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Kristof watched in stoic silence as the bandit played for yet another of his possessions. Well, not exactly. He thrashed in his bindings, and he repeated every curse he learned over that weekend with the Kovaldi sailor, but he couldn't properly rebuke them through the gag. But he might as well have been sitting in stoic silence for all the good his efforts did.

This round they were playing for his pipes. It was a gift from his grandmother. He was terrible with it, but the little instrument had sentimental value! And now a boar was getting his mouth all over it. The winner blew into it, producing a few discordant whistles before tossing it into a pile with the rest of his winnings.

It broke his heart but by bit, watching everything he'd made for himself get tossed piece by piece into what looked an awful lot like piles of junk. It made him question how exactly he had spent his life to get to this point. He'd wanted to leave the mountain and see the rest of the world. Trading goods between the villages on either side of Raider's Pass seemed like a good idea at the time. His thick coat and cryptic coloring gave him a natural advantage when navigating the pass. Hell, he did it for two years, dodging bandits and avalanches, starvation, and wild beasts, so that the weaver of Norwich got the dyes she needed before spring, and so that the apothecary of Selim's Rest got extra Woodwort when the Oracle predicted it would be a bad year for the Red Cough. He made respectable coin that his village had put to good use with the few trusted traders who ventured onto their land. But if it all ended here, was it really worth anything?

He was a fool for letting his guard down a day away from home. He had been having a good streak of deliveries and had forgotten that the danger didn't think any bandits would come so close to leopard land. He'd cooked his dinner over an open flame that evening, and in the night he'd woken to find four half-naked boar warriors standing over him.

An paw reached down to squeeze his fluffy butt, reminding him of his current situation. He directed his meanest glare at the pig who had won him in dice, but the boar didn't mind. He looked bemused more than anything else. He reached up and mussed his head fur.

Kristof looked away, face burning. He was a snow leopard, dammit! The blood of independent feline predators of the flowed through his veins. Maybe he couldn't think of a single instance he'd ever so much as scratched someone, but his death glares should mean something, dammit! Was there something on his face? Oh right. Stripped, bound, and gagged as he was, he probably looked as threatening as a kitten. He could feel his ears flatten against his head. Anger could only keep him going for so long after all, and this was one of the most humiliating mornings of his life. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he silently willed them away.

His boar, who he gleaned was named Ord, noticed the change that come over him. The boar grabbed him by the scruff and pushed his muzzle toward his lap. Kristof's eyes widened when he saw that the boar had removed his loincloth, exposing his hard cock. Kristof tried to fight it, but his resistance was laughable. Ord handled him with ease, shoving his nose hard against the length.

Though it wasn't long, it was thick, thicker than anything Kristof had taken in his life. He stared at the weeping head in disbelief, before he was pushed back down toward it, leaving a streak of pre staining his cheek. With his mouth gagged, he could only breathe through his nose. He inhaled the boar's thick musk. It was earthy and rich, like masculinity and truffles.

He hated how that made him hard. He knew the rest of them could see him. They were laughing at the little cockwhore kitty cat who got hard at the smell of cock. Fuck them. No, FUCK. THEM. He was biting off the first cock that came anywhere near his mouth. It wasn't to be, though. Instead of removing his gag, Ord spun him around unceremoniously. A cold, slick finger was rubbing at his entrance in moments. He shuddered as Ord teased his hole, working his finger through the tight pink ring. It wasn't as thick as his cock, but it was as wide as a sausage and Kristof hadn't had sex in months. He mewled once more through his gag. His pitiful noises encouraged the big boar, who took that as a cue to push even further. He thrust into his ass, taking his finger down to the knuckle.

So this was happening, thought Kristof as Ord stretched out his insides. He was going to get raped by a burly boar bandit in front of all of his bandit friends, while they were in the middle of dividing up the rest of his things. He was going to be filled with so much boar cum that he'd look pregnant, and his cock, because it had a mind of its own, would be hard the whole time so his captors could pretend he was into it.

