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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium	By : WickerMan Category: +A through F > Dark Souls (series) > Dark Souls (series) Views: 22045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls or Bloodborne, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium
(A/N): We’re moving on to Dark Souls II, the first Souls I ever played and a bit of a guilty pleasure in spite of its shortcomings! And on the topic of guilty pleasures let’s try and do a kink fic about a freakin’ cat with a cute English accent. Yep.
This time we’ll be introduced to a shoddy ranger who goes by the moniker Tenacious Terry, who while painfully submissive and docile is in the awkward position of being a bit of a pretty boy. So what could possibly go wrong when a headstrong, assertive, arrogant cat takes a morbid fascination in him?
WARNING: Obvious sexual content, spelling errors, bad language, cringy and heavy dialogue, femdom, insults, an awkward attempt at writing a text based JOI session with very little JOI actually going on, crude jokes, smug waifus, overuse of the word ‘degenerate’, no actual literal sex, lusting over a freakin’ cat, OC protagonists with little personality, OOC behaviour, non-lore friendly events, and my first story in around six months and my first LEMON in probably four years!
Chapter Six: Sweet Shalquoir
He wanted to shag a flippin’ cat.
Maybe it would be a good idea to start from the beginning?
Tenacious Terry was what you would call a poster boy, descended from a long line of bowmen tied to the Royal Rangers of Drangleic’s once innumerable military legions. You’d be relieved to discover that his ridiculous alliterative name was very much rooted in hereditary tradition, with the likes of Meticulous Malcolm, Gracious Geoff, Scandalous Shannon, and the infamous Handsome Hank preceding him in the family line.
As a member of the family he had been expected to serve a single role: to act as a mascot and icon for the recruitment of hapless souls into the Royal Army. It was a crude but efficient approach to mass recruitment, he and his sister – the foul mouthed Titillating Tracy – having their likenesses dominating advertising posters throughout town billboards, and appearing in all sorts of recruitment drive events to give kids the vibe that they too would be part of a brilliant team among the armed forces.
They sold it as a big, fun, productive, community based deal where hard work and cooperation led to massive pay off.
The only true part there was the hard work.
Thankfully his family had been spared the terror of actual grunt work. All Terry really knew was the national anthem, how to pull a bowstring with a straight back, and that holding a dirk the wrong way around had a certain edgy allure to it that drove teenage girls ballistic.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how many people his face had indirectly murdered.
It gave him a bit of a complex he felt, as he literally shot his way through hordes of undead troops who’d once been recruits inspired by his visage. There must’ve been some poetic justice going on in there, but then he’d never been the best at literature classes. He usual spent his time doodling silly little moustaches and eyepatches on all the illustrations, set for life no matter what he did.
How long had it been since Drangleic had degenerated into a crumbling husk? The world around him had decayed to a ridiculous degree, resembling ancient artefacts from days long by – yet to him it felt like last Monday. He hadn’t risen to the challenge and become some bastion of self efficiency like he always thought he would. What foul sorcery was at work? Was the flow of time convoluted in some way?
This was why Tracy always kept a gosh darn calendar.
Tracy 34 – 2 Terry.
That hefty chunk of exposition wasn’t the most important thing in the world, yet it may have gone a long way in explaining his current predicament. For starters it would justify his being in the hamlet of Majula – simply put, it was the least likely place to have a group of knife wielding undead recruits throwing themselves at him for karmic vengeance. He was used to having teenage girls chasing him in droves for hugs and kisses and autographs, but it was pretty uncommon for them to bring knives into the equation.
But more to the point, it could explain the largest problem that Terry was met with these days – not battle, not wounds, not supplies, but rather his personality. Being held up on a pedestal by society only for said society to crumble had a strange effect on the way you think, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had something to prove to the remnants of Drangleic.
He didn’t have to work for his fame in days gone; born into it, he had the looks and the history to slip into the saddle of his forefathers and continue their work. He just did what he was told and was showered with praise for it. He hadn’t earned a single one of his many hot meals - he didn’t even know how to cook.
Any self confidence or pride he’d once had wasted away around Tuesday by his counts. He hardly even talked nowadays, mulling over everything for eons but letting others say whatever they wanted to him without retort. The amount of odd tasks he’d done not out of the kindness of his own heart but out of an inability to stand up for himself was staggering.
