The ring and the raccoon
Updated version of a 2005 short story of mine that's never been posted here.
*****
The Ring and the Raccoon: a story set in the Maker's castle
By Strega
The fortress squats on a hill, dark and nearly windowless. A flat-topped cylinder surrounded by six outlying towers is in turn surrounded by a dry, stone-lined moat. A narrow drawbridge leads to a bronze-studded door, and the towers are pierced by crossletted arrow slits. The only other visible entrance is on a taller, thinner central tower. A crenelated balcony surrounds this at what must be the seventh or eighth floor level, and entry could be had there via another bronze-studded door. Two figures in black armor pace the balcony, using the elevation to watch for movement in the surrounding countryside.
The lead tiles of the roof and the thick stone walls are but part of the place's defenses. The conical roofs of the outer towers conceal ballistae and other siege weapons, and more guards. Approaching the castle at all, even by air or via other dimensions, will trigger alarms. This is the castle of the Maker, Ruhollah Rushiadah, and he has his own private army and great magics at his beck and call.
Like all communities, the fortress has its own rhythms and its own dramas.
****
Fourteen people stood in the great hall, none of them human. Four gul, hulking wolverine-men in black armor; six volpa, graceful foxpeople in loose clothing or in one case, expertly crafted chain-mail. Four are praka, little nimble-fingered raccoon folk. These last wore nothing but loincloths and light leather belts to carry their tools, daggers and pouches. Two were male and two female.
At the head of the room was a broad dais, and on it an ornate chair - almost, but not quite, a throne. Two more gul flank it, one the largest wolverine in the room: this one stands well over seven feet tall. To the right and behind the chair stands another foxman, a lute and a rapier at his side. In front of the dais there is a single bald-headed human, slightly overweight, in saffron robes with his arms bound behind his back. Next to him sprawls an unnaturally large raccoon. This 'coon, while unremarkable in color and shape by raccoons standards, is much larger than normal. It is far larger than the biggest praka in the room, and would outweigh all but two of the gul. Unlike any other creature in the room, this raccoon looks to be a mere animal.
The door behind the dais opens and a man enters. At first glance he is identical to the one in the saffron robes, down to the tattoos on his scalp, but a closer look reveals the superior weave and ornamentation of his robe and that he is somewhat thinner. At his entrance every two-legged creature in the room bows.
Another difference between the two men becomes evident. The one with bound arms has a runic R tattooed on his forehead, while the man on the dais does not. The new arrival seats himself in the chair, taps his fingers twice on the arms and looks at the lute-carrying foxman. A human woman who'd followed him into the room takes up station behind his left shoulder.
"So, Chula. Where is the ring?"
The foxman reaches into his sleeve and produces a silver ring, which he hands to the seated man. The plain band lies on his palm for a moment before his hand closes into a fist.
"This ring is powerful. No mere charm of protection is bound into its metal. No, this ring...what were you thinking!" The fist slams into the chair arm.
"Master," began the copy of the seated man, "It seemed harmless. What could a mere raccoon do with such a thing?"
"Yes." The man in the chair - The Maker to his subjects; Alias or Ruhollah Rushiadah to his friends; arch-mage and creator of the three nonhuman races in the room - turns his attention to the lazy raccoon sprawled in front of the dais. "What indeed...?"
*****
The simulacrum busied himself in the storeroom. To the eye he was indistinguishable from his creator. He had the same scars, the same eyes, even - with the exception of the runic "R" - the same tattoos on his bald pate. In truth he was a magical creation, possessing only a fraction of his maker's magical skills and subject to his every command. He also had but a fraction of the personality of his maker; each of the castle simulacrums had his own interests, enough so that they could be considered real, separate people. For simple convenience the Maker assigned his various simulacrums names: this one was Charles, and Charles liked to eat. He had the extra pounds to show for it.
His keys let him into the locked store, where minor magics kept food from decaying. Inside he fills a stein with beer from one of two huge kegs. Alcohol was forbidden to the castle inhabitants on a day to day basis and was given out only on festival days. Gul, especially young and randy ones, were hard enough to get along with when sober, and drunken praka got into everything. Drunken volpa were less destructive, but every one of them thought he could sing. Some could; many could not, and the unearthly wail of a untrained fox-person singer had to be heard to be believed.
He carried his findings into the hallway and set them on a convenient table. As he locked the storeroom, a door was pawed open further down the hall. Soon a snuffling down near the floor told him something was looking for scraps. There were at least three species of pets in the castle, plus occasional bestial visitors like the dire wolverine Bloodripper last year, so Charles did not trouble himself. He busied himself with the food he'd scrounged, arranging slices of ham, venison, and two types of cheese on two thick slabs of brown bread carved from a loaf. Slices of onion, mushrooms, and halved olives followed. Much of this food originated as tribute from the local halflings, who much appreciated the protection the powerful Maker provided.
The snuffling drew closer. When a bandit-masked face appeared over the edge of the table he smiled. "Good morning, Four." He scratched the big raccoon behind the ears, them swept the scraps of his sandwich making onto the floor. Number Four was the castle's mascot; a non-sapient product of the early experiments that eventually produced the praka race. He differed from a normal raccoon in several ways, but the only one obvious to the eye was his sheer size. He stood three feet tall at the shoulder and weighed something like four hundred pounds, which was more than the average male gul. Lazy and somewhat overweight, he spent most of his time sleeping and the rest making circuits of his territory - the castle. Almost everyone liked the big, friendly raccoon, though he was an incorrigible beggar.
