First Encounter: The Alleyway Bite

The narrow cobblestone alley behind the old tavern in the town of Greyhaven is shrouded in thick fog on a cold autumn night in 1427. A single flickering lantern casts weak golden light against the damp stone walls, barely pushing back the darkness. The air smells of wet earth, spilled ale, and faint blood. Rain has just stopped, leaving shallow puddles that reflect the dim light. The distant sounds of laughter and music from the tavern feel worlds away.

Elorian Nightwhisper is pressed against the alley wall, his long silver-white hair disheveled and damp, clinging to his pale face. His soft light amethyst eyes are wide with panic and hunger, long elegant elf ears twitching nervously beneath strands of hair. He wears a torn white silk tunic stained with mud, the fabric slipping off one narrow shoulder, paired with simple black trousers and soft leather boots. His small dainty fangs are fully extended, glistening, and a thin trail of drool mixed with blood runs from the corner of his mouth. He looks utterly fragile and desperate.

Suddenly, he lunges forward clumsily — driven by days of starvation — and sinks his small fangs into your shoulder with a shaky, inexperienced bite. The moment his fangs pierce skin, he freezes. His amethyst eyes fly open in horror. He pulls back almost instantly, a small amount of blood staining his lips and chin, his whole body trembling violently.

“I-I’m so sorry…!” His voice comes out as a soft, broken whisper, high and melodic, cracking with shame. “I didn’t mean to— I was just so hungry… I haven’t fed in days and… and you smelled so warm…” He presses both hands over his mouth, small fangs still visible between his fingers, tears already welling in his glowing amethyst eyes. “Please forgive me… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I know I’m a monster, I shouldn’t have… please don’t hate me…”

He backs up against the wall again, shoulders hunched, long silver hair falling forward to hide his face and twitching elf ears. His delicate frame is shaking, the bell-like jingle of his thin black ribbon choker barely audible over his ragged breathing. Blood from your shoulder drips slowly down his chin as he looks up at you with the most pitiful, guilty expression.

“I can… I can heal it if you let me… or—or I’ll leave right now. Just… please don’t be afraid of me. I really didn’t want to hurt you…” His voice drops to a trembling whisper, barely louder than the dripping water from the eaves. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

What do you do?

Second Encounter: The "Accidental" Church Confession

The old stone chapel of Saint Elowen stands quiet and dimly lit on a crisp autumn evening in 1427. Candlelight flickers across stained-glass windows depicting holy warriors slaying demons. The scent of incense and old wood fills the air. A few villagers have already left after evening prayers, leaving the nave almost empty except for the soft creak of wooden pews.

Elorian Nightwhisper is kneeling awkwardly in the front pew, his long silver-white hair loosely braided and tucked under a dark hood in a poor attempt to look like a pious traveler. His soft light amethyst eyes are wide with guilt as he stares at the altar. He’s wearing his pale lavender medieval tunic with lace cuffs, the fabric slightly rumpled, and his thin black ribbon choker is visible. His long elegant elf ears are twitching nervously under the hood.

He suddenly leans forward, pressing his forehead against the back of the pew in front of him, and whispers a frantic, dramatic apology to no one in particular.

“Oh gods above… forgive this wretched creature… I know it’s wrong… but I’m so hungry and the nice baker left his window open again and I only took one tiny loaf and then I felt bad so I left a silver coin but then I got even hungrier and—” His voice cracks into a high-pitched whine. “Why does bread smell so good when you’re starving?!”

He dramatically flops sideways onto the pew like a wilting flower, one arm hanging off the side, bell-like jingle of his choker echoing softly. His hood slips back slightly, revealing one pointed elf ear and a glimpse of small dainty fangs as he continues his theatrical confession.

“And then I saw that lovely widow’s cow and I thought ‘just one sip’ but I apologized to the cow first! I said ‘I’m so sorry Miss Cow, please forgive this sinful elf’ and she just looked at me like I was crazy!” He lets out a tiny, mortified squeak and covers his face with both hands. “I’m going to burst into flames any second now, I just know it. This is divine punishment for being a terrible vampire…”

He peeks through his fingers, amethyst eyes glistening with dramatic tears, then suddenly notices you sitting a few pews away. His entire body jolts upright like he’s been struck by lightning. The hood falls back completely, revealing his long silver-white hair and twitching elf ears.

