**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.
## 293: The Special Prize
*Another volunteering?* Beatrice remembered how the last time worked out for all but one of the volunteers. She around and wondered who’d be stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice.
“Come now, don’t be shy! Two on one, three on one, ten on one—all perfectly legal! You have but one opponent! If Number Forty dies, everyone who fights against her advances to the next round while also keeping the weapon of their choice. And the one to deal a killing blow will win a special prize: one night with princess Mary!”
“*WHAT!?*” Ruby exclaimed.
Gossip instantly spread through the crowds.
“I know, I know, it’s a little hard to believe,” the announcer nodded and snickered. “After all, why would a princess lower herself to contact with some commoner rabble? Especially if she was already promised to one of the High Priest’s sex cultists. But worry not!
“Her father is a very reasonable man… When offered certain *gifts*, hehe! Not to mention that it’s for a good cause, since the princess’s daddy wanted her to learn how to properly please men. Everybody wins!”
Laughter broke out among the spectators.
Beatrice recalled how the King snorted some kind of powder in plain view of his court, and some of the rumors that circulated about the King whose name commanded no respect among the people.
“But just in case some spoiled little princess is not to your fancy, I’ll throw in another bonus: any man or woman from any of our entertainment booths! You may pick up to three of them! They will expertly fulfill any of your deepest, wildest fantasies… As long as you kill that old fuck’s *cocksucker* of a niece!!”
The announcer audibly and deeply breathed a lung full of air, breathed out, and asked cheerfully, “Any takers?”
Beatrice sighed when she saw more than half of the remaining participants rush forward, hurrying to take whichever they viewed as the best weapon. Beatrice was glad that at least Olivia resisted the temptation of a promise of an easy victory.
“Pathetic,” the ninja girl said. “Either they’re rushing to gang up on a single opponent for the promise of sex they’re incapable of otherwise getting, or they’re rushing to gain an advantage without which they know they do not stand a chance against some of the powerhouses here.”
“She did promise them a night with a princess,” Beatrice reminded and realized something only after she said it. “… Does that even count for anything in this city?”
“If even a tenth of the rumors about the royal family is true, I wouldn’t want to even touch any of the princesses.”
“That bad, huh?” Beatrice muttered, remembering how she—horny out of her mind—let herself be touched by that particular princess and enjoyed the experience quite a lot. *Good thing that I was specific about the STDs.*
“At least we’re not the only ones disinterested in that announcer’s vendetta,” Olivia said as it became clear which participants joined and which stayed. Not counting Number Seventeen who had already advanced anyway, only five participants remained. The giant Number Seven, the redhead in white and blue uniform, Olivia, Beatrice, and some generic beastkin woman.
“If that girl manages to win, Number Seven will be the only guy left,” Olivia said.
“I’m a little surprised that the Fridge did not join with the others,” Beatrice said. “He didn’t seem like a guy with moral objections to such things.”
“The who?” Olivia asked.
“The-ah, right! Number Seven,” Beatrice corrected herself.
“Hm… Maybe he likes a challenge?”
“Or he wants to see her in combat first?”
“Shame on you!” Number Fifty, the girl in a white and blue uniform, shouted to the participants that rushed to the weapons. “What a despicable, unfair setup!”
“’Shame’!? ‘Unfair’!?” the announcer snapped. “That little cocksucker willingly decided to participate in the Forge of Champions! As did her ‘*poor dear uncle’*! Did I force them to participate? Did they forget what they signed up for?
“Then the putrid little fuck dares to attack *ME*!? And she has the audacity to demand anything!? Number Forty wanted special treatment and she got it! You don’t see her complaining!”
Indeed, the girl did not complain as she watched her opponents pick through the weapons.
“So shut the fuck up and enjoy the show!” the announcer added. “I know I will!”
## 294: Handicaps
While the announcer berated Number Fifty, Uma, the crowds discussed, cheered, and decried the deviation from the format.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
“One versus seven!? For real?”
“I’ve had her as my winner! This is bullshit!”
“Then she should get through this, right?”
“With such a handicap?”
“This can’t go wrong!”
“Why don’t we have more fights like this?”
“You’re happy about this? Instead of four fights to the death, we get a single, one-sided beatdown!”
