When presented with the fingers, Senna looks for a time, confused, but when the unspoken command reaches her, she cannot defy her knight.  She is at once voracious and innocent, as if a small, starving child who had been given a piece of candy.  And she follows the honey with more and more sugar, as she tastes every inch of flesh that comes before her eyes.  She offers not the slightest resistance as the glorious elf takes her body, molds it as she pleases.  When her arms are drawn overhead, they stay put, bound more strongly than any rope.  It is the will of Fallon that her arms be like this, and like this they shall remain.<br/><br/>She coos and moans as Fallon travels south, her lips crossing her hot, wet form, drenched with glistening sweat, the blessings of the elven tongue, and now her own nectar.  As her soaking-wet panties glide across her body, she squirms, struggling against her imagined bonds, yet even under the sudden, jarring lash of the cold night air, she cannot break the bonds of her knight's tender whimsy.<br/><br/>And then, the warmth.  It begins with warm, moist breath, only the slightest tickle, yet enough to ripple through her entire body.  Then, the exploration, the tongue, the torment, the slow, exquisite journey until... that touch.  That tongue.  A soft shriek escapes her, and it grows and grows.  To feel Fallon like this, with all barriers stripped away, it's more than she can stand.  The Hunger revels in being devoured so, yet grows and grows, burning hotter and hotter as it longs for sweet Fallon to feed, feed.