Lewd Futanari Succubus Ch. 57

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Depraved sexual adventures of a futanari Succubus.
3.9k words
4.69
3.3k
7

Part 57 of the 91 part series

Updated 04/18/2024
Created 08/27/2021
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Synopsis: An old man dies, torn by regret. Due to his high karma, he has "near-limitless possibilities for reincarnation". He chooses to reincarnate in a fantasy world as a voluptuous futanari succubus with big tits and an irresistible smile.

Erotic fiction that contains: Futanari/Dickgirls, Genderbending, Futa on Female, BDSM, Nymphos, Masochistic characters, Threesomes, Orgies, Facefuck, Deepthroat, Dom/Sub, Taken by Monsters, Corruption, Game elements, Lots of Depravity, etc.

The pale girl wearing a dark magical girl's outfit stood with her arms crossed, waiting impatiently for the next round to begin.

"You look frustrated," an old, short, gray-haired man told the pale girl as he walked to her. He looked old enough to be somebody's kind grandpa, balding, gray hairs at the sire, messy gray beard spreading across his jaw. Yet even his half-slouched posture carried with it the experience of the years that few possessed in this arena. He carried the same black armband as all the other participants, with a single-digit written on it with fiery paint.

"I'm fine!" the girl denied the obvious. "... This is taking too long!"

"You wish we had finished our game of Uglongs?" the old man asked.

"You wish that!" the girl said with a smirk. "I would have won anyway!"

"I certainly taught you all the tricks I knew in that game..."

"Y-you didn't have to come here."

"As if I'd miss the chance to spend a little more time with my favorite niece!"

"Yeah, right! I'm your only niece!"

"All the more reason for me to be protective!" the old man joked.

"This isn't a game of Uglongs! I've surpassed you in every magic long ago! I'd be the one protecting you."

"Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer's returning enhanced voice could not go unnoticed by anyone in these mines. "It is time for the second round!"

"Ah, lucky you!" the old man laughed and turned to the announcer to listen to the rules of the next round.

"The next round will be straightforward!" the white hairball explained merrily. "Our lovely staff will bring forth a small set of items! The most important of those are the two wooden containers containing the fates of every participant in this arena!"

As the announcer explained this, the eighteen masked, shirtless staff members carried several tables, chests, and small barrels to a single small spot near the edge of the arena closest to the announcer's platform that was far above.

As soon as the objects were placed in their designated spots, the men sat down with a distance from each other and turned to meditate in a lotus position, as they did once before. They summoned forth four great pillars of fire around the tables and chests and re-summoned the giant sphere above the arena that showed upon its screen anything that transpired within the arena that the controlling staff chose to show at an incredible magnification.

"Inside both of those containers rest a small set of balls. Wooden balls!" the announcer clarified. "In the first container are the balls containing the numbers of our sixteen remaining Participants. With a small added surprise to spice things up!"

This 'surprise' caused some indiscernible speculation among the spectators while the announcer continued.

"Our most senior overseer, John, will pull out the first ball to call out the first participant! That participant will then pull out a second ball to determine his opponent for a one-on-one duel to the death!"

This alone caused cheers amongst the crowds, excited for the bloodshed that would come when each of the unfortunate men and women pulled the one that they would have to kill or the one that would kill them.

"The second container contains the names of the weapons that our participants will be allowed to use to fight for their life! Each will have only one pull! Each can only use that weapon! Or their fists, if they're particularly unlucky with their pull!"

Many laughed, making it clear that unfair fights were part of the appeal.

"Without further ado, John, please!" the announcer gestured to the old, scrawny masked man whose skin hung from his thin muscles.

John stepped before the first of the two tables on the arena and plunged his hand into the wooden container. He spun it around causing a rolling sound of wood scraping against wood. The man then extracted a small, orange-sized wooden ball out of the miniature bucket. With the help of his other hand, the masked man twisted the ball in opposite directions, unscrewing it and revealing a piece of paper within that fell on the table before him. The man picked up the light-blue piece of paper and held it high up, turning around so that everyone around him could see.

The giant magical screen locked in on the piece of paper the masked man held. On that paper, a single red symbol was clearly visible. A single number.

