WH40K – Klitflik Da Orkette

It’s the 41st millennium.

There’s bullshit. Lots. Nobody’s got no damn common sense.

Everywhere there’s some fuck-shit getting started.

Racist humans in power armor want to kill everybody for a dude too high on his lean and in his golden chair to give a damn.

Jeremy Kyle Show guests, grown from mold, are doing World★Star in space.

There’s samurai elf hoes in space. With Predator clothes.

There’s robot zombie black people running around shooting shit with limeade. Grove Street 4 Life.

There’s racist Asian stereotypes from Blue Man Group playing Gundam Wing.

There’s albino elves LARPing as Hellraiser and doing BDSM stuff. In space.

And there’s devil worshipers acting like they got no damn sense. They think they’re affected by demons, but in reality, they’re just on drugs. Khorne? More like bath salts and old coffee. Nurgle? Slaanesh? That’s just ebola and Extacy. Tzeentch? That’s just Snoop Dogg.

And finally, there’s WWI Germans…er, I mean Nazis…er, Imperial Guard running around flashing flashlights in people’s faces.

Whatever everybody’s smoking, it must be some hardcore shit.

Welcome to World Star in space. Warhammer 40,000.

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Up. Up. Up.

Pale white hands with a greenish hue climb in the soil. Upwards. Up. Up !

The ground opens, letting a small, skinny white body clamber out the soil like an albino corpse in a zombie movie. Long skinny arms, toned but smooth and soft, burst from the dark, clammy floor of the cave’s soil floor. A small head rises out, as skinny small and green shoulders lift push out from the damp, cool soil. A creature looking like a pale human child, but with the arm and shoulder dimensions of a hairless bonobo, clambers out the soil. Wet red eyes tear and water, blinking in the child-like face as tears wash soil and amniotic fluid out of them. A long, bulbous nose like something of a racist caricature of Europeans juts from the child’s face. The white cheeks blush a pale greenish-blue hue, as do the thin lips and lack-thereof of chin. The little creature looks upwards to see a wilted mushroom looming above it’s head, not realizing this was “mom”, who’s fungus roots formed a amniotic sac growing the “child” for months.

A pair of long, skinny, warm hands lash out from the dark, grasping the child’s throat. Long, sharp, hard claws just from every finger of the long, skinny human-like hands struggling to throttle the child’s neck. A instinct of fear flushes through the body the very moment the child feels pressure on it’s throat, stopping breathing. Then…anger. A lot of anger. Standing upright off it’s knuckles, it swings a long, dense arm out hard and angrily. The forearm and back of the long ape-like hand collides with a warm, soft, naked body. Smaller, much smaller. The body caves in under the blow, and the clawed hands let go, sliding down the body to the moist, stinking soil below. The red-eyed child blinks it’s eyes, letting the glimmer of glowing fungus slowly illuminate the cave and make-out shapes.

It looks down to see it has the naked white body of a human child. Except no genitals. And the shoulders and arms of an ape. Just a relaxing stoop, letting the tired back muscles relax as it slouches, and the powerful knuckles hit the soil. The strong arms hold up the already tired child, as it looks down in front of it. On the soil, gripping it’s stomach, and gasping for breath, is a creature that a human in Medieval times would call a “kobold”: long pointed ears, oversized Nordic nose, smart little blue eyes, and a head of bright blonde hair between those big bat-like ears. The body looks comedic: like a human child about 5 years old, but with the feet and hands of a adult man. It grits it’s human-like teeth in pain, as the child above it rolls it’s own tongue on it’s own teeth. Feeling sharp, conical, but small points all over it’s mouth.

A large, ape-like hand lashes down, wrapping around the throat of the “kobold”. The huge, man-like hands grab onto the ape-like wrist, struggling to stop the choking. This wrestling goes on for about 3 seconds before the slightly smaller creature goes limp, ears fold back in submission, and the huge blue eyes bulge up at it’s choker in fear and total submission.

There’s something inside. Something felt. Something that the white child with green cheeks and ears, that just feels…satisfied. Feels, the best way to put it is, vindicated. A wrong righted, and now the slate wiped clean. Instinct. Instinct: an urge that needs no former education. A feeling. A urge to do a thing. The ape-armed child lets go, and brushes the itching soil from it’s body. It stands upright, finding it’s legs are strong and move it along faster, but it’s lower back gets tired easily, so it slouches down a head shorter in height and rests weight on it’s knuckles, walking like a bonobo. As it goes forward, it notices it’s would-be-strangler follows it like a loyal puppy dog. Afraid, but loyal. Always nearby, but a good arm’s length in distance away. For obvious reason.

