I want to make an erotic fantasy novel, reversing the tropes of this type of novels for horny teenagers and having crude and gratuitous scenes, but always making it clear that it is a parody. I accept all kinds of suggestions, I am lacking good ideas (characters, plot, worldbuilding...)

I'm work-shopping a story idea that utilizes sex magic to empower warriors as well as create enchantments within the world. I'm wondering what exactly would this look like. Is it Elemental using potions or what it look more like sigil-based spellcasting and energy work. Not everyone in the world will be able to do it only Court magicians or sorcerers with those trained and Magic. Any ideas or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I feel like everything I've come up with so far has seemed a bit cliche.

For example in my setting, a very widespread kink among the Bubblehead people , which also doubles as a prank, is, adding semen and or snot to people's food or drinks, , either a significant other, or employees jacking off in people's food for kicks and serving it to them

Also it's not uncommon in my setting to be flipping through the channels and find at the very least, four or five cooking shows with recipes where you get to see people cooking and eating their own eggs on live TV, in rare cases even hours or minutes before they hatch

And no this isn't some obscure, underground dark web kind of thing, this is literally daytime television that people watch while making their coffee or something

yes that's actually a kink there and it's very common, that is widespread and common as a foot fetish,

As mentioned in my earlier post the nomads believe in a collection of maternal protective spirits called the animal Mothers each species has its own mother spirit. each Spirit can manifest in both animal and human forms, however one I am having trouble with is the Mammoth mother. and she is an important one as the Mammoth or Neo Mammoth is an important resource for the nomads. While the Mammoth Mother appears in the story. what I am having trouble with is her human Manifestation. I best I can think is a stern Matriarch type woman who is wearing two mammoth tusks as a Neck ring and or is wrapped in a mammoth hide. I am wondering if anyone could offer anything else to help flesh her own

my Future ice age nomads believe in a complex unseen world of spirits. some of which reach and almost deity status, among these are the Animal Mothers who guide and watch over the herds but are also there living spirit. These maternal spirits also decide whether or not to give any of their children to the people, and if offended can easily bring hunger and starvation by guiding the animals far away from the clans. part of this is also showing gratitude and never wasting what the mothers give, while at the same time it is the peoples responsibility to always insure that more animals will always be born into world then are killed, the shamans do this by painting the animals on rock faces creating spiritual gate way through which the unborn spirits can pass into the world of the living. the mother spirits are known to take an interest in human affairs and might show their disapproval of actions by keeping the animals away from those involved. On a farther note each animal mother has two manifestations one animal and other human for example the Caribou mother, might be a white female caribou or a woman with the antlers of a female Caribou. Howeve she or the others appear when they do it must not be dismissed.

Hey, y’all! Another month (maybe two. Sorry T_T), another look into the slow but surely developing world of Gynosauria! I thought of doing an entry just after this about my first species Gynosaurus again, this time taking a look at how the Gynosaurus from my very first entry has been doing since she met her mate~. Definitely a bit of a departure from typical sex scenes I’ve written, but then again these are usually the only times I ever write sex scenes so, eh. Point is this takes place just a couple months after the very first story with the very first species, and if you’ve read it you already know what’s going to happen. For the ones who so far have not, I recommended checking out!

Now, I must warn you: This work contains graphic depictions of pregnancy and somewhat graphic depictions of birth. And, though it isn’t dark, there will be a twist lore-reveal at the end. I wanted to show how children work in a world of goddess-ified dinosaurs and best believe the amateur has come up with a weird idea. But I do feel that it works out in several ways. Once again, I won't know until I post.

Put simply; Though the dominant gene that governs the humanoid aspects of Gynosaurs is indeed a pervasive, transforming agent in their DNA, it is still a gene. And genes aren't always active throughout the life of an organism. They, at some point, must first activate.

You have been warned, and now off we go :D

Rivers are very convenient. They give fresh drinking water, as well as provide food in the form of fish and plants. They’re full of good hiding spots, if you can hold your breath. And if you can swim, they become the most effective roads across the jungle. The few critters larger and smarter than insects know this well, and thus do they take their fair share. But when a chorus of splashes and swishes through the water can be heard, everyone knows well to get out of the way. And god forbid you fall, for on this strange young Igoli, it is in *the water* that you’ll most likely be trampled and pancaked by the world’s current dominant species.

A swell of white bodies speed through the water, their combined strength creating a swell that laps against the banks of the river. Eager to return home after a month on the beach, the Gynosaurus swim upstream towards the North. Beyond the coast the jungle stretches almost 95 miles in land and no further, thanks to the scorching sun. As the shoal reaches the 40 mile marker, the river briefly widens into a bowl. This bowl, more than eight times deeper than the rest of the river both up and downstream, marks the end of their journey thus far. At first tightening into a ball, the shoal gradually disperses towards the rim of the basin. Swarming to the surface, the enthused slapping of tails against water becomes interlaced with that of webbed feet and hands slapping against dirt.

Over the edge of the bank, heads of hair peak over in lines. Red, blonde, white, black, all shiny and metallic from the water seeped into their locks. For every one that rises, bright eyes of all the same colors gaze ahead into a vast expanse of ferns and vines. Held in near darkness by the canopy above, the realm beyond the river is lit only by breaches between the trees. Vines bridge each tree to the other, each bowed down from the weight of the many humble birds and rodents that run along them. Smaller creatures, smaller than can yet be seen, make their presence known along the floor and across the treetops. A never ending chorus of chirps and squeaks.

An alien world, the Encircling Jungle is.

Yet the plump, inhumanly dark lips of every face along the bank can only curl into a smile and heave a sigh. Indeed this is their home. Though this one river is able to carry them all the way to and from the sea as a whole, here they must now part ways and take other smaller rivers up and down. Some flare their triangular noses to take in the scent of dew and resin, the rest paying them no mind and quickly clawing their way over. As the many feminine creatures haul up, delicate shoulders tense as they each struggle to lift a very hefty pair of somethings dangling from their chests. Some pull through, while some are so unfortunate as to skid back as they’re caught on their chests.

Climbing is not a strong suit for the Gynosaurus. Not when she possesses breasts as large as her abdomen. But everyone gets their chance to pull up their breasts and feel them smack against the soft dirt. Finally hauling themselves ashore, their bodies can be seen in all the womanly glory. Thin, lithe, tight~, yet whatever of their curvature is allowed to jiggle does so with even the slightest movement. Modest bubblebutts give way to frog-like legs, webbing blending with toes to form feet perfect for land and water. Tails, long and eel-like, lazily drag against the ground as they all shuffle away from the edge. Along each of their backs, sails either white or a blend of red and black glisten in the rays of the canopy.

The group stands to their feet, hands idly wiping dirt from their breasts. With their fronts finally exposed, their crotches reveal to each other what only color has so far suggested. From between the tapering thighs of every red-sailed, a long and hefty shaft swings to and fro. 15 inches from base to tip, laying atop a pair of almost perfectly round balls big enough to never let their thighs fully close together. Among the pure white sails, below thin waists and under subtly protruding pudge, petals dangle from bulging lips. Beyond genitalia, each is as much a woman as the other. And like every woman after a long month of fucking, each buck and buxom felt their genitals about ready to fall off.

But there was plenty of love amongst the shifting bodies. The colorful heads, the bright sails, all in a seeming second of eternity on a warm beach. Thus, as the group scatters into the brush, some pair with others. Two buxoms, who shared a particularly large buck, chase each other into the brush. Said buck scuttles with some other bucks, simply because she liked how the pattern on their sails matched her own. A white sail eagerly pursues after a red one in the bushes, attempting to kiss her tender balls even after 4 weeks of draining them, a fact that the red-sail keeps trying to remind her of with every tail slap of protest. The rest, having no more obligations to the ones they chose, all go solo. Scampering into their own life of solitude.

All except one. One who, for the past minute or so, has been trying desperately to crawl out of the water and onto land. She always manages to get her tits over, a feat made impressive with how they would dwarf the rest of her kin. But everytime she gets stuck on yet another bulging part of her. And what’s worse is as she tries to finagle herself up, her hands slip against the same rocks with more and more ease. Streaks of white stain the river bank, made more copious as her breasts squirt milk with each impact against the dirt. A heave, a push, and she’s almost there. Almost-!

