#nsfwoah

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It had been enjoyable enough at first, but now having Abe on top of her was a chore.

It was only partially Howler’s fault, because there was a reason she defaulted to laying on her back, or sinking down to her knees. Initiative for her began and ended with leading a man on with seduction; what they did to her afterwards was of their own accord. She wouldn’t call herself present for it enough to care.

Abe was different. He wasn’t a man the way the Glukkons were men, though she couldn’t explain why if she tried. It wasn’t his desexed nature, or their anatomy shared in common; there was a comfort to him, a sense of safety she sought even when he got on her nerves, which was increasingly often. She trusted him more than any of the men around here, scrub or otherwise.

But no amount of emotional attachment made him less slog-ass at fucking. It wasn’t his fault. He had a similar issue with becoming distant within himself; he was still moving, but his eyes were dead. His thoughts were elsewhere. Howler wondered where they were, instead of there with her. In Molluck’s office? In the temples he made pilgrimage to? …In Slig Barracks?

She thought about how differently he was starting to see her after that incident, because there was nothing she could do but think when she tried to let him have sex with her. It was how she comforted him. It was how she said sorry after arguing. It was her only way to show him that she wanted him close, that she didn’t want him to be frightened of her.

Sex was her tool, still, even after she was freed. She should have anticipated that. She could even accept it. But for once, just for fucking once, she wanted a fucking orgasm from it.

Abe never really stopped intercourse because he reached his own climax; there was just a certain point where he decided he was done, and they stopped. Howler would never push further than that, for obvious reasons. He was already skittish about her taking the lead; those few times were where he did experience orgasm, because she and her experienced hands wrung it out of him like water from a dishrag. That, understandably, intimidated him. So she stopped. And there went all the fun out of it.

When their bodies parted, their flushed cloacas remained momentarily joined by a thick string of combined fluids. His cloaca - not quite a worker’s, not quite a queen’s, and mercifully not a drone’s - was still swollen and flushed. Howler personally found it appealing, especially when she had it in her mouth. She wanted to keep touching him, but she feared crossing that hair-thin line drawn between them. His comfort was more important than her pleasure.

Abe rolled over in their nest with a groan. He didn’t look like a man fresh out of the throes of passion, he looked like a man who just clocked out of his shift at the factory. Howler tried to remain sympathetic. He was dealing with a lot.

A few more awkward, chaste kisses were shared, and he bade her goodnight. He positioned himself separate from her, on the other side of the nest like it was the dormitory pods all over again.

Howler laid there for a moment, and reminded herself that it was different now, because she was free. Freedom wasn’t going to magically make sex better. But it would have been nice if it did.

She wasn’t barred from masturbation by a master anymore, but having Abe just as A Man next to her made her hesitate to do so. It was a hangup suffered since RuptureFarms, and she felt like a tool for having it be an issue still. He wasn’t going to be mad. But he was probably going to be uncomfortable. Maybe a little disappointed in himself.

Sneaking outside to tend to her needs wouldn’t have been a problem if they were well and truly alone. They were definitely not alone while a large portion of freemuds from their previous conquests lingered in the village. They were still in the middle of accommodating all the extra escapees, so a lot of them were still sleeping outside. To them, this was a miracle; many of them never had the privilege of experiencing the night sky. For Howler, this was incredibly annoying; she had to practically wander into the jungle for her own privacy.

There were still a lot of nooks and crannies of to-be-used construction materials and other things the escapees brought with them. They were wasting no time with the building part of building a new life here. Howler picked a private enough spot, and set to the humiliating task of getting herself to jerk off.

She was free now. She could do this whenever she wanted. She was free now, she could do this whenever she wanted - why was this a problem in the first place? Maybe she didn’t really want to. Maybe she just wanted to share that pleasure with someone she trusted, maybe even loved.

Getting frustrated over Abe was proving a powerful anaphrodisiac. 

Her hands on her own body felt alien. It was even worse now, after RuptureFarms left her looking and feeling like a starved sleg, just like the rest of her fellow freemuds. She didn’t feel attractive, and maybe that was the problem. Though even before her weight loss, Abe wasn’t physically attracted to her; something she valued at the time, when she was a commodity. Not so much now.

It felt wrong and mean and unfair to him, but Howler thought about her lover’s cunt as she tried to wring an orgasm out of herself. She could imagine the slick, velvety texture on her tongue clear as day. The taste lingered in her mouth. It was by far his finest feature, and the only thing divine about him, in her opinion.

