Chapter 2 - Hoarfrost Softens [Semi-Ero]

Steel sang, clashed against each other and was accompanied by the shallow, rapid breathing. As it was said and just as the time had always worked; morning turned to noon, noon took into evening and sky turned from bright to dim. Sun hasn't been choked out just yet and through the thick clouds it did break through, yet weakly and giving not much more than to just see around you. 

Yet you needed not an eagle eye to spot the pools of blood that cast the snow from perfectly white powder into crystalized scarlet; the mark of death and combat. Stain upon stain and puddle upon a puddle, with many bodies cast into each and every direction in some mad although very well thought through design. 

It was the main battlefield, the true piece of hoarfrost-stricken land where most of the unevenly matched slaughter took place. A place most important for today and yet, not the most interesting one. For if you were to walk east for a good thousand paces, to a place where the Ice Guard has been cut out and forced to remain in while the main bulk of Kislev army retreated, you would find a Queen.

A tired, exhausted and particularly angered ruler who battled in the middle of some former meadow, in the center of a husky, tundra forest. You would see how Katarin and her personal, female-only elite guard fought valiantly, deflecting the strikes of Chaos servants and repaying in kind. She groaned for a hundredth time and swung Fearfrost, her ancient blade broke through a heretic’s defenses and wounded his flesh, turning everything into ice in less than a heartbeat. 

With annoyance she swung her hand, causing the swirling shards to finish her opponent. As the chilly remnants met the ground, she looked around; onto the ever incoming daemons who ensured they were but circled into the small, flat area. Situation has not been favourable for a while now - she was slowly reaching her limit and her guards had been thoroughly thinned in numbers, even though she didn’t see any bodies just yet. As if they were taken away.

Their strength was waning and armor turning into rags as many strikes did reach them in a malicious manner; leathery straps were cut, cloaks were slashed and buckles forced to break. Fur and hide adorned the ground and nothing more - their clothes were simply falling off them; she herself could feel the cold kiss of wind on her rear. Or rather the plumpier parts of it that stuck out. 

But it wasn’t the worst. What truly made the situation bad were the daemons, not the very fact of just their existence and presence but the variety. She has seen Khorne’s dogs, Slaanesh’s acolytes and Tzeentch’s followers, one next to another, each of them striking at her troops in unison. In short, an alliance was made. An alliance that she wasn’t aware of nor prepared for. 

She took a heavy breath and the queenly bust jumped up and down, just so she could see as another of her guards had her halberd smashed away, leaving her defenseless. Blades of the Thirsting Prince followed, although none of the mad servants did more than to scar her skin a little bit; particularly around her rear and the bust. 

Whatever poison it was, she fell onto her knees and soon was but grasped and tossed into the daemon ranks. Katarin had a feeling she wouldn’t see her again. 

Situation turned only worse from that point - members of the Ice Guard soon could be counted on the fingers of one hand and in time, even they were taken away. Katarin found herself alone between the wicked fiends and in a state most tired. Her crown was lost somewhere between the dead tree trunks whilst her attire was in a laughable state, one that clearly appealed to the daemons around her. 

The thick tunic that covered her royal bust in time was now broken down to scraps, just barely holding remnants of leather that casted themselves down her front, reaching only as far as to cover the pinkish areolas and nipples. Whatever was below was lost entirely - the creamy thighs shined before everyone and but a set of black underwear covered the queenly ladyparts. 

Katarin could but stare in pure hate, her body covered in no more than you would expect of an exotic dancer and covered in sweat as the endless combat brought her body to heat even now. The fact she should be dead wasn’t making it any better. She barely could carry out any blows at this point and the Ice barely listened, she barely could make it obey. 

Hoarfrost still fought when she needed it to but her flesh was failing, muscles refused to work and the blade couldn’t be raised. She should have been dead by now - surrounded, struck down like any other and left to rot; perhaps it would be fitting - she simply lacked a bear companion to ride her lifeless body out of this mess. 

To keep the family traditions. 

But it wasn’t to be, they weren’t killing her. Instead she was toyed with, with both steel and leathery whips; she would be almost ceremoniously attacked from the front and forced to block the blow, all so a smack of black, leathery and barbed whips could be given to her - she could feel the temperature rise whenever her ass would wiggle, adorned with a red mark of some sadistic intent.

