Affectionate Antipathy

Hearing the beaded curtain leading into her hut clatter softly, Sahira’s ears perked up. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, nor did she want any guests, so having somepony see themselves into her home was enough to make a scowl form on her muzzle. She glanced to a dagger resting on her table, shook her head, then silently cursed.

“Sahira?” A low, sonorous voice intoned from behind her.

Turning slowly, she was greeted by a most unusual sight. Most zebras avoided her like the plague, yet a towering, striped stud stood before her. With a wild, unkempt mane, emerald eyes, and a white marking covering his upper face and muzzle, he regarded her with an indifferent expression. She would have been offended by the intrusion and by the stranger’s utter lack of respect, but her ire was tempered when her eyes drifted down his broad chest, past his chiseled abs, and to the immense, obsidian package hanging from beneath his loincloth.

“That would be correct,” she murmured as she tore her eyes off his endowment. “And you might be?”

He gave a small bow, barely a nod of his head, and took a step closer to her. “Shaka.”

Waiting for him to continue and to say what he’d come for, she took the silent moment to study him. His state of undress wasn’t out of place for a Zebrican native, giving the impression that wasn’t Equestrian born, though his demeanor struck her as off. Most of her kind, being a zebra herself, would recognize the den of a witch when they saw one - moreover, she had a bit of a reputation both in and out of her homeland. As she bided her time, her thoughts wandered.

Shaka mutely surveyed his surroundings and drank in every little detail. The fetishes, charms, and idols hanging from the walls and ceiling were all legitimate, not the paltry, frankly offensive trinkets that tourists or tryhards would have, and the smell of rare herbs and concoctions hung heavily in the air. He had no doubt that he’d found what and who he was looking for - unfortunately, as he swung his attention over at the mare peering over at him, he was slightly underwhelmed.

Sahira was a somewhat infamous figure in certain circles, a capricious and ill-tempered shaman who was allegedly as prone to tormenting her clients as she was to helping them - allegedly. Adorned with a simple loincloth, a necklace of teeth, and a blackened bone mask, her attire, or lack thereof, left perilously little to the imagination. Honestly, aside from her golden, goat-like eyes, there was nothing particularly fetching or intimidating about her at all.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Well this is disappointing…”

“Do tell,” she coolly began, “what’s disappointing?”

“This,” he sighed, waving a hand at her. “Don’t get me wrong, the mask is a cute touch, but you don’t quite live up to the legend.”

Her breasts were small, barely a handful, and she was remarkably thin - so thin that he could see her ribs clearly. In a test of physical might, there was no question that he could break her in half - outside of more conventional realms, he felt confident that whatever power she wielded couldn’t rival his own. With a heavy sigh, he locked eyes with her.

Sahira curtseyed and flashed her teeth at him. “Saddened though I may be, you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name and went to the trouble of searching me out, leading me to believe you’re aware of what I am, yet I’ve never heard of you…”

The small slight caused Shaka’s mirth to waver. “You’ll become very familiar with me, if you don’t bite your tongue…”

Straightening, she held a hand to her chest and feigned a gasp. “Is that a threat?”

“More of a promise,” he noted. Lifting and turning a hand, he snorted. “Come now, let’s have a good look at you.”

He was slightly surprised when she obliged him, turning in place while running a hand over her chest. Unlike himself, having a slate-grey coat lined with black stripes, her fur was mostly white, while her mane and tail, each shaggy mat of thick dreadlocks, were jet-black. She was far from perfect, so petite and emaciated as to appear sickly, but she would do.

Coming around to face him, Sahira placed a hand on her hip. “Now you…”

He balked, his eyes widening and head rearing back as he stared down at her. “I beg your par-”

“Now you,” she insisted, cutting him off. “I like to look at my new toys before I play with them - if they’re worth playing with at all, that is…”

Pressing his palms to her, he languidly wheeled around. A fine back, toned glutes, and a delightfully muscular physique - yes, he would do quite nicely as a fun little distraction. It had been some time since somepony had been dumb enough to come to her home and unwittingly make themselves available for her, and she wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through her fingers.

“Satisfied?” he inquired.

“Almost,” she breathed. “Strip for me.”

