Pann
catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green
I keep at her like a man possessed—because I am. My tongue works in slow, deliberate patterns, now and then dipping deep into her, savoring the molten pulse of her heat. Her taste is intoxicating, dark and sweet, and I can’t help the low chuckle that hums against her when her praise curls into my ears. Clever, yes—but no less caught in her snare than she is in mine.
Every movement of my mouth is precise, crafted to drive her higher, to keep her straining toward that crest without quite letting her fall over it. I drink in the way her body responds, the way her thighs tense against my shoulders, the way her toes curl and her back arches, the way the stone behind her seems to echo with the little sounds she can’t hold back.
And then—her tail tightens around my cock again, the pressure coiling and pulsing with maddening precision with every movement I make. I moan into her, the vibration spilling into her flesh as my own body throbs with the ache she’s feeding. My fingers bite into her hips, anchoring her to me, hard enough that the marks will linger like prayers written in flesh.
Gods, I want her—every inch of her, every sound she makes—but I won’t take. Not yet. Not until my offerings have been received in full. Not until she’s wrung every ounce of worship from me she could ever want.
Every movement of my mouth is precise, crafted to drive her higher, to keep her straining toward that crest without quite letting her fall over it. I drink in the way her body responds, the way her thighs tense against my shoulders, the way her toes curl and her back arches, the way the stone behind her seems to echo with the little sounds she can’t hold back.
And then—her tail tightens around my cock again, the pressure coiling and pulsing with maddening precision with every movement I make. I moan into her, the vibration spilling into her flesh as my own body throbs with the ache she’s feeding. My fingers bite into her hips, anchoring her to me, hard enough that the marks will linger like prayers written in flesh.
Gods, I want her—every inch of her, every sound she makes—but I won’t take. Not yet. Not until my offerings have been received in full. Not until she’s wrung every ounce of worship from me she could ever want.
you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be
