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Falin opens her eyes to a mostly dark room. The thinnest sliver of moonlight peeks in from the space where gentle winds push the curtains away from the wall. The breeze doesn’t reach her, but it’s enough to keep the room cool in the night. Despite that, sweat clings to Falin’s temples and the back of her neck, making her damp hair stick to her skin. And she feels much too hot, body stiff with tension that she knows — instinctively — is leftover from the dream she just had.
It’s only a shame she doesn’t even remember what it was; only has this inkling of a feeling that doesn’t let her settle back into a sleepy state. With a huff, she turns on her stomach, hoping the change in position will somehow help.
It doesn’t. Or at least, it doesn’t help Falin lull herself back to sleep. It does help her find out the source of her affliction. Immediately, she turns back, bolting upright into a sitting position. Her breath comes out in puffs like she’s just finished running from one side of the castle to the other, and she doesn’t dare to look down at her own lap.
She sits and she pants, and she hopes it will go down if she simply doesn’t give it attention. Instead, Falin becomes more and more aware of it – the erection tenting the thin sheets around her waist – and how her heightened senses seem to search for something that will soothe her growing ache.
There’s an itch, too… barely there on her nostrils that just won’t go away. And it may be subtle, but it’s bothersome. She rubs on the bridge of her nose with the side of her hand to no effect, then sniffs, like she’s trying to slow a runny nose despite not feeling like that is the problem — which it really isn’t. She does, however, catch the hint of a scent; so subtle and distant she wonders if it’s only a fabrication of her not-so-awake mind.
She sniffs again. The scent is still there, like a beacon through thick fog.
There’s no going back to sleep now, she thinks before kicking the sheets off. Something about the scent calls to her, so much so that she even manages to momentarily push the thought of her erection out of her mind. That is something for later; first, she has to know where the smell is coming from, and why it’s so alluring, even faint as it is now.
At the very least, Falin retains enough sense to put on a robe over her sleep clothes, lest she bumps into anyone wandering the halls during her search. Out in the hall, it mixes with multiple scents from around the castle, but with a few curious sniffs her gut tells her it’s close. She picks a side and walks down the corridor, sniffing the air as she goes. With eyes closed, she relies on her nose alone. As a result, she walks in circles once — maybe twice? She can’t be sure — before she opens her eyes again and finds herself facing the door to Marcille’s quarters, not much farther than a few steps down from Falin’s own.
She sniffs at the door. The scent is a little stronger on it. She sniffs again. No, not on it. It’s flowing from the gap between the door and the floor. Falin freezes. It’s late, and Marcille is likely asleep. So obviously, instead of walking back to her own room, Falin stands there at Marcille’s door and thinks about Marcille nestled over a pile of soft feather pillows and wrapped in warm blankets; and can’t help the growl that bubbles up from her chest at the thought that she could provide a more comfortable nest for the mage.
Falin stands there until she’s reminded of why she’s awake and out of bed in the middle of the night. It hadn’t gone down. If anything, she could swear her cock only got harder once she stopped on Marcille’s door. She thinks of Marcille, and it twitches inside her shorts. Cause and effect.
She knocks. Flinches at the sound of her knuckles hitting the wood. Her hand slides down to the handle, but she pauses. Marcille wouldn’t mind, she certain of it, but—
The handle moves by itself before she can finish her line of thought.
Marcille looks as sleepy as Falin thought she would be. Eyes unfocused and long ears drooped in the way they do when Marcille is tired or sad. They’ve always been as expressive as every other part of Marcille’s body, and Falin catches herself thinking about what sorts of new reactions she could provoke; blushes when her thoughts go down a very specific path.
“Falin?” It’s only a single short word, but her voice comes out coarse, cracking around the vowels. Marcille licks her dry lips and swallows, and Falin’s eyes follow each movement, from the glide of a pink tongue to the subtle bob of Marcille’s throat. It makes Falin mirror both moves. Her tongue feels thick in her mouth when she swallows; heavy with the scent that — she realizes now — is undoubtedly stronger with Marcille standing right in front of her. Her nostrils flare. There’s an impulse to step closer, to bury her nose in the spot that connects neck and shoulder and inhale deeply, filling her lungs with Marcille’s sweet, floral smell.
She realizes she’s been standing there in silence for a few seconds too long, and it must be getting awkward. That, or making Marcille worry for her wellbeing. But Falin isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say; how to even begin to explain that she woke up sweaty and a little frantic and ended up on Marcille’s door by following her instincts alone.
