Stare Into The Abyss Ch.1
 
The night was dark, the wind was cold and the moon was full.
 
 
Beneath a baleful light, the young and old of Quickburg all hid behind their solid, wooden walls. Symbols and crosses of silver adorned their doors and windows, while prayers were freely whispered as calamity walked their streets.
 
 
It was a night of monsters, one the inhabitants were too intimately acquainted with. It was why vagrants and beggars weren’t kicked out, for if there were nothing in the streets for the monsters to chance upon they might consider looking inside the homes. Protected behind thistles, behind cloves of garlic and sticks of mistletoe, it was hard for them to smell the blood in the streets, but they still knew it was still there.
 
 
Being able to wake up in the morning to clean it all was the most they could hope for.
 
 
Or so they prayed.
 
 
It was, in short, the perfect night for a Hunt.
 
 
Sigrid could barely contain herself and so gave a prayer of thanks instead.
 
 
She was a leather-clad woman with a long-brimmed hat and a cloak that almost touched the floor. The tools of the trade were all positioned within belts and pockets that were sewn all about her form. The hidden weapons cleverly positioned for the most effect were not as obvious, but she was, all the same, prepared. But that itself was to be expected.
 
 
After all, she came from an old Hunting family. Thus Sigrid was the best that her parents could produce.
 
 
At 5 feet and 7 inches high, she was not necessarily taller than most women, but her prey would have dwarfed her, anyway, regardless of how big she was. Her hair was golden blond and fell down to her shoulders, the longest that it could be without getting in the way of her job. Her eyes were blue, as all of her ancestors were, while her nose was straight and slim and her lips were full. A single dark dot by said lips marked the only flaw she had.
 
 
Because she WAS otherwise flawless.
 
 
Her tits were the size of cantaloupes and had wide stubby nipples that were sure to properly feed the next generation of Hunters.
 
 
Down below, her stomach was heavily muscled while the muscles on her arms and shoulders were slim if tightly corded, affairs; Core strength mattered more in this job than arm strength.
 
 
Her thighs, however, were huge. Enough that she could easily carry two full-grown men on each of her shoulders. Due to her family line, said thighs were connected to absurdly wide hips that provided her with an incredibly stable base, all the better to endure these hunts. And her ass? It was as big as that of a horse. And every single bit of it was muscle.
 
 
Her dark leather clothes hid her away in the night, and her cloak hid away her tools, but none of them could hide the sadistic curves and beauty that she had.
 
 
And it was sadistic; Sigurd LOVED her job.
 
 
She loved tracking these monsters and killing them. She loved backing them into a corner and slowly bleeding them. She loved the horror and panic that set on their faces when the reality that this was an age of men set in and they? They were not the predators they thought they were.
 
 
Not like Hunters such as Sigurd were.
 
 
Oh, but what was on the menu tonight?
 
 
Precisely what her family specialized in: Werewolves.
 
 
The Lycanthrope was, in many ways, some of the most dangerous game. Being base shapeshifters, they could hide away among the very populace they sought to hunt, but they were, in the end, limited by their true nature.
 
 
The taste of bread could not satisfy them, the tap of water could not sate them, not even the company of humans could truly fulfill them. Only flesh scratched their hunger, only blood their thirst and only the iron-bound cruelty of a pack made them content. They were a hardy race to Hunt, difficult to find but ah-
 
 
The moon always revealed them.
 
 
Sigurd sniffed at the air and laughed. Perhaps, tonight, the moon wasn’t necessary.
 
 
Behind the scent of blood there was another more pervating scent.
 
 
Fertile and virile Musk.
 
 
Tonight, the werewolves were in Heat. Tonight, they were in Rut. On a night like this, more werewolves would come into the world.
 
 
But Sigurd had done her prepwork.
 
 
That was why she was on top of this roof, just below a church. Ancient wards kept the werewolves from breaking in, but that was merely the setting.
 
 
The bait, unwashed underwear from all the men and women of the village, were laid out on a pile down below.
 
 
Bloody meat was sometimes served, but werewolves were thinking beings and so alive bait would have normally been required. Not tonight. Tonight, the smell of iron filled the streets but, before too long, fortuitous figures stumbled into this alley by the church.
 
 
Some had mouths and claws dripping red. Some had scraps of thorn clothing sticking to their fur. Some had apparently not been lucky, after all.
 
