Tyfiyah strode swiftly through the streets of Væringardt.

Now at last settled in the Northern capital, she’d finally been able to see to her affairs and gather information about her would-be protector, Mors Karrig.

After learning the location of The Green Lord, an inn and public house in a rough quarter of the city, she’d made up her mind to make an appearance to present him with a personal summons. If she’d let herself fret about what to do for any longer than she did, she might have lost her nerve.

After making the majority of the trip in disguise, she’d cast it aside on the off-chance that he may glimpse her approach. She wanted him to presume her a haughty and confident woman, unafraid to stride through disreputable streets, albeit covered in a cloak heavy enough to shroud her entire silhouette.

Hidden under the cloth, her large bosoms sat comfortably, supported with gravity charms that kept their weight from bothering her and resistant to the bouncing that would usually be brought on by walking so quickly.

Earlier that morning, she’d attended the wet-nursing responsibilities that would finance her trip to the frigid North.

It was such a relief to finally have her great mammaries emptied of their milk. Last night she had hardly slept, beset with dreams of longing that some Mors-shaped someone would come suckle upon her overfull breasts.

Now she was finally free. A sensation so soothing, it was worth the sore nipples. Her udders had been milked dry and occasionally bitten – with nipples as thick as thumbs, she offered a tempting vessel to nibble at. It was nothing she wasn’t used to, though. Despite her young age, her breasts had seen more work than most mothers and had become used to a lot of suction and the odd gnaw. The tenderness was a good ache, one that gave her some measure of pride as a woman with a lifegiving body that could feed the hungry with her huge, soft bosoms.

Arriving at her destination, she tried to banish the frown on her face, transmogrifying her cloak into a light shawl that left the generous curves of her body displayed by her form-fitting adventuring clothes.

This, she decided, was merely how a wizard stepped out of the cold Northern air and into a comfortably warmed building, and not at all the desperate recourse of a girl so sensitive to lurid comments that she’d hidden herself under a priest’s cassock when outdoors.

Pushing her shyness down deep and bringing a calculated detachment to her face, she strode inside and cast about at the surrounding tables.

The establishment was mostly empty, which was to be expected for the early hour. Mors was easy to locate, sat on the far side next to a table. She internally repeated what she intended to say once more before approaching. She was several steps forth before realising he wasn’t alone. In the gloom, a lithe woman knelt between his legs, bobbing her head in and out.

Tyfiyah was ashamed to misunderstand the process taking place before getting close enough to realise Mors’ trousers were down, and his great, thick shaft deep inside the attractive woman’s small mouth.

The discovery of the indecent affair robbed Tyfiyah of most of her practiced nonchalance. It appeared she wasn’t the only one getting suckled upon this morning. Mors looked up at her with only a hint of surprise.

Remembering herself, she resumed as much of her poise as she could. “My goodness, I hadn’t thought I’d catch you in the midst of such recreation,” she quipped, working hard to hide her shock at the sight of public sex. With any luck, the gloom of the seedy pub hid the flush in her face.

“Welcome to Væringardt,” he grunted.

A thrill of sordid excitement sprang through her as she resisted the urge to react. It was true that the clans made no secret of their lovemaking, a tradition that mingled with the culture of the port city’s sex industry to make for a uniquely unabashed hive of sexual proclivity.

In close company, Tyfiyah could see the woman between Mors’ legs was a wood elf with skin a shade lighter than her own. A pair of sharp hazel eyes appraised her only briefly before looking back up at her lover, big and innocent. With her lips stretched around a cock far too big for her, it was challenging to read her expression.

“This is my shield-mate, Syl,” Mors explained. “She is my sister in battle, and concubine at rest.”

The elf made a contented sigh as she sucked as if to reply and such is my pleasure, shield brother. Though you have such a large endowment, and I am but a dainty elf, your oral pleasure is of the greatest importance to me. Relax, and enjoy your suckling.

Tyfiyah wanted to laugh. The interaction seemed so pornographic, and yet, such were the ways of the clans. They didn’t shy to make celebration of their pleasure, when circumstances allowed for it.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Tyfiyah said, only to be ignored as Syl shut her eyes to focus on pleasuring her shield-mate’s shaft. It seemed far too big for her face, and yet she was performing remarkably well, and with great passion. She wasn’t so much giving fellatio, as she making love to him with her mouth.

The elf’s blank look was quite cute as she cooed lightly between breaths.

