The day after
Rurik's adventures in the few days following "A day at the baths". Best read that story first, if you haven't.
The day after
By Strega
"I'm not so sure about this," Rurik rumbled.
"Oh, you big chicken!" Breeze chirped. They were fresh out of the bathing pool, with warm water dripping out of their fur onto the absorbent straw mat. Like the last time they shared this little room, both were naked and aroused; Rurik's shaft hung heavy and hard from its sheath and the otter's stood out from his pelt as well.
The difference lay in their positions. Instead of sitting in Rurik's lap, impaled on thick black cock, the little otter was behind the the big wolverine. Rurik was on on all fours looking over his shoulder uncertainly, Breeze on his knees behind him with an erection and a grin.
"It's all oiled up, it'll slip right in. Look, you eat people. You eat all that, it all has to leave, right? I bet you've taken craps waaaaay bigger than my dick." The otter leaned back so his pink cock, modest compared to the gul's but still eight inches long, showed past Rurik's rump.
"But then it was going out."
Breeze sighed. "I know you want this. You almost let me mount you last time, and that was when you were ready to eat me so no one would know you like men."
"I like women too," Rurik said instantly.
"Yes, yes, but you like men more." Breeze held up his hand. "OK, you like them equally. The point is...well, Rurik, there are plenty of guys like me who will be happy to suck you off or sit in your lap. I had to fight off two others to get to be the one to meet you the other day."
"Wait a minute," Rurik said. "You mean you knew before you came in that I -"
"Sure," Breeze chirped. "It was obvious. You came in, horny as hell, and you were looking at the guys while trying to not look like you were looking at the guys. The three of us who like big men, me, a praka and a hestan, we knew whoever came in here was going to at least get a mouthful of gul. I won the rock-scissors-paper so I got to -"
"If you say 'break me in,' I will eat you," Rurik grumbled. "I need to work on my poker face."
Breeze slapped him on the rump. "The point is, that's fine for you and me, but a lot of guys are going to want a turn behind you. Yemail, that khardaki you've been eying, he's interested in you too."
"You've been with him?" Rurik repressed his jealously. He'd only just met the otter, of course he didn't own him. They were just friends. Well, friends and a bit more, but Breeze got around. Yemail (what a name!) was a towering Khardaki lion-man half a head taller than the he was. Not as heavy, but tawny-furred, muscular, gold-maned...Rurik licked his lips.
"No, no, I'm not his type. He doesn't like little guys. You, though...we don't get many gul here and I hear he's slavering to get in here with you. And after you bone him he's going to want to bone you, and you need to start small. You think I started out with males like you? If I'd gone with you the first time out I'd be like one of those things on a stick they sell in the market. I'd be an otter-kebab. It takes practice to get ready for big males, and you haven't had any."
The otter dug his little trimmed claws into the fur of Rurik's rump. "So are we going to do this or not?" There was a long pause as Rurik thought; the gul's tail stayed squarely where it was instead of moving to one side or flipping up. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Breeze tugged it aside. But not to mount: instead he began to lick a spot that until that instant Rurik would have sworn should never be touched by a tongue. It was...surprisingly pleasant.
How had he gotten himself into this situation? Three days ago he'd been ready to pack his meager possessions and leave the city.
*****
Rurik sighed. He hadn't made it to the armorer before work began on his armor, and what repairs they completed had cost almost all of the money he had left. Only a long argument had gotten him out with all his gear. They'd pounded the creases out of his segmented breastplate, but he was still missing one plate from the tassets and his helm still didn't close right. It'd been a mistake to get one with a visor: he should have stayed with the close-fitting helm most gul preferred. An old extravagance that'd come back to haunt him. At least his arm and leg pieces, a mixture of chain mail and various plates were in good shape, if a bit rusty. That at least he could buff off himself.
With only three silver pieces left to his name he sat morosely in his room. He was very hungry; he'd had to retch up the only substantial meal he had today, the same meal that'd cost him his savings. Well, he could get enough stew and bread downstairs to stuff himself for half a silver, and if that didn't agree with him the way meat did, it at least filled his belly. Afterward he'd walk down to the caravansary and check the job boards. With chits of recommendation from his previous employers he should easily get a caravan guard stint. He wasn't in a position to be choosy; he'd just have to take what was available, regardless of the pay.
He was halfway to the door when someone knocked. He gritted his teeth; chances were that word of what had happened at the bath house had made its way to the inn owners, and he was about to be thrown out. His greatsword was an arm's length away, leaning in the corner, but he left it there. He'd gotten in enough trouble today. He opened the door instead.
