SFW WRITTEN WORK
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Zines
March of Robots 2021 (PREVIEW ONLY) - March 1-31 2021
Illustrations and short fictions of robots and robot-adjacent characters and objects, designed over the course of March 2021. (The preview goes from cover art to foreword to save space.)Full Length: 56 pages, 4495 words, 32 unique illustrations
Preview length: 3 pages, 341 words
Warnings: N/A
ONE-SHOTS
Single-installment SFW stories
The Lost Goddess - June 5 2016
A space station engineer meets a goddess in an airlock.Length: 9 pages, 2942 words
Warnings: N/A
Cover photo by:James Fears (link)
STRANGE SAINTS AND ODD ORDERS
A collection of unusual saints and the orders that emulate them
The Brotherhood of St. Bernard - April 20 2023
A brief description of the Brotherhood, some of their history, and their lifestyle.Length: 1 page, 255 words.
Warnings: Mentions of violence and gore.
Cover art by: cervine_prince (link)
The Turnips of St. Judith - April 15 2023
An introduction to the historically powerful Order of Insurrection known as the Turnips of St. Judith, Sorority of Seven Silvers For A Turnip Should Be A Crime.Length: 1 page, 505 words.
Warnings: Violence, Profanity, Getting beaten with various produce
Cover Art by: Bearyena, links contain NSFW (link 1) (link 2)
St. Alice of the Thicket - June 7 2023
A short summary of the Ogress Saint's most famed exploits during Ridani's Crusade.Length: 1 page, 366 words.
Warnings: Violence, Animal Cruelty, Horse feces
St. Peregrine of Blackpowder - June 14 2023
The miracle of the Gunsmith Saint.Length: 1 page, 402 words.
Warnings: Violence
NSFW WRITTEN WORK
MARZIPAN
Slutty catboy adventures
Knot A Problem (PREVIEW) - June 11 2023Marzi, a half-catfolk adventurer, tries to steal a cow from a farmer and gets caught. Luckily, Farmer Gerhardt is pretty forgiving and even throws in a few freebies.Full Length: 8482 words
Preview Length: 1 page
Content Warnings: Animalistic genitals, PIV sex with a trans man, "breeding" kink, some roughness during sex, offensive language.
Cover art by: DigitalPopsicle (link)
Milk And Honey (PREVIEW) - December 27 2023Marzi's adventures continue in Glibberspring Caldera, where a slime is making trouble in the spa. Thankfully, he has a pretty good time of dealing with it, and so does the slime.Full Length: 5738 words
Preview Length: 1 page
Content Warnings: Vaginal sex with a trans man, offensive language, urethral penetration, multiple penetration, slime sex
Cover art by: DigitalPopsicle (link)
ONE-SHOTS
Single-installment smut stories
Krampusnacht (PREVIEW) December 23 2023A young man is captured by a holiday demon and transformed into one of the demon's helpers. Happy Krampusnacht and Merry Christmas of 2023!Full Length: 4809 words
Preview Length: 1 page
Content Warnings: Dubious consent, transformation, bondage
Cover art by: ValorousOwl (link)
The Lost Goddess
Long ago, when humans lived on solid earth, a man must turn his face to the ground or the sky to pray. Yet as the sky became a home of scholars and clergy, of politicians and scientists, of everyone from everywhere, the argument of how to pray became as ubiquitous as the carefully cultured air."We must cast our gaze to the distant stars!" Was a popular refrain. "The sun was the focus of the gods in ages past, and we have advanced beyond the bounds of earth; would it not be sensible for the gods to expand their reach across eternity as well?"Many answered, "Blasphemy! In your hubris, you seek to compare yourself to the gods; their reach is unfathomable and eternal, and they have never had the need for more than one eye to see all of humanity. As such, it’s only proper that we must be humbled before them, and cast our eyes towards the ground!"Questions abound even then. Will the floor beneath your feet suffice, or must you be oriented towards the planet of your birth? If one finds himself in zero-gravity, must he look towards his feet, or must he look towards the nearest flat, ground-like surface? Must one, instead, face the planet of his people's origin, the home of the first temples and the birthplace of the first prayers?Who could decide? Who could agree?
