Die Walküre: Götterdämmerung

As Samantha Osman walked in the front door of her new home, her stocking feet sliding merrily along the hardwood floor, she marveled at both the fullness of the day and the emptiness of the house. Of course, only one of these two truths was unusual. As a 16-year-old high school principessa, her days were usually quite full. A gorgeous little future socialite, as she sometimes fancied herself, could scarcely afford to spend a day without pumping schoolmates (never unpopular ones, of course) for gossip about boys, less popular girls, and upcoming social events.

The house was empty because the Osman family hadn’t moved in yet. This house was part of a development project, and most of the new homes in the vicinity didn’t have any walls, let alone occupants. Theirs had been the first completed, a million dollar home with tons of square footage and regal-looking grounds…or what *would be* regal-looking grounds, once the landscapers were done. The rooms were empty except for what would be her bedroom. She had been bragging to her friends for weeks about her new homestead, and when it was finally completed on the inside, nothing would do of course but for her to move in at once. Her father had hated the idea, but she had mewled and pestered him until he had finally relented, allowing her to order their movers to transport her bedthings, including the bed itself and her dresser, to their new digs. One day and one night early. Plenty of time to have the popular girls over for a little bit of a slumber party.

Samantha was genetically lucky in that she was a vision of youthful beauty, always bouncing around as a whirlwind of tits, ass, and blonde highlighted hair. Her brown eyes, perfectly plucked eyebrows, artificially whitened teeth, impeccable tan, and plump teenage chest had made her the talk of the school. Girls wanted to be her, with her money, great clothing and jewelry, and teen queen good looks. Boys wanted to hold her hand, take her to the dance, and maybe steal a kiss. The male faculty just wanted to fuck her, and she privately found their guilty glances to be a satisfying affirmation of her own beauty and status. On many occasions she would flash a heart-stopping bulge of hip toward a teacher or janitor, privately thinking that if the old pervs ever so much as touched her by accident, she’d holler sexual abuse and have their ancient asses locked up. She dared them to try it, and it was a dare she always won.

Samantha had discovered long ago that slumber parties were a useful social weapon. Girls who aspired to be part of the more accepted circle would jump at the chance to attend them, and Samantha and her circle of financially and socially powerful friends would carefully test their mettle in such cases, looking for signs of poverty, or thought that did not toe the teen queen mark. Sympathy for so-called “ugly girls” was always a big faux pas. Samantha considered high school a sort of “survival of the fittest”, where if you couldn’t be bothered to get off your lazy ass and do squats, or ate more than 500 calories a day without puking, you deserved what you got. Tormenting fat and unpopular girls (and sometimes guys) was a favorite pastime, and she and her compatriots would giggle themselves silly at the audacity and stupidity of these targets, who would sometimes try to innocently strike up conversation, or ask if Samantha and one of her teen queens might want to “hang out sometime”.

As if.

Hang out with a girl lacking a Prada handbag? Samantha would sooner eat actual carbs, or drink something that wasn’t either Evian or a Diet Coke. Never happen.

Just lately, she and her circle had been tweaking an introverted, hopeful young thing named “Allie Sauders”- a name that Samantha had quickly modified to “Allie Sow-Boobs” after one look at the girl’s fairly large, but usually ill-dressed rack. Allie was always trying to hide these puppies in gym class, and Samantha had wondered why. One afternoon, following a time when Allie had sat next to her on the dodgeball bench and dared to strike up a hesitant conversation as if they were friends, she had “accidentally” caused Allie to expose herself in the locker room. The reason for her tit-hiding had become clear- the girl had had strange-looking, inverted nipples at the ends of her big breasts.

And this bitch had been talking to her? Telling her “you play well, Samantha” as if they were best friends?

As if.

Allie had run home crying that day. The next day, she had come back, trying to be brave, but Samantha had arranged for one of her lovestruck male classmates to draw up a crudely-drawn sign with the words “Allie Sow-Boobs” and a pencil sketch of the droopy, fold-nippled tits in question, and paste it on Allie’s locker. She had left again.

Now she was back. Allie, who also wore thick glasses, had been timid at first, but after a few weeks she was back into the swing of things and even making a few new friends, a fact that perturbed Samantha to no end. Hell, the girl didn’t even tan- and glasses? Get some LASIK surgery, for fuck’s sake. It’s basically free- just ask your dad! And she was making friends? Fuck, she’d even managed to strike up some sort of relationship with Samantha’s former male friend, Todd Desmond. Of course, she would never fuck Todd- he was from a poor part of town, but she did enjoy stringing him along, and since Allie had come back, the girl and Todd had spent a lot of time together in the library, and Todd had been ignoring Samantha entirely.