And then splash. Another cloud of bubbles billowing into the water, the tickling across her vulva bringing sensuous comfort. If it wasn’t for the third damn time. So here she floats, tits bobbing in the clear blue water. Her arms cross under her tits in a pout, not quite as easy if she were on land. And with a quirk of her eyebrow she casts her annoyance at her swollen, round belly. Still not nearly as big as her breasts, but still big enough to be yet another obstacle whenever she has to climb a bank. As stray milk spurts into the water, one could almost frame the white clouds as steam coming out of her ears. But then she jolts, her guffaw allowing a big bubble to float out of her mouth. She gazes down at her belly, her expression one of awe. As if the great pulse in her womb had knocked all the annoyance out of her head. And in the void of her surprise, her thoughts coalesce to that of reverence.

A hand reaches up to touch her belly. It’s firm, very firm. But no less susceptible to her soothing fingers. The pressure of her hand against herself generates a unique feeling. One she’s only had during this one special month, pregnant with her first egg. Her head tilts up to the surface, her pearly blue eyes staring into the mesmerizing reflection above. The current of water pushes against her thighs, almost lifting her up. Cool, cloudy mass passes between her legs, pressing upward against her vulva. As if the river itself is trying to push her up to the surface to try again, while at the same time trying to cop a feel~. She couldn’t describe it. That nature itself seemed to constantly fondle that special thing right between her legs. She only knows that she likes it. How could she not? Whether it was her hands, the hands of another, or the single biggest penis on any red-sail she’s ever seen. There’s so many things that want to make her feel good.

Another jolt makes her retract her hand, this one forcing her legs to spread apart. Her hands return, quicker this time, to soothe herself. She’s seen others of her kind like this. She knows they don’t stay like this forever. One day, and hopefully soon, this burden of hers shall lighten away with a resounding ‘pop’~. At least, that’s what she heard when her kindred along the beach line had finally given birth. Oh, it’d be so much easier to fantasize if she could just Get! On! Land! Her tail flicks to life, her body swishing through the water as graceful as one her size can be. Spearing through the water, she leaps into the air, arms and legs outstretched towards the bank. She catches on the rocks again, this time with the most purchase she’s felt in awhile. Wasting no time she heaves, first tits and then belly all flopping over in a heap. A contrast of soft, jiggly orbs pooling atop a solid and unyielding ball, would be a sight for any voyeur. But now the only one to see is herself, her head peeking over her own monstrous cleavage to huff triumphantly.

Finally!

With so much surface area sliding across the dirt, swinging her legs over is easy as pie, and the Gynosaurus happily crawls away. Or at least attempts to, if she wasn’t once again dragged down to the dirt by the weight of her belly and breasts. A single spit to get all the dirt out her mouth, and the sail along her back tenses visibly. Hands pushed into the ground, she bucks her hips forward, her belly making a small trench in the leaves and twigs. She raises barely a foot and already the first beads of sweat pearl along her asscheeks. A huff, perhaps even a snort, and she flexes her sail further. Another foot, then another, all good progress in exchange for the trembling of her thighs. Her head levels and the burden once binding her to the earth now comfortably hangs in front of her. obscenely. Her arms reach forward, thin and lanky limbs stretching nearly to their limit to cup her breasts. Biceps bulge subtly as she struggles to lift her breasts from their rest at either side of her gut.

Everyday it gets harder to do that. Everyday it gets harder to do anything! More weight on her chest, pooling across her bump, making her more top heavy, which leads to more soreness in her back. There’s barely been a day that her voice wasn’t gruff from the monumental task of simply walking and swimming. She swore she'd never seen a single of her fellow ladies swell so big in the same season as her. She’s lucky that the very flaming red sail that drew her eye took responsibility to bring her back from the beach. For a woman like her, even the biggest cock in her shoal isn’t enough to excuse a lack of manners. You knock a woman up, you help her get home, and THEN you get to leave!

Yet, for as utterly gravid she has become, she can appreciate the little moments experienced in the aftermath of a penis the size of her arm in the least contraceptive time of year. That shift in gravity as she stood to her feet. All that weight shifting, sliding, slapping against her with her own silky skin. Pressure, mounted over nearly a month of exponential changes, bearing on her hips. And of course the very hips in question. Growing, widening, opening~. Knowing what it’s all building up to, seeing it happen with each one of her kin she watched on that beach. She can’t say for sure it was all pleasant but she knows the face of ecstasy when she sees it.

Looking down from between her breasts, she eyes her belly with a cheeky smirk. Swinging her shoulders, her smirk opens into a pornographic jaw-drop as her breasts swing in front of her. Sliding over her belly, lightly bouncing off of eachother, their jiggliness melds with perkiness. Her breasts, despite their immense size, look and act as if they’re light as bubbles. Temporary, she hopes. Fun as it is to have tits that jut forward like weapons, even past her own belly, she preferred her past self. When her breasts flopped and slapped against her slim tummy as creamy teardrops. When they hit stuff with the weight they were actually worth, rather than the weight that’s filled her up into a walking water bomb.

Birth among her kind is pretty explosive, in a way, as she recalls watching her fellows at the delta. All those fluids from their flowers, all that milk squirting like geysers from their teats. It made sense how the poor ladies drank from the mouth of that river for minutes afterward. Shame she won’t have a group now. The price for mating at the start of the season is that you’re always alone by the end of it, no matter what state you’re in.

She will miss that buck, though. Passion leads to exaggeration when describing one’s lover, but is it so easy to exaggerate those palm-spilling balls, when having felt them so thoroughly over her lips~? As if in response to her naughty thought, a subtle warmth spreads over her breasts and belly. The warmth in turn makes her shoulders swing faster, the smacking of her tits across her belly more audible through the misty jungle. Her smile stretches to an almost painful degree.

Oh yeah! She's in a jungle! Which means she should probably find shelter for the night. Dark as the undergrowth can be, it can get much darker. Compound with mist, and a diurnal could lose as much as 40% of their field of view at night. She swore the light rays above have started to gray, and waiting to check would be a dangerous tempt of fate. She may be the biggest predator on the planet now, but still not the only. And no matter how big she is now, and quite possibly still getting bigger, the last thing anyone wants to see is two white dots in the middle of a great wall of black. Walking seems to be the only thing to do from here.

But one must be ready. The Encircling Jungle is named so for a reason. While barely a hundred miles from coast to in-land, this devilish rainforest wraps around the entire continent. All 38,000 miles, overgrown into a single green band of endless nature. Choose the wrong direction, and she could be walking forever. And during forever she’ll be met with angry flying foxes, ten pound frogs, and venomous snakes with every flavor of lethal venom. Topping it all off is the lack of a guarantee she can keep her own breasts under control. The bump on her head from slipping on her own milk has only today receded, from all the way back at the delta.

The ground is pleasant beneath her feet. Aside from the occasional twig poking up, each step felt plush against her feet. A pleasant sensation, which occasionally gives way to the occasional patch of rocks. Above and around her, vines glisten with the shells of bustling insects. The screeches of birds hidden in the canopy pierce downwards, with only a few pleasant enough to be considered bird-song. The sound of branches bowing and springing from the wait of critters leaping across them startles her, hands instinctively reaching to soothe her distended stomach. The coolness makes her nipples stand erect, dew slowly collecting on her areolas. No milk yet, which is a rare enough occasion for her to marvel at her areolas. To think that they’d turned as dark and pure as her own lips~.

The land begins to shift, her feet angling as she trudges along an invisible downard hill. Momentum does most of the work for her from here. A lift of the tail for balance, and to make way for her hands to shift from her bump across her hips, palms angling back for her fingers to slide along her cheeks. Once tight and perky, her ass now spills between her fingers like marshmallow. A sudden smack sends electric ripples from one to the other, and a thrill between her legs. Now there is something she wants to keep when she finally gets this damn egg out of her. As if on instinct, her hands begin to press into her back. Her spine arches, her tail raises more, and her feet swing over each other with every step.

Her spine locks, while her shoulders relax. Her hips swing, while her feet thrust into the ground. Now she can feel it. Powerful thumps traveling up her legs and into her cheeks. Each fall of her feet sends her enlarged rump into bounce after bounce, subtle ripples traveling up and down their spherical surface. Like, once again, bubbles! A giggle escapes her, unable to contain the arousal brought on by her own body. Bubbles here, bubbles there, bubbles everywhere! A bubble butt, a bubble belly, and two extra bubbly tits~. Shaking, wobbling, swinging, clapping. Every pound of fat on her lanky frame just wants to smack into itself. She couldn’t complain, with every vibration across her body eventually passing over her dampening pussy.

