Razasha the Horny, Prologue and First Chapter, Emasculating Magic Midgets

[Zapan99]

A tale of Fantasy Ballbusting

The characters are played by (in my mind's eye only, this is in no way endorsed by the performers mentioned here): 

Razasha the Horny = Flaming Goddess (perpetually frustrated busty and naive half-orc)

Freya Stonegrinder, Dwarven Shield Maiden = Samantha Lily (Top-heavy dudebro redhead with a thick scottish accent, a dark sense of humor and the habit of punching guys in the nuts for fun). Recently single after killing her human boyfriend Danny in a fit of rage. She was still flossing bits of his balls out of her teeth a week after the incident.

Frigg Stonegrinder, Dwarven Berserker and Freya’s twin sister = Stacy Vandenberg (Top-heavy silent type but quick to anger, with a thick scottish accent, very little patience and the habit of squeezing guys nuts to shut them up). Takes bad decisions under the influence of alcohol, like fucking Danny, her sister’s boyfriend (now deceased).

Aelith Stupendia, elf Sorcerer = Chloe Grace Moretz (Haughty high elf with a tsundere attitude, an oral fixation and an inferiority complex caused by her flat chest and short stature). She extracts semen for her mana potions, meaning she often has terrible cock breath. The donor is not always willing, nor the testicles necessarily attached during the donation. Aelith is usually too proud to date commoners, even if that means she spends most nights fucking her purple magic wand.

Prologue:

Razasha was following the trail of that old boar for two days now, gripping her stone-tipped spear. Like most orcs, she had a natural affinity for tracking and hunting game on foot, but unlike most orcs, her curvaceous physique did not predispose her to long strenuous walks on uneven terrain, forcing her to readjust her flimsy leather top each time her large tits fell out of it. On most days, Razasha would stay with the old wives and tend to the younglings of her clan, in their nomadic encampment located high in the grassy plateaus of the Grey Cliffs. Despite being young and healthy, Razasha was without a mate, “unclaimed” as the other wives called her. To be fair, she barely looked like the hulking and sinewy orc maids that the males of her clan were rivaling to mate with, proudly displaying their bite scars after each intercourse.

 

No, for Razasha was frail and soft. Frail according to orc standards mind you, with long curly chestnut hair, a cute round face, innocent doe eyes, a button nose unlike the upturned pig snouts of her clan, and tiny tusks parting luscious lips. She had long vigorous limbs, a broad straight back and a sculptural frame culminating at 6 ft (1m83). She was not soft like a plump and rotund old wife, but for having the most unusual round rump, supple belly and most notably enormous protruding mammaries, compared to the deflated waterskins of her almost androgynous congeners. Since the tender age when her woman bits decided to start growing, they had yet to stop. Each new moon her udders would swell heavier, forcing her to craft what she called a tits basket, that was nothing more than a rudimentary leather bikini top made from the skin of a rock lizard, the only pelt that did not rip at the seams under the increasing weight of her woman flesh. Other maids first started to notice she was different, that something was off about her. The sight of her plump hips and large derriere, barely obscured by her loincloth, was enough to turn heads, each time she picked up a straying youngling.

As such, frail and soft Razasha was mocked by her peers. Warriors of the clan rejected her for being lumpy and short, maids called her lewd and weird. Only the old wives accepted her, on behalf that her enormous tits would at least be useful to feed the younglings, when they would eventually fill up with milk. However, without a mate to impregnate her, those ridiculous tits remained dry, the younglings remained hungry, and the old wives were running out of patience.

Recently her lot got even worse when she earned the infamous nickname of Razasha the Horny, after being discovered using a polished drinking horn to relieve herself of her pent-up urges.

 

She still remembers the humiliation of being found out by one of the old wives, panting and moist, after moaning a bit too loudly in the back of her hide hut. How she was dragged by the leg still naked in the dirt, covering her shame with her hands to face the village elders. The same night, the shaman revealed to all the clan that soft and frail Razasha was a foundling. Eighteen years ago she was brought in as a baby to the old wives, after being found laying in the grass near the edge of the forest. Since the gods of the Forest decided to let this weak and pale child live, they had to try and raise her like one of their own. Until that fateful night, and despite knowing nothing of her parents, Razasha convinced herself she was one one of the many orphans of the clan, from previous raids and wars with the humans of the valley and the elves of the forest. 