Howler got as far as rubbing herself over her clothes, when the sound of someone else’s presence made her jump out of her skin. In the still of the night, on some other end of the junk pile, she heard someone’s lighter flick on, too close for comfort.

Dread hit her harder than a Slig’s bullet. One of the men had smelled her, and was probably close to finding her; and if she hid, would that be worse than if she ran?

No, no, she was free now - she had authority and two fists, and she was free to use either. Howler stumbled out of her hiding place, and she vaguely heard her possible-assailant curse as they slipped out of sight. She didn’t get so much as a glimpse of a feather.

It took a minute for her to remember she had a voice now, and she could use it. Even if it wavered with her nerves. “Who’s there?”

There was no answer, though there was definitely lungbuster smoke in the air. Howler resigned herself to this just not being her night, and this was her cue to crawl back into bed with Abe, where she would at least be safe.

As she went to leave the construction zone, she anticipated hearing the footsteps of the other mud. The Mudokon’s voice was what made her freeze in her tracks.

“Well now, what do we have here?”

Howler recognized a very distinct voice, but the tone was completely different. The mud that she saw when she turned around was… well.

It was, to Howler, very very obvious that the dolled up mud in front of her was just Alf’s scrawny friend in a dress. There were obvious attempts to cover up the same arm tattoos, and even under the heavy makeup she recognized the tired-eyed mud as Lenny. Well, the makeup was a marginal improvement. The ramshackle wig was a bit much.

And yet, as soon as Howler locked eyes with them, it was as if every trace of what she recognized of Lenny had vanished. Those eyes were his, but they weren’t looking at her like he would. That wasn’t Lenny behind them, if she could describe it in any other way.

The way this mud sashayed, the body language and the air of sheer confidence as they approached couldn’t have been farther from the mud Howler thought they were. Howler glanced around, as if there would be anyone around who could be in on ‘the bit’. Or just, confirmation that this was A Bit in the first place. Boldly, a finger was hooked into the front of her shirt.

The wig wearing mud said, in what was undeniably Lenny’s gravelly voice putting on a sultry purr: “You’re a biggun’, aren’t ya? What’s a stud like you doing in a place like this?”

“Um.” Howler swallowed. The finger rubbed across the hem of the fabric teasingly. “Just uh, goin’ for a walk.”

A strange man being this close to her would have made her recoil. That instinct didn’t trigger here, though she was certainly immediately flustered. The mud - Lenny - the woman? Gave her a sleazy sort of smirk, every wrinkle on her gaunt face still distinct in the dim light of the moon. Her makeup was haphazardly applied, as though it was done hurriedly in the dark.

“I’m Lola,” the mud savored the sound of her own name in her mouth. “You have a name, handsome?”

Howler had been called many derogatory, almost mocking terms for her looks. Handsome was a new one, and it caught her off guard even more than the lingering mystery of who this person was. “... It’s Howler.”

“Oooh, I like that.” Lola cooed. She leaned in close enough for Howler to smell the lungbuster smoke on her. “Say, Howler, I’m new in town, and I’m lookin’ for a little bit of fun. You wanna maybe… find someplace a little more private and get to know each other?”

Howler had been propositioned in just as transparently sleazy ways countless times before. If this really was Lenny, she should have been hurt; the older mud had been kind and civil in the few exchanges they had before, he wasn’t some slobbering drone-minded scrub stock like she was used to. Men who felt ‘safe’ were so few and far in between.

But this wasn’t a man brazenly flirting with her right now. This was a woman, and this was the first time one had ever approached her. Usually, they were on the same side of these exchanges as she was; handservants and bedslaves, objects and commodities for the men holding the leash. A woman had never held her leash before, even though it had been a long time since she wore one to grab.

Why did that excite her?

“I… sure?”

It had been such a long time since she truly felt flustered around someone’s advances, let alone while sober. The way Lola looked at her would have been indistinguishable from the hungry gazes of men she used to serve. But she wasn’t looking at her like that. What she was looking at her like, Howler couldn’t begin to explain. It felt a little like how she used to approach a man, dialed up to 12 and after smoking a whole carton of lungbusters.

And, Odd damn it, that was working on her.

Howler followed Lola into a more secluded part of the construction zone. It wasn’t a secret spot; there were a few empty bottles and other signs of people sneaking off here. The dolled up mud hoisted herself up to sit on a stack of plywood, and crossed thin, stocking-clad legs. Her dress fit rather poorly, but there was a bawdy charm to how it threatened to slip off her shoulders. The unopened Scrab Cake packages stuffing the front were holding on for dear life in there.

