Witch With A Capital B (Butt Abuse)

Inazuma finally finds a period of peace long enough for Raiden Shogun to go on vacation, but as usurpers are harder to kill than cockroaches, the throne isn’t left empty long before a familiar face comes back - and she’s bringing hell with her.

This story is being uploaded to my Blogger for archival purposes. It was originally posted to my DeviantArt on September 14, 2023.

First things first, MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING: This story contains extensive and recurrent mentions of the ending of the Inazuman storyline of Genshin Impact. Reader discretion is HEAVILY advised, and it is STRONGLY recommended to have full knowledge of the canon story up to the end of Chapter 2, Act 3 as prerequisite material.

Secondly, and more importantly, THIS STORY IS NOT MINE! Or at least, not entirely. It was actually commissioned this past September from CrookedIsStrange, though I did make some pretty extensive edits to strengthen the narrative and add further exposition, context, and fun little gags in the dialogue on the part of every single character featured in it. Crooked has given me express permission to share it here on ArchiveOfOurOwn, and in accordance with their being the one who wrote the majority of it to start with, it is entirely unchanged from the original DeviantArt upload on their gallery. This fic was very much an odd duck among the stories they prefer to write personally, but if you do find you've enjoyed it upon finishing it, I highly recommend checking out and supporting the rest of their work by clicking or tapping the link above to their dA page! You'll need to have an account there and to of course be of legal age to read almost all of it since it's mature content, of course, but other than that, you'd do well to check out Crooked's work if you enjoy embarrassed nude women, spanking, and wedgies especially!

In no small part thanks to my own contributions, this story came out more or less absolutely perfectly for my own very subjective tastes, and I couldn't be happier with the final commissioned product. The only thing missing is the involvement of my personal favorite Genshin girl, Ganyu, but since she's from Liyue, her absence was sadly unavoidable. If you wanted to see her own gloriously thicc full moons falling victim to tons of slapstick injury, though, worry not - I'm already making plans for a separate hotbuns fic with her as the primary (and only) victim! I still have a lot of prepaid commissions to get through before then, of course, but I can promise here and now that if Teyvat's cutest Cocogoat thought she was safe from my canon-soiling depravity, she'd be VERY sadly mistaken. ;P

Genshin Impact and all characters and properties mentioned (c) Hoyoverse

Original post on DeviantArt:
Genshin Impact: Witch with a Capital B (COMM)

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Witch With A Capital B

by Skaea

Contains: */F and F/F butt abuse, including sharp objects, animal bites, insect stinging, burning, electricity, wedgies, freezing, kancho/anal insertion, and spanking, along with mentions of death including implied major character death. NSFW.

 

Word Count: 13,849

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Eternity was too long to go without a day off. Raiden was skeptical: it’d be the first time Inazuma’s shogun went on vacation… literally. In the history of history, the godly gal woke up thinking about preserving the timeless integrity of her nation and went to bed on that same, dull note. Only once the Traveller had fanned away her dreams of keeping her citizens under permanent obsolescence did she start thinking about kicking her feet up.

Shimmering, blue lagoons, gorgeous views from the mountaintops and reservations for Yun Jin’s ‘dinner and a show,’ ‘send us a postcard from Liyue!’ The Traveler even helped her pack. In all ways that matter, she had her to thank for such a peaceful transition of power.

The days that had followed had been largely uneventful. It was business as usual, and business was booming now that the archipelago had been allowed to open up to the rest of the world once more. If anything, the Traveler’s assistance had enabled it to thrive more than ever! So it was that time flew by as it is wont to do, and before long, it was a mere three days before the shogun’s return. All of Inazuma City had pitched in for a massive welcome-back ceremony, for which the final preparations were currently underway, and excitement was running high. Who knew what gifts and new insights Raiden would bring back from Liyue to share with her people for the first time in over a millennium?

And, for that matter… What, if anything, could possibly go wrong?

 

Mind's Eye In: Care Package Calamity! (Hotbuns)

This is the second story regarding Mind's Eye and his regular misfortunes - it's also the last we managed to produce so far, alas, because the writing process happened before recent events led to things getting hectic on my end. We do plan to revisit him someday, though - we just need to work out what specific scenarios need to be included and how to tie them all together into a consistent plot. It's definitely going to be coming around soon, though. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy this one!

All characters belong to the writers.


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Mind's Eye In: Care Package Calamity!

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer

Contains: F/M, M/M, */M, and some */F hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.

Word Count: 16,858 

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“Hello? Clara, are you home?”

Zeaka knocked on the door to his girlfriend’s house again, trying to listen for her thoughts. He hoped the bouquet of purple and red carnations and roses would be enough to impress her, but he figured they could hit it up nicely enough without them… though last he’d heard, she was still upset with him over running off on his first mission without letting her know beforehand. Still, any romantic gesture would surely help.

Zeaka is here…? Why is he here…? Probably coming to beg for my forgiveness for the millionth time…Clara opened the door and stared at the brown-haired young man, and more specifically the bouquet he was holding. “Hello, Zechariah...come to beg for forgiveness again?” she rolled her eyes. “What, no chocolates?”

“…still mad at me for blowing up that warehouse last week without telling you, are you?” he pouted cutely.

Clara did her best to keep a stern look on her face, but couldn’t help thinking that he looked adorably pitiful. Damn you, Zechariah...you and that adorable pout...no! I’m mad. I’m supposed to be mad!

