Shokan Mombat

This was based on a fan suggestion and it came out in this weird little middleground between my monstergirl works, milfs, muscles, and fighting works. A boy growing up adopted by the shokan, which are the four-armed monster people from Mortal Kombat. I haven’t played a lot of those games so don’t mind if I get run the lore super fucking loose. Really just barbarian mom sticking up for her kid while he manages to go through life growing up around boys and girls his age that are several feet (and arms) bigger than him. 

It was fun writing how he deals with this kind of world. It was initially just a fight story, but I got a bit lost in the world-building. I might revisit it sometime for things like his dating and social life.

I’m not like your regular kid. Or really… I guess I’m too much like your regular kid. It depends on where you’re from. Where I was born, I’m told I’m pretty normal for a human. Short, scrawny, only two arms. It’s like living with a handicap here in this part of my dimension. I’m technically not a Shokan like everyone else, but I’m treated with the same respect. It’s all thanks to my mom, really, so guess I’ve always been her special little guy.

“I slaughtered your Earthrealm city to the very last soul,” she’d tell me on some nostalgic nights, holding me in her musclebound thigh while her lower pair of arms cradled me, the top half busty grooming my hair. “The setting sun bore witness to the boundless blood and glory for our tribe. But then I found you in your baby-cage… what they called a ‘crib’ on the Earth dimension.” I remember mom’s red and yellow eyes turned soft as she smiled way down at me. “I could bring not a single hand to harm you. You were so tiny and precious, the smallest and weakest thing I had ever seen. You were all pink and fat and not a single horn on your head… while I should have been filled with disgust, I saw a darling I could fit in the palm of a hand. I brought you back to the clan, performed the proper blood rituals, and you became my delicate little child.”

I never thought a lot about my old life. I don’t remember a thing about my birth parents or anything about Earth besides what mom or our History Of War teachers show me in their scrying orbs. I bet I would have been a real badass, because I’m the bottom of my class in just about anything physical. With the Shokan, a lot of classes are physical… even the slightly smaller females of the species can just hurdle over me when we play thornball, not to mention the young alpha warriors and that the entire species has twice as many arms as me.

For how aggro the species was as a whole (I think it’s almost time for the annual slaughterhunt in the next dimension), I didn’t really get bullied. They were competitive, so I’d get bumped out of the way in the halls a few times, but no one actually targeted me for anything. I’m not sure if it’s just being considered one of them gets me in the loop or if mom had something to do with that. I know there’s always Aunt Teega… she wasn’t called “Teega the One-Arm” until she’d objected to mom keeping me for this long and suggested eating me. All I got were some questions from classmates about where I’d come from and how I got here, a lot of which I had to go ask mom about.

The fact was I don’t know much outside of what I consider my homerealm. I learned to speak in Shokan before I took English as an elective in Advanced Scholary. I had a crush on the older girl Devitus when I was 10, but then the rumor got around that she ate her last two boyfriends when they failed their trials of courtship by combat. It was entirely her right, but it was considered pretty rude these days. A little more rude than showing mercy and accepting their proposal, but the common response was just to beat them unconscious and maybe scar them for their failure. They knew the risks, and so did I. Apparently mom was married for all of five-minute before she killed my would-be dad during the ceremony.

So yea… Shokan are pretty hardcore, and I do my best to just fit in and keep quiet with my small circle of murderous friends. But for a guy who has to take Advanced Martial Arts at 14 against other boys who are already seven feet tall, it’s tough. Of course, it doesn’t matter what species or size you are when that time of year comes around… I’m not even talking about asking if Sazeta (the geeky girl who’s into lorescrolls and is only twice as buff as I am) wants to go to prom. Parent-teacher conferences are enough to make even Tortak from the Ax-Catching team flinch.

