Their bodies fit together perfectly, all that lush softness of a woman, a Goddess, cradled against the unrelenting steel of a man. It is an effortless strength expressed, and one that is needed to contain HER power within the circle of his arms. That barely leashed violence doesn't just need his magic to temper it, but that of his physical and all it shapes up to be. From the patient, to the forceful, and all that exists in between, his unyielding determination steadily chips away at hers.

Made impotent in the wake of it, her body gives way with every betraying quiver, as bit by hard won bit, it surrenders to the debauched press of lips made confident, a thousand little victories having emboldened his hands further. With fingers that are wet and sticky, that are both caressing and cruel, he plies her with a pleasure both unwanted and refused. With her broken moans and sobs ringing in his ears, Lezard feels firsthand the transformation that is forced upon his Goddess. The mindless ecstasy that overtakes her.

With the breath hitching in her throat, and the arch of her body, with the mewling platitudes expressed, it is the most beautiful of shattering that Lezard ever does bear witness to. That breaking down, her eyes bright with those unshed tears, Lenneth all a quiver and made ashamed by the profound. With the fat flesh of her breasts bobbing with every gasp, the pale canvas of her skin is made damp with a cold sweat, marked by lips, tongue, and teeth, their every bite, every nibble, every suckle, leaving his hot brand upon her.

As thorough an owning as it is, with all that pleasure and despair mixing together, it it still not enough. Maybe nothing ever will be, the shade of desperation that Lezard always feels, maintained by the impotent fact that there is a part of Lenneth he can never claim. Out of reach, but never out of mind, the dazzling beauty of her smile is the one sacred treasure that even one such as he, the most accomplished of all the humans that this universe will ever then know, cannot lay hands upon.

Refused even a fleeting glimpse of it, he's left instead with all of Lenneth's sorrow and all of her pain, that fear and that anger each holding their own unique brand of loveliness that is but one part of the Goddess' whole. Even fragmented apart as she now is, with the sadness and that fury swallowing up all of her love and her joy, Lenneth still reigns sublime, trembling as she is with self loathing and hate, a throaty sound of despair giving way to that of the ecstatic. To the orgasmic euphoria, her womanly flesh unable to resist the sensations, the stimulation he endlessly plies her with.

It holds him enraptured, a shudder working its way through Lezard. His own voice is added, his groan borne of that desperate a lust, his endless appetite one that will never be truly sated, try as he might. Starved as he is for the Goddess, his beloved can only add to that addiction with every quiver of her flesh, and with each breath caught, even something like the times that her back then arches, proves it's drugging effect, the woman an intoxicant like no other. He's drunk off the heady mix of it, and off of the power, his AND hers, for despite all of his attempts at control and domination, the man is still ruled by his need for Lenneth.

Driven insane by it, by that mad need that can only express its love through these many acts of tyranny, he has gone so far as to paint the world with his blasphemies, his sin colored hands so unfit for the heart he has tried and failed to reach. Made to settle for just her body, and a sliver of her soul, Lezard tells himself he is more than fine with that. With just these parts of her, and not her whole. It's a lie that holds no true comfort, his need of the Goddess, the driving force for all that he does, this foolish man's obsession resulting in a paradise that will always have just passed over him.

So he makes his own, even if it's a cold parody of his beloved's, none of her warmth or love to be had. So long as there was a feeling there, something that he could actually hold in his hands, be it merely her anger and her hatred, Lezard tells himself he will be satisfied. That it is enough to engrave the proof of his existence into her, forcing an awareness and an acknowledgment that would cut so deep as to make the Goddess his, and his alone.

He's already a third of the way there, having deprived her of her divinity, her chastity, and even the support of the puppets she deemed friend and follower. His lust demands more, the need he has to wholly own the existence that is Lenneth, born of an interest that extends past mere intellectual curiosity, Lezard having been lost from the first moment that he happened to chance a glimpse of the Valkyrie Maiden from afar.

That bright summer day, that figure in the cobalt blue armor with eyes that had shone with an unparalleled beauty, he had lost his heart and his head to the noble purity of the Goddess. The impact that she had made on him, those indelible marks on his heart and his soul, they had all led to this, to the woman whose thighs he now laid cradled between. So close as to touch, yet still lingering just out of his proverbial reach, his hands made harsh with that cruel need, grasps a firm, sensual hold, the round swell of her breasts fondled and manipulated so that the very tight tips will positively ache, his mouth then becomes a soothing balm upon one nipple.

With the flat of his tongue laving over that beaded tip, Lezard sparks yet another reaction in Lenneth. She cries out, torn between her revulsion and her need, the contradiction felt in her body, expressed by the way she both arches into the touch, then tries to twist away. He reaps the results, wracked with the violent tremors of that squirming, the Goddess a veritable delight for the eyes as well as for the rigid flesh buried deep within her body. For every writhing attempt, the man feels the ripples around him, that womanly flesh giving a most intimate kind of kiss, to the dick that so steadfastly plows through it.

His blood already so on fire, ignites even hotter, the raw heat of it spilling everywhere, the harsh rasping pant of his breath, heard between Lezard's most desperate cries, the Goddess name offered up in supplication, as he pounds his way closer to climax. Pinned and pierced as she is, his beloved dances beneath the hands that have gone from sculpting her flesh, to mastering it, holding her down and keeping her steady for that determined pacing. Each thorough thrust rocks the woman in place, every proud inch of him dragging across that overly stimulated flesh as Lenneth whines and she weeps, both resenting and needing him in the same breath.

It all makes for one hell of a provocation, to see such a proud beauty laid waste to by such a masterful stroke. His eyes gleam enraptured, his Goddess in her most shameful of displays, reflected a thousand times over, Lenneth all that Lezard can see, all that he could ever want. She's brilliant and shining, and breaking apart piece by piece, the shriek that erupts out of her, the herald of both their release. With a cry of his own, and a harsh jerk of his hips, Lezard paints her insides white with the proof of his control.

To Be Continued…

I was having trouble with this one...actually stalled for months on it...had the first three paragraphs written, then just couldn't seem to get anything that flowed well or in the vein that I wanted. I had some thoughts I wrote down that some made their way into this, but most didn't, but there's always a future chapter for that. What I ended up realizing is...porn hound Lezard was going to have his way, and I better just damn write it to get it out of his system, so I could then hopefully get to stuff that isn't always in the bedroom.

I swear if my Lezard muse had his way, this would be all sex forever and ever and ever…

-Michelle