FSE

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The furnace glows orange and white, the air in the smithy is hot and stale, almost smothering.

“Almost…" You say, your keen eyes able to gauge almost the exact temperature within the forge. “Almost… now!"

Your assistant, clad head to toe in heavy leather, reached forward with iron tongs. The tongs removed a glowing bar from the furnace and set it on the anvil. You quickly and adeptly reach over with a massive bone spike to your tool rack. An assortment of smithing paraphernalia reside there, tongs, clamps, shears, hooks, punches, and all manner of hammers sat next to one another in neat little rows in order of size. Each had a special sleeve with a L-shaped groove cut into them. This corresponded with a small metal bracket with a pin on the tip of your bone-claw. It would slide into the sheath and, with a turn and click, lock it in place.

You select the medium hammer first and, with a practiced rhythm, set to work on the metal.

Now might be a good time to mention: you're a Baxxid named Coval, and a blacksmith of sorts. You prefer the term 'tinkerer'. For those not in the know, most would consider this to be a contradiction of terms, for how could a huge ungainly creature such as a Baxxid, a creature with no hands, be something as dextrous as a tinkerer?

It was difficult, but not impossible. Besides, once the fussy business of making custom tools and building a custom workshop was out of the way, your natural skills as a Baxxid paid major dividends. For one, for a creature your size and constitution the heat and noxious gasses of the job were paltry concerns. For two, hot metal may as well have been warm taffy beneath your hammer.

The room sang with the clang of your hammer on hot metal. You strike with quick, precise blows that would have looked almost delicate from the outside, but each hit with a force beyond even the strongest human, and far more rapidly. Claws that could strike with blinding speed and tear through heavy bone and carapace like linen now focused their immense power on the metal, shaping it effortlessly with brutal precision. Your Baxxid eyes, capable of perceiving all manner of things invisible to most other creatures, could see the minute shifts in color and temperature: the metal was making the vital transition.

You cease hammering and step back. Without a word, your human assistant places the elongated glowing rectangle back into the forge and pulls an overhead lever. Elsewhere, a new channel is opened and water rushes down it, filling up the troughs of the water wheel twice as quickly, pushing it into second gear. The wheel powered various proprietary mechanisms within your shop, but had been configured to power the great bellows of your forge today. Your assistant, again without bidding, pulled another lever, which shunted a pre-measured load of shiny black rocks into the furnace. These rocks, discovered by Baxxid miners beneath The Teeth, burned longer and hotter than the standard charcoal used by the humans, allowing you and you alone in all of Val Salia to easily and cheaply work any metal sent your way. This fact brought you much business, especially when most smiths were still casting bronze, you could cast iron and reliably forge steel.

Needless to you, you make a pretty penny.

Before long the steel is heated back up to orange-white. The change has taken hold, now it's merely a matter of shaping it. You select the appropriate tools for this, a small flat hammer and a maul. The small hammer creates the correct bevel and, with a quick, hard strike from the maul, imprints it into the metal. Before long, the steel bar became a steel chisel, its edges perfect. Your many eyes dance across its glowing surface, looking past the heat and light, perceiving the mix of elements within as only a Baxxid with your skill and experience could.

Perfect.

You step back and your assistant takes the still glowing metal and douses it in a nearby barrel of water. The water boiled and hissed as the human stirred it about in a figure-8 pattern. Once the water ceased to boil, the raw product was removed: a rough steel chisel. Commissioned by a famous sculptor, this chisel would allow him to carve any kind of wood, no matter the hardness or grain, and still keep an edge (bragging rights towards the other sculptors was just icing on the cake). This was the last piece of the tool set, and if the sale went well your client could very well commission you for a set of rock sculpting tools as well!

“Perfect," you say, admiring your work. “Now all it needs is sharpening and polish."

“I can get to work on that today, if you like, sir," says your assistant.

“No, I think that's enough for today, thank you."