As if.

So Samantha had sent word through the grapevine that Allie might be invited to her slumber party. Of course, this was a blatant lie- but one of the best things about an invitation is that it can be revoked, hanging the target out to dry. It was a trick she had used many times to remind people of the pecking order. Her house was always the biggest, her parents cared the least (about her having parties, at least- they certainly cared about her reputation, and how it might reflect on them at the country club) so she had always hosted the high school socials, and invitations were eagerly sought. On one occasion, Samantha had gotten Joanie Jae Simons (a girl in her grade who had a name Samantha privately thought to be stupid) to steal her a present in exchange for an invite. Joanie had been apprehended for shoplifting, and Samantha and her friends, who had never intended to admit Joanie anyway (she used public transportation and sometimes left her hair uncombed) had laughed all evening about how stupid the bitch was.

Samantha had christened her “Joanie Jail Simons” the next day. It had followed the girl until she transferred schools.

In any case, it had been time to run Allie Sauders, who had ugly tits, bad eyesight and the gall to talk to one of Allie’s male admirers, out of school on a rail- and Samantha had done that just two days ago. Allie had gotten word that Samantha had wanted to invite her but had been “too shy” (yeah right!) and given the idea that if she were to approach Samantha about the idea, things would go smoothly.

As if.

During lunch, in a hallway filled with schoolmates, Samantha had watched from the corner of her eye as Allie shyly approached. It had been funny- the nearsighted, potentially cute bookworm (though Samantha would never admit this to anyone, including herself) had scuttled gradually toward her, walking from unpopular group to unpopular group like she was lunging toward safe zones in a minefield. It was adorable in a way- but mostly sad. Samantha was heartened to know that the destruction she had caused to Allie’s confidence with the “accidental” bra-yanking had been somewhat permanent.

At least, Allie, holding two thick library books across her chest like a shield, had sidled up to Samantha’s group, which included two or three popular girls and two or three popular boys.

“So, I hear you’re having a party?” the dark-haired, bespectacled girl had asked.

“Yeah?” Samantha had said back- not loving, but not hostile- not yet. It would have been too soon.

“So…Todd mentioned that maybe I’d be able to come?”

Silence. Allie seemed to clutch her books tighter.

“Um…I could bring some snacks! I know how to make good nachos!” she had said, and Samantha had laughed. Allie was already stumbling like a bull with shoulders skewered by a skilled picador- now it was time to knock her out of the ring.

“Like I’d ever let you come to one of my parties,” Samantha had said, words dripping with snark. Allie’s eyes had widened with horror. Everyone had laughed. The surrounding unpopular groups, and the fringe-popular groups, had also laughed. Because laughing with Samantha meant you might be liked by Samantha. And that was good.

“Pffft,” Samantha continued, allowing air to slide between her lips. “As if.”

More laughter. Allie, now realizing the trick, had started to walk away, neck hung low, books clutched around her, bespectacled eyes welling with hurtful tears. There were low chuckles, and as the young girl approached the exit doors, Samantha had added:

“Fucking Allie Sow-Boobs.”

Then, the laughter had started again. Allie had exploded out of the exit doors, dropping her books in a desire to get away, to anywhere, anywhere but that grateful school. And Samantha had mentally put another notch in her book.

Today, Allie had not come to school. Success. Where Allie went from here, Samantha couldn’t have cared less- the good thing was, Todd was drooling back over her again. Asking if maybe he could help her with homework, or carry her books.

As if.

Samantha walked into the bathroom of her new home. It was tiled exquisitely, and the blonde little vixen noted with satisfaction that this would be the first chance she’d get to prepare in it before her stepmother filled it with a bunch of unbearably overdone, ostentatious garbage, ruining the décor for all time. Hefting her large makeup bag, she heard her driver pull from the driveway. He’d been instructed to stay away until the next morning. Her friends would be arriving in four or five hours- about nine o’clock, and she wanted to be ready for a fun night of gossip and talking about what job her future husband might have.

Because he was going to have one hell of a good job. Marry a plebe?

As if.

