Monster Bestfiend Accidentally Finds Your Only Fans
Monster best friend that accidentally finds your only fans. As soon as he sees your face, he goes to get off your page, but when he sees the giant monster dildo in your hand, he pauses. His finger hovers over the play button, his mind at war with itself on whether to see more. His conscience screams at him to put the phone down and forget he saw you there, but everything else screams at him to see more.
He gives in and clicks on your page, and his cock throbs as he realizes that every video is of you playing with all different monster dildos. He starts a video and can’t help but moan as you bounce up and down on a very large dildo, clearly modeled after a werewolf cock. Your tiny cunt stretched more than he would have thought possible for a little human.
His hand is immediately wrapped around his throbbing cock and stroking in time with your movements. He growls as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, feeling his own release getting closer, far faster than he would like.
As you let out a scream and gush all over the dildo, he finally cums, shooting all over his hand and the floor. He releases a small moan as he glances at his phone and sees the cum covering the screen over your naked body.
The guilt slowly creeps in as he comes down from his high, and he vows he will never do this again. And he continues to break that vow every night as he crawls into bed, his cock cumming hard as he watches your videos, only to swear it’s the last time all over again.
And when he sees you next, and his cock starts hardening immediately, he knows he is truly fucked. He’s just going to have to find a way to claim you for himself. At least he knows you have a thing for monsters and riding monster cock. He can’t wait to see you bouncing on his.
Imagine your parents sign you up for some kind of riding therapy class after you have a really bad fall while riding your horse. Not only do you now have an ache in your back that never goes away, but you're also terrified of being in the saddle. You visit your beloved horse almost every day, but you can't bring yourself to ride.
You don't want to go to riding therapy, but you know your parents must have spent a lot of money on it, so you decide to try it at least once. When you get there, however, you're in for a surprise. You're seeing every type of build from elegant thoroughbred to chunky pony. But these aren't horses, they're centaurs.
You can only stand there gaping and holding on to your walking cane for dear life as the centaurs bustle around. Some of them are already in the ring, walking in gentle circles with their riders, while others help each other fasten their saddles and guide ropes.
"You must be new," a friendly voice booms from high above you.
A centaur with a draft horse body and feathery hooves smiles at you, leaning down to offer his hand. You shake it timidly, explaining that you didn't know what type of riding therapy it was until you got here.
"It's a fairly new practice. We recommend that you see it as merely an extra step to getting back in the saddle. Centaurs typically have a smoother gait and unlike horses, we can understand our riders perfectly. Makes for a soothing experience. Do you want to try?"
It does sound less stressful than riding a horse when he puts it that way. You nod slowly.
"You can pick from any centaur that isn't already saddled," he says.
"Then, um, can I choose you?"
He doesn't hesitate to nod, a smile spreading on his face as he moves over to a mounting block. Another centaur offers to help with the saddle, but you decline. Putting the saddle on has always been a calming experience for you, even though you need to use a bit more effort this time thanks to the size of your ride. You're so deep into it that you even give him a pat on the belly out of habit. He laughs at how flustered you get and assures you that he doesn't mind.
It takes a bit of work to actually get in the saddle, and your knees ache by the time you settle. You're very high up. You take a deep breath and try not to tug anxiously on the guide ropes. He takes a couple of steps forward to ease you in before settling into a rolling walk. You realize it's not bad at all. The sun is mild, and the centaur's gait is so smooth you might well be sailing on a tranquil sea. For the first time in forever, you're smiling.
Centaur!boyfriend who is so nervous asking you to marry him that he drops the ring into the grass and you have to spend half an hour looking for it after you accept (and make out for a long time).
Centaur!fiancée who would be super into wedding planning, making sure everything is perfect and everything is adapted to all kinds of species attending the wedding. He would make sure the bathrooms are centaur-friendly, the chairs are monster-sized and there's enough food to feed a whole army. He turns into groomzilla as you watch him with warm eyes and soft smiles, his excitement meeting yours as you two together prepare the perfect event.
