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The Broodmage Saga

Prologue: The Queen's Gate Incident

Nobody crosses the desert on the solstice.

I mean, it's a difficult enough journey from the Tidelands to Hakar at any time of year. That's why they call the plains outside the Queen's Gate the Pan; if you're caught out on it at the wrong time, you get fried. But on the day of the summer solstice, it feels like the suns are just reaching down to consume the land. It feels like they're hungry.

Which is why I didn't have any competition that day. No... it was just me, sitting on top of the sandstone bar which made up the top of the gate, tossing pebbles down onto the wall below just to see which way they'd bounce. No one else of my honored profession, just a huge, sooty-green half-asleep crocodile guard leaning against the wall, soaking up the sun, and his boss of the moment, a cougar decurion who looked to be taking the sun's attention rather personally. Unlike the croc, who had stripped down to just his loincloth and had his spear and shield propped up next to him, she was still wearing her leather... too damned proud, or professional, to take it off on duty. She'd lightly reprimanded the croc for breaking uniform, but he hadn't responded, and she had apparently decided not to press the issue, maybe because she didn't know him very well, or maybe because he was nearly twice her size... at least 350, almost all of it muscle, I'd say, and while a lowly guard would never do direct violence to a decurion, instinct might suggest that she not push her luck.

So instead she decided to amuse herself by harassing me. "You there. Kid." I looked over from my latest pebble's resting place (inside the wall, that time) to see her glaring at me, tawny tail lashing behind her.

I held up the tool of my trade. "What? Need a trim? I'll give you a discount."

She glanced balefully at my beautifully-maintained shears. "Get the fuck off the wall, Junior. Against regulations."

I yawned and stretched, and then lay down on the sandstone slab, letting my arms dangle down. "Maybe just a massage, then? No charge, for you, Dec." I twitched my tail suggestively. Most of the shearers at the gates were girls, as most travelers would rather have pretty little females touching their bodies, but I had built up a modest clientele from those who preferred my gender, and the fact that I give a damned fine massage kept them coming back for more, and even got me a few referrals.

I like to think that I'm a pretty damned handsome little guy, but maybe she wasn't into jackals. Or boys. Or maybe she just wasn't in the mood, which seemed likeliest. "Come down off the wall before I shove those shears up your tailhole and give your guts a trim. Besides, you're not gonna get anyone today. You'd have to be straight insane to cross the Pan today, coming or going. Crawl back to the slums and go suck on your mother's whorish teats in the shade, like the rest of the marketside bastards today."

She was a real charmer, this one. I wondered who she'd annoyed to get assigned Queen's Gate duty on the solstice, and I was beginning to think her winning personality had something to do with it. My thoughts were interrupted by an impossibility: movement in the desert.

I wasn't looking all that hard, granted, but I was still surprised that I hadn't seen the approaching figure from further away... it was only a few hundred steps from the gate when I noticed it. The figure looked lithe, moving with an unhurried yet graceful gait, and wore a tan cloak which made it hard to see against the dunes. The wind blowing in from the plain carried the scent to me: Cat. Female.

And before I knew it, my sheath was starting to bulge. In heat? I sniffed the air again. No. And why would it affect me, anyway? I'm not in one of the cat tribes. Heat-scents that don't come from a canine bitch of one kind or another would do nothing to me. But my sixteen-winter-old brain was starting to send waves of arousal through me, causing my hackles to rise and my member to start swelling.

But no... something inside me told me that I had to keep my wits about me. This situation was strange, and possibly wrong. So I closed my eyes, stilled my breath and began to recite my grounding mantra, and in a few moments my body and mind had calmed down.

Meanwhile, the decurion was still coming up with creative acts of violence to threaten me with, and didn't turn around until the crocodile soldier grunted to draw her attention to the traveler at the gate. She stopped abusing me to stand in front of the threshold, waiting for the arrival. The crocodile stepped forward, arms crossed, to stand behind her; I noticed that he didn't grab his weapons, but it was clear that he was unlikely to need them. At his massive size and strength, just him standing behind the decurion would do more to intimidate a traveler than any weapon. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and watched.

The stranger stopped a spear's length and a half from the decurion, who cleared her throat, showed her fangs and said, "Show me your mark, outlander." I briefly wondered how she knew it was a foreigner with just the nondescript tan cloak to go by, but I saw her proven correct when a graceful feline hand emerged from within the cloak to make the sign of peace. The fur was too long to belong to a local; anyone around here with fur any longer than a thumb's breadth would have it shorn regularly just to make life bearable. Dark rosettes graced the hairs near her white wrist, and I gave a little whine of wonder: a snow leopard. I'd heard of them, but never seen one in the flesh.

