The mountain road to Khazad-Deep wound like a serpent through black granite and veins of molten gold.
Cassian rode at the head of a small column: ten silent knights, Amara in a fur-lined cloak that did nothing to hide the sway of her milk-heavy breasts, and Sylvara astride a white stag, silver hair whipping like moonlight on steel.
They came for Queen-Regent Brynnja Ironveins.
Forty-seven winters, widowed by a cave-in that crushed her king beneath a mountain's heart.
Mother of five sturdy sons now scattered across the deep holds.
Legend claimed her tits were forged in dragon-fire: massive, ruby-capped, veined with faint gold from years of nursing princes.
Legend claimed her ass could crack marble when she sat a throne.
Legend claimed her pussy ran hotter than any forge and twice as wet.
Cassian intended to test every tale with his tongue.
They arrived at dusk. The gates of Khazad-Deep yawned open like the maw of a sleeping god, torchlight glinting off ruby-encrusted pillars. Dwarven guards in runic plate stared openly at the three women riding beside the human lord: Amara's lush curves, Sylvara's ethereal glow, and the promise of what waited beneath their cloaks.
Queen Brynnja awaited them on the Adamant Throne: a slab of black iron veined with molten gold.
She rose when Cassian entered, and the hall fell silent.
Gods below.
She wore only a harness of hammered gold that cupped her breasts from beneath and left the upper swells bare. Each tit was the size of a war-shield, heavy enough that the gold chains strained, nipples thick as Cassian's thumb and the color of fresh-forged rubies. Her belly was soft with the gentle roundness of a woman who had borne five sons, leading down to hips wide enough to block a doorway. The harness dipped between her thighs, framing a bare, glistening pussy already flushed deep crimson and dripping slow rivulets onto the throne dais.
Brynnja's beard was a river of molten copper braided with tiny rubies, but her eyes were black as forge-coals and burning.
"Lord Vale," she rumbled, voice like tumbling boulders. "Ye come tae claim tribute, aye?"
Cassian stepped forward until the heat of her body kissed his skin. "I come to claim you."
A ripple went through the hall. Dwarven warriors reached for axes; then Brynnja raised one hand and they froze.
"Alone," she commanded. "In the Emberheart Chamber. Now."
The chamber was a cavern of living fire: walls of obsidian reflecting rivers of lava, a single slab of dragon-bone for a bed, chains of star-iron dangling from the ceiling. The door sealed with a hiss of runes.
Brynnja shrugged off the harness. It hit the floor with a clang.
Her breasts spilled free: impossibly heavy, swaying like molten metal, faint golden stretch marks glinting across the pale skin. Her ass was a monument: two perfect globes that jiggled when she walked, dimpled at the sides, strong enough to crush stone yet plush enough to swallow a man whole.
She smelled of smoke, cinnamon, and hot, wet cunt.
Cassian stripped without ceremony. His cock sprang up, thick and leaking, and Brynnja's eyes widened, then narrowed with raw hunger.
"On yer knees, dwarf-queen," he said softly.
She dropped: not in submission, but in challenge. The moment her ruby lips wrapped around his shaft, the temperature in the room spiked. She sucked like a forge bellows, throat opening to take every inch until her nose pressed against his groin. Her tongue swirled, hot and rough, tasting salt and human need.
Cassian tangled fingers in her copper braids and fucked her mouth slow and deep, watching those massive tits swing beneath her, nipples dragging across his thighs. When he pulled free, strings of spit and pre-cum connected them like molten gold.
He lifted her easily: dwarven women were dense, but Cassian was stronger: and carried her to the dragon-bone slab. Laid her on her back, spread her thick thighs wide.
Her pussy was a forge indeed: lips swollen and dark red, dripping thick honey that steamed faintly in the heat. The scent hit him like spiced mead.
He dove in.
Brynnja roared when his tongue speared her, back arching so hard her tits nearly smacked her own chin. He lapped at her like a starving man: long, flat strokes through her folds, sucking her fat clit until it throbbed against his lips, sliding three fingers into her scalding heat and curling.
She came with a bellow that shook dust from the ceiling, pussy gushing a torrent of hot, spiced nectar over his wrist. He drank it down, growling against her flesh.
Then he flipped her.
Ass up, face down, those glorious cheeks spread by his hands. He buried his face between them, tongue tracing her from clit to tight rear entrance, tasting smoke and honey and pure dwarven sin. She pushed back, grinding against his mouth, begging in guttural dwarvish.
When he finally rose and slid home, it was perfect.
