Phoenix Maplewood The Art of Self-Fashioning

Hydra considered her sister's experience and wondered at her own desire for it as well. The way she had felt, strange and warm, the day it had happened to Alya... she had felt something only vaguely familiar to such a kindled flame so long ago. Her muzzle rest upon her forelegs as she listened to her sisters recount of each event as it happened, and Hydra licked her chops. There did not seem to be any premeditation on her sisters part—she just wanted to do it, and so she did.

The Beta had never known it was something she had wanted to do. Not really. She remembered when Alya had practiced upon her, and had to ask: you didn't feel, when he was on top of you... weak? Female to female, it was an instinctual thing... she could not sense the enjoyment that Alya had experienced. She did remember the power she felt in practicing it herself. But Hydra, inexperienced in that domain as she was, had no idea the difference that her experience was utterly nonsexual. It was instinct she abided by, and the body language she dominated others with was not the end-game for the male (necessarily); they sought a far different prize than that.

They have not changed, though our siblings have grown, likely more so, once they returned. Her ears twitched at the mention of Sebastian, and her tail waved as her chin lifted from her legs. Sebastian—he will stay with us? She had enjoyed Andalusia and wanted to know her better.