Trials In Tainted Space Wings

Trials In Tainted Space Wyrm

This page was last edited on 6 May 2018, at 18:20. Content is available under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0 unless stated.Game Content and materials are trademarks and copyrights of KOG Studios, Nexon, Gameforge, KOG Games or its licensors. Wings Lyrics: This is my story, wait, nah / This is our story, this is our fate / This is our kingdom, this is our place / This is our freedom, cut off them chains / This is our struggle, this.

Jan 15th, 2018

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You awake to the light of a bright-burning sun in your eyes. The softness of the bed you once laid upon is replaced by fluffy yet somehow solid clouds. High above is a sky bluer than a robin’s egg and seemingly endlessly vast, stretching around below you as well as above. There’s no sign of land or even a planet to be found. Stumbling up on your feet, you look around in a panic, searching for something, anything familiar, but there is nothing to be found. Not a ship, not a holoconsole, not a single other person.
Well, except for those angels fluttering down from out of the sun’s glare.
Wait... angels? Cupping your hand to shield yourself from the unearthly radiance, you piece together the details of their forms: tall statuesque bodies clad in heavy, gold-accented robes, eyes glowing like a cloudless morning, immaculate blonde hair, and yes... radiant halos of pure light. Wings more majestic any siren’s casually flutter behind them, casting no breeze and yet somehow holding their charges aloft. Your mouth gapes open, and you make no move to close it. This is insane.
“Quote!” Booms a voice like a brassy warhorn.
You clap your hands to your ears in pain, doubling over from the intensity of her voice. Just hearing her talk is like standing next to a heavy freighter while it lifts off.
“Sorry,” the lead angel whispers, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder as she apologizes. “It is easy to forget how fragile you mortals are. Do not be afraid of us. Be afraid of the corruption within you.” She squeezes, so strongly that it’s almost harmful, casually pushing you to your knees. “You are tainted. The seething darkness within you could infect an entire realm if not purified, even cast down gods in time. We have seen it happen before, in another land, and we will not see it happen again.”
Awestruck, you ask, “Can you purify me?”
The angelic archon releases your shoulder and lifts your chin, smiling beatifically. “Of course we can, child. Enough holy essence can wash away even the foulest taint, but it must applied thoroughly, without and within.”
“Essence?” You look at her curiously. You’ve never heard such an expression before.
The angel pats your head and laughs, “Yes child... essence.” Pulling her robe to the side, she reveals her angelic form. She is both curvy and muscular, chesty and strong. She’s the kind of girl who could bury your head between her breasts and pin you there until you suffocated... and she’s got a cock. A big, fat horse-cock, to be specific. It is completely at odds with the rest of her appearance. Where she has skin like polished marble, it has sweat and musk, its veiny surface pulsating in a decidedly un-angelic way.
Your head swims. This isn’t right, is it? But the smell... it’s like walnuts and ocean salt, only dizzyingly potent. Your whole body flushes just from the smell of it, so thick you can taste it on your tongue. Even stranger, you realize just how much you want to taste it on your tongue. The rest of the divine choir tosses aside their robes, revealing a bevy of bestial behomoths, every single one of them just as big and fragrant as their leader’s, but they are far from identical. Some are jet black, others pink, and some mottled.
They press in on all sides. You hold out your hands, ostensibly to push them away, but the minute you feel the benevolent boners touching your palms, you squeeze them right back.
