I ought to have waited until the 23rd to post, but I didn't want to, so I…didn’t. :)
This story was inspired by this hot art of a naked orc carrying off a naked lady, by @cheesomancer.
Male Orc x Female Human
NSFW: p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), breeding
The woman had just finished bathing, without a chance to even put a robe on yet, when her equally naked orc husband barged into the bathing chamber, snatched her off her feet, and threw her over his shoulder like she was a sack of grain. She yelped and threw her hands out in surprise at being suddenly dangled in the air, but it was far from the first time he had done this to her.
“Just where do you think you’re taking me?” she asked in mock consternation as he stomped off with her, though she knew perfectly well where and why.
“Need to breed an heir,” he grunted. His hand rested on top of her bare ass to hold her on his shoulder, and he squeezed slightly, then let his fat thumb slip down to tease at her pussy lips.
It always amused and aroused her, this melding of something so refined—ensuring the continuation of his dignified family line and security of his great estate—with something so vulgar—breeding her like an animal. Seeing the feral side of her gentlemale orc come out was a thrill.
He tossed her onto his bed and dropped to the mattress between her legs. “I’ve just bathed; you’re going to make me all untidy again,” she protested, though he knew it was just part of their game.
“I like you untidy,” he told her, and hefted her hips up to his mouth to start work on making her so.
Soon, the insides of her thighs were coated in his saliva and her own slick, but her husband was true to his word, only growing more excited as she grew more messy. He held himself back, though, preparing her with his tongue and fingers, stretching and softening her cunt so it could take the great heft of his orc cock.
Right when she was on the edge of coming did he stop, making her whine. “Hush, little bird.” He dragged the head of his cock through her wetness a few times. “I'll give you what you need.”
His thrusts were slow, at first, the gentlemale coming back to the surface until her cunt adjusted to the stretch, but as soon as her face relaxed and her cunt slicked easily around his length, the feral orc returned, slamming deep with brutal energy, driven by his base instincts to breed. The beast inside him didn’t care about heirs or titles or estates. All it wanted was a warm cunt to milk out his seed and a safe womb in which that seed could find purchase.
Her breasts shook as he pounded into her, and he reached for them to squeeze. “Can't wait to make you a pretty mama and see these breasts so full,” he rasped out. “Are you ready for that, little bird? For me to fuck a baby into you?”
“Yes, give it to me!” she wailed.
“I’m going to give you all of my seed, flood your womb with it, breed you up like a good mate, make you pregnant,” he barked out as he thrust.
He wouldn't do any of that until she came, though. His thumb found her swollen bud and swept over it frantically. “Oh God, yes!” she cried out, pleasure crashing into her, twisting her up, then taking her apart.
Her cunt clenched and pulsed, and her orc snarled as his heavy balls drew up. “Yes, ahh bloody hell, you're ready to get bred, gonna fill you up, take it, take it all!” Cum erupted from his cock, filling her to the brim just as he'd promised, then spilling out as more kept coming, on and on, his hips still stuttering back and forth in a broken rhythm, urging out everything in his balls.
When he was thoroughly drained, he rolled to the side, pulling his wife atop his body with his cock still inside her. “Goddamn…” he sighed happily. He petted down her back, now sticky with sweat. “That was perfect.”
She made a soft sound of agreement from where her face was nestled between his pectoral muscles.
“I think it worked this time,” he added.
She propped her chin on his chest to look at him. “Does that mean you won't cart me off for breeding anymore?”
His mouth curled into a coy smile around his tusks. “Much safer to keep doing it, just in case. Mustn’t take any risks when it comes to producing an heir. I take my responsibilities as master of the estate and bloodline very seriously, you know.”
She huffed air out her nose. “Oh yes, it's definitely about your responsibility, not because you simply love filling me up.”
“Of course not. I'm a respectable, refined gentlemale.”
Right then, his softened cock slipped free of her cunt with a wet sound and sent cum gushing over his groin. They both erupted in laughter. “Oh, yes, very refined, sir!”
