Chapter 1: Full Moon Exposure
The fire cracked and spat, a hungry orange eye in the center of the clearing. Cabba poked at it with a long stick, sending a shower of embers spiraling up towards the indifferent moon. The pine resin scent was sharp in his nose, almost masking the heavier, animal smell of his companions.
“Your turn, pork chop,” Kefla said, her voice a low purr that cut through the night insects’ hum. She was leaning back on her elbows, the firelight painting gold curves along her thighs where her shorts ended. The thin tank top she wore did nothing at all, and Cabba had been trying not to stare at the dark shadows of her nipples pressed against the fabric for the last hour.
Oolong, in his natural pig form, grunted. “Truth. Make it good, sweetheart.” Kefla’s smile was all teeth. “How many times have you used your shapeshifting to peek into the women’s bathhouse?”
“Seventy-three,” Oolong said without hesitation, and took a swig from his flask. “Not counting the time I posed as a towel rack. That was a strategic reconnaissance mission.” He belched. “My turn. Cabba. Truth or dare?” Cabba fidgeted. “Uh. Truth, I guess.”
“Boring,” Kefla sighed, rolling her eyes.
Oolong leaned closer, his small eyes glinting. “Tell us, oh pure-hearted Saiyan. When you jerk off, what do you think about?” The question hit Cabba like a physical blow. His face went instantly, painfully hot. “I… that’s…”
“Answer the question, pussy,” Kefla said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. She took the flask from Oolong and drank, her throat working. Cabba stared into the fire. “Sometimes… about… you know. Fighting. Getting stronger.” It was a weak lie and they all knew it. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy. He couldn’t look at Kefla.
“Pathetic,” she muttered, but she was still smiling. “My turn again. Oolong. Dare.”
“Hit me.”
Kefla didn’t even pause. “I dare you to shapeshift into whatever form Cabba here finds the most attractive. Right now.”
Oolong barked a laugh. “Easy.” There was a puff of smoke and the pop of displacing air. Where the pig had been, a voluptuous woman with blue hair and a gentle smile now sat, clad in a traditional Earthling dress. It was an exact replica of… someone. Someone from Cabba’s brief time on Earth. His mouth went dry.
“Bullshit,” Kefla said, her eyes narrowing. “That’s not it. He’s blushing, but he’s not itching. Try again.”
Another puff. This form was wilder, with fierce green hair and a scowl, wearing battle armor. Cabba flinched.
“Warmer,” Kefla murmured, watching Cabba like a hawk. “But still off. You’re thinking too literally, pig. It’s not about a person. It’s about a… feeling.”
Oolong’s form melted again. This time, the figure was distinctly Saiyan. Powerful, tall, with an arrogant curl to its lip and wild, spiky hair. It was masculine, but blurred at the edges, a hybrid of strength and dominance. Cabba’s breath caught in his throat. A low, traitorous heat pooled in his gut.
“There,” Kefla whispered, victorious. “Look at him. He’s practically vibrating.” The Oolong-shape smirked, a perfect, cruel imitation of Saiyan pride, and ran a hand down its own chest.
Cabba tore his eyes away, humiliated. “Stop it. Change back.”
The shape dissolved into Oolong’s chuckling pig form. “You’ve got some interesting tastes, kid.”
The air had changed. The dare had pulled something into the open, something taut and electric. Cabba felt exposed. Kefla watched him, her earlier laziness gone, replaced by a focused, predatory interest.
“My turn,” she announced, standing up in one fluid motion. The fire painted her in flickering relief. “Truth or dare, Cabba?”
He knew, with a sudden, sick certainty, that he could not choose truth. Whatever she asked would flay him open. “Dare,” he said, the word barely audible.
Kefla’s grin was brilliant and terrifying. “Good boy.”
Her hands went behind her back. There was a simple, metallic snap. Then she shrugged, and the straps of her tank top went slack. With a nonchalant flick of her wrists, she pulled the thin fabric forward and down, letting it fall to the grass at her feet.
The firelight worshipped her.
Her tits were huge, full and heavy, swaying gently with the motion. Her dusky nipples, already hard from the night air, were aimed right at him. Cabba’s brain short-circuited. All sound, all thought, was drowned out by the pounding of his own blood. He just stared, jaw slack, drink forgotten in his hand.
Before he could even process it, Oolong was moving. In a blur, the pig was behind her, his stubby arms reaching around her torso. His trotters transformed into rough, human-like hands as they closed over her breasts, squeezing possessively.
“Truth or dare, bitch?” Oolong hissed into her ear, his voice guttural. He pinched her nipples hard between his thick fingers, twisting cruelly.
Kefla threw her head back against his shoulder with a throaty gasp. Not of pain, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure. A fierce, wild smile spread across her face. “Dare,” she moaned. “Always fucking dare.”
