As she kisses you, Rianna reaches behind her back and unlaces her bodice. The embroidered front falls away, permitting her large, creamy tits to sag within her white blouse. Her pink nipples, thick and erect, show through the thin material. You pull at the laces and free her breasts completely, taking hold of them as she cries out and thrusts her soft mounds against your face. They smell of sweat and spilled beer, but it is no deterrent as you fondle them, kiss them, and run your tongue over her fat nipples.
“Oh, I’d give you a good wank with ‘em if that’s what ye want,” she laughs, cradling your head against her breasts. “You just tell me, love, and I’ll make sure you have a good cum.”
Your cock throbs with need as you bury your face against Rianna’s soft mounds.
What do you do?
Ask Rianna to pleasure you with her mouth
Ask Rianna to pleasure you with her bust
Offer Rianna a seat on your face
Command her to get on her knees and take her from behind
Ask her to ride atop your hard cock
Kiss Theora
Theora’s strength is inextricable from her beauty. The way she yanked you off your feet and threw you against her bed only excites you more than her exquisite beauty. You lean up and kiss her on her full, soft lips before she has a chance to pull away. You do not force your tongue into her mouth, but allow the kiss to linger, pressing against her lips, communicating your desire by your reluctance to leave her.
Her lips part for a moment and your tongue brushes hers, giving you a tantalizing taste of the sweetness of her mouth. She jerks back and looks at you with surprise and anger in her silvery blue eyes.
“What are you doing? Do not do such a thing!” She snaps.
You ignore her and lean up to kiss her again, sliding a hand around to the back of her head and letting your fingers slip into the silky gold of her hair. You cradle her against your lips, opening your mouth to her and thrusting your tongue against hers. The kiss slips deeper, liquefying into the heat of your mouths, tongues swirling and a moan of pleasure vibrating from her mouth to yours.
She pulls away again, her face flushed, but anger once again furrowing her brow.
“How dare you, Lucas! This is most inappropriate! Now—Mmmmmmphhmmm!”
Your kiss silences her protests and her body certainly consents to your torrid kiss. She opens up to you, her mouth welcoming and her tongue hot and hungry against yours. You dare to cradle her hips and she does not protest. Your hands follow the shape of her body to the roundness of Theora’s ample ass. You squeeze and fondle her lovely cheeks as your cock throbs insistently within your night shorts. Your kisses grow more passionate, sloppier, and join with the gentle rocking of her body atop yours.
“To hell with this,” she hisses and with a momentary puff of pleasant smoke, Theora’s clothing evaporates.
You are left with her glorious, alabaster body straddling your hips. Her gold-tufted cunt is so close to your cock you can feel the heat of it radiating through your shorts. You slide your hands up her body, cupping and fondling her large, soft breasts. You tease her thick pink nipples and elicit a gasp of pleasure. You break the kiss with her long enough to press your face to the tops of her flushed mounds, breathing her fresh scent and kissing her lovely mounds. Your lips move lower and you lash her left nipple with your tongue.
“Lucas,” she moans, arching her back and thrusting her breasts against your face. “We should not be doing this.”
Once again, her body communicates absolute consent even as she voices reluctance. You know exactly what you must do with all of Theora’s loveliness.
What do you do?
Pleasure her without concern for yourself
Take Theora passionately
Take Theora roughly
No, you need to go to bed
You push yourself into a sitting position and slide up onto the edge of Theora’s bed. You try to speak and your voice cracks again. You finally manage to summon your words and do your best to sound resolute as you say, “No, I need to return to my bed and get some sleep.”
“Oh, is that what you need?” Theora raises an eyebrow and greets your determination with a haughty laugh. You start to rise from the edge of her bed and she presses her fingertips to your chest and shoves you back down. She commands, “Sit!”
“Y-yes, alright,” you say, afraid to provoke her further.
“You’re a good boy,” she says. “You just need to let out some of your seed. The pressure just builds and builds with you, Lucas. I can tell when it gets to be too much.”
