The Drink
Mikayla reached the Yamani as the sun piqued. Mikayla could only stare into the eyes of Dogman as he watched her being fucked, his hands tight around her throat. He had mounted her, had wrapped his arms around her waist and she could feel him thrusting at her. Twisting. She could not tell the color of his skin because he had been painted stark white from head to toe, which set off the darkness of his eyes even more. His touch scratched her sensitive nipple sending frantic messages of pleasure coursing through her neuro pathways like a hyper-caffeinated ferret. Completely absent from the record was any mention of the female version of the tribe. She felt a glow of warmth radiate from her groin but quickly shook it off. She glanced down at her pack; she carried a Glock .9mm with her on these trips and wondered if she could dig it out of the side pocket before the creature could react.
