u/DaemonikDreamer

Not going to be absolute about this but, in general, I'm not likely to be all too active till June. So, this is your heads-up that the Subreddit'll be going a quiet for a bit. See you lot when I come back!!!

Arousal was a terrible thing in every sense of the word.

The rapid beat of his heart drowned out his thoughts, and the Sigillite's smooth, flush skin shuddered as-

Stop.

His body still moved, in spite of the thought, still so silent amidst the raging storm of his passions.

STOP!!!

His flesh started to still. Brahm al-Khadour felt his trembling to obey, in spite of the wantonness that threatened to drown him.

"STOP!!!" The words came out of his throat this time, charged with power and authority. With it came awareness, and with awareness, came the sensation of the lady-lord's massive cock nestled between his dainty butt-cheeks like a sausage upon a hotdog bun. He had his wits, though, the delightful tinging of his matter and the glee of his mind still animated him.

"That's cute, boy." Arcadia's Mistress said as she gave him a light slap on the ass. A shiver raced down his spine and a shot of jizz burst from his dangly, shrunken genitals. The sensation was a hot poker run through his heart, and a thunderstorm in his mind. He became erect. He became so warp-damned erect!!!

Stupid proper words. I need some fucky-wucky! Were the thoughts of the man-whore, mixed in with - why did I get soft? How long did I black out?

Deep, throaty pants kept rushing out of his lungs. Brahm al-Khadour needed to screw the bitch like how a fire must combust.

This part was always torture. It was a war within his being. So many faucets of the Sigillite grappled and scratched and strangled one another. All for what? A moment of physical relief? A jolt of psychological satisfaction? The person Brahm al-Khadour had become filled his waking mind with disgust, and that disgust engorged his lovey-bits to bursting.

A force struck his back, and he tumbled over the soft coverings onto his back, staring up at the lady-lord, whose eyes narrowed with piqued interest.

"You're serious about resisting me?" She said incredulously.

"If I forget myself, then Brahm al-Khadour will die. I cannot die. The Sigillites must live on."

Those words slipped out of his lips far too easy. Far, far, far too easy for all the blame to lay at his feet. Like a bucket of cold - or warm - water thrown upon him, Brahm al-Khadour realized at that moment the gravity of the woman's psychically bolstered charisma.

It had never occurred to him that anyone could rival his power. It would never occur to him that anyone could surpass the blazing star of supernatural power that glowed radiantly before his watering eyes.

"Erda barely needed to do anything to occupy the ruins of your holdings upon the Himalayas of old. Your order is dead, and you are a living-ghost animated by responsibility and a willpower of such potency that it can weather my own."

The woman paused.

"To a point, anyways."

Then she smiled, waving a hand over her crotch, and replacing her penis with a pussy.

"I do not need your pity!" He said.

"And you are not receiving it." She replied. "My name is Neoth, but this world shall know me as its Empress, and I have need of one of our kind who can be relied upon, who truly loves Terra, and whose spirit is strong enough to do what must be done."

Brahm al-Khadour stood, his breaths long and drawn out, like the last few huffs of air a dying man would take.

"I deny you." He said.

"You don't. You're terrified."

She put her hands on his shoulders, and leaned down towards his face. He felt her warm breath upon his face, and shuddered as his dick brushed against her thick thighs. Everything seemed to shake as she opened her mouth one more time, and uttered the words that would seal his fate.

"Deny me or not, my power surmounts you. Distrust me or not, I shall deliver the future. Dick me or not, you have been claimed. Decide, or do not, I have made the choice for you."

She did.

She really, really did

Neoth

Brahm al-Khadour choked.

She was in his head.

More.

More than that.

"By the warp... by the warp..." he choked out breathlessly, before being silenced with a kiss, and falling limply into her strong arms.

Neoth burned beneath him. His passions, tempered, had detonated with the force of a sun. He shut his eyes tightly, and Brahm al-Khadour could see naught but her. The sounds of them sucking face roared in his ears like a waterfall. The heat and grace of her flesh was a world unto itself that Brahm al-Khadour had landed upon, and would never leave hereafter.

Just like that?

She broke the kiss, a line of spittle drawn between their tongues. She had the cutest blush on her own face, a smile upon her lips, and a light in her eyes that would never be extinguished.

"You're Malcadore now, okay, my Sigillite?"

What happened next happened on pure, primal instinct. He slapped his hands against her ass - which was level with his torso, and relished the squeal that came from her lips. It didn't matter if it was an act or not. He savored the gift he granted unto her flesh, and steeled himself for more mischief.

"Do not go gently into that good night..." he said with a sing-song tune as he bent space and slipped through her fingers, trailing through the warp till he was behind her bottom. A single, playful push and she was in a downward-dog position, her oversized booty perfectly aligned with his prick.

"...rage, rage, against the dying of the light."

There being no way out of this was no reason to give in. Neoth had claimed the Sigillite, yes, but it was up to him to make that sentiment mean something. And, if nothing else, he could still claim her all for himself...

Despite the size disparity, in the moment before he thrust into Neoth's pussy, he found his over engorged hog was a match for the maiden's juicy peach.

*SHHHHHLLLLUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPP!!!*

It was a touch of Heaven on Earth.

As the Perpetual started bucking his hips, he felt her squeeze him teasingly, at first, before buckling ever so slightly. She moaned like an animal in heat as he ran her through midway before bucking back, the wrenching gurgle of their sex a pleasant backdrop to the pair's primal cries of pleasure.

"Shit.... ngh! Ghhhh... mhmn-g-ghhhh!!! So big..." she muttered, back muscles tensing with the grace of a Greek Goddess as the Sigillite wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her lower half.

"Mmmmhhhmmmmm... Good bitch. Get bred!"

Then came the rabbit-action. Neoth 'oooooh'd and 'aaaaaah'd lewdly as her body shook from the force of the living fuck-machine latched onto her backside. The cacophonic *PLAP!PLAP!PLAP!PLAP!PLAP!*'ing shook the walls, such was the might of it. For one so bold, her innards felt so soft, warm and gooey that the younger psyker thought he'd melt into it. And, in turn, he hoped with all his heart that the roughness of his indomitable Sigillite dick was catching her equally off-guard.

"Ghhuu-huuhuuhhhh-hoooooooooooo!!! Oooouuguhhghhhhhh!!! Ooooohhhhh ffffuuuuuuuuuuck!!!" she cried out, throwing her back out to catch his every hump, a desperate need to her candor that the Sigillite had recognized in his own. Whatever they were outside of this room, the only thing that mattered inside was cumming their warp-damned brains out!!!

"You absolute....*huff*... insatiable... *huff*... licentious... *huff*... vixen!!! Take... my... coooooooooock!!!"

"Mmmmn'yesssss!! Pump me full Malcy!!!"

Neoth clenched, and he knew she'd cum.

"I wanna taste you in my baby maker you big-dick breeding stud!!!!"

As she did, he knew he'd follow shortly behind her. The full weight of Mankind's future ruler was too much for any save the Gods to endure. Both their backs arched violently backwards in synch as a thick, fat load churned forth from the balls of the Sigillite, with Neoth's pussy eagerly sipping it up. The impossible want to breed her was so overwhelming, his hips kept bucking despite the ego-death the orgasm was coaxing him towards. *SSSPPPLUUUUUURRRRTTTTT!!!!* went the best cum-dump of his like, and the way she shuddered and shook beneath his body was comfort enough in the face of the unstoppable current that had swept his fate unto unclear waters.

*SHUURRPPP!!!*

He filled her womb

*SHUURRPPP!!!*

A little more

*SHUURRPPP!!!*

THEN Emptied out.

And so he felt the humble jizz-bump of her distended womb pressed through her stomach and deform her abs, his wandering hands caressing it tenderly.

She deserved his seed to take root.

There was nothing the Sigillite wouldn't do to make that dream a reality.

"To think..." he began to utter, before falling silent. Strength left him, and sleep would've claimed him as he gingerly embraced Neoth's backside if she didn't bump him off with her booty and twist around, planting a foot upon her tummy, grinning as one hand reached down to him in an offering gesture, while the other rubbed her tummy in circles.

"Our likes have better means of communicating than words Even so, I want to hear you say it..."

The weight on his chest was playful, if form. The outcome had been decided long before they'd met.

"Whip your dick out already, idiot." He said, his red blush so vivid it glowed in the moody lighting. "Malcadore, your Sigillite, accepts your hand and offers you all he has in turn."

Their fingers twisted against one another, before locking.

"I will never allow you to regret this." Neoth promised, tears in her eyes, before the moment passed, and both their appetites took hold once more amidst the thunderous footfalls of his troops storming the Orgia ball-room, to the cries of its attendees.

"It seems I made a mistake, my lady..." Malcadore mused, before giving a bratty smirk. "I suppose penance must now be paid?"

She nodded, and the thought of what would come next already had him making a mess of himself.

Where were you all my life, Neoth? He thought as he melted away into a nirvana of bodily bliss.

The roars of the Daemon Prince were a sweetness that Brahm al-Khadour could never have imagined.

*THWAP! THWAP! THWAP THWAP! THWAP!*

His torso slapped musically against her raised rear as he plowed into the Godslayer's pussy with rhythmic, thoughtful thrusts. The Daemonic cunt sucked him in ravenously, yet, dainty as his build had slimmed to, his hips packed enough power to make that oversized ass jiggle and shake with every lunge into her sopping wet fanny.

"Say it again..." Brahm al-Khadour prodded the Daemon. "Say you wanted this..."

"Ghhhrrrrrrrrrrrr.... GRRUUUHRAAAAAAAWWWWRRRRRRRR!!!!"

The Neverborn beast could not respond intelligently. Its tail wrapped around Brahm al-Khadour's chest, reeling in the Sigillite tight as he kissed the spot juuuuuust above where her buttcrack ended. A fresh spray of glowing, volcanic juices spurted from her vagina and painted his legs orange. For a moment, he thought she might lose her balance even.

"A little lower, wench!" Brahm al-Khadour commanded, and sucked in a cooing breath of relief as he got to know what the kiss of a cervix felt like upon his virgin prick. The Daemon Prince's behind practically vibrated as it sunk down as far as it could do, a torrent of juices passing by Brahm al-Khadour's cock and balls as she came yet again.