It was fascinating how little he was without his name behind him.
No one here had the faintest clue who he was.
He never thought he’d clear out an obviously trapped courtyard so some scavenger could pick at the remnants for trinkets.
He never thought he’d free a petrified wizard with a fragrant twig just so the smug magician could spend a few minutes mocking him for his lack of intelligence.
He never thought he’d risk his life and spend his own coin on a key for a random blacksmith to open the door to his own anvil and tools with.
He could’ve just climbed through the window if he wasn’t such a fat piece of-
Language Terry.
Where had all his bravado and charisma scurried off to? Where had he put the rest of his backbone? What sort of creative insults would Tracy throw at him if she could see him now?
Why couldn’t he be more like that arrogant old cat in town?
She wouldn’t raise a paw to stop her shack burning down, preferring to respond to requests with either a snide jab or with a loud yawn as she rolled upon her back and swatted at moths. He had entered her shop one morning and she didn’t even register his presence, seemingly engrossed in staring at her own reflection in a bucket of water.
He had never met someone so self-obsessed, so vain, so egotistical, so verbose, so confident, so fluffy – providing you didn’t include his oft shirtless uncle Furry Frank – nor so comfortable with their place in the universe. She probably couldn’t even conceive of a land without her living in it. In the feline’s books the world would likely end with her.
It was repulsive.
It was inspiring.
Tenacious Terry longed for his titular tenacity to make itself known once more; that straightness in posture and that stupid forced chuckle that grannies would call ‘charming’, just like his heyday. While used to others deciding the route of his life he felt that the only choice he could make now was obvious – he needed an instructor in the ways of hubris, and the gods had given him his angel.
His small, hairy, weird smelling angel.
Nervously circling the poorly placed sinkhole that pierced the centre of Majula he’d made his way to her ‘store’, its shelves lined with all sorts of junk from spices to setsquares that were not for sale to begin with. The fabulous feline lay flat on her front on the edge of the shack’s singular table, her paw dangling over its side and swinging in rhythm with her tail.
Sweet Shalquoir.
Enchanté!
Closing the shoddy wooden door in his wake Terry stood on the welcome mat with his hands behind his back, resembling an acne-ridden first date stuck waiting downstairs with his girlfriend’s dad as he stressed how deep his foot would go if any boundaries were crossed. Shalquoir’s paw continued to sway, her slitted eyes focusing intensely on something or other.
While the shop may have been silent the archer’s brain roared as fiercely as the stormy waves that crashed upon Majula’s white cliffs. He wanted to speak up and make himself known, but then what would the point be? She obviously knew he was here, she just wasn’t acknowledging his existence – like a veteran waitress at a swanky upmarket tavern. Would talking set him up for a painful fall?
He went for it on an impulse, feeling the words riding up his throat and diving off his tongue into the metaphorical drink.
“E-Excuse me…” his voice cracked horribly, pronouncing it properly yet putting the emphasis on all the wrong syllables. Shalquoir didn’t even flinch, a single hooked claw protruding from her paw. Terry could feel an unsettling flashback to his boyhood coming on, and he was quick to stomp on its clavicle.
Not this time Steve. Not this time.
Fifty percent fluff and fifty percent flab; that was the conclusion he came to as he stared at the inanimate tabby cat. The sheer adrenaline of his arrival had dissipated into a mild sense of unease, hours of working himself into a state to take the plunge already spent at the door. Perhaps her very presence was having this effect on him? She was rather calming to look at in a strange way… Or was ‘disarming’ a better word?
“Oh.” she said, cutting him off just as he’d mustered the drive to ask again. The feline didn’t budge in the slightest – had she really said something, or had she just made a strange, vaguely word-sounding noise as cats were prone to doing? This question was answered a mere forty-two seconds later; no doubt Sweet Shalquoir was feeling chatty today. “… Who are you again?”
“I-I… Yes, I… As in me... That’s to say…” the ranger puked out a jumble of words, taken aback by the flippant feline’s disinterest. “I’m Titillating Terry. No, no, Tenacious. Titillating Tenacious…?” the young hunk’s brain practically rebooted there and then, “… Who are you? Where am I? What?”