The child is curious. It sees what looks like sponges rising from the soil. And what looks like dense spider webs along the rock walls, but that is not webbing. THAT is fungus, too. Thick mushrooms of all manner jut from the ground. The child, if you could call it that, is curious. So, it touches them. Explores how they feel. Then, puts them in it’s mouth. Some feel fun to chew. To roll around with your tongue. Some chew very well, feel great to chew. And then, swallow. It feels better after swallowing a chewed up mouthful, so the “child” does. It starts eating. Everywhere it goes, it hears the “kobold” scramble around it behind it like a lost baby bird, mimicking it’s every move, eating what it eats, picking at what it picks at, and eating too.

This goes on for days. Weeks.

Waking up, exploring, finding what is fun to chew, then what feels great to chew. And swallowing what feels great to chew. The kobold becomes a constant companion. A feeling of safety and “just feels right” when it’s around. In time, they begin to play. Things that make you laugh. High, squeaking laughter guffaws from them both as they play wrestle. Or throw rocks at one another. And when the soil is too cold, they hug, and become warm.

In time, the two explore the whole cavern. Then, they leave for the outside. They find as they eat, and wrestle, the more they do both, the smaller the cavern becomes. The smaller everything becomes. But much more for the child instead of the kobold. They find that they both have become a nice shade of green, and doing things that were tiring or too hard become easier. Too easy.

They both exit the cave and into what looks like a great pine forest. The temperature is almost perfect, all kinds of plants that look tropical cover the land, and rising far above them are trees that look like they’d only belong in the most cold and mountainous of Skyrim. Calming rivers lazily roll to and fro, filling the air with a song like that of a meditative Chinese water garden. There is no sign of animal life anywhere. Just vegetation. The oxygen in the air is thick and rich, and as they walk past, a flower explodes open, shooting pollen, fluid and seeds everywhere. They duck in fear, not expecting this before a seed falls from some unknown height and explodes like a bomb, sending needle-like seeds in every direction.

The two young green ones squeal and jump, feeling needle pricks either bounce off their skin, or plunge deep inside like a hypodermic needle. They retreat to the doorway of the cave, huddling in confusion and fear. The hard “needles” suddenly begin to soften inside their skin, like hard spaghetti noodles limping in very, very slow cooking water. After hours, the needles have become so limp that they don’t even notice them in their bodies anymore.

“Git dem asses up outta d’ere.” squeaks a voice from out of the brush. They look up in shock to see what appears to be a creature just like the “kobold”. He wears a dark green coat and hood, like a hoodie made from huge banana leaves. It’s so tediously and expertly sewn together using thin grasses and weeds that one couldn’t even tell it was a mass of leaves stitched and sewn. It is form fitting, showing off the creature’s body: like a coke bottle, complete with swishing hips and of course, the long ape-ish arms that swing past the knees. Despite the big feet and ungainly hands, the walk is precise: one foot in front of the other. Balance perfected. Long whitish-green hair, bearing a resemblance to pale-green angel hair plants, forms a sweeping bang along the side of the creature’s goblin face, complete with blue lips and glowing yellow eyes.

The two “children” don’t quite understand this goblin, but the body language and manner of speech communicates authority and a elder. They creep out of the cave, nervous and scratching at where the needle-seeds sunk into their flesh hours ago.

“D’ere ya go, ya lil’ shitz. C’mere…”

The goblin walks forward gently, easing a hand full of fruits. They smell intoxicating, and make both the creatures drool from hunger. They rush forward, snatch the food, and dash back to the mouth of the cave. The goblin with the hood and the swooping bang over one eye smiles a grin full of white needle-like teeth in bright pink gums. In his long pointed nose, a black ring carved from obsidian forms a ring that goes through his septum and forms a circular ball-ended barbell ring. It perfectly compliments the beaded gold ring through his thick, blue tongue. He sticks his tongue out, flicking the tongue ring to cling! against the septum barbell, giggling as his nose and cheeks blush yellowish. He fishes around in his pockets for more fruit and finds a tree stump to sit on, kicking his legs and bright yellow leaf-shoes like a kid sitting on a bench. He snickers a breathy giggle with breath smelling like fruit juice, a body that smells like a orchard, and tiny flowers like fruit blossoms show themselves in his hair as the wind blows his hood around.

