The platform beneath me shakes with a deep, rumbling chuckle. “I think I have found another point of pleasure. May I massage them?” “My nipples?” I whisper. “Yes.” “A-alright.” Two indentations form in the platform and expand to make space for my breasts. The moss moves back and forth to stroke the skin, while a pair of velvety fingers roll my nipples. Pleasure shoots down to my clit, and I release a moan. It looks like the tree wants more than just my blood. “Please don’t tease me like you did last night.” “How else will you provide me with that delicious sustenance?” it asks. “Y-you could
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