The World Wants Your Oyster – 8 [❤️❤️❤️]

It’s the last day before the Storm gang needs to leave. There will be a weekend where the non-citizens will be kicked out before the doors to Haven open again. This time for the Orchid gang, and more pirates. Not that you had a lot of time to interact with either. Sure, you gave a titjob to a pirate or two from one of the many glory holes in Haven.

You’ve paid a few mortals to test a ‘lusty berserker’ potion you developed. That doesn’t count, it was in the name of science. You are the greatest scientist in Haven, New Year, standing tall at four foot four-and-a-half.

You are not the shortest of the shipborn. Halloween is, and she refuses to acknowledge that horns don’t count.

You’re wearing the only real clothes you own; a lab coat with lots of pockets buttoned just underneath your bust, a sexy red lace N-cup bra and panties, and red glasses. Your prettiest white equint stripes swirl over and around your nearly exposed midnight-black cleavage. And a modest pair of red high heels complete the look.

It’s a special occasion! You’re presenting the completion of the largest project yet to Quinn herself.

Quinn is holding one part of your invention, a smooth black sphere. You developed it out of a naturally occurring mineral in Haven. When she concentrates, it floats out of her palm and a glowing green eye with a slit-pupil appears on it. It hovers around the room, bobbing about in more and more complex patterns. It zooms between your legs and looks up.

Lord Quinn smiles roguishly. You puff out your ginormous chest in pride as she gets a good panty shot.

“And we can make these out of pure shadow magic?” The seeing orb returns to her hand.

“They’re a lot more fragile that way, but yes. Blackstone works best as a medium for the spell. It’s capable of surviving teleportation and plane shifting with all of the inherent abilities of the shadow construct version.”

Quinn asks more questions. Its effective range is limited by magical power and grows exponentially when crossing planes. It can melt into shadows for a short time but loses vision. You admit you’re working on ways to make the blackstone seeing orbs smaller while retaining their damage resistance. Most importantly, blackstone conducts demonic energy efficiently and allows the user to cast spells through them.

Within reason. Too strong and the blackstone crumbles apart. Failure in 99% of cases.

Quinn holds up a glass lens the size of a fist. Your other part of the invention. Her eyes widen as she feels the connection and activates it, revealing the seeing orb’s point of view. It’s an improvement of the rose-tinted glasses you developed a few weeks ago. Instead of filling in the blanks with what the wearers expect to see, it channels magic to and from the seeing orb. Even a mortal can control it.

Quinn swipes her fingers along the glass, marveling at how the orb moves. She stops suddenly and cocks her head. You recognize that look. You see it whenever Sunday has an idea. She pulls up the holoscreen and types for a few seconds. Another piece of magic glass appears.

Quinn picks one lens in each hand and concentrates. Your jaw drops as she replicates the spell and entwines it, connecting the magic glasses in moments. It takes an astonishing amount of power and precision to do that!

“How did you…?” You stop.

It’s Lady Quinn. Of course she can. She’s, as she often says, ‘built different’. That’s not the end of the surprises. The holoscreen fritzes and a face appears. You’re almost blown away by the sheer presence of the being. No, the echo of his presence.

He’s unlike any demon you’ve seen before. More powerful. The depths of his evil eyes sink into an inky darkness—

“Oop.” Quinn pulls up a shadow barrier to block your sight and you fall on your ass. “Mucho powerful demon. Big bad guy. Don’t worry about him, he’s very far away.”

“If you’re seeing this, dear Quinn, congratulations! You’ve survived long enough to discover one of Hell’s greatest inventions…aside from borders, climate change, yada, yada, yada. Mirror contact!”

Even his voice is bathed in malice. He makes your skin crawl.

“I can’t tell you how many kingdoms have fallen because some mortal was talking to their reflection. It’s far more subtle than you or any of your sluts. Effective, when you learn to use it well. Of course, you’re probably too cock-addled to figure it out by now, so I’ll give you the blueprints for an astrologer tower. I know it’s your favorite shape, but it is not a dildo.”

“I always forget how much of an asshole this guy is.” Quinn murmurs.

“I’ll say it slow. This. Noooooot. Penis. Okay?”

You hear the screen blit out and Quinn sighs.