But it wasn’t her temperature, it was the followers of Slaanesh that seemed to have pure excitement flowing in their veins whenever her beauty meat was made to move. Lust was inseparable from heat and she didn’t need to look twice to understand that once her guard was thinned out, followers of anyone but Thirsting Prince’s were gone. Which didn’t bode well. 

The amount of fat cocks hanging down all around her was more than astounding and she had never seen so many breasts piercings; even less so shining ones when there barely was any light left. Luck has given that nothing too wicked would enter her sight today or at least not now, not from Slaanesh's side. Or so she assumed. 

"Come forth you thirsting abominations." She declared with a calm voice but yet sharp, like with razors intertwined into her every word. "Kiev will send you right back into dark holes you crawled out of." She raised her blade and pointed at the cultists around her, turning around and giving each a sight of Fearfrost's tip. “When we’re done today, you’ll all be scooped off bear paws.” 

It was like a sudden surge of energy, the sheer resolve with which she refused to die in a way other than with a hundred heads adorning the snow all around her. Those icy shards formed once more, Lore of Ice was delved into and obeyed.

But none of them would move. A whole lot of thirsty eyes would pierce her through, hang on the proudly presented breasts and on the red, whip-kissed buttocks - and that would be all. Her eyes would jump between the wicked ones but nothing would happen; in a way she didn’t mind at all, it was enough to grasp a true breath and let her muscles rest for just a moment. 

Yet heroic inspiration didn’t truly last if nothing was happening, so she merely returned to a kneel; her broad, creamy buttcheeks pressing against the tall snow and slowly melting it away. They were waiting and she had no idea for what but whatever it was, it was important enough to keep them all in check. Which wasn’t making it any better. 

Yet she didn’t need to wait for long to learn what exactly it was. The ground began to tremble in a silken way, the air began thick with choking purity and she felt as the chill of the snow turned into nothing but warmth. She felt the conflicting emotions cling to her like tendrils, creeping up her legs, pressing against the puffy flesh and seemingly wrapping around the queenly front. 

It took a whole lot of willpower to deny it. She waved her hand in cold fury, tearing these ethereal tentacles of something else. “Off with Pleasurer’s charm.” Her voice turned angerful and the air seemingly shined with a cerise, indecent glow; be it the broken off tendrils or just something more. “Things as such do not work on me. I am the Queen of Kiev, Daughter of Boris Bokha, I’ll not fall to simple desires.”

But the earth kept shaking in a way too soft to describe with a sane mind and the words suddenly flew. A finest, greatest Queen. Tzarina unmatched, unbested. As if cut from finest velvet, with sheer excess of sweetness and melodious to no end, the voice that reached her was not of mortal origin. It’s flavour was this of a man, a note of male delicacy and yet firmness, something that in the end did not leave her wondering who spoke it. 

Even though nobody said it and she has not seen whose lips would utter it. Her breath was cut in half as she stood up in haste, her sharp eyes falling onto the surrounding crowd; searching for something greater and ignoring every wicked, strange cultist as if they were nothing. Strong. Charismatic. Courageous. The praise kept flowing, honeyed and somehow striking her to the very heart - nothing alerted her senses more. Defending her people to the very last breath.

Then she turned around as the voiceless words suddenly gained a direction, something wanted her to witness its approach. And thus she began to see as the crowd spread, as trees were pushed to the sides, perhaps walked through, slithered across - just passed in a way she wasn’t certain of. 

But it appeared, unveiled itself before her eyes and brought her to a sudden halt. This great fiend of Slaanesh who stepped on four clawed limbs, with the body alike this of a centaur but far more wicked, far more alluring and yet unthinkable. 

It stepped forth; it's skin and scales, wherever they were, in the shade of dim purple and pink. Legs with patches of soft fur and sharp claws at the end, each leaving a heavy but yet graceful mark in the snow. It approached, it's chest carved carefully like this of a finest athlete and seemingly a wonder to run your hand across. 

Horned head with elongated jaws hosted the vivid, glowing eyes that were like amethysts and the wildest mass of plum strands fell down its back - it was a mix of shapes, each strange and simply inappropriate, much like the pincers-finished arms. 

By all means she should have hated what she looked at and to some degree she did but yet, it wasn't as simple. This hypnotizing musk reached her, the fragrance of pleasure that carried itself with this monstrous fiend; one that filled her mind with the visions of her tongue running amongst many tools and her holes tightening in sheer bliss. 

