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The Last Hurdle by Limewah Subscriber Reward for Flarfenarfle Featuring FolferCiara's character 18+

Ciara allowed herself a smile for the first time since she'd infilatrated the Foxfire inn.

The folf, stone-furred with red stripes along her cheeks, had left a trail of sprung traps and (only mildly) frozen monsters and bodyguards in her wake. Ahead of her was an auspicious crimson door leading into the offices of Clayton Firestick, the flame-furred foxwitch who owned this seedy establishment in the middle of a deep dark wood. Every staff member was ensorcelled by Clayton, too, carrying out his will with no regard to whatever boundaries or scruples they'd had before. No task was too demeaning for them. It was little wonder the Inn had the repuation it did - a beer-hall, a dance-hall, and a whore-house all in one. In spite of its secluded location, it never lacked for clientele.

Clayton had kidnapped and 'recruited' someone he shouldn't have.

Prince Silent Moon, a prince of Chult, had gone missing for months, without a hint of his whereabouts. The worst was presumed, right until he was spotted serving and servicing a client out in the tavern's beer garden. The once proud, promising young man was now debasing himself, feeding grapes to some lecherous bear while he impaled himself on the client's maleness, mewling like an effeminate whore.

He needed to be freed from this torment.

A call was put out for mercenaries, but each and every one failed - and joined the ranks of the Foxfire Inn as one more smiling face and servile body.

Ciara was built of stronger stuff. Her wits were quick. Her speed and dexterity with her blades and her ice-spells were unparalleled. She evaded every tripwire, slid out of the grasp of the hypnotic ghost-snake, and effortlessly defeated Clayton's 'elite' guards; though, they weren't much in the way of fighters.

She wasn't about to relax, though. She'd been told Clayton was a coward, but a powerful one.

Nor was she going to enter politely.

She rolled a ball of conjured ice in her paw, gradually taking more moisture from the air to swell it until it was a tight, melon-sizedball. She lobbed it with all of her might at the door, and it left a splintered hole, taking the lock with it.

She heard the expected yelp of shock and of fear even as she raced in to take advantage of the surprise attack.

As she leapt into the room, she was hit with the strong odor of sex and un-washed bodies. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe it in.

She did recognize one of the scents; one she'd been acquainted with thanks to a discarded royal handkerchief.

Her mark was in the room with the owner of the inn.

Speaking of…

Clayton hadn't gotten up from the plush chair on the other side of a thick, mahogany desk festooned with papers and large tomes. A pair of reading glasses was pinched on his nose, and he looked a little haggard, the candle lights accentuating the bags under his eyes.

He had one paw in the air, holding up a shimmering barrier of violet light - several splinters, as well as the door handle and lock, were suspended and lodged into it.

"You could have knocked," Clayton said with a sigh.

He waved his paw to the side dismissively, and the little bits flew sideways; not even an attempt at a counterattack at Ciara. She braced for a barrage of wood and metal that never came.

"I don't think you deserve a polite entrance. Where is the prince?"

Clayton rolled his eyes, not even getting up from his desk.

"I'm really not in the mood for this right now," Clayton said. "You don't know how much work it takes to keep the books balanced in a place like this, and now I've got one more expense to deal with…"

Ciara was… a little taken aback. She felt her muscles start to reflexively relax, and had to remind herself not to let her guard down.

"It doesn't matter what mood you're in, you lech!" Her claws were enrobed in elongated spikes of ice. "Give me the prince, or face my-"

She flinched as something flew towards her at great speed. She leant to the side to dodge the glimmering bullet of gold, but it angled to follow her and stopped just a half-inch from her face.

"Wh-what?"

It took her a moment to realise she was looking at a pocketwatch, a glimmering, softly ticking disc attached to a currently magically suspended chain.

"Just look at the watch for me," Clayton said, "And I'll be - nnnnh, right with you."

The watch swung, back and forth, catching what little light there was in the room.

It was easy on the eyes. But she was not going to relax.

Ciara kept her eyes fixed on the watch. There was a magical trap lurking in that watch. She was sure of it. She needed to keep a close eye on it, so she was ready to deflect or evade.

She would not take her eyes off the watch, not for anything or anyone.

It rose a little higher, and she tilted her head up, growling softly as she felt her eyes start to ache. But she wasn't about to take her eyes off the watch as it swung. Her eyes rolled to the left and the right, anticipating each swing. Her ears flicked and twitched as each soft tick tick tick reached them, settling in her mind and joined by another, and another, and another…

She still couldn't sense any magic from the watch, or sense any mechanisms aside from the normal movement one would expect…

She kept staring.

She kept watching.

She kept vigilant.

Following the watch.

Back and forth.

Listening to the tick.

And the tock.

She'd be ready…

To defeat the trap…

When it…

Sprung…

She realised she was yawning just as her mouth was at its widest.

"Hahh…"

"You're sleepy, huh." Clayton said, off-hand.

"Hn…?"

"So tired," Clayton continued.

The watch swung.

Ciara kept staring at it. She wouldn't let the fiend distract her. She would keep staring at the watch.