She’s strut before, but never has her body felt so good doing it. The same things she’d done all the time when her tits first grew past her belly button, and now it’s having a seismic effect on her body like never. If the jenga tower of balloons in front of her weren’t already warm, now she could feel them starting to throb. Entirely out of sync, her belly pulses outward just in time for her breasts to recede, and vice versa her breasts silently burgeon on top of her belly. Her mouth puckers into an O, a subtle puff of air slipping out. Her body seems to be having a party of its own while she’s strutting her way through the jungle~.

Her O turns into a smirk as the last of the green fades away. Flicking away the blond hair covering her right eye, she scans around. It would seem she’s walked into a sort of watering hole. The basin is round and deep, and in the center a stream slithers through from left to right. As her head swivels, her eyes catch a glimpse of her still pulsing breasts. It’s worth just a little admiration that for as hot and bothered as she got, she’s only just now started leaking again. Just as her nostrils flare to release another huff, a scent catches upon them. Her eyebrow quirks at the curious smell, and she quietly sniffs again. Sweet, and savory, yet also… bodily.

Another light whiff, and memories begin to spring forth. Arousal, desire, pleasure, and the all encompassing odor of release. How could she not have recognised it the first time!

Kindred have been here. pregnant kindred. This is a nesting ground. Like the one at the delta of the biggest river in her jungle, here is where buxoms have come to find privacy with their fellow engorged. A safe haven, where they would be free from prying eyes of bucks and buxoms alike. A place only for women like her. Swollen, engorged, drained of energy simply from standing up and sitting down. Where the only burdens are the ones bearing on their hips. The image could not be clearer. Feet perched upon stones embedded in the soil. Legs spread apart, exposing dripping wet pussies. Arms, clutching breasts that spill into them from bicep all the way to fingertip. Perfectly exposed, perfectly spread eagle, with nothing to do but feel themselves grow.

Enlarge, distend, expand, inflate~

Breasts sloshing, bellies rumbling, pussies opening and closing~!

Bigger, and bigger, and bigger until-!

Her belly throbs.

Her thighs damn near keen as she doubles in on herself. Hands struggle to reach under her breasts to soothe, hair spilling down between her cleavage to block the world from her vision. This was powerful. Powerful enough that she can feel her clit poking out from her folds, the sensation of the thick bean swelling out moistening her more. As long as her thumb and as thick as her pinky, even it has grown a staggering degree in her pregnancy. It slides from her puffed lips, each pulse sending a thrill through her loins. At this size, she has become aware of so much more about clits in general. How they swell and throb like the enormous dicks of red-sails. How they stand at attention when their eyes lock on to them, prepared to be met with a lavish tongue and thick lips. Oh, the similarities! With the only major disparity, aside from her pussy, is size. Her bean in particular has something she loves.

That it’s barely long enough to bend. Upward. In an arch. Just like that ginger haired stud~...

Another throb, this one less forceful, pulses through her belly. This time it travels down in a wave, settling into her loins and dissipating across her vulva. Her hands struggle to reach further down, each having to lift her overfilled middle just so the other can stretch lower. Fingers dance across a fattened labia, just barely able to flick her now rock-solid clit. While her hands lazily pull and prod at her pussy, her head finally tilts up. Her neck pops from having been trained down for so long, sending a shiver across her sail. Eyes scan above at the canopy, where there's only darkness between the branches.

How could it still be so light, then? She wonders as her gaze lowers, until her eyes lock to a tree trunk. There, latched onto the bark, was a beetle. A great, big, magnificent, eagle-winged beetle. That was glowing. Bright green shone from its wings and abdomen, only obscured by it’s enormous crab-claw shaped head. A glance down reveals two more on either side, a turn to the left reveals another trunk sparsely covered in the bright-beetles, and another with even more. If her jaw was slack from all the lust, now it may as well have detached from awe. All around her is illumination. Refracting along leaves, revealing vines, scaring away whatever critters of the night had perched among them.

A slight soreness in her legs alerts her to her own body, and she gazes down to see her long, amphibian legs have folded in. Entirely on its own accord, her body has settled into a squat. Thighs spread wide apart, just enough to feel the tension of their muscles and tendons pulling directly at her pussy. To part her lips just enough to feel the cool waft of the stream flowing beneath her. Her own black lips stretch into a smile, so wide and proud she can already feel her jaw muscles hurt. Her hands move from her clit to press on her belly. A final throb pulses from within.

Here. She wants it to be here.

And her body listened. Immediately she can feel her belly tightening, its circumference subtly shrinking as it draws in. Her pussy flares, lips puffing outward as if filling with air. Her hole gapes, juice dripping downward as it forcefully widens. Her teeth clench. Milk paints across her breasts and dribbles down across her thighs, her incessant leaking only amplifying as her body seemingly takes a mind of its own. Against her sensitive muff, the cool draft from the stream now feels like a powerful steam washing over her lips. She can even feel it dip into her folds, reaching into her tunnel with increasing ease with every contraction. Her eyes go cross, mind suddenly blind to the world she had just been gaping in awe at a moment ago.

Speaking of gaping, her pussy is dripping like mad. Tiny, creamy dollops fall from her entrance, darkening the dirt beneath or mixing into the water. Then, suddenly, drops and dollops are drowned out quite literally. A massive gush of fluid splatters from between her legs, forming a dark spot on the bank of the stream. If she wasn’t trembling already, now she was an earthquake. This? Whatever it was, felt better than any other time she had lounged on a rock and let the elements caress her oversensitive body. Not quite the same as sex, but in every detail of it was sexual pleasure. Her body, having gotten so full, so tight, now finally allowed to let loose.

‘Feeling loose’, indeed, was an apt description. Her lips have stretched open wider than even when it had been skewered through by that damn red-sail. She hopes that the same wind that likes to blow between her legs can also blow some directions, because she needs to find her again after this. Until then, all she can do is brace. Brace, and feel. Feel the mass of her belly suddenly move. Dropping down right onto her hips. Feel herself stretch apart one last time, just enough to feel the mass beginning to dip. Then her mind washes away, and instinct takes over her with a single word filling her brain to the brim.

‘Push.’

Every muscle tenses. Her teeth grind against each other. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

‘Push!’

Her nipples explode, streams of milk flying into the air in fountainous arcs. She feels her hole stretch even wider. Wider than it EVER had the right to. Wider than even her thumb-size clit could handle, forced to bend in an even tighter arch from being pulled in two directions either side.

‘PUSH!’

The stream ripples as a massive splash hits the surface. Gynosaurus heaves a single sigh of satisfaction, before falling backwards off her perch and onto the dirt. Thoroughly dazed, her head can barely crane for teary eyes to gaze at the thing bobbing idly in the stream. Large, spherical, and almost entirely see-through, the orb displays its contents fully and entirely. A mass of serpentine coils rests within, utterly devoid of definition. Jet-black, a color she’s seen on the lips of herself and her kin, and recently her own nipples, Is now the only thing she sees across the skin of the thing within the orb. Scent pervades her nose, the odor undeniably that of kin. Curiosity dulls the pain in her neck as she raises her head, gravity also lending in aid in allowing some of her tears to slip down her face.

Amidst the twists and turns of the blackened body, a vaguely formed arm or leg can be seen. Some coils possess a ridge along their length, while others are more flattened and paddle-like, yet nothing even close to the shape of a kindred can be seen. In the center, a head can be seen. Small, tiny even, and unnervingly arrow-shaped for a mass of coils that’s supposed to be her child, rather than one of the many snakes in the jungle her kind knows to stay away from. Yet it’s unmistakable, the already mane-like head of scarlet hair surrounding it’s head. Her eyes widened, permitting just a bit more clarity to her vision.

Her child.

A warmth washes over her. Different from any other. Nurturing, protective. A warmth that isn’t for her, but for the orb sitting in the stream in front of her. Strength returns, and her body rolls over. Legs stretch up towards wrists as she returns to her lizard-stance, finally feeling comfortable in it for the first time in well over a month. Her bump and breasts continue to leak, and shall soon deflate to their original size in just days. But even with so much weight lost, she is sluggish crawling towards her egg. Eventually cold water touches her hands, and muscles whine as she leans forward to gaze closer at her child. Her breath hits the surface of the orb.

Which is apparently all it takes to ruin its peace. Within, scarlet hair drifts apart just in time for piercing blue eyes to stare into her own. Coils shift, pressing into the walls of the egg with impatience. Legs kick in one corner while arms grasp in another. The orb, currently, does not give.

The child within didn’t like that.

