FSE

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My greetings to you, dear readers. New Year's eve is nigh, and Cheetah is here to provide. During the summer, I've been working on a delicious story. If you are here, that means are familiar with my bestiality/zoophilia stories. They all feature characters with a deep fascination for quadruped beings. This particular story goes to the roots of that, explaining the character's choices in a more detailed manner.

Are my views on that subject the same? Of course not. In fiction, the writer is free to take all kind of liberties. Midran is...a bit of a special case. Though his past is veiled, the loss he suffered and personal views sway him in a particular direction. What would that be? I'm only giving away the story, not the spoilers :D.

There's a bit of violence involved, but nothing too gory. Oh, and plenty of male human/ female feral involved. Hit ctrl-F to bring up the search button and type "Midran froze" (put a "." at the end and delete the quote marks) to jump straight to the sexy bits if you feel frisky. However, I would appreciate if you start reading the story from the beginning. Explanations go hand in hand, and you will enjoy the erotic parts a lot more.

With that being said, I give you free reign to delve right into it. If you like it, please consider leaving a comment. Love it? Fave!

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"Council dismissed," King Francis boomed. His voice echoed through the council chamber, then dispersed into thick silence.

"Dismissed," the king repeated. "That means I want you out. All of you!"

The councilors shared wary glances and half whispered mumblings as they rose from their seats. The sharper hurried towards the door without looking back. They knew better than loiter, like pudgy Navrin did just now. The chair creaked in relief when rose on those oversized pig haunches of his.

"If I may--"

"You may not," the king cut in. "Linger, and we'll get back to that debate that almost sent you to the dungeons. Or inside the pig's pen. Not that it makes a difference to you."

He dipped his head and swayed out of the chamber.

Midran remained in his seat, pinned down by the king's stark emerald gaze. When the door swallowed Navrin with a crash, the king sighed.

"See what I have to go through day after day?"

Midran nodded. He bit his lip to prevent a yawn.

"You didn't see. Gods boy, is there more to you than feigning everything?"

"I did see. I did hear. I did understand--"

"That we have yet to reach a proper course of action for Viscount Fereril?" The king's jaws clenched and unclenched in quick succession as he looked around the room, then back to Midran. "That's what you understood?"

"No." Midran rose his hand when the king's lips parted. "I did not understand why that coward still keeps his head on his shoulders.

"You do not understand a great many things. Like the reason I kept you here." His low voice carried the weight of an avalanche.

Midran drew in a short breath to soothe his inner fire. It only flared it. "Father, my king, the man stood defenseless. Half his armies donned leather instead of armor, and relinquished sword in favor of bows. They went hunting for trophies while the rebels advanced from the south. Trophies!" He paused to regain his breath, then said, "While rebels sacked half of his city, his generals and him were deep inside women. That's how unprepared he stood! Was Seran's legion not there to divert them west--"

"They would not have raped and pillaged the defenseless villages that the scoundrel chased them off to."

"Because Fereril's armies preyed on defenseless animals! Because he pierced whores instead of rebels!"

"Like you, my heir?"

Midran's eyes narrowed. Venom coated the king's words. No--not venom. Desperation. Born out of the impotence of his subjects. His lips twitched under its burden.

"Goddess' tits boy. I know it. The court knows it, and these are High Lords you spite."

He couldn't have been farther from the truth. Yet Midran contained his smile, and played his game.

"By refusing their ugly harpie--daughters?" Midran dropped his clasped hands onto the table. Dust and groans left the old wood. "You discovered faults with their sires. Every single one of them. And wouldn't they stand equally offended if I were to choose one out of eleven?"

The king sprawled in his chair, his face solemn while he rotated an empty goblet between long, callused fingers.

"High Lord Darius arrives tomorrow by sea."

"Sharks rip that niggardly oaf to pieces," Midran spat. "He yearned for a mainland market ever since his sow of a wife crapped that--"

"Wife of yours."

Midran rolled his eyes. Six came before her, and six wet their pretty ruddy cheeks as they stormed out of the palace.

"So it's done?"

"Down to the dowry," the king drawled.

"Why her?" Midran demanded. "What sort of pampered vision sails to Capital City to kiss the hand of the crown prince?"

"You'll kiss hers first, and she's a lithe beauty whose father will hold the desert tribes at bay."

Midran bothered with no words. The king tilted the goblet, found it empty, shrugged, and slammed it onto the table. "We need his armies as much as your shriveled cock needs proper sheathing." He rose, but not before swatting the goblet aside. Its clatter was harsh, vengeful almost.

Midran grit his teeth to keep improper words from spilling. Father knew nothing, the ignorant fool.

"Your mother," he began.

"Dead wisdom again?" Midran rose too, his gaze matching the king's as he closed the distance between them. The rubies of their sword pommels clinked against one another. "What do bones, worms and dirt have to say this time?"

The king bowed his head, turned around, and strolled past the twin doors of the council chamber. Silence settled after his cowardly departure, and unlike him, it always brought an answer to his question.

"Mother," Midran whispered, the word heavy, almost foreign on his lips. A scrawny thing who crapped her whole belly instead of just him. By the time he had spoken her name for the first time, she was just a pile of bones trapped under a rock. No wiser than any of the four armored statues of ancient kings in the corners, or the rune embossed tapestries blanketing the marble walls of her crypt.

Midran pushed himself up and stretched. Stiff, aching bones popped, and a groan escaped him. Those damnable meetings. How many did he have to attend until his back gnarled and his ass turned raw? Even the moonlight turned brighter. Did the moon reach its peak already? It shone with a silvery hue through the glass windows. Midran found the moon's glare, cold and distant. Just like father's. The poor fool. He had it all wrong.

On his way out, Midran rubbed the soreness away from his back. Ahead of him, the hallway split into three corridors, each with a carpet of different color to differentiate the quarters. As if it actually made the servants more self aware ...

Midran took to the green one up to his room. A thin yelp shook him to his senses inside.

