Blackfur's Legacy
Blackfur's Legacy By Strega There were nine of them. Nine great cats, varied of color and build but all sharing one characteristic: their fangs. Each had a pair of curved canine fangs eight or more inches long; massive cheekbones anchored equally massive cheek muscles to operate fangs that hung well past the lower jaw. Each cat also had a certain similarity in shape; hind legs and hips, however mighty, seemed comically undersized compared to the enormously muscular neck, shoulders and forelegs. In a sense each mighty body was an appendage of those great teeth; big as they were, they could lash like serpents to drive those blade-like fangs into a thickskinned victim. They were hunting thin-skinned prey now. It was the hour before sunrise, and they lay stretched side by side just below a ridgetop. They did not silhoutte themselves, even against a moonless sky. Below the ridge and a few hundred yards away, their keen eyes picked out the embers of a dying fire, and the two-legged thing that came to add more wood. The largest of the cats was of ebony hue, where his pelt did not part to reveal scars. There were a plentitude of those; this, along with his graying whiskers, showed his age. Still iron-strong in his elder years, he commanded instant attention when he raised a paw. The cat that came close at his gesture was not the smallest or largest, but by far the easiest to see in the night. Mistfur was his name, his eyes pale blue, his pawpads pink, his pelt one shade away from albino. "This is your territory," rumbled the black sabretooth to the white. "Yes," replied the white. "I have hunted them, and they know me. Some of them have vanished down my gullet, and they have scarred me in return." He parted the fur over his breastbone, revealing puckered puncture-scars. "There is still a stone point in there somewhere, but the one who threw it is long since my meal." The black cat flicked his whiskers neutrally. "They know you. That is why you will show yourself at the notch there-" A huge black paw pointed to the left. "Above the trees, but below the ridgeline." "The notch leads to a box canyon..." the white cat began. "Yes. They will know that. Go." The great black cat had spent a week in Mistfur's territory. Mistfur still limped from the beating he had taken when they met; he was still sore where the bigger cat had mounted him as a show of dominance. They were all sore there; Blackfur had entered each's territory, beaten and mounted them all. He could have swallowed each of them instead, as usually happened to the loser of such a fight, but he had plans. Plans for which his own great might was not sufficient. His only rival in the group was the cat called Stripes, who was nearly as large but only half as experienced. Still experienced enough to know what was to come next. "We spread out, then?" "You, Nineclaw, Brokefang, and Scar, to the right. Lie low. Myself, Mudfoot, Spoteyes and Rockhide to the left. Wait for my roar. And no eating. Killing only!" They had shared a kill hours ago; together they had overpowered a great ground sloth and eaten their fill. They had not gorged, though, and some were hungry again. "Why are we doing this if not to eat?" whined Brokefang, who had one good sabre-tooth and one snapped halfway down. The broken tooth pained him constantly, and he took it out on those around him - either violently, as with the half-dozen other male sabretooths he'd devoured in his time, or when cowed, as now, by complaining. Blackfur cuffed him so hard it lifted his forepaws off the ground and snapped his teeth together. The black cat did not say anything, just grinned; Brokefang took one look at that grin, and slunk away as ordered, still shaking off the blow. He knew that at any time of Blackfur's choosing that grin could widen, and widen...the stories, carried by the female sabretooths who were not so territorial, said that fully a hundred males had seen that grin widen, and vanished down the throat beyond. They were scattered and belly-down in the undergrowth when a sound came from below. Mindful of Blackfur's command, none moved to look, but Rockhide - he of the stone-gray pelt - and Mudfoot the swamp-dweller could see the clearing below the ridge. They whispered to the others what they saw: more two-legs had emerged from the caves. Even a cat's eyes could not make out every detail, but they could see enough to count. Two forepaws of men - ten of the cave-dwellers -- moved in their direction. The men had seen the pale-furred cat on the ridge, and knowing their territory, knew that if they forced him into the box canyon beyond he would have to face them head-on. To kill the eater of their warriors and children they would risk their lives in battle. Had it been an unfamiliar cat they might have suspected a trap; females sometimes hunted in pairs. But they knew Mistfur was male; male sabretooths never hunted in packs. They were too territorial. They would have been correct in their assumptions any other time. They came on quickly, anxious to drive Mistfur into the canyon. Two moved ahead of the others, scouting, but not as far ahead as they might have come. More of the cats could see them now; muscular, dirty humans in hide clothing, carrying flint-tipped spears. One by one the cats tensed, ready to pounce; more than one twitched before restraining himself for fear of angering Blackfur. They waited...and then one of the men pushed through a row of bushes and literally tripped over Spoteyes. Spoteyes was the smallest of the cats, but still far larger than a man and far, far stronger. Before the spear could come around he swept the man's feet out from under him and lunged. Not with jaws a-gape, though