Only deep down she always knew she was different. Unlike the other maids, who liked to brawl and bite, she was soft-spoken and quiet. When warriors were coming to the wives hut to get painted before a hunt, she couldn’t help but to touch them inappropriately, or to press herself against them a bit too much for their liking. Most of the time, she ended up with a bowl of ochre paint spilled on her head to cool her down. But on occasion, she was elbowed painfully in her soft tits by a jealous maid, or kicked in her tingly cunt by a cruel warrior for fondling his virile member without permission. She had those urges she could not control, and for that she was exiled, with a rickety stone-tipped spear as her one and only possession. “Find your place among other people, child of two streams.” said the shaman, as a farewell she did not fully understand. 

Now she was hungry, her heavy tits and lower back were sore from all that walking, the boar trail was getting cold, and despite that all she could think about was “that branch sure looks like a huge dong.”

First Chapter, Emasculating Magic Midgets

That forest fire couldn’t possibly be natural. The storm season was still twelve moons away, the sky was clear of any thunder-spear cloud. The grass under Razasha’s broad, yet feminine feet was still damp from the last rain.

The curvy orc was walking hunched for more than a mile now, her voluminous breasts swaying under her with each prudent step. Her clan warned its youngling about Elves setting vicious traps in the forest, traps that would maim your ankles with steel jaws and poisoned thorns. Yet, elves were not known to clear their forests with fire. Razasha, pushing away twigs with her toes before carefully placing her next step, started to wonder if humans now dwelled this close to her homeland, and were clearing the undergrowth for their cattle and crops. The air was filled with embers and smelled like ashes.

Then at a distance over a blackberry bush, she finally saw the boar she was after, or what remained of it. The poor beast looked as if it had been roasted alive, with its coarse hair singed off, a swollen tongue hanging from the side of its mouth, and fried eyes that had turned white. At first glance, it looked like the forest fire surprised the animal, but even sweet and naïve Razasha could tell something was wrong. The boar was standing on a deep bed of green grass. Standing? How could it stand after being cooked alive? 

Putting her spear to her side, she crouched behind the bush, taking the time to prop her heavy breasts on top of her knees, to give her back some rest, and observed the strange roasted pig. Could it be a trap, and if so, what kind of hunter would be dumb enough to fall for that ruse? Razasha started to absentmindedly pick overripe blackberries in front of her, her chin resting on her voluminous assets. Looking a bit closer, the boar was definitely held up by sticks jutting from the ground, right in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by fallen branches all around, except for a narrow passage.

Eating those meager berries reminded the voluptuous orc that she was on the trail for two days now, and her usually lovingly padded stomach was growling in disapproval. The greasy smell of roasted pork was taunting her cruelly, and almost machinally, poor Razasha skewered two blackberries on the tip of her fangs to sniff them, a habit she got from being the very last to have the right to eat after a hunt in her clan. 

 

Razasha, still hesitating behind her blackberry bush, fell backwards on her rotund ass with a muffled thud and copious jiggles, when the head of a great white bull parted the canopy of an oak tree, on the far side of the clearing. That beast could not possibly be that big, she thought with both hand flat against her mouth to repress a yelp. Nor should it walk on two legs, carry a double-bitted steel axe and sport the most obscene pair of veiny testicles she ever peeped on, dangling freely below his studded leather belt.

The monster was standing there, lifting its peach colored nose to smell the air, obviously trying to find the source of that burnt bacon scent carried by the wind. The flames still raging behind a thin curtain of trees were outlining in crimson the bulky musculature of the great albino Minotaur.

Razasha never heard of those creatures. For all she knew, she entered the domain of an angry forest god, a bull walking on its hind legs, a fertility god with enormous baby-makers dangling above its hooves. Surely, he would kill her on the spot for her intrusion, and she would be lucky if he deigned to rape her with his god cock right before, an act that might kill her first, judging by the size of his virility.

