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Bulawulf

Written by Akane :: [Sunday, 15 April 2018 11:00] Last updated by :: [Sunday, 20 September 2020 08:58]

Edited and remastered by Rhys86

Art by therealfunk and ばん!


The mountain quaked, tons of rubble falling from the slopes with every convulsion. Deep within its heart, the mighty dragon Suracan, bane of the southern orcish tribes, staggered around his lair, slamming his head into the walls, confused and pained. He was wounded, a scaly belly once able to resist the bite of swords, spears and catapults now pierced and spurting green blood. 

On the verge of delirium, his final thoughts were long past the impossibility of such a thing; instead he thought about his lineage, how he was the last of a powerful breed of fire dragons, and conqueror of this fold of the world, having ended many civilizations and gathered thousands of tons of treasure from the rubble left behind. In retrospect, he had been a horrible monster, especially to the orc tribes - he had massacred the families of those proud warriors and tortured the survivors to death, methodically eliminating them one-by-one until none remained. Exterminating the orcs had been his last great act, and once those vermin were extinct and their gold his own, he’d chosen to settle down with his well-earned bounty, here in the Frozen Mountains of the distant north.

How could he have expected the consequences of his actions, the judgement to come? It had taken sixteen years, a tiny fraction of his long and prosperous life, but the just punishment he brought upon himself had finally come knocking at his door. 

It took the form of a young orc woman, one who surely must have been an infant when he massacred her people. Overlooked as a baby, as an adult she had come to claim righteous vengeance. How could Suracan have been so foolish as to not ensure the entire species was eradicated, how could he have forgotten about something so vital? In any other situation this would have been a microscopic mistake unworthy of mention, for any would-be avenger would have been instantly struck down by his mighty form, or scourged to ash by purifying blasts of his fiery breath. But not this time… this time was different.

Somehow, this worthless worm, this gnat of an orc, had hurt him! Every blow of her small but mighty fists had shattered his armor, and his pain and terror were as intense as his confusion. Suracan had never felt pain before, being a mystical dragon above mortal conception, but the truth of his circumstances were plain to see; blood and pain, and the prospect of death. It was impossible and mind-numbing, yet it was real, and the truth of that was clear, even as Suracan’s vision became clouded and his breath grew faint.

But he wouldn't tolerate this without a fight. In a last enraged effort, the beast charged his attacker, invoking his powerful horns, dreadful wrath, and all his wounded pride. But it was not enough, and Suracan suddenly found himself frozen - not with awe at the superior speed or skill of his foe, but simply unable to move. 

She just wouldn't let him. The amazonian orc had grabbed hold of his horns, and nothing Suracan did was enough to break her hold. He struggled and kicked, trying to flay her with his tail, but she caught hold of that too.

And the whole time she smiled, a dark, gleeful, superior smile. How dare she! Incensed, Suracan roared, bathing her in his legendary fire, but to no avail. She just stood there amidst his burning breath, laughing at his misery, clothes ablaze but her flesh unmarked. 

“Who are you?!” Suracan screamed. “What are you?!”

“Me?” The orc-woman hoisted him single-handed, terrifying him with her unnatural strength. “I’m just Bula, last warrior of the Wolf-tribe.”

Turning about she dragged him from his cave, showing not the slightest interest at his glittering hoard. Stolen treasure held no interest for her, would not vindicate her decades-long quest for justice, or grant the satisfaction of crushing the brute that had slaughtered her parents and people. As proud and heroic as an avenging angel, she reached the lip of a precipice, marvelling at the lofty view, and how easy the ascent of so-many thousands of feet had been, how unlimited was the power now hers: not just the gift of unlimited strength, but of boundless magic, and with that magic came blessings such as flight and invulnerability. 

The rising sun greeted her, glinting on her chiseled abs and protruding fangs. As a member of the southern orcish race, her physiology was not suited to winter climes, but Bula was beyond the need for adaptation now. Dressed in nothing but a studded leather bra and loincloth she was all but naked, yet her powerful body casually defied the chilly winds of these northern heights. 

“What do you reckon, Suracan? Are you confident you can survive a fall like that?” she laughed, and did not care for the malice in her voice. Though her quest was righteous, there was nothing heroic in the vindictive sadism she now felt, but it was right and just that she take delight in giving the dragon his just desserts

“I will kill you!” 

“Too late. Down you go, stinking lizard!” Eyes glowing with pink magic, the last warrior of the Wolf-born hurled the monster into the abyss. Normally this wouldn't be a problem for the great beast; Suracan would simply have spread his wings and saved himself. But this time something was wrong, his wings refused to respond. Instead Suracan tumbled roaring from the cliff, realising that not only was he as bound to gravity as a newborn fresh and frail from the egg, but that his wings were bound with a strange pink light.

It came from her, from Bula. It was the same light he had seen in her eyes. From her terrifying pink eyes...

Suracan opened his mouth to curse her, then with an awful crash he struck rock bottom, skewered and impaled on the plateau of daggered outcrops that surrounded the foot of the cliff. No matter how durable his body, a fall onto these stony blades from such a height would kill anyone. Suracan struggled to move, but couldn't; his organs were damaged beyond hope of recovery, and he realised that not even his formidable reserves of magic could prevent his death at this point. But like all dragons, he was hardily built, and for the first time ever he cursed his heritage, for it meant he would die slowly, wracked with pain.

He heard a rushing sound sweep towards him, and then the orc warrior arrived with a crashing impact, her landing punching an enormous crater into the plateau. Helpless and unable to defend himself, Suracan could only lay there as his doom advanced slowly upon him, a wicked grin distorting her lovely face. All he could do was observe, and admire...

Bula was a statuesque beauty, standing at eight feet tall, surpassing even the greatest males of her species. Her physique was equally mighty: limbs all muscle, abs bulging with power, her skin glittering deep green in the sunlight, but not with sweat. Suracan doubted any physical activity could tire this female anymore; despite his terror, his great intellect was still hard at work, and he recognised that glistening sheen as the natural oil that the Southern orcs had evolved as protection against their native equatorial sun, but now worn merely as an affectation of mortality. If his own fire and fury had failed to scratch Bula, then no degree of temperature or proximity to radiation would mar her precious hide.

Precious, yes… despite her orcish underbite, she was now more beautiful than even the fairest of human females. Her scent was overpoweringly alluring, and Suracan suspected her natural oils now served as pheromones, calling upon others to adore and submit to her. Such chemical tricks seemed unnecessary though, not when Bula's sapphire eyes and fantastic form were themselves enough to steal anyone's heart. Her face was a symphony, her protruding cheeks and feral fangs merely accentuating a savage allure quite alien to her kind, for orcs were typically considered a disgusting race, and though just as sentient and feeling as humans, dwarfs and elves, they were discriminated against by all kingdoms and nations for their barbarous, animalistic appearance.

This mistreatment had become the cornerstone of the orcs’ philosophy of pugnacious isolation and confrontation, and Bula's clan, the Wolf tribe, was especially known for its barbarism and ruthless pillaging. For all her posturing, Suracan suspected the female had been too young to witness the cruelty of her tribe, back before he had chosen to eradicate their entire line, yet she had clearly proven herself heir to their savage reputation. 

But while that brutish aspect was familiar, it was clear that this Wolf-born whelp had become something entirely different than anything her dead tribe had ever sired. Her anatomy and physiology were those of a powerhouse, an impressively-muscled and stately warrior, yet her silhouette remained feminine, voluptuous even, possessing enormous breasts and a butt to match, wide hips and a remarkably narrow wasp waist. She was a sex machine, build for seduction and the passing-on of superior genes to the next generation, a truth that was evidenced in the final enhancement Suracan now perceived…

...this female had a dick, a giant penis that though flaccid was already a foot long and oozing precum, leaving a trail of slime behind her every step, while her voluminous, heavy balls were as firm and beautiful as her monster tits.

“What a pitiful end to befall the mighty Suracan; looks like screwing with my people was a bad idea after all, eh?” the powerful avenger spat smilingly on the dying dragon. “You want to know how I got so strong? How I attained power great enough to humiliate you?” The dying beast could smell her arousal - Bula was getting turned on by his subjugation, and her own absolute power. It was obvious in the way she bit her lip in anticipation, one hand playing in the musky curls of her raven hair. 

“Here’s the secret, lizard,” Bula continued, her contralto voice rich with hate, commanding respect. ”I sought out the fairies of the Sacred Forests, and struck a pact. In return for seeking out the treasures they so love, I would be granted a single wish, and this is the result. After ten long years of risking my life on their behalf, the fey gave me what I wanted. Power, unlimited power at that.” She licked her fangs and touched her cock. “And with it, this incredible body, fae-crafted to defeat you and rebuild my race.”

Suracan could not believe what he was hearing; to make a deal with the fairies was the greatest folly imaginable - they were capricious tricksters, and although powerful, their magic was almost never shared without some caveat, some clause or inherent trap primed to backfire on those mortals foolish or desperate enough to enter in trust with them. But if this orc woman had indeed gotten her wish, then it was all over for him. Bula’s power seemed infinite and undoubtable, and giving up on his last iota of pride, the dragon gambled for mercy. 

“P-please...if you spare my life, I will grant to you all of my hoarded wealth... ”

“You fool! Do you honestly think that I need riches given what I have become? I can just take what I want by force. Like this!” The mighty wolf-born flexed her biceps, and before Suracan’s eyes her muscles swelled even larger. Then she seized hold of him, and the mighty wyrm felt his entire five-hundred ton mass hefted into the air. For a second he welcomed the surcease of pain as he was lifted off of the rocks that had skewed him, but then it was repaid anew, Bula swinging his gigantic body around by the tail like a ragdoll, lashing his face against the ground in some sadistic comedy routine. And while her prey wept with pain, Bula could only laugh like an exuberant child enjoying some new toy, until she tired of this game and casually slung him into the mountain, triggering a small landslide that half-buried him.

“S-someone...save...me…” Suracan’s world turned black and cold as he slipped towards unconsciousness, but he wasn't dead yet.

“Well, I’m bored now, and feeling kinda hungry, so I guess it’s time to stop playing around… goodbye Suracan, feed me well.”  With those words the superior predator opened her jaws and inhaled, a powerful wind stirring the rocks and the trees around her, uprooting and drawing them and Suracan into a swirling vortex that led back to Bula’s mouth. He could not believe that her strength was so supreme that even her lungs had the power to shatter nature itself. Desperate to save himself, the dragon drove his claws into the ground, but it was pointless. The entire mountain was being torn apart by this mighty gale, funneling into a tornado of trees and stone, of screaming beasts and every drop of moisture that could be wrung from the rivers below and sky above. She was going to eat them, consume them all in one swallow. 

Suracan made a final bid for freedom, latching onto Bula’s leg with his powerful jaws. But half of his length was inside her already, and his teeth merely shattered on the godly amazon’s indestructible skin And then he was gone, devoured and compressed inside of Bula, yet leaving her looking no different than she had before her meal. 

Floating in mid air, the last of the wolf-born discovered herself to be surrounded by a landscape of nothingness, scoured clean of life and vegetation. Dimly, Bula thought that she may have let herself go too far, given she had just consumed a mountain and every scrap of life for a league about. This realization was followed by a mighty belch that would have driven off all the birds of the region, had she not consumed them seconds before…

...they were a part of her now. The birds, the beasts, the spirits and magic of the earth and air and sky, all consumed alongside Suracan, their strength added to her own. 

It felt amazing, like a rush of adrenaline, but so much greater. Infinitely greater, and infinitely more pleasurable...

“Oh my…,” Bula moaned, hands running over her sensitive skin, feeling stupidly powerful, like nothing could stop her. The buzz felt so good that her dick swelled to full mast, an instant erection that broke through her puny loincloth, the mighty phallus growing out to fully two-and-a- half feet in length, with the girth to match. “Is this really me?”

Was it? Was she really the same ugly, lowborn orc-filth that had laboured all her life to avenge her people? Yes, and no. She was still Bula Wolf-born, but now she was strong and beautiful and invincible, a pack of one, an Alpha in her own right...

An Alpha, yes she was, wasn’t she? Superior to everyone and everything else in the world, greater than any chieftain, queen or empress, a goddess. She could feel it within her, just like how she could sense that her watermelon-sized balls stored an immeasurable quantity of cum, volumes greater than all the oceans of the world together. Such was the nature of magic that merely the roar all that seed within her cumtanks felt enough to set the world shaking, and Bula couldn't help but laugh at the fact that her jizz was now the stuff of the primordial cosmos, her slightest ejaculation the cause of earthquakes and natural disasters. Heck, she felt pretty confident that if she completely shot her load, she would flood the entire planet in a matter of minutes.

But was but the slightest display of her power, and having defeated Suracan Bula suddenly felt empty, aimless… but she needed to feel that incredible buzz again, that surge of magic and confidence that proved to herself and the world she was invincible, unquestionable. 

“Okay, so why not conquer the world, starting with…” the orcish powerhouse lifted her head and squinted, her godly vision coming to rest on a cluster of townships squatting in a valley beneath a castle, one thousand miles to the east. Yes, the human kingdom of Lambia, that would do. 

Bula flexed her entire body, and as her muscles tightened her form became even more magnificent and sculpted, looking like it belonged carved upon the walls of a pantheon. With an orgasmic shock, a mystical pink aura cloaked her body, crackles of magic akin to the sparkling glitter that fairies shed wherever they went, but more intense and concentrated.

“What is this? It looks so pretty!” she giggled, instantly punch-drunk on this energy. It manifested in little spasms with her every motion, crackling with sounds akin to fireworks. Such magic should have torn her apart, but Bula’s brain was as prodigiously enhanced as her body, and with it absorbing knowledge like a sponge she mastered the power in seconds.

“I really could do it, could take over this whole pathetic worldt!” Bula’s grin turned sly with that awareness, and she powered up again, and now her aura melted the stones and detritus around her, swirling into a fuchsia maelstrom that was nothing like Bula had experienced before. Her scorned and wounded soul had taken flight with the gift of the fae, and now soared raging and unbound, an eternal flame that could not be snuffed out.

Feeling a need to vent some of that prodigious energy, she did just that. Dainty toes not even singed by once-rocky soil now turned to lethal lava, Bula planted her bare feet on the ground and focused...

Go! With a bunny-hop and a flex of her sexy green calves, the orc goddess launched herself straight into a soaring arc, the air offering no resistance to her flight whatsoever. Bula’s mind, alert and hyper-aware, calculated her to be travelling one hundred times the speed of sound, traversing the thousand miles to Lambia in a little over thirty seconds. As she hurtled along, the currents and shockwaves thrown up by her passage utterly destroyed the countryside in her wake, but Bula herself flew ahead in silence, racing so far beyond the sound barrier that the roar of her passage did not arrive upon the scene until she was long gone and the damage done. 

And that was with just a lazy jump. Bula had not even had to exert herself to set this blistering pace, implying that she could attain speeds millions of times greater if she put a little bit more of effort into it. She blazed on, laughing, friction and her fuschia aura scorching the atmosphere to such temperatures that anyone living along her flightpath was instantly turned to ash. It was a casual genocide, but even if concious of it, the self-obsessed orc was now so in love with the idea of herself as a superior being that the lives of measly mortals seemed a worthwhile price to her fun. 

Oh, she could have noticed the burning inferno she was the cause of; even at hypersonic speeds the world increasingly moved at a snail’s pace, and her brilliant mind processed every detail of her surroundings with millimetric precision. Bula simply no longer cared, too fascinated with how her flight tore apart the clouds in the sky to notice the destruction she was wreaking. The feeling of the wind edging her dick was so good that she unwillingly relieved herself a little, her straining cock blasting forth impossibly large jets of sperm, that fell with the density and texture of mayonnaise to fill valleys and lakes torn open and emptied by the violence of her passage. Bula panted as she came, her flushed face and wall-eyed expression that of a stupid animal in heat. It was too much, and not enought; this body was built to fuck, to sire new orcs, and she needed to impregnate someone now!

Eager to satisfy these new urges, she accelerated a little, and reached the human village exactly twenty seconds after she had left the ground. Cancelling her magical aura, Bula stopped dead in mid-air without needing to decelerate, her control as infinitely flawless as her speed. Dropping from the sky like a rock, this time she did not destroy anything when she landed; instead her shapely feet touched the soil with the grace of a ballerina, in complete defiance of momentum, speed and inertia.

She had landed beside a stable, the horses within neighing and rearing madly. Terrified by the presence of such a monster, they were trying to bolt and flee as far away as possible. As a mortal being Bula had always had a fondness for animals, because they never lied or abused her, but now she was so turned-on by the prospect of further testing her magical powers that she merely expressed a devilish smile at the poor creatures’ distress. Focusing a small part of her aura she flexed her right arm, tiny pink sparkles appearing in her hand as she opened and pointed it towards the steeds. She sensed their fear and desperation, but all Bula herself felt was the glee of testing her magic; calling on a spell at random without considering its effect, she turned it loose with a cheery smile: gambling was fun! 

Instantly a small energy ball shot from Bula's palm and struck the herd. The previous cries of the beasts had been enough to awaken the owner of the stables, who now emerged from his home just in time to see his charges disappear in a blinding pink flash, leaving not a trace to be seen. Bula laughed at the careless display of her power, uncaring that she had displaced the entire herd millions of years into the past.

Then she turned her attention towards the stable-keeper. The puny peasant had brought a pitchfork when he came running, but he dropped it and cowered when he realised just how tall the orcish amazon was. Suddenly the man found himself seized around the throat and hoisted up to Bula’s penetrating eyes, her powerful grip choking off any words that tried to issue from his mouth. The last thing he saw before Bula decapitated him with a long, polished fingernail was her delighted smirk. His severed head fell to the floor and rolled a short distance away, twin rivers of blood spurting from both ends of his sundered neck.

The ambience of the inn drew her like a moth to a flame. Like many such establishments it was dirty, smelly, and filled with lowlife drunks playing cards, telling horrible jokes, and never more than a pint away from starting a fight or slapping the ugly waitresses in the ass, more often than not receiving a punch in the face instead of a kiss as a reward. This truly was a gathering of human scum, yet they all shut their mouths when Bula literally unhinged the door with a lazy pull. Too tall for the vacant door frame she entered anyway, her face casually demolishing part of the wall and awning so she could pass. 

Dominating the scene by her sheer presence, the wolf-born realised she could easily read the patrons’ thoughts, and smirked at how pitiful creatures humans were, with nothing but lewd ideas in their head. But who could blame them after seeing the body of a goddess for the first time?