The Amazing Origins of Mind's Eye! (Hotbuns)

Yet another month has passed by without me being able to write anything, and that makes me sad. Oh well. I'll try to make up for it next month if possible, but for now, here's a hot-buns story that I produced alongside one of my anonymous co-writers some months ago. We had tons of fun with this story for sure, and I'm definitely hoping to revisit it soon. There's another story I have in the backlog with some of the characters here, but that's something for tomorrow if I can remember it! ^^;

By the way: this story takes place in the same universe and setting as "Prometheus Busted"... which I absolutely should resume when I get the time. It's been way too long since I last wrote for it, but I've been kinda stuck on what to do for the next few chapters. Hopefully that'll be amenable to change soon enough, though...
We hope you enjoy!

All characters belong to the writers.


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The Amazing Origins of Mind's Eye!

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer

Contains: F/M, M/M, */M, and some */F and F/F hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.
Word Count: 15,696

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It was the dawn of a bright new day in the shining city of Monumentropolis. Rising from the east coast of the United States, the beautiful skyline was a bastion of hope in a country torn by greed, bigotry, and cruelty. High above the rest of the buildings, the iconic Monolith Tower seemed to spear the heavens with its golden steeple, a beacon of liberty signaling a haven for the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

Here, the phrase “ordinary life” was both a common refrain and an oxymoron. Beneath its glittering exterior, the city seemed to be a magnet for every global threat imaginable in this existence. Aside from rampant crime, there were giant monsters, aliens, and even supernatural dangers from other dimensions invading almost every other hour. Nobody knew why this was the case; some had speculated that the Monolith Tower was to blame, but evidence pointed to trouble plaguing the city even before it had been constructed during the Roaring Twenties. Just how Monumentropolis had not collapsed in on itself and become lost to history would have been a mystery to all if not for one critical factor.

In a stroke of true kismet, good luck had balanced bad. Every single citizen who dwelled here, from the lowliest of the homeless to the mayor himself, somehow developed at least some modicum of supernatural talent, usually enough to put an end to the public menaces that showed up every day. How this happened was just as much of a mystery as why terrible things always seemed to gravitate towards the city itself, but nobody seemed to question it. Mysterious disappearances, mystical artifacts, magical visitors from other worlds, strange but attractive new transfer students… Literally anything could happen to anyone here, and nobody could predict who would be the next one to ascend to heroism or when that ascent would be.

Whatever the case, no matter who you are, or where you came from, in Monumentropolis, you’ll become the hero of your own saga — or the villain of someone else’s. Many, many stories have been told in this wonderous city since time immemorial, and many more will be for eons to come. This is but one of these stories.

*****

There are heroes who are made, heroes who are born, and heroes who build themselves up. And then, there are those who become heroes completely by accident. Usually it’s because they end up being dumped into the worst possible situation and end up doing the right thing without even realizing it. But some simply happen to be near that radioactive beetle, in the path of that mutagenic meteor… or in this particular instance, unlucky enough to sit on a misplaced syringe containing an experimental mind-enhancing serum.    

Deep within the heart of the Osthanes Research Institute, the narrative forces were stirring. Try as they might, though, they were quite unable to awaken the twenty-four-year-old researcher passed out on his desk, unable to avoid the inevitability of sleep even with four mugs’ worth of coffee, each downed every other hour, the nonstop late shift having lasted from the previous evening all the way up to 5 AM.

If one were to happen across him, they wouldn’t expect this seemingly ordinary youth to have achieved breakthroughs of any sort. He was currently wearing a wrinkled blue shirt with some coffee stains on it as well as faded jeans and a light brown jacket, as it was cold in the lab. With light brown, almost dirty blonde hair, blue eyes with gorgeous long and dark eyelashes, and smooth, flawless pale skin, he was certainly not the commonly imagined picture of a nerdy scientist. He had a nicely chiseled jaw with high cheekbones and was overall an extremely handsome young man. That said, his short hair was currently messy from lack of sleep and too much work, and he had bags under his eyes to boot. His reading glasses were set aside by his resting head as well.

His ID badge for the lab, as per the norm, bore his full name, Zechariah Edward Fitchus, but the name tag pinned to his coat bore witness to the hasty, shoddy handwriting of someone whose mind was thinking far too quickly for its own good. Without his clarification, it seemed to read “Zeakanah” rather than “Zechariah”. He’d long since given up on correcting those who called him “Zeaka”, having shortened the misinterpreted name to make it easier to say. So the narrative shall refer to him as Zeaka from this point forward.

Over the past two months, Zeaka’s team had been continuously studying and researching a formula they had deemed “Mind’s Eye”. Kept carefully under wraps and accessible only to the members of the team itself, the intent was to exploit certain properties of the human brain by activating certain synapses and altering their cycles of activity. If successful it could supposedly boost intelligence and mental clarity, bypass genetic illnesses that affected the brain, and even fully treat Alzheimer’s and brain cancer. Breakthroughs were imminent, of course, but there were too many setbacks to count – not in the least being the inevitability of human testing and all the ethical concerns it implied.

Still, about the only thing that could stop the project from nearing its completion, at least for today, was Zeaka falling asleep on his desk and remaining conked out for three hours straight.

In a shocking twist, it was not some epic plot twist involving a supernatural or otherwise extraordinary event that woke the sleep-deprived young man, but his phone going off with a text message alert.

