Fondling touches fall like the last glow of burning leaves around the petals of Fern's sex.  They brush in lingering orange and red, brush in smoke and in ash, as Adamion lightly cycles his wide-ranging caresses over her rump and thighs, only to return each time to settle in the valley of her sex.<br/><br/>As he strokes, he instructs.  His voice is like the spirit of the dark tail plug that Miaren's bottom is having to choke down, grip and knead:  Fern listens to him while watching first one smooth sphere, then the next, and then finally a last half-inch of firm shaft before the leather-wrapped hilt of the tail projects from Miaren, embedded solidly.  He sounds as dark, as inevitable, as invasive.<br/><br/><strong>"Repeat what I tell you to tell her."  </strong>His fingertips graze the outer fringe of her shy nethers.<br/><br/><strong>"Tell her she is being good."  </strong>He urges, bathing Fern's labia in a lustrous, slow caress of approval.<br/><br/><strong>"Tell her she was good to take so much." </strong>His hands pour up Fern's flanks, then glide down her back.<br/><br/><strong>"Tell her she can enjoy.  She can move how she feels like moving." </strong>His hands drizzle down, their approach a hot wax sliding into the narrows and kisses of her vagina's entrance.<br/><br/><strong>"Touch her here." </strong>Fingertips drag like cat tongues over the shiny flanks of Fern's tumid little clitoris.<br/><br/><strong>"Over and over.<br/><br/>"And here."</strong>Fingers flock smoothly at the clasp of her sheath's entrance, a pair of them beginning to press in, smooth and irresistible, pumping wet from the blossom as it makes the seething skin gape and grab down hard.<strong>"In and out.</strong><br/><br/><strong>"And tell her, over and over, what I said."</strong>