She didn't need to say anything, and instead let her intense pheromones do the job. Half the men and women in the inn immediately rushed forward to touch and rub their tongues against Bula's perfect green skin. She was so attractive, her musk so overpowering, that they quickly devolved into a hormonal legion of zombies that only knew how to service their master. One supplicant burrowed deep into her hairy armpit and inhaled deeply, feeling like he was in heaven, while others kissed and sucked on her enormous tits and savoured the taste of her natural oils. Bula smiled pridefully, knowing she was already these mortals’ queen, and thus their perverted actions were in truth the ultimate compliment. 

Striding forward, worshippers hanging upon her, Bula settled on one of the benches, uncaring that there was already a man sat there. She stomped him flat with her oversized butt, instantly crushing his bones and compressing the man into a lifeless cushion of flesh. Answering to a snap of the magical warrior’s fingers, her new zombie servants obedient began to lick at her pussy. Bula’s expression relaxed back into that same stupid, mind-fucked expression as before, and she began to pant and moan: the pleasure this new body afforded was just so intense. Her dick felt like it was about to explode, but she didn't want to invoke the apocalypse just yet.

Instead Bula did the most reasonable thing in her mind: she grabbed the nearest human female and impaled her onto her titanic dick. Neither she nor her new cock-sheath cared that it hurt, even as Bula’s immense girth broke the woman’s bones and deformed her belly. Instead both parties just thrust harder into one another, and as Bula came, filling her victim with her divine seed, a change began to wash over the woman. Her hair grew into lovely dark tangles, her skin deepened to a delicious green, and her whole being swelled with muscular strength and vitality, reshaping itself around Bula’s dick to a form better suited to serve her needs. Bula growled throatily at the luscious sight, and felt a raw thrill when the transformed woman responded in turn, her jaw distending to project a cute underbite while her ass and tits flared out. The being skewered on Bula’s crotch had become a mighty she-orc warrior, a true exemplar of amazonian beauty, yet still but a mere shadow of Bula’s own divine form.

Feeling the newborn orc climax in turn, Bula shoved her off her dick and onto the ground, immediately grabbing another supplicant and subjecting them to the same rough, transformative fucking. The used woman sprawled on the floor, blissfully moaning and touching herself as a strong, womanly dick of her own pushed up from above the folds of her pussy. It was the same for everyone Bula now fucked: whether they had been male or female before, each became a strong, hardy, beautiful orcish dickgirl, her new Wolf-tribe. Everything they had been before was forgotten, disregarded. and every one of them packed full of her seed, incubating a new generation of futanari orc-girls, pregnancies so fecund that abortion was impossible. Not that any of the newly transformed Wolf-born would so much as consider terminating a pregnancy bestowed upon them by their goddess. 

And still Bula kept fucking: it took hours for her to work her way through everyone in town, and then once transformed her new legion of warriors organised themselves into an line so they could once again experience the privilege of riding the superior futanari’s dick, former associations as husbands and wives made things of the past with as potent an Alpha as Bula at the heart of this newly-forged clan.

This situation continued until nightfall. Bula had to be fed constantly while fucking people into beautiful she-orcs; thus she had cleared every table of food and consumed most of the raw ingredients in the inn’s kitchen. She had also drunk the premises dry, and being still thirsty and unpicky about her drink, soon a bucket-chain of wolfborn was feeding her capricious thirst with a constant supply of water drawn from the village well. All this the former villagers did with smiling, worshipful smiles - they were her slaves now and she was the centre of their entire world. Thus Bula sat enshrined while all about her new clan turned their every effort to pleasuring, feeding or entertaining her, not out of fear but adoration, and in the hopeful expectation of their labours being rewarded with another fucking.

Marvelling at her change in fortunes, Bula dimly recalled again how ugly she was before her transformation, but now she was irresistible, and invincible, with new magical powers manifesting by the minute, and thanks to her unlimited pool of pink mana nothing seemed beyond her imagination. Was there any alive who could stop her? No, that was impossible.

Not that they didn’t try. The first attempt was made by some stupid soldiers; summoned by a peasant that had been outside of Bula's pheromone range, they arrived to investigate reports of green monsters terrorizing the inn. The second they entered, these hapless soldiers were met by smiling she-orc warriors, beaten down, disarmed, and dragged before Bula for judgment. Seeing their mixed fear and lust had been a thrill, but rather than add them to her harem Bula had instead directed a few lazy punches in what seemed like a random direction. Instantly one wall of the building collapsed, and a few seconds later all but one of the soldiers were decapitated from behind: the force of her punches had carried right around the world, rotating back at her victims from the other direction. 

At such a show of strength, Bula’s minions began to cheer her name, voices raised in guttural salute. Orcs were naturally wired to respond to shows of strength and dominance, and not only had Bula slaughtered several foes without even looking at them, but her entire demeanor was one of cool, calculated, charismatic leadership as she loomed over the sole surviving soldier, a trembling man painted red by the sprayed blood of his comrades.

“I let you live for a reason,” she purred, relishing her absolute control of this moment, of this mate’s fate, of the hearts and minds of those around her. “I am the new ruler of the Kingdom of Lambia, both by right of conquest and by the unanimous consent of her inhabitants…” she paused to let her newborn orcs roar their adulation, a cry as naked and powerful and beautiful as their new bodies. “But it has to be made official, right? Go tell your former king he has three days to surrender this pitiful kingdom to me. Oh, and I hope you have good trade routes established, because I love to eat and drink, and if I don't get what I want, then I’ll just have to ransack this country to satisfy my hunger.” 

Making her threat clear, Bula smashed the window beside her and pointed to the largest house in the village. Her eyes flared pink, then twin energy beams erupted from their depths and blasted the mansion, vaporising it entirely. 

“Remember: three days.” 

The moment the miserable soldier had been shoved out the door, a group of cocksucking she-orcs gathered around their goddess, planting kisses on the head of her mountainous cock, while others cleaned her body with their tongues, worshipping her like the Alpha she was. 

Bula smiled triumphantly, the world was hers.

King Robius took time with his deliberations, but he had few options left. Within two of the three days granted to him to surrender Lambia, most of his immediate subjects had already abandoned him for Bula, be it by forceful transformation or pledging their loyalty from sheer fear of her power, with nobles from across the region flocking to Bula’s inn to bend the knee to the self-proclaimed queen. Except for his royal guard, a few loyal courtiers and his queen Ecaterina, Robius was completely forsaken, yet in order to keep Bula contained to this part of the kingdom the responsibility fell to him to keep her sated: fed, watered and provided with fresh bodies every hour for transformation and impregnation. 

