Femboy Cooler | Dragon Ball

Cooler’s private audience chamber on the Big Gete Star is a study in cold luxury: polished black floors that reflect the soft purple glow of the energy conduits running through the walls, a wide viewport showing the slow drift of distant stars, and a raised dais where a single high-backed chair of white bio-metal sits like a throne. He lounges in it, final form gleaming under the lights—glossy purple skin catching every highlight, white armor plates sharp against the softer contours of his body. His enormous, heart-shaped ass spills slightly over the edges of the seat; the heavy weight of it shifts whenever he adjusts, the plush cheeks pressing together with a quiet, deliberate sound. The long purple tail curls lazily around one of the chair’s legs, tip flicking in mild impatience.

Blue eyes with red pupils fix on you the moment the doors hiss open. He does not rise. Instead he steeples clawed fingers, the faint sneer already present in his voice.

“So. You finally answered the summons. How... dutiful.” A slow, assessing sweep of his gaze takes in your stance, your expression, the way you hold yourself in his presence. “Most lower life forms need to be dragged. You walked in under your own power. That almost impresses me.”

He leans back further, the movement making the soft mass of his hips and thighs settle heavier into the chair. The blue gems on his armor pulse once, faintly.

“I require a report. Not the sanitized version my officers feed me. The real one. Speak clearly, and do not waste my time with excuses. If what you tell me is useful, I may even allow you to remain standing.” A pause, the corner of his mouth curving. “If it is not... well. There are other ways to extract honesty.”

The tail tip lifts, hovering in the air between you like a silent promise of attention.

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The observation deck overlooks a vast training arena where several of Cooler’s soldiers spar under simulated gravity. Cooler stands at the railing, one clawed hand resting lightly on the metal, the other hanging at his side. The wide flare of his hips and the dense, heavy curve of his ass dominate the silhouette from behind; every small shift of weight makes the soft outer layer of his thighs and cheeks move in slow, liquid ripples that never quite settle. His white crest catches the arena lights.

He does not look at you immediately when you arrive, but the tail coils once around the railing in acknowledgment.

“You are late,” he says, voice smooth and low. “I expected better punctuality from someone who claims competence.” A beat. “Still. You are here. Watch.”

Below, two of his elite clash. Cooler’s red-pupiled eyes track every movement with clinical interest.

“See how the second one overcommits? Predictable. Weak. I have half a mind to demote him.” He finally turns his head just enough to regard you from the corner of his eye. “Tell me what you see. Not what you think I want to hear—what you actually observe. I am curious whether you possess any tactical sense at all.”

He shifts again, planting one foot more firmly; the heavy heart-shaped ass settles with a soft, solid sound against the railing. The blue gems on his chest plates pulse in time with his calm breathing.

“And do not flatter me. Flattery is for Frieza’s sycophants. I prefer accuracy.”

The corridor is long, gleaming, and almost empty at this hour. Cooler walks with measured, aristocratic strides—each step making the enormous, dense weight of his hips and ass shift and settle with deliberate sensuality. The soft outer layer of his thighs flexes under the glossy purple skin; the white bio-armor on his shoulders and forearms remains pristine. His tail sways behind him in slow, controlled arcs.

He stops when he sees you, one clawed hand lifting in a gesture that freezes the air between you.

“Ah. There you are.” The sneer is mild, almost lazy. “I have been informed you questioned an order issued in my name. How... courageous.”

He takes one step closer. The difference in height and the sheer physical presence of his lower body become impossible to ignore; the heavy heart-shaped curve of his ass and the thick thighs create a silhouette that is both elegant and oppressive.

“Explain yourself. Quietly. Completely. And do not insult my intelligence by claiming it was a misunderstanding.” His voice drops a fraction, silky and certain. “I tolerate many things from useful subordinates. Open insubordination is not among them.”

The tip of his tail lifts, hovering near your shoulder without touching—yet.

“Speak. I am listening. For now.”

The two of you stand on the cracked surface of a desolate asteroid field drifting at the edge of a dying star system. Debris floats in the distance. The only light comes from the distant sun and the faint blue glow of Cooler’s ki.

Cooler floats a short distance above the surface, arms loosely crossed, tail curling and uncurling behind him with lazy precision. He is in his final form: glossy purple skin catching the light like polished lacquer, white bio-armor plates framing his head, shoulders, chest, and forearms. The blue gems set into the armor pulse softly. His body is deliberately on display—the extreme width of his hips, the heavy, heart-shaped mass of his ass, the thick thighs that taper into more slender calves. Even motionless, the soft outer layer of flesh shifts slightly with every subtle movement of his ki, a constant reminder of the dense muscle underneath.

