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**Synopsis:** An old man dies, torn by regret. Due to his high karma, he has “near-limitless possibilities for reincarnation”. He chooses to reincarnate in a fantasy world as a voluptuous futanari succubus with big tits and an irresistible smile.
Erotic fiction that contains: Futanari/Dickgirls, Genderbending, Futa on Female, BDSM, Nymphos, Masochistic characters, Threesomes, Orgies, Facefuck, Deepthroat, Dom/Sub, Taken by Monsters, Corruption, Game aspects, etc.
## 299: A Kiss to Die For
“I can’t unbutton your pants with my arms bound in your grip,” Number Forty reminded the goatkin with a seductive smile and breathed in deep through her nose.
“That will depend on how you work your lips and tongue,” the goatkin said and kissed his captive with an open mouth which was much larger and longer than the pale girl’s.
The goatkin’s lips and fur enveloped the girl’s entire lower face as if the large goatkin attempted to devour her. His lips and tongue made wet slobbering sounds as they slid back and forth around the girl’s closed lips.
The goatkin did not even notice that the thick coat of hair around his mouth obstructed the nostrils of the girl’s small nose, making it practically impossible to breathe in air through the filter of damp stink. All he cared about was tasting his captive. And he could no longer control himself. He had to explore her mouth! He pressed his tongue between the girl’s lips, prying them open by force.
Finally, the girl relented and parted her lips. Victorious, with his eyes spinning in triumphant excitement, the goatkin pushed his tongue forward. Inside the warmth of the girl’s mouth, the goatkin felt something strange touch the tip of his tongue. An object with no taste, no larger than a grape, soft, elastic, with a leathery texture. The strange object gave in to the pressure of the beastkin’s tongue, sticking to it, conforming to the shape of the tip of his tongue.
Feeling that something was off, the goatkin snapped out of his arousal and pulled his tongue back, and out of the girl’s mouth. Thankfully, the unfamiliar item did not follow the goatkin’s tongue but, before he could part from the girl, she blew into his mouth and sent the object flying into the back of his long mouth.
“HRUKH—” the goatkin choked and loosened his grip just enough for the girl to slip out of his grasp and roll away just as a giant spinning spiked wheel approached the choking goatkin. The gagging goatkin realized what was happening too late. He raised his gauntlets to protect his body and tried to jump away from the trajectory of the weapon but was struck before his hooves got even an inch off the ground.
The announcer sighed and maskpalmed while the giant viewing sphere showed in great detail the streams of blood and pieces of metal, fur, and meat flying into the air as the wheel churned the goatkin’s body.
By the time the wheel rolled back like a yo-yo, Number Thirty-seven was red from hooves to horns. His elongated face was mutilated, torn all the way to the bone as if he had stuck it into a blender.
The goatkin had both his arms still raised, but one arm was pressed hard against his belly, while the other had most of its forearm turned to mincemeat. A broken yellowish bone showed prominently from the brutal wound with pieces of meat hanging from the bone and the torn appendage. One of the torn tendons wrapped around the goatkin’s horn. His other arm was mostly one whole, pressed into his blood-smeared belly. However, the gauntlet was bent and heavily damaged, with several long holes along its structure. Sharp pieces of metal stuck out in all directions, torn up by the spikes of the wheel.
The goatkin’s eyes were—for once—fixed in place and not spinning, though the pupils pointed in different directions. His chest was bloody, but it looked like the spikes did not reach his inner organs because the goatkin appeared to still be breathing, and as his chest moved, none of the visible blood-soaked ribs appeared to be broken through. His inner thighs had long, deep cuts from the spinning sharp edges of the wheel that filed off layers of meat.
Weak, unable to support his weight on his mutilated legs, Number Thirty-seven fell on his back. His limbs twitched from the impact and more blood spurt out of countless wounds along his body.
“Pthu! That’s what you get for playing around,” the old catgirl spat and reloaded her weapon.
Number Forty looked at the broken body of the goatkin while she wiped his hair and drool off her face with the back of her hand. She had no time to relax, however, because the sharkkin swung the chain in his hands and launched his deadly yo-yo straight at her.