Your name is Polinar, and for you personally, the answer changes with every Circadian cycle.It's not that you don't pray. You’re Filipino; it’s expected of you. But it is that you don't pray until someone else asks you to, and then you pray in whatever way that may please them the most.It’s never concerned you that the gods might not hear if you prayed to them in different ways. You've been getting on fine without hearing anything from them, and you're sure they'll understand that you don't always have the luxury of time and energy for prayer; if they crafted your soul from their own breath and spit, surely they knew what they were making?Surely, if in the moment you've just woken up for the cycle you get a message from Foreman Gonzales that there's an anomaly on the starboard side of Deck Three Barangay Two, the gods must understand if you have some blasphemous words on your stale, sleepy breath.You’d just fixed that hex shield.The notification jitters on the wall as you open it in full with a flick of your wrist, and you read it as you change into your work clothes. The anomaly is moderate to severe, and it's only going to spread if you don't deal with it as soon as you can; Barangay Two is on lockdown already, and will probably stay that way for a whole week even after you fix the issue.Considering you'd personally patched it last cycle, you're probably going to be in some measure of trouble with station management, too, heedless of the fact that you'd insisted you alone weren’t enough, and you’d needed hours and resources they weren’t willing to spare.All this information must be absorbed in the lean, inconvenient minutes of your time long before breakfast but long after dinner. You yawn and press your palm to the lock reader, stepping out into the artificial dawn of Barangay Five.
The air is crisp and slightly damp, sweet with the aroma of ylang-ylang, and the artificial sky is clear and wispy; the holographic sun is just beginning to rise across the domed ceiling of Barangay Five, bathing the district in a warm, April glow.A few of your neighbors, mostly the elderly and their robotic nannies, are walking in the pale light to enjoy the fresh air before it's crowded with the stink of day.Some head towards their places of worship, musky perfume mingling with the ylang-ylang air, and some are just doing calisthenics on the grass, moving slowly to music at least fifty years out of date.You wave to them as you pass, wondering what station management is going to do about the unfortunate souls displaced by this anomaly in Barangay Two. Most likely, nothing; Barangay Two is, to put it gently, heavily neglected by those in office, and in your position, there's only so much you can do without making it worse.You sneeze as you head into the lift. Electricity buzzes against your skin and all the way across the inside of your nose as it scans you for your credentials before a cheerful voice greets you, "Magandang umaga, Engineer Polinar Cruz. Please input your preferred destination."The map flickers to life in the console. You input the coordinates for Barangay Two as you screw your helmet into place, and tighten the seal as the lift starts to move through Pagong's maintenance pathways. You're just about finished checking that your suit is in working order and all your tools are in place before that same voice announces, "Arrived at destination, Barangay Two. Please check all your belongings before departing from the lift. Paalam at salamat, please watch your step as you disembark."It's a far cry from Barangay Five when you step through the crackling arch again.No holographic sky masks the stars, and the streets are so devoid of life that you can hear your own heartbeat. With the potential danger of a hull breach, all humans have been temporarily relocated to other Barangays, and all non-human life this side of the station is frozen in suspended animation: Here, a small swarm of flies float above an open trashbin; there, a bird chasing a cicada hangs in midair as though pinned by an unseen hand.Your helmet displays say oxygen levels are stable for the moment, but you still need to move fast. You follow the blinking readout and peel back a sheet of corrugated iron blocking your way to the airlock. Why don't people ever follow the Do Not Block Airlock signs? How long has this garbage been sitting in the way?You twist the airlock open, and the source of your dangerous anomaly becomes apparent at once.It's just a shame you're having a hard time putting into words what it is, exactly.What she is, exactly.She's radiant. She’s literally radiant. Light bleeds from within her bronze skin, glowing between creases that would otherwise be in shadow. She's beautiful, besides being luminous, with long lashes, round cheeks, and a broad, perfectly-formed little hill of a nose. Black hair spills behind her in an inky ripple, not so much black as it is a complete absence of reflected light, threaded with treasure: pearls, gold, and cowrie shells gleam in her tresses like little stars. They might be stars."Kumusta."Her voice echoes like a hundred voices layered over each other, like a choir in a cathedral, like a childhood memory. She smiles at you, frowns when you don't answer, and then clears her throat to try again. "Hello?"Hearing her speak in English feels wrong, but it's been such a long time since anyone spoke Cebuano to you that the words to answer her don't come to you anymore. It might just be the shock of the situation, but either way, you swallow around your silence and try to push past the faint sting of shame."Excuse me,” You say, with more composure than you think is warranted for the moment. "I don't mean to be rude, but are you the reason for the hull issues?"She purses her lips. Once more, you struggle to remember how to say what you mean in Cebuano, or Ilonggo, or maybe Tagalog? What dialect was Kumusta again? Before she answers, preferably.