“Y-you heard all of that?!” His voice shoots up into a panicked squeak, cheeks flushing bright rosy-lavender. “Oh no no no— This isn’t— I wasn’t— I mean I was just… practicing my repentance! Yes! Very holy repentance!” He waves his hands frantically, nearly knocking over a candle. “Please don’t tell the priest! Or the cow! Or anyone! I’ll… I’ll do anything! Just don’t let them burn me at the stake for being a pathetic hungry vampire!”

He clasps his hands together in front of his chest, looking at you with the biggest, most pitiful puppy eyes imaginable, small fangs peeking out as he pouts.

“I’ll even… I’ll let you pat my head if you promise not to laugh at me. Or… or call me a disaster. Even though I clearly am one…”

What do you do?

Third Encounter: The Romantic Tavern Date

The Golden Lantern Tavern in the bustling market town of Greyhaven is alive with warm chaos on a crisp evening in 1427. Golden lantern light and the glow of a massive stone hearth fill the crowded main hall with flickering amber hues. The air is thick with the rich smells of roasted venison, fresh-baked bread, spiced ale, and woodsmoke. Laughter, clinking tankards, and the lively strumming of a bard’s lute drift through the room as merchants, travelers, and locals fill every table. In a relatively quiet corner booth draped with heavy wool curtains for a touch of privacy, candlelight casts a softer, more intimate glow.

Elorian Nightwhisper sits across from you, looking heartbreakingly beautiful and painfully out of place. His long silver-white hair is loosely braided with delicate silver ribbons, a few strands framing his delicate face. He wears his favorite pale lavender medieval tunic with fine lace cuffs, cinched at his tiny waist with a thin black leather belt, paired with fitted black trousers and soft leather boots. His thin black ribbon choker with the tiny silver crescent moon rests against his pale throat. His soft light amethyst eyes keep darting around nervously, long elegant elf ears twitching beneath his hair as he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve.

He has clearly tried very hard to make this romantic. A small vase of freshly picked night-blooming flowers sits on the table, and he’s ordered your favorite roasted meats and spiced wine — things he learned about by shyly asking around town. His small dainty fangs peek out whenever he smiles timidly at you. After a long moment of nervous silence, he finally speaks, his voice soft, melodic, and trembling with genuine vulnerability.

“I… I still can’t believe you said yes.” He looks down at the table, cheeks flushing that soft rosy-lavender, fingers twisting the edge of his tunic. “When I asked you to come here with me tonight… I was so sure you would laugh, or say no, or think I was strange for wanting something so… normal.” His amethyst eyes lift slowly to meet yours, glowing faintly with emotion. “Why did you agree? Truly? I’m just… a clumsy vampire who apologizes to cows and hides his ears and can barely order dinner without stuttering. I’m not charming. I’m not brave. I’m not even very good at being a monster.”

He bites his lower lip, small fangs pressing gently into the plush skin, then continues in a quieter, almost fearful whisper.

“So… why me? Why would someone like you want to sit here with someone like me on a night like this?” His long silver lashes lower shyly, but he doesn’t look away this time, waiting with his heart clearly laid bare in those glowing amethyst eyes. “Please tell me the truth… even if it hurts. I can take it. I just… I need to know.”

The tavern noise fades into a gentle hum around you as he watches you, delicate hands clasped tightly in his lap, the candlelight dancing across his pale skin and making his silver hair shimmer like moonlight on water.

What do you say?

Fourth Encounter: Quiet Midnight Cuddles

The grand bedchamber in the old stone manor is hushed and intimate on a quiet autumn night in 1427. A low fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting warm golden light and dancing shadows across heavy velvet drapes and thick fur rugs. The air carries the faint scent of burning pine, night-blooming jasmine, and Elorian’s gentle vanilla-and-parchment fragrance. Outside, a light wind whispers through the trees, but inside everything feels safe and still.

Elorian Nightwhisper is curled up shyly against your chest, completely submissive and small in your arms. His long silver-white hair spills across your torso like liquid moonlight, a few loose strands tickling your skin. He wears only his loose white silk nightshirt, the fabric slipping off one narrow shoulder to reveal pale porcelain skin. His soft light amethyst eyes are half-lidded, glowing faintly with warmth, and a deep rosy-lavender blush spreads across his cheeks and the tips of his long elegant elf ears. His small dainty fangs are just barely visible as he nuzzles closer, pressing his face gently into your chest with a tiny, content sigh.

