<div class="floatleft"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Myrrdin</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/71/SaerraMyrrdinDruid.png)</div></div></div><br/>If Vesz'tyrr hadn't gripped Myrrdin's base just in time, he would have exploded there and then. The druid was beyond hot, his season brought out fully by the drow. The grip had him groan desperately, but he didn't stop the elf; in a way this was too good to be true, coming too fast would have him hard and hungry soon, too.<br/>The chains of groans from the druid changed, curses in five different languages bleeding through, some of them so obscure a more levelheaded moment in the druid's time would have him wonder what the drow behind and inside him would have thought about them. Right now, he couldn't give a fuck as long as the elf kept hammering him like this he'd not care if the brothel around him went up in flames, something illustrated by pearls of precum now starting to form and drip unto the sheets under him.