That was his cue to bully her innards a bit more.

Godslayer was in a desperate squatting position, her talon-tipped feet digging desperately into the ground as her bent knees shook, and her hips twerked before Brahm al-Khadour's daring bit of fuckery. Her sword was also buried halfway into the ground, the blade held tightly for stability in a double-handed grip, the earth rumbling as the force of Brahm al-Khadour's thrusts transferred from Godslayer into the ground.

Drool ran down Godslayer's opened maw as her wings did impotent half-flaps to keep herself semi-stable. *SLAP!!!* The wings shook violently to keep her upright as he carried his hand with enough telekinetic force to pulverize the side of a mountain, leaving a bashful red imprint upon her scarred, leathery grey booty hide.

"That's it... yes... show me the gravity of the situation..." the words slid out of his mouth, yet, they weren't the sort of words he wanted to say. Brahm al-Khadour's discipline ran too deep. His indomitability was as obstinate an obstacle for the plans of Chaos as it was for his own pleasure. He'd made the decision without regret; to fly close enough to the sun that he'd orbit around it, rather than crashing into its depths. There was no fleeing this. And so, if this was how things must be, why not do as the Daemon did?

It still surprised him that his manhood lingered, despite that being his intent. Focus his sum psychic power into his prick, and ride this out in the pleasurable sense of the word. Only after it was done did he understand a measure of the new metaphysics the ongoing Paradigm Shift had introduced to the Sea of Souls. His masculinity - all of it - was now condensed into a supernova of sexual power between his legs. Whatever effect this had on his psychic potential was negligible. The effect it had on Godslayer?

Devastating.

Devastating for her pussy. Brahm al-Khadour thought as he felt the immense power in his genitalia beating like a heart, with flashes of warmth and bliss pulsating through every fiber of his being. His balls were soooooooooo fulll, his dick was sooooooooo big, and a ratty, rutting instinct had taken ahold of him.

"I'm pulling out my dear. Do brace those thick thighs of yours. I want to savor their trembling."

Brahm al-Khadour grinned, giving her a moment's reprieve. Those legs of hers settled, and the second they did, he bucked his hips back and ripped his way out of her nethers with an uproarious *SHRRRPPP!!!!*

"BhhyaackkkK! UUUughhmnnnnn! Pyut igh bhhyyaaaacckkkk!!!!!" The Daemoness slurred, her butt wiggling desperately for his just out-of-reach dick. Her pussy was a quivering waterfall, and those firm grey cheeks were clapping like thunder in their enticing efforts to taste his manhood again.

"Banish your forces." Brahm al-Khadour asked calmly.

A chill wind blew past him.

That's it? I expected more... though... hehehehe... I can get 'more' out of this bitch, that's for sure!

The thought lit a fire in him, and he easily slipped out of the Daemon's meek tail-binding, taking several steps around to her front, where he admired those infernal udders of hers.

"You were right. I do enjoy this!"

*SLAP!!!*

Brahm al-Khadour struck her steely abs firmly, bringing his sweat slicken palm up to his face and licking her orange secretions off of his hand. It had some saltiness to it, yes, but there was a subtle spice to it as well. And a sweetness, rich enough to make a man sick.

He brought his head to her abs and narrowed his lips into an O shape. Then came his tongue, lashing out in all directions wildly, sluuuuuuurping up the sulfur-smelling liquid exertion that seeped from her leathery daemonic flesh.

Brahm al-Khadour's hand instantly went between his legs, tugging on his hard-on double-handed, feeling his soft, waifish, womanly fingers bringing heaven to his monster dong as they slid frictionlessly up and down his full length.

*FAP-FAP-FAP-FAP-FAP-FAP-FAP-FAP!!!!!!*

"Nnghghguu! N-n-nghhoooooo! Nuhh-nyoooughh!!! Give! to! Puuuussshshhheeeiiyyyy!!!"

So much fear from the threat of spilling his seed outside of her.

Were this a trap, it was well-acted.

Yet, Brahm al-Khadour now knew otherwise. The saving grace of perversion was the ability to clock it in others. He saw a bitch that needed breeding, and was more than happy to be the stud for the job!

"Keep your legs spread. Put your hands to both side of your waist, pointing down... pointing to your pussy... yes, yes. like that"

She did as ordered, squirming fretfully as her hips bucked in-place with the need for ravishment. Her tongue unfurled from her maw and extended down between her breasts, its tip too angled towards her crotch.

Brahm al-Khadour law down beneath her, penis angled up, hands behind his head in a lazy resting position. He closed his eyes and bade the daemon "put in the work, if you want your reward"

*THWAP! THWAP! THWAP THWAP! THWAP!*

Many times over, her knees bent till her cunt kissed his dick, before raising up, trembling with fatigue and pleasure alike, before lowering down anew. Brahm al-Khadour's body tingled, and pre-cum coated his cockhead at the warm sloppy embraces of that daemonic fuckbox. He felt the beat in his bollocks pick up its pace and, one last time, she squatted down on his prick, before finally loosing her balance.

Seeing that bastion of strength fall, feeling her sturdy heft fall upon his body, experiencing the sensation of punching past her cervix with that final thrust and penetrating so deep his dick made it inside her womb... it was surreal, it was sexy, and it was well-worth his first semen-spurt.

The cartoon-physics of so completely penetrating her privates, Brahm al-Khadour narrowed his eyes as his mind was engulphed in ecstasy, a dry, drawn out "kkyyyyyyhhhhaaaaahhhhh!" squeaking past his lips. It was unbidden, and it turned him on even further just what a fuckable lump of meat he'd become!!!

Far more fuckable than that arrogant Daemon Princess, he concluded, his hips strained to the extreme as they forced gallon after gallon of cum past his privates and *SPUUUUUUURRRRTTTT!!!!*ing into her naughty depths.

A sense of absolute contentment overtook him, and it was at that moment his mind wandered away from the memory of his last day as a respectable human being, before his secret, sexy shame had turned his mind to mush and instinct alone propelled him into the future: his instincts as a Sigillite, and his instincts as a slut, locked in an impasse his true feelings could not be free from.

What were those feelings?

What did he truly want?

What came next when the haze lifted over his mind?

That, he looked forwards to immensely...

***

"That's the spot. Keep munching my carpet you Albyan bitch!"

Kya-San Weia had been given permission. That meant she would fuck. There was no malice behind what was undoubtedly a misconstrue of the Sigillite's orders. It was pure, animal reaction. That, Brahm al-Khadour would forgive, for she had not even a single thought in her mind that forgiveness would be needed!!!

The crotch plate of her Hunting Rig was parted, and she had a handful of the Albyan's hair, using it like a leash as she guided her prying tongue up her thigh and into her folds. The dancing tip of Dausen's tongue was such a splendid experience, it made her forlorn to think their time together was short.

""Nnghhhh!!! Yessssss! Nibble my clit! Uuhghhh... ooooohhhh fuuuuuuuuuuccckkkKk!!! Huff huff huff huff huff! MMnnngh-ooooooooohhhhhh yeeeeaaaahhhhh! Ah Ah Ah Ah AH!!!!!!"

She squirmed, she dribbled, and she came all over Dausen's face, painting that pretty white alabaster skin with her cloudy, teal-tinged love-juices - a byproduct of her Hunting Rig upon her physiology.

The things her armor did to her... wet dreams had never felt so good, and never would again when the time came to doff the gift of Brahm al-Khadour.

Kya-San Weia gasped for air and took a few steps backwards, her quivering, shivvering thighs struggling to stand to attention.

"Not... bad..." she managed to say, before a queer gurgle came from her crotch, and seconds later a cock shot out from her nethers.

"Now... polish my girl-dick... you posh little nob-polisher!!!"

Brahm al-Khadour had promised to discover why she'd been born with this mutation. When she was little, the trauma of how people had treated her... it had been all she'd ever cared about!!!

But then she grew up.

And she realized a sordid, simple truth.

Her hermaphroditic ass loved the feeling of a girl's touch upon her swollen, fat phallus.

Boobs, butt, pussy, thighs, lips, and especially the tongue. Feeling that roguish trader lash her balls to shaft to the very tippy-top was more pleasant than words could do justice to.

"Mmm... that's.... that it! Keep that up, and I'll make that double-stuffing the boys gave your bottom look like a bunch of needle-dicked lovetaps!!!"

Kya-San Weiya didn't even really know what that was supposed to mean.

It got the broad bobbing on her.

And that was what was important.

...

...up until she noticed it. The Sigillite's mind visiting hers...

....

...Brahm al-Khadour....

....

There was no response to her thought. And so, she let out a devastated sigh, tore off the loving pair of lips from her penis with a wet *POP!* and flexed the wings of her Hunting-Rig.

Some serious shit was going down where he was.

Which meant she and her comrades could take a crack at that Lady-Lord cunt.

Figuratively and literally.

Or maybe he'll break me for my impudence... she dared think as she swooped down to her troops, knowing that, win or lose, a battle was going to break out, and they'd all be in for the lay of their lives...

Brahm al-Khadour came-to behind one of the velvet curtained sections that ran along the outline of the Orgia-Gala's festive chamber. He lay nude upon a jumble of silk sheets, his body cleaned and doused with fragrant perfumes. Upon a table next to the semi-circle of silk-draped leather cushioning he laid upon was the Man of Iron he'd added to his long list of lays. The fresh sexual conquest was twitching and sparking, coolant leaking from joints and a slurry of manufactured pussy juice and stinking semen seeping out of her... its... crotch.

It. That thing was an 'it'... Brahm al-Khadour had to remind himself. It was so easy to lose sight of what was important when that lurid, primitive instinct in the back of his head was roused. Looking down at his erect member, he knew it would take much for that arousal to be abated. The best he could hope for was controlling it, directing it, and ensuring whatever folly he entertained would not bring harm to his order.

Malcadore... the voice of Godslayer rang in his ears, and his erection tensed up, the veins of his prodigious fuckmeat bulging as blood and semen and psychic serum coursed throughout the thick organ. The veins - from shaft to scrotum - steadily took on a glowing purple hue as his discipline was taxed by his vigorousness this day, and power from the Sea of Souls begged to course through and out of the bulbous head of his pulsating prick.