Samantha carefully removed her school blouse, baring her black bra. Her tits were plump, perfect bulges beneath the fabric- not too big, but certainly not small- and still growing. Her nipples were perfect. Pink nubs with no trace of imperfections, like overly prominent bumps or hairs. She smiled into the mirror, examining her teeth for stains or marks. There were none. Experimentally, she jiggled her sexy teenage rack. At 5’4”, she was a fairly petite girl, only 105 pounds in weight, and most of that in her tits and ass. The boobs only bounced for a second, such was their firmness. Satisfied, Samantha unfastened her skirt and let it drop, turning sideways, casting a honed brown eye over her flat tummy, looking for fat. There was none. Just perfect, golden flatness. She then turned around and looked over her shoulder, pulling up on the sides of her sexy black panties to reveal more of her ass. Nothing wrong there, either. More perfection. More tanned and firm teenage flesh.

“Girl, you got it going on!” she said to her image in the mirror, and then cast herself a sexy wink. It was an expression she practiced often. In order to cast a hook, you need to have the good bait. She reached for the faucet- and paused.

A music box was playing somewhere. Light notes, but sinister- faerie pipe intonations imitating something heavier. A song she’d heard before.

Was it “Ride Of The Valkyries?” Done in tiny, tinkling little notes?

Samantha stepped out of the bathroom, covering herself partly with her shorn skirt. The noise was coming from downstairs. Had someone moved in their stuff early? Her stepbrother? Samantha wondered if the workers had left something behind, those bean-eating pieces of filth who she saw standing by the side of the road every morning on her way to school, joads on the prod for a job that didn’t involve tortillas? Had they forgotten some sort of fucking Mexican music box?

She had locked the door. It was a radio, or something. One of those lazy migrant workers had left a radio.

She turned into the main room.

It was not a radio.

There were four women standing in the living room, all wearing outlandish outfits of tight leather, each appearing to be in her early twenties. Buxom women, with tits causing their gleaming chestclothes to stretch, fabric pulled taut over fat bulges with large, protruding nipples that were lewdly obvious beneath the material.

One woman had short, punky red hair and was dressed in red leather. Her eyes were gleaming red rings.

One woman had medium-length white hair, dyed beyond the last vestige of color, and was dressed in white leather, the likes of which Samantha had never seen outside of the movie “The Matrix”. Her eyes were milked over with white contact lenses that shone in the light like twin moons.

One woman had long black hair, and was garbed in black leather. Her outfit featured a cloak. Her eyes were very dark- either brown or straight black.

The fourth woman was wearing a silver-grey catsuit. Her hair was the shiny color of Christmas-tree tinsel. Her eyes were grey. Grey and shimmering.

A music box was whirring on the floor, clicking silently between repetitions.

“Who the fuck are you?” yelled Samantha, holding her skirt over her puffy little teen crotch. “This is my house!”

The woman in black spoke, perfect, plump lips moving beneath dark eyes that seemed to contain no soul. “We are Die Walkure,” she said, accenting the name even though she seemed to speak otherwise accented English. “Punishers.”

Cellphone, thought Samantha. She darted upstairs, back toward her makeup bag and the bathroom door. It was a flight of stairs away, that and a turn of the hall, but in her frightened state it was something her athletic young body could accomplish in seconds. She would call 911 and put these trespassers in jail- see how people liked their fucked-up outfits in “eat-out-a-bull-dyke” prison.

Her bare feet beat a rhythm on the new floor- but she gasped and skipped to a stop in the wide upper floor hallway. A fifth woman was there, wearing a bustier coated with white feathers, letting her huge tits hang free over the top edge. Her crotch was coated only in white panties that were likewise feather-coated. Her skin was pale and perfect, her eyes, the lightest blue, her hair, golden and tied in a flamboyant topknot.

“I am Gabrielle,” she said, and her voice was commanding. Samantha felt fear fill her. “The messenger of god.”

Samantha looked the woman over and gasped. Her feathery panties were bulging out from her body- and a fat, pale cock was bursting from the waistband! It had to be at least a foot long! The young girl hadn’t seen too many cocks- only a couple, in carefully orchestrated games of hanky-panky with the most popular boys- but this one put their tiny wieners to shame! And it was uncut! All of her cockplay had been with perfectly cut, polite little boycocks! This thing had a huge, nasty foreskin that extended two inches off of the cockhead!

