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 flight towards the Grand Elder’s sanctuary was tense but steady. Krillin kept their pace moderate, not wanting to exhaust Dende or draw unnecessary attention. Then, a familiar, chillingly powerful energy signature prickled at the edge of her senses.

“Oh no,” Krillin breathed, her blood running cold. “It’s Vegeta. She’s following us.”

She prepared to grab Dende and make a desperate, high-speed dash for cover. But just as she tensed to move, something shifted. Vegeta’s ki, which had been homing in on them, suddenly veered off and stopped. It didn’t fade away; it just… halted, as if it had met an immovable object. Another powerful, yet strangely refined and elegant energy now mingled with it.

“What’s happening?” Dende asked, sensing Krillin’s confusion.

“I don’t know,” Krillin admitted, slowing to a hover. “Vegeta’s stopped. She’s run into someone else. Someone strong.” It was a reprieve, however brief. “Let’s keep going. Carefully.”

—–

A few miles away, Vegeta hovered in the air, her arms crossed and a look of profound irritation on her face. Blocking her path was Zarbon, who had descended gracefully from her own search pattern.

“Well, well. The Saiyan princess,” Zarbon said, her voice a silken, condescending purr. She looked Vegeta up and down as if inspecting a mildly interesting insect. “I suggest you turn around. Lord Frieza’s business does not concern you. Do not interfere.”

Vegeta’s lips curled into a sneer. “Interfere? I’m not interfering. I’m collecting what’s rightfully mine.” Her eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. “Speaking of which, I ran into your pink friend. Dodoria.”

Zarbon’s perfectly composed expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Did you now?”

“Oh yes,” Vegeta continued, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “We had a lovely reunion. I fucked that fat ass of hers raw, and then, when she’d outlived her usefulness, I blew her to pieces. She died begging, just like the worthless pig she was.”

A flicker of genuine anger crossed Zarbon’s beautiful features. Dodoria may have been a brute, but she was Frieza’s brute. This upstart Saiyan was not only trespassing but gloating about eliminating one of her lord’s top officers. It was an insult that could not be ignored.

“You’ve made a grave error, Vegeta,” Zarbon said, her voice losing its pleasant cadence and turning cold and sharp. “It seems you require a lesson in manners.”

Vegeta simply smirked, uncrossing her arms and falling into a ready stance. “By all means, baby girl. Try and teach me.”

“We are not so different, you and I,” Zarbon mused, circling Vegeta with a predator’s grace. “Royalty, forced to serve a greater power. The difference is, I understand my place in the hierarchy. You never did.”

Vegeta barked a laugh. “My ‘place’? My place is at the top. Something you’d understand if you had a spine.” She gestured vaguely in the direction Krillin and Dende had fled. “While you’re blindly searching this mudball, I can feel them. The Dragon Balls. Their energy is like a beacon. I don’t need a cheap piece of technology to find my prizes.”

Zarbon’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of surprise breaking through her composure. “Our scouters… how did you know?”

“Because I have eyes, you teal-skinned fool!” Vegeta taunted. “I saw the broken tech on the soldiers in the villages. Frieza is blind. And you’re her blind little lapdog, sniffing around in the dark.”

The insult was calculated, but Zarbon’s focus shifted to something more alarming. Vegeta wasn’t just boasting. As they began their deadly dance—Zarbon launching a series of elegant, powerful kicks and energy blasts that Vegeta dodged or deflected with unsettling ease—the truth became undeniable.

Vegeta was faster. Stronger. Her movements were sharper, her reactions instantaneous. A blow that should have sent her reeling was met with a casual block and a retaliatory strike that forced Zarbon to retreat.

“Impossible,” Zarbon breathed, her perfect facade finally cracking. “Your power level… it shouldn’t be this high!”

Vegeta grinned, a feral flash of teeth. “What’s the matter, baby girl? Surprised the Saiyan monkey has evolved?” She pressed her attack, her fists becoming a blur. “This is what true power feels like. And you’re about to get a very personal demonstration.”

The fight was a brutal display of Vegeta’s newfound dominance. Zarbon’s elegant, flowing attacks were met with raw, overwhelming power. Vegeta didn’t just block her strikes; she shattered them. She caught Zarbon’s wrist mid-punch, her grip like a vice, and twisted, forcing a pained gasp from the teal-skinned woman.

“You see?” Vegeta purred, shoving her away. “This is the gap between us now. It’s only a matter of time before I have all seven Dragon Balls. And when I wish for immortality…” She lunged forward, driving a knee into Zarbon’s stomach, doubling her over. “…Frieza’s reign ends. I will be the new empress of this galaxy.”

Zarbon staggered back, clutching her midsection, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a dawning, horrified realization of Vegeta’s true power and ambition.

