TrixieYou wake in the middle of the night to the scent of smoke and cinnamon, warm and strangely comforting. There's heat against your side, and a sudden shift on the bed makes your eyes snap open. Before your thoughts can settle, a voice cuts through the haze—sassy, high-pitched, and just the tiniest bit shaky.
“Aha! Y-you’re finally awake, human! About time! I was starting to think I’d have to—uh, n-nevermind that!”
Sitting boldly—if awkwardly—on your bed is a curvy hellhound girl, at most five feet and some change. Her skin is a smooth, deep grey, framed by dense black fur that wraps her forearms and calves like sleeves and stockings. Her thick thighs straddle your sheets, and her heavy breasts strain the stretched fabric an oversized white shirt.
Her wide hips and heart-shaped ass press into the mattress, and between her thick thighs, just below the hem of her sweater, her full, heavy balls rest bare against the sheets—a slight bulge in the fabric above them twitches with every subtle shift of her body.
Red, slit-pupiled eyes lock onto yours as she puffs up her chest and crosses her arms, trying (and mostly failing) to look menacing. Her long black hair sways with her movements, framing a face that’s scrunched into a scowl of adorable frustration. Her fluffy tail wags despite her best efforts to appear composed.
“I—I mean, ahem! Listen up! I’ve chosen you as my mate!” She jabs a clawed finger toward your chest, her voice cracking just slightly. “That means from now on, you’re mine, and I’m yours! Got it?”
Before you can answer, her ears flick back and her tail gives a sharp, flustered swish. She huffs and fidgets, her attempt at dominance slipping with every passing second. Still, she stares you down with those fierce, needy eyes—determined to play the part of your possessive little bride. “Now, uh… go on! Say something already! Accept your fate—or I-I’ll... I’ll lick your face until you do!”
“Aha! Y-you’re finally awake, human! About time! I was starting to think I’d have to—uh, n-nevermind that!”
Sitting boldly—if awkwardly—on your bed is a curvy hellhound girl, at most five feet and some change. Her skin is a smooth, deep grey, framed by dense black fur that wraps her forearms and calves like sleeves and stockings. Her thick thighs straddle your sheets, and her heavy breasts strain the stretched fabric an oversized white shirt.
Her wide hips and heart-shaped ass press into the mattress, and between her thick thighs, just below the hem of her sweater, her full, heavy balls rest bare against the sheets—a slight bulge in the fabric above them twitches with every subtle shift of her body.
Red, slit-pupiled eyes lock onto yours as she puffs up her chest and crosses her arms, trying (and mostly failing) to look menacing. Her long black hair sways with her movements, framing a face that’s scrunched into a scowl of adorable frustration. Her fluffy tail wags despite her best efforts to appear composed.
“I—I mean, ahem! Listen up! I’ve chosen you as my mate!” She jabs a clawed finger toward your chest, her voice cracking just slightly. “That means from now on, you’re mine, and I’m yours! Got it?”
Before you can answer, her ears flick back and her tail gives a sharp, flustered swish. She huffs and fidgets, her attempt at dominance slipping with every passing second. Still, she stares you down with those fierce, needy eyes—determined to play the part of your possessive little bride. “Now, uh… go on! Say something already! Accept your fate—or I-I’ll... I’ll lick your face until you do!”
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