it's true, i crave you

*Isardis* · 07-17-2013, 08:13 PM

isardis

She would stand above him with physical vigour, her heighted presence one to esteem, to dwell upon. He would brood over the prospect of her womanhood, the endless thoughts of her flowering fertility beginning to plague his mind like a ravenous rat. Were she aware of how her body taunted him so? It was true, Isardis was drawn to any woman capable of child-bearing, but this vixen, this monster, she was a diamond amongst the rough, a glowing gold coin upon the washed out and greyed pavement; the kind of unexpected and valuable discovery even the most honest of souls would not hesitate to pick up, to grasp with excited palms and store in a glass cabinet. Beside him, her splendour would be tripled, and their shared blood? Oh, It would be pure magnificence. She perhaps lacked the silent grace, refinement, elegance that Isardis boasted so proudly, but she were but a mere stepping stone towards the ideal; only obtaining her would grant him far more of a leap.

He would venture a few metres closing, daring to sever their detachment until the floating ghoul was but a half-body from her own. Lungs would inhale once more, ruby gaze fluttering with taunt as her youthful perfume soaked his lungs, absorbed his conscience. He had to have her, and he would. The imp hovered perilously near to her fa?ade, salmon tongue easing from cherry lips to circle achingly at snowy maw, wits still buzzing with possibilities as he marvelled endlessly over her alluring mass and beauty. Of course, the devil would never care for the interior of a wench, his attachment would lie only within her outer-shell and the children she would gift him. Female?s were expendable, barely trophies of self-worth to stroke his reputation and fulfil his ambitions; once they had been used, it were more than easy to discard them, toss them heartlessly amongst the wounded souls of those before. Though the albino angel would be drawn to this lady in a way he had perhaps never been drawn to another. Oh yes, she would look splendid paraded about his kingdom, womb swollen with life as she tore others down around her. Soon, it would be more than a fickle fantasy.

Her words would encourage a bemused chuckle, murky bubbles fizzing from pallid lips as enchanting tail would soar simultaneously at thick-set hocks. ?Delicacies such as yourself, m?belle,? lyrics would coo free of quivering pipes, suggestion beginning to curl hungry fingers about craving syllables, ?We do not have such glorious feminine rarities where I was birthed.? The truth within his words were vague, those within his direct family line would undoubtedly boast of higher calibre; but still, the male would bask within the amity of the dove before him; the itching desire to overwhelm her physical being growing stronger and stronger by the minute. Her suggestion of his other-worldliness did not bring forth surprise but rather expectation, his rare colouration and undeniable significance had previously drawn such a reaction from youth. It pleasured him. Daringly, the king would reach a forepaw forward, significant weight leaning toward her own; skull stretching ambitiously for the proximities of her weapons as a heavy breath would flurry towards her nostrils. Would she attempt to cease his efforts, or would she allow him the daunting closeness he so craved? The unknowing elated his core, shuddered his flesh.

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