Matronly Reaper

(Mori, Pregnant, Milking, Musk, Sweat, Anal, Oral)

Mori’s still asleep so you’ve been given time to mill about the house. The floors are clean, the fridge is stocked, and the lawn won’t need any special attention until later in the season. You pour yourself a glass of water and flip on the TV, content to browse whatever’s available until your wife rouses herself out of bed.

The door down the hall lazily swings open and Mori enters the living room. Her eye mask is still half on, lying askew across her face and obscuring her sleepy eyes. Her long, luxurious pink hair is a mess of bedhead and tangles. She yawns into her hand and mumbles out a quick good morning.

It’s hard to pull your eyes away. You remember the first time you met Mori’s parents and her mother, Andorra, had pulled you aside after dinner. Her hand swung a half empty martini round, her breath thick with alcohol.

“You should know something about her, if you’re serious about marriage,” she said, words lightly slurring against one another. She threw her arm around your shoulder like a drunken buddy looking to hit the bars.

“Yes, ma’am. Is there a problem?”

Andorra laughs. “Well, when the two of you get busy and bring another baby reaper into the world. It’s not gonna be easy.”

You had been filled with sudden dread at that comment, fearing a medical complication or family disease.

Andorra leaned in and lowered her voice. You clenched your fist and prepared for the worst. “You’ve seen her chest, right?” she asked, slapping her own impressive bust in case you were hard of hearing. You nodded, confused, and prudently kept your eyes on hers. “Well, if she’s anything like her mother those melons are gonna swell up bigger than her head! I hope you stay fit cuz you might have to carry them for her after nine months!” She let herself go into a drunken giggle and leaned on your shoulder for support.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

Now looking at Mori, you realize her mother had been underestimating her by a country mile. Mori’s proportions were filled out, every excess calorie not going to the baby had found its way to her thighs, ass, and tits.

Her already voluptuous breasts had sailed past any cup size her previous bras offered and no bra in the country could hope to wrangle their weight. They sagged heavily in Mori’s sheer nightgown and pulled the thin straps taut. Mori’s girls, swollen with fat and milk, laid atop her enormous, heavily pregnant stomach, looking less like an idol of music and more like an idol of fertility. The outlines of her big areola peek over the top of the gown as she adjusts the strap for the dozenth time.

You could have spent the rest of the morning staring at her body but she walks towards you. “I got the day off. Wanna watch something?” She approaches the TV cabinet and bends over, shoving her most impressive asset right in your face; her fat fucking ass. Her thick thighs and meaty buttocks were the true casualty of her pregnancy rapid weight gain, filling out in wanton thickness without losing its perfect shape. Part of you wants to dive right in. She’s technically wearing a thong, but the thin black string is completely swallowed by her fat sweaty cheeks. Watching her massive backside jiggle and sway, sweat running down the crack like raindrops, forces blood to your dick. You sheepishly tuck your erection under your waistband like a horny teenager.

“Uh, are we on season two or three?” Mori asks, still leafing through the blu-rays and shaking her hips.

“Two,” you respond.

She turns back and sees the obvious tent in your pants. A faint blush lights up her cheeks. “Whoa, what’s got you so eager, dude? I…I didn’t even do anything,” she mumbles, tugging on the hem of her nightgown as if that would cover any part of her bodacious body. For some reason, even now after years of intimacy and a baby on the way, Mori’s exceedingly shy about her body. Not even more so that she’s outgrown every bra and every pair of pants she owns.

“Is this still attractive to you?” She pinches a roll of tummy fat.

You swallow and nod your head. Before you can form a more coherent, less horny thought, she plops down on your lap. The couch groans holding her weight. Her ass feels amazing pressing down on your lap, sandwiching your erection between her cheeks. Part of you wishes she took a seat on your face instead…though you’d likely suffocate under there.

“Well, you can start with my shoulders and we’ll go from there.”

Unsurprisingly, her back and shoulder muscles are tense. You start slowly, teasing out the strain of holding up her massive milk jugs all day, then press deeper and pull across. She sighs and settles back into your lap. After ten minutes of diligent massaging, you can feel her muscles loosen up and her shoulders sit wider.

Your hands dip lower to her ribcage and grope the bottom of her breasts. Mori shifts on your lap and moans as your fingers sink into her doughy titflesh and raise them up. You juggle them up and down then squeeze them towards her chest. Each of her girls spill out of your hand and could easily smother your face.

“Hold on.” Mori stands up and turns around, straddling your waist. Still beet red in the face, Mori leans forward and mashes her breast in your face, your lips forming a seal around her inverted nipple. While your hand gropes and kneads her breast , your tongue darts out and starts teasing. With her nipple in your mouth, you gently teethe and nibble on her sensitive spot. She squirms on top of your lap and bites back a moan. A thick, creamy jet of milk splashes over your tongue and fills your mouth. You greedily gulp it down and return to suckling, hollowing out your cheeks and squeezing with your free hand to properly milk your overburdened wife.

Three swallows…four…five…Mori’s milk tanks are seemingly endless in reserve and you’re suddenly glad you haven't eaten breakfast yet. When her milk finally peters off, you have half a second to breathe before she shoves the other breast in your face and your mouth gets back to work. Thin streams of milk dribble down the sides of your mouth and run down your chin as you struggle to keep up with her output. You steal quick glances upward and see Mori looking off to the side, clearly embarrassed about her heaving, milky, over-productive cow tits.

You swallow the last of her milk and lean back, feeling like you just downed a couple of milkshakes. From the look on Mori’s face, your actions have gotten her more wired up.

“Anything else? I took off work for this, you know?”

She pushes herself off you and takes a seat on the couch. The cushions wheeze taking her weight. After tripping over her words, Mori lifts her nightgown and spreads her thick thighs. She points down. “I mean, if your tongue’s already warmed up…”

You take the hint and drop to your knees, quietly shuffling between her legs. A thick, wild forest of pink pubes a shade darker than her hair spills from between her thighs, soaked with hours of pent up sweat. Small beads of perspiration glisten and the wiry hairs and drip down to the couch cushions below. A powerful musk pours off her hairy snatch and warms your face as you draw closer, filling your nostrils with Mori’s sharp feminine scent. Your throat hitches a little as the smell washes over you.

Mori leans over the impressive swell of her stomach and breasts and notices your hesitation. “Yeah…sorry, management had me running around all month so I couldn’t really take care of business down there.” Her face is bright red now as she considers the whole truth. “I haven’t washed down there for, uh…” She starts counting on her hands. By the time she reaches ten fingers, she stops. “A while.”

You forward and close the last few inches, burying your face in Mori’s sweaty, musky mound, and pull a deep breath through your nose. The pheromones spark your brain and the erection fighting against your pants threatens to shred your boxers.

“H-huh?! Whoa, easy down there!” Mori says, though her there’s no force in her voice.

Still huffing through your nose, you flick out your tongue and get to work, fighting through the thick mat of damp pubic hair to slurp Mori’s tight, wet inner walls. You twirl and spin, never giving her a moment to catch her breath as you lap up all the sweat and love juices caught in her thick tangle of pubes. Errant pubes poke your cheeks and tickle your flaring nostrils.

“Fuck,” Mori whines. You feel her shift and powerful leg props on your shoulder. You pull back a bit, but Mori cradles the back of your neck with her leg and yanks you back in, forming a triangle hold with her legs and sealing you in a hot, sweaty prison of thigh flesh and her reeking pussy. All breathing has to come from your nose and the scent is quickly making you woozy.

Mori, meanwhile, is in complete bliss. She leans back and flexes her legs, really making sure you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You continue eating out her muff with ferocity, diving even deeper and messily eating her out like your life depends on it. And given hard she’s squeezing, it just might.

As dark spots begin to hamper your vision, you feel Mori tense up and she clamps down with her thighs, nearly crushing your skull. A body-shaking orgasm splashes your face, two strong squirts of girlcum soaking against your features as she orgasms down your throat. On your last legs, you swallow down her discharge and snort at her pubes which are somehow even messier than when you started. Her legs unlock and you pull back, taking a great whooping breath of relatively fresh air. Blood returns to your brain.

Mori’s still lounging back and breathing heavily. Jesus Christ,” she says and finally looks at you. “Oh shit, sorry! Are you okay? I got kinda carried away.”

“I’m fine,” you say, pushing back your hair and coming away with a thick veneer of Mori’s cum on your fingers. “I thought you were ready to reap me for a second.”

“Hey, I’m off the clock.” She eyes your obscene erection pushing against the seam of your pants. “...but I guess I could d-drain your life in another way?” She visibly cringes at her attempted dirty talk, but her earnest dorkiness is only firing up your libido.

You help Mori to her feet. As usual, you’re surprised at how heavy she is. (Seriously, how many pounds has she added to her tits and ass?) She’s still a little wobbly from her latest climax, but she firmly grabs your wrist and leads you to the bedroom. It’s cute watching her be assertive.