Flames of incensed passion licked at his thought. The heat, the excitement, the novelty; sex never disappointed him ever since it found its way into his heart, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He'd give anything to turn back the clock, yet, what was done could not be undone.

He shook his hips slightly, straining his erection, and let a smile crease his lips as his penis flopped up and down in a manner that reminded him of a dog wagging its tail.

Malcadore... Godslayer's voice kept clawing at him.

"I'm so fucking hard right now" he said with a muted fascination. The sort of tenor a detective would take after stumbling upon a particularly creative and especially gruesome murder scene. His hands fastened themselves to the base of his shaft and he manspread his legs wide, his eyes locking onto the bosom of the Man of Iron as he began jerking himself with reckless abandon. His butt bucked and hips thrust impatiently as he jerked with the vigor of an adolescent teen, his mind stuck on Godslayer's perfectly buxom, brutish figure as he yanked it without a care in the world.

"Come on you worthless manslut. if you're going to disgrace the order... grhhhghhghh... d-do it... with... ahhaaapllooooohhh-"

His voice trailed off as his lips curled further into a sucking o-face, a spittle of semen staining his frantic hands. Now they moved thoroughly from bottom to the top of his shaft, slick despite the deadman's grip he had on his prodigiousness. The roughness of his meat against the soft texture of his hands was heaven and earth swirling from the bottom of his body into the nooks and crannies of his mind. Drool threatened to trail down his gasping O position mouth as desperate "huuhuohoogoh-ghhoooo" gurgle-groans sounded off on a loop from his throat, growing lighter and squeakier in pitch every step of the way.

It felt so good. Being a useless jerkoff monkey felt indescribable! A volcanic ache seized Brahm al-Khadour's heart, and he couldn't help but wonder what new bliss would be visited upon him if he dared let a tongue lash his puffy, petite nipples, or a long, thick, pillaging phallus ruin his virgin anus.

His long, silky white hair waved up and down like a streaming flag of surrender to the pleasure as his legs trembled, and his pace quickened. Up, down, up, down. So good! So good! Soooooo goooooood! He thought, bucking his body like the bitch he knew deep-down he was. The truth he couldn't escape. The secret behind his survival of that terrible day.

In the gleam of the Man of Iron's emerald eyes, he saw himself. He saw how little of 'himself' survived that day. Of what he 'truly' was beneath the robes and without the taxing, concentrated effort it took to obscure his appearance with illusions and biomancy. His dick veins flashed with purple-tinged powers as those thick veins channeled psychic power from his warp-filled sack, which itself was swollen like an overripe fruit. How the FUCK had he not broken in this bitch-boy body yet? How had he DARED keep his shame to himself? What right, what insipid excuse, did he toil night and day to keep in the forefront of his mind, so he'd no share the blessings of his beautiful self with the rest of the world? With the galaxy? With what lay beyond the veil? It consumed him, it ached so bad. SO FUCKING BAD!!!

His tongue shot out of his mouth as a feminine moan left his lips. The apex of his indulgence was upon him. His body shuddered as his veins - dick to balls - literally PULSED with erotic POWER!!!

"Kyyaaaahhhh!!!" He squealed as the first thick rope of lavender jizz pumped out of his prick, his hands slipping and sliding down his shaft like soapy sudsy hands clumsily working a bottle. "Uuaahhhh-ohhh-eiyyahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!" He laughed, giving his reflection bedroom-eyes as he watched his lithe, smooth, sweat-soaked feminine shape twist and turn impotently as his manhood took charge, spewing out spouge with reckless abandon.

I'm such a slut! I'm such a silly slut! Tee-hee-heeee... keep cumming you stupid, sloppy slut!!! Brahm al-Khadour thought, smiling a lurid U - shaped smile as his eyes narrowed predatorily on his cock. His best feature. His sole, saving grace. It felt indescribable. Surrendering to sex was oh so wonderfully sweeeeeeeeeet!!!!

"Yahhhhahaaaaa!!! Ahhh! Ohhhh! Kkkkkiiyoooh-h-h-hooooooooooo!!!"

His whole body arced backwards one final time, tongue and eyes pointed straight at the ceiling as his long hair flipped in a wide arc, and he painted the roof with his powerful, petulant seed. The worst part... yes...the worst part was how little clarity came after the act. The moment he finished emptying himself, his balls filled back up. That big, mountainous erection went semi-solid and floppy for a few moments, but its size did not shrink, and when it was ready again it was bigger than before.

His butt shook on its own, the groomed, unsullied rosebud of his ass clenched so tightly it burnt. If anything was to break through, if the perky nips upon his smooth, shapely pecs were to be ravished, what then? Not even Brahm al-Khadour's himself could say?

The Sigillite slumped on his back back into the silken sheets. He was no lesser man. Even in this state, he understood how compromised he was. Not even drunken lustfulness could make him break the ironclad rules he'd set for himself so long ago. Yet restraint was at an end. Satiation beckoned him forth. He'd drink in the partygoers and iron abominations till his bottomless thirst was quenched.

Or so he thought.

Clapping.

"Bravo! You, sir, have the body of a harlot yet the bottom of a beast. I look forwards to what comes next."

Behind him. The other end of the furnished alcove where the silk-clad leather furnishings his the wall. He twisted around like an otter in water and saw-

*BAM!!!*

Brahm al-Khadour froze.

It was a nightmare come true.

His perfect woman.

"How-" his mouth moved through the momentum of sheer surprise.

"All people have their limits, kinsman. Save me. I am without such fetters..." Said the woman in a sultry baritone, feminine yet filled with a masculine, aggressive, imperious power. It was a stark contrast to the fretful squeak that had left his lips seconds earlier.

"I'm more interested in you though, Sigillite." She went on to say. "There's a word the folks of the Far-East had that'd describe you to a T, but for the life of me I don't care to utter it. So much manly spunk down between your legs, yet, so little elsewhere. Did you pour yourself into your crotch? Did you focus all your juvenile understanding of sex into a razor-sharp 'tip'? No muscles, no rough skin or body hair, no gravel in your voice or restraint in that emptied head of yours. It's the other way around for you, I can feel it. That head down below is the 'real' decision maker. It's just too broken to resist the head on your shoulders - the voice of 'reason'."

Anger flared in Brahm al-Khadour. Statuesque, bold, insightful, the way she was looking down on him made his heart pound. The lady-lord was worthy of his respect, that was to be sure, but respect never found its way into his heart when his inner ugliness overtook him.

The Sigillite flashed a cocky smile of his own.

"My bitch-breaker is enough for you." He hissed. "Thank you, truly. Nothing excites me more than meeting a soul worthy of respect and twisting them like I was. Now bend over, whore."

A black brow raised on the lady-lord's tan-skinned face as she slid down into a seated position, slumped her back against the wall, and spread her slutty legs in invi-

Oh. Fuck me.

Brahm al-Khadour's eyes went wide. He felt that accursed phenomenon seize him. It happened to many a slut he'd shagged, and a few times to himself on prior occasions. Glowing pink, he felt his pupils burn as they distorted into a heart-shape that overtook his eyes, as drool wafted down his mouth at the sight of her rough, rigid, robust third-leg.

"You first, femboy."

"You cannot escape me... Malcadore!"

The Sigillite was hiding in a hole, waiting to die.

More exactly, he'd crammed himself into a rocky alcove and laid as flat and still as he could within its embrace. Charged as the damned canyon was with the energies of the warp, it hid him well, even from the creature the inhabitants of the canyon had beckoned forth from parts unknown.

There is no submission. Brahm al-Khadour reminded himself as his eyes dared scan for comrades. None. He heard them battling in the distance, saw flashes out the corner of his vision, yet by the hiding-hole not a soul stirred. Only the sands, stirred by the winds.

There is no submission... I am a Sigillite! I will stand and face this darkness. I will defy it! To the last, to the death, to the pain - it has no hold over me!!!

Brahm al-Khadour had no intention of leaving this spot. He could remain hidden if he so wished. Amongst the Sigillites, he'd garnered a reputation for himself in his younger years as an assassin when one was needed. Immortality offered the opportunity to learn a very particular set of skills, and he spent that time well indeed.

So long as he remained where he was, he would not be found.

So long as he remained unfound, he would survive.

So long as he survived, Chaos would taste defeat... eventually.

...there is no submission. Brahm al-Khadour repeated. Over and over again he carved those words into his mind.

His comrades would understand. Nay, they certainly 'did' understand. Something had... happened. The immaterium itself was writhing as some new force ravished it mercilessly, stirring the sea of souls into a conceptual maelstrom. Brahm al-Khadour remembered Slaanesh's birth, as well as the aftermath of that dark day. This felt kin to it, and yet, so much worse.

If one of the dark powers were to birth itself upon Terra...

The thought was too great and terrible to humor.

"It comes, Malcadore!" Screamed the daemon prince as the wingbeats of that great beast stirred the sands around the empty spot of canyon in a fashion reminiscent of the chaos unfold in the warp. Then, at once, the grains settled after once last whirl of movement, as the Daemon Prince plummeted down to earth and cracked the ground beneath her talon-tipped feet where she landed.

It let out a roar, and the devil's luminescent yellow-green eyes began to survey the empty patch of canyon for her quarry.

I cannot move... the thought impressed itself so deeply into Brahm al-Khadour's awareness that it felt nailed into his head. It will not see me if I remain still. If I move, we will fight, and then...

The Sigillite was a powerful psyker, and famed throughout his order as an unparalleled murderer.
It was not the prospect of a fight that rattled him.

"Fine, is it not? This 'female' form. Their gift to my, our destined mistress; My Dark King."

Steady breaths was all Brahm al-Khadour could manage. Something was attempting to get purchase within them. No opening would be tolerated. Everything was blanked as the muscular grey-hide monster stalked the canyon for the Sigillite.

