How to Properly Talk to Tall Women (Patreon)

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The barstools at Griffin’s were comically high—great for storks, less so for Alex. Her striped legs dangled just short of the footrest, tail flicking in irritation as she performed her usual awkward climb. The polished wood was slick with either sweat or spilled drinks under her pads, the air thick with whiskey and citrus. She had barely settled when the door opened, and in walked a woman who seemed to stretch the ceiling higher with every step.

Alex considered herself bisexual, with a slight—okay, sometimes strong—lean toward men. But nothing buttered her baked potatoes like a tall woman. Not the “an inch taller than you” kind of tall, but the sort that required neck-craning—the kind that made vowels fall out of your mouth incoherently. A woman with legs that recalibrated a room’s proportions and thighs that looked capable of popping an unripe watermelon—without breaking eye contact.

There was something about tall women that felt less like intimidation and more like a gravitational pull—effortless, inevitable, impossible to ignore. They moved as if the world had been built to their scale, and Alex—half in admiration, half in envy—couldn’t help but want to orbit that kind of confidence.

Griffin’s never filled to capacity; it murmured instead of buzzed. Lamps hung low and warm, catching in the brushed brass fixtures and in Griffin’s feathers whenever he moved behind the counter. Every time he spread his wings to reach a bottle, light slid along his plumage like a slow shutter flash. It wasn’t fair, Alex thought—not when he looked like that and was entirely uninterested in her species. Or any woman’s, for that matter.

“Refill?” he asked, voice smooth enough to make glass sweat. His beak caught the glow like polished copper, and for a moment she hated that he was both gorgeous and gay. A waste of perfectly good anatomy, she decided—the kind of man who’d have a beautiful dick and not one ounce of interest in letting her appreciate it.

She smirked over her nearly empty Long Island. “You trying to get me tipsy, Griff? Again?”

Griffin’s grin cut sharp. “Trying? Sweetheart, you’re the one ordering the drinks that taste like candy but have enough alcohol to tip an elephant.” He shook the tin with a flick of his wrist; ice clattered like dice in motion. “Besides, you’re cuter when you slur your attempts at getting me to swing the other way.”

Alex’s whiskers twitched. “Flattery from a man who flirts with everyone but me.”

“That’s because I have a healthy sense of self-preservation,” Griffin said. “You’ve got fangs the size of my bar knives.”

She curled her lips around her straw, flashing both fangs at him. “Compliments will get you everywhere.”

The eagle slid the new drink toward her, taloned fingers clicking softly against the counter. “Now, if only I could get you somewhere other than that stool.”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that blended into the lazy jazz drifting from the ceiling speakers. Her tail brushed the stool leg in rhythm. “And miss out on my people-watching post? Never. You know I like the view from here.”

Griffin followed her gaze toward the tables—a fox couple tangled in a dart dispute, a wolf sleeping into his pint, a raccoon pair murmuring in the corner booth. Car headlights swept through the frosted windows, painting temporary silver bands across their fur before fading again.

He scoffed and leaned on one elbow. “You sure you’re not just here to judge my clientele again?”

Alex sipped, the straw flexing against a fang. “Judge? No. Observe? Always.” She gestured at the room with her glass. “Your crowd’s getting tamer, Griff. You going soft on me?”

“Soft?” The eagle snorted, feathers fluffing. “Selective. I weed out anyone who thinks karaoke night’s a talent show.”

“Tragic,” Alex said, mock-sighing. “There goes my big break.”

Griffin chuckled, sliding a coaster toward her with a flick. “Please. If it were a talent show, you would win every time. I’m talking about the drunkards who think they have a voice of an angel but… Don’t…”

Her laughter rumbled low in her chest, making the ice in her glass tremble. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. That’s why those TV talent shows are so entertaining!”

“It is when I’m supposed to be selling drinks, the constant croaking drives away the clientele.” Griffin said. “And besides, if you ever do get your big break, how would I ever keep the lights on?”