"You're running on empty. So tired that you could probably fall sleep standing up."

"Yes, I could…Wh…what…?"

Why was she agreeing with him?

There was no magic emanating from him. There was no hidden enchantment in his words. Nor were they being channeled through the watch.

She knew she wasn't being ensorcelled.

But she did feel sleepy, it was true, and it was especially hard to stay so vigilant, staring at the watch as it swung, and rose higher, ever higher, until darkness encroached at the top of her vision, and then further, until her eyes disappeared behind her lids, and then her eyes slid closed entirely.

With a soft sigh, she slipped into slumber, standing in place just as the fox had suggested. A wave of bliss slid down her like a cool waterfall. She must not have blinked in a long time. Keeping them closed felt so nice.

She was so relaxed. So sleepy. So soothed.

"Alright, now that that's-" Clayton finally looked up at his assailant properly, and his nonchalance vanished into wide-eyed interest. His breath caught in his throat. His ears emitted little wisps of flame. "Ohhh. Oh you're fucking hot."

"Hm?" Ciara murmured softly, in her half-aware daze. "Oh, thank you…"

Clayton pulled back and got up from his seat, pushing around to the side. As he did so, there was a thump as his cock-holster slumped to the side, the snow-leopard staring at nothing at all, with wide, swirling eyes and a slack, drooling jaw. There were subtle pulsating lines, like seams, travelling along his face, his muzzle, and down along his nude body. If one looked close enough, they'd see little runes, written in some arcane vulpine tongue known onto a select few.

Ciara wasn't looking close enough. She was stimply swaying in place with her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped, helpless as the witch approached her.

Clayton's cock was standing at full mast, glistening and dripping.

"You're welcome, sexy," Clayton growled. "Now, let's make sure you don't make any complaints while I breed you."

Breed…?

That word pulled Ciara out of her brief stupor. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head stung as her eyes re-focused.

That feeling was chased by a heart-fluttering feeling of indignation.

There was no enchantment in that watch - she just got hypnotised! She fell for a simple parlour trick!

She would not stand for this.

She was going to… to…

Ciara tried to take a step back, to get her thoughts back about her, to summon a counter attack before he could get in range… but it was already too late.

Clayton's thumb pressed into her forehead, and there was a flash of light, like a magician's flash-paper. Her clothes disintegrated with the same speed. Snaking sentences of binding runes shot down her body, wrapping around her snout like a muzzle, around her neck like a collar, down her body like a harness.

There was no escape for her now.

Ciara choked, so intensely pleasured by the bindings that she couldn't even scream. Her eyes began to spiral with red pinwheels, each one with the elegant yet angular crest of the Firestick family at their centres.

Her lips twisted and her mouth opened into a wide, dazed smile, and her fingers and toes curled inwards, almost instantly.

"There we go," Clayton hissed, his eyes burning with a mindless lust of their own. He was stroking his dick, keeping it at veined full-mast. "How's the Firestick Bridle feel? Nice, right?"

"Uhnnhuh…" Ciara groaned softly, submissively, nodding along. There was no trace of her resistance left, just dazed compliance, as the rune-bonds hewed tighter to her. Her lips drooled, as did her nethers, the magical bonds radiating pleasure through every inch of her.

Clayton licked his lips again, hot breath wafting from his mouth. The fire-fox had his own weaknesses. His horny brain loved novelty. The prospect of fucking someone new, of breeding them senseless, overrode any and all other thought patterns. It had gotten him in trouble many a time in the past, but right now, he had this folf girl at his mercy.

"Come to the table, now," he said, still pumping at his engorged dick.

"Yes, Master," Ciara murmured, prompted by a pulsating message from the runes. She marched towards him, her hands limply dangling by her sides.

"Raise your arms," he ordered, "Right out in front of you."

She complied, her hands slowly raising up as if pulled by a winch. No complaints, no hesitation, just another soft "Yes Master."

"You've got a really pretty voice," Clayton growled. "Tell me you want me to breed you."

The runes pulsed, the muzzle slackening to force her mouth wide open.

"Please breed me, Master…!" she said.

Ciara never planned on having children. The prospect might have disgusted her. But she was commanded, and she complied, and she did so more than happily.

"That's right. Bend over the table a little bit. Keep your arms forward."

The dazed folf obeyed, her arms remaining upright, paws dangling, staring into space and only humming softly when he grasped onto her hip with one hand, and guided his prick to her netherlips with the other. She was warm, warmer than usual - one more influence of his bridle. He'd tailored his particular take on a signature Firestick family spell to increase the 'wearer's body heat just shy of a fever temperature. Extra warmth. Extra moisture.

A little more sweat and scent, too.

As he pushed in and plapped his hips hard against her wriggling rump, he pushed his upper half against her, his nose angled towards the crook of her right shoulder. Her arm was still out in front in a zombie-like posture, so his nose had easy access to the savoury spice of her exertion. A hint of chilly menthol was in there amidst the usual musk.

"Ohhh, fuck, you smell great…" he whimpered, his pace immediately picking up to a frenzied slapping speed. "Fuck, fuck…"

He buried his nose in her pitfluff and took even deeper in-breaths, the rush of air pulling out some woozy little giggles from Ciara's gasping mouth.

