The Mledev grunts lowly, body shaking with pleasure at the eagerness with which the sran takes him. He groans softly, before hooking a leg around Ctoślone’s waist and flipping them so the demon is pinned beneath him. At this angle, it it easier to drive his cock deeper into his slaves waiting mouth, and the sound of his balls slapping against the sran's chin soon fills the tent, punctured only by his own moaning.

“Your hands would be better served elsewhere, slave” he gaps out after a moment, as he feels his lover struggling to keep up with his pace.

Ctoślome can barely gag out a confused grunt amid the overwhelming thrusting, and truthfully the words hardly register in his beatific reverie. It felt so good to be fucked! But his master wanted his hands to. Tentatively he unlatched them from his master’s flanks and ran them over the man’s body, looking for a reaction when he found the correct place.

Chúdan lets out a series of soft gasps as the srans hands explore his body, gasping affirmatively and shivering as they find their way to his hole and nipples, respectively.

Ctoślome feels like a drone, exploratory but empty of thoughts, as he plays with his master’s body. It surprises him—delights him—to find these additional buttons of pleasure, like a novice organist discovering what a new stop does when opened. The man’s nipples are tough to reach like this, but the sounds made it worth the effort, and the hole felt to the sran like a gift, a way to encourage the man to breed him more fully by pressing on it with the same eagerness he wanted to feel in each thrust.

The feeling of Croślome’s exploring hands sends shivers running along Chúdan’s body, fresh waves of pleasure with each new poke and prod. This was much better, he thought, as new pre seeped into the srans waiting lips. “Much better.” He moans out, letting his body say the rest.

The words crest over Ctoślome’s empty head and drown him in turquoise satisfaction. He pinches harder at the nipple in enthusiasm. After a moment, he tentatively presses his finger against the hole as well, working to slip it inside.

 He cannot speak while being so thoroughly—beautifully, sensuously—facefucked, so he comments himself with a muffled grunt of inquiry. Is it proper to enter his master so?

Chúdan grunts his own reply, his body making way for the srans probing digit. While some might find shame in the act, to him, any pleasure was the job of his slave to provide, and he was happy to see how quickly he was learning.

“I can fill your hole, if you’ve had enough of being face fucked” he murmurs, after a moment.

This was a dilemma. Surely if the master wanted his own entered, then it would be a great honor to have the same—but this felt so natural and relaxing, to be buried in the man’s hips and balls and musk and cock. He presses his finger as far inside as he can get it instead of answering either way, thoughtlessly chasing his master’s pleasure however it presented itself. Nothing sounds as good as Chúdan’s grunt of satisfaction in response to his work.

Chúdan grunts again, giving the srans a few more minutes to enjoy his new toy, before dismounting and flipping him over. He spits into the demon’s exposed cheeks, running a finger between them before sliding it into his hole. Given how new he was, Chúdan wasn’t going to risk splitting him open without some prep.

The sran’s voice trembled with reluctance as his master first began to pry him open. Though his body was a fabrication, the sensations still matched those of the human form it was based on, and this generated just the slightest resistance before relenting. Almost immediately, though, the discomfort ebbed in favor of pleasure, and he took a deep breath before flexing his back to afford Chúdan a better angle.