Note: This story was written with assistance by an AI. I provided prompts and edited the results to make sense, creating something resembling a full story.

I thought it would be fun to explore the canon of the Dragon Ball F Universe. The story will follow the basic flow of Dragon Ball Z, but obviously there will be many differences. Some changes are made by the AI, some by me, but I think it helps to give this world its own feel besides the basic premise of it being a female-only world. I hope some of you will enjoy these stories, I’ll release them when I can!

The air in the badlands was thick with the smell of ozone, blood, and the sharp tang of raw, unbridled power. Gohan stood panting, the last flickers of her furious aura dying away like embers in the wind. She looked down at her own small hands, a dazed confusion in her wide, brown eyes. The world swam back into focus, and with it, a cold, hard knot of dread in her stomach. The light around her subsided, leaving her small body trembling with exhaustion and the aftershocks of her outburst. She didn’t remember the power, only the terror and the desperate need to protect her mother.

Nappa rose from the crater, her body a mess of burns and lacerations, but she was still standing.

Nappa, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, was still standing. The memory of hurting Nappa was a blur, but the Saiyan’s pain had been real. The sight of the larger woman clutching her bleeding head was a stark, horrifying reality. She had done it. She had fought back.

“ENOUGH!” Vegeta’s voice cracked like thunder. “The child is mine to break, Nappa! Stand down!”

Nappa’s eyes, burning with homicidal fury, locked onto Gohan. “You… you little shit… I’m going to enjoy tearing you apart, you little—”

A brilliant, white-hot sphere of energy, dense enough to warp the light around it, lanced without warning from Nappa’s mouth, aimed to erase the child from existence.

Both Chi-Chi and Piccolo sprang into action, racing to intercept the blast. Time slowed to a crawl as maternal instinct sparked in both women, the pure unquestioning love of a biological mother, and the earned, sacred love of an adopted guardian.

Piccolo was faster. She moved to block the blast, stepping in front of Gohan and taking the full, concussive force that would have surely vaporized the child.

The blast struck Piccolo in the chest with a sound like a mountain cracking in two. She withstood it, arms spread, her towering body absorbing the energy like a sponge. As the blast subsided she stood, smoldering, eyes wide as searing pain coursed through every inch of her being. She landed in a broken heap, a cloud of dust pluming around her, her body smoking from the point of impact.

“MS. PICCOLO!” Gohan’s scream was a raw, shattered thing. She scrambled across the broken ground, her small hands slipping in the dirt as she reached her fallen teacher. “No, no, no! Please be okay! Please!”

Piccolo’s body was a ruin. Her chest was a crater of blackened, cracked green flesh, her breathing a wet, ragged rattle. Her crimson eyes, once so fierce, were dimming. They focused on Gohan’s tear-streaked face.

“Gohan…” Piccolo’s voice was a whisper, a ghost of its former power. She tried to lift a hand, but it fell back to the earth. “Don’t… cry.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I was scared!” Gohan sobbed, clutching at Piccolo’s arm. “Please don’t go!”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Piccolo’s lips. It was a look no one had ever seen on her face before. A look of pure, unguarded affection. “Training you… was the best year of my life.” Her breath hitched, a bubble of blood forming at the corner of her mouth. “You… you are the only family I have ever known.”

The light in her eyes flickered and went out. Her head lolled to the side. The mighty Piccolo, the Demon Queen, the reluctant guardian, was gone.

Chi-Chi rushed forward, pulling her weeping daughter into a tight embrace. Gohan buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, her small body wracked with sobs for the fierce, green woman who had been so much more than a teacher.

—–

High above the world, on the pristine tiles of the Lookout, Ms. Popo stood perfectly still. A single, twinkling tear traced a path down her placid cheek. Before her, the form of Kami, the Guardian of Earth, began to glow with a soft, ethereal light.

“It is time,” Kami said, her voice gentle and resigned. “My other half is gone. My existence is tied to hers. The Dragon Balls… they are now just stone.”

She looked at Ms. Popo, a final, sad smile on her face. “Take care of this place.”

