The serpent-woman, whose name was Syla, moved with a hypnotic fluidity that made the air in the bathroom feel heavy and humid. As she guided Ethan into the steaming basin, her hands were cool, but her gaze was searing. Her body was a masterpiece of biological extremes—a waist so narrow he could almost wrap his hands around it, giving way to hips that flared out with a huge ass.
"Allow me to care for you, Master," she whispered, her voice a low hiss that vibrated in Ethan's chest.
Ethan settled into the warm water, his muscles screaming in relief. He watched, fascinated, as Syla leaned in. Her long, slender tongue flickered out. She began to lick the dark, purple bruises on his shoulders and chest. Instead of a wet, sloppy sensation, it felt like a warm, numbing gel was being applied directly to his pain.