It’s even worse for me by being just over half my mom’s size. My mom Kendar is big even for a female Shokan. She’s tall and all muscle besides her breasts, with a dark and shaggy mane she keeps stylishly loose. The topknot or just going bald was always popular, but mom’s been a bit rebellious like that. Her four arms and shoulders are dotted with speckled spots across her orange-tan skin, one arm growing from her extended abdomen and each ending in three thick, strong fingers. Shokan didn’t really deal in guns and more delicate tools (stuff I had that slight edge in, as a result), so their bigger, clumsier digits were built for smashing and grappling over dexterity. Her narrow red eyes scowled fearlessly across the desk at my teacher, her upper arms folded across her massive breasts. I try not to look at my mom in that way, but with our clear lack of blood relation and her obviously huge rack, it can be hard not to stare. Rippling thighs, bulging biceps and abs I could break a finger on always gave her an interesting look; something to stare at no matter where you looked. Mom wore her formal battle garb to the parent teacher night; red leather with black studs that amounted to two straps from groin to shoulders. A third strap ran between them to keep them in place while they were just a few inches wide, covering her nipples and not much else. Her black lips and folded forearms told me she was all business and just waiting to hear the slightest critique of her little warrior.

My homeroom teacher at the time was Taraka the Educatress. She was similarly built to my mom, if a little shorter and wider. Her hair was a bunch of rust-red dreadlocks, thick whips of hair bound with bones of fallen enemies and her masters she slew to obtain her rank as educatress. I know I wasn’t her favorite student, and her wide, sternly glaring eyes made it clear this was not going to be a stellar review. She wore her necklace of fat beads and stones that hung between her huge cleavage (which demanded more attention than her lessons did), and was dressed in her war-scholarly dress. Bare at the sides of her legs, showing some of her ass cheeks when she kicked high enough, while it wrapped up like a sash to one side and let part of her right breast hang precariously close to its edge. Even at the most formal and sensible occasions, Shokan weren’t big on heavy clothing. One of the benefits of living among them, even if I was clad in worn out pants and a shirt with the two extra arm holes sewn up.

“While young Urik is excelling in his more… mental trials,” my educatress said with some distaste. “He remains behind the rest of the class in armed and unarmed kombat. Even considering his handicap.”

“My child is as strong as he is intended to be,” mom said sternly. “You dare to insult my bloodline by slander of weakness?”

“Mom, you don’t have to...” I urge quietly. Nowhere loud enough to actually stop her. 

“I am an educatress, Mistress Kendar,” Taraka said sternly, resting her arms on her desk so that I could see nothing but cleavage. “It is my duty to the Shokan to judge the young that pass through my halls. And should they prove wanting, it is my explicit purpose to bring up such weakness so that it can be reprimanded.”

Mom had to go and embarrass me by slapping the teacher. It wasn’t even an angry punch like I’d expected. A full on dueling slap where Mom gave her three across the cheek.

“I will not tolerate such an insult to my only family!” Mom seethed. “I meet the challenge hidden in your words, witch!”

“So be it!” Educatress Taraka grabbed mom by her long dark hair and spiked her face into the desk, bouncing off the hard and ancient wood with a brutal cracking sound. Even mom had to flinch from that, but she braced her lower arms against the desktop and used them to hurl himself over the surface. She slammed both of her heavy feet into Taraka’s chest, slamming my teacher hard enough into the wall that cracks spread where her spine connected.

“Mooom, you’re embarrassing me,” I muttered under my breath. My barbaric warrior mom ignored me, snarling lowly with her teeth bared as she grabbed a fistful of Taraka’s dreadlocks. The teacher snapped out of it enough to throw a punch at her but mom caught it in her palm. Her lower hands tore into the teacher, hammering the educatress’ abs from either side one after the other. She pummeled the teacher’s guts in, making her body quake and her hefty breasts bounced even more than the rest of her.

