"Kim Possible is caught attempting to infiltrate a secret compound. Usually, the penalty for this would be death, but the girl would be much better used as a sex slave."

Image credits: Sketch; dukenukem (Hentai Foundry, image deleted)
Inks and Color; Phillipethe2

Everything was blurry, unfocused.  Faint outlines danced behind closed eyelids, hints of something more hidden behind a veil.  The world felt unsteady, rocking on some ever-changing point.  Dull aches throbbed all over, distant and easily forgotten, like faint pressure at the back of her neck, in her shoulders, her knees and her thighs.  A pinch constantly tugged at her consciousness, somewhere on her arm, where it was warm: even warmer still than the rest of her body, which felt as if it were wrapped in a sweltering blanket.  She felt a profound dismay as she wriggled in place, somehow restrained, her muscles kept from freely flowing as she desperately wished they could.  Those struggles reached her ears as an amplified, leathery rustling.  Intense: it sent chills through her.  She took in a sighing breath, surprised to find that she could smell a familiar musk, and strange, earthy aromas all around her.

"Looks like it's kicking in, boss," a gruff voice rang out.  Was it close? far?

A rough chuckle resounded in response.  "Wake up, Ms. Possible."

Kim heard the sharp crack of flesh against flesh before she felt the stinging, distant through her fuzzy mind.  Her eyes pried open, squinting reflexively as light bombarded her blown pupils.  It was so bright, and it stung terribly.  The captured spy's head drifted from left to right, a flowing oscillation that just served to smear the already-blurry images of her captors.  One...two...three...was it three?   It could be six, for all she knew.  Some part of her, floating in her groggy consciousness, realized that she should be very frightened.  Something had happened: she'd been hit, maybe, or was there something about the light, misty clouds that kept popping into her memory?  The teen agent groaned, surprised to hear her own voice muffled, to feel her jaw stretched wide.  Her lips and chin felt wet, very wet, and she couldn't close her mouth.

"How do you feel?" asked someone.

That someone fell into her line of sight, his face smudged and glowing where the light hit it.  There was something about his tone too: like he was mocking her, maybe.  Kim tried to focus in on him, see through the haze that was veiling her sight, but her eyes just would not stop moving.  She squirmed, forcing strands of her red bob to stick to her forehead.  The motion coiled and twisted her body, prompting a sharp twinge between her legs to spread through her, a gasp forced out through the holes in her gag.  It felt good.  Really good.  She tried to dip her head, to find out why even those gentle shifts of her body were spreading such an ecstatic sensation through her body, but the stranger before her snapped a gloved hand around her slick chin, yanking up.

"Keep your eyes up," he spat, "we've got a surprise for you and it would be a shame if you ruined it."

Something cool pressed to her chest, just under the tight, rough leather that wrapped around her neck.  The spy was slowly becoming aware of her body again, able to feel that same sort of restraint on her arms, wrapped around her thighs.  Her calves were locked by shackles that pressed against her skin, hard and chilled.  Something was filling her, too, stretching her cunt with a wide and solid center that broke off into what felt like thousands of rubbery tongues.  She felt that intrusion deep in her core, her muscles clamping down around it, rippling in erratic spasms against the thick object.  Kim's eyes popped fully open, shock overriding the piercing glare of what little illumination bathed her.  The masked stranger before her lifted up, laughter shaking his form as he back-pedaled to the other two men.

"Okay," he announced, clapping his hands together, a glint of metal flashing briefly, "let's get started.  Turn it up."

The figure to his right brought something up, an object that she faintly recalled in some dim, distant recollection.  His fingers gripped against what looked like a knob, and the spy felt a thrill of anticipation shoot up her spine.  She didn't pause to wonder why that response came, or to consider how strange it was that her quim roiled against the object stuffed up into her.  All she felt was a base excitement, her heart thumping a wild beat against her chest as her breathing hastened.  Her nipples, already crinkled against the air, almost stung with each pulse that ran through them.  It felt as if her crotch was caught in an inferno which ebbed and flowed with the throbbing of her clit.

The tiniest vibration began, rumbling in the machine that that Kim straddled.  She felt the buzz first against her legs, a split-second before the dildo stretching her began to blur subtly.  Even that lowest of settings jolted through her, spreading like wildfire through her nerves.  Her arms struggled uselessly against the cuffs laced around her arms, her knees wobbled, her back arched and her stomach rolled: a concert of contortion conducted by the dildo's subtle whirring within her.  The three figures chorused in cruel guffaws as the device pinged out a tone.  The spy-turned-slave had missed it, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as her eyes rolled back in their sockets.

