mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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As the vampire walked down the gravel of the alley, he could smell the scent of vanilla grow stronger. He looked around, but saw no one. The alley was empty.
He had just a second to dodge the ball of lightning that flew at him from above. As he pulled his concealed dagger out from his coat, he looked up at the rooftops frantically. His eyes finally landed on the cloaked figure in the darkness, kneeling on the clay tiles of the tall building besides him.
The woman pulled down her hood, giving him a smile. The man could just barely make out her face, but he still found himself smiling back in disbelief. She stood for a moment before turning around, the moonlight catching her hazel eyes. The vampire stood still and watched the mysterious woman drift across the tiles to leave, her feet never touching the roof beneath her.
Astarion approached his lover as she gazed out from the balcony of the tavern, the moon full and high in the sky. The buildings around them were heavily damaged, with rubble still in the streets. Nobody cared much to clean up tonight, though. The people outside clamoring were too busy celebrating that they were alive and well.
Aethelle peered at him from over her shoulder.
"Did you figure it out?" she whispered.
"I did," murmured Astarion, who walked forward to hold her from behind.
"I had all but forgotten that memory," began Aethelle softly, "until I saw you again, on the beach." The vampire nuzzled his head into her shoulder.
"I meant what I said," continued the sorceress. "I would have loved you just the same."
"Yes, you would have," replied the vampire, his voice shaking. "And I would have lured you back, to be another casualty of mine."
She nodded gently, leaning her head back into him.
"Why did you let me live, then?" he asked. "Why not just kill me on the beach?"
The sorceress sighed. "That night, at the tavern, I didn't realize until afterwards what you were. Or what you could have easily done," she murmured.
Astarion kissed the side of her head delicately, still holding her tightly.
"I knew you were undead, because of my time with Torriel." She furrowed her brow. "When I read further, and realized what you were, I knew what a dangerous brush with death I had."
The sorceress wrapped her arms around the rogue's. "But I was surprised that you didn't follow me, even after that. I know you could have."
Astarion nodded.
"So imagine my surprise on the beach, when I realized where I had seen you before, and you still did not kill me."
"It's not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, and I still held a knife to your throat," said Astarion. "I don't think I should be praised for sparing you, considering my intentions."
Aethelle laughed. "I don't know if it's praise," she continued. "But if there's one thing I had learned, it's that a vampire wouldn't hesitate."
She turned around to look at him, cupping his face in her hands.
"You hesitated," she whispered. "Numerous times."
"Yet here I am, still a vampire," replied Astarion, as he stared to the ground.
"Yes, but you're not a monster."
He looked up to meet her kind hazel eyes.
"Don't you remember, my little star?" asked Aethelle. "I could always see you."
Astarion felt the tear roll down his cheek. He stood for a moment, his eyes wide, surprised at himself. As the tears continued to cascade down his face, he quickly buried his head into the sorceress's shoulder. He silently sobbed into her robe, and she held him tightly as he trembled, beneath the moonlight of the clear night sky.

