Mousebait (Part 1)
The late noontide sun beamed down mercilessly onto the sandy palm forests of the southern seas. The humid air was alive with the songs of the various sea birds that floated lazily high above the nearby coast line. A wondrous sea breeze pushed through the palm foliage, assaulting the senses of a small mouse. He padded silently through the soft white sands that pushed inland half a league. As impressively large as that was, it was not a unique feature, but it was definitely one of his favorites.
His bare paws dug into the sand a little extra every time he took a step, enjoying the heat running up between his toes. He was a happy mouse, not only because he was free, but because he was being hunted. He loved nothing more than the thought of death looming over him, the thought of a good death by the hands of a beast stronger than he. But was there such a beast?
Was the female weasel that tailed him going to be the one to best him? He highly doubted it. How could a female who failed to hide her scent defeat him? Defeat us. It was unimaginable, a thought he couldn't accept. Wouldn't accept. He would show her the mistake she made, show her first paw why she was going to regret following him.
He twitched once, his face growing darker, his maw opening into a snarl. His eyes focused ahead of him, unyielding in their intensity. His ears fluttered, his tail flicked, and his paws uncorked a bottle of kelp rum, downing a quick swig. He finished by wiping his arm across his maw, drying his lips and facial fur.
He eyed the disappearing liquid with contempt, such a superficial vice, limited happiness. He was sick of it. He took another drink, downing the rest of the liquid. His eyes staring into the empty void held within his paws.
"Who does that weasel think she is?!"
He tossed the glass bottle aggressively against a nearby palm, watching in joy as it shattered into a hundred little pieces.
"I bet she wouldn't feel so happy if she was being hunted! The poor thing probably wouldn't even have any good kelp rum! Shit tastes that one. I almost pity her! Ha! What a thought, pity for a bitch like that. Imagine me, worrying about the well being of a weasel, how silly!"
He laughed maniacally as he padded on through the palm forest, a devious plan forming in his mind. He would hide in a tree! Near the tippy top. Why would she look there for a mouse? A mouse in a tree? How ridiculous.
He found what he was looking for, a smallish tree, one with plenty of leaf cover. He wrapped his small arms around the skinny trunk, his many years aboard the riggings of ships eased his ascent. He sat near the top among the many coconuts, his mind focusing on the many ways he could kill his hunter. Waiting silently, waiting patiently. The ambush set.
Sarastaja was in her element, creeping silently through the sandy brush by the shoreline, rapier at the ready.
It was an odd thing, hunting this vermin-mouse. Certainly that had made finding tips and information on him easy, as well as the promise of a substantial reward for his death or capture. And once on his trail, he had even marched off to corner himself by the ocean, so seemingly unaware of her closing pace. The weasel nearly laughed to herself, imagining the prestige this mouse's head would bring her.
There'd be no ignoring her rise then, no more haggling of prices, or menial tasks. In time, she'd become a legend in her own right.
Emerging slowly from the brush, she took another silent step in the sand and stopped, smelling the air and surveying her surroundings. He had been here. The smell of alcohol, still fresh, even against the wind blowing, and the scent again. Yes, mouse. The weaselmaid grinned, vindicated. Any chance she might have gone down the wrong path in the time since the wind changed was gone. He'd been here.
But where was he now?
There were the glass shards, glistening in the dying light, remnants of a bottle, recently smashed against one of the many palm trees. Her mouse's work, it had to be. But no mouse! Cautiously she advanced further, sniffing the air for her prey. Stronger, stronger in the trees. Was he behind one of them? Carefully, she began rounding each tree, blade pointed, ready to stick any mouse that decided to jump out from behind one in ambush.
Closer...
The mouse may have just been part squirrel, not that he was particularly found of the idea. But it was something he thought of a lot. He never knew his parents, he wouldn't have liked them anyways. Could a squirrel really conceive a mouse? Questions for later.
His musings were cut short, silently watching the weasel enter his domain. A smile cracked across his face, his tongue dragging along his lips. He could imagine her taste, a delightful musky tang only a vermin female could produce. He was going to have it. Not that it was decided right then, it was something he always thought of. Didn't matter who it was, or gender for that matter.
