Adamion empties himself into Fern.  He pours heat in scalding surges, pours the density of his cock straining the confines that caress it desperately in swallowing, pours the font of his semen.  As he does, his strokes of her head become ardent.  He glazes Fern in a thick layer of touches, making her surface glister with his presence and approval.<br/><br/>When at last he is done spending, and the bone of his penis takes on a torpid bucking, he withdraws.  Cupping her cheeks, he looks down at Fern's face with an artist's appraising, controlling ardor.  Once again, the Garden seems to hold the perfume of its breath.<br/><br/><strong>"You need less training, and so you will be her tender.  Control her.  And do not allow your sex to be penetrated, or I will be most displeased with you."</strong><br/><br/>One hand flies to wave over a large flock of attendants.<strong>"Have them put in an enclosure.  Something shared.  Aeryx."</strong>