[If anything, her reaction seems to spur him on; his tongue laps quick and attentive against her clit, and the vine inside her obliges, the shallow thrusts becoming deeper now, firmer]
[His hands are warm on her thighs, tracing over the sensitive skin; another vine twines its way idly around her tail feathers and then goes mostly limp, the weight of it hanging there a constant, steady tug]
[Its all so much--maybe too much. Even so she cries out wordlessly for more; spreads her legs further even as she shudders with release, head thrown back and eyes lidded. Everyplace he touches her feels like a live wire, while anyplace left out aches for attention, even as she drenches the vine that twists deeper within her than she'd thought things could go.
But this isn't the time for thoughts--it's the time for feelings--heat--and all she can do is squirm closer, trying to feel more.
Somehow through the haze she extricates her talons from where they've punctured the seat backs to run her hands roughly over her skin instead, squeezing at her modest chest and scraping down her body to curl into his hair for as long as she can stand before returning up her body. She can't quite manage words again yet, but the pleading in her tone is unmistakable]
[As though in response to the wordless plea, more vines unfold, looping loosely around her torso, shifting and rustling restlessly. The flowers have dried, their petals drifting to the car seat and the floor; there is no new pollen added to the air, now, but what remains is still sweet and heady]
[His hands rub restless against her thighs, up and then down again, as though he can't get enough of the feel of her; his tongue works eagerly against her, as though attempting to answer her cry. The vine inside her twists and coils along with its thrusts, the odd ridges as it shifts adding perhaps an extra layer of sensation as it catches against that spot inside her]
[The ridges don't quite hit her like that each time--which is for the best, since the first time the vine twists just so, curling in towards the front of her pelvis, her vision goes white. By the third, she's arched forward enough that her head rests against the tinted window, fogged as she shakes out another moan. Her hips artlessly tumble forward, wings and tail jerking against the seats and into the vines tangling over her skin, and she squeezes around him tightly enough that it's difficult to move.
The sweet scent of his flowers is deep in her nose as she writhes against him, pressing into his touch best she can. By now she can manage at least one word--please--and she groans it out as he twists over her chest and her wings and her thighs, as if even this much of him isn't yet enough.]
[He makes a soft sound against her, something like a muffled moan; the vibration of it comes through with the contact, adding another layer to the sensation wrapping in around her. One of his hands comes away from her thigh, only to be replaced by the coiling lenth of a vine looping gently around her and curling up toward her navel]
[A moment later and he makes another of those sounds, shifting beneath her even as he redoubles his efforts. He's lapping at her almost feverishly, now; the vines around her torso shift and shiver, new leaves tickling over her skin. Inside, the vine has shuddered to a stop, forced to stillness by the grip of her. It wriggles, instead; the ridge presses outward against that spot, providing a steady, dull pressure - gentle kneading without the fuller thrusts of before]
[She seems feverish herself; skin blazing and goosepimpled, breath strained and increasingly uneven. The tighter the grip of the vines around her the more she writhes into them, the rise of her cries and the jut of her chest much more encouragement than protest.
Already--still--her toes curl and tail bobs as she climaxes yet again--not that she ever really comes down between the vine milking her g-spot and the leaves brushing over her skin and feathers and the heat of his tongue and the vibrations of his mouth. She's completely at his mercy, warbling out harsh and desperately pleasured sounds with each move he makes]
[The good news is that the lingering pollen in the air is all but gone, now; the differently good news is that it's because they've inhaled it all, between the two of them]
[The vines at her chest twitch and curl, a rhythmic sort of squeeze and rustle; the ones in her wings are joined by still more, as though they're trying to touch every part of her]
[He continues to lap at her near desperately; if she has the presence of mind to listen for it, she can pick up the sound of something wet and rhythmic that is not the vine inside her or the urgent working of his tongue]
[With the amount of pollen still singing through her veins, it's hard for her to have presence of mind to do anything at all. It's sheer need and desire that urges her onward, muscles straining as she shakes against him again and again.
Every so often--so long as her mouth is empty, at least--she manages to pant out his name, or a fresh plea for more, even as her face is sweaty and plum-dark with all he's given her already. Her talons dig deeper into the padding of the seats, ripping lines through the leather as she tenses against that hardworking tongue]
[It might be easier to pick up when he starts whining softly - when a series of low vibrations join the slick, wet sensation of his tongue as he laps at her]
[For long moments he works at her, restless, the whines become more urgent - higher pitched. He's moving beneath her - shifting - his hand working restlessly to ease the ache of the pollen that's settled in for him, as well]
[Shaking off the raw feeling of desire enough to do anything other than squirm against him is no easy feat. But when she finally does force dewy eyes to look back for that squelching noise that doesn't quite match the rhythm within her, the sight is more than worth the effort.
The strain of his abs and thighs--the urgency of his pace--the way the red of his prick disappears into his fist--the heightening whines buzzing against her clit as he does-- Her hips judder and drool at the sight of it--the now-obvious shifts as he works himself--and she groans along with him, cursing and calling his name.
Between the angle and the talons, there isn't a lot she can do to help him directly. Instead, she shifts against the network of vines touching her--touching him back, hoping those vines are as sensitive as his leaves were before. She even leans towards the nearest vine, offering it a wet kiss]
[He groans, low and intent, though it's difficult to tell whether it's at the feel of it or at the sight of her, opening her mouth for the leafy vine. He has to break for a minute, to gasp for air, face red and cheeks wet - dives back in with more enthusiasm than before, seemingly intent on pressing her up to that height and tipping her over the edge all over again]
[His own hand is working faster than before, rubbing at himself with almost desperate abandon as he trembles and begins to crest that ridge, himself]
[There isn't much he has to do--not with how far he's already brought her. She groans again, hitching forward at his fresh enthusiasm--at the now immistakable smack of his hand on his cock--at the bright, green taste of the vines as she takes them as deep as she can manage.