“Flattering,” she said. “Do I get a share of the profits? Or at least a plaque?”

“I’ll engrave it myself. Something tasteful—‘To Alex: Patron Saint of Bad Decisions and Excellent Tipping.’”

She raised her glass. “I tip for good service. You know what would get me to tip more though?”

“Don’t even say it.” The eagle stopped her and raised an empty glass he was drying to hers.

Their improvised toast clinked soft beneath the soft music. For a long breath, the two of them fell into the rhythm of the place—low voices, muted clatter, jazz pulsing like a heartbeat underfoot. Griffin wiped the bar, tail feathers catching the light; Alex traced her claw along her glass, watching the condensation bead and slide.

“You ever notice,” she murmured, “how the good nights are the quiet ones? The ones where nothing really happens, but you still don’t want to leave?”

Griffin didn’t look up from his polishing. “That’s why I keep the lights dim,” he said. “Makes life feel a little cinematic. People love pretending they’re in a story.”

“Clever bird.”

“Handsome bird,” he corrected automatically.

“Modest, too.” She smirked.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Someone has to keep the mystery alive.”

Then the bell over the door chimed—a delicate, metallic sound that sliced clean through the jazz. Both of them looked.

A lioness stepped in from the outside, and the bar, somehow, seemed to shrink around her. The doorframe caught on her mane as she entered, the overhead lamp skimming her crown before releasing her into the amber light. She didn’t just stand tall—she owned tall, carried it the way some carried titles or kingdoms.

Alex’s breath stalled mid-sip. This was the kind of height that drew your attention no matter what you were doing—the kind that rearranged sightlines. Elume’s shoulders brushed the faint haze of cigarette ghosts that clung to the ceiling. The lamps seemed to dip in deference; even the sound of the ice machine faltered for a beat.

Step One: Never let them know you are super into their height.

Too late.

The lioness was built on length in every limb. Her coat caught the golden light like polished brass, each movement a slow unfurling of power that didn’t need to announce itself. When she passed the tables, conversation bent out of her way like tall grass in a passing wind.

Griffin straightened, his face lighting up. “Well, if it isn’t Elume,” he said warmly. “Been a while. What’re you drinking tonight?”

Elume. The name hit Alex like the last drop of liquor—warm, exotic, a little dangerous.

The lioness smiled, a slow, easy curve across her muzzle. When she leaned one elbow on the counter, her reflection filled the mirrored wall behind the bar, stretching from her hips to the tips of her ears. Alex’s gaze followed her helplessly, head tipping up as if drawn by magnetism.

“Hey, Griff,” Elume said, voice low and smooth. “Just a gin and tonic, thanks.”

“Coming right up,” Griffin said, reaching for the tonic. He nodded toward Alex. “You met my second favorite big cat yet?”

Step Two: Pretend you’re not imagining what it would feel like to climb them.

Alex nearly choked on her drink. “S-Second?”

Elume turned, and for a second Alex forgot how to be small. The lioness’s eyes—green, sharp, unhurried—met hers at an angle that forced Alex’s chin to lift. Every inch of her body remembered the opening paragraph she’d written in her head about tall women: legs that recalibrated rooms, thighs that crushed hard melons.

“I think he calls all of us his second-favorite, just to keep us in check,” Elume said, smiling at Alex and offering a hand.

Step Three: If she offers to shake your hand, don’t look at hers first.

Alex blinked, then took it—trying not to think about how far she had to reach, how her hand looked like a pebble on a boulder in comparison.

“Alex,” she managed.

“Elume.”

Her grip was warm and steady, her hand large enough that Alex could feel her pulse through her palm. The handshake lingered just past polite—long enough for Alex’s knees to wobble just a little bit even though she was seated.

When Elume released her, Alex found herself still half-tilted toward the lioness, chin angled up, tail coiled tight against the stool leg.

Step Four: Do not let her take you home.

