Extreme Sex Quest 20

And here is the end. Now, I will say this again so nobody feels like I am trying to force anyone into anything, but this quest is more or less an attempt at putting some of the more "extreme" kinks out there in as best a light as I possibly can. I believe that humanity is such a smosgboard of kinks and paraphilia that its possible for the most vanilla person out there to enjoy some of the weirder stuff out there if its just presented in the right light. If the angle that its served in is as gentle as it possibily can be.

Because, despite that I am the writer of such depraved stuff, I too am a complete sucker for romance and love. Because that's what vore is to me: love. And thats what NTR is to me, romance.

But I do realize that some things are quite simply never going to interest people regardless of how its presented, so I am thinking about doing something after this post. You know, a little conversation between you and me.

Otherwise? Take this and last story posts as my own personal argument as to why NTR can be about the MC, you, having the power and being powerful.

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]...fuck it. Your wife is going to bear you a future member of your harem. (Alama gets pregnant with Sigal’s child.)

Children are the gifts of the goddesses, the church preached.

But it was an expendable gift.

To love was to cherish. To cherish was to hurt.

To hurt was to love.

So it was, it was a parent's privilege, nay, duty to hurt their offspring when the time came. Either in ways that would help said offspring…or in ways that they would enjoy.

The ultimate truth of the world, how the Goddesses made it, had ever been thus: the only difference between the most ecstatic, joyful experience and the worst torture was context.

Death wasn’t the end, the church promised that. Pain could be enjoyed, the right partner guaranteed that. Suffering could be for a cause, the various enemies of the world ensured that.

Your wife’s family using their own wombs like breeding yards had never been the problem. Nor had it been using their children like livestock, making some family in truth, getting rid of some or killing off others. No, not even eating some of them was cause for worry.

The problem was that they were doing so with horses. Ostensibly creating the best horses in the kingdom, but secretly creating womankind’s enemies.

You had a duty to beget children. By womb or by cock, the Queendom demanded that you continue your bloodline. It demanded such from everyone. More children were always good.

But that meant everyone could always afford to let some children go to “waste”.

For, as the priestess noted, death was not always bad.

You could envision your wife’s belly grow fat with her cousin’s centaur progeny. You could envision her giving birth.

You could envision taking care of that little girl.

And you could envision, some hot summer day when she was, perhaps, 18 springs old, shoving your cock down her throat so far that she choked to death.

You had not understood it your whole life. Until now, a lot of the sexual paraphilias that inundated the land eluded you. Perhaps it was because of the horrible experience your wife, as your mentor, had given you. Perhaps you were just too sheltered in your mother’s countryside castle. Either way, here and now, you understood.

Driven by care and affection for your wife, the pain of cucking was a fire burning your loins. This pain, this mental knife at the edges of your gray mattered, was a weapon that you grabbed by the handle. It was something you had full control of.

The choice, between literally eating some of your wife, or letting your sex slave fuck her had been the choice between two different pains. So it was no choice at all.

But here now was a choice where you could pull away and not have to endure any pain.

That was, if you weren’t enjoy said pain.

If the POWER that came from being the one to MAKE your wife cheat on you with someone who was your fucking SLAVE did not do it for you.

If being the one responsible for tainting her body with another futa’s love and lust did not make your own cock grow hard until the lightest of touches would make it go off.

If, as it turned out, being the cuck with POWER did nothing for you.

So you squeezed Sigal’s testicles as hard as you could, and pushed her as far into your wife’s womb as you could.

“FU-” your centaur started to scream but ended up baying like a horse.

You felt, through your hands, the equine horse expand with futa centaur seed.

You felt it go into your wife’s cunt.

And you felt the vibrations of it as the hot semen turgedly crashed into your beautiful, sexy, magnificent, incredible, amazing, fantastic, awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping, strong, tough, WORTHY, and all around superior wife’s womb.

The being, the animal, that was only valuable because of the same cock that she was impregnating your wife with, let sperm fly into Alama’s nethers.

You could not see it obviously, but you could just imagine it:

One of your wife’s precious ovum, which belonged to you and YOU alone, was spat out to swim into a sea of foreign equine seed.

The egg that was YOURS, you now gave to your centaur slave. You all but MADE this child yourself.

You were practically its faaaaathe-

“I am cumming!” you moan as Sigal pumps your wife full of her testicle milk.

Alama, meanwhile, had her head down, biting her cheeks to keep herself from moaning.

To keep herself from looking away from you.

To keep herself from missing the joy in your face.

Once she saw you enjoying yourself, Alama, the worst human being you knew, smiled.

That only spurned your orgasm on.

Sigal whined until she shot all of her horse seed into your wife. Until her knees started trembling. Until her semen burst out of the corner of Alama’s cunt lips and started falling into the sheets of the inn bed.

Until it started mixing with your own, because you had also came into it.