"I have come from afar," said the stranger in slightly archaic but rather serviceable Khanish. Her accent was pleasantly exotic. "I have business in the city. Please let me pass."

"If you don't have a mark of the Vizier's seal, or the Khan's, then you'll need to go around to the main gate and apply for an entry visa. It's about a quarter-mile walk along the wall from here, but nothing to what you've already been through. How by the Four Devils did you make it through the Pan?"

"I mean your people no harm. I have business in the city. Please let me pass."

The cougar craned her neck backwards. "What, don't speak real Khanish? I'll go slow. NO COME HERE. BAD GATE FOR YOU. YOU GO THAT WAY. GET MARK." She mimicked the back of her hand getting hennaed.

"I must pass through this gate." The beautiful paw pointed at the gate I was sitting on. "I will pay." She held up a gold filament. It gleamed brilliantly in the sun. I admit I salivated a little.

Unfortunately, though she was a right arse, the decurion wasn't corrupt, or perhaps she didn't trust the croc enough not to tell on her if she took the bribe. "Bribing officials around here is a crime, outlander." I scoffed, and she shot me a dirty look, but we be both knew that bribes made the Desert Jewel of Hakar go 'round; we also both knew, though, that those bribes had to be to the right people, and that didn't include her. "And why are you so dead set on getting in without a mark, anyway? Think you're too important to follow our ways? Or maybe you're a smuggler, eh? Or a spy?"

Of course, a real spy or smuggler would have a mark, and cover, and protection, and would never speak the way the snow leopard was speaking. But the decurion had finally found someone she could harass, and wasn't going to let the opportunity slip by. At last, the indignity of having to mind the tiny Queen's Gate, which led into the backstreets of the crafting quarter, would be revenged on this poor traveler.

"I am none of those things," said the silken voice of the northern cat. "Please, let me pass."

"No, you're not going anywhere. This is all way too fishy. Let me see your face."

She brought her hands to the edge of the hood and drew it back, revealing the most beautiful face I had ever seen, and in my profession I had seen a few. Her face and muzzle were painted with dark, gently curving lines and spots of natural black, a living work of art lovelier than any plains cheetah I had seen. Her tawny eyes were clear and bright, and seemed to see right through the decurion. The soldier motioned for her to take off the cloak completely, and she removed it with one flowing motion to reveal a body clad in nothing but the soft, glorious fur nature had given her. Eight toned breasts stood subtly out from her lithe frame, her tail swished slowly above her generous rear, and the cleft of her sex was just barely visible between her strong, sculpted legs.

I probably sound like a damned poet right now, which I'm really, really not, but you have to understand that, on that day, in that place, I saw a goddess. That's still how I think of her, and the words just come to me. They come from her, part of what she is to the world.

"You're a long way from home," said the decurion, eyeing the perfect body before her. "And unshorn. Must be dying in this heat. Well, you'll die a little longer, because you're not going anywhere until I get a message to the Centurion about you." She lifted the spear to within a few inches of the traveler's face. "Put your hands behind your back." The threat was clear.

The traveler smiled. Yes, she actually smiled. I'll never forget that mysterious smile, the smile she made when the decurion had pushed her too far and sealed her own fate. Unresisting, the traveler turned around, put her hands behind her back, and allowed herself to be bound. Softly, she chanted a few words, and I saw some kind of blue light travel from her fingertips into the cougar decurion's hands as they bound her.

The cougar didn't notice. "Mutter your foreign tongue all you want," she said. No one will understand you." She fastened one end of the bindings to a nearby date tree and turned to speak to the crocodile. "Go to the market and send a messenger to the Captain; tell him I've got a possible spy at the Queen's Gate for him to interrogate. Tell him to take his time; she'll be here for a while." She sneered.

By the end, though, the crocodile wasn't listening, and I barely was myself; we were both looking past her to the traveler. Her eyes were closed, and she was murmuring to herself, but that wasn't what got our attention. At first, I wasn't sure what was happening. She looked lovelier... sexier, actually, than she did before, and eventually I figured it out. With each line of whatever she was chanting, her eight beautiful breasts were very, very slightly swelling, swaying lightly with her breathing and subtle movements. Her nipples were getting hard, standing more and more proudly out from those luscious breasts. I wanted so badly to jump down from the wall and suckle on them, wanted it like I was still just a pup and was starving for a drink from my mother. At the same time, a heat-scent filled the air, definite this time, and I started to get hard again, but it wasn't coming from the traveler at all.

Eventually, the cougar followed the croc's gaze, watching as the breasts passed the size of a voluptuous young new mother's and became truly prodigious. The snow leopard started to grind her hips gently, rhythmically, against the smooth bark of the tree she was tied to, thrusting out her chest as she chanted. As her huge and still-growing breasts subtly swayed and jiggled against each other hypnotically, beads of a glowing white-blue liquid appeared on the ends of the cat's nipples, beginning to drip down onto the ground, leaving shining blue marks.

