“But you have never done this thing,” the nymph said coyly, “so who are you to teach me?”
“One does not teach instinct.” The succubus pinched the nymph’s cheek, “Watch me.” She whispered, then turned her attention down on me. “I don’t know.” I whispered, and pulled the hairpin out of her shoulder. “Then bring your blacksmiths forward, burn the iron hot and melt your glory into my skin! “Oh, Zander.” The succubus moaned, fixing her heels into the astral earth to elevate their pelvises, spreading their legs wider so that I could sink that much deeper. “Their mental bonds were broken with my own.” Arbor said, glancing back, “But they will not scamper back into the night. “Your turn.” The succubus gasped. So many symbols, and all of so little consequence. To mold my sexuality to your liking? I stroked the matted her from her forehead, and kneaded my fingers into her mane. Does a mind of schemes and battle heal a broken heart, or is it but dressing on a mortal wound?” She extended an outstretched hand, “You have known me for centuries, but I have known you for longer.
