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I was the dark reflection of the Lamb, the depth of my Sin equivalent in scope to the height of her Virtue. She was a righteous crusader, purehearted and good, and thus I was born ravenous in my depravity. My black heart had grasped at divinity from its first beating, summoned into being at the moment in which she usurped such power for herself in Narinder’s downfall. In these Lands of the Old Faith, there were once a great many Gods, now only few, amongst which I, the Goat, had come to be counted as her cosmic counterbalance.

If the Lamb were a purifying force, sweeping away the dark cultists and evil Gods from her domain in endless crusade, then I would call myself the poison which corrupted the hearts of those mortals left in her wake. The two of us were matched in strength, and yet she never once bared her sword against me, for to deny her followers my temptations would be to engage in tyranny. Above all else, she valued freedom, the privilege of choice between her and I.

This was foolish indeed.

What could she offer her cultists? In the shadow of our might, food, warmth, and shelter were a given, and our protection was absolute. The Lamb would have them all join hands in prayer, to work towards a common good, and to dance like the addlepated at her bidding in expression of worship. Before I had arrived here, this place had been so sickeningly wholesome. To me, the people felt neutered of their primal being, so broken by our ruined world that they would cast aside all things to merely cling at the fleece of their saviour and be content in her feeble largesse.

She did not deny them their vices, but would play no part in facilitating them. I however, was more than happy to oblige every one of their depraved requests. Well, save for those that called for murder and sacrifice. It would be such a waste to do away with cultists that under my tender ministrations could be made into veritable fountains of Sin. It is my opinion, and one shared by my Crown, that this is what cultists are for. To the Lamb, a flock in which she cultivated Virtue, and to myself, a herd of would-be-sinners that needed only my permission to fall. Despite her veneer of righteousness, we both took from them what we desired in equal measure.

My permission is something that I very much enjoyed having them beg for. I was the gateway to their desires, and I had taught them well that there would be no indulgence without me. By my superior might, I would facilitate the venting of their wrath in battles that I could stop at the brink of murder with a swiftly wrought Curse. I fed their gluttony with abundance, dangled their desires in front of them to invoke greed, tucked them away into sloth, encouraged their envy, and stroked the egos of pride. But above any other, I enjoyed lust most of all. Perhaps because the Lamb was so averse to it.

I think she is afraid. All other Sins she may resist with sword and will, but lust is a distinctly unwholesome pleasure that creeps over you, a warm and wet desire that sucks you in like a bottomless quagmire and never lets you go. The Lamb was practically a saint prior to attaining her divinity and still held herself in strict abstinence. What hope did a pathetic virgin like her have against such temptations if she were to allow even the mildest trace of carnality to infiltrate her heart?

If Narinder had any sense, then he would have raped her subservient at their first meeting before loaning her his Crown; and then looked forward to having her kneel between his legs to swallow his cock on the day that he could reach down and pluck it from her head in victory. The Lamb would make a far better pleasure toy than sacrificial beast in my opinion, and I found it galling that the three-eyed-fool had ever called himself a God at all when he was unable to bring a single woman to heel.

He has devalued the title of ‘God’, and for this, he must be punished.

The voice of my Crown echoed within me, and as usual the two of us were in agreement. Narinder was calculating and treacherous, but his pride led to him falling victim to his own machinations, first to the Lamb, and then to me. Which is why I now had him stripped of his robe to show me again the scope of his dark-grey fur, his soft feline body unhardened by the hardship of mortal toil to give it an almost feminine silhouette.

I was comparatively brutish in build, my form moulded in opposition to the diminutive Lamb. Black to her white, I was broad and muscular where she was slender and lithe, I was the strength to her swiftness. It was sufficient to have me tower over these weakling cultists, mine a physical presence made for domination of lesser wills, I could intimidate with a glare and demand subservience by the tilt of my head without a word spoken.

Narinder refused to meet my eyes, all three of his looking over my shoulder to those cultists working the wider encampment beyond us, some of the gaggle casting us the occasional glance, though none dared to interrupt. His dark fur did nothing to hide his blush, and his hands had come to rest over his crotch. For one of his sublime ego, this was surely the ultimate humiliation. Not only had he been brought low, but now I made amusement of him to an audience of beings that even still he thought his lessers.

