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Mavirre

By Strega

Mavirre was sleek, and strong, and fast. Tall for a hestan woman, with a lynx-like russet pelt, she stood a hair more than six feet if you counted her upright ears. A skillful fighter, her sharp retractile claws and a powerful fanged bite let her hold her own even without other weapons...normally.

It was not a normal situation. She'd woken stripped naked, her claws trimmed cruelly short and with a leather muzzle locked onto her snout. She'd only been given a few seconds to recover before the animals were released to pursue her, and she'd been running ever since.

The first beast was close behind her in the maze and she was panting, close to exhaustion, and afraid. Another turn of the corridor and she was in a small room with three other exits - and an observer.

"That's Redfang after you," the armored man said conversationally. He was standing on the clear magical glassteel that topped the maze. From up there he could see everything and move to the next area of interest with just a few steps. "If he catches you, he will rip you to shreds. Redfang likes his meals bloody."

Mavirre swore through the leather muzzle. It'd been a mistake to get into a fight with the Greyston city guard and kill two of them. That had gotten her a long stint as an indentured servant - the next step above slave - and then she'd lost her temper and attacked her master. That, in turn, had landed her in the Meat Market...and into the hands of General Matthew and his pets.

She swore again as the beast loped into the room. Three feet tall at the haunches, shaggy with nearly black fur save for a lighter stripe along its flanks and on its cheeks. Not large for a dire wolverine, really, but three times her mass and solid muscle under that fur. There were blotches of white beneath the thick leather collar and another down beneath its belly, which she hadn't gotten a look at and didn't want to. She darted into an exit at random.

In a straight line she could sprint away from the beast, her padded digitigrade feet better suited for speed than its short legs and white-clawed snowshoe paws. What the wolverine had in its favor was endurance. Sooner or later she tired, and each time she did the remorseless loping gait brought the beast close once more.

And then there was the other one. Only its excited snarl gave her enough warning to leap over the second, lighter-colored beast as it sprang at her. A swipe of its sharp-clawed paw just grazed her fur. This one - Bloodripper, or just Ripper - didn't want to tear her to bits, just slow her down enough to catch. The General's beasts had their particular, well-known habits. Unlike his 'brother', Ripper could - and would, if he got a chance - swallow her whole.

Probably after raping her first. That habit of his was well known, too. Not that the other one was any better. It was well known in Monstertown that the female slaves who served the general had to bed the wolverines, and that slaves who refused required immediate replacement by dint of having been eaten. There was a reason all of the General's slaves were purchased at the Meat Market.

There was a squabble behind her as the two wolverines collided, with a perfunctory swipe and fanged snap. Sadly they both turned to chase her, Ripper loping into a side corridor and Redfang into another.

There was the clink of armor from above as General Matthew bypassed a wall with a step to keep her in view. He knew the layout of the maze, which he'd told her was rearranged each time he played this little game with his pets. If not for that, they would have caught her by now. They were as lost in this wooden labyrinth as she was.

The holes in the glassteel roof let in sound from the corridors on either side, and Mavirre sensed that the two wolverines were both ahead of her on parallel maze paths. She doubled back at once, and with a shrug the general did the same. As she emerged into the room a second time he spoke once more.

"My pets don't like to share, you know. Still, if they both lay a paw on you at once, they will make a sandwich of you. Wolverine underneath, wolverine on top. And when they are satisfied, they will argue over who eats you. I'd rather avoid that. It's usually messy."

She could sniff her own scent here, laid down from the glands between her pawpads, and with enough time she could simply try each route that lacked that scent until she reached the exit. Though there were moving sections and one-way doors that kept her from just using the 'follow the right wall' approach, eventually she'd find the way out. Already she heard the click of claws and an excited growl coming close, though, and she rushed into the exit she hadn't tried yet.

She stumbled as she ran and almost went down Ripper's throat. As she fell forward there he was coming the other way, and he reared up to meet her, jaws gaped unnaturally wide. Were she the slightest bit slow to react there'd be a wet thump followed by a gulp and that would be that. That slick chute of throat was a path she had no interest in walking today or any other day, and her reflexes were just quick enough.

