FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Redemption of Ix

© 2021 Bruno Hirschkoff

*

Chapter 4

*

Uzgal Sludgespear couldn't sleep. It was the first time in years the gnoll had slept beneath the stars. The last time he'd done so had been the night before Gnuzz Slimefist had discovered his crimes of lust in the planar city--and the disfigurement he wore as punishment. Memories of his clan swirled in Uzgal's mind. Memories of companionship lost, sundered from his future over the very thing that had often bound them together. The wild gnoll clans of Ix demonstrated their strength to each other and to their foes with warfare and bloodshed, but internal loyalty was another thing entirely--and it was garnered with pleasures of the flesh, given and shared by all. But more often than that, gnolls indulged their rampant sexual urges for the sheer pleasure of it.

In the darkness of the vast, dense forest, Uzgal could just barely see the outline of his stubborn, relentless erection jutting upward to the sky, pulsing steadily with his heartbeat. It had never fully retreated, not since his companions, Gradbal the Berserk and Booker Corbin, had bade him tell his story to them around the campfire. The fact that his nigh-uncontrollable arousal had resulted in Gradbal becoming erect only fired Uzgal's urges on. But the gnoll knew that after years of brutal treatment, his organ was virtually numb. The bruises and abrasions he'd caused the last time he'd managed to masturbate to climax were only just fully healed, and he was reluctant to cause more of the same. Occasionally he awoke with a snort to find his body taking care of its own needs, but it was never quite the same as bringing himself very deliberately to climax in a cackling crescendo of desire. Try as he might, Uzgal struggled to come to terms with just how degraded his pleasure organ had become. Even as rigidly erect as it was, it looked as dry and rough as it felt. Skin that had once been tender and sensitive was deeply striated, scarred and keratinised beyond recognition. Even the colour of his maleness had changed. When he'd first been punished by the Skin Sunderer, the forward half of his organ had been a glowing, fleshy pink and its base a rich, deep brown, like the rest of his skin beneath his fur. Now, his penis was blotchy and marked by vitiligo, patches of skin that had lost all their pigment from the repeated damage Uzgal did to it in pursuit of anything resembling the rapturous pleasure it used to give him.

Uzgal swivelled an ear to listen to the sounds of his companions. Gradbal the orc and Booker and half-orc seemed fast asleep, Booker spooned in Gradbal's arms. Uzgal's arousal was like a fire in his loins. He could feel its weight. Every time he felt himself beginning to drift closer to sleep, his mind would recall the sinuous, tight smoothness of Squeak-Clank the kobold, or the musky slickness of his clan leader's foreskin, overflowing with his fragrant seed into Uzgal's fur...

He snarled in lust. His penis ached. It was as hard as iron. Uzgal squeezed it roughly and ground his leathery pawpads around his desiccated, brutally keratinised glans. He couldn't feel a thing. Even his tunic, recently acquired from the planar city, was not rough enough to elicit a tingle in his ruined maleness--and the one thing he knew he could always rely on, his ancient, tattered loincloth, had been lost somewhere on the road in their flight from Sperlingtwatt. Desperate for pleasure, the gnoll rose and padded listlessly around their tiny campsite, until his eye fell upon a pile of grain sacks, neatly stacked in the back of the supply cart that accompanied the small party.

*

Booker Corbin jolted awake. At his back, Gradbal snored steadily, his body still and peaceful. It was not the orc that had woken him. Booker disentangled himself from Gradbal's arms and rose to a squat. Were there enemies nearby? The half-orc drew his mace from within his folded cloak, on which he had pillowed his head. Its weight was reassuring. His eyes scanned the forest for any sign of movement, anything that might have been out of place. He could see nothing. The forest was calm and still. Surely if there had been a threat to their safety, Gradbal would have awoken.

It was then that Booker heard the squeak and rattle of their cart rocking against the stones he had placed against its wheels to hold it in place. Gripping his mace, he rose smoothly to his feet. Abruptly, he remembered their new companion. Uzgal's bedding, such as it was, was empty. The gnoll was nowhere to be seen. But the cart, laden with sacks of grain and other supplies covering the contraband beneath, was visibly rocking on its axles. Booker could hear hoarse, ragged breathing, which suddenly turned into a familiar cackle.

What in the Nine Hells is that gnoll doing?

Booker took a tentative step sideways, to bring Uzgal into view. The first thing he saw was the gnoll's buttocks gyrating wildly up against the back of the cart. Uzgal's eyes were closed. The gnoll was naked. At first glance, it seemed to Booker that he was... _fucking _the supply cart?