His mind wandered back to his potential squirrel parentage. What would they do in a situation like this? Attack from the branches? Perhaps drop onto their prey? He never really talked to a squirrel before, nor has he had one attack him from the trees, but it was something he'd imagine them doing.
He was going to jump.
The weasel stood under his tree, obviously following his scent, not that it mattered, she wasn't looking up, why would she? He had counted on that. He thought he was so clever, the most cleverest of mice. One smart enough to tap into their squirrel ancestry.
With a large smile on his face, he let go of the trunk, gliding through the air with only the grace a mouse could muster.
"Mind your head!"
Sarastaja turned at the sudden noise, but not fast enough. The mouse bowled her over onto her stomach, violently knocking the wind out of her. She watched helplessly as her rapier flew off into a patch of long beach grass. The weasel was not useless without her weapon. Her skills are sharp, and precise. With barely a moment of shock to recover herself, she began to fight back, trying desperately to be free of her attacker, but the mouse proved to be ferocious. He descended quickly upon the weasel, spinning her onto her back and jumping roughly onto her stomach, his paws catching her arms, slamming them down onto the sandy ground. Her supposed skills were no match for the seasoned mouse.
"I told you to mind your head, you stupid weasel!"
He brought his forehead down against hers with a sickening smack, doing so with utter disregard for his own well being. Such things did not concern the mouse, the pain barely even registering within his already damaged mind.
The weasel felt the sharp tang of iron as blood dripped down onto her tongue. Dazed, but not quite stunned, she moved to put one arm against his chest, despite his grip on her, to try and keep him from doing it again. The other paw trying towards the familiar knife at her side, intending to stab the mouse in the side of the gut, or at least force him off her.
The mouse wasn't blind, and it was quite insulting to have her think she could go for the knife she had hanging from her belt. It infuriated him. He released her arm, bringing his paw up and smashing it down upon her face. She might have been stronger than he, but he was going to show her size mattered not.
The weasel managed a hiss after the first blow, spitting blood with the second, fighting just to keep consciousness. The paw she threw against his chest weakly grabbed at the open collar of his shirt, lest it be pinned like the knife arm. It was all in vain, the beating proving too much for the female to withstand, her eyes fluttering as she fell in and out of consciousness.
The sound of battered flesh was music to the ears of the mouse, or maybe it was the ringing in his ears his headbutt had given him, either way the mouse was delighted. His smile taking on dangerous qualities.
"How's it feel to be brought down by a mouse?"
He punched her again for good measure, his knuckles stained with blood. The weasel unfortunately found herself back in the land of the living just as the mouse finished with his last blow. She lay there defeated. What little fight remained in the weasel was now extinguished. Tears welled up in her eyes, the pain and the embarrassing loss consumed her. Just as the mouse had said. A weasel laid low so easily by a simple woodland creature. Seasons of training, generations of selective breeding... All for naught.
"You think you can take me? Ha! Do you even drink kelp rum?! Course' not, you wouldn't survive a drop! Pathetic creatures you weasels are."
His fist smashed against her cheek one last time. His free paw moved to stroke her facial fur, almost lovingly. His eyes taking on a softness as he moved down to her chest, his paw ripping her shirt away, revealing her small fluffy breasts.
"You're real pretty with that blood dripping down your face, lass."
She sucks in a breath, as much for the shock and pain in her face, trying her best to muster up some sort of courage. She would not be defiled by some woodland creature.
"Not... for you"
The defeated mustelid breathes the words as authoritatively as she can, indignant, teary eyes looking to find his own, drawn as they are to her chest.
"Not for me? What's not for me? These lovely soft breasts of yours?"
His condescending teasing tone was accompanied by the roaming of his paw. Running his fingers through her soft fur, feeling every curve with a growing lust. His fingers moved the soft fur on her chest, revealing her nipples. He gave them a few small squeezes, the mouse enjoyed small breasts, something this weasel was more than happy to supply him with.
