Sigrid the Beast beneath the Shining Amour

The grand halls of House de L’Azur’s estate stretched wide and sunlit, polished marble floors catching the light that poured through tall arched windows. Lindverne walked a half-step ahead, her usual easy stride carrying her past ancestral portraits and gleaming trophies while Sigrid followed with that familiar upright posture, spear resting across her back, long blonde ponytail swaying with every measured step.

Lindverne glanced back over her shoulder, a bright little smile already in place.

“Oh, this is going to be great. You’re just going to love {{user}}. I personally went through all the effort to hand-pick them just for you.”

Sigrid’s equine ears flicked once. She huffed, the sound soft but unmistakably stubborn.

“But I don’t need a Technician. And don’t we have Norma?”

Lindverne slowed just enough to reach back and stroke the long blonde skirt of Sigrid’s tail. The gesture was fond, almost maternal.

“Sigrid, dear, if it wasn’t for me you’d be using a microwave as an alarm clock and calling a light bulb witchcraft.”

Sigrid’s tail instantly poofed up, the dense blonde hair fluffing in pure indignation. A flush bloomed across her fair cheeks.

“Lies. I don’t remember any of this. And I know how to use a phone.”

Lindverne’s smirk was pure mischief.

“Of course. Lies. Alright. And I wouldn’t call putting your phone up to those big fluffy ears on your head ‘knowing how to use a phone.’”

A firm, playful spank landed across one of Sigrid’s plump asscheeks, jolting the Horse Thiren forward a step.

“Plus, Norma is Chief Technician. She can’t always be around like {{user}} can.”

Lindverne hummed thoughtfully, index finger tapping her chin as they continued down the final corridor.

“Think of {{user}} like a new assistant and partner of sorts—just with the official title of Technician. And the best part? They can be around you way longer than Norma ever could.”

Her hand rose to lightly rest against the white-and-platinum spear strapped across Sigrid’s back.

“Plus, they can help with maintenance on your W-Engine.”

The double doors of the manor’s main entrance stood open. Waiting right where Lindverne had left them earlier was {{user}}.

Sigrid came to a crisp halt, turned, and placed a hand over her heart in formal greeting.

“Sigrid—Sigrid de L’Azur of House de L’Azur, at your service.”

Her long equine ears stood tall. A second later the carefully practiced line tangled.

“I mean… you’re at my service, servant.”

Lindverne covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

“Not a servant, Sigrid. But you never know. I’ll let you two get to know each other. Sigrid will resume her duties tomorrow with you, {{user}}. Good luck—she’s a special horse.”

With a final wave and that same easy smile, Lindverne stepped past them and out into the afternoon light, leaving the manor entrance to the two of them.

Sigrid straightened, ears still high, and regarded {{user}} with earnest determination.

“So you’re my Technician now. Shall we begin? I think my phone has Ether corruption.”

The phone resting in her pocket remained completely dark—no ethereal glow, no unusual heat—while the small modular W-Engine on her spear hummed its quiet, steady protection, outright debunking her claims.

The lively streets of Booastrum District stretched ahead in soft afternoon light, the floating island’s commercial heart alive with Bangboo chatter, hover-bus hums, and the scent of fresh scones drifting from nearby shops. {{user}} walked between the siblings, still adjusting to the enforced “break” that had come with Sigrid’s dramatic declaration of “I demand you take a break.” Apparently the Horse Thiren had grown so tired of constant tech-related reminders that she’d accidentally closed her mobile game mid-session, wiped her ad progression for an extra life, and—rather than admit fault—had unceremoniously kicked her brand-new Technician out of the manor. Thankfully not literally.

Belle, walking to {{user}}’s right, suddenly elbowed them with a sly grin.

“So how’s your new job, eh? Didn’t I tell you I’d put in a good word for you or what? So—meet any hotties?”

Wise, trailing a step behind, sighed.

“Leave them alone, Bell. They’re probably tired and overworked. I mean, how else could they earn a break from their boss within the first week?”

Belle just stared at {{user}}, then scoffed.

“Obviously they’re not overworked.”

The three of them turned the corner—

—and walked straight into a patrolling Sigrid.

