Striped Dominance

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Zebra Forced to Fuck by the Tiger Stud

This story contains non-consensual sex between an anthro tiger and an anthro zebra. Both characters are humanoid figures with human intelligence, able to consent to sex while the anthro zebra does not for this encounter, for predator and prey play.

This is a fictional, fantasy story and intended to be taken as such. Consent should always be acquired for any sexual activity with another person.

He should have been more careful than he was, though hanging out at a gay bar was as safe as anything could have been for Roman, a big zebra standing at a good six foot seven. His hooves helped, though some joked that he could be brought down a couple of inches if his hooves were trimmed shorter, though even anthros had to consider the balance of their hooves when they were not out and about, hiking, doing natural things that their species would have otherwise done. Unlike paws or feet, hooves were always growing.

Roman, however, was not fortunate that night, a little sensitive on his hooves after a recent trim from his hoof specialist. They'd said something about his diet causing the sensitivity and a lack of cardiovascular activity, though the zebra anthro had grumbled about that, sweeping his paw back through his roughed-up mohawk of a black and white striped mane. He liked eating well, that much was true, and a lot of what he devoured in bulking season was heavy in calories, protein and fat - to the extent of what a herbivores diet could cover those bases. Everything one ate, however, had a knock-on effect in the body and, sometimes, things like that had to be adjusted for a modern lifestyle.

Drinks, however... Well, those eased the pressure on his hooves a little, dressed casually to show off his body, for he wasn't so sure how much of his bulking routine, gaining muscle while working hard at the gym too, he'd be able to keep up after that. It wouldn't be any good to him, after all, looking good, if he was tottering around on sore hooves, but he had enjoyed how his shoulders were rounding out nicely into those coveted "cannonballs", the definition of his biceps and triceps delightful on the eye.

At least, he got a lot of sidelong looks, at the gym and otherwise. He was gay, of course, but would have passed as straight, as too many out and about in life thought that being gay meant that he had to look a "certain" way. Not that Roman cared all that much what others did or did not think of him, but it meant that he could get by with a lot of things with a lot less trouble than many others that were of the same sexual orientation. He wasn't sure, sometimes, whether that was fair or not, but thought he knew the answer anyway.

The bar was half-full for a Friday night, just what he needed to soothe his soul, hanging out, waiting for his friends to show up while he wet his whistle. Fruity cocktails were on special offer that night and he had two lined up in front of him already, though he'd forgotten the name of them already. All Roman needed to know was that he liked peaches and that's what one of them was: the second was just a free bonus to try.

Someone brushed up against him and he smirked, one ear flicking back. He knew that it was not an accident, someone checking him out, his ropey tail thwapping against the back of the barstool he was perched on, hooves neatly tucked up where they would not be quite as sore. He'd only worn a loose mesh shirt as a bare pretence of clothing, though his tight trousers covered his lower half, showing off, less than discreetly, what he was packing between his thighs. As one of the equine persuasion, there was nothing modest about him down there and, boy, did others know it!

The attention he drew that night, however, might have been avoided if he'd had a little less to drink. It might have been avoided if he hadn't had such a hard week, if his hooves had been a little less sore or if his friends had turned up a little earlier than they did, later wondering where he'd gone off to. None of it was his fault, and yet...

"I've seen you in the gym, haven't I?"

Although it was phrased as a question, it didn't come out like that to Roman. The tiger, a Bengal with striking orange and black markings, slipped onto the free stool next to him, his growl like a purr, both wrapped up in one. The zebra stiffened even though he had not intended to. It was always like that between predators and prey, the interplay of the ages always twisting back and forth between them, one way or another.

"Er..."

Roman scratched the back of his neck. It didn't help. Why was the tiger looking at him with that intensity? It felt wrong. The anthro was not bare headed either, boasting a crop of rough brown hair that denoted his evolution, taking him one step further from merely looking like a humanoid tiger and more like a human who grew hair. It depended entirely on someone's heritage whether they grew more body hair like that or not, though never usually made a difference to anything.

