Ivy

Nightfall

By itself, dinner wasn’t anything special—why should it have been? Canned beef stew heated on a camp stove, bottles of beer to drink, and that was it. Standing together at the kitchen counter changed it, made it into something different, something which never would have been acceptable back home into a treat.

Her bowls and silverware weren’t matched, and it would have been odd if they were. In my mind’s eye, I could see her grabbing a sufficient supply from a second-hand store, the same thing I would have done to supply a cabin. The same thing I’d done to supply my apartment.

It somehow made it homier, more intimate—instead of everything being matched and perfect, it was selected for a task and no more.

While she was doing the dishes, I excused myself and made my way to the outhouse.

I’d seen old-fashioned outhouses in movies, and I’d used pit toilets in State Parks before, so I thought I knew what to expect.

I’d heard that one bit of culture shock is the local toilets, and while I would assume that unless Ivy had put some money into custom equipment at home, that bathroom was equipped the same as every other bathroom.

She’d built the outhouse herself, so she could do whatever she wanted to.

Given her penchant for nudity, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had had windows in it, but she hadn’t gone that far. Up top, there were windows to let the light in—well, cutouts with screens. I suppose they’d help with ventilation, too.

There was a shelf inside, which contained a roll of toilet paper in a metal coffee can, undoubtedly to keep rodents from making off with the TP. There was also a covered bucket of white powder with a scoop. I sniffed it and it didn’t really smell like anything. I wasn’t sure what it was for.

The toilet itself had a simple wooden lid covering it, which was straightforward enough. It was also directly on the floor, what I assumed was a traditional squat toilet arrangement. I’d never used one, so I wasn’t sure.

Aiming in the light of the day wasn’t all that difficult, especially since it was a decently large hole. Possibly even large enough to fall into, which was a good reason for the lid. Aiming at night would be considerably more difficult, especially without light . . . surely she had plenty of practice, but I didn’t, and I doubted she’d appreciate it if I peed on her floor.

I was in the forest. There were trees for that.

•••

“You any good at making a fire?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Like, I’m okay, I can pile wood and with enough lighter fluid it gets going. How much lighter fluid do you have?”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Back home we rarely even had matches.”

I wanted to bring up how she’d used a Coleman camp stove with a piezo-electric igniter to cook our dinner, but it didn’t seem like the right time to mention it.

“Alright, you saw where the firewood was, bring some in.” She pointed to a wrought-iron wood crib next to the fireplace.

I hesitated for a moment, not because I didn’t know where the firewood was, but because as prepared as she usually seemed, there should have already been wood in the crib. The only thing I could consider was that she thought I might be cold, and wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m fine, I don’t need a fire to keep warm.”

“It’s not for now, it’s for later. Gets cold when the sun goes down, and we’ll want the heat.”

“Got it.” I motioned to the crib. “So you used it all up last time?”

She shook her head. “Bugs. There’s always some in the wood, can’t do anything about that. Especially in the summer—wintertime, they’re usually dead or dormant. If I left wood in here, I’d get an infestation. So it’s smarter to keep it outside and only bring it in when I need it.”

I nodded. “That makes a lot of sense. I’d never thought about that.”

“Over on the left side, there’s smaller sticks and stuff for kindling, bring those in.”

•••

Two trips later, and Ivy was working on getting the fire started.

When I stacked the last load of logs into the crib—logs, like shopping carts, should be in their appointed place and arranged neatly—she took out a small wooden box and opened it. Inside was an oilcloth sack; inside that was a burned wad of cloth.

“Char cloth,” she explained as she tore off a piece. “I could use a match, but why not be traditional?”

What she did next, I’d only seen in movies and always figured was conveniently edited to make it look cool. She took a bundle of dry grass and formed it into a nest, then put the cloth in the center, then she used a striking rod and the backside of her knife to shower it with sparks.

All of the sparks that landed on the cloth immediately became glowing embers, and she folded the nest and started blowing into it. At first, nothing happened, then there was a puff of smoke, then a cloud of it, and then flames were licking at the grass.

Before it could burn her hands, she set it in the middle of the tepee of sticks she’d made, and watched with satisfaction as the flames crept to them.

“No matches,” she said proudly.

“That was impressive,” I admitted. “You really don’t have matches back home?”