She stands in front of the bed, looking like a dog that just caught up the car they’d been chasing. “Clothes off. Lay down on your back.”

Your shirt and underwear are piled on the ground before she even finishes her sentence. You climb back on the bed, the same one the two of you had just finished rousing from, and get on your back. Mori, with all the agility a woman this far along in her pregnancy can afford, steps up on the bed and plants one foot astride your waist.

You turn your eyes up. It’s cliche, but if this had to be your last view on Earth, you could die happy.

Mori’s standing over your hips, looking over he shoulder. Her powerful thighs lead up to her extra-wide matronly hips and enormous, sweaty, dump truck ass. Just shifting her feet from side to side on the bed makes it wobble gently. She puts one hand on her hip and sneers down at you.

“Alright, deadbeat. You said you had the afternoon off, right?”

She drops into a low squat, making sure your pre-cum spilling cockhead is aligned with the darker tone of her asshole. The head of your cock kisses her asshole, and Mori slowly drops lower, slowly swallowing your steelhard shaft with her tight anal ring. The pressure and warmth is insane, and your hands curl around the bedspread.

“Fuck…just like that,” Mori coo’s and finally slides all the way down, her fat ass free-falling the final inches a landing in your lap wth a soft clap. “Now we can ride!” she says and puts her hands on her knees. Flexing her powerful thighs she lifts up until half of your erection is freed from her crushing grip…then slams back down. Her immense ass cheeks quake and ripple on impact, pearls of sweat flying off and dotting the bedsheets. It takes a moment for her cheeks to stop jiggling, as long as it takes for you to catch your breath. It was only the first thrust but you're already starting to fear for your pelvis.

“H-how are you doing back there, deadbeat? Any more smart remarks?” Exhaling through her nose, Mori lifts back and up and drops her maddeningly thick ass back down, falling into a rhythm of heavy, sweaty, bed-breaking sex. You come back down to earth and slap your hand down on her cheeks, fingers sinking deeper as she rides you for all you're worth.

Her fat butt claps against your lower abdominals, the tightness of her anal walls squeezing your cock. Even though she’s facing away, you can see plenty of Mori’s backboob, her voluptuous milk jugs bouncing and heaving as she pulverizes your pelvis. One of her breasts has slipped out from her nightgown completely.

You raise your hips to meet her on the way, and are promptly flattened for your efforts, Mori’s delicious mass crushing you back into the bed. She has you pinned, and the only way you’re ever getting off your back is when she decides she’s had enough.

Her desperate, breathy moans are drowned out behind the the meaty smacks of her braless tits slapping against her chest syncs up with the heavy clapping of Mori’s fat ass smacking against your hips. A sharp creak sounds from below the mattress as one of the wooden supports surrenders to Mori’s intense reverse cowgirl. Another sharp crack follows soon after but she never slows down.

You hang on to Mori’s hips for dear life, thrusting inside with every last bit of stamina you have and plowing her asshole. Every stroke of her tight ass brings you closer and closer to climax.

Mori’s efforts are bathing her in sweat. Squatting her own bodyweight wasn’t a problem before, but her muscles are working overtime to move all the weight she’s gained in the last months. She’s flushed, panting, and dripping sweat. Neither of you can hold out much longer.

Your heavy sack is demanding release, a thick load of swimmers are begging to flood this venus-bodied reaper.

“Come on, deadbeat!” Mori moans, and reaches back to slap her ass, sending it rippling over your pelvis. The mounting pleasure manages to urge out some dirty talk from her mouth. "F-fill up this slutty reaper ass!"

The dam breaks. Thrusting your hips up in a herculean feat of strength, you actually managed to move Mori’s hips up as you blast thick white ropes straight up her greedy asshole. Every muscle in your body tense as you give Mori the deepest anal creampie of her life, emptying every last bit of your load into her ass.

Catching her breath, Mori, slowly stands up, pleasingly squeezing out any spunk left in your urethra and swallowing it with her asshole. A few bubbles of cum ooze out as she stands up.

“Holy shit,” she gasps and throws herself beside you. Her nightgown is soaked with sweat and practically translucent on her glistening skin. Her humongous breasts lie atop one another and on your chest. One of her hands trails over your chest.

She nuzzles against you. Her breath is warm on your neck. “Thanks for that.” A pause. “You’re not just doing this to make me feel better, right? I know I ballooned up during pregnancy but afterwards I can-”

You shush her lisp and pull her close for a kiss. Nothing dramatic, just a simple expression of love. “You’re always beautiful.”

She smiles. Looks like this time she might actually believe you. “Okay.”

The two of you doze off in the afternoon sun.

Mori blushes. “...and we might want to get a sturdier bed for next time.”

Dark Church

(San, Kronii, nuns, shotadom)

San loitered outside the church's landing steps until the last of the attendees had filtered out the doors. The day was warm and cloudy, so he had no trouble sitting on the steps and watching the final patrons enter their cars and empty the parking lot.

Before going inside, he stole one last look around the parking lot– it was completely empty. Except, of course for one.

–

Kronii tucked away the last book into place, now perfectly concordant with the other seven hundred volumes. She’d spent the last hour obsessing over the reading room’s organization and was finally satisfied. She packed up her materials– a book of hymns, reading glasses, and a small golden cross studded with deep green rhinestones– and made her way to the front doors, a soft smile on her lips from a service well done.

San was waiting for her on the front row of pews. His legs were spread wide, a quiet look of superiority on his face. “Oi, Sister! Clockin’ off for the day?” His Australian inflection was full of youthful vigor.

Clutching her books to her chest, Kronii tried to respond as professionally as possible. “I am, yes. Such a pleasant surprise to see you attending service, San. Though today’s sermon ended a while ago, do try to be earlier next time.”

San rolled his eyes and began openly fondling his huge package through the thin veneer of his dark blue hot pants. “Sure, sure. I’ll show up nice and early next time.” San licked his lips. “But how do you expect me to focus when the nuns have a body like that?” he said, eyes locked onto her enormous chest.

“I…San, it’s inappropriate to speak of such things in a house of God. The shape of my b-body is nothing to-”

San stood up and swaggered over to where Kronii was babbling. He thrust his open palm onto Kronii’s breast as casually as going in for a handshake, and roughly groped her titflesh with a cocky sneer. “Love, I’m not talking about the ‘shape of your body’, I’m talking about these fat…fucking…tits!” He emphasized each of the last three words with a harsh squeeze, drawing a small whimper from Kronii’s lips. The materials she’d been clutching like a sigil to ward off evil clattered to the floor, echoing off the empty atrium walls. Her hands were now locked at her side, her eyes fixed upwards as though not witnessing the molestation upon her body would be enough to spare her dignity.

San only pressed further, bringing his other hand up to support Kronii’s immense chest. He juggled them up and down, feeling their weight fill out and spill over her palms, then pushed them together like he was trying to clap his hands. “Fuckin’ A! What have they been feeding you at this place? Me and the boys thought you were stacked before, but you're more livestock than woman these days! You sure the church was looking for a sister and not an overfed cow?”

“Th-the convent doesn’t approve of such vulgar remarks,” Kronii stuttered, a deep, incriminating blush on her cheeks. Despite her obvious discomfort she made no motion to slap his hands off or retreat from the assault. “Remove your hands at once and the Lord will find a path for forgiveness.”

“You’re not making this easy, huh? Alright, I can play along.” He gave her tits a parting slap, watching them jiggle for a half-second, then stepped back and hooked his thumbs beneath his waistband. In a flash, he yanked down his shorts and tossed them at Kronii’s feet.

Kronii gulped, her eyes wide and focused and full of strictly unholy desire.

San’s obscene endowment hung down his thigh, a fat, heavy pair of balls slung below. He grabbed his cock and let it slap down across his smooth thighs with a teasing smack, noticing Kronii’s eyes follow it on the way up and down. He grabbed his shaft and lazily began jerking himself off, the thick foreskin gliding effortlessly over the head of his cock pre-lubed by all the self-fondling he administered while waiting for her arrival.

“She shuts up the moment this comes out to play, is that it?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face. “It’s alright to have cock on your mind 24/7 but at least be honest about it.”

Kronii didn’t have the nerve to admonish him or even correct his claim. How could she? Her face was bright red, her sex was needy; everything about her body was a clear indication and to speak otherwise would invite mockery. “You are a bearer of sin,” she managed with a breathy whisper, “If…if you have come to these quarters to be cleansed then, as a member of the Faith, I would be remiss to turn you away.”

San laughed: a boyish, pure laugh with a smear of cruelty. “Oh, how selfless! Yeah, I need to be cleansed, alright. My aching balls haven’t been emptied for weeks and I think those oversized cow tits would be perfect for the job.” He sneered and pointed to the ground. “On your knees.”

