tagErotic CouplingsTiger Tiger Burning Bright

Tiger Tiger Burning Bright


This is my first story for Literotica and is entered in the Halloween contest. If you like it, please vote and feel free to comment. All characters in adult situations are 1) adults over 18 and 2) fictional. This story is, of course, copyrighted. I hope you enjoy.

(I rushed a bit to submit this on time for the contest. Thanks to those who commented and brought up issues I had missed. This is now a revised version.)


One Year Ago

The air was thick with moisture. Marta, the taller, redder-haired woman, pushed her knuckles deeper into the smaller blonde's back muscles. She leaned her weight onto her hands for pressure, the toned muscles in her long lean arms flexing. The force compressed the mattress of the day bed more below them, and elicited a prolonged groan.


"Very." It sounded slurred.

Well, you know I love this tattoo." She ran her fingers up from the blondes naked ass, following either side of the spine. Red-hair's face trailed close behind her hands, inches from the smooth, athletic back below.

They traced, both hands and eyes, the series of intricate tattoos, nine in all, that ran up her petite companion's back. Nine paw prints, similar from afar to many tattoos of paws. But up close these were very different. Up close she could see the details, even in this flickering light, fed by the red and white candles encircling them. And she knew deeper details lay out of her sight, details she'd examined under strong light and high magnification.

Someone had gone to great trouble to produce these. Tiny runes and scripts in several extinct languages wove through geometric and symbolic designs, but so small that they seemed to be shading in the art, nothing more. This was some of the finest eldritch tattooing she had seen. Detail work totally impossible with mundane tattoo needles and mere ink. Someone attempted a powerful spell on this back. On this woman.

It hadn't worked. There was Art here. High Art. But the spell had failed. Or it hadn't been finished. That's what she hoped. No spell had been cast. Yet.

No artist she knew could produce this kind of Art, but it was still only a framework, a focus, for the spell. Without the right spell, without being used as designed, it was just a beautiful ink job on a hot chick.

She stroked the beautiful back beneath her and got another low groan. Red leaned in close and nibbled, with just her lips, on the blonde's ear. Her voice was like silk, smooth and comfortable. "So you don't mind? I have always wanted to try a spell like this. And you bring me this exquisite Art, just begging to be fulfilled. You've got these lovely claw marks, but they're empty. You need claws to fill them, make them whole. Everyone should get in touch with their inner animal. Bring out their totem. Right, sweetness?"

The last was a purr followed by another nibble, this one with the teeth. "Okay?"

"Uh-huh." Faint but audible. It was so easy to go along. The voice just dripped with reasonableness and begged for agreement.

Red sat up. "Good. That's settled."

Without warning, matter-of-factly, she slid her hand hard between the blonde's thighs. "Yes, you do think it's okay. I thought you were wet before."

Red pushed fingers up and smiled when the little round ass lifted up for more. She retrieved her hand, getting a small whine of protest, and straddled the smaller woman at the waist. She stuck out one exaggerated finger and began to draw unseen lines on Blonde's back 'where the wing of angel spring forth' as the incantation book instructed.

"Relax, baby. This may sting a bit."

The Present Day

The last few days had been a blur. A lawyer had called from Southern California, 2000 miles away. Steve was now the owner of a small apartment complex that his aunt and uncle had owned near San Diego. It had been his home too until recently. Technically it belonged to a trust that Steve now controlled, but he still had a lot of questions about the situation he hoped to get answered when he met with the lawyer later today. The drive had taken two very long storm-filled days and he felt drained. He'd pulled over and caught some sleep in the car twice, but that didn't count for too much.

At least it was sunny here. A perfect day.

With an armload of groceries and his duffel bag loading him down he almost ran over the young blonde rounding the corner.

He'd tried to juggle both bags while at the same time fishing keys from the front pocket of his shorts. She smiled as she dodged him just as one bag slipped. He whipped his hand from his pocket in time to catch it, mostly. One glass jar of tomato sauce tumbled from the unstable top of the overstuffed bag. He saw it too late, only having a chance to watch it fall towards the ground before a tiny but strong looking hand reached out of nowhere to snag it.