Peering up at him was a praka in a serving-boy's smock. "Excuse me, Sir," the little raccoon-man chittered, assuming (correctly) that he understood praka, and handed out a roll of parchment. "Message for you."
The little 'coon, hardly more than half his height, ducked his head respectfully and left. Rurik remembered too late to tip him, and instead stepped back inside as he unrolled the scroll. It was an invitation to dinner: he had indeed drawn the attention of the inn's management.
"Wear my armor, bring my weapons," he mused. "Odd." He let the roll snap shut and pulled at the fur on his chin as he thought. Was he to be the evening's entertainment? Did the Inne have gladiatorial competitions? Those had to be licensed, but the All Folke Inne was a good sized business. They might well afford such a thing.
Rurik shrugged. The alternative was to leave now, and he was very hungry. And maybe there'd be something to lighten his mood: something like a good, stimulating fight.
An hour later and in full armor he followed the instructions on the scroll. The half-ogre bouncer gave him a piercing look as he entered the common room greatsword in hand, but Rurik held up the scroll. The bouncer nodded and pointed to a door on the far side of the room.
Rurik made his way between the tables, most full of mercenaries and merchants. Some of the former he recognized from previous jobs, and he nodded to the ones he knew the best. A moment later he knocked on the door. A slot opened, revealing a pair of eyes. Once more he held up the scroll, and the slot slid shut, followed by the door opening.
"Welcome," said a human in robes, then stood aside. Rurik found himself in a room perhaps a third the size of the big common room, but big enough to accommodate two dozen people, the tables they sat at, and a fireplace at the back. Most were humans, with a halfling, a praka, two hestan cat-people, and a kobold, of all races, mixed in. On second look, it was the same kobold guard officer he'd seen earlier.
"Ah, Rurik," came a rasping voice, and he turned to find the werewolf from the bath. "We haven't been introduced. I'm lieutenant Snarl." An appropriate name given his voice, Rurik thought as he shook hands. Not that his was much better, but the Maker put some effort into making sure gul could speak Common.
The kobold noticed them and approached. He wore the enchanted leather-and-metal-strip armor of Guard officers, much like Snarl's but of higher quality and with gilded rivets. Rurik normally paid kobolds little heed, but Monstertown did not promote weaklings and the crescent moon-and-star insignia of a colonel meant this one must be formidable...and this was the same kobold who was riding the armored tiger earlier. Rurik was attentive when the little humanoid spoke.
"Rurik, correct? I am colonel Darktongue," the kobold squeaked. "My area of responsibility is Alltowne and the less human areas of Greyston, as Colonel Firewing rules the air and...but you don't need to trouble yourself with all that." Rurik noted that a small, but heavy looking mace hung at his side, and a buckler - for a kobold almost a full sized shield - was strapped to his back. The werewolf, Snarl, had a greatsword sheathed vertically behind his back. One of the other humans was in a combination of chain and plate armor and leaned on a short-handled halberd.
The little crowd around him increased by one as the praka joined the conversation. A middle-aged and portly sort, he had the look of wealth and influence. This was borne out when he spoke, for some magical device or alteration to his throat allowed him to speak Common.
"You should eat before the food gets cold," he said with a whiskery smile, and held up an olive impaled on a claw. He popped it into his mouth and continued. "I'm Twofeather, by the way."
Rurik blinked, belatedly recognizing the trade badge the little raccoon-man wore: locksmith. "I assume there is only one Twofeather in Monstertown," he rumbled. Twofeather's locks were known far and wide as among the best on the continent. If everything he'd heard was true, the little bandit was wealthy indeed.
"Twofeather is part owner of the All Folke Inne," the colonel squeaked. "But let's eat." A long table was set with more varieties of food than he had ever seen in one place. He started at one end of the table and made his way along, stabbing this or that with his dagger until his plate was piled high. Most of what he took was meat, of course, but a big hunk of brown bread to soak up gravy and a bowl of grapes, which crunch amusingly like eyeballs between the teeth, made their way onto his plate as well.
Shortly thereafter, having eaten his way through ten pounds of meat and assorted extras, he settled himself in a chair with a mug of stout. He could eat far more, but there was still the issue of why they wanted him in armor. He didn't want to be logy if a fight was in the offing. Rurik muffled a belch and noted that the werewolf did not bother. He'd already wolfed down - the gul smiled - several times as much meat as Rurik. Enough to make his armor tight, probably, which was another reason Rurik had little more than a snack.