---The cab’s engine had barely gone silent when Alex found herself standing in Elume’s building—modern glass and concrete washed in streetlight gold. The city hummed somewhere below, but up here the air felt still, high, rarefied.

Elume unlocked the door with an easy flick of her wrist. “Come on,” she said softly. The voice did things to Alex’s knees.

Inside, the lioness’s place was warm, full of low light and tall windows. Everything about it felt vertical: high ceilings, tall plants, long shadows. The tiger’s tail flicked once—half admiration, half nerves. She barely came up to Elume’s shoulder.

“Nice place,” Alex said, voice husky.

“Thanks,” Elume replied, slipping off her coat. Her height seemed even more exaggerated without it. Bare arms, sleek muscle under gold fur. “You want something to drink?”

Alex shook her head. “Already had enough courage at the bar.”

That earned a slow smile. “Fair.”

They stood a few feet apart—Elume unhurried, Alex pretending not to stare. The lioness crossed the space first, each step soundless on the polished floor. She didn’t loom; she surrounded the smaller tigress like she was her prey.

When she stopped in front of Alex, it was close enough for the tigress to feel her breath—a warm, steady rhythm that smelled faintly of gin. Alex tilted her chin up instinctively, the motion small but full of hope.

“You’re staring,” Elume murmured.

“You’re hard not to.”

Elume laughed low, the sound deep enough to vibrate in Alex’s chest. “That so?”

Alex’s mouth went dry. “You’re—tall.”

The lioness arched a brow, clearly amused. “Oh, I am? I never noticed.”

Then, with a gentleness that made Alex’s heart stutter, Elume reached down and cupped her jaw. The contrast made Alex’s pulse trip: big hand, soft touch. Elume’s thumb brushed her cheek, tracing the faint stripes there like a cartographer mapping something newly discovered.

“Mind if I…?”

Alex didn’t even let her finish. “Please.”

The lioness bent, and the world seemed to tilt with her. Her hair brushed Alex’s forehead as she closed the distance, slow enough that Alex had time to breathe once—to feel the sheer height of her, to watch her shadow slide across the floor like a curtain.

When their mouths met, it was hot, wet, and filled with a lot more tongue than even Alex was expecting. But still polite.

Elume kissed like someone used to patience: steady, certain, no wasted movement. Alex’s hands went instinctively to the lioness’s waist, fingers gripping sleek muscle and warm fur, trying to pull her closer even though there was already no space left.

Step Five: If she picks you up, do not. I repeat, DO NOT moan.

Then Elume did what Alex had secretly dreamed tall women did—she lifted her. Effortlessly, one hand under her thigh, the other steady at her back. Alex’s tail curled tight around the lion’s hip for balance as her feet left the ground.

The kiss deepened. Alex’s breath hitched against her mouth, small sounds swallowed by the lioness’s calm control. The world narrowed to heartbeat and touch and the faint creak of floorboards as Elume turned, still holding her, and pressed her gently against the wall.

Alex gasped, laughing once, breathless. “You—hah—you really do make ceilings look lower.”

Elume’s grin was lazy, dangerous. “And you look nice up here.”

Her words brushed Alex’s lips, hot enough to melt any remaining composure.

For a moment, neither moved. Just the quiet rhythm of breathing, the thrum of want running electric through the stillness.

Then Elume leaned in again, quicker this time.

The kiss wasn’t so polite anymore.

Elume had Alex pinned to the wall, hands hard on her hips, tongue in her mouth like she owned it. The tigress squirmed, her body already grinding into the lioness’s thigh like she needed to cum from friction alone.

The tiger gasped against the lioness’s lips. "Bedroom?"

Elume grinned into the kiss, then peeled her off the wall and hoisted her up like luggage. Alex squeaked, legs wrapping around her waist on instinct.

"I like a girl who begs," Elume muttered.

"Please?"

They made it to the bedroom in a flurry of heat, teeth, and muffled moans. The place smelled like sweat and fabric softener. Only one lamp burned—low, golden, dirty. The bed was a jungle of rumpled green sheets and pillows. Unmade, which fit the bill of a tall, strong, and busy woman.