“She means no disrespect. She is occupied,” Mors explained. He seemed just as detached from how garish their fornication was to an erotica-obsessed wallflower like Tyfiyah, as if this was what the two of them did every day. Judging by Syl’s expertise, that explanation seemed quite likely.

Only now did it dawn fully upon Tyfiyah that Syl was not going to stop her efforts, and that Mors expected her to address him as he was being pleasured. She did her best not to let the realisation incur too long a hesitation.

She was grateful to find Mors' eyes darting over her form, a shadow of hunger passing over his gaze as his eyes lingered on her heavy breasts. It was the first and only impression of power he had afforded her in the otherwise intimidating atmosphere.

“Yes, well,” she began, scouring her face of shyness under the sounds of wet sucking and a small, delighted moan. “I have come to deliver you a summons. I expect you to present yourself at the tower in a week’s time.”

It was hard not to notice Syl’s pace had picked up in tandem with Mors’ generous staring at Tyfiyah’s breasts. The elf made a pleasantly surprised hum as if to say oh, what is this? Something fertile has caught your attention, good warrior? Wonderful! Let me celebrate your keen arousal with a more spirited pace and harder sucking.

Tyfiyah pursed her lips. She supposed idly that Mors’ shield-mate knew his body well enough to detect and pursue moments of arousal, and Tyfiyah’s overdeveloped hourglass figure had proven just such a trigger.

She paused for the words to continue, letting herself get caught up in watching the display.

“Are you close to…?” She began without thinking. Her whole body froze in embarrassment at letting the lewd question slip.

“Relatively,” he answered, as casually as if she’d asked the time. “We began some time ago. By whose authority am I summoned?”

Tyfiyah’s mind restarted in time to pretend she had the promiscuity to ask after a man’s orgasm. Blinking, she continued. “Mine. In Haqari tradition, an unwed woman may formally request the intimate attentions of a bachelor upon a single occasion without insinuation of impropriety.”

She was surprised that telling Mors she formally wanted to have sex with him did not strike her as the most embarrassing part of this interaction.

Mors sat in consideration, or perhaps racked by a wave of pleasure as his shield-mate maintained a remarkable pace, bobbing along his great shaft with a fluid swiftness. He made a grumble of pleasure as his eyes darted back to Tyfiyah’s breasts. Syl answered with a pleased moan as if to say yes, my great champion. Enjoy the pleasure. Lose yourself to the succour of my mouth. A well-hung warrior like yourself deserves deep, persistent satisfaction, and I will give it to you for as long as you wish.

“In such instances, are we not to seek parental approval?” Mors asked, beginning to strain.

“Traditionally,” she replied.

Mors had suddenly decided he had every right to glare at her bust. While he remained stoic, his dark eyes kept all the hunger of a stalking wolf.

Tyfiyah chose to capitalise on the rush of confidence that came with having Mors hypnotised by her chest. His arousal was infectious. “In modern times, a grown woman may insist on whom she gives her body to.”

Mors’ unfocussed eyes had locked with her massive bosoms, which now heaved as Tyfiyah’s breaths quickened. Between her legs, she felt her nethers twitch with excitement for the huge battering ram being expertly nursed in the ravishing elf’s mouth below.

Tyfiyah’s heart pounded for him, beating in time with the swift bobs of Syl's strained lips, now ranging a clear half of his length as she hilted him again and again and again in her throat, which must have been constricting him with such intense, wet tightness, pressured enough to hurt an ordinary man.

Syl was making excited coos as if to say oh, oh, this is it! Oh, happy day, your climax is approaching! I must speed your way onto victory! This tight pretty mouth will close steadfast around your great trunk and bounce swiftly along it. The mighty release of your enormous manhood is in sight! How I long for the thick nectar of your loins!

Pretending to scan the room, Tyfiyah straightened her back, pushing her huge breasts forward as she crossed her arms beneath them to lift them upward, shifting her weight to give them a jiggle as Mors drank in the sight of her and pushed his hips forward into Syl’s hot, tight waiting maw.

Tyfiyah couldn’t help but smile. The way he was when he was near release had none of the charm or rugged etiquette he usually exemplified. There was a bestial urgency to it that demanded he reach his satisfaction. In a way, it was vulnerable, but not at all in a physical sense. She felt somehow comfortable in the presence of his mounting orgasm.

