Face of a saint. Lips of a sinner
All at once she is taken, without needing to encourage and coax the roughness out of the God, and Lily hisses in pleasure. All senses gone, all thoughts left with her clothing, a thousand miles away. She is theirs to manipulate, theirs to be invaded and conquered and filled with, with, with -
No, consumed. Swallowed whole. She arches and thrusts and in a surprising twist, enveloped. GODS - she must be dead. She must have died during sex with a god, because the world has shifted and she can feel nothing but them and their presence, their pink, sexy, sweaty, musky, sweet lady cum presence. She is drenched in it, drowning in it, overloaded with the best fucking acid trip a girl could ever take.
She could live (or die) forever in this place, but as all good things must end, so too does her world narrow and brighten; she shivers, gasps at the familiar contracts (how can she breathe again?), and stumbles. Staring at the light, Lily tries to take another step towards it, but is brought to her knees by another pulse, another moan, another full-body premonition. On all fours, the redhead grinds her nails into the non-existent ground, arches her back and then surrenders herself to the ground. She flips to her back, murmuring oh yes’s, and finds herself staring, reaching for the light as it narrows and seems to come towards her (or her towards it?)
A flood finally bursts inside her, flooding her system as she contracts inwards and outwards at the same time -
And those are not nails on her fingers, nor hands on wrists. They are toe-beans and sharp claws, underneath fur only almost as vibrant as her own natural coppery locks. FUR. She twists herself into a more upright position and looks around - everything sharper, brighter, more pungent and loud. And then - oh, then there’s a tail.
A fluffy, black-tipped tail.
Fuck. Even as a cat, she’s a beauty. If se does say so herself.
No, consumed. Swallowed whole. She arches and thrusts and in a surprising twist, enveloped. GODS - she must be dead. She must have died during sex with a god, because the world has shifted and she can feel nothing but them and their presence, their pink, sexy, sweaty, musky, sweet lady cum presence. She is drenched in it, drowning in it, overloaded with the best fucking acid trip a girl could ever take.
She could live (or die) forever in this place, but as all good things must end, so too does her world narrow and brighten; she shivers, gasps at the familiar contracts (how can she breathe again?), and stumbles. Staring at the light, Lily tries to take another step towards it, but is brought to her knees by another pulse, another moan, another full-body premonition. On all fours, the redhead grinds her nails into the non-existent ground, arches her back and then surrenders herself to the ground. She flips to her back, murmuring oh yes’s, and finds herself staring, reaching for the light as it narrows and seems to come towards her (or her towards it?)
A flood finally bursts inside her, flooding her system as she contracts inwards and outwards at the same time -
And those are not nails on her fingers, nor hands on wrists. They are toe-beans and sharp claws, underneath fur only almost as vibrant as her own natural coppery locks. FUR. She twists herself into a more upright position and looks around - everything sharper, brighter, more pungent and loud. And then - oh, then there’s a tail.
A fluffy, black-tipped tail.
Fuck. Even as a cat, she’s a beauty. If se does say so herself.