She sinks down to a crouch before you and slides one hand into your lap. Your eyes bulge as her fingers trace the shape of your cock in your night shorts. Your manhood jerks beneath her caress.
“Yes, there he is,” she purrs. With a wave of her fingers, Theora’s gown dissipates like smoke, revealing her ample breasts and pale pink nipples. “I will help you release some of that pressure.”
“Oh, gods,” you moan as she reaches into your shorts and wraps her soft hand around your cock. She smiles up at you, her eyes flashing with golden power as she begins to gently wank your stiff cock. She draws your erect manhood through the flap of your shorts and leans the soft, inviting weight of her breasts against you. The soft crush of her tits around your cock is nearly enough to make you explode with a single press of that plush weight.
“Mmmmm, I can see it all over your face, Lucas,” she coos, stroking you between her tits. “Don’t fight. You can let it out whenever you feel the need.”
“Oh! Oh gods!” You cry out, your hips jerking and your swollen, crimson cock pumping through her fingers. The rush of pleasure reaches a sudden peak. Before you can even warn Theora, your milky cum is gushing in a fountain from your twitching cock. She gasps in delight as you shower her tits and cover her fingers and hand in your warm, slippery spunk.
“Look at all of this,” she laughs, dragging her fingers through the cum glazing her creamy mounds. She lifts her spunk-webbed fingers to her face, sniffs them, and daintily licks up some of your seed. “Mmmm. Not bad, although I am not certain why Morelle has such an insatiable craving for the stuff. Oh, but you still need to let out more, don’t you?”
“W-what?” You stammer.
She resumes wanking your cock against her cum splattered mounds. Her creamy breasts bounce with each pump of her fist on your overly-sensitive flesh.
“I… ohhh… oh gods… it hurts,” you moan as she roughly jerks your cum-smeared cock through the agony of your post-orgasmic sensitivity. You squirm on the edge of the bed and Theora’s fist makes lewd slurping sounds as she strokes your filthy length. Judging by her expression, she is relishing the chance to make you suffer as she makes you cum.
“That’s it,” she purrs. “Give me more of it, Lucas. Don’t fight it. You want to sleep well, don’t you? Let it alllllll out.”
You whimper as she relentlessly pumps her hand on your tender cock. Your manhood returns to full hardness and deepens from crimson to purple. You gasp, feeling another orgasm rising scarcely a minute after the last.
“Praise Veleda,” says Theora. “Worship her with your pleasure.”
“Ohhhhhh! Yes, p-praise her,” you moan, fucking your hand through Theora’s frothy, cum-smeared hand. “Praise b-b-be to the goddess. AAaaaaaAAAAAH!”
A second orgasm grips your cock, pumping hot and fast through your manhood and causing you to spurt your cum out in sudden gushes over Theora’s hand and up her arm. A few drops make it to her breasts, but most of your cum spills back down your shaft and drips from your twitching bollocks.
“Yes, what a devoted boy,” laughs Theora. She leans over and fetches a wet washcloth from a nearby wash basin. She covers your cock in the wet cloth and begins to clean away all the cum. “Do not go wandering around again, Lucas. Return to your room and rest.”
“Right, yes, of course,” you say, your face flushed with a mixture of pleasure and humiliation.
She fini
shes cleaning your cock and rises to her feet. With a wave of her hand, her body is clean and once more wrapped in her immaculate white gown.
“Goodnight, Lucas,” she says, wringing out the washcloth in the nearby basin.
“G-goodnight, Theora,” you stammer.
You stumble out into the hall, still tucking your cock away. You have a stupid grin on your face as you barge back into your room . You stretch out on the bed, unsure if you are lucky or cursed by your beautiful guardian angel.
CONTINUE >
Keep evading her questions
“It will… ahhh… take more than sucking my cock,” you gasp, fighting with your pleasure as Anja slurps on your crimson manhood, “to get me to… help you.”
Anja pops her lips from your swollen cockhead. She giggles softly and wipes her lips with a finger.
