Road to Perdition (Futa/M, Futa/F, size, nc)

A short dream from the darker corner of mind. A fair warning: this contains non-consensual things and ridiculous sized muscles and cocks. Constructive criticism welcomed. No one has done proof reading so be warned, the road is slippery.

The large building stood in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by insurmountable stonewalls and endless desert reaching to horizon every direction. A lone road that hardly existed anymore led to the gigantic gate set in the wall.

The gate clanged deafeningly when the door in it was booted open from the inside. A tall figure clad in biker leathers, shoulders wider than the doorframe, loomed on the other side. Outside three bike motors revved in salute, the roars reverberating from stonewalls, when the figure stooped and turned sideways to step out. Once the bald head had came through it became apparent that it was actually a woman and not a grizzly. Sideways the set of mammoth breasts hindered the hulking amazon’s way out, but using force she squeezed herself through the opening. Once outside, striding relaxed towards the waiting bikers, she didn’t so much as glance backwards.

Different but still in some details alike, all three bikers’ faces were exquisite, contrasting with their bodies, similar with the one they had come to collect. With their huge muscles and large busts they were of the same mold although none of the three matched the massiveness of the one that had stepped out.

“Holla, Morte!” The three bikers chorused together.

Nodding distractedly to the trio the huge, savage beauty stopped by and inspected the fourth bike, a shiny chrome and metal behemoth on wheels.

“You didn’t forget to bring me a present this time.”

In the place especially built for it in her bike, a strapped and gagged big male biker struggled desperately.

“On our way we met a gang of pussies that mocked our patch. We stopped to show them the error of their ways.” The trio’s redhead scoffed.

Sporting assortment of guns on her, the red bike she rode had decidedly spiky exterior. At the back of her jacket were written in big letters: CoW, and underneath it in smaller: Mayhem. Leaning forwards she kept stroking a bulge at a gurgling big tittied biker slut’s belly sitting in her lap.

“We left the leader intact for you Morte, so you can personally show him where the C in CoW comes from.” Nodding towards the struggler her grin was steel.

Morte regarded her biker-sister affectionately. Knowing Mayhem, the slut impaled on her cock was the unfortunate gang boss’ woman.

“Yeah, always the biggest pussy for Morte, the leader of the CoW!” Chortled the one with dreadlocks and skin matching her bikes jet-black color. At her back, under CoW, read Rash. Grinning, jerking her loins upwards, she had the big male biker in her lap bawl desperately like a child.

The raven-haired Asian stayed silent and just kept sucking like straw in milkshake the dick of th