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The Cry of Sodom

Book II, Scroll IX

This scroll written by a guest writer, commissioned by our anonymous commissioner

Edited by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

A short walk - five minutes or so - from Malachi's inn, moonlight slanted through the clouds to strike across the sand. A public latrine was set up for common folk such as Esther to use: they made do with what was offered to them. As solitary as the latrine was after the day came to a close, it was rarely used at such an hour. Desiccated by day through the burning sun and hordes of steaming, complaining creatures, it assumed a cooler vacancy at night, on the edge of the city where one would be grateful for its respite indeed. Even the baked waste was purified, concealed, by the darkness.

Esther valued her solitude and it was uneventful for her to visit the latrines so late when a private one was not available. She tried to visit when they were empty during daylight hours, if at all possible, but sometimes one's bodily functions had to be stomached for the sake of secrecy. Although Malachi's inn boasted a private rest area, it was off limits for all but the most distinguished guests. Esther sighed, thinking momentarily of the most recent guests as a tall caracal approached the open latrines, shuffling in beside her to a deep squat.

As he defecated, Esther smoothly straightened, allowing her dress to plume around her legs in a cascade of fabric. The gape between her thighs would have revealed her sex if she had not covered herself so carefully with the dress and, fearing discovery, rose, her business complete. She trailed away with no purpose or direction into the heart of the city.

An omnipresent scent graced the city come evening.. The heat of the day stripped fragrance from the air, anything pleasant rising into the ethers. She inhaled, taking in the aroma with a soft sigh. It was a curious mixture of the pungency of mammalian excrement, which eased as she moved further away from the latrine, alongside the heady scent of copulation and burned charcoal, which simmered daily. It was the antithesis of loneliness, if she could put it so simply, so perfectly. The city and scents were inherently alive yet not overwhelming in their balance, reined in by the temperature alone. They had some cause to be grateful to the heat.

She strolled past the quarters of those with the greatest potential for Sodom: immature bed slaves. They would always have an use. No one would know that the mud hut housing the slaves contained them if they did not already know, though there were few visitors other than merchants in the city to tell tale anyway. Despite housing them beside a public latrine, the citizens of Sodom referred to their quarters as an orphanage. The name was not inaccurate. It had become the regular dumping ground for wayward young who were abandoned or inexcusably parentless from nearby conflicts, scooped up by shrewd traffickers on their way into the city.

They were the lost souls of Sodom. Esther's expression twisted, ears slipping down to her skull, most unladylike. Every pleasure slave bred within the city was descended from a parent whose childhood was spent within the walls of Sodom. No one from the outside world was known to regularly enter the city, bar the merchants, whose purpose was self explanatory. The carnal activities of the city were shocking to most and even repulsive to some. No, it was better to breed and tame pleasure slaves from as young an age as possible for the best of the best.

The slaves, spared some ignominy, were only sold into the public realm once they had matured, according to law. Esther occasionally heard rumours about the slaves but did not pay them much attention, though she wondered what information was releasd about the high value youngsters. She'd heard that some of them had been captured under illicit conditions, so to speak. It would not surprise Esther if the rumours were true, yet she still felt that Sodom was one of the safest and orderly cities she had ever set paw in. It was a place, however, that one could obtain anything with the right words, connections and coin. It boasted a hierarchy of lawfulness, which evaporated when gold was wielded by a patron, but its foundations were robust.

Esther shuddered, pausing to look over the building with a keener eye. Would her life have been like that if Malachi had not found her as a kit? Would she be a slave? And a male slave at that? The vixen closed her eyes, shivering, though she told herself that it was the night chill. It would probably have been worse - much worse.

She didn't want to think of it yet her mind ran rampant against her will, another life flashing before the fennec fox's eyes. If she had been a slave, her identity would never have become such, morphing as she grew. She found the trade of Sodom, in slaves, objectionable if not downright distasteful, but knew that the surrounding cities put slaves to work in agriculture. Young slaves in other cities were often worked to early deaths, a truth that terrified her to the very bone. The recent fall of the Mesopotamian empire, at the hands of the west, had delivered an abundance of expendable young souls. Life held little value these days.

The orphanage could have been benevolent and the young treated with enough kindness so that they would not attempt escape. Esther wondered if those slaves experienced their first sexual experiences like she had, in confusion and drunkenness? Like she had in the cave with the two sisters and their father? She did not know how to feel about the experience. Traumatised? She was supposed to be.