“I feel as though you truly mean to be rude." She says, in an accent at once musical and familiar. “What mother taught you not to greet an elder without kissing their hand?”You feel like a child under her gaze, though the sunlight in her smile is warm against your face; literally warm, even through your helmet's radiation shielding. Your face burns for many more reasons than that."I'm sorry, um. Tita? I think?" You resist the urge to crumple to your knees, embarrassed at how clumsy the words sound in your mouth, too soft around the edges, like they don’t belong to you. But she doesn’t correct you. She holds out her hand and you take it, accepting her blessing as you press her knuckles to the faceplate like you would your own forehead. Her fingers slide out of your grip without any friction at all. "Thank you for reminding me.""There, then." She places both hands on her hips and straightens up, looking around the empty street. "I am… very far off course! This isn't the land of gods, this is no Kaluwálhatian, and if it is, I've been away much longer than I thought. Sweet child, where is this place?"You blink. Thoughts zip through your head, faster than the magnetic lifts and slower than children walking to school."This is Pagong Station. We’re orbiting Mars in the Solar system. You're in Barangay Two."Would it be rude to confirm your suspicions? You're not sure who she is exactly, and the gods haven’t been seen in… quite some time. But the revivals weren’t so long ago that you don’t know a goddess when you see one.She purses her lips again, her smooth brow furrowing as she takes in your words. Once more, she casts about the empty street, taking in the frozen flies and piles of trash, the endless sky full of unblinking stars. You're not sure if she's displeased or not, but you imagine that the state of the barangay isn't the best for receiving guests, let alone gods.You tighten your jaw.When her eyes land back on you, it takes a monumental effort not to fidget."Thank you." Her smile returns and all feels right in the world. "I've taken care of lost things for so long that I'd forgotten what it was like to be lost myself. Ask me then, dear child; is there anything lost that you want found? I am the goddess of lost things, and will return what you ask."You should be careful what you say next. Be practical, but don't ask overmuch. You should ask for something important to the station, important to yourself, something that will fix problems in your day-to-day. Your problems. Little problems.That's not what comes out of your mouth. When are you getting the chance ever again? Now that the shock’s abated somewhat, you have other problems."Please," You murmur, reverent and furious, "tell me where the gods have been."Anagolay, goddess of the lost, still smiles her perfect Miss Universe smile, but there's a certain strain in the corners of her mouth. "Surely you have not forgotten our home as gods, not after we so kindly reminded you. We are beyond the clouds and beyond the stars, higher than any mortal may find his way."You keep your voice even, as cool and sharp as glass. "Of course. No mortal can find such a place; you are, however, so far from mortal.” She preens at your words.Buttering her up only works for a moment, though. “It only seems as though Bathala has forgotten his people on so high a throne, so I had to make sure I could ask you to remind him of us."Her smile falls, the golden glow under her skin sputtering like a candleflame. She looks painfully mortal for just a single, harrowing moment, before that strange inner light reignites."You must have forgotten, darling child. Mortals are to do the bidding of gods. I am no mere messenger."You steel yourself."No, I don’t think I have. We were made for more than this. You were made for more than this."She looks properly shocked when you say it, and you're a little surprised with yourself that you could say it, but you'll ride along that surprise as far as your errant tongue will take you. "We pray because we believe in you, and we believe because we feel a need for you. What is a prayer but to ask a god to do your bidding? And what is a god with nobody who needs them?"Her teeth flash in her snarl, and the light burns against your eyes like a magnesium flare. She stands to her full height, towering and inhuman, her dark hair swaying around her face like a brewing storm. You stand firm, looking up at her even as tears well in your eyes from the pain. If she blinds you, so be it. You need to say it."You can't act like your golden thrones aren't built from our prayers, our bones, our blood and desire and devotion. Can you find an answer for me, Anagolay? What are you without someone to believe in you? What will you do to ensure we believe?"