Centaur!fiancée who is so into tradition that he refuses to see you a week before the wedding, leaving your shared house and staying with his family until the day comes. He's so excited he's crying even before you arrive. But the second he sees you? His heart might be stopping as he watches you walking down the aisle looking so perfect he can't even breathe. He spends half the ceremony so enraptured by your beauty that he misses half the words out of the person officiating, not that he cares, because he hears your vows well enough (and he sobs at them).
Centur!husband who would look so happy when you walk out of the ceremony galloping on his back with everyone cheering around you. He would take you to your own house, spending at least an hour memorizing every single inch of your body on the special day before taking you back to enjoy the feast with all your guests.
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a story about a poor human woman getting forced into her role on a monster’s human farm with the help of the farmhands of course.
The Breaking-In (fem!human!reader x multiple!monsters)
Summary: Purchased at auction, you learn exactly what your body was bought for. The farmhands take their time training you...
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The wooden barn doors groan shut behind you, and the lock bolts slam home with a sound that punches through your ribs.
Your wrists are still raw from the ropes they cut off in the cart. You'd screamed yourself hoarse during the ride up the mountain, but the driver—some scaled thing with too many knuckles—had simply reached back and pressed one cold finger to your lips.
Now you're standing in sawdust and straw, naked before you even knew they'd stripped you. Your dress is gone. Your underwea are torn in some corner. All that remains is your skin, prickling in the cold air, and the three shapes that circle you like wolves deciding where to bite first.
"This one's got fight," rumbles the first voice.
The minotaur steps into the lantern light.
His horns curve back from a broad, flat face, nostrils flaring as he breathes you in. Black fur covers his arms, his massive shoulders, the thick column of his neck. He's wearing nothing. His cock hangs half-hidden in a sheath of furred skin, but you see the weight of it.
"Fight's good," says another voice.
The werewolf appears.
His fur is silver-grey, matted across his chest and down his spine. He's leaner than the minotaur but no less dangerous. His snout twitches, nose working, and his eyes are the color of amber. He doesn't bother hiding what's between his legs. The red tip of his cock has already slipped free of its sheath, glistening.
"Mouthy, though," observes the third. "Heard her all the way up the switchbacks. Screaming."
The horse hybrid steps closer.
He has no fur. Just smooth, dark hide stretched over a frame that seems built for endurance. Broad hands. Wide shoulders. And when he turns fully toward you, you see the length of him—not fully erect yet, but the half-hard shaft hangs near his knee. Veins trace blue rivers beneath the skin.
You back up. Your spine hits cold wood. A stall divider.
"No—" The word tears out of you before you can stop it. "Please, I don't—I can't—"
"Shhhh."
The werewolf is in front of you before your next breath. His hand cups your jaw, claws retracted, but the pads of his fingers press hard enough to hurt. "You can. That's the beautiful part, little meat. Your body knows exactly what to do. It's just your mouth that hasn't learned yet."
You try to turn your head. He holds you still.
"Let me hear her," the minotaur says, stepping closer. His shadow swallows you. "Want to know what kind of sounds she makes."
"I told you. Mouthy."
The werewolf's thumb presses against your lower lip. You clamp your mouth shut, jaw grinding. He chuckles and then his fingers find the corners of your mouth and pull.
"Open."
You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.
"Variks Farm doesn't buy closed mouths," the horse hybrid says from somewhere behind you. You feel his heat at your back. His hand lands on your hip, palm calloused, fingers spreading wide to measure the span of your waist. "Variks buys service holes. So you'll open, or we'll open you, and one of those takes a lot longer."
The werewolf's other hand comes up. Two fingers push past your lips before you can bite down. They scrape your tongue. They press toward the back of your throat.
"Ghkk—"
"That's it. That's the sound."
He fucks your mouth with his fingers, pushing in until your eyes water, pulling out to let you gasp, then shoving deeper. Your hands come up to claw at his wrist, but the minotaur catches both your wrists in one massive fist and pins them above your head.
