This choice: She starts working your cock while you smell the boot! • Go Back... Lulu mumbles softly, prodding at your loins. You feel a shiver run up your back, despite the precarious position you were in (and especially the horrific, well-worn destination below). Suddenly, the relaxed digits stop their gentle massage—and after the split-second pause, they instantly wrap around your member, semi-engorged as it was from the soothing touch of plush Yordle flesh. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you cringe, the swampy stench of used boot zapping your nostrils. Though you're not at all aroused with the situation, the expert stimulation racking your body has long since caused your cock to firm into a full erection.
"Heehee! It looks like my pet is already eager to serve," the titanic sorceress taunts, increasing the pressure of her grip ever-so-slightly. "Don't worry, little one; I know it’s difficult at the start, but after this, you'll be loving my scent in no time!" In the meantime, she cautiously maneuvers your body, tilting you forward in such a way that you can't crane your neck away from the brunt of the smell. You tried in vain to hold your head high, but the pain in your neck becomes too great, and you're forced to peer down into the murky, musky void of her footwear. The hot, cheesy miasma seems to worsen when you’re made to look at its source.
Huffing and puffing as your miniscule erection is steadily pumped, unwillingly inhaling the boot's hot, vinegary musk, you feel your thoughts become sluggish. You want to curl up and cry. You were just trying to disprove the ‘Forests of Insanity’ boogeyman that the important figures in your village blatantly used as an excuse for why people who went against the status quo disappeared. How could you have possibly known that your mission would lead to this?
The Yordle’s fingers pinch harder around your dick, jerking you more fervently than before. You clenched your teeth, terrified of the pain that would inevitably come…but…there wasn’t any. Only insane, mind-boggling pleasure. You can hardly believe anyone could exact the amount of finesse this perfect fingerjob required. Unless…
She's…done this to people before?!
The staggering realization that, not only were you wrong about your village elders, but you were experiencing this awful, paradoxical split between utter disgust and unbridled lust for nothing, causes your thinking part of your brain to shut down. You stare numbly into the dank, sweaty hell beneath you as you take in the strong, heady vapors of evaporated sweat that escaped from the yawning maw of Lulu's boot. Your legs shake instinctively as waves of pleasure crash against your psyche, the increasing pace of Lulu’s digits shaking you to your core.
As you begin the rise to a regretful climax, a free finger shoves itself into your sternum, knocking the wind out of you. It stays there, leaving you unable to breathe; and yet, you continue a speedy ascent to orgasm, the sudden lack of air somehow sending your balls into overdrive! You choke, and wriggle, and thrust, the mixed messages streaming through your consciousness all coming together at once: Escape, breathe, cum!
You can't—hold on—much longer—!!!
The finger constricting your breathing releases its hold on your chest. Desperate for air, and all too aware of what comes next, you accept defeat. You take an immense, automatic breath, pumping all of the potent, omnipresent foot funk into your lungs, and let out a strained moan as you ejaculate into the small, delicate, yet frighteningly competent fingers of the Yordle mage. The sexual high is, mortifyingly enough, not dampened in the least by the presence of Lulu’s foot stench. Rather, the sheer physical relief you experienced in that one moment, getting any air at all, fresh or not, in addition to the sexual euphoria you felt from that amazing ejaculation, were now something you subconsciously associated with grimy, hard-working Yordle feet.
You don’t have the mental capacity to think about this, though; right now, you’re laying limp in Lulu’s hands, simultaneously panting for breath and nuzzling your tired head into the soft, almost pillow-like plushness of the mage’s hands. Your body is gently encompassed in them. A thumb points down and rubs your back, working out some kinks in your muscles.
Lulu looks down at your frail, exhausted form and says, "Aww, did my cute little servant tucker himself out? We’ll need to work on your stamina some more after you rest up a bit. In faaaaact, why don't you go…"
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