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“Everything has a price."

For Bravura, the insight of appraisal had always come to him somewhat naturally, and throughout his life as a craftsman of trinkets and as an amateur merchant, he had leveraged his gift of estimation to the fullest. He would amuse himself at his stall in the Holy City, guessing at the value of a passing man's shirt, or the broach holding fast his cloak, and in time he would also come to know the cost of their labour and trade as well. The numbers gave a sense of order to the world, and even though it kept his profit margins slim, his adherence to the true value of things was somewhat sacred to the Felyne. He knew his own worth, too. That's what had made his side hustle as a whore so lucrative, with a surcharge for particular depravities, he'd lift his tail or get on his knees and open his maw for no less than a silver coin, and business was good.

It had started on something of an impulse. A travelling Beastmaster bought some trinket to gift his wife when he returned to the West, and offered a little extra for the satisfaction of his very pent up Wolfman companion. Back in those days, Bravura would never turn down a chance to fill his coinpurse, and it had not taken much convincing for him to allow the Lycanthrope to use him. From that point forward, sex had become something of a regular service, a good fuck and a boost to his disposable income, there wasn't really any downside as far as the little calico cat was concerned.

Those experiences had proved useful to him in his new life as the Sex-Slave of an entirely different Beastmaster and Wolfman pairing when he was purchased by Raphael. Here, he combined his sexual prowess with the diplomacy of a salesman and natural wit of a Felyne to make himself indispensable to his Master. His memories of those times before service to the Beastlord had become dull, fading into the blur of history, but now an opportunity to see them sharpen into perfect clarity had arrived quite out of nowhere.

Raphael was learning how to control Enchantment Magic, the art of mentalism bound to the Sin of Lust, and in this training, Bravura was his ideal partner. His Master reclined on the courtyard bench, surrounded by a beautifully landscaped scene; a gentle river running from the springs to divide the space in two, with the air filled with that citrus and sulphur scent; colourful trees with long fronds gently swaying with a soft rustling broken only by the clack of a bamboo water feature; the wooden buildings surrounding the area provided shade, and there was a refined air to the place antithetical to their position.

In his lap was the Felyne, cuddled up against his Master and with the Human's armoured trousers slightly pulled down, Bravura was fully impaled on their cock. The feeling of fullness was exquisite, a stretch which pushed the limits of his small frame, but the cat was not entirely present to indulge in it; for Raphael had grasped the back of his skull as part of their embrace, and with his newfound power he cast Bravura back through the malaise of time to revisit those encounters in his memories, “Tell me of the Wolfman once more, the first male to buy you…"

The Enchantment was intoned along with his name, and he was there again, scarcely a year past his apprenticeship, as real to him as if he had stepped back into the moment. In the small stocking area behind his stall, barely with enough space for the hulking grey-furred Wolfman with him, he regained his bearings, passenger in his younger body and accompanied by the observing presence of his Master. The lupine creature towering over him was smaller than Alp, and had an air of viciousness to them, enough to invoke some small amount of fear as the Felyne looked up to survey a knotted cock of angry crimson. The smell and the taste washed over him, the feeling of its heat as they unceremoniously grasped his head in their vast paws and forced their maleness down his throat.

They were not gentle, and as Bravura choked on their length, grappling with their hips to no avail, the memory came that this was the moment that he came to realise that it was the right of his buyer to be rough with him. They had paid for a silver coin worth of sex, and he would be worth every copper of it. Yes. He was a commodity as much as any one of his wares, and must be equal to the trade that he had made. It came with a strange sense of mercantile pride, a consciousness that in this moment he was no longer a person but an object, a sextoy bought for pleasure. And his small cock throbbed with an arousal which he had not known before this point, and the present Bravura confirmed a now long-known mandate.

This was his awakening, this learning of his favourite flavour of pleasure, the glint of the silver coin on the worktable beside him affirming every thrust of the desperate male making use of his throat. He purred his satisfaction, rumbling with joy as he found a rhythm which allowed him to breathe, and the stream of canine cum was gulped down as if the watery essence was the finest nectar. The Wolfman was needy indeed, and did not last long despite the amateurish stimulation which a Bravura barely able to breathe was able to provide.

