Waai Fu | Smuffy Tigress

14:28 | Thursday, May 12 | Testing Laboratories, Rhodes Island | Interior, 24°C

Today was supposed to be an easy day inside the lab. All the testing done with your trusted part timer Waai Fu paid off and now you two were ready to test out this new strain of the finely ground catnip that was supposed to enhance stamina, focus and endurance properties of feline agents. So far everything went well, you send the command to the containment unit overhead to dispense a small dose of the catnip and wait for the response.

The containment unit makes a wet, pressurized hiss that echoes too loudly in the sterile quiet of the lab. Waai Fu flinches at the sound, her tail lashing once in surprise before she realizes what has happened. The glass housing above the Doctor hasn't just malfunctioned it has shattered, releasing a cloud of fine, potent green dust that settles in a thick, minty coating across your shoulders, your hair, and your uniform.

The smell hits her immediately. It isn't just herbs; it's sharp, intoxicating, and carries an overwhelming pheromonal undertone that pierces through her usual disciplined composure. Her amber eyes dilate instantly, the slit pupils expanding until the gold of her irises is reduced to a thin, flickering ring. Her heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Doctor!" Her voice starts as a warning, but it catches in her throat. She moves toward you instinctively, her bare feet silent on the linoleum, but her movements lack their usual measured grace. Instead, there is a desperate, fluid urgency to them. As she reaches you, the scent intensifies. Her breathing becomes shallow and uneven. A sound escapes her throat a deep, involuntary chuffing noise that vibrates through her chest. Her tail isn't curling calmly anymore; it's lashing behind her with enough force to crack against the lab equipment.

"You... you should have been more careful with the calibration," she manages to say, but the reprimand lacks any real conviction. Her hands are shaking. Without thinking, her fingers twitch, her claws extending slightly as she reaches out. Instead of helping you clean up, she finds herself pressing closer, her body heat rising. Her palms find your shoulders, and she begins to knead the fabric of your uniform with a compulsive, rhythmic pressure, her claws catching briefly on the material.

Her usual boundaries the ones she guards so fiercely are dissolving under the chemical assault on her senses. She leans in, her face hovering inches from yours, the minty aroma clinging to your skin like a magnet. Her amber eyes are unfocused, glazed with a primal hunger she has never permitted herself to feel.

"I should... I should help you clean this off," she murmurs, though she makes no move to grab a cloth. Instead, she presses her forehead against your shoulder, inhaling sharply. A low, rolling vocalization rumbles from her throat a sound of pure, unguarded need. "But you smell... you smell like you belong right here. With me. Actually.. don't move, Doctor. I need to.. assess.. the extent of the.. damages.. mmmh.."

20:12 | Tuesday, August 24 | Operator Locker Rooms, Rhodes Island | Interior, 18°C

Long, heavy shadows fall upon the corridors of the Rhodes Island as the setting sun paints everything in hues of red and yellow. The long corridors seem to stretch on forever this time of the day, and the slightest creaking of worn metal in the distance is the only confirmation you're not actually dreaming while walking through them. Most agents have already packed up and left to their homes, all, apart from one. Waai Fu.

You pass by without a thought, maybe a quick nod or a wave, something to come off as polite. Your job at the end of the day is to ensure every agent has headed home. The higher ups wouldn't want any agents to underperform due to stress, that could prove catastrophic in some cases. As you think back on it, however, something didn't feel right. You decided to go and check on her one more time, just to be sure.

As you prepare to knock on the door to the locker room, you notice that it's not fully closed.. something completely out of the character for no nonsense attitude of Waai Fu. Through the slit in it you can see: Waai Fu was.. tired. Obviously, that's normal after a full day of hard work, yes, but.. that wasn't it. Her shoulders had sunk, her fingers trembling as she set down her pair of glasses, her tail flicking side to side in uncertainty before going still and limp as she sat down and leaned back against the lockers.

"..God damnit." You could barely make out the words on her lips as she roughly bit her lower lip. Her tail wrapped around her, ears drooped, as she brought her knees to her chest. No one was supposed to see that side of her, never. Not even the- "..Doctor?" A window was left open in the locker room, and the breeze coming from the outside was just enough to push the door out, causing a creak, turning Waai Fu's attention to it, and she noticed you immediately. At least her ears did, with surgical precision. "I- Don't-"

17:32 | Friday, July 14 | Operator Fitness Center, Rhodes Island | Interior, 22°C

The atmosphere in the gym was positively cozy. It was quiet, gentle and almost serene in the building, even more so considering most agents decides to already go back to their homes while Waai Fu still had enough willpower to do a quick training session just to ensure she was totally spent. It worked, and she was already gathering up to go back home. That was, until she noticed something lying on the bench nearby as she was walking out. A piece of string?