“I can’t sleep.” It’s true. Just not the whole of it.
Marcille smiles, tender and still a bit sleepy, and pulls Falin by the shoulder. “Sooo… sleepover? We can chat a bit until you feel sleepy.” She pauses, a light dusting of color gracing her cheeks because this wasn’t her first thought. “Or— we could go down to the kitchen for some warm milk?”
Immediately — and vehemently — Falin shakes her head. Marcille’s hand on her shoulder feels so warm Falin thinks they could burn a hole through her shirt. It spreads the heat slowly through her body, and her cock twitches again, eager to chase more of Marcille’s warmth; dreaming of the place where her body burns the hottest.
Falin takes a deep breath, getting a lungful of the scent that started it all. It makes her mouth water, and her vision, that had been oh so clear since her transformation, momentarily glazes over.
“No. No. The, um. The sleepover is better,” she says and lets Marcille’s hand pull her, hyperaware of the way they slide from her shoulder to her wrist. Falin’s gaze remains glued to Marcille the whole time, mind working both too fast and too slow.
Marcille sits on the bed and pats the other side for Falin, but Falin doesn’t want the other side of the bed, she wants to stretch her body over Marcille’s and crowd her personal space; wants to keep her nose pressed to Marcille’s neck and dig her sharp teeth into tender flesh; Falin wants— “You can hang your robe there,” Marcille points.
Falin is still standing awkwardly, like a lost puppy, when Marcille’s voice breaks through her fantasizing. She looks at the clothes rack on the side of the room, tucked behind a folded privacy screen. It’s mostly empty save for a set of Marcille’s sleep clothes, and when Falin steps closer she notices it smells almost the same as the scent that caught her attention. It lacks something, though; something she can’t quite grasp.
While she unties the belt keeping her robe closed, Falin notices there’s no way Marcille won’t notice the tent on her shorts now. Maybe she could… tuck it to the side a little bit. Maybe. That would make it more subtle, wouldn’t it? Falin steals a glance over her shoulder at Marcille, who is waiting patiently on top of the mattress. She reclines lazily, ready to snuggle her pillow and go back to sleep.
That’s my chance, Falin thinks, rushing to the other side of the bed while Marcille looks distracted. As furtively as she can, Falin covers her groin with a pillow as she plops down on the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard. Now what. Just the simple friction of settling a pillow on her lap was enough to stir the want to rut her hips against it again and again. Not to mention the stupid allure of Marcille’s scent and the way it tempts Falin’s most primal urges. The mere act of resisting throwing herself at the mage feels like the most strenuous activity Falin has done in weeks.
“Do you need me to open the windows a little more?”
“Huh?”
At the sound of Marcille’s voice, Falin whips her head to the side. She’s not prepared to find Marcille already kneeling by her side and so close to her face, one hand reaching for her shoulder and the other, her forehead.
“Falin… You look a bit feverish. Are you okay?” She touches the back of her hand to Falin’s forehead and lingers, brows furrowing in concern. Then, she repeats the same motion on Falin’s feathered neck. “Maybe a healing spell w—”
Falin’s hands close around each of Marcille’s wrists, and that alone cuts her words short. Wordlessly, Falin shakes her head. Then, “I’m not sick…” A pause. “I think.” She shakes her head again when Marcille opens her mouth, ready to insist on a spell to cure whatever ailment had hit Falin. “It’s…”
She doesn’t know how to finish her sentence; embarrassment overshadowing the heated thoughts about Marcille. But she knows Marcille won’t settle, too stubborn to let go of the matter without a good explanation — something that Falin doesn’t have.
“I think it’s the… um. The dragon… side. It’s… acting up.” To put it lightly.
“Oh.” Falin hopes Marcile won’t pry further than that, but she knows it’s unlikely. “What is— What are you feeling? Are you hungry?”
“Kind of. I…” Deep breaths, Falin. “I woke up like this and it won’t go away.”
With a sudden burst of courage, Falin pushes the pillow away from her lap without looking down, keeping her gaze trained on Marcille’s face to catch her reaction. It comes slowly. Marcille doesn’t understand right away where she’s supposed to be looking at, but when she catches Falin’s nervous fiddling on her peripheral, her eyes fleet downward.
