Lewd Futanari Succubus Ch. 62

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.

"NO!" the announcer screamed and clenched the railings when she and everyone else in the mines saw in excruciating detail on the giant viewing sphere how Number Fifty-eight's manhood burst apart into tiny pieces and flew in all directions.

"UUUUUWWAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!" the tigerkin screamed as his blood shot forth from where his precious penis once was.

With shaking hands, the beastkin tried to stop the bleeding, tried to salvage the unsalvageable. He refused to believe it. He refused to accept that there was nothing to be saved. No meat. No balls. Only pain, blood, and bits of flesh swaying back and forth, hanging by torn pieces of skin.

"Nononononononononono," with hands in tremors worse than a drug addict's going cold turkey, the tigerkin tried to piece together what little manhood remained between his legs. That's when he felt a noose tighten around his neck.

"GHUUUUUURK—!!" the tigerkin's eyes bulged as he choked from the sudden strangling pressure on his neck.

While Number Fifty-eight was in utter shock and preoccupied with his destroyed manhood, the naked, blood-covered girl had grabbed The Whip of Sodom and jumped on the beastkin's back. She wrapped threw several loops of the masterfully crafted braided leather over the beastkin's head, wrapped the edges around her hands, squeezed tightly, and pulled with all the force she could muster, leaning back for more pressure.

"Fucking-GHUELK-CUNT!" the tigerkin screamed in bloody fury, but that did not help as the leather further sunk into his fur, flattening his veins and arteries. The tigerkin could not get his fat trembling fingers under the leather to free himself and his claws only scratched his own neck each time he tried. He cursed, screamed, spun around, and flailed, trying to throw off Number Forty but, could not reach the girl whose smaller body frame now proved to be an advantage. In his increasing panic and growing light-headedness, the beastkin tripped and fell.

Gasping for breath, Number Fifty-eight thrashed on the ground, foaming at the mouth, trying to reach the girl behind him, trying to catch an arm or a leg. Anything! But even as his nails scratched her skin, he could not grab on to her. Even when he rolled over and put all his weight on the much smaller human female she held to the whip with all her might. And all the struggle only further robbed the tigerkin's body of the precious, dwindling oxygen. Though he no longer felt it, the struggle further exacerbated the wounds in his nether regions as more and more blood spewed forth.

In his last-ditch effort, the tigerkin summoned forth all his strength and rose to his feet. Letting out painful, choked out gurgling gasps, the beastin jumped up and back, falling onto the sharp rocks and using Number Forty's body as a cusion.

"AAAAAAHH!" Number Forty screamed in pain when her back slammed against the rocks, only to be crushed further down and suffocated by the furry body nearly thrice her weight. But Lilith did not let go of the whip. Even as she herself struggled to breathe, squashed under her opponent, she gathered all strength and willpower to outlast her foe.

With his efforts, strength, and blood spent, Number Fifty-eight clawed at the whip around his neck, but even his sharp claws could not so much as scratch the legendary Whip of Sodom. Tears rolled down from the tigerkin's eyes. Foaming spit flew from his jaw, opening and closing agony, but receiving no oxygen. The tigerkin's body spasmed uncontrollably, but that did not save him as the girl beneath him endured with grit teeth getting beaten into rocks that sunk into her back and spine.

Unable to curse, unable to beg, unable to bring himself relief, losing all motor functions while his fingers trembled around his neck, tigerkin emmited his last, weakening, croaking gasps until even those ceased. Only after his body went limp, his hands slumped at his sides, and his head turned sideways no longer struggling for oxygen that was no use to a lifeless body, did the girl let go of the whip.

Number Forty pushed against the furry body with all her strength to lift it up at least enough to be able to breathe herself.

"HUAAAH~!" the girl hungerly gasped for the sweet oxygen she denied her raping would-be murderer. She finally managed to push the tigerkin's dead body off enough to crawl from under him to a standing ovation from the crowd.

Even those that hoped for a different outcome could not help but be impressed with Number Forty's persevirence against the odds. And the few that were displeased with the outcome remained quiet seeing how outnumbered they were.

Among the quiet ones was the dispirited announcer who leaned against the railings with her head hung low as she listened to the overwhelming reaction of the crowds. Number Forty slowly rose to her feet not only victorious but already celebrated as a champion.

