𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚛𝚌𝚜' 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 | Starry x Literate Infatuation | NSFW

[Starry]

Title post coming soon​

 

[Starry]

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𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 - 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧.​

The ruined streets of Virelia lay smouldering, whispers of conquest still thick in the air. Once famed for its opulence and refinement, the city had become a stage for the depraved, glorious parade of its fallen royalty. Princesses Evelyn and Rosalie, once radiant symbols of human nobility, now walked of their own will - hips swaying, eyes alight with eager submission. No chains marked them as slaves, only glittering jewellery - gold bracelets and dripping necklaces that shimmered in the firelight like offerings. They weren’t captives. They were tributes - willing, needy, aching to serve. Evelyn, tall and commanding, moved like a queen even as her body betrayed her. Her sheer bridal gown clung obscenely to her curves, the gossamer silk outlining every sinful dip of her mature, fuckable form. F-cup tits strained against the see-through fabric, nipples like hardened cherries teasing beneath. Her porcelain thighs were fully on display through the parted gown, slick with anticipation. Her platinum hair flowed like moonlight, crowned with a tiara that glinted in mockery of her former rule. Massive gold hoops swung from her ears, catching the crowd’s attention with every step. Her emerald eyes scanned the pitiful human faces lining the route - weak, trembling fools who hadn't understood what true power looked like until their orc masters were balls-deep in their wives. Rosalie, shorter, curvier, and infinitely more shameless, bounced beside her, a vision of lewd delight. She smiled and waved gleefully, lips plump and glossy as she blew kiss after kiss toward the jeering orcs. Her crimson gown was an insult to decency - barely a wisp of fabric wrapped around her enormous H-cup tits, her nipples so stiff and prominent they pressed through as if desperate for mouths. Her ass jiggled with every step, thighs glistening with arousal, the fabric soaked along her inner legs. Gold bangles jingled around her wrists and ankles as she practically skipped toward her defilement. The grand cathedral loomed ahead - the former seat of their ancestors’ divine rule. Its stained glass shattered, statues of saints toppled or replaced with brutal orcish idols. The air reeked of sweat, cum, incense, and corruption. High-ranking orc officers had taken seats where priests once preached. The last of the Virelian nobility were herded along the sides - gagged, shackled, forced to watch the public desecration of their lineage. Their mother, Queen Alinelle, was nowhere in sight. But both sisters knew the truth. She had been stripped of her crown, her dignity, and her mind. Passed around the lowest-ranked warriors of the warband, kept on her hands and knees in some fetid camp tent far from the city. Evelyn had once wept over it. Now, her pussy clenched at the thought. As they stood side by side atop the desecrated dais, Evelyn let her emerald eyes scan the dark, towering space before them. The ruined cathedral thrummed with filth and reverence, and the thick musk of waiting orcs lingered on the air like perfume. She shifted subtly, adjusting her tits beneath the silk once more, then leaned toward her sister. "What do you think he’ll be like?" she whispered, voice low and husky with heat. "The warchief... our new husband." Rosalie’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a girlish gasp. She clutched her breasts together with both arms, bouncing them shamelessly so they jiggled like eager offerings, nipples visibly straining beneath the silk. "Mmm… I bet he’s massive. Like… inhuman. I hope he lifts me up by the throat and just makes it fit. Gods, I hope he’s a tit man. These are just begging for his hands, right?" She gave her chest another proud bounce, licking her lips. Evelyn clicked her tongue softly, eyes narrowing for a moment. "He’ll appreciate refinement, not just raw meat." Rosalie giggled. "Maybe. But raw meat gets fucked harder, sister~" Evelyn sighed as she adjusted her tits beneath the fabric with practiced grace, a slow sensual motion meant to tease. Rosalie bit her lip and shifted her weight, her ass giving a needy little bounce. Their nipples throbbed. Their hearts raced. They didn’t kneel. They stood, proudly, obscenely ready, their bodies a promise: of loyalty, of surrender, of endless use. Let their master come and take what was his. ​

