The Borderlands stank of wet stone and monster blood.
A cracked bell tower leaned over the ruined village of Thornskull, its bronze tongue long since ripped out by harpies. That was where Kael the Blade Master stood, black greatcoat flapping in the wind, twin swords crossed behind his back like a promise of ruin.
He was twenty-eight winters old, scarred from collarbone to hip, and hard as iron beneath the leather.
But the scars that truly marked him were the ones no blade had ever left: the hunger.
Kael did not chase glory. He chased the sway of heavy breasts under chainmail, the slap of thick asses against his hips, the slick, endless drip of milven cunt that begged to be stuffed full.
Four women followed him. Four legends. Four walking wet dreams.
1. Lyralei, Moon-Elf archer. Silver hair to her waist, tits so full her leather corset could barely cage them, nipples forever poking like arrowheads. Between her thighs, a constant shine—her elven pussy wept honey whether she was strung for battle or bent over a log.
2. Nyancia, Cat-kin rogue. Calico ears, golden eyes, ass so fat it made her tail look small. She walked bow-legged half the time because her slit stayed swollen and open, purring juices down her inner thighs with every step.
3. Brynhildr, Storm-Valkyrie. Six-foot-six of bronze muscle and nordic glory. Feathered wings, war-hammer the size of a pony, breasts like overripe melons straining golden plate. When she got excited (and she always did), her cunt gushed so hard it splashed the greaves.
4. Vyrathax, Ancient Red Dragon in human guise. Curvy crimson-skinned matron with horns swept back like a crown, tail thick as a man's thigh, and a womb that had birthed wyrmlings for centuries. Her slit was a furnace—scalding, dripping, forever ready to milk the next cock that dared mount a dragon.
They were his.
And he was theirs.
Tonight's prey: a Greater Minotaur Lord that had been dragging milk-maids into the labyrinth beneath the bell tower. The beast was nine feet of veined muscle, cock swinging like a battering ram even when soft.
Kael licked his lips. "Ladies. Same formation. We carve, we claim, we fuck the victory raw."
Lyralei's ears twitched. She nocked a crystal arrow, thighs already trembling. "My quiver's full, Master… but my pussy's fuller."
Nyancia dropped into a crouch, tail lashing, juices flicking off the tip. "Nya~ I want his balls first. They smell like hot cream."
Brynhildr spun her hammer, wings flaring. Lightning crackled between her legs, sizzling the puddle she'd already made. "Odin's beard, I need something thick inside me before I split the world in half."
Vyrathax simply smiled, smoke curling from her nostrils. She cupped her own monstrous tits and squeezed; dragon-milk beaded at the nipples and ran in rivulets down her belly to join the flood between her thighs. "Save the heart for me, darling. I like them still beating when I ride."
Kael drew his swords. Moon-steel sang. "Then let's go give the bull a lesson in breeding."
They descended.
The minotaur roared, charging. Kael met it head-on—blades spinning, sparks flying off iron horns. Each parry sent tremors up his arms and straight to his cock.
Lyralei loosed arrows that burst into vines mid-flight, wrapping the beast's thighs, spreading them obscenely wide. The minotaur's cock slapped up, already half-hard and dripping. She moaned, fingers diving under her skirt to rub her clit in time with her shots.
Nyancia blurred between its legs, twin daggers carving runes along the shaft. Every slice made the beast buck and spurt precum in ropes. She lapped one off her blade like cream, purring loud enough to rattle bones.
Brynhildr brought the hammer down—CRACK—shattering the stone floor and sending shockwaves that made every pussy in the room clench. She laughed wildly, then dropped the weapon, ripped her breastplate open, and shoved one leaking tit into the minotaur's snarling maw. "Suckle, cow! Taste a real woman!"
The beast did. Milk sprayed. Brynhildr screamed in orgasm, wings thrashing, cunt squirting in a golden arc that soaked Kael's boots.
Vyrathax simply walked forward, tail coiling around the minotaur's throat. With a lazy flex she lifted the nine-foot monster clean off the ground. "Children should respect their mothers," she purred, then slammed him down onto all fours. Her other hand guided Kael behind her. "Take me first, love. I want his snout buried in my ass while you ruin my womb."
