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Ambush

The light from the camp fire played across the bound stallion, its reflection catching in his green eyes giving them a faintly golden tinge. The half-light could not conceal his fear; it was written in every tense muscle, and the way his eyes darted about, wide and staring, taking in everything and nothing. It was also written in his scent; it hung like a blanket over the fire circle.

The pack alpha contemplated his prize with hungry eyes. His nostrils picked up the scent, flaring unconsciously in the warm night air, and he let a feral grin cover his muzzle, razor sharp teeth exposed. The stallion was right to fear, not that it would do him any good. His fate had been written the moment he had fallen into their trap.

For years now the horses had been pushing his own people back, and life had become harsh for the wolf clans. In times long gone, young wolf warriors had raided into the horse lands to prove their bravery, bringing back trophies of their success. The world had changed now, and the horses had organised and developed defences, halting the attacks and pushing the wolf packs back from their valley.

With this new world, resentment tinged with fear had grown, and the wolves had fought back as only they knew how; bravely, savagely, but without coordination. No pack alpha would ever allow his own authority to be challenged by another, no matter who the enemy. The packs fought each-other more than they ever fought outsiders.

For a while however a peace of sorts had been established, and the horses and the wolves had eyed each-other suspiciously across a no-man's land of broken swampland. Nothing is ever stable in the world however, and the horses had stared patrolling, threatening the border clans, and by extension the authority of their Alphas.

Garrak had felt the fear in his pack, seen the hidden meaning in their barely hidden stares. No Alpha could hope to remain one for long without developing a keen sense for trouble, and Garrak's fur began bristling regularly. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Betas began eyeing him off for a challenge, and one day he would go down, of that he was sure. Then some hothead would lead a raid and get the whole pack killed in a pitched battle, futile but brave.

He was not just the pack Alpha because of his physical attributes however. His forbidding face hid a brain of considerable subtlety, and burning ambition. It was no part of his plan to have future poets sing of his noble but pointless sacrifice. This wolf dreamed large dreams, and they involved leading the clans united against the horse lords.

Determined to calm his pack's fears for the moment, and shore up his authority as Alpha, while seeking a way to take the initiative at minimum risk, Garrak had summoned a warrior's council and outlined his plan. They would use their best assets, their knowledge of the terrain, their cunning, and a wolf's natural talent for hunting. The horse patrols would not be openly confronted, instead they would ambush the unwary.

This youngster was the first catch of the campaign. A novice recruit, barely of age, his first patrol was a bewildering experience for the stallion. Falling behind his fellows returning through the swamps at dusk, his first indication of trouble had been a knife at his throat, blade glinting in the sun's last golden burst before sunset as the wolf had told him casually how he would be gutted if he made a sound. Bound and bridled, he had been led back to the camp, wondering if he would live to see the sunrise.

Now he knelt by the fire, paws bound behind his back, legs hobbled and spread wide. Trying to remain brave, he drew himself up to a partial sitting position as best he could, but one look at the big Alpha wolf across the fire pit made him shake uncontrollably in spite of his best efforts.

The wolf was a formidable specimen of his kind. Tall, though not as tall as the stallion, his broad shoulders and thick muscles made him appear shorter than he was, a solid powerful mass. Black fur glistened in the firelight, with silver markings that covered his ears and ran in a solid line from between his massive pectorals down his taut belly to disappear beneath his loin cloth. Thick legs sprouted from below widely spread hips ending in massive paws with pronounced claws that dug at the earth with a leisurely almost playful slowness.

Eyeing the terrified stallion for a while longer, letting his fear build, Garrak finally decided the time was right to begin, and left his position in the warrior's circle to approach the helpless equine. Reaching him, the Alpha began a searching examination of the captive, enjoying the sensation of raw power, as the ribald banter of his warriors stopped and a respectful silence descended.

From what he could see around the armour, this one was a brown horse, like most of them. Dark brown silky fur with black legs and arms, black mane and tail and back patch on his nose, with soft black feathering at his wrists and fetlocks to complete the picture. Soft, sensual green eyes, full of fear. A beautiful specimen, not that it changed anything, but it would add an extra pleasure to the evening knowing he was debasing one such as this.