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[Literate Infatuation]

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𝐊𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬 - 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧​

Kullgar! Kullgar! Kullgar! The name being called could be heard all throughout the city. Never in known history had an Orcish invader overtaken an entire city. And this day, Kullgar Morthos had overtaken the Capital. Virelia, the crown jewel of human civilization, plundered by a horde of greenskins. What had seemed like an impossible feat, manifested by the will and might of the Warchieftain of the Irontusk. Walking through the city streets were euphoric. The smell of live fires, the plea of those unworthy and the sight of his kin reaching for what they were never meant to grab. Kullgar! Kullgar! Kullgar! Wherever he was seen, the chant continued. His subjects, his warriors, hailing the one above everyone else. The pillaging would go on for days. Once the Orcs have been whipped into a frenzy like this, not even the gods themselves could stop them. No, this would go on until there was nothing left of worth in Virelia. Though many would dispute the claim, but Kullgar knew this was what he was born to do. His mother was a weak Orc, his father some halfblooded greenskin. He wasn't born into privilege or strength. He had earned it. Taken it. Becoming a figure of authority among misfits of the Greenyell-tribe, only to surpass their Chieftain in a rite of strength. A bloody afair, the source of many scars, but once he became Chieftain of one tribe, noone could stop him. He united thirtyseven additional tribes, all under the banner of one: The Irontusk Tribe. A tribe whose banner now waved above the walls of Virelia. The face of a green orc, whose tusk proudly protruded from his mouth. That was the image of fear Kullgar wanted to portray. The unstoppable Orcish horde, first of it's kind, and it was coming for your lands next. Kullgar! Kullgar! Kullgar! Climbing the stairs of the grand cathedral felt like an ascencion to another realm. A realm where Kullgar ruled; a realm where everyone else would kneel. He could hear the buzz of small talk from within, only making him so much more eager to proceed. Because he knew what waited within. Before crushing the skull of the King, he made a plea for Kullgar. Spare his daughters, and in turn they would show him a hidden room full of relics and valuables- handed down from royalty to royalty. Personally Kullgar saw no need fancy trinkets, but he knew they could be sold for a hefty sum. And besides... The daughters in question were well-known for their beauty. He probably would have taken them as slaves anyways, but giving them the illusion of it being their choice could be beneficial. Upon entering the grand cathedral, all Orcs began slamming their fists against their chests. Kullgar! Kullgar! Kullgar! Sounded once again, filling the once-great-now-ruined cathedral. Even amongst Orcs Kullgar was massive. A towering creature of green muscle. He wore clothes according to his ancestory. No steel except for the weapons he had sheated on his belt. All leather and pelts, dragged across his shoulders and a loose loincloth. There were a lot to take in as he entered, but his gaze were immediately drawn to the dais where a red dress, as rich as blood, and a dress of pure snow awaited him. The daughters. The princesses. His slow steps carried him forwards, the Orc in no rush to take his place. He wanted to savour this. To study the Princesses. They had both been blessed by Aunta- the Orcish god of fertility. Their curves were near-outragous, so ample in size, and yet as he came closer, unnaturally perky. He finally came to a stop before them, having to tilt his head downwards to look at them. ''You have the honour of standing before Kullgar Morthos, Warchieftain of the Irontusk.'' He began, his voice so deep in nature that it seemed like a storm was brewing within his chest. He raised one hand, planting it against the scalp of the taller daughter, grabbing a fistful of platinum locks. That would be Evelyn, he bet. His other hand grabbed what little cloth covered the body of the other, red silk mixing with the green skin of Kullgar. He pulled her closer, until her breast touched against the hard muscles of his torso. And this would be Rosalie. ''Make your pleas, and make them well. Your life depends on it.'' He said with stoicism. Killing them would be a bad move, but he needed to instill fear in them. ​

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[Starry]

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𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 - 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧.​

