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Shifting Royalty

Part 2

For TheBodySwapeur

By Draconicon

Simba and Sarabi, Sarabi and Simba. The former Prince of the Pride Lands still had no clue how this had happened in the first place, and as for how to handle it, he was no closer to a solution than he was when he'd first woken up as her. The old queen, his mother, had such a different body that he was only barely keeping up the illusion of being her, and he was quite certain that a number of the lionesses were starting to think that something had happened to their old matriarch.

It had been three days since he'd woken in her body, three days of hunting, attempting to make a living, and trying to do enough to keep the illusion going for everyone else. In those three days, he saw what Scar had done to the Pride Lands, and he kept making unguarded remarks about it. Not in front of Scar again, thankfully, but there were times when he saw the hyenas walking away with the information, doubtlessly to report to his uncle.

No, not uncle. Not in this body. He had to remember that, or he would make a mistake when they talked to him again.

It was just post-hunt now, and the other lionesses were dragging the carcasses that they had managed to find into the Rock. He sat down on the edge of it, looking out at the land that was slowly coming to ruin under his uncle's authority. The feeling of the warmed rock under his rump felt so familiar and so different at the same time. Everything with Sarabi's body felt different to his own.

He couldn't even sit the way that he used to. Simba had grown up with certain parts down there, and part of being a male was finding a way to sit so that you weren't sitting on those parts. Now that he didn't have them, he kept feeling strange sitting the way that he used to, and he had to find a way to accommodate something else down there. It was almost as sensitive in some ways, and less sensitive in others, all except for -

"Nnngh."

Simba clenched his jaws together as he found that little spot again. It was like a bolt of pain the moment that he touched it wrong, and he knew for a fact that it was something that the other lionesses had. He'd heard them licking it in the darkness in the lower caverns, and knew that they enjoyed playing with it. He just didn't know how that could be, considering just how sensitive it was.

Sitting down a little more carefully, resting his haunches properly against the ground and then finding a place for the rest of his lower body, the 'matriarch' of the pride slowly lowered himself to the rock. The dying heat of the day soaked into his belly, and he huffed under his breath.

"This is impossible..."

"What's impossible?"

He looked over his shoulder at Sarafina as she padded over. The other lioness had become something of a confidante during the last few days. She didn't know that it was him instead of Sarabi, but she knew that he didn't remember everything. That was enough to keep her quiet, and enough to keep her around for help. Simba sighed, looking back over the land before him.

"The Pride Lands," he lied.

"They're...less wonderful, but they're not that bad."

"Not that bad? I remember what they used to be. I don't remember much of what happened since Mufasa died, but -"

"Don't say his name."

She slowly looked over her shoulder at that. The tightness in Sarafina's voice and the desperation under that was palpable, enough to leave her raising her eyebrow.

"Why?"

"It's one of the rules. Don't say his name."

"...Has Scar forbidden that, too?"

Sarafina nodded.

"And you don't think that's impossibly bad?"

"...It's what we have to do to survive now."

Survival. That was the core problem of everything right now. Everyone was just trying to survive, trying to get by, trying to get through one more day when everything had gone completely upside-down, where everything was wrong. All one had to do was look at the food that they were trying to bring in, the lack of the abundance that they had started with all those years ago. How could anyone look at the Pride Lands now and say that they were the same as they had been under Mufasa?

He didn't know, and he didn't want to think about the answer.

"I remember," he said, shaking his head again. "And I remember how much better it was. On a good day, we brough in four times as much food as we did today. On a bad day, we still had twice as much. It was never, ever this bad before."

"It will pass."

"No, it won't."

"Scar will grow into it."

"Will he?"

"..."

"He's had years. Years. And he still doesn't understand, does he? He's broken everything."

"Don't talk about that."

"You think he'll hear me from out here?"

"Someone will. And they'll tell him."

"Will you?" Simba asked.

"..."

There was utter silence, and he shook his head. Sarabi's body was older, something that wasn't quite as able to fight as it used to be. It struggled to hunt the way that he did back in the green lands, with Timon and Pumbaa, and he had every expectation that it wouldn't be able to stand up to Sarafina if it ended up turning into a fight.

That said, he wasn't going to be quiet. Someone needed to speak up. If they stayed quiet, then there was no way that anything would get better.

Pushing himself to all fours, Simba stretched out his forelegs, then the hind ones. He flicked his tail from side to side, still slightly off with nothing between his hind legs, and then looked back at Sarafina.

"I'm going to talk to Scar."

"You're going to get hurt."

"I still need to talk to him."

"Will it do any good? Reconsider."

"Heh, reconsider what?"

