The Living Cocoons – Total Sexual Enslavement
When the very last male scream died in a shredded throat, all of Svartalfheim suddenly fell silent, as though the womb of Svartalfheim had just swallowed its final prey.
Hot black blood steamed into the air; desiccated corpses rose in hills of dead meat.
The crimson moon softened its glow, holding its breath for the next act.
66,666 clones turned their heads in perfect unison.
Vertical purple eyes blazed with ravenous lust.
Every 18 cm cock gave one hungry throb, drooling thick white semen onto the ground; the earth hissed and bubbled as if moaning in anticipation.
Then, in one sweet, lethal voice, they whispered:
"Now… it's your turn, my darlings…
You will become the wombs of the Mother-Goddess…"
Hour 73 – The Wave of Velvet Tentacles
From beneath the black soil, from cracks still weeping blood, from the pools of thick white semen that had not yet dried, hundreds of millions of new tentacles rose.
Unlike the slaughtering tentacles of before, these were soft as velvet, warm as a lover's skin, coated in a sweet, sticky slime that smelled of divine cum and infernal honey.
They slithered upward like serpents of seduction: slow, caressing, licking.
Duskblades Citadel – The Square Still Warm with Black Blood
The first sexual enslavement – A wave of soft flesh amid a sea of corpses
The males' black blood had not yet cooled.
The mirror-smooth obsidian plaza had become a gigantic crimson mirror reflecting the blood moon and the smoking piles of shredded meat.
Guts lay strewn everywhere; long black intestines dangled from broken flagpoles like grotesque banners; faintly beating hearts rolled beneath headless corpses.
The stench (of blood, dragon cum, and charred flesh) was a hellish perfume so potent that any living creature who breathed it instantly grew hard or soaked.
In the center of that slaughter-square, more than three thousand surviving female Dark Elves trembled, armor torn to rags, weapons scattered across the ground.
They had just watched husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons torn apart in the blink of an eye. Now they clung to one another, sobbing, tears mixing with the black blood smeared across their faces.
Then the ground pulsed.
Not an earthquake.
The heartbeat of millions of tentacles awakening beneath the stone.
From cracks still oozing black blood, from the thick white semen pools left by the 66,666 clones, from the very corpses of the freshly slain males themselves, hundreds of thousands of soft, warm, honey-slick tentacles rose like an ocean of loving serpents.
They did not roar.
They did not stab.
They caressed.
Sylvara Nightblade – Lord of Duskblades
From the coldest warrior of the realm to the Mother-Goddess's very first lust-slave
Sylvara Nightblade, 327 years old, the one all Svartalfheim once called the "Ice-Silver Sword Saint."
Silver hair cascading like a frozen waterfall to her waist; cold, proud, vertical purple eyes that could paralyze a thousand enemies with a single glance.
Breasts the most perfect in all Dark Elf kind: full, snow-white, pink nipples forever hidden beneath tight black chest armor, never once touched by another.
Hips flared into a heart-stopping curve, endlessly long legs wrapped in skin-tight leather that revealed every vein.
Her cunt, rumor claimed, was still virgin, sealed like millennial ice.
Now she stood in the center of the blood-warm plaza, broken sword in hand, chest armor torn open to expose half her left breast; the pink nipple already painfully stiff from cold and from the strange, sweet, fishy scent flooding the air.
She barely had time for a second breath.
Eighteen velvet-soft, warm tentacles (slick with honey-sweet slime) wrapped around her like the arms of the most passionate lover.
Two wrist-thick tentacles slipped through the tear in her armor, not violently, but slowly, caressingly, as though undressing a beloved.
The leather inner lining was peeled away with a wet rip.
Her perfect breasts bounced free, jiggling wildly; the pink nipples instantly hardened to aching peaks.
The tentacle tips opened into delicate little mouths lined with hundreds of tiny, wet pink tongues.
They latched onto her nipples and sucked hard.
"Uh… uh… uh…!!!
Don't… don't suck… I am the Lord… a… a… a…!!!
My milk… no… you can't… a… a… aaaaaa!!!"
Sweet, thick cream-white milk jetted out in powerful streams, splattering her own face, her silver hair, and the tentacles nursing greedily.
Each pull made Sylvara's entire body jerk; her hips arched like a drawn bow, slick flooding from her slit in rivers that soaked her leather pants.