It begins as only a tingle between your thighs.
You’re staring at two Brass Metallic Dragon cards on the table in front of you, glaring at the rest of the players around the table. A human with their hair pulled high into a bun glares at you over her cards, while the half-orc at her side is looking mighty happy with himself. They both have well plated armor but rather worn walking shoes on, and their voices sound like chittering serpents. The tavern is bustling around you, drowning out their more... interesting trash talk.
The place has a giant harpsichord in the corner, with a young girl playing away jovially on it. The hardwood is well scuffed but still shines through with deep red mahogany, telling of a cherished communal space that’s known adventure, love, and, most of all, alcohol.
One look shows Shadowheart, Wyll, and Karlach having a betting game over a drink at the far table. Lae’zel, Gale, and Halsin are at their side, standing against a wall as they discuss some form of business. You’re all dressed down in relaxed clothing, having already paid for rooms, showered, and come down for drinks and food. This is a rare treat from always sleeping outside. You miss the stars but you’re always grateful for a proper feather down.
Your head snaps back to the game.
"Round Three, lads, throw em if you got em!" shouts the barkeep, who is jumping between dealing cards, taking money, and handing out stouts. Astarion leans lazily across the bar. You lock eyes. He sniffs.
It’s the sign to go all in. It means the half-orc doesn’t have shit to fly with.
You push your gold forward.
The crowd oohs and jeers. The human’s glare deepens and the half-orc shrugs as if he thinks you’re bluffing.
He leans closer, hiding his cards to his chest. "You’re sure you wanna do that, tiefling?"
You snap back, "You’re sure your mother didn’t sleep with a bugbear instead?"
He barks out a laugh and shoves his own gold. All in.
Now we’re talking
He puts his last card down.
Two Brown Chromatic Dragons... and a Gray.
The watchers gasp. It’s a pretty good hand. But not as good as yours.
You put your last card down.
Two Brass Metallic Dragons...
And a Platinum.
There’s a gigantic uproar! People are screaming, running around. You can hear someone to your left repeat over and over, "A fucking Platinum! She "ad a fucking Platinum!"
"How’d you get such a good flight?!" Demands the suspicious human.
"Cysarius-" The half-orc starts, trying to calm her down.
"NO!" She swings to you, pointing violently across the table, "I wanna know how she got herself a fucking Platinum, when there shouldn’t be nothin’ here for her but the basics and
Someone smashes a glass and the bartender exasperatedly hurries away. Someone else is yelling, trying to get between them, "There was twenty gambits, there’s no way to know what’s left in the blind draw!"
You resist the urge to glance at Astarion, who knows exactly what’s left in the blind draw.
"Count "em!" Someone else grabs for the discard pile and there’s a murmuring drunken tizzy as the crowd counts along.
Six. Six Platinum Metallic Dragons used in previous gambits. And you’re sitting pretty with the last one the deck could have offered.
The half-orc resigns defeat, sighs and starts pulling the human away. She stares at you for just a moment too long as he’s turning her around, and then she breaks.
She jerks out of his grip, dive-bombing herself across the table to get to you. Her hands scrabble, as if she’s going to wring your neck or tear your eyes out but she hasn’t decided which yet. Cards and gold go flying and the crowd stumbles backward to help or steal. You call for Astarion, and the gleam of his dagger shines brightly as he gets your gold back.
"Check her fucking sleeves! Check her, she’s cheating!" The human’s body scrabbles in the air. Her fists beat against your arm, trying to get you to release her.
You lean your head sideways, looking at the half-orc.
"Your friend’s had too much to drink, buddy." Your nose wrinkles and your jagged tail slices the air.
"Apologies," he grunts, coming closer. You’re just a bit taller than he, and he offers another apology and a, "Cysarius, let’s
," before he’s got both arms underneath her armpits, and you ease her to the floor.
He manages to get her away and you lose sight of them. You feel your muscles twinge as you turn your attention to Astarion. You’re glad you didn’t have to seriously defend yourself because you know the little human would have gotten hurt. You’re swindling, not hurting anyone tonight. It’s a good place. Better to make a good impression. Still you feel the excitement, or maybe the drinks, going to your head. The tingle between your thighs is matched with a small tightness in your chest, just an air of excitement. You shake your head. You don’t tend to get off on danger. It’s an easy way to get killed, after all... but you have to admit, it had been kind of sexy.
Astarion is pouring the gold into a pouch, bending over the card table, ass out for you. If he had been the one that dove over the table at you, you would have flipped him right then and there, taken him in front of everyone here. You let your mind fancy the naughty thoughts. It would have taught him a lesson in manners.
You’re sure the bar wouldn’t have minded.
Astarion finally turns, pocketing the gold in his coat. He catches your eye. A smirk plays on his lips. He knows the expression he sees there. He saunters over, swinging his hips for you. You want to grip those hips. Push your nails into his plump round handlebars. Make him cry out your name.
His face is up here, you remind yourself. What is wrong with you tonight?
"Good haul," you manage.