Ord grew impatient with him, and grabbed him by his spotted tail. He let out a choked sob as Ord yanked him back onto his digit by the delicate appendage, but it turned into a moan, as he pressed right into Kristof's prostate. Ord massaged the sensitive organ, and Kristof couldn't help his cock from becoming rock hard.

Kristof could hear moans coming from the other boars, and against his better judgement, he looked over at the other boars. The leopard was expecting more laughter from the boars, but they no longer seemed to notice him or care. They had even forgotten about their little game of dice. The boar that had been jealous of Ord earlier, was looking at him with naked lust, holding his cock in hand.

The other two boars were only interested in each other. The youngest looking boar was behind the older, scarred one on his knees, spreading the old man's cheeks. Kristof watched as the young boar nuzzled his way into the furrow between the veteran's meaty globes. The young pig burrowed into the flesh like he was hunting for truffles in his elder's taint. Perhaps he found one, because he started shuffling and slurping, and scoring the elder's flesh with his tusks. The elder arched his back, giving the youngster better access to his hole, all the while, reaching back with his paw. Finding the back of the younger boar's head, he pushed him forward, deeper into him. Kristof gulped. It was only a matter of time before one of these boars did that to him.

He was once again choking heady smell of boar musk. The other boar had gotten up and approached. He was stroking his cock in one hand. The other hand reached down behind his head, and with a sharp tug yanked his gag out. He spluttered and gasped, finally able to breathe through his mouth again. The other boar, laughed at him.

He looked a lot like Ord, but a bit stockier. Maybe they were siblings. His cock wasn't as thick at least. It would be easier to bite. He glared up at the boar, daring him to try and stick his cock anywhere near his mouth. Somehow, the boar read Kristof's intentions, because he grunted something at Ord.

Ord paused loosening up Kristof's asshole to toss him something. Two strips of leather tied to a wide brass ring. Kristof's eyes widened, recognizing the item from his bag. It was a memento of sorts, from the son of a blacksmith up in Lowthorn. He had honestly forgotten he still had it, and it seemed the boars knew what it was used for. Kristof clamped his jaws shut, refusing to open his mouth for the specialized gag. It wasn't fair. Every last bit of resistance Kristoff had was systematically being stripped away

Ord shoved his second finger in hard, joining the first. Even after being loosened by the first finger, he felt like he was being split in half. He yowled, and birds took off through the trees, scared of the noise. Before he could snap his mouth shut again, the younger boar had the ring firmly wedged between his jaws. He bit down anyway, biting into the boar's thick-skinned fingers. He hurt his teeth on the ring, but he could feel the boar's blood trickle along his tongue. With a roar, the boar thrust his cock through the ring, battering the back of his throat. Kristoff choked on boar cock. He desperately tried to back up off of it, but that pushed him further back onto Ord's fingers, which he was starting to scissor and twist. He wanted to squirm away, but he was thoroughly trapped and utterly helpless. The boar at his head finished tying the gag on and retreated from Kristof's mouth just long enough for him to take a shuddering breath, before ramming back into him. His cock pushed deeper with every thrust. Each merciless thrust forced a whimpering moan out of him. Sometimes, the bastard held him there, choking on his cock until he started seeing spots before pulling out. Was this revenge for biting his fingers, or just one of his kinks? He realized it didn't matter.

Kristof's world crumbled away around him. All he could taste was cock, smell was musk. His vision clouded, and he felt tears run in rivulets down his fur, but he knew that couldn't be true, because that would mean that he had been crying. The fingers inside him crooked sharply, attacking his prostate. The last vestiges of his resistance crumbled at that point. He wailed as a wave of revolting pleasure rolled through him and he shot his seed to the ground. That was what drove the boar using his mouth over the edge. With a squeal, he thrust one final time, hard enough that Kristof thought it had taken his head off, and erupted. He couldn't taste the cum, but could feel the hot torrent streaming down his throat, filling him up. It was endless. Kristof waited for him to pull out so he could lap it up like a good little cocksleeve, or whatever they wanted from him, but the boar didn't pull out. Even when his vision began to blacken around the edges, the boar didn't pull out. It dawned on him that the boar wasn't going to pull out.