“C’mere, big boy.” Lola beckoned her over with a lungbuster between her fingers. Howler even didn’t hesitate on being called ‘boy’ - not until she realized it didn’t make her pause in the first place.

Was this, too, A Bit?

She didn’t want an answer to that.

As Howler unsteadily approached her, Lola spread her scrawny legs. She was small compared to Howler; Lenny was small compared to her too, but she wasn’t focusing on that the way she focused on the petite worker before her now.

Lola looked at her with heavy eyelids that were gaudy with smeared eyeshadow. She tilted her head coyly, exposing more of her narrow, withered neck. “You like what you see?”

Howler couldn’t articulate an answer more complicated than ‘yes’. It wasn’t because she was pretty, or well kempt; it was honestly because she wasn’t. Howler associated the prettiest, most manicured looking women with the misery in their eyes. Lola was neither, and there was a spark behind hers; utter confidence in herself, her beauty, her grip on the man before her.

Howler leaned in to kiss her, and felt lipstick smear against her lips. She tasted like an ashtray; pure lungbuster smoke, to the point where Howler swore she was getting a nicotine contact high. After some time spent kissing a man with sewn lips, the woman’s broad mouth opening to take the kiss further caught her off guard.

She understood why Abe didn’t like it; Glukkons were disgusting kissers, and that soured him on it entirely. Howler, unfortunately, loved it. She was used to disgusting. She was accustomed to someone confidently jamming their tongue in her mouth and practically counting every tooth she still had. She was familiar with every breath shared between them tasting like stale smoke, like a campfire extinguished by rain.

Lola gave her all of that and she wasn’t a fucking Glukkon. Better yet, she wasn’t a man. And Howler wasn’t a slave made to entertain her; she was free, and that meant she was free to hold her in place, and double down on making out until a raspy breath caught in the woman’s throat. Lola withdrew to catch her breath, her pupils dilated and her face and neck flushed deeply orange.

“Damn, stud.” She laughed, and paused to flick and take a drag off her lungbuster. Her free hand was on Howler’s chest, but she wasn’t groping her in the way she was used to. “What else can ya do with that mouth?”

Howler’s face burned. She was probably pretty flushed herself, her arousal more obvious to her between her legs. “Whatever you want me to.”

“Is that so?” Lola teased the hem of her dress over her thighs. There was a lungbuster pack stowed away in the band of her stocking. The panties she wore were a size too big, allowing her erection to tent the fabric freely.

Howler grabbed the smaller mud to pull her closer to the edge of her seat. Lola squealed and giggled girlishly, delighted to be manhandled. She pressed painted nails into the muscles of Howler’s bicep appraisingly. The headrush from that was instant, dizzying, and was only a partial reason why she sank to her knees.

Lola pulled aside the crotch of her underwear, and allowed her worker’s cloaca to spring forth. On her, it was impressive; but the size compared to the petite mud was hardly what struck Howler right in the dick. It was her oviduct, her pussy, stretched open in a gape she teased incrementally wider.

“Think you can handle a woman like me, handsome?”

Being called handsome again made Howler grin stupidly. The only compliment towards her looks to make her heart flutter, to make her feel like it was true. She didn’t have to answer with her words.

The woman’s tapered little cock fit perfectly in her mouth. There was just no way to gag on a worker, and thank Odd for that. Not that Lola didn’t try, as she pushed Howler’s face into her crotch.

Howler was thrilled to be treated roughly again; thrilled to have her face fucked, even if there was only so much a scrub can do. Not being overwhelmed was a bonus, really. She could fit Lola’s cock in her mouth and stick her tongue in the dilated hole above it at the same time. She looked up with enamored eyes to find the woman bent above her, her patchwork feather wig nearly slipping off her head. The sleazy confidence and control in her eyes had faltered in the moment. 

Howler liked being reminded that she was, in fact, still good at this. Abe’s less enthusiastic response in the past had made her question that. Lola didn’t need to be treated carefully, like he did; Howler could get sloppy, and adventurous. She could stretch the limits of the self-made cunt until wiry thighs pinned her head in place. She could slip a finger down, and tease what was clearly not a virginal ass. Lola loved it as much as she did. Her nails dug into Howler’s scalp.

“Oh, good boy,” she crooned, and Howler realized then she was doing that on purpose. “I knew you’d treat me right the moment I laid eyes on ya. This ain’t your first rodeo, isn’t it, handsome?”

Howler answered with a whimper. She touched herself with a free hand, and was briefly reminded of her queenly anatomy. She tried not to think about it. This was a moment where she could leave that role behind, with the rest of her life in slavery. She didn’t even realize that was what she was doing until it was happening, and part of her was almost happy to not be given time to hesitate, or question it. Being Lola’s good boy fit her better in this moment than the violence and the monstrosity she had been associating herself with thus far. True freedom.