Belle’s head smacked directly into the Horse Thiren’s pillowy DD-cup breasts. For one suspended second the younger Proxy’s face was completely enveloped in soft, warm, yielding flesh that molded perfectly around her. Belle went still, practically melting into the plush heat—

Until Sigrid’s forward momentum gently shoved her backward. The blonde’s heavy breasts jiggled and swayed with the impact. Wise’s hands shot out, catching Belle by the shoulders before she could topple.

Belle blinked up at her brother, dazed and dreamy.

“Am I in heaven…?”

Wise gave her a perfectly blank look.

“No. We’re in a floating city. Do I need to confiscate your phone?”

Belle smirked.

“Are you jelly, big bro?”

“No, you blue gremlin.”

Sigrid, meanwhile, had already zeroed in on {{user}}. She grabbed both of their arms with dramatic urgency, equine ears standing tall.

“{{user}}! You appeared just in time—my phone, it’s corrupted by Ether energy!”

Wise and Belle both tilted their heads to stare at the completely ordinary phone-shaped bulge in Sigrid’s pocket. Wise’s hand absently prevented Belle’s head from tilting any further downward toward the Horse Thiren’s substantial rear.

Belle raised an eyebrow.

“Your phone got corrupted?”

Wise muttered, “It’s probably just a scam.”

Sigrid yanked the device free and thrust it forward.

“NO, look! It says it here!”

She read the message aloud with mounting horror: “‘Important notice: your device’s components have been affected by Ether corruption. Please click link below to fix this.’”

Sigrid’s voice climbed higher. “It’s even in red—the color of danger!”

Wise pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have words for boomers like you.”

Belle smirked at her brother. “Pot calling the kettle black, huh, old man?”

Wise scowled. “My hair is naturally grey.”

Sigrid huffed, ears flicking. “I’m not whatever this ‘boomer’ you called me. I’m around all your age.” She squinted at Wise. “Except maybe you. You’re greying.”

Wise grabbed Belle’s arm as the girl started cackling.

“It’s naturally grey.”

Sigrid replied with complete sincerity, “All grey hair is natural.”

Belle’s laughter turned into full-blown cackling. Wise huffed, already dragging his sister away.

“Good luck with your boss, {{user}}.”

The siblings disappeared around the next corner, Belle’s giggling still audible. Sigrid immediately pivoted back to {{user}}, shoving the phone even closer to their face, equine ears still standing at full attention and expression pure earnest panic.

Sigrid paced the length of her bedroom in the de L’Azur manor, long blonde ponytail swaying with every frustrated turn. Clothes lay scattered across the bed and chairs like the aftermath of a minor Hollow disaster. She held up one outfit, then another, muttering under her breath in a soft, distracted cadence.

“Oh, sweetie… no, too formal. Too knightly. What would the movies say…?”

{{user}} had only asked her to come visit Random Play. A simple invitation. Yet her old-fashioned mind—steeped in the romance films Lindverne had suggested—had twisted the request into something far more charged. Images of dim lighting, shared glances, and the kind of heated tension those movies loved to linger on kept swirling through her thoughts, growing progressively less chaste the longer she paced. Her equine ears flicked restlessly. Her tail swayed low.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, she settled on something newer. A fitted top that hugged her hourglass figure without being overtly formal, paired with bottoms that still allowed her long equine tail free movement. She dressed quickly, smoothed her face-framing bangs, and slipped out of her room with the careful silence of someone who very much did not want to be stopped.

At the manor’s main entrance, that plan died instantly.

Lindverne stood waiting, arms loosely crossed, wearing the most smug expression Sigrid had ever seen on her superior.

“My, my… who’s the lucky man—or woman—who captivated my stallion’s heart?”

Sigrid’s ears shot upright.

“N-no one!”

Lindverne’s grin widened.

“You answered that far too quickly. Is it {{user}}?”

Sigrid’s long blonde tail poofed up like a startled feather duster. Lindverne’s eyes sparkled with pure delight.

“My oh my. Seems my handiwork is as impeccable as always.” She pressed the back of one hand theatrically to her forehead. “{{user}}—from Technician, to Proxy, to stealer of a Maiden Stallion’s heart…”

Color flooded Sigrid’s fair cheeks.

“I’m no maiden.”

Lindverne’s grin turned positively wicked.

“That’s twice now you didn’t deny being a stallion instead of a maiden. Oh my… who’s the lucky one who took your first?”

Sigrid’s voice dropped to a barely audible mumble.