Beneath the grand frescas of Christ and pilgrims, Kronii dropped to her knees and cradled San’s balls in her hands, testing their weight and feeling the sperm churning inside.

Advent's Gokkun

(Shiori, Nerissa, Bijou, FWMC, Gokkun)

Shiori tapped her note cards on the table until they fell together into a perfect block. The nervous murmurs from her friends quickly petered out and left her with a commanding silence and the eye’s of twenty thousand mystified viewers.

“Shiorin~! Hey, guys! Uh, I know this isn’t your usual programming but thanks for tuning in!” She laughed nervously and set off a few confetti effects on OBS. Not even ten seconds in and the nerves of orchestrating such an event were creeping up on her. “Today’s our big one year anniversary so Advent came together and decided this would be the best way to celebrate!”

Shiori pulled the camera back to give the viewers their first look at Advent’s new room– a cozy office space with a single black couch and a long table at which all the Advent girls were seated.

In front of each of the girls was a tall, heavy glass mug overflowing with cum.

Shiori cleared her throat and swapped to the next card. “As a way of giving thanks to all our viewers we asked for your help to fill these bad boys up,” she said, hefting the mug in front of her. The weight pulled her body off the chair somewhat. “And now we’re gonna have a little competition to see who can empty their mug first! But, before that, can we go around for introductions and read everyone’s letters? Let’s start with…Biboo!”
“Okay~!” Bijou sat up in her seat, her beaming smile seemingly unfazed by the beverage that reached up to her chin. She had to sit up to see over the steamy glass of jizz. “Konbijou~! I’m not great at eating challenges, but I’ll do my best!”

Next was Nerissa, who already looked a little sick. “Hiya Jailbirds. This is Nerissa Ravencroft, your devilish diva. I…uh, thanks for your generous contributions,” she said with an uneasy look at the glass.

The camera panned over to FuwaMoco. “Ruffians!” they shouted and threw their hands in the air. “Thank you so much for all your hard work! We’ll make sure to drink it all down!”

Mococo followed up with a quick “Un! Un!”

The introductions wrapped with Shiori. “Even though this was my idea…dang I didn’t know you guys had this much in you!”

“Okay!” Shiori looked around the table, the other girls’ eyes meeting hers full of anticipation, dread, and good old fashioned embarrassment. “Advent's first Gokkun Party…start!”

Shiori showed zero hesitation. Eyes gleaming, she turned the mug nearly upside and opened her mouth as wide as it would go, slurping down mouthful after mouthful of warm, salty Novelite jizz like an extra thick milkshake. Strong suction to make sure nothing spilled out. Her throat bobbed and swelled as she guzzled nearly one fourth of it down before the other girls even finished wrapping their hands around the handle.

“Wow! Good job, Shiori!” Bijou called from her right. Bijou was taking the slow and steady route, bringing her lips to the rim and taking measured sips like she was nursing a cocktail for a long night. But even with such minuscule sips, her tiny body was feeling the strain as the Pebble’s loads filled out her stomach. She started feeling woozy in the same way one does after a large holiday meal but the level in her glass had barely moved! Determination flashed across her eyes and she pressed onwards, taking larger mouthfuls that dropped like a rock in her stomach.

The dogs were ravenous in their downing. Both of them had the glasses in both hands, upturned like shotgun-ing a beer and pouring down their throats. Small strands of cum streamed down their mouths and necks as they chugged voraciously, only slamming down the mugs in perfect synchronicity when they reached the halfway point. They looked at each other, panting with their tongues out, and wiped the excess cum with their sleeves.

“Good job, Fuwawa!”

“Good job, Mococo! Hmm, how do the Ruffian’s taste?”

“Mm. It’s a strong flavor! They must be exercising and eating right!” Mococo said as she ran her tongue along her lips. Deep down, the taste was rather off-putting but she couldn’t ignore her fan’s feelings.

Fuwawa nodded and leaned over in her chair, taking Mococo’s face in her palms. With a harsh yank, she forced their lips together, Mococo offering a quick yelp of surprise that was quickly smothered out by Fuwawa’s tongue shoving inside her mouth and wrestling her tongue to the ground. Heavy globs of spit and semen swapped between their soft lips and rolled over their tongues as the twins ferociously made out in full view of Advent and the thousands of ecstatic viewers. Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, a hawk shrieked into the sky.

The only one who had yet to start was Nerissa. She regarded her glass with poorly hidden disgust, her nose shrinking away from the heavy stink of cum rising from below. The off-white color suggested it had been sitting in their owners balls for a while before shooting into her glass. When she finally took a deep breath and raised the glass to her lips, her eyes went wide and she nearly spit everything back out. The Jailbirds had gone above and beyond for their oishi, saving up their loads for the full four weeks leading up to the announcement, ensuring Nerissa had the thickest, smelliest loads possible to slide down her throat. Just one gulp would be more difficult than four from any other member. Again, Nerissa closed her eyes and tried to smile, tried to think of all the appreciation of her fans as she wrapped her lips around the rim and started chugging once more. Nothing like the speed and whorish severity of Shiori, but a solid glrck glrck glrck that was at least making a dent in the cement-like drink.

Fall of Witch

(Shion, Orcs, Fantasy, Ryona, Instaloss)

An ornate carriage rumbled along the forest path at the behest of two armored stallions. The carriage was the finest of Elven wood, the steeds purebred from foreign lands at the highest price.

Inside sat three of the kingdom's most powerful mages. Shion sat in the back, barely taking up a fifth of the luxurious royal purple bench. Her two servants, Mio and Flare, sat opposite, backs straight with their spellbooks resting perfunctory in their laps. Both them were advanced mages, among the best in the kingdom, but their faces were fraught with worry.

“Magus Shion, might you consider leaving this errand for tomorrow?” Mio ventured.

Shion turned from the window with a scowl. “Tomorrow? Why would I afford these cretins another day without their rightful comeuppance?”

Mio shifted in her seat. “I only mean to say that your magic reserves are running quite low, your Excellence. To step foot into enemy territory in such a state would-”

“That’s what I have you two for, is it not?” Shion spat. Her scowl was progressing into a mild fury.

“We’re…out of mana as well,” Flare added, meek as a field mouse. “The last attack burned us out. It was all we could do to stay awake.”

For a moment Shion seemed to consider this. She took off her enormous witch hat and thoughtfully ran her fingers along the rim. “I see, I see. You’re worried for your retainer’s safety.”

She placed her hat back atop her head. Standing up, she paced in front of the servants, both of whom were busy trying to shrink into their seats and disappear from reality. They had heard the stories, as had everyone who ever pursued magical academia, about God Witch Shion and her propensity to turn dissidents to frogs, ash, or red mist.

“Tell me– do you think I’ll lose to a pack of backwater magic-less animals?”

“Of course not!” came their reply in perfect, terrified unison.

Shion settled back down, an easy smile returning to her lips. “Then let’s collect.”

===========================================================

The first signs of the orc’s village were the deep gouges in the earth where trees used to stand. Their terraforming was rough and slipshod, preferring to gather lumber by uprooting the entire tree rather than conventional woodworking tools. The carriage bobbed and weaved around a few fallen lumber as they closed in on the encampment.

“Ugh. Barbarians. It sickens me to share the same sky with these creatures.”

They approached the edges of the orc’s village. A few busybodies halted their work and stared at their visitors.

The horses pulled to a stop and whinnied, silver battle armor glinting spectacularly in the sunlight. The carriage driver stood up and spoke through the amplifying crystal hung round his neck. “Attention! Attention! This is a collection visitation by his majesty’s royal order. Under the penalty of execution, all those residing in the Barven Slums, assemble at the front gates.” He repeated this two more times, and by the time he lowered his voice, a weary mass of orcs had gathered in front of the carriage.

The orcs were tall, solidly built things– bodies like stacked boulders, their skin calloused and scarred by wars of the past. There were most recent injuries, too, swaths of burns never healed, missing eyes and limbs from the last couple of times Shion had to pay them a visit. Looking out from the carriage, Shion allowed herself a bit of indulgence, remembering those visits, productivity aside. Her fire spells had brought even the mightiest warrior to their knees and they wore those scars even now.

The attendant quickly scampered down and opened the carriage door. Shion stepped through and descended three steps to the ground. A near invisible forcefield of expertly manipulated mana surrounded her person at all times during these expeditions, which in addition to making her functionally invincible, did wonders for keeping her boots clean in the wilderness.

Shion resolved not to say anything for the first moments, running her gaze from one strong-jawed, sharp-fanged lummox to the next. How their oafish faces vexed her! Simpletons with nary a thought whistling between their ears and she had to endure their idicody for another day!

“Your village has come up short on payment this period,” Shion began, disgust thick in her voice. “Again. How many times must we go through this? Come then, show me your chief.”

