New Life As A Lewd Futanari Succubus

“Ahn~! Ah!” Number forty moaned louder and louder as the tigerkin whipped her over and over again with The Whip of Sodom.

Each crack of the whip struck the girl in all the right places without fail. Her clit, her breasts. Never subtle, but never abusive. Always on the edge of being unbearable, but just on the right side of being increasingly pleasant as her panties damped and her body got accustomed to the increasing rate of stimulation.

The tigerkin was breathing through his mouth with eyes bulged from excitement as he cracked his whip again and again. He dropped his shield and massaged his pantsless, furry groin as he watched Number Forty’s alluring youthful body writhe in the realm between pain and pleasure. How her chest rose with each strike. How she cried out while curling her fingers.

With each crack of the whip, Number Fifty-eight approached the girl closer and closer. Eager to get a better view, eager to get a taste of his tantalizing prey.

The spectator reactions were divided. But more than a few couldn’t help but lightly touch themselves. They imagined what it would be like to take that fearsome warrior, enter her, inseminate her, make her cry out their name. Even if it would not happen, they felt no harm in fantasizing about it. Fantasizing about taking a bite out of a ripe fruit. Perhaps more. Perhaps fucking her from behind until she begged to be creampied.

Those spectators that came with their significant others—or just casual friends with benefits—gladly gave in to their fleshly urges as they massaged each other, a few blatantly fucked. Not like anyone would complain about a hot pair in heat fucking next to them. When a man or beastkin saw such a sight happening next to him in the Forge of Champions, he’d have his dick ready to offer for the bitch in heat to suck on. A female beastkin offered her wet pussy for another girl to lick while she got her pussy rimmed.

Some citizens of Klapsus came here just for the blood show. But even if they did not partake in the lust part of the Games, they were in no way surprised that after several hours of drinking hearty drinks, partaking in intermission lewdness, and then watching sexual scenes on a giant sphere that blasted the moans of an aroused female throughout the mines, that more and more men and women of the degenerate city of Klapsus would succumb to their base urges and indulge in sexual urges with each other. For some, blood and death were just another aphrodisiacs when casual free use fucking on the streets of Klapsus grew mundane and boring.

“The lowest of low,” Olivia grimaced as she looked at the many dispersed crowds of spectators on different platforms around the arena.

Beatrice also looked around, but not just with condemnation as Olivia did.

On one hand, the succubus could not deny that this form of carefree sexual indulgence was just what she wished for. How could she blame the citizens of Klapsus for finding what little joy they could in their doomed world? Spiraling into deeper and deeper pits of depravity, was there any low that was too low when the alternative was grim, suicidal despair?

But what was the source of the latest arousal? A struggling girl fighting for the honor of her uncle? What of her feelings? What of her fate if she succumbs to her final opponent?

Beatrice paid close attention to all who were present in the arena. None of the remaining participants gave in to sexual desires. They watched the battle carefully. More than once it seemed doomed for Number Forty. And each time she fought back. Even Number Seven, while sitting on a rock with his forearm over the handle of The Cleaver, paid close attention to the fight.

But just as all the remaining participants watched the fight without picking favorites, none of them more to intervene in the unfair battle. Even Uma, after voicing her contempt for those that entered such a fight, did nothing to stop it.

Similarly, the shirtless, buff, masked staff of the arena observed the battle with iron focus, even as the tigerkin undid his pants to let loose his engorged, bright-red erection.

Only one person with a mask on her face indulged her deeper urges. The mysterious miss Ruby who wore her bloodied white mask continued to massage herself between her legs through her many layers of garments. With each passing moment, she did so with more reckless abandon, not even concealing her movements, though never disrobing, never revealing even a part of her skin other than her hands, which were unclothed from the start.

And those shirtless men that stood closest to miss Ruby, seemed to go out of their way to never even so much as glance in her direction. They turned their bodies away from her, their feet pointed away from her, and even if they should have been able to hear the rustling of miss Ruby’s fabric, they did their best to find more interest in the far away elephantkin’s cries of sorrow about the gaping hole in his beautiful ear than in the fact that one of the overseers of this event was masturbating right next to them.

Eighteen men with black masks, one girl with white, one <u>infuriating</u> announcer with a blue flame on her mask, Beatrice counted. These can’t be the only ones overseeing the security of this arena.

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