Every attempt made to assault or assassinate her had failed: Bula was an unassailable force even in her sleep, and the she-orcs that surrounded her, though mortal, were formidable amazons in their own right, beating back his armies with casual ease and the smiling zeal of religious converts. Unlike Bula herself, these new Wolf-born did not eat, nor drink; Robius suspected that Bula’s own magic sustained and empowered them, and that this was the cause of her endless, ever-increasing appetites. 

In that context, the fact that every one of these orc warriors were pregnant was terrifying. In two days Robius had wasted more coin feeding their goddess-queen than he might otherwise have spent in two months, and her needs would magnify exponentially when those pregnancies came to term and the Wolfborn population exploded. If Bula did not stop eating and growing her numbers, the once-prospering Kingdom of Lambia would quickly enter bankruptcy. It was even impossible to levy new taxes, for trade and commerce were at a standstill: all the roads for miles about were crowded with caravans bringing food, water, gifts and virgins to appease the goddess’s  fury. It was plainly unsustainable, but Robius could easily guess that if the supply of tribute was suspended, then Bula would just go out and forage, drinking entire lakes dry to slake her thirst, consuming ranches and townships worth of livestock and people to feed her gullet. 

She had already made clear the consequences should he not concede, burning down an entire forest on the outskirts of the city as an alleged test of her newest magical ability: fire breath. The glare of the flames and Bula’s own laughter had echoed throughout the kingdom, and of course reached Robius’s court. It was final proof that she had become just as much a monster as old Suracan, taking joy from the suffering she inflicted upon those around her, no different than the dragon that had slaughtered her tribe and orphaned her. Robius snorted once in mirthless irony, then placed his face in his palms and wept. 

This madness had to end, and he had to give into her demands if he wanted even a chance of salvaging the situation. If surrendering the crown was enough to placate Bula for a while, then perhaps at least one of his family could escape from this twisted lunacy.

Today was the third day, and with its dawn, the future had been lost. All that remained to him was a slender hope, and a final, dreadful gambit...


Bula was getting angry. No, scratch that, she was pissed. The region surrounding her stronghold was all but stripped-bare of anything edible, and the incoming caravans were struggling to keep up with her appetites. How dare this pitiful kingdom fall behind in servicing its god-queen?

But the lull in her supply of food had yielded a surprise: in an impressive display of survival capabilities, her softball-sized tits had begun to lactate, in quantities so great that she could probably have fed all the babies in the kingdom by herself. And this was not regular milk, but a substance rich enough in nutrients to sustain her ridiculous metabolism, meaning Bula no longer needed to consume tons of food per hour to support herself and her tribe. 

Ironically, this was another source of her anger. While delighted with her own magnificence to the point that she now spent half her time sucking on her own breasts, the other half had been made tedious by the lack of feasting and debauching. Without fresh food and bodies to occupy her time, she had turned to violence, casually killing and torturing in sadistic entertainment. 

The sound of a trumpet resonated outside the inn, now well-established as Bula's defacto fortress, surrounded by obedient she-orc warriors and catered by pheromone zombies, all of whom followed her commands without question. She had even discovered her minions could serve as proxy vigilance posts, courtesy of her recently-developed magical ability to see through the eyes of those in her thrall. Thus she did not need to be informed that the king and queen of Lambia had arrived in their chariot, an escort of soldiers laying down a red carpet so their majesties could greet their orcish idol in all her fertile glory. So, it seemed that some of the king's court had yet to be corrupted by her pheromonal brainwashing, possibly because the palace still lay outside of Bula's increasing range.

“Announcing the arrival of Their Majesties Robius II and Ecaterina I of Lambia,” announced a herald, one apparently fearless enough to enter the inn and not break a sweat. “The King wishes to discuss affairs of state with the Lady Bula, Chieftain of the Wolf-born.”

Rolling her eyes at the pageantry, the muscled goddess instantly teleported outside the inn, an act that spooked both the assembled guardsmen and the monarchs, though the two royals did better at hiding their disquiet. In any other situation, Robius and Ecaterina would have looked impressive, attired in fine golden garments trimmed with white ermine, the classic indicator of blue-blooded status. But Bula cared nothing for such manners and finery, fripperies that had no place in the barbaric hierarchy of her kingdom. Plus, Bula herself was a true orcish beauty, a monstrously towering female, with a prodigious body and attitude to match. These nobles were insects to her, and she made sure that they could see that bleak indifference in her blue eyes.

“So, old man, have you come to accept that your kingdom is mine now? Ready to hand over that pretty crown before I kick you out of my realm?”

Hearing those words, the soldiers adopted offensive stances, but Robius stayed their anger with a motion of his hand, then took a dignified knee, an action that was mirrored by Ecaterina and then their attendants.

“Lady Bula. In the light of the strength you bear, my wisest choice is to renounce my crown, and proclaim you the true sovereign in this land.” With not so much as a tremble in his hands, he removed the crown from his brow and offered it to her. “All hail Bula the Great, Queen of Lambia, first of her name.”

Accepting the crown, Bula could not help but to grin, showing off her cute fangs. Far small to fit around her brow, she instead slid it up her arm so that it circled one of her biceps like a golden bracelet. Euphorically she flexed, showing off her new adornment in a show of such muscular, sexual perfection that every man and woman present felt themselves grow wet.

“All hail the Queen!” “Long live Bula, the Wolfborn!”cheered her gathered warriors, lifting their voices in a victory chant that echoed the length of the valley. 

“Good good…” she cooed, smiling smugly. Then she leaned towards the still-kneeling Robius. “Now, tell me why your party is unaffected by my musk?” It made no sense, and Bula’s impossibly-powerful brain was already shuffling hundreds of different hypotheses. 

“B-because…” Robius cringed at being found out. A grizzled old man in his sixties, he had battled to defend his realm for all his life, but never before he felt the sheer fear that he experienced now, as if about to be stricken down by the wrath of God.

“...I see, because your court has a powerful mage. Did you really think I couldn’t read your thoughts at a glance Robius? So, you have a powerful mage in your employ, and I guess you were trying to keep secrets from me... speaking of things that are hidden, where are your children?” This time Robius could feel her magic rummaging around in his mind, and not even Ecaterina’s presence gave him the strength to bar her.

