🩖đŸȘ Nascentes’ Prison Domination: FF XIV Bussy Breaking (Story)

📌 NOTE: This story is set within the Final Fantasy XIV universe, weaving its lore into the Marasaja Pit’s brutal backdrop, and gives context to the piece “Nascentes đ‘„ Femboy Cillian”.

📄 PREV CHAPTER: Chapter 01

Chapter 2: The Virgin’s Blade & the Heels’ Parade đŸ—ĄïžđŸ‘ 

The Marasaja Pit hums with torchlight and tension, Thanalan’s sun a distant tyrant beyond the stone. Cillian kneels in his corner cell, silver hair a damp shroud over a worn sheet, trembling like a leaf in this desert hell. Once a sellsword, now a shadow of that man, his past unspools in flickers—Ul’dah’s Gold Court, a glittering den of silk and sin. He’s younger there, barely twenty summers, silver locks wild down his back, untamed as his heart. A virgin then, pure as the dunes before a storm, he grips a blade too big for his hands, calluses fresh and tender. The air’s thick with jasmine and spice, lanterns casting gold over a Miqo’te dancer named Lyssa. She sways on polished oak, tail flicking a rhythm of want, amber eyes snaring torchlight like twin flames. Her skin’s dusky gold, ears twitching as silk scarves trail her curves—he’s a gil-poor sellsword, watching from the crowd, aching for her gaze.

She brushes past one night, tail grazing his arm, perfume curling into his lungs like a lover’s whisper.

“You’re sweet,”

she purrs, voice a soft tease, and his cheeks blaze crimson. Too soft, too shy—words choke in his throat like sand. Days later, a Hyur drunkard corners her behind the Court, pawing at her scarves with meaty hands. Cillian’s blade flashes, driving the bastard off, steel singing for her. She kisses his cheek—light, fleeting, a brush of warmth—and his world spins.

“My hero,”

she laughs, but he freezes, too timid to chase her. She fades into the neon, amber eyes a ghost that haunts him. Regret bites deep—he takes up the blade harder, vowing to prove himself, to win a woman’s love. A Roegadyn’s job promises gil and glory; he leaps at it. It’s his ruin—alley shadows swallow him, cock tears him raw, and that virgin dream drowns in shame, birthing a buttslut’s hunger.

Nascentes looms now, a half-Roegadyn, half-Elezen titan—7’2” of muscle kissed with Elezen grace, pointed ears sharp under sweat-slick hair. White-and-orange stripes cling tight, stretched over silicone orbs swollen like desert moons, nipples stabbing fabric like daggers. Her spider tattoo flexes as she steps close, pink eye soft, violet eye cruel, a hybrid storm of power and poise.

“Dreamed of a dancer, didn’t you, petal?”

she purrs, voice silk over steel, her pointed ears twitching as she leans in—Roegadyn bulk, Elezen sway. She knows—guards whisper, or her gaze cuts to my soul.

-

My breath catches, silver hair falling in my eyes. She’s got me now—silk stockings climb my legs, heels—black, spiked—click on stone as she laces them tight.

“Prance for me,”

she croons, tilting a vial of ceruleum oil, blue fire kissing "Little Lady" —snake tattoo gleaming down its knee-long girth. Her massive tits jiggle faint, a half-breed’s paradox of power and excess. She slides in—SQUISH-FWARP—air pockets popping, a queefing taunt with every thrust—FWRP-SQUELCH. 🍑💹 My bussy splits wide, shame a hot blade, but her pink eye soothes,

“Good petal.”

Pleasure floods me, drowning Lyssa’s ghost—no woman’s kiss rivals this. She snaps my chastity cage off for a bath, fingers tracing my silver mane, violet eye watching close. No privacy, just her shadow owning me.

She drags me out, heels wobbling, collar—Nascentes etched in silver—gleaming at my throat. Inmates crowd the bars—Hyur with a jagged scar, Lalafell with a sneer, brutes with fists like hammers.

“F⋆G!”

the Hyur spits, voice a whip.

