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Primal appetites

An old Dragon might have strange appetites

“More tea?”

“Certainly. Much appreciated.”

Tea was poured, a cup was lifted, and the aroma of chamomile hung in the air. A sigh of contentment followed a long inhalation, the pleasant perfume inviting the people to rest and enjoy a fine digestion.

After the frosty strawberry cake, the tea was almost welcome, and its warm touch was all that was needed to close this meeting.

Well, a meeting that started rather badly.

Astros was sitting, stuck between the Dragons, and almost squeezed by the two massive forms. The satyr, with his horns adorned with flowers and his attire comparable to a toga, was awfully out of place in the rather dark office, if not for the computer screens.

Still, the bearded and horned business-satyr had been keen not to comment on how his host welcomed his guest and how it could show opprobrium on their dealings.

But that was something Astros was used to.

Fafnir was an old and reclusive Dragon.

Long-necked, horned just like Astros to an almost comical fashion, the cranky and elderly Dragon was just as much a business-myth as any other. Except that his reclusion invited him to handle all deals through computers, to maintain his little comfort, and even to spend days in a bathrobe.

Something that happened even when Astros had specifically invited Fafnir to be in his best attire, to be freshly shaven, to have his scales plucked, and to have his mane trimmed.

But no, Fafnir not only kept the bathrobe but cared little for his appearance.

As expected, Astros’ contact, Dreki, did not take it well at first.

Such a break in the rules of conduct was almost a way to kill a deal. But after many sweeteners and even sweeter words, the contract had been signed… And now, Fafnir was to have half of Dreki’s stocks in a distant mortal company.

An exchange in which Fafnir had given up one precious relic right from his vault.

“You know, I shouldn’t stay here long. I have duties to attend,” said Dreki, the black-scaled Dragon, acting a little nervous.

Astros? He kept sipping and enjoying the tea.

“Already? Don’t you know about po-” started Fafnir, stopping when Astros raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know I have more cakes? I am certain they’ll please you.”

“Certainly not! I have already gained two hundred pounds, and my wife will kill me if I break our bed!”

Astros' brow lowered, and the atmosphere became lighter. Around him, the Dragons were moving and shaking, making the sofa almost wave like a sea during a tempest, though the Satyr kept his composure, his legs closed, and did not even spill his tea.

“Fine then! Let me accompany you back to the entrance. I would be a terrible host if I didn’t,” continued Fafnir, eliciting a slight smile from Astros.

“No! It’s fine! I know my way out. I am certain you and your agent have much to talk about!”

A pause from Fafnir, and a slight recoil.

“Agent? No. Astros is my partner in dealings. But I will not pull your paw. I’ll see you out.”

The sea of furniture continued to shake until the two forms were up and about.

“Hmm. I didn’t think Dreki would notice it,” commented Astros, exhaling before he dropped the teacup. However, instead of falling, the cup levitated towards the coffee table, and Astros stood up on the Sofa, stretching.

This body was aching a bit, so he stretched. Arms, legs, again arms, rolling his neck, making sure that his neck wouldn’t snap. Then, as he was feeling comfortable, Astros turned to the door from where Fafnir would enter.

And sure enough, the Dragon entered, only to freeze, almost stunned.

“Is he gone?” asked Astros, his hands behind his back.

“He… Did. He left,” said Fafnir, finally moving closer to grab the tea and pouring more in Astros’s cup, and he did so finely despite the sheer size difference. “It went well. He gave more than expected.”

Fafnir’s eyes remained low, avoiding Astros’ golden gaze before the dark-skinned Satyr approached the Sofa’s edge, stretching again.

“With that, our benefits won’t be affected by the current crisis. I even expect increased growth of ten percent in the coming years.”

“You can strip, Fafnir.”

The Dragon froze a moment, forcing a smile on his face.

“Wouldn’t you like to taste more of that brew? It’s your favorite!”

“Oh, it is. But you know our rules,” answered the Satyr, a grin spreading across his face, smug. “Please. You refused to put on proper attire. You could at least not hide your true treasure, right?”

Fafnir's eyes finally met with Astros, the corner of his mouth dropping. Then, the Dragon bowed.

“If it weren’t for this contract, I would have made you swallow your words.”

“If it weren’t for this contract, Luna Nova would have emptied your accounts dry.”

