Chapter 2: Osa’s perspective

The night air was a silken cloak against my skin, the stars my only audience. Each step through the tall savanna grass was a whisper, a secret shared with the earth. The delicate chime of the bells on my ankle was the only music, a rhythm for the hum of my own blood. I breathed in, deep and slow, letting the cool air cleanse me. This was my time. My darkness.

My Iro, a mere whisper of fabric, swayed around my hips with every movement, its hem brushing my calves. It felt like a lover’s ghostly touch, teasing the bare skin of my thighs, my backside, the exposed mound beneath. The breeze caressed my stomach, tracing the inward curve of my waist. My small, firm breasts were barely constrained by my backless top. I wanted to feel everything tonight. Everything.

I stopped where the energy felt right, a subtle pull in the pit of my stomach. My dance began as a gentle sway, a slow awakening of the muscles in my core. My hands reached for the moon, fingers curling as if to pull its light down to me. The rhythm rose from the ground, thrumming through the soles of my feet, up my legs, settling in the cradle of my hips. My head fell back, my spine arching, a supplicant to the sky.

My own hands became my first partner. I trailed my fingertips down my throat, over my collarbones, feeling the rapid flutter of my pulse. They skimmed the sensitive skin of my stomach, dipping just below the waistband of my Iro to tease the neatly trimmed curls. A soft moan escaped me, lost to the vast night. I arched again, my back bowing, and my hands found my breasts, squeezing the firm flesh, my thumbs circling the hardened peaks of my nipples through the thin cloth. The sensation was a direct line of fire to my core.

I was lost in the worship of my own form, in the sheer power of being a woman. Tears of awe welled in my eyes. My smile was for me alone. I was beautiful. I was alive.

My hands slid lower, desire a throbbing drumbeat. I pushed the soft fabric of my Iro aside, my fingers finding the slick, swollen flesh beneath. My nails scraped lightly over the hood of my clit, and a jolt of pure pleasure made my knees weak. I spread my feet wider, hiking the skirt up around my waist, baring myself completely to the night. I was dripping, my nectar coating my inner thighs. I brought a glistening finger to my lips, tasting my own salt and sweetness.

Then I rode my hand. Two fingers plunged into my aching heat, my hips rocking against them, matching their rhythm. The pressure built, a tightly wound coil deep inside. My cries were not silent now; they were raw, primal things torn from my throat as my orgasm ripped through me, a blinding flash of white-hot release that left me trembling. I collapsed forward onto my hands and knees, panting, my inner muscles still convulsing around my own fingers.

The ground shuddered.

A deep, resonant vibration travelled through the earth, up through my palms and knees. I raised my head, my breath catching. The air changed, charged with a new energy, carrying a scent of ozone, of storm, of wild, untamed magic. My skin prickled. My eyes were drawn to the hill.

And he came.

Over the crest he strode, a living shadow against the starry sky. Power emanated from him in waves. His charcoal grey coat shimmered, his jet-black mane and tail flowing like liquid night. And his horn—pitch black and deadly sharp—gleamed with an otherworldly light. A unicorn. A real, breathing unicorn. My heart stuttered, then hammered against my ribs.

He skidded to a halt before me, rearing up, his massive hooves cutting the air inches from my face. The sound he made was not a horse’s whinny but a deep, challenging call that vibrated in my bones. He circled me, his dark, intelligent eyes missing nothing. I slowly rose to my feet, my body still humming from my own climax, now buzzing with a new, terrifying excitement.

He pressed his muzzle into my waiting palm. His lips were soft, nibbling with a curiosity that stole a surprised giggle from me. He nudged me, his neck curling around my body, his hot breath gusting over my bare arms and back. I reached up, my touch tentative at first, then more confident. I stroked the fine bones of his face, my fingers travelling up to wrap around his horn. It was warm, thrumming with a low energy that tingled up my arm. His forelock was impossibly soft.