"Ah m'lord!" The spindly thing crawled out of the bed, gathered enough sheets around her for a makeshift dress, and curtsied. Not low enough, and clumsy. A virgin posing as a courtesan. "Apologies, but the wait, and the late hour--"

"Speak sense woman!"

She glanced instead. Midran's eyes followed hers to the table, and to the leftovers decorating it. "It's gotten late, and cravings got the better of me." She flustered as a smile crept on her excessively thin lips.

"Who sent you to eat my dinner?"

She chuckled at that, her fit of coughing covering the rumble of Midran's already protesting stomach. "It's eh--Miranthar your grace, and he eh--said you share everything. So I wanted to eh--share a part of you. During the wait. That took long. Longer than it should." She smiled again, her head tilted as if her frail neck succumbed to the weight of that melon.

"He said, but I didn't."

"Like it matters. Come." She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bed. "There's a chill to this night. Court says it carries traces of Mildwinter. I'll ward it off."

"I have my blankets for that," Midran said. Her giggle turned to a yelp as he ripped the sheets off her, exposing her shivering form to the biting cold she promised to defy. "Oh. Happens you need one too."

Her giggle was soft, more like a whimper, as she slithered under the spotted Sabertooth Prowler furs decorating his bed. Once sheltered, color returned again to her cheeks.

"Join me," she said.

Midran smiled wryly. He hoped she would ask this of him.

"Do you like them?" He pointed at the pile of cloth and hides with one hand while the other worked on the vest's buttons. "Covered yourself thoroughly. No bosom spilling. Nestled like a babe, are you?"

"Well it is cold..." she trailed off.

He went to the clothes rack to deposit his vestments. His heart thrummed in his chest as the cold kissed his bare skin. The beating amplified as his hand worked on the fastening of his leggings. A quick tug, and his cock sprung up from the legging's leathery prison. He turned towards the virgin, and she barely stifled her gasp in time. Midran bit his lip at that.

"Miranthar implied nothing of--I mean--I know you despise whores..."

"Do I now?" Midran said. She swallowed hard in reply.

She was dense as she was ugly. Shaggy hair, like a hound's, flowing past her thin shoulders. A stubby nose and equally bony cheeks. Small brow, small hands, small--everything was small about her! Her squinty eyes, her pointy breasts, even her hands. Her smile was the only remotely beautiful thing about her, and that was due to her straight, clean teeth.

"Make room."

She never stopped smiling as Midran waded through the sheets and up to his pillow. He welcomed its smoothness with a gasp and a sigh. So soft, so relaxing, so--

"My prince..."

Midran bit on his tongue to suppress a yelp as a furred weight crashed against his chest. Her head! And her lips, her eyes, suddenly turned huge as she stood inches from him. Her breath suffocated him.

Midran drew back. She followed, her lips stretched to their limits.

"We're both warm, aren't we? So slide to your half of the bed," he commanded.

She giggled. Her usual reply was no reply at all. Her hand sought to mold words into a physical form by slithering along his ribs. It stopped between his legs. "It's asleep," she said.

"Because I'm tired, hungry, sore, and disgusted by the lie you represent."

She recoiled for a moment, only to laugh the next. Her fingers wrapped around his member.

"Stop."

"That's what they all say when caught in the fetters of--" her drawl turned to a whimper when Midran caught her bold hand by the wrist and squeezed.

"Such fetters?" Midran hissed through clenched teeth. Fire churned inside his stomach, pulsed within his temples, strengthened his tense limbs. The harpy overstepped, just like every single wretch before her.

She clawed at her wrist now, whimpering for release. Midran caught her other wrist with the same hand. So thin they were. So fragile. Like twigs.

"You seek release. I'll give it to you."

He reached between her flailing thighs and thrust two fingers past her nether lips and into her tight tunnel. Whimpers turned to screams as he pierced her insides, and jerks became full swings. Midran retreated his fingers, but that didn't stop the harpy from writhing like a witch ablaze.

"Cease thrashing," he growled. "Or I'll break your arms like the twigs they are." The harpy froze at that. Only a thin whimper came out of her tight mouth.

"M--Miranthar will--"

"Sign your execution sentence once word goes out about your attempt on my life."

"I never--"

Midran smiled. "Words," he whispered into her ear. "Woven to suit my needs."

She broke into sobs at that. "An' wha--what is it you n--need?"

"To release you," Midran hissed.

He shoved into her parched hole hard. Two fingers at first. Then three. Then four. The harpy wailed as Midran pounded her. Her tight walls allowed for a shallow penetration only. To reach deeper, he had to push. And push he did.

The harpy wailed, and Midran bit his lip as he met the resistance of skin against his nails. He pushed, regardless, until he tore through her virginity.

Blood fled her lips in a thin rivulet once he retreated his hand. The harpy's scream ceased for a moment as she sought to rise, but Midran planted a hand over a scant breast and squeezed, so hard she heaved.

"Not that way. You are mine until dawn. As Miranthar probably mentioned."

He kicked her pitiful form out of the bed before she found her words. Midran needed none. Neither did she. A beaten hound knew better than bark at its master. And, surprisingly, so did a harpy. She fled to a corner without sparing him a glance and curled into a crying ball.

Midran took a bloodied sheet to wipe off the blood and the bits of skin that clung to his nails. He dropped on his back after, panting, unfulfilled and with an itch within his groin. He closed his eyes to rest and recover his breath, but peace did not come. The harpy's sniffles, coughs and hiccups kept it at bay.

"Ungrateful wretch," Midran whispered. "I did you more a kindness than you deserve."

He released her from the burden of a swollen belly. He prevented her from spilling her guts, unlike that pile of bones beneath a rock.

He rolled out of the bed to the harpy's gasp, and found her wide, bloodshot eyes.

"God--sess sspppit on yyou," she barely managed through her fit of coughing.

"She did that a long time ago."

He grabbed a fresh leather tunic and leggings from a rack, cursed the harpy in return, and fled to the kitchen.

"My appetite swells," he said from the door. Only one apprentice remained, snoring inside a pan.

