A Quiet Meal 1
18 August 2008“Sssshhh…” I cooed softly into his ear, nuzzling into the soft fur there. My forked tongue flicked between my lips, and my coils spiraled even tighter around his body. When I pressed a claw to his mouth, his sobs died to whimpers.
The rabbit still shivered with fright. His teeth chattered, his muscles quivered, and his big, wet eyes flicked around wildly. He struggled and kicked even though he had no real hope of escaping.
That was fine with me, as long he remained quiet. I could taste his fear on the air around him, between the salt of his tears and sweat, and the tang of his rut from a few minutes earlier. I folded him against my chest and wrapped him into a tight hug that sent his bodyheat coursing deliciously through my cool skin and scales. The sensation was almost as pleasant as a morning bask on my rock, but right now I couldn’t be lazy – I had to be cunning. I held him against me, stroking my claws through his fur and hissing lullabies until his shakes calmed and his breathing evened out to just hiccups and stifled sobs. “Ssshhh, bunny… Ssshhh.”
Even while I petted his head my coils wound their way up legs and hips, moving him toward my tail where I would be able maneuver him more easily into my throat. Thirty feet of muscle and scales and intestines is a lot of me to feed, but as it turns out it’s hardly enough to get a really good hold on lunch. While I cuddled his upper half and whispered into his ears, I wrestled with his legs for better position. My scutes skittered tantalizingly over the corded muscles in his thighs and calves, making my mouth water in anticipation of all that meat.
As my tightest grip scooted further toward my tail, down near my cloaca and and the sex buds buried on either side of it, I moaned a little and squeezed him just a bit tighter. For a few tingly moments I gave up wrestling just to rub against him and please myself, and his gurgles of fear and my murmurs of pleasure mingled. Nothing came of it – my grumbling belly wouldn’t be put off for such a trifling pleasure – and I don’t think he ever realized that I was masturbating with him; the poor dear was clinging to me and had buried his face between my breasts to cry like I was his mother.
Even if he had realized, he couldn’t complain. That’s what he had been doing when I’d caught him in the tall grass. He had been hunched over when I first spotted him, hands working furiously between his legs, eyes pinched shut and grunting while he nibbled his lip. I had watched him for a few minutes, thrilling at my own voyeurism before I made my approach. Even if I had made a sound while I slithered up within striking distance, I doubt he would have heard it. I don’t know if he was more surprised or embarrassed when I pounced him to the ground.
