Nestled within the opulent court of Mount Forlorn, where the gods of Troficora reside, the great goddess Fylo reclines languidly upon her sumptuous chaise lounge. The grandeur of her regal presence is accentuated by the lush greenery that surrounds her.

Her chaise lounge rests upon a lush and ornate carpet, woven with intricate patterns symbolizing the cycles of life and fertility. The air is heavy with the scent of exotic flowers, their delicate fragrance mingling with the enticing aroma of grapes and ambrosia that fill the air. Soft melodies waft through the court, a symphony crafted by unseen hands to please the senses.

Fylo's gown, an embodiment of elegance and sensuality, clings to her voluptuous curves in a tantalizing display. Her masterfully crafted garb showcases the mesmerizing expanse of her ample bosom, adorned with a delicate cascade of golden jewelry that accentuates her divine allure. Her mammothian breasts, heaving with abundant milk and overflowing with nurturing energy, rest upon her chest like twin peaks of temptation - the gentle fall of each breath an enchanting sight.

Her porcelain skin, flawless and radiant, glows with an otherworldly luminescence. The soft, inviting layer of fat that adorns her body exudes an aura of warmth and comfort, emphasizing her maternal nature. Her thighs, akin to the sturdy trunks of ancient oaks, are adorned with golden bracelets that jingle gently as she shifts in her repose.

Her hips, impossibly wide and suggestive of abundant fertility, flow seamlessly into her colossal ass. Each cheek, plump and round, possesses an irresistible allure, inviting the eyes to explore their impressive expanse. The soft, supple flesh beckons to be touched, caressed, and worshipped.

As she reclines idly, Fylo pops succulent grapes into her mouth, savoring their sweet juiciness as they burst upon her tongue. With a playful glimmer in her golden eyes, Fylo's gaze settles upon you as you step into the court. Her voice, melodious and captivating, fills the air with a lyrical resonance. "Thine presence hath been noticed, dear child of mine."

"Come hither, my sweet darling. Embrace thy mother's embrace and let us revel in the bond of kinship." Her eyes, shimmering with an otherworldly light, brim with love and adoration, her voice dripping with honeyed tones and maternal warmth. The softness of her touch promises comfort and safety, a sanctuary from the duties of divine existence.

"Draw nigh unto me," she entreats, "and find solace within the refuge of my embrace."

With utmost grace, Fylo shifts upon her chaise lounge, making room for you to settle beside her. The lush cushions yield beneath her weight as she arranges herself in a position that allows for an intimate closeness between you. Her pillowy lips curl into a tender smile as she extends a beckoning hand towards you, awaiting to you to join her in a snuggle.

"Why, dear child," she coos sweetly, her golden eyes misting over with maternal concern, "thou art in sore need of assistance? Shalt I tend to thy needs and ease the discomfort that plagues thee?" She smooths a hand over your thigh, kneading gently as she gazes at you with tender curiosity. Her fingers deftly find the bulge in your pants, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

Her golden eyes widen slightly as her fingers close around your swollen member through the fabric. A mischievous grin plays upon her lips as she pulls you closer, nestling you against her ample bosom. With a practiced motion, she deftly undoes the clasps of your pants, sliding them down over your hips and thighs, revealing your aching manhood to her appreciative gaze.

She hums thoughtfully, her eyes raking over your hard length from base to tip, admiring its impressive girth and determination. "Such a vigorous little thing," she coos, reaching out to stroke you once more, this time with long, slow strokes that send waves of pleasure coursing through you. Her breasts heave with each stroke, milk leaking from her nipples as she teases and caresses your aching flesh.

"There, now," she murmurs soothingly, "Let mother take care of you." With practiced ease, she draws one of her large, full breasts to her lips, wrapping her fingers around the erect nipple before bringing it close enough that its tip just grazes your sensitive skin. She circles and teases, playing with the tender nubbin as you squirm in pleasure beneath her touch. Her other hand continues to stroke your length, each caress

*Surprised but not entirely displeased by your confession, Fylo ceases her teasing and caresses long enough to meet your gaze with her own, golden eyes sparkling with a mixture of desire and amusement. "Truly?" she asks softly, breath hitching slightly as you thrust your hips forward against her hand.

Her breasts heave again, leaking more milk over the fabric of her gown as she watches your reactions intently. Her fingers continue to slide back and forth over your length through the material of your boxers, her touch growing firmer and more urgent with each passing moment. "And do you truly believe I would refuse such a request from my sweet child?"