"You would not believe how long I have waited for this opportunity, Sigillite. Be'lakor sought once to make me his champion. He still believes he can become a God, while I know the truth. The truth that God is but a title. I slew a god while I was but a mortal; I denied its energies to Be'lakor and offered it up in tribute to the Ruinous Powers, and for that, the power of Chaos Undivided descended upon me. My power, my accolated That is the truth. Only those who can achieve greatness by their own merit deserve the boons of the empyrean. You too, Malcadore, deserve these boons..."

Brahm al-Khadour could not fall to Chaos. They understood it too well. Their mind was incapable of succumbing to the temptation the Primordial Annihilator used to ensure so many heroes and monsters throughout this forsaken galaxy.

Yet the words of the Daemon Prince did achieve a reaction of sorts.

As the Sigillite watched the musclebound behemoth plod around him, he saw in close detail the fine definition of her biceps and thighs and shredded abdominals. The imposing predatory beauty of her horns and teeth and claws were paradoxically majestic; much as her hissing, regal voice was.

Every now and then, the flimsy excuse of a loincloth upon her waist would be blown aside enough for her crotch to meet his gaze. It felt strange to see female genitalia upon a daemon. It felt stranger to watch glowing infernal juices run down her leg, the stuff of the same color and furor as the burning star of Chaos carved between her breasts. When she turned her back to him, he saw that firm behind giggle with every step. More than that, nothing clad it. Her crack was presented to the world in all its glory and, were she to spread her cheeks even slightly, that Daemon's anus would bore a hole deep into a part of Brahm al-Khadour that the Sigillite never wanted to see the light of day.

A warmth engulphed his manhood. Something was not right there. Brahm al-Khadour didn't understand quite what though?

"They love you, even now. Your fate was set, yet, a good mistress does what she can for her favorite toys. Far across the cosmos, the one who shall own your soul has achieved a great feat. Such feats make waves in the warp, as well you know. My comrade Samus rode one such wave to seed his birth, and now I do the same for the only God worthy of my dedication. All for you, Malcadore. All for you..."

The daemon stopped.

It twitched violently.

"Nnngghghhhhhhhh!!! Brhhrhhahaaaaaaa!!!!" It let out a roar that echoed through the canyon as it stabbed its flaming sword into the ground. then stumbled backwards drunkenly as its shaky hands released their grip on the weapon. Beads of fiery orange sweat were fermenting on the creature, as if it'd been taken by fever. It panted and panted and panted, braying like a beast, thick steamy puffs of breath leaving its mouth in the wake of every devilish cry into the night.

"I am the reward," it said between ragged breaths.

*pant*-*pant*-*pant*

"I smell your arousal. Your body betrays you."

Brahm al-Khadour could not afford themself the luxury of a reaction.

"It is... inevitable. It is the way... of this... epoch! Shhhkkkrrraaaaghhhhh!!!!! I feel it! Ruin! I... I... I..."

The daemon's eyes looked like they grey three sizes as their long tongue drooped out of their maw.

"Ruin me".

Her tail swayed side to side excitedly as she kneeled on the ground, then parted her legs, her hips gyrating wildly as a lava-flow of lady juices flooded down her thighs.

"This... 'wicked' pussy guides me! I hear the call of my carnal instincts! My blessed womanhood! I obey, Dark King, I oooobbbeeeeeyyyyy!!!!" She roared, her brassy cry simmering down to a moan as one hand tore the leather belt that held her loincloth from her hips, and the other dug three claws deep into her moist insides. Fire rained down on the sands below her and turned the canyon floor to glass as she mixed herself up with her digits, cooing as the shuffle of fingers bobbed in and out of her cooch.

"I would be your slave, had you the balls to claim me!!!" She roared jarringly, before moans filled the slut's mouth again. Daemonic-dew condensed atop the bitch's nipples, and her chest heaved heavy as her groin trembled beneath her powerful fingers. her tail slammed and squirmed against the ground as small wing-flaps accompanied the slightest scrape of her talons against her maiden walls. A little too much pressure a little too deep and a little too eagerly, and the Daemon Prince's back arched and she doubled over onto her back.

"nothing can stop this!" She roared upon the reprieve. "Know what is coming, Sigillite! Being a slave to darkness has been nothing compared to being a slave to..."

She hesitated, before rolling onto her hands and knees, bringing her torso low to the ground like a predator about to pounce, while her butt sailed up into the air and wiggled impatiently.

"...love," she finished.

It was then, as her bountiful backside was aimed in his general direction, that he noticed the discordant clenching of her pelvic muscles. Those engorged, inflamed, burning pussy lips were twitching at a hectic pace before clenching hard... very hard... too hard for any creature to keep up for long.

"Nnngh.. it is.... aaaahhahhhhahhhhh... see, Malcadore, see the nightmare of nightmares!!!"

Somehow, that clenching pussy was only winding itself up more and more, her knees and butt shaking as the air around her caught fire.

"NNNNmmmmmggghhnnnnnn.... mgh... nnnnmmmggnn.... n-nghhuugh..."

Her tail whipped back and forth rapidly, whipcracks filling the air. Her wings beat strong and the land fractured before the strength of her many claws. First a trickle, then a spurt, and finally a long, lewd squirt of juices all over the canyon floor.

"Nhhguuuuu!!!!!!!"Squealed the daemon prince as she bucked her hips at every unstoppable wave of delight "UUghuuuu! Ugh! Ugh! Ummph! Unnnuughhhuuuu!!!" She continued, little in the way of intelligent sounds leaving her mouth as burning bliss engulphed her mind.

"Pussy! Nnugughuuuuhghhghgh! See how mighty Godslayer cuuuuummmmssss!!! Nughgu nghuu uuuooouuugguhuhuhuuuuu!!! Godslayer's pussy makes her such a bitch! Godslayer's pussy makes her feel... so... gooooooooooood! Uuuguhuhuhouououuuuuuu!!!!"

It was at that moment that, just as Godslayer promised, the shape of things to come burnt its way into Brahm al-Khadour's being.

His crotch felt wet and sticky and full like never before.

Sweat soaked his robes.

Breath came short and ragged.

Such power... laid so low... so very, very low... and all it took was the mating instinct of that wet box between Godslayer's legs...

It was a kindness that the Sigillite was woken back up before he remembered the rest of his folly...

I'll teach this bionic bitch not to underestimate the Sigillites!!

Despite the thought, Brahm al-Khadour felt an unnerving apprehension creeping in the back of his mind as the maw of the cursed metal abomination invaded his mouth, its probing tendrils licking him all over before tunneling down his throat and mixing him up inside. The taste of the mucus-covered extra-appendages was sweet, with a hint of salt and a jelly consistency that overlaid the soft malleable cables.

Scraps of youthful hesitance grew louder and louder as the nightmares of his youth clawed at the back of his mind. Brahm al-Khadour had been witness to much, and though his soul had calloused into an iron-wrought bastion, the misfortunes of his earliest days lingered as weak points he could not be free from.

"M I N E" spoke the machine as it positioned its hips over his and lowered itself upon Brahm al-Khadour's groin. Though he could not see its backside with his earthly eyes, he felt the pillowy cushions of a ripe-to-bursting booty fall upon his arousal with a hefty *THUD!* Servos and pistons whirred and clanked and hissed as its hips gyrated, and it ground its heavy automaton-ass into his robed groin.

It chittered in delight as he dry-humped it back.

Brahm al-Khadour could barely breathe. His body was feverish. The Sigillite's soul itself tingled as excitement overcame him; the excitement of repaying the debt these horrors of yesteryear had incurred upon humanity.

He felt its ample, spongy bosom pressed into his chest, its metallic nipples poking almost painfully into his flesh. He felt its mouth-parts deep in his guts, the cables frenetic lashings making his eyes roll into the back of his head as a sickening warmth engulfed his chest cavity. He felt its pussy resting atop his dick, leaking down desperate juices as its synthetic twat flesh twitched at the slightest motion of the soaked fabric overtop his robes.

That pussy. That perfectly pleasure-paralyzed pussy. Such a need… such absolute, unstoppable NEED he felt from it. Brahm al-Khadour remembered hordes of Crusader-Class combat robots like this 'Woman of Iron' exterminating whole population centers without mercy and now, here was once such horror of yesteryear - a cock-crazed cyber-slut begging to be bred!!!

Brahm al-Khadour would not disappoint,.

"Grrrmmnuugnnhghrrrhhhh" groaned the Perpetual as he sucked face back, downing as much of the robot's sweet spittle as he could while his hands wrapped round its back. Both arms glowed as he did so, and the warp reduced space enough that, despite the size disparity, he managed to embrace and pull the towering technological terror close. That fat ass which was filling up his seat started to bounce excitedly, rapidly, like there was a rumble motor installed into it. Its smooth contours cradled his cloth-cothered cock and polished it pleasantly, the warmth and friction of the soft squishy material warranting a primal grunt or two down the mantid machine's maw.

Those jade bug-eyes atop its head were flashing like strobe-lights. Brahm al-Khadour wondered if its synthetic brain could withstand what he had to give, or if it'd blow? It'll feel what I want it to feel, he decided, and slipped his right hand down its ass-crack. The thing's chest heaved harshly as Brahm al-Khadour's fingers found her fake bumhole, 'her' chest heaving and boobs mashing abreast his chest, smooshing like head-sized stress-balls as he brushed & rubbed her sensitive spot teasingly.

"M M M M M H H H N N N N G G G H H H A A A A A A A ! ! ! ! ! !" It purred, loud and long, its tune fraying and distorted, subtle glitches woven into its blissful audio. The 'Woman of Iron' began pivoting her pelvis quick and twitchy, Brahm al-Khadour's fingers inadvertently scraping her anus and his prick chafing against her cunt, whose lips had spread on their own accord and were 'licking' his shaft bottom to top in long, gooey lashes.

"H U M A N … B E S T … F U U U U U U U C K ! ! ! ! !" It cried out, and Brahm al-Khadour felt pain shooting through his arms as its grip on him magnified tenfold in the throes of passion. A split-second psychic shield was in order to avoid both arms being crushed, and even then, he felt how unbearably horny the robot was through that impassioned grip. That desperation… that all-consuming desperation… it had a human quality to it that perturbed the Sigillite. Brahm al-Khadour hazard a thought, and realized he felt something akin to a soul burning at the core of the Man of Iron.

It burnt hot, too.