I could see the pain in the teacher’s face but she was too seasoned by battle to go down that easy. Her lower arms caught mom around the thighs and with a timely swing of her footing, she swept mom off her feet. Mom’s shoulders slammed against the floor but Taraka turned sharply to spin her around like a helicopter. Mom’s head smashed against the obsidian stone blackboard, leaving another wide crack in its surface that made her crumble limply to the floor. I knew mom’s skull was way tougher than that, where I imagined me or another human would probably be dead.

“Mom, quit it. Just get up and I’ll take the C minus,” I urged. “I know you can beat her, but-”

“Then I shall not disappoint,” mom grunted. She roared and tried to reach for the educatress, but Taraka spun again in the other direction. She let go of mom’s legs at the peak of her arc, sending her flying through several desks. Her brawny body shattered a couple before she came to a stop, shoving them out of her way. Mom gave a feral snort as she bull rushed back at the teacher. 

Taraka had a hard uppercut waiting for her, but mom sidestepped nimbly at the last minute. She caught Taraka by the throat and lifted my teacher off the floor with both hands. Taraka reached to try and pull her hands away, but with a shrill battle howl mom let her drop. She thrust out her knee and landed the educatress groin first on the hard joint, getting her to give her own painful wail. Taraka slid off her leg, just to grab her crotch with her lower hands and her eyes to fly wide open.

“Your wisdom is nothing without strength, you stuffy coward!” mom bellowed. She nailed Taraka with hard rights, swinging both her right hands at once to clobber her like a wrecking ball. The teacher went down like a felled tree, landing limply before she grabbed the desk with a spare hand.

“I shall not suffer you demeaning my profession!” Taraka spat as she glared at my mom. She threw herself at Kendar with her arms outstretched like a pouncing spider. Mom met her head on and locked hands with her, all of their abundant arms and legs flexing in an attempt to overpower each other. Their fangs were bared in sneering snarls and their round breasts mashed together. Mom was a little heavier and a little bustier to boot compared to Taraka; like I said; definite mommy issues here from being adopted by a giant alien war cougar. Her tiny outfit started to give more than her actual body, the softer flesh expanding out from around the thin strips of fabric until her hard nibbles were jabbing little indentations into Taraka’s jugs.

Mom started to finally outdo Taraka. She was sweating but she poured her power into her to make all four of her arms gradually give some space. She started to win the test of strength when Taraka was the one to break out of it. She headbutted mom square in the mouth with her bony forehead. I really couldn’t blame her. For all the big talk among the Shokan, we’re really pretty loose with the rules once shit goes down. It’s more about when you stop and start then real rules of engagement.

The smashing of her skull staggered mom, making her lose her grip. Taraka brought her three-fingered hand between mom’s legs another to her throat, lifting her clean over her head in a feat of strength of her own. With a triumphant roar, she bodyslammed mom straight down on the nearby desk. It crashed to splinters of wood and metal as the brawny women’s combined weight smashed right through. Mom flopped limply as she hit the ground, groaning in an aching daze. Any attempts to writhe out from under my teacher were impossible with such flimsy efforts. Taraka caught her hair again and smashed her face into some small portion of the desk on the floor that remained undestroyed.

“I see the curse of weakness runs in your family, Kendar,” Taraka snarled as she rose to her feet. She dragged mom to her knees while I felt my heart pounding in my stomach.

“Mom! Go high!” I blurted out. It’s probably a lot to imagine I turned the tide for her, but my educatress turned at my outburst. Mom did seem to snap out of it and rammed her arms inside Taraka’s elbows. It broke her grasp as her upper arms caught my teacher by the neck and lifted her off the floor. The sudden shift in position threw off her stance if nothing else, and it put her in a perfect position for mom to bury her lower fists into her rothaqs (basically the kidneys for shokan). Taraka let out a huge huff as she grabbed mom’s arms just to ease the pressure. It left her totally defenseless as mom lifted her higher and started slamming rapid uppercuts to her pussy. Seeing my teacher’s crotch getting pummeled by my mom’s hammering punches stirred up a lot of different feelings in me, pride and arousal definitely among the top ones.

