The Phoenix and the Griffin

When her strength returned, Amaras drew her into the sword ring.

“Now, you will show me what you know feleség.”

Phaila swung her sword loosening her right arm, took it in her left and repeated the exercise.

“Come for me,” he beckoned.

Phaila flicked her sword between them, and away to her left covering her body as she closed the distance between them. Amaras swiped at her right shoulder. She spun left, crashing her blade against his and rolled her back across his, dropped to one knee and laid the flat of her sword against his calf. Amaras swung his weapon back and knocked the blade from her hand. She stood shaking, clenching and unclenching her fist.

He waited as she retrieved her sword. She twirled her sword in her right, working to diminish the vibrating pain.

“Again.” He charged her forcing her backward, frantically parrying his strokes. Finally, spinning away to stare breathlessly. “Good,” Amaras nodded, “You are strong.”

“Thank you,” she answered with mock hauteur.

“He charged. This time sword slung low. Phaila ran to meet him; her posture mirrored his. Their blades flew up between them, and they crashed together. Amaras grabbed her collar and slung her from him. She kept her feet. “That was foolish, you are not that strong. Try again.”

Phaila growled frustrated and swung her sword as she vented. She rolled her head back against the tenseness, took the sword in a two handed grasp.


She charged him, brought her sword down. Amaras blocked, and she veered away out of his reach, circled slowly. She swung left, right, up, nicking his upper arm. She paused, lips parted. Amaras rushed her. She lifted her blade to take his repetitive, chopping assault and again spun away. Her arm ached. She switched the sword to her left hand. He motioned her to come. She stepped closer and swung overhand. He took her blow, potent still, he smiled, grabbed her wrist and knelt, bowing her backward over his knee and held her hands over her head. She looked up at him angrily.

“You quit.” He panted into her face, and looked down her arched body. “This is a very interesting position you are in, kedevelt,” Amaras smiled a wolfish grin, “I claim you my captive and will have my way with you.” He shook her left hand, “Let go the sword, griffmadár.”
“No.”
Amaras blinked, “No? You have never told me no.”
“No,” a faint smile curled her lips.
“Ah,” he nodded and withdrew his leg, dropping her on her back in the sand of the ring.

He fell across her, wrested the hilt from her hand as she dug her heels into the sand, trying futilely to buck his heavy body from hers. Amaras held her wrist and reached down between them, stripping at the lacings of her breeches, ducking his head against her ribs as she rained blows down on his back. He worked his hand down between the material and her skin, through the patch of springy fur and slid a finger into her. She gasped, arched against the hand. He pushed it in her deeper and attempted to kiss her. She rolled her head away. With a growl, he withdrew the finger and she resumed her pummeling of him as he worked at the lacings of his own trousers. He pulled her hand down, twisted it behind her back and flipped her on to her stomach. Straddling her legs, he yanked her breeches down baring her haunches. Holding her arm behind her back he pushed gently, leverage to control her.

“On your knees,” he hissed and resumed the upward push of her arm until she leaned on her chest, moved her knees up in an alternating, scooting motion until her hips were elevated. He nudged her knees as far apart as the fabric of her clothing would allow and taking his twitching cock in his hand rubbed against her, opening her and thrust forward. He let go of her arm, and tangled his fist in her hair, pulled her head back, while keep her chest pinned to the ground.

“Be still,” a menacing whisper and he dug his free hand into her hipbone. He withdrew to the cap of his length, and plunged forward eliciting a pained cry from her, and from himself. Again, he slammed against her hips with a loud smack, relishing the chafe of her skin against his, the sight of himself gliding in and out of her, now glistening wet. He sank in her depths, undulated his hips, his scrotum tightening; the two egg-shaped receptacles drew up against his body painfully. He groaned, breath shuddering, hissing over his teeth he increased his tempo, driving her forward with his battering. She cried out again, pushed back into the assault. Her muscles rippled powerfully, contracted on the span of him, and she uttered a moan, broken by soft, panting grunts against his onslaught. He pummeled her, pulled her head back, and snarled a plea for release. She shifted her thighs apart, strained against the fabric binding her knees; his snarl broke into a throaty roar as he pulsed his seed into her, clinging to her hip; whipped his head back. Pleasure snatched his wind and strength; he leaned weakly over her. He sat back on his heels, pulling her with him, let go of her hair and ran his hands over her back, traced over the curve of her flank to run his fingers against her swollen, sodden entrance impaled.

~~~~~~~
In their rooms, she examined the cut she had inflicted. Not so deep for stitching. She frowned and chewed her lower lip. She walked with a slight limp to the bath, Amaras watching guiltily. He should not have given in to such an urge. Rough enough with her in bed without resorting to mutually agreed pseudo-rape on the sand of the sword ring. The desire to hurt her had returned with a vengeance and blackened his heart. She unleashed the existing violence with her willful assent; stroking the rough beast in him, she slipped the collar, and waited for his onslaught.

He sat scowling, pulled his face to a neutral expression when she returned with their aid kit.

She dabbed a stinging antiseptic on the cut, Amaras covered her hand and looked up searching her face. She gave him a slight smile. Did she understand then, the fleeting, haunting desire to punish himself, and her for doing what others could not? Perhaps she kenned that to give him this want diffused something even blacker.

He pulled her into his lap, held her tightly.