Throwable Dirtbag

Last night was a whirlwind. Lorette's body, melded to mine across every angle of her sprawling bedroom, was beyond addictive. Her dew, an unfiltered aphrodisiac straight out of doujinshi, fueled me past my limits, letting me last hours longer than I thought possible.

And her lactation—silky, sweet, blooming from her verdant breasts—blew my mind, a dryad's gift that bound us in primal rhythm. Three climaxes in five minutes had pushed me to my edge, but Ophelia-knows-how-long later, I'd lost count, collapsing into her petal-strewn bed.

Surprisingly, my body felt no soreness, my cock unmarred despite the marathon. Lorette's dew, with its healing hum, must've woven its magic through me.

Her bed, soft as a cloud, kept me under longer than usual—my 8 AM alarm forgotten, the clock now reading 10:30. The thought of waking to a buxom dryad in nothing but an apron split my brain, my morning erection already straining at the idea.

A bathrobe waited by the bedside, its fabric carrying a faint scent—floral, like a meadow after rain, evoking a novelty perfume shop. Donning it, I scanned her room again. Plants thrived in every corner—ferns spilling from pots, vines curling up the walls—batteries for her dryad essence, fueling her life and lust.

Her flower shop made sense now, a nexus of her power. The mansion's blend of sleek appliances, minimalist furniture, and lush greenery screamed wealth—generational, perhaps, or earned through her floral empire. It felt like vanity entwined with nature, a dryad's paradox.

"Good morning, slowpoke," Lorette greeted as I entered the kitchen, her voice a sultry hum. She was a vision—nothing but a sheer apron, its fabric straining against her curves, her verdant breasts spilling at the edges, hips swaying as she cooked. The air carried the sizzle of sausage and steak, golden mashed potatoes bubbling in a pan.

"Says the one who drained me dry," I shot back, chuckling as I slid behind her, hands hovering teasingly before gripping the counter, caging her in. Her petal-pink hair brushed my cheek, her scent—wildflowers and dew—stirring my arousal.

"Mmm… bad boy," she purred, leaning back, her pillowy rear grinding against my growing erection. Her movements were deliberate, a slow grind as she tended the stove's low heat.

We shared a lingering kiss, lips melding with a passion that threatened to ignite the room. Her hand darted for my cock, but I caught her wrist, unyielding. "No. Keep cooking, lady."

She smirked, swaying her hips in a hypnotic rhythm, daring me to break. The tease earned her a swift, playful slap on her rear, the sting drawing a soft "Ahn~" from her lips, her orange eyes glinting with delight.

Breakfast was hearty—scrambled eggs, sausage, steak, and those perfect potatoes—laced with playful banter and a quick, heated round on the dining table, her dew-slick body arching under me.

We parted ways after I dropped her at the mall, her wink lingering as I drove back to the city. An urge tugged me toward Dawson-11, Sky's convenience store, my feet moving before my mind caught up. I hadn't bathed since last night; I must've reeked of Lorette's floral dew, a scent clinging to my skin like a secret.

"Ugh!" A woman's grunt hit me as the store's doors slid open, the chime drowned by tension. A hulking man loomed over the aisles, his bulk dwarfing the shelves—a seven-foot titan, easily four hundred pounds of sagging fat, his presence a stain on the air.

"Shut up! I asked for meat, you give me fucking meat!" From ten meters away, I saw him glaring beyond the counter, his fist raised like a hammer poised to fall.f

"Please, stop!" A guttural plea confirmed my dread. It was Sky, her voice raw, desperate. She looked tiny against him—one-fifth his size, her compact muscles no match for his mass.

Of all the women I'd met—Yulia's ethereal grace, Lorette's verdant fire—Sky was the smallest, yet her strength had always shone through. Now, she cowered in fear trying to get distance between me and this guy.

"Useless hole! Can't even give food for your fucking husband!" His voice was a thick, venomous growl, veins bulging at his temples. Sweat soaked his unwashed wife-beater, cargo shorts straining against his bulk.

The sight—textbook desperation for abuse churned my stomach, bile rising. My heart pounded, instincts screaming as I closed the distance, the store's fluorescent hum fading under the roar of my pulse. 

I take out my phone and put it immediately on video as I walk toward them, my hand outstretched to catch the male's heavy fist. I'll have this as extra evidence against his abuse until we get the camera footage for the police. 

"I oughta rip you apart and eat you piece by piece!" the brute roared, his fist descending like a sledgehammer toward Sky. I lunged forward, instincts sharp, and shoved his palm mid-swing, redirecting the blow.

A splintering crash shattered a section of the counter, wood shards and plastic fragments spraying like shrapnel across the store's fluorescent-lit floor. Sky recoiled, scrambling back, gasping and trembling in terror.

