**Synopsis:** An old man dies, torn by regret. Due to his high karma, he has “near-limitless possibilities for reincarnation”. He chooses to reincarnate in a fantasy world as a voluptuous futanari succubus with big tits and an irresistible smile.
Erotic fiction that contains: Futanari/Dickgirls, Genderbending, Futa on Female, BDSM, Nymphos, Masochistic characters, Threesomes, Orgies, Facefuck, Deepthroat, Dom/Sub, Taken by Monsters, Corruption, Game elements, etc.
## 290: Wolf Who Cried Girl
Participant Number Seventeen looked like an absolutely average human girl. Average build, average height, average chest, average shoulder-length black hair, average peasant medieval-style clothing. Her only distinguishing feature was a scarf that she kept loosely tied around her neck. And yet, this average girl killed her “teammates” in the previous round, shortly after taking their dicks from the front and behind.
Like the other participants, Ruby watched the girl approach while staying in the same puddle of blood she soaked the rock surface in previously.
Number Seventeen walked to the table, opposite of Bob who gestured her to take a ball and pull her opponent. The girl did exactly that without saying a word and opened unscrewed the wooden ball the moment she got her hands on it. She then placed the top shell of the wooden ball on the table and pulled a light-blue paper out of it.
Seeing the light-blue tinted paper, the bloodied masked girl stepped aside from the center stage. She walked past Number Seventeen without even gracing her with a look and took her place among the burly shirtless men. Meanwhile, Number Seventeen lifted up the piece of paper she held, showing the red numbers on it, revealing that her opponent would be Number Twenty-Nine.
“Aroooooo~!” Number Twenty-Nine let out a howl when he saw his number in the girl’s hands. He all but ran to the tables where his opponent awaited.
“Bwahahaha! This is my lucky day!” the wolfkin cheered as he quickly approached the girl. “I wasn’t lucky enough to have any female teammates last round! You want some dicking before the fighting this time too?”
“Sure, whatever,” Number Seventeen showed about as much passion as a block of ice on Pluto.
“Aroo! Is this some ritual for you?” the wolfkin howled and laughed. “Not that I mind! This’ll be the last fuck of your life after all! So, I’ll make sure to knot you real good—”
“I’m afraid you don’t have the time for this,” Bob interrupted the wolfkin. “Choose your weapons.”
“‘Don’t have the time’? The fuck you snortin’?” the wolfkin asked. “Look at the crowds! You know as well as I do that they’d *love* to see a little bitch get knotted before I lop her head off!”
“Do you intend to not follow the rules?” Bob asked as his massive pecs tensed up, displaying years of hard work (and possible additional substances) in the pounds of muscle that hung to his chest.
“‘Not follow’? … Nah, I’m following your rules no problem,” the wolfkin said and reached to the second barrel he was presented with to pull the weapon he’d be granted for this fight. “Yo, miss Thelicia or whatever! Get your ass in order and come back! Your replacements are laughable replacements!”
Bob did not reprimand the wolfkin for running his mouth as long as the participant did as he was told. And as the wolfkin pulled a similar wooden ball out of the second barrel, he turned to Number Seventeen, winked, and said, “Don’t you worry! Nothing stopping us from stretching your cunt during the fight, darlin’♥!”
As he said that, the wolfkin opened the wooden ball out of which a small broken bone fell and bounced several times on the table.
“Number Twenty-Nine drew the ‘Bone Breaker’!” Bob shouted to the shirtless men who had been diligently collecting the weapons that Number Four scattered around and placing them all in one spot behind the tables and the tossed chests. One of those men placed his hands on a massive wooden handle—thicker than the forty-inch cock of a dead two-headed mutant—and picked up the eight-foot-long pole of a weapon.
The masked man gave the weapon to the wolfkin who nearly fell over when the full weight of the weapon was transferred to him, in part because the mace was taller than the beastkin was and threw him off balance.
“The fuck!?” wolfkin cursed, barely remaining on his feet.
Another form of a mace, the handle barely fit in the wolfkin’s fangs. And that was just the handle! The pole was girthier the higher it was. The last two feet were a pure steel cylinder with about twenty thick, sharp spikes all around it.
“Can I get that polearm from the last round instead?” the wolfkin asked Bob.
“Number Seventeen,” Bob gestured for the girl to pick her weapon, completely ignoring the wolfkin.
Number Seventeen unceremoniously pulled out the wooden ball, opened it, and let its humble contents fall on the table. A small rusty, triangular piece of metal fell on the table. An old tip of an arrow.
“Give her the arrow!” Bob instructed.
Number Seventeen swiftly lifted her head and looked at Bob with wide eyes. The girl’s suspicions were confirmed when a masked man handed her a single feathered arrow.
