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Code-Shark — Night Visitor
#comic #hate #jerrell #love #night #predator #prey #rival #romance #series #stroy #visit #ombwa #ombwaxjerrell #anthro #anthropomorphic #female #furry #gazelle #sizedifference #codeshark
Published: 2018-01-30 05:22:21 +0000 UTC; Views: 2171; Favourites: 54; Downloads: 0
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Ombwa had just settled into his hut and pulled the curtain shut, the day had gone rather well, all things considered. The plans were laid, and preparations were a buzz all around the tribe. He had spent the majority of the day talking with the elders, who insisted on preparing him, speaking in turn to each about what was expected of him. Later the lionesses of the tribe had rubbed oils into his fur and spent hours brushing out his mane. That part he had not minded so much, though by the end of the day all he wanted to do was lay down and get some rest for the following day.Eyes closed he settled onto his pallet and arranged the sleeping furs, he was just about to drift off when the tent flap rippled. Instinct alone caused him to crack his eyes, his body jerked as his hand snapped to the night table where he kept his knife. The sharp pain in his neck was all the warning he got before Ombwa felt the poison ripple through his body, pumped through his system like an insidious cold.
No. He tried to growl, his hand numbing slumped to his side inches from the blade.
‘Aaaaawh, is the little kitty prince not feeling so well?’ A voice he knew all to well purred from the door way. ‘Don’t worry little kitty it won’t kill you. I just wanted to have some time with you uninterrupted.’
The shadow detached itself from the curtain and resolved into the slender lengthy shape of a gazelle.
‘Jerrell.’ He managed to growl through clenched teeth.
‘You recognize me.’ Her hand came up resting a finger on her heavily painted face. ‘I’m touched.’
‘If you think a little soot from a fire is going to save you.’ Ombwa tensed as Jerrell closed, kneeling down beside him. This was the closes he had ever been to her, to actually seeing the witch that had broken his jaw. Forcing his gaze to focus on the details of the face before him, details, remember the details. ‘I will find you one day.’
Jerrell’s hand snapped out, and for a second he swore she would slap him, instead, her hand slid down his face coming to rest on his cheek. What was she playing at, he looked up into those eyes and for a second, there was something there.
‘I didn’t come here to trade meaningless threats with you.’ Jerrell’s hand withdrew. ‘And yes, charcoal from the fire to darken and hide my markings. It is quite effective really, and very, very simple.’
Ombwa closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath tasting the air, drinking in the scent of the gazelle before him. He would remember that too. Almost as though sensing his intent, Jerrell smiled, and slipped her hand right under his nose.
‘Drink in.’
Ombwa’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have your scent, if you think that I will not be able to distinguish you from the others of your tribe you are-‘
‘Tell me, do you like Netee leaf?’ Jerrell held the hand that she had casually left under his nose and brought it up to her own. ‘I do. I made sure to rub it into my fur. All of my fur.’
Her hand moved to clasp his own, drawing it up to run from the base of her neck, slowly down over her chest, trailing over her belly to… She let his hand drop.
‘It does such a wonderful job at masking one’s scent.’
Mind racing now, a burning desire to reach out and snap that thin neck before him. She had done it again, outmaneuvered him, out thought him, and now she was going to do so again. There had to be something, eyes flicking around he tried to find something, anything, anything.
Jerrell only shook her head, placing his paw over his chest as she bent down to plant a kiss his brow.
‘Do you like my horns? I painted them tonight, just for you.’ She grinned, I thought you would appreciate it. ‘But, I didn’t come here to taunt you, or stick a bee’s nest into your hut, or maybe rub some nasty smelling concoction into you fur.’
There was that look again, something unnatural in those brilliant eyes of hers that he found unsettling. Before he could open his mouth to protest, she put a finger to his lips.
‘I came here because, well, with you committing yourself to a mate from my tribe, I guess that this is goodbye.’
Ombwa froze, abandoning his attempt to force his limbs to work. ‘What?’
‘It’s been fun, really it has.’ Jerrell smiled, standing now as she made her way to the tent flap. ‘But I guess all good things must come to an end.’
With a final glance she looked over her shoulder. ‘See you around, Lion King.’
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Comments: 37
Yup, she just cant help herself, it's her nature. T.T
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She wouldnt be able to trick me though. She can't be thaaaaat good.
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Oh she is. Trust me, even with your guard up, she will slip in and out with no mercy.
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Hmm, maybe i shall play a trick on her.
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Good luck, fair warning that makes you free game.
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Sounds fair enough, where does she live?
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She lives in the heart of deepest Africa.
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OK, on second thought i might stay here, that sounds a little far.
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It can be a bit of a jont.
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maybe if you could bring her to me, or me to her. that might help.
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It's a shame the story of these two has come to an end.
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End? By no means, this is just the beginning. Well, middle beginning sort of way through their story. Though Ombwa has to choose a bride, and there is a clear choice, a gazelle who has a much fore curvy figure, and ample chest, there is no set rules saying that he has to make the best or obvious choice. Ombwa may not be as clever as Jerrell, but he does have a base cunning.
And this night he has formed his own plan, to take Jerrell as his bride instead. And therefore, she would be at his mercy...
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Very clever. I look forward to the continuation of the story.
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Thank you, well beginning middle part of the story.
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good morning Code-Shark, nice story, Jerrell is so beautiful, is Jerrell like Ombwa?.
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Good morning, and thank you. 
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Little did Ombwa realize the fickleness of the gods. When he awoke the next morning from his drug-induced sleep, he was immediately rushed by the elders of the tribe to meet his new bride in order to seal the Truce between Predators and Prey. As he groggily stood at the altar, he heard a hush fall upon the crowd gathered. He turned and gaped in shock. The stately gazelle walking down the aisle was no other than his mortal enemy and last night’s visitor: Jerell.
He clenched his paws in frustration knowing he couldn’t snap her neck in two but he was determined to make her life with him a living hell...without laying a paw on her.
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That, is Ombwa's plan, as he had a long time to think it out. Though the choice of bride is his, and there has been one gazelle, rich, and very curvy that her tribe believe her to be the best choice, the final decision remains with him. And as such, he planned to take Jerrell as his bride, and under such rights, he could do very terrible things to her if he desired.
But Jerrell has other plans.
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Ombwa kept his composure and stretched out a paw to receive the hoof of his bride in his. Nicking it lightly with his claw, his eyes glanced sideways at her instilling a unspoken warning: "You'll regret the day you became my bride!"
Jerrell did not show any reaction but rather appeared to stumble as she went up the raised dais and inadvertently stepped on his hind paw causing him to wince in pain. She in turn gave him a look implying: "Be careful what you wish for."