Marth’s Mesozoic Mauling (Hotbuns)

And here's the other one of these dumb things I did a while back! Both this and the previous one were related to my dream picks for Smash and what their movepools would be like; I may do more of these with other Smash Bros. Ultimate wish list choices of mine and other cute fighters already in the game itself.

Hope you enjoy! :)

Super Smash Bros. and all affiliated properties belong to Nintendo. Spyro the Dragon (who makes a minor appearance in the beginning) belongs to Insomniac Games. Primal Rage belongs to Atari Games.

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Marth's Mesozoic Mauling

by Skaea

Contains: M/M and */M hotbuns. SFW.

Word Count: 4,468

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It was not every day that Marth had to visit Dr. Mario’s office, but whenever he did, it was usually very bad news. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but most of his fellow fighters considered him a sort of “sacred cow” - outside of combat, he was virtually untouchable. Nobody wanted to mess with a veteran such as him, even if compared to the likes of Mario, Kirby, or Pikachu, he would have to settle for second-best. Still, for the most part, he was alright with the respect he was given.

For some reason or another, though, most of the newcomers to the battlefield hadn’t gotten the memo.

The blue-haired prince exited the doctor’s office with a slight limp in his step, and just his luck that a (fully-clothed) blond Homs and a little purple dragon happened to be the first two people he saw.

“How was it?” asked Shulk.

“Could be better,” Marth replied in a slightly testy manner, rubbing the back of his hips with a disconcerted expression. “This is in no ill will to your friend, but… Perhaps his fighting style could use a little more, um, tact?”

Spyro grimaced, a guilty look on his face. The reason Marth had visited the doctor’s office was that he had taken on the purple dragon a mere half-hour earlier. It hadn’t gone well for Marth, suffice it to say. Spyro fully expected to be scolded for his behavior, and even though the prince was handling it with surprising dignity for someone who’d had his buttocks impaled by a pair of razor-sharp dragon horns several times over the course of five minutes – and that wasn’t getting into the Dragon Breath, mind – his words still stung a little.

“Guess I’m just so used to the dragon way of fighting that I can’t help but break out my style every match,” said Spyro. “So what are you gonna tell me, that I’ve got bad manners for a fighter?”

“I… I’m not sure what to say, in fact,” replied Marth. “I suppose it could be worse. The boss of my Classic Mode route isn’t Master Hand anymore, suffice it to say, but now I can’t even look at anything draconic without suffering horrible flashbacks. No offense, of course.”

It was Shulk who responded to that one. “If you have to go after someone for having your buns toasted by a Rathalos, couldn’t you talk it up with Master Hand himself? He’s the one who arranges our encounters, and–”

“It’s alright. It’s not like I can do much about it. But whatever may come, I WILL prove my strength as the prince of Altea, at any cost.”

Spyro smiled in admiration, but then his face fell. “Look, I’m sorry for messing you up like that. I guess you’re right, I really should be more careful–”

He was interrupted when Marth responded, a rueful smile on his face. “It’s alright. I understand. I have the same complaint about other draconic fighters I’ve had to deal with – Bowser, Charizard, and now Ridley – and it’s at least nice to know that you’re willing to improve.”

“Uh… thank you?”

“So, are you up against anyone else today?” asked Shulk, patting Spyro’s head in reassurance. “Hopefully you won’t end up having to spend more time at Dr. Mario’s…”

“Well, I do have one more fight for the day,” replied Marth. “It’s supposedly against one of the trial newcomers, someone from Atari I believe. His name’s Talon. They haven’t explained more, though, so I’ll have to be on my guard in any case.”

“Oh. Well, good luck regardless. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Marth smiled a little. “I’ll do my best. Whoever wins, this will definitely be a match to remember!”

The other two stepped aside to let Marth pass them, and watched him go, waving politely. Once he was out of earshot, they glanced at each other.

“So, uh… You’re still not mad at me for our first match, right?” asked Spyro. “I don’t know if Marth was, but…”

The blond shrugged, though he would swear his bottom had started tingling. “No hard feelings. Marth’s right, it’s no worse than what the resident fighters put me and everyone else through on a regular basis. Guess I should’ve known that before signing up,” he added with a laugh.

Spyro chuckled as well, and then quickly decided to change the subject. “So… Who’s butt is Marth gonna be kicking, anyhow?”

“I dunno. He said something about Atari. But I can think of only a few games from there that’d fit.”

“Don’t you have Pong as an assist trophy?”

“Color TV-Game 15 is a clone of that game.”

“Who could it be… Asteroids? Centipede? Tetris? That one alien from that one game that contributed to the Crash of ‘83?”

Shulk scratched his chin in his typical fashion. “Nah, too stupid. Actually, I think Marth mentioned his name. Talon. There was a minor Zelda-verse character with that name, but I don’t think they’ve considered him viable. Plus, he’s not from an Atari game. In fact, there’s only one character fitting both criteria that I know of–”

They were silent for a few moments as the horrified realization sunk in.

“Hug me,” said Spyro, his pupils now pinpricks as he clung to his buddy’s leg.

Shulk was all too happy to oblige.

Shulk Sustains A Scorching (Hotbuns)

Haven't posted in a while, but I figured I'd let you guys know that I still live - I've been super busy with moving to a new apartment out of state! To tide you over until I can produce my next story, here's a dumb little thing I wrote earlier this year. Not my best work, especially with the OOC moments in several cases, but I had fun with it regardless.