## 291: Wolf, Red and Riding
“Bwha! I almost feel sorry for you!” the wolfkin laughed as he swung around his massive mace, nearly hitting Bob on the head, who ducked before he was struck. “So, can we get on with this or what?”
“Yes, but take some distance away from us and the others,” Bob said. “Any harm to us or other participants, accidental or otherwise will be punished by termination.”
“You, heard him, darlin’!” the wolfkin smirked at the human girl. “Lead the way! I’ll let you choose the place of your first and last knotting by a true alpha!”
Number Seventeen turned away from the wolfkin and rolled her eyes. She then led him away from the burly shirtless men, with nothing but a single arrow in her hands against the wolfkin’s preposterous mace.
Number Seventeen took about five steps before she had to tumble and roll forward to escape the giant arc of the wolfkin’s mace.
“Nice reflexes!” the wolfkin shouted and jumped forward, swinging his mace overhead, aiming to crush the girl.
Quickly recovering her balance after the first tumble, Number Seventeen jumped sideways from the second strike.
“Weren’t you going to knot me first?” Number Seventeen asked while covering her face from the debris that was blown into the air by the heavy strike of the wolfkin’s mace.
“I never said you’d be alive!” the wolfkin laughed and swung his mace again, abusing the range advantage of an eight-foot mace versus a bow-less arrow.
However, despite the modest spectacle, the interest from the spectators was lukewarm, at best. Most of them were still gossiping about the events of the previous duel.
“When was the last time someone injured the masked staff?” a random monkeykin in the crowds asked.
“Has that ever happened?” an elephantkin asked.
“I heard that one time someone injured one of the arena staff,” a tigerkin said. “They boiled the poor guy alive. Or so they say.”
“This is bullshit!” someone cursed in another spectator area. “Someone strong enough to do so much damage and he gets taken out by the organizers! Isn’t this rigged?”
“Yeah! I had Number Four as my winner!”
“You did!?”
“Yea, I did! Got a problem with that!?”
“I’ve got a problem with your face!”
“Tell that to my nine-inch dick!”
“Aren’t some of the participants a little strong this year?” another discussion continued elsewhere in the crowds.
“‘A little’? Like the two-headed demon?”
“Maybe that’s why the white-masked chick stepped in? Damage control?”
“If that’s the case, she’s doing a piss-poor job so far!”
“I hope Thelicia is alright! She was fun!”
“If by ‘fun’ you mean ‘bat-shit insane’…”
“AAARGH!” the wolfkin swung the mace again and hit some rocks again.
Number Seventeen dodged the latest attempt on her life with relative ease., still keeping her arrow in her hand. The wolfkin breathed heavily. Wielding such a massive weapon proved to be more trouble than its worth. At this rate, the tide of battle was bound to turn in the girl’s favor.
“Fuck this!” the wolfkin cursed, dropped his weapon, and dashed at the human girl with his bare paws and claws.
Number Seventeen tried to outrun the beastkin, but she was running backward and such a handicapped speed contest could not be won against an opponent of equal speed.
“Ghah!” the girl cried when the wolfkin tackled her and slammed her against the ground. She thrust the arrow she held into the wolfkin’s eye, but the wolfkin caught the arrow in his jaws and snapped it into tiny pieces with his sharp fangs.
“Looks like both our weapons proved useless!” the wolfkin grinned, holding the girl down, panting, still tired from wielding his oversized weapon. Pressing the girl down with one hand, the wolfkin then started unbuckling the belt on his trousers with his other hand. “See how it all worked out for you? You’ll get to experience my knot while you’re still warm!”
“Lucky me!” Number Seventeen made a deadpan sarcastic remark, pinned under the bigger, stronger wolfkin while he revealed his bright-red, hard wolf peen.
“Why aren’t you taking your clothes off? Shy?”
“Yes, *very*!” Number Seventeen said with all the emotion of a seashell. “Could you help me out, please?”
“Bwahaha! When a girl asks so kindl-HUURK—!”
The wolfkin’s emerald eyes bulged and grew three sizes, veiny red. He let go of the girl and reached with both paws for his throat, desperate to release the constricting pressure on his neck. Gripping the strange cloth that wrapped itself around his neck, the wolfkin pulled it with all might, trying to pull it off, tear it off, rip it off. But the suffocating pressure only grew stronger, like a python, tightening its grip.
The wolfkin looked down at the girl who now calmly watched him suffocate. He realized that the scarf she had around her neck was no longer there. Instead, it was around his own neck, not letting go. Failing to release the pressure, the wolfkin raised his paws to strike down the girl before it was too late, but a single kick to the groin did him in.