 
But they were all here, brought by their most base nature.
 
 
Left alone, they would either fight or start an orgy. Already, they were picking up the used underwear and stuffing them into their mouths. Both the males and females.
 
 
But that was the point: with these many werewolves concentrated in one point, why, their collective musk render the undergarments superfleus.
 
 
And, indeed, the rest of the werewolves were drawn here by the collective musk forming down in the streets.
 
 
“Hello my lovelies!” Sigurd called out when she couldn’t take it anymore. Her hands had been itching, but patience and her parent's teachings stayed her hand. But now that they were here, oh, she at least deserved to gloat! “Could you do me a favor?”
 
 
The Werewolves paused and looked up all at once.
 
 
Their eyes reflected moonlight and their growls made every single hair that Sigurd had rise.
 
 
“Die,” Sigurd asked of them all the same and dropped a lit match where they all stood.
 
 
And they did.
 
 
An explosion of gas enveloped the street below, passing over every single werewolf there. It was a family recipe, one that combined garlic and silver compounds.
 
 
Werewolves were not vampires and so didn’t have a deadly allergy to garlic, but it was still as irritating to them as it was to a human in great quantities. For Sigurd’s family, it ensured they would have something that utility against Vampires as well. For Sigurd herself?
 
 
It ensured her prey would suffer that little bit more.
 
 
Howls and screams filled the streets as they all tried to get out of the toxic cloud. Some even tried to jump onto the roofs of the Church where Sigurd was. But it didn’t matter: every single one that managed to leave the gas, without exception, took a few steps…before falling down, dead.
 
 
It was said that Werewolves transform into humans upon death.
 
 
As Sigurd jumped down into the street, her eugenically crafted knees being able to easily bend and take the force of impact, she observed with annoyance that this wasn’t true: All werewolves here and all werewolves that she had ever hunted stayed in the shape of werewolves.
 
 
Werewolves, after all, did not originate from human stock. That meant that her family’s vocation was being used to cover up boring old murders!
 
 
Bah.
 
 
The silver compound that permeated the gas was extremely fast-acting, though it only lasted for a week or so before it refused to ignite. Making grenades of the stuff was possible, but rarely did the timeframes of hunts allow for their use. The gas was very expensive to make, and so as a tool it was rather niche.
 
 
Yet the devastation that surrounded her more than justified their place in her family archives.
 
 
12. That is how many werewolves she bagged.
 
 
This was by far the most successful hunt she’d ever had. A ludicrous amount that essentially equaled all the werewolves she had killed in the last 5 years. And she was 20! That was essentially a quarter of her life!
 
 
Yet she hadn’t even had to fight anyone! A pity, that.
 
 
“Grrrr!” a throaty, but deep, female throat gargled out just across the street and Sigurd realized that she had not gotten them all.
 
 
“Why, hello there 13,” Sigurd turned around as her hands immediately went inside her cloak, “How are you-oh.”
 
 
Hesitation kills, Sigurd knew that. She had always known that. So it was she had never hesitated.
 
 
Before today, that was.
 
 
At 9 feet in height, the werewolf towered over her. That was normal; bitches were usually slightly larger than their males were and 9 feet was a perfectly average height for them. Because that was the thing, this werewolf WAS female. A bitch.
 
 
Her snout might be pulled back to show all of her pearly white teeth, but the absurd deposits of fat hanging from her chest clearly marked her gender. In that sense, at least, she was exceptional; her tits might have each weighed as much as 10 pounds. They were twice as big as Sigurd’s head. The biggest rack that Sigurd had ever seen.
 
But as surprising as that was, it should have merited only a whistle as Sigurd killed her.
 
 
But no, the curves on this werewolf were also just obscene.
 
 
Somehow, despite her size, the werewolf had a waist line the same size as Sigurd. Given the werewolves hips flared out in proportion with her height, essentially being as wide as a cart, she had, perhaps, the most clear hourglass figure that Sigurd had ever seen.
 
 
But even that would not normally have been enough to take Sigurd out of the joy of her work, no. Because it wasn’t enough that the werewolf had a super fertile figure.
 
 
She also had, dangling between her legs, furry balls the size of watermelons along with a foot long. Veiny. Pulsing. Dog dick.
 
 
And that was simply too much.
 