"Yeah... Maybe?"

He was not confident there, snorting nervously, though he tried to hide it the best he could. He shook his head, half-shrugging, turning away. The tiger was hot, sure, but he didn't need to talk to anyone there that he wasn't into. And if he wasn't into preds, the cat would just have to jog on.

"I know I have. I've watched you working out. Name's Josiah, but I know who you are already, Roman."

"What the fuck?"

Roman snorted, fighting to not let his eyes roll and reveal his fear in the whites of them, breath catching, coming with a little bit more difficulty in his chest. There was something wrong there, something very wrong, but the edges of his senses were dulled by the cocktails, less remaining in the glasses than he remembered being there. He'd even finished one in its entirety. The security of the location made him lighter, softer, gentler than he may otherwise have been in turning down the unwanted advances in any other situation.

Maybe. Maybe he was just trying to make it all make sense to himself.

The tiger, Josiah, eased in, bar stool scraping across the floor. The bustle of the bar suddenly seemed further away.

"I've been watching you," he breathed, voice barely above the hiss of a whisper. "Waiting for you... You flex real nice, zebra, Roman. You look real good. I'd really like to spend some time with you."

Those words could have been seductive and, if with anyone else, they could have been a turn-on, though Roman did not see it that way, skin crawling, tail thrashing, flicking anxiously back and forth. He tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to go as the tiger filled any space he vacated, a confident smirk pulling at his lips.

"Aw, zebra, you hurt me. You shouldn't move away. You already know you're caught."

Roman's fingers shook, but he hid that by pressing his palm flat against the bar top. Desperately, he tried to catch the bartender's eye, but he was engaged with a group of rowdier guys, the kind that was so loud and boisterous, though completely harmless, that they took up everyone's attention and then some.

"I'm nothing," Roman shot back, though the words did not come back as he wanted them to. "Look, I'm not interested, sure you're nice and all, but I'm not interested. So why don't you go off and find someone who is interested?"

The tiger's eyes narrowed, though Roman did not catch how his tail lashed back and forth under the bar top, against the legs of his own stool. Back and forth, back and forth, the feline stalking his hapless prey. No one caught on.

"Oh, I already have everything that I'm interested in right here."

Roman's breath caught, but he couldn't breathe, eyes wide, freezing. Even his tail was still, but a prey creature like him could not help how instincts kicked in. So very often, one did not know how they would respond in such a situation until it was far too late for that, gasping, panting, heaving, snorting and flailing at the point where clear thinking and acting mattered the most.

He couldn't think, mind locking up, those glowing, amber eyes, tilting towards an otherworldly air, locking onto him, drawing him in. Was it possible to be caught in the tiger's eye? He was only a zebra and the two of them, in pre-evolved times, should never have met, should never have come across one another, though one was very much more terrifying and more powerful than the other.

One dominated the other. One ate the flesh of the other.

Roman nickered nervously, though even that sound rose weakly in his throat, nostrils fluttering. The tiger grinned, showing his teeth, how they glinted with saliva, practically drooling at the thought of the sweet treat he was about to sink into. But it was not the feral kind of feeding that he was at all interested in. He'd already seen, like so many others, what lay between the zebra's legs, bulging through his trousers, whether he was at the gym or the bar.

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Unfreeze, unfreeze... Roman begged himself, chills locking down his body. Do something.

Yet he could not, not even as he begged and pleaded with himself, grunting, shifting his weight, lips opening and closing without any words coming out. The tiger's fingers closed around the back of his neck, though the digging in of his claws was an open threat, the power of the beast trembling through him without Josiah, the tiger, expending any energy at all on that. It simply came naturally to him.

Every fibre of his being screamed at him to thrash, to scream, to throw off the tiger, yet there was something in him that could barely move, not wanting the pressure of those claw-tips to dig into the sides of his neck more than they already were. No one else would see, the points hidden, but he felt it, the threat behind them, the gleam of the predator's jaws heralding the dancing of his eyes.

"We only prey on the weak."

End preview.

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