Charles took big bites of his sandwich as the raccoon gobbled up the scraps. Though a product of magic, the simulacrum was quite alive and needed to eat, sleep, and do everything else a man born of women did. Fragments of bread and cheese slid down his robe and were greedily snapped up by the 'coon. This made his smile all the broader, and when he finished his sandwich he reached into his pocket.
"Up, Four. Up." The raccoon rose on his hindpaws, hoping for a treat, and Charles instead grabbed one of the dark-furred 'hands'. In a moment he slid a simple silver ring onto the 'coon's ring finger. Instantly Number Four brought it over to his mouth and tried to nibble it off his finger.
"No, it's not good to eat, silly." Charles pushed the remains of the loaf of bread off the table to distract the 'coon. By the time that was masticated and swallowed, the ring was forgotten. The simulacrum finished his beer, belched, and patted the raccoon on his way past. "You have fun with that, you hear."
Number Four, of course, didn't understand. He knew a friendly tone, though, and he nosed hopefully around for more scraps. When the simulacrum left he stood up to eye the table, but other than a few crumbs - soon inhaled - all the food was locked away. Even his clever hands couldn't defeat the dwarf-made lock that kept hungry gul from raiding this food store. This pantry was meant for use only when access to the main kitchens was impossible, such as during a particularly severe siege.
A determined search rooted out no more scraps, and he made his way back down the hallway. He had woken from his nap at the scent of food, and he yawned until his jaws creaked as he ambled back into his room. Which particular room "his" was varied depending on which empty room was close when he grew tired. At the moment it was on the second floor. This room was hardly eight feet by ten, dusty, and empty of furnishings save for a stack of chairs and a well-worn rug. He stretched out on this and dozed.
Soon he was dreaming. His paws twitched, his tail flagged from side to side, and he made odd little chirping noises as he rolled onto his side and, finally, onto his back. After a half-hour, his dreams took a pleasant turn. In them he chased a raccoon female, who chittered and tumbled and stayed just out of reach. He wanted to catch her more with every moment, and in his sleep his forepaws stole down his belly. They stroked his sheath, which was already tight around his maleness. None of this was unusual, except that this time he wore a certain ring.
If he'd been awake he would have noticed the tingle as the Ring of Human Influence activated. This was the property of the Maker himself, and naturally it could affect more than 'humans.' That was why, at that particular moment, its magic reached out and found the praka in the hallway.
Like all praka, she could not speak Common due to the structure of her muzzle, and so she went by a nickname others could pronounce - Mouse. Like her namesake she was small and inoffensive, only three and a half feet tall and well into middle age. Given her job in the kitchen, it was no surprise she was generously proportioned, or to be less kind, overweight. At the moment she was returning to her room from a shift making bread, yet something drew her attention to a particular doorway. She pushed through the curtains and found a small, empty room. Only the sliver of light from the hall made it in, but her night-keen eyes spied the castle mascot stretched on his back.
It had never occurred to her to offer her affections to the big raccoon. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to approach now, though. The invisible effect of the Ring guided her; without knowing how, she knew what Number Four wanted and was anxious to provide it. She sank to her knees next to the big 'coon and grabbed his swollen sheath with both hands.
Number Four started awake, his increasingly sensual dream flying from his head to be replaced by an equally erotic reality. A prakafemme knelt next to him, little hands wrapped around his maleness as it unsheathed. Her padded palms scraped along the exposed, delicate skin, but he was so aroused that he churred in pleasure rather than object. She chirped happily as he swelled to full hardness, pulled his shaft upward, and lowered her head.
Mouse was missing one lower canine, and it was via this gap that the big raccoon's penis entered her mouth. Normal raccoons have long, but very thin members, but just as praka males have more girth than might be expected, so did Number Four; his ponderous thickness just fit into her muzzle. She wrapped her lips around the thing as best she could and sucked, her hands pumping up and down his shaft.
Number Four blinked fully awake only to stretch out in ecstasy. The little female sucked and licked, soon slicking down his shaft so her hands slid more smoothly. She crouched near his head to service him, and scenting the fleshy warmth of her sex he lapped out his tongue to taste.
Mouse unconsciously shifted her knees to make things easier for him. What he wanted, she wanted, and soon she was straddling his chest, her tail lifted so he could explore her little sex. In front of her remained the big raccoon's rampant maleness, and she sucked with increasing enthusiasm as his tongue tickled her vulva.
She was licking his tip when he churred and shuddered, and it did not surprise her when a spurt of semen fouled her whiskers and throat-fur. She opened her mouth to swallow the rest, but his need for orgasm communicated itself through the ring, making it her need as well. She stroked his cock and thrust herself back against his tongue, signaling her own climax with a shrill chirp. Further spurts of watery raccoon goo gouted onto her face as they shuddered in unison.
The ring's effect ebbed with his lust, and she realized what had happened. She had just fucked the castle mascot! What had she been thinking?! She must have been tired from work, or...or...she must have had bad fish for lunch. That must be it. She would never do such a thing on purpose!
Despite her astonishment she stayed with him for several minutes, letting him lap the stickiness from her face and throat. Praka are a broad-minded people when it comes to sex, and though it had been a shock it was not as inconceivable an event as it would be for some humans. It was, in fact, rather a shame that she was too small and he too well hung for -
*****
The Maker waved his hand hastily. "Er...thank you, Mouse. That's all I need to know." The little prakafemme curtsied and returned to her place with the other raccoon people, who nuzzled her comfortingly as they chittered in their own language. Mouse was the first to tell a joke about it, and a nearby volpa, well versed in chitter-speak, had to stifle a laugh. There were too many grim faces in the room not to.
