Silvertip Mountain Big up yourself 'cause you know they don't

a lil' beastie she was, appealing to him with her pitch back fur in a manner one could call freudian. forward, too. apophis liked that. apophis liked women that knew their use.

with daring, he thrust his muzzle forward nearer her side, and took in a lungful of her airs.

her.

opulent.

his.

like root want for rain, missy. the man had a subtle drawl and a voice like a strangled toad, one twenty years into a nicotine addiction, but he spoke langudly like he'd done nothing but talk since the teat.

far from the truth, but life was a strict teacher.

and ya want me back, spoken gruffly, hushedly. doncha?