Another one of these will be up soon as well!

Super Smash Bros. and all affiliated properties belong to Nintendo. Spyro the Dragon belongs to Insomniac Games.

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Shulk Sustains a Scorching

by Skaea

Contains: M/M and */M Hotbuns. SFW.

Word Count: 3,585

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The blond youth could not believe what he was seeing. He’d been told that the latest DLC fighter to have been invited to the Smash Bros. universe was quite a handful, a fearsome warrior who had saved his people many times before, with a personality as big as his reputation. He had expected someone tall, noble, proud, and handsome, someone like Marth, or – Bionis help him – Link. Above all else, he’d expected a worthy opponent that could give him a fair fight.

He had certainly not expected a purple dragon around the size of a Nopon.

At first, he had been confused and annoyed, and then outright dismayed – though not towards this newcomer in particular. Even in the wake of multiple traumatic events in his home world that shall not be discussed here for want of avoiding spoilers, Shulk was not the kind of person to hold a grudge for long. Most of all, he had high expectations of everyone he knew, and so far he hadn’t been disappointed that the fighters whom he had gotten to know over the years had fulfilled them. But this little dragon? He had no weapons, nothing in the way of combat experience the way he’d known, and not even clothing or armor of any sort. By all accounts, this match should be nothing but a formality.

But then again, they’d said the same about a certain dog and duck duo…

Max Gluteus and the Eye of the White Tiger (Hotbuns)

And here it is, the other completed Max Gluteus story I've written! This one was done with the help of a friend of mine who heard about Max and LOVED the concept and execution, so when I asked for their help they were glad to contribute! This is the story so far featuring the poor guy that I'm most proud of. :)

As previously noted, the third Max Gluteus tale is almost complete, but I've struggling so much with the climax and conclusion that I can't really release it yet. Once it's complete, though, you readers will be the first to know. In the meantime, please enjoy this little tale and laugh at Max's (and Nile's) suffering! I hope I delivered well enough. :D

Part 1 on DeviantArt

Part 2 on DeviantArt
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Max Gluteus and the Eye of the White Tiger

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M and some */F Hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.

Word Count: 13,861
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The work of an archaeologist is never done. That I can say for certain. You can never get any rest on the job, be it due to a new assignment in some foreign country, a new artifact in need of cataloguing… or in my case, a flea-infested seat cushion.

A month or so after my first adventure in Central America, I was given a lead by my supervisor regarding a monastic temple in the mountains of northern Tibet, on the border of south China. A mysterious object known as the Eye of the White Tiger, an object of unknown and no doubt plot-relevant mystical power, had recently been discovered, but for some reason, the people who had found it had fled in terror from whatever was in there before they could investigate its nature in full. It was decided quite quickly that I was the one for the job, given my success at my previous endeavor — though it was to the surprise of the department that Tlacotl decided to come.

Of course, one thing led to another, and we’d soon found ourselves in a dingy rickshaw winding its way up some third-world town, its destination being the village at the foothills of the Himalayas.

“Is everything okay, Max?” asked Tlacotl, curling her arms close to her body; she was not used to cold climates, so she had insisted on dressing in as many mountaineer jackets as she could, along with several pairs of khakis and fur-lined hiking boots. “You look… uneasy.”

“It’s nothing — ow! — Just these — ouch! — fleas in the seat cushion — owie! — They’re biting my bottom almost constantly — aaagh! — and making it difficult — yeeoww! — to concentrate…”

She shook her head in mild distaste. “Seems like your curse is just as busy as you. Not to mention extremely possessive.”

I snorted at that remark, pulling my own dark brown parka a little tighter around me. We had tried to keep up a romantic relationship as much as we could since we’d met back in the Mesoamerican jungle, but it was not to be, because of course. The curse always maimed my ass every single time we tried to even kiss. Tlacotl had been devastated when I finally told her that we had to break up, but we’d eventually conceded that in hindsight, we should’ve seen that coming a long way away, and at least our friendship remained unbroken in spite of everything.

“Well, it’s — yowch! — not my fault that every time we — aiiieee! — tried to seriously commit — gaah! — the curse made sure that I — oowwch! — could never get even a moment’s happiness — aack! — without getting my poor bottom getting hurt to compensate!”

The tribal woman nodded sagely. “It’d make sense that it wouldn’t work out. Your curse was, after all, brought about by you getting horny with someone when neither she nor her relations wanted it.”

“I still think — aaah! — it’s a little — owiieee! — excessive…”

“I could almost agree with that, but then again, you do put your priorities over those of others sometimes, too. Not exactly ideal for relationship building, isn’t it?”

“Fair point. Aaargh! Damn fleas! My ass is gonna itch for days…”

“Count yourself lucky. Ah, here we are!”

We disembarked from the rickshaw at our designated stop, with me exiting a lot faster than normal. I instantly started scratching my bottom with extreme fervor, earning a look of pity from my companion in spite of herself.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you some anti-itch cream as soon as we get to the village,” said Tlacotl, deciding to follow my lead to the place in question. “So… I take it you’re aware that the Monastery of the White Tiger is square in the middle of tiger country? Which is a rhetorical question, by the by.”

“T-Tigers?” I shivered uncomfortably.

