She was mounted astride his dwarfed form and riding his erection; she was proffering a n****e as big as his palm and spanking him barehanded while he squirmed naked across her oversize lap like a naughty child caught with the cookie jar. He was dying at last, his final shreds of sentience being ecstatically ejaculated out of his shriveled husk and into the glorious succubus so ravenously, lovingly devouring him. Perhaps once she’d c**k-sucked these last wisps of life from him he’d become a dependent part of her forever. His spirit subsumed and encapsulated in her own, he would be her eternal plaything and victim then, the ultimate submissive possession.
This actually must have happened, for next Thrall was a helpless bystander, a jealous voyeur watching from within as his glorious goddes