Brynnja's cunt gripped him like molten ore: tight, blistering, rippling with every thrust. He set a brutal pace, hips slapping against her ass hard enough to send ripples through the flesh. Each impact made her tits swing beneath her, nipples scraping the bone slab.
Amara and Sylvara slipped into the chamber unnoticed, cloaks discarded. Amara knelt beneath Brynnja, latching onto one ruby nipple and sucking hard; milk: thick, sweet, and spiced like cinnamon brandy: flooded her mouth. Sylvara claimed the other breast, elven tongue teasing until Brynnja sobbed.
Cassian reached around to rub Brynnja's clit in tight circles. "Come for me, my queen. Come on your conqueror's cock."
She shattered. A volcanic orgasm ripped through her, pussy clamping down so hard Cassian saw stars. Her scream echoed off obsidian as she squirted: hot, endless, soaking his balls and the slab beneath.
He followed with a roar, pumping rope after rope of seed deep into her womb, claiming the dwarven queen body and soul.
Later, spent and glowing, Brynnja lay sprawled across his chest, copper beard tickling his skin. Amara and Sylvara curled against her sides, lazily licking spilled milk from her breasts.
"Three," Brynnja rumbled, voice hoarse. "Ye've taken the Deepmountain crown with yer cock, Cassian Vale."
He tangled fingers in her braids and pulled her into a slow, filthy kiss. "Your forges will craft me weapons. Your womb will craft me heirs. And every night, this throne will be warmed by your dripping cunt."
She laughed, low and smoky, and clenched around his half-hard cock still inside her. "Aye. And when my sons come tae swear fealty, I'll be on my knees beside ye: naked, leaking, and proud."
From the doorway, a new voice: husky, amused, and dripping with promise.
"Mother always said humans were inadequate. Clearly she never met you."
Princess Thrud Ironveins: twenty-eight, unmarried, breasts already rivaling Brynnja's, stood framed in firelight, fingers already buried in her own soaked cunt.
Cassian smiled, slow and feral.
"The Vault grows," he murmured. "One royal milf at a time."
The Emberheart Chamber still thrummed with the aftershocks of Brynnja's surrender.
Lava-light danced over sweat-slick skin and spilled seed, painting the four bodies in molten gold.
Princess Thrud Ironveins stood in the doorway like a war-goddess sculpted from living ruby.
Twenty-eight winters, untouched by any male hand (dwarven princes too awed, human suitors too terrified).
Her armor was ceremonial: hammered mithril cups that barely contained breasts even larger than her mother's, each globe straining against runic filigree until the metal groaned. A short kilt of chain links revealed thighs thick as forge anvils and an ass that jutted proud and round, dimpled deep where muscle met plush fat.
Between those thighs, her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles.
She was soaked.
The scent of hot iron and spiced honey rolled off her in waves.
Brynnja lifted her head from Cassian's chest, ruby nipples still leaking spiced milk down his ribs.
"Look what ye've done, love," she rumbled, voice husky with pride and fresh lust. "Ye've made my wee firecat drip in front of her queen."
Thrud's black eyes blazed. "I've come tae see if the tales are true," she said, stepping fully inside. The door sealed behind her with a hiss of runes. "If one human cock can break the Deepmountain line."
Cassian rose from the dragon-bone slab, cock already hardening again (thick, glistening with Brynnja's cream and his own spend).
He crooked a finger. "Come here, princess."
Thrud strode forward until her armored tits pressed against his bare chest. Heat poured off her like a smithy at full roar.
She was shorter than Cassian by a head, but dense (every inch carved from granite and velvet).
He reached behind her, unfastened the mithril cups with deliberate slowness, and let them fall.
Her breasts spilled out with a soft, wet slap against her ribs.
Bigger than Brynnja's.
Heavier.
Pale as fresh cream with wide, dusky-rose areolas and nipples thick as Cassian's thumb, already beaded with milk that glowed faintly orange (forge-fire trapped in living flesh).
"Mother's milk runs strong in ye," Brynnja purred, crawling forward on hands and knees. She latched onto Thrud's left breast without asking, sucking hard. Milk jetted into her mouth in hot, cinnamon-sweet pulses. Thrud's head fell back with a guttural moan.
Cassian claimed the right.
He sucked slow and deep, rolling the fat nipple against his tongue while his hand slid down Thrud's belly to cup her bare, dripping cunt.
She was scalding.
Two fingers slipped inside with ease (her walls fluttered like living flame, gushing spiced nectar over his knuckles).
Sylvara and Amara circled like predators.
Sylvara knelt behind Thrud, spreading those glorious ass cheeks and dragging her elven tongue in one long lick from clit to tight rear entrance. Thrud jolted, milk spurting from both nipples in twin arcs.
