Tark watched the woman with interest as he sketched.  Human females, like elvish females, were generally attractive and this one was no exception but she had a strange aura about her.  The occasional scowls that would spoil the perfect line of her brow intrigued of him.  Sounds of glass shattering on the flagstone brought out another look of anger.  Deftly he altered the lines in her face, capturing the moment of ire.  With quick, sure strokes he blended the charcoal, smoothing the harshness of the face until the beauty once again caught the eye.  Underlying the smile he still saw that moment of pique.  Inaudibly he rumbled in his throat.
     Lazily his tail began to stroke her calf and she shifted ever so slightly.  The bodice she wore lifted her breasts in offering and he flashed on the idea of exciting the nipples with a raspy tongue.  She would have fine breasts, he decided, but she must surely think them too small to have them bound in such a way as to make them seem larger.  Charcoal flowed across the parchment, rounding out the breasts, then adding the nipple.  That would be about right he thought to himself, sending his tail up the inside of her thigh.  The woman's breath caught momentarily then resumed a touch quicker.  Sensuousness surrounded her, interfering with his senses.
     She moved closer, the musk of her making it harder to concentrate.  In a frenzy the charcoal stick danced about the white sheet adding final details.   With a flourish he added his sign to the top left corner then turned the sheet around and presented it to the woman.  Delight was mingled with surprise at both the quality and the nudity.
     "Thus I see all women,"  he said.
     "It is very beautiful," she said, her voice husky.  "Do you have a room for the night?"
     "No," he said, rolling the portrait into a tube and presenting it to her.
      The tail found soft flesh high up between her legs causing her to spread her knees slightly.
     "I have a bed for you for the night, no charge, as we are not officially open," she said, a hand resting on his forearm.
     He nodded slightly in acceptance.  She would be intrigued by him for but one night, he knew and he would make every effort to titillate and he was sure she could teach him much.  Human female erogenous zones made them fascinating mates, far more so than Maktir females with their gut level sex drive.  Elvish women could be cool at most inappropriate time but human women were a nice mixture of the wild and the cool.
     The woman rose gracefully, smoothing the silk of the dress over her hips and flat stomach.  She held a hand out to Tark and he took it, rising to his feet.  They stepped into the now lamp lit interior of the house just as another crash echoed from an adjacent room.
     "One moment," she hissed between clenched teeth.
     From somewhere about her body she produced a slim rod some eighteen inches long and very flexible.  Holding it firmly in her right fist she stalked off toward the sound.  Tark, on silent toes, followed curiously.
     Two girls knelt on the stones of the floor gathering shards of ceramic into a large wooden bowl.  Without a word the woman was on them, rod whipping left and right.  The girls shrieked but did not run, choosing instead to cover up and present bowed backs.  Each received a dozen blows from the nasty little whip, shredding cloth and flaying tender flesh.
     The woman's eyes seemed to glow and her breast heaved as she flailed.  Tark stood at the doorway, watching, his cat face unreadable.  At last the storm passed and the woman bent over one of the girls and casually wiped her toy clean on the sleeve of the tattered blouse.  The weapon vanished among her clothes and she crossed to Tark without a word.   She hooked an arm in his, her face tranquil but the smell of her sexual arousal was almost overpowering.  She led him very slowly up the steps, prolonging their anticipation purposefully.  Through the touch on his arm he could feel her growing excitement as they reached her room.
     Through the night his tail fascinated her, drawing gasps of pleasure as it roamed her body.  He had been right, her talents were magnificent.  There was much she taught him that was to serve him well later.  Exercising earlier daydreams his tongue sought delicate flesh and left her screaming.  Her body, so supple, so female, so knowing had him in a frenzy.  Many times his claws or fangs drew tiny pin pricks of blood that pushed her into orgasmic spasms.  Each discovered in the other an enormous capacity for physical lust without emotional ties.
     Early in the morning she awoke to find him naked, sitting on the end of the bed surrounded by drawings.  She sat up, faint traces of blood dried on her body, and picked up the nearest.  In stark black and white the bowed back of a girl was striped and bloody.  Ripped scraps of cloth hung from her body.  Intrigued she picked up the next.  It was of her.  She lay on her back, face contorted in orgasm, the blood on her breasts like a low necklace. Another was a study of her eyes, eyes filled with an insane light and she scowled slightly.  He watched her for a moment and handed her the page he had just completed.  On it she lay asleep, face that of an angel, her rich black hair fanning slightly on the pillow.  She smiled.  He dropped his charcoal into his bag and started to dress slowly.  Laying on her side she propped her head up on her hand and watched him.
     "Will you return?" she asked.
     He paused, one foot half in the leg of his breeches.
     "Perhaps," he said.
     She nodded.
     "They all return," she said, almost to herself.  "And with cash the next time, my fine furred friend"
     He purred deep in his throat and finished dressing.

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