He looked at her again as he said thanks, smiling and a little embarrassed at his own juggling. She wasn't as young as he had thought but in the wife beater tank top she had almost no breasts and it didn't look like a bra either. Not young, perhaps, but youthful. Small and perky, her pony tail swinging out the hole in the back of her ball cap. He caught a glimpse of an extra bump on two in the cloth of her shirt and immediately wondered whether her nipple might be pierced. He tried not to look again. Thank you, California. Tank tops in October.

Her smile was bright as she asked, "Need any help? Besides with this." She waved the jar.

His key ring was half out of his pocket so she quickly reached down and fished the rest out, held them out with one hand while neatly scooping the errant bag from his grasp with the other, freeing him to undo the lock.

"Can I ask why you are going into Steve and Marta's apartment?"

"Well, Steve and Marta are...away for a while, and I'll be taking over. I'm Steve too, my mom named me after her brother, my uncle. I used to live here with him and aunt Marta until a couple years ago. And you are?"

"Stevie." She nodded as understanding dawned on her. "Marta told me to look for you. You were quick. We just moved into the back unit a few months, err, about a year ago now. I mean Sandi. My name's Sandi."

With her upbeat bouncy manner and the blonde bangs showing under her cap's brim, of course her name was Sandi.

She'd mentioned the back unit, which is what they called the seldom-used apartment he'd stayed in, the one that shared the private spa area with his aunt and uncle's unit, cut off from the others on the property. She must be describing the two bedroom near the back entrance.

He got the door open and all the bags onto the long counter in the kitchen when an exasperated girl's voice came from the open door, "Mom, what're you...oh, hi."

The voice changed as the speaker saw Steve. She had a tiny frame like her mother but with a little more baby fat: a rounder face, pretty but with a pouty teenage half sneer of disgust at anything requiring extra effort on her part to handle, a slight bulge of muffin top above her low cut jeans, revealed by the snug fitting stretch shirt pulled down over her hips. Either her bra was an enhancing one or she had substantially larger breasts than Mom.

Mom? He had revised his age estimate upward to about his age, 25, perhaps a few years older after a second, closer look, but not old enough to have a daughter this age. Unlike mom, the newcomer had dark, almost black hair with a long chunk of bright pink running from forehead down over her face. She pushed the pink back behind one ear.

"Mom, I gotta go! I'm late. The keys."

The blonde's mouth made an 'Oh' as she remembered. She quickly fished a set of keys out her baggy sweats and tossed them to Pinky, who snatched them out of the air. "Jessica, honey, this is the new landlord. Stevie, that Marta and Steve always mentioned, that used to live here."

"Steve," He said, "Aunt Marta's the only one that still calls me Stevie."

Jessica actually looked at him, for maybe a quarter second. "Nice to meet you, Stevie. Gotta run. I'll be home to change and get ready tonight, Mom."

The last half was yelled over her shoulder as she sprinted out.

Sandi shrugged up at him and smiled. Under the fluorescent light of the kitchen he could see tiny hints of age around the eyes. Early thirties, maybe?

"That was whirlwind Jaz. From Jess. Short for Jessica. Don't let her blow you down." They both caught her unintended double entrendre and he changed the subject.

"You don't look old enough to have a teenager yourself."

"Funny, her father kept telling me how mature I looked 19 years ago. I felt so grown up too. Raising a kid taught me I had no idea what that felt like. That little girl wanted to be grown up so bad, and now I keep appreciating the moments I feel like a child.

"Like I said, Marta said to look for you. She left a letter by the sink. She said she gave everything else to the lawyer."

He was supposed to meet him in an hour or so.

"What else did Marta say? Where are they?" He asked. The lawyer had been very vague.

"Not much. Just that you should read the letter. She was in a rush to the airport. She said if I didn't see them in a couple of days, you would be coming to take over. That was when she put the envelope down. And gave me those instructions."

His aunt and uncle had always been eccentric, and owned diverse properties and investments around the world. Every Halloween she seemed to get more interested in 'positive magick,' and Uncle Steve tended to like reading about secret societies a little too much, but this was still odd. Why were they giving him this property? Where were they?

Sandi touched his forearm lightly, before she headed out the door her daughter had left open. "Listen, you must be tired after your drive. I made pizza dough this morning. If you'd like home-made pizza and a salad tonight, it's yours. Marta also did say to take good care of you."