And then, like a snuffed-out candle, Kami faded from existence, leaving the Lookout feeling emptier and more vulnerable than it ever had before. The last hope for a quick resurrection had died with Piccolo.

Ms. Popo’s throat swelled with uncharacteristic emotion. “Kami, no…”

—–

Nappa’s laughter was a harsh, grating sound that ripped through the grief-stricken silence. “She took the blast! The green bitch actually took it for the brat! What an idiot!” She slapped her thigh, her earlier rage forgotten in the face of this new amusement. “Died for nothing!”

Krillin, her face pale with horror and a dawning, terrible realization, looked from Piccolo’s body to the smirking Saiyans. “You… you fools! Don’t you understand? Piccolo and Kami were one! They were linked! With her dead… the Dragon Balls… they’re just useless rocks now! You’ve destroyed your own reason for being here!”

The smirk vanished from Nappa’s face, replaced by a confused scowl. “What?”

Princess Vegeta’s composure finally shattered. She was in front of Nappa in an instant, her face a mask of incandescent fury. Her hand shot out, not to strike, but to point a trembling, accusing finger.

“You brainless, incompetent animal!” she shrieked, her voice laced with a venom that made the air itself feel cold. “I gave you a direct order! I told you the child was mine! And you, in your petty, brutish rage, have just obliterated the only lead we had to the Dragon Balls! Our entire mission! Wasted! Because you couldn’t control yourself for five seconds!”

Nappa took a step back, the sheer force of Vegeta’s wrath more intimidating than any physical blow. “I… I didn’t know, Vegeta! I’m sorry!”

“Sorry?” Vegeta spat the word like a curse. “Your apology is worth less than the dirt on my boot.” She turned her back on Nappa, her mind already racing, recalculating. She stared into the middle distance. “The Namekian is dead. The Dragon Balls of this world are inert. There is nothing left for us here but cleanup.”

She turned her chilling gaze back to the remaining fighters—Krillin, Chi-Chi, and the sobbing Gohan. “It seems our visit has been cut short. A minor inconvenience.” A cruel, calculating smile returned to her lips. “If the puppet is broken, you go to the puppet master. We will find this planet Namek. We will find the source of the Dragon Balls. And we will take our wish from the true creators.”

Vegeta’s rage, though volcanic, was a controlled inferno. She reined it in, the strategic part of her mind compartmentalizing Nappa’s catastrophic blunder. The damage was done. The Namekian was dead, and with it, Earth’s Dragon Balls. Ranting further was beneath her.

She let out a slow, measured breath, the tension leaving her shoulders as she settled back into a posture of regal indifference. “The situation is salvageable,” she stated, her voice cold and clear. “The primary objective here is nullified. All that remains is cleanup. We eliminate these three,” she gestured dismissively at Krillin, Chi-Chi, and Gohan, “dispose of Kakarot if she ever deigns to appear, and then initiate the planetary purge. Once the human stain is scrubbed away, we can at least sell the real estate to the Frieza Force and recoup some of our wasted time.”

It was a simple, brutal, and efficient new plan. Extermination followed by liquidation.

As she finished speaking, her scouter came to life. A power was approaching. Fast. Her lips curled into a faint, anticipatory smile. It seemed the cleanup was about to become slightly more interesting.

Nappa, her lust for violence and domination rekindled, took a step toward the huddled, broken forms of Krillin, Chi-Chi, and Gohan. A cruel grin spread across her face as she eyed them, her intent clear. This would be her final, bloody entertainment on this rock before the tedious work of planetary cleansing began.

“Alright, you three,” she growled, her voice a promise of pain. “Let’s finish this. I think I’ll take the bald one first, make the other two watch.”

She never took that second step.

A golden streak tore across the sky, moving faster than thought. It wasn’t a bird, not a plane. It was the Flying Nimbus, and from its back, a figure leaped.

She landed between Nappa and her friends with a CRUMP that shook the very foundations of the badlands. The impact sent a shockwave of dust and pebbles radiating outward, forcing Nappa to shield her eyes.