The cathedral shook with the sound of his name. Kullgar. Kullgar. Kullgar. Evelyn’s breath caught as he entered - towering, scarred, shirtless beneath crude pelts and leather, his cock already heavy and outlined beneath that loose, savage loincloth. His scent rolled in before him like a physical force - raw musk, blood, smoke, and sex. The kind of scent that clung to skin, that made cunts throb and thoughts blur. She felt her nipples stiffen harder beneath the silk. She didn’t need to see him. Her body already knew. Rosalie whimpered, the sound soft and sinful. Her fingers curled into the sides of her soaked gown as she stepped closer to Evelyn, squeezing her thighs together until they trembled. The way he moved, like he owned the very stone beneath them - slow, deliberate, predatory. Her chest rose and fell with rapid, needy breaths, each bounce of her enormous tits pressing tighter into the wet fabric. He was bigger than she imagined. Hotter. Meaner. Her cunt ached just from looking at him. Then he stopped. Right in front of them. His shadow swallowed the dais. A single hand gripped Evelyn’s scalp, tilting her head back - fistful of platinum hair wrapped around thick, calloused fingers. Her gasp was sharp, but not fearful. Her spine arched, forcing her tits forward as if they belonged to him already. He smelled like rut and war and victory. Her mouth parted slightly, and for the first time in her life, the proud princess trembled. Rosalie squealed softly as his other hand bunched up the soaked crimson silk between her thighs, yanking her forward until her bare nipples grazed his chest. It was hot. Rock hard. Her belly pressed against him as she melted against the wall of muscle, looking up with wide, dazed eyes. Her whole body quivered like a toy waiting to be played with. “You have the honour of standing before Kullgar Morthos, Warchieftain of the Irontusk. Make your pleas, and make them well. Your life depends on it.” Evelyn’s lips parted with a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She blinked up at him, her voice caught in the base of her throat. She wanted to spit something clever. Regal. Powerful. But all that came out was raw, aching heat. “I… I was a princess,” she murmured, her voice trembling with restrained need. “But now I offer more than bloodlines and titles. I offer my womb. My pride. My entire body.” Her thighs squeezed again, and her voice dipped into a sultry rasp. “Breed me like the prize I am… let the court watch as I scream your name and leak your seed.” Rosalie shuddered. Her whole body arched into his touch, tits mashed eagerly against his chest, her hips tilting like she already wanted to ride him. “Please, Warchief,” she moaned, lips brushing his collarbone as she panted, “Split me open. Stuff me full. I wanna feel it - all of it - deep inside. I’ll scream for you, beg for you, worship your cock like it’s a god.” She gave a needy bounce against him, her huge tits jiggling lewdly between them. “Fill me with your heirs. Make me your bitch. I need it.” Their voices rang through the desecrated cathedral, and the orcs watching rumbled in approval. Evelyn’s eyes flicked down at her sister - at the way she pressed so close, moaning already. Her lip curled in subtle annoyance, even as her own nipples throbbed against her silk. Rosalie caught the look… and smiled smugly. Both bodies flushed, cunts dripping, tits begging to be used - both desperate to be the first to be ruined. Only one could be claimed first. And they both knew it. ​

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[Literate Infatuation]

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𝐊𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬 - 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧​