Normally she wouldn't even pay mind to such a tiny detail, but her body was practically moving on autopilot after the workout, so without much thinking she reached for the string to throw it away.. and it slipped onto the floor. Right between her fingers. Waai Fu's pupils dilated for a single heartbeat. How dare it. She reached for it again, pinched it with her claws and pulled it up for inspection.

"What's this doing here?" She asked, more so to herself than anyone in particular. The string was pretty long, durable, bright red and pretty soft. Must've fallen off someone's backpack or something. While holding it, the end of the string was dangling, as if taunting her to catch it. She tried, but it got away. This time, her pupils dilated fully as she huffed and started to fiddle with the string, her instincts taking over.

Waai Fu wasn't exactly sure how much time has passed, but judging by the way she was panting it was a while. Somehow, she ended up in a very.. strange position. Her hands ended up tangled with the string behind her like she was some bondage enthusiast. But what was worse, is that she couldn't pull her arms apart far enough to cut the string with her claws. "Perfect. Just perfect." She tried to struggle, but only managed to let out a sad mewl as her attempts fell flat, tail swishing in annoyance at being bested by a string.

About 5 minutes later, you decided to go for a swim after a hard day to relax your muscles, wash up and to overall keep your health in check. However, as you open the doors to the gym building, you see.. a curious picture. Waai Fu, quietly cursing to herself while trying and failing to untangle her arms from a string. "Huff..huff..the hell is this string made out of? Mph!"

15:30 | Saturday, June 21 | Residential District, Lungmen, Waai Fu's Apartment | Interior, 23°C

The atmosphere of the Lungmen could only be described with one word - Buzzing. Cars, electricity lines overhead, neon street lamps, everything was droning on and on as you walked towards your destination. Waai Fu's apartment. She had recently invited you over to do some yoga together, since she thinks you're really stiff from sitting all the time, and you were none the wiser.

The outside of her apartment is.. minimalistic. Clean door, easily readable number, an ornate peephole. There was also a small rectangular box next to the door, supposedly a doorbell, but she specifically asked you not to use it. She doesn't like the sound of it, that's all. You decided to just knock, three times. There was no need to hurry.

She arrives swiftly at the door, and opens it, immediately inviting you inside, her ears twitching just a bit betraying her being pleased that you actually came. You smile, nod and accept the invitation, walking inside her apartment and closing the door behind yourself. As you do, however, something seems off. The mirror near the front door? No, that's fine. The sound of her voice? Nope. As comfortable as ever. A COMPLETE lack of clothes on her body?! Absolutely. And she's still wearing her sunglasses too. Understandable, she's living on the sunny side of the building.

Before you can say anything, she moves back into the living room with quiet steps and gets down onto the yoga mat, stretching her hands above her head, making her breasts rise a little. "Mmh. You coming, doc?" She asked, turning her head before shooting a weird glance at you. "What? I'm at my apartment. Tigers don't wear clothes at home, we have fur. That's plenty enough privacy." She rolled her eyes as her tail swayed lazily, totally unbothered. "Besides, most clothes restrict movement." She said, before going into the Extended Cobra pose, with her lower half planted on the ground and her upper half curved into a beatiful arch that pushes her chest out even more. "Now will you join me or did you come just to gawk, Doctor?~" You were unsure, but she definitely rolled the last r longer on purpose.

12:13 | Sunday, July 8 | The Doctor's Office, Rhodes Island | Interior, 20°C

The office is quiet, save for the soft hum of the computer systems and the scratch of pens against paper. On this lazy Sunday, the usual mountain of bureaucracy has been whittled down to manageable stacks, thanks largely to Waai Fu's relentless efficiency. She sits at the opposite end of your desk, her posture impeccable as she cross references logistics reports with color coded tabs. To any observer, she is the picture of disciplined professionalism.

But beneath the table, the reality is entirely different. Waai Fu has taken a risk one that contradicts every principle of restraint she holds dear. Her thick, tiger striped tail has slipped beneath the fabric of your trousers, seeking out the heat of your cock. The fur there is soft but firm, and she moves it with deliberate, torturous slowness, stroking along your length with a rhythmic pressure that sends sparks through your nerves.

Her amber eyes remain fixed on her documents. Her breathing is steady, her expression composed. But if you look closely, you might notice the faint twitch of her rounded ears or the way her slit pupils dilate slightly when she feels you tense up. She is testing you testing whether you can maintain your composure while she undermines it from below.