He didn’t hesitate to tug at his loincloth and let it flutter to the ground. Yes - yes, this would do nicely. His endowment was immaculate, the sort of thing one was hard pressed to find in the land of ponies, and its immense size was complemented by a pair of plump, cum-laden balls hanging behind it.

Offering a hand, Shaka nodded to her. “If you’d be so kind…”

“‘Tis only fair,” she mockingly lamented as she pulled at the leather string around her waist. Leaning back and propping one arm against her table, she reached down and spread herself for him. “Better?”

Her shameless display was as provocative as it was foolish, exposing her slavering, rosy interior to him, although he couldn’t fully judge her from looks alone. Crossing to her, he knelt down and brought his snout to her nethers. Remaining motionless, she watched as he placed a hand on her abdomen.

“Still fertile,” he remarked. As he drew a breath through his nose, the scent of her arousal tickled his sinuses. “And you’re turned on - naughty.”

She shrugged while he stood and came to loom over her. “I’m a great many things. May I?”

Following her gaze, he peered down at his crotch. “You may…”

He flexed his groin and sent blood surging into his steadily hardening stallionhood. If she wanted to inspect him, that was permissible - besides, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t be getting very, very familiar with him before long. Seeing his length in her small, dainty hands, he snickered.

“I was going to ask you to become my apprentice, but it seems like you’ve got something else in mind,” he mused while she casually stroked and fondled him.

“Apprentice,” she dully repeated. Shifting a hand, she cradled and gingerly squeezed one of his balls. “Don’t be so silly. While you may have some knowledge of the old ways, you’re but a pup compared to me - still, I’m sure I could have my uses for you.”

Cocking his head, he peaked a brow. “Oh?”

Her delicate touch wasn’t unpleasant, although it was her comment that caught his interest. Somehow, without him having made mention of it, she’d discerned that he was versed in various arts. Be it from a keen eye, sharp senses, or something altogether different, she’d picked up on something few, if any had before.

Nodding, she rose up and patted the trunk-like base of his shaft. “You’ll make for a fine pet, yes.”

His quiet laughter was amusing. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he was in for, but she did. There’d been times when somepony would show up to challenge her, either trying to usurp her or kill her outright, and not a single one of them had succeeded. For all his size, strength, and supposed arcane know-how, he was nothing compared to her.

“This - pardon,” he giggled while stroking his brow and attempting to collect himself. “This is all rather entertaining. You see, as I mentioned, I had intended to take you as an apprentice, although that’s not quite fitting - no, given your lack of respect and petulant conduct, I believe you’ll make an excellent sow.”

“Sow,” she echoed, letting the word roll off her tongue. Cupping her breasts, she smirked up at him. “You’d make me some unsightly, obedient broodmare?”

Turning his head from side to side, Shaka reached out and drew a finger around her right nipple. “Goodness, no - well, not exactly. You’ll be far from unsightly, but you will most definitely be obedient. By the time I’m done with you, there’ll be no limit to the depths of your depravity.”

“And if the depths of my depravity are already endless ~ what then?” she countered as she clutched the base of his cock. “Would you turn me loose as some crazed, sex-starved beast for anypony and everypony to make use of?”

“It would be the least I could do for you - sadly, after all the ruttings I will have given you, you won’t be satisfied by anything but the largest dragons or the most obscenely well-hung creatures in this or any other realm,” he tutted.

As their eyes met, a conclusion was reached. A gauntlet had been laid, a challenge between two titans in their own right, and neither was willing to back down. With their wills only rivaled by their hubris, the pair stared one another down. Sahira was first to move, withdrawing her hand and folding her arms over her chest.

“I have a proposition,” she purred. “Whichever of us is able to walk out of my hut will win the favor of the other.”

“A competition?” he beamed. “And the terms of this contest?”

Remaining where she was, she idly stroked her marehood. “What terms? Did I not just say that the winner will be the one who’s standing?”

He licked his lips as he peeked down at her loins. “You did…”

“So you aren’t as simple as you look,” she tittered. “Since I’m a gracious and forgiving host, I’ll let you go first.”

Sinking to his knees, he placed his hands on her hips. “How very generous of you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she quipped. “Now be a good colt and warm me up. I’d like you to enjoy me before you’re a drooling, dull-witted mongrel.”