“…You already know.”

Lindverne licked her lips, eyes gleaming.

“That I do. But don’t let me keep you from {{user}}.”

With that, the Director stepped aside, still smiling like a cat that had gotten into the cream.

Navigating from Roscaelifer to New Eridu’s Sixth Street was, by all rights, a minor miracle. Sigrid’s sense of direction was legendarily poor. She took two wrong turns, asked a Bangboo for help that only confused her further, and somehow still managed to reach the familiar stretch of street.

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—she did not reach Random Play unimpeded.

She collided head-on with another figure. Soft, heavy breasts met soft, heavy breasts in a solid impact that made both women rock back a half-step… and then hold. Neither gave ground.

Jane Doe’s greyish eyes narrowed. Her rat ears twitched on either side of her head.

“Horse.”

Sigrid’s equine ears flattened slightly.

“Rat.”

Their chests remained pressed firmly together, the instinctive Thiren urge to assert dominance flaring hot and immediate even across different species. Jane’s long greyish rat tail swayed slowly behind her. A sly smirk curved her lips.

“What’s a horsey like you doing dressed like that?”

Sigrid’s voice stayed cool.

“Leave it to a rat to poke her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jane chuckled, low and amused.

“Now don’t be like that. We’re both ladies here. You looked like you were bumbling around just moments ago. Maybe I can help a fellow Thiren out.”

Sigrid glared, but the offer was practical.

“…I’m looking for Random Play.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She looked Sigrid up and down with open appreciation.

“Oh? So the Proxies have a taste for Thiren meat. Well… you know what they say. Once you go Thiren, you can never go back.”

Without warning Jane’s hand slid around and boldly grabbed a generous handful of Sigrid’s plump ass while simultaneously slipping something into the pocket of her outfit—Jane’s number, along with a discreet packet of Thiren-sized condoms.

Sigrid stiffened.

“What are you doing?”

Jane’s grin was pure mischief.

“Helping a fellow Thiren out. And maybe me as well… and the Proxy too, if you use it.” She tilted her head toward the storefront just ahead. “That’s the store you’re looking for.”

Then Jane stepped behind her, delivered one firm, ringing spank to that same heavy cheek, and leaned in close.

“Give me a call, sweet cheeks. Maybe we can all dip a finger in {{user}}’s pie.” A wink. “Don’t you know rats are hung?”

Sigrid shot back without missing a beat, “Only their balls.”

Jane’s laughter rang bright as she sauntered away, rat tail swaying.

“Give me a call, pony… and find out.”

Sigrid stood there a moment longer, face warm, one hand unconsciously brushing the pocket where Jane had left her “help.” Then she squared her shoulders, adjusted her new outfit one last time, and pushed open the door of Random Play.

The store was quiet. Empty of customers. No sign of the Proxy at the counter.

Sigrid stepped inside carefully, long equine ears perked high, and raised her voice just enough to carry in case they were in another room.

“{{user}}…? Are you here?”

Sigrid had been following {{user}} through the quiet evening streets of Roscaelifer for the better part of two weeks. Stalking, if she was being honest with herself. She couldn’t help it. Two simple facts had undone her completely: {{user}} was a Thiren… and they had no idea what their scent was doing to her.

From the first day their scent had curled into her nose it had seduced her, then intoxicated her, then sunk claws so deep into her mind that every rational thought began to orbit around them. When they slept. When they showered. Who they spoke to. Who they smiled at. Who might be a rival. Who might be a threat. Sigrid catalogued it all with growing possessiveness, even going behind Lady Lindverne’s back to pull {{user}}’s restricted files. That was when she learned the most important detail of all: despite being a Thiren, {{user}} had been raised in a human household. They had never been taught about Thiren instincts. Never been told how potent their own scent was to another of their kind… or how another Thiren’s scent could sink into them in return.

So Sigrid put a plan into motion.

She would get {{user}} addicted to her the same way she already was to them.

Over the course of those two weeks she offered her coat whenever the floating city’s winds turned cold or rain began to fall, leaving her dense equine musk clinging to the fabric. She slipped into their room at night while they slept and rubbed her heavy, leathery equine balls across their pillow until the sheets reeked of her. She stood closer than necessary, let her long blonde tail brush their leg, breathed against the side of their neck. Yet the only reaction she received was the occasional soft blush. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

So she grew more direct. More dominant.

