~ Part II: Waking
Soft. The surface beneath him was soft. Not the flowers, which had been fragrant but firm. Not the forest floor, which had been earth and roots. This was softer. Fluffier. Like a lap. Like—
The pressure. On his cock. The sensation, which had been absent in the void, returned. Not the burning of the inheritance. Not the pain of the horns. A different sensation. Warm. Wet. Intentional. A hand. Delicate fingers, webbed and slender, wrapped around his shaft. The grip, gentle but firm, was stroking. Up. Down. Up. Down. The motion, slow and rhythmic, was not hurried. It was devoted.
