... # a1 a2 l

It's something like "thank you"

If she were a wedding type, she'd marry this ambiguity. The elegance is that there is no difference; clean sweat and dust, or lick taint and lust - who cares, really? The shape of her penis suits her maw all the same.

Her gift is the secret of sapience, nonsapience. In that shape so similar to man, they think she surpasses base conscience - they think she's sentient. In ths form as a beast, they think she's just a dog, an animal, a meat with some meat. She giggles, whines, she squirms, laughs. Their ideas are so silly. All they need to know is to listen. If only they would listen.

But she doesn't worry about them. No, she doesn't need them at all. She loves you. And she knows you listen. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why you're watching. That's why you can see her as she's moving. It's a different kind of vision, she knows; it's one all animals carry, her and you alike. Even them - all of them! But you're different. Because you listen. That's all she'll ever need from you.

When her muscle the size of your fist swells and her seed the sort of her bliss spurts, you know she does this for you. It's her voiceless voice, echoing: "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

close-up pencil drawing with very messy bold lines, of feral whisper hunched over licking her own cock. her tail is swooped forward and conveniently obscures any difficult-to-reason leg anatomy

bluesky (qzne)