"Let her fight," the minotaur says. "Adds flavor."
The horse hybrid's hands are on your breasts now. No warning. Just palms cupping the weight of you, thumbs finding your nipples already tightened to hard peaks from fear and cold. He circles them, presses down, pinches.
You scream into the werewolf's fingers.
"Good," the horse hybrid breathes against your ear. "Good tits. Look at these, Dorn."
The minotaur—Dorn—leans down. His free hand comes up, and he doesn't just look. He touches. He palms your breast, lifts it, squeezes until you feel the pressure deep in the tissue. His thumb rasps over your areola, then he bends his head and licks.
The wet heat of his tongue shocks a moan out of you. Your hips jerk. The horse hybrid's cock—when did it get hard?—presses against the small of your back, hot, heavy and so long you can feel it riding up between your shoulder blades.
"Pretty nipples," Dorn observes, pulling back. He licks his lips. "Small areolas. Sensitive, look—" He flicks one with his thumb and your whole body twitches. "She's going to be a faucet when we really get going."
"Check the rest of her."
The werewolf's fingers withdraw from your mouth with a wet schlick. You cough, drool stringing from your lower lip to his knuckles, and he wipes it on your cheek. "Turn her around. Want to see the back."
The hands on you rearrange you like livestock.
The horse hybrid grips your hips and spins you, forcing you on your knees. And then the werewolf is behind you, one hand spreading your ass cheeks apart, the other sliding between your thighs from the front.
"No—don't—"
"Shut her up," Dorn says mildly.
The horse hybrid steps in front of you. His cock bobs at eye level—thick, dark, the head already weeping clear fluid. He grips your hair at the crown and tilts your face up. "Open that pretty throat."
You keep your jaw locked. He sighs.
Then he pinches your nose.
You hold out for seven seconds. Maybe eight. Then your lungs force your mouth open and he shoves inside, deep, his cock sliding over your tongue and hitting the back of your throat before you can even process the taste of salt and musk.
"HURK—"
"There she is."
He doesn't move at first. Just lets you choke. Your throat convulses around his shaft, trying to push him out, but that only makes him groan and press deeper. Spit floods your mouth, spills down your chin, drips onto your chest.
"Look at that," the werewolf says behind you. His fingers are at your pussy—you feel them parting your folds, exposing you. "She's already wet. Look. Look."
He spreads you open. You hear the wet sound of it, the schlick of your own arousal betraying you. Dorn leans around to see, and his grunt of approval vibrates through the stall.
"Tight little cunt," the werewolf continues. His fingertip circles your entrance, teasing the wetness gathering there. "But she'll stretch. They always do. And look at this—"
He pulls his hand back. You feel the blunt press of his thumb at your asshole instead.
"MMMMPH—"
"No, no, keep choking," the horse hybrid says pleasantly. He pulls his cock back until just the head rests on your tongue, then shoves forward again.
"Ghhhk!"
"That's perfect. Do that again."
His fingers tighten in your hair. He sets a rhythm; long, lazy thrusts that bury him in your throat each time, your lips stretched around the base of his shaft, your nose pressed to his lower belly. Every push makes you gag. Every gag makes your throat squeeze him tighter. He groans above you, head thrown back, hips rolling.
"She's drooling down her tits," Dorn observes. You feel his hand on your breast again, smearing your spit across your nipple. "And her ass—"
The werewolf's thumb presses harder. Not inside yet. Just rubbing, circling, feeling the tight ring of muscle clench and release and clench again.
"Never been touched here," the werewolf says. You can hear the grin in his voice. "Virgin hole. Dorn, you want first?"
"Tempting. But let's see how many fingers she takes before she comes."
"Before?"
"You think she's not going to come?"
They both laugh. The horse hybrid pulls out of your throat just long enough for you to gasp, "Please, please, I don't want this"—and then he's back, stuffing your mouth full, cutting off your protests with the fat head of his cock.
