Thread: Fall of Elen'thalas (Krimson & HeavenSundered)

Ezzaraith wasn't the only one to make a mistake on this fine day. Seth was too used to submissive women, beautiful, fragile flowers and spread out and blushed as they invited him inside. Even female soldiers, assassins, only ever mustered up a playful fight, yielding as soon as the strong prince had their wrists pinned and their back against the sheets. One couldn't exactly blame them who really dared, after all, to lay a hand upon the Crown Prince? Not to mention that he really was quite strong, quite fast even if they wanted to resist a little harder, to drag the play out a little longer, they simply lacked the ability to do so. A shortfall Ezza did not seem to share, the woman keeping her head even in such a seemingly hopeless circumstance. When she tensed, the Arcadian royal only increased his devilish ministrations, stroking along the base of that sensitive tail, firmer, scraping his blunt nails lightly against the smooth skin. He kissed upon the slight elongation of her ear, licking and toying with the sharpened tip. He even ground himself, not only against her cheeks, but against the side of her tail, with every enticing thrust, something equally distracting for the both of them. The way she squirmed and writhed only aroused him further, his breath coming quicker as the urge to claim her grew. The way she groaned, rubbed back against him...this woman was intoxicating. But she was so much more than that, and he paid for his blindness soon enough. The strong, agile length struck as if a coiled snake, catching him by surprise, constricting his throat and windpipe before he could even react. He immediately jerked back, instincts demanding he retreat from the pressure, but there was no escape, the tail behind his neck pressing just as insistently as the segment against his throat. Nnrgg, A faint, gasping groan, both of his hands left her as he straightened up and attempted to pry the length from his throat. He registered her words, barely, his world focused on the vice-like grip seizing him. Seth knew well every chokehold and every grip, how to turn his head toward the elbow and escape, how to buck off his attacker. But this...even with the crushing strength aside, there was simply no crook whatsoever from which he could catch relief. Even his capable hands, so used to guiding a blade through flesh and bone, could not do more than force his fingers between the tail and his rapidly bruising skin, something that barely helped his airflow. He remembered his swords. But her words were mischievous still, and, if they were true, she could just as easily crush his throat with nothing but a flex of her tail. She hasn't chosen to do so, and he wasn't about to give her a reason. I... Another desperate gasp for air. Yield. Words he haven't spoken since a boy, training against his older brothers. Words that made his skin flush even in spite of the painfully thin oxygen in his lungs. A humiliation he did not ever recall feeling. His weight had shifted to his knees, having straightened his back during his endeavors. But whether or not Seth would admit it, his body was honest he was hard as ever, if not more so. Even now his length strained against the black fabric, the criss-crossing laces at his crotch having been undone. She needn't even to disrobe his further, only to pull and release the binds. Something he realized as well, and it only added to his embarrassment and vulnerability. At her mercy, literally.