Resolving Your Heart in the Midst of Mass Breeding

Written in collaboration with Cross C

Sweat stung Tenzin's eyes as he plunged into his twentieth wet and willing pussy.

His mind, once filled with lofty ideals, was now shackled to a singular goal – to fill every hole. It galled him a bit as things grew ever repetitive. His preference was for a more one on one, tender approach to lovemaking.

But, he consoled himself, the Celestial Horse-Bull's task was an important one. His seed was the foundation of the Air Nation, the mortar that held its walls together. Without his contribution, the Air Nomads would wither and die, their legacy a faded memory.

He thrust again, his balls slapping against the wet mound before him. A soft grunt escaped his lips as he emptied another load into an Acolyte whose name he couldn't recall.

He closed his eyes, a flash of frustration crossing his face. It had been a long day and, though his reserves were considerable, even the Celestial Bull's stamina had its limits.

A chorus of feminine shrieks snapped his attention to the uninvited second participant in the ritual.

Bran had constructed a living, writhing tower of women. Three Acolytes, piled like a teetering pagoda of flesh, their womanhoods stacked atop one another like a series of dripping pies.

Bran's cock, an enormous monolith of meat, hovered over the glistening folds before it. Each woman, her face contorted in pleasure, moaned and squirmed in order to be the one graced by the beastly intruder.

Tenzin watched, a begrudging respect warring with a flicker of annoyance. Bran's methods were crude, his touch chaotic, yet there was an undeniable effectiveness in his approach. He reminded Tenzin of his father, Aang, not in the finesse of his lovemaking, but in the sheer audacity of his spirit. Aang, too, had defied convention, carving his own path through the world with a laugh and a twinkle in his eye.

The thought, unbidden, crawled into his mind: was Bran one of them? One of the tens of thousands his father had sown across the globe, a hidden seed sprouting into this hulking Earthbender street thugl? It would explain the size, the raw power that seemed to echo Aang's own. In most cases, Tenzin was glad for his Airbending, glad to have inherited the wind rather than his father's insatiable appetite for wombs. But in this moment, locked in a silent battle with Bran, a flicker of envy danced in his eyes.

But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by a grim determination. Though they may share the same blood, it was Tenzin's that definitively carried the legacy of the Airbenders. His sperm was a precious resource, one that could not be wasted.

With a deep breath, Tenzin steeled himself for another round.

The world was a dizzying kaleidoscope of flesh and sky. Ayana, pinned beneath the rhythmic thrusts of Tenzin, saw only the sun, a golden coin bouncing across the endless blue canvas above. His horns, mere smudges against the cerulean backdrop, grazed her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. His manhood, once a whispered desire between her sisters behind hands as he swept passed, now filled her completely, a pulsing column of heat that chased away the chill of the approaching evening.

Each stroke was a brushstroke against her soul, leaving trails of fire on her skin. She felt him, not just as flesh and bone, but as the wind itself, a whisper of creation swirling within her. This was her offering, her art not on canvas, but in flesh.

Each groan escaping his lips was a melody, each tremor of his muscles a brushstroke on the canvas of her being. This was the legacy of the Air Nomads, etched in the primal language of pleasure.

Beside her, a different melody played. Lah, her eyes, usually pools of calm wisdom, were wide with a primal intensity as she arched her back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Bran, the Earth Bender wanderer, was the artist here, his broad shoulders and thick arms a study in raw power.

His tool, a monstrous pillar of flesh and sinew, plunged into Lah with each thrust, a battering ram against the delicate gateway of her womb. The sheer size of it, Ayana knew, was the source of Lah's fervor. It reminded her, with a pang of bittersweet longing, of Aang. For she had been an Acolyte since the inception of their order, an original fan club member and so a frequent participant in the breeding ceremonies with the last great Avatar.

But Aang, it was said, had moved with a dancer's grace. Bran was a **** of nature, tearing through Lah's defenses with a primal urgency. She felt it, even from where she lay, the tremor of earth against wind, the clash of two worlds colliding in a symphony of pleasure and pain.

Lah's moans, at first hesitant, became a guttural chant, a primal language of surrender. Her fingers dug into the earth, her body a bowstring pulled taut by the arrow of Bran's desire. Ayana watched, captivated by the raw sensuality of it all, the way Lah, usually a pillar of stoicism, was reduced to a quivering mass of need.