“How could you?” There's something fierce in her eyes now, a viciousness in her smile. "You haven't forgotten us yet, after all this time. You can't say we have given you nothing but our laughter: We, too, have given up spit and breath to bring you to life, crafting your souls by hand before you were a drop of blood in the womb. What more would you ask that we give? You can't give us anything more in return."But you know you have her now. Even in her luminous eyes, you see doubt.You plant your feet as firm as you can."We’ve paid you more than your due already. We sacrifice and worship in your name. I have sacrificed in your name, if not for you then for everyone I've ever cared about. What do we have to show for our effort? Only what we ourselves have built for you. Tell Bathala when you go home: May he sit in the heavens and belittle our mortality, and in time we will forget he was ever there, or, may he do better and actually answer when we pray, and with time we'll work something out for both of us."Anagolay is silent. The curve of her mouth is bitter and hard. Your heart aches at the thought that you could anguish something so beautiful, but you'd readied yourself for the possibility and you bite your tongue as you wait for her to answer. Blood spills against your teeth. The pain steadies you."You are one child. You are one mortal. How can you promise this?" She straightens her back again, carding her fingers through her lustrous hair.Can you? You can lie, or at least it feels like lying. "I promise this because I'm mortal. I'd nearly forgotten you myself, so I think I should know what I'm talking about when I say we mortals forget."She looks at you again, taking in who you are, through the negligible protection of your suit and your own skin. You can't read her eyes, or the frown that pulls down the corners of her lips and wrinkles her forehead. You don't know what she's thinking as she smiles again, and the serenity of her expression feels like the merciless cold of a dark night."O, sige." It feels mocking, triumphant in a way you don't understand. Maybe she's just trying to save face; she's proven remarkably fallible for a goddess. "You have a deal: Pray for me and I'll relay your message, just like you wanted.""If you make sure Bathala in the Kaluwálhatian hear me, I will." She winces, but you continue. "Consider it my way of keeping tabs on you, for the filing of official complaints.""I suppose it's a form of devotion." She shrugs again. "One last thing. You came here for something, and I will give it to you. Make no mistake, this one is a favor; you will owe me, when your reckoning comes."You nod. You also reflexively take a step back when she stoops down and passes her hand through your faceplate, her thumb pressing to the middle of your forehead like a priest smearing oil on a supplicant.You’re all at once aware of the loosened bolt in the oxygen tunnel, so close to the hull itself that it threatens to tear right through if the oxygen tunnel bursts. You know exactly how to turn it to fix it, and exactly how to make sure it will hold for several months until the next supply shipment."Goodbye, Polinar." Anagolay mutters, and when you blink it's like she was never there at all.You sigh. You'll have to get back to work now, won't you?You leave your encounter with Anagolay out of your report.
The Order of St. Bernard
The Brotherhood of St Bernard is a sect of warrior monks dating from the early fourth year of King Heinrich VII. Due to their advantageous location, martial prowess, and the secretive nature of their keep, the Order is the first line of defense against invaders from the Westward side of the mountains; the elder monks toll bells and light beacons to alert nearby towns, while the younger monks take up arms to further slow the approach of invaders.Their monastery was established at the holy site of Houndshead Pass in the Engelsberg Range, hewn into the mountain stone from the point of St. Bernard's martyrdom1, and slowly expanded by the monks and their acolytes into further rooms beneath the surface; thus, while the range is a merciless place, their stony keep is well protected from the elements, and even more defensible from oncoming armies.Of particular interest, however, is that the monks have a reputation quite unlike those of other martial sects. Rather than being known for extreme violence or asceticism, the Brotherhood is most known for a great willingness to brave the harsh landscape for the lost and destitute2.Regular patrols scout the area for travelers lost in the snow, and the monks make no distinction as to the nation or creed of lost, desperate souls. These patrols will set up camp, warm their new wards with food, lichen brandy, and sometimes their own body heat, and watch over them until such time that they are rescued by compatriots or can accompany the patrolling monks back to the keep.
1. Apocryphal accounts of the Miracle of Houndshead claim that as St. Bernard's head was torn from his shoulders, his blood burned with intense, miraculous heat and light, such that it was a beacon that alerted surrounding towns to evacuate from the invading army, and his body scorched the stone where he died. The scorched granite bricks bearing his silhouette are still kept within the depths of the monastery, as holy relics that inspire the Brotherhood's ideals.2. They are perhaps second most known for their somber character and voluminous, distinctly shaggy robes. A breed of mountaineering dog was eventually named after its resemblance to members of the Brotherhood, both in appearance and function.