~ 😈🎩 ~
Written for the Monstrous May Challenge by @johannestevans.
Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing or my master list.
The Monstrous May Challenge is for artists, writers, other creators, and anybody else motivated by monsters to create works that feature monstrous romance and monsterfucking!
KISS A MONSTER TODAY.
More info about the challenge, as well as banners in the style of the above for each individual prompt, is available here.
You can also browse all the prompts for previous years, back to the first prompt list with banners in 2022.
The language was still in its infancy, with only a handful of words and no name of its own. The first words were the simplest: one sharp tap for yes/good/continue, one emphatic sweep for no/bad/stop. The work was ongoing; there were only two linguists on base, and they had got as far as hello, question?, food, and goodbye. Still, everyone had to learn what words there were, and practise, practise, practise. Everyone took turns to go out to the glade at the centre of the island, step into the deep, clear pool of water at its heart, and sit barefoot on the deep ledge around its edge that left you submerged up to chest or collarbones, legs sticking out straight. Everyone learned how to make the right sweeping and tapping motions through the water, a kind of morse code of pressure waves. The trick was to talk with your hands, and listen with the soles of your feet.
Verne managed both equally well with one tentacle.
"Verne" had come from management, who seemed to have nothing better to do than workshop whimsical names for every new discovery on planet Thetis. Leah didn't mind this one, actually. She'd managed to get the entire team to refer to Verne's home as "the vernal pool", which was about what passed for amusement around here. She wasn't part of the language team; just another biologist, and in particular, keeper of the large waterproof binder that served as the manual to Verne's behaviour.
She had titled it "On the Care and Keeping of Tentacles" and decorated the cover with a doodle of a cartoon squid.
Not that Verne was a squid. Leah settled onto the submerged ledge and swished a hello across the pool. As the ripples settled, a new motion began in its spiralling depths. A massing, a coiling, an unspooling, as Verne's singular tentacle delivered itself from the almost invisible crevasse at the centre of the pool. It drew itself out to something several times longer than a human, tapering from a treelike thickness at the root to a delicate tip barely thicker than Leah's thumb. Suckers along its underside blossomed in the open water, pale pink and slightly translucent against Verne's creamy underside. The upper surface was a deep, rich purple, almost too intense to look at. It left bright yellow echoes in Leah's eyes when she looked away.
The tip of the tentacle twisted towards her, and gestured hello.
Leah settled in. She had no particular task at hand today; this was purely a social visit. Verne didn't like being left alone for too long at a time, and the whole island knew about it when Verne was unhappy.
Solid ground was at a premium on Thetis, so the local seismic activity had seemed like a reasonable price to pay for dry feet. It had been several months before anyone found the weed-choked pool in the overgrown glade at the island's centre. It had taken another couple of weeks for someone to happen to be there during an earthquake, and witness the frustrated thrashing of the gigantic tentacle trapped within.
"Frustrated" would get Leah told off for anthropomorphising, but she couldn't help it. She watched Verne stretch and coil through the water, enjoying the play of light and motion. Almost as if Verne was showing off, just for her. She twirled her fingers in response; not saying anything, just absent-mindedly mirroring. Two creatures enjoying the sensation of clean, clear water.
The earthquakes became much less frequent once the pool was cleared out. With the worst of the overgrowth gone, smaller, lower-lying plants established themselves, and tiny fishlike and shrimplike things began to multiply - and to disappear into Verne's suckers just as quickly. That was when the ecologists got involved, and declared that the pool's ecosystem was far too small to naturally support something as big as Verne. And that was when the archaeologists were brought in, to look long and hard at the strikingly neat, regular shapes of the glade, and the pool, and the benchlike shelf of stone around its edge.
So: they had established a fish hatchery, and a gardening schedule, and Verne had regular meals and pool-cleanings, and before long, language sessions. Barring a couple of misunderstandings in the early days, the earthquakes became almost nonexistent.
