AN: Requested by Sagacious Rage - Broodmother shops at Robes by Jean Luc
Today was a special day. It was the Broodmother's birthday and she wanted to get a new dress to wear. Damn useless children of hers couldn't stitch for the life of them. What push out hundreds of kids out of five vaginas if those kids weren't around to help when you needed them? They never called. They never wrote. All they did was grunt and come home with armor covered in muck and ichor. Inconsiderate assholes.
Rumor had it the best place to get a dress was Jean Luc's in High Town. With her best nipple pasties on (stupid skinny Kirkballers had a thing against nipples), she waddle-slid-slimed her way to the market. No one had ever seen anything quite as marvelous as her. So amazed by her beauty and the shake in her shimmy, people ran at the sight of her.
Stupid bitches. They jelly of my jelly.
It took a lot of man to be able to handle someone as curvy as the Broodmother. Jean Luc was not that man. He trembled in her shadow, totally intimidated by her eight boobed hawtness. Pretty ladies got things for free and Broodmother put it to the test.
The length of a turgid finger sunk into her pastel pink painted lips. Green spit slicked the finger that then moved to twirl one of her nipple pasties seductively. "Garahthahagahagyuaryarh," she said to the man, offering to show him a night like none he'd ever seen if he would just give her a dress.
The man paled at the offer and speedily threw items from his cart at the Broodmother, showering her in gifts before he ran away.