Clockwork Mouse
The field mouse, Chester, was tied. Restrained. A thick rope (or something like it) had spread his arms and legs in all four directions. Suspending him, as if he were to be drawn and quartered. He turned his neck, gnawing on the restraints. Unsure as to how he got here. Mind a bit fuzzy. He was tired.
"You won't chew through them."
He looked, nervously, to the voice.
"They're a bit too strong for your ... teeth," she remarked. A female squirrel. Tall, lithe. Agile. Slim. Big bushy tail arced behind her, fur a chestnut brown. Lighter on the chest and belly. She was about a foot taller than Chester.
"My ... my ship?" the mouse asked.
"Destroyed in orbit. You're my ... prisoner," she said simply. A smile spread across her face.
Chester felt a pang. Granted, he hadn't been very close to the others, the other mice on the ship. Chester had a way of detaching himself. He wasn't entirely sociable. But the thought of them ... dead. And the ship being gone, it was ... sobering.
"How did I get here?" he asked.
"It hardly matters."
He remembered ... an escape pod? He had crashed, maybe, or beamed out at the last moment. Yes ...
"Do you know how much I've craved male mice?" the squirrel said.
Chester was taken off-guard. The tone was ... predatory. Overtly sexual. And the simple field mouse realized, vaguely, why he was tied like this. Something twisted was going on here. He realized he wasn't clothed. Neither was she.
"You're so cute, so ... soft and adorable, so small and weak," she said, pacing around him, moving behind him. He twisted his head, but by the time he did, she was in front of him again. "Yet resilient. Simple. Oh, I don't know," the squirrel said, shrugging her furry shoulders. She was about five feet tall. Chester was four feet tall. "There's just something about ... " She put her muzzle right up to his, breathing into him. "Male mice."
"Um ... "
"Why are you tied up? I think you know the reason."
He said nothing. Just ... waited. Tugging on his restraints. Struggling. Anxiety growing.
"I know that mice take a vow of celibacy ... until they've found they're life-long mate. They don't give themselves up casually. I had to make sure you would cooperate with me. Hence the, uh, the restraints," she said, smiling.
He frowned at her. "I won't indulge you," he said, almost spitting the word "indulge."
"I'll help you," she assured smoothly, and smiled again. Wickedly. "Oh, don't worry," she said, stopping in front of him. "I know what I'm doing."
He swallowed. Thrashing, but realizing it wasn't doing any good. He went limp, still spread. Still tied.
She ran one of the fingers of her paws down from his chin, down his neck, and down his tan, furry chest (the rest of him being a darker, plain brown).
Chester's eyes followed her paw. He couldn't help it.
"I'm aware that mice have ... weak spots," she said, raising up again, working both paws to his head, running them through his fur. Moving behind his ears. Scritching the bases of them. Lightly. Gently.
Chester felt himself go a bit lax. He fought it.
"Don't," she told him. "Don't struggle."
He tried to block her out. She continued scritching behind his ears, and he felt waves of warmth move through him.
"You like that?" she whispered, teasing.
He bit his lip. Said nothing.
"I've never bred with a mouse. It was a fortuitous development," she said, still scritching him, "That I managed to snare you."
"I'm sure," he whispered weakly.
She moved from his ears to his chest. Drawing invisible patterns in his fur, moving down. Down. Paws sliding to and resting on his cock.
"Beautiful," the squirrel whispered admiringly.
Chester tried to steady his breathing. He vowed to resist. Inside, he vowed to resist.
The squirrel nibbled delicately on his testicles. "I've always had a fondness ... for nuts," she said, laughing. Quite pleased with herself. She moved to his shaft, running her tongue from base to tip. In incredible fashion. As if she were licking chocolate off someone's paws.
Chester shuddered.
"Oh, I know. I know," she said, and stood again, paws moving behind him. Kneading his rump. "Give in."
He shook his head. Defiant.
"Oh, come on. You know you've dreamed of this. All male rodents ... want to stake their claim on a female squirrel. They want to plant their seed inside one. More than anything. We're the pinnacle," she told him. "Don't tell me," she said, bushy tail wrapping around his neck, tickling his nose, "You haven't thought about it." She moved her tail aside, licking his nose, his teeth. Kissing him. Long. Wet.