Elume dropped Alex onto the mattress with a bounce. She sprawled, flushed and already panting, legs parted without meaning to. Elume climbed after her like she was about to eat her whole.

"You always this ready?"

"Wanna find out?"

Alex snorted, but her body answered for her—arching up, spreading wider, aching for pressure.

Step Six: If she owns more toys than you, maybe leave.

Elume reached over and yanked open the nightstand drawer. Inside: silicone, glass, rubber, metal. Colors bright and shameless. Alex leaned over to peek—and immediately went wide-eyed like a kid in a candy store.

Laid out with precision was a quartet of curated chaos.

First: the silver plug, sleek and severe, its mirror-polished finish catching the low light. At its base, a deep red gemstone flared like a warning beacon—blood-bright, wickedly decorative. It looked like something stolen from a queen’s crown and repurposed for sex.

Coiled beside it, blue silicone anal beads gleamed wetly under a smear of lube, each sphere growing larger like a countdown. Their curve was lazy.

But it was the beasts beside them that made Alex’s mouth go dry.

One, stretched across a folded towel like a prized blade, was unmistakable: Bad Dragon’s Rex, XL size, in a gradient of pink to deep plum—anatomically correct, brutally fleshy, its thick shaft textured with subtle ridges. The base swelled into a knot the size of her fist, veiny and primal. The tip looked almost soft in comparison—a petal pink that deepened toward raw heat.

“You could break a chair with that,” Alex murmured, half in awe.

“I’d rather break you,” Elume replied.

The other shape was no less arresting—a large Diego, rendered in feral red, the base dipped in grey-white fur coloring that faded like ash. Sleek but knotted, its silhouette was more subtle than Rex, but no less dangerous. It had the long, slightly arched profile of a direwolf—designed to fill, stretch, and tie.

“That one’s prettier,” Alex whispered.

“He’s gentler,” Elume said, picking up the Diego by its base and testing the give in the shaft. “But he lasts longer.”

She held up both toys for comparison—the heavy, wet slap of silicone making Alex’s stomach flip.

“You have a favorite?” Elume asked.

Alex blinked at her, striped tail coiling tight around her thigh.

After a second of thought, she grinned and reached for the Diego.

Elume’s claws wrapped around the thick, pink-gradient Rex—obscene in both length and girth, its knot already making her lips curl in anticipation.

“Fair trade.”

They clinked the toys together like champagne flutes—hands bumping, lube spilling across fur, a mingling of heat and mischief. The smell of silicone, citrus, and sweat filled the room.

They both stripped naked.

Alex lay back, one leg bent, the other tossed over Elume’s shoulder. She gripped the pillows, teeth bared as Elume knelt between her thighs, Diego held in both hands like a damn sword.

“Gods,” Alex muttered, eyes on the toy. “He’s huge.”

Elume licked her lips. “You’ll take him.”

The blunt tip pressed against her entrance—warm, slippery, impossibly wide.

Alex hissed.

“Relax,” Elume said, voice gone husky.

And then she pushed.

The dog dick dildo stretched Alex open, slow and brutal. Her claws poked through the sheets. “Fuck—fuck, that’s—ohhh god—”

Diego sank in inch by inch, lube squelching, resistance melting into wet acceptance. Elume held steady, murmuring praise, her free hand stroking Alex’s thigh.

“You’re doing so good,” she said, low and purry. “Taking him like he was made for you.”

Alex’s back arched, breath caught. “Knot—leave the knot—just fuck me with the shaft—”

The lioness obeyed, pumping the thick red toy, watching it glisten as it disappeared and reappeared from Alex’s soaked pussy. Every thrust punched a moan out of her.

‘Schlk, schlk, schlllp!’

“Aaaaah! Mmmmmnnmmhhh! Hhhhnnnng…”

Elume went on for a good few minutes and finally pushed the knot into Alex’s cunt. It slid in with an audible pop.