His eyes widened, and suddenly he felt wide awake. He didn't want to die. He may have been abused, humiliated, raped, and robbed, but he didn't want to die. He started thrashing around, desperate for a fresh breath of air. For a brief moment, he had taken his captors by surprise. His sheer spontaneity and ferocity stunned them, and he kicked Ord off of him, but before he could back off of the other boar's dick, he felt himself pulled forward roughly by his scruff. His paws were pinned under him awkwardly, and his feet had lost their grip, leaving him trapped on the end of the boar's cock. The boar above him laughed. He never head a chance. That was just the final throes of a dying cat. When darkness finally took him, he thought he heard a roar. Maybe someone had come for him. No, he chided himself. He no longer had the time for wishful thinking.

*****

Yarn was angry. And guilty, but mostly angry. He'd been fishing nuts out of a tree when the boars dragged a cheetah back to their camp. Dad would have told him to slip away before he could be noticed, but this was as close to the two-legs as he was ever going to get. As long as they didn't see him, he wouldn't be breaking any rule, and everyone knew boars were far too grounded to ever look up.

The surprise was the naked leopard bound between them all. He was beautiful, with creamy spotted fur, and soulful brown eyes. the cat stirred something inside him, that he didn't recognize yet. The anger he felt watching the snow leopard get groped and molested by the bandits was a far more familiar emotion. He watched and listened helplessly as the cheetah thrashed and screamed through his bindings, every moment turning his stomach. He listened as the screaming changed to whimpering moans, and groans of reluctant pleasure, fighting the urge to leap down and tear them apart. Dad always told him he needed a stronger stomach to survive outside of the Rookery. He was first talking about Yarn's refusal to eat his vegetables, but as he grew older, he'd encountered more and more things even harder to swallow.

Well, as of one week ago, Yarn was officially an adult, and he could make adult decisions. Like what he ate for dinner, and whether he should run away from home in the dead of night. If he was just going to do whatever Dad said, he might as well have stayed home. Now, he could be whatever he wanted now. And today, he was going to be a hero.

All he had to do was singlehandedly defeat four violent, musclebound warriors. At least they were distracted. That was simple enough. Heroes won with the odds stacked against them all the time. Then again, he thought, history has few heroes and countless fools, but his feet had already left the trunk and he was diving toward the enemy. No turning back now. He landed in the center of the boars' camp.

Before anyone could react, he reared up on his hind legs, and roared, wings flared wide. He commended himself for his suitable dramatic entrance (Heroes always made a dramatic entrance), while he surveyed his enemies. The boar's seemed frozen as statues imitating life. One boar was still buried in another's ass. The largest had sunken his cock into the feline's unconscious form, while the smallest one was taking the ring gag out of the cat's muzzle.

They were scared. Good. He whipped his head toward the two caught mid-copulation and time seemed to start again for everyone else. Dad would have approved of his first attack. The topping boar wasn't fast enough to throw himself out of the way of his breath attack. They were enveloped by a puff of shimmering mist. It must have been magic, because it didn't dissipate like a normal gas, it lingered for up to an hour, temporarily blinding anyone foolish enough to enter the cloud.

He could feel the other two boars already moving. He need space, so he swung out wildly with his tail, aiming high So he wouldn't risk hitting the cheetah. He heard a soft, grunt as his tail connected with one of the boar men, sending him, stumbling.

The blinded boars started squealing, and took off into the forest, crashing through the brush. Good, he thought to himself. Two down, two to-- Four hundred pounds of pissed off pig slammed into him. One of the boars was faster than he thought. He grunted, rolling into the grass, and kicking up clouds of dirt.. He lashed out wildly with his razor sharp claws, but the smallest boar had already leapt out of reach on his surprisingly agile trotters. He scrambled to his feet, so he could meet the boar's next charge, but something was wrong.

Maybe Dad would go easy on him, he mused, gritting his teeth through the pain. Dad always fussed over him like a mother hen when he was hurt, even though they both knew he healed quickly. He could feel the twin tusk wounds, burning just below his right wing joint. Flying would be agony until those healed. He let himself get grounded like an idiot. Once the other boar shook off the blow he dealt him, they'd both charge him, and he doubt he could take both of them at once.