“I know, right!?”
“Worst case scenario, we get to see an arrogant brat get brutilized like she deserves and still have seven participants fighting for survival in the next round.”
“Or she kills them one at a time?”
“Oh, I hope she does!”
“Do you think she stands a chance?”
“Don’t know, but I will be rooting for her!”
“Yeah, fuck those cowards!”
“If they can’t beat a single girl as seven, they deserve to get their guts spilled!”
“Kick their butts, Number Forty!”
“Gut her just like her old man!”
“Oh, our brave participants have made a fine selection of weapons!” the announcer praised the participants that signed up to fight Number Forty and had already equipped themselves with the best weapons they could find. “The Huggers, The Eye-Gouger, The Roaster… A katana? Seriously? Number Fifty-eight, you couldn’t find anything with more of an-No, it’s a fine choice for… Someone with your set of skills! What will Number Forty pull out that can resist such potent weapons?”
John, the skeletal leader of the shirtless masked staff leaned the container with the set of weapon-choosing balls to the pale girl. After popping a small, pink bubblegum-like bubble at her lips, Number Forty walked over and pulled out a wooden ball. She opened it and pulled out three small fishhooks, strung together by a chain.
“The Prey Seeker!” the announcer explained. “One could not hope for a better weapon when fighting multiple opponents.”
John turned around to his fellow shirtless men by the weapon chests and pointed to one of the weapon chests, but before he could say a word, the announcer loudly interrupted his actions:
“*Unfortunately*, the weapon was incinerated in the flames when Number Four so carelessly scattered the weapons across the arena! Unlucky. But not to worry! We will not leave our handicapped little cocksucker weaponless! Go on, Number Forty, pull another ball!”
Number Forty pulled another ball with no complaints or hesitation, opened it, and pulled out a small wooden coin. The observer sphere magnified the coin in the girl’s hands, showing a carved symbol of scales on both sides of the coin.
“Oh my! Number Forty must exchange all her current possessions with her opponent!” the announcer explained. “Although she has no weapons, all her clothes save for her underwear must also go to her opponent. Number Fifty-eight, you have no choice but to do the same and offer all you currently have on you to Number Forty!”
“What!? Why me!?” The beastkin protested. “I was promised a weapon!”
“Rules are rules,” the announcer shrugged.
The furry tiger-like beastkin looked at John and other shirtless men who eyed him carefully and suddenly seemed suspiciously-trigger happy. Grumbling, the beastkin did as he was told. Not that he had much to give away to begin with, as he wore nothing but trousers over his furry body. Number Fifty-eight threw the black katana to Number Forty’s feet, removed his trousers, leaving himself with just plain boxers, and tossed the trousers over the katana.
The girl hesitated before undressing. She gently slit her hand across the fabric of her form-fitting black fantasy dress while the crowds got louder and cheered for her to undress.
The announcer let the moment stretch out. “Take your time!” she said. The hairball’s sadistic grin was palpable in every word. “It’s not like we’ll be forced to remove the items from you by force.”
Not giving the announcer the satisfaction, Number Forty undid the dress hooks on her back and undressed, revealing her perky B-cups with pink nipples and the fact that she had nothing but black thong-like panties under her dress.
Ignoring the laughs and cheers from the spectators, Number Forty threw her dress Number Fifty-eight who easily caught it into his giant paw.
“Now, Number Fifty-eight can use his opponent’s items however he chooses,” the announcer explained with a chuckle. “But… As compensation for losing all his possessions through no fault of his own, when in fact he was promised an advantage, Number Fifty-eight may choose two more weapons from the mighty arsenal our staff has brought to the arena!”
The beastkin’s frustrated demeanor changed instantly. He looked at the practically naked girl with a smirk before walking to the weapon stashes. Along the way he threw the girl’s dress into one of the pillars of fire, incinerating it to the point that not even ashes were left.
## 295: One Naked Little Cocksucker
While Number Fifty-eight picked through the chests looking for his two replacements for the katana he had to give to Number Forty, the girl used the blade of her new weapon to lift up the beastkin’s trousers off the ground. She considered cutting them up to cover her naked lady parts from lecherous eyes, but getting even the slightest whiff of the repugnant stench that the beastkin’s trousers emitted almost made the girl vomit.