“Sissy cunt!”

the Lalafell growls, laughter sharp as glass.

“Look at the prancing f⋆g doll!”

another roars, banging iron. I stumble, face flushed, their slurs a storm of scorn. Nascentes sways behind, her Elezen grace mocking Lyssa’s dance, massive tits a taunt. SQUISH-FWARP—she thrusts again, public now, oil dripping like stars—FWRP-SQUELCH. 🍑💹 Her rhythm builds, a storm breaking loose,—and then it hits—she cums, a hot flood bursting inside me. Thick, relentless, it overflows, spilling from my stretched bussy, pooling on the stone beneath in glistening streams. SQUELCH-SQUELCH—she keeps going, climax rolling on, her pointed ears twitching with delight as her massive tits sway.

Lyssa flickers in my mind—those amber eyes, that jasmine scent. What would she see now? Her sweet hero, heels clicking, silver hair a mess, ass leaking Nascentes’ seed before a jeering crowd.

‘Pathetic,’

she’d whisper, tail flicking disdain. Shame twists, a dagger in my gut, but it flips—heat blooms where regret once lived. I lean back, heels digging in, bussy clenching her cock—SQUISH-FWARP—embracing it. I’m her slut now, not Lyssa’s dream. The slurs fade; the inmates’ laughter dies. Their eyes widen, fists still, cocks hardening in their rags. They’re not mocking—they’re watching, hungry, as I take her, moaning loud, a sissy reborn.

“Mine, petal,”

she purrs, nurturing steel, and I bloom under her.

The cellblock’s silent save for her final SQUELCH, cum dripping like a desert rain. She pulls out, cradling me, half-Roegadyn bulk a fortress, Elezen ears flicking as she coos,

“My bloom.”

The inmates scatter, her power sealed. Night falls; she sleeps, massive frame sprawled on the cot, spider tattoo still. Sellsword steel flickers—a man’s ghost. I slip the heels off, heart pounding, cage clinking as I bolt. Thanalan’s dunes stretch endless, sand biting my feet, silver hair trailing like a flag of defiance. Freedom’s a cruel tease—then it strikes. A Sand Drake erupts from the dunes, scales glinting like rusted gil, eight feet of claw and fang. Its tail whips sand into a storm, amber eyes locking on me, roar splitting the night. My blade’s gone, my courage dust—I cower, chastity cage rattling, silver hair plastered with sweat as its claws slash air, a whisker from my throat.

She’s there—Nascentes, a half-breed fury, pointed ears slicing the wind. Her prison stripes tear as she charges, "Little Lady" swinging free, a weapon in its own right. She leaps high, her spider tattoo pulsing, slamming a ceruleum-oiled fist into its snout—CRACK—blue sparks flare, stunning it. The drake snarls, tail whipping; she dodges, Elezen grace in her spin, unleashing a flurry of kicks—THUD-THUD-THUD—her Roegadyn might cracking scales, sand blooming with each hit. It rears, jaws snapping; she grins, violet eye cruel, hurling a net of conjured silk—shimmering, sticky—pinning its thrashing limbs. One final strike—she drives a jagged shiv, ripped from her cot, into its throat—SHUNK—blood sprays, a crimson rain. The beast collapses, dunes trembling, her silhouette towering over its corpse.

I’m frozen, heels lost, cum still leaking from her last claim. She saved me—unintentional, hunting me down, but saved me still. Lyssa’s hero? A coward now, no man at all. Her pink eye softens,

“Petal,”

she purrs, dragging me back, chains of desert roses biting my wrists. In the Pit, she pins me—SQUISH-FWARP—thrusting hard, cum mixing with drake blood on the floor—FWRP-SQUELCH. 🍑💹

“Thought you’d run?”

she growls, nurturing steel. I push, I pull—manhood’s a lie, sissyhood my truth. I’m thankful—her cock, her strength, my shield. I lean in—SQUELCH—moaning, taking it deep. No going back, just her bloom in this sand-scoured abyss.

THE END

- Written by Miss Jugg đŸ–€

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