A vine rose behind her, watching, waiting, its tip glistening with nectar, poised to strike if she broke.
And through it all, Kota didn't move, didn't blink, his cock straining thick against his tight junglewear, his dark eyes fixed ahead, his breath even, a beacon of control amidst the seductive torment.
Every single one of them was dripping now, their pussies aching, swollen, slick with need, the jungle's touch a cruel flirtation that promised more if they faltered.
__________
The vine between Selene's legs didn't thrust.
It stroked—slow, feather-soft circles against her clit, the damp fabric of her sheer white shift clinging like a second skin, amplifying every teasing glide.
The touch was intimate, insidious, the kind no man had ever given her, the kind she'd fantasized about in secret, her bratty facade hiding a craving for humiliation that made her virgin pussy ache with shame and need.
