If death is your friend, let me be your lover

N/A · 06-30-2013, 02:08 PM

His inky lips curled in a devilish grin, like something that had been stitched to his stretched and marred face. She lay! She lay! Perfect! His body tingled with anticipation, his tail quivering a few more times with joy. Claws kneaded the mud at his feet while he stood beside her, panting a few more times before his aching lungs regulated their pace once more and he wiped his tongue over his lips. The imp looked to the maned woman with wide blue eyes, shimmering with pleasure, though it still appeared a somewhat void emotion. He nodded enthusiastically as she looked towards him. Right! Right!

The grin remained plastered to the fiend?s muzzle, wide and messy. ?Not bad, not bad! Good!? he nodded again rapidly, approving and encouraging. ?Now she stays, she stays. She puts her head down,? he urged. A mud bath was not just plopping in the mud and then being finished. You had to steep, to soak. ?They must cover her back,? he squeaked, ?the mud will make her skin nice ? feel very good, yes.? He would attempt to begin pushing the thick and cool mud onto her back. ?Caesar does it sometimes, yes,? he replied idly. Sometimes. It was nothing organized or lavish like this. He just liked rolling in mud and dead things.

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