[Konoha swears she doesn’t care that much either, that she’d never be so crude as to select a partner based only on their lewdest possible physical feature, judging based solely on their size. After all, hadn’t she seemed more than willing to have him as he was meant to be, that faraway afternoon with crimson Rag’n’boni powders splashed on her dark skin? Hadn’t most all of her lovers in these strange, touch-driven worlds by rule of simple necessity been two-legged and human-sized? She knew better than most women, it could be argued, that size wasn’t everything, that effort and desire could conquer most physical discrepancies…
But in the depth of her more instinctive heat, craving for a male to prove his strength, to make her his, to fill her so well in more ways than one… Konoha can’t help but care, and as her kimono slides from her muscular shoulders, as her thick mane tumbles loose from its bun and his fingers send it down her back, all the way to her withers and framing her face in a far more mature way than her usual hairstyle… She can’t help but whine softly, as if his teasing accusation of greed wasn’t teasing at all, like she had to answer for her shamelessness.]
I know…
[She has to part from the cock she’s fallen into attending when he sits, temporarily breaking the primitive spell and bringing just a touch less haze to her eyes as she watches him arrange himself, her tail quivering and flicking as best it could beneath the tight confines of the skirt she’d hastily tied on after her attempts at self-pleasure had failed, the musky scent gradually growing stronger the more her arousal, leftover and new both, stains the fabric. But the moment he reaches for her, gives her permission to come back…
Her kiss is greedy, slowly losing to the need he’s offered to sate. The same prick of teeth from beneath that tree, softened as best she can with plush lips that taste faintly of him. A whimper slides off her tongue into his mouth when his hands delve into her half-off robe, as she shrugs out of the sleeves to make it more off, flexible upper spine dipping to press her breasts needily into his hands. She isn’t so painfully full as the first time they had touched, it’s been far too many months since she’s been separated from her daughter, but she hasn’t been able to let herself dry up fully, coaxing out a bit each night to keep herself able, no matter how lonely doing so made her feel, because to do otherwise… would be too much like giving up.]
Nikolai, please…
[It would be too much like accepting she was stuck here, like she’d lost the hope that maybe today, maybe tomorrow, she might be back where she belonged, with a husband who would hold her and a child who needed her. So though she isn’t as quick to spill over his fingers the telltale whimpers of sensitivity are still there, the mounting pressure making her shift this way, that, in discomfort and pleasure both until… ah. Just a bit, a hint of pale glistening on the tips of dusky nipples as her voice wavers, nearly lost between kisses.]
Stay here with me… until my heat dies down… make it…
[That’s the challenge. There’s a part of her brain that knows she shouldn’t ask him to stay, that unlike that festival day when she’d pled for the same, there was some reason she shouldn’t… but it’s lost to hand fasting memories and drink and Marilla, and though she’s reluctant to pull away from the kiss… alright, just one more moment. To replace her lips, a hand gently begins to stroke up and down his erection at a painfully slow, wondering pace, sighing with the promise of potential relief as she uses her other hand to drag up his chest, find the collar, undo the button-
Struggle with the button, her frustration a tiny whimper against his teeth. Struggle with the next… before she pulls her other hand up to help and just… accidentally rips it off in her haste. It’s almost laughably easy for a woman of her strength, and at this moment…
Konoha would gladly spend her afterglow sewing each button back onto his shirt rather than be denied the sight and touch of skin in this moment, be denied returning to teasing him to full mast, and so… She’s sorry to his shirt, but it’s coming off whether it wants to or not. All of her patience for foreign clothing had been used up on his trousers, and this close, with his scent right under her nose… ?
The buttons are asking for it.
But surely he’ll forgive the transgression once his shirt is hanging open… and she can sink into a low dip of upper body between her forelegs to move from kissing his mouth to kissing his chest, down, down, until she can press her lips to the tip of his cock again… and wrap her warm breasts snugly around his newfound girth, looking up for his approval with her cheeks flushed and soft pants of breath fluttering over the saliva she’s left on his skin.]
no subject
But in the depth of her more instinctive heat, craving for a male to prove his strength, to make her his, to fill her so well in more ways than one… Konoha can’t help but care, and as her kimono slides from her muscular shoulders, as her thick mane tumbles loose from its bun and his fingers send it down her back, all the way to her withers and framing her face in a far more mature way than her usual hairstyle… She can’t help but whine softly, as if his teasing accusation of greed wasn’t teasing at all, like she had to answer for her shamelessness.]
I know…
[She has to part from the cock she’s fallen into attending when he sits, temporarily breaking the primitive spell and bringing just a touch less haze to her eyes as she watches him arrange himself, her tail quivering and flicking as best it could beneath the tight confines of the skirt she’d hastily tied on after her attempts at self-pleasure had failed, the musky scent gradually growing stronger the more her arousal, leftover and new both, stains the fabric. But the moment he reaches for her, gives her permission to come back…
Her kiss is greedy, slowly losing to the need he’s offered to sate. The same prick of teeth from beneath that tree, softened as best she can with plush lips that taste faintly of him. A whimper slides off her tongue into his mouth when his hands delve into her half-off robe, as she shrugs out of the sleeves to make it more off, flexible upper spine dipping to press her breasts needily into his hands. She isn’t so painfully full as the first time they had touched, it’s been far too many months since she’s been separated from her daughter, but she hasn’t been able to let herself dry up fully, coaxing out a bit each night to keep herself able, no matter how lonely doing so made her feel, because to do otherwise… would be too much like giving up.]
Nikolai, please…
[It would be too much like accepting she was stuck here, like she’d lost the hope that maybe today, maybe tomorrow, she might be back where she belonged, with a husband who would hold her and a child who needed her. So though she isn’t as quick to spill over his fingers the telltale whimpers of sensitivity are still there, the mounting pressure making her shift this way, that, in discomfort and pleasure both until… ah. Just a bit, a hint of pale glistening on the tips of dusky nipples as her voice wavers, nearly lost between kisses.]
Stay here with me… until my heat dies down… make it…
[That’s the challenge. There’s a part of her brain that knows she shouldn’t ask him to stay, that unlike that festival day when she’d pled for the same, there was some reason she shouldn’t… but it’s lost to hand fasting memories and drink and Marilla, and though she’s reluctant to pull away from the kiss… alright, just one more moment. To replace her lips, a hand gently begins to stroke up and down his erection at a painfully slow, wondering pace, sighing with the promise of potential relief as she uses her other hand to drag up his chest, find the collar, undo the button-
Struggle with the button, her frustration a tiny whimper against his teeth. Struggle with the next… before she pulls her other hand up to help and just… accidentally rips it off in her haste. It’s almost laughably easy for a woman of her strength, and at this moment…
Konoha would gladly spend her afterglow sewing each button back onto his shirt rather than be denied the sight and touch of skin in this moment, be denied returning to teasing him to full mast, and so… She’s sorry to his shirt, but it’s coming off whether it wants to or not. All of her patience for foreign clothing had been used up on his trousers, and this close, with his scent right under her nose… ?
The buttons are asking for it.
But surely he’ll forgive the transgression once his shirt is hanging open… and she can sink into a low dip of upper body between her forelegs to move from kissing his mouth to kissing his chest, down, down, until she can press her lips to the tip of his cock again… and wrap her warm breasts snugly around his newfound girth, looking up for his approval with her cheeks flushed and soft pants of breath fluttering over the saliva she’s left on his skin.]