The Minotaur, on the other hand, had no clue about the presence of a busty orc virgin nearby, both terrified and elated by the poetic notion of dying split in two by the engorged member of a fertility god. Like most Minotaurs, he was short-sighted, and his albinism made his vision even blurrier. To make things even worse, his red eyes were irritated by all the ashes floating in the air, and he too was famished since the new pastures of his herd were ravaged by that sudden fire. Separated from his heifers and calves, the alpha bull was reverting to his wandering monster instinct. Any source of food became palatable, anything that moved was a prey. Finally, he saw the burnt pig in the clearing. What a strike of luck, with that meal, his head would stop to spin, and maybe he’ll have the strength to search for his lost herd.

The albino minotaur didn’t hesitate one second, and plowed through the clearing, drooling abundantly, to get a slice of roast.

 

Razasha’s heart was thumping so hard in her chest that her luscious breasts were wobbling in cadence, her hard as rock nipples looking like erect fleshy metronomes in her flimsy leather top. Like in a trance, she saw the forest god advance right on her, still sitting behind her bush, totally open and almost offering herself to him, her supple green thighs spread apart, trembling with a fearful desire. She muttered “Please honor me before I die, Oh Great forest god” and -TWACK-

 

In a comical symmetry, both the short-sighted Minotaur bull and the trembling orc maiden looked down at what caused that sudden noise. While approaching the obvious roasted pig bait from the only possible path, the formidable beast had stepped on some kind of pressure plate trap, that liberated a vicious vertical steel rod that made contact with the most tender part of his anatomy, sending his pendulous fuzzy gonads in a backwards swing of their own, before they came back to hit the rod once again, visibly red on a vertical line and already swelling from the hit, to produce the cleanest metallic “ding-a-ling.” Before Razasha had the time to say “Wh-haat?” the poor wounded male let out a pathetic mooing with a rising pitch betraying his agony, his knees starting to buckle inwards, while the expectant orc girl was splattered with minotaur spit.

 

And if the situation was not bizzare enough, the pig carcass between them started to shuffle, a hemp rope being pulled inside the roast mouth raised from the grass, slithering like a snake before the tension revealed it was linked to the base of the steel rod, from where a noose darted up, snaring snuggly around the bruised gonads of the confused bipedal bovine.

 

This was finally too much for Razasha. Being drenched in spit made her snap out of her trance, and still unable to look away from this strange scene, she nonetheless felt around in the grass to grab her only spear. That is when she finally noticed the scent. In all that charred wood, burnt bacon and rank bovine spit, it was easy to miss those strange notes of lily and incense. There was something else too, more… pungent, more typically male. She suddenly was brought back to her peaceful days, washing the clan rudimentary garments down the river. The younger males loincloths were always soiled with that white, sticky residue that marked their passage to adulthood. Someone was hiding nearby that reeked of… semen?

 

Razasha felt a slight breeze down her spine, an assailant was sneaking in her back. Without thinking, the adrenalin made her deliver a mighty backhanded punch that whizzed through the air, until it ended up splitting the bark of a young oak in her reach, painfully chafing her knuckles. Having violently twisted her torso to the right, the inevitable cart load of titty meat she was lugging around since her teen age came rushing in right after her blow. That’s when she felt a small warm hand cupping the overspill of chest fat that bulged between her top and her right armpit -PLOF-. It felt unbelievably soft against her skin, like a newborn’s palm. The frame of her pale and tiny groper was barely visible, beyond her aching triceps and her right melon. “How did your titties get so big?” asked a melodious, yet incredibly unnerving female voice. Dumbfounded, Razasha could only reiterate “Wh-haat?”

 

Next, two things reached her. First, her nostrils twitched when the terrible cock breath of her mysterious fondler accompanied her exhalation, and second an intense jolt of electricity made her clench her fangs and arch her back, leaving her rigid like a board with her four limbs splayed and her hair on ends, when the strange cock sucker added coyly “Paralysis.”

