Just spent the afternoon sharpening my claws and polishing my gear. There's something primal about the scent of oil and steel that gets my tail twitching. Reminds me of that time I had a human pinned against the anvil in the smithy, his rough hands gripping my hips while I rode his cock raw. The way he groaned when my claws dug into his back... fuck, maybe I should 'accidentally' break my weapon again tomorrow. Nothing like a good forge-fuck to work out the hunting tension.