There was something so familiar about this.  A faint feeling of recognition clawed at Kim's mind as her hips bucked against the embedded phallus.  She knew what would happen next: the faux-cock would begin to piston, shallow strokes would violate her deepest parts, the rubbery tongues would lick at her oversensitive inner walls.  It would feel incredible.  It was feeling incredible.  Each robotic thrust jammed into her, forcing her body to jolt as it pushed her juices out against her thighs, dripping onto the plastic cover below them.  It would go on like this for hours, picking up speed and easing down at varying rates, alternating between teasing her and tearing as many earth-shattering climaxes as it could from her.  She began to scream, drowning out the machine's high-pitched bell as it announced each one, over and over, and over...

"Forty-five this time," the leader announced, his voice was thick with amused interested.

The hollow plunking of his boots against the floor rang out in Kim's ears.  How long had it been since they'd started on her?  An hour, two hours, half a day?  She dragged her head up, the weight of it wobbling against her weak and trembling muscles.  However long it was, her thighs were coated with her release, slick rivulets that dripped down to her ankles.  Focusing was even more difficult than before, her vision swimming and bobbing from side to side.  The figure loomed over her, reaching his arms around to the back of her head.  The spy jolted forward, quaking as she was yanked off the soaked dildo.  Her captor pulled off the gag stuck between her lips, leaving them swollen and gaped open, before he dropped her to the ground.  She squirmed against the shackles, still locking her legs in place, staring up at her captor with wide eyes.  His hands were moving, near his belt: that was all she could tell before she saw the captor's trousers slump to the ground.

"Say: Thank you," he grumbled.

Her tender lips worked wordlessly, her sore jaw felt as if it was grinding as she fought to find her voice.  Hoarse croaks tore out of her throat, which burned with hours of screams etched into it.  Kim's captor watched, a scowl chiseled onto his face as her throat worked, straining to remember how to form words.  He was just about to turn as he heard something wheeze out of her, and he kicked forward against her side, prodding the spy with the solid tip of his boot.  She looked up at him, her figure heaving awkwardly in her bondage as she panted.

"Thank you," she rasped.

Her captor's mask folded at the mouth-hole, a triumphant grin spreading his lips wide.  They'd been at this for weeks by now, and he had almost begun to worry that she would end up just another vegetable.  Sometimes she had responded with pith, but lately it had merely ended with her losing consciousness on the ground, completely unresponsive.  He stared over her body, glistening with sweat, red with flush, and marked at several places where they had beaten her in their crude attempts at forcing her submission.  This effort had been inefficient, expensive, and had lasted far too long.  He didn't care, though, because it had all been worth it at the end.

All Kim could do was lay there, forced into involuntary squirming by the aftermath of her long torture.  Thanking him seemed strange, as if some other person than her had borrowed her voice, and spoke the words.  Flopped on the ground, her twitching holes exposed, not even a flicker of interest or fear crossed her mind as the captor pulled out his prick.  Her eyes bobbed with it, the shaft vein-ridden and the head a vibrant crimson, but only for the repeated motion that transfixed her and ensorcelled her drugged mind.  Disappointment flashed through her as he left her field of vision, but she jerked and felt a hoarse yelp press out of her as the backs of her thighs tingled with warmth.

How long had it been since she felt human warmth?  Kim's muscles strained against their binds as she struggled to press up against the presence behind her, the long-lost sensation of flesh outside of careening slaps, punches, and kicks.  A whine escaped her throat, cut short by the sharp crack of her captor's palm against her ass.  The prickling heat of the impact flared up for a moment before it was covered, once more, by anesthetic haze.  Finally, though, she felt flesh against hers, at first brushing against her, then pressing tight to her legs.  The thrumming pulse of another heartbeat seeped into her senses, originating from the thick shaft planted between her cheeks.  Some hidden part of her consciousness urged her to keep still, despite the swelling desire to rub up against her captor's body.

"Beg," he commanded, in monotone.

"Please," she whined out, "push your thick dick in me; please, use your slave."

The words came to her like lines memorized from some script she couldn't remember reading.  It was just another incongruity that tugged at the last shelter of reason in her broken mind, struggling toward comprehension and recollection.  Right then, the spy was ignorant but at the cusp of clarity, almost able to recall the series of events before she had been taken.  Her captor's prick, which had dragged down along her skin, almost unnoticed by her in her mental struggle, shoved between her pussy's swollen lips, stretching her battered walls once more.  It also shoved another rasped cry from her, and so also were her ruminations thrust out of mind.  He sank deep into her, and she rolled back against him the best she could in her bonds, desperate for more intimate contact.

