Extreme Sex Quest 17

Thus far, you guys have read and interacted with this Quest because you trust me. Yes, you trust me not to take you anywhere that you'd hate. You trust me to put things in their best possible version.

You trust me to make things enjoyable.

So I promise you, even now, trying with all my might to do just that.

The vore themes of this quest rear their head this post and I DO give you alternatives, but not "safe" ones. Not vanilla ones, because I do need to bring up the "Extreme" part of the Quest at some point and it just so happens that day is today.

But regardless of what you choose, I promise that I will soft ball things as much as I can considering the subject matter we are exploring.

I promise to try to only hit the good parts of these fetishes and none of the bad parts.

Obligatory explanation: A quest is a collaborative story of sorts, where I, the Game Master, write the story that you, the audience, decide on via voting on the prompts that I put through each post. Each post that, on its own, is the result of previous votes.

[X] Vanish the Minotaur

“I think…” you say as you measure your options.

“Yes?” your wife encouraged you with the same sort of patience that had always seemed patronizing after you figured out what sort of person she really was.

It still did, to be honest, but given your circumstances, you suppose you could excuse her for it now.

You won’t, of course, but you could.

“What do you think I am going to pick?” you ask, curiosity diverting your thoughts.

“That depends?” she tapped her chin.

“On what?” you ask.

She shrugged and spread her arms, “How hungry are you?”

And, indeed, how hungry WERE you?

There was worth, there was GLORY, in going after the pigwoman and aiding your Queen. If you were a glory-hound, an utterly self-serving woman, there was no question about which one would net you the most renown. Aiding your Queen, the most powerful woman in the Queendom, had little equal in what sort of gratitude you could expect at the end of your success.

Because whatever you did, you were SURE you’d succeed.

But yes, you were hungry.

You even nodded to your wife, “It’s decided then.”

But your hungry wasn’t for renown.

“We’ll finish the Minotaur bitch once and for all,” you say and can’t help the smirk of satisfaction that comes into your face.

Because, above all, you wanted your actions to be meaningful.

For your sweat, skills and blood to have done the most even if it wasn’t the task most rewarded.

“Ooh, I haven’t had beef in quite a while…” your wife ponders for a moment before she blinked.

“Ah, that reminds me,” she snapped her fingers.

Then she pointed an index digit straight at your face, “You owe me a favour, wife of mine. Do you remember that?”

“One could argue it was made under duress and for the good of your people,” your eyes narrow.

“One could,” your wife agrees, “Are YOU going to?”

Horrible as your wife might be, uncaring and apathetic except for the things she was ravidly obsessed with, the deal you made with her was more about you than it was her.

What sort of knight would you be, after all, if you reneged on a deal you made, with your…sigh, wife no less?

“No, no, I guess I won’t,” you grumble. Foolish purity of your knightly vows, why was it so easy to taint?

“Fantastic!” your wife clapped her hands and wave you her most winning smile.

You utterly crushed the happy feelings that spurred inside your heart.

“What is your desire?” you sullenly ask.

She leans in close, as if she were going to whisper, so you lean in as well to catch it.

“I want you to eat me,” she whispers into your ear.

“As in, you want me to orally satisfy your cunt?” you ask with some hope.

“Only if it ends with you taking a bite out of it,” she says, and her smile grows to a disturbing degree.

There it was, the oldest, most holy yet most horrible fetish all women across all races shared.

The near universal Consumption fetish.

Maybe, if you were nothing but a woman, you’d understand? Maybe your male genitalia takes away some of the understanding?

Your wife had raped you when you were her squired, yet this one thing she never forced on you. Not because she couldn’t, but because there was something inherently lacking if you weren’t an active participant in it.

You knew your wife well, despite yourself, and knew that in this, at least, she NEEDED your consent.

But then, she’d always wanted you to desire her.

“...how do you want to do it?” You bite your lip but still ask.