"Silence. Survival."

Simba looked out at the Pride Lands. Though the falling sun showed a number of beasts still prowling through the savannah, still showed plenty of prey for the lions, it was clear that it was less than it had once been. The lands were drying out, and the abundant herds moved in bigger numbers, pulling away from the Rock and keeping themselves protected. The land was dying, and there was no two ways about it.

Even if they managed to live out Scar, they didn't have a way of surviving what would come next. Starvation was inevitable if they kept living this way.

"I'm going to talk to him."

"On your head be it."

Sarafina padded away, heading down to one part of the interior of the Rock, while he had to take a different path. Sarabi's legs led him into the darkness, and Simba wondered just how far it could go if he did this wrong.

He wondered, too, just what his uncle would say if someone opposed him.

He found Scar in the dark, the cavern empty of the lionesses that were usually in attendance. Instead, there were two hyenas at the entrance of the cavern, both of which leered at him. He didn't understand why they were looking at him that way until one leaned over and bit at his rump. Simba yowled, turning with a growl. Instead of being intimidated, the hyena laughed at him.

"Haha, fine rump, your highness."

"Go on. Go to the king."

"Yeah, go to the king. He'll give you what you deserve."

They were mocking him, making fun of him. No, making fun of Sarabi. They had no fear of her, which meant that Scar had something in mind. Something less than good, in this case. He shook his head, turning back to the king of the Pride Lands.

His uncle was half-reclined, half upright against a wall of bones. The dark-maned lion looked down at him, chuckling slowly.

"Why, if it isn't Sarabi the Malcontent. What brings you here, my brother's mate?"

"Your failings as king."

Scar's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed down to slits. Simba knew that he had just angered the other lion quite a bit, but there was still that bit of pride, that knowledge that he had the right of things. He couldn't just back away, and if he did this right, Scar would be forced to acknowledge something. That was the way of the pride, wasn't it?

"You've messed up in every possible way," he said, Sarabi's voice shaking more than he wanted it to. "You've lost the herds. You've lost the water. You've lost everything that matters as king."

"I still have the lionesses. That's all that matters."

"You think that will last?"

"All we need is to keep hunting and doing what we've been doing."

"No, it isn't."

"Oh? You think that you can do better, Sarabi?" Scar asked, slowly pulling himself to all fours, chuckling as he did so. "Do you plan to dethrone me?"

"What?" Simba blinked, shaking his head. "No, I'm just -"

"Sarabi, Sarabi," Scar drawled, slowly padding down from the raised bit of rock and bone to start circling him. "Do you really understand your situation? You are nothing more than the mate of my brother. Who is dead, need I remind you?"

"You...don't."

"Good. Then we can proceed."

"Proceed to - ah!"

The slap that came down around his hips was not gentle, nor was it without claws. He gasped as he felt the red lines that parted his flesh, the warmth of blood that ran down along his hind legs. He jumped to avoid the second hit, and Scar cocked his head to the side.

"Do you think that you can just ignore your punishment, Sarabi? I thought that we'd made your position clear."

"You can't do this!"

"My dear, I am king. I can do whatever I want."

"Mufasa never -"

The blow came so fast that Simba didn't see it coming, and whatever instincts that he had tapped into with Sarabi's body were not enough to avoid it. Scar's paw came down on the side of his face, sending him falling right to the floor. He gasped for breath as he hit the ground, his jaw aching, his face burning from the blow.

Scar padded over, resting a forepaw on his face. One claw came dangerously close to his eye, tapping just above it along the eyebrow.

"You will never, ever say that name in my presence again."

"..."

"Do you understand me, Sarabi?"

"...Yes."

"Good. Now, get up."

The pressure on his face slipped away, and Simba groaned as he dragged the body of his mother back to all fours. The pain hadn't faded much, and there were other heated lines along his face. How much damage had Scar done with that blow? It was hard to tell with his head ringing as much as it was.

The male chuckled, slowly prowling around him again. Each time that his uncle reached his hindquarters, that tufted tail darted out, dragging along the bloody side of his hips. Red streaks were drawn along him, and he shivered as he felt the heat running down along one hind leg. It was slowly coming to a close, no more blood flowing, but it still burned.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, my dear Sarabi, but clearly you've forgotten the lessons of our first night."

"I have."

"Then I must take it upon myself to remind you."

"Hmmph. Perhaps you should. Maybe the lionesses will start respecting you again if you can behave as a real king."

"Oh, you must want to hurt, my dear. You haven't talked like this since your mate died."

