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Noxian Tact

Story request for @AjanisPridemate : “a sequel to your Kled story with spermicidal takeover. Maybe something with him dominating Nasus”

“You look better like this. Those rags don’t suit you.”

Is he serious? Yes, he is absolutely and undoubtedly serious. A voice of absolute madness, yet I know I must listen to him. Why on Runeterra does Azir have such an appetence for jokes? Why was I forced to embark on a diplomatic mission instead of tending to the libraries and teaching the new scholars? To listen to that diminutive and spastic Yordle? A joke.

No different than the clothes he has given me after an umpteenth blunder where wine ruined my attires. I don’t know how, but his goblet’s content always hits the mark. And every time, he has those dresses he “has found” from the market. And every time… I accept them.

“Yes… They’re fitting,” I say. But truthfully? I could have given those rags to a servant or a harlot. The silk might be of quality, yes… But those cuts. It is impossible someone could have tailored such a tall dress for a woman… And yet, the cut was evidently lascivious. The silky and almost translucent fabric covering my privates, the exposed thighs and belly, the mere drapes over my shoulders. Even that mask. He has been so eager I have my muzzle covered with it, like an exotic dame.

“What’s this? I hear doubts. You don’t like them. Don’t you?”

The goblet again waving; I have to fight the circle my eyes would love to follow so I can focus on Kled. With his constant snarl and that missing eye, he might have the presence of a General… If said general is constantly inebriated and teetering on folly. And on being grabby, touchy-feeling.

Already, I can feel his tiny hands going over my thighs, feeling the black fur over my body, fondling my muscles like I am a prized toy. Why on Runeterra am I unable to stop him?

“You don’t like it? That’s a gift! You should like it!”

“I look like a harlot.”

“Harlot, whore… That’s what you are, Nasus! C’mere! Show your Yordle what’s your price.”

“But-”

“To hell with Thems! Let’s do it here!”

The crowd barely gives us any heed. Not that it’s a large crowd or the tournament is engaging. But when Kled arrived without his trousers, his furry-white genitals dangling from his legs, he made his opinion clear on what he would do during that event. And they tried to ignore him, us.

“Do everything it takes to strike a deal with them.”

I might have taken those words a bit further than I should. But it is not like I have a choice. It is not like I can resist him. He might be brutish, he might be a bastard…

But well… he has me wrapped around his finger as I lean, drop from my chaise, and kneel before him. He has already spread his legs for me, allowing my muzzle to slip between his legs, to have my nose between his thighs, and my sense of smell enraptured by that… Aroma.

Musk. Oh. I should be used to masculine smells, inured to them. But this one?

I cannot stop myself from taking whiff after whiff, sensing how that brutal perfume’s wrangling my nerves. Spastic? It describes my thoughts and hands whenever I am between those legs or feeling the brunt of that enormous shaft.

From an anatomical, and correct, perspective, Kled should have smaller genitals. His cock should be less impressive, and his testicles are way too large to allow proper locomotion. But I guess he does not care for those petty details.

He is endowed, and that is all that matters to him. And to me.

His size is good enough for me to sample the salty and musky fluids slathering his cocktip, maybe with a hint of urea. He knows it gets me riled up; he knows how excited I can be with it as my tongue licks and tastes and samples. I slurp it loudly, and behind me, I hear growls from witnesses disgusted by such display… But do they know anything about our previous talks? Of our bargain? I doubt so. They should… or at least, they should be content for us, for the peace we are bargaining for.

“Good girl, good bitch. You like it, don’t you?”

He chuckles and mocks, typical. But the way he holds out his uncut penis and waves it, hitting and smacking it against my nose, it… Elicits tremors in my loin and a hastened pulse in my heart. Resist it? Resist that Yordle? I tried our first nights together. But I know it is better not to fight him, not to resist the tug and the constant pressure on my gonads.

“I… Prefer when it is inside me, Sir Kled.”

“Of course you do. Go on. Sit. The chair’s made to resist your fatass!”

In public? For everyone to see? Still, I gulp down the last droplets of fluids I have managed to gather. The pungent aroma shall keep me satisfied, more than the cut-down wine they provided in Noxus. And I follow his orders.

It is unbecoming. Renekton, my old Brother, would be utterly ashamed of watching me act like a foreign night worker. Azir would belittle me for not focusing on my task. As for my family, they would ostracize me if they were still alive.

At the same time…

They could not understand until they felt it. The strange aura surrounding that tiny Yordle, his disgusting attitude, the trenchant words. It should repulse me, yet I find myself dragged back to it, no different than the other prizes he often parades with.

It is evident he is a pervert, a monster, a deviant.

Yet, he is the deviant whose penis makes me feel warm and wet between my developing buttocks. He likes them bigger, and so shall I continue with the drugs imported from all of Runeterra. I feel his gaze on my entire body whenever his wine lands on my clothes. I know his excitation as pants are optional with him.

And I should thank him as it allows me to feel his hardened glans penetrating my sphincter, spearing it until the muscle tingles and delightfully burns. I feel the throb, and yet, I relish every second as his inches are delving deeper within me.

“Hrmph… So tight, Girl.”

He was right. The chair endures our united weight as I sit on his groin, feeling his heavy and full scrotum pressed against my thighs. I cannot hold my teeth from scraping my lips, and my tongue from sampling the saliva seeping everywhere in my mouth.

I cannot stop thinking of the wondrous sensation whenever his fat organ manages to nudge at that spot, crush it, play with it. It is shameful for a diplomat to act like such a harlot. Worse for an emissary of the Shuriman Empire. A humiliation for an Ascended.

But I cannot hold myself anymore; I cannot stop from impaling myself on that cock, on feeling it drenching my insides, branding them as Yordle property. Whatever it takes, whatever it is, I have to keep him by my side. No… To stay at his side.

“You’re wet, girl. What’s this today? Eager to show Thems?”

I bite my lips harder, enough for blood to be drawn and a bit of composure to be restored. And I see them: other Shurimans from the delegations, Noxians of all species. Their eyes are drifting on me, on my revealing clothes. On the piercings dangling from my nipples, golden. On the ornate tint smeared over my fur and belly to draw a womb.

On my erect and needy penis… On my dangling scrotum, slowly crushed… Slowly killed by the enchanted ring strapped around it. The Sun-Disc’s blessings are protecting my manhood, but how long before Kled wins? Before I lose? I can already feel my body growing weaker under his grasp, changing as I will soon bear a womb like the others.

And I cannot stop smiling, my pathetic manhood spilling fluids on the ground while I ride Kled’s magnificent organs.

I smile, the pleasure and pain tormenting me as I feel a smack on my posterior, enjoining me to ride faster and harder. My body moves without much more. I know what I want as I grind my spot against his erect organ, as I feel the tremor shaking my body.

“That’s it, Girl! Show Thems!” chuckles Kled, smacking my ass again as he laughs… And pumps his hot fluids inside me.

Already?

Yet, I grin. I grin as my belly starts to hurt and feel warm from the constant pressure. Worse, I feel my abdominal waist strain and be reshaped again, day after day. I feel my belly bulging, my fur stretching until the womb markings are fully displayed.

His semen shall take root inside me, one day. But for the moment, there is the peace and satiety of his semen filling me, stuffing me until I look gravid. And I smile back at anyone daring to scowl, to criticize, to sneer. Because they don’t know like I do. They don’t know how good it is to be a good Yordle’s whore. And how we all should serve him… Become one of his whores.