Not a challenge to be taken up at all, of course! Why ever would the werewolf feel any sort of inklings of competition?
Baptiste is a good sport, if only because the taunts of princess and darling are ultimately roles for him to play rather than anything damning to his ego. His confidence is ultimately unflappable - the man comfortable with showing just how 'flexible' he could be by being a little bit of anything people may want him to be.
Such is the promise of the performer - after all.
"Of course, mon cher," Baptiste purrs.
His back arches under Chika's coaxing touch. Fingernails dig into the other's shoulder as his hips move to meet with the other's body. His fingers spider over the man's chest, fingertips tugging at hair as he finds purchase as his body swallows Chika's cock once more.
"Oh, you're so thick-" Baptiste moans out the praises he'd promised Chika if the other had won. In part it's to keep his promise, in another part it's to see if he could fluster the other, "You fill me up so w-"
A new shift of his hips sends the other inside of him at a new angle, cutting off his praise. The sharp sensation of pleasure with just a bit of pain forces a sudden gasp - the crowd around them offers a rising clamor. With each new thrust inside of him, Baptiste becomes increasingly aware of just all of the eyes on him in this moment. How a ravenous crowd eats up just how blonde hair plasters to his damp forehead or how his back strains in the curved arch. A sheen of sweat is beginning to form over his flesh as he continues.
All the while his own cock aches. Each rough grind of his own hips sending a jolt of wanting through his own nerves.
no subject
Baptiste is a good sport, if only because the taunts of princess and darling are ultimately roles for him to play rather than anything damning to his ego. His confidence is ultimately unflappable - the man comfortable with showing just how 'flexible' he could be by being a little bit of anything people may want him to be.
Such is the promise of the performer - after all.
"Of course, mon cher," Baptiste purrs.
His back arches under Chika's coaxing touch. Fingernails dig into the other's shoulder as his hips move to meet with the other's body. His fingers spider over the man's chest, fingertips tugging at hair as he finds purchase as his body swallows Chika's cock once more.
"Oh, you're so thick-" Baptiste moans out the praises he'd promised Chika if the other had won. In part it's to keep his promise, in another part it's to see if he could fluster the other, "You fill me up so w-"
A new shift of his hips sends the other inside of him at a new angle, cutting off his praise. The sharp sensation of pleasure with just a bit of pain forces a sudden gasp - the crowd around them offers a rising clamor. With each new thrust inside of him, Baptiste becomes increasingly aware of just all of the eyes on him in this moment. How a ravenous crowd eats up just how blonde hair plasters to his damp forehead or how his back strains in the curved arch. A sheen of sweat is beginning to form over his flesh as he continues.
All the while his own cock aches. Each rough grind of his own hips sending a jolt of wanting through his own nerves.