Her crotch pressed to my ass, her moan dripped in my ear, and my cry choked in my throat. Her brows knitted pleadingly, her voice was soft and pathetic, her arms were tensed in their binds. Then every Valkyrie of the three peaks saw your statue on the Gratoran Wall, and you became a legend overnight. I still felt her spit coating my lower mouth, and dribbling from my flushed, lower lips. Lucilla’s eyes rolled back, her mouth formed words, but no sound came out. For a moment, the sclera of Willowbud’s eyes was light blue; my light blue. My manhood began to froth on its own accord, standing stiffer than it ever had, aching with the imminence of release. I sat with her, and stared numbly at the miracle Brandon had made as I slowly sank into my despair.