She clenched her teeth, seeing the images of so many delicious forms of male meat. Childless. Unfulfilled. It's words continued, each like a honeyed knife; sweet but striking her to the very heart. 

"I need not to have children you abomination." With some resolve she declared, slowly rising onto her legs again and somehow pointing the Fearfrost at her enemy. Katarin's vision turned a little blurry soon after, all as the daemon's long, scorpion-like tail rose into the air and presented itself beautifully. Thick, segmented and with the massive stinger at the end of it. 

It stepped closer and it's mind-numbing fragrance hit her twice as hard, scented like perfume, pleasure and heat. Queen of Kislev knew this wasn't getting any better, the very vision of this carved, athlete-worthy chest and the graceful but firm legs - it all was making her feel like never before. Thirsting to say, which was the Perfect's domain. 

"Go whence you came from." She slowly growled out and waved her hand, sending the flutter of razor-tipped icicles against her enemy. 

And it, in a manner more fitting for a dancer than a monstrous war-fiend, avoided it with grace. It was like a side step, a jump and evade; she wasn't sure how but it happened in a way unthinkable for a beast this massive. Then one of the massive pincers raised and she brought Fearfrost to parry, just to be struck instantly with the stinger tail and have her weapon knocked out of her hand. 

Resist not. She was told as she grabbed her hand, feeling the pain in her wrist. Yet it lasted for just a moment, as she suddenly realized the tail had not retracted back and hanged right before her face - she could eye the sharp, black stinger with ease. Only bliss awaits, Queen. 

She wanted to step back, to avoid the blow and do something but yet, the musk was heavy in the air and so was she and her mind. Poisonous barb was faster by far and struck first; yet not her face but a bit lower, plunging right into her ripe, royal bust. Katarin groaned with a strained voice as the Daemon's aim could not be disputed, her nipple pierced perfectly in the middle. 

Pleasure incomprehensible. She heard and fell onto her knees again, feeling as heat unnamable spread through her flesh, taking over the stricken breast and spreading further. Katarin clenched her teeth in anger, sensing as her body became heavier with each passing minute - chill of the cold, tundra meadow was as gone, nonexistent. 

The fiend of Slaanesh began to tread around her, monstrous in size and yet making not a single sound when his glossy, polished claws tread in the snow. You need not to win with pleasure. For some reason she moaned when another strike of the barbed tail was given, piercing her buttock and giving her another juicy portion of venom. You can not win with pleasure. Thirst. Bliss. 

And it circled around her, wicked and graceful, monstrous but delicate. It's pincers, capable of cutting through steel and flesh with utmost, loving care, moved a few times. All of it while she rested on this melting snow, all while her body was warmer than ever before and heavier than a giant hunk of metal - least she felt so. Her breasts fell odder than before, she could feel the tiniest gale and the kiss which it gave to her nipples. 

And those stood proudly, tall and queenly. 

The royal bust hanged lower than ever before for some reason. She did not know why that was but not long she was kept in unknowing, for the lengthy tail of the fiend moved once more; it approached her with grace and she could see the immaculate segments, borders between shining pieces. 

Delicately it moved beneath her udders and pressed against pale belly, just to rise. To slowly arise and rest the Kiev's finest rack on itself, presenting them no different as if on a shelf. It was udder-meat, for in this state she saw them now, they were nothing less and nothing more than grandest udders the ice-bitten land had seen. 

Fat and plump beyond common sense, colossal to a point that no mortal hands could grasp them in their whole and soft to a degree otherworldly. Pale as if painted and with the most rose of nipples, with areolas wide and perfect for all sorts of vulgar deeds. They were but monumental, built to declare the very purpose of their owner and to always lead their way.

The straps of leather that once reached down to cover her pink rings whole, were now but tiny in comparison; merely showing how well enhanced the queenly rack became. Katarin could only stare at them with anger and embarrassment, those were no breasts of a ruler but of some court eye-candy who had been kept for only one set of reasons.

"You disgusting spawn of…" She muttered but wasn't allowed to finish; the tail soon backed off and her udders fell down again, hanging in all of their bare, oversized glory. This very sensation of her rack falling down was enough to cut her words like with a knife - a poorly held back moan was to be heard. 

