The street vanished beneath her. Her thighs pressed against both buildings, groaning metal and cracking glass. Every shift of her hips sent low rumbles through the pavement. The air is warm, dense… it smells like fur and something sweet, like crushed petals.

We’re below her now—her paws curled at our sides, her shadow blotting out the sun. Her breath rolls in slow waves overhead, humid and scented like heat and divine perfume. The soft creak of the buildings beside her is constant… they’re struggling to hold her.

She sat. Everything shook. The ground jumped. Her thighs, massive and glistening with heat, sealed the street in. The scent is thick—soft fur, sweat, magic. It’s hard to breathe. The only light left comes from the shimmer of her fur and the glow of her eyes above.