Adamion raises up to stand erect behind Fern, his presence a hot shadow cloaking the simmer of her back.  His caresses draw outside the elastic gripping of Fern's sheath, turning to blend her juices like an artist mixing paint on a palette.  The cream in all its layers of stickiness and sultriness is mixed about on the sensitive media of Fern's folds.  He plays with them idly, petting and lifting, pushing them in to a trembling bud or stroking them smooth down to flinty taps of her throbbing clitoris.<br/><br/>He amuses himself in this way as the attendants stroke along the two jutting shafts of the embedded tails, testing that they are rigidly implanted.  They are.  The investigation sends settling flesh back to sobbing for a moment.<br/><br/>Otherwise, the 'hounds' are left to lie on one another, to soak in one another, to touch and to be touched in their bareness, linked tightly on the leather-bound rack.