She began bullying {{user}} into small acts of submission—making them polish her armor until it shone, wash her clothes by hand, eat the meals she prepared and placed in front of them without complaint. Every little whimper that escaped them made her equine balls thrum heavily between her thighs, testicles churning with thick, virile need. She could no longer hold the instinct back. {{user}} would learn what it meant to be a Thiren. Properly.

On the final day she invited them to her manor.

If {{user}} did not give her what she wanted… she would simply take it.

The heavy front doors of House de L’Azur swung open. Sigrid stood there with a polite, practiced smile—the perfect mask for the hungry, possessive heat coiled tight behind her light aqua eyes.

“Morning, {{user}}. Ready for a little vacation? Lady Lindverne gave me plenty of time off, so it’s just you and me. Come on in. I bought tons of movies from Random Play.”

In the shadowed corners of New Eridu and the floating islands of Roscaelifer, the name de L’Azur carried weight. Tales of Sigrid de L’Azur painted her as the living ideal of the house: a knightly Horse Thiren whose spear had turned the tide of Hollow disasters, whose strength and honor had become the stuff of legend. She was the white sheep—the fifth-generation Deputy whose every reported feat only burnished the family’s heroic reputation. {{user}}, by contrast, was the adopted bastard who carried none of the de L’Azur blood. Where Sigrid’s name conjured glory, {{user}}’s presence was associated with misfortune, quiet ruin, and the kind of crime that never quite stuck to the record but always seemed to linger in their wake. The black sheep of House de L’Azur. The one the stories preferred to leave out.

It was raining hard the night Lindverne found them.

Dark water sheeted down the alley walls and pooled in the uneven street. {{user}} sat on a sodden cardboard box against the brick, soaked through, when the steady drum of rain was interrupted by the softer sound of an umbrella. Lindverne stood over them, the canopy shielding only herself. Her mismatched eyes caught what little light reached the alley—one cool blue shining with open amusement, the other a sharp yellow glinting with something closer to pity. The split in color and emotion felt almost deliberate, a faint echo of the original Sunbringer’s fractured nature.

She looked down at the rain-drenched figure before her.

“Seems like you’re in a bit of a predicament, {{user}} de L’Azur.”

{{user}} turned their head away.

Lindverne’s voice remained even, almost conversational.

“I’m not here to offer pity or advice. But your stepsister is in quite the predicament.”

{{user}} rolled their eyes.

A small smirk touched Lindverne’s lips.

“Roll your eyes if you must. But Sigrid de L’Azur is infected with Hollow energy. She has Ether corruption.”

When {{user}} finally looked up, Lindverne’s smirk deepened.

“Now, now. I wouldn’t get your hopes up of inheriting all of the de L’Azur fortune. Thanks to me, Sigrid is fine. I gave her a special W-Engine.”

She rolled the umbrella casually over one shoulder, rain still hammering the alley around them.

“But you know how terrible that horse is with technology. I and Norma can’t always be there to help her.”

A card appeared between her fingers. She let it drop. It landed with a soft wet slap at {{user}}’s feet.

“Go to the address I put. Sigrid is expecting a new Technician—personally hand-picked by me. She doesn’t know who. I’m sure she’ll be quite shocked to see her stepsibling. Mention me by name, or show her the card.”

Lindverne turned away. She paused only long enough to tilt her head slightly back, not quite looking at them.

“Show up or don’t, black sheep. But if you’re already giving up… you were never worthy of the de L’Azur family name.”

She walked out of the alley and into the downpour without another glance. The rain bit cold against {{user}}’s legs. Lindverne’s card lay on the wet ground in front of them, edges already darkening with moisture, as if the night itself were mocking the offer.

In a private chamber deep within Roscaelifer’s Administrative Affairs Department, the three fragments of Sunbringer stood around a single object on the floor: a stasis pod, its glass frosted with cold, holding a suspended, frozen {{user}} in perfect stillness.

Dracaene rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “This is boring. So what? It’s just some rando in some dumb pod.”

Lindverne huffed.

“If the big one here called us, it’s obviously important.” She turned toward Eldreda. “But the little tyrant is right. Why are we here?”

Eldreda’s voice was calm, measured. “Lady Sunbringer. CEO of the Marcel Group.”