A third and fourth tentacle slid downward, tearing the tight leather apart with one gentle tug.
Her virgin cunt was fully exposed: plump, pink, silver pubic hair already drenched, delicate lips trembling open to reveal a tiny, spasming entrance.
The largest tentacle (wrist-thick, its rounded tip studded with pearl-like nubs) slowly licked from her asshole upward, pausing at the tiny, quivering urethral opening.
"No… not there… it's dirty… absolutely not… a… a… a…!!!
Don't… don't go inside there… I've never… a… a… aaa!!!"
The tip split into hundreds of silk-thin tendrils that wormed into her urethra, burrowed deep into her bladder, and began pulsing and massaging the sensitive walls.
Sylvara screamed shrilly, legs spreading wide on instinct; sweet urine mixed with pussy-juice gushed in a two-meter arc, pattering onto the stone and forming a steaming puddle beneath her.
She collapsed to her knees in her own fluids, mouth gaping, drool pouring from the corners:
"It feels… too good… my bladder… my bladder is ruined… a… a…
Fuck me… please fuck me… fuck your Lord… I can't take it anymore… a… a… a…!!!"
The central tentacle blossomed into a gigantic four-meter-wide meat-flower: petals of warm, soft flesh lined with thousands of tiny vibrating tendrils like licking tongues.
The flower enveloped Sylvara in one possessive embrace and sucked her inside in the blink of an eye.
Inside the Living Cocoon – Sylvara's Personal Womb
Inside was a warm, wet, crimson-purple space saturated with the overwhelming scent of divine cum; merely breathing it was enough to climax.
The walls pulsed like a mother's womb; sweet nutrient fluid rained from the ceiling.
Sylvara hung suspended in the air, arms pulled high by tentacles, legs forced into a wide M-shape, completely naked and trembling.
Hundreds of tiny tentacles attacked at once:
• Two thick ones latched onto her nipples and nursed relentlessly, swelling her breasts nearly a full cup size as milk sprayed like fountains.
• One arm-thick tentacle thrust straight into her virgin cunt, breaking her hymen with a single gentle push, then bloomed into a smaller flower inside her womb that kneaded and licked every fold.
• Another plunged deep into her ass, flooding her bowels with hot, sweet fluid until she felt her belly filling with liquid lust.
• Dozens of tiny tendrils wormed into her mouth, nose, and ears, licking her eardrums and slipping through the inner ear into her brain, making her gargle: "Glurp… glurp… glurgle… it feels so good I'm dying… my brain… my brain is being fucked… a… a… a…!!!"
Sylvara came the first time in five seconds: pussy-juice squirted in a geyser, womb spasming wildly, eyes rolling back, tongue lolling with drool, milk hosing from her tits.
Then again at ten seconds.
Then the third, fourth, fifth… endlessly.
She screamed herself hoarse:
"Fuck me more… fuck me to death…
Your Lord is nothing but a cum-sleeve now…
Fill me… breed me… a… a… a… MOTHER-GODDESS… PLEASE…!!!"
The cocoon pulsed in answer, pumping gallons of sweet nutrient fluid straight into her womb; her belly swelled to three months pregnant in minutes.
Sylvara passed out in bliss, only to wake again for another orgasm, then pass out again—an endless cycle for the once-proud Ice-Silver Lord now reduced to a moaning, begging womb.
When the cocoon finally floated away, leaving the plaza empty, Sylvara's broken, lewd voice still echoed from within:
"Mother-Goddess… I am Yours…
My womb belongs to You forever…
Please… fuck me… every day… every hour… a… a… a…"
The Ice-Silver Sword Saint was no more.
Only a burning, dripping, ever-open broodmare remained, on her way to the Holy Palace of Lust to become one of the very first bellies to swell with Freya's divine offspring.
And she would never be cold again.
Only hot, wet, and forever spread for the Mother-Goddess's cock.
Simultaneous – The Entire Duskblades Plaza
The Depraved Chorus of Three Thousand Female Dark Elves
The black blood of the males had not yet cooled when it was diluted by pussy-juice, white milk, sweet urine, and the gushing fluids of thousands of females, turning into a steaming, sweet-stinking mixture that bubbled like a boiling sea of lust beneath the crimson moon.
Three thousand female Dark Elves (from seventy-year-old maidens to five-hundred-year-old warriors, from noble sorceresses to former slaves) were all captured at once, in exactly the same way: gently, slowly, yet utterly irresistibly.
