Sometimes life sucked. Bored and horny, neither condition unusual for his naturally libidinous nature, he reached to stroke one of his upswept horns. As he added a scratch to the action, he shuddered sensually. His shaft began to fill, and he relished the carnal sensation as he danced his fingers over his horn. Playing with the sensitive appendage was always a good start to pleasuring himself. He turned away from the arched turret window, intending to continue things in the comfort of his bed. He suddenly swivelled back around and stared at the moon. A couple of days and it would be full; that thought created a shiver that caught Daimon by surprise. The small niche in which he crouched restricted his movements, but he leant forward, peering into the night as he unexpectedly felt a soul-deep despair. The despair was so great it reached out and touched him deeply. His house, a large, grey-stoned edifice complete with turrets at each front corner, set in its own grounds, had just a couple of other isolated dwellings in its vicinity.