Fafnir’s mouth again trembled at the mocking, copied voice. But he relented, and his hands went to his belt. One pull and it was out of the way. Then, Fafnir let the bathrobe fall off his shoulders, like stage curtains.

And below? There was the price.

Despite being of Eastern descent, Fafnir looked like a fine Dragon. His elongated neck was only exacerbating his typically slumped shoulders, his meaty pectorals, his round belly, his bent legs, and… That long cock, constantly half-erect, pulling down the green thong Fafnir wore.

Even those testicles could be seen due to how stretched the textile was, allowing one to peer at the fuzzy scrotum whenever Fafnir moved, especially when he approached and offered Astros another cup of tea.

“Now that this Dreki is handled, no thanks to you,” began Astros, taking another sip while admiring the massive Dragon acting so demure and flustered at being almost naked. Fafnir was tiptoeing around, the tip of his erection wet… Oh, and those nipples, clearer than the typical gray scales covering those pecs, were hard. “We shall discuss my price.”

Astros did not feign punditry. He smacked his lips together like he’d been enjoying the finest wine and licked the interior of his lips after sucking them in.

“What will it be?” asked Fafnir, his fingers tense on the teapot.

“Allow me to peer at that ass.”

And so, the Dragon did. He turned, lifted his fluffy tail, and bent over. He presented his prominent glutes, the exterior of which was covered with coarse, gray scales. However, the interior was darker and slightly redder, with the scales themselves soft enough to mimic human skin. And the sweat… The sweat coated them, making those buttcheeks shine like they’d been covered with lacquer.

And the scent.

It was dubious that Dreki did not catch a whiff of the succulent aroma coming from Fafnir’s posterior. But if he did, he hid it well. Astros? He was not feigning indifference. He licked his lips, took a deep whiff, and beckoned the Dragon closer.

Closer… Closer.

Up until the Dragon’s presence cast a long shadow over Astros, until the Satyr’s presence was practically wrapped by that tail and ass that were bigger than him. Until Astros could peer at that swampy, slightly tense, and certainly plugged rim. The pink dildo formed an unmistakable shape that bulged through the entrance.

“Good. Now… Pull that plug out, please.”

Fafnir shuddered, and a mumble came from the elderly Dragon, too low for Astros to understand it. But Fafnir had to accept it. And so, with one hand on his ample posterior, Fafnir pulled on the asscheeks. He pulled them, spread them, allowing more sweat to drip before and over Astros, though the Satyr did not seem bothered by it.

And then, with those clawed fingers, the Dragon scraped at the toy’s base. He poked it, scratched it, seemed uncaring unless it was his own rim.

And then, with one of those elongated claws, he managed to grip one ring attached to the base. One tiny ring, almost invisible unless one was at the right angle.

And Fafnir pulled.

Fafnir moaned, loudly.

His voice quavered as he moaned, as his asshole, sleek and tight, tried to squeeze on the impudent toy to stall it. Yet, the Dragon was enjoined to pull, and so he did. He pulled, fighting against the tug of that rim, trying to halt the movements, to cease the rubbing, to put an end to the stimulation that left Fafnir’s knees trembling.

Yet, the elderly Dragon pulled, and more fluids dripped through the musky scent, which was replaced by the artificial notes of lubricant.

Fafnir glanced over his shoulder as he bent over further. He almost roared when one of his vertebrae cracked from the sudden shift.

However, the digit remained hooked on the ring and pulled. Stronger, up until the dildo finally slipped out in a concert of slurping and suckling.

The pressure was intense, and the dildo was an impressive sight. Long and massive. But particularly long as it kept sliding out. And out. And out.

Then, as the texture and detailing appeared under the artificial light, it became apparent that the toy was reminiscent of Fafnir’s own genitals. However, this one was merely coated with lube and warmed through the constant presence within Fafnir’s sultry and welcoming inside.

The real erection, the real cock, was spurting inside the thong, drenching it with musky Draconic precum that was to drip down, drop by drop, onto the place’s carpet.

And… Finally, the toy was out.

With a loud schlurp, the fake organ was out, leaving the entrance gaping like a tunnel. The inside was pink, warm, almost steamy, and the musky scent beckoned Astros to come closer as he saw the strands of lube sticking to the anal rings and drop lazily, like sticky stalactites that were about to collapse.