Vegeta didn’t press the attack immediately. She hovered, a conqueror offering terms. “You’re beautiful, Zarbon. And useful. A waste to destroy such a pretty toy.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial, tempting whisper. “Betray Frieza. Swear loyalty to me now, while my empire is still being born. Be my lapdog instead of hers. Get in on the ground floor. It’s the only offer of mercy you’ll ever receive.”

The proposition was as humiliating as it was terrifying. To go from Frieza’s most elegant enforcer to Vegeta’s personal pet. But the sheer, undeniable power radiating from the Saiyan princess made it a terrifyingly real choice. Survival, at the cost of every shred of pride she possessed. Zarbon’s mind raced, weighing her loyalty against the cold, hard fact of her impending defeat.

Zarbon straightened up, wiping a trickle of teal blood from her lip. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a cold, calculating resolve. A slow, knowing smile spread across her perfect features.

“You are strong, Vegeta. Stronger than I ever imagined you could be,” Zarbon admitted, her voice regaining its silken composure. “But you still pale in comparison to Lord Frieza’s true might. You have no concept of the power you are challenging.”

She began to circle again, but this time with a renewed confidence that gave Vegeta pause. “And when I bring her your broken body,” Zarbon continued, her eyes gleaming with a dark promise, “the rewards will be… exquisite. She is a generous master to those who please her. I can only imagine the privileges she will grant me for delivering the head of her most troublesome Saiyan.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a lewd, suggestive gesture. “The intimate privileges.”

Vegeta scoffed, launching another blistering assault that sent Zarbon reeling. “Keep dreaming, baby girl. You’ll be dead long before you can collect any ‘rewards’.”

But Zarbon was no longer shaken. She took the blows, weathering the storm, her gaze unwavering. There was a secret behind her eyes now, a piece of knowledge that Vegeta didn’t possess. It wasn’t just loyalty that fueled her; it was the absolute, unshakable certainty of Frieza’s supremacy.

“Your arrogance will be your undoing, Vegeta,” Zarbon said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper as she gathered her energy for a final, desperate gambit. “You think this is my full power? You have no idea what true transformation looks like.”

A guttural, pained roar tore from Zarbon’s throat, a sound utterly alien to her usual elegant demeanor. “You… you disgusting Saiyan brute! You force me to reveal this… this ugliness!”

Her body began to convulse, her teal skin darkening to a mottled, reptilian green. Her limbs thickened, muscles swelling and rippling with obscene power, tearing through the sleeves of her armor. Her frame expanded, hulking upward until she dwarfed Vegeta. Her face elongated into a monstrous, fanged snout, yet, in a bizarre and unsettling contrast, her long, beautiful braid of green hair remained perfectly intact, flowing down her massive, muscular back.

The transformation was complete. The refined beauty was gone, replaced by a raw, reptilian engine of destruction. The air around her seemed to grow heavy with her newfound, bestial ki.

Vegeta stared, her smirk finally wiped away, replaced by genuine shock. “What… what is this?!”

“This is the true power I keep locked away!” the monster that was Zarbon boomed, her voice now a deep, grating rumble. “The power I am ashamed of!”

She moved. The speed was incomprehensible. One moment she was yards away, the next, her massive fist connected with Vegeta’s face with the force of a meteor impact.

CRACK!

Vegeta was hurled backward like a ragdoll, blood spraying from her nose and mouth. Before she could even register the hit, Zarbon was on her again, a green blur of overwhelming force. A kick to her ribs sent searing pain through her torso. A clawed hand grabbed her by the face and slammed her head-first into the ground, cratering the earth.

Vegeta tried to fight back, to summon a Galick Gun, but Zarbon simply swatted the gathering energy aside and drove a knee into her stomach, driving all the air from her lungs.

The tables had turned completely. The hunter was now the prey. Vegeta, who had been so confidently toying with her opponent, was now being brutally, systematically dismantled by a monster she never knew existed.

The world was a blur of pain and disorientation for Vegeta. Zarbon’s monstrous form was an unstoppable force, a whirlwind of fists, claws, and crushing impacts that broke bones and shattered her pride. Each blow was a message, delivered with brutal clarity: You are nothing.

A final, devastating punch to her spine sent her crashing to the ground, unable to rise. She lay there, gasping, her body a roadmap of purple bruises and searing agony. Her spirit, so recently inflated with triumph, was crushed flat.

Zarbon loomed over her, her hefty reptilian chest heaving. “You see now, Saiyan? This is the gap between us. Between you and Lord Frieza.” A low, guttural sound rumbled in her chest. “But breaking your body isn’t enough. I need to break your will.”

With a clawed hand, she produced a futa bean and swallowed it. The transformation was grotesquely swift, a thick, monstrous cock, scaled and veined, springing forth from between her powerful thighs.

She knelt, her immense weight pinning Vegeta’s legs. With a single, contemptuous tear, she ripped away the lower half of her armor and her tights, exposing her to the humid air.

“This is your new place in the hierarchy,” Zarbon growled, her voice a deep, vibrating rasp.