“You know… Panthera tigris? Largest member of the cat family? Basically like a jaguar, but bigger, stripier, and meaner—”

“I know what a tiger is, dammit! It’s just… After that one time with that jaguar…”

“Oh, right. You’re probably gonna get mauled, huh?”

“Took the words right outta my mouth, there. So, would it be too much to ask to help me out in case of, well… you know?”

“Why do you think I decided to come? You need help, regardless of the status of our no-longer-existent relationship. I can’t imagine striking it out on your own without getting yourself killed.”

I scoffed at that last bit. “Tch, I should be so lucky.”

Max Gluteus and the Hummingbird Headdress (Hotbuns)

I'm still alive! Just been busy with Real Life shenanigans, that's all. I've therefore decided I'd pad this blog out with some backlog stuff to keep things from gathering dust around here. Anyhow, this is the first of a series of butt abuse stories I am currently working on involving a recurring character of mine, a very unlucky Indiana Jones-style explorer who may or may not be based on myself because I get such a kick out of self-deprecation lol. Max is actually the persona I use for my DeviantArt account catering to CBT and butt pain, and he's a character I've had vaguely conceived in my head for YEARS, so I figured it'd be worth writing about him proper after all this time. Hence, this! :P

I won't go into the full details about the whole thing, but it is divided into two parts on DeviantArt, and you can find specific notes about each section in their respective posts. I have another story up as well and a third still being worked upon (well, once I get a MASSIVE case of writer's block out of the way first lol), and as soon as those are uploaded I will cross-post them here as well. For now, though, enjoy, y'all!

Part 1 on DeviantArt

Part 2 on DeviantArt
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Max Gluteus and the Hummingbird Headdress

by Skaea
 
Contains: */M and some */F Hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.

Word Count: 15,996
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This was, without a doubt, the worst day of my life.

At just twenty-five years of age, I’d been the talk of the town for almost half a decade now — short, curly dark hair, equally dark eyes, flawless beige skin, and perfectly toned, athletic body, the works. By all rights, I should’ve been one of the brightest and most brilliant archaeologists the world had ever seen.

As it turned out, I was indeed one of the brightest and most brilliant archaeologists the world had ever seen… and also one of the most unlucky.

It’s not every day that you end up deep in the heart of the Amazon jungle, tangled up in several thin, ivy-like lianas, eight feet off the ground. The vines had tied my knees against my sides and my arms over my head, and my accursed assets exposed below me — my pants and underwear had even been loosened and pulled down, so that my lower cheeks were fully exposed, and spread so widely that I could almost feel the tropical steam against my hole.

What was far more concerning, though, was that I was dangling just a foot above a very sharp spear, held by a beautiful tribal girl with skin the color of milk chocolate, long black hair that went down to her lower back, a mischievous expression upon her painted face, a cluster of macaw feathers in her hair, and a loincloth and bra that looked like they could easily have been made from a single peccary tail.

“Fancy to see you around here, white man,” she said cheerily. “So, what made you decide to do your business onto our land?”

“It’s not what it looks like, trust me,” I grumbled. “And technically, I’m Asian. Now, do me a favor and get me down? That spear looks like it’s getting closer by the second.”

“Closer, huh?” She chuckled with trollish intent, and then thrust it sharply upwards.

“YEEOWWWW!!!” I howled in pain, having felt the needle-pointed flint spearhead jabbing into the tender flesh of my taint. “N-NOT THAT CLOSE!!”

“Serves you right for intruding upon our sacred grounds.” She laughed with scorn. “You’re with him, are you?!”

“W-wait, who?! GYAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

She’d jabbed me a second time, this time nailing my helpless left buttock. “That evil white man who wants to steal the sacred relic we call the Hummingbird Headdress!”

“Ah, I see you’ve met my nemesis, Agent Nile. Well, I’m here to get the Crown back, so if you could put your spear away and get me down, I’ll be happy to help you, miss… uh…”

“It’s Tlacotl. And no, I won’t.”

I recognized that name as meaning “long slender stick” in the Nahuatl tribe language. I wisely decided not to ask about what kind of stick her name referred to, though, and simply replied, “Won’t what?”

“Put my spear away.”

“Why?”

“The vines are loosening.”

I started, looking up in a panic, and realized that she was right. The vines were now loosening thanks to my struggles, and while that would normally be a good thing, the fact that she was now planting the butt of her spear into the soil directly under me made it very much not so.

“N-no, please! You’ve already—” I protested, but she cut me off.

“I’ll have to take you to the tribe chieftain, because I’m sure he’ll have questions about why you came so soon after this ‘Dr. Nile’. And since it seems like you’ll fight back once you get loose…”

The vines slipped, dropping me two inches. I whimpered in terror, realizing what was coming.

Then they slipped again.

And again.

And finally, after only enough time for me to cry “Oh, f—!”, the vines finally released me… dropping me six inches onto a very sharp flint-tipped spear that sank deep into the intimate flesh between my buttocks, a mere inch from my tightened hole.

There was one brief pause, where my eyes widened until they were as round as gumballs. And then…

“YIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWWWCCCHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

My scream of total agony sent birds scattering into the air for miles around.

Prince Sterling and Captain Sarissa in: Woodland Woes

It's been a while since I've posted here, and I've been busy with Real Life and such, but just to show that I haven't abandoned this blog, I've decided to post a story I uploaded on dA a while back. This is another combination of butt abuse and fantasy/fairy tale settings, but a little less plot-driven than that epic tale I posted last winter; still, I've wanted to write several of the scenarios featured as well as with a story involving the lovely albeit luckless character of Prince Sterling, so here it is anyway!