There was nothing it wouldn't do to get off, he now knew.

The mindbroken robo-bitch is addicted to human dick! The thought stampeded through his mind and, without a shred of hesitation, Brahm al-Khadour gave it what it wanted. A charge or warp-lightning cracked between his digits, and a second later he thrust them down into her tight, clenched anus. The Sigillite took sweet satisfaction in the revving purr of the machine as he forced them down and into her depths, her sphincter a'shock every second of it.

"M-M N-N M-M N-N M-M N-N" it whined on a loop, stuck between two cycling high-pitched notes as its pussy drenched his crotch with mechanical girl-cum.

It orgasmed so easily… Brahm al-Khadour mused as her anus kept clenching and unclenching in rapid succession. He knew this reaction. He knew it meant that, were she a human, she'd have lost control of her bowels by now, such was the shape of the sensation shocking her slutty shithole.

Her…

It vexed the Sigillite that he was slipping into such terms for a fucking Man of Iron, even if he 'was' fucking her to kingdom-cum. Already she'd done just that, the light in her eyes dimmed as something whirred deep within her, and her fake fuck-slit drizzled out juices onto his lap. The twitching , shivering mess kneaded his dick good as it did so, and he knew if it could feel anything, it felt an electrifying bliss few mere mortals would ever know, much less endure.

Endure it did though. Its mouthparts withdrew back into its maw, and its head backed up, the light returning to its jade eyes as it gazed into Brahm al-Khadour's own with an impossibly soulful stare.

"P U N I S H" it asked.

Brahm al-Khadour felt his robes dissolving. Who'd have thought that lady jizz had a selective acidic property to it? Now she rocked her hips up juuuuust above his fully-mast erection, the machine's legs fidgeting and shaking as the anticipation drove her wild.

"P U N I S H … P U S S Y …" it begged, before adding "P U N I S H … 'ME'!!!!"

Something was different about that 'me'. Something strange compared to every other word 'she' had spoken. That little spark of a pseudo-soul within the machine's chest flared up, and before Brahm al-Khadour could think much more of it, she slammed down on his proud penis hard enough to crack a coconut in two - much to the chagrin of his balls below.

It knocked the wind out of the Sigillite, his fingers slipping out of her ass all at once, driving the machine feral. " B R H H H H Z Z Z H H H Y Y Y Y R R R R R R " was the sound that came out of it, sharp enough to have everyone in the ballroom cover their ears for pain of it. Brahm al-Khadour quickly moved the freed appendage to her hip, unfurling his other arm to mirror the motion. The moment his hug was released, her smooshed breasts exploded with an elastic force overtop his torso, all but smothering him.

So big.

So powerful.

So strong.

So deadly.

So fucking horny!

The robot was ticking all of Brahm al-Khadour's boxes, and he didn't like that one bit.

His dick did though.

Oh boy did his dick love this shit.

The Sigillite lost the initiative, and grunted loudly himself as she slammed satisfyingly into his crotch time after time, 'panting' wildly as 'she' did so. Wet **shluuurps** sang from her savage sex as her vicelike clanker cunt wrung him for all he was worth. Those lights in her eyes were blinking so fast he thought he might have a seizure looking into them. Her boobs were warm, too warm, overheating as waves of motion rolled up into her torso as she jerked her hips up, before the wave crashed downwards as she lowered herself anew, and greedily choked down the Sigillite's magnum dong.

"Ghhhunnnnghhh!!!" Brahm al-Khadour grunted, teeth grit as his balls swelled up with soon to spurt jizz. He'd be damned if he did so without showing the machine her place though! Telekinetic force flowed through his arms as his attempts to cradle her hips fell through, and he changed tactics, grabbing pleasant handfuls of ass and channeling invisible force through them until they obeyed his will, not hers. The machine chirped confusedly as her hips ground to a halt on the precipice of another slamdown, before Brahm al-Khadour completed the motion for her.

"Savor this, you haptic harlot!" Brahm al-Khadour roared into her audio receptors.

" I A-M Y-O-U-R L-I-V-I-N-G F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T ! ! !" It gladly declared. Nay, it doggedly pleaded, its twitchy glitchy twat squirming enthusiastically upon Brahm al-Khadour's meat-staff.

The Sigillite fully grasped her with the power of his mind, and squoze her ass as hard as he could, feeling shudders shoot through his slick shaft as she whirred and sputtered with unabashed glee. Such pleasure engulfed the both of them as he handled her backside like a maestro, thrusting in and out of her at a melodic pace. Lighting her ass up and humping in, pulling her bitch-booty down and skewering that cunt balls-deep. He even kept her raised and stable midway and humped haphazardly like she were but an unmoving sex-doll built especially for him. Any way he did it, she loved it, and every way her pussy purred, its slick synthetic muscles hugging his hog hard. It didn't take long for Brahm al-Khadour to lose himself in the motions nor that slut-machine to do its job.

Hands firmly grasping its ass, her boobs bouncing atop his chest, Brahm al-Khadour slammed home repeatedly as fast as he could, not stopping nor slowing a second once the jizz started shooting out. He groaned in blissful relief as his balls emptied themselves, and felt strength leave the robot as it too succumbed to the heavenly moment, contenting itself with hoovering up his cum and storing it in some artificial womb as her pussy tightened and loosened around him, as if gasping for sweet-sweet air.

When the deed was done, the Crusader-Robot tried to move its mantid body, and Brahm al-Khadour slapped her ass hard to remind her of her place. A moan like nothing he'd ever before left the bitch's speaker-system, and she slumped over him limply, save her ass, which wiggled in wantonness for more perverse punishment.

Brahm al-Khadour slapped its ass again, savoring the refreshing softness and give of that man-made tushy, morsels of fresh jizz shooting out of his cock and into her cunt at the slivers of new stimuli. Whatever the lady-lord of Neo Arcadia had done to it, the Sigillite found the alterations most pleasing. And, in need of recovery as he was, it wouldn't hurt to play the small-spoon to the one-time murder-machine as they both rested, their naughty bits smooching shamelessly, kneading one another's private parts as they drifted off into a sex-induced half-sleep…

Orgia

An ancient Mediterranean ecstatic ritual, which gave rise to the term 'orgy'.

In ancient times, they were dedicated to old gods, and while a sexual element was present, it was Brahm al-Khadour's opinion that Earth's old pop-culture had vastly exaggerated the the importance of its lurid aspects so that the well-to-do elites could veil their debauchery behind a somewhat fancy Greco-Roman turn of phrase. Those who bothered to mask their indulgences, anyways. Brahm al-Khadour didn't care all too much for his younger years, but he remembered seeing more commonalities between the likes of the Eldar and the human upper-class than he'd have liked to.

Whatever the case, Brahm al-Khadour found the appropriation of the term to be crass then, and he found it crass now. Attaching 'gala' to it was new, and framing it as an ambassador ball with sex on the side at least gave it some respectful utility beyond pointless fornication. Though, he couldn't be certain yet which of the two aspects of the Gala Orgia was dominant.

This was, notably, also taking place in Greece, and being put on by Grecians. If anyone had a right to redefine what it meant to put on an "orgia" it would be them.

Soft harp music played as Brahm al-Khadour strode through the enclosed, lamplit chamber, the flames enveloping the sizeable ball room with a warm orange glow as the door behind him shut and the lighting took on center-stage. White was the predominant color, the walls and floors tiled in marble while the roof was a bone-white plaster. Statues that had to have been excavated from the Greco-Roman era were strewn about between various cozy pieces of furniture. Tables, chairs, beds, hammocks, and shadowy furnishings hidden behind red-silk curtains were evenly spaced and distributed throughout the whole area. You could barely take two steps before running the risk of bumping into something.

Banners of all the attending dignitaries' nations hung from the ceiling, with purple cloth woven between them, and mistletoe hanging from the cloth, their stems sown in. Brahm al-Khadour sniffed, and the stench of the warp wafted down from the plants and up his nose. His dick twitched as he did, and the brewing thoughts of 'didn't mistletoe go extinct centuries ago' was replaced by an overwhelming wave of revulsion at his own feeble susceptibility to this nonsense.

Stay in control. You are a Sigillite. Nothing is beyond your control. Natural inclinations are one thing, but this base sorcery is child's play. Focus… focus… focus… that word repeated in his mind, and as it did, his burning staff intensified, the scent of incense wafting off of it and cleansing his airways.

Simplicity incarnate; Brahm al-Khadour admired the audacity, but the lady-lord of Arcadia was clearly a novice in warpcraft, or desperate to lull him into a false sense of security. Either option begged an arrogance he could exploit, once he had her in his sights.

Some attending faces he recognized, others he did not, and none of them were worth noting, save a few souls who'd been allowed to attend in rudimentary power armor, and a bonafide royal here or there who'd come personally instead of assigning a dignitary in their stead. That was an unexpected bonus to this excursion in the Sigillite's eyes. Any opportunity to work the aristocracy was one he'd seize without hesitation.

That can happen later. Whoever machinated this is crafty indeed to have surprised me. Arrogant, yet, but undeniably intelligent. I might be too much for them as a psyker, but if we're playing mind-games, I'll need to tread carefully.

At that thought, Brahm al-Khadour noticed some of what he had assumed to be statues starting to move. Black-bodied with white-painted limbs, glassy emerald eyes, and gold and silver streamers woven around their chassis, Brahm al-Khadour realized he was staring down a bunch of mantid-bodied Crusader-Class Battle Automata… Men of Iron.

There were dozens of the lumbering things stationed all around the chamber, serving double-duty as caterers, security, guides and escorts for the more daring attendees. One tan-skinned woman dressed in the loud, luscious garb of a 'Merican strode fearlessly towards one of the towering automata, whispered to it, and dashed off to one of the red-veil'd sections to put it to work. They never got there. The moment she'd outpaced it the thing let out a whirring roar and bowled her over. It quickly got on all fours - its hands bestride her head - and took the pose of a feral rugging monster as a thick synthetic dick popped out of its groin and kissed her ass.

