Ivezho

He wondered what reaction he would get at his abject display of longing, of lust and sexual intentions. He wondered if he might scare her, shock her, if he might need to beg forgiveness for his deep attraction to her, if he might need to back away entirely as she came to some realisation that she just wasn't ready, for him, for this.

But instead he was the one to be surprised, as her words registered through his sex-fogged mind. He relishes their closeness more than ever now, her 'permission' to do whatever the fuck he wanted not something he sought but something he was grateful to have anyway - and while he was slightly possessive he also would understand if she had sought other partners, if she had other experiences.

It didn't matter, because he had her now, and as she saw his manhood and did not cringe away, he felt a surge of heat rush through him, of excitement, anticipation. She moved, and he kept his maw trained to her hide, always seeking, always playing blowing, tickling with his lips and whiskers, licking and nipping and testing just where she was sensitive and where she was soft, pliable and warm. He was in no rush to ensure the best experience was had by her, the very best.

His wings had expanded to their full extent, and as she swung her hips to touch his chest and folded them over her, encasing them both in their gentle glow. In this light, from this view, she was his glowing, glittering prize, a perfect specimen, the prize he thought would cure the despair that roiled deep within him. It seemed to be working - his mind was on nothing else but her at this moment - and still he played, he teased and taunted with his touches and grunts until she begged for more.

Rising on his hind legs, never losing touch from her wither with his forelimbs or muzzle, using his wings for balance and to hold some of his weight off her far more slender build, he finally gave in to the heat, the urges, and completed the act with the practised expertise of a veteran, being gentle where appropriate and… not-so gentle at other times. His wings beat softly in the rhythm they crafted together, a metronome to the pleasure he hoped she shared.

He was surprised then, to learn that it was her first time, but it only gave him more satisfaction.

And then it was done, but he lingered afterwards, holding her hips beneath him, breathing deeply and raggedly, happily fatigued (but hell, he would go again in an hour if she wanted him to). Finally he dismounted, but kept a wing slung over her, as if still shielding her from the rest of the world. He moved to her side, unable to keep his smile from his lips as he pressed his maw against her warm self, breathing her scent in blowing his own warm breath upon her.

He wasn't sure what it was, but gods, she did turn him on more than any other mare he had ever come across.