Lewd Futanari Succubus Ch. 61

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.

"AAAAARGHH!" Number Sixty-three, the hairy hobo, screamed in desperation as he fired arrow after arrow at Number Forty.

The hobo barely aimed. The harrowing, ear-piercing screeches that came from the running, rolling three-foot ball of fire fueled Number Sixty-three's terror of suffering a similar fate and kept him from thinking of anything else but keeping the murdering, naked, blood-covered demon away.

He held his crossbow minigun at the hip as the weight of the weapon proved too much for the ill-prepared man to handle and relied on the sheer volume and the speed of his arrows rather than skill and aim. He hoped, begged that at least one arrow would strike true and put the human demon down. But, instead of coming closer to hitting his naked zig-zagging target, the hobo's arrows seemed to be further and further off-mark with each passing second.

The only thing Number Sixty-three's barrage accomplished was keeping the naked girl at bay. By this point, it became obvious that the hobo would only be able to hit his mark if she came so close that even a child could score a hit.

Instead, Number Forty closed the distance between her and the gazellekin who threw her boomerang at the quickly approaching naked. Even as she unleashed her boomerang, the gazellekin came to terms with the fact that she would not score a hit.

If a river of flames failed... If even a barrage of arrows could not stop her, how could I? The gazellekin kept asking herself, crushing her own spirit, ensuring that her disheartened attacks could not possibly be successful. After so many failures? There's no way!

And with that attitude the bladed boomerang missed a target that was closer than ever before: less than thirty feet and closing in fast

Useless! Why didn't I pick the other one!? The gazellekin despaired. Fuck!

"BRING IT ON!!" the gazellekin screamed with tears in her eyes and raised her fists, resorting to close combat to fight for her survival. She lunged at the girl bringing the resolve she so clearly missed before.

Whether from surprise or some other distraction, Number Forty was too late to properly deflect a simple punch that grazed her chin.

This is my chance! The hobo cheered when he saw his target finally slow down, entangled in hand-to-hand combat.

*Click*

"NOT AGAIN!!" the hobo cursed when the pull of a trigger did not yield even a single arrow. I have to reload, I have to--

The unkept hairy man's head flew clean off his shoulders, severed by a flying flaming katana, that came from the direction of the diminishing ball of fire that was the dead old catgirl as her charred remains burned away and turned to ash.

I... I can do this! The gazellekin suddenly found herself hopeful. The naked girl was a piss-poor fighter as it turned out. And even if the gazellekin was no expert herself, her average abilities, an advantage in physical buil,d and a decisive leg sweep were more than enough to land Number Forty right on her black thong-wearing butt.

Number Forty looked up at the triumphant gazellekin who had regained her lost confidence and stood over her knocked-down opponent. At that very moment, a familiar flaming katana flew through the air with diminished flames that were partially put out by the high flying speed and the blood of the decapitated Number Thirty-seven.

However, the gazellekin did not lose her head. She ducked and easily countered Number Forty's feeble leg kick, retaliating with a simple, straightforward punch in the gut while the katana zapped over them.

"You're not the only one that knows how to dodge!" the gazellekin declared triumphantly, smiling ear to ear as she pinned her naked opponent to the ground and punched her in the face.

"Hahaha! Not so tough without your little ka--KHRAAHK!?" the gazellekin's triumph ended abruptly when she suddenly choked on something that flew into her wide-open mouth along with Number Forty's spit.

The gazellekin's eyes widened in horror as she recalled the fate of the goatkin. She shooked her head, trying to plead with tears in her bulging eyes as she gagged on something lodged in her windpipe, clawing at her own throat, desperate to get the foreign object out.

But there was no mercy in the Number Forty's crimson eyes. Even as the side of her face reddened and swelled from the punch, Lilith looked at the choking young gazellekin that clawed the skin off her own throat, and calmly said just two words: "Bubble pop."

The gazellekin's throat burst apart, unleashing a fresh coat of blood and meat across Number Forty's face.

With all the attention on Number Forty, the white-masked miss Ruby stood behind the shirtless staff of the arena and couldn't help but not-so-subtly touch herself as she watched with envy the amounts of blood that her wannabe future opponent showered in.

