Fe-ass-t Judgement


Written by Septia.


The dragons' eyes clung to Kakma's dance; the lioness expressing grace with each arch of her body accentuating the curvature of her frame. She was the saber-fanged ocean waves, tinted golden, cream and peach from the setting tropical sun. 
	“You like my body?” the dancer asked. “Does the mighty Strun like my body?” 
	The dragon huffed, “Wouldn't surprise me if you were the pride and Joy of Fe-ass-t.”
	The lioness donned a smirk, concealing joy from the flattery or pride in knowing she was one of the club’s top performers, simultaneously flashing her titular fangs, “Do I make you hot?” 
	“You make me, hungry.” 
	She spun around the pole, clinging to it as she slumped into a squat. The empty, private room now filled with the visage of Kakma's pronounced posterior, and the peachy fur blooming over her buns and slimming to her crotch in the shape of a broad heart. “Then, why don't you take a peek behind the veil, and get an appetizer?” She teased. 
	Strun suckled on his lip, brushing the back of his hand against the plush hind, wrapping his fin digits into the ass fat, and prying her cheeks apart. -Sqllch- Hidden behind the curtain of booty laid her flowerbulb, sinking, a stark salmon pink to contrast the pastel peach of her heart markings. -Sqrllllsch- A squelch of constraining tissue twitched at her brim, the pucker expanding, wrinkled brim rolling inwards. Her star distended, reeled back to a smooth, rosy divot. The darkness, subsumed by the bulk within, causing a wedge. 
	“Mmfnn… mprrr,” Kakma spun into a moan, brushing her cheeks into Strun's palms as her ass pried open, and an expanse of dimpled amber welled up from her depths. 
	A grapefruit, well past the girth of the lioness' fist wedged into the silken gape, humidity displaced with a crinkle of stirring meringue batter. -Crlcc- -Cjjllrklrjt- -Crlltchs- The dancer's flesh rippled, the grapefruit's circumference bolstered by a dune of smoothed, pink tissue, her rectum bending to the girth of the massive fruit peeking through from her catacombs. 
	Strun closed his eyes. Honing his senses. The smell invoked blossoming cherry trees, a citrus vineyard of the east, and a pinch of feminine fragrance. His fingers reflexively brushing Kakma's cheeks, servicing them as they produced the globe of pale matte orange. 
	“Mfns, ooo, careful now~,” Kakma warned. 
	“Always,” Strun replied. 
	-Crrllflfsh- The humid buffer of polishing waxing metal emanated from the spreading brim. The puffy dunes smoothing over as the grapefruit trawled outwards, closing in on its zenith. Then, once  past its pudgy middle -Chrjrlsh- … -Phhwwallhp-  with the ring of uncorking champaign the citrus dropped onto the table. For that moment, Kakma's pucker blossomed outwards, unfolding as it reach for the plug it had held onto, to fold right back in with a soft twitch, undulating in place, hovering over its deposit. 
	Strun plucked the spoils, splotched with hints of a mature fragrance. Holding it close, he felt the heat of her bowels – still fresh – injected past his scales.
	-Aaafmmhg- -Chrrlslpts- Gushes of vermilion spouted from the gaps in the compressed fruit as the dragon sunk his molars through the skin, biting straight into her core, savoring the saccharine tartness drooling down his face. 
	“You weren't kidding,” Kakma said, resting her cheeks to the pole, swinging her nub of a tail, “haven't seen someone so…” 
	“Ruthless?” 
	“Candour,” Kakma corrected. 
	“’Suppose,” -Chrllprah- Strun spoke between bites, devouring the bleeding citrus, “my reputation, precedes me.” 
	“Hmmm? Reputation you say.” 
	“Come now,” Strun said, lavishing his fingers of the vermilion nectar, steamy in his maw, “I'm aware I've caused quite an upset in Kung Hung. My hoard of guilds, steadily growing.” 
	Kakma looked through him, only the toothy smile greeting him back. “Fe-ass-t prefer to see our customers as, just that, the goings-on past these walls, are meaningless,” 
she said and cupped her cheek, “unless I'm, not enough to occupy you?” 
