Agathon drew in a shaken, surprised breath as his belt fell open and the pants, loincloth and all, fell about his booted feet. He felt the cool breeze of the fortress along his most sensitive of flesh.<br/><br/>"I would rather you -- " his breath escaped him, words lost as she was kneeling there in that snug, sheer black gown before him. Her lips were so warm, so moist. Indeed, her touch was hot along his bare hip. It was not the cold touch of death, but rather an exhilarating hint of lurid life.<br/><br/>By the time she was finished, that steely rod was hotter than her warm palm, which it now dwarfed as it rested across her slender fingers that feebly tried to wrap around its impressive girth. It swayed with a powerful weight and strength as she lustfully inspected the silky, veined piece of meat that she had so brazenly claimed as her own. He was grimly slightly. Watching, he did not seem bashful, but rather coldly seperate from the throbbing of his cock, refusing to accept how easily she drew it to its full and glorious length.