“You’ze two is gonna need names…how ‘bouts….”

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“Fuss’N’bich!” screams a squeaky, goblin voice. It rings through what looks like a junkyard. A junkyard dropped in the middle of a forest. Most of the contraptions are inventions slapped together from wood, stone, and bits of metal. As the voice rings through the yard, a tall ork exits a hut made from wood logs. The ork looks a bit upside down in it’s build: heavy and muscular in the legs and thighs, but skinnier and more stunted up top. At 6 feet, the creature is clad in a similar clothing as the one yelling the orders: large flat leaves and pine sewn together almost seamlessly into a hoodie that falls down to the knees.

“Yeh?” it answers in a voice similar to a girl’s deep, raspy voice.

“Stop fuckin’ wiff da fuckery ‘n’ get dat arse da fuck ovah here, ya bloody minger!”

“‘Kay.”

Fuss’N’Bich saunters over through the junky area full of odd machinations and gizmos made from wood, leaves, stone and gravity. Giant gears, wheels, pulleys and such fill the air with the sound of groaning wood, pulleys straining, rushing water of the nearby stream turning wheels, and the like. There, the same goblin with the pale-green hair and pierced septum sits on a tree stump, scratching pictures and designs into a big sheet of stripped bark and pale leaves. Blueprints. He holds his lower face in his hand, tapping his long pink claws against his cheek deep in thought.

He and the ork fiddle with some wooden machine parts, lifting them here or placing them there. Just the usual day-to-day routine. But as the wind blows, the ork’s short length hoodie blows up, showing off a muscular, well built green ass. Just below where a bellybutton would be, a small slit and a little tiny pudge on the stomach hangs smooth and soft.

“Well, I’ll be…” the goblin whispers to himself, pulling his hoodie back to reveal thick, whitish-green hair that runs down to his neck and hangs in skater-boy bangs down the front of his face.

“Wot?”

“Put dat down fer a minute, you.”

Fuss’N’Bich, lifting by using legs and thighs more than the skinny arms and small shoulders, drops the huge contraption to hit the earth with a thundering bang. Red eyes blink confused above a round human-like nose, slanted eyes, thin lips, and long tusks that jut down like vampire fangs rather than jutting upwards tusks. The pudgy ork with a round face, wide flat face, thick waist and monstrous thighs sits down, sighing and expecting a lecture. Another one.

“Cummawn, Tweenk, wot I do now?”

“T’aint wotcha did, tits wotcha is..”

“Uh…?”

“Open ya legs, ya git.”

The ork shrugs, spreading the big, pudgy and muscular green thighs. Besides the anus all orks have for dropping the drops, in between them is a large green furry lump that looked identical to a unbloomed poppy bud. The pudgy little area on the lower part of the stomach poofs a bit more pronounced, and a pinkish hue of the inside of the slit where a human would have a bellybutton becomes obvious.

“Iz dat…” the goblin walks over, pushing his clawed hands against the pudge. It pushes inward like a mix of flab and loose skin. He sticks a claw into the slit above the pudge, and his finger slides into the tight, wet space. The ork giggles as if it’s ticklish. The goblin finds he can push his entire hand inside the tight, hot, wet slit, and pulls out a hand coated in thick goo. He wipes his palm on the grass with a loud, flamboyant “Ewwwww!” and then turns to look at the ork.

“So’s, I wuz right all long den.”

“Rite? You wuz?”

“Oh, hunny, I wuz, I wuz.” he does his hands flamboyantly with flamingly limp wrists.

Tweenk, the goblin, or grot if you will, was marooned on this strange planet years ago. A planet with not one iota of any life other than all manner of plants. He and his mates were on a rocket ship heading to…to….somewhere. But the ship crashed into the planet. The little grot was the only survivor while the others perished in a burning wreckage.

