“You’re not just doing this for me, are you?” Queen Yavara asked Elena sweetly.
“No,” Elena’s voice was husky and riddled with need, “I just want it so bad! You ruined me, you bitch!”
“I did.” Queen Yavara giggled proudly, elevating Elena’s head, running her finger through her nearly-white hair, “Now I’m going to ruin you more. I’m going to turn you into an anal slut just like I did with Prestira.” Queen Yavara’s eyes alighted with something evil, “No more hiding behind your boring lesbianism, oh no; you’re going to be the dark jewel of my kingdom, the most depraved little cunt in the world. You and I are going to have so much fun together, Elena, but first, we have to change you.” Queen Yavara leaned forward, and spit. The glob landed on Elena’s tailbone, and slowly traveled down her crack, pooling around her coiled button. Queen Yavara eased herself back, took Elena’s wrists, and pinned them to the floor before her. Her expression was wild and full of dangerous lust, and I saw the way Elena was hypnotized by it, both in love and terror. Queen Yavara looked to me. “Break this whore in.”
ELENA
Pain. Pain and pleasure suffusing my body, taking over my senses, my very mind! I gazed into Yavara’s eyes, seeing my agonized and ecstatic face reflected from her crazed orange lenses. I didn’t recognize her when she was like this. There was no compassion in the gaze, but only avarice and arousal, something as terrible as it was captivating. It compelled me to do as she desired, to please her though I knew she was insatiable, to delve lower though I knew her depths had no bottom. Terror and desire; a concoction that bathed my synapses in primal mania, stripping my identity with every inch the orc pushed inside. Deeper and deeper he went into me, stretching me near to rending, testing the elasticity of my chastity until I thought I would rupture. But I didn’t. This lewd body I’d been cursed with, blessed with, it took Brock all the way. Each. Terrible. Wonderful. Inch. When his balls slapped against my cunt and cock, and his crotch pressed to my tailbone, I whimpered, and collapsed in Yavara’s lap.
“Well?” She whispered, her voice edging with the thrill of it, “Do you like it?”
“Oh no.” I sobbed, wracked with spasms.
Yavara lifted my head, connected our gazes. Some of the mania had left her eyes, and I saw in them a familiar compassion. “Elena, you don’t like it?”
“No,” I said, my voice possessed, sounding like it was coming from someone else, “I love it.”
Yavara grinned evilly at me, that implacable glint returning to her eyes. She brought my face to hers in a sudden kiss, and she devoured my mouth as though trying to taste the extent of my violation on the buds of my tongue. I returned the kiss with wide eyes, lost in my duality of hedonism and panic, teetering on the edge. Could I succumb fully to the lecherous creature as she had? Could I discard my morals, my ideals, my very conscience just to taste the sweetest, deadliest fruit? No. No, I was not made like her. But she could change me. She could mold me into this dark jewel of her dark kingdom, this whore of whores, this demon of lust without limits or mercy. I would become that for her. Only for her.
Yavara broke the kiss, her breath shallow and heated, her wild eyes traversing my face. She suddenly seized my arms, and spun me about the axis of Brock’s cock. I screamed, feeling every bump and vein of him digging against my twisting rectum until I was resting on my back, staring up at him. “Look at yourself.” Yavara whispered in my ear, her lips touching the point. She grappled with my arms until they were forced behind my head, pushing my face forward, “Watch what he does to you. Watch yourself become his filthy anal slut.”
I stared with dumbstruck eyes at the bulge in my abdomen. It didn’t seem anatomically possible, but there it was, the distention of my guts forced against my abdominal wall by the full invasion of the orc. He grinned at me, pleased with the way he looked inside me, and he slowly withdrew. The pressure released in my nethers, the relief within a palpable sensation, but it was nothing, nothing compared to the sudden surge of vacancy, the need to be filled once again! Oh god, I’d been ruined! Even as I gasped with the pleasure of relief, I mewled for him to enter me once again, to destroy my body from within. I felt my sphincter close behind his exit, felt acutely the heat of him dissipating inside me, the absence of his cock ravaging my filthy innards.
“Brock, put it back in!” I cried, shifting my hips in a feminine samba that was both foreign and completely natural to me, this dance of weakness, an invitation to be ravaged.
“You’re going to have to beg harder than that.” Yavara tittered, her arms keeping my head locked, forcing me to look at Brock’s cock as he laid it across my belly. I could smell it from here, the miasma of my own asshole, the pungent stink of his cum. My mouth watered.
