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Malloy sighed and tapped his foot as he waited in the hall. He slouched while his bored gaze roamed over the wall of portraits across from him--his extended family members, dressed in their finery or in the act of meeting with the nobility, loomed over him oppressively; every single one of them had lived up to an impossible standard, and they were all expecting him to do the same.

Malloy huffed and tugged at his collar, which had been cinched shut around his neck by the frilly cravat he wore--the damn thing was always too tight, but protocol decreed that he had to wear it for these audiences. Same for the tight trousers that bunched uncomfortably, the figure-hugging shirt, and the ceremonial vest that clung far too closely to his chest for his liking. And the damn sash--it was like an oversized collar that hung from his shoulder and curled around his waist, getting in the way of his left hand whenever he walked, and the strip of cloth hung with five egg-sized ruby brooches that Malloy had earned simply by being born. And the shoes--damn those shoes! They were tight, inflexible, and cumbersome, yet they were a sign of nobility; no wonder there was such a striking class divide, when everyone except the aristocracy went around barefoot. Malloy curled his toes in frustration--he was firmly of the opinion that paws were meant to be in contact with the ground, not locked away in some stuffy and stifling shoes that made his pads too soft and delicate for him to walk; they would be, too, if he hadn't spent so much of his free time barefoot.

He hated wearing all of it--the whole ensemble was just so itchy, confining, restrictive...it was a costume that served no purpose except to elicit cheers from the adoring masses and remind him of the burdens he was supposed to inherit.

Of course, his father would say it was an honor to wear such fine vestments, before launching into a lecture that would lead into a diatribe about how Malloy should be eternally grateful for his station and that he still had time to prepare for the future challenges that awaited when the crown passed to him.

Malloy had heard it countless times before, and he had a feeling he was going to hear it again this evening. But first, the declaration of his arrival, as per protocol.

"His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Malloy." The aide-de-camp's voice rang clearly through the open doors leading to the sovereign's study.

"Thank you," Malloy heard his father's curt voice reply.

Malloy sighed again before he straightened up and stepped in front of the open doorway...then strode inside, trading places with the weasel aide-de-camp who exited and closed the doors behind him.

The 19-year-old fox stood on the edge of the room, just before the massive bookshelf so he faced the opposite wall, which was laden with additional portraits. Ignoring the gazes of his distant relations, Malloy bowed his head, training his gaze on the dark, hardwood floor as he reservedly said, "Your Majesty."

He paused for a moment, then looked up again at his father. King Ruprecht was sitting at his desk, writing revisions to a decree. Even planted in his chair, the king--wearing a deep blue, velvet waistcoat over his shirt and dark trousers--loomed large. Granted, Ruprecht was 6'2", only four inches taller than Malloy, but the older fox held himself with a self-assured posture that projected a presence that was larger-than-life, domineering, prideful, and determined.

Ruprecht struck through a line on the parchment before he laid down his fountain pen and at last turned in his chair to survey his son. "Ah, yes...you're well?"

"Just fine," Malloy replied innocuously, although he looked at his father with some suspicion--he hadn't been expecting him to start like this. Normally, any interaction began with some criticism of Malloy's behavior...

"Obviously not," Ruprecht countered stiffly as he rose from his chair and approached Malloy.

The younger fox sighed; no, here came the criticism, right on schedule.

"It's become increasingly apparent that you have yet to fully comprehend how you are supposed to behave as heir to the throne," Ruprecht continued. "When you acceded to the office of Crown Prince two months ago, I had high hopes for you: A vigorous figure who could show restraint and act with composure that would reflect well on the monarchy...establish a sustainable base of approval and support from the country and our allies, which would serve you well when you eventually become king."

Malloy held still, mentally bracing himself for what was about to come, while his father glared at him, his eyes narrowed with cool anger.

"But I've learned that you were...exceptionally busy confounding my expectations at every possible opportunity for the past eight weeks," Ruprecht said coldly. He began pacing around his study as he went on, "To name just some of the highlights of your activities, in addition to your usual half-drunken antics, you ran off with the son of the Selenosian ambassador during the trade summit, you caused a scene at a state banquet that nearly started an international incident with Floresia and Pranam, you 'improvised' and gave a tone-deaf speech during your accession tour, the Countess of Vizegrad needs an apology for how you conducted yourself at the Chilton Tourney"--Ruprecht's voice escalated in volume as he rattled off the list of transgressions. It had been a while since Malloy had seen him this worked up--"and you went cavorting around Hog's Bottom--not a stone's throw away from the palace," he added emphatically, pointing at the window to illustrate just how close the capital's rougher district was, "with a band, doing who knows what in the alleys!"

"I'm sure your spies know, they just didn't want to tell you and make you blush." Malloy shut his mouth, but it was too late, the retort had already slipped out before he could stop himself.

Ruprecht's eyes narrowed further--Malloy could feel his father's barely contained rage radiating with the intensity of a bonfire. "You have grown beyond unruly; this...rebellious streak, this rowdiness, this...shameless, bawdy restlessness has to stop now, Malloy," the king hissed. "Especially when you become the talk of the kingdom because of your continuous inebriation and your incapacity to keep your trousers up!"

"But that's none of--"

"No, I know that your bedroom activities may not ordinarily be my business," Ruprecht cut in over Malloy. "But they become my business when they hamper the ability of the crown to function! Do you realize how much of my councilors' agenda is taken up with discussions about the repercussions of my son having relations with a blacksmith?! A blacksmith, of all people, Malloy?"

The younger fox forced himself to swallow the remark that had instinctively leapt to his lips.

"I don't know where this rambunctiousness came from, but it's time to put an end to it, once and for all," Ruprecht said as he came to stand by his desk again. He sighed as he shook his head, then gazed at Malloy again...for a second, Malloy thought he saw a trace of some regret in his father's eyes, but when he looked closer, all he saw was the resolute determination that had led to the king's unofficial title of "Ruprecht the Unyielding".

"Of all the solutions that my councilors advised, only one course of action is sure enough to put you on the straight and narrow," Ruprecht took up. "I'm sending you on a seven-month diplomatic tour."

Malloy's eyes widened, and he blanched as his stomach dropped. "S-seven months?" he whimpered, his straight-back posture instantly slumping.

"You'll spend that time doing a tour of the homeland first before traveling to visit with our allies, to help further foster the special relationships we share with them."

"But...Father, seven months is so long away from home!" Malloy whined. "I can't just leave for...besides, I'm not ready for diplomatic duty, I don't even know how--"

"You will learn," Ruprecht coldly stated, "along the way. You will have your aides for support, and Sir Moller and Lord Braun will be there to advise you."

Malloy mentally recoiled at the thought of spending seven months with two of his father's trusted councilors--Sir Moller and Lord Braun were the most uptight, egotistical, smarmy, rule-abiding, bureaucratic, protocol-driven, anal retentive, pompous members of the court; they would be watching him like a couple of hawks, ready to swoop in and claw him to shreds for the smallest breach of royal etiquette.

"But...aren't these tours traditionally done by the sovereign?" Malloy pleaded weakly.

"You're the future king of Perault--it's time you act like it," the older fox replied, his voice firm. "This journey will teach you about the responsibilities that will fall upon you in the future. I may still be king for a while longer, but I won't be around forever--you need to begin preparing to take on the throne. Trust me, you will thank me for this opportunity. The experience you'll gain will be invaluable, and it's not often that someone else can step in for the sovereign in this capacity. Consider it...another opportunity for your grand debut as Crown Prince. You'll leave in two days; Lord Braun will discuss the itinerary with you in the morning."

Malloy remained silent, not out of respect or fear, but out of simple shock and disbelief. Ruprecht, however, turned to face the window, away from Malloy.

"That will be all."

White-hot anger bubbled up in the pit of Malloy's gut. He wanted to shout, he wanted to smash something, he wanted to rush his father and...

The prince inhaled...then sighed before he bowed his head again. "Your Majesty," he spat out through clenched teeth.

Ruprecht didn't even acknowledge his son's departure; he continued staring out the window and kept his back to Malloy as the younger fox stalked out of the study, leaving the doors open behind him.

Malloy was fuming the whole way back to his room and struggling to loosen his royal garb, trying to yank it off so he could actually breathe. By the time he entered his chambers, his shirt collar hung open and his cravat was draped like a relaxed noose around his neck. His vest hung loosely from his shoulders, and the open flaps rippled in the wake of his angry strides--he had nearly ripped one of the mother of pearl buttons off in his haste to release the tension around his stomach. His shirt was untucked while his trousers had been unbuttoned at the waist, and Malloy furiously flung his sash--and its five ruby brooches--at a nearby chair as he stormed into his bedroom.

"He can't do this to me!" the fox snarled as he shrugged off his vest and threw it against the wall. Malloy ran his hands through the fur on his head, mussing his perfectly coiffed coat and making it look like he'd had a particularly bad hair day. "He can't just send me away! What the hell does he think is going to happen? Seven months of the stupidest, most pointless handshaking, and then what? Am I supposed to come crawling back and thank him?" The disheveled prince dropped into another armchair while he mimicked, "'Oh, thank you so much for getting rid of me to teach me a lesson while you did fuck all!'"

Malloy glared up at the portrait of his father that hung above his mantle--Ruprecht gazed sternly back at him. "Fuck you! It's not going to magically make everything fit with your plan--I...fuck!"

The fox slumped in his chair as he yelled his final expletive. He closed his eyes and cradled his temples, his thoughts swirling. Only two days here, and then he'd be off on tour. Two days of suffering through every waking moment with his family.

Two days of preparing for a journey he'd only just learned about.

Two days of saying goodbye to everything he knew before going off to who-knew-how many countries.

Two days of being himself before he was consumed by his rank--he would no longer be Malloy, he would be only the Crown Prince of Perault.

Two days of freedom before the torture began.

Two days of freedom.

Malloy perked at that thought. Two days of freedom?

He could do a lot in two days...if he had to leave...

"Might as well leave with a bang," he mused. His mind was already racing with the route he could follow...first the taverns on Drifter's Row, then he could make his way over to Hog's Bottom, then to Scarfett for some truly fine spirits...and who knew how many new acquaintances he'd encounter along the way? Malloy grinned; yes, he'd be celebrating his departure, but a two-day tavern crawl seemed an appropriate start to a seven-month journey.

---

Drifter's Row had earned its reputation as one of the rougher districts in Grand Lirton--it was an abnormal day if there wasn't a murder in one of its many alleys, and Malloy had heard dozens of rumors and stories about the sons of dukes and earls losing their coin purses (and their virginities) to the bandits and ruffians who roamed the district. The nearest whorehouse was never more than a block away, most mages' grime-covered apothecaries looked like they had been condemned as unsuitable for habitation, and taverns and inns outnumbered actual residences 3 to 1. Posts on every corner bore the torn shreds of royal decrees, the tattered placards of wanted criminals, and ragged bounty postings. When walking the streets of Drifter's Row, the common practice was to avoid eye contact as much as possible and keep one's head down--attracting the wrong kind of attention could likely result in losing your money, a precious limb, or your life...or all three.

Malloy, having snuck out under the cover of darkness through a hidden hole in the wall of the Reinmacht Palace gardens, was in heaven; this seedy, grubby, crime-riddled part of town was such a far cry from the immaculate halls of the royal palace, it might as well be another country, one where he was no prince, one that he actually wanted to visit, and one he wanted to explore to the fullest. He had been to Drifter's Row only a handful of times, and each excursion was a wholly unique experience--the people were never the same, the drinks were always different, the geography seemed to change the later at night it was and the more he drank...it was the perfect place for Malloy to lose himself as he began his pre-departure celebrations. And there was something to be said for the ambience and repercussions of being caught in a place like Drifter's Row; Malloy had gone incognito on adventures like this before, and tonight was no different.

Dressed in his "commoner's apparel" of a rumpled, loose blue shirt that exposed the upper portion of his white-furred chest, brown baggy breeches secured with an old leather belt, and (reveling in the freedom of not wearing those accursed shoes) toeless socks that met the hem of his breeches around his calves and stopped halfway along the archest of his feet, the fox felt like he was blending in with the rest of the populace of Grand Lirton, but he always relished the sense of danger and suspense of evading recognition; passing right under the noses of unsuspecting thieves and thugs gave him an adrenaline-tinged thrill that tickled him to his core. Add to that thrill the gleeful and rebellious pride that bubbled up every time he imagined Ruprecht's horror if the king knew where Malloy was right now, and the young fox's spirits were soaring in spite of the fact that he was being sent away in two days.

And so it was in this good humor that Malloy trotted deeper and deeper into Drifter's Row, until he found himself in front of the wide wooden door of The Crooked Fang--green-tinted glass lamps hung by the roughly-hewn sign, while Malloy saw the light inside the tavern was an intriguing (or perhaps a dangerous) red-orange glow. Lively music, rowdy conversation, and raucous laughter all wafted out through the open windows, catching the fox's ear and enticing him inward.

Unable to resist, Malloy pushed open the door and stepped through.