If she cared in the slightest she didn’t show it, continuing as if he hadn’t even spoken. He hadn’t spoken really so much as gibbered crazily for a few moments. “Oh, I'm not serious.” still she stared at her paw, not bothering to look up, “You’re the tall, fascinating one, aren’t you? The quiet boy?”
Tall? Yes.
Quiet? Sadly.
Fascinating?
… Was she sure she had the right guy?
“You do have a rather pleasant scent.” she continued to speak to herself, her pink button nose and elongated whiskers twitching in contemplation. “The type I'm quite fond of. Hee hee hee…”
Having planned an entire conversation when he arrived, Shalquoir had quickly thrown him off his rhythm and left him struggling to find a suitable response. He went for the second thing that came to mind, the first thing involving a tad few many cuss words, “What… W-What sort of scent is that then?”
Her bright blue eyes had a certain allure to them, yet they remained fix on the ground “You should know.” she sighed lazily, as if it were all very obvious, “The scent of one who likes to watch.” her tone was almost accusatory, “You’re the type who stares a bit too long, just long enough to give it away. In-Fat-Chu-Ate-Ted, hee hee!”
Infatuated.
He could spell that phonetically at least.
“You’re thinking how preposterous I’m being, aren’t you?” even if she could read minds she wouldn’t need to; he wore his emotions on his sleeve plain as day. The ranger was the classic example of a corn-fed youth, with no ability to hide his intentions, “It starts with fascination, but it’s easy to tell. It’s all in the smell. Yet you still haven’t taken notice?” her head raised ever so slightly, her glittering eyes rolling to meet his, “So tell me, you degenerate you. Why are you here?”
He was here for her.
Just when did he cross the threshold into obsession territory? This meeting had been dominating his mind these past few weeks, any moment not spent wallowing in self-pity being focused on sweet Sweet Shalquoir as the answer to all his ills.
Degeneracy.
It was a strange word.
A foreign, alien one.
One that you’d never want to be in the same room with
It was her voice and character that drew him in, as if that justified it at all. In his desperate throes for someone or something to cling to he’d managed to throw himself upon the first source of authority he could land on without breaking his legs. The flutter in his chest as he entered her demesne wasn’t just one of anxiety and fear, but also one of enthrallment and longing. Terry wanted someone oozing with self-confidence to help restore his purpose in life.
And she had him wrapped around her finger.
Well… Pawpads.
Which led us full circle.
Namely, he wanted to shag a flippin’ cat.
He was just as confused as anyone else would be
“Oh, don't feel bad. I'm sure your mother's still proud…Hee hee!” Sweet Shalquoir suddenly rolled herself over, her fluffy belly looking rather ruffable. “Say, why don’t we play a game? Us cats love games.”
Terry was so taken aback by the revelations of the last two minutes that his lips barely moved as he spoke. Hesitantly he tested the waters, “What would… What would it be?”
But that alone was the only sign she needed – telling of his interest. Succulent sardines were practically throwing themselves at her bait. Once she took hold, she only let go when she was satisfied. “I won’t tell. Why, that’s part of the game isn’t it?” she pouted, seemingly good intentioned, “Just one chance, tick toooock.”
“Yeah, yeah, yes.” he suddenly splurted out, easily flustered by her words. Amused by his jumpiness she raised her head, propping herself up on her front legs. Her bushy tail – shaped like a maidservant’s duster - swayed from side to side with a conscious grace, silently brushing against the table top.
He was staring.
Hook, line, sinker.
“The eager sort are we?” she purred, licking at the pink beans of her paw in disinterest. This was so easy that the pretence of a game felt like a charade. She thought even he would at least have a bit of fight in him before bending to her words. “Then get on your knees for me. Oh, it is very dusty in here.”
Not at all understanding why he was doing it but desperate to do so for some baffling reason Tenacious Terry, hero to all the children of old Drangleic, sunk to his knees without a shred of shame. Now face to face and level with the feline, he was inches away from her perpetually smug face.
The crude cobblestones of the shack’s floor jabbed through the thin fabric of his clothing, not sharp enough to draw blood but rugged all the same. While trendily dressed as a Royal Ranger his ornate leather uniform was light and flimsy, and provided about as much protection as a summer blanket from the cold.