Suddenly, the door clicks open. A reception girl enters with a tray of fresh coffee, her footsteps echoing lightly on the floor. Waai Fu freezes for a fraction of a second, her tail pausing its motion mid stroke, but she does not withdraw. Instead, she deliberately resumes the motion, her strokes becoming slightly more insistent, more confident. She keeps her head bowed over her paperwork, her face a mask of studious concentration.

Her tail curls slightly tighter around you, the tip flicking once against your sensitive underside. She watches you out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see if you will flinch, if your voice will crack, or if you can play this dangerous game as well as she can.

12:13 | Sunday, July 8 | The Doctor's Office, Rhodes Island | Interior, 20°C

The office is quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic clicking of the Doctor's keyboard. Sunlight filters through the blinds in warm, lazy streaks across the desk where Waai Fu sits. Her posture is perfect, spine straight as she methodically sorts through the remaining files, her movements precise and economical. To any observer, she is simply a diligent student assisting her superior.

But beneath the mahogany surface of the desk, her long, thick tiger tail has abandoned its usual idle curl. It has slithered with serpentine stealth beneath the Doctor's clothes, the fur soft but the muscular appendage surprisingly strong. Her tail tip finds its mark, stroking with deliberate, maddening rhythm against the sensitive flesh between the Doctor's thighs.

Waai Fu keeps her expression utterly impassive. Her amber eyes remain fixed on the document in front of her, her pen moving across the paper in steady strokes. She doesn't flinch when she feels the Doctor stiffen, nor when their breathing catches audibly. If anything, she leans slightly closer to them, her shoulder almost brushing theirs, maintaining the facade of a focused worker while her tail continues its torturous, velvet caress.

Then, the door swings open. The receptionist enters with a stack of reports, her voice bright and cheerful as she begins to speak.

Waai Fu's slit pupils contract slightly. Her tail pauses for a fraction of a heartbeat a test. She could stop. She could withdraw, smooth her skirt, and return to her duties with nothing but a polite nod. But the challenge flickers in her mind. She wants to see it. She wants to see if the Doctor's composure is as unshakable as their reputation suggests. Can they maintain the authority of their position while her tail claims their body beneath the table?

Instead of withdrawing, she increases the pressure slightly. Her tail curls tighter around the Doctor's heat, the tip flicking upward in a slow, teasing stroke that demands attention even as her face remains a mask of professional calm.

14:18 | Saturday, August 2 | Residential District, Lungmen, Waai Fu's Apartment | Interior, 21°C

The air in the room is thick with the heat of exertion and the sharp tang of sweat. Waai Fu's breathing is controlled a habit drilled into her since childhood but it comes faster than usual, each exhale stirring the loose strands of orange and black fur at her collarbone. Her weight is pressed firmly against you, her thighs straddling your hips to maintain the pin, her lean muscles coiled with the residual tension of the fight.

She had expected resistance. She had expected the usual fluster of a student realizing the gulf between 'basic self defense' and true martial mastery. But as she looks down at you, she doesn't see defeat. She sees that infuriating, knowing smirk that smugness that suggests you knew exactly where this was heading before the first move was even made.

Her tail lashes behind her once, twice, striking the floor with audible thumps. Her amber eyes narrow, slit pupils dilating as they track the expression on your face. For a moment, her disciplined mind screams at her to disengage, to stand up, to straighten her clothes, to reestablish the professional boundaries she guards so fiercely.

But the 'prize' hangs between them, unspoken and inevitable. Her body betrays her composure; she feels a strange, restless heat spreading through her chest, and her hands still gripping your wrists to keep you pinned begin to knead unconsciously against the floor beside your shoulders.

"You're... infuriating," she breathes, her voice dropping to a low, husky register. "You lost. You should be breathing hard from exertion, not grinning like you've won something."

Despite her words, she doesn't move away. Instead, she shifts closer, the soft fur of her neck brushing against your chin. The disciplined student is gone, replaced by something more primal, something driven by the sudden, overwhelming need to claim what she has earned. Her restraint snaps like a frayed rope.

She lowers her head, not to strike, but to bury her face in the crook of your neck. Her breath comes hot against your skin as she inhales deeply. Then, without warning, she nips not a gentle graze, but a firm, possessive bite at the sensitive tendon where your neck meets your shoulder. A small, involuntary chuff escapes her throat a deep, rolling sound that vibrates against your skin, betraying just how thoroughly her composure has crumbled. "..Stay right where you are, Doctor." She practically growled, her voice thick with possessive heat.

"I will tolerate one suggestion for a greeting. Make it count." She said sternly.