Innocent and warm, her quavering flesh beckons to his wild, disobedient compulsion. The passion peaking throughout every inch of his pulsing, ravenous frame is unbearable, inconceivable, and when she gasps so delicately, his wild ears jolt forward like starved predators towards prey; striving from beneath a swamp of glittering gold, they feed greedily upon that subtle, rewarding gesture and engage the rampant energy which already spasms through his brain. With dim, unruly eyes unleashed, he captures the erotic tilt of her ceiling-bound chin and grinds down molars hard between swaying, salivating jaws. Deep within, the voice of his desire groans heavily. Darkness ensues as lids clench tightly, inadvertently together and tuned senses point to the thrilling tingle of heat as it builds through his core; what began as a wary flame in the winds of possibility has erupted into a writhing wildfire - and it swells angrily, enthrallingly, well beyond his control. A prickle of pain (no matter how slight), exacerbated by spiked sensitivity in the height of the moment, peels south through stiff withers and his broad forehead dives, hefty rear swinging out away from her grasp.

Relentless (thank heavens), she trails, and her prolific, potent perfume spills down across him like a cruel, fated net. The point of her nose, constant and devious, slithers teasingly along the most sensitive brink of wing and feather, and this shivers, shudders - violently aroused - in a false effort to evade.

Pleasure. Driven, intoxicated and utterly overburdened by the harrow of broiling loins, he moves, bends and curls about her nymphet shell as though in a drunken stupor; however, he is not clumsy as he strokes and caresses the singing spray of nerves beneath her tapestry - lips twirl apart on their own accord, tracing tiny, swirls and lines, about the humid span of trembling thigh, hip, spine. She, the dove, is alive beneath the taunting weight of his skull as it drags sloppily along the voluptuous length of that inviting bed - it teases his resolve - skin squirms in wake of his presence upon it, as though buried beneath its sleek, coco pull is a tempest sea. There is stiffness now too, below it, leaning like old timber through her hindquarters and he tests it daringly, pushes more the boundary of their salacious game, thrusting above her the burly, bold endeavour of one rogue shoulder. Wings peel again from saturated silvery skin, and the sultry air surrounding, brooding in their fetid nest, bites savagely, for he is hot, steaming, like the molten lava pulsing with excitement beyond.  

Those hocks barely buckle beneath the insult of mock weight. The fire within him reaches a deafening climax and up rises carnal trepidation to spur on a sickening sense of urgency. Right shoulder plunges swiftly, rolls down still snugly close against her and it strives hastily for that burning curve on the other side. Her silken, streaming banner, like a scarlet summons in the night, presses like an arrow against the progression of his hulking fore but he cannot pause and brushes it crudely aside; something is building, and its call will not be ignored. Suddenly, all movement there behind her shifts, turns agitated, rhythmic, (his legs tremble wearily, hurriedly as they stumble into action) and the air funnelling into gaping, gasping lungs becomes more desperate, dire. Pounding beneath the pad of his breast, racing heart begins to ache, to burn and the furious, primal fervour he feels, sinks like a lead balloon into the engorged depths of his being. With no ability left to withhold, he launches, scrambles and clenches.

And before there is even time to blink, his scorching body is awash with cool, invigorating release…

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior