The night air in Harmonia was heavy with jasmine and the distant buzz of the city’s nightlife, but the garden behind the Harmony Matchmaking Agency’s lounge was a hot mess of chaos and hormones. Fira, the harpy, soared above the massive decorative tree, her wings beating with a rhythmic whoosh that sounded like a sexy windstorm. Her taloned feet gripped Gorg’s broad shoulders, the orc dangling like a very grumpy pi?ata. His green skin shimmered with sweat, his leather tunic barely containing his bulging muscles as he bellowed, “Put me down, harpy! This ain’t no game!” Fira, clueless to his rage, giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush, her golden eyes bzing with lust. Her gossamer dress fluttered, fshing the taut curves of her thighs and the soaked outline of her panties, her arousal practically dripping as she moaned loud enough to wake the neighbors. She thinks this is forepy? Lukas thought, watching from below. I’m in matchmaking hell.
With a triumphant caw, Fira swooped toward a thick branch, clearly pnning to park Gorg there for what she thought was a steamy treetop hookup. But the branch wasn’t ready for Gorg’s orcish bulk. The second his weight hit, a deafening crack split the air, like the universe saying, “Nope!” The branch snapped, and Gorg plummeted in a glorious tangle of leaves, splinters, and wounded pride. He hit the ground with a thud, roaring like a bear who’d stubbed its toe, and scrambled up, brushing dirt from his tunic while muttering orcish curses.
Lukas and Sylra burst into the garden, panting like they’d sprinted from a dragon. Lukas’s heart was doing cartwheels, his brain screaming, My first match, and it’s a disaster! I’m gonna be the guy who tanked the empire’s baby-making pn! His trousers were traitorously tight, his cock half-hard from Sylra’s succubus aura and the chaotic, X-rated drama unfolding. Why am I like this? This is a crisis, not a porno! Sylra, in her cy bck bra and panties that screamed “trouble,” grabbed his arm, her tail flicking like an anxious metronome. “We have to fix this now,” she hissed, her crimson eyes darting between Gorg’s scowl and Fira, who was now perched on a higher branch, looking confused but still horny. “This is a cultural dumpster fire!”
Lukas stepped forward, his voice wobbling like a newborn foal. “Gorg, Fira, please, let’s chill for a sec! Total misunderstanding here!” He raised his hands, trying to look like he had his shit together, but his flushed cheeks and shaky tone screamed, “I’m one bad decision from crying.” Channel authority, Lukas. You’re not a complete loser. Yet. “In harpy culture,” he said, “inviting someone to ‘fly’ is code for… uh, getting it on. Fira thought she was seducing you, Gorg. But in orc culture, being lifted is like a sp to the face, right? A fight vibe?”
Gorg grunted, his scowl easing as the penny dropped. “Yeah, a fight. Thought she was ughing at my strength.” He rubbed his neck, the bulge in his trousers still screaming “Fira’s moans were A+,” though his ego was clearly licking its wounds.
Fira, however, took Lukas’s expnation as a personal challenge. Her golden eyes zeroed in on him, a predatory grin spreading like wIldfire. “Oh, you’re a bold one, Matchmaker,” she purred, her voice dripping with enough sex to melt steel. “Calling out my moves? You want a piece of me, don’t you?” Before Lukas could squeak a protest, she dove from the branch, wings fring like a feathered missile. She tackled him to the ground, her feathers wrapping him in a silken cage as she straddled his hips. Her taloned feet pinned his thighs, her dress hiking up to reveal her glistening pussy, her panties so soaked they were practically transparent. She leaned in, her breath scorching his cheek, and dragged a cwed finger along his jaw, the touch equal parts tender and terrifying. “Such a pretty face,” she murmured, her tongue grazing his earlobe, sending a shiver straight to his groin.
Lukas’s cock went from half-mast to full-on fgpole, throbbing against his trousers like It was auditioning for the lead in a smut novel. Oh no, oh no, oh no! This is NOT in the job description! “This isn’t—!” he stammered, his voice cracking like a teenager’s. “Fira, this is not a hug!” His face was a furnace, his body betraying him as her feathers brushed his skin, soft as a lover’s whisper. Brain, do something! Tell her to stop! Or… don’t? No, stop it, you idiot!
Sylra, standing nearby, let out a low whistle, her lips twitching into a smirk despite the chaos. “Damn, Lukas, you’re stealing the spotlight already!” she teased, though her eyes flickered with worry. Her tail twitched, and she stepped closer, ready to jump in but clearly enjoying Lukas’s meltdown a little too much.