The ceremony proceeded without further incident and as it ended, the elders decreed the unification of both tribes. At that point, both the bride and groom were required to kiss in order seal the pact. Sneering at one another, they looked at each other with murderous hate and slowly closed the distance between their muzzles. Ombwa and Jerrell knew they could not cause any physical harm on each other...for now at least. However, they needed to finalize the pact or else lose face with their own tribesmammals. Ombwa slowly raised both paws to cradle Jerrel's face in them while she closed the gap between their bodies as she pressed herself to him. As they kissed, their tongues locked in battle with each other, neither one backing down, trying to dominate the other.
As they continued to kiss, Ombwa's paws remained at Jerrell's hips but one paw unconsciously strayed to feel her frisky tail--the one he had seen as she had departed last night from his tent. She allowed the paw to remain on it for a a few seconds then firmly reached behind her to hike it back up, much to the delight of the assembled crowd. Jerrell's hooves, in the meantime, started to explore the physique of her enemy, feeling the taut muscles rippling across his broad chest and muscular arms, massaging them, gauging his strength.
The kiss lasted almost three minutes with the assembly clearly enjoying the sight of predator and prey locked in a different type of battle and egging them on. Finally, they broke off the kiss, gasping for breath as they did. The crowd broke into applause and yells of, "Huzzah!" rose from several of those gathered.
Heads spinning, both Ombwa and Jerrell faced their tribesmammals and bowed as one as he continued to grasp her hoof in his paw, neither one sure of what had just happened.
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Gerrell’s heart was dancing wildly as though she had just run from one village to another with all haste. A flood of warmth was spreading down her body, seeping into her and filling her with a growing desire. Gasping, she tried to drive back the feelings, it must have been the Kikir root, Gerrell had though about using it herself as a means of a nasty prank. But if Ombwa had ingested it, smeared the ointment on his lips, then, then, it would be easier to explain how she was feeling. Yes, he must have that had to be it, get she could not deny the feelings the Kikir root were causing to swell in her.
I just have to, to keep my head she thought careful not to meet Ombwa’s gaze. Just make it through the night, the ceremony, and the festivities. There was to be much celebration in the village tonight, drinking of palm wine, meats and vegetables spiced enough to make one’s eyes water. The other Gazelles of her tribe would dart around, flirting, and taunting the other lions though they never seemed to be more than dares. And as the night would wear on, Ombwa would make the final act of the ceremony that was set down from generations past. Taking her out, away from their tribes, some place quiet where they would be alone under the sky, and there. There. He would be free to take her.
The thought made her shiver, despite the intense heat generated between them. Hyper aware of the massive paws that grasped her, firm and steady. The muscular chest that she was pressed against, and his arms, large arms, arms that could hold her, or crush the life out of her in a passionate embrace. Was he willing to sacrifice all that, it had not been unheard of, there were some years where the alliance had nearly faltered when a lion in the heat of passion had done terrible things to their bride to be. Yet the tradition had gone one.
A tear trickled down Gerrell’s eye, this is not how it was supposed to be. Ombwa was not supposed to have picked her. And yet it was, and by the nights end she would be his, a thought that both horrified her, and yet excited at the same time.
The spite filled words of Ferri, the one Ombwa was supposed to have chosen, filled her mind.
‘Once he takes you, you will be his.’ She had hissed in Gerrell’s ear. ‘He will fill your mouth with nettles and make you sleep on burn thorns. He will claw your back to ribbons, and rip you from the inside out! And if you are very very lucky, he will make sure your life is a short one.’
Even now Gerrell could see her in the crowed, her fists clenched as she leered up at them. She was far prettier, had curves that were the envy of not only their village, but all the neighboring ones within miles. Ferri, who had lusted after Ombwa sense setting eyes on him, Ferri who had been trained in the art of passion, she had been the better choice.
Looking up to stare into Ombwa’s eyes she asked the silent question that had been eating her alive.
‘What will you do now, lion prince?’
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As the feast continued, Ombwa's mind remained in a foggy haze even as his body went through the motions, nodding his head here and there to acknowledge congratulatory greetings and thanking them for the blessings, a paw accepting a cooked turkey leg shoved into his paw as he used his fangs to tear into the soft, tender, juicy meat while his other paw held a large mug of fermented drink. As he paused to wipe his muzzle with the back of his paw, he glanced over to the mammal by his side. She was staring at him, not out of fear, but due to something else which he could not put his paw on.
The memory of their first kiss was burned deeply into his brain. Gerrell had chosen not to run away but had agreed to be his bride despite the bad blood between them. Why, he couldn't say, but he vowed to find out once the two of them were alone. Alone. That very idea sent a tingle to his loins. He recalled the taste of her as they had kissed, the softness of her fur hiding her lithe, strong, supple muscles and her scent...it had spiked as he had run his paw across her rump and grasped her tail and he had taken a good whiff of it. And was entranced by it. He, the Predator Prince, lusted after the smell of the Prey Princess. He longed to smell it again, to wallow in it. And the tingle threatened to turn into a full-blown problem as the blood rushed to his lower region.
He nervously gulped at the drink in his paw, unsure of himself for the very first time in his life. No, that was a lie. The very first time was when he met Gerrell when they were both young.
He had been a kit of just nine years and he had wandered away from his personal guards and out into the bushland, against his father's wishes and command. He had felt almost like a prisoner in his own camp that he had snuck away past the walls of the encampment and had made his way to the river. At that time, it was alive, full of life and fresh fish unlike the trickling stream that it was today. He had been travelling for a good part of the morning and his belly had informed him that he was hungry. Acting on instinct, he had attempted to lean over to swat at the many fish swimming near the surface only to lose his balance as the embankment underneath him had given way and had fallen into the river to be swept up by the strong current. Like the rest of his feline tribesmen, he had hated the feel of water and had never learned to swim. He had struggled to remain above water but was quickly growing weary. Just as he was about to lose consciousness and his head was about to go under for the last time, he thought he heard a loud splash beside him. He dreamt a pair of arms had come up behind him and grasped him under his armpits, dragging him to safety. In his dream, the mammal who rescued him began to push on his chest forcing him to breath air and cough up the water he had swallowed. When he finally regained consciousness, he had found a young gazelle, probably the same age as him, standing over him with concern on her face and a blade strapped to her thigh. He had snarled suddenly at her as he remembered that she was the enemy. She had laughed at his attempt at bravado.
"So, this is what a wet cat looks like! I'll have plenty of tales to tell my tribe of how a prey saved the life of a predator."
"You'll do no such thing!" he gasped, still trying to regain his breath. "I, Prince Ombwa of the Lion Clan, shall smite you down where you stand for such an insult!"