he could have swallowed the man in one gulp, but fangs-first. His sabre-fangs pierced the cavemen's belly, a shriek rang out - and the other cats leapt from cover. Nine men were a match for one cat, but not eight, and at the sight of so many smilodons some of the cavemen turned to run. It was too late for that. Two of the cavemen kept their wits about them and threatened Scar with their spears, and the cat - the scar along his cheek and shoulder that named him mementos of a similar encounter - approached cautiously. It did not matter. They could not run or he would have them from behind, and in seconds all the other cavemen were down at the claws and fangs of the other cats. Scar grinned at the two survivors as the other cats closed in. Four sabretooths came at the men, Mudfoot and Nineclaw on one side, Scar from the front - and then Stripes, suddenly from behind. The huge cat reared up behind one caveman, jaws gaped off their hinges, and as the other man was torn apart he lunged downward. "No!" It was Blackfur, too far away. Stripes, all glowing orange pelt and black stripes in the rising sun, fell down atop the caveman. When he rose on all fours, all that was left of his prey was a pair of furred boots hanging from his dislocated jaws and a great bulge in his neck. One of the crippled men screamed at the sight; Stripes snapped his jaws shut and swallowed. The bulge moved heavily beneath the muscles of his neck then was gone; his ribs creaked, and finally his belly swelled as the cavemen was emptied into the cauldron of his gut. "I said no eating!" snarled Blackfur, and fetched Scar such a blow it spun the smaller sabretooth around. Scar's jaws had been gaping for one of the wounded men, and the other cats suddenly lost interest in feeding. Stripes hiccuped and pushed a paw against his fat belly to settle the squirming meal. A smaller cat would be nearly incapacitated by such a lump of meat, but Stripes still moved nimbly, even with a doomed human kicking the walls of his stomach. Perhaps that is why Blackfur dropped the matter. "No eating until I say! Now, the live ones..." He demonstrated, slashing his claws across the belly of one of the downed but still living men. Blood burst forth, and a wail of agony joined the feeble cries of the man Spoteyes had gut-stabbed. The other cats realized what he was about, and soon every surviving man was screaming. Their wounds were such that the cries would not last long, but Blackfur reared up on his hindpaws for a moment, looked down into the clearing, and seemed satisfied. "Spread out again..." Stripes belched up a loincloth and took his place with the others. A short minute later, six more cavemen ran through the trees to reenforce their wounded fellows. Instead, they suffered the same fate. Mistfur had joined the other eight, and for the price of a spearpoint buried in Nineclaw's shoulder these men, too, were pulled down. "Now we eat?" asked Rockhide, looking up from the man between his paws and working his jaws to release the hinges. Others took the cue and gaped, but- "No!" Blackfur snarled. "Kill them all. Then follow me - the night is still young." They did as ordered, a bit reluctantly, as each enjoyed the feel of live prey squirming in their bellies. All of them but Spoteyes had felt their own kind squirming there; some, like Stripes, had eaten a dozen or more of their relatives. None could match Blackfur's fabled record, though, and all followed him, Stripes licking his chops lazily as he padded along. His belly churned and gurgled as it digested the man, and it took enough of his body's resources that he was a hair slow. He was not slowed as much as the other cats - save Blackfur, of course -- would be, and merely brought up the rear. Most of them were thinking hard about the meals they'd left behind, and it was not until they cleared the forest that they realized where they were going. Ahead was the fire and the cave - the home of the men they had just killed. "The men are dead!" Mistfur said, astonishment in his voice. "I see now. There may be one or two left, but otherwise it's just the women and young - and human women are not as big and strong as the men. We can wipe them all out!" "Yes!" said Rockhide, but again Blackfur interrupted. "No killing - or eating -- unless I say. You will see what I plan, and you will reap the rewards. Now silent, silent-" There were two more men, but like the others they did not expect more than one sabretooth. Nineclaw ran past them into the cave, and when they turned to follow Brokefang drove his lone fang into one's spine and Scar hit the other with his paw so hard the man's head came right off. Blackfur observed the scene with satisfaction, sniffed, and rumbled, "Now, you will see why we are here." A gesture of his paw sent two or three sabretooths into each of the cave openings, and he went with Stripes into the last. "Kill none unless you are attacked. Drive them before you, instead." The caves led to narrow passages, then to rounded natural rooms, then more passages. The cats made unwonted amounts of noise, snarling and coughing to themselves. Keen feline ears registed the panicked movements of humans ahead, always retreating. By good chance - or perhaps by planning, as no one had the nerve to ask Blackfur afterwards - each set of tunnels eventually emptied into the same large room lit by fat-filled clay bowls with burning wicks. The sabretooths met again there, and found the surviving humans. There were perhaps twenty womenfolk, ranging from barely adult to gray-haired crones whose contribution to their tribe was more wisdom than work. There were also half a dozen children, a surprisingly small number for a tribe this