He had no other options. He stared down the smaller of the boar, tensing to spring. The boar lowered into a charging stance, ready to meet him. At the last second, Yarn's eyes flicked right, and his opponent's eyes widened. The boar squealed out a warning, but Yarn was already on top of his dazed friend. Yarn's claws dug into the boar's belly , and his jaws snapped shut around his throat. With a savage twist, he tore flesh free and the boar's life ended in a bloody gurgle. The blood, washed over his tongue, rich and warm. Prey Prey Prey, the blood sang to him.

Promised him.

Four plump piglets and a helpless kitten, all for him.

He spit out the flesh with revulsion. He could still taste it lingering on his tongue, revolting and delicious. A haze settled over him, that was hard to shake, and the world around him became sharper. He could smell the sweet scent of blood and pig wafting up from the corpse at his feet. The air was thick with the stench of truffles and sex, and he could hear the trembling of his last opponent.

The boar stared at him wide eyed. He must have looked like quite the horrifying sight, lips pulled back into a snarl, blood staining his razor sharp fangs. The boar turned tail and fled stark naked into the woods after his blinded comrades.

Yarn fought the urge to chase after him. He would find his friends and make them squeal so the last one knew he was coming. He would hunt him down, corner him, pounce, and--

The leopard's scent hit him without warning. He had walked right past the cat in the direction the last boar fled. He turned his attention back to the motionless cat. He was breathing softly, his narrow chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

His eyes slowly studied the sleeping form, taking in his slender hips, and narrow chest. His limbs were long and well muscled, and his fur looked delightfully soft. He looked almost peaceful in his slumber. His thin black lips had parted slightly, giving yarn a glimpse of a pink, raspy tongue. He looked angelic and soft in his sleep, the illusion only ruined by the sticky globs of boar cum staining his muzzle. A ruined angel. Blood rushed to Yarn's groin, and he felt his arousal flare. He wanted nothing more than to slide his cock between those slightly parted lips and bury himself in that supple throat.

Instead, he bent down and cleaned off his face in a series of tender licks. He spit out the boar cum that had collected on his tongue, and looked down at the sleeping cat. His face was now wet and shiny, but he no longer smelled so strongly of boar sex. He smelled good, like fresh snow and fur. He even smelled a little like Yarn. He nuzzled into the leopard's belly and inhaled deeply. He could get used to that. Then, he took the leopard gently between his teeth and carefully settled him on his back. He used his dexterous tail to scoot him right between Yarn's wings, the safest place on his back, so he'd be safe while he walked back to his den.

His stomach growled, and his stiff length demanded attention, but he could take care of neither of those things until his leopard was safe in his temporary den. He didn't have the time for hunting, but the air was still thick with the smell of blood. His gaze drifted to the corpse of the boar. He had never eaten a sentient creature before. He was always sure to ask beforehand. Dad wouldn't want him to, and for once, he wanted to agree with him. But he could still taste the blood in his tongue, promising him a feast. He eyed the fresh corpse, rich blood pooling around him in a dark red pool.

*****

The last thing that Kristof was expecting to wake to, was in the lair of a giant bird. He hadn't expected to wake at all, actually, or at least wake up in a living nightmare as the sex slave of more boar men. Though looking at the creature, he wasn't convinced he wasn't still dreaming.

But there he was. Staring at a bird the size of a small horse. Honestly, the thing looked like it was as scared of him as he was of it. It stared at him expectantly with pale blue eyes, wide as saucers.

Maybe bird wasn't quite the right word for it. The beast's coat of deep blue feathers morphed into fine gray scales a third of the way down its shoulders and torso, and instead of a beak, it had a blunt, black, reptilian muzzle. The bird stood tall on slender, muscular legs, covered in fine gray scales. Between its legs, he caught a glimpse of his gray tail flicking behind him. It long, slender, maybe prehensile, and ended in a tuft of downy blue feathers. Definitely not a bird, but it wasn't a reptile either.

