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The Windsar Adventures

Part 2: Three Bad Wolves

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Author's Note: For those wondering more about the world of Therafim, you can read about it here:http://therafim.wikidot.com/ - presently the site is under construction, and we are moving to a full-fledged website, complete with adult-rated pages, but this should have all the information that you will need to get a handle on the places and events of these stories as they unfold. If the world interests you, you can come to irc.sorcery.net and check out the channels listed on the website, make a character, and get into the game.

Looking around him, the older wolfen blinked several times, then rubbed his eyes as he came back to himself. It was still in the wee hours, right before the final death of night, and the birth of the new day. Time for a warrior to be up and doing.

Only a few paces off, he saw his black-furred friend, a younger male, still dozing, his breath coming out in a soft whine, one leg twitching in the throes of a dream. The grey-furred male smiled to himself as he scratched the white fur of his chest and belly, noting that the black-furred wolfen was clutching a tiny rag doll, hardly big enough to fit in one fist.

"Tornan looks cute, doesn't he, Harvas?" said a gruff, slightly snarling voice from nearby. But despite the savagery of the voice itself, the tone was friendly and sincere. It was the voice of a tame rabid wolf. "Not quite twenty summers, and he looks like a cub when he sleeps."

"He's been made to grow up too fast, Alpha Firewind," said the grey-furred male, turning to look at the speaker, a tall, impressively-muscled wolfen with startlingly fire red fur all over his body, highlighted in places with a darker orange, so that, in the right light, his whole body looked almost alive with flames. "No wolf should be without a proper pack to call his own."

"It's a pack of three," said the flame-furred alpha with a smirk. "Old Alpha Thallen will just have to do without his three best. And I told you to just call me Flintclaw out here. There's no point in calling me alpha until there's more than just the two of you - all it does it draw attention to me. The bad sort, like snipers. You remember that run-in with those elves?"

"I thought it was your fur that got their attention," chuckled Harvas, rising to his feet and stretching slowly, working the kinks out of his forty-plus-year-old body, one by one. "Being the son of a god isn't easy, is it, Flintclaw?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," retorted Flintclaw with a ready grin before he turned away from his beta. "Help me get the camp together, will you? We can't afford to leave traces in the Great Green. Not with so many orcs around. Not even in the territory of that witch, Threetails."

It went unsaid between the two that they would let Tornan sleep on, even though the incident with the elves before had been largely his fault, brought on by the younger male's astonishing natural charm, and the fact that he was almost constantly looking for someone to mate with. One such target of his affections had been an elven woman, the priest at one of their small sanctuaries in the woods almost a week to the south, not far from the ocean. She had quickly accepted his advances, as she'd been alone in spiritual contemplation for a long time and felt the need to be treated like a woman again, and in a fashion that only one of the lusty younger races could properly provide. She hadn't even balked when Harvas and Flintclaw had joined their young friend in showing her how well wolfen worked in packs. Unfortunately for the three wolfen, their joint seduction of the elven priestess followed not long before a regular elven scouting patrol happened by, to ensure the safety of their territory. With all the noise that the elfwench they were bedding was making, it was no wonder that the patrol stormed in and assumed the worst.

Harvas chuckled as he thought of how far they had run, and how fast, covering what was normally a week's travel in a mere three days. While the wolfen certainly didn't fear elves, they did have a healthy respect for them, as they were often even more skilled at blending into the woods than wolfen could be, and more deadly when they struck with their snipers. If Flintclaw wasn't almost indestructible, in fact (or so both Harvas and Tornan thought of him), he would likely have been killed by the peppering of arrows that he took over the first two days of flight before the elves gave up their track. Instead, he laughed it off, holding no grudge against either the elves or against Tornan - less, actually, against the youngest of their small pack, since the sex, while it had lasted, had been very fine indeed.

Flintclaw, meanwhile, was staring out into space as he carefully tied up the strings of his bedroll with its heavy winter blanket. The massive, towering wolfen's fur wasn't as thick as that of other wolfen, so he liked the additional protection from the cold. Harvas only had to take one look at his alpha to know what he was thinking, as Flintclaw had no secrets, save those that the gods might share with him. He was thinking about Threetails.

The older wolf remembered well the day when Flintclaw had been born, twenty-six years ago, when Harvas had been eighteen. Back then, they were still living in the wilds of Rimevast, far, far to the north, surviving by cunning and strength against the constant battles with the goblinoid armies and other savage dangers of that wild, cruel land. His mother was the daughter of their shaman, and one of the fairest of all the she-wolfen in all the tribes, perhaps even the fairest of them all. Nine months before Flintclaw's birth, the still of the night was rent by the howling of a fierce wind, and all the pack was roused from their beds in the cave where they had taken shelter against the bitter cold. The shaman had stepped forward, then, and interpreted the howling - it was the howling of Fenrath, the savage wolfgod of survival against all odds, and the patron of the wolfen! He had demanded the shaman's daughter as his bride, and, honoring the request of her father, she had gone out into the wildness of the wind. Not long after, the night was split with fire, raging across the heavens, and the silhouette of a massive wolf, greater and more awesome than any beast born of Therafim, mounting the slim form of the shaman's daughter was emblazoned on the clouds. When she had returned, three days later, her scent had changed to that of one who is expecting. And in nine months, she had given birth to a healthy cub, normal-seeming, save for his flaming red fur, from which (as well as from the incidents of his birth) he took his surname.

