Mother, Mother
Something wouldn't stop kicking him in the stomach, it was like a dozen halfling children using his belly for a pig's bladder kick ball. At the thought of bladders his made its own complaints. One hand flailed vaguely in a half-formed intent to drive off whatever was harassing him. It connected with a round fuzzy shape, he flexed his fingers and felt them move across the surface of his stomach. Interrupted by a rough jab against the palm from somewhere inside concurrently with one of the kicks to his stomach.
Vitham opened his eyes and regretted it, beams of sunlight pouring in through the forest canopy to worsen his headache. Nothing made sense anymore, there was something long and white sticking out of his face. His hand felt like it was scratching the flank of his father's warhound. A throaty female chuckle sounded nearby halfway between laugh and growl. With it recollection of events in the immediate past. Frightened to be lying naked by such a creature he sat up. The strain on his abdominal muscles was tremendous, they'd been stretched nigh to unusable somehow. And as he rose something dropped into his lap forcing the legs spread underneath its weight. Not to mention the most disconcerting wobbling on his chest.
Unable to resist any longer the adventurer looked down toward his hand. Past what could no longer be denied was a muzzle at six very prominent fuzzy breasts capped in turgid blue nipples and below a clawed animalistic hand resting atop the broad expanse of white-furred belly covering his lap almost to the knees. "Sister," the voice pronounced again in Giant. Vitham's gaze followed the sound. Anything to end the horrified fascination of watching tiny pawprints push dents in his stomach in time with the impact under his skin.
She had returned to the form he'd first seen, a white wolf the size of a small horse. Lying atop thick pine needles to face him, a trio of pups still wet from birth nursing at her dark blue nipples. Beyond them she had grown no smaller through the belly and he swore he saw movement inside it to match his own despite just having dropped.
"I," he prepared to use his mediocre Giant only to draw a blank, "I..."
"Are sister," it was unnerving to hear words come from what seemed an animal. Denial formed in his throat and died as a pair of solid thumps against his diaphram forced him to pant for air. The hand atop his belly followed its curve down, so far down and back toward what he dreaded to encounter between curvacious thighs. Past a large dog cock inside its sheathe, the shape was odd but the feel was a touchstone of the familiar. Tracing down just below the broader base of the sheathe where an entirely new feature rested. A cunt fit to mother legions, the lips swallowed his hand all the way to the base of his thumb easily and drove a spike of pleasure straight up his backbone to his nipples.
Sister more like baby machine, Vitham thought, I could pass a shotput. Disengaging from satisfied pups the wolf padded over, looking at his belly. The attention was anything but reassuring, as was the way he clutched at it involuntarily with a protective hand. To his surprise she licked his protruding navel and pressed her cheek gently against its expanse. "Many pups," was her Giant getting better? "You have big litters." She felt around his belly a bit more then casually stuck her head under it to snuffle and lick the startled adventurer's quim. He gasped, shocked as much by the sensation as the unexpected touch. Falling onto his back in the leaf litter to moan while her nose inspected the first few inches of his tunnel. "Big litters," her head reappeared over the crest of his belly. "Replace what Green Ones took, good." He opened his muzzle to ask a question, what he wasn't entirely sure, but never got the chance. Apparently loosing interest in him she turned and left, scooping up her offspring ash she shifted to a form nearly twin to his own and vanished into the woods.
Lying on the forest floor naked and pregnant he wanted nothing better than to dismiss all of it as nightmare. With the constant movements inside and still feeling echoes of stimulation to anatomy he hadn't even possessed the day before it just wasn't going to happen. Mostly Vitham tried to come up with answers to 'what now' and failed miserably. His party was dead, he was a monster, and nothing seemed to matter.
Felt the same urgency as when they started the trek but it had soured. What use for gold if it couldn't be spent? Fame seemed more likely to bring hunters on his so very attractive tail than anything he might want. A wife and family, those the wolf had given him plenty without even the hassle of courting. Hunger twisted his belly in knots and brought a whine to his throat. Something, probably the wolf herself, had picked through the contents of his haversack for anything edible. Evenarie's body had snapped into a frozen ruin when it hit the ground but maybe with luck?
