hazbin hotel snake

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

His movements slowed, and his water magic flickered like a candle at the end of its wick. Regardless, he powered through, and after several minutes of relentless combat, he delivered a critical blow, punching Viktor in the chin and sending his brain rattling around in his skull. He staggered back, using what little mental capacity he retained to stay upright, while Falco hobbled over, his strength fading. He and everyone else simply assumed his condition was due to fatigue.

“Okay, good,” I sighed with relief. I knew Mom would understand, but it was still good to have her word that she'd keep my secret until I was ready. “But, uhhh... in the meantime, whenever you go over to his place, if you wanted to make sure he fills your pussy with a nice big load just before you come back home... that would be okay, too.”“Is that so?” she chuckled, squeezing me tight under her arm and kissing my hair again. “I'll see what I can do.”