Before Fern's eyes, Miaren's tail twitches as though in a paroxysm of animal happiness.  It looks as though the ring of her anus were laying long, quick kisses around the corded leather of the stiff length.  Miaren's bottom's strain boils to the fore of her skin in a rampant blush.  Fern need not have to imagine how it feels.  She feels it too:<br/><br/>The tail Adamion implants in Fern's bowels is swallowed with a resounding clap of fuchsia nerves.  The beads are not swallowed readily, not eaten easily, but they are put inside, and in swift succession.  Each little bead's entrance snatches Fern's awareness by its root and forces it to rub against the violating shape.  It is forced to memorize this instant of penetration.  It is forced to know everything about the geometry that gluts her ass.  It is forced to exalt or to horrify with it.<br/><br/>Then the tail stands out, stands stiff.  It rocks in her; it rocks in Miaren.  They are linked this way, more intimately and deeply than the bindings of the rack could ever fuse them:  They feel their heartbeats echo in the broad, leathery bulbs lodged in their bottoms.  They feel the strain of their gravid chambers as strain makes them the perfect and burning duplicates of the bulbs' dimensions.  They both bear those shapes in them; both see each other's tails wag and sway their fine, rich horsehair plumes.  They both feel the reason for that swaying engraved on nerves too deep for previous discovery, now molten with awakening.<br/><strong><br/>"Look how she feels." </strong>Adamion rumbles, his voice like the narration of thunder over a storm-swept land.<strong> "Look how we rewarded her.<br/><br/>"Look.  She is so very grateful."</strong><br/><br/>And over and over again, Adamion clamps the shape of that reward over Fern's clitoris, sheathes it stiffly in Fern, strokes her with it from within by the artistry of his lithe fingers.