"Vile," the thought of the word does not come close to what the sticking smell is of the Demoness.
"Come to me, do not keep me waiting," she said, as then to inhale deeply, as holding your breath, sticking out the tongue, leaning forward, bringing the half muzzled satyr face to bear near the vile vulva lips of this Demoness. She was no Rose, as the stench of rotting, spent male semen coated her lips and the inner walls of a Demoness vagina.
A remarkable realization comes to you from discovering the actual length to what a satyr has as his tongue can reach. Slurping, lick-lapping, having to swallow the wretchedly vile slime that hangs stuck to the black walls of a Demoness' sex, brings over you shivers and goose-pimples at places where you do not have any goat fur.
The Demoness begins to chuckle, it is a evil sound that brings dismay and a sense of fear for what she is thinking.
"Deeper, sink your tongue deeper, as aggressively lick clean my most sensual self!" She the Demoness so said.
Horrified, you feel the urged need to do as told, sparking waves of intense goose-pimples to help chill a growing bodily feel of warmth.
Finally, when your tongue cannot reach inside the Demoness as further, or more, leaving her sensualist self as licked clean, she with you gave a mutually satisfied sigh.
"Not too bad, although I have had a better cleaning done to me before this, as you shall continue as my pet, and an occasional lover!"
You lean away from where for the past long while you were kept busied, feeling physically diseased, as warmed, to then stand up, looking for some source to clean water to purify your gullet.
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