"You would have preferred to drown," she inquired haughtily, "rather than be saved by a 'meek' prey?"
His silence spoke volumes even as he lay retching the remnants of water from his lungs.
"Very well, Prince Ombwa," she finally spoke as she started to move away from him. "Your secret is safe with me, Gerrell of the Gazelle tribe. I can hear mammals from your tribe on their way so I leave you for now. Grow up and be strong. It would not be in proper for me to slay such a weakling in battle."
At the last insult, he managed to flash out a paw, swiping at her, hoping to break her neck, just like he had seen the warriors of his clan do to theirs. Unfortunately, he was still weak but he had managed to claw her thigh just as she leaped away at the last moment. She hissed in pain, eyeing him angrily.
"So, this is how you repay a debt?" she snarled. "Rest assured, Prince, this shall not be the last you see of me." as she quickly vanished into the tall grass.
He returned back to the present, where his bride sat beside him.
"How is your thigh holding up?" he said, attempting conversation.
She shrugged, not caring to hid her indifference. "The old scars are still there, a reminder of someone's ingratitude. I have never hidden it from my tribe and I have no intention of doing so even now."
"You would choose to humiliate me, your husband, in front of my own?" he snarled as he brought the beverage up to his muzzle. "That would not bode well for our 'marriage'. You would be wise to not force me to take actions that would shatter this fragile peace we have."
"And what of it?" she snapped back, raising her voice. "What kind of marriage is this where we will be at each other's throats all the time? Better we end this sham right now than have to suffer for years to come. I don't even know why you chose me!"
"Enough!" he growled at her, suddenly standing up and slamming the mug on the table, silencing the celebration. Snarling and baring his fangs as he spun to face her, he was assaulted by the same scent that had overwhelmed him during the wedding kiss. The same scent that wanted him to take her right there and then, not in a primal manner, but one befitting lovers. He looked at her eyes and he did not see fear in them. Rather, it was the look he had learnt to respect, of an equal who was willing to challenge him at every point of the way...and yet something more. Straightening up and clearing his throat he addressed the crowd.
"My apologies for the outburst, everyone. Please, do continue feasting and drinking. I fear however the day has begun to take its toll on me and my bride so I beg for your indulgence as we excuse ourselves and withdraw." He offered his paw to Gerrell, pad up and claws retracted. After a moment's hesitation, she placed her hoof in it and stood up as well.
"Please," turning to address the assemblage, "do continue. I fear the strain of today is too much for my dear husband. Continue to enjoy yourselves while I take care of his stress...the way we females know how."
The crowd laughed heartily at the gentle jab which Ombwa could not help but smile as well. Besides, he was having a hard time walking at the moment given the recent assault on his olfactory senses had caused his pants to grow tighter.
They walked out together, outside of the encampment and he led her down to where a tree overlooked a small stream.
"Do you remember this place?" he rumbled softly.
"How could I forget?" she said. "This is the place that you marked me."
"And to me this is the place of my greatest humiliation...where a prey saved me from my childish foolishness and I lived to become this land's ruler. Where instead of feeling gratitude towards that prey, I developed hatred."
"As I promised, I have never shared that secret with anyone."
"I know. If you had, you would have been dead a long time ago."
"In your dreams, Ombwa," she taunted him, a fierce glare in her eyes. "I've always been able to beat you in battle and you know it!"
Growling he pushed her back against the tree, his arms on both sides of her as she heard his claws sink into the bark. She could have easily slipped under his arms and run away, yet she chose to stay.
"You know what frustrates me?" he asked her as he gazed into her eyes. "I have every reason to kill you right now, right here. But I can't. And I don't want to. Instead," as he closed in on her, his nose snuffling as he placed his muzzle on the small space between her shoulders and neck, "I want to devour you in another manner. Your scent is intoxicating. I want to taste you, to feel you underneath me. I want...you."
He began to nip her long neck and she began to shiver and at the same time she pressed herself against him, offering more of her neck to him.
"Please," she whispered huskily, "don't do that."
"Your words are one thing, but your body betrays you. I can smell your scent and it isn't one of fear."
"You did not let me finish," she playfully admonished him. Don't do that...if you're not going to follow through." she leered at him.
He smirked as he caught her lips with his as they replayed a more passionate version of their wedding kiss underneath the starry sky of the savannah.
As he broke away from her, he whispered, "Run, my little prey, so that your predator can catch you."
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The hunt was on. Not sparing a backwards glance, Gerrell flew into the grass her hooves digging into the soft earth propelling her forwards in long bounding strides. Her slender body swayed like the grass itself, twisting to allow her to flow though it, heading deeper and deeper into the savanna where she knew Ombwa would struggle she smiled. If he were to hunt her, then she was going to make him work for his prey.
Drums beat, boom, boom, boom, echoing her racing heart.
It was an ancient dance, hunter and hunted. Gerrell knew it well, as she slipped over the embankment, vaulting over the small stream, her hooves sinking into the mud on the other side. Through the grass, darting this way and that, past the ancient tree of Oktar where their tribes had first came together under a banner of peace. Extending her hand as she ran, she let her fingers brush against the gray smooth bark, luck, she thought. Luck, the spirits of the ancestors were watching tonight, looking up into the sky, she could see them winking down at her, whispering silent encouragement: Run, little gazelle, run, for the lion is stalking you, and you must be swift and fast tonight. Swift and fast she was, her heart beating with the thrill of the chase this time, as she looked behind her into the sea of grass.
In the distance she could still hear the drums, growing faster now, boom doom, boom doom, boom doom. He must be near, near and closing.
Flying feet carried her up out of the grass, that thinned to her hips, resting briefly Gerrell raised her head to sample the air. Lion spore was in the air, so was the smell of roasting meats, herbs, and the smell of her tribe. All swirled around her, and for a second she let her gaze wander to the distant lights, the shadowy figures that danced, sang, and celebrated. The grass danced too, swaying this way and that in the wind, her keen eyes, shifted over that grass, Ombwa, so much larger would have trouble moving through it without alerting her. The grass shifted, swayed, danced in the cool moonlight, and for a second she wondered if he was even out there, where –
A mountain of muscle hammered into her back, driving the air from her lungs as daggers dug into her flesh as she was pinned to the ground. Her first instinct was to strike out, to roll with the blow, to free her dagger and lash out, but her captor had her pinned, pressing his full weight against her, crushing her into the soft grass below.
The drums were pounding now, defining out all other noise: BoomDoomBoomDoomBoomDoomBoom!