	Strun huffed and leaned in, nuzzling his muzzle against her cheeks, stroking down her waist, “You've more than wet my appetite.” 
	“You sound ready for the main course~” she teased, bumping her cheeks to his head to nudge him back in the seat, before squatting -Grhrhbghs- a rumble rustling beneath her fur, and her brim oscillating till it gaped silken smooth, and further fragrances saturated the air as the polished bowels ferried forth the next course in the hot meal. 
	 -Crrfllssfht- The brim widened, pucker delving in to sink behind the patch of yellow peeking through. -Cllpsth- The first chunk wedging free and toppling onto the table. A slab of goldenroot. -Chrlrlpstha- Her rear-hatch gaped over the oncoming bulk of a main course: potatoes and delicate bundles of meat, protruding through her hind as a rounded loaf. -Chrllrpth- -Cjrrlptp- Kakma's hatch rattling, the dune of flesh forming in the displacement of the ballast, rippling in joy as it danced over the bumps of root and minced meat. The Potatoes roasted, then boiled within the vixen's cauldron, compressed to a near mash as it funnelled out her pit. It was a decadent specimen, one which could only be provided with such class as the Fe-ass-t establishment. Bringing dinner and a show closer together than ever before. 
	Strun dug into the dune, the potatoes still steaming, imprinted with the musk of the lioness, and each meatball collapsed with a burst of juices simmering over his tongue. A concentrated fragrance of baked ham warming the dragon's taste buds, fusing with the mash and melding into one beautiful whole, even as it sunk down his gullet -Ghhrlmp-. “Mnnpha…”
	“It is cooked with love if it tastes like fe-ass-t,” Kakma recited, a wiggle of her heart stamped rear as the curl of conjoined meatballs and potatoes wound through her.”
	-Chrlrlspt-.The brim peeked forth now and then, stretching as it dragged along the tessellated road of crumpled roots and meat, coiling free from the hearty abundance of the performer's posterior, only to reel back in with a -Chhrrlpt- crinkle of liquid grease. 
	“Have your fill, I've kept it hot and fresh for our dear guest,” Kakma mused, seeing the dragon lapping the table and scooping up the twice baked meal. “What a good boy,” she shuddered as the dragon caressed her thighs, fingers kneading into her muscular calves. “Think you deserve some, mm, desert?” 
	“Mmfs, show me those goods,” the dragon whispered, staying close to her cheeks. “Then open wide~” she teased. The lioness jutting her cheeks back to Strun's spread maw. -Chrhs- -Chrrlspths- Their brim flexing, protruding and concaving before him, a dance of bundled meat and twitching, furrowed flesh. -Chhr- -Ckkvrrrlcltch- The crackling puttered, as her bowels cajoled a crisp crust. -The crinkle of crushing a bag of chips into a bowl of jelly reverberated from the lioness' hind, as the folded parcel of strawberry pie vacated her hind. -Chhrrtkgrhstlkkrt- -Krxxplljjllcht- Seams in the fractured dough, salivated with succulent jam, the oozing heat from the brim wafting over Strun's face as he guided the dessert bale with his tongue, ferrying it into safety down his maw from the jiggling hatch of folded flesh clasping and undulating over it. The girth of the pie constrained by the rubber band of rosy flesh keeping the bale in check, yet also threatening it to burst with the pliant flexes of the brim ferrying the pie along… 
	-Ckrktkbnch- -Chcnshts- Strun's teeth masticated through the burgeoning dessert, muzzle sinking deeper into the confines of her cheeks with each -Chhrnrnch- chomp, rolling the sweet pastry dough between his cheeks, along with the crimson jam flowing in a sugary magma down his tongue.
	Kakma huffed gently, her cheeks hovering over the reptile, “Such candour to satifmmfy a sweet tooth. Think my pie's worth giving this ass a mfmf, glowing review?” 
	“Mmfn gmmogh, -oOooglgpml-. Phaa, your ass alone's worth is,” the dragon huffed, to the delighted huffs of the feline, cooing as the patron ate her out for every pinch of sweetness she was worth, moaning a chorus between one another… a choir confined, to these walls alone. 