“Great. Now I have to reverse engineer this stuff to see if Lucy left an evil bomb or something dumb like that.” She looks at you and gives you a tired smile. “You did wonderfully, New Year.”

“Thank you, Lord Quinn.” You bow deep enough that you have to stretch out your tail to counterbalance your tits. “I wish only to serve.”

“You also want something else, right?” Her smile turns sultry.

Yes. You really do.

You’ve heard of Quinn’s transformation into a muscular ten-foot, four armed, tree-trunk-cocked form in the maternal room of the citizenship center. As far as you can tell, those were unique circumstances born from the room design and abundance of horny women. Just as Quinn cannot bimbofy without the presence of extreme amounts of primal male DESIRE, it would take something similar for her to himbofy.

Some of your kin would argue the semantics, saying himbos are good natured and inoffensive, but you don’t know what else to call the hyper-horny masculine form.

You telepathically send Quinn an image of what you imagine the form to be. Quinn winces and shakes her head. As you thought, she’s not yet capable of that. You sag.

Her finger pulls your chin up and she looks lovingly into your eyes before planting her lips on yours. Her tongue entwines yours and while one hand caresses your face, the other has slipped under your bra and is roughly groping your tits.

Just how you like it.

Your eyes flutter and you almost melt right there when a surge of DESIRE storms through you like a bolt of lightning. More than a hundred blue tokens worth. Quinn breaks the kiss, leaving you praying for more.

“I promise, when I can reproduce that form, you’ll be the first to enjoy it.”

Of course you will. You’ll be the one to find out how to induce it.

“In the meantime, I’ve got more stuff piling on my plate.” Quinn sighs and leans back in her chair. “Those books I st-borr-bought helped me improve my magic by a whole lot. Teleportation, deeper soul scanning, flesh-sculpting…Yet I still need to experiment with golems and chimeras, I barely understand the weird space-time book—the author is such a charmer—and things in Hacksonville and Nancy’s Tavern are getting dicey.”

You wince.

Quinn managed to create a stable futanari gene in an hour. You have yet to make your own stable gene, even after weeks of trial and error.

You’re still catching up on the notes Quinn had Tropo transcribe on biomancy. Not to mention, trying to read Latch’s copy of ‘Space and Time Magic for the Goblin with Nice Boobs in the Library’ gave you a headache. Spell forms are easy, fifth-dimensional thaumaturgical physics is something else. Demons may have good memories and an affinity for magic, but wizards must be crazy brilliant to even understand the stuff.

Then again, you’re working off of fragmented information. As you are now, the chances of developing magic on an equal level to Prillia within the decade are less than 23%.

“It could be gaps in our knowledge?”

“I figured…” Quinn puts her hands on her head and slumps (sexily) onto her desk. “It’s already on the list.”

“Maybe I can help.” You hop on her desk and lean closer to her. “I could use a break from all the experiments, even if it’s only to bounce ideas off me.”

Quinn’s green eyes focus on your huge boobs when you say ‘bounce’. Some of the others, especially the one shorter than you, get angry when you bring attention to your assets. Their groping can be vindictive.

Not Lord Quinn. She brightens up and massages one of your tits, squeezing you gently.

You’ve got the best stress balls.

You bite your lip as her hand swirls from your nipple in a perfect Fibonacci spiral. The way she’s rubbing them, you’re going to leave a puddle on her desk.

“The Houses of Temptation are bringing in tons of clients at Nancy’s Tavern. There’s been some troublemakers, but Hwala and Opal take care of it. Check is a fantastic manager and is doing great regulating entry through the portal.”

“There are a few locations, right?” You wiggle around when Quinn tweaks your nipple. Easy to do since it’s poking through your bra and your lab coat. You always get a bit embarrassed when your nipple erections show through your clothes. “Wh-why not send someone you trust as a general manager?”

“Say, that’s a good idea!” Quinn twirls her index around your nipple as it continues to grow, inch by inch. “It’ll need to be someone who’s strong enough to hold their own there.”

“And disciplined, too.” You stifle a gasp.

Quinn is nonchalantly wrapping her hand around your erect nipple. You recognize that technique in alarm. It’s the clothed handjob trick! She’s using it on your engorged nipples through several thick layers.

