The female Jogger

Isolated and alone, the jogger is too tempting a target to ignore.

Only the faint sound of vegetation being crushed underneath your padded feet marks your passage, but with the music spilling into the jogger's ears they remain unaware of the shadow prowling behind them. You feel alive, the singular focus on your prey blurring away any unimportant details. Picking up the pace, you go down on all fours and with the addition of your clawed hands to spur you forward, you pounce upon them with a bounding leap.

Raking your claws across their back, you tear their sweater to shreds with a precision that leaves the jogger's skin untouched. The figure tumbling out of their clothes scrapes their elbows in an attempt to soften their fall onto the grass covered ground. Not looking back to see their assailant, the jogger stumbles forward, trying to regain their footing. Using their long, black hair conveniently tied into a ponytail you janked them to a halt with enough **** that they fell half-naked on their back.

The jogger was an African woman. Young, perhaps not much older than yourself, with a creamy chocolate skin stretched across a limber frame that glistened enticingly in the streetlight, the sweat adding a heady musk to her scent. Her tousled hair and frightened expression with bulging green eyes desperately searching for a way out as she held her limbs close to her body brought your thoughts to a woodland critter that sensed a pack of wolf closing in on all sides. You found it held a primal beauty.

Not above toying with captured animals, you purred when you heard a gasp as the first of the clawed fingers closed around her throat. When the fourth and fifth rested against an exposed vein, her eyes were kept firmly shut. “Please, Asha. Wake...ugh…” Your prey’s whimper turns into a soundless scream as her dirt covered nails claw and push at the arm keeping her pinned. Without air, Asha’s muscles begin to convulse and her bloodshot iris disappear up her skull. Only when the smell of rusted iron fills your nostrils do you relent. When her eyes return, the narrow slits are filled with a cold hatred. They belonged to a predator.

“Silence, cur,” even as your tone drips with venom, any other reaction from her would've been a disappointment, “weakness is unbecoming of the Goddess' servants.” Asha's confusion at your words gave way to pleasure as a furred thigh pressed through the fabric against her groin. Your other hand held firmly against her waist pulled her closer so your bodies molded themselves against one another. Waves of ecstasy raced through them, writhing with a serpentine grace as your tongues danced inside the shared space created by a passionate kiss.

Before Asha's hands could reach to try and undo the rest of her clothes, they were ripped away and your thrust a claw deeply inside her newly exposed sex. She threw her head back in a wordless shudder at the attention.

Biting back the words trying to spill forth, Asha waited for your permission to speak.

She was yours utterly.