Astarion doesn’t mind. He’s happy, feeling inspired, one might say. He loves cheating at cards, though you personally don’t think counting should be cheating. If the pale elf can remember 80 cards in a game, he deserves the money. You shake your head, brushing a small hair behind his ear. You catch his ear lobe and roll it gently between your fingers. His eyes flutter but stay fixed on you.
"Mmm, very good haul indeed. Well played."
He drags his lithe, long, fingers over your chest, swirling patterns into your skin. He smooths over your tattered clothes (
fit for a barbarian!
He used to say) and plucks playfully at a leather strap.
The beating heart in your chest only pounds harder, reveling in the night, the win, the smoke, and the sounds swirling you into this space in time. Your legs shake and your long tail begins to curl around his leg. Just for a millisecond, but it’s enough to prompt you to take stock. You feel your own forehead. Astarion leans back, inspecting you and waiting.
You step away from him and frown. The lights are dazzling, refracting out into several spears, intertwining the bar in a glowing web. You look at your hands as if they’ll have an answer, and it clicks. You’re not drunk.
A trickle inches just a millimeter down your thigh.
You’re in trouble now.
You whip your eyes back to meet Astarion’s. Go to grab his arm. You need to get the two of you upstairs. Fast.
"Not now," you grit out to Shadowheart as you pass.
She only smirks, raising her wine glass to you, and yells, "I was only going to congratulate you on your win!"
You barely hear the last bit as you move quickly up the stairs. Astarion still has that look of playfulness, a bit of concern as well, but allows you to pull him along. He looks good and soft in his night shirt. The white folds drift over his pale skin, accentuating his bared collarbones. You want to taste them. Want to lick down his body until you-
Almost there, almost there.
The door clicks shut behind you.
"Darling? You don’t look so good. But you smell..." He makes a show of sniffing around you. "Different."
"On the bed," you say, your voice pitched low. He raises a brow and you sigh, exasperated. "Or not, it doesn’t matter. Just-"
You feel your body shaking. The heat coursing through you is muddying your mind, flaring through your muscles and making you ache. This shouldn’t be happening. Not for another few months, at least. You realize you’re pleading with him, in the way you look. Disheveled, wide eyed, towering over him. It’s a surprise he hasn’t run for the door already.
You can’t quite catch the gleam in his eye, or the way he’s breathing just a bit harder. Your scent surrounds him, envelopes him into its caress.
"Take it easy, my love." He reaches to gently stroke your hip where the clothes are torn. You flinch as his touch burns like fire, but it’s not from pain. He sees it and his smile slowly grows. He thinks he knows but he still has to ask. Needs to know for sure. "Tell me what’s wrong?"
You bite your lip, moving in close to invade his space. You need his body heat- or lack thereof- on you and you need it yesterday. You make a grab for his pants but he stops you, holds your wrists. You only debate for a second if you’re going to start pleading with him when he starts massaging small circles on your wrists, the palms of your hands, the back of your hands. You gasp at the intimate contact. It takes your breath and strength away far better than any show of force from him ever could.
You swallow hard, trying to make space in your mouth for words. Try to get your swollen tongue to move in a way that sounds more like language and less like you need a cock in your mouth.
"I’m in heat." It doesn’t work. You sound like you’re two nights in wandering a desert in search of a tall glass to drink called Astarion.
Astarion simply stands there, waiting. He stares at you like he can’t believe he’s the luckiest man alive tonight. You can’t believe you’re in this position right now. Know you’ll be here for at least a week, fucking it out of your system.
"And I need you." You croak. You fumble with his hip, the only thing he’ll let you hold onto. You need him. Your claws tighten, making him gasp a surprised moan.
"Now." You push his hands off yours and start on his pants, unbuttoning and untying.
He wiggles, a low chuckle starting deep from his chest. He pushes your hands away, fully this time, and you can’t help the dark growl that comes out of you.
"That’s very sexy you know, darling." He’s smiling politely, trying to move you so you stand up straighter, pulling you close. You moan and let him draw you in, his scent waving over you, enveloping you in his musk.
You know how you smell. Know the effect it will have on him. He may have only heard stories, however, of how non-tiefling’s scents affect tiefling’s in heat. How sensitive you’ll be to his smell, on his clothes, on your bed. You nuzzle his neck, trying to spread him all over you, trying to bathe in his essence. Your hands grip his shirt as you take him in, in full long breaths.
"You smell..." You trail off, nipping his neck where his shirt doesn’t cover. He hums and you’re invigorated. Your tongue drags over his pulse point, or rather, where it would be, before nuzzling the shirt out of the way with your nose. Your lips follow, burning hot against his cool skin. Your fingers tighten around his hips, as does your tail around his thigh, and he finally reacts.
"I have to admit, pet, I’ve been waiting for this." His eyes are drunk on you. You hum, encouraging him. "I’ve heard many a tale about tiefling heats but," you strengthen your grip and he moans, "I didn’t expect it to be so, mm, strong..."
"Don’t underestimate it, love," you whisper, "You’re mine for the