“Comfortable? Or not?” Shalquoir chipped, bemused by the sight of a grown man on his knees, “I doubt it’ll bother you too much once our game begins.” she let that hang in the air for a moment, wondering if the mindless thrall before her was at least capable of reading between the lines. If he had a brain, it must’ve been the size of a walnut. “… Well? Go on. Take off your belt. You’re the one who has thumbs, hee hee!”
Fumbling with his belt he continued to stare at her, his mind filled with the image of her condescending look. In direct contrast the cat lazily lapped at her neck, brushing the scruffy fluff along her throat with the many barbs of her tongue.
There was only one way that he could see this going, and it was that which disturbed him so deeply. What sort of crazed weirdo would come to that conclusion? What sort of weirdo would want that sort of conclusion?
Pulling the loosened belt by the buckle he released himself from its bindings, haphazardly tugging at the waist of his trousers and pathetically pulling them down. Sweet Shalquoir’s slitted eyes widened ever so slightly, fixing themselves on the generous bulge that nestled within his pants. “Oh, I didn’t tell you to do that.” she snickered mockingly, the curious young man’s hidden mass straining against its prison. “But if you insist, go ahead.” she rest her chin atop her paws, unblinking. “Pull it out.”
The pants came down with a strange sense of willingness, as if eager to obey such twisted demands. With a sudden surge his member popped out of its confines, bouncing about semi-erect. Terry sighed at the feeling of cold coastal air, the elasticated waistband of his underwear snapping against the underside of his balls and squeezing them tight.
“I wasn’t being serious.” she mocked, having very clearly wanted this in the first place but loving the anxiety that her words spread across her victim’s face. “I’ve had plenty of pretty boys wanting to scratch my chin, maybe rub my belly or pat my head, but you? My my, how degenerate! How devilish, hee hee!” fidgeting atop her legs she closed her eyes, wriggling her whiskers. “Go on then. Masturbate to me.”
On command he began to jerk his semi-hard cock, awkwardly fumbling for a grip in its incomplete state. His hands focused on the base of the length, the flaccid top flopping about comically like a broken limb.
Why was this turning him on? How could he find kneeling to a domineering woman with his pants down and masturbating to her commands hot in any way, shape or form?
Well, when you put it like that…
But she was a cat. He was masturbating, in essence, to a feline.
Talk about hungry for puss.
"I receive only the most peculiar visitors. Folk like yourself. It's enough to keep even a cat amused! I wonder if they wander home thinking about how cute I am?” Shalquoir sighed, staring at the growing stiffness of the human’s dick. It was amusing to watch, all the blood draining from his mind and swelling to his member – all of his thoughts surrendering to base pleasure. “I doubt they touch themselves with cats on their mind though! I bet you’re the sort who wouldn’t feel awkward rubbing one off with pets in the room! My my, how lewd of you Terry.”
She remembered his name.
The way she said it felt so… Velvety.
While supposedly tenacious even he felt pleasure, and it overflowed from within. It travelled through the backbone he thought he’d lost long ago, spreading through his shoulders and shooting through his mouth as a loud, powerful whimper. His legs were getting number and number in such a perverted pose, all of his senses focusing on the full mast of his cock. “What cute moans you have, hee hee!” the feline purred with genuine amusement, his sounds as boyish as his looks. "I can smell it from here, your thing. You may think it's dirty, but we cats love that. It's an acquired taste!” she closed her eyes, surrounding herself in the smell for a moment, “This adorable pussycat loves the smell of your stinky cock. How does that make you feel? Hmm? Speak up now, you degenerate.”
Permitted to speak he willed his mouth into motion, realising a moment too late that drool had pooled within. “I-It feels good…” he slurred, struggling to swallow his saliva. His wrist continued to work at his strained erection, twisting with every pump, “So wrong, but so…”
“Right?” she finished his sentenced, rolling her eyes at such a corny turn of phrase, “You have that glint in your eyes. And the scent…Of one with quite the catalogue of sins… I wonder what else you’ve touched yourself to? Rutting doggies? Lusty mares? Oh, oh, lusty stallions?” she listed all sorts of base and foul things, wanting to place those twisted images into his mind’s eye. Why was it always the handsome ones with the most sinister lusts? “Oh come on, I’m sure you’ve at least looked a little bit.”
