Contains: F/F, Lesbian, Transgender, Supernatural, Succubus, Light Dominance, Spanking
Arsa’s trials continue long into the night (or mid afternoon at least!). It’s a tough life for demons who can’t fulfill their demonly duties. A little more plot than the last one (and hey, the next one has even more, oops!) but hopefully it’s fun throughout!
“Hands on top,” Grace says.
Spine flexing, her core nearly bouncing from the promise of fresh emotion to feed on, Arsa places her palms down against the blotter atop the desk, scraping her nails curiously against the black leather. A squeal of excitement builds inside her as Grace adjusts and positions her hips, splaying her bottom outward. In this proximity, Arsa convinces herself she can feel the heat washing off of Grace’s nearby fingers and over her needy organ, slowly stiffening, but not quite hard. Grace’s hand digs into the front of Arsa’s hip, yanking a timid sound from the Skint. She waits.
A crack of skin against skin fills the room as Grace brings her hand down upon the slope of Arsa’s ass. The demon yelps as the impact causes her body to surge forward, cracking her skinny hips against the front of the desk. Snapping her head back, she slits her eyes at her aggressor. “Ow, Grace!”
“Ms. Gallant,” Grace says.
A wrathful snarl builds in Arsa’s throat. As Grace’s hand wraps over her shoulder, the Skint’s body tenses like a cat preparing to strike, the instant rage of receiving the smack tempered only by the confusion of the sting of it on her backside. And why is she blushing?
Another snap resounds through the room; Grace’s open hand strikes Arsa cleanly across both cheeks. The Skint yowls against the heat rising in her cheeks. “Stop that!”
Grace ratchets Arsa by the neck, forcing the demon to look back, and up, at her. “You want to be fed, don’t you?”
Sensing the uncertainty of its position, Arsa’s stomach is the first to break, sending out a quiet gurgle that spills upwards through the demon in a long whimper. Fearing what she might lose if she delayed her answer, Arsa nods anxiously against the hand in her hair, wordlessly granting her permission.