Red blooms from Marcille’s cheeks to the tips of her ears in a pretty blush, and there is a part of Falin that takes pleasure in it; that wants to push the advantage and see that red deepen. But then there’s another part, the weaker— the human and less animalistic, that is just a little bit fearful. Coiling in on itself like a kicked dog despite no kick coming yet.
“I thought it would go down if I didn’t do anything and then I kept smelling something and I followed it here and…” I just really want you to touch it.
For a moment, Marcille seems to forget about the “problem” between them. She tilts her head to the side and looks over her shoulder this way and that, like she’s waiting for something to reveal itself in her room. “You smelled something? What?”
“You…”
And there it is, the deepening blush. Marcille looks down, hands balled in fists over her own lap. This is it, Falin thinks, this is when the rejection comes.
“I can make it go down.” Marcille says, cheeks still a burning red and chest puffed up in determination.
Still, neither of them moves. Marcille, because she wants Falin to be the one to give the first step — to accept the offer she put on the table; and Falin, because… She’s still not looking down, she’s still hesitant to slip her fingers under the waistband of her shorts and pull them down. In all her 23 years of living, Falin has never had to deal with a cock between her legs, let alone one of her own. Let alone one that is decidedly not even human. How would Marcille react to it? Would she still want to help after seeing what it looks like? Falin is not disgusted by her new body and the few extras that come with being a chimera, but Marcille was never a fan of monsters like the Touden siblings.
“Okay. Here goes…” Another deep breath in, and Falin’s hands fall to her lap, tentatively gripping the waistband of her shorts. She feels her cock twitch again, as if it has a mind of its own and is aware of the promise of Marcille’s touch. It doesn’t matter if Falin tries to pull her shorts down slowly; the faintest tug reveals the pointed tip, and that seems to be enough for her cock to spring forth out of its loose confines.
Marcille’s hands fly to cover her mouth and silence the shocked gasp she couldn’t hold back, and for a second, the reaction causes Falin to deflate a little, shoulders sagging even if her stupid erection stands proudly still. But then she hears Marcille’s muffled voice, “It’s— so big.” And Falin can feel herself preening.
With a little more confidence, she says, “You can touch it, if you want.”
Green eyes meet Falin’s, and Marcille gives her a sharp nod. “Right. Yeah. I want that.”
Slowly, she reaches for it, settling her hand on Falin’s thigh before sliding up towards Falin’s groin. The look on her face is one of pure focus, and Falin finds herself entranced by it. A feeling that isn’t all new, but feels especially strong when Falin knows that she is target of Marcille’s focus — better yet, her cock.
It still feels weird sometimes, to call it hers, but Falin had never been happier to have a cock between her legs than she is when the thought hits her that Marcille’s hand is on my cock. The touch is feather-light and tentative, but even that feels electric to Falin, who has to fight not to rut into Marcille’s hand and put an end to her slow ministrations.
For her part, Marcille is fascinated. The color is a shade of red that is definitely reminiscent of the dragon, but somehow manages to not look like a random piece patchworked over Falin’s fair skin. And the shape is something else. Marcille can easily point what is different about it from her studies of anatomy. The base is already thick enough by itself, but then it widens like a gourd, and Marcille can’t help but wonder if she could take it all the way down. Its girth barely narrows again before widening into another bulbous stretch, although not as wide as the lower one. And then the glans, slightly more pointed than a human penis, and thinner at the tip. It curves slightly up, towards Falin’s own abdomen. Marcille catches herself wondering again; about how it would feel inside her, how it could easily reach that perfect spot. She feels a telltale dribble between her legs, and presses her thighs tightly together.
Falin notices not only the movement that Marcille tries to be subtle about, but the wave of honey sweet scent that reaches her nose and makes her salivate.
“Marcile…” She needs more, but she’s not sure what she’s going to ask for. There is so much she wants to do that she simply doesn’t mind being at Marcille’s mercy while she thinks about her pick.
Once Marcille is done with her thorough examination of the look of Falin’s cock, she moves on to get a better feel of it. She wraps her hand around it and runs her thumb across the tip, catching the beads of precum that leak on her finger and spreading it across before tentatively moving her hand all the way down and up again.
Fallin breathes in. It feels nice to have Marcille’s hand playing with her cock, much better than her own had felt when she got curious about her body’s new features, but Marcille’s touch is still so light it’s barely there — it teases more than anything — and Falin had at least explored her own body enough to know how to make it feel better. So she puts a hand over Marcille’s and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“You can hold it a little tighter.” And then she squeezes Marcille’s hand again, but this time applying the same amount of pressure she wants around her cock.
