The night air was a silken cloak against my skin, the stars my only audience. Each step through the tall savanna grass was a whisper, a secret shared with the earth. The delicate chime of the bells on my ankle was the only music, a rhythm for the hum of my own blood. I breathed in, deep and slow, letting the cool air cleanse me. This was my time. My darkness.
My Iro, a mere whisper of fabric, swayed around my hips with every movement, its hem brushing my calves. It felt like a lover’s ghostly touch, teasing the bare skin of my thighs, my backside, the exposed mound beneath. The breeze caressed my stomach, tracing the inward curve of my waist. My small, firm breasts were barely constrained by my backless top. I wanted to feel everything tonight. Everything.
I stopped where the energy felt right, a subtle pull in the pit of my stomach. My dance began as a gentle sway, a slow awakening of the muscles in my core. My hands reached for the moon, fingers curling as if to pull its light down to me. The rhythm rose from the ground, thrumming through the soles of my feet, up my legs, settling in the cradle of my hips. My head fell back, my spine arching, a supplicant to the sky.
My own hands became my first partner. I trailed my fingertips down my throat, over my collarbones, feeling the rapid flutter of my pulse. They skimmed the sensitive skin of my stomach, dipping just below the waistband of my Iro to tease the neatly trimmed curls. A soft moan escaped me, lost to the vast night. I arched again, my back bowing, and my hands found my breasts, squeezing the firm flesh, my thumbs circling the hardened peaks of my nipples through the thin cloth. The sensation was a direct line of fire to my core.
I was lost in the worship of my own form, in the sheer power of being a woman. Tears of awe welled in my eyes. My smile was for me alone. I was beautiful. I was alive.
My hands slid lower, desire a throbbing drumbeat. I pushed the soft fabric of my Iro aside, my fingers finding the slick, swollen flesh beneath. My nails scraped lightly over the hood of my clit, and a jolt of pure pleasure made my knees weak. I spread my feet wider, hiking the skirt up around my waist, baring myself completely to the night. I was dripping, my nectar coating my inner thighs. I brought a glistening finger to my lips, tasting my own salt and sweetness.
Then I rode my hand. Two fingers plunged into my aching heat, my hips rocking against them, matching their rhythm. The pressure built, a tightly wound coil deep inside. My cries were not silent now; they were raw, primal things torn from my throat as my orgasm ripped through me, a blinding flash of white-hot release that left me trembling. I collapsed forward onto my hands and knees, panting, my inner muscles still convulsing around my own fingers.
The ground shuddered.
A deep, resonant vibration travelled through the earth, up through my palms and knees. I raised my head, my breath catching. The air changed, charged with a new energy, carrying a scent of ozone, of storm, of wild, untamed magic. My skin prickled. My eyes were drawn to the hill.
And he came.
Over the crest he strode, a living shadow against the starry sky. Power emanated from him in waves. His charcoal grey coat shimmered, his jet-black mane and tail flowing like liquid night. And his horn�pitch black and deadly sharp�gleamed with an otherworldly light. A unicorn. A real, breathing unicorn. My heart stuttered, then hammered against my ribs.
He skidded to a halt before me, rearing up, his massive hooves cutting the air inches from my face. The sound he made was not a horse’s whinny but a deep, challenging call that vibrated in my bones. He circled me, his dark, intelligent eyes missing nothing. I slowly rose to my feet, my body still humming from my own climax, now buzzing with a new, terrifying excitement.
He pressed his muzzle into my waiting palm. His lips were soft, nibbling with a curiosity that stole a surprised giggle from me. He nudged me, his neck curling around my body, his hot breath gusting over my bare arms and back. I reached up, my touch tentative at first, then more confident. I stroked the fine bones of his face, my fingers travelling up to wrap around his horn. It was warm, thrumming with a low energy that tingled up my arm. His forelock was impossibly soft.
I explored the hard, warm planes of his neck and back, my nails scraping lightly through his coat. He was immense, powerful perfection. With a soft snort, he moved away from me, then lowered his great body, bending a foreleg in a clear invitation. My lip found its way between my teeth. I gripped his mane, swung a leg over his back, and settled onto him. My Iro fell open, and the heat of his skin against my bare, sensitive folds was an electric shock. I gasped, squeezing my thighs tight around his barrel.
And then we flew.
I leaned low, my face buried in his mane, his muscles rippling between my thighs. The friction was exquisite, maddening. With every powerful stride, I rocked against his withers, my own wetness slicking his coat, the pressure building all over again. We rode for what felt like an eternity, a fusion of woman and myth, until he slowed and finally bowed, allowing me to slide from his back.