Taking the black mane in his paws, Garrak roughly pulled back, eliciting a slight nicker of pain from the captive stallion, one cut abruptly short as he saw the sharp cruel knife the wolf had pulled from a leather scabbard at his hips.

Garrak toyed with the stallion for a moment, running the tip along a muscled tricep, digging in suddenly to extract a slow trickle of blood and a low moan. For now however he had other priorities, and he began to expertly cut away the stallion's armour, leather bindings falling away beneath the blade. Tossing it away piece by piece, greaves, cuirass, breastplate, he left the stallion now naked but for his tunic, the cloth soon to join the rest as it was cut from the shaking captive.

As the stallion was prepared, the watching wolves began their banter again, an unmistakeable sexual tension in the air. The horrified stallion saw the leering grins, the hanging red tongues that seemed to almost lick his exposed body from a distance. Here and there, a paw reached inside a loin cloth, beginning a lewd pleasuring in anticipation of the stallion's debasement. His bowels turned to ice at the thought of what he faced.

Then the wolf spoke, a low growling that seemed to come through the ground into his bones.

"What is your name pony?"

"Fuck you!"

The slap when it came was like nothing he had experienced in training, even when his instructor had tired of the youngster's clumsy efforts and decided to teach him a lesson. His head was snapped sideways, vision blurred as lights exploded inside his head. Stunned for a moment, he registered a burning pain and the feeling of liquid against his cheek. The wolf had left his claws out, raking the captive as he hit.

"What is your name pony?"

The dazed stallion realised he was playing a losing game, but he had to play it anyway, honour demanded a sacrifice. Through clenched teeth, he managed to remain defiant, a hoarse whisper in reply.

"I said, fuck you!"

The second backhander made him topple sideways, bound arms unable to stop his fall as the pain smashed through his skull a second time. Absently he wondered if he kept this up long enough whether the wolf would beat him unconscious. He would welcome it when it came; he desperately wanted to sleep.

The wolf had other ideas however.

"Only one of us is getting fucked tonight pony, and it is not me. I like to know the name of my bitches when I mate, but I am done asking you nicely."

The stallion's head snapped back and he let out a pained shrieking whinny as he felt the wolf wrap a big paw around his balls and begin to squeeze mercilessly, sharp claws digging in to increase the torment. As the pain built to a crescendo, the wolf twisted the tortured scrotum, causing the stallion to almost black out from the intensity. As suddenly as it began, the crushing ceased, though the pain remained, the stallion reduced to a low wracking sob.

"One last chance pony."

Hating himself for his weakness, the stallion nonetheless obeyed, the thought of further torture to his precious balls more than he could take.

"R...Rocanion. Of the second company of the guard."

The Alpha grunted. "Hmmm...a pretty name. Pretty like you little pony. Well, Rocanion of the second company of the guard, I am Garrak, Alpha of this pack, member of the T'faarg clan, and you are now my bitch."

Ignoring the pitiful "no...no" from the bound captive, the big male took up position behind him, erect cock already tenting out his loin cloth obscenely. It was time to take what was his, before his assembled warriors; Alpha's right.

Hastily pushing his loin cloth out of the way, the Alpha pulled the stallion's tail up roughly, and pressed the swollen tip of his cock against the unwilling pucker of his prize. Pulling back on the mane with his other paw, he arched the stallion's back painfully, enjoying the moment and the shaking of his helpless captive, before driving all the way into the virgin tail hole in one thrust.

Rocanion had bit down on his lip, desperate to avoid making any sound and giving the wolves that satisfaction, but the brutal violation was beyond anything he was expecting and a cry was drawn unbidden from him. Blood trickled from his mouth as he bit down ineffectually on his lip, the sound escaping just the same, ears burning as he registered a full throated roar of appreciation from the audience.

It was just the beginning of his ordeal however. The big wolf rested a moment, cock buried in the incredibly hot confines of the stallion, his swelling knot resting against the newly violated pucker. Leaning over the horse, he licked at the sweat on his captive's neck, biting down teasingly as he wriggled his hips from side to side testing his mount, tail wagging in heat, the lewd gesture drawing admiring catcalls from his audience.

Pulling back, he savoured the clenching ass pressing on his cock, and just as he felt the pressure build as the abused muscles sought to expel the invader, rammed back in painfully drawing another pained cry from his bitch. Warming to his task, the alpha started a hard painful rutting, determined to give himself as much pleasure as possible and his captive as much pain.

