Page 42 of Hot Summer's Prey

“I think I’m too horny to really understand anything you just said, but it sounds—”

With my pussy alight with pleasure and sensitivity, the tendril widens my entrance before he plunges his sifon in. My nails dig into his forearms, as I cannot help but thrust up toward him until he is buried all the way.

“FUCK, YOU FEEL SO GOOD,” I scream.

They’re the last words I can get out before everything turns to moans and whimpers and half-formed, desperate pleas. Cocks and toys and fingers—nothing feels like this—once inside, you can only feel so much. But I can feel every part of his sifon, and whatever is in that gel stuff on him has me so relaxed, there’s no pain. It’s just enough friction, just enough resistance that I buck my hips against him, wanting more, more, more. But even more, that little tendril massages my labia, twists up towards my clit to tease and play with it. With the pearl stuff already soaking my pussy, I am pushed to my limits.

I come hard, writhing on the ground in ecstasy. But Pacari doesn’t slow down. Instead, he pulls me up close to him, settles his legs underneath mine, propping my ass against his thighs as he continues to buck into me again and again.

“Your curves, Teresa, the way you move—has there ever been anything so gorgeous?” he gasps.

Our eyes meet, and now I can see his are blazing gold. My hands barely work, but as I settle them on his shoulders, they can’t help but explore the fins along his neck. As I do, his grip on me tightens, his whole body tenses before thrusting hard up into me.

His voice turns to a whine as he struggles to say, “your hands feel so good on my fins.”

He arches his neck into the touch, begging for more with his body. My fingers trace the bones underneath his skin as smoothly as I can. His thrusts turn into rolls as he slows his pace, still plunging as deep as he can. I can’t help but wonder if this is his reaction to my fingers, what would it be like to run my tongue along them? His hand shifts to my waist, the other falling behind him for support as I lean down to test.

His sounds turn to panting whimpers as I run my tongue along his fins.

“Teresa,” he gasps. “F—ah—fuck.”

Since he’s pushing me to my limits, I have no qualms about giving him the same treatment. I love having this power over him, hearing him desperate for me, for my touch. I love how unafraid he is to make such submissive, delicate sounds. Too many human men try to hide their enjoyment under manly grunts, but whatever culture yacanuyi have, it frees them from this toxic masculinity.

It only solidifies how I feel about him. How much I want this—want him—forever. No one else could ever make me feel like this.

He shudders beneath me, and suddenly I feel so full. I gasp as I look down and see pearls—literal pearls—dripping out from my pussy.

Pacari begins to shift back to his human form—at least parts of him do. His sifon is still buried deep inside me, but his torso and head shift back. The transformation seems to do more to push his pleasure and he comes again.

He looks back at me lazily, dreamily, pulls my mouth close to his. I keep grinding against him as he swears and moans under his breath.

“That’s never happened before,” he whispers, his voice light with awe.

He reaches down to the pearls between our legs, tries to squish them between his fingers. They’re nearly solid as a real pearl.

“Huh,” he mutters, still not stopping as he rolls into me. Each wave of his movements moves the pearls around inside, an internal massage that has me falling forward onto his shoulders.

“What is it?” I slur, barely able to get the words out for how many sensations still ripple through me.

“Teresa, what is it you desired?” he murmurs against my ear, nipping and nuzzling.

I pull my face back to look at him. He looks exhausted and fulfilled, just like I feel. His human face is pretty cute, too, his face long. I trace his nose, the bridge thick and somewhat pointed at the bottom, skin a gorgeous mahogany. I like him in every way—human or yacunayi. I kiss his nose as I ride the waves of his continued lust.

“You,” I say.

Finally, he pauses. He pulls me in for a long, heartfelt, passionate kiss. As we pull apart, he scoops up the pearls carefully, hands shaking. Still, he hasn’t pulled us apart.

“What are you doing?” I murmur, resting my forehead against his.

“I can’t lose these,” he says. “They’re what tie me to you. You to me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, unable to resist kissing along his precious face.

“Oh—” he spots another wave as it threatens to break over us, pulls our bodies so tight nothing can get between us.

His body writhes against mine as he turns back to yacunayi. He shudders again.

“That was close.”

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