the Roaring Panther Spirit of the West Wind." It was an Iroquois name. Well, she didn't know about roaring, but then, she'd seen the softer side of him. She snapped her laptop shut. She had to think on this. By the end of the day, she was going to call one of three places: animal control, the psychiatric hospital, or an exorcist.

In the end she didn't make any calls at all. Instead, she went for a long walk by the river in the cooling twilight. Smooth mud squished between her bare toes as she padded along the bank. The weightless white dress she wore fluttered luminously in the dimming light. Across the water, she could see fireflies twinkling through the forest's edge. She reached a wide, flat rock that slope down to the gently lapping flow—one of her haunts. Tucking her legs into her chest, she seated herself and watched the rippling currents. Soon, the pale spots of stars could be seen reflecting in the depthless, black water. Brianna felt that if she reached out her hand, she would scoop up amorphous, jet-dark liquid, almost malleable in her hands, endless as a black hole. Again she felt the magic that she always sensed on her walks.

Slipping out of her dress, she poised herself on the edge of the rock, then slid into the impenetrable waters. She thought of what Einstein had once said about time being a river, and felt that she must be immersed in the great stream of the universe. Unafraid, she drifted in the sightless currents, starlight kissing her skin. Overhead, the silhouettes of tree branches and outlines of leaves rustled and danced. Brianna tilted her face up to receive the slow caress of the night-breeze.

Unhurriedly, she made her way back to the stone shelf, slipping from the water, graceful as an otter. Quietly, she lay down on her back, arms spread loosely at her sides. Part of her expected to become cold as the water evaporated and the wind chilled her skin. But she felt no discomfort at all. Instead, the breeze warmed her with sweet embraces, sending a shower of tingling over her skin. Smiling, she pressed her lips to the air.

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