Scream! Scream, her mind raced as from above she caught the ivory glint of fangs descending upon her. Ombwa! She wanted to cry out. Then the fanged maw came down, the points digging into her soft flesh at the base of her neck. The sweet spot, that lions used to break their preys spine, the spot she had learned to protect so long ago. Gerrell closed her eyes and waited.
Slowly the pain ebbed, replaced by a low chuckle as the pressure lifted from her back. Strong paws squeezed her shoulders and rolled her over to look up into the mane of fur above her. Silhouetted in the moonlight Ombwa’s mane danced like the grass. His eyes glowed with a fiery passion, his whole face seemed to dominate the sky, reviling even the moon itself. It was as though looking into the face of one of the Old Gods, full of power, and, and –
He was upon her again. Teeth biting down into her soft flesh, tugging at the fur around her neck hard enough to make her cry out. His claws flexing out of hidden sheaths found purchases in her back and sank in pulling at her hide with savage abandon. Screaming, Gerrell struggled, hands shooting up she grabbed fist fulls of Ombwa’s mane and jerked on them hard. Straining with all her might, she managed to offset him enough to loosen his tearing grip on her back as he pitched forwards. At the same time she brought her lips up to embrace his, hoping to draw his attention to her other assets.
The drums fell silent. And in that silence she knew all heads were turned towards her, all ears straining to hear her fate. This was always the most dangerous part of the game, the fever to hunt, to kill, to relish the sweet sweet flesh. Looking into those eyes, Gerrell could see the hunger burning there, she could smell the tang of her own blood on those lips, feel the trenches he had carved in her back, he, he was going to devour her.
Refusing to look away, she fixed her gaze on the luminous orbs that threatened to consume her soul. I will not look away. I will not back down. I will not submit quietly to you, oh, prince of death. Slowly, every so slowly, the fires ebbed, dimmed and in their place a smile crept over those lips she had just kissed. A pink tongue flicking out, taking with it the smear of blood that was there, and making a point to savor it Ombwa swallowed.
A massive paw, large enough to engulf her head with ease came up, and for a second Gerrell felt her courage falter, only to feel the warm rough pad caresser her cheek, cupping her face. Ombwa’s thumb slid under her eye, wiping away the tears that she had not even known she was crying.
Cocking his head to the side, he leaned down again pressing himself to her.
‘And here I thought you would give me a worthy hunt.’ His deep rumbling voice echoed in the night sky. ‘Disappointing.’
It took Gerrell several attempts to find her voice, ‘D-d- disappointing! You – you insensitive big dumb –‘
Ombwa did not give her a chance to finish, instead pressing his lips to hers, forcing her down to the earth where he could trap the one who had evaded him so very very long. And, despite the pain in her back where Ombwa had clawed her, Neck, where his fangs and opened her neck, and aching muscles where he had assaulted her from behind, Gerrell found herself drifting. None of that mattered now as a strange warmth spread through her, radiating from the lion atop her. He had captured her at long last, as he had promised he would, and somehow, Gerrell found the thought did not bother her.
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When Ombwa began the mating ritual of 'claiming' his mate, he was very much aware of their differences but his primal instinct drove him forward, not caring if he would hurt her or not, as was the case among his species. Still, he had enough presence of mind to prepare her for his advances. She had earned his respect on the battlefield where she had been a perpetual thorn in his side, stymieing his efforts to overcome their warriors. More often, the tribesmammals under her leadership came out on top, and instead of savouring the sweet taste of victory, he had succumbed numerous times to the bitter taste of defeat. The few times he had been able to say he had been victorious came at a cost that even he wondered was worth the trouble. He had lost many a comrade to the slashing blades and sharp horns of the Bovidae tribe. Now that his mortal enemy lay under him, helpless and vulnerable, he hesitated as he gazed into her unflinching and unwavering eyes. Eyes that bore into his very soul. How easy it would be to lean in and sink his fangs into her long, lithe and lovely neck, ending her life and exacting revenge for the troubles he had suffered under her.
Yet, he reflected, because of her, he had changed. He had learned to be more cunning. He had forced his body to reach its limit and beyond to become stronger than the other lions of his tribe. He had learned to rule his peers with compassion as more often than not he had no one to blame but himself and thus did not lash out at the weakness of others. He had become a well-respected and loved leader in the Felidae tribe...all because she had continued to elude him. He ruefully admitted to himself that if it were not for her, he probably would have been swept aside by the challengers and would not be in the position he was today if not for her.
He used his weight to hold her down as he explored her mouth with his larger tongue. He noticed hers was softer than his sandpapery one as she continued to put up a fight with her tongue while drawing him closer, her hooves exploring his body, feeling the tough sinewy muscles in his arms and back as she clasped her legs around his waist, preventing him from drawing away, scissoring her thighs as she used an ancient wrestling hold taught to her by her trainer, placing him in a vise grip. He grunted in surprise at the suddenness of the counterattack as he felt the muscles in her thighs squeezing him, threatening to pop him like an overripe papaya.
He chuckled at her feistiness. Rumbling happily at the chance to wrestle with her, he pinned her arms above her head with one paw as he reared up on his hind legs trying to force her legs apart. She merely smirked as she locked her legs behind his back and continued to apply pressure. Panting as he was finding it harder to breath, he leaned forward to capture her lips with his as he applied a forearm against her windpipe, cutting off her air. She adjusted to this threat by releasing her legs and began kneeing him in the ribs. It was only after the third strike did he roll over, clutching his side as he ferally grinned at her, showing off his fangs.
"I will get you back for that, my dear." he smirked, pouncing at where she lay. She managed to roll away but not before a claw tore away part of her skirt, revealing her long muscular legs to him. He could barely tear his eyes away from them, as they seemed to go rise northward forever hiding a treasure that he could smell from his position.
She mocked him as she danced from side to side. "Come, my proud husband, surely you can't be winded from our little tussle. Why, you barely scratched me that time."
"Who said I wanted to scratch you?" he leered as crouched on all fours, his tail slowly waiving behind him, pouncing again, this time, catching her top with his claws so that her half of her bosom was exposed, her nipple clearly showing the state of her arousal in the cool night air.
Gerrell blushed as she realized the state of her undress but did not attempt to hide anything from him. "Is that what you're after? A free show? Well, two can play at that game," she said, unsheathing her dagger she had hidden underneath her skirt. "You ruined my favourite outfit. For that, you will pay!" she screamed as she leapt at him, slashing away at the feline.
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He should have known, should have suspected at least. As the dagger from under her tattered wrap, he instinctively stepped back, raising her arms, hands balled to fists. It was, after all a easier to take a blow across the knuckles than to endure the possibility of loosing a finger.