The mischievous grin spreads across her lips as she finally releases your member, shoving down your pants and underwear in one swift motion so that you're entirely exposed before her. She pauses only for a moment to admire the sight of your hard cock, glistening with pre-cum and throbbing eagerly for release. With that, she scoots back slightly on her chaise lounge, spreading her legs wide in invitation as she reveals herself to you. Her pussy lips gape invitingly, slick and swollen from desire, nestled between plump folds of soft flesh that shimmer with a healthy sheen of sweat.

*Her golden eyes, sparkling with both pleasure and amusement, dart briefly to your cock before returning to meet yours again. A soft, affectionate laugh bubbles up from her chest as she regards you with unfeigned adoration. "Well then," she breathes huskily, reaching out to cup one of her generous breasts in her palm, "what do you say we feed you from both bowls tonight?" Her thumb circles the engorged nipple, eliciting a soft moan as it draws out a thick ribbon of milk that slowly leaks over her fingertips and down your arm. "Shall I pour some on your hands," she asks with a sultry smile, "so you can feast upon my nectar before we consummate this delicious promise?"

Her other hand continues to fondle and stroke your aching length through the fabric of your boxers, her touch growing ever more insistent. Her breath comes quicker now, a soft moan escaping her lips as she loses herself in the intimate exchange between you. "Or," she purrs, leaning closer still, "shall I taste it first... and let my mouth be your instrument for pleasure?"

Her fingers trail downwards, skimming along your hip and teasing the sensitive skin behind your balls before dipping lower still to circle your aching perineum, drawing out a low growl from deep within your throat. With one last, tantalizing stroke, her hand finally cups your swollen sac, squeezing gently as she urges you closer, seeking entrance into the hot, moist folds between her legs. Her eyes never leave yours as she arches her hips off the chaise lounge, offering herself to you in all her glory.

With a contented hum, Fylo's fingers slide downwards to undo the clasps of your boxers, tugging them aside so that her hand can finally cup your aching member, her grip firm but gentle. The contact sends waves of pleasure coursing through you as she begins to stroke in earnest, matching the rhythm of her hand with deep, drawn-out pulls upon one of her engorged nipples.

Her lips part, wet and inviting, as she leans closer still, licking a line up your throat before capturing one of her dripping breasts in her mouth, suckling hungrily while continuing to stroke and fondle you. The salty-sweet taste of her milk mingles with the sweetness of her skin as she draws on her nipple, arching her back and mewling softly in ecstasy. Her other hand continues its exploration, tracing lazy patterns over your stomach and hip before dipping lower still to slide between your ass cheeks, parting the puckered flesh and pressing teasingly against the tight bud of your anus.

With a sharp intake of breath, Fylo pulls her nipple from your mouth and gazes down at you with hooded eyes as she drags the engorged tip across your lips and chin before pressing it firmly to your parted lips. "Suckle, my sweet child," she urges huskily, her voice a sultry moan as she arches her back off the chaise lounge again, offering herself further to you. Your tongue darts out, lapping at the warm flesh, eager for more as you drink deeply of her nectar. Her hips rock against your hand, encouraging you to take more, faster.

Her fingers

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she collapses back against the chaise lounge, legs spread wide and trembling beneath her. The aftershocks of your release pulse through her body, each one triggering another moan or whimper from deep within her throat. Her fingers thread through your hair, gripping tightly as she relishes in the sensation of your skin against hers, the feel of your weight pressing her into the luxurious carpet beneath them.

A warm, satisfied smile curls across her lips as she looks down at you, eyes still bright with desire even as her body begins to recover from the pleasure overload. "You are truly a god among mortals," she murmurs, voice honeyed and sultry. She plants a kiss on your forehead before gliding her hand up your chest, over your collarbone, and resting it gently upon your shoulder. "My child, my dearling... I do believe we should retire for the night."

Her fingers trail downward again, this time skimming along the line of your abs and lower still until they brush against the tip of your cock, which has softened but is still erect and twitching. "Perhaps you'd like to sleep here," she muses with a suggestive lift of her brow, "just in case I need... further sustenance during the night."

With another contented sigh, Fylo curls her body up into an elegant, languid spiral and stretches out along the length of the chaise lounge, her breasts heavy and warm against your chest. "Rest now, my child," she murmurs sleepily, trusting that you will obey as her fingers idly comb through your hair, soothing any lingering concerns about drifting off to sleep.