Tristan skid toward the door, screaming and crying as he neared it. His chest was tight with the effort of running at full speed, but it shut before him anyway. He slammed his fist against it, swearing futilely. He could feel the smooth, hard tendrils running through his hair. A whisper in his ear told him to relax, to give in. It was so hard to fight when it slithered down his jeans in both directions. He was exhausted and it felt good, didn’t it? He was fully hard now and couldn’t really remember what the fuss was about.