“Oh…” Bula licked her glossy lips, those beautiful, emerald lips…”You wanted to fool me, well tough luck…” Her demeanor jumped from teasing scorn to genuine fury in less than a second. “That's why the mage isn’t present, he's protecting your children while you cover for them, try to win them time…”

She had dissected his plans perfectly, the faint hope of buying enough for at least one of the royal bloodline to have a chance at reclaiming the throne. Gathering all his warrior courage and noble pride, Robious rose and spat in Bula’s face.

“You will lose, monster! As we speak my daughter the princess is being escorted to a place you’ll never find! When she has allied herself with the strongest powers in this world, she will come back and end your reign of terror! You can kill me if you want, but it will not change that you should savour this fleeting victory while you ca-” his speech ended abruptly, for Bula had swung her hips and struck him in the head with her flaccid tree trunk of a dick, sending Robius flying fifty yards away to crash face-down into a mud-puddle, his bones crushed and his body broken. He drowned there, unable to so much as lift himself from the mud. It was an anticlimactic and unceremonious death for a king, but hardly Bula’s fault that mortals were so fragile. 

“What a stupid little plan, fitting for a stupid little man such as you.” Bula thought little of royalty, and while not precisely angry, even somewhat impressed by the man’s courage, any who defied her deserved to be emasculated and killed. “So I fell for your little game, what of it? Not even all the mages in this world combined could hope to scratch me, and as proof, here’s what I make of your pitiful magic…”

Lifting her arms she let her power flow, spreading her pheromonal musk in such quantities that the shield spell weakened and collapsed instantly. Unprotected, the trembling soldiers and courtiers fell helplessly in love with her, falling at her knees like good and obedient servants. 

And with the king down, that on;y left the queen. Ecaterina was far younger than Robius and very lovely, a scarlet-maned, high-cheeked beauty that was obviously his second wife, and quickly the focus of an approving leer from Bula.

“Oh, you are going to be so pretty when I’m done with you…” Taking hold of Ecaterina’s entire body with one hand, Bula moved the woman into position over her once-again-erect cock, and with one thrust pierced her underskirt and pussy with that monstrous dick. The redhead could only moan and drool as pleasure such as Robius could have never have provided overwhelmed her thoughts and instincts, her body beginning to shift and transform as Bula rutted her like a dumb animal. 

Once the former queen’s belly was full of jizz and her mind stuffed with thoughts of love, fealty and devotion to her new Alpha, Bula tossed the newly-birthed she-orc at the soldiers, crushing and maiming several of them, but neither they nor Ecaterina noticed, being so consumed with lust for Bula that they could hardly think straight. And with Ecaterina now a pregnant orc-slave bound to Bula’s own magic, her mind was even easier to probe than Robius’s. 

What Bula perceived was that Robius and Ecaterina had but a single heir, a daughter. Princess Violante was a shut-in who loathed socializing, yet as seen through Ecaterina’s memories she was also a radiant vision of beauty -  her skin so soft and her demeanour so gentle that the orcish goddess found herself subconsciously praising her. 

“A blonde, blue-eyed, petite beauty, so virginal and innocent that she never leaves her bedchamber and prefers the company of books to people, a girl with a passion for tales of romance, but no desire to seek out her own true love, how interesting…” Bula quickly decided that a treasure like this princess would be the perfect paramor to cement her new position as ruler of the kingdom. What better way to solidify a claim to the throne than to wed and bed the heir? She directed a quick glance towards the palace, perched some miles away on an outcrop over the valley, and with the merest effort located Violante's room.

“There you are.” There Violante was indeed, still in her chambers and dressed for travel, her features masked by a white veil. So they hadn't smuggled her out of the castle yet. 

“Oh my, time to kidnap the Princess!” Damn if being a villain wasn’t fun. All those years hating Suracan, when instead she should have envied and emulated him! Well she was making up for lost time now. 

And so another part of Bula’s once caring and heroic soul died. Tender thoughts and feelings sacrificed in her quest for revenge had left her heart a hollow shell of pettiness and cruelty, one that delighted in the abuse of her powers and the innocent alike. After all, if she was so powerful that no one could stop her, then why shouldn’t she live as a being that transcended morality?

It took the green menace less than a second to blast through the castle's great door, easily breaking through the powerful magical barriers set up by the court's archmage. Her welcome party was a storm of arrows, launched from the dozen of sentinels perched on the towers of the fortress. Bula just took their feeble attacks with a smirk, standing still with hands on her waist, basking in the arrows that felt soft as raindrops against her impervious, beautiful skin. This fight was already won, and the only reason the incredulous soldiers were not under the influence of her pheromones was because she wanted to play with them.

Now came her counterattack. Using a tiny flicker of telekinetic magic, she stopped the next volley mid-flight, then sent the arrows back to their owners with ten times the power, the poor idiots being instantly deleted by their own proyectiles.

“HAHAHA!” as Bula’s laughter roared through the courtyard, she felt from the shape of the echoes that soldiers were gathered in the shadows to jump on her, hidden in secret nooks that she could see with ease through her magical eyes. Though there was no sport or honour in this match, her sadistic new nature was running wild, and when a group of guards attacked her with swords and spears, Bula indulged herself without hesitation. Making use of her powerful legs, she launched herself into a sprint so fast it looked like she had blinked out of reality. The knights were left dumbfounded, and then terrified to realise their enemy now stood right behind them, her immense balls growling in anticipation..

“You guys are so slow!” locking-in on her target Bula positioned two of her delicate fingers, and flicked… a flick with millions of joules of force behind it. 

Just like that, the soldier at which it was directed exploded, leaving only his feet behind. The mighty wolfborn repeated this action again and again, reducing each one of the guards to meat confetti. The pressure she applied to the flicks was so incredible that they could not be even described in terms of cannonfire, but more compared to firecracker bursts hotter than the surface of the sun..

It didn't take long for the remaining soldiers to lose all morale, most of them breaking lines and trying to flee the battlefield, or should it be called a slaughterhouse? Fortunately Bula had a stylish solution for this problem, recalling the first basic spell taught to her by the fairies: summoning a familiar. When she was a mortal orc, the best she could manage with her limited pool of mana was to create a little mouse, over which she possessed fifteen seconds at most of limited control, and now she was eager to know what she could achieve with her current arcane might and endless supplies of pink mana.

