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him, driven by the exquisite pain to produce more pleasureor by the exquisite pleasure to produce more pain. There was something more she wanted; there was something incomplete. But she could not stop to think what she desired; she could only respond more and more frantically until the pleasure-pain rose in a crescendo so overpowering that she screamed behind her muted lips.
For a little while she was aware of nothing beyond the ebbing of that fierce sensation, a pleasure in itself, though mingled with a sense of loss. Then she felt Walter still moving, but in a different way, gasping with effort or frustration. She longed to help him but did not know how until she remembered how sensitive her thighs had been. It would not be possible, she thought, to force her hands between them, so she stroked the back and, still remembering, the inner part. Immediately, Walter's muscles contracted, his mouth pulled free of hers as his head bent downward, pressed painfully between her neck and shoulder. He thrust fiercely between her thighs, once, twice, then jerked convulsively, groaning, and at last lay still.
Sybelle lifted her arms and embraced him gently. She felt a kind of wondering bemusement mixed with warm comfort and was prepared to lie embraced for some time despite the fact that Walter's weight made breathing very difficult. Thus, she was startled and a little hurt when Walter pulled her arms away and rolled off her. He did not move far, however, and at once pulled her up and over so that she was partly atop him and partly to the side, cradled in his good arm. This surprised Sybelle even more. What was to happen now? But nothing happened. Walter lay still, breathing hard at first and then more easily.
Eventually curiosity overcame shyness, and Sybelle asked, "Were you uncomfortable, my lord?"
"Not at all," Walter replied, chuckling. "You make a most soft and pleasant mattress, but I wish to wed a well-rounded woman, and you would have been flat as a rush if I lay atop you long. Also, the bed must be wet where you were lying."
So simple an answer. Sybelle giggled. "And are you content?" she asked, growing bolder and teasing.
"No," he said, laughing again, "and I have sinned in spilling my seed abroad. Still, I have not sinned by fornication,

 
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