## 300: The Wheel Keeps on Turning
Number Forty dodged the nine-foot-in-diameter deadly wheel easily enough, both the frontal attack and the returning arc of the weapon. However, the sharkkin was getting the hang of his weapon. His attacks came faster and he learned to change the arc of his giant wheel mid-attack. Even the wound in his abdomen and the deep cut in the palm of his dominant hand did not slow down the impressive physical specimen. Number Forty-four swung the mighty chain that was attached to the wheel and unleashed another attack with increasing frequency.
And just as Number Forty jumped away, she nearly fell over because of a pull on her left leg that held her in place. She looked down behind her and saw the bloodied goatkin’s mutilated face, twisted and contorted from injuries, pain, and rage that showed clearly in his spinning, swollen bloodshot eyes. His face was filed off to the bone around his mouth, with a tooth hanging by a bloody threat from a half-broken jaw with blood-soaked bone showing prominently around the roots of his broken teeth.
“YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!!” the goatkin screamed.
“H-how is he alive?” the announcer asked quietly in disbelief.
“Over thirty years of dick punching and rejection have prepared me for more than this!” the goatkin bellowed as tightened his grip around the Number Forty’s ankle.
The goatkin had every intention to crush the girl’s ankle into liquid mush, however, his damaged gauntlet operated by his damaged arm no longer had anything close to the power it once possessed.
“AAAAHH!” the girl screamed in pain just as the sharkkin’s wheel churned the rocks of the arena, speeding toward her position.
“Finally!” the old, three-foot-tall catgirl shouted and aimed her weapon at the girl, fully aware that the arc of her fully loaded flames would incinerate both her target and the goatkin. “Don’t you let go!”
Number Forty looked at the goatkin who was no longer gagging and choking after the intimate encounter with the wheel and asked, “You swallowed it then?”
“Swallowed wha—?” the goatkin’s belly burst violently, unleashing his blood and guts in all directions, spraying all over the side of the practically naked girl’s body. A torn part of the goatkin’s small intestine shlopped against the girl’s naked breast and slowly slid down along the blood and mincemeat-covered surface of her body.
Every single of Number Forty’s opponents was momentarily stunned in shock. But the wheel kept on turning.
Freed from the goatkin’s hold for a second time, number Forty dodged the rolling wheel as even the sharkkin was stunned too much to pay attention to his own weapon.
The crowds cheered for the renewed bloodshed.
“KILL HER ALREADY!!” the old catgirl and the announcer shouted in unison.
Flame and arrows flew at the girl from the front, a boomerang from the side, the returning wheel from behind, the sharkkin snapping back to reality and focusing on hitting the girl. Covered in blood and guts Number Forty stood in place until the very last second before leaping right over the path of the giant wheel and ending up on the other side of the wheel, using it to shield herself from the fire and arrows that struck the wheel.
Number Forty ran beside the wheel for several seconds, shielding herself from the flames that Number One’s Roaster spew without relent. The old catgirl continued aiming her fires at the wheel, setting it ablaze, but through the inferno which she caused, she did not see that her target fell behind the wheel that was bound to outpace her.
Number One adjusted her aim but, before the adjusted trajectory of the flames reached her target, a familiar katana appeared, flying through the flames right at the catgirl.
The catgirl only managed to let out a gasp of surprise before the katana skewered her left arm, severing her muscles and breaking the humerus bone into several pieces.
Robbed of all power in her arm, the elderly catgirl ended up dropping the barrel of The Roaster even as it was still spewing more flames and set the area around her on fire.
“AAAAAHHH!?” the elderly beastkin screamed in surprise and pain from the heat. She inadvertently let go of her weapon completely which led to even more fire spreading all around her, setting her clothes ablaze.
The deadly wheel (which was now also on fire thanks to Number One) kept rolling along its path, back to the sharkkin, bound to roll past him so that he could launch another strike. But as the wheel approached the sharkkin, a pink bubble expanded and burst at one of the wheel’s edges, sending it flying in a swirling, spinning, chaotic but gorgeous flaming arch. The burning wheel hit and tore into the sharkkin’s chest and shoulder, ripping out his scales and flesh and knocking him apart.
The burning, spiraling wheel finally hit the ground again as it rolled forward sending rock and fire in all directions, bounced, hit the ground again, and kept rolling forward all the way to the edge of the arena and off of it. The fiery circle kept spinning as it plunged into the abyss below. The bright burning fire quickly decreased in size until it disappeared completely in the darkness.