All she received, though, were fierce and pounding jabs from her captor, his cock punching in and out of her quim.  The sloppy slaps filled the air as he ravaged into her, the moments where his hips met hers too short for her to truly enjoy.  Kim leaked around him, nonetheless, her body responding in automatic obeisance, drilled into her even without her reckoning.  Her captor was quick, barely two minutes passing before he jammed himself into her, his heavy balls smashing against her swollen and abused clit.  She felt the warmth of his eruption spread through her, setting her muscles off into rippling, uncontrollable spasms.  They continued even as he pulled out, spending the last of his cum on her back and rump, the hot fluid spreading chills through her skin.

"Next," he called out, lifting himself to his feet.

"You rescue Batgirl from the Joker gang and barely get away with your life, as a result, Batgirl offers to give you something, whether you like it or not."

Image credit: InCase (still seeking a direct link to artist's work)

"Holy shit, I can't believe that worked," you managed to pant out.

The tightness in your chest began to recede, finally, though you still struggled to catch your breath. Your gasping pants were mirrored by the woman at your side, also propped up against the cement wall. Any other time, and you would be gaping at the obscene stretching of her suit across her chest, the bat insignia tucked in between firm breasts. Now, however, the last of footsteps and loud jeers were fading into the distance, the rough tattoo of someone's automatic pistol thumping into the air. A frustrated goon, probably. Batgirl turned her head to face you, her lips stretched into a grin as she panted.

"Thanks for that," she breaths, "I guess I got myself in a little too deep, this time."

You nodded, still sucking in air as your cheeks widened with a relieved smile, adrenaline surging through your veins. Sure, you're no caped crusader, but you kept your wits about you in the escape, able to thwart the thugs with your own brand of amateur vigilante justice. The images all blur in your mind, still clouded with the rush of survival, of multi-colored faces and brightly-dyed garments. You had gripped, and were still gripping, Batgirl's wrist in the escape, leading her through the warehouse and out into the small section of harbor it lay in. Twists and turns, doubling-back here and there, fifteen minutes of what felt like straight sprinting had led you here.

Was it exuberance or something else that spurred her, you wondered, as Batgirl suddenly twisted from the wall. Your eyes caught a flash of yellow as her cape whipped around, only for her light-blue irises to seize your gaze as she leaned in. The smooth material of her suit blocked none of her body's heat as she shoved herself against you, her copper-colored lips pressing firmly against yours. The kiss was as heated as it was sudden, her lips opening to give her tongue passage to snake out, seeking yours in a frenzied dance. They twisted and turned, coiled and slid sloppily against one another, both of you fighting to gain the clearest taste of the other's mouth. She pulled away, her lips still hanging open as her eyelids fluttered back up, a heavy-lidded stare meeting your eyes.

"Thanks," she husked out.

"Yeah," you managed to utter, "no problem."

You felt her lean muscles ripple against you as she rolled her hips in an easy grind. You blinked in confusion, a mind addled by lust and daredevil's speed ignorant of why: why you were feeling another hard bulge grind against your own, which tented your jeans so prominently, urged by the spontaneous and sensuous kiss before. That puzzlement must have shown on your face, because Batgirl's smile morphed to a shy smirk. Oh, you were so distracted by the feeling of her tits pressing up against your chest, the heat of her breath against your jaw, that you never even realized that she was packing something extra, the whole time she was jammed against you.

"Is it a problem?" she asked.

You began to sputter for a response before she leaned up, her soft lips dragging across your cheek and up to your ear. Her breath blasted against your skin, hot and humid, in between deft kisses and gentle nips. A chill ran to the base of your neck when she took your earlobe between her teeth, biting down on it gently, just enough to leave a mere indent in the skin. It was enough to make you sigh despite the bizarre circumstance, but she didn't let up. Her bosom squeezed against your chest as her back arched, a gloved hand slipping between your forms. You felt the hint of the rubbery material through your pants as she gripped your prick through them, the pads of her fingers and the firm muscle of her palm rubbing in slow massage.

"What if there is?" you groaned, snapping your hand to her shoulder and shoving forward.

"There isn't," she insisted.

Your arm folded back as she pressed against your shove, a definite reminder that, though you were her hero for the night, she was the professional. Her dexterous digits found the zipper at the front of your jeans, wasting no time in yanking the tag down. Batgirl's hand darted in after that, fingers wriggling as she sought your stiff dick, fishing it out the moment she had a firm grasp on it. Her glove felt somewhat sticky against your foreskin, foreign to your nerves as she began a slow stroke, her wrist rolling with the movement. You felt her shoulder gyrate against your hand, the heroine's efforts guiding your hips back and forth.

