Clémence

Hidden as best you can in the darkness, you wait patiently for a few moments as harsh, clanging footsteps echo in the chamber around you. The silver sheen of armour gleans in the distance, and before you perceive her with your demonic eyes, you realise that it is Clémence striding into the clearing. Her curly hair sways from side to side as she marches in confidently, striding straight past your hiding place as if unconcerned by the dangers that may be lurking in the shadows. As she passes, you catch a glimpse of bronzed features. A nonchalant smile seems almost permanently engraved on her pink lips and her brown eyes flicker only briefly across the opening ahead of her. Puffy, dimpled cheeks lead down to the soft smoothness of her arced neck. As for her body, it is difficult to discern much of her petite frame from the heavy platemail that encases her torso and stomach. Of her more lightly protected legs you spot little, for you curl yourself further into your protective hole as she crosses the room mere feet from where you remain concealed.

Clémence pauses momentarily, as if to gather her bearings. The dull light that throbs through the clearing, while limited, is nonetheless an unusual source of brightness among the gloomy passageways that crisscross the labyrinth every which way. Her pause gives you a few precious seconds to come up with some semblance of a plan. You know little of how imps operate, how they ensnare their prey. All evidence you have simply encourages you to avoid a direct confrontation - there is not much other wisdom to guide you. Clémence heads off again on her way, hesitating at the far end of the chamber as she arrives at a fork in the pathway. Her back is to you. You sense your chance. Now or never.

Clawing your way out of the hidden crevice, you scamper along the ground, desperately trying to remain quiet. Your tail drags along behind you, as does your impish cock. Crawling on all fours, you advance at great speed, and with much greater agility than your would perhaps have expected. Clémence, still making up her mind, seems none the wiser as you close the distance between you. As you approach, you can't help but admire her supple body. At closer inspection, you notice that the chainmail skirt that covers her lower half only reaches partway down her slim legs, leaving the outline of her lower thighs clearly visible. You follow the exposed flesh upwards and your fangs unsheathe in silent appreciation. The metal rings that form her armour are not solid - indeed the gaps between the steel leave quite a lot to enjoy. You'd rather fancy a go at exploring what's underneath.

You come to a stop not five feet from Clémence's rear when suddenly she jogs forward, having finally made up her mind. She turns left, bolting down a murky corridor, the memory of which alludes you. Panicked, you take to the air, unsheathing the many barbs running through the length of your tail. You fly after her, only catching up when she ducks to avoid a low-lying, rocky outcrop. She struggles through the awkward gap, perky bottom in the air. Enticed, you flutter forward in a burst of speed, striking forward with all your ****. It's the moment of truth.