Sunspire Mountains all the butterflies have turned to vultures in my stomach

Bewildered by the mutiny that was happening below deck, Riley tried again for a forward thrust -- this time barely concealing the cry of pain as Esme's back sharply rose to meet him, forcing him to step back and place weight on his injured hip. 

His fair maiden's clear offense did not help the situation. What was previously a firmly taut crane had now thoroughly been decommissioned; said crane had now toppled over and lounged in flaccid misery beneath his belt. 

Riley felt mortification thoroughly flush his cheeks. He nearly withered in the same manner his ungenerous libido had when he heard the clear outrage in Esme's voice. He tried to rally, holding her tighter between his arms -- thumping the softest of uglies uselessly against her backside. It was like coming to a fortresses' barricaded gates with a beanbag; no amount of jostling his squashed jimmies against the hard gate would breach Esme's port. 

Riley's battering ram had firmly run aground. 

Hold still, Riley begged, wincing against the secondary arch of Esme's back. He was bewildered, upset, humiliated, and terrified -- what was wrong with him? Was he defective, or worse, permanently impotent? He kept to mushing his bits to her tailside in futile determination, feeling a mounting sense of dread fill his stomach.