The human doffed the heavy leather mask, revealing the round dusky face of a female human, your lovely set of hands, Sheya. You often wonder how stifling it must be in her leather armor, but the heat from the forge and the hot slag your strikes often kick up would more than likely cause severe burns. Not that Sheya ever complained, if anything she seemed to thrive in your workshop. You're not too proud to admit that without her human dexterity, all your strength and precision and intellect would be worth so many stones on the street. Indeed, she seemed to learn more every day, anticipating what you need her to do without being told. You'd gotten so used to her presence that the mere idea of having to train a new replacement made you… anxious.

On some level you're glad she came from where she did, though you understand that, to humans, being a prostitute is considered debased and dishonorable. While you don't exactly grasp why, as every human settlement seemed to have them as reliably as bakers and blacksmiths, her status as a prostitute made it much easier (and cheaper) for you to employ her. She evidently enjoyed working for you more than she did the brothel marm, and took to her new job like a moth to wing. Her skill and reliability have since become invaluable to your operation, allowing you to fully exploit your natural talents and craft excellent wares in a span of time that must seem miraculous to your wealthy clients.

“Phew!" Sheya sighed shaking out her shoulder-length auburn hair, stringy and sodden with sweat. “Time to cool off!"

She slid out of the bulky leather apron and elbow-length gloves, revealing her long, lithe body, wearing naught but flimsy cotton scraps to preserve her modesty. Her body was impressively toned from her work, her abdomen taut and defined, arms wiry and strong, long, shapely legs that led up to a firm, rounded rump. All dripping rivulets of shiny sweat mixed with grime, making her glow in the light of the forge.

You admit it, she's easy to look at.

The fascination with humans among your people is a growing trend, as the squeaking, fragile things that would have been your people's prey millennia ago could move mountains, extract metal from stone, fashion glass from sand with fire and air. What was once an uneasy truce slowly shifted over the decades to tolerance, then fascination, and now admiration.

Well, maybe a little more than mere admiration.

For a Baxxid to witness a human crafting was considered a great honor. To see their delicate little hands shape the world around them into useful tools, grand structures, and tasteful works of art. Most Baxxid possessed of this 'admiration' tend to fixate on the hands, for they were the source of the humans' might. You get the appeal, they're dextrous and delicate and ever so useful, but you have a… different fixation. One you yourself aren't quite able to explain or articulate.

Sheya bends down in front of you in what could have been a lurid display were she not innocent to your inclinations. She unstraps and kicks off her heavy boots, revealing… her feet. They were small, delicate, the ball of her heel exquisitely morphing into the arch and terminating at the flawless rounded toe. They too were slick with sweat. She sighed in relief as the relatively cool air tickles her feet, wriggling her tiny, perfect toes in pleasure. How you wish you could–

No.

None of that.

No sense in getting worked up when there's no outlet for such things.

As mentioned before, for a Baxxid to witness a human at work is considered a great privilege. However, for one of your kind to craft tools themselves was considered… gauche, for a variety of reasons. Some of the more traditional Baxxid saw it as unnatural, misusing one's born gifts to make gaudy trinkets. Other, more fretful Baxxid feared that intruding in the human's domain could spark conflict. And other, 'intellectual' Baxxid just thought it seemed like brute work, hammering and laboring and toiling in a hot, unpleasant-smelling pit for hours a day when any respectable Baxxid would be exploiting their superior mathematical and conceptual abilities to the wonder and praise of the humans.

Long story short, you are rich and successful… but far from popular. This has a knock-on affect when it came to the relief of certain urges, so you bury yourself in work. All you need to do is ignore temptation long enough to think up a new and complicated gadget to take your mind off of–

“Hey!" Shey says, turning around, the orange of the forge reflecting in her bright blue eyes. “It's mid-day! That means the springs are open. What say we wash some of this grime off?"

“I–"

“Great!" She chirps, pulling a lever that shut down the airflow to the furnace. “Let's go soak, we've earned it!"

You try to decline but she grabs your claw and makes like she had any hope of pulling you out of the workshop. You oblige and slither after her, the patter of her little feet was almost musical as they echoed in the tunnel.

