Archive of Our Own ^beta

“C’mon, c’mon…”

Purah groaned, and snapped her fingers in irritation, waiting for the function to load. She’d made this dang Sheikah Slate—sorry, the Purah Pad —and why did it have to fumble now, of all times? Why did the programs she had designed, iterated, and polished herself have to stutter when she was trying to do something sensitive?

Particularly when that “sensitive” thing was scrubbing from her device’s files image after image after image of Purah, caught indelibly participating in—no, not merely participating, rather, initiating and indulging and reveling in—a multitude of compromisingly lurid activities with an embarrassingly enormous number of Bokoblins.

In the heat of the moment, having managed to finally age past the overstretch of her self-experimentation, returning once more to her twenty-year-old self, Purah…had not been thinking clearly. Had not been processing her thoughts properly. Had been flushed with long-deferred, long-abandoned wants that had been foreign to her for years, and when she had taken a stroll to clear her head, things had only gotten worse.

When Purah had turned the corner of a tree, and had beheld a camp full of Bokoblins that she had somehow failed to notice, she had only recognized their presence when the wind shifted, and their stench had wafted downwind. It was a foul smell, salty and thick, sharply stinging her nose and leaving her eyes blinking away tears, even from this distance, with them little more than a few red and blue and black shapes cavorting about a crude fire. Purah had known that she was not smelling them burning the spoils of their hunt: she was smelling the Bokoblins in all their unwashed, sweaty rankness.

What she also had known was that she could not resist it. 

Purah had made a critical mistake, going for a walk into unsecured territory without paying attention. She’d done even more to set herself up for failure by doing so while still re-familiarizing herself with her newly nubile body, that of a young Sheikah woman of enviable voluptuousness, breasts pert and plump and straining her undershirt, shoulders exposed, the wide flare of her hips and backwards protrusion of her ass disguised by her outer coat. Purah’s curves were no match for her grand-niece’s, Impa’s grandaughter, the adorable and unfathomably well-endowed Paya…but, then again, that was hardly a mark against Purah herself, given the competition.

Besides, Paya had already captured the heart, and the arousal, of Link himself, courtesy of the sweet young woman's gorgeously enormous tits, and her maddeningly massive backside, and her hypnotically huge hips, and her kind, sincere, caring character, and so Purah saw no need to compare herself to her grand-niece.

Be that as it may, Purah had waltzed into smelling range of a Bokoblin camp while still struggling internally with the overdrive of impulses telling her that her young, ripely buxom body needed to get fucked, and that had doomed her from the start.

When Purah had inhaled, and the stench of ripe, rich, headily cloying musk filled her sinuses, she had already known that she was lost. She wanted, she needed to get her body broken in by these Bokoblins, and even if she hadn’t known that doing so would herald a new dependency, she probably wouldn’t have stopped herself. She hardly could.

So Purah had strolled up to the Bokoblin camp, winked through her round-rimmed glasses at the befuddled Bokoblins—some reaching for weapons, others grunting knowingly, well-familiar with the sight of women approaching them after getting a whiff—and had shrugged off her overcoat, grinning and cooing at each brutish monster in turn.

“♪Iiiiiit’s Purah!♪ Now, why don’t you show me a good time, boys~?”

The Bokoblins who had never had the pleasure of a Hylian, or a Sheikah, or a Gerudo, or a Zora, or a Rito woman throwing themselves at them stared at her blankly, blue-and-pink eyes confused and vacant, while those who had had the delight of interspecies banging had begun to approach, porcine nostrils snorting happily as they got closer and closer.

The first image taken was of Purah extending the index and pinky finger on her left hand in what she had dubbed a “peace” sign, her tongue extended and winking at the camera as she smiled naughtily, four Bokoblins approaching in the background as six more sat and watched, was anything but innocuous. Even if her voice had not been captured by her self-taken shot, her expression—hungry and devilishly delighted—gave everything away.

“Check it! Snappity snap! Purah’s gonna get plapped~!”

Now, as she waited for the “delete” function she’d suddenly devised to install, Purah scrolled through one image after another, and admitted to herself that she’d…gotten carried away. 

