12-10-2017, 10:08 AM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
She bends to his will, like the water does. A pleased rumble vibrates in his throat as she moves from the tree, almost a purr of delight, almost thanking her for giving in to their needs. His muzzle does not leave her hip as she moves, guiding her with flaring nostrils that huff fervently with hot and burning breath against her skin, his desire palpable as the sun begins to darken, the summer storm now nearly upon them. His entire body is electrified with adrenaline, and though this is his first time giving into his lust, the stallion is not at all nervous or anxious; the feeling is much like how he has felt before a kill, and it is familiar and welcoming (and maybe even more intoxicating, he cannot decide).
Hard, fat drops of rain begin to dampen his already sweat-stained body, nostrils quivering as the smell of her wetness becomes more intense and obvious, nipping hard at the tender flesh. Darkness envelops them as the storm begins, the soft white of lightning somewhere in the distance illuminating the bruise-colored clouds above them. Eyes roll as thunder peals across the sky, growing in intensity as the rain begins to coat them. The water only adds to his lust, and as her blood begins to drip down her body from it, the stallion can wait no longer.
The regret may come later, but Maugrim hardly understands what regret is, and it is the farthest thing from his mind.
Maugrim covers her, his forelegs clamping down on her pearlescent shoulders, the blackness of their evergreen stark against her lavender skin. He uses them to pull her beneath him, and without hesitation and without gentleness, fills her entirely. A guttural moan leaves his lips as he feels the slickness of her part for him, (she wants him, needs him) with his head low against her neck, his parted lips at her ear. The rain dampens them, the blood and sweat and sex dripping down them in the midst of the summer’s tempest, his roars of delight quieted by the ongoing rumble of thunder.
He has her now, beneath him and helpless to do anything (save for dismembering him entirely), and the monster within him tears into her, madly thrusting in powerful strokes. The rain begins to hinder him, and to keep from having to reposition or stop himself, his ivory lips (which were parted and breathing heavily into her ears and cheek, panting and groaning and moaning) flash open to grasp at her neck once again, his teeth deep within in her skin and mane, eyes rolling as the smell of blood fills him, and the smell of her, and the smell of the rain.
A final push - as far as he can go - sends him reeling, and he spills himself inside of her and out, gasping as the orgasm rips through his entire body, his forelegs gripping her tighter and pulling her beneath him even closer. He releases his mouth from her neck, his eyes closed as the once raging summer storm lightens and sprinkles soft droplets on their bloody and sweating bodies. He pushes himself into her a few more times, finishing himself entirely, before tiredly slipping off of her.
His hooves splash into the mud beneath them as he comes down to all fours, his ivory nostrils flaring as he gently nips at the base of her tail; finally satisfied.
The storm has moved on, leaving the forest humid and hot with moisture. The evergreen and pearl stallion rubs himself against her as he comes up to her side, now standing shoulder to shoulder. His throat hums with pleasure, a sinister sound (but not to her), and despite there being no killing, the hunger he felt before is now sated. He wonders how long before the hunger will strike again, and with a dangerous yet gentle brush of his lips against her cheek, he wonders if he’ll be able to find her when it does. He plants a kiss on her crest where his teeth had sank into her twice, the blood no longer flowing but still open and sore, proud of his mark on her. Mine. The stallion is fully aware that he is hers; the tightness of her grip on his insides made that very clear.
The rainwater had stained her coat a shade darker, and with a tiny ripple of his lips as he pulls away from her, he commands the water to rise from her and then to fall to the ground in a shimmer of shining droplets. He, however, remains dripping and soaked. Maugrim does not take his leave, not yet, and stands beside her expectantly as he awaits the punishment that is sure to come - the vulnerability he caused her to feel, the subordinate way he put her beneath him, would need to be balanced in some way - she would not let him leave believing he has control of her (though he already knows he could never control her unless she wished him to, which she did).
“Do your worst,” he grumbles roughly, a lazy smile pulling at the pearlescence of his blood-stained lips.
Hard, fat drops of rain begin to dampen his already sweat-stained body, nostrils quivering as the smell of her wetness becomes more intense and obvious, nipping hard at the tender flesh. Darkness envelops them as the storm begins, the soft white of lightning somewhere in the distance illuminating the bruise-colored clouds above them. Eyes roll as thunder peals across the sky, growing in intensity as the rain begins to coat them. The water only adds to his lust, and as her blood begins to drip down her body from it, the stallion can wait no longer.
The regret may come later, but Maugrim hardly understands what regret is, and it is the farthest thing from his mind.
Maugrim covers her, his forelegs clamping down on her pearlescent shoulders, the blackness of their evergreen stark against her lavender skin. He uses them to pull her beneath him, and without hesitation and without gentleness, fills her entirely. A guttural moan leaves his lips as he feels the slickness of her part for him, (she wants him, needs him) with his head low against her neck, his parted lips at her ear. The rain dampens them, the blood and sweat and sex dripping down them in the midst of the summer’s tempest, his roars of delight quieted by the ongoing rumble of thunder.
He has her now, beneath him and helpless to do anything (save for dismembering him entirely), and the monster within him tears into her, madly thrusting in powerful strokes. The rain begins to hinder him, and to keep from having to reposition or stop himself, his ivory lips (which were parted and breathing heavily into her ears and cheek, panting and groaning and moaning) flash open to grasp at her neck once again, his teeth deep within in her skin and mane, eyes rolling as the smell of blood fills him, and the smell of her, and the smell of the rain.
A final push - as far as he can go - sends him reeling, and he spills himself inside of her and out, gasping as the orgasm rips through his entire body, his forelegs gripping her tighter and pulling her beneath him even closer. He releases his mouth from her neck, his eyes closed as the once raging summer storm lightens and sprinkles soft droplets on their bloody and sweating bodies. He pushes himself into her a few more times, finishing himself entirely, before tiredly slipping off of her.
His hooves splash into the mud beneath them as he comes down to all fours, his ivory nostrils flaring as he gently nips at the base of her tail; finally satisfied.
The storm has moved on, leaving the forest humid and hot with moisture. The evergreen and pearl stallion rubs himself against her as he comes up to her side, now standing shoulder to shoulder. His throat hums with pleasure, a sinister sound (but not to her), and despite there being no killing, the hunger he felt before is now sated. He wonders how long before the hunger will strike again, and with a dangerous yet gentle brush of his lips against her cheek, he wonders if he’ll be able to find her when it does. He plants a kiss on her crest where his teeth had sank into her twice, the blood no longer flowing but still open and sore, proud of his mark on her. Mine. The stallion is fully aware that he is hers; the tightness of her grip on his insides made that very clear.
The rainwater had stained her coat a shade darker, and with a tiny ripple of his lips as he pulls away from her, he commands the water to rise from her and then to fall to the ground in a shimmer of shining droplets. He, however, remains dripping and soaked. Maugrim does not take his leave, not yet, and stands beside her expectantly as he awaits the punishment that is sure to come - the vulnerability he caused her to feel, the subordinate way he put her beneath him, would need to be balanced in some way - she would not let him leave believing he has control of her (though he already knows he could never control her unless she wished him to, which she did).
“Do your worst,” he grumbles roughly, a lazy smile pulling at the pearlescence of his blood-stained lips.
m a u g r i m.
@[Deathwish]