His lips pressed against their knot, and his jaws ached as they tried and failed to force it into his mouth, the Wolfman snarling as his teeth clipped them. But it did nothing to stifle their orgasm, balls clenching, and the larger male vindictive in the forcing of him to suckle down every drop. Bravura' purr became a moan, and his own small cock, not even two inches which one day Raphael would liken to a strawberry, shot its meagre load against the lupine creature's shin.

“That's how a real faggot gives it up, isn't it?" This Wolfman's Master was keeping watch from the counter, though his eyes spent as much time drinking in the scene of his Pet making sport of the Felyne as they did watching the street, “We ain't got long before the carriage. If you're gonna fuck him, fuck him."

The grey Wolfman didn't hesitate for a moment, picking up Bravura and surveying him as if he were a particularly tasty looking piece of meat. His large hands were grand enough to fully encircle the midriff of the smaller male, and he faced Bravura down, nestled his cum-slick cock beneath his tail, and before any protest could be made or request for oil to make this in any way reasonable, he impaled his prize until his knot kissed their opening.

Bravura bit his own forearm to prevent himself screaming, and in the present, Raphael gave a gasp of pleasure as their insides spasmed around his own length in memory of that pain. The Wolfman was savage in his rut, his claws burrowing into the finer calico fur of the Felyne, their small body ragdolling in a sway of limbs as the larger, more powerful male used him as a toy, a mere sheath for his cock.

Pleasure came with the realisation that he was indeed a toy, precisely as he wanted, his own small maleness straining against his midriff, bobbing with every thrust over his bitch button, and every nudge of the bulge in his belly. Again, he wasn't a person, not a lover nor a partner, but an object, purchased for this satisfaction, a cocksheath in being and in purpose. It expelled the pain from his mind, and the impotent flop of his body back and forth on their knotted cock became joyful, the stretch of his undertail fulfilling, and the crushing of his button an unmatched ecstasy.

This is what he wanted forever, though at that time it was the most tentative dream. To be an owned object. And he indulged that fantasy now in part by renting himself to the Wolfman. His pawtoes curled, his little tail raising further as if to beckon them to fuck him harder. He stifled his moans against his forearm, biting himself hard in the effort, but the small gasps of pleasure were near impossible to fully sublimate.

The Wolfman was going to tie him. He knew this as an undeniable truth – whatever the creature's Master may demand of him, this canine knot was going to be forced under his tail. The thought had his cock divulge a string of precum which swayed back and forth with their rut, his tight hole bludgeoned into submission thrust by thrust, his body pulled back over and over again, that fat lupine cock making his belly bulge and filling him with the heat of a more powerful male.

He was a plaything, a toy, a submissive male fucked into submission at the cost of a single silver coin, and every moan of the savage Wolfman affirmed that valuation. The knotted cock beat the breath from him, and he made every effort to yield for them, to will his insides to loosen to allow them deeper, to fuck him harder, to share in the satisfaction of the male making a faggot of him.

He drew blood from his wrist when the tie finally came, another snarl behind him announcing the sinking home of their knot, the grinding of that great bulge of flesh against his bitch button, and the sensation of being flooded with potent male essence. What better mark of success was there for a whore? As an object, he had fulfilled his purpose, and his free paw found his belly to press against the mild gravidity of it as each vulgar rope of canine cum had him swell the smallest amount larger.

“We're not missing the carriage. Why the hells did you have to go and knot him?" The man at the counter sighed, tapping his fingers on the wood, “Pull it out. I don't care if he tears. What's he going to do? Chase us down the walkway with his boycunt gaped? We're leaving."

“Wai- ahh!" Bravura's protest was cut off by the savage wrenching, the drag of his insides, and the pressure against that spot of pleasure inside him. The pain was extreme, but the ruinous unplugging of his undertail, the chill sensation of the vast gape left behind, the oozing of cum from inside him as he was cast to the ground – the Felyne moaned whorishly, and came all over his chest.

In reality, he did exactly the same now as the vision faded away, his one remaining hand twisted into his Master's clothes, and his small cock delivering its meagre load into his breastplate as the Knight ground his own maleness inside him. The picturesque little courtyard returned to him, though much of his vision was taken up by the cum streaked metal of Raphael's armour, and he sagged into the Human knowing that this was only the beginning.