size - but Mistfur had said that he hunted the young ones when he could. With a collective moan the women and young drew back against the walls of the cave, and one or two began screaming, staring at Mistfur. Bad enough to have so many cats here, which surely meant all their deaths, but here was the cat they had feared for years. Mistfur grinned and yawned, giving them a glimpse into the slick gullet into which so many of their friends, family and children had vanished. Blackfur gestured, and the cats settled at the exits, blocking any escape. The smell of human urine suddenly overpowered the reek of smoke and unwashed flesh as someone lost control of their bladder. "Good evening," Blackfur rumbled, and the other cats were surprised that he was not speaking their tongue, but the humans'. In their years of hunting men each had picked up that language, but Blackfur not only understood it, but could speak it! Even with his huge saber fangs, he made himself understood. "What...what do you want?" The oldest of the females tottered forward, leaning on a stick. "Your men are dead," Blackfur said with a flick of one ear. "The ones we have not eaten we soon will; they are no longer your husbands and fathers, but meals." "Kill us then!" said the old woman defiantly. "Oh, I think not," said Blackfur with a grin. "For so many years I have fought your people; I have lost two mates to your spears and traps. There are not as many of us as there were when I was a cub, especially, not so many females. Your men hunt them even harder than they hunt us, to keep them from raising their cubs. I do not have a mate any more. I have decided that you will replace her." "What?" The old woman was confused. "We can't do that." "Not you personally. Mudfoot, here is your meal. Go." The old woman only stumbled a step or two before Mudfoot was on her. Brown paws, so much darker than the rest of his hide that he had his name long before he took to living in a swamp, went around her and pulled her into a suddenly yawning maw. In a flash she was gone to the waist, and he settled down on his belly and swallowed repeatedly. Each gulp pulled her in further, and in perhaps ten seconds her kicking feet slipped into his jaws and were gone. As Mudfoot sat up, licking his chops, Blackfur's mighty paw pointed at one of the younger women. "You. Come forward." He had to repeat himself as every human eye in the room was fixed in horrified fascination on the vaguely moving bulge in Mudfoot's bellyfur. When she did hear, she cowered back into the crowd and he snapped, "Send her forward or another one of you goes down a gullet!" The other women thrust her out of their circle, and Blackfur was to her in two strides. That same paw swept her feet from under her, and his claws ripped away the hide she wore. His huge head lowered to sniff, and the other cats expected a sudden gape. After all, they were here to wipe this tribe out, were they not? Instead he grimaced, sucking air into his mouth. The other cats recognized the flehmen - the face male sabretooths made when sniffing a female - but even so they were surpised when he straddled the woman. He could not mean to?...but it seemed he did. He arched his back, his penis came out of the sheath, and the woman screamed as spined smilodon shaft slid into her. She tried to squirm free, but he clasped her between his paws and began to hump. It was brief, as all sabretooth matings are. The spined cat cock slid reluctantly out, then rammed back in, each quick thrust forcing a scream and each withdrawal forcing a louder one. The spines caught and scratched at her most delicate flesh; even a female sabertooth would snarl and complain at that, and this human woman was far less sturdy. She beat at his forelegs and chest with her elbows, but he did not relent, putting a paw on her back to reduce her struggling. After perhaps fifty penetrations he snarled and arched. Great muscles twitched in his haunches, and his balls, each larger than one of her fists, pressed against her pelvis as Blackfur spent his seed. He withdrew with a hiss, but kept the paw on the bleating woman's back. Blood flecked her thighs, whether from a lost virginity, the too-large entry or from his spines. "Stripes. Your turn." "My what?" said the other cat. "Aren't you going to eat her?" Blackfur's voice dropped to a purring rumble. "Smell her and you will see." Stripes padded forward and did as commanded. He lowered his massive head for another sniff, then looked up, grimacing as Blackfur had. There was the rank scent of Blackfur's lust, but also..."She is on heat." "Yes. So are one or two others. Now take your turn." Blackfur released the woman and backed away. Stripes still looked doubtful, but he stepped over the woman, straddled her, and the familiar position was enough to arouse him. He growled as he lowered his rump to mount - it turned out to be much less simple than Blackfur had made it appear. His caveman-filled belly was in the way, and the sex was lower than either a female sabretooth's vulva or a male's anus. On the third try the spined red cock found its mark, and he set to slamming his balls against her mound. Again there was screaming, for both the thrusts and the withdrawal, and again in less than a minute he snarled. His sabre-fangs hooked around her neck as he ejaculated, and an orange paw scooped beneath her breasts. Almost she followed the man down his gullet, but without even a warning from Blackfur he let her head slip from his jaws. "Nineclaw. Your turn." One after the other they had the woman, some clumsily and some more adeptly. None were as skilled as Blackfur, who surely must have practiced the act on other humans to be so accurate. Brokefang and Mistfur were particularly awkward, unable to look away from the crowd of staring women even as they had took her. By the time all nine had spent their seed, the woman was so exhausted she just lay there in a heap. When Rockhide, the last of them, had finished, Blackfur turned his attention once again to the other women and the children. Again he spoke in their language, his voice slurred by his sabre-fangs. "This is your station now," he rumbled. "You are now our property. We are now your mates. If you try to run, we will punish you - perhaps we will eat you, perhaps merely hurt you. You are now our...