Even muffled her moans are loud and fevered, her eyelashes glossy as she already starts to lose the mounting rhythm inside her]
[He outright whines, as the feel of his own palm begins to overwhelm him - as the feel of her mouth on the vines, ghost-touches against appendages that are somehow both a part of him and not, begin to ratchet the mounting pleasure higher]
[The heat rushes through him with remarkable intensity, even as he struggles to push her to the finish line, but it isn't long before he shudders and cries out, tense and trembling as he finally tips over that edge]
[Maybe it's that yelp as he comes, the sound rumbling against her clit. Maybe it's the way that he tenses around her, the cat's cradle of vines tightening around her wings and tail and chest and thighs, swallowing her up. Maybe it's just the last of the pollen working its way through her system and sending her nerves alight. But somehow when she reaches her peak it's even higher than the ones before--more thrown past the finish line than neatly delivered there.
She tightens around him, every muscle clenching for an endless moment of trembling euphoria--nothing left in the universe but the feel of him around her and the pure pleasure everyplace they touch]
[It's possible he whites out for a minute, as well; certainly, he forgets what he's doing long enough to stop working at her, unable to think of anything but the pleasure racing through his veins]
[When it's finished rolling through him, he just breathes, forehead pressed to her thigh, still shivering in the aftermath]
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Re: Nemesis
[His hands are warm on her thighs, tracing over the sensitive skin; another vine twines its way idly around her tail feathers and then goes mostly limp, the weight of it hanging there a constant, steady tug]
Re: Nemesis
But this isn't the time for thoughts--it's the time for feelings--heat--and all she can do is squirm closer, trying to feel more.
Somehow through the haze she extricates her talons from where they've punctured the seat backs to run her hands roughly over her skin instead, squeezing at her modest chest and scraping down her body to curl into his hair for as long as she can stand before returning up her body. She can't quite manage words again yet, but the pleading in her tone is unmistakable]
Re: Nemesis
[His hands rub restless against her thighs, up and then down again, as though he can't get enough of the feel of her; his tongue works eagerly against her, as though attempting to answer her cry. The vine inside her twists and coils along with its thrusts, the odd ridges as it shifts adding perhaps an extra layer of sensation as it catches against that spot inside her]
Re: Nemesis
The sweet scent of his flowers is deep in her nose as she writhes against him, pressing into his touch best she can. By now she can manage at least one word--please--and she groans it out as he twists over her chest and her wings and her thighs, as if even this much of him isn't yet enough.]
Re: Nemesis
[A moment later and he makes another of those sounds, shifting beneath her even as he redoubles his efforts. He's lapping at her almost feverishly, now; the vines around her torso shift and shiver, new leaves tickling over her skin. Inside, the vine has shuddered to a stop, forced to stillness by the grip of her. It wriggles, instead; the ridge presses outward against that spot, providing a steady, dull pressure - gentle kneading without the fuller thrusts of before]
Re: Nemesis
Already--still--her toes curl and tail bobs as she climaxes yet again--not that she ever really comes down between the vine milking her g-spot and the leaves brushing over her skin and feathers and the heat of his tongue and the vibrations of his mouth. She's completely at his mercy, warbling out harsh and desperately pleasured sounds with each move he makes]
Re: Nemesis
[The vines at her chest twitch and curl, a rhythmic sort of squeeze and rustle; the ones in her wings are joined by still more, as though they're trying to touch every part of her]
[He continues to lap at her near desperately; if she has the presence of mind to listen for it, she can pick up the sound of something wet and rhythmic that is not the vine inside her or the urgent working of his tongue]
Re: Nemesis
Every so often--so long as her mouth is empty, at least--she manages to pant out his name, or a fresh plea for more, even as her face is sweaty and plum-dark with all he's given her already. Her talons dig deeper into the padding of the seats, ripping lines through the leather as she tenses against that hardworking tongue]
Re: Nemesis
[For long moments he works at her, restless, the whines become more urgent - higher pitched. He's moving beneath her - shifting - his hand working restlessly to ease the ache of the pollen that's settled in for him, as well]
Re: Nemesis
The strain of his abs and thighs--the urgency of his pace--the way the red of his prick disappears into his fist--the heightening whines buzzing against her clit as he does-- Her hips judder and drool at the sight of it--the now-obvious shifts as he works himself--and she groans along with him, cursing and calling his name.
Between the angle and the talons, there isn't a lot she can do to help him directly. Instead, she shifts against the network of vines touching her--touching him back, hoping those vines are as sensitive as his leaves were before. She even leans towards the nearest vine, offering it a wet kiss]
Re: Nemesis
[His own hand is working faster than before, rubbing at himself with almost desperate abandon as he trembles and begins to crest that ridge, himself]
Re: Nemesis
Even muffled her moans are loud and fevered, her eyelashes glossy as she already starts to lose the mounting rhythm inside her]
Re: Nemesis
[The heat rushes through him with remarkable intensity, even as he struggles to push her to the finish line, but it isn't long before he shudders and cries out, tense and trembling as he finally tips over that edge]
Re: Nemesis
She tightens around him, every muscle clenching for an endless moment of trembling euphoria--nothing left in the universe but the feel of him around her and the pure pleasure everyplace they touch]
Re: Nemesis
[When it's finished rolling through him, he just breathes, forehead pressed to her thigh, still shivering in the aftermath]