Of course someone as smart as Marcille would pick it up fast, and with minimal instruction. Following the single tip Falin had given, she adjusts her grip and tries again.
“Like this?”
Falin sucks in a breath and nods instead of giving a verbal reply. Marcille’s lips curl up in a smug smile, and she repeats the same motion once, twice, thrice... She settles on a nice rhythm for her massage, and doesn’t pick up the pace until she notices the tremble on Falin’s thigh; the balled fists on each side of her body. At the first sign of faster pumps, Falin gives up on restraining herself so fully. She drops her head back and moves her hips up to meet Marcille’s hand halfway, panting breaths leaving her parted lips.
It doesn’t feel just nice now. Falin is sure that if Marcille keeps up with what she’s doing, she’s going to be coming soon. But just as she thinks that, Marcille stops. That coupled with the unexpected weight on her lap makes Falin open her eyes again, only to come face to face with Marcille straddling her thighs.
The new perspective puts a thought in Falin’s head, one of many that she thinks they might get to later. A perk of the change in position is that the movement makes Marcille’s nightgown ride up her thighs, revealing more of the supple flesh that Falin wants to sink her teeth into. She puts a hand on each of Marcille’s thighs at the same time the mage grabs her sensitive cock again, and she ends up giving Marcille a tight squeeze on instinct; tighter than she meant to, but Marcille doesn’t mind — even seems to enjoy it. If the way she grinds her hips is any indication, anyway.
Marcille resumes her touch without delay, working up to the same rhythm as before, and it’s then that Falin realizes why Marcille decided to straddle her. This way, she couldn’t move her hips up into Marcille’s hand so easily; if she tried, she would just disrupt Marcille’s handjob, and Falin didn’t want that. The steady rhythm of Marcille’s hand was just right.
“Marcile…” Falin squeezes her thighs again. “I think—” She swallows hard. There’s an itch on her gums that begs Falin to bite into something. “I think I’m going to— Haah. Going to c—"
She cuts her own words off with a grunt, baring sharp teeth as she spills her release over Marcille’s clothed front. Dragon and human clash again at the sight; while one side loves the mess made of Marcille’s neat appearance, the other feels a bit embarrassed about the stains she knows will cling to the fabric. The dragon side wins when Marcille doesn’t recoil, showing curiosity instead of repulsion as she swipes up Falin’s cum on her open palm.
“It’s so thick,” she says, poking it with a finger. “Like melted caramel.”
And the thing is, from the moment Falin awoke, sweaty and painfully erect, thoughts of Marcille have been floating on the back of her mind; some that she entertains, some that she tries to push back to where it came from. But when Marcille makes a comparison like this, Falin can’t help the flood of thoughts where she fucks Marcille’s mouth and makes her swallow all that Falin has to give.
“… down.”
Falin had noticed that Marcille’s mouth was moving, yes, but did she hear what Marcille was saying? “Huh?”
“Your… um.” Marcille blushes and looks to the side. Falin connects the dots quickly.
“Oh!” She looks down at her lap — it didn’t go down. Is that what Marcille was saying? A grin lights up her features when Falin looks back up at Marcille. “It takes a bit more for that.”
“You tested?”
“A couple of times. By myself. I was curious,” she says, not at all bashful. Anyone else would do the same, she thinks. “I thought about you a lot.”
Falin blurts it out without a second thought, and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t regret it. It’s the truth, and with that out in the open maybe Marcille would ask her—
“Wh— What did you think about?”
Score.
But… now Falin would actually have to say those things out loud, and sometimes she would blush just by thinking them. Maybe she should have given her words a second thought.
“You could… show me?”
Falin nods, smiling. She can do that. Then, something comes to mind, a thought that she doesn’t mind sharing at all.
“I thought about kissing you all the time.”
Before anything, she wants to ask, wants to hear Marcille say with her own words that Falin can kiss her, or that she thought about it too, if Falin is lucky. But Marcille doesn’t give her the chance before she kisses Falin with gusto, like she had only been waiting for the opportunity to do so. She grabs Falin’s face and pulls her close to suck on her bottom lip like a woman starved, and Falin feels something break inside of her, another lock of restraint.
There is nothing chaste about the kiss, Falin doesn’t know why she thought it would be so; not with the way their night has been going so far, and especially not with the awareness that the stickiness in Marcille’s hand comes from Falin’s cum.