"I want you to remember what you are. You are supposed to be king, not some -"

Scar raised one forepaw, and Simba stopped talking. There was nothing to say against someone like this, and truth be told, he was afraid that if he was hit like that again, he might go down and not be able to get back up.

As he went quiet, his uncle chuckled. It galled him to have to do this, but he understood the situation better now. He understood why Sarafina and the others went along with the king's rules. One male, one ruler, and all kinds of problems that came with that.

"Lift your tail, Sarabi."

"What?" Simba gasped, looking up. "You can't -"

"I'm the king. I can do whatever I want."

Simba stared in utter shock and horror. The idea of lifting his tail for his uncle, no matter how necessary, was not what he came here for. He'd come to talk sense, to hopefully berate his uncle into doing the right thing. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His father had listened to the lionesses. Scar was supposed to do the same thing.

"Turn. Around."

He did, but not to lift his tail. He turned to run, his paws beating against the stone floor. Claws gripped at the rough rock, throwing him forward again and again, desperately seeking the exit.

He'd just reached it when Scar pounced on him from behind, the other lion's mane against the back of his neck, and something hard and throbbing pressing between his hind legs. Simba gasped at the feeling of that heat, knowing exactly what it was, feeling the barbs tickling against his thighs as it thrust away, trying to find one hole or the other.

"No, no!"

His scream meant nothing to his uncle, who just kept prodding and poking away. Every thrust was one more reminder of what was coming so close to happening, one more reminder of just what he was going to lose if he didn't get away. Squirming left, right, forward, he kept sliding his parts away from that stabbing piece of flesh. He kept avoiding that impaling thrust for nearly a minute.

Then Scar pushed forward. He missed the small hole further down, and hit the smaller hole just a bit further up.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Simba roared in pain, the sound echoing through the lower levels of the Rock. The hyenas laughed from the entrance of the cavern, and Scar growled in pleasure in his ears.

"Why, Sarabi...if you wanted to be rutted in this hole...you only had to ask. I prefer it, after all..."

One hard thrust stole what was left in the lioness's lungs, and Simba bit off a whimper as that barbed shaft raked across flesh that was never meant to take it. He gasped for breath as it went deep, only to have it shoved out of him again with another thrust, and another. The sheer pain of being raped like this, of being rutted in that hole, ripped through him and left him feeling breathless in all the wrong ways.

"Nnngh...ah...NNNGH!"

The most that he could get out were pained grunts, and that was nothing compared to the severity of the pain that he was going through. Each thrust was like a blow to the belly, punching out the air that he'd managed to get back and leaving him with the sickened feeling that would have come after. He wanted to sick up, wanted to throw all of the bad things out of him.

He could feel the pain getting worse as the dark-maned lion fucked him from behind, taking him, rutting him, using him like he was nothing but a hole for that shaft. It was worse than what he had seen Scar doing to the lionesses. At least there, he had been putting it in the right hole. This was something else. Something darker, something worse.

This was for the lion's own pleasure. This was not for breeding. This was to teach a lesson and take pleasure doing it.

Simba's legs gave out, leaving him fallen on the stones, but Scar didn't stop. Each thrust bottomed out inside of his tailhole, rutting him, taking him, using him. Every time that he had the air for it, he roared in pain, the sounds echoing through the caverns, and the hyenas laughed every time that he did.

Scar, on the other hand, was only grunting. There were no words, no taunts. Simba could have lived with those. This silence was somehow worse. The low grunting, the occasional huff, the little growls. They were all the sounds of someone that was just using a thing. Not another lion, but a thing, something to get them off and no more.

That was all the lionesses were to Scar: things, things to abuse and use and enjoy without regard for what they felt.

The thrusts sped up, but it never got easier. The yowls of pain didn't slow down, and nor did the rough stretching that went on below his tail. The barbs were intolerable, making him feel more stretched than he was, more broken than he actually could be. In, out, in, out, in, out, and then finally, in.

The heat of the juices pouring through him burned at the scrapes that the barbs had left behind, making it all the more painful for him. He huffed, hissing, growling as Scar slowly pulled out, the lion king dribbling his seed over Simba's tail and hindquarters, marking him, humiliating him all the further. He laid there, unable to move from the pain under his tail, and lowered his head into his forepaws.

"Nnngh..."

"Do you understand now, Sarabi?"

"..."

"I said, do you understand?"

Another cuff to the face, another burning slap. His cheeks were now marked with red on either side, almost like whiskers of the flesh rather than the real ones. He nodded rapidly, bobbing his head quickly.

"You are just a lioness. No more. All lionesses bow before their king. Do you understand me?"

"I understand."

"And you won't be doing this anymore. Will you?"

"...No."

"Good."

