Pip's hips roll like clockwork against the seedmother, metal thighs gleaming with a soft golden sheen. She moans and gasps, her body pressed up against the broad trunk of an ancient tree, vines wrapping around her wrists like eager assistants.
Each thrust sends tremors through the earth. With every one, the forest shivers in delight.
Blossoms unfurl, streams gurgle happily, and the leaves above quiver as Pip, the ever-devoted divine construct, works his golden hips like a god-made metronome. The seedmother squeals softly, legs wrapped around Pip's waist as her radiant body thrums with ancient pleasure.
"Divine," she whispers, breath hitching. "So divine…"
Pip beeps proudly, metal hands braced firmly against the trunk, moving with focused, rhythmic precision. The earth pulses beneath them. As she climaxes, vines burst from the ground, coiling lovingly around her limbs, a thousand tiny flowers blooming in a radiant spiral around her glowing body.