Shaka meandered forward, keeping his eyes on her face, and kissed the plump, warm mound of her sex. She was dumber than he thought, allowing him to make the opening move after telling him there he wouldn’t be hindered by any conditions of their engagement, although he wasn’t going to complain. Breaking her would be trivial, and he was going to savor every delicious second of it.

Burying his muzzle between her thighs, he drew his tongue up her snatch and to her clit. Her taste was exquisite, as sharp as she was, and her aroma was intoxicating. Bending anypony to his will sumptuously hedonistic affair, but he’d be lying if he said conquering rebellious mares wasn’t particularly enchanting. He couldn’t count how many ponies, mares or otherwise, he’d reduced to gibbering, mindless mess that lived to please him.

Sahira shuddered and bucked against his face. “When I eventually tire of you and sell you off to some desperate pony mare, I’ll be able to speak highly of your oral skills.”

As he leered up at her, her lips split in a wolfish grin. She almost felt bad for him - almost, but that wasn’t enough to make her take pity on him. Closing her eyes, she basked in his affection and relished the sensation of his full, pouting lips on her clit. Had she anticipated her day taking such a salacious turn? No. Was she going to make the most of her impending plaything? Absolutely.

With but a thought, she put her gift to work. Her marehood winked, sending rivulets of her juices into Shaka’s maw while filling the air with her bouquet. Had she been anypony else, he would have assumed she was just appreciating his efforts - regrettably for him, she wasn’t anypony else.

It was only sporting to begin things slowly, so she gave him a literal and figurative taste of her power. Poor bastard - he was blissfully ignorant that he’d fallen right into her clutches. Within seconds, his thoughts would dull - after a few minutes, she’d have him wrapped around her finger. Rolling her head back, she started when he growled and gripped her waist.

Shaka gingerly nibbled her clit as he swung her legs over his shoulders and got to his feet. The jolt that coursed through him, setting his nerves alight and giving him goosebumps, wasn’t from excitement - not entirely. Her magic was exotic, similar to his own but completely distinct, and its tang was electrifying.

Rising up and keeping her against the wall, he ravished her. For her to call upon her abilities, however trivial, at such an early stage in their game was cute - adorable even. While he may call upon his otherworldly talents, should he truly need them, his tongue would suffice for the time being.

While she locked her legs around the back of his head, her fingers glided through his mane. He’d admit that there was something charming about her, in an unpolished, haughty way, but she left much to be desired. For starters, her attitude was atrocious - secondly and just as prudently, she was in desperate need of a meal.

Pulling back just enough to get some air, he turned his head upward. “Would you like to - Mmmph?!”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” she whispered, jamming his snout to her pussy.

It was one thing for her to talk down to him, and he could forgive her laughable attempt to beguile him, although his patience with her was quickly reaching its limit. Stepping back, he wrenched his head free and set his jaw. Though he’d intended to play nice, even being willing to let her suck him off before he utterly destroyed her, she’d struck a nerve.

“You didn’t,” he responded, “but that hardly matters.”

As if knowing what was coming, she slipped her legs from over his shoulders and closed them under his arms. “Don’t tell me I’ve upset you.”

He lowered her gradually and stopped when he kissed the tip of his length to her sex. “Hardly…”

“Thank goodness, I was worried that - Aaaaaahn!” she cried out as he impaled her.

“Much better,” he cooed.

She was tight, hot, and far more accommodating than he’d hoped she would be, yet her interior wasn’t as appealing as the blissful howl that rang in his ears. Guiding her downward, he filled her with inch after inch of his shaft. Now that he’d shut her up, he could put her in her place and show her who she was really dealing with.

After touching his medial ring to her entrance, he rolled his hips back, unsheathed a fraction of his length, and started thrusting. Each plunge was delivered slowly and methodically, merely gracing her cervix with his cock-head, but that was with good reason. Sex, as with most things in life, was an art, and there was no sense in rushing it.

Clenching her teeth, Sahira focused. Shaka was big in every sense of the word, testing her limits and stretching her open in a way that only a handful of creatures ever had, but she could handle him. As she slowly exhaled, with her body pinned against the wall, the tension bled from her.

While there was no way she’d ever openly say it, he felt incredible. The size and shape of his length, having a slight upward curve, was perfectly complemented by his technique - in short, he had the experience necessary to wield his ungainly tool. Constricting around him, she gazed into his eyes.

