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And it is as at some point during this missionary mounting that Antoine's knot actually swells. Antoine cannot remember nor care when, as the process was interlaced with the happiness and delight that comes from watching the want and desire on Sally's face and feeling the closeness and correctness of their joining. He doesn't speak, for what does he have to say? At this moment, they are not themselves but all the sensations around them. They are the palace and the bed, the cave, and the flower. They are each other, and they are no one.

It is wonderful.

She wraps her legs around him, pulling him in, though it is futile. Now that he's swollen and knotted in her, there's nowhere for either of them to go. So, they either hold onto each other as he ensures she's fully impregnated, or they sit there and cuddle, and who the fuck wants to cuddle when connected to the hottest individual either one of them has seen?

With a snarl, he lowers his face against hers, mashing their mouths together. Awkwardly, their mouths smack, and their tongues interact, all while they press their chests against one another and rub fur upon fur. Clothing is cast aside, but neither knows when or how, but the why, oh, the why. That need to feel nothing but themselves as they touch and grope and fuck--it is overwhelming.

She grips his hair, and he gropes at her ass. She clings her legs against him, and he fucks her as hard as he can with that knot keeping them together. Just that tip banging on and on at that same spot is enough to send Sally spiraling into delightful gasps each time. Of course, the length is perfect for striking her repeatedly at her most sensitive locations.

Her eyes roll back, and her vision blurs. She sees stars and feels eternity creeping upon her as Antoine prepares to grant her the gift of la petit mort.

Antoine breaks the kiss. It's too much for him to handle. The build-up and the excitement send him rearing again, telling the whole town again that he is here and this is his woman, his mate! His howl reverberates all through him, wavering only because, at the same time, he reaches his climax.

It is a series of hot pumps that splash and spill throughout Sally's starving snatch. And her cervix slurps it up, filling her womb with the batter necessary to put inside her the pups she so desperately craves. And the thought and feeling of carrying his children send her over the edge, her body contracting and milking him for every last drop of semen he has.

His arms quake, and he collapses upon her, groaning in the first refractory exhaustion that hits him. She wraps her arms around him, pulling his face close toward her breast, practically burying him. Her gaze is one of partial fulfillment and partial need. Her hunger cannot be satisfied, and she kisses him on the forehead, ready to show him how much more she can handle.

The question then turns to this: is he able to handle more himself?"

She reaches over her shoulder, her hand fumbling over the nightstand, slapping at the wood in loud and clumsy mind-addled thumps.

He lifts his face from her wonderful mounds, letting out confused puppy-like whimpers before he sees the object of her desire--the flower.

She swipes it off the bed and practically throws the thing into his face, giving his sniffer a long hit of its intoxicating pollen.

Antoine knocks it aside, pushing himself up to a seated position, and lifts Sally up alongside him, his arms strong, his grip and his hold stronger. He sits her upon his lap, growling as he furrows his brow and looks upon him. "You think I need that scent to perform?" he asks. "Non... I shall fuck you however and whenever I want on my own terms, my princess!"

She grips his shoulders, riding that cock still inside her, rolling her hips, biting her lips, fluttering her eyes in a playful tease.

He snorts, closes his eyes, tilts his neck back, and lets out a soft, long moan. Perhaps, for the time being, he should let her take the lead while he recuperates...

The commotion around the palace has people asking a lot of questions. These questions make their way back to the Brain Trust's laboratory, where the scientist is scrolling through notifications of gossip revolving around the royal family. She smirks as she scrolls through, scribbling notes on a pad next to her. "Yes, your highness, it's working quite admirably so far. I can't wait to see when the next part of the flower's effects kicks in."

Sally lays on the bed, her legs wrapped around Antoine, her heart beating to the same frantic rhythm as his.

Antoine smacks his lips, panting in hoarse breaths, his throat rough from the loud howls. He leans in, nuzzling against her, kissing her on the cheek, forehead, and lips. "My princess," he huffs out. "This is... incredible... more than... more than in the cave."

"We don't need the cave," Sally says, pressing her nose against his and rubbing gently. "We don't even need the flower... except to give us an edge."

"Oh, oui," the coyote says, running a hand through the princess's hair. "Perhaps just a sniff here and there, or perhaps a perfume to use to help rile up the senses, non?"

"That sounds wonderful," Sally says, biting her lip.

"In fact, let me go get that right away!" he pulls back, only to feel the tug of his knot stuck inside her. He collapses back, hands on either side of her, chuckling. "Oo, la, la... I have forgotten that we are stuck together."