Marcille’s mouth is warm and soft and wet against her own and Falin feels herself burning up with the need to explore Marcille’s body and find all the other spots that feel this good. Mindlessly, she slides her hand under Marcille’s nightgown, feeling her up from her thighs all the way to her slim waist, where Falin tightens her grip to pull Marcille closer to her chest. And while their kiss wasn’t chaste, it definitely becomes messier when Falin does that.
They moan into each other’s mouths at the abrupt move. Falin because of the feeling of her cock pressing up against Marcille’s stomach, and Marcille because of the surprise of being manhandled.
Their kiss becomes hungrier and more desperate. There is more they want to do, and to get to that, first they need to break apart for a moment, but neither wants to do that, so they release all their heated energy into the kiss instead.
It’s only the need for air that finally forces their hand. Marcille leans back with a breathless gasp, panting, but Falin doesn’t relent. She chases Marcille with her whole body, tumbling the mage backwards, and for a second, she savors the moment; triumphant like a dragon lording over its prey.
Marcille looks good enough to eat. Flushed skin and panting breaths, and that smell. It was so much stronger now, it was making Falin dizzy. With the same gusto that Marcille had kissed her, Falin rubs her nose from the base of Marcille’s throat to her pulse point where her scent is strongest. On instinct, she bares her teeth, running their sharp points over Marcille’s carotid. Falin feels Marcille shudder under her, but instead of pushing Falin away, Marcille buries both hands in Falin’s hair and pushes her closer, mewling as she simultaneously rolls her hips up towards Falin’s.
Still letting instinct take over her actions, Falin grinds back. Marcille’s nightgown had ridden up and well out of the way, but there was still the matter of her underwear, which Falin does not enjoy the feel of. It’s not unpleasant by any means; the cottony material is soft enough. But it’s still on the way of Falin’s prize, and she wants it gone. She rolls her hips down again — harder, growling when Marcille’s underwear doesn’t magically disappear.
Marcille whimpers, pained, and Falin suddenly realizes she had just bitten Marcille’s neck. There’s no blood, but it sobers her up anyway. Falin freezes.
“I— Marcille, I’m so—”
Marcille kisses her again before Falin can get the apology out.
“It didn’t hurt that bad,” she pants, breaking the kiss but keeping their mouths close together. Their lips brush with each word out of Marcille’s mouth. “You just caught me by surprise.” Then, as if remembering herself, she pushes Falin away to look at her face with a serious expression. “But don’t bite harder!”
All Falin can do is nod. She wants to take care of Marcille, gentle at times and rough at others, but never harmful.
“Here, let me help you.” She gives Falin’s shoulder another push, and Falin is not happy about detaching herself from Marcille, but she obeys anyway, a little crestfallen but mostly confused. How does this help me?
But her eyes keep following all of Marcille’s movements, and when she slides a little ways up on the bed, hands on the waistband of her sodden underwear, Falin immediately understands. She moves to give Marcille room to maneuver, begrudgingly leaving her place between Marcille’s legs for a greater good. At least she can appreciate the way the fabric clings to Marcille’s skin as she pulls it down.
Marcille only gets exactly as many seconds as she needs to get herself free of her underwear. The moment she throws the garment to the side, Falin is all over her again, grabbing the back of her knees to pull her back into the same position they were before.
It’s perfect. Marcille’s outer lips part like a flower in bloom when Falin’s cock glides against her, and without the upsetting barrier of fabric, Falin can’t find it in herself to fight the urge to repeat the motion, so she doesn’t. She kisses Marcille and keeps grinding against her, slow and terribly self-satisfied by how it gets sloppier with each roll of their hips.
There is no warning the second time around. One second Marcille is lost in the mindless rutting of their hips, begging Falin to grind down harder and put more pressure against her clit, the other she feels her lower body being painted over with Falin’s warm cum. And maybe it’s just an impression, but Marcille thinks there’s more of it than before. It pools on the flat plane of her stomach, and she can feel it slipping down her sides and onto the sheets. Falin keeps moving, slower but steady, and pushes herself up to kneel between Marcille’s legs and get a good look at the mess she’s made, moving her hips just enough that some of the last weak spurts of her cum are released directly over Marcille’s glistening pussy.
Her cock doesn’t soften.
“Again.”