More than carried away. She couldn’t have helped herself, not when Bokoblins smelled like that, so deliciously disgusting, rank and filthily sweaty, a musky, salty, thick stench radiating off them. It smothered her mind as readily as it cloyed her senses…particularly when they were rubbing their sweaty dicks and plump, spunk-swollen balls against her face, leaving her panting and red-cheeked, skin sticky with perspiration that was not her own.

But had she really had to take so many pictures ?

Here was one, of Purah in the center of a five-Bokoblin blowbang, extending two fingers to make a “peace” sign while stroking one cock as two more nudged between her lips, one black and one red, crowding her mouth as cum bubbled and popped in between her nostrils, and two more dicks rubbed her cheeks. That had been capped off with a mind-meltingly gratifying shower of thick, creamy Bokoblin cum…which Purah had also gotten a picture of, eyes closed and glasses glazed opaque with Bokoblin spunk as she grinned a sticky, cum-stained grin, face drenched with five monster loads. A white to match her platinum-silver hair, elevated in pinned double-buns, which hadn’t stopped it from mussing and matting from all the Bokoblin cum poured over it.

Here was another, of Purah kissing the head of a Bokoblin’s cock as its impressive blue enormity was trapped between her tits, a black Bokoblin looming behind her with his enormous shaft visibly squished between her fat asscheeks, a scene captured thanks to her intentional angle choice. The follow-up, from the same angle, showed a mess of spunk emptied onto the grass below and behind her, as more cum coated Purah’s plump tits, dripping off the underside of her neck and forehead: as clear a sign that she’d just been banged from behind while milking a Bokoblin cock between her breasts.

Here was a third, of Purah smiling vacantly with her tongue extended, spunk dripping down her chin as a string of fluid connected her lips to the head of the big red Bokoblin dick blocking her eyes, draping over the bridge of her nose, above her nostrils, leaving her unable to see anything but the fat, sweaty, spit-and-cum-covered Bokoblin cock that had just been plugging her throat. His balls, plump and swollen with his burden, rubbed her reddened cheek, clearly unsatisfied by her oral adoration. The reminder of how it felt to be blinded by the heavy, smelly weight of a Bokoblin's cock, the very same cock that Purah had just finished deepthroating, sent a pang of twinging heat into Purah's stomach that she could not identify.

Image after image of Purah being pumped and plastered and pounded by Bokoblins. She’d always had to pilot the shot herself, since she could hardly have expected a brute like a Bokoblin to operate her device, but the ingenuity of positions she’d been able to get good images of would have impressed Purah if she hadn’t been so torn between horror and morbid recollection.

Purah had gotten self-directed pictures of her lower holes as one Bokoblin stretched her pussy lips and the other strained the tight, clenching confines of her asshole, and then she’d gotten pictures of herself with an only-slightly-exaggerated expression of pure, whorish, wanton lurid delight, tongue extended, eyes crossed, mouth open, two Bokoblins of mismatched colors—one red, one blue—heaving into her from below. The shot was framed from above such that her thick thighs could be seen pressing hard into the sides of the Bokoblin thrusting into her cunt, her arching back giving away the heft of Purah’s plump ass as it quaked against the fat stomach of the Bokoblin plugging her butthole, his three-fingered hands clumsily, hungrily groping her thick asscheeks.

Purah had gotten shots of herself with a plump pair of Bokoblin balls in between her lips, her red eyes crossing as she stared at his big red dick, its girth flopping across her nose and knocking askew her glasses, his fat cockhead oozing spunk onto her sweaty forehead. The flaring of her nostrils as Purah huffed the filthy, deliciously rank, headily musky stench of unwashed Bokoblin balls was not captured in the image...but the half-lidded look in her eyes, as she gazed adoringly and with dazed awe at the smelly, sweaty Bokoblin dick resting on her face, made her depraved, dirty devotion to the sharp stench of his shaft, and bitter, salty taste of his balls, exceedingly obvious.

Purah had snapped selfies of herself making an exaggerated “ooh” expression as an inventive blue Bokoblin thrust his dick into the makeshift tunnel formed by her hairbuns, careful to have removed her stick-pins and replace the structure they offered with the girthy stiffness of his dick. To wrap Purah’s silky locks snugly around his sweaty, smelly dick was nothing short of brutish brilliance, and it left her hair tickling his bloated balls on the forward thrust, his drool liberally falling over the very same head he was humping. Her free hand rested against her chin and she cocked her head to the side to adulterate her appearance of curious shock, and she’d kept that look on her face right up until the Bokoblin had showered her hair with spunk, rutting happily into the slick, silky confines of her locks, staining them a deeper white with his load.

