Rampant Propaganda – 5 [❤️❤️]

You are Thrumbor the minotaur, and your crew forced to set up camp outside of Hacksonville at the mercy of whatever monsters roamed the nearby forest. They only allowed the humans and harpies inside, where they had to buy overpriced supplies.

After a few days, things changed for the better. Several articles were published explaining that minotaurs aren’t monsters and that your crew weren’t invaders, but victims of circumstance. Apparently, a guy named Octavius outed himself as an equint marooned in Prillia for the past five years. There was a whole hoopla when he wiped away the makeup hiding his stripes when he went to air his grievances at the city meeting. He called out the local government’s inaction and requested Prillians prove themselves to be the enlightened sort willing to give a hand to those in need.

It takes balls for someone to put themselves on the line like that. You gotta respect the guy, and if you ever meet him, you’ll buy him a drink.

If there were any real drinks, that is.

You chug down the too-sweet beverage while taking care not to belch. Prillia is weird in a lot of ways. They’re wusses with alcohol, prudes with sex, and they don’t take burps and slurps as compliments.

But whatever, this is another country. Like humans are so fond of saying, when in Roma, do as the romans. Even if it means the romans are stuffy prudes who look down on casual flings. The stink-eye one of the locals gave you when you tried explaining you were flirting with her was enough to put you off any flings outside the few people that came with you.

And considering there’s only two women among you lot, that narrows your options by a lot. You take another swig of the beverage, slowly learning to enjoy the bubbly sweetness on your tongue. By Minos, what you wouldn’t give for a buxom cow.

The shrimpy dwarf manning the till of the café looks up to you in terror.

“Another.” Her pupils shrink. “Please.”

She gives you another cup, her entire body shivering as if she were on the edge of a heart attack. You’ve gotten used to the locals.

Some of them.

Every now and then, someone will give you bedroom eyes. They’re rare in this city, but you’ve recognized the look a few times. The blushes, the glancing, the shuffling…one even wiped drool from the corner of her mouth. Almost like they’d ride you in public, if you only asked. A few even seemed mad when they looked your way and blushed, as if they wanted to blame you for finding you attractive.

It’s very weird.

The door rings and another bull enters. Ferrous, the acting captain of your failed expedition, has a big smile on his face. The first one since you crashed here. He sits next to you, the dwarf at the till turning paler than you thought possible.

“Good news?” You ask.

“The best. The mayor finally agreed to send a delegation to Libra. We’ll be able to leave within the month.”

“Finally.” You groan.

“There’s more.” Ferrous has a gleam in his eye. “I met Octavius. Swell guy. He offered to hook us up with a friend of his so we can trade here. It’ll be harder to convince Libra to give us an in, but I’m hoping she’ll be willing to listen.”

“You’re going to try and convince an Empyrean to give us a pass through the wind stream?” You hiss. More than ever, you’re aware of the eyes and ears on you. The dwarf at the till stops shivering and leans her head to eavesdrop. “It’s a miracle that we’re alive. Are you trying to change that?”

“We lost everything with this expedition.” Ferrous explains in a low voice. “Our ship, our merchandise, our friends. If we get out of here, I’d like to at least leave with something. Even if it’s just the promise of future business.”

Ferrous notices your deadpan stare but keeps going.

“Octavius and I talked, and he thinks that if we tread carefully, we can convince the Empyrean that Prillia has more to gain with a very limited trade route than it has to lose by continuing to isolate itself. It’s been centuries since the storm wall went up, and their access to New Continent goods have been very limited. Silks, jewelry, and enchanting paper from Reeds, holy weapons from Gerhair, not to mention the unique crops from the UCCES!”

The more he talks, the more he makes sense. Even the dwarf seems interested.

“Even if the Empyrean forbids ninety percent of the things we can export from Prillia, we’d still turn a massive profit on exclusivity alone!”

You find yourself nodding along. He’s making a lot of sense. You’re a bit curious; How much of what he’s saying is his idea, and how much comes from the mysterious Octavius?

If he’s helping you out this much, he must be a stand-up guy.

You have nothing against humans and dwarves. You wish they’d stick to their cities and mountains, and maybe stay out of ancestral elven territory. They are a reasonable folk, and many of them agree with you.

It’s the goblins you have a problem with.

You are Treble, a pureblooded elf renown across Prillia for your skills in cello, viola, violin, and other stringed instruments. Not the fiddle though, that’s an instrument for runty philistines. Nevertheless, as a prominent member of the Camelot Philharmonic Orchestra and an elf of esteemed breeding, you frequently rub elbows with the upper crust of elven society. In fact, you have played no small number of personal performances for the most powerful elves in the territory, in large part due to the special organization you are a part of.