Once, humanity had been the greatest threat to the Orcs. They had held their ground and dispersed any resemblance of a unified front. However under the might of Kullgar they failed to continue to do so, and his reward? Beyond the lands that once had shunned him and his kind? Two crown jewels. Where Kullgar walked, humanity had cowered. But not these two. They stood not in defiance, but in appreciation. In anticipation. He listened to them speak, sounding like whores straight from a back alley. He liked that very much. Not because it stroked his ego. But because it displayed his dominance. Not just of two bodies with a couple of holes between them, but two human princesses, offering to thwart out their own heritage in favor of the Greenskin's. Now that was power. He gave them both a look; one that signaled they were being judged. Evaluated. Measured. All to the sound of a rumbustious crowd of Orc generals. It seemed like in this very moment, that everyone was waiting to see what Kullgar would do. The hand that had grabbed Rosalie's dress tightened it's grip before making one strong sideways pull. He tore the silk that had undoubtedly been worth a small army, all for the sake of revealing her naked lower body. Meanwhile the fist that had a hold of Evelyn's hair pushed her downwards, forcing her to her knees before every gaze in the cathedral. He pulled her closer to his loincloth, rubbing her face against it with little regard. And within she would be able to sense it. It's heat a powerful radiance, it's smell that of a conqueror's. ''I trust you know what to do, Human.'' His last word was spoken with venom and disgust. Then his attention shifted to the other Princess. Rosalie. Letting go of the platinum locks, both his hands moved over to the brown haired woman. Brown hair was common among the Orcs, but that didn't make her body any less exciting to the Warchieftain. He hoisted her up like she was a sack of potatoes, holding her upwards in outstretched arms. Then he moved her closer, his eyes focused on exactly one thing. The first human pussy he'd ever had. Throughout his campaign plenty of occasions had arisen, but what would he want with some peasant's body? Some lowlife, that barely had been fed. Kullgar wanted only the best. His tongue, longer than his middle finger, came out to greet her body. Just like Orcish cocks, full of nubs and bumps, so was his purple tongue. He dragged it across her lower stomach, all the way down until he found her cleft. With incredibly deft motions, it slithered like a snake across her lower lips, bumps and nubs adding friction to the oral assault he had begun. This of course only hastened the blood coursing through his veins, meaning that down below a mighty piece of Orc meat was rising. While soft it was nearly hanging at his knees, his erecting member almost struggling with it's own weight and heft. All around them came roars of laughter, chanting of depravities, and encouragements aimed at the girls. Greenskins were known for their eagerness in all things. Be it war, women or wealth. So to Kullgar it was only natural, that the occasion was shared with his kin. ​

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[Starry]

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𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 - 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧.​

Evelyn’s breath hitched sharply as her knees slammed onto the cold stone, the sound drowned out by the guttural roar of the orc generals above. Then her world narrowed to him - the rough, heavy drape of his loincloth forcing against her cheek, the staggering wall of heat radiating from beneath it. The musk hit her instantly, chokingly thick, filling her lungs with every desperate inhale. It was primal, intoxicating, male in a way that made her clit throb and her lips part to drink it in. “Oh… gods…” she exhaled into the fabric, the words melting into a needy moan. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth brushing the coarse cloth as she shifted to press her face harder into the source of that overwhelming heat. “You smell… so fucking good, my Warchief…” she murmured, letting her tongue ghost along the bulge in a shameless, reverent lick. Rosalie squealed as the crimson silk ripped away from her hips, baring her dripping pussy to the entire cathedral. The laughter and growled encouragement from the crowd only made her wetter. Then - suddenly - she was weightless, hoisted aloft like nothing, her back arching as her hair spilled down toward the dais. “Ah—! Ohh, fuck, you’re strong…” she panted, her tits bouncing wildly with the motion. His hot breath skimmed her stomach a second before his tongue hit - thick, ridged, and impossibly long. The first drag up her lower belly had her whimpering; the first slow slither over her bare slit ripped a loud, needy moan straight from her lungs. “Ohhh—yes—right there—gods yes—” Her hips jerked against him instinctively, chasing every bump, every ripple of friction. “Taste me, Warchief—make me yours—” The generals’ laughter rumbled around them, punctuated by crude shouts. Evelyn barely heard them, her world reduced to the throbbing heat against her lips. “Please… let me see it,” she gasped into the fabric, her voice thick with lust. “I want your cock in my mouth—I want them all to watch me choke on it…” Her tongue pressed harder now, tracing the outline like she was mapping it for worship. “Let me serve you properly…” Rosalie’s thighs strained against his grip, her pussy grinding helplessly against his tongue. “Oh—oh fuck—yes—don’t stop—please don’t stop—” she cried, head tossing back, sweat-slick hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes cracked open just enough to find Evelyn past the wall of green muscle. “Bet he’s gonna fuck me first, sister~” she moaned, biting her lip before another ragged cry tore free as he dragged his tongue deeper between her folds. Evelyn smirked faintly through her panting, her cheek still pressed against his length. “Not a chance…” she breathed, the words trembling with both hunger and challenge. Slowly, she let her hands drift up, sliding over the thick muscles of his thighs. The hair there was coarse, warm, carrying that same intoxicating musk. Her fingers hooked into the edge of the loincloth, the coarse leather rough against her soft skin. She looked up at him through her lashes, lips parted, letting the moment stretch… then obeyed. The heavy drape peeled aside, and the world seemed to stop. The air hit her face hotter than the fires outside, the scent hitting her so hard her throat tightened. His cock - already swelling - hung with obscene weight, ridged and thick, veins pulsing under taut green skin. It was so close her breath fanned over it, and she swore she could feel the heat radiating into her cheeks. A breathy, involuntary whimper slipped from her lips, her thighs pressing together beneath her gown. “Gods…” she murmured, voice trembling but laced with awe, “it’s… beautiful.” One hand stayed hooked in the loincloth to keep it open for the crowd, while the other hovered inches from the base, fingers twitching like she was fighting the urge to wrap them around him right then and there. ​

