It's a Saturday morning - or is it Sunday? - and my clothes are starting get that slightly lived-in feeling of having been worn through a long, wild night on the town. I don't have my phone at hand, but I'm guessing it's around 4:30am, maybe 5-- the summer sun is just starting to crest the hill, and I watch with bated breath as the sky explodes in colors of gold and pink and beautiful violet. Inch by inch, the night is pushed back, and as if in response, I push my own back down against the ridges and bumps of your face, offering a groan of contentment as I do so.

I'm not sure where we met - a bar, presumably - and I'm not even sure of your name. But you'd come along when I took your hand and dragged you away from the group, and you'd smiled when I pushed you down onto the damp grass and kissed you on the lips. There had been no need for words, and none had been shared; to any passer-by, we would have seemed just another couple. Who knows; I'd been watching you for the better part of the night, and I presume you must have been doing the same. Or perhaps you're simply an opportunist, not that it matters. We're here now, in the grass, on the hill, beneath the rising sun. Life is good.

Your tongue laps against my clit, and I shiver. Something about the insistence of your movements reminds me of myself, that eager will to please, and I reward you with another grind of my hips, dragging cheeks and sex across your mouth in a chorus of mutual moans. Your hands are on my thighs, clutching my socks and pulling me back down on you as if I could get any closer without suffocating you. Maybe that's what you want. You certainly haven't protested once since I took a seat atop your face, nor did you complain when I started grinding against you. Your back must be wet with dew, but you're here, licking and grinding and teasing my clit without a care in the world. Working to get me to cum. Striving. I could get used to that.

On the horizon, the sun peeks over the landscape, and I close my eyes to avoid being blinded. Your fingers grip my thighs, tugging down. Your tongue dances and twirls. I am drunk, I am wet, and I am very, very happy.

I am Ferret. Hear me roar.

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