“Oh my GAWD!” gasped Samantha. She turned to run again…and saw that the other four women were coming up the stairs. She couldn’t help but look at the crotches of their variously-colored outfits, and saw with horror that each one of them was sporting a massive crotch bulge- a foot in length, and enough girth to push the material of each suit obscenely outward from their athletic forms. These weren’t the sexy little boycocks she had occasionally teased, nor the medium-sized, smooth idealizations she had fantasized about. These were fat, veinous, leather stretching, huge-widthed…donkey dicks!

“From the left side of the throne, I come,” said Gabrielle, her voice the low and beautiful intonation of a sultry and sexy warrior goddess. “With a sharpened scythe that has been ready since creation.”

Nobody knows I’m here, thought Samantha. There are no other families or human beings for miles. I’m all alone. The phones don’t work. My friends won’t be here for hours. And if they can’t get in touch with my cell, they might not even come at all. Oh god! Oh god! They’re SEX PERVERTS! HERMAPHRODITE FREAKS!

“SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!” cried Samantha, shrinking against the wall, knowing no one could hear her. The women did not so much as wince at her screaming, though it hurt her own ears. They seemed implacable. Unstoppable. And what task had they come to perform? Samantha could only guess- and her guess was kidnapping. Kidnapping and rape. God, to have those massive she-penises tearing into her tight little cooter, the perfect, pink-lipped slit had only felt fingers and various cylindrical objects- what a horrible abomination!

“HELP ME, HELP ME, OH GAWD, SOMEONE!” she screamed, hoping for police sirens, hoping for the slightest indication that someone had heard- but there was nothing. The house was a tomb. The area was a fucking ghost town.

As she drew breath for another cry, she heard the papery flutter of falling documents, and looked down. One of the women had thrown a number of large photos on the ground- color reproductions- and Samantha could see exactly what they were reproductions of. Her little ass and pussy. The picture was a low view of her bending over her bed, naked as the day she was born, groping for something- probably her panties. Her cunt was red and wet. She had clearly been masturbating.

“No, NO!” she gasped, bending to look at the sordid images. She flipped the surface image to the back. The next photo showed her on her bed, with a hand buried in her perfect little snatch, and a fluffy teddy bear nuzzled against her tits. Her face was a picture of ecstasy.

*FLIP*

A picture of her in the shower, soaping up her tight little body.

*FLIP*

A picture of her on her bed, burying a number of capped Crayola markers into her stretched cunt. The look on her face was one of absolute, damning pleasure.

*FLIP*

A picture of her ramming the same markers up her ass, grunting on all fours, eyes shut in an eternal pose of effort.

*FLIP*

“OH GAWD!”

A picture of her licking the markers clean.

*FLIP*

The most damning picture of all. A picture from the ornate shower at her old house, with her huddled in the corner, head over heels, directing a stream of her own piss up into the air. Some of it was landing on her face.

How had they gotten these? They must have been watching for her weeks!

“We have thousands of these,” intoned Gabrielle. “Tens of thousands, if we wish. Know that we do not begrudge you the activities therein, child. We believe in such acts. We believe in satisfaction, penetration, and the breaking of boundaries.”

The powerful blonde paused.

“Still, our current plan is to post a copy of each on every locker at your school, and slip one inside each door. We will also be leaving a number of them at every bus stop in town, as well as a full collection in the mailboxes of your friends and their parents.”

Samantha was speechless.

“You play a cruel part, child. You are broken, and now our mistress sees fit to sweep you from the stage.”

The women on the stairs, in their multicolored leather getups, began to chime in, in powerful, assertive voices that seemed to be twinned.

“You fancy yourself a social goddess.”

“You think you are worthy to govern the hearts of other beings.”

“To play at them as a cat with string.”

“No.”

“We are the cat. And the string strewn about it. Die Walkure are the flagstones beneath it and the sky above it.”

“The air within it.”

“The years ahead of it.”

“The past behind it.”

“The goddess bids you to cease.”

“Not just your cruel action, but all action.”

“We are cruel, only to be kind. She cannot love. She never could. And so with hate she removes those who hate.”

“With hate, she atones.”

Quad zippers unzipping. Quad cocks emerging from tight leather confinement. Massive thicknesses of female dickflesh, dripping with sweat. All with flopping, long, puckered foreskins. So big! Bigger than the young girl had seen or even imagined in her naughty masturbations. She tried to imagine them penetrating her, and couldn’t. Those cocks were something out of a fucking porn movie using a fish-eye lens. They were twice as big, twice as thick, as any she had ever conceived- and attached to beautiful, outrageously buxom, bubble-assed, fat-nippled, sexy-lipped, doe-eyed, perfect-haired…WOMEN!