She'd captured moments when she’d blown a kiss at the camera, winking and cooing silently, as two Bokoblins sawed their cocks in the tight, pressed-together confines of Purah’s sweaty armpits from behind. The slickness lent a slippery squelchiness to the monster’s rutting motions, the heads of their cocks shoving forward to bump the sides of Purah’s tits as both Bokoblins thrust forward between her armpits. Purah had been sure to take a shot of her raised arm once both were done, to show off how much spunk they'd painted onto her sweaty, soft armpits, oozing down her sides, the monster cocks that had just hosed her armpits still rubbing the sweaty, sensitive cleft of skin as she cooed and crooned in ticklish pleasure.

Purah had gotten images of herself puckering her lips, the hand not grasping the Purah Pad gripping tight into a red Bokoblin’s sweaty asscheeks as she spread his backside and exposed his winking, temptingly-twitching butthole, the visual language making her imminent feasting upon his asshole, and the lucky Bokoblin’s rimming-only orgasm, all-too-clear. The follow-up image Purah had taken from the same angle, depicting her face flushed red and sticky with sweat, her glasses askew, a dreamy smile on her face as a line of drool connected her lips to the Bokoblin’s winking butthole, curling hairs caught in her lips, was as depraved as it was unnecessary.

And there were so, so many more. More than she had remembered taking. More than she could imagine taking.

It was horrendous. It was humiliating.

And it felt so, so good to recall. So perfect to remember the filthy degradation of being banged by brutish Bokoblins, crowded and crammed full of their cocks and cum, lowering herself to be their dicksleeve like her life depended on it.

But no. That couldn’t be right. She couldn’t … want that. It had to have been a mistake, a horrid mistake, one that she could only hope to resolve as quickly as possible.

Purah felt her heart race, and felt herself tapping the screen, hoping against hope that the “Delete” icon would appear on its own. It was a foolish aspiration…and a foolish action.

Because an icon did appear on the screen, and it did register not only Purah’s initial tap, but the confirmation afterwards. And it was only when Purah did a double take and examined her pad that she felt her stomach grow cold with fear.

Purah had not deleted the image in question, the one of her with her eyes blocked, a just-sucked-to-completion Bokoblin cock resting over her face, his still-swollen balls nudging her cheek. She had done the worst thing possible.

Purah had sent it. And, judging by the log she was able to pull up of the Purah Pad’s messaging system—a prototype that allowed for data communication between the Pad and Sheikah data centers around Hyrule—she had sent it to one location in particular.

To the one that Princess Zelda carried on her person, a similar device as the Purah Pad, though more image-oriented, and lacking the experimental features of Purah’s own. A Sheikah Slate.

The fear gripping Purah’s heart and chest robbed her of her breath, and settled over her stomach like an uneasily-sitting meal. The only worse outcome would have been to send it to Robbie, and…

…Wait. A notification. A message from Zelda, already? How? How had she seen it already? And how did she have a response ready so quickly? Purah did not know. But as soon as she had received it, she tapped it, and what had filled her screen had shocked her more than the realization that she had mistakenly sent it to Zelda.

A woman with short blonde hair and the plumpest, roundest, fattest ass that Purah had ever seen was getting rammed up the butt by two Bokoblins, one blue, one black, both as marvelously well-endowed as the monsters that had rawed Purah so recently. It was a still capture, but the arch in the woman’s back, and the frozen ripple of her fat ass, and the blur in the Bokoblin’s big dicks as they rubbed together mid-thrust, stretching her butthole taut around their thick shafts, communicated perfectly how viciously, and how deeply, both monsters were buttfucking the blonde.

And if Purah had had any doubts about the identity of the woman being assbanged by two Bokoblins at once, the two Triforce-shaped symbols, shimmering with gold, clearly not a tattoo—one nestled above her buttcheeks, the second upside-down and between her shoulder blades—gave it away. As did the telltale blue-and-white tunic visible over the woman’s shoulder, crumpled on the ground beside her.