Their suspension was short-lived, and then the fluid dropped, only to coalesce, reach the sphincter’s edge… And drip down, descending along Fafnir’s perineum and onto his fuzzy and exposed testicles.

A sight Astros beheld, sipping his tea.

“Wonderful.”

Fafnir huffed.

Of course, he huffed at the praise. The elderly Dragon acted prudish and cold-blooded, trying to show himself as a calculating and pragmatic shareholder. But the way he moaned or had his asshole sucking on those cocks was a sign Fafnir loved it. Astros was merely coaxing him to accept his inner slut. Even then, it wasn’t taking much of a touch to produce any result.

“We will continue this in your bedroom. I hope you have been a good Dragon and prepared the enchantment,” said Astros, dropping the teacup and jumping off the sofa to step away from the Dragon.

With each step, Astros seemed to grow in height. It wasn’t one change that came and went in a moment; it was a transformation whose regularity made it look seamless. From a human-sized Satyr to one whose height approached Fafnir when the Dragon hunched, Astros walked. He maintained his collected attitude while he heard the Dragon following him into the lair’s depths. Right… To the bedroom.

Without a surprise, everything was ready for their arrival.

Black latex gloves, a bottle of lube. Dildos. A crop. A whip. A harness. Padded cuffs. Real cuffs. All that was practically aligned in a fashion that bordered on OCD when Astros touched them, and heard the bed creak on his left.

A glance… And the Dragon was on all fours near the bed’s edge, again presenting his posterior without even being asked to. It was almost lovingly that Astros undid his toga, letting the fabric drop, and grabbed the harness.

The oversized leather harness was practically fitted to a T on his hairy and muscular chest. It snugged his pectorals and certainly did not chafe his sides as he moved and grabbed the gloves. One by one, he put them on. And then, he heavily slathered the fingers with lube, rubbing them together.

He took his time, listening to the dry heaves coming from the elderly Dragon. Each inhalation came faster than before, Fafnir’s heartbeat coming faster from the excitement and desire.

It was only an exchange, but Fafnir was… Eager.

“Care to tell me again the word?”

“Nova,” said Fafnir, grunting. “You know it.”

“Nova. Nova… Nova. Yes, I know. But I love it when you say it. The reason why we are together,” cooed Astros, interlocking his fingers to make sure even the creases were lubricated.

Then, he approached the Dragon’s backside. His right index finger was extended and then presented to the rim’s edge. The sphincter was swollen, so much so that it had lost its natural, discreet starlike shape to become something obscene. Almost like a donut. A glazed donut.

Or it certainly became glazed when Astros’ fingers, black as coal from the gloves, danced upon the rim. Fafnir might be quivering and huffing, but the icy touch of lube was pleasing. And exciting, and thrilling as the Dragon’s erection throbbed with a renewed intensity while his pucker winked back.

Winked. And welcomed the fingers that were to go inside, more so when an index or a middle finger were to explore the entrance, titillating the passageway, hooking it slightly, before letting it go.

For seconds after that, Astros’ hands would act more demure, so he would see the degree of flexibility Fafnir could offer and the time it needed for the elderly Dragon to be clenching back.

That flexibility constantly increased… But that control, that firmness?

“You are getting loose,” said Astros.

“Much thanks to whom?” growled the Dragon back, acting haughty.

“Certainly the one who has been working in his office with a toy stuck inside him,” said Astros, leaning forward, even clambering on the bed until his groin rubbed against the Dragon’s posterior, until his breath was against that elongated neck. And one gloved hand stroked the long throat.

“Do you find it exciting to work that way? To feel something inside you while you are trying to concentrate?” prodded Astros, his golden eyes glimmering with malice.

Alas, he got for an answer a side glance, then a clicking tongue before the Dragon looked ahead, acting tough.

“Oh. We are doing this, then,” said Astros.

The Satyr would have chuckled. No, he glanced around, and soon something flew closer. It wasn’t a toy Fafnir had put at his disposal. But everything the Dragon owned was his. Astros was delighted when he grabbed the flying clipper and stroked the Dragon’s erect nipples with it.

A shudder.

A yelp.

Fafnir cried when the clipper bit into his erect nipple, digging into the soft flesh while straining the erect nipple, making it appear bigger, redder, and juicier. A fate imitated for the second nipple while Fafnir’s stoic composure showed cracks.

