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Rodger trudged his way back to the city. Another task well completed for the Thieves’ Guild, and this one probably the last and greatest. Some ratfolk adventurer had decided a couple decades back to cash out, get a minor holding from a local lord, and retire to raise a family with a few of the relics kept as heirlooms. Which was sweet and all, but someone wanted something the guy wouldn’t sell. Getting in had been easy. The sewer trash’s daughter had been so pathetically happy to find a handsome human stranger who didn’t treat her with outright disgust that getting her to sneak him into the mansion had barely been a formality. And afterwards, well, pussy is pussy, especially if he never talked about who he got it from.

Then he’d killed everyone in their sleep, of course. You never met an adventurer in open combat if you could help it, and their stashes were always locked with some fiddly thing that took too long to open. Better not to risk it.

Patting the bundle on his side, Rodger began whistling a jaunty tune. All the hard parts were done, and the only thing left to do was collect the reward that would set him up for a long and luxurious life in a warm and sunny paradise.

---

Rodger raged internally. This mission had been a setup and whoever did it had earned themselves a long and torturous death in a wet hole in the ground if Rodger managed to avoid capture for long enough.

At the moment it was looking chancy. The guild’s nearest hidey-hole was definitely compromised, the fast paths to the second-nearest were going to be swarming with guards, and Rodger was hiding in a dark corner about four blocks away from one of the emergency teleport beacons.

It only took him one glance to abandon that, too. Which left him with no way out.

If capture was inevitable, then it was time to pick a captor. There was no real choice. Rodger was just around the corner from the local headquarters of the Order of Three Stars. Demon hunters, mostly, but everyone knew their name, and more importantly everyone knew the oath that bound them: to harm no mortal, and abandon no mortal to be harmed. It wouldn’t be pleasant there, but it would beat anything he was likely to get from Duke Andlin’s men.

---

“Anyone who genuinely wishes for atonement must be given an opportunity. This is yours. Judgement will come soon. If there is anything you wish to say, now is your last chance.” Rodger cast a silent and baleful eye on the Order’s jailer until, with a shrug, the paladin closed the heavy oak door. A few muffled sounds leaked through, probably of the door being further secured.

Rodger sat on the rough stone ground of the completely empty cell. They hadn’t restrained him at all, which was surprising, but they had stripped him. All he could do was wait for whatever was coming and think.

His mind wandered back to the heist. The rat - Rodger couldn’t remember his name, it was something like “Skex” or “Eskeke”, all the rat people had names you couldn’t tell apart with an Identify spell and an hour - the target Rodger had decided to think of as Rat King had been granted a holding over a few shit-covered farming towns. All human, obviously. Rats would probably eat their seeds through the first winter and starve in the second if they tried. It made Rat King’s grasp over his nominal fief tenuous, which was probably the point. Adventurers were troublesome vassals, even more prone to revolt than normal, and anything to rein them in was probably warranted.

Rat King’s daughter… had her name been Sereta? Close enough. She’d been starved for affection, growing up separated from anyone that could be a friend not just by her station but by her race. Who’d want to be friends with vermin? It took Rodger less than a day to pick up on it, and from there he’d just had to pretend he was dealing with one of the pretty human girls from the bars at home.

Rodger’s cock, embarassingly, was stiffening at the memory. Sereta had snuck him in through a tunnel she’d made in the hedge-maze; he could remember the hairless tail coiling in the air in front of him, agitating a strange smell, like a human girl drenching her knickers mixed with foreign spices.

Rodger found that he was fondling himself. At first he stopped, but then he reconsidered. Best to get in what pleasures he could, and if they found him like this… he almost chuckled at the thought. He moved to firmer strokes, his other hand laying on the cold floor.

At times it had been almost impossible to remember he was fucking vermin rather than a human girl, and at times it had been unmistakable but almost impossibly enticing. As soon as they’d entered her room, she’d dragged him to the bed while grasping to remove his clothes and her own. Her room had been shockingly mundane, cleaner than he’d thought the vermin would care for. He remembered her pulling her pants off and hopping onto all fours on the bed in one fluid movement, tail raised and sopping vagina inviting him to fill her.

He’d leapt up, stood on the soft surface, crouched over and grabbed her from behind and rammed his penis fumblingly at her backside. The memory of the soft fur on her breasts filled him, and he raised his free hand from the cell’s floor up to massage his own puffy chest.

She’d had to reach back with one hand, tail curling around his waist as she guided his penis into her. Rodger fidgeted in his cell, the white fur on his buttocks becoming unpleasantly pushed against the grain by the stone.

Sereta hadn’t wanted to stop all night. Their first frenzied fucking had passed into a long night of gentle experimentation. He remembered her sucking his cock, gently taking his penis around the incisors, the whole thing fitting snugly into her muzzle as her ears twitched to all his moans. Rodger pushed perilously close to orgasm as he recalled it, his ears laying flat against his head, tongue lolling out of his open muzzle.

God, the memories… she could have been a good traveling companion. Probably only for a few months, before he disappeared to get the space he needed. Such an eager lover. Such a shame. But she never would have come after he killed her parents, so that was that.

Rodger came, jizz dribbling from the cock enveloped in his hand. It wasn’t enough. Just like that night, he had to keep going.