"Very good," said Darktongue, who approached as Rurik picked his teeth. "You must be hungry still, but you hold off because you think you may need to fight."
"Why am I here?" Rurik rumbled. "I thought I'd be kicked out of the inn after what happened earlier."
"Later," the kobold said, and motioned to the man with the halberd. Rurik took up his greatsword and moved into the clear space between the tables.
"Lay on," said the colonel without preamble, and the blade of the halberd came at his head. Rurik caught it on the long handle of his greatsword and spun the point in a circular bind, but the man was skilful enough to disengage before his weapon was forced toward the ground. Rurik stepped forward as he retreated, watching his footwork. The moment the man planted his feet to swing he leaped forward, forcing the handle of the polearm back with the crossguard of his sword. A gul's greatsword is half handle, half blade, with a mace head for a pommel, and is designed with close combat in mind. With his greater size and strength he easily forced the man's halberd up against his body, then snapped the mace head around and dealt him a terrific buffet on the shoulder. His opponent fell flat and Rurik showed him the sharp end of the sword.
"I yield," he said, and Rurik stepped back.
"Good," said the kobold, and Snarl nodded. "Once more."
The man leaned the halberd against the wall and took up a broadsword and round shield a servant brought. Rurik let take a few swings to judge the balance of the sword, then stepped forward. The shield was of the center-grip sort, with a metal boss to protect the hand, then a strong wooden body and a metal rim.
Now it was Rurik who had the advantage of range, and he took immediate advantage. Though the gul sword is balanced so either end can be used, it can also be used as a proper greatsword. Slipping both hands to the pommel he swung hard, not at the man, but at the shield. At six feet in length and over ten pounds the impact was formidable, especially when backed up by broad shoulders and three hundred and fifty pounds of mass. With a thunderous clang the metal rim of the shield snapped, wood splintered, and only the central boss saved the man's hand. The shield slammed back against his body, and his conical helm popped off. He dropped the sundered shield, shaking his arm.
"You can go get the halberd, I will wait," said Rurik with a smile, but the man was having none of it. He took a two-handed grip on his broadsword and charged in. The resulting clash was brief and violent. Rurik parried twice, missing enough of a third swing that the slash put a crease in his thigh armor and stung his leg. On the fourth swing he stepped in close, wrapped one burly arm around the man and yawned.
Though his helm was needlessly ornate it functioned well enough: the upper and lower halves hinged open behind his ears to let him bite in battle. He had little trouble taking the surprised man's entire head into his jaws. Had he felt uncharitable things would have ended badly for his opponent; his armor was too confining to swallow such large prey, but he could have crushed the skull with a bite. Instead he just licked the man's face and then let him go. He tasted of sweat but, surprisingly, not of fear.
"Enough," said the kobold. "You're a 'gulper', I hear. You could swallow Tomas there," he pointed at Rurik's opponent, "Armor and all."
"Not while I am in armor," Rurik said with a shrug, "And it was just friendly sparring."
"Just as well," said Tomas, "For I am a werewolf too."
"I don't need that kind of indigestion," Rurik said as he took off his helm, and laughed. "I'd heard there are three werewolves in the guard. Snarl here, one called Whitemuzzle, and I guess you're the third."
"Tomas will do," the man said, and they shook hands. "In my wereform I'm bigger and stronger, but I think your swordsmanship is better. And that bite-in-battle thing is great, I need to learn that."
"I had good teachers and lots of practice."
With dinner and the evening's entertainment over, most of the people left. Soon there was just Rurik, the two Guard officers, Tomas, Twofeather, two humans, and a female black-furred hestan to whom he had not been introduced. Probably clan Kyndur from her color.
"Those of us you see here are most of the owners of the Inne," colonel Darktongue squeaked. "There are others with smaller shares, but the bulk of the management is here. Snarl and Tomas are here as a courtesy, and because they have input into whether we hire you or not."
Rurik tilted his head, but the kobold went on. "You're a good fighter, not great, but quite good. You're also reasonably discreet and well-mannered, which is more than I can say for some of your species. The All Folk Inne is a big, important business; it helps keep the peace by housing adventurers, mercenaries and travelers. They learn enough here that there's less friction when they go out into the less...human parts of town."
"There must be many potential guards, bouncers, and the like you could hire, ones who already live in town," Rurik mused. "Are you looking for an outsider, someone not affiliated with local factions?"
"That's part of it," Twofeather said. "Could you take off your armor, please? Or your body armor, at least."