The werewolf's finger pushes into your pussy.
Just one. Just the first knuckle. But your body reacts like you've been electrocuted; back arching, hips grinding back onto his hand, a moan vibrating around the cock in your throat. He sinks deeper. One finger. Two. Curling them, stroking the spongy spot inside you that makes your knees buckle.
"There it is," he murmurs. "There's her button. Feel that? She's squeezing me like a fist."
"Work her open," Dorn says. "Both ends."
The werewolf's thumb presses against your asshole. And pushes.
The stretch burns. You scream around the horse hybrid's cock, but the sound comes out muffled, choked. The werewolf works his thumb in slow circles, forcing the tight ring to give way, while his other fingers keep pumping your pussy. Two in there now. Maybe three. You've lost count.
And then... betrayal.
Your hips start moving on their own. Rocking back into the werewolf's hand. Grinding down onto his fingers. Your pussy flutters, and that pressure building in your belly isn't pain anymore—
"Ngh... no—"
"Yes," Dorn says. He's moved closer, you feel his furred chest against your side, his hand sliding down your belly to where the werewolf's fingers disappear inside you. His thumb finds your clit. Circles it. "Yes, little bitch. That's the first one of many."
You come screaming.
It rips through you without permission. Your pussy spasms around the werewolf's fingers, clenching so hard he grunts with surprise. Your asshole tightens around his thumb. Your whole body shakes, convulses, and through it all the horse hybrid keeps fucking your throat, forcing you to swallow around his cock, choking on every thrust.
The orgasm goes on too long. Weeps out of you in shuddering waves. When it finally stops, you're limp with rapture.
"Beautiful," Dorn says. He pulls his hand back and sucks his thumb clean. "Now we fuck her."
They position you like a doll.
The werewolf lies on his back in the straw, cock jutting up against his belly—red, ridged, his knot already beginning to swell. He grips your hips and pulls you down onto him, your pussy stretched wide around his shaft.
"Aaaahhnn—"
"Shh. Bottom out. Take it all."
You sink onto him inch by inch. He's not as long as the horse hybrid, but he's thick, and the ridges drag against every nerve inside you. When your ass meets his hips, you feel him pressed against your cervix, and your eyes roll back.
"Good girl," the werewolf breathes. "Now don't move."
You couldn't move if you tried. Your legs are shaking too hard.
But Dorn kneels behind you. You feel his hands on your hips, spreading you wider, and then something cool and wet drips down the crack of your ass: spit, he's spitting on you, working the saliva into your hole with his thumb.
"Ready, sweet little bitch?"
"No—not there—I can't—"
His cock presses against your asshole.
You've never had anything inside there. Never even touched yourself that way. But Dorn doesn't care about your experience. He pushes, and the head of his huge cock stretches the tight ring until you feel like you're splitting in half.
"BREATHE," he commands.
You breathe. And he slides deeper.
The pain whites out for a moment. Then something shifts. Muscles giving up, giving in, and he's inside, his cock filling your ass completely, pressed against the thin wall that separates him from the werewolf's shaft in your pussy.
You can feel both of them. Every ridge. Every vein. The werewolf's cock swelling inside you,the curve of Dorn's shaft pressing forward.
"Look," the horse hybrid says.
He's kneeling in front of you now, cock in hand, stroking slowly. He reaches out and presses his palm flat against your stomach. You glance down.
There's a visible bump. Two of them, pressing against the wall of your belly from the inside.
"There's your purpose," he says. "Just a set of holes for us to use. Now open up."
You don't have the strength to fight. Your jaw drops open and he feeds his cock into your mouth, down your throat, past where you thought your throat ended. The bulge in your neck matches the one in your belly.
And then they start moving.
The werewolf thrusts up into your pussy. Dorn thrusts forward into your ass. The horse hybrid thrusts deep into your throat. Three different rhythms, three different angles, and you're just the meat between them. Bouncing, choking, drooling, moaning despite yourself.