"What harm did that do, master?" Charles spoke up from his spot in front of the dais. "Even if I had known that Number Four and Mouse mated, and even if I had guessed that the Ring allowed him - probably unconsciously - to seduce people, what harm did it do? I suspect there were already those in this castle who had lain with the mascot." He turned his gaze to the group around Mouse. "Am I right?"
The woman behind the throne - Candra, who could if asked detail exactly what it was like to lie with the castle mascot - opened her mouth to speak, but the Maker waved his hand again. "That's neither here nor there. That was not the last thing he did with the ring, unconsciously or not, is it?" He gestured, and one of the gul stepped forward. This one was quite short for a gul; even with boots on he barely topped six feet. Or rather, she did; every person in the room was knowledgeable enough of gul physique to realize this was one of the rare warrior females. There might not be any visible breasts beneath the armor, but the width of the hips gave it away.
"Kurula, I understand you met Number Four that afternoon, didn't you?"
The gul glanced at the others, then lowered her head. "Yes, Maker."
The Maker sighed. "As you asked, I release you from my service so that you may seek your fortune elsewhere. First, though, I need to know what happened yesterday afternoon."
The gul began to speak in her low, rumbling voice. "I was on watch duty, along with Shirak...."
*****
A furry figure stood on two legs on the central tower's balcony. It was over just over six feet tall and immensely broad, with muscles rippling under brown-black fur. The golden stripe along its sides and across its tail, along with its oversized ferret face, marked the creature as one of the Gul wolverine-people, creations of The Maker. A great bow and quiver of arrows lay close at hand, and every few paces along the walkway was a rope-pull that led to alarm bells inside the structure. The naked eye could not make out the magical barriers that shielded the walkway from attack, but they were there; no simple charm or silence spell would prevent the guard from carrying out her duties.
Kurula enjoyed these rare solo outings. Gul sheltered their women; outside the crèche, females were constantly escorted, as they were simply too few to risk. Within the crèche, though, they were the masters, and in fact their advice dictated clan policy to a large degree. Without the lust for fighting and competition for advancement that hampered the males they could spend more time thinking. It was the females that kept the males here; the females recognized the good that associating with the arch-mage did them. The Maker protected them from attack by large groups of enemies, and allowed the Gul to slowly build up their numbers. One day it would be time to leave, but not yet. Kurula was one of the rare females aggressive and determined enough leave the crèche and earn a place as a warrior.
She loved the breeze, too. Up here on the observation turret of the tower she could see for miles across the valley and experience the wind on her face. She took a sip of the pig's blood she had brought as a treat. She'd be able to enjoy the solitude until sundown, when Shirak, the gul male who shared this shift, would return and demand a favor in return for leaving her here alone. Kurula didn't mind granting him one: his handsome near-black fur and strong build saw to that. They were together frequently; he knew what she liked and wouldn't scruff her until she bled.
The door to the turret slid open with a grating of stone, and Kurula snarled under her breath. It was probably Shirak, anxious to collect his favor early. When not fighting, it seemed the only thing the males thought about was rutting. Another benefit of the crèche was that males could only enter when allowed.
She ignored the new arrival until she heard the muted churring and picked up his scent on the breeze. It wasn't Shirak after all. She turned and looked at the big raccoon, the castle's mascot. He was sniffing around the platform, occasionally licking the stone floor. She realized that he was licking up drops of blood that had dripped from her wineskin.
"Good 'coon," she rasped in her best common, and poured a small puddle of blood on the stones. As he licked it up she scratched him behind the ears. He was a handsome animal, probably a hundred pounds heavier than she and larger than most of the gul males. She noticed that he was wearing a simple silver ring. Who might have put that on him?
Number Four sat up and pressed the side of his face into Kurula's hip, begging to be petted. She complied and kept scratching his ears with her sharp white claws as he churred in pleasure. Finally he sat next to her; she absently stroked his head as she looked out over the valley.
The 'coon rubbed against the wolverine-woman and felt the feeling come upon him again. It had only been two hours since the little prakafemme had come to his room, but now it was back, and he shifted uncomfortably as his member stiffened in its sheath. The familiar urges developed, and if they didn't subside he'd have to go looking for his blanket. With its aid, plus his forepaws and muzzle, he usually rid himself of this lust. It was only rarely that he had help.
The feelings refused to go away, and he shifted again as his cock swelled. He nosed at his forepaw as he noticed a tingle, but his sheath was too tight for such a little thing to hold his attention.
Distracted by the view, Kurula didn't notice the feeling at first. Then she realized that she was pressing herself against the raccoon; somehow a powerful urge to mate had crept up on her. It was a shame that Shirak wasn't due back for hours yet...her eyes fell on Number Four.
It was a forbidden thing she was thinking. Lord Vrassry declared that the People weren't supposed to breed outside their species. Most of the other thinkers were too small or ugly for serious consideration anyway. Still, though no one ever spoke of it, it did happen. Shirak had certainly offended: she'd known him to have the scent of volpa fox-women on his fur, and twice she'd twice caught him with the scent of little prakafemmes. And rumor had it that he had even coupled with the Human woman Candra. Perhaps that was why he was such a skilled lover; Candra was...experienced. After all, her primary task for the Maker was to collect seed from males for his experiments.
