10-11-2017, 06:00 PM
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
His muzzle explores her, tentatively at first, as she lay prone against the wisteria bed. She is beautiful against the purple backdrop and his amber eyes look up at her face as he continues to rove, almost as if to ask her permission as his touch grows more urgent. Her soft moan throws his ears forward and Amet groans deeply in response as heat shoots through his loins at the sound. The electricity between them is nearly unbearable now; the young stallion is blatantly inexperienced in handling this rush of feeling, and when he does find his voice, Amet's request is gruff and laden with fervor.
Ciri is on her hooves quickly, fueled by her desire for him. For him, Amet realizes as his golden eyes drink in the sight of smoky black mare, their breathy desire heating the flowered, private den he had created for her. The young Akhal-Teke's mouth is dry, his throat constricted, and his lanky appendages restless as she regains contact with him. He curves his leather-plated neck instinctively beneath her touch and the muscles ripple as he tucks his head to his chest, amber eyes closing for only a moment as he expels a torrid sigh.
Her blunt teeth rake against the base of his mane, unfamiliar but not unwelcome electricity shooting through him once more; Amet curls his head around to look at Ciri with molten lava in his gaze, to watch the way she works her way down his narrow frame slowly, teasingly. His own muzzle reaches for her side and his teeth graze against her coat again, this time nipping playfully and with increasing intensity. His nostrils flare, greedily inhaling the scent of her until she explores down his flank and then lower, and lower, until she kisses against the tender skin at the meeting of his thigh and his underbelly.
He squeals involuntarily at her provocative touch, his gilded head tossed skyward as the rush of heat in his groin coaxes his manhood to unsheathe. Amet groans again as she turns her sultry gaze over her shoulder at him (akmar, she whispers, and he is hers) and snaps the tendrils of her tail to draw his attention to the heady scent of desire that he has helped produce. He leans into her curvy frame, trying his best to be as close to Ciri as possible as he nuzzles his gilded head against her flank, the swell of her rump, the side of her thigh.
Show me the stars, she purrs to him, and Amet nearly loses his virgin self on the petal-coated ground. A snort of desire escapes him as he moves further down her frame until his muscled shoulder is rubbing against her rump and he is pivoting his gilded frame to face her. The young stallion tries to keep himself settled, tries to contain the desire that swells hot and needy in his loins, but he has lost himself to his akmar and he is no longer piloted by reason, but by a raging inferno of need.
"Ciri," he sighs lasciviously against her skin as he presses his chest to her curved haunches and waits for her to splay her legs, his soft muzzle caressing every piece of the starry-eyed mare that he can reach.
Amet
@[Ciri]