Tenacious Terry had never seen himself as much of a pervert in his youth, but perhaps that was why these terrible urges were striking him so viciously? Decades of repression as a forced idol of youths across the kingdom he’d never given his yearning a chance to take root; all of those teenage girls, dreaming of his cock as their plaything – sucking it, fucking it, smothering it with primal urges. Legions of virgin girls who had him on their minds every day and every night.
All the sex he’d never had.
All the pangs he’d pent up inside.
“Men are so prone to corruption. But that's what makes watching humankind so delightful.” Shalquoir chimed in, knowing full well what sort of thoughts were scrambling through his sex-addled mind. It wasn’t about quantity, it was about quality. And for a young and fertile man such as he a pretty girl-next-door would be boring. This was how it always started. “Watching curious young men develop the most peculiar fascinations never gets old. Sometimes their fascinations seem to take control, till there's very little man left. Hee hee hee…”
His breaths grew shallow, tightness filling up his lower half. Terry bit his lip to contain a groan of exertion, finding the cat’s mysterious gaze. “I-I can’t hold on!” he tried to say through grit teeth, his voice muffled.
But not now, he wanted more! Legions of young women were one thing, but it was all the same. There was no excitement in mere youths – all sheepish and clumsy, no form or grace. They were tame, lifeless, boring. Rushing with all sorts of strange endorphins and chemicals with long and unpronounceable names Terry’s brain was having the high of its life as the years caught up to him; digging deeper was all that he wanted, no matter what he found.
“You want to cum, but at the same time you don’t. What a curious conundrum. Hee hee hee!” Sweet Shalquoir chuckled at the sex crazed boy before her, eager to see what degeneracy his dirty mind thought of next. Feeling charitable she ordered him again, tail raised in amusement. “Don’t touch it, let it calm down. You’re not allowed to cum yet, that would be too easy.”
The ranger couldn’t resist her orders, his tugging hands awkwardly releasing his cock and raising above his head like he was a cornered criminal. Caught in the throes mere moments before orgasm his swollen member frantically twitched and trembled, desperate to pull itself over the edge but unable to do some without that last bit of stimulation.
The smug feline continued to stare at his need judgingly, enjoying the sight of his pained twitches – one, two, three, four; with every pulse of ecstasy the bead of precum upon his tip grew in size, misty yet fine all the same. It stunk just like him – the fascinating aroma of repressed arousal at last being freed from its bounds. It was like a juicy piece of tuna – a great rarity that she just couldn’t help sinking her teeth into.
Testingly Terry’s hands began to lower once again, watching the cat closely for any reaction. She continued to stare at his reddened cock, almost as excited as he was to get back to work.
“Well, you've grown quite a bit, haven't you? Your scent is lovelier than it's ever been. Hee hee hee…” watching her like the flagsman at the start of a race, he suddenly burst into action and pumped bestially at his burning cock with reckless abandon. She was having none of that, her whiskers flexing, “Oh my, haste makes waste. Hee hee hee!” she snickered, the archer’s expression miserable as he froze to a halt. If he was to do this, he was to do it right. “Slowly, all across your dick. Painfully slow. Careful now.”
He obeyed her command, not because he wanted to but because he needed to. This forced bout of cock control was too much for his body and brain to handle; the drilling urge to cum from before still pierced at his heart yet the precipice was miles from his grasp.
It hurt so much.
He wanted to shoot it all out. He needed to let go.
“Why do people try so hard to be beautiful? We cats are born beautiful, of course… But I have a feeling that you’re the lucky sort who doesn’t even need to try.” she leant forward like a gloating predator, her purr changing to a lower, more contemplative pitch, “You’re just like me; a cat, born beautiful, and coddled by the world. But don’t let it get to your head!”
If she was trying to tell him something deep and meaningful it was having little effect, fucking and rutting all that filled his empty brain. He needed to find more ways to feel this pleasure - his hand wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t good enough.
“I bet most of the women you know want to bed you, yet here you are rubbing one off to a condescending pussy cat. Naughty, naughty.” her fangs clicked together mischievously, looking down upon the boy figuratively and literally. It wasn’t his fault that he was such a perverted mess; that was the hilarious part. “But you can’t help being such a lewd boy, can you Terry?” she whipped her tail from side to side, her tone almost flirtatious. “I’m just too cute, hee hee!”