Lilith struggled to her feet. Scratched, bruised, and beaten, her body ached all over. She could not open her left eye due to the cocktail of hair, blood, and other fluids that stuck to half her face. She breathed heavily, her chest rose up and down, refilling her body with oxygen. The right to breathe for which she desperately fought with the tigerkin. But even weakened, bloodied, and naked, Number Forty stood proudly with her back straight as she looked around for the white mask girl.

Miss Ruby stopped caressing herself and as the two girls locked eyes.

Lilith raised her arm, pointed a single finger right at the masked murderer of her uncle, and swore, "You're next!"

_

The white mask girl and everyone in and around the arena read Lilith's lips and intent clearly. The spectators cheered for the inevitable showdown.

"Don't get ahead of yourself!" the mysterious white mask girl said loud and clear.

"Huh? Why isn't the match announced as over?" one spectator asked.

"No idea."

"Can't you tell? The announcer is down in the dumps," another spectator pointed at the slumped hairball up on her high platform above the arena.

"She really wanted this girl dead, didn't she?"

"Do you think she'll finally give up on her grudge?"

There was also another person who watched Number Forty stand up and survey her surroundings. So close to being seen yet so far from being able to strike, Number Forty-four, the sharkkin froze still. He tried to crawl to the girl before she was done with the tigerkin, but he was too late.

If only I moved faster! the crippled sharkkin lamented as he pressed his giant body to the ground. If only I was a little faster! She was as good as dead, fuck!

Now, the sharkkin was forced to watch and hope. Hope that his presence will go unnoticed. That everyone will simply forget about him. Maybe I'll be able to sneak away during the next intermission?

With bated breath, the sharkkin watched the girl turn away from the group of shirtless staff and the white mask girl with them and take a couple of steps away from both him and the tigerkin's dead body. For a second, the sharkkin's heart lifted when he imagined himself living through this.

Yes! She'll just take the Bullshield for herself and— the sharkkin's heart stopped when Number Forty turned around, with Bullshield in hand, and slowly walked right in his direction with nothing but death in her one open eye.

The sharkkin very soul froze over in utter terror of the small girl who radiated oppressing murderous intent. Drenched in the blood and guts of her enemies, she now approached Number Forty-four at a slow, steady pace, each heavy step counting down the seconds he had to live.

With his primal instincts for survival taking control, the sharkkin gave up his hopes for hiding and turned to flee. Unable to think, unable to run, he tried to crawl away. With his arm and leg utterly useless, the sharkkin bit into the rocks ahead of him, using the many layers of his teeth and the strength of his jaw to drag his crippled body forward.

The laughter of the spectators filled the arena as they watched Number Forty-four break his teeth against the rocks while he bled out from his many wounds. The ridiculing laughter in the sharkkin's ears was interrupted by a loud thud and cracking of bones as his mind went white for a moment with a wave of a new level of agony that overwhelmed everything else.

"AAAAAARGH!!" the sharkkin shrieked in agony when his only good leg ceased to function.

The viewing sphere showed to even the farthest standing spectators how Number Forty lifted the Bullshield as high as she could and slammed it down against the back of the sharkkin's knee, destroying the joint in a single strike.

With "flight" no longer an option, only "fight" remained. In his final act of resistance, fueled by one last pump of survival-mode adrenaline, the sharkkin ignored the pain from the many wounds across his body as he activated the blades in his boomerang, and with a desperate cry, turned around and lunged at Number Forty aiming to skewer her with the blade.

Lilith placed The Bullshield between herself and the sharkkin, easily hiding behind it. The spectators watched how the sharkkin's blade and arm disappeared in the ripple in front of the shield and reappeared behind the girl. Lilith then threw the shield aside, severing the magic connection—and with it—the sharkkin's arm. The lifeless stump fell behind her, holding a part of a cleanly severed boomerang. The other part of the weapon fell in front of the sharkkin who collapsed at her feet with blood gushing out of his last good limb.

The crowds erupted in cheers once again.

The announcer rose from the railings and took a couple of steps away from the edge of her platform, into the shadows of the cave. With her back toward the spectators, she tore off her mask and flung it against the ground.