He was without control like this, just a man panting for his release. There was a desperation to it that somehow touched her heart. A man’s release was such a simple thing in objective terms. It struck her that his need for procreation greatly outweighed the effort it'd take for her to allow him to act upon it. Beneath their civility, they were animals, and animals mated often and without hesitation.

Suddenly her shame was gone, and she felt no reservations about participating in Mors’ pleasure. “I’d like to spread my thick thighs wide open for you,” she found herself purring. “So you can thrust your great, big cock up into my womb as much as you’d like.”

Syl’s bobbing had become practically frantic, inhaling his mighty length deep into her mouth. She began making little affirmative, encouraging hums as she sucked the last few pulls of friction he’d need to release his cum, as if to say: It's okay, sweet shield-mate. I know you dearly need to cum, and I will do everything in my power to help you do so. I will not stop sucking at your enormous penis as hard and fast as I am able until you release all your seed. I cannot wait to swallow it all, as I have in the past, as I will in the future. It's okay to release your great bounty. My hungry little mouth is ready and eager.

Tyfiyah heard the telltale rush of Mors cum blasting powerful ropes of thick seed into the back of Syl’s throat, who had hilted him deeply, right to his base to receive the sperm.

Syl began making a series of fast, hearty swallows, battling to consume the torrent of semen hosing up from his enormous cock.

Dutifully, Syl continued bobbing her lips back and forth along his base just an inch to and fro, not only accepting his monstrous orgasm, but working to extend it by maintaining her friction and suction, squishing her cute little nose against his hard abs again and again as she swallowed over and over against his great shaft.

How Syl could contend with his torrent baffled Tyfiyah. The heft and density of muscle in his penis and large scrotum were considerable. With such a bulbous cockhead, his large urethra would have sprayed out more semen faster and more powerfully from his enlarged reproductive system.

Tyfiyah could only watch the display in awe. It was like an obscene circus act. A svelte and strikingly beautiful elven maiden, gracefully knelt between the legs of a large huntsman with her head buried between his legs to the lewd sounds of muffled, yet powerful gushing squirts of seed and rapid, deep swallowing.

So expertly had Syl delivered Mors’ crashing orgasm that it took a long moment to conclude.

The look Mors gave her as he drove his titanic load into his shield-mate’s throat suggested he might be imaging Syl’s undulating neck was Tyfiyah’s own fertile, twitching pussy which he was ploughing mercilessly as he kneaded her celestially-sized mammaries.

Mercifully, he eventually entered the throes of late orgasm. At last granting Syl the freedom to retreat back along his shaft and ease into the easier work of licking at his frenulum as she sucked out small jets of cum. Her elegant hands rose to gently caress his elephantine shaft as she leisurely swallowed the mouthfuls of seed spilling onto her lapping tongue and filling her cheeks.

“Well done, Mors, that was quite the helping,” Tyfiyah commended in the same lurid tone she’d teased him with before he came, Syl hummed a similarly congratulatory note as she saw to the dregs.

Mors only groaned, still in a daze. His muscles were still consorted, and his cock twitched as it drained the last of its bounty, and Syl quietly drank from his tip. Her back was no longer arched to push her mouth down against his base, and she was kneeling quite gracefully.

Tyfiyah took a seat across from him at the table. Her momentary courage was faltering as she registered that the pub had other patrons, and despite the public display, she was what primarily captured their attention. Public fellatio was probably not nearly as rare as a huge-breasted Magi.

Mors made a satisfied exhale as his senses returned to him, fixing his posture and finding his composure. Below them could be heard the quiet sounds mouthing and swallowing as Syl’s lips remained locked on his cockhead, from whence she appeared to be licking at his urethra, lapping up what residual fluid was oozing out in his afterglow.

“You were kind to indulge me with such colourful language,” he murmured. “Though, with such concerns for your reputation, I hadn’t expected it of you.”

“Welcome to Væringardt,” she smirked with what she hoped was a smouldering look.

Syl was running her soft hands up from the root of his shaft up to his tip, as if squeezing out the last droplets of moisture from a waterskin. Clearly, there was still something coming out of his huge cock, else she wouldn’t still be down there lapping away at him like a cat at its water bowl.

“May I have an answer?” Tyfiyah asked.

Mors appraised her for a long moment. Sounds of wet licking hung in the air as she held his gaze.

“Very well then. I will still send word to your father and mother, though I will tell them that you have insisted upon me by your own honour.”

“If you must.”

“I would not have you like some hood in the night,” he stated, his gaze hardening. “I will pay the proper respects.”

