Adamion stands behind Fern's upraised haunches with exacting poise.  His hands are where the idleness in him gathers - they roam about her rump and back, investigating the slenderness.  Fingers clench lightly to test tensility.  Nails skate down the luge of her spine.  A palm seals her sex's slit swelling in a warm, woodwork hand.<br/><br/>He lets the rub of his hand wander where it will, but refuses to let it leave Fern's body, keeping up a constant scrape of friction as it treats her body as its toy - as its terrain to explore and shape.<br/><br/>"If you would not 'lose yourself', then I must depend on this self of yours to obey.  If you would obey, pet your hound to calm her.  And if you continue in this pliant vein, and even show some effort to be ardent in your pleasing me, I may show mercy and allow you to keep the faculty of your voice."<br/><br/>Behind Miaren, the attendant takes similar liberties.  Her thrashing hardly slows him, as much as it slightly shivers the rack.  Fluid and sure, his lean finger pushes pea after pea of the ointment into her bottom.  There, in the ferociously tight socket, the fluid is instantly clasped and crushed long.  And as it wallows in its anxious, raw massage, Fern's bottom is treated to the thrillingly smooth slide of the finger following the fluid it pushes in - the attendant forcing the entire lithe length of his forefinger, knuckle after firm knuckle, into her anus.  He lays satin caresses on her rectum.  He curls his finger to rub in the oil.  Then he draws it out, licks around the hole to help it remember what it is to be wide and seething with feeling, and slides in the finger again.<br/><br/><strong>"Calm her." </strong>Adamion practically snarls now, his tone like a poised whip at the extent of its black tension.  His hands on Fern's side stroke up her belly in one direction, against the underside of her breast in another.<strong> "Touch her sex.  Let her know you're doing it.  Let her know, this is alright."</strong>