Howler’s cock throbbed, tight in a slit it couldn’t quite emerge from. She wanted to take her regardless, and that meant getting a little aggressive to wrench herself out of the grip Lola held her in. The smaller mud went limp in her arms and let her position her however she liked. Howler was used to being the one on her back, so positioning herself atop the woman was unfamiliar, her reaction even more so. Narrow legs wrapped around her broad hips eagerly. Lola was excited, and the enthusiasm was infectious. Her man reached between them to line their cocks up.

Lola slipped inside of Howler easily, but the act of it briefly made her expression falter with surprise. She quickly got into it as strong hands held her down, and the larger mud rutted against her. There was just a bit of sexual frustration behind the rough treatment; Howler had a lot of that to catch up on.

Howler was on top, but she didn’t hold the leash. That made it better. Lola’s hands grabbed at her shirt, but she didn’t attempt to pull it off. The Bit was held in place, and Howler, briefly, felt handsome.

Despite being on her back, shaking with each rough slam against her cloaca, Lola fished a fresh lungbuster out of the pack on her thigh and lit it up with natural ease. Howler was completely enamored with that. She was the one ploughing her, but she felt like putty in this mud’s hands at the same time. After taking a drag, Lola reached up to let her lover take a hit off of it.

“That’s a good boy,” she rasped, “I like you.” 

Her free hand stroked Howler’s face. The other put out the lungbuster between her neck and her shoulder.

The pain was familiar. Howler associated it with cruel acts, done by crueler men. The fact that it made her moan and shiver and fuck her harder made her forget all those other times. She tightened around Lola, and Lola locked her legs around her in turn.

If Howler ever came from the act of penetrative sex before, she likely wasn’t sober. It made her orgasm catch her even more off guard. Lola gasped and moaned under her with every drawn out, forceful thrust until she could cum around her cock.

When Howler dismounted, Lola’s enjoyment was clear from the impotent cum that still dribbled from her twitching dick. The woman fell back against the plywood. Feathers fell out of her wig.

Howler similarly draped herself over the boards, if only to catch her breath. The smaller mud rolled over with an exhausted grunt, bones creaking, and just short of collapsed into her arms.

A gutteral, half-laugh half-cough bubbled up from Lola’s lungs. Howler felt every bit of it against her chest. Still, she didn’t flinch away from another kiss. Now that her head was clear, it only just started to dawn on her that the smell of lungbuster smoke was going to be very obvious when she eventually slunk back into Abe’s bed.

If she ever slunk back to him ever again. She didn’t want this moment to end when the sex ended. She wanted to stay here, and stay as this, for as long as possible. She was never going to get this with Abe, or anyone. Only her.

Or, him. There was a moment to let the afterglow fade before Lola sat up, much less vibrant now, and pulled off the wig. Lenny stared down at it for a second before letting out a deep sigh. When he looked over his shoulder at Howler, he gave her the unfortunately familiar look of a man who didn’t want her in his bed. He didn’t look too happy to be giving it, himself.

The silence between them festered. Eventually, Howler had to break it, however awkwardly. “So, uh. Was that like, A Bit?”

“... What?”

“Y’know,” Howler gestured unhelpfully, unsure of what she was saying, herself, “A Bit. Was that just a thing you do, or was that just… you?”

Lenny squinted at her. His body language compared to Lola was night and day; he was guarded, suspicious. Looking at her like a man who could potentially be a threat. “... It’s complicated.”

“Ain’t none of my business,” Howler was quick to assure. She blushed, embarrassment sinking in as she reckoned with the fact that she had so easily slipped into accepting Lola as a separate person. Then again, maybe Lenny did too. “I- I liked it. I liked her.”

An embarrassed purple flush bloomed on the older mud’s face. He looked a mix of bashful, embarrassed, and afraid. “I… thanks, just… don’t tell nobody.”

How could she possibly describe that experience to anybody, anyhow? “I won’t.”

Lenny gave her a simple nod. There was an understanding that passed between them, in the moment. They enjoyed that encounter, for similar reasons. Maybe too similar.

“Good,” the man mumbled, not specifically to her. He pulled the dress over his head, and reached for more appropriate clothes he had stuffed between the boards.

Howler awkwardly lingered, mostly because she knew how fucking around in secret went. They couldn’t be seen together. When the makeup was wiped off and the trousers were put back on, Lenny hesitated before he slipped into the night without so much as a goodbye.