Happy Belated Boxing Day! :B
Disclaimer:
All participants engaging in the various acts of coitus depicted here are timeless Epic Souls. Fate/Grand Order and its related concepts and ideas are the intellectual properties of Kinoko Nasu, Type-MOON, Notes Ltd., Aniplex, DelightWorks, and other respective rights holders. This story is written solely for the purpose of entertainment, and not for any sort of monetary profit. If anything, consider this free advertising.
Beasts in the Forest
Zui Quan
Photo Finish
Real Dragon Hours
They’re Just Really, Really Big Swallows, Right?
Dragon-(S)Layer
Part I: Beasts in the Forest
The scent of flesh forced the entire clan into a fit of bestial bloodlust. The stench of desperation and weariness sent them into a slobbering frenzy. It was the reek of souls tenderized by the oppressions of the battlefield, wafting through the verdant forest air; that was what swayed every single werekin to take up arms and hunt once more.
Shaped like man, but not man, bodies possessing matted fur, corded muscles, talons like knives and jaws full of piercing teeth, they charged through the underbrush on all fours, knuckles over hands, weapons in hand.
The prey-herd had been split up at the moment of ambush. Here, right before this particular pack, two had been separated. Two humans against an entire band of clan’s strongest, most ferocious, driven forth by hungry rage? They would swarm them, stick them like wild boar, tear their throats out, eat the soft parts first.
They thought themselves alpha wolves. What were they instead? Cocky sons of bitches doomed to die like dogs.
“Hellooooo, all of you little piggiiiies! I hope my show will make you all smile wide, that I may see your shiny white tusks!”
For her opening act, the tip of Elizabeth Bathory’s spear shot skywards. A crack split the forest air, like the tear of a whip. Its brain pulverized by the inside of its own whiplashed skull, the beast’s jaw broke. Sheer power from the blow forced fragments of shattered fangs slick with bloody spit forth from in between its torn lips. In a near instant she drove the spear all the way through the beast’s throat, to the spear’s smaller point.
“Hooray! Bonus points to you for audience participation!”
With a flourish that infused all of her movements, she brought her spear up and over. 300 pounds of dead beastman hooked on its dual tines hit the ground with a bone-crunching slam. “And that’s one—!”
Leaves rustled and scattered from the point of impact like confetti. The forest floor that spread in all directions was a stage; the crinkle of dead leaves beneath her heel a breakbeat, a bass tone that she composed herself and followed the dance steps to with natural synchronicity.
For the next step in her routine, Bathory freed her blade and gutted the dead thing in one single dancestep. “—Two—!!”
From thorax to groin offal bloomed forth like the gory petals of a meat flower, blood catching on the wind like pollen. “—Three!!!”
For the climax, Bathory brandished her spear at her approaching foes like a baton, splashing them with droplets of viscera from a distance. The taste of their packmate’s gore on their tongues, that oh-so desired taste of blood coupled with anger of the loss of a beloved comrade spurred them on.
“…four.”
The smile she gave was a mocking one, a display of showmanship and satisfaction. She had their attention. Splendid. They would die with her in their thoughts.
Her tail as both springboard and rudder, Bathory surged forth like a tidal wave of blood, her spear at the ready, the tips eager to gut and strip these animals. “And a ‘Hiiiii!’ to you too, my lovely entourage!” She spun ‘round with it in tow, the hems of her skirts perfectly parallel to the ground, orbiting her, equatorially as the planet at the center of the universe she knew herself to be as she twirled. “I have a pen, but it lacks ink! If you want autographs, I’ll have to use yours—!”
But, as Bathory approached the small gang of werebeasts, the ones nearest to her fell down dead. Her ally, the hero Siegfried, had appeared. With that, one’s head was cut of, and the other was chopped in half.
…Nothing artisanal to it.
A gray blur, his armor rustling from the momentum and rush of air, he spun to face the others. His swung sword cleaved another pair in two. Blood exploded forth from the impact, drained out from the creatures in seconds from wounds that bisected them from collarbone-to-hip and waist-to-ribs.
He turned to face Bathory. He gave her a quick once over, nodded, and leapt off elsewhere, to engage another group of the beasts. He didn’t linger any longer than that.
That’s all. There was nothing more to be expected. His arrival was still enough to make her heart skip a beat at its suddenness.
Yes, with Siegfried, there was no excellence. Just excellency of efficiency. When he swung Balmung, it was to always kill, or deflect, or block. There was no flair to be found with him. He was a soldier, not an actor. Such displays were meaningless when one was already one of Europe’s finest heroes, had that aura of wonder and might as a natural aspect of their presence. He had to do nothing to nurse his natural, heroic majesty.