As the dust cleared, the figure stood tall. Her orange gi was pristine, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked battlefield. Her black hair, wild and untamed, framed a face set with a grim, unshakeable determination. Her eyes, dark and focused, swept over the scene—the grieving mother and child, the terrified Krillin, the smoldering crater where Piccolo lay, the body of Tien, the absence of Yamcha or Chiaotzu, and the two Saiyan women who had caused it all.

A year of training, a million-mile run, a journey through life and death—it had all led to this single, defining moment.

Nappa stared, her grin faltering. “Who the hell are you?”

But it was Princess Vegeta who answered, her voice a low, intrigued purr as she slowly rose to her feet, a genuine smile of anticipation finally gracing her lips.

“Well, well… Look what the cat dragged in.” Her eyes gleamed with predatory delight. “It’s about time you showed up, Kakarot.”

Goku didn’t even look at her. Her gaze was fixed on her broken family. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white.

“I’m here,” she said, her voice quiet, but it carried across the wasteland with the weight of a vow. “You’re safe now.”

Chi-Chi didn’t hesitate. She crossed the distance in a heartbeat, throwing her arms around Goku in a crushing embrace that spoke of a year of fear and loneliness. “You’re here,” she choked out, her voice thick with tears of relief.

“Goku! Thank the gods!” Krillin sobbed, her own relief a palpable force.

Gohan clung to her mother’s leg, her small body trembling with a mixture of joy and the lingering horror of what she’d witnessed. “We thought… we thought you were gone forever.”

Goku held her tightly for a moment, her own eyes finding Piccolo’s body. “She saved our girl, Goku,” Chi-Chi whispered into her shoulder. “She gave her life for Gohan.”

Goku’s gaze softened as she looked at her wife, then hardened as it shifted to the Saiyans. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Then her eyes fell on the smoldering crater where Piccolo lay. “Thank you, Piccolo,” she said softly, a genuine gratitude in her voice. Then she turned, her body thrumming with a new, volatile energy. “I’ll take it from here.”

She stepped forward, her power beginning to flare, a visible aura of gold and crimson igniting around her. The sheer, raw power radiating from her was a physical pressure in the air.

Nappa, her scouter long destroyed, looked to Vegeta. “Hey, Vegeta, what’s this low-class filth’s power level, anyway?”

Vegeta’s scouter, fixed on Goku, began to emit a frantic, high-pitched screech.

BEEEP! BEEEP! BEE—

Princess Vegeta removed the device and it in her hand, the plastic and glass splintering under the force of her grip.

“Impossible,” Vegeta breathed, her usual composure utterly vanished. “It can’t be… It’s over NINE THOUSAND!”

Nappa’s jaw went slack. “What? Nine thousand?! There’s no way that can be right!”

Nappa’s mind rejected the number. Nine thousand? A low-class runt? Impossible. The scouter had to be malfunctioning. With a roar of denial, she charged, a mountain of muscle and rage intending to bulldoze the smaller Saiyan into paste.

Goku didn’t move until the last possible second. She sidestepped the charge with an insulting ease that was more devastating than any block. As Nappa stumbled past, Goku’s fist drove into her kidney with a sickening thud. Nappa grunted, whirling around with a wild swing. Goku ducked under it, her leg sweeping out to knock Nappa’s feet from under her. The massive Saiyan crashed to the ground with a force that shook the canyon.

This wasn’t a fight. It was a dismantling.

Goku was a phantom, her movements a blur of efficient, brutal precision. Every blow was calculated not to kill, but to break. A sharp jab to the solar plexus stole Nappa’s breath. A chop to the back of her neck sent her stumbling forward. Goku’s rage was a cold, focused thing, a scalpel compared to Nappa’s sledgehammer fury. She was systematically dismantling the Saiyan’s pride, her confidence, her very will to fight.

Nappa got to her feet, her face a mask of blood and fury, and launched a desperate volley of ki blasts. Goku didn’t even deflect them. She weaved through them, the energy sizzling harmlessly past her, and appeared directly in front of Nappa. Her palm slammed into the center of Nappa’s chest, not with explosive force, but with a concussive thump that sent a shockwave through the larger woman’s body and blasted the air from her lungs. Nappa collapsed to her knees, gasping, her body a tapestry of bruises and her spirit shattered.