A thick haze of pipe and cigar smoke drifted on the air, and Malloy saw that the wide tavern hall was a frenzy of activity--part of the floor was taken up solely with dancers swinging merrily to the flute, lute, and fiddle that played a fast-paced tune, while most of the long wooden tables were occupied with groups drinking and eating together. At one table, Malloy saw a few wolves, a deer, and a lynx poring over a map and making a plan for a raid; at another, a reedy squirrel was idly sharpening his dagger while talking with a coyote; a burly bull and a massive, dark green-skinned orc at another table were arm wrestling and had drawn a crowd, many of whom were yelling words of encouragement while others were frantically placing bets. As Malloy made his way to the bar where the barmen were loudly trading quips with their guests, he passed other tables where patrons were playing card and dice games, and the fox overheard comrades exchanging stories of their conquests in battle and in the bedroom.

"...time we was through with 'im, 'e was beggin' for us to take 'is gold!" an alligator laughed toothily.

"...telling you, it was as tight as a hangman's noose, and warm as a fresh-baked pie," a hyena was telling his audience at another table. "You want my advice, you find a way to get to The Painted Dog in Welphin..."

Malloy skirted around the waiters and busboys who scurried between the tables to either ferry fresh tankards of ale or clear away the scraps. Along the periphery, he noticed scantily-clad prostitutes--some boys, some girls--laughing and drinking with the bargoers while enticing them to an evening of pleasure.

"Oh, you can go as rough as you like, I enjoy a hard ride!" an otter said seductively as he reached into the lap of the tiger he'd latched onto.

"If you wanted to try the goods, all you had to do was ask!" a rabbit giggled while a grinning Dobermann roughly fondled her breast.

One of the whores--a raccoon no older than himself, by the glimpse that Malloy could catch of him--had simply crawled under the table and was already blatantly giving his badger patron a blowjob. Next to the huffing and groaning badger sat an orc, who was laughing heartily as he slapped his neighbor approvingly on the back. Malloy's cock twitched in his breeches and his heart hammered excitedly in his chest as he lingered for just an extra second, taking in the scene; while he couldn't see the badger's member under the table, he could just barely make out the gagging, choking, and slobbering of the raccoon every time his nose slid into sight as it buried itself in the badger's crotch. Malloy grinned; now that looked like a bar activity he'd need to partake in tonight. Maybe after a few drinks and some dancing, though--the night was young, and he didn't want to take too much business from the prostitutes this early on in the evening.

Malloy pushed further onward, sidling around the larger groups gathered around their tables. As he passed them by, he took note of the fact that nearly everyone in The Crooked Fang was armed and had the grizzled, battle-hardened look customary of marauders and mercenaries--scars, dented and scuffed armor, the stains and muck that clung to their clothes, the rank smell of having been on the road for weeks without a bath...it all made Malloy lust even more ardently for a life away from the stiff, prim, propriety of the royal court. Yes, the life of a prince had its benefits, but Malloy marveled at the freedom all around him; the people here had no great burdens hanging over them, and they didn't have to concern themselves with causing any offense or starting any kind of international incident. Malloy envied and admired them because they carried themselves with an effortless callousness that he could only sparingly indulge in. Well, tonight and tomorrow would be his opportunity to indulge yet again.

As a leopard turned with three tankards of ale and stepped away from the bar, Malloy took his place next to the bartop, where a bison stood behind the taps.

"What'll ya have?" the bison asked gruffly.

"Pint of ale, please," Malloy requested as he reached into his coin purse and produced a few coppers.

The bison stared hard at the fox for a moment, and Malloy felt his heart rise in his throat. Had the bartender recognized him? Yes, it wasn't the best of disguises, but he could have passed for any one of the thousands of other foxes roaming the city, right?

Malloy gulped nervously as the bartender's eyes narrowed...then the bison shrugged to himself before he swept the coins from the bar and into his apron pocket. The bartender than grabbed a pewter tankard from the shelf and held it under the ale tap before passing the full mug across the bar.

Relieved that he hadn't been confronted about his identity, Malloy, in a rush of nerves, grabbed his tankard, lifted it to his lips, and chugged...and chugged...and chugged. The cool, fizzy, malt beer easily went down his throat as he guzzled mouthful after mouthful, and a few stray trickles dripped from the corners of his mouth and trailed along his neck. But the fox kept drinking as if it were water, tilting his head back farther and farther...until he finally swigged down the last vestiges and slammed the tankard back on the bartop. Malloy belched while the beer settled in his stomach, and sighed contentedly before glancing back at the bison, whose eyebrows had risen while his lips twisted up into a half-amused smirk.

"Planning for a fun night?" the bison asked.

"Something like that," Malloy snickered. He held out his empty tankard. "Can I get another?"

The bison tilted his head as he appraised Malloy...then chuckled. "Alright, kid...careful though, it's strong stuff," he said as he took the tankard back from Malloy and refilled it.

Malloy slapped another three coppers on the bar. "I'll try to keep my head," the fox said with a wink. "Although I might end up giving some head before the end of the night."

"Heh...if the urge strikes, let me know--after seeing you chug that first ale, I think I'd enjoy having you behind the bar with me," the bison said teasingly as he placed the freshly filled tankard on the bartop.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be back," the fox said, grinning as he raised his tankard.

The bison smirked and collected the copper coins before turning to his next customer, and Malloy stepped away from the bar--he took a moment to collect himself and shake off the momentary panic of nearly being recognized. Fortunately the bartender hadn't figured him out, but that was close...close enough to get his blood pumping and make him want to drink and dance even more.

To attend to the first of his desires, Malloy clutched his tankard as he meandered around the edge of the tavern, taking his time to simply observe and drink. He padded over by the shadowy booths lining the walls, sidestepping other patrons as he made his way around the large hall. As he drank from his second tankard of ale, the fox watched the other bargoers dance to another jaunty melody, kicking their heels and swinging arm-in-arm around each other merrily, while he overheard snippets of secretive dealings in the booths that he passed.

"I need him in one piece for what I have planned," a boar was saying to a lion--the lion grunted as he noisily tore into a roast. "If so much as a finger is missing..."

"That's half right now; you'll receive the other half when the job's finished," a cloaked figure rasped to a wolf sitting across from him.

"When Tarkov moves, that's when we strike; Elba will flank him from the west, forcing him to the river. Vizaresh and Avashi will handle his retinue, while Brechten will go for him at close range, with me on the east bank for long range support," a kangaroo was telling his team of a marten, two iguanas, and a rhinoceros.

As Malloy drank, he gradually tuned out the fragments of conversation and focused more on the bards that had joined the band. The fox settled down on a stool in a nook adjacent to the dance floor where he could watch the dancers, and his feet tapped in time with the rhythm while he listened to songs of high adventure that transitioned to wishful ballads, which morphed into ditties focused on bawdy humor.

Tipsy after making it halfway through his second tankard, Malloy soon found himself laughing along with the rest of the crowd about Count Yoris, who couldn't get his cock up for his wife but got an erection that lasted for four days after his gardener fucked him; the fox nearly busted a gut when the bards launched into the tale of Saint Farkas, who was canonised because he fisted the king; and he almost slid out of his chair, dying of laughter, when he heard the song about the Duchess of Oxam, who lost her vagina and couldn't find it for a week, which meant she had to spend that week trying household objects as substitute vaginas before the Duke of Oxam revealed that he'd found his wife's real bits among the stable boy's possessions.

By the time Malloy drained the last drops from his second tankard, the room was starting to subtly wobble from side to side; the bartender had been right, that ale was strong! Then again, the fox had learned long ago that he was a lightweight, and it didn't help that he just couldn't seem to build up any kind of tolerance, but this beer was especially potent; it was a pleasant inebriation, one that wouldn't have him on the floor, but certainly one that made it more difficult to walk in a straight line and keep his mouth in check. While he tried to focus on a fixed point in the tavern so he wouldn't feel too dizzy, Malloy was still giggling to himself while the band took a break; he'd almost forgotten about his upcoming tour, and he wore a jocular (albeit vacant) smile while he absently tapped his fingers and toes against the seat and supports of his stool. Simply put, he was in a good mood, happy and content...save for one thing.

He wanted to dance!

Malloy could feel the urge in his bones--while the bits and pieces of conversations and rowdy laughter he heard were all well and good, he wanted some music! He wanted to move, to have a rhythm guide him in his merriment, to be enraptured by a beat and show off his footwork.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. After a round of drinks and some brief conversation, the moose with the lute, the rat with the fiddle, and the kobold with the flute returned to the small stage that had been erected by the dance floor; Malloy saw that they'd been joined by a goat with a bodhran and a puma with a pair of spoons. The fox sat up in his stool, his tail swishing in anticipation as the musicians readied their instruments...and then struck up a rapid tune.

The tavern seemed to come to life as music filled the air and patrons rushed the dance floor, and Malloy excitedly hopped off his stool, leaving his empty tankard behind as he scrambled to join the fray.

"Heee-up! Hah! Come on, you scabs, move with feeling!" the moose whooped to the crowd over the energetic music.

Malloy didn't need telling twice; his heart was drumming while his paws pounded the worn wooden boards, and he shook his hips while he took a stranger's hands and twirled back and forth against them before careening away into the throng. The rat played his fiddle with gusto, riling up the dancers before giving way to the kobold on the flute, who carried the crowd into ever higher spirits as his rhythmic notes soared through the smoky air. Malloy couldn't help but smile like a loon--both the ale and music had him laughing and yowling in delight while he danced among the rough and riotous commoners who, like him, were simply there to cut loose and enjoy themselves.

He occasionally bumped up against other dancers, letting his loose hands fleetingly cop a feel of a waist or an ass while other unknown hands carelessly traced across his thighs and torso in turn, which elicited more laughter from the fox--dances like these would be unthinkable in the halls of Reinmacht Palace, where royal protocol and proper manners reigned supreme. But here, Malloy could take advantage of the fact that there were no rules, no constraints, no royal viziers or aides watching his every carefully-choreographed step--he could move however he wanted, shake whatever body part he desired, twirl and leap and jump with his own style, touch who and where he wanted to touch, and he could be touched by anyone, anywhere. What a novel concept that was!

The band was in full swing, with the musicians interchangeably dueling amongst themselves and supporting each others' melodies. And while the music continued unabated, the lithe fox whirled around and pivoted from arm to arm as if he was swinging from tree branches--there was a sturdy elk who winked at him, a weasel who grinned at him from the other end of their hooked arms, an otter who helped swing him around to an ocelot to a hare to a tegu...as the ale took greater hold of him, Malloy lost track of who he danced with while faces and arms blurred together. His arms and legs seemed to move on their own, and there were moments when he was gyrating with a series of strangers while several others were swirling around him as they dragged their fingers across his backside.

Eventually, as the music reached a crescendo and then swooped into a boisterous tavern tune, Malloy let himself be swept up by the crowd as they surged in, with dancers revolving around each other in a frenzy, before everyone spread out again, clapping and stomping their feet on the floor as they separated into two columns, forming an empty space between them. Malloy, cheering and whistling with his compatriots, watched as individuals and couples broke free from one end of the columns and spun and twirled in between them, making their way up to the opposite ends of the lines. One pair did a fast-paced jig while a solo dancer spun like a top from side to side of the empty space; others acrobatically leapt, turned cartwheels, or hopped their way down the aisle, while still more kicked their heels while clapping in time with the music. All the while, the two columns stepped down to replace the empty spaces left behind by the dancers before they rejoined the lines.

Malloy grunted when he felt a hard elbow prod his side. "Wha--?"

"Go on, boy, your turn!" growled the leopard who had nudged him.

Malloy laughed--he'd made it to the front of the line without paying attention. Stepping in time with the beat of the bodhran that the goat was banging and the spoons the puma played on his knee, Malloy spun out of the line and into the empty aisle, criss-crossing from side to side. As he did so, he arched his back and jumped in the air before landing in front of one man...then another...then another, and another. For each deer, wolf, lion, bull, otter, wolverine, and everyone else that he stopped before, Malloy made a show of running his hands along his sides and between his thighs, putting on a lascivious display and earning rounds of laughter and encouraging hoots of pleasure.

"Looks like this one wants to do more than just dance, boys!" the moose playing the lute called, to the laughter and approving whistles of the crowd. "Oy kid! Think you might have a few men interested in claiming you for a wife!"

Malloy giggled, although the moose had a point; while some of the men he danced in front of simply winked and grinned at him, others seductively licked their lips and wagged their tongues at him, while more of them reached out to playfully tap the tip of his nose, rub the top of his head, or cup his waist and attempt to pull him into their grasp...only for Malloy to teasingly spin away from them again on his way down the aisle.

"Well, now there's something we don't see every night!" the moose hollered while still strumming his lute--instead of rejoining the back of the line like the dancers before him, Malloy went beyond the dance floor and used an empty bench as a stepping stool to step up onto an occupied table, surprising the ram, orc, skunk, and capybara who were seated around it. "Give 'em a good show, boy!"