Simba was allowed to stand again, but his legs shook as he did. It wasn't from blood loss or from the blows to the heat. It was from the pain, the shock, the shakiness of what had just happened to him. Not once had his father ever done something like this to a lioness, and not once had his uncle ever looked at him like that. There had always been that respect there, something underneath the savagery that he was seeing now.

It took him some time to realize that it had been because he had been a male before, that his little sheath and sac had been all that protected him from this sort of insanity and disrespect. As a male in the pride, he had been something. As a female, he was nothing before Scar.

"Get out," Scar said, turning around and going back to his throne. Simba was all too happy, for once, to do as he was told.

Simba didn't just walk through the tunnels under the Rock, but ran. He ran from Scar, ran from the hyenas, ran from the laughter and the echoes of pain that still seemed to bounce along the rocks. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and he ran into the hiding places that he remembered from his childhood, the places that cubs could hide from the adults, the places where nobody would find him.

He found one, barely fitting into the little nook and cranny. If he had been himself, if he had been Simba instead of Sarabi, he wouldn't have fit, but the lioness's body was better suited for smaller spaces like that. It was barely a comfort as he closed his eyes and cried. The feeling of the heat running across his face, the cuts that lined his hips and his cheeks, the sputtering feeling of his uncle's seed running from his tailhole kept adding up until he couldn't keep it in anymore.

Why? Why? Was this what...why would mom...why would mom let this happen to her?

Why had he let this happen to him? He'd been warned. He did the right thing by speaking up. It was supposed to work. Why didn't it work?

What's wrong with everything? Why doesn't it do what it's supposed to do?

He didn't know, and he kept crying. There was nothing else he could do; the world had shattered too much for him to be able to process it all.

Simba wasn't sure how long he hid in the hole, but eventually, the crying stopped. He managed to stop it, at least, and he was able to crawl out of the hiding place. Nobody was waiting there. No lionesses to help him, no hyenas to mock him. He was well and truly on his own.

Not wanting to go to sleep with the slime still on him and the blood marking him, he walked along the tunnels to the surface of the Rock. Some lionesses were keeping watch, but they were far enough away to not notice him. He walked along the side, moving to one of the solitary cliffs on the side of the Rock. There, once nobody could see him, he squatted and pushed.

The elimination of his uncle's seed was painful. The rape had ripped him back there, left him torn in some way, and the passage of that slime sliding out was as horrible as one could imagine. Salty, sticky and slick by turns, it took far longer than it should to come out, and it kept making him feel like there was more to get rid of. He squirmed, shifting from hind leg to hind leg, until it was all out.

I hate him. I hate him so much...

Once it was all out, Simba twisted around. The first part to be cleaned were the marks along his hips. Flexibility was no problem, as even his old body could take care of that, but the burning feeling that came with each lap forced him back to that moment.

It's done. It's done.

That's what he kept telling himself, but he didn't know if he could make himself believe it. Instead, he forced himself to keep licking, trying not to think of the image of his uncle looming over him, forcing him down, cutting him and then raping him.

Once the cuts on his side were cleaned, losing the blood stains that had started settling into his fur, he worked on his face. Licking one paw, then dragging it across his cheeks. They were mostly closed, so all he was doing was getting rid of the little droplets that had run down either side of his face. It wasn't much, and the marks that had been cut into his cheeks would remain, but at least the worst would be gotten rid of.

And then, the nasty bit.

He rolled onto his side, slowly lifting one hind leg. He could just about reach down and around. Looking at what Scar had done to his tailhole, he shivered. That was going to be a long time in healing properly. It was puffy and wrecked, pained and aching, and he could feel the heat pulsing off of the puffy rim.

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he slowly lowered his head down to his backside. This was going to be a long night in the cleaning.

Sarabi groaned for a different reason. The hunting and chasing of predators had taken all day, and she was amazed that her legs could still move. The three days she'd spent in Simba's body had been entirely focused on learning how to move and keep moving while in it, since it didn't have the stamina her own body had.

It was difficult, particularly at the start, for her to keep up with all the problematic predators at the border of the green lands, but she gradually got used to it. She imagined that she was slightly better at it than her son was, too. This morning, she only had to patrol the border, and the leopards, vultures, and worse all stayed on their side. They gave her one look and moved on.

That was how it was done. That was how one kept the peace.

Still, she was tired. She had figured out most of the ways her new body worked, and she'd learned how to pace herself to not be utterly exhausted within a few hours, but it was still more difficult than she liked.

