Mordred Vs Arthuria

Mordred wasn't having any of it. She didn't care much for the Kotomine dude, and cared even less for his Servant. She ticked her in all the wrong ways, and everything about her smelled… wrong. Off. Odd. The kind of person she'd much rather fight without hearing, rather than stand in her presence. Her Master, though, was fine with listening to the Priest talk about the 'teams', and he offered information rather willingly - and information was always helpful, even if she was a swing-first-ask-questions-preferably-never kind of person.

The fact that Vlad the Impaler - in whatever incarnation he was in - was summoned seemed to be of interest to her Master, judging by the pulses from their shared mental link. Good information always helped, even if knowing the identity of a Servant didn't necessarily equate to the capabilities - at least, for the most part. Mordred knew that well enough, at least.

"I'd rather not have them pick on me," her Master said, seeming particularly perturbed, and Mordred took her eyes off of the black-haired Assassin at her side to focus on him. He really did seem bothered by the thought of a fifteenth Servant, and that, by extension, bothered her.

"Ruler should only be here to moderate," Kotomine said calmly. "And shouldn't be getting directly involved. However, I would like to remove her from the equation, should such an opportunity arise." He inclined his head. "Moderation - an unneeded concept."

Her Master's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, seemingly interested, but Mordred's interest just glossed over the moment as it had for the entire conversation so far. Her attention was fleeting, her focus, instead, on how wrong the other two felt. She didn't get how her Master could remain so calm through it - outwardly, at least.

"Her?" Her Master asked, focusing in on the single word. Mordred, though, was still not quite caring, and just gazed impassively over at Semiramis. Despite her enclosed and magic helmet, the Servant seemed to tell that eyes were trained on her - some Assassin talent or some other latent ability, she didn't know. She didn't like, however, how Semiramis offered her a coquettish grin and a wink. Maybe she misunderstood her intentions or - worse - was trying to act coy and friendly, and both ticked her off the wrong way.

She was too much like her mother, and that annoyed the hell out of Mordred. She is kinda hot, though , another part of her mind reasoned, and even if she was someone that hit her in all the wrong ways…well, she wasn't bad to look at.

"We've identified that the Ruler-class Servant is Artoria Pendragon," Kotomine said, folding his brown hands one over the other. "At least -"

Mordred did a double-take and sputtered inside of her helmet - the former went noticed, the latter unnoticed - and focused all of her attention on Kotomine.

"-Some variation of her, I believe." He paused, then shrugged. "It's somewhat hard to tell. She's not what I expected, but it is her. A worthy foe -"

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Mordred cut in, setting a hand on the back of a pew and gently gripping it - which, naturally, sent the wood splintering under her clawed gauntlets.

What? Her Master thought to her, and she brushed it aside.

Kotomine blinked, as did his Servant. "Ah - yes?" He frowned, and a bemused smile wormed its way onto his face like a snake. "I wouldn't lie about that?"

"Artoria Pendragon," Mordred asked him in a voice like grinding rocks. "Are you sure?"

"...Yes," he offered. "Again, a little different in appearance to what I expected, but it's her."

" Different how? "

Semiramis put a hand on Kotomine's shoulder. "Older than we'd be led to believe, but you understand how Servants are." The elf-eared woman regarded her colly. "You're rather interested in this - who are you, really? The King's dear Lancelot?"

Mordred almost snarled. "Ar -"

Her Master held up a hand, and mentally pulsed out a, Calm down. You're too excited. Chill.

Master, that's - !

I get it. Relax.

Her Master straightened. "That information is very useful, Priest. Thanks."

He looked between them evenly. "I… you're welcome."

Master! She thought. Don't let this slip!

"Do you know, by chance, where she is?" The Necromancer asked, calmly brushing at his pants.

"I don't, but she'll certainly make an appearance as things progress." Kotomine regarded them both carefully. "Likely, as conflict erupts, she'll be drawn to the messiest of them. Moderation, and all that."

Master -

Her Master adjusted his glasses. "You got a plan for dealing with that?"

"We've got many plans," the Priest said calmly. "Of which we'd be happy to share with you. The other Servants and their Masters are already here, in fact, and we'd be delighted if you came along to meet them. We're all of surpassing quality, in truth, and I'm sure you'd be pleased."

These people are snakes, Her Master thought to her, still calmly adjusting his glasses.

I know, Mordred thought in turn, still splintering wood under her grip. But! This chance - she won't come to me alone! She never comes to me alone! She -

Her Master crossed one leg over the other. "We'll come, but we won't be working with your plans. All we want is the chance to take out Ruler, however and wherever I'm sure you've planned for that to happen. Pretend we're your… berserker. A missile, to point at one enemy."

Mordred grunted, taking up the slack as his thoughts filled her brain. "We'll help you just to take her out. I don't care how that happens or what we need to do to get there, but that's it."

The Priest bowed his head. "Then come along, please. We have plans to make."

Semiramis winked. "Don't worry, Sir Knight. You'll get your one-on-one, and we'll get the Grail. Win-win, yes?"

"Yeah, sure," Mordred said impatiently. "Now, can we get to this shit already?"

Seriously, chill, her Master told her, and she scowled again.

There were many things that Mordred associated with her father, Artoria. Justice, righteousness, a strong work ethic, perfectly kingly disposition and attitude… as well as uncompromising will, a stern demeanour, and a lack of anything else. Like the core of a steel sword, she was tempered and flexible only to a certain degree before bouncing back into rigidity. She looked much like Mordred herself did, as far as the younger girl recalled, just more… Human. Refined, graceful, smoother. Less hard edges, and more hard looks. She was her Father, and Mordred, despite it all, had strong feelings for and about her.

Hearing that she was doing to finally, finally fight her, get her wish to match her in a contest of swords and prove that she could surpass her, elated her to no end. She had very strong notions on how it would be and how it would go down, all of defined to a level of perfection that would overwrite the mess of her rebellion. A pure fight between two pure individuals, without the grime and muck of a cursed sword-arm and an even more cursed life tied to some magic sword.

What she got was anything but.

"W-what the hell," she said bluntly, staring at the figure of her Father with a mixture of hand-shaking anger, spine-tingling annoyance, brain-wracking disappointment, and blood-boiling arousal. "What the fuck is this?!"

"Mordred, please," Ruler Artoria said, her voice calm and measured as it always was. "Stop your incessant swearing."

It was her Father, that much was true. It was her Father aged up and matured beyond what Mordred had known - older by some years, her face angled, her cheekbones higher, her face more sculpted and far more beautiful than it had ever been. Her body had outgrown her ageless figure into something far more womanly besides, with sinfully long legs, plump thighs, a wide hipline accentuated by a narrow waist that Mordred could wrap her hands around, and breasts the size of Mordred's head, at least.

She was a woman, and Mordred had never felt more inadequate next to her Father before. Artoria had always been one step ahead, and now it was like she'd taken ten, leaving her in the dust. Hell, Mordred was even smaller than her. Artoria was a small girl, and she'd been made in perfect mickey of the King of Knights - but now her Father had a good head of height on her if not more, edging out of short-eighteen-year-old into upscale-woman. Not only had her Father beaten her in combat, surpassed her as King, she'd now done so in the shape of her body, too.

And, yet, Mordred could have handled all of that. She'd have been happy, in fact, to beat the newer version of her Father, and then lorded in her superiority that, no matter what version of Artoria, no matter what upgrades she'd undergone, Mordred would still beat her and still be better than her. But, as if to mock her, as if to show her callous disregard for everything Mordred had ever done just to prove herself to her lofty Father, she came dressed to the field of battle not in armour, not in clothing, but in a playboy bunny costume.

Her impressively voluptuous figure was wrapped up in a bunny outfit that Mordred understood wouldn't have been out of place in a Casino or a Playboy mansion. Plump legs that had edged out of athleticism and into womanly softness were wrapped up in silky blue tights marked out with a vague fishnet patterning that hugged her legs perfectly, while her torso was covered in a velvet-like corset of pure, unblemished white. It was incredibly tight around her shapely body, leaving nothing to the imagination - not that it did in its cut, either.