Flintclaw had grown quickly, and had always been larger and stronger than the other males his age. Because of this, he developed a sense of alpha's entitlement, as well as a feeling of invincibility. But at the same time, he also realized that, since he had the ability to take what he wanted, when he wanted, he didn't have to be greedy about it. It became advantageous to be his friend, and the old shaman said many times that Flintclaw would become one of the greatest alphas in wolfen history. Harvas had latched onto Flintclaw from an early age, first playing the role of buddy, then mentor, and then companion as the fire-furred male grew and developed. Tornan, for his part, had a sense of hero worship for Flintclaw that went quite deep when he was a cub, and which gradually developed into a more mature but no less intense loyalty to the one that he regarded as his alpha.

Sadly, the very nature of alpha males means that they cannot brook competition. The shaman who had predicted Flintclaw's greatness died not long after Flintclaw completed his rites of adulthood, and not long after that, his mother departed into the wilderness, to live the solitary life of a landbonded druid, defending her territory from corruption, and (it was said by many) to better commune with the divine lover that had fulfilled her so when she was younger. Flintclaw knew the truth of this last rumor, as he visited his mother often when he had lived among the pack in Rimevast, but he had never seen fit to confirm or deny it. It was hardly a passing of the seasons, then, before Thallen, the aging alpha of the pack, grew tired of the upstart alpha male who would almost certainly take the older alpha's place, and had been known on several occasions to boast of this very possibility as though it was a certainty. In a great show of bravado, Alpha Thallen had called the young upstart out before the pack, had flung at Flintclaw all manner of names, and then had ordered Flintclaw to leave the tribe, and never return.

In the face of this public humiliation by the prideful alpha, Flintclaw had simply listened quietly and patiently, his manner quite uncharacteristic of his normal boisterous, proud self. All who had seen the incident expected Flintclaw to fly into one of his towering rages, and experienced as Thallen had been, it was known that Flintclaw was a mighty warrior as well and much stronger than Thallen had ever been, especially in the throes of the warp spasms that seemed to transform his body when he let the berserker spirits enter him, the gift of his father Fenrath. Instead of this, however, Flintclaw took it in complete silence, his arms folded before his chest. And when Thallen was done, the younger male turned on his heel, and went to his yert. Not long after, he returned bearing all his personal belongings, everything that he could carry with him, and walked calmly from the circle of the camp, his head held high. Tornan and Harvas had joined him not long after, when it was safe to do so, the former out of his continual, unswerving devotion, the latter because he recognized true greatness, and knew that he would find great glory following down the path that Flintclaw trod.

It was some days later, after they had traveled south, out onto one of the seasonal ice bridges that led to Autumn Land, that Flintclaw revealed his plans to his friends and packmates. He had visited his mother, he said, and had learned from her that he was now at the crossroads of destiny. To achieve the greatest possible destiny, he was to find the great and powerful witch Threetails, on the continent of Autumn Land, on the western edge of the massive and savage Great Green forest. Threetails would give him instructions on what he should do next, and whatever she told him to do, he should follow her advice, and pay whatever price she might ask for her assistance. It would all be worth it, or so his mother said, and Flintclaw trusted his mother as he did no other living creature, not even Fenrath himself.

"And so we find ourselves now," muttered Harvas to himself as he finished burying the ashes of their fire, after making sure they were well-mixed with water to prevent them from flaring up unexpectedly. He stood up just as Flintclaw was shaking Tornan, bringing the black-furred wolfen to gradual wakefulness. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Torn."

"Mmm, I was having the best dreams, Harv," said the younger male with a dreamy smile as he slowly rose, carefully tucking his tiny rag doll into a carefully-concealed pouch on the inside of his belt. "All filled with the hottest females you could ask for."

"Sounds like the best sort to me," agreed Flintclaw with a light smirk on his brutishly handsome face. "C'mon, both of you. The camp's broke, and I want to see Threetails before dark." He looked around the forest that engulfed them with a wary eye. "My eyes see living things all around, but my nose tells me it's all leeching life from the dead things the roots have dug into." He curled his lip in an expression of disgust. "I'd rather not see either of you end up as fertilizer in this green hell."

Neither of Flintclaw's companions could refute their alpha's words, for they could smell the same things: the stench of death hung heavy in the Great Green, for those that knew what to smell for. A human would have overlooked it completely, except for perhaps an uneasy feeling or a chill down the back of the spine, fear of the dark being the primary source of unease in the shadowy wood. But to the trained senses of wolfen, this was a place of deadly menace, the very woods a living, predatory thing.

No further words were spoken, as the three packmates kept their senses trained on the greenery around them, ready to act if the occasion required, though each in their own way. Harvas took the front, as he'd been in the Great Green when he was younger, many years past, as part of a diplomatic mission to the Council of Wands. He knew the game trail they were following, and knew that it would lead them not far from Threetails' hut, from rumors he'd heard during a hunting expedition with some of the nobility of Neminus, the chiefmost city of that country. Flintclaw, from the words of his mother, knew enough of the rest of the way to guide them when the time came.