It wasn't good. She had never seen fur this immaculate or a beast thus magnificent in its raw beauty; she had never had such thoughts about hybrids so wicked. To deny the wonder of its existence was too much but to know she shouldn't be admiring it was something else. 

She wanted to reach for Fearfrost, to grasp the blade and turn the fiend into a chilled mess. But Katarin could only hold the ragged breath as she felt the slick tail slide across her buttocks, across the royal-sized buns that now, much like her front, were brought closer to perfection. 

Round, ripe and tender enough to lose your fingers in; her cheeks only adjusted to the segmented, steel-hard appendage of the daemon. It dented and was dug into, making her unable to do anything but carefully track the sensation without looking back. All as it descended between her buttocks and spread them by doing so, all so the sharp stinger could sneak between her underwear. 

A set of black panties that now were barely to be seen amongst these fleshy, plump buns. 

Pleasure welcomes all. The Prince, welcomes all. She heard as the string of her silky underwear was pulled, causing the very front part to dig into her ladyparts. Once again she stood with strained expression and clenched teeth but it wasn't pain she fought; it was the sheer pleasure that made her doubt whether it all was worth it. Queen of Kiev. Love of Kiev. Breeder of Kiev. 

All the same. 

The tail pulled further and soon the fabric snapped; black set of panties fell down onto the white snow and unveiled the most royal of loveholes. The dripping, overflowing loveparts that turned so to the very sight of Slaaneesh's fiend - became aroused by a wicked hybrid of so many images. Pleasure comes. 

Bliss unnamable. The whisper spread across her mind, echoing and woven with velvet. It's tendrils spread across her thoughts like vines reclaiming a forgotten ruin. She tried to weed the sweetness out of herself but it was permeating, invading; creeped between every and each thought and reinforced the sheer sensation that her body felt. 

"Abomination." She merely growled out; perhaps just said or whined out - Katarin did not know. Perhaps in any other stance, she would deny the fragrance of pure, promised breeding and keep fighting. Yet her body was tired, muscles relished in the new feeling that replaced rough soreness and heavily hanging, queenly udders radiated with savory heat, one matched only by this between her legs.

She sat for a time , her buttocks melting the thick snow beneath with ease and her bust wiggling softly every now and then, in accordance with the deep breaths. Drool began to drip from the queenly chin soon enough, all as she desperately tried to prevail over the visions of monstrous tools beneath her tongue , outlandish tools she could hide between her buns and the images of wondrous beasts turning her full and stuffed. 

Little did she notice when the fog turned purple in a miniscule degree and her mind barely recognized when one of daemonic beasts approached her. Wondrous serpentine body raised on two long, muscled legs. With an extremely narrow head, barely more than a slender snout with vivid eyes. Half present, half absent eyes rose onto this mount of Slaanesh and some words were uttered, although too incoherent to be understood even by Katarin herself. 

Remnants of defiance still remained within the queen, causing her brows to narrow in anger. All so she could watch it appear, this venom-bathed tongue, several metres long and thin; made to reach, whip and taste each and every mortal. It neared her face, endlessly sprouting from the thin jaws of the beast. Royal eyes watched as it touched the pale cheek, leaving a warm, warm spot that would not turn colder for hours to come. 

But she would mumble something hostile, Katarin's mouth would let out some angerful sounds and expression would turn to grimace. And so the tongue would retract - deeply purple and oozing with poison that no mortal being could possess or resist in such a state. Edges of this pleasure and death-bringing muscle would be as serrated, capable of rupturing or bringing pleasure unexplainable, depending on the moment. 

So it would lower itself, move down the grand, enhanced bust of highest obscenity and then evenly match the leaking, high born loveparts of Katarin herself. It would hover around this very height for a while, making the Queen look down for a while and let down yet another set of very angry, disagreeing noises. 

Those unhappy, fiery and warning growls, groans and muffled-like noises would continue for a while. 

And then, the tongue would strike. 

With a snap, Katarin's eyes would shoot up and her face would break into a helpless, defeated mess of pleasure. Against her will she would feel bliss that brought her to an edge and caused her very consciousness to be reduced to nothing but the sheer sensation of her ladyparts being invaded; licked, raked, filled and explored, all of it by a never ending tongue of a daemonic steed. 

