Justice for Another Camelot

Mordred doesn't care about the Holy Grail. She just wants to cross swords with Artoria Pendragon once more, and this Holy Grail War affords her that chance. There's just one problem; the Artoria that was summoned isn't the Artoria she killed and was killed by.

magic futa artoria

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Hot blood pumped hard in Mordred's veins, and she could hear her heartbeat thunder as hard as she felt it pound in her chest. The feelings of anger, excitement and jubilation that swept over her made for odd bedfellows in her head. Though her body shook, she knew it was anticipation that struck her so, not fear or anxiety.

How many years had she waited?

How many times had she been summoned?

How many trash Masters had she endured?

None of that mattered anymore.

She could feel Rhongomyniad's use from across the city. Having died with the Holy Lance buried in her belly, the Knight of Treachery and would-be heir to Camelot kept a special connection to the legendary weapon, only ever wielded by her 'father' Artoria. No other servant in this war could wield it.

The Saber-class Servant checked to make sure her pathetic Master was fast asleep. The only thing that could possibly hold her back from this fight was a command spell. Once she was sure that there would be no interruption from her Master, she sped across the city.

By the time she arrived, the battle was already over; Mordred expected nothing less from her father, the King of Knights. Yet something was distinctly wrong in the underground parking lot she found herself in. It wasn't the small craters in the pavement or the cracks in the stone columns supporting the building above them, nor was it the destroyed vehicles strewn around the

It was her father. Or rather, it wasn't her father.

Mordred herself was a homunculus clone of 'King' Artoria; not the powerful king most would come to expect from Arthurian legend, but a petite young woman barely clearing five feet tall with sea green eyes and blonde hair. Where one would expect Artoria to have regal grace and bearing however, Mordred had a cocky attitude that burned through her constant glare, her sardonic grins and wry smirks.

On anyone else they would make for ugly expressions, but her face was undeniably beautiful. Her personality even showed in her careless, messy hairstyle, tied back in a ponytail where Artoria herself kept her long blonde hair in an elegant crown braid. Though Mordred reacted with ridiculous, almost hysterical violence towards anyone who suggested she was a woman, her femininity was obvious at a glance. Her casual clothes bared most of her body; she had left her usual jacket behind and now only wore her tube top, jean shorts and boots. Her tight, nubile young body was on plain display for anyone who cared to look at it. Though she didn't fit the typical definition of sexy with her small breasts, boyish hips and tight little ass, she was undeniably cute. The same could of course be said for Artoria.

And that's exactly what was wrong with the woman before her. For one, she was at least five inches taller than Mordred without the two sharp, two-inch heels of the King's riding boots. Yes, her face was still beautiful but in a far different way than Mordred's. Her features were mature and womanly, refined and undeniably elegant. All of that and the fact she had an impressive rack on an even more impressive display, paired with wide hips and long legs.

This wasn't her father. She instinctively knew that this is what her father might have been without Excalibur. Without Morgan creating her, Mordred, to steal the throne. This was the king of Camelot that might have been. She stood serene in the center of the destruction, calmly cleaning a dead Servant's blood off Rhongomyniad. Mordred stared at her. To say the Knight of Treachery's emotions were chaotic would be a severe understatement, her excitement and jubilation knocked clean out of her.

Resentment and jealousy replaced it. How dare this bitch be summoned over her true father?

It wasn't a rational thought. Mordred should have known better; she had been summoned as this Grail War's Saber-class servant, so this Artoria must have been summoned as a Lancer. There was bound to be differences, and if she hadn't felt such haste to get here she may have thought this through and prepared herself for them.

Her jealousy wasn't rational either. The reason she got so offended over being treated like a woman wasn't because she was raised believing that one day, as Artoria's 'son', she would inherit 'his' throne and become king. It was because of her stunted growth. Sure, she had eternal youth and that wasn't something to scoff at. Was it worth her eternally tiny titties and her boyish stature? Was it worth always being looked down on as childish and found wanting compared to other women her age?

A lot of people would say yes to that question, but not Mordred. This Artoria would not have been possible if Mordred had been created, sure, but that didn't stop Mordred from seeing what she could have been. This Artoria wasn't just a king in name, but a true queen in body, the matron of a thriving people who surely loved her for her just rule as much as they secretly lusted for her fertile body.