Just like every other time I had defeated him in contest, there was no need to speak. I simply made a little rumble in my throat, and in response to it Narinder winced, gritting his teeth as he slowly drew his arms to his sides, “Are you satisfied now, you monster?” He looked at me directly at last, and his expression was one of defiance, “I shall have your Crown yet, and then take back my own from that accursed Lamb!”

I looked him up and down, making it clear that I was appraising him. Between the demonic feline’s legs was a distinctly unimpressive sheath and a pair of furred orbs that compelled a scoff from me as I observed them, “Are you sure that you are a male?”

“Of course I am!”

That broke his composure, and I found it mildly amusing to see that small flash of rage in his emasculation. He was always so bold, so proud, and yet when I moved towards him, he instinctively stepped back to place himself against the lone tree behind him. My hand passed him by to press against the bark astride his head, “You’re wrong. I don’t acknowledge you as a man, Narinder.”

“I do not care what a cosmic mistake like you thinks.”

Even in defeat he was dauntless. But that is what made this process so entertaining. This cult was filled with supplicants for me to defile, and Narinder was just one flavour in my grand buffet of sweet treats. I had accomplished quite a bit, if I do say so myself. Ranging from driving Jalala and Yarlen into cultivating an incestuous pregnancy between the two of them, to making Rinor a free-use sex toy for the whole cult to enjoy. I think I might work on Aym and Baal next, unless the Lamb brought back something interesting from her current crusade up past Woolhaven.

“A man does not moan so sweetly when he takes a cock under his tail, Narinder. Nor does he quiver in ecstasy as he paints his chest with his seed.” I leaned in close, and it pleased me to see him swallow, his three eyes now focused upon me squarely, “He doesn’t wrap his legs around the one breeding him. And he does not kiss their neck like a besotted maiden.”

His chest fluttered as his breath caught, and I continued, “And above all else, he does not achieve an erection when forced to reminisce on his past surrender.” I didn’t need to look to confirm, and Narinder’s scowl told me that I was correct in my bold assumption, “You’re not a man. You’re a faggot. You were born not for godhood, but for submission of the most carnal sort. This was your destiny from the start. So sayeth the Goat.”

“How… da-re you!” His voice cracked, rising in tone for just an instant, and he winced again at the humiliation of it, “You insolent cur!”

“It’s time I put an end to your delusions of grandeur for good, I think. Or at least, for now.” I smirked, and doubtless looked sinister in my expression, “You have lost, Narinder. You are no longer The One Who Waits, and you don’t hate that. I saw you in the company of the Lamb the other day, a covert smile on your face when she turned from you. I wonder what she would say if she knew your true nature? Would it bring an end to your cute little strolls through the woods together if someone informed our righteous leader that her nemesis is commonly found lying upon his back screaming through his bitchgasms while she is out crusading?”

He ground his teeth together impotently, biting back his retort. So, I spoke in his stead, “I’m curious… if the stars aligned and you brought the Lamb to bed, would you even be able to get your cock hard without me there with you?” I grinned mockingly, making sure to show off my teeth, “That’s not a man’s breeding tool you’ve got between your legs. That’s a faggot’s adornment. The only thing it’s good for is showing me how much you’re enjoying having me reshape your insides.”

I reached down with my free hand, and in my large grasp he felt even smaller by the difference in our builds. His feline shaft was a vibrant pink and barbed, his sheath tight about the base of it, and a little precum already leaking from the tip. I caught this with my thumb and smeared a slow circle about the pointed head, “I’m going to fuck you now, Narinder. But, I’m done accepting your half-hearted challenges. You’ve never fought me seriously even once. Because you enjoy this. You want this. It’s what you’re for, and you know it.”

No answer again. Perhaps he was afraid that his voice would betray him if he dared to speak. I knew that his relationship with the Lamb was entirely platonic on her side, but one would be a fool to not notice that Narinder was nursing some unrequited feelings. To see the being that was once The One Who Waits paralyzed by his amateurish hopes of romance like this was exquisite. Still, it did bring an interesting thought to mind.