"Ghhhk—glrk—shhlck—"
The sounds are filthy.
Your pussy squelches around the werewolf's cock every time he pulls back. Your ass stretches wide as more spit is rubbed all over your rim. The horse hybrid's balls slap against your chin when he fucks your throat, and his pre-cum mixes with your spit and drips down your chest.
"She's taking it," Dorn growls. His claws dig into your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Taking all of us. Look at her throat—look—"
The horse hybrid pulls out just enough for you to see his cock sliding in and out of your stretched lips. Your throat bulges with each thrust. Your eyes are streaming. Your nose runs.
"Pretty little bitch," the horse hybrid sighs. He shoves back in and you gag, throat convulsing, and he groans.
You climax again.
This one doesn't ask permission. Your pussy squeezes the werewolf's length, your ass clamping down on Dorn's shaft, your throat spasming around the horse hybrid's length. You scream but no sound comes out. Just a wet ghkk around the cock in your mouth.
"That's it," Dorn snarls. "That's it, take it, take it—"
They fuck you through the orgasm. Past it. Into another one that crests before the first one finishes.
The werewolf comes first. You feel his knot lock inside you, swelling until you can't move, and then hot floods of cum pump you full. His hips jerk. His head tips back, and he howls.
The sound triggers Dorn. He slams into your ass one last time, balls deep, and you feel his cock pulse, once, twice, three times, pumping his load into your bowels. His hands crush your hips. His roar drowns out everything else.
The horse hybrid pulls out of your throat just long enough to stroke himself over your face. "Open your eyes."
You do. The first rope of cum hits your left eye. The second paints your lips. The third lands on your chest, and by the time he's done you're wearing him like a mask.
They pull out slowly. You feel every inch, the slide, the emptiness, the rush of fluids that follow. Cum drips from your pussy, your ass, your mouth. It pools in your navel. It runs down your thighs.
You collapse face-first into the straw, shuddering.
"It's over," you whisper. "Please. It's over."
Dorn laughs.
"Poor little one," he says, petting your hair. "The night shift hasn't even clocked in."
The barn doors open again.
More shapes. More shadows.
A centaur, his human chest bare, his horse body gleaming. His cock hangs from his equine sheath, longer than the horse hybrid's.
Behind him, a lizardfolk with rusty scales, his tongue flickering out to taste the air. His cock is different; ridged, barbed, the color of blood.
A gargoyle shambles in last. Stone and power. His cock is carved from the same grey rock, slick with some kind of oil that drips onto the floor.
"First shift did good work," the centaur says, circling you. His hooves click on the wood. "She's loose. Ready."
"No," you try. Your voice comes out broken. "No more—"
The lizardfolk kneels beside your head. His forked tongue licks the cum off your cheek. "More," he says simply. "Always more. You don't stop until morning, little one. That's the point."
The gargoyle crouches between your legs. Stone fingers part your pussy—still dripping, still twitching—and he pushes one huge finger inside. The stone is rough, textured, and you feel every groove scraping your walls.
"Wider," the gargoyle says. "She needs to be wider."
The centaur lowers himself and positions himself at your mouth. His cock is too long, too thick, but you don't have the strength to fight. He pushes past your lips and down your throat without resistance this time. Your throat has learned. It opens for him like a sheath.
The lizardfolk takes your pussy. His barbed ridges catch on every nerve as he slides inside, and you scream around the centaur's cock—but the scream turns into a moan when the barbs drag against that spot inside you. He fucks you slow. Each stroke scrapes you raw and sends lightning up your spine.
The gargoyle takes your ass. Stone stretches you wider than Dorn did, wider than you thought possible, and the oil lubricates but doesn't cushion. You feel every inch of carved rock pressing into your bowels.
Three of them. Three new monsters. Three new rhythms.
You stop fighting after the first hour.