." The other cats did not know this word, and later he explained the meaning of 'slave'. "We are not!" One of the middle-aged women stepped forward. Blackfur cuffed her legs out from under her as the last word left her lips, them batted her back and forth between his paws until she was gasping and bloody. "There." He thumped her back into the crowd. "You are still young enough to bear cubs, so you get to live. There are those among you less valuable." His cruel yellow eyes fell on an older woman, then on the young boys cowering behind their mothers. He only had to look for a moment, then the woman who had objected, who had been hauled to her feet by her fellows, went to her knees and bowed her head. A second and third followed, and soon all were bowing. He turned back to the other cats, who had begun to grasp the full extent of his plans. "This is now our lair. Rockhide, Nineclaw, Scar, go back to where we killed the men and drag three back here. Put the bodies in one of the side cavess. Then three more, until all are stored. We will need the food - we will have to watch them closely at first to ensure their wills are broken. If you grow weary, others can fetch the bodies." "But why are we doing this?" muttered Brokefang. "I don't want a human mate." Blackfur nodded. "Neither did I...but I am the oldest of us all. When was the last time you saw a female of our kind? They are rare these days. Even I, unchallenged in my hunting-lands, have felt far too few females beneath me these last seasons." His voice was a rumble that shook stone. "I am Blackfur. I have sired a hundred cubs. I have killed a thousand humans. I have sent a full hundred of my rivals - some of them my children - to my stomach. And I say we need new mates." Mistfur spoke up now. "How will this help? They are not cats." He pointed a paw at the woman they had raped. She had crawled slowly and painfully back to her fellows, leaving a thin trail of blood. He himself had missed the proper opening, and much of the blood was from the reamed-out brown hole behind her sex. "They can't have our cubs." "Can't they?" Blackfur showed a slow smile. "This was not the first human woman I have mated." He flicked a whisker. "She died in childbirth, but perhaps that was ill luck. The child, stillborn, was...half sabertooth. Close enough, perhaps." The cats looked at each other, then the three he had pointed out turned and left, to gather the bodies that would be their food for the next few days. When they were gone, Blackfur's paw pointed out another of the women. "You. Come forward." By the dawn each of them had mated three different women, three or four times each. It was a start. The next day, Blackfur explained how it would be. He had spent much time thinking about the operation of a tribe - he called it a 'Clan' - of sabretooths. The first consideration was food; individually they had large hunting grounds, how could so many find food in one territory? Part of the answer was that hunting in pairs, in threes and in even larger groups, they could more easily kill large prey. Even mammoths, normally to be avoided save the very young ones, could be brought down by carefully planned mass attacks. Secondly, as a group they could drive away competing predators much more easily - a pack of dire wolves was no real threat to so many sabrefangs. The other cats nodded; most of them had killed and eaten, or simply gulped down live the great wolves when meeting them individually. It made sense that as a pack (correction, CLAN, Blackfur rumbled) they could take the wolves' prey for their own. And then there were the humans to feed. Each had studied the two-legged, bare-skinned enemies in the course of hunting them, but Blackfur it seemed had made a career of it. Humans, even the females, could gather some of their own food, especially with the threat of sabretooth and wolf removed. They would have to watch the humans, both their new slaves and other who might invade their new territory. Each of them would, in turn, spend time hunting, then patrolling the Clan's boundaries to make sure no humans or other threats intruded, then for a time stay at the lair to make sure the humans did not escape. Ultimately, Blackfur said, they would spend less time hunting and patrolling than they had individually - which would leave time to ensure that they contributed their seed to the hopeful new generation of sabrefangs. Some of the cats had already grown fond of mounting the women; some were violent in their matings. Blackfur put a stop to the rougher play when one of the women was mauled. It was Brokefang who slashed her with his fangs; he had nipped at her nape as he climaxed, just as he would with a female sabretooth. A human woman, though, did not have a thick scruff to protect her. As often happened, several of the cats were lazing about the cave when it happened. They would watch with greater or lesser interest as a cat decided he needed some human company. One of the women would be called out - some had become quite cooperative once they realized the cats weren't going away. When the