‘Schlop!’

The tigress let out a loud yelp in surprise as the knot stretched her pussy out as it made its way inside. Once it was in, her pussy closed around it and it stayed in there like a plug.

“Oh fuck, oh FUCK!!! Hhaaahhhhh!”

After her trembles subsided enough for her hands to only gently shake, Alex grabbed Elume’s wrist. “Your turn.”

The lioness raised a brow. “You think you can handle Rex?”

Alex didn’t answer. She rolled Elume onto her back, straddled her hips, and reached for the massive pink toy.

“Let’s find out.”

She coated the Rex in lube, fingers shaking. It was heavy in her hands, veined and shaped like something it was made from a cast of a real Doberman’s dick. The knot at the base felt like it pulsed in her hand. Purely Alex’s imagination.

The lioness spread her legs, wide and inviting. Her lips parted in anticipation, tail twitching under her.

Alex didn’t tease. She pressed the tip to Elume’s entrance and pushed—slow, firm, relentless.

Elume growled—low, primal—as the toy sank into her, stretching her open around the thick shaft.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “That always hits the spot…”

Alex grinned, eyes wild. “Knot in or knot out?.”

The Rex plunged deeper, Elume’s thighs trembling as the knot kissed her folds. She bucked, and Alex took that as permission—rocking the toy in slow, brutal thrusts, the squelch of wet friction louder than either of them.

Elume’s hips jerked. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—”

She was soaked, the toy coated in her arousal. The knot popped past her entrance and she screamed, grabbing Alex’s wrist with enough strength to bruise.

“God—Alex—!”

“Feel good?”

“More.”

Alex pounded her with the Rex, the toy’s knot punching in and out as Elume writhed beneath her, her body a taut line of pleasure and muscle.

Eventually they were both trembling—spent, soaked, and laughing between moans. The knot popped in one final time and plugged Elume’s pussy up.

Step Seven: Ride her face. It’s polite.

Then Alex crawled forward, thighs still trembling, and pulled the Diego dildo out of her pussy with a slow and wet pop.

“Nnnnghh…”

‘Plop!’

“I want your mouth.” She said, after tossing the toy that had been lodged up in her cunt to the side.

Elume’s smile was wicked.

“Then fucking sit.”

She laid back on the sheets, eyes half-lidded, her breath still warm with the taste of Alex mouth. Her hair was a halo of dark brown across the pillows, her chest rising slow and steady like she had all the time in the world—but her eyes said otherwise.

Alex crawled up the bed with the slow gravity of a storm rolling in. Her thighs still trembled with aftershocks. Her stripes were sticky with sweat, and her cunt—soaked, twitching—left streaks of slick on Elume's belly as she moved.

When she reached the lioness's chest, she paused.

Elume raised a brow. "You're hovering."

"I'm appreciating the view."

Elume smirked. "Sit."

Alex did—lowering herself slowly, carefully, until her soaked, twitching pussy met the lioness’s waiting tongue.

She braced one hand on the headboard and the other on Elume's shoulder as she turned around, swung her leg over and slowly, and settled her hips down over the lioness's mouth.

Elume didn't wait.

She licked once—a broad, slow drag from the base of the tigress’s slit to her swollen clit, pausing at the top with a flick that made the tigress's thighs jump.

Alex gasped, hips jerking. "F-fuck—you don't waste time."

Elume gripped her thighs, claws just shy of biting in. She pulled her down with a strength that said you stay right here, and dove in like she was starving.

Her tongue worked in long, sure strokes—not tentative, not teasing, just filthy. Her mouth was hot, lips sealed tight against Alex's folds, tongue pushing in deep enough to make the tigress's spine arc.

Alex moaned, low and sharp. Her thighs shook.

"Fuccccck…. Ahhhhh…”

Elume growled into her pussy, the vibration deep and devastating. “Hhhrrrrrnnnn…”

Alex’s hips bucked.