Except.
Leah stared absently at the eyewatering purple of Verne's back. It had been intensifying for weeks, almost unrecognisable now compared to Verne's usual dusky, almost sombre tone. "Usual". They'd found Verne three years ago. Nobody knew what that meant, in context. Sometimes Leah lay in her bunk and watched her little mood lamp phase slowly from blue to purple to pink, and wondered if Verne did the same thing, just on a dramatically different scale. Maybe for the same simple reason, too. Just because it was pretty.
As far as anyone could tell, Verne didn't have any sense of sight. Leah often wondered about that. How odd, to be so pretty and have no way of knowing. No way for anyone to even tell you so.
She hadn't volunteered this theory, of course. Everyone was worried about Verne, trying to understand what was happening. The earthquakes were back, infrequent and slight, but undeniably increasing alongside the intensity of Verne's colour. Illness? Age? Nobody knew what to think.
Leah flicked out a good, question? and received an immediate good, good in response. It was the closest she could come to asking how Verne was feeling. She often got the impression that Verne enjoyed talking to visitors, even though their conversations were so limited. There was so much Leah wanted to ask, if only she knew how to send her words through the water.
Good, question?
Leah blinked in surprise. Verne didn't often initiate conversations, but the tip of the tentacle had coiled around almost up to her feet and was holding itself very still. Awaiting a response.
Yes, good.
Leah twisted around for the binder, to make a note of this. All interactions with Verne needed to be recorded, however minor; it was all good information.
She nearly launched it into the pool in shock as a sucker brushed gently against her ankle.
It froze at her sudden movement, but didn't retreat. That intense purple pulsed behind Leah's eyes, so close to the surface.
Perhaps Verne thought that this was a language session. Leah knew that the linguists were working on here/close/come and there/away/go. They had occasionally touched, or been touched by, Verne. Brief brushes of sucker against skin, fingertips skating over supple muscle. Records in Leah's binder that were just slightly more well-thumbed than the others. But no: Verne was a stickler for routine, and this was just a social visit.
Leah didn't know here. With the tiniest whisper of her fingers, she instead tried, hello.
Verne stretched out towards her, one sucker after another walking their way up her bare leg. The very tip of the tentacle rose up enough to reply, hello. It felt odd, so close. Leah was used to listening to Verne with her feet. Now, with the ripples coming from almost in her lap, it was as if the words were coming from inside herself. The suckers left goosebumps wherever they touched; they doubled back over the sensitive skin, curious about its reaction.
Leah couldn't help it. She forgot the binder, and instead reached out and touched the back of Verne's tentacle. It stilled again under her fingers, and then… pushed into them, ever so slightly. Continued making its way up her legs. Had Verne always been this long?
The suckers advancing up her legs found the hem of her shorts, and the tip of Verne's tentacle was immediately distracted by this strange new texture. Leah let out an incredulous little laugh as Verne tugged and prodded at the fabric, and then turned about immediately to investigate the vibration of her stomach.
Verne was heavy. Weight coiled into Leah's lap, using it as a support to explore further up her body. There was definitely more tentacle spilling from the crevasse than usual. Leah held as still as she could, watching Verne's progress with a giddy, anxious sensation in the pit of her stomach. Not fear. Leah had never been afraid of Verne. She probably should be, she thought vaguely as the very tip of Verne's tentacle breached the surface, sliding up over her collarbones and disappearing from view. But she wasn't.
There was nothing to be done about the noise that slipped out of Leah's mouth as Verne clasped over her throat - or the second, much louder one that followed when Verne plastered suckers tight into the sensation. Leah's fingers tensed against Verne's back, and again all movement stopped. A long loop of tentacle slid off Leah's lap, long enough to flex out a word without the tip needing to give up its exploration.
No, question?
Leah took a deep breath. This was such a bad idea. But there wasn't really any question about it.