As the vampire walked down the gravel of the alley, he could smell the scent of vanilla grow stronger. He looked around, but saw no one. The alley was empty.

He had just a second to dodge the ball of lightning that flew at him from above. As he pulled his concealed dagger out from his coat, he looked up at the rooftops frantically. His eyes finally landed on the cloaked figure in the darkness, kneeling on the clay tiles of the tall building besides him.

The woman pulled down her hood, giving him a smile. The man could just barely make out her face, but he still found himself smiling back in disbelief. She stood for a moment before turning around, the moonlight catching her hazel eyes. The vampire stood still and watched the mysterious woman drift across the tiles to leave, her feet never touching the roof beneath her.

Astarion approached his lover as she gazed out from the balcony of the tavern, the moon full and high in the sky. The buildings around them were heavily damaged, with rubble still in the streets. Nobody cared much to clean up tonight, though. The people outside clamoring were too busy celebrating that they were alive and well.

Aethelle peered at him from over her shoulder.

"Did you figure it out?" she whispered.

"I did," murmured Astarion, who walked forward to hold her from behind.

"I had all but forgotten that memory," began Aethelle softly, "until I saw you again, on the beach." The vampire nuzzled his head into her shoulder.

"I meant what I said," continued the sorceress. "I would have loved you just the same."

"Yes, you would have," replied the vampire, his voice shaking. "And I would have lured you back, to be another casualty of mine."

She nodded gently, leaning her head back into him.

"Why did you let me live, then?" he asked. "Why not just kill me on the beach?"

The sorceress sighed. "That night, at the tavern, I didn't realize until afterwards what you were. Or what you could have easily done," she murmured.

Astarion kissed the side of her head delicately, still holding her tightly.

"I knew you were undead, because of my time with Torriel." She furrowed her brow. "When I read further, and realized what you were, I knew what a dangerous brush with death I had."

The sorceress wrapped her arms around the rogue's. "But I was surprised that you didn't follow me, even after that. I know you could have."

Astarion nodded.

"So imagine my surprise on the beach, when I realized where I had seen you before, and you still did not kill me."

"It's not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, and I still held a knife to your throat," said Astarion. "I don't think I should be praised for sparing you, considering my intentions."

Aethelle laughed. "I don't know if it's praise," she continued. "But if there's one thing I had learned, it's that a vampire wouldn't hesitate."

She turned around to look at him, cupping his face in her hands.

"You hesitated," she whispered. "Numerous times."

"Yet here I am, still a vampire," replied Astarion, as he stared to the ground.

"Yes, but you're not a monster."

He looked up to meet her kind hazel eyes.

"Don't you remember, my little star?" asked Aethelle. "I could always see you."

Astarion felt the tear roll down his cheek. He stood for a moment, his eyes wide, surprised at himself. As the tears continued to cascade down his face, he quickly buried his head into the sorceress's shoulder. He silently sobbed into her robe, and she held him tightly as he trembled, beneath the moonlight of the clear night sky.

It begins as only a tingle between your thighs.

You’re staring at two Brass Metallic Dragon cards on the table in front of you, glaring at the rest of the players around the table. A human with their hair pulled high into a bun glares at you over her cards, while the half-orc at her side is looking mighty happy with himself. They both have well plated armor but rather worn walking shoes on, and their voices sound like chittering serpents. The tavern is bustling around you, drowning out their more... interesting trash talk.

The place has a giant harpsichord in the corner, with a young girl playing away jovially on it. The hardwood is well scuffed but still shines through with deep red mahogany, telling of a cherished communal space that’s known adventure, love, and, most of all, alcohol.

One look shows Shadowheart, Wyll, and Karlach having a betting game over a drink at the far table. Lae’zel, Gale, and Halsin are at their side, standing against a wall as they discuss some form of business. You’re all dressed down in relaxed clothing, having already paid for rooms, showered, and come down for drinks and food. This is a rare treat from always sleeping outside. You miss the stars but you’re always grateful for a proper feather down.

Your head snaps back to the game.

"Round Three, lads, throw em if you got em!" shouts the barkeep, who is jumping between dealing cards, taking money, and handing out stouts. Astarion leans lazily across the bar. You lock eyes. He sniffs.

It’s the sign to go all in. It means the half-orc doesn’t have shit to fly with.

You push your gold forward.