That appeared to be just what she had wanted of him though, and with unnerving speed she slipped his guard, her blade slicing like a silver crescent over his chest missing the flesh by a hairs breath. The ceremonial vest he wore was not so lucky as a horizontal slash in the tanned leathers opened from pectoral to pectoral. The tiny red and yellow beads springing loose, danced away into the grass. Ombwa cursed. Those beads had been a gift, a sign of his wealth, prestige, his noble position as an elite warrior of his tribe. That and they had been a gift.
Side stepping Gerrell’s next blow, he kept his eyes on the center of her chest, forgoing any attempt to fix his gaze on the flashing blade that danced before him. She was skilled, that he could not deny, fast too. But, she did not have his constitution, or strength, patience was what he had learned here. Patience, watching her he slowly danced in feigned a strike at her left side, waited for her to parry, then lunged with his right.
Gerrell corrected at the last second, bounding back into the grass as he came on hard. Springing at her again, determined not to be foiled so easily he spread his arms wide as to make escape from either side near impossible. She may be fast, but he had size on his side. And size mattered.
Seeing the futility of trying to doge, Gerrell ducked her head and charged forwards throwing herself into a roll that would carry her just under Ombwa’s sweeping grasp. The swishing sound of claws parting the air where she had just stood told her the her gamble had worked. She would have the high ground now and- A blur of brown snaked out of the darkness to her right. Mind racing, she tried to doge, to late, the blow took her sharply in the ribs blowing the air from her lungs.
Side staggering Gerrell tried to roll again, but a larger mass blocked out the moon. Then the mountains themselves came down to crush her. Had she been able to breath, she would have screamed, instead she managed a hollow clicking sound as her paralyzed lungs fought to draw in air. Fire twisted in her arm, worse than any snake bight and she felt the cool metal of her blade vanish from her hand. Gone. And now he was on her.
Still struggling to draw in breath his jaw clamped over hers as he drank her in with a ferocity that made her already withered lungs shrink in even further on themselves. Blackness threatened to over take her as she tried to wriggle her legs free, only to have Ombwa slip his massive thighs to pin her to the ground. Before the darkness claimed her, Ombwa’s passion relented, and as he broke away from her, Gerrell’s lungs remembered how to work. Gasping in a desperate breath her mind began to try and formulate a plan – only to haver her head thrust back to the grass as his lips found hers again.
Struggling was futile. One of Ombwa’s paws held her neck, as the other slowly, oh so slowly drew a line down from her chin to her chest. The claw hooking on the ruined fabric pulling it tautly before the cords around her snapped ripping away. Without mercy, Ombwa’s claw continued downwards, circling her naval once, just to make her shudder under him before moving downwards to grasp her loin cloth. With a single violent jerk, her ripped it free, the cool night air assaulting her.
This close she could see Ombwa like she never had before, hot, sweaty, and cords of muscle, these she had seen before, so was the anger, the bubbling frustration, but under that there was something else. Desire.
Rolling his shoulder as to free himself from his now shredded vest, Ombwa made sure to keep the pressure on his prize. He was going to – he paused, Gerrell had stopped struggling under him and for a frantic moment he was ceased with a horrible thought that he had pressed her to hard. Abandoning his advantage he dropped his head to her own – no she was still breathing. Her arms snapped up, closing around his neck like a hunters snare, and for an instant he tensed, ready to continued their fight.
He didn’t mind, he was ready, he had grown wise to her tricks, though she had not adapted to his. He has used his tail to best her, and though she would be wary of such a trick again, he had others. He would – Gerrell’s lips moved to brush his.
So softly he almost missed their touch. He – this was a- the kiss came again, gentle this time. Was this a trick, what game was she playing at. Where had her fire gone. As though to answer his question, her teeth found his lip and bit into the soft flesh hard. Wincing as she drew him down, he let out a low warning growl. The pressure on his lip intensified causing him to fall quiet, his eyes finding hers he looked into those mocking orbs.
‘Is that how you want to play – you can not best me so you settle for, for…’
Still grinning through her teeth, Gerrell’s hands released their grip on his neck and began moving down over his chest, caressing his abs. Tugging at the strings of his breeches he involuntarily shivered as her fingers glided over his sheath, toying, playing, drawing him out.
No doubt she wanted to break him, too cripple him for all -
Her fingers played over his shaft, slowly stroking the length to the tip, before grasping it as to run her palm down, drawing him out further. Her hooved fingers squeezing him with each stroke.
‘Yes.’ Ombwa could hardly hear Gerrell’s voice over the pounding of blood in his ears. ‘Yes. I want this.’
It was more than he could handle. Abandoning his hold on her Ombwa stood, paws ripping, tugging, violently trying to free himself of the breeches he had laced up this morning. Snarling in frustration he was shocked as Gerrell smiling up at him, pushed his paws away. Her delicate hands worked the fabric, seeking out the strings and freeing them from the supple leathers.
His arousal made each moment seem as an eternity as he waited, letting Gerrell unwarp him. How he longed for her! He needed her! He, paws shaking he placed them upon her shoulders, and for an instant he saw a flash of fire in his newly weds eyes. He hesitated, but she did not strike out at him, instead, smiling, she leaned in kissing his lower abs and began planting a line of kisses down, down, down.
Ombwa, his eyes clamped closed as he fought the primal urges that screamed at him, threated to drive him insane if not sated, he needed the release, needed her. Then he felt it, his eyes snapping open he drank her in, as slowly her lips touched the tip of his erection. Her tiny mouth splitting, she kissed him, making him shiver, a growl forming in his throat.
More. He silently willed her. More. Please. Please! Please!
The light of the moon danced in Gerrell’s eyes as she let her mouth slip over Ombwa’s member, her long tongue tracing his head. She could feel his paws shaking, squeezing her shoulders while his claws dug deeply into her flesh. Her nostrils drank in his musk, the scent blotted out everything else and made her head swim. Gradually she slipped a little deeper, drawing him into her mouth as she savored his satisfying shakes turning from mad trembles. He had wanted this for some time. She knew it, she had known for a very long time. Smiling, she drew in a deep breath and guiding him in with her hands, let him slip down into her throat.
Gerrell could feel his pulse hammering insider her, he was so wound up, so tense, so, very large. Carefully she slid herself back out, leaving only her lips to cup his head. In the cool night air, she though she could see the steam rising off of him as the cold night air assaulted his naked member. A warning growl, told her all she needed to know. He wanted back insider her, deeper, warmer, wet with passion.
Eyes closed she obliged, sliding him down her throat again, slowly working her way deeper this time. Her lips slowly eating up the distance before letting him slide out again with steadily growing speed. Ombwa’s paws jerked, twitched upwards for a second before settling on her shoulders, she knew what he longed to do, what he was fighting against. Smiling as best she could, she placed her hooves on his massive paws, guiding them up over her cheeks to the base of her horns.