As if!

In her fantasies she had made men lick her boots, kiss her ass- she had ground their cocks beneath her feet. Made them promise to do whatever she wanted, then left them out in the cold. In some fantasies there were two men- a hopeful suitor and her true love. Every time, she would string the suitor along, but fuck her true beau at the end, leaving the hopeful man in tears. In other fantasies it was her, another girl, and the man that that other girl desired, and of course she would seduce the man, force him to denounce the other girl, leaving her in tears. God, she had creamed herself so hard. She had been imagining such things when the horrible, glossy pictures were taken- the ones that these psycho herm bitches were threatening to spread all over town. How the fuck had they obtained such pictures? Cameras in her house?

“You want money, my dad can get it for you,” Samantha babbled, pressing up against the wall in the hall. “He’ll pay for me, honest. Just forget the pictures. Take me as a hostage, but forget the pictures…”

Gabrielle walked close. Her huge, uncut cock loomed in front of Samantha’s bra-satcheled tits, and her feather-fringed boobs were jutting just below the girl’s chin. Each of these five women was put together amazingly well. Stacked in the rack, full in the ass, athletic and sexy…great hair, perfect skin and eyes. Samantha would have been jealous, if she weren’t terrified.

The blonde continued to speak. “Those pictures are not the worst of it. We intend to show everyone the sight of you voiding your bowels- and plugging your most intimate place with tampons. They will stand mesmerized at the sight of you causing yourself to vomit with one eager hand- a clever trick for the lazy young girl who wishes to maintain her figure, I must say. They will see the expression on your face as filth coils forth from your sphincter, and recognize contentment and pleasure there. I must say, I have seldom seen such a long and mountainous load of excrement issue from the behind of such a tiny female.”

Samantha slid down the wall, in tears. The women were larger than her, and there were five of them. She could not outfight them or outrun them- and there was no one around for miles. “OH NO, NO, PLEASE!” she bawled. “I’LL DO ANYTHING, PAY ANYTHING, JUST DON’T DO THIS!”

“There is nothing you could offer, child, that would counterbalance the punishment that our goddess would have in store for us, should we fail to accomplish our assigned task. Now, as you are destroyed, ask yourself if, given photos such as these pertaining to an enemy or rival, or even an innocent, you would simply toss them aside out of sheer goodwill- or profit by them?”

Gabrielle moved forward again. Her cock was just half an inch from Samantha’s soft, smooth midsection. The young girl shrank back against the wall.

“You expect mercy, giving none,” Gabrielle said, sternly. Her voice had the sound of a parent lecturing a child she was frustrated with, but loved just the same. Given the situation, it was a horrible, horrible tone. “Yesterday, Allie Saunders tried to kill herself. She is in critical condition.”

Samantha gasped. They were here because of Allie? “IT WASN’T MY FAULT!” she screamed. “It wasn’t my fault! She’s fucked up! She did it because she has no friends! She just needs a haircut and to learn how to dress!”

The other woman began to speak up, voices eerily the same, echoes of the same tone from different, full-lipped mouths.

“You have sown the seeds of her ostracization.”

“With one finger, you could have lifted her up.”

“Lifted her so high, given her such happiness.”

“With a kind word.”

“With but a glance to let others know she was a worthwhile human being.”

“You did nothing.”

“More than that, you watched gleefully, and reveled in her destruction.”

Samantha’s mind whirled. It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault! Why didn’t Allie just…TRY to be popular?

“We will refrain from publishing these photos on one condition,” said Gabrielle, beautiful lips wrapping sexily around every word. Her eyes were pure summer sky.

“ANYTHING!” gasped Samantha, wiping tears from her face. “God, anything!”

“For the duration of our visit, child, you must not refuse us anything, nor resist us with intent to prevent our actions and overtures.”

“I don’t understand…” sobbed Samantha. “You fucking bitches, why don’t you just leave me alone!” Her mind was a whirlwind. The monster cocks on display, attached to GIRLS- the threat of sexual pictures of her 16-year-old body, the idea that they might plaster the school with photos of her taking a massive, binge-induced, five-day constipation shit…it was terrible!

