>>5196713>Sate <WANT> with one or more of these humansYou survey the assembled humans. The old man does little for you, and Irinnile concurs; his mana reserves are tied to his life energies, and those must be sadly diminished.
‘Roth manages to make it work, though,’ she muses.
‘Pure-blooded Reptilians experience negligible senescence, beyond a certain age and up until the moment of their death,’ you explain.
‘So drac don’t crack, izzat it?’ she quips. ‘Still, this human deffo did. Look at those wrinkles. EWW! Bet his life force tastes like moth-eaten old cotton.’
The children are off the menu, too. Even the notion brings you back to… Difficult memories, of your early ‘seduction training’ as a young Degenerate. Your stomach roils, and you take a deep breath.
‘No desire in ‘em yet, anyway,’ Irinnile comments, more dispassionately; she shares your disinterest, if not your disgust. ‘Could feed ‘em to DB?’
The Dragonborn? Well… You’ll have to think on that, when it comes time to leave this place and to decide the ultimate fate of these humans, but by the roars and panicked bleating of sheep from the field outside, he seems to be managing well enough as is.
However, the young man and the farmer’s wife… They both have their appeal. The young man is sun-tanned, freckled, sandy-haired, broad-shouldered. His hands look rough, but strong. And the woman… Well, she has a weariness about her, but a strong jawline, bright blue eyes in contrast to rich dark-brown hair, and a certain pleasant curvature to her physique under her practical, much-patched clothing.
“What are you two, to each other?” you ask the two enthralled humans, in their own tongue.
“He is my husband’s son, from his first marriage,” the woman answers.
The young man just nods. You pry at his surface thoughts, and sense a latent desire for something a bit less familial, and a bit more intimate, already lurking there.
‘Ooo, stepfamily kink,’ Irinnile slavers. ‘Think I’ve seen THIS play out before.’
You smirk, placing one hand upon the hip of each and guiding them towards the adjoining room. To the young man, you whisper: “Warm her up for me.”
With Irinnile’s assistance, you send a swell of lust through him, and slap him on the rear. He grits his teeth and reels at the sudden wave of mentalism-amplified erotic urgency, and looks hungrily at his father’s bride. She he takes her by the arm and pulls her into the room, she does not resist—in fact, she shuts the door behind them.
It doesn’t quite muffle the sounds.