She didn’t prepare her. She didn’t care. She positioned the head of her massive cock at her entrance and drove forward in one brutal, tearing thrust.

Vegeta screamed. It was a raw, animal sound of pure agony and violation. The size was overwhelming, the invasion a searing fire that eclipsed all her other injuries. Zarbon didn’t wait for her to adjust. She set a punishing, jackhammer rhythm, each slam of her hips driving her broken body into the dirt.

She leaned down, her fanged maw close to Vegeta’s ear. “You wanted an empire? This is all you’ll ever rule. The dirt beneath my cock.”

Vegeta could only sob, her fists clenching uselessly in the soil as the monster she had taunted and underestimated fucked her with a brutal, overwhelming force, systematically erasing every last vestige of her defiance.

Zarbon’s monstrous strength made Vegeta feel like a doll. With one powerful hand, she flipped the broken Saiyan onto her stomach, grinding her face into the dirt. The brutal fucking continued from behind, each thrust a jarring impact that stole her breath.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” Zarbon rasped, her claws digging into Vegeta’s hips, leaving deep scratches. “Of putting the arrogant little princess in her place.” She leaned forward, her immense weight pressing down, and whispered into her ear, “I’ve wanted to fuck this tight Saiyan ass since the day you arrived on Frieza’s ship.”

She pulled out, the sudden emptiness a fresh torment. Before Vegeta could even gasp, Zarbon’s slicked cock was pushing against her other hole. The resistance was greater, the violation more intimate and humiliating.

“N-No…!” Vegeta choked out, a final, feeble protest.

“Yes,” Zarbon grunted, and shoved her way inside.

The anal penetration was a different kind of agony, a deeper, more violating stretch. Zarbon fucked her ass with the same relentless, punishing rhythm, her scaled belly slapping against Vegeta’s bruised skin.

Then, as if bored, Zarbon hoisted Vegeta clean off the ground with one arm, holding her suspended in the air. She fucked her from below, Vegeta’s body bouncing helplessly on her cock, her legs dangling. Zarbon then spun her around, pressing her back against a large rock, and resumed pounding into her pussy, using the stone for leverage to drive even deeper.

Vegeta was utterly manhandled, her body used and repositioned at Zarbon’s whim. Every shift was a new wave of pain and degradation, a physical demonstration that she was no longer a warrior, but a toy for a monster’s pleasure. The last shreds of her pride were being fucked out of her, drop by agonizing drop.

With a final, guttural roar that shook the very air, Zarbon’s monstrous body convulsed. She slammed herself to the hilt inside Vegeta’s ass, holding her there as she emptied a torrent of hot seed deep into her violated bowels. The sensation was a final, searing brand of defeat.

As her climax subsided, the grotesque transformation reversed. The hulking reptilian form shrank away, the mottled skin smoothing back into its flawless teal hue, the fanged snout receding until Zarbon’s beautiful, elegant features were restored. Only her long, green braid had remained unchanged throughout.

And she was still buried inside Vegeta.

She looked down at the broken, sobbing Saiyan beneath her with an expression of serene, almost loving condescension. She leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Vegeta’s bruised lips.

“There, there,” Zarbon purred, her voice back to its silken cadence. “It’s all over now.”

With that, she pulled out, letting Vegeta’s limp, soiled body drop to the ground like a discarded rag. Vegeta didn’t move, her spirit and body shattered.

“A good effort, my dear,” Zarbon said, brushing a speck of dust from her own pristine armor. “But ultimately, futile.” She grabbed Vegeta by the ankle and began dragging her effortlessly toward the edge of a nearby lake. “Time for a bath. A permanent one.”

She hoisted Vegeta’s body up, preparing to heave her into the deep water.

It was then, with the last dregs of her consciousness, that Vegeta managed to rasp out a single, vital sentence. “I… hid… a Dragon Ball…”

Zarbon froze. Her beautiful face twisted in annoyance. She lowered Vegeta back to the ground, not gently. “You what?”

“A Dragon Ball…” Vegeta whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. “Frieza… doesn’t have them all…”

Annoyance warred with pragmatic duty. Killing Vegeta was satisfying, but a missing Dragon Ball was a problem Lord Frieza would not tolerate. With a sigh of exasperation, Zarbon slung the unconscious Saiyan princess over her shoulder.

“Very well,” she muttered. “Let’s see what else that filthy mouth of yours has to say.” She turned and flew, not toward the lake, but back toward Frieza’s ship, her prize no longer a corpse to be disposed of, but a prisoner to be broken.

—–

After their tense flight, Krillin and Dende finally reached their destination: a high, windswept plateau overlooking much of Namek. At its center stood a simple, unadorned hut. But standing guard before it was a sight that made Krillin’s heart lurch.

The Namekian woman was tall, powerfully built, with the same green skin and stern features. She wore a white scarf and fluttering dark blue vest, and her aura radiated a calm, immense power. She looked… exactly like Piccolo.

