12-04-2017, 02:46 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
Beneath the demeanor of darkness, the wickedness, and the wildness, he is raw and unfiltered testosterone, undone by the tantalizing heat of her touch and the press of her sharpened teeth into the supple give of his flesh. She cannot stop herself from taking delight in how he has unraveled beneath her touch, hardened with need and plucking hungrily at her flesh. There is illicit beauty in being wanted, and she is writhing under his voracious mouth, sinking teeth into flesh and seeping blood across the cobalt of her skin, trickling down over muscle and bone.
There is undeniable pleasure in the way he clutches her close, possessive and ferocious, but she does not shy away from the force, nor from the anguish that accompanies his weight onto her own - she is captivated, lost to the sheer wonder of his desire. So much so that it is more than a dozen heartbeats later that she realizes she is once more the predatory wolf, cloaked in thick, lustrous black fur as her talons grip the soil beneath her, while her haunches rise and push against the burden of his weight, seeking more. The girth of him leaves her gasping and panting beneath him, sore but aching for him, drawing him in deeper with each thrust.
Instinctively, she is submissive to him - he is the dominant alpha, claiming her with gnashing teeth and filling her with his insidious seed, but beyond the instinct, she is unraveling beneath him and entranced by the way he elicits pleasure from within her, simply by taking for his own. Roused by power and intoxicated by strength, she is undone, wholly content in letting him sink into her, in feeling a creature so fearful and so forceful become undone unto her.
The powerful made powerless by sex, by desire - and though it is her writhing beneath him, she is the one feeling powerful, fed by the way he desires her and covets her.
Taking delight in the way he takes her again, and again, insatiable and wrought with a need that went beyond lust - beyond physical, carnal pleasure. Her own climax does come, more than once, leaving her trembling under him and crooning his name on her lips, delirious as blood and seed stain her inner thighs, as her muzzle is tilted toward the darkness overhead - her blackened eye seeking his; a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as the ache to be filled becomes the ache of fulfillment.
”I knew I was right,” she coos softly, with a trill of laughter at the edge of her words.
There is undeniable pleasure in the way he clutches her close, possessive and ferocious, but she does not shy away from the force, nor from the anguish that accompanies his weight onto her own - she is captivated, lost to the sheer wonder of his desire. So much so that it is more than a dozen heartbeats later that she realizes she is once more the predatory wolf, cloaked in thick, lustrous black fur as her talons grip the soil beneath her, while her haunches rise and push against the burden of his weight, seeking more. The girth of him leaves her gasping and panting beneath him, sore but aching for him, drawing him in deeper with each thrust.
Instinctively, she is submissive to him - he is the dominant alpha, claiming her with gnashing teeth and filling her with his insidious seed, but beyond the instinct, she is unraveling beneath him and entranced by the way he elicits pleasure from within her, simply by taking for his own. Roused by power and intoxicated by strength, she is undone, wholly content in letting him sink into her, in feeling a creature so fearful and so forceful become undone unto her.
The powerful made powerless by sex, by desire - and though it is her writhing beneath him, she is the one feeling powerful, fed by the way he desires her and covets her.
Taking delight in the way he takes her again, and again, insatiable and wrought with a need that went beyond lust - beyond physical, carnal pleasure. Her own climax does come, more than once, leaving her trembling under him and crooning his name on her lips, delirious as blood and seed stain her inner thighs, as her muzzle is tilted toward the darkness overhead - her blackened eye seeking his; a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as the ache to be filled becomes the ache of fulfillment.
”I knew I was right,” she coos softly, with a trill of laughter at the edge of her words.
@[Deimos]