Redwall Commission - Folgrim/ferret
Imported from SF2 with no description.
The ferret guard's scream is muffled quickly as Folgrim pins his body down, knocking the breath from his lungs. They're still near the slave pit. Nobeast will think much of one more scream. Folgrim himself makes not a sound as the ferret's teeth tear into his mouth-covering paw, only grinning and huffing laughs between his cracked and crooked fangs, shreds of the beast-hide they bound him with still falling from them. It's nothing compared to what else the vermin have done to him. In a way, this ferret, one of his keenest torturers, has woven his own rope for the hanging.
(If they'd bound Folgrim with rope, perhaps he'd still be tied. They should never have tied him with something that can, by a desperate beast, be eaten.)
The ferret scrabbles for the spear he dropped with the one handpaw not crushed under Folgrim's huge body. He has a knife on his belt, but no hope of reaching it even before Folgrim lifts his weight up enough to take it. In the otter's big paw it looks tiny, but it's as sharp as it ever was. He examines it, and tosses it aside. The ferret watches it go.
"Too sharp," Folgrim whispers. "So it won't hurt enough."
The ferret's eyes bulge and he redoubles his struggles, but it's like trying to move a mountain, even though Folgrim is half-starved and half-healed and will limp forever. There's a reason the vermin usually only come at otter slaves in groups of three or more. Otters are big, and while they're not as bulky as badgers they're fast and flexible enough to match a ferret. Trying to hold a ferret is often like trying to hold a slippery fish, but what else are otters good at?
The ferret's struggles tear his shirt and he slips out of it, and he makes the mistake of thinking this is a good thing, for just a second before Folgrim throws him down and the otter'ss teeth close around his throat. Not hard, just enough to hold him. He freezes, fearful of death. Then Folgrim lowers his hips, and the ferret whines, fearful of what will happen first.
Folgrim grins around his mouthful of fur. Hungry and sleep-deprived and in pain for so long, he'd almost forgotten what arousal felt like - what anything pleasant felt like. Now, blood rushing, blissful in the victory of breaking free (even if they capture him again, he'll have this moment), he feels warmth spreading in his belly and down to his sheath. To commit such a violation would never have even occurred to him before... but that was before it happened to him, again and again, from this very ferret more than once. The vermin are small next to him, except for the one fox among them, but the violation was deeper than pain, even when all they did was grind on his fur, before they used their fists and sword-hilts instead and made him bleed. The memories scream in his broken mind, shouting down the last whispers of decency in him, begging for retribution, and so he turns his bite into a rough kiss and works on the ferret's belt.
"Nnn-... noooo..." Under his weight, the ferret can't take a deep enough breath to shout again. For a ferret he's big, strong and broad enough to hold his own in a fight. He's probably never been on this end of a rape, at least not for many seasons. Now he's whining like a pup, eyes watering. Like Folgrim's had when the vermin *pulled one out.*
Folgrim tears the buckle point straight through the ferret's belt and shreds the cloth beneath. All he's wearing himself is a long tunic with bloodstains down the back, trews gone to bloody rags weeks ago, so it's easy to press fur to fur. He rolls his hips and groans as his sheath starts to open up and fur meets bare hot skin. The fur on the ferret's paws and face, exposed to the elements, is coarse and scruffy, but his belly fur and plump flesh are soft. To Folgrim's pleasure-starved mind it's heaven. He rocks his hips, his mass grinding the ferret's back into the dirt and knocking his breath out in sharp gasps which become shriller and faster when Folgrim grips his neck again. Pressure and friction and fear take their toll; Folgrim feels the ferret's cock hardening too, and cackles.
"Am I not as out o' practice as I thought?"
"G'... go to Hellgates..." the ferret chokes. "I don't want this..."
"I know," Folgrim coos in his ear. "I didn't either, when ye made that happen to me."
The ferret's legs strain to reach as he pulls them to wrap around his hips. The slender little tail, nothing like as strong as an otter's rudder, twists up to cover its owner but can't hope to hold Folgrim back. He jabs and jerks frantically, trying to find an entrance with both paws holding the ferret down, and the first couple of times he slips off target, the muscle knotted too tight and dry for a glancing blow to push in. Still, soon he finds purchase and *shoves*, and envelops the screaming ferret's muzzle with his own to muffle him. The tightness solves the dryness, as he feels the ferret tear and bleed.
"Ahhh... f-fuck..." Folgrim shivers, moaning like a virgin even as the ferret sobs. "Thought I'd never be inside nobeast again... Should thank you..."
Slick now, he pumps his hips harder and harder, splattering red on the ground and grinding it to mud as they shift back and forth. He bears his weight down, compressing the ferret's flexible ribs further than even a mustelid's should go, feeling bone and tendons crack and creak. The ferret reaches up to push him away; excited as he is, Folgrim bites down and crushes the ferret's wrist between his crooked carnassials. Blood fills his mouth, and something else in his broken mind clicks into place.
He's so *hungry*.
The ferret can no longer even scream.
By the time Folgrim jolts to a stop in blissful release, overflowing his prey with pink-streaked red, he's eaten most of the ferret's forearm. As he relaxes and slumps to the ground, barely noticing the body under him, he sucks languidly on the bone, tasting marrow. It's nothing at all like fish blood or bone. It feeds the madness, and whatever Folgrim's mind once was weeps for him and is drowned in blood.
The ferret is dead, from blood loss or crushing. Folgrim doesn't care which. Now he needs a new plan. He can't fight all the vermin at once. Sooner or later the guard's shift will change. He must be gone by then. Regroup in the woods. Pick them off one by one.
He's lost so much of his mind. He's not sure if he remembers how to survive in the woods.
He looks at the dead ferret, and its half-eaten arm.
He takes the corpse by the ankle and walks into the woods, dragging it behind him. It should last him a day or so, and there will soon be more where that came from.