But when orks die, they release spores which will become more orks, and grots, and squigs. And orky shrooms. Well…the ones Tweenk was with. Afraid of what could possibly be lurking in the dark of a alien and unknown planet, he took what wasn’t burnt of his mates and buried them in a dank, humid cave. Hoping a mob of boyz would arrive in time.

But the goblin began to realize nothing lived on this planet but plants. All kinds of plants. Plants that took the path of evolution like a drunk driver on a jet plane. All he could find to eat was fruits, but all kinds of fruits. More fruits than he could imagine. And he found himself exposed to all kinds of hormones, chemicals, and mutators. Some plants ate other plants or were parasitic to others. But by being part fungal himself, he found that was one of the few things saving him from what could have been lethal toxins or chemicals to a pure animal creature. His diet of fruit and high sugar helped alter his energy and somewhat his color. His scalp had began to grow plants that looked like hair-thin sprouts, white with just a hint of green. His hair had a warm, thick, and silky smooth quality to it, and a few “follicles” even bloomed little tiny pink flowers at their ends. He noticed his black, bone-and-nail claws began to be replaced by bright pink ones that were more akin to a rose’s thorns. He felt livelier, better, but also more hormonal. Urges and thoughts that never really bothered him before now did. Tweenk perused the cave every so often, hoping to see what squigs or boyz would be growing. But many of the shrooms were infected by the alien plants and their odd DNA as many different spores, seeds, and even a few plants ripped up by a storm, all found their way blown into the cave. When the little ork did climb it’s way out of the soil, he was overjoyed something survived. But it was obvious by now this wasn’t the usual ork. But different.

“I alwayz knew from da day I slugged a bitch dat I wuz different.” frowned Bich-Fuss.

“No, no, nooo…” the goblin femininely grabs the ork’s face. “Datz not a bad fing. Sometimes, bein’ diff-rint is a good fing. Alotta times, bein’ diffrint meanz ya bettah.”

“Wotz about Thot?”

Thot, so named because That Hoe Over There was always thinking. Always had a thought. Thot, childhood friend of Bich’N’Fuss, was also born altered by the native plants. But Thot was busy with another errand. A personal one. Thot looked like the typical goblin, with a mouth full of sharp teeth, long pointed ears, green hued skin, and beady red eyes. Except, Thot’s body was shaped differently with head full of hair like Tweenk, and boasted a body that was less T-shaped, and instead more 8-shaped. Thot also had a lump between the legs that resembled a furry, unbloomed poppy bud. As well as stomach pudge and a slit where a bellybutton should be. But the difference was Thot’s “bud” had begun to “bloom”, letting a throbbing yellow stamen the size of a grot thumb erect upwards and the insides of the neon-blue bud leaked a sweet sticky nectar as it throbbed with tension and the grot’s heartbeat.

While hidden deep in the “jungle” of various plants that was the experimental garden of Tweenk’s, Thot’s little hips and scrawny green thighs quaked with tension and a heat boiled up from the groin. The grot was overcome by an urge the likes of which never felt before. The urge to crump stuff was fun, as well as to play fight or build things that did stuff. But this? This…this was too much. Thot couldn’t think, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do much of anything but find a hidden spot so as not to be disturbed and furiously slam those wiry little green thighs opened and closed frantically. The shutting of them, so hard it was like trying to clap with your knees, made the “itch” and drive between the leaking hot bud feel a little better. Like scratching an all-consuming itch. But when the thighs opened again, skin pulling at the bud and opening it wider to let another hot river of nectar run out and soak the grot butt cheeks, then it only got worse. So, even though slamming those thighs together gave SOME relief, it was only like tickling an itch: itty bitty relief leading to a jump in the urge to scratch.

Thot was so into slamming her thighs together that she was streaming jets of nectar all into the air as she was hidden in the bushes. The more she slammed her legs, the more a humid, sweet-smelling mist of pollen-like pheromones burst out. Eventually, she became so frustrated that she started to flick at the yellow stamen rising up from her neon-blue “budding.” She gritted her long, sharp teeth and threw her head back into the grass, curling her long clawed toes in the soil and hissing at the shock of unexpected pleasure to thunder up between her legs like a storm. The inner pedals swelled at her touch, making her insides too swollen and too big for her “bud” to close. Her groin almost looked like a blue flower with a yellow stamen shaped like a tiny cucumber.