“We do,” she said. “I wasn’t being entirely honest about that. But if you want to be able to survive in the wild, you can’t count on matches. Maybe you can’t get them, or maybe they got wet.”

“You need the cloth, though.”

“Don’t need it, it just makes things easier.” Now that the fire was making progress, Ivy grabbed some fatter logs that I’d brought in, stacking them around the fire. “And I didn’t buy that char cloth, I made it myself, and I can make as much as I want. All you need is natural fibers and a sealed tin. It’s a good skill to have; making fire is one of the most important ways to survive in the wild.”

“I guess so.” I’d never really considered the need of surviving in the wild, but then I’d never been anywhere really wild.

“Now go sit on the beanbag chair, and we’ll watch the fire for a while.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have it? I can sit on the floor.”

“I’ll have you to lean against.”

•••

I was sprawled out on the beanbag chair, watching over Ivy’s head as the fire took hold and climbed up the bigger logs

“Something magical about a fire.”

“Mmm-hmm.” There was also something magical about being a body pillow for a minotauress. She was pressed against my crotch, and I could feel every twitch of her tail; no small part of my concentration was wondering if it was impolite to get an erection, or if she was expecting that. Not that I was likely to have a free choice in the matter.

Trying to focus on something else didn’t help, so I instead gave into my baser impulses and reached around her, groping for a breast.

She didn’t stop me.

I traced around her nipple, and she leaned her head back as my fingers explored her flesh, her taut stomach, the fur on her thighs. Those were places I’d been already, places I knew, and even if my dick thought otherwise, now wasn’t the time to revisit previously-explored territory, as much as I wanted to.

Still, I couldn’t help but run my hands over her breasts again, before I ventured up to her head. Her hair smelled nice, and it was short enough there wasn’t much chance of accidentally tangling it, or so I hoped.

Ivy gave off a contented sigh and snuggled against me, softer than she’d ever been. Was her hair a weakness I could exploit?

And then I lost track enough to bump into something hard and unyielding, something that demanded I explore, something no human had—horns.

I could feel how her hair surrounded them, and the rough not quite scaly texture of them. Similar in texture to a fingernail.

“What are you doing?”

“Can you feel that?”

“Sort of.” She leaned back against me, twitching her ears. “It’s more of a pressure, I can’t tell exactly where your hand is. Horns wouldn’t be much good if they were too sensitive.”

“Like your hooves.”

“Yeah. You humans have to wear shoes to protect your feet, I don’t.”

I ran my finger up to the tip of her horn. It was rounded, but as I pushed on it, I could feel it indenting my flesh. Blunt enough to not be accidentally dangerous, but sharp enough to gore if she chose to.

Ivy must have known what I was thinking, because she reached up and gripped my hand. “I could tear your guts out if I wanted to.”

“How romantic.”

She stuck her tongue out and ran her hand down my thigh. “Don’t be sad because you’re stuck with an inferior body. That’s just fate. Besides, I’d rather not disembowel anybody with my horns, it’d take forever to get my hair clean.”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t fool enough to think that the thought of cleaning up after would hold her back if she decided she needed to disembowel somebody. I ran my hand down her horn, touched her scalp and worked through her hair until I reached an ear. “How about your ears, how sensitive are they?”

“Find out.”

“You won’t gore me?”

“Promise.”

I hesitated, then reached forward. I could trust her.

Her ears were soft and velvety, occasionally twitching under my fingers. I traced around the border of each, pausing at a notch in her left ear. I was curious, but didn’t want to ask.

She answered anyway. “Fight with a bull when I was in school, he bit me. Got me with a horn, too, right under my scalp. You can’t see the scar, but it’s there.” She took my hand and pressed it against her skull, just above her bangs, guiding my finger along a stretch of raised, puckered flesh. “We were both teens, high on hormones, typical schoolyard fight. His skull was thick enough to take a punch, but his nose wasn’t . . . in the end, we did wind up fucking anyway.” She sighed. “I don’t know what that says about me.”

“I don’t think what you do when you’re young really counts. We all make mistakes.” I ran my finger down her nose, booping her gently, before gripping her around the chest, caressing her tight abdominal muscles. “So what brought you to Earth?”

“I was one of the top girls in school, but when I got out into the real world, things were different, and when the opportunity came I decided that I’d try something else, and here I am. Lucky for you.” Ivy shifted around and stood. “It’s a clear night, we ought to be outside.”