Cups of white cloth hugged her massive chest, and looked as if they were barely secured around the perfectly rounded mounds of creamy white. The top of her corset was just that: breast-cups, as a long window had been cut out along the front to bear her impressively deep cleavage and a long tract of perfect skin down to her navel - showing off none of the definition Mordred knew Artoria had, but only perfect softness: a vision of lush womanhood.

She even has bunny ears! She concluded, staring at the long, white ears poking out of her golden head of hair, and a fucking cotton tail!

She knew her Father well. Her Father would never dress like that. She barely dressed down with her wife, as far as she knew - something in her had become stoic, conservative, after those years of traveling with Caliburn at her side. What she saw now was a joke - a parody, some sick sense of ironic humour that left her fuming.

"What the fuck is this ?!" She roared, flashing incisors that, in her creation, had developed into something like fangs. "Is this some sort of - of fucking joke? Are you mocking me, Father?!"

"Cease your petulant whining," the King of Knights said curtly. She brushed her long, golden ponytail over her shoulder using the back of her wrist, showing off just how much longer it was. "It's unbecoming."

"Don't you - don't you dare scold me like that!" She snarled, stomping forward. "Don't lecture me when you're dressed like that! "

"What's wrong with it?" Artoria asked, genuinely befuddled, and Mordred felt a squeak rise up in her throat.

"You're - you're mocking me," Mordred stammered, her fury rising. Her armoured fingers clenched around her wire-bound hilt. "You - you, Ruler Artoria, came here knowing it would be me, and you dressed like that just to make fun of me!"

"I did no such thing," she sniffed. "This is how I -"

"I don't give a fuck for your excuses, Father!" She roared, seeing nothing but red - and the impossibly curvy body right there in front of her like some sexualized parody of her Father. She raised her sword up and pointed it at her throat in challenge, but Artoria didn't even flinch. "This is supposed to be our reunion, our fight! But - but you come here looking like that ?" She stomped her foot. "Am I not even worth the fucking courtesy?"

"I didn't raise you to swear so much," Artoria deadpanned, looking somewhat concerned.

"You barely raised me at all," Mordred said through grit teeth, wondering just what version of her Father she'd been saddled with. "You're - no, you know what? I don't care what version of my Father you are, nor what class; Ruler or not, I'm going to beat you. I don't care if you came here looking like a slut to make fun of me or not. You're going to lose, and I'm going to surpass you!"

"Rulers and Servants do not need -"

"Don't even start. "

Artoria cocked her head. "You're set on this reckless course?"

Mordred bared her teeth in a mixture of a snarl and a grin. "Shut up and fight, King of Knights. "

"Very well," said Artoria, her weapon materializing. "So be it."

Mordred was huffing and puffing, her face slicked with exertion, a tiny trail of blood leaking from her cut lip and a small hint of welling by her forehead. Her armour was crunched and cracked in places, and her hair was a little messier than her usual messy style; but she was, overall, doing fairly well. She was winded, but only barely; strained, but only a tad. Her opponent, instead, was in a far worse state, lying on her back and practically heaving for breath, looking utterly, wholly, and totally beaten. She doubted she'd be standing of her own free will for at least an hour, in fact.

"Pathetic," Mordred declared, giving voice to her thoughts. "Fucking pathetic. You're weak, that's what you are, Father."

She clenched her fingers into her palms, and armour squealed in strain. "I've beaten you. You're beaten. I've won. I'm - I'm better."

It didn't feel like it, though. An older version of Artoria should have been a fearsome foe, but what she got was someone… soft. Weak. Athleticism gave way in favour of a perfect beach-body, designed for leisure, not hard fighting. It shouldn't have mattered with Servants, but it did for them. It wasn't anything like Mordred had dreamed, and it left her grinding teeth together.

"You say it with such conviction," Ruler Artoria said in turn, her voice breathless and strained.

She clenched her teeth. "You couldn't even offer a good fight, Ruler. This is - this is pathetic."

It didn't match her expectations, and that pissed her off more than anything else. It annoyed her to no end, made her want to frown and scream at the injustice of her victory denied. She'd beaten her Father, but it wasn't a victory she could relish or indulge in. The only satisfaction was seeing Artoria there on the ground, strained, helpless, and at her mercy. It was a win, at the very least - even if it was nothing like what she wanted. All she had now was a voluptuous blonde writhing there, panting and flushed, like a strange, womanly mockery of her noble Father.

"Finish it," Artoria demanded of her. "Or don't, but -"

"Shut the fuck up, " she hissed, furiously raking fingers through her own blonde hair. She stared down at the admittedly gorgeous woman at her mercy, and felt a tremor run along her spine. "You know, I really wanted to kill you and see the realization of your defeat fill your eyes - but I'm not going to get anything out of that, am I?"

She continued to stare down at the strangely older version of Artoria with dark eyes, and tinges of admiration started to creep into her gaze. She was a gorgeous woman, curvy and buxom in all the right places with soft skin in all the rest, and Mordred's body in the exact way it was designed to act in the face of a conquered female foe - with surges of lustful arousal and a raw, primal urge. Lips twitched, and too-sharp incisors were flashed in a snaggle-toothed grin.

"But my Father doesn't deserve an honourable passing in the first place," she said, a low chuckle rising up in her throat. "And if I can't have the satisfaction of a good fight, I can have the satisfaction of a good fuck - and your body looks fucking perfect for it."

Artoria stared up at her, emerald eyes widening. "...What?"

She smirked, and threw out her sword-arm. The sword and her armour dematerialized in a spray of blue particles and sparks of violent red, leaving her small, lean body dressed in insubstantial red cloth: a tight-fitting bandolier wrapped around a modest chest, cupping just enough of her tits to guard her nipples and nothing else; long, stiff tassets made of fabric instead of metal, which ran down her thighs in arcs as if to protect the black-and-red stockings that covered them; a long, tassel skirt of crimson ran down from an elegant waistband edged in gold and blacks, reaching to between her knees.

Beyond the shoulder-length, handless sleeves she wore, nothing else covered her body. She was dressed even skimpier in her underclothes than Artoria was in her bunny suit, leaving wide swathes of peach-coloured skin on display - stomach, thighs, her backside; all of it open to the eye. It was meant for comfort under her armour, and she'd never particularly cared about how much it showed. She was much more fond of the accessibility it offered, in fact, and that was the best part of it.

"Mordred," Artoria said none-too-calmly, "W-what are you doing?"

Mordred smirked down at her defeated Father. "Winning, Father. Taking my spoils of victory, like I was designed to do."

Her body was designed through and through - just a homunculus replica of the real Artoria, every inch of her was meant for a specific set of things. Her Father was a farm girl turned King, and she was the bastard son designed to wipe away the undignified upbringing and replace it with something far more efficient. She was more athletic than the King, every muscle and line on her frame in perfect mimicry to Artoria, and then accentuated by magic, scientific meddling, and endless training.

Her body was leaner, more toned, and tougher in all places than the King. Muscles were more defined, her biceps thicker on her slight frame, her waistline more trim the V of her pelvis showing up in stark lines. Her stomach was like a washboard of muscle, her frame bearing an easy six-pack that, while not thrown into harsh relief, was so defined that any girl that ran their hand over it would find themselves weak in the knees. Her legs were hard and athletic, and her backside rippled with strong motion whenever she moved. She was harsh and jagged from head to toe, her contours lacking any sort of natural grace that her Father carried easily and made her appear more like a taut bowstring.

She was the King of Knights, optimized. Her body designed for a wishful purpose, ensured to be nothing more than Artoria-plus-one - a better, more efficient replica. For once, as she stared down at the curvy, busty woman her Father looked like, she felt it. Felt that power, that efficiency, that sheer physical prowess that was supposed to make her better. Artoria was looking up at her with the same look she'd seen several times before: eyes scanning, staring at taut muscle, shifting left and right as she took in the athleticism of her frame, and it made Mordred's heart thump in her chest.