Gynosaurus startles back as the creature within becomes a wild tornado of black. The orb distorts, bouncing this way and that in the water, tears forming in its inner wall from the hatchling’s surprising ferocity. Until it finally buries its head into one of the rips, and a hole opens. Like a geyser it bursts out of the confines of its egg, streaking into the air with more grace and elegance than any sea snake she saw jumping from the shores of the delta. Hair billows up in the wind, revealing two fleshy whiskers trailing from their cheeks. In this moment time seems to slow, allowing Gynosaurus to take in the full scale of her firstborn.

Barely thicker than her wrist, it’s elegant and gracile body stretches nearly five feet long, already as long as its mother is tall. The ridge along its long and thin back denotes the sail that will grow as it ages. Along its jaw, thin lines of fat can be seen, that shall one day be augmented with newly grown muscle and tendon to allow for sensing prey in the water, tasting the air, and even one day speak the textless language of her kind. Until then, their splendor as they spear through the air, locks of scorching red slithering along the wind, is a sufficiently awe-inspiring memory burned into their mother’s mind.

A final splash resounds, and they vanish into the water. Only scarlet hair can be seen now, swishing left and right to draw the path of them slithering away just under the surface. Back on the bank of the stream, she watches the hair finally dip into a crevice under a rock. She has seen her child, and they have seen her. And now, they’re gone. And with it, the warmth that she felt. Gynosaurus does not know what to feel now. A warmth from within her body, yet it was meant for someone else. And yet even that someone else is soon gone, instinct having already taught them whatever it was her warmth might’ve compelled her to teach.

A subtle oversight from the ones that created them all.

Usually monsters in NSFW games are either A) standard fantasy beasts, like slimes, orcs, zombies, werewolves, etc. or B) completely sexual with little thought put into how much sense it would make for them to exist in-world, like huge tentacle creatures without eyes or mouths, plants with humanlike reproductive organs, or animals that look basically just like humans.

I'm wondering if there's some middle ground between these two camps, of believable magical creatures that can still be distinctly lewd in the right context? Most of what I've seen comes down to either very basic differently proportioned humanoids (orcs, goblins) or eye-rolling "drinks cum instead of water" type explanations.

Any help brainstorming would be greatly appreciated!

Okay so in my world there is more than two sexes.

There is: male, female, hermaphrodites, sexless, demi-females, demi-males.

My issue is that I don't know what physical difference should be between females & males and demi-females & demi-males. Espiecally in genitalia. I don't want chromosomes were the only differences.

So I decided to write something up for a new setting. I like femdom and matriarchy, so that's in here, but it's not super lewd, just implied. The setting is a bit inspired by DnD, Warhammer, and Dominions, and is set in a the territories of a former empire where magical female warlords compete for power and men can't cast spells at all.

I decided to start the worldbuilding by coming up with some of the rulers to set the theme.

So here's what I have so far. Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas or suggestions.

Witch-Tyrants of Azalax

The world of Oduros was once an equal one where both men and women had access to magic. But 600 years ago a cabal of powerful female wizards performed a ritual to strip men of their ability to cast spells. The result was a massive disorder in society and the once-great Empire of Azalax disintegrated, among many others. The wizards began to fight amongst each other for power, carving up their own queendoms in the chaos. They fought, died, or disappeared, and were eventually succeeded by their apprentices. The cycle repeated again and again, and now the lands are ruled by third and fourth generation witch-tyrants. Acting as warlords their realms fractured time and time again and the lands were divided and at war.

Society had become one of strife and heavily affected by magical warfare. Some regions have remained stable and protected, others are constant battlegrounds. Some fought with standing armies, and others just with spells. Meanwhile the dynamic of only women being able to perform most magic, with men only being able to work with things that were already magical, such as using magical herbs to make a potion or magical ink to make a tattoo, and the establishment of societies led by the most powerful magic users, has led to a matriarchal shift in cultures and societies. Women are often valued as leaders, mothers, as literally magical, and tend to be more educated, while men are valued more as workers, craftsmen, and soldiers.

Now the realms of Azalax still remain shattered in dozens of petty queendoms but are slowly starting to consolidate into fewer and larger ones. An arena of wit and muscle, it is yet to be seen if one woman may eventually reunify the once-great empire.

Beatrice the Metal

Beatrice the Metal is a tall, intimidating woman who got her title for her specializations in magical piercings, gargoyle, and golem crafting. She’s also quite skilled in offensive skills, magical tattoos, and shadow magic. She rules a domain of badlands between fertile lands to the west and a sandy desert to the east, sparsely populated other than a few civilized towns, kobold, and ogre tribes.

She is known to give her subjects greater autonomy and personal freedom than other tyrants, but is still greatly feared and respected. Her enforcers are elite and intimidating, often being either brass golems, men who have been enhanced with magical tattoos and piercings, gargoyles, or ogre mercenaries. She has even encouraged cults among the ogre and kobold tribes to worship her.

She lives in a great abode carved into a cliffside overlooking an inland delta and the largest human settlements of her domain that live along it. She has a sadistic streak of abducting unsuspecting men and giving them unwanted magical tattoos and piercings before releasing them again, usually ones of a humiliating or perverted nature.

She stands about six feet tall without her heeled boots and primarily wears tight, black robes. Her once-pale body, but since tanned by the badlands sun, is covered in many solid black tattoos of magical power and is adorned with magical jewelry and piercings in her pussy, navel, nipples, and a whole lot on her face. Her eyes are especially disconcerting, having no iris or pupils, but just a solid, reflective brass that makes them up entirely.

Her realm is relatively peaceful, with her not often entering into conflict with the other tyrants, although her land has little rule of law and is prowled by some fierce creatures. She has a more hands-off approach to rulership, appointing loyal locals to rule so long as they paid tribute and followed her laws. Of her laws, there were relatively few, but those that she did implement were rather creative and eccentric. One included that if a woman hears a man speaking ill of her, she can demand that he apologize by licking her boots or getting a tongue piercings. Another one was that every building three stories or taller in height must have a balcony. She often sponsored and subsidized bards and musical performances. She has three apprentices, all of them young women that she recruited locally.

Queen Alozora the Pompous

A stereotypical, arrogant high elf Queen Alozora the Magnificent, as she prefers to be called, is a lethal spell caster, able to wreak destruction on a huge scale with everything from fire rain, to earthquakes, to plagues of serpents and toads. She is a tall and regal woman who dresses in only the finest of silk, usually red, and most precious of gems and seemingly always accompanied by a small army of servants. The very air around her, scented by her perfume, reeks of luxury and snobbishness. But being such a powerful spellcaster few dare to oppose her, and her subjects and servants had to suffer her lavish lifestyle and arbitrary, narcissistic demands. 

Heavily prejudiced against all non-high elves (although she’s fine with sun elves and has a soft-spot for gnomes), she is very uninterested in controlling all of the former empire, as most of it is non-elf lands. Instead she works to unify the high elf heartlands in the forests of its western fringes, and so far controls several important cities, including a couple of the most ancient and prestigious of cities that are famous as ancient city-states. 

She keeps her cities looking immaculate and clean, with sanitation and parks being perhaps the only benefits that her subjects can thank her for. Since her reign taxes have increased sharply, all of it going to either the military, her extravagant lifestyle, or vanity projects. Residents joke that they might as well start judging the size of towns by how many statues of Queen Alozora there are. Disrespecting a statue of her is considered a serious crime by her enforcers, which consist of secret police, elite mounted soldiers, and wizardesses. Her armies are well equipped and constantly drilled, as she can not stand the idea of her armies appearing as nothing less than the ideal of high elvish prowess. With fine metal, bows, ballista, and magic her armies go forward ruthlessly, sparing few of the opposition and any non-elves (except for gnomes), and caring to avoid burning down only the most beautiful and famous of structures.

Ever greedy and ambitious, along with all of her material desires she seeks out powerful magic artifacts to expand her power and a dragon egg so that she may have a fitting steed. She is married to a high-elf noble and has taken 3 additional male consorts, and has one daughter and three sons. She lives in the ancient elven capital of Lorpacour in an extravagant palace, usually holding court, passing judgment, hosting parties, fashion shows, or working on her magical research.

Referring to her as “the Pompous” is a crime in her domain. 

Vios of Cherrywood

Vios is a skilled and wise sorceress in the arts of potion making, healing, illusion, conjuration, divination, and nature magic. She is a local of the domain that she rules, which is the peaceful shire of Cherrywood and some of its surrounding lands. She is the most benevolent of the witch-tyrants and actively looks after the well being of her people, often protecting them from disease, outside threats, and natural calamity. 