That was, incidentally, precisely what Uzgal was doing. Or at least, he was ramming his rigid flesh between two grain sacks. Booker watched for a long moment, scarcely able to believe what he was witnessing. He could hear the dry rasp of the rough sack-cloth grating along bare skin. How was that not agonisingly painful? Quietly, the half-orc cleared his throat.

Uzgal continued. The gnoll was so urgently horny, so pent up and so desperate for release that he even made eye contact with the half-orc. But he did not stop his furious humping. The dry, abrasive friction and the weight of the grain sacks surrounding his granite-hard rod were too good to pause, even for a moment. Tingles of pleasure filled the gnoll's brain, even better than his old loincloth had been. The longer he went, the more desensitised his shaft became. By the time Booker Corbin awoke, he was hammering full-force into the back of the supply cart, rocking it on its axles in pursuit of enough stimulation to allow him to empty his aching nuts.

Booker held Uzgal's gaze. His yellow eyes were those of a wild gnoll, not a civilised creature. The gem in his forehead glowed brightly, but Uzgal's hormonal urges had overcome its power. Booker kept hold of his mace, and took a tentative step towards the beast.

"Easy, Uzgal. It's me, Booker. Are you there?"

"Nnh!" Uzgal grunted.

"You'd better stop, Uzgal, before you get the grain wet. Can you not get yourself off with your paws?"

With a gargantuan effort, Uzgal controlled himself, and stepped back from the supply cart. Booker winced at what he saw. The gnoll's flesh, as viciously scarred as it was from his visit to Boldog the Skin Sunderer, was scarcely recognisable as a penis. A ruined, abraded mass of keratin and deeply striated, bone dry scar tissue, even its pigmentation destroyed by the gnoll's abuse, it pulsed angrily with Uzgal's elevated heartbeat. Unexpectedly, Booker felt himself becoming aroused over the sight of it. His clitoris throbbed between his thighs. He couldn't place it, but there was something surprisingly erotic about the gnoll's desperation, his rampant hormones having driven him to ruin his flesh to such an extent.

Booker stepped closer. Uzgal stayed still, and even pushed out his hips to his new companion, presenting what remained of his organ for the half-orc's inspection.

Booker touched it. It was hot against his fingertips, reddened and rubbed raw by the rough, scratchy sacking cloth Uzgal had been hammering it into. In spite of the abuse, it was hard as iron in Booker's grip, and the half-orc squeezed it roughly in a sudden rush of his own arousal that dampened his thighs.

"I... believe I can help you, Uzgal. I am a healer, after all, and _this _is little short of a wound. Come, let me help you find your relief, and tomorrow we shall begin to work on repairing you."

Uzgal's eyes widened, and within their feral gaze Booker could see a spark of hope, of recognition. The half-orc grinned, and produced a pair of woollen mitts from near the remnants of the campfire. They were intended for handling hot cookware, and they were thick and rough. Perfect for Uzgal, Booker thought, at least this once before he could work out how to heal the gnoll's degraded organ. Uzgal cackled in recognition as Booker pulled on the mitts, and the half-orc could see the gnoll's organ throb in anticipation. His balls hung heavy beneath it, loaded as they were with several weeks' worth of the hyaenid's unspilt seed. Booker stepped in close to Uzgal behind the supply cart, and glanced up into the gnoll's eyes. They glinted in the dull glow of his enchanted gem, and drool strung down from his jaws onto Booker's arm. He was quite well-hung, Booker thought--his organ measured a solid seven or maybe even eight inches. The half-orc, his woollen mitts in place, curled one hand around its base, lifting Uzgal's member to inspect it. It looked mummified. The scar of the Skin Sunderer's punishment was jagged and rough, and beneath his glans, Booker saw no trace of the frenulum Gradbal had somehow managed to retain.

Uzgal ground his hips into Booker's scratchy woollen mitts, and the half-orc swallowed thickly. Why was he so turned on by the gnoll's urgency?

Self-indulgently, Booker lifted his tunic off over his head. His only clothing then was the cloth that bound his chest, and he felt Uzgal's eyes wander over his body. A fog of lust descended over Booker's mind. He stepped in close to the gnoll, and raised one foot onto the cart's tailgate. His exposed pussy gleamed in the moonlight, his clitoris rigidly erect and protruding an inch or so from the dense nest of hair around it.

"Don't tell Gradbal," the half-orc mumbled.