Rocanion had never felt such pain before, his tail hole stretched and ripped until blood flowed and perversely made the assault easier. The rutting wolf rumbled, his muzzle against the flattened ear of the stallion, whispering soft torments to his bitch, telling him how good his ass felt. The ashamed stallion could only beg for a quick end.

As the wolf's rutting became harder and deeper, Rocanion was aware of two sensations. First, he could feel the thick blunt knot battering against his abused hole, demanding entrance but so far not quite succeeding. Second, as the wolf drove in deeper and deeper, he could feel the swollen tip press against a place inside himself that he never knew existed. When it happened, the overwhelming pain was subsumed for a moment in a deep spreading warmth, that seemed to start at the base of his cock and run along its length until he tingled and throbbed.

Suddenly, he was aware that this new sensation was having its effect. His own cock had extended from its sheath, and despite his best efforts was rapidly filling with blood until it finally reached its full extent. As the painful rape continued, the wolf pounding him with increasing force, he felt his shaft slapping his belly with each thrust, sending small showers of precum to spray against his fur and drip to the ground below. The watching warriors tormented him for his weakness, shouting insults at the slutty pony who would soon be their bitch too.

The violent fucking finally loosened up the stallion's ring enough that with a single determined thrust Garrak smashed his knot through the barrier, stretching Rocanion's clenching anus impossibly wide as he tied with his victim, triumphant howl matched by the horse's scream as a new apex of pain invaded his consciousness.

Garrak knew it would not be long now, the feel of his knot inside the virgin horse was too much to resist. Beginning the short fast thrusts that would bring him off, the alpha rode the poor horse without mercy, his knot tearing at the sensitive flesh. For Rocanion, the excruciating pain was accompanied by unwanted pleasure, as the new position probed his prostate in a rapid fire series of impacts that brought him to shameful release.

As the wolf let out a long full throated howl, he unloaded in his captive, spraying a constant stream of wolf cum into the ravaged hole of his enemy. An enemy whose answering shamed whinny signalled his own involuntary climax, seed splashing against his belly fur in three long strings before the remainder flowed from his flaring tip to pool on the ground beneath him.

The performance drew a raucous review, cries, applause, shouts and laughter filling the night as the wolf warriors enjoyed the sight of their enemy's complete degradation at the paws of their alpha. The night had only just begun however. The Alpha knew one way to bind his warriors to him and assert his position at the same time. He would share his bitch with them, his brothers.

Taking a firm grip of the shaking hips of his conquered captive, Garrak pulled back, his knot tearing the ruined pucker on its way out and drawing a fresh cry from the stallion. Kneeling for a moment, he looked at his handiwork, the stretched tail hole inflamed and wide, trying unsuccessfully to close as a stream of wolf cum dripped down the horse's flanks.

Satisfied for the moment, he took the limp black tail and used it to clean his cock, the cum and blood smeared across Rocanion's formerly soft clean hairs. Looking at the circle of warriors now, all sporting obvious erections, he locked eyes with Rabgraf, powerful beta and chief rival. With a deliberate tilt of his head, he signalled his choice. And so the night would continue.

Hours later, the exhausted stallion could only sob quietly, his world now only pain. He had lost count of the number of times he had been bred, his ass now jammed wide open with a solid stream of thin cum mixed with blood running down his legs. Four times had his own orgasm been brutally forced from him by the assault, never failing to draw an appreciative roar from the warriors.

All through the long hours, Garrak had sat still across the fire circle from the stallion. Whenever one of the wolves had pulled back Rocanion's mane, he had seen the wolf sitting there, his black eyes never leaving the young horse except to indicate the identity of his next assailant. By the end those eyes were burned on his brain, drilling into his soul and leaving their indelible mark.

Eventually, Garrak called an end to the gang rape with a curt "enough". The crowd quietened, some of the lower ranked warriors whining at their lost opportunity as their turn had not yet come. The alpha had achieved what he wanted however, and now it was time for the final act. Drawing his closest lieutenants to him, he relayed his instructions in a terse low whisper.

