Kintla Flatlands old and merry tune

His paw found her throat, striking hard at it. The woman ought to have torn and ripped at his throat, but the breath left her in a gush that had her reeling. He pushed her back; moving to stand over her and lunge for her face. twisting back at the last moment, his grip instead caught the tender flesh of her lower muzzle, the metallic scent of blood have her gasp before attempting a swift kick to his groin region, where males seemed ever so sensitive.