Zebra Sex

The capsule relinquishes me, forming a gap to allow me to pass as I start walking into my apartment. I feel a light brush of chained mites. I am tiring quickly, I can feel it.
The room has been darkened, although the pinpricks of city and starlight from the hemispheric view are enough to determine a large irregularity in the perfect curve of the room.
I feel my heart pump blood and adrenaline once more. In readiness for the scenario that again, I am prey.
Here, in my sanctuary.
But there it is again behind my heightened state, that rolling weariness.
The homunculus of dreams in me whispers that I should stop, and finally succumb: Enough excitement, now. Sleep and recuperate.
The fuzz of shadow shifts, and gradually becomes two shapes.
One is standing now - I detect its breath pushed from its its lungs. It is a familiar sound.
"I wasn't sure you would make it." The voice sounds hoarse; flat - squashed by the deadening pall of sound-absorbing wall-mites. But somehow familiar.
Again, silence.
I am wondering about the second shape. And whether I will have the physicality for the demands of this encounter.
The first form approaches slowly. I cannot discern its shape, but that's the point of the darkened room, isn't it? The element of uncertainty.
I feel a little gasp escape my lips, and catch myself angrily. Weakness.
Slowly, my arm moves to the end of my sword. Resting on it's hilt, I feel some comfort in the sensation of rising aggression.
The figure stops, a little more than a sword's length ahead of me. I would have to lunge if I made a strike now. Maybe that's the point.
And now, the figure's breathing is paused, and I feel the instinctive grip on my sword ready itself, releasing the sword a fraction to lessen the friction between hilt and sheath. My breathing too pauses.
There is silence.
Darkness.
And then...
"My, we are bellicose tonight."
The hemispheric wall glows a little, enough for me to distinguish the outline of what is in front of me from its surroundings. The city and starlight dims as the wall becomes opaque and iridescent.
I relax the grip on my weapon, and feel it click softly back into place.
My blood however continues to rush through my veins. But now, I can feel it being gradually redirected.
"Nobody's used the word 'Bellicose' in a while," I comment, and lick my lips lightly.
Parmar shakes scher head. "I know. Because it sounds like something that keeps your dick warm."
There is still a little more light, and I let out another little gasp, and allow my sword to drop to the floor.
The floor catches it with a little crested bounce, and the crest breaks to transport the sword to the edges of the second shape at the furthest part of the room - a shaped mound big enough for two.

