Page 176 of The Knucker King

“You are already mine,” he growled, “and I am already yours.”

“Please, my King,” she practically wept, gripping his horn base. “Rut me. No more careful, no more cautious. Fill me up, put your Knuckerling in me.”

If Trewoofe were being honest with himself, he enjoyed her shameless begging. He loved he had teased her to the point that all she wanted was to rut, to mate, to have his Knuckerling, and be his. He would not give her a youngling now, of course, that would have to be discussed when they were not in the throes of passion.

Finally, having enough of his games, she rolled her hips up his cock. Her wet centre smeared his pubic hair, soaking him further. Trewoofe let out a groan at her wanton movements. He propped himself on his elbows and watched her breasts bounce as she rutted him. His tongue snapped out to roll a nipple between his forks. On impulse, his thumb travelled down, remembering how sensitive she was. Trewoofe circled her swollen bud with languid sweeps.

She came.

Hard.

Avice clamped down on him as she keened his name. He watched – rapt – as her wet, pink mouth dropped open, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she bucked up. The thin threads of his self-control frayed. There would be no more careful or cautious. If Avice wanted him to rut her, he would, and hard.

Trewoofe licked up her neck and panted heavily into her ear. “I am going to rut you now, is that alright?”

She could not speak but whimpered and nodded in response. When she opened her eyes to look at him, Trewoofe could tell she was not quite there. She was riding the waves of the climax he had given her with his teasing. Would she finish again as he released inside her? Nature’s blessing, he hoped so.

Trewoofe drew all the way out of her, his tip notched at her soaking, pulsing entrance. He slammed back in with a grunt. Avice gasped as he lifted her off the flowers with the force of his thrust. He paused, watching her flushed faced for any sign of pain or doubt. Her glazed eyes met his and she nodded eagerly. She squirmed against him, her channel clamping down around him. It was as though she were trying to extract his seed from him. He was already leaking droplets inside her, not that anything was needed to ease his way. She was drenched and welcomed him eagerly. A final testing thrust, lifting her delectable rear from blossoms, and he knew he would not hurt her.

The fraying threads of his self-control snapped.

Trewoofe set a punishing pace.

There were only her keens and moans as she shifted back and forth across the blooms. He rutted her so hard she would slip from him, and he had to grip her in place. Fastening her to him in way that nothing would separate them until they were both satiated and spent. His little witch felt like paradise. With every thrust, the pressure at his core built.

Trewoofe’s hands were everywhere: squeezing her breasts or waist or hips hard, and tracing over her pearlescent scars. His claws dimpled her skin, leaving tiny red marks. When he did, he would lap at her, healing any bruise he inadvertently left. He would never hurt Avice, and she clearly adored how he rutted her. Trewoofe knew he was safe to be more Knucker-like in their mating. Every time their eyes met, he thought he would release more of his spend then and there. The sight of her so lost in his cock, his tongue, his claws, his lips and his fangs, had him dancing on the cliff edge of climax.

Trewoofe slowed down. Wanting to savour the primal slap of their bodies as they learned each other’s flesh. Avice, quivering and keening, reached to massage his horn bases and rattle his shells. She tugged at his scalp and trailed down his jawline. Struck by playfulness, Trewoofe nipped at her fingers. She squealed at that but was shocked to silence as he sucked at the tips. Her centre clamped down around him, and Trewoofe grunted, his rutting becoming more haphazard.

Avice could not take his eyes off the sight of him suckling her fingers. “It is like what you did to my bud,” she croaked.

Her gaze flicked towards his hand that was occupied by palming a bouncing breast. She grabbed his wrist, making him slip heavily onto her, and took his clawed fingers into her mouth. Tingles shot from his hand, and straight to his core. Trewoofe did not know so many places could add to pleasure when he wore his human skin. He was flush against her. Every soft and sweeping curve rubbing against his scarred torso. He had been concerned he may be too heavy for Avice, but she did not seem to mind, and instead, sucked greedily on his claws.

It reminded him of when she sucked insatiably at his cock, and he told her so. “I love the way you do that,” he praised, thrusting away at her tightening flower. Avice murmured around his fingers, eyes wide for more exciting words. Trewoofe was all-to-happy to give them to her. “You fit me flawlessly. So wet, so soft. You take me so well.” He licked a stripe from her collar bone and up the sweep of her neck so he could whisper into her ear, “You are so precious, so perfect. You are my Lady, my Queen.”

She gurgled around his fingers. Avice bucked harder back into his thrust, trying to take more of his cock, even though he was already completely buried within her. Trewoofe chuckled at her hunger and relished the way her lower belly bulged when he slammed into her. He pulled his fingers from her mouth – much to her squeaking protest – and shoved his hand between the press of their writhing bodies. He was teetering on the edge of climax and knew he could not hold back for much longer. He was determined to make Avice finish again before he rutted himself into oblivion.

His little witch seemed to realise this was his goal. “I do not think there will be another.”

He shifted his gaze from the squash of their bodies to meet her face. “May I try?”

She licked her lips. Sweat and saliva was smeared down her chin, and all over her flushed breasts. Nature help him, Trewoofe wanted to consume her whole.

“You may,” she replied with all the dignity of the Queen she was.

Trewoofe flashed her a devastating grin. “All I wish to do is serve you.”

He wriggled his hand down the rest of the way, and there he found his prize. He continued his thrust and circled. Avice let out a squeal and rolled her hips up into the pressure. Trewoofe nearly finished as her face scrunched and she let out a not-so-dignified wail. Her flower clamped around him so hard, it nearly hurt. He watched with rapt attention as every part of her quivered, and her fingers gripped his shoulders.

“My King, I am—”

“As am I,” he puffed.

The overflowing pleasure he had been battling back finally burst free, pouring ecstasy into his limbs. All the way from his nape to his toes, he grew tense as he spilled, filling Avice to the brim with his spend. Eventually, his chaotic thrusts teetered out. He panted and puffed on top of his soul-bound, who still throbbed and clenched around him, wringing every last drop of seed from his leaking cock. He looked down at Avice. She was smeared with a combination of his and her saliva, sweat, and pollen. Her skin was delightfully rosy, and her black hair spread across the blooms. Her eyes fluttered closed, completely satiated and languid.

She was perfect.

He dropped his head to rest a moment, settling his face into the sweep of her neck.