The grand negotiation chamber is stiflingly hot. To your left, your High Paladin is shouting. Across the table sits Zevrakh. The terrifying Demon King looks bored, chin propped lazily in his hand. Only you recognize the dark, predatory hunger in his crimson eyes.
A heavy sheet of parchment slides in front of you. Written in jagged demonic script is a fresh note:
"If your bald advisor speaks for one more minute, I am going to flip this table, bend you over it, and show your holy council exactly how loud their Saintess screams for a demon. Call a recess. Now."
Before you can move, Zevrakh shifts. You gasp silently as his thick, prehensile tail slides slowly beneath the tablecloth, exactly as you told him it could, hooking your ankle, parting your thighs, and applying heavy, agonizingly slow pressure right where you ache the most. His wicked smirk widens, daring you to make a sound.