[ In truth, he doesn't really know what he's doing. Even setting aside his meager level of experience when it comes to these sorts of encounters with women, the rest of his knowledge gleaned through guiltily-consumed porn, his thoughts are just running too quick and hot for him to be acting in any rational fashion. And the meager threads of restraint holding together his self-control just about snap when he hears that low croon of Kiritsubo's voice; each word drips into his ear as sweet as honey, and clings to his nerves with the same sticky persistence.
Fuuta's keeps his mouth moving diligently, but his tail unwinds from Kiritsubo's leg -- just so it can wag behind him with such enthusiastic force that its tip whaps against the floor, then the wall, then back again. He's an easy book to read at the best of times; now, when he's nigh drunk on pleasure and anticipation, his thirst for more praise radiates off him in almost tangible fashion.
There's a delay before he answers her question, just because Fuuta wants one more sweet compliment, one more delicious drop of praise. The little tug at his hair is repaid with a thrust of the tongue into the soft, wet heat inside of her, a drag upwards, and the faintest graze of fangs against her clit accompanying the hot pull of suction, before Fuuta straightens up with a breathless gasp. A thread of fluids beads off his lower lip as he rasps, ]
Kajiyama. Kajiyama Fuuta.
[ He'd normally demand her name back. A fair trade, he'd call it. And basic manners. The most standard give-and-take. But right now, he's in no state of mind to care about that.
Fuuta instead lunges up to once more slot his arms against her body, one knee shoving up against her thigh to rest against the mattress as he eases his weight up onto the bed. He's so worked up he's almost shaking, his tailtip hammering a steady drumbeat against the floor as his reflexively grinds his hips up against her groin; even clothed, the tent of his cock straining against his clothes is almost painfully obvious as he growls, ]
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Fuuta's keeps his mouth moving diligently, but his tail unwinds from Kiritsubo's leg -- just so it can wag behind him with such enthusiastic force that its tip whaps against the floor, then the wall, then back again. He's an easy book to read at the best of times; now, when he's nigh drunk on pleasure and anticipation, his thirst for more praise radiates off him in almost tangible fashion.
There's a delay before he answers her question, just because Fuuta wants one more sweet compliment, one more delicious drop of praise. The little tug at his hair is repaid with a thrust of the tongue into the soft, wet heat inside of her, a drag upwards, and the faintest graze of fangs against her clit accompanying the hot pull of suction, before Fuuta straightens up with a breathless gasp. A thread of fluids beads off his lower lip as he rasps, ]
Kajiyama. Kajiyama Fuuta.
[ He'd normally demand her name back. A fair trade, he'd call it. And basic manners. The most standard give-and-take. But right now, he's in no state of mind to care about that.
Fuuta instead lunges up to once more slot his arms against her body, one knee shoving up against her thigh to rest against the mattress as he eases his weight up onto the bed. He's so worked up he's almost shaking, his tailtip hammering a steady drumbeat against the floor as his reflexively grinds his hips up against her groin; even clothed, the tent of his cock straining against his clothes is almost painfully obvious as he growls, ]
You know how you can thank me, right?