The weight of that single digit touching me through my pants leg feltlike someone had dropped a piano on me from twenty floors up. Onefinger, one fin...ertip, I reasoned, and yet it felt as if it was fresh outof a blacksmith's oven, red-hot and steaming. My buttock flinched alittle at his touch, and I realized I was slowly arching my back in tinymotions, and pushing my ass towards his hand, in sly little incrementsthat I could convince myself weren't me being forward at all, in case itbecame an. Within her own tent, sitting on a bed of soft, velvet cushions, Aeva relaxed from her exhausting ride. She was more depleted than most, having exerted so much energy in the fury of her discontent. Being enraged, it seemed, was thirsty, hard work, and so it was that she called for drinks to be served, of ale and wine and sweet, fermented nectars. One of her riders entered the long tent with a tray of drinks, from which she perused the offerings and took some water and then some wine. The rider. More

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