"Varil."

"Wha--agh ahh." The youth jerked to his feet and straight into the rattling iron pots and vases hanging from a rope above him. "Your grace," he mumbled. "What? What what?"

"I'll have the midnight course," he said. The boy reacted only to the clamor of steel as he steadied the cooking utensils.

"The midnight course," Midran repeated.

"Gah," was the boy's reply as he walked straight into a pot. "Rust take you--you--"

Midran tapped his foot while the youth fought to silence his pots and put them back into place. Dense urchin. He belonged on the streets. No--on the Curled Alley--with a cock in his tight ass and a hand over those round, smooth lips.

"What?" Varil said. Midran shuddered out of his reverie. "What what."

"Midnight course boy."

He began scratching the back of his head. "Eh, the cook left--"

"Gone rogue you mean?"

"Heh, nah, just late and ya know--"

"I don't," Midran said. "But if it's a rogue I look for , then I would not have come here."

His glare didn't even erase the urchin's smile. "Your grace, perhaps--"

"That pot stole your wits? Arrange my meeting with Morin already!"

"Ah yea. Heh, sure. Follow." Even though the youth beckoned enthusiastically, his drooping gaze showed no sign of awareness.

He led Midran down a wooden set of stairs and well into the basement. Sacks of flour, cereal and vegetables surrounded them on every side, with dusty barrels in the back. Midran drew shallow breaths as he shuffled. So musty and humid the air was that his stomach lurched. When the youth stopped to remove a chest from a trapdoor, Midran bit his lip to prevent a sigh of relief.

"I'll go first. To summon him."

Midran nodded, but the youth already dropped into the tunnel below, whistling a mellow tune. Lice ridden, ragged, cursed--what in damnation? If a guard happened upon...

His hands balled into fists as he stepped away from the trapdoor. A quick scan of the room revealed multiple hiding options. Not that it was needed. As the crown prince, his authority came before explanations. Yet the sour taste this day had left on his tongue somehow begged to differ. Morin would confess if caught. The urchin too. And Father already sniffed weakness in him, instead of the promise.

Midran grimaced. He began to pace around, forcing his mind towards more favorable company. Lira, Sari, Moji. He pictured each of them in turn, but his member didn't even stir. If a guard discovered the rogue, he discovered them too.

A knock on the closed trapdoor jerked him to his senses.

"Open. He at the mouth of the tunnel," the urchin's muffled voice came.

Midran pulled him up and nodded. His dirt caked cheeks flushed before he ran out of the larder. Midran followed him for a moment. His muscles grew so tense with apprehension it hurt. But once he disappeared from view, no other booted footfalls came.

"You've done this a hundred times," he said under his breath. "This time is no different."

Words didn't help. He was still there, crouched above the gaping darkness, his knees sore from the prolonged crouch. When he could take it no longer, Midran descended into the tunnel.

Roots assaulted him from every side, poking at his vestments as he crawled on his fours. He had braved the tunnel a hundred times by now, yet his heart still pounded within his chest. By the time he glimpsed the faint moonlight at the other end, the crisp air of the night already stiffened his fingers. Each attempt to put weight onto them hurt, so Midran slithered the rest of the way until he rolled onto the grass.

"Dat what the castle belches these days? Pampered beggars?"

A burly man appeared above Midran, his arm extended. He accepted it, and the man pulled him up into a painful hug. He chuckled at Midran's whimper.

"Goddess tits boy, you are as scrawny as a harpy."

Midran tried to push him away. He couldn't. "No strength either. Whatever royal food--"

"Enough, Morin." Midran yelped as Morin's sausage sized fingers wrapped around his arm. "Why does it concern you?"

"Concerns me alright. Beggar urchins have more meat on their bones. And these arms? Thinner than sticks."

Morin emphasized his point with an iron hard grip. Midran winced, but did not fight back.

"Follow. Need to see ye better."

As if Midran had a choice. His feet tangled and he lurched forward to keep up with Morin's tug. "Wha--what's--"

"Silence boy," Morin growled. "Words will be shared soon."

"NO!" Midran bellowed. He jerked free from Morin's grasp and dived sideways. "I am the prince! Words are shared when I say they are shared."

"That so?"

Midran blinked. The next moment, Morin breathed upon his neck while Midran chocked and heaved. That didn't loosen Morin's coil around his neck any less.

"The way I see it, speed is prince. You just a defenseless urchin."

Midran raked at Morin's arm for release, but his nails found nothing but hard leather. He elbowed at nothingness, kicked his heels at shins that weren't there, writhed, growled, whimpered. Then he froze, too focused on drawing a hard, painful breath.

Release came when stars speckled Midran's vision. He crashed to his knees in a fit of coughs.

"Aye. Cough. Cough you will until you deal with my grapple. Better than lying dead under a brigand who happened to be there at the right time and place."

"I can han--hang you for this," Midran spat.

"You won't, even if you could."

Smug bastard.

Midran rose on trembling legs, fixating the rogue with a glare servants always cowered under. Morin simply chuckled.

"Blades are sharper than looks, and can actually kill. Consider one boy." Morin fumbled for something hidden at the waist, under his surcoat.

"Nothing," Midran rasped. His throat was sore, and multicolored dots still lingered.

"Good. Because there is nothing to learn." The rogue's hand came out with a dagger. "Cheap tricks are countered with cheap tricks. Next time, stab my leg."

Midran accepted the proffered dagger. He rotated it once, twice, absorbed by the moonlight trapped upon its surface. Only after inspecting the leather bound pommel did he notice that its length barely surpassed his index finger. And the blade was equally thin.

"I'll give you its sheath if you succeed," Morin added.

"Whatever." He threw the dagger at Morin's feet, then walked past his crouched form. Let him bow and scrape for that pitiful thing. Next time, Midran would bring a castle forged one, meant to gut hides more resilient than Morin's girth.

"That's what you'll say to death?"