_

The headless corpse of the gazellekin slumped over its decapitator. More blood pumped out of the burst neck, covering Number Forty's upper body in a warm coat.

The spectators all around the round arena platform cheered louder and louder with each consecutive kill, the complete opposite of the announcer who maskpalmed with both hands, appalled by the utter incompetence of the volunteer group she had such high hopes for.

"Finally, some good action!"

"She might just pull this off!"

"If that little grandpa's daughter or whatever gets through this, she'll probably win the whole thing!"

"What are those explosions she's creating?"

"Who knows!? Keep 'em coming!"

Lilith pushed the dead body of the gazellekin off herself and rose to her feet but before she could take another step, a leather rope wrapped around her arms and blood-covered naked chest. It made several loops around, pressing the girl's arms to her sides until the engorged tip of the rope slapped the girl hard through the previous layer of rope where precisely where her right nipple was.

"Ah!" Number Forty winced from the sharp--but not unbearable--pain. She turned her head back and saw that the rope that bound her breasts was in fact a whip, tense along all its length of over fifty feet, the handle of which was held by the furry, tiger-like beastkin that burned her dress, Number Fifty-eight.

In his right hand, the tigerkin tightly gripped the handle of whip, in his left--a massive metal shield with a protruding metal head of a menacing bull with large horns and a nose ring decorating the shield's surface. The beastkin grinned and bent his elbow, pulling the girl just a little bit closer to him, showing off his power over her.

"The Whip of Sodom!" the announcer called out the name of the weapon, with some life restored in her voice. "Finally, Number Fifty-Eight picked some good equipment! It looked like the swap with Number Forty proved most favorable to the beastkin!"

"Yeah, after you just gifted him two whole freebies so that he'd stop whining!" Olivia grumbled.

Beatrice was certain that 'Thelicia' would have given the tigerkin the opportunity to take more weapons regardless of how he acted. It wasn't as if the bias in this 'special round' needed any more proof.

But even if Number Forty's tits and arms were bound, she was able to move her hands and fingers. Whether the tigerkin guessed the girl's intent from the movement of her fingers or he simply heard a blade zipping through the air along the ground of the arena just above the surface, he reacted decisively and put his shield between himself and the katana that turned sharply to impale the tigerkin from a low angle.

Instead of cutting through the metal head of the bull or breaking on impact, the katana disappeared in a strange ripple that formed half an inch from the bull's nose ring and reappeared intact through a second ripple that formed on the opposite side of the tigerkin, behind his left shoulder blade, and zapped forward with the same velocity, as if the tigerkin did not even exist.

The blade flew into the crowds and pierced an elephantkin's ear straight through before crushing into the straight rock surface behind him, sending small rocks and broken blade pieces flying into the backs of the spectators that stood in the back row.

"Ah, The Bullshield!" the announcer moaned with joy. "Number Fifty-Eight would have been hard-pressed to find a better counter to Number Forty's annoying tricks even if he tried. It might have taken five deaths, but our naked little cocksucker is in a real pickle this time!"

The tigerkin pulled hard on the whip, undoing the loop around the girl and causing her to spin forward and fall. She managed to prevent the fall by using her arm to spring off the rocks and create some distance, but before she got away the whip cracked and its engorged tip hit her through her thong right across the pussy.

"ARGH!" Number Forty screamed and lost all balance.

*Crack!*

The whip hit the girl on her left ear as she fell to the ground.

"Ha! About time someone put her in her place!" Some spectators cheered at the turn of fortune for the struggling girl.

"Fuck! Seriously!? After all that!?" others were disappointed.

"Come on! Don't fail me now!" a beastkin girl screamed with a crumpled piece of paper in her hand.

But a good portion of the spectators looked at each other in confusion at the particular choice of targets and the pinpoint precision of the Number Fifty-eight's whip.

"Maybe he was just lucky?"

"Maybe she's the lucky one? Hehehe!"

"Shouldn't her ear be torn in half by such a strong hit of a whip?"