Ombwa felt himself slipping, he had longed for this moment dreamt of it for years, of dominating the one that had always escaped him! And, and now she was offering herself to him willingly, as though she knew is deepest desire. Paws wrapping around Gerrell’s horns, he shivered with anticipation. Such control, grasping these he would have total control. Anything he desired, and, and, her small hooved fingers lingered there a second longer, and, his blood cooled a degree, he would respect that.
Slowly he thrust himself forwards, allowing Gerrell to move with him as he pushed his member insider her. Slowly, he drew himself out to the tip, plunging back in again as he crested, each dive growing in speed. He could feel the heat in his loins swelling, burning his insides up as he thrust into her. Paws pulling her head downwards, he thrust up, driving his full length down into her depths and he felt himself erupt.
Jerrell twitched, wincing as Ombwa filled her, gaging she swallowed her throat bulging with him inside. Letting him linger so deep insider her was tense, stars danced before her gaze and her lungs were pleading for air. Still she held on, determined to let him enjoy his pleasure as long as possible. Very slowly, what seemed to be an eternity in waiting, his grip on her hones relaxed and he permitted her to back out.
One, two, three desperate breaths of air later Gerrell managed a smile, her hand moving to wipe at her mouth.
‘It – It must have been some time sense you…’ She trialed off, as he gave her a shove backwards. Tumbling into the grass she was shocked as she felt his member prod the slit between her legs.
‘H- How are you?’
Ombwa merely ginned. Bracing herself, she bit down on her lower lip, expecting him to penetrate her. Yet he did nothing, just loomed over her with that stupid grin on his face.
Then it dawned on her. He was waiting, waiting for her to take the lead now.
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She felt a newfound sense of respect for her husband. Not only was he still willing and capable without having to rest, he chose to give her control over their next phase of love-making. He could have just taken her, as most males of her tribe tended to do believing it was their right to do so. "It might be because the lioness will claw her lover if he is not thoughtful," she thought as she glanced down at his still-erect organ, "or he wants me to be prepared for the spines."
She reached down between her legs and lovingly stroked his member from tip to base with her hooves. He grunted in appreciation but still held back from penetrating her even as she spread her legs to accept him.
"Why do you wait, husband?" she asked. "Can you not see I am ready for you?"
"Are you really? Do you know what will happen if I try to pull out? You will be in excruciating pain because my spines are meant to trigger your ovulation when I withdraw."
Her heart swelled further at his confession. Though he did not show it, he did care for her. She reached up for his mane, grabbing a handful in her hoof and yanked him down so that their mouths met in an ardent kiss. "I know all about the spines," she whispered in his ear, "I have heard tales from the past from previous failed treaties. Our arranged marriage was not the first of its kind. Also, we have treated a few of the females in heat who decided to sneak over for some 'fun' with some of your males. The trick here," she said, trailing her long tongue out to lick his muzzle, "is not to withdraw instinctively. To stay together until you soften. Can you do that? For me?" she pleaded, turning her huge glimmering orbs on him.
Ombwa foundered. Here was his mortal enemy, turned wife, the one who had repeatedly bested him in previous battles, pleading with him. And her eyes. Like liquid pools nestled in a glen as the moonlight reflected off them. How could he not say yes? How could he not give her his heart in return? If she asked him, right now, to take the knife he had knocked away and carve his heart out to please her, he probably would. He shook his head to clear his mind.
"No, she is playing with your mind!" he thought. "She is a witch! She beguiles you with sorcery. She-"
His thoughts came to a screeching halt as a warmth enveloped his member, gripping him like a satin glove as her legs closed around him and locked again in place, preventing his escape.
"Why do you tease me, my husband?" she gasped. "I need this. I want this. I want...you-OHH!" she cried as he began to involuntarily thrust into her, using his powerful legs to drive his hips into the delicious heat that threatened to drive him mad with desire.
Ombwa could no longer control his desire to mate with Gerrell. He clasped her hooves in his paws above her head as nipped at her neck, her breasts and sought her mouth to fight with her sensual long tongue that had previously been wrapped around his member. He could taste himself on her but he paid that no mind as her flavour overrode everything else. Hers was an exotic flavour of the grasslands mixed with the warm breeze of summer overlaid by the sweetness of honey. The scent of lilacs, wildflowers, and lavender mixed with the tang of salty air enveloped him as her arousal spiked more and more the harder he thrust into her.
"Is that all you can do, my love?" she shakily asked, "I thought you said you wanted to take me as your prey?" she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Growling playfully, he reached back with his strong arms and forcibly unlocked her now weakened-by-desire legs from his back. He flipped her over without withdrawing so that she lay on her front as he lay his weight on top of her, pinning her to the ground.
"As you wish...my Queen," he smirked, whispering hotly into he rear as he lifted her rear. "I hope you are prepared to be here for some time," he snickered as he gently raked his claws across the marks he had left earlier, causing her to shiver in pleasure.
"What do you mean?" she managed to stammer through the fog of ecstasy running throughout her body as he continued to pound away at her. She was barely able to think right now as she was approaching her peak, giving into the forbidden fantasies she had only dreamt of.
"Typical lion males can perform 20 times in a day when in heat. But I've been saving myself all these years and have never had sex with anyone. The record, I heard, is 40. Care...to...try...to...break that recoooooorrrrd?" roaring as he came.
Gerrell didn't answer as the first of her many orgasms overtook her power of speech. "Forty?" she groggily thought. "He's right, I may have bitten off more than I can chew...but I've never backed away from a challenge!" Gasping as Ombwa continued pummel her from the rear, she proudly replied, "If you think you are up to it, my King, so am I."
He chuckled at her cheekiness. "That is the Gerrell that I know...and love," he said as he bent over to lightly bite her exposed neck with his fangs. He felt her quiver as he did causing her to push her rear against him, encouraging him to ride her harder. Needing no further invitation, he held her horns as he continued thrusting into her as he kneeled behind her.
The drums continued pounding, lending itself to a rhythmic beat--not unlike the one laid down by the galley-slave drum beater--that they followed well into the night and into morning. Their mixed howls and cries of passion and bliss reverberated throughout the savannah, competing with the sounds of the crickets and cicadas.
Morning found them both exhausted yet still connected. "My Lord!" wailed Gerrell, "are you ready to submit to defeat?" She was close to fainting but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her do so. Ombwa was likewise ready to drop but he had made a promise that he would not withdraw until he was limp. "If I were," he weakly snarled, "it will not be to you under these circumstances."
