Manufactured for Sin 2 (Clean version)

Chapter 7: Clay

(This sex scene has been cut for content)

Izleena sighed deeply in the poorly lit room of the cave, pressing her foot down rhythmically, as it powered the spinning pottery wheel. Her golden skin shimmered, wet with the spattering and slathering of the saturated clay. She gently hummed to herself as she softly worked the material, trying to get it just right.

"What are you doing?" asked a groggy but sultry Greg from the shadows.

"Couldn't power down. Too nervous. Just figured I'd help out, make some crucibles." She sighed, hunching over diligently in her filthy, long, white, shirt. It was far too big for her, obviously Greg's shirt, and the poor choice of color against the clay had absolutely ruined it. But whatever, it's not my business. Just saying she could have ruined her own shirt. Maybe she could have just asked.

"Looks rather dick-like for crucible pottery." He noted, probably annoyed by the shirt as well. She sighed with annoyance, at his crude manner and how accurate it was.

"It's clay spinning, Greg. Every mistake turns into a dick, I can't help it. It's a very accidentally pornographic artform. The slightest movement in the wrong way and you get a dick. It's even worse when it falls over and starts flopping." She huffed in frustration.

"It's easy; here, let me help you." He guided. "Let the clay slide between your hands freely, like a gently breeze or a sensual spirit of some kind, just passing through. Don't fight the clay." He whispered, sitting behind her and brushing her hair over her pointy ear.

"Greg I've seen your crucibles, they're hardly a masterpiece, you're not much better at this than I am." Izleena whispered, sensually.

"I'm trying to be confidently sexy, Leena. If it's not clear what I'm trying to do, then our marriage is in trouble, or you are way too mentally exhausted for sex. You're the one always wanting to role play."

"Sorry. I...forget it. Teach me the way, oh pottery master." She said softly as he kissed her neck and interlocked his claws into hers, absolutely ruining the pottery, even more then his shirt.

"Just relax, there's no need for any lengthy gimmick here, just two people enjoying each other's touch. Two thirds of a monogamous pair of lovers, trying to unwind. Just let your mind and body relax and say what feels right." He encouraged. "Hell it's gonna get cut out anyway, this is the clean version, remember?"

A gentle saxophone began playing from nowhere as the room darkened, Greg lifting her up and bunching her inexplicably clean white shirt.

"Do your thing." She smiled.

"Weren't we just completely drenched in clay? I don't remember us stopping the foreplay to wash it all of and come back dry?" He asked.

"Stop over-thinking the moment." She whispered.

Greg let himself fall, stumbling flat on his back against the bed. The sudden thump of the bed legs giving out didn't seem to alarm them in the least, as if they were used to that sound and the sudden drop of it flattening on the floor.

"Protection?" she gasped.

"Right here." He replied, tapping the broadsword leaning against the wall.

The darkness and gentle music became more prominent, washing out the couple in a fog of tastefully edited obscurity. A few moments of darkness told the tale that's simply too hot for this version.

As the fog lifted, the room took on a very different post-sex look. Disarray and broken things shedding light on the events of the evening that had left their mark.

Izleena softly breathed, lying on his bare chest.

"What are we gonna do about this bedroom?" she whispered.

"I'll leave some gold for the damages; I'm not that worried about it. Structure seems solid." He nodded, patting out a small fire on the blanket. "It'll be fine. Lotta fresh bear pelts where that came from."