Number Forty swung her black katana with the trousers on it, discarding them swiftly into the nearest flaming pillar, incinerating the cloth instantly. Though it was hardly an even trade for the beautiful dress that the beastkin destroyed.
“Well, no wonder she doesn’t mind showing off her titties when there’s nothing to look at anyway!” the announcer commented.
*We’ll find out soon enough if you have anything to put on display yourself,* Beatrice thought, having resolved that the malicious announcer deserved some additional payback when it became abundantly obvious that the previous karmic justice rung all the wrong bells in the white hairball’s head.
One of the beastkin with a shark head for a head and tiny black eyes walked forward to the practically naked girl. Over two feet higher than the girl, the sharkkin was one of the few that came close to Number Seven’s giant body frame. On his black armband, stretched across an enormous bicep, number forty-four was written. Behind his back, the sharkkin held a giant, nine-foot wheel that cast a shadow on him and the girl. The monumental wheel that could not have possibly fit in any of the weapon chests was made of wood and metal, with countless spikes sticking out along its outer edge.
The sharkkin looked down at the girl with a wide grin that displayed the many rows of his razor-sharp teeth and asked, “Any preference for how you want to die? The others will probably torture you first to have some fun. I can make it quick. ‘Snap!’ And half your body is gone and down in my warm belly. The others won’t mind too much—they’ll still have your lower body to play with. We got a deal?”
Number Forty looked up at the fishhead with disgust and said, “You must be joking!”
“No joke!” Number Forty-four said and licked his lips while devouring the naked girl with his eyes. “I’ll keep your titties nice and warm.”
“Hey, hey, hey!” an three-foot-tall, elderly catgirl called out to the sharkkin, waving a strange metallic object attached to a long metal tube “Get away from her, you pungent fishhead!”
“Yeah, don’t think you’re the only one that wants to impregnate the princess and secure a cushy spot with the royalty!” A skinny guy shouted in support of the cat grandma.
“My, my, our fighters are in high spirits!” the announcer chuckled. “The crowds are dying for a spectacle! The participants are ready and itching for a fight! Seven men and women, gathered together in a temporary alliance for a single purpose—to kill one naked little cocksucker! Why delay any longer? Begin!”
Number Forty thrust her katana right into the sharkkin’s gut, but he caught the blade with his giant hand, stopping the blade before it pierced his scales.
“If that was your best strike, just take a deep breath and embrace the inevitable,” the sharkkin grinned and spread open his jaws, ready to swallow Number Forty.
“Wait, already?” Number Fighty-eight lifted his head from the chests, still having not decided on a weapon.
Number Forty let go of the hilt of her katana and jumped back, making some distance between herself and the sharkkin.
“You’re barely delaying the inevitable—HUURK!” Number Forty-four’s eyes bulged when the katana thrust forward, sliding through his hand, stopping only when the hilt pressed against a closed fist, but by then the katana’s black blade had already entered the sharkkin’s gut.
“Aargrhhh!?” Number Forty-four groaned in pain, looking down, not understanding what happened. He was the one holding the opponent’s weapon. And yet that very weapon pushed his fist back into his abdomen, driving the blade deeper inside him while streams of blood poured from the wound just below his stomach and the deep long cuts inside his clenched fist.
But the blade did not relent. It kept pushing forward, aiming to fully cut through the sharkkin’s insides. The force of the blade picked up and the sharkkin’s naked feet started to slide backward, grinding against the rocks while the sharkkin’ curled his three toes on each foot, trying to grab onto the surface and stop this increasing force.
But the force did not stop. Rather, the sharkkin grew weaker as the katana pushed his fist harder against the increasing wound, doubling, tripling the pain. The hilts of the katana pressed so hard against his fingers that the bones audibly cracked from the pressure.
“AAAAARGH!” Number Forty-four screamed and let go of the blade.
The katana instantly pierced right through the sharkkin like was butter. Before anyone could even blink, the katana tore through the sharkkin’s back, making a massive wound, and zapped forward, through another participant’s chest who was unlucky enough to stand in the same line of fire as the sharkkin.
____
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vie4iz/new_life_as_a_lewd_futanari_succubus_ch_293295