Garroch, the village's chief, parted the dense thicket of orcs and stood before Shion. Even among orcs, he was a beast of a man, broad shoulders, burly chest and stomach, and arms that could toss horses like newborn piglets. Shion’s head barely reached his stomach.

“Well met, Magus Shion. I’m sorry you had to once more journey this far to account for my failures as a leader.”

Shion frowned and raised the lip of her hat. “Waste not with useless apologies. Your voice grates the ears. Why have you come up short for the third season?”

A small murmur passed through the crowd. One of the female orcs clutched at her arm.

“We suffered a terrible loss five moons ago. A group of newbloods ventured too deep during a routine gathering. Findings were scarce in our usual harvests, so they ventured deep into the woods to the East. A pack of Steel Wolves ambushed him on the return trip…there were only scraps remaining.”

The assembly of orcs bowed their heads in silence.

Shio’s head lowered, growing quiet. Her shoulders hitched. Flare and Mio exchanged glances of astonishment– Magus Shion was feeling sympathy!

A great peal of laughter erupted from Shion’s mouth and trampled the atmosphere of mourning. “That’s their end? Stumbling ass backwards into a mangy pack of dogs? I thought your kind had strength if nothing else? Ha! What worthless lives they lived!”

Her laughter continued to fill Garroch’s ears. A heavy rage boiled from his chest but he let none rise to the surface. “With our gathering force crippled,” he continued, “we had no hope of reaching quota. But if we’re given the time to bolster our ranks once more-”

“Yes, yes, of course! You’ll have your she-beast of a wife birth three new blights upon the land. Then they’ll grow big and strong enough to feed another pack of Wraith Wolves!” Shion abruptly stopped laughing and held out her hand. A glittering ball of red-purple energy suffused inches from her palm. “But enough. If I wanted to hear your failings as a chief, I’m sure we’d be here till sundown. Now. Where is my gold?”

The semicircle of orcs grew anxious. They looked to one another, then to the chief, whose heavy shoulders slumped forward. He opened his palms. “We don’t have it.”

Shion arched her eyebrows. “Ah. Even with the generous two day window. Well.” She flicked her hand to the right and brilliant arc of purple lighting lashed out at the fringes of the crowd. It caught an orc by the shoulder. Two inches of skin and muscle were lashed from their body with a sharp crack of thunder. He flinched but made no noise, even as his skin sizzled and cauterized itself.

“Wait!” Garroch stepped forward and Shion instantly towards him. “The fault lies with me, not them. And surely you understand, we cannot make our quota if our forces are diminished further!”

With a sigh, Shion twirled her fingers. “True. But I can’t leave with nothing but sweet words and promises.” She eyed the huts and lodgings that sat behind the crowd. Crude though they were, there was clear love and craftsmanship put into their construction. “I’ve made up my mind. This will be but a moment.”

Shion brought up her other hand and together they coalesced a burning ball of deep red plasma. She aimed skyward and let loose streaming capillaries of concentrated magic, arcing towards the heavens and crashing down into spectacular explosions rivaling the bombardment of dragons. The earth erupted and the air ignited with magical diffusion. The orcs looked back at their village, their home, blasted apart into smoldering chunks of stone and mud. Their battle hardened hearts allowed no grief but their minds watched the long summers spent toiling for supplies and construction vanish into the air.

For Shion, there was no greater reward for suffering the long ride up the mountain. Every bump in the road and obnoxious complaint from her useless servants was worth it to see the fireworks of orcish masonry.

Mio stood up, hands clasped to her breast. “My lady! Please! Mind what we discussed earlier!” To her trained eye, she could see Shion’s mana battery draining at an exceptional rate. This scale of attack was usually reserved for the sieging of entire armies!

“Belay your nagging counsel, servant! I’m well aware.”

In the distance most centered, was a longhouse with ornamental fixings. Though Shion never bothered to learn more than absolutely necessary of orcish culture, this was their Stonehouse– the very epicenter of a town. Eyes blazing, Shion held her arms high and wrought a blinding whirlpool of pure energy– the textbooks called it Heavenly Sear. She shot her arm forth and loosed it towards the long house, the projectile burning the air around it and leaving a lingering afterimage of red in its wake.

The next moment, the Pillar went up in a solid white beam of light. Not even ash remained. A crater twenty men long glowed white hot, the earth beneath would be burning for days after.

Garroch could only stare. Tall clouds of smoke filled with twinkling embers blew over his body. The village he’d spent decades bringing up from the dirt was laid to waste in less time than it took to walk across it. The Pillar, the only remaining memory of the lost group, was a superheated puddle of slag and molten rock.

Shion drank in the righteous destruction, grinning at the back of all the orcs who looked dumbfounded at her work. Yes, I’m sure that little display must have rocked their primitive minds! I wonder if they actually took pride in those embarrassing constructs!

Mio looked nervously at Shion’s body. The mageskin was there, still shimmering, but so very weak! They needed to leave immediately!

“That’s all for today, then.” Shion yawned into her hand and stretched her arms above her head. “Miss another payment and you’ll all be melting into the ground.”

“Monster.”

Shion stopped. Beneath the sizzle of fires and houses engulfed in flames. She looked back into the crowd where a female orc had pushed her way to the front. Her face was dire and battered.

“Foul magic bitch! You serve at the heel of a incestuous tyrannical pig and visit only misfortune on those struggling to find their next meal Curse your blood! Curse your name!”

Shion turned on her heel and started for the woman. Flare winced and called for her, screamed for all her lungs were worth.

A small ball of fire collected in Shion’s hand. She whipped it at the woman’s chest, searing cloth and melding it to her breast. She screamed in agony. Shion conjured another and whipped it at her face, searing along the right side and fusing her eye shut. The horrid smell of burning skin diffused into the ash and fire.

“Miserable swamp-skinned trash! Your kind should have died thousands of years ago! It’s by my infinite grace that you haven’t been run through and fed to the swine!” She held out her hand for the finishing blow.

Nothing appeared in her palm.

Shion hesitated and regarded her hand, like it was a foreign object. There was nary a flint of magic to be found. Her heartbeat rose steadily. “I’ll leave you at that.”

Garroch reached out and took Shion’s arm. The crowd of orcs gasped, knowing that setting a single finger upon the God Witch would mean instant immolation, if not complete eradication of their tribe. But as the seconds passed they realized the shift.

“Unhand me, vile pig!”

Garroch wound his arm back, dragging Shion along like a toy. She was so unbelievably light, like a bough of heather, and it shamed him greatly that this fragile being was the cause of so much suffering. The baser instincts wanted to snap her arm in half and listen to her screams but no…there was time now. And he wasn’t the only one starved of revenge.

-death! Do you hear me! I’ll kill all of you!”

The death threats of his captor mean nothing anymore. Garroch looked to the carriage, where Flare and Mio were huddled at the foot of the steps. Their eyes were wide and fearful. The driver had his hands of the reigns, arms already half raised in efforts to escape.

Garroch spoke, strangely calm. “Hear me, escorts of the Witch. The path down here was treacherous in these conditions, was it not? It’s not impossible that a band of assassins had intercepted you on the way?”

They started to understand, faces lighting up.

“Were Shion not to return…well, it couldn’t be helped?”

Mio and Flare looked at Shion’s raging form, then nodded to one another. “Yes…a band of assassins, dozens strong, overrun the carriage. It was all we could do to escape with our lives.”

Shion snarled. “You useless back alley whores! Send for the royal cavalry this instant! Do you hear me!”

But the group had already closed the door. With a flick of the reigns, the carriage was off, speeding back through the underbrush one tenant lighter.

Shion lowered her head and stomped the ground. “Another pile of bodies. Cowards.”

“You’re unafraid?”

Shion snorted. “The king would have all of you on the executioner's block for even brushing my skin. Despite the cowardice displayed, they’re sending word as we speak. You have a mere halfday until they’re storming this sorry town. Prostrate yourself before me and I may spare some of your lives.”

An orc from the back spoke up. “Gods high, she really believes they’ve gone for help!”

Garroch nodded. “Her overconfidence cannot imagine such a scenario.” He turned to the caster. “How long do we have until her magic regains?”

The caster stepped forth, a ragged hag draped in long flowing shoals of deep gray. She raised a knobby hand. “At full depletion, twenty seven hours. Twenty five to be safe.” She drew her claws against Shion’s shoulder– a small circle double-crossed with X’s.

“What primitive spell have you befouled me with? Sleep?”

The caster smiled. “The War Father’s Blessing. It’s a boon to increase physical toughness and resistance. Our warriors use it before long expeditions to keep their bodies healthy and strong.”

Shion laughed. “So you’ve made me, your enemy and suppose prisoner, stronger? Your kind is even dumber than I dared imagine.”

“My thanks, Deeha. She would never have survived otherwise.”