"Maybe it was? Can't tell with all the blood the painted herself in!"

Even the tigerkin himself looked at the handle of the whip in his furry fist with bewilderment.

"The Whip of Sodom is no ordinary whip you see!" the announcer explained with the growing excitement of a spoiled child during Christmas. "It is designed to hit only the erogenous zones of its target! With enough force to stimulate but never to destroy!"

_

"Haaah... Haah..." Number Forty breathed heavily as she laid on the ground recovering from the third strike of the whip across her ear. She reached for her ear and touched it to make sure it was still intact. But the second she touched it she snapped her hand back with a whimper. Her ear was intact but the damage was done.

Number Forty rolled over and leaped from the ground, sprinting toward the bewildered tigerkin. Along the way she picked up the gazellekin's boomerang and threw it at the tigerkin. The boomerang spread its long, razor-sharp metal wings and spun toward the large target.

But the tigerkin was not asleep. He cracked his whip which snapped through the air faster than a regular eye could follow, striking Number Forty's naked inner thigh.

"Ahn~!" red in the face, the girl lost her footing, fell, and tumbled. Her boomerang flew toward the beastkin, but a raised Bullshield sealed the fate of the attack.

The boomerang with its blades spread was thrice as wide as the tigerkin, but even that did not prevent it from disappearing in the magic ripple of The Bullshield. It reappeared behind the tigerkin's back and kept spinning straight off the arena.

Safe from the boomerang the tigerkin cracked his whip with all his might, striking Number Forty's nipples yet again, making her back arch as she let out a loud, dubious moan.

"The Whip of Sodom will never cause a serious injury!" the announcer giggled. "Because--YOU FUCKING MORON, BEHIND YOU!!!"

The tigerkin turned around at the last second with his shield in front of him to prevent a lethal blow from a boomerang that had inevitably turned around for a return flight. It disappeared in the ripple of the Bullshield, reemerged through the ripple behind the tigerkin, and continued the flight back to Number Forty. However, the girl was in no condition to catch the weapon, and eventually, the boomerang touched the surface of the arena, skidding forward until it stopped far on the other side of the arena.

The announcer clenched the railing bars with such strength that veins popped even on her delicate feminine hands. She breathed in deep, exhaled, breathed again, calming down, regaining her composure.

Number Forty--with great effort--used this opportunity to try and get up off the ground. She scratched her nails against the rocks as she rose up, even as her limbs trembled, but several more ferocious strikes across her nape and lower back robbed her of her strength as she moaned again.

"As I was saying," the announcer put emphasis on every word with clenched teeth and veins in her arms pulsating, "No matter how hard Number Fifty-Eight--or any user of The Whip of Sodom--might wish to strike a lethal blow against their target, they will not succeed!"

The tigerkin cracked his whip again and again, landing strikes with the engorged tip of the whip across Lilith's breasts, nipples, belly button. By now it was obvious that his strikes were not causing wounds. But as the tigerkin grew to enjoy the girl's reactions, his momentary frustration was replaced with growing joy and a grin of a power-hungry maniac as she struck the girl again and again, and again.

Number Fifty-eight no longer even tried to aim his whip. He let the whip guide his hand as he shifted his focus shifted to watching the girl's reactions with a growing, salivating grin. And his grin was not the only thing that was growing.

"The Whip of Sodom has a will of its own!" the announcer explained as she giggled. With the tigerkin now in full control, 'Thelicia' seemingly got over her frustrations and now simply enjoyed Number Forty's predicament while hanging over the protecting railings to get a better view. "It only needs a couple of hits to determine the pain tolerance levels of its target. Be it a gentle sunflower or a hardcore masochist!

"After that, each strike hones in more and more on the perfect balance of pain and pleasure to arouse its current target and make it unable to fight. Unable to resist! Unable to do anything but slowly succumb to the pleasure of The Whip!"

Beatrice swallowed. Despite what was happening to Number Forty before her very eyes, after hearing the description of the tigerkin's weapon's abilities, the succubus's mind couldn't help but instantly think of a certain companion who would be overjoyed to take the full force of the Whip of Sodom.