The raccoon rose to his feet, turning towards the tower door. Kurula reached out without a thought, hooking her hand around his neck and stopping him in his tracks. She knelt next to him, pressing her face against the side of his head, and tried to quiet the thunder of her blood. She shouldn't do this.
Her blood refused to stop racing. She took in the posture of the uncomfortable raccoon, whose back was arched as he stood panting. Among the gul were the 'ferals', who walked on four feet and mated like rude beasts; though he was a raccoon, she recognized the signs. She knelt lower and looked under the arch of his belly; sure enough, his sheath was swollen tight, the tip of his erection visible.
Black steel plate mail covered her arms and legs; a hauberk of riveted chain mail protected her body while allowing her more flexibility. Under this was a thick quilted gambeson, but unlike a male gul she wore no armored codpiece. She kept telling herself that it was forbidden, but she fell to hands and knees next to the parapet while tugging the chain-mail skirts up. Turning, she offered her rump to the raccoon, moving her tail aside to expose her sex. Her lust was so overpowering that she simply couldn't stop herself, though she knew she should not be doing it. Perhaps the big 'coon would simply leave.
Number Four watched Kurula present herself to him. He hadn't considered her as a potential mate, but the urges were upon him, and here she was. He turned towards her, stepping forward to straddle her. Even her position was right, not the odd postures the one occasional friendly two-legs would adopt. He wrapped his forepaws around her waist, his claws clicking over the mail armor, and moved to mount her.
Kurula shivered as the raccoon stepped forward, his chest riding up over her rump. So far it could have been a gul back there. Then his forepaws wrapped around her, and she felt him arch his back; his fur ticked hers as his heavy erection connected squarely with her vulva. She let out a whine of pleasure and lust as the coon mounted, his cock unsheathing and sliding into her.
He was oddly hung, with a curved penis, and big! Bigger than well-hung Shirak, and almost as big as dominant Vrassry himself. His furry thighs bumped her ass as he mounted her, draping his larger form over her hindquarters and slamming in every inch. He humped powerfully several times, then paused and shook his hindquarters, growling and gripping her with his forepaws. He was in her to the hilt now, repeating the thrust-shake rhythm as she began to growl with him.
The raccoon pulled at her belly as he thrust and thrust. She began to push back against him, anxious for her release. Through the primal lust a thought passed; This is forbidden, but it's sure fun!
Kurula coupled with the 'coon, his churring mixing with her growls and whines of pleasure, until the big raccoon's cock sent her into a frenzy of climax. Her claws dug into the hard stone platform, her fangs grinned at nothing and she snarled as the fiery orgasm overtook her.
By accident or design, big raccoon came at almost the same instant. She felt his thighs twitch and knew what was next; sure enough, he let out a rattling growl and loosed a gush of heat deep inside her. He spurted again, and again, growling out his pleasure, and finally subsided. He bit her neck lightly as the last of it passed, his fangs scraping along her gorget, then released her and stepped back. His bone-stiffened cock slid smoothly out of her wetness.
Kurula rolled on her side and watched the panting raccoon recover, his erection vanishing into its sheath as it shrank. She could feel his seed cooling in her; luckily she was not on heat so she didn't have to worry about him siring cubs in her, unlikely though that was. She sat up and scratched his ears again; he responded by licking hers, an intimate and pleasant gesture.
Kurula rose to her feet, rearranged her armored skirts, and resumed her watch. The raccoon lingered a while longer, then finally pushed the bronze-studded door open and left. She was left with her thoughts. Why had she done it? She was selective even with gul lovers, and certainly not so...easy...where other species' males were concerned. Shirak would know what she had done, too. She could not leave the post unattended to clean herself, and the raccoon's scent was all over her. Still, with any luck there was no harm done. Lord Vrassry might forbid such couplings, yet he knew they were happening and chose to do nothing as long as they didn't interfere with duties.
As the sun approached the horizon Shirak returned. She had wondered what he would do with his free time; the scent of a volpa fox-woman on his pelt told her all she needed to know. He trusted her to not betray his secret; now he would have one of hers!
"Ho, what's this I smell?" He rumbled cheerfully. "Could it be that a certain gul woman has been exchanging favors with a certain raccoon?" He fell to all fours, sniffing the floor where she had coupled with Number Four. She kicked at him playfully as he lifted his muzzle, sniffing intently, and eyed her. "Oh! The scent of woman's sweetness is strong here, and the smell of our castle's mascot is equally strong! What is a poor warrior to make of such a thing? Surely the story my nose relates couldn't have happened out here in the daylight, on this lonely turret?"
Kurula grinned, showing all her teeth, and wrestled the larger male to the platform. "Ho, the female is playful! She- ouch!" Kurula's teeth sank into his thick fur and the tough skin beneath. "The female is still in need of entertainment!" He obliged, skilled hands and teeth raking through her fur, bringing on her desire once again. Both were sated from their earlier mating, but they knew each other's desires well, and soon Shirak felt the onset of a stiffness that only Kurula could relieve him of. Enough of their armor was soon discarded to allow certain points of contact.
The praka serving-woman stood at the balcony entrance, the tray of food held to one side as she pressed her furry ear to the stone door. The moaning and mutual growls told her that the turret guards wouldn't need their dinner just yet, just as the churring earlier had told her that the mascot had found a new friend. Finally she heard the snarls that meant Shirak and Kurula were finishing their coupling. The sounds brought back memories of a big gul male's cock pressing through the back of her jaws and into her throat, the taste of wolverine seed...she set the food tray down by the door and left. There had to be a praka - or other -- male somewhere who was unoccupied.