With an effortless yank, Garroch tossed Shion to the center of the orcs. Her shoulder skid across the ground and she tumbled head of heels before landing on her stomach. Pushing to her feet. They circled and closed the knot but stayed a good distance away.

She waved her arms at the encroaching orcs. “Ah, cold feet now?” She walked up to one of the burliest members, fist like steel boulders. “Do you know why I’m not afraid of you? Because I’ve seen your kind, what’s left of it. An neutered race of spineless limp-dicked genetic waste that wasn’t strong enough to fight off its foreign invaders. You lost and lost and lost until every bit of land you coveted was granted to us. You’ve been brought to heel for centuries, serving at your superiors for hundreds of years until you forgot what winning felt like.” Shion arched her eyebrows, an insufferably smug smile spread wide on her face. “You castrated slack-jawed barn animals couldn’t hurt a fly! I can’t wait to watch your children burn like-”

Morrow’s fist crunched against the side of Shion’s skull. The witch collapsed to the ground, a spill of blood sticking her hair to the side of her face.

She turned and started to push herself to her feet. The nausea forced a horrible retch from her stomach and she collapsed facefirst into her blood.

“I’ll make sure your family…is burned at the stake for this…” She wobbled towards him, blood sealing her eye. “The worst torture imaginable for-”

Another orc stepped forward and drove his fist deep into Shion’s stomach. Her feet left the ground and she ejected another retch of bile. Her stomach felt like an anvil dropped on it. Her legs gave out immediately and she started to fall. The orc grabbed her by her bountiful platinum hair and held her upright, most of her bodyweight painfully suspended by the roots of her hair.

“Know our strength, witch!” He roared and wound back for another strike. His fist barreled into Shion’s stomach with twice as much force and Shion felt hot tears brimming on her eyes. The most pain she’d felt until today was spilling royal tea on her wrist and now her internals felt like they were on fire.

“You can do better than that!”

“Again! Again!”

“Pulverize the witch!”

With one arm dedicated to keeping her upright, Marrow laid into Shion with everything he had, all the years of pent up frustration and anger driving his punches home like a battering ram. Shion twitched and writhed on every impact, tears flying from her eyes, spit and bile ejecting from her mouth until there was nothing left to leave her throat but whimpering cries and hollow burning pain.

Marrow worked himself to a sweat after the thirtieth punch and turned to the greater crowd. “Come then, brothers and sisters! Show this witch what we think of the royal family and their decrees!”

“Wait!” Shion screamed. Her face was a far cry from the smug regal composure of before. Gone was the arrogance, the self-assured venom and superiority. She was but a lost little girl in a world far beyond her ability. “Don’t hurt me anymore! Please! I’ll call off my men! I can’t-”

A strong uppercut shut up her pleas. The next had already taken his turn and wailed on Shion’s body like a flour-sack training dummy. Blows slammed into her waist, the side of her ribs, her non-existent chest, spreading in blooming reds and purples all over her pale skin.

“Lookit at that! She’s turning colors!” they jeered.

“Stop…please stop…” Shion blubbered between turns, always making the effort to turn her tear-streaked face to the next taker, hoping they would see the hellish pain in her eyes and choose mercy.

None did.

The cacophony of fist slamming into flesh boomed across the field, across the dying smoldering ruins of their village. Eventually Marrow grew tired of holding their prize and she collapsed to the dirt, gasping for air and feeling nothing but pain and nausea. She half-crawled away from the mob but they had no patience to entertain her escape attempt. The orcs brought down heavy footfalls across her back and skull, trampling her into the ground and forcing first into her mouth and nose. They crushed her like a common insect, some driving their feet back to strike at her ribs and punt her across the ground. The heavyset ones made a point to crash down especially hard on her arms and legs, assuring that she wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

Now retreated from the chaos of the mob, Garroch crossed his arms and watched with silent intense gratification alongside Caster. “You’re sure she’ll live through this?”

Caster nodded. “Yes, of course. The seal is particularly adept for bludgeoning trauma. Long as they keep their swords and weapons away, they can brutalize the royal cunt till the moon rises.”

MoonaSmell

(Moona, Sweat, Smell, Incest)

School’s over and you have a couple hours to yourself before Moona gets back from her errands. You open your laptop, browse to your subscriptions, and open the latest upload. Vtuber’s hadn’t had much pull on your life until you discovered her. She was funny, entertaining, and an immensely talented singer. She always streamed when you were at school so the bulk of your evenings are spent catching up on her VODs.

Today you notice your feelings have slid from passive fascination to obsession. She’s talking about how she needs a new chair because her old one is falling apart, and offhandely mentions her measurements. When you take the time to write them down, you realize she's stacked. Feeling of lust boil up. Imagine grabbing hold of that fat ass and-

Your doorbell rings.

“Hm? Oh sorry. Someone’s at the doors.” Her model goes still. Down the hall, you hear your sister's bedroom door open, and she walks by the hall outside.

The stream resumes shortly after. “There was just a delivery. I don’t know,” she says.

Your brain is collapsing on itself. There’s no way this is a coincidence. Slowly, you creep out of your room and put your ear to Moona’s door. Sure enough, her voice carries faintly through the walls in the same cadence you’ve been used to from the streams. You stand back up and tiptoe to your room.

At first there’s just confusion. How had she kept it a secret this long? How didn’t I recongize her immediately? Then, the more imperative realization; you were lusting after your sister.

The thought should disgust you and for the first few seconds it does. Then you think about her streams, her voice, her measurements.

Before rinsing your hands of the whole thing and taking a cold shower, you tune into her stream one last time. Just to see how it sounds now that you know the truth. Moona’s still snacking and talking.

“Really I don’t know about these chairs. It’s so creaky. Probably cuz my butt’s getting too fat.”

Had you decided to log off just one minute earlier, things would have been so different. Instead you sit there, listening to Moona describe her sweaty armpits and showering habits, trying to batten down the forbidden lust roiling in your chest.

It planted an idea. And locked within the same home, the idea needed only time to grow into action.

–
–

August 4th 70 degrees, Humidity 12%

You haven’t been sleeping well. Something is urging you to act, to tell her what you know, but it doesn’t seem right.

Moona comes in from her morning run. Her hair is done up in a high ponytail, sweat tracing down her face and neck. She steps out of her sneakers and lines them up against the wall, revealing damp gray socks. As she passes you in the hallway, you get a quick hit of her bodily scent; sweet, floral, a strong odor of sweat from the morning’s cardio. Breathing her in locks you up and you completely forget to confront her.

“Hello?” Moona crosses her arms, letting her enormous bust resting on her forearms.

“Sorry. It was nothing, nevermind,” you stutter. You stare down at the carpet, anything to keep your eyes off her gigantic heaving tits.

Moona shrugs. “Okay. Come get me when it’s time for dinner.”

You look at the landing. Moona’s shoes are left unattended, unguarded, one lying on its side. Again you’re given a chance to turn back but you follow your urges. Crouching to your feet, you steal a glance over your shoulder. Moona’s bedroom door is closed, music steadily thumping from inside.

You bring one of her shoes to your face and turn it over until you could see the inside of the sole that had spent the last two hours soaking in the sauna of her sweaty, musky foot. You bring the opening just under your nose and, grimly realizing this is the point of no return, take a big sniff.

The stench was putrid, of course, but you don’t turn away in disgust. Quite the opposite. You sniff again, thinking about her soft soles, cute toes, and slender feet that led to perfectly-shaped calves and long, thick legs. Moona’s essence was ground into these sneakers and you were breathing it in. You sniffed again, then impulsively shove your face in her shoe until the tip of your nose was brushing the damp lint-ridden surface of her sole. You suck in a deep breath through your nostrils, the cheesy stink of your sister’s feet hitting your brain like a sledgehammer.

You pull back in a daze, looking like a druggie, then slam her other shoe to your face and drink deep through your nose. Disgusting, heavenly, both at the same time without qualification. Moona’s scent is impossible to rationalize as “attractive”, but your dick isn’t bothered by logical failings. One way or another, you want more of that smell.

Moona’s bedroom door creaks open. Your heart leaps to your throat and you snap your hands over to your own shoes, pretending to be halfway through putting them on.

She stops in her doorway, confused. In her mouth is a blue-stained popsicle stick. “Are you heading out?”

“Yeah. New game that I wanted to check out.” You pull on your sneakers and turn to the door, hoping she didn’t hear the panic in your voice. You step out into the summer sunshine and stride off in the direction of the game store. The hastily formulated plan was to mill about inside, pretend to shop and then head back. If she questioned why you were empty handed, you could just say you mixed up the dates or forgot your wallet. Anything to get out.

As you close the door behind you, you fail to notice that you had dropped Moona’s shoes on the other side of the landing.

–
–

August 8th: 84 degrees, humidity 23%

The weather channel had only ill omens for the remainder of the week. The heat wave was here to stay, they said, and pointed to a forecast that bottomed out at 90 degrees over the weekend. The air conditioner was the only thing keeping the walls from melting into the floor.