“Really? Something more than sucking your nice, thick cock?”
She rises on her knees, her brown eyes flashing red for a moment. You tremble with fear and your cock gives an involuntary twitch. Anja runs her hands over her bodice, squeezing her tits so that they bulge against the laces and her pink areolas are partially visible. She sinks her fingers into the cleavage of her dress and pulls, parting the laces and pulling her top down beneath her ample breasts. She plays with her soft, creamy mounds, stroking her fingers over them to her wide areolas and the thick caps of her nipples.
“Gods,” you murmur, watching her massage her plumps teats and play with her nipples.
“I think you will tell me what I want to know,” she says, leaning forward and capturing your cock between the cool weight of her tits. She presses them around your shaft, squeezing you in her velvety softness so that only your crimson cap protrudes from her pale cushions. You whimper helplessly as Anja begins to wank your cock with her tits. She looks into your eyes and purrs, “Now, who was that winged woman in the tavern with you, Lucas? Who are you and why are you in Ulvenblad?”
“Won’t talk,” you cry.
The cruel lesser vampiress laughs as she bounces her soft tits around your cock. She looks up at you, tucking her chin to her chest and sticking out her long, pink tongue to lash the head of your cock each time your manhood slides up through her tits. The pleasure is incredible. Your cum aches in your balls and twitches in the root of your cock. The head of your cock, flicked by her tongue and dripping precum, feels as if it might explode like a powder charge.
Each time you feel your cum about to rise and your pleasure approaching the point of no return, Anjas squeezes the root of your cock painfully and stops your pleasure.
“Answer me,” she demands after the third denial of your building orgasm.
You wince in agony, writhing against the ropes and whimpering with your desire to cum.
What do you do?
Surrender to the pleasure of her breasts and tell her
Not even her tits can make you talk!
Into the Nightlands
You and Theora are standing on the edge of a dismal landscape of steaming bog and gnarled, black willows that droop their shaggy branches over the muck like the bowed heads of mourners. You glance back over your shoulder. Behind you, divided by an unseen line, is a landscape that, although far from welcoming, at least shows hints of green and brown. You turn back to the misery ahead of you. A sickly raven flaps in the branches of a nearby willow and caws as if it might be its last, agonized words.
“Welcome to the Nightlands,” says Theora, stepping onto the most promising ground in the bog. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”
You follow the beautiful angel into the Nightlands as even her radiance seems to dim. She treads carefully through the bog, yet still the filth collects on the hem of her white gown. You are far less able to navigate the steaming muck and find yourself slipping knee-deep into the rotting muck more than once. The third time it happens, Theora has to pull you out with a mighty yank on your arm.
Exhausted, you pause only long enough to drink something and stuff crumbly rice balls and fried pieces of fish into your mouth from Hina’s bento box. It was probably good at some point, but breathing in the scent of the bog while you are trying to eat does not do much for your appetite. You set off again, weary after a hundred paces through the muck. Theora continues ahead of you, barely touched by the mud and indefatigable.
After hours of struggling through the bog, you are relieved to finally reach a wagon path. You stagger out among the wagon ruts through the mud and are almost run down by a wagon rushing through the night. A lantern sways wildly, a man cries out, hooves thunder, and you go spinning into the mud.
“Whoa there!” Shouts a man. He clicks his tongue and snaps the reins of his two emaciated horses. You rise weakly from the mud and see the man has wild, red-rimmed eyes and a sweaty tangle of curls atop his head. “Damned fool, coulda smashed you under my wheel, I coulda!”
“Yeah, right,” you groan.
“Out here in the night, on the roads,” he scoffs. “Ya either got a death wish or ya already is dead.”
“How far to Ulvenblad?” Theora demands, standing aside from the muddy track.
“Oh, my lady phantom,” the man holds his hand to his chest. “I didna see you there. You are near enough to Ulvenblad.”
He points up the road. “Just a ways. I’d get there soon as you can. The rain is comin’ and things come out in the rain.”
“Things?” You ask.
