The air in the back room of the border fort's tavern was a filthy cocktail of scents: the base notes of stale ale and unwashed bodies, layered with the sharp, ozonic tang of nervous, mana-laced sweat and the cloying, sugary perfume of ambition. It was a place for transactions, for deals struck in shadows, and today, Thorn was shopping. She lounged in a heavy wooden chair, one booted foot propped on the corner of a scarred table, her lean Bitch-frame a study in coiled, predatory boredom. Before her, a motley collection of unbound mercenaries stood shifting from foot to foot—the dregs of a dozen broken prides, all hungry for a contract, for a purpose, for a cock to bind them.
Thorn's gaze, sharp and dismissive, swept over them. The contract was a delicate piece of political sabotage, sure, but the client was paying well enough that she could afford to be picky. She needed tools, not warriors. And if those tools happened to be pretty enough to fuck, well, that was just a perk of the job. Her eyes, the color of cold amber, finally settled on two promising specimens. A nice piece of ass, and tits that could smother. The thought was a flicker of heat in her gut. Business and pleasure. Why not both?
"You," she barked, her voice a low, gravelly command that cut through the nervous silence. She pointed a single, sharp finger at a Sow whose body was a perfect, almost obscene tribute to her caste. "And you," her finger shifted, landing on a slender, androgynous Fem whose wide, dark eyes held a perfect cocktail of fear and fascination. He'd heard the stories about her, she could tell. Good. "The rest of you, fuck off. You're not what I'm looking for."
A grumble of disappointment rippled through the rejected, but no one dared to argue. They shuffled out, the heavy door groaning shut behind them, leaving Thorn alone with her two potential acquisitions. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air charged with a new, more intimate tension.
"Step forward," Thorn commanded. They obeyed, their movements stiff with a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
Her eyes raked over the Sow first. A masterpiece. Soft, curvaceous, with hips that promised a fertile womb and breasts so large and heavy they strained the fabric of her rough-spun tunic. A prime vessel. "Name?"
"Jasmine, my lady," the Sow whispered, her voice a soft, melodic thing.
"Let's see the assets, Jasmine," Thorn said, her voice devoid of warmth. "Strip."
Jasmine's hands trembled as she fumbled with the ties of her tunic, the soft thud of the garment hitting the dusty floorboards echoing in the silence. She stood there, pure, unadulterated Sow. Pale, soft skin, a gentle, pleasing roundness to her belly, and magnificent tits—heavy, pendulous orbs with wide, dark areolas and thick, prominent nipples that were already hardening into tight, aching points.
Thorn rose, the scrape of her chair a harsh sound. She circled the trembling Sow, her gaze a physical touch. V-Rating 4, at least, she assessed with a flicker of professional interest. "You've been well-fed." Her hand shot out, cupping one of the massive breasts. The flesh was soft, yet dense with stored mana. She squeezed, hard, enjoying the choked gasp it elicited. "Good reserves."
Her thumb found the nipple, a thick, sensitive bud, and began to rub it in a slow, merciless circle. She watched, a detached connoisseur, as the nipple puckered and strained, weeping a single, pearlescent bead of sweet, nurturing nectar. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to taste it. "Sweet," she grunted. A flicker of something that wasn't just approval, but a burgeoning, selfish hunger, lit her eyes. She released the breast, leaving a red handprint on the pale flesh.
"Now for the real test," Thorn whispered, her hand sliding down the Sow's soft belly to the thatch of dark hair between her legs. "Show me your clit. Make it swell for me."
A wave of mortified heat washed over Jasmine's face, but her body, conditioned for obedience, betrayed her. A hot, wet slickness bloomed between her thighs. Thorn's fingers, strong and practiced, found the sensitive nub. It was already beginning to engorge, a small, twitching knot of pleasure-pain.
"More," Thorn commanded, her voice dropping to a low purr. Her fingers began to work a slow, grinding rhythm. She didn't need to do this. A simple mana-probe would have told her everything. But this was more fun. She was horny, and this was a perfect excuse to get her hands wet. She watched Jasmine's face, saw the conflict there—the shame warring with the burgeoning, unwilling pleasure. The Sow's hips began to move, a desperate, mindless rhythm, her back arching, her massive tits jiggling. Her clit swelled under Thorn's relentless assault, the small nub transforming into a thick, hard, dick-like shaft, slick with her own weeping juices. It pulsed against Thorn's hand, a living conduit of raw, fertile power.