You sigh as you slip into the spring. The water is gloriously cool after a long day in the hot workshop. You were on the workforce that diverted the underground river into the bathing chamber, in fact, and it was your experience on that project that cemented your love of craftwork. While Baxxid were natural diggers, with an near-instinctive understanding of stable tunnel construction, it was the metal tools the humans crafted for the workers that expedited the project from a moon-eyed scheme to feasibility. Now, clean fresh water ran under the Teeth, feeding into the filtered underground lake, allowing for improved agriculture and running water for the Baxxid population.

“That's the stuff!" Sheya sighed, slipping into the pool. “I feel like a piece of steel getting quenched! Tssss!"

You refrain from pointing out that she'd be dead if she were that hot, as you've long since learned to humor human euphemisms. Instead you stare at her. Not directly, of course, heavens no! Your eyes don't have to move in their sockets to focus on things, like humans' do, allowing your ogling-er-examinations to slip by unnoticed. Helpfully, water does precious little to obscure your sharp Baxxid eyes. Her sleek, sweaty body now submerged, the grime and soot of the forge slowly sloughing away in whorls. She begins to rub herself to expedite the process, beautiful hands sliding over her tiny, soft body.

“Man, all that standing gets to me sometimes," she says reaching down to her feet. “My dogs are barking!"

Your hearts begin to thud as she takes her foot into her hand, running a thumb along the underside of the arch, squeezing and rubbing. She sighed in relief as she moved on to the heel, massaging in slow circles, before proceeding to the ball. Her toes flexed and wriggled as she did, perfect round little digits squeezing like a little fist. Your mandibles hang open, oh to feel those toes on your tongue…

She looks up at you, a smile on her face. “You like it?"

Your jaw snaps shut with a resounding 'clack'. You shift in the water and manage to stammer. “E-excuse me?"

“The water," she clarifies. “I know you don't mind the heat so much, but it's nice, right?"

“Er, y-yes!" You say, perhaps a little too quickly. “The water! It's, uh, very… wet."

She eyes you up for a moment, smirking.

You feel like curling up into a ball and burying yourself alive. “Refreshing! It's very refreshing. Baxxid typically do not bathe, as we are poor swimmers. Too heavy. Since we redirected that spring, this luxury has been greatly appreciated by my people."

“Must be hard, though," she says, inching closer to you. “Cleaning yourself with those big ol' claws."

“Uhh…" You mutter, turning to her. “What are you doing?"

“Lending a hand," she says, a playful moue on her face. “Soot is a pain to clean off, even in water. Here, let me help."

She's on you before you can protest, a rag in hand. She set about scrubbing your scales and hide, streaking the soot and grime, slowly but surely washing the stubborn stuff away. You are not paying attention to the rag. She's… naked, obviously, but surely she didn't have to straddle you like this to clean you. Her soft, tiny body rubbing against your scales, legs spread as they wrapped around you for support, her chest pressed against your belly. Before this moment you regarded female human breasts as one might admire a polished carapace, or a well fitted wig, they were pleasant enough to look at and admirably symmetrical, but not titillating as human males found them.

Now, however…

Sheya's endowment was impressive, indeed it was one of her selling points as an escort. They were so soft, so plush and pliant, and warm. Slick with water, they shone in the light, her hard little nipples catching and bumping across your scales. You feel your pulse begin to pound, keenly aware of how good her silky smooth skin feels against yours, her toned belly, her glorious breasts, that… warm thing between her legs. Is that her…?

You panic as you feel your scales begin to separate, a thin line of crimson flesh peeking out between them, your organ threatening to spill out. What would she do? What would she think? Would she even know what she was looking at? You're more familiar with human anatomy and their methods of use than most Baxxid, one of the wonderful bonuses of working so closely with Sheya. There were some similarities, in that one party delivers the issue and the other forms the offspring. Indeed, the overall act was not beyond comparison, the closeness, the intimacy, the effusive exchange of various fluids. But there were also differences.

Major differences.