Two striking wings sprouted from the creature's back, and they might have been the most mesmerizing aspect of this strange creation of Allume before him. He thought they were merely black, but as the feathers caught the light just right, he caught flashes of color. As the bird stretched his wings, Kristof saw traces of blue, but also green like the ocean waves, and plum purple, and even the occasional flashes of gold.

The bird noticed him staring at them, and he almost bashfully tucked his wings away. Kristof didn't know when he started thinking of the bird as a "he" but he was sure it was true. He also got the distinct impression that he was intelligent, but that was far less of a stretch. Most magical creatures picked up a little of the common tongue.

"I like your, um, wings," he finally said. He groaned inwardly. What was he doing? Hitting on the eight foot tall, feral bird-thing? Wait, was the bird blushing?

If eight foot tall birds could blush, he thought the big guy would have turned a brilliant shade of strawberry. He gained a sudden preoccupation with his forepaws, and he suddenly had trouble meeting Kristof's eye. He had never expected an eight foot tall bird of prey to be so bashful.

"I like your spots," the big guy replied. His voice was a bit higher than he would have expected from a creature of that size, but not unpleasant. Wait, was the bird hitting on him back, or just being polite?

"Um, thanks. I'm Kristof by the way. My friends call me Kris."

"Are we friends?" He asked, unable to hide the excitement in his tone.

"I hope so," Kristof replied.

The bird's eyes seemed to light up at that. He seemed happy to make a friend. "I'm Yarn. No one calls me by my full name."

Kristof nodded, while he gave another look at his surroundings. He still wasn't wearing any clothes, but his hands and feet were no longer bound. Kristof and the bird seemed to have taken shelter in some kind of naturally occurring cave, near the entrance. The cave might have been limestone and granite, maybe?

Kristof wasn't as good at recognizing rock as some other members of his family. Living on a mountain, one would assume they would become familiar with the kinds of stone that could be found there, especially when it came to climbing and shelter, but to Kristof, a rock was a rock.

"Where are we?" He finally asked.

The bird's ear tufts perked up. "This? This is where I'm currently living." He looked around him and wrinkled his nose. "I know it's not much, but this is temporary. I live in a big castle--" the creature paused abruptly... "but I'm not supposed to tell you where it is. I'm probably going to be in enough trouble as it is."

Kristof blinked. He had a hundred questions. A castle? Was he serious? He certainly sounded sincere, but Kristof hadn't had any conversations with magic blue birds before. And if he was serious, what was he doing here? His brain latched onto the last bit though.

"Why would you be in trouble?"

Yarn looked deep in thought, like he was trying to think of what he could tell Kristof, or maybe what he couldn't. Finally, he said, "I ran away from home last week. If Dad really wanted to, he could have stopped me. I think this was some kind of test for me, and when I saved you, I failed it. Big time, but you're worth it."

"Oh. I'm glad you don't regret saving me. I know I can't thank you enough."

The cloud over Yarn seemed to clear as he took on a mischievous glint in his eye. "Looking to thank me?" He purred, prowling closer to his prone form. It was then Kristof realized two things. Yes, Yarn had absolutely been hitting on him. And secondly, he remembered that he was completely naked.

Kristof swallowed as Yarn loomed over him like a predator over its prey.

He had been hit on before. He had a thick lustrous coat, and soft, well formed features. Prey-descended races in particular flirted with him when he came to town, in because apparently there was a certain allure to sleeping with a predator, and he was curvy and fluffy enough to look more cuddly than dangerous. The point was he knew better to sit there with his mouth hanging open when a thousand pound bird flirted with him.

A moment later, Yarn broke out into a laugh, as he sat back on his haunches, suddenly a more comfortable distance away. "Cat got your tongue?" He asked with a wry grin.

Whatever spell Yarn cast on him broke, and he was able to speak again. "I was only shocked by your lack of decorum. If you're going to try and sweep me off my feet, you have to buy me dinner first."

"If I must. I was planning on hunting down something to eat, anyway. Since you're my guest, I suppose I'll treat you to dinner. Then I'll see to sweeping you off your feet," he finished with an exaggerated wink. He turned toward the entrance, tufted tail swinging lazily behind him. Kristof watched him go, until he noticed the full, blue scaled sack hanging between Yarn's legs, and he hastily averted his eyes.