Midran continued to walk. A horse's whinny sounded in the distance. Lira? The thought swelled Midran's groin. His temples began to pulse, and his hands oozed sweat with anticipation. Then a second whinny came, low and deep. Too deep to be Lira's.

"That's what you'll say to death boy?"

Morin's voice boomed inside Midran's ears. He jerked his head to the source, only to meet the rogue's frown on his left.

"I am death, rogue. I can take whoever I want."

"The guards do, not you. Never you."

"Care to try me?"

Frown turned to a broad smile. "Sure."

A hand over his mouth suppressed Midran's scream before it even came. The other hand bound his wrists, while a curled leg wrapped Midran's knees together. Once again, he found himself trapped, his back flat against the rogue's chest.

"Mhm," Morin grunted. "Sallow skin, bony cheeks, no meat on the jaw. My beasts are better fed."

Once released, Midran staggered to a stop. His inner fire flared for a moment, only to be snuffed out by a more prominent desire the next. Morin's beasts. Lira, Moji, Sari. He knew they waited for him just as he had waited for the darkness to fall.

"Tell me of them," Midran urged.

"Always skipping my lessons for the reward."

Midran grit his teeth as Morin ruffled his curls. "What if there's no reward tonight?"

"Then you wouldn't have showed up."

"Heh, sharper by the day. Although words make for a poor comparison to the real thing, eh?"

"The road's long," Midran said.

"I brought horses."

Midran shivered. "Lira?" Her name alone stirred his member.

"Nah, Carrot. Lira's in heat." Morin winked at Midran. His hearty smile flared the fire within Midran's cheeks.

"The whole place is ablaze with whinnies and cries and roars and howls. Every stallion is hard and long with her scent."

As was him. Midran never felt more grateful for Morin's river of words.

"Sari's still a sour one to everybody, and there's little I can do about that. Only a mate will make a difference. Or you."

They shared a glance, and both burst into laughter. "Whatever you did touched her deeply."

Midran coughed, the pat on his back too hard and too sudden. At least Morin took it for a reply, for he said, "Aye lad. Two wolves I brought, and both left with a bloodied muzzle."

"What about Moji?"

"Affectionate to anyone. Bribes with licks and purrs for a thorough belly rub."

"She's still--"

"Alone, yes," Morin interrupted. "But not too happy about it."

Midran sighed. His throat went dry and tight at the mere thought of another cat cuddled besides her. He loved Moji, with her sleek fur, soft paw pads, and twitching tail that rose to his nose, sometimes making him sneeze.

"As the guild is not happy about--"

"Whatever, it will be done, I want to hear none of it."

"As you wish," Morin said.

The two horses snorted at their approach. They were tied to a tree just a walk away from Springblossom Gardens. Pairs of faint speckles of light moved in the distance, and always in the same patterns. Patrols--our automatons, as the rogues called them. Midran had only watched them briefly, and already knew how to evade them. A rogue like Morin had every chance to infiltrate the palace at a moment's notice.

"Come on boy. The more time you spend out here, the less you stay inside."

Hard to argue with that. Midran walked towards his mount, gave the horse's jaw a soft pat, and swung up.

"Keep up," Morin said, then "Hya!"

Midran too spurred his mount into a gallop. Even though he rode side by side with the rogue, they shared no words. No lights shone inside the houses and buildings they passed, yet Morin insisted they had eyes and ears.

Once out of the Springblossom Gardens, they took to the Beggar's path, a narrow, dusty road that wound through tall merchant houses. Few still radiated with the wan light of everburning lamps. Most merged with the darkness, their owners too greedy or too stupid to keep up appearances. These were the sort rogues always dove for.

Midran groaned with relief when the cobblestones of the King's Road whined beneath the iron shod hooves. It led straight to Morin's Half-Empty barrel, an inn oozing candle light, shouts, and cheers. After they dismounted there and stabled their horses, a short walk followed towards an abandoned brothel turned bestiary.

"That's a mighty fine noble's walk," Morin grunted under his breath.

Midran said nothing. His thighs throbbed, his butt went numb a while ago, and his arms still rattled with Carrot's fluid movements.

"Grab better saddles. Mine was frayed beyond belief. What if I fell?"

Morin laughed. "Then I would have waited until you got up. Bad crafters blame the tools. Or," he said with a smirk."You can smuggle some royal ones. My ass would be grateful for it."

Midran shook his head. "I don't steal. Not even from myself."

"Says the prince riding with a rogue." Morin chuckled at that, but Midran pursed his lips. His association with the rogues relied on coin and tips about which troublesome noble to hit. For that, he got the brothel to himself. Morin had accepted the terms, yet his eyes always sought more opportunities.

A thick, sour smell greeted them inside. The soiled silken curtains fluttered in the rush of air. Morin slammed the door shut, and they fell limp, providing poor cover for the agitated whinnies and whimpers.

"Why keep these tattered rags?" Midran asked.

"Ah. A brothel must remain a brothel." Morin's thick, meaty lips stretched into a smile as he rubbed his palms together. "And I suppose my noble client knows the," he paused to wink, "way around."

Midran coughed. The air was heavy, and his throat parched from the road. He nodded and directed Morin to the door.

"Goddess' tight cunt boy. No more questions about my select establishment?" He didn't wait for an answer as he left in a storm of laughter. When the door weathered it, Midran took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. Boiling sweat drenched his clothes, and his tight member pulsed each time Lira whinnied her mellow whinny or snorted.

And he was alone with her. No yapping court, no ladies to bow and scrape and follow him around like the colored pumpkins they were. Each breath of stuffed air he took relaxed him, strengthened him, abolished the pampered noble.

Moisture returned to his throat and lips. A final cough, and Midran shuffled towards the rag to the right and pushed it aside. His member tensed right away. Dark eyes, full of longing, bore into his.

Midran froze. "Lira," he croaked.

The mare shook her head and snorted from her makeshift pen. Her tail rocked from side to side as they stared at each other. Midran groaned, the tightness in his breeches too painful for comfort.

Lira whimpered again.