His fingers slick with precum he struggled to restrain himself, slowly running the bumps of his individual digits from head to base along his throbbing dick. His hips thrust as much as they could with every motion, trying to eke out every ounce of pleasure from his excruciatingly slow motions. Terry’s balls were swollen with pent up cum, struggling to bear their intense burden.
“It’s a terrible idea to give in to such degenerate lusts. If you yearn for such things for too long, you’ll never be happy with the ordinary again. Eventually all you’ll be able to do is push deeper, and deeper, until your own morbid lusts rot you from the core…” Sweet Shalquoir’s voice lost its theatrical charm, dripping with sincerity. This wasn’t a tease – this was a warning, ever foreboding. “I wonder what choice you will make? Maybe you’ll end up dead in a poisonous ditch somewhere, a big, perverted grin on your face? Maybe you’ll trade your soul for the feeling of a woman’s touch? Will that make you happy? Makes you think, hee hee…”
“I wanna cum.” Terry slurred hungrily, a string of his precum dangling from his tip and stuck to his fingers. A sticky patch of the stuff had developed on the ground, and grew with every moment. “Please, let me…”
“So that’s your answer.” she smirked slyly, not at all surprised by his weak will. Somehow her smug face grew greater, her eyes rolling. “Perverted men are so predictable.” her ears flicked irreverently, lazily pulling herself to a seated position. “Hmmm, you’re just about ready to cum, I’d say. But we are playing a game aren’t we?”
They say the mind is the most suggestible at the pinnacle of orgasm, and the empty headed pretty boy had been straddling the point for the last few minutes. He didn’t want to be played with, yet at the same time it satiated the lusty monster that sat within his breast. It was lewd, perverted, slutty, and so many other warped words. The soreness in his cock hurt so much.
To his corrupted mind it hurt so good.
“When I say the magic word, you can cum. You’ll cum so much you’ll never be happy with normal girls again. Not that you care, you silly degenerate. All you care about is feeling good, right this instant, don’t you?” Shalquoir snickered, her tongue hungrily running along the roof of her mouth. “It’ll be the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had… Yet.” she teased, the young ranger hanging on to every word she spake. This sort of power over perverted men never got old, especially with the cute ones. “But only when I say the magic word, Terry. Because you’re the sort who listens, hee hee!”
Terry staggered forward, his free hand fumbling for balance on the pointy cobblestones. The commanding feline crooned forward sinisterly, reaching close to his ear with her suitably cat-like agility.
“Remember, only when I say the word.” she whispered, the hairs on the boy’s neck standing on end. “The word… Enchanté!”
Yet with that announced she fell silent, urging him to continue rubbing at his shaft. She purred approvingly at every whimper and every groan – and she never stopped purring. Terry murmured under his breath, the cat’s sensitive ears picking out each word. “Fuck” and “Please” dominated his lexicon, with the occasional utterance of the magic word he was desperate to hear – “Enchanté”
“Pump slooooowly.” Sweet Shalquoir sung in a sing song, her narrow eyes widening in amusement as he instantly followed her command. He was completely lost, wasn’t he? “Well then Terry, let us engage in an enquiry concerning entities possibly enroute to our current location.” she kept her words unhurried, cruelly toying with the boy’s expectations. “Oh, how it enrages me when they are late, chaos will surely ensue!” Terry hissed with poorly contained agony, looking up at her with scruffy sweat-soaked hair. Her head tilted innocently, “Envious are we? It’s only natural. Endemic in all men, in fact.” she continued, having planned this tangent far ahead of time. Perhaps he deserved a break? “My voice is encha…?”
Terry took a deep breath, his loins braced for what was to come; relief was nearing, sweet Sweet Shalquoir’s sweet sweet words tonguing at his ears.
“… Enchanting, isn’t it? Hee hee!” she snickered cruelly, pulling the starved slut of a man to the top of the cliff only to shove him back down again as he gained purchase. “Such a well-endowed boy as you must be engulfed with anger right now, your engorged cock enticed by my every word.” the running commentary grew in haste, a sense of enthusiasm filling her voice. She was used to people hanging on her every word, but this was bliss. “You’re panting like a dog! I wonder if you’re desperate enough to bark like one too?”
The archer didn’t park per se, but he certainly snarled like a grumpy hound, hanging his head weakly as he continued his self abuse. His torso flexed and contorted with every movement, the whole of his body doing all that it could to hold on. It was as if his very being was wracked by conflict, unnaturally resisting his human nature.