 

Razasha could barely breathe, all of her muscles tensed and aching, only able to roll crazed eyes around, but unable to swivel her head. At the edge of her field of vision, the wounded Minotaur was thrashing, trying to keep his footing while his knees were trembling, still ensnared on the trap by the most delicate organs that had the misfortune of hanging low between his muscular legs. The tight hemp rope already depriving them of oxygen, judging by their crimson hue. Springing out of another bush nearby, a shrill redhead midget fury in full plate armor brandishing a warhammer smashed her round shield with a surprising force into the ensnared monster’s weapon arm, causing him to drop his heavy double-bitted axe. The beast immediately tried to regain its balance (and avoid pulling too much on his bruised testicular chords) by grabbing onto the dwarf’s shield, the diminutive warrior immediately yelling “Now, yer twat!” with the most vulgar female dwarf accent.

 

Razasha felt the small hand that was still groping her breast languidly wander around her back, as if to feel every one of the muscular knots that afflicted her terribly overworked spine. Then the small girl slouched over her broad shoulders, trying to reach the orc nipples from behind with her extended arms, while pressing her tiny cheek that was just as soft and warm as her hands against the side of her round green face. Raising her voice as she painfully pinched and twisted her paralyzed victim’s oversized teats, she answered to the battling dwarf “Sorry, my good Freya, I’m afraid I wasted my only paralysis spell on a plump interloper!” Then, more quietly, she slipped in Razasha’s ear “Aren’t you ashamed, orc? Walking around almost naked, with all this lewd meat wobbling about?”

 

Despite being completely paralyzed, Razasha realised not all of her body’s functions were halted. She was still able to gurgle inarticulate moans, when the caresses of that young girl were becoming too cruel, and she soon started to feel a familiar wetness between her thighs. The concept of shame associated with nudity was both strange and perfectly sensible to her. Strange, because the rest of her clan could walk around naked stoically, without betraying the slightest embarrassment, and sensible because her lewd body, unique among her peers, often made her regret her culture wasn’t more modest. But more than anything, she felt a deep shame at being aroused in such a dangerous moment, surrounded by perfect strangers trying to capture a huge monster. She felt like an incurable… slut. She was Razasha the Horny, after all, and orc nicknames were never unjustified.

 

Finally managing to pry her shield out of the grasp of the aching minotaur, Freya started to curse her pale acolyte, “Aelith, ye cum-drinking whore, I’ll bite off yer stupid knife-ears!” Using the edge of her shield as a weapon, she dodged a punch from the minotaur and rammed it in the back of his knee, causing him to fall forward, unable to steady himself when he slipped on the back of the greasy pig. His ensnared balls were now painfully taught, propped up by the noose that caused them to look like a veiny purple brain.

 

Razasha was completely terrified, the minotaur’s head that parted the blackberry bush in his fall was now so close to her lap that she could feel his warm breath on her moist intimacy. Aelith, the pale little elf, seemed amused by the panicked mumbles of her victim. “He’s smelling your green cooch, you big slut!” Then, addressing her dwarf partner, she patronized “I’m not the only one able to help you, mule brain! Are you really going to risk our bounty just to sulk like a child?” The dwarf, reaching for the trap, grumbled “Mgrrr, fine, you twat! Frigg, you can let go of da rope, I got’im by the nuts.” she said, not before delivering a sharp jab to the bruised bovine nads, who emitted a wet crunch.

 

Right when the dwarf punched the minotaur’s constrained manhood, he grabbed onto Razasha’s left ankle with his big white hand that felt like a vice grip, and the sharp pain caused him to pull her to himself closer to the blackberry bush, practically mooing in agony right into her crotch, this time two tones higher. That’s when an armored fist erupted right from the flank of the roasted pig, in a nasty sound of cracked ribs, before crashing directly into the minotaur’s jaw, knocking him cold on the spot, with his big pink tongue flopping flaccidly against Razasha’s moist lips. The hollowed pig carcass shifted to the side, revealing a second armor-clad dwarf girl, much akin the first one, kneeling in a dug up hiding hole equipped with a sturdy rope reel, her braided red hair still dripping in pig grease. Standing to her feet with the help of a great dwarven battle axe, she delivered a stern look to the diminutive elf still fondling a terrified orc girl, she confessed “Aelith, I’m not going to lose my temper this time, because ye managed to make my sister address me again, but are those antics really necessary?” Clapping the paralyzed orc’s tits together, the elf answered mockingly “What is it Frigg, don’t you like our new green friend? Look! She’s applauding your efforts!” -SLAP SLAP SLAP-.

