Okwy, being General Reposti again because my creativity has died Le Petite Mort. So time to revisit two prompts from my past in the vague hope that things might've changed a bit. So, lets see if I can't reel in some attention.

One; Punk isn't Dead. It's just getting a Baby pounded into it.

Gotta say, the whole Punk things really misunderstood. I mean sure, you get those Anarcho-punks who want to tear everything down, rip all the walls bare and have at it like it's some kind of freaky, post-capitalist wasteland. Then there are those Gothic Punks who like the black, and the grunge, and just don't care about anything either. They'd be quite as happy sitting at home listening to the newest whinge-fest of an album than fuckin' like a normal person.

And then there's the next group. See, I do love punks. Those pale, thin bodies of theirs. Tits the size of teacups, asses that you could bounce a quarter off. All that leather, and tiny skirts, and ripped clothes showing off just the perfect stretch of skin, just over their ribs? The tattoos, so seemingly tasteless, but just scream I don't give a Fuck?

And the hip-bones, oh god, you could cut glass with them. And the piercings? If it pokes out, they'll pierce it.

And dear god, with those clothes do they ever poke out when it's just a little bit chilly.

But I want a rather... specific kind of punk. I want one who's a right bitch. She'll scream on the streets, and get shit-faced at a club. She'll fight with anyone, despite being just the most adorable ball of pent-up energy this side of London.

And she's an absurdly kinky little shit.

She loves feeling a pair of hands wrapped around that slender neck. Getting bitten is next to nirvana to her. Getting fucked in public is an entree, getting her butt fucked into gaping oblivion a weekend treat. She likes getting gaped the fuck out, absolutely ruined, made to squirt all over the place like a damn hydrant.

But her favourite thing? Cum. Cum everywhere, the more of it the better. Even more, when it's drooling out of her well-fucked cunt or asshole, or getting pumped into her guts from a nice, deep facefuck.

The thing she's been saving though, for the real special one? Getting Bred. Not 'impregnated', like some loser. Bred. Properly stuffed with kids. Fertility drugs, magic, voodoo, science? Whop the fuck knows. All she knows is it's not gonna be normal, it's going to be a fuckin' litter. She wants it to be intense, vibrant, with someone she loves.

A possessor of a fine fuckpole of Futa-meat.

So, you want to be my Punk tonight?

Two; Orc, Orc, Orc. Or getting used as a Stud by a Greenskinned Goddess.

"Okay, so, yes I technically shouldn't have been trespassing in your territory." I start, plastering as confident a smile as I can muster on my lips. It's not every day that you find yourself tied to a tree, and staring down a small clade of Huntresses. Judging by the facial tattoo on one particularly, breathtakingly handsome example of an Orc, not only just a Huntress Clade, but one of their Bezhir-Zhashak. The Red Hand.

Also known as real fucking hard huntresses. The kind that don't take too kindly on those that stray into their territory.

Especially not some punk-ass ranger with a mop of fiery hair, a patchwork cloak and even patchier armour.

Especially especially not some punk-ass ranger carrying a small fortune's worth of smuggled, stolen goods from the south, now skimming their territory to try and make it to the Black Desert in the north.

In all, not the best time to be me. Luckily for me though, this could prove to be a lucky break. I know the Orcs of this region. A few of them, anyway. I know some of their problems, too. No males left to carry on the bloodline thanks to a particularly wicked Bloodline curse a few centuries back. Raiding the local villages had just made the source of virile men simply just... well, move away. Though I have a feeling that was likely more down to any nagging wives, fearful that their lame, pot-bellied old husband was going to wander off in search of the first decent fuck of their lives.

Orcs are a deeply spiritual race. Hard not to be when your society's built arou d being strong. Not just physically either. Cunning, wisdom, intelligence... strength comes in many forms for the Orcs. Arguably their system, of the best leading, works better than any system we've come up with in the past thousand years.

I mean, think about it. Orcish Steel is hardly... pretty to look at. It tends to be fairly plain, compared to Dwarvish metal or Elvish Craftsmanship. A Dwarven Axe'd last you a lifetime, though you could never sharpen it yourself. An Elvish bow might hit accurately, and both'll look pretty as a picture on your mantlepiece.

Orcish Steel could cleave mountains in half. Always wickedly sharp, enduring, built to last, and be as practical as possible. Comfortable too, surprisingly light when it needs to be, or heavy as Lead when swinging a warhammer or a battleaxe through plate armour.

The Orcs are a very... practical race. Everyone works for everyone else. No-one gets left behind, not even the lame or the crippled. Wounded warriors are seen as highly reverent figures. Who best to teach the next generation of fighters than one who's lived through the worst of it?

And judging by the look of the Red-Handed ones in front of me, looks like they're hardly going to be leaving me behind. So I crack a wider smile, try to straighten in my bonds, my neck craking a little.

"So, you caught me. By your custom... I'm yours." I look at their leader again, and down at myself for a moment. "So, when do we leave for your camp?"

Little did I know at the time, well, when you get marked with a rune that looks a little like a pointed spearhead mixed with some kind of curling horn... well, apparently the term 'Fuckbull' starts getting passed around.

And so does one marked like that.

Okay, dead simple this time. Big, strong orc women take a Futa as their own. For Snu-Snu. Not hard, this one. I do love me some character changing and such, so just... well, hit me with some ideas or something. Transformations, potions, character ideas.

Likewise, I generally just want to be on the recieving end of some frankly Amazonian fucking right now. Not getting fucked, being fucked by someone big, strong and really fucking hot. Okay? Okay.

Standard rules n' stuff apply. No jumping right in. No kik, chat or otherwise. Introduce yourself, put some effort in. Okay?

Send some orange the way of yours truly, and let the pelvis-shattering snusnu begin.