 
For one single second Sigurd’s eyes strayed from the eyes of her target. A single second on which the beast disappeared from view and appeared just to Sigurd’s side, her claws swiping directly at Sigurd’s neck.
 
 
Using all of the strength that her eugenically enhanced body had, Sigurd threw herself over the side and received the blow on her shoulder.
 
 
The claws tore through the leather and sunk into the skin and muscle underneath. Sigurd’s roll took her out of the monster’s range as she threw silver dust into the werewolf’s face, making it choke.
 
 
And making it back off.
 
 
Breathing hard as her left shoulder displayed 4 weeping gashes that immediately started bleeding, Sigurd laughed, “Oh lovely. Just lovely! But sweetheart, if you wanted to kill me you really should have aimed well.”
 
 
“After all, that was your only chance.”
 
 
And with that, Sigurd took out a baton made entirely out of silver from her cloak.
 
 
The futa werewolf disappeared from her sight again but, this time, Sigurd was tracking it. She saw as it leap and she saw it end up in one of Sigurd’s blindsides. She saw as its hands swung for her wounded side, probably hoping to widen the gashes that she had. It didn’t matter.
 
 
Silver rod met organic claws. The rod bent.
 
 
The claw broke.
 
 
The howl the she-bitch gave as her paw broke was almost enough to paralyze Sigurd but she was, of course, better than that.
 
 
The beast made to leap away, to deny Sigurd a moment to capitalize on its pain, but Sigurd was now familiar with the motion and distance of her jumps. Her wounded arm drew a hand crossbow from her cloak and shot it where she knew the werewolf would be.
 
 
So it was the werewolf screamed when she landed, a silver bolt wedging in her knee as it bent to receive her weight.
 
 
“Come on girl,” Sigurd twirled her bent rod, “The rest of your pack died like rats. Let me at least earn you tonight!”
 
 
In almost every regard, a werewolf was better than a human being. They were far bigger, stronger, faster and, as if that wasn’t enough, they could regenerate. They were veritable killing machines, in truth.
 
 
But their weakness to silver was absolute.
 
 
13 seemed to recognize that she would not be able to escape with a silver bolt on her knee, so she faced Sigurd. Both her claws, broken or otherwise, splayed in lethal intention as her sharp pearly whites presented one more danger.
 
 
But it didn’t matter: The Avernis Family knew how to kill werewolves.
 
 
The werewolf's arms were the first to go.
 
 
It swung for Sigurd’s arms and legs, taking limping steps that it hoped would let it reach her. But every time it did so, Sigurd would swipe the offending limps away. Bent or not, until it literally snapped, her silver rod bruised and occasionally broke bones.
 
 
Then, when the werewolf was clearly trying to come up with a way to get to her, why, Sigurd took the choice away from her hands and went for her legs!
 
 
Snap and snap.
 
 
Face to face, the werewolf knelt and still growled at Sigurd, still showing defiance.
 
 
Still showing danger.
 
 
Snap.
 
 
Her head whipped back as Sigurd gave her snout a love tap.
 
 
She didn’t break her teeth and she didn’t wound its snout. No, that would have taken away from the aesthetic of her face, while a black eye? Oh, it only made it better!
 
 
“None of that now,” Sigurd stepped on her hourglass stomach and pushed her to the ground when it tried to get up. Her, a human woman that barely weighed 170 pounds. Evidence that the wounds on the beast were telling.
 
 
And so the beast was falling.
 
 
The she-beast whined as Sigurd loomed over her.
 
 
“You know, you are cuter this close,” Sigurd confessed as she looked at her handiwork. Black bruises that indicated raptured vessels and worse littered 13’s arms and legs. Even now, as her flesh tried to knit itself back together, it was having to do so against the silver’s influence. This is why she used a rod and not sword for her silver weapon: silver swords quickly lost their edge, leaving her with a poor club instead.
 
 
So why not cut the middle-man and use a silver club from the beginning?
 
 
Sigurd’s blood started dripping down into the werewolf.
 
 
Her life essence stained the black fur of the she-beast near her crotch, where her doggy dick still dangled.
 
 
They were in another alleyway now, far from any prying eyes, and the beauty before her had made her bleed. This huge girl had succeeded where others hadn’t.
 
 
But then, this huge girl had things that others didn’t.
 
 
Sigurd looked 13 straight in the eye…and made the poor girl look away!
 