As Tenzin's spearhead speared her womb, Ayana reveled it all. She could sense her sisters all around them, a tapestry of flesh and desire stretched out in the dying sunlight. The air was alive with the scent of sweat and sex, the air thick with the musk of male virility.

And as Tenzin's essence flooded her, the final stroke of a master's brush, Ayana cried out, her voice joining the chorus of the others.

"Aaaaaaaaang!"

"Fuuuuuuck!" Bran growled, his voice a low rumble. "Damn, this is the shit!"

The earthbender's powerful back flexed with each thrust, his movements a symphony of power and precision. His hips rolled like waves against the shore, a primal rhythm that resonated deep within her.

"C'mon, baby, gimme that sweet air pussy!”

It wasn’t long before Bran’s thunderous slamming caused one more heated climax. His own jism blasted right into the oozing cunt of Lah. Enough to shoot her right across the field if he wasn’t holding her down, all as he filled that womb with so much cum that it threatened to burst. Lah thought only waterbenders could handle this amount of liquid, perhaps Bran’s nuts held more power than they looked? Though the thought was lost in a sea of pleasured gasps and abundant expletives.

Tenzin had extracted himself from Ayana at this point. Caring little for the ‘villainous’ Bran’s sex, and instead moving onto a lithe looking bald girl waiting for his semen.

With a long sigh, Bran also cast his fuck to the floor. Both Lah and Ayana were just panting messes, sweating on the grass facing each other yet unable to see each other with how their brains had melted.

Perfect for Bran to shift them closer into kissing.

“Heh, nice.” He chuckled, watching the two airbender babes drunkenly make out with sloppy tonguemanship.

He wasn’t one for girl on girl usually, but it was a fun little change of pace to see his and Tenzin’s lays work together like this. Enough of a turn on that when Koba approached, Bran put his hand up. “Don’t worry about these two, I’m gonna pack in that cum myself waterbitchboy.”

With a shrug, Koba followed the command. All as Bran lined himself up to Lah’s leaky slit to ‘pack in’ Tenzin’s cum himself. What else was a guest to do in someone’s regal home? The airbenders had been soo nice to him, Bran wanted to repay his debts.

Though he wasn’t expecting a new close audience member to appear as he thrust into that tight as hell fuck hole. Only feeling a massive pair of breasts leaning against his back.

“You know Bran, I think you’re lying to yourself.” A voice purred into his ear.

The man railing cunts raised an eyebrow to that. Though he couldn’t seem to get a good look at who was talking to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I’ve just been listening in for a while. All that posturing you do to rationalise your actions.” The voice was calm, and a little cocky for Bran’s liking, “I think your notions of ‘wanting the airbenders to breed’ goes against your alpha male nature. Look at you. You were singing the praises of Tenzin all week leading up to this event, pressuring him to be ready to perform his duty to breed, yet here you are. Scraping his cum out with your girthy hood.”

He frowned, trying to shake off the notion a little, though with how much of Tenzin’s seed was indeed getting pulled onto the grassy floor it was hard to make a real argument, “Nahh. there’s still plenty of him in here. I just wanted to provide some entertainment!”

There was a chuckle in his ear, “You provide us with a bevy of joy every time your pants come down, yet you couldn’t lose the limelight for one day to let Tenzin be.” Bran was annoyed enough to try and look behind him again, but apart from an orange robe and a bald head there was little to see that wouldn’t break his back, “But I do not judge your actions, Bran the Conqueror.”

“No? You sound judgy as hell.”

“On the contrary. I simply wish you to stop lying to yourself.” Another purr, yet this time it almost felt like it was going in both ears, “all the sweet talk and half baked posturing will only go so far in this life. And you know what they say, lie too much and you may piss off the wrong spirit…”

The breasts left his back, leaving such a strange resonance that made it feel like they’d never been there at all. Leaving the humping Bran to frown as he fucked, thinking about what had been told to him.

“...Bran the Conqueror, eh?”

A yawn, escaped Korra's lips.

She stifled it with a chuckle, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. An hour, maybe even two, had passed since the ritual had begun, and yet here she was, perched on the terrace like a bored gargoyle, watching Bran and Tenzin plowing the fertile fields of Acolytes.

Below Bran stood shoulder to shoulder with Tenzin, each with the offered ass of a sweat-slicked Acolyte between their legs. They were taking their respective women on all fours in the same position, but the difference between them was obvious.

