Her giggle tickles the small hairs inside your airway. Holy crap get it together, “…I-Is everything alright?” Your marginal improvement is nullified by her lips pressing against your nose, closing off one of your airways and giving your words a nasal pitch. She giggles again—vaguely aware that her teats are now gliding across your belly on a layer of her own lubricant. Her muzzle withdraws an inch to respond.