She twisted, one foot pushing at the floor and her long tail whipping the other way to counterbalance her movement, and the fanged jaws that would have swallowed her alive missed to one side. She'd caught Ripper in a moment of vulnerability and though declawed she slashed at the beast's nearer eye. Yet the powerful brute was smarter and quicker than she expected. He'd started to roll as soon as he realized he'd failed to catch her, and it was her turn to miss. Her fingers scraped along his cheek and too late she realized he had twisted away from her for another reason. His roll brought his forepaws up off the floor and one hit her hip and one her shoulder as Mavirre was thrown against the wall with stunning force.

She didn't even hear the wolverine hit the ground himself. She shook her head to clear it and struggled back to her feet.

Or tried to. As she rose on all fours a heavy paw on the root of her tail forced her back down. She felt the brush of fur on her thighs as the wolverine stepped up over her and the touch of a sheath swollen hard as iron. The foul musk of an excited wolverine filled her nostrils as he made ready to crouch down and thrust. She was about to be pinned to the ground and mounted.

Not if she had anything to say about it. She twisted at the waist and this time she didn't miss, though the elbow that slammed into Ripper's cheek probably hurt her more than it did him. He almost seemed amused as he cuffed her with a forepaw, slamming her back to the floor even as she'd tried to rise. Belatedly she realized that the beast was intentionally keeping his claws out of her flesh. The earlier double stamp would have torn her open if he'd swiped instead. He wanted his unwilling mate good and wriggly, not gasping and bleeding to death.

But as he grinned at her and stepped forward her knee came up under his chin and this time he flinched. Big and tough as he was he was not invulnerable. His eyes blinked shut for an instant and she rolled backward onto her feet. Just in time.

Like a recurring nightmare the other wolverine popped out of a side entrance and swiped at her. It'd have disembowled her had he not been skidding along on three paws and off balance. Instead three of the five white claws went red at the tips as he raked her side.

That earned him a kick in the head as she fell away, but Mavirre wasn't sticking around to become the feline filling in a wolverine sandwich and after that the hestan flavor on musteline belches. The beasts were much smarter and more skilled at combat than they looked and the only reason she had lasted this long was that they were enjoying themselves and unwilling to share their new toy. As they snarled and snapped at each other she darted down the corridor.

She was slower now, bruised and bleeding, but she was in a section of maze she hadn't seen before. The warehouse the general had bought for these spectacles wasn't all that big and she had a moment to glance down three corridors. The wall where one turned left was a different color of wood than any of the other walls...the same color as the floor. It had to be part of the outer frame of the warehouse and she ran down that hall without hesitation.

There was the click of a footstep from above. "Hm, you know," the general said, "everything that happens here is magically recorded."

"I know," Mavirre growled as she made her way through a narrow corridor that twisted back on itself like an intestine. Hopefully that was not an omen. The general had a foul little clique he'd get together to watch the terrible things his wolverines and other pets did to Meat Market slaves. Supposedly he had a pet aurumvorax, a little monster no bigger than a badger, who would eat an entire human in one sitting. Then there was the giant salamander.

"You are putting up a good fight," the general continued. "And my friends do like to see a tough slave humbled. If you let my pets catch you and put up a good struggle when they rape you, I'll tell them not to eat you. Afterwards, well, we can dye your fur and see how you do in the arena. Might earn your freedom there, under another name."

"Fuck you," Mavirre snarled. She rounded another hairpin turn...and was confronted with a dead end. Only then did she hear the click of claws behind her.

"Suit yourself," General Matthew said, and stroked his beard with the single golden gauntlet he wore as Ripper came around the corner. The smile on the wolverine's face was not as evil as the one on the man's.

The corridor was barely wider than the beast, the glassteel ceiling only ten feet up. She'd seen how fast he could rear up on his hindpaws and was certain trying to leap over him would only end up with her landing in his mouth. There was nothing for it but to fight.

Hestans have their own forms of unarmed combat, and Mavirre knew them well. As the wolverine stepped forward she leapt into the air, not to pass over him (and likely down his throat) but to slam her heel into that feral skull. She probably couldn't kill the beast, but if she could stun him and dash past she'd have another chance to live.