 

The two dwarf sisters rejoined and faced each other silently, as if there was bad blood between them. Even if at the moment, only a huge abused pair of indigo minotaur nads on a pole separated the two freckled mirror images. Frigg broke the awkward silence by looking at the rapidly swelling abused bovine gonads and saying softly, “This poor beast suffered enough, we should harvest our bounty without delay.” With those words, her gloved hand rested softly atop the bruised orbs that still displayed the imprint of her sister’s armored knuckles, gently ruffling their short white hair. Freya, grabbing at the strained length of scrotum that linked the unconscious minotaur to their ingenious trap, begged to differ, “Aye, that fooker had enough, but I say the elf needs ta’ learn her lesson!” And without adding another word, the fiery redhead warrior placed the shaft of her warhammer across the one of her sister’s axe. As if she knew exactly what the twin redheads meant, Aelith the elf protested with a childish intonation, “Awww, come on guys! I needed his spunk for my fireball spell!” Frigg supported her sister’s cryptic proposition by concluding harshly, “You’ve used it enough, already. Get yer dirty paws off that poor orc, yer on knots duty, quick!”

 

Smacking her pouty lips as if she was denied a delicious meal, the sulking elf finally let go of Razasha’s plump assets to go grab a spool of silk rope hidden under one of the fallen branches in the clearing. With a precision and dexterity that betrayed a seasoned adventurer, the waif proceeded to tie the muscular arms of the minotaur behind his back, before roping his horns and legs to the nearest saplings, eliminating any possibility for the monster to kick or thrash during what was about to follow. Now that the group wasn’t paying attention to her, the still paralyzed orc girl could get a better view of her tormentors. To her, the whole party was composed of midgets, even the elf that was the tallest of the three would not reach her bosom, if she could stand. The two armored dwarves were even shorter, the top of their helmets not raising above her belly button, she guessed. Yet, those diminutive girls were most formidable, for sneaking up on her and defeating that giant bull so easily. Sure they took advantage of his weak spot using a vicious trap and fought dirty, but she was truly impressed. If the armor-clad dwarven maids made sense to her, who was familiar with tales of such shining enemies from the war sagas of her clan, the fact that a little girl with pointy ears could rob her of the ability to move with a simple touch was truly terrifying. Razasha was somewhat reassured, when she realised the Paralysis was already wearing off, her tongue and jaw slowly relaxing, allowing her to swallow for the first time since Aelith groped her.

 

The elf was finishing to tie up the beast, before her facetious nature noticed the tuft of white hair at the end of the Minotaur’s tail. Hopping onto his muscular rump, she crossed her short, yet racy legs seductively, dangling her dainty sandaled feet before she grabbed onto the limp appendage to use it as a fan, in the increasing heat of the encroaching forest fire. Razasha heard of elf tales in her homeland, where warriors were wary of those pale forest ghosts and their deadly arrows, but she didn’t expect them to be so cute. Aelith had flaxen cascading hair flowing on her narrow shoulders, framing a painfully attractive face, with a gracile pointy nose, big expressive almond green eyes, long pointy ears that perked up at the slightest noise, and most notably ruby red pouty lips that she constantly licked with a smirk, revealing two rows of straight pearly white, that made the orc almost ashamed of her own jagged protruding tusks. Eying her hugging purple robes, embroidered with silver thread cabalistic symbols, Razasha suddenly envied Aelith’s supple and discreetly feminine body. Where she had an overabundance of fatty assets, the waif displayed subtle curves that made the orc pine for her long-lost prepubescent body, back when she was hopeful that her budding chest hills and puffy nipples would arouse lust in the young males of her clan, before the avalanche of curves and jiggles washed over her. Watching her elegant captor, Razasha suddenly felt like a big fat sow jealous of a young graceful doe. Her deep shame triggering a new wave of wetness dripping between her plump thighs, still warmed rhythmically by the deep breath of the unconscious minotaur. If only she could rub herself against his raspy tongue resting on the fold of her groin, still tantalizingly close to her throbbing clit. If only she could adjust the front of her loincloth, that was painfully parting her labia, since the monster pulled her leg. If only she could suck on Aelith’s lips and taste her pale silky skin...