Her lands consist of the farming town of Cherrywood, from which the rural county is named for, and its surrounding hills and satellite villages. Its population consists mostly of humans, elves, halflings, fey, and some dwarves. It's a beautiful and fertile land known for its beautiful trees and butterfly meadows. She is much beloved by her subjects and rarely has to use force, but when faced with external threat she often uses illusion magic, conjuration, and the spirits of nature to defend the land. 

She lives in a tall spire that tapers to a narrow point surrounded by a huge flower garden in the woods. Her subjects regularly travel to it to seek her wisdom or aid. At the top of the tower purple and pink lights of magical energy swirl around it. She is a woman of average height and a warm complexion, and often wears flowing, pink robes, makeup, and long, painted nails. The towns are ruled by their elected mayors, almost all of them women, but Vios takes an active role in decision making when a judgment is needed or a local dispute needs settling. She also takes an active role in local festivals and holidays, which she supports. Ruling with romantic and feminine ideals of love and compassion she promotes worship of the goddess of love and passes laws to promote domestic stability, although with a fair amount of bias in favor of women, such as gendered property rights, divorce laws, and punitive alimony. She has tutored several apprentices who have gone on to start their own small magical schools in the county, and she promotes women's education and hedge witchcraft

Qurani the Weird

A dark elf that has risen and conquered from the bowels of the earth, Qurani has dedicated herself to the titan Morthanna, a chthonic deity of mutation, dark fertility, and the mother of monsters. As much a priestess as a witch, she is skilled in blood magic, biomancy, herbology, and nature magic. The self-proclaimed archduchess of Portrak, a formerly prosperous, misty region, rules a land of chaos and constant strife. An expansionist, Qurani is constantly raising soldiers, training witches-priestesses, and breeding new beasts to spread the blessings of Morthanna.

Within her borders is also great chaos. Most cities and towns had to be diligent to maintain their walls, as the twisted nature around them was now prowling with monsters, chimeras, half-men, and other bizarre and dangerous beasts. She rules with an iron fist and enforces her alien religion on the population, yet there is little rule of law. The loyal subjects she granted authority to are free to do as they wished for the most part. Her enforcers, cult covens of pious laywomen and hedge witches, and the dreaded Man-Catchers, were a militia of zealous young women, usually lower class, roam and patrol her lands at will with great autonomy and the legal authority to enforce her laws and meet out punishment. This meant that they might often cause trouble where they pass through, being notorious trouble makers in taverns and inns, and even practically act as bandits themselves. They were motivated to enforce the laws of Qurani particularly on the men of the land, as by her new laws slavery was a valid punishment, and the Man-Catchers, named for their distinct polearms and also equipped with boas, nets, and tomahawks or shortswords, were given payment for men that they turned in as slaves. All they had to do was accuse the man of blasphemy or traveling the road alone at night and the slave market asked no further questions.

Many enslaved men are either mercifully purchased by a woman looking for a husband, or by the new, ruthless aristocracy of dark elves, cultists, and serpentfolk that Qurani had installed, or by Qurani’s court itself, to work the mines or magical herb plantations. The especially unlucky ones are sent to the Breeding Pits, an infamous place of horrific rumor from where many of the archduchess’ and the cult’s monsters are spawned.

Portrak was once a rather unremarkable minor trade and agricultural region with a charming karst landscape of rocky cliffs and hills, waterfalls, ponds, and narrow valleys. Since Qurani’s takeover the nature itself has become more bizarre and unusual, with new animals, unique plants, unsettling fish, flowers of unusual color, and two-headed snakes. Even the crops the people grow have changed, from the usual wheat to a new purple, slimy variety that was unsettling to visitors, although it was much more resilient and easier to grow. Their basic apple and berry orchards shifted too, to new, virile fruits of unnatural colors and new flavors.

The land is simultaneously more fertile and productive, yet unpredictable and dangerous. Many of the smallest villages were abandoned with the people moving into larger, walled towns, and roads were only traveled on in groups and in caravans for safety. The towns that are well-defended from beasts and bandits are still not yet safe. Most of the population make up an oppressed class of those who still follow the local, much more wholesome, pantheon that was dominant before Qurani’s arrival. The patrolling Man-Catchers and influential local covens leave people constantly on edge and fearful of dissent, knowing that they would have no recourse against their wrath.

Qurani’s rule can reasonably be described as quite misandrist. Raised in the dark elf matriarchies deep below the ground and having a stereotypical dark elf sense of supremacy and pride, she has decided to make men second class citizens. Upon marriage man basically became his wife’s property, and men without any female family members or guardians had no rights and could be legally enslaved by the first woman to put a collar on him. 

As a dark elf she is relatively short, but her unnerving presence and authoritative demeanor made her seem much taller. She often wore a beautiful dress for court, or leather and metal if needed in the field. She carried with her an assortment of wands and unusual crystals. She is married to a human man, perhaps quite unfortunately for him, but is surprisingly loyal to her and to whom she delegates some of her duties. She has two daughters and a son, with her daughters set to magically compete to inherit the realm after her.

Archduchess Qurani lives not in a spire, but in a castle in her capital. Actually referring to her as “the Weird” is a crime in her domain. 

Lady Sorana

A mistress of trickery and mischief, Lady Sorana is learned in fey and shadow magic, specializing in illusion, shapeshifting, conjuration, and divination. This half-elf rules a seemingly serene realm of lowlands at the confluence of many rivers and waterways. The land is fertile and easy to farm, and the rivers are rich with fish and often navigable. Fey energies pervade the land, giving it a magical and surreal feel. The day never got brighter than twilight and the nights are long but lit by a brighter moon. The many lakes and flowing waters shimmered and sparkled like silver and would glow a faint blue when it was dark, and dragonflies, will-’o-the-wisps, and lantern spirits were often seen floating and flying in the many woods and grasslands. Prairies might have grasses of blue, purple, silver, or gold, and just about every mushroom would glow in the dark. After a rain a rainbow would appear over every river and the morning dew left behind a small glitter during springtime. 

Lady Sorana herself was not interested much in rulership, and instead saw herself as the mistress and protector of her land. Foes that enter her realm might quickly find their paths repeating or bending, the waterways and bridges shifting, and becoming lost, disoriented, or back to where they started, and those that persisted further often found their food inexplicably fouled or poisoned. She enforced few laws, instead letting the communities rule themselves and acted to both keep or and spread chaos, as she did often like to roam the land pranking and partying. She does not collect taxes other than hiring trolls to guard and collect tolls on the province's many bridges. Riversmeet was the largest town and had a river port, and the population, mostly humans, halflings, elves, and fey, lived in quaint farming and fishing villages and hidden groves. Lady Sorana does not have a spire, instead preferring a large manor with a strawberry farm and a pet duck or to travel the rivers on a boat-house. Her reputation among the populace was that of a slightly benevolent, but arbitrary and morally neutral force that mainly showed her face either to protect and help them, or to spread debauchery and discord. She only seemed to show up right after or right before something bad would happen, like a bad storm or the mayor’s wife both being caught having an affair and having half of her jewelry stolen. Or waking up in a field naked, covered in writing, and with a horrible hangover. 

She is a short woman who keeps herself well-groomed and stylish when she wants to present herself, enjoying high heels and makeup. Other times she might be an owl or a cat, snooping around the night for one reason or another. When she travels she’s usually accompanied by a small entourage of friends and characters, as well as her pet duck, Hermes. 

Winged Misha

An ambitious warlord and major military power, Winged Misha controls much of the heartland of a former empire that she wishes to reunify. Skilled in storm and air magic she flies around on a set of metal wings that she crafted herself and a suit of armor, acting as both general and one-woman army. Tall and stern she has a reputation for justice and honor, but little forgiveness. Her power was consistently growing as she reunited new lands, but was pressed on many fronts from either attacking or being attacked by other witch-tyrants or forces of chaos. 

Her warm lands are ones of roads and laws, with a vast population in several large cities fed by a massive river and its floodplains. A martial culture of duty and honor has arisen over the last two centuries of her rule and she fielded some of the largest armies of legionnaires, knights, and combat mages. She has even trained her own elite force of valkyrie storm sorceresses with heavy armor and similar wings. Schools for women are widespread, encouraging them to become officers, healers, combat mages, and engineers in the self-proclaimed empress’ armies, while men who join the legion or are skilled craftsmen are greatly respected. Her lands are perhaps some of the most pleasant and prosperous of the many witch-tyrants, home to many ancient schools and roads, and maintained with wise governance and discipline in the maelstrom of the former empire. Her rule is physically marked with impressive court houses, and judges play an influential role in the political system. She has groomed three of her apprentices to share power after her, and if her confidence in them is well-placed is yet to be seen.