Chances of orgasm within the next few minutes: 86%.

“Are you sure you’re not saying that to favor dear Sunday?” She smirks and squeezes you tighter.

“Ah!~ N-no…”

You did think about him, though. Sunday is your favorite among the incubi. Intelligent, powerful, orderly. Ever since he fucked you in the classroom…

“He does need to get out a bit more.”  Quinn makes you writhe on her desk as she tenderly jacks off your nipple. “I think I can trust my cute little kids to work outside of Haven for a few hours out of the day. There’s also Hacksonville. Steelpunk’s gang is the smallest and the least known. When the bigger families come, they’ll be more noticeable.”

“You’re r-right L-lord Quinn.” You hum and your eyes roll into your skull and your back arches up.

Quinn stops fondling you and you slump flat on her desk. You note with embarrassment that you’re sitting in a puddle of your arousal. Quinn pretends not to notice. You cough to regain your composure.

“With the funds you got from this round of trading, you should buy a place where there’s a lot of foot traffic.” You sit back up and Quinn runs her hand up your thigh. “Somewhere people wouldn’t question plenty of goods going through it.”

“Like a retail store or a diner.” Quinn nods. Somehow, the brave button holding onto your lab coat for dear life was undone. “Known gang members frequenting a retailer would raise less flags than a publishing house.”

Quinn cocks her head, likely focusing more of her consciousness through Rampant’s body. Her hands don’t stop rubbing your tits. You sit and bask in the massage for a few minutes, your sex juices dripping from your feet as you slowly spread your legs.

“Honk honk!” She squeezes your tatas and grins. “There’s an old diner north of the airship docks. I can get it cheap; I’ll need most of the money to discretely move the portal. You think Thanksgiving could manage it?”

“N-not a chance.” You love her and she’s a great cook, but she’s forgetful and dense. And minotaurs are practically unseen in Prillia. “Too easily tr-tricked. If you want a cook who can blend in, get Elm. She’s been learning from Thanksgiving on how to prepare mortal food.”

“Fascinating.” You shudder, her fingers grabbing and pulling your boobs from under your bra. “She’ll need help. It’ll be open 24/7 and working full time would be suspicious.”

“W-well, she gets along with Snowdrop and Starlet.” Quinn is teasing both of your nipples at the same time, grinning as they grow larger. You blush and look away.

You hate your dick-sized nipples. When you first discovered a poison to make demons fall asleep, you woke up to find Juniper pleasuring herself on you.

You punished her for that.

“I heard Mezereum, Valerin, and Heath are eager to visit Hacksonv—Wah!” Something envelops your nipple in a wet embrace.

Quinn has stuffed your tit in her mouth, cheeks sallow from how hard she’s sucking. Her tongue dances circles around it. Her eyes narrow in a coy smile. She pulls your boob out of her mouth and leans over to trail her tongue up to your collarbone. When she gets close, you feel the bulge in her pants brush against your sex.

“I was thinking a Shipborn could manage the place.” Quinn whispers in your ear.

What? But your studies! Quinn interrupts you with a long lick across your other titty, reducing you to a pile of boobs drooling from both ends.

“You don’t go out much, either, you know? Consider it a way to study mortals in their natural habitat. Your assistants can help you in shifts!”

You want to tell her that there’s no way Alstro, Juniper, and Zelkova can do your work for you. That they get too distracted shrinking Zelkova down and sharing her as a dildo. But you’re putty in Quinn’s hands.

Chances of getting fucked:

100%.

She flips you over, letting your butt hang over the desk. You’re too short for your legs to touch the ground, so they hang there, doused in your fluids. You hear Quinn activate a couple fogholes and drop her pants.

“You like tests, right, New Year?” You especially like testes. “I’m going to slap your butt with two cocks and you’ll tell me which is mine. If you guess correctly, I’ll find someone else. Ready?”

You lick your lips and nod, not daring to turn around.

Slap! Slap!

Two big dicks slam on your left and right ass cheeks. Your thick behind jiggles from the force of the blows and your pussy sprays out in excitement. You bite your lip to stop any sound that might disturb your concentration.

Slap-slap-slap-slap!