Uzgal dutifully shook his head, and gripped the edge of the cart as Booker plunged onto his ruined cock. It was the most unexpected sensation. Uzgal had not had his penis inside a vagina in years, and never one owned by a male. It was hot and wet and slippery, but even it elicited little feeling in the gnoll. Still, Booker seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself. The half-orc rocked his hips urgently onto the gnoll's iron-hard member, and Uzgal automatically wrapped his arms around Booker, bucking into his new companion. The half-orc gave a guttural moan into Uzgal's coarse fur. Their hips ground and gyrated together, Uzgal's rigidly immobile flesh pummelling the half-orc cleric's silken depths. He was quick. Uzgal understood that even this, such an intimate and heated exchange was solely an expression of Booker's arousal--it was happening only so that the half-orc could get his rocks off. Even when Booker climaxed, a few minutes later, Uzgal barely felt a tingle in the root of his flesh, even as the half-orc orgasmed so hard the gnoll had to hold him up.

Booker panted softly in afterglow. What had come over him? He glanced furtively over at Gradbal who, amazingly, still slept. Uzgal's organ was just as rigid as ever, pulsing rhythmically inside him with the gnoll's heartbeat. Uzgal seemed no closer to the relief he craved.

"Did you come close?" Booker whispered.

Uzgal shook his head.

"If we keep going, will you be able to? I... it has been so long since I felt another male's cum inside me--if Gradbal finished within me it might lead to pregnancy."

Uzgal cackled, and gyrated his hips into Booker again. The half-orc moaned, but Uzgal could feel almost nothing. There was no way he would ever be able to work up enough friction to ejaculate in the warm, slippery embrace of Booker's flesh. He withdrew, and Booker knew the answer without Uzgal needing to vocalise it. He would need to use the dry, scratchy woollen mitts. Booker gazed down at Uzgal's aching member. The redness of it seemed accentuated now, glistening wet as it was with Booker's cum. The half-orc removed one of his mitts, and gripped Uzgal. The gnoll cackled softly, and brought his own hand down to guide Booker.

"Rough. Be rough," he grunted. "Only way."

Booker obliged. He pulled on one of the woollen mitts again and, gripping Uzgal's thick root in his other hand, began to violently rosy-palm the gnoll. Tighter and tighter he gripped, until he was treating Uzgal's glans like a stubborn cork, twisting and pulling on it so hard he feared he might injure the gnoll. But that was just how Uzgal needed it--he grunted and cackled in delight, leaning against the cart with his head tipped back to the stars. His hips jutted forward, and Booker could feel the gnoll's thigh trembling against his own. On a whim, Booker leaned in to Uzgal's chest. He stank, but in a familiar way. Booker's lips sought one of the gnoll's nipples, and bit it hard. Uzgal sucked in a raspy breath. Booker felt claws at the back of his head, and the gnoll's other hand on his buttocks. He squeezed Uzgal's rod, yanking back violently on what little movement was left in his shaft skin, and hastened his corkscrewing around the gnoll's ruined glans.

It was the first time anyone but Uzgal himself had wrenched forth an orgasm from that degraded flesh in years. Uzgal yipped and cackled his encouragement and, at long last, fireworks erupted in his brain. His legs turned to water, his entire body shook and trembled, and the cart rocked against its chock-stones. White hot pleasure lanced upward through Uzgal's shaft, through his balls and straight to his brain. His eyelids fluttered closed, his maw hung open, and finally--_finally--_the rhythmic throb and pulse of orgasm ripped through his body. The splatter of gnoll-cum that erupted through Booker's gloved hand caught the half-orc by surprise, and he grunted at the sight. It was like someone had pierced an ale-barrel after rolling it down a mountain. Seed sprayed haphazardly forth, a messy spritz that splattered into the dirt in an arc around where the gnoll and the half-orc stood.

Uzgal slumped against the cart as his orgasm subsided. He lowered his face to Booker, soft cackles of thanks washing over the half-orc's cheek.

"Hey, don't thank me, Uzgal. You uh... promise not to tell Gradbal I fucked you?"

"Mm. You enjoyed it?"

"Very. I don't know what came over me, I just... was so turned on by the sight of you so openly erect in front of me I..."

Uzgal chuckled. "You feel nice when you climax."

"You felt that?"

Uzgal nodded. "A pity my flesh is so ruined, though. I could feel you squeezing it but even being inside you brought me precious little of the pleasure I recall from my youth."

"I believe I can help with that, my friend. Your member is so numb because of how you've been masturbating all these years, first to hide your shame at being circumcised, and then because it was the only way you could reliably feel anything. I can feel that your rod is more callused than Gradbal's feet, and that is saying something. We need to soften those calluses, start healing those scars--and then, in time, you'll be able to feel again."

