When the Hound met the Shadow’s Daughter
He was not
a boy
He was not
yet a man
Yet he
learned a man’s ways from Scathach’s get.
When the
Hound crossed the Sword
Bridge
He had
never met his match
His
strength was unrivaled
Yet his
arms were like water before the arms of Uathach
She was a
princess of the Sidhe
Tall as a
rowan
Hair like
a raven
Lips red
as berries
Skin white
as cow’s milk
None could
resist her,
no more could the Hound.
His golden
limbs
His mane
of hair
His shining
eyes
His pride
and laughter
While the
Shadow taught him war by day
By night
her daughter
made the Hound her toy.
Her
graceful round arms like smooth hard oak,
Her
shapely thighs like mountain stone.
Greater
only than her strength, her lust
Breasts
round as apples pressed to his lips
Lips soft
as flowers, drinking his manhood
Manhood
engulfed by her crushing sweet cunny
Cunny
above him, receiving his worship.
In the
combat of loving, she was the victor,
The Hound
her plaything, held ‘tween her thighs.
Mighty
arms helpless
Pressed to
the green earth
Ridden and
ravished
Sweet was
his service to the Shadow’s Daughter.
This was
the Hound’s secret
In the
Fortress of Shadow
He was the
servant
Of the
lust of the sidhe maid.
In his
short hero’s life
He never
forgot
The
strong, sweet love of Uathach.
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