Raphael's voice was in his ear, “That was entertaining indeed, Slave. I understand – this is the root of all of the bondage, isn't it? Trussed up without agency and made into a living toy, a sheath for the cocks of my male Pets, a willing tongue for whatever I demand of it. But you're not rented anymore. You're owned. My personal Sex-Slave, my possession, precious and valuable. Forever."

“Meowster!" The human barely had need to buck his hips to find his orgasm. Lost in the memory, the insides of his Pet had undulated and clenched in response to every pleasure and pain of that recollection, massaging his cock as exquisitely as if he had been the Wolfman fucking him. Raphael grit his teeth, deepened his embrace of his Pet, and delivered deep into their core a much thicker and more copious orgasm than any Wolfman could, potent and virile, a heat which spread to every extremity of the whore in his lap. Bravura could only moan.

Another spell was intoned, evidence of a budding magical proficiency, the burden of Lust upon his shoulders, and the power of mentalism on his lips. The Enchantment came, “This time, tell me about the Lizardman…"

With no time to recover, his body still caught in the ruinous wake of their compelled orgasm, Bravura was again cast into the pit of his own memories. This time he was not at market but in a small home, one of the simple enclave dwellings of the Holy City built in that same Lego-like style of Dwarf architecture in which every angle is sheer and every corner straight. There were several Lizardmen here, all of a chameleon subspecies, with bulging eyes moving independently, and wide mouths with dexterous tongues.

One such tongue was currently under his tail. The Lizardman which had bought him was reclining comfortably, and Bravura, much too small to reach for the sixty-nine like posture into which he was forced, was dangled upside down with nothing in his field of vision but a scaled green midriff. All others were naught but audience, and for the most part seemed unconcerned by the rut taking place in the middle of their living area.

It had been almost an hour, and the scalekin had spent every minute of it with his long tongue inside the Felyne, delving deep into insides made pristine through the use of a Magic Item, but no less depraved. There was no pleasure after a certain depth, only a feeling of absolute fullness – but the degeneracy of it and the pressure near his entrance was grand enough for his small cock to have been leaking with need the entire time.

The Lizardman was skilled in his read of Bravura, having purchased him for no reason other than to eat out his undertail until he was satisfied, he made it last, edging him the entire time and never allowing orgasm to come. The tongue was as thick as a cock, knobbly, dripping in slime and profoundly dexterous, exploring every inch of his prize, snaking deeper and deeper, until the entirety of a great length had been unfurled inside his body.

“Please, fuck meow!" He begged. He whined out the words with tears in his eyes, over and over again. But none of the Lizardman here could really speak common – and the one eating him out could only barely grasp the simpler aspects of the language. His tongue, however, was otherwise occupied, and he seemed to be enjoying the sexual torture of his whore. A silver coin was a great deal of money here in the Enclaves of District Seven, and this scalekin was determined to get his value.

His stomach was bulging outwards lewdly, pressing down on the small strawberry of his own maleness as he drooled his precum down onto his chest. Scaled hands had his thighs in a perfect grip, and the tongue inside him further robbed him of agency, unable to buck, or grind upwards, and filled beyond the capacity to clench down and seek his own pleasure.

More whining and begging came, the sextoy which valued the passivity of being an object compelled to break from this to address a torturous need. It was a defeat, a ruination of the satisfaction of being reduced to nothing but a living vessel for pleasure, without any agency, without any desire of his own, for the purpose only of being used by others. But the tongue was too deep, too fulfilling, too good. And to be beaten beyond his limits was somehow even better than quiet submission, the heated shame in his cheeks echoed in the throb of his small cock.

A second hour passed, and Bravura could not believe the arrangement he had accepted in advance for what he had thought would be another male overestimating himself. The Lizardman had him until he grew bored of eating out his undertail, and he never imagined that it could go on for so long! His voice had failed, his head ached, tears and drool wetting the fur of his face and the precum seeping down his chest enough to drench the tufted fur about his neck. He had no idea how good practice this would one day prove for a Master which would fuck him until he fainted.

It was here at the brink of his mind breaking, that a slight twist of the Lizardman's grip, the readjustment of arms made weary, that one of the knobbly protrusions of his tongue pressed hard against Bravura's internal spot of pleasure, and with a yowling shriek, the Felyne painted his own face with the heaviest load that his small orbs were capable of churning up.