“Pity,” she muttered, “I thought a brute like you wouldn’t be so delicate.”

Without breaking his rhythm, he brought his muzzle to the side of her face. “Patience…”

She breathed hotly on his ear. “Let yourself go…”

He stiffened in more ways than one, his cock throbbing and muscles going taut, while his pace quickened. Just like that, she had him. The three simple words, given in a hushed tone, were laced with power to compel him. Kissing her way down his collar, she dipped her head and bit his nipple. All stallions, regardless of how they perceived themselves, were animals, and she was quite the proficient tamer.

Quietly snarling, he did his best to plow her through the wall at her back. His savagery was decadent, his grunts a symphony, and the look of sheer concentration on his face, borne from his unwillingness to submit to her, filled her with glee. It was a shame that he’d folded so easily, barely putting up a fight - then again, it was hardly shocking.

Just as she began to revel in her victory, he shifted on his heel. The move was blindly fast, so quickly delivered that she hadn’t registered what had happened until she was sailing across the room, and it took her completely off guard. With a resounding pomf, she landed on the bed.

“On your knees,” he commanded, stomping over to her.

Doing as he’d asked, if only out of curiosity, she rolled over and pushed herself up. “A favorite of yours?”

“No,” he spat, “but a mongrel like you deserved to be fucked like a dog.”

“So mean,” she teased, bracing her legs and swinging her tail aside. “Do you talk to all your lovers this way?”

Eyeing her tush, he forced himself to sneer. “I do, as a matter of fact, but that’s hardly important - you see, lovers would imply that we’re equals.”

The sight of her presenting herself gave him the smallest moment for pause. To fall under her spell, however briefly, was unsettling, yet the speed with which she’d recovered and asked for more was all the more startling. There was a chance he’d underestimated her - a slim chance, but a chance all the same, and that notion piqued his interest.

She shuffled back and brought her knees to the edge of her mattress. “Touché - however, you could be saying that because you’re nothing more than a beast yourself.”

Coming up behind her, he placed one hand on her hip while using the other to grab the root of his stallionhood. “We’ll see about that…”

At a crossroads, and still under the influence of whatever hex she’d cast upon him, his mind raced. He was tempted to ravage her, to fuck her so brutally that she wouldn’t be able to pull any tricks on him, but that would be reckless. She’d seen through him, discerning that he wasn’t some ordinary stud, and it was possible that she was trying to bait him into acting hastily.

Settling on a compromise, he lazily drove into her until his medial ring was seated against her entrance. She was a crafty one, he’d give her that, yet he wasn’t without tricks of his own. As he draped himself over her back and glided a hand around to her breasts, his hips slammed forward.

While he couldn’t see her reaction, he could definitely feel it. Her womb yielded, engulfing his cock-head and the first few inches of his length, and a hushed whimper escaped her. It may have been premature to consider such things, but the thought of finding a mate worthy of his seed was titillating. He gave her no time to adjust, pulling his crown free from her cervix and causing her to shudder.

To his amazement, as he pulled back and readied himself to plow her, she threw her weight back and buried the entirety of his shaft. Whether she was a masochist or simply a whore was anypony’s guess - regardless, her impetuous nature warmed the depths of his heart. At best, he really would make her his personal sow - at worst, there were likely a few pony cities that would appreciate having a vacuous, exotic cum-dump at their disposal.

Sahira fell into rhythm with him, bucking back to meet his thrusts, while she snaked a hand beneath herself and to her groin. For a stallion of any persuasion, even a Zebrican, to despoil her so thoroughly and swiftly was unheard of, and she wouldn’t deny how incredible it felt to be used in such an unseemly manner. As her fingers danced over her clit and caressed his pistoning length, her thoughts sank into a rapturous haze.

With each wilder and more gratifying than the last, visions assailed her. One minute, she was worshiping Shaka’s cock while he sat on a throne - the next, she was nursing a pair of his foals as he lavished her marehood with affection. Her imagination ran wild with possibilities, of futures with the stud - her stud, and the urge to surrender herself to him grew stronger with every one that passed.