Cabba was frozen. This was wrong. This was dangerous. This was the most arousing thing he had ever seen. His pants were suddenly, unbearably tight. He watched, hypnotized, as Oolong’s hands kneaded the abundant flesh, as his fingers pulled and rolled the tightened peaks. Kefla’s back arched, pushing her chest out further, offering herself to the rough treatment.
“You like watching, don’t you, Cabba?” Kefla panted, her eyes finding his. They were glazed with lust, but sharply intelligent. “You like seeing someone take what they want. It gets your little Saiyan blood pumping.”
He couldn’t deny it. He could only nod, a tiny, shameful motion.
Oolong chuckled, a wet, nasty sound. One of his hands slid down from her breast, over the tight plane of her stomach, and dipped beneath the waistband of her shorts. Kefla’s breath hitched. Her hips bucked forward.
“He’s a fucking voyeur,” Oolong grunted, his hand moving hiddenly. “Look at him. He’s gonna cream his pants just from this.”
“Then let’s give him a better show,” Kefla said. She pushed Oolong’s hand away from her shorts and instead turned in his grasp, kissing him hungrily. It was a messy, open-mouthed clash of teeth and tongue. Oolong’s hands groped her ass, pulling her against him.
Cabba watched, his own hand drifting unconsciously to his crotch, applying desperate pressure. This was beyond any fantasy. The raw, crude reality of it—the sounds of their mouths, the smell of sweat and smoke, the unabashed hunger—unmade him.
Kefla broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting them. She looked over Oolong’s shoulder, her eyes locking with Cabba’s.
“You want a turn?” she asked, her voice wrecked and low. “Or are you just gonna sit there and jerk your pathetic little cock while the real Saiyans play?”
The invitation, flung like a weapon, shattered the last of his hesitation. Shame, desire, and a deep, submissive yearning collided. He stood up on unsteady legs, his arousal evident, tenting his pants. He took a step toward them, then another, drawn in by a force stronger than gravity.
Oolong released Kefla, shoving her playfully towards Cabba. “All yours, rookie. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”
Kefla stumbled the last step into Cabba’s space. Her heat radiated against him. She didn’t wait for him to be brave. She grabbed the front of his pants, her fist closing roughly over the hard length of him. Cabba cried out, a strangled sound.
“This what you want?” she breathed into his mouth, her other hand tangling in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. “You want me to use you? To show you how it’s really done?”
He was beyond words. He nodded again, frantic.
“Then get on your knees,” she commanded, and released him.
Without a second thought, Cabba dropped. The damp earth soaked through his pants. He looked up at her, from this new, vulnerable angle. She was a goddess of flame and shadow. Oolong stood just behind her, watching with avid, piggy eyes, his own pants now open, his thick cock in his hand, slowly stroking.
Kefla hooked her thumbs in the sides of her shorts and panties and pushed them down in one motion, stepping out of them. She was completely bare now, the firelight dancing in the triangle of dark hair between her legs. She placed a foot on the moss-covered log next to Cabba.
“Go on,” she said. “Show me what that mouth is good for.”
The scent of her, musky and potent, filled his head. His hands trembled as he reached for her hips to steady himself. He leaned forward, his heart hammering against his ribs, and pressed his open mouth against her.
The taste was overwhelming. Salty, tangy, profoundly her. He licked, tentatively at first, then with growing desperation as she ground herself against his face. He heard Oolong’s low laugh, the slick sound of his fist working. He heard Kefla’s gasps turn into low, approving growls. Her hands were in his hair again, not guiding, but controlling, setting a brutal, demanding rhythm.
“Use your tongue, you idiot,” Oolong coached from the sidelines. “Flick it. Yeah, like that. Now suck on that little clit. Make her scream.”
Cabba obeyed, lost in the service of her pleasure. His own need was a distant, throbbing ache. This was all that mattered. Her thighs tightened around his ears, muffling the world. Her hips pistonned against his mouth. She was fucking his face, and he was letting her, welcoming it, drunk on the submission and the taste.
Her climax hit suddenly. A raw, guttural shout ripped from her throat, not a name, just a savage release of sound. Her body went rigid, then shuddered violently. Cabba kept licking, drinking her in, until she shoved his head away, panting.
She looked down at him, his face glistening wet in the firelight. Her expression was one of pure, carnal satisfaction. “Not bad,” she rasped. She turned to Oolong. “Your turn. I want to feel something a lot thicker than his tongue.”
Oolong was already behind her, his hands on her hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her from behind. He didn’t ask. He just pushed in.
Kefla gasped, a sharp, high sound, as he filled her. Cabba scrambled back on his knees, watching, transfixed, as Oolong began to fuck her with hard,