It was Zelda. It was Princess Zelda. It was Princess Zelda who, in this image, was getting fucked in the ass by two Bokoblins at the same time, and, judging by the deep dip in her arching back, and the way her elbows were bowing, she was enjoying it. Immensely. And she had just sent a picture of it to Purah, as if in reply to her mistaken transmission of a similarly-unbecoming image of Purah with a Bokoblin.

A thousand sentiments and questions raced through Purah at once. Why had Zelda sent her this? When had this happened? What had she meant by this, in sending it? And how in Hyrule had she gotten that angle? Had one of the Bokoblins taken it?

Purah did not know. What she did know was that if she wanted to test the waters, as it were, and acquire more information as to Zelda’s…reply, well, the best way to do that was to send more. Just to gauge Zelda’s reaction.

Which to send, though? Better to not elevate the bar too rapidly, but given the threshold she’d already crossed, and that the Princess had already trampled over…what to send next?

Hm. Probably that one, Purah thought, as she swiped and tapped the “send” icon while she had selected the image she’d taken of her face coated in Bokoblin cum, a deliriously naughty smile on her face, eyes closed owing to the enormous five-monster downpour of spunk showering her features. That one worked best.

For a few anxious moments, nothing happened. Purah waited, and suddenly grew mortified that she’d crossed a line, or that Zelda’s reply had been accidental in the first place, or that she was moving forward beyond Zelda’s own boundaries. But how could that be? Zelda had been the one to…

A buzz, and a beep, and a tap of the icon communicating an incoming message brought another image into Purah’s view. One that showed Princess Zelda, the Princess Zelda—her Triforce tramp stamps, the birthmarks of her heritage, had made her identity undeniable in her first reply, but the countenance in this second image was undeniably that of Zelda’s herself—with a face so thoroughly coated in cum, so perfectly and powerfully plastered in spunk, that it put Purah’s five-Bokoblin bukkake to shame. On Zelda’s features was an expression of perfect, serene, gratified bliss, her smile broad and open-mouthed to better show off the cream coating her teeth and stretching between her lips. Lips that were painted a bright, bubbly, showy pink, garish and glimmering, smeared slightly as bubbles of spunk popped in her mouth and from her nostrils, her thoroughly frosted face sodden with overly-heavy loads.

And, to dismiss any confusion as to the source of Princess Zelda’s excessively prodigious facial, the shot—taken from above, with Zelda making a sign with her fingers that Purah herself had taught her, the “peace” sign, extending the index and middle fingers of the hand not grasping her Sheikah Slate—showed off not five, not six, not even seven, but a full eight Bokoblin cocks, thick and shimmering and red and blue and black, encircling and crowding her face. Some still sprayed spunk all over an evidently still cum-hungry Zelda, and some simply rested on her forehead and rubbed her cheeks. All bore lipstick-colored kiss marks where she’d smooched them and rings of pink where she’d deepthroated their dicks, which, combined with the pink kiss marks along the fat, bloated balls that could be seen in the image, told an all-too-clear story of Zelda’s famished oral adoration of big, delicious Bokoblin cocks.

It was as astonishing as it was oddly satisfying. To see Princess Zelda not only send a matching image of herself getting an over-healthy facial from the Bokoblins who’d banged her, but to show off how she’d done even more than Purah herself. Had she unlocked a competitive streak, in the Princess? Was Zelda…trying to show her up, with how many Bokoblins she could fuck, and with what she had been able to do?

Purah couldn’t tell. What she did know was that she had to send another. Send more. Just to see what happened.

What to send next, though? Purah didn’t have time to think. She didn’t know when this excitement that had come over her, and over Zelda, would pass: better to barrel forward blindly than to risk losing momentum. A few taps of her Purah Pad, and the picture of her lower holes as she got her cunt and ass stuffed full of Bokoblin dick was sent off to Zelda.

There was a longer pause, this time, before Zelda replied. Enough for Purah to worry. Enough for her to wonder whether Zelda was having second thoughts. But when the image came through, Purah recognized that Zelda had merely been trying to get the perfect reply.

The perfect set of replies, because Zelda had sent her two images in response. The first was a shot of Zelda taking a single red Bokoblin dick up the ass from behind, presumably taken by one of the Bokoblins, a de-escalation compared to the very first image Zelda had sent. Purah wondered, for the vaguest moment, how Zelda had gotten the Bokoblins to do that, and then realized, with mixed wonder and jealousy, that the Bokoblins could only have learned how to operate the Sheikah Slate if Zelda had spent many, many long hours teaching them…and motivating them.