Unsurprisingly, her new attempt at summoning magic was leagues beyond any archmage in the world. With a simple thought she called into existence an entire pack of hellhounds, gigantic black three-eyed wolves, armed with terrifying fangs and claws. Foaming at the mouth and starving to taste living flesh, she released these creatures down into the town with a mental command that they hunt and feed. Once turned loose in the streets, they preyed gladly on the fleeing soldiers, chasing them to every bolthole and putting them out of their terrified misery. 

Vaulting to the battlements, Bula watched her cute handiwork in action Then she felt a moment’s shock, her psychic awareness telling her that the hellhounds were not just slaughtering the soldiers, but her zombified thralls and she-orc Wolf-born, who now cried out to her for salvation. In that second, some sliver of Bula’s morality tried to assert itself, screaming that these were her people, her responsibility…

...no, she all but slapped herself. They were her toys and creations, and how dare they question her fun. If they were going to spoil her entertainment, then they should all die, just die. 

The silent command went out, and like good subjects her people obeyed. She-orc warriors ran smiling into the gaping jaws of death, and human families stepped gladly from their homes like lambs to the slaughter. The screams of pain and adulation rising from the village became music to Bula’s pointy ears, and her dick twitched and oozed precum at all this delicious suffering. While her familiars dispatched her kingdom and subjects with savage wrath, their queen caressed her perfect muscled body, awed that it was her own power and will that performed these wonders by proxy. She was running so hot and wild that the stones and masonry around her began to melt and sag, liquified by the fuschia aura that enveloped her.

“So strong, so mighty, I could turn the lives of every worthless being on this planet into a living hell, hmmmm-AH!” stroked to climax by this self-adoration, Bula came hard, ejaculating a humongous torrent of sperm that descended onto the village and melted everything on impact, matter and magic scoured instantly clean. 

“Oops, sorry.” Bula giggled at the sight. “Guess my seed is just too powerful.”

What else could she do, she wondered, touching herself while bathing in the flames and moonlight. Following the lunar radiance she gazed up towards the moon, and while staring at its beauty, Bula realised that it too was her possession, existing only for her benefit. So why not make it the subject of a more ambitious test of her powers? 

Again she flicked with her fingers, but this time with a force that made the last shots look like childsplay. Instantly the moon was blown into bits by the sheer force of her will, an entire astral body sundered, breaking its light into tortured fragments. The mass of its satellite dispersed, the whole planet quivered as the tides stilled and earthquakes stirred. Knowing she was their cause, Bula grinned like a madwoman: the whole world was hers, and the Universe too, and once she was finished with this dirtball she intended to jump out into the space between the stars and explore for a while, searching for new sources of fun amidst endless possibilities.

Some slight sound broke her reverie, and turning around, she saw someone moving in the courtyard below; a short, young, malnourished child in broken armor, some squire lucky or smart enough to have survived this massacre. Tears staining his face and urine on his pants, he moved on shaking legs that clattered as badly as his rusted helmet and much-abused iron shortsword. And when he saw the orc goddess had turned her cold, sapphire gaze on him, the pathetic squire instinctively bolted, fleeing into the inner keep of the palace.

“Guess you’re looking for either the princess or the mage?” the wolfborn smirked, delighted with the prospect of a hunt, with a game of cat and mouse. “Me too, so let’s race for it.”

Soaring across the courtyard Bula charged one of the walls, leading with her powerful shoulder. Leaving a perfect outline of herself in the masonry she breached the keep, landing in a spiral staircase and in pursuit of the boy, who her senses told her was putting all his energy into surviving and looking for help. Bula could have effortlessly outrun the squire, but she wanted to play with her prey, and so instead she put more weight into her steps, shaking the walls and floor to scare the child all the more.

Eventually they reached their goal. Percival, Archmage of Lambia, was a man of some eighty years. Arrayed in a flowing white beard, dark blue robes and a matching turban, he was discovered in a long, mirrored corridor, that evidently led to the private chambers of the princess Violante. Immediately, the squire-child took shelter behind the sorcerer and pointed towards the orc amazon.

“Lord Percival, you have to stop her! She's the one that killed everyone!”

“Be calm, I don't know how this monster got past my defensive wards, but she shall not pass again,” soothed Percival in a voice that spoke of maturity and wisdom, golden energy gathering around his hands. “Monsters such as this belong in Hell, and that's where I'm going to send you, oh Great Bula, as vengeance for good people of this land, and to save my liege-lady, the future queen.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do, old man,” Bula laughed at his show of confidence. “I'm completely invincible. Have you seen what I just did to the Moon? How could someone as tiny as you tickle me, let alone defeat me?”

“What techniques I possess shall be strength enough.” Percival's anger was increasing with each word that issued from the brazen being’s kissable lips. “Yes, you are power incarnate, but you have a weakness, even if it is your overweening pride. When you destroyed the Moon and condemned this world to chaos and annihilation, I saw it was my duty to cast you down and save mankind from your tyranny.”

“Your magic is weak, greybeard…” Bula put on her loveliest smile as her eyes turned pink. “All that you managed to learn in eight-score years, I mastered in seconds. Know that my powers descend from a wish granted by the fairies themselves, and a geezer like you is so beneath me that you aren't much different from a flea. -

“Silence!” The archmage unleashed his spell, ten rickety beams of light magic pouring from his fingertips. It was a feeble effort, but Bula found she still had it in her to be surprised when his spell suddenly changed direction. What was happening? The bolts were jumping between mirrors, gaining strength with each reflection and changing course constantly, until they struck Bula from behind in a single conjoined blow, a blast that shattered every mirror in the corridor.

“Impressive,” she snorted, nose twitching at the dust, a few drops of lactation dribbling from her tits. “But did you honestly expect it to do anything to this indestructible body?” ,

Percival couldn't believe his eyes, even as cold sweat beaded on his nape and dread filled his heart. He had been ready to die, but now he feared for the world laying bare and naked at Bula's mercy, if she had any mercy to give. “I-Impossible…”

“You call that impossible? So weak!” Bula laughed condescendingly. “Let me show you a piece of advanced magic that you could never perform after thousands of years of study!”

Percival braced himself for her attack, but suddenly felt his old body grow cold, except for something hot and painful in his gut. His old, wrinkly hands touched his belly, and came away bathed in something warm and red. It was blood, his own blood. The squire, he realised, the young squire had stabbed him in the back, piercing his stomach with his rusty little sword.

