Twisted Slough You've never seen a bastard orphan [m]ore in need of a break

Poor Tryphon

Had she been able to see the empty expression on the wolf's face, she might have been frightened and disturbed, but she purely lived in the moment of his hips. She panted, gasping with each connection of their hips, until he spilled inside her, and Potema arched. Her paws shifted, tapping out an rhythm on the grass.