And, at the same time, her hand roved down, pulling at the tassels of her skirt to shift them aside, just like they had been designed for. Her skimpy thong was just there to play lip to modesty, and ease of access was the whole design of her outfit. With a casual tug she pulled at her barely-hidden cock, dragging the truncheon of cockmeat out of captivity and sending it flopping out into the light of day.

Artoria's eyes got even wider and her jaw slackened at the sight of Mordred's cock. Rapidly engorging into life, it was almost twelve-inches of solid cockmeat as thick as a wrist - not the blonde's slender wrist, but that of a man. It was lined with pulsating veins that thrummed with a vague, internal red light, an indication of her raw power and sheer virility. Large, swollen balls adorned the base, each one almost as wide as her balled fist.

The King of Knights had borne a cock for most of her married term at the behest of Merlin, just to satisfy her poisonous Queen; Mordred had inherited that, but hers was bent for the purpose that Artoria had neglected. It was a cock meant to tame, used to fuck people into submission, and to ensure the heritage of the Pendragon line. The size and scope of it visually ensured that it was a bitch-breaking cock meant for a true King, designed to subdue and breed, and that wasn't lost on Artoria.

"Mordred," she started, but that was as far as she got before the younger blonde snorted out a laugh.

"I'm about to do what you were always too noble to do," Mordred told her, dropping down in front of Artoria with single-minded intent. Hands grabbed at her shapely legs, and she suppressed a sigh at the feeling of perfectly soft skin and silky blue tights. They felt perfect, and it made her armlength of cock throb powerfully. "Well, not you. I don't think this body ever did anything but whore itself out."

"Mordred!" Artoria said, but she was too weak to muster up much protest as she was hauled forward, dragged along the ground, and brought further into the range of her grasping hands. Fingers sank deep into pliant blue tights and jammed into the plump skin of her thighs, making Mordred's spine tingle with relish. This version of Artoria had some of the finest legs she'd ever felt in her life, and she couldn't remember a single woman she'd been with that was this fine.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Mordred told her, still barring her teeth in a snaggle-toothed grin. Her fingers tug into the blue fabric around her waistline, not bothering to rise up where the hip-cutout of her leotard was; she knew that the waistband would be secured somewhere above the sinfully high gap, but she didn't care. She pinched nails into the fabric lower down, and snagged them in deep. "And, as much as I want to say that I don't care if you don't, I know I'm going to break you down until you're screaming my name."

"S-stop th - stop that!" Artoria protested weakly, but it was pointless. Mordred wasn't listening to her latest conquest, and treated her with all the ceremony of the others - that was, absolutely nothing at all. She'd been designed for this, optimized for victory and sexual prowess, and she saw her father as nothing more than a gorgeous, big-titted blonde for her sole satisfaction. Her identity was just icing on the cake, and if she couldn't have a victory in single combat, well…

"Let's see just how well you can take this sword," she mocked, pulling hard and tearing at her blue tights. The fabric ripped haphazardly as fingers were dragged along, with seams splitting along the fishnet-like patterning that marked out the royal blue. It shredded in patches, showing pools of creamy skin, and her cock throbbed. She tugged harder, and when Artoria squirmed, she used a modicum of her strength to force her into submission.

She set herself over the taller, curvier woman, pulling at tights and widening holes at the same time. They were ripped under her hands, creating stressed-out strings of cloth that stitched over plump flesh and granting her sight she'd never imagined before. A vicious smirk split her face as she pulled harder, creating a wide gap along her pelvis, and began to greedily tug at the white strap of her leotard at the same time.

"M-mordred!" Her Father gasped, her voice weak and strained, "s-stop this at once!"

"All this body is good for is fucking," Mordred told her, enjoying the look of panic on her face. "Because it sure as hell can't fight."

The strap pulled along the ripped fabric, bearing Artoria's pink core to her eyes. Mordred, grinning with delight and staring down with victorious intent, used her hand to swing her log of cockmeat down against her lower lips. The contact produced a fleshy clap, and Artoria let out something like a squeal. Discomfort, perhaps, or maybe simple trepidation at her size, but the younger girl didn't care.

"Mor -"

"You lost, Father," Mordred interrupted, grabbing her throat with a firm grip. Her lean and hand-cut body hovered over her, and her other hand sent her cock slapping down against the soft entrance of her cunt. "And I'm going to conquer this slutty body and make you lose again. It's what you get for coming here looking like this. "

Artoria tried to speak, but only hissed around her hand. She dragged her cock down, grinding the vascular underside against smooth lips, and bit her lip. Her blood tingles with a rush she'd never felt before, and her cock was the hardest it had ever been. It didn't matter that the woman beneath her was a mockery of her father; it was some version of her, and she was the hottest thing Mordred had ever seen. Her body was screaming at her to claim her, and in the middle of the battlefield, amidst the ruins of their unsatisfactory duel, that was exactly what she did.

She guided her cock down, slamming the head up against tight lips and pushing forward from there with a hard buck of her hips. Her stomach flexed as she rolled herself into Artoria, guiding her ridiculously long bitchbreaker with her hand, steadying herself as she went. Her core was tight, and her pussy unwelcoming - but Mordred didn't care, and pushed herself into her with force. She grunted as she drove the hard length into her, piercing through the soft pink of inner lips with her bulbous cock-tip and jamming them out around the girth of her shaft, pushing herself into the tunnel she was so intent on claiming.

She hissed out a breath as she forced her cock inside, ignoring the hissing breaths that left Artoria's lips. Her hand squeezed down lightly on her throat, ensuring that she couldn't voice her protests as she jammed inch after inch of wrist-thick cockmeat into her too-tight depths. She had never been able to take it slow or easy, because anything like that had never been created for her. Everything in her urged her to drive her cock down, impale her core, and conquer her; and that was exactly what Mordred did.

"Fuck, you're tight, " she hissed, her lips curling. She hovered over her, pushing their bodies roughly into line, and forced her cock in with a hard roll of her hips and the guiding press of her hands. Tight walls greeted her push, wrapping around her hard slab of cock and caressing it by the inch. "Way tighter than I expected from this whorish body."

Her face scrunched up as she forced herself down, driving inch after inch of eye-watering girth into her pussy. Tight, warm walls held her, moulding to her shaft, providing a feeling that was truly intoxicating for her. She loved the feel and motion of sex as much as she did fighting, and with a pussy as tight as Artoria's, nothing but electric bliss surged along her nerve-endings. She wanted more, and she wasted no time in getting more. Artoria hissed and fidgeted, both of her hands moving to grab the tough wrist holding her neck, but she accomplished little. She was weak, tired, and beaten. Mordred could do whatever she wanted, and that was exactly what she did.

Mordred had never considered fucking her Father, even if her parental issues had always left her starry-eyed for her. Now, though, she could only wonder why, because she felt amazing, and the sense of satisfaction that welled up in her chest was almost better than any thought of beating her in combat. Almost - this, still, wasn't her Father, but some whorish bunny-girl that was masquerading as her. She deserved nothing but her cock, and that was clearly all her body was fit for.

"Fucking take it, " she hissed, her hips bearing down and her knees digging into the dirt, spreading thick thighs around her. She made room for herself as she impaled her snug cunt on her wrist-thick girth, making Artoria gasp around her hand. Her eyes winced and watered as the bitchbreaker was shoved into her with merciless abandon, unable to protest in her winded state and incapable of doing anything to stop such a massive dick from stretching her out wide.

Artoria grasped at her hand, trying to do something about the involuntary position she was in, and could do nothing at all as Mordred squeezed on her neck and forced herself on her, pinning her buxom frame underneath her chiseled, muscular body, and rammed down her forearm-length of hard cock into her pussy. The blonde writhed, her hips rising and her legs flexing, but there was nothing she could do as she was stretched up and filled with hard cockmeat. Just over half of Mordred's length was buried inside of her, and that, already, seemed to be too much for the King of Knights, as she was hissing and wheezing.