A coy smile unraveled on her face. "See?" she prompted, "You're enjoying it."

Could you honestly deny that, at that point? You were gritting your teeth tightly together, as if to grind the enamel into grist. That reserved part of you quickly gave way, the moment she reached her other arm between the two of you, her other glove-clad fingers curling around your heavy scrotum. Those she stroke with long and drifting movements, finally coaxing a low groan from your throat. The heroine kept her hand there, never losing step in her rhythm as her body drifted down along yours, the texture of her suit making your prick jump as it brushed the side. She was kneeling, looking up at you as her lips gaped open.

By now you had shut your eyes, pressing your head back against the solid wall. It struck you like a thunderbolt as she took your pulsing head between her lips, sucking tightly as her tongue wriggled against the tip. You arm draped lazily to your side, fingers curling as she bathed your dick in her saliva. Her head began to bob, the tight ring of her mouth enveloping along your shaft as she took you in inch by inch. Credit where credit was due, you were impressed when she managed to brush her nose against the rough denim of your jeans. Her throat worked around the throbbing flesh, while her tongue flicked up and down the underside of your prick.

Just as soon as your meat had been slobbered over, coated with her slick spit, she pulled back off. Your girth escaped her mouth with a loud 'pop', like a cork from a wine bottle. Batgirl shook with a giggle at the sound, her pink tongue running over the smeared lipstick, detaching some of the thick strands that connected your length to her lips. She was only getting you ready for something more. You felt a hint of dismay as her fingers slipped off your balls, and you popped your eyes open to stare down. The reward for your curiosity was to watch her reach both her hands between her legs, the sound of tearing fabric piercing the air.

"I'm not letting you go just yet," she teased.

The heroine turned with ease, pivoted on one of her heels, now perpendicular to you. She stood up quickly, finding her footing before her leg shot up acrobatically. You flinched, tilting your head to the side as her boot planted next to it on the concrete wall. You followed her yellow glove as it dipped between her legs, spreading two plump, reddened lips held between her swollen vulva. At this point, could you really be surprised that she had both parts? As you felt the slick sensation of her juices drip onto the head of your dick, you decided it didn't matter. Your eyes met, and she nodded: so you pushed in.

She let out a deep groan, her free hand shooting up to grasp your shoulder like a vice. Your hips eased forward, shoving your spit-slicked length into her. You ground your lips together as her cunt began to milk at the invader, the toned muscles of her pelvis rippling as your dick disappeared into her depths. Batgirl was leaking around you, her fluids soaking into the fabric of your boxers and smearing the front of your jeans. It didn't matter, though: what mattered was the tremulous mewl that ripped out of her as you made the final plunge into her hot quim. The both of you remained stock still, heaving breaths as you acclimated to each other.

"Do it," she hissed.

Your once-limp arms found her hips, seizing them in a white-knuckle grip. You undulated, letting your frame carry each thrust back and forth in a rough sawing motion, the head of your cock scraping along the sensitive spots of her lock-tight walls. As if unsatisfied with her previous show of flexibility, she began to bounce with you, meeting your rough pumps into her and crashing the firm muscles of her rear against you. Both of your eyes stay locked in focus with each others', faces warped in exertion. It was like a feral contest of dominance, to see who would give out first to carnal pleasure. You dipped down, almost imperceptibly, and huffed out a growl of triumph: her eyes rolled up, your thrusts now catching her at the most intense point, the pleasure bursting through her.

You barely registered the feeling of her boot's heel crack against your shoulder as you continued to pump away like a madman. Her hips swayed and trembled in your hands, the wrinkles at the front of her suit, formed by the imprint of her much-ignored girl-dick, shifted from side to side. It sounded slick behind the fleshy smack of your meeting. The front of your pants were now practically soaked through with her juices, your balls tingling with the chill of the breeze as her clear rivulets dripped off your heavy sack. Your balls were tightening up now, drawing closer to your body as you felt the lurch at your prick's base, followed by the heat of your cum spraying out into her.

Half-way through your own short, but shocking, climax, you pulled out from her. Your meat jerked in the open air as it belched its remaining thick, white ropes all over her dark suit. The bat insignia, its middle squeezed between her firm tits, was stained by several. The both of you began to come down from your peaks at the same time, her leg dragging across your clothed arm, brushing the fabric over your skin before it slipped off completely, her boot clacking as it met the pavement. The heroine flitted her cape through the air with one hand, drawing it around her as she dipped in, pressing her lips to yours in a tight peck.

