Shardine attended more than thirty scortiums over the next six days.  All were different,
yet the end result was much the same.  At nearly all of them the flinker was either
damaged beyond much hope of being any future use, or simply did not survive.

It was the tenth scortium that stood out in Shardine’s memory more than the others. 
Here, unusually, there were no nagolds present at all, and only three matogles.  Shardine
saw the uncomfortable looks she was given as she walked in not long after they had
started, but no one said anything.  It was, after all, every female’s right  to join any
scortium and to take her turn on the flinker, even though these days most scortiums were
already overcrowded.

As she was clearly the senior matogle present and there were no nagolds, Shardine took
charge.  She spoke quietly to the scramper, a young and athletic-looking vixling, warning
her of the risks of damaging the flinker.  The watcher and the lifters too she warned,
stressing the importance of making the right decisions and acting swiftly if there was any
real danger to the flinker.  They nodded in agreement with her as tradition demanded, but
she was sure she caught the muttered words “flinker lover” as soon as she turned her
back.

The first five vixlings on the flinker were wild and enthusiastic in their use of the
flinker’s face.  Three times the watcher told the lifters to raise a vixling from him, and
hold her wriggling in the air above him while he recovered his breath.  As the last of the
five finished with a long wail and a deep shudder, the flinker had nothing worse than a
very red, sore face and the usual look of total terror in his eyes.

By this time, Shardine herself had decided it was time for her to be more involved.  She
strode from her seat towards the flinker, ignoring mutterings from the vixplings who had
not yet come forward.  Shardine had, of course, already removed her clothing and left it
in the lockers provided in the entrance to the benglion.  It would not have been proper to
enter a scortium fully clothed.

The lifters stood back as she climbed onto the table in the centre of the benglion and
knelt astride the flinker’s face. “Well?” said Shardine looking at the lifters. 
“Attend.”

The lifters look startled.  “Surely,” said one of them, “You don’t want us to...?”

“Of course,” answered Shardine a little crossly, “Anyone can lose control, even me.  You
must always do your job.”

The lifters came forward on either side of her, close enough to take her arms at any
signal from the watcher.  Shardine, satisfied, lowered herself onto the flinker.

He was, thought Shardine, one of the best.  His face was not unpleasant even to look at,
and as she touched him he immediately opened his mouth and started a discreet yet
effective licking and sucking at her with his tongue and his lips.  She held her position,
not pressing down too heavily while she enjoyed the sensations he was creating within her.
 She sensed the impatience from all around her as the vixlings wanted her to get on with
it.  Reluctantly, but fully realising she must set an example of how proper scortium
behaviour should be, she pressed down firmly over his mouth and nose.  As his air was cut
off, she could still feel his tongue although he was unable to move his lips properly on
her.  With the pressure of his face against her and his tongue and open mouth correctly
positioned, Shardine started the rocking and gentle back and forth motion that would bring
her swiftly to her climax...

Her body was quivering as the climax approached, and already she knew this would be one
of those shuddering, earth-moving explosions.  She had spend most of that day and, in
fact, most of the last two days watching vixlings, matogles and nagolds all using flinkers
for their own gratification.  In watching, Shardine’s own urges has built up to the point
at which release was undoubtedly going to be rather more than a polite little squeak and
an inconsequential shiver.

The flinker’s tongue worked frantically at her.  No doubt he was well aware that the
watcher and the lifters were unlikely to stop the smuntering when she was so close to
climax, and equally that she might still take several minutes before she reached that
point fully.  It was in his interests, indeed it was quite probably his only hope of
survival, to hasten her towards the point at which she would move at least enough for him
to breathe. 

Shardine’s eyes were closed.  Everything she had told the others earlier and everything
she was so anxious to campaign for, was completely forgotten.  All she cared about was
that sensation of the flinker’s face under her and reaching the explosion of ecstasy she
so badly needed.  She did not see the watcher peer down to check on the flinker exactly as
she had instructed, nor the lifters reach their hands towards her in preparation to lift
her from him if the watcher gave the word.  She was too close.

It came in a mighty upheaval of shuddering muscle and an explosion of stars in her head. 
Shardine screamed in a voice that echoed around the benglion, reverberating from the walls
and roof in a cacophony of rebounding sounds.  The weight of her body, already pressing
down on the flinker, focussed on that single point between her legs as her strong thighs
clamped together in an uncontrollable spasm on either side of his face.  She felt the gush
of fluids from her as the convulsions of her thighs forced her upwards a fraction.  At the
same time she heard the flinker’s sharp intake of breath that gurgled as his mouth and
nose filled not with fresh air but with the liquids which for a brief second flowed so
copiously from her.  Still she was not in control of herself, and still her muscles
shuddered and convulsed as wave after wave shook her.  The tiny, fluid-filled gap between
her and the flinker closed again, sealing him under her once more. 

Her body slumped, exhausted, unable to move.  The flinker too had stopped moving. 
Shardine, her eyes still closed, managed to marshal her thoughts just enough to whisper
"“Lift me.”