It mattered not. Link was too busy staring at it, at what had emerged from his crotch in a surprising but not sudden progression into excitement, prompted entirely by Zelda. By what he had detected, with his super-canine sense of smell: still absent definition, but not purpose. It was a torrent, a flood, a veritable downpour of spunk, and it was all going into Zelda, being stuffed deep inside her womb, all the more secure for every sequential spurt of seed. A reflex, an instinct, a calling in Link, in the spirit of the sublime beast that constituted part of his being, told him that this was the one. That this orgasm, this climax, this emptying of his furry, fuzzy balls, was going to take. That stuffing Zelda full of his dog spunk, cramming her cunt full of canine cum, was going to breed her.

Gemma Owen: Michael Owen furious after his teen daughter mistaken for OnlyFans model in leaked NUDE pics Her breasts obstructed the return of her cloak to its place because they were utterly uncovered, and unexpectedly massive. Zelda’s chest seemed to shine with a brightness that accentuated the shimmer of her milky-white skin, the weighty, squishy hefty softness of her breasts somehow even more delicately pale than her face. Zelda’s breasts were gorgeously smooth to look upon, with enthrallingly pristine roundness, wide and hefty, and her nipples were ripe and pink, sensitively surrounded by paler areolae that disappeared into the vast plushness of her tits. Framed by her hanging braids, a faint trail of brown brushing the tops of it, Zelda’s chest was an august, stupefying wonder to behold, awe-inspiringly and ideally voluptuous.Before her century of sorrow, though, as well as after, she had had cause to capture the consequences in recorded form, and pass them to a friend—white haired, bespectacled, and shrilly, smugly intelligent—as evidence of her sacrosanct subordination to sordidity, smiling as she escalated their competition from the monsters they so enjoyed to something else entirely. A Sheikah scientist through-and-through, she’d known that her friend wouldn’t have been able to resist a challenge. Zelda had not responded. It had not been her place. Perhaps her silence had been born from shame, or perhaps from shamelessness: she had known what she had had fated for her when she had bared herself for Link. Midna could not demean her now. Two stallions, in particular, rose in her memory’s eye, from that time of elongated tresses. One of pure, stunning silver-whiteness, gentle and calm, a constant companion, embraced and nuzzled and sweetly surrendered to, astride his belly from below as she was mounted and made a mare, a hushed promise of love on her lips as she was stretched, succored and strained in equal near-matrimonial measure. A cherished partner, sweet despite his strength and speed, a perfectly fitting introduction to the strenuousness of being bred by a horse…and reserved for herself alone, despite the temptations otherwise, a devotion rewarded with the sweetest gift any couple could hope for. He had had some idea of what to expect: the hood had obscured the top half of her face, and her high-tied purple scarf had covered her chin, but her mouth and cheeks had been bare, and so Link had understood that the woman before him was in possession of flawless alabaster skin, pale and soft, shining even more brilliantly for the warped light that now surrounded her.

I-I shall presume that you will wish to count to three.” Zelda had gasped, the first words she’d spoken since Link had first knotted her. He had barked, as close to an affirmation as he could offer, and Zelda had nodded. “V-Very well. A-Allow me a moment.” People literally out here trophy hunting animals , simply to brag that they killed that particular animal. That’s ok tho. You have literally made multiple animals go extinct by hunting them. You bring animals deaths , I bring them orgasms. I’m a better alternative. So stfuIn truth, there had been no dog. In fact, there had not been a beast. Not truly. Not really. He had been Link, the hero, in the wolf form that this veil of twilight cast over him, as sentient as when he stood on two legs and thought and spoke…insofar as he did speak, for if he was anything like the other bearers of the Spirit of the Hero, speech came to him infrequently, if poignantly. A gasp, desynchronized from the movement of her lips, and a single tear, purple as amethyst, shimmering and gem-like, beaded at the inner corner of her eye.

But she wasn’t left bereft of the same joy. Being banged in forests, caves, riverbanks, and—her favorite—beaches by snorting, squealing, grunting, pig-snouted monsters, as stupid as they were stinking, as enthrallingly enticing as they were foully filthy, all alongside the Princess herself...it had given the Sheikah slut her own gifts, heavy and swollen, that could at least mirror the Princess’s fecundity, even if she could not match it. Bafflement, and shaken confusion, and a repeated mantra of denial, of delusion, of self-reassurance, that I am Princess Zelda, and I can not have done this. But something special had been won. For this was no vision: it was the present, as she lived it, though she’d foreseen it in that turmoil of prophecy that had engulfed her. But would they feel the same once they knew? Would the people of Hyrule hold Princess Zelda in the same veneration if they understood what had occurred, what she knew?That was not for the present, however. In the moment, Zelda had only been able to hear a breathier, more human tone slip from where Midna had been, as the imp had crooned out a taunt. Her admission that Is it not a wonder that the father of my first child shall be a dog? Is it not a joyous thing that I shall bear your children in such a shape, and I grant you a litter of puppies, rather than a babe? His higher faculties would be nonplussed at best, or horrified at worst…but they would be his, nonetheless, no matter his form. He had always expected his first time would have been as a man, with a woman, and not like this: Zelda was not the only one who’d been inexperienced here, but his bestial reflexes had served him well. It was a furious humping motion, with nothing of the quiet sensitivity and care, or even the measured fury of Link’s Hylian form: the movements were those of a brutish beast, whose sacrosanct nature belied the feral instincts that demanded that he mate. That had told him that before and below him was a bitch, meant for breeding, and that his duty as a dog was to mount and mate with her, and pump her full of puppies, her status be damned.