By the second hour, you're on your side, riding the centaur's cock while the lizardfolk fucks your ass from behind and the gargoyle kneels in front of you, your lips stretched around his stone shaft. Your jaw aches. Your throat is raw. But your pussy keeps clenching, and your ass keeps gripping, and you keep coming... over and over, orgasms stacked on orgasms until you can't tell where one ends and another begins.
The centaur paints your pussy with his release. The lizardfolk follows, filling your ass until it overflows. The gargoyle finishes last, pulls out, strokes his stone cock over your face, and unloads grey-white cum across your tongue and cheeks and hair.
You lie in the mess. Unable to move. Unable to close your legs. Your pussy gapes open, leaking. Your ass is similar; a dark, stretched hole that winks. Cum drips from your lips, your chin, your eyelashes.
The lizard cups your face and tilts it toward him. "Look at you," he says softly. "Broken in. Ready."
He kisses your forehead and stands. "The day shift will be here soon. Rest while you can, little one."
The barn doors close.
The lanterns flicker.
And somewhere outside, you hear more hooves approaching.
You’ve done it. You’ve finally achieved your dream of being a well-reputed dog trainer. Only problem is you’re not very good at it. Which you really don’t understand. It seemed easy enough when you first started.
You had a crazy family member who always insisted on watching those fancy dog shows around the holidays. And you were the one who always got stuck watching it along with them. Somehow drawing the short stick every time.
Now those guys got through the courses with ease. So why couldn’t you? You did what all the books told you to do. Gave the cute little doggies their treats whenever they got a trick right. Although that didn’t happen very often either.
You also tried to help them through each trick, even doing them yourself so that they got the idea better. Yet every time you did all they’d do in return is watch you funny. A certain smugness in the air as if they were mocking you for getting you to do the trick instead of them.
What was worse was that they did perfectly well for others. Some guy at the park saw your struggle one day and asked if he could try. In a matter of minutes the dog was running through your DIY show course without an ounce of resistance.
So of course the dogs end up well trained and prove as such to their owners. They just usually end up going for another trainer in the end.
It was like the dogs enjoyed making a joke out of you and you alone.
While you may not have the magic touch when it comes to show dogs, you and your tricks seem to be mighty alluring for the nearby monsters in your area.
Something about the way you move and the tone of your voice appears to draw monsters to you like a moth to a flame. Which actually almost happened one time before you quickly stopped the mothman from getting too close.
It’s like you have a way with the beasts.
Werewolves have run you down while at the park. Quickly pushing the dogs out of the way before eagerly taking their place. Drool drips from their maws as they watch the way you command them. Their tails wagging and their rock hard cocks bobbing around as they follow your every order till they mount you because they swore they heard you command them to cum.
Centaurs trample over each other to give you their resumes, all of them begging for a chance to have you ride on them. No matter how many times you tell them you have no experience in horseback riding they all just smirk and tell you they’d be more than happy to teach you. Though you get the strange feeling they have a different idea on how they want you to ride them.
Minotaurs corral you into signing up for rodeos, trying their best to convince you to give up on boring dog shows and make a real career out of bull riding. You’re suspicious but end up going for the entertainment factor. Yet your thoughts are proven right as the Minotaurs aren’t so much as bucking their riders off their backs but bucking their cocks into something instead.
In an attempt to go back to your roots you tried to attend another dog show employed by the one owner who had an unnerving amount of confidence that you could be the only person to get their precious pup through the show and it didn’t go as planned.
As soon as you began your routine a whole hoard of monsters charged the ring and trampled the obstacles. The show was cancelled due to the incident and just like the ring, your hopes were crushed.
Trying to work uninterrupted was quickly becoming impossible.
You almost wondered if you could somehow sneak a monster into your next dog show. Dress ‘em up and disguise them well enough to convince the judges that what they were seeing was a dog and not some horrible mix between man, dog, and some other beast.
It was worth a try. You were out of other options anyway.
The only issue you kept running into was their reward system. These beasts were much different than dogs and they wouldn’t take to just any snack you gave them. No, they all knew exactly what they wanted to eat as a reward.