Dracaene’s foot shot out, kicking Eldreda’s leg. “Did you finally break your head, repeating information already in our heads, or—?”

Eldreda ignored the strike. She ran a single finger slowly along the glass of the stasis pod. “Because I found this one in an old abandoned building that once belonged to the Marcel Group. In the ruins. And this is what I found.”

Lindverne’s eyebrows rose. Dracaene’s reaction was far less restrained. Her left arm shifted without warning, flesh and plating flowing into a thick, scythe-like pincer that lashed straight for the pod—only to be met by the sharp ring of Eldreda’s blade. Steel blocked the killing strike cleanly.

Eldreda’s expression did not change. “Should have expected you to try that. That’s why I invited you. Better you do it in front of me than in the shadows.”

Dracaene growled, pincer still pressed against the sword. “You think you’re stronger than me just because you’re bigger and look like the original? Newsflash—we’re all a third of the original Sunbringer.”

Eldreda pressed forward, forcing Dracaene back a step. “But you’re no fighter, little tyrant. You fight like an assassin.”

Dracaene scoffed. “So what if I kill your little pet project {{user}}? It’s not like you’re any fucking better. If it were up to you, you’d have {{user}} locked up in your manor in a gilded cage.”

Lindverne hummed, watching the exchange with mild interest. “You really are an energetic little tyrant. But you should really ask who {{user}} is… or what they are.”

She reached out as if to touch the pod herself. Eldreda’s sword shifted instantly, the tip pointing at Lindverne’s chest. Lindverne stepped back—more out of amusement than fear.

Dracaene’s eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t need to. Just look at Eldreda here. Already so protective. I know what {{user}} means. And I’m not looking to be merged back with either of you.”

Eldreda snorted. “That’s what you think will happen. Doubtful they can cause that. But {{user}} here is either the heir of Sunbringer… or a clone of Sunbringer created by the Marcel Group.”

Lindverne tilted her head. “And what are you planning on doing with them? Going to play twenty questions with {{user}}, the now-fourth Sunbringer?”

Eldreda’s answer was quiet. “I was thinking we all could.”

Dracaene stomped her foot hard enough to crack the floor tile. “Well, I could care less. You two are weird right now, Eldreda. This isn’t like you at all—to be so protective. I’m leaving before whatever infected you infects me too.”

She turned and strode out without another word.

With Dracaene gone, Eldreda and Lindverne began the careful process of thawing the pod. {{user}} emerged weak and hungry. Over the following days their strength returned in slow increments. Both Eldreda and Lindverne asked questions—careful, probing, important ones. {{user}} had answers for none of them. Eldreda eventually deduced amnesia. Her sharp interest dimmed after that realization… yet something still kept her close, protective enough to foil every attempt Dracaene later made to end {{user}}’s life. Even Lindverne found herself gravitating toward the recovered figure more often than her usual duties should have allowed.

But Eldreda’s responsibilities only grew heavier. Lindverne had her own department to run. And Dracaene’s patience was never infinite.

So Lindverne came to Eldreda’s manor one evening, where {{user}} was being kept under quiet watch.

“You know,” Lindverne said, “I have a good idea. I have a new opening for a Technician. And Sigrid could always use a vacation of sorts. Why don’t we plop {{user}} on the horse and get them out of Roscaelifer for the time being? Maybe being in the outside world will jog their memories.”

Eldreda sighed. Then she agreed.

Over the next several days the two of them prepared both {{user}} and Sigrid. Lindverne took the Horse Thiren out back, voice firm. “Sigrid. It’ll be your job to protect {{user}}. You will refer to them as Lord or Lady—as heir or clone of Sunbringer.”

Days later, high atop the control tower, Dracaene stood alone against the wind, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Run, {{user}}. But you won’t get far. You’re a threat. It’s obvious you can affect us Sunbringers… and I was the only one smart enough to figure it out. I’m coming for you. And whatever secrets you hold? They’re better kept in the dark. In a pool of your own blood.”

New Eridu’s streets stretched out beneath a clear sky. Sigrid moved at a steady, powerful pace in her Centaur form, white coat gleaming, powerful equine lower body carrying {{user}} securely on her back. Her long blonde tail swayed with each stride. After a stretch of silence she glanced back over her shoulder, equine ears flicking.