Woof, woof.
Awoo!
“Oh? Is that going too far for you?” Shalquoir mocked, nibbling on her perfectly pink paws. “Still clinging onto your pride as you enjoy pumping your smelly dick to a fuzzy old cat?” that must’ve appealed to his tastes, his glans practically smooth with how horny he’d become, “Incorrigible little pervert, aren’t you? Such an enigma.” he keeled over completely at this point, his face pressed against the dusty cobbles yet his hands continuing to torture his length, “You’d have to be stupid to be enticed like this, but you’re completely enamoured by my words! Enthralled by that feeling in your balls, engrossed by the promise that I’ll let you cum.” he looked like he belonged down there – face full of dirt, bent in supplication, with all the rest of the trash. Perhaps she could make him her new welcome mat? The old one was getting a bit bitty. “Maybe I will… Maybe I won’t? I can’t ensure you.”
It was muffled but she could make it out – he was murmuring their magical word again and again, as if repeating it would encourage her to utter it. His knees were scraped and bruised, his bare ass shaking with mirth pathetically. This was rich.
“What’s that? You want me to say something? Why, what enraptured you so?” she purred curiously, playing dumb. Three syllables stood between them; three simple sounds. “But I’m afraid I’m just a cat. What sort of cat can speak English?” her words made no sense, but that didn’t matter to her in the slightest. She leant close, feigning to listen to his whispers. “Ench… Enchan…?” she struggled to pronounce, “Oh, it’s on the tip of my toooongue, hee hee!”
Stroke, stroke, stroke.
His eyes were watering; he was crying.
Fap, fap, fap.
“Hee hee!” she snickered – how she loved it when grown men cried. “I think you’ve had enough, Terry. Your big sweaty balls are ready to burst! You’ve been enslaved by your sick passion haven’t you, you little manslut?” she stood on her hind legs proudly, high and mighty. She was a queen, and he was cattle. “Cum to my cute voice. Cum to your disgusting human lusts.”
“En. Chan. Té.”
Paint the walls white.
She repeated it again and again, every exclamation being met with a spurt of man milk, “Enchanté! Enchanté!” she purred in amusement, his hefty loads of spunk coating the floor in their plenty. “Enchanté! That’s it, give in to your degeneracy!”
Terry could hardly even muster the strength to jerk himself off, letting his shaft unleash its load wherever it pleased. He shuddered and sniffed wetly as his balls were squeezed of all their worth, his warm tears smudging against his cheeks.
“Ooh, you smell wonderful. Hee hee hee…” Sweet Shalquoir sighed dreamily, gazing upon the broken boy crumpled in a heap upon her store’s floor. “Rub the last of it out of your stinky dick, Terry. That’s it. Degenerate cum is my favourite scent.” she cooed, basking in the odour of corrupted youth, “My shop will smell like your dirty sperm for days, I hope you’re happy.”
It took time for his pulse to calm, the sound of the ocean gradually returning as the white noise of his orgasm dwindled into a faint buzz. Realisation didn’t ram into him with the brutal force that he’d been expecting, but rather slowly wandered up to him and looked him in the eye as it punted him in the shin. There was a line that he should have never crossed, yet in his naivety and lust for satisfaction he hadn’t step over it so much as leapt with a running start.
Terry’s legs refused to cooperate, his blood struggling to slog through his veins and return to his limbs and brain. Even now his cock continued to pulse and tremble emptily, his testicles refusing to offer any more juice for the day. The distance his ejaculation had reached was evidence enough – he was a complete and total pervert.
“Did you enjoy our game?” the fickle feline asked, wondering if he was literate yet. “You give something, to gain something. That's the way humans like it, right?” she flicked out a claw, examining it like filth under a fingernail. “You’ve given me a lovely story to share, and I’ve given you pleasure. I can’t wait to tell everyone I know how lewd you are, hee hee!”
Tenacious Terry, with all his tenacity, sat straight. “… I-I came h-”
“Yes you did.” Sweet Shalquoir interrupted dryly, easily amused.
Frustrated he raised his voice, speaking assertively, “I came here to… To learn how to stand up for myself.” weakly he clutched at his underpants, covering his quivering shame.