Their eyes always staring you down hungrily like a predator who’s so close to catching their prey. With victory so close in their sights, nearly tasting it, that they become even more feral for you.
It’s clear what they want, even to you. For every trick they successfully perform for you they require one orgasm out of you in return. Whether you’re coating their tongues with your nectar or painting their cocks with your release, it’s the only way they’ll cooperate. You don’t have to think about the offer for long.
Centaur Manager is always careful when it comes to your safety during sex. Oh, he's terribly apologetic about your struggles to take him in. What a lamentable curse, this size difference of yours! In truth, however, he can't help but secretly enjoy your misfortune: watching as your round eyes tear up, hearing your small grunts and whines as his cock stretches you out, savoring your flushed face whenever you're stuffed just from the tip. He'll stroke your hair lovingly and whisper praise words in your ear, chest puffed with pride. Would you find it in your heart to forgive his mean delight? You're simply too adorable.
Lewd facts about the Hotel staff and guests! Featuring Minotaur Maid, Puppy!Hybrid, Slime Guest, and Vampire Noble.
Being the only human transfer to a monster high school. By some mix-up in paperwork.. It's also a little too late to switch now, as the semester started.
The Vampire Class President is the first monster you meet. He seems genuinely sorry for your situation and wants to make this as smooth as possible. He gets some teachers to excuse certain classes because.. well.. You're human. You can't exactly do what their asking.
The Werewolf Jock Pack ran into you by accident. They were all heading to the field for practice when one of them knocked you aside by complete accident. They are quick to fix their mistake. Once learning that you're the new human transfer, they offer to have you help them practice. The zombie they worked with kept losing his arm.. so your completely attached arm would help! You can throw the ball without fear of your arm flying off!
The Centaur Senior is in all your classes. She knows the halls get packed. Packed. It's almost impossible to navigate without a strong voice. You, a human, can't exactly shout loud enough to make any monsters move. She let's you ride on her horse back while you carry all the bags. She easily navigates the halls and gets the both of you to each class safely.
The Kitsune Foreign Student, and you seemed to have clicked. You both are struggling slightly to adjust to the new school with all these different monsters. It was nice to find a quieter monster to spend time learning the school's layout, having lunch, and studying for each class.
At the end of the day.. it's a relief to know you won't be suffering through the last school year alone. You might've already made a whole load of friends!
Intelligent, passionate, professional woman turned into an abomination’s little dumb, brainless cocksleeve. No one is at fault but her. She willingly let herself get hypnotized into being a brainless little slut in her free time by the monsters and creatures in the woods. Do not save her. Do not free her. If you see her gagging on multiple cocks that are stretching out her throat, let her be. If you see her whimpering and crying like a helpless princess while she gets bred nice and slow, let her be. If you see her trembling and crying underneath a hideous creature that’s been edging her for hours, let her be. If you see her tangled in a abomination’s many limbs as they make her jaw stay open so it can feed her it’s saliva all day long while her tiny cunt is slowly fisted, don’t help her, leave her stuck. If you see her being passed around a horde of monsters like a sacrificial lamb, trapped in an endless loop of divine mating rituals, leave her stuck there. If you see her clinging to a wild beast with all claws and sharp edges, leaving their marks and bites all over her while she’s helplessly stuffed with their cock, too big and wide for her to handle and now she’s stuck cockwarming said beast, let her stay stuck. If you see her in between five large, inexplainable ancient beasts that are all sitting in a circle chilling and chatting while her every hole is stuffed by their dicks and fingers for hours and days on end, let her stay stuck. This is what she agreed to. She can be a girl boss later, but for now, while she’s tied up, drooling with her mouth wide open for any intrusion, eyes rolled back, with her puffy cunt and sore ass being stretched out by huge brute cock for the foreseeable future…. Just send her her best wishes, and hope she gets to be a dumbed down slut anytime she desires <3
