Miaren's head turns for an instant.  In that instant, the griffon closes the final thread of distance.  Separation between Miaren and the majestic beast becomes the friction of fur, the roll of a great chest pressing her flank and forcing it to bend, the lock of a frame of sinewy forelegs on either side of her.<br/><br/>In an instant, Miaren is cast to the soft, tufted grass.  She is mounted.<br/><br/>The weight of him washes into her body, threatening to drown it.  The skim of his feline pelt against her body licks it with a thousand fiery, soft tongues.  The claws on either side of her bound breasts compress their tumid throbbing, pressing the agonized orbs into a tight cluster of swelling, darkening fruit.<br/><br/>The griffon sets its chest on her back.  His heartbeat bubbles up, huge and thrumming like an engine, into the chamber of her torso.  She is smothered in the woolly, fiery blanket of his musk.  It has all the sharpness of a great cat's, the fluttering fineness of a bird's, and something deeper: A spicy scent.  A stinging edge.  A wet, carnal odor.<br/><br/>For an instant more, it holds still.  The keen point of its beak traces her neck and feathers take chaste kisses on the height of her spine.  Lust buzzes in the tonnage that sinks into her.<br/><br/>He explores her weight under him.  He forces her to explore his weight.<br/><br/>The Garden wind gossips as the moment grows hot on Miaren's mounted form.