~ 1 ~


-Cltnngh- Strun peeked up at the sound, lapping off the sweet syrup from his teeth as he saw the supple swell of an ass before him, its depth cut short by a wall of pitch black: a plug, segmenting the performer's bowels from the strech serving as cloches, up deeper towards their usual functions. -Cllpthc- -Cllprth- The plug sunk upwards, with a trawl of a moist throng and grease. Enveloped by th ebrim as it sealed shut. Dinner time was over. 
	“Mm, you've reached the end of the line,” Kakma mused, pushing her cheeks together to sandwich him between them for just a moment longer. “But I can sense you are still, savouring.” 
	“'Read me like a book.” 
	“More like a porno mag~,” she mused, twirling one, two, three laps around the pole, before forcing him head on. The sabertooth's chest barrelling down, Cups with enough volume that even a two meter dragon would struggle to hold them up. “My rear’s not the only place that serves forth sweet, steamy meals,” she mused. “You did pay for the full experience, you'll get all you deserve,” she hummed and shuffled up on her knees, hooking a digit over the strip of cloth – which imagined itself to a bra – to uncage her bust for the patron. -Bwwnnnghn-. The pink rind puffing up around the black latex, a twitching pinch wedging it inwards, protecting the serene catacombs. 
	Strun's lips wrapped over her teat, tongue rolling over her nipple, a soft suction coaxing the jugs into a jiggle, letting him sample a flow of succulent, steamy cream, carrying a hint of cinnamon and ginger as the milk slathered over his maw and clotted with his saliva. 
	“Mmnff haman,” Kakma huffed, smushing up closer, wrapping her arms around the dragon, who reciprocated the gesture. She brushed her crotch against him, scotching further off the table, Strun rising to stand, with his face buried in her tits. 
	“Really mfmsn know your way around a gal~,” Kakma cooed, slotting her neck over his shoulder, nuzzling against the back of his head. 
	“Mnfnf,” she let her chest droop over his. 
	“Mmfnf, mmfmgh,” he huffed, releasing her nipple and smacking his lips, specs of jam and milk dotting his lips. 
	“Yeah, can't say I have ever met a girl with such lapsin.” 
	Kakma gently brushed her tongue against his neck, “Mmm? My, I do have quite the sinful lap~” 
	Strun snickered, “True, though that was not what I referred to.” 
	The sabertooth's eyes furrowed, staying close in position, “Then, what do you mean by Lapsin?” 
	Strun's face crooked into a grin, “Lapse in judgement.” 
	The grasp on Kakma's back tightened, catching a glimpse of Strun's arm drawn back before it disappeared in a blur into her. 
	-Kkkdddnnnttht- The shock wave of the piston crashing into her gut peeled through every bone in her body. The force sending her upwards, a fraction of a moment consumed by the weightless sense of soaring without ties to gravity, or even her own body. Before it met the blockade of his arm shackling her back to reality, ricocheting the force back down, into the piercing fist still ramming upwards, her whole body sandwiched in the force.
	Kakma's face malformed into a grimace, eyes bulging and face locked agape. The jolt punctured through her nervous system, tensing all of her muscles right back to her ass. The peachy furof the heat standing on end. Her brim clenched taut as steel, pinching inwards, deeper than ever, dragging on the push of her cheeks as the gape engorged into a catastrophic abyss. But more than just her muscles were distressed. The sheer force pummelling into her guts funnelled through her folds, disturbing the weeks worth of congestion strained by a slimy bulb of latex -Ghhrbrbgvrhrhwlbllpshthsh-. In that split moment, the lioness' pucker concave, to convex, folding outward as a pink exhaust pipe, her whole body putty in the tremendous impact, the sculpt of the butt plug framed in the distended brim,… then erupted. -Khhbhhhrruuulllghghbflflshtg- the salvo of sewage sludge slung through the server's sewers, the complete congestion of air culminatingin a fusillade of fermented fumes -Fpbrbprhfhrrpfbflltptsh- matted and moistened by the onslaught of manure ejected from the distraught feline. -Pphlljthoonk- The butt plug bolted out of the brim: Kakma, uncorked -the volley of gutter gunk caught up with the butt plug mid-air -Shfllprrhh- submerging it in the blanket of muck that projected out into the private chamber. 
