Dive in head first

She's standing there unarmed, unprepared, and unfucked. In mere moments, that last bit is going to change.

Gnasha

Hit points: 28/28 | Sexual hit points: 17/17

VS.

Unnamed Elf Slut

Hit points: 10/10 | Sexual hit points: 8/9

Dashing in for a surprise attack, I initiate an immediate Grapple Tackle (barbarian advantage, 1d20, 12 vs. 6 or 10 vs. 6, success, 1d6 nonlethal unarmed damage: 1), pulling her to the ground with my left arm around her neck and my right feeling up her damp crotch through her dress. Driven by a need to mark my first elf as soon as possible, I give her right shoulder a love bite to throw her off her game (1d20, Racial Lore: Elves, ranger advantage, 5 vs. 10 or 15 vs. 10, success, 2d6 nonlethal piercing damage: 2+6). The pretty little forager puts up a struggle to break my grapple (1d20, choked [-1], 6 vs. 10, failure), but can't find purchase to break free from my rock hard musculature. She tries to scream for help, or maybe plead for mercy, but nothing comes out of that pretty mouth of hers. I doubt I'd care much for most things out of her mouth anyway; what might go in is of much greater significance.

My cock peeks out from under my leather skirt, the garment having risen slightly in the struggle. I attempt a deft removal of her undergarments (1d20, 7 vs. 6-3 Racial Lore debuff, success), exposing her quim to the flared tip of my cock. I've been chubbing up since I smelled her, and now it's time for my precum to do its thing. Angling towards her sopping entrance, I thrust (1d20, Racial Lore [-3], Musclebitch Musk[-3], 16 vs. 2, success; 1d8 sexual damage: 4) and find my way into her awaiting cunt. My relaxing pre begins to work its wonders, and her tight cunny gives way to my hefty horsecock. She attempts to scream, and again finds her voice cut off by my tight grapple. Kicking furiously but aimlessly (strugglefuck disadvantage, sustained **** [-2], 14 vs. 11 or 11 vs. 11, success; 1d6 unarmed: 2), she manages a solid blow to the shins. It hurts me a little, but that just means I found a bitch with some fight in her. All the more fun to break.

I continue pumping the bitch silly with my equine weapon (1d20, Racial Lore [-3], Musclebitch Musk [-3] 16 vs. 2, success; 1d8 sexual damage: 5) and come to learn that my new fucktoy is apparently a quickshot; just a few minutes in and she's already cumming her brains out. Maintaining the grip on her neck through the entire body-shaking orgasm, I believe that I can take my sweet time with her now; my Strangle Claim should have ensured that she'll be nothing but a sex-crazed devotee when she regains her senses. I ease up on the hold around her throat, and out comes a lovely sound. Where I feared some petty show of resistance or a **** plea for help, all I hear out of those rosy lips is a subdued, "More. More. More."

Well, I am nothing if not a people pleaser (though people should aim to please me first). If the bitch wants more, she'll get more. Throwing her off me momentarily, I quickly readjust to a position I've never tried: the mating press. Ramming myself back in her cunt, I decide to let loose my tentacular tools and give this elf the broodmare makeover she desperately needs. A thick tentacle with a bulbous tip worms its way up her body, sliding between her little tits to wrap around and shove itself down her throat. With just enough air to avoid brain damage, I'm keeping her in an oxygen-deprived state of painful euphoria. Meanwhile, three needle-tipped tentacles find their way to the struggling ****. Two pierce her tits near the bases while the third strikes a centimeter or so above her clit. The Titty Committee pump her first with the enlarging serum (pumping her tits out to DD cups), then with the lactation inducers to ensure she spills from her pert nipples at the slightest tweak.

The tentacle with lower aspirations pumps her full of an aphrodisiac. My tentacles can actually produce two kinds of aphros: quick release, quick metabolized aphrodisiacs that help to break someone in combat and low-level, permanent aphrodisiacs that raise a target's baseline libido. She's getting a healthy dose of number two; she'll be a true slut by the time I'm done with her here. The first round of kids she pops out are going to be mine, but I haven't decided on what to do with her after. Is she the start of my personal harem, a crown jewel and trophy to decorate my personal space? Or is she fodder for the low-levels back at the dungeon to breed until she's a broken husk? Given her current state, she may not even mind that fate.

But that can all be decided at a later date. Pounding away at the asphyxiating elf, two new tentacles come into play. Their tips open in an organic trifold, and small suckers line the interior. Milkers. Bouncing with every pounding I deliver, her breasts eagerly await the delivery of their first lactic bounty. Latching on with more fervor than expected, they begin to pulsate, simultaneously sucking and massaging the breasts to encourage grater, faster production. The pulsing from all the various tentacles sends so many sensations down my spine and I move to pound her even harder, my balls swinging like an obscene pendulum. At this point, the only thing holding back the floodgates is my willpower, and, well, I want to flood Cunt Canyon! I release my swimmers, experiencing my first penile orgasm (pregnancy check, 1d6:4 + 2 offspring), and I look over my conquest with a real sense of accomplishment. (+10 Class experience, + 25 Monster Race experience) Here's my first elf breeding slut, taken on what would have otherwise been an ordinary day for her. She now serves the greatest purpose anyone in this world will find; being my cum dumpster. I pull out of her slowly, really wanting to soak in the full experience of her vaginal walls against my wrecker of a rod. Before backing off from her thoroughly battered cervix, a new layer of seminal fluid springs forth. This layer, instead of being filled with sperm seeking an egg, forms a sort of block in her vagina preventing anything from reaching her womb. My intuitive understanding is that it will dissolve in labor, at which point I can breed the bitch once more. Just one more way of ensuring that every inch of her is claimed solely by yours truly.

I ought to look into tattooing my sluts. I plan on giving them all a love bite scar as a reminder to them, but it'd be nice to have something more prominent to show my complete domination. Property of the Jungle Queen tattoos would be straight to the point, but there's not much style there. I'll have to think up a design back at the dungeon.

My more tactile tentacles begin wrapping around her waist and limbs, preparing to draw her to me like a well-fucked backpack. Before they do, however, I withdraw the tentacle that was lightly strangling and **** her, replacing it with a big, wet, narcotic-laced kiss. This ought to keep her sleepy and relaxed as a take a quick look about the area. I grab her basket and her underwear and check for anything else in the area. (Ranger advantage, 1d6, 18 vs. 12 or 18 vs. 12, success) I notice a bush that doesn't quite look like any others; its leaves are fuller, with sawtooth edges.

A common herbal remedy, Mother's Love can be applied directly to wounds for minor healing. They are also ideal for the amateur apothecary, as boiling the leaves can produce a tincture that can be applied to gauze for improved long-term healing of moderate wounds.

I pick a handful of the nicest-looking leaves and place them atop the dragonberry basket. Sensing nothing else of interest, I make my way back to the cave, tentacles aquiver across the elf's body. As I walk, I notice my shins hurt a little less. I think the nutrients from her milk might actually be aiding my natural regeneration process. Having a harem is seeming more like a tactical advantage now; if I can retreat to my harem and feed off their milk while meditating on the Serpent spirit, my recuperation will probably be astronomical.

But I'll need to acquire that harem first. And how I go about that may depend on the silver-haired slattern riding on my back right now.