 
“Good girl,” the blond hunter purred as she put her silver baton away and stuck a needle full of an alchemical conjunction into her wounded shoulder that saw it healing.
 
 
All the while she decided:
 
 
This was it.
 
 
The future of the Avernis family.
 
 
She had hunted for so long that she found something she didn’t want dead!
 
 
No, as she looked at her, as she looked at her delicious tits, testicles and dick, as she looked at her wounds, Sigurd realized that she couldn’t kill her.
 
 
Not when it excited her this much!
 
 
“Your name is Thirteen,” Sugurd informed her as she pulled out various lengths of silver cord, “I don’t care what your pack mates called you and I don’t care by what you went by in your human guise.”
 
 
“Not like you’ll ever turn into a human ever again.”
 
 
“Thirteen is your name,” she confirmed again as she looped the cord through her new pet’s arms and made her howl as she bound them together, “Let me hear you say it.”
 
 
“...” Thirteen didn’t answer.
 
 
Sigurd used another rope of silver cord to whip one of the werewolf’s monstrous tits. The silver rope impacted against the soft cushy mammary and made the werewolf arc her back as the pain went through her. The big tit bounced around, it’s fat and milk making organs disippating the energy from the blow.
 
 
“I gave you an order!” Sigurd growled but, inside, she was excited to have a reason to do this. Before her girl could obey, she swung the silver cord again and whipped her other tit, making it deliciously bounce around. And leaving a red gash that had the poor girl trashing.
 
 
“Let me hear it!” Sigurd insisted as she whipped again, giving her right tit another line of silver pain, “Say your name!”
 
 
On the fourth whip, the red line she left on a boob started bleeding and Sigurd almost had to stop as her eye fixated on it.
 
 
But she did lick her lips regardless.
 
 
Sadly, good things don’t altogether last for too long, “Thirteen, Thirteen!”
 
 
“THIRTEEN!” Thirteen howled and Sigurd, sadly, had to stop.
 
 
“Good girl!” her pet’s obedience, however, was intoxicating, “Now that we have that out of the way, do you mind spreading your legs?”
 
 
Thirteen looked at her with wide eyes.
 
 
“I don’t want them to get in the way,” Sigurd confessed.
 
 
She had more than enough silver cord to tie two werewolves. Which meant that she had enough to tie her arms above her head, and her legs so that they were spreading wide apart. It took some knotwork to secure Thirteen’s hands to her legs through her back, but once that was done Sigurd pushed Thirteen on her back.
 
 
All while she stood on her stomach.
 
 
It was the picture of a normal-sized woman on top of a monstrously large she-beast. To Sigurd, the sheer contrast was sexually stimulating.
 
 
“See, was that so hard?” Sigurd purred, making Thirteen whine.
 
 
“Shh, shh, shh, don’t cry,” the Hunter bent over the snout of the 9 foot high werewolf, “I am taking care of you.”
 
 
So, to prove her words, Sigurd put her lips on the swelling eye of her pet and gave her a kiss.
 
 
Thirteen yiped in response.
 
 
Oh, more than all the werewolves Sigurd had killed over the years did that simple response make her blood run.
 
 
“I can’t take it anymore!” Sigurd all but screamed as she started shedding her clothes. Her leathers came off. Her cloak came off. Her weapons came off.
 
 
Everything came off.
 
 
She stood naked, her pussy dripping her arousal down into her pets tits as Sigurd looked down at Thirteen with a barely restrained smirk, “So, what do you think?”
 
 
“Do you want to fuck me?”
 
 
Thirteen stared at her body. At her creamy white skin. At her blond pubic hair and sniffed at her arousal. Slight as it might be, Sigurd’s musk joined the werewolvesa in the air and, oh?
 
 
Oh-hohoho!
 
 
“Are you getting a hard?” Sigurd looked back at Thirteen’s crotch, “Can I take that as a yes?”
 
 
Thirteen gave a pained grunt as her cock stood erect, showing she was more a shower then a grower; her penis only grew two more inches. Not that it mattered, as that was still a foot and two inches of dick!
 
 
Its glans, its cock head, was a spear with a blunt point. Its shaft was fat on its middle but slandered down on each end. The bulbs at her base showed her canine nature, though, as a futa knot pulsed, ready to lock behind a female’s reproductive organs.
 
 
It was magnificent, “Alas, there is a problem.”
 
 
“Who told you you could get erect?” And it was Sigurd’s to play with.
 