Malloy twirled on the tabletop, managing to sidestep the plates and tankards on it while the men gathered around the table clapped and cheered. The fox couldn't help it, the music was just too good and the ale was too strong for him to stop. After swaying his hips and making a display of swishing his tail around, Malloy bent down and winked as he tenderly cupped the ram's chin before turning to the orc and tracing a teasing finger along the bulky brute's strong jawline; behind him, Malloy felt a hand alight on his ankle and lower calf, simply to feel his leg and gently squeeze right above his foot. The fox yipped ecstatically as he twisted and turned on the wooden table...and then leapt to the next table, where a horse, a wolf, a bull, and a hyena welcomed him with appreciative howls and applause.

Malloy indulged them with the same treatment he had given the first table, tapping his feet while spinning around and stroking his audiences' shoulders and chests or affectionately patting the tops of their heads. In return, he felt strong hands cop a feel of his ass and stroke over the seat of his pants, while a couple particularly bold hands reached up between his legs and rubbed his crotch. Malloy felt the heat rise in his cheeks, not of embarrassment or impropriety, but of drunken desire and tipsy excitement. He lightly thrust into the hands cupping his crotch, helping his audience feel his chubbing cock and letting them know just how much he enjoyed their attention, before...

A loud whooping call caught Malloy's ear, and he looked at the next table over--a beaver, a tiger, a couple lizards, a boar, and an ox were waving and gesturing for him to come to their table. Unable to resist, Malloy laughed as he leapt onto their table and gave them a dance, showing off the sway of his hips as he thrust them back and forth before turning round on the table to give everyone an equal, tantalizing view of his rump. More large, strong hands cupped his cheeks and reached between his legs, gripping his thighs before moving up to the bulge forming in his crotch. Even in his tipsy revelry, Malloy could see the lustful grins plastered on his audiences' faces, and as he danced, the fox devilishly unhooked the lower buttons on his shirt, letting the loose fabric fall open further to reveal his white-furred chest and stomach. Eager hands reached up from his waist and rubbed over his stomach, getting into his shirt, enticing him to shrug it off...

"Hooo-up! And that's our break! Thank you very much, and thank your extra entertainment!"

The music had stopped, and the moose's voice sounded as if it had been coming from three blocks away. Malloy looked around; he'd almost forgotten himself, and he'd almost stopped hearing the music while he'd been carried away by his dancing. But he grinned as nearly everyone in the tavern, at the moose's direction, was clapping, whistling, and cheering...for him! From everyone lingering on the dance floor to the groups around the tables, so many eyes were staring at him, watching him, appraising him...

Well, there was his "low profile" gone, but fuck it, he was having fun! So what if he was the center of attention? At least he was being the center of attention on his own terms and not being paraded around like some show pony by royal advisors. And he might as well take advantage of this particular attention--his supply of copper coins would buy him only so many drinks, after all.

"Thank you, thank you!" he called to the clapping bar patrons before taking a bow. As he rose again, he called, "If you want to see me dance some more, buy me an ale!"

He earned a good round of laughter from the tavern for his terms, but by the time Malloy hopped down from the table and made his way to the bar again, five patrons had already lined up with full tankards for him. At first, Malloy was shocked at the quantity of drinks, but when he suddenly realized how dry his throat was and how much he'd exhausted himself from his vigorous dancing...

One empty tankard became two while a friendly orc genially rubbed the side of Malloy's fluffy face, and Malloy felt himself getting lightheaded from the strong ale.

Two became three as the generous oryx sponsoring his next drink held him in a side hug and patted his rump; Malloy leaned into the oryx for support while he tilted the tankard upward, guzzling the ale while the man brazenly groped his ass and whispered in his ear about the terrible and wonderful things he could do to the fox.

Three became four while a particularly handsy rabbit elicited giggles and laughter from Malloy in between sips of ale; the fox gurgled and spluttered on his drink, doing his best not to spill any as the large man roughly nuzzled, kissed, and nibbled along the side of his neck, and his broad hands dipped into the fox's loose-hanging shirt, teasingly dancing over his belly and swirling around his navel. Malloy had to lean against the bar while his headrush grew stronger, bypassing the buzzing numbness of tipsy and going straight to the dizziness of drunk.

And four became five as Malloy seductively waggled his eyebrows over the brim of his last tankard at the warthog who was approaching with a grin on his face; it took Malloy a second to recognize the warthog as one of the bards from earlier--in fact, the bard who sang about the duchess of Oxam. Caught by surprise, the prince hastily gulped the final drops of ale and belched before wiping his still-dripping lips on the back of his hand.

"I was hopin' to cash you, I...I loved hearin' you sing!" Malloy gaily slurred breathlessly--he wasn't at the point where speech was impossible, but his tongue had loosened considerably.

"Ah, you're kind!" the warthog replied, his eyes sparkling. He heartily clapped Malloy on the shoulder as he went on, "Although you're the one I wanted to catch--you were something else when you were dancing! Think you'd be up to another song?"

"Hehe, maybe! S...start playin' and I'll...see what I can do!"

The warthog winked at him. "Give us a few while we set up. I think you're going to like this one."

Malloy watched as the warthog made his way back to the stage and conferred with the musicians for a few minutes...then the goat on the bodhran began striking his drum, signaling to the crowd that another song was about to begin.

The warthog opened his mouth, and Malloy, still leaning against the bar, listened, entranced as the bard began a frenetic aria about a young man in Rivius. The man was of exceptional beauty, as if the gods themselves had sculpted him from the finest clay and breathed life into him, and with his spirit came an insatiable appetite for trouble--he simply couldn't stay out of one mess or another. When the people of Rivius ultimately ran him out of town, he found his way onto a merchant's ship, intending to sail the seas in search of adventure. Malloy was ensnared by the story and the melody, and he tapped his feet on the floor in time with the music, while most of the tavern sat spellbound by the bard's tune.

The music picked up in tempo while the warthog continued to sing about how the young man had no coin to pay for his passage, but the crew of the ship was of a like mind when they saw the beautiful man and considered what kind of compensation they could get from him. Malloy grinned--drunk as he was, he knew exactly where the story was leading.

And so, the fox took the change in key as his cue to push away from the bar and clamber onto a nearby table, to the collective glee of the orc, kobold, tigers, and civet who were seated around it. Their cheers and applause caught the attention of the rest of the tavern, and Malloy smirked as all eyes latched onto him. Other patrons whooped and hollered when he, sultry dancer that he was, twirled and spun on the table.

Meanwhile, the warthog began singing about how the ship's captain took the young man to his finest passenger cabin and stripped him of his clothes before throwing him on the bed and fucking him throughout his first night aboard. As the warthog described how tender, soft, and eager the young man was to accept the captain within him, Malloy sank to his knees and arched his back, displaying his flexibility while hands reached across the table and traced over his spread thighs, grabbed and batted his bushy tail, and playfully clutched his exposed toes and paws. The fox giggled as he felt the calloused finger pads on his own comparatively soft beans.

The warthog went on, laughter evident in his voice as he sang; when dawn broke, the captain emerged from the cabin, utterly bewitched by his night with the young man, but he gave way to his first mate, who had been waiting outside of the cabin door the whole time. As the song continued, Malloy pushed himself up to his feet--thrusting his rump in the orc's face as he did so--and leapt to another table, where he began dancing for a new audience. He sank to his hands and knees, teasing and tempting an alligator to kiss him before turning his attention to a cheetah who watched him with wide, glimmering eyes. The fox rolled onto his back and pedaled his legs in the air, showing off the soles of his paws before resting his feet on a bull's broad shoulders--the bull laughed and delicately plucked at Malloy's toes, playing with them before softly kissing them, his velvety lips tickling the tops of the fox's paws. Meanwhile, Malloy supported himself with his hands, thrusting his stomach up into the air and grinning upside down and backwards at the horse opposite him. The whole time, the warthog sang about how the young man from Rivius was passed around the ship's crew while they sailed up and down the coast...before the man began independently inviting cremembers into his cabin. The man soon took others into his chamber as they stopped at different ports, selling his body and time to comfort lonely, needy men, from dockworkers to captains to earls to kings, and it didn't take long for him to be known as The Whore of Rivius.

Malloy rose to his feet again, swishing his tail around and brushing it against cheeks and chests while he cavorted about from table to table, leaping every few minutes from one group of men who pawed at him to another. As the warthog sang further about The Whore of Rivius's exploits, the fox offered more and more of himself. He swayed from side to side, kicked his legs and crouched down low, and eventually shook out of his shirt completely to dance with it as if it were a veil.

While he pivoted and spun, Malloy resonated with the song, embodying the whore's actions through dance as best as he could. Topless, the fox used his shirt to teasingly hide his body before flashing his bare torso, accentuate the subtle curves of his thighs, or loop it around the neck of a patron and pulling them in closer, enabling them to huff his crotch or his paws. One lion he reeled in with his shirt shoved his open mouth against the sole of Malloy's outstretched paw and languidly licked the fox's exposed pads, dragging his rough tongue across the soft skin as he slurped, and earning a giggle and shudder from Malloy.

He sank to his knees again and again before flipping onto his back or gracefully rolling up onto his feet and shaking his hips as he spread his legs. Malloy lost count of how many hands reached between his limbs to feel him up, how times his ass was groped, how many times his balls had been swatted through his pants, how many times his now-firmly erect cock had been rubbed, and how many times his paws had been teased and grabbed. The room swirled in a whirlpool of light, clapping hands, music, and smoke, and the fox was simply in a state of bliss as he kept dancing and dancing...until, finally...

"Thank you! And thank The Whore of Rivius!" the warthog bellowed to the thunderous applause and foot stomping when the song ended. He gestured at Malloy, who had worked his way to the front of the tavern, holding his shirt limply in one hand while he extended his other arm skyward, displaying his armpit and side to the crowd.

Malloy's stomach heaved as he caught his breath, and he took a bow while the crowd cheered...before settling as the band began to play a more mellow tune and relax the atmosphere of the tavern. Malloy, still panting, grinned over at the warthog, who smiled as he gave him a mocking salute and a nod of thanks before turning back to chat with another one of the bards by the stage. While the rest of the tavern began talking and laughing amongst themselves again, the fox shrugged back into his shirt, which he left unbuttoned, and began making his way back to the bar, feeling particularly parched after so much time dancing. Along the way, a few hands clapped him on the shoulder and cupped his ass while their owners passed on their gratitude for the entertainment he'd provided. Malloy turned to give his own thanks in return, losing track of where he was headed and not paying attention to the patrons in his path...

"Oh! Sorry...'scuse me," Malloy mumbled apologetically to a lynx he'd bumped into in front of the bar.

The tall feline wore a silver breastplate and chainmail, and had a sword and a few daggers hanging from his waist--he was clearly a soldier for hire, and a well-paid one, judging by the condition of his armor. Either that, or he'd stolen everything brand new from someone.

"Ah! Should've been watching..." The snarling lynx trailed off as he squinted at Malloy, looking closer at the fox. "Wait...don't I know you from somewhere?"

Malloy was too drunk to say anything more than a bleary, "Huh?" He stood still while someone jostled him from behind.

The lynx tilted his head. "Yeah...you're someone I know...it's on the tip of my tongue..."

Malloy blinked...then cold, sobering panic gripped his gut as he realized that this soldier more than likely knew exactly who he was...and how much he would be worth...

The fox gulped--his tongue was too loose and suddenly too tied with nerves to try talking his way out of this or redirecting the lynx's attention.

"Wha...I..."

A heavy hand slammed down on his shoulder, nearly making Malloy's knees buckle--jolted from his panic, the fox looked up to see a burly, muscled Kodiak bear standing just behind him. The man had to be well over 6 and a half feet tall, and he wore a leather breastplate that covered only his chest, leaving his barrel-like, brown-furred stomach on full display. His belly lightly hung over the waist of his leather breeches, the steel codpiece over his groin, and the belt holding his warhammer and three long knives in their scabbards. In addition to his upper body armor, the bear wore a large, scuffed leather pauldron over his left shoulder, and Malloy was surprised to see that he also wore a pair of thick, wide boots that were adorned with steel caps over the toes. A few visible scars criss-crossed the bear's bulky arms and his tan, grizzled snout, and Malloy spotted a leather patch over the man's right eye, as well as a hefty metal stud piercing his right ear and a girthy ring through his septum. And this bear's meaty paw--which looked strong enough to rip a tree apart--rested on Malloy's shoulder, while the thick fingers were gently, though possessively, curling around the side of the fox's neck.

"Was wondering where you'd gotten to, Jannik!" the bear said loudly, his voice gruff and rich, like smoldering cedar and hot iron that had been slathered in honey. Malloy did a double-take when he realized the bear had addressed him as Jannik--the large man who towered over him then spoke to the lynx. "Did you watch him dance?" he asked, chuckling as he went on, "Doesn't he make for a good Whore of Rivius?"

The lynx spluttered, taken aback and confused. "Wait, I..." He paused, looking between Malloy and the bear. Malloy felt his heart in his throat while the bear coolly stared back at the lynx, as if daring him to continue. The feline held still for another moment, clicked his tongue, then shrugged. "Must've been thinking of someone else." He nodded at the bear as he took his leave, stalking off to his table.

Malloy exhaled for what felt like the first time as his heart dropped back down into his chest, and he relaxed in the bear's grip.

"Heh, hope you don't mind," the bear growled as he squeezed Malloy's shoulder. "Had my eye on you for a while and wanted first dibs 'fore that lynx got his claws in you."

