Cobra Bubbles Knuckles Novels & Stories

Breanna didn’t answer immediately, rather with a deep exhalation, she took another bite of her burger and chewed slowly. She swallowed after a while, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “No!,” she said finally, her voice cool. “Blade Knuckle is a precision psychopath—a blade across the throat. No wasted effort and a remarkable clean escape.” She adjusted the focus of her binoculars, her pulse steady and calculating. “This? This is rage.” Breanna continued, voice almost detached. “Whoever did this used their fists. The face is completely caved in. Blade Knuckle’s style is always contracted—no personal feelings attached.”

Apparently, that gene had skipped a generation. While Bobby probed her butt with his tongue, Cassandra reached back and took one of his hands from her ass. She brought it to her mouth and drooled the throat-slime she'd been holding into his palm. Absorbed with tongue-fucking her rosebud and with the anticipation of sticking his cock-bareback!-into the tight little hole, he had forgotten all about that collected lube.

I wouldn't be surprised if several of the bones in my knuckles are cracked. Nino circled me. "You're good but you seem a bit rusty." Understatement. I am rusty. "Your kicks are strong," he assessed. "But you need to gain more muscle in your arms. You punched me a while ago and it tickled." "My punches don't tickle," I defended. "They tickle, Dylan and I almost heard it squeak too, like a rubber duck." My teeth clicked in annoyance. I'll show you.

He shouted. I spun just in time to see one of the bikers lunging at me. This one had a shaved head with a dragon tattoo circling his scalp. He was easily four times my size, and looked as if he could eat me in one bite. Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed at me and bellowed, “You hurt my pumpkin’!” I looked down at Brass Knuckles who was currently taking a nap with a bar stool and smirked, “Your pumpkin should learn how to catch better.”

15. At the sight of trouble, the worker in coveralls drops his hose and runs for the kitchen door. Angry Fox socks his rifle to his shoulder, aiming at that fleeing head, but Pink Bunny shoves the barrel aside with an oversized paw. Pink Bunny says something muffled by plastic and fake fur. Angry Fox shouts back, louder but equally unintelligible, before ripping the barrel from his friend’s grip. The worker disappears into the building, the door slamming behind him. The forgotten hose rolls across the concrete, spurting water.

"This is our barbed spike. It's a little different from the barbed creatures on this planet—ours is made of a stronger material and can cut through most prey or enemies." "It looks like a thin sword." Cleona squinted. "Is that what you use for killing?" "Sometimes." Bobby raised his arm and turned his wrist. "It's very crude and is usually our last defense. A 'Do or Die' weapon." He pointed the said weapon at Galene. "I can't feel hers beneath the skin—except at the elbow, so I think her spike has snapped off—or was sawn off. That's quite a feat—this is ten times stronger than bone. It also doesn't grow back." Bobby shot Galene a sympathetic glance.

"Kyve, hold him down" "Sure thing boss" The big one said. Bobby automatically retaliated and swung his bat at Yammy, but he easily dodged and punched Bobby in the face. "Too easy" Kyve chuckled. He picked Bobby up and Ranz came and grabbed the other side of Bobby. They made him kneel down in front of Joshua who had his gun pointed and ready.

Playing with the tips of the knives when he was finished cleaning each one. "This," he started holding up the first knife Colby had seen him clean, "is very special. The blade slices through the skulls of animals easily. It would be as easy as cutting…" He trailed off for a moment and Colby figured he was trying to find the human word for it so he would understand. "Butter," he finally sated, "if it were to cut you." The piercing look in Cobra’s eyes as he informed Colby of that disturbing information was enough to make the young male shit his pants. As a precautionary measure, to make sure such a thing would not happen, Colby tightened up his sphincter.

With a powerful roar, Baby Robbie glided over to the center of the iron chain. The villagers were shocked when they saw the buckle. “Attaboy. How did he know that he can use a buckle?” One advantage of using a buckle was that it could prevent Baby Robbie from falling into the abyss, which was also tantamount to giving wings to a tiger. Baby Robbie glided to the center of the iron chain and grabbed the chain that he had buckled onto with both hands without warning. He then climbed up at the speed of a leopard. In the blink of an eye, he had already flipped his way to the iron chain and stood on top of it.

And then he’d crossed his skinny-ass arms across his fuckin’ Metallica tee like he was ready to throw down or something. Punk ass poser. His knuckles hurt. He opened his eyes and held his hand in front of his face. Yeah, he’d punched something. Fingers scraped. Knuckles swollen. Black and blue and sorta yellow and, fuck me, red? Broken? He flexed his fingers. Nah, this was a wood punch, not concrete. Not flesh or bone. Wood. “It’s shit,” he’d screamed at Spike, his fists clenched. Fuck counting back from ten. “It’s fucking shit, man. I just want it fixed. It’ll take two fuckin’ seconds!”