## 301: Bubble Pop!
“AAAAARGHH!” Number Sixty-three, the hairy hobo, screamed in desperation as he fired arrow after arrow at Number Forty.
The hobo barely aimed. The harrowing, ear-piercing screeches that came from the running, rolling three-foot ball of fire fueled Number Sixty-three’s terror of suffering a similar fate and kept him from thinking of anything else but keeping the murdering, naked, blood-covered demon away.
He held his crossbow minigun at the hip as the weight of the weapon proved too much for the ill-prepared man to handle and relied on the sheer volume and the speed of his arrows rather than skill and aim. He hoped, begged that at least one arrow would strike true and put the human demon down. But, instead of coming closer to hitting his naked zig-zagging target, the hobo’s arrows seemed to be further and further off-mark with each passing second.
The only thing Number Sixty-three’s barrage accomplished was keeping the naked girl at bay. By this point, it became obvious that the hobo would only be able to hit his mark if she came so close that even a child could score a hit.
Instead, Number Forty closed the distance between her and the gazellekin who threw her boomerang at the quickly approaching naked. Even as she unleashed her boomerang, the gazellekin came to terms with the fact that she would not score a hit.
*If a river of flames failed… If even a barrage of arrows could not stop her, how could I?* The gazellekin kept asking herself, crushing her own spirit, ensuring that her disheartened attacks could not possibly be successful. *After so many failures? There’s no way!*
And with that attitude the bladed boomerang missed a target that was closer than ever before: less than thirty feet and closing in fast
*Useless! Why didn’t I pick the other one!?* The gazellekin despaired. *Fuck!*
“BRING IT ON!!” the gazellekin screamed with tears in her eyes and raised her fists, resorting to close combat to fight for her survival. She lunged at the girl bringing the resolve she so clearly missed before.
Whether from surprise or some other distraction, Number Forty was too late to properly deflect a simple punch that grazed her chin.
*This is my chance!* The hobo cheered when he saw his target finally slow down, entangled in hand-to-hand combat.
*Click*
“NOT AGAIN!!” the hobo cursed when the pull of a trigger did not yield even a single arrow. I have to reload, I have to—
The unkept hairy man’s head flew clean off his shoulders, severed by a flying flaming katana, that came from the direction of the diminishing ball of fire that was the dead old catgirl as her charred remains burned away and turned to ash.
*I… I can do this!* The gazellekin suddenly found herself hopeful. The naked girl was a piss-poor fighter as it turned out. And even if the gazellekin was no expert herself, her average abilities, an benefit in physical buil,d and a decisive leg sweep were more than enough to land Number Forty right on her black thong-wearing butt.
Number Forty looked up at the triumphant gazellekin who had regained her lost confidence and stood over her knocked-down opponent. At that very moment, a familiar flaming katana flew through the air with diminished flames that were partially put out by the high flying speed and the blood of the decapitated Number Thirty-seven.
However, the gazellekin did not lose her head. She ducked and easily countered Number Forty’s feeble leg kick, retaliating with a simple, straightforward punch in the gut while the katana zapped over them.
“You’re not the only one that knows how to dodge!” the gazellekin declared triumphantly, smiling ear to ear as she pinned her naked opponent to the ground and punched her in the face.
“Hahaha! Not so tough without your little ka—KHRAAHK!?” the gazellekin’s triumph ended abruptly when she suddenly choked on something that flew into her wide-open mouth along with Number Forty’s spit.
The gazellekin’s eyes widened in horror as she recalled the fate of the goatkin. She shooked her head, trying to plead with tears in her bulging eyes as she gagged on something lodged in her windpipe, clawing at her own throat, desperate to get the foreign object out.
But there was no mercy in the Number Forty’s crimson eyes. Even as the side of her face reddened and swelled from the punch, Lilith looked at the choking young gazellekin that clawed the skin off her own throat, and calmly said just two words: “Bubble pop.”
The gazellekin’s throat burst aside, unleashing a fresh coat of blood and meat across Number Forty’s face.
With all the attention on Number Forty, the white-masked miss Ruby stood behind the shirtless staff of the arena and couldn’t help but not-so-subtly touch herself as she watched with envy the amounts of blood that her wannabe future opponent showered in.
You can read more chapters [here]( or [her](
NSFW: yes
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