Futa kingdom/Futanari assassin
From Create Your Own Story
"Ugh, ugh, fuck yeah! Mmm, ugh, ugh, you like that, ugh, you slut!" She pants on top of you.
"Ugh, fuck! Fuck me! Ugh, ugh, harder!" You moan. Your hands can barely hold onto her back. The oak wood bed is squealing. Her large dick is sliding at a rapid speed.
"Yeah, ugh, ugh!" She happily agrees. Even though your head can barely stay still, you look at your entwined bodies. You see your breasts jiggling furiously, like soggy pasties in an intense earthquake. Then you see your legs grasping her hips as the thrust like lightning. At the center of them, your dick flailing back and forth while her's ravages your pussy. You look back up at her face, where her hair and face gleams with sweat. Grabbing the side of her head, you bring her lips to yours and kiss ferociously. Your tongues wrestle like warriors in each other's mouths. Your breathing hard and moaning from the intense pleasure. She breaks your kiss and moans, "I'm gonna, ugh, ugh, cum! Ugh, ugh!"
You moan with her as the bedsheets recoil. Oh, shit! You think, I haven't had this hard a fuck since the warrior from the north. I don't want this to stop. You feel her dick in your going faster, getting ready to explode.
"Ugh, fuck! Ugh, ugh, here it comes, ugh, ugh! Arghhh!!!" She closes her eyes hard as her seed spurts with force inside your pussy. You see your opportunity. Your hands, still on the side of her face, twist hard.
Crack!
You fall asleep exhausted as the limp body falls completely onto you.
The birds' annoying chirp wakes you up an hour after dawn. Your eyes adjust to the sunrise-filled room. You go to rub your eyes, but instead they touch hair. Oh, right. The job. You think. Remembering the wild night before causes your muscles to contract. That's when you feel that the dead woman's cock is still inside you. Grabbing by her shoulders, you toss the woman off of you. Getting up from the bed, you try to walk but find it difficult. Your lower body is weak from the ploughing you had. You lean against the wall and admire your contract. She was a merchant, dabbling in selling exquisite goods like gold platters and silver cups. Yet you learned that a very wealthy person discover that some of her goods were fake. Instead of publicly shaming the merchant, the rich person hired you, a way to make sure she never sold anything ever again.
Looking at the merchant's body, you notice she's more beautiful than you thought. Pretty brown hair on a face with no blemishes. She had a slim waist, but large breasts. Her dick was large, even when it was flaccid. Her ass was like a pumpkin, big and squeezable. Damn shame I had to kill her, you think, reflecting to the moment you broke her neck, I wouldn't mind fucking her on my off days.
Once your legs feel strong you grab your clothes and stand in front of a mirror. Your face is much like the woman's, not a blemish to be found. Pitch-black hair that goes a little past your shoulders, accompanied by the red irises in your piercing eyes. Most people believe you're blessed, destined to be a good sex partner. Thanks to your black hair, people have given you the nickname of Nyte. You have found that your black hair does add to your irresistible figure. You're young, barely in your twenties, have an average height and a curvy figure. Your breasts are like melons, perfectly fitting your body without any sag. Your ass is even more luscious that the merchant's, and in tights it easily attracts lustful eyes. Your penis is also unimaginable. It's is large and thick, able to seduce anyone. You've started believing that you have been blessed by the gods with unnatural beauty. You use it commonly when you work.
Assassin. That's what your job is known as. Yet few know that you're actually a killer for hire. Most that get to know you die. You're mainly independent, but to find work, you usually head to the local tavern after the "good folk" have gone home. That's where you've met (and fucked) some of your fellow assassins. They let you know about contracts and then you take it from there.
Sure, you could use poison and daggers like normally assassins do, but you prefer to use your beauty in your job, not to mention you don't like having blood all over your body. In actuality, your looks have made the job much more easier, not to mention pleasurable. You approach the victim of your contract, usual at night, and seduce them. Never failing, they take your home and get to work. 95% of the time, it's a good ploughing, but there are those whom you decide should stop trying. Most of the time, you kill them soon after they've orgasmed, since they have no more strength to give you. Your go-to methods are suffocation and breaking their neck. You don't find it extraordinarily fun, but coin is coin. After finding something to prove your deed, you usually go on your way. But sometimes you give the corpse one last good fuck, just to please yourself.
You put on your clothes. Black cloth pants easily cling to your body, showing off your gorgeous legs, round ass, and big bulge. Then you but on your grey shirt and vest, which also show off your features exceptionally well. You put your black hair into a ponytail, but you do let a clump of your hair hand out in front of your left eye, giving your face a shy look. Next, you equip your black cloak and cowl, so you won't stand out terribly from the crowd. Finally, you put on your black heel-boots. You don't have to run very often, but when you do, heels don't prove to be much of a hassle.
Preparing to leave, you look for a piece of evidence. You'll give this to the tavern owner, who'll then give it to the contract issuer. The owner is trusted by all the crime lords and black market suppliers. She was the one that actually introduced you to assassination (and took your virginity). You spent a few months with her, learning simple things like pickpocketing and lock picking, and think of her as an older sister. You shift and rummage around though the dead merchant's belongs and find a lovely brooch. It's a golden ornament with the woman's initials on it. The issuer will certainly believe this, you think. There have been times where issuers haven't believed you and given the innkeeper coin to pay you, although they usually pay up once they hear that their target is dead.
As you stand to leave, you adjust your vest. You hands brush your large tits and you give them a squeeze through your shirt. Your mind instantly goes back to the night before, reminding you of being pleasurable ravaged. Your dick starts to tingle as you eyes stare now at the limp body. You could have a second round, or go back to the tavern. As your hand going under your shirt to your chest, you decide...
Head back to the tavern, grabbing some more jewelry as you leave