Amara pressed against Cassian's back, reaching around to stroke his cock while whispering filthy encouragement. "Look how she burns for you, my lord. Break her the way you broke her mother."
Cassian pulled his fingers free, slick with Thrud's honey, and painted it across her lips. She licked them clean with a growl.
"On the slab," he commanded. "Ass up. Show me what a dwarven princess can take."
Thrud obeyed instantly, climbing onto the dragon-bone bed and presenting herself: knees wide, back arched, massive tits swaying beneath her like udders begging to be milked. Her pussy lips parted on their own, flushed dark crimson, dripping a steady stream of glowing nectar that hissed faintly where it touched the bone.
Brynnja straddled the slab in front of her daughter, spreading her own thick thighs. "Lick yer queen, girl. Taste what his cock did tae me."
Thrud buried her face between her mother's legs with a starving moan, tongue delving deep into Brynnja's cum-soaked cunt. Brynnja's head fell back, copper braids whipping as she ground down.
Cassian stepped behind Thrud.
He dragged the head of his cock through her molten folds once, twice (coating himself in her fire), then pushed in.
One slow, relentless thrust.
Thrud screamed into her mother's pussy.
Her virgin cunt clamped down like a vice forged from star-iron (tight, blistering, rippling with every inch). Cassian didn't stop until his hips met the plush cushion of her ass and his balls pressed against her throbbing clit.
"Fuck," he snarled. "You're tighter than a dragon's hoard."
He gave her no mercy.
Long, punishing strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside her, hips slamming against her ass hard enough to send shockwaves through the flesh. Each impact made her tits swing wildly, milk spraying in rhythmic arcs that painted Brynnja's thighs and the slab beneath.
Sylvara and Amara took turns beneath Thrud, catching the flying milk on their tongues, fingers rubbing the princess's clit in merciless circles.
Thrud came first (a volcanic eruption that tore a roar from her throat). Her pussy spasmed so hard Cassian had to grip her hips to stay seated, gushing scalding nectar that steamed where it splattered his thighs.
He kept fucking her through it, pace never slowing.
Brynnja came next, grinding down on her daughter's tongue until she squirted spiced cream straight into Thrud's eager mouth.
Sylvara and Amara followed, fingers buried in each other while they watched the dwarven royals shatter.
Only then did Cassian let himself go.
He pulled out at the last second, painting Thrud's back and ass with thick ropes of cum that glowed faintly against her skin (like molten gold poured over living marble).
Thrud collapsed forward, trembling, milk still leaking from her untouched nipple in slow pulses.
Brynnja gathered her daughter into her arms, both of them slick with milk, cum, and sweat.
"Four," Thrud whispered against her mother's breast, voice raw. "The Deepmountain line bends the knee… and spreads its thighs."
Cassian stood over them, cock still half-hard and glistening.
He traced a finger through the mess on Thrud's back and brought it to her lips. She sucked it clean with reverence.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we forge an alliance in front of your entire court. You and your mother (naked, collared, dripping my seed down your thighs) while your brothers swear fealty."
Thrud shivered in delight. "Aye, my king. And when they see what ye've done tae us… they'll beg tae join the Vault themselves."
Brynnja laughed, low and smoky. "The mountain is yers, Cassian Vale. Every tunnel, every vein of gold… and every drop of dwarven milk."
From the shadows, Sylvara's voice drifted like starlight: "The empire grows hotter with every conquest."
Cassian smiled, slow and savage.
"Next, the siren seas," he murmured. "I've heard their queen has eight breasts… and a cunt that sings when it comes."
The Emberheart Chamber had cooled only slightly, yet the air still shimmered with heat and the thick scent of spiced milk, cum, and molten desire.
Cassian lounged against the dragon-bone slab like a conquering god, cock half-hard and glistening with Thrud's virgin fire.
Brynnja and her daughter knelt before him, naked, collared with thin chains of star-iron that linked mother to daughter by their pierced ruby nipples.
Every breath made the chains tug, drawing soft gasps from both dwarven royals as milk beaded and dripped in perfect unison.
Sylvara and Amara watched from the shadows, fingers lazily circling each other's clits, eyes glittering with ancient hunger.
Brynnja spoke first, voice rough as gravel sliding over gold.
"My king… there is one more tribute the Deepmountain can offer."
She reached for Thrud's chin, tilting it up so mother and daughter stared into each other's eyes (black forge-coal meeting black forge-coal).
"My eldest was promised to the Stone-Prince of Grimhar Hold. A cold alliance. A colder bed."
Her thumb brushed Thrud's lower lip, smearing a streak of Cassian's spend.