“Well, since I don’t want to overwhelm you,” she taps her chin as mischief fills her eyes, “I suppose we can wait until we are in our room tonight.”

“We can have some wine,” she extended a finger and started caressing your chin, instead, now, “I can have a steak.”

“And you can have one of my fingers.”

You stared at her, “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she promised, “Though you will have to pick which finger. I need you to be involved to that degree, at least.”

“We can work to it, though,” she assured you, “No need to go in dry. We can talk for a bit, flirt for a bit, titilate for a bit.”

The way she looked at you still did things to you.

“Until it’s time for me to be inside YOU,” she said in a low, smokey voice and you shuttered at that.

But the fact that your mentor-turned-wife could seduce you despite your hatred for her was not old nor was it a surprise.

You accept by this poin that you DO want her, but perhaps a part of you did not want to do this.

You owed her a favor, that was true, but perhaps you might be able to convince her that it would be best used in something else?

Something of equal value, perhaps?

[] …this is what your wife wants, and so you will, at least, see what she sees in this consumption fetish. (Light vore, will eat a finger in sex scene.)

[] Your wife said she was a cuckquean, right? Perhaps, you might offer to do it to someone else? It surprises you, but you don’t want to see harm happen to your wife. (You will suggest either Athena or Sigal. Light vore as well.)

[] No. No, no, you don’t want to do vore at ALL. But, perhaps, something equally horrible will do. Perhaps if you suggest her getting fucked by Sigal, telling her that you ARE a cuckquean after all, will do the trick? (NTR, Alama might get impregnated.)

[] You do not want to do vore and you do not want NTR. But, perhaps, you can do something else that explores the delicious pain that your wife seeks? Suggest...giving her a piercing. (You pierce one of your wife's tits.)

[] Write in.

Extreme Sex Quest 16

Obligatory explanation: A quest is a collaborative story of sorts, where I, the Game Master, write the story that you, the audience, decide on via voting on the prompts that I put through each post. Each post that, on its own, is the result of previous votes.

Right, so, this was a tie again. Given that the choices were not inclusionary I tossed an honest-to-goodness coin and, well, landed on Chain Mail.

Believe you me, I will try to make cooling Sigal as appealing as possible. ;)

[X] “Chain is fine.” (Gets Segil chain mail. Provides a whole lot of protection, some missions and some situations might make it necessary to deal with heat strokes. Full disclosure: curing it is going to involve pissing.)

“…and, as you can see, my ladies-” a muscled woman with the sort of equine assets that made you think she might have been from the frontier town you had just left, or one like it at least, was saying, “-the padding is not so heavy that it impairs your beastwoman from carrying your things either.”

The walls of the workshop had very little windows, but given the smoke coming out of the forge just outside it, you were rather thankful there weren’t. A few lamps steadily burned a smokeless concoction, a waste given the daylight hours, but you were visiting one of the more skilled blacksmiths in Lond. Or, at least, one of the ones reputed to be.

The wide barn-like doors to the workshop, and the fact that your delicious sex slave could freely troddle inside of it without being constrained, made you raise an eyebrow: you had been to many a blacksmith shop and, while not small, most weren’t this roomy. You would even go and say that this was deliberate design.

That this shop was made with the capability to do business with Centaur-kind in mind.

It was a rather confusing aspect, given how much mistrust and antipathy the inhabitants of this city had for them.

Sigal, of course, didn’t have the perspective to think that anything was out of the norm.

“Do I look womanly?” the filly was asking your wife, who took to handling your sex slave like an over-energetic younger cousin.

….which was rather accurate, all things considered.

“I’d be afraid to face you in battle, hon,” your wife brazenly lied to your new sex toy. You couldn’t help but be content with that.

Lying to your Sigal was a good thing~

Your filly squeed.

“Celia!” she said as she turned around to face you.

A stern look her way put her in her place.

‘That is,” the filly nervously swallowed the saliva in her mouth, “Mistress Celia! H-how do I look?”