Sterling, his kingdom of Altaira (spelling slightly changed to avoid confusion with Altaria, the Pokemon), and the rest of the characters featured are the creations of my author's anonymous co-writer, who has graciously helped me get this story completed. The first story with Sterling was written by FraggsterFly, who was gracious enough to route us to our co-writer in the first place! Both parts can be accessed here:

• Misadventure of Prince Sterling Pt 1
• Prince Sterling's Misadventure Pt2

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Prince Sterling and Captain Sarissa in:

"Woodland Woes"

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M and */F hotbuns with some ballbusting. NSFW.
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It was a quiet day in the kingdom of Altaira. The castle town was bustling, the market was alive with shoppers, and overall there was nothing particularly interesting going on in Castle Town. In the lavish palace at the center of the kingdom, as per usual at this hour, all was peaceful. The servants were preparing lunch for the royals while others were cleaning. And the royal residents… well, they were supposed to be down in the dining room for lunch, but as usual they were late.

Princess Annabelle, a five-foot six-inch tall and slender twenty year old girl with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, was a typical spoiled princess. She preferred to be waited on hand and foot, as she was bossy and only cared about herself and her happiness. The servants were happy to serve her, however, especially the males. They always enjoyed going to Annabelle’s room, just to see their beautiful princess. They especially enjoyed the princess’s rather large assets. Annabelle loved the attention that everyone was constantly giving her.

Twenty-four year old Prince Sterling, on the other hand, was quite gentle and kind. He always put everyone before himself, even if that meant that he was going to be hurt. Sterling was also tall, about five-foot-eleven, and slender but he also had a well-toned body with short, silver hair and bright blue eyes. His face was a handsome one that all of the girls would fall in love with. Sterling was the Crown Prince of this kingdom, though most people wondered if he was up for the task. Sterling was quite clumsy and made a lot of mistakes, though he always meant well. The townspeople and the palace staff were sometimes afraid to be around him due to his clumsiness. Some thought that their prince had been cursed by an evil sorcerer when he was a young child. Sterling, though extremely clumsy, was also extremely brave, though he was not that strong, even though he tried to pass himself off as a strong man and usually ended up humiliating himself instead.

The day was mostly peaceful, except for the screaming coming from a room in the palace. It was late morning, and Annabelle was in the throne room with her brother. They were currently having an argument about whether unicorns were real or not… which was quite ridiculous if one were to ponder it, since Sterling had, a while back, encountered a real, live dragon, which was supposedly just as mythical.

“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: I want a unicorn and I want one NOW!” Annabelle could be heard yelling. The wooden floor shook from how hard she was stomping her feet.

“Unicorns aren’t real, Annabelle.” Sterling replied, exasperated. “Not the kind you had in mind, anyway. I have been in those woods a million times and not once have I ever seen such a unicorn. Therefore, they are not real.”

“They are! They are real, you idiot! I’ve seen one! I want it captured so that I can have it as my royal steed!” Annabelle screamed and jumped up and down. “GET ME THAT UNICORN! GET IT! GET IT! GET IT!”

Sterling sighed and facepalmed. “If I send some troops out to find this ‘unicorn’, will you stop whining and throwing a temper tantrum about this?”

Annabelle’s eyes lit up. “Only if you come back with it! You have to go get it! Only you!”

Sterling groaned. “Fine! I’ll go after that stupid so-called unicorn. That way I can prove to you that unicorns don’t exist. Not here in Altaira, anyway.”

“THEY DO EXIST HERE IN ALTAIRA! THEY DO! THEY DO! THEY DO!” Annabelle yelled and jumped up and down, throwing yet another fit.

Sterling pinched the bridge of his nose and moaned in frustration. It was no secret that Annabelle was obsessed with unicorns, such wondrous and beautiful things. She was so adamant about wanting to keep one to ride on every day that she bought it up in almost every conversation these days. The locals dismissed her desires as nonsense, and wondered if she would ever consider a different choice of exotic pet, for no one had seen any unicorns around Altaira for decades. Not the variety she was describing, anyway.

Lord Rollington had at least tried to console the petulant princess, promising to find the money to charter a trip to India someday. There was a species of unicorn there, though not the kind she would have desired: a donkey-sized animal like a goat or antelope, with a white, black, and rust-colored coat and a straight conical horn that was colored similarly. This so-called ‘Indian Ass’ was fabulous enough, he had hoped, but her preference was clear: the unicorn she wanted would be like those from the manuscripts and tapestries of old, pure white in color with the body and cloven hooves of a deer, the tail of a lion, the head and mane of a horse, the beard of a goat, and a spiral horn on the forehead like a narwhal tusk that could purify water and heal even mortal wounds. The catch was that nobody had seen any such unicorn anywhere in the world, at least not that anyone knew in the kingdom. Plus, it was said that they were far too difficult to catch, never mind that she had no idea how to actually keep one. If they existed at all.

Why, Sterling thought bitterly, couldn’t Annabelle just stick to loving ponies?