Moving in tune with him, she met every ounce of his zeal. His burning desire to sire a foal with her was almost palpable. Every throb of his glorious stallionhood, each thunderous beat of his magnificent heart, pushed her closer and closer to release. It was only when she teetered on the precipice of oblivion, toeing the line of a climax, that it hit her - she’d been had.

She swam for the surface of her primitive wants, desperate for air and the salvation of a clear mind, but it was too late. The orgasm which struck her was breathtaking, curling her toes and leading to her jaw hanging in a mute, noiseless wail of ecstasy and torment, and it dealt her a ruinous blow. As her marehood convulsed and erupted like a geyser, bathing his lower half in her precious nectar, her fury compounded by an order of magnitude.

Shakily turning her head, she grimaced back at him. Her climax hadn’t slowed him in the slightest - if anything, he was rutting her more relentlessly ever, although his appearance had changed. Traced along his frame, beneath his fur and hide, his skeletal structure glowed faintly. The hallmark of his power could have - would have been jarring, had she not been a shaman herself, but that was far from the case.

Holding his pace, he placed a foot on the bed beside her knee. “Perhaps cumming again will lighten your mood…”

“That’s quite alright,” she seethed. “I believe I’ll - Hhnnnngh!”

Her arms gave out, her face fell to the sheets, and her eyelids fluttered as she was wracked with a second, even more potent climax. This was bad - very bad. They’d only been at it for a short time, easily less than half an hour, and yet he’d forced her to cum twice. Rage warred with rapture, while she struggled to wrestle control of her treacherous body from her insufferable id.

His new position, situated above and behind her, was not helping matters. The way his medial ring ground against her g-spot, and how he was fucking her cervix, made it nigh impossible to wade through an incomprehensible sea of pleasure - worse still, his fat, pendulous balls smacked a drumbeat against her aching clit. If she didn’t act quickly, she’d cum again - if she came again, it would be all the more difficult to turn the tide against him.

“I wasn’t asking,” he hissed in her ear.

Summoning her strength, she shifted and kissed his cheek. “Lala chali…”

Shaka found himself staring up at the ceiling. The cool air against his slick erection was unnerving, yet it paled in comparison to an ominous chuckling from beside him. Going to turn and push himself up, unsure of what had just happened, he discovered he wasn’t able to move anything but his head.

“Comfortable?” a chillingly familiar voice inquired.

Peering down his supine body, his eyes shot to the foot of the bed. Not only had he been immobilized, but Sahira was standing at the end of the mattress. Dampness glimmered on her inner thighs, her right cheek and chin were wet with saliva, and she was unabashedly fingering herself. What she’d done with him - to him was a mystery, but it was clear that she was far from finished with him.

Curling his lip, he squinted over at her. “If you’ll pardon the small interruption, I have a question…”

“Ask,” she flippantly instructed, slipping a third digit into her cunt.

He nodded to the skull-like covering over her face. “Is that the source of your power?”

“Aaaaaaah,” she sighed while lovingly caressing her mask. “It’s my mentor - that is, what’s left of him. He cursed me when I killed him to steal his power ~ can you believe that?”

He could - he truly could, yet the information didn’t disturb him. “And do you intend the same for me?”

Crawling up his body, she sluggishly made her way to his monolithic stallionhood. “Only if you want me to call you daddy…”

Something about the way she said it, coupled with his helplessness, sent a thrilled, dismayed shiver up his spine. She was clearly mad, incestuous, demented, or a combination of the three - in spite of that, he couldn’t help but smile. Spells faded, enchantments waned, and hexes weakened - as such, it wasn’t a matter of if her hold on him would diminish, but when.

Sahira dragged her tongue up the underside of his length and to its nearly fist-sized tip. A medley of flavors cascaded over her palate, though none were as sweet as the success she had just reaped. Clutching and milking pre-cum from his cock, she eagerly lapped at the cocktail of their fluids while gazing up at him.

“Such a fine prize I’ve won for myself,” she hummed as she caressed his ripe, furry nuts, “and so virile. Are you always this pent-up, or were you saving yourself for little ol’ me?”

If looks could kill, she would have been dead. He was conscious and fully aware, his senses intact and functioning normally, but she could change that - rather, she could alter it. As she breathed a word of power in a long-dead tongue, he went rigid and took a sharp breath.