•••

In the city, dark wasn’t really dark. Streetlights and building lights and billboard lights and headlights washed out the sky, put a constant glow over everything even on a moonless night. Out here, the only manmade light was only the faint glow from the windows of her cabin.

It was just enough to keep her clearly visible as she went around the east side of her cabin, but as she descended into the low ground behind her cabin, she nearly faded from my view. Were her eyes that quick to adapt to the dark, or was she just so familiar with her land and surroundings that she didn’t need to be able to see them?

I knew about where the outhouse was—it hadn’t been that long since I’d visited it—but I couldn’t see it at all, reinforcing my thoughts about trying to use it in the dark. Or even find it. If I tried, there was every chance I’d lose myself in the forest.

“You doing okay?” I only just saw that she’d stopped, and nearly crashed into her. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the dark, and now I could at least make out her silhouette and the shadow-shapes of trees.

“Just go slow, I can’t see much.”

“Do you want me to go back to the cabin and get a lantern?”

I shook my head. “Not unless—how far are we going?”

“Not far, there’s a nice clearing. Here.” She grabbed my hand. “That way you can’t get lost.”

•••

I thought I’d seen this clearing from the back of her cabin, but at night it was impossible to be certain. Off in the distance behind us, I could see the faint glow of the lamps she’d left on inside, the only sign of civilization anywhere in my sight. Everything else was just darkness, and while I knew that there were other houses around, knew that the highway was only ten miles away, it felt like the two of us were completely alone in a hostile wilderness.

Having things brush against me when I was walking out in nature was normal, at least during the day. At night, everything was unidentifiable, everything was a threat. The ground wasn’t friendly on bare feet; there weren’t any jagged rocks but there were sticks and roots and tough plants that got caught between my toes. All my senses felt heightened, since i couldn’t see much, and couldn’t make much sense of what I could see.

We were in woods, and what little light the stars or the unseen moon had provided was dimmed; shadows and branches looked nearly identical, and if I hadn’t been holding her hand I wouldn’t have dared move, lest I get lost. I reasoned that we must be on a path, and yet I couldn’t see it.

I was aware when the ground changed from mostly dirt and fallen leaves underfoot to short grass and then taller grasses and plants. Now they were constantly brushing up against me, and then we were in a clearing and I could see a little—still not clearly enough to specifically identify anything besides Ivy, but enough to tell that we were in an open clearing.

In the city, I was used to all the noises of traffic and the occasional siren, noises I tuned out and only focused on when they were absent. In the short time I’d spent with Ivy, I must have started to get used to the sounds of nature, because while I hadn’t consciously been listening to the sounds of insects, I noticed as their song quieted. Off in the distance, though, there was still the constant thrum of frogs calling for mates or defending their territory.

Vague shadows occasionally flickered across the sky, half-imagined. Bats. On a moonlit night, surely the sky would be full of them.

Ivy led me into the center of the field, dropped my hand, and sat down. I hesitated—who knew what kind of bugs were in the grass—then decided that once again, Ivy had won.

“I’ve never had sex outside before.” Well, not counting earlier in the Jeep.

“Is that all you can think about?”

“Uh, yes?” I reached over and put my arm around her shoulders; she pushed it off.

“Close your eyes.”

I couldn’t see all that much anyway, so it was hardly a loss.

Ivy didn’t trust that I had; she covered my eyes with her hand and climbed on my crotch. I jerked back as something brushed across my leg, before remembering that it was just her tail.

She pushed against my breastbone. “Lie down,” she commanded, and I obliged, doing my best to gracefully do the easy half of a situp. I didn’t have the abs for it. She could have done it easily.

She crouched over me; I could feel her breath on my face and her breasts brushing against my chest, felt her loins against mine, felt the cool grass against my back.

“Your eyes still closed?”

I nodded.

“Okay.” She dismounted, twisting around yet still keeping her hand over my eyes. For a moment, as she shifted her weight, she pushed my head down, then the pressure was gone. I tried to imagine what she was doing; she’d already mounted me and I was more than willing to be ridden. I could already feel my dick stirring.

Her hand moved as she positioned herself and I could have opened my eyes and gotten a look. She didn’t have her strap-on, did she? If she was carrying it, I would have seen it; both of us had left the cabin without a stitch of clothing.