Unsure if a repeat of his earlier performance was advisable Vitham rolled slowly onto his side, doing his best to ignore the way breasts rubbed and shifted. Drew up on all fours in a bent-legged stance less uncomfortable than hands and knees would have been. As he walked hesitantly to the body pine needles sticking up from the thick leaf litter brushed across a low hanging belly, reinforcing his plight. Trail rations scattered in crumbling inedible masses from a shattered pack. But nearby a much better smell, mouthwatering scent that brought an involuntary lick of the nose. One of the elf's arms lay nearby and he pressed his muzzle against it for a sniff. So hungry he could feel his empty stomach twist against itself and vision blur.
It was soft, crumbly, and chilled. Tasted kind of like honeybread with pork dripping, just like an elf to even taste good. Vitham froze, he was eating the body of his friend. Someone he'd drank and whored with, faced death beside was now a meal. The hunger was too great he must to feed. Tears in his unnatural yellow eyes he ripped off the greater part of a slender elven bicep and bolted it, hoping in whatever afterlife he'd attained E understood.
Piece by piece he devoured as much of the body as he could. Until the hunger was sated and unwanted passengers settled down. Sitting there on his haunches among the half-eaten remains of a friend he couldn't stand it anymore. Had to get away from what was around him, inside him. Bolting into the forest he ran blindly. No care for his direction or destination just sprinting at random away from the site of the events. Attempting to leave them behind mentally as well as physically.
For all its size and weight the belly didn't obstruct his mobility nearly so much as the complaints of women he'd known described. Then again they weren't lycanthropes either. Jouncing breasts smacked against the upper curve of belly and each other in a motion that crinkled nipples and moistened parts he didn't want to think about. By the time night cast its shadow over the woods Vitham stumbled on exhausted from one footfall to the next, matted tear-streaks in the fur of his face and tongue lolling with his panting breath.
As if to compound his problems a heavy misting rain filtered through the canopy. Strange enough its chill slowly working in as his fur soaked was invigorating not depressing. Wrapped in his own misery Vitham didn't notice any of that. Just before sunrise fatigue caught up, huddled under the cover of a dense evergreen thicket he dozed fitfully cradling his belly in his sleep as the unborn within shifted.
Opening his eyes to a hushed evening chill there was something wrong before the scent of smoldering fire and burnt meat crossed his nose. Not unpleasant but out here sure sign of combat and he had neither armor nor weapon. When the inanity of that last bit coalesced the adventurer nearly banged his head on the ground. He was a gods-forsaken werewolf of course he had weapons, what did he think tipped his fingers or lined his jaws.
If anyone is still there and I show up like this I'll be attacked on sight. So I'll have to be something else, not good I can't manage shapeshifting magic yet and don't know what would happen to these if I did. He rubbed a hand over the white dome of his middle in a motherly gesture that passed beneath his notice. An illusion could work but it would need to be something close to my shape. The other hand massaged his sheathe as if for reassurance it was still there.
Gnolls, Vitham was reminded by his ministrations. They were fairly close to the right body shape if two feet shorter and less massive to boot, more important everyone he knew said their breeders were both male and female. Drop a glamour of spotty dull fur and change his brow a bit and he could pass for a particularly brutish gnoll breeder. Of course gnolls were notorious bandits and plunderers but hired muscle too, they could at least get inside a settlement most of the time. Being turned away from a gate seemed a far better option than shot at and chased.
Drawing forth a streamer of arcane power he began to shape the glamour. Tingles running all over his body as colors dripped across its surface, leaving behind rough spotty yellowish brown fur liberally festooned with old scars. Broadening his muzzle and rounding off the ears. Checked over the details in the puddle of iced over drool where his muzzle had lain in sleep. Good enough, Vitham stood and carefully stalked out of the thicket following his nose.
Though he would never be mistaken for a ranger he approached stealthily as he could manage. Stalking in on all fours with the hunched gorilla-like posture his long arms made possible in an attempt to reduce his profile. From what he could smell it had been at least two or three days since and wind shifting during the day had brought it his direction. Aside from the carrion birds nothing moved in the site, he closed in.
Whoever they were had done a good job, catching the small group of traders at the chokepoint leading up to a ford. The first wagon was a charred skeleton along with the pack lizards dead in their carbonized traces. None of the rest were quite so bad, bandits wanted loot not destruction. Broken crates and torn sacks littered the ground. Pieces of material too hard to carry or low value scattered all over as they tossed the surviving wagons. At the edge of the woods a maimed lizard softly chirruped for its dead handler. Judging by the number of wagons most had survived to be stolen.
