As Dictated By the Customs of Her Clan
the sciences which keep men alive- producing a special voice for the occasion
- wrist and knee
- expression of the most abject and hopeless misery
- the organic kind
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As dictated by the customs of her clan, Fleur chanted passages from an ancient scroll entitled The Sciences Which Keep Men Alive while I made love to her, producing a special voice for the occasion. I concentrated my caresses on her left wrist and knee to increase our chances of producing a male heir. Neither of us wanted to face the expression of the most abject and hopeless misery her father would wear if a girl were born instead. It did not bear thinking of. Existential misery made him dangerous.
Soon our tent was filled with the organic kind of scent that comes from vigorous sex in hot climates. Fleur sighed happily and rang the gong. We barely had time to cover ourselves with the ritualistic doilies before her father strode in, flanked by his bodyguards.
The post-coital question and answer period was my least favorite part of this entire weeklong ceremony.
bonus points for using them in order