Tornan and Flintclaw were each in their own marching orders, with the powerful Fenrathborn in the back, a fire-furred behemoth of barely-contained destruction, his mere presence radiating command and comfort to his packmates. While Harvas might have been ever wary, and Tornan a bundle of nervous energy, Flintclaw was calm, collected, though the raw power of his spirit could be felt, as could the constant, almost casual vigilance that he worked upon the world around him, as though daring it to challenge him. Tornan, for his part, stayed more-or-less in the middle of the group, his bow resting lightly in his hand, though in truth he was hardly ever still, but rather roved to each side of the path, and sometimes up ahead of Harvas, his eyes and ears and nose constantly working like an overeager dog out for a walk. But the black-furred wolfen wasn't simply showing puppylike enthusiasm (though he certainly had that), but rather was actively engaged in the process of scouting, his senses much sharper than that of either of his packmates. Tornan was the son of the best hunters in their pack in Rimevast, and his mother and father had shown him the basics of every trick that they knew while he was growing up. Though he still had much work to put what he'd been taught into practiced perfection, that still made Tornan's judgment in the wildlands something to which both Harvas and Flintclaw relied upon. And so the three wolfen made their way through the forest, the day waxing on, hour after hour, until, suddenly, Flintclaw spoke.

"Here," he said, his packmates immediately stopping and turning to look at where their alpha was pointing. "Threetails is over there."

Then, without further explanation, Flintclaw stepped into the bushes by the side of the trail, and promptly vanished from the sight of his companions as though he had never been there. Trading a glance of surprise, Harvas and Tornan hurried to the spot where their alpha had disappeared, and then pressed into the bushes as well. There was a moment of disorientation, the sickening lurch that comes from passing through a field of magical distortion, and then the pair saw where they had been led: onto a smooth, clear path that ran up to the door of a neatly-kept, cheerful-looking little cottage in the woods. Sunlight from the afternoon sun streamed down through cracks in the canopy above, and the garden of the cottage seemed to be flourishing in the mild weather.

"We've found her," said Flintclaw, walking boldly up the pathway, no fear in his stance or scent, though neither young Tornan nor the veteran Harvas could say that they felt the same as they followed behind their alpha. However pleasant it might have looked, they were walking into the territory of a witch, a powerful witch, if even a fraction of the stories were to be believed. Should she decide that she didn't want them there, Harvas and Tornan knew that they would soon be seeing if the powers of a young godspawn like Flintclaw were equal to the powers of a centuries-old creature like the mysterious Threetails.

Entertaining no such doubts of his own, Flintclaw brought his heavy fist down on the door as he reached it, thumping it firmly three times, with commanding authority. Whatever he was expecting - whatever all of them were expecting - from such a bold request for entry, it was nothing like what actually happened.

"Come in," came a pleasant, slightly husky female voice from within in a tone that could only be described as conversationally seductive. "The door isn't barred. I've been waiting for you."

Glancing at his friends with a smirk and a shrug, his body language telling them to play it cool, but not let their guards down, the towering Flintclaw gave the door a push. It opened easily, on well-oiled hinges, and the three wolfen stepped inside, Tornan, in the back, respectfully shutting the door quietly behind them. It was, after all, unwise to be anything less than polite to a witch.

As their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the hut, its closed shutters keeping out most of the sunlight, leaving only the crackling fire in the fireplace to provide primary lighting, the wolfen soon zeroed their gazed in on a figure standing by a table not far from the fire. The figure was wearing a diaphanous robe of a rich, royal purple, which clung to her (and she was very obviously a female) figure in a manner that was sinfully enticing. Achingly soft red fur, well-groomed and sleek, covered the succulent body that the three males could see from behind. Her rump, though well-toned and obviously made for extended endurance in running (and a great deal more than that) was obscured from their full view by three plush, beautiful vulpine tails, a black ring framing the white tip of each of them as they slowly moved in sinuous grace together. And when the feminine figure glanced at the three, throwing them a brilliant, white-toothed smile, made complete by brilliant emerald-green eyes batting behind sultry lashes in a delicate-featured vulpine face, it was obvious to the three wolfen that this female had powers beyond just magic at her disposal.

"I was just preparing you a light snack," said the vixen kitsune as she turned to fully face her guests. "Something for you to enjoy while we talk over business."

As she said this, Threetails (for who else could it be?) maneuvered herself slightly to the side of the table, revealing what she had been working on. Lying on a silver platter, the wolfen could see with wide, eager eyes, was a tiny humanoid figure, hardly more than a foot tall. The being looked very much like a miniature female elf with pale skin that had the lightest tinge of blue. Her gossamer butterfly wings and antennae, however, gave away the whole picture: she was a sprite, one of the tiniest of the fey folk. Though the expression on the sprite's sweet little face bespoke of her fright in her present situation, there was little she could do about it, as her wrists were bound behind her back, each to the opposite elbow, her wings neatly held in place with a loop of stout twine securing them to her waist, preventing her from unfolding them. Her mouth was firmly stuffed with a tiny gag that consisted of a single, very small kernel of hard, dry black corn, and the wolfen could see that her smooth, naked body was glistening with some sort of slick, clear oil.

Neither Tornan nor Harvas knew what to do in this situation, having been raised to consider the fey fearsome creatures of the wild, dangerous, chaotic, and unpredictable. Even a tiny fey like a sprite could be deceptively deadly, and so all wolfen held them in high respect. But Flintclaw, taking command of the situation easily, stepped forward while the little sprite was still frozen at the sight of the three newcomers, and reached down with one massive paw, closing his fingers firmly around the waist of the tiny creature, and lifted her easily from the platter, even as she began to kick her little legs desperately, muffled, desperate cries audible through the gag.

"A very tasty-looking snack indeed, Threetails," said the red-furred lupine as he looked the vainly-struggling little female over, nodding in approval, before he wedged his muzzle between the kicking legs of the little sprite, the hot breath of his nostrils blasting her most tender places as he took her scent. "Mmm, smells tasty as well."

