The Demon Lord's Successor

Seeing a small boy and a dwarf savagely ripped to pieces and eaten alive right before your eyes, you can think of only one thing—Epsilon's gigantic but natural titties. You glance at the bunny girl—in her short schoolgirl skirt, form-fitting waistcoat—she seems to be enjoying the carnage.

“Get on all fours!” you order Epsilon, “Ass toward me and raise it high!”

“Eh?” Epsilon raises an eyebrow looking at you but does as you order.

“WHAT!?” Elza shouts, but you don’t even bother gracing her with a single glance. You’re already hard and can think of only one thing. Whether you’re aroused by human suffering, blood, death or, perhaps, the company of smoking-hot girls, you do not know. All you can think of is that you want to fuck one. Now!

You drop your pants and get into the position behind Epsilon. With her ass pointing toward you, you can see her pussy already leaking love-juices from all the excitement around her.

“If you’re going to do it, you better do it well,” Epsilon says.

You take that phrase as a challenge and spank her on the ass for making demands. Not too hard yet. Some would call it “testing the waters”, to see how far you can push it.

“You call that a spank?” Epsilon is not impressed. “I’ve seen toddlers spanked rougher than that!”

The strange comment coupled with a jab against your masculinity momentarily brings you out of the mood, but you recover and swing the palm of your hand against Epsilon’s butt cheek as hard as you can, forcing a cry of pain out of her. Satisfied with the result you jam your penis straight in her pussy, going balls deep right from the start. You grab the bunny girl by the hips and continue pounding her, moving your hips back and forth, your flesh slapping against Epsilon’s, pushing out a sultry moan out of her with each thrust.

Somewhere far away, in another world you vaguely hear an ancient voice, “You dare mate now? There has been only a single being in all of history that dared insult me so and lived to tell the tale.”

You do not stop what you are doing, you do not notice how Shinde, probably, transformed into his haunting mist form and move to where you stand, nor do you care that the campfire light is now seemingly obstructed by something. You only slow down your hips when you notice about half a gallon of translucent, sticky liquid pour on Epsilon’s back from above. You look above you and see Shinde’s open, salivating jaws and a raised black paw, armed with razor-sharp claws, each the size of your forearm.