The worgen giant didn’t initially make even an attempt to notice the newcomer – his interest for people beyond immediate threats, possible employment to his parade of “merry men” or the next damsel worth a squat was honestly lackluster. He wasn’t a diplomat.<br/><br/>Grizzly Jones now occupied, his initial attention was directed to the monkeyshines of “Rattail”, one of his more comedic mercenary compatriots, a dangly, thinly and exquisitely effective cutthroat currently antagonizing a down-on-his-luck, elderly miner who sought northwards to find some gold.<br/>But a deeply primal urging, always nestled in the back of Drusuls deranged mind, informed him of a flash of soft flesh at the corner of his eye.<br/><br/>Two golden, canine eyes snapped to Ruhzelil the instant his mind bid the question: “Was that a woman?” – and boy oh boy, did “The Grindstone” glare hungrily; and inhale hungrily, as her particular scent cut through the putrid odors of the current patrons:<br/><br/>Drusul was one of those wolfmen who divided his relishment in the lustful parts of life into two segments: Had he been in any way an artistic man, his thoughts could have inspired him to poems, songs and pictures alike.<br/><br/>Firstly, he drunk in her scent – he’d savor the sight for later: No, her smell exploded in his mind, sending torrents of blood gushing into a hastily straining manhood. Harsh, bold, light-cream tints of caramel intersected oozingly with the feint, raw, red odor of sweat and countless variations of semen, telling of equally countless men who dined in her sexual world; a rosary hint of arousing perfume danced effortlessly with a forbidden, lavender scent of her natural, almost perpetual arousal – and landed pillow-softly into the embrace of the putridly divine, white-glaring aroma of pure womanhood; a sort of slightly sickly, but helplessly celestial female odor that vibrated stronger, the more self-satisfied and shameless the woman was. Or so was his perception at least – and he relished in this perception of her scent, his large canine nostrils flaring dangerously.<br/><br/>And then he allowed himself to truly look; it was like a dessert, that looking. The scent was what whipped him into an actual frenzy, but the scent playing along the pleasing visuals was the perfect two-course from the buffet of sexual pleasures – she looked everything like she smelled:<br/>Her curves were abundant, her proportions fashioned by the minds of a perverse creator with an idle skill of drawing dark appeal. The full lips all the way to the vibrating hind-quarters, counter-curving up to her full tits; the exotic, dangerous horned crown jutting through soft strands of silky black hair not to mention the outlandish tendrils of whom Drusul pondered simply were for show or had some actual physiological function:<br/>What caught his attention most – beyond the devilish tail and her solid hooves – was the way her back stood straight, her thin waist and the taught stomach; it wasn’t typical that large breasts coexisted with barely a hint of a pot belly.<br/><br/>Her dress wasn’t given much attention, as Drusul by now – already walking directly towards her – couldn’t really imagine her anything but stark naked.<br/><br/>The huge wolf-man barely broke his stride as his leg effortlessly moved chair and patron upon chair – as the patron motioned to complain (poor fool hadn’t noticed ol’ Drusul moving), a simple, deep, snarl roaring in Drusuls chest made the man shut his trap faster than a goblins’ objection when seeing a lavish payment.<br/><br/>He moved fast, that Drusul: She was barely allowed to register that he wasn’t perching on his designated spot before, with two heavy thuds, she felt both his tree trunk arms sling themselves around her; One hand took a tight, molding hold of her right teat, small, sharp, stinging and mostly painful fingers digging into her full flesh hungrily – before she could turn her head or any the like, his other hand slapped hard onto the left side of her neck, the sharp, pointed end of his claws resting gently along her throat.<br/><br/>She was given a second or two to contemplate her new intimate predicament when Drusul coiled almost around her, forcing to bend her back a bit – his muzzle almost childishly perched on her right shoulder, the deep, deep, deep bass of his voice rolling into her ear almost a bit too loud:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkRed"><i><b>WEEEErrrrll weerrrll WELL! Now inna’ a body worth a good fuck, “madam”..</b></i></span>” – the word madam spoken with a sort of humerous contempt: “<span style="color: DarkRed"><i><b>I see tha’ this bitch learned the propa’ use of ‘er assets, puttin’ it all on e’r display like tha’.</b></i></span>”<br/><br/>His fulsome prick crawled up along her lower (and middle!) back, erratic spasms occasionally marking a lengthy point of pressure as blood thumped through its veins.<br/>She felt the snarl blow hot, humid air against her right side of her face, and while she couldn’t exactly get eye-contact, she simply knew he glared at her with a barely restrained, yet lustily humored pair of golden, wolfish eyes.<br/><br/>His treetrunk arms envolped around hers, in a way pinning her to her seat:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkRed"><i><b>Listen, dar’lin’: I’m in o’mind ter’ follow up on yer’ open invitation, as I’m in e’opinion none of these patheti’ gits couldn’t give you nay a satisfied moan with their peckers. I’s not even ae’ question whether ye’rll condone it or no’, as I generally at this very momen perceive yer’ opinion as importan’ as the ale-stains I’m trottin’ eround in in ‘ere. I’d just think it be per-LITE t’give yer’a false hope t’plead for me t’leave ya’ be. Come on - give me yer' best shot.</b></i></span>”<br/><br/>Punctuating his little, presumably rather creepy monologue, his hand gave her right teat a real good squeeze before it resumed its lavish molding; oh, her breast really pooled through the vacant expanses of his fingers. This ought to be all planes of fun.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>