“Oh GORK!!!” her glowing red eyes rolled into her head and she dug her sharp teeth into her bottom blue yellow lip. Her bud began to spasm and shudder like a Venus flytrap that couldn’t make up it’s mind whether to close or reopen. She screamed a squeaky, mousey goblin scream as she shot a stream of fluid that would easily be mistaken for flower-flavored honey. “UNH HUNH HUNNNNHHH!!” she cry whined in a nasally, squeaky mouse voice before plunging her thumb deep between her wet, pulsating pedals. Her canal spilled watery streams of nectar everywhere and she groaned with the frustration of being on the edge of relief, but still just a claw’s distance away. Her green and red claws, with more in common with a thorn than any kind of animal claw, viciously raked around the garden, looking for some kind of something that could be shoved up inside better than just a runty little thumb. She found a weird plant that looked like a bush of white cucumbers and snapped one off, before plunging it deep inside herself. Between the green doors of her slit, stuck out two swollen “pedals” of nerve-filled trembling “inner lips” which pushed outward in a bloom when aroused. And between them stuck out a yellow stigma that looked like a miniature trumpet made of neon-yellow flesh spilling fluids everywhere. She shoved the cucumber up her stigma, feeling it’s thickness plunge and stretch her out and shove the quivering stigma back up deep between her budding green lips. She slams her head full of pale-green hair into the soil, bites her lower lip so hard she bleeds a little, and jams her long thorn-like claws deep into the soil.

“KROG ‘N’ KROM!!!!!” she screams as her feet fly up into the air and her toes curl as if rapidly trying to catch a rope with them. Any normal ork would swear someone was beating a snotling with a hammer at the sound she was making. A very sloppy, messy, painful beating.

“THOT!!!!!” she heard echo through the trees when she finally calmed down enough to catch her breath and sigh. She shoved the cucumber so far up inside her that when she went to grab it’s bottom half, there wasn’t one. Her leaky bud had semi-closed itself now, calm and satiated. And she felt a pleasurable heaviness and firmness sitting up in her groin. She dug her long claws gently between her lips, but the slippery-sticky of everything made trying to grip the last-minute dildo like trying to use scissors to grab a cucumber that had been dipped in soap. All she was doing was pushing it up deeper and making it harder to get.

“THOT!!!!” screamed her boss, Tweenk.

“Ughhhh….fuckin’ Fruit…” the grot sighed, sitting up awkwardly on shivering legs and draping her leaf-hoodie over herself to return.

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She talkin’ shit on me social media?! WWWAAAAAGGHHH!!!

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Tweenk da Fruity, or Tweenk Da Trap, called so for his penchant for eating nothing but fruit and his love of making traps that twinkle or have flashing lights, stood before his two underlings. Bich’N’Fuss sat on a tree trunk, letting down her long dark blue, green and white “hair” that looked like someone took the furry mold on rotten food and tried to style it like a wild rocker girl from the 1980’s. And sitting on her head, was Thot twiddling with the thick, soft and busy hair. Bich’N’Fuss’ fangs hung down from her upper mouth and down to her bottom lip like a glam rocker trying to be a saber-tooth tiger. Or the cover from Fright Night.

“Whilez ya was growin’ up, I dun toldz ya that you lot wuz orkses, roit?”

“Yah.”

“Kay.”

“And I toldz ya how I gotz here, roit?”

“Kay.”

“Yah.”

“Well, see, I used ta be part uv a klan called da Blood Axes. Da uvver ork klans, dey said we wasn’t orksy, especially MY outfit. Becuz we believed in takin’ the thingz humanz did better den orks, and just usin’ dat instead of our old way. Ups-gradin’. Our boyz even wore helmets, green camo clothes, and did fings they called milltary drillz. Other ork groups said we dids fings da ‘umie way, which wuz da wrong way, but my boyz said we wuz doin’-did fings da superior way. See, we even called ourselfs a “outfit.” We lernt lot from the ‘umies, and if gettin’ sumfing from sumeone else makes ya even better, den dere’s nothin wrong wiff dat. We kept writings about da past. I read a lot uv it, and it said lots about what did happen…”

Tweenk had long taught his two underlings about what orks were, what they did, and why. And why it was so good. But as their questions grew with their ages, he answered those too. Like why orks did certain things, what for, how, and especially how orks repopulated: spores from the dead. But since he was part of the most un-orky outfit around, so un-orky that they even kept tight written records and wrote down things they came across, he told them how orks in the past used to reproduce in a different way. A ork who grew very, very old would grow a baby in a hidden pouch like a marsupial, leave in secret to raise the young in the pouch, teach them like any parent, and then send the young orks on their way to join a clan. This differed from the idea that the only way orks could breed was by dying and spores.

