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The griffon and the tigress By Strega

He was five hundred yards up, drifting silent and unseen on the winds, when he spotted the tigress sunning herself in the meadow. Whisper-quiet he canted a wing, easing into a slow turn as he looked the situation over. He saw no one but the tigress, no other hestan cat-people, no one at all but her. His belly growled in anticipation and his beak parted to his his tongue out to lick what passed for his lips. Here was his newest lover, not to mention his lunch.

Achyk wasn't the biggest griffon, or the strongest, or the smartest. What he did have was sneakiness and cruelty, and these served him well. As his litter-mates went on to great things or an early death, depending on the paths they took, he sought out the least risky life he could manage.

He would starve in a week if he didn't hunt, but where his strong, proud siblings swooped down on caravans to kill horses or boldly swept into villages to carry off screaming civilians, he sought out solitary farmers, weary travelers in the midst of gathering firewood, and even the occasional messenger snatched from his horse and carried off for a quick mid-air meal.

Achyk's beak could gape wide enough to swallow a man whole and to leave no evidence of his presence, that's what he did. Occasionally he'd kill his meal with a quick snap of his beak but he much preferred to dispatch them alive, bolting his prey with tosses of his feathery head until it was far enough down to swallow. With a cackle of glee he'd flap off, belly swollen and twitching, and postpone the post-meal belch as long as he could to keep them alive that much longer. There was nothing at all to mark most of his hunts but a trail of footprints that suddenly ended.

He learned that trick from his sister, before she took off to nest with a remarkably stupid but enormous and (even Achyk had to admit) handsome male griffon. From her as well he learned to claw carefully though the indigestibles he heaved back up when his stomach's work was done. Occasionally something valuable survived. More than once he'd hacked up an entire set of armor, its leather straps dissolved away, or clothing that managed to avoid making its way out the other way. Bits of jewelry were sometimes trapped in a fold of the clothes, and that's where he found the ring.

The man he'd snatched off his horse and swallowed alive had seemed nothing special, but a glint of gold in a wadded-up mass of velvet he regurgitated the next day caught his eye. He brushed aside the man's skull - he could digest bones, but there was so little nutrition to be had there that he rarely let them stay in his stomach long enough to dissolve - and, as was he habit, slipped the ring onto the tip of a claw just to see if it did anything. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wings fade away and he knew he'd found a Ring of invisibility.

He'd blinked as he realized what had happened. Normally he sold the leavings of his meals to traveling merchants not too proud to buy the result of obvious predatory rampages, getting in return healing magics or ornamental trinkets more suited to his frame. This, this he would keep.

Now he could lurk unseen! It opened up so many new possibilities. The first thing he tried was to use it in a fight over a female, only to discover that sudden, aggressive movements broke the invisibility. That fight almost cost him his life and very soon he realized that no griffon female would bear his young any time soon. There were too many larger, stronger males in the way.

But if he couldn't have a griffoness, why, there were other females in the world, particularly now that he could creep up on them unseen. The jump from stalking and eating human and human-shaped women to eat them, to raping them and then eating them, was an easy one. Which was why when he saw the tigress sleepily stretched out on the grass his shaft grew hard in its sheath even as his belly rumbled.

He saw her blink upward in confusion at the thunder of wings from an empty sky, and before she could do more than flinch he was atop her. The invisibility spell broke as he flipped her onto her belly and stepped over her, but his foreclaws pinned her to the ground before she could flee. She was well-muscled, narrow of waist and broad of hips, with a few gold rings and studs in each traingular ear her only decoration. Usefully, she was nude, and she barely had time for a snarl of protest before his back arched and his barbed lion-cock slid into her.

Lions are not so well hung for their size, but he was bigger than a lion, and there was a welcome tightness as his shaft parted her vulva and disappeared to the balls in one thrust. He had never mounted a female of his own species and would have struggled to find the right position were a griffon-femme ever to accept his advances, but he knew all about two-legged ladies. With a rattling growl of arousal he set to thrusting. This was riskier than just snatching her up for a quick meal but he liked to spend his seed as much as any male and a furry, catlike hestan was as close as he was likely to get to a griffoness.