And then, with a painful whine, she collapsed.

Thankfully, she did not do so on top of your wife. Sigal collapsed on her side, her body all but landing on the bed. Though, admittedly, it was so soaked with sexual juices that it was now more a sponge of semen.

It was only then that you realized that you were still squeezing her testicles and that they were starting to turn blue.

“Oops,” you gasp as you let them go, but your centaur filly was already out of the waking world.

Her cock fell out of your wife’s sex pot with a wet squelch, leaving you with the sight of her pussy agape, leaking adulterous seed.

“Did you like that?” your wife asked.

“I-it was fine,” you grunt, post-nut clarity returning to you one of your long-held beliefs: you can never, ever let your wife have the upper hand.

…even if believing that was becoming harder by the day.

“Well, I do believe I am going to be carrying one of your concubines for the next 10 months,” she wiggled her ass, “But that does mean that most of this precious seed is going to go to waste.”

“Don’t you think?’

You shuddered and, without being prompted, leaned and gave your wife’s snatch one light kiss.

One that glazed your lips with Sigal’s futa semen.

The taste of it, so malty from the feed you gave her, had you licking your lips.

The inclusion of your wife’s juices, somehow, made it taste better.

You opened your mouth.

And seal your wife’s cunt shut as you force the rest of the slowly sliding sperm to go into your maw.

“Hmm, yes,” your wife moaned as she shook, the orgasm that she had thus far resisted finally exploding through her, “YES, EAT THAT UP LIKE A GOOD CUCKQUEAN!”

Your dick, spent as it was, got up again.

And you-you swallowed big chunks of centaur sperm as you “cleaned” her up.

Sometimes you had to chew, Sigal’s semen was surprisingly thick, but most of the time you simply swallowed.

You made your wife orgasm a few times before you came again, your own ejection small compared to the explosion you just made.

And then you lay with your wife.

On the floor.

“If any of our peers saw us, letting your toy have the bed while we took the floor, they would have an aneurysm,” your wife snuggled against your side.

“If they saw the bed, they would understand,” you grunt, looking at the centaur from the corner of your eye.

She had rolled over once since she collapsed, and had glazed both of her flanks with both of your ejaculations because of it.

Sigh, you were going to have to clean her tomorrow.

“Hmm.” Alama brought your head to her bosom and made it lie there. Given that it was softer than the inn pillows, you allowed it. “Alright, I will admit it: This was about as good as I imagined having you eat me would be.”

“Thank the divines,” you sigh with relief.

“But do you know what made it that good?” she starts caressing your head.

“What?” it feels good, so you allow it still.

“The fact that you enjoyed it so much,” she whispers into the crown of your head, “Don’t you get it yet, you dumb girl? I am obsessed with you.”

You shiver at that, “so I guessed.”

It was just becoming harder and harder to dislike it.

“Give it a try,” she told you, “If not with me, with someone else.”

“What?” you tilted your head to look her in the eye.

“Try consuming a girl,” she replied, wiggling her eyebrows, “It can even be someone you don’t care for but, well, why should you deny yourself what everyone wants to be a part of?”

“We’ll all die someday, love,” she said, “But if its to YOU….it will be so worth it.”

“Alama,” you said, suddenly scared.

“Shhh,” she put her finger to your lips.

“Just think about it.”

—----------------------------------------

“What a fine day.” you were stretching yourself the next morning as the sun was just coming out.

One of the privileges of being a noble, so it was said, was being able to sleep in late. However, you wanted to make as much head way as you could in each given day.

It would be just your luck to arrive too late to face the heinous minotauress otherwise.

“Clear skies and cool air; I do believe we won’t have to deal with rain,” your wife similarly stretches, making your eyes roam her body.

She was a loathsome person but, goddesses, she was really fine to look at.

“A l-little rain’d be fine,” your sex slave uncomfortably walks, trying to not rub her horse testicles with her heinlegs. A quick morning wash had gotten all of the matted dried semen off her fur, but the bruises from last night still remained.

You blush a bit at that and you resolve to be kinder to Sigal’s eggs next time you hold them.

Athena is already walking by your side, sniffing around you. She squeals with happiness when you pet her head.

“Hopefully we are not waylaid by anything,” you say before you help your wife to your horse and then got on it yourself.

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that because, of course, waylaid by something.

[] You discovered that Athena is pregnant. (For the funsies, I’ll use an online dice roller to determine what sort of hybrid she is pregnant with.)

[] Your wife starts vomiting and experiencing morning sickness but one week after your adventures. How? (Your wife experiences a magically rapid pregnancy. 3 months instead of 9. Will roll as above.)

[] …Sigal goes into her first heat. You decide what to do with it. (You can impregnate her yourself, pimp her out, or have an animal from the wilds do it.)

Extreme Quest 18

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.

Alright, NTR won. And by far.