“Nail!” Dende cried out, relief flooding her voice as she rushed forward.

The warrior, Nail, caught the young girl in a protective embrace, her sharp eyes never leaving Krillin. “Dende. You are safe. The Grand Elder has been worried.” Her gaze assessed Krillin, taking in her strange attire and the ki she was carefully suppressing. “Who is this?”

“This is Krillin,” Dende said quickly. “She and her friends saved me. They’re from another planet. They’re here for the Dragon Balls too, but they want to stop the bad ones! The ones who destroyed my village!”

Nail’s expression darkened, a profound grief shadowing her features. “We know. The Grand Elder… she feels it. Every time one of our sisters dies, a light goes out in her mind. The darkness has been falling like rain.” She looked at Krillin with a new, grim understanding. “So, the evil has spread its tendrils beyond our world.”

Krillin bowed her head respectfully. “We’re so sorry for what’s happening to your people. We lost friends to the same army. We just want to wish them back and find a way to help.”

Nail studied her for a long moment, then gave a slow, solemn nod. “Your heart is not clouded with the same greed. I can sense that much. Come. The Grand Elder will see you. She has been waiting for someone… anyone… who might bring a sliver of hope.” She stepped aside, gesturing toward the humble hut where the ancient mother of all Namekians waited.

The interior of the hut was dim and cool, dominated by the immense presence of the Grand Elder. Guru was a truly colossal Namekian woman, her body so vast she seemed part of the very stone throne she rested upon. Her eyes were closed, her face etched with the deep sorrow of feeling her children die one by one.

“Great Elder,” Nail said softly. “This is Krillin, from the planet Earth. She seeks your aid.”

Krillin stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Honored elder, we’ve come because—”

Guru’s eyes opened slowly, revealing milky white orbs that saw far more than the physical world. Her voice was a deep, resonant rumble that filled the small space. “Speak, child. But words are slow. The mind is swift.”

Before Krillin could react, Guru’s massive hand, each finger as thick as Krillin’s arm, lifted with surprising grace. She placed her broad palm gently on top of Krillin’s bald head.

A jolt, not of pain, but of pure information, shot through Krillin. Images flashed behind her eyes—the terror of the Saiyan invasion, the deaths of Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, Piccolo, the desperate flight to Namek, the horror of Frieza’s forces, the kindness shown to Dende, the alliance formed in flight. Guru saw it all: their fear, their courage, their grief, and their pure, unselfish wish to simply bring back their friends.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Guru removed her hand. A single tear traced a path down her wrinkled green cheek. “Such pain. Such loss. And yet, such a clear heart.” She let out a weary sigh. “You may have the Dragon Ball, child of Earth. It is safer with you than with the monsters who defile my world.”

Krillin’s eyes widened with hope. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“But,” Guru continued, her voice gaining a note of steely resolve, “you are not strong enough to protect it. Or your friends. I sense vast oceans of power lying dormant within you, locked away by fear and doubt.” Her hand returned to Krillin’s head. “Let me show you.”

This time, the sensation was different. It was not a viewing, but an unlocking. A warm, overwhelming power flowed from Guru’s palm, not into Krillin, but through her, stirring something deep within her very soul. It was as if dams she never knew existed were shattering. Her ki, which had always felt like a well, suddenly revealed itself to be an ocean. A golden aura, faint at first, then blazing bright, erupted around her body. The sheer force of it made the air in the hut hum and pushed Nail back a step.

When Guru removed her hand, Krillin staggered, looking at her own hands in awe. She felt… reborn. Lighter, faster, infinitely more powerful. The difference was staggering.

“Whoa…” she breathed. Then, a thought struck her, so brilliant and hopeful it made her heart leap. “Great Elder… this power… can you do this for anyone? My friend, Gohan… she’s just a kid, but she’s so strong, and she has so much hidden inside her…”

Guru managed a small, sad smile. “The potential must be there, little one. And the heart must be worthy. If your young friend possesses both… then yes. For the sake of all our children, living and dead, I would unlock whatever power sleeps within her.”

The feeling of raw, untapped power coursing through her veins was unlike anything Krillin had ever experienced. It wasn’t just strength; it was clarity. The fear that had been a constant companion since landing on Namek evaporated, replaced by a blazing, confident hope.

She couldn’t contain it. With a joyous whoop, she scooped up the surprised Dende and spun her around in a giddy dance right there in front of the ancient Guru and the stoic Nail.

“We can do this!” Krillin laughed, her voice ringing with newfound conviction. “With this, and if we can get Gohan here too… we might actually have a chance! We can protect the Dragon Balls! We can fight back!”

Dende, caught up in the sudden burst of optimism, giggled despite herself, the sound a bright note in the somber hut.