As he thrust he sucked in the curious scent of the tiger-striped woman. He well knew the smell of hestan, having fucked and eaten half a dozen in the last year, but this one had atop that a half-familiar and almost weaselly musk mixed with a bitter herbal smell. Briefly, for his attention was on the tightness of her pussy around his cock, he wondered if she were an apothecary or spice-seller.

He was distracted by her actions as they mated. Normally a woman pinned beneath his claws would scream and struggle for freedom. This one writhed, strong and sinewy, but instead pushed herself into his own thrusts. She was yowling not in fear but in pleasure and the slick wetness of her ready sex was not at all like that of the frightened women he'd had before. It wasn't long before the slippery, tight-gripping sex squeezed the seed out of him and he let out a half lion, half eagle shriek of passion as he came.

She let out a moan and squirmed beneath him, perhaps going through her own orgasm, then looked past her shoulder at him as he stood panting. "Trying to make my belly fat, griffon? You're cat enough that you might just do it."

Achyk was thunderstruck. This was not at all how it usually went. By all rights he should gulp her down and fly off Invisible, but instead he spoke to her. Speaking to his dinner was a new thing indeed.

"Why aren't you screaming," he said. "You must know I'm going to eat you."

"Or maybe I'll eat you," she purred, completely unafraid, though his claws held her down and his cruel beak was inches from her nose. "Or part of you. Ever have your cock sucked?"

"Have I what," he stammered, confused as to what to do with such a forward and willing female. Besides eat her, of course. He was still going to do that at some point.

"Get off," she purred, and despite himself he let her rise up on her knees. "Now roll over." And somehow he let himself be bullied into falling onto his side, then rolling onto his back, wings rustling as they splayed out to each side. He was ready to snap back upright if she tried to run but instead she knelt down between his haunches and Achyk hissed in surprise as a raspy tigress tongue slid over his scrotum. The little barbs on a cat's tongue are there to rasp meat off bones but they worked just as well to comb and moisten fur.

Or to tickle a male's balls, he thought as her tongue made its way from balls up onto his suddenly stiff sheath. There was a flash of fang as she nibbled, and he gasped.

"If you bite me, I'll -"

"Hush," she said with a smile, and he gasped again as the exposed pink tip of his cock was scratched by those little barbs. It wasn't long before his whole length lay unsheathed and throbbing on his belly fur. Achyk whined as her thin black lips gripped and pulled it upward, and let out a startled squawk as her head suddenly dipped. His own barbs, the conical head they rode on and his whole shaft disappeared past her fangs, swallowed effortlessly by the tigress.

His own beak was not suited to such play and his tongue lacked the sandpapery texture of hers. It'd be a lie to say he'd never licked himself but he'd never experienced anything like the raspy tongue massaging his balls as her throat gripped his shaft. She could do him a terrible injury if he bit down now but he reached down with a claw and pushed her muzzle into his groin-fur all the same.

It didn't take very long this time, either. Lions are built for rapid, repeated matings, not one long session of sex, and he'd never felt anything like what was happening to his cock right now. As her throat squeezed his shaft and her raspy tongue washed over his scrotum Achyk let out a helpless groan and ejaculated.

A few droplets of semen had somehow escaped her gullet, he saw when his vision cleared, and stuck her whiskers together on the left side as she reversed the sword swallowing trick she'd performed. When his shaft lay wet and shrinking on his belly and even those last droplets had been licked up and swallowed she looked up past his claws and smiled.

"I've lovers who are monsters," she purred. "I could do with another, if you'd be more circumspect about who you eat. You'd still get to -"

"Circumspect?!" Achyk snapped. The lusty but arrogant tigress went over on her side as he thrust a haunch against her, and he came up on all fours atop her before she could recover.

"Do you think you're in charge here?" He snarled, and nipped down on her scruff more than hard enough to hurt. Once more he arched his back and crouched, the blood already returning to his cock, and this time he seated his barbed tip beneath her tail. With a snarl of anger he rammed it home and began humping, the force of each enraged thrust communicating itself up his spine so he yanked at her scruff.

Even this didn't discomfort her. Every woman he'd sodomized before had shrieked as his barbed shaft rubbed them raw, but the tigress yowled and once more thrust herself against his shaft, matching his tempo in just a few cycles. Had he been thinking clearly, Achyk would have admitted that she was by far the best and most exciting mate he'd ever had.