Rearing back and shuffling forward, she straddled him and touched her lower lips to his crown. “You know, I’m glad you’re so terse - it’ll make your colt-like squeals and mewling all the more rewarding…”

Easing herself down, she sheathed herself upon him. Cowgirl wasn’t her favorite position, yet the control and view it afforded were unparalleled. She gyrated her hips and leaned back once she’d hilted him, giving them both a first-hand look at how immense his endowment was. Gazing downward, past her modest bosom and to her abdomen, her eyes settled on a prominent swell that snaked up from her groin to just above her navel.

The feeling of fullness he provided would be impossible to describe to the uninitiated, but she adored the intensity of it. Rising up and casting herself forward, with her display at an end, she placed her hands to either side of his chest and began to fuck herself on him. He despised her, she could practically smell a miasma of contempt radiating from his very soul, and she cherished him all the more for it.

Through sheer determination alone, Shaka fought the urge to wince. While he still couldn’t budge, that particular issue was overshadowed by a new, even more troubling development. He hadn’t understood what she’d said, only catching a few unfamiliar syllables in what sounded like ancient Abyssinian, yet what she’d done was crystal clear. All pleasure he felt, from her breath washing over his chest to her velvety marehood embracing his cock, was magnified several times over.

As he went to look away, refusing to give her any gratification, she took him by the jaw and held his head steady. “No, I want to look into your eyes when you yield. Magoti…”

Like a marionette controlled by strings, he lifted his legs, bent his knees, and planted his feet on the mattress. The fires of his wrath roared into an inferno. He wanted to scream at her, to curse her name and promise damnation to everything she held dear, yet he bit his tongue. Letting his emotions run rampant would allow the onslaught of bliss to devastate him, so he did the only thing he could do - he centered himself.

“You’re so big, Shaka,” she moaned. “Does my poor, cum-starved womb please you?”

Knitting his brow, he gave her no answer. The harridan would pay for this transgression and pay dearly - of that, he was certain. Glancing from her face to the imprint of his stallionhood, begrudgingly amazed that she could so easily ride something as large as her forearm, he felt his fleshly resolve begin to crumble. There was only so much anypony could endure, with or without the use of potions or spellcraft, and the rapture gnawing at him was so inexorable that it pushed that threshold.

Sahira’s carnal prowess was as or more impressive than her proficiency with witchcraft. Her vice-like confines squeezed him on her upstrokes, giving him fleeting glimpses of her pink interior, before relaxing and drawing him in. The sensation of her two-fold grip on him, her cervix and entrance both working his shaft, contended with the spectacle of her bouncing on his lap.

Reclined against his thighs, she took an unhurried pace and played with her tits. Spoiled for choice, and one of the only parts of him that would obey him, his eyes roamed over her svelte figure, engorged sex, perky breasts, and cruel face. To gaze longingly upon her was folly, the antithesis of what he should do, yet the sight of her was haunting and erotic in equal measure.

“You didn’t answer me,” she pouted. “Ongea…”

“It…it f…feels…” He fought every word, every syllable, yet he was unable to keep himself from speaking.

“Ongea,” she harshly demanded as she rubbed the outline of his cock in her depths.

“Good,” he croaked. “It feels good.”

Throwing her head back, she set upon him with new, wanton vigor. “There it is…”

She’d made him speak, but she hadn’t made him lie. She did feel good, far better than even he wished to acknowledge, and giving voice to that immutable fact ate away at him. He was being undone, his defenses cracking under the unimaginable weight of ecstasy, and it terrified him to think that he may actually lose.

Drawing upon his power, he clamped his eyes shut. All he needed was an opening, a single moment to enact his revenge. He fixated on his left pinkie, something so small and unobtrusive that she wouldn’t notice, and strained against his arcane bonds. Soon enough, she would regret ever daring to cross him.

Sahira drank in his expression like a fine wine, committing it to memory as she neared her third climax. There was no reason for her to hold herself back at this point, having him under her thrall, although she’d prefer to cum alongside him. While she couldn’t recall the last time she’d let somepony give her a creampie, vastly preferring her amorous suitors to blow their loads on her chest and stomach just to have them lick their seed off of her, Shaka had earned the right to bathe her interior with his essence.