It took several minutes, even with the help of Tomas, to get out of it, but soon enough he was standing in his gambeson and loincloth. He left his sword leaning against the wall next to the pile of armor and gave the kobold an inquiring look. Darktongue nodded, and Snarl brought a man in through a different door.
He was a thin, but muscular dark skinned man with oily hair. Something about him screamed 'rogue', and Rurik was reminded of the thief who crept into his room here a couple of years back. He had generously given that sneak-thief a tour of his digestive system...and from the looks of things he might be giving this man a similar tour, for he was hobbled, hands bound, and gagged.
"Let me guess what you are going to say," he rumbled. "'Occasionally it is to the benefit of the Guard and the city that a troublemaker at the Inne does not make it as far as a magistrate'."
"That's right," said the hestan. "Spies, assassins, persistent irritants. Sometimes it's politically expedient to make them just disappear." Clan Kyndur, he remembered, was best known for producing spies and assassins of its own.
"There are others who can do this," Darktongue said. "My mount Chraln, Colonel Firewing of course, and others in the Guard. Plenty of others outside the Guard would be happy to help us, too. But there are times when the fewer know about it, the better. So...."
"I was told earlier that if I ate anyone else in Monstertown, I'd go to the Meat Market," Rurik rumbled, looking from the sweating face of his prospective meal to Snarl.
"And I am telling you it will not happen if you eat only the ones we tell you to eat," Darktongue said. "We, the owners of the Inne, offer you a job. You will work as a bouncer, guard, escort, whatever is needed that day. In return you will receive room and board and what we think is a fair wage, given your skills. And occasionally you will get a fine meal out of the deal...about which you will say nothing."
Rurik smiled. "I could do with a fine meal, about now." He looked the dark-skinned man over. "So what did he do?"
Darktongue gestured, and Snarl pushed the prisoner forward. With a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall werewolf holding his arms he could only squirm ineffectually as he was forced to lean toward Rurik. His sweating face was inches away now.
The kobold said nothing, and Rurik shrugged. "I guess I don't need to know." He reached out, grabbed the man's shoulders, and yawned. His tongue slicked down the skin for easier swallowing; this one did taste of fear, and he felt momentarily sorry for him - not even able to fight to save himself. Even as he thought that, though, he pulled the man forward, letting his fangs glide over scalp and chin until the head was wedged against the back of his jaws. A stretch to disjoint the bones, a single loose-jawed gulp, and the man's face was in his throat.
Snarl let go and backed away with a bit more haste than was decorous, as though afraid he too would be sucked in. Rurik grinned and pushed more of his squirming meal into his maw, swallowing heavily to ease the shoulders into his gullet. This was a more difficult meal than the streamlined Breeze: something like a pot-belly could be kneaded in bit by bit, but a man's shoulders were solid, bony, and broad. A big man was too much to handle without turning him so his upper jaw went over one shoulder and his chin beneath the other, but this meal was small enough that even sideways, he was just able to fit.
There was nothing the man could do to resist. Already Rurik had hoisted him off the ground and stuffed his upper body in, and he hung head-down in a tight, slippery gullet. Gravity helped ease him deeper each time the gul's powerful swallowing muscles clamped down. The onlookers watched with reactions varying from muted horror (Twofeather), morbid interest (the hestan and werewolves), to bored disinterest (Darktongue, whose "tiger" mount could and had swallowed men whole, from what Rurik heard.)
When a pair of kicking legs was all that remained Rurik tried to catch the kobold's eye. Perhaps this was just a test to see if he could manage a human...but no. Darktongue wasn't even watching, and the gul turned his attention back to his meal. A heave of his muzzle and the man's hips and rump were gone; he snatched away the loincloth before it disappeared. It was larger than Breeze's and he worried that so much indigestible cloth might stop up the plumbing somewhere. Another heaving gulp and little more than calves and feet were left.
The man's head and shoulders were already in his belly and the stomach acids, churned to full potency as they digested his earlier snack, gave his struggles extra energy. Even so it was much, much too late for him to save himself. He was less than half Rurik's mass and a series of gulps pushed the rest of his torso down the gullet to join him. Already the gul's middle was swollen hard, lumpy and twitching with the inner struggle. When there was nothing but a pair of feet left, Rurik moved his muzzle in a small circle to gather them in, closed his jaws around the sandals, and swallowed one last time. He could have popped off the shoes, but they were of leather, no harder to digest than their owner.
