frey
—It's beautiful. "Life always is."
And then they take, but also give.
Hands plunging and the throbbing pulse of Frey suddenly filling Amalia again, suddenly the baker wears Frey like a cloak, her every cell buzzing with a harmonious euphoria. How much she can see through the veil of pleasure rising around her and molding against her is unclear. What there is to see however, is the demon. It appears fully organic now, showing no signs of the deterioration or crazed-mechanics that Amalia would have associated with it. Instead it is seemingly biological perfection. Every piece of it made for some purpose working in microscopic unison.
As the second stirrings of an orgasm take root in the base of Amalia's feet and work their tendrils up her thighs and into her spine, time spins once more. Amalia whirls away from the Spire, suspended in a cocoon of animated satisfaction. As she does the demon begins to slowly twitch. Amalia's eyes, fettered and distorted by the whirlwind of pure lust toying with her atoms will see subtle vibrations in the air. Something in the Spire somehow destroying and degrading the demon. It stumbles, it falls from the Spire and Amalia descends slowly with it.
As it hits, the world is jolted forward again to a time much more recognizable. The demon is now deranged, mad, but now that the curtain has been pulled back, the truth has been revealed. It was never a guardian. Never a protector. It was a prototype, damaged and then forgotten and left to rot.
Amalia's climax obscures whatever longing and sadness she might feel for the creature, as Frey's many-fingers and limbs entangle and twist, tweak and stroke and usher shivers that descend into tingling nerves and extremities.
And then they take, but also give.
Hands plunging and the throbbing pulse of Frey suddenly filling Amalia again, suddenly the baker wears Frey like a cloak, her every cell buzzing with a harmonious euphoria. How much she can see through the veil of pleasure rising around her and molding against her is unclear. What there is to see however, is the demon. It appears fully organic now, showing no signs of the deterioration or crazed-mechanics that Amalia would have associated with it. Instead it is seemingly biological perfection. Every piece of it made for some purpose working in microscopic unison.
As the second stirrings of an orgasm take root in the base of Amalia's feet and work their tendrils up her thighs and into her spine, time spins once more. Amalia whirls away from the Spire, suspended in a cocoon of animated satisfaction. As she does the demon begins to slowly twitch. Amalia's eyes, fettered and distorted by the whirlwind of pure lust toying with her atoms will see subtle vibrations in the air. Something in the Spire somehow destroying and degrading the demon. It stumbles, it falls from the Spire and Amalia descends slowly with it.
As it hits, the world is jolted forward again to a time much more recognizable. The demon is now deranged, mad, but now that the curtain has been pulled back, the truth has been revealed. It was never a guardian. Never a protector. It was a prototype, damaged and then forgotten and left to rot.
Amalia's climax obscures whatever longing and sadness she might feel for the creature, as Frey's many-fingers and limbs entangle and twist, tweak and stroke and usher shivers that descend into tingling nerves and extremities.