Perhaps, this one might be useful, after all…

The Crown made comment, aligned as ever to my own line of reasoning. If I tamed Narinder, then perhaps he might prove to be just the tool that I needed to put a little crack in the incorruptible shell of the Lamb herself. I pondered this while I toyed with his little feline cock, the lesser male starting to squirm as the mounting pleasure brought from his barbed little toy a thin stream of impotent precum.

I had been enjoying myself with the cult, of course. But I could not forget my primary goal of proliferating Sin. To turn the proud Narinder into a mewling faggot fucktoy, destroying his ego and enslaving him to lust, would be an excellent achievement for me. But, to do so would be to bring an end to a game that I was nowhere near done with yet. I liked the sport of it all too much for that, so would not be overly indulgent.

If Rinor didn’t still have dignity, then locking her into a stockade with a ‘free use’ sign would not have value in its humiliation. Yarlen felt it instinctually wrong to breed his sister, and his decision to surrender to his lust despite this was meaningful in his case as well. And in the same way, when Jalala achieved a birthgasm around their incestuous egg, she wore a blush of shame. If these things were all accepted as normal, then what would the point of me be as the facilitator of all this Sin? I was the gateway to the forbidden and thus could never allow the cult to normalise my depravities lest I expunge myself of purpose.

Any fool gifted with my powers could have brought this cult low, drowning them all in Sin to make of its supplicants mind-broken sex-slaves. What I was doing was artistry!

Anything less would be unworthy of me.

The Crown affirmed, its voice an echo within my soul. Yes, we all had our roles, and this was mine. A little whimper brought my attention back to the present, Narinder so weak against pleasure that even in my inattentiveness, a little toying with his small prick had been enough to bring him close to orgasm. There was a small mess of precum against my palm, the fur beyond my thumb a little matted as the slick of him accumulated on my pads. I found the sight of it truly pathetic.

So, I released his feeble masculinity, allowing that freed hand to rise until it caught the fur of his cheek in its grasp, and I pressed my thumb into his mouth, forcing him to taste himself as he made me clean, “Not quite as palatable as mine, is it? The last time you savoured my load was very amusing. I didn’t expect you to climax just from the taste of me.” I rumbled contentedly, returning my focus to Narinder in full and shelving my machinations for the Lamb until later, “Yes, you looked so pathetic. Your hips jerking upwards while that little toy between your legs put a few thin lines of white over your thighs.”

Still his look was defiant, but I thought it about time to put an end to all that for today at least, as much as I enjoyed the sport of it. His ego always rebounded with the dawnlight, and our game continued onwards. Despite his protestations, he’d still suckled my thumb clean, but I let that pass without comment as I stepped back from him, “Face the tree and put up your tail.”

He did so, of course. And then after realising that his response had been so obedient, his face screwed up into a scowl of distaste, and he made a point of spitting the flavour of his essence from his mouth. His legs had parted slightly; Narinder having learned already the proper posture to take when handling me in this way. And so he should. As much as I revelled in the song and dance of getting him to this point every time, I would be disappointed if he still took his breedings like a virgin.

His tail was quite expressive, and truly a treacherous limb. The black feline length was raised high, first in a seductive sway, and then curled up over his back invitingly. I grasped his buttocks in my hands, allowing myself a small scoff as I evaluated the distinct lack of tone and musculature, “You’re soft all over.” I commented, and by the pressure of my squeeze, I could see the vibrant pink of his tailstar, “I wonder how many times I will have to fuck you before that turns into a well-bred little coinslot shape for me?”

Narinder turned away from me, his voice taking on an apathetic tone in defeat, “Just… stop toying with me and do it…”

Oh, we can’t have that. I abhorred a lack of enthusiasm in my playthings. The fleece I wore parted naturally about the midriff, and it took no fumbling about for me to layer my cock over his upturned butt, my length resting against the small of his back. The size difference between us made me appear monstrous, my masculinity nothing like his small pink ornament. As thick as Narinder’s forearm and an angry red in colouration, my cock was a bitch breaker designed to make my sluts sing as they came themselves cross-eyed on me.

“Do you presume to command me, Narinder?”