"I...oh! No, don't mind at all," Malloy replied, catching onto the bear's meaning. He relaxed further, leaning against the wall of fur and muscle as he flirtatiously (and drunkenly) asked, "So, you enjoyed the show?"

The bear chuckled. "Kid, I've been to six countries, ain't none of them had a dancer like you. Helps that you had the right music for it, too.

Malloy giggled. "It was...lot of fun jus' lettin' go an' bein' The Whore of Rivius for a while."

"Oh, it looked like more than just fun to me," the bear snickered, reaching down with his free paw to pat the fox's crotch. Malloy softly gasped and smirked when he felt the paddle-like hand jostle his hard cock and plump balls in his breeches. "Got me wanting to see you dance even more, that's for sure."

Malloy smiled as he rolled his head to the side, grinning almost stupidly up at the bear. "Yeah? Well, after tha' dance I jus' did...I'm gonna need another drink firs'. M'thirsty."

The massive ursine chuckled again. "Oh, don't you worry, that can be arranged."

After securing a fresh tankard of ale for Malloy, the bear steered the fox around the back of the bar and to a booth in the corner that wasn't as well-lit as the rest of the tavern. "Here, we can get you a drink in privacy after all that attention you got earlier," the bear rumbled as he guided the stumbling fox.

Malloy practically tumbled into the cushioned seat, but he managed to hold his tankard upright as he repositioned himself in the booth, and he scooted into the corner as the bear--rather than sit on the opposite side of the table--slid onto the bench seat next to him, nearly squashing him with his bulk. The bear grunted as he made himself fit in the tight space; he leaned in and draped a meaty arm over Malloy's shoulders, intimately drawing the fox in closer to himself, before leaning back against the wooden wall of the booth.

Through the smell of ale, Malloy could make out the hints of leather and earthy soil that mixed with the bear's naturally musky body odor; the fox got a good whiff just from his host's open armpit next to him, and the aroma was nearly as intoxicating as the alcohol he was gulping from his tankard.

"Now, where to start...probably with introductions, eh?" the bear said as he settled in the booth. "Name's Grif...take it you're not really Jannik, though, huh?"

Malloy smiled as he gulped another mouthful of ale, then replied, "Nice to meet ya. Well...I could be Jannik if you want me to be...no problem wi' that!"

Grif chuckled and nodded. "Well, 'Jannik'," he began sarcastically, "what's a cute young thing like you doing in a place like this? Don't get too many pretty boys in The Crooked Fang...'less their whores, but you don't seem like the type. Well, not the type who works for money," he clarified as he glanced down at the disheveled and drinking fox.

Malloy swallowed another draught before he answered, "Oh, I jus' came for some fun's all. See, I'm goin' away in a couple days...leavin' town for a long while...wanted to have a lil' a'venture 'fore shippin' out..."

"And you thought The Crooked Fang would be a good place for that?" Grif snickered. "You've seen who's here, haven't you?"

Malloy shrugged. "S'got good ale...tha's what matters to me," he sighed lazily before taking another sip from his tankard.

Grif's large stomach trembled as he chortled, and his warm breath washed down over the smaller fox. "And you're doing a good job of putting it away."

Malloy put the half-empty tankard down on the table and belched; his stomach was so full and he needed to piss, but he couldn't just up and leave his host--it would be rude, wouldn't it? Instead, he asked, "And wha' 'bout you? What brings you here?"

Grif scratched his chin as he replied, "Ah, between jobs at the moment, staying here will I look for the next one. Being a mercenary's hard work, always have to be on the lookout for a well-paying job, never in the same place for long..."

"Mus' be hard to put down roots, huh?"

The bear shrugged. "It's more about the creature comforts for me," he said. "But there are perks, like seeing good dancers like you shake your tail," he added, squeezing Malloy's shoulder.

Mally guffawed and waved his hand. "Oh...psshaw, I don' know 'bout goooood."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short!" the bear said earnestly, leaning down to tickle Malloy's ear with his lips. "I wasn't lying when I said I haven't seen a better dancer in six countries--you've got the talent and the looks for it."

"R-really?" Malloy's heart fluttered from Grif's warm words and the ale making him even more susceptible to flattery.

"Those hips, those paws, those eyes--all perfect," Grif continued, his tone dripping like molten chocolate all over Malloy's body. "You'd make a fortune in the whorehouses of Khemstra, just from the way you move your hips...the way you tease everyone, making them beg for more..."

"Aw...no, you're jus' sayin' that," the fox playfully as he batted his eyes and smiled abashedly, while under the table his foot slid over Grif's boot to rest on top of the strong leather. Having this kind of attention, this bear essentially fawning over him...it wasn't often that he was on the receiving end of such heavy-handed flirting. More frequently than not, he was the one putting the moves on men before stealing away to some alley and dropping his trousers for them.

"Are you kiddin'? You saw how many of those boys out there were eating out of the palm of your hand, didn't you?" Grif chortled. "They couldn't get enough of you, kid! You're just...irresistible," he breathed, raising his hand to gently stroke the top of Malloy's head and fondle his ears.

The fox shuddered in delight as he nearly melted from the bear's attention.

"Although...you'd probably rather have all those men eating out your ass, eh?" Grif quipped gruffly as he playfully shook Malloy by the shoulder.

The drunken prince giggled and leaned in closer to the bear's side. "Aw, well..."

"Or would you rather be eating out their asses like a good Whore of Rivius?" The bear's voice went deeper, huskier, a seductive and domineering growl.

The fox sniggered. "Maybe a lil' bit of both!"

"Yeah? Well, I've got a room--just over there, actually," Grif noted, pointing at one of the closed doors along the wall of the tavern. "How about you come back with me for a more...private show?" He wistfully twirled a finger through the messy fur on Malloy's head as he enticingly continued, "I can pay you properly for your dancing...and we can make things in there a little more fun than out here?"

Malloy squirmed as the bear's free hand roughly dug in past his waistband under the table...and sighed contentedly when he felt the warm fur of Grif's mitt against his groin before stiffening and thrusting up into the fist that the bear formed with his fingers. The fox shuddered as Grif's rough pads slid over his cock while the ursine's thick digits wrapped around the stiff, throbbing column of his cock and squeezed, holding him in place. The bear's voice sank even lower, tantalizing Malloy with a soft, tempting baritone that only he could hear as Grif crooned in his ear, "I could eat out of the palm of your hand...before you let me eat out your tail...and then we can see how good of a little ass-eater you are, eh?"

The fox didn't stand a chance.

"Mmmhmm," he weakly whimpered before huffing, "L-lead the way!"

Malloy allowed himself to be pulled out of the booth, leaving his unfinished tankard behind. While his cock still formed an obvious tent in his breeches, the prince's knees wobbled in drunken excitement as he lackadaisically followed the giant bear, who dragged him by the hand. Grif led the way to the door he'd pointed out, until he and Malloy reached the threshold, and the bear laid a hand on the knob...then twisted, but kept the door closed.

"Alright, kid, in ya go!"

In a flash, Grif yanked open the door, bodily tossed Malloy through, and swept in behind him, snapping the door shut again. Malloy, drunkenly tripping over his own feet and disoriented by how fast and forcefully Grif had thrown him, was almost too stunned to process the three pairs of hands that immediately caught him, as if they'd been lying in wait. Malloy struggled, but the orc, wolf, and hyena who grabbed him were too strong; their hands locked around his wrists and ankles before, in unison, they hoisted him into the air, grunted as they carried him a short distance, and then slammed him down onto an oak table, knocking the wind out of the fox.

"Guh!" Malloy gasped, dazed by the sudden impact--it took him another moment to process the fact that the six hands had already released him and a pale red glow began to illuminate the room, with the light angled in a way that made it look like...it was radiating out from under him?

Malloy squirmed, but he couldn't sit up or roll from side to side by more than a few inches. He swiveled his head up and down, looking wildly around him...and then he saw the glowing runes carved into the table. The whole arrangement etched into the wooden surface was like a magical snare, binding him not with ropes or chains, but with thaumaturgic intent. Malloy was utterly stuck with his legs spread apart and his arms raised above his head.

"Hey! What the--lemme up! Lemme u--ffff!" Malloy couldn't get more than that out, as Grif violently yanked off the fox's left toeless sock, balled it up, and stuffed it into the prince's mouth. Malloy grunted indignantly, although the drunk and depraved part of himself couldn't deny that he enjoyed the pungent tang of paw sweat and musk soaking into his taste buds and wafting into nostrils.

"You know, when I first saw you here, I almost couldn't believe it," Grif said smugly as he stepped around the table to leer down at Malloy. In the background, the orc, wolf, and hyena retreated to their positions by the glowing fireplace while Grif, dominating the helpless fox's attention, continued, "I bet I had you going for a while there, eh? Pretending not to know who you were..."

The bear reached forward and placed his hand on Malloy's vulnerable crotch...and the fox moaned through his sock when Grif's paw clenched hard around his balls, squeezing them through his breeches. Malloy curled his toes and whimpered in pain as the pressure increased...then plateaued to a constant ache when Grif held his grip steady.

"No...no, I know exactly who I've got by the balls: His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Malloy," Grif declared, grinning deviously. In the red glare of the table's binding spell, the bear looked almost demonic, as if he'd emerged from the flames of the underworld itself to capture Malloy, and the fox squirmed uselessly against his restraints. Grif chuckled at his captive's futile attempts while he began pulsing his grip on Malloy's testicles, squeezing harder and easing off, squeezing harder and easing off, and he heaved a theatrical sigh as he continued, "Although you're not gonna be that by the time I'm done with you."

Malloy winced and pathetically whimpered every time the bear bore down on his crown jewels, but his cock throbbed intensely in spite of the pain...or perhaps because of the pain.

Grif, however, leaned down closer, getting in Malloy's face as he went on, "You know, you're either very brave or incredibly stupid for coming to a place like this--if everyone here caught on to who you really were, half of them would want you impaled on their spears...and the other half would want you impaled on their cocks."

Malloy looked up at Grif, pleading with his eyes, hopeful, begging.

The bear grinned even wider, even more...sadistically. "Lucky for you, I'm in the latter half," he crooned, almost soothingly, but there was no comfort in his smile, and no warmth behind his eyes, save for the hot, almost hateful lust that burned within them. "I can't wait to make you squeal like the little bitch you are when I start fucking you. And you're gonna love every second of it, I promise. But before I can use you for that," he noted as he finally released Malloy's balls and roughly patted his crotch once more, "I've got just a few things to do to you."

Malloy's eyes widened in fear as Grif glared down at him, the malice so clear behind his grin and his gaze that the boy started squirming again; it was a nervous writhing at first, but when Grif moved around to the head of the table and began tugging on Malloy's sleeves to pull his shirt off, the fox thrashed hard in his restraints. Yes, he'd been caught, but this was nothing like what he'd secretly fantasized about--in his imagined scenarios, he would have been loosely tied up by some handsome ruffian who whispered sweetly in his ear while taking what he wanted. But this...this was almost too much. He wanted to get out of here, he wanted Grif to slow down, to let him up, he wanted--

"That's enough, boy!"

"Mmf!" Malloy grunted as the heavy paw smacked him in the face, dazing him.

Shocked and feeling like his brain had been scrambled from the blunt impact, Malloy fell still, but he groaned through his improvised gag.

"You like that? Have another for good measure," Griff rumbled from above.

WHAM!

Malloy's head flailed to the side and his muzzle banged painfully against the wooden table under him--Grif's broad palm was like a wooden oar that had whacked him in the skull. The fox's cheek and jaw stung, but that was nothing compared to the overwhelming, dull ache in his head. Stunned, all Malloy could do was weakly blink the stars out of his eyes, and he was dimly aware of the strong jerks and tugs on his upper half while Grif relieved him of his shirt.

"No need for this," the bear grunted while he roughly yanked the fox's shirt up from his torso and his sleeves off of his stretched arms. When Grif pulled the shirt completely off of Malloy, he threw the garment over to the orc, who then unceremoniously tossed it into the fireplace to burn.

The bear then tutted playfully as he walked around the table again, dragging his fingers down Malloy's neck and his exposed chest and stomach. "Ah, such a handsome little fox...but not too bright, eh? It's no wonder how you ended up in a place like this."

Malloy huffed; despite his fear, he was aroused at the sensation of Grif teasingly walking his fingers down from his belly button to his waist. The bear tapped on the clasp of the prince's belt as he continued, "You'd think that someone would have taught you about the dangerous places you shouldn't go to, but I'd say you were just determined to find a way here...where anyone could do anything they wanted to you," Grif added as he drew his hands down along Malloy's legs...until he reached the open end of the fox's remaining toeless sock and tapped the fox's curled toes for a moment.

"You're lucky I nabbed you," the massive bear growled before he reached forward to grip the thick sock; he yanked hard, jerking the sock off of Malloy's paw and calf. "Someone else would be doing something so much worse."