“Boss?” frowned Bich’N’Fuss, pursing her plump kissable blue lips against her vampire-like fangs.

“Wot?”

“Orks is da bess, right? We da bess. Um da bess.”

“Roit.”

“So…how cuz we keep dyin’ in loads when we fights da ‘umies? And if da biggest and strongest boys die, den…den maybe they ain’t the best of the best. And da one who’t killt ‘em is bettah.”

“….fukk you sayin’?”

“Oym sayin’, loik…” she rolls a finger in her hair like a airhead, “Loik, if a lil’ humie kills 100 orks, den he’s deffnitlee bettah. He ain’t just dead killy, but dat n***a straight drill time on dem hoez?”

“Strait drill, ay? Dats definitely more killy den dead-killy. Hmmm…….yah…YA! Oy, y’know, dat’s kinda smart and cleve-WOULD YA STOP DAT SHIT?!”

He caught the orkette with her hand in her V region again. Two fingers parting the lips, and the middle finger furiously flicking the bright yellow clitoris back and forth as she stares into the sky with a glazed-over, slack jawed look of purified stupidity.

“EVERYTIME I STARTZ TALKIN’, YA JUST UP ‘N’ STICK YA HAND UP YA COOCHIE! JUST A FLICKIN’ ‘N’ FUCKERIN’ WIFF YA GASH WHEN UM TALKIN’!! GITCHA….!!!” he slaps her hand out from between her legs, furiously gritting his sharp teeth as their hands do a mini slap fight, until she leaves her leaking pussy alone.

“But it’z fun.”

“YA GOTZ TA LISSEN!!!” He tries to calm down, sighing at his impatience with orks. “D’ya know how ANNOYIN’ it iz tryin’ tuh talk at somebody AND TRYNNA TALK OVAH DA SOUND OF COOCHIE CLAPPIN’?!?!?! ….urghhh…” He rubs his hand down his racist-white-stereotype of a green face, with little sharp teeth and beady red eyes that would make the troll from Cat’s Eye proud. “Don’t…don’t juss stand there, just a starin’ intah da sun while just-A SLAPPIN’ ‘N’ FLICKIN’ UP IN YA DOOT!!”

She stays staring into the sun, mouth agape. Like a green, air-headed glam rock vampire. Her lower fangs are small, but her upper canines are long.
“Wuzza coochie?”

“DAT! Da gash ya got ‘tween ya legs. Dat mingie fing.”

“Tee hee hee! Ya said “minge!” ”

Tweenk runs his hand down his face with a sigh. He forgot how irritating orks could be. But he caught her clap-flicking her cooch so much that he decides to just call her “Klit Flickah”. Or ‘Klitflik’ for short.

He rubbed his pink claws against his small chin, which pervertedly fit sensually with his naturally bright pink lips. Another outcome of his alien-fruit diet. Tweenk used to always work with the big mek (an orc mechanic and inventor) in his outfit before he was marooned on this planet. But for years upon years of trying to plant what was left of his pals, and month after month of the mutating plants preventing orks from growing from the ground, this left him with no choice but to use all natural materials. So he slowly found himself working more and more with cross pollination and botany while waiting for new orks to show up. Any orks. So he hopefully could get the hell off this planet. He realized that just by eating the food here and surviving the alien plants, his fungal-animal body mutated itself. And to be honest, he liked it. Loved it.

He tried in his own grot little way to explain to them that they were different than other orks. He didn’t know the exact hows and whys, but somehow he knew the native plants must have had something to do with it. They grew moss and fungal fur from their smooth plant-like skin, and they had odd little furry buds between their legs. They also had the pouches that old orks used to have, especially when they were ready to bud or spawn a litter. This, he he had never seen on a ork in his life, but he had read about ancient past orks from another region of the galaxy having them. He wasn’t sure if Klitflik and Thot’s pouches were the same or not, but they were definitely not old orks.