cat was done, perhaps one of the others would be aroused enough by the spectacle to want some of the same. This happened often enough that the women had learned to take turns with the cats - the matings were brief, but painful and exhausting for the humans. Just as Brokefang finished this latest coupling, he snarled and jumped backward. Some males had that habit, as female sabretooths tended to not appreciate the spines scraping through their sex as the male dismounted. Quick reactions - or a habit of retreating - could save the male a whallop. This time he didn't think to lift his head as he jumped back. Brokefang was one of the younger cats, and his sabrefangs still had the serrated back edges that age would eliminate. His one good fang sliced into the woman's shoulder, opening the flesh to the bone, and continued halfway down her back. Instead of the usual pained (but resigned) wail, the woman almost tore her throat out with a shriek of agony. Stripes was there. He had become something of a lieutenant to Blackfur, despite their initial rivalry, and his paw smashed into Brokefang's cheek almost hard enough to kill. Spun end for end, Brokefang found himself facing the newly arrived Blackfur, who spun him right back with an equally hard blow. Stripes slapped him around again. Brokefang was no match for either of them and was helpless even to defend himself - one more slap from each and he collapsed, stunned and bleeding from his nostrils. Blackfur saw that the women were taking care of their own, pressing furs and herbs to the huge wound Brokefang's sabretooth had opened. His cruel eyes turned back to Brokefang, and he rumbled, "If she dies, Brokefang, you go into my stomach. The only reason you are not there now is I do not think you did it on purpose." He lifted his head, and the other cats - except Stripes - found they could not meet his gaze. Then he turned, lifted his short tail, and sprayed a measure of urine on Brokefang's back. Perhaps that was the insult that pushed Brokefang over the edge. He could have waited for his turn to hunt or patrol, and simply left the Clan's territory. Instead he waited until the dead of night - when all the humans and most of the cats were asleep - and crept into the central cave once again. The first thing the others knew about it was the screams. Brokefang killed the woman he had wounded earlier with one snap of his fangs and laid about him with his claws, slashing three others. He could have killed them all, but he attacked almost in passing, springing for an exit even as the shrieks rang out. But Blackfur always slept lightly, and in the last bit of ill luck Brokefang would ever suffer the great black cat appeared in not just any exit tunnel, but the in the very one he sprang for. Brokefang knew he would not be forgiven this time, and the speed of his pounce actually took Blackfur by surprise. Brokefang's paw clubbed down on Blackfur's head as the smaller cat tried to scramble past. Such a blow would stun a lesser cat, but Blackfur's skull was thick. He sprang sideways, slamming the full weight of his huge body against Brokefang and smashing the lesser cat against the tunnel wall. For a moment the fight was a confusion of lashing paws and fangs; blood sprang out on Blackfur's shoulder, then his mighty paw slammed Brokefang's chin against the stone. Brokefang's one intact sabrefang snapped at the root. Blackfur did not bother to mount his foe this time - his paws pulled Brokefang's head up from the floor, and the dazed cat blinked open his eyes to see the yawn. Brokefang's yowl was cut off as Blackfur stuffed the smaller cat's head into his jaws. Brokefang squirmed and kicked, trying to get purchase on the stone and pull away, but great Blackfur wrapped his forepaws around the smaller cat's body and pulled him in. Brokefang's muzzle slid into Blackfur's throat as the huge cat's jaws unhinged, and Blackfur lunged, forcing his maw over Brokefang's neck and shoulders. Blackfur's sabrefangs pointed forward over Brokefang's back; his lower jaw stretched downward on rubbery tendons. He pulled with his forepaws and gulped, and muscles worked visibly beneath his stretched neckfur as he swallowed Brokefang down. Brokefang's forelegs were pinned to his sides now, but he kicked and scrabbled still with the hind ones, trying to pull himself out of the trap. Blackfur, vastly experienced, arched himself, pointing his distended jaws downward and pinning his prey to the floor. Blackfur's own weight forced him further over his meal, even when his paws did not pull or his swallowing muscles ripple. When Blackfur sidled rump-first back into the central cave, Brokefang was gone save his rump and hindlegs. He had come back to make sure everyone saw the traitor's fate. The other cats watched as he pushed Brokefang's rump in; his stretched jaws slid over the diminishing breadth of his victim until only Brokefang's stubby tail and hind legs were left. The legs kicked frantically as he lifted his head, stretched out his neck and swallowed. It took three gulps; the first sucked the legs halfway in, the second pulled Brokefang's hindpaws into his mouth, and the third, final gulp saw the paws slip into his gullet and vanish. Only then did he fully close his jaws. He was now swollen from neck to belly with a meal more than half his size, and for another half minute he stretched and strained, arching his body to help his powerful throat muscles send the meal downward. Finally there was an easing - Brokefang's head and shoulders had slipped into his stomach, which was far less tight than the stretched gullet. Brokefang found himself squirted into the stomach by the clenching tightness and slick lubrication