But he was angry, and as his blood rose toward the third orgasm in half an hour his beak slipped from her scruff. With her eyes closed and thrusting back against his shaft she didn't see him yawn. Achyk slipped his beak over her head and shoulders, swallowing as soon as her muzzle slipped into his gullet. By the time she realized what was happening his swallowing muscles were carrying her deeper and it was far too late to think of escape.

Even as he gulped he thrust, and hedged in by his foreclaws his furious humping forced her farther into his maw. The tight feline rectum squeezing his shaft and the rage in his heart sent him into a frenzy, slamming his balls against her muscular rump in an effort to coax at least a whine of discomfort from her. Yet she did not whine, or struggle to escape. She moved her rump to meet each thrust of his own even as he swallowed her alive.

She still had the strange mixture of smells, and now tastes. Tigress-musk, his own scent, that weaselly odor from before, the spicy bitterness he tasted as she slipped past his tongue and down his throat. As he swallowed his beak sank between his forelegs, but this at least he had done before. She was not the first woman he'd eaten even as he raped her.

Except you couldn't rape a willing lover, he thought briefly, but that thought didn't stop his beak from slipping along his belly as he thrust. It was gaped around her hips, ready to swallow this widest part of her, when he hissed air through his nostrils and came. The third of her holes filled with spurting griffon seed as he shuddered, and he swore he heard her yowl inside him. He most definitely felt her shiver.

The best lover he'd ever had, he'd think later, but it didn't stop him from clamping down around her rump and pulling her off his shaft. With a toss of his beak her thighs were gone, a gulp pulled in her calves, and a second easy toss of his beak disposed of her padded paws. There was nothing left but a bulge in his neck and a twitching tail protruding from the corner of his mouth as he lifted his head and swallowed.

The long bulge in his neck slipped smoothly downward, the tail following its owner into his beak and gullet. He had swallowed larger; the one gulp was all it took to send her slithering down his throat. She did not claw or struggle, not that either would have saved her. She slid limply into his stomach, almost seeming to curl up there of her own volition.

His feathered neck resumed its usual shape as Achyk's latest meal was dispatched, and he turned his head to glare at his newly drooping belly. The lusty tigress had followed many another woman down his throat, just a meal now despite her pretense of being a willing lover. Achyk stretched, using his belly muscles to squeeze the air from his stomach, and had just let out a triumphant belch when he noticed something wrong.

As he stretched his wings wide and gathered his strength to take wing a shivering weariness crept over him. It took all his might to even hold his wings up now, and he stumbled as his own weight seemed to multiply. Strong and proud he dug his claws into the grass and tried to stay upright, but there was no way he could fly. A clink of metal caused his head to turn just as a beast materialized seemingly from thin air not a claw's length away.

Red-lacquered armor covered much of it, including a helm painstakingly crafted to provide protection while allowing its fangs freedom. Long white claws protruded from beneath leg armor and its flanks and short, furry tail were covered in overlapping plates. Beady black eyes stared through narrow slits as Achyk reflexively swiped a claw at the thing.

It was only half his size but it just grinned toothily at him and took it as his weakened blow skipped off its armor. It barely flinched and Achyk just had time to realize that must mean the armor was imbued with strong magic before a dark-furred paw slammed into his cheek.

The beast was powerful all out of proportion to its size and the blow whipped his head around. He caught sight of the second beast, in black armor rather than red, just as it appeared and struck his rump with a savage and perfectly aimed swipe.

It hit him where the nerves of haunches and tail connected and sent a bolt of agony up his spine. His hind legs collapsed beneath his weight and the first beast clubbed his beak with a heavy paw as he staggered.

Even at full strength he'd have fled from two war-beasts like this and he was too weak to flap even a short distance into the air. The fight was uneven and brief, the armored beasts dodging or shrugging off his attacks and connecting with brutal blows of their own. By all rights he should have been dead in short order, but they kept their claws and fangs out of his flesh and simply battered him into submission with their paws.