"Can't even handle this much, Father ?" Mordred mocked, scornful and amused at the same time. "Pathetic. You really weren't built like me, were you?"

"I -" Artoria wheezed, "W-wasn't - b-bu-"

Mordred rolled her eyes and bucked her hips hard, jamming just over nine inches of solid cockmeat into her tight pussy, and Artoria gasped. "Be a good whore and moan, Artoria. Don't talk back. "

Artoria continued to wheeze as Mordred rolled her hips and worked at her inner walls, pushing them out around her fat shaft. They flexed and bent around the hard bulk of her girldick, and at other points stretched obscenely as the rubbery head pushed them out far. The King's hips bucked weakly and her spine arched, showing the strain on her body - and Mordred watched every reaction happily, drinking in each sign of her victory with relish.

She pulled herself back with a sharp tug of her hips, extracting her hard shaft out of her clinging insides in a rush of motion. She was hard and brusque, even when she wanted to indulge in the feel of her - but she knew she would have plenty of time to do just that. She was too excited, too rough and tough and merciless, to try and take her time. Her cock dragged out, pulling tightly-clinging walls along with her - and then, without pausing or stopping, reversed her momentum and sawed her fat prick right back inside.

Artoria's spine arched against the hard ground and a low groan left her lips as the shaft re-entered her at a rapid-fire pace, jammed into her tight cunt with as much force as Mordred could muster. Walls spread out around the bulk of her cock, which quickly pushed in past the midsection of her pussy and delved into her steaming depths. Her cocktip led the way, pushing out walls like a fist, then filling all that out with her wrist-thick girth beyond - and Artoria wheezed all the more for it, her eyes watering.

"You look perfect when you're like this," Mordred told her roughly, still smirking. Pleasure rushed along her hard cock, and a sense of triumph was floating around in her breast. "Gasping, wheezing, and filled with my cock."

A rush of power that she'd never felt before travelled along her spine, and it left her feeling as if she were on cloud nine. It was an intense sensation, and one that she actively searched out more of as she drove herself down. She was finally on top of her Father, and in a very physical and very pleasurable sense. It was almost numbing in its intensity, and as a growl built up in her throat she pushed herself down even further still. Her sword of cockmeat pierced through her pussy, stretching her out, claiming the fertile hole as her own property - and, soon, the rest of her body, too.

"Mord -" Artoria panted, the breath driven from her lungs with each forward push. "Sto - hah - d-damn - "

Hips pulled back again, the movements hard and rough. Artoria gasped and squirmed as her pussy was shifted by the passage of the huge cock, which grinded against her vascular rod. Legs flexed and clenched around her hips, but they were brushed aside by the movements of Mordred's body. She sighed at the feeling of the soft skin and silky tights, though, each and every time they rubbed against her baked skin, and bit her lip at the raw sensation running through her.

"I'm going to have fun stretching you out, Father," she told the woman, the hand on her throat getting tighter while the one that had guided her cock lifted up to plant itself down by her chest. Muscles bulged, and though her arm was slender, it looked like a comparative tree-trunk of muscle to Artoria's newfound softness. "And this body? It deserves to be stretched out by me."

Artoria gasped around her hand, her own barely grasping her rippling forearm. She made squeaking noises as her homunculus clone began to move with fervour, her comparatively slow initial pace melting into something more fierce and far more rigorous. Her body leaned over her as her hips arched with a muscular contraction, pulling her cock free with a hard rush, and then driving it right back inside with as much strength as she could offer. It slammed into her aching tunnel with a hard movement, spearing her insides out wide around her throbbing girth and claiming her tunnel bit by bit, inch by inch.

Mordred wasn't exactly skilled at sex, but the knowledge of how to fuck had been implanted inside her upon creation and she'd been allowed enough time at the brothels to learn first-hand practice. Skill, though, had no place in what she was doing, and her hips dragged back with forceful intent and pushed right back down with a hard shove, impaling her as fiercely as she could manage. It was all reckless, savage intent and a dark need to dominate, and she worked herself into a series of hard thrusts and rough slams.

"And such a whorish body this is," she grunted, raising her free hand to slam it down on a large, doughy breast, barely contained by the cups of her leotard. Her hand sanded down into it, her palm moulding to a swathe of velvety cloth and even silkier skin, while fingers stabbed in knuckle-deep. It was the squishiest, most pliable ball of softness she'd ever felt, and a groan left her lips as she dug her fingers in deeper. She groped shamelessly and hungrily, adoring the simple touch of it, while it sent Artoria into mewling whimpers.

Mordred grunted out a laugh as she mauled her fat breast, squeezing and groping with hard, kneading fingers, and a forward-pushing palm. "Hah - you Ruler types aren't summoned, right? You take the body of someone similar and take 'em over?"

Artoria hissed and grunted, her neck still captured and rendering her unable to speak. She flushed hard as her breast was fiercely kneaded, the flesh squished and rolled so hard that the cup twisted out of shape. The cock continued to plunge down into her tight twat all the while, Mordred not missing a single beat in her attempt to fuck her Father into submission. Hard, downward strokes sent her shaft plunging down into her snatch, ramming the soft pink aside in rushes and getting her obscene, twelve-inch girth in as deeply as she possibly could.

"Of course you'd get a body like this," Mordred continued in a grunt, "because there was no way you'd ever get a Kingly body. This is the person you were destined to be, and now fate is finally catching up."

Her cock sawed down, plunging into her tight cunt with hammering strokes that left Artoria visibly reeling. Her pace increased with each passing moment, her hips rising and falling in broad, pummeling arcs, working a good ten inches of hard cockmeat into her tightness again and again. She forced herself through her tight tunnel, shivering herself in as deep as she possibly could and grunting as she did so. It was hard to get her girth all the way into her, and each forward push took considerable effort - but a flex of her abs and a coiling of her muscles managed it easily.

"I wonder if you got this from a pornstar," she said, staring down into her Father's face to observe every last reaction she could find. "Or from a prostitute." She snickered. "Hah. Maybe the outfit came with the body, huh? Just a playboy bunny, dressed for sex?"

She squeezed down with her hand a little harder, cutting off her breathing that much more. "I bet this body is designed for sex. That would explain why you're so shitty at fighting."

Her hips thumped down, jamming in as much as her cock as she could. It was difficult to manage, and she had to bring her hips back far to work her ten inches in and out of her sopping slit - and she tried to ram in the final few inches with each sawing strokes. Her large, pendulous ballsack swung backward and forward, almost smashing into her snatch with each forward stroke. Artoria wheezed and reeled, her eyes watering and rolling up in the same breath, clearly unable to handle what Mordred was dishing out.

Mordred was only getting started.

"Maybe you're loving this," She accused, smirking proudly. "Your body's probably so meant for cock that you're intoxicating." She smirked a little wider, flashing sharp teeth. "You're wet, too, Father. You love my cock, don't you?"

She thrust down hard, drawing a whine from Artoria's mouth. She continued to slam her hips down, desperately thrusting her fat cock into her pussy, reaming her out more and more. Her hand squeezed at her breast, rolling the large, soft mound in her palm with something like adoration - it was a nice tit, and Mordred loved it. She freed it from its insignificant bindings and drove her fingers in to the knuckles before squeezing, and relished the feeling of breastflesh spilling out between them. They were buried in the middle of her smooth skin, giving her plenty of titty to play with - and she did so with as much force as she fucked her.

But it wasn't enough. Mordred wanted to bury every last inch into her, and Missionary just wasn't cutting it.

"Maybe this, " she snarled, "is better suited for this fat-titted body of yours, Father!"

She let go of her tit and her throat and used her hands to grab at plump, shapely legs, wrapping fingers around blue stockings, and then pulled. She hauled her legs up with a flex of her biceps, bringing them up and around her hard-cut body. She pulled her Father forward at the same time, sending her ass bumping against her thighs, and then pushed her legs down. She set shapely calves against her shoulders and pushed down from there, locking the King of Knights into a lewd and thoroughly degrading mating press.

