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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. PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, PREPARE TO BLEED |
@Mirabella
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
