tabard of the argent crusade

The next night is much the same, as is the night after. It’s become as much of her nightly habits as anything else, her body always waking her with a fire in her crotch that can only be satiated with a visit to her father’s bed. As usual, despite the visit of the nighttime succubus each night, her father is happier and livelier than usual. The stress of his job and chores drained along with his balls. Sarah knew she should still be feeling bad about this, but there didn’t seem to be a reason for it. Her dad was feeling great, better than ever, and she was feeling the same. Her newfound lust wasn’t hurting her schoolwork or volleyball practice anymore and she was feeling more confident when her friends brought up sex. She had thought on one time to show her friends one of her videos of swallowing a huge load of cum, just to brag, but decided against it. It wouldn’t be good for anyone to ask any questions on who she was getting it from.

“Rachel?” I asked. Yes, that was right. The amazing blonde who I'd watched sitting at the bar, turning away attempts to chat her up all night. But when I'd gone over to refresh my drink, she'd asked my name, had wanted me to sit with her. To give her a break from the guys trying to hit on her, she'd said. “You... you spiked my drink! What did you give me?”

It hit him dead-on, with the audience looking away, not wanting to see their prince reduced to a pile of melted bones, but though steam and smoke filled the air around Seraph, he was unharmed, albeit soaked. His aura had protected him, undoing the magic enhancement on the water, so when it hit him, it was chemically inert. The moment the blast ended, Seraph dropped his defenses, gasping for air from fatigue. What he would give to be even half as powerful as he was a year ago. He didn’t have time to rest, as Phune immediately commenced another attack. A continuous jet of water slammed against his raised palms and clashed with the light aura before him. Every loose drop hitting the ground smoked from the acidic burn, a reminder of what would happen if his strength or focus faltered for even a second.