Since she arrived, she had been glaring at the blonde bombshell of a servant. She finally realized that Artoria was looking straight back at her, calmly waiting with her holy lance at her side. That just threw fuel on Mordred's fire. Just as she instinctively knew who the servant before her was, she surely already knew who Mordred was; a mirror of her younger self, who coveted the throne and began an open rebellion when the true Artoria denied her. Mordred had destroyed Camelot, and yet there wasn't a hint of anger or outrage on this Lancer's face, just majestic patience.

"How dare you," Mordred finally seethed, materializing her sword in one hand and beginning a slow storm towards this very different Artoria.

"How dare we what," Artoria asked, her voice gentle and reflecting the difference between the two as sure as their bosoms did. Mordred's voice was comparatively boyish to hers and its natural throatiness, her inherent and undeniable sexuality tamed and encased by a monarch's grace. Yet she paused, just long enough for it to be clearly deliberate, and added two words she already knew would rankle Mordred.

"Little girl?"

Those two words hit Mordred like a punch to the stomach. All she really ever wanted out of her rebellion was her father's acknowledgement. Even if Artoria denied her the throne in their time, she would have been his loyal servant evermore had she treated Mordred like her son, or at least a woman. She slowed, she stopped, and her steps flagged. The tip of her sword struck the pavement as her hand fell.

Then her anger returned full force, a furious snarl overtaking her lips; her armor began to materialize, covering up the cute little blonde in her fearsome armor, once more Sir Mordred, a respected member of the Round Table. "You fucking big-tittied bitch." She dashed forward as her helmet began to form, screaming out in rage as she sought first blood.

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It was a long fight. By the end of it, Mordred was scratched and battered, her tight body with its sleek muscles sheening from perspiration. Her breathing came in hard gasps, chest heaving in her lungs' constant labor. The last pieces of her armor faded away, leaving her once more in her white tube top and jean shorts, the former torn down the center from Artoria's last blow on her.

When her master bought her these clothes, he also offered to buy her underwear. Mordred's death-fueled stare had him backpedal that quickly. Her tiny tits certainly didn't need the support of a bra, though she might have appreciated one right now as she leaned gasping on her sword's hilt, the small twins on lewd display for anyone who cared to look. The knight's stiff nipples were almost begging for attention, which wasn't unusual for her. A real battle always made Mordred horny as hell.

Only a few members of the Round Table knew she was a woman when they were alive, before everything in Camelot went south. In those days, it wasn't rare for her to grab one or two of her brethren for a little 'hard fraternization' after each equally hard victory. The only time she let them treat her like a woman was when she was taking their cocks in whatever manner pleased her, and only in whatever manner pleased her. As their future king, she could never let herself become someone else's bottom bitch.

But this wasn't Camelot, and Mordred hadn't won her ill-considered fight against Artoria. Her victorious enemy's heels clicked authoritatively on the pavement. The Lancer-class servant's first fight of the night had wrecked the underground parking lot, but her second fight ruined it. Most of the lights were destroyed and only a handful of cars survived Mordred's fiery wrath and Artoria's cool-headed retaliation.

Mordred's sword clattered to the hard ground when Artoria grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air, making the smaller blonde gasp hard. Her weakened fingers lifted up to grab at Artoria's wrist, trying in vain to pry the stronger servant's hold off of her. It was no use. Though Mordred had managed to fatally wound her Artoria, this one was far more powerful and had the experience with Rhongomyniad to back it up.

Though she was defeated, Mordred's hatred for Artoria kept her glaring as she struggled, dangling in the air. "Do it," she snarled, red in the face and breathless from the hand choking her. "Kill me again." Though their duel had lasted almost twenty minutes, Artoria had clearly been toying with Mordred, calmly taunting her and spurring her on to make greater and greater errors in her rage. The fight didn't resemble two powerful knights but rather a bullfight, with the beautiful King of Camelot playing the part of Mordred's matador. In the end, she had only landed one blow on this alternate version of her father, and it had been in passing.

Artoria simply gazed back at this younger version of herself and pushed her that one step further. "No." It made Mordred howl and hiss, all her remaining energy going to freeing herself, her long legs kicking futilely at the king of Camelot.

