Page 24

FENROTHER

A lice shifts under my touch, her breathing fast, then slow, then fast again.

My pizzle throbs in my pants, but my mouth is too occupied with the slit where her pizzle should be.

It reminds me of the time I found the huge honeycomb and ate and ate until my stomach was too full to move.

The sweetness was too much for me to enjoy such a thing ever again.

Until now.

She is delicious, and while I get to eat from her, I can also explore her slit, finding it goes deep into her body, like my anus, only she has one of those too.

One my tail seems like it would like to probe.

My pizzle is more than interested in what I’m doing.

It is hard like before, aching against the fabric of my pants, and it means I have no option but to rock to gain some friction over the tip, to flood my body with all the strange feelings it gives me.

As I clean her up, as I enjoy my work, Alice’s breathing increases, her entire body heaving until, out of nowhere, she grabs hold of my horns and yells, her slit clamping down on my finger, pushing out more of the blood I want to consume, and then pulsing and pulsing as she floods me with more than just the blood.

Something which smells like it was sent by fate.

Something delicious.

My pizzle explodes in my pants.

For a moment, the only sound in the bathing room is one of our ragged breathing as we both attempt to take in the air enough to get our lungs working again.

I lift Alice’s leg from my shoulder, but she struggles to stay upright.

Perhaps this inability to stand is a result of the blood coming from her.

I pick her up, marvelling at the softness of her skin on my scales, and carry her to the bath, ripping her clothing from her body.

It has filled with hot water, and I gently lower her into it before partially shifting into my Wyrm form, the one I usually prefer to bathe in.

I slide in next to her, allowing the warm water to cleanse my pizzle of the mess it made before it slides back into its sheath.

As for my Alice, she will need more cleansing.

“You don’t have to do this, ,” she says, her voice hoarse.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t…”

I swirl the cleaning sponge around her slit before moving it over my sheath to remove any residue.

I like the thought it has been on her and on me.

“Shouldn’t what?” I ask, cradling her body against mine.

Her eyes fall on my sheathed pizzle and she looks at it for a while.

“Is it…where is it?” Alice swirls her hand over the water in the direction of my sheath.

My pizzle pushes at my sheath insistently.

Alice’s eyes widen.

“It’s inside ?” she asks.

“It is in this form,” I respond, puzzled by her reaction.

“Where else do you suggest it should be?”

She makes a slight snorting noise.

“You’re right, where else should it be?” she says, her eyes still on where the tip is protruding.

And I don’t need to piss, so it is a little strange.

“What happens if I touch it?” she asks.

“No one has ever touched my pizzle, other than me,” I say confidently.

“Can I touch it?” Alice asks.

The tip pushes further out.

“Yes.” The word is a hiss of breath.

Her hand slides through the water, and her long pink fingers, magnified under the surface, trip over my sheath.

It’s all I can do not to shove myself into her touch.

Not that it bothers my pizzle.

It happily emerges and puts itself right into her hand.

Alice squeaks. My pizzle has to be wider than her wrist and as long as her forearm.

“Is it…always like this?” she asks.

“It has yet to swell, little mate. But be not afraid. It rarely swells.”

“Does it get...” She swallows hard.

“Bigger when it swells ?”

“It does,” I say proudly.

“Look.” My pizzle bobs in the water, twice the length it was a second ago.

“Your touch did that, mate,” I inform her.

“It only does this when you are close by. And twice now it has produced an emission of great quantity.”