"Tell me to get you pregnant," Clayton said, drooling all over her underarm. "Tell me you want me to breed you good, you want my pups…"

"Ahhhn… breed me good, Master!" Ciara said in a strange little sing-song tone. "Give me your pups, I wanna carry them so badly… pleeease…~!""

Clayton whined like a needy puppy as he thrust faster, making the desk rattle and its many papers shuffle. A stack or two fell off, one of them draping across the still prone, still zonked snow-leopard. He didn't even stir, still laying there like a discarded toy. Not even a hint of jealousy or desire. he was a toy, a hole…

As was Ciara, now.

The folf's body quivered, her arms struggling to stay upright under the constant assault of throbs and thrusts. But she remained firm, pushing back and clenching dutifully against his cock. She had never taken a lover this rough - and she might not have. But the standsards that would have held her back before were long gone - and even if there were, they were being demolished, thrust by thrust.

Clayton switched arms, burying himself in the 'fresher' scent, intent on breathing in his fill of her natural sweaty secretions.

"Gnnnh… almost there…!" he growled. It had only taken a minute or two, but his hair trigger libido - warmed up by the prince's expert sucking - had already brought him to the edge. His balls tightened and pulled upwards, he buried himself right into Ciara's soft armpit with a groan and growl…

And his cock erupted, pushing rope after rope of thick seed into Ciara's guts. It filled her womb, pushing in to her, flooding her with warmth.

Clayton's shaky fingers dug into her hips, finding and pressing against some of those runic symbols. When depressed, they shimmered and chimed, sending ripples of light all along their lengths to spread across her, like cracks of light poking through a cracked glass candleholder. She cried out with pleasure, clenching and squishing herself back against him.

Clayton did not slow down. The refractory period didn't really exist for him, especially not in this head-space.

The only thing that kept him from having dozens upon dozens of bastard children was the infertility charm that his mother had put on him until he 'learned to be responsible'. Like a horny profligate with mind control magic could ever learn of such a concept. All he cared about was fucking his new hole, even as the thrusts got wetter, his cock squishing against the flood of his own seed. By the third orgasm, Ciara's womb was full to bulging, and whenever Clayton pulled back, more of his seed slid out from her, pooling into an ever growing puddle.

In his fuck-fugue, a thought flickered into his head. He could sense this folf girl's aura, a hint of menthol chill.

"Ahh, ice-elemental…" he muttered. As if on cue, her flesh's temperature dipped a little, giving a bracing little ice-cube shock.

"Fffuck, yes, YES!" he crowed. "Just like that, keep it like that… didn't even need to ask, you're such a fucking good girl already…"

The folf yipped out inarticulate, happy submission with each new thrust, keeping her magic pooled in her thighs to give her new master the bracing chill he so desired.

It didn't take him long to cum again. And again. And again.

-

The room reeked of sex. Ciara's own scent was basically gone, overshadowed and overtaken by Clayton's own thick odor. She stood still, her smile more relaxed to put less strain on her muzzle-muscles, but no less docile.

A cute cream coloured blouse, like one a young scholar might wear, was slid over her head, with the assistance of the spiral eyed snow leopard.

The folf had forgotten her mission - she didn't even know who the cat was, or who he used to be. He was just another Foxfire slave, that was all. And he was helping her get on her new outfit, as Master watched, still stroking himself even now.

The outfit suited her, too - the black dress with crimson frills, a similarly blood-red corset, and a big black bow paired nicely with her fur.

The skirt wasn't quite long enough to hide her ass or her cunt, still dripping even now with the remnants of Clayton's long breeding session. She kept her stance a little wide, so as not to let her juices drip onto her newly fitted red and black striped stockings.

She still looked quite comely, though, and as she did a slow revolution, she felt Master's eyes roving along her curves. She couldn't keep her steel-coloured tail from wagging back and forth, or her feet from tapping excitedly on the ground.

"Such a pretty girl," Clayton said. "The first thing you can do, is clean up that mess you made me make."

He gestured towards the floor, and the thick puddle of Clayton and Ciara's mixed-together cum.

"Yes Sir~!" Ciara curtseyed happily. "I'd be so happy to…!"

Before she could get on her hands and knees, a mop was slipped into her paw.

"Thank you, Sir~!" Ciara used it to clean as if it was an extension of her body. It was perfectly natural to her.

As she bent over to work the wet mop into the floor, her ass spread out just enough to show off her still-dripping slit. Clayton's cock throbbed as if magnetised towards it.

"I really gotta get back to work…" Clayton tutted, grabbing at his still-slightly chilly dick. "I'm gonna have a hard time wanting to fuck anyone else… who's gonna chill me like you do?"

"Nobody, Master!" Ciara said sweetly over her shoulder. A hint of her confident persona was still there, though now twisted and repurposed to focus on serving her Master.

The smile she wore now would never leave her face, as long as she was a servant at the Foxfire Inn. Just as it had not left the face of the cat she had failed to save.