"DO IT ALREADY, KILL YOUR HEIR," she screamed with the last of her breath, only to find herself dropped. She gasped in deep breaths as she fell to her knees, glancing up at Artoria in confusion. Her eyes almost reached the king's face before she yowled in pained indignity, feeling the king's fingers pull her hair hard and begin tugging her along. "Stop," she tried to growl, but the words came out as a raspy whimper. It was easier for Mordred to crawl along on her hands and knees than let Artoria just drag her across the rough, cracked pavement.

"No." Artoria made no other sound but for the click of her heels until she arrived at one of the surviving cars, a Ford Mustang painted wine red. Only then did she turn to Mordred and look down at her with a king's cool stoicism. "You never faced any punishment for your betrayal and patricide in life, girl. It would be remiss of us to ignore that."

The royal 'we' and 'us' made this all the worse for Mordred, but she didn't have the energy to howl again. When Artoria pulled her up, she could only squeak her outrage. None of what the king was doing made any sense to Mordred.

This alternative version of Artoria knew exactly what she was doing, though, seating herself with regal grace upon the mustang's hood as though it were her throne.

Mordred was a clone of Artoria, and while this Artoria had at least ten years of growth on her and a woman's body to prove it, she was still Artoria. The treasonous knight should have known what the battle would do to her; while Mordred didn't have Artoria's mind or personality, they shared the same base impulses and natural inclinations.

A good fight made Artoria terribly horny, and she just had two of them. And more than that, Artoria always took control. She was the king. Her pride and ego would never let her submit to anyone else. Poor Mordred was dropped unceremoniously across the king's thighs, squawking furiously as she landed there. It still hadn't clicked for her that Artoria was horny, nor what a horny Artoria would do for 'punishment'. She glanced over her shoulder just as the king tore off what remained of her tube top, making her startle and gasp. A moment later, her jean shorts were ripped off with similar ease. Just as Mordred hadn't worn a bra, she hadn't bothered with panties, instead going commando. "What are you doing?" she hissed out quietly as a hot blush took over the rebel's face, as though speaking any louder might draw attention to the sudden shame she felt.

Artoria smiled a very small, very slim smile, her regal grace and cool composure otherwise maintained. The matured woman didn't let a hint of the dark thoughts she was thinking show on her face, nor the need her revved body felt. "As we said, punishing a treacherous knight. And from what we have surmised, disciplining a little girl jealous of our endowments," she added, her pussy growing damper for how the accusation outraged Mordred. The gauntlets Artoria wore faded away, and she stilled Mordred's squirming body with a hand on her back. There was surely an angry insult on the younger woman's tongue, but just as she opened her pretty little mouth to spit it out, Artoria's hand came down hard on her bottom. She let out a raw squeal instead, hips bucking as though that might free her. "Are we mistaken?" Artoria wondered aloud.

"Yes-- fuck!" The hand of the king once more clapped down on Mordred's naughty ass as she denied the truth both of them knew, leaving both halves of her butt as red as her face, brought on by the anger and humiliation she felt. "I'd never," she finally managed to growl as Artoria lifted her hand again. Mordred rushed her words out, managing to spit them out right before she was spanked hard again and made to yowl. "I'd never be jealous of a disgusting, fat-titted cow like you!"

"Is that so?" Artoria wondered again. The insult was beneath her and frankly beneath her acknowledgement, but she knew how to deal with children like Mordred. What buttons to press, what insecurities to exploit. Mordred had recovered enough through raw adrenaline that she was able to properly howl and squeal out as Artoria stomped on the knight's ego with one slap after another, making sure there was no way Mordred would be sitting down anytime soon. When the knight was finally panting to get back all the breath she wasted crying out and cussing futilely, Artoria gently touched her bottom.

Mordred's body tried to flinch forward, an agitated feline growl working low in her throat. "Shh, child, shhhh," Artoria gently hummed. The agitated knight acquiesced, nostrils flaring even as she gave a frustrated kick of her dangling legs. Artoria's long and graceful fingers followed the curve of Mordred's reddened ass to her desperate pussy. Her touch made the knight shudder, made her groan out in unbidden satisfaction as Artoria began to finger her hot, wet cunt. The older woman knew exactly where her fingers needed to go.