That being said, why would an anti-superfluous man like that go out of his way to swipe her own targets away from her?
“Ah, Siegfried. Trying to show off in front of the girl, you hero?” Bathory mused aloud, her serpentine tail swishing at this thought, catlike.
Upon saying this, Bathory noticed a small group of werewolves emerge from around one of the forest’s many bends. Siegfried couldn’t have possibly not noticed their approach. Yet there he went, galloping off to engage the enemy elsewhere. The only possible reason for that?
It made the Blood Countess twirl her spear with anticipation. Her tail swished again.
“That’s far too kind of you, you gorgeous thing, you!” So she presumed, and so she called out, her face an even brighter shade of pink than before. Siegfried, himself, paid no particular attention to that snippet of bubbly praise — Bathory was always a lively one, saying things of a similar caliber, especially around him. She acted like herself and would surely continue to do so heedless of anything or anyway he or others did. All that mattered was the performance, the world seeing her. In her eyes, the rays that shone through the forest’s canopy were a spotlight. Elizabeth Bathory was a girl whose very lifeblood was attention itself. To be without it would be akin to exsanguination, to her. Overreaction was her only possible reaction, the only recourse. No matter the audience, so long as she had all of their focus.
Needless to say, this lifestyle choice came back to bite her in the ass.
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By now, the tables had been turned. The Chaldeans and their Grail-called allies intended to rout the forest predators that had ambushed them. A counter-ambush was launched, and the strategy of divide and conquer to establish a kilometers-wide defensive perimeter to keep their Master secure was set in motion.
Siegfried made his return from deep in the wood, from the direction he had been sent off to in pursuit of their feral enemies. Their strongest ones had fallen before him, and the result of that was a forest much safer for his companions, for the moment. His job was a job well done, and with a clear conscience he set off back to regroup.
At least, that is the way it should have been. Instead, Siegfried materialized in a thicket, an island of rough greenery amid the sea of brown tree trunks. As for the explanation of his detour:
“Ah! Damnit! Why?! Whyyyyy…!” —it was the pitiful sound of Bathory’s tormented cries wafting through the brush that caught his attentions.
At first he cursed himself. He hadn’t sensed any malevolent presences then or now, fearsome enough to overtake a Servant, and assumed he could leave her to deal with her share of the enemies, but he could have very well misjudged. There could be an unknown force or entity here in these woods capable of utterly concealing itself within this realm, an apex predator that expressed boundless strength and authority in its territory. If something like that scenario were the case, that’d be a disastrous blow to their cause AND a personal failing on his end.
As soon as Siegfried stepped a single armored toe into the grove an aroma that made his blood boil hit him like a club to the face. Unlike the smell of the rest of this forest, a battlefield awash with that distinctive note of death, it was a different, familiar scent. It wasn’t a malodor; it was a perfumed chamber. It smelled like a waiting invitation.
So he accepted it and walked further in, more curious than cautious over her fate. And what he saw here made it so that the dragon-blooded knight would not allow himself to wallow in self-reproach on that day.
—Not when faced with the sight of Bathory pleasuring herself.
Laying on the ground, leaned against a thick tree, Bathory mumbled out “Why, why do you make me feel…?” as she toyed with her breasts under her dress’ chestpiece, pressing the nipples in, as she rubbed her knees together to some internal rhythm that only she heard. She suckled down her own lust-addled words as she suckled her own fingers, running her tongue around them. As Bathory moved them in and out of her mouth, from the nails tipping her scaly fingers past the second joint, she gagged herself loudly, sloppily on her faux-fellatio. Two became three, and her glazed-over eyes closed shut entirely as she lapped at the drool trickling down her long digits. “Oh, it’s leaking…”
Speaking either about the fantasy, or her own vulnerable self, Bathory slid flatter on the ground, lifted her legs up. Her girlish panties hung around the ankle of one of her boots, caught and hanging on an elongated bootheel like a pink and white striped flag were lightly stained. She whined with disappointment as she stopped touching her own meager breasts, but her spirits rose as she redirected that arm around the inside of her thighs. She moaned out as she reached in and under the impressive diameter of her skirt to thumb at her ruby-red clit. With a very well-practiced circling technique to distract and a self-stifled mewl of approval, Bathory snaked two fingers right into her chocolate star. With zero effort whatsoever on her part the maiden dug in all the way to her knuckles, out and all the way in again, opened her forefingers up like they were a pair of scissors while they were still buried up in her, her pace steady yet furious even from the get-go, and only increasing in intensity. “Sieg-fried, if, if only you, you were- here…” Bathory gasped out between her words as she took herself at a pace to impress.