Only she felt the same, if somewhat confused over what had taken place. It was what brought her to wondering if the freshly sold and bedded slaves could empathise with her experience. With Pheine and Thamma, she had been little more than a tool in their play, if a well cared for, pleasured tool. Were slaves passed around family members as well? She could only assume it was true. Servants, after all, cared for all members of the household. Why should slaves be any different?

Of course, Esther had not impregnated Pheine and Thamma - there could be no question about that. Even a kit knew how difficult it was to breed between two different species'. The vixen was a cunning listener and found the tongues of others strangely loose when she was around, gleaning more sexual information than one of her solitude may have otherwise known. Perhaps they did not even see her? Then again, it was only appropriate that others would reveal themselves while she sequestered away, soaking in their actualities and perceptions. From this, she garnered much of what was and was not possible with individual sexual organs as citizens of Sodom spoke freely of these topics. No, she could not have fathered the kits, it was impossible. Further, even if cross-species impregnation was more common, it would be near impossible for her father young with how little semen she produced upon orgasm - a welcome side effect of the herbs she consumed.

The thought steadied her, the vixen well in the clear for her stomach to stop twisting. So, both the impish sisters had to naturally be brimming with their father's pups - what a disgrace for dogs of their status! Esther's nose wrinkled and she held back a sneeze. It seemed wrong for family to liaise, though pleasure slaves were commonly bred to family members to yield the most shameless individual. The crown prize would fetch the highest price at auction. Shaking her head, Esther carefully brushed back the fur on her muzzle, focusing on the action to the exclusion of all else. An immoral litter of pups. The thought did not bear consideration. Surely Pheine and Thamma would hatch something just as beastly! Whatever dropped from the older sister's womb would be especially ghastly in lust, Esther speculated, as the despicable act had mostly been down to her.

She continued, the orphanage to her back, with her paws folded neatly over her stomach. A fire smouldered and the vixen's ears swivelled to catch the sound, wood and kindling crackling in death. Beneath the pops of the embers, the husky, deep breathing of a female enticed the vixen closer against her better judgement. She approached quietly, not wishing to startle the female, whoever she may be. It was not wrong to do so. Voyeurism was commonplace in the city and welcomed as long as one did not interfere and she had no intention to call a halt to anything. The vixen's billowy tail rose and fell with her steps as the scene took form out of the darkness.

A female onager - horse-like and commonly referred to as an Asian Wild Ass by those of lesser breeding, or as an insult - with lidded eyes lay on a cart of hay, legs splayed open and bound with rope to the cart. The raspy tongue of a male sand cat flickered over her clit and her legs twitched every few seconds, lips parted in feminine desire, nostrils flaring with every short, sharp breath. Another onager stood behind the cart, stroking his hard, fleshy-pink cock as if preparing for the grand event, spilling his seed over her muzzle. A symbol branded the sand cat, though it was not one Esther recognised. Could he have been a slave? The equine acknowledged the vixen with a bob of his chin, shifting his gaze back to the eyes of his female partner.

"Would you not like to show this vixen what a whore you are, my little pet?"

The onager opened her eyes, which darted back and forth until they landed on Esther's moonlit silhouette. Their full size and icy cerulean colour captured the luminosity of the moon, striking Esther with such force that she took a step back in awe. Her eyes opened almost impossibly wide, desperate and eager, edges accentuated by ash to whiten the sclera around the iris. Even in the darkness, they were incandescent, and conscious thought dissipated from the vixen while those eyes remained locked upon her. A moment later, the onager's head whipped around, staring up at her partner. Esther took a breath, released from their grip.

"Y-yes, yes, please, oh," the onager groaned, breasts heaving, nipples standing up. "Please... Make me..."

The vixen took this as invitation and moved within arm's length of the cart. The onager's body was beautiful, white fur lining her belly, breasts and inner thighs. Her crotch was coated with a dusted plume of trimmed dirty-blond fur - evidence of her youthfulness. Her breasts were small and rose to a point, nipples a pale pink that perked to her partner's touch. She was by no means slender, however, with full hips, thick thighs and a rotund abdomen, certainly not one who had to scrape to be fed. The fur on top of her head flared red like fire, thick and wickedly curled. Her partner was just as striking, body as delicately curved but with barely any muscle. It was a peculiar smoothness for a male, feminine in contrast to his solid, strong-jawed face. The female quivered beneath him, ropey tail slapping the cart.