"Number Four!" the announcer shouted.

A short, elderly man took a step from his position amongst the scattered remaining participants, walking away from a cute girl he just conversed with.

_

"U-uncle!" the pale, dark-dressed girl, Number Forty, called out to the old man who slowly walked away from her, toward the group of shirtless masked men and the equipment they brought.

The old man stopped, turned back to the girl, and asked, "Yes, Lilith?"

The large observer sphere above the arena focused in on the old man, clearly displaying the called-out fiery number four written across his black armband. He wore little else of note. A simple old man in simple, medieval ragged clothes. A plain shirt with long sleeves, brown trousers, and woven sandals. The complete opposite of the stylishly designed fantasy outfit of his niece.

"Throughout these years... I've caused you much trouble, haven't I?" Number Forty asked meekly.

"Think nothing of it!"

"But I've been horrible to you! And all you did was look out for me! Saving me whenever I got into trouble... Being there when a dumb boy broke my heart... Unlike my deadbeat dad who just abandoned me!"

"He didn't abandon you!" the old man said and sighed. He walked back to the distraught girl, put his hands on her shoulders, and said, "He loved you! And he was a better man than I ever was!"

"Stop defending that coward! Where did he run off to? Was he killed? Did he find a better daughter for himself?"

"Participant Number Four!?" the announcer's voice echoed through the mines with a slightly annoying questioning tone of an overworked cashier. The announcer pretended to be searching for her missing first participant of the second round, even going as far as leaning over the railing and putting her hand above her eyes as she scanned the arena as if every single person in these mines including herself did not already know where Number Four was.

"... Let me take care of this next opponent real quick!" Number Four said to Lilith with a kind smile. "We'll talk about your father when I get back."

The old man then turned around and proceeded to the masked men.

"U-uncle..." Lilith muttered, putting her hand on her shoulder where her uncle's hand was a moment ago.

With each step, the old man moved toward the four great burning pillars of the arena, farther and farther away from Lilith. Away from her. Out of her life. Just like her dad.

"I LOVE YOU!!" Lilith screamed out at the top of her lungs.

Number Four stopped, turned around, looked at Lilith with a knowing gaze, and said, "I know."

Lilith wiped away a tear from her eye as she watched her uncle walk toward the fate-making containers.

"Awww, what a touching moment!" the announcer clasped her hands in delight as if she just saw a cute puppy. "Let's all root for our dear Number Four to have a swift reunion with Number Forty! The last thing any of us would want is to see an old fart get gutted like a pig before his little girl's eyes!"

Laughter broke out among a great majority of the spectators.

"Oh, you're right! Who am I kidding?" the announcer giggled. "Number Forty is hardly a little girl anymore! Should I tell him what kind of company his 'little girl' requested during the intermission?"

"YES!!" an overwhelming majority of spectators shouted in unison.

Drop dead! Beatrice cursed the malevolent hairball along with the callous spectators. Beatrice never thought of herself as a particularly vindictive person, but now she found herself wishing she had made sure that Felicia got all her holes railed to the point of inability to speak back when she had the chance in that alley.

To the old man's credit, he had a phenomenal poker face. Beatrice did not see so much as a single hair on his thick brows move as he walked the final, confident steps to the first of the two tables.

"Hm... hm, hm, hmmm~!" the announcer played up how hard it was to make a decision. "Oh! Let us do it like this! I won't reveal any details for now—"

"BOOO!!"

"Now, now! Hear me out! If her old man bites it and gets slaughtered before Number Forty's eyes we'll let him bleed out with his innocent, virtuous image of his niece intact! But... If he survives... I might just bring witnesses! Maybe a re-enactment? Hey! If we offer Number Forty to have sex with Number Four for a chance to pass this round, do you think he'll take it? Oh, but they probably do that anyway, so they'd probably have their pants down before I finish the offer."

More laughter and encouraging cheers from the crowds.

The announcer momentarily undid her voice enhancement spell, turned to her masked partner on the platform, and said, "This is why I get paid the big bucks!"

"You're not getting a raise," the white-mask girl said, seemingly unimpressed.

