Chapter Thirteen
Loreleivnna
I’ve never been so furious and so aroused at the same time.
“Don’t worry about your size, Petal,” the peeled centaur continues. “A seasoned centaur can make it fit beyond your wildest fantasies.”
Pikr’s tongue is a vine winding around my core, laced with poison as it lashes me with visions of wet centaur cocks and words only spoken in pleasure houses. Ashamedly, I am as greedy as sponge moss, soaking up every poisonous drop and writhing as they enter my bloodstream.
I had indeed peeked at Cadmynthus’s undercarriage that night in the stables, but I’d seen nothing.
Granted, it’d been dark, but perhaps my kissing wasn’t as skillful as I’d thought in the moment.
Pikr makes it sound like Cadmynthus should’ve been unsheathed and panting with need.
Until now, my sole source of information on the subject was the drawings in explicit books, which are difficult to imagine at scale.
“No response?” he pries with a dark chuckle. His voice drops an octave. “Have you even seen a cock, Princess? Any cock at all?”
We’re far off course, deep in the woods that circle the inner city. At the speed of his gallop, I’m at his mercy. If it were anyone else, I’d be concerned about being kidnapped in the woods with no escape and a male talking dirty to me, but I know Pikr won’t hurt me or force himself on me.
“That’s none of your plucking business,” I grind out.
He nickers. “A shame. The pretty petal wants to see a wet, dripping cock, but has never had the opportunity. What would you do with it, if a centaur’s cock was slick and searching for you?”
At the same time as his filthy question fills my ears, he takes a careless leap, forcing my throbbing clit to brush against the curve of his withers. I groan, a flood of wetness leaking from my pussy.
Pikr hums. There’s a darkness to him now that I’ve never witnessed before, more roguish than the moment we shared in the woods. He’s enjoying the way my body responds to his inappropriate questions despite the hesitations I voice.
This makes me angrier and lustier. He thinks I’m a weak, horny petal he can play with without consequence, so long as he doesn’t actually touch me; but I don’t need experience to know his teasing is borne of lust, maybe even jealousy.
I wrap his long, thick braid around my left wrist, restricting his movements.
With my other hand, I reach around his torso, resting my longest finger below his nipple so that every bump and jostle makes me brush against it.
Going off of the books I’ve read and the way Cadmynthus’s tongue felt on my breast, I can only assume this will affect him in some way.
“Do you really want to know, Barbarian?” I purr.
“Oh, please,” he shoots back, sarcasm the poison now dripping from his tongue. “Enlighten me.”
Another jostle. This time I squeeze my thighs, and stars fall behind my eyelids at the friction. My finger nudges against his nipple.
I picture myself in the stables with a centaur standing over me, but it isn’t Cadmynthus.
“If a long, wet, hard—unnf—centaur cock presented itself to me,” I cringe at my wording, but retain a confident tone. “I would hold it steady and lick up all that slickness.”
I’m withering to know what it would taste like. Tart, like elderplums? Or sweet and earthy, like the sap used in seasonal cider? Or, perhaps it tastes the same as the clear residue on my fingers after touching myself to these very fantasies at night.
“Your hands are small,” Pikr counters. “You’ll need to use both, and still, a centaur’s cock will droop and twitch toward you. What then?”
My thighs squeeze tight, my grip on his hair tugging reflexively. I rock my thighs, rubbing against his curved pelt like a kitten, chasing the friction against my sopping undergarments.
In my imagination, Pikr’s cock fills my hands, the shaft spilling from my grip, slippery with slick. Thanks to my readings, I know centaur cocks are strong muscles, and I picture it jerking toward me, encouraging me to taste the raised ridge surrounding the tip.
“Then I’ll wrap my lips around the head and lick it.” Another jostle, and I moan, releasing his braid to wrap both hands around his middle for support.
Pikr rumbles in argument, sending vibrations through our connection. “Your lips will be stretched. Uncomfortably so, if the centaur is as broad as myself. What then?”
“I don’t mind discomfort.” Again, he takes a stride that makes me slip through the mess I’ve made on his pelt. I bite my lip against a moan that still manages to escape.
“That’s good, for if you ever wish to feel a centaur’s cock fill your tight pussy, you must get used to a stretch. When it’s over, your poor hole will be gaped beyond recognition.”
“Oh,” I whimper. I’ve lost all control of the situation, and I realize I never had it to begin with.
“Don’t worry, Petal. It won’t hurt for long. A skilled centaur will make sure every long drag is nothing but pleasure as it fills you, in and out, carving through your cunt with hot, wet strokes.”
My nails dig into his hard, muscular abdomen. My hips have run away from me, rolling and grinding against his pelt, the heat in my core ready to crash over me.
“Please, Pikr.”
“Please what, Princess Loreleivnna? Are you asking me to lie beneath you in the stable? Do you want to know how my slick tastes, how it feels sliding down your throat?”
Yes, I want to cry. Yes, I want that. But my voice is stuck in my throat as a climax coils around my core like vines, its tendrils rapidly webbing through my body.
“Or,” he continues, and I whimper in anticipation of what he’ll say next. “Do you wish to discover how the air feels against your gaped hole after my seed spills from your used cunt?”
The tension bursts. Sparks of white-hot pleasure fizzle through my senses. I let out a noise that makes birds flee their perches, and collapse forward onto Pikr’s broad, muscular back.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, his stride slow and steady now. “Beautiful.”
Warmth fills my chest anew, heating my neck and cheeks. I liked when he was talking dirty to me, but his adoration is another kind of pleasure.
“Do you feel better?” All of the biting edge is gone from his tone, replaced with a soft, caring smoothness that’s almost worse.
“Yes,” I admit.
My hands tighten around his middle, and I burrow against his muscles, finding them as comfortable as a golden goosefeather pillow.
“Good, because we’ve arrived at the courtyard. I suggest you clean yourself up before we return to your date.”