everybody wants to rule the world

It had all been accidental, an unintentional discovery, a trip up as it slowly dawned on me that there was something happening— it was driving the men who bit a little too hard, whose teeth found way beneath my skin, mad, compelled by lust and driven by passion, hitting harder, anew with a strength and fervour I've never seen before. At first it was startling, perhaps just them only a breath away from reaching their end, so close that they're grazing it with their fingertips, desperate to find their peak while they press their weight into my back— but it happened again and again, and I began to recognize a pattern, a common thread strung between each man that sparked a sudden intense need while mounted atop me. They all broke beneath the skin, smeared my blood across their lips as they treated me roughly, amidst treated me like the king I am.

This most recent stallion was more of a test to see if I was right or not, an experiment to confirm that yes, the source of their renewed passion is exactly what I think it is (my blood). He's nothing of a looker (he is, however, a grower), with his plain bay coat and average stature, but I can see the wilderness in his eyes, the unmasked raw power that brews beneath the golden eyes that shine. I feel it in the way he walks beside me with his shoulder against mine, steering me (he thinks he's in charge, ha) to a secluded spot, "this way," he hums into my ear as I let him guide me into a hidden wedge of mountain, covered by undergrowth and saplings, swirling mist preventing any overhead onlookers. I feel his muscles tense as he lingers over me as I wiggle my hips teasingly, with his soft black lips gliding over my coat, stopping at the heavy scarring and hesitating (what now?). His mouth is open as if he wants to ask something, but he swallows the words and moves on.

He is gentle at first, only for a heartbeat, until I begin to push back, until I let my mouth gape and throat produce soft, subtle noises that could drive any man wild— his blunt teeth are reaching, grabbing, desperate for anything as he clings to my grullo hide, gripping at the withers and grunting (ew I hate when men grunt like animals). I feel the warm mix of blood as spit slipping down, holding my breath (a struggle when I'm in this situation) as he presses on, feeling the pulsing of his blood and the pounding of his heart as it takes effect— I can confirm then as he stretches his body, pushing himself into me (any farther and his dick might hit the back of my throat) and fucking panting as close to my ear as he can get, with his grunting inserted between needy gasps. Unfortunately, this is a boner kill, and the moment he hits his peak my body shrinks, looking back at him with a brow raised as he keeps driving forward— as if. I shake him off with an aggravated buck and sneer, a lip raised as his muzzle searches for my side (that's enough buddy, back to your cave). I leave him with an uncensored insult about the pathetic size of his package and his poor performance, and just how gross it is to have a drooling, grunting caveman on top of you (ew).

I hope I ruined his day, because there are definitely better stallions things to do than waste time waiting for that mess to figure out how to make someone other than himself finish. I feel rather unclean covered in the smell of him, bothered by the way his dirt and grime clings to me the way he would have liked to, refusing to budge as I shake and shimmy in attempt to get it off before it settles. To no avail, I storm about the Fields with my brows knit and a rather distasteful look on my macabre features.

I should be ecstatic, over the top, absolutely giddy (not because I got dick) because I have more magic, my blood must be the source of it, something that makes men more passionate? Or perhaps just makes them sex hungry? Either way, it's something I could certainly use to my advantage— from what I can tell, it's only a temporary effect and lasts but a minute before men return to their prior state, never questioning or commenting on the moment of clarity and trivial lust. But what the fuck would this do for me during a battle? Am I gonna sadistically splatter my blood everywhere like I'm performing some black magic and what will I get then? A bunch of thirsty, angry horses, that's what. And as fun as an orgy sounds, I don't think I'm down for it when there's that kind of tension in the air, one wrong move and I might lose some prized possession.

"Talk."