The shortest woman I've ever taken to my bed must've been five eight or nine. Because of my strength I tend to stay away from women like her. Delicate flowers that bruise too easy. I looked down at my hands now and imagined them on her with nothing between us. Would I hurt her? Unintentional though it would be, it would still fuck with my head. This is so fucked!
She was acting completely different now. Gone was the sexy nymph who'd challenged me to be replaced by the shy fairy who seemed scared out of her mind. I didn't move, didn't interfere but from the way she looked around as if sensing me made me wonder.
Did she know I could see her, hear her? How much does she know about the mating ritual? Did anyone warn her, or had she been thrown to the wolves like I have? No, I'm sure somewhere along the way someone, maybe her mother or an aunt had given her the talk at least.