The vision faded as Bravura mirrored that orgasm in the present, the height of ecstasy no less extreme as the dream of dexterous Lizardman tongue was replaced with the rigidity of Human cock. It had been only minutes, yet for the Felyne it was as if those hours of edging had played out all over again, his perception of time compressed while inside the fantasy. Raphael was throbbing inside of him, having observed every minute and delighted in the ruin of his Slave, knowing that one day he would be the one to satisfy them all the more thoroughly.

The voice of his Master was again hot in his good ear, “I enjoy frustrating you like this, too. You want to be a perfect sextoy, an object – and it entertains me to make that hard for you. I like when you're needy with pleasure, desperate and intimate. When you're fighting hard to keep your voice in, but I fuck you to ecstasy, it feels good. It feels empowering. I like to fuck you until you can't help but melt."

He nipped at them, “I'll have Raine use her tongue on you this same way, I think. Make the preparations when we get back to the Holy City…" Another grind of his hips, the fantasy of that night to come, and Raphael growled as he added a second load to the core of his Felyne, the mass of his cock keeping the smaller male sealed tight and his belly growing, “Tell me now of the Leonine…"

It surprised him that his Master remembered these references to the males he had whored himself out to before their meeting, and despite the perversion of it, he was strangely touched. But there was only an instant to indulge that feeling before he was again inside his memories, and what was only vague became crisp and sharp by the Enchantment Magic.

There was a strong scent of lavender in his nose, and the press of a soft pink pillow against his cheek. In the Holy City, it was rare for any member of a Monster species to accumulate such wealth, but this Leonine was quite replete with gold, and their room was a trove of antique riches crowned with the centrepiece of an ornate four poster bed. With access to whores of a much higher class than Bravura, it was strange to him that he had been purchased for sex; but being of a similar race and of much smaller stature, he seemed to suit the tastes of the larger male.

“Are you ready for Daddy's cock?" The golden furred lion was barrel-chested and powerful, a much grander male than the savage Wolfman – though the cock laid out upon the small of Bravura's back was not quite the largest. A good thing too, since despite quite a thorough application of oil, he anticipated that those spines might prove to be quite rough when the pace increased.

For now, he simply squirmed into the pillows, his arms pinned out in front of him, wrists crossed inside one large Leonine hand, his legs dangling over the side of the bed while his small cock ground into silken sheets, “Yes, Daddy…" He gave his affirmative, answering to the demand that this title be used, and bracing himself as the big cat lined up his maleness and slowly pressed his body down atop him.

The world was smothering darkness and shining gold, the warm heat of a dominant male on his back and his vision lost to their mane. It was in this space, entirely vanished beneath the Leonine, that Bravura whined and thrashed, each wince accompanied by the stealing of his breath as that spined cock burrowed beneath his tail, inch by inch. It was not the first spined maleness that he had taken – and normally there was some yield to them – but this time, every one seemed to be painfully rigid, scraping at his insides and ruinous against his bitch button in a combination of pain and pleasure which would not allow him to stay still.

The Leonine shushed him softly, but never slowed his advance, his grasp becoming sterner and the press of his weight on their back more insistent, crushing any resistance from the Felyne as he fought his way into hilting. He rumbled in a far deeper and more masculine purr, the reverberation into Bravura's back a vibration which shot through his small body. It was hot and hard to breathe, and he couldn't decide which was greater of the pain or pleasure. But, the sensation of being owned was real, the pleasure of knowing he was a bought whore, worthy of the whole gold coin which had been paid this time, and he would play the part of a sextoy precisely as bid, “You feel so good, Daddy…"

It was a cliché affirmation, but there was no lie to be told here. His little strawberry of a cock was throbbing beneath him, leaving a damp patch in the expensive sheets and threatening to erupt from the fullness of this depravity. The weight never abandoned his back, and the first sawing motions of rut ground his entire body into the mattress, smothering heat making every gasp of air a precious gift to be expelled in a whining pant of pleasured pain.

“Yes… This is what you're for… A good little slut for Daddy…" Hefty feline orbs, so much grander than his own were pressed against him with each hilting, leaking precum to ease the way of that fat spined cock, “You were made for being fucked… A coin chasing little faggot… I could make you do anything for enough gold…" It wasn't entirely untrue. Bravura had some red lines of his own, but they always became quite hazy when there was a big cock under his tail and treasure before his eyes.