He stopped while noticing Thot kept leaking nectar from her crotch into Klitflik’s hair, giving it a glistening sheen and making it lie down flat and limp.

“Thot, c’mere you.” he said, turning his head to the side as if he’d been waitin’ on her at the do’. She clambered down, grunting unusually and with her face blushing a bright neon green. Her blue lips swelled up, as did two round buds on her chest. The entire area between her legs was swollen and throbbing unlike anything Tweenk had ever seen.

“Da fuck?” he frowned, duck-facing while deep in thought. Her thighs began to tremble and her oversized hands balled up into quivering fists. She bit her bottom lip with her sharp teeth and began to gasp hard and loud as if she was being spanked from behind. Her skinny little thighs, with knobby knees, and too-big feet, clench together and shudder. Her budding chest swells bigger and blushes a nice yellowish-green flush. Her bright red eyes roll into her head and the grot who looks like a big nosed nerdy girl thrusts her ass out and grunts hard and fast. She cums, sending a waterfall of fluid to ker-splash onto the ground like a turned over pitcher of water mixed with milk in it. Her lips part, letting her wet blue lips push out a bit and drool thick honey-like syrup. The white cucumber falls out with a sloppy, loud, embarrassing shplrp-shpunkk!! Tweenk jumps back in surprise. The little grot blushes hard, feeling a powerful sense of embarrassment at being seen. She then squats low, her knees high in the air, her hands on her knees, and her ass cheeks only inches above the ground. Her short hair sags wet with sweat as she grunts and pushes out a huge, round purple seed. She grunts, pushing again, and her inner canal, like a wet yellow tunnel of a female flower, splurts another torrent of fluid and a fresh purple seed shoots out like being shot out of a water slide. Complete with “back splash.”

Tweenk picks up one of the wet, slippery seeds and squeezes it. The plant it comes from is a sort of “parasite copy-cat”, in that it invades the male areas of different species near it, ones that get more light, and then it guzzles down all the sperm of the foreign species. The plant mimics traits of the other plant by using it’s sperm and produces a tougher, stronger version of itself. He looks down at the seed, then back up at his two greensies…and smiles.

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50 Shadez Uh Green. Team Azog cuz he’z a dreemy bloke, ‘e iz. Fuk brand loyaltee.

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“Girl? Wutz a girl?”

“You’ze a girl! And so is her. You da girlz.”

“I thought all orkses was boys?”

“You both gots the girl parts of a plant, see? Or a fungus…thing……I fink. I ain’t know. Whatevah, point is, you gots a gash dat’s a snatch hole. And ya gots da thrupney bits floppin’ ‘n’ bitty boppin’ round on ya front part.”

“Wuzzah snatch?”

“Dat fing.” his hand rudely swings up between the thick, bulky legs of the ork and loudly slaps against her furry “unbloomed poppy”. The hard, loud smack causes her to squeal a “Oooh!” and nectar to spill across his fingers from the soft, plump slit in it. He pulls his nectar-coated hand back with a “Ewww” face, and wipes it on his clothing.

“…oh, yeahhh…” the ork with wild 80s rocker hair mumbles to herself. She remembers sliding her thick, green fingers against her bud before. And when she pushed them in, her body lit up with pleasure, and her insides “snatched” her fingers as her insides spasmed, squirted and locked. Even since the days she was smaller than Tweenk, he always made sense. She looks down at him, and wonders why she has the urge to slap him. Just to reach down and get a nice, loud clap across the back of his head with a cupped hand. She thinks about it and starts giggling. Tweenk continues.

“So, see, because ya- WOULD YA STOP?!”

He catches Klitflik with her green fingers up between her legs again.

“Wot?”

“STOP UP-STUFFIN’ YA COOCH!”

“I ain’t.” she smiled sweetly, her long fangs sticking out down her chin. “Me fingaz up me ass.” :D

“Unnnhhh….” he rolls his eyes and flicks her off with a limp, fay wrist, mumbling under his breath. “Dense brick-head bitch…” He then points to a large bush that looks like a ball of coiled green vines, shooing Thot there which only causes her long pointed ears to slide back with fear.

“I fink I know where dis is goin’…” Thot mumbles, trying to turn back around.

“Oh no you bettah don’t!” he snakes his neck and snaps his fingers. Like a green Danny Noriega.