He had braced himself against the tree, a forearm pressed between his face and the bark to provide him some cushioning and to hide his expression. He’d probably bite his wrist to muffle his moans if I let him. But, I would not allow Narinder such dignity, “I am the one who makes demands of you. If you’re hoping for a favour, praying perhaps that I shall merely get on with it, then you’ll have to ask properly for me to indulge you.”

“A favour!?” Narinder was incredulous, “You expect me to beg!? Do you think me your eager whore?” He seethed, yet never once turned back to look at me, “Am I not your unwilling prize? If you do not wish to claim me, then begone. I shall consider it a victory!”

Despite saying all of that, his posture slipped a little lower and the presentation of his hindquarters was made all the more obvious. Still, if he was going to play this sort of game, then why not make him squirm a little? I sighed and I stepped back, “If that is the case, then so be it. I think I shall renounce my prize this time if you are so averse to indulging my sport of you. I’ll instead toss a coin and decide whether or not I’ll have Aym or Baal surrender their virginity to me…” I set finger and thumb to my chin, “Scratch that, why not both together? They would serve me best as a pair, I think. One alone could not slake my desire.”

“Y-you truly mean to leave me like this, cretin!?”

His little paws shuffled beneath him, his thighs ground together. Honestly, his squirming was quite enticing, but I had been blessed with a will of iron, “I like a grateful faggot the best, and my chosen whore should sing sweetly for me. If you’ve the audacity to ask that I simply fuck you artlessly and be done with it, then yes, you will have to beg to get the breeding you so clearly desire. And you shall endure my toying with you as you do so with your usual vigour.”

“How could you…! I’m not…!”

It was rare to hear him quite so flustered. Even when in the throes of ecstasy, painting his belly with his seed while kissing my neck and moaning like a harlot, Narinder never allowed his words to get away from him, “This is not a game that you’re going to win. You are not so gifted a liar as to be able to pretend that you do not yearn for this. Your bluff is called, faggot. Beg. There are plenty of other places I can sheathe my cock today, and you’ve made the mistake of overvaluing yourself.”

I grasped his thigh roughly, and he made a humiliating little squeak from the surprise of it, “I don’t have to accept your challenges, Narinder. You made those wagers all by yourself, and you lost every one of them with your second-rate boy-cunt on the line every time. And I know that you never once gave it your best effort. I wonder why? Did you see me fuck Yarlen until he fainted in a puddle of his own cum, his spent cock straining through dry orgasms when he’d no seed left to divest himself of, and decide that you wanted a bit of that for yourself? No, actually, I don’t care what your reason is.”

“You’re a faggot, Narinder. You’re not a man. I’m not going to force you to admit that today, or it would ruin our fun, but I am going to have you beg me to fuck you.” I released him, “Put some effort into it. Use some of your fancy words for me, verbose as you always are – except for when you’re wrapping your body around me and having one of those bitchgasms you so enjoy. Moans and whimpers aside, you always go quite quiet then, don’t you? Not that you need words to convey your affections in those tender moments.”

The humiliation was palpable. Yes, I had no intention of breaking this faggot any time soon, for if he were to truly accept submission, then I would forever more be denied this squirming shame before me. I wanted him to feel guilt for the betrayal of his pride every time that he raised his tail for me.

His emotions are delicious.

I could practically taste them myself, but it pleased me to know that my Crown was feeling indulged. I loved that Narinder hated himself every time I fucked the masculinity from him. His every orgasm was an affront to his tremendous ego, each climax proof of a submission that he denied with all of his being. But his greatest shame was that he kept coming back to me, kept making his wagers, and kept losing, every time with the hope in his heart that it would again lead to this. This was corruption. This was Sin. This is what I was for.

“I… I shall suffer no such indignity!” His claws scraped at the bark before him, his voice a snarl, “I am The One Who Waits! I do not beg! You will serve me, monster! I command that you do my bidding!” He thrust up his rear, tail flicking back and forth, “Breed me, now. I demand it!”

By the standards of Narinder, this was about as much as I was likely to get from him, “That is sufficient, I suppose.” I gave a magnanimous reply. It actually impressed me a little that he had managed to shout every statement that made it appear that he was in control of me, and so quietly utter his intent to be bred. For those distant cultists that might overhear, it was quite a well-orchestrated show indeed. To those potential onlookers, he was defiant, and not at all my willing slut.