Malloy, regaining his senses, but still too tired, dazed, drunk--and now intrigued--to struggle against his magical restraints, could only watch as Grif tossed his sock to the orc, who passed it into the flames; Grif then adroitly drew a large, lethal-looking knife from one of the sheaths strapped to his waist. The fox gulped; Grif wasn't going to stab him, was he? Instinctive fear took over, and Malloy tried to push himself down against the table to get away from the bear as Grif leaned forward over him, reaching up between his legs. But Malloy wasn't going anywhere while his captor brought the blade closer and closer...and slid it under his belt and easily swiped up through the thick leather band.

Before Malloy could react, Grif expertly twirled the knife in his fingers and began cutting through his breeches with the finesse of a tailor. In what seemed like seconds, the bear had sliced the fox's pants to shreds and yanked them away, tossing them to the orc to add to the fire while leaving Malloy completely naked on the table for everyone to see.

Heat rose in the fox's cheeks as he squirmed, but there was no hiding his erection, which pointed stiffly upwards from his sheath and throbbed in the open air. His plump, white-furred balls hung between his yellow thighs, and he swished his tail nervously. Under different circumstances where he would have had a safe word, Malloy would have loved this kind of treatment--well, it seemed a part of him was still enjoying it, despite the peril.

"Aw, that's a cute little pole he's got," the hyena piped up as he leaned against the closed door. "Don't think he could do much with it, but it's still cute."

"Would make for a tasty snack," the wolf snickered from his vantage point in the corner.

"Heh, I'll keep that in mind," Grif chuckled as he stowed his knife again. He then reached forward and raked his claws along Malloy's obliques and thighs, rumbling, "But would you look at all that fur...could make a nice coat out of that, eh, boys?"

"I'd wanna use it to line my breeches, gonna be cold when we get up in the mountains," the heavyset, green-skinned orc noted from his spot next to the fireplace as he absently scratched his own crotch through his pants.

"Heh, think it'll keep your balls from freezing? Hmmm...yeah, I can see that working," Grif mused while he continued to luxuriate in the soft warmth of Malloy's fur for a moment longer. "Gonna be for the best, really; this little bitch's fur is way better suited to keeping those orc-makers cozy."

Grif paused, then chuckled and leered down at Malloy when he noticed the fox's questioning stare. "Ah, I'm getting a little ahead of myself--see, I'm gonna shave you down, boy."

Malloy's eyes widened and his stomach dropped in horror--he hadn't been expecting this, hadn't been wanting this at all. "Mmmm?" he groaned disbelievingly through his gag.

Grif smirked deviously as he straightened up. "Oh yeah...first thing I do to my cuntboys is shave 'em down."

The fox's heart hammered in his chest. Did he just hear the word "cuntboy?" Wait, did Grif mean...

"You don't need all that glossy fur," the bear continued nonchalantly. As he took his leave and stepped over to a trunk by the wall, Grif went on, "Been a while since my last boy, so I might be a little rusty shaving you, but it'll still be fun making you nice and smooth. Just gotta find..."

Helplessly bound to the table, Malloy watched the mountainous bear kneel in front of the trunk before opening it; Malloy strained his ears, listening to the bear rummage around within the chest for a moment.

"Ah, there you are! What do you think of this little beauty?" Grif said proudly as he stood, turned around, and displayed an oblong rod of obsidian that glinted in the light of the fire and lamps that illuminated the room. "Picked this up off a mage back in Merascus--shaves better than any razor, and completely stops hair and fur from growing back," Grif noted while he flicked his thumb over the glass-like obsidian; green runes flickered to life along the black rod, and green energy sparked and crackled on the steeply angled, knife-sharp end of the tool.

"Now...where to start...hmm, an armpit, your chest, your nuts..." Grif audibly debated with himself, passing the obsidian rod back and forth between his hands, clearly excited by the possibilities in front of him. His eyes roamed over Malloy's bound body...until his gaze landed on the crown of the fox's head, and he grinned devilishly. "Oh, I've got the perfect place for you to feel the razor first."

Malloy gulped and turned his head away from Grif as the bear approached, trying desperately to escape, but the runes on the table held firm. His chest fluttered from his panicked huffing through the gag in his mouth, and the next thing the fox felt was the bear's enormous hand sliding along from the nape of his neck, up over his skull, and to the top of his head. Grif's warm, thick, solid fingers roughly combed through the messy shock of fur on top of Malloy's cranium, almost comforting him...before they curled and dominantly grabbed a handful of hair between the fox's ears.

"Mmm!" Malloy whined as Gif pulled his fur taut, tugging painfully on his scalp; the fox was forced to yield, to turn back so he was looking up at the smirking bear.

"First cut's always the hardest for every cuntboy, but you'll get through it," Grif rumbled as he lowered the obsidian, magically-imbued razor to Malloy's head.

Malloy flinched when he felt the sharp edge press down on his skull, just at the base of his right ear. The razor hummed softly, not cutting anything yet...

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

The fox gasped through his gag and jolted when he heard the loud buzz as Griff began dragging the razor through the hank of fur he'd grabbed.

"Sshhh, ssshhhhh," Grif hushed while he continued drawing the razor from Malloy's right ear to the left, clipping a wide, neat row through the yellow fur, and exposing a swath of pale pink skin.

Initially, Malloy thought he should resist, cry out and sob, or at least whine more to voice his displeasure. But as he felt the buzzing razor smoothly scrape across his skin and effortlessly cleave through his fur...there was something oddly freeing about the whole notion of permanently losing his coat. Was it the idea of shedding his fine yellow and white fur that made him a royal? Was it the fact that he was being held down and had no choice but to be shorn? Malloy wasn't certain, but either way, if this was how Grif wanted him...then who was Malloy to resist? A prince? Not according to the bear who'd caught him. In his inebriated and aroused state, the fox was warming more and more to the notion of being this mercenary's bitch.

It was as if Grif could see the change happening in Malloy's mind. As he drew the razor across the fox's skull, the bear felt his captive slump after the initial jolt of fear. "That's it," Grif said soothingly. "You understand. This is what's supposed to happen to bitches like you." The razor's edge met the base of Malloy's left ear, and Grif drew the obsidian rod back--the loud buzzing softened to a quiet hum as soon as it stopped chewing through fur, and Grif surveyed his first pass. It was as if a neat, rectangular canyon had been carved across the fox's head. Grif dropped his handful of cut fur to the floor before he placed the flat of his palm on Malloy's bare skin.

Malloy shuddered and moaned as he felt the bear's rough pads on his exposed hide--such skin-to-skin contact was a level of intimacy he'd never imagined before, and his cock bobbed hard.

"No need to fight it," Grif growled, pressing down hard, possessively, before lifting his hand again. The bear glanced down at the fox's groin, where he saw the throbbing erection. "Seems you're enjoying yourself, eh?" he chuckled.

"Mmmm," Malloy moaned softly through his gag, his tongue absently rubbing against his damp sock for a fresh taste of his own musk and sweat.

"Heh, good bitch. Let's get to work on the rest of you, then."

Grif summoned the orc to the table, and the two of them bodily flipped Malloy over onto his stomach, exposing his backside. The fox's arms and legs remained immobile, however--it seemed that the runes on the table allowed for Grif and his associates to move their captive, but refused to let the captive move on his own, which was starting to suit Malloy just fine. Having accepted his situation, the fox stayed still, huffing giddily through his gag while Grif got to work.

BZZZZZZZT.

BZZZZZZZT.

BZZZZZZZT.

The razor sang loudly, its buzzing filling the room as the bear started from the top of the fox's head--from the line he'd shaved between Malloy's ears--and meticulously followed the topography of Malloy's body. He clipped down along the back of the fox's neck, over his shoulders and back, around the base of his tail, and between his ass cheeks, which he clinically held open to scrape away every last hair around Malloy's puckered hole and along his taint, before letting them clap together again. Grif chuckled when he felt the shudder ripple through his captive's frame as he cut off the fur on the fox's upper thighs, down to the bottoms of his hamstrings.

"Heh, you enjoying this, bitch?" Grif asked as he continued to lay the fox's skin bare.

"Mmmhmm," Malloy sighed.

The bear drew the razor away again, looking over his handiwork. The fox's entire backside--save for his arms, his legs below the knees, and his tail--was completely denuded. Piles and clumps of yellow fur lay scattered around the table, which the orc was sweeping into a sack of his own. As for Malloy, there was no fur to protect his pale pink skin, nothing to keep it warm or hidden from the world; where there had once been a glossy coat of yellow fur with its tufts and whorls, there was now a smooth canvas of bare flesh. Grif laid a hand flat on Malloy's right ass cheek, earning another shiver and moan from the fox on the table.

"Mmm...nice and smooth. That's how I like my cuntboys...smooth and squirming," Grif rumbled, squeezing Malloy's cheek. The fox began waggling his hips, showing off how he could squirm. "Heh, yeah, you're getting it, bitch." He kneaded the cheek hard before--

SMACK!

"Mmmf!" Malloy jolted and groaned through his gag; his ass stung where Grif had slapped it, but the bear immediately grasped his raised tail, distracting him from the pain.

"Thing is, you can like this all you want, but more than that, I'm doing this for your own good," Grif said as he held the razor against the base of Malloy's bushy tail...and drew up.

BZZZZZZZZT.

Malloy shuddered as he felt the razor clip along the wiry structure of his tail; while the thin edge of the glassy obsidian scraped over his skin, the magical energy practically vibrated through his whole spine. But Grif continued cutting, speaking as he did so.

"You need to be reminded of your place. See, I've been calling you a cuntboy, and that's what you're gonna be--I'm gonna make you into my breeding sow."

Malloy was too dazed and distracted to properly process what Grif was saying; every word went in one ear and out the other as the bear kept shaving his tail.

"And a breeding sow like you," Grif said as he reached the tip of Malloy's tail and returned to the base, clipping through another line of fur, "doesn't get the privilege of having fur. That's something only for real men."

"Bastard," the green-skinned orc--hairless except for the impressively braided beard on his chin and the fuzzy patches on his chest, arms, back, and legs--quipped as he continued sweeping up discarded tufts of fur.

"Heh, present orc company excluded, of course, Thonin," Grif snickered while he tidied up Malloy's tail. He resumed addressing the fox as he said, "A real man earns his fur, it keeps him warm, it reminds him of who he is. You're no real man, you didn't earn your fur in that palace you lived in--if you want to be kept warm, you'll have to beg me for clothes. And I'm not gonna let you wear them too often. Besides, you don't need that coat reminding you of what you were, eh? Fox...prince...man...boy...no, you're none of that anymore."

By this point, Malloy's tail had been reduced to a supple, whip-like cord of skin, bone, and tendons--with no fur covering the pale pink appendage, the fox's backside looked more akin to a rat's. Grif let the denuded tail limply fall back to the table before he and Thonin roughly flipped Malloy over again.

"Whuff!" Malloy grunted as he was dropped on his back--the wood was rough, coarse, and warm against his bare skin. Now that he was looking up at Grif again, he felt like he could actually understand what the bear had said earlier...wait...breeding sow? What did the mercenary mean by that?

Grif, however, went right back to work.

BZZZZZZZZT.

BZZZZZZZZT.

BZZZZZZZZT.

He started from the underside of Malloy's chin and worked his way down the fox's chest and stomach before raising the prince's limbs one at a time to strip the fur off of them individually. He shaved delicately around the fox's pads on his paws and hands, and Malloy shivered and giggled through his gag as the razor's edge dragged over his skin and the vibrating energy tickled the sensitive arches of his feet, his nipples, and his armpits.

"And all that fur is gonna be such a hassle for a breeding sow like you," Grif picked up as he continued shaving Malloy. "I'm gonna make such a mess of you, it'll just be easier to clean you up without it."

The magically-imbued razor was like a hot knife shaving through slices of butter as it buzzed away strip after strip of fur; more piles of yellow and white hair formed on the floor, only to be swept away by Thonin's broom. Grif made such quick and efficient work of Malloy's coat that, before the fox knew it, the bear was focusing on the last patch of fur below his neck: his crotch.

As he began shaving the fox's sheath, Grif mused, "You know, I've been wanting to shave you down like this for years. I first saw you when you visited Varghest; you and your father were on some fucking proclamation tour...as if we need those..."

Grif finished circling around the base of Malloy's throbbing cock before he took the fox's balls in one massive hand and began shaving, first the right nut. Malloy squirmed as the vibrations radiated through his testicle, but Grif went on, "The way you carried yourself, I could tell that you were a natural little whore. The way you waved, the way you talked, the way you stood, the way you smiled--all of it screamed 'fuck me', like you were the most perfect little bitch in heat."

Grif turned his attention to the remaining patch of fur on Malloy's left testicle. "You could wear all the crowns and ribbons and badges and clothes they could throw at you, but none of that would hide the fact that you weren't destined for the throne at all--the moment I saw you, I knew you were born to be my breeding bitch."

Malloy lay there, spellbound by the bear's words as Grif finished shaving his manhood. The massive ursine withdrew the obsidian razor when he was done...and blew the lingering clusters of hair off of the fox's crotch. Malloy wriggled in his grip, tickled by the sensation of warm breath breezing over his bare privates, before Grif let the hairless testicles drop from his hand--Malloy's plump scrotum stuck to the sides of his sweaty thighs.