"There's more dipping oil on the platter," Threetails indicated as she moved to stand by the fireplace, so that the flames backlit her filmy robe, making it harder to see her shaded foreparts in the shadows thrown over them, her hips swaying sensually with each step. She looked less than naked in that scandalous gown, and Tornan, young and perpetually horny as he was, couldn't take his eyes off the vixen's nipples, which stood out through the filmy material of her robe like bright silver nails on a dull black board. "It's a special concoction of my own; besides having a nice flavor, it also makes those who ingest it or rub it on their bodies grow deliciously aroused." The vixen smiled once more, then, the expression supernaturally dazzling. This was no mere mortal. Threetails was a kitsune, a fey herself, and a creature that demanded respect, her beauty making her all the more dangerous and powerful.

"You're not here, though, to trade recipes with me," Threetails said, cutting to the quick of the matter. "Are you?"

"Too dangerous for just a social call," said Flintclaw with a smirk, before he slowly ran his tongue up the front of the helpless little sprite, taking his time as he tilted her slightly, forcing her body to arch into the lick as Flintclaw's broad tongue, easily as long as she was tall, pressed against her lightly indented pubis, her bared belly, her perked little nipples, and her cheek as she turned her head. "Mmm, but yeah. I'm here because of my mother. She said you'd point me towards my destiny."

"Destiny, you say?" Threetails said with a light laugh that made Tornan's heart do a flipflop. "The son of a god comes to me looking for his destiny?" Then she smiled knowingly. "Your mother is wise. There are forces at work now on the world of Therafim, forces that I can only just begin to fathom, and lines of fate so spread out and tangled and intertwined that I have only started unraveling what is to come." Her smirk, however, said far more than her uncertain words. "I think you'll like what I've come up with for you, however. Your best possible destiny."

"I'm listening," said Flintclaw, lifting the squirming little sprite so that she was positioned just above his upturned muzzle, before he parted his jaws, dangling her helplessly above them, her screams of fright just barely audible through her gag and above the crackling of the fire. Taking his time, the red-furred wolfen lowered the sprite slowly between his powerful, sharp-toothed jaws, before he closed them gently around her lower half, his lips forming a tight seal around her waist. Now positioned vertically, the poor little sprite looked down with wide, terrified eyes at the part of her in the maw of the wolf, and then looked up at Flintclaw's eyes, shaking her head, her expression pleading with him for mercy far better than words ever could. The wickedly attractive male, however, just curled up the edges of his muzzle in a ruthless smile. Whatever he was going to do, there would be no mercy for his doomed little snack.

"There are several dark and terrible powers at work now," Threetails continued, her manner relaxed, though the words she spoke were hardly of a casual nature. "I don't even dare to name most of them, for fear of drawing their attention. Suffice to say that the natural order of the world is about to be thrown off - has already begun to be thrown off, to be precise, for slightly under two decades now - and that these great forces are about to reach critical mass." Finally Threetails looked serious, her muzzle turning down in a truly sexy pout. "The whole power structure of the world is going to be reworked, and I'm afraid that I'm not a part of it. I'm very likely to end up either enslaved or dead, depending on how I take it. And I'll count myself one of the lucky ones. We're talking about a rearrangement that's likely to force the gods themselves to step aside, before they even realize what's happening."

"Mmm," rumbled Flintclaw as he tilted his head forward slightly, making the sprite bend herself forward to keep from slipping back, pressing close to the flamefurred male's muzzle. Then his muzzle's strong, well-defined muscles, strong enough to crack through the bones of a full-grown deer, began to work, and her eyes grew wide indeed as the sprite started to be pulled into the maw of the wolfen. Shaking her head more violently as her doom drew nigh, the sprite was obviously struggling hard, trying to escape her fate, though all in vain against the strength of the much larger being that had her snared in his maw, her body covered in a sheen of sweat as well as the arousal-inducing oil. Then, quite suddenly, her struggles stopped, and she looked into the bright blue eyes of Flintclaw with eyes that were positively massive for the size of her head. Then, with a long, drawn-out moan, her whole body arched back and up, her lithe little body tensing. Smirking to himself, Flintclaw drove his tongue forward once more, making the sprite squeal into her gag, before he started flickering the tip up and down with a quick, energetic motion, wearing down her resistance.

"But there is also a force of positive change loose in the world," continued Threetails. "The sort of positive change that can counter and cancel out the negative changes that are looming so large on the horizon of destiny. All of these lines of positive fate entwine around a human girl, freshly into the breeding age, with golden hair, beautiful green eyes, and the most perfect, dear little bottom I have ever seen."

This last caused all eyes, Tornan's, Harvas', and Flintclaw's, to turn from Flintclaw's molestation of the sprite and look at Threetails (except for Tornan's, of course, which simply shifted upwards, to look at Threetails' face, rather than her other assets). The kitsune, however, just smiled.

"I deflowered her with a Phallus of Kon," she explained. "A powerful item with potent erotic magic woven into it. Normally, it just enhances the sexual experience of whatever creature it penetrates, and allows a sharing of sensations, besides merging with the clitoris of a female to act as a faux penis. However, when it deflowers a virgin, it does far more than that. And I deflowered this little sweetling in all three of her holes." She smirked wickedly at this. "Though I don't think she remembers how greedily she was suckling on the Phallus as I fed it into her cute little mouth - I manipulated her memories shortly afterward, so that she would be better suited for the tasks ahead of her. Her retained innocence, you see, is a part of her appeal, as well as providing strength to her youthful idealism. And she'll need all the advantages she can get for the trials that are ahead of her."