Tenzin, stripped to his lean musculature, looked like a whip, corded and honed, every thrust a precise strike. Bran, a head taller and twice as wide, was a platypus-bear, belly swelling over his thick thighs, his arms tree trunks gripping the Air Acolyte before him.

She couldn't see Tenzin's penis from this distance and angle as he kept his hips bumping close to the nun's backside, but you couldn't miss Bran's. He was playing to the crowd, showing off his thick log of Earth Bender cock by pulling his hips back far beyond Tenzin's while still maintaining the connection with the girl's dripping cunt (the white frothy slather of her pussy juices all over his cock even visible from here attesting to that fact).

Those already “serviced” had faces flushed with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction, and looked like children after a particularly energetic game of tag. Others, still waiting their turn, sat in clusters, giggling and whispering, their gazes flicking to Bran and Tenzin with a mixture of awe and something Korra couldn't quite identify.

So many serviced women had chosen to add to the mystique of the event by simply lying peacefully in the grass where they’d been sullied. Perhaps a way of meditating after being bred? Or their legs were too weak from royal pounding.

Either way, Korra couldn’t help but swallow a little at the sight of them.

She was trying to ignore that whisper in her ear that Pema had let loose. It wasn’t like she was unattracted to men, far from it. Though she currently hadn’t eaten in hours, her real hunger was getting that cock back inside her. But… then she wasn’t unattracted to the girls either. Their buxom curves, their soft features, their happy blushes after getting vaginally fulfilled. Just like the other men around her, she was subtly imagining herself being the reason why they were so happy and it was bringing her right back to sodden panties.

Could any of the air nomads be her new girlfriend?

With a sigh she gave up and stood up. It was getting her nowhere but horny and she’d had enough of that for one day.

Dandy as it might be, there was only so much sex watching one could mentally take.

The novelty had worn off, replaced by a gnawing itch for something more. The rhythmic thrusts, once thrillingly forbidden, now felt repetitive, the moans of ecstasy predictable.

Her stomach growled and she felt compelled to turn her gaze to the sides of the field to take a census of the dispensers on display. Hands pumped, hips rocked, eyes glazed over with a mix of pleasure and duty. The air thrummed with a low groan, a chorus of white spurts arcing into a stewpot bubbling merrily below.

The stewpot. Korra's stomach rumbled again, a reminder of the long hour spent watching instead of participating. She squinted, trying to discern the individual sauces simmering within. Each male's seed, she knew, was a unique flavor note, a culinary symphony waiting to be savored. The bigger the balls, the richer the broth, so went the age-old saying. And Korra, with her Avatar-sized appetite, had a discerning palate for the finest sauces.

A giggle bubbled out. While these men toiled away, pouring their life **** into a simmering pot, Bran and Tenzin, the "chosen ones," spent their seed where it was truly meant to be – within fertile wombs.

The real trick of the stewpot was trying to manage the salt levels of the taste. Left unchecked the whole thing would be almost ocean water level of inedible. Different cultures all had different ways of changing that. The Earth nation preferred to use potatoes to smother the salt across a denser area. Firenationers zinged up the food with acidic elements, like lemon juice. Due to their greater liquid control, salty food was counteracted with seal-cow milk in water tribes. But here, in the last remnants of the air nation, was perhaps Korra’s favorite. Since air nomads shared her slight sweet tooth, adding delicious brown sugar to the mix for a real sweet curry taste.

After taking a bowl of the food from the nice server man offering her, she slurped up her seed laden sweet sauce with gusto. Consistency often varied per bite, but this was a particularly thick day for the food. Maybe it was all the wanking, or maybe Bran’s seed had gotten in the sauce again, but either way Korra was happy as the semen and meat filled her belly.

Thoughts of what to do with the rest of her day passed through her mind. Honestly the Avatar had expected to have been fucked at least once by now, so dealing with an itch would permeate whatever she chose.

Bran really was going all out with these other women. Even from deep in the stands where the food was served she could feel that slight earth shake he often enacted per thrust. Was Korra really that boring? Another bite into semen soup was delivered slightly angrier this time.

Maybe Pema was right. Maybe Korra really did need to thrive more as a person in order to appeal to Bran more. These Nomads had years of experience with others under their belt, and all Korra had done was nag one man to fuck her repeatedly the last week. No amount of sexy titles or sexy bodies could ever negate experience. And Bran liked fucking whores! Women who literally made it their jobs to be experienced!

Each bite drove more purpose into Korra.

She’d definitely sneak out tonight.