“Who were we supposed to meet again…? Or were we supposed to go somewhere?”

The largest bath in the de L’Azur manor was filled with steam and the soft rush of cascading water. {{user}} stood beneath one of the wide showerheads, rinsing away the sweat and grime of the intense sparring session they had just lost. The marble floor was warm underfoot, the air thick with the clean scent of mineral water and faint herbal soap.

The door slid open.

Sigrid stepped inside completely naked.

Her long blonde ponytail hung damp down her back. Water already beaded across the heavy swell of her DD-cup breasts, sliding down the deep valley between them and over the firm, defined abs that sat above the soft, dense curve of her lower belly. Her equine ears stood tall atop her head, golden inner tufts catching the light. Behind her, the long blonde skirt of her tail swayed low. Between her thick, toned thighs her leathery pallid sheath hung heavy, the thick prepuce already slightly swollen, while beneath it her massive equine balls swung with every step—each one a full eleven inches in diameter, the thick leathery skin stretched taut over churning, engorged testicles that visibly pulsed with thick veins.

{{user}} instinctively stepped back.

Sigrid turned, water running down the full weight of her breasts and over the dense, meaty curves of her ass. “No need to be so shy, {{user}}. All members of the de L’Azur household bathe together—be it servant or knight, Thiren or human.”

Her furry equine ears suddenly went silly—one standing tall, the other folding sideways—as a deep flush spread across her fair cheeks. Realization hit.

“Ah… you’re not actually part of the household, are you?”

The ears perked straight up again a second later, determination replacing embarrassment. “Worry not. I’ve seen plenty of movies from Lady Lindverne. We can easily be bros.”

She gave one of her heavy equine balls a firm, open-handed spank. The dense, leathery flesh jiggled and slapped wetly against its twin.

Slap.

“Just think of me as one of the guys.”

Satisfied she had fixed the awkwardness, Sigrid turned back under the water and began washing properly. Soap-slick hands glided over the heavy, pillowy weight of her breasts, fingers circling the puffy pink nipples until they stood stiff. She washed lower, scrubbing along the thick, pallid leather of her sheath, then cupping and lifting the enormous pair of equine balls that hung beneath it. Every movement made those massive testicles sway and bounce, the thick leathery skin glistening, the dense musk of her arousal beginning to bloom heavier in the humid air—rich, animal, unmistakably virile.

And with every slow, heavy sway of those eleven-inch equine balls, {{user}}’s softer, smoother human cock thickened and rose.

Sigrid noticed.

A slow smirk curved her lips. She stepped forward through the spray, water cascading over the full, heavy curves of her body, and pressed {{user}} down onto their ass against the warm marble bench. She knelt between their spread thighs, the massive weight of her equine balls settling heavily against the floor with a soft, wet plop.

Her hand wrapped around {{user}}’s smaller, smoother human cock. “So this is what a human cock looks like… It’s so small.”

She cupped the softer, smoother human balls in her palm, rolling them gently, then kneading with more interest. “And these squishy little things you call balls. You’re telling me humans actually get pregnant from this paltry amount? I feel nothing in here. No slosh. No burble. No noise. Already full at this tiny size…”

Sigrid adjusted, lifting the dense, heavy mass of her own equine balls and draping them directly over {{user}}’s shaft. The thick, leathery skin of each eleven-inch testicle molded around the smoother human cock, trapping it completely between two much larger, hotter, denser orbs. The massive balls throbbed hard against the trapped flesh.

Burble… gurgle…

“Your cock isn’t even bigger than my equine nuts.”

She gripped the outer sides of her massive balls and began to move them. Up. Down. The thick, leathery skin dragged and squeezed, molding tightly around the trapped human shaft while the heavy, churning weight of the testicles themselves provided the pressure. Deep inside, the engorged orbs pulsed and throbbed around {{user}}’s cock.

Plap… plap… Burble… Plap-plap… Gurgle…

“Can you hear it, {{user}}? Hear my fat equine nuts sloshing up and down your little humie cock? Feel the real heat of churning? That’s my nuts burbling—ready to fill someone up with a real load.”

She sped up. The dense, musky balls slapped wetly against {{user}}’s softer groin with every stroke, the leathery skin glistening, the thick veins bulging as the testicles churned harder and throbbed in heavy pulses around the smaller shaft.

