Bruxa 2/2: Size Isn't Everything
Bruxa crawled out of her home with a rumbling yawn, rear end high in the air as she stretched out all six legs. Today was Rape Day, an odd highlight of the local calendar; it came right between Wednesday and Thursday. Giant wolverines, bears, and all sorts of wildlife descended on the town to make brutal use of its females, bound to posts in the center square. She rarely visited during the carnal free-for-all, but she had been running low on shells lately and the bunkers always held scavengers willing to sell their finds. If she left now she would get there in plenty of time to squeeze a better price out of the tightfisted trash-hunters.
A female couldn't venture there without certain preparations, though, and a creaky assembly of chains and leather belts rested by the exit for that purpose. She pulled it on and tugged a few errant clamps into position, wrestling them over the heavy dome in her stomach. Certain prey she'd captured had used sundry items against her, which she'd taken for her own use- a few relic firearms and wickedly barbed hooks in case the frenzied predators tried to swallow her, all strapped and sheathed against her sides- a few hungry visits to the town council had ensured she would walk unchallenged in the strictly weapons-free streets. She forced open the rusty steel doors to her home, carefully slid a jar from its niche in the floor, and sauntered outside while the doors creaked shut on their own.
The chaparral landscape below her cliffside home was dull as usual, so she studied the jar instead on her way down the paved ramp. It was a simple micro trap consisting of nothing more than a jar with a greased interior, holding a nugget of gold or something else valuable to sentients. Micros were a frequent problem in many households; they snuck into houses and stole food and valuables, often molesting the normal-sized occupants, but most of them were stupid enough that a simple pit trap could take care of them. Where they all came from was a mystery, since nobody had ever found a breeding colony large enough to produce the vast numbers that died every day. Some had gotten rich from pornography about just such a discovery.
Satisfied that she'd remembered that old scavenger's lecture, she peered inside to see what the night had brought her: a wolf spider and a few coppery ants, all dead, their ends presumably brought about by the three micros huddled together, nauseous with fear. She carefully tipped them out into cupped forepaws for closer study, flicking away the invertebrates and discovering that the pests consisted of a wolf and a mouse couple. All three were about the size of a very small dog, she judged, no size at all in her expansive mouth, and not terribly filthy. Well, who could blame her for needing a little sustenance to take her mind off of the aroused degenerates she'd find in town?
Panic didn't flash through the lupine's mind as he crouched on Bruxa's palm, a more distant reaction taking its place. His eyes glazed over with mute panic before shutting completely, breathing shallowly and softly like one already dying, ears crumpled flat as flinty gray claws daintiy pinched around his waist and craned him upwards. He whimpered then, and once more as a dark mottled tongue enveloped him in its wet striations, then reverted to voicelessness in the sweltering air of the predator's maw, gasping at the aroma of digesting meat.
Saliva washed over him as the huntress suckled on her catch, coating him to the skin and then swished away as her tongue rolled him over for another taste. Flavor streamed directly from taste bud to brain, a satisfied mrrl vibrating the wolf as she savored his helpless flesh. He never struggled, simply tumbling wherever she decided to move him, silent even when she nearly mashed him into her teeth. Silence reigned as she neatly tossed him back to venture down her gullet, muscles collapsing to fit his miniature body borne on a tide of oily drool; he didn't make a noise until her throat slid him through the gateway to her stomach, where his dying wail trailed off in a stream of bubbles in the acid, the corrosive liquid not killing him until he'd heard the female's belch...
A wave of thick scent blew over the two survivors, olfactory signatures of all that had preceeded their companion into her stomach. They clung to each other in abject panic, as micros are wont to do, especially when swallowing is involved; it was a moment's work for her claws to seize the male mouse and fling him aloft, tracing an arc directly into her maw- and more precisely, her keen-edged teeth, no longer held in reserve as an unused threat. The third micro cringed at the sound of a thin screech from the prey, but stared with dry eyes as the great jaws snapped shut, unable to cry or even flinch at the sheer power of the beast that was killing her mate. His death would be brutal and messy, and nothing could save her from watching it like the coming of a goddess.
He had fallen against her rubbery gumline, Bruxa's tongue soon prying him out of safety and into the rows of keen teeth that sheared his arm off with a quiet rip of parting tendons. Blood spurted from the empty socket and stained his own fur, agony bursting out through each pore as her tongue knocked him to the other line of teeth, where a single precise chomp left his lower body dangling from loose cords of muscle and entrail. Another thin scream reached his mate's ears, fading into a low gurgle as serrated teeth shredded his torso and tore open his foaming, bubbling lungs. She couldn't cringe- the sound was too grand to miss.
Bruxa waited for her plaything to fall into silence, then bit a last time on his tortured body, chopping his legs into ragged stumps at the knee. The mangled mouse choked once and died, her jaws quickly grinding him into a chunky slurry of meat that vanished down her throat. She was not a senselessly cruel being, but micros always tasted better when they were marinaded in their own blood, and their lives had zero value except as resources in liquidation. A few moments went by as she leisurely lapped along her teeth, fishing an ankle out of a gap and spitting it out to land next to her meal's mate. Inspiration struck. After all, the last survivor was a female judging from her fear-tinged scent, and logic stated that a female would know what works best on a female...and anyways, it would definitely keep the mouse from running away.
Her forepaw curled shut around the mouse and return to the ground, pressing the micro into the ground while she kicked one hindpaw up, brushing its dirt off on her flank before carefully stroking it along her body a foot or so below her tail. An aroused smile edged onto her face as she began stroking faster, able to feel her muscles slowly relax to let her pawpads touch the sensitive pink flesh hidden there. She tightened her grip on the mouse as it tried to wriggle away, squirming a little herself as she loosened enough to slide two stubby toes into her slippery folds. It had been a while since she had anything but herself in there, she thought with a grin, and now was a prime chance to return to form.
The mouse felt the weight on her shift as Bruxa curled into a crescent with musteline flexibility, nervously watching the hunter's dark tongue lap along its toes to clean them off, then found herself crumpled into a ball and passed from forepaw to hindpaw. She would have bitten, but micros instinctually went limp when their escape beckoned, almost as if they were bred that way. A shrill squeak escaped her muzzle before a new scent made her freeze- the fragrance of arousal, feminine arousal at that. The smell overwhelmed her as she desperately tried to fight back her immobility reflex; she might have won in some other world, but here she never had time before the giant creature slid her into soft pillowy darkness, the hot muscular walls trembling and rippling around her in the sultry pheromone-soaked air. Reflexes died then, leaving her free to slip and lose her footing on the juicy flesh tightly gripping her, trying to run back and grab onto the creature's retreating paw before the opening sealed and trapped her to die.
"Too late." The predatory hybrid pulled her hindpaw free, smugly grinning as she felt her vulva wink shut, leaving the mouse to scamper back and forth inside her. It bumped into the thick spongy wall of her cervix, squirmed and fought its way upright as her inner muscles clamped down on it, then tumbled to a soggy heap that still struggled within her. Her mouse would live for a long time, thanks to certain traits of hers, and might even last until tomorrow morning. She started down the path again with a distinct bounce in her step, softly churring when her captive thrashed against a particularly sensitive spot, her hexapodal gait shifting the mouse around with wonderful effects. Maybe she'd let this one go if it kept her pleasantly distracted through the day...but that was a big if. Her work at the town still waited, and it would not be pleasant.