The Cum'ha'rai

The drums' beat made it hard to focus. Every inch of air around Sweetheart reverberated with the hammering rhythm. Her white hair had been tied back in a pony tail, as had the fluffy green locks of her opponent. During this portion of the sacred Cum'ha'rai, they could not strike.

She locked her eyes onto her opponent, grinding every detail of her stance, the way she held her arms, everything that could be useful, into her mind. One of the things that separated Sweetheart from those that had come before was a stubborn refusal to underestimate her opponents. This one had challenged her openly, demanding the chance to take over as Khan. This impudence would mean she was confident, maybe even dangerously so. But it could also mean she was brash...and prone to overstepping.

Of course, there was a much more physical difference between her and her predecessors. Since both combatants were naked, the pretender could see the large, flaccid rod that hung from between Sweetheart's legs. She was the first of the Chosen, the first among their kind to be caught between male and female in such a way, and she represented a force of change for the Bun'ari people. Her opponent, with an impressive set of fundamentally female attributes on her body, took the role as the old guard. This fight would probably determine what path the Bun'ari would stride in the future: the old struggles...or the audacity of conquest.

As they circled each other in the arena pit, arbiters and spectators both looked down at the pair, each trying to decide who was the favourite. Both women were very fit, a life in the saddle being no excuse not to keep yourself in tip-top condition. Both wielded quarterstaffs etched with the symbols of each other's clan, so there was no weapon advantage. It was a matter of who wanted the prize more? Who would risk everything to become the unquestioned leader of their race?

The drumming ceased. The battle was on. Sweetheart's opponent lunged after her, swinging her staff with an impressive ferocity. If circumstances had been different, this one would have made a strong warrior. But her authority simply could not be questioned. Sweetheart's steps were feather-light, her motions graceful and precise. An overhead swing was met with a complete curve of her back as she twisted from the blow, ending up on one knee. Her opponent grinned, perhaps sensing weakness, and lashed out again.

The bold Bun never saw the foot lance out at her leg, toppling her over. She never saw Sweetheart's ethereal grace as she kipped up, cast aside her staff, and manhandled her to the ground until her face was pressed to the dirt. The green haired woman struggled in those final moments, realizing something terrible had happened. The stiffening organ rubbing against her backside only made her peril more evident. The fight only ended when one had clearly submitted to the other...and Sweetheart's biology had given her a secret weapon stronger than any blade.

Once the Khan's hard, throbbing cock had slipped inside, it was all but over. The other Bun tried to fight it, but their race's urges were far too strong to resist for long. Everything about the Bun'ari was geared around breeding. Their biological need to breed simply couldn't be suppressed for any great amount of time, which was part of why they took so long to get together as a unified force. Now, though, Sweetheart and her Chosen had found away around this handicap: by enforcing their control BY knocking up their opponents.

In moments, her rival arched her rear up, presenting her pussy to be bred properly. Sweetheart obliged, clapping her strong hands around the other's waist and pounded the woman's needy body for all it was worth. Helpless moans and whimpers gushed from the submissive Bun, her dreams of domination melted into images of bloated bellies and milky mammaries.

Sweetheart had no desire to prolong the experience. She was magnanimous in her victory...sometimes. The woman she was hammering into had taken a gamble and lost. With the speed of their beastly ancestors, she hammered her cock home until she exploded. Great gushes of fertile seed splashed the challenger's insides, most assuredly making her pregnant as a result. Once Sweetheart's climax had finished, she let the woman drop from her cock, drooling spent seed onto the arena floor.

As the fallen warrior rested from her ordeal, one of the arbiters threw down a container into the pit. Sweetheart caught it, pulled out the stopper, and flipped her vanquished opponent onto her back. With just her fingers smeared in ochre paint, she marked the woman's lower abdomen with the pictogram of her ownership: a large, red heart, right above her dripping slit. It was Sweetheart's crest, and it denoted her as a member of her harem by all the rights and rites of the Bun'ari. In the old days, women fought for dominance and control of the tribe, and would claim the other as a pleasure slave. But Sweetheart's cock allowed for a different fate.

She would soon be taken away to the Khan's burrow, where she'd be allowed to blossom into pregnancy. Though she was no longer a leader and had been removed from her old clan, being in the Khan's harem was a high honour for Bun'ari, and she contented herself with the knowledge that she would be taken care of. Unfortunately, it did mean that her old name was gone. She'd need a new one, granted to her by Sweetheart, befitting her new status in life.

As her new owner spun to present her victory to the arbiters above, the fallen clanswoman knelt at Sweetheart's feet. Seeing the still dripping organ in need of attention, she got to work licking it clean of any spent seed. That got her a pat on the head, and a roar of approval from the spectators.

As she stared at each viewer, being fellated by her fallen foe, the Chosen Bun held out her arms in triumph.

"I am Sweetheart, Khan of the Bun'ari," she declared. "Are there any more challengers?"