The crowd oohs and jeers. The human’s glare deepens and the half-orc shrugs as if he thinks you’re bluffing.

He leans closer, hiding his cards to his chest. "You’re sure you wanna do that, tiefling?"

You snap back, "You’re sure your mother didn’t sleep with a bugbear instead?"

He barks out a laugh and shoves his own gold. All in.

Now we’re talking

He puts his last card down.

Two Brown Chromatic Dragons... and a Gray.

The watchers gasp. It’s a pretty good hand. But not as good as yours.

You put your last card down.

Two Brass Metallic Dragons...

And a Platinum.

There’s a gigantic uproar! People are screaming, running around. You can hear someone to your left repeat over and over, "A fucking Platinum! She "ad a fucking Platinum!"

"How’d you get such a good flight?!" Demands the suspicious human.

"Cysarius-" The half-orc starts, trying to calm her down.

"NO!" She swings to you, pointing violently across the table, "I wanna know how she got herself a fucking Platinum, when there shouldn’t be nothin’ here for her but the basics and

Someone smashes a glass and the bartender exasperatedly hurries away. Someone else is yelling, trying to get between them, "There was twenty gambits, there’s no way to know what’s left in the blind draw!"

You resist the urge to glance at Astarion, who knows exactly what’s left in the blind draw.

"Count "em!" Someone else grabs for the discard pile and there’s a murmuring drunken tizzy as the crowd counts along.

Six. Six Platinum Metallic Dragons used in previous gambits. And you’re sitting pretty with the last one the deck could have offered.

The half-orc resigns defeat, sighs and starts pulling the human away. She stares at you for just a moment too long as he’s turning her around, and then she breaks.

She jerks out of his grip, dive-bombing herself across the table to get to you. Her hands scrabble, as if she’s going to wring your neck or tear your eyes out but she hasn’t decided which yet. Cards and gold go flying and the crowd stumbles backward to help or steal. You call for Astarion, and the gleam of his dagger shines brightly as he gets your gold back.

"Check her fucking sleeves! Check her, she’s cheating!" The human’s body scrabbles in the air. Her fists beat against your arm, trying to get you to release her.

You lean your head sideways, looking at the half-orc.

"Your friend’s had too much to drink, buddy." Your nose wrinkles and your jagged tail slices the air.

"Apologies," he grunts, coming closer. You’re just a bit taller than he, and he offers another apology and a, "Cysarius, let’s

," before he’s got both arms underneath her armpits, and you ease her to the floor.

He manages to get her away and you lose sight of them. You feel your muscles twinge as you turn your attention to Astarion. You’re glad you didn’t have to seriously defend yourself because you know the little human would have gotten hurt. You’re swindling, not hurting anyone tonight. It’s a good place. Better to make a good impression. Still you feel the excitement, or maybe the drinks, going to your head. The tingle between your thighs is matched with a small tightness in your chest, just an air of excitement. You shake your head. You don’t tend to get off on danger. It’s an easy way to get killed, after all... but you have to admit, it had been kind of sexy.

Astarion is pouring the gold into a pouch, bending over the card table, ass out for you. If he had been the one that dove over the table at you, you would have flipped him right then and there, taken him in front of everyone here. You let your mind fancy the naughty thoughts. It would have taught him a lesson in manners.

You’re sure the bar wouldn’t have minded.

Astarion finally turns, pocketing the gold in his coat. He catches your eye. A smirk plays on his lips. He knows the expression he sees there. He saunters over, swinging his hips for you. You want to grip those hips. Push your nails into his plump round handlebars. Make him cry out your name.

His face is up here, you remind yourself. What is wrong with you tonight?

"Good haul," you manage.

Astarion doesn’t mind. He’s happy, feeling inspired, one might say. He loves cheating at cards, though you personally don’t think counting should be cheating. If the pale elf can remember 80 cards in a game, he deserves the money. You shake your head, brushing a small hair behind his ear. You catch his ear lobe and roll it gently between your fingers. His eyes flutter but stay fixed on you.

"Mmm, very good haul indeed. Well played."

He drags his lithe, long, fingers over your chest, swirling patterns into your skin. He smooths over your tattered clothes (

fit for a barbarian!

He used to say) and plucks playfully at a leather strap.