“Ah. It’s-”

“Painful, isn’t it. But you said that when we first began. You will get used to it,” whispered Astros, his voice sultry while he had his tongue licking Fafnir’s neck, and then descended.

The Satyr purposefully avoided the Dragon’s mane until it wasn’t. And then, that tongue was running along the spine, practically counting the bumps along the way, until it danced on the tail. Tail he lifted, holding it and unwillingly smearing lube over it before something descended from the ceiling like a vine canopy to grab the tail.

Ropes.

An adequate tool so that tail would remain up and about… And Astros could return to that orifice that had been left hanging and needy for long enough. Enough for the sphincter to be winking regularly, delivering a faint drop of the lube accumulated within along the Dragon’s perineum, raphe, and then underwear.

A tempting sight, Astros observed with a grin before he gave in and planted one digit inside.

The Dragon’s spine stiffened, and even his neck tensed.

Then came another finger, forcing a whine out of the elder.

The fingers plunged in and out, alternating so the two wouldn’t be forcefully inserted at once. Astros pulled and pushed, teased, tingled that orifice that wasn’t about to give up on clenching and staying tense. But again, with a not-so-gentle touch, Astros managed to explore that moist and velvety hole, feeling it open up and… Suckle on the digit.

At least for the first inch, then it was wider and less tight.

An initial tightness, the Satyr put to the test when he inserted a third finger.

He pushed further this time, the three altogether. Then, he began to move and twist his wrist, rotating it so he would tease the hole at different angles. All to see which angle made Fafnir moan the loudest.

It was certainly the tilted-down wrist that made him cry the loudest, and certainly it would be from that very spot the Dragon had learned to love and crave for touch.

A spot the Satyr was practically feeling before he… Plainly ignored it.

He wasn’t here to satisfy the Dragon, to make him merely cum, and that was all. No, Astros wanted to refine the Dragon’s desires, to make him discover things that were new and uncomfortable about himself.

Desires that would have the Dragon be thoughtful, self-conscious, needy, and pondering about himself.

Masturbation and fleshlights had been the first. Then, the fingering and the innocent toys. Then nipple stimulation with constant pinching. Underwear came in all forms and shapes, just like the toys worn under his clothes during meetings.

Fafnir was a ripe fruit, whose layers of decency and prudery were peeled off to reveal a Dragon who reveled in perverse attention.

A Dragon whose stoic composure had already broken. His lips curled into a smile, his nostrils dilated, his eyes crossed. And the way he laughed to himself was almost impish, so was his wagging tail tip.

He laughed and huffed, and his underwear was completely drenched with precum dripping from it now that he was into it. Fafnir was a junkie, hooked on shameful pleasure, and Astros was his provider.

A provider whose fourth finger had already slipped inside. And then the fifth, having it all inserted within Fafnir.

The old Dragon was all quivering and trembling, his knees weak and yet spreading further. His tail tip, fluffy as it was, wagged and delivered a few hair strands onto Astros’ face and horns while the Satyr pulled his hand out.

The sphincter, despite being loosened, continued to pull back. It remained tight, pulling back, and there was something in Fafnir that despaired for that attention, that love, that… Fist.

Yet, the fingers slipped out. One knuckle, two, all to the last… And then, with the wagging tail tip stopping… Fafnir held his breath.

“Do not tease me,” said Fafnir.

“I shall not,” confirmed Astros with a grin as he inserted his fingers inside. Second knuckles, third, base. The back of the hand, the whole thumb… The wrist.

It was only the wrist that was held tightly, limiting the moves.

In return, Astros almost had the freedom to move his fingers, teasing everything that was inside Fafnir. Poking, scraping, exploring… He could make him cum by titillating the oversized prostate. But again, Astros ignored it as he rotated his wrist.

The Dragon shuddered, his cock spurted into his thong. The mewling that followed was even pathetic, practically no different from a bleating goat.

“More.”

“In due time, Fafnir.”

In due time indeed. For the moment, there was the play. The wrist rotated, the entire hand slightly tugged on the orifice. And then, with a wet smack on the posterior, producing a firmer squeeze, Astros climbed on the bed and forced Fafnir to advance.

All so the Satyr could have his chest lean against Fafnir's ample posterior, and so he could present another set of digits.