Uzgal felt a flutter of hope. With that short speech, just an idea, Booker Corbin the healer had won Uzgal's loyalty.

*

Tangent was not sure how many times he masturbated that night. First the giant orc's exhibitionism, then the gnoll wildly fucking a pile of grain sacks, and then--as if that hadn't been arousing enough already--the half-orc's rendezvous with the gnoll sent the voyeuristic kobold into raptures of pleasure. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it sooner, but since the night he'd spent with the tavern wench in the Vagabond's Rest, Tangent had entirely ceased to struggle to bring forth pleasure from his recently-reconfigured rod. Before, he'd been trying to masturbate the way he always used to--by gripping and moving the skin over his glans. Which, of course, no longer worked. The slipperiness of the tavern wench's glorious lips--both sets of them--had made him reconsider. By moistening his hand, Tangent found that he could slide his grip along his penis instead, and the wet friction brought him to mind-melting pleasure in moments. It was even better than before, he thought. He only hoped his own flesh would remain as such, and not turn into the dried-out, ruined mess the gnoll displayed.

Several drops of the gnoll's violent ejaculation landed only a few feet from where Tangent crouched, hidden in the shadow of a boulder. He'd seen everything that had unfolded up close and personal; that the half-orc was transmasculine intrigued him greatly. That answered his question from earlier in the evening. Tangent masturbated over and over to the unfolding show before him, dragging forth more orgasms in those moments than he'd had even the previous night with the pretty tavern wench.

He hunched around himself yet again within the shadowy confines of his cloak. It both disguised him from view and muffled the urgent, slick sound of his wet hand flying along his stiff meat. Little drops and streaks of his lust coated the ground before him, and he could tell by the dull ache that was building in the base of his tail that this would be his last one for the night. The kobold hissed softly and closed his eyes. Through his mind, the most arousing images of the past day replayed. The pretty girl in the tavern gazing up at him with her mouth around his aching meat. The way she'd laid back and presented her swollen, wet flower for him to pollinate. The hot, wet squish he'd felt as much as heard when he'd pushed into her. The way her tail had curled around his hips when he ejaculated, holding him inside.

The show he'd just been witness to was very arousing, he'd give it that, but nothing would ever quite compare to the girl in the tavern.

He was the richest kobold on Ix, though. He could have whatever he wanted.

As he brought himself to climax yet again, barely a drop of watery fluid oozing over his clenched fist through the foamy lather of his previous emissions, Tangent the kobold made two decisions.

First, he was going to introduce himself to Booker, Gradbal and Uzgal, at first light.

Second, he was _somehow _going to convince the tavern wench from the Vagabond's Rest to come and be his lover. What was her name? Tangent supposed he'd just have to find out.

Life was looking good, for Tangent.

*

Gradbal yawned cavernously, steam rising from the pungent stream of his morning piss. The orc was butt naked, standing with his hands on his hips observing the foamy river he sent down the hillside when Booker stepped up alongside him.

The half-orc slid an arm around Gradbal's thick waist, hugging into his side briefly, and then jutted his hips forward. He held himself open with two fingers to send his own stream forth to mingle with Gradbal's. The orc chuckled, turning in to his partner to cross their streams, and Booker had the satisfaction of watching his partner's thick organ fill out and rise to lazy erection.

"Sleep well?" Booker asked.

"Aye, like a log. After yesterday, I can't imagine not sleeping deeply."

"It was a trying day."

The orc gave a grunt. "Four days' travel to Brokenspear's Defiance. Longer, if we have been followed and need to lead them astray."

"I doubt we will be followed. The Order of the Invincible Dragon never concerns itself with anything that won't shower them in glory. A couple of travellers running contraband out of the city won't even raise an eyebrow."

"You know them better than I do. I hope you're right."

"So do I."

Gradbal paused. The sun was rising through the trees, and its golden rays bathed their naked bodies briefly. It was a pleasant sensation.

"How was the gnoll?"

Booker's stomach turned. He exhaled through pursed lips. "You heard that?"

"Smelt it, more like. I'm not angry. Never seen anyone as desperately pent-up as that cackler. I don't blame you--if it wasn't you, it would've eventually been me lending him a hand."

Booker stared up at Gradbal. The level of trust and unconditional closeness between them astonished the half-orc every time it came up. "I...didn't want you to find out, but that sounds even worse than just being honest with you, in hindsight."