“Corruption may also be burned out with heat,” the lead angel proclaims, snapping her fingers. Her halo bursts into fire, and her cock surges, growing several inches longer in the span of a single heartbeat. Its rich, pheromonal scent doubles, and your fair skin feels hot. The barest breeze is like feathers stroking your molten skin. Sweating profusely, you stare in wonder, licking your lips unthinkingly. You aren’t sure if its the corruption within you or the angel’s own unholy power that’s making you crave her cock so powerfully, but you don’t care much either way. It’s too hot to think. Too hot not to pant.
The archon’s cockhead swells fatter and fatter, then spurts a trickle of brilliant white fluid. It slaps into your lips, splattering across your face, painting you in a layer of glowing goo. She strokes herself, willing more of her silvery pre-spunk to spurt forth, and then, midway through a squirt, she presses her flare to your lips, forcing you to kiss the pebbly flesh of its rim. True to its name, it flares wide, stretching your mouth open as it’s fed inside, making you gurgle perversely.
With your attentions almost entirely focused on the holy creature’s unholy beast-cock, you’re surprised to discover that your arms are starting to get sore. Not from the position you’re in but from the way you’re furiously pumping the circle of dicks around you. They’re thrust at you so lewdly, their animalistic tips leaking more of that blessed liquid over your hands, wrists, and arms. You panic briefly, unable to decide on which ones you should focus on, darting from dick to dick to dick, never giving one more than a half-dozen affectionate strokes before journeying on to the next. There’s just too much dick!
Warmth surges in your throat, pouring down your esophagus, smoothing away your gag reflex and your panic along with it. Your eyes drift closed, and that perfect, creator-blessed horse-prick burrows in along its lubricated path, briefly bulging your neck in a clear imprint of its distinctive shape. Strong hands with stronger fingers grab your arms, wrap your digits around the closest dick, and frantically pump you back and forth along the lucky equine phallus. The same is done to your other hand. Balls clap against your chin, forcing your nose to push up into her leather sheath.
You swoon, drunk on the archon’s scent, feeling her cohorts clench in your hands and unload, dizzy and hot, so very hot. It feels like the divine spooge splatting into your fair skin is sizzling from your heat. The balls on your chin pulse, and your tongue gives an answering swirl. Your arms are passed around to the next pair of angels, pressed into the unyielding, veiny flesh and forced to stroke once more. Flaring your nostrils, you suck in a desperate breath, drunk on the resplendent being’s bestial cock-stench, allowing yourself to be used... purified... whatever.
They could bend you over and ram one up your asshole, and you wouldn’t complain. A wave of brilliant goo cascades over your hair. Simultaneously, a geyser of purifying cum bathes your flank. Your hands are pried off the trembling lengths mid-orgasm, no matter how tightly your fingers clutch at them, and forced to serve new masters. These ones go off immediately, like they’ve been edging this whole time, getting off to watching you deep-throat their mistress, ready to explode the moment they brushed your pinkie.
This time, the cum doesn’t stop. You are bathed in it, anointed in it, baptized in a swimming pool of angelic nut-butter. Better still, the dick in your mouth is bulging, its urethra straining, expanding, pumped full of a sticky snack for your corrupted middle. It goes off like a cannon, making your midriff burble and expand. It’s flooding you, pumping what must be gallons of angelic essence forcefully into your very soul. You can feel yourself expanding with it, not just physically but completely, becoming greater, holier, more fit to serve the galaxy and these gifted girls.
White-glowing juices blind you, but you don’t need to see with your eyes. You can see with your own blinding radiance, ignited by these divine creatures’ offerings. Every cummy splash is a declaration of your own divine purpose, a reminder that you exist to serve the universe’s whims. Your spirit drinks in the cum right alongside your belly, and just when you feel fit to burst, you cum.
You wake up, shuddering in the throes of bliss. What a dream!