She slammed her entire body down, ramming her cock into her Father's barred cunt and impaling her in a rush that sent her breath wheezing out of her mouth. Though her throat was freshly freed, it was unable to do anything but let spill a strained groan as her daughter slammed the majority of her tremendously thick cock into her tight pussy. She might have been the King of Knights, but she was unable to withstand a forearm-length of wrist-thick girldick being driven into her in the same manner as a nail being pounded by a hammer, and was left whining as a result.

"Much better," Mordred growled, thrusting down with all the force she could muster. Her body, cut like a jagged diamond, rippled with motion as she threw herself into the downward thrusts, sending her hard stomach slapping against plump, upturned thighs, and causing her balls to swing and plop against spongey cunt lips. "A perfect - nnngh - position for a whore like yourself."

Mordred moved like a machine as she rutted into mating-pressed Father, slamming her girlcock down into her pliant depths with as much force as she could muster. It was a hard, reckless pace that could - and did - break women beneath it, and Artoria, the King of Knights herself, was struggling to take it. She looked on the verge of speaking each time, but only gasps and moans left her lips as she was impaled right through. Her fat chest heaved with motion as the breath was driven from her lungs again and again, and it only got worse as Mordred hit her stride.

Muscles flexed and bunched all across her highly-optimized body as she fucked, with every lean muscle thrown into a rictus of effort - just as she was designed. She wasn't built like a brick wall nor particularly bulky, but she was so toned and athletic that every inch of her became sharp, defined. All of it was put to the use of slamming her cock down, and the new position offered her significant more leeway with which to ream out her mother.

Mordred took that and ran with it.

"Almost - fuck! - there," she grunted, adoring the way her hard stomach and taut pelvis slammed down against plump, blue-wrapped thighs. Calves bounced against her torso and over her shoulders, and the feeling of silky stockings rubbing up against her was delightful. "So hurry up and take it, Father -"

Her hips plunged down, and every last inch of her twelve-inch bitch-breaker rammed down into Artoria's snatch. Her rubbery cockhead hit her womb with the force of her Noble Phantasm, sending her womb into shivers and her flesh quivering with motion. She wheezed powerfully, her eyes rolling up in strain, and Mordred just groaned her contentment at finally having herself all the way inside. Walls were plush, their grip silken, and the clinging warmth of it intoxicating; but it didn't slow her, not even for a moment.

"T-too much," Artoria whined, her eyes squeezing down, watering fiercely. "T-too big - !"

Mordred just kept going, working herself into frantic motion, riding the high of her apparent victory and the sheer sluttiness of the position she was fucking her Father in. Or, at least, the gorgeous bunny-girl that claimed to be her Father. Artoria had returned, but not as the King she wanted to fight - rather a slut she wanted to fuck, and Mordred got into the swing of it easily. In her lustful power-fantasy, she felt as if she were designed for this very moment and purpose.

It was a good feeling.

"You're such a slut!" She laughed, mocking her Father as she hammered down into her sopping slit with full-bodied strokes that left her wheezing. Her cockhead smashed against the fleshy entrance of her womb and sent her entire body into terrifying shivers. Her breasts bounced violently, with the freed mound flopping around in fleshy trembles and the other pulling itself free of the cup from the sheer velocity of its bouncing. "That's all you are, Father. This body was never meant to sit on the throne, but to be a concubine for a good King!"

Her breath came out in a grunt as she forced herself in hard, adoring the damp heat that bathed her shaft. It was tight and warm in all the right places, and it washed along her length in intoxicating waves that had her throbbing. It was the best pussy she'd ever felt, and it felt perfectly designed for her shaft. It took it well, too, even if it was strained, and she imagined that no lesser person would have been able to fuck Artoria into submission as she was doing.

The thought only made her more prideful, and she grinned down at the busty woman, watching with amusement as her jumping, bouncing tits smacked against her chin, sending her face rocking. "Someone like me, Artoria. Me, on the throne, with you as my concubine."

She licked her teeth and rolled her hips, sending Artoria into a low whine as her cockhead ground against her womb. "Hah. Has a nice ring to it..."

She stared down fiercely in the next moment. Her hands, which had been bracing herself as she pushed herself in and out of her tight cunt, moved around; one planting to the left of her face and the other on her freshly-bared breasts, squeezing into the soft, squishy orb as if she were kneading dough. Artoria gasped, but, then, every exhale she made was a gasp or a groan; Mordred's pace was unrelenting, the drop of her hips intense, shoving a forearm length of cock into her cunt in one fell swoop, dragging it out, and then doing it all again.

Flesh clapped, with her ass bouncing as balls pounded into it and her thighs smacking hard. Legs flopped as breasts jumped, with every curve on her body thrown into harsh movement. All of it entranced Mordred: she had never been one for feminine things and hated the assumption that she was a girl before a Knight, but she loved the curves she saw. It wasn't envy, but pure, possessive lust, a desire to own as strong as her want for the throne of Camelot.

"You can't even speak," Mordred continued, making sure to leverage every advantage she had. "You're too busy moaning and groaning. Are you enjoying this, Father? Is that it?"

She thrust against her womb hard enough to ensure that Artoria couldn't speak, and the casino bunny did little more than squeal. Her body couldn't move, pinned down as it was, and she was thoroughly at Mordred's mercy.

"You're drunk off my cock," she laughed, uncaring of what she said was true or false or silly - it was all a rush for her. "You love getting fucked by your Son - admit it!"

Artoria just groaned, and Mordred grunted with her. She settled in against her, the hand groping her breast melting away again to set down on her forearm. As strong as she was, it took too much effort to push herself up and down into her cunt. She just dropped down and pressed her smaller, more slender body against her torso, resting on top of her like a lover; but the way her hips moved was anything but. They sawed up and down in harsh, plunging strokes, fucking her hard and fast as she rested her body atop hers.

Hard abs began to flex against the bared, creamy expanse of her midriff, and ground across the smooth, white velvet of her corset. Her face was almost buried in her tits, such was their new height disparity - but, though Mordred hated the height before, now she felt nothing but pure indulgence as she settled herself against tits as big, soft, and fluffy as pillows. Fit for a king , she thought, and nuzzled into them with hungry intent, her teeth moving out to bite and nip as often as she suckled.

Artoria wheezed as she was fucked, clearly incapable of handling the sheer ferocity of it. Her legs were fully pressed down beyond any sense of flexibility, her calves in-line with her head and her voluptuous body smothered by the chiseled musculature of her offspring. Muscles ground against her softnesss as she fucked, and Mordred loved the feeling of all that lush, womanly perfection pressing in against her. She'd admired her Father's hard body, but this was so much better in every possible way.

"Keep moaning like that," she barked, leaving hickeys along her tits with each press, "let me hear your praise."

A dark chuckle welled up in her throat as she hammered down, pounding her like a nail. Flesh clapped and smacked, and where it wasn't covered by her scandalous outfit it began to turn red. Her balls swung backward and forward like a pendulum, slapping down against her fat ass time and time again. They pulled back with slick strings of arousal, dredged up from the depths of Artoria's cunt by her thrusting pillar of cockmeat. Wet, churning noises began to echo out in time with her harsh claps, liquid being battered and roiled like butter as she fucked.

"You never praised me for anything else, after all," Mordred told her, emerald eyes intently watching as her Father's watered and rolled. "Now, I'm going to make you praise my cock as I break you into my concubine."

Muffled thumps and whumps filled the air as she set herself against her Father, pummeling her soft snatch while her body used her torso as a cushion. She grunted as she fucked, her hips rising up in high arcs and slamming down with the entirety of her wrist-thick cock, turning the cunt into her personal sheath - but the thrusts became shallow, their depth limited by her sheer length. It wasn't a problem, especially not as her cocktip was able to use her spongy cervix as a cushion, but it made her want to pull back and fuck harder for it.

Thwaps echoed out as she hammered down again and again, and a feral grin was directed up at her gasping, weary Father. Their faces were as close as they had ever been, and it was a truly entrancing sight. Ruler Artoria was stunning as she was womanly, and her beauty certainly wasn't in question. As much as Mordred wanted to dominate her into the muddy ground and take her like a whore, she was almost too pretty to be ruined like that.