The weakened beastkin fell to the ground beside the girl, gurgling, foaming at the mouth, gasping for empty breaths as he desperately struggled with the scarf around his neck, the desperation of his struggle only matched by the automatic response of his hardening wolf-peen.
Number Seventeen got back on her feet and watched the wolfkin’s final moments, his changing colors, his jerking movements, and the final expulsions of his bodily fluids.
## 292: The Niece Versus…
Number Seventeen pulled her scarf off her suffocated opponent’s neck. The cloth slid off effortlessly, making practically unbelievable that the wolfkin would be unable to free himself, if not for a fact that he was in fact dead, with an exposed stiffy saluting the crowds.
“Number Seventeen wins,” Bob said with zero fanfare and put his hand into the barrel with the balls, pulling for the next participant.
Number Seventeen tied the scarf around her neck and looked around awkwardly until Bob waved for her to go away. Bob then opened the next wooden ball and lifted up the light-blue piece of paper with a bright red ‘Forty’ written on it in numbers.
The pale girl with ‘Forty’ on her black armband did not even look at Bob who called her out by her number, nor did she see her number on the giant displaying sphere above the arena. She sat on her knees, despondent, caressing her uncle’s head.
“Oh, that’s the niece-fucker’s niece!” someone in the crowds shouted, pointing at the number displayed on the giant sphere.
“Not much of a toy if he never got it up for her!” another added.
“He just didn’t satisfy her properly!”
“How the fuck? Was he impotent or something?”
“Maybe if she lives through this, I’ll give her what her uncle couldn’t!”
The distant jeers and laughs from the spectators finally broke the pale girl from her trance. She looked up, finally realized that she was picked next for the fights and her distraught expression turned to rage. Number Forty jumped to her feet and rushed to Bob who was already talking with several of his burly buddies and pointing at her.
Number Forty slammed her fist against Bob’s table, pointed at the mysterious masked girl, and shouted, “I WANT HER!”
The mysterious robed girl simply snickered.
“Haha! She has a death wish!” some spectators laughed.
“Fuck yeah! I wanna see that!” others cheered with renewed interest.
“She was the first to win in the previous round!” someone pointed out.
“You think she can stand up to that bloodthirsty psycho? That masked lady toyed with the old man.”
“*After* he pounded her into the ground!”
“And did no damage!”
“How do you know that?”
“Either way it would beat watching some dumbass get asphyxiated with his pants down!”
Bob lifted up the small wooden container, holding it right in Number Forty’s face, and said, “Pull! … Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
All the wooden balls look indistinguishable from one another. The girl could not tell which balls were the ‘special’ ones with the white piece of paper. Her crimson eyes burned with the fury of hell itself as she looked at her uncle’s murderer, though it was probably just the light of the pillar flames reflected in her eyes.
With grit teeth and her face distorted in rage, Number Forty plunged her hand into the container with the wooden balls—
“WAIT!!” a thunderous, but familiar voice thundered through the mines and reverberated over and over, forcing the mines into momentary silence.
Everyone looked up to the announcer’s platform where a pint-sized, so-called adult of a fluffy white hairball with large ears stood in her usual position, overlooking the arena. Her face was still covered by her black mask with blue flames painted across it.
Behind the announcer, in the shadows of the deepening cave, a bright flame lit up and disappeared. A few seconds later a flaming tornado appeared behind Bob. The flames dissipated as fast as they grew, revealing John and Carl inside them, completely unharmed. John, the skeletal, thin masked staff immediately walked to Bob and dismissed him from his duties, resuming the post himself.
The hairball raised her arms—revealing that she did have human skin and hands, and it was just the hair on her head that had been grown beyond any and all reasonable proportions—and declared, “A proposition!
“If Number Forty wants to break the rules and fight miss Ruby that badly, she has to first prove that she is worthy! Number Forty, if you last to the end and win tonight’s games, follow the rules, and kill all your competition, miss Ruby will honor your request for a fight! *Against her will if necessary…* Or you can take your chances with the draw but miss Ruby will not be participating after this round!”
Ruby crossed her arms as she looked at ‘Thelicia’ but did not comment.
“Any objections?” the announcer asked.
“No,” Number Forty hissed.
The announcer read the girl’s lips and smiled.
However, the crowds were far less pleased, booing the delay to a match they hyped themselves up for, but the announcer raised her hand again.
“Of course, that is too much of a delay, isn’t it? Our dear fans have spoken! Let’s speed it up! All remaining participants! Those who want to fight Number Forty right now, step up and pick any weapon of your choice!”
The remaining participants looked at each other in confusion.
____
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vg2ce2/new_life_as_a_lewd_futanari_succubus_ch_290292