You sit on the living room floor in front of the only fan in the house. Its meager blades did little more than push all the warm air around, but it’s better than nothing. Ice cream would be good, but that would involve stepping outside.

The past few days had been a slow decline into perversion. Smelling Moona’s shirts, her socks, anything she pressed her body against. Her warmth and lingering scent was a depraved high and there were so many sources now that you knew what to look for.

Moona walks in and sits next to you. Her outfits have become less modest as the oppressive heat cranked up. This one is especially daring, you can’t remember her even owning clothes like this. She’s wearing only a thin white tank top that struggled to heft her massive breasts and tiny blue gym shorts that hugged her wide meaty ass. She sits cross-legged in front of the fan, trying to enjoy the little comfort it afforded. Her shorts are so small and ill-fitting that you can see a good three inches of her sweaty asscrack.

Without looking back, she says “So hot. Did you break the A/C or something?”

Since she’s facing away, you allow you eyes to wander along her exposed asscrack and side boob. “No. And it’s not broken, it just can’t keep up with this weather. Apparently this is the worst it’s been in forty years.”

Moona sighs and turns the side of body towards the fan’s current. You get a glimpse of her armpits; there’s plenty of stubble, suggesting it’s been a while since she last shaved. “They should have at least bought a new one before going on another work trip. My chair is seriously covered in sweat, you know?”

She lifts her arm and angles it to the fan’s breeze to air out her sweaty pits, the fan’s artificial breeze carrying the smell directly off the sweltering depths of her slick armpits and into your nostrils. It’s sharp and sour, exactly what you’d expect from B.O., but there’s an indescribable sweetness as well from the ghosts of whenever she last took a shower.

It’s risky, but you start breathing more deeply through your nose, trying to pull in as much of her stench as possible. Hopefully the dull whine of the fan’s motor covers your meager snorting. You want nothing more than to dive face-first into those musky pits and snort the sweat right off her skin.

She turns her body and places her left armpit in the line of fire, refreshing your nose with her scent. Much like her sneakers, this had a strong odor. Even diffused across the air it still smells strong...

“Have you heard of vtubers?” Moona asks.

You can’t see her face from where you’re sitting. “Vee Tubers?” you respond, trying to make it sound like an alien word. “I think I remember something like that a few years ago. Why?”

Moona tugs on her tank top, jiggling her tits. “Just wondering. My friend said they were getting really popular with boys your age. Some of them have a whole shrine for them in their bedroom.”

“Not really my thing, I guess.”

“So you’d never go off the deep end?”

If only you could see her face when she asked that question. I was hard to tell from tone alone if that was supposed to be rhetorical. "Nope."

“Even for someone like me?”

You hold your tongue then realize it would be weird to stay silent. “I get enough of you at home.”

Moona giggles. “Okay! I was joking anyway. But thank you. Mom and Dad are always really busy and stuff. At least you keep the house clean.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Nice conversation. Almost makes you forget the painful erection tucked under your waistband.

–
–

August 12th: 92 degrees, humidity 54%

When you wake up, Moona’s already out of the house. A note left on the kitchen counter informed you that she was off to hang out with friends. You look outside and see the hanging thermometer at 92 degrees. This is still early morning; it’d only get worse as the sun rose higher in the cloudless summer sky. Combined with the humidity, any time outdoors would leave you bathed in sweat by the time you stepped back indoors.

Your plans for the day change the moment you turn on the shower. Rather, the moment you tried to turn on the shower. There’s a distant creaking from somewhere in the wall, then a few drops of water dribble apathetically from the showerhead. You try the handle a few more times but there’s no further reaction; you might as well have been playing with a model toy.

The annoyance with not having running water is secondary to the scheme that pops in your head. If this issue wasn’t fixed by the end of the day, Moona couldn't bathe until tomorrow. The prospect sends your mind spinning– over twenty four hours of potent Moona stink collecting around her feet, armpits, and ass. You’d be able to smell her from across the room. Her bedsheets would be stained come the morning sun. Every smell would be amplified.

You turn towards the A/C that was audibly on its last legs, and the only remaining enemy to your ambitions. There’s a small side closest that held most of the HVAC plumbing–all valves and pipes and meters. You open the door like an ax-murder at the victim’s house. The A/C had plenty of issues in the past, so you know its weak points. Raising the wrench, the last rational part of your body begs you to turn back, but the wrench is already swung. It clangs against the steel pipe with a crunchy impact and the air sputters out.

Soon, these walls would be as hot as the simmering summer days. You opened the screen door to let in the humidity. All that was left was to play video games and wait for Moona to come home.

–
–

Moona walks in looking far worse (better) than you could have hoped. She was still in her Cover-sanctioned dance outfit. She’d opted for the full body leotard to cover her exposed tummy, a choice she was surely regretting now as her sweat-slick skin begged for more breathability. Sweat was still pouring down her face, neck, and arms. A bit of guilt stabbed your heart knowing she was looking forward to a cool, cleansing relief.

“Eh? It’s too hot in here, right?” she asks, rapidly fanning her face. “And why are the windows open?”

“A/C broke down earlier this morning. I already called a guy to come look at it.” A lie. “Shower’s busted, too.”

Her ass had never looked better. While she turned on her heels and fanned herself off, you drunk in the sight of her shelf of an ass jutting out. Her butt, now unguarded by long pleats of her skirts, were deliciously plump. You could only imagine the smell were you to force your nose in between those fat, sweaty cheeks.

Moona stomps over to shower. You heard the frustrated squeaks of the handle turns and no running water. “At least our power’s still on. I’m going to my room, let me know if you need anything.”

You kill an hour flicking mindlessly through your phone. Then another hour reading through some old comics. Your mind was entirely elsewhere knowing that Moona had to have changed out of her clothes at some point.

The sun was setting, not that it did anything to dampen the heat baking your body. You get off the floor and peek around the corner. This type of covert movement had become second nature. There was no light shining from under Moona’s door. That didn’t necessarily mean she was asleep, but you couldn’t wait any longer. The greatest treasure was only ten feet away.

You silently creep in front of the laundry room. Where you were standing isn’t far from Moona’s room– too much noise could rouse her to investigate. Your clammy hand slowly teases it open, pushing out one centimeter at a time, praying an old noisy hinge wouldn’t betray your intention, until it’s wide enough for you to slip inside. The tile is pleasantly cool on your feet. You fumble a bit in the darkness until your hand passes over the light switch. The single overhead light hums to life and illuminates the room, bringing forth the squat shapes of the washer and dryer from the shadows. Above them sits a thin white shelf stocked with detergent, dryer sheets, and various necessities that couldn’t find a home anywhere else in the kitchen.

Lying at the foot of the washer was the black and white pile of Moona’s workout clothes.

Trying to keep your breath under control, you step inside and drop to your knees. The musk of her clothes is already hitting hard. Like a bishop reaching out to holy scripture, your shaky hands pluck Moona’s panties from the surrounding glistening pool of spandex and hold them to the light. You pull them taut for a proper inspection. Sky blue in color, cotton. Based on the frayed fabric running across the waist, they were likely a bit too small for how much ass she was packing those days. Turning them around, you see the true damage, Moona’s fat ass soaked them to near transparency, the fabric running thin like lingerie after spending some many hours wedged up and ground in between her sweaty cheeks.

Your heart beats loudly in your ears, your throat dry. Nothing short of an airplane crashing through the ceiling would pull you away from this moment. Closing your eyes, you guide the damp, insanely odorous garment towards your face.

“What are you doing?” comes Moona’s voice from behind.

You launch the panties from your hand and pretend to open the washer. Fuck! Why hadn’t you brought some of your own clothes inside as a backup plan?

“What’s up, Moona? Just, uh, getting some late night washin’ in. Man, thank God these things still work, huh?” Your voice is cracking and diving in pitch like a prepubescent boy. This was fooling no one. It would have been less pathetic if you just went forward with huffing her underwear. After loading nothing into the washer for a few more seconds, you sigh and swivel on your knees, ready to bear your humiliation. You can’t bear to raise your head, knowing her face of absolute disgust was sear itself into your memory.

“Don't lie. What are you doing?” Moona repeats.

Your shoulders fall. “I…I was going through your clothes.”

“My panties,” she corrects.

“Panties. Yeah. I was smelling them. Look, Moona, I know this is fucked up but please don’t t-”

For the second time, you’re left speechless. Moona’s wearing a light gray sports bra over her perky M-cup bust…and nothing else. She’s naked from the waist down; bare feet with purple nail polish, slender calves, thick sweaty thighs, and most shockingly her sweaty, musky, unkempt full-bodied bush of wiry pubic hairs smothering her fat pussy lips.

She crosses her arms and waits for you to stop ogling her body. Clearing her throat, she continues, “S-so, you like how I smell?”