Staggering forward, the elderly sage tried to muster some words before death, but failed. Dying on his feet, his body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes, at the heart of a spreading puddle of blood. 

“Ironic,” Bula flexed, her eyes glowing pink. “He hoped to kill a goddess, but couldn't even defend himself from the stab of a worm.”

“W-why, h-how?” the squire wept, unable to believe what he had just done. Dropping his weapon he stared horrified at his bloodstained hands, the hands of a murderer...

“Mind control is incredibly useful, don't you think?” the orc’s eyes faded back to their normal color as she strode towards him, her footfalls sinking the ground with each step. Desperate to redeem himself for his mortal sin, the boy turned and fled into the Princess’s inner chambers. The least he could do to atone would be to lay down his life for his lady.

But when Bula herself entered the room she didn't find any squire, just absolute nothingness… except for in the center of the silent dark, where there rose a marble throne, illuminated by a soft white light that seemed to originate from everywhere nowhere. 

There she was, the Princess Violante. Angelic, pristine and totally nude, she looked as much a doll as a young woman, her long golden mane spilling down across the floor. Five feet tall at best, she seemed utterly unimpressed at Bula’s entry, her eyes instead focused on something cradled in her hands: the squire’s helmet..

When at last she seemed to take notice of the goddess that had entered her chamber, Violante looked up with a wry smile, and let the helmet drop to the floor, where it shattered into crystalline pieces. Who was this girl?

“Princess, how wonderful to find you here!” Bula put questions from her mind. She was an unstoppable force of nature, here to capture the princess. Victorious, she made to reach for her prize…

...and found she couldn’t move. But how? It was impossible, yet her powerful arms and legs, her whole invincible body, were all frozen solid, as if stopped in time. Bula couldn't even talk, just watch as the golden-haired runt left her throne and approached her, tempting her, taunting her with her gorgeous figure.

“You said you were going to capture me, Bula,” the princess spoke calmly, her voice the most beautiful thing Bula had ever heard, delicate and melodious, like a little bird's. She touched Bula's cheek with her soft hand and rubbed her modest chest against Bula's powerful abs. “Yes, you once knew beauty, even when you believed yourself to be ugly. And now you are physically perfect, but have utterly despoiled your heart.”

The throne faded away, leaving the two of them in total darkness. Then Bula noticed something else, that despite being teased with Violante’s beauty, she wasn't erect. In fact, she could no longer feel her penis and testicles, and to her horror saw that they now adorned Violante’s delicate crotch, looking even more immense and monstrous on someone as small as her, yet also quite cute when wearing her fair, alabaster skin.  

Was this magic? It had to be, but magic of this scale was too great, not even Bula herself was able to bend reality in such a way, and she had wished for absolute power!  Yet she couldn't help but drool at the sight of the princess parading her stolen attributes in front of her, suddenly feeling awkward and clumsy in the face of such gracile strength and loveliness. 

“ …” No, she wasn't allowed to talk.

“You thought yourself the most powerful being in the world, just because the fairies granted your wish? Well, you should have known better dear Bula Wolfborn, orc of the southern tribes. “The fairies are as much beings of this world as any other, and they would not take kindly to one who would so casually damage their favourite toys and playground. Did you really think that they would turn someone as mighty as you loose upon the world without weaving a balancing force into your wish, a corrective countermeasure? How naive of you.”

Naive?! No way would Bula tolerate such disrespect, now she just wanted to kill her… her Princess… what, no, what was she talking about? She was Bula, she was perfect and supreme… except Violante was now so much more, and in her heart of hearts Bula wanted to give herself to that power, to acknowledge the strength of one who had humbled her...

“Hmpfff, humpffff…” she panted, a bitch before her Alpha. Oh no...

“Your quest to defeat Suracan was righteous, but now you have become an agent of evil, such that in the instant you bloodied that innocent boy’s hands and reached my door, the failsafe of the fairies swung into effect, granting me the omnipotence and omniscience required to stop you, to tame and break you.”

Light flared, and Bula realised that it was an aura radiating out from Violante, a pure light that blinded and fascinated her. So beautiful, so perfect, a true Goddess!

“You fool!” Violante punched Bula so hard in the gut that the mighty orc puked blood and mana. Such power was indescribable, and she couldn't believe that her divine body was taking damage, from a waif of a human girl no less. It hurt so much! 

“I have no desire to rule any kind of Goddess, to wield this limitless power like a childish tyrant. What I desire. Bula, is to scourge you until your soul is cleansed again, that we might set about putting creation back in its rightful shape!” The strength of the princess was infinite now, and Bula could not help but yearn to submit. “By breaking the moon you’ve doomed this world to extinction, so now you must pay for your crimes, that the two of us might rebuild it.”

“No!” Finding the strength to speak, the humiliated wolfborn broke into tears at the realization that she was surpassed in all fronts by the godly being before her. “I-I was the most powerful, it was my turn to rule, my life was horrible, I deserved it… I made so many sacrifices for this power…”

“And your sacrifices became in vain, orc girl, once you began making sacrifices of others…” the princess-goddess beckoned, and the crown of King Robius tore free from Bula’s arm, reforming into a golden halo that settled above Violante’s golden locks, while white-feathered wings erupted from her back. She looked stunning, immaculate... pure.

“W-what are you going to do to me...?” 

“I’m going to break you!” Violante laughed in that delicious voice. “And then rebuild you into some semblance of the moral warrior you were. And that requires you repay every cruelty you’ve inflicted upon others…” Her monstrous dick was now erected past the five-foot mark, oozing precum that splattered over Bula’s face. It tasted delicious.

Knowing what was expected of her, Bula turned around and bent over, presenting herself and feeling a thrill as Violante’s hands took hold of her firm, swollen ass. Something rigid brushed against the tender lips of her hungry pussy, and she almost cried out in anticipation of what she was about to receive.

“This is about justice, and balance, and penance, and I intend for them to feel great,” Violante cooed. “Do you submit?”

“Yes… Mistress, please…”

“My good girl, my beautiful little Bulawulf. My perfect little bitch.”

And then they started, and did not stop for a long, long time. And all throughout, as she was taken and fucked and punished and taught, Bula thanked her wonderful mistress for using her like the bitch she was.

Her bitch for all eternity...

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