---

I smile. Parmar makes me do that a lot. That's one of the reasons I have herm around. That and the fact that schee is different every day. Literally. I don't need the efficiency of pre-sleep mesosex with Parmar around: There schee is when I need her, even when I don't realise it.
Sometimes I find her with a tight shorn vagina.
Sometimes with a penis with the girth and texture of a horse.
Sometimes both.
Maybe with scarlet tipped breasts, maybe with hairy muscled pecs.
Maybe white, maybe red.
One time schee even mutated a long, soft cat's tail - now that was a good bit of prick teasing.
Today though, as the lights reveal gradually her full form, I can see that schee is striped with black and white fur like a zebra over her entire body, with hands and feet hard and shaped like hooves, knees bent slightly to accommodate scher new integrated footwear.
My eyes wander down to observe scher sex; dark inside, with fleshy white outer lips that look as soft as velvet, inviting my touch.
But overall schee is still Parmar, body curvaceous in ways that make the animal in me rock hard in a moment of sensual drowning.
On cue, my sartorial exomite covering dissipates, dropping from my body in pools, and scurries towards the wall near to where my sword sits silently, sharp as my desire.
"Hah. You need to cut your toenails," I quip. But my voice has lost its edge. I feel a hoarseness creep in.
Schee just smiles, moves a little closer, and runs a leathery hand-hoof down between my pectorals, to rest against my naval.
My throat is dry now, and I feel myself gulp. I need lubrication.
"I intend to cut my toenails. Against your back. Now fuck me."
I feel a pang of rebellion at being given a command, but it's transitory.
I take a step towards scher, and reach out to touch the fur of scher furred breast, to find my way blocked by one of those shiny hooves, surprisingly warm with pressure. I can feel a shift in the hoof, and realize the hoof is like a skin over Parmar's hands, which underneath are moving to change the malleable surface.
The cloven hoof that bars my way closes around a thumb, and moves it slowly towards scher chest.
"Here, let me help."
My curiosity of how that furred skin feels is insatiable now. I must feel that texture, as though my very existence depends on it.
I am four inches away, three, two...
I can feel the whispering tickle of the ends of fur, and feel myself licking my dry lips once more.
And schee moves backwards a little, increasing that gap again.
Three times schee does this, moving backwards each time a little towards the second shape carved from the room.
I feel like screaming in frustration, but I hold myself in check.
This is Parmar's time; Parmar's game.
Schee sits on the second form - slowly, lightly as though schee is floating a millimetre from its surface.
Schee has my thumb still, the nail pointed upwards, caught between scher cloven black hoof.
Again, schee pulls the thumb towards her, but this time, schee pulls it towards her mouth, opening it gradually to reveal perfect teeth, and...
Three slivers of tongue fork from scher mouth, coiling around each other like the head of Medusa. I must be imagining that I can hear the rasp of taste buds rubbing against each other, but maybe not. Parmar is one for detail. As I remember from the night of the cat's tongue.
The fur is forgotten as I watch, transfixed by scher tongue edging closer, coiling around the hoof, and then, scher hoof releasing its grip on my thumb, I can feel the warm moist texture slip around the creases of my fingernail and my thumb, another around the back, gripping the knuckle of my thumb, gently tugging it towards scher mouth.
I pull back slightly, fascinated by how the feel of resistance will be. It is lightly elastic, but the muscles of the tongue forks simply pull tighter, coiling around each other to increase the traction. Somehow, this increases the pleasure, and as scher lips enfold my thumb, the tongue forks release my thumb, and I find myself looking into scher yellow, cat-like eyes in anticipation. There is nothing to reveal her feelings there, but a flicker of... What?
There is a moment further as our breathing patterns converge, and my thumb is released, allowed to complete its mission.
The thumb is tingling now, the sensation there somehow heightened by its time in Parmar's mouth.
Clever.
Every restrained detail has a purpose.
I draw the thumb slowly down scher chest, and schee gives a hollow, rasping gasp as my thumb runs down the stripes of coarse black bristles and stripes of white downy fur, the contrast in sensation making me gasp in unison, the heightened sensation coursing from my thumb out through my body, seeming to light up my entire nervous system with each, languid stripe.
Finally, my thumb finds its way to its destination: the soft, downy lips of her labia that enclose scher inviting sex.
I am stooping, but this takes my eyes from scher's at this proximity, so I kneel on one knee, and look once again into those limitless dilated eyes, seeking permission to continue, my breathing stopped as though also seeking permission.
There is the barest glimmer of a nod, and I breathe again.
I slowly bury my thumb in the folds of those soft lips, feeling the give of moistened, welcoming flesh, and it is as though my hard cock is there with my thumb, inside her, probing. The two have become one pulsing member.
I look up at scher, astonished and delighted.
"How did you..?" I start, but schee puts a soft hoof against my lips to shush me.
"Enough with the how. Just enjoy."
And schee rocks her pelvis backwards a little, a little hard nub of harder flesh pushing into the tip of my thumb.
I gasp, as I feel that nub pushing up inside my cock and expanding out to stimulate me from within. My eyes tell me this is impossible, it cannot physically be happening.
My senses say otherwise.
She moans, and I can feel her juices slip the nub around my thumb, and I respond with a small circular movement, tracing its giving perimeter.
Gasping, I feel those juices rise inside me and reach from cock to anus, pressing through to my prostate. Each circle around her clitoris ripples the pressure of her virtual juices around my prostate, and the perimeter of my sexual pleasure seems to widen with each tentative circle.
Our eyes lock. I am struggling now not to come, made harder by the stray thought of my semen spraying that soft fur, stuck into the fibres of the coarse black hair, running down the slick gloss of the fine white hair.
I stop the movement of my hand, and she growls, a gutteral sound of warning, and to my surprise, strong radial muscles grip my thumb in place, stopping my intended retraction.
But that squeeze fires every sensual neuron in my body.
My thumb digs harder in reflex, and Parmar screams, her body twisting like the undulations of a suspension bridge driven to the edge of mechanical tolerance, her grip tightening more around my burrowing thumb.
I am also that bridge now, nerve pathways like wires fraying under the tension until I too am pushed beyond tolerance.
My prostate and glans are overwhelmed, and I snap my eyes shut, unable to endure the additional sensory input of sight.
I evacuate and come at the same time. It is all I can do to stop myself vomiting over this sweet, sweet creature in front of me.
And I am spent, and I collapse onto her, my forehead resting against the fur of her chest.
Just fur.
My thumb slips out and lies deadened on the floor in front of me.

