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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Fifty years ago, strange gods changed the world. All humans became stronger, and more importantly far more durable.

Injuries almost disappeared overnight, and with them, violence. Instead, through the will of the gods, the only way to subdue opponents became through sex.

Everyone was at least a little blessed, boasting this strange resilience, but some were blessed more than others, finding themselves easily fucking less blessed individuals into submission.

The gods, entertaining themselves with the suddenly very common competitive sex, noted that this change would lead to some unfortunate scenarios – rape, actions going against limits, sexfighting someone with incompatible orientations, and so on.

To prevent this, they altered people’s minds, making them never unwilling to have sex, removing any limits they may have had in terms of sexuality, and ensuring everyone could at least somewhat appreciate everyone’s bodies, both through changing their preferences and through subtly changing the bodies of those with ‘less desirable’ body types. This, along with making it so that both parties had to desire pregnancy in order for it to happen, and other changes, helped normalize sexfights.

There are many who curse the gods for these changes, or rather the blatant disrespect of the free will of everyone they suggest, but many do not care too much, or even think of the topic.

After fifty years, and some interventions of the gods, the world has mostly settled, with sexfighting achieving great practical and cultural significance.

It is in a city within this world, Eros’ Fall, that the following tale takes place.

—————

Ellen Duskwell, more commonly known as Shroud, was a mind mage. More precisely, she had a blessing that allowed her to vaguely sense the intents and locations of everyone within a restricted area of her choice, with the precision increasing as the searches area decreased. In addition to this, she could also use her power to hinder similar powers to her own working over that same area.

She had earned her name by most commonly working for criminals hoping to prevent powerful blessed from stumbling onto their operations, ‘shrouding’ them from scrutiny.

Some would call her immoral, she knew, for never questioning what the goal of her employers was, and not acting even if she knew. For providing protection from persecution to slavers and the few genuine killers that remained in the city, for preventing their victims from being rescued or saved with her actions.

They wouldn’t even be wrong – or at least she would never bother arguing they were. She just didn’t care.

She never cared about the plight of people she didn’t know well. She never felt empathy for people she didn’t have an already existing relationship – lovers, rivals, friends, acquaintances, whatever – with, not caring if they were suffering. It wasn’t a matter of seeing a bad enough fate, either. She knew that from experience.

Perhaps this meant she was broken in some way, not normal, or perhaps it was a protection granted by her blessing. After all, if she ever extended her senses over the whole city, she would see the suffering of thousands, but without the precision to be able to do anything about it. Either way, it made people call her a monster, and it let her work for the most despicable people without a twinge of guilt.

The end result, whatever the truth was, was that she had skills that were in demand among the criminal elements of the city, she was willing to work for them, and as a result, she got to do what she liked and was good at in exchange for great sums of money.

Like right then, when she sat in a comfortable room with expensive wine and well made snacks in the staff rooms of a large slave auction, shielding the whole event from notice of prying eyes.

On the street next to the building, a would be vigilante wielding her own abilities with amateurish bluntness, was trying to track down someone. Her efforts were so crude that she could even tell the intent all the way from her room – the woman was looking for her sister, kidnapped by slavers.

If she could get to the right city block – even if she was stumbling blindly now, her powers unable to pinpoint the location of her sister with enough precision to identify the right street without having to guess, let along the right building – she was worth Ellen’s attention.

Carefully, Ellen created the sensation of a ping, of her powers finding something three streets down, and then subtly slid it into the woman’s mind.

Then she watched, satisfied, as the woman urgently matched off.

Sipping her wine, her reverie was interrupted by the area she was covering being hit by a cloud of static.

She scowled. It seemed that someone who wasn’t skilled enough to hide from her properly decided that blaring their presence but hiding where exactly in her area they were.

While she could, she sent a telepathic message to her employers that there were intruders in the building ataşehir escort and were temporarily blocking out her ability to locate them directly, suggesting they had a mind mage.