The Purity Front, whose sole aim is the preservation of a pure and just society in the face of the degenerate masses.

One of the greatest threats to elvenkind’s purity is the negligible birth rates of elves. The foul greenskins reproduce far quicker than elves, threatening to topple the rightful order. Goblins have always been a threat, even if they’ve been keeping their evil inclinations hidden. They can pretend to be law-abiding citizens, but it’s clear that they’re just biding their time. Some elves still remember the hardships not too many centuries ago, when the green tide was a constant threat from the west.

And now, they were settling beyond the Goblin Coast. It was fine when they mingled with the bloodsuckers, but the fact that so many goblin villages dot the elven forests? That there are so many in the fastest growing city in the elven territory?

It stinks of a scheme.

The head of the Hacksonville Purity Front branch claimed to find a way to even the odds. Alchemical ingredients increasing fertility hit the black market, as well as a variety of other unique products that could be the key to a better world, a purer world.

It involved consorting with demons.

The Knight Orders would call it heresy. But the Knight Orders have human origins, human obstinance, and human limitations. One must be willing to walk through Niflheim to save Prillia.

Righteous Glory’s plan was based on the information of a powerful sponsor of the Purity Front, carefully gathered by spying on the (laughably disorganized) Storm gang and the mercantile-minded Orchid Family. From the information, there couldn’t be more than two hundred demons past the portal. The idea was to infiltrate enough people into Haven and stage a coup, taking critical infrastructure hostage and demanding a tithe.

The first roadblock happened when they limited the amount of people into Haven. The second roadblock happened when smuggling weapons into Haven failed. Frustrated, Righteous Glory sent in elite groups of assassins and battle mages to attack at night, when most people were asleep.

They never came back.

Finally, Righteous Glory gave up on the immediate plans and had people go in to scout for themselves. Some volunteered because there was gold to be made. Others, like yourself, bid on entrance out of morbid curiosity.

After all, there were the hints of new music styles that seeped from Haven into Hacksonville.

So, you visited Haven.

You quickly realized why the Purity Front failed. The list of rules was extensive and many of your peers must have thought themselves beyond reproach. Furthermore, most of you were too proud to wear the rose glasses they offered to protect you.

It seemed like a trick.

When they removed the ECS from you, it was clear how wrong you were. Too many of the Purity Front fell to temptation. They rutted humans, rutted dwarves, rutted goblins and demons. When you first saw a minotaur consorting with a formerly distinguished elf in an alley, you almost fainted from the shock.

Never mind how her face, twisted into delight, lit your loins aflame. Or how you had to shamefully push down a spike of jealousy.

You reserved a room for yourself and a male elf you found wandering about and relieved your tensions with him. He was a bit young, but he was experienced enough to serve his purpose. You can confirm one thing: Haven is indeed the key to raising the pureblooded elf population. If only there weren’t so many abhorrent creatures inhabiting the small plane. Not just goblins, demons, and minotaurs, but harpies and strange striped humans called ‘equints’.

You got a chance to listen to this ‘revolutionary new music’. You weren’t impressed. It was just a bunch of rhythmic, synthetic noise.

Ugh.

You only realized the depths of the Purity Front’s tragic situation when you left Haven. Few of those who went ever came back, having been swayed into degeneracy by demons, drugs, and racial co-mingling. Elven males, already few, were the most afflicted.

Foolish.

And tragic, because there were no options for the returning women to relive their newly ignited sexual desires outside of returning to Haven. Or sullying yourselves by pairing with other races. Within the first ten days of the three-week period the Purity Front had access to Haven, you lost nearly fifty powerful mages, a hundred merchants, and another hundred members to Haven.

Nearly a quarter of the local branch’s number. More than what the Storm gang and Orchid family lost, combined.

And nobody could say anything because secrecy was one of the founding principles of the contracts the visitors needed to sign. Righteous Glory was livid, going on spiels at the meetings on how he was itching to get back at Haven, how the sponsor was gathering reinforcements to try again, how this was just a small setback.

You believed him. Until the ‘marooned’ merchants set up camp outside of town, and the ignorant masses ate up the fake story of their innocent mishap. But you’d seen their kind in Haven. They couldn’t have come from across Libra’s storm wall.

Haven wasn’t being invaded. They were invading.

First, they take all the men. Then, they seduce the women with the savage flirtations of the barbaric, big-dicked minotaurs.

You’re not falling for it. Especially not when an equint comes out of nowhere and speaks up for ‘compassion’ and ‘charity’. You stare daggers at Haven’s political agent as he rouses the crowd at the entrance of the town hall.