With so much ambition, stress, and power Misha’s psyche has become prone to increasingly megalomaniacal thinking in recent decades. Her arrogance and sense of superiority grows each day while her patience thins. Yet still her plans hold stable and with almost every season she inches closer to her dream of reunifying the lost empire of Azalax.

She often presents in her iconic winged armor, wielding what is both a magical staff and a deadly meteorite spear. She rules from her court in the ancient capital of Tvar but often departs to personally lead armies in the field.

Mira the Exile

A third generation witch-tyrant, she lost a series of wars competing for the former empire and was forced to flee. Now she resides in the sandy desert to the east, her domain nothing more than a handful of oasis and crypts, her subjects nomads and the undead. A desert-dwelling sun elf by birth it was unusual for her to take such a liking to the dark art of necromancy. She now bides her time, slowly corrupting champions and plundering ancient tombs and the sandy wastes for mummies and skeletons to raise with the foul magics she slowly works to perfect in her shadowy laboratory. Rarely seen, she’s described as wearing plain black robes and having unkempt hair, and carrying an intimidating staff wrapped in bizarre writings.

Enthia the Deranged

An up and coming witch with great potential, Enthia dabbled into some darker powers that she should not have. She did gain immense power, but at the cost of her sanity, and some say even her physical form. She is sometimes simply referred to as “the Derangement,” her presence and influence not taking the form of political power, but rather resembling a blight of madness and perversion on the land and the psyches of its inhabitants. Slowly creeping, her wails and whispers perpetually carried on the wind, the soil turns a sky-blue and the grass purple with white tips. Rocks will transform into sharp stones of reflective obsidian, wildflowers will turn to thistles, and bees will act like wasps, and wasps will act like bees. The trees kill themselves by twisting into gnarled shapes and their fruits are replaced with fish, animals try to flee, and those that don’t go mad and feral. People that stay morph as well, with women morphing into nymphomaniac furies, growing claws, teeth, leathery wings, and sometimes other unusual characteristics. Men experience nightmares of constant humiliation and a life of either hiding or subjugation by the now-feral women.

It's said that at the heart of the spreading corruption, far in the south of Azalax, she resides in some form.

Working on a NSFW mega-dungeon, and considering what to populate it with. Here's what I've got so far:

• Pseudo-Gaulish Orcs are a probably. Probably also Ogres and Ettins, who are related to Orcs in this world.
• Dark Elves are, of course, going in there. Probably more than one community, with stark cultural differences between them.
• There's a palace-casino on the back of a giant turtle that swims through the Sunless Sea. It's ruled by a Marid, is considered neutral ground, and is used as a "ferry" to move between different underground population centers.
• Deep Ones.
• Minotaurs.
• Going back-and-forth on slimes.
• Going back-and-forth on Goblins. What do they bring that the Orcs don't bring?
• Various Nymphs and other animistic spirits of grottos, caves, etc.
• A mind-controlling race that are not just illithids with the serial numbers scratched off (still cooking on this one).
• Possibly the palace of an ifriti in a lake of lava.
• Dwarves
• Harpies in the higher places, but maybe also in deep chasms. Or what about a race of bat-folk?
• A community secretly ruled by Rakshasa. Not sure who just yet.
• Mushroom people with consciousness-altering spores.
• And a number of solitary beings like dragons, trolls, naga, lamia, lycanthropes, vampires, etc.
• Some obvious non-sentient options like spiders.

What creatures good for spicy shenanigans am I missing? I'm certain I'm overlooking something obvious.

working out the issue of social organization among my castaway descendants has brought an old issue back into the light. which that the more I look at it through a clear lens the more I realize that certain sexual relationships between cousins and other second tier relatives are likely not only unavoidable, partially because it or not, Cousin Marriage was not uncommon and carried no real stigma at the time the first castaway where isolated in late 18th /early nineteenth century. Secondly is the single reality of the society that has evolved sense.

To explain, as stated in an earlier post. All groups in a given area are part of the same extended family group, term for which might be descended from the English word, cousin. through it has changed meanings and may or may not include those we would refer to as cousin. people within this group share a close social relationship, and sex between people born is the same group is taboo, cousins and other relatives born into different groups aren't really looked on as relatives in the same way, hints sex is allowed. That being said families still prefer to look farther afield if possible. But this is often as much an excuse to make journeys in order to trade and build ties, As the reason we might think of.

I have a demoness/succubus like character which has a passive ability, which is once you look at her for too long your sexuality will be changed. If you are a straight woman you will be bisexual, if you are a gay man you will be turned into bisexual as well. If you are asexual and have no feelings, well then your feeling will be awakened. These changes are permanent and cannot be altered.

Do you think it’s can create a controversial problem?

Got the idea for an expansionist empire of demihumans descended from a literal love and fertility deity. Their bodies naturally emminate seductive charm and even pheromones that lets their armies turn entire populations into willing vassals and slaves, kept submissive through the power of horny with no need for chains and whips.

Will give more updates if I take this idea further.

While it's easy to imagine my Castaway descendants living an idealistic peaceful life. Such is simply not the case. tensions and personal disputes are common, and many communities avoid connect with each other due a history of bloodshed between them. Additionally, they sometimes attack poachers and loggers who cross illegally from the mainland. The long history of instability in the region has also led to episodes where family groups have been attacked or fired on by repel forces, local pirates, armed smugglers. and likely military patrols.

While Blow darts are never used against people, they also have long wooden spears which are used for both hunting and fighting, these spears are generally between eight and ten feet in length and have been harden over a fire along their entire length they might at least sometimes be thrown but are mainly used for thrusting and stabbing. Their only other offensive weapon is the Angry Stick. which is a roughly arm's length piece of hardwood with a natural knot or growth at one end with the rest carved down to fit the wielders hand. small wooden shields meanwhile used for deflecting blows.

Most fighting in this culture is done hand to hand and one on one, often taking the form of ritualized duels between the two people involved where the goal is not to kill but to fight until both have drawn blood and shown though taking part that they are both brave and harbor no shame after which the score is seen as even. when someone does kill someone however it must be avenged, or the victim will haunt the living. such murders and revenge killing can unleash blood feuds that can go on for years and general not end so much as die down and can flare up at any time even decades later, these generally take the form of nighttime's raids and Ambushes. tactic which are also used against intruding poachers and loggers whose bodies are often dismembered and either burned thrown into the ocean or scattered around the forest so that souls will be looking for their body parts and not be able to haunt the living. this practice is rare among themselves.

In the two centuries sense their arrival the descendants of the child Castaways have increased and spread over several closely connected islands, each tailoring their lives to the places they found themselves. throughout this range daily life is centered on the family group usually consisting of a hunter and his family sometimes with one or more siblings and their family and generally numbering between ten and fifteen people, often fewer. each area has a number of such family groups, all of which are part of the same extended family or what we might call a clan. such larger group collectively might number from thirty to sixty people scattered over the area.

While I am still working out the details, I can see that relationships between extended families are likely not always straight forward it is possible that neighboring extended Families share close ties due regular interaction and might be grouped together at least by outsiders' possibility by some unique feature of the area or its history. relationship with groups from farther Afield are likely very complex and not always peaceful. On one had some faraway group likely share ties through distant family relationships or debts incurred through gifts or favors from past interactions. While other Groups are connected through trade connections. or Ancestorial Alliances. But in other cases, the relationships better extended families from certain areas are tense due to long standing disputes and conflicts which sometimes flare up into violence.

So, I had a very strange dream last night. I'm not sure if it was a dream or a nightmare but in it I dreamed about an alien species that had a very unusual way of procreating. This being; The emotional state that members of this species were in during sex would determine the biological makeup of their offspring.

This species was comprised of multiple different sub-species whose biological makeup reflected the emotional state their fathers where in during the intercourse that triggered their conception. The master sub-species of this species was comprised of individuals who were born through passionate sex and they governed the other sub-species with varying degrees of fairness or cruelty. The lowest sub-species was comprised of monstrous and non-sapient creatures who were born via angry or vengeful sex, these creatures were often painful and sometimes fatal to carry and they had short lifespans after birth.

!This species usually employed incestious rape as a punishment for egregious instances of disobedience and dishonor. The previously mentioned creatures who were born from hateful sex were the products of this.!<

From what I can recall, this species resembled monkeys. They were naturally intersex and genderless, had four arms, blue skin and prehensile feet and tails. They also had fangs and their most distinctive feature was that they had 2 irises in each eye so they looked a bit like Ahmanet from "The Mummy" ( 2017 ).

