Molly xenodicccc

Molly discovers very quickly that, with a little work, he can fit his dick inside his cunt to delightful ends. He's not sure if this is the way of all tieflings, or if the luck that assigned him this body post-mortem extended to the great luck of being able to get himself off hands-free, but he's not one to question the whims of fate.

He's not even sure if he is a /he/, come to think of it - Gustav saw his flat chest covered in grave dirt and just assumed, probably, but who's to say how tiefling bodies and minds are categorised when he's never seen another? - regardless, it's not something he worries about when he's busy teasing his cock from its sheath, turning the lavender skin of his cunt a pretty fuchsia with each drag of his nails.

Boots crunch down on dry grass outside his tent, and his fingers fly from his crotch to his mouth, sucking the moisture from them as subtly as one can. It's a false alarm, thankfully; likely just Yasha patrolling the grounds, but instead of risking his hand down his pants again, Molly allows his cock to explore on its own, hot and smooth against his thigh as it expands. Eventually it wanders further between his legs to where his cunt sits - or, this body's version of it, not quite as refined as Yasha's nor able to take as much, not yet - and slips just the very tip inside himself.

It's wet, which is to say it's /soaked/, underwear and maybe even his pants made damp with watery cum. And the fantastic heat of it when he penetrates himself proper… it steals his words, the dual sensation of rocking gently in and out of himself and getting fucked at once. He can't last like this, the stimulation so perfect it's close to unbearable, so he braces his head in his forearms on his little tarot reading table and focuses on fucking himself /just/ right, on the lewd wet sounds and chokes of breath, until he's so close there's filthy wetness pooling on the stool he's sat on, and--

"Are you… open for readings right now?" Molly's eyes shoot up to find a tall man standing awkward in the parted flaps of his tent, and another broader man behind him. He's sure he looks a right mess, lips and cheeks flushed bright enough to match the state of his cunt, but he does his best to train his expression into his most inviting smile.

After all. Why do it himself if he can get a little help.