Tails was beginning to sweat from the exertion of his relentless thrusting. This was unlike anything he'd ever done before, a softly warm envoloping warmth that was alien to someone used to working with cold, sharp metals. He was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of a smell wafting up to him, comforting and intoxicating all at once. He redoubled his efforts, filled with a burning hunger by that beautifully organic scent, excitement building in a writhing knot in his belly, and-

He looked up at Cream. She was shaking her head, one hand pressed to her temple.

"Tails," She said, very gently. "That's not how you knead bread dough."