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Click hereShe spreads her wetness over her lower lips, drenching them in her copious arousal. She seats the tendril between the swells of her lips and begins to rock her hips. Fully forward, fully back, grinding the length of her slit and sending maddening shocks through its erect crest. The tendril contorts to cradle her loins, cupping from the crest of her lips to the top of her buttocks, a slippery saddle conforming to the rocking thrusts of its rider. Her legs shake so strongly she's almost bucking.
She crawls forward, placing her tongue on the tendril and licking, up, up until she reaches the tip and flicks it with her tongue. She relents her torture and crawls further, arching her back and jutting her buttocks in the air, her hot little gape framed beneath them and between her legs, dripping and yawning, begging to be filled. The tendril hurls itself into her with a heavy squelch, pounding out its rabid hunger. She screams from the assault, her softness still tender. Deep grunts overtake the screams as she feels the harsh pleasure flood through her.
The phallus is near its release. She clenches that greedy little fist deep in her belly and holds tight, wrenching out her fit of ecstasy. Its waves are strong but brief as she goes rigid. A few moments of surging delight before the tide fades away, a diminished spurt from her drained body. The phallus's hammering quickens, speeding to its eruption. She rolls onto her back, the phallus nearly slipping out of her as she lifts her leg over.
At any thrust, its moment will come. She grabs the phallus, pulling it in deeper with every thrust. Then she drives a thrust of her own. She reaches back, snaps off one of the thorns from the wicked stalk, and plunges it into the phallus. The impaled tendril flails, spraying wild ribbons of sap from its tip as well as its wound. She feels its wordless wail pierce her stomach and mind. Her time is now!
She leaps to her feet but, before her second step, the tendril slams into her back, tearing a long gash with the protruding thorn, and knocks her to the ground. It clamps around her wrist with lethal force. Screaming in frustrated determination, she grasps the thorn, rips it free, and plunges it in again. In agony, the tendril's grip fails and she pulls free. Laid low with its gurgling wounds it watches her sprint away and vanishes into the forest. Gone.
- COMMENTS
InfernalKvltover 3 years agoAuthorThe third and final part is in the works. It'll be much more elaborate and bizarre and thus it will take my slow self a while to figure out how to write it. Hopefully it won't take too long. It's challenging but fun!