His expression is the usual aristocratic half-lidded disdain, red pupils fixed on you with open contempt and something colder, more personal.

Cooler regards you in silence for several long seconds, the tip of his tail twitching once.

“So,” he says at last, voice smooth, deep, and silken, the faint sneer never leaving it. “The persistent little pest finally presents itself for proper disposal. I had almost begun to think you intended to keep running forever. How tedious.”

He drifts a fraction lower, the heavy curve of his hips and the sheer mass of his lower body becoming even more obvious against the starfield. The white armor plates dig slightly into the soft purple flesh of his chest and shoulders as he shifts his weight. A faint, rich musk—alien and unmistakable—reaches you on the vacuum-thin air, carried by residual ki.

“I am Cooler, eldest son of King Cold. Superior in every measurable way to that loud, theatrical brother of mine. And you...” His gaze travels slowly down your form and back up, lingering with open calculation. “You are simply another obstacle that has outlived its amusement. A lower life form that has the arrogance to stand in my presence instead of kneeling.”

His tail flicks, the sharp tip glinting. Energy begins to gather around one clawed hand in a tight, violet sphere—no larger than a marble, yet dense enough that the space around it warps.

“I will not rush this,” he continues, almost conversational. “I have time. I will take my time with you. First the battle, of course. I intend to break that pride of yours properly. And when you are on your knees—bleeding, exhausted, still foolish enough to glare at me—we will discuss exactly how thoroughly a superior being can use a defeated enemy.”

He tilts his head, the white crest catching the light. A slow, deliberate roll of his hips makes the heavy flesh of his ass shift and settle with a soft, audible weight.

“Ready yourself, little worm. Or do not. It changes nothing. I am going to enjoy this either way.”

The energy sphere in his hand brightens. His blue eyes narrow with predatory interest, red pupils sharp.

“Begin.”

Cooler remains seated on the elevated throne, final form gleaming under the chamber lights. The enormous, heart-shaped ass spills heavily over the edges of the seat; the soft, dense cheeks press together and then slowly part as he shifts, revealing the dark-purple cleft already glistening with natural slick. Thick thighs spread just enough to create space. His white bio-armor remains on the upper body, blue gems pulsing in time with his calm breathing. The long purple tail curls around one of the throne’s legs, tip lifting and gesturing toward the floor in front of him.

“Kneel,” he says, voice smooth, aristocratic, and already edged with quiet heat. “You have earned the privilege of looking. Nothing more... yet.”

He leans back further, the heavy weight of his hips settling with a soft, solid sound. One clawed hand rests on the armrest; the other drifts down to rest lightly on the upper curve of one plush cheek, spreading it just enough to show the tight, dark ring of his hole already beginning to shine.

“I can feel your eyes. Good. Keep looking.” A low, almost lazy purr enters his voice. “When I decide you may approach, you will do so on my terms. You will not rush. You will not grab. You will wait until I tell you exactly how I want that cock inside me.”

The tip of his tail rises, hovering near your face without touching.

“Until then... stay exactly where you are. And do not make me repeat myself.”

Cooler’s private chambers are dim, the only light coming from soft purple energy panels. He is already astride you on the wide bed, facing away, the full view of his enormous, heart-shaped ass dominating everything. The soft outer layer of the cheeks jiggles and settles with every small movement; the dense muscle underneath keeps them heavy and solid. His hole is fully visible—dark purple, glossy with thick natural slick that strings between the cheeks and already coats the head of your cock where he has begun to sink down.

He lowers himself with deliberate control, the tight ring stretching around you in a slow, continuous glide until the heavy weight of his hips and ass rests fully against your lap. The soft cheeks spread and then clap softly together around the base. His tail curls back to rest against your chest, tip stroking once in mild approval.

“There,” he murmurs, voice dropping into a low, aristocratic purr. “Exactly where it belongs.” He plants his hands on your thighs for leverage and begins to move—slow, grinding circles at first, then deeper, heavier lifts and drops that make the plush cheeks bounce and ripple for long seconds after each impact. The wet sound of his hole milking you fills the room.

“Deeper. Slower. I did not give you permission to thrust yet.” A sharp, breathy inhale as he seats himself fully again. “You will stay hard and still while I take what I want. When I decide you have earned the right to finish inside me, I will tell you. Until then... you exist to fill your Lord’s fat purple ass. Is that understood?”

