Lust.

The fire raging through his body was too much to quell; Orus abandoned his thoughts of resistance and gave in to the Witch's spell. He gripped the young woman by the bare shoulders and stared into her foggy blue eyes with a defeated expression.

“I... I can make no promises...” he whispered, eyes unable to stay fixed upon hers. Instead they drifted to her glowing body, seeing the gentle curve of her breasts hiding in the subtle shadow of gossamer silk.

Gwyneviere's grip on his chestplate periodically tightened in time with her grinding upon the cold steel plate of his armored knee. He pushed her away and onto the bed, following her down bodily and trying to free himself from his armor at the same time, the need to sate his lust driving him mad.

Her mouth latched onto his, inundating it with low moans of passion. She seemed to care not for anything past the want of pleasure—nay, need for pleasure that the Witch cursed them with. Orus found himself slipping likewise into that madness, unsure if he would ever return.

He soon found the means to strip himself of the obstacles between his and her skin, at least in the most important places. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he stumbled through trying to guide his erect sex toward its goal. Gwyneviere's breasts pressed up against his steel chestplate as she arched her back, letting out a gasping moan at his entrance.

He groaned into the moist skin of her neck as he impaled her hot, slick cunt, breathing her scent. His large form eclipsed her in his position atop her on the bed, which shuddered with every urgent movement they made. Her cries of ecstasy bordered on rapture, until the breathless moment they surpassed that line and her voice was lost in wide-eyed orgasm.

Orus was pushed over the edge as he sighed deeply into the tangle of hair surrounding his face, spilling his seed deep inside Gwyneviere's body and slowing his thrusts to a gentler rhythm. They lay still with heavy breaths for a time, until he rolled partway off her as she quietly eked out small moans.

Not a moment later did the Witch reappear, sauntering in slowly with a satisfied look upon her face. “Excellent work,” she spoke softly. “I'm sure your seed will make for a strong child, Sir Knight.” Her dark eyes fixated upon Gwyneviere's bare stomach as she walked closer.

Orus mustered the energy to push himself up, glaring at the woman in black. He needed the fire to fade from his nerves if he were to have any chance at acting rationally and saving Gwyneviere.