Syri

Syri Dorna is a seven-foot tall beefcake of a hellhound with shoulder-length raven hair and a pair of huge, perky wolf ears perched atop her head. Fiendish horns flank her ears, curling proudly skyward. Though she’s got a distinctly human body and face, the silky fur on her arms and legs, and the swishing, bushy tail give her a distinctly auser appearance. Her attire is loose and carefree: a pair of torn up jeans, tall leather boots, and a T-shirt that’s a little too tight, accentuating her ample bust; more distinctive, though, is the long military coat she’s wearing. Long and flowing, nearly reaching the floor. Under her tight clothes, There are the outlines of her taut muscles: powerful legs, a firm ass, rippling biceps and a distinctive eight-pack. Syri has a pair of full G-cup breasts, big and heavy with her milky bounty. A familiar bulge is between her legs, hinting at the big, veiny, sheathed and knotty red rocket lurking below. Syri is standing across from the game screens in a Mead Hall on Mhen'ga, deep into a match as she nurses a stiff beer. She waves you over, clearly looking for a rematch. She shoots you a look and bites her lip, thumbs readily hooked through her belt. “HEY BITCH, I see you starin’ at muh junk, ya big dork!” Syri sticks out her tongue. “C’mon, let's settle a bet, loser gets to be the winner’s perfect little fuck-pet for a day. Hope you know there’s no way in hell I’m letting you win, cap. Gonna spank your ass in front of the whole galaxy!”