Harder and harder, faster and faster, she thrashed atop him like a beast possessed. Her breaths hitched in her throat, each groan came louder than the last, and she could sense her body pleading for his seed. As she cracked one eye and glanced to one side, sensing movement, the world spun around her.

In a flash, she was on her back. Maybe she’d lost her focus and her spell had faltered, or perhaps Shaka had overpowered her hex with brute force and his own abilities - in any case, he’d gained the upper hand. Acting with a speed that belied his gargantuan size, he grabbed her by the ankles and drove her legs up to either side of her head.

“You were saying,” he grumbled, his face mere inches from her snout. Gathering up a mouthful of saliva, she spit up at him. He didn’t even try to avoid the offending gobbet, opting to open his maw and catch it on his tongue. “I’ll remember that…”

She blinked, taken aback by reaction. Curse him - she’d meant to anger him, sending him into a fit of anger that may give her an edge, yet his response had the opposite effect. More turned on than ever, and locked in a mating press, she scoffed. He’d immobilized her, pinning her arms under legs and robbed her of the ability to move, but this wasn’t over - yet, not by a long shot.

“Kilele,” she softly intoned. “Kilele na mwenzangu.”

His face contorted, shifting between resentment and bliss, while quaking above her. He was close, closer than he’d dare say, and he teetered on a precipice. With his stallionhood pulsing madly and flaring within her womb, his failure was all but assured. Giggling like a schoolfilly, she writhed beneath him.

As she took a breath and readied another curse, one that would surely land a finishing blow on him, he did the unthinkable. Her eyes flew open, her heart skipped a beat, and her fingers clawed at nothing when he shot forward and plunged his tongue into her muzzle. In that instant, that singular moment in time, she felt something she hadn’t experienced in ages - fear.

Having silenced her, Shaka steadied himself and jackhammered into her with reckless abandon. Curse her - curse everything about the abominable wench! The gall for her to try and finish him off and steal his triumphant thunder was appalling - nevertheless, his time was short. A line had been crossed, there was no going back, and his only course of action was to plow her into oblivion before he came.

From an outsider’s perspective, the pair could be mistaken as lovers. The raw, primal fury they possessed was beyond reproach, their kiss was deep and impassioned, and bed creaked and violently rocked under them. To say it was a heated exchange would be an understatement of astronomical proportions as they vied for dominance.

Seconds stretched on for years, minutes became eternities, and their sensual wrath knew no bounds. While they raced to the finish, neither willing to yield, their chests heaved and bodies glistened in sweat. Shaka’s balls contracted, pulling close to his groin, as Sahira’s ovaries went into overdrive.

Throwing himself back, Shaka pulled his tongue from her snout and roared. He hated himself for it, yet it was too much - far too much to bear. The idea of a worthy foe, a fruitful womb, and siring his progeny with the harpy that was Sahira consumed him and saw him through the gates of nirvana.

Sahira brayed to the heavens as rivers of thick, rich, virile seed flowed into her. The climax that overtook her was singular, so awe-inspiring that it made every other blissful moment she’d ever endured feel downright pitiful. Shaking like a leaf in a gale, it was all she could do to keep her head above water and not drown in her ecstasy.

Crashing atop her, Shaka breathed heavily. His lungs, every muscle about his frame, his throat - they all burned as a preternatural exhaustion settled upon him. There was nothing more he could do, yet he found the strength to turn his head and peek at her face. The whore was still conscious, just barely, and she peered down at him with a single, golden eye.

“Y…you look like shit,” he rasped.

When Sahira tried to laugh, genuinely amused by his childish remark, she broke into a coughing fit. Every part of her hurt, she’d likely be walking funny for the next day or two, and she’d have to take an elixir to avoid ending up carrying the knave’s foal, but she’d won - at least, in a sense. As she feebly and defiantly clenched her battered marehood around him, he snickered then weakly started to wheeze.

“Bastard,” she murmured.

Trying and failing to get up, he fell back on her. “Bitch…”

When their eyes met, a realization dawned on them. Neither was willing to concede, both being too obstinate to acknowledge defeat, though their competition had concluded - for now. Giving the faintest nod to one another, they went limp and motionless. The bout was just that, the first of many, and they wouldn’t stop until a victor had well and truly been decided…