“Things!” He reiterates, baring rotten teeth. He cackles madly, snaps the reins of his cart horses, and sets off at a thunder back down the wagon road. You watch the wheels of his wagon churn through the buttery mud and his lantern disappear into the night.
Theora walks over to stand beside you as a cold rain begins to fall heavily upon you both.
“I hate the Nightlands,” she murmurs. Looking down at your mud-filled boots, you have to agree.
You slop some of the mud off your rain-soaked tunic and straighten your sword belt. You look off down the wagon path as if the carriage might return with the same sudden violence it had first appeared.
“Well, I like it,” you say, grinning madly at Theora. “Very pleasant folk and lovely scenery.”
It’s a forced smile. The rain beats down on you steadily, your breath steaming from your mouth as you slog along the wagon path. Theora steps lightly, but even the beautiful angel is not so blessed she can avoid the rain. Her gown is nearly transparent with water and clings to her plentiful curves, providing one slight upside to your miserable journey through the Nightlands.
Worse than the rain and the mud is the haunted nature of your surroundings. You glimpse flashes of shadowy movement between the drooping trees and the faint glow of corpselight from an ancient graveyard long overgrown. The hair on your neck stands on end at the more than occasional feel that you are being observed from derelict farmhouses and unmarked stone ruins by creatures with ill-intent.
You are relieved when the faint lantern lights of a town appear in the rainy distance. Ulvenblad is a dreary village of small clinkered buildings clustered around a river that has swollen nearly to the limits of its banks. Fishing sheds and farmhouses become a town center of a few shops, mostly taverns and inns, clustered around a gothic church of moldy green stones and a stone bridge that crosses the river.
Overlooking the village, ominously dark in the downpour, is the unmistakable shape of a castle perched in the nearby hills. Few lights burn in it windows and it gives you the distinct impression of a giant waiting to scoop up and devour the poor village at its feet.
Other than you and Theora, no one is foolish enough to be out in the chilling rain. Your teeth chatter as you look at the angel in her rain-soaked gown.
“P-perhaps w-w-we should g-get out of the r-r-r-“
“Let us seek shelter,” she interjects. “The night is no time to hunt the undead.”
“S-s-soun-n-nds g-g-good,” you say, following her lead towards an inn and tavern with the auspicious name “The Warm Crust.” Rain drips from a painted sign d
epicting a loaf of steaming bread. To your profound relief, the inside of the inn is much more welcoming than the village of Ulvenblad. A fire crackles in the tavern’s hearth, several tables are occupied with relatively normal-looking locals having their supper or smoking pipes, and a lovely, red-headed bar wench smiles brightly at you as you step in from the rain.
“Oh, dear,” she says. “You’re both soaked through. Come on then, let’s get you situated by the fire. And… and you’re a… you’re an…”
“I am a messenger of the goddess Veleda,” says Theora.
“Here? In Ulvenblad?” The woman shakes her head. “No matter. You are welcome to sit by our fire. My name is Rianna—“
“L-Lucas,” you stammer, your jaw still trembling from the chill. “She’s Th-Theora.”
“Lucas and Theora,” says Rianna, winking. “Right then, what can I get for the two of you?”
“Hot porridge and mead,” says Theora.
“Have a stew?” You ask hopefully.
“Rabbit,” says Rianna. “It’s delicious. I promise. Goes well with the burr cider.”
“I’ll have that then,” you say. “And some bread.”
Rianna departs to the kitchen with a sway of her shapely hips and a bounce of her scarlet hair.
You lean back in your chair, feeling something close to contentment for the first time since setting out for Ulvenblad. You fold your hands behind your head and say, “A good meal will be nice before fighting some vampires. Right, Theora?”
“Lower your voice,” murmurs Theora, surveying the others in the tavern with her serious eyes. “We cannot know which are already under the control of the vampiress.”
The fire warms your wet hair and clothes and when the burr cider arrives it spreads that warmth to your belly. Theora finishes her mead in a single long gulp and demands another.
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