Well, there will be no vore…for now. >=)

But seriously, if any of you can think of an extreme kink that I can put as an alternative to vore, let me know. This is the Extreme Quest, after all.

[X] 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 hated your wife.

This was a reminder, you really hated your wife.

You hated how conceited she was. How sure of herself, and how she just walked into your life whenever she wanted and made an absolute mess of it.

You hated your wife.

…but you didn’t want to see her hurt.

Consumption was a fetish like gold: everyone coveted it, but few got to have it. The church provided healing services for those women who were too necessary to allow to perish from this otherwise permanent kink, or to those who could outright purchase recuperation from the fetish. Death wasn’t the worst thing, and there was something striking about loss.

Something sexy.

But, as much as this was an groin scratcher across all women of all species, there was no denying that it had a price.

And you?

You did not, COULD not, see your wife hurt.

This was not love, you tell yourself. It couldn’t be, because you hated your wife. It didn’t make sense, see?

“H-how about an alternative?” you swallow, the idea that just occurred to you being one you’ve rejected before. But as it's come down to this, you had to follow your priorities, even when you hadn’t known they existed before this moment.

It wasn’t ideal.

But you would rather sacrifice yourself than your wife.

“...you are not trying to get out of this, are you?” Alama’s eyebrow furrows.

“No, no, of course not,” for the first time ever, you saw the need to lie to the person who had tormented you for so long. And you were doing so not for your sake, but for hers, “It’s just, well, I just remembered something.”

“What could that be?” your wife asks, only sounding slightly sarcastic. You’d always rejected the notion that she knew you, because the things Alama held as true were so horrible, but it was hard to deny that you felt seen through.

“Remember when we were in that rickety little inn of that half-bestial town of your peasants?” you ask.

Your wife blinks, “Yes? We were there shortly, but I cannot recall anything that would come up right no-”

Her eyes widened as she, too, recalled that whispered conversation. Her shameless admittance.

Her extreme offer.

“You do?” Any sign that she might be upset vanished in a moment as a wide, knowing smirk manifested on her face, “Hoh, ho-ho-ho-ho, well, well, WELL.”

“So, you’d like to see it too, wouldn’t you?” she asked hotly, “Seeing your spouse sard someone who is not even worthy. To experience that oh so sweet betrayal so. Fucking. CLOSE.”

“Not here!” you say as you look around, your face feeling hot. There was no one around, but any chance at all that anyone might hear was unacceptable.. “We shouldn’t talk about it here.”

“Well, I suppose there is a time and place for everything,” Alama considered, “But since this is my favor being fulfilled…can I take it that I am, in some way, coercing you into doing this?”

“....yes,” you say.

“Heavenly Goddesses!” your wife croons as she becomes improper and starts kissing your face in public, “Oh, my dear wife, I really thought I’d have to do more to make you fall in love with me, but you already do, don’t you?”

“N-no!” you were quick to deny even as you look away.

“You do!” she triumphantly points at you, “You really, really do!”

“Enough!” you growl, “Knight or not, if you don’t stop, I’ll take this public humiliation as fulfillment of my vow.”

“Certainly, my lady wife,” your wife was back to her dignified manners. Her laughing smile, however, remained, “Certainly.”

“But, hah, who will enjoy what is yours?” she asked.

There was only one choice, of course. Men, or women with cocks for that matter, weren’t so plentiful that you could look beyond your sex slave.

But your wife still wanted you to say it.

She wanted you to utter her name.

“Sigal,” you say and your wife has to visibly restrict herself from subjecting your face to another onslaught of kisses.

“You are the Lady,” your wife demurs as if you were in command of all of this.

“But, hah, how shall we do it?”

You stare at her.

“Come again?”

In your mind, sex was a consequence of natural instincts and actions manifesting themselves. Fucking, for lack of a word, was simply what felt the most appropriate at the time.

But, hmm, Alama always liked to plan things out, didn’t she?

“You’ll make me fuck Sigal,’ your wife gave you a blink, “But I rather think that, for an event so special, maybe we could give it some thought, like wife and wife?”

‘What do you have in mind?” you sigh.

“Well,” your wife sing sang:

[] They go to a room and get the job done. You don’t have to see it, just know that it’s taking place. (You’ll only hear the adulterious fucking, and only see the “results” of it.)

[] You take an active role in things. Alama and Sigal will fuck in a room, but you’ll be there to direct things. (You play “porn director”, except more hands on.)

[] You play the showman and have Alama and Sigal fuck in public. Where the whole town can see your wife cheating on you with your sex slave. Might have to pay a minor fee for public indecency, but Alama is sure that she can use her connections to wayve it. (Play exhibitionist porn director/pimp. You’ll have a peanut gallery.)

“Why are all those choices so convoluted?!” you ask, blushing as hard as you’ve ever done.

“You are the one who’s claiming to be interested in this now,” Alama shoots back.

Your mouth clicks shut.

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.)