Something is wrong, I realize, and I look up, searching for a solution in Parmar's eyes.

---

I see a twinkle of amusement there, but tenderness too.
Schee takes her arms, and lifts me up under my buttocks with her hooves, until I am kneeling again, and then twists us around, pulling me above her as schee reclines facing up at me, molding into the mesomite structure.

Poised over scher, I feel scher hand hooves slip upwards to dig into my shoulder muscles, replaced by the hooves of her feet that now dig into my buttocks.

I feel confused, but as the waves of sensation dull again to normalcy, I realize that the orgasm and evacuation were illusory, and my body is now as ready as when I had first seen scher silhouetted form.
Parmar smiles. "That was just practice," schee whispers, and scher hooves direct me inch-by-inch towards my cock's yearning destination.
There it is, the tip finding scher outer folds, inching in further, the hooves seeming to dig harder into my backside and shoulders - are they getting harder?
As I reach my hilt, I can feel the muscles inside scher undulate again, and I achingly stiffen beyond what should be possible so that It feels like I must be arching inside scher.
Like the sword being pulled slowly from its sheath, I withdraw a little, ready to strike again, and I feel Parmar moan.
One advantage of having such transmutation abilities is that Parmar can carefully place scher sensory nerves to gain maximum pleasure from my movements. Schee has had plenty of study time to perfect this.

I slowly thrust again, and those enclosing muscles inside scher gain a new texture, at the same time easing my way with additional moisture. I slowly withdraw once more, and schee moans lightly.

And then schee pulls me sharply towards scher with her hooves, and as quickly, as though through peristalsis, ejects me just short of leaving scher entirely.

The shock of the movement makes me explode with sensation once more.

But schee doesn't let up.
Growling, schee pushes me towards scher with scher hooves once more, this time so sharply that my body is pushed hard against scher fur, my chest rubbing against the direction of the prickling hard black.
My mouth finds schers; Schee tastes like sex.

Three tongue prongs force their way through my lips and wrap themselves around my tongue so I am pinned, my tongue stimulated by the forked, winding movements, while schee ejects me again, and as scher tongue segments tighten once more, scher hooves dig in and pull me towards scher once more, the ripples inside scher matching the swirling ripples of scher tongue segments.

I am struggling against scher now, the pain of my back muscles, the grip of scher tongue, and the traction of scher sex make me feel like screaming in anger.
I hate the feeling of entrapment.

And then schee relaxes momentarily.

Schee leans towards me, and in one ear, whispers:

"Give in to me."

Schee strips the anger, hatred, guilt, shame and love away from me.

And this time, I thrust - once, twice, I cannot tell as I find myself scooping scher pelvis up in mine, it feels like we are gone and there is just the shining remnants of two organs fucking in the bright light of our intent.

Schee is changing now.
Schee is screaming and arcing.
I try to go deeper than my length will allow, I want so much to be there with her at scher final, final...
And we are there, arcing together in a pinpoint neutron star of sensation.
The warm texture of my semen courses through me, spraying out to mingle with scher juices, pushed further as I try to burrow still deeper. Once. Twice, three times, I spray again, my eyes shut, feeling the tension subsiding. My shoulders drop.
I open my eyes. Schee is beautiful to me.

And we fall down together.

The bridge held. Suspended in time, it will live another day.

As I fall by scher side, schee unhoofs me, and I slip from inside scher, my cock bouncing and cradled by the mesomites that we lie on.

Schee is stroking the back of my head gently with a leathery soft hoof.

"We'll leave the tongue twisting oral until the morning, I think," schee murmurs.

I can feel a safe weariness overcome me now, as faintly I register the dull ache of pounded back and buttock muscles, and the softening of my penis.
I hold out a hand, and run it down her multi-textured breast once more.

"You are beautiful," I say to scher, and my hand falls between us.

"And you will be my King again in the morning," schee whispers, as I succumb to the forked embraces of sleep.