Marcille grabs her forearms with trembling hands, “Yeah. Alright. Inside, though. I need you inside now, Falin.”
Falin doesn’t really want to resist, nor does she think she can if Marcille begs so nicely again, but from her point of view, she’s reminded of how lithe elves are.
“Um. Do you… think it’ll fit?”
“Make it fit.” The effect of her demanding words is greatly diminished by the flush of her cheeks and breathless voice; it ends up sounding more desperate than bossy. “Just… start gentle, please.”
“I have an idea.” With the way Falin pulls Marcille, it’s like she doesn’t weight anything at all. In a blink, she finds herself straddling a grinning Falin again. “There. You can take it at your pace like this.”
Silently, Marcille nods, suddenly intimidated by the prospect of taking all of Falin’s cock inside her. “I… I’ve never done this.”
“Well… Me neither?”
It’s Falin’s smile, Marcille is sure. It eases some of the tension, and she even lets out a breathy laugh.
She nods, “Okay… Okay…”
It starts easy, as Marcille thought it would. When she adjusts herself and takes Falin’s cock in her hand, lining it up with her entrance, she takes the head with absolutely no resistance. She pauses before the first knot, feeling the promise of a stretch, and closes her eyes. A deep breath in and she sinks lower, pausing again before taking the rest. Falin is patient the whole way, even if she feels her legs tremble with the effort to stay still. Tentatively, Marcille moves up, testing how it feels to pull almost all the way out before coming down again — a little faster this time — to the same point she had stopped before.
“Marcille…” she moans, hands gripping Marcille’s waist. Falin sucks in a breath through gritted teeth; she doesn’t want to rush Marcille, but she also wants Marcille to hurry up a little.
Then comes the hardest part — the knot near the base. It’s a bigger stretch, but Marcille has to admit that she wants it. Badly. She just needs to take it slow at first lest she rips herself in half with it. As slowly as her own desire lets her, Marcille sinks further, moaning when she finally takes Falin’s knot with a slick plap sound.
And Falin expects her to take a second to adjust — to get used to the stretch of Falin’s cock — but Marcille surprises her by barely waiting before she leans with her hands on Falin’s chest and lifts herself up. Now, when she comes down, she takes it all in one go. And again. And again. Speeding up a little each time.
She huffs out a breath, suddenly slowing her movements. Falin feels Marcille’s thighs tremble on the next attempt to ride her cock. “This is— Hah. Okay, this is… harder than it looks.” With tired taps on Falin’s arm, she asks, “Switch with me?”
The response Falin gives her comes in the form of arms wrapping around her waist and a sharp smile pressed against her neck. Falin flips them over effortlessly, rolling her hips in a teasing motion as she settles above Marcille.
“Do you still need me to go slow?”
“Please no, I—” Marcille chokes on her words when Falin thrusts into her. “Yes. Again.”
It’s music to Falin’s ears. As is the subsequent squelching sounds that follow, backed by Marcille’s moans. And this is it, Falin thinks. This must have been what she was dreaming about, except it feels better than anything her mind could have come up with. Marcile takes her so well, feels so good, smells so good, even sounds good. She’s perfect, and Falin doesn’t want to let go of her. And for now at least, she doesn’t have to. For now, Falin can bury her nose in Marcille’s neck while she pounds Marcille within an inch of her life, feasting on their shared desire without worry for anything else.
Falin can feel herself get closer to her climax again, and in an attempt to reach deeper she lifts Marcille’s hips with one hand and presses the other against the wall, just above the headboard. She thrusts harder. The bed slams against the wall.
Neither of them cares about the noise, too absorbed in each other to even think about the possibility of someone hearing them.
Falin comes first, with a choked gasp of Marcille’s name, and yet she doesn’t stop. She slows, sure; especially when Marcille follows suit, tightening around her cock. But even as she covers Marcille’s inner walls with her cum, Falin continues to roll her hips in circular motions, doing as much as possible to drag out the stimulation for as long as possible without pulling out. She thinks she feels Marcille come a second time, and finally, finally, as she flips their position again to have the mage resting comfortably on her chest, Falin feels her cock go soft; slipping out with a thick stream of cum her knot was keeping inside.
The room is completely silent after that.
“Marcille?” There’s no response. She tries again. “Marcille?”
She feels the feathers on her chest get slightly ruffled as Marcille squirms, but Falin doesn’t get more than a sleepy groan out of her. It makes her smile.
“Okay. Good night, Marcille.”