Trials In Tainted Space Wyrm

You awake to the light of a bright-burning sun in your eyes. The softness of the bed you once laid upon is replaced by fluffy yet somehow solid clouds. High above is a sky bluer than a robin’s egg and seemingly endlessly vast, stretching around below you as well as above. There’s no sign of land or even a planet to be found. Stumbling up on your feet, you look around in a panic, searching for something, anything familiar, but there is nothing to be found. Not a ship, not a holoconsole, not a single other person. Well, except for those angels fluttering down from out of the sun’s glare. Wait... angels? Cupping your hand to shield yourself from the unearthly radiance, you piece together the details of their forms: tall statuesque bodies clad in heavy, gold-accented robes, eyes glowing like a cloudless morning, immaculate blonde hair, and yes... radiant halos of pure light. Wings more majestic any siren’s casually flutter behind them, casting no breeze and yet somehow holding their charges aloft. Your mouth gapes open, and you make no move to close it. This is insane. “Quote!” Booms a voice like a brassy warhorn. You clap your hands to your ears in pain, doubling over from the intensity of her voice. Just hearing her talk is like standing next to a heavy freighter while it lifts off. “Sorry,” the lead angel whispers, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder as she apologizes. “It is easy to forget how fragile you mortals are. Do not be afraid of us. Be afraid of the corruption within you.” She squeezes, so strongly that it’s almost harmful, casually pushing you to your knees. “You are tainted. The seething darkness within you could infect an entire realm if not purified, even cast down gods in time. We have seen it happen before, in another land, and we will not see it happen again.” Awestruck, you ask, “Can you purify me?” The angelic archon releases your shoulder and lifts your chin, smiling beatifically. “Of course we can, child. Enough holy essence can wash away even the foulest taint, but it must applied thoroughly, without and within.” “Essence?” You look at her curiously. You’ve never heard such an expression before. The angel pats your head and laughs, “Yes child... essence.” Pulling her robe to the side, she reveals her angelic form. She is both curvy and muscular, chesty and strong. She’s the kind of girl who could bury your head between her breasts and pin you there until you suffocated... and she’s got a cock. A big, fat horse-cock, to be specific. It is completely at odds with the rest of her appearance. Where she has skin like polished marble, it has sweat and musk, its veiny surface pulsating in a decidedly un-angelic way. Your head swims. This isn’t right, is it? But the smell... it’s like walnuts and ocean salt, only dizzyingly potent. Your whole body flushes just from the smell of it, so thick you can taste it on your tongue. Even stranger, you realize just how much you want to taste it on your tongue. The rest of the divine choir tosses aside their robes, revealing a bevy of bestial behomoths, every single one of them just as big and fragrant as their leader’s, but they are far from identical. Some are jet black, others pink, and some mottled. They press in on all sides. You hold out your hands, ostensibly to push them away, but the minute you feel the benevolent boners touching your palms, you squeeze them right back. “Corruption may also be burned out with heat,” the lead angel proclaims, snapping her fingers. Her halo bursts into fire, and her cock surges, growing several inches longer in the span of a single heartbeat. Its rich, pheromonal scent doubles, and your fair skin feels hot. The barest breeze is like feathers stroking your molten skin. Sweating profusely, you stare in wonder, licking your lips unthinkingly. You aren’t sure if its the corruption within you or the angel’s own unholy power that’s making you crave her cock so powerfully, but you don’t care much either way. It’s too hot to think. Too hot not to pant. The archon’s cockhead swells fatter and fatter, then spurts a trickle of brilliant white fluid. It slaps into your lips, splattering across your face, painting you in a layer of glowing goo. She strokes herself, willing more of her silvery pre-spunk to spurt forth, and then, midway through a squirt, she presses her flare to your lips, forcing you to kiss the pebbly flesh of its rim. True to its name, it flares wide, stretching your mouth open as it’s fed inside, making you gurgle perversely. With your attentions almost entirely focused on the holy creature’s unholy beast-cock, you’re surprised to discover that your arms are starting to get sore. Not from the position you’re in but from the way you’re furiously pumping the circle of dicks around you. They’re thrust at you so lewdly, their animalistic tips leaking more of that blessed liquid over your hands, wrists, and arms. You panic briefly, unable to decide on which ones you should focus on, darting from dick to dick to dick, never giving one more than a half-dozen affectionate strokes before journeying on to the next. There’s just too much dick! Warmth surges in your throat, pouring down your esophagus, smoothing away your gag reflex and your panic along with it. Your eyes drift closed, and that perfect, creator-blessed horse-prick burrows in along its lubricated path, briefly bulging your neck in a clear imprint of its distinctive shape. Strong hands with stronger fingers grab your arms, wrap your digits around the closest dick, and frantically pump you back and forth along the lucky equine phallus. The same is done to your other hand. Balls clap against your chin, forcing your nose to push up into her leather sheath. You swoon, drunk on the archon’s scent, feeling her cohorts clench in your hands and unload, dizzy and hot, so very hot. It feels like the divine spooge splatting into your fair skin is sizzling from your heat. The balls on your chin pulse, and your tongue gives an answering swirl. Your arms are passed around to the next pair of angels, pressed into the unyielding, veiny flesh and forced to stroke once more. Flaring your nostrils, you suck in a desperate breath, drunk on the resplendent being’s bestial cock-stench, allowing yourself to be used... purified... whatever. They could bend you over and ram one up your asshole, and you wouldn’t complain. A wave of brilliant goo cascades over your hair. Simultaneously, a geyser of purifying cum bathes your flank. Your hands are pried off the trembling lengths mid-orgasm, no matter how tightly your fingers clutch at them, and forced to serve new masters. These ones go off immediately, like they’ve been edging this whole time, getting off to watching you deep-throat their mistress, ready to explode the moment they brushed your pinkie. This time, the cum doesn’t stop. You are bathed in it, anointed in it, baptized in a swimming pool of angelic nut-butter. Better still, the dick in your mouth is bulging, its urethra straining, expanding, pumped full of a sticky snack for your corrupted middle. It goes off like a cannon, making your midriff burble and expand. It’s flooding you, pumping what must be gallons of angelic essence forcefully into your very soul. You can feel yourself expanding with it, not just physically but completely, becoming greater, holier, more fit to serve the galaxy and these gifted girls. White-glowing juices blind you, but you don’t need to see with your eyes. You can see with your own blinding radiance, ignited by these divine creatures’ offerings. Every cummy splash is a declaration of your own divine purpose, a reminder that you exist to serve the universe’s whims. Your spirit drinks in the cum right alongside your belly, and just when you feel fit to burst, you cum. You wake up, shuddering in the throes of bliss. What a dream!