"Hmph!" Felicia pouted and demonstratively turned her head away, reapplying the voice enhancement on herself.

_

Whether Number Four's blood was boiling or colder than ice he did not let it show and outwardly remained perfectly Zen. The wrinkly, skeletal shirtless man took the first wooden container into his hands and slanted it in Number Four's direction.

"Ooh! The moment of truth!" the announcer commentated. "Among the balls inside that container are the names of the other participants. Who will he pick as his executioner? Of course, by killing the old man, that participant will incur the ire of the crowds for depriving them of the pleasure of listening to vivid descriptions of Number Forty's "intermission" described and testified to her uncle. Haha! Number Four might just find himself with many supporters, cheering him on to victory!"

The old man simply sunk his hand into the miniature barrel that was barely larger than a regular ol' bucket and pulled out a single wooden ball. Waiting for no instructions, he took the ball in both hands and turned the top and bottom in opposite directions.

"Wait, did I tell about the surprise—?" the announcer suddenly spoke up as if she remembered about the stove she left burning at her home.

A single white piece of paper falling from the opened ball in Number Four's hands stopped the announcer from finishing her sentence.

The mines fell silent, only the swirling, burning sound of hot air, rising and expanding from the magical hellish, twisted flaming pillars and explosions around the arena remained. The spectators—and many of the participants too—looked at the white parchment with bated breath, hoping to see the number of the fated opponent.

There was none. The giant sphere above the arena showed a magnified blank rectangular piece of pristinely white paper lying on the rocks.

Number four picked up the piece of paper and turned it around in his hands a couple of times. There was nothing on it on both sides.

"Oh my!" the announcer gasped. "It appears that Number Four has picked out one of the special lucky balls! He will have the honor of facing one of hour honored guests and patrons of the Forge of Champions! Surprise!"

New flames shot up around the announcer's high platform illuminating the announcer and the robed female figure standing a few feet to the side of her that wore a white mask to hide her face.

The announcer gestured with an open hand to the mysterious person and announced, "Please welcome the lovely miss... Ruby!"

But the crowds did not welcome Ruby. Some people cheered, sure, but many more murmured and whispered to each other in bewildered confusion.

"Miss Ruby, do you have any words to say to your opponent?" the announcer asked, conducting an interview without a microphone.

Yet despite the lack of a microphone, the white mask's female voice was heard crystal clear thanks to the enhancement magic, "Choose any weapon you want."

After those few words, the girl turned around and walked away from view.

... She's going to walk down? Beatrice raised an eyebrow. Apparently, she wasn't the only one wondering if they all were now supposed to stand around and wait for the little princess to get her ass down to the arena.

"A lady of few words!" the announcer said to prevent awkward silence. "Now, while miss Ruby gets down to the arena, let me explain the other differences in 'Surprise' bonus rules."

She is walking down! Beatrice was shocked.

"How long are we supposed to wait for?" one spectator grumbled.

"Are they serious? Another delay?" another man shouted with frustration.

"Who the hell was that?"

"No idea!"

"I think I saw some people with such white masks before... But they never participated."

"Nah, I remember one time in the finals."

"I don't even remember most of the finals!"

The announcer continued her explanation, easily drowning out the disgruntled voices with her enhancement. "Those participants that are lucky enough to draw miss Ruby as their opponent will have a free choice of any single weapon that our lovely assistants have brought! No need to draw for it!

"The other exception is that the participants do not even have to kill miss Ruby to win! Surviving for five minutes will be enough to proceed to the next round! Lucky you, Number Four, you may yet hear of your niece's deeds!"

_

With the mysterious 'miss Ruby' nowhere to be seen, Number Four had plenty of time to pick his weapon. The shirtless men opened the massive chests they brought which contained a heap of sharp blades and pointy sticks.

The old man took skimmed over the surface contents of the chests, but instead of rummaging through each one, he knelt at one chest, placed his hand on the chest's back wall, and gently nudged it forward. But instead of staying in place, like a some-three-hundred-pound object should have, the chest skid forward, sliding several feet across the rocks before the friction stopped it and it toppled over, spilling its contents across the ground.