The bear maneuvered around to the head of the table and cradled Malloy's face by the chin, to hold the boy steady as he shaved the last of his fur--Grif wrapped his free hand around Malloy's muzzle, keeping it shut as he clipped through his white cheek tufts before moving to his snout and around his nose. The fox couldn't resist snugging further into the bear's grip, and Grif playfully squeezed his captive's snout.

"As soon as I saw you, I knew you could take it rough," Grif said as he continued shaving. "And I get rough with my cuntboys. Real rough. It's how I show my love for the breeding bitches who get the privilege of carrying my seed."

Malloy huffed, partly terrified by what Grif was saying and partly thrilled. He held still as Grif moved up to shave the rest of his face and ears while the bear went on, ""Gonna do some real 'loughmaking' with you, bitch...and I can tell that you're going to be perfect for it. You look the part already," he added as he dragged the razor across Malloy's face one final time. He stepped back, admiring the completely hairless fox that lay on the table before him.

"Heh...and it's a much better look for you, you sweaty little piglet," Grif growled.

Malloy whimpered through his gag, but the bear had a point; without his fur to catch his perspiration, the hairless fox was covered in a thin sheen of his sweat thanks to the heat from the fire and the calories he was burning from a mixture of arousal and fear. With his small, lithe form and pale pink skin, he really did resemble a piglet, save for his snout and tail.

"And that's the real you, under all that fur," Grif went on as he deposited the razor in the trunk. He chuckled when he turned around to look at Malloy again, bound, helpless, and exposed in every sense of the word. "Never forget that I was the one who made you into what you really are--and I'm not done yet," he added while his large hands went for his belt. Grif began unbuckling the metal clasp around his breeches as he said, "But seeing you now, I think I can take just a little break...to indulge. Gotta show my new toy what he's gonna be taking, after all."

Malloy watched, fascinated and excited; the bear stood at the foot of the table, looming over his captive, and sneered arrogantly down at him while he unhooked his steel codpiece from his groin. The heavy metal shield fell to the wooden floor with an audible thunk.

"Mmm, that's better," Grif crooned contentedly.

Malloy could see why the bear would be relieved; the prominent bulge in Grif's breeches was easily the size of the fox's forearm. And Grif had been keeping that contained behind an unyielding codpiece? No wonder he was glad to be free of it.

The bear discarded his belt, with his weapons still attached to it, and hooked his thumbs into his loosened waistband. Grif pulled down, bunching the fabric around his thighs...and to his knees before he straightened up again. Malloy's eyes widened when he saw, poking out of the girthy, brown-furred sheath, the bear's enormous, dark gray, club-like cock that bobbed proudly in front of him. Thick as a mace and just as blunt, the bear's erection easily put Malloy's still-stiff manhood to shame; where the fox's was a dainty knife one would find on the dinner table, the bear's was an instrument of war. Grif's balls hung heavily between his thighs, and Malloy could only imagine how much sperm the lemon-sized nuts contained, how unbelievably virile the bear must be to have testicles that large, while Malloy's own were no bigger than chicken eggs.

"That's it, bitch, get a good eyeful," Grif huffed encouragingly as he began lightly stroking his shaft, making a show of teasing himself.

Malloy gulped around the gag in his mouth; he was drooling at the sight of how perfectly the bear's log of meat fit in his gigantic paw, and the bead of pre that was blooming out of the bear's urethra looked like the most delectable, mouth-watering treat imaginable. If only he could get up or entice the bear to remove his gag; Malloy, forgetting himself for a moment, would have done anything to lovingly and languidly lick the broad cockhead. He desperately wanted to taste the musk on the smooth, mushroom-shaped dome of the bear's glans and savor the flavor of the slimy pearl of bre as he lapped over Grif's protruding meatus...

"Oh, you want this bad, don't you?" Grif said, as if he'd read Malloy's mind.

"Mmmhmm!" the fox nodded hungrily.

"Ah, that's a good bitch, wanting me already," Grif rumbled as he stepped closer to the foot of the table. He wrapped his occupied mitt around the base of his cock and held his free hand under his shaft before he smacked his dick against the palm of his open paw. With every smack, Malloy imagined the pleasure of that blunt, hefty column of manly meat slapping against his tongue and his face, teasing him, tempting him, making him beg...

"But I'm not gonna give it to you just yet," Grif told him. "Oh no...I've got a hunch your mouth is gonna feel nice, but I'm curious..."

Grif stopped playing with his cock as he spoke, and reached with his free hand to grab Malloy's left foot. The fox shuddered at the bear's grip, and Grif tugged on the boy's paw while squeezing the pad on the ball of his foot.

"...about these paws," the bear finished, continuing to squeeze and rub his thumb around in circles on the pad. "Mmm, that's nice and soft...little prince was wearing some fine, royal shoes, wasn't he?" Grif moved closer, and Malloy shuddered when he felt the bear's hot, pulsating cock slide over the pads on his toes. "Yeah...cushy little lordling shoes for those delicate, weak little beans."

The bear gently thrust back and forth, dragging his shaft over Malloy's toes and sliding in between them. The fox writhed in pleasure as the friction made his skin catch on Grif's, but the bear went on teasing himself with Malloy's foot. "They're so soft, they're pretty much useless, except for pleasuring real men like this, eh?" he growled.

"Mmmhmm," Malloy groaned through his gag.

"That's right...I can tell you didn't go around barefoot all too often, either." Pre continued to ooze out of Grif's urethra, and it began to leak and trickle along the underside of his shaft...where it greasily slipped into the crevices between the bear's cock and Malloy's toes, making the bear slide more easily over and between the fox's pads. Grif used his other hand to bring Malloy's right paw closer, and he kept up his thrusting, now in between both soles while he squeezed the fox's furless feet together, and his pre lubed the boy's arches and pads. Grif wasn't humping away with abandon; it was a slow, methodical gliding, simply to tease himself and the fox.

"You won't have to worry about that anymore--a little cuntboy like you doesn't get to wear shoes," Grif taunted him. "You might have thought that it was the nobility who mostly wears shoes, but what a stupid bitch like you doesn't understand is that mercs like us have to wear them for rougher terrain. You might think my feet are soft as yours, but they're rough from these boots, I promise you that," the bear growled down at the whimpering and huffing fox. "But you're no mercenary...a soft little cuntboy like you will never wear shoes again. The closest you'll get to wearing shoes is when I stuff your face in my boots and make you clean the insides with your tongue...and I sweat a lot in these," Grif added with a sadistic chuckle.

Malloy's stomach lurched at the prospect of licking the bear's boots clean...but at the same time, his cock throbbed hard at the thought of burying his snout in Grif's leather boots after a long, hard day of trekking, sniffing and lapping up every last drop of musky, tangy sweat from the bear's soles...

"Heh, I can tell you're gonna enjoy doing that," Grif rumbled, taking note of the fox's dick twitching. "You know, it's not a prince who likes being a cuntboy bitch...you're only going to be good for breeding and serving me, and from the way your little cock's throbbing, I can tell you're gonna love it." While using one hand to keep holding Malloy's feet together as he continued thrusting between them, Grif reached forward with his free paw...and powerfully flicked Malloy's stiff cock, his finger striking the fox squarely on the glans. Malloy jolted at the sudden pain, but his dick throbbed even harder.

Grif grinned at Malloy's reaction. "You're not a man...you're not a boy, you're not even a fox anymore...I haven't even finished making you into my cuntboy, and you're already acting like it. I think you're gonna need a new name...can't just go around calling you 'bitch' all the time, fun as that would be," the bear snickered. Grif kept thrusting in his deliberate tempo as he pondered for a moment, watching the furless, nude fox squirming needily on the table before him...then grinned again. "Ah, I've got it...Slop!"

Malloy's ears perked when he heard his new title, and his heart fluttered in his chest as Grif explained, "You're nothing but leftover slop... worthless and useless except for one thing..."

"Mmmm," Malloy--or Slop, as he had been newly christened--moaned through his gag.

"I just need to finish making you my cuntboy...gonna get rid of that useless little dick and those balls, and then you'll be fit to carry my sons and service me."

Slop's heart skipped a beat as he processed what Grif had just said. Wait...what?

"Mmff?" the fox wordlessly grunted, tensing up.

Grif laughed mirthlessly when he saw and heard the boy's reaction. "That's your job as a cuntboy...why do you think I've been calling you that, Slop? It's not just for fun...you're gonna make a perfect breeding bitch," he growled darkly, lustfully. "But you can't be a breeding bitch with a cock and balls--not MY breeding bitch, anyway. Besides, it's not as if you were using them properly. I mean, how could you, with how small and pathetic they are."

Slop squirmed in shame as he tried (and failed) to bring his legs together and hide his stiff cock. While he'd always been rather pleased with his perfectly average package, Slop couldn't help but feel embarrassed now that the bear (who was so much better endowed) had called his manhood into question.

"How could a useless whelp like you even stroke off or piss with a twig like that?" Grif growled teasingly. "You call that a cock? I couldn't even pick my teeth with it. Fact is, you were destined to be a cuntboy--you never should have been born with the equipment of a real man. You were just pretending to be a man your whole life; you're never gonna piss or cum like a man again when I'm through with you. Oh, after I chop that filthy little prick off and take those balls away, I'll make you into a fine little hole for me to fill again and again...I've got lots of cubs to pop into you."

"Mmm! Mmm!" Slop began to squirm, but all his protesting did was provoke another round of laughter from the bear...before Grif reached forward again.

"That's enough, Slop," he said coldly as he slammed his open hand down the fox's crotch, swatting his cock and balls hard.

"Mmmmmffffff!" Slop convulsed in pain and tried to curl in on himself as the creasing ache rose from his groin and constricted his gut, but his magical restraints prevented him from going into the fetal position. He threw his head back in agony and groaned gutturally...but Grif's voice rose over his own muffled howling.

"Just look at you, so weak and pathetic, and still so attached to those little bits that are causing you so much pain," the bear told him arrogantly. "If you're gonna be a perfect cuntboy for me, you can't have your cock and balls anymore, Slop. Those are only for real men, and you're not a real man anymore, so I've gotta take them away."

Slop huffed hard through the pangs wracking his nerves, but as he settled, Grif went on, "You're just gonna be a nasty little cocksleeve, nothing but a warm hole for me to fill...you know, it's almost a shame that all that royal upbringing and etiquette was wasted on you, when you were destined to be used by me...bred by me..."

At last, the massive bear released Slop's feet and stood back, as if to give the fox a more complete view of his magnificence. Grif resumed slowly stroking his cock himself as he continued, "The only throne you'll ever sit on is my lap when you're riding me, milking my cock and balls for my seed to fill you, to impregnate you with better heirs than you could ever hope to produce on your own. That's what you're gonna be good for now...receiving my sons and serving me...because I own you. There's nothing you can do about it, you're mine to do with as I want."

"Mmmf!" Slop grunted defiantly in spite of the fact that the bear had the upper hand in spades.

Grif chuckled down at the fox. "Oh, what's that, Slop? You don't want to be mine? It's cute that you think you have a say in this, but you really don't...let me show you..."

Slop watched Grif take aim with his cock, and the bear stopped stroking his shaft...before he grunted, sighed, and let loose a thick stream of piss. The surge of acrid, yellow urine arced through the air before landing on Slop's stomach, splattering loudly on his bare skin.

Slop wanted to be completely repulsed by the display, to shy away from the liquid humiliation that Grif was unleashing on him, but the warm, steaming fluid showering down on him was so...comforting. He shuddered...then moaned as he arched his back, pushing his stomach a few inches up into the air, as if to meet the bear's stream of piss even faster, to have it wash over him even sooner, to actively bathe in it...

"Yeah...attaboy, Slop," Grif snickered while he let his piss fly. "Soak it all in..."

Piss puddled in Slop's navel before Grif aimed it more precisely at his crotch, hitting his cock and balls with the strong jet of bear urine. Slop moaned as he felt the stinking water drench his genitals and find its way into his every nook and cranny. Grif adjusted his aim further, hosing down Slop's legs and paws, before returning to his crotch, stomach, and chest, then up along his arms, and then to his neck. It seemed as if the stream was nonstop, it just kept issuing forth from Grif's cock like a perpetual fountain, and pungent piss dripped from Slop's body and pooled on the table before dribbling down in rivulets that pitter-pattered on the floor to the floor. The bear continued showering the fox in his urine, thoroughly marking every inch of Slop with his scent, and he made a point of splattering the fox's face with it; warm piss drummed against Slop's forehead before trickling over his eyes, down his snout, and along his nose.

"That's it, get a good whiff of this stink, it's the smell of the man who owns you," Grif commanded.

Slop couldn't stop himself; he inhaled deeply, taking in the sharp, salty aroma of pure maleness that filled his nostrils...before he tilted his head further, so his mouth--still forced open by the gag of his sock-- caught the stream that soaked into the thick fabric filling his maw. The piss seeped into Slop's sock, mixing with the musky flavor of his own foot-sweat and musk, before the sock couldn't hold any more, and it began drizzling down the fox's throat. Slop swallowed without thinking; the piss went down his gullet as easily as the tankards of ale he'd guzzled earlier.

Grif chuckled when he saw the fox's Adam's apple visibly bob with each swallow, knowing that his piss was draining down Slop's throat.