"Yes." Yes, and she had no way to know if Verne connected the movement of her throat to the meaning of the word but there was the tip of the tentacle, cool and damp, feeling its way around her jaw and towards her mouth just as she'd known it would. She breathed out, and could have sworn she felt it shiver against her at the brush of warm air.
Yes good. Verne felt so much larger, speaking with full coils rather than just a tentacle-tip. The pressure of the words thudded into Leah's core. Verne brushed at her lips, and they parted without a second thought.
Rock salt and pondweed and something faintly tangy and bitter that Leah couldn't quite place. She chased after the taste, sliding her tongue between the curious suckers, and they tasted her right back, fascinated by this new discovery. The tentacle tip probed deeper, exploring the textures of her molars, and Leah swallowed hard on some odd instinct.
Yes good! Spoken with Verne's whole body, so unbelievably loud without sound. Leah groaned around Verne's tentacle as it flexed, enjoying the suction. She swallowed again, impulsively, and Verne kept moving, pushing and pulling back and forth over her tongue, and this was - they were -
How the fuck was she going to write this one up?
Leah couldn't hold onto the thought, too engrossed in the sliding motions of the tentacle now coiling around her legs, the tip of it reaching back to probe at her throat. Hell, she didn't know if she could do that, but there was no doubt that she was going to try. Her eyes watered; she blinked back tears, tearing her gaze away from Verne's searing purple, and saw… movement, down in the centre of the pool where Verne was rooted into the crevasse.
Several more tentacles, all that same vivid purple, pushing their way out of the depths towards her.
Verne rocked gently in her mouth, coaxing her out of her sudden stillness.
Yes, question?
Leah's fingers drummed an instant reply, directly against Verne's skin.
I uh. Um. His boyfriend really loves and misses him, ok? I'm totally normal and not viscerally ill at the implications of all of this. Super totally okay and well about them, even.
Thinking about how I could probably use the majority of the prompt list to write a STS!AU fic where Mayday the Symbiote helps Peter thru his spider season...
(nsft-ish prompt list below the cut)
Day 1 — Tentacles - obvious
Day 2 — Sound - Mayday reacting poorly/ interrupted by a neighbor's car alarm
Day 3 — Hypnosis - a slight stretch, but maybe Peter falls into a mental lull, slightly hypnotized by Mayday repeatedly playing memories of Curt's voice in his mind
Day 4 — Corrupted - twist on the host also being a "parent" to the symbiote, corrupting their relationship
Day 5 — Size Difference - obvious
Day 6 — In The Air - Peter being lifted by Mayday's tentacles
Day 7 — Aphrodisiac - pheromones created by Peter being in season
Day 8 — Caught in Webbing - obvious
Day 9 — Knotted - obvious
Day 10 — The Werewolf
Day 11 — Living Armour - obviouis
Day 12 — Consumed - obvious
Day 13 — Eggs - a slight stretch, but Mayday could mimic the feeling with its tentacles
Day 14 — Grooming - lots of licking
Day 15 — Bitten - obvious
Day 16 — Pinned Down - obvious
Day 17 — Transformed - obvious
Day 18 — Belly Bulge - obvious
Day 19 — Parasitic Relationship - literally them
Day 20 — The Vampire
Day 21 — All-The-Way-Through - a bit of a stretch, but maybe Mayday's tentacles fill both ends to the point where Peter feels like he's skewered
Day 22 — Spines
Day 23 — Impregnated - mimicked (like "eggs" prompt)
The cables humans built entwined themselves with plants, and before long, they became something new, neither plant nor computer.
Cables lengthened and twined around anything they could find, crackling and suffocating and strangling.
It is now a single organism, ever-growing and ever-expanding, and nothing can survive in its wake. Where cities and forests once stood, there is nothing but an endless pile of plastic and metal.
Everyone runs from it, but they know they run in vain, and that the beast will claim them eventually.
You may also enjoy 'City Limits'
Inspired by this post by @the-unseelie-court-official