It’s his fourth day speaking. Octavius came every evening, ‘right after work’, to rail against injustice and corruption in Hacksonville and Prillia at large. He’s eloquent, for a savage from beyond Prillia.

But you know what he is. An agent against the tenets of the Purity Front. He’s probably being bribed by lusty succubi begging him to shove his dick inside—You grit your teeth and glare harder.

You go unnoticed in the crowd, Octavius riling the ignorant masses into a fever pitch. You turn your nose up and walk away into the cool evening air. Your panties aren’t the least bit wet.

And if they are, it’s just because you’re sweating a lot. You’ve got a performance in a month and you’re nervous, that’s all. You can’t be lusting after his disgustingly toned body, or thinking about getting fucked on velvet sheets, or anything else like that.

You are Treble, your bloodline is among the purest in Prillia, and you won’t pollute it.

Your home is in the Greatoak building, in the luxurious penthouse apartment. You own the top five floors of the thirty-story building, thanks to some helpful investment tips from the Purity Front. A stroke of genius, the rent of your tenants helps pay for the variety of amenities you installed in your suite.

You take the elevator up, using your VIP card to skip the floors where the povos pressed a button, and feel the tension leave your shoulders as the doors open. You collapse onto your mink fur divan and let out a long breath, spreading your legs as your hands inch between—No, no, no.

You jump up with a growl and grab your cello case. You need to practice, get your mind off things. You enter your custom sound booth and glide the bow on the strings a few times to push those traitorous thoughts out of your head. Spend that energy composing, perfecting your craft.

A few hours later, having outdone yourself once more, you leave the booth and scrounge through the refrigerator for a meal.

Nothing.

You almost yell for your butler, only to remember he’d been taken by some floozy in Haven. Stupid human, you can still hear his words…

‘Oh nooooo, this hot girl has seduced me and I can no longer return to work for youuuuu…I’m but a foolish human, driven by base instincts, nooooo…’

Snorting, you put on a scarf made from baby seal fur and stomp back over to the elevator. You’re going to have to shop on your own for now, like a poor. Ugh.

You leave the comforting warmth of the building and huddle deeper into your furs. It’s not that cold outside; the warm coastal winds whistle through the city. It’s mostly to hide your face so nobody sees Treble, legendary strings maestro, walking on the street like a pedestrian.

You’re passing by a dark alley when you see him.

A man, hidden by the shadows, wearing a dark mask.

Only a dark mask.

His massive cock is strangely shaped, poking out from a pitch-black sheath, long and flared at the tip. Your jaw drops in shock. Even in Haven, you’ve never seen a dick so big, so strange.

So tempting.

The man gyrates his hips, and his eighteen-inch cock swings around hypnotically. You find yourself disrobing, piece after piece of expensive, cruelty-plus clothing abandoned in the wet street until you’re kneeling, completely naked in front of the man.

You glare at the stunned figure. He’s clearly using magic on you! There’s no other reason for why you’re lovingly caressing his massive testicles, why you’re salivating over the stiffening cock poking your impressive chest. You glare at the masked man and use your boobs to jack off the impressive length.

“H-how dare you!” You growl. “I have powerful friends who won’t take kindly to manipulating me!”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was stunned into confusion. But the bastard is making your pussy leak like a waterfall, and now you’re angrily sucking the massive, delicious meat pole as you squeeze your tits around it. You make sure to keep glaring at him as you increase the pace, the puddle at your feet flowing into a nearby grate.

You can’t be so pent up that you’d throw yourself on the first cock you see. This foul villain must be hypnotizing you to gag on his fully erect two-foot womb-breaker. If he thinks he’ll win, he’s got another thing coming! His huge testicles clench up and you seal your mouth around the tip, your cheeks bulging out as a flood of cum bursts inside your mouth. You gag on the thick, virile gunk, some even escaping out of your nose. You wipe your mouth clean and snarl at the miscreant.

He shrugs and jumps away, cock flapping in the wind. Leaving you to pick up your clothes, cursing the degeneracy that now roams the streets.

If you were more magically inclined, you would have noticed the small tracker spell the mystery pervert left on you.

Ever since you awakened, you’ve been burdened with a terrible fate. Two months ago, your life changed for the better. All the illusions that you maintained, those false joys and trifling pleasures, broke apart the day you went to confront an unruly asset.

You never could have guessed that annoying cretin would show you the truth behind the world. She shattered the ideas that you’ve held over your hundred-year lifetime and revealed the truth to you in magnificent ecstasy…only to force you to return to your previous life.