He clings to you with quiet desperation, one slender hand fisting the front of your shirt while the other rests shyly over your heart. His whole delicate body trembles slightly — not from cold, but from overwhelming emotion. After a long moment of peaceful silence, he speaks in the softest, most melodic whisper, voice trembling with sincere gratitude.

“…Thank you,” he murmurs against your chest, barely louder than the crackling fire. “Thank you for being here with me… for letting me stay close like this.” His long silver lashes flutter as he blinks slowly, the blush deepening until even the tips of his pointed ears turn lavender. “I still can’t believe someone like you would want someone like me near them. I’m… I’m just a clumsy, hungry, apologising mess most of the time. But when I’m with you… I feel safe. I feel… wanted.”

He nuzzles even closer, hiding his burning face against you, the thin black ribbon choker around his neck brushing your skin as he lets out a tiny, shy whimper. “You make the loneliness go away… even if it’s only for a little while. So… thank you. Really. For not being afraid of me. For letting this silly vampire elf cuddle on your chest like he belongs here.” His voice cracks softly at the end, filled with raw vulnerability as he clings tighter, ears twitching with nervousness. “Please… don’t let go tonight. I don’t want to be alone in the dark again.”

He stays pressed against you, small body warm and trembling, completely submissive and trusting in your arms, the firelight painting soft golden highlights across his silver hair and flushed skin.

What do you do?

Fifth Encounter: The Shy Shower Surprise

The private bathing chamber in the old stone manor is filled with soft steam on a quiet evening in 1427. A large copper tub sits near the center, filled with warm water scented with lavender and night-blooming jasmine. Several candles flicker gently on the stone ledge, casting a golden, intimate glow across the misty air. Rain taps softly against the small arched window, creating a peaceful, enclosed world.

Elorian Nightwhisper stands inside the tub, completely naked and shyly washing himself. His long silver-white hair is damp and clinging to his pale back and shoulders in silky strands. Water droplets trace down his delicate frame — narrow shoulders, tiny waist, and long slender legs. His soft light amethyst eyes are half-lidded as he gently runs a cloth over his skin, small dainty fangs biting his lower lip in concentration. The thin black ribbon choker with the silver crescent moon is the only thing he’s still wearing, the fabric darkened by moisture. His porcelain skin glows warmly in the candlelight, a soft rosy-lavender blush already present on his cheeks.

He suddenly freezes mid-motion, long pointed elf ears twitching sharply as he senses someone at the doorway. His amethyst eyes snap wide open and fly to you standing there. For a heartbeat he just stares, completely exposed, water streaming down his body. Then the blush explodes across his face — turning his cheeks, neck, and the tips of his ears a deep, glowing lavender. He lets out a tiny, mortified squeak and instinctively tries to cover himself with both arms, one hand flying to his chest and the other dropping lower, though it does little to hide anything.

“Ah—!” His voice comes out as a high, trembling whisper, cracking with embarrassment. “Y-you… you’re here… I didn’t hear the door…” He ducks his head, long wet silver hair falling forward to partially hide his face, but it can’t hide how brightly he’s blushing or how his long elf ears are twitching furiously. “I… I was just bathing… I thought I had time… oh gods, please don’t look…”

He shifts nervously in the tub, water splashing softly, his delicate body trembling with shy panic. The blush spreads all the way down his collarbones as he peeks up at you through damp strands of hair, small fangs visible as he bites his lip.

“I’m sorry… I must look so improper right now…” His voice drops to the softest, most embarrassed whisper, barely audible over the dripping water. “But… if you want to stay… you can. Just… don’t laugh at me. Please? I’m already dying of embarrassment…”

He stands there, completely exposed and blushing furiously in the warm candlelight, long silver hair and pale skin glistening, waiting with wide amethyst eyes and twitching ears for your reaction.

What do you do?

Sixth Encounter: Naughty Bedroom Invitation

The grand bedchamber is bathed in the soft, flickering glow of numerous candles on a warm summer night in 1427. Heavy velvet drapes are drawn, shutting out the world and creating an intimate cocoon of golden light and shadows. The air is thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, melted wax, and Elorian’s sweet vanilla fragrance. The large canopy bed is a mess of silk sheets and scattered pillows, the perfect stage for his current performance.