Plump, whose-destined body would shiver uncontrollably and its owner wouldn't even be able to rise; destined to rest on this nearly melted snow. Drool would spill from clenched teeth, just to fall down onto colossal udders and grant them a shine. Then the steed would pull back his tongue in an instant, causing Katarin to spasm as if she was struck. She would be then granted a while. 

To realize how she came from a beastly, unholy tongue doing as little as entering her. 

And she would pant, feeling the shame of lusting after a hybridous beast and disgrace of coming to it's very touch. Inhaling deeply, naked in snow and with spit dripping onto her colossal, enlarged rack, she met its eyes. Cerise and shining, promising and also demanding; they were most of all just curious - of how her mouth tastes like, of how deep her throat goes. 

Then turned around, gracefully and eagerly; she didn't move when it's sharp tail moved over her, causing a sweet breeze. The serpentine steed then rised it up and unveiled the thing she couldn't deny to observe. The meat of the beast whose purpose was to do nothing but bring pleasure in all forms and ways. 

Hanging low and proudly, shaped like this of a wildest lizard but located like that of a wolf; lengthy and immaculately thick. With numerous segments that pointed backwards, with tiny spikes and barbs intertwining on its sides, their tips adorned with purple. Save for the proper, pronounced borders between segments, it's texture was but perfectly immaculate, pink and shining more alluringly than anything else. 

Exposed to this dick looking no different to a sweet snack, she could stare in a somewhat numbed manner; imagine it shoved deep into places it should never be able to reach - to a most shameful indecisiveness. Such a thought should never have been born in her mind but with the rose vines sprawling across her mind, she had the first thoughts of surrendering. Situation was hopeless after all. 

And she already came once. 

Pointed perfectly down, it soon came at her; the beast took but few steps backwards and Katarin could but wait, await the moment at which it would press against her face and cover half of the pretty, broken visage. Like a slab of warm, delicate meat, it stuck to her skin.

The smell of a prick, of a tool made for nothing but sheer breeding and which promised nothing but mating. And it was sticky, covered in some juices that were no different to thickest precum and which had the strongest, fleshy fragrance that she had yet to smell. 

And she would Inhale it well. 

With it covering half of her face and the very nose, Katarin would have her nostrils flare; pull in the sheer scent of a delicious, mating-ready cock. Her lungs had no choice but to delve into this lust-scented aroma and fill themselves whole, breathing with something that was more aphrodisiac than air. It would travel swiftly, carried by veins to every part of her body, bringing it to a state more desperate than before. 

Daemonic steed would simply let his fiendish meat stick to her face; seemingly glued and leaking enough juices for Katarin to feel permeated with them - no different to a steak marinating itself for the proper time. And she soaked that scent, slowly smelling more like a dick herself than a Queen of Kislev. 

She did not wish for it but the questions came on their own; how did it taste, how would it feel on top of her tongue and would this glue-like, translucent nectar render her jaws immobile with its stickiness, should there be enough of it in them. It or something else, something sticker or perhaps tastier. She couldn't help but lower her eyes and try staring at the tip of this meaty wonder, at how it slowly leaked the very object of her pondering. 

Devour. The fiend of Slaanesh spoke once more, it's silken words running through her mind and encouraging, ordering. It didn't feel right to give in to an abomination as such but - why wouldn't she at this point? Her guards were gone, her breasts were swollen to some wild extent that defied her more than any of her past deeds. She was but defeated, at the mercy of her foe. 

Nothing but to be grateful that she was still alive. 

In some attempt to regain her resolve, she took a deep breath but no clean air would come to clean her conscience; only the strong, mind numbing smell of an immaculate, massive cock. The stench that, despite its fleshy and heavy nature, wasn't that bad. 

It was but a shameful manner in which she closed her eyes, not willing to watch her own deed given how unfit it was. But yet, her lips spread and the royal tongue emerged; slowly and carefully as if afraid of what it was to soon taste. Pinkish, delicate and born to relish in wine and finest meats but now made to feed on a beast's nectar. 

And it was sticky. 

Transparent, it soon shone upon her taste buds; a flood of unnamable, inhuman saltiness drowned them and rendered stuck in obscenity. Katarin let out a groan, feeling as this thickness was vile, repugnant, salty to no end and mindlessly delicious. Attuned to her mind, it was choking out any other taste and giving her the sheer bliss a flavour. 