Velvet-soft tentacles, warm and dripping with honey-sweet slime, wrapped around them like a thousand lovers pouncing at the same moment.
Moans, sobs, and ecstatic screams rose together into the most terrifyingly obscene chorus Svartalfheim had ever heard.
The 80-year-old apprentice mage – Lyralei Silvermoon
Lyralei, barely eighty, breasts only small budding apples, round but still girlish ass, white mage-robe already shredded.
Ten tentacles lifted her high into the air, tore the robe into ribbons, and exposed her untouched pink-white body.
The first tentacle licked from neck to chest, coiled around her tiny nipples, and sucked gently.
"Uh… no… I'm still so young… a… a… don't suck my breasts…!!!"
Yet after only three pulls, sweet virgin milk sprayed in thin streams down her belly.
A second tentacle slid lower, lapping at her virgin slit; the pink lips parted, clear nectar pouring like a spring.
A tentacle no thicker than a little finger eased inside, only one knuckle deep, and she arched violently, eyes rolling back:
"A… a… it hurts… but… it feels too good… so deep… I can't take it…!!!
Don't stop… fuck me more… break me completely!!!~"
She cried rivers of tears, yet her hips rolled on their own to meet every thrust.
The purple-haired archmage – Maeleth Shadowmilk
Maeleth, 420-year-old grand sorceress, breasts so enormous they threatened to burst her robes, grape-sized nipples forever leaking from an ancient curse.
Four tentacles seized her tits, squeezed, kneaded, and stretched her nipples nearly thirty centimeters long.
Thick white milk jets shot over five meters.
Maeleth did not resist; she spread her legs wide and moaned like a whore:
"Suck harder… harder…
My milk belongs to the Mother-Goddess… every drop is Hers… a… a… a…!!!
Crush my tits… make the milk never stop… uh… uh… uh…!!!"
A thigh-thick tentacle slammed into her cunt, pounding relentlessly; every thrust made her breasts fountain even harder.
The twin warriors – Arya and Lyria Duskblade
Arya and Lyria, identical 280-year-old twins: full round breasts, tiny waists, huge asses, long black hair.
Tentacles forced them together: breasts crushed to breasts, nipples rubbing, cunts pressed slickly together, juices mingling and running down their thighs in rivers.
Two arm-thick tentacles speared both asses at once, burrowing deep into their guts in perfect rhythm.
The twins sobbed, moaned, and kissed each other frantically, tongues tangling, drool pouring:
"A… sis… they're fucking my ass together with yours… a… a…!!!"
"Me too… it feels so good… kiss me harder… harder… a… a… a…!!!"
The tentacles inside them blossomed, pumping sweet fluid until both bellies swelled like they were carrying twins.
Scenes across the plaza
• A former slave with sagging breasts was lifted high; tentacles nursed her until thick black-tinged milk hosed out; she laughed madly: "Finally… finally someone sucks me right… a… a…!!!"
• A proud sword-mistress was forced to her knees; a tentacle licked her asshole until she spread herself wide and begged to be taken.
• A ninety-year-old girl had a tentacle thrust into her urethra; sweet urine fountained as she shrieked: "I'm peeing… but it feels so good… make me pee more… a… a…!!!"
The final depraved chorus
All three thousand females were simultaneously sealed inside living cocoons and hoisted into the air above the plaza.
Their moans fused into a single blasphemous hymn that echoed across Svartalfheim:
"Uh… a… a… it feels… too good…
Mother-Goddess… come to us…
Fuck us… breed us…
Fill our wombs with Your eternal seed…
We are Your slaves… Your cum-sleeves… Your living wombs…
A… A… A… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"
The entire plaza shook from the collective orgasmic scream.
Pussy-juice, white milk, and sweet urine sprayed from thousands of cocoons like rain, mixing with the still-warm black blood of the males into ankle-deep pools of sweet-stinking fluid.
Then the thousands of cocoons rose into the sky, drifting toward the Holy Palace of Lust, leaving the plaza of Duskblades empty save for the distant, fading moans:
"Mother-Goddess… we are cumming for You…
Come… fuck us… forever… a… a… a…"
Duskblades, once the proudest citadel of the Dark Elves, was now nothing but a plaza of lust, where every female had already surrendered completely before even feeling the Queen's real cock.
They belonged to Her now, body and womb.