She received a flinch and swearing, as much at the surprise at the unfamiliar form of communication as at the news, and a command to let them know the moment she knew more.

After sending an affirmative answer, she threw herself at the source of the disruption – while she couldn’t locate it for now, she could attack it.

Her first strike, almost formulaic for it was what she used when she didn’t know her opponent, was simple.

She constructed in her mind a scene of ‘a body inhabited by the soul of her opponent’, no specifics given, trapped in a place full of hands that grabbed and groped every part of that body.

Due to the lack of specificity, it wouldn’t do much, but the attack should let her make enough of a hole in the opponent’s defense to at least glean their species and gender.

She got a vague sense of a human man, before the counter-attack hit her.

Suddenly she was laying on a bed, with a husky voice whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

She shuddered, but with practiced ease focused on the inconsistencies between the scene and the parts that were vague, almost dreamlike – the bed under her felt odd, since her opponent didn’t make any specifications about her skin; the same went for the hot breath on her ear. The words were merely conveying the sentiment of seductive whispers, without any actual words, given her opponent didn’t know her preferences. And finally, her whole body felt fuzzy as her mind tried to interpret inputs from a vaguely defined body.

With all these defects in the illusion, it was easy to ground herself and let the pressure wash past her without staying.

She did feel a leak in her own defenses, as the information that she was a human woman was read from her mind.

Knowing that the second attack wouldn’t be so ineffective, she got to work crafting her own follow-up.

She continued with her style of stimulating the whole body, starting with what she imagined as the average man, and then placing them in a sea of women.

There were soft, pillowy breasts pressing in on against them from every direction, the layer acting almost as a mattress to keep him on his back.

More tits pressed in from above: a humongous pair, covered in sweat and a gentle rose scented perfume, just strong enough to cut through the scent of exertion and refresh the nose from the olfactory assault, was pressing against his face, smothering him.

Four pairs of firm, perky, but smaller breasts, one from each cardinal direction, slid up and down his shaft, their movements showing clearly the desperation to prove themselves equal to more busty individuals from the supposed (and in reality nonexistent) women to whom they were meant to be attached to. Here is where the illusion would start to break down a little, as she did not know how big his cock was, yet, so the stimulation might feel off.

Finally, breasts of all shapes and sizes pressed down against him, the pressure and nipples against his skin serving as clumsy replacements for the hands of a masseuse.

Satisfied with the illusion, and reminiscing fondly of that time in a brothel which served as the inspiration for it, she launched her assault, and was rewarded with the sensation of a shudder and a fuzzy outline of her opponent’s body. It appeared she had slightly overestimated both his height and his cock size, but she was certain the illusion still had its effect.

Then, the retaliation came.

It was dark, and she was in an unfamiliar alley. She could see stars above her, and the outlines of buildings around.

Before she could do anything else, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, one around her neck and the other around her chest, groping one of her tits, the hand sinking into the large, marshmallowy mounds.

She noticed that she was naked as she felt rough, warm skin against her own, and then a cock thrust inside, ravaging her tight slit with every deep thrust that made her arch back in pleasure and scream her arousal into the night as it stretched her out only to withdraw and give her time to settle back into its previous tightness before slamming in deep again. As she heard her screams echo through the alleyway, she was certain they could be heard by countless people in their homes.

She felt a twinge in her crotch as the very well made illusion set into place, and then went to hunt for mistakes.

Easiest to spot was that her voice was wrong. The illusion gave her a soft, smooth, and high pitched voice that just screamed ‘innocent maiden that secretly likes it’. Her real voice, by contrast, was deeper, and a bit raspy.

Another thing were her breasts. She understood why the illusion had what it had – most powerful blessed were idealised versions of themselves, and so large, soft breasts were, if not the norm, at least common.

But escort ataşehir her blessing had manifested almost purely as a mental power, and so left her with a bust that was average by standards of the old world, but positively modest by the new standards.

Her pussy, too, felt… Off. It was not really feasible to quantify what was wrong, but she did feel wrong, and it was another dissonance point to focus on.