So, he simply moaned into the suffocating dark, “Yes, Daddy. I'll do anything you say for enough gold. I'll be your pawfect little whore…" Confirming the superiority of their wealth seemed enough to bring this Leonine to climax, surprisingly quickly into their rut. But the older male didn't miss a stroke, snarling out his orgasm, leaning back to bring light and breath again into the world, and with the full force of his newly leveraged strength and weight, he began to fuck the Felyne properly.

“D-Daddy!" Bravura played their game still, but it was hard to keep his voice level when those spines were dragging his insides back and forth, pressing against his bitch button, crushing the breath from his lungs, and demanding that he cry out in pleasure. Now it was Bravura's orgasm which came quickly, a pathetic load given up into silken sheets, a pleasure fucked through by a Leonine which hadn't even noticed that the smaller cat had cum.

Compared to the Wolfman and Lizardman, this half-hearted roleplay felt rather mundane, and despite the promise of further rut to come it was here that Raphael allowed the fantasy to end, pulling Bravura back from the vortex of memory back into the present. The citrus and sulphur courtyard dispelled the cloying lavender, and a Felyne only half satisfied ground himself against the cock of his Master, whining with a newly built need, “In those days, coin was coin, Meowster!"

The Knight grumbled, “At least I've the good graces to fuck you in ways that I know you're going to like. Ugh, I'd be mortified if you ever called me 'Daddy' with that customer-service-voice…"

Bravura grinned to himself, nuzzling into their shoulder between the metal plates, “Add the Dragons to the Meownster Harem, and mew might end up fucking someone that calls mew 'Daddy' without any sense of irony at all!" The Felyne teased his Master, “Mew know, the Dragon father has right to claim his daughters' virginity? And to teach his sons how to submit to grander males? Those scaled bastards are propawly fucked up, and they're gonna expect mew to buy into their culture."

Raphael harrumphed, but let their words pass him by without comment of his own. That was a bridge to be crossed if and when he came to it. Right now he needed something more to repay the pleasure debt of Lust accrued by his Enchantment Magic, and deepened his embrace with the Felyne to again delve into their memories. He'd one more idea in mind, “Last, tell me about the Humans before me…"

Now here was a much more pleasant memory. Bravura again came to inhabit his past self, passenger in a time in which all agency and movement had been robbed of him. His arms were folded behind his back, bound well with competently tied leather cords, his legs held spread to a bar, and his muzzle locked open by means of a ring gag. Monster Hunters knew their tie-down schemes rather well, and there was a lot less to grapple with when it came to binding up a Felyne than it did to lock down a Rathalos, Deathclaw, or Behemoth.

Felynes were their traditional hunting partners, but when it was not possible to bring one along for the journey into the Northern Lowlands, it was considered to be good for your hunting luck to at least fuck one before you went. Three human males, and one female, this party of four surrounded the small table onto which he had been placed, the hunting party drinking and chatting merrily, their topic of conversation being the coin to be wrung from the Aldermen of the northern villages in the heated seasons of Monsters.

The three males had stripped form the waist down, having casually set aside some rather hefty armour, great heavy plates which they were only capable of fighting in by leveraging Sun God Skills to trade stamina for speed and strength. One of those males now approached, setting his mug of ale down beside the cat and casually slipping a modest cock through the ring gag and down Bravura's throat. He hilted himself, making some passing comment about the look of the bulge at his neck, and how good the exhalations of their small nose felt against his balls, before twisting his fingers into the calico chest fur and slowly fucking his throat.

Bravura already had the taste of their bitter ale in his throat, and the addition of Human precum did nothing to brighten the headiness of the flavour. He extracted another compliment from the male fucking his throat as he purred out his pleasure for being used in such a way, his own small cock stiffening with every thrust, human orbs plapping against his face softly. They were considerate at least, slow in their pace, slowly building up their pleasure. Or perhaps they simply didn't want to cum too quickly with a female watching them.