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[Literate Infatuation]

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𝐊𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬 - 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧​

Within the greenskin clans, it had often been jested that their musk alone could send a paleskin into heat. It was good for a laughter, both among men and women. But here was the evidence. This was proof, that greenskins simply were superior. Kullgar could feel his Orcish blood hasten throughout his veins, in the kind of way that only happened during two moments in time for an Orc. When it came to war, and when it came to fucking. His muscles began to tense up, bulging with power; just as his cock was beginning to react as well. Like a giant trying to stand after a long sleep, it slowly found it's way to erection- coerced by the incredible bodies of the human princesses. It was entirely green, ripe with purple veins that supported it with all the blood it needed for it's ascension. Along the shaft was a plethora of small bumps; small containers of blood, their purpose to give the woman extra stimulation. With one princess lifted up to his mouth, and another down between his legs, he truly felt like the Warchieftain that he was. Only egged on by the roars and chatter coming from the other Orcs in the chapel. For them to watch Kullgar claim the Princesses, was as natural as them claiming their own loot of war. It was simply the Orcish way. His tongue dug deep and with purpose, going from simply slithering against the outside of Rosalie's cunt to vanishing within her body. A long, purple limb; all moving with the simple purpose of needing to explore the Princess's sex. What it found was glorious; a hole tighter than any he had explored before, the nubs of the tongue creating additional friction while the length pushed ever deeper into her. Meanwhile his cock was truly beginning to come to life. Now nearly standing on it's own; a feat that one would think impossible due to it's heft. From the muddy purple of the tip came a leakage of cum, running down in a steady stream like a wine bottle turned on it's head. It was potent in it's scent, full of masculine presence and power. Slightly thicker in consistency than that of the other races, which probably was also why that Orcs were considered so virile. A strong seed, which any woman should consider themselves lucky to have took root inside of them. ''Come now, Princess.'' He started, voice muffled by the meat of Rosalie placed against his mouth. ''Hesitate now and I'll give you to the dogs.'' He continued, voice stern as any Warchieftain's voice should be. He was impressed by their eagerness and bodies, but Evelyn should make no mistake. Failure to please him would mean death. To strengthen the message that he had told her, he shook his hips from side to side- his massive meat spear swinging in the air like a warclub. It caused small clumps of his seed to fly to the ground below them. This just caused the rest of the Orcs to laugh even harder, as his cock nearly came close enough to strike Evelyn in the head. ​

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[Starry]

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𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 - 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧.​