 

The orc’s sapphic reverie was rudely interrupted by Freya, who made the elf cough, when she brutally handed her a heavy stick fitted with leather straps, practically wacking the frail sorcerer in the diaphragm. “Put dat in his mouth, you git, or he’s going to bite yer friend’s cooch off!” Trying to regain her composure, the haughty elf maid jumped off the minotaur’s rump to kneel beside his head, and place the snaffle in the monster’s mouth. When her pale and delicate magic user hands grazed the inner thigh of the orc girl, Razasha was unable to repress an expectant moan, causing the elf maiden’s ears to perk up inquisitively. With a wry smile, she passed two fingers underneath her paralyzed captive’s already misplaced loincloth, that failed to hide the engorged purplish frill of her left labia, to harvest a luxurious coat of sticky fluid she then held up in front of her face, smacking her lips in delight while testing its viscosity with her thumb. “Oh my, aren't’ we a big sloppy green slut? This is going to be fun, indeed.”

 

Aelith, looking deeply into Razasha’s worried eyes, sucked seductively on her wet fingers, pursing her luscious lips while tasting the orc girl’s nectar like some kind of Artisan Honey, her eyes squinting at her sourness, before smacking her pouty lips teasingly. “Ready when you are, girls!” and with those words, she straddled the minotaur’s wide neck, planting her sandals on the top of his horns, while pulling harshly on the leather straps of his snaffle. “Aye!” answered the twin sisters in unison.

 

Behind the riding elf, the twin dwarven sisters were prepping the monster methodically, having locked the mechanism of the rod trap in a precise dedicated position. The small sliding chariot that captured the minotaur’s almost black balls was brought back at half mast, still cruelly tight around his ischemic glands, but a bit less taut on the chords side. All that shifting around his most tender region was starting to wake up the wounded giant, his breath becoming more erratic, his heavy eyelids starting to blink again. The heads of the warhammer and the great battleaxe of the two sisters veered dangerously close to his propped up male organs, and for a split second, Razasha was convinced the dwarves were about to butcher him alive in a slurry of blood and spunk, before they turned their weapons around, presenting a peculiar flat hook near the pommel. Freya first fitted the shaft of her warhammer through the trap rod, using a transversal hole threaded behind the flat hook, carefully bypassing the veiny testicular chords of the waking minotaur. Then, like a mirror image, her sister Frigg did the same with her battleaxe, that when slid in place revealed the cruel fate awaiting the beast. With a chill shiver down her spine, Razasha saw the two flat hooks align around the same axis, forming a sort of flat-nosed pair of pliers that hungrily framed the beast throbbing nutsack.

 

Razasha realized her jaw dropped while watching this sobering scene. The paralysis spell was slowly receding past her neck, allowing her to form coherent speech again. With a flat voice, she asked without thinking, “Are they going to neuter that bull?” to which the elf answered, genuinely surprised, “You mean you watched all this time without having a clue? What are you, simple?” Razasha didn’t even take offense to that remark. She was indeed not the sharpest stone cleaver around, a fact she was cruelly reminded of each time she had to count the youngling placed in her care, without losing track of their number and starting all over again. For the same reason, she was so absorbed by the elf’s beauty that she failed to notice the twins had removed the plastrons of their plate armor to cope with the raising heat around them. Backlit with the embers now singeing the edge of the clearing, the dwarven twins red manes looked even more fiery. Their mirrored silhouettes evoked dwarven goddesses of the forge.Their muscular freckled shoulders and ample heaving bosoms, only contained by thick leather bodices with a plunging neckline, struck Razasha as the polar opposite of the elf’s beauty. Where she was ice, they were fire, where she was grace, they were strength incarnate. The orc’s ovaries and uterus were doing somersaults in her tummy, as never before she had to endure experiencing this many crushes in the same day, especially without any chance of relieving herself.