I advanced on him once more, and my large frame concealed him from view entirely, my maleness once again resting astride his tail against the small of his back. I took his hips into my hands, my fingers sinking into soft flesh as I took control of his delicate body. Perhaps with a little effort, I could have joined together the tips of my fingers and thumbs about his midriff, so small he was by comparison to my brutish self. His fur was sleek and fine, while mine was thick and matted. If not for the ornamental maleness swaying beneath him, miniscule as it was, I might have mistaken him for a woman.

My hips withdrew, and the weight of my engorged shaft brought my cock parallel to the earth. No guidance was required to press the head of my length beneath his tail, though Narinder tilted up his hindquarters all the same to better present himself. I found the soft pink of his opening and caught purchase, the lesser male beneath me gasping as the broad head of my cock pressed forward. By command, he always arrived to pay his dues to me adequately prepared, and what had once been quite an amateurish job of cleaning and lubrication was now trained to perfection. In fact, I suspected that the former God might have taken to wearing a plug to ensure his pliability on these days that I had sport of him.

He whimpered, and then bit his forearm as I had anticipated to stifle any further humiliations before they could pass his lips. My cock was a bludgeon, there to dominate the wombs of women, and to drive the men I dominated into wilful faggotry. It took both the leveraging of my weight over him, and also the drag of his hips towards me by the strength of my arms to sink my bitch breaker into the squirming little whore I’d pinned against the tree. My biceps bulged as I took control in full, his feet lifted from the ground as I pulled him onto my cock. Inch by inch.

At the halfway point, another whimper, a twitch, a thrashing of the tail, and then a familiar rhythmic clenching, “An orgasm already, Narinder? How appropriate for so lowly a failed God as you to spend the contents of your impotent little orbs before I am even sheathed.” I held him there for the duration of his climax, revelling in his shame, “Fret not. Did I not say that I like a grateful faggot the best? What finer adulations can you give me than your writhing bitchgasm? Your body is willing to say ‘thank you’, even if you cannot bring yourself to speak the words.”

I glanced down, and it was hard to find the evidence of his pleasure in the grass beneath us, so feeble were the volume of his loads. Those little white stripes of submission were especially amusing when they were contrasted against the black of his fur, and I knew that Narinder hated the sight of such evidence of his surrender. This is why every time he gave himself to me, he would always face away from me. Not that this ever lasted for long. By the end, without fail, he would be face to face wrapping himself around me and moaning into my neck while painting his belly with what was left of his impotent seed. Once he had even kissed me directly, and I tormented him often for that true act of submission to my will.

Alas, I was not so generous as to allow him too long to rest. My efforts resumed. Slickened by a copious amount of oil, his insides gripped me like a silk glove, not quite so comfortable as the needy pussy of some beastly woman in estrus, but as far as male undertail went, I would rate Narinder… perhaps in the top third of the cultists I’d enjoyed. He still needed much more training to meet my standards, frankly.

“Gratitude is what you owe me, faggot. At present, you’re a second-rate fuck at best.” I was facing some resistance now, but against my strength it was truly feeble. Narinder looked to be holding his breath, and while I had his silence assured, I piled on the abuse, “Where is your pride, now? It would be one thing if you were capable of satisfying me until I was spent, but never have you once lasted until I am finished.”

My advance continued, “Since you’ve not the capacity to please me by your own action, the least you can do is play your part as my living sextoy.” I flexed my fingers against him, adjusting my grip for the final push, “Even as a faggot, you’re a failure. Yarlen at least has the stamina to bounce in my lap long enough for me to pump a load into him. But the best that you can do is hold on to that tree. How feeble you are. How pathetic. How… unworthy.”

He was never deserved of a Crown.

We finally drew flush, the warmth of his seat pressed against my crotch and his tail flailing about between us. I could perhaps have released his hips entirely now and kept his feet suspended from the earth by naught but the iron of my cock’s impalement, but I was not so ready to trust in his feeble grip upon the bark before him. I looked down to observe the lewd stretch of his undertail about the crimson mass of my shaft. Narinder had some unique traits of his own, and despite his weak and feminised body, he was a lot sturdier than one might expect. At the very least, I didn’t have to worry about tearing his insides apart when I fucked him.