“Do you mean to wed me, sir?” she joked.

Mors blinked, which for him, was a fireworks display of a reaction. “If I am invited as an honoured bachelor, an honoured bachelor, I will be.” He asserted.

Clearly, Mors had gone dry because Syl had, at last, released his softening cock from her lips to sit back on her haunches and rub at his length, watching his urethra like a hawk for any last drops to be teased out. It was the first time she’d stopped sucking on him since Tyfiyah had entered the building.

Just then, a small pearl of semen peeked out of the slit she’d been carefully examining, and Syl took his whole glans back into her mouth to suck on, going back to tonging at his frenulum, coaxing out any other iota of sperm that could be found.

“If you will excuse me, I must speak to the proprietor,” he said, coaxing Syl off his cockhead, who was quite reluctant.

Standing, he pulled his trousers back up and left the two women at the table.

Huffing, Syl took a seat. She sat with a casual confidence that Tyfiyah might not have expected from someone who’d just performed an act of such supreme submission.

Now they were at eye level, the elf looked over Tyfiyah properly. “I can see why he likes you,” she said quickly. She had a sweet voice, though it seemed tempered by the rough living of the clanholds.

The voice Tyfiyah's overactive imagination had given Syl was off in terms of tone, but the roguish playfulness she’d interpreted in her humming was there.

“Why?” Tyfiyah asked, her teenage insecurities escaping to the surface.

“Besides the obvious,” Syl began, eyes flicking over her curves, “he enjoys women who challenge him. Admires clever girls who know better than him.”

“Like you?” Tyfiyah grinned.

Syl smiled back mechanically. “I try to look after him, but I do not know things best. besides, I’m not the loving sort. I have only ever been Mors’ shield-mate. I do not wish for more.”

Tyfiyah broke a lull in the conversation. “May I ask what boons you employ to achieve… those results?”

“Aye, you can tell it was magic?”

Tyfiyah inclined her head. “Naturally.”

Syl bore her neck, touching a leather band around it. “This collar was made by old Haqari Magi for the courtesans of minotaur lords. Its magic softens the spatial nature of the wearer’s mouth and throat so that they can fellate the monstrously endowed so long as their lips can pass around its head. Without it, I would never be able to pleasure him swiftly, nor cover the full length of his shaft.”

Then Syl reached to pull up the folds of her undershirt to reveal Northern runes doted about her lower stomach.

“These runics steadily convert seed into life energy that reinvigorates the body. I believe they were adapted from Haqari sigils that worked similarly, though their purpose was to transmute the seed in the womb to avoid pregnancy. Without the process, I would not be able to go on swallowing at the conclusion of our ducklings, as Mors prefers. I would be full with just one.”

Tyfiyah nodded. “I’m familiar with the sigils. You clearly take your shield-mate’s lusts seriously.”

“As well as I do skill in battle,” she replied. “I hope you intend to care for him as ardently.”

Tyfiyah cleared her throat to hide any exasperation in her reaction. “I will certainly do my best.”

A smile slowly rose to Syl’s plump lips as she watched Tyfiyah’s body language. Without a monstrous cock distorting her features, she was the picture of wood-elven beauty, her round face as pretty as it was adorable. Tyfiyah imagined there many men who would long to plunge their loins into her soft, full lips, and be suckled until they came as they admired her gorgeous face.

“I suspect you will,” Syl purred, crossing her legs. “With your hips, you’ll have better luck than me. Though I’m sure, you’ll believe he’ll take years to master.”

Tyfiyah didn’t know quite how to respond, somewhat overwhelmed with the notion of being the object of Mors’ lust for years of her life. She decided to change the subject.

“What makes you think he’s interested in more than my body?” While the question didn’t exactly burn with immediate relevance, given Mors and Tyfiyah were still relatively unfamiliar, she did wonder what the huntsman actually strove for in his strange, stoic life.

Syl almost laughed. “Mors has had women of your proportions before. I’ll admit, you’re certainly exceptional, but there are orcbloods in the clans with quite similar silhouettes who would have taken Mors as the head of their households. No, Mors has found something in you.” Syl leaned closer, with an unreadable expression. “Does he not strike you as a romantic man?”

“Well, no,” Tyfiyah admitted. “I’m sure you know him better, but he strikes me as distant and stubborn.”

Syl inclined her head an inch. “Perhaps.” Her gaze hung in the air in a moment of consideration. “He has enjoyed a raucous sexual history, but he has been unlucky in love. I wonder if he stopped believing in it.”