Of course she did. It was her own pussy. She knew it well. "F-fuck you," Mordred moaned out, clenching her eyes tightly shut as though doing so might deny reality, but doing that couldn't block out what she felt so powerfully between her legs. Her hips squirmed, and one of her hands grabbed blindly at Artoria's thigh, white-knuckled.

"Aren't I?" Artoria finally smirked, putting aside her kingly attitude as she finger-fucked her younger clone with sadistic pleasure. The hand that had been keeping Mordred immobile slid up to grab her messy ponytail, pulling the blonde's head back and making her crane her neck. "Were I such an ugly cow, you wouldn't be this wet. Be honest with me, little girl. I'm everything you want to be, aren't I?" the older woman taunted, lowering her voice so it was pitched just over the wet schlicks her fingers made as they claimed Mordred's g-spot.

"No," the would-be heir to Artoria's throne cried out. "Noooo, no, no, no no nonono!" Mordred's feverish denials only became more vehement the closer Artoria's fingers brought her to orgasm, and in the wild heat of the moment she had no idea whether she was refuting the truth Artoria spoke or trying to reassure herself that she wouldn't cum like this, in this moment: a defeated bitch over the knee of her conqueror.

For the first time in her life, Mordred on bottom. Her body itself was a new source of humiliation; she had always been proud of her stamina and how well she could control herself when she cared to do so, cruelly edging her chosen cock. That control was gone now. Artoria was going to make her cum hard and fast, and there was nothing Mordred could do about it.

"No?"

"No," Mordred wailed, and just like that, Artoria slid her fingers out. The rebellious knight's hips bucked and rolled, trying to push back on to them as she panted like a bitch in heat. "No," she whimpered at her empty feeling. "No, no, no. No. I'm so fucking close," she whined, her embarassed fluster reaching its apex as she thrashed her legs in frustration. "Please let me cum," she begged, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

"Be honest with me," Artoria commanded. Mordred squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't stop the waterworks from starting to trickle down her cheeks, equally ashamed of the position she found herself in and overwhelmed by pleasure. The knight bit down on her bottom just hard enough to draw a trickle of blood from its swell and a second later, she mumbled something out.

Nothing happened.

"Please let me cum," she whined, but Artoria wasn't having it.

"Be honest with me. Speak clearly when you address your king," the monarch ordered, uncompromising. Mordred growled out her frustration and bit her lip again. The coppery taste in her mouth didn't give her any new strength, and it certainly didn't give her any clarity through the lusty haze that quagmired her mind.

"Yes," she finally gasped out as her cunt's burning need finally proved too much for her to take anymore. "You're everything I want to be, both woman and king, so please let me cum," she pleaded without further reservation. "Please, please, please. Let me cum," she whined.

Artoria still wasn't having it. "Yes who?"

"Yes, Artoria!" Mordred whined, but that wasn't it. She gasped out when Artoria slapped her ass again with wet fingers, then tried again. "Your Majesty!" Wrong again, and so her already bright red ass earned a fresh slap. As much as Mordred wanted to lean forward and bury her head in literally anything, the hand gripping her hair still prevented that, keeping her lovely neck vulnerable and exposed. "Y-yes, father?" she tried, her firm ass already tensing in anticipation.

Nothing. No spank, no cumming. Mordred's hazy mind raced to figure out what that could mean. She was close, wasn't she? So close to answering correctly and so close to getting to cum. Her tongue swiped over her lips and she tried again, with more confidence. "Yes, daddy."

"What a good little daughter you are," Artoria praised with cruel warmth. At any other time, that would enrage Mordred even with a bruised ego. Yet Artoria hadn't bruised Mordred's ego. She had shattered it and stomped on its pieces. And more than anything else in the world, Mordred was desperate for her Artoria to acknowledge her as her son. Mixing that desperation with a humiliating need for Artoria to make her cum?

She could accept being a good little daughter. Her tears began to spill more freely. That was all she ever wanted. If she won the Holy Grail, her wish would be for a chance to win over her father, not take Artoria's place as king. She shuddered as she began to cry, sobbing out her next words, words incredibly wrong for the perverse situation she found herself in. Yet they were genuine, unbidden by this alternate version of Artoria. "Thank you, daddy…!"

