The Fall of Olga the Plentiful

 Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful, boastful sword-maiden. Her hair was the hue of pale sunlight, with eyes so blue they seemed to almost glow.  She had lived through twenty-five summers upon this frightful land and earned her right to see another sunrise.

 

But that’s not why you’re here, isn’t it? Fine, fine…I’ll cut to the chase.

 

While she was a skilled and fearsome warrior, that’s not what people around these parts remember her for—to them, she was a masterpiece of woman-flesh. She had breasts the size of ripe watermelons, dusted lightly with freckles. They were abnormally perky, despite their size. While the female elite had found a way to plumpen their teats without the help of God, those few who copped a feel and lived to talk about it would tell you that this maiden’s bust was all-natural. Her arms were muscular, yet still possessed the padding necessary to make them lovely. Her legs were long, but thick and sturdy, thighs and calves fat with muscle. But they were overshadowed by her second greatest asset—pun intended—as they tapered upward into a breathtaking pair of ass-cheeks. Years of hunting and drinking herself nearly blind had come together to create the wonder of her backside. Each plump moon shook like it had a life of its own as she strutted through town.

The menfolk called her Olga the Wyvern-Cleaver.  The ogres and goblins and other nightmarish creatures called her Olga the Plentiful Human Pork Feast for the Ages—especially the dumb ones.

Olga the Plentiful for short, if they lived that long to get that out before she cleaved their heads from off their shoulders.

But that’s the thing about orcs and goblins and other nightmarish creatures. Some of them can be cunning as fuck when they want to be. One such orc was of that variety and decided that after years of watching this human cow go through his people like shit through a goose, he’d be the goose and she would be the shit, if you catch my drift.

Got it.

Good.

He had one thing on his side when he appeared at her tavern one evening, pretending to look for work when what he wanted was the meal to end all meals: Years of butchering the monsters of the world—his kinfolk—had made Olga a might overconfident in her abilities. So feared was she by the menagerie that lived in the darkest corners of her world, she no longer bothered to keep her guard up; none of them in their right mind would dare challenge her…at least not without a quart of cheap hooch in their bellies. Then the woman went one step further—she began taunting the less human of her clientele by wearing the skimpiest outfits possible. Worse—when she was drunk enough—she’d sashay through the joint in the buff. As lovely as she was fully clothed, she was a living wet dream in her birthday suit. Man and monster alike drooled at the rare sight of the mighty warrior woman when she tied one on, drinking in the sight of the lack of sun on her teats, cunt and ass, leaving large swaths of that flesh a few hues paler than the rest of her.

This skinny little orc would be no different from the rest of them, Olga sneered as she hired the monster on the spot and promptly sent him to clean the latrines. If he tried anything funny, she’d just kill his shrimpy ass and call it a day. So to the shithouses the little fool went and clean them he did. He was willing to do anything to stay in the blonde Amazon’s employ long enough to pump his dick in and out of the moon-sized moons of her butt. As his nose was assaulted the pungent scent of feces, he was deciding whether or not to do that before or after he took a big bite out of it.

Right now, he was leaning towards the latter.

So it went for nearly a year, building a bit of trust between him and the warrior woman, to the point one of his jobs was helping the woman home on the night’s when she overly partook of her own stock.  Olga was tipsy enough on such occasions to not care enough about being groped by her least respected underling. She actually enjoyed the way he’d slip his hands into her pants to squeeze her fat glutes or down her blouse to feel the heft of her chest-fruit. Hell, she was shit-faced enough once or twice where she—the mighty orc slayer Olga—wouldn’t have minded getting fucked by him.

He knew his place…as far as she was concerned.

Having that kind of power over anyone—anything, even…it kind of turned her on.

Then one day, the amazon was finally felled. She didn’t finally leave the world in battle, as she might have preferred. Even well-fattened livestock met a more dignified death than she did. A celebrating army had found its way to her tavern, and within three hours had nearly imbibed all the grog stocked at the bar. Olga wouldn’t have minded, but her little lap dog of an ogre had yet to show up for his shift. Hoping to the Gods than none of the rowdies in the room jumped over the counter to steal her profits, the grumbling sword maiden made her way to the cellar for more hooch. Unbeknownst to her, the little ogre was watching the merriment from the roof next door. Seeing her head down to the stock room, he smiled to himself and headed her way. Olga had ordered him to repair the shelving down there a week or so ago and fix it up he had…just not with the measurements the warrior woman had given him.

 

To make doubly sure his scheme went according to plan, he had taken the bottles she had in stock and shelved them just beyond the blonde’s reach.