"FUCK!" cried the cougar, shoving her spear forward. "MAGE! FUCKING WITCH! GET YOUR WEAPONS!" The crocodile didn't move, but the cougar couldn't spare a look back to check, focused entirely on the magic-user. The heat-scent was getting stronger; my linen pants, my only real article of clothing, were firmly tented now.

"You should take off your armor," said the leopard softly to the cougar, still smiling that small smile.

"SHUT UP!" screamed the cougar, bashing the mage across the face with the haft of her spear. The leopard endured the blow, blinking fiercely at the pain but still smiling. Leaning forward, the decurion pressed the point of her spear to the leopard's cheek. "One word, you filthy witch, and I'll cut out your fucking demon-cock-sucking tongue. We don't take kindly to magic-users around here, and if you think your little stunt did anything good you're wrong. Enjoy those swollen tits while you can, because I'll see to it that you lose them somewhere in the VERY lengthy interrogation before we condemn and burn you..."

And that was as far as she got. It was leaning over that was her mistake, actually... she was only wearing a leather skirt on her lower half, and as her tail thrashed around the crocodile soldier was treated to a sight of her pussy and lost all control. She found herself pinned under the massive reptilian bulk of her subordinate, and she swore incoherently, wrestling uselessly against his strength as he bore her down to all fours and shoved her skirt up around her waist. "What are you..." she began, unaware that, due to the subtle touch spell the mage had cast on her, she had been emitting the most powerful, reason-destroying heat-scent imaginable for the last few minutes, and that somehow, it crossed all borders of species. The croc guard was no doubt completely helpless to resist at this point; even more than forty feet away atop the gate, it was all I could do not to leap down and violently join in the mating myself. Then, the decurion felt the tip of the croc's massive member roughly probing her most sensitive hole, smearing her buttocks, belly and tailbase with slimy reptilian pre-seed as he sought for his target, and she cried, "YOU WOULDN'T DARE, YOU SCALY BASTAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!" The words were lost as he thrust home, deep, deep inside of her.

Her being in heat made her quite wet enough, thankfully, but from the guttural wordless sounds the decurion made for the next four minutes, it was clear that she had never taken anything that thick and hard inside her body before, and the croc was a mere animal, rutting her violently with no thought for anything but the burning need in his cock. After a few minutes of struggling, pinned chest-down, ass-up on the street, the cougar just braced herself, trying to ride it out. She looked at the mage and let out a fierce hiss.

By this time, the glowing liquid from the leopard's breasts had formed a pool on the ground, and I saw a shape come up out of the blue. It looked like a hummingbird made of blue-white light, and it flew in a few circles around the swollen-titted leopard before arcing behind her. Somehow, it must have severed the bindings, because the leopard's arms were now free, and she used them to caress, squeeze and stroke her eight oversized, bouncing breasts, causing still more magically-charged milk to flow onto the ground.

The croc had already jerked his body a few times in the savage mating... I could tell that he was cumming into the cougar, and hard, but he just kept on pounding her, drool dripping from his panting muzzle. Finally, the cougar managed to get a hand on her shield and bashed the croc on the head with it, stunning him. Another bash, and he began to totter, and a third sent him senseless to the ground, huge erection sliding out of the decurion with a pop and waving in the air like some bizarre standard.

The cougar staggered to her feet, trying to adjust her armor and get a solid hand on her spear, but she was shaking. "You fucking whore..." she panted. "Mind magic... black magic... burn you."

The leopardess merely smiled, and as she raised her hand, the pool of magical milk rose up from the ground and formed a ball hovering in the air. At a gesture from the mage, it shot forward, soaking the decurion. The decurion blinked, expecting to be blasted apart by evil magic, but she stood unharmed, though soaked, by the spell. Her fur glimmered slightly. "Was that milk?" she asked the mage. "You think MILK is going to stop me from killing you? You'll need a lot more than that, demon whore," she growled, advancing with her spear.

"Yes, it was milk.... And you'll have plenty of your own to drink, soon," said the mage.

The cougar began to shake more violently. Dropping the spear, she clutched at her own belly and moaned, not a moan of pain, but of what sounded like extreme pleasure. "Oh... ffffuuucckkkk...." She swore. "What did you... OOHHH!!! DO to me, youuAAAAHHH!!!"

The cougar's leather armor was getting tight at the seams, and as I watched, the left shoulder broke, leaving the tawny fur of her upper arm and side exposed. She tried hard to keep the armor on and preserve her modesty, but soon, the other shoulder strap broke, and four of her swollen tits bounced into view as the top of her hauberk fell away and she clutched it uselessly to her midsection.