The sweet, 'wholesome' moment did not deter Artoria from her cruelty, though she was gentle in how she began it. She rose slowly, supporting Mordred and helping her 'daughter' find her footing as she cried over something she had waited almost a thousand years to hear. Soft touches from the king's hands had the bawling knight bent over the hood of the car. It was only when Artoria started to nudge Mordred's ankles with her boot-clad toes that the knight began to wonder what was going on. Why did her feet need to be shoulder-width apart? She slowly glanced over her shoulder, her confusion plain on her teary face with its burning blush. "D-daddy?"

Artoria had partially undressed while she was spreading Mordred's feet apart. Her bare bosom with its pink-tipped peaks was as enchanting of a sight as one would expect and her stomach was lean, the muscles beneath it well-defined. The knight's eye went lower than that, however. It went to Artoria's pussy, much like Mordred's own but for the trimmed golden hair protecting it where the knight kept her snatch bare.

Yet it wasn't Artoria's snatch that drew her attention so much as the magic that shimmered in the air around it. As the king finished murmuring her latin incantation, her secret Noble Phantasm began to form. Mordred's eyes shot wide open in shock and her jaw fell as she stared at it.

For a moment, Artoria was sorely tempted to fill Mordred's open mouth, but she had another target in mind for the special weapon her sister Morgan had given her as a gag gift one birthday oh-so-long ago. "There's no fucking way in hell that thing is going to fit in me, daddy," Mordred said with a hint of panic. Were they alive, Artoria knew Mordred would probably be right about that. For all her strength and endurance, the knight was a small woman and Artoria knew her own pussy wouldn't be able to take the slab of meat she now held in her hand. She grinned maliciously at her 'daughter', slapping the hot and hard length against her abused ass.

"You're a Servant. It'll fit," Artoria assured Mordred. Still, the younger blonde knight started with horror at the sheer size of the horse cock that had magically replaced the king's pussy. With her moment at hand, Artoria no longer had any patience or compassion. She stepped right up behind Mordred and grabbed hold of her hair again, shoving her face down against its hood and pinning her cheek to it. The knight grunted in discomfort, then moaned in it as Artoria began to rub the flat head of the equine member against her edged pussy.

The car had been one of the lucky few to survive the fights intact, but Mordred's fingers curled hard against it. She was a Servant, after all, and her body wasn't simple flesh and blood; her short nails were hard as diamond and curled paint off the car's hood as sure as they dented it.

"Ask for it," Artoria commanded, intent on torturing and teasing Mordred's poor (albeit incredibly guilty) pussy.

Morded's heart pounded. Her head pounded too with a growing headache. There was a lot going on, enough to overwhelm her, but she was still in the moment and her wet pussy's muscles were certainly working to try and suck the teasing horse cock right in. She pushed her worries and anxieties aside, at least for the moment, and wet her lips.

"Please, daddy," she begged quietly. "Fuck your treacherous daughter's pussy with your hard cock…!" As the last word began to pass her lips, Artoria began to force her mammoth cock into Mordred's tight snatch, making the knight's words taper off in a loud squeal of ultimately whorish discomfort. It was far larger than anything she had ever taken before. Mordred found herself unconsciously shifting her feet to spread herself further for it, stretched well past what she thought her limit was once Artoria finally managed to get a full inch inside her.

Some distant part of Mordred's mind was keeping track of how shameful the situation had gotten. First, she had lost to Artoria in combat. Then she lost to Artoria again when the King of Knights spanked her ass raw and edged her orgasm. After that, Artoria made her start referring to her as daddy , and now she was bent over a muscle car getting her pussy broken in by more cock than she knew what to do with. For the first time ever, she was a bottom bitch.

It hurt.

It hurt really, really fucking good, and the rest of Mordred's mind gave up on resisting what her body clearly wanted and was proving itself capable of taking. The rebel bit down hard on her bottom lip once more, toes curling in her boots as unrestrained pleasure washed over her body, marking the second inch Artoria had claimed.

