At your return the Feeders rocket off towards the campgrounds, fifty pale figures fly overhead the gusts of air tossing your hair. Black streaks paint the sky, shrieks echoing into the night, the Feeding has begun. The Feedlings fly low, and lethal, bombarding the ground below with glyphs of Hate, crackling blasts of pure malice tearing the Keshemi into little more than chunks of meat and bone to be gnawed upon later, some grab people by their arms, bringing them high into the sky until letting them drop to the ground below, the wet crunch of bones and splintering flesh cause the queen to convulse and beg. "This is what you brought upon your people. This is YOUR doing! Feel it. Their blood, their screams, oh their SCREAMS!." Your harsh roars rip into the night and into the queen's ear, still choking her you force her to watch the massacre of her most beloved family members. The third moon Ozma, hangs overhead, glistening red, the lone watcher in a night with no stars. Below you can. A struggle was taking place within my mind, racked with guilt for having not only slept with another man, but with my own son - our son, no less. When my husband and I had sex that Sunday night, I couldn't help but think of it as a form of penance, making up for the sin I had committed. But even though I knew I should feel more regret, a deeper sense of betrayal and guilt, as strange as it may seem, I didn't. The truth is, not only did I enjoy having sex with my son, but I also felt a greater bond with him, as a result. But I also felt no less love or devotion for Ryan. This is how I excused my actions, and the more often I repeated it, the more I came to believe it.When Ryan was on top of me that night, I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms and legs around him, smiling as his wonderful cock filled me. My body was sore and tired, but I needed this. I needed him to take me; to remind me of what I had here at home and why I loved him so very much. And therein laid my problem: I was also.
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