“You need not,” said Gabrielle, and Samantha choked out tears as she felt floppy foreskin brush over her tits. “You need only obey. And if you have any sanity left in the end- your reputation will be saved. We will show you the mercy you yourself have denied to all who needed it most.”

Gabrielle moved a long-fingered, elegant hand to the end of her huge cock. She pushed it forward slightly, stretching further the waistband of her feathered panties, dragging her white, veinous, floppy foreskin over Samantha’s tear-streaked face. With her back against the wall, the girl could only weep.

“Get on your knees, child,” said Gabrielle, commanding. Her huge, 12-inch cock was a fat stick of meat before the small girl’s dazed and unbelieving face. “And open your mouth.”

Footsteps. Peeling leather. Costumes being removed. Through tear-choked eyes, Samantha could see she was in a forest of jutting girlmeat. All five women, the angel, the redhead, the silver, the black, and the white, were sporting foot-long, uncut cocks, with floppy foreskins that she couldn’t help but think of as anything but nasty. The four women who had followed her up the stairs, the ones who had been around the music box- they had quickly removed their leather pants to reveal color-coded panties stretched disgustingly over fat girths of bulbous dick. There were no balls to be seen. Beneath each meaty pole was a fat-lipped, lube-drooling cunt. Samantha sobbed hopelessly when she saw that even their neatly trimmed bushes of pubic hair were color-coded. This was INSANE!

Five massive girldicks were swarming over her face, draping droopy lengths of foreskin over her teen queen features, drawing snail-like trails and curlicues in her tears.

“OH GAWD!” she bawled, wracked with sobs. “PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!”

“Anna Richter, do you remember her?” asked Gabrielle.

“PLEASE, NO!” bawled Samantha. “FUCKING PLEASE, I DIDN’T HURT HER!” Anna Richter had been another girl in her class, earlier in the year. She too had transferred schools, but not out of embarrassment. She had been sent into foster care elsewhere in the state.

“You were jealous that she might have sex before you did. You knew her relationship with her father was bad, and yet you snuck into her room and left evidence of her birth control on an obvious place,” Gabrielle said, pressing her fat dick against Samantha’s face.

“NO, I DIDN’T!” bawled Samantha.

“We know you did,” said Gabrielle. “We know everything. Did you know that he found that birth control, just as you half hoped?”

“PLEASE!” bawled Samantha.

“Did you know, child, that he beat her mercilessly with his fists that night?”

“OH GAWD! IT WASN’T ME!”

“Did you know that he told her, as she was bleeding from his blows, that he would have to check if her maidenhead was pure?”

“I DIDN’T! IT WASN’T ME! GAWD! NO!” The cocks swarming in Samantha’s face were merciless. She could feel the hot weight of them, the heat of them. Could smell the cummy, spermy, slimy, sexmeat SCENT of them. Could feel floppy piles of foreskin squishing into her lips, her nose, her eyelids. Could imagine them forcing her to use her little pink tongue to slurp the precum that was accumulating in their sheathed cocktips. Their pissholes weren’t even visible!

“CAN YOU COMPREHEND WHAT SHE FELT AS HE OWN FATHER STUFFED HIS FINGERS INSIDE OF HER!?” roared Gabrielle. “Can you imagine her pain as he found her broken inside, not from sex, but from her own virginal pleasuring of herself, and called her a whore? Can you imagine what she felt when he assaulted her himself!?”

“NO! NO! NO!” cried Samantha, mouth partially muffled by fat, floppy-skinned futa cockheads.

“You think you know pain,” said the black-haired woman, whapping her long, thick cock against Samantha’s face.

“But you know NOTHING,” said the redhead. Her body was an exact clone of the black-haired, and the three others, for that matter. They could have been twin sisters- except for the different colored hair.

“Our mistress has instructed us to show you the true meaning of the word,” said the silver-haired woman. She had a mild tan. Like the rest, her fat tits jiggled, full and tipped with rocket nipples, above her powerful girlcock.

“Yours is a crime against our indigo heaven,” finished the white-haired woman. Her eyes, hidden beneath milky contact lenses, were inhuman. Her lips were painted in glossy white lipstick. Like the silver-haired woman, she had a tan, this one deeper. Her thatch of white pubic hair was a beautiful sight against her bronze skin.

“Now,” finished Gabrielle, placing a hand in Samantha’s carefully-done blonde hair, “pay with your soul.”

Then, Samantha’s eyes went wide as the first jaw-stretching cock powered past her lips and into her unwilling mouth.