Brittle Rose

(Bae, Fantasy, Ryona, Combat, Oral)

The wound across your chest has stopped bleeding, but it still hurts to take too deep a breath. A sharp throbbing pain remains in your calf where a piece of shrapnel was pried out by the medicus’ hands. They had informed you that it may never fully heal.

Instead of returning to your barracks and lying down with a strong drink to numb the pain, you’re to make a personal report to the Commander on the battle’s outcome. The enemy encampment along the river was taken, yes, but not without hundreds of broken soldiers left writhing within the medical tents.

The heavy iron doors of the palace’s central chamber take all of your strength to shove aside, the echo of their ancient creaking hinges splashes across the dizzyingly high ceilings of the throne room. Massive chandeliers of glittering diamond and wrought golden frames hang high above, looking like ornaments dripped down from the heavens themselves. You force your aching frame along the red path of silken carpet. Whatever tracks of mud and blood left by your boots will be taken care of by one of the dozen chambermaids shortly after your dismissal.

As you draw closer to the throne, the path grows dense with the Commander’s employ. Warriors, doctors, retainers, advisors; the most proficient and brilliant citizens the city could offer– all in service of one woman.

The throne looms high above you. Lounging about with a sharp smile is the Commander.

Her full title is Lord Commander Hakos “The Steel Rose” Baelz. Her moniker comes from a legendary feat seven years ago during which she held back the bulk of an invading force within the palace’s botanical garden, enduring hundreds of slashes across her fair skin, but miraculously never succumbing to blood loss. The guards found her standing within a field of gore and roses, hand still gripped tight to her sword.

Bae leans back upon the mass of steel and black stone that makes up her throne. An oversized military coat enshrouds her shoulders, adding hugeness to her small frame. She tilts a golden cup of wine to her full lips painted with cherry-red lipstick.

You drop to one knee, more from exhaustion than any reverence, and regurgitate the traditional greeting. “Praise our Commander, may she reign eternal. I’ve come to report on our battle.”

Bae’s smirk reveals a gleaming row of sharp teeth. “Of course you have. I’m sure you’re here to tell me that my troops enjoyed total victory?”

You keep your eyes fixed to the ground. Sweat runs down the bridge of your nose and drops to the carpet. “The enemy was routed and the river was taken.”

“Go on.” Her tone is even, but clealry lilting towards fury.

“They anticipated our approach from the marsh, and we suffered heavy casualties.” You pause. “We’ll be unable to push our offensive until we can replenish our ranks.”

“Idiot!” Bae shouts, flinging the goblet at your head. It knocks against your skull and flings streaks of dark purple wine across the carpet. “You waste my army with moronic tactics, then dare suggest we relent? Do you forget your rank?”

A trickle of warm blood runs down the side of your face from your most recent wound. “No, Commander. I’m simply reporting on the outcome, as requested.”

Bae clicks her tongue. “We’ve no time to wait for the recruits to be battle ready. Send them in, all of them, to the frontlines by tomorrow morning. We press on while the enemy regroups their forces.”

For the first time you raise your head and meet Bae’s eyes directly. “I must advise against that. The recruits are not ready. They would only be sent to slaughter as they are now.”

“War is full of casualties,” she remarks. A pause, then Bae leans forward. “Ah. I know what this is about. Your sister is part of these recruits. I saw her working the training dummies during my last round. You’re worried for her safety, is that it?”

“I’m worried for all of their safety. As well as our chances of winning if we move too hastily.”

“What a caring captain,” Bae says sardonically. Her smile widens. “Tell me, do you think your sister would survive?”

“She has been struggling.” You swallow, trying not to let your emotions bleed through. “I don’t see her making it past the first engagement as she is now.”

“Ha! Well, that’s even better! From what I saw, your oaf of a sister could barely hold a blade! One less mouth eating into our food supplies. Perhaps her worthless corpse will at least slow the enemy cavalry when they trample her into the ground!”

You jump to your feet, hand flying to the hilt of your sword. Dozens of Bae’s retainers jump into action, revealing hidden blades that surround your throat before you can take another breath.

Bae doesn’t move. She stares down at you with a bored expression and waves off her protectors.

“Don’t bother,” she says. “This one is simply a lost dog. Blinded by emotion. Demote him, send him to the fields. I’ll find another officer that can follow orders.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can fully consider their weight. “I challenge you, Lord Commander Hakos Baelz, to The Red Dance.”

The retainers take a step back, a sharp gasp escaping their lips. Murmurs vibrate through the room.

“The Red Dance?” Bae throws her head back and laughs. “Why go through all the ceremony? I should behead you where you stand and save both of us the time!”

“If my life is already forfeit, then consider this a dead man’s final request.”

One of the retainers, a portly knight retired from the front lines long ago, slams the end of his spear powerfully into the ground. “Commander, I for one wish to witness this lowly worm put to your blade! Why, I can’t remember the last time I saw you in action!”

Another decorated veteran pipes up from the back. “Indeed, Commander! I’ve heard so many stories of your finesse with the sword, but I’ve never seen it myself!”

“Make an example of that welp!” cried another.

“Remind the good people of our city what happens to dissenters!”

“Oh, what a marvelous show it would be!”

For a split second, you see something approaching nervousness cross Bae’s confident face. It vanishes just as quickly. She stands up and dramatically flutters her coat. “Then it is done! What kind of ruler would I be to ignore the will of her subjects? You’ll have your show and his execution.” Bae dithers. “...though, then again, there is the unfortunate matter of our ongoing war.” She brings a hand to chin and looks on. “As the queen, it would be irresponsible for me to involve myself with such trivialities during these times. Yes, the more I think about it, I’m afraid I simply don’t have the time to indulge such pointless endeavours. Perhaps another could-”

“Not an issue, my liege.” One of the generals speaks up. “The dueling stage has been well-maintained. We can head there immediately!”

Bae starts saying something but is drowned out by the uproarious applause. She clears her throat and looks down at you smugly. “Then your execution comes sooner than expected, worm.”

–
–

The dueling arena sits on the fringes of the palace gardens, past the fountain heads and acres of swaying tulips. Its dirt floor has been swept and smoothed for your arrival. Encircling the arena are tall wooden stands with hundreds of seats, each one occupied by colorful, eager spectators. Cheers and calls for blood fill your ears. Chunks of thrown rotting fruit kick up dust around your greaves as you approach the center.

The injuries sustained from earlier in the day still sap your strength and, for a moment, you curse your impulsiveness in challenging the Steel Rose to one-on-one combat. But then, as you look into the stands and see your sister with trembling hands clutched to her breast in desperate worry, you remember why you had acted with such urgency. Her life is in your hands.

The crowd swells. Amid a shining battalion of the city’s most elite knights, Bae walks out into the arena to a wall of thunderous adoration. Flowers litter her path and are summarily crushed under her boots. She waves up to the stands, petals falling like red sleet around her. Her eyes meet yours.

After a moment, silence. “Good people,” Bae begins, “I thank you for your attendance on such short notice. As I’m sure you’re now well aware, this former general has challenged me to a duel after childishly refusing direct orders.”

Boo’s and chants fill the air. “Kill him!” and “Off with his head” seem to be a crowd favorite.

Bae shifts on her feet. There’s that rare look of uncertainty again. “Now, with that said… as much as I would enjoy putting this dog in his place, we also have to consider the state of our city. A war rages outside, and a general of his experience, no matter how unruly, may be brought to heel if we offer mercy.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. A young man pipes up from the front rows. “Your lordship, are you suggesting he be set free?”

“Well, not free, precisely. He will be punished in some manner, of course. But he will keep his life such that he can continue serving our interests.”

There’s a pause, and the entire stadium goes silent. Birds chirp from far away in the afternoon sun. Then an explosion of raucous laughter rattles the stands.

One of the generals, a seven-foot man of pure muscle, walks up and slaps his hand on Bae’s shoulder while the din of laughter continues. “Even a legend like you has a sense of humor, eh? Imagine our queen backing out of a duel! Hah! Jests aside, go on then, Commander. We already have morticians on the sidelines ready to clean up the body.”

Bae manages a weak smile. “Y-yes. Of course. This shouldn’t take long.”

With a grand flourish, Bae tosses off her long coat and lets it billow to the ground. Her right hand grasps the twisted red and black leather hilt of her sword, Thorn, and slowly unsheathes it from the gold embroidered sheath.

“Make peace with your Gods, general!” Bae shouts as she rushes forward.

Bae’s legendary sword swings limply from her hip and dings against the broadside of your blade. Your entire body tenses, recognizing this as an obvious feint. The next strike would likely come from above or to the left with enough power to slice you in two.

“Heh, not bad, welp!” Bae sneers as she clumsily withdraws her sword and steps backward. The heel of her boot catches on the dirt, throwing her into a half-stumble. “Looks like you might actually give me a fight!”