The beating heart in your chest only pounds harder, reveling in the night, the win, the smoke, and the sounds swirling you into this space in time. Your legs shake and your long tail begins to curl around his leg. Just for a millisecond, but it’s enough to prompt you to take stock. You feel your own forehead. Astarion leans back, inspecting you and waiting.

You step away from him and frown. The lights are dazzling, refracting out into several spears, intertwining the bar in a glowing web. You look at your hands as if they’ll have an answer, and it clicks. You’re not drunk.

A trickle inches just a millimeter down your thigh.

You’re in trouble now.

You whip your eyes back to meet Astarion’s. Go to grab his arm. You need to get the two of you upstairs. Fast.

"Not now," you grit out to Shadowheart as you pass.

She only smirks, raising her wine glass to you, and yells, "I was only going to congratulate you on your win!"

You barely hear the last bit as you move quickly up the stairs. Astarion still has that look of playfulness, a bit of concern as well, but allows you to pull him along. He looks good and soft in his night shirt. The white folds drift over his pale skin, accentuating his bared collarbones. You want to taste them. Want to lick down his body until you-

Almost there, almost there.

The door clicks shut behind you.

"Darling? You don’t look so good. But you smell..." He makes a show of sniffing around you. "Different."

"On the bed," you say, your voice pitched low. He raises a brow and you sigh, exasperated. "Or not, it doesn’t matter. Just-"

You feel your body shaking. The heat coursing through you is muddying your mind, flaring through your muscles and making you ache. This shouldn’t be happening. Not for another few months, at least. You realize you’re pleading with him, in the way you look. Disheveled, wide eyed, towering over him. It’s a surprise he hasn’t run for the door already.

You can’t quite catch the gleam in his eye, or the way he’s breathing just a bit harder. Your scent surrounds him, envelopes him into its caress.

"Take it easy, my love." He reaches to gently stroke your hip where the clothes are torn. You flinch as his touch burns like fire, but it’s not from pain. He sees it and his smile slowly grows. He thinks he knows but he still has to ask. Needs to know for sure. "Tell me what’s wrong?"

You bite your lip, moving in close to invade his space. You need his body heat- or lack thereof- on you and you need it yesterday. You make a grab for his pants but he stops you, holds your wrists. You only debate for a second if you’re going to start pleading with him when he starts massaging small circles on your wrists, the palms of your hands, the back of your hands. You gasp at the intimate contact. It takes your breath and strength away far better than any show of force from him ever could.

You swallow hard, trying to make space in your mouth for words. Try to get your swollen tongue to move in a way that sounds more like language and less like you need a cock in your mouth.

"I’m in heat." It doesn’t work. You sound like you’re two nights in wandering a desert in search of a tall glass to drink called Astarion.

Astarion simply stands there, waiting. He stares at you like he can’t believe he’s the luckiest man alive tonight. You can’t believe you’re in this position right now. Know you’ll be here for at least a week, fucking it out of your system.

"And I need you." You croak. You fumble with his hip, the only thing he’ll let you hold onto. You need him. Your claws tighten, making him gasp a surprised moan.

"Now." You push his hands off yours and start on his pants, unbuttoning and untying.

He wiggles, a low chuckle starting deep from his chest. He pushes your hands away, fully this time, and you can’t help the dark growl that comes out of you.

"That’s very sexy you know, darling." He’s smiling politely, trying to move you so you stand up straighter, pulling you close. You moan and let him draw you in, his scent waving over you, enveloping you in his musk.

You know how you smell. Know the effect it will have on him. He may have only heard stories, however, of how non-tiefling’s scents affect tiefling’s in heat. How sensitive you’ll be to his smell, on his clothes, on your bed. You nuzzle his neck, trying to spread him all over you, trying to bathe in his essence. Your hands grip his shirt as you take him in, in full long breaths.

"You smell..." You trail off, nipping his neck where his shirt doesn’t cover. He hums and you’re invigorated. Your tongue drags over his pulse point, or rather, where it would be, before nuzzling the shirt out of the way with your nose. Your lips follow, burning hot against his cool skin. Your fingers tighten around his hips, as does your tail around his thigh, and he finally reacts.

"I have to admit, pet, I’ve been waiting for this." His eyes are drunk on you. You hum, encouraging him. "I’ve heard many a tale about tiefling heats but," you strengthen your grip and he moans, "I didn’t expect it to be so, mm, strong..."

"Don’t underestimate it, love," you whisper, "You’re mine for the