“Okay, boss. Wot now?”

“Slam your flat ironin’ board ass against it, green girl!”

Thot’s furry green eyebrow raises in confusion. Her bright red eyes peek at the tree, and she shrugs. She then backs up and throws her ass backwards against the soft rubbery trunk of the tree. She even throws it in a circle.

The tendrils come to life, moving as if possessed. Each green tendril, which feels like wet, warm, leather, whips outward. Long green vines snap and coil around the grotess’s wrists. Her big-nosed nerdy face snaps into a shocked expression. Her short hair is suddenly grabbed by another tendril, like a powerful man’s fist. Her hair is pulled, jerking her head back and exposing her soft, sensitive throat. A long, wet tendril slaps across her ass like a whip soaked in massage oil. She her body jolts from the slap, leaving a blushing line across her naked ass, two more tendrils fling outward to coil around her ankles.

“DA FUCK?!”

She feels herself yanked off her feet. Her wrists and ankles feel like they are tied in warm, slippery leather ropes. And her head yanks back as if a green fist was pulling her hair. She feels her arms spread wide open, exposing her sensitive breasts to be grabbed, fondled, slapped and teased. She feels wet coils slide up her body and greedily coil around her breasts, squeezing them in a perfect blend of pleasure, pressure, teasing, and a bit of pain.

“BOSS?!” she squeals in her mousy voice as her hair is yanked harder, and another tendril sends a slippery smack across her ass. With each smack, they leave oily streaks of a fluid that make her skin become more sensitive. Which means with every slap, the pain increases, but so does the pleasure. With every slap, her back goosebumps further, and a warm sensual “glow” flows where ever the oil touches her body. Long ropey tendrils coil and squeeze around her breasts. Other tendrils pinch, roll and flick her nipples. Her skinny female body becomes dominated, tied up, pinned down, spanked, whipped, flicked, lapped, tapped and clapped. Even teased, greased, groped and wrapped. Her blue nipples jut upward, so hard and erect that they almost feel numb. Numb from oversensitivity, as if that makes any sense. She feels the buds of her breasts swell firmer and bigger in her skin, breast erection, how breasts react to being aroused.

Her naked throat is flicked, oiled up, collared and lapped as her head is jerked back, as the plant holds her in perverse kinky submission. She clenches her eyes shut and grits her sharp little teeth as she feels the oily ropes roil and coil around her thighs and slick them up in the sensitivity oil. A thick hanging rope coils down between her flat ass cheeks and down across her groin like a thong made from a plant vine. It slides hard and wet against her throbbing yellow clitoris now, sliding up along the underside of it and making it be pushed upwards and back against her. It’s like having a thick, wet vine for a thong, except the “thong” keeps moving down through your buttocks, sliding against your anus, up through your lips, and upwards against the clitoris. She tries to close her thighs, but they are tied securely open, opening her and exposing her body for the plant’s wishes.

A loud, wet slap claps across her ass again, another along the back of her thighs. The “collar” of wet vines around her neck roll and slide gently, constantly sliding sensitive massaging strength along the side and back of her neck. She can’t hold out like this. She opens one red eye to see she’s being watched. The shame of all your nudity exposed to the world while being rubbed, explored, and ravaged.

Her sharp little teeth dig into her bottom lip. Her breath begins to quicken and pace louder and faster. Faster and louder. She can feel the hot flickering of a orgasm suddenly rushing up from deep in her pelvis and in her belly. Slow, but heavy. Slow, but hard. No little cums before a big one. Just one, huge, heavy, chugging train of cum and scream and spasm steadily charging at a slow but unstoppable pace. Knowing they’re going watch her cum while being tied up and ravaged by a kinky, oily plant that’s spanking and tying her up only makes the slow orgasm train even HEAVIER. A biiig freighter of “Oh FUCK” on it’s way.

“Oy!!” yells Tweenk with his hands cupped over his mouth. “Try not to get wet!”

“Kinda late…”

“See, the more wetness ya spill, the more it drives the plant into a seedin’ frenzy.”

“Oh Fukk…”

She realizes the plant keeps making her wet. And more wet she becomes, the more the plant begins to spank, squeeze, fondle, flick, slap, and pull. It seems like a hopeless cycle.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/77hk02/wh40k_klitflik_da_orkette