Like in all things, the human method was elegant, reserved, efficient. Or, at least, it sounded that way from Sheya's many, many digressions regarding her time in the brothels. No messy, lewd jousting of stimulation organs, no puddles of slime and errant seed. The humans still regarded their mating practices with a degree of scandal, but to you any act that can be discretely performed in such environs as a back alley was hardly a debauched affair. For humans the stimulation and satisfaction of the act, you discovered, were married together in a single motion. Unlike Baxxid, the stimulation organ of the male and the depositor of seed were one and the same, similar for the female as well. There were times when you fantasize that you were a bold, bullish Baxxid, dreaming of politely requesting that Sheya acquire a human male and demonstrate this marvel of reproductive efficiency for you. You note, ruefully, that even in your unbidden flights of fancy you've never quite mustered the gumption to pursue her romantically, to know that supple, beautiful body more intimately. To explore her tiny, delicate feet with your rampant stimulator, coating them in lubricant as her toes wriggled and played upon your sensitive flesh–

“Getting excited, Coval?" Sheya purred, looking into your front-most eyes, smiling.

“W-what?!"

“You heard me…" She said, crawling up on your huge body, climbing you like a tree, only her lower body in the water now as she reached up and took your face in her hands. “You didn't think I'd notice? That just because your face isn't the same as mine, I can't spot a leer a mile away?"

You loose a series of buzzes and honks that would have be refutation were you not so hopelessly stymied. She kneels on your belly and looks you in the eyes, smiling now. “No? You don't like me like that? Could have fooled me, always stealing looks, watching me undress. Especially when I…"

You gasp as her toe traces the throbbing ridge of red flesh poking out between your scales, that perfect little digit flicking it playfully.

“…Take off my boots. Hey, you wouldn't be the first man to drool over them. It's flattering!"

“I-uh-you-hrrnk!" You sputter. “What are you-we can't! Not here!"

“Hmm?" She murmurs, rolling over until her rump was firmly on your belly, both her feet rubbing over the sensitive pre-erect mass of your stimulator organ. “No? Why? You afraid someone will see? See what a lewd, perverted Baxxid you are? I mean, a Baxxid with a human? Whatever would the Elders say?"

''Lucky bastard', probably,' you think, wryly.

She hops off of you and steps out of the spring, tracing her finger along your boney crest. “Fine. Come on, Coval, let's go."

“Err…" you buzz, watching intently as she bends over to gather her clothes off the floor. “Go?"

Sheya looks back over her bare shoulder, smirking as she winks at you. “To your place, silly."

You stare mindlessly for a moment before, quite involuntarily, scurrying out of the spring and after her, not even bothering to shake off the water.

Was this really happening?

You slither after her, part of you thankful that the shift change was still a ways away and as such no other Baxxid were in the tunnels. No one would see you trotting after a soaking wet human woman who was holding her clothing rather than wearing them, your genitals on the cusp of spilling out of you. The two of you come to a stop at your quarters, a large-ish hole in the wall with a heavy stone slab covering the entrance. You effortlessly roll the five hundred pound slab out of way, opening the door for your lady, so to speak. The naked, shimmering woman smiled wolfishly and strolled in like she owned the place, tracing a finger along your mandible before beckoning you to follow.

Was this really happening?

You roll the slab closed behind you, turning back to see Sheya standing in the middle of your room, looking around at your humble abode. “Huh. You know, I figured after all those big projects you'd be a little better off."

You trill in embarrassment at her disappointment. “I spend the majority of my earnings on the workshop, the machinery… your wages…"

Sheya turns around and cocks her head, she seems to want to say something but visibly drops it, her predatory confidence returning to the fore. “Well? What are you doing all the way over there? Come on over, I won't bite… hard."

You meekly slither over to her, the fact that you outweigh her by at least five hundred kilograms and her short, frail human body would offer no means of resistance to you never enters your mind. She started this, she was going to finish it, on her terms. Any objections you hypothetically could have are immaterial. You recline and rest upon your coils, that particular set of scales thrust forward, that whole area throbbed and pulsed desperately, full to bursting with need. Sheya strolls forward, examining the ridge, running a finger over it like she was inspecting a windowsill for dust. She examined the slime on her finger, rubbing it between her thumb and finger before popping them in her mouth, licking them clean.

