His hands upon her flesh, arms encircling seem to carry a menace stronger, more pronounced than his words.  That feeling of helpless desperation, of the loss of control over her very being her most avid fear.  More powerful and all encompassing than any other for the half elf.  Usually given to flights of fancy, going as feelings dictate the loss of freedom itself terrifying holding her in its iron grip even as his hand strokes her throat, the quiet hushing almost gentle to her ear.<br/><br/>Trembling as a leaf before its fall during the autumn turning Fern can only stand, stricken to her core as the ointment works its way over her body, insidious, carrying the scent of spring as Miaren's tongue delves her untouched flesh.  Warmth spreading, the muscles binding her intimacies slowly ease with the calm caresses of the oil into yielding flesh.<br/><br/>Unwilling though her mind may be, her body betrays that fear sliding perilously close to pleasure at the feel of the invading laps of Miaren's hungry tongue, the fingers digging into the softly swelling flesh.  Unable to close her eyes, a darkness draws itself over her slowly, creeping in to cover her denials.