It hadn't really occurred to him that Yarn was naked too, but after Yarn's blatant attempt to come on to him, he was painfully aware of it. He didn't know what he would have done if Yarn hadn't played it off as a joke. He'd like to think that he would have politely declined, but his mind had just stopped working in the moment. He didn't know why Yarn backed off, but the lustful gleam in his eye was definitely real. Part of him wanted to leave immediately before Yarn came back with food. That was a cowardly, cruel part of him that Kristof immediately shoved away. Yarn had been nothing but kind and generous to him. Yeah, he may have been attracted to Kristof, but that was not a good reason to blow off a meal with someone who seemed like a genuinely good guy, at least as far as... huh.

He never asked Yarn what kind of creature he was. It would have been awkward to sleep with him without knowing at least that much about him... not that he wanted to do that. Kristof sat there wondering whether or not he was attracted to Yarn until the feathery reptile returned from his hunting trip.

*****

"Idiot," he chided himself as he had been for the past few hours, flying out from his cave in slowly widening circles, scanning the area below for prey. He'd already caught three feral rabbits. He wolfed down two in seconds, and he almost devoured the third, but he remembered Kristof needed to eat still. There would be more prey. Kristof needed to eat if Yarn was going to keep him healthy. More urgently, he needed to fuck someone, or at least jack off. He was at the limit of his self-restraint. He'd jacked himself off in between bouts of watching him sleep, but it was completely different trying to contain himself while the cat was awake and talking to him.

Kristof's smallest compliments shocked him by just how visceral a reaction he had to it. It felt like he'd flown into a swarm of butterflies, kissing him all over, and every time the snow leopard opened his pretty mouth, he thought prettier he would look suckling on his cock, eager for whatever Yarn saw fit to give him. And then the snow leopard had to ask how he could thank him, setting his fantasies wild. He was shocked by just how much he felt like he needed Kristof, a man he barely even knew.

Dad warned him about how when he got older, he'd start desiring treasures, desirables that caught his eye that he'd stop at nothing to own. Older dragons had better self control, but most would rather die or see their treasure destroyed than give any of it up. Dragons could instinctively separate valuables from the mundane. One of the dragons of the last age had a hoard consisting almost entirely of chairs from the finest thrones to the lowliest stools. A snake man spent a year living with him, learning about him in that time. The dragon apparently didn't chase him off, because, '[The Dragon] surmised a legless creature like [him] had no need for chairs.' When asked how he chose which chairs to add to his hoard, he told the snake that every chair he had was appreciated by the last person who last sat on it.

That wasn't all there was to it, though. The closest the snake man had come to dying during his year there was on the last day when he asked the dragon about something that had been nagging him. There was a single painting in his hoard, a simple landscape painting, done by an amateur hand. After convincing the dragon he wasn't planning on stealing it, the dragon did his equivalent of a shrug and mentioned that it simply struck his fancy, and from that point on, he defended it as jealously as anything in his hoard.

He was growing certain that he unconsciously considered Kristof as belonging to him, and that he wouldn't be satisfied until they both knew exactly who the pretty kitty belonged to. Dad was going to kill him when he found out. Kristof too, probably. That latter twisted him up far more. How was he going to tell him that he had to come back home with him? Was he even going to ask? The more he thought on it, the more snatching up Kristof and dragging him back to the Rookery seemed like a good idea. He wouldn't be able to think straight until he fucked something. Maybe he could take a pass over the trail on the look out for any lone travelers to ease his ache.

The stray thought made his stomach twist, and suddenly he wasn't hungry any more. He turned back toward the cave, nearly forgetting to grab the rabbit he stashed. Denying himself was going to drive him mad, and it had been less than a day. He needed to claim his cat before he became something unrecognizable. If he was lucky, Kristof wouldn't be too mad about how Yarn was going to steal him away forever. And if not, he could hope Kristof would forgive him in time. That was going to be something they were going to have plenty of.