Page 38 of The Hornet’s Hucow Pet

Now that I’m sufficiently stretched, Zyren’s fingers move to my clit. Far before I feel ready, his steady movements push me into the most intense climax yet.

I can feel every egg as it moves through my cervix, dragging along my inner spots before stretching the muscles of my entrance. Thanks to Zyren’s venom, each sensation is divine.

He keeps my body thrumming through climax after climax. I couldn’t count the eggs if I wanted to—I’m too deeply drowning in bliss and release.

Milk gushes from my tight breasts, joined by surges of venom draining out of me and squirts of my arousal as I squeeze around the eggs, which are now firmer than the fresh one Zyren showed me.

He teases me by removing his hand from my clit.

I whine needily, then cry out as Zyren’s mouth closes around my nipple and his hands knead into my chest.

My breath heaves with overwhelm, and the sensation of Zyren sucking at my tit soon sends me tipping into another orgasm.

I manage one last coherent thought before my mind blanks out with pleasure:

Every aching day of my life has been worth it, for this.

CHAPTER 12

ZYREN

What is this strange and wonderful creature, and what have I done to earn the blessing of her presence?

Stars above, she’s incredible.

The only thing more glorious than her full of milk and eggs for me is her gushing them all over the floor.

I suck greedily at her breasts, kneading and pawing. What composure I can muster is quickly shattered by her next wave of pleasure. The more time our consciousnesses spend in proximity, the more naturally they attune to each other.

Each of our sensations feeds into the other, and together our arousal builds past sanity.

My abdomen spasms, leaking cum and fresh eggs on the floor, making room for the milk that I drink and drink. The only reason my stinger isn’t down her throat, filling her stomach with eggs, is that I can’t muster focus long enough to aim.

When her breasts are empty, my mouth finds hers again, devouring. She moans and reaches for me, grabbing my face and hair clumsily as the venom’s hold gradually releases her.

Her climaxes now only bring an egg or two, and her stomach is almost back to its natural rolls.

I break the kiss, massaging her breasts to ease her before sinking my hands into the flesh of her stomach, finding the last few eggs in her womb. The hucow transformation has made her tissues exceptionally elastic, but they will still need a few hours to recover fully from such a large brood of eggs.

I press the eggs downwards, and she cries out at the sensation of her cervix stretching. I work two eggs out like that before another powerful orgasm ripples through her, contracting the muscles under my hands. Between the strength of her climax and the precise pressure from my hands, her womb empties.

Nova floats in the afterglow, exhausted, unable to do anything about the last egg still nestled in her cunt. I reach inside, and she moans with pleasure at the stretch when I pull it out.

The mess of fluid and eggs—both fresh and incubated—will have to wait.

I scoop Nova’s limp body into my arms and carry her to the hot spring.

The healing waters wash her clean and ease the weight she’s carried so well. I pull her to my chest, massaging her plush flesh. I could spend my whole day with my fingers buried in her like this, or in her cunt, or in her mouth…

Her steady, peaceful breath is sweet music. Then a sour note sounds—the first hint of pain as the venom wears off. I encourage her breathing to mimic mine, and I keep her asleep like that as long as I can.

When I can no longer prevent her from stirring—moaning in pain as she does—I sing to her.

She hovers on the edge of sleep, on the balance between pleasure and pain.

Finally, I can no longer counteract the latter.

Nova whimpers awake, clinging to my chest, and I hold her tightly.