*****
The Maker rubbed his tattooed pate as the praka serving-woman finished the tale Kurula had begun.
"And that is how I learned, after the fact, that one of my warriors behaved quite against her habits and submitted herself to our mascot's lust." He tapped his hand on the arm of the chair. "That will be all, Flowers."
The serving-praka curtsied and joined the group of raccoon-people to the side. They nuzzled her affectionately, chittering out a further joke or two that the gul studiously ignored.
"Shirak." One of the gul below the platform advanced, and the Maker raised his hand as a threatening rumble developed deep in the chest of the huge black-furred gul behind him. "Vrassry, if you please." The rumble subsided, and Ruhollah returned his attention to the smaller, but still massive gul before the dais.
"Shirak, for leaving your post you will go one month on half rations. In addition, it is my understanding the one of the castle otyughs is sick. Someone's going to have to shovel a lot of shit, and you've volunteered." The Maker paused, rubbing his chin. "What you do with your free time is..." The rumble began again behind him, but he ignored it. "...Not my concern, but what you do when you are on duty is my concern. If you again allow your balls to distract you from your duty, I will arrange for that distraction to be removed. That is all."
Shirak ducked his head and rejoined the group of gul to the side. Kurula still stood there before the dais, and the Maker addressed her next. "Were it not for what happened when the castle's mascot found you, you would receive the same punishment." The magus held up the simple silver ring, and looked at the big raccoon sprawled nearby. "I think you have been adequately punished."
A couple of volpa snickered, and Kurula's fangs showed. Flower had only whispered to a couple of people, but they had talked to others, and by the end of the day every inhabitant of the castle knew that Kurula had gone down to all fours for a mere beast. The insults to her honor she received led within hours to three vicious fights - she was smaller than most male gul, but she did not earn her place as a warrior by being weak or timid. Chula, the Maker's foxman familiar, had put a stop to it, but not before the castle priests were forced to expend some healing to close the most serious wounds.
Charles spoke up before the Maker could address him. "Again, lord, what harm did this do? You do not spend your days among the gul as the other simulacrums and I do. There are those more...open-minded gul, and ones who grow lonely on their patrols and in their rooms. Will their Lord swear to me that no other gul - male or female - has lain with our friendly mascot?"
Vrassry's armor rattled. Only discipline kept the huge gul from stepping forward and tearing Charles to bloody bits, but Vrassry's discipline was a thing of iron. The Maker felt the eyes on the back of his neck as the lord of the gul waited for the least signal, but he gave none.
"Had it ended with that, you would not be here, flesh of my flesh." In a way, the simulacrums were closer to him than even his children would be, had he any. "But it didn't, did it?" He gestured to the volpa gathered to one side.
"Celest, please relate your tale."
The volpa-femme that stepped forward was of average height and appearance, yet still, by human standards, uncannily beautiful. Her fur was lustrous orange with chocolate-colored 'gloves' and 'socks', while her throat and chops were white. Slit-pupiled amber eyes looked out of a foxish face, and orange-red hair cascaded down her back in a series of carefully teased curls. Like all volpa she walked on her toes, on natural high heels, and her broad hips and thick tail swayed seductively as she walked. Despite the grim nature of the meeting, many a male in the room watched her approach the dais with more than casual interest. She wore a green dress with little decoration, and no jewelry but an onyx ring in one tall triangular ear. This she brushed with her knuckle as she curtsied to the Maker.
"My mother was on her way to help serve dinner last night." She paused, then went on, a tear trickling down one furry cheek. "I guess she met him in the hallway...."
*****
Number four ambled lazily down the hall. Twice today - twice! - females had approached him for sex, and the big raccoon was feeling uncommonly relaxed. One had even let him mount as was his natural inclination, and ten minutes of enthusiastic rutting had worn him out. He knew there was a room here on the fourth floor where he could stretch out and nap before dinner.
As he turned into the side hall that led to the room he almost bowled over a volpa woman, who was coming the other way. She started, then smiled and scratched his ears.
"Hello, big coonie. Not headed downstairs to wait for dinner? That's not like you." She playfully slapped his side, making the loose fat beneath his pelt jiggle.
Number Four leaned against her legs, chittering happily, then pushed through the curtains into 'his' room. It was another small room suitable for one gul or a few praka, but it was more than big enough sans furniture for his needs. He was used to the tingling on his finger now, and he didn't notice it as he thought, in his simple beastly way, about how much he liked companionship.
Cerille followed him into the small, dark room without a thought. She needed to be downstairs, but there was no rush. She could pet the big raccoon for a few minutes first, or perhaps brush his fur. The little room was dark and dusty and Number Four had already flopped on the floor when she entered. With a foxy smile she knelt down and rubbed the big raccoon's chest.
Number four chittered happily and caught her hand between his forepaws, stroking her wrist before she pulled back. With his desire spent, the Ring did not impel the vixen to lust as it had Mouse and later, Kurula. It simply told her that she wanted to stay and pet the big raccoon, because that was what he wanted.