Treasure Punt (Butt Abuse)

Illustration: "Fish Feud" by Marmotap

This might quite possibly be our wordiest story yet, especially for a one-off - I had to trim down quite a bit of text to fit the DeviantArt file size limit and make room for the accompanying illustration - but we had a lot of fun while writing it. The original idea came from a picture I saw in a children's book once, which I incidentally sent as inspiration material to the person I commissioned the picture from. Things only escalated from there, especially because sea life offers a lot of opportunities for hot-buns situations even if few people look past fish-bites, crab pinching, and the occasional sea urchin. It was also nice to write a story with just one character getting his comeuppance due to a lot of external non-human factors for once, rather than more complex interactions between multiple people.

You haven't seen the last of this hapless fish-boy, either - we've already named him in a private discussion and are planning on working him into one of my existing series. We just need to develop the actual story where he'll be bought in, of course, but that's an issue for another day...

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Treasure Punt

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M Butt abuse. NSFW.

Word Count: 5,245
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The old wreck sat among others of its kind in the depths of the crystal-blue sea, surrounded by corals of every shape and color. It was an old pirate ship, sunken several hundred years, or so it was thought. It was rumored that this particular shipwreck contained a mysterious collection of lost artifacts, left unspent by its captain and crew. More than a few interested parties, including the Navy, wanted to know more about the lore, and thus intended to bring the shipwreck in for experiments and tests. For some reason, however, the local sailors and fishermen regarded these waters with fear and suspicion. Not a single boat would dare venture here — but that wasn’t to say that people could sail there.

So it was quite a surprise that on this day, a sleek, lithe figure cut through the water, scattering fish and sending shrimp and crabs diving for cover. It was a human male, no older than twenty-four and apparently of Filipino descent. He had dark tan skin, bluish-silver hair, and striking white-gold eyes, as well as a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Silvery spiny fins grew from the sides of his forearms and shins, which had small silvery fish scales, and if one looked closely they could see a gill slit on either side of his neck, which was also scaled. The young man wore a latex jumpsuit, silver on the chest and belly and dark blue elsewhere; it was short, only coming to his thighs and upper arms, as though he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, so the fins on his arms and legs were unobstructed. His feet were clad with a pair of short flippers, and his hands were likewise clad in webbed gloves, both blue in color. He had no goggles on — with eyes able to function underwater, he didn’t need any.

Slicing through the water like a knife, the finned man had only one objective in mind: the very wreck that the locals were so determined to avoid.

They said that not a single human being dared to trespass upon this mysterious place. But they hadn’t figured on a genetically engineered super-soldier, a hybrid combining the cunning of a human and the undersea prowess of a barracuda. And anyway, no old rumor was going to keep him away from a break this big!

Cecil Gets Crabs (CBT, Butt Abuse)

 

Here's a little something I had on my backlog for a while; I figured now was as a good time as any to post it, so it's now public! The artwork that inspired it is shown above, and was commissioned from someone who wishes to remain anonymous; the luckless soul featured is their character. If you wish to see more of their work, you'll have to talk it up via Discord PM I'm afraid because they're very secretive, but a link to the server they're on is available upon request.

I hope you enjoy this! Stay tuned for more to come (and more to cum)!

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Cecil Gets Crabs

by Skaea
Contains: */M ballbusting and butt abuse. NSFW.

Word Count: 5,245

 
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It was a beautiful and rather busy day at the beach, with waves of sparkling blue and white seawater lapping against soft, golden sand. Tourists, bodybuilders, and any typical beach clique that one could think of was enjoying the day. College kids were playing beach volleyball, strongmen (and strongwomen!) were showing off by lifting weights, children were playing in the rolling surf, and the tourists were enjoying the water while many a hot young lady sunbathed on a towel under an umbrella.

One rather large and muscular young man in particular was having a high old time showing off his strength to other bodybuilders. This particular young man was tall, proud, and sculpted like a professional wrestler — his day job, mind — with blond hair in a short ponytail on the back of his head as well as a quite boyish face and sparkling turquoise eyes, which stood out well compared to his gorgeously tanned skin. He was wearing a blue speedo that could barely contain his “package”, impressively sized and reaching down to his knees.

He was currently lifting the largest weights he could find as he stared at some rather sexy college girls, whom he was hoping to impress. It seemed though that he wasn’t having that much luck as of late, since they weren’t giving him much more than passing glances. There were so many studs to choose from, after all.

After a few minutes of this, the blond lowered his weights to the ground with a sigh of disappointment. “Ugh… what, still no volunteers? Darn, and I was hoping they’d be flocking to me all day.”

Cecil glowered as he stared enviously at the loving couples that were walking together or cuddling on the beach. They got someone all to themselves and he turned up empty? It just wasn’t fair!

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 7 (Hotbuns)

Here it is, the penultimate chapter of the Lindworm Prince's tale, where everything comes together. Just the epilogue to go now!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 8,082

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Chapter 7: The Final Straw

Poor Ingrid. Poor, poor Ingrid.

She had awoken that day in the hopes that her husband would be next to her, and hopefully willing enough to accept that they were well on their way to saving the kingdom. What she’d gotten, however, was her husband going missing. She’d searched all over the castle for him, but come up empty.

Her mother had been there on this day, and she had told her that he’d apparently gone out for the night, but nobody else had seen him, aside of course from Krak. And then Osmond burst into the castle with his soldiers behind him, carrying a nailed-shut coffin and a chained lindworm. The cruel prince had announced that for their crimes, Erland and Evangeline (the assassin who had been sent by Osmond himself after his own brother, and then thrown under the cart when he’d heard of her seemingly plotting with Erland) would be executed at dawn tomorrow.

