Oops

Steven and Melissa strolled back to the guild, hand in hand, the Mistveil’s evening fog curling around them as the day’s warmth faded. Her silver hair swayed, catching lantern light, when she nudged him, nodding toward a human girl ahead. Red hair blazed, blue eyes sparkled, and her bust—gods, massive—strained her tunic, her chunky frame a voluptuous 5’4”. Thick thighs, wide hips, a curvy bombshell with breasts that defied reason. “What d’ye think o’ her?” Melissa asked, her tone teasing, soulbound nudge at play. Steven’s gaze lingered, a grin breaking free. “Yeah, she’s pretty hot,” he said, bold and unfiltered. Melissa smirked, leaning in. “Bet ye’d love a three-way with her, huh?” she purred, flirting hard. He nodded, heat flashing, but they kept walking, her giggle trailing behind.

At the guild, they hit the dining hall—no food this time, just Salted Honey Ale. Steven slapped 10 copper down—5 each—for the first round, the golden brew fizzing as they clinked mugs. The honey softened the salt’s zing, and they downed it fast. “Another,” she chirped, eyes glinting; 10 more copper, round two slid over. The gnome swayed after two, drunk off her tiny frame, giggling sloppy. Steven, buzzed but steady, called for a third—5 copper more—and they drank deep, the ale’s warmth tipping them over. Stumbling to the barracks, he fumbled 1 copper to the guard, and they lurched into his room, the door banging shut.

Drunk and wild, Steven scooped her up, tossing her onto the bed—she squealed, laughing, “Oh, ye beast!”—and they stripped fast, clothes flying. Her ash-gray set hit the floor, his Stormgull Flyer followed, a tangle of fabric. He straddled her, ale-fueled lust blazing—her tiny gnome body squirmed beneath him, silver hair fanning wide. He gripped his dick, stroking ‘til hard, then lined up with her coin-slot pussy—tight, wet, begging. He slid in, a sloppy thrust, her moan ripping out—“Oh, Stevey, fuck!”—high and drunk as he pounded, her little frame rocking under his bulk. She clawed his back, legs wrapping tight, her voice a slurred chant—“Yes, yes, harder!”—wild and loud, the bed creaking like it’d snap.

Mid-thrust, drunk mischief hit—he cast Fleshsculpting Lvl 5, hands glowing as they roamed her chest. Her breasts swelled—bigger, then bigger still—ballooning from pert to cartoonish, massive orbs bouncing with each slam, nipples stiff. He widened her hips too, flaring them out, her tiny body now a curvy caricature—exaggerated, lush, a drunk fantasy made real. She gasped, “Oh gods, what—mmph!”—cut off by a moan as he amped her pleasure with Soulbinding Lvl 3, cranking it from double to triple. Her eyes rolled, sensitivity spiking—“Fuck, Stevey, it’s too good!”—her voice a scream, slurring into nonsense.

He thrust harder, sloppy and fierce—her cartoon curves jiggled wild, her moans a drunken symphony. She came first, a shuddering wail—“Oh my god, yessss!”—her tripled pleasure exploding, and his Soulbinding synced him, a hot rush spilling inside her as he groaned. Her final moan—“Mmmmmmm!”—squealed out, ragged and raw, and they collapsed, spent. She slumped atop him, his cock still buried deep, her massive breasts squashed against his chest, hips wide and cartoonish. Drunk and satisfied, they passed out—him flat, her sprawled, a tangled heap, no moving, just sleep claiming them fast.