Her silky body flexing with her motion, the tigress silently moved, her tail swaying behind her. This was her domain, with anything in her path at her mercy. The photographer kept out of the way, recording images until the beast suddenly stopped, turning her head toward the intruder. With one paw raised, displaying deadly claws, the tigress roared its challenge.
"MEOW!" Heather proclaimed with one small hand poised in the air with the fingers hooked like claws.
"Yipe!" Donna responded, stepping back in a vain attempt to protect herself from the inevitable onslaught of cuteness.
"MEOW!" Heather repeated, this time rising on her knees with both hands in the air to show her little "claws".
Donna took more photos of her nearly naked daughter. The tip of Heather's nose was painted black with whiskers painted on her cheeks. Atop her head was a band hidden in her blonde hair from which two little pointed tiger ears protruded. A band of elastic fabric clung to her waist, anchoring a tiger tail in the back. It was the only thing that even tried to conceal the three year-old's white little bottom was a strip of cloth disappeared between her squeeze-inducing ass cheeks.
In the front, the cloth widened a little, showing it to be orange with black tiger stripes. It was cut raggedly, part of the girl's homemade costume. While it did manage to cover the cleft in the miniature mound between the child's thighs, plenty of plump, hairless cunny was showing; milky white against Heather's tiger thong.
"You are the meanest tiger in the jungle," Donna praised.
Heather's expression softened and she lowered her hands.
"I'm a nice kitty," she insisted.
"That, too," Donna conceded.
"Nice kitties say 'meow'," Heather lectured further. "Mean kitties say 'ROAR'."
"Okay, you're the nicest tiger in the jungle."
That seemed to satisfy Heather, who dropped down on all fours and crawled around the living room. Every now and then, she would wag her little rear end like a dog to jiggle her tail. She really liked the tail and had told her mother as much all morning. Donna marveled at the girl's vocabulary and speech. In the two months since she had turned three, Heather had become quite a little conversationalist.
But in the odd way that small children compartmentalized people's roles and activities, often limiting certain people with certain jobs, Heather also knew that only certain people did certain things with her. With Liz Crandall, a neighbor, Heather enjoyed sitting on the woman's lap for stories or "helping" to make cookies (though Liz never minded the extra mess that came as a package deal with the added assistance). The girl never made mention of what went on between her legs when she was with others.
But with Ben Crandall, Liz's retired husband, there were other things that involved her being naked. She was becoming quite skilled at using her little mouth on his erection, giving him some slurpy oral sex before the sixty-five year-old ejaculated all over the giggling preschooler's bare skin. Then she would sprawl on his lap or on her bed to he could fondle her bald snatch and make her wriggle happily until she came.
During his most recent visit, he had surprised when he put his mouth on her there.
"Mommy does that!" she said.
"I know. And she said you're very tasty."
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Thursday, March 23, 2017