 
Sigurd took a step back. A simple one. She was naked, so she wasn’t digging her shoes into anything.
 
 
No, she instead placed her bare heel into her pet’s left testicle.
 
 
“Wait!” Thirteen, for the first time, spoke unbidden. Her voice was rough and hewn, but recognizably female. And very, very desperate.
 
 
“Oh?” Sigurd said as she ground her heel into Sigurd’s futa testicle, making the balls of her foot massage the sperm makers up and down, “Who are you to tell me what to do?”
 
 
“Please,” Thirteen begged.
 
 
“Don’t.”
 
 
Sigurd gave her a kind smile.
 
 
Then she raised her foot and stomped on it.
 
 
“ARGH!” Thirteen howled as Sigurd relished the feel of testicle flesh giving away to her foot.
 
 
“Oh, that felt so gooood!” Sigurd moaned, “Let’s do it again!”
 
 
“No!” Thirteen yelled and then screamed and as Sigurd stomped down on it.
 
 
“I am not made of silver, love,” Sigurd assured her.
 
 
“None of what I do will stick.”
 
 
The tears that fell down her face showed that she wasn’t reassured.
 
 
“Oh, what did I say about crying?” Sigurd cooed as she bent down, her heel still in that testicle, and scooped up her pet’s tears with her forefinger. She brought it over to her mouth and sucked it clean.
 
 
Hmm, Salty.
 
 
And yet, she didn’t miss how Thirteen’s eyes followed her finger.
 
 
So she stomped down on her testicle again.
 
 
“FUCK!” Thirteen moaned in pain.
 
 
“You have two testicles dear,” Sigurd assured her as she let up on the pressure and started caressing her testicle with her foot again, “You only need one to give me an heir.”
 
 
The shock on her pet’s face was oh so gratifying that Sigurd almost considered not torturing her any longer.
 
 
Almost.
 
 
Instead, she was driven to grab her snout tightly with her hands so that she could kiss her lips.
 
 
She tasted like a dog. Plain and simple. Her saliva wasn’t particularly flavored, but her scent gave her wolf-like scents to her kisses. Given the strength the 9 foot killing machine still possessed, she could have easily opened her jaw despite the pressure of Sigurd’s hands and bitten her face off.
 
 
 
 
But she didn’t.
 
 
That deserved a reward.
 
 
“I am going to have so much fun with these,” Sigurd broke their kiss and then grabbed one of her tits. They were as heavy as she had expected.
 
 
She picked one by its stubby nipple, letting all ten pounds hang by that strip of flesh. Thirteen moaned in pain, but that was NOTHING compared to when Sigurd kissed her the lashes across her boobs.
 
 
And licked them.
 
 
“ARGH!” Thirteen trashed as Sigurd traced the injuries with her tongue, covering them in her saliva. The bloody weep in the right tit she still dragged her tongue across, and scooped up some of her boob blood into her mouth.
 
 
It was coppery sweet.
 
 
“Sooo goood!” Sigurd sprayed her female secretion down on top of her pet as she consumed her prey.
 
 
There was confusion on Thirteen’s face.
 
 
She was in pain, she was horrified, but she was also blushing as much as a werewolf could. Her nipples were standing up in arousal and her dick? Oh, it was starting to bubble with repugnant-smelling pre-cum~
 
 
“No time like the present,” Sigurd, who had just orgasmed, decided.
 
 
“Do your duty pet,” the blond hunter caressed the dark-haired werewolf one last time, “And impregnate me when I tell you to, ok?”
 
 
Sigurd stepped over the long dick standing up, laying her bare feet on each side of her darling werewolf’s huge hips, and started lowering down.
 
 
Thirteen watched with bated breath as her spear cock head parted Sigurd’s vaginal lips. The spear glans was so wide, however, that it stopped easily sliding in and, instead, had to compress.
 
 
“Oh, yess,” Sigurd mroaned as Thriteen’s doggy cock scraped the insides of her pussy, this part being pleasurable enough.
 
 
However, Thirteen’s shaft soon enough widened to the size of Sigurd’s forearm.
 
 
“What’s this?” Sigurd groaned as her vaginal canal was forced to stretch, “Is your dick being disobedient?”
 
 
Sigurd put more pressure on it and her body started screaming as she was forced to STRETCH.
 