I felt her rest her head on my stomach, and expected to feel her tongue on my dick, but that never came. She lifted her hand and instructed me to open my eyes.

They went to her first. She was also stretched out on her back, her hands folded over her stomach.

“What—”

“Just look up.”

Reluctantly, I looked away from her, and cast my eyes skyward, gasping as the star-studded sky came into full view.

It was almost like a painting, framed by the trees. And maybe it was for the best that I couldn’t see all of it. Uncountable stars, spread across the sky, more than I could ever remember seeing all at once.

It felt like I was falling, like I was in a void, and then I fixated on a set of navigation lights crawling across the sky, an airplane too high to even hear, and then it was gone, obscured by the trees.

I could pick out a few, familiar stars and constellations—the Big Dipper, the North Star, and I was sure I’d recognize Orion if I saw it, but I didn’t. Maybe the trees were blocking it, or maybe it wasn’t over the horizon.

Closer to us, fireflies made their own light, flickering on and off by the hundreds.

I felt as if I’d gone back into time, when space was a vast unknown, when the constellations were first named. When my ancestors and hers would have gazed up at the sky, trying to make sense of it all.

A shooting star lit up the sky, briefly, skimming and flaring before winking out and I reached out and she took my hand and we watched the vast sky above us, the millions and billions of stars displayed overhead.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah.”

“There are so many lights in the city. At first it was so amazing and so new, how you lit up the night with your own artificial stars, painting the streets and parking lots. Corporate logos glowing in the night, McDonald’s golden arches as enticing as a flame is to a moth. If you kept them only for a while . . . when is the last time you saw the night sky like this?”

“I must have, maybe when I was younger? We took trips up north, every family in Michigan does.”

“You get used to your lighted palaces and then you want nothing more.” Ivy ran her finger down my stomach. “You forgot what you lost . . . I come out here every time the night is clear and look up at them.” She raised her finger and pointed to the sky. “That’s the Milky Way.”

“That streaky bit across the sky?”

She nodded. “You’re looking into the center of our galaxy, the origin.”

“Do you have the same stars?” That was something I hadn’t wondered until just now. Never would have if Ivy hadn’t taken me.

“Many are the same, some are not. Constellations are shifted for us—I can’t see any that I know from home, although I can pick out many of the stars that make them. That’s Távros, the Great Bull.” She pointed to a patch of stars. I vaguely remembered that one of the constellations of the Zodiac was also named for a bull. “And that’s Ageláda, the Great Cow. Kind of.” She snorted. “It’s weird, I’ve seen your stars enough that I can’t quite remember what our night sky looks like.

“You can see your planets, too. Most of them are visible some part of the year.” She pointed to a reddish speck. “That’s Mars.”

Mars was the closest hospitable planet . . . well, maybe. Elon Musk thought he could build colonies on it, and I wondered if in the future people on Mars would be pointing to a mote of light on the sky and saying ‘that’s Earth, that’s where we came from.’ “You can’t see your planet, can you?”

I could feel her shaking her head. “It’s too far. You can see our star, though.” She shifted around and got up, then turned and took my hand. “Stand up.”

I did.

“Now, look along my arm and see where I’m pointing.” She aimed for a spot in the sky, and I followed along. An insignificant speck among many, many others.

“Wow.”

“Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? If you were there, that’s all you’d see of your home.”

Ivy lay back down in the grass, and I lay beside her, our view now on the sky. I reached out and she took my hand.

“You can’t imagine all the things I’ve seen out here,” she said, gripping my hand again. “The moon in all her phases, even a partial lunar eclipse once. That was eerie. Or the Northern Lights—imagine the sky all lit up in falling veils of green and red.

“The sky changes with the seasons. The stars are in sharper focus in the wintertime. I don’t always sit as long in the winter, it gets too cold even if I’ve got a thermos of hot chocolate with me.”

•••

I didn’t really know what things were like back where Ivy came from, on an unseen planet orbiting a far-distant star that was just a single pinprick of light against so many others. I had known that we’d spent the last century ruining the night sky, and even out here there were still signs, be they airplane lights crossing high above, or a fast moving speck of light that was a satellite or maybe the ISS. There was nowhere on Earth to get away from it; probably even on a raft in the middle of the ocean there would still be man-made things crossing by overhead.