It was difficult to leverage his spined tongue around the ring gag, but Bravura still did his best to lap at them, as the buildup of saliva and precum slowly came to contribute to a lewd glucking noise. The Human was getting close – but his attention would be lost when Bravura felt for the first time ever a warm mouth close around his small spined strawberry of a cock, those two little inches suckled gently. Who was it? The woman? One of the other two men? His purr became a moan as pleasure rushed to his groin, and the reverberation of his throat drew an orgasm from the male using him.

Rather than put their load into his belly, they withdrew and sprayed a hefty cumshot over his small body, the writhing Felyne denied any opportunity to look down as the man retrieved his mug and was replaced immediately by another Hunter. This second cock was not as long, but girthy enough to be about the limit of what both the ring gag and his throat could handle. They paused, simply allowing their cock to rest inside the Felyne mouth, not yet penetrating his throat but instead simply comfortable, with the beginnings of precum pearling onto their spined tongue.

Sharp ears heard the gulping of the male finishing his drink, before that mug too was set down at his sides, and with a gasp of satisfaction and a seizing of Bravura's shoulders, he thrust his cock into the cat. The Felyne only moaned, straining against his bonds, struggling to breathe between each hilting of the broad cock, as his own leapt inside soft wet pleasure. He came hard and fast, into the mouth of his unknown helper, only to have his own meagre load spat out onto his stomach and rubbed into his fur along with that of the first male.

There was a cock set astride his own, the weight of it hefty on his abdomen, and Bravura finally gave up on keeping track of the Hunters as a long and thin maleness was unceremoniously sheathed inside him. The female raised her voice in opposition, annoyed that her teammate had not been more gentle, but for Bravura this was a familiar feeling, one which he yearned for. The pleasure of being used, the denial of consequence, and the worth of his flesh against the coin that had been paid for him.

His own maleness leaked post orgasmic precum over his abdomen, still far from working its way towards a second shot. The fat cock in his maw was sweeter than the last, and fucked his throat with a steady rhythm, different to the frantic hammering of the male making use of his undertail. The lowermost Human called him a faggot and a whore, but the other paid him soothing compliments and would soon pull his cock free to spray his load into the now cum-slick fur of the moaning Felyne. His companion joined him in ecstasy, but their load was quick and light, barely felt against the fur of his inner thighs.

There was a weight on his chest, and a new wetness against the tip of his small cock. The female Hunter had also stripped from the waist down, and now Bravura came to have his first experience of cunt as she took his maleness into a cunt with as much fur around it as one might find on a Felyne. He didn't last two bobs of her hips before whimpering out his orgasm, creaming the lips of her pussy with the thin cream of his meagre load. She only smiled, and kept up the motion of her hips, beckoning over the first male who again slipped his modest cock through the ring gag and eclipsed the world with a vision of bare human thighs and swaying orbs.

Perhaps these two Humans were a mated pair, for they were taking their time kissing above him, the other half of their party returned to drinking. His small Felyne cock can't have been providing much pleasure, but she ground her hips into him hard, his little barbs pulling at the folds of her cunt, and in time the slick of femcum came to mess the fur of his hidden sheath as well. Bravura added another orgasm to her glazed pussy, barely conscious of the male now spraying his second over their chest.

The depravities to come had always been a blur in his memory, smudged by drink and pleasure, but under the clarification of Enchantment Magic, they were sharpened now to perfection. The ring gag was removed and Bravura forced to his knees before the chair of the female Hunter, his mouth sealed to her cunt as he cleaned her hairy pussy of his own cum in his first taste of female pleasure, forced to drool his feline essence onto his chest.

He spent time in the lap of all three males, bounced in pursuit of pleasure, or simply held there to always be warming a cock until someone else wanted him. The female Human made use of him twice more, seeming to enjoy the feeling of his small spined cock against her outer folds, the strength of her grasp positioning him well, and the grind of her hips a pursuit of pleasure which he had no choice in. The males never stopped their rotation of pleasure, every cumshot put into his fur until it frothed into a lewd slime of pearlescence.

In the end he'd passed out with the long and furious cock under his tail, and his muzzle fully pressed inside the female hunted as she twisted her legs around his head and fucked his face with reckless abandon. His last fragment of memory was her cry of orgasm, and the spraying of his own as the Human finally put one under his tail, a warm satisfaction in his core.