“Yet here you are on your knees.” she observed, “You’ve fallen so low now Terry, yet you worry about what others think?” that sincerity from before returned to her voice – she was a merchant by trade, and leaving her customers unsatisfied wasn’t good for business. “You've lost everything, absolutely everything. Hee hee…”
“Some help you are.” he muttered, blindly trying to slide his belt between the loops of his trousers. Why was everyone in the apocalypse so freakin’ cryptic? “Can’t feel my damn legs....”
The therapeutic purring and the calm it provided suddenly came to a halt, as Shalquoir sighed irritably; so much for trying to help the helpless. “What is it you humans say when you’re not masturbating to things you really shouldn’t be masturbating to…” she was trying to give the boy genuine advice, masked by a thick layer of condescension. He was fairly endearing in all his idiocy, as far as humans went – she’d rather he didn’t end up in a gutter somewhere. “’Beware a man with nothing to lose’. If you truly have nothing left, then nothing can hold you back.” that was the bluntest she could make it for such a blunt-headed man, “Understand, manslut? Hee hee!”
Quietly he contemplated her words, his eyes downcast. Terry had tied himself to the dead Drangleic because it was all he had, clinging onto his past when it had died long ago. It was a childish belief to hold; that one day the kingdom would rise again and he could return to his cushy old life as an icon. The one thing that kept him going was inadvertently holding him back.
Drangleic was dead. The army was dead. His friends were dead. His job – if you could even call it that – was dead. Hell, for all he knew his sister Tracy was dead. The only thing left tying him down was his own ego. It was his own ego that had made him shy and anti-social; a very strange paradox, but once you thought about it it all made sense.
He was so fixated on being Tenacious Terry that he couldn’t be the regular Terry.
So here he was, trounced and humiliated and his backwards lust made bare. It would take a word for him to be exiled by what amounted to civilisation in the end times, and yet he still had shame and fear? It made absolutely no sense to think this way.
In a reach around away, coming – and cumming – to Sweet Shalquoir had given him exactly what he needed. By releasing the pent up corruption from within the delusions of grandeur his name held were crushed into a fine pulp. He was just another faceless wanderer now, free to be his own man with his own destiny. He’d even spoken back to her; baby steps, but steps all the same.
“It seems that we must now part. Go on, pull up your trousers and run along.” the feline stretched out across the table, mewling pleasantly as the tension in her muscles was released, “Maybe you’ll remember what I’ve said to you? Maybe it’ll help you on your way?” she pulled herself up straight, and then sunk back to her usual napping posture. “Not that I care. After all… I’m just a cat. Hee hee!”
She completely stopped responding at this point, returning to lazily dangling her paw over the side of the shoddy old table she rest upon – bored of him, and having said her piece. Terry gradually rose to his feet and stumbled on wobbling legs out of the door. Fumbling with his trousers he almost slipped off the porch and tumbled down the sinkhole in the middle of Majula, yet he hastily caught himself against its rim.
He was on his hands and knees again, his gaze cast down the cavernous drop. He could see several bloated and emaciated corpses strewn about the many rafters and boards that stretched across the fall, all in various states of decay. Each and every one of them had their own convoluted tales, and all had come to equally gruesome ends.
Like it or not, Tenacious Terry wasn’t unique. Not in this world. One day he was going to end up like that too, his own self-destructive mind dragging him to his doom like a ticking firebomb on a short fuse. Embracing the degeneracy within may have been the core to granting him peace of mind, but with it came a grim price.
There were so many ways to die.
All he could hope for now was a clean one.
X
(A/N): Well, that escalated quickly.
Usually I like to base the dialogue of waifus in these stories around their actual lines from the games… Sweet Shalquoir’s a bloody goldmine for it, that’s for sure! Alas, this strange poor man’s JOI scenario involving a girl with zero outward sexual characteristics proved incredibly difficult for a first timer. I hope I got some sort of effect out of it…
Perhaps her words were a dark omen for what lies ahead? Regardless, next time we follow a rather unhinged Tenacious Terry as he journeys through Earthern Peak with bow and dirk in accord for reasons unclear even to him. Here’s to hoping he doesn’t find his “bane” at the top, in the form of a “toxic” woman! Hey hey!
… I’m bad at this.
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PlayerUnknown’s Soulsborne Waifu Compendium