Fira ignored Sylra, her focus ser-locked on Lukas. “Rex, handsome,” she cooed, her taloned feet hooking into his trouser waistband with surgical precision. In one swift yank, she pulled them down, his throbbing cock springing free like it was shouting, “Freedom!” It stood tall, impressively thick, the head glistening with precum under the moonlight. Lukas gasped, mortified, as Sylra’s eyes widened, her smirk faltering into a mix of shock and… interest? “Well, damn,” she muttered, her voice husky. “That’s a plot twist.”
Fira’s gaze dropped to Lukas’s erection, her grin turning feral. “Oh, you’re ready,” she purred, shimmying out of her panties in a move smoother than silk. Her pussy was slick and swollen, droplets of her arousal dripping onto Lukas’s thigh as she hovered above him, her heat radiating like a furnace. Lukas’s mind was a screaming mess, torn between Run! And Oh gods, yes! His cock twitched, begging for action, while his brain wailed, This is how I die. Death by horny harpy.
Gorg, who’d been dusting off his tunic, froze, his eyes narrowing as he clocked the scene. “What the hell?!” he roared, stomping forward like a pissed-off rhino. “Matchmaker, you stealing my woman?!” His fists clenched, his jealousy wrestling with the lingering bulge in his trousers from Fira’s earlier teasing. “I oughta crush you into next week!”
Lukas’s panic hit DEFCON 1. “Gorg, no! It’s a misunderstanding! Help!” he yelped, his voice hitting notes only dogs could hear. Fira, unfazed, lowered herself, her wet pussy grazing the tip of his cock, the slick heat sending a bolt of pleasure through him despite his terror. Her juices dripped onto him, warm and tantalizing, and Lukas felt his control slipping like a greased pig. I’m about to be fucked and punched in the same minute. New personal low.
Sylra’s amusement vanished, repced by all-business urgency. “Fira, stop!” she barked, her voice slicing through the chaos like a whip. “Everyone, shut up and listen!” Fira froze, her wings still pinning Lukas, her pussy tantalizingly close to his cock. Gorg paused mid-stomp, chest heaving like a bellows. Sylra took a deep breath, her tone calm but steely. “Fira, in harpy culture, flying means sex, yes, but Gorg thought you were throwing down for a duel. And Lukas was just expining, not trying to steal you. This is a cultural clusterfuck.”
Fira blinked, her lust-fogged brain finally catching up. “Oh,” she said, her wings loosening as she slid off Lukas, her talons releasing his trousers. Her eyes lingered on his still-hard cock, a flicker of regret in her gaze, like she was saying goodbye to a really good dessert. “I… got carried away.”
Lukas scrambled to his feet, yanking his trousers up with the speed of a man fleeing a dragon. His face was redder than a va flow, his cock still aching like it was personally offended by the interruption. “Can we please erase this from existence?” he muttered, his voice trembling. I need a new identity. maybe a cave. Do caves take résumés? Sylra’s smirk crept back, her tail flicking pyfully as she sidled closer.“
Oh, darling, that’s burned into my memory forever,” she purred, her fingers brushing his arm, sending another unwanted jolt to his groin. “You’re packing a surprise, newbie.” Lukas groaned, fumbling with his belt, praying for a meteor to end his suffering.
Sylra turned to Gorg and Fira, snapping into professional mode like she hadn’t just seen Lukas’s junk. “You two have serious sparks, but this date derailed harder than a goblin’s cart. Let’s hit reset. Sit, talk, actually connect. No flying, no fighting, just vibes.” She pointed to a nearby bench, and the pair, looking sheepish but intrigued, sat down.
As Gorg and Fira started talking, their voices softening, it was clear they clicked. Gorg shared his love for battle songs, his tusks fshing as he grinned. Fira’s eyes lit up, describing how she sang to calm her flock after storms. Their ughter grew, the earlier tension melting into something warm and real. Sylra watched, nodding like a proud coach, then leaned in. “You’re clicking. Why not take it to the Harmony Sex Suite? It’s private, built for… exploring compatibility. Seal the deal there.”
Gorg and Fira locked eyes, the earlier heat fring back to life. Fira’s wings fluttered, and Gorg’s grin was all tusks and promise. “Lead the way,” he rumbled. They followed an agency attendant toward the suite, Fira’s hand brushing Gorg’s arm, her talons grazing his skin in a clear “we’re not done yet” vibe.
Lukas stood alone, trousers finally secure, though his cock was still sulking from the ordeal. Sylra sauntered over, her grin pure mischief. “You survived, newbie,” she teased, her tail looping around his wrist like a flirty handcuff. “But next time, maybe warn me before you whip out the big guns.” She winked, leaving Lukas flushed, frazzled, and wondering how he’d survive this job—or Sylra’s relentless, panty-melting teasing.