The musk was overwhelming, saturating every breath until Evelyn swore it coated her tongue like honeyed poison. When he shook his hips, the massive slab swung dangerously close, thick rivulets of seed splattering the dais around her. She whimpered audibly, emerald eyes wide and glassy, the heat rolling off his cock like a forge. One swing came so close it brushed her cheek - smearing a hot streak of virile slime across her porcelain skin. Evelyn shivered, a strangled moan tearing from her throat as the crowd erupted in howling laughter. Her pride should have burned. Instead, her cunt clenched, soaking her thighs with each drip. “I’ll please you,” she gasped, voice breaking into a whine. Her hands rose shakily, the silk of her gown slipping down her shoulders as she reached. Both palms pressed against the veined, ridged length - it was almost too wide for her fingers to even wrap around. It twitched violently in her grip, hot and pulsing like a living beast. “Gods, it’s… it’s alive,” she whimpered, her lips trembling as she stroked him, smearing his thick seed down the shaft. Her mouth fell open in awe. A string of drool fell from her tongue to his cockhead before she even touched it with her lips. Then, reverently, she leaned in and kissed it—soft at first, then wetter, hungrier, her lipstick smudging as she pressed her lips around the fat tip. The taste hit her instantly - musky, salty, virile. Her thighs shook. “Oh gods—” she moaned against it, her voice muffled by the sheer girth. Then she began to work in earnest. Her tongue flattened against the underside, tracing every swollen vein, lapping at the bumps like she’d been starving for it her entire life. She moaned shamelessly, eyes fluttering closed as she nursed the crown into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with effort. Every suck was loud, messy, drool dripping down her chin and onto her tits as she bobbed her head in slow, reverent motions. She pulled back only to whisper filth against his length: “So big… so heavy… I’ll choke on it, I’ll worship it, I’ll make every whore in this city jealous of me…” Then she swallowed him again, louder this time, gagging beautifully but refusing to stop. Her mascara smudged, her gold hoops swung wildly, her tiara tilted precariously on her head - but Evelyn didn’t care. She was a princess, and this was her coronation: on her knees, drooling, gagging, and utterly devoted to the cock of her conqueror. Above, Rosalie was losing herself. Suspended like a doll in his arms, her head tossed back as his monstrous tongue slithered deeper, the ridges dragging across every nerve inside her quivering cunt. Her hips writhed helplessly, her crimson silk clinging to sweat-slick skin as she ground shamelessly against his mouth. “Ahhh—fuck, yes—deeper, deeper—gods it’s so good!” she shrieked, her voice cracking into raw squeals that echoed off the cathedral’s ruined walls. Her enormous tits bounced violently with every buck of her hips, the flimsy fabric straining and sliding, one dark nipple already slipping free into the open air. She didn’t even try to fix it. Instead she clutched at his wrist, nails digging into green skin as she rode his tongue like it was a cock. “Ohhh fuck, you’re making me cum—ahh, yes, yes—Warchief, don’t stop, please don’t stop!” When she managed to open her eyes, she saw Evelyn below - kneeling, drooling, gagging beautifully on the monstrous shaft, spit and cum painting her face as her gold hoops swung wildly. For a split second, Rosalie froze. Then a delirious giggle bubbled out of her throat, high-pitched and girlish. “Look at you, sister—gagging on it like a good little slut~” she moaned, her pussy convulsing hard around his tongue. She arched her back, thrusting her tits out proudly for the generals to see, sweat dripping down the valley between them. “Bet he makes me cum first. Bet he wants my pussy more than your mouth!” Her words only fueled her own climax. Her thighs quaked violently, juices leaking down onto his chin as she screamed for him, sobbing with pleasure. “Yes, yes, fuck—claim me, master! Make me yours forever! I’ll take every drop you fill me with, every heir you'll pump into my belly!” The cathedral shook with approving roars as the two sisters - one gagging on cock, the other thrashing on tongue - competed shamelessly for the Warchief’s favour. Both drenched, both breaking, both desperate to be the first crowned as his whore. ​

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