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She kept her gaze on him as she did as ordered, lifting up her butt so she could pull them down, then curling her legs into her chest to pull them over her feet.
“Open,” he said.
She did. Spreading her thighs as he sank to his knees in front of her. She put one of her feet on his shoulder, a stand for her comfort as she ran her hands up her body. Caressing herself. Teasing her body for his pleasure.
The cameras tightened on them. Following their programming but seeming so alive as they got shameless pictures of her bare, bald pussy.
“I said, open,” Serval repeated, grabbing her ankle, keeping her leg still. Because he wasn’t referring to her legs.
Sophie brought her fingers to her lips and sucked on them. Running her tongue up and down the two digits, getting them slick and wet and shiny. Then, slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she lowered them down her body, over her bunched up skirt, to her lower lips. She spread them wide, giving him and the cameras an open view of her throbbing, pulsing pussy.
Serval hissed in a long breath, putting his other hand on her thigh, pushing it down, opening her further to his hungry gaze.
“Play with yourself,” he commanded.
Sophie had never done this before either. It was one thing to flick her clit while she was being fucked, but it was a whole other thing to masturbate while being actively watched. While he stared as she ran her fingers through the slickness of her hole, up to her hard, aching nubbin, circling it slowly. The fluttering, burning in her belly was much harsher just for having his eyes on her.
But she loved it. Sophie loved attention. Loved being in the limelight. This performance was for an audience of one, but there was enough adoration and appreciation burning in him that she didn’t need anyone else.
His breathing deepened. He licked his lips, like he was imagining licking the slickness she felt building under her fingers. She pushed down, finding the entrance to her pussy, and pressed inside. He breath caught then, his entire body going still, as he watched her fuck her own fingers.
There was a noticeable bulge in his loose, comfortable pants. It pressed against the fabric. She could see it pulse with his heartbeat. The size made her lightheaded as she imagined he was pounding her into the ground, the cameras taking complete 360 shots of their joining.
But as she stared, imagining him hammering into her, making her squeal and shout, something in his pants moved.
She stilled, eyes widening. Because that wasn’t the throbbing of a cock that wasn’t receiving enough attention and too much stimulation. There was something wriggling under the fabric of his tan breeches that wasn’t normal at all.
Wasn’t human at all, she corrected herself.
She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t considered that Serval’s equipment would be that different. How strange could a cock get, after all?
She didn’t know, but she was suddenly eager to find out.
“Let me see,” she begged softly, staring shamelessly.
Serval didn’t need to ask what she meant. He also didn’t hesitate the way she had. He pressed the seal on the pants, and they split right over his groin. He barely had to touch them; his cock was already pushing through the opening.
Sophie’s mouth went dry as her thighs began to shake. Because they were being pressed apart, or because of the sudden aching, yearning at the sight of what was between his legs, she honestly couldn’t tell.
Serval’s cock was long, but not so much that it made her afraid for her cervix. What was really intimidating was its girth. It was thicker than a soda can, fattest around the middle of the shaft. The head of it was teardrop shaped, bulbous, a thick drop of white precum beading at the top. The entire thing was the same dark blue of his olules, though the head was significantly darker, and it led to a nest of tentacles right there at the base of the shaft.
Olules, smaller than the ones on his head, formed a ring around his cock, only about half as long as the shaft except for two long ones at the top. They were wriggling in the air, waving like the arms of an anemone, like they were searching for something.
“What are those?” She asked, trembling as he stroked a hand down his cock.
The tentacles at the base tried to grab onto his hand. But he pulled free before they could catch onto him. Their wriggling increased at their failure.
“My ovules,” Serval told her, lifting a finger to touch one. He shuddered, eyes nearly closing, as if they were sensitive. “They’re meant to lock into my female when I fuck her.”
Sophie bit her lip, fighting back a moan as she looked at them. Their erratic waving. The slow stroking of his large hand over the thick shaft of his cock while those two longer ovules tried to catch his wrist. It looked like he was going to gore a hole straight through her.
And she wanted it.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Serval growled.
Sophie jumped, remembering that her fingers were buried in her pussy, and they had been unmoving while she stared at the club between his legs.
She began thrusting them again, surprised to find how much wetter she had become just by looking at his cock. Imagining it impaling her, gaping her open around that thick shaft, before those ovules reached for her, grasped her, stung her, wriggled inside her.