Wounded and bleeding out all over his body, unable to fight, unable to run, the sharkkin wept at the girl's feet.

"P-phleaseeeee!" Number Forty-four bawled, pleading for his fleeting life.

Lilith looked down on her pathetic would-be assassin and without saying a word turned her back to him.

The sharkkin gasped and his spirit lifted for a short moment as he watched the girl pick up the cut half of the bladed boomerang and walk away from him

"Huuuuh?" many spectators were shocked at Number Forty's mercy and booed such a decision.

"What is she doing?"

"Kill him!"

"Behead him!"

"Why bother?"

"Yeah, Isn't he as good as dead anyway?"

The sharkkin slumped. His momentary elation at having his life spared evaporated quickly. As the excitement and adrenaline wore off, weakness, darkness, and cold settled in. The sharkkin felt numb, but the pain did not return. Nothing returned. Soon, he found himself wishing to feel the burning pain again just because all he felt was the growing cold as the encroaching darkness took him in the blazing, fiery heat of the arena.

_

"She actually did it..." Olivia muttered quetly.

Beatrice looked at her ninja friend and saw that rather than being amazed or happy for the unlikely survivor, Olivia was frustrated. The clenched fists, the subtle frown. No wonder, Beatrice thought. For someone so preoccupied with power, that was probably like looking at somebody she wished to be. Fighting against the odds and perceivering. Would she be able to claw out a victory in the same situation?

John, the skeletal shirtless masked man, walked over to the sharkkin to check on Number Forty's last opponent's condition. After kneeling over and checking for vitals, he looked up to the announcer's platform where the hairball was supposed to be. Just as the whispers and speculation among the spectators started to overshadow the elation of the concluded bloodbath, the small ball of hair appeared, wearing her mask like always.

John signaled something to the announcer with a single gesture of his hand, and after a brief pause, Thelicia announced with her amplified voice, "It looks like Number Forty-four is still hanging on for his life. I suppose it was too much to ask of Number Forty to end a match that is already over. What is she even doing?"

"Woah!"

"For real!?"

Astonished gasps, laughter, and some cheering spread among the crowds as they watched Number Forty use the half of the bladed boomerang she picked up and skin the dead tigerkin.

"That's why she left that shark dude to slowly bleed out?"

"Haha, looks like it!"

Lilith did a crude job. The tigerkin's fur was ruined with blood smears and imprice cuts. But it ended up good enough to serve it's purpose: several pieces of fur for Lilith to cover her private areas that she had displayed for the amusement of the spectators for far too long.

"Hmph! How barbaric!" 'Thelicia' scoffed and crossed her arms. She then looked to John, who stood up over the sharkkin's body signaled to her again, and said, "And Number Forty-four is no more! Number Forty is now officially the winner of this special round."

The cheers of the crowds more than made up for the utter lack of the announcer's enthusiasm who didn't even bother to congratulate the winner.

"It turns out that none of our participants were worthy of putting princess Mary on all fours and taking her from behind," 'Thelicia' shook her head, making light of the situation. "Perhaps it is for the best. Who knows, maybe the princess would have turned out to be a huge disappointment? If some of the rumors are to be believed, she might already be too lose for a commoner's cock."

More laughter from the crowds, reaffirming how easily and fearlessly they jumped at the opportunity to use the local royalty as the butt of jokes.

Beatrice felt slightly disappointed that she did not have the answer to that particular question. Despite being so close, despite getting her tail sucked by Princess Mary, the succubus had no knowledge of whether the princess was tight or loose.

"But enough of dwelling on the past!" the announcer said. "We have a winner after all! Someone who fought against the odds to prove her worth! And she did just that! Seven dead, the favor of the crowds won over, all by her own two hands! A feat worthy of recognition!"

The crowds clapped and cheered for Number Forty, who still managed to stand straight stood over the partially skinned corpse of the tigerkin, despite her wounds and the setting fatigue.

"Hmm, so our dear guests agree?" the announcer asked in a playful tone. "Should we reward Number Forty's hard work?"

The overwhelming response from the crowds was clear.

"Haha, I see, I see... So be it! Number Forty! You fought admirably! Who am I to stand in the way of what you fought for? You wanted our honorable miss Ruby? You got her! The match begins immediately! Before miss Ruby has a chance to flee in terror, hehehe... Oh, I'll even forgive you for wounding our dear spectators with your attack!"