For a second, he contemplated biting her. But didn't.
"Play, darling," the squirrel told him. "I won't tell anyone."
Chester's body pulsed. Pounded. His cock was hard, filled. Blood was flowing. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He was antsy, edgy. He could smell ... her fur. He could see those agile curves, her muscles, her ... her rump, her legs. That tail. That glorious tail. He wanted to wrap himself in it. He did. He did want to plant his seed in her. The instinct ... was unreal.
"You're still holding back," she told him. And tilted her head. "I'll just give you the nudge," she said, "You need." She bent down, exposing her rump, her rear. She lifted her tail. Lazily. Swishing it in front of Chester's face. His eyes followed it, almost hypnotized. Not realizing a gland at the base of that tail was releasing her scent pheromones. She fanned them. They went right to the mouse's nose.
Immediately, he felt ... almost intoxicated. That scent, her scent. Her fur. He thrashed at his restraints. He needed ... needed to bury his nose in that fur. He needed to sniff her, needed ... to have his paws in that fur.
"That's better," she remarked.
He tried to hold his breath, but couldn't. More of the scent came in. Into his nose, into his blood. Which raged. Rational thought began breaking down. No. No, no, he told himself. Don't. Don't give in. But she was lying on the floor now, legs up. Apart. Exposing her sex, her pussy. Chester yanked on the restraints. Hard. They didn't give. He licked his lips reflexively, wanting ... no, not wanting. Needing. Needing to eat her, needing to dig into her. He could smell her fluids. His nose sniffed uncontrollably, whiskers, nose twitched. He tugged at the restraints in desperation, whimpering, pawing at the air. He had to ravage her. Wildly.
The squirrel got up. "Poor thing," she whispered, scritching behind his ears again. Chester's eyes fluttered. "Oh, you want let off?"
He nodded vehemently. Eagerly.
She undid the restraints. As she undid the last one, she was pounced. Pounced by the mouse. They rolled end over end, Chester ending up on top. He shoved her legs apart, going down. Licking and sucking madly. In sloppy, unorganized fashion.
"Oh ... oh, slow down," she told him. Paws clenching at the air.
But he couldn't. He couldn't stop. He kissed and licked the lips of her pussy, running his tongue and nose and muzzle up and down, nibbling, sucking on her clitoris. His whiskers tickling her, his tongue working toward her opening. But the agile squirrel worked her feet to his chest. Kicking him off. He lay, dazed, on his back. And was pounced himself.
"I like being on top," she told him, flushed. She had enjoyed his ... eagerness down there.
Chester, fueled, shoved her back, pinned her down. He may have been smaller, and may have been a mouse, but he was still male. He had a bit more muscle than her. He shook his head. Putting her back on the bottom. The squirrel, fascinated, relented.
The mouse wasted no time. He was driven. Mad. All that concerned him ... was getting inside her. Planting his seed. Hitting that orgasm with her. Vaguely, inside, he was aware of what was going on. That he shouldn't be doing this. But the instinct ... he couldn't ignore instinct. It felt too damn good.
He worked his hard cock up and down the lips of her pussy, jamming it forward.
"You're missing the mark," she told him.
He was too crazed to notice, so she slid her paws down, grasping his shaft, guiding his head to the opening. She nodded. "Now. Now."
The mouse rammed inside of her, not bothering to caress or be gentle. He wanted in. He wanted in.
"Oh, mouse," the squirrel breathed. He arched her back, wrapping her paws around his back. Holding on for dear life.
In, out, bump, grind. Bang. Bang. Bang. Chester slid his cock in and through her warm, wet pussy. It was the most glorious, natural pleasure he had ever known. Like he belonged in there. Like this was the natural state he was meant to exist in. He humped her, grinning, slobbering. His drool dripped down to her fur. His tongue was hanging out.
The squirrel's moans turned into squirrel-barks as the mouse's member plowed into her, settling into its groove. Building, building. The squirrel writhed beneath his warmth. In ecstasy.
Chester's eyes were watering, and he felt a tingling run through him. Almost there. Almost there. He could feel the cum tickling, trickling through his shaft. Almost there. All the while, the wonderful squirrel pussy sucking and pulling him in. Milking him. Milking. Wet, warm, muscular. Fur and scents and fluids mixing. Mouse and squirrel wild, and as one. Chester could hear the squishing, sloppy sound of him humping her. Could feel his own sweat drenching his fur.
