Tragedy of Gold

He immersed himself in her touch, her texture, and sensations — his fingers dug furrows in her pelt and the satiny sleekness of her flesh. The reality of her never quite matched the sight, and beneath his hands, her form seemed to shift and flow with a boneless grace that defied reality around it, muscles rippling under the pressure of his fingers like warm, wet clay. Springy like yew and yet soft as a wet palette full of pigment. So — he painted her, painted her with his hands and his love, touching every part he could as he worked his way down from her solicitous lips and soft visage — the alabaster column of her throat drawing a particular set of shivers from her as his fingers ran along her windpipe — shaping the curve of her neck and the swell of her downy bosom with the battered, familiar surfaces of his grasp. He molded her moaning body beneath him, his touch firm and true. Her lips parted in needy vocalizations as he passed the fractal scars of gold, down, down he went to her bare belly, where the silvery-white of her pelt gave way to pearly, powdery pink flesh at the peaks of her teats and the beginnings of her exotic nethers.

"God, Bart, never stop touching me like that..." she gasped out, arching in an impossibly perfect curve of white bliss into his sheets, blindingly sensual — nakedly erotic in how her face twisted and lips parted. Her body yielded to him eagerly, open and welcoming.

It was then he set about undressing her, the perfect teardrop of her nethers obscured by a now glistening, slick cage of ribbons that were anchored all about her mane in intricate weaves — quite a bit like a child might braid a ribbon into her hair. It took but a moment for his fingers — familiar with knots and rope in a far more utilitarian manner — to have a very tawdry realization:

"You put these on yourself," he accused her with a grin that made his mustache bristle dramatically. The little unicorn put on a much-exaggerated expression of innocence, while her tongue betrayed the wicked intent with a deliberate motion across her dainty lower lip, "You put these in your mane specifically so I would have to take them off first," he continued, letting his fingers thread through her mane, much to her shuddering delight,

"I did, oh yes..." she murmured in between soft sighs of pleasure, her eyes little golden slits of content anticipation of every little touch and tug of his hands, rapt in her attention to their every moment together as only an immortal could be.

"You planned this." he teased, slowly working strand after strand free, the gossamer lengths of linen woven around her like bits of tack, strategically gating off her more heavenly entrance.

"I cannot offer you my maidenhood as is proper on a night as this," she breathed to him as he undid the ties and braids, each one falling like a strap from elegant underclothes, her eyes sought his as always while she spoke; "Yet perhaps, I can still offer you the ritual of baring my deepest center to yourself and none other."

The final ribbon came away, and the woven netting keeping her 'modest' sagged enticingly, her breath caught as it did, and the anticipation on her face peaked, his hands sliding down to pull aside the complex structure of silken strands, a lovely hue of yellow to match her golden gilt flesh. Dewy wetness clung to the fabric as he pulled it away from her, and her eyes leveled at him in blazing desire, her forelegs climbed above her head, hooves pointing above in a lurid stretch as she spread her haunches wide. The glistening shock of pink that greeted him demanded attention, the soft white teardrop of her exotic entrance flexing with desire, flashing that swollen pearl of pleasure at him and her glistening inner depths. Her tongue lolled from her lips as her vulva clenched and winked with soft sounds of wet flesh and squeezing muscles, and she lay there — bare to him body and soul — yearning.

"God's Blood you are intoxicating..." he moaned, watching her whole body quiver in time with the lustful contractions of her nethers — his mouth descending to her bare flesh, catching that sweet pearl on one of its winking excursions and suckling it firmly into his mouth. Cithara wailed in delight, her body bowing into a perfect parabola of pleasure, her soft, plush petals pushing up into his face as her inner walls continued to clench and milk a shaft that wasn't yet there.

"Bart, oh God..." she cried out in desperation, "You learn so quickly..." she gasped, the young Paladin's eagerness to taste her had turned quickly into a talent for the act. His hands roamed up her body as he worked his mouth across her swollen quim with zeal — with worship. His tongue thrust into her on the contractions, driving its silky spear along the sensitive surface of her nub on every eager reveal, making the little unicorn chirp in delight — bucking and thrusting along with his suckling rhythm.