"Aye, that's the truth of it. Booker, I love you. You know that. I am yours no matter what."

Booker cleared his throat noisily and averted his eyes. Gradbal chuckled. The half-orc felt his partner's burly arms envelope him, and found his face mashed into the berserker's bare chest.

"I don't deserve you, Gradbal the Berserk," Booker mumbled.

"Pig's arse. I'm hardly a golden-haired prince."

"Aye, you smell like a pig's arse, but you're _my _pig's arse and I couldn't imagine life without you."

Gradbal grunted. Booker felt the orc's massive hand slide down to grope his rear, and he ground onto his partner's thigh.

"So," Gradbal persisted, sliding a fresh erection up Booker's belly, "how was the gnoll?"

"Utterly, ragingly desperate. I needed to use the cooking mitts to get him off. He was fucking the grain sacks when I found him."

Gradbal winced. "Is he that ruined?"

"Aye. I uh. Used him to... you know. Get off on. I thought the wetness might help him feel something. Not even a glimmer."

"Well, Mister Healer, you've got your work cut out for you, don't you?"

"If he keeps going the way he has for the last few years, his cock'll have less sensation than your tusks," Booker confirmed. "I said I could help. Means I'm going to have to have quite a lot of contact with it, though."

Gradbal ground heavily into Booker's belly, and the half-orc dropped a hand to grip his rigid flesh. "It turns you on to think of me 'healing' the gnoll's cock, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," Gradbal conceded.

Precum drooled over Booker's fingers. The half-orc smirked, and left a trail of messy kisses down the orc's naked body. Gradbal braced himself against a tree. The morning, already glorious, was only getting better.

*

Hebaka Silverhoof's heavy hoofsteps echoed from the damp, slimy stones of the dungeon walls. Along with the clank of iron and the stench of the forsaken, dungeons were not a favoured haunt of the haughty centaur. Still, he reasoned, needs must.

Belg, the goblin spice merchant, wheezed pathetically when he saw Hebaka enter. He was suspended upside down by ankle-irons against the dungeon wall. Urine and excrement soaked his naked body, and Hebaka recoiled at the sight.

"What has he said?" the centaur asked of the recently-promoted jailer, Varthug.

"Nothing of particular use," Varthug replied. The orc, for whatever it may have been worth, seemed equally disgusted as Hebaka. "He rambled something about a tavern, but it's one we've already been through a dozen times. It's a haunt for ostracised Ixians but seems to be of little other importance."

"The Vagabond's Rest, aye, I know of it," Hebaka said.

Iron rattled, and Belg made a noise that might've been fearful.

"What have you not said, goblin? You are withholding something," Hebaka approached a few steps, doing his best to hold his breath against the miasma that surrounded the spice merchant.

"N-nothing, Great One! I...I am... nothing. Merely a grubby merchant, I am."

"Then tell me how it was, that an arrow fired from your fine establishment pierced the throat of a Sperlingtwattian Captain?" Hebaka's voice was calm and level, but the threat was obvious. "Varthug, turn him up the right way and fetch a bucket of water. I cannot bear his stench any longer."

The orc obliged and, with a rattle of chains, Belg crumpled to the dungeon floor. He panted in fear, and crawled into the corner with his back to the wall. Hebaka pursued him. Varthug left the cell to fetch water.

"You will survive this if you are honest with me, Belg. I have no desire to kill you, or your family. But strange things happen in this city all the time, and your shop, your employees, are never far from those strange things. People vanish without a trace. Goods and supplies disappear from our warehouses and are never accounted for. Just last week, more gold than you will ever see in your entire miserable life went missing from the garrison treasury and, the day after, a kobold you employed was seen skulking around the Vagabond's Rest. He has not been seen since. And yesterday, the Captain of the Guard was shot and killed a dozen paces from your shop."

"Coincidence, O Great One, I swear upon my life!" Belg pleaded.

"Did you know, Belg, that if I were to turn around and kick you in the head, it would smash against the wall like a dropped egg?" Hebaka observed.

The goblin's eye fell to the centaur's heavy hooves, and he swallowed thickly.

"As I said, I have no desire to dirty my hooves upon you. But I will, if you are not more forthcoming with information. Oh, Varthug, just in time. Give poor Belg here a bath, would you please?"

The orc grunted, and Belg squealed as a bucket of icy water was thrown at his filthy body.

"Ahh, much better. There you are! I can see you now that your face isn't covered in your own shit," Hebaka laughed. "I have a proposal for you, Belg, that if you agree will see you released from this dungeon, compensated for your suffering, and paid handsomely for your ongoing services."