She managed to maneuver herself so that she was facing him again, her legs on each side of her hips. She grasped his mane once more so that his broad chest covered her sensitive nipples, reveling in his body warmth. "Then I propose a truce, my Lord," she whispered hotly into his ear. "Bring us once more to our mutual release and we shall make the ground our marital bed for now."
Grunting in agreement, Ombwa gathered his strength for one more climb to the sexual plateau and as he ground his hips into her pelvic region, one paws roamed her breasts, tweaking the highly sensitive nipples while the other snuck in between her legs to caress the engorged nub above her opening. Sensing his climax was near, he intensified his ministrations while he leant over to bite her shoulder to finally mark her without drawing too much blood. This caused Gerrell to squeal as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, coming just as he exploded the last of his seed into her.
As earth finally stopped spinning for the both of them, Ombwa began to lick Gerrell's shoulder to prevent the wound from being infected and to speed up the healing of it. She hugged him closer, trying to snuggle into his chest cavity, seeking his warmth. "Thank you, my Lord," she mumbled just before she fell alseep. Ombwa lay her neck against his shoulder as he clasped his large paws around her, instinctively protecting his mate, as the attendants finally came around and lay a large wool blanket on them while placing pillows underneath their heads.
From afar, the elders of both tribes watched the culmination of the proceedings and congratulated each other for a job well done. "This has been the longest mating ritual in the history of both tribes," said Ngai, the Chief Elder of the Felidae tribe. "Maybe this time we will have an offspring from the union."
"I agree," replied Ajala, Chief Elder of the Bovidae, "it's a good thing our shaman spiked their drinks with enough aphrodisiac to help them get started."
"Wait, your shaman? But we gave instructions to our shaman to do the same!"
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Most of the day was gone by the time Gerrell winked into consciousness. Under her, she could still feel the deep reverberating sound of Ombwa’s breath. Slowly rising on his chest she envisioned those massive lungs filling his breast, then just as she had risen she fell again. Fingers fining a purchase in his thick mane of fur around his neck she held onto him to reassure herself that this was not but a dream. Some time during the day someone had placed a blanket of woven reds and gold over them, the patterns of gazelle and lion woven together alike winked at her in the soft evening light.
One by one her senses began to feed back to her and with it all the aches and pains of their bonding. Gerrell had heard stories of those who had snuck off to the lions den, seeking to prove themselves, though such cases were, almost mythical in rarity. Though the females loved to tell tales of how they mounted the largest of the Simbas and rode them to exhaustion. If her own courtship where any testament to the truth of such stories, Gerrell doubted that any gazelle she had ever known had willingly survived such an encounter.
Her body ached, her back afire from the tears opened in her hide. Even with Ombwa’s cleaning tongue working its magic the wounds were freshy scabbed and worse yet they itched. She would need some purging powder to clean them later lest they become infected. Wishing that the aches that were centralized in her lower back were her worst pains Gerrell’s mind slowly began to process the full extent of what she had commented herself too. The slit between her legs burned red, raw did not begin to describe the sensation she felt with each of Ombwa’s breaths. He was still insider her, her lips hugging him tightly even though he had softened he remained large enough to stay. Grimacing, she drew in a breath to steady herself and with deliberate care slid forwards a fraction of an inch.
She must have cried out or passed out, she could not rightfully tell, as the next memory she had was of Ombwa’s arms around her and of the hollow feeling present between her legs. The warmth of his member had gone, and despite the pain she found herself wishing he had not left her so soon. Eyes moving up to meet his, she waited for him to mock her weakness, comment on how frail her gazelle body was by comparison to his own mountain of muscular might. Instead, his massive paw found her cheek and cupping her face he planted a kiss on her quivering lips.
‘Good morning, wife.’ Ombwa spoke with a careful, measured tone. Did he expect her to try and assault him for what he had done to her? Her knife was gone, lost in the grass far out of reach, and even if she had it in hand she doubted she could even stand to fight him. Instead, she settled on returning the courtesy. ‘Good morning. Husband.’
…
Heaving a sigh, Ombwa let himself fall back onto the grasses. ‘So stubborn.’ He muttered as he closed his eyes. He ached almost as bad as the time he had run across the trail of giant fire ants and had to flee to the river’s water for relief of their bighting sting. His lower back felt as though an elephant had trampled it, repetitively, and his member felt raw and worn. The slightest breeze was enough to cause him to wince, though he was determined to not show any weakness before Gerrell. Cracking his eyes, he smiled, Gerrell who had fainted when she had tried to extract herself, and only with his help had he lifted her from him.
Seeing the fire returning to her eyes, he chose to not press her. In the distance his village called to him, a warm bed, a meal, a much needed bath, and herbs that he knew could be used to ease the pain in his loins. All that he needed to do was make his way down to the village.
For a brief moment he entertained the idea of making Gerrell walk beside him, she had taken the brunt of their passion, she was thinner and far more frail than he, and he knew such a walk would be taxing for her. A good lesson perhaps, revenge for all the indignities she had made him suffer. He could see her hobbling beside him, struggling to keep up with his large strides as he walked proudly into this village, and her new home. There would be no dispute then from the others males of his tribe that he, Ombwa of house Sillar was the superior mammal. There would be no more whispering behind his back about being outfoxed by a mere grass eater. Yes, the whole tribe would see Gerrell for what she was, weak, frail, and…
No. It would be a cruel thing to do, arrogant, unbefitting him. Ombwa let the thought slide away as he looked into those deep green eyes fixed on him so intently. ‘Come, you must be famished.’ He spoke rising to a single elbow as he took her in his arm. With care he wrapped her in the ceremonial blanket not caring if his seed from their joining stained it. ‘Also, I suspect you are in need of…relief.’
He could see her wince at each movement, even though he was doing his best to be careful with her as he carried her like a newborn down the grassy slope. ‘There is no need to leer at me like some viper.’ He chided as he looked down at her. Gerrell, Gerrell the arrogant she should have been called, was glaring up at him, apparently none to happy about being carried. ‘If you want, I could let you walk.’ And me Ombwa the prideful, oh the tale the elders would make of us.
Shaking her head, Gerrell opened her mouth to speak, couched, moistening her throat and tried again. ‘No. But do not think that I could not under my own power. It – it would look badly if I did not allow you to play the part of a noble conqueror, returning with his conquest.’
The smile on Ombwa’s face faltered and he fought with the sudden urge to flick her wrapped form from the blanket, to send her spinning down the slope in payment for her arrogant tongue. Instead he laughed and pretended to miss a step, jostling her in his arms.
‘You did that on purpose!’ Gerrell winced as she craned her neck to eye him ruefully. Ombwa merely smiled and gave her another lesser jostle just to make her face shift from anger.
