phantom troupe number 8

She’d snuck into her parent’s bed a few times over the years, something she hadn’t grown out of since her childhood. But to her credit it always got her a good night’s sleep after a bad dream. After she hit puberty, she’d been told she had to go back to her own bed, but after giving her dad a sulking pout she was always allowed to stay until she calmed down.

“I love that part so much!” I purred. “The way his knot pulls against my entrance as he's thrusting! Holding him inside so he can't pull away!” I shuddered with arousal, imagining just how I knew it felt as I watched it happening to my own mother instead. “You should play with your clitty, Mom,” I told her. “Brucie's way faster to cum than Daddy is—you probably won't be able to get off on the fucking alone, not unless you help yourself out. In fact...” I thought about it, then moved to act, resting my palm on her mound and using the tips of my fingers to tickle her clit. “Actually, never mind; I'll do it for you this time. You just concentrate on how good it all feels, and try to let yourself cum!”

Slowly, and with no shortage of effort, he began to pry off his clone, separating centimeter by centimeter. Sitting on the floor, he resembled an animal shedding its skin. Eventually, he and his clone split like dividing cells, but the seal was trying to pull them back together. Moving his clone forward felt like trying to swim upriver, and it was taking everything he had not to be pushed back, let alone advance further. However, he felt himself closing in on something, a sensation, or perhaps it could be called a state of mind. Whatever it was, it seemed to help him project his mana. If he could make this state of awareness easier to access, then his magic would surely grow much more powerful.