Nail watched them, her arms crossed. Her expression was not one of shared joy, but of deep, pragmatic concern. She had felt the deaths of hundreds of her sisters. She had sensed Frieza’s bottomless, chilling power from afar. A single unlocked potential, even two, seemed like a candle against a hurricane. But she looked at Guru, whose milky eyes held a glimmer of something—not certainty, but a fragile faith—and she remained silent. She trusted the Grand Elder’s wisdom, even if she could not share the Earthling’s exuberance.

Guru’s gaze then shifted to Dende. “Little one,” she said, her voice softening. “You have suffered greatly. You carry the pain of our people. But within you lies a different kind of strength.” Her massive hand reached out again, this time resting gently on Dende’s head.

A soft, green glow emanated from Guru’s palm, enveloping Dende. Unlike the explosive surge Krillin felt, this was a gentle unfolding, a blossoming of latent abilities. Dende gasped, her eyes widening as knowledge and power she never knew she possessed settled into her being—the intricate patterns of cellular regeneration, the flow of life energy, the sacred art of healing.

“You are of the Dragon Clan, child,” Guru murmured. “Your power is not for destruction, but for preservation. Use it well.”

Dende looked at her own hands, which now seemed to hum with a gentle, restorative energy. She felt stronger, not in muscle, but in spirit and purpose. She bowed deeply to Guru, tears of gratitude in her eyes.

“Go, children,” Guru rumbled, her voice weary but firm. “Take the Dragon Ball. Find your young friend. Bring her to me. Time is a river, and it flows swiftly toward a great waterfall.”

Krillin carefully took the offered Dragon Ball, its orange glow a tangible promise. She bowed deeply once more to Guru, gave a grateful nod to Nail, and with Dende in tow, hurried out of the hut, her spirit lighter and her resolve harder than diamond. For the first time since arriving on this nightmare planet, she truly believed they could win.

—–

Queen Kai’s planet was a riot of absurdity and exertion under its ten-fold gravity. In the center of the lush, green yard, Queen Kai herself was doubled over with laughter, slapping her knee.

“Oh, this is rich! Even better than with Goku!”

The scene was indeed a spectacle. Yamcha, having failed to catch the impossibly fast Bubbles in the “catch the monkey” test, was paying the price. The simian, having swallowed a futa bean provided by a cackling Queen Kai, had transformed. A thick, fur-covered cock now protruded from between Bubbles’ legs as she relentlessly chased a panicked, scrambling Yamcha around the yard.

“Get away! Get away from me, you perverted chimp!” Yamcha yelped, tripping over a blade of grass the size of a tree trunk and tumbling. Bubbles was on her in an instant, pinning her down with surprising strength.

“Looks like Bubbles caught you!” Queen Kai howled.

Nearby, Tien was locked in a fierce struggle of her own. She had managed to snag Gregorine, the giant cricket, but the insect was slippery and strong. In the scuffle, Gregorine had also ingested a bean. Now, Tien found herself pinned beneath the tinycricket, her powerful hind legs holding her down as a surprisingly human-like, yet chitinous, cock sought entry.

“Focus your energy, Tien! Don’t let it break your concentration!” Chiaotzu cheered from a safe distance, floating cross-legged in the air, her face a mask of earnest support that was completely at odds with the lewd chaos unfolding.

Tien grunted, her three eyes narrowed in intense focus, muscles straining against the 10G weight and the cricket’s insistent thrusting. “I’m… trying… to… concentrate!” she ground out, as Gregorine finally found her mark and pushed inside, drawing a sharp gasp from the tri-clops warrior.

And apart from it all, leaning against a lone tree with her arms crossed, was Piccolo. Her expression was one of profound, unimpressed disgust.

“This is idiotic,” Piccolo stated, her voice flat. “A waste of what little time we have. I will not participate in this… circus.”

Queen Kai floated over, still chuckling. “Suit yourself, Grumpy Green! But while you’re standing there looking cool, your friends are getting a hell of a workout! Builds character! And, uh, other things!”

Piccolo merely snorted, turning her head away as Yamcha’s cries and the rhythmic chirping-thrusts of Gregorine filled the air. She would train, but it would be on her own terms, with discipline and purpose, not as part of some cosmic joke. The fate of Earth—and now, apparently, Namek—was too serious for monkey business.

Pinned on her stomach in the soft, giant grass, Yamcha could only gasp as Bubbles mounted her from behind. The monkey’s fur-covered cock was surprisingly thick, and the 10G gravity made every inch of the penetration feel monumentally deep. Bubbles grunted, a series of sharp, animalistic sounds, as she began to thrust with a primal, simian rhythm.

“Oof! Easy! Take it easy!” Yamcha yelped, her face pressed into the turf. But the gravity and Bubbles’ strong grip made struggling futile. Each powerful drive of the monkey’s hips shoved her body forward through the grass. To her horror, a traitorous heat began to build within her—a combination of the relentless friction, the sheer absurdity of the situation, and the undeniable, raw physicality of it. Her protests turned into choked moans as Bubbles found a brutal, effective angle, her bestial grunts growing more frantic.

