Chronicles of a Lewd Warrior (low-fantasy, dub-con)

Story by Kuroshio

Daughter. Bastard. Warrior. Damned.

Alyssa. One foot in the privileged world of petty nobility and the other mired in the muck of her lowly status. So how will she claim her birthright? Seducing the ladies of the court with her long, thick shaft of sinful futanari meat? Or dueling their husbands first?

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low fantasy, 2nd person ("you do this..."), futa on everything and everything on futa, non-con, incest, non-sex violence, oral, milf, big boobs, u18, with more to come

You were born in fire and lust.

Your mother was a village girl of ill-repute, scarcely sixteen years old and no one's virgin bride. The only child, her parents tried to discourage her from harlotry and wantonness but it was too no avail. She blossomed into womanhood with a fierceness, tall and buxom, with hair the color of the sun and eyes that matched the sky. Most men would have gladly paid for a tumble with your mother and more than a few did. The money brought her fine clothes and jewelry, a far cry from the modest adornments of farmer's wives, but most of all, it brought jealousy.

So much jealousy.

They talked in scornful whispers and offered barbed comments, unkind comparisons to castle-town whores and fallen women. Still, your mother didn't care. She lived a carefree life, serving at the inn – perhaps the only place in town her talents were welcome – and every night taking a walk to a traveler's room to lay down on a soft bed and spread her legs, her flower open to the sin of lust.

Your father was a hulking brute of a man, closer to seven feet tall than six with thick limbs and a barrel chest. He was one of the Duke's chosen men, accustomed to violence, hardship and war but aware of his status, lowly among the nobles but above the common folk as he stomped through the inn's doors. He ate for four men, drank for five and threw enough coins into your mother's hands that she swore he could have her for a month.

He fucked your mother thrice daily for a fortnight, hard and deep, like no man before. Naturally, she was left filled with a child. And then he was gone, on the Duke's business elsewhere.

***

Your first few years growing up were harsh and when the plague came, your mother, despised among the village's women, was cast out on suspicion of witchcraft. The other children had always refused to play with you as your body, while notably girlish, was taller than any other near your age and when you went to swim... well, girls weren't supposed to have cocks. But you did. The village elders whispered it was a mark of the sin that you'd been born into and encouraged the children to shun you.

And so your mother fled to the nearest town in search of relief.

Holding her hand while riding the cart towards the the town, her beauty was apparent to you, even through the strain on her face. And she used that beauty well, keeping herself and you well-fed using her looks. Sometimes with nothing more than a sultry voice and a seductive wink, other times sending you away while she “discussed business” with the merchants in the caravan.

It took two weeks.

When you finally set eyes on the bustling, crowded town your eyes went wide with amazement; nothing in the village prepared you for the sights, sounds and smells of so much humanity brought together. And yet, the hard times weren't yet over and your mother requested an audience with the baron who held the castle within the town.

The entire affair was embarrassing from the start: the baron was your father, quite clearly so given that you were so incredibly tall for your age and your face showed his contribution over your mother's. So the resemblance was there but resemblance wasn't proof and for a former hedge-knight raised to the proper nobility, his lineage was important. He'd gone from the greatest knight to a barony, a jump that was as much luck as talent.

You can remember clearly as he looked you over closely for a long moment, the entire court utterly silent. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward in his seat, staring up and down and up again. It was a deliberately thorough inspection and as the hulking man sat back, he slapped his hand against the arm of his seat, his rings sending a knock through the silent court, “I deny it.”

There were murmurs all around as the courtiers whispered to one another. Your mother took a step forward, “Please, I swear it, the girl is yours!”

“I've made my decision,” he spoke loudly. There was no trace of cruelty in his voice, simply pragmatism of a man who wished no troubles down the line. “Now off with you. Both of you.”

Men clothed in the baron's – your father's – livery emerged from the little knots of courtiers to escort you out, placing hands gently, but firmly, on your mother's shoulders. She was near tears and struggling not to show it, but let out a solitary sob, her choices limited. It was one thing to work as a servin

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