As disturbing as this concept is, I think my brain has unintentionally blessed me with a very unique concept and I'd like to develop it further.

What do you think?

Hello! I'm looking for some ideas and inspirations for some sexual/kinky cybernetics. I write smut and ERP which takes places in a cyberpunk setting and would love to hear people's ideas! I'd also potentially like to make a master list of sorts for anyone looking for this specific subject in the future! So please feel free to share anything that comes to mind!

I’ve been working on a world called The Scorch, a world where rapid climate collapse, skin-based disease, and hordes of infected monsters have reshaped society. In this world, survival means keeping skin exposed to air and sunlight, which has led to a whole culture of minimal clothing and unique social dynamics. It’s a world of young, minimally-clad women and rare men, fighting for survival in vast deserts and overgrown cities, battling infected monsters in bikinis and loincloths.

1. The Climate Catastrophe: Hot and Wet

In the late 2020s, climate change began to spiral out of control. Massive methane releases from thawing permafrost in Russia, Canada, and Greenland triggered unstoppable feedback loops, causing temperatures to surge and Greenland’s ice to fully melt, raising sea levels by several meters. By the 2160s, Earth is significantly hotter and more humid, transforming former temperate regions into dense tropical jungles that swallowed up North America, Europe, and beyond. Coastlines vanished, while places like San Francisco and New York became overgrown forests. In contrast, Northern Europe, Russia, and Canada turned into sun-baked wastelands of cracked earth and sprawling deserts. With CO₂ and oxygen levels spiking, new jungles resembled the Carboniferous period, where colossal vines and dense canopies overtook skyscrapers and giant insects flourished in this hostile new ecosystem.

The survivors of this apocalypse inhabit these overgrown ruins, clambering over collapsed buildings and dodging giant arthropods. They use scavenged supplies and the jungle’s resources to craft weapons, oils, and skin balms, all necessary for survival. This dense jungle environment isn’t just dangerous because of wildlife; it also creates the perfect breeding ground for Photophobia Nervosa, the pervasive skin-based pathogen that thrives in shaded areas. Staying covered in these humid, closed-off zones is deadly, and minimal clothing is a matter of survival, not just comfort.

2. Photophobia Nervosa: The Disease That Makes Modest Clothing Deadly

Photophobia Nervosa first appeared in the 2030s, a pathogen that thrives on shaded, covered skin or other shaded surfaces. This skin-based fungal-protozoan hybrid spreads on any shaded or enclosed areas, forming blue-grey patches of skin that signals early infection. If left unchecked, it turns all skin blue, then invades the nervous system, destroying memory and identity and turning people into “Skralls”—vicious, infected creatures that retain only primal instincts.

Survivors quickly learned that the only way to avoid infection is to keep skin exposed to sunlight and fresh air. That’s why every survivor community has adopted a minimal-clothing culture, with people wearing as little as possible: bikinis, loincloths, shorts, and wraps that allow skin to breathe. The infection struggles to survive in open, airy conditions, so anything more than basic coverage for an extended time could lead to death.

Men’s skin is thicker, denser, and produces more oil, making them more vulnerable to infection. Older people, regardless of gender, have wrinkled skin that traps moisture and shadow, allowing the disease to take root more easily. These factors have made young women the majority in most survivor communities, creating unique social dynamics.

3. The Social Norms of The Scorch: Minimal Clothing, Harems, and Matriarchal Leadership

In The Scorch, survivors live by an ethos where minimal clothing is essential. Communities are largely matriarchal, as women hold most leadership roles and make key survival decisions. Men, being more vulnerable to infection, are scarce and thus highly valued.

Because there are far fewer men than women, relationships often take the form of polyamorous partnerships or loose harems, where men have multiple female partners. Women may share male partners or form cooperative partnerships among themselves, creating flexible, open social arrangements that focus on survival. The high population of young women means lesbian relationships are also common. Relationships overlap, and there’s no expectation of monogamy; instead, partnerships are adaptable and free-form, with people coming together based on loyalty, attraction, and survival needs.

With everyone in minimal clothing, attraction and intimacy are out in the open. There’s a casualness to nudity, skin exposure, and relationships, as everyone understands that practicality is at the core of these customs.

4. Skralls: The Infected Monsters of The Scorch

Skralls are the ultimate consequence of Photophobia Nervosa. Once the disease reaches the nervous system, infected individuals lose their humanity, becoming mindless, violent creatures who shun sunlight and seek out shaded areas to hide during the day. Skralls are recognisable by their blue-grey skin, hollow eyes, and gaunt frames, although some, depending on their past strength and diet, may maintain their muscularity or even intelligence.

• Appearance: Skralls vary in size and appearance. Some are skeletal and malnourished, scraping by on what little they can scavenge. Others, infected from previously strong individuals, are more muscular, capable of using basic firearms, and almost as dangerous as human combatants.
• Behaviour: Skralls retain some instincts, like basic scavenging and hunting skills, but lack higher reasoning. They hunt in packs and are nocturnal, prowling the ruins and jungles at night, capturing survivors when they can. Skralls often take captives back to shadowed dens where the disease spreads rapidly, infecting new victims.
• Skrall Lairs: Skralls hide during the day in abandoned buildings, caves, or other dark spaces. These lairs are nightmares to any survivor, filled with makeshift cells, remnants of past victims, and the constant danger of infection. For survivors, entering a Skrall lair is a last-resort mission, as infection is almost guaranteed without full exposure to sunlight.

The ever-present threat of Skralls has made survival in The Scorch brutal and dangerous. Every survivor knows that taking on Skralls is a high-risk choice, and groups often include experienced warriors or skilled fighters who use agility, speed, and skill to escape the infected. The bare skin, lean physiques, and makeshift weapons of survivors reflects the constant need to stay mobile and avoid shaded areas.

Survival in The Scorch is about balancing constant vigilance with adaptation. Skin care is essential, with survivors using oils, balms, and basic insect repellents sparingly to avoid infection risks. People assist each other with these tasks, and routines include daily skin checks for early signs of infection. Most communities are small and agile, scattered across the ruins of former cities or high-elevation areas with more sunlight. People gather in small groups to live and travel, often climbing and crossing abandoned skyscrapers or old infrastructure that’s been overtaken by jungle. Every journey is high-risk, as Skralls pose a serious threat, so survivors are constantly alert, relying on teamwork and the ruggedness of their environment to keep them safe.

The Cumtrade: A Comprehensive System

The Cumtrade is one of the most lucrative trading systems in the realm of Erothys, with the vital essence being a cornerstone of various industries, from alchemy to agriculture. Cum, sold by the liter, is a commodity that transcends mere use in rituals, magic and concoctions, standing as a symbol of both wealth and power. The system is highly regulated, requiring royal certification, ensuring both quality and ethical standards.

The cumtrade system shares similarities with historical trade of rare and regulated goods such as spices, silk, and opium. The Spice Trade, for instance, involved a complex network of producers, merchants, and traders, with goods moving from Asia to Europe under stringent regulations imposed by colonial powers. Similarly, the Silk Road facilitated not only the exchange of goods but also cultural and technological ideas. These historical trades required coordinated efforts across borders, much like the cumtrade uniting multiple factions within Erothys.

Key Roles

The Crown's Office of Essences

- Role: This governmental office grants the royal certification required for cum farms to operate legally within the kingdom. It sets strict guidelines to ensure the ethical treatment of adventurers and the quality of the fluids.

- Purpose: Ensures a regulated market, preventing any black market cum trade and maintaining the reputation of the kingdom’s exports.

Cum Farms

- Description: These farms are specialized facilities where cum is extracted from donors who meet a rigorous set of standards and are provided with royal certification.

- Operations: Managed by experienced breeders and equipped with state-of-the-art extraction technology or magic, depending on the breeder, cum farms are a blend of comfort, efficiency, and security.

- Blackmarket: Usually less safe but often visited by people sellers for quick exchange of wares or sold for a low price. Wenches are often linked to the underground cum-market.

Adventurer Guilds

- Purpose: Act as intermediaries between the donors and merchants. Guilds purchase cum from certified individuals which include certified adventurers, beastmasters and breeders and ensure its quality before selling it to traders and alchemists.

- Guild Offices: Found in major cities and trade hubs, these offices are bustling centers of activity, where adventurers negotiate prices, and guild representatives authenticate and purchase the cum.

Merchants and Traders

- Function: These are the primary distributors of cum across the kingdom and beyond. They handle transportation, marketing, and sales, often traversing dangerous trade routes to deliver their valuable cargo.