Worse was the food. The warthog and meerkat - Timon and Pumbaa, she'd learned their names were - had been good hosts, but she needed more than the bugs that they were feeding her. She hadn't gotten around to letting them know what she was, or who she was, or what was happening, so she'd been forced to take some of what they offered. Whenever she was patrolling, though, she took the chance to find and hunt something. Meat was badly needed, and the insects were not sufficient.

Today had been the best of the bunch, but that was not saying much when it came down to day after day after day of being anywhere from massively to slightly underfed, exhausted, and unsure of what in the world her body was doing. Or what was happening to her body way off in the Pride Lands, for that matter.

She loped along the border one last time, feeling the tension that was slowly building between her hind legs as she did. The feeling of that maleness back there had been a pain for her, something that was always distracting her, pulling her attention off of the business at hand. It wasn't actually painful, but rather an annoying distraction.

How did he deal with this being so...forceful? she thought, remembering her husband walking around with all of the lionesses in heat and not paying it more than a passing bit of attention. Not that he had been anything but attentive, but if it had been this 'talkative' to him, pushing him to do things with it, she was amazed that he got anything done when the Pride went into heat.

She sighed, doing her best, once again, to ignore the way that the tip was starting to slide free of the sheath, keeping her head down and moving along. It would eventually go back down, and then she'd be able to move more freely again.

I miss running without those balls in the way...

That had been the hardest thing to get used to. While they were tucked further back than some of the species that she knew, she had been used to running and squeezing herself into tight spaces and postures. That wasn't really possible with this male form. All she could do was keep herself open, and that meant running with her legs further spread than she liked. Otherwise, there was a rather sharp, crushing pain that followed.

She'd had to learn new ways of sitting, running, walking, even dealing with the twinges of elimination that had to happen. Everything was different compared to what she used to do, and that was aggravating.

Yet, for all that she was frustrated with her son's body, it was still better than being where she had been.

Sarabi paused in her walk, looking out at the horizon. She could see the desert that lay against the green lands, and she was almost sure that it was the same desert that abutted the Pride Lands along one of the borders. If she was any more sure, she would have started making her way across it, bringing Simba's body to the pride. It might not have been her son, not really, but it would have been a male.

She would have sacrificed her comfort for the pride if needed. She would have resigned herself to be a male for the rest of her life if it meant getting rid of Scar.

And he could. He's strong enough. This body is strong enough.

But she needed to be sure. She needed to be completely sure, or she would end up killing off their only chance. There was no real loyalty to staying here. Pumbaa and Timon were decent enough individuals, but they were nothing to her. To her son, perhaps, but he wasn't here. Wherever he was, he was dealing with his own problems, right now.

If only Nala was around. She could have followed her agent back to the Pride Lands, and they could have set this right. She just needed -

A roar split the air, one that was familiar and new at the same time. Her eyes went wide, flicking her head back towards the border.

Nala?

It had to be. There was no other lioness that had that particular blend of hunger and ferocity when she hit that tone. Sarabi wheeled about, adrenaline forcing her down the hills through the forests again, each beat of her heart echoed with the thump of her paws against the earth.

Nala, you have perfect timing.

Down the hill she ran, over the roots and between the trees. She was approaching the border in short order, and it didn't take long before she could hear the warthog and meerkat in the distance. The lioness must have been chasing them, hoping for an easy meal from the fat pig after a long journey.

I was right. The desert was the key.

Faster, faster, fastest. She saw the root ahead, saw Timon and Pumbaa trying to get free of it, and could hear the growling roar that was coming from the other side. Sarabi pushed herself that little bit faster, running for it and leaping.

Nala's surprised face was there to greet her, and they slammed into each other, rolling, sliding.

Have to end this fast. Have to do this before she fights too hard.

For once, it helped to know how a lioness fought. She had the strength to bat away the grappling claws, knew where to be and where not to be in order to avoid the stronger hits. Simba's mane meant that her neck was protected from the bites and scratches that would normally have opened her up and left her bleeding, while her paws could strike with impunity during those hits.

She used all of those, and with one last body slam, she knocked Nala off her feet. She slammed her forepaw down, huffing and growling despite herself, and leaned down.

"Stop. It's me," she growled.

"I don't know you."

"I know you, Nala."

"..."

"It's...Simba." She hesitated over the name. She wanted to say it was her, but Nala would never believe it. If she was to live the life of a lie, then she might as well start now. "It's me. Simba."

The End

Summary: Simba tries to do something good for the pride, but finds out the difference between male standing and female standing.

Tags: M/F, forced, rape, lion, lioness, The Lion King, body swap, Scar, Simba, Sarabi, anal, blood, cum, orgasm, pain, humiliation, trauma, miniseries, rule 34,