Just the same, it was cleansing to look into the night sky, to admire the skyscape. And it was intimidating, even more so out in the woods where my insignificance in the grand scheme of things really sunk in. I couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like if I was alone, if I hadn’t had her head resting on me, if I couldn’t feel the rise and fall of her chest every time she breathed.

I had no idea how long we were in the clearing before she finally lifted her head, stood up, and took my hand. I’d been reduced to nothing but the void and the reassuring feel of her head on my stomach, of her hand gripping mine as we both contemplated the infinite in our own way. Everything modern had been shed.

•••

The faint glow of the oil lamps she’d left lit shone through the windows of her cabin, a lighthouse in its own right. A guide to a safe harbor. I didn’t really start shivering until I crossed inside and felt the residual warmth of the fire, now little more than shifting, glowing embers.

Ivy leaned against the beanbag chair and invited me in, spreading her legs around mine, pressing against my back and wrapping her hands around me, pulling me tight. She was still warm, as inviting and mercurial as the coals in the fireplace, dual-natured, strong and soft.

I wanted to touch her and didn’t dare, not yet, I wanted the moment to stretch out, backwards and forwards, but I could lean my head back, I could feel the sharp jut of her chin on my shoulder and the soft flesh of her cheek against mine, the tickle of her hair on my ear and the unyielding press of her horn against the back of my head.

We’d looked up into the universe, and now it was just us. The final glow of the fire, still giving off heat even though the flames were gone.

She ran her fingers through my hair, across my skull where horns weren’t. I reciprocated, twining my fingers through the fur on her leg, reaching all the way down to a hoof. They felt much like her horns.

I was exploring around the bottom—the heel—when I felt her flex her hoof, something I hadn’t known was possible. Curious, I moved toward the cleft of her bifurcated hooves, gently pushing, feeling them move apart and then back together.

Ivy didn’t laugh out loud, but she was pressed tight enough against my back that I could feel her mirth. “They’re just like fingers, or toes. I can move them, get a better grip on things.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Can even grip things between my toes, if I want to.”

“Really?”

She nodded, a horn pressing against my head. “Don’t get ideas, I know girls who have a graceful enough grip, but I’m not one of them.”

“I wasn’t.” That was now a lie; as soon as she’d mentioned it, I had.

“Like, you can do the Vulcan salute, right? It’s like that.”

“Huh.” I pondered this new information. “They’re not . . . delicate, though, right?”

“No, not like your feet. Wouldn’t be much use if they were. Your feet are malformed hands, used to be good at gripping things but now they’re just complicated and delicate, and you have to wear shoes anywhere you go. I don’t.”

“That’s why we invented clothes.”

“Yeah.” She wrapped her arms around me again. “How’s that going for you?”

“Could be better. I’m not as cold as I was.” I hesitated, and then asked anyway. “Did you ever wear clothes before coming to Earth?”

Ivy shrugged. “Sometimes when it was cold, yeah. And for fancy occasions, you can’t go to a dance nude. Having to wear them all the time—well, almost all the time, that’s weird. The only thing I was looking forward to was pockets, and it turns out a lot of girl’s clothes don’t have them.

“You could carry a purse.”

“Or wear men’s clothes. They’re better for work, anyway. Would you have been following me if I’d been wearing my work pants, huh?”

“I might—I wasn’t following you.”

She didn’t dignify that with a reply.

•••

“This is so weird.”

“Why?” Ivy held out her toothbrush, still wet from her mouth.

“Toothbrushes are a thing that shouldn’t be shared.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yes, but not here. You stole me away before I could pack.”

“Don’t act like you regret it.” She grabbed my hand and wrapped it around the handle of her toothbrush. “You’re old enough to not need instructions.”

“It’s been in your mouth.”

“So has your tongue.”

We were in the kitchen, standing in front of the sink, performing our evening ablutions. Or she was; she was the one with a toothbrush and I’d never before watched someone brushing her teeth with such interest.

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Ivy crossed her arms, inadvertently giving herself maximum cleavage, something I couldn’t ignore even with our current circumstance. My current circumstance. “If you’re that worried about it, you’re gonna be keeping your mouth to yourself for the rest of the weekend.”