of the gullet; Blackfur's muscles and ribs popped and creaked as the prey found its resting place. When he was done, and all that remained of Brokefang was a vast, squirming belly-bulge he kept quiet with one paw, he looked to see what damage had been done. Even mighty Blackfur could scarcely move with such a huge lump of food in his gut, and he waved Stripes toward the women. Stripes ascertained that two were dead, while two would probably live. On hearing this, Blackfur let out a massive belch. Much of the air in Brokefang's lungs came up with it; the squirming in his belly was weaker now. Then he rumbled. "These are our slaves." He spoke in the human tongue, to be understood by everyone in the room. "But they are also our mates." He paused to belch again, and took his paw off his now quiet belly. "They are small, and they are weak, and worst of all they have no scruffs to bite as we mate with them, but they are our mates. We need them! In their wombs grow the next generation of cats. They are ours." He gave the women what almost seemed a kindly look. "But we are theirs, too. Treat them well, or I will make a meal of you, too." The blood had already dried on his shoulder - doomed Brokefang had merely scratched him. He flicked Brokefang's snapped-off sabrefang across to the women, and one picked it up as great Blackfur padded heavily out. He could not raise his belly from the floor, and all heard him move down the tunnel, paws velvet-quiet but gut dragging. That was the end of Brokefang, but it was not the only thing that happened that night. It was long before the others learned of what happened then between Blackfur and Stripes. It was perhaps an hour after his meal. Blackfur lay in one of the smaller caves, one he had taken as his own just as the others had each picked a private den. Sometimes he brought a woman here. This had been the den of the cave-clan's chief, and Blackfur made his bed of the collection of sleeping-furs. The bulk of his meal lay awkward in his gut. His belly gurgled loudly as Brokefang slowly dissolved, but he could not sleep. When he heard a brush of fur against stone, he looked up to see Stripes enter. "Eh." Blackfur rolled heavily onto his belly. "I would not talk tonight." Stripes came in anyway, and Blackfur's eyes narrowed to see the smirk on the striped cat's face. He knew at once this was another betrayal, and Stripes' next words confirmed it. "You made a mistake, great Blackfur." Stripes swung a paw at Blackfur's face, claws out, and Blackfur could barely move enough to dodge. "You should have had me swallow Brokefang. Look at you - too fat to fight." This time he feinted with a paw, which Blackfur blocked, then slapped Blackfur claws-in on the cheek. It rocked Blackfur's head; Stripes was nearly as large as himself. "I could kill you now. Oh, you are too big to swallow...perhaps if you were not swollen full of that fool I could manage, but not now." Stripes moved along the edge of the room, and Blackfur, weighed down by his sloshing belly, could not turn fast enough to keep Stripes from getting behind him. "Certainly I could kill you, though." Blackfur felt a sudden pain in his back as Stripes half-leaped on him from behind, jamming his sabrefangs into Blackfur's shoulder. They did not pierce flesh; Stripes had put only a little weight behind the blow. The points scraped further up his back as Stripes climbed higher, raking his paws along each black-furred flank. Blackfur tried to strike back with his forepaws, but Stripes had him pinned atop the bulge of his belly such that he could not strike with any force. "Kill me then," Blackfur rumbled. "It was a mistake I should not have made." The pain that struck him then was not what he expected. Stripes was on his back and in position to drive sabreteeth into his spine, or, more slowly he could claw Blackfur's flanks to shreds. Instead the pain was farther down his body, beneath his tail. Only then did he recognize the position the striped cat had taken atop him. "What are you-" and then he hissed as Stripes' spined cock fully penetrated his anus. "Do you remember what you did to me when you came to my territory?" Stripes growled as he began to thrust. "You beat me until I could not fight, and I expected to slide down your throat like so many others. Instead..." And then he scruffed Blackfur, digging his fangs into Blackfur's nape as he would a female. He mumbled through the gag of fur: "Best be silent, mighty Blackfur, lest the others hear." Blackfur knew it hurt females when he mated them. He did not know why his shaft was barbed, but it hurt females and they reacted accordingly. More than once he had taken a buffet from a female angered at his speed of withdrawal - a fast retreat got him out of range quicker but hurt the female more. Males he had mounted - first out of sheer lust and later as a show of dominance - were hurt even more. Most bled for a time afterwards. Males he mated he also ate, though, so their feelings were of no concern. Only with these recent eight had any of his male mates survived to complain. Now Stripes taught him just how much it hurt. It was not that Stripes' penis was too large, though it was much more rigid than the droppings that left via the opening he was penetrating. No, the issue was the spines on Stripes' shaft. There were a great many, they were sharp and they were stiff. Each time the striped cat pulled back they scratched his anus-ring and the tunnel of flesh inside. Each thrust was as painful as a claws-out swipe, each withdrawal was worse, for there was no strong furred hide between the spine-claws and his flesh. Then there were the fangs dug through his coarse, short mane and into his nape. Stripes