"Drink up, Slop...I'll mark you as mine inside and out," Grif said as he held his cock steady, providing a continuous stream of piss for Slop to soak up for another minute...before the flow finally began to abate. The furless fox on the table was covered head to toe in reeking bear piss while Grif shook his cock and wiped the last drops on Slop's paw, smearing the remaining vestiges of piss on the soft pads..

Slop panted heavily as he slumped on the table, luxuriating in the still-warm piss on his skin. His instincts had taken over; there was no rational prince left, just an exhilarated slave to his (and Grif's) desires who wanted to be utterly and thoroughly dominated by the man who had just marked him as his property.

"So, do I own you, Slop?" Grif chuckled as he shuffled his breeches further down his legs and kicked them off along with his boots--the bear was entirely bottomless and his cock was still stiff as a spear while Slop moaned his reply through his saliva- and piss-laden gag.

"Mmmhmmm."

"That's what I like to hear." Grif stepped over to the trunk again while Slop caught his breath.

The bear rummaged within the chest for a moment before pulling out the tool he was looking for: an enormous, double-ended ivory weapon with a leather-wrapped handle--it was a custom-made instrument he'd taken to calling a "klarkutter". One side of the tool ended in a smooth-edged, broad, bone-white meat cleaver, while the other end of the thick handle merged into a conical spike that tapered to a needle-sharp point. Intricate carvings and flecks of embedded iron decorated the ivory, and Grif deftly twirled the klarkutter in his fingers for a moment, savoring the ease with which he wielded it. Hefting the weapon over his shoulder, Grif turned again to see Slop still reveling in the piss that drenched his skin and had formed a puddle around him.

Grif chuckled and winked at his comrades before addressing Slop again. "Now, you know that you belong to me, and Thonin, Lahko, and Burke all know you belong to me," Grif said, referring to the orc, wolf, and hyena, "but when I properly make you into my cuntboy," he continued as he prowled towards the foot of the table, "I want everyone else to know that you belong to me, too."

The bear waggled his eyebrows enticingly as he gazed down at Slop, whose eyes met his, and he snickered, "Besides, it's more fun to make a cuntboy with a big audience, eh, Slop?"

Without waiting for an answer, Grif reached with his free hand and grabbed Slop's left ankle before he effortlessly hauled the drunken, dazed, and dizzy fox off the table. Slop was pulled free of the restraining runes, and he grunted through his gag as he fell to the floor; he banged against the wooden planks, but Grif immediately started dragging him towards the door, which the hyena held open for the bear to stride through with the furless fox in tow.

Slop put up no resistance while Grif continued dragging him by the ankle, leaving a smeared trail of piss on the floor in his wake. The wooden boards were smooth after years of wear, but dry; Slop's raw, pale pink skin skidded roughly over the floor, but Grif kept going. He pulled Slop around the bar--as he emerged from the shadows and padded into the well-lit, main space of the tavern, the bottomless, rock-hard bear holding his klarkutter in one hand and the ankle of a totally naked and furless boy (whose own cock was throbbing as it stood at attention) drew stares at first...then whistles, cheers, and applause. Grif dragged Slop past bare and booted feet and between table legs as he approached the stage by the dance floor, where the goat on the bodhran was playing a percussive duel with the puma on the spoons. The musicians noticed the bear drawing near and, laughing, they slowed their rhythms to a stop before making room on the stage.

"No, no, keep playing, boys! Give us a rowdy beat for the show, get our hearts pounding and our blood boiling!" Grif called loudly.

The goat and the puma acquiesced as another round of hearty laughter filled the tavern. While Grif hauled Slop onto the stage and deposited the still-wet fox on a chair in the middle of the platform to give his audience the best view, the two musicians moved to the corner and resumed playing; they started softly, pounding and clattering the beat to a war march as Grif addressed the crowd before him.

"Lads, meet The Whore of Rivius!" Grif declared to more clapping and whistling from his audience. "Or, as he's gonna be better known, Ol' Grif's Breeding Bitch!" Laughter rose with the pipe and cigar smoke in the tavern air, and Grif continued, "I'm in the process of making him into a proper cuntboy just for my pleasure, but I figured, why not give you all some good entertainment at the same time?"

After pausing for more hearty and grateful whoops and hollers from his audience, Grif stalked over to Slop's side and stood next to the furless fox, who was too drunk, tired, and overwhelmed with attention to do anything but sit limply in his chair. With his free hand, Grif playfully smacked Slop's cheek as he said, "Now, ain't he just the cutest little bitch you've seen? Young, flexible, eager to please, depraved beyond belief...and he's all mine! Mine to do with as I want...and right now, I want you to see..."

Grif stopped smacking Slop's cheek and lowered his hand down to the fox's groin, hovering just between the boy's spread legs.

"...how badly he needs to get rid of his balls!"

WHAM!

Grif's hand hit the fox's testicles like a cannonball smashing a castle wall. Slop jolted, groaned through his gag, and threw his head back in agony, but he forced himself to stay seated in the chair and keep his legs spread. The bear immediately swatted his testicles again, prompting another muffled cry from Slop as the audience watched the fox's stomach flutter from his rapid, pained breaths. But Grif didn't let up; he swatted again...and again...and again.

"Mmm! MMmmmm! MMMMM!" Slop's pained yelps turned into tormented shrieks through his gag, and he squirmed in his chair--if he wasn't in so much pain, he would have heard that the goat and puma had increased their tempo and volume on the bodhran and spoons, matching the intensity of Slop's reaction and Grif's swatting.

"See that? See how much pain he's in?" Grif said, continuing to bat at the fox's tender--and by now, bruised--balls. "And look at that little prick, it's standing up as hard as a Maypole!"

The bear had a point, as Slop's cock was throbbing harder than the fox had ever felt before.

"Little fucker's in agony right now and he loves it! Now, you know they're going to distract him when he should be focused on serving me, and a cuntboy won't need balls." Grif at last stopped hitting the fox between the legs, and Slop panted heavily to recover--but the boy tensed up when the bear's enormous mitt wrapped around his testicles, easily smothering them...and began to squeeze. Slop tossed his head back again and clenched his jaw, trying to huff through the pain as the pressure rose more and more...

"Ah, it's almost a shame to get rid of these little berries, but...what do we do with any berry?" Grif asked the crowd.

"Crush 'em! Crush 'em!" the audience chanted.

The tempo of the bodhran and spoons grew faster, faster, stirring the crowd into a frenzy, until...

The bear chuckled. "We crush 'em to a pulp!"

Grif clenched his fist with a grip strong enough to pulverize pecans into dust.

"MMMMMMMMM!" Slop screamed through his gag as he felt his testicles pop like grapes in a wine press. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he stamped his feet on the stage.

The audience clapped and whistled while Grif held his grip steady, and the bear leered down at the boy whose nuts had just been crushed into oblivion. "Oh, I know that pain, that creasing pain rising in your gut...and don't deny you're gonna miss it when it's gone! A little bitch like you lives for this kind of special ache; it's the ache of a man. I suggest you enjoy it while you can, because it's gonna be the last time you ever feel anything like it. You're not the first boy I've castrated, and I've got just the thing to take away the pain...forever." As he spoke, Grif lowered his klarkutter from his shoulder and rubbed his thumb over one of the carvings just above the handle. Instantly, the runes etched into the ivory glowed a fiery, crackling red; the edge of the bone-white meat cleaver became rimmed with red energy, and a halo of red light burst into bloom just above the point of the spike on the other end of the weapon.

While Slop whimpered and huffed, Grif pulled down on the scrotum--now full of mushy, formless pulped tissue, spilled sperm, and crushed spermatic cords--in his grip, drawing the neck of the sac taut between his fist and Slop's groin, earning a fresh round of pained yelping and writhing from the fox. But Grif ignored his captive's struggling; he lowered the glowing meat cleaver between Slop's legs, holding it just above the exposed, taut skin...before, like a butcher, he swiftly sliced down, chopping through Slop's scrotum and cords.

Slop gasped as he watched Grif cut off his balls as easily as a gardener pruning a rogue tree limb. To him, it was as if a river of pain had suddenly been dammed; he could still feel the aftershocks in his gut and remember what the searing ache felt like, but the source of it was simply gone. And already the residual pain in his system began to vanish...until, true to his owner's words, Slop found himself missing the sensation. He leaned down to look closer at his groin; there was nothing hanging between his legs anymore--beneath his cock was a smooth, seamless patch of skin, as if he'd never been born with testicles in the first place. Slop then looked up at the bear, who was standing on the edge of the stage as he held the disembodied, full scrotum in his palm like a small, plump coin purse.

"A little token for you fine folks!" Grif said as he lobbed the worthless, pulped balls into the crowd; Slop couldn't see who caught his testicles, or if they'd landed in someone's tankard of ale or on someone's plate. But then again, did it matter? They weren't his testicles anymore, after all--his owner had removed them for his own good.

"Now, what to take away next?" Grif rumbled as he turned his attention to Slop once more.

Slop gulped nervously as Grif approached his chair again...and in a flash, the bear grabbed the fox's shoulder and yanked him out of the chair with enough force to whip Slop around on his feet and send him crashing to the stage so his ass was up in the air and facing the audience. In another flash, Grif swiftly straddled Slop and pinned him down with his sheer mass; Slop didn't know how the mountain of brute muscle could move with such agility, but there the bear sat, astride his bent back with his giant, biscuit-like asscheeks pressing down on Slop's shoulders while his throbbing club of a cock rested on Slop's spine. Grif had positioned himself in a way that shoved the soles of his feet into Slop's face (giving the fox a strong whiff of the pungent, sweaty odor emanating from his paws) while he could easily manipulate his captive's ass as he faced the crowd before him. With his free hand, Grif gripped the base of Slop's tail and held the appendage out of the way, giving everyone a clear view of the fox's puckered hole and bobbing cock hanging down from his groin.

"Well, lookie, lookie...think we're gonna find something else that a cuntboy shouldn't have in here," Grif growled raunchily while he twirled his klarkutter around so he now wielded the spiked end, which he pointed at Slop's exposed anus.

Immediately, Slop felt a sense of ease and looseness he'd only ever felt after a marathon fucking, when his ass had been utterly plowed by 14 men from the royal stables--he'd had trouble keeping his sphincter closed after that, and right now it was as if another 14 incredibly well-endowed men had opened him up in just a matter of seconds.

"Look at that spread...certainly not tight enough for fucking properly, but it's only temporary," Grif said for the crowd's benefit as he traced a thick finger around the rim of Slop's gaping ass. He inserted two of his girthy digits and spread them within the fox's warm, wrinkled innards, earning a thrilled shudder from Slop as the fox wagged his hips invitingly. "Ooh, I think he likes that...although let's see how he likes this!"

The crowd groaned collectively as Grif pushed the tip of the ivory spike into Slop's soft guts--the halo of red light around the tip of the spike went inside the fox's ass. Slop shivered at the sensation of warm, unforgiving bone against his delicate, moist walls...then writhed when Grif began slowly pressing it down on his prostate. The spike tingled as magical energy flowed from the ivory and throughout the walnut-sized gland; Slop could feel the rising pressure, the desperate need to release roiling and writhing within him, and he thrashed under Grif's weight...but the bear held him firm.

"That's it, Slop...you can feel it, can't you? You're losing that little pleasure spot that all men have," Grif said, pressing the spike harder on Slop's prostate.

"Mmmm! Mmmm!" Slop couldn't stop himself from bucking--it was as if his body was independently trying to cum before the final connections to his prostate were severed.

"Hehe, yeah, piglet, squeal for me," Grif encouraged. "I'd almost like to see what pathetic little load splatters out of that useless prick of yours...think you can shoot for me right here and now, piglet? It'll be the last time you ever cum...you don't have long though..."

Keeping his face buried against the meaty, musky slabs of Grif's paws, Slop thrust his hips as best as he could while he felt the heat rising in his loins. He was dizzy with pre-orgasmic bliss as he danced on the edge and pre leaked from his cockhead and slowly oozed to the floor in a thin rope. He was so close...he'd cum hands-free before, he could do it again, couldn't he? He needed release, it didn't matter if he didn't have testicles anymore, he could still orgasm as long as he had his prostate. His cock flexed hard and was begging to spasm, to fire. The tingling energy in his ass sparked and exploded within him, setting his nerves alight and stimulating him further until...

The sensation faded to nothingness, and Slop, huffing and whining pathetically, slowed to a standstill, panting to catch his breath. He could still feel the spike in his ass, but whatever it pressed on was no longer a part of him--it was just a useless, disembodied lump within him.

Grif playfully tutted. "Ah-ah-ah, too late." The bear slowly withdrew the spike...before roughly plunging his whole fist into the fox's loosened ass.

"Mmmmmfffff!" Malloy groaned while the crowd cheered and clapped.

"Time to relieve you of this little gem," Grif said as his fingers wriggled around in Slop's ass, his claws scraping against the sides of the fox's magically-loosened innards.