“But I am here.”
“AHBWUHBWUHBWUUUAAAHHEeeeeh—?!?!?!?”
Bathory magnificently, accidentally performed the fabled quintuple axel out of sheer alarmed embarrassment. Unfortunately, she was unable to enjoy her moment of glory, for she whiffed the landing when she tripped on the underwear hanging around her ankle and smacked her forehead into the tree trunk that been supporting her all of this time up until now. The countess squeaked like a mouse when she faceplanted, the ‘conk’ from the impact perfectly audible. It sounded suspiciously like an empty pot being thumped. More importantly than that, it allowed Siegfried an exceptional view of Bathory in ass-up position, her glistening nectar pot, full moon and the tightening pucker it normally hid between her round cheeks, like the eye of a flower ringed by skirt-petals. Siegfried was acutely reminded of that hot and sweet fragrance that stirred something wholly primal lodged deep within his core.
Meanwhile, the offending pair of panties hung innocently at her side, acting as if it weren’t at all responsible for the compromising of its mistress’ decency.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!?” Bathory demanded, still rapt with shock, as she feebly made to pull her skirt down and cover up she quivered like she hadn’t a solid bone in her body.
“I thought you were being attacked by a monstrous beast, at first.” Siegfried replied.
“Well, obviously I’m not, you foolish man!”
“Obviously not. For that, surely we’re both glad that’s the case.”
“Wait, you’re…glad, that I’m safe?” Mortified as she still was, Bathory asked, a hint of warm wonder in her voice, momentarily distracted by Siegfried’s turn of phrase.
“……then, were you able to finish?” After a couple of beats spent on not answering that question, Siegfried posed the next big question in their conversation.
“WHAT?! That’s obvious, too! An obvious ‘NO’!! You heard and saw everything, didn’t you?! So obviously you’d know, right!?”
“I can’t say for certain that I heard and saw everything—” But the price he paid for his honesty was Bathory’s murderous glare. “Ah, but it didn’t bother me. We were all young once, and that’s just part of youth. Especially when I was a boy, and my desires were at their strongest. I can only imagine what it was must be like, summoned into a form as yours, with all of the teenage urges…”
“Is that it? Do you think I’m just horny?!”
“Such are the frustrations of virginity.”
“But!, but you, you know, heard me say your, uhm, name, yeah?”
At the mention of the elephant in the room, something deep in Siegfried growled, and it wasn’t his stomach. “Ah, well, that was…flattering. Still, regardless of whom you fantasize about,” And she was using him to fuel her fires. How did that make him feel? Really feel? How did it feel, knowing this girl hungered for him? As Siegfried glanced to the side, another part of him paid quite a bit of attention to Bathory. “it’s important to finish.” With that said, Siegfried gave Bathory the privacy she deserved.
“What’s this?”
“I’m giving you the privacy you deserve.”
“HOW?!?!? ALL YOU DID WAS TURN AROUND!!!”
“I won’t look.”
“HOW IS THAT GIVING ME PRIVACY?”
“It’s the most lenient I can afford, while you’re so vulnerable.”
“I don’t need the protection, and you don’t need an excuse!”
“—It won’t bother me.”
Bathory couldn’t see the Saber’s face, but she could smell him. That part of her heritage which branded her with claws, horns, a tail; it stirred the longer he was here, around her. She caught on. That “disinterested hero” act had her going for far too long.
“F-ffff-fine! If you plan to just stand there I’m going to m-m-m-mas-mastur-tur-masturb- JILL myself so hard you won’t be able to ignore it!!!”
Bathory adjusted herself. She had a performance to give.
She hugged her tail, grinded against it, felt its scales rub against her crotch and bumhole. Immediately, she gasped out. As she worked her hips against it she brought the tail to her mouth. Her voiced muffled against it as she eagerly serviced it with her lips and tongue, as if it belonged to a lover. It tasted of iron—blood—a taste so nostalgic and wanted Bathory went for it like an addict. It made her leak, hard, all on its own, and pressing her flesh against her own made it well all the more. Kissing it with a wet smack, Bathory pulled her tail through her hands and fingers and drenched it with her spit. The very tip, topped with two thin, flexible fins, brushed daintily against the tip of her tongue, wettened with the same delicacy of an artist lightly kissing a paint color with the fine edge of a brush. A moist thread connecting her tail and her lips hung in the air ephemerally, until it broke when Bathory unfurled her tail, maneuvered it down past her waist.
“Oh my, Siegfried, you’re already down there and ready. It’ll be tight for something as big as that, but you like it that way, don’t you?” Bathory addressed her fantasy, emphasizing its name so that the real-world counterpart knew full well his role. Her tail’s two-pronged tip pressed against the pink asterisk that was her butthole. The tightness seemed to open up as if by magic, and the tips speared the void of her ass.