When Artoria claimed her third inch, one of Mordred's hands closed into a white-knuckled fist, her nails scratching blood from her palm. And when Mordred's poor pussy managed to take a fourth inch of the enormous horse cock, she pounded that fist against the car's hood, punching clean through it. Smoke began to billow out of the engine as Artoria drew her cock back. They both ignored that very bad sign when she thrust it back in, going deeper yet. That thrust finally pushed Mordred over the edge Artoria had so cruelly left her on. She screamed her throat raw again as she came on Artoria's savage cock, slamming down on the car again and again. "Like that, daddy! Like that!" she cried with each thrust, one orgasm riding into another without mercy once the King of Knights began fucking her properly.

"You treacherous little slut of a daughter," Artoria spat as she plowed Mordred's tight cunt with wild abandon, keeping her cheek pinned to the hood all throughout, though at this point she knew Mordred wouldn't try to escape; she clearly didn't want to. Her other hand renewed her abuse on Mordred's tight little ass, making sure she wouldn't sit down for the next two weeks.

The benefits of a magic horse cock were many. Among Artoria's favorites was the fact it had no refractory period, letting her fuck without pause and cum as much as she wanted to. She filled Mordred's pussy thrice over by the time she began to slide free of the knight's abused cunt, treating her body roughly and heaping cruel words on her that the knight was soon crying back at Artoria, wanton and proud in her increasingly depraved cum-high.

"Yes! I'm a treacherous little slut!"

Mordred moaned out and tried to reach blindly behind her when Artoria pulled free of her sloppy, sperm-filled fuckhole, hungry for more. She got it a moment later when Artoria spun her around and pulled her off the car, letting her fall to her knees before the king. The shuddering knight didn't need any instructions with Artoria's hard, wet cock in her face, setting to work on licking and kissing it. Servant or not, she was only just able to fit the head into her mouth, though when she did she suckled it for all she was worth, teasing its sensitive slit with the tip of her tongue. The next time Artoria came, she pulled it out and aimed her spray of seed all over Mordred's face and chest. She didn't give the little traitor the kindness of warning her it was coming or trying to avoid her hair; the debaucherous King of Knights wanted it to be a messy lesson. With the way Mordred moaned out for her daddy, it was clearly not one she minded learning.

"This," Artoria declared victoriously, "is the justice your Camelot is owed. Wench."

Right afterwards, Artoria gave Mordred an explosive cockslap that caught her off guard and knocked her over with a little shriek of surprise.

It was literally explosive. The smoking engine that they had both ignored had begun to flame when Mordred was busy worshipping Artoria's thick cockmeat. It went critical at that very moment. The underground parking lot's structure was already terribly damaged before an explosion happened.

If there was any real lesson to them here, it was for them not to think with their pussies (or magical horse cocks). Neither of them were coherent enough to recognize the building's inward collapse until it was too late to get out.

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When Mordred regained her consciousness, she couldn't open her eyes. Though her body was sore all over and she could feel bruises all over, most particularly her ass, she didn't feel anything missing when she checked. Had she been blinded?

She rubbed at her eyelids and found once she wiped away the dried cum, she could squint up at the dark sky. That made sense. For a moment, she just laid there. She wasn't dead, so that was great.

A turn of her head showed she was on the manicured lawn just before the parking lot she had fought (and fucked) Artoria in. The building was rubble. What a fucking mess. There was no sign of Artoria… Lancer… her father? What a confusing, fucking mess. The other servant must have woken up first and dug Mordred out.

Drenched in dried cum and still feeling it drip out of her well-fucked hole, Mordred figured she was a bigger mess than the building. She stretched out and stared at the sky.

That happened. There wasn't really anything else to say about it. She would have to process everything later. For now, those words needed to suffice: that happened. It didn't quite suffice; she could feel her face start to burn red again, but she was far too spent to figure out if she was humiliated or happy about it.

After a few minutes of just laying there, she tentatively reached down her body and between her legs, scooping some of the remaining cum from out of herself, lifting it to her mouth and tucking it in. It wasn't bad. A little sweet, actually. She had some more before she finally began to stumble to her feet, any semblance of balance pretty well fucked out of her hips. On unsteady legs, the debauched traitor began her walk of shame back to her Master's house, naked as the day she was born and still dripping Artoria's cum.