Indi

“Much like his fangs, he had folded spines under the base of his cock. They were almost perfectly matched to his skin, except the black gradient at the sharp point, like small porcupine quills. They folded flush to his skin. I could not even feel them when touching him.  “What’s this?” I ran my finger over them.   “I wasn’t going to.” He flinched again.   “What are they?” “I don’t use them.” He looked away. “I did not want you to think I would use them⁠—”  “What are they for?” I asked once more. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.” My eyes narrowed at him.   “They’re for…” he mumbled, something I could not hear.  “I didn’t quite get that.” ”
― I.V. Ophelia, The Poisoner