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Eshere and Sakura - Page 7
The continuing story collaboration between myself and @YuriYuie_ !
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"N-no, but," Sakura swallows. "I don't find you intimidating, Miss Eshere."
Eshere grabs the woman by the chin, holding her under her thumb. "Is that so? Well, for a roadside merchant, you need to learn to evaluate people better, or you might get in trouble."
Sakura clasps Eshere's wrists, her fingers sinking into the ooze. She stares deep into the slime woman and says. "I haven't made any mistake. You wouldn't harm me, even if you don't believe it yourself."
Eshere's lips quiver, and she gasps when Sakura steps forward, pushing against and through the slime girl's arm. This stains Sakura's chest as the appendage dissolves and splashes against her, but she steps upright to the point where their chests touch. From that position, Sakura stays for a minute. Eshere tastes the coffee, the exertion, and the desire building within the woman before her.
Then Sakura kisses her.
Both hearts, so close together, thump with emotion. Fear, concern, desire, anxiety, and happiness—all of these things spark between the two to the point it is impossible to determine whose heart thumps the hardest or the quickest.
Eshere's arm reforms, draping itself around Sakura's back. Her other hand moves to work on the woman's garment. She pulls it down over her tail and her body, taking her time to enjoy the intricacies of the shape of her rear with a gliding and gooey hand. By the time her fingers firmly cup the tender thing, the rest of Sakura's outfit drops around her ankles. Now, the two of them both appear as if their bodies end in puddles, if only for the moment.
The minty breath of Eshere is overwhelming to the tongue. Still, even more so is the sensation of her saliva sliding off of her taste buds. In contrast, her tongue remains wettened by her lover's physical form.
Sakura's legs wobble, and she catches herself, arms wrapping around Eshere's shoulders, sinking deeper into the woman, but only so far.
Eshere has focused her form, concentrating on being the supporting figure in this relationship—a strange notion for the slime, who, by all accounts, is the starving wanderer. Sakura is the one who is the oasis in the desert.
The slime pulls her face away, gasping and panting in a pantomime of excitement she learned long ago.
Eshere grabs the woman by the chin, holding her under her thumb. "Is that so? Well, for a roadside merchant, you need to learn to evaluate people better, or you might get in trouble."
Sakura clasps Eshere's wrists, her fingers sinking into the ooze. She stares deep into the slime woman and says. "I haven't made any mistake. You wouldn't harm me, even if you don't believe it yourself."
Eshere's lips quiver, and she gasps when Sakura steps forward, pushing against and through the slime girl's arm. This stains Sakura's chest as the appendage dissolves and splashes against her, but she steps upright to the point where their chests touch. From that position, Sakura stays for a minute. Eshere tastes the coffee, the exertion, and the desire building within the woman before her.
Then Sakura kisses her.
Both hearts, so close together, thump with emotion. Fear, concern, desire, anxiety, and happiness—all of these things spark between the two to the point it is impossible to determine whose heart thumps the hardest or the quickest.
Eshere's arm reforms, draping itself around Sakura's back. Her other hand moves to work on the woman's garment. She pulls it down over her tail and her body, taking her time to enjoy the intricacies of the shape of her rear with a gliding and gooey hand. By the time her fingers firmly cup the tender thing, the rest of Sakura's outfit drops around her ankles. Now, the two of them both appear as if their bodies end in puddles, if only for the moment.
The minty breath of Eshere is overwhelming to the tongue. Still, even more so is the sensation of her saliva sliding off of her taste buds. In contrast, her tongue remains wettened by her lover's physical form.
Sakura's legs wobble, and she catches herself, arms wrapping around Eshere's shoulders, sinking deeper into the woman, but only so far.
Eshere has focused her form, concentrating on being the supporting figure in this relationship—a strange notion for the slime, who, by all accounts, is the starving wanderer. Sakura is the one who is the oasis in the desert.
The slime pulls her face away, gasping and panting in a pantomime of excitement she learned long ago.