There was no Redfang to distract him now, though. As her heel came down the wolverine half-reared and batted her leg aside as though he were swatting an annoying insect. It was not a clumsy, reflexive movement, but a smooth, practiced, effortless swipe. And a familiar one.

Amongst hestan troops at war went Zelas's Tigers, magically bred and intelligent great cats. Sinewy and powerful as any true tiger, they were as smart as a man and learned to fight with their creators. Some served as mounts, some as scouts, and some as simple soldiers. They quickly learned to fight against upright foes and Ripper had just executed a ziger's well-practiced kick parry.

Mavirre remembered that there was, in fact, a ziger captain in the Greyston city guard...the same Guard in which Ripper's master was a general.

The force of that slap spun Mavirre half around, and she continued the spin. In an instant her other foot would lash out -

But he knew that move too, and suddenly the wolverine was inside the arc of the kick. Almost playfully he pushed her forward into the dead end. He could kill her in an instant with claw or bite in these close quarters and all she could do was strike desperately back at him, hoping to drive him off before she was pulled down and raped.

Only his wish to have her squirming beneath her as he humped kept her alive now, and though he blocked or shrugged off most of her strikes his determination to injure her as little as possible meant she had the time to swing again and again. Eventually her fist slipped past his paw and slammed right into the wolverine's nose.

Thuggish though he was he still flinched again and Mavirre managed to get back to her feet. With a surge of frantic strength she leapt over the wolverine. She sensed him whirl around beneath her as she jumped but it wasn't until she landed not on her feet but slammed down on her belly that she saw how badly her escape attempt had gone.

The wet, sucking grip something had on her left foot and ankle was the first warning, that and the pain as teeth dug into her calf. Mavirre craned her head around and saw her leg gone past the ankle in Ripper's jaws. The wet grip around her toes was the wolverine's gullet, which clenched down and pulled with horrible strength as he swallowed.

Her eyes went wide with horror as her calf was sucked into the beast's jaws, the pull of his gulp dragging her leg in all the way to the knee. As he took a step forward she saw the now much more obvious white stripe on his belly and a black tip. The stripe turned out to lie atop the beast's now swollen sheath and the wrist-thick tip was exactly what it looked like. Aroused as he plainly was the wolverine, for whatever reason, now seemed bent on eating her rather than rape.

Mavirre snarled in fear and slammed her other knee into his cheek. Or tried to. It was impossible to get any leverage with one leg half swallowed, and the the result was a love-tap the beast ignored altogether. As the slimy walls of his gullet pulsated she could see her leg slipping down his throat by the bulge her ankle and calf made in his shaggy neckfur. He was sliding his muzzle up her thigh now, his beady eyes fixed on her face as fangs scraped over her fur and the slimy chute of his throat sucked in more and more of her leg. His strong and well-practiced throat muscles would soon send her to his stomach if she didn't get him to let go.

Mavirre snarled and kicked him in the side, rewarded by the drum-like sound of a hit to ribs and little else. His maw was almost to her crotch and she struck at his eyes with crooked fingers. The wolverine was waiting for that and struck her hand aside with a huge forepaw. With a sudden twist of his neck he rolled her over and Mavirre saw why he wasn't raping her.

As he worked his unhinged jaws over her rump, forcing her other knee against her belly the second wolverine came panting around the corner. Redfang took one look at her, growled his disappointment that he had found her second, and stepped forward with his lips drawing back from his fangs.

"No, Redfang," said the man standing overhead, and the wolverine's whole body shuddered as violet sparks leapt from its thick collar. Illuminated by the glow she read the writing on the octagonal name tag hanging from the collar.

"Redfang. Property of General Matthew. Reward for return, 1,000 L."

Behind her Ripper's own seemingly solid collar stretched as he worked his jaws over her hips. With one foot down his gullet and the other stretched out in front of her next to her hands she twisted hard, slamming her elbow over and over into the wolverine's head. Twice she hit his stretched cheek, bruising her own swallowed thigh beneath the fur more than she hurt him, and if the blows she landed on his feral skull hurt at all he gave no sign. Stubbornly he pushed forward.

