52. Bikar
BIKAR
My mate’s brown eyes are shining with a mischievous gleam, and I do not know what she has planned for me. Her scent is starting to bloom with arousal, and I can feel myself getting hard in response.
“What are you plotting, my mate?”
Blinking up at me innocently, she tries to play it off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Leaning down, my lips brush her as I whisper. “Little liar. Your scent gives you away.”
Shoving me playfully, her laugh echoes off the cleansing room walls. “That’s cheating!”
“Is not.”
Rolling her eyes at me is her only response.
Grabbing me by the hand, she leads me back into our bedroom before pushing me down into one of the chairs tucked against the far wall.
A slight frown creases her brows, and she stalks off to the bed, muttering about giant chairs and height differences.
Bemused at her actions, I wait patiently until she gathers up several pillows and pads back over to me.
“Gonna need you to scoot forward for me.”
Silently doing as she asks, the corner of her plush lips curls into a smile, and she stacks two pillows on top of one another. Sinking to her knees, she reaches for the clasp of my trousers and pulls my hard, leaking shaft from them.
“Oh wow, your mating collar has a bronze sheen to it. It’s the same color as my eyes!” Bambi exclaims, those same eyes peering up at me in wonder.
Her discovery of my altered mating collar deepens the scent of arousal, which, in turn, makes me hard as stone.
“Okay… I’ve only ever read about this, so let me know if I do anything wrong.”
Before I can utter a reply, she draws the head of my shaft into her mouth and sucks. Staring down at her bobbing head is a carnal sight I never thought to experience. Ruk females have sharp teeth and tusks. This is not something my people do.
Gathering her hair up in one hand clears my view while the other cups her jaw, encouraging her to take more of my length into her mouth.
“What a good mate you are. Relax your jaw and throat while you breathe through your nose. You can take more of me.”
She immediately tries to follow my instructions, and gags on my shaft. It is one of the most erotic things I have ever witnessed, and I wish for her to repeat it.
“Try again, Bambi. Be a good mate and try again.”
Bambi doubles down, and more of my throbbing member slips into her mouth.
My low groan causes her eyes to pop open, and the arousal I see in their watery brown depths is almost my undoing.
Gently easing my pivvy out of her mouth, I lean down and grab her under the arms and haul her into my lap, ignoring her yelped, “I wasn’t finished! ”
She goes silent at my stern, piercing look. “Yes, you were.”
Running my fingers across the well of her cunny, I’m relieved to find that she is soaked with slick. Without preamble, I position her over my rod and steadily impale her.
“Oh fuck, sugar. That feels so good.”
Dropping her head back exposes her throat in a blatant display of submission, pleasing a base instinct I did not consciously know I possessed.
Palming her arse, I show her the motion and tempo I want.
The slow drag of her cunny up and down my member is sensual torture, in direct contrast to the fevered, vigorous mating of last night.
This time I make love to my Starshine.
She notices the difference instantly, and offers me a sweet smile.
Thumbing her clit helps me build her up to match my need.
I will not allow my body a release until she has met hers.
Several tics later, her adorable whimpers tell me she is close.
Cunny fluttering around my shaft pulls me over the precipice with her, and we shudder together as our bodies reach their climax.
My pivvy swells inside her again, but the tendril I now know is an ovipositor remains within me.
Bambi cannot get any more bred than she already is… theoretically.
Slumping against my chest, Bambi catches her breath, wiggling this way and that. Without raising her head, she asks. “Bikar, sugar. Is your dick stuck inside of me?”
Huffing out a laugh makes us both groan in reaction. “Yes. Apparently, the ribbed sides of my member swell and lock you to me when we rut.”
Silently debating how I should tell her that we will be parents in roughly seven lunar cycles, I decide to do it fast, like ripping off a plasma-film—my usual go-to tactic.
“Remember earlier when you stated it was good that we do not have younglings yet?”
Leaning back, she looks at me in confusion. “Yes…?”
“As it turns out, that is not entirely accurate. As we speak, you are gestating two of our younglings within your womb.”
“I beg your finest fucking pardon?!”
At least she cannot run away or kick me in the stones again.
It is a small consolation.