	Kakma didn't get a chance to scream before the muck slammed into the wall -Chltlptghhts- -Cththupbuugkglrkth-. “Pheeaahhe-…” Though even her scream was stifled, a wheeze in the cyclone bellowing out of her bowels. -Chrlpthgbths- The avalanche of umber asphalt paved the walls in a blooming cone from the feline's windpipe, plastering it with a splatter and crinkle of ageing glue, multiplied by the magnitude of the lioness's dung volcano. Her pucker warped and fluttering under the torrent of displaced muck; pucker growing liquid in its rattling shakes and shivers as it was forced to accommodate the untold kilos of ass tar that was disgorged. -Chrlprhths- -Cvrrlpstjjsgplsh- The mire kept flooding forth. Globules of mangled mulch gradually congealing into chubby loaves of tessellated muck, the otherwise rough texture smoothened and polished to a mirror shine -Ckkrplgthsh- -Cjglfpmpths- -Kkghlflspmclhhgshrhs- straight in the middle of the blast the muck was met with the service pole, dividing the flow in the wake of Kakma's ass into a twin parted cone, only the area straight behind her was safe form the flurry of greasy gruel, but the further away the spray of filth went, the more stray globules and loaves patched the space between the cones, overlapping with a series of guttural -Chrlpt- -Cllptwhwlp- -Crrtwllpsthsh-, weaving a labyrinth of manure between the swelling heaps sprawling over the walls and flooring. 
	“Gnhg. Ghn… gu-…” Kakma whimpered, the last puttering bales -Cllrpths- -Clspththa- billowing down in a stack behind her rear, the pole slathered in so much grime that vines of muck continually toppled off under their own gravity, only the stickiest, filthiest gruel latched, plastered onto the pole enough to stay solid, worming down in hooks in the force of the blast. 
	“Inf... ph…auahr…” she wheezed, her pupils travelling up to look at the inside of her forehead, … the feline's body slumped limp. 
	-Clltph- -Clspthts- Her pucker winked. It laid plump, pronounced, bloomed puffy and pink, sandwiched between her buns and speckled. The fancy, waxed rectum blemished with marred splotches of umber, jostling like pudding in the soft twitches of the spent performer. 
	Strun smacked his lips, cupping her chest, and dipping in for another suckle, kneading the milk out of the limp jug, a sweet savoury solitude in the reeking chamber. The other palm reaching down to her crotch, dipping into her honeypot, reeking now of vinegar as the limp pussy started drooling an unwilling stream of piss. 
	“Amateure,” The dragon huffed, resting her against his shoulder as he plucked a little package out from seemingly nowhere in the lioness' coat. Its fabric matching her hide to a 'T', perhaps even woven with her own fur. Within the pouch laid a handful of needle tips. Glass, nearly invisible, though carrying enough nerve stimulating agents to tranquillize an elephanttaur. 
	“Think I've been this successful in the underground of this bunghole of a city, without learning about the Scissor clan?” he lectured the unconscious lioness whilst suckling up more of her breast milk; victory a stronger spice than whatever enhancement the server assassin had concocted. “Hear that, Furina, so-called Princess of Thieves,” Strun raised his voice, staring into a corner of the room. The promise of privacy was a myth, obviously. “If this is the best ya got, then I'm sorely disappointed. We'll see each other soon,” he called with a grin, “Oon my terms.” he added with a grin. 
	It was hilarious. They really bought him for being so oblivious. On top of it all, even if she got to her needles, his scales provided ample protection,  on top of sending him this rag-doll who caves in one blow. For that to succeed they'd have to aim for-… Strun's eyes snapped open. He felt along his neck. The back of which the interspace of scales was at its flimsiest. Right where the lioness had licked him. He reeled her forwards, prying open her maw… behind the fang… a needle unlatched… She had… surveyed his neck… If he had given her a moment longer, then she… then… preposterous. There was no way this amature had gotten so close to-…
	He took a moment, staring at the slacked, drooling countenance of the would-be assassin, a twitching, filthy mess… He hauled her up on his shoulders. It was paranoid to think she had a chance to succeed. He just had to vacate the premises, without losing face. He had won, but… Furina was watching.