The sound of suction from Fafnir’s asshole was already loud, much like a seal that could be tightened or something that kept tugging at the band.

But when the second index finger pressed against it, oh, it was loud.

The squelching was even louder when Astros pulled his index finger out of the rim, letting it clench back around the inserted hand.

And again, Fafnir bleated.

“Do not tease me.”

“But you know I must tease you. This is what makes this more exciting,” countered Astros by grabbing Fafnir’s heavy testicles. The organs were taut in that tight and close-to-the-groin scrotum. The faint gray scales were soft to the touch. But so were the orbs inside when Astros grabbed them… And gave them a firm squeeze.

Fafnir hiccuped, his neck craned, his expression shifted to displeasure for a second. And then, the long neck turned so the old Dragon could see Astros… Smiling, excited, malicious.

“Could we… Keep it to my ass?” asked Fafnir, his voice quavering.

“For once, you are making sense,” nodded Astros.

But his hand, covered in latex, continued to caress and cover those firm orbs with lube. He lifted them, held them between the tips of his fingers, and even palmed them.

Each time, the Dragon’s expression showed his unease.

“Please?”

“Are you begging?”

Astros licked his lips, continued to play with those orbs while the other hand was rotating again. Sure enough, the older Dragon’s attitude shifted, and a loud moan broke his disquiet.

Just a brush on his prostate, and that was all Astros needed to make him collaborate or break down.

The rotation stopped, and another squeeze happened.

“I- I beg you, Astros.”

“Sure enough, I have you to myself this evening, after all.”

A gulp.

But Fafnir would not regret it.

Astros was yearning, hungry to see the old Dragon beg, moan, cry, and supplicate for more.

And so, he pulled with his wrist. The entrance, without much prodding, had tensed again. The sphincter no longer allowed easy access despite the caresses from one hand and a free set of fingers.

Much like with a seal, or perhaps a lock, Astros had to be dexterous so he wouldn’t merely yank the hand out and dare to wound his elder partner.

No, it had to be gentle. Gentle in the way he prodded, stretched, and teased the hole until that swollen and needy rim finally let go. Air escaped; the suction no longer held onto anything. The loud pop was almost perfect. Then, it was back to the other hand, unused to that entrance, to slip in.

Like before, Fafnir shuddered, had his precum firmly milked out of him, and his knees trembled. His neck stiffened, his nostrils dilated, his breathing became ragged.

And… The hand was pulled.

Then it was back to the first, plunging into the gaping sphincter, sealing it again, before Fafnir could even utter a word.

The wrists, moving in unison, were quick to rotate. More than that, the hands were quick to slip inside and sneakily push back against the rim, threatening it with an exit, only to plunge back. But in those brief moments, that entrance was no longer puckered, and it practically blossomed… before the hands forced the sphincter to return to its proper position.

The suction filled the room as much as the scent of ass, of lube, of natural lubricant produced by the Dragon’s glans. The natural lubricant that was smeared on the latex. The same latex that reeked of sex and fluids when Astros punched it all back inside, much to Fafnir’s outcries.

The old Dragon had no qualm revealing he was enjoying it, and the frequency of his spurts was growing. His eyes rolled, his nostrils were dilated so much that anyone could guess he was about to spit fire.

But that fire was extinguished, much like the velleity, by the time Astros had his right hand firmly lodged within, and pulling back, while presenting three fingers to the orifice.

This was a moment of passage.

They had progressed beyond the stage where the rim burned and hurt like fire. The numbness had taken over, much like the cravings. They dulled the senses, erased the fear, the concerns for an asshole that was no longer virgin.

Certainly, Fafnir bit his lips. Astros licked his.

They wanted it, both. And so, the second set of fingers slipped within right as the hand was pulled back, stretching the entrance enough to seal it again, except for a few gaps. Gaps that disappeared once the hand was out, and another was in. Gaps that were to disappear when the hole tightened, much to Fafnir’s delight, and reappear when the action repeated.

One hand out, three fingers in, and then the hand.

One hand out, three fingers in, and then the hand.

One hand out, four fingers in, and then the hand.

One hand out, four fingers in, and then the hand.

One hand out… Five fingers in.

At that instant, Fafnir’s eyes rolled. He gulped loudly, the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down for a second. And then, his mouth opened with a gigantic sigh. Steam followed, too, while the Dragon had practically two hands inside him.