The Turnips of St. Judith
It's a well known adage that any group composed of Paladins of Insurrection1 can formally and legally be decreed an Order- provided they fulfill the requirements of having lasted in each other's company for longer than three full suns.Such famed and venerable institutions include the Holy Order of That's A Stupid Fucking Law2, the Brotherhood of Bugger Off Orwell You Taxman Bastard3, and the Turnips of St. Judith4. Of these Orders, the most powerful and influential was the Turnips; at its largest and best organized, it counted as many as three members at its peak, one of which was the former queen Maridora the Eldest.The Turnips famously lasted about five and a half suns, and in that time spearheaded the revolution that culminated in the beheading of Queen Carlotta the Younger, and then disbanded at sunset as Sister Maridora the Eldest was crowned Queen of Altimagne.The remaining two sisters, Dagomar and Lotti, protested her ascension to the throne by upending a cart of turnips5 from the second story of a nearby manor.6 The two Sisters explicitly went on to state they did not have permission to be there, but also Queen Maridora didn't need to kill the late Queen Carlotta, and "this whole production has gone entirely too far and for too long."7They were tried and found guilty of high treason, but in an act of perhaps misguided mercy, Queen Maridora sentenced her former disciples to lifelong exile.Shortly after the beginning of her reign, perhaps in an attempt to circumvent future assassination efforts, Queen Maridora decreed that produce bought and sold within the capital's borders must not exceed two bushels in volume. Shortly after, she was publicly assaulted by Sir Myrddin the Bald8 with a half-thawed mackerel.It was not a good start to the dynasty.
1 ie More than a single distinct individual who has sworn an Oath of Insurrection and been blessed by a divine power in recognition of that oath.2 The Pisceans, 1st Year of Maridora the Eldest.3 The Anti-Orwellians, 25th Year of Maridora the Eldest.4 The Sorority of Seven Silvers For A Turnip Should Be A Crime, or simply, The Turnips, 50th Year of Carlotta the Younger.5 The shattered cart and its contents have been considered holy relics of Insurrection ever since, with at least one later Order claiming a turnip as its official symbol in honor of the original Turnips.6 Eyewitness accounts state that the cart was upended into the coronation, landing beside and even injuring Queen Maridora and a number of bystanders.7 Generally omitted are the impressive blasphemies, heresies, obscenities, and general profanities that Dagomar fit within two minutes of speaking time during her trial, and the number of guards (seven), foreign dignitaries (twelve), and members of the clergy (one) who were grievously injured, publicly humiliated, or so scandalized as to suffer a stroke during said two minutes.8 Grandmaster of the Holy Order of That's a Stupid Fucking Law.
Saint Alice of the Thicket
Also known as Saint Alice the Ogress and Saint Alice the Poacher, Saint Alice was an anointed knight who held the Dunkelpfad Road against caravans supplying Ridani's Crusade. She was known in particular for carrying a double-headed axe, for her pragmatic demeanor, and for successfully leading a small group of fifty soldiers to terrorize what may have been hundreds of crusaders, as well as her unorthodox methods.Though many knightly orders deride her underhanded tactics and viciousness, just as many praise her for sacrificing her dignity and honor in service to her kingdom; for example:To obscure the scent of her men's cookfires and hide the gleam of their wargear, Saint Alice ordered her men to cover themselves in muck, their horses' feces, and rotting foliage.To avoid relying on vulnerable and easily noticed supply chains, she personally oversaw hunting parties and supply raids on the invaders.To steal away the disadvantage of overwhelming numbers, she set traps and terrifying warnings along the road and its branching paths, harried scouting parties with ambushes, and had small bands of her men play music and howl in the night to disturb sleeping soldiers.All this together gave her and her fellows a reputation among Ridani's troops as a band of fearsome bandits, and later, a band of fearsome ogres. Saint Alice heartily encouraged this reputation to lower enemy morale: One apocryphal tale recounts that she went so far as to erect a wicker sentinel filled with enemy troops and set it aflame in front of Ridani's army, their deafening screams and the horror of the sight sending most of Ridani's army fleeing, if not surrendering in hopes of mercy.1Saint Alice was canonized shortly after Ridani's Crusade, and was henceforth one of the few recognized saints of the realm to earn a spark of the divine without being martyred. Legend has it that she lives yet, having stolen away into the forests of the Altimagne-Larcasia borders and shed her human guise to roam the countryside as an actual ogre.
1 Later accounts suggest that this was another one of her ploys, and that the "enemy troops" were in fact a number of live pigs dressed in the crusaders' livery.
Saint Peregrine of Blackpowder
May the flint strike fire; powder, burn clean; fire, claim the wicked; soul, find rest.