She’d started getting forceful eventually. He remembered the sex-spice of her vagina, his vision filled with her crotch, his tongue eagerly working, her tail wrapping around his neck as she sat on his head and urged him on, her hand gripping his hair. Rodger’s own tail scraped painfully on the stone, and he brought his clawed hand down from massaging his breasts to carefully gather it in front of him. He continued rubbing at the tiny nub of his cock and the sensitive taint behind it.

The moment of the kill… she’d been asleep, finally. Rodger had been almost unable to keep his own eyes open, and worried that the master of the house would awaken soon. He’d pushed through the moment of temptation, held her muzzle shut as he slit her throat, watched the betrayal fading from her eyes along with the light in them.

Raaja pushed the repulsive memory away.

Her vagina clenched as her questing fingers pushed her into another weak, unsatisfying climax. She could think of nothing but reaching satisfaction. Her hand pumped ever more vigorously into her pussy, finally mashing clumsily against the entrance in a futile quest for stronger stimulation. Her hairless tail wrapped itself around her upper thigh, lightly skimming her lower lips. She curled in around herself, flexible enough to put the end of her muzzle tantalizingly close to her crotch, but could not close the deal.

Finally she gave up the cause as lost and relaxed her body, still fingering herself, trying to think around the overwhelming need running through her mind. She caught a hint of… not quite a scent. A complex cocktail reminiscent in different ways of musk, sex, and a rich meaty dinner enveloped her, but there was also a sense of directionality to it. She looked, and saw only the corner of the room, but knew whatever it is was farther, almost thrice as far as the mortared stone.

Acting on instinct, Raaja reached towards the scent-location with her free hand. Then she reached further, at once in the same direction and in no direction at all. The world opened up, or she collapsed in on herself. She experienced an endless instant that never happened, and when it finished she was in another place - another cell like the one she had just left, but containing also the source of the smell-feeling that had so captivated her.

Raaja leapt toward the thing, knocking it to the ground. She saw it, she heard it, but all the sensory information remained disjointed and passed out of her memory as it entered. Raaja could not name what it was, only describe her goal: something beneath a cloth covering, where two tubes joined. Her hand darted forward and effortlessly shredded the cloth, revealing a fleshy protuberance that rapidly began stiffening into a mushroom-capped rod.

She shoved her muzzle into the base of the rod, inhaling deeply and shuddering in deep pleasure. Her tongue flickered out, tasting tentatively along the rod itself from the fibers at the base to the fluid beginning to gently leak from the top. She knew to her core that this was what could give her the satisfaction she needed. Gently she fondled the sack attached to the base, hunching to keep the rod in her vision as she brought her crotch to bear, her tail tangling with the flailing appendages on the former top half of the object.

Finally in position, she impaled herself on the rod. She was still staring down as it parted her squishy folds. Raaja let out a wailing keen at the glorious fullness, and the object itself bellowed from behind her. Still it was not enough. Her hands furiously worked at her own pussy and what little of the rod remained outside.

The sac at the base of the rod pulled inward, and Raaja felt a hot blast of liquid inside her. It felt like she was being filled with roiling bubbles dancing up her spine, out of her shoulders, into her brain, and up to curl around her ears. She realized that the sating of some peculiar hunger was ending a monomaniacal focus she hadn’t even been able to understand. She continued bouncing on the rod, slowly working towards a third and hopefully sufficient orgasm.

Something was strange about the situation. The liquid continued to squirt into her - semen, it was semen, and the rod was a dick. Raaja looked down, recognized she was having sex with a man. At the same time it seemed perfectly normal and utterly foreign. She… that was strange too. Calling herself a “she” was as plain as the breasts on her chest, but she remembered playing with her - his own - cock. She flapped the batlike wings on her back, still bouncing on the penis below her. Actually, that had been going on for rather a long time…

She twisted around, looked at the emaciated face of the man still jizzing into her greedy pussy. He was almost gone, it seemed. But that wasn’t fair, she hadn’t come yet!

The door to the cell burst open, and a paladin of the Order charged in. His gleaming sword flashed out, cleaving Raaja’s horned head from her body. Gouts of black tar gushed from the neck, and they along with the carcass boiled harmlessly away into nothingness.

--

Raaja woke up, fully in command of herself but still unsatisfied from when the damned paladin had interrupted her just before she really got her rocks off. She stood up and looked at the ashen landscape around her.

Recognition washed over her. Raaja was… had been Rodger. She looked down at herself, the ratfolk-like body almost a spitting image of Sereta’s, except for the wings sprouting from her back and the horns she could feel on her brow. But that couldn’t have happened, she’d taken refuge with the Order of Three Stars because they wouldn’t hurt her! It was right there, in the oath everybody knew, to harm no mortal--

Raaja realized that she was no longer mortal. A clever loophole. Whatever magics they used must not have counted as “harm” to them.

A demon who died in the material world was not killed, but banished back to the hells, perhaps to scheme towards escape again. That’s where she must be. And now she had all the freedom she needed to exact her vengeance on the people who had originally betrayed her.

Something struck Raaja from behind, knocking her to the ground and pinning her face down. Warm breath tickled one ear, its fetid stench curling downwards to her nose. An enormous penis pressed against the fur and flesh of her buttocks.

A guttural voice croaked, “Fresh meat gets an offer: swear service, body and mind, to Deothad of the Fifth Reach for a year and a day, or be broken. Welcome to Hell.”