Midran closed the distance between them and hugged her lowered head as tight and passionately as he never hugged a woman. Her soft, whimpering breaths weakened his arms, his buckled knees, everything but his tight member. She was so soft, so hot to the touch.

"A harpy tried to replace you," he said. His hand ran down along her jaw. "But I made her screech."

The mare whickered. Her flared nostrils brushed against his seething cheek.

"And she wailed. Awfully so." He pet her brow, scratched her jaw for one last time, then kissed her between the nostrils. "She's not like you. No woman is."

Lira snorted, as if in approval, and Midran couldn't help but hug her again. His heart thundered like a war drum in his chest the more he held the hug. With each beat, a new throb of pain wracked his caged member.

Midran stepped into her pen, undid the straps of his leggings, and stepped out of them. Lira's nose went right to it. Midran tensed at her touch. So soft, her breath so warm. Yet it was not her nose he wanted.

"Easy, easy," he said as he shuffled along her side. His touch on her tense ribs soothed the mare to an eerie stillness.

"Good lady, you. A true princess." Midran caressed her rump as he peered under her still tail. The inner hair strands clamped together, glistening with a pearlescent sheen that had spread across her leg. Its source--her midnight lips--parted for a brief moment, revealing damp, pink insides.

Midran's jaw tightened at the sight, so hard it hurt. His member throbbed with renewed vigor, and each lustful jerk hurt more than the previous one. He needed to be free.

The belt's clasp clicked and shook. Fingers worked around the metal, untying everything. The legs fell on the hard stone. Midran clambered onto the blunt edge of her water trough, grabbed her tail with one hand, put the other against her rump for support, and covered the remaining distance between them. Their hips pressed together with a squelch. He sank into her pumping flesh and slid forward, parting her tight insides.

"Ghh,khaah," Midran groaned. He was inside Lira. All of his length, assaulted by her twitching muscles from every side. Midran pulled out, allowing himself a deep breath. Goddess! One thrust, and fire already seeped into his groin, demanding release.

His member flicked absent sheath, and Midran grit his teeth as he sought her shelter again.

Lira moaned. Her tight muscles wrapped around his intrusive member, only to relax when he pulled out, draped in her liquescence.

After the third thrust, Midran gave in to the frenzied bliss of mating. With Lira, words didn't matter. Kisses were irrelevant. Caresses never prickled his skin, like Lira's embrace did, nor did bosoms or cunt tightened his member such.

Lira whinnied; a soft, mellow whimper that quickened Midran's blood. Unspent seed welled inside his throbbing member.

"Lira," he said through a huff as he began thrusting with abandon. "Liraaaghhh." His grip tightened on her rump as he pierced her folds and sunk inside her depths. Each movement, each shudder of her inner muscles, tested his endurance.

His whole frame stiffened to hold the raging blaze within his groin. Lira's own fluids flooded his thighs and ran down her rumps.

Midran threw his head back. One thrust, one more... his member swelled and pulsed as he buried deep inside her. The pressure, he couldn't--

"Ghaaah argh," Midran cried over Lira's moan. He burst inside her with the might of a furious river. Spasms wracked his member as his passion for Lira pumped out of him and into her embrace. Her own muscles tightened, clenched, then released him to milk as much of his fire as possible.

Midran's head swirled, and suddenly became heavy. He collapsed upon her back, his strength all but spent.

"Lira."

The mare snorted at the sound of her name. Midran smiled at the sound, then kissed her smooth fur. A hand slithered down to caress her lips...and found them trembling with desire.

Of course. She was in heat.

But he wasn't a horse. Only a pitiful boy with little stamina and tiny cock. Yet his arm...

Midran regarded it, his gaze bleary. Long and thin, just like a horse's cock.

He stepped back, pulled her swatting tail aside, and sank his arm inside her. Lira whinnied with a feral, lustful cry. Her tail rose, and her muscles contracted so hard and fast that Miran's own member twitched in response. After her folds swallowed his elbow, Midran pulled. Juices coated his arm with a thin, slippery, dripping blanket.

Midran's member tensed again at the sight. He plunged back in just as his painful stiffness returned. Then plunged again, again and again until a high pitched cry filled the bestiary. Her tight insides trapped his arm as her climax cascaded past her shivering lips. Midran spoke every word of praise that roamed through his clouded mind as Lira's whimpers subsided. When only their ragged breaths remained, her muscles relaxed enough for Midran to pull out.

A low, guttural whinny reverberated through the air thick with her climax. Midran swayed to one side before he dropped on the hay pile next to the water trough. His legs still shivered with the toll of mating. His cock still pulsed, and his head never felt heavier. In spite of that, Midran bit his lip and pushed himself up. As much as Lira's company delighted him, the other ladies of his harem awaited.

Lira nuzzled and offered to clean his arm on the way out, but Midran drew back. Her release, his burden. They parted with a hug and a kiss planted between her nostrils.

"I love you Lira," Midran said. "More than any whore or brat that stood upon your back."

The mare snorted from her pen. She stomped the floor, again and again, begging for companionship. Midran's heart clenched at her pleas to stay, yet he grit his teeth and turned around to grab his leggings.

"I'll return," he whispered to himself. "One day. I'll return, and I'll never leave."

Once Lira's temper subsided, Midran took a deep breath of relief. He stood by the entrance again. Before him, the Lord's room stretched into a mess of sacks, bales of hay and a pile of broken furniture in the corner. Only the lavender colored oil lamps remained in place, casting a garish light upon the brothel.

Midran waded through the supplies, pulled a swath of cloth to reveal a corridor, walked through it, then turned right. A cloth curtain stood between him and Sari's ecstatic whimpers. When he burst through the cloth, the cacophony picked up.

He crouched next to her pen, barely suppressing a laugh as he stuck one hand inside. The Black Peaks wolf assaulted him with quick, terse tongue licks. Her posture swayed with excitement, and her playful tail never stopped moving.