He was distracted by a thought of what Aunt Marta might include in 'taking good care of him.' Sandi had already closed the door when he remembered to confirm she was in the two bedroom on the far side. He couldn't imagine they were in what Marta called the back unit, since that would give them access to her private jungly spa retreat. And Aunt Marta definitely considered the retreat area hers.

Marta, who had married his mother's only brother, had taken Stevie's virginity when he was 18, on Marta's daybed, in its curtained alcove beyond the spa. She had also taught him most of what he had learned about sex during the seven years since then. Feedback with other women indicated she taught him well.

His relatives had given him his first job out of high school, eager to get away from his Midwestern manufacturing hometown and his asshole father. He had stayed in what they called the back unit, which had been his uncle Steve's office and storage until then.

Always good with people as well as tools and mechanical systems, young Steve had learned the principles of apartment maintenance and management quickly. When he moved out, it was with their help to invest in and run his own income property, nearly two years ago. Now it and the property next door that he had swung a deal on last year were profitable and smooth-running enough that he could trust his manager, a woman twice his age, to hold down the fort while he found out what was going on in California.

After scanning the letter, a quick shower and a meeting with the lawyer, he knew more but not all that much. The letter indicated that Marta and Steve were fine, not in any legal trouble or other danger, but would be overseas and out of touch for a while.

They had 'consolidated their holdings' and, since they had no children, thought he could best use this property he had 'put so much into.' Steve was shocked by the generosity: the low-maintence, debt free, eight paying units - 10 with theirs and the back unit - would provide solid income. And the books showed almost $200,000 in the expense account for the property. All owned by the trust that he now owned and controlled, after the lawyer had steered hi toward a nearby bank where he confirm his signature on the accounts.

What he needed now was to relax in the spa and get a nap. Then maybe pizza would be a good idea. With the lovely Sandi. She'd looked damn good in that tank top. Fit, tiny, and cute as hell. So was young Miss Jaz, now that he thought about it, but he was done with teens and felt no need to go back that way.

According to the letter, Sandi had been fulfilling some of his former duties for most of the past year. She had all the current emergency phone numbers, collected rents, and according to Marta she had been 'able to fill some needs unmet since you left.' Hmm.

He slid open the glass door to the enclosed retreat, feeling the moist tropical atmosphere his Aunt had encouraged with the dense plantings she had put in and the water they required. As soon as he stepped through the door, he could see down the path to the spa. Steve saw wet blond hair above a slim but muscular back with tattoos running up either side of her spine. In no way covered by the tied string of a white bikini, the sexy back, hips, and shoulders were stretched between the handles of the ladder that hung over the far wall of the spa. He wished the path to the spa was shorter, so he'd have a closer view.

Sandi pulled herself up the rest of the way out of the water as she turned, spinning before he could identify what her tattoos were. She wrapped a large beach towel around her, thick and white terry like a good hotel robe. "I didn't think you'd be back so quick; I'm just done, almost a prune. When do you want pizza?"

He was glad she was talking. It gave him time to register her presence here, that she must be living in the back unit after all, and how hot her athletic little body looked coming up those stairs. What were those tattoos?

"I'm still hoping to get a nap in; I drove most of the night last night. And the night before. Maybe seven thirty?"

She slid open the back unit glass door across from the one he had used and smiled at him. "Perfect. I'm glad you'll make it."

He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. A shower had helped wake him up but Steve was still exhausted. After his soak, but before any nap, a tenant had knocked on the door. Mrs. Daugherty in Unit 4 had been there when he moved in at 18. And then she went to tell the Avillas in Unit 5. Everyone wanted to catch up with little Stevie. No nap.

The petite blonde opened the door, blue eyes gleaming beneath perfectly horizontal bangs. She ushered him in with a bright, almost leering smile, openly eyeing him up and down. "Ooh, you clean up nice."

He had pictured her back and the white string of the bikini several times this afternoon. And in the white tank top, her nipple showing signs of metal adornment. Some tasteful tats and piercing were definitely a plus in Steve's mind. He was definitely not expecting her to greet him in a authentic looking cheerleading outfit, down to the skirt, white socks and sneakers and what had to be a well-padded bra based on curves she hadn't had earlier. And he was even more surprised when she immediately pressed her whole petite frame against him with a soft, moist kiss.