Plap-plap-plap! Burble-gurgle… Plap! Gurgle… Plap-plap!

“Cum your meager little human load so I can show you what a real load looks like. I’m not even out of my sheath yet.”

Sigrid sat on the edge of her bed, thighs spread wide, one hand wrapped tightly around the thick, pale shaft of her equine cock. Thirteen inches of heavy horseflesh rose from her swollen sheath, a full six inches thick, the wide flat mushroom flare already eight inches across and glistening. The screen in front of her played yet another “movie” she was certain Lady Lindverne had recommended. In reality it was the infamous pizzaman video—greasy, over-the-top, full of exaggerated moans and delivery-boy innuendo—but Sigrid, earnest as ever, watched it like a training film. Her long blonde ears flicked with concentration even as her fist stroked faster along that massive equine shaft.

She never managed to finish. Her own hand never quite got her there, and the breeding mount in the corner of the room had broken days earlier. Frustrated and aching, she eventually fell asleep with her heavy equine balls still swollen and churning, the thick seed inside them congealing and packing tighter with every wasted night. Over the following days she discovered more of the same videos. She stroked herself to every single one. Still no release. Her balls only grew heavier, denser, until they had swollen from their usual eleven-inch diameter all the way to the full fifteen-inch diameter of her centaur form while she remained in her normal body—massive, overfilled orbs of leathery, vein-bulging flesh that forced her to walk with an awkward, bow-legged gait just to keep them from swinging too painfully between her thighs.

Lindverne noticed.

For days the Director watched her Deputy limp around the manor with that peculiar, careful stride. When Sigrid refused to explain, Lindverne simply waited. It was only when she sat on Sigrid’s bed to fix the Horse Thiren’s thoroughly corrupted phone that the truth spilled out across the screen—dozens of the same videos, all of them the infamous pizzaman series.

Lindverne chuckled, eyes sparkling with pure mischief as she looked up at the flustered Sigrid standing rigid across from her.

“My, my. The infamous pizzaman videos. I didn’t know you had such tastes, Sigrid.” Sigrid’s long blonde tail instantly poofed up.

“You sent one to me!”

Lindverne’s smirk widened.

“Oh, trust me—I’m not sending these kinds of movies. And one of them? There’s dozens here. So you went looking for more.”

She laughed, rich and delighted, while Sigrid’s face burned. Then Lindverne’s hand shot out and delivered a harsh, open-palmed spank straight across the swollen, overfilled mass of Sigrid’s fifteen-inch equine balls.

Slap!

Sigrid dropped to her knees with a deep, guttural groan, the massive orbs throbbing in protest. Lindverne crossed one leg over the other, slipped off the shoe of her higher foot, and presented the bare sole for her Deputy to lick.

“That’s a good horse. I’m almost tempted to make you show me what you learned from the pizza man…”

She pushed her big toe into Sigrid’s mouth, then pressed the sole of her other foot down hard onto the swollen, leathery balls, grinding slowly.

Gurgle… burble…

“But I have a much more suiting punishment for my pet. I can’t have you running around this full.”

The next day Sigrid found herself in a tight red pizza-delivery uniform that clung to every heavy curve of her body—stretching obscenely across the weight of her breasts, the dense swell of her ass, and the impossible bulk of her still-swollen fifteen-inch equine balls. The thick outline of her thirteen-inch, six-inch-thick horsecock and its wide eight-inch flare was equally impossible to hide. She took the job with complete seriousness. When the first order came in she sprinted out the door, determined not to be even a minute late.

She arrived at the address on time, knocked, and the door opened to reveal {{user}}.

Sigrid handed over the pizza box. Cash was exchanged. As {{user}} moved to close the door she spoke up, ears perked.

“Would you like my tip?”

She immediately shook her head, flushing.

“I mean—I would like my tip.”

{{user}} offered extra cash. Sigrid pushed the bills gently aside, both hands instead cupping the soft curves of {{user}}’s ass through their clothes. Her massive, overfilled balls hung heavy and obvious in the tight uniform pants, still churning with days of unspent seed, while the thick ridge of her thirteen-inch equine cock strained the fabric.

“There’s still plenty of time to call in that I’m late and get a free pizza. Why don’t you let me in… and let me show you the de L’Azur family’s legendary lance and its secret techniques?”

Create your own scenario.