Back in the reality of the moment, Raphael was putting a worthy orgasm into his Pet to match the pace of that final memory, matching the clenching desire of Bravura's own climax. That was a recollection that he'd quite enjoyed observing, his Felyne at the centre of an orgy, the bound centrepiece and toy of their pleasure. The Enchantment was dispelled at last, and in this final potent expulsion of Lust, the debt of Sin was paid in full.

Bravura moaned, placing his paw on a belly made gravid by the constant pouring of precum, and the accumulation of his Master's precious essence. Nothing in any of those fantasies could compare to his current reality, the bone deep satisfaction of being so entirely owned, Pet and fucktoy of the Beastlord. He'd been knotted by Alp, he'd been used as a sheath for Talion, had Hiro suck his small cock as part of his training, and made out with Hideki around his Master's shaft. But nothing was as good as being bound up and fucked by his Master.

“You never did end up keen on pussy, did you?" The question was a rhetorical one, and Raphael continued his musings, “Somehow, the male and female sides of the Monster Harem ended up not really interacting much when it comes to sex. For Kali it's biological, but the other ladies in the group reject any man but me." He gave a slight hum, “Well, except for Raine – but she would do what I told her whatever her tastes are, she likes what I say she likes. Apparently. I'm still learning her foibles, if I'm being honest. But, I think she'd quite like your tongue on that broad cloaca opening. So, you can return the favour of hers under your tail when it comes to it…"

Bravura had been the centrepiece of debauchery between his male Pets several times already, and their fun had always been significantly more creative than the Monster Hunters. Though, for Raphael it was amusing to find that the Monster Hunters he'd heard mentioned so long ago, right at the start of his adventure, sortied as parties of four, considered Felynes their ideal partners, and were skilled in tying down creatures. Life imitating art? Or perhaps the doing of the [Creation] user? The East Island was the same, feeling like an approximation of someone with only a vague idea of Japanese and Chinese culture, warped further through the passage of time and population of Monsters with their own Racial Instincts.

Though, these thoughts ceased when the clenching insides of his Pet brought him back to reality, as surely as if he had been the one cast into a dream by Enchantment Magic. Bravura was looking up at him, “Meowster – while we have the chance, can I ask a favour?"

Raphael grinned, shifting his hips slightly, “You certainly picked the ideal moment for it."

A scoff and smirk in return, “Since I'm gonna ask mew to use meowgic, I guess I did… I know we just fucked, but let meow be serious for a minute." His small claws nicked into the leather between armour plates, “My meowther fled the East Island when I was only a kitten. I don't remember anything. Nothing at all. And she never spoke of it, never told me anything. Meowbe you could find something inside my meowmory? Then we can fuck again to pay the Lust toll!"

“Well, I could try. I think I have the hang of this Mentalism power, now." It was hard to have a serious discussion with his cock hilted in his Pet, but perhaps this was the most fitting situation for them when it came to making use of this memory delving technique, “I'm not sure what I'll land on. If I don't know specifically what I'm looking for, the best I can do is aim for your earliest years and try to hit what feels like the most… impressive moment? It's hard to explain. I wish Khut was here to teach me how to do this properly."

The Felyne nodded his head, still caught in the afterglow of pleasure. He considered himself a resilient sort and was quite sure that whatever was found, he'd still be quite content to ride his Master to another orgasm afterwards. It was his turn tonight, after all. So, here in the sunlit courtyard, comfortable in the lap of his beloved, Bravura nodded his head, “I'm ready."

A spell was intoned, and together they journeyed into the memory.

Arrival came with a vicious jolt of tone.

The world was on fire. The familiar trappings of home were twisted into the infernal horrors of a burning hellscape, the air thick with billowing black fog shot through with the glimmer of drifting embers. Heat came from all directions, accompanied by the creaking of wood surrendering to the blaze, explosions of glass and ceramics, and the crashing boom of a collapsing roof. The fire was hungry, and it gorged upon the memory of ages, consuming precious history with every inch of encroachment, devouring the relics of a storied family line, and making ash of pride.

And from the heart of the firestorm came the sound of laughter, a merciless cackle, “Ohohohoho!"