She fell to her knees, panting violently, and I heard another thick snapping sound as the waist of her leather skirt broke and fell from her. When she dropped the ruins of her clothing to grasp at a tree with both hands, it was clear what the mage's spell had done to her. Her belly was actually swelling, growing more perfectly round and taut with every moment, and her breasts too were growing, growing, getting bigger and bigger, warm milk beginning to leak from them. The results of her mating with the crocodile were now becoming all too clear, but I knew that shouldn't have even been possible... everyone knows that cats can't breed with reptiles!

But everyone was proven wrong. I saw it. I saw that naked, swollen cougar soldier push a huge, white-shelled egg out of her fertile body, I saw it crown at her sex, and I heard her scream as she pushed at the huge object filling her pussy. As it finally slid forth onto the ground, her tail twitched in a way that could only mean one thing; orgasm, and a massive one.

The cougar started to speak, but her speech became another moan as another egg began to push at the inside of her sex, and again, and again, and again and again she birthed forth enormous egg after enormous egg, each one hailed by a louder scream and a mightier orgasm, as well as spurts of milk from her now-enormous breasts.

At last, she was done, and she twisted and moaned on the ground, weak and helpless after giving birth five times. "You.... Demon... whore..." she panted. "You're a Broodmage. A fucking Broodmage. You'd better kill me, because I swear to the Four I'll hunt you down and fuck you with the sharp end of my spear for this."

The mage's tail twitched with amusement. "No, my business will be concluded here and I will be gone long before you get to that, considering the fact that you'll be spending the next several days in back alleys with cocks in any hole you can get them in. At level three of the Heat spell, only the most iron-willed can resist the urge to masturbate. At level five, you will literally beg any male to fill you with his seed. I just cast a Heat spell on you... level EIGHT."

The cougar's eyes went wide, and the last coherent words I heard from her were "Fuuucckkk.... Cooooccckkksss..... pussy needs... COCK!" Desperately, she dragged herself over to the unconscious body of her subordinate and began to lick and stroke his cock desperately, trying to get it to rise to its former glory so she could shove it back inside of herself.

"Oh, and as you know, you are also under a Broodmother spell now. It will wear off at the next full moon. Enjoy increasing the population of your glorious city." The mage retrieved her cloak from the ground. I noticed that her breasts had returned to their former size. Without another look back at the two guards, she strode towards the gate, sweeping her cloak on as she went.

"Hey," I called down from my perch. She looked up.

"Yes, boy?" she asked, clearly expecting something threatening or derogatory, or fearful, or perhaps lustful.

I was still really, really hard from all this, of course, but I was, believe it or not, still in control. I had been chanting my grounding mantra in the background even more strongly when I found out she was a mage, and maybe that helped, but I later found out that there were other forces at play. I'll get to that later, but then, in that moment, it was years of training that kicked in. Her fur wasn't shorn, and so she was still a potential customer.

"Shave your fur?" I asked, holding up my gleaming shears.

That really stopped her. "Excuse me?" she asked.

My erection had gone down enough that I could now hop down from the wall, landing neatly on all fours. I stood, twitching my left ear and swishing my tail in what (I hoped) was a casual manner. "If you're going to be here for longer than a day, you'll roast in all that thick fur. I can help you with that. It'll only take ten minutes, and bring weeks of relief." I was settling into my sales pitch. "Tell you what... I'll even throw in a nice back massage for free."

It was easier than I thought to keep my eyes on hers... they seemed to just drink me in, all of me. I mean, I know now that she was reading my aura, but I didn't know that then. She tilted her head after several moments, and asked, "Who... are you?"

I twirled the shears in my hand. "Jael, ma'am. What's your name?" Every peddler knows that the chances of a sale increase greatly if you can get your mark to tell you his name.

But she ducked the question. "Only Jael? No family name?"

Now it was my turn to be surprised. "I'm.... not a noble, ma'am. I don't have a family name, or a mark."

"Truly?"

I'll tell you this: in all of my life, meeting thousands of people at that gate over the years, nobody, foreigner or not, ever mistook Jael of the Hakar slums, who had no living father nor mother, for a noble. "Uh.... Yeah. Definitely not."

She blinked, looking deep into my eyes. "Then I have a bargain for you, Jael the Not-Noble. You may have this..." she held up the gold sliver, worth more than had passed through my paws in a lifetime. "If you will stay with me, and be my guide, until I leave this city."

"Just... be your guide?" I licked my chops. What I could do with that gold...

"Well." She smiled mysteriously. "There might be a very few... other duties."

She was not wrong, my friends. She was definitely not wrong.

END PROLOGUE