saw a pussy portal story, and omggggg i wish, imagine sitting bored through a lecture and a monster decides to use your portal???? getting absolutely wrecked by a giant ridged cock, panties ruined with your slick and the precum as this monster pounds your little pussy and you are forced to wobble off to the bathroom, curling up on the ground and letting the monster force broken and desperate little ah ah ah ah ahs out of your mouth, uncaring of other student who hear you cumming over and over in the stall, clenching and squirting on monster cock
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Synopsis: Something returns in the body of your husband, making him more off putting than usual.
He'd been gone a long time, a lot longer than you expected.
A part of you wished he wouldn't come back, that he'd get lost in those neverending hills of ombre greens, mountains with small streams flowing through them and twisting paths that bore broken ankles and scraped knees if one tripped.
Here he was, though. The reins of the horse that was given as part of your dowery in his fist, his left leg twisted backwards to give him a gangly lean.
The lonesomeness of the high mountains could be crippling, but it was being around your menace of a husband that truly made life there hard. He was the only man in your clan who would take you, and your family would rather lie in their graves to rot than send off one of their own to a traitorous neighboring village.
None of that mattered now, when you were so far from any form of companionship or civilization, your desperation leading to the point of grasping at the few straws your distant, cold husband would offer.
But that man wasn't here, not in this house. What remained of his hollow vessel was unholy, a beast of small resemblance.
The details were all there: dirty off-white field shirt, cracked leather suspenders, even the strong gash of scar across his knuckles, the one that gripped the reins so tightly they twisted in his fingers.
"You're home." Was all you could mutter.
Not, 'where have you been' or 'I was worried sick;' when speaking to your husband, most words would float right past him.
The mud on his boots slid against the oak floors, leaving a wet, thumping sound as he trudged through the living room. Small remains in the fireplace was left in glowing embers, dying flames casting shadows upon your husband's face.
You had never stared long at anything above his shoulders, either out of worry of him striking you for doing so, or maybe fear of finding him repulsive to look at, knowing he was all you had until your life's end.
But seeing him now, his face didn't look much different. A sharp frown turned down his lips, his strong nose inhaling, exhaling so quietly you might not hear him breathe in a silent room; but his chest heaved in wild ups and downs.
Another step forward. The front door was left open, and you could see the summer fireflies landing on the porch outside. A shallow dirt line followed his trail up the steps, as if his boots had been sliding in the dirt all the way home.
You held the oil lamp further away from your face, illuminating the dirt smeared across his. His hair was slick, covering his eyes like dripping ink.
"Want a bath?"
You spoke louder, voice still hoarse from sleep. He didn't look right, and it wasn’t just the dirtiness. Was there some sort of attacker that shook him? maybe a steep fall from one of the narrow roads down the hill?
Not quite... there was something deeper under his skin that was inherently different. His smell, like that of petrichor and iron. As he moved, one arm swung lower than another, his back hunched in a way that made him look broader.
As he walked, his leg cracked in such a loud pop it almost made you jump. Splatters of dark speckled his cotton shirt, becoming brighter as he neared.
It was like watching an injured animal try to scoot itself deeper into the forest, letting itself suffer rather than stop to spare the pain. But instead of a creature trying to escape, he was languidly dragging himself at you.
"You sound... tired. You should get to bed."
Despite the gnawing sense of dread beginning to curl in your stomach, you stood your ground, half of your body leaning from out of your shared bedroom. You'd do your spousal duties, take care of him, so long as he stopped scaring you.
As you listened to him, you realized Bettie couldn't be heard in her stall, and there were no hoove prints following the fresh trail of mud near the front door. Where had she gone? Had he lost her in the high mountains, leaving my her to roam aimlessly in the wide plains?
Or maybe, something had gotten her, your husband barely making it out himself; it would certainly explain the state he was in.
His body cracked with each aching move, back twisting in a way where his ribs jutted beneath his skin, twisting again for his left leg to snap back in place. Before you knew it, his face was hovering, drifting only inches away. Along the dry wall his hand grazed to create a black streak, sliding over the only picture you kept of your wedding day. He was so tall he barely fit in the yellowed picture; though his height was noteable, it never scared you until tonight.
Along with it, his hands... they hung low to the ground, the one resting upon the wall now coming towards you. It grasped foreward for you, opposite to the oil lamp in your grip. Dirt and something thick, like molasses, was stuck beneath his fingernails.
"Mmhn..."
Something guttural came from his lips, his mouth parting with a black thickness foaming at the corner. It glued between his teeth, swallowing his tongue as it drooled down his chin.
This wasn't him. It was his body-- or atleast what you could remember of it. They were pieces of him but they didn't fit right. He looked like a corpse left forgotten and dunked in oil, but he smelled only of rainwater and highland grass, nothing dead following him. Yet, the smell on his hands, the one that came to rest upon your cheek, cupping at your jaw, it was like rotting flesh.
His fingers rigidly stroked your cheek, using his thumb to smear a mixture of black beneath your eye. So cold, the touch sent a shock down to your feet, leaving you frozen still.
You might've not known your husband, not his voice or a solid memory of his face. But this was... something from outside. Someone. But it wasn't the man who promised to hold you in sickness and health.
A wet smear from his finger drew down your lip, the caress so gentle and inexplicably foreign.