Few of the traders had been so lucky, their corpses were tossed and scavenged much as the cargo had been. Confident the only company he'd have were the vultures and blood bats Vitham prowled into the devastation eyes open and hackles raised. While the most valuable or transportable things had been taken he could see a lot of useful things remained. With a length of scorched rope to cinch it in loosely under his breasts and again at hips a ripped tent made for a halfway decent short robe or long tunic. The firewarped head of a heavy dwarf-made iron shovel would do as a spearhead if he could locate a pair of rocks to pound it into shape on. The wagons themselves were beyond salvaging but a feeble glimmer in magesight indicated at least some of the lift stones they'd ridden on were unbroken despite the grounding. Those were good as coin, better really, unlike coins magic did something and was more difficult to counterfeit. They would at least get him outfitted.
He stumped over for a better look at the nearest wagon. As he brought his head down closer there was a new scent. The rank body sweat of stark terror, fresh and living. "Gurzt," the standard command word of lift stones ever since they'd been invented in the now ruined city-state. Enough remained active to raise the near side elbow high. Something alive had been hiding in the space between the wagon bottom and the box frame it rested on when grounded. It yelped and recoiled toward the far side still resting on the ground.
Bowstring twanged and one small bolt dug into his forearm, not much more painful than a bee sting. Snarl issuing between teeth that gnashed in anger he ripped out the quarrel and dragged the creature out. A second command dropped the wagon behind to deny its refuge. Pulled clear to see his snarling face looming overhead the attacker gave a terrified puppy whimper and burst into tears. That sound, canine and young, jerked at unsuspected instincts halting his growl.
She was dover like the bodies, built like an upright shepard dog with sandy brown fur and large expressive ears. If she'd been human he would have judged her 12 or 13 but dover aged a bit faster like orcs. Vitham couldn't bring himself to harm her. Wearing only a fringed loincloth and caked in dirt she'd clearly been hiding in that space since the attack.
"Hush now," while the common had a guttural rasp his voice was undeniably feminine. Her struggles paused and he used that opportunity to stand upright. Big as an ogre Vitham hoisted the adolescent like a young child settling her with face cradled against bosom instinctively. "Shh it's over now," in a tone he found disconcertingly maternal to have originated with himself. She wrapped her arms as far around him as they would reach and bawled. Much as she needed the comfort he didn't want to just stand around making a target. Worse things than bandits could be drawn to such places.
Carrying the young dover easily he strode over the inspect the pack lizard's plight. Lying on an embankment it had tried to bolt over the vast lizard was a piteous sight. The elephant sized reptiles were tough creatures, this one's ability to roll those black eyes at him and give a call for attention with belly split open was living proof. Held in place by webs of connective tissue the guts hadn't spilled out through the rent but blood bats had been at it and clearly much was lost. Vitham wasn't sure of his course, he could probably heal the beast but it would run him nigh dry of magic for a time.
"I'm so hungry," her quiet voice startled him out of proportion of its noise. "Please do you have food?" A request so desperate and nervous he couldn't deny it, though he was reluctant going to such measures. With an inborn familiarity the changed adventurer pulled down one side of his makeshift tunic to expose a trio of breasts nearly the size of the dover's head. She seemed to realize what she was lying against finally and blushed to the base of her ears, one little hand sliding over the round belly on whose slope she mostly rested.
"I'm full girl and you're hungry, it's what I've got." Reluctantly as he'd offered she accepted. Leaning slowly until her muzzle contacted what she was as hyena fur with a murmured 'soft.' When her lips clamped onto the proffered nipple he sat down heavily stifling a moan through clenched muzzle, so sensitive. One short experimental suckle he could feel draw liquid out.
"It's cold, you're cold," he darted away to look up nervously.
Vitham reached for anything he remembered about gnolls, "touch of Grausha the Winterlord on his shaman. It won't hurt you, drink." Mental sigh of relief as she leaned back in for more. "Drink all... you can hold," forced out of gritted teeth. "Heal lizard," moan-pant..., "then go. Before something worse,"...chuff-moan, "comes." He did and the experience was a thing he could grow to like.