Flintclaw seemed to only be half-listening as Threetails spoke, however, one of his ears turned towards her. The rest of his attention was placed quite firmly on the tasty little sprite in his muzzle, as he bobbed her forward and back, suckling noisily on her sweet fey flesh and succulent fairy juices, his tongue cruelly abusing her little spritequim until she was squealing loudly into the gag, her pale-skinned body turning a much darker, flushed shade of blue, her indigo nipples as hard and stiff as little needles as her body thrashed and spasmed uncontrollably.

"Find this girl," said Threetails with a firm nod. "Find her, and follow her. Her quest is your own, and if you help her accomplish it, not only will you put this world back in its proper order, you'll also gain the best possible destiny for yourself." Her eyes closed, and she smiled at Flintclaw, seeing something beyond natural sight. "I can promise you, son of Fenrath, that you will become a great ruler, and that you will have princesses and the daughters of great chieftains as devoted and eager members of your harem. Provided that you stay alive, of course."

"Then," said Flintclaw, letting the trembling, hyper-sensitive sprite slide from his muzzle out onto his broad paw, "I suppose I'd better make sure I don't die." He ran his other hand over the body of the sprite, gently, careful not to injure her delicate skin and slightly soggy wings, before he carried her back to the table. There he slowly dipped her into the bowl of savory arousal oil, rolling her from side to side until her body was slick with it once more. "Who's next to enjoy this snack?" he asked, lifting the sprite upwards, while she looked at the pair of wolfen before her with huge eyes, the realization that her ordeal was just beginning sinking in quickly as she saw the eager eyes and wagging tails of Harvas and Tornan as they closed in. She only had time for a weak little whimper before they were upon her.

*

It was some hours later before Threetails set the breathless and bedraggled little sprite out in her garden, leaning her unbound body on the lip of a birdbath, so that the tiny fey could bathe herself somewhat before she made her escape. Being a fey, thankfully, meant that what she'd just been through at the paws and tongues of the wolfen inside the cottage was almost par for the course; satyrs were known for being far worse, and lords of the fey worse still.

Meanwhile, the wolfen had set up camp, so to speak, around the fireplace inside the little cottage. Threetails, for her part, had a separate room where her bed was located, an uncommon feature in a cottage to be sure. As the three males settled in for the night, so as to be ready to start out after the human girl in the morning, letting them avoid the many dangers that walked the Great Green by night, Flintclaw, his armor set aside, left his two companions, and walked to the door of that separate room, pushing it open without so much as a knock.

In the small bedroom, the large, plush-looking bed with its four posters and hanging curtains being the most dominant feature - almost the only feature - in the room, little globes filled with witchfire floated around, their many-colored illumination the only light in the room, save for the pale slivers of moonlight that filtered in through the trees all around. Threetails stood by the large window, just starting to let the tissue of robe she was wearing slide from her shoulders, bunching about her waist at the moment that Flintclaw entered quietly, but not quietly enough, as Threetails turned upon hearing his toeclaws clicking on the wood floor, her green eyes wide, startled. For the first time, she looked uncertain at seeing a loincloth-clad male in her room, and Flintclaw couldn't help but find the look appealing. He strode across the room, his massive paws easily catching hold of her hip and her shoulder, bending her slightly over the sill of the window as she still clutched at the robe, but unable to pull it back up her body thanks to the hands now gripping her.

"Feeding us that aphrodisiac with your 'snack,'" the firefurred male growled in Threetails' ear. "The sexy clothes, the seductive setup, the whole night having to hang around your place so we'll get more of the same until morning. And I'm pretty sure I smelled dried lovetree bark burning in your fireplace. You wanted us turned on and ready to pop when we met that girl, didn't you?" He growled, low and dark and seductive in Threetails' ear, making the slim, three-tailed vixen shiver. She whimpered softly as he moved his hand from her shoulder to pull her hands away from her robe, letting it slide to the ground, leaving her naked against his chest and belly and barely-covered groin as he moved against her, grinding the firm, building bulge in his loincloth beneath her splayed, twitching tails and into the crease of her plush-furred bottom. "You wanted us to ravish her, didn't you?"

"It's not like that," gasped out the trembling witchvixen as she felt Flintclaw's paws brashly roving her sleek, copper-furred body, blunt clawtips teasing the delicate skin beneath her fur as he stroked them over her shoulders, her arms, her belly, her thighs. "I wanted you aroused, certainly. But it wouldn't be ravishing her, not really. That's part of the power of the Phallus: because I deflowered her with it, I've instilled all the knowledge that the female dragon it was made for ever had about sex into her. The moment you start to touch her, her body will react in readiness to accept whatever you want to give her. You see why I had to suppress her memories?"

"She woulda been a little slut otherwise," snorted Flintclaw with mild derision, cupping Threetails' breasts in his huge paws, teasing the very tips of his claws around her flushed aureoles, making the vixen bite her lower lip with a sharp intake of breath. "Fresh into the breeding years like you said she was, she'd be overwhelmed with all kinds of needs. With the girl like that, she'd probably just end up as a whore at the first decent-sized town she came to, maybe get to be a high-priced call girl if she's got some brains to go with her skills and looks, or even the pampered wife of some rich guy. Not much good as an agent of destiny that way, though, huh?"