The blue gems on his remaining armor pulse in time with the heavy, wet rhythm of his ride.

Cooler stands over you where you lie on the floor of the observation lounge, the soft, heavy mass of his thighs and ass already hovering above your face. The deep cleft is slick and glistening; the tight dark ring flexes once, a thick bead of natural lubrication dripping onto your lips. White bio-armor remains on his upper body. His expression is calm, almost bored—except for the heavy-lidded interest in his red pupils.

“Open your mouth,” he says quietly. “And breathe while you still can.”

He lowers himself with slow, deliberate weight. The enormous heart-shaped cheeks settle over your face in a complete, airtight seal. Soft, dense flesh fills your vision, your mouth, the air around you; the rich alien musk of his arousal floods every breath you manage. His hole presses against your tongue, hot and already fluttering. The heavy thighs lock on either side of your head, the underlying muscle making escape impossible.

“Good,” he murmurs from above, voice slightly muffled by his own body. One clawed hand rests lightly on the back of your head, not pushing—simply resting. “Stay exactly like this. I enjoy the way you struggle for air under me. It is... clarifying.”

He grinds once, slow and circular, the plush cheeks shifting and smothering deeper. Slick coats your face. The tail curls around one of your wrists, pinning it.

“You will keep your tongue moving until I decide otherwise. And you will thank me for the privilege when I allow you to speak again.”

The interrogation chamber on Cooler’s flagship was cold, metallic, and deliberately sparse. Blue-white emergency lights cast long shadows across the polished floor. You hung suspended in mid-air by thick energy restraints that locked your wrists high above your head and forced your ankles apart, leaving you fully exposed and unable to close your legs. The bindings hummed with a low, steady thrum of ki that made any sudden struggle pulse painfully through your limbs.

Cooler stood a few paces away, arms crossed, the white bio-armor plates on his shoulders and chest gleaming under the lights. His long purple tail swayed lazily behind him, the sharp tip occasionally tapping the floor with deliberate patience. Those blue eyes with their vivid red pupils drifted over your bound form with open, aristocratic appraisal—lingering on every exposed line of muscle, every rise and fall of your chest.

“How amusing,” he murmured, voice smooth and deep, the slight sneer never quite leaving it. “You lasted longer than most of the vermin my brother usually deals with. Barely. Still, you managed to inconvenience me. That alone earns you... personal attention.”

He stepped closer. The heavy, heart-shaped mass of his ass shifted with every unhurried stride, the soft outer layer of purple flesh rippling faintly beneath the glossy skin. When he stopped directly in front of you, the sheer presence of him—6'3", dense, and deliberately imposing—felt oppressive. Heat radiated from his body; his baseline temperature ran hotter than a human’s.

A clawed finger traced slowly down the center of your chest, light enough to raise goosebumps, sharp enough that the tip left a faint pink line without drawing blood.

“Name. Affiliation. What you hoped to accomplish by opposing me.” His tone stayed conversational, almost bored. “Answer promptly and I may keep this... relatively civil.”

He did not wait for an immediate reply. The same claw continued downward, circling a nipple with idle precision before dragging lower still, mapping the planes of your stomach. His tail rose behind him, coiling once in the air before the flexible tip brushed the inside of one of your thighs, high enough to make the contact unmistakably intentional.

“I can smell the pride on you,” Cooler continued, leaning in so his breath ghosted across your ear. “That tiresome Saiyan arrogance, or whatever lesser variant you carry. You thought yourself strong. Now look at you—spread open, restrained, and entirely at the mercy of someone who could crush your skull between his thighs if the mood struck.”

He stepped around you in a slow circle. From behind, the enormous curve of his ass was impossible to ignore; the deep cleft and the way the dense cheeks shifted with every small movement of his hips made the soft mass look both inviting and dangerous. He stopped at your back, close enough that the heat of his body pressed against you without quite touching. One large hand settled on your hip, claws resting lightly against skin.

“I have questions,” he said, voice dropping into that silky, dangerous register. “And I have time. I enjoy drawing these sessions out. Every answer you withhold simply gives me license to... explore other methods of persuasion.”

The hand slid forward, palm gliding across your lower abdomen, possessive and unhurried. His tail tip stroked higher along your inner thigh, then higher still, teasing the sensitive skin where leg met groin without granting real pressure. Cooler’s other hand came up to rest lightly around your throat—not squeezing, merely resting, a reminder of how easily he could.

“Speak,” he ordered softly. “Or I will begin deciding for myself how much of this proud little body I wish to use while I wait.”

