Despite his promise to avoid fornication, he cannot help himself. His reaction is a primal one, beckoned by the filthy, sordid darkness that lurks within his soul and drives him to seek the hedonistic pleasures of the flesh. His lips twist into a hideous smile as he embraces his desire, the desire that got him into this mess in the first place, the desire he simply cannot quell. In his numb state, he cares not. He only knows the reek, the heady stench of woman, and his massive head swings side to side as he hunts for her. Moisture beads across his fur, and his loins begin to quiver.

She glides between the trees; a wraith, a forest beauty. A deep, throaty growl rips unbidden from his jaws as she stalks closer, leans coquettishly against him, presses her nubile flesh to his own sweaty, heaving hide. Her lips lift, pressing against his cheek, whispering sweet nothings into it; he hardly notices her words, he only notices her. She is intoxicating, her body perfectly sculpted to appeal to his discerning eye; suddenly, fighting is the last thing on his mind.

Only his dragons save him from a swift, humiliating defeat. They lean from their branches, hissing and spitting at the woman, the curvy, salacious whore who caresses their bonded and ensnares his simple, simple brain. They are his mind, when his body is occupied with her; they point out that something is amiss, that he called for a fight and he may be about to get one. He is loathe to believe them, when a fuck seems on the cards, but his remaining sanity tells him to shift just a fraction to the right and away from her.

Just in time. She strikes, and only the prior warning of his dragons saves him.

Not fully, however. Her teeth rasp against the left side of his thick, muscular neck, creating a small and largely unremarkable bruise akin to an insect bite. Nonetheless, the sudden stinging pain of the injury jerks him back to his senses, and his lust abandons him as quickly as it rose.

Now, when he looks at her, he sees not a stunning, curvaceous mare; he sees an enemy. A sneaky, devious - and clearly intelligent - foe who must be conquered. She is a hand smaller than him, and her build appears geared towards speed and agility rather than strength. That may benefit her in this tight, cramped environment, where Volterra's own colossal size is a distinct - if intended - disadvantage. She has wings, too, and his excitement suddenly soars - he has never fought a pegasus before, and the experience of it will be invaluable. But, he reasons, she may not be able to use her wings amongst the close-knit trees, although they still pose a threat as potential smacking weapons.

The brute flashes his opponent a dark, dangerous smile; it is a relief for him to feel something, and the savage pleasure about the devilishness of his opponent is certainly something.

But if the delicious harlot thinks her devious tactics will stop him retaliating, then she's in for a brutal surprise.

In the limited space available, the behemoth cannot manoeuvre in order to alter their positions; he's forced to work with their current ones, where they're parallel with his left side to her right side. Using the small amount of space he does have, courtesy of his rightwards step earlier, Volterra throws his forequarters to the left; he aims to slam his left shoulder into her smaller, weaker right shoulder, using every ounce of his formidable strength and power. He hopes to barge her to her left, perhaps even unbalance her - simultaneously, his hungry jaws aim to nip at her tender neck just behind her right cheek, where her flesh just begs for his attention. He does not bother attempting a grip - he simply hopes to bite and bruise, to dominate her with a stallion's primal urge to nip their women.

Normally, he forbids his dragons to help him in spars against women. But Vérzés, his own blood pounding through the heightened emotions of his bonded, abandons his branch and swoops. He is silent, a crimson angel from the heavens, death on leathery wings; the forest is where he hunts, where he is at home. He aims for the left side of the mare's rump, and attempts to sink his teeth and foreclaws into the rounded area. He hopes to make her bleed, to ooze like prey.

Vadir stays where she is, a cold, silent sentinel, content to observe her brothers at work...for now.

________

Teaching spar for @Orithia !

1/3 - 789 words