“Tangy," she muses, eyeing you up. “A bit pent up, huh?"

You just wheeze and nod.

“Well then?" She commands. “Don't be shy. Let's see it."

You rumble and buzz, hearts racing at the command, you can practically feel the lust building as pressure behind your eyes. With a growl and a roar of relief, your stimulator organ spills out with a lewd slurping sound, clear lubrication splattering across Sheya's toned belly. You stand at attention, huffing, your claret red organ out in the open, twitching and dripping. Sheya hummed appreciatively as she walked about, examining your most intimate parts like she was inspecting a weld.

“Hm. Well, you're proportional," she says, finally, bumping her belly against it, the tip reaching up between her perky breasts. “A bit bigger than the one I've seen."

“You've…?" You manage to say. “Another B-Baxxid?"

“Hm? Oh, no! I've just watched another lady in my old work get her jollies with one," she says, winking. “She looked like angels were dancing on her sweet-spot. Let's just say it gave me some ideas."

Without warning, she reached out and grabbed your shaft, her tiny hand not even half-encircling it. She reached out with the other hand, both still not enough to encompass your girth, and began to stroke.

“Hrnk!" You honk, shuddering as her hands glided up and down your stimulator. “Sh-Sheya!"

“Oh?" She says, playfully. “Feel good, Coval? You like it when I stroke your cock?"

You pant and huff, your stimulator–no–your cock elongates, thinning and lengthening like clay being rolled between a potter's hands. Sounds about the same, too. Before long, your full length was coiling around her hands and forearms, wriggling and writhing over her decadently soft, smooth skin. When Baxxid mate, the stimulators would wrestle and spar, intertwined and slippery. While pleasurable, certainly, Sheya's body was entirely different. Smooth, soft, her bone structure underneath offering a delightfully different sensation, her skin, slick with your lubricant, was still rougher, more textured than another Baxxid's stimulator, yielding an entirely new bevy of sensations. And then there were her hands, her strong, delicate, articulate hands. Squeezing, stroking, pinching and pulling, it was driving you mad!

“Damn! I knew you guys were limber down there, but damn!" Sheya cheers as she massages and kneads the coiling, wriggling mass between her hands and forearms. “Why don't we take the next step, eh?"

You open your mouth to question her when she leans forward and pops the now very thin, perhaps two inches thick, tip of your cock into her mouth, effortlessly swallowing over a foot of the slippery, wiggling organ. Her tongue working over what was in her mouth as she made swallowing motions on the flesh in her throat all the way down to her stomach. Nothing even close to words were coming out of you after that. She steps forward, coiling the other two-or-so feet in her arms and pressing them against her taut belly and wonderful, pillowy breasts, pressing them together around your shaft. Your coils act of their own accord and slither up her abdomen, wrapping around her breasts, squeezing and kneading and undulating, coating them in hot lubricant as they roiled up and down her mounds, playfully pinching the hard, erect nipples atop them, causing her to gasp. A heady flush forms in Sheya's cheeks and she backs her mouth off of you, grabbing and actually pulling the long, needy organ out of her mouth. She coughs and wipes her chin, her face and entire upper body covered in your juices, though it doesn't seem to bother her. In fact, she looks as proud as she would had she just put the finishing touches on a ceremonial sword.

“Damn! You sure are enjoying yourself!"

“S-sorry…"

“Nah, shush with that," she says stepping towards you. “Let's up the ante a little bit, yeah?"

You watch as she guides your cock between her legs, you gasp as she presses the hot, wet opening of her sex along your sensitive flesh, her hard little clit rubbing back and forth with her hips. Sheya let out a series of husky pants, her face reddening as she slid her hips up and down over three feet of your hot, slimy length, her legs squeezing together around you, crushing her clit against you as she rode. She guided the tip up the crack of her rump, causing it to trail up the small of her back, and then the middle, and then between her shoulder blades. Every part of her body was ecstasy for you.