Canine fangs scraped against her lower back and belly as the elastic muscle of the wolverine's throat expanded over Mavirre's hips, and a great contraction of the muscles beneath that throatskin sent her lurching downward. With that single, powerful gulp she was sucked into the weasel-thing's jaws to the breasts. Only just in time did she reach back on each side, digging her fingers hard into the shaggy fur of his shoulders and stopping the slide. Somewhere down in the sucking wetness of his gullet her left foot pushed past a rubbery obstruction and into the wet folds of what could only be his stomach.

"Wait!" she cried. "I take it back! Let them rape me, send me to the arena. I'll do what you ask! Just don't let him eat me!

She'd never begged before, even when she and her adventuring band faced seemingly impossible odds. Friends had died and twice she had only returned from the great beyond herself through the magics of a friendly priest. There would be no return this time, no escape from the wolverine's innards save as a hacked-up furball and the eventual departure of digested hestan from his bowels. Not the ending she'd hoped for after a lengthy and exciting life.

"Hm," said the man overhead as Redfang paced back and forth in front of her, thick black cock half unsheathed and snarling in irritation. He wanted his share of this toy but even if he'd be willing to risk her fangs by forcing himself into her mouth the muzzle was an obstacle no amount of lust could overcome.

Ripper planted his forepaws wide to stretch his neck to its greatest diameter and heaved his head upward, bolting her inches deeper like an egret gulping down a fish. Only her desperate grip on his shoulders kept her out of the abyss of gullet, and he persisted at it. Wet salivating throat slid up over her belly and back, then retreated over and over, tensing and rippling as the wolverine struggled to swallow her whole. Mavirre clung to his fur with horrified determination, her own strength the only thing between her and a slimy digestive end. Even his shoulders were stretching and popping as he tried to swallow her, her rump and thigh in his throat forcing his upper torso to expand unnaturally.

"Tell you what," the general said. "If you last another minute, I'll have him spit you out so he and Redfang can have their way with you. I'll count."

That brightened the eyes of the frustrated wolverine in front of her but unfortunately Ripper was not willing to play along. General Matthew wasn't even to 'five' before a huge forepaw lifted and scraped her hand from Ripper's shoulder. As her arm was pushed forward the wolverine swallowed, and the insistent pull of his throat sucked Mavirre in so deeply on that side that her chin bumped into her own outstretched knee. Sharp canines scraped along her scalp as he lifted his head once again, and the twist combined with the effort of trying to support her entire weight with just one hand dragged her fingers free from the fur of his other shoulder.

"No!" she cried, but the wolverine did not pause. As her other shoulder slipped into his gullet he swallowed massively, and this time there was nothing to stop her from sliding in. She had a last glimpse of his swollen neckfur and the bulge moving smoothly down through it as his throat muscles pulled her in. Suddenly her entire view was of pink palate, tongue, and four great canine fangs surrounding the little piece of outside world she could still see. That little piece was first Redfang's frustrated face and then a view of General Matthew as Ripper looked from one to the other.

"Oh well then," the General said as the fangs receded in front of her. Wet, slippery gullet slid up over her ears as she went backwards down the wolverine's throat. With a last desperate effort she grabbed his lower jaw with both hands, not caring that fangs dug into her palms. Her arms, right leg, muzzle and even her tail fought for space in the wolverine's throat, leaving only the least sliver of outside world in view. She could see only the general's face now as Ripper looked at his master, even as the wolverine's gullet tensed for the last gulp.

"Please, no," Mavirre said, but if the General said anything, it was too late to hear. The muscular throat around her clenched down and tugged and an instant later the wolverine yawned. For a moment her view of the outside world broadened again but at that same time his lower jaw retreated out of her grasp, and all she could do was whimper as she slid rump-first into the beast's stomach. Pink throat and bright outside world diminished in stages to ill-lit purple gullet stuffed full of arms and leg and tail, then finally to darkness as she passed through the creaking tightness of ribcage and emerged into the elastic void of his gut.