I stood before him, my whole body trembling with unmet need. He nudged my cheek, his breath warm on my skin. Then his lips found mine. It was a soft, curious pressure, a question. I answered by placing my hands on either side of his majestic face, kissing him back, my tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He opened for me, and the taste of him�wild, sweet, and entirely unique�flooded my senses. I suckled on his thick, muscular tongue, a moan trapped in my throat.
He stepped back, and with a deft movement, his black horn hooked under the edge of my top. He lifted it up and off me, letting it fall to the grass. The cool night air pebbled my bare nipples, and then his horn was there, tracing circles around one taut peak, then the other. The smooth, warm point pressed into the sensitive flesh, a delicious pain-pleasure that made me cry out. I cupped my small breasts, offering them to him, and his nimble lips closed around a nipple, chewing and suckling with a precision that drove me wild.
He nudged my Iro next. Understanding, I loosened the tie, letting the fabric pool at my feet. I stood naked before him, bathed in moonlight. He pressed his muzzle against my stomach, urging me backward up the gentle slope of the hill. I walked backward, my heart thundering, until I was high enough. He lowered his magnificent head, and the warm, smooth tip of his horn brushed against my swollen clit.
I cried out, my legs nearly giving way. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain. I let myself fall back onto the grassy incline, my elbows supporting me, and opened my knees wide in shameless invitation. He traced my wet, parted lips with his horn, the sensation making me jolt. A flicker of nervousness was swallowed by a wave of raw need. I spread my legs wider.
He pressed forward.
The intrusion was slow, deliberate. An inch of his warm, smooth horn slid into my soaking entrance. It was thicker than my fingers, a stunning fullness. He withdrew slightly, then pushed in again, gaining another inch. A low, continuous moan poured from me. With every gentle thrust, my body stretched to accommodate him, the heat of him seeming to intensify the deeper he went. I met his movements, undulating my hips, taking him in. The polished point nudged something deep inside me, a spot that made my vision swim. His scent, a wild musk, filled my head, and my climax crashed over me with a force that left me sobbing, my channel clenching and milking the incredible length inside me.
He withdrew his horn, glistening with my release, and moved over me. His forelegs framed my head. And then I saw it.
His cock.
It was unlike anything I could have imagined. It emerged from its sheath, already fully erect, a breathtaking sight of primal power. It was long�impossibly long�and thick, a shaft of dark gray flesh that was easily the size of my forearm, culminating in a broad, flared pink head. Veins throbbed along its length. I reached out with a shaking hand, my fingers unable to close around its massive girth. It twitched violently at my touch.
Driven by an instinct I didn’t know I possessed, I guided the weeping head to my mouth. I could barely get my lips around it, my jaw stretching painfully. I sucked, licking at the slit, tasting his unique, spicy essence. Saliva dripped down my chin as I worked, my hands stroking what my mouth couldn't hope to take. I was overwhelmed, devouring him, lost in the act.
But I wanted more. I needed him elsewhere.
I pulled my mouth away with a wet pop and rubbed the slick head over my breasts, coating them in his slickness and my spit. Then I positioned him at my entrance. The broad, flared head pressed against my well-used opening, and I pushed my hips up, impaling myself on him.
The stretch was monumental. I cried out, a sound of pure strain and ecstasy. He paused, letting me adjust to the incredible invasion. He pulled back, my inner lips clinging to his shaft, then pushed forward again, sinking deeper. Each thrust gained new ground, stretching me further, filling me more completely than I thought possible. I could feel a distinct bulge forming low in my belly with every deep push. I looked down, mesmerized, and saw my own stomach slightly distended from the massive intrusion.
He was relentless, pistoning into me with a steady, powerful rhythm. I could feel the base of his cock, even thicker than the shaft, stretching my very entrance. Tears streamed down my temples into my hair. The pain was a sharp counterpoint to the overwhelming pleasure, each thrust a masterpiece of agony and bliss. I felt him swell inside me, his cockhead beginning to flare even wider.
“Yes...” I rasped, my voice broken. “Please...”
With one final, deep, grinding thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. The flared head pressed ruthlessly against my cervix, and I felt it�a yielding, an incredible, internal surrender as the very entrance to my womb opened for him. The sensation was beyond anything. It was a claiming.
His back arched. A deep, guttural sound ripped from his chest. And then the world dissolved.
Hot. So hot. The first jet of his release hit my deepest walls, a scalding flood that seemed to have no end. I felt each powerful, rhythmic pulse as his enormous testicles contracted, pumping his seed directly into my womb. My own orgasm was a secondary earthquake, triggered by the overwhelming fullness, the heat, the primal finality of it. My inner muscles spasmed around his massive girth, milking him, pulling every last drop from him.
