Adamion's caresses become almost ardent - the press of his hands and the slicing of his cock into her throat.  Fern can feel his passion welling up, pushing against his composure like turbid water against a wall of glass.  His words almost have a tremble in them; the same tremble she can feel in the seething flesh that forces her throat.<br/><br/><strong>"Very good.  You are fit to please.  Unlike your reluctant companion.<br/><br/>"You have passion."</strong>The final words are a hiss.  Then, from out of the sack that Miaren lathes with her tongue, a boil of force surges up into his shaft.  It bucks, embedded.  Out of it, a gout of seed splashes into Fern.  Taste flowers open and stretched mass strokes a clinging from her gorge.  Adamion lets Fern move as she will, as he empties his seed into her.