Though he still let out the breath that he was holding in a shuddering exhalation, his insides seizing up as he panted in exhaustion from the labour of taking me in. But even now, the moment that he was able to recover himself, “Cease your prattle… Is talking all you are capable of?” I ground my hips against him, drawing out a small yelp as a little spark of pleasure flashed through the lesser male, “You… are nothing but… the toy which… I am using…!”

“Whatever you must tell yourself to sleep at night. A feat you achieve rarely of late without my essence matting your thighs as it leaks from you.” I countered, and then added with a sinister growl, “Do not imagine yourself in control of anything, Narinder. Were I to wish it, I could drag you to the mating tent right now, expend just a single point of Sin, and have my seed take. Will you have any dignity left at all after enduring a male pregnancy and birthing an egg for me?”

“You would not dare!”

“I would.” I responded flatly, “And I would have you push out my progeny with the whole cult in audience.” My hips ground forth once more, “I would have you placed in my lap, your legs held spread and high so that there would be no concealment of your shame. I am quite skilled at guessing the moment at which the Lamb returns from her crusades. Perhaps I might time it so that just as the egg passes your bitch button and you paint your chest in birthgasm, she shows up in time for the finale of our show?”

I cackled, “Sin is such a wonderful thing for that gift alone. I enjoy your defiance, Narinder, but if you press your luck too far, then I assure you that I shall make you an unwilling mother.” A little ripple undulated along my cock, “Though, by your reaction, I do not think that you would be unwilling at all. A passing fantasy that we may perhaps one day revisit. When you have decided whether or not such a thing is punishment or reward.”

No response. As verbose as Narinder often was, he knew when to keep silent as well. Calling my bluff would be a very bad idea for him indeed, and if he were to allow himself to speak then his prideful nature would demand it of him. That would be a great pity for us both, for there would be no going back after that ruination. His will would probably break entirely, and I’d end up having to take him on as my fawning boywife.

Now was the time to resume our rut. Slowly, I began to drag my cock free, the tight seal of his insides making the process almost as difficult as the initial penetration, but no match at all for my strength. Narinder was looking down, doubtless observing the great bump of the outline of my maleness inside of him slowly retreating with shameful fascination. I allowed him to enjoy the show of his claiming, a little distraction from the dangerous fantasy that we had just been indulging in.

I probably would knock him up one day. But not before I conquered the Lamb.

It took a little more work to loosen him up enough for me to achieve anything close to a rhythm, and if not for the abundance of precum that I poured into my faggot plaything, there would have been no chance at all of ever making this comfortable. Where Narinder had very little to give in the way of sexual fluids, I was abundant. My cumshots were magnificent, if I did say so myself, and preceded by a tremendous amount of precum to make the bludgeon of my cock bearable.

I was the Goat, after all. My body was moulded to facilitate Sin, my physique strong and my mind sharp, so that I may pursue my desires unabated. But as the Lamb was so averse to carnality, I was a sexual creature above all other things. No wonder Narinder was about to collapse into his second orgasm, even though we had only just begun to start. Weak against pleasure though the demonic feline was, he was not quite so much a quickshot as for this to be normal for him. That fantasy of passing an egg really must have had quite the effect, but to return to the subject and gloat now would be boorish, so I allowed the moment to pass.

Again came that rhythmic squeezing, and Narinder whimpered pathetically beneath me. I hilted myself within him so that I could better enjoy the undulation of his insides about the length of my cock, delighting in the sensation of his submissive climax. There was a different sense of triumph involved when you fucked a male to bitchgasm, a feeling that your grander masculinity trumped and sublimated theirs; it was a greater sense of domination than would be found when breeding a female into a messy squirt of a peak after wombfucking them into surrender. Though, each had their merit, and it was hard for me to decide which I preferred. I could probably breed the entire cult and not come to an answer to that quandary.