 
“Disrespect!” Sigurd couldn’t believe how good it felt! “Who told you you could force me to expand?”
 
 
But that was still not the middle.
 
 
The middle of that shaft was the size of a normal woman’s thigh.
 
 
“What’s THIS!” Sigurd screamed as she felt her pussy about to burst, “Do you think-NO.”
 
 
“There is no way to justify this!” Sigurd gleefully said among clenched teeth as she raised her hand.
 
 
And gave Thirteen’s right tit a hard slap.
 
 
The werewolf, in response, moaned as the pain combined with the pleasure of entering Sigurd. Waves went through the boob from the impact, producing immediate feedback to the Hunter.
 
 
She had Thirteen’s mid shaft in her pussy now. Blood went down in it as her virginity was taken, but she had not even noticed it. A pity, it would have been a sexy reason to hurt her pet.
 
 
But then, sexy reasons she had a-plenty.
 
 
“Foolish!” Sigurd screamed as she started swinging her slaps with her whole torso. Her hand impacted on the soft flesh of the humongous tit, making it vibrate from the impact. It stung so much that Sigurd felt it in her palm, and still she kept smacking her werewolf’s left tit around, “Stupid! Arrogant!”
 
 
“You think you can beat me with your dick!” Sigurd asked as her palm landed on the bleeding line on the werewolf’s tit and splashed some of her blood into her face.
 
 
“Please!” Thirteen begged, “I didn’t mean to-”
 
 
“SILENCE!” Sigurd moaned as the cock in her vagina made her lower stomach indent. This was being incredible. This was being inhuman.
 
 
This was being divine, “You stupid bitch! Who told you you could have a dick as rebellious as this!”
 
 
Thirteen moaned.
 
 
“I asked a question!” Sigurd changed hands and targets and started slapping her right tit.
 
 
“N-no one!” Thirteen screamed!
 
 
“Then why is your cock so, ooooh, awful and delicious!” Sigurd moaned as the spearhead met her cervix just as her pussy met Thirsteen’s knot. Pressure from both ends stopped her motion, but that was fine.
 
 
She wanted to hear Thirteen’s response.
 
 
“No one!” she whined, “No one did!”
 
 
“So no one is to blame?” Sigurd chuckled.
 
 
“No-I mean, yes, no one is to blame!” Thirteen huffed.
 
 
“Very well, I suppose I can let it go,” Sigurd opined. Thirteen sighed with relief. That is, until Sigurd lifted her ass and made her moan.
 
 
“That leaves us with one simple problem,” Sigurd told her.
 
 
“W-what?” Thirteen moaned as Sigurd climbed high.
 
 
“Why can’t I take you all the way?” Sigurd asked her, looking down at her knot.
 
 
“...because it’s too big?” Thirteen, foolishly, opined.
 
 
Sigurd dropped down like a hammer, her hips, ass and pussy crashing into her knot.
 
 
For a brief moment, Sigurd saw stars as her body quite simply wasn’t made to take that knot in, but she didn’t care!
 
 
Thirteen, meanwhile, howled. Her snout opened as much as it could as saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth. The impact hurt the knot, but not as much as it did Sigurd’s pussy.
 
 
Which was just something she would have to rectify.
 
 
“Who gave your knot permission to dictate whether I can fuck it or not?” Sigurd asked, rising her ass only to slam it down on that knot again, “Who told it that it could refuse to go in me!”
 
 
“I-I don't know!” Thirteen moaned as Sigurd kept slamming down into the knot again and again, knowing well that what she wanted was a change that could only occur on herself.
 
 
So, slowly, her hip bones started to expand a bit. All so that a futa werewolf knot could go inside of her.
 
 
Good.
 
 
“Not good enough!” Sigurd screamed, only speeding up despite how her body screamed at her. Sex with werewolves resulted in many deaths for precisely violent mating like this. Despite how it seemed, this was hurting Sigurd more than it was her prey but, oh, she was not a normal woman and her body would endure this little or she would gladly die!
 
 
“I am sorry, I am sorry!” Thirteen cried. She tried to move her arms to put a barrier between Sigurd and her, but the silver rope dug into her skin whenever she tried. She tried to close her legs to protect her testicles and knot, but silver made the actions pointless.
 
 
She wanted to move. She wanted to escape. But, bound as she was, she could only suffer the pleasure that Sigurd heaped on her.
 