Rocanion was aware that no new wolf had taken the place of the last one, a big red furred monster who had bitten at his shoulder as he came. As he returned to something like a conscious state, he realised that several wolves had now approached him and he was being untied. Too weak to fight them off, he instead was a helpless onlooker as they stretched him out on the ground on his back, arms and legs now spread wide and his hooves pointing at the fire.

The big black wolf now approached again, the rest of the pack silent. Kneeling down beside the stallion, he let his paws gently caress the damaged youngster, feeling him quiver at a touch.

"Now you will listen young pony. You have been a perfect bitch, my warriors and I salute you. I am sorry to say however that we cannot keep you, you are too valuable as a warning. You will be returned to your people, and you will pass them a message. If they value their hides, they will stay clear of the wolf lands, or they will end up like you little pony. Tell them of this night, so you may save them from your fate."

"One last thing pony; you still have something that belongs to me. You do not need to be a stallion to deliver the message, in fact a gelding would be a far more effective messenger. Your balls belong to me, and I will take them now; Alpha's right.

The stallion tried with his remaining strength to struggle free, but in his weakened state he was no match for the combined strength of four big wolves. Writhing ineffectually, he began begging, but it had no effect on the Alpha. Drawing his leather belt from about his hips, Garrak used it to bind the top of the stallion's scrotum, each tightening loop pushing the heavy orbs deeper into the black leathery sack until they bulged under the pressure.

Moving his muzzle between the parted thighs, Garrak stopped to sniff the musk of his captive. He could still smell his own scent from the ravished tail hole, along with the identifiable scent of his brother warriors. The stallion's own musk filled his nostrils, the sticky cum still coating a thick cock that in spite of his predicament bulged at full erection from the stimulation of his balls.

Reaching out his tongue, he licked one of the big orbs, enjoying the stallion's struggles, before opening his jaws and brining his teeth closed on the quivering testicle.

The reaction from Rocanion was immediate and extreme. As he felt the wolf's powerful incisors close on him his body went into a spasm and he let out a blood curdling scream, eyes wide and staring into nothing. The four wolves held him down even in the face of this last attempt to avoid the horror, and Garrak completed his bite, powerful jaws sinking his teeth through the stretched skin of the scrotum and into one of the trapped balls, the sweet taste of a stallion filling his muzzle as blood and seed flowed.

The stallion's cock gave a shudder and a single spurt of cum flew across his clenching belly as he tried desperately to escape the horrific pain, but there would be no escape, and the Alpha continued to devour his testicle. Grinding teeth broke the flesh apart and the wolf greedily swallowed every fragment, blood dripping from his maw.

With the first now finished, he moved to the second, determined to draw out the stallion's suffering. As Rocanion bucked and screamed, Garrak now squeezed the remaining exposed testicle, enjoying the feel of the rubbery flesh contorting in his grip.

"Do you want me to finish the job little pony?"

A pained screamed "please" was his only response.

"Please what little pony, I don't understand?"

"Please...please stop."

"Hmmm pony. But I don't want to stop" and with that he returned to torturing his captive, crushing the distended flesh with his paw while digging his claws into the surface until they drew blood.

Through the haze of pain, Rocanion knew what he had no choice.

"Please...please end it. Please."

With a laugh, Garrak now bent to the shattered groin again. Taking the whole of the massive stallion orb into his mouth this time, he let his tongue enjoy the texture, before he began to chew, his defeated captive finally losing consciousness as this last wave of pain broke him.

The unconscious gelding mercifully never saw the rest, as the alpha used his knife, carefully heated in the fire, to slice off the remains of the bound scrotum, sealing and cauterising the terrible wound. With a final flourish, he severed the black tail, adding another trophy.

The pack returned the delirious horse to the point they had taken him, sure his fellows would find him, before returning to their own camp. There was much work to be done; they were moving, sure that a reprisal expedition would be coming their way as soon as the horse lords learned who had done this.

Garrak was confident though. War had been declared, but on his terms. His pack would be joining another under an agreement forged with its alpha, a first step in binding the packs to a common cause. A cause he would fight under a new war banner.

He had supervised its creation that night, as the stallion still lay prone by the fire. A large leather banner with a wolf paw, claws extended. And flying from its cross beam, a severed stallion tail and scrotum hung and rocked in the breeze. How many would fly there before this was done or he was killed he did not know, but he hoped it was many.

He had developed a new taste and was hungry for more.