"I think," she murmured, "I might need to be saved more often."

"Elsa offers to give a lone traveler safe passage through the frozen tundra, just as long as he has a taste of her meat popsicle."

Image credit: Shadman.

Somehow it had all seemed easier before he set off. He had spent plenty of time gathering supplies, busying himself with preparations, and had even managed to travel through mountain passes and trails. He knew, of course, why it had seemed easier before: in the forest, he could focus on the nearest tree; in the mountains, he could focus on the craggy peaks; but here at the flat expanse of the tundra, where the wind whistled and powdered snow drifted fitfully across the barren terrain, he could focus only on the horizon. The wind was cold against his cheeks, his pack weighed heavily against his shoulders, and his back was stretched taught from long hours spent pulling his sleigh. Despite the baleful howling of the wind, he could feel the wasteland's silence as if it was squeezing into his ears.

He would have been caught in that melancholic and dreary gaze forever, had footsteps not crunched in the snow behind him, piercing through to his consciousness. His fingers pulled free from the leather thongs that stretched to the frame of the sleigh, and he jolted into a twist, to face the newcomer. His footing lost, the wanderer was pulled back by the weight of his pack, and landed with a muffled thud onto the ground. The air pushed out of him by his collapse, and his face twisted into a mask of agony, he didn't register the closing foot-falls until the ground before him was covered in shade. A person's shadow. His teeth gritted, the traveler sucked in a breath and craned his neck up, blinking with disbelief as he finally took notice of his follower.

Their expressions mirrored one another: eyes propped wide, mouths agape, brows arched in confused surprise. For the wanderer, it was clear where that shock came from, as the woman before him was wrapped only in a form-fitting blue dress. Her face was beautiful, classical in form and structure, with generous lips -- and her eyes, they were a consuming, deep blue that captivated his gaze. The reason for her shock was simpler. She merely had come up to the stranger, ready to offer some form of helpful advice, maybe even to guide him across the daunting landscape he seemed so hesitant to set foot on. He was handsome too, rugged, a face covered in stubble from long travel. A flicker of a plan crossed her mind, forcing the corner of her lip to pull up in a slight smirk.

"Oh, sorry!" she piped out.

She bent down, the dress puddling around her in the snow as she offered the traveler a helping hand. He unhooked his arms from the pack's straps, and took her slender fingers in his, fighting to keep his eyes from lingering too long on her pert bosom, which threatened to spill out of her top. A grunt of effort issued from both as he was lifted back to his feet. The snow crunched as the blonde stranger straightened back up, a sheepish smile plastered on her face. They stared at one another for a long, awkward pause.

"Uh, I'm Elsa, by the way," she offered.

"Oh. Good to meet you," the wanderer answered.

The pair, finally having broken the ice, let go of their grasps on each others' hands. Elsa brought her arm up, brushing her fingers along the long braid that hung over her shoulder, and breathed out a gentle titter as she glanced over the tundra. Her eyelids drooped, and she tilted her head back to gaze at the wanderer. He definitely needed help: his uncertainty was clear from the moment she spotted him, and he was ever-so-jumpy when he finally noticed her approach. Also, and the realization both exciting and flattering her, he couldn't keep his eyes off her curves. She cleared her throat, fighting back a giggle as his questing gaze snapped up to her face.

"You know," she began, a conspiratorial color to her voice, "I could help you across. If you want."

That the wanderer's face relaxed as he flooded with relief was all Elsa needed to see. A beaming smile pulled his lips wide, and he let out a long exhale. One of his hands reached up behind him, and he rubbed at the hat covering his head. His relieved expression, though, didn't last long: it quickly drooped into a quizzical furrowing of his brow.

"You're sure?" he inquired, "I mean you're...well."

He trailed off, his arms motioning loosely at the piece clading Elsa's body. She glanced down, and back up, before her face lighted up with realization. Of course it would seem ridiculous for her to offer help: even in closed quarters the dress would come off as being somewhat scant, but in the wintery cold she must seem absolutely out of her mind. The blonde shrugged, her eyes flicking back and forth between contact with the wanderer and the frozen expanse beyond them.

"I know how it looks, but I'm the only one around who can help," she said, "Plus, I won't leave you poor afterward."

"For free?" he bleated out, stepping back in surprise. "No way!"

Elsa shook her head. Certainly it wasn't going to be for free. Her face twisted into a sly grin, her fingers reaching up and splaying between her full tits, the slender digits dragging down along the sheer fabric down to the blue of her dress. Her hand trailed further and further down, till finally it grasped at something, a thick outline forming as the material wrapped around some mysterious bulge. The wanderer stared in puzzlement for a moment, before his lips finally began to work wordlessly, and his gaze darted up and down. He reeled backward, tripping over his forgotten pack and falling with a heavy crunch in the snow.