"Agh!" one of the masked staff barely jumped out of the way from the chest that landed right where he stood a second ago.

Many, including Beatrice, were understandably surprised at the ease with which this old man emptied the chest with only as much effort as it would take to push forward a half-open door. The countless medieval weapons that scattered across the ground were even more numerous than what the chest's maximum volume suggested it could fit. And considering the dimensions of several weapons which looked to match the Cleaver that Number Seven carried around, it indeed seemed likely that this was no ordinary chest.

But while many onlookers studied the weapons that spilled out, Number Four already threw over the second chest, filling the surrounding ground with weapons, though several slid right into a nearby pillar of fire that swallowed those weapons whole but did not let even the charred remains slide out on the other side of the pillar.

The scrawny skeletal masked man looked up to the announcer's platform. His ribcage of a chest rose and fell rapidly, the man was fuming with anger. Yet the announcer simply ever-so-slightly shook her head, and the man turned back, remaining in place, watching Number Four with even greater rage, by which time Number Four had already walked toward the weapon of his choice.

"My my, not messing around, our little old niece-fucker, is he?" the announcer seemed amused. "Knocking our previous equipment around... I sure hope it's not because of something I said. Perhaps Number Four was hoping for a different opponent?"

Ignoring the announcer's chatter, Number Four wasted no time in picking a weapon and sat down on his knees next to a giant spiked metal ball that was lucky enough to roll past the nearby devouring pillar, covering some distance away from its original place of rest.

Bigger than the old man's balding head, the ball was attached to no chains or handles like a regular flail or morning star would be. A solitary object, it rested on the ground on the support of several long, sharp, pointy spikes. Not a single pointy end looked bent or blunted, despite the serious misuse they suffered, casually rolling across the uneven terrain.

Sitting in his knees, Number Four carefully put the palms of his hands on the ball, putting his fingers between the pointy ends and muttered something inaudibly.

"This is bullshit! How were we supposed to know there'd be someone else participating!?" someone in the crowds complained.

"Hey, that's right! What about this round's predictions, 'Thelicia'?" another man added. "And does that masked bitch plan to participate to the end of the games? What if she ends up winning the whole thing?"

"Concerning the 'Special Rules' of this round, miss Ruby is not officially competing in the games!" 'Thelicia' quickly explained, seeing and feeling more rising frustrations with the unexpected developments. "Think of miss Ruby as just another special obstacle for our participants to pass in order to advance. If they fail, they will die just as they would in a fight against anyone else: unworthy and forgotten.

"There are a few more 'special' balls among those with the other participants. Will anyone else be unlucky like Number Four? Or perhaps lucky? Our resident old niece-fucker might turn out to be stronger than he first seemed. Perhaps after a hard-fought, grueling brawl, miss Ruby will be easy pickings should she be drawn a second time? Oh, and speak of the devil!"

With everyone's attention on Number Four or the announcer, nobody noticed the masked girl appear on a narrow winding path leading to the arena proper until the giant sphere's screen changed to show the approaching robed, hooded female figure with a white mask obscuring her face.

_

"Finally!"

"Alright, let's go!"

"About time!"

"Did she get lost in the tunnels or something? Move your little ass!"

Miss Ruby's reception by the crowd was mixed at best. Most participants were savvy enough to understand that the girl spelled trouble. Anyone who was connected to or took part in the organization of this event and would willingly enter the fights with handicap rules had to be either dangerous or incredibly stupid. However, the average spectator would not know or care who this random new girl was. All she accomplished so far was delay the games.

Number Four did not let go of his giant spiky ball of death and continued to chant or channel, or mediate, or something. Nobody except Number Forty could have known for certain.

"What concentration from our resident niece-fucker!" the announcer's hyping voice reverberated through the mines. "Not only does he not flinch when he sees his opponent approach, he does not even acknowledge her presence! Will this be an unexpected upset? Or is Number Four simply coming to terms with his imminent, bloody death?"

"I gave you plenty of time to prepare," the white-mask girl said after she stepped on the giant arena platform and walked toward Number Four. "I hope you did not spend it all on your knees praying for a swift end to your shit existence."

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