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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    in the hopeless swamps of not-quite; herd
    #4
    He is even larger up close, she realises. He feels more massive than her father, even when she would shelter between his legs as a young filly. She is small, in comparison, but it does not intimidate her - it intrigues her. Excites her, even.

    He inquires as to whether she knows what she is asking for and she shrugs her shoulders easily, a small smile on her face.
    ”No,” she says, moving a step closer. ”Perhaps not.” There is no hesitation in her voice though, the smile on her face unwavering, inquisitive. She has never been claimed before, never been owned… She wants to be. She wants to know what it is like for someone to want her. What it’s like to be wanted so much that nobody else is allowed you.

    The nip is firm and it stings, despite his attempts to dampen it. It hurts, she discovers, but it’s not necessarily bad. Perhaps she even enjoys it a little. It had been so long since she had had physical contact with another; years and years and years. She had forgotten how nice and soft it feels. ‘You are mine now.’ he says, and Anastazja smiles, she can’t help it. Silly boy, one does not simply own a tiger. She says nothing, though. Let him believe it, let him think that it’s as simple as that. She wants him to bite her more, tell her how beautiful she is, hold her close.

    He doesn’t though. He takes a step back and the silver mare is quick to close the gap again. Not touching, but almost.

    ”What will you have me do now?” she asks, tilting her head, looking up at him. Coyly. She takes a few steps away, light on her feet. Playfully she swishes her tail, an invitation to follow her, to chase her. Of course, she is not ignorant to the season that’s upon them. She doubts he will be either.
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    Messages In This Thread
    in the hopeless swamps of not-quite; herd - by Hawthorn - 12-12-2017, 10:04 PM
    RE: in the hopeless swamps of not-quite; herd - by Hawthorn - 12-15-2017, 01:55 PM
    RE: in the hopeless swamps of not-quite; herd - by Anastazja - 12-19-2017, 02:00 PM



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