Something Olga was finding out for herself this very minute.

“Little bastard!”, Olga growled to herself as she found that the booze she needed was stocked further away than she’d wanted it to be. She would have to stick herself deeper into the shelving to get it. “That little fucker is as good as fired,” the woman mumbled as proceeded. It took some doing, but she managed to pop her hefty chest through the opening…only to suffer a pair of indignities. One, her blouse had caught on a shard of wood and torn down the middle from her struggles, freeing her gigantic chest from its confines. Her fat pink nipples grew hard as diamonds in the chill of the evening air.

Two, her ass was trapped on the other side. It was too big to pull in after her, and her tits were too big to pull out of the opening.  She could not help but remember the story of the stuffed bear who barged in on his friend the rabbit unannounced, ate all his goddamn honey, and then plugged up the poor hare’s back door with his overstuffed ass.  She chuckled as she remembered the part where the forest creature decorated the asshole bruin’s backside like it was a hunting trophy—until she realized she wasn’t the only one laughing.

She’d recognize that wheezing giggle anywhere.

And she had a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that he wasn’t laughing with her.

No, not with her. At her.

It was enough to set Olga off. “You dare to laugh at me, you little asshole! When I get out of here…”

“Yeah, you fat-assed bitch—when is the word for it, ain’t it?,” the little beast chuckled as his boss with left at a loss of words. “Right now, though,” he smirked as he approached her from behind, “I’m a little interested in something a bit more important…like what his butt looks like in the buff!” It was obvious that there was no threat that would scare the little beast away as he pulled off her boots, her belt, her leggings, her pants.  The scent and sight of the plump pink treasure between her massive thighs brought a smile to his face. His uncle, the one with the scar down his face and one working eye was right.

This bitch went commando.

Olga would not have had a problem bringing down the wine rack to strangle the little fucker, but she had built the damn thing herself, out of the mightiest oak in the forest, something she insisted and prided herself on. Her mistake was leaving its repair to someone else, who it seemed took full advantage of her laziness. She’d never taken into account that it would be a situation that would come back to bite her in the ass, she snarled inwardly…then bit her lip in trepidation at the poor choice of words bouncing around her skull. Well, she slumped a touch—not enough for the young ogre to notice—you draw more flies with honey…

“Dearie”, she smokily intoned, “would you mind helping me out of this?” She grunted seductively as she tried to tug herself free. That got the beast’s attention, the blood in his head racing to his rapidly hardening cock. Hearing the intake of breath from him, she smirked, mewling lustily, “You can have whatever you want if you do…”

“Y-yeah…like what,” he growled softly, entranced by the sight of her fat, pink drooling cunt.

“A hot, sticky piece of pie, for one,” Olga moaned, the rush of moist heat dribbling from her sex making her shudder in pleasure. “C’mon, you know you wann-AHHHH!!”

Her diatribe was cut short when the ogre charged into her, his mouth wide and tongue out. And as much as he wanted to bite the mound of juiced up sex-flesh, to tear it free from this bitch, he decided to lull her into a false sense of security. That, at least, is what he told himself.

What he really wanted was to build up his appetite.

No better way to do that, he chuckled cruelly, the sound muffled by his mouthful of pussy and whorish moans bursting out of the throat of the luscious love tunnel’s owner as he slurped down her rich, thick cunty honey like a man dying of thirst, than to give this fat-assed bitch a damn good fuck.

Her final fuck.

Olga was soon cumming like a geyser, leaving the ogre’s face soaked with her juices. Instead of wiping his mouth with her dress, he collected the cream around his lips with two of his fingers, pried the moons of the blonde’s bottom apart and smeared it around her bunghole. There was enough sense in the quivering woman to drum up enough chagrin at what the little monster was doing, but not enough strength to kick her away. She certainly tried the moment she felt the knob of the ogre’s hard dick pushing against her sphincter. “No…not there…,” the amazon moaned helplessly, the pitiful mewing turning to a shriek equal part indignant and pained as the beast’s cock managed to punch its way into her rectum, “Pl-plee-EEEEEK!!!” The ogre reamed himself into her with such force that it caused her tits to flop upward and smack her in the face with every thrust.

As the warrior woman groaned and wept, the ogre fucked her surprisingly tight ass—I wonder if I’m the first to take her this way, he wondered to himself—indulging in the feel and sight of Olga’s massive ass-cheeks practically swallowing his length every time it found its bottom in her quim. They were beautiful, the skin taught around the well-marbled muscle, a beauty mark anointing her left cheek. Hell, more than beautiful, the ogre contemplated inwardly, as he bellowed out his climax, they look absolutely delicious! I wonder if they taste as good as they look.