“Do you feel my weakness now, you lying whore!?” mom bellowed as she unleashed her punches at full force. Taraka reached to claw at mom’s face but she caught them with her lower arms and shoved hard to slam the educatress’ back against the blackboard. The whole thing cracked down the middle as Taraka crumbled to the floor. She landed with her legs splayed open and rubbing her back, just for mom to immediately hit her with a brutal kick to the face.

“Yield, you corpse-humping sow!” mom roared in that bloodlusting way she got. I didn’t hear it often, like the time she’d found out I almost broke my nose goofing around with Trufa between classes. She stomped again between Taraka’s breasts, her dense bones cracking as her breasts jiggled beneath her revealing dress. The educatress raised her hands to shield herself and waved one of them, a traditional sign of surrender in our circles.

“Yield,” she wheezed, sputtering some light blood from her lips. I was still more excited than concerned. Real shokan can take and heal from hits way better than I can. A hand cradled her side, nursing a few damaged ribs if my Wound Reading classes taught me anything. “I take it back. I yield.”

Mom finally backed off, cracking her thick knuckles with a clenching of her four fists. Her muscles and breasts pumped from her heavy breaths as she watched to ensure she stayed down. Her nipples were hard beneath her flimsy clothes, even after she looked to me to ensure I was still okay. I actually cracked a smile to see her standing victorious over my groggily battered teacher. She grinned back at me as she stepped back to give Taraka room to rise.

“I respect your rank and your strength,” mom told her. “But I will bend your spine into a pretzel should you speak ill of my blood again.”

“Understood,” Taraka grunted as she eased herself back to her feet. “I will admit, your advice on tactics was respectable, young Urik. Reaching within my grasp for a higher target was unexpected from that disadvantageous position.”

“Thanks… both of you,” I said modestly. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“You do not tell me what I must do,” mom scoffed.

“No one does,” I completed her old saying for her. 

“I see you’ve helped him with his tactics homework,” Taraka said, smiling fondly at my mom. “I have faced many challenges from outraged mothers but not many can hold their own against a educatress in the fighting arts.”

“And you are a fine example yourself,” mom said, looking my teacher up and down. I cleared my throat to draw their attention. Fighting’s a part of just about everything the shokan do, and I didn’t want it to wander into flirting right in front of me. “But I look forward to your correction of my child’s grades.”

“Of course. You have proven his worth. In fact, perhaps you would wish to discuss Urik’s further education over dinner. Once my wounds are healed, of course...”

“Oh my ancestors… educatress, are we done here?”

“Yes. I’ll be in touch.” For two ladies who had been out to kill each other a minute ago, my mom and Taraka shared a warm handshake with their lower hands before hugging each other tightly. Mom whispers something into Taraka’s ear and she laughs brightly over it. I didn’t dare ask what it was about. I just waited with my hands in my pockets by the door until mom followed after me, heading back into the halls to leave together.

“Seriously, mom… thanks. I should have known you’d beat up my teacher for me, but… you do a lot of shit for me.”

“You are my blood, child. I do not care where you came from or what you were before me, but you are my son forever. I live and die for you, my beloved.”

“I know.” There was no way I’d have such healthy self esteem among a race of barbarian monsters without mom’s pride and encouragement. “So… on that note…”

“Yes?”

“Are you going on a date with my teacher?”

Mom laughed heartily and adjusted her arms in a familiar position. She tends to do it when she’s hiding something. “Well… I have been raising you on my own, and you’re becoming quite the proud male yourself. I could use some company for when you find a mate of your own.”

“Oh, no rush on that,” I scoffed. Mom smirked and nudged me knowingly with her lower elbow. It wasn’t hard and she was clearly a little sore from the sight, but it was still enough to bounce me over a couple steps. “Well… there’s this girl Sazeta that hangs out in the library a lot…”

“I knew it.” Mom nodded confidently. “That’s my boy. A regular female-slayer...”