‘I suppose I could just throw you over my shoulder, carry you like a dignified say of gourds?’ He smiled down at her. ‘Are you always this fiery after you take a man?’
‘You only wish, Husband.’ The fire in Gerrell’s voice still lingered, though some of the playful encouragement he had come to love last night was returning. It was no small secret among Gerrell’s tribe where her desires lay, making it an even greater shock to the women of her tribe when Ombwa had claimed her. Dariia had wept when she found out that Gerrell was to be taken, that had been their last night together sharing a sleeping roll under the stars as they played, giggled, and talked about times now seeming long distant.
‘You remember Dariia, don’t you?’ Gerrell asked, looking down at the alien tribe growing before her. ‘The one with the long horns.’
‘How could I forget.’ Ombwa snorted. ‘You two snuck into my village on my Day of Marking and…and you were very lucky that I could not move.’
Gerrell smiled, remembering that night. Ombwa was sitting back strait as a spear while the females of his tribe worked paint into his fur preparing him for his ascension ritual. This was supposed to be time he would spend reflecting on what it would mean to become the chief’s successor and his new responsibilities to his people. Instead, Gerrell, and her accursed shadow had slipped into his tent and out of sight of his tribe’s mates had begun some of the most provocative display of intimacy that had left him hard for nights afterwards.
‘For a moment, we thought you would.’ Gerrell shifted in his arms. ‘She was the one who finally persuaded me to leave. She seemed to think that you were going to bound from the tent forgoing the ritual and, do less than pleasant things to the two of us.’
‘She was right.’ Ombwa grunted as he moved to the perimeter of their village. ‘For a second I considered it, springing up, I could see myself doing so, the clay jars shattering on the floor, their paint splattering my feet as I bound the distance that separated us –‘
‘Ouch!’
Tensing, Ombwa realized how hard he was squeezing Gerrell. ‘My…Apologies. Wif… Gerrell.’ He drew in a deep breath, calming himself. The old outrage no longer simmered as it did in him, but he did not like where this conversation was leading. ‘You two were – intimate.’
‘I was always an odd one.’ Not looking at him, Gerrell nodded. ‘The Tribesmen knew, though chose to ignore it. They never suspected that you would choose me as your mate. You being a male and the chiefs named son at that.’
Ombwa was silent as he looked down at her, Gerrell his wife, bound now to him with their ancient custom. Still his heart was burning in his chest. Was he jealous? Gerrell must have seen the look in his eyes, as she added hastily. ‘There was no other.’
Pretending to not understand he grunted and resumed walking. ‘What?’ he hoped he sounded casual.
‘No other.’ Gerrell repeated. ‘And I was not…inclined to take a male to my bed.’
‘And yet you were all to eager to take me.’ The words came out a little harsher than he had intended, but he felt stung none the less by her confession. Craning her head to meet his gaze, Gerrell fixed her eyes on his predatory leer.
‘I did not take a male as if I did, I would have been made his property.’ She leered, her own accusation slowly rising to the surface. ‘Is that what you are going to do with now that our ‘Truce’ is over?’
Ombwa was quiet for a time, choosing his next words very carefully.
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"If I were the vengeful, spiteful leader that you make me to be," Ombwa said slowly, "then, yes, I would. I would put a leash on you and make you walk behind me, hooves bound behind you and with a ball stuffed in your mouth so that you could only speak when I allowed it. I would make you pleasure me on your knees while at the dinner table and I would take you from behind whenever I wanted." Feeling Gerrell stiffen underneath the blanket, he suddenly smiled, his eyes twinkling jovially. "But, I am not that kind of mammal and I intend to show you that I have changed since the time I marked you in anger."
He licked her muzzle, seeking her long tongue as he tenderly kissed her. Gazing into her eyes once more, he made her a promise.
"By the customs of our tribe, the female is her mate's equal in every way. She is independent of him yet the two work together to bring peace, harmony and provide for the tribe. Although you are a different species, you exhibit the qualities of a lioness. Maybe that is why I am attracted to you? Who knows?" shrugging his shoulders as he made his way into their village. "What is evident is that I would be a fool not to treat you as my partner and as my Queen. And to prove to you that I am sincere in what I say..." he suddenly stopped in the middle of the village and set her down so that she stood on her own. He gathered her up into his strong arms and embraced her once more, catching her lips in his as they engaged in a long passionate kiss in front of all who had gathered to watch them. He did not force his tongue down her throat but he was persistent to the point that Gerrell could feel her blood heating up in desire once more the way he dictated the oral dance and felt her hoof moving on their own, reaching out from under the blanket to grab him by the mane and return the kiss with the same ardour.
They stood this way for what seemed an eternity and as they broke away, Gerrell looked into Ombwa's amber eyes and saw no malice or ill-intent in them. She was confused by her body's reaction to his desire as she had previously not sought any males as she found them to have weak, fragile egos. Most males she knew tended to strut about like vain male peacocks. Not the mammal before her. He had freely admitted his weaknesses and yet he had the self-confidence of one who knew himself very well. His strength lay in the fact that he knew how to turn those weaknesses into his advantage. He was just as cunning as she was, which made him all the more interesting. And she hated to admit it but last night's mating ritual had brought her to heights of pleasure she had never known before and she was addicted to him now.
He began to groom her fur with his claws and licked her face, tenderly washing away the tears that had come unbidden. He then suddenly dropped to one knee and took her hoof and placed it on top of his bowed head. Clutching the blanket in amazement with her other hoof, she could not move, aware what this gesture meant.
"I, King Ombwa of the Felidae tribe, welcome you, Gerrell of the Bovidae tribe, as my wife, mate, partner, and Queen," he declared. "You are my equal and as such bear the same responsibilities as I do. We serve our tribespeople, care for them and protect them from all who would do them harm." Standing up, he then placed his arm around his shoulder and spoke to the crowd. "Hear me, citizens, and join me in welcoming your new Queen into our family." He opened his mouth and uttered a mighty roar into the air. He was immediately joined by all those gathered in the square and Gerrell was deafened by the din. After a few minutes, the cacophony died down and Ombwa scooped her up once more and headed for his hut.
"Now they will take you seriously," he said as he slipped inside where a large tub with heated water waited for them. "Hmmm. It's a shame but considering the water shortage, it would not look good to have them prepare a bath twice. Would you consider sharing this with me then?" Ombwa smirked.
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Sort of, Ombwa hates Jerrell for all the malicious pranks she keeps playing on him, huniating him in front of his tribe and mocking his position as Prince. Jerrell, she thinks Ombwa is a brute and just wants to teach him a lesson.
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Nigher did Ombwa, just like Jerrell planned.
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