I watched, dazed, as my stomach began to swell, rounding slightly from the sheer volume filling me. The pressure was immense, a warm, liquid weight expanding inside me. A trickle of thick, white seed escaped our joined bodies, painting the inside of my thighs. He remained buried deep, his cock flexing periodically, depositing another warm spurt into my depths. The connection was absolute. I was pinned, filled, and claimed under the silent stars.
He doesn’t move. Not an inch. The world narrows to the searing, liquid heat flooding my core, a sensation so profound it steals the very air from my lungs. My own climax is a distant echo, a ripple against the tsunami of his release.
Each pulse is a distinct, scalding jet, a thick, living warmth that surges from the very root of him, traveling the immense length of his shaft to erupt against the deepest chamber of my womb. I feel it, truly feel it, as my body, stretched and molded around him, translates every throb into a wave of impossible fullness.
My hands fly to my lower belly, my fingers splaying over the taut skin. A soft, rounded swell pushes against my palm, a visible testament to the sheer volume he’s pouring into me. The pressure is immense, a warm, heavy weight that makes me feel anchored to the earth, pinned by his perfect, procreative weight.
His massive, flared cockhead is locked deep inside, a thick, unyielding plug sealing his seed within me. A low, continuous groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating through my entire body. His hips give a final, shallow thrust, grinding that incredible width against my sensitized cervix, and another thick, hot spurt answers the motion.
A thin, pearly trickle escapes the seal our bodies make, a hot stream that paints a glistening path down the curve of my ass, onto the crushed grass beneath us. The scent of us�wild musk, my own sweetness, and the potent, spicy aroma of his essence�hangs thick in the air.
His breathing is a ragged, powerful sound, matching the frantic hammering of my own heart. I can feel the slow, rhythmic flexing of his cock within me, a series of aftershocks that coax another few drops of that incredible heat into my depths. My inner walls, so thoroughly stretched, flutter weakly around him, a final, exhausted acknowledgment of the claiming.
Slowly, carefully, he shifts his weight. The movement is minuscule, but inside me, it’s an earthquake. The flared head of his cock tugs at my cervix, a sensation that is both profoundly uncomfortable and deeply, deeply erotic. He stills again, letting me adjust.
His dark eye is fixed on me, watching, a silent question in its depths. I manage a weak nod, my voice a shattered whisper. “It’s... it’s okay.”
He pulls back, just a fraction. The resistance is tangible, my body clinging to his invading girth, reluctant to let him go. The sensation is a slow, slick, stretching pull, a reverse of the penetration that is its own unique pleasure. Another small flood of his release escapes around the withdrawing shaft, and I moan, my head falling back against the soft earth.
He pauses, letting the new trickle of warmth lubricate our parting. Then he draws back again, another inch, then two. The thick ridge of his cock’s medial ring passes through my stretched entrance with a soft, wet sound, and I gasp at the renewed sensation. My stomach visibly deflates slightly with his retreat, the immense internal pressure easing by a degree.
The process is agonizingly slow, a reverse of the gentle penetration, each millimeter of his withdrawal a conscious, careful effort. My body aches with a delicious, well-used soreness, a feeling of being utterly and completely filled that is already fading, leaving a hollow yearning in its wake.
Finally, with a soft, wet pop, the broad head of his cock emerges. The sudden emptiness is a shock, a cool rush of night air against my overstimulated, well-stretched flesh. A gush of thick, white seed immediately follows, a warm flood that spills from me, coating my thighs and the grass below. The sheer volume is staggering, a pool of his essence marking the earth.
He stands over me, his sides heaving, his magnificent cock, still semi-erect and glistening with our combined fluids, slowly retracting into its sheath. The sight is primal, beautiful, and utterly devastating.
I lie there, boneless and spent, watching him. My hands drift back to my stomach, rubbing slow circles over the slight, warm swell that remains. A profound sense of peace, of rightness, settles over me, a quiet hum in my blood. The stars above seem to shine just for us.
He bends his great head, his soft muzzle nuzzling my cheek, then my shoulder. He inhales deeply, as if memorizing my scent, now forever changed by his possession. His breath is warm, comforting.
Gathering my strength, I push myself up onto my elbows. My muscles protest, a sweet ache echoing deep in my core. He watches me, patient, regal. I reach for him, my hand trembling as I place it on his neck, feeling the powerful thrum of his pulse beneath my fingertips.
My voice is hoarse, filled with a wonder that threatens to break me. “What... what happens now?”
He doesn’t answer with words. He simply looks at me, his dark eyes holding a universe of ancient knowledge. Then he turns his head, gesturing with his muzzle toward the horizon, where the first faint hint of dawn begins to bleed into the edge of the night.