"I... I... Ahhh!" she gasped, her golden eyes unfocused as her husband devoured her most intimate flower, gushing wetness over his chin as he varied it up with long, swiping lashes of his tongue; "Oh I love your mustache..." she groaned in a throaty, tawdry tone that rapidly became a throaty, unrepentant vocalization of pleasure — the walls of the house had no chance of containing her trill of glee as her husband brought her just to the edge of a peak with sheer enthusiasm alone.

"No... nononono, Not yet Bart...!" she begged, legs kicking her body writhing beneath his assault, mouthing along the silken teardrop, "I do not wish to cl-climax so soon...!" she wailed, the words cutting off into a desperate whimper as her overstimulated body twitched and arched. Indeed, their every touch had been narcotic, the contact of Mantle to Source a buzzing thrill that seemed only to grow as they prolonged every kiss and caress. Swimming in the pleasure, her eyes managed to find his again and she implored him with a gaze that would have reduced a lesser man to cinders with its heat, let alone the devastating ardor of the following words:

"...Not without you inside me..."

Her legs spread wide again, supplicating, yearning for him and he could not deny her any more than he could himself. The Paladin's wet lips left one pair, and found another as their bodies intertwined once more — her tongue met his and his cock's crown pushed against her glistening pearl. Their bodies kissed in multiple ways for a long moment as he simply savored the final precipice of anticipation — she protested lightly as his purple, swollen tip nudged her flexing folds and yet only grazed and slid along them. Her legs quivered with need as she tried to splay herself wider, make herself more open — more receptive to her lover's body.

"Don't make me wait any longer my Husband..." she begged desperately... and he could not deny her, in a smooth motion he pushed into her, the sound of their union suddenly loud in the quiet, empty house. Wet, scintillating sounds of flesh stretching flesh met with dueling gasps of delight — and a quavering, desperate plea.

"S-slow husband mine... I savor being small for you, be gentle for me..." she hissed, her voice raising again in a shuddering wordless sound of appreciation as he slid further into her, the tightness of her passage and its clenching massage working his foreskin back on its own. Into her deeper he slid, her body visibly shifting around him, a bulge forming in her lithe belly as he approached bottoming out — and how she writhed! Inside and out her form wriggled and squirmed in unknowable cosmic pleasure, her eyes rolled back in her head until naught but solid gold could be seen — no hint of the intricate tracery of her pupils to be found.

"You are just so alive inside..." he groaned as her insides fluttered around him, his length and girth stretching her to new limits — he knew she enjoyed being small, but he oft considered this to be among the chief reasons why. Her expression of mindless, shuddering pleasure as he finally managed to hilt within her only confirmed that — a visible bulge in her belly as his tip lovingly kissed her womb. She moaned in deep, guttural satisfaction as his hips met flush to hers and she clenched, a powerful squeeze of her inner muscles that sent a shock of pleasure through his member — and held him there.

"May I make a confession?" she gasped hurriedly between quiet whimpers. Her dexterous, lithe limbs wound around his powerful frame as she clenched and rippled around her husband's shaft, her eyes opening to gaze into his — a touch of shame visible there.

"Hahh... o-of course..." he stammered, their lips brushing together light as feathers as they held one another in that impaling embrace. Her eyes darkened.

"I am glad I was your first," she gushed, a quivering moan accompanying it as she undulated, grinding lightly into him with the growing excitement — a slow rhythm he began to follow as she continued, breath quickening. "Glad I took your first lovemaking, glad that you will know only the taste of my mouth and the sensation of my womanhood milking you dry..." she moaned and squeezed him, coaxing him into a gentle thrust that filled the room with her breathy delight and the wet sucking sound of stretching flesh and lust. Her eyes lit upon his with hunger and lusty defiance,

"Gladder still, knowing I am not like other women... ahh! That you are mine, mine, mine!" she crowed as he bucked properly, firmly into her for the first time, bottoming out and making her body quake in shock.

"Mine forever... to give my singular pleasure to for all time..." she trilled triumphantly, her insides milking at him in earnest now as she rose to meet him gamely, body rolling in impossible grace against him, a fluid rhythm matched between their bodies as he drove himself within her — and her grasping passage seated him deeply within her core.