She looked impeccable. Her sleek fur glistened in the faint torchlight with a fiery hue, while the faded grey of her belly contrasted with her white socks. She never stopped enough for Midran to make out the white under her tail. Unlike other wolves, Sari excelled at grooming. And it showed. Until Midran's arm gleamed with her saliva, she kept licking and licking.

Midran retreated his hand when she paused to examine her work and bowed.

"Dark one," he said. "How fare you this cloudless night?"

The wolf stared at him, amber eyes bearing into his. Bored, Midran assumed from her now stiff posture. Overfed, her swollen belly indicated, along with a half eaten calf in a corner, but still craving company. Midran reached for her muzzle. She licked him two times, then resumed her staring.

"Words, is that what you want?"

Her tail began swishing.

"I have plenty of those, my lady."

The swish turned to a rustle.

"Unless the silence suits you."

She whimpered at that, and Midran smiled. "Won't have that while I'm here then. We'll tell stories. Lots and lots of stories, yes?"

The wolf yelped in acknowledgment and grabbed the fence with her front paws to get enough height for a lick alongside Midran's face. He recoiled, his breath still and poise stiller.

That goo. Smeared all over--Midran wiped it away as bile rose in his throat. He coughed a few times in unison with Sari's barks, but his stomach still churned in revulsion.

"Back," he growled at the wolf. "Back! AWAY!"

Barks turned to a feeble whimper as Sari slunk away, her shoulders low and head even lower. Her muzzle almost scraped the floorboards.

"Never do that again. Never," he rasped. The clatter of her retreating footsteps was his only reply. "Now. I'll start. My story first, and then yours. You are a lady, but I am your lord and liege. That settled?"

Sari settled against the wall, curled into a ball, sighed, and fixated her gaze on him.

"What is it now?" Midran demanded. "Not like your clan treated you better. Then you wouldn't be here, and I--"

What was he? A prince? To a kingdom that respected his rank, and to an incompetent father that never ceased pestering him with the lessons of the dead?

Sari's yowl brought him to the matter at hand. He was a lord, and a lord's duty often involved pleasing their subjects.

"My clan isn't any better," he said as he gripped the thick wooden boards of the pen. "Save for the food. They waste so much on us strutting nobles. Pack members starve in some parts of our territory. They do that to keep the leaders content. But they are many, Sari, many. A bunch of fat--"

Midran yelped. As soon as he dropped inside the pen, Sari bulk was upon him, her huge paws pressing hard on his shoulders. He lurched under her weight, and her tongue poked at his eyes, blinding him. He staggered one last time before succumbing to her superior strength.

They both fell onto a pile of hay in a heap of cloth, leather and fur.

"Stop, just stop," Midran squeaked. Sari didn't listen. She never did. Not even when her weight upon Midran's chest drew the breath out of him. He tried to push her away, yet the wolf refused to relent. She crawled back on top of him to sniff every inch of his tunic.

Midran's temples were about to burst when Sari got onto her feet with a whimper. He gasped a hoarse gasp, groaned, and prepared to roll when Sari's gaze bore into his.

"enog, enough, Sari--"

Sari's muzzle snaked past his raised arms. Midran winced and closed his eyes just her nose touched his left ear. So cold, so damp. He swung his arm to swat the pestering thing aside--

And stopped when warmth flowed into his ear. Every muscle in his body tightened with the effort to suppress laughter. He caught her muzzle with a frail hand in an attempt to push it away. He couldn't. Sari's strength and determination overpowered his. She didn't stop until Midran squeaked and squirmed against the ticklish sensation.

Midran cracked an eye open. Nothing above him. He opened the other eye. Still nothing. Not on his right at least. His gaze wandered left.

There she was. Flat on her belly, head upon paws, and a tail as stiff as he was.

"Stay there," he said through panting breaths. Goddess, she had so much energy! His first wrestle with the wolf, and sweat already seeped into his clothes. Might as well escape their sweltering grasp.

Sari whimpered just as Midran shed his tunic. Not another brawl...

He rolled on his other side, away from her, and attempted to rise when Sari's pleading yowl froze him. He knew that sound and its meaning. Crawl back and attend to my needs.

"That what you wish, my lady?"

Sari presented her back to him, tail raised to expose her swollen, glistening sex to him. Midran's member stiffened, and he groaned. Ache dwelled within his tense muscles from the previous mating, and his spent cock hurt with every shudder.

He settled next to her haunches, and reached towards Sari's lips with three fingers. Two steadied her flower while his thumb slid inside with a wet squelch. Sari whimpered as she licked her muzzle.

"Women," he said when he pulled out. "Pathetic creatures. They flaunt ostentatious cloth instead of a luxurious coat such as yours. They rely on coverings to hide their ugly shapes, as much as they rely on metal to capture a mate's attention."

He fondled with her smooth lips, drawing another whimper from Sari. She shuddered at his persistent touch. Translucent liquid trickled out of her crevice, the first sign of arousal. Midran bit his lip at another jerk of his member as he spread it across her lips.

"They think it's their brittle hair, or puckered lips, or cow eyes at first. No. Never that, Sari. I've seen better looking brooms, with finer edges."

She shivered again. Midran still caressed her outer parts to prolong her bliss, and his agony.

"It's the glitter of metal, the color of cloth. Take that away, and they look the same as a slave."

Sari began to fidget. Her tail rose, her hind paws twitched, and her head turned to inspect his doings.

Fine then, Midran thought as he inserted his thumb inside her pink depths. Her sex flexed as her insides rocked against his intrusion.

"The court?" Midran asked as he repeated the motion. "They glorify these wretches, these harpies, as if their bulged chests and tight cunts are the only proper sheathing."

Sari's tail jerked as she let out a stifled yowl. Midran retreated his thumb to prepare for the final stroke. It began with his fluids coated fingertip, a whimper, and the clatter of jittery claws clicking against rock.

"The court is wrong, just as the harpies are wrong. I live among the wrong pack Sari."

He delved deep. As deep as he could before Sari's walls tightened hard against his finger.

"No mates in my pack."