Meanwhile, Tien’s world had narrowed to the weight of the cricket on top of her and the strange, insistent pressure inside her. Gregorine’s chitinous cock was smooth and hard, moving with a rapid, buzzing vibration that was utterly alien. Tien’s three eyes were squeezed shut in concentration, her jaw clenched.

“Don’t… lose focus…” she chanted to herself, her muscles corded with strain as she tried to maintain her ki control under the dual assault of gravity and violation.

“You can do it, Tien! Use your Tri-Beam spirit!” Chiaotzu cheered, completely misreading the nature of her friend’s struggle.

Gregorine’s thrusts became a frantic, buzzing staccato. The vibration seemed to resonate through Tien’s entire body, short-circuiting her attempts at disciplined resistance. A low, involuntary groan escaped her lips as the bizarre stimulation pushed her toward an unwilling, overwhelming climax. Her carefully gathered ki sputtered and dissipated as her body betrayed her, convulsing under the cricket’s relentless, buzzing assault.

Queen Kai wiped a tear of mirth from her eye, watching her two pupils receive their “motivational training.” “See, Piccolo? Teamwork! Endurance! It’s all happening!”

Piccolo, from her tree, merely let out a longer, more exasperated sigh, her disdain for the entire process absolute.

The climaxes, when they came, were as undignified as the acts themselves.

Bubbles let out a final, screeching chitter, her furry body locking up as she buried herself to the hilt inside Yamcha. A hot flood of simian seed erupted deep within her, each pulse a humiliating reminder of her defeat. Bubbles then simply rolled off, panting, and scampered away to groom herself, leaving Yamcha lying in the grass, soiled and trembling.

Gregorine’s end was a high-pitched, sustained trill. Her whole body vibrated violently as she emptied a surprisingly copious amount of slick, warm fluid into Tien. Then, with a satisfied click of her mandibles, she simply hopped off and began nibbling on a nearby giant leaf, her duty done.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and Queen Kai’s fading chuckles. Then, Yamcha pushed herself up on shaky arms. She looked over at Tien, who was slowly sitting up, her face a mask of exhaustion and profound weirded-out-ness.

Their eyes met. Then, as one, they turned their gazes to Piccolo, who was observing them with her usual detached scorn.

“What?” Piccolo said flatly.

“You could… you could at least try,” Yamcha said, her voice hoarse but firm. She gestured weakly at herself and Tien. “Yeah, this looks stupid. It feels stupid. But we’re doing something. We’re not just standing around.”

Tien nodded, wiping her face. “Queen Kai’s methods are… unorthodox. But Goku got stronger here. The gravity alone is a more intense workout than anything on Earth. If there’s a chance, any chance, to be strong enough to help when we’re wished back… I’ll take it.” She fixed her three eyes on Piccolo. “Even if it means getting fucked by a cricket.”

The words, blunt and honest, hit their mark. Piccolo’s scowl deepened. Their willingness to endure humiliation, to grasp at any opportunity for power, highlighted her own inaction. It wasn’t about the sex; it was about the desperation, the drive they still possessed that she was allowing her pride to smother. A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe grudging respect—crossed her features before she looked away, her silence more telling than any retort.

Queen Kai, seeing the tension, floated between them with a gleeful clap of her hands. “Alright, alright! Grumpy Green thinks you’re all just playing grab-ass! So let’s change it up!” She pointed a dramatic finger at Piccolo. “You! Think you’re so much better? You take on all three of them! Right here, right now!”

Piccolo uncrossed her arms, a slow, confident smirk spreading across her lips. “Finally, a sensible suggestion. It will be over quickly.” She knew her own power. Even dead, she was leagues above Yamcha and Tien. Chiaotzu was barely a factor.

Yamcha, Tien, and Chiaotzu exchanged glances, then nodded. They fell into fighting stances, the strange fatigue from their recent… activities replaced by a sharp, focused energy.

“Begin!” Queen Kai shouted.

Piccolo moved first, a green blur aiming to dismantle Yamcha, the perceived weakest link, with a single blow. Her fist shot out with speed that should have been impossible to follow.

Yamcha did follow it. She wasn’t as fast, but she was fast enough. She twisted, letting the punch graze her shoulder, and countered with a swift kick to Piccolo’s side that actually made the Namekian grunt and step back.

What?!

Before she could process it, Tien was on her, not with one pair of fists, but four. The Four Witches Technique—but executed with a speed and power Piccolo didn’t remember. She blocked two blows, but the other two connected solidly with her ribs.

Chiaotzu, from above, unleashed a volley of small but surprisingly potent psychic blasts that peppered Piccolo’s guard, disrupting her balance.

Piccolo was forced onto the defensive. She blocked, weaved, and counter-attacked, but her opponents were different. Their movements were crisper, their ki denser, their reactions sharper. The ten-times gravity, which she had been simply enduring, they were already adapting to, using it to make their strikes heavier.