The last bulges moved beneath his neckfur as the feet went down his gullet, and the bulge in his belly changed shape as the man was forced to move to allow the last bits into the stomach. The slippery belly-walls gave no purchase, and when the gul's swallowing muscles ceased their work the shape of a curled-up man stood out through the fur. A curled-up, struggling man; Rurik put a huge hand on the shape of a shoulder to quiet the motions. Too wiggly a meal could be queasying.
He'd not even had to move from his chair. A heavy belch came up, and he muffled it as he had the earlier one. Gradually the struggle in his gut weakened; perhaps a minute after the last gulp there was a twitch and then stillness. This time he didn't muffle the burp, a smaller one containing the air from his dinner's lungs.
"That's remarkable," Tomas said. "Not all gul can do that, right?" The hestan woman, overcome by curiosity, came over and ran a padded hand over the swelling. Twofeather picked up the loincloth distastefully and threw it on the fire.
"Only the ones the Maker so gifts, and it does not carry on to offspring. It's not a safe thing to ask for, either. Occasionally the spells the Maker uses to change a gul, or whatever, are fatal." Rurik relaxed, full-bellied for the first time in a while.
Darktongue's question was more practical. "How long will it take to digest him?"
"Perhaps two days. The flesh will go quickly, the bones will take longer. In a day or a day and a half enough will be digested and passed that the bulge will not be noticeable. I'll put on ten, fifteen pounds from this meal, but I'll burn that off quick enough if I am active."
It was the first time he'd seen the kobold smile. "Very good. Candice, if you please."
It seemed the elderly human he'd thought was a man was in fact a woman...or an oddly named man. Whichever it was handed him a key. "Room 14 in the stone building out back is yours, for as long as you work here. It's not large, but unless you have a family it should be enough. Of course you are free to live elsewhere, but in that event you will have to pay for your own room. I will have your gear delivered there. You'll eat in the dining room on the first floor there. Report to the desk there the day after tomorrow, when your...meal doesn't show so much."
It seemed the door his dinner appeared through led outside and close to the building in question. Rurik picked up just his sword, as the awkward bulge in his middle made wearing the armor impossible and carrying it tricky. To his surprise, the hestan woman lingered a moment as the meeting broke up. Darktongue was climbing into his tiger's saddle outside the door when she whispered in his ear.
"I'm Veera. We should meet sometime," she purred. "I will send a note."
Was he being recruited into a local faction already, or did she want something else? Rurik watched her hips sway and her tail flick as she walked away, and wondered.
*****
The almost agonizingly arousing touch of the otter's tongue withdrew from his anus, and Rurik decided. He'd seen Tomas' werewolf form now, and remembered the look they'd shared. Tomas was interested, and so was he...and Tomas was sure to be much larger than the otter.
"So, what now?" Breeze said, but he already had his answer. Rurik moved his tail aside. With a grin and a giggle the otter shuffled forward on his knees, sliding the tip of his penis between Rurik's cheeks. Breeze leaned over the big wolverine, reaching around to grip the bulky black shaft with both webbed hands, and slid himself in. As he had expected, there was a great deal of resistance...but Rurik relaxed remarkably fast, and after that it was easy. There were males so small and tight that he had trouble fitting, but not this one. He couldn't know that the remains of an entire human had been through that sphincter over the last few days, and relaxing thus came easily to the big wolverine.
"You're doing great," he chirped, and pumped Rurik's cock as he thrust. The wolverine just grunted, lost in thought.
Rurik was thinking about two things. First, the shaggy fur around Tomas' shoulders in werewolf form, and the great splayed digitigrade wolf paws. Second, the way the black-furred hestan's rump swayed as she walked. She was interested too, he was sure. Oh, maybe he was just a curiously, maybe it would come to nothing, but in order to satisfy that curiosity she'd have to visit with him. He thought about Yemail, and Oraz, and Tomas-wolf, and Veera, and which one he'd most want to have bent over in front of him-
Added to the cock in his ass, painful-pleasurable and rubbing him in places he'd never experienced before, It was too much. He snarled and came, explosively, messily across the tiles, his cock squeezed skilfully by the otter as the thick goo spurted. Breeze giggled and thrust harder, beginning to chirp.
Which one would he most want to have suck his dick? Which would he most want to bend over a table? Of course a female didn't have the muscles he so liked, and couldn't do some of the things men could do to him, but he thought about bouncing Veera in his lap and decided that wasn't so bad. Panting, recovering from orgasm, he finally worked it all out.
"You know," he rumbled. "I think I like men and women."
"That's nice, dear," Breeze said, and came.