From the beginning her intent had been to toy with him, to rile him up a little for the inevitable course to come. But somehow her little game had turned into torture by the will of the indulging male still fixed upon her backside by alternative means than what her body desperately craved. She was hard-pressed to remain still, even with his arm constricting her movements. Her claws raked the floor of the den, filing their lengths down with each grating stroke. The further he delved, every stroke, every prod, pushed her closer toward a euphoric end, reached for in vain by scraping claws. Her whines had exceeded audible range but the sharp intakes of breath proved there was still sound to be had. However minute, however fine… she still continued to plead working in vain to subdue the growing tension coiling at her core so abruptly.
Then came a sudden release, with no warning or conceivable tell, the wound tension uncoiled all at once conveyed by the tremor of her collapsed form and the audible rendition of her beloved’s name echoing off the interior of the den.