He felt her firm breasts press up and against his chest as she rose on her toes. He took in her fresh cinnamon breath just before her tongue teased his lip, then found his own tongue, kissing him deeply.

As he responded, his arms going around her tiny but curvy frame, she pushed back with a giggle. She spun, causing the pleated skirt to splay out a bit, and called up the stairs behind her, "Mom! You're date's here."

"It's not a date, Jaz," came the answer as Sandi started down the steps, dressed in more appropriate jeans, fitted t-shirt and vest, but making them look stunning. Steve caught a glimpse of a very flat belly as the shirt rode up above her low slung pants when her foot stepped down to the next stair. The defined muscles in her slim arms made him think - hope - there was a six pack hiding under that T. The towel had covered her before he'd had a chance to see in the spa room. Steve had a thing for athletic, toned bodies, going back at even before his Aunt Marta.

The mischievous young cheerleader turned back to Steve, so her mother couldn't see her face. She ran her tongue over her lips.

"It is now."

Sandi paused with her hand on the rail, taking in his slack-jawed confusion. The cheerleader took the opportunity to slip by him out the door, calling back over her shoulder with another giggle, "He's a good kisser, Mom. Don't do anything...you know. Remember I'm staying at Brit's tonight, after the Costume contest."

She quickly pulled the door behind her.

Sandi shook her head, trying not to laugh at his shocked look. "Sorry about that. She must have got the idea to fool you since she wearing that wig again tonight. My little Coyote."

He looked more confused. "You know, Coyote, the trickster in Native American stories. That's her Mom wig. I have a black Jaz one we dyed pink in the front. We went as each other for Halloween last year. Confused a lot of people that night. I have a matching cheerleader costume too.

"Apparently this year she and her friends are going as zombie cheer girls. She's Blonde Zombie. You know, the one with no brains."

"Isn't Halloween tomorrow?"

She waved him further in so she could shut the door. "But the parties are tonight. It's Saturday night. Apparently there's a Best Group costume prize at the all-age club and the zombie girls wants it. They wants it bad. They conned some movie make up guy who claimed to work on The Lord of the Ring movies to do their faces. That's where she's going now."

His shocked system began to thaw. "I thought she was...I wondered why you were wearing...she kissed me."

Now she did laugh. "Poor fella. You drive across country on short notice, through that storm, and then get hit by Hurricane Jaz."

She took his hand and led him back to the kitchen. "I'll bet you could use a beer."

"Unless you've got anything stronger."

She pulled a large beer bottle out of the fridge, two pint glasses from the cupboard. "I have a couple Scotch ales. Still technically beer, I guess, but it is definitely stronger."

"A woman after my own heart." He finally relaxed enough to smile and shake his head at the situation as she handled him a pint glass filled from the bottle.

"Out of curiosity," she started, after clicking her glass against his and a quick swig, "my precocious daughter said you were a good kisser. I take it that means not only did she kiss you, you kissed her back."

They both took another swig of the malty, strong ale while he stumbled over how to answer. She rested a hand on his arm to reassure him, surprising herself with the thrill she felt at the hard muscles under her fingers. "It's okay, I know you thought it was me."

Her hand traveled to his chest, "But I do feel kind of left out."

She rose up on her toes and kissed him lightly, lips soft and relaxed. Both of them wanted more but held back, both not wanting to push things yet for their own reasons.

"Sorry, but I don't feel safe enough for more. Yet." She said through her lashes as she took another drink.

"Safety first," he agreed. He fought down the urge to push her back against the fridge and take the 'more' right now, but she seemed so cautious, so timid beneath her surface confidence. The strength of the urge surprised him.

She looked at him appraisingly. "Marta, your aunt, often said that."

He laughed. "Yes she did. She does like to feel safe." Safe was the code word his family used for being high, as in "let's take a safety break" before starting a project meant smoking some pot, getting good and 'safe.'

"Now that I think of it I haven't felt 'safe' since I got the call from the lawyer. It's been days." His tone exaggerated his depravation as though it had been days since he had eaten or seen the sun, a tone she knew well from raising a teenager.

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byKethandra© 15 comments/ 37412 views/ 32 favorites

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