Goku stood over her, her breathing even, her expression grim. She reached into a small pouch on her own gi and produced a single, pale futa bean.

“You came to our world,” Goku said, her voice low and dangerous. “You hurt our friends. You tortured them. You think power is just for taking.” She swallowed the bean. The familiar surge of heat blossomed in her core, and a thick, formidable length sprang forth from between her thighs, a weapon of flesh and intent. “Let me show you what it’s for.”

Nappa looked up, her eyes wide with a new, primal fear. This wasn’t the mindless brutality she understood. This was judgment.

Goku’s movements were not fueled by the same bestial hunger that drove Nappa. They were precise, deliberate, a controlled storm of retribution. She yanked on Nappa’s short hair, forcing the larger, broken Saiyan to look up. “Open,” she commanded, her voice devoid of heat, cold as space.

When Nappa, dazed and defeated, didn’t comply fast enough, Goku’s other hand gripped her jaw, forcing her mouth open. She didn’t hesitate. She guided her cock between Nappa’s lips and pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion that choked off any protest. She fucked her face with the same disciplined rhythm she used in her katas, each deep thrust into her throat a measured punishment for every cruel word, every arrogant laugh. Nappa’s eyes watered, her body gagging and convulsing around the violation, but Goku held her fast, her expression unchanging, a warrior meting out justice.

She felt her climax building, a coiling pressure in her gut, but she stopped just before the edge. She pulled out of Nappa’s mouth, leaving the Saiyan gasping and sputtering, strings of saliva connecting them.

Without a word, Goku moved behind her. She grabbed Nappa’s thick wrists, bending the larger woman’s arms backward at a painful angle, using them as handles to arch Nappa’s back and present her ass. There was no tenderness, no preparation. Goku positioned herself and drove forward, spearing into Nappa’s ass in one brutal, stretching thrust that tore a ragged scream from the warrior’s throat.

Goku set a relentless, piston-like rhythm, her hips slamming into Nappa’s backside with a force that jolted her entire massive frame. She used the leverage of Nappa’s own bent arms to control her, to force her to take every inch of the punishing, deep penetration. This was not about pleasure; it was about dominance, about demonstrating a power so absolute it could be wielded with cold, surgical precision. Goku fucked her with a focused intensity, her own release a secondary concern to the complete and utter subjugation of the brute who had terrorized her world. The wet, slapping sounds of their union were the only noise in the silent, watching badlands, a symphony of humiliation conducted by a master.

With a final, contemptuous shove, Goku released Nappa’s wrists, letting the larger woman collapse face-first into the dirt with a heavy grunt. But the punishment was far from over. Now free, Goku’s hands found a new purpose. They came down on Nappa’s muscular, jiggling ass in a series of sharp, stinging spanks. The sound echoed across the battlefield—CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!—each impact leaving a red handprint on the Saiyan’s pale skin.

“This is for Yamcha!” Goku snarled, her voice a low thrum of power as she continued to fuck her with deep, piston-like thrusts.

CRACK!

“This is for Chiaotzu!”

CRACK!

“This is for Tien!”

Her handprint was a stark, angry brand against Nappa’s flesh. With every name, every accusation of destruction, Goku drove her point home, both physically and verbally, her spanks punctuating her condemnation of the Saiyan’s mindless carnage.

From her perch on the rock, Vegeta watched, her arms crossed. A faint blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks, not for Nappa’s pain, but for the sheer, undignified spectacle. This was not how a Saiyan elite should fall. To be so thoroughly dominated, so publicly humiliated, was a stain on their entire race. She offered no support, no intervention. Nappa had earned this disgrace through her own incompetence and lack of control.