In need, she would push her face more into this fat, fiendish prick; feel the partially flaccid, pleasant shaft. Accordingly, her tongue would run across the steed's urethra, laying a salacious, shameful stain across itself. And it was delicious, enough for her taste buds to repeatedly rub themselves against the very urethra in seeking of more. 

Guzzle. She heard as the fiend circled around her. Katarin couldn't help herself and soon wrapped these pretty lips around the daemonic tip and sucked as ordered, feeling ashamed of her own actions. But as she sought, so it was given and a proper, inhuman amount of sticky, early nectar was given to her; she drank it out of the slippery tool and then felt how it was no lesser than the load before. 

So she sucked and she tasted, fed herself with this unending flow of precum that only an unholy beast could give her. Her maws soon ran sticky, glued and even her tongue needed twice as much strength to move in the slightest manner; her jaws turned into some bucket that precum kept flowing into - she herself inviting it with guilty pleasure. 

Eventually the steed took a single step forth and this wondrous, pink source of the most delicious nectar slipped out of her lips. A proper, long string of mixed juices formed between her puffy, suddenly fuller lips and the sharp, cerise tip. It wiggled softly, shined even more than before and kept the scent of a wet, served cock; the scent of breeding. 

Mating she herself did not deny. 

Katarin lived with the duty to ensure her nation's survival, she was the cold, iron Queen of Kislev. Yet, it was but a moment ago that she sucked on this prick; a lowly, daemonic cock that was no different to any of the hundred thousand that likely filled Slaanesh's armies. 

Yet she bent forward, following this stretching line of obscene juices and trying to again lay the pinkish tip onto her kisser. Her queenly rear raised, warmer than forge steel and exposed wholly; fat, monstrous, grand enough to bury a beastly snout beneath itself.

The snow from beneath it was as gone, melted to a point where grayed out, frozen grass was perfectly seeable. All of it in a pleasant, bun-shaped marks of snowy emptiness. 

Katarin's udders soon hung down even more, enhanced to sizes that no man would think of and gargantuan enough to serve the largest of Khorne's berserkers. Large, pinkish areolas met the snow as she moved onto all fours, chasing the delicious cock; holding all of its tasty precum in her mouth like some sort of remedy one would carry to a patient. 

She dragged herself across snow, her expression about as shamed as one would expect; it was wrong and worse than unfit. Not worthy of a ruler such as her. 

But she already lost. She really didn't know how to stop. It was just too potent, too rewarding for every shred of degeneracy she agreed to partake in. 

With heavy breath, she watched as the pinkish tool distanced itself; how the steed backed off. The Queen of Kislev tried to chase it in a way, sluggishly and with some heaviness to her movement - perhaps it was the previous exhaustion that kicked in, perhaps just her body unused to carry weight this great with itself. 

But it wouldn't last all that long. Soon he stepped before her once more; alluring and wicked in every aspect, it's shining claws that begged to be run clean with her tongue and it's fur that appeared finer than any silk or velvet. Between those four legs was also something more, something so madly large that her mind refused to see it, helping itself with a pinkish, sweet fog. 

She swallowed, grueling before the hybridous fiend and the royal gaze attempted to rise, all so delicate but razor-sharp pincers could wrap around Katarin's head and force it to look upwards. With precision unfit for its size or this world, the monstrous daemon held her tightly but without slightest damage done to her skin; the flesh that now appeared softer than ever before. 

And their eyes met. 

Vivid, delicate ones against those quivering, without its former sharpness. Submit. She heard the words, feeling how the voice of wonder soothed her mind, allowing the tendrils of bliss to grow ever stronger. 

She was bare, naked for everyone to see and presented like the finest of fuck-meats, her body enhanced and her shapes enlarged to resemble nothing but some monument of sexual appeal. Her ass melted snow with its heat and her udders had to drag themselves across snow, heating it no less. 

Katarin could only watch as the beastly snout lowered itself and halted right before her pretty face; before the full, cock-attuned lips that defined her purpose no less. Long, slippery tongue unveiled itself and she felt the juices flow down the creamy, plump thighs. 

She swallowed the nectarous mess that her maws hosted and understood - she had already lost. 

Between her thoughts, the roses sprouted. 

The former Queen of Kislev went for a kiss. 





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