And, really, she mused, a King wouldn't waste her concubines, would she?

Grinning, she leaned up as she thrust hard, driving herself in like an impaling lance, and then remained still. At the same time her head aligned itself with Artoria's, and lips quickly came slamming down. The older blonde released a pained yelp as she was suddenly and forcefully kissed, and hands moved up to start scrabbling weakly at the defined muscles of her backside. She kissed her hungrily, shoving a tongue down into her mouth as if she were trying to suck on her tonsils, drawing out plaintive mewls from her Father.

Her cock remained still, but she rolled her hips and started to work at her insides in wet, churning motions, shoving out walls and rubbing against her womb in toe-curling twitches. Her tongue went in as deep as it possibly could, and when Artoria's reared up, she shoved it down with a forceful motion. She didn't give her any room to move, and dominated her mouth with a thoroughness that was almost depraved. She tasted everything in reach, probing and licking, then pulled back only to bite down on her lip so hard that she almost drew blood. Everything was so soft that Mordred wanted more, and, given her newfound authority, she was able to take her lips again, and again, and again.

"Fuck," she said between lustful kisses and sharp bites, "you've got a good taste. A King could get used to this." She laughed again, this time pulling on a lower lip with her own. "And that King is me, so I think I will."

She snorted out a laugh as she watched Artoria writhe on her cock, her mind clearly unused to having something so big and thick rolling through her, stirring her insides up like a stirring-stick. She let herself rest against her large chest and soft stomach as she rolled forward, taking it slow for the first time but doing so just to antagonize her Father all the more - and it worked so sinfully well that her blood boiled with possessive lust.

"Such a sex-worthy body," Mordred praised lewdly, "Good hips, amazing tits, nice waist, perfect legs - Haven't seen your ass yet, though." Another smirk. "Let's make it clap, Father."

It was amusing how much she got a rush out of the silly words, but they, along with the look on Artoria's face, made her feel good.

"Mordred," Artoria stammered, voice hoarse and pitiful, but Mordred wasn't listening - not even close. She barely even pulled back as she started to tug at her shapely, womanly body, grabbing a fistful of her hair and using her incredible strength to grab at a childbearing hip and tug. The woman flopped out of the mating press as she twisted and turn her like a doll, like nothing more than a prostitute she'd find in a whore house, and pushed her around. She didn't even remove her cock, and the act of it rolling inside of her sopping tightness left the blonde gasping - the sheer friction of it enough to hit her hard.

Mordred didn't miss a beat. She forced Artoria onto her hands and knees, not at all caring for her dignity, and just manhandled her curvy body as the whim hit her. Artoria was only barely able to brace herself on her hands, and she was gasping pitifully as Mordred's cock shifted out her insides. Her breasts swung down, freed from any sort of bondage, and moved like milk-filled bags that drew the eye; but, much as she'd have loved to grope them, she had something else to take her fancy.

"Fuck, this ass, " she praised, smashing her open palm down on the fat, jutting curve of Artoria's rear. The blonde threw her head back and groaned like a whore, only for Mordred's other hand to wrap around her long ponytail and lash it between her fingers. "Fucking fantastic. This body really was built to be a whore, huh?"

She bucked her hips hard and sent her shaft slamming on through, driving it into her sopping depths with the same lethal force as before. She was like a stallion in heat, unable to resist the urges coming from her cock nor the insistent demands of her body, and fully committed to the incestuous acts with wild abandon. She hammered against her ass in satisfying thumps, adoring the way the flesh instantly squished against her taut pelvis, and sighed shakily at the feeling of soggy skin bulging out against her.

"Maybe you were always meant to be one," Mordred continued, her hand casually playing with Artoria's ass. Fingers sank in as deep as they did with her tits, and she was able to grope and knead the blue-covered flesh with utter abandon. The more she played with her ass, the more she kneaded it along with her rough palm, the more Artoria seemed to whine and groan, which provided her with nothing but pleasure. "Maybe you're finally coming out, huh? Or, maybe -"

She slapped her ass again, adoring the way the flea jumped up and rippled outward from the point of impact like water, and groaned, "-Maybe, you knew I'd be here, Ruler, and you wanted me to do this to you? Lost on purpose, just so that I could claim you like the bitch you are?"

"N-n - h-hah! "

"Thought so," she drawled, slapping her ass with the same strength that she swung her sword. It jumped up in a high, fleshy arc, and with it came a deepening of Artoria's spine. She wasn't used to any of it, and it was entirely overwhelming her. "You know, for a slut that inherited a pornstar's body, I'm surprised that you're so… weak. I'd expected more resistance from you."

Her words were met with another groan as her cock plowed velvet depths more than the woman could bear, and she smirked with pride. She might not have been using the sword she wanted to, but her cock was taming her mother better than any combat they'd ever had - and she was loving it. It filled her with a rush like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she seemed invincible in the heat of the moment; nothing could touch her.

"But I don't care," Mordred said, laying into her Father with harder, deeper strokes, alternating between hard slaps that sent assflesh bouncing and simply squeezing down into the fluffy mass and kneading so hard that the blue-coated flesh bulged out between her fingers in groan-inducing rolls of softness. "Because from now on? You're my whore."

She thrust against her ass, sending it bouncing violently. The assflesh dipped against her hips, pushing flat as she thumped into the jutting mass, the sheer force of her blows sending it billowing out around her. It caressed her pelvis and almost moulded to it whenever she came to a stop, but she thrust harder and harder with each passing moment, delving desperately into her womanly embrace - and that, in turn, had her ass cratering inward, the skin going concave.

Artoria's body rocked forward, her breasts waving underneath her like milk-milled bags, and she gasped powerfully. Her torso began to lower as the hammer-like blows took their toll, and her spine began to deepen. It was a slutty curve that had her ass pushing out, almost as if she were a bunny in heat - and Mordred latched onto that as if starved, happy to abuse whatever she could. She pulled on golden hair like a leash, uncaring of how hard she was, and roughly pulled her Father's head back until she was staring up and moaning at the sky - and at the same time, pummeled her ass into a soft cushion for her own pleasure.

"You really are just a bunny in heat," she laughed, her free hand abandoning the curve of her ass to grab at a fleshy, dangling breast. Her hips smashed against the doughy rump and compressed it downward, forming a perfect sheet of sponginess for her to fuck against. "Desperate for cock. Desperate for my cock."

She smirked as she laid into her, pulling harder on her hair, dragging her backward even as her body naturally lowered itself down. The curve of her spine was almost a perfect downward sweep, with her ass pushed up as if begging to be mounted - and Mordred did just that, again, and again. The fluffy white bunny tail set on the small of her back bobbed with comical motion, while the floppy ears on her head began to twist and droop. Every inch of her body was shaken by the titanic thrusts, and any attempt at remaining Kingly was entirely lost for Artoria.

"You know what?" Mordred breathed, her voice starting to hike, "maybe my wish to the Grail will be to keep you with me. I'll - fuck - live here forever, and you can be my bedwarmer for the rest of my days."

She chuckled to herself as she rammed into her ass, sending it clapping and bouncing. Artoria groaned whorishly as the breath was driven from her lungs, and the sound came out in a hoarse rush as her neck was stretched to painful, eye-watering degrees. Mordred's hand was tight on her hair, keeping it bound like a pair of reigns, refusing to relent as she reamed out her snatch.

"I had other wishes," she patted, "wanted to fight you properly, and this - this was way to shitty to count, but I'd be happy to trade that just to keep this perfect fucking body underneath of me."

Artoria groaned as inches of eye-watering girth were shoved through her velvet snatch, roughly extracted, and then pushed in all over again in an endless rhythm. The fucking was pure intensity, the act of sex boiled down into raw, primal need. Mordred was made to continue the Pendragon line, to breed heirs at her whim and leisure, and that was exactly what happened as the sexual bout continued. Each thrust was titanic and mind-numbing, rendering Artoria senseless, and the raw friction of slamming her vascular slab of dickmeat into such a perfect cunt wore at Mordred's incredible stamina as well.