He rotated his thumb. Sari's whole frame trembled with the elation it brought her. Spasms wracked her clit repeatedly in anticipation of climax.

"Only enemies."

Sari unleashed a yowl. Her insides clenched against Midran's thumb, then released in quick, terse throbs. Fluids rushed along his thumb to trickle onto the dusty floor. Released from pleasure's clutch, Sari snaked her head to lap at the excess fluid.

A smile etched on Midran's face as he slid out of her quivering lips. She would lick herself clean, he knew, and forget about his presence. Her hindpaw held aloft confirmed it.

He pushed himself up on trembling legs and shuffled to the edge of her pen. He stared at her while he waited for his painful groin bulge to subside.

A true Lady. From the tip of her tail and up to her ebony nose, her royal coat presented no splotch, no clumps of hair. Even her undulating movements held the grace every harpy lacked. And Goddess, was she meticulous. Her tongue slid back and forth until no climax clung to her fur and lips.

"The next Beast faire will bring you a mate," he said. Sari didn't raise her gaze from her clit, nor did she perk her ears in response.

Once outside her pen, Midran took to the corridors once again. His heart thumped with each step he took towards the upper floor, towards Moji. Already she began pleading for a mate with deep growls and sharp yowls. Midran's cock jolted in its prison at the sound. That was how Starpouncers summoned their mates, Morin had said, and Midran gulped a silent agreement. He climbed the spiraling stair slowly to accommodate the bulge of his groin. One painful step at a time.

Once upstairs, Midran wiped the sweat off his hands, licked his lips, drew in a deep breath, and shook his head as if to dispel his apprehension.

"She wants you," he whispered under his breath. "As much as you want her."

His throbbing cock agreed. So did Moji's whining cries.

Yet his knees buckled, a lump formed in his throat, and his stomach churned restlessly. He stood there, frozen in place, until a sharp cry shook him to his senses.

Goddess' tight cunt, he thought as he shuffled towards the source of the commotion. His breath stuck in his throat when the stone wall gave way to an iron web. And behind it, two blazing vermilion orbs etched onto a massive head.

Midran drew back with a gasp as the feline reared. She towered above him like a giant. Midran had to rise his gaze a good deal to match hers, and even then, her white underbelly filled most of his vision.

"Down," Midran said.

The feline remained latched onto the iron net. Her muzzle twitched, and her paws pressed tighter upon the iron until her pads squeezed through. A chuff came, followed by a reverberating growl.

"Down, Moji. Down before you hurt yourself." The thin metal strings almost sheared her fingers!

Midran sighed in relief when she dropped onto her fours to pace. Straight moonlit stripes brazed her back while spots punctured the sides of her sleek coat.

"To the bed."

Once she padded to her makeshift hay bedding, Midran commanded her to drop "on the belly." That's when he snuck inside her pen, brought the lever across the door to block them in, and pivoted on his left.

One leap, and the Starpouncer was upon him.

"Love, love," he repeated. Moji brushed her sides against him, reaching up with her nose to nuzzle his chin. Her erect tail paused in front of his face, the ivory tuft brushing Midran's nose. He sneezed, then collapsed under the feline's hard embrace.

"Still, down, on the belly, on--"

Moji bumped her brow his chest, so hard he coughed. Midran scratched her jaws for the briefest of moments before she retreated to roll. In front of him, against him away and back again. And each time, her paws grappled for his hands, demanding rubs.

Midran cupped one of her hind paws. He held it in place with one hand while he knead at her pads with the other. She froze upon her back, purring. Midran's fingers moved dexterously between her digits, pinching the ebony beans softly before clutching her central pad. It filled his entire hand, radiating warmth upon his damp skin. Midran ran his thumb across its soft surface. Moji's paw twitched, and her purr deepened.

Midran smiled. He began using both thumbs to rub her pads for a better grip. Squeeze, slide, release, switch fingers. When one paw twitched, he switched to the other, and when both shook from his constant prodding, he clutched both of them in each hand. Moji slapped her tail across his arm to plead for release. Midran only squeezed harder and rubbed harder until Moji jerked her paws free of his grasp.

"That's all you can take?" he said. Her purr turned to a rumbling growl as her tongue slid across her damp pads.

No you don't, Midran thought. He lunged at her from the side, his claw-shaped fingers tearing into her silken smooth sides. Moji's paws landed upon him like barbed hammers. Claws poked out of their sheaths to form hooks that dragged him towards her. Towards her belly. Trapped, sore, and with her tongue tangled in his hair, Midran had no choice but to endure her inspection.

Goddess, was she thorough. Starting from his brow, she sniffed, licked, and nudged at every inch of his clothing. When she didn't stop to whiff, she nibbled. And when no nibble came, paws followed. Midran tucked them into his lap again, and again, and again, until paws gave in to her muzzle.

Midran shuddered. His cock pulsed as she nibbled his breeches, and her ears perked at the motion.

Of all the three, Moji returned the most affection. Midran's stomach fluttered at her persistent touch, at the soft strokes of rough tongue against leggings. For a moment, he considered shedding them. Then she snarled to take in his scent. He stared those fangs, long as a dagger, and gulped.

Moji followed his example by ceasing her inspection. Her head dropped in his lap with a drawn out sigh.

"Tired already?" Midran asked. She didn't even swing her tail.

They lay on the hard ground in a tangle of fur and skin. Midran's own form radiated with an eerie sensation. A constant flutter in his stomach, shudders whenever she licked at the stiff lump in his leggings, and a thumping heart that skipped too many beats.

Midran swallowed. Weakness flooded his limbs whenever he met her fiery gaze. Her hind paws provided a warm and damp distraction to his hands while his mind churned with questions. Why Moji? Why not Lira, or Sari? What bothered him such?

His member stirred as her paw shuddered. An earthy scent crept from it, hovering under Midran's nostrils. Its sharp fragrance drew him to the point of sneezing. To prevent that, Midran bit his lip and resumed his rubbing. Her pads became so damp he practically slid his thumb across them. When his hand was thoroughly soaked from their combined sweat, he discarded it. He had enough excitement for the night. They both did.