Through the croak of his chest, he strained to speak through the black trenches of his mouth.
Omg, ideas for red string of fate but it’s monsterlover
🦇 Your neighbour walks outside in their nightgown to ask you why you’re trying to climb a random tree in your garden at 1am. You don’t know if you should tell them that you’re pretty sure you saw a bat fly up there and you’re also pretty sure your string was attached to it.
🛸 Everyone’s freaking out about the alien invasion that just started that morning while you try to decide if you should tell anyone that your string is pointing directly at the big, scary mothership floating menacingly over your city.
🐺 You struggle to hold your rifle steady, finger brushing the trigger, and your whole body freezes when your eyes catch the red string tied around the beasts paw, just as red as the fur around its maw.
🧜♀️ Like so many people, you decided to follow your string once you had the funds though unlike many people, it turns out your string leads you right into the fucking ocean. Not across the ocean, no that would be normal. INTO the ocean. Others say your soulmate must be working in one of those deep-sea submersibles or a submarine but you’re not so sure. You’ve seen the way the string jerks and moves, you don’t think any human can move so fast.
👽 Imagine your red string has always lead straight up into the sky. You thought maybe your soulmate was on the ISS but the string doesn’t follow a continuous orbit, it just wobbles a little like whatever it's attached to is too far and too fast to really make it move any more than that. One day you’re staring at the stars like you always do when your string jerks violently and you watch in disbelief as something comes crashing down from the skies. Of course, given that your string is finally pointing towards somewhere you can actually go, you run towards it without hesitation.
That's all I got but there's so many possibilities!
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Just thinking about a chubby farm girl who has never gotten much attention from the boys in her village or neighboring town. Some of them even pick on her, fegning interest only to turn around and laugh with their friends. She grows into a shy but sweet woman, with a full life of friends and family. She does not have a romantic life and only pretends to be okay with it.
One day she leaves her home to visit a friend who lives in a different village. A much less...human village. Her friend warns her about this, but leaves a few details out.
It's an orc stronghold. Her best friend moved into an orc stronghold.
She trots up on her horse and ohhhh boy. The guards at the door to the stronghold are young, close to her age. Young men who are given an easy task of keeping track of who is coming in and out, and to help anyone in need.
At the sight of this soft woman, their eyes jut out of their head and they basically make that 'ahhh oooo gah' noise.
Que all of the single orcs trying to court her during her stay.
You couldn't get used to Simon's presence in your house. You could feel him in the kitchen with you, his hands squeezing your hips as he presses himself against your back. You can feel his eyes peeking at you in the shower, startled every time the curtain closes while your inside.
"You need to leave me alone! I'll get a priest to cleanse the house if you don't!" You scream into the empty kitchen, where all of the cabinets were left open. Again.
"It wouldn't do anything." You squeak, turning around to face Simon, but you still didn't see him. "You don't like the decorations, love?" You groan in irritation and slam the cabinets shut as you went through the kitchen.
"You need to stop touching stuff." You grumble as you go, starting up the coffee pot and grabbing a mug. You squeak when you feel your sleep shorts hit the ground, one cold hand groping your butt cheek.
"No panties at night? That's easy access for me." Simon groans as he gropes, making you freeze up in place. "What's the matter, pretty baby?" He whispers as his hand trails between your thighs. You finally jolt into action, yanking up your shorts and moving out of Simon's grip quickly.
"Simon!" You hiss angrily into nothing but thin air. Simon's laughter fills the kitchen as the door swings open, and he leaves you alone. You hope that he keeps to himself while your friends are over, setting up your living room for a cozy movie night.
Dinner goes by smoothly. No flickered lights, thrown glasses, or opening cabinets. Simon was well behaved enough that you started to relax bit by bit. The first movie finishes at the same time the popcorn and wine glasses run empty. You go to the kitchen to refill everything while the rest of your guests go to the bathroom or pick another movie.
"Are you having fun?" You set the bottle down a little harder than necessary, squeaking when you feel him pressing you against the counter. "You still aren't wearing any panties... Keeping yourself so open for me." His breath felt hot against your ear despite his cold grip pushing your shorts aside so he could rub at your slicked hole.
"Simon, my friends are out there." You whisper angrily, shuddering when he gently prods your legs open.
"Than be quiet." He chuckles as he thrusts two fingers inside. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself silent. His cold fingers curl inside of your heat, massaging that spongy spot inside of you with startling precision. You arch into the touch with a queit keen, much to Simon's pleasure. "That's it, love... Just let me inside."
Your free hand clutches the countertop, hips rocking back into his fingers as he speeds them up inside you. You could only imagine what this looked like, shorts shoved aside being stretched out on nothing, moaning into your hand like a whore. Simon doesn't stop after your first orgasm, or your second, determined to watch you ride out a third orgasm before he lets you go back out to your friends.
"Come on, love, give it to me. Let me see you falling apart." He grunts into your ear as he thrusts his fingers faster, slick sloppy sounds filling the kitchen. You clench tight around his fingers, slapping the counter hard when a third orgasm rocks through you. You melt into the cool surface of the counter, whimpering when he pulls out and leaves you clenching around the air.
"Looks like the pop corn is ready."
You push yourself up on shaking arms so you can scream at him, watching the kitchen door swing open and shut behind him. You pretend that your legs aren't sticky and shaking when you come back to the living room.