And finally, while it all was pleasurable, she would not have been driven to screaming like this just by what was shown.

The illusion faded, and having weathered the storm, she noted what information he took: her name, though she made sure to use Shroud enough for him to get that, and her taste in snacks and alcohol.

Very wary and confused, now, she got to work making her next attack.

Now that she knew the shape of her opponent’s body, she based her scene on face sitting.

She placed the now more accurate body of her opponent on a bed, and then placed a woman with a perfect bubble butt on top of his head, making sure to imbue the soft pressure of her ass on his face into the illusion, as well as the sensations of her pussy over his mouth and nose.

She made him drown in the hot, spicy fragrance of her cunt, denying him any air that was not permeated by the hot and suffocating smell of her womanhood.

Her bottom lips pressed against his own, like the lips of a lover, and his tongue was deep within her folds, lapping up the delicious, fruity and yet spicy juices.

In addition to that, the woman on top of him fondled his cock, massaging a strange liquid into the foreskin that sent tingling heat all throughout his crotch.

Satisfied with this, she delivered the illusion, being rewarded with moans, and the knowledge her opponent’s favourite position was reverse cowgirl, in addition to more detail about his form, allowing her to eliminate inconsistencies in it and make her illusions more convincing.

Then, his next blow came.

She was in darkness. Rather than just turning off her sense of sight, which would have been arousing due to the deprivation but greatly jarring, she had a satin blindfold over her eyes, blocking out any and all light.

Her ankles were tied together by a satin cloth, too, and her wrists were bound by handcuffs behind her back.

She was kneeling on something cold, which took her a moment to identify as snow.

Besides her bindings, she was nude.

Someone leaned in, exhaling hot air into her ear before chuckling softly.

Something cold was placed on her chest, especially on her nipples, and she gasped at the sensation, her nipples stiffening.

She was shoved forward, landing on her (still too big) chest, feeling the snow all across her bust.

Now that she wasn’t kneeling, her crotch was in direct contact with the snow too, the sensation making her shiver, and not just from the cold.

The person who chuckled into her ear slowly mounted her, and then pressed their warm lips against her cold neck. It was heavenly, a gentle respite from the cold and cruel world.

Their strong, rugged hands caressed her chest, their already notable warmth flowing into her freezing titties, relaxing the soft flesh and further making her relax in that embrace.

The fingers made their way to her throbbing, cold-stiffened nipples, warming them up and massaging them, rolling them between the fingers and rubbing them against the now warmed up breasts under them.

A cold wind picked up, chilling her and making the warmth of their hands around her body even more pronounced, their fingers teasing her relaxing nipples only for the icy gale to stiffen them right back up again.

She focused on how the breasts felt wrong, still, but it didn’t help quite as much this time. In addition to just how hot and bothered the scene left her, she felt a detailed depiction of her face, and her taste in humour escape from the right grasp she held on information about herself.

Deciding to incorporate the information she just got, she created a new scene to strike at him.

A woman with long, wavy red hair allowed to flow free except for a few brass ornaments, a magnificent, jiggly butt, and breasts exactly as large as the illusions of her that he created, sat on top of her opponent’s body.

Below him was a soft mattress, and below that was a wooden bedframe, the old planks creaking ominously with their every move.

Behind him, reflecting off her sweating, tanned skin, was a roaring fireplace, its warmth washing over him during the illusion.

She was wildly bouncing on his cock in reverse cowgirl, her wild hair shaking back and forth, the brass ornaments in her hair making it look like dancing flames.

Her soft butt, so soft it pressed into and squished itself like it was molded to fit his crotch every time she dropped down on his pussy, jiggled and bounced with her every move like gelatin, the momentum making sure it never once ceased moving.

Her cunt was tight, ataşehir escort bayan though the sheer pressure of her folds against his cock, pressing so hard they were molding themselves to the veins on his shaft, suggested this was more so her muscles than any natural tightness.