The orcish giant wheeled on me, his seven-foot bulk towering over the aisles, his sweat-soaked wife-beater clinging to rolls of fat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he bellowed, voice thick with venom.

"Didn't see the 'closed' sign, asshole? Need groceries so bad you're breaking and entering, fuckface?" His bloodshot eyes burned with hate, contempt oozing from every pore as I craned my neck to meet his gaze, my pulse hammering.

"You call yourself a man, hitting women?" I shot back, a vein throbbing in my temple. Rage ignited in my chest, a molten fire stoked by his crass words, designed to drag anyone into his orbit, baiting a brawl.

My fists clenched, knuckles bleaching, instincts screaming to slam into him. But his size—four hundred pounds to my lean muscle—and the risk to Sky's store held me back. A fight could wreck her livelihood, and I'd be damned if I let that happen.

"Get lost, you tub of failure," I growled, my voice primal, piercing his soul with a glare that refused to flinch. My phone, aimed directly at him, had recorded his assault, every word and swing captured for the world to see. Standing my ground only fueled his fury, his face purpling, veins bulging like cords.

"Huh? What's a pipsqueak with a bit of meat talking about?" he snarled, stepping closer, his stench—sour sweat and stale beer—churning my stomach. "Hole, you cheating on me with this fuckboy?" The word hole, spat with such venom, sliced through me.

Thinking it in lust, like with Lorette's teasing heat, was one thing; hurling it with hate, stripping Sky of her strength, was a gut-punch. My hands trembled, clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms, the urge to protect her surging like a tide.

"No! He's just a customer! I barely know him—" Sky's voice cracked, her small frame trembling behind the shattered counter, gray eyes wide with desperation.

"Lies!" the brute bellowed, his voice a thunderclap of delusion, thick with drunken vitriol.

"Wondered why you're pulling in more cash lately. Shaking your ass for his shrimp dick, huh? Got him hooked with that slutty wiggle?" His accusations, baseless and venomous, spewed like bile, each word fueling his unhinged tirade. The absurdity of it—his bloated ego spinning fantasies—twitched my lips into a grim smile, a mix of disbelief and defiance.

"W-what?! I-I'd never!" Sky stammered, her voice breaking. "How could you—"

"So what if she did?" I cut in, voice sharp, eyes locked on the brute's bloodshot glare. "Yeah, she seduced me because her husband is a useless tub of walking disappointment that only knows how to fuck like a caveman." My defiant smirk pushed him past reason, his face purpling, veins pulsing like ropes across his sweaty brow.

He'd thrown the first punch at Sky, splintering her counter—anything I did now was self-defense. Sky could vouch that I was protecting her, shielding her shop from this seven-foot slab of rage. My phone, still recording on my off-hand, captured every word, every threat.

"Grrr… you think you're smart, human?" he snarled, his stench—sour sweat and stale liquor choking the air as he loomed closer, dwarfing the aisles. "I'll impale you on a stick and fuck this hole right in front of you!" His fist reared back, a meaty hammer primed to crush, the fluorescent lights glinting off his knuckles.

The brute's stance was a mess—legs splayed wide, footing unsteady, a hulking target begging to be toppled. This wasn't a sanctioned fight; it was survival. His fist swung down, a clumsy hammer, and I drove a heavy kick straight between his legs, crushing his jewels with surgical force. "Urk…! You son of a bitch…!" he choked, frothing at the mouth, his breath stolen as he staggered back, his attack collapsing. His sloppy balance betrayed him, and he crashed onto his ass, a four-hundred-pound embarrassment sprawled across the store's scuffed linoleum.

"This is self-defense," I declared, voice cold and steady, stepping back to reach Sky. She slumped over the shattered counter, her small frame trembling, gray eyes glassy with shock and fear.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on her pale face. I scanned for the store's emergency hotline—a red button near the register—and pressed it hard, triggering an alert to the nearest police station. In this world, where tech and magic intertwined, response times averaged two minutes. I needed to hold the line until then.

"I recorded everything," I said, turning to the brute, each word carved with finality. "Your threats, your abuse—all on my phone. The store's cameras caught it too." My glare pinned him, his bloodshot eyes quivering as he clutched his groin, trembling on the floor.

"Rot in prison." For insurance, he needed to stay down—no chance of him bolting before the cops arrived. I handed my phone to Sky, her fingers shaking as she took it, and advanced on the orcish giant, his bulk still writhing in pain.

He was struggling to rise, a pathetic grunt escaping his lips. I didn't hesitate—another kick slammed into his groin, doubling him over, followed by a clean, powerful straight to his flat nose. The crack of bone against my fist echoed, a sickening snap as his skull gave way.

He collapsed flat on his back, eyes rolling, unconscious, his massive frame sprawled like a felled beast across the aisle. The store's air hung heavy, thick with the brute's sour stench and the faint hum of the emergency alert.