Talking Fish Blues

Why dirty her own paws when she can have someone else do it for her? She will do her own thinking independetly, she would rather be the chess player than a piece on someone else table. Power was her food and yet the man could not possible know with what specie of snake he has to deal with, she was a different breed of woman. A Goddess trapped inside an equally beautiful mortal vessel. The way she gazed at his tactic, she was iron. Her blood was nothing but ferous liquid, when she bleed she reaked of rust. It was iron that sit in her lungs and filled her veins. And what is iron really unless it is forged? She has been forged in flames and she knew the crude world she lived in. Eate or be eaten, simple as that.

However, she could not help but notice how genuine the male was, how...pure to the touche he seemed and not only due to the appearance of his pigmentation but his expressions were clear and soft, expressing light in a nonconventional way. I insist, my knight in shinning armor. sensual were her sonnates, sultry in their tonality, low and almost close to a purring that would vibrate from her chest that rose and fell with each life-giving breath. What a bizarre technique. she purred softly, her optics lighting up upon observing the size of her feast. Yes, this was the way she enjoyed it. Having others do the work while she feast upon the results. Won't you join me?