“Hey, this is fun!” Quinn exclaims. “I gave you some bonus hits. Now…can you tell me which is mine?”

You nervously kick your legs. The heft, the flexibility, the juiciness…it could be either. You know it’s neither, though.

Her real cock is radiating heat inches away from your desperate cunny.

“Right.”

Quinn takes a deep breath and leans on your back, letting the full weight of her cocktacular monster rest between your buttcheeks and comfortably on your spine. Her balls brush against your pussy and you quiver in excitement.

“Wrong.” She whispers. “But you knew that.”

She gets back up. You’re wondering what’s about to happen when you feel her shove both cocks in your asshole, stretching your anus to its limits. You yelp in surprise, them screech in joy when Quinn’s cock thunders into your sex.

She stretches out your insides, her baseball-sized nuts crashing into your sensitive clit. She stays there for a moment as you try to catch your breath, then leans onto your again, letting her tits smush into your shoulder blades.

“Congrats on becoming a lead at Dick’s Diner.” Quinn nips your ear.

You convulse and Quinn starts plowing you. She grabs your huge boobs by the nipples and stretches them every time her monster cock slams into your insides. For the first few seconds she cranes your neck around so that you and her are kissing. The foghole dicks rock back and forth, squeezing your inner walls between Quinn’s vicious dicking.

She breaks the kiss and grabs your cheeks so she can spread your mouth into a smile.

“Remember the first rule of customer service: Always smile!”

“Guh-guh-ghk-guh!” Tears of pleasure run down your face and your glasses are askew.

Hardly the picture of customer-facing professionalism.

Quinn must agree. She wrangles your wildly bouncing tits and stuffs your nipples into your mouth. You suck at your own tits, the pleasure mounting again and again as the cocks in your ass unleash their loads inside you. Quinn rips them out and you moan through your boobs as your asshole desperately tries to hold onto them.

“Mmf~mmf~mmf~!”

“And take the leftovers home!” Quinn moans, her churning balls shooting a tidal wave of cum inside you.

“MMMMFFFM~!”

The cum fills you entirely, bloating your body like you’re pregnant. The climax shivers across your body and your jaw finally lets your sore nipples go. Your boobs plop over the edge of the table.

After a little bit, you roll yourself off the table and land on the ground. Gasping.

Quinn stands over you, poking your cum stuffed belly with her foot. You moan as a river gushes from your abused pussy. She helps you up and kisses you all over as she dresses you. You come out of your daze but your belly is gurgling with her load.

“Thanks for volunteering.” Quin pats you on the head.

You blush as you feel more of her cum run down your legs. You rush back to your lab to recover as much of her sperm as possible.

The demon assured you that you would meet the contact in the basement of the House of Temptation. So far, it has agreed to most of your terms. Even offered acceptable alternatives to your harsher demands. But it has refused to meet you in person.

You are the one known as Missy. Pirate Lord of shamans. Witch of the High Seas. And you are waiting, alongside a crowd of harlots, gigolos, and a few of Rumpelstiltskin’s new hangers-on. The possessed harpy gives you a pair of finger guns before turning his attention back to his toadies.

He hasn’t kept the portal a secret. Just the opposite, he’s made an event of it anytime people come or go. Naturally, he attracted many. He, his House of Temptation, and his portal proved to be just the type of person this era’s pirates wanted. It wasn’t the first time a charismatic former captain struck it rich and was willing the spread the joy around at his high-quality brothel.

The portal was the game changer. It was beacon to those who sought riches, adventure, magic, and sex. Pretty much most of the pirate demographic.

Rumpelstiltskin let slip that some VIP’s would be arriving. One of whom would be your other contact going forward. The possessed harpy said it was necessary to have more than just him as a contact when it came to demon business.

He also implied that the VIP needed to socialize more.

The floating cobalt ring flashed a few times as an inky vortex swirled into existence inside it. The first one out was one of the higher-ups of the HoT. Check has gone through the portal more than anyone else and has even become an official citizen of Haven. She comes by to drop off aphrodisiacs and do some accounting.

You raise an eyebrow at the group of beings that come through. A trio of bat-winged minotaurs that barely reach up to your knee swagger on in. They’re wearing fancy sunglasses and expensive white suits. Those are clearly imps.