“You like that?" She said, her voice somewhat strained. “Yeah, you do! How about it, huh? You wanna see how much of this monster you can fit in me? Fill me up and make me yours, yeah? Is that what you want, Coval? Well… too bad!"

You buzz as much in confusion as frustration as she laughs teasingly.

“Come on, you're, like, a foot and a half long at your smallest and as thick as my calf! And even when you're all stretched out like this it's as long as my leg!" She scoffed. “I'm gonna have at least stretch a bit first." You grunt as she swings her leg over you, climbing up your trunk. “But don't worry. I've got something in mind I think you'll like just as much…"

With that she clambers atop you, sitting down on your belly, reaching up and bracing herself on your arms. With a mischievous chuckle, she brought her legs up, cupping those exquisite feet together. Your hearts thunder as your breath pulses out of you in wheezing pants. Was she going to do that? Was she really going to–

Using her feet she grasps the base of your cock, gripping it tightly before running up its length, up and down, stroking, squeezing, rolling her heels and arches along your thick, throbbing organ. The hard bone and rough skin of her soles making you grunt and moan in pleasure, jolts of sensation surging though you, mixing with your fixation in a potent blend of animalistic lust and something not unlike reverence. On instinct, it coils around her feet, wriggling and wrestling as it would with another Baxxid, your flexible tip squirming, exploring finding her toes and lapping over them like a giant hungry tongue.

She giggles and twitches, wiggling her toes under your ministrations. “O-oh! That tickles!"

You're transfixed, eyes poring over those perfect feet, coated in your slick, thick loveslime they appeared to glisten, to glow. Former objects of fascination and longing no more, they were now gliding across your hot red flesh with purpose, to please, to pleasure. It dawns on you then how selfish you were being, how greedy. Ever-dutiful Sheya, dependable, reliable Sheya, was hard at work making your wildest fantasies a lurid, beautiful reality and there you were, laying there, indolent, taking what she so graciously gave you like a bleating Baxxid grub.

This would not do.

Your cock rears up to full length, towering over her. Sheya cooed as it did, her grip on you tightening as it quite literally cast a shadow over her, not that she let her awe interrupt her ministrations. It occurs to you how tiny she really is, how delicate and beautiful, how grossly oversized your member is next to her. You internally scold yourself for, in your lust, even considering entering her in full. She had effortlessly cowed you before through sheer force of will, but it was imperative that you were gentle, that you never lost control. This was no brute's work, this was craftsmanship. You reach up with your cock, slithering between her legs and towards her open, waiting sex, still glistening with a mix of her juices and yours.

“Coval…?" You hear her whisper, a hint of trepidation in her voice.

“My turn," you say, your relatively thin tip prodding her entrance. “I will be gentle."

“You could never hurt me," she says, craning her head up and kissing you on the mandible.

She gasps as you enter her. Even fully elongated, your member is respectably thick by human standards, causing her hips to buck. She feels incredible, every bit as tight and muscular as the rest of her body, squeezing and pushing against you as you slowly delve deeper. Hot and wet and twitching, it's like a Baxxid's organ, but all around you, enveloping you.

“F-fuck!" She grunts, causing you to stop dead. “N-no! I'm fine, just… just keep going."

You oblige. You push in, your flexible tip poking, prodding, exploring, relishing the little gasps and squeals your work elicits. Deeper and deeper still, you're find yourself marveling at just how much her little frame could take, though you suppose her former line of work selected for such things. It's not until you're about a third of the way in that you reach the end, where her sex terminates in an odd, rubbery button.

Sheya pants and huffs as you gingerly explore her deepest parts. “F-fuck! Ah! God, you're so fucking big! Ugh! No, that's–"

You begin to move. Undulating the length inside her while you stroke and caress with your tip. The effect is immediate, her tunnel clamping around you, squeezing and twitching as you move.

“That! Hah! K-keep doing that!" She says, panting and squealing. “Oh fuuuuuck! How are you so good?"