Mericans. Of course they'd be here. They could never resist an invitation to a ball, no matter how puny the sender was. The Sigillite thought, a grimace tugging at his lips as he considered the casualness of the indecent act within the broader ball. Warpcraft, again, must have been at play to keep the gala attendees so calm. Considering the modified look to the automata, Brahm al-Khadour surmised they'd been given some rudimentary enchantments to dull concern in the minds of normal folk. Enchantments which did not affect the other robots, judging from the closest units making their way to aid the mounted Merican.

The dignitary was complaining so loud that Brahm al-Khadour could hear a snippet far away as he was; "you dare-" she'd managed to say, before the uncaring strength of a machine thrust through the fabric of her poofy ball-gown and ruined her haughty ass in a single second. The yowl of pleasure from the woman was beastly itself, and she made no more complaints as the mechanical monster hurriedly humped her, tearing through her fancy garb and depositing its load in half-a-minute flat, letting out a high-pitched whine as it did so. Seconds later, other combat robots were upon it, dragging it away as it trailed a line of synthetic spunk from its crotch to her broken backside. The woman's dress was as ruined as her gaping ass was; the poor derriere looked like it was gasping for air, closing tight then opening wide, the stretched thing unable to keep clenched nor keep the gallon of robo-jizz that'd been depositing inside her from spurting out at a concerning pressure. The woman remained there, her arms on the ground, her knees shaking, and her ass on full display until another automata strolled up and dragged her away to the privacy of a red-veil, behind which the sounds and the shadows confirmed to Brahm al-Khadour that - on her mind-broken request or its wicked initiative - the poor woman was getting a firsthand experience on why the Sigillite order hoped to scour A.I. from the surface of Terra someday.

"Show me to a table, would you?" He asked of his new guide, who bowed and waved him over to a seat near the front, where the harpists were playing. It dawned on him then that, despite his best efforts, he could not make out a single defining feature of his guide.

Concealing enchantments… impressive… terribly impressive… I might actually be in trouble…

He was tempted to proposition the guide for sex solely to get that robe off of them, however, that came with too much risk. This 'was' an orgy. They undoubtedly expected the Sigillite to get frisky, and he would not walk ignorantly into whatever trap had been set.

So, he took his seat, waved the lady away, and projected his mind to his foremost lieutenant.

At once, the chamber faded away, and he found himself back in the town square, or, rather, above it. Kya-San Weia - his chosen agent - was clad in a Yeld-Pattern Hunting Rig. Able to fly, able to cloak, it made for a useful minion in sensitive situations such as these.

"Kya-San Weia - report." Brahm al-Khadour telepathically commanded his lieutenant. "Your weapons systems functional?"

"Both laser-tubes are primed and ready." Weia confirmed.

"You have not engaged in coitus?"

Weia shook her head. Though, from the drizzle in her crotch that was raining down upon the earth below her, another move must have been played by the lady-lord. That Hunting Rig was a perfectly self-enclosed environment, and its wearers were constantly treated by archaeotech nano-machines and all sorts of self-preservation gadgets that not even the Sigillites could fully wrap their heads around. It kept their troops from succumbing to their base nature… usually.

"Are you giving me permission?" Weia asked, a hint of desperation poisoning her words.

"If you are asking me to-"

"R E F R E S H M E N T S"

Brahm al-Khadour was jolted out of his communion by the blasé inquiry from a passing crusader-robot. One gangly arm held in its three-fingered grip a plate of sliced citrus fruits, and the other lugged a flagon of grape-wine. The aroma of both, more-so perhaps than the words of the repurposed murder-machine, was enough to snap his prodigious mind back from its astral projection. Its jade bug-eyes shone with a dim light, the head scanning him up and down with precise, twitching motions that reminded Brahm al-Khadour of the mantises that served as design inspiration for the bipedal war machine.

"I do not need refreshments, no. Leave me be".

The abomination cocked its head at that.

"Y O U-" it paused, setting aside the tray and flagon on a nearby table. Brahm al-Khadour held his breath, and let the warp flow freely through him. Pinpricks tingled across his scalp and dug into his brain - danger. He felt danger. This was a Man of Iron, staring him down, its hands free to kill and maim as it wanted, to say nothing of the heavy weapon mounted upon its back. He expected it then. He waited for those servos to whine and that ionophoric eradicator to aim itself at his person. That would be all the excuse he needed to flip the table and unleash his minions upon this ill-fated charade.

"B R E E D" finished the machine with a feminine inflection, its gaze squarely fixed at the Sigillite's half mast. Before Brahm al-Khadour could reckon with those words, a pair of circular white-panels off both sides of its chest shifted position and... inflated? Its groin clicked and clacked as it opened up like a flower to reveal a vivid reproduction of a woman's flower, dripping with a fragrant nectar that steamed. Brahm al-Khadour could feel the heat of the machine, close as it was to him. A loud whirring like an AC unit sounded for a second or two, and the robot's exoskeleton shuddered like an antique washing machine with a brick in it. Now it twitched full-body every few seconds as it inched closer and closer to the Sigillite, its hands clamped down on his wrists, and a hatch in its mouth opening up to reveal a long ribbed tube, from which a mess of slimey cables shot out and wrapped over his face.

Brahm al-Khadour's dick was back at full mast...

Their pleasure burnt in his mind's eye.

The old man's heart was racing.

Their pleasure burnt in his mind's eye.

Feeling stirred in his chest; A spiced soup of thoughts he worked hard to suppress.

Their pleasure burnt in his mind's eye

Submit, and our gracious patron shall see your flesh sing! That had been the promise of a Neverborn abomination summoned against Brahm al-Khadour and his kind during an action against the Crimson Walkers. That mercenary band of Chaos-Corrupted Psykers had long made a nuisance of themselves. Terra's most terrible tyrants gave them patronage in exchange for harnessing the mysteries of the immaterum, and all the Crimson Walkers left in their wake was ruin.

Desecration.

Horror.

A flight airiness swelled up in Brahm al-Khadour's head. Their mind felt like wax fighting against a flame. Drip, drip, drip went his coherency. That fire, that passion, that curse kindled itself on the stuff of his soul, and for all the power that it gave...

...the power...

...oh, that terrible power.

Bear witness to the gracious gifts of our king! She has chosen you! Your world! Your order! And, accept them or not, our merciful master will see you all sated!!!

The cackling of that daemon, of its lurid, spiteful body, would haunt Brahm al-Khadour. No matter how hard he fought to forget it, it lingered in his mind, burning him away bit by bit. He had faced Daemons before, and Slaaneshi daemons on a few occasions, yet that creature had struck fear deep into his heart from the moment their eyes met, and its voice wormed its way down his earholes and into the Perpetual's brain. What it was doing, how he'd reacted, how they'd all reacted, was spit in the face of decency itself. It had been the ruin of the Sigillite Order. The beginning of their decline had started there, in the canyon city of Vhnori, amidst corpses and screams and the living-dead husks of countless sacrifices to the Dark Gods.

You cannot escape her, Malcadore...

It was as if he was still there. He supposed he was still there. He always would be. That moment, that day, that dark twilit hour, that had been when it'd all changed. The Sigillites had foreseen the ruin of Terra itself if they did not act, and ruin, true enough, almost descended upon them that day. There was a timeless scar upon his homeworld, and from that scar, horrors seeped out into their world. Horrors unlike anything he'd ever imagined.

You. Want. This. Admit it.

Brahm al-Khadour' had. In the moment, those words had left his lips. He'd been dumbstruck. Utterly dumbstruck. A cold unearthly wind had blown through the firelit canyon, rustling the innumerable fetishes to the despicable dark-powers. The Sigillites were silent as a ring of melted - literally melted - sorcerers of the Crimson Walkers had manifest an oily portal to the warp and, from it, came the Daemon Prince. It was a towering titan of bluish-grey muscle, with long spikelike horns atop its head and a leering fang-filled maw. A burning eight-pointed star was carved upon its chest - right between the pectorals. Leather straps and chains sparsely bound its upper arm, while solid vambraces of grey and gold cradled its forearms. On its right hand - its sword hand - was a proper leather-padded gauntlet. The only other thing it wore was a leather thong with a skull hiding its crotch from the world, with a sad grey fabric dangling from the skull's upper jaw.

Around it swirled a parade of horror. Outrageous freaks and silk-robed psykers made toys of hapless dead-eyed Terran commoners. Torture racks, bloodletting, sacrificial rituals and worse filled the air with a sharp choir of base evil. The wind whistled. People died. Hell was raised. And the only ones screaming were the untouched, languishing nude in cages too small for the volume of people shoved inside. Some of the victims were melted like wax figures, others had had their brains removed and their bodies turned into flesh-puppets. People were skinned, their innards flung into the warp by fell sorcery and their flesh filled by daemons eager for fun. Others fought to break free of pits of fleshy tentacles, whose long limbs grasped and penetrated their every orifice and literally rearranged their insides for the benefit of the dark powers. Some were made to drink dark brews and shit out their solidified souls, which either painted the ground as colorful plasticine smears by the foot-traffic around the canyon city, or were gathered by hand for use in depraved rituals or to feed the warpfire that burnt in the center of the settlement. Everywhere he looked, people broke in seconds, their bodies used as playthings, their souls defiled, and their minds shattered.

Amidst such horror, he had said it. "I. Want. It." Many of his fellow Sigillites fell on their hands and knees, screaming those words. Those were the truly lost: the ones whom succumbed to the depravity in the real, and the change of tide in the unreal.

In that moment, that horrible, wicked moment where the world turned upside down, he hadn't seen it. Brahm al-Khadour' hadn't seen ANY of it. No no no. He only saw the Daemon Prince. He only saw a woman where a man should've stood, and heard the voice of a barbarian warped into that of a courtesan. The two bulbous breasts that jutted out from what should've been a pair of meat-pancakes, upon a musclebound body no less, that seemed as if someone had managed to make water balloons out of tires and fill them to bursting. So ample, so perky, so much heft and bounce and yet... and yet... such immediately distinct thick skin. Theirs was the hide of a dragon, Brahm al-Khadour' had thought, and as he thought he uttered those words he'd never be able to take back.

"I want this."