There was a Monster in the flame. The lumbering silhouette of something horrible, a nightmarish thing, corpulent and swaying, large and scaled, with twisted antlers and a ruinous tail, claws and fangs, hate and corruption. Moira intoned her spell and swept her scythe through the fire, the flames barring her path dulled as Necromancy stole the vitality of them. All heat turned to cold. A wooden beam charred and broken collapsed towards her, and with her fist she battered it aside, not even bothering with her weapon.

She was unstoppable in her advance. The enforcer of the East Empire, the Necromancer, bearer of the Sin of Gluttony, Imperial Dragon, commander of the Viper, known, feared, and hated by all. And a very young, very small Bravura looked through the gaps in his mother's fingers as she held him close, covered his eyes, and pressed them against the wall. She told him that it would all be over soon. She whispered that it would not hurt. Soon they would see father again.

The voice was loud and obnoxious, but the kitten was too young to even understand the terror of it, “The Emperor has marked you for death! I shall melt you down until there is nothing left! Ohohohoho!" She intoned her spell, voicing the unknowable language of the Moon God, and the black blade of her weapon came to be wreathed in necromantic purple.

The scythe descended with an almighty crash. But there was no sensation of pain, no rending gouge, no explosion of crimson gore. Only the crumble of the wall beside them in an explosion of black and scattering of masonry. The Dragoness stepped back, her loud voice carrying far into the night, to all who may be listening, “Ohohohoho! That's one reduced to nothing! And you child, you shall not escape this obliteration!" And with a sweep of her arm, a golden slab fell to land before the cowering pair, a string binding a note to it. The tilt of Moira's head gesturing towards the opening into the night, her eyes conveying a desperate instruction to flee.

While it would not be read by Bravura's mother for some time, in the clarity of the Enchantment Magic induced memory it could here be seen quite perfectly. 'Follow the shoreline to Westport and find the fishing shack on the second pier. Give that tael to a man named Yuri and he shall smuggle you abroad. Don't get caught. Or you shall make a killer of me for real. May the Moon God guide you. Good luck.'

It was impressive indeed that Bravura's mother managed to sublimate the terror of impending death enough to comprehend her situation. She seized the shining disk of gold, and with her kitten in arms she scrabbled against the broken stone of the opening, tumbling into the gap in the wall. The night embraced them in darkness, ripping the Felyne away from the glowing crimson of their ancestral home as Moira consumed the vitality of the fire, drinking deep of the life of the flames. And then, with a shriek of necromantic power, it all exploded outwards, and everything was simply gone.

In the present, Raphael returned to his senses with a scowl. But Bravura - despite the seriousness of what they had just witnessed, and the jarring tone compared to the rut that preceded it, the Felyne seemed more pensive than disturbed. He sighed against his Master's chest, oddly satisfied. This was the answer. His truth, and that of Moira as well.

And he would process it on the other side of this debt of pleasure...

~ SevenWingedDragon ~

Note: Special Thanks to User OddReptile - I'll be trying to make use of your suggestion for Kali during the next main entry and the Short which follows it! User NoNoNope who gave further direction for the Kali Short, and some invaluable information for when Raine gets hers. I wanted to do it as part of Interlude II, but on reflection think that your idea belongs in a Short so that it can be focused on more closely, and I binned the Interlude completely. User AaAAaAaAaAAAaaHhHhhHhh, I hope you're finding time to relax at this stressful time of year! And User SoulDivide, back in the early entries - who hopefully will eventually see this!

Thanks, as always for every fave, comment, vote, watch, and subscription to the folder. We're not far from the end of the second arc now, with only V, Kali's Short, VI, and the Epilogue to go. Assuming it all goes to plan, anyway. With a confirmation of Moira's fake villainy pressed into this Short, and all of the other puzzle pieces out there - I want to make her motivations clear in the next entry, then see if anyone can guess her endgame before the finale.

I think at this point I can probably say that I've finally lost my momentum. I ended up writing three full versions of this entry, and I wasn't happy with any of them. This fourth run ended up being the most suitable, concluding with a chance to dive into the origins of Bravura hinted quite some time ago, and to give Moira a boost before her chapter. Questions remain, but we'll get to those later. Despite the struggle I had with it, I hope you all still enjoy it. I'm very grateful to everyone that reads this series, and want to make sure that the next entry is especially meaty after having so much trouble with this one.

Have a most excellent day.