She turned around for you, her eyes pleading for your input.

Her face stuck out of a cloth coif that covered her horse ears, protecting and padding her head from the heavy chain links that sat on top of it. Said mail sandwiched more padding to the futa centaur’s shoulders, and her nice bust, before going down. Of course, the chain links stopped shortly below the shoulders, but the padding went below even that, only stopping at Sigal’s elbow.

Her human torso kept the same theme of layers of cloth and mail until it all continued into her horse half, going from horse chest to horse ass. A hole allowed her tail to poke out, but the only bit that really needed to be carefully tailored was for Sigal’s human side.

The horse part of her armor set hung like one long skirt, managing to just about hide her penis which while, yes, dissapointing, wasn’t something that couldn’t be fixed by just craning your head a bit down.

Ah, yes, perfect.

“So?” Sigal bashfully looked down at the floor as you studied her.

You hummed.

“That’s an awful lot of padding, isn’t it?” you asked the blacksmith first.

“Given how much chain she has? Verily,” the muscled woman confirmed, “But then, for a girl her size, Plate would have required less.”

“This will provide her good defense, all else said, however.”

You tipped your chin as you examined it, “Well, the padding, is it-”

“It is cotton,” the blacksmith quickly confirmed, then paused, “Unless you’d like it to be leather, my Lady.”

Sigal went a bit white at that.

“Cotton is fine,” you replied, looking at the contours of your personal centaur again and again, “Honestly-”

“The whole thing looks good.”

“I do work well,” the muscled woman said with pride.

Sigal, meanwhile, was still looking at the floor. But she had a wide smile on her face.

You slapped her ass, “Well, aren’t you going to thank the nice woman?”

“T-thank you ma’m,” Sigal bend her head towards the blacksmith.

“It’s the Lady Celia what bought the thing,” the blacksmith dismissed, “Besides, it does me good to know that I am protecting a stud.”

She was giving your centaur’s genitals good, long, look, a bit of thirst in hers.

“A warning, however,” she surprised you by snapping her eyes back to you not too long after, “This can get devilishly hot in the middle of battle, so beware and have some way to cool your filly when you must.”

“I’m sure I’ll produce a solution, if need be,” you chuckled darkly as you liked at your slave.

And, indeed, you were sort of hoping that she would need it soon.

“Would you like me to have the armor packed up?” the blacksmith asked as your wife handed her a rather heavy purse of what you could only guess was your coin.

“In saddle bags, if you got any,” you nodded, “For whatever their worth.”

Your wife paused for a moment, before pulling out a much smaller purse to join its bigger twin.

“I’ll have it done,” the armorer bowed.

“So,” Alama said as you exited the shop, fully expecting Sigal to come out bearing her new saddle bags with the pride worthy of one of your slaves, “I have not been idle while you asked around for armorers.”

“I have never taken you for lazy, my lady wife,” you replied,, “Horrible rapist? Yes, but lazy? Never!”

“You seem to be in a good mood,” your wife nodded.

And you couldn’t help it.

You smiled.

“It’s finally feeling like I’m Questing!” you replied, the fruits of your efforts and the words of your deeds making for a most succulent combination, “Ah, please tell me that our mighty monarch still needs knightly women at her side!”

“Goddesses must have heard your prayers, my dear,” Alama chuckled, “For we just lost a battle.”

Your good cheer drains like rain water upon hearing that.

“Truly?” you ask.

“The minotauress, or so the tales go, where being dutifully driven from our lands,” your wife says with the same cheer that you had just lost, “When, all of a sudden, treachery!”

“A horde of pig women descended directly from Orc lands, invading our Queen’s very most lands,” Alama went on with the tale, “Causing great consternation and a necessary sacrifice of the campaign.”

“The army split in half, you see,” she explained, “Half to go and relieve the Queenland defences, and half to keep the Minotaurs in place while more knights were called up.”