“May I ask if he ever loved you?” Tyfiyah asked. It was a candid question, but it burned at her.

Syl hesitated for the first time since Tyfiyah had met her. “He may well have,” she admitted, in a soft, sober tone. “Would you believe he was once half my height?”

“Surely not,” Tyfiyah answered, appreciating the pivot in the subject.

“We were taken in by the clan very young. Mors is a quarter elf, you see. There was no one around to watch his back. I suppose I became protective.”

Tyfiyah listened, enrapt. She might have guessed Mors' sharp face had something to it besides good cheekbones.

“As we became warriors, we came to see one another differently. By the time he reached my height, we were lovers.” Something like regret passed over Syl. “He grew and grew, and it became harder to take him between my legs. Before I knew it, he was a hulking tower of a man, and I was still the slim wisp of an elf. I could not love him the way he wanted, and neither could I please him the ways he hoped. I had failed him as both his kinbearer and shield-mate.”

Syl’s gaze had become glassy. She was hardened to the recounted guilt, but it was clear she still took it quite seriously.

“I’m sure he never held it against you,” Tyfiyah uttered.

Syl looked at her blankly. “It was pain I caused him. After promising him the delights of lust and letting him fall in love, I rewarded him with neither. As much as a year passed in that time, as I sought the collar I wear today. What I deprived him of leaves an ache a man does not forget.”

“You satisfy him wonderfully now, though,” Tyfiyah observed.

“That I do,” Syl agreed quietly. “Would that it could undo what I could not give.”

The two women sat in silence together for a moment, considering the weight of the past. Perhaps Mors’ strong silence had been weathered by more longing than what was found in the mere loneliness of the wilds.

They were interrupted by approaching footsteps. Syl stood abruptly, and Tyfiyah turned to see a drunken orcblooded man lunging her way, almost upon her.

Something sung through the air close to Tyfiyah’s face and made a sudden thunk before her face was splashed with something warm. The man withdrew with a yelp, a knife sticking from his side.

Tyfiyah had barely registered that the knife had come from Syl, standing as Mors appeared from nowhere to kick the man’s back leg out and land a punch across his jaw.

“You will fight me,” he grunted, not as a question, as the combat rites of the clans required, but perhaps intended as one.

The man, confused and angry, roared as he pushed himself to his feet only to be hit with a second, far stronger punch across his eye. The strike left his large body go entirely limp, slumping into the dust of the floor.

Syl was rushing forward but slowed as she saw the danger had passed, stooping to pull her knife out of the unconscious man.

“These reaches of the city will not be kind to you, Magi,” Mors told her, giving Tyfiyah his full attention as she strained to process the last few seconds, touching the splatter on her face to find the man’s blood on her fingertips. “You had best be upon your way.”

Her mind caught up as she suppressed the sense of shock. Adventurers didn’t freeze in the face of danger, they thrived in it.

“Perhaps you are right,” she agreed, her voice coming out shaky.

Mors hefted the large man like he were a sack of grain and carried him outside as Tyfiyah followed. Stepping out into the street, a very light rain had begun to fall, icy fresh against the skin.

Mors let the drunk collapse from his grip into the mud not far from the door. His body hit the earth with all the grace of the dead. “I will accompany you home,” Mors stated unceremoniously.

Tyfiyah was about to agree when her spinning mind remembered what Syl had told her. Mors liked to be challenged. “I am quite capable,” she replied, her voice steeled.

Mors frowned rather deeply. “It is no gentlemanly affectation, it is for my own honour.”

“And I would refuse it. You underestimate me, Mors Karrik.”

Mors looked incensed. There was more emotion to him in that moment than she had seen in much of their time in the forest. She was suddenly very glad she had chosen to be difficult.

“You will not leave me waiting at our appointment, ser,” she stated, transforming her cloak into something more modest and pulling up the hood. “Good day.”

With that, she was off, her heart still racing with adrenaline, determined not to look back, knowing full well Mors would watch her leave, powerless.

There would be time enough for him to prove his honour in a week’s time.

---

By the end of the day, Syl felt a familiar ache in her jaw and tongue, though it was nothing she wasn’t used to. Already, she wondered if they had exceeded their record for most seed drained by her mouth in a day.

