Pann
catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green
Her silks give way beneath my hands, and I follow the path they leave with my mouth—kissing lower, slower, until I take the soft peak of her breast between my lips. My teeth graze her there, just enough to tease, to make her skin flush hotter beneath my tongue. I glance down in time to see the last of her clothes kissed to ash by her own fire, and hunger grips me like a fist.
Then her tail winds around my cock, and the sound I make against her skin is more a moan than a breath—low, unguarded, electric. She drags me back up and I meet her mouth without hesitation, kissing her like a man who’s been starving in the dark for centuries. My hips roll with hers, matching her rhythm, my own tail curling tight in a mix of pleasure and frustration, every muscle straining for more.
And then—ah, but there’s more to worship than this.
With a sudden shift, I hook both arms beneath her, feeling her weight settle into my grip as I lift. Her legs slide higher, higher still, until they drape over my shoulders, her back braced against the cave wall, the firelight painting every line of her in gold and shadow. I pause just long enough to look up at her, my grin slow and wicked, before bowing my head like a supplicant before his goddess.
My mouth finds her center, reverent and unhurried. My tongue moves in long, rolling strokes over that delicious bundle of nerves, each one deliberate, lingering, worshipful in a way only a truly devout man can manage. Every flick, every press is a prayer, and I mean every word.
Then her tail winds around my cock, and the sound I make against her skin is more a moan than a breath—low, unguarded, electric. She drags me back up and I meet her mouth without hesitation, kissing her like a man who’s been starving in the dark for centuries. My hips roll with hers, matching her rhythm, my own tail curling tight in a mix of pleasure and frustration, every muscle straining for more.
And then—ah, but there’s more to worship than this.
With a sudden shift, I hook both arms beneath her, feeling her weight settle into my grip as I lift. Her legs slide higher, higher still, until they drape over my shoulders, her back braced against the cave wall, the firelight painting every line of her in gold and shadow. I pause just long enough to look up at her, my grin slow and wicked, before bowing my head like a supplicant before his goddess.
My mouth finds her center, reverent and unhurried. My tongue moves in long, rolling strokes over that delicious bundle of nerves, each one deliberate, lingering, worshipful in a way only a truly devout man can manage. Every flick, every press is a prayer, and I mean every word.
you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be
