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Wild Emerald Water
984393
You stare at the bed, transfixed for a moment, then snap yourself out of it. Your husband is soon to arrive, and if you're to bear darkness incarnate, you mustn't disappoint him. You remove your dress as quickly as possible, more than once, almost pricking your finger on the thorns, and find yourself naked.
Aside from the warmth of the hearth, the chamber's air is bitingly cold on your skin, and you find yourself shivering. You're tempted to crawl on the bed, and present your maidenhood to him, but you're a queen, and such base submission isn't befitting for one of your status.
You dig through the wardrobe a moment, passing by several highly provocative and extravagant fabrics and garments, before settling on a plain white robe. It is small, barely covering your navel, tight around your midsection, and loose everywhere else. Unlike your wedding dress, it reveals almost two-thirds of your breasts, and doesn't attempt to preserve your modesty in the slightest. Aside from a thin, tight leather thong, and a pair of pale stockings, your legs are entirely uncovered.
You feel you could do better given sufficient time, but Lord Zorandir's approach is imminent, and you can't be caught unprepared. You sit upon the bed, and adjust your position several times, before you come to a decision. You'll lay against the cushions, facing the door, arms extended to either side, and legs parted to face him.
>...
You've sat in anticipation for nearly twenty minutes, and the urge to get under the covers is starting to overwhelm you, when a faint click is heard. Your eyes snap to the door, and HE enters.
Almost eight feet tall, with a figure like a masterwork statue, his biceps are broader than your thighs, and staring at his figure, you feel small and vulnerable. He takes a minute to slowly and methodically admire every inch of your form, heightening your nervousness. He has shed his armor in favor of a black, velvet-lined robe, without a word, his fist shatters the clasp, and it falls to the floor.
His physique is even more impressive in person, and it far exceeds your imagination. You stare with wide eyes, unabashedly taking in his person, and noticing, he flexes. His skin is a bronzed burgundy, and covered in scars from battles past. His face is similarly scarred, but handsome nonetheless, his ram's horns are thick enough you doubt both your hands together could wrap around one.
His eyes are wholly black, save for crimson pupils, and his wild dark mane is shaven to a half-inch's length. His teeth and claws are large and viciously sharp, unlike yours. You're certain they could bite into a pound of raw meat and rip it apart without issue. His tail is short, thick, and arrow-tipped, a sharp contrast to yours, long and slender spade-tipped.
The most intimidating part of his body lies between his legs. Eight inches long flaccid, his member is a sight to behold. The thought of it erect, at full-length, penetrating you at the push of his corded, sinewy thighs...
You shiver, and not because of the cold.
You're at a loss for words, and before you can, he speaks.
>"Of all the maidens I've deflowered, none were so perfect as you. Those thin, noble antlers, that smooth, royal skin... Those full lips, pert breasts, and juicy thighs... Simply perfect, and it's all mine to take."
You don't know whether to feel flattered, or terrified. You've never heard words like his, and the way his deep, baritone voice says them, oh. In a single, fluid motion, you slide off of the bed, and turning away to face the cushions, bend over. You slide the robe's bottom to your upper back, revealing your shapely hips and hardly hidden mound. Beside the crackle of the flames and your soft hyperventilating, his voice is the only sound to be heard.
>"I love a woman who knows her place."
Without warning, a pair of meaty hands grip your quivering ass-cheeks and spread them wide. You feel his index and middle fingers slide under your thong, and with a moment's exertion, rip it in two, leaving a faint welt where the knuckles touched. You know it's coming any moment now, and in preparation, bite the cushion.
>”Brace yourself, my dear, this may hurt.”
You feel a sudden warmth against your mound, and without warning, it pierces inward. In that instant, your hymen is torn asunder and you are a virgin no more. You can feel him inside of you, and it hurts like nothing you’ve ever felt. On instinct, you try to move but his hands are on your shoulders, and you can do nothing but what he desires.
He holds you there, impaled upon his length for what seems like an eternity. The pain has only begun to subside when, to your horror, you realize he has only just begun. As he thrusts inward, you grip the silks and grit your teeth. Heedless of your suffering, he thrusts deeper, and deeper into you, building up momentum, and within minutes, he is rutting like an animal.
Wave after wave of pain strikes you, and biting into the cushion, you moan in agony indescribable. Aroused by the noise, he redoubles his efforts, pounding away with wild abandon at the softness of your maidenhood. When you feel you’re being torn in half and simply cannot continue, the pain begins to recede, and slowly but surely, your screams of torment turn into squeals of passionate ecstasy.
A cascading a storm of pleasure flows through you, and you all but melt into the cushions. Your voice cries out his name. You howl the word Venkalth, again and again as your tightness gives way to his want. He forces his rigid length into you and you gasp in rapturous delight. After an hour-long eternity of ravishing, you come to your senses, and begin to grind your hips and push back against him.
The weight of his body comes over you, and his hands slide under your robes to grasp your breasts in a death grip. He penetrates you to the hilt over and over, and you begin to lose yourself in his embrace. Minutes later, every muscle in your body tenses, you shout loudly enough to shake the heavens themselves, and heaving in pleasure, you release.
Orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm, at least a dozen, each more powerful than the last. When it’s over, you lay limp, scarcely moaning as he continues to pound your flesh. Finally, half-conscious, you feel his member throb, and with a grunt, he finishes, releasing a veritable sea of semen into you. He pulls out, strokes your back, pulls you to him, and holds you in an ironclad embrace. When he speaks, the exhaustion is visible,
>”My dear, that, was without a doubt, the best I’ve ever had.”
>Do you reply, and if so, what do you say?
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