tugged at his scruff with each thrust and raked his claws down Blackfur's flanks. There at least his pelt protected him; the terrible stabbing pain below his tail was much worse. It seemed to go on for an eternity, but like all sabretooth matings it was brief. Stripes snarled suddenly, and Blackfur felt for the first time what so many of his kin had felt of him: the jet of semen the striped cat expelled. This was not useful seed, as it was not shot into a female. It was wasted, as his had been on other males. With that Stripes let go his scruff and withdrew. A last shock of pain as he pulled out, then merely a hot soreness beneath his tail. Blackfur smelled his own blood and the rank lust of the other cat. He didn't know what to make of it. Why hadn't Stripes killed him? Then the other cat was moving around in front of him. Stripes padded past and lay down, tail facing Blackfur's head. "Your turn," growled Stripes, and Blackfur blinked. Stripes moved his tail aside, as females did. "But why?" Surprisingly, he was aroused. Never had he been so abused, so dominated. He had always been the largest, the strongest, or at least the smartest. In his early years this might have happened to him, but he was too clever, and then he grew so huge that other males played the mate for him against their will. "I think you know," growled the striped cat as Blackfur slowly and awkwardly moved to mount. It seemed impossible to manage for a moment, swollen as he was, but Blackfur could not remember being so full of lust. Stripes backed up as he struggled to mate, and the striped cat's rump pushed beneath the softening bulge of half-digested Brokefang. As Blackfur's paws wrapped around Stripes' chest the striped cat spoke again. "I too have always been the largest, the strongest. I think when you climbed on my back and stabbed me with your maleness, it hurt more than any wound I ever took. And yet I found a craved it. You could kill me now," for Blackfur's sabrefangs were at his nape, "And I think I would not care." But Blackfur did not. The mating was clumsy and strenuous, and he belched up a wad of Brokefang's fur onto Stripes' back in the middle of it. It was his turn to scruff Stripes, and he snarled as he penetrated the smaller cat, snarled harder when he spent his seed. Blackfur left scratches on Stripes' back that echoed the ones on his own flanks. Afterwards, Stripes could have taken another turn - or a dozen, being a cat -- but he lay down with Blackfur instead. They licked the blood from each other, nibbled at each others' whiskers, and curled together like one eight-limbed creature. "Half a dozen of the human women are pregnant," Stripes growled a bit later. "One I think is with human child, from before we took them. The others smell of our kind. As the others come on heat, we will mate them too. Fourteen of them are of cub-bearing age, and one of their girlcubs will soon be, too. Many cubs, if they survive." Blackfur nodded sleepily. He was finally relaxed enough that his enormous meal was putting him to sleep. "I think some will die, but the cub my little human mate tried to have nearly survived. If half of them live...ten cubs? Twenty? They will grow quickly. Some will be females." The implication was clear. "There will be many of us soon. We will need more humans, and perhaps we can convince other cats to join us in this territory. Male and female both." "It is too early to plan on that," Blackfur said as he lay down his mighty head. "But perhaps." And with that they slept, together in the little cave. ***** Mynella Shortfang smiled as her students filed in. She counted the papyrus scrolls on the stone desk, making sure there was one for each of them. The last student, one of the six-legs, settled down on her belly. Mynella tapped her claws on the desk. "Hello again, sons and daughters of the Clans. It's Starsday and time for the History of the People. Today's class will be short as Forty-Fourth Father Redclaw will be inspecting the docks at noon, and you all deserve a chance to see him." She began passing the scrolls to the students. "Last week I gave you the first Scroll of the Fathers to read. Tallyn," she pointed at the smallest pupil in the front row, "Tell us of Blackfur." Tallyn, a two-legs with spotted pelt and sabrefangs sharp as needles, popped eagerly to his feet and answered. "First Father Blackfur saw that males-eating-males left our mothers vulnerable to the humans. The humans had figured this out long before." Mynella nodded. "How big was the First Father?" Tallyn pointed. Inscibed into the stone cave-wall were two pawprints - the basic standard of measure. Legend had it they were traced from Blackfur's own paws, then carved into the stone for posterity; copies could be found throughout the Empire on cave and building walls. Each was about eight inches wide. "Father Blackfur was six paws and two toes tall at the shoulder. He was a giant among his people, and even today few grow so large." "What did the First Father do when he realized there were few People left?" "He gathered the First Clan. Second Father-" "You're getting ahead of yourself, son of the Clans." "Yes'm. The First Clan was Stripes, Nineclaw, Brokefang, Spoteyes, Scar, Mudfoot, Mistfur and...and-" "Rockhide. Very good, Tallyn. Fang, continue." Tallyn sat down and Fang - a young fourlegs who would have fit in perfectly with the pre-Clan Ancestors - sat up. "Blackfur and the Clan attacked a small tribe of humans. The men they ate, and some of the women, and the rest they mated." He scratched his belly absently with a hindpaw. "Soon many of the human women were gravid. Some died in birth, or simply could not carry sabrecubs to term. Others tried