His searches find nothing, and he is condemned to wander in a haze of ravishing frustration. Even his dragon has forsaken him, taking himself off to hunt far away from the tumultous, sexual thoughts of his bonded, leaving the mammoth stallion alone. It is perhaps a blessing that he has not come across his sister during his daily maraudings, as he knows he would be unable to control himself around her. Nymeria, with her easy beauty, her ferocious power...shit, he can feel his thighs aching at the very thought. Best that he stays well away from his beloved twin until this phase has passed.

His roamings bring him to the Blood Falls, his single favourite place in Helovia. He owns this place, and he swiftly bucks his hips to spill his scent against a tree and solidify his claim over the area. Snorting his satisfaction, the behemoth turns and rests one massive shoulder against the tree, admiring his territory. From the crimson waterfall to the eternally autumnal trees, the land just appeals to him in a way few other places ever had. The Deep Forest has its plus points, with its lingering shadows and lurking animals for him to hunt down, but the Falls are just so damn right. He forces his lust-filled, hedonistic mind to focus on the simple serenity of the place, regulating his breathing and commanding his body to submit to him. This is just a phase; he will survive it, and be all the stronger for it. He will not be this obsessed forever. He will rise one day and look back on this period with nostalgic amusement - ah, the days when I was so addicted to women that I walked around with my balls banging against my hocks!

Or so he prays. The alternative, that he's stuck like this forever, is too unnerving to even contemplate. ""

He. Smells. Mare.

His upper lip elevates, tasting the air like a snake as the delightful odour flickers across his muzzle. It is young mare, as well; not the dried-up reek of the crusty old hags who forsake him because of his age. She is young, like him, nubile, just waiting to be introduced to the wicked ways of the world and roughly, delightfully serviced. When she comes into view, his lust-darkened eyes turn to her and devour her body greedily; unicorn, of a similar age to him, all curves and newfound, beautiful womanhood. A guttural, carnal growl escapes him and he lifts himself away from the tree, staring at her hungrily.

Even the hideous ooze escaping her facial orificies cannot dampen his desire, and his tail arches and hooks frantically against his heated thighs. She is inflicted with the same disease he has recently been cured from, and he wonders what quirky side effect she's been blessed with. The hearing of a bat and smell of a snake, like he had? Or the ability to see heat, like Isopia had? Perhaps she can see, smell, taste his desire as he takes a lumbering step forwards, muscular neck arched and magnificent to display his virility. "Mare," he rumbles, his voice like hardest gravel.

"Why are you here?" He fixes her with his intense, dark red gaze, his nostrils flaring to inhale the deep scent of her combined with the musky stench of his own piss on the tree he'd so lazily claimed as his own. Perhaps that's what's drawn her - perhaps she wants his attention, answering his scent beacon like a moth to a flame. He likes that thought a lot.

She's a feisty one, and that does unmentiononable things to his loins. He is a dominant creature who thrives on the submission of others, especially women, but he also likes a challenge. He wants to earn the pleasure that his body screams for. He wants to assert his authority over her, own her, claim her as his own in the most primal way possible and make her bend to him as the alpha fucking male. "Those sort of words will get you in trouble, girl," comes the black behemoth's guttural growl of a voice as he takes another ground-crushing stride closer to her. Closer, closer...the mare reek reels from her, filling his nostrils and gnawing at his self-control. His crimson eyes are two black pits of carnal need, his ears pinned into the writhing snakes of his mane.

Going to try and stop me? Ah, a challenge. The massive stallion reaches deep inside his body and grasps hold of his magic, and with a feral snarl he bids a wall of earth to erupt out of the ground in front of the filly, trying to block off her escape. He makes it wide rather than tall, so as not to expend too much needless energy on height when he will undoubtedly need every ounce of stamina he has soon. "Yes," comes his answer to her question. He storms forwards, hoping she has been prevented from moving away by his wall of solid earth, and aims a sharp nip for the base of her tail whilst his massive chest aims to slam into her backside, dominant, trying to let her know he is there and hungry for her. This is the closest he's ever come to this, and her scent is almost overpowering. His upper lip remains arched, tasting the air, every hard muscle tensed to its utmost as hot breath rasps free from his jaws.

The fuck?!

One moment she's there, in his trap like a fly in a hungry spider's web - the next, she's gone. His ears pin further, angry, frustrated, and he forces his wall to crumble into dirt. There she is, looking as smug as the cat who got the god damned cream. "Alright, very clever," he concedes, his gaze narrowed. He didn't count on her having bloody portal magic, and that's certainly going to make his task all the harder.

But all the more satisfying when he succeeds in taking her beneath him. Because, as well as the gratification of finally bedding a mare, he wants the thrill of the hunt, too. Like his dragon, he revels in the buildup as much as the end result. The stalk, the chase, the kill.

Boy. Rage bids his eyes to flash, and the ground rumbles ominously as his magic threatens to explode from him. There's no way in hell she is escaping without his weight upon her now. He will not be outsmarted by a woman, played with like an overeager dog for a bone. With a colossal output of strength that leaves him sweating and foaming slightly at the mouth, he drags up several spikes of earth, dotted around the clearing by the falls. He arranges them like a tunnel, trying to trap her in the centre and hoping that the spires of stone are so close together, she'll risk impaling herself on one if she teleports again. His energy wanes and his muscles twitch and scream for mercy as magic fatigue takes its toll, but he cares not a jot if it means he finally gets the blessed release he so craves. Through the tunnel of his magic he advances on her, hoping to come close to her whilst she's sandwiched between his structures - tall, hard, powerful structures, the innuendo of which is not lost on him. A small, steady smirk spreads across his face and his tail slaps hard against his hindlegs, praying he's managed to trap her at last.