She grabbed the headboard behind her with both hands now, tail lashing behind her, body rolling helplessly against Elume's face. Her clit throbbed under the lioness's tongue, each flick like a live wire. Her pussy juice, thick, coated Elume's muzzle, her inner thighs, the sheets.

"Shit—shit, Elume, fuck—"

She was close already. Too close.

Elume noticed.

And slowed.

Out of cruelty.

She licked languidly now, sipping her like she was a melted dessert. Her nose pressed tight to Alex's mound, her tongue teasing the edges of her entrance, circling her clit without touching it.

Alex whined. Her hips chased the sensation, tried to grind down. Herr pussy clenched helplessly around the lioness’s tongue and muzzle, desperately trying to milk it.

Elume gripped her harder. Held her in place. Took control of her rhythm like she owned it.

"Tease," Alex hissed. "You fucking tease."

The lioness opened her mouth wide and sucked.

Alex screamed.

The kind of sound that vibrated the windows.

Her whole body spasmed, thighs clamping around Elume's head, toes curling hard enough to cramp. She came with a spray, a gush of wet heat spilling across the lioness's tongue.

Elume drank it.

Every single drop.

The lioness’s pussy clenched around the dildo inside of her so hard as she drank the tigress’s cunt juice that it shot out of her pussy like a cork to a well-shaken bottle of champagne.

The toy, shiny with pussy juice, bounced on the mattress, leaving a streak of pussy juice in its wake.

Alex collapsed forward, body trembling, breath heaving in ragged bursts. She tried to lift herself off, but Elume's hands were still there. Still holding her.

"N-no more," she gasped. "You keep going, I'll forget my name."

Elume licked her clean.

Slowly.

Meticulously.

Like a cat with cream.

Only when Alex sagged into a puddle of overstimulated bliss did Elume finally let her go.

Alex flopped beside her, body spent, cunt twitching with aftershocks.

"I—I can't feel my legs."

Elume smirked, wiping her muzzle with the back of one hand. "Good."

Alex turned her head, barely able to lift it.

"You're dangerous."

Elume grinned. "I'm good, I know."

She stretched, brushing a hand down Alex's flank, then leaned over and pressed a final kiss to her cheek. She watched as the tigress took in shallow, post-orgasm breaths and chuckled. Her voice, low and smug.

"You good?"

Step Eight: If she makes you cum, return the favor, then stay the night and let her spoon you.

---

Griffin raised an eyebrow as he slid a drink toward her. "You good?"

Alex blinked. Her tail flicked. She hadn’t realized she'd been smiling into her drink, daydreaming hard enough to melt ice.

"I’m good," she said, trying to sound casual.

The eagle’s grin turned sly. "She introduced you to Rex and Diego, didn’t she?"

Alex froze. The straw stopped mid-swirl.

She blinked once. Twice.

"I—wait. WHAT?"

Griffin chuckled, feathers fluffing, clearly amused. "What? You think she keeps those just for her girlfriends?"

Alex stared. Her ears twitched. "You mean—"

"She pegged me like a ten-penny nail to drywall," he said with smug pride, polishing a glass. "I still can't hear jazz without clenching."

Alex covered her face with both hands. "Griff!"

"Hey," he said, lifting one talon in mock defense, "a good toy is a good toy. I still didn’t try pussy. My gay card is intact."

Alex groaned. "I need... a drink stronger than this."

“Oh, almost forgot—tall, golden, and smug left you a souvenir.” he added, more gently. “Said she had to leave early for work. Didn't have time to give it to you before she left.”

He slid a crumpled bar receipt across the wood.

On the back, in bold, looping script:“Sorry you had to let yourself out. Text me when your legs work again. -E 💛”

And underneath, scrawled in the corner, barely legible through a faint ring of lube-stained paper: her number.

Alex stared.

Then she smiled.

Step Nine: If she leaves you her number on a receipt for lube…Text her.

---

Elume by Carhillion

Art by TF8

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