“Please, Vhaz. Please. I need it. I need you. I'll do anything. I'll stay. I'll take real eggs. I'll be good. Just please, please breed me. Please...”
He's quiet for a long moment. Then his tail moves.
KASS
The tip of his tail slides between my legs slowly, carefully. The finest scales, softer than the rest, brush against my inner thighs. I sob with relief before he even touches my pussy.
“This only,” he says firmly. “No breeding until healed.”
“Yes, yes, anything, please?—”
The tail tip finds my clit.
I come immediately. Violently. My entire body convulses, pussy clenching on nothing, a shocking spray of arousal mixing with the blood on my thighs. The orgasm goes on and on, waves of release that do nothing to quiet the deeper ache.
His tail begins to circle my clit in slow, deliberate patterns. Not the spiral his secondary makes, but something else. Something designed for external stimulation. The scales provide texture that fingers never could—hundreds of tiny points of contact that light up every nerve.
“Oh god, oh fuck, oh please...”
He increases pressure slightly, tail tip now rubbing firmly against my swollen clit. It's so enlarged from days of arousal that it barely resembles human anatomy anymore. More like a tiny cock itself, desperate for friction.
I come again. And again. And again.
But it's not enough. The orgasms are surface level. My pussy needs filling, needs those proto-eggs, needs the internal lock of his cocks. The tail is keeping me from dying of withdrawal but not satisfying the deeper need.
“Inside,” I beg between orgasms. “Please, need something inside?—”
“No. This or nothing.”
I choose this. Of course I choose this. Something is better than nothing when you're dying of need.
He works my clit for hours. Changing patterns whenever my body starts to adjust. Circles, then figures eights, then quick flicks that make me scream. The scales can vibrate—did I know that? They vibrate at different frequencies, finding resonances that make my vision white out.
I lose count of orgasms after twenty. They blur together into one constant state of almost-satisfaction. My clit goes from hypersensitive to numb to hypersensitive again. The tail never stops, never tires, just continues its relentless stimulation.
At some point, I bite him. Hard. Drawing blood from his coils in frustration. He doesn't stop. Doesn't even flinch. Just continues the mechanical stimulation that's keeping me sane and driving me insane simultaneously.
“Need more,” I sob around midnight. “Please, just the tip inside, just?—”
“No.”
His tail presses harder, scales vibrating faster. I climax again, a useless spasm that provides seconds of relief before the need crashes back. My pussy clenches on nothing, trying to pull in something that isn't there. The emptiness is a physical pain now, cramping muscles begging for relief.
“I hate you,” I whisper between orgasms.
“Known fact. Tail continues anyway.”
By three in the morning, I'm delirious. The combination of blood loss, withdrawal, and constant orgasms without satisfaction has broken my mind. I'm speaking in fragments, begging in languages I don't know. The neural implant is misfiring, feeding me Vhazian words I shouldn't understand.
Mek'thar. Syll-taketh. Voss'kar.
Empty vessel. Need filling. Please, master.
Did I just call him master in his language? The tail pauses for a moment, then continues, pretending I didn't say it.
Dawn is coming. I can see the sky starting to lighten through the canopy. I've been coming for six hours straight and I'm more desperate than when we started. The tail has kept the absolute edge off, prevented complete system collapse, but the need has only grown deeper.
“Tomorrow,” he says as sunrise approaches. “Few hours more.”