Rumpelstiltskin opens his wings wide in welcome and starts introducing the (somewhat confused) prostitutes around him. He whispers something into the ears of an equint woman and she blushes. Maybe the miming ‘this big’ with his hands helped convince her. Either way, she bowed to the imps and guided them upstairs.

Then comes a confused woman in a tight red cocktail dress. She struggles to walk on her heels, almost falling before Rumpelstiltskin catches her. She’s got a very curvy figure, but what interests you is the gem that rests on her forehead. It looks like quartz, but it has layers of powerful soul magic embedded into it. A bit sloppy, but it worked without using any of the conventional enchantments. Rumpelstiltskin takes her arm in his wing and shows her off to his employees and followers.

Your attention is pulled to the last VIP. When he comes through, people back away. He’s dressed in a pressed black suit that shimmered green in the magelight. An immaculately complicated maroon tie. His shoes shined to perfection. His slicked back hair matches his horns and his vicious green eyes meticulously study everybody in the room. His tail twitches when he spots you.

He walks steadily with his arms behind his back until he’s standing in front of you. It is no surprise that an incubus could be devilishly handsome. He stares down at you and purses his lips.

“You are Missy?” His voice is gravelly and thick, sending the nearby women swooning.

“I am. I would have liked to meet the lust demon in person.” You turn around and motion him to follow you up the stairs.

“You need not meet her.”

“Is she scared?” You smirk and sit down on the couch next to the aphrodisiac candles. He bristles and remains standing.

“Would it make you more comfortable to know that I am the first of the incubi? Surely that is enough to satisfy your ego.” If he notices your resistance to demonic influence, he doesn’t show it.

Then two of you stare at each other intensely. A rowdy drunk covered in lipstick stains clambers down from the second floor. He teeters over to you. He joins the staredown, his eyes slowly going in different directions to meet both of you at the same time. You both ignore him.

Until he sits next to you and starts rubbing your shoulders. You take a deep breath, gathering the magic to transmute the bones in his hands into molten calcium.

Before you could do anything, his hands turn into snakes. The drunk yelps and scrambles backwards, the snakes hissing and spitting venom in his face. He screams and runs out the door. How did that happen? You didn’t feel any high-level magic being cast.

You stare at the incubus. He shrugs.

“Seducing him was a waste of time. I just cast an illusion.” He explains.

That was a double whammy. A sex demon’s first solution is seduction? Well, that makes perfect sense, but you didn’t expect it. And the illusion magic was so well crafted. Which begets the question.

“Are you naked?”

“Pardon?” It was the incubus’s turn to be surprised.

“Your illusion magic was fantastic. I was wondering if you even bothered with clothes.”

“Normally, you’d be right.” He closes his eyes and nods. “We shape clothes from shadow magic. But the Lady insisted on buying us a wardrobe before coming here.”

Shadows pull from his feet and forms into a chair facing the couch. He sits down, dusting his pants off. It’s probably the first time in a long time he’s had to wear clothes that could even get dirty. Maybe ever.

“So, my fellow liaison…what’s your name?”

“You may call me…Robinson Crusoe.” He entwines his fingers together and leans forward.

“That doesn’t sound like a demon’s name.”

“Missy doesn’t sound like an equint’s.”

Touche.

“Well, Mr. Crusoe…what do you want to do as Haven’s liaison?”

He pulls a book from his vest and hands it to you. There can’t be more than two hundred pages. You flip it open and skim it. The first dozen pages reads like a tourist manual about all the resources available in Haven. Lower cost of living, pleasant citizenship tests, free education…

They’re really trying to sell how nice Haven is. You’ll admit there’s some things they have that are harder to come by in Nancy’s Tavern.

Try building sewers in a floating amalgamate of airships.

The rest of the pages are descriptions of rituals, drawings of circles, and sigils for individual demons. It’s a Haven ritual book. Far more appealing than those thick tomes bound in equint leather. There’s even a few blurbs (and a recipe?) from the demons themselves, talking about their interests and skills.

“To start, I’d like to begin selling these here.”

This could prove interesting. Or dangerous. Perhaps it’s time to talk with the other Pirate Lords.