With a grunt of effort, she follows up with a painfully slow overhead strike. It’s like watching a child swing their father’s warhammer. You hardly have to move your sword to block it. The moment Thorn’s deflected, Bae wraps both hands on the hilt and rushes forward in a mockery of offense, waving her sword in your direction with all the grace and power of a land-choked brook trickling into a marsh. Bae slumps forward and pants at the end of her “attack”, her slender, shaky arms unable to hold her sword upright.

The bloodlust that had been circulating through the crowd has almost entirely evaporated. In its place are confused whispers.

“Quit playin’ with him!”

“Take his head, my Lord!”

Bae snarls up at you. Sweat drips down her flushed face. “Don’t…don’t you…hahh...try to…hahh...run away..!”

You see her wide slicing attack coming in slow motion. Even a seamstress with less than an hour of combat training could see it coming. You duck under and counter with ease, knocking the illustrious Thorn from her hand with the pommel of your sword. It clatters and spins away, lying limp on the ground.

Mouth open, Bae looks at her hands in disbelief, then to you. There’s fear in her eyes, and in that moment she looks like a pitiful child caught stealing from the market.

Bae holds up her fists. Her lips are trembling, trying to form a carefree smirk. “Not bad. B-but if you think I’m any less dangerous without a sword, you’re mista-”

Your fist slams into the side of Bae’s face. One of her incisors spins free from her mouth, arcing a bright red ribbon of blood. She collapses onto the ground, unmoving. A soft breeze carries the plume of dust away from her body.

“Get up.” Your voice is cold, demanding.

Struggling on two shaky arms, Bae spits blood and pushes herself up to a seated position. Blood trickles down her nostrils.

You tighten your grip around your sword and raise it above her shoulder. “Keep your head still. Those of us that have actually held a blade can make death almost painless.”

“Wait!” Bae screams and ducks away from your blade, shivering. Her face was a far cry from the usual mask of smug sadism. Gone was the arrogance, the cruel, self-assured superiority, replaced with tender, tear-streaked bruises. She was but a lost little girl thrust into a world far beyond her ability. “D-don’t hurt me anymore! Please! I won’t send your s-sister to battle! Just let me-”

You stand back, breathing heavy, a brief respite in the hurricane’s eye of rampaging violent catharsis. Bae lay shivering in the red-soaked thrash of dirt and spit and scattered rags of her uniform.

“Don’t kill me… don’t kill me…” Bae repeats like a mantra.

“You wish to see mercy now? When so many of my men had been denied?”

“I’ll d-do anything!” she manages between sobs. “I don’t w-wanna die!”

Your heavy breathing slows. The white-knuckle grip on your swords lightens, if only a little. “Then tell them.” You sweep your arm across the stands. “Tell the people who you really are.”

Bae swallows then raises her head. Thousands of eyes stare back, aghast at her incredible weakness. Her stupidity. Her treachery. Some can’t even meet her gaze and turn away in disgust as though she was a diseased leper huddled beneath a ratty shawl.

“I-I’m a fraud!” Bae screams through her hoarse throat. “I’ve never served in the military. The Garden Massacre was accomplished by another troop of soldiers. I cowered behind the bushes and waited for the fighting to stop. The last ally was bleeding out when I came over. I t-took their sword and took their victory as my own. I thought it would legitimize my claim to the throne.”

All your suspicions are given affirmation; how, despite apparently being an accomplished soldier in the prime of her life, Bae had stayed off the frontlines for the entirety of the war. How she seemed ignorant of the most basic of military stratagems. How no one had ever come forth as an eyewitness to her supposed Garden Massacre. Trading blows with her for a minute was all you needed to confirm her true nature. A horrible thought brews in your mind; that you’ve been sending your men to their death under the flippant command of a cowardly imposter this whole time. Rage builds and builds until the tendons in your neck stick out like steel wire.

More hushed whispers. One of Bae’s most trusted advisors steps forward into the arena. “My lady…is this true?”

Bae nods. With a pitiful whisper she adds: “I’m sorry.”

“This is outrageous!” Bellows one of the guardsmen, red in the face with anger. “This whelp should be strung up at town square!”

A rise of clamboring as the crowd gets to their feet.

“Leave.” Your voice cuts through the chaos. “I’m responsible for exposing her treachery, therefore the punishment lies in my hands.”

“Yes…as you say.”

The order of knights retreat in a hustle of clanging steel. The crowd disperse, though not without parting insults directed at Bae’s back. The two of you are left alone.

You walk to the weapons room. Bae motions to get to her feet but a quick shot to her ribs keeps her down.

“Crawl.”

After a nervous nod, Bae complies, crawling at your heels like a dog on the way there. Dirt tears through the pristine material of her stockings.

The inside of weapon storage is stifling and musky. Motes of dust filter in through the wooden eves above, granting a dim light. Racks of steel battlements flank both walls. A small table for adjustments sits in the center.

Still at your knees, Bae glances nervously around, her wide, fearful eyes lingering on the wicked edges on the spears and battle axes. The sound of the door slamming shut at her rear makes her entire body lurch.

“You understand your charges are inconsolable? If not for me, your head would be rolling down main street.”

Bae nods vigorously and tries to give you a pathetic look of gratitude.

“I’ve decided there may be use for you yet. Even a brainless slut like you could figure it out, right?”

She goes silent. Her gaze drifts down, one hand clenching to her shoulder. “Um, but I’ve never-”

You hurl a spear inches from her face. It embeds deep in the wood, taking a lock of her brilliant red hair fluttering to the ground. “The next one’s going through your neck.”

Tears welling in her eyes, Bae snaps off her suspenders and unbuttons her blouse. Her full, swaying breasts spill out and overfill the cups of her lacy black bra. There’s a split-second of hesitation as her hands find the waistline of her shorts, but then they’re yanked to the ground.

Her figure is antithetical to that of a battle-hardened warrior. While there’s a little muscle from pith strength training, she’s mostly padded with supple fat. Stacked just as well below as above, if not more so. Her fertile hips seem more at home on courtesan prostitutes, her breasts large enough to overfill any palm.

“Tell me, what is your true calling, ‘Commander’?”

Now completely nude, Bae drops to her knees and slams her forehead into the dirt. Her bare shoulders hitch with sobs. “I’m a stupid s-slut! A scheming foreign whore who never should have tainted your beautiful country with my presence! The only thing I’m good for is my body!” She shakes her fat pale ass expectantly, long red tail swiping through the air. “I will do whatever it takes to make up for my crimes!”

A sneer of disgust crosses your lips. You step forward until your boots lie on either side of her head. “Then prove it.”

Bae practically leaps at your crotch, her hands quite dextrous despite the trembling. She slips off your armor, pants, and yanks down your underwear. The musk built up from combat washes over her, bringing a stupid smile to her face. She cradles your cock and balls with reverence, eyes turned up to yours as she runs her hands along the shaft.

“God, you’re so big!” Her tongue hangs out of her mouth, bathing your shaft with warm breaths. “Please, grant this stupid slut the privilege of draining your balls.”

Without any prompting, Bae shoves her face against the bottom of your heavy, sweaty nutsack, her tiny nose buried in the seam between your balls. She pulls a great breath through her nostrils, snorting down ballsweat and releasing a shuddering warm against between your thighs. Using her face like a sweat rag, she smears herself up and down, left and right, snorting and huffing like a pig. Her tongue lolls out and laps at the wrinkled skin until every inch is spit-polished.

“Hahh!” She leans back, face smeared with ball sweat, massacre runny and dazed.

You slap your cock on her face.

She lays a flurry of sloppy kisses on your shaft, voicing a sultry, exaggerated mwah! each time her plump lips leave your cock. The deep red hue of her lipstick is slowly dulled as she repeatedly presses it to the sweaty surface of your manhood, leaving clear marks of worship all the way from the cockhead down to the base of the shaft, then she maneuvers to cover another side. By the end your shaft is glistening in her spit and lipstick.
She opens her mouth and leans forward, ready to take your dick in your mouth.

WHAP!

The brain-rattling impact of your backhand sends her reeling backward. She manages to smile through the pain and tears running down her face. Master? Did I do something wrong?”

“You think I’m going to use your beartrap of a mouth?”

“Of course, that was so stupid of me, Master! I’m sorry, master!”

Shuffling forward on her knees, Bae angles your cock at her mouth and starts stroking, the slimy, slippery texture of her gloved hand gliding smoothly over your shaft. Her other hand massages your sack, applying a light squeeze as your orgasm builds.

A hot, thick rope of jizz blasts the back of Bae’s throat. Though her face is clearly uncomfortable from the taste, she keeps her smile going. More ropes pile on to the load building in her mouth, until her tongue is buried under a pile of thick, salty cum. You press your cockhead against her nostril for the final shot, filling her sinuses with a stinging smelly load to drip down the back of her throat.