She opened. Her tongue extended — pink, coated white, the residue visible on her tastebuds. Her mouth was clean. She'd swallowed everything.
"Well done, wife."
Her eyes shone. The praise hit her harder than the orgasm had — I could feel it through the bond, the warm flush of pleasure that came from approval. From being good. From fulfilling her purpose.
I stood. My cock — limp now, spent, slick with saliva and cum — hung between my thighs. I stretched. My spine popped. My tail — which I'd kept hidden all night, too busy with her body to bother with the extra appendage — finally extended behind me, swaying lazily.
Vespera tried to stand. Her legs were shaking — the aftermath of last night's marathon still evident in the way her thighs trembled, the way her knees wobbled. She got halfway up, her hands braced on the mattress, her thick body swaying.