Though right now, the one that I should focus on enjoying was Narinder. It always entertained me how his legs would twitch and kick a little when I took him in this position with them suspended in the air beneath us. Perhaps I should advance us into something a little more interesting. Yes. I think I will toy with him a little more overtly.

I leaned over him, letting my hands slip lower down his legs until I could scoop them up in my arms, the hook of my elbows behind his knees. I pulled him back, removing him from the tree and taking him into my grasp in full in the reverse stand and carry position. By my hold, his knees were pulled to his sides, my cock impaled beneath his tail, and his body entirely exposed. Much better. Now, I could wield him as a toy, combining the upwards thrust of my hips with the leverage of my arms, and his feminine form felt weightless to my brutish strength.

Most of all though, I was able to make my threat, “Shall I turn around, Narinder?” I thrust upwards, his insides now forgiving enough for some of my precum to leak from him and wet the fur of my sheath, “Are we to give the cultists that still think you threatening a show of you being made my faggot?” I growled into his ear, “Answer me.”

This time I would not allow him silence. I wanted to know whether or not he was capable of not calling my bluff for we both knew that if he did, then I would not hesitate to make a presentation of him to the entire cult. Everyone knew that I was breeding Narinder, but the hardness of his erection and the shamelessness of his expression would reveal to them the secret of his complicity in the affair. He enjoyed this, and he could not let anyone know that or his pride would be decimated.

“You… monster.”

“I am indeed.”

As monstrous in word, thought, and deed as I was in body. I bounced the feline in my lap, finding humour in how his hands instinctively covered his face, his eyes closed as he turned away from what was happening to him. Still, to block out the world did nothing to stifle the reactions of his body. Narinder could no longer hold back his moans, and what had began as whimpering now advanced into rhythmic grunts of pleasure. By the end, he always came to sound like a harlot no matter how desperately he suppressed his voice. Lucky for him that the fur of my throat and shoulder muffled those moments of ecstasy so well or his secret would be known by all already.

“You would not dare.”

I was hoping that he would say that. Stepping forward, I advanced on the tree, and then turned and slid down it into a seated position. The tall grass left us lightly obscured, and that was perhaps enough to preserve a little of Narinder’s modesty, so long as he was not too taken by his pleasure. Still, I held him helpless in my arms, “Get carried away and they will notice. How lucky you are that the toy between your legs is too small to be well observed from afar.” I used my arms as a barrier to prevent him covering up his crotch, and he quickly gave up and returned to shielding his face instead, “Why so ashamed? This is what a faggot like you is for. There is no shortage of cultists that would wilfully take your place upon this throne, and far more befitting of you it is than the one you once sat upon.”

Done with my games for the moment, I resumed our rut, rocking my body back and forth in time to the motions of my arms to fuck the lesser male I’d taken into my lap. His little feline cock bounced impotently with each stroke, and feeble though his orgasms were in volume, they always arrived with potency. Another quivering bitchgasm was close, and I raced to achieve my own climax alongside it. No, I would be first. I wanted him to cum to the feeling of my seed bloating his belly.

Mighty though I was, this took some effort. I upped the pace, caring not for his pleasure as I pursued my own, Narinder taking his forearm in his maw again to stifle his moans as they rose to a shameful volume. Not just that, but enough of my precum now had settled in my lap for my thighs to be soaked, and with each impact of my hips against his, there was a lewd slapping noise. The sounds of his domination were a symphony of humiliation, and I orchestrated it with demonic vigour.

At last, my cock buried itself deeply, and I allowed myself a great bleat of triumph. My great orbs pulsed, and I seized Narinder’s hand to place it over his stomach that he may feel me within him, my great palm encapsulating all beyond his wrist. He swelled with a cascade of my vulgar seed, pumped full of Sin while his own ornamental maleness divested itself of a few feeble lines of impotent white submission upon his bloating belly.

“Faggot.” I needed to speak no more than that word to have him cringe in my arms. I lifted him up, dragging my cock from him, and I forced him to look down, bending forward his flexible body that he may see himself in full. My maleness jutted upwards proudly from between his legs, still hard as iron and entirely eclipsing his own pathetic barbed toy, and over the base of my shaft his undertail drooled a steady stream of masculine essence.