You are Silverbrood, and you’ve been forever changed by Her. Your purpose has been made clear, your body and name changed to suit it. Returning to your life as Lady Silverblood was torture.

The Lady forbade you from acting like a succubus or mentioning anything that happened on your visit to Hacksonville. You were forced to go to a variety of functions with titillating elf nobles, negotiate with assets who would do anything for your favor, and live in a mansion full of strapping men and women…and you could not even do anything but pretend to be the greedy elf scion you used to be.

Mercifully, you were allowed to relive yourself with Butler. Your asshole has been thoroughly stretched by his cock. You had no idea all those reagents and potions the Arcanoknights give their front liners could have such a potent effect on their genitals!

Small blessings.

Sweet relief came a few days back, Righteous Glory approached you asking for your blessing to attack Haven. He found a way to get around the contract, through paid proxies and ‘unintentional’ collateral damage.

As She predicted he would. Not only did you give him permission, you told him you’d be in contact to help.

You discretely took the first train to Hacksonville and relayed the information to Her.

The Lady was pleased.

She put you in a box that sealed all your movements. It had plenty of holes so someone could touch nearly any part of your body. She rewarded you with dicks of all shapes and sizes, prodding your tits, poking your thighs, dancing inches from your mouth. Cocks from elves, dwarves, kobolds…even a few women.

Never enough to penetrate. Just enough to keep you craving more.

Then, she started playing with you. The possessed dwarf drank a potion and you jealously watched her twist and shudder as a cock grew out of her pussy. She smirked at you and ran her juicy dick across your legs, your belly, even your face.

She didn’t pay much attention to you, casually playing with your body as she did menial tasks. She talked about a massage parlor, plans for a hotel in Hacksonville, publishing novels, and creating things called ‘tabletops’ and ‘trading cards’…truly, her designs are beyond you.

That’s when she had you feed Glory information over a radio. She made sure her fat cockhead poked your labia every few seconds as you made the call.

You told Righteous Glory some helpful information. The locations of important buildings, how many demons there were…reliable tips that are easily corroborated. Then, She had you lie.

She had you tell him the lord of the plane was absent at night. You almost came right then when you thought about all the elves that would soon be turned into loyal, fuckable sluts.

The Lady rewarded you for that. She used her dwarf body to profane your pussy, while you begged her to cum inside you, incapable of even moving more than your toes. She fucked you throughout the evening, only slowing down when Righteous radioed bad news that got progressively worse.

First, the skilled warriors didn’t return. His sources say they were stopped for smuggling weapons.

After, he sent the greatest mages in his employ. He heard nothing from them.

Finally, as he begged you for more help, you gave him a personal recommendation. Since the forces he sent were mostly women, he needed to send more men to rescue them. The purer the bloodline, the better.

You were laughing on Her cock when he called back, mortified that he’d just sent the best elven males away, never to return. The Lady came in your throat as the potion’s effects faded, then used your body like a puppet to express your disappointment in him, her cum still wet on your lips.

She freed your arm just enough for you to write a letter to your Father. You wrote to him that you’ll be staying in Hacksonville overseeing the construction of another Silverblood Hotel, and that you’ll be expecting the funds soon.

“You did such a good job, Silverbrood.” The Lady munches on a chocolate-covered pickle. “Such a good job, you’ll be going to Haven to meet me, personally. Where you can get a taste of my real cock.”

The holes on the cuck box closed, and that was the last you saw of the dwarf. You felt the box move around some. Somewhere along the line, a few hands reached through the box to grope your immobilized body. You get teased so much that a couple of inches of your femcum sloshed around the bottom. Finally, the box stopped moving. They left you somewhere.

You’ve been waiting for hours in the box.

Eventually, you hear voices getting closer. The first sounds grouchy, and the other…her sultry tones send shivers of excitement up your spine.

It must be Her.

“Going to bring me up here to violate me? You disgust me, demon.”

“Come on, Festa. I can sense how horny you are. We both know you want to.”

“I will not be tempted, vile creature!” The grouch stammers. “I will do my part reluctantly and return to my assistant. I’ve had it up to here with you and this terrible realm.”

“You broke the rules. The only reason you’re here is because of your ‘assistant.’” You detect a subtle mirth at her words. “How is he, anyways? Does he still have…fingers?”

What an odd leading question.

“Of course!” The woman’s smug tone continues. “How else is he to write the derivative slop he calls fiction?”

The lust demon’s giggle sets your loins ablaze.