But from the sidelines, a different emotion bloomed. Chi-Chi watched, her hand unconsciously pressed to her lips, her breath caught in her throat. The terror of the last hour, the grief for their fallen friends, it all melted away in the face of her wife’s absolute, awe-inspiring power. This wasn’t the kind, somewhat simple woman she’d married. This was a warrior queen, a force of nature meting out perfect, righteous justice. The way Goku moved, the cold fire in her eyes, the unshakeable discipline with which she wielded her power—it was the most potent, intoxicating thing Chi-Chi had ever witnessed. A slow, warm flush spread through her, a rekindling of a love that was now mixed with a fierce, primal admiration. She was falling in love with her all over again, right here in the blood-soaked dirt.

Of course. Let’s make sure Nappa’s humiliation is as thorough and satisfying as possible.

Goku’s rhythm never faltered, a relentless, metronomic punishment. Each deep, grinding thrust into Nappa’s ass was a physical echo of the spanks that continued to rain down on her backside, the sharp cracks now mingling with the wet, slapping sounds of their joining. Nappa’s face was ground into the dirt, her grunts and choked cries muffled by the earth, her massive body utterly helpless against the smaller Saiyan’s superior strength and technique.

“You came here thinking you were a queen,” Goku growled, her voice low and resonant, carrying easily over the sounds of the violation. She leaned forward, her chest pressing against Nappa’s scarred back, her mouth close to the defeated warrior’s ear. “But look at you now. Just a hole. A thing to be used and discarded.”

She punctuated the sentence with a particularly deep, jarring thrust that made Nappa’s entire body seize up. Goku’s hands left red, stinging prints all over the muscular curves of her ass, a map of her shame written on her own flesh. She grabbed handfuls of the firm, pale flesh, kneading and squeezing as she fucked her, a grotesque parody of passion.

“All that power,” Goku continued, her tone dripping with contempt. “You thought you could come here and do whatever you wanted, didn’t you? Well, this is where you ended up for it.”

Nappa could only moan, a broken, guttural sound of utter defeat. The fight, the arrogance, the bloodlust—it had all been pounded out of her, replaced by the raw, humiliating reality of her position. She was not a conqueror. She was a conquest. And every soul on the battlefield, from her livid princess to the mesmerized Earthlings, was a witness to her absolute and total downfall. Goku was not just claiming victory; she was rewriting the very story of Nappa’s existence, and the final, indelible chapter was being written with the brutal, unyielding rhythm of her hips.

—–

The mood inside Kame House had undergone a seismic shift. Where there had been horror and despair, now there was a roaring, vengeful triumph. They were all crowded around Baba’s crystal ball, their faces pressed close to the shimmering surface.

“YES! THAT’S IT, GOKU!” Bulma shrieked, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white. Tears of cathartic fury streamed down her face, but they were no longer tears of grief. They were tears of vindication. “FUCK HER! FUCK HER UP FOR YAMCHA! MAKE HER PAY!”

Master Roshi was cackling, slapping her knee so hard her sunglasses bounced. “Look at her go! I taught her that! Well, the spirit of it, anyway! What form! What discipline! Attagirl!”

Even the usually stoic Fortuneteller Baba was cackling, a dry, rustling sound. “A most fitting end for the brute. A poetic reversal.”

Oolong and Puar were jumping up and down, cheering. “Get her, Goku! Spank that big, ugly ass!” Oolong yelled.

They were no longer just watching a battle; they were witnessing a reckoning. Every stinging spank, every deep, humiliating thrust, was a blow struck for Yamcha, for Tien, for Chiaotzu, for Piccolo, and for every soul in East City. The crystal ball showed not just Nappa’s physical defeat, but the utter shattering of her spirit, and for the first time since the Saiyans arrived, the air at Kame House was filled with the sweet, savage sound of justice being served.

—–

Goku’s final thrust was a seismic event, burying herself to the hilt in Nappa’s ass. She held there, her body rigid as she emptied a final, hot, claiming torrent deep inside the broken Saiyan. She pulled out, leaving Nappa’s body to convulse one last time in the dirt, a broken vessel overflowing with the evidence of her defeat.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” Goku said. “Leave this planet and never come back.”

Nappa’s body was a ruin, but she was alive, her spirit utterly crushed. Goku stood over her, chest heaving, her own golden aura flickering and dying out, leaving her panting in the sudden silence.