As her cock began to throb with need and her balls ached with desire she applied more and more pressure, exerting her awesome strength down on the busty version of Artoria. She forced her down into the ground with each forward shove, her hips colliding with her ass in ringing thumps, the hand on her breast squeezing painfully tight, and the one on her hair coiling around without purpose. She panted hard as she rammed her vascular log of girldick into her dripping quim, driving her cocktip into her womb with lethal intent, sending the entire tunnel into intense flutters and spasms.

"Maybe I'll just - f-fuck - I'll just use this body for what it was meant for," Mordred said without really speaking to the woman beneath her, just fucking her body into the ground with each forward stroke. "Rulers are still human, right? You stole some poor bitch's body, after all, so you're not a spirit like me."

The hand on Artoria's hair left it in an instant, allowing the woman to breath and fill her lungs desperately. Her head flopped forward, but Mordred hooked her freed limb around her neck to prevent and motion. The inside of her elbow hooked around the hollow of Artora's throat, and even though she didn't apply any pressure, the biceps pressing in to either end made the blonde's breath hike. The other hand, instead, moved to grab a shapely hips, and she continued to grunt with effort as she pummelled her hips down, fucking Artoria into the ground with each stroke. The King's hand gave way as it became too much, her strength failing her against the force of nature that was Mordred, and she collapsed.

Mordred was on her every step of the way, the wild-haired blonde never pausing, never ceasing. As Artoria fell on her front, breasts squishing out beside her in rolls of sideboob and her legs unfolding out behind her, her bastard daughter was quick to set herself against her. She just kept fucking, pressing down against her mostly-naked back, mounting her prone-bone and locking her underneath her. Her arm went tight, holding Artoria's head in something like a choke-hold, ensuring compliance as she pounded her throbbing slab into her tight pussy.

"Your body can get pregnant, unlike us Servants," she told her, speaking out of assumption rather than fact, but the way Artoria's breath wheezed indicated some truth. "And I bet I'm - hah, fuck, you're tight! - v-virile enough to knock you up."

"M-mor - pl- eaa aaaah -" Artoria's words failed her yet again as she was fucked harder than she'd surely ever been in her life, her every curve set trembling, her ass bouncing with lewd ripples, and her hair flopping around her elegant face like a dockside whore. She was incapable or protesting, and Mordred didn't let her anyhow - she just tightened the hold on her neck, locking her down nice and tight as she buried her face into the crook of her neck.

"That's what I'm going to do," Mordred spoke, but the words were only for her own benefit. Her hips moved up and down, driving her throbbing mast as deep as she could with as much force as she could manage. She was strained, aching for release, but not quite there yet. "Wish f-for you to be mine, and breed this body however and - hhhngh - w-whenever I want."

Her eyes almost glazed over as she threw herself into a fit of reckless fucking, driving her engorged shaft down into Artoria's tight insides with flesh-clapping force. She fucked her like a stallion, throwing every last bit of her muscular strength into it in those last few moments, showing off her sheer strength in the power of her blows and the maneuvering of her hips. Abs flexed along her backside and muscles pressed against her bunny-suited body, almost as if Mordred's body was trying to show off just how much of a stud she was to the perfectly breedable woman beneath her.

"You won't be my Father anymore, b-but the mother to my kids," Mordred breathed into her ear, and indulged in the moans she heard. She never wanted to be a father to kids, not really, not after what she'd gone through, but every single bit of her body was telling her that it was the best thing to do - and with Artoria looking so perfect, Mordred didn't want anything else. "A-and - fuck - a-almost there -"

Her cock throbbed powerfully, her balls tightening and rising, and she hissed out a strained breath. She thrust down hard, her hips slamming into her ass with finality and her vascular girlcock almost driving through her cervix. She bottomed out completely, and at the same time she grunted fiercely. The hand on Artoria's childbearing waist tightened and the arm around her neck squeezed, her biceps bulging with effort as she hauled on her head and locked it down tight; ensuring there wasn't an inch between her head and her Father's, keeping it pinned in place.

"Take my seed, you royal slut!" She almost roared, a sound of pure, undiluted triumph. Every muscle on her lean and athletic body tightened up as she held herself down, and the arm around Artoria's neck became so tight she constricted any effort at breathing. The former King-turned-casino-bunny girl was locked down tight, her voluptuous body pinned, the creampie now a forgone conclusion.

When Mordred came, she did so with the same intensity as her fucking. It was almost like her Saber powers in nature; a potency so intense that it transcended a normal climax and came out like a hurricane of force. Her cock throbbed with violent intensity and launched out jets of seed, like a hose under too-high pressure, sending it shooting out against her cervix hard enough to bruise. It quivered as it took the full force of her load right at point-blank range, sending Artoria into hoarse, strained moans.

Cum quickly overwhelmed the barrier to her very human and very much vulnerable womb in no time at all. She was shoved in too deep, her cockhead lodged against the fleshy barrier and using it as a cushion, for any other outcome. The weight of the fluid alone was too much to keep out, and when combined with the jet-like force of it, there was no chance at all. Her womb was flooded with the stuff in seconds, the hyper-potent babybatter smashing into the very back of it with the force of a punch and washing out in harsh sweeps.

"That's fucking it," Mordred hissed, applying pressure to Artoria's neck entirely without thinking, choking her just a little bit more. She shivered as her cock throbbed, sending gushes of liquid warmth into the woman's untilled fields, seeding her thoroughly. Cum conquered her baby-making cavern in moments, filling up every available inch in rich seed, and was quickly sent out in hot rushes. It flowed through her rippling channel like a river, blasting pink folds with her raw virility, shoving them out around the weight of the dense liquid.

Her large, swollen nutsack tensed with each throb, dredging up yet more seed and sending it through her meaty pipe. It was an unending wave of impregnating white, and it felt like liters of the stuff was dumped into her fertile cunt. More was ready to come, her orgasm unending, and Mordred just groaned with blissful relief as she rolled her hips and shoved more and more of her baby-making seed into her Father's body. Eggs were drowned in the stuff, drenched in sheer virility that it was impossible to pull back from it, pushing the oppressive baby-making from thought to reality to even how many kids are coming out of it?

Creamy seed was released at a rapid-fire pace, bombarding her insides in warmth, and Artoria remained locked down the entire time. It was as if she came by the bucketful, stuffing her with load after load of virile jizz, plastering insides with so much white that it couldn't be contained. By the time her orgasm started to taper off it had already started to gush out in thick ropes of impossibly sticky cum, painting stockings in white and messing the ground beneath their nethers. Mordred didn't care, though; she just indulged in the bliss of it, took satisfaction in her victory, and let the pleasure of a good fuck and an even better climax fill her up.

"You know," she told Artoria, still not releasing the tight hold of her arm nor the locking press of her body, "I think this is the beginning of something good…"

Ruler Artoria gurgled in her defeat, too stuffed with cum to even think properly.

Mordred relaxed on her Master's loveseat, relishing the crinkled leather as if it were a throne. It was a nice, comfy seat, and one that she liked to relax in when she was at home, doing nothing but chilling out and streaming shows. Her Master was out doing… whatever, leaving her to throw her legs up, toss her head back, and just rest.

And, also, have her cock out, letting the twelve-inch pillar stand up tall and proud, while the bunny suit-clad form of Ruler Artoria went to work on it, dragging her large breasts along the massive shaft and slobbering over it with her mouth. Her every touch was loving, the press of her lips reverential, the gaze in her eyes worshipful. Emerald orbs looked up at the length slab with nothing short of praise, and whenever she gazed at Mordred herself, it morphed into pure adoration. She loved Mordred through and through, and Mordred couldn't lie and say she didn't love her in turn.