He arched his back, pushing his chest against the chocolate-brown hand as it rubbed his fur. She grinned and thumped his side with her palm, and as he settled back down she turned toward the door. It was at that moment that he finally recovered from his recent exercise and realized how hungry he was. Number Four blinked as his stomach gurgled loudly; his meeting with Mouse had distracted him and, without realizing it, he'd missed begging at lunch. He was supposed to eat only at dinnertime, but everyone had scraps for the castle mascot, and his belly wasn't accustomed to going so long without food.
Cerille was halfway to the door when the Ring reached out again. The big raccoon needed something, and his need became her need. He was climbing to his feet behind her, ready to follow her out the door and down to dinner, but that was too slow. In a dreamy haze she turned back, blocking his path, and as he sat back in confusion she reached down and slid her fingers into his mouth. Luckily, there was food for him right here.
The big raccoon blinked in confusion and tried to pull back, but he could only hunch his neck so much and she followed along. Before he could think to clamp his jaws shut she pried his muzzle wide and slid her hand into his gullet. He gagged, then reflexively swallowed as she stuffed her other arm in as well. He began to settle down on his belly so he could back away from her, but before he could even do that she leaned down and jammed her elbows into his mouth so hard his jaws unhinged.
He was one of the first praka prototypes, albeit a failed one, and he was one of the first creatures the Maker had changed to be able to swallow prey whole. While he was capable, though, he almost never did; he loved to taste and feel and chew his meals, and seldom did something even as large as a mere rat disappear down his gullet without thorough chewing. There was one time he did swallow large prey whole, though: when the Maker ordered it.
Now the vixen was stuffing her head into his maw, forcing her arms deeper and pushing her muzzle into his gullet. As her ears flattened against her head and his cheeks engulfed her neck, he decided that this must be one of those times. He was hungry, after all.
He rose to his hindpaws to meet the vixen, bracing his feet wide for balance and reaching out to grab her body between his forepaws. His narrow muzzle stretched uncannily wide, upper and lower jaw connected now only by the loose, stretchy fur and muscle of his cheeks and throat. The vixen's head slipped in easily, ears pressed back and neck following into the waiting gullet. Arms stretched out ahead of her, the vixen toppled forward, gravity and his strong forepaw grip pushing still more of her into the suddenly eager raccoon's throat.
There was a limit to the Ring's power, and suddenly it lost its grip on Cerille. It could impel her to share the raccoon's wants, and it could gently urge her to accommodate his wishes, as it had with Mouse and Kurula. It could not make her do something plainly life threatening, and as her head slid into the raccoon's gullet, any thought that this was a safe thing to do fled. Suddenly she was completely aware of her situation, and though she'd never realized that the castle mascot could swallow a volpa whole, that was plainly exactly what he was doing. She instantly tensed and tried to get her footing, spreading her feet wide to try to deny the raccoon his meal.
But it was too late. Her outstretched arms had preceded her muzzle into his gullet, and her shoulders were already vanishing into the big raccoon's uncannily gaped jaws. At first reluctant, he was now aggressively hungry, and his strong forepaws tugged her downward, completing the destruction of her equilibrium that she herself started by leaning forward. She stumbled and fell, and his strong 'hands' grabbed her hips and pulled. He swallowed heavily, once, then again, and then his nose was past her tail-root and his forepaws were pushing her rump into his maw.
Cerille screamed as she felt herself slipping in, but the gullet-walls held her long muzzle shut and muffled what little sound escaped. Her hands slipped into a looser space, and she shrieked again as what must be digestive juices burned her fingerpads. She squirmed and kicked, but she couldn't stop the raccoon. She felt him sit down again, then heave his head upward. Muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he lifted her feet from the floor, and as her legs flew upward he thrust his nose after them and took in half her thighs. Cerille's head and neck slid into the fleshy stomach chamber, and she whimpered and thrashed as the raccoon's stomach juices stung her eyes. His ribcage had expanded to let her pass, but it squeezed her chest like a huge fist. It was hard to breathe in even the few sips of air that had come with her into the castle mascot's belly.
Number Four ignored the muffled complaints and wriggling, for each of the few times he'd had such a meal had entailed just such whimpering by his meal-to-be. None of them had been volpa, but in his simple animal way he reasoned that this one had ordered him to eat her. Her knees slipped into his mouth and he stretched out his muzzle, swallowing. His gulps gripped each bit of her as it slid in, forcing her down his throat bit by bit so that at one end she slid into his stomach, while at the other her lower legs and feet were tugged inexorably toward his maw.
Only her ankles and feet were left now, along with her tail, and with a series of small tosses of his head he worked those into his mouth as well. At last he stretched out his nose and took her weakly kicking footpaws into his jaws.
Cerille whimpered as she felt the last of herself slip into the hungry raccoon. It did not occur to her to stiffen herself, to perhaps keep him from swallowing the last, for already her situation was awful. Her upper body, head and arms were crammed into the fleshy sack of his stomach, which was virtually empty of air and oozing with corrosive fluids. She squirmed hopelessly, but she was all but limp, and when his narrow muzzle clamped down, there was simply no room for her feet unless they followed the rest of her into his gullet. His tongue gave her pawpads a last tickle as it helped squeeze her feet into his throat, then the whole muscular tunnel gripped down. Ripples in the surrounding gulletskin caught at her legs, carrying her along as the swallowing muscles flexed, and with a despairing whimper she slid entirely into the big raccoon's stomach. The last few hairs of her tailtip protruded from the corner of his mouth, then they too were sucked in.