- Trade Routes: Merchants use established routes like the King's Road and the Dragon's Path to ensure safe and efficient delivery of goods, employing guards and scouts to protect their caravans from bandits, unnatural and natural hazards.

Trading System

Certification and Quality Control

- Royal Certification: Cum farms must apply for and receive royal certification, which is renewed annually. Inspections ensure compliance with ethical standards and quality control measures.

- Quality Assurance: Regular inspections by Crown-appointed inspectors guarantee the purity and freshness of the essence. Substandard cum is confiscated and farms face penalties.

Marketplaces and Exchanges

- Adventurer Guild Exchanges: Dedicated sections within guild halls where cum is bought and sold. These exchanges set daily prices based on supply, demand, and purity. Adventurers recieve gold/silver according to how much cum they brought. How it was delivered doesn't matter, but freshness is a factor.

- Market Dynamics: Prices fluctuate based on geopolitical events, seasonal demands (e.g., mating seasons of monsters, animals, etc.), and technological advancements in essence extraction and usage. (In my world everything is kept basic Fantasy, gearwork is invented but mostly used by the minotaur species.)

Logistics and Distribution

- Transportation: Caravans of reinforced wagons, designed to carry containers that preserve the cum's potency, are a common sight on trade routes.

- Trade Hubs: Cities like Eldrador and Theros serve as major distribution centers. Here, traders can store, package, and ship cum to distant markets.

- Xandria, the newfound land, is providing fresh and pure dragoncum on a regular basis. In Erothys, dragoncum has the highest potent healing factor, a single drop of it can cure a common flu in and instant.

Cultural and Economic Impact

- Cultural Significance: Cum from renowned farms is often used in high-profile ceremonies and rituals, further boosting its value.

- Economic Driver: Taxes from the cum trade contribute significantly to the royal treasury, funding public projects, defense and high value quests and bounties for adventurers.

Trade Routes: Integration with the Cumtrade

1. The King's Road: The backbone of the cum trade, connecting key cities and providing (usually) safe passage for merchants.
2. The Dragon's Path: A challenging route where only the most adventurous merchants carry cum shipments to the Orcish Hordes, where its value multiplies.
3. The Golden Way: Used for transporting cum to the Elven Realms, where the rare types are highly valued for its ritualistic uses.

Valuation and Trade Dynamics

Origin and Species

- Human, Orcish, and Minotaur Cum: While lacking sexmagic, these types of cum are still valuable for their volume and use in various mundane applications, such as fertility rituals and alchemical experiments.

- Elven Cum: Infused with potent sexmagic, elven cum is highly sought after. Its sweetness and magical energy make it a critical component for high-tier magical concoctions and rituals.

Magical Potency

- Sexmagic Content: The presence and concentration of sexmagic in cum determine its primary value. Elven cum is unparalleled in this regard, often used as a catalyst in spellcasting and enchantments by other races.

- Sweetness Factor: A marker of its sexmagic content, the degree of sweetness in cum indicates its potency and desirability in magical circles.

Purity and Authenticity

- Purity Tests: Official testing of cum ensures it meets the quality standards set by trade guilds and magical orders. The purer the cum, the higher its market value. Blackmarket tactics include adding sugar to there cum or watering it down.

- Authenticity Certification: To prevent fraud, cum comes with certifications verifying its origin and potency, issued by recognized magical authorities.

Market Demand

- Seasonal Demand: During festival seasons or significant magical events, the demand for cum, especially elven, spikes significantly.

- Ritual and Alchemical Demand: Certain rituals and alchemical processes require cum as a primary ingredient, influencing its demand and price.

Market Practices and Smuggling

Legal Trade Practices

- Licensed Brokers and Traders: Only licensed traders are permitted to handle high-value cum, particularly that which is infused with sexmagic.

- Regulated Auctions: Cum, especially that from elven sources, is often sold at regulated auctions attended by alchemists, mages, and ritualists.

- Secure Transport: Given its value, cum is transported under high security to prevent theft or tampering.

Smuggling and Adulteration

- Stretching the Cum: Smugglers often dilute cum with mundane liquids to increase volume illicitly. This involves mixing smaller quantities of elven cum with human or orcish cum, which lack sweetness and magical potency, thereby deceiving buyers.

- Counterfeiting: Smugglers also attempt to replicate the sweetness of elven cum using alchemical sweeteners, although such practices are risky due to the rigorous testing conducted by magical authorities.

- Underground Markets: Despite strict regulations, underground markets flourish, particularly near borderlands and in unregulated territories. These markets operate in secrecy, offering cum that often fails to meet legal standards.

Economic and Cultural Impact

Economic Significance

- Revenue Generation: The cum trade is a significant contributor to the economy, with taxes on legal sales funding public infrastructure and magical research.

- Employment: The industry provides livelihoods to a range of individuals, from licensed farmers and guild members to security personnel.

Cultural Practices

- Ritual Importance: Cum, especially that with magical properties, is central to various cultural and religious rituals, enhancing community ties and cultural heritage.

- Symbolism: In elven societies, trading cum is a deeply respected practice symbolizing trust and unity between factions.

Magical Applications

- Spellcasting and Enchantments: Elven cum is crucial in enhancing the potency of spells and enchantments, making it indispensable to mages and spellcasters.

- Potion Crafting: A key ingredient in crafting potions of vigor, fertility, and other magical brews.

The Bubbleheads are my world's humanoid race, but they have evolved from snails considering my world has no mammals and therefore no primates This means that on top of their large spherical heads, they have eye stalks like those of a snail

They're skating ranges in color from dark blue to purple to burgundy

They are about 8 ft tall and they can weigh up to 100 lbs

There arms are loaded with muscle and their hands are large, with very large and sharp cause that in some cases of the size of TV remotes

Same applies to their legs and thighs, which allows them to jump 15 ft in the air

Their willies are more than 15 inchws long and some cases and can be as thick as burritos, but if you are a woman and can't take a burrito, they're able to contract it

More peos, because they are tall there is more room for abs, I usually have 10 to 12 pack but sometimes 24 so pretty hot

Thankfully for you, they have lost some of their snail traits, so you don't have to worry about smashing someone who's slimy like a snail, the skin is quite tough and rubbery compared to hours

Some cons Having evolved from snails means that they don't give their babies milk, somif you are a guy, no boobs, however, they are pretty tight,

also for the ladies, they have orange jizz that tastes like carrots, if you like carrots

They're also pretty high in maintenance, you'll have to plan in advance

You woke up to you have the room pretty hot and apparently humid

They are cold-blooded, so their style will be cramped if they are too cold, preheat your room and your bed to at least 90° f, and 50 to 60% humidity

Also you might need a bigger bed to increase comfort, or just after the floor

So if you ended up traveling to my world, or took one back to Earth on a spaceship, would you be up for the challenge, do you think it would be fun

By coercive I mean more or less dub/con. Power dynamics and context at play.

Has your trepid here sunk to her knees in a moment of weakness to receive healing for a mortal wound? Was a normally straight laced paladin forced to remove a bit more than just her armor to get information for her quest? Does the king really have a secret habit of visiting the wives of nobles in his court?

Or is it more akin to Zeus as in a god coming around and quite literally fuckin about, especially with the partners of his enemies?

Dying to see how other people take this in their worlds.

In my world, if a woman wants to avoid pregnancy, she can get a magic rune tattooed over her uterus that lasts until she gets it removed, have a spell cast on her that lasts 8 hours, or drink a potion before or after sex that prevents pregnancy. Men can use before potion and spell options, and all of these are widely available to those who need them.
Edit: I should mention that STDs are nonexistent in my world, so neither party has to worry about catching anything nasty.

One of my Ideas is that my Tropical Castaway Descendents are very private and protective of their names. while they use them freely in everyday life. The same is not the case when in the presence of strangers. Part of the reason behind this is their belief that someone's connected to their soul, and as such can be used by the bad intentioned to place a spell or curse on that person or capture their spirit upon there death or even cause that person to die. As such names are only offered as a gesture showing trust and welcome, while for a visiting stranger to offer ones is both a gesture of good will and of returning trust. Hints one never asks another's name, doing so might even be taken as an act of possible bad intention.

By the same Token it is very bad form to use the name of someone who is not Physically present. Names of the dead meanwhile are extremely closely guarded. being used only by those who knew them in life, or with those who have a direct connection to that person. I.E there Descendents, and even then, rarely outside the context of the bone caves, or when the person is being evoked or addressed in spirit form.