to escape, and when beatings did not convince them to stop, they were eaten. Then the cubs were born, those that lived." "Star, continue." Star was a sixlegs. Her lower body was like a four-legs, but instead of a neck at the front of her body she had the upper parts of a two-legs; torso, arms, fingers, and the usual sabre-fanged head on top. She stroked the ritual scar on her shoulder before she spoke. "None of the cubs were human, but several were two-legs, shaped like men but furred and fanged. Others were four-legs like their fathers. One, Sixlegs the Many-Mother, was like me. They grew quickly, taking after their fathers; in five years, a dozen were strong enough to hunt. Then came the Second Taking. They and their fathers attacked another human tribe for more females and slaves. Spoteyes died, and Rockhide was so badly hurt he asked the First Father to end his suffering. But the battle was won. More human females, soon bred by the old and young males, and more cubs. Then the Third Taking..." Mynella nodded. She was a two-legs herself, though she could walk awkwardly on all fours as some twolegs could. Small and sandy of fur and keen of memory, she had chosen to teach rather than hunt or labor. There was a place in the Empire of the Clans for such a thing as a teacher now. "By then," she continued, "Males and females of the Ancestors had come to join the Clan. They too had come to fear the humans, and Blackfur's Word spread wide. As the Clan grew, more and larger human tribes were conquered. There were bloody battles, not all of then won. But enough were won that the Clan continued to expand. Some human tribes joined the Clan and were allowed to keep their ways as long as they served loyally. Thus we have both the slaves and the free humans, to this day." She nodded to Sunrise, the only human in the room. The young woman, who wore no slave collar, smiled shyly. "There was some bad luck, and some very good luck, as when Thunder the Nineteenth Father led the attack that captured a whole human tribe - the tribe that had developed copper-smelting." Mynella pointed at a blackfurred fourlegs whose forehead had a white streak. "Blaze, tell us of the fate of the First Father." Blaze rose to his feet, then lowered his head. He intoned from memory: "Came the day the First Father's great heart failed him. He and his lover, Stripes, were alone away from the Clan. The First Father knew it would break the will of the People to have their leader die of illness. So he put his head in Stripes' jaws, and the Second Father swallowed him down." "And how do we know this?" "The Second Father returned to the clan when his stomach was done with the meal, and told that he had defeated the First in combat. He was now the Father. Only when the Third Father was to swallow him did he reveal what had really happened." "Was the Second Father telling the truth, do you think?" Blaze shrugged. "It does not matter. Whether voluntarily or as the loser in a duel, the First Father died in Stripes' stomach, just as Stripes died in Whitepaws' and Whitepaws died in Fourth Father-" "Enough for now. The custom, of course, lasts to this day. Ten minute break, class." They padded out, a couple heading into the privyroom to use the sandboxes. Fang came to her as she went out onto the balcony. She looked down at the harbor and all the ships half-built. The workers were mostly twolegs, with some sixlegs; fourlegs with their powerful frames dragged sledges. Harnessed mammoths carried the truly heavy loads. Many humans worked there too; most of them had the iron collars of slavery, but there were freemen among them. Beyond the shipyards to the left was a warrior training ground, where all three shapes of People practiced in their particular armors, weapons and in some cases, mounts. Their height allowed them to see into every alley of the shipyard. Here and there, workers stole a few minutes to vent their urges. In the shadow of a four-masted ship a grizzled male sixlegs snarled and dismounted, only to be mounted in turn by his sand-colored fourlegs lover. Elsewhere a young twolegs leaned against a pile of rolled canvas, his hand keeping a slavegirl's face in his lap. In one narrow alley humans, some slaves and some not, kissed and coupled. A female sixlegs was there as well, teasing her lovers with her sandpaper tongue. "What do you suppose will happen when they sail, mother?" She scratched his ears for a moment. "The seers say there are other continents, maybe with more humans. If they are many and well schooled, perhaps we will trade with them. If they are backward, then they will be slaves, or if they fight they will be food." Unconsciously, she licked her lips. "What do humans taste like?" "Oh, I've only eaten one. A disobedient slavegirl I swallowed. You don't get much taste when you swallow them, you know." Fang worked his jaws, and she heard the click as they unhinged. It slurred his voice. "I would like to swallow a human sometime." She patted his head fondly. "For now, just swallow rabbits and small-enough deer. When you are a bit bigger you can put your name in for the executioner's lottery. You may get lucky and get a rogue slave or even one of the People to send down your throat. Or, if the sailing leads to war, perhaps you could be a soldier. Rules are more relaxed in war, and prey more plentiful." He nodded. "If not for the First Father...?" "Then there might have been another First Father. Or perhaps we would be slaves to the humans, or maybe we wouldn't be here at all. Praise Blackfur that we are the masters, not the slaves." "Praise Blackfur," Fang echoed, and a string of saliva dripped from his jaws as he watched the humans work below. The End