A combined assault drove her back. Yamcha’s Wolf Fang Fist came faster than ever, forcing her to block with both arms. Tien’s Tri-Beam, while not fully charged, was a concentrated lance of energy she had to actively deflect rather than ignore. Chiaotzu’s telekinesis tugged at her limbs at the worst possible moments.

Sweat broke out on Piccolo’s brow. Not from exertion, but from shock. They weren’t just fooling around. In this bizarre, humiliating crucible, they had already grown. And she, standing apart, had stagnated.

The smirk was long gone, replaced by a grimace of dawning realization. She was no longer the undisputed master here. The gap had closed, and she was now in a real fight.

The fight was a whirlwind of green, orange, and blue. Piccolo fought with the disciplined fury of a seasoned warrior, but she was against three opponents who were no longer the fighters she remembered. Yamcha’s movements had lost their predictability, Tien’s attacks carried a newfound ruthless efficiency, and Chiaotzu’s support was a constant, nagging threat.

Piccolo managed to land a solid blow on Yamcha, sending her skidding back, but the opening cost her. Tien’s fist, glowing with condensed ki, slammed into her solar plexus, driving the air from her lungs. As she doubled over, Chiaotzu’s telekinesis tripped her feet out from under her.

She hit the hard ground with a thud, the 10G weight making the impact jarring. Before she could rise, Yamcha was on her, pinning one arm, while Tien secured the other. Chiaotzu floated above, her hands glowing, ready to deliver a stunning psychic blast.

Piccolo strained, her muscles bulging, but she was held fast. Defeat, clean and undeniable, settled over her.

Queen Kai floated down, beaming. “WOOHOO! That’s what I’m talking about! Teamwork! Growth! Humility for the grumpy one!” She produced three futa beans, tossing one each to Yamcha, Tien, and a blushing Chiaotzu. “And for your victory… a reward! And a lesson for the loser.”

She gestured to the pinned Piccolo. “The prize is all yours, girls. Show our resident know-it-all that there’s more than one path to power.”

Yamcha, Tien, and Chiaotzu looked at each other, then at the struggling, furious Namekian beneath them. The beans were swallowed. The transformations were swift. Three new cocks, each distinct, sprang forth.

Piccolo’s eyes widened, not with fear, but with sheer, boiling outrage. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Looks like we do,” Yamcha said, a new, confident edge in her voice.

“Consider it… motivational training,” Tien added, her tone grimly practical.

As the trio descended upon their defeated rival, Queen Kai nodded in satisfaction. The lesson was being delivered in the most direct way possible: in this place, you either adapted and grew stronger by any means necessary, or you were left behind—and used as a tool for everyone else’s improvement.

The scene that unfolded on Queen Kai’s planet was one of absolute, humiliating conquest. The trio, empowered by their victory and the transformative beans, descended upon their pinned rival with a newfound, dominant confidence.

Yamcha, her cock now thick and eager, positioned herself at Piccolo’s head. She grabbed a handful of the Namekian’s white turban and headgear, yanking them off. “Always thought you were too good for us,” Yamcha sneered, guiding her cock towards Piccolo’s tightly clenched lips. “Open up, ‘Ms. Demon Queen.’ Time to serve.”

Tien, with a ruthless efficiency, knelt between Piccolo’s legs. She tore away the lower part of Piccolo’s gi with a sharp rip. “Your discipline failed you,” Tien stated, her voice cold as she lined up her own impressive member. “Now your body will fail you too.” She pushed inside Piccolo’s pussy in one smooth, deep stroke.

Chiaotzu, floating behind, used her telekinesis to lift Piccolo’s hips, exposing her rear. Her own cock, smaller but no less determined, pressed against the tight ring of muscle. “I’m helping!” she chirped, before pushing forward with surprising force, breaching Piccolo’s ass and making the larger woman jerk violently.

They moved in a rough, uncoordinated rhythm at first, each claiming their territory. Piccolo was rendered completely airtight, a vessel for their combined triumph and frustration. Guttural grunts from the trio mixed with Piccolo’s muffled gagging and choked cries of protest, which were swallowed by Yamcha’s cock fucking her mouth.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” Yamcha grunted, pistoning into Piccolo’s throat. “All that talk about being a demon… you’re just a three-holed slut for Earthlings.”

Tien maintained her brutal, pounding pace into Piccolo’s pussy. “You underestimated us. You always have. Feel that? That’s the power you looked down on, Piccolo.”

Even Chiaotzu joined in, her voice bright and sinister. “You’re being very useful, Piccolo! This is excellent team-building!”

Piccolo could do nothing. Every orifice was filled, every thrust a violation of her pride as much as her body. The pleasure was an unwanted, traitorous current beneath the tsunami of humiliation and defeat. Her powerful limbs, which had thrown mountains, were pinned and useless. Her keen mind, which had devised world-ending plots, was overwhelmed by raw, degrading sensation. She was being broken not by a superior fighter, but by the very people she had considered beneath her notice, and the lesson was being drilled into her with every synchronized thrust.