She pushed at the hot, slimy flesh of the stomach as she was forced into a fetal curl, but the it was too thick and muscular to make an impression. No sooner did she slip fully into the beast's belly then the walls began to squeeze her, kneading inward in powerful ripples that forced the clinging slime and thick, stinging fluid into her every curve. The raccoon's stomach acids burned her eyes, her pawpads, and every bodily opening not covered by her dress, and even that thin layer of clothing was soon saturated with the corrosive juices. Her fur was no more protection; more and more acid was being released, matting her fur to her body and working its way past that indigestible yet permeable layer to sting her tender skin.
She gasped and moaned as she clawed at the fleshy hell, but with no leverage and no air her sharp nail-claws just left grooves in the slime coating the walls. In moments the heat, lack of air, and shock overcame her, and she slipped into a slumber from which she would not wake.
Number Four worked his jaws back into place and sat back on his haunches to paw at his newly huge belly. Before he was merely plump, but now a great nearly spherical bulge deformed his midsection. " Ahrrrpp!" The belch rumbled up out of his guts as he stroked the bulge, then a second, smaller burp as the last air left his meal's lungs. The pressure on his internal organs and ribs was painful for a short time, but the modifications the Maker had made allowed for even a meal this large. Soon the only discomfort was an urgent need to relieve himself. His belly was strong and stretchy, but it could not prevent the downward pressure that a meal a third his mass created. Fortunately even these little rooms had what amounted to inside plumbing, and following his house training he used the convenient hole in the corner. Much more would follow when his digestive system finished with the foxwoman; while his modifications included the ability to digest bones, that didn't mean they would evaporate into nothingness, nor would her flesh or fur. That meant a hundred and twenty pounds of processed foxy mass that would need to leave his body, lessened by the fraction of her that would remain as fat on his flanks. Rarely did he have so large a meal.
Belching lazily, he stretched out on his side. Between his two liaisons today and now this huge meal, he was as sleepy and sated as a raccoon could be. Within minutes he was snoring, his cheek pillowed on one forepaw and his fat belly twitching as it worked on his meal.
He woke, hours later, to find another foxwoman screaming at him. This wasn't as pleasant as the last time a female woke him today, no indeed!
*****
"Thank you, Celest. That'll be all." The foxwoman returned to the group of Volpa to one side, which included a middle-aged male, an older male and female, and three volpa who wore the silver badge of tribunals - the leaders of the volpa community. They clustered tight around her, leaning in close to whisper reassurances. There were no more jokes; even the praka were grim now.
There was a long silence as Ruhollah Rushiadah sat rubbing his chin. Charles, so close in appearance, shifted from one foot to the other and looked everywhere but at his master.
"What, nothing to say, flesh of my flesh?" The Maker toyed with the ring. "No 'But what harm did it do' this time?" He dropped the ring into his pocket. "If all that had happened was our mascot seducing a couple of my followers, well and good. I would have had you lashed, perhaps, for foolishly misusing the Ring. Instead we have a dead volpa." He gestured at the raccoon, who was back to his usual plumpness from his temporary bloat. Digesting Cerille had added perhaps a dozen pounds of fat to his bulk.
"Once we realized Number Four had eaten Cerille, I was greatly puzzled. He's been my pet for thirty years, and in all that time he's never shown the slightest inclination...well, except when I tell him to. And then they told me about the ring he had on when they found him." The Maker fished it back out and held it between thumb and forefinger. "You have a raccoon, a very hungry raccoon, and you have a Ring that can make you want what the wearer wants. Cerille must have...well, we'll never know what she was thinking, or how far the process got before she came to her senses. Surely she didn't go all the way to his stomach willingly."
"So it was an accident, almost certainly. Accidental digestion. What a way to die, eh? By the time I was called, a mere look at Four's belly told me that there was no point making him heave up what was left. No priest in my employ could revive a skeleton floating in a mush of half-digested flesh. So he got a fine meal, and since he thought he'd been ordered to eat her, well, there was no point in punishing him."
The Maker rested his chin on his palm and smiled. "In fact, I'm told that after his amorous adventures, Four has become newly popular in certain circles. So it wasn't all bad." There was a brief murmur of conversation from the group of volpa, which ended when he raised his hand. "They may enter now."
One of the gul on the dais opened a door, and in filed one, two...five...eight more copies of the Maker. Each was dressed virtually identically, and each bore a runic R - the 'magic' rune - on his forehead. Without being told, they lined up on the opposite side of the room from the assembled praka, volpa and gul.
"Flesh of my flesh," the Maker began, addressing the new arrivals. "You did not need to see all that happened here today, but you need to see the rest. This one," he gestured to the bound simulacrum, "Charles here, disobeyed my standing orders regarding a dangerous magical device. Worse, when his actions precipitated rumors, fights, and even a death, he kept silent, forcing me to investigate personally."
"You are extensions of myself, but each of you has existed long enough to be almost a separate person. Each of you has free will, unless I elect to revoke that freedom. I am now revoking yours." He turned his gaze on Charles, who stood up ramrod-straight. Beads of sweat burst from the bound man's forehead, but he stayed frozen as the Maker stared.
"Step forward." Even as he spoke, Charles obeyed the command; there was clearly an unspoken compulsion at work, with the words just for show. "Take two steps to your left." Jerkily, like a clumsy marionette, the man complied. "Now down on your knees, and lean forward."
Number Four looked up with lazy interest as the saffron-robed man knelt close to him. A gul suddenly tore the thin robe away, leaving Charles in nothing but a loincloth. The man's eyes bulged and sweat ran down his face as she stared at the raccoon, whose muzzle was a foot from his face.
