The Fuck Festival had been declared a ten-day celebration, and by the morning of the second day Elysara already felt like a different world. The capital's streets and squares had become living extensions of desire—every corner draped in silk, every open space filled with low beds, oil pools, mirrored pavilions, and floating lanterns that drifted lazily overhead, casting golden light even in daylight. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, warm honey, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of hundreds of aroused women. Music pulsed from every direction: deep drums that matched the rhythm of thrusting hips, flutes that rose and fell like gasps, strings vibrating in time with clenching pussies.
Ethan Sinclair woke in the central pavilion, surrounded by the soft breathing of the women he had bred late into the night. His body ached pleasantly—muscles warm from use, cock still half-hard against his thigh, skin sticky with dried cum and nectar. Vaeloria lay curled against his side, obsidian skin gleaming, one powerful leg draped over his, violet eyes already open and watching him with quiet pride. Liraya sprawled on his other side, crimson hair fanned across his chest, full breasts rising and falling slowly, a faint smile on her lips even in sleep. Valyndra sat cross-legged nearby, golden and towering, winds idly swirling around her rounded belly as she polished her spear. Lilitha knelt at the edge of the furs, olive curves glowing in the morning light, brushing her dark hair while she hummed a soft, almost reverent tune. Mira, Solara, and Thalira had returned to their tents to rest, but their presence lingered in the air—scents of warrior sweat, nudist musk, and ocean salt still clinging to the pillows.
Ethan stretched, feeling every woman's eyes turn to him.
"Day two," he said, voice low and rough from the night before. "Strength."
Vaeloria's lips curved. "The rings are ready. They've been practicing all night—oiled, eager, waiting to prove themselves."
Liraya stirred, stretching so her breasts lifted, nipples hardening in the cool air. "I warmed the oil pools at dawn. They're hot enough to make pussies drip before the first hold."
Valyndra's winds brushed across his skin like a caress. "I raised the platforms higher. Winners will claim you in the sky—floating, weightless, nothing but cock and cunt and wind."
Lilitha leaned forward, full breasts swaying, her smooth pussy glistening as she moved. "I'll judge the holds. If they break too soon, they watch. If they endure… they breed."
Ethan stood, cock swinging heavily, already thickening at the thought. "Then let's begin."
The Carnival of Strength occupied the largest arena in the city—a vast circle of raised wooden platforms, each one cushioned with thick furs and ringed with low silk barriers so the crowd could see every slide of oiled skin, every flex of muscle, every involuntary twitch of a clit when a hold turned erotic. Oil pools shimmered at the edges—scented with rose and myrrh—where losers and spectators bathed and recovered, fingers lazily circling clits or plunging into slick holes while they watched.
Women filled the stands and the ground-level viewing areas—thousands naked or in sheer veils, breasts heaving with anticipation, pussies already wet, hands roaming freely. The music shifted—drums heavier, slower, matching the deliberate pace of a wrestling match.
Ethan took his place on the central throne-like platform, raised high enough for everyone to see. His seven companions flanked him: Vaeloria and Mira with spears crossed, Liraya's flames flickering at her fingertips, Valyndra's winds holding floating mirrors so no angle was hidden, Lilitha judging from a cushioned seat, Solara and Thalira lounging on furs, ready to join when called.
The first match was announced: a cat woman against an elf archer.
They stepped into the ring—both nude, bodies already oiled and shining. The cat woman was lean and powerful, spotted fur on ears and tail, smooth pussy glistening, small high breasts tipped with dark nipples. The elf was tall and graceful, silver hair braided with ribbons, smooth pussy framed by faint silver down, high breasts swaying gently.
They circled, muscles flexing, eyes locked. The crowd hushed.
They lunged.
The cat woman struck first—low and fast, tackling the elf around the waist. They hit the furs, rolling, breasts pressing together, pussies sliding wetly as thighs tangled. The elf twisted, long legs wrapping the cat woman's waist, trying to flip her. The cat woman growled, claws lightly raking the elf's back—not breaking skin, just enough to make her arch and moan.
"Submit," the cat woman purred, pinning the elf's arms above her head, hips grinding down so their clits rubbed together.
The elf bucked, silver hair whipping. "Never… make me cum first."
They wrestled harder—bodies sliding, oil making every grip slippery, every hold erotic. Breasts mashed together, nipples dragging, pussies grinding with each roll. The elf hooked a leg behind the cat woman's knee, flipping her onto her back. She straddled her chest, knees pinning arms, smooth pussy hovering inches from the cat woman's mouth.
"Lick me," the elf commanded. "Or I'll sit."
The cat woman grinned, tongue darting out—lapping at the elf's clit in quick, teasing strokes. The elf moaned, hips rocking, but kept control—grinding down just enough to tease without giving full access.