Slop squirmed again as he felt Grif play with his guts, rotating his fist inside the fox's soft, pliable rectal cavity and spreading his fingers to their widest before forming a clenched fist and shaking it to tease Slop further. After his momentary indulgence, Grif snagged the unmoored gland...and retracted his fist. His thick forearm and wrist drew out the lips of Slop's ass, before his fist wetly plopped out of the fox's gaping hole. The bear smirked as he raised his prize for the crowd--a beautifully moist, red, swollen lump of flesh and nerves rested in his fingers before Grif tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and dropped the round, wet gland into his waiting jaws...and greedily swallowed it whole. Slop's prostate slid down his throat with ease, and Grif made a show of licking his lips and patting his belly for the audience's amusement before he chuckled, "Mmm, delicious!"

Grif swung himself off of Slop, kneeling by his side as he easily rolled the fox over. Slop, dizzy and dazed, panted needily from his denied orgasm while he lay flat out on his back on the stage floor--his still-erect cock wagged from side to side as he settled in his supine position in front of the crowd, giving the audience an unobstructed view of his throbbing member.

"And now for one last thing to get rid of," Grif snickered, placing his free hand on Slop's groin. More specifically, the bear had laid his hand in a way that his fingers rested on the rim of Slop's hairless sheath, encircling the base of the fox's cock without touching the shaft itself.

The crowd watched with bated breath as Grif began pushing down; Slop grunted as the bear forced more and more of his cock to spill out of his sheath. The fox clenched his jaw and groaned--Grif pressed with so much force that it almost felt like he was shoving his fingers down into Slop's pelvic cavity. The boy's cock twitched and bobbed as more of it was exposed, but Grif kept his paw angled to avoid making contact with the pulsating, desperate shaft. The bear simply pushed harder and harder, revealing more of the fleshy column, until...

"Ah, there it is!" Grif said proudly as he held the meat cleaver of his klarkutter against the freshly-exposed root of Slop's cock. The fox whined and squirmed as he felt the heat and the sharp edge of the glowing blade on his sensitive skin--in his past life, he'd played with this more intimate region before during those times when he'd fingered his sheath while pleasuring himself, but Slop had never imagined that someone else could effortlessly force open the moist and musky pocket of skin so far to expose the very base of his shaft to the open air. The fox shivered in anticipation while, in the background, the bodhran and spoons played faster and faster, building the suspense of what was about to happen to him.

"Remember, everyone, if you need to get rid of a boy's cock," Grif told the crowd while he held the meat cleaver steady, "cut it at the root!"

The audience cheered and stamped their feet as, with a final, climactic beat from the musicians on the stage, Grif swiped the meat cleaver cleanly through the root of Slop's cock, lopping it off. Slop howled, not in physical agony, but surprise and defeat--how could it be so easy to lose his cock like this? He hadn't even felt the grating slice of the blade or the separation of skin, only a simple wave of warmth that surged through his groin as the meat cleaver chopped off the last thing that had made him a man. Not a drop of blood had been spilled, nor was there even a scar to suggest that he'd once had a cock; all that remained was a smooth patch of skin within his sheath, which Grif quickly released, letting the empty pocket of skin hang limply from his pelvis.

Slop's disembodied cock, still stiff but lifeless without the pulse of his heartbeat, rolled off of him and onto the stage, where Grif quickly scooped it up...and Slop, stunned, watched the bear lob the detached fox dick to Lahko; the wolf, like his orc and hyena comrades, had taken a position close to the stage. Lahko grinned as he caught the fox's meat in his hand before nonchalantly tossing it into his mouth...and chewing hungrily, as if he were simply munching on rations.

"What do you think, Lahko? A decent snack?" Grif called to his ally.

The wolf finished chewing and swallowed before he replied, "Could've used a little more flavoring, but still plenty of protein!"

"Ah, everyone's a critic!" Grif quipped to the drunken and delighted laughter of the audience.

Slop didn't even have time to imagine how his cock had been torn to shreds by the wolf's sharp teeth or process the fact that it was now digesting in Lahko's stomach--the now-cockless, castrated, and prostate-free boy was distracted by Grif, who simultaneously pushed his free fingers into the fox's empty sheath, and held the point of his klarkutter's spike just above Slop's navel.

"Now, to make that sheath into a proper cunt," Grif snarled as red magical energy crackled and sparked from the red halo that encircled the tip of the ivory spike. The energy traced its way down to Slop's sheath--now full with Grif's digits--before sinking down into the fox's flesh.

Slop moaned as Grif worked his sheath. He could feel the bear's fingers squirming within the moist pouch and teasing and tickling him, and there was a warmth engulfing his groin that he couldn't quite describe. It at once made him feel so full and satisfied, and at the same time, left him wanting more...more...to be filled further, to be bred like a bitch in heat, again and again.

"Ah, you're feeling those parts coming in, aren't you, Slop?" Grif chuckled sadistically. He held the klarkutter steady while his fingers kept sliding and slipping against each other and the fox's now-wet insides; Slop's sheath grew tighter, shallower, and slimier...and the fox gasped when he felt the bear's strong fingers push against a new, sensitive spot he certainly didn't have before. "You should be thanking me for not just leaving you as a useless little nullo bitch with a pathetically empty sheath hanging from your nethers--you should be grateful that I see fit to give you all that you need to carry my sons..."

Grif shoved his digits into Slop's newly-forged, slick confines, roughly fingering the tight slit and eliciting a sharp, pleasured gasp from the fox. "You should count yourself so fucking lucky for receiving this new cunt that I'm gonna use."

Slop couldn't help himself. "Aahmmm mhhou," he moaned through his gag.

Grif laughed. "What was that, Slop?"

"Aahmmm mhhou," the fox groaned again, louder as Grif began withdrawing his fingers from the sheath that was quickly melding and merging from a round orifice to a vertical slit.

"Hehe, that your way of thanking me, Slop? That's cute," the bear snickered as he retracted his fingers and used them to clamp the sides of Slop's newly-formed labia.

Slop moaned as he felt the transformation finish while Grif held his groin tightly, digging in with his fingers; it was as if the fox's flesh had been turned to warm putty and was re-solidifying into the snug orifice that the bear desired...until, at last, Slop felt Grif release him, and he looked down to see that he now bore a perfectly-formed vagina with soft, subtly protruding lips.

"Now ain't that the prettiest cunt you've ever seen on a boy?" Grif mused as he finally laid his klarkutter to the side and used his giant, meaty paws to grab Slop by the thighs and roughly draw him in. As Slop slid over the stage's floorboards and his groin was pulled in to meet Grif's, the bear's thumbs dipped past Slop's labia and caressed the warm, enticing flesh within.

Grif growled as he settled into position on his bent knees between Slop's spread legs. "Now, I've got some more changes to make--definitely gonna need to get rid of that Adam's apple in your throat, those are for real men, and you're definitely not one of those anymore. But all that can wait," Grif added as he pulled Slop closer, close enough to rub the underside of his hot, throbbing cock against the lips of Slop's vagina, teasing the fox. Slop moaned needily and Grif chuckled. "Right now, I need to put your new cunt to work."

"Hhmmmm," Slop huffed through his gag.

The bear smirked as he rolled his hips back, aligning the tip of his cock with Slop's entrance...and then thrust forward, spreading the tight tunnel wide open around the long, blunt club of his meat. Slop arched his back and moaned, feeling the enormous column fill him, going deeper and deeper.

"Yeah, take it all, little cuntboy," Grif rumbled. "You're all mine...mine to fill," he continued, sliding all the way into Slop's tight pussy; Slop groaned as his inner walls stretched to the extreme to accommodate Grif's girth and length while the bear hilted himself inside the fox.

"Mine to use," Grif said before he huffed and paused, savoring the moment of his crotch connecting with Slop's; he flexed his cock hard, making Slop spasm and clench around the bulging, meaty rod he was impaled upon.

Slop panted from the wild new sensations wracking his nerves. Never before had he been stuffed so full like this, and he wanted more. Delirious with pleasure, he looked up into Grif's eyes, gazing lustfully into them, pleading...

The bear grinned before, in a low and dangerous tone, he said, "Mine to breed."

Grif's hands clenched hard on Slop's thighs and, without any warm-up or incremental change in pace, the bear immediately withdrew halfway out of the fox's cunt before roughly ramming back inside. Grif brutally humped in and out with the vigor of a rampant soldier repeatedly stabbing his opponent with a bayonet.

Whump-whump-whum-whump-whump.

Groins collided against each other on the stage and Grif's hefty balls swung back and forth, slapping Slop's taint on the apex of every thrust.

"Hrrr...fuck, that's a good bitch...take that cock!" the bear rumbled.

Slop squirmed in the Grif's grip, delighting in the act of letting his owner use him as a simple hole to fill while he panted and whined through his gag. The fox was too lost in a haze of hormones and desire to pay attention to the whoops and cheers from the crowd as Grif carnally bred him, nor did he pay any mind to the rest of the musicians that mounted the stage and struck up a rapid tune to match the frenetic pace of Grif's brutish fucking. All Slop could concentrate on was the pleasure that filled him to the brim and his insatiable thirst for even more as Grif practically hurled his hips back and forth, back and forth, effectively throwing his cock into the fox's cunt as if he were throwing a javelin with his pelvis.

Grif snarled and growled while he savagely fucked the writhing fox under him, almost mauling him in the heat of his rut. Slop moaned loudly, desperately.

"This is all you're good for...getting bred like a good little bitch. Fuck, I'm gonna fill you with so many sons," Grif huffed, working himself up to the brink.

His hands gripped Slop's waist tightly, holding him in place while he humped. Grif had to admit that he'd outdone himself this time; the fox's cunt was perfectly tight, perfectly wet, perfectly warm, perfectly textured, all for his pleasure, and Slop was a natural at using it to tease him even further. If the bear didn't know better, he would have thought Slop had been born with a pussy--the way he was clenching, squeezing, bearing down on his cock...it was as if the gods themselves had crafted the bitch just for Grif to use.

"You love my cock, don't you, Slop...fuckin' work for all I have to give," Grif snarled while he smoothly, ferociously lunged into the fox. There was no tenderness, no kindness, no affection behind Grif's fucking; just raw, wild power being channeled into every slam of his hips and thrust of his cock which he used like a battering ram to smash into Slop's pussy with a wet and rapid schlorp-schlorp-schlorp-schlorp.

For his part, Slop was tossing his head and moaning in pure, rapturous pleasure as the bear penetrated him again and again, drilling his cock into the very core of his being.

"I'm gonna have days where I do nothin' but breed you...gonna turn you into the cumbucket you already are, you fuckin' whore..."

Slop panted heavily, overwhelmed with ecstasy as Grif hilted himself again and again in his pussy. The snug tunnel gripped Grif's cock tightly, teasing and encouraging him to smash his pelvis against Slop's harder, faster. Grif groaned as drool dripped from his lips; he was driving himself crazy as his loins burned and boiled. He huffed and snarled and gripped Slop's narrow waist in his enormous hands while he ground his cock into the warm, moist cavity he'd made in his bitch. Grif was getting close--all the massive bear could think of was finishing, emptying his balls and dumping every drop of white-hot cum he had into the fox like a receptacle for his load, to impregnate him...

"Hrrrr....fuuuuuuuuuck!" Grif groaned animalistically as he felt himself at last pass the point of no return. He humped faster, faster, his hips working overtime. "Here it comes, Slop...hrrrrrRROOOOOORRRRRR!"

The bear's roar was deafening as he slammed into Slop one last time and his cock spasmed, explosively pumping his seed deep into the fox, painting his insides. Slop could feel every pulsating throb of the stiff, fleshy mace lodged inside him, and he quivered and moaned while potent semen raced towards his newly-made reproductive system. Grif clenched his teeth and snarled as he kept firing, depositing spurt after spurt of thick cum in the fox.

Slop slumped as he was filled with the most massive creampie he'd ever felt; Grif held the fox's hips tightly, keeping himself hilted within Slop's tender cunt while cum overflowed around his cock and dribbled to the floor. But from the sheer quantity of semen that was still being dumped into him, there was no way the cuntboy wasn't pregnant already. In the wave of hormones and the haze of inebriation that still fogged his brain, Slop gazed up at the panting bear, who was recovering from his orgasm and smugly leering back down at him, proud with the obvious fact that he'd successfully knocked up his bitch with at least a couple boys.

The fox grinned to himself as he continued looking up, starry-eyed, at Grif, who was panting as he rode through his orgasm; Slop couldn't deny that, even though the bear had taken him by force, the prospect of spending the rest of his life as Grif's breeding bitch was a far better notion than going on some dull-as-ditchwater diplomatic trip, engaging in more royal duties, and eventually taking the throne. Getting bred by Grif, serving him, carrying his sons, belonging to the bear in every conceivable way...that was a life Slop could see himself enjoying to the fullest.

Especially when he heard a familiar voice begin singing behind him.

Still locked in place by the Grif's paws around his waist, Slop gazed back to see the warthog bard had taken the stage with the rest of the musicians.

"...the fox and the bear, oh they made quite a pair..." the bard was singing melodiously to cheers and whistles from the audience.

With his musky, acrid gag still in his mouth and Grif's cock still lodged deep in his cunt, Slop smiled, realizing he'd added a new song to the bard's repertoire.