As he collapsed onto his side, too bruised and weakened to fight, he recognized their scent at last. Oiled metal from the armor mixed with rank, weaselly musk - dire wolverines. Small for their kind, but each easily twice the size of a man and solid masses of muscle and sinew. He groaned and swept a wing feebly at the black-armored one as it stepped up over his haunches, sure the feral beast meant to mount him in a frenzy of battle lust. Instead it thrust its forepaws against the bulge in his midsection.

Achyk gagged as the bulge in his belly was forced into his throat, the taste of bile filling his mouth as the black beast kept up the pressure. The sloshing mass in his gullet shifted and he realized the tigress he'd swallowed was still alive. He wanted nothing more than to creep off, tail between his legs and digest his meal in peace but the red-armored beast forced his beak open with an armored paw as the black one shoved his bulging belly once more. Helpless and angry he regurgitated the cat woman, her orange and white fur slimy with bile that lubricated her escape from his beak. The red beast foiled his attempt to bite her in half and she squirmed free, tugging her striped tail from his gullet before he could snip it off.

The red-armored beast held his beak to the ground as she sat up, wiping mucus and yellow-green bile from her fur. One hand went out to scratch the wolverine beneath its helm, and it licked her shoulder with a broad pink tongue. At last he connected the weaselly musk he'd smelled on her with the rank scent of the wolverines.

"My lovers here," she purred, confirming his suspicions, "Have the best noses of anyone I know. When they said a they smelled male griffon, lust and fear from the places where women were disappearing, I believed them. And here we are, ferreting you out." She smiled as she tugged the magic ring from his claw.

"I know you," he said eventually. "Ilya, mage of the Vesve forest, who lies with beasts. And everyone else," he snapped. "I should have realized, a tigress who smells of weasel. You used magic to weaken me."

"Oh, of course not," she said with a smile. "There are a dozen spells I could have used to do it, but why waste magic when I know an herbalist? There's enough griffon-specific weakening powder on my fur to lay out three of your kind. Or there was, before your stomach absorbed it."

Achyk saw that her eyes weren't bloodshot, her pink nose not even discolored by his stomach acids. By all rights she should have suffocated inside him and should show at least some sign of injury, but there was nothing but the dripping slime of his belly to show her any worse for wear.

She answered that before he could speak. "Yes, magic did keep me alive. I've no interest in being griffon droppings. My pets would miss me so," she purred, and the red-armored wolverine let out an amused-sounding grunt.

Her tone turned serious. "It was an honest offer. Many of my mates are monsters. I had to stop you killing women, but you could have been my lover and worked for me. You would have been free most of the time, and there are benefits...."

She was the best lover he'd ever had, Achyk remembered. He opened his mouth to say so, but she cut him off.

"But you are too cruel," she purred. "And not a very good lover at all." Her left hand moved in a complicated gesture, and he felt the magic take hold of him.

One moment he was as large as the three of them together, the next only half the size of the tiger-woman. She reached out to hold his beak shut, no longer needing the help of her wolverines. He was too small and too weakened to put up much fight as she lifted his beak toward her face.

"You won't be one of my mates," she purred, "But you will still make my belly fat."

Achyk flapped in panic as she yawned and tried to claw at her with his feline hind paws, but the red-armored wolverine reached a forepaw out almost casually and pinned his rump to the ground. Fanged jaws clamped around his head and a raspy tongue that had teased him to ejaculate down her throat pressed against the underside of his beak. Muscles moved around the tip of his beak as her gullet took hold and with a lurch he was to the wing-roots in her maw. Her pulse throbbed through his skull like a drumbeat as she swallowed, and with a helpless shriek he slid deeper.

Her jaws were loose, disjointed to let her swallow such a large meal. It should be impossible for her to gape so wide, for her throat to stretch so, but this was the one-time lord of Clan Tyfanar, the arch-mage of the Vesve. Simple and helpless as she'd seemed when he held her down and mounted her, the woman swallowing him was one of the mightiest beings he could have the misfortune to encounter. Changing herself to swallow such a large meal whole must seem the merest trifle.

He was too small and too weakened to stop her, and it didn't matter if she were mage or peasant. It could have been any hestan swallowing him, albeit one with unnaturally elastic jaws. They were carnivores just as he was and he knew what would happen to him soon. Another gulp slid him to the haunches in her maw, and with his forelegs and wings trapped against his flanks all he could do was squirm hopelessly as he awaited the final gulp.