Lancer was in the process of essentially impaling herself, and that was exactly what she wanted. The sensation made her gulp down a large mouthful of air. Her tail twitched, sent a wave of motion from the base of her spin into her gut. Bathory sent her fingers down to her naked cunt. She tickled her folds, teased the joint, made her thighs shiver under her own touch. “Ah, Siegfried, Siegfried, SIEG. FRIED…!”
She cut quite the picture, if she did think so herself: both hands attacking her own pussy in self-love, intentionally uttering his name aloud over and over with more and more need, over-exaggerating her own desire (but not by much, though she was hardly of the mood to admit it), a fully stuffed butt—the way she liked it best—and knees shaking in the ecstasy from it all. She’d consider herself AV-ready if she had been summoned in a time period where those had been invented yet.
…yet still did that knight put on that act of his own, trying to defy her, deny himself.
“Ahem, MY SIEGFRIED, MY SIEGFRIED, Do you HEAR MY SONG?” Bathory moaned out. “It’s the CALL OF THE WILD!”
She thrust her hips against herself, hands and tail alike. So wet was she that her palms squished sticky against her damp juicebox. “Oh, my, SIEGFRIED, you’re an animal!”
Her tail twitched even more, sent fire that burnt her in a way she absolutely craved. “SIEGFRIED, you’re so, SIEGFRIED! You’re so SIEGFRIED, SIEGFRIED!”
Bathory was moaning his name out so much that it had begun to lose all meaning for her; it had been reduced to a lusty sound fury, signifying nothing. Still, the show must go on. Bathory’s voice rose octave after octave as she sent herself careening off the edge. “Ooh, SIEGFRIED, if only YOU were here NOOOOW!!” she drawled out, volume loud, voice cracking.
Fluid gushed forth from inside of her fast enough to splash the ground, water the wild grass. At last, she well and truly came. As was the agreement decided upon, sort of, by the two involved parties, Bathory had been granted the freedom to finish.
“But I am here,” Siegfried said, and as he said those words Bathory felt his white-hot breath on her face. She opened her eyes, which she surely must have closed tight when the orgasm hit, and saw the Saber’s face only centimeters from her own. His gaze was solid, focused, his brow slightly furrowed.
But, his nostrils, they flared, contracted and expanded, like a heartbeat, smelling her. Thanks to the beast in her blood, she could smell him too. What he smelled, what THEY smelled, it made him look at her the same way she looked at him. Even though she had just now spent herself, Bathory was drawn to Siegfried in a way far more visceral than only lust.
Doing what he did, Siegfried had set himself up for failure. Heat and hunger. Heat and hunger between two beasts of the opposite sex, and the air was thick with the stench of animalistic pheromones.
Bathory whispered “Sieg…frie—”
“Just ‘Sieg’ is fine, Liza.” He told her.
“Y-Yes, certainly,” she nodded, then asked, “Why?”
“It’s shorter to moan out.”
Then he was on her, hands and knees, crouched over her. Bathory responded; her hips went up to his, and she felt his exposed ramrod against her abdomen. Her tail retreated; it would not be needed when the real-deal was so close, so willing. Feeling her skin against his, he immediately slid his length down to her nethers, copiously trailing a line of precum from her belly-button on down. His proactivity, his boldness, it shocked and enamored her. She opened her mouth like she intended to eat the hot breath off of Siegfried’s lips.
“My butt,” Bathory hissed at Siegfried, gasping to catch her breath every syllable, “Please.”
“That’s fine,” he replied, and complied. Her pucker didn’t even need to be pried apart, so agape it was. With the ease of sheathing Balmung, Siegfried buried his lesser sword deep into the wyrm’s guts. It was just the same position that she had been in for her solo performance, but this time the fantasy was real. She was engaged in audience participation with the sole member of her private show. To all that, Bathory approvingly mewled out the nickname her granted her to use, tasting the sound of it on her voice. “Just like that, Sieg! More!”
Her butt clamped down around his invading shaft, tightening and loosening at will. “Liza,” Siegfried said, “You have quite the control.”
“This ‘pure’ body,” Referring to her form, Bathory admitted as such as she pressed herself against Siegfried to the hilt, “has known my desires when the lusts strike. If I’m lonely, or hungry, in go the fingers! I love it here best. It’s exquisite!”
“Are you addicted, Liza? Do you like it that much?”
Bathory latched on to Siegfried’s shoulders as he plumbed her depths. “Love, not like! I mean, no, I am not addicted! But, I can snap root vegetables in two, and keep it open for near a full minute!”