 

Glazed in sweat and ashes, the twin sister nodded to each other, and with all their dwarven might, planted their steel-toed boots deep in the forest soil, while pushing the shafts of their connected weapons towards each other, pinching the already abused nutsack of the minotaur in the most cruel steel vice. As soon as the flat-tipped metal hooks started to flatten the beast’s testicular lifelines, all the hair on his spine became erect and his tail darted up with tremors, straight like a flag pole. The short muscular arms of the sisters bulged increasingly under the effort, almost bending the steel shafts of their weapons. The minotaur, suddenly fully awake between Razasha’s legs unfurled his big sloppy tongue, while thrashing all he could against his silk restraints. Barely able to breathe, both from the pain and from the thick oak snaffle he was gnawing in vain, with his bovine molars. His head was pinned to the ground by the horns, and made even heavier by the elf maid riding his neck, laughing like a maniacal pony girl. The poor beast was letting out a loud pathetic mewling cry, that quickly reached soprano notes.

 

Razasha also started to add to this strange concert, the huge raspy tongue between her legs doing a welcome number on her tingly purple slit, she let out unabashed guttural moans of raw pleasure. The elf, still laughing like a deranged child, took notice of the orc girl’s pleasure, and extending one of her legs, reached for Razasha’s misplaced loincloth, pushed the edge of it aside with her strangely dexterous toes, thanks to her open sandals. Now fully exposed, the purplish wet slit of the orc gaped expectantly with rhythmic vaginal contractions. The tongue of the minotaur darted forth, parting her labia, to penetrate her deeper than most men or well endowed orc could go, filling her to the brim, while she smiled from ear to ear, “Ahhn! Yes, YEEESSS!!!” right at the same instant, the dwarven sisters demultiplied the shearing force they applied to the minotaur sack by lifting their ample bosoms over the shafts of their weapons, to rest the steel shaft directly against their two sternums, until their breasts were squashed against each other, and their chin resting over the other’s shoulder, finally clamping flat the two jaws of their tool together. With a gut-wrenching -S-S-C-CRUNCH!!!- the thick cartilaginous chords bringing life to the minotaur’s hefty gonads had caved in, immediately causing the orbs to sag two inches lower in their soot-black sack, now only held by the taut skin of his useless scrotum. The pain was such for the poor monster that his eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open wide and his tongue curled up and out, pressing and vibrating against Razasha’s vaginal wall. Feeling an incredible wave of pleasure roll through her stiff body, she panted, her head spinning “Oh gods, I’m going to cum…” before seeing the elf from the corner of her eye, displaying a vicious smile on her angelic face, asking “Awww, you think I’d let you?” and before the orc girl could reach her climax, she pressed cruelly on her left tit with the sole of her sandal, sending her tumbling on her back, the rigid tongue of the minotaur popping out of her wet slit with a comical -schlorp!- right before the beast passed out from the intense pain and went limp.

 

Razasha was now laying flat on her broad back, with the worst case of blue labia she ever experienced, her empty cunt still wide from that filling penetration, aching with female need with each of her heartbeats. She started crying, “No, no, gods I was so close why, why did you?” -THUD- Eyes watering, letting a high-pitch whimper “Ayyyyyyy,” she craned her neck up to see past her ginormous green melons. Throbbing painfully against the steel-toed boot of Freya, the orc girl engorged clit looked like the unlucky pip pushed out of a squashed tangerine. Her ruined orgasm now the least of her concerns, she started to feel the coldness of the steel cap steal the heat of her cooch. Digging even more in her sore femininity by pressing down on her knee with her closed fist, the glistening redhead warrior inquired, menacingly “Now orc, who sent you after us, and how many of your rotten kind are awaiting us in those woods?”