"N-no," agreed Threetails, her tails arching up over her back of their own accord as Flintclaw leaned over her shoulder, his long, thick, smooth lupine tongue lashing out, slathering her sweet breasts one by one, before his muzzle closed over her right nipple, and he began to suckle upon it with slow, careful attention. "But there's more to it than just that. With the Phallus of Kon, she actually draws power from sexual pleasure, stores it up. If she were any normal female, she'd simply become a cistern of raw, pent-up sexual energy, gradually leaking into all those around her, making them so susceptible to the needs of the body. But since she also knows how to use magic herself, she can draw on that power, use it, release it in ways that are truly devastating." As the tension of her body grew too much, as Flintclaw released her right nipple with a final lick of his tongue, before shifting his attentions to the left one, swirling that talented oral organ around it in a tight circle, Threetails reached out with her hands to catch herself, holding herself up against the glass of the window, her breath coming short and fast now with tension and need, for it seemed that the wolfen were not the only ones affected by the eroticism of that night. "That's why I had to put my mark on her belly: I had to make sure she didn't run out of control."

"New information," growled Flintclaw, releasing Threetails' other nipple, before pushing her forward, her breasts squeezing up against the cool glass. "Keep talking."

With her cheek turned to the side as she was forced to thrust out her hips against the protrusion of the windowsill, Threetails could see clearly as Flintclaw took half a step back, one hand still resting on the small of her back, holding her in place, while his other worked at the knot of his loincloth. Her tails arched up in an erotic fleur-de-lis, and she couldn't help but gasp as Flintclaw's loincloth dropped, releasing the proud beast that he'd kept only barely hidden until then. His penis was exquisite, a savage masterpiece, matching perfectly the rest of his large, powerful, perfectly-molded body, and it glowed slightly in the darkness of the room, with the cherry-red illumination of an iron bar just barely thrust into the coals of a smithy.

"You truly are the son of Fenrath," Threetails managed to get out in a hoarse whisper, giving a short cry as she felt the very tip of that heated organ pressing up against her slick, puffy pink sex, framed in the softest white fur of her underbelly, which ran up to just beneath her tail, highlighting both of her lower orifices in an inviting sweetness.

"I said," Flintclaw got out harshly, gripping her hips firmly, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he bent over her, covering her like a brute beast, "keep telling me your plans."

"Plans for all of us...oh! Oh! OH!" Threetails started, only to have her words cut off by a wail of pleasure as Flintclaw's hips pushed forward, his paws about her waist clenching tightly as he squeezed the swollen tip of his powerful prick into the vixen's quim, then started feeding more of his length into her, the wet sounds of this penetration loud in the room, matched only by the erotic snarling of the dominant male as he mounted his chosen bitch. "My mark on her is invisible," Threetails continued to say, babbling almost, her words forced through a haze of overwhelming need. "Until she uses the power I've helped to lock inside of her. It's like a cork on a jug, keeping all the sensual corruption and sexual energy she'll gather bottled inside, keeping her innocent, keeping her from casually drawing on it until she needs it most, in an explosive burst." Her head arched back, eyes squeezing shut as Threetails felt the heavy balls of the mighty wolfen behind her press against her soaked thighs, her next words coming in a drawn-out groan. "It...it also keeps her from getting pregnant, so she can finish the tasks ahead of her without distractions. With all that energy building up inside of her constantly, females around her will become so easily aroused, males unable to concentrate, both so easily seduced. With her around, you'll be almost guaranteed to get anyone you might want, as all inhibitions go down, all resistances and social barriers fail." Threetails drew in a shaky breath. "It will be exquisite."

"That's enough talk," said Flintclaw, before he pulled Threetails' head back with one huge paw, forcing his muzzle to hers in a primal kiss, so fiery and passionate, it felt like a volcano was going off inside of them both, and Threetails felt her first orgasm wash over her, albeit a small one for now, her inner walls rippling around the thick length spreading her open so very widely, her juices wetting the bellyfur of the male whose cockhead was tickling against the gates of her womb.

No longer holding back, having extracted all the information he wanted from this female, Flintclaw started to thrust, his hips moving hard and fast. Threetails' breasts squeaked slightly as her achingly hard nipples were rubbed up and down the glass in front of her at this almost brutal pounding, her whole body going into sexual overdrive at the rush of raw hormones it sent through her. Harsh growls and snarls and grunts from Flintclaw matched the moans, whimpers, and outright sobs from Threetails, while the whole room was filled with the wet, luscious sounds of their bestial coupling, neither of them holding anything back. The alpha wolfen's heavy balls slapped loudly against the vixen's thighs as he hunched against her, his fast-pistoning shaft driving almost straight up into her as Threetails seemed to be climbing the window in front of her, black-furred hands and pink-nippled breasts squeezed tightly against the glass, her body thrusting upwards, suspended on Flintclaw's cock and hips and hands as he used her well.

Sliding one massive paw back, Flintclaw arched it around Threetails' hip, finding her clitoris, swollen like a firm, perfect pink pearl, and began to rub her there in hard, fast little circles. His balls were tightening, and he wasn't holding himself back any more, his thrusts so hard now that they made the thick, leaded glass of the window creak slightly in its frame. As his primal howl filled the room, rattling the shutters, Threetails cried out as well, wanton need bubbling over as she came once more (was it the second time, or the eighteenth? She had lost track in the haze of lust), her juices squirting out onto the firefurred male's thighs and belly, matting them down against his firm musculature, her tails curling back towards him, wrapping around his waist, cupping his tightly-clenched, well-muscled rump, as though trying to hold him as tightly inside of her as possible, until her cunny had milked every last drop of wolfcum out of him.