"You," he stammered out, "You have..?"

"I'm not going to stick it in you or anything," Elsa assured him, matter-of-factly, "I just want you to blow me."

She tutted, striding forward with smooth steps, as the traveler crawled back, pushing the pack to the side. He could only retreat so quickly, and she bore down on him until her dress brushed his boots. Using both hands, she lifted the garment, revealing her smooth, pale legs dressed in elegant stockings, held up by straps to a thin garter around her waist. More importantly, though, a series of icicles hung from a girthy shaft pointing directly at him, bearing a deep curve and a vermilion head. The dangling ice thawed, as if by itself, dripping down viscuously to a fat sack, hanging tightly under the base of her length.

"You actually do," he breathed out.

"Yup," she retorted, "and if you don't put it in your mouth -- well, if I don't get any, you don't get any."

The wanderer couldn't argue with that: he wouldn't be able to turn back at this point, and the area was virtually uninhabited. Anyone who did come by would probably demand some form of payment that would leave him penniless. Lamely, he sighed, and picked himself up to his knees, bringing himself face to face with Elsa's bobbing prick. It dripped freely in front of him now, a thick stream that reached the snow below, dangling and swaying with her pulse. Resignation and stupefaction held his jaw slack, and the blonde took that as free license to grasp the back of his head with one of her delicate hands, pulling him forward.

"Oh yeah," she breathed out, bliss causing her voice to waver.

The traveler's face contorted in disgust as he gagged, partly from the act of taking a dick between his lips, and partly from the fact that, as the liberal coating of her precum slicked his tongue, he found he somewhat enjoyed the taste. He shook his head to push the thought aside, prompting a sweet moan to escape Elsa's lips as she pushed further into his mouth. Now what the wanderer had to think of, he determined, was getting this strange woman off as quickly as he could. His eyes squeezed shut, his mind reeled to remember what he, in his limited experience, found worked best on his own cock.

He swiped his tongue along the underside of the princess' member, curling it around the shaft's curve and dragging to the bottom of its head. She cooed in response, stroking her fingers through his hair as her hips rocked. The traveler fought back a cough as he sucked in, his cheeks concave and the flesh pressing into the width of the blonde's prick. Her eyes fluttered shut as her thrusts deepened, guiding her sensitive length back and forth through the smooth, humid pocket his mouth formed.

"Ah, get ready," she whimpered out.

He groaned, the vibrations only spurring her further, the spongy tip of her dick pressing in against his throat. It caused him to gag, the fleshy walls rippling around the invading tip. Elsa's groan was throaty, her breaths causing her tits to lift and fall in a hypnotic rhythm that went unnoticed by her reliever, whose eyes were shut tight as he struggled with her girth. The struggle was bliss for the blonde, whose waist coiled and undulated with her long, rolling strokes. Her muscles were growing tense, rippling under the feminine softness of her legs as her toes curled. A despaired whine, muffled by the meat in his mouth, escaped the wanderer as he felt her cock begin to swell and lurch.

'Just do it,' he thought.

She did. A cry forced its way out from her throat, tearing out of her as it pitched sharply, keening and hoarse. She pulled the traveler tight to her, his nose brushing against her pubic pad as her prick bounded in his mouth. The first salty jet sprayed into his throat, and made him cough fitfully against her. The spasming, milking movements of his muscles only forced more thick seed out of Elsa, who gripped tightly to his head as she struggled against her buckling knees. It had been a long time. Her eyes rolled up into her sockets as climax overtook her, surging through her veins. Finally, the spritzing of her prick died down, a weak dribble at most as she pulled out from his lips. The snow crunched as she fell onto it, legs splayed wide and trembling.

"Good job," she panted out, a blissful smile spreading her cheeks. "We'll head out after I take a nap."

She fell back against the ground, her braid splaying to the side in the snow. The wanderer did his best to spit out the thick cream Elsa had dumped into him, but most of it was now rushing down his esophagus. He felt somewhat ill, at the moment, and looked over at the princess, his expression fallen into dismay. Panting to catch his breath, the traveler slumped onto his side, breathing out a long, forlorn sigh. 'I just hope she doesn't decide on using me like that again,' he thought, 'I wouldn't want to start enjoying that.'

"Azula threatens you with death if you don't please her as she preps you."

Image Credit: Anaxusart (I think)

(The second of the first requests.  Will likely either revise or something in the future.)

