The Knotty Princes Club: Gilded Sands Pack, Book 2 (Saint Vista Pack Regimes)

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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. Link’s adoration and excitement was palpable, and as his barks turned to yips, and his humping hastened, Midna whined and wrapped her arms around him, embracing him wholly, encompassing him in herself as his throbbing knot threatened to pop inside with every motion. He was getting ever-closer to plugging her full, preceding a pregnancy-inducing pouring of his doggy spunk deep into Midna’s womb.

For a moment, Zelda stood silent, contemplating, almost sounding ashamed of…whatever her cryptic words had signified, her eyes closed as she breathed softly. Link and Midna both looked upon her with bated breath, Link’s growing return to cognition meshing his feral fascination with earnest intellectual curiosity as to Zelda’s words. He wanted to know what she would say. He had heard her. Heard all of what she had had to say. She had made her case in as much earnestness as was possible, with all the will of long-desired satisfaction.He could see Zelda standing before him, proud and tall, impassive beneath Midna’s interjection, and his thoughts grappled with the compulsion tearing at his psyche. And it was right in front of him. She was right in front of him. And trapped as he was in a wolf’s shape, confused as he was by his current circumstances, overwhelmed as he was by the sight of her, Link could not help but be transfixed to a more baffling extent than he otherwise might have. Without knowing himself, his mouth fell open, and a low, throaty pant slipped from between his teeth, wet and hungry, sudden and sharp. And then she had caught herself. Who was she to say that Midna was not right? After all, Zelda herself was a Princess, and here she was, being knotted by a wolf. A sacred wolf, yes, a sacred beast, the entrapped form of the Hero Hyrule despaired for…but a wolf, a dog, a beast nonetheless. Even if her desire to be mounted and mated and bred by a dog had been a quirk of her bloodline, of her heritage, who was she to say that whoever this was would not have the same fascinations? Who was she to say that this farm girl would not welcome being made a dog's bitch? Midna suddenly stiffened, and opened her mouth to speak, and then, unfathomably, thought better of it. Perhaps she valued Zelda’s opinion enough to not spout off the first thing that came to her mind, or perhaps she did not yet know for certain if she knew what Zelda would say, and wished to avoid embarrassment stemming from an incorrect assumption: whatever the case, the end result was Midna remaining quiet, while still hovering with unmistakable discomfort. 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.

Who was Zelda to have the conceit to imagine that Link was not meant to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors and descendants, loving deeply and widely, at least somewhat while in the form of a dog? 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.And why did one word ring out in his mind now, with sudden, sharp, astonishing clarity, screaming true from the scents that poured from Zelda’s uncovered pussy? With a muffled howl, Link’s knot swelled, engorging and throbbing like a balloon, pulsing with heat and energy as he heaved forward one final time. Zelda’s cunt bore down, reflexively objecting to inviting in an even bigger occupier, but Link’s knot could not be stopped, and with a sob of weary delight from Zelda, she gave way. His knot stretched the opening it had just been slapping into, then forced itself inside, popping past her pussy lips with a loud, wet slurp.

What are you doing, puppy?” Midna grabbed his ear in a way that she knew irked him, but Link was still unwaveringly focused on one thing, one object, one obsession. He panted again, still sitting, and when Zelda looked down, below his muzzle, below his broad, furry chest and belly, Link could not contain a high-pitched whine.The scent, the command, the unworded thing that had driven Link to arousal and erection yanked at him from there. From between Zelda’s legs. And as she stood before him, and shrugged off her cloak to let it fall to the floor in a pile, recognition, at last, dawned upon him. A recognition that was tainted with the strangest confusion, and the unwelcome outburst from a familiar annoyance. 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. Although identifying as a dog might exculpate her on the bestiality charge, the surest bet is to identify as a victim. Perhaps it is an inheritance of our divine blood, or the Triforce of Wisdom, but all of my antecedents have been, in the most secret histories of my family, known to possess tastes, or predilections, or interests that...exceeded polite understanding, and comprehension, and thus were better left unheard.”