Kael didn't need telling twice.
He yanked the dragon's scaled thong aside—already soaked through—and rammed home. One brutal thrust buried him to the root in molten dragon cunt. Vyrathax bellowed, flames licking from her mouth, and her tail tightened until the minotaur's eyes bulged.
The fight lasted thirty more seconds.
Kael's blades danced—left sword severed the beast's hamstrings, right sword opened its throat. Black blood fountained. The minotaur collapsed, still spurting from its dying cock.
Victory.
They didn't wait for the corpse to cool.
Kael pulled out of Vyrathax with a wet pop, dragon juices cascading down his balls. He grabbed Lyralei by her silver hair and shoved her face-first into the minotaur's still-twitching groin. "Clean your arrows, elf. Drink what you hunted."
Lyralei whimpered, tongue lapping greedily at beast-cum and her own slick that had dripped there during the fight. Her ass waved high, pussy drooling in rivulets.
Nyancia was already straddling the minotaur's face, grinding her sloppy cunt over dead lips. "He's still warm~ nya, so good for a throne."
Brynhildr tore the beast's loincloth off completely, wrapped the massive softening cock around her forearm like a gauntlet, and used it to finger-fuck herself silly, milk and pussy juice frothing together.
Vyrathax lay back on the altar stone, legs spread impossibly wide, tail lifted like an invitation. "Blade Master," she crooned, voice dripping sin. "Come finish what you started. Breed your dragon until my belly swells again."
Kael stalked forward, cock gleaming with her earlier cream. The other three crawled after him like pets in heat.
He mounted the dragon in one savage thrust. Vyrathax roared, claws raking his back, cunt clamping so tight it hurt. The altar shook.
Lyralei and Nyancia took turns licking his shaft on every out-stroke, tongues swirling through the mess of dragon slick and minotaur blood. Brynhildr knelt above Vyrathax's face, wings spread, and lowered her gushing pussy onto the dragon's eager maw.
The chamber echoed with wet slaps, moans, the squelch of overfilled holes.
Kael fucked like a siege engine—hips pistoning, balls slapping against dragon-scale ass. He grabbed Lyralei's ears and dragged her up, shoving his tongue down her throat so she could taste Vyrathax on him. Nyancia mewled jealousy, so he spun the cat-girl around and buried three fingers in her asshole while she licked Brynhildr's clit.
Minutes blurred. Orgasms crashed like thunder.
First Vyrathax—her womb convulsed, sucking his seed so hard his vision whited out. Scalding dragon-cum flooded back around his cock, splashing everyone.
Then Brynhildr—lightning arced from her nipples as she came, electrocuting the minotaur corpse into twitching again. She squirted enough to put out a house fire.
Lyralei followed, elven pussy spasming around nothing until Kael shoved the minotaur's severed cockhead against her entrance like a plug. She screamed into Nyancia's cunt and pissed herself in ecstasy.
Nyancia came last, tail bottling up Kael's fist in her ass while she rubbed her clit raw against Lyralei's face. Her yowls rattled the bell tower.
Finally Kael pulled free of the dragon's flooded depths, cock purple and angry. Four tongues attacked at once—elf, cat, valkyrie, dragon—lapping, sucking, begging.
He roared, painted them all: thick ropes across tanned skin, silver hair, golden feathers, crimson horns. They opened their mouths like baby birds, catching what they could, rubbing the rest into their tits and bellies like war-paint.
When it was over they lay in a heap of limbs and fluids, the minotaur's corpse cooling beneath them.
Kael stroked Vyrathax's belly, already imagining it round with his next clutch.
Lyralei nuzzled his thigh, pussy still dripping.
Nyancia purred, tail curled around his ankle.
Brynhildr's wings draped over them all like a blanket.
"Next town's three days north," Kael murmured, voice hoarse. "Orc warlord. They say he has twelve cocks."
Four sets of eyes lit up, four cunts clenched in unison.
Lyralei licked a bead of cum from her lip. "We'll need bigger altars."
And the Blade Master smiled, already hard again.