12-26-2017, 11:51 PM
They are ships which carry the instincts of Earth as their cargo. He has spent most of his life Beyond — first in a bachelor herd where he quickly rose to the top, and then as the leader of several herds to which he fathered the next generations. The tradition of their ancestry dates back further in the Beyond than in his homeland. Beqanna has buried the rawness of their very species under the layers of government and physical power.
He much prefers the brisk promise of his wildling life.
Torture knows she does too, he can see it in the depths of her eyes as they meet for the first time. Her teeth catch the strength of his neck and his ears lace with the thick tangle of his mane for a brief moment, angry that she should place the first marking. Her mouth does little damage to his skin, but there is an ache when her lips depart.
The sweetness of her scent floods through the air and he nearly groans at the smell of it. There is nothing akin to the perfume of a mare aroused by his presence — and he is possessive, increasingly provoked by the knowledge that he has caused her undoing. She places another marking further along on his chest and this time a low sound rumbles from the depths of his throat.
He marvels at the way her body stretches to reach the underside of his jaw, watching her body ripple and her dark muscle stretch. She is erotic and wild (he cannot wait to feel her under him). Torture’s thoughts are undeniably elsewhere as her teeth find purchase against the soft of his throat. He twists his head away at the sharp pain, though his feet do not move (it is not a sign of submission to her whims, as he stays in place, but her wounding bite is surprising).
They are uncivilized and unbridled, partaking in an ancient tradition that began when their species did. He is unaffected by the defense she puts up and takes the hit to the gut. However, as her teeth reach to snap at the ebony of his face, he is quick to land a quick, sharp bite on the slope of her shoulder. A warning — though they dance with foreplay in mind, she is his.
Her heat appeals to every inch of him and his dark eyes take in the sight of her kicking and writhing and snapping. She is an obsidian seductress with her lithe curves sliding against his thick muscle and her swishing tail spreading her intoxicating aroma like a dangerous airborne chemical.
Her husky words prod at the arousal that glimmers just under the dark of his skin. He tucks his nose along the swell of her breast, allowing his lips to drag against her smooth skin before winding up the elegance of her neck. His mouth finds the entanglement of her mane and his teeth reach to snap a chunk of her rugged locks and give a vicious tug. A deep chuckle rides on the breath that comes before his smoky words as his lips reach her ear. “I guess I’ll have to punish you.”
She’s proved her desire for him thus far, but he’s still looking to increase the pressure found under his belly. He nips at her ear and then allows his mouth to travel down the slope of her neck once more. He wants to hear that husky voice cry out from his own doing, so perhaps then she will know that she is his. He wastes no time in finding the curve of her hip and then the suppleness of her buttock. Torture’s teeth reach to place a hard bite there, close to the sweetness of her heat. He licks the spot slowly, tantalizingly (though they may fuck with abandon, he does not forget the way a slow burn makes it worth even more), as a bruise already blossoms against muscle and tissue.
A smirk curls against the ebony of his mouth as he huffs a teasing breath against the swollenness of her heat beneath her tail.
He much prefers the brisk promise of his wildling life.
Torture knows she does too, he can see it in the depths of her eyes as they meet for the first time. Her teeth catch the strength of his neck and his ears lace with the thick tangle of his mane for a brief moment, angry that she should place the first marking. Her mouth does little damage to his skin, but there is an ache when her lips depart.
The sweetness of her scent floods through the air and he nearly groans at the smell of it. There is nothing akin to the perfume of a mare aroused by his presence — and he is possessive, increasingly provoked by the knowledge that he has caused her undoing. She places another marking further along on his chest and this time a low sound rumbles from the depths of his throat.
He marvels at the way her body stretches to reach the underside of his jaw, watching her body ripple and her dark muscle stretch. She is erotic and wild (he cannot wait to feel her under him). Torture’s thoughts are undeniably elsewhere as her teeth find purchase against the soft of his throat. He twists his head away at the sharp pain, though his feet do not move (it is not a sign of submission to her whims, as he stays in place, but her wounding bite is surprising).
They are uncivilized and unbridled, partaking in an ancient tradition that began when their species did. He is unaffected by the defense she puts up and takes the hit to the gut. However, as her teeth reach to snap at the ebony of his face, he is quick to land a quick, sharp bite on the slope of her shoulder. A warning — though they dance with foreplay in mind, she is his.
Her heat appeals to every inch of him and his dark eyes take in the sight of her kicking and writhing and snapping. She is an obsidian seductress with her lithe curves sliding against his thick muscle and her swishing tail spreading her intoxicating aroma like a dangerous airborne chemical.
Her husky words prod at the arousal that glimmers just under the dark of his skin. He tucks his nose along the swell of her breast, allowing his lips to drag against her smooth skin before winding up the elegance of her neck. His mouth finds the entanglement of her mane and his teeth reach to snap a chunk of her rugged locks and give a vicious tug. A deep chuckle rides on the breath that comes before his smoky words as his lips reach her ear. “I guess I’ll have to punish you.”
She’s proved her desire for him thus far, but he’s still looking to increase the pressure found under his belly. He nips at her ear and then allows his mouth to travel down the slope of her neck once more. He wants to hear that husky voice cry out from his own doing, so perhaps then she will know that she is his. He wastes no time in finding the curve of her hip and then the suppleness of her buttock. Torture’s teeth reach to place a hard bite there, close to the sweetness of her heat. He licks the spot slowly, tantalizingly (though they may fuck with abandon, he does not forget the way a slow burn makes it worth even more), as a bruise already blossoms against muscle and tissue.
A smirk curls against the ebony of his mouth as he huffs a teasing breath against the swollenness of her heat beneath her tail.