Varthug tilted his head in confusion, but Belg's eyes glinted at the promise of gold.

"I thought so. You're a merchant, you have connections. I wish to be privy to those connections, and to leverage them to my benefit. I want to know where to find someone who can give me eyes inside Brokenspear's Defiance."

Hebaka's smile was icy cold, and Belg knew he was trapped. The centaur had far more intelligence on Sperlingtwatt's underground than he had led the goblin to believe, and almost without him uttering a word, had backed the merchant into a corner. Denial would mean death, and acknowledgement would be tantamount to a confession.

It was with trepidation that Belg chose to confess.

*

Uzgal awoke to the sound of Booker Corbin coughing violently. The gnoll surged upright, casting bleary eyes around their campsite to identify the source of the threat. Booker was on his knees, with Gradbal standing before him looking both worried and embarrassed. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Gradbal turned to face Uzgal. Booker hacked violently once again, and gasped for air.

"You bastard!" the half-orc managed, although his face was split into a grin.

"What happened?!" Uzgal asked, walking towards the pair.

"I... sometimes it creeps up on me, you know?" the orc explained, sheepishly.

Uzgal glanced down. Gradbal's cock, glistening with cum and saliva, was slowly wilting between the orc's thighs. Realisation dawned on Uzgal and he snorted in amusement. Booker glared back and forth between them, and staggered to the bedding he shared with his partner to find a canteen of water.

"You could've warned me you were about to explode like that! You nearly blew my head off!" Booker complained, once he'd gotten his breath back.

Gradbal couldn't help but chuckle, as much as he tried to suppress it. But after a moment, Booker saw the humour in the situation as well and broke into raspy laughter, leaving Uzgal looking back and forth between them.

"Well, we're all properly awake now, it seems. And so is the gnoll," Gradbal laughed, nodding towards Uzgal and his morning erection.

Uzgal cackled, and Booker saw his ears swivelling uncertainly.

"It's alright, Uzgal. Gradbal knows. No secrets among friends, you know. Ignore what I said to you last night, it was stupid of me to even consider."

Uzgal tilted his head, transferring his gaze to Gradbal as the orc approached him. He recoiled instinctively, but the orc was simply moving to clap him on the shoulder.

"Worry not, fleabag. We all need a little help from time to time--you more than most, from what I can see of that," Gradbal said, peering down past Uzgal's hunched torso to the gnoll's member. "I'd rather you fucked my oven mitts than my grain supply!"

"Or me," Booker said, with a smirk.

"Or my partner," Gradbal confirmed.

Uzgal squirmed uncomfortably.

"Oh stop worrying. We're not in Sperlingtwatt any more. Anything goes, out here. Booker said he's preparing a poultice that might soften your calluses, so who knows--in time you might be able to get your rocks off without 'special treatment,' hmm?"

The orc clapped Uzgal on the back again, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground, and stomped away to find his clothing. Booker bade Uzgal follow him to the cart, within which the half-orc cleric had a collection of healing supplies, medicines and potions. The gnoll watched on with interest as Booker pounded a variety of ingredients to paste with mortar and pestle.

"This is a softer version of a poultice I use on Gradbal's feet, to stop his calluses from drying out and splitting," Booker explained. "I have never used it... uh... on a penis before, but my hope is that over the next few days it will start to soften the scarred tissue around your glans. It will not look very nice for a short time, but soon the hard keratin will begin to come away. Hopefully beneath it you still have some sensation!"

Uzgal cackled in excitement. The gnoll was relentlessly erect, which made Booker raise an eyebrow. The half-orc coated a linen bandage with the sticky poultice, and began wrapping it around Uzgal's member. Once done, Booker could not hide his mirth. He tied off the bandage at the base of Uzgal's member, and made sure the tip was open so the gnoll could piss without taking it off.

"Hah! There. Hopefully that won't be too loose if you eventually do lose your erection," Booker laughed.

"Mm. Feels interesting. Tingly. Would rather it be loose when soft than tight when hard!"

"That is a true statement, I suppose. Come, we should prepare to move out."

Both Booker and Uzgal spun in shock to hear a warning bellow from Gradbal. The orc stood a short distance away, wielding his axe.

"Gradbal! Who comes? Oh, for the sake of all the gods, you oaf! Put that down!" Booker admonished his partner when he drew up alongside the orc.

Before them, some yards distant and frozen in terror, stood a tiny kobold in a dark cloak.

*