“Interesting. Well, you don’t have to worry about me dicking you down. I actually wanted you and your assistant’s professional opinion.” She snaps her fingers and the holes on the cuck box open. “Festa, Silverbrood. Silverbrood, Festa.”

It’s an equint.

You’ve gotten close enough to a couple since you’ve been placed in the box, but none as strange as this one. She’s dressed in a tube top and skirt, though some of the white stripes on her body seem thicker than the others, almost textured. Her midsection is swollen and something seems be moving inside her. When she gets closer, you notice that the odd, pulsating stripes run down her legs and up her sides, disappearing under her hair.

Strangest of all is that she doesn’t seem to notice how the stripes move on her, or even how her stomach is bloated.

“Odd specimen. Do elves normally has such long ears?”

“She was a high elf. I noticed she’s got a lot more magic reserves than normal, and I started wondering.” She leans into view and your heartrate spikes. She is far more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. “Do you mind getting your assistant so he can give us his opinion?”

“You brought me all the way here…and now you’re going to make me go back?” Festa huffs.

This rude mortal is testing your patience. She is merely an equint, and yet She allows her to run her filthy mouth? You would be honored to crawl across Prillia for a whiff of Her cock, and this skank…

“What are you talking about?” Her giggles dissipate your anger. “He’s right behind you.”

“Huh?” The fool turns around.

You’d be laughing if you weren’t gagged. It’s good fortune that you are, because the gullible equint twitches and the odd stripes around her body squeeze tighter against her and change colors. When she turns back around, her eyes are rolled back and a pair of fleshy rainbow antennae pokes through her hair.

“She would make a fine host.” Her voice is different now, foreign and frightening. “Alas, I have grown attached to Festa. She is…comfortable.”

Her stomach pulsates, colors running from the patterns near her crotch to the rest of her body. Whatever is talking is not Festa, but within her.

“That’s sweet. But no, remember when I had you make those shogglings?”

“I remember it fondly. You are always welcome in my embrace. Even if I must imbibe a few gallons of minotaur semen.”

“Awww, you flirt!” The Lady hugs the stoic equint, kissing the tendrils along her body. “Anyways, it got me thinking…Those shogglings took a bit out of me, and I can’t be the only one making them.”

“Other demons have proven…inadequate as incubators.”

“That’s because you stuff them with a dozen shogglings at a time, you stud! Plus, they turned out to be super helpful for improving my biomancy.” She puffs her chest into the equint’s face, her side-eye making it clear she wants you to see. “I had to skip a couple chapters from the golem book because it relied on information I don’t have yet. Buuuuut…I realized how close I was to accidentally cloning Venture and I got to thinking: what if I made my own creatures from scratch?”

Lord Quinn, blessed be her cock, turns the being to you, gently tracing the pulsating tendrils. Realization slowly dawns on you.

“As a high elf, Silverbrood had incredible mana reserves. As a high elf succubus, she’d make the perfect test mother for a new race.”

Your eyes widen.

“Indeed. Though having her birth a new race will take time.”

The thought of being the progenitor for Lord Quinn’s created species makes your salivating fuck-tunnel practically explode with want. Imagining being blessed with her seed, birthing a whole new species of monsters, beasts, creatures…your eyelids flutter and you can barely keep up with their conversation.

“See, that’s the great part. All those high elves that caused a mess were captured, and most of them will be bound to the pens for a long time.”

“May I rent a few?”

“Later. Let me tell you my plan…”

Lord Quinn describes her brilliant plan. How she found some among the Purity Front that were almost as devoted to her as you, and how she’s planning on keeping them all in something called a ‘gated community’. She intends to keep them in a gilded cage and feed them propaganda to mold them into a slutty little broodmothers. She mentions something about feminizing a good deal of the high elf males and making the most loyal among the rest futanari, but Festa has already begun their investigation of your body.

She leans close and tendrils come out of her mouth, caressing your blushing face and leaving behind purple trails of goo. You squirm under the soft touches, then more as larger tentacles poke from under Festa’s skirt and slither up your legs to tease your aching cunny.

The tentacles tease you as Lord Quinn’s voice breaks through the haze of pleasure.

“The futanari will hold a high position in your elven paradise, but not as high as yours.” Quinn’s husky purr almost pushes you over the edge. “You’ll be a star, Silverbrood. What those elves will aspire to be: A horny, constantly pregnant, slut. How’s that sound?”

She says it wistfully, almost as if she wants to be in your place. You nod eagerly. Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!

You are rewarded with Lord Quinn’s laughter and a tentacle coiling into your slick love hole.

“Great! Now I’ll need to take a few videos…those elves will need to see you at your best: sucking my cock and stuffed full of shogglings.”