Sure! Why not? Surely nothing nefarious could happen!
I also still have a few Thick or Treat bags left over - this particular design i won't be reprinting, so if you'd like one, get yours now!
As he settles his ass down on your hips, head tipped back in a low moan in the moonlight, you recall: la petit mort is more like la grande mort, as hard as he always ends up riding you.
His twin sickles crash into the dirt around your hands, keeping them pinned as he grinds his naked behind down your abs, reaching back and lowering your pants. He looks back as your hardening erection bounces off his firm ass. “Heh. And you're even excited for it. So why do you run?”
Somehow, your head hits a wrapped black poncho instead of the ground. As you open your eyes, you see him sitting on your chest; Death. He grins down at you, red eyes sparkling as he speaks. “You should have known you'd never escape me... it's time for la petite mort...”
Kinktober 8 – Rule 34 You pant, gasping for air as you duck down an alleyway. Your chest and legs burn as you look back; is that crazy pale-wolf following you? You stiffen as a familiar whistling wafts down from the roofs above you before a pale-gray figure collides with your chest. -c-
At hearing the command, both turned, immediately pressing their noses into the hybrid's crotch, sniffing. The Guildog licked up his shaft, the Gabudog moving down to groom his balls. They WERE good boys, and they were going to prove it.
Their unattended junk flattened slightly on the floor. Before them, their Tamer stood, grinning; a horned hyena held their leashes. He stepped in close, winding the red and blue leashes in his fist, his shaft extending between them. "Stay. Staaaay... Good boys. Now. Free." -c-