The squirrel hit her orgasm first. Jerking uncontrollably. Yelping. And he could feel it. Chester could feel her ... hitting hers, and he snapped. His seed went from a trickle to a gush. Spurt. Spurt. Into her womb, and he shuddered, squeaking madly. Squeaking. Squeaking. Unable to open his eyes for the wave of pleasure that crushed him, leaving him gasping for breath. Senseless. Ramming into her continually, out of instinct. Feeling her juices on him, smelling her. He'd done it. He grinned wildly, growling from the back of his throat. And he wanted to do it again.
They lay there, entangled, for minutes. Until she nudged him out of her, twisting away, sprawling back. She had gotten what she wanted. She had bred with a male mouse. She would gladly do it again, but she needed Chester ... for other things.
"You must be thirsty," she told him.
He was panting. On all fours. He nodded silently.
She looked down to her furry breasts, and then to him. Motioned him forward. "Drink," she offered.
"What?" he asked.
She smiled.
"But how's that ... that possible? You haven't had any ... "
"Just drink."
He needed no second bidding. He was there, suckling her. Mouth and tongue sloppy on her breast, sucking the nipple. Warm, rich milk came out. So ... sweet. Chester closed his eyes and sucked and drank greedily.
"Ah, ah ... teeth," she warned him. "No bites."
For minutes, the mouse suckled her. Drank. But then ... began to feel dizzy. Weak. Drooling, his mouth slip off of her, and he leaned back. "What ... what's happening?"
"Don't worry. I had fun," she told him.
Things went black.
He woke up in cavern of some sort. There was a door not far off. The squirrel stood there, in the doorway.
Chester tried to get up, to move to her. But could not. Too weak.
"I'm afraid I have to give you to the snake."
Confused, he suddenly ran cold. Sniffing the air. Predator. His head whirled. A large snake was coming toward him. And Chester felt stiff, turning his head back to the squirrel. Suddenly feeling great guilt and remorse at having mated with her, at having been so ... taken. "But ... but why?"
"He likes certain meats. I give them to him."
Chester panicked, unable to move. As the snake came toward him. "But why? What do you get in return?"
"Sex. Of course." With that, the squirrel left.
Chester was sealed in the cavern. And he shuddered and shivered as the snake came around him, surrounding him, yet not touching him. Its forked tongue flitted the air.
"You taste of squirrel ... and mouse," it said.
"I was, uh ... " He blushed.
"She made you her toy," the snake said. "It's her way."
Chester felt used. Unsure. He still had the squirrel's scent on him. It was ... so feminine. So wonderful. He wanted to breed her senseless, until he got sick.
"I like you, mouse. You seem ... respectable enough. I'll make it painless."
Chester swallowed, felt a tongue flick out. The snake's tongue. It worked its way into the mouse's ear.
"Relax," the snake whispered. "Relax."
Chester went limp, breathing slowed. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh." The tongue tickled and caressed the insides of his ears. The snake toyed with his prey. Pleasured him. Moved his tongue down, shoving the mouse to all fours.
"Lift your tail," he told Chester.
Chester weakly, willingly, did as told, lifting his thin, naked tail out of the way. And had no warning before the snake's tongue shot out and penetrated his anus. Sliding in, in. Into his rear, his body. Seemingly winding and working its way to the mouse's very core. Chester squeaked, unable to hold back. He squeaked weakly, eyes watering. "Oh, oh," he breathed. And he felt a surge, an electrical surge. A glowing surge ... paralyzed every part of his body with unbearable pleasure. He squeaked uncontrollably. Cock dripping, jerking. Eyes sealed shut.
"Don't worry," the snake told Chester, opening his venomous, cavernous mouth wide, wide, wide. "You'll feel good going down."
Chester, unable to see, blinded, and still squeaking and breathing shakily, realized in the back of his mind ... that he was about to get eaten. Digested. In the snake. I'm going to die, he realized, and yet there was no panic. He was too paralyzed and pleasured for that. The snake had charmed any struggle right out of him. Well ... there were worse ways to go.
"Eat me," Chester whispered. Begging.
"With pleasure," said the snake.