 
“I am going to teach this knot!” Sigurd declared. Her pussy was now sliding like a piston up and down that shaft, Thirteen’s spear glans sanding the insides of her pussy, “It will do what I task it with!”
 
“It. Will. OBEY!” And then, with one final slam, Sigurd pushed down on the knot so much that her hip bones snapped apart for a single moment and the knot…slipped inside.
 
 
The spear cockhead, now with the space to do so, stabbed into her cervix and in one smooth motion went inside. There was no argument there, there cervix outright lost to the slanted glans.
 
 
Sigurd would have to punish Thirteen later for that.
 
 
In the meantime?
 
“Ah, FUCK!” Sigurd took one of Thirteen’s tits and put it’s crown into her mouth. All so that she could muffle the monstrous orgasm that went through her.
 
 
The problem? It had her bite down.
 
 
Hard.
 
 
“FUUUUUCK!” Thirteen had the worst of it as Sigurd’s tit dug into her soft boob meat, the pain combining with the pleasure of feeling her knot slip inside her pussy and expand until it had sealed it shut.
 
 
Just in time too: Sigurd felt the rush of hot semen get pumped into her womb.
 
 
For a Hunter, they had to consider many things, not least of it was the future. Her parents had married not out of love but because their progeny would make for even better hunters than they were. That’s how seriously things were taken. And, out of all her siblings, Sigurd simply just happened to be the best of them. Her survival alone, when they hadn’t, was evidence of that.
 
 
But she was already at the limit of what was eugenically possible with just human stock. At 20 years old, this was something she had already realized. Any partner she took would only, at best, be able to maintain the quality that was to be found in her.
 
 
But what if her partner wasn’t human?
 
 
Her womb was pumped as much as it could be, filling to the last inch of space. And then it started to bloat.
 
 
Even as she masticated on her chosen partner’s breasts, even as her sweet blood flooded into her mouth, she could feel her womb expand like a bellows, to the point that even her stomach started to expand.
 
 
Those delicious testicles that she was going to have so much fun with, pumped and pumped and pumped. Trillions of supernatural inhuman futa sperm cells flooded in her womb.
 
 
And, wouldn’t you know it, this was a fertile time of the month for her.
 
 
Her ovum took a look at the feminine inhuman sperm, and did as its owner did.
 
 
It gabled them up.
 
 
Despite only a single futa sperm cell being able to fertilize it, it swam through a sea of sperm like a beast having a feast. It attracted all that it could until, finally, a single futa sperm went inside.
 
 
Except, that was not all.
 
 
Another ovum was there.
 
 
One that was released just then.
 
 
The musk and smell of virile and fertile werewolves had sent Sigurd’s body into overdrive and forced her ovaries to release one more ovum out of sheer greed. This younger ovum welcomed all corners until it, too, was thoroughly fertilized.
 
 
“T-there,” Sigurd said a few minutes later as her orgasm receded. She let go of the tit in her mouth and wiped the blood out of her lips. Her bloody teeth marks were left behind and it appeared that-huh.
 
 
Thirteen had lost consciousness at some point.
 
 
“Hey,” she pinched the other nipple that Thirteen had.
 
 
“What?” Thirteen, immediately, came awake.
 
 
“You are a weakling,” Sigurd tenderly caressed her pet monster a little bit, making her flinch from her. But, this time, she did not hurt her.
 
 
Thirteen’s knot was keeping any sperm from falling out of her womb, ensuring impregnation but also ensuring that they would be there for some time.
 
 
Might as well make the most of it, “Let’s be serious here if you would. Let us have a conversation, you and I, girl to girl.”
 
 
“I want you,” Sigurd told her, “And I will have you. Whether you agree…or not.”
 
 
Thirteen shuttered in her grasp.
 
 
“But I should still ask,” Sigurd said.
 
 
“I am going to lock you up and make you be good only for fucking. I am going to hurt you in ways that no one ever has, all for the purpose of enjoying myself.”
 
 
“You will be my slave. A family slave. An Averni slave. The mother sire of my children and then whatever they decide to make of you. I am going to teach them to use you as I do, because you will only be a resource to us.”
 
 
“One we will abuse and use again, and again and again,” Sigurd pronounced her fate.
 
 
Thirteen looked horrified.
 
 
“If you want to kill me,” Sigurd kissed her.
 
 
“Do it through a pregnancy, love.”