Practically two fists were loosening him so much that the squelching sound became louder until no tightness was left.

Fafnir’s hole was a wide passage, a ruin of itself. And Astros was punching inside, inserting one hand past the wrist, practically at the edge of the gloves’ limits. And then, he withdrew. But in his withdrawal, he was to offer another hand, another fist, another arm.

His movements were like clockwork, his upper body balanced by his face pressed against Fafnir’s tail and his lower body, showing off a control of his core muscles while he pummeled Fafnir’s guts, stretching them past what the mere toys could do.

The guts were stretched from within, and a bulging abdomen could have been expected if Fafnir hadn’t had some excess in fat and drinks.

The assault persisted.

The squelching sound, the not-so-tight seal, popped out every so often while the arms moved with the mechanical accuracy of pistons. In and out, without a break, without a stop.

Fafnir himself was trembling in echo, practically a moaning and broken mess whose upper body dropped on the bed while his ass remained lifted and offered to the Satyr.

Satyr who… Punched. Again. And again.

Up until within a moment of sheer intensity, the piston-like movements were no longer in unison. They were no longer in synchronicity. The left arm was lagging behind. Not excessively so.

After a few seconds, Fafnir could see the pressure on his asshole exacerbating by moments and dwindling by others. He could sense his rim was put to the test in an apex and then left to crave in another.

The pressure on the sphincter continued to fluctuate, never returning to the same baseline. The peaks and valleys were becoming increasingly intense. Up…

Up to the moment, Fafnir felt the left fist was inserted entirely within. And… The right one was going inside, stretching him further than before.

Worse, the wrists had been turned, twisted, so the little fingers were aligned and pressed against the same very spot when Astros withdrew his hands a moment later.

Fafnir cried; he cried so loud that the whole lair was shaking. But the two hands, back in unison, returned inside him. His rim could not, did not resist. And there the Dragon was, entirely fisted and unable to resist.

In and out.

Fafnir cried. Cried as he was milked. As he ejaculated inside the thong he’d been wearing. The fabric had been absorbing so much fluid before, but now, with the Dragon’s sheer ejaculation, the cum pooled inside only to leak through the fabric and then from the sides.

The fabric was at its limit. And yet, the Dragon continued to cum, his cock throbbing with a renewed intensity while his groin lifted and pulled his scrotum closer.

And then… With that intensity receding, leaving the Dragon battered and gripping with reality, Astros pulled his fists out.

The orifice no longer looked like an asshole but a cavern. The fleshy walls were coated with lube, lube that coalesced down or dripped from the top. The different muscles were trying to squeeze back, forming waves of spasms that ran from the depths to the entrance. An entrance that was tentatively winking and closing, solely for that closure to fail and to have the Dragon moaning and bleating.

For Astros? Oh, he was not done, but he gripped the fingers’ gloves, pinched them, and then removed them, one by one, until his fingers were loose. Then he removed the left glove. Then, right before throwing them on the ground.

By then, the Satyr was evidently excited and sporting a boner. But he wasn’t done.

With a snap, more ropes, similar to the first, descended.

They descended and wrapped themselves around the elderly Dragon, knotting themselves over him in a weave that looked like an elaborate structure. An art not lost on the Satyr as he watched the weave cling tightly around the Dragon’s thighs without approaching the place where there would be chafing.

The same weave went over the chest, the pectoral muscles and the needy nipples, the large belly, the bent legs, the weak arms, the elongated neck like a collar.

And then… Much like a fish caught in a net, Fafnir was lifted.

For a moment, Fafnir even looked despondent. His breath was slow and labored. His eyelids were closed. His hands, arms, legs, feet were limp.

It took Astros to clamber on the bed and to grab Fafnir by the chin to have the Dragon steadily open his weary eyes. Weary and yet lustful.

“Any word for me? Starting with N?” asked Astros, stroking the chin’s underside with his fingers.

“No. Do your worst, Satyr,” said Fafnir with a growl and a smile.

One Astros would make regret when the Satyr gripped his massive erection, showing it off to the elderly Dragon. He licked his lips, then had his hand descending to the clipped nipple, liberating one, but for a second.

“My worst? Oh. You don’t know it yet, Old Dragon. But we have the evening to ourselves.”