A nagging thought kept tugging at your head, some pearl of advice your foul-mouthed father often spat out when he came home, drunk off his ass. What was it? Wracking your brain for the answer was difficult, your lidded gaze was caught by the sight of the Fire Nation's resident sociopath and princess as her brunette hair waved back and forth, her tongue sliding over and around the lengthy girth of your prick. Her eyes met yours, a twinkle in them that simultaneously made your hard dick lurch, and your heart drop in your chest. Her pale, slender fingers wrapped around the base of your throbbing rod, and then squeezed tightly as a cruel smile twisted her lips.

Right. Never stick your dick in crazy.

Two of Azula's fingers raised, the claw-like nails nearly touching as bright-blue lightning arced between them. You could feel the buzz of the electricity as it danced dangerously close to your dickhead, fizzing and popping in the air as a carbon-heavy scent filled your nostrils. Her other arm craned up and her smooth palm pressed against the underside of your cock's bulbous tip. Her fingers curled in, trapping the spongy flesh, the tips of her nails hinting at your foreskin: just a millimeter from scratching into it.

"Looks like you're all warmed up, toy," she croons, "but the fun isn't about you now, is it?"

You swallowed a heavy gulp, and winced as her grip on the base of your shaft tightened like a vice. Azula's clawed fingertips dipped closer to your foreskin, the hint of a scratch against the sensitive sheath caused you to instinctively lower until your knees wobbled with the effort, bowing in toward each other. Another rough squeeze against your prick's base forced you to the ground, kneecaps cracking against the floor as she slinked up. Her painted lips were so close to yours, her amber eyes digging into your gaze. A predatory sneer pulled her lips back.

"Good, good," she cooed.

The buzzing sensation of her generated lightning finally ceased its assault on your senses, flitting back into nothingness. Her grip released you, her talons relented, and she uncoiled from her kneeled position to stand above you. That was a cold smile on her face, a clear and twisted amusement that chilled your blood as you stared up at her. The twin tails of her hair thwapped as she spun around, presenting the arch of her back and the cleft of her ass to you. Azula's legs spread as she bent forward, her neck craning to look back at you. Droplets of moisture ran down her inner thighs, the nectar originating from her partly-parted cuntlips.

"I think you get the idea, so get to work," she snapped. "I don't keep broken toys around."

Never stick your dick in crazy, indeed. Dread clawed at you as your addled mind worked out her threat: 'Amuse me, or you die.' Hesitation built up the tension in your muscles, but you pushed against it anyway. Your jaw pulled open as you pushed your face in, pressing your lips and your tongue firmly against her snatch. Your nose brushed against her asshole, your nostrils filled with the musty scent of being trapped between her cheeks. Your lips wavered and your tongue danced along Azula's quim, working the lips that bounced like elastic at the tip of the muscle.

"No fucking teasing," she remonstrated, her arm twisting behind her.

You yelped as her grasp found your hair, her fingers wrapped tightly into it. She yanked against your scalp, your neck craning and forcing your mouth to grind against her glistening cunt. Your tongue kneaded into the bead of her clit, prompting her to utter out an excited yelp. Azula's hips worked back in a roll, cutting off your air at its apex point. She must have been enjoying it, though, since you could feel the muscles around her vulva twitch unconsciously. The tangy taste of her juices, too, flooded into your senses as you frantically waved your tongue over her hard button.

"Keep it up, toy," she husked out, breathing out a moan, "this is just the start."

Lower and lower she dipped, and your foggy mind could only guess it was because of the tremulous quavers that ran up and down her legs. You sputtered, turning your head for a free breath before Azula yanked you back into position. You felt the cool stone of the floor against your back, the full weight of your sociopathic domme on your face. She had mounted you, trapping your head between her thighs as she ground her cunny insistently against your working mouth. Oh how your lips ached, your tongue burned from the efforts.

She was almost there, though. You could feel the heat radiate from her chest as your dick throbbed near it. Lances of pain sheared through you as her grip against your hair tugged and twisted. Your knee stung as her talons dug into the flesh around the cap. Muffled by her thighs, you could just barely make out the pitched gasps that rang through the room, announcing her peaking climax. The most direct evidence for you, though, was the rippling of her pussy lips against your lips, the twitching of her clit as it retreats back under its hood. She bore down harder on you, the base of your skull grinding against the stone floor.

The surge of her cum nearly choked you, and you coughed and sputtered against the sudden deluge. That just forces her to new heights, the combined vibrations of your struggle and her sadistic pleasure in your near-drowning mingling, forcing a pealed, joyful cry out from her that pierces through your fleshy prison. She went on like that for who knows how long, until you could feel the world begin to spin. Your eyes had begun to roll up before she finally eased herself off, twisting acrobatically to straddle you across your abdomen.