"I would break that betrothal tonight. In the old way."
Thrud's breath hitched. Milk spurted from her nipples as the chain pulled taut.
"Mother…"
The word came out half plea, half prayer.
Cassian's cock surged to full hardness in a single heartbeat.
"Explain," he commanded, voice velvet over steel.
Brynnja never looked away from her daughter.
"In the deep halls, when a queen wishes to bind blood to a new crown, she offers her womb's fruit to be claimed in front of the ancestors."
She leaned forward, tongue flicking out to catch a drop of milk from Thrud's lower lip.
"Ye take my daughter while I hold her. While I guide ye in. While I taste every inch where ye stretch her dwarven cunt."
Thrud whimpered, thighs clenching. Fresh nectar dripped from her freshly-deflowered pussy, sizzling faintly against the stone.
Cassian rose, chains clinking as he stepped behind Thrud.
"On your back, princess. Legs spread for your mother's hands."
Thrud obeyed instantly, lying atop the dragon-bone slab. Brynnja straddled her daughter's waist, facing Cassian, massive tits swaying inches above Thrud's face. She reached down with both hands and parted Thrud's thick thighs until the girl's cunt flowered open: swollen, crimson, still fluttering from her earlier ruin.
"Look at her," Brynnja growled, voice trembling with centuries of forbidden heat. "My own flesh. Ripe as I was when her father first bred me."
She slid two thick fingers alongside the drying mess Cassian had left inside, scissoring gently. Thrud arched with a broken cry, milk spraying in twin arcs that splattered her mother's belly.
"Soaked for ye, my king. Soaked for the cock that owns her mother."
Cassian gripped Brynnja's hips, lifting her slightly so Thrud's face was framed perfectly between her mother's dripping cunt and heavy tits.
"Guide me in," he ordered.
Brynnja reached back with one cum-slick hand, wrapped her fingers around Cassian's shaft, and lined him up with her daughter's entrance.
She rubbed the head through Thrud's molten folds, coating him anew, then pressed forward.
The moment Cassian sank in (slow, relentless, stretching Thrud's virgin-tight walls again), Brynnja leaned down and sealed her mouth over her daughter's in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues tangled, milk and spit mixing as mother devoured daughter's moans.
Cassian fucked Thrud in long, deep strokes, every thrust shoving her deeper into her mother's kiss. Brynnja broke away only to latch onto one of Thrud's leaking nipples, sucking hard while her free hand rubbed frantic circles over Thrud's clit.
"Feel him, my wee flame," Brynnja rasped against the girl's breast. "Feel how he fills the cunt I grew inside me. Ye're mine… and now ye're his."
Thrud's hands clawed at her mother's back, nails carving red lines through golden stretch marks.
"Mother—fuck—Mother, I'm—"
"Come for him," Brynnja snarled, biting down on the nipple in her mouth. "Come while yer mother's tongue is in yer mouth and yer king's cock is in yer womb."
Thrud shattered.
Her scream was muffled against Brynnja's lips as her pussy clamped down like molten ore, gushing scalding nectar around Cassian's shaft in rhythmic pulses. Milk jetted from both breasts in forceful streams, soaking Brynnja's face and hair.
Cassian pulled out at the peak of her climax, fisting his cock twice before painting mother and daughter in thick ropes (across Thrud's belly, Brynnja's tits, their joined mouths). They licked it off each other without hesitation, tongues meeting in a sloppy, cum-smeared kiss.
When it was over, Brynnja gathered Thrud close, both of them trembling.
"Five," Thrud whispered against her mother's neck, voice wrecked. "The Deepmountain bloodline belongs to House Vale… body, milk, and seed."
Cassian traced a finger through the mess on their skin, then pressed it to Brynnja's lips. She sucked it clean, eyes never leaving his.
"Tomorrow," he said, "the betrothal is broken in front of every thane. You will both crawl to me across the throne hall, chains linking your nipples, cunts dripping my spend down your thighs. And when the Stone-Prince arrives to protest…"
His smile turned savage.
"I'll breed you side by side on his ancestral table while he watches."
Brynnja and Thrud shuddered in unison, pussies clenching at the promise.
From the shadows, Sylvara's voice drifted like smoke:
"The Vault grows richer with every forbidden drop."
Cassian pulled mother and daughter against his chest, cock already stirring again between their slick bellies.
"Next," he murmured, "we sail for the Siren Queen. Eight breasts. One royal cunt. And a song that makes mothers fuck their own daughters in the tide-pools."
Brynnja laughed, low and filthy, grinding against Thrud's thigh.
"Bring her, my king. We'll teach her what dwarven mothers do to keep their bloodline pure."