And she remained tight even as she lifted her pussy off of his cock, combining it with a circular movement to grind her walls against him and maximise the friction, and then dropped down on him with enough force to force him balls deep, her pussy, while still seeming impossibly tight, easily accommodating the whole length of his shaft.

With every drop, the bed creaked ominously, as their clash threatened to break it, and his crotch sunk into the mattress, only to bounce up again when she lifted herself, forcing him deeper into her.

Feeling that being dominated despite your best efforts was more humiliating and arousing than having it just happen, she had the body her opponent would be inhabiting spank the woman, making her ass jiggle even more, and grip her hips to give his thrusts up into her, intended to disrupt her rhythm and make her cum sooner, more power.

Of course, all of that achieved nothing, making her fuck him just as ferociously as before.

And as a finishing touch, she made the woman grunt wildly, her deep voice conveying both lust and primal dominance as she rode him to oblivion.

In the climax of the scene, she rode him to orgasm, with the drop that broke his resolve and made him cum also finally breaking the bed they were on, sending him hurtling to the ground and her riding him down to it, delivering one final blow that made him cum even harder, shooting ropes of cum deep into her.

Satisfied with the result, and a little aroused just from making it, she delivered the blow to him, smiling in delight as she felt him shudder and moan with the delivered illusion.

She used the gaping hole it tore in his defenses to find out his favourite hair colour (black) and the ideal proportions of a woman for him (she got the big butts right, and he seemed to like big, very soft tits, like he had been giving her bodies, though the close second best were modest pairs much like hers, amusingly).

Then she shuddered as she found herself in another illusion.

The first thing she noticed was the face who’s appearance he just tore from her mind staring back at her. A quiet realisation, then – she was looking at a mirror.

And behind her, she saw a man.

He wasn’t very tall, nor insanely muscular as some of the more extremely masculine blessed were, but she could see some tasteful musculature on his arms. Giving it some thought, she realised she recognised the outline and height – it was identical to what she tore from his mind.

He was tanned, his skin tone darker than her own, which she realised was subtly off from her usual skin tone, though it was hard to convince herself that was a flaw in the illusion and not just the lighting.

He had eyes like chips of onyx, sharp and completely black, and his hair was short and brown. He had a sharp jawline and a small mustache, and a scar which stretched across one of his cheeks, seemingly extending from the end of one of the edges of his mustache.

He reached out, one hand wrapping around her chest again and squeezing and kneading it like dough, seemingly without regard for her own pleasure yet still feeling good. The other hand reached out to cup her face before he forced his thumb into her mouth.

And then he started to fuck her.

His cock did not match her opponent’s, plunging deep into her with every thrust, savaging her and pushing through all the attempts to tighten and stop him in his tracks she made.

She felt herself stretched with every thrust as his girth was still too large for her to perfectly accommodate. But even more importantly to the cock punishing her pussy, she was pressed against the cold glass, her cheeks squishing, her breasts deforming as they were pressed against the mirror, and both feeling the chill, much like before in the snow.

As she felt her cheeks heat up from embarrassment in contrast to the cold glass, she could see her face – a perfect recreation of it – making those same faces of pleasure, and she grudgingly had to admit that there was something to that, that it by itself might have been worth taking her face from her memories. She would have to try that against someone herself.

“You’re a naughty, naughty girl.” The man spoke, his voice deep and a somewhat scratchy. “Giving me a fake name after I asked so politely.”

She was confused for a moment, before she realised he was looking for her name and only got Shroud.

The hand on her breast gave a final squeeze and then let go before slapping her ass, hard. She was sure it left at least a red handprint, and she felt the sting even after his hand left her buttocks.

“Naughty girls like you need to be punished for your misdeeds.” He chuckled as he spanked her again, his cock still ravaging her helpless folds.

“And it was useless, too, because I’ll fuck it out of you anyway.” His words were accompanied by another spank, before he stopped that too and instead grabbed the back of her throat, pushing her harder against the glass, making her stomach make contact with the mirror.

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