He prepared to shift on his bottom when a glimpse at her slit hardened him again. Dampness turned the fur around her crevice to a midnight black.

Midran ran his tongue along his lips to wet them, only to realize his tongue was as dry as his throat. He swallowed emptily, then reached a tentative finger towards her entrance. At the briefest touch, Moji growled and Midran drew back with a shudder. She shifted onto her belly, tail to the side to expose her sex to him.

A mating position.

Midran huffed as he moved behind her on his knees. Her slit rested at the same height as his hips and was large enough to swallow his whole member. A shallow finger thrust found her slick with eagerness.

Midran rolled down his breeches, shuffled next to her, then poked at her slit with his tip several times. Moji's growl became a yowl. Her lips twitched under the tantalizing touch.

Midran ended it with a moan that overlapped hers. Her folds stretched around his tip, caressing it with soft, gentle shudders. Midran tried to draw back, but the jolt of elation stunned him. His seed came out in a rush, burning his tip while Moji's twitching insides scooped it into her fleshy tunnel.

"N-no," he blurted out. He had spent his seed too fast. Moji barely--

He removed his cock from her delicate passage and replaced it with his finger. Quick thrusts, shallow at first to bring her insides to a constant shudder. Once her silken passage undulated against his touch, he pushed inside up to his knuckle. Moji whimpered her delight. She clenched his intrusive finger lightly, her grasp sucking Midran deeper and deeper.

He pulled out with a wet squelch from her trembling depths. Viscous fluid rushed to coat her swollen lips. It trickled past her rump in the form of tiny droplets, forming translucent webs between her slit and the damp soil. Midran brushed them aside and dabbed at her clit enough to encourage a twitch. She was close. The swelling suggested as much.

Midran wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and resumed his thrusts. With the other hand, he reached under a trembling paw to rub at the sensitive pads. Moji's inner muscles clenched harder against his finger, and her growls climbed a pitch higher.

A wry smile etched across Midran's face. His fingers moved with dexterous purpose between the central pad and the toes, squeezing whenever she squeezed.

Moji's tail rocked from side to side as her lips wrinkled into a sneer of bliss. Spasms wracked her slick tunnel, and claws drew out of their sheath to scrape against the floor for purchase. Her growls became thinner, and thinner, until Moji yowled her release.

Midran's grip tightened on her pad while his index finger buried itself up to the knuckle. Shivers rocked Moji's frame as her tunnel collapsed upon itself, clutching his finger repeatedly as a trail of climax seeped from her slit.

Midran stepped back to watch Moji roll in elation, a smug smile plastered upon his face. He did it. He mated Moji as a Starprowler male would.

Almost.

He left her cage with a clenched jaw and tightened fists. If only his cock was equally tight...

The more he lingered near her cage, the harder nails bit into flesh. His seed betrayed him, just as every harpy did. Just as his father did.

Midran rounded a corner to get out of Moji's reached, turned around, took a deep breath, and punched the wall. Shattering pain flared through his knuckles, but his clenched teeth allowed no yelp. He did it again. Then with the other fist. Then with both, until he cried out in pain.

"I'm sorry Moji," he said under his breath. "I am weak. Was born such, unlike you. I have no teeth, no claws, no--"

What did he have? A king that despised him more than the court did?

A shudder of excitement shook him to his senses. He had nothing. Nobody to miss, and miss him in return. Everyone he knew had politics as lovers and slaves and harpies to mount.

He dipped his chin against his chest and shuffled through the abandoned brother. A ghost. Is that what he was?

A rasping cough froze him.

"Dawn breaks," Morin said from the stairway. "You stood too long."

Midran took two steps at a time.

And came to an abrupt stop when Morin refused to budge.

"You stood too long," he growled. "Look at me."

"Clear my way," Midran mumbled.

"Look at me!"

Morin's fingers wrapped around his jaw in a tight embrace. Midran winced and narrowed his eyes against the rogue's putrid breath.

"What's in your mind boy? Madness? Can beat that out of you well. Better than your loving father."

Midran studied his crooked, his shaggy hair and beard, and those cracked, meaty lips. A thin speckle of red marred the corner of his mouth. Blood? A glance at his tunic revealed several shallow punctures and cuts. Sword made.

"What to steal, from whom to steal."

Morin's lips twitched, then fell still when his jaw tightened. "That so? Happen to know that too."

"I know my home , rogue," Midran hissed. "Same cannot be said for the rats underneath it."

"Rats eh?" He chuckled. "Nobody pays nevermind to them bastards. Yet they carry diseases, and they're everywhere, and many a nobles fell to their bite." He sneered. "Palaces too."

"You want my palace."

Midran rubbed his jaw once Morin's grasp faltered. The rogue stepped down several stairs, enough to put a broad sword's distance between them. "What do you want?"

"Moji."

"Love eh?"

Midran nodded.

Rough laughter exploded from Morin's throat. He smashed his back against the wall, clutched his belly, and hunkered down as a pained animal. Midran's knee twitched with the urge to kick that bastard down the stairs.

"A cat. You are--you fell in love--with a cat!"

"That's why you will bring a shaman from Sandsea."

Morin half bowed, half knelt. "Yes m'lord. Your bidding is my creed. As you say, so shall be done," he said through fights of laughter. Midran waited for mirth to gave way to sense, and to the obvious question. "What do you give in exchange? Once a cat, never a noble."

"My palace."

"Hah, not enough," Morin said with a wink.

"Nobles to hit. Slaves to bribe. Whatever you ask for."

His pumpkin of a head swayed back and forth. When it fell still, his gaze held an icy touch. "You're a rogue under me from now on."

Midran thought of Moji, of his weakness, and at the many days he would have to make amends.

He nodded.

"Welcome to the guild." Morin pulled him on a tight embrace that reeked of wine, dust, manure, and freedom.

---

Aaand here's the end. Did you love it? Hate it? Please let me know in the comments!

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