_

"Ahn~! Ah!" Number forty moaned louder and louder as the tigerkin whipped her over and over again with The Whip of Sodom.

Each crack of the whip struck the girl in all the right places without fail. Her clit, her breasts. Never subtle, but never abusive. Always on the edge of being unbearable, but just on the right side of being increasingly pleasant as her panties damped and her body got accustomed to the increasing rate of stimulation.

The tigerkin was breathing through his mouth with eyes bulged from excitement as he cracked his whip again and again. He dropped his shield and massaged his pantsless, furry groin as he watched Number Forty's alluring youthful body writhe in the realm between pain and pleasure. How her chest rose with each strike. How she cried out while curling her fingers.

With each crack of the whip, Number Fifty-eight approached the girl closer and closer. Eager to get a better view, eager to get a taste of his tantalizing prey.

The spectator reactions were divided. But more than a few couldn't help but lightly touch themselves. They imagined what it would be like to take that fearsome warrior, enter her, inseminate her, make her cry out their name. Even if it would not happen, they felt no harm in fantasizing about it. Fantasizing about taking a bite out of a ripe fruit. Perhaps more. Perhaps fucking her from behind until she begged to be creampied.

Those spectators that came with their significant others--or just casual friends with benefits--gladly gave in to their fleshly urges as they massaged each other, a few blatantly fucked. Not like anyone would complain about a hot pair in heat fucking next to them. When a man or beastkin saw such a sight happening next to him in the Forge of Champions, he'd have his dick ready to offer for the bitch in heat to suck on. A female beastkin offered her wet pussy for another girl to lick while she got her pussy rimmed.

Some citizens of Klapsus came here just for the blood show. But even if they did not partake in the lust part of the Games, they were in no way surprised that after several hours of drinking hearty drinks, partaking in intermission lewdness, and then watching sexual scenes on a giant sphere that blasted the moans of an aroused female throughout the mines, that more and more men and women of the degenerate city of Klapsus would succumb to their base urges and indulge in sexual urges with each other. For some, blood and death were just another aphrodisiacs when casual free use fucking on the streets of Klapsus grew mundane and boring.

"The lowest of low," Olivia grimaced as she looked at the many dispersed crowds of spectators on different platforms around the arena.

Beatrice also looked around, but not just with condemnation as Olivia did.

On one hand, the succubus could not deny that this form of carefree sexual indulgence was just what she wished for. How could she blame the citizens of Klapsus for finding what little joy they could in their doomed world? Spiraling into deeper and deeper pits of depravity, was there any low that was too low when the alternative was grim, suicidal despair?

But what was the source of the latest arousal? A struggling girl fighting for the honor of her uncle? What of her feelings? What of her fate if she succumbs to her final opponent?

Beatrice paid close attention to all who were present in the arena. None of the remaining participants gave in to sexual desires. They watched the battle carefully. More than once it seemed doomed for Number Forty. And each time she fought back. Even Number Seven, while sitting on a rock with his forearm over the handle of The Cleaver, paid close attention to the fight.

But just as all the remaining participants watched the fight without picking favorites, none of them more to intervene in the unfair battle. Even Uma, after voicing her contempt for those that entered such a fight, did nothing to stop it.

Similarly, the shirtless, buff, masked staff of the arena observed the battle with iron focus, even as the tigerkin undid his pants to let loose his engorged, bright-red erection.

Only one person with a mask on her face indulged her deeper urges. The mysterious miss Ruby who wore her bloodied white mask continued to massage herself between her legs through her many layers of garments. With each passing moment, she did so with more reckless abandon, not even concealing her movements, though never disrobing, never revealing even a part of her skin other than her hands, which were unclothed from the start.

And those shirtless men that stood closest to miss Ruby, seemed to go out of their way to never even so much as glance in her direction. They turned their bodies away from her, their feet pointed away from her, and even if they should have been able to hear the rustling of miss Ruby's fabric, they did their best to find more interest in the far away elephantkin's cries of sorrow about the gaping hole in his beautiful ear than in the fact that one of the overseers of this event was masturbating right next to them.