Suddenly it felt like a silly thing. Illogical. But still weird; the toothbrush was even warm.

Was it any more weird than standing naked in the kitchen of Ivy’s cabin somewhere in the woods. Any more weird than quitting my job and going up north with her within minutes of meeting her for the first time? Any more weird than getting progressively more naked on the road?

Of course it wasn’t, but it felt like it was.

Or maybe it was her watching me as I brushed my teeth—with her toothbrush—and spit and cupped a mouthful of sulphury water, and I was kind of sad when she uncrossed her arms and let her breasts fall.

“I suppose in the morning I’ll be wearing flower-scented deodorant.”

“Only if you’ve got a stick shoved somewhere I haven’t found. Natural scents are better.” She tapped her nose.

“You’re not impressed with the fading scent of Old Spice? Are you telling me that the commercials were a lie?”

Ivy stuck her tongue out at me. “The nose knows, even if you mask it.”

•••

She could have built a staircase to her loft, but she hadn’t. I gripped the ladder’s steps as she put out the lights, blowing across the chimney to silence the flame. Only one was left, hung where it could be reached from the loft.

Having her go first would be advantageous, would fulfill one fantasy, and I hesitated, briefly considering a lame excuse for why she should be the first up the ladder and why I should follow her and then I pulled myself up, nearly at the top before she followed.

Maybe she fantasized about looking up on a ladder and seeing my tackle hanging out.

•••

The loft had a mattress and box springs and a small end table towards the wall, populated by nothing more than an empty Solo cup. I thought about climbing down the ladder, half-asleep, needing to pee, and then she stepped off the ladder and I decided that the future could take care of itself; as long as she left one light on, I could figure it out if I needed to.

Everything was different in the scintillating light of the lamp, painting her with colors and shadows that the sun couldn’t, softening and shading her in a new way, and as I laid back on the bed I knew she’d want to be on top. I gathered the pillows around my head as she leaned over the edge of the loft and turned the wick down to the barest flame.

She straddled me, leaning down to grace me with a kiss before grinding back, sliding along my rapidly hardening cock. Silky fur, warm wet flesh, Aphrodite’s kiss, she slid against me, and I was wondering if I ought to guide myself in just as she shifted her hips, leaned down and slid back, hesitating briefly as my head pushed eagerly forward, then committing, planting herself on my cock, taking me in to the root.

I could feel her muscles clenching, eagerly tugging even as she paused, one hand on the bed and the other guiltily stroking a nipple, and then she shifted, not forward or back, but to the side, centering herself before she tensed, lifted up, dropped back down, and I wanted to thrust into her but also wanted to let her take charge.

I couldn’t just lie on the bed and do nothing; and tempting as it was to focus on her boobs or her crotch, I could take a holistic view, letting my hands explore where they would, from the tense muscles of her stomach to her rope-like tail, guided where curiosity insisted, away from our coupling.

Down her calves, the thicker fur there. Underneath, tense, coiled muscles. I hadn’t really explored her legs, the less-human parts of her.

She twitched as I breached the border between leg and hoof, stroking two hard but yielding nubbins behind her hooves. I didn’t know what those were, but that was a chink in her armor to remember, not for now but for later, when we were both closer. Something that might push her over the edge; for now I was still exploring, weirdly curious even as she rode me.

Her hooves couldn’t be sensitive, not like the soles of my feet were. That was simple logic, and the following realization that she could feel no more than pressure on them. Limiting in one way, and freeing in another, I didn’t know yet what to do with my newfound knowledge as I felt her instinctively pinch down on my finger as I explored the cleft of her hoof, tight enough to be on the border between painful and pleasurable.

Ivy had her own method of retaliation, changing the pace as she rode my cock, hesitating and slowly sliding back down in an attempt to confound me.

I’d never thought I could outlast her, and yet she was planted on my cock, chest heaving, her vaginal muscles clenching and I was close but not there yet as she took a shaky breath and lifted herself off my crotch.

For an instant, I thought I could go on forever, until she leaned down and pressed her lips against mine, her tongue thrusting into my mouth, demanding and curious. My hand trailed down her back, across her ass, the root of her tail, grasping, exploring, and she melted against me, writhing around my cock as I came, holding me in.

I was still in her when she slumped against my chest, nesting her head against my chin, and I stroked the base of her ears, eliciting a soft moan.