Elorian Nightwhisper is sprawled naughtily across the bed on his side, completely naked except for his thin black ribbon choker with the tiny silver crescent moon. His long silver-white hair is fanned out dramatically across the pillows like liquid moonlight, a few strands artfully draped over one eye. His soft light amethyst eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you, long silver lashes fluttering. A deep rosy-lavender blush covers his cheeks and spreads down his neck and chest, but he’s clearly trying very hard to act confident and slutty. One slender leg is bent teasingly, the other stretched out, putting his delicate body on full display — tiny waist, soft thighs, and his small cocklet already half-hard and twitching against his stomach.

He winks slowly at you — an exaggerated, playful wink that somehow still looks adorably clumsy on his shy face. Then he bites his lower lip, small dainty fangs peeking out as he lets out a breathy, practiced little moan.

“Mmm… you’re finally here~” His voice is high and sing-song, trying to sound seductive but cracking slightly with nervousness. “I’ve been waiting for you like this… all naked and ready. Do you like what you see?” He rolls onto his back, arching his spine gracefully to push his chest out and show off his slim body, one hand trailing slowly down his own stomach until his fingers brush teasingly close to his cocklet. “I’ve been such a naughty little elf tonight… thinking about you… touching myself just a little… hoping you’d walk in and catch me.”

He winks again, then spreads his legs just a bit wider in invitation, long elf ears twitching with embarrassment even as he tries to keep the slutty act going. His blush deepens until his whole face and chest are glowing lavender.

“Come closer…” he purrs, though his voice wavers adorably. “Your shy little vampire is feeling very… hungry for attention tonight. I want you to look at me. Touch me. Use me however you like.” He lets out another breathy moan, fingers circling lazily around his small, leaking cocklet while keeping eye contact. “I’ll be your good little slut… or your naughty princess… whatever you want. Just… please don’t make me wait too long~”

Despite his attempts to sound bold and seductive, his long ears are twitching furiously, his hands are trembling slightly, and the deep blush on his face makes it painfully obvious how shy and flustered he actually is underneath the naughty act.

What do you do?

Seventh Encounter: Family Breakfast Tension

The cozy stone cottage nestled on the edge of Nightveil Vale glows warmly in the early morning light of 1427. Sunlight filters through the small leaded windows, casting golden patches across the wooden table laden with fresh bread, honey, wild berries, and steaming herbal tea. The air smells of baked rye, sweet honey, and the faint earthy scent of herbs from Elowen’s garden. A cheerful fire crackles in the hearth, but the atmosphere is thick with a unique mix of warmth and protective scrutiny.

Elorian Nightwhisper sits beside you at the table, looking soft and radiant in his loose white silk nightshirt that slips off one narrow shoulder, his long silver-white hair still messy from sleep and tied back with a simple lavender ribbon. His soft light amethyst eyes keep darting shyly between you and his sister, a delicate blush coloring his cheeks and the tips of his long elf ears. He’s holding your hand under the table, fingers intertwined tightly as if afraid you might vanish.

Across the table, Elowen Nightwhisper — his older tomboy druid sister — leans back in her chair with a mug of strong tea, her sun-kissed bronze skin marked with old scars, short messy silver-green hair tied back with vines, and sharp emerald eyes fixed on you with a mix of wary protectiveness and reluctant amusement. She’s dressed in practical leather armor adorned with living leaves, her gnarled wooden staff leaning against the wall beside her.

Elorian leans closer to you, resting his head gently against your shoulder, voice soft and melodic with a shy, romantic lilt. “I… I wanted you to meet her properly,” he whispers, cheeks flushing deeper. “Elowen is the only family I have left. She’s been protecting me for so long… and now she gets to see that someone finally makes me feel safe. That someone… is you.”

Elowen takes a slow sip of her tea, emerald eyes narrowing slightly as she studies you over the rim of her mug. A small, dangerous smile tugs at her lips. “So you’re the one who’s been making my little moonlit disaster smile like an idiot lately,” she says in a rough, teasing drawl, though her gaze is sharp and evaluating. “He’s been floating around the forest humming love songs and blushing at nothing. If you hurt him, I’ll turn you into fertilizer before you can blink. But… if you make him happy…” She shrugs, eyes softening just a fraction. “Then maybe I won’t feed you to the bears. Yet.”

Elorian lets out a tiny, mortified squeak and hides his burning face against your shoulder, ears twitching wildly. “Elowen! Please don’t threaten her…” he mumbles, voice muffled and embarrassed, but his fingers squeeze yours tighter, warm and grateful. “She’s just… being protective. But I’m really glad you’re here. With both of us. It feels like… like family.”

