Characters: One very bad asari, an unnamed krogan.
Location: Omega.
This tiny apartment nestled in one of Omega's rusted towers was a true hole-in-the-wall, a pit where chaos and poverty twisted together in a suffocating embrace. The walls, streaked with peeling paint and stains of unknown origin, vibrated with the distant hum of station thrusters, while the air reeked of burnt synthetic oil and cheap tobacco. The floor was a wasteland of broken metal crates, torn rags, and empty flasks, littered with shell casings, snapped tools, and scraps of glitching holographic ads. In one corner, an ancient terminal flickered and buzzed, spilling a droning voice through static-filled crackles:
"...Today, the Citadel Council honors Captain John Shepard, the first human SPECTRE, for his heroism in the battle against Saren and the geth. The destruction on the Citadel is substantial, but Shepard has become a symbol of hope..."
A strange, distorted track plays from a battered radio nearby—low bass notes and electronic howls tangled in a drunken improvisation, like someone trying to compose an apocalyptic soundtrack while wasted out of their mind.
Dim red neon light spills through the shredded fabric that once served as curtains, casting a sickly glow across the room. At the center of the mess sits a sunken, cracked leather couch, ringed with syringes, cigarette butts, and empty cans. In the corner, a broken heater lets out the occasional spark with an electric hiss, bouncing off the bare metal floor. The news droned on, naming crew members of the Normandy and quoting Admiral Anderson's glowing praise—but here, in the shadows of Omega, it was just noise. Nothing mattered to those who didn't live, but survived.
Sitting sprawled on the couch like a warlord in his ruined throne was the krogan—half-naked, pants yanked down around his ankles, revealing thick, scaled legs braced wide. His massive body dominated the room: broad shoulders, a chest armored in rough, plated hide, and a bulk that seemed to bend gravity itself. Scars crossed his body like battle maps—deep, jagged tears from claws and bullets, some still pink and unhealed. Despite the raw brutality of his appearance, those fresh wounds betrayed youth. His skin was brown-green, muscles taut and sculpted from a life of merciless violence. His face contorted with pleasure, small black eyes burning with lust as he looked down.
Kneeling before him was an asari—pure seduction in living form, her smooth, light-blue skin shimmering in the flickering glow of the terminal. Her latex bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, the deep-cut neckline framing a plush chest and hips sculpted for sin. Her face was a symphony of beauty, sharp cheekbones and a straight, narrow nose with a biting point that gave her silhouette an edge of danger. Her almond-shaped black eyes glistened with moisture, focused greedily on her task.
She was already working her mouth around him, and the krogan's breath came hard and hoarse.
"Enough, Morinth..." he rasped.
But pleasure rippled through his voice, betraying the truth—he didn't want her to stop.
The asari bent her head lower, her full lips stretching around the krogan's monstrous cock—a monstrous shaft, no less than sixteen inches long, thick as her forearm, its surface bulging with veins that pulsed like thick cables of muscle. The head, flushed dark and slick with saliva, barely fit between her lips. Below it, four massive balls—each the size of a clenched fist—hung heavy in her hands as she fondled them, luxuriating in their weight and warmth. Her tongue slithered over every inch of his length, bathing the cock in spit, drool sliding down over his shaft, balls, and splattering on the floor, mixing with the grime.
Her throat flexed as she swallowed him deeper, unleashing wet, sucking sounds that echoed obscenely in the room. "Ghhkk—hhrrk—ghllmmpp!" Loud slurps and lewd *schlorp* noises poured from her lips, her saliva trailing down in long strings, leaving damp stains on her suit. Her fingers gripped the base of his cock, helping her mouth manage the sheer girth of it, jerking in rhythm to each gulp of her throat.
Her tempo quickened. She began slamming her face down on his cock, fucking herself with her own throat, gagging past her limits while spit flew in every direction. It poured from her chin, ran in rivers down her chest, pooled between her thighs. Her tongue wrapped around the bloated head, hungrily lapping up every thick droplet of precum, her eyes tearing up as her breath came in raspy moans.
"Mmhh! Ghhkkk! Hhhrrghh—!"
She pulled back for a breath, face glistening with sweat and saliva, black eyes shining with tears. Then she plunged again, driving him deeper, her throat convulsing, gag reflex twitching—but she didn't stop. Her fingers dug into his testicles, kneading with manic hunger. It was filthy, depraved—and she was soaking in every second. Her body trembled with heat, dark eyes devouring him, deaf to the terminal's background rambling:
"...Shepard made countless sacrifices to save the galaxy. His crew—models of bravery..."
The words meant nothing. Morinth pulled back with a lewd pop, eyes rolled back, lips parted in a sigh of feral satisfaction. With a deep grunt, she slapped the bloated cockhead against her cheeks—*thwap, thwap*—smearing her skin with spit. She hooked the head into her mouth again, cheeks ballooning as she stretched them around the flared tip, tongue caressing the thick frenulum. He leaked so much precum she could barely keep up, swallowing constantly with gluttonous *glrrrk* gulps.