“Except…” she trailed off, letting the tension build.

“Out with it, woman!” you ordered your wife.

“The commander left in charge of the Minotauress campaign decided to press a charge against the minotaurs, presumably out of well-placed loathing at their sheer existence,” your wife dutifully nodded, “Either way, she failed, the army routed, and the nobles of those places are pulling together what they can to push against the minotaurs once again.”

“Sounds worrying,” you bit your thumb.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” the veteran knight that was your wife shrugged, “A little depopulation never hurt anyone.”

“Realistically speaking, however,” she added, “The minotaurs can’t be in particularly good shape either, or they would have never been pushed back in the first place.”

“Think I should join the Queen against the pig women then?” you frowned.

“Maybe it’ll be better to finish the minotaurs' incursion once and for all,” your wife shrugged again, “or maybe the contributions of two knights and a young centaur will be meaningless in the face of these wars.”

“You COULD quest for what royal armies can’t,” she said, “The spillovers of these invasions might be more befitting of a questing knight.”

—---------------------------

Call of the Queen Quest no longer available!

It has now been divided into two different quests.

Aid for Queensland: Join the Queen’s royal levies against the threat of the Pig Women. (Reward: Plunder, fame and Pork. Diplomacy options available, but requires Extreme options.)

Vanish the Minotaur: Join the efforts to make an army to face the Minotaurs once more. (Reward: Plunder, fame and Beef. Diplomacy options available, but requires Extreme options.) —--------------------

After giving it some thought, you choose:

[] Aid for Queensland

[] Vanish the Minotaur

[] Seek out to contain the spillover of these events by questing (Miscellanious quests with small aims, small rewards, but short duration and little effort.)

[] Write-in

As always, if you can think of anything, I will put it up as a choice.

Extreme Sex Quest 14

So....this was prepared to go out last Tuesday, I had it copy pasted on Subscribestar and everything yet, something must have distracted me because I didn't, point in fact, post it. >_>

Blame me all you like guys, I take full responsibility, sigh.

Obligatory explanation: A quest is a collaborative story of sorts, where I, the Game Master, write the story that you, the audience, decide on via voting on the prompts that I put through each post. Each post that, on its own, is the result of previous votes.

Also, this is yet another reminder this is an attempt at creating a world where vile and depraved shit like murder and death are, rather, things to that the NPCs enjoy experiencing so long as its YOU doing it.

And with that-

[X] Promise us to not cause any more problems and scamper off. (Band breaks into smaller bands. Problem persists in the future albeit in a lesser form.)

“First option, you lot can provide my wife,” Alama began, making all of the Centaur women perk up.

Then, in a rush, she quickly added, “-Aswellastherestofthetown-”

And, before the Centaurs could figure out what said, she ended, “-with sustenance.”

The gasp the Centaurs gave was audible, and the eyes they cast on you would have made you reach for your sword if you hadn’t already defeated them.

“So she’ll-” one of them starts to ask as if she couldn’t believe it.

“Become a greater and stronger woman because of you,” your wife confirmed, making the centaur shutter, “She’ll carry a piece of every single one of you from then on, just like a flame is composed of its fuel.”

“And-and she’ll eat all of us?” another one of the centaurs dared ask.

“Every single bit of you,” your wife nodded.

“But, how?” a cynical mare among them frowned, “She is rather small and she doesn’t look like a big eater.”

“You let us, andthewholetown, worry about that, cousin,” Alama winked, almost making you snort: there was no way they knew how true that term of endearment was.

However, this had dragged on for too long.

“I am knight,” you suddenely declare and your wife gives you a wary look.

She sees the look you have in your eyes and sighs.

“And that means I have a duty to mercy just as much as I have a duty to fight,” you, well, didn’t lie, but the ‘mercy’ provisions only really applied to other knights and, perhaps, peasants.

All the same, you didn’t spill a single bit of blood in this “fight”, so you don’t feel like you have a right to any of their lives.