"You like being watched, do you, slut?" He hissed between his teeth. "Wouldn't you love it if I blindfolded you and woke up a few of the locals just so they could come out and fuck you? Every one of them spilling deep in your cunny?"

"Mmmph," she moaned, biting her lip as her face flushed pink beneath the white edges of her fur. "Yes, yes... Please let them come... Let them breed me!"

Esther licked her lips, ignoring the stirring in the pit of her belly. She could not say it was entirely unwanted.

"You would love to be treated like a piece of furniture - no, don't deny it." He laughed, paw pumping his length in an almost crazed fashion. "I know you too well for a denial to work on me. You are a mere slut that wants to be fucked by a bunch of males you've never met, feel them thrust and spill their warm seed in you."

Her hips twitched up against the slave's tongue, convulsing in a way that was alien to that of the two sisters the vixen had recently fucked or many of the other females she'd previously watched. Esther had never seen anything of the sort and was thusly captivated by the display. Parting her lips, the onager's breath became ragged and disorganized as fits surged through her lower body, slamming her fists into the cart as her cries rang through the night. Esther stared at her face, caught by her expression. Was that pleasure? Ecstasy? The male onager grunted, exchanging a look with his partner as his hips bucked.

"I'm sure you would love if your friends and family walked in on you afterwards too," he whispered, cock drooling pre cum over her muzzle, a creamy stain. "Cum spilling out of every orifice, body ravaged as you begged them not to look, your family not to see you loving every single second... I'd make you endure that, pet."

He paused, as if something minute fell into his thoughts, detonating a moment later. Whatever it was seemed to rip him out of the scene and made him, for a few seconds, lose his focus. The barren expression on his muzzle tore at the vixen's heart. What had happened in that instance, so fleeting? One would never know. His hand flailed against his thick member, trying to get himself back on track. The female onager was oblivious below him, gasping for air, eyes widening to reveal their luster.

"D-don't stop, keep talking! Please keep talking!" she shouted, desperate to reach her peak as her body rolled.

The male's expression fell into melancholy, darkening outwards from his eyes. Then, as if he had been mentally scrambling to discover traction, he bit down on his lower lip and screamed.

"You fucking whore! You would suck off your own father if it meant you'd get some cum out of it! I bet you loved eating out my asshole right after you met me! Shoving your tongue deep like the slut you are! That's all you are! Nothing more!"

Spittle flew from his mouth, the equine crazed and frothing.

"Your cunt must have been dripping wet, dying to feel something, anything inside it again. It had been too long for you, had it? A day or so without a fuck? You can't go that long without a cock. Isn't that right? Do you want everyone to know how disgusting you are, how you love to have any male - anyone at all - come up to you and fuck you anyway they please, just for his own satisfaction? Do you want everyone to know that you lost your virginity to someone whose name you can't even remember?"

The onager squirmed, eyes closed.

"Yes, oh, I do want that, I do want them to know," the onager hissed through clenched teeth. "I want them to know exactly what a filthy little slut-mare I am."

Her final words and her partner's goading thrust her into climax, body twisting in pleasure. Convulsions wracked her body, beyond her control, and the cart creaked as she whipped against it like a wild animal, thrown about by her own body like a toy. The brutality of her orgasm was remarkable and the stallion moaned out his climax above her, painting her muzzle with thick streams of seed. He poured forth an impressive volume, innumerable pulses bursting from his shaft in a display of equine virility. When the rush finally ended, he reached down, tentatively stroking a paw through his partner's hair as she struggled to breathe normally once more.

Esther stopped, mystified. Why had the equine stopped so suddenly in the middle of sex? A sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach told her the answer that she did not want to hear, too close to her own experience for comfort. Where he had lost concentration, Esther had witnessed his heart fracture, an irreparable crack rending it down the centre. Why? The equine had been used, it was so simple. The onager turned her head away, looking down at the sand cat between her legs, gently cleaning her inner thighs of her own sexual fluids. Her partner was already forgotten, standing over her with ears drooping.

Esther collapsed into the sand, breathing heavily on her paws and knees as she struggled to compose herself. The sable earth beneath her paws was comforting, familiar, but not enough. Tears welled up and she blinked them away the best she could. She may as well have been in the horse's position, lost in aftermath and driven to blindness by a lifetime's worth of physical desolation.

Maybe she was lucky for her lot in life, after all.