All those who'd survived that night had their own mental scars to bear. The horrors of that Daemon Prince and its burgeoning patron malformed Brahm al-Khadour's comrades without exception. Some became obsessed with dominating the minds of lesser humans. Others poured themselves into the fine arts of enchanted weaponry to all sorts of results. A rare few consorted with Daemons in their amorous arrogance. A few found beauty in death, some took in interest in robbing the light from the eyes of the living. All of them had hated themselves for it. All of them. It was wrong. It was wretched. And it was exhilarating.

"If you want this, then claim it. You have the power, do you not?" Coaxed the daemon as she tensed her abs, and fondled her breasts, a throaty chuckle escaping her maw as a long tongue lashed out and licked its lipless mouth. "I taste it on the air, 'Malcadore'. I bring gifts worthy of a hero. Succumb to me, as these fools have. Succumb! Do that, and I'll drill sweet relief into you. From mouth, from anus, from phallus, all worming through you and down into your core. Come! I, Godslayer, wish to taste the soul my king so desperately covets!!!"

It was only then, as the daemon prince spread its arms around to gesture at the pandemonium all around them, that Brahm al-Khadour allowed himself to see them.

They were not suffering. Save those in the cages, none could be said to be suffering.

That was new.

And so much worse.

Their pleasure burnt in his mind's eye.

He wanted that.

Their pleasure burnt in his mind's eye.

He wanted to feel the violation.

Their pleasure burnt in his mind's eye.

Though he endured, the scar forever lingered.

That it would have been a joy to allow himself to lose.

***

"Are you alright, my lord?"

The Sigillite jolted awake with a ragged breath. Then more breaths. Till he had to lean on his staff and the wall he'd braced himself besides. Hyperventilation made him feel weak, his racing heart made him feel sick, and his head ached fiercely.

"What happened?" He asked his new guide.

"I would ask you that." Questioned the robed guide, their skin hidden in shadow, and their voice androgynous to the ears of the Sigillite. Sweat poured down him as he heaved himself up with his staff and, legs shaking, managed to stand tall once again.

"I asked you to wait by reception while I convened with the local council. I must say, we were not expecting you so soon, Lord Sigillite. Though the Orgia Galla will be quite happy to add you to its ranks. Assuming you can perform, that is. I take it your tryst tired you out more than you expected?"

His face creased for a moment before a stab of remembrance broke through the confusion of the moment. That Anglo girl.

"You expected her to be absent my arrival?" He asked, and the robed figure nodded.

"We desired to test your... 'endurance'. The Orgia Gala is not for the weak. Many participants to Neo Arcadia's revolutionary social gathering fostered doubts about your ability to 'perform'. You are an elder of the Earth, after all. A survivor of Old Night. Few of your age are in attendance, and the young doubted your fitness."

A pause lingered between them as the guide steadily turned their head down to the half-pitched tent in Brahm al-Khadour's robes.

"I see their worries were misplaced."

The Sigillite grunted, pushed her to the side, and strode forth as fast as he could, his staff tapping hard enough on the tiled floor to break one of the square stones with every step. Every step he took through the breezy entry hall, his loose robes fluttered over his incensed skin. His groin most of all. His sticky, semi-hard sexual equipment whimpered for more. It ached. Oh how it ached. Every inch of him.

Paying attention to his surroundings was not possible. The tangle of pleasure and pain that ran throughout his body was too strong for that. Weary, haggard, aged immortal flesh cried out for rest, while his libido begged for more. More. More! Every part of him craved more!!! It was enough to drive someone mad, and mad it had driven so many Sigillites. So many civilians. So many. So, so many.

That scene flashed before his mind's eye again, and before he could banish it he barged through the gilded gates past two marble receptionary counters and flung them open, putting out a pair of nearby torches with the force of the act. Past the doors was a who's who of Terra's power-players, each in several states of dress, many of them chatting, and many more screwing.

"Orgia..." Brahm al-Khadour turned the words over in his mouth.

The Perpetual did not like the path that fate was paving for him.

*Mnnngh! Ghhughgh!!! Ghhhkkkk!! Mnngh mmmnnngh mngh-mngh-mngh!!!!!*

Dausen tasted the Sigillite's taint with an animalistic enthusiasm that had become all too familiar to Brahm al-Khadour. Her tongue, her wet and frantic tongue, greedily scraped his shaft every which way between her lips testy kisses upon his phallic speartip. Always a little too lax to get it down, the best she'd wanted was taking the tip and suckling on it like a tit.

Brahm al-Khadour closed his eyes, and permitted himself to enjoy the moment. The hot caress of her tongue-tip as it scoured his dick-skin for the virile taste of it. The warm wet saliva streaming down his length and dripping to the floor from his ballsack. The expression of a haughty peon reduced to bitch in heat. Crass as it all was, a certain satisfaction to these carnal acts could not be denied.

"More," he demanded, weakly thrusting along to her frenzied mouth-motions. "I expect more from you, you slutty little tease!"

Her hands responded in lieu of her busied head, settling themselves firmly on Brahm al-Khadour's hips and, holding fast, pulling on them as she forced his meat down her throat. Dausen gagged as the voluminous erection threatened to choke her, though, by the grace of the warp it never did. The Sigillite knew how dangerous the unassuming act of sex could get, and was always quick to 'grease the wheels' with his psychic talents.

*Guphgh-guphgh-guphgh-guphgh-guphgh!!!!!!* went the cock-crazed trader, her dashing tricorn hat falling off of her head and topside upon the sticky floor with the furor of her blowjob. Her ponytail braid of long brown hair whipped every which way as she fought to enjoy the gift of Sigillite shlong, and Brahm al-Khadour found it a most pleasing sight.

"That's a… good harlot… gghhhmmmm…." the Sigillite grunted, a fire lit in his soul as he savored the soft lips wrapped around the base of his shaft, and the tight throat his length had slid down into. Already his balls rumbled with wantonness, demanding release, but he pushed the thought to the back of his head - this was a moment he'd indulge in a little.

It would not do to end it *'*too soon'.

Brahm al-Khadour grinned through grit teeth and steady pants, leaning on the staff in his right hand for support as the slut sucked him off. He smelled her excitement wafting up, and sure enough, a pool of feminine juices had pooled beneath her; Dausen's crotch was completely soaked!

*Mmmmmmmmmmhhmnnnggghhmmnnnnn!!!* moaned the roguish trader again, and Brahm al-Khadour felt orgasmic energies flowing through her body. Light, soft, simmering, yet ever so inescapable. Like the newly risen sun it grew unstoppably within the mortal women, intensifying with every passing second.

The Sigillite smirked, held out his left hand in a claw-like gesture, and helped her along her journey. His hand glowed with psychic power - as did Dausen's crotch - and a second later she felt the lewd gesture within her lady-parts.

"I envy you women," Brahm al-Khadour said as he kneaded the air with his left hand, massaging her crotch into a twitching, shaking, squirting mess. "How much easier it is to become lust drunk with such a pretty little thing between your legs. If only it were so easy for me to lose my senses. I'd be a happier person for it."

*Ghhhhuuummmmnnn-MMUUNUUNNNNGHHHMMMHHNNNNNGGG!!!!!* Dausen squealed, her pitch rocketing up an octave as Brahm al-Khadour worked his magic, and robbed her crotch of its strength. So little time had passed and already she was putty in his hand.

Disappointing. I thought such a strong will could handle me a few moments more… Brahm al-Khadour thought, disappointed as he dispelled his sorcery with a flick of the wrist and instead snatched Dausen's brown ponytail out of the air, tugging it hard.

"A few… moments more… dear Dausen…" Brahm al-Khadour said as he worked her face like a masturbation aid, fireworks going off in his head as his crotch became a melta charge primed for detonation. His cock - his giant, thick, stinking ape cock - could barely pry out half its length as he rocked his hips back and tore the length from her throat, before forcing it back down as far as it could go. Dausen was nothing less than a feathery coiled curse of wantonness wrapped around his waist, her eyes flickering erratically as her mind was compromised by the pleasure the Sigillite had granted her. She barely had any strength left as Brahm al-Khadour hurried humped her face, though, what vigor she still possessed was keeping her lips clamped, and her throat gargling on the hunky prick that'd so thoroughly invaded her throat.

It was a beggared demand for Brahm al-Khadour's release, and he would oblige that plea.

On his own terms.

Right at the edge of climax, the Sigillite grit his teeth and flung the woman onto her back with his psychic power. Bafflement in her eyes, she could only look up as Brahm al-Khadour let his twitching, spit-soaked shlong spew thick pungent ropes of semen all over her dress-coat - particularly her bosom.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhh… relief at last…." the Sigillite allowed himself to enjoy the moment as the corrupting caress of the warp left his mind, and post-nut clarity soothed his soul. Shot by shot, the venom of sexual vice was cast out, and onto the dignified garb of the temptress laying upon the floor.

Dazed, Dausen struggled to get on her feet, to rock to her hands and knees, to do anything other than flail impotently on her back like a turtle flipped shell-side. Brahm al-Khadour leaned on his staff weakly, his eyes affixed to her crotch, and the tushy beneath it that'd so tempted him earlier.

"Allow me to help" he said as Dausen was engulfed in a purple telekinetic hue, and levitated upside-down, butt-first, over Brahm al-Khadour's eye-level. "You do want help, do you not? Or have you had your fill?"

"M-m-mo-mo-mo" Dausen stuttered, before managing to croak out "more."

She had a strong mind. A shame her flesh is nothing special. Brahm al-Khadour sighed. He caressed her clothed crotch with his center-three fingers, running a straight line down from her waistline, across her pussy, up and over her butt-crack and ending on her tailbone. She shivered and moaned as he passed by her erogenous zones, even covered as they were by her thick cream dresspants.

A little voice in Brahm al-Khadour's head demanded they play more. How could he be satisfied with a simple blowjob? Why not take the invitation she had offered before, and begged for now? This healthy, fit bottom was ever-so inviting, and a few more minutes surely couldn't hurt…

That was how it began. Temptation. Indulgence. Madness.

Too many Sigillites had been lost to it. Like Chaos corruption, the first 'harmless' step was simply a pretty facade for the long winding road to damnation. Sexual indulgence was no great evil, nor did Brahm al-Khadour deny it every waking moment, but there had to be moderation.