That evening they had retired to bed early. After bathing together, teasing him all the while, she had commenced his nightly fellatio, climbing inbetween his legs beneath the blankets to suckle on his enormous penis at her own pace. As an elf, she did not need sleep, and so when resting in safe places within a settlement, she enjoyed spending the night giving fellatio, entering the restive elven trance with the repetitive action of sucking.

Magically, she sent Mors off to sleep so she wouldn’t disturb his rest as she played with his body. He needed respite after the strains of a full day of pleasure and climax.

In unconsciousness, his orgasms were even harder to chase, as dreams disturbed his focus on sexual release. She would idly kiss and suckle, pleasuring his voyage through sleep by keeping his great loins stimulated until his drifting mind set upon a fantasy to chase.

Though Syl could hardly read minds, she liked to think she knew her shield-mate well enough to interpret the kinds of sex he chased in sleep, and that night she imagined much of it was with the buxom Magi who had summoned him.

Playfully, she settled into the routine of sucking and bobbing in a casual cycle, riding peaks and lulls of excitement as Mors’ dreaming mind explored his desires for Tyfiyah. Without the Magi in the room, there was no sudden rush of passion to pounce upon and escalate, just the winding waves of pleasure to follow, as one strolls through the woods when they have nothing to do.

She loved sucking Mors, not just because it was her passionate duty as his shield-mate, but because she adored pleasing a goodhearted man with the kind of great proportions that could so totally fill her mouth and unleash the great proportions of thick seed he did.

The steady stream of pre-cum, ever dripping from his glans as she nursed him, kept his salty umami flavour on her tongue, appetizing her for the helping that was to eventually come. The delicious feast that she still hungered for just as much as the first, with the runics transmuting it into energy in her belly.

As the minutes rolled by, the peaks of his pleasure lasted longer, and reached higher. Periods of twitching, rigid elation spurring her to accelerate speed and pressure. Time didn’t register as Syl took to the craft she enjoyed above all others. Together, they climbed the mountain of pleasure, up and up, until they were stuck in the high, and she maintained her frenzied pace upon him.

She laid siege to his cock, gripping his thighs as she pistoned her lips along his length, clamping down as tight as she could.

With Mors fast asleep, there was no room for carefully practiced adorable noises. Just the wet sounds of oral penetration and laboured breathing of a woman exerting herself at her favourite sport.

This was the part of the dream, she knew, where he was hammering into Tyfiyah’s tight, inexperienced pussy. Pounding down into the hot, slippery depths of the woman of his dreams as her huge bosoms bounced. Ramming the womb, he most dearly longed to impregnate.

In her half-waking trance, she wasn’t awake to the minutes rolling by. Their bodies just did what they longed to until, eventually, the tell-tale straining of his climax set in.

Rushing to his base, her shield-mate’s powerful jets of seed hosed down her throat. Careful not to compromise the strength of suction, she swallowed hard and fast, keeping the load from overwhelming her. It had been years since she’d let a drop of his cum burst from her nose or mouth. She would never let it happen again.

She felt her hungry stomach fill anew as his great cock strained in the constriction of her throat. Despite the familiar power of his release, his volume had waned as she’d slowly drained his balls that day, which had worked hard to refill. She wouldn’t let them swell back up with thoughts of Tyfiyah in the night.

After she’d accepted the lion’s share, she leaped to his big cockhead to whip her tongue at his frenulum and suck out the rest. Her insistent mouthing and suckling for his last drops drew on long after he was clean, becoming the oral foreplay of idle stimulation again, urging Mors to seek a new fantasy and accept another round of building his way on to a new release.

And so it went on as the night hours passed.

As much as she worked on perfecting her little excited noises, fellating Mors really did make her very happy. It recalled home. It celebrated the most crucial act of intimacy that had forged their unbreakable bond. It was an art she may have been better versed in than anyone else across the clans.

Dawn came as she was drawing Mors toward his fifth release, and so she started making her purring coos of delight and gratification again, which he slowly awoke to.

Usually, she could empty him in the night, eventually drawing a paltry load from his drained balls, mostly characterised by dry straining as his huge penis tried to pump out seed it no longer had, though despite working him for much of the day prior and the whole of the night, she still found him modestly fertile, still able to summon his familiar jets of seed in her throat.

It was undeniable that he was taken with this beautiful Magi. Syl dearly hoped whatever was enfolding in Mors' love life would end well.

[Author's note] If you approve of what I'm doing, and want to help me justify putting more time into writing content like this, please consider my tip jar (via my profile).