Her left leg bent at the knee as her foot encountered the back end of the stomach, and it was too late to think about stiffening it to keep from being swallowed. It probably wouldn't have helped anyway, the best case being having her foot digested as the wolverine - who somehow had seemed to breathe without difficulty during the lengthy struggle - waited for her to tire. In retrospect the fight had lasted as long as it had only because he was still playing. He could have pushed her in with a paw or simply pressed his open maw against a wall to force her in had he been in the least doubt how this would all end.

Now it had ended, more or less. Squeezed into a ball by the muscular walls of the beast's stomach she could still struggle, but to little effect. Trimmed claws only left streaks in the mucus on the barely seen stomach walls. She might have found a fold of wall to bite were it not for the muzzle, and late in the day she saw why it had been put on her. Not to keep her from fighting the wolverines, whose tough pelt would limit the damage to easily healed levels. No, they had put a leather, and easily digested, muzzle on her to stop her from hurting Ripper from the inside. If he were the one to catch her, the General had wanted his pet to have a meal that didn't end in a painful, if brief, struggle in his gut.

Still she fought, squirming in the beast's belly even as his stomach acids matted her fur and stung nose and pawpads. Soon they would soak completely through her pelt and the process of digestion would begin, faster at her sex and anus and other bodily openings but eventually everywhere once her fur began to loosen from softening skin. It was only a tingle now, but just as the mice she occasionally swallowed alive were consumed, so she would be. Three times her weight of wolverine, his belly swaying heavily even now, would settle down to digest his meal and that would be that. She was made of meat and bone and a predator's stomach knows what to do with that.

But he wasn't settling down just yet. In the bile-smelling darkness of his stomach Mavirre heard the beast's excited pulse throbbing through the wet flesh around her and felt his every movement. She felt him shift to one side as he stepped out with one hindpaw, leaving more space for his belly to droop, and heard him grunt as he thrust his hips forward. The beast arched up over the ball of squirming hestan in his belly and even through the muscle and tough hide surrounding her she felt the long stiffness along his belly.

Denied the chance to rape her due to his stubborn refusal to share, Ripper found another way to satisfy himself. He grunted and growled as he thrust, grinding his tip against his lumpy belly as his own sheath rubbed forward and back over a shaft that had never shrunk down from its earlier arousal. Faster and faster he thrust, working himself into a frenzy as he used the still-squirming bulge the same way he would have used her had she not fought him off earlier. It wasn't as good as actually raping her, but it was enough.

In the sloshing darkness of the bouncing belly Mavirre cursed him and cursed her fate. She couldn't stop him from using her, his meal, for one last bit of entertainment. She could only squirm futilely in the gurgling hell of his stomach as she slowly succumbed to lack of air and the accelerating process of digestion.

"Hm," said Matthew. Redfang had curled around to lick himself in a fury of frustration, which the general thought was short-sighted. Better to save that pent-up lust for his slaves, some of whom had come to actually like their feral and aggressive lovers. Then again, a four-hundred-pound wolverine could do a woman an injury if he were too excited and careless, and even meat slaves cost money. Maybe it was just as well Redfang took the edge off before they returned home.

The general took out a little hand-bound journal he kept around for moments of inspiration. "Rather than a simple muzzle next time, maybe get one that holds the jaws safely open yet allows access to the throat. That shouldn't be hard to find." He made a note to have a slave run over to the nearest shop that stocked that sort of toy, or failing that, there was the four-story fantasy house a city block over that catered to every manner of perversion. Surely he couldn't be the only one to think of it.

"So the next time someone gets eaten feet first, Redfang won't be entirely shut out. After all, when he shreds someone, Ripper at least gets the scraps." The wolverines had once been outright antagonistic toward each other, the worst of it dating to when Redfang killed a slave that Ripper might even have loved. These days the beasts were competitive to a fault, stubborn, and covetous of their toys, but not outright enemies. It was not unheard of for them to both be in bed with the same woman, or to share a meal relatively peaceably.

"Plus, it would be fun to watch you throat-fuck someone and help push them down Ripper's throat," the general said, and Redfang looked up with a grin. Then each looked at the lighter-colored wolverine as Ripper let out a great belch that trailed off into a shuddering growl of lust. Fortunately, and not accidentally, the stone floor was porous enough to soak up even that much wolverine semen.