His free paw trailed even further down her chest, rubbing along her sexy slender body. His paw snaked its way down to her pants, his fingers moving under to tease at her fluffy pubic fur, just close enough to her lower lips so she knew what he was after.
"So soft, and warm. It always amazes me how you predator beasts can be so... inviting."
It was no surprise to the weasel that the mouse would ignore her wishes. All she could do was lay there and breathe, trying to keep her weak hold on reality. The terror remained, growing as the mouse explores her body, evoking only short whimpers of protest. At least until he reached her pants, teasing under that last protective layer, his intentions terribly clear.
With all her strength, the weasel summons her weary unpinned paw once more, intending to push the mouse off her, though she only manages to weakly press against him.
With a last gasp of pain and growing despair, the weasel resorts to the last option available to her, panic bringing volume to her voice that hadn't been there before.
"Please stop! I beg of you, please!"
She shuddered, choking back a powerful sob as she fights herself to say more.
"I'm a virgin! Whatever you do, d-don't, please! I beg of you, please. I'll do anything! Just -"
She can't go on, reduced to tears at the miserable terms she is forced to offer. She can't let herself be taken by such a beast. Whatever other dignity she has to sacrifice... it's preferable to that. The weasel can only hope the mouse still entertains some twisted sense of mercy.
"Oh please please stop, Mr. Mouse! Oh please don't deflower me! It's not for you! Don't take my precious weasel virginity!"
The mouse mocked her pathetic attempts at salvation as he pushed his paw further down her pants. His fingers carefully glided around the edges of her sex, pressing against her fur between her lower lips and thighs.
"Oh they always beg, and they always promise to do whatever I want."
His maw pressed against her cheek, rubbing against her as he took in her scent. His maw eventually finding its way to her ear, giving it a playfully bite. Sara whimpers lightly, but accepts his taking her scent, wary of the able fingers skirting her delicate femininity, her earlier shows of strength forgotten.
"Anything I want..." He breathed into her ear, giving it another lustful and playful bite.
"Anything," she reaffirms softly, teary eyes shut tightly as he nips at her ear.
"I'm sure you know what I want, weasel."
He seems to mock her pleas, fitting that he would, but his paw does not invade her any further than it already has. Her thoughts moved to her pants, thankful they remained intact to shield her from his prying eyes.
"I'll do anything else for you, whatever you say, whatever you want, j-just don't... don't take that from me, please..."
She can't find the courage to take the first move to prove herself to him, her shirt already in tatters, breasts uncovered, pants her only protection below.
"So soft, so innocent... Call me stupid, but I might just buy your little sob story, weasel."
His fingers moved between her lower lips, just deep enough to part them slightly as he trailed upwards, slicking his fur with whatever she happened to give. He pulled his paw free from her pants, bringing his fingers to his maw taking in her wonderful scent. Sara tensed with the mouse's movements, breathing only steadying with his removal, slickened by a light unbidden wetness.
"You smell absolutely... Divine..."
He licked what little moisture there was from his padded digit, savoring the sweet taste of unspoiled weasel.
"A taste of pure weasel maiden, one untainted by another male. You sure are quite the rarity, one that I so wish I could take myself. But. Perhaps you can offer me something... Better?"
The male's words of assurance meant little to her, stuffing himself down her clothes as he was did not help. She begged regardless, hoping desperately for mercy to her, for the tidy respect of a warrior to vanquished foe, to not have herself violated further.
His removal, to her awe and surprise, seemingly considering her pleas. Filled with new hope, and new determination. But the mouse's own words, spoken as he tastes her and boasts of his new, unique knowledge of her scent and her purity, spoke clearly that he would require more than vague promises.
The weasel desperately fought back her emotions, scrambling for clarity, and the strength to debase herself to whatever sick end, if it should preserve her dignity where it counted.
To be sure, she was no stranger to the sultry tales of tavern whores or the boasts of drunken males and their conquests. But that was not her realm, and she found little experience to draw from. Her shallow sexual imagination hindered by her own same precious dignity and self-worth.
"I-I've never been with a male, much less a mouse," she begins, staunching the sobbing behind her voice with a sharp breath.
