New Life As A Lewd Futanari Succubus

“I can’t unbutton your pants with my arms bound in your grip,” Number Forty reminded the goatkin with a seductive smile and breathed in deep through her nose.

“That will depend on how you work your lips and tongue,” the goatkin said and kissed his captive with an open mouth which was much larger and longer than the pale girl’s.

The goatkin’s lips and fur enveloped the girl’s entire lower face as if the large goatkin attempted to devour her. His lips and tongue made wet slobbering sounds as they slid back and forth around the girl’s closed lips.

The goatkin did not even notice that the thick coat of hair around his mouth obstructed the nostrils of the girl’s small nose, making it practically impossible to breathe in air through the filter of damp stink. All he cared about was tasting his captive. And he could no longer control himself. He had to explore her mouth! He pressed his tongue between the girl’s lips, prying them open by force.

Finally, the girl relented and parted her lips. Victorious, with his eyes spinning in triumphant excitement, the goatkin pushed his tongue forward. Inside the warmth of the girl’s mouth, the goatkin felt something strange touch the tip of his tongue. An object with no taste, no larger than a grape, soft, elastic, with a leathery texture. The strange object gave in to the pressure of the beastkin’s tongue, sticking to it, conforming to the shape of the tip of his tongue.

Feeling that something was off, the goatkin snapped out of his arousal and pulled his tongue back, and out of the girl’s mouth. Thankfully, the unfamiliar item did not follow the goatkin’s tongue but, before he could part from the girl, she blew into his mouth and sent the object flying into the back of his long mouth.

“HRUKH—” the goatkin choked and loosened his grip just enough for the girl to slip out of his grasp and roll away just as a giant spinning spiked wheel approached the choking goatkin. The gagging goatkin realized what was happening too late. He raised his gauntlets to protect his body and tried to jump away from the trajectory of the weapon but was struck before his hooves got even an inch off the ground.

The announcer sighed and maskpalmed while the giant viewing sphere showed in great detail the streams of blood and pieces of metal, fur, and meat flying into the air as the wheel churned the goatkin’s body.

By the time the wheel rolled back like a yo-yo, Number Thirty-seven was red from hooves to horns. His elongated face was mutilated, torn all the way to the bone as if he had stuck it into a blender.

The goatkin had both his arms still raised, but one arm was pressed hard against his belly, while the other had most of its forearm turned to mincemeat. A broken yellowish bone showed prominently from the brutal wound with pieces of meat hanging from the bone and the torn appendage. One of the torn tendons wrapped around the goatkin’s horn. His other arm was mostly one whole, pressed into his blood-smeared belly. However, the gauntlet was bent and heavily damaged, with several long holes along its structure. Sharp pieces of metal stuck out in all directions, torn up by the spikes of the wheel.

The goatkin’s eyes were—for once—fixed in place and not spinning, though the pupils pointed in different directions. His chest was bloody, but it looked like the spikes did not reach his inner organs because the goatkin appeared to still be breathing, and as his chest moved, none of the visible blood-soaked ribs appeared to be broken through. His inner thighs had long, deep cuts from the spinning sharp edges of the wheel that filed off layers of meat.

Weak, unable to support his weight on his mutilated legs, Number Thirty-seven fell on his back. His limbs twitched from the impact and more blood spurt out of countless wounds along his body.

“Pthu! That’s what you get for playing around,” the old catgirl spat and reloaded her weapon.

Number Forty looked at the broken body of the goatkin while she wiped his hair and drool off her face with the back of her hand. She had no time to relax, however, because the sharkkin swung the chain in his hands and launched his deadly yo-yo straight at her.

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