no subject

[ It's a basic instinct, something that he can no more control than anyone else can - nothing that he can define or she can help. It's a matter of biology, just as much as the fact his own scent bristles on out of him also can't be helped. As such, a small drip of his rubber-like smell comes on out of him. Or maybe it was akin to asphalt? Some sort of deep, rich smell.

And he rumbles a bit in the stomach, shifting himself. He was wearing loose closing, so... there was a good chance to outline it. And he can't help but- ]

It's fun for you to get taken over like that? Or do you still like being in control.

[ Impressive enough. . . ]