"What a good toy," she purred, looking into your unfocused eyes, "maybe I'll keep you around a little longer, before I toss you out."

She wiped her talons across your chest, and you could feel a warm wetness spread from there. You glanced down, the crimson of your own blood glistening against your flesh, taken up from when she had seized your knee. Azula stood, using you as a springboard and forcing an oxygen-deprived grunt from your throat. A smug smile pulled her lips as she looked down at you, bringing a foot up to idly bounce your throbbing dick with her toes. The possibility of relief flashed in your mind before she stepped back, chortling cruelly as she strode to the door.

"I'll visit you again soon, don't worry," she called back, sweetly.

Footsteps echoed in the outside corridor as you laid there, still gasping for breath. Never stick your dick in crazy, indeed.

"You coerce Raven to strip for you."

Image credit unknown.

(The very first request filled.  It's not very good, so I'll probably revise and rewrite it, and add more lewd if the anon who original requested wants it.)

There's something to the saying, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.' You never expected things to go so well -- plans against superheroes, even adolescent brats, almost always fail from some sort of crafty inconvenience. Raven, before you, glowers up as she shrinks against the wall, cloak encircling her slender, ashen frame. Any other time, the witch would be a sizable threat, someone formidable to deal with, but with the tables turned her obstinate attitude is just an amusing treat.

"What about after," she had inquired in her droll tone, "It's not like you're going to get away with this."

Those were minor concerns now: the pesky supergroup was caught in your trap, and the ivory-skinned witch was your prize. A sneer crossed your face as you leaned in, holding up your cell-phone to her gaze, making sure she could take the undeniable photographic evidence in. Her expression doesn't change: no crestfallen brow, no enraged outburst, not even the tiniest twitch of her lips. Still, she slumps to the floor, dragging along the wall she was braced against.

"Guess you get the picture," you snarled. "Well, I don't have all day. Take it off."

Finally you netted a reaction, even if it was unexpected. The teenaged witch blew out a huff, her brow furrowed into a venomous glare. You couldn't have that, could you, though? Cowed enough into submission that even the thought of flinching escaped her mind, Raven caught your heavy slap against her cheek, the impact ringing out through the room. A grunt pushed out of her, her head twisting before you seized a grasp of her hair, pulling her back to her feet.

"Didn't you hear me?" you growled, spittle raining down on her agony-twisted face.

"Take what off?" she strained out, an eye popping open, wide as a doe's in headlights.

You gave her a rough shove by that grip on her hair, her body 'thunk'ing against the wall. "Your clothes, you dumb bitch," was the retort.

This prompted her most expressive moment, a flicker of fearful realization passed over her face before she slacked once more into the more-familiar, aloof mask. You noticed, then, the barest of trembles in her fingers as she drifted her arm up. A deft flick of her digits, and the clasp came free, the fabric of her cloak fluttering to puddle on the ground. You drank in the sight, ensorcelled by the teen witch's slender curves, highlighted by the stretchy leotard that hid barely anything. Your gaze was caught by the glint of her belt as it fell, released, the chain-like loops clanking on the ground.

"All of it," you demanded, your lascivious intent clearly written on your face.

"Fine," she spat back, noncommittally.

She reached back, keeping her eyes fixed on you. Her expression had melted back to its usual dull state, but the way she held herself, even as she began to pry the leotard off, telegraphed her tension. You couldn't rightly figure out how she had done it: the skin-tight suit seemed married to her flesh, but Raven had managed to cast it off. A couple feminine grunts escaped from her in the effort, as she wrenched herself free from it, though the material seemed to cling to her. Her petite tits carried just the barest jiggle as she worked the garment down, her flat stomach rippled with the effort, her arms flexing as they shifted back and forth.

"Hurry up!" you demanded, impatient as her naked form comes into sight.

Raven shot only a glare as response, hooking her thumbs into the tight V-shape the fabric formed to hide her teen cunt. A firm yank revealed the witch's vulva, a deeper tint of ashen color compared to the rest of her smooth skin. Her lips, held tight up in between, were a touch deeper still, but caught the dim light of the chamber in a subtle glint. Was it sweat? Excitement? You drank the sight of her flawless thighs in before snapping your leering gaze back to her eyes. Every inch of her, revealed, fought for your attention from the periphery of your vision.

"Is that all?" she droned.

"Not even close," you responded, cupping and bouncing the growing bulge of your dick in your jeans, "we're just getting started. . ."