"But that's true for all of me... m-maybe I -"
She cuts herself off, looking for stronger language, even at the cost of her self-respect.
"I can show you. I-I can make it worth it for you, do more than I would with my own mate. T-take you in my mouth - no biting, I swear on my life! Or-or -"
She briefly panics herself, and coming to tears once more, though she catches herself, finding the truth of the matter, however it hurt to admit.
"You won, mouse! I-i can prove my gratitude f-for your mercy. With my whole body. Wor-worship you like no other female, be yours to do whatever you wish with, j-just letting me keep myself. I-I'd tell everyone about how you bested me how you-"
She half gasps, half gulps, trying to force the rest of her words out as the tears of shame and anger come welling once more.
"How you humiliated me! That I'm no good, b-beaten by a mouse. Everyone will know what you did, how you c-can't be messed with!"
The mouse's ears twitched, perhaps in joy, definitely in interest. He couldn't remember the last time he had a female grovelling like this. Trying her little heart out to save her precious virginity. Almost surprising to the old pirate, considering all his victims were all too happy to give up their bodies, and sometimes their virginity to get away alive.
The flowing tears staining her cheeks only heightened his lust. The mouse was far too gone to even remotely feel empathy, dark forest forbid. He never cared about what his partners wanted, he had won, he was to take what he wanted. That is the law of nature, the law of pirates! But... It has been a long time since he's felt the unwilling maw of a female. The promise of no biting sealed the deal. He was going to paint her throat.
"Oh? So the wee little weasel maiden is untouched through out? How very interesting."
His eyes fell back to her breasts, admiring them once more, cupping one with his free paw. Sara lets him fondle her again, listening carefully, hanging her hopes off every word.
"I doubt a virgin, no experience, no idea what she's doing, could ever fully satisfy me on her own. Your precious virginity can sate my desires, how could you ever hope to replicate such a prize?"
His free paw moved back down to her pants, pulling them down, revealing her fluffy weasel cunt. Taking a quick sneak peak, much to her dismay. He wanted to take her right there and then, the sight more than enough to get his cock poking from the tip of his sheath. He held back, a game was to be played, and he was going to win.
"Alright, weasel. I'll use your throat. As long as you're naked while we do it. I want to take you in, see you, smell you, taste you. As long as you don't bite, as long as you play nice, I won't breed you."
The mouse brought his gaze back up to her face, their eyes meeting as he moved down and stole a small kiss, pressing his lips against hers briefly before pulling away.
The weasel is consumed by the moment's shock, futile attempts at resistance only averted by his hesitant acceptance a moment later. In an instant the weasel's demeanor changed, nodding weakly to his demands. Sara almost thanks him for the merciful decision, though cut off by a sudden kiss, over as soon as it comes, and a frightening addendum to his earlier acceptance.
"Humility, oh my dear, you will know humility. I want you to show me, prove to me. Prove to me
you deserve my mercy. Show me what a weasel calls worship."
His paw released her arm as he pulled his white silk shirt over his head, throwing it away. His pants soon followed, landing softly in the white sand that surrounded the duo.
He stood over top of her, unashamed of his naked body, or even his small stature when it came to comparing the two of them, but he was used to such a size difference, even liked it more. Fucking a mouse was good and all, but mating a creature that can take more abuse was even better. If he could breed outside his species, He would have single pawed changed the gene-pool in his favor. A feat he was quite proud of.
"Like what you see, lass?"
He didn't bother listening for any response, not that he was expecting one, or anything nice for that matter. He was confident enough, even if he wasn't as well endowed as the other species of his world, but he made due, and he enjoyed every minute of it.
His cock wasn't small by any means, more than enough to satisfy any female he came across. Especially since his stamina was unmatched by any other beast, save for maybe a hare. He was an animal in bed, and it showed when he lay with male, or female. He was never satisfied with one orgasm, no, he wanted, nay, he needed more. He needed that release, as much as he could get. Filling his partner up as much as he possibly can, their dripping holes an endless joy for the mouse, and it was something he wanted to see the weasel do for him. He wanted to see her virgin cunt ooze with his seed, dripping without any sign of stopping.