The crowd roared—some women fingering themselves openly, others scissoring in the stands.
Ethan watched, cock throbbing. Vaeloria leaned close, whispering, "They're both dripping for you."
The match ended when the elf shuddered—orgasm crashing through her, pussy pulsing inches from the cat woman's tongue. She collapsed forward, and the cat woman rolled her, pinning her shoulders.
"Winner!" Lilitha called, voice carrying over the music.
The cat woman stood, chest heaving, pussy visibly swollen and wet. She looked up at Ethan. "I claim my prize."
Ethan rose, stepping down to the ring. The crowd parted. He pulled her close—her furred ears twitching, tail wrapping his leg. "You fought well," he murmured. "Now take your reward."
She dropped to her knees first—mouth engulfing his cock, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. "Mmm… so thick… taste like victory."
He groaned, hands in her hair. "Suck it deep… make me cum in your mouth first."
She did—throat relaxing, taking him to the hilt, purring around his shaft. He thrust gently, then harder—cock bulging her throat. "Here it comes…"
He pulled out, stroking fast, erupting—thick ropes splattering her face, tongue, ears. She moaned, catching every drop, licking her lips.
Then she stood, turning, bending over the low barrier so the crowd could see. "Fuck my kitty cunt… breed me deep… make me yowl with your seed."
Ethan stepped behind her, sliding into her smooth, dripping pussy in one slow thrust. "So tight… so wet… take every inch."
He set a steady rhythm—deep, deliberate strokes, hands gripping her hips, thumbs spreading her ass cheeks so the crowd could watch his cock disappear inside her. She pushed back, tail lashing, ears flattening in pleasure.
"Harder… pound me… make me cum on your cock!"
He slammed in—hips slapping against her ass, cock hitting deep. "Cum for me… squeeze me… let me feel you break."
She yowled—body convulsing, pussy pulsing around him, juices squirting down her thighs. He followed—erupting deep inside her, seed flooding her womb, overflowing, dripping down her legs.
The crowd cheered as she collapsed forward, panting, cum leaking from her swollen pussy.
The matches continued all day.
A nudist matriarch with massive breasts and thick bush pinned a goblin thief—breasts smothering her face, hairy pussy grinding against green skin. "Submit… or lick me until I cum."
The goblin fought—tongue darting out, lapping at the matriarch's clit through her bush. The matriarch moaned, hips rocking, but held control—grinding down until the goblin shuddered in defeat.
Winner claimed Ethan—bent over the barrier, thick bush presented. "Fuck my hairy cunt… breed me wild… make my bush drip with your cum!"
He slammed in—curls tickling his shaft, pussy hot and welcoming. "So wet… cum on my cock… take my load deep."
She pushed back, massive breasts swinging. "Harder… pound me… oh gods—cumming!"
She shook—cum dripping through her bush as he erupted inside.
An elf archer wrestled a cat woman—long legs wrapping, smooth pussy sliding against smooth pussy. They rolled, breasts pressed together, clits rubbing with each twist. The elf hooked a leg, pinning the cat woman's shoulders.
Winner rode Ethan reverse—smooth pussy clenching, silver hair whipping. "Fill my elven womb… breed me eternal."
He pounded upward. "Cum for me… let me breed you."
She moaned melodically—cumming, seed flooding her.
A giantess faced three elves at once—pinning them easily, thick thighs clamping, massive breasts smothering faces. "Submit… or lick my giant pussy until I cum."
The elves fought—tongues lapping at her clit, fingers delving into her massive folds. The giantess roared, hips rocking, but held them down until they shuddered in defeat.
She lowered herself onto Ethan—pussy tightened by magic, his cock enlarged to match. "Breed this giant cunt… fill me massive… make me roar with your seed!"
He thrust deep. "Cum for me… take every inch… let me breed you."
She came like thunder—body shaking the platform, pussy pulsing as he erupted inside her, cum flooding her depths.
Matches blurred—bodies sliding, oil making every grip erotic, every hold a prelude to fucking. Winners claimed Ethan one after another—riding him, bending for him, spreading for him—pussies filled, asses taken, mouths overflowing.
By dusk the arena was slick with cum and oil, the air heavy with moans. Ethan had bred over three hundred that day alone—wombs quickening, the festival echoing with cries of release.
Night fell. Torches blazed. The Carnival of Strength ended with a final orgy—losers and winners alike piling onto the platforms, bodies tangled, Ethan moving through them like a storm of light.
Vaeloria rode him in the center—pussy clenching. "Fuck me… breed your warrior… make me cum under the stars."
He thrust up. "Cum for me… take my seed… let me fill you."
She came roaring—pussy pulsing, milking him dry.
The festival continued—nine more days of pleasure ahead.