But as she gathered herself to dispatch him to her belly her raspy tongue slid once more along his belly. Achyk whimpered and kicked as his sheath and balls once more felt its touch, and despite himself he was instantly erect. His lower half was lion and a lion must be ready whenever the chance to mate arises. Though he knew he was doomed the rasp of now-huge tongue teased his cock from the sheath. As he shuddered at its touch she twisted her muzzle one way and then the other, working her jaws past his rump until his muscular thighs slipped in. Nothing but feathers, a weakly lashing tail and a twitching set of hind paws remained outside, and her tongue reached back to give his balls a last caress.

The tigress swallowed and Achyk moaned as he spurted against the walls of her throat. Slick muscle gripped and carried him downward and now it was his turn to slither into the wet and stinking folds of a waiting belly. A dozen of her species and a hundred other two-legs had died in his stomach, and too weak to claw his way free, it was his turn to die in hers.

Weakened by poison, beaten to within an inch of his life and exhausted by four bouts of sex in less than an hour - a lot even for a lion! - he slipped into her gut, forced by her throat muscles to curl neatly up for digestion. The soft walls went taut as half the tigress's weight in shrunken griffon stretched her belly, tight enough that he could feel the ribs, hips and even the shape of the stretched belly muscles that held him still. He kicked, futilely, too tightly wrapped in stomach to get any leverage. All he managed to do was make her burp and giggle.

And still his suffering was not over. As hot, stinking bile scorched his exposed flesh and soaked slowly through his pelt and feathers the pain spread and spread. No sooner did she belch up the air he exhaled than she swallowed more to keep him alive. It could not last long; the heat, the pressure, the acid would get him soon enough. He was bound for a trip through her guts just as he'd tried to send her through his.

He wondered how long the shrinking magic would last, but only briefly. Even if he resumed his normal size in minutes and exploded from her belly he'd already have suffocated. It was far more likely that she knew exactly what she was doing and was perfectly confident that her stomach could handle this meal. There would be no escape, though perhaps she'd eventually cough up his fur and feathers, maybe even his beak and claws, as he would if he swallowed a fellow griffon.

By then he would be past caring, just as the men and women whose armor and clothing he'd regurgitated had not been around to venture an opinion as to the state of the acid-edged gear.

As he struggled the tigress's gut lurched and churned around him. Something pressed in from the front, squeezing the stomach still tighter around him, and the ink-dark belly spun around him as the tigress fell onto her belly. For a moment he hoped she was attacked, that someone had found her fat and vulnerable, but then the belly vibrated with her deep purr. From beneath the belly he felt the pressure of something intruding into her body, then even a second one, and Achyk, weak and slowly digesting, cursed the day he'd seen the striped cat woman. He squirmed and kicked, slowly sinking toward death and knowing he could not stop her from enjoying what she was doing as he died.

The pressure from below and above her forced a mighty belch out of the tigress, and at last Achyk could rest. With one wolverine on its back below her and another atop her, each thrusting with all its might, he likely wouldn't have survived the coupling anyway.

Ilya's purring growls were matched by rumbling ones from Redfang in his black armor, stretched out on his back, and Bloodripper in his red hunched over her. Their armor was cunningly designed to let them move and fight and, not accidentally, it let them fuck even while wearing it. Each was hung better than the griffon and unlike a lion, wolverines went in for long vigorous matings rather than repeated swift ones. Ripper's fangs gripped her scruff as Redfang licked her breasts and both were thrusting powerfully, well aware that even their abundant endowments wouldn't hurt her. The harder they thrust, the more she yowled.

Few hestans mated outside their species, but the path to magical greatness could be a tricky one. Ilya, once Queen of the Vesve, had taken risky shortcuts. She had survived, unlike many who tried that, but they had nevertheless had permanent effects. She'd lost her crown when her incessant urge to couple with any and all species became public, but she lost none of her powers. These days she collected mates as some collected coins. None were slaves, but some bordered on being pets. More were both lover and bodyguard, like her two current feral lovers.

Ilya yowled as two wolverine cocks, each rather larger today than when she'd met them, probed her sex and asshole. The griffon gurgling in her belly hadn't worked out, but she had two magically enhanced and very willing lovers here to keep her happy, and that was more than enough.