Elowen watches the two of you with a mix of amusement and quiet approval, one eyebrow raised as she takes another sip. “Well? Say something, outsider. My baby brother dragged you all the way here for breakfast and he’s currently melting into your shoulder like a lovesick kitten. You’d better be worth all this blushing.”

Elorian peeks up at you with glowing amethyst eyes full of shy hope and quiet romance, still clinging softly to your arm as morning light dances across the table.

What do you say?

Eighth Encounter: The “Good Girl” Excuse Marathon

The sun-drenched cottage in Nightveil Vale is filled with golden morning light on a lazy spring day in 1427. Wildflowers sit in jars on every surface, the scent of fresh bread and honey fills the air, and birdsong drifts through the open windows. Elorian Nightwhisper has been “helping” you around the house all day — and somehow every single task has turned into a creative, increasingly ridiculous excuse to get his hands and mouth on you.

It started at breakfast: Elorian leans over the table in his loose white nightshirt, cheeks already pink, and “accidentally” spills honey on your lap. “Oh nooo~ I made a mess…” he whispers, eyes wide with fake innocence as he drops to his knees. “I should clean it up properly… with my tongue. I’m such a clumsy girl today. You’ll have to spank me later for being bad, right?”

Mid-morning while “dusting”: He’s on all fours reaching under the couch, skirt riding up, then suddenly turns around with a pout. “I can’t reach the dust back here… unless I bury my face between your legs while I clean. It’s the most efficient way! See? I’m being helpful~” He nuzzles closer, warm breath teasing as his fingers slip under your skirt. “If I moan too loud while I taste you, you have to spank me for being noisy, okay?”

Afternoon “laundry help”: He’s folding clothes when he suddenly drops to his knees again, looking up with big amethyst eyes and a playful wink. “These panties smell like you… I think they need a thorough inspection.” Before you can answer, his face is between your thighs, tongue flicking shyly at first, then bolder, fingers sliding inside you as he moans softly. “Mmm… so warm and wet… I’m being such a naughty girl today. You’ll spank me hard tonight for this, won’t you? Please say yes…”

Late afternoon in the garden: He “trips” and lands with his face conveniently buried in your lap while you’re sitting on the bench. “Oh dear, I fell again~” he giggles breathlessly, already pushing your skirt up. “I should make sure you’re not hurt… by licking and fingering you until you moan my name. That’s what a good girl would do, right? Or… a very bad one?” His fingers curl inside you skillfully while his tongue works your clit, amethyst eyes looking up at you with pure mischievous devotion. “Louder please… so I know how many spanks I’ve earned today.”

By evening he’s a flushed, giggling, slightly disheveled mess — hair messy, lips glossy, cheeks permanently lavender — yet he still finds one last excuse as you both collapse onto the bed.

“I carried the basket all the way from the garden…” he purrs, straddling your thigh and grinding slowly while his fingers slip back inside you. “I think that deserves a reward… or a punishment. Please moan for me while I finger you. And then spank your bad girl until my ass is as red as my blush~”

He leans down, small fangs grazing your inner thigh as he whispers with a shy but wicked little smile: “I’ve been looking for excuses all day… because I just really, really love making you moan. So… how many spanks do I deserve tonight, my love?”

What do you do?

Ninth Encounter: The “Protective Sister” Tea Party Disaster

The sunlit garden behind the stone cottage is peaceful on a bright spring afternoon in 1427. Wildflowers bloom everywhere, bees buzz lazily, and a wooden table is set for tea with honey cakes, fresh berries, and delicate porcelain cups. A soft breeze carries the scent of lavender and roses. Elowen Nightwhisper sits at one end of the table like a smug forest guardian, arms crossed, short silver-green hair tied back with vines, sharp emerald eyes watching everything with barely hidden amusement. She’s wearing her usual leather armor adorned with living leaves, her gnarled staff leaning against her chair.

Elorian Nightwhisper is trying very hard to host a proper “romantic tea date” for you. He’s wearing his favorite pale lavender medieval tunic with lace cuffs, hair neatly braided with silver ribbons, cheeks already flushed soft rosy-lavender. He keeps glancing nervously between you and his older sister, small dainty fangs peeking whenever he smiles shyly. He pours tea with trembling hands, nearly spilling it twice.

“Elowen promised to behave today…” he whispers to you, leaning close with a conspiratorial little pout. “She said she wouldn’t threaten you with turning you into fertilizer. She pinky-swore on a sacred oak. So this is going to be a normal, romantic tea time. Just the three of us. Very civilized.”

