More so than words, the guidance of fingers upon and within her own body instruct Fern as to his expectations.  Drawing her own in an exact duplication, or as near as she is able with her small, delicate hands to follow his path, his pressures.<br/><br/>The scent growing through the weeds of fear, one of seed pearls of desire, poking through panicked dandelions, growing stronger as it strives to reach for glowing heat.  His fingers/her fingers upon soaked flesh stroking, driving a little faster here, a little deeper there, a flick, a rub.  He/she work their fingers in tandem.<br/><br/>Closing her eyes Fern finds herself lost in the wash of sensations.  Both from her stroking and from his within her.  The tight wet nipples aching as the cooling breeze graces her skin.  A tiny whimper, this time strangled for it displays pleasure, not fear forms upon her lips.  Pearls of soft musk descend from deep within her, scenting the air, glisten softly against her tender flesh.<br/>