Her tongue slid back down, tracing every bulging vein, every ridged fold of his shaft. Drool webbed between her lips and his cock, and she licked lower to suck each ball into her mouth, one at a time, groaning as they filled her throat. She rocked her ass in time with each slurp, either from arousal or to tease him further.
"You're good..." the krogan grunted, voice ragged.
But the praise didn't even register to her.
She returned to his shaft, gripping with both hands, smearing her face along it like a lover desperate for scent, taste, ownership. Her tongue danced along the cockhead again, coating it with spit until it shined. Then she plunged down, taking him to the base, choking, gagging, her throat rippling around him.
It was a fevered, mindless rhythm now—a gluttonous, choking dance of lips, tongue, and fists. Her body swayed, hips grinding subtly as her lust grew in perfect sync with the filth coating everything around her. Spit, precum, sweat—all blending into a glistening cocktail of obscene worship.
Her throat bulged, stretched to its limit as the krogan's monstrous cock plunged deeper. She gagged, eyes streaming, bile threatening at the edges—but it only made her wetter. Slime and spit erupted from her nose and mouth, drooling down her suit in strands, soaking her breasts, her hips, her knees. She could smell it now—the scent of cum and sweat and latex, thick and cloying. Her nose flared. Her mouth never stopped.
"Stop—" the krogan gasped, muscles flexing. "Wait—"
She backed off for just a second, coughing violently, spitting a thick rope of spit and precum onto the floor. Then with a wicked grin, she tapped the drooling head against her tongue—*slap, slap*—before taking him deep again. Her fingers crushed into his balls, squeezing brutally, until the krogan roared in pain and pleasure. She felt them pulse under her touch—tense, ready to blow. She pictured it. All of it. Hot, thick, endless.
Spit ran like a river down his cock, over his legs, across the couch, onto the floor. She was lost in it. Her arousal seeped through the soaked crotch of her suit. Her moans were a chorus of filth.
The krogan began to shake. His growl grew into a roar. His muscles tightened. She felt it—his cock twitching, growing impossibly hard.
She doubled her pace. Her head became a piston, swallowing all sixteen inches over and over, nose buried in his musky crotch. Her tongue whipped around the base as her throat squeezed, choking violently. *Ggghhhkk! Hhrrrrlllkkk!*
The krogan howled. His claws crushed the couch. He tried to pull her off—
"Get off me, blue-bitch—"
She didn't even hear him.
Biotic energy surged from her body, wrapping around him, amplifying the coming orgasm beyond any natural threshold. His eyes rolled back. His body locked in a rigid arch—and then he came.
A monstrous blast of cum erupted from his cock, slamming into her throat like molten lava. Her cheeks ballooned instantly. She swallowed—but it was too much. Thick, hot seed poured from her lips, ran from her nose, soaked her chest and bodysuit in creamy white. His four balls convulsed, dumping quarts of cum inside her, across her, around her.
*Spurt—! Grrhhhkk—! Splurrrtt—!*
The krogan collapsed, unconscious, body twitching, eyes vacant. Morinth still had him in her mouth, still sucking, still milking him like a cock-hungry animal. Her belly bulged slightly with the volume of seed inside. Cum leaked from her nostrils, the corners of her lips, down her neck. Her latex suit clung wet to her, marked in patches of white. She *purred*—yes, purred—as she felt it slosh inside her.
Breathing hard, she pulled away from the lifeless krogan. Her chest rose and fell. Her fingers trembled as she licked the mess from her skin, scooping globs of seed into her mouth like it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted. She stood, wobbling slightly, and made her way to the cracked mirror.
What stared back was a wreck.
Blue skin smeared in milky streaks, her suit twisted and dripping, the crest of her head matted in spit, sweat, and seed. Her lips were swollen, her eyes red and watering. Between her legs, her suit was soaked in her own arousal.
She cast a contemptuous glance at the terminal, still rattling on about Shepard. With an annoyed sigh, she shut it off, plunging the room into dim, buzzing silence broken only by static from the radio, her heavy breaths, and the *drip... drip... drip* of fluids onto the floor.
Cleaning up took time. She wiped her face with a torn rag, tried to clear her suit, but the stains remained. She threw on a long coat that barely hid the evidence. At the door, she paused—one last look back.
The krogan's massive corpse lay still, his mouth dribbling a thin line of blood.
With a smirk, she left. Her boots echoed down the corridor, fading into the shadowed veins of Omega.
Outside the station, stars flickered—cold and distant, indifferent to the ones crawling through its underbelly, dragging secrets into the ever-hungry dark of the galaxy.