- St. Peregrine's prayer.
Saint Peregrine of Blackpowder, Patron Saint of Gunsmiths, Pyrotechnicians, and Monster Hunters, had markedly sparse religious or arcane leanings in his youth; those who knew him personally recount that he was a timid, polite young man, and a few even remarked on the oddity of such a man becoming a tragic saint.Saint Peregrine lived during the end of King Adrian the Eternal's reign, after King Adrian's public assassination by the Von Ardlekt Coven1 and the coronation of King Edwin the Vampire. As King Edwin saw the tenuousness of his position, Saint Peregrine, working as a gunsmith in the capital at the time, was turned2 and brought into the palace to develop siege artillery, many designs of which are still in use today.Little known to the Von Ardlekts however was that Saint Peregrine had family among their opposition, and his loyalty to his own blood and his own people was greater than that to his new King.It's said that Saint Peregrine worked tirelessly on King Edwin's commission, forging weaponry that made use of a refined blackpowder that burned silently and without smoke. At first it seemed that this was in open betrayal of his fellows, a casting of his lot with the Von Ardlekts; however, it came to light that Saint Peregrine used his high standing with King Edwin to secretly funnel weapons and gold to the growing rebellion, even going so far as to supply hunters' guilds with his blackpowder.Saint Peregrine was tried for high treason and slated for execution. Survivors' accounts say when his own weapons were turned against him, he spoke a single line of prayer, perhaps an incantation: his tongue burned in his mouth, and as the flames consumed him, his body exploded with a force so great it shook down half the castle and shattered windows far outside the castle itself.The conflagration spread in a miraculous, liquid swathe, impossible to tame, and even just the light from the fire burned blessed, scorching the vampires as surely as any holy water.The Von Ardlekts were vanquished that night, and Saint Peregrine's is thus remembered for his miracle.
1 Led by the Margrave (and then King) Edwin von Ardlekt.
2 Some say he was turned by Queen Lizaveta von Ardlekt herself, as a "reward" for skilled work. Many scholars posit it was an ill-fated attempt to keep him from etching blessings into his work.
Marzipan Part 1: Knot A Problem
(preview from page 13 of 26)
"You're making me do all the work." He muses, squeezing one of your nipples through the fabric of your shirt; it stings, but it's a good kind of sting, making you squirm and try to hump against him a little harder. His cock is already poking a tent up in his lap, but he holds your hips still as if he wasn't already at half-mast."Don't be mean, you- ahh- you were doing fine..." You breathe in, trying to steady yourself, and it just gives him time to squeeze the other nipple and tweak them in unison, making you squeak."Wasn't the point of this exercise for me to get a break?" This time he grins at you, teeth bared wolfishly. You gulp as he lets you go and leans back against the wall. "Take the rest of it off for me.""Nnngh..." Your brain is a little too scrambled for a clever response. You instead slide off his lap, regretting the loss of warmth for a moment, but the way his eyes rake across your body sends a thrill across your skin that chases away the growing chill as the sun sets.Your mouth waters as he pulls aside his apron and finally, finally, undoes his pants enough to pull out his cock. It's dusky red, slick and shiny, and so big and warm you can imagine you feel the heat radiating off it where you stand. Your hands shake a little as you have to look away to get your belt undone, and you've never regret wearing a belt more in your life.You glance up at his face and he's still smiling at you, patiently, not even stroking his cock, but when he meets your eye, that wolfish grin somehow grows wider.He strokes once, firmly, squeezing up to the very tip. A dribble of fluid leaks across his knuckles."You want some of this?""Oh," You swallow, hotly. You finally get your belt undone and push your shorts down your legs, and when you look up he's still watching you, greedily drinking in every newly revealed inch of skin. You pull off your shirt and toss it aside in a hurry, and you're not even going to bother with your boots and gloves. "Yes, please."