"Number Four." The big raccoon looked up alertly. His Master's voice. He knew which was the 'real' one, even though each looked and smelled the same.
"...That one is for your stomach. Eat him, Four. Eat him now."
Charles managed only a desperate twitch as the dark-furred forepaws pulled him close, but the invisible compulsion left him nearly paralyzed. There was the least groan of complaint as the raccoon's narrow muzzle opened, then even that was muffled as the big raccoon swallowed his head. An enormous bulge developed in Number Four's neckfur as his jaws unhinged and slid down the simulacrum's neck, and then the raccoon was working his distended maw over the man's shoulders. Unlike the meal of vixen, this one did not start reluctantly, or slowly.
The Maker waited until the raccoon's jaws were halfway over the simulacrum's chest, then looked away. The invisible compulsion disappeared at the same moment, for the partly swallowed man began to writhe and kick. Instantly the raccoon's forepaws, which had been gripping and moving as it swallowed its way down Charles' body, snapped out and gripped him by the elbows. Charles struggled with desperate strength, but he was a simulacrum of a mage, not of a warrior. His plump body and thin arms couldn't begin to match the bear-sized raccoon's strength.
The big raccoon reached the first serious obstacle as his jaws stretched around Charles' plump belly, but by forcing the man to sit up facing him he was able to push his head downward, not fighting the simulacrum's considerable mass but simply engulfing him where he sat. The only sound was the air rasping through Number Four's nostrils and the patter of his paws as he kept repositioning himself. It took him a full minute to overcome the obstacle of the belly, but he was very determined and very hungry. They had not fed him at lunch today, either.
When the big raccoon slid his forepaws beneath Charles' rump, to lever him upward for swallowing, the simulacrum was able to move his legs again. A thump like a drum was heard as he managed to kick the raccoon in the ribs, and then again, but the 'coon's forepaws were pulling him upward. Number Four pushed his jaws downward until his nose hit the floor, then backed up, letting Charles' legs drag as he stuffed the man's rump into his maw. The laborious process of swallowing finally accelerated as, with a massive gulp, the raccoon managed to get Charles' plump middle entirely into his gullet.
The big raccoon nosed forward now, cleverly pushing Charles' legs along until his feet connected with the dais. The half-swallowed man tried to jackknife his legs and escape his fate, but Number Four merely stepped forward until Charles' knees encountered the dais in turn. Then it was just a matter of pushing forward to engulf the man.
Some of the gul were watching with professional interest. They had seen this process before, but rarely as done by a nonhumanoid. Lord Vrassry was well known to be able to swallow prey almost as large as himself; a few months ago he'd swallowed two flinds, one already inside the other. The magics needed for the modification process were dangerous, and few praka or volpa asked for them. Few did not equate to none, however, and some of the volpa and praka watched with an interest that perhaps exceeded their desire for revenge.
The big raccoon's belly was swollen now, and a tremor shook his body as Charles struggled. A muffled scream penetrated the layers of flesh and muscle; Charles' head was in the raccoon's stomach already, and he had no fur to even momentarily protect him from the digestive acids. The big raccoon reached the man's knees and pulled back a step. Charles was by now used to the painful pressure against his knees as the raccoon jammed them against the dais, and his feet flipped limply downward. Lord Vrassry and several others nodded approvingly as the raccoon took advantage of this to catch Charles' feet, finally, against the dais.
There was no hope for the simulacrum now. The big raccoon simply walked forward, jaws open just enough to take in what was left of his meal. When his muzzle closed around the pale-skinned feet he stretched himself out and swallowed, slowly and with visible effort. Slowly the feet were drawn into his jaws, and slowly the huge and lengthy bulge made its way through his ribcage. With one last gulp his lower jaw clicked audibly back onto its joints and the last of the bulge disappeared from his gray neckfur.
Number Four lay nearly helpless and still swallowing. It took another minute before the last of his meal arrived in his stomach, and even then he clasped his forepaws around it to muffle Charles' struggles.
The Maker had been worried for a moment. In the early days, over-greedy gul and other modified predators had been known to simply burst from overeating, and the bug raccoon was one of the early ones. It seemed, though, that he need not have worried. The struggle in Number Four's distended gut was diminishing as pain and lack of air subdued his meal, and moment by moment the raccoon looked more comfortable and self-satisfied. Finally even the pain of digestion wasn't enough to keep Charles in the fight, and the 'coon's grossly swollen belly quieted. It seemed that even a man almost twice the mass of the previous volpa meal wasn't too much for the hungry coonie.
" BHURRP!" Number Four worked his jaws to make sure they were hinged, then stretched out and lay there grunting; he was unable to lift his fat gut even partly from the floor. The rustle of fur on stone from his occasional movements, along with some smaller belches and a fart or two, were the only sounds until the Maker spoke.
"This is the second time in a year I've been forced to discipline one of my closest followers." He nodded to the other simulacrums, whose expressions varied from shock to something like excitement.
"You, my simulacrums, have powers my other servants, strong as they are," he waved to Lord Vrassry behind him, "Do not possess. You are among my strongest defenders and closest confidants. But with that power comes a responsibility to not misuse it! A year ago one of you stewed in a wolverine's stomach; today another is food for a hungry raccoon."
He looked over his shoulder at the huge gul lord, and Lord Vrassry, without taking his eyes from the remaining simulacrums, slowly licked his chops.
"I trust I won't have to teach this lesson again."