Gnasha

Short. Simple. Powerful. Unforgettable.

All things I have in common with my chosen name (well, all aside from short - 80% of the time, the fucktoy moaning under me is undoubtedly the smaller one).

Now's about the time I'd be picking an alignment if this were a tabletop game, but, like a meek little paladin player who'd soon find themself worshiping my sweat-slick abs as their new patron, there wasn't too much in the way of options. If I'm going to tear through the forest and tear up every ass in its confines, I can't be concerned with a code of honor (well, dishonor given those lovely ladies of the Dark). From here on out, this world is going to abide by only one rule: you belong to me.

My mind is set, my body is firming up, my mission is clear. But in all this time, I haven't given consideration to perhaps the greatest question of all: if I'm going to be the mistress of the future harem that is all of Ruyanei, I need to look the part. That's right, no default appearance for this conqueress -- time for a full character design!

Looking down at my new appendage and best friend, I pump my horsecock with one hand while groping my balls with the other. The dick has this two-tone thing going for it, with the base in the same deep green as most of my skin and the upper shaft pitch black. God (goddess, I suppose), this is going to look so sick pumping in and out of a whimpering harlot. The viridian spheres in my left hand are each about the size of an apple. These gushing Granny Smiths are going to be working overtime, because I don't plan on fucking anything less than three bitches a day. (What? Only three a day? I know, but I've got to start somewhere.) I'm just imagining the sound of me clapping some shopkeep's cheeks, my balls swinging and smacking her clit as I bend her over the counter.

As I grope my newfound nads, I feel a seeping moistness from just below my bitch-breaking bundle. A pussy, wet and hungry, tucked just under my new cock. I'm so glad Carnachias is on the same page as me with this one: futas are fucking sexy. This cock-and-cunny combo gives me so many delicious ideas. I could pound someone raw while my pussy juices dripped down my pulsing cock, lubing them up as I go. I could facesit and smother some schmuck while I bounce his wife on my lap. Hell, if any of my male slaves wind up not being limp-dicked losers, I might just make one my throne for a day, doling out orders to the dungeon while I grind his pelvis into dust.

Trailing my hands upward, I play along the rivulets of these newfound cumgutters. I was already jacked in my old life, don't get me wrong, but the goddesses do some amazing work with a body. I've got a fucking 10-pack now! Did you know that's purely genetic? You can't work your way up to having ten meat-grinding mounds of rock-hard perfection; that number is static no matter how hard you try. Having a 10-pack compared to my old 8 isn't exactly an accomplishment, but I've got to admit it feels good to boast the higher number now. Don't let anyone ever tell you that less is more; that's the kind of restraint you hear from mediocre men that get their rocks off to some vanilla missionary shit. MORE IS MORE: more muscle definition to lure in the born submissives, more speed to chase and tackle the ones who haven't acknowledged their submission yet, more power to bend, press, ****, claim, conquer anyone I can get my hands on.

Moving one hand up and another to the back, we come to what everyone loves to see: that delicious T&A! My rack has gotten a nice boost to its bounciness. What were once respectably sexy D-cups are now massive Gs, impossibly perky and nestled into some well-toned pectorals. I imagine I could probably smother someone with these, though I doubt I'd do that too often. It's not the same if you can't feel a slut gasping in the crook of your elbow as you lock them in a sleeper hold. Still, I bet some really masochistic minx might be into it, and I may indulge if they've been good.

As for my ass, it's tight but bouncy, large but toned, curvy but muscular. A seeming contradiction, I've got the perfect pair of buttocks to lure in anything with a pulse (and maybe some without -- maybe there are vampires looking for the kind of staking only I can offer). Framed perfectly by my moderately wide hips, I give my ass a good slap. *crack!* You could bounce whatever the standard currency of this place is off it!

But enough self-fondling; it's time for the piece de resistance. How's my face? I'm hoping it's somewhere between scary and sexy; I want to be the stuff of erotic nightmares, the monster cock beneath your bed, the bitch that goes fuck in the night. I run a sculpted hand through my hair, massaging my scalp as I go. Goddesses, these hands need something else to grab. I can feel the power in them, just waiting to grasp some whore as she struggles to break free. But my hands alone aren't going to tell me how I look.

Peering into the miasma I've been floating through for the past... how long have I been here, anyway? I reach out as if to grab this massless mess and shape it into an oval. A mirror so dark and impossibly opaque begins to come into being, willed into shape by the vain vixen of the void. Through the inky reflection, I spy flowing, wild red hair on a green head, an untamed flame that will burn this forest to the ground and light the brands that dig into the skin of its denizens. Below the beautiful blaze lies a pair of golden eyes that will pierce the souls of my conquests. They look passionate, the auric irises seeming to pulse and flow with my ebbing lust. My nose, broad and sloped, twitches as I draw what might be my first real breath in this new body. I can smell my own musk, peaty and with a hint of spices, rising from my nethers. It's nearly intoxicating for me, so I imagine the elf-sluts I'll be claiming will go cock-drunk before I get within 3 feet of them. Good. A jungle queen ought to have a dominating scent; it'll stick with my sluts for days, making it clear just who pounded them until their legs gave out.

And my mouth! Full, beautiful lips I'd never imagined having, and a tongue that extends four inches beyond their barrier. Best of all, I've got tusks jutting up from my lower jaw. Can't wait to sic these on someone; if love hurts, then these will be the best love bites any Ruyaneian has ever gotten.

My stacked bod is the stuff of dreams, able to conquer hearts and bodies with little effort. I'd like to run around in the nude, showing off for all to see, but there are a few things askew with that idea. I need support for these knockout knockers; as perky as they are, I doubt they'll be this weightless forever. Besides, I may be the future mistress of everyone in the land, but I doubt I could walk into a town nude without stirring up the local guard. Sure, breaking the guards in a pheromonal orgy sounds like a blast, but it seems unnecessary to do every time I want to buy a drink and bag a drunk. Reluctantly, I shape some leather garments out of the ether. A skirt and a chest guard, the former reaching just below my flared fucktip and the latter just enough to give the girls some needed support.

As if I'd been using them all my life, I reach for my as-yet unformed axe and bow, with a quiver melting onto my left thigh as I walk forward. The darkness warps, lessens, cracks as I move toward Ruyanei, the current name of this land, my harem, and my destiny.

I lick my lips.