If you could smile, you'd be grinning. You coil up on yourself inside her in a sort of corkscrew and begin sliding in and out, wigging and jinking as you do. You feel an odd, spongey structure on the anterior of her sex and press against it. Sheya gasps sharply and clenches around you. A good sign. Let's try that again. You continue your actions, in and out, side to side, long deep thrusts, all the while paying special attention to that sweet-spot. Sheya is lost in sensation, her feet still firmly grasping the base of your shaft but her attention is clearly elsewhere. With a low, hitching cry your beloved partner goes stiff, her back arching off your scales as her little hands gripped your arms with all their might, her feet are no different, squeezing your cock with all the strength her legs could muster. It was actually almost painful.

Her reaction on the outside paled in comparison to her insides. A harder clenching than ever before, over and over again as she spasms and shudders around you, a hot, heavy surge of juice pulses around your cock in a flood of syrupy heat. Sheya looses a throaty cry as she bucked her hips in tandem with the spasms, a spray of hot, clear fluid blasting out around your shaft. A few more quakes and quivers and she goes alarmingly limp.

“Sheya?" You say, cautiously. “Are you alright?"

“Buh-better than alright…" she replies, her voice shaky, a dazed smile on her face. “Don't be so gentle next time."

“N-next time?" You say, hoping you didn't sound as desperate as you felt. “There will be a next time?"

“There better be!" She laughs, her composure restored as she sat up on your belly, taking your still turgid cock in her hands. “Now let's see what I can do about returning the favor!"

Without a hint of hesitation she pulled your cock into a passionate embrace, her feet gripping the base as she stroked and squeezed with her hands and arms, rubbing the sides with her soft abdomen and pert, plush breasts. She's using every part of her body to pleasure you, wrestling with your cock like a Baxxid might, her strange, alien shapes adding new elements of sensation. You moan as she takes your tip into her mouth, leaning forward as she swallowed it all the way down to her breasts. She expertly uses every art at her disposal to please you, to make you squeal and writhe. You feel a familiar pressure begin to rise, a cresting wave of pleasure that built with ever caress, every squeeze, every wiggle of toes. Building and building and building. The bud-like outcropping underneath your stimulator begins to unravel, to rise. A shorter, thinner shaft festoon with ridges and bulbs stood at attention as your climax approached.

Sheya pulled her mouth off your cock with a lurid slurp. “Oh ho ho! Getting close are you?"

“Huh!" You grunt in affirmative.

“Come on then!" She cheers, grabbing your inseminator with her feet, rubbing her toes across its pebbled surface. “Cum for me, big boy! Dontcha wanna see your hot cum all over my cute little–"

The wave crested and broke.

You bellow and stamp your arm spikes as a blast of hot white cum as thick as gruel erupts from your cock in long, finger-thick ropes. Sheya squawks in surprise as a surge of cum splatters across her chest and face, she opens her mouth to say something when another spurt caught her square in the face, filling her mouth with your seed. She visibly swallows the mouthful and laughs, reaching up with her feet soaking them in your issue. Your cock tenses with each ejaculation, one after another after another. After what felt like an eternity of bliss your orgasm begins to taper off. You pant and examine the aftermath, both you and Sheya are well and truly soaked, both of you coated in a thin film of thick Baxxid cum. A Baxxid with a healthy mating schedule would on average manage anywhere between two and five pints of issue. You… were not such a Baxxid, and even by your people's standards that was an impressive release. Sheya in particular was drenched, her beautiful body covered in a milky, opaque second skin. You both sit and huff, basking in the afterglow, she lay splayed out on you, a contented smile on her face.

“I need a bath," says Sheya, licking the cum off her fingers.

“As do I," you reply, wondering if the two of you could make it to the springs without anyone seeing the state of you.

“So…" she says after a while. “When do I move in?"

You jolt out of your pleasure-induced trance. “Pardon?"

“Well, my landlord's a bitch and hiked my rent, so I figure why not move in with you? I'll take a pay cut, you put that towards a nicer place, and I can pay rent in…" She looks up at you, winking as she ran a dainty, cum-dripping foot over your slowly retreating organ. “…Other ways."

You very briefly consider what the other Baxxid would think when Sheya says. “You good for another go?"

Fuck what the other Baxxid think.