“Master?” A little voice inquired. It was Opal, staring down at me with shock writ across her face. The others came soon after, forming a circle around me, baring witness to my debasement.
“Beg for it, you cunt.” Yavara hissed in my ear, her voice wanton and shaking, her breasts pillowing my head, “Beg for it in front of all your little pets. Show them what a depraved faggot whore their master really is.”
I could see my slaves’ perception of me changing in their eyes, the image I’d meticulously cultivated crumbling. I was helpless, weak and blubbering, displayed before them like a tapestry of abasement. Why did the humiliation arouse me more? Oh, why did I seek to delve even lower?! I couldn’t help myself. My body tingled with the thrill of them baring witness, their shocked expressions, their hands covering their mouths.
“Please!” I cried, squirming in Yavara’s arms, “Fuck my slutty asshole! Oh god, turn me into your toy! I’ll be a good faggot whore, I promise!”
“Master!” My slaves cried in congruence. I just smiled meekly at them, defeated and ashamed, and aroused all the more because of it. Brock split me with his cock, driving so hard my body lurched with our impact. My soft flesh rippled, my breasts slapped my chest, my legs splayed wide to take him all the way. He pulsed in my deepest reaches, opening my inner resistances and violating the chamber therein. I screamed in ecstasy, tears filming my eyes, my body succumbing to the lassitude of my newfound feminine heterosexuality, my male homosexuality, the receiver, the bottom, the whore. Yavara kept my face pitched forward, making me watch as Brock fucked me with accelerating drives, my belly deforming with his entrance, by body becoming his, belonging to him! Oh, god take me! I cried out again and again, calling his name, thanking him with blubbering lips as he filled me like the vessel I was, nothing but the receptacle for his cock. He parted my tender innards with brutal efficiency, flattening my walls against my insides, torturing the nerves with each wonderful pass. My cock bounced unattended against my crotch, filled by the relentless stimulus of my prostate, leaking and spurting with each drive as though his penetration milked me of my seed. It ached in its fullness, the flesh singing to be caressed.
“Don’t touch her!” Yavara snarled when Opal sought to relieve the pressure in my valve. The succubus backed off, looking worriedly at me. Yavara stroked my hair as I mewled and sputtered for reprieve, my words unintelligible, lost in my screams of ecstasy. “This little faggot whore doesn’t deserve to be touched; no, no, no. You’re going to come from your faggot pussy like the twink-slut you are, and then you’re going to thank Brock for raping your shithole!”
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I cried, lost in the torrent of my pleasure, my pain and humiliation. Oh, how I bathed in it, squirming in the splendor of depravity, becoming fully the faggot whore, the pathetic slut unworthy of being touched like a man. Only a hole to be filled, and filled violently! My screams fluctuated to the fervent rhythm of our colliding bodies, rising in pitch as the sensations churned within my depths. My cock bounced off my crotch, strings of cum snapping from the sticky surface, the tip spurting white froth every time Brock punched into my deepest parts. I pressed my heels into the floor to pivot against the rising orgasm, but Brock snatched my ankles and spread them wide in the air, bending my body inwardly, giving him unfettered access to my ruined shithole. He sneered in my face, his breath hot and full of stink, his animalistic grimace full of possession. Possession of me, for I was his, his in totality! My eyes topped my whites, staring at him awestruck with mouth agape as I choked on ecstasy too great to sound. My cock slapped against my belly, my asshole clenched and pulsed, my prostate convulsed against the relentless abuse, the pressure building, building, building, oh god! I exploded, my body seeming to burst from within, the surge of euphoria taking me until I was sobbing freely. With every pump of Brock’s penetrating cock, my own pathetic rod pumped the contents of my prostate onto me, spurting my clenching belly, my flailing breasts, my gasping mouth. With a sudden roar, Brock surged forward, nearly folding me in half, and with my ruined pelvic floor facing the ceiling, and his cock buried to the base in my ass, he came inside me.
YAVARA
I’d never seen anything as beautiful as Elena Straltaira covered in her own seed. Her pelvis was elevated above her, her cock weakly spurting the last of her milk into the folded creases of bronze fat that ribbed her compressed belly. I’d never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of Brock slowly pulling out his cock, the pink sheath of Elena’s ruined anus clinging to him like a fleshy condom, then releasing to bunch around her exit in a coiled flower, leaking a thick stream of nectar between her thighs that ran in rivulets down her belly to comingle with her own seed. And I’d never seen anything as beautiful as the look she gave me. That realization in her sapphire depths, that trembling pout of her lip as she tried to form words, but could not.
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