She was broken, her body and mind thoroughly ravaged and fucked into submission by her massive girlcock, turning her into an adoring woman for her pleasure and hers alone. She was her concubine, her wife, the person that warmed her bed, greeted her warmly in the mornings, and cared for her with something close to worship, and Mordred drank it all up. She'd never, not even in her fantasies, imagined that she'd have Artoria acting so lovey-dovey, fawning over everything she did, treating her like her Liege, and slobbering over her cock with ravenous love.

It was better than she imagined, in truth. She wanted to properly fight and beat her dad, but this? This was a far better option. She had some semblance of a fight, and then conquered Ruler Artoria in both body and mind with a footlong of cock and sheer sexual prowess, exerted over a week of non-stop fucking - and now she was hers, broken and hooked, her every desire dedicated to the worship of her King. She'd broken her in, filled her womb with a baby, impregnating her beyond a shadow of a doubt and ensuring that Mordred was the one to come out on top.

Sure, Mordred wasn't really a King, and her Master's place wasn't a castle, but life was good.

It was hard to be disappointed, really. Working with the Red Team, while not her initial intention, had gotten her the woman of her dreams, and her success had granted her a wish from the Grail - and there was nothing sweeter than being able to get her and her new slut into a life together, neither at risk of being returned to… wherever it was they were summoned from. Really, it was hard not to find total pleasure in her situation as she reclined there, kicking back and allowing Artoria to kneel in front of her chair and pleasure her cock as if her entire existence was dedicated to it.

She set a hand on the busty blonde's golden hair and just let it rest there. Artoria didn't need to be beckoned along; there was no way to make her more eager for it. She happily slurped on her cock, pressing her lips down against the seemingly ever-hard girth, rubbing the plush muscles across the vascular underside. She left saliva running down in slick patches as she went, but she only got messier as time went on. She didn't care to be Kingly, to be clean or proper, and just messily serviced her Master with the loving attentions of her mouth.

Her hands hefted her massive breasts up by the underside and dragged them along her shaft with practiced finesse, as Mordred had put her to the task of learning how to give a good titfucking - and she did so amazingly. She handled her triple-D cup chest with marvellous ease, dragging the soft, milk-heavy mounds up and down her shaft without pausing, pressing the smooth flesh in against the flanks of her throbbing cock and applying groan-inducing pleasure. They seemed larger every day, or so Mordred liked to imagine, as they filled out in preparation for Mordred's child - but maybe it was just her imagination, but she didn't care. They felt amazing, and Artoria was perfectly adept at using them.

The older blonde stroked her cock as if she had no higher purpose in the world, while her lips pressed down and suckled at the pulsating underside, lavishing it with her loving adoration. She nuzzled into it, rubbing her nose against it, trying to get as close as possible. She kissed it reverentially, her fat lips pulling at hard cockflesh, moulding her mouth to it as she rose. Her breasts bobbed up, engulfing wide swathes of the massive cock in even more massive tits, surrounding it in a sea of jiggling white that was absolutely intoxicating to look at.

"Eyes on me, baby," Mordred commanded, and Artoria diligently flicked her gorgeous green eyes up and locked them on her identical pair. A thrill of pure authority tingled up her spine, and the younger of the two rolled her shoulders to work off the sensation.

Artoria didn't break the lock of their eyes as she began to set her tongue against the shaft, rising up along the underside in long, thorough licks that left saliva dripping down into her swollen cleavage. She lapped at it hungrily, running the flat of her tongue across the broad, wrist-thick cock as fast as she could, almost desperate for the touch. It took three licks just to cover the width of it and just as many to rise along the length, but her tits made up for the slack as they bounced along, rubbing against hard dickmeat and massaging the drool that pooled there into the flesh.

Mordred sighed with pleasure, and Artoria's eyes glazed over in the knowledge that she was doing a good job. As she hefted her tits up and down in jiggling patterns, stroking her Master's for the sole purpose of bringing her to satisfaction, her mouth licked its way up to her rubbery crown. She wrapped her plump lips around it and, still not breaking eye contact, once more taking it into her mouth. She was almost greedy for it, shoving herself onto the throat-clogging cock with hunger, swallowing up inch after inch and bathing it in slick heat.

Mordred reclined there, gently stroking the hair between two bunny ears, indulging in her victory, in the feeling of Artoria's body, and the authority she now claimed. For her, everything was casual - her jean-shorts thrown across the table, unneeded, her red jacket slung behind the chair, forgotten, and her chiseled, toned body left naked, save for the white, terrycloth tube-top that contained her breasts. Artoria, instead, was in a frenzy of motion, worshipping her cock lewdly, slobbering all over it as if she were a paid slut. Saliva poured from her lips as she gobbled up swathes of cockmeat and pulled it between her lips, and the drool that rolled down was quickly collected by her cleavage and lathered into the hard flesh of the shaft she was titfucking.

Breasts rose and fell, caressing and rubbing, her silky skin practically gliding. The flesh was squishy and soft, and it jiggled constantly around her lofty pillar - but her hands were firm, holding them steady even as they bulged and dipped in her hands, and pushed the hefty weights against her with ease. They moulded to the length, enveloping it in the slick heat of her sloppy cleavage, holding it like a sheath of doughy flesh. She applied pressure constantly as she dragged her tits along, squeezing down in ways that made Mordred grunt out her pleasure, and forcing titflesh together so deeply that it was hard to tell where one started and the other ended.

Artoria continued to slobber over her cock at the same time, somehow multitasking the lewd acts with ease. Tits bounced as she slurped and suckled on the hard pillar, moulding her soft lips to it and pulling hard. Her tongue lapped within the wet heat of her mouth, cheeks rubbing against it, and delved down so deep that her face hit her bulging chest and her throat wrapped around the dense girth. She sputtered and gurgled like a slut, eyes watered and remained happily trained upward, and she choked on her own spit - nothing like the King she was supposed to be, and everything like what Mordred wanted her to be.

She was hers, now, and Mordred took good care of her property. Her gorgeous outfit was preserved for her perverse enjoyment, and she boasted lingerie for her to indulge in. Her hair was left perfect, her body treated well, nothing like a slave and everything like a royal concubine. It was a power trip she'd never experienced before, and the authority it filled her with left her tingling. She had her Father worshipping her cock, and there was nothing better.

The fact that Artoria was well and truly pregnant with her kid was just the icing on the cake, really. She was already anticipating seeing her first child born so that she could fuck another one into her - and then another, and then another, an endless rhythm of Pendragon breeding that would ensure her dominance for years to come.

It was a good life, she mused, a smile playing at her lips. Whoever Artoria had taken this body from, whatever pornstar, whore, or unsuspecting bombshell blonde it was… well, they wouldn't be getting it back for a long, long time to come.

"All right," she declared suddenly, patting her lap. "Get that ass bouncing."

Artoria didn't even hesitate. Mordred's word was her command, and she let her messy breasts fall apart, saliva stringing between them, and pulled her mouth of her shaft with an obscene slurp. She breathed heavily as she rose up, drool hanging from her chin like icicles, and she quickly straddled her loving Master's laps with her sinfully wide hips. Mordred cupped them casually, adoring the feeling of such perfect curves, and adoring even more the fact that she could touch them so easily - she owned Artoria, and her body was hers.

Artoria pulled the strap of her leotard aside, bearing her sopping wet and hungry cunt to their eyes, and slammed down on her bitchbreaker with practiced ease. It sent her howling, but it was a sound of pure lust and absolute bliss - she loved it as much as Mordred loved her body, and even though it strained her insides and left her panting, she couldn't get enough of it. Luckily, the messy-haired blonde had a seemingly endless supply of stamina and loads by the dozen, and if there was anyone capable of taming and breaking in the former King of Knights, it was her.

"A very good life," she mused aloud, and leaned back casually as bunny girl Artoria started to bounce her fat ass along her lofty pillar, swallowing it up by the inch and slamming her curvy body down on her lap with claps so loud they filled the entire house. Breasts bounced directly in front of her face, hair flopped, and green eyes stared down with utter adoration for Mordred, and the homunculus could only bare her teeth in a snaggle-toothed grin of triumph.