The entire castle had erupted into chaos. People of all ages had attempted to swarm a smug, triumphant Osmond, only to be siezed and dragged off to the dungeon for the crime of “resisting authority”. The soldiers, forced by Osmond’s lash, had scoured the whole castle in search of conspirators, and Turid had given her daughter just enough time to hide in one of the secret tunnels before she (Turid) was caught too.

And to salt the wound, Osmond had jailed the soldiers themselves in person, for their own “mistreatment” of him during that disastrous training day.

So it was that the castle was now horribly understaffed, bereft of anyone to defend it from the horde of angry villagers about to storm its gates, and host to one very lonely and inconsolable bride to be, who was in her jammies and stuck in a cramped underground passageway.

In short, it wasn’t a good day.

In hindsight, perhaps Ingrid should’ve paid more attention to her fiance’s concerns rather than dismissing them as everyone else did. She didn’t want him to worry, but then again his worries had proven to be very much true. All the couple had had were a bunch of scullery maids and stablehands, compared to Osmond’s entire army, who obeyed him out of sheer abject terror.

Perhaps she should just remain seated here forever, with only the lit candle in front of her for company…

Something scaly brushed against her rump, and she yelped, jumping badly enough to bonk her head against the ceiling (it was a rather narrow passageway). Rubbing her scalp, she looked down, and covered her mouth to keep herself screaming. There was a snake next to her. A snake with… a collection of papers wound about its tail?

“Relax, it’s me,” the zaltys whispered.

“Oh, thank God, I was hoping for someone to talk to,” Ingrid sighed. “How did it all go wrong?”

“I was wondering that myself, but then I found these,” Sormr replied. She passed the papers over to Ingrid, who unfurled them and laid them in front of the candle to read.

Her expression became more and more horrified with every word and chart she took in. She would swear her skin was turning slightly green.

“Oh my God. No. NO. He can’t. He wouldn’t.”

“Either he did, or he’s planning to,” replied Sormr.

“Where is Erland?” Ingrid’s dark eyes were wide with pure horror.

“In the deepest pit in the dungeon. I was planning to go down and get him, but I’m not big enough—”

“You were small enough to slip through the ventilation and bring these documents to me,” replied Ingrid. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness, but we have to hurry! As soon as the sun rises tomorrow, Osmond plans to have Erland executed, which gives us just six hours to—”

The shriek of utter despair stopped Sormr’s rambling. She looked at Ingrid expectantly — and was surprised to see her distraught expression transition into a death glare of tranquil fury. Calm as the sea without wind on the outside, but burning deep down with a rage as hot as a thousand suns.

“Lead me to the dungeons at once.” Her voice sounded like ice cracking apart. “I have to stop Prince Osmond. I have to stop him NOW.”

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 6 (Hotbuns)

Another favorite chapter of mine is complete! I once again owe my thanks to HBunsArchive on DeviantArt, whose story, "Princess of Darkness", was the main inspiration for what poor Evangeline goes through here, though there's enough elements that differ from that wonderful story to make it a work of its own. Evangeline is actually a character I've used multiple times before in other stories, but since she's got a vampire theme to her I figured it'd be fun to give her a go in a hot buns story. I might reuse her again in a future tale, who knows?

While there's plenty of butt abuse in this chapter, I like the idea of combining it with plot rather than having it be one comedic accident after another, so the story actually works as a story if you take out just enough slapstick for it to pass as something non-fetishy. There's one more chapter where everything comes to a head before the epilogue, and it's almost done, so be on the lookout for that by the end of this week! :)

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 7,316

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Chapter 6: Packing Heat

In the days following the rebellion of the royal army, public approval of Prince Erland started rising at a measured but steady pace, especially with the announcement of his engagement with Ingrid and their plans to host the wedding a month from now. The afternoon escapade involving over two-thirds of the castle staff, several swarms of angry bees, an even angrier unicorn, a dozen jilted archers, and a shoal of interested pike was making the rounds throughout the kingdom at an astonishing pace, and while many couldn’t believe it at first, those who weren’t too afraid of Osmond’s anger to speak their minds unanimously agreed that the bastard deserved everything that had happened to him, seeing as he’d mistreated pretty much everyone for almost a decade. And since his selfish behavior had continued even in the thick of his curse, removing his air of invulnerability seemed to have exposed his despicable nature for all to see.

Even those who held all of dragon kind in contempt for burning down villages, carrying off maidens, and so on agreed: Osmond was worse than any beast of the sort. It was in a dragon’s nature to go on destructive rampages and battle knights on white horses, but perhaps just this once, they could at least choose to be wild and savage away from humanity, or use their ferocity to protect the innocent as Erland did. Osmond, on the other hand, acted savage because he could. And what was more disturbing was that his family had neither abused nor spoiled him – and he’d turned into a heartless despot regardless.

No wonder all of Wyrmwood preferred to be ruled by the Lindworm Prince.

Despite basking in his newfound fame, however, Erland couldn’t help but notice that every time Osmond looked at him now, the elder brother got a chill running down his spine. By all accounts, Erland should’ve been in far higher standing thanks to a single day of escalating artifice, successfully proving to the kingdom that he was willing to take a stand against Osmond, and more than that, willing to provide for the people at a far greater capacity than Osmond cared to reach.

But why, at least from his perspective, didn’t it feel like a victory?