“Talented.” Siegfried panted as he upped his pace, continuously gaped Bathory’s ass. “Oh. Would you try to snap my root vegetable?”
“No, NEVER! It’s superb! You’re making me insane, gorgeous! Three fingers at once is nothing compared to this! SIEG——!” Bathory came as intensely as before. In the same position that she had used to attend to herself, because of Siegfried, pleasure had overtaken her once again. As for Siegfried, being splashed with her climax set him wild. He seized Bathory’s lithe waist and pounded her with increasing ferocity. “Sieg!” A tone of recognition in her voice, “If you come, I’m gonna come again, I know it!!”
“Is that a warning, or a promise?” he huffed out as he belted her.
“I don’t understaaaaaaaaand—” Bathory sprayed out of pleasure again, solely from Sieg-assisted anal antics. Evidently, her previous statement was a forecast. One that had been off by moments. Her orgasm crossed that line all by itself, without needing the presence of Siegfried’s. A beat later Sieg’s hot lust erupted into her butt, spurts of ropey dragonsbane that made her weak in the knees and dizzy in the head. Her tongue lolled and her body burned.
“Sieg,” Still, she wanted more, even as her body grew tired. “Sieg…”
Evidently, he shared opinions with her. “I know,” he said, and he hoisted her off the ground. The duet of her weight and gravity working together brought her all the way down on Siegfried’s hefty length. Quietly moaning out like a meowing kitten from the feel, Bathory intended to wrap her arms over his broad shoulders, around his solid neck, for what she expected to be congress-style.
“Sieg?!” Siegfried broke her expectations. Before either of them knew it Bathory was downward-dog, her knuckles against the bark of the tree that had gone through so much with her these past minutes. “Sieeeeg!” she wailed in ecstasy and indignation. It was enough for her to make another dribbly mess.
Into the same ass still pumped full of his fresh seed, Siegfried plunged into Bathory’s behind from behind even more. Every lunge of his pushed her against that solid tree, made her want to get away from the wondrous intensity wracking her body. So too was that solid tree leverage, support to enable her to press back against him.
Every slap of flesh-on-flesh made Bathory’s cushy rear jiggle for a tantalizing moment. The temptation was too great for him — he gripped it in his hands, felt how luxurious her pertness felt between his fingers. Siegfried let out an empathetic peal. Knowing this nubile body was his mate’s drowned him with satisfaction, anticipation.
The smell of them was thick and heady in the air. It promised greater heights and deeper depths, and drove them on into entropy.
“Sieg! Oh! Cut my head off! Tear my heart out! Bathe in my blood! Use me, use me, usemeusemeeee! Jab your mic into my stand and sing for me, Sieg!!”
“Again!” He called out. Her tail constricted around his body, keeping Siegfried closely within pistoning-distance. As if the thought of pulling away was ever in his mind. It was unthinkable for them. He pawed at her slim bust, pinching her tight nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he furiously sent another round up Bathory. Another round that sent her river rushing, her voice squealing, another stoking of the kindling that kept their fires burning.
“You know, I still have my virginity, lawfully speaking,” and the way Bathory put that indicated full well that it was, in no uncertain terms, an invitation.
“If you want it, Liza, you may very well have it.” Siegfried said as he leaned into her, closed the distance between their faces...
It was, of course, stellar timing on the universe’s part that NOW was when the next wave of creatures had arrived. Wyverns — the sexless worker bees of dragonkind — began to converge on the spot. Aside from the obvious motivations of “following the machinations of their master and his dark overlady”, it could be argued that they were also, more importantly, obviously, totally jealous of the copious amounts of copulation that their fellow (pseudo-)members of the draconic race had with the sexual organs they possessed.
“Those, those aren’t werewolves…” Bathory noted.
“No. They aren’t.” Siegfried replied in kind.
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“—And that’s how I almost lost my virginity, Kiyo.” A slightly disappointed, yet quite content, almost serene Elizabeth Bathory said to the Lady, her Berserker companion, sharing girltalk with a friend as they stood watch around the campsite.
Kiyohime nodded. A look of sagely acknowledgement graced her elegantly, an enlightened smile, at that. “My, quite an exciting story of turbid romance. Following that, I presume it is my turn to tell a sordid tale?”
“Sure, sure. If you have any dirty little secrets you’re itching to let slip, I’m all ears,” Bathory replied, a devious smile on her face. “Especially if I can use said information for performance enhancement.”
“Then for the good or bad, here’s a little experience of my own,” Kiyohime began, her voice trailing on and on, “and, like yours, it’s also a recent experience…”
The Saga Continues
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