genestealer patriarch x lesbians

The Patriarch creeps through the labyrinthine tunnels of the underhive, his muscular form rippling beneath his tattered robes. His senses are heightened, honed for the hunt. The stench of promethium fumes and unwashed bodies assaults his nostrils, but beneath it all, he can detect the faint scent of his prey.

He turns a corner, feet splashing in the grimy water that collects on the cracked, uneven floor. There, illuminated by the flickering light of a single, bare bulb, are the two women. They lounge against the wall, laughing and drinking from a bottle of cheap amasec. The taller one, with fiery red hair cropped short, takes a swig before passing it to her companion.

Meat, he thinks to himself, a cruel smile spreading across his face. They won't know what hit them.

The Patriarch emerges from the shadows, his towering form filling the cramped space. The women look up, their eyes widening in surprise and a hint of fear. They scramble to their feet, the shorter one, Aria, dropping the bottle which shatters on the ground.

"Oi, what's your damage?" Ulla growls, stepping in front of her lover protectively. "This is our turf, mutant freak. You best be moving on."

The Patriarch's eyes bore into them, a predatory intensity that makes Ulla take an involuntary step back. Aria grips her arm, standing her ground, but her bravado wavers. The mutant's gaze flicks to Aria, then back to Ulla, a silent communication passing between them.

Suddenly, the Patriarch lunges forward, faster than their eyes can follow. His massive, dripping tongue, far too long and thick to be human, shoots out and plunges into Ulla's mouth. She gags, trying to pull away, but he seizes her head in an iron grip, forcing his slick flesh deeper, pumping it in and out of her throat. Aria screams, pounding at his back, but he doesn't relent.

After long, agonizing moments, he withdraws, a strand of drool connecting his tongue to Ulla's slack mouth. The redhead collapses, convulsing slightly, a glazed look in her eyes. Aria falls to her knees beside her, cradling Ulla's face, tears streaking her cheeks.

"What did you do to her, freak?" Aria shrieks, fear and rage warring in her voice. "Ulla! Ulla, wake up! Don't you fucking die on me!"

But Ulla only stares blankly ahead, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She rises slowly, leaving Aria kneeling on the filthy ground.

Aria looks up at the Patriarch, horror and betrayal etched on her face as she realizes what's happening. "No... no, this can't be... Ulla, please, snap out of it!"

Ulla turns to her, and Aria recoils at the hunger she sees in her lover's eyes, now so similar to the Patriarch's own. "Aria... we've been chosen. Selected. The Patriarch has seen the potential in us. We are to be his... his what did he call them? cocksluts?" Ulla giggles, a sound devoid of its usual warmth and mirth. "Isn't that right, Master?"

The Patriarch nods, a wicked grin splitting his face. He seizes Aria, flipping her over and tearing at her clothes, the flimsy fabric no match for his strength. Aria screams, but it turns into a moan as Ulla joins him, her hands roaming over her muscular body,

Aria struggles briefly, but Ulla's touch on her body, her words echoing in her mind, fill her with a new purpose. The last of her resistance melts away as the Patriarch's tainted seed takes root within her. She joins Ulla in worshipping their new Master, their God, their reason for being.

Aria's hands join Ulla's, exploring the hard planes of the Patriarch's body, tracing the scars and sinew that speak of a life of **** and conquest. She leans in, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin, the coppery tang of spilled blood. The Patriarch grunts in approval, his massive cock throbbing and hardening at their attentions.

He seizes both women, one in each hand, pulling them close until their breasts are crushed against his chest, their faces mere inches from his throbbing erection. It pulses with a life of its own, the head an angry purple, veins of throbbing flesh pulsing along its length. The scent of it fills their nostrils, musky and overwhelming, promising pleasure and breeding.

"Worship," the Patriarch commands, his psychic voice echoing in their minds. "Worship your Master's cock."

Ulla and Aria fall to their knees, their hands roaming over the thick shaft, marveling at its heat, its weight, its power. They take turns lapping at it, their tongues sliding along the underside, tracing the ridged flesh, their lips wrapping around the swollen head, suckling greedily.

The Patriarch throws his head back, a guttural moan escaping his lips as their combined attentions send jolts of pleasure racing through his body. His grip on their hair tightens, forcing them to take more of him into their mouths, their throats, until they gag and **** on his thickness. Tears stream down their faces, but their eyes gleam with adoration and lust.

When he can stand no more, he pulls them off him, their lips popping obscenely as they release his cock. It bobs before them, slick with their spit, ready to claim its next prize. The Patriarch seizes Ulla, bending her over a nearby crate, her ass in the air, her legs spread wide. Her dripping slit is revealed, swollen and ready, the pink folds glistening in the dim light.

The Patriarch hilts himself inside Ulla with one brutal thrust, burying his massive cock deep in her tight, virgin cunt. Ulla screams, back arching, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as she's split open on his throbbing shaft. Her pussy clenches and spasms around him, dripping with need, welcoming the invasion.

Aria watches, transfixed and aroused, as the Patriarch begins to rut into Ulla like a beast in heat. Each thrust rocks the crate beneath her lover, the wood creaking in protest. The wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, mingling with their moans and cries.

The Patriarch's balls slap against Ulla's ass with every pump of his hips, the weight and heat of them promising a massive load. Ulla's belly starts to swell, not just from the pounding, but from the sheer volume of seed the Patriarch is pumping into her unprotected womb.

Aria feels a throb of jealousy seeing Ulla receive such divine attention. She wants, no, needs to be bred like the faithful servant she is. She seizes the Patriarch's hand, guiding it to her own dripping slit. "Please, Master," she whimpers, "fill me too. Claim me, ruin me for any other. Let my womb swell with your spawn."

The Patriarch chuckles darkly, amused by her desperation. With a last, brutal thrust, he floods Ulla's cunt with his tainted seed. Aria feels the heat of it, the sheer volume, and she knows her turn will be even more intense.

Ulla collapses forward as the Patriarch withdraws, a river of thick, white cum pouring from her abused hole. The Patriarch seizes Aria next, bending her over, his still-hard cock slick with their mixed fluids. Aria moans, arching her back, presenting herself like a bitch in heat. The Patriarch hilts himself inside her with one stroke, stretching her, filling her, claiming her.

The two lovers, now both bred and bound to their Master, collapse into a tangle of limbs, their bellies swollen with new life. They cling to each other, panting and shuddering in the afterglow of their defilement. The Patriarch looms over them, his massive form casting a shadow across their broken bodies. "Rise," he commands, his voice a psychic roar that echoes in their minds. "You are my chosen, my apostles. You will spread my seed, my gene, to every corner of the underhive. You will bring me more supplicants, more vessels to fill and breed. Go now, and let all who see you know that you belong to me."

Ulla and Aria stagger to their feet, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated due to their distended bellies. They stand tall, their heads held high, their eyes gleaming with a newfound purpose. They are no longer merely underhive gangs, but the chosen, the blessed, the instruments of their Master's will. Clad in their tattered leathers and still dripping with the Patriarch's seed, they set out to fulfill their sacred duty. They will find more like themselves, more lost souls to lead into the fold of the Cult of the Ancestral Lord.
And they will start with the most depraved, the most wanton, the most **** of the underhive's denizens—the other lesbian couples, the ones who have nowhere else to turn. The ones who will crave the touch of their Master's cock as much as they crave the touch of each other.