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Marzipan Part 2: Milk And Honey
(preview from page 8 of 13)
>Fuck the slimeIt's decided then. Or, well, it already was, but now you're doing it for a good cause. You stick your tongue out, mouth open and drooling; when a drop of your drool reaches the slime below, it surges upwards to meet it, wriggling and needy; a tentacle thicker than the rest presses into your mouth.You moan as sugary, amorphous sweetness covers your tongue; the kiss is wetter and sloppier than it would be with a more structured partner, and you think you actually taste what it is. Honey? And milk, definitely, making you purr in contentment. Dribbles of slime stroke down your neck, sticky-wet and leaving cooling trails wherever they touch. They pay particular attention to your breasts, making you gasp and writhe as suction encloses each nipple, not unlike a pair of mouths.You growl a little at that; it feels good, but you don't want them getting too many ideas.You're rewarded for your defiance with another slap on the ass. The slime laughs like a burbling brook while you swear around the tentacle in your mouth. They're really not giving you any leeway to fight back! But then, you're not in this to fight back anymore, right?Instead, you open your mouth wider and suck on the slime in your mouth, getting a generous helping of honey warmth as you do. The color of the tentacle actually goes a little clearer as you do, as you gulp down and take a bit of them into you.The sweetness fills your head with soft, comforting warmth, like settling into a pile of blankets. You suck more eagerly and the warmth travels further down, making you squirm with wetness; the flavor seems to wake something in you, nerves coming alive wherever the slime caresses; even your spanked ass feels good, the spanks warm with anticipation now.It's a wonder that the spa's guests don't want more of this. But then, you can imagine how that might surprise a few people. Either way, you moan, long and languid, as the slime finally works a tentacle no bigger than a finger into your ass, and the two sucking on your nipples redouble their efforts. You try to move your hips towards the slime rather than away, and this time you're rewarded by the slime widening inside of you, filling you in a way you've never experienced before."Hhng-!"You gasp as it shoves its way in; you don't know how deep, but it's deep, and hot, and you swear it's bulging against your belly with how much there is, heavy with liquid fullness. You gurgle around the slime in your mouth and it thrusts down your throat, your eyes rolling up as the slime in your ass thrusts at the same time.They both withdraw, leaving you shaking, dripping. A third nudges against your front entrance, making your toes curl."Mmurgh," You moan. It might have been an attempt at saying "more". You're being greedy, but the wet warmth, the steam, the pleasure- it's hard not to overindulge on the sweet treat you're being so eagerly offered. From where you're looking, it's more than worth it. You suckle on the tentacle in your mouth, arching your back, clenching down on the tentacles in your ass and cunt.You're rewarded by spurts of sweet slime from every end, splatters of it from the other tentacles exploring your naked body. Everything is sticky, gooey heat, slicking up every movement. You feel it dripping down your sides, down your thighs, from your neck and chest.
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Krampusnacht
(preview from page 5 of 10)
"How much do you want to stay and find out what you're capable of?" His voice was almost... warm. It settled in Knoell's belly like a shot of something strong and heady. "Be honest. I'll know. I won't hurt you except in ways you want me to."Knoell couldn't imagine being hurt in any way was a good thing. He couldn't imagine wanting it, couldn't imagine taking even an inch of Krampus's monstrous cock.Just because he couldn't imagine it didn't mean his lusts were sensible, though. What if Krampus meant it? What if he did want it? He looked up the length of it, the bulbous head, the veiny shaft, all of it still dripping- glistening- with saliva and probably more.It was thicker around than he could wrap his fingers, a gap between fingertips and thumb. When had he closed his hand around the base? When had he started stroking it, up and down, hypnotized by the way the velvety skin squished wetly under his palm? It tasted warm and musky, with a certain sourness. When had he pressed his tongue to the spongy head.Knoell moaned as, under the eyes of Krampus and his imps, he took that cock deeper into his mouth. His own cock ached, hot and hard. His jaw strained around the fat girth of Krampus's cock. A clawed hand- small and lithe and gentle- twisted in the hair at the back of Knoell's head and shoved him further down.He gagged, spit bubbling from his lips. He coughed. But he didn't choke.He looked up at Krampus and saw the raw desire in the demon's face, but more than that, there was... welcome. There was warmth. The sight of it lit a fire in Knoell's belly; he wanted to please him, suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to please him. And he knew exactly how.Krampus moaned as Knoell gulped around his shaft, as Knoell ignored his own gagging. "Now you have it." Krampus said. "Now you understand."Knoell didn't think he understood anything just then, really. But he wasn't thinking all too hard, either. He was full of the demon's hot flesh in his mouth, creeping deep into his throat. His hands came up to stroke the furry underside of Krampus's balls, each one large as Knoell's own fist; paired with Krampus's cock, it seemed impossible that such a thing could be real.And yet here he was: On his knees, sucking that cock like his life depended on it. Knoell moaned and looked tearily up at Krampus, wanting more, wanting to take him deeper but only human; he could go no further.So he thought.
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