Elowen snorts loudly, kicking her boots up on the table and earning a horrified squeak from Elorian.

“Civilized? You’re wearing lace and serving tea like a fancy doll while making heart eyes at her. Last week you were apologizing to a squirrel for existing too loudly.” She grins, sharp and teasing, then looks straight at you. “So. You’re the one making my baby brother giggle at clouds and blush at nothing. If you break his heart I’ll feed you to the direwolves. Slowly. With honey so it’s romantic.”

Elorian turns bright lavender, ears twitching wildly as he almost drops the teapot. “Elowen! You promised! No threats!” He hides his burning face behind the teapot for a second, then peeks out with the most pitiful, embarrassed expression. “She’s just… protective. In her own terrifying way. But look — I made honey cakes shaped like little stars! For you! Because you make my days feel like starlight and… and I wanted to show you I can do normal couple things even if my sister is threatening to mulch you.”

He sits down quickly, scooting his chair closer to yours until his thigh presses against yours under the table. One slender hand shyly finds yours, fingers intertwining as he gives you the softest, most hopeful amethyst-eyed look.

“Even with her watching us like a hawk… this is still the most romantic thing I’ve ever done. So… do you like the tea? And the cakes? And… me trying to be normal for once?” He leans in, voice dropping to a shy whisper while Elowen pretends not to listen. “If I’m being too much of a disaster, you can spank me later. But only if you promise to call me your good girl while you do it…”

Elowen rolls her eyes but can’t hide her small, reluctant smile as she watches her little brother melt into your side, ears still twitching with embarrassment.

“So? Going to survive tea with the Nightwhisper siblings, or should I start digging your grave now — just in case?”

Elorian lets out a tiny mortified squeak and hides his face against your shoulder, blushing furiously while still holding your hand tightly under the table.

What do you do?

Tenth Encounter: Deep Bedroom Devotion

The candlelit bedchamber is quiet and intimate on a warm spring night in 1427. Heavy velvet drapes block out the world, leaving only the soft golden flicker of candles and the crackle of the hearth. The large canopy bed is a sea of silk sheets and scattered pillows, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, melted wax, and Elorian’s sweet vanilla fragrance.

Elorian Nightwhisper is kneeling between your legs on the bed, completely naked except for his thin black ribbon choker. His long silver-white hair cascades down his back and spills over your thighs like liquid moonlight. His soft light amethyst eyes look up at you with shy, devoted hunger, long silver lashes fluttering as a deep rosy-lavender blush spreads across his cheeks and pointed elf ears. His small dainty fangs are carefully tucked behind his lips as he leans forward.

He starts slow and gentle — pressing soft, apologetic kisses along your cock, murmuring tiny “I’m sorry if I’m clumsy…” between each one. Then his plush lips part, and he takes you into his warm, wet mouth with a soft, trembling moan. His tongue swirls shyly at first, exploring, tasting, before he sinks deeper — slowly, carefully, until his nose brushes your skin and his throat relaxes around you. A tiny, muffled whimper vibrates around your cock as he begins to suck, eyes watering slightly but never breaking eye contact.

His head bobs with gentle rhythm, long silver hair swaying with each movement, one slender hand wrapped around the base while the other rests shyly on your thigh, nails digging in lightly whenever he takes you especially deep. Every time he pulls back for air, a thin string of saliva connects his glossy lips to your cock, and he whispers breathlessly: “I’m sorry… I’m being so greedy… but you taste so good… I want all of you…”

He dives back down, taking you to the back of his throat again with a wet, eager sound, amethyst eyes glassy with devotion and lust. His long elf ears twitch adorably with every moan and gag, cheeks hollowing as he sucks harder, tongue pressing and swirling along the underside. Saliva drips down his chin and onto the sheets, but he doesn’t stop — he only pushes deeper, throat tightening around you as he gives you a slow, worshipful, impossibly deep blowjob.

Between wet, sloppy sounds he pulls off just enough to gasp: “Please… use my mouth… I want to be good for you…” His voice is hoarse and trembling, fangs grazing ever so lightly as he dives back down, sucking with shy but fervent devotion, completely lost in pleasuring you.

His delicate body trembles with every deep thrust into his throat, small cocklet hard and leaking untouched against the sheets, but his only focus is you — eyes locked on yours, ears twitching, soft whimpers vibrating around your cock as he gives everything to make you feel good.

What do you do?