Trust
Just a really short lyrical piece, and a play with a different perspective. Just really needed to do something to cure a bout of the blues, and thinking back to happy things this came out. Ive had a lot of first times, and some at least were like this.
Hope you enjoy.
"Trust me."
Your look almost makes me weep, the uncertainty, the love. Your muzzle open, a short length of pink tongue sampling the air as if to find in it the answer. It isn't there though; it is in bodies, and hearts, and minds. You look into my eyes, a better place to find it, your blue depths seeking in my green ones a hint of my intent. For once the wall is down, my heart open to you as your body will soon be to me.
"Trust me."
Not a question, not a plea, more a statement, but you swallow and nod, your mane standing tall as you answer a question as if posed by your own mind. You keep on nodding even as I take you in my arms and lay you on the bed, my smile disarming you for the moment. I see the questions, and the doubts, but I see other things too; need, desire, mischief. I will speak to them, in a language they understand, and the rest will take care of itself.
I hold you, feeling the quick tremble of your body, the rapid beat of your heart obvious through the fur. I kiss here first, over your chest, the terrified wild animal inside you trapped by ribs and muscle desperate for escape. I will teach it to delight in its prison, with me as your jailor.
Nose nuzzling your chest fur, I open my nostrils wide drinking you in. Your scent is like honey, sweet and thick, a gift to be savoured. As I tickle my nostrils with your short coarse furs, I let my fingertips start their painstaking exploration of your body, never too fast or too harsh, learning the language of your flesh. Sighs and moans, short exclamations of surprise as I find places you never knew, a communion with your skin.
Finally I touch you there, the beautiful length of your shaft, thick and hard and eager. One fingertip walks the path, base to tip, drawing cries with each new step. Discovery can be so sweet, the soft leather of your sheath, the gentle swell of ring, the slick expanse of flare are all delights for me to share and I thank you for your gifts with kisses over moaning lips.
Not content with touch and smell, I need to taste, and breaking the kiss begin a new journey, new sensations to calm your fears and rouse your need. The long path but exquisite, from my stallion's neck, red from gentle bites of passion and possession, down the cleft between flat mounds of muscled chest. Rough tongue plays on your belly, teasing and arousing, as your soft knickered laugh tells me the fears recede, and I smile into your smile.
The serious work remains however, tongue and lips with a solemn duty, to draw my favourite taste of all. I hold you in a moment of stillness, your breath held tight, and then exhaled like a floodtide as my muzzle takes your length. Your response is all to me, the way you run fingertips through my mane, the way your belly clenches with each new lick. I cup your heavy spheres, feeling the weight in my palm and their dance of joy while I take you, waiting for the signs. Soon they come, clenching, drawing up, your sighs shuddering and uneven.
"No...no...no...ohhhhhhhhhh yes!"
Everything is in those words, the paradox of sex; all about an ending, that we never want to end.
I drink you down, nectar for a thirsty stallion. I have your taste now, all of it; sweet, thick, essence of you. My new addiction but I hope never to kick the habit. Hope; so much hope, and still so much fear.
There is one last taste to sample, and I leave you for a moment, chest heaving in the afterglow, and let my tongue have the final say. Over your orbs, now resting from their first release, down the velvety trail I love so much, and finally your secret place, treasure hidden but now mine to plunder. I lap, and suckle, until you relax under my attentions, and then I strike, the feel of tightness around my questing tongue a sweet portent of things to come.
Finally the moment comes, and I raise your legs and hold you, muzzle to muzzle, first time jitters a butterfly in my chest. The questions swirl, written in my eyes but yet unvoiced. Are you ready, have I done enough, will the pain make you want to stop?
Am I worth it?
Instead I repeat the same words, a question for real this time, anxiety for anxiety, need for need matched.
"Trust me?"
A broad unhindered smile that rivals the sun breaks out on your muzzle , and you kiss me hard, raking your hooves over the small of my back as you draw me down to you, and into you, your panting cry lost in the kiss along with the fears. Love, need, desire win.
The question was for both of us, and both answered with out hearts and bodies, a resounding chorus written in our ecstacy.
Yes.