At last, she is ensnared; a fly trapped in his web of salacious desire. She is jammed fast between his pillars of earth, and he gives a stallion's growl of satisfaction. She is at his mercy, a ripe banquet for him to feast upon like a starving beggar, to finally sate the lust that has been plaguing him for months and get the blessed release that his loins tell him he craves. It would be so easy to take her, to force aside her tail and crush her with his weight and the force of his ardour...

And yet. And yet. He hesitates, her rump perk and inviting in front of him, testing his resolve and his iron-hard self-control. To take through force would be...wrong. The black beast will kill, he will maim, he will abuse, he will dance in the bloodied carcasses of his foes, but somehow rape is a line he is not prepared to cross. She must be willing. He wants her to submit to him, to acknowledge him as the dominant party because he outwitted her with his earth pillars - he does not want to have to resort to taking what she is unwilling to give freely.

This outlook surprises him - he always imagined he would have no qualms about taking what he needs, willingly given or otherwise. It seems he does have a heart after all, hidden though it may be beneath walls of steel and black coal. He pauses by her rump, upper lip flaring to taste the air, manhood free and craving.... It would be so easy to mount, to own, but he doesn't. Instead he aims a sharp, authoritive nip for the base of her tail, seeking to press his massive chest against her rear to encourage her to give herself freely. "You don't really want to run, do you?" he rumbles. Slowly, hoping he will not live to regret it, he allows his earth spires to collapse into dust, leaving her free to move forward...unless she chooses to stay and indulge in the primal pleasure he can bring her.

She doesn't bolt, which he takes as a promising sign. Nor does she turn, and again he's forced to call on every single reserve of his inner strength to stop him from descending on that delectable rump of hers. She does, however, kick out, and although he throws his weight backwards out of the way, it's not fast enough - one hoof hits his chest, glancing off his sweaty flesh and hard muscle, and air hisses through his teeth as he draws in a harsh breath. Pain lances through the wounded area, but nobody ever said that mating a mare would be easy, with their penchant for flailing kicks at unwary stallions. But his bruise will be a small price to pay if he gets what he wants.

The bay mare asks what he's promising, what he wants, what he can offer. She's turned to face him now, and he looms over her like a black nightmare, breathing heavily and reeking of sweat and musk and desire. "What I want? Your body. The pleasure it can give me. A fling, no strings attached, no couples, no children, no feelings - just release." Brutally honest, he flips his massive head up high, continuing to scent the air and drag the taste of her deep through every pore. "What I can offer? To sate the desires that I know you share. To make your body sing like the god damn dawn chorus, to give you a memory of such ecstasy that you will never be able to forget it. That you will never want to forget it." Of course, he is not a mare, and does not know if they share the hungers of his gender. He assumes they must, however, else why would they ever consent to let stallions cover them? They must lust, too. They must crave euphoria. He has little else to offer, and even less that he would want to offer. The behemoth makes no promises, not even empty ones.

He knows one thing - he will do everything in his power to ensure no children come of this tryst. He cares not for being a father, not yet - he has his whole life to sow his seeds, and he wants to enjoy his youth without a foal sucking on his resources. She doesn't seem to be in heat (if she was, the smell would have bid him to mount her long before now) which means they should be safe...all assuming she consents, of course.

But why wouldn't she? Who would refuse him?

When she speaks, the sweaty behemoth's ears pivot towards her. He expects resistance, expects her to demand further promises, but instead she agrees on one condition...it happens again. The goliath's jowls split into a wolf's grin. "You have yourself a deal, my dear." Why limit it to once? The entire point of having a harem is so the mares are there, able to be grasped and bred whenever the urge strikes without the need to expend valuable time and energy roaming in search of them. He is sure this is an experience that will change his life, one he will want to repeat again, and again, and again...and if she is willing, why not take her up on her offer?

The black marches forwards again, moving towards her hind end. Once again his lips peel to aim a sharp love-bite for the base of her tail, urging her to move it, demanding she bend to him for the first - and not last - time.

Finally, all obstacles are gone from his path. He is free to take, to devour the feast laid out before him, and he does so with the gusto of a starving man. Nature drives him onto her back, and instinct guides the rest.

When it's over, his sweating body slips free with a breathy huff. His hindlegs quiver, satisfaction burning through his bloodstream. He aches, like he's been ran over by an elephant, but it's the best damn ache ever. His neck, fearsomely arched, is damp and sticky from sweat as he aims another small nip to her flank, wanting to mark her as his. The first, but not the last, woman he will take beneath him - she will always have a special place in his mind, whether she wants it or not. She looks exhausted too, satisfied, and the stallion's jowls split into a wolf's smirk. "I roam anywhere and everywhere, but believe me - you'll be able to find me." Outcast he may be, but her keen sense of smell will be able to follow the trail he'll leave for her, the reek of musk and man. He expects he will be hunting her out with regularity as well, because now he's experienced this release, he's going to want it again and again.

For now, he has what he came for. A burden has been lifted from his shoulders, and he seeks to slam one of those same massive shoulders into her own, a possessive nudge of dominance and desire.. "Until next time." One black eyelid flutters shut in a wink, and then he's gone, into the shadows at a thick, earth-shaking trot.

He entered the clearing a boy; he leaves it a man, having just broken down the gates of a whole new city of carnal activities. He can sup of their wealth whenever he wants now, and oh, he will.