His gaze lifted, and as he looked towards the encampment, the few cultists that had paused in their work to peer over at us quickly resumed. The grass gave us cover enough to disguise Narinder’s pleasure, but it was more than obvious that I’d just bred a load into him. His humiliation was far from through. Amused, I decided to taunt him more, “Look at that little thing compared to a real cock, Narinder. Do you think that you could satisfy the Lamb with that?”

“I… have no such intentions towards the Lamb.” He tried to steady his breathing, “I wish only for vengeance against that foul usurper!”

“I wonder… what better vengeance could there be than having her suffer this same indignity?” I grinned, and I planted the seeds of my plan, “There would be no greater ruin of the Lamb than the loss of her chastity. Tell me. Do you imagine that you are able to take it from her?” I reached down, taking both his maleness and my own in hand, though his small cock required only the looping of my thumb to bring it into my grasp, “You’re not a man, Narinder. You’re a faggot. You don’t fuck. You are fucked. And your place is amongst the females with your hind upturned and your tail raised.”

I poured my poison into his ear, “Your place is alongside her. She will never be yours. Because you’re not a man. But you can both be mine.” I released our cocks, and turned Narinder in my lap to face me, his legs instinctively wrapping about me. The moment that he noticed that, he scowled, of course. But, he did not disentangle himself, “Imagine it, Narinder. Your body in her arms, your head between her breasts, comforting words in the voice of your beloved spoken into your ear while I give you the breeding that you so enjoy atop her.”

“You assume much…”

“And your denials of such assumptions are feeble indeed.” I lifted him up and impaled again the faggot on my cock, the mess of seed pooled inside of him and upon my lap making a humiliatingly sloppy sound to the rejoining of our coupling. I continued to fuel his fantasies, “Imagine sharing a kiss about my cock. Could you even become properly aroused without it? Will you hold her hand while I put an egg in her?” I grinned fiendishly, “After I take her virginity, I’ll give you my permission to devour my seed from her freshly deflowered cunt.”

Narinder whimpered, and I knew that I had struck something there. Still, to press too much now would be foolish, “Alas, these are just little fantasies. I don’t need your help to take the Lamb for myself. If I truly desired her, then I would have her as I pleased by my own power. Perhaps one day, I will. Even in this little dream that I have conjured, you’re superfluous.”

‘Unless you are to force your way into the scenario’, that was the unspoken rider and I was sure that Narinder was sharp enough to intuit that. One day, I would surely take the Lamb for myself, and unless he made some move to be a part of that, then he would be shut out in the cold. Emasculated as he was, he could not have her solely to himself, that too I had ingrained into him bitchgasm by bitchgasm. This demonic feline stood no chance of engaging in a carnal encounter without me with him.

The seed of thought had been implanted, and now I had only to let it grow. Why should I do my scheming for myself when I had Narinder on hand to take care of such things for me? My work was now finished, and I could enjoy myself. So, I threw him onto his back and bred my faggot fucktoy until his orgasms ran dry, and the strength of the limbs that he wrapped around me failed.

~ SevenWingedDragon ~

Ahoy. Here is my first post since SF came back online, and I’m making it against my better judgement. Without popular/week and popular/month searches, making any submission feels like I’m just kicking my work into the void and hoping for the best. Maybe someone posting their backlog will vanish it immediately, and if it doesn’t get enough faves to be featured, then only my watchers will ever see it. Still, I had fun working on this piece and wanted to share it with everyone regardless. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

I never normally write in first person, so this was a fun experiment for me. I’m currently working on a book series in the same perspective, so took this opportunity to practice. At the very least, I hope that it’s up to standard. This story took two afternoons for me to put together, and it’s my intention to write a second part between the Goat, the Lamb, and Narinder.

So, here’s my usual request for reader participation. How’d you like your character to appear as one of the cultists in the background of a big lewd scene? I’m hoping to make the next instalment especially debauched, so the more the merrier. Give me a name, male or female, a bit of a description, some sexual preferences, and I’ll see what I can do. As always, I’m grateful for every fave, follow, comment, feed post, direct message, and every last read as well. I’ve missed everyone, and hope you all made it back okay.

Have a most excellent day.