Weak now, drained, the kitsune slid down the window, and fell easily into Flintclaw's powerful arms as he lifted her, her weight mattering as much as that of a feather to his deity-born strength. It was through a warm, rosy haze that Threetails noticed the other two wolfen standing in the doorway, as naked as Flintclaw, their own erections standing full and firm, Tornan's as black as his fur, and Harvas' a very suckable pink, both a hybrid of a humanoid penis and that of a wolf, though to varying degrees, as was common among the wolfen. Harvas lacked a knot, while Tornan's was almost swollen to full size with his arousal, stroking his glistening black shaft slowly with one paw while his other held the bowl of arousal oil that Threetails had set out earlier.

"A good alpha attends to the needs of his pack," said Flintclaw, his growling voice back to normal now that he'd had his first orgasm of the night, its savage huskiness gone, making it much easier to understand him. "Tonight, we're sharing your bed, Threetails."

Threetails just nodded, panting hard, as Flintclaw set her on the top blanket of the four-poster bed, positioning her on all-fours. Her legs and arms wobbled a bit, but she was able to hold herself up as he moved the pillows at the head of the bed under her belly, and Harvas added one from the couch, letting her rest on them, propping her sweetly-curved, furry rump into the air, making it an easy target. Flintclaw and his packmates soon climbed onto the bed themselves, surrounding her. And as the bed creaked beneath their combined, muscular weight, Threetails felt a vague sense of relief that she'd had the bed made by gnomes. Any lesser craftwork would surely have made the massive bed's frame crack under the rough abuse it was likely to receive tonight.

Feeling battle- and work-roughened paws roaming her fine, silken-furred tush, Threetails couldn't help but arch her tails upwards once more, baring all her sweet treasures to the eager eyes of the three males crouching behind her. They didn't stare for long, however, for only moments later, she felt hot breath on her nether parts, as the wolfen took her scent. Moments after that, Threetails squealed like a kit at her first mating as the wolfen took their tongues to her! It was as though her pink places has been turned into the site of a feeding frenzy, as Harvas wrapped his muzzle around the vixen's clitoris, latching himself there as he suckled and swirled his tongue over that hooded organ, giving her no peace, nowhere to escape. Just above him, leaning in from the other side, Flintclaw's broad, powerful tongue drove into Threetails' cunny, cleaning up his mess at the same time he was eating her out, scooping out dollops of her sweet, tangy vixenjuice. Tornan, for his part, knelt by Threetails' side, so that he could lean over her back, his paws, gentler than those of his packmates, prizing apart her trim tush, making her tails flicker as his tongue slithered between her rearcheeks, and started to wriggle against the tiny nub of her tailhole. Under such attentions, it was all that Threetails could do to grab the blankets beneath her, and hold on tight, her own slender muzzle grabbing the topmost pillow under her between her jaws, biting down hard to muffle her wanton cries of passion.

After many minutes passed, and Threetails was nearing the limits of her endurance, having shuddered through two more orgasms under the oral attentions of the three tribal males, Flintclaw pulled his muzzle back, and leaned against one of the posts of the bed, grinning as he nodded to his packmates.

"Harvas has a liking for a girl's eyes," he explained, as the older, grey-furred male crawled around the panting kitsune, licking her cheek before he knelt in front of her, arching his hips to better present his pulsing pink length, his white-furred balls obviously badly swollen with unspent seed. "Especially when she's taking his cock in her mouth."

Threetails didn't resist the impulse, the unspoken request, her delicate hands stroking the wolfen's shaft, then holding it steady as she tenderly caressed the soft fur of his sensitive, aching sac. Giving the very tip of Harvas' humanlike glans a tender kiss, Threetails then started to lick it, first curling her tongue around one side, then the other, until Harvas started to whimper like a hungry pup, his abdomen tensing, while his hands gripped the blanket beneath him tightly, his tail tensing and lifting as a sign of his need. Taking pity on the overwrought male, Threetails slid the needy length of the male before her into her muzzle, her tongue working the underside with expert skill born from many centuries of practice. As she wrapped one small hand around the very base of his penis, where it protruded from his sheath, and was thus as its most sensitive, the vixen looked up at Harvas with her large green eyes, the erotic sight of such a beautiful female taking his length into her pretty, slender muzzle making squirts of precum start to quickly fill up the kitsune's mouth, requiring her to swallow often.

"Tornan, on the other hand," continued Flintclaw with a smirk, as Threetails' eyes widened a bit more, turning to try and look back as she felt the warm arousal oil being poured over her backside, her head held in place, however, by Harvas' strong paw, "has a special weakness for anal sex." Chuckling slightly at the muffled sounds that came from Threetails around the thick wolfen length in her muzzle as Tornan carefully worked his fingers into her, loosening her up, getting her ready for him, Flintclaw continued. "You're a tight-bottomed vixen, Threetails, and after Torn's loosened you up a bit, I'm going to take my turn riding that fine rump of yours next."

Threetails could only moan, and that in muffled fashion, as she felt the pointed, wolflike tip of Tornan's cock being pressed up against her little pink tailhole, a soft squeal forced from her throat as her chin was pressed up against Harvas' balls when the black-furred wolfen began squeezing his penis into her. Despite his youthful eagerness, however, Tornan wasn't cruel, and he gave her plenty of time to adjust to the intrusion, until she felt the younger male's weighty balls bump against her cunny, the sopping wet juices there soon soaking the fur of his sac.