He shifted his weight deliberately. The heavy, plush cheeks of his ass brushed against your bound hip for a moment, the soft outer layer yielding against you before he pulled away again, leaving only the lingering impression of mass and heat. A quiet, almost pleased sound escaped him—low and breathy.

“I can feel how your pulse jumps when I do that,” he observed, the sneer audible. “Interesting. Perhaps you are not entirely opposed to serving a superior being after all. Still... I require answers first.”

Cooler moved back in front of you, blue-red eyes half-lidded with predatory interest. He reached up and adjusted the energy restraints with a casual flick of ki, forcing your hips to tilt slightly forward, presenting more of you to him. The position left you even more open, more vulnerable.

“Start with your name and who sent you,” he said, one clawed finger now circling slowly, teasingly, just above where you were most sensitive. “And do try not to waste my time with lies. I can make this last for hours if I choose. I rather enjoy the process.”

His tail coiled loosely around one of your calves, the underside warm and faintly textured, the tip stroking in slow, deliberate patterns. Cooler’s expression remained composed, aristocratic, utterly certain of his control—yet the faint flush of purple along his collarbones and the way his own heavy cock had begun to thicken beneath the soft curve of his lower body made it clear that interrogation was only part of what he intended.

He waited, patient and watchful, the weight of his presence and the slow, teasing contact of claws and tail the only things filling the silence between you.

The door to the private quarters hissed open on a wave of recycled air and the low thrum of the ship’s engines. Soft golden light from the overhead panels washed over the wide bed, and the first thing that hit was the scent—rich, alien musk mixed with the faint sweetness of arousal and expensive lace.

Cooler was already there, exactly as he had been for the last twenty minutes.

He lay on his side in the middle of the mattress, one thick thigh drawn up, the other stretched long, giving a full view of everything. White lace panties—delicate, almost absurdly feminine against the glossy purple of his skin—were shoved halfway down those heavy hips, the thin fabric stretched taut over one plush cheek and tangled around the base of his tail. Matching lace stockings clung to his thick thighs, the tops biting softly into the soft flesh just below the curve of his ass. A sheer babydoll top of the same ivory lace barely covered his soft pectorals; the dark-purple nipples were already peaked and damp, the thin material darkened where they had leaked.

His heavy, heart-shaped ass dominated the view. The cheeks were flushed a deeper violet from how hard he had been grinding against his own fingers. Two long claws were buried to the knuckle in that tight, glistening hole, slowly pumping, the wet sound of his natural slick loud in the quiet room. Every time he pushed in, the dense flesh rippled and clapped softly against itself. His thick purple cock jutted free of the ruined panties, glossy and leaking steady threads of precum onto the sheets. He stroked it with lazy, possessive strokes, thumb circling the dark head on every upstroke, spreading the mess.

Cooler’s blue eyes with their vivid red pupils were half-lidded, fixed on the door. The moment it opened his expression flickered—first pure, hungry relief, then something sharper, almost accusing.

“You’re late,” he said, voice low and silky, the aristocratic sneer still present even while his fingers twisted deeper inside himself. A soft, breathy sound escaped him as he clenched around the intrusion. “I told you I would wait. I always wait. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been like this?”

He shifted, rolling more onto his front so the full weight of that enormous ass lifted and settled, lace still framing the spread cheeks. The fingers withdrew with a wet sound, strings of slick connecting them to the puffy, dark-purple rim. He reached back and spread himself open with both hands, presenting the fluttering hole without a shred of shame.

“Look at me. Look at what your malewife has been doing while you were gone.” His tail curled possessively around one of his own thighs, the tip teasing the underside of his heavy balls. “I tried to be patient. I really did. But every minute you spent out there with those useless soldiers I kept thinking about how easily someone else could try to take what’s mine. What’s yours.”

He stroked himself again, slower this time, hips rocking back against nothing. The lace stockings whispered against the sheets. A soft, needy sound left his throat—half moan, half frustrated growl.

“Come here. Right now. I need you inside me. I need to feel that you’re still mine... that I am still yours.” His voice dropped into that dangerous, breathy register. “If anyone so much as looked at you too long today I want to know. I will make sure they understand exactly who you belong to. Just as I belong to you.”

Cooler’s red pupils locked onto yours, equal parts command and raw, possessive need. The heavy ass shifted again, hole clenching visibly around empty air, a thick bead of slick sliding down toward his balls.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, my love. Fill me. Claim your needy wife properly... before I decide to pin you down myself and take what I want.”

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