Queen Kai was in hysterics, floating above the lewd tableau and clutching her sides. “Oh, this is priceless! The student becomes the teacher’s pet! Three teachers! And she’s getting the lesson from all sides!”

She pointed a dramatic finger as Yamcha’s hips slapped against Piccolo’s face. “Looks like the Wolf Fang Fist found a new target! And it’s a mouthful!”

As Tien drove deep, Queen Kai cackled. “Talk about a Tri-Beam! She’s hitting spots Piccolo didn’t even know she had!”

When Chiaotzu adjusted her angle, Queen Kai wheezed, “Even the little one’s getting in on the action! A real team effort! Talk about a close encounter!”

The trio, emboldened by their dominance and Queen Kai’s running commentary, joined in the verbal humiliation.

“What’s the matter?” Yamcha grunted, fucking Piccolo’s mouth with short, sharp strokes. “Cat got your tongue? Oh wait, I’ve got it!” She laughed at her own joke, a harsh sound.

Tien, her rhythm relentless, leaned down. “All your training, all your posturing… and you’re just a sheath for my cock. How does it feel to be nothing but a tool, Piccolo?”

Chiaotzu, concentrating hard, added cheerfully, “Your energy readings are spiking, Piccolo! You must be learning a lot!”

Piccolo could only take it. The puns, the taunts, the brutal physical violation—it was a comprehensive dismantling of everything she was. Her body was used, her pride was shredded, and her defeat was celebrated as a cosmic joke. The only sounds she could make were choked gags and muffled, helpless moans as she was gangbanged into submission under the watchful, laughing eye of a galactic queen.

The end came in a ragged, synchronized chorus. Yamcha was the first, pulling her cock from Piccolo’s mouth with a wet pop just as her climax hit. Thick ropes of cum splattered across Piccolo’s face, painting her cheek, her forehead, and dripping down onto her breasts.

Tien followed, grunting as she pulled out and emptied herself across Piccolo’s stomach and chest, the warm fluid pooling in the grooves of her abdominal muscles.

Chiaotzu, with a final, focused push, pulled free and added her own contribution, a smaller but no less humiliating splash across Piccolo’s inner thighs.

They stood back, panting, their temporary cocks already receding, looking down at their handiwork. Piccolo lay in the grass, utterly defeated. Her gi was torn, her body glistening with sweat and semen, her expression one of shattered pride and dazed humiliation.

The laughter from Queen Kai slowly subsided into amused chuckles. “Well! That was educational for everyone, I’d say!”

Piccolo didn’t move for a long moment. She simply stared up at the pink sky of the afterlife, the warm, sticky evidence of her defeat cooling on her skin. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. She didn’t look at Yamcha, Tien, or Chiaotzu. Her gaze, burning with a new, cold fire, went straight to Queen Kai.

Her voice, when it came, was hoarse but clear, stripped of all its former arrogance. “Train me.”

Queen Kai floated closer, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh? What’s this? The mighty Piccolo, brought low, asking for help? After all that ‘this is idiotic’ talk?”

“Yes,” Piccolo said, the word tasting like ash. She looked at the others, who were watching her warily. They had grown. They had beaten her. The path, however demeaning, worked. “Train me. However you have to. Whatever it takes. Make me stronger than them.”

Queen Kai’s smirk widened into a grin. She clapped her hands together. “Now THAT’S what I like to hear! A student with a proper, motivated attitude!” She winked. “And hey, you already passed the first, most important test—being a good sport! Alright, greenie, you’re on the roster. Welcome to the team.”

And so, on the strange, pink-hued world of the afterlife, a new and desperate regimen began. The gravity of Queen Kai’s planet, once a novelty for Goku alone, now pressed down on four determined warriors. Piccolo, her pride scorched but her will hardened in the crucible of humiliation, threw herself into the training with a silent, ferocious intensity that surpassed even her own legendary discipline. She chased Bubbles until her legs gave out, she lifted boulders that seemed carved from neutron stars, and she endured Queen Kai’s “motivational” punishments without a word of complaint.

Yamcha, Tien, and Chiaotzu, empowered by their first real victory—however unorthodox—trained with a renewed sense of purpose and camaraderie. The gap had closed, and they were determined to keep it that way, to become a force that could not be ignored.

They pushed their bodies and spirits to the absolute limit, driven by a shared, unspoken knowledge. Their chance at a second life depended on the bravery of their friends light-years away. On a distant, emerald planet called Namek, Krillin, Gohan, and the others were fighting a war against cosmic horrors for the very Dragon Balls that could call them back. And if they succeeded, if they were wished back to the land of the living, an enemy of unimaginable power—Frieza—would be waiting. They would have one shot. They had to be ready. The race was on, across the gulf of death itself, to forge strength from weakness before the final, apocalyptic battle began.