Taken from both ends, Threetails reached back the hand that had been fondling Harvas' scrotum, and slipped it between her thighs, pleasuring herself even as her tails arched, her rump flexing, her throat gulping as she took both wolfen, fore and aft, to the hilt inside of her. Her tailhole continued to clench, holding onto Tornan's shaft as he worked himself back with a hard grunt, before grabbing hold of the kitsune's two side tails, using them like handlebars as he thrust back in, his youthful muscles tensing visibly beneath his black fur as he started to thrust, forward and back, panting hard with the effort of humping that fine, well-oiled vixen rump, his chin pressed almost onto his chest as he looked down at her, not wanting to miss a single moment.

Harvas, for his part, let Tornan and Threetails set the pace, his packmate making Threetails move forward with each slap of his hips against her upturned bum, while the vixen herself bobbed her head fast and eager, greedy for the older male's cum. Harvas, though, just grinned down at Threetails, watching her butt bounce with each impact from the rear, her center tail arched high over her back like a plume, and then down to her heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes, staring up at him with such desperate need and desire. She was moaning like a whore as she moved the hand that had been at the base of his shaft to her cheek, fingers running through the soft fur of her face in a wild abandon of passion as she lost herself in the moment, eyes clenching tightly shut, her whole body trembling now, the scent of vixencum hitting Harvas' nostrils like a sledgehammer. More than that hit Tornan, as his balls and thighs were promptly drenched with Threetails' orgasm as it squirted out around her fingers. The sight was more than he could take, and the feel of Threetails' tailhole fluttering around his shaft like a bird's heartbeat was utterly overwhelming, setting him off into a desperate round of fast, hard humping, both his hands going to the base of her central tail, taking the two sides ones with them, grabbing onto the tailtrio and holding tight as though it were a lifeline in a storm.

At this increase of desperate activity from Tornan, Threetails' eyes popped open, her jaws starting to go slack. Harvas smirked at this, and decided to take charge. Bringing one big paw down on Threetails' head, he lifted his furry butt from its resting place on her sheets, and rose to a kneeling position, before both his paws clasped her head, holding her firmly in place as he started to thrust as well, grunting with each impact of his rising balls against her chin.

Her sweetly-formed breasts bouncing back and forth as she was roughly sandwiched between these savage males, it was all that Threetails could do to hold on while she was being pounded with gusto, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, her throat gulping loudly as she worked to keep up, the wolfen holding nothing back now. The sense of domination was intoxicating, and she gave into it, her whole body spasming again, and then again, and then a fourth time in a row as the wolfen at either end cried out in passion, losing themselves at last, thick, hot, creamy wolfcum erupting from their surging cocks. Tornan managed to pull free at the last moment, his copious load coating Threetails' rounded rump, marking her, while she pulled back slightly, just enough to catch the sweet musk of Harvas' cum on her tastebuds, her eyes opening to look up at him in an orgasm-befuddled state. It seemed like a moment of eternity that the three of them stayed like that, pleasure shaking each of their bodies. And then, almost as one, they collapsed to the bed, panting for breath from their exertions.

Threetails sighed in pleasured satisfaction as she felt the soft, gentle hands of the two wolfen stroking her body, and reached out to them, starting to coax them towards her for gentle cuddling. But then she felt Flintclaw's powerful paws on her rump, rolling her to her side, and she turned her head, looking up at him with slight, startled trepidation.

"I said I was going to have that fine tailhole of yours, vixywitch," chuckled Flintclaw as his thick, swollen cockhead found her cum-whitened rosette, and then easily pressed inside, accompanied by her long, gasping moan, even as the fingers of one of his hands filled up her sopping sex at the same time. "You've got a long night ahead of you."

* * *

"Just hold to that direction, and you'll catch up with her soon enough," said Threetails, smiling pleasantly at the three beastfolk males that had stayed the night in her cottage. "I'd say in about two days' time, if you don't delay. You'll know her when you see her from my description, I promise. Sweet, expressive green eyes, hair like summer wheat, her body in the very middle of its long budding into full womanhood, a gnarled staff that never leaves her side, and..."

"And the most perfect bottom you have ever seen," finished Flintclaw with a grin, looking refreshed and ready to press onward into the day (though his companions looked rather less chipper, having not gotten much sleep the night before). "Since our fates seem to be tied together, and Fenrath whispers to me that you speak the truth, then I suppose that we shall soon see what fate has in store for us. Fare you well, Wise One."

"And you also, Fenrathson," answered Threetails, watching the three make their way from the clearing where her cottage lay, before she turned as they left her sight, and entered her house, tails swishing behind her in their unique fashion.

Had Threetails lingered a bit longer, and dared to use a touch of her power, she might have noticed someone else following along behind the three wolfen, cloaked with a veil of faerie magic. Someone who had heard almost every word that she'd spoke to the trio about the dangers that were coming upon the world, and who didn't hold a grudge against anyone who could give her multiple orgasms as well as those three beastfolk had, especially when they could have done far worse to her (and Threetails almost certainly would have, if they hadn't arrived). And someone who needed only a decent night's rest to be more than replenish her energies, even after such relatively rough treatment.

"This should be quite an adventure," Petalbloom Peasblossom giggled to herself as she bobbed along on her fluttering wings, taking no heed for the past or the future, and instead focusing on the fun of the present.