"Selfish..." he teased her, and she gasped out a laugh, her tongue lolling at the end in pleasure.

"With you? Yes, yes, YES!" she squealed, his hands had found her haunches, and upwards he'd lifted, bending and folding the tiny unicorn at the hips. Her long hindlegs were lain to either side of her beautiful face, pointing delicate hooves towards his headboard as he plunged deeper still.

"Selfish! I will keep you, my husband!" she wailed, arching again as he began to push into her fully — thrusting hard and long into her with his own groans of impossible pleasure as he lost himself in the sensation of her gripping, textured passage and its wet embrace, "Keep you and your love al-, ah... ahh! All for myself!" she screamed as Bart drove particularly hard into her, his own eyes rolling back as both of them were given pause by the over-stimulation. She panted, and a wicked gleam came to her eyes as she leaned up to whisper in his ear as her quim clenched around him with such tightness it tugged a cry from his throat.

"You will never know the touch of a common woman... and I take pleasure in that..." she admitted in a voice rife with desperate, shame-faced lust. Her eyes met his as she lay back, uncertainty and vulnerability on her face in the ardent admission, guilt threatening to rake the coals of her need cold. Until Bart's own gaze darkened, and it was his turn to drag a surprised sound of pleasure from her as he pushed into her until her legs shook.

"You have ruined even the thought of a common woman for me," he growled hungrily, and his mouth devoured hers, her hooves pointing in pleasure, folded and bent as she was — she was at the mercy of his sudden, possessive plunge. Driving into her with smooth, sure motions that made every entry gouge deep and true, stroking her innermost depths and scratching itches she had long abandoned ever feeling touched again.

The King of Love claimed his Queen.

Words died as actions spoke far truer, the pair enfolding themselves in one another, in quiet gasps of pleasure that rose to throaty encouragements. A hundred demanding, hungry little nothings whispered, one for each time he plunged into her pink folds. His hands could not hold any more still than his hips as he firmly took the lead in the lovemaking — the tiny unicorn bathing in his masculine strength, suddenly seeming very small and vulnerable. She quivered under his attentions like a fresh slash of pigment across a virgin canvas — wet, eager, and pliant to the brush.

He found a rhythm to his explorations and his motions inside of her, the slick sound of their union a constant backbeat to the soft song of sighs and chorus of moans. He would drive in deep, and drive his hands further over her — his cock would kiss her womb, and his fingers would grasp and knead. He found himself cupping her face, staring into her eyes and her back into his — her attention was rapt and unwavering like she was memorizing every single jolt of pleasure and grain of sensation as he moved inside of her. She looked as if she would burst, her breaths coming in shuddering intakes between strokes, as if the size of him within her pushed the air from her lungs.

His hands worked down, and he smoothed his fingers along her throat again in the midst of a long, deep thrust that drew a moan from them both as he pressured both their limits. The stretching pleasure caused her to tighten around him, and his body to tighten around her. His fingers closed lovingly around that pale, ivory column of her throat — an instinctual, possessive grasp around the base of her skull. The 'V' of his thumb and forefinger framed her neck like a fine choker — her delicate windpipe quivering beneath his palm. The response was immediate, a throaty gasp of surprise — and delight. Her eyes flashed at him, lips parting in a mix of shock and ecstasy, and the squeeze to her delicate neck was met with a similar squeeze around his plunging member — making it his turn to moan in alarm.

They moved together like that, his free hand explored her body at its leisure, stroking her face and tracing her lips — and the other gently squeezed. The tighter he went, the more she repaid the motion internally, causing each grasp to make both husband and wife shudder in delight. Her inner were muscles so exotic and powerful that she was able to milk him practically, the rhythm of her winking inner walls dragging him deeper — dancing around him with texture and tightness that doomed his stamina.