…except for Sigal’s, of course.

That stupid filly was going to be your slave.

Anyway, the point is you don’t feel you’ve earned the right to kill anyone, “Do you women promise not to cause any more problems?”

“If we say no, will you eat us?” one of them hopefully asked.

“No,” you dashed their hopes.

“Then what’s the difference?” the centaur scoffed.

“I’ll still kill you if you don’t give me your word,” you deadpanned.

But that seemed to give them the wrong pause, “....I still say that having a woman with a dick THAT big killing you must not be that bad.”

“Talk about seeing heaven before you die.”

“Yeah, if we can’t kidnap any more men, we might never see another dick again.”

“I’ll have the guardswomen kill you,” you clarify.

“Awww!” they all chorus.

“Your word, please,” You insist.

Many Centaurs sigh.

“Fine.”

Lady Alama’s Centaur Quest Cleared!

Reward: You are Famous in your wive’s lands now, and you got to dictate the fate of the bandits!

“Anyway,” You shrug your shoulders as you call your horse mistress and wife’s mount, “Get that filly up.”

You point at the still-unconscious Sigal.

You want to see how much you are working with, “We have many miles to go.”

Centaur Quest Epilogue

The avalanche of disparate Centaur outcasts banding together under the banner of a young futa filly did not come to pass. Enslaved to the increasingly famous Lady Celia, the wife of the future Dutchess of the Alastar plains the Centaurs called home, the one cohesive element binding them was gone.

….but that is not to say that they were gone.

They lived up to the promise that was extracted from them, and did not do banditry again. However, that wasn’t the same as not being a problem. Inspired by the Knight who spared them, they too started following in the steps of the women who had beaten their leader.

With no further hope or purpose for anything else, they took up discarded weapons and started offering their services to what used to be their victims. They became protectors from other centaurs and, in that way, gained a strange measure of acceptance.

Under the sympathetic auspex of townswomen, they learned of the Goddesses that demanded chivalry, and became an avenue for the permissive local clergy to further their already straining theology.

In a few years, decades at most, a religious schism and rebellion started to brew against Alastar authority.

One protected and led by bestial “knights”.

Thankfully, this would happen after the Alastars had recovered their forces and assets after stamping out the last outbreak of Centaur tribes.

Whether wise or not, Lady Celia’s actions gave the Alastar what turned out to be much-needed recovery time.

—---------------------------------

“So what do we do now?” your wife asks as you settle in your tents in the middle of the road.

“We resolved this quest faster than I anticipated,” you admit. Sigal, despite being a Centaur, found life on the road to be rather trying. To the point that she collapsed immediately after you stopped for the night, “But I don’t think I can count on all of them being like this.”

Athena watched the filly with amusement as she, too, took her rest.

“You did have all the information needed for this,” your wife said with amusement, “I suppose there is a lesson there.”

“Always ask the right person?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“Always count on me,” the woman who raped you flicked your nose with her index finger, causing you to giggle.

Giggle!

What is wrong with you?

“You think there is still time to join the Queen’s war?” you cleared your throat, trying to stamp down on the, augh, ‘affection’ you were starting to feel.

Alama pursued her lips, “Well…”

[] “We could do that, yes.” (Immediately starts the Call of the Queen Quest. Your extra party member is not well prepared for this, but who cares? Sigal suffering makes you tingle.)

[] “Good idea, but perhaps it would be wiser to see all of our options first?” (Go to the closest town or city to see your options AND to prepare. Alama will call in her favor from you while in there. Sigal can be prettied readied up.)

[] “You could retire.” (Immediately ends Extreme Sex Quest and I try to write a good epilogue for the whole thing. Will only offer this after the end of a quest.)

Just for reference, this is the Queen Quest=

Call of the Queen: You will take up the Call of the Queen! (Features: Minotauress. Reward: wealth and plunder. The plunder can be the Minotauress.)