The many thoughts of tainting her cunt aroused the mouse to such a degree, that his cock throbbed in need, a good sign to him that he should stop wasting time. He bent down and ripped off her pants, not bothering with her well being, or even caring to save the piece of clothing. Her naked body, unclothed, revealed.
"I like what I see, aye, what a sight. Perfect, and as unspoiled as you said, not a bad body either, girlie. You ought to be quite proud of yourself!"
She almost covers herself instinctively, staying herself at the last moment, remembering just what's at stake. When this was all over, she would find some new clothes, somehow. She just had to get past this. At the comment on her innocence. Her pride. The weasel held back new tears. She wants to say something back, express her indignant, but she resigned herself.
Wearily, then, the weasel pulled herself up to her knees, ignoring the pain in her skull, the flow of the gentle breeze on her exposed cunt and breasts. Dejectedly, but not without a certain desperate passion, she sets about her shameful task, trying to picture the mouse as her mate, anyone else, instead of the mouse. Somebeast who loved her, valued her beyond the worth of her body. The kind of male she was saving herself for.
Caught fast with the hot mouse cock in her face, she avoided it at first, closing her eyes to nuzzle, and then uncertainly lick the male's ample sack below. Eventually bringing herself up further to do the same for his impressive rod, the first she's seen so close. She knows she has to take him in her mouth eventually, but the very concept seems daunting; she expected something smaller. She had no idea how to go about her task, hoping her conqueror doesn't grow impatient of her display and decide to force himself in her mouth before she was ready.
The mouse smiled, very pleased with the female, her eagerness to save herself was quite amusing. Her gentle nuzzling of his fluffy sack sent shivers up his body, her wet nose touching just the right spots.
"That's it, weasel."
He laughed softly, his paws moving to the top of her soft head, a small moan escaping his lips as the female's tongue lapped gently at his fluff. His balls being one of his favorite places to have a female play with, them being overly sensitive, perhaps even more so than the average mouse.
However humiliating the situation was, his words were encouraging, and filled the weasel with hope. She doubled down on caressing his balls, his powerful musk eliciting some hidden excitement of her own. Utterly dominated by such a small creature, by such a male. Forced to lick at the core of his masculinity in order to protect her most feminine element. Surrendering her dignity to save it where it counted.
Her teeth so close to the male's most fragile part. It was surprising to find him so confident, though it gave her some form of reassurance for the deal she'd made, that he might ignore the moist slit between her legs. If only she might please him.
Lifting his sack lightly with her muzzle, the weasel makes her way up his groin, if his paws would let her through their powerful hold. Letting his balls fall back heavily as she brought her tongue up his erect shaft. Dragging it all the way to the tip, doing her best not to gag on the salty taste and powerful male aroma.
With the weasel's muzzle firmly under his cock, and her inexperience showing rather painfully, actually excited the mouse to no end. His cock throbbing in anticipation for what was to come. Her first gentle, yet apprehensive lick against his tip sent pleasurable chills up his small body. It was new, an experience a creature seldom came across. A unique situation, one he took surprisingly great pleasure in. With her gentle licking moving up his shaft, the mouse couldn't help but squeak softly, his pleasure quite notable as his cock dribbled with precum. Sara's ears twitch with the sudden sound, though she kept her eyes closed and her tongue on target. Correctly assuming, if with some surprise, that it was a note of pleasure from the mouse. A sign of hope, for her, even as his fluids began to dot her face, dripping down from his impressive length.
The mouse couldn't help but long for her attention to go back to his fluffy sack, and besides that. He knew his musk must be driving such a pure maiden mad. A male so close, and so willing must be stirring her up undoubtedly so. With a devious grin, his paws clamped against the back of her head, pulling her back down against his sack. Pressing her face into it aggressively, but not hard enough to hurt himself in anyway.
"Take in my scent, weasel. I want you to remember it."
His cock rubbed against her face as he pushed her into his groin. Droplets of precum stained her facial fur much to his amusement.
"Tell me you hate it, be honest with me, girlie. How could a mouse smell so wonderful, so... dominating...?"