That was thrilling all on its own. What made it even better was the second image Zelda had sent, of her gazing into the camera as she nursed on the head of a red Bokoblin’s cock, cradling his balls with her free hand while the other took the picture. Again, rote, compared to the earlier shots, and Purah was momentarily confused as to why Zelda had chosen these images…

…Until she looked at them both again, side-by-side, and realization dawned on her.

That in the first image, of Zelda taking it in the ass from a red Bokoblin, a bright pink ring of lipstick had been smeared onto Zelda’s asshole, no doubt owing to when Zelda had sloppily deepthroated his dick, the rest of his length shimmering with that same bubbly-pink hue. And given that Zelda had lathered on a layer of blue lipstick in the second image, and was in the process of smearing it all over the pink rubbings of her gloss that were already evident on the cock of the Bokoblin she was sucking…well, Purah didn’t have to be a brilliant scientist to figure out what that meant.

Namely, that Zelda had sucked the dick belonging to the Bokoblin who had just banged her up the butt. She’d gone ass-to-mouth with a monster, and judging by her blissed-out expression, she had loved it.

Where to go from here? What to do next? 

…Purah had one more card she wanted to play. One more image she wanted to send, attesting to her extended descent into Bokoblin depravity, and Purah’s curiosity would not allow her to forgo learning what Zelda’s reaction would be. 

So with a tense inhale, and a swipe and a tap, before she could think and stop herself, Purah sent the image of herself about to eat a Bokoblin’s tight, clenching, puckered asshole, his buttcheek grabbed in her eager hand…and then sent a second picture, that of herself immediately after having rimmed that very same Bokoblin to a messy, squealing, grunting orgasm, stray hairs caught in the corners of her mouth as Purah smiled dreamily, face red and sweaty and head woozy, glasses askew on her nose and smeared with sweat, clearly enjoying her post-Bokoblin-ass-eating rush.

Now, what would the Princess say to that ? What could she send, in reply to that? Purah didn’t know, but it was oddly satisfying to wonder just how much more depraved the Princess’s reply would be. Purah would have guessed but a few minutes ago that something as luridly depraved as licking and making out with a Bokoblin’s butthole would have been more than Zelda could lower herself to, but given how far Zelda had evidently indulged, Purah was less confident…

And when another image came through, Purah already knew that Zelda had crossed that threshold. She’d known even before she’d tapped it, and before she’d even beheld it: a picture of a line of six Bokoblins, red and blue and black, laying on their backs and bellies in a disorderly row, tongues lolling, pink lipstick marks rubbed all over their assholes…capped off by Zelda, in the corner, angling the shot so that the whole row of Bokoblins who’d just gotten rimmed could be shown off. As could all of their pubic hair, stuck on her pink-glossed lips, her face sweaty and red, her eyes half-closed in gratification. 

Princess Zelda had feasted upon six Bokoblin butts in a row, tonguing and licking and making out with six tasty, salty, sweaty Bokoblin assholes. And the Princess of Hyrule had seemed proud of it.

Purah exhaled, sharply, her face warm and her cheeks flushed, suddenly overwhelmed. Zelda had surprised her. Shocked her, with how deeply she could fall, and she could make falling so far look so fun. But perhaps Purah wasn’t much better. And perhaps some communication—more directly, and not through these images—might help. 

What was the harm in talking to the Princess, anyway? Zelda’s communication of herself as a buttslut and much more for Bokoblins demanded that Purah pay the Princess a visit. If only to enquire as to the exact meanings behind her messages. 

Certainly not to organize a joint photo-taking operation, where princess and prodigy could capture indelible, irrefutable, undeniable proof, over and over again, of how much they enjoyed the stench and taste of Bokoblin cocks and Bokoblin balls and Bokoblin assholes, and how much they craved the degradation of being banged by such brutish, run-of-the-mill monsters. 

No, that would be ridiculous. Utterly so. Improbably so.

So why was Purah smiling, and why had the chill of fear in her heart been replaced by a warmer, anticipatory sense of affirmation? Why was there a heat in her core and crotch, one she hadn’t felt since she’d taken those pictures of herself being fucked by Bokoblins?

Purah didn’t know. She’d have to ask the Princess. Just to be sure.