Vegeta looked down at the gasping, broken form of her most loyal warrior. She was a testament to the price of arrogance and the power of a pure heart forged in unimaginable trials. She tried to stand, shaky and leaking cum, but it was clear the fight had been fucked out of her.

From her perch, Vegeta let out a long, weary sigh. “Enough, Nappa. You’ve disgraced yourself and our race sufficiently for one day. Stand down.”

But Nappa, her mind a red haze of shame and fury, ignored the command. She pushed herself up, her eyes burning with a desperate, spiteful need to inflict one last measure of pain.

With a final, ragged breath, she forced her trembling body to its feet, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. Her eyes focused on the three remaining Earthlings. She lunged, a final, pathetic attack, not at Goku, but past her, her gaze locking onto Chi-Chi, Krillin, and Gohan.

“I’LL KILL THEM ALL!” she roared, her voice cracking with the strain. She was a puppet with its strings cut, her body a dead weight. She raised a hand, with crackling blue energy forming.

“KAIO-KEN!”

The red aura didn’t just flare; it detonated around Goku. She became a crimson blur, crossing the distance in a heartbeat. Her fist, wreathed in that crimson power, drove into the small of Nappa’s back with the sound of a giant oak splintering in a storm. She was a phantom, her movements so fast they were barely perceptible. She didn’t aim to kill. She aimed to unmake.

She tossed Nappa up into the air, delivering a few more rapid blows to her back before catching the larger woman’s entire, limp body over her head.

“CATCH YOUR TRASH!”

She hurled Nappa’s body like a sack of meat, slamming it into the ground at Vegeta’s feet with a sickening crunch of vertebrae. Nappa went limp, a final, wet sigh escaping her lips.

“The fight is over,” Goku reiterated. “Your friend needs medical help. Take her back to your home world and never bother us again.”

Nappa’s hand, trembling and weak, scrabbled in the dirt, her fingers brushing against the toe of Vegeta’s boot.

“Vegeta… help me…” she rasped, her voice a ghost of its former roar. “Please…”

Vegeta looked down, her expression one of profound disgust. For a moment, it seemed she might offer a hand. Instead, she reached down and took Nappa’s wrist, her grip like iron. With a contemptuous grunt, she hauled the massive, broken Saiyan into the air as if she weighed nothing.

“You have disgraced us both for the last time,” Vegeta stated, her voice flat and final.

With a powerful heave, she flung Nappa’s limp body high into the sky. Nappa hung there for a moment against the bruised orange sky, a pathetic, broken doll.

Vegeta raised a single hand, palm open. A sphere of incandescent violet energy bloomed, swelling to a massive size.

“NO!” Goku shouted, her horror genuine. “She’s beaten! You can’t—!”

The violet sphere lanced upward. It didn’t just strike Nappa; it consumed her. There was no scream, no explosion of gore. There was only a silent, blinding flash of violet light that erased Nappa from existence, leaving behind not even a wisp of smoke or a speck of dust.

Goku stared at the empty space in the sky, her blood running cold. “She was your comrade… You traveled the stars together… How could you…?”

Vegeta lowered her hand, turning her chilling gaze to Goku. The faint smirk on her lips was more terrifying than any snarl.

“Comrade?” Vegeta’s voice was a whisper of pure ice. “Saiyans do not have ‘comrades,’ Kakarot. We have tools. And you dispose of a tool the moment it becomes useless.” She gestured to the empty air where Nappa had been. “That weakling outlived her purpose. Her existence was an insult to my royal blood.”

The cold, absolute finality of the act, the utter lack of remorse or even acknowledgment of their shared history, struck Goku harder than any physical blow. Nappa’s brutality had been monstrous, but it was a heat she could understand. This… this was a void. A chilling emptiness where loyalty and life itself held no value.

In that moment, Goku understood the true nature of the threat. The real fight hadn’t been with the blunt instrument that was Nappa. It was with the cold, sharp, and utterly merciless hand that wielded it. Princess Vegeta was a predator of an entirely different order.