"Seriously?" Beatrice gasped.

"Fucking bitch!" Olivia cursed.

While, at first, some in the crowds erupted in cheers, yelling in support for Number Forty, the excitement wore off quickly as the realization set in even amongst the stupidly drunk ones.

"Wait, she'll fight right now?"

"After all that?"

"Won't she just get swept aside in her condition?"

The mysterious white mask miss Ruby stepped forth from behind the group of shirtless buff men and walked toward Number Forty.

"BEGIN!!" 'Thelicia' yelled, all but laughing out loud.

_

"Hehe, I'll let you make the first move," the girl wearing fiery robes and a bloodied white mask said as she chuckled and she walked forward to meet her weary opponent.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

"WHAT THE HELL!?!?"

"GIVE US A REAL MATCH!!"

"LET HER RECOVER FIRST!!"

"THELICIA SUCKS!!"

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM!"

"THAT GIRL WAS STRONG ENOUGH TI KILL SEVEN PEOPLE AND YOU'LL JUST WASTE HER LIKE THAT!?"

"YEAH, SHE'S CHAMPION MATERIAL!"

"GO NUMBER FORTY!! KILL THAT MASKED BLOOD-DRINKING BITCH!"

A participant that just fought through a grueling seven-on-one rigged match and won the favor of the crowds was now instantly thrown against a stupidly strong opponent who had no business fighting in the arena in the first place. The spectators were displeased, to say the least.

"I'm guessing that this is not usual?" Beatrice asked Olivia.

"I... I mean, it's not like I've been to a lot of these events," Olivia was at a loss for words as she looked up to the furious spectators. "I certainly don't remember the crowds ever reacting so strongly against what was happening in the arena. Also, this is just the second round, but we're already down to seven participants remaining, including that Number Forty girl, who's probably as good as dead."

"Is this really how it's going to be!?" Number Fifty shouted at the scrawny masked staff member, taking several swift steps toward him, her long gory hair flowing magnificently as if she used the best shampoos and conditioners this world had to offer. "How is this supposed to be a fair competition?"

John looked at Uma, carefully observing her movements, but did not answer a single word.

"Fair?" Number seven laughed as he sat on his rock with The Cleaver at his side. "Since when have these games ever been fair? Even the way they hand out weapons at random."

"Making do with what you're given is the way of the world," Uma said as she sternly eyed Number Seven. "But that announcer is going out of her way to kill Number Forty! Setting the odds against her. Helping her opponents! Despicable!"

Number Seven sighed and shook his head with a grin. "And here I thought that killing your so-called 'teammates' would have set your head straight."

The aura around Uma quickly darkened. The bangs of her gory hair fell over her eyes as she quietly muttered, "And here I thought it would act as a warning to the scum of the world."

Number Seven's right pectoral muscle twitched, and his grin grew wider.

Beatrice looked at the other two remaining participants. The human girl, Number Seventeen, sat farthest away from everyone, caressing her scarf. Meanwhile, the remaining beastkin woman sat on a rock, ripping bites out of what looked like some kind of stretchy jerky. This made Beatrice's stomach growl and turn. Oh, Fuck... With all the excitement Beatrice couldn't even remember the last time she ate something. Oh, Fuck! Wasn't that in the morning!? ... Dear God, how long ago was that!? It has to be deep in the night by now!

"Hmmm? Not making a move? Even though I'm so generously giving you a chance to land a powerful strike?" miss Ruby asked Number Forty over the distant boos and complains of the crowds around the arena. "You do remember that my mask is painted in your uncle's blood, right? This is your chance for revenge! ... The chance that you fought for so spectacularly? ... His blood was very tasty!"

Number Forty did not budge. Her breathing calmed as more time passed since her previous fight.

"Nothing? Oh, who am I kidding? That old shitter's blood was stale and reeked of incestuous thoughts!"

Number Forty stared right at miss Ruby with her one open eye but did not give in to provocation.

"Being boring pieces of shit must run in the family!" the masked girl yelled before turning and looking up to the announcer's platform and shouting. "Hey, Thelicia, this shitter is just stalling for time! Do we have some sort of time limit or what? Aren't you—AH!?"