"There it is," Thorn purred, a cruel, satisfied smile touching her lips. She increased the pressure, her thumb finding the sensitive head of the clit-cock, grinding down with a force that was both agony and ecstasy. Jasmine's mind shattered. A high, keening moan tore from her throat as her orgasm hit, a violent, full-body convulsion that sent a gushing torrent of her potent Sow-nectar flooding over Thorn's hand.
Thorn watched the climax with a cold, appraising eye. Good quality mana. She'll do. As Jasmine's shudders subsided, she wiped her hand on the Sow's own trembling thigh. "Adequate," she said, her voice dismissive. "Get dressed. Wait by the door."
She turned her attention to the Fem. He had watched the entire display, his own small, useless cocklet visibly tenting the front of his thin trousers, leaking a thin, sweet stream of nectar that added to the room's filthy perfume. He was hot, and he knew it. And he was terrified, which made him even hotter.
"Your turn, little one," Thorn said, her voice dropping to a low, intimate growl. "On your knees. Present that perfect, high-born ass to me."
The Fem, whose name she still hadn't asked, scrambled to obey. He dropped to his knees and pushed his hips back, his trousers straining against the taut globes of his ass. It was a perfect, heart-shaped thing, the cheeks pale and smooth, the tight, puckered rosebud of his hole a silent, desperate invitation.
Thorn knelt behind him, her hand coming to rest on the small of his back, a gesture of absolute ownership. Her other hand moved to his ass, her fingers tracing the delicate crack. "You're tight," she observed, her voice a filthy promise. She pushed a single, slick finger against his resisting muscle. He let out a choked sob, his body trying to clench against the invasion.
"Relax," she commanded, pushing her finger inside him. The inner walls were a hot, wet, grasping sheath, a perfect, virgin-tight fuck-tunnel. She worked her finger deeper, feeling the exquisite, milking grip of his sphincter. Oh yes, she thought, a raw, animalistic hunger coiling in her gut. This one is a prize.
She withdrew her finger with a wet pop, leaving him a whimpering, desperate mess. With a guttural groan, she rose to her feet. Her own body was humming now, the casual display having stoked her own impulses into a raging fire. A deep, internal shift began within her, a primal command sent from her brain to her very core. Her slick cunt lips parted as the inner, ridged walls of her vagina began to clench and push outward. The sensitive, deep-red inner flesh turned itself inside out, unfurling into the open air like a grotesque flower blooming in reverse. The internal cock extended with a wet, muscular ripple, the glistening inner tissues of her cunt becoming the slick, outer skin of the emerging shaft. It grew rapidly, hardening as it fed on her arousal, transforming into a thick, rigid pillar of power, pulsing with raw, aggressive energy.
The Fem stared, his mouth agape, his eyes wide with that perfect, beautiful cocktail of terror and desperate, clawing eagerness. Thorn's cockwomb was a masterpiece of Bitch biology—thicker than a Sow's forearm, veins bulging like ropes, slicked with her aggressive pre-slime.
"You wanted a contract," Thorn snarled, grabbing the Fem by the hips and yanking him back against her. "This is your audition. Take it. Take every single, fucking inch."
She didn't waste time with preparation. She positioned the thick, weeping head of her cock at his tight, puckered entrance and, with a single, brutal thrust, impaled him.
He screamed, a high, thin sound of pure, unadulterated sensation that was swallowed by the thick walls of the room. The penetration was a violation of pure dominance, stretching him, filling him with a foreign, aggressive power. Thorn's cock was a battering ram, each thrust a punishment, a lesson. She fucked him with a savage, contained fury, her hips slamming into his pale, jiggling ass-cheeks with loud, wet slaps that echoed with a brutal percussion.
"You feel that?" she grunted, her hips slamming forward in a relentless, punishing rhythm. "That's the power of a real Bitch. That's the loyalty you'll learn."
She fucked him until her own climax hit, a violent, shuddering release that sent a thick, hot torrent of her seed flooding his violated core. She pulled out with a final, wet slap, her cockwomb retracting, leaving him a sobbing, trembling mess on the floor, his ass a wrecked, yawning crater oozing a creamy slurry of her seed and his own slick lube.
"Get up," she commanded, her voice cold and steady once more. "You're both hired. We leave at dawn."
Without another word, she turned and strode out of the room, leaving her two new acquisitions to grapple with the raw, undeniable truth of the price they had just paid for their new purpose.