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Instead, she lowered herself down, her naked body embracing his as her breasts pressed into his pecs and her legs squeezed against his thighs. Her crotch grinded against his bush and she enjoyed the rough feeling of it scratching along her shaved pussy but stopped when she felt a prod against her cheek. Slowly and steadily her father was also becoming aroused, as much as clockwork now as Sarah’s visits. His firm head pressed harder against Sarah’s cheek, so she shifted to the side without thinking to give it room. With a spring like motion, it bounced up against his belly and back out, the head of his cock grazing her pussy lips hanging above.

He gave the man a hard poke in the chest while smoke wafted from the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned in with bloodlust radiating from every word hissed with his icy voice. “Notice that I haven’t asked your name yet, even though I gave you mine? It’s because you don’t have a name to me. To me, you’re just ‘Bitch’, the sniveling little Bitch who decided to come in here and ruin my evening, talking awfully big game for someone in skull-fucking range. That’s what’ll be engraved on your tombstone: ‘Here lies Bitch. Cause of death: got skull-fucked until his brains leaked out of his ears.’ Shit, I’ll carve the engraving myself. Now I suggest you get the fuck out before I use your eye sockets like a whore’s ass!”

He reached into his inner self, feeling his energy circulating through his system, and began upping the intensity. By increasing one’s energy flow like this, a magic user could gather their strength for a spell quicker and easier. The problem was that doing it wasted energy and resulted in fatigue. Before a race, a sprinter might hop up and down or jog in place to get their blood flowing faster, allowing them to reach their peak earlier, but if they did it too much, they might find themselves out of breath when they needed it.