Yanking himself out of Olga’s quivering ass, he dropped to his knees behind her. His hands took a death grip on her glutes as he lathed his raspy tongue against her pinkened moons, reveling in the sweet flavor of her sex-induced sweat. Then without a moment’s preamble, he darted against the marked cheek, his mouth opened wide. Before the blonde could even voice a plea for mercy, his jaws snapped shut on the jiggling mound of butt-meat. His fangs tore through her soft skin, an inch of rich fat, and finally buried themselves into the shuddering muscle. He took his time tearing away the dotted mouthful of backside ham from the rest of her abused buttock. The once proud warrior woman serenaded him with her screams of pain; Grinning, he closed his eyes and chewed slowly to enjoy her flavor.

So focused on the pain shooting through her ass, Olga didn’t notice when the young ogre left her to return upstairs. The bar wasn’t necessarily empty; there were bodies littering the floor—whatever brawl had occurred here in his and Olga’s absence had turned deadly. Grabbing what he came for, he whistled as he went back down into the cellar, taking two steps at a time. “Now that I know how good you taste, you fat-assed bitch,” the ogre snickered as he knelt behind her once more a jar of tangy mustard in one of his hands, “it’s time for an appetizer!”

Bawling in a mixture of shame, pain, and horror, Olga pleaded with the foul little being to leave her be—he did the opposite. Pulling her heavy leg taught, he dipped the knife into the spiced condiment and smeared it onto her calf, like butter on a corn cob. The cold mustard on her warm skin sent shivers up Olga’s spine, the unpleasant kind. This is really happening, the defeated warrior wept pitifully, I’m going to die tonight…die like a common hog…

Before she could dwell on her fate further, a pain she never thought she’d feel once in her life, let alone twice, tore through her—just as the young orc’s jaws tore through the creamy, spicy skin of her lower leg and into the rich, fatty flesh beneath. Olga screamed like a banshee but being so far in the cellar of the tavern—a tavern in desperate need of both a janitor and an undertaker at the moment—no one could hear her.

No one but the beast tearing into her shin like it was a turkey leg. Knowing that the orc couldn’t see her face made it easier to weep as she accepted that her fate was to be a meal for the horrid little beast. Her foot twitched wildly until all the tendons connecting it to her rapidly disappearing calf muscles were in the young orc’s belly, leaving it pale and still.  The black forest ham of her thighs was tempting, but the orc thought against it. He wanted that ham with eggs and fresh baked fairy bread in the morning. After all, that’s not why he was here.

He was here for ‘Dat Ass.’ That fat, meaty, jiggling, helpless human rump roast that, he chuckled cruelly, was always meant to be eaten. Eaten by him.

He’d tasted it, but now it was dinner time. He slathered the yellow sauce onto Olga’s trembling bottom, snickering at the yelp of pain that burst from her when he rubbed the tangy cream onto the flesh exposed by his first bite of her, the mouthful that had contained the dark little patch of color on her pink skin. His cackling turned into a monstrous snarl as he shoved his face against the warrior’s butt and feasted merrily upon it. Olga screamed with each bite, the ogre leaving behind crater after crater of yellow fat and red meat as her glorious ass vanished from the earth. During the mastication, darkness overtook Olga the Plentiful, mercifully ending her torment…for the time being.

The woman awoke with a hard smack to one the cheeks on her face; she was nude, hanging from the ceiling, the loss of so much blood making her world spin around her. It could also be responsible for the sound of sizzling finding its way to her ears. She was also devoid of her right shin and foot, and all that remained of her famous backside were shreds of meat and gristle.

“Ahhh, my pig is awake,” the ogre chortled, as he approached the helpless half eaten amazon. “I must thank you for the wonderful dinner you provided me with last night,” he continued, his hand snaking around her to paw at her exposed pelvic bone. “Had I been a man, that would have been enough for me for a week…but alas I am no man, you fucking cunt,” gripping her face to make sure the woman was looking him in the eye, using his other hand to caress her thick, ripe thigh, “and it is morning. No better breakfast than a fine, fat ham. YOUR ham!”

Too weak to scream loudly enough for anyone to hear her, Olga could only moan like a common whore as the rich flesh of her upper leg was ripped away from her, bite by bite, the grease of the eggs smeared on them adding to the torment. At least the gods had the decency to call her to Valhalla before the beast indulged himself in a sandwich later that day, as the story of Olga the Plentiful came to an awful end.

The sandwich, on the other hand, was far from awful. The flavor was sweet, the meat fatty and moist.

Made of her breast meat.