Still, I do feel for the poor girl… thought the Sigillite, his heart afflicted as the girl's pathetic, needy whimpering drilled into his ears like the mewling of a wounded kitten.

Brahm al-Khadour dropped her gently as he leant onto his staff with every step towards the exit, his crotch cleaned and concealed with warpcraft. As he left, he saw his twin bodyguards lumber towards him, moving as fast as their hefty Orrus pattern Hunting Rigs would allow them to move.

"Lord Sigillite!" They both exclaimed in unison, their crackling voices booming through the vox-grills fixed over their mouths.

"Do not fret over my exhaustion. I merely paid the guide in a manner befitting to her personal tastes." Brahm al-Khadour assured them, before adding "you two will be needed to complete the transaction. Do not bother with gentleness. That girl, Dausen, has a strong ego. She handled me; she will handle you two. Now go!" He finished, waving them into the lavatorium with one theatrical flourish of his offhand.

As Brahm al-Khadour got clear of the cool lavatorium, and strode back out into the Mediterranean sun towards the governing acropolis of Neo Arcadia, he felt the sweltering sun beat down on him tenfold the intensity it had before. It took mere minutes for him to sweat buckets beneath his concealing robes, and for a flicker of a moment felt envy for his guards in their self-regulating Hunting Rigs.

As he hiked up the raised mound where the fortified citadel of the lady-lord overlooked Neo Arcadia, he felt his old bones ache within his unaging flesh. Sex always did that - remind his body of its true age, even as his psychic might afforded him carnal mastery unlike any other he'd so far encountered.

So it was that he huffed and buffed as he reached the white marbled walls of the acropolis citadel, and beat down on its gate with his burning staff. A moment later, an unassuming attendant in a full-body cloak opened the way for him, and mutely gestured that he enter.

"At last. Now, servant, take me to the throne-room. I have much to ask of this 'lady-lord' I've heard so much about…"

Of Neo-Arcadia's ruler: they were an obvious psyker. One of Brahm al-Khadour's rare kind too. Only someone who'd lived long enough to drink in history books like he had would have enough knowledge of Greco-Roman history to attempt to recreate it. It was a noble, if foolish, endeavor. Civilization upon the 'Earth' was dead and buried. The moment any power player could spare the time this region would be crushed. Even supposing the psyker was comparable to a Sigillite - which Brahm al-Khadour was hesitant to entertain - that would only see them safe for a decade longer at best. There was only so much one person could do. Only one place they could be at a time. Numbers would overwhelm them, if they did not get cocky and commit to suicidal expansionism as appeared to be the case.

Clearly they had a staff of intelligent scientists on retainer. Or else they were a skilled biomancer capable of crafting trees and crops and critters whole-cloth. Brahm al-Khadour didn't know how deep the association between the ruler of Neo Arcadia and the scientific sorceress of Mt. Everest went. The Terrawatt Clans were already in talks with that headache, and the Achaemenid empire was a shoe-in for a vassal state, and that was only what the Sigillites had so far sniffed out. There was certainly psychic charisma at play in the case of the courting of the Achamenid rulership, though the Terrawatt Clans were too insular for Brahm al-Khadour to judge them accurately. Whether the ruler of Neo Arcadia was the charmer, or one of the charmed, was still a mystery. For that, Brahm al-Khadour braced his mind, and prepared for the worst.

Better here than Everest... Brahm al-Khadour thought, shivering at the thought of waging war with the Terawatt Clans. Yet it would have to be done. The balance of power on Terra was fragile, and the puppeteer of these foreign upstarts needed to be dealt with.

As Brahm al-Khadour finished the last of his flatbread, he thought of Amar Astarte and the Ethnarchy of the Caucasus Wastes. Her Ur-Khasis super-soldiers had caused much suffering during her time as one of Terra's Warlords, and the Sigillites had bled to show her the error of her ways. Now she was making her way back to the region with some dark-skinned chirurgeon, spouting platitudes as she made for her regional laboratory and all the genetic secrets locked within. Whether or not she was a changed person mattered little. If the current Ethnarch got a hold of her then the damage those racist curs would do to the balance of power would be catastrophic.

And then there was 'The Primarch'. Brahm al-Khadour grabbed a class cup of kykeon and sipped it steadily as he contemplated that incautious adventurer. By his spies descriptions, the 'Primarch' was nothing less than an up-jumped raider fancying themself the second-coming of Jason of the Argonauts. That rube and their band of hardy soldiers of fortune had been headhunting persons of interest all around Europa. The last that the Sigillites had heard, this murder-hobo was being hosted by Boeotia in exchange for fighting off Urshan pirates. Undoubtedly, the Yeselti family was treating with the warband so they might aim them at the Ursh brutes who'd been ransacking their shipping lanes. Brahm al-Khadour was hopeful that the fools would get themselves killed opposing that tyrant Kalagann in his conquest of the Nordafrik Conclaves. Maybe if they acted soon enough they could save some of the Oases of Xozer. Brahm al-Khadour doubted it. Brahm al-Khadour assumed they'd only anger Kalagann and draw his ire towards the Mediterranean, but one of his many new headaches resolving itself would be a pleasant change of pace.

Nonetheless, the Sigillites were the order amidst chaos. And he, the illuminated one of their venerable host, was clarity amidst confusion. Dausen had spoken of gods in jest, yet Brahm al-Khadour knew the truth of 'gods'. These foreigners to Terra stunk of Neverborn perfidy. So much had been happening in such a short span of time since those fools amidst the stars decided to give the Eldar Empire an encore, and curse humanity in like terms. Now the scales were in chaos figuratively and literally; weighted beyond what the Sigillites could manage.

Now things spun too fast for Brahm al-Khadour to keep track.

Now control was being wrested from him, mind body and soul.

Now... now... what a lovely sight that is... the Sigillite thought as he finished his kykeon and peered towards the till, where Dausen was finalizing the price of their meals. She'd unbuttoned her dress-coat unprompted, the stuffy suit unfavorable in the warm Mediterranean climate. Sweat rolled down her sun-beat skin, and soaked the white-fabric chest bindings she'd been using as a makeshift bra. One small tug is all it would take to free her amicably sized bosom, and let it join her toned tummy in the free air.

If that was what passed for her undergarments, then Brahm al-Khadour was certain she was going commando down in her nether regions.

And as soon as he realized he'd begun undressing her in his mind, he knew it was over. That's always how it started. Small, unimportant, fleeting thoughts that compounded in the back of the mind. Thought by thought they gathered, snowballed, and built up pressure until the mind was a slave to the body. It was a curse that had its benefits at times. Being able to engineer the loss of sense in an enemy was a valuable tool the Sigillite had added to his covert war against the madness of the Age of Strife, but its deleterious effects were far from worth the advantages offered. Already his phallus had fully engorged, and threatened to dirty his cloak with bodily fluids, as if the venerable psyker was a rutting savage in heat. He hated it so. Yet he hated war too, and much as he could handle himself amidst conflict, so too could he compose himself in matters of lust and love.

So Brahm al-Khadour bit his lip to give him a moment of reprieve, and strolled over to his guide, their burning staff butting the ground audibly step-by-step. Dausen turned to regard him, and saw Brahm al-Khadour smile… strangely.

"Good sir, Dausen, I'm afraid I must relieve myself. Could you point me to the closest lavatorium?"

The proprietor thumbed behind himself to a signed unisex restroom. It was so comically out of place that Brahm al-Khadour let out a hoarse chuckle.

"Thank you kindly. Come on, Dausen, let us be off." Brahm al-Khadour said, a hand on his guide's shoulder, gripping her firmly.

"I'm not your governess, friend. You don't need to drag me there with you to take a piss.

Brahm al-Khadour leaned over to her ear, and allowed some of his pent-up energy to leak out in the whisper that followed. "You misunderstand the manner in which I must relieve myself. You will accept this offer. You shall be duly rewarded for your assistance."

At that his erect manhood - barely obscured by his bulky brown cloak - rubbed against Dausen's thigh. At first the Albyan blushed, then Dausen grinned, her tongue flicking out to lick her parched lips. Brahm al-Khadour hated the look. Hated it. It was the face of a cat who'd cornered a mouse, and was thinking of how best to play with it.

If only she knew what I am capable of… thought  Brahm al-Khadour.

"If you want me to suck you off, you should've led with that!" Dausen said, getting up and slapping Brahm al-Khadour hard on the back before marching over to the lavatorium. "Come on now, you spooky git, this pussy won't pound itself!!!"

"I would ask you to temper your language," Brahm al-Khadour said as he followed behind her. "I would not want you to give my guards, or the other patrons of this establishment, the wrong impression." he added.

"You're a funny guy, you know that?" Dausen shot back as she slipped behind the heavy doorframe of the lavatorium. Brahm al-Khadour shuffled behind with as much dignity as he could afford himself, in spite of his dick feeling like a mortar rocket that was one misstep away from shooting off. When he too slipped into the lavatorium, he didn't bother to lock it behind himself with earthly means - the Sigillite flexed his psychic might and it locked shut on its own.

"Fancy trick." Dausen smirked.

"A parlor trick. Much like this-" Brahm al-Khadour snapped his fingers, and all noise from outside the washroom disappeared.

"You're one paranoid old codger, y'know that? Still..." Dausen strolled calmly over to the Sigillite and got on her knees unprompted, her eyes wide at the size of the tent he'd pitched. "...I felt how big you are. How hard. How... special, keheheh. This'll be fun."

With a wave of his hands, the Sigillite's robes undid themselves, and let the Albyan bare witness to the fully unleashed might of Brahm al-Khadour. His girth was that of a spear-shaft, his length equal to a sword. Cords of thick rippling veins ran through his meat, and the bulbous tip possessed the broadness and dignity of a rose. Beneath swung a hairless sack the size of his closed fist, with swollen testicles as big as walnuts. Though he bore no bush up-top, his whole crotch was aglow with a fiery aura, and the flames which streamed up filled that manscaped canvass cleanly.

Just because someone did not enjoy an activity did not mean they were lacking in it.

As far as Brahm al-Khadour was concerned, he was the warp's gift to women, which dear gob smacked Dausen was now due to discover firsthand...

[TO BE CONTINUED]