Cithara loved it, that much was clear — the whole of the divine creature alive with a mood of supplication and submission. She clearly reveled in all of the ways that Bart could handle her, and she gave in openly to his strength and size. Oh she loved being small for him, and in these moments he could see the why of it primal and raw: she as much as he, was made to worship. Her eyes begged him to take from her as he would, to embed himself within her without restraint. She begged him with her cries and golden eyes, and the constant rippling pleasure that milked him between her thighs, to take her — she was his.

Faster, harder — he could not resist giving to her what she desired, his shaft plunged in and out of her; the pulsing flash of her womanly pearl meeting his hips in time as he bottomed out in her again and again, the squeeze of his hand around her neck firm but adoring. Truly he felt a surge of hot desire and care rush through him as the tension of his fingers felt the racing rhythm of her heart through the soft flesh of her throat. A hammering pulse, a glorious heart — pounding just for him. Beneath his fingers, around his aching member — pounding and pulsing, begging him to drive it faster, harder.

Her body writhed and her legs came down from around his shoulders, the impossibly lithe creature's thin limbs sliding around his hips once more as her wild eyes locked onto his. There was a sudden, gushing wetness and her voice gasped around his firm hand in wordless need as that wet rush was accompanied by a sudden mad spasming of flesh and folds around him, ramping rapidly as her peak built in shuddering waves of tiny shocks.

"Bart... p-please..." she gasped, the Paladin's hand leaving her throat — her face pressing into his palm as she shook with desperate need — and locked her legs around him, her forelegs looping with uncanny dexterity over his back.

"Come inside of me my husband..." she begged in a shrill crow of need, desperation giving her voice a ragged edge of want as she clearly fought her own building climax, her eyes met his and she said four words that ignited every drop of blood in his body into flame.

"Make me a mother."

Bart's mind simply lost the ability to process the sheer desire that rushed through him, sensual, familial, and existential want roared in his heart, pounding it against his chest as he drove with the same powerful rhythm into the gushing, wet core of his wife — getting her to scream in delight as he abandoned all pretense and simply bred her, consummating their marriage in the last rays of daylight — the moons rising beyond the window, pouring their silvery light over the lovers in their crowning moments.

In the closing distance of their race, as Bart's cock ravaged her gushing, clenching quim in hungry, nuptial abandon — Cithara dipped her head, touching her horn to his brow on the moment of a particularly deep thrust, his swollen glans nesting firmly up against the entrance to her womb. There was a flash of gold and the Paladin blinked, and Bart felt himself in a familiar falling sensation quickly ended by a squeeze of silken bliss around his shaft. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment beneath him lay not their matrimonial bed nor the quivering white puddle of his wife.

Instead, it was eternity.

The Unicorn and her blazing Crown of light looked back at him, the infinity of her gaze looking up at him in adoration and pleasure, her body but starlight and sensation — and it quivered beneath him as she threw her head back, and called his name in a thousand-thousand voices — and yet only one.

Bart's climax was jerked from him as if there was a line from his cock to his soul, the mantle flared in him at the intimate contact with its creator, a magical sensation of like calling to like — a candleflame fed by a roaring conflagration. He clung to her and she to him, her legs locking around his waist and driving him hilt-deep in her slit with an audible gush of their mixed excitement, her innards working him in time with his needy, driving thrusts against her — truly were she mortal, the power of that release would have bruised her flesh, bent her joints, worn her raw in it's excess — but she was a creature of infinite love, divine flesh, and desire. She met it gamely.

Bart and The Unicorn climaxed within moments of one another, ropes of his seed pouring from him as if he had been saving his entire life for this night — overfilling her even, gushing out around their glistening union of flesh. Both voices raised in a spike of appreciation as the first hot emission filled her, splattering in grinding, powerful motions of his hips against her innermost gates. The Unicorn drove her mouth against his, her kiss blotted out all other sensation save the rushing, wet insanity of delight that was her own peak coming mere seconds after his own, her insides drinking his essence greedily. He was still impaled within her, the glimmering impossibility of her Aspect wrapped around him, flesh and soul — both of which burned for her like binary stars.

The touch of her mouth seemed to last forever, her tongue ardently tangling with his, going further. A penetration all its own as it snaked deeper into his mouth, drowning his mind in pleasure as they both shuddered and writhed inside and out... and then she broke away with a gasp.