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As he'd come to find out, the phrase "... and other contractual obligations as set forth by the contract holder, with regards to all existing clauses therein, within the bounds of law as set forth by the state of Ingling, shall be obliged to the best of the contractor's responsibility, else the contractor shall be held in breach of contract" was a very powerful clause indeed. It basically meant the contract holder - Prince Fesling and the stallion's royal shaft - could set any conditions for contractors he pleased, such as a requirement to get a nose piercing, attach a chain to it, and get muzzle-fucked by an over-sized horse cock. Sexual contracts were perfectly legal under Ingling law, though outsiders - like the tiger - may not have been aware of that small detail, nor that such details were considered inclusive of such expansive clauses.

And that is how Tory ended up on his knees, muzzle stretched wide, throat filled to the brim with a throbbing, dripping, spurting mottled pink and black shaft, in front of a richly appointed, glossy black stallion. He'd long since lost his gag reflex, and the sorcerer's protective spells meant he could still breath through flared nostrils no matter how long the prince pounded his throat. Same for the piercing - it would not be pleasant, but not exactly painful, and impossible for the stallion to pull free, no matter how hard he pulled. Not that the facts of the sorcerer's spells stopped from trying.

The tiger closed his eyes as the stallion yanked the chain down. The big piece of horse shaft plunged into his throat again, throbbed, pulled back roughly, and drove in once more. The stallion wrapped his slender black fingers around the back of Tory's skull and shoved his muzzle down, until the tiger was swallowing the hung horse to the base of his very full sheath. The feline's jaw stretched, lips pulling back, though teeth were, once more, a non-issue thanks to the sorcerer's sexual machinations. They were still there, but would merely rub the horse's length and do no damage.

The stallion's flanks twitched with each deep thrust. His tail, braided and tied with dark purple ribbons, flicked back and forth behind him. Sweat rolled down his smooth chest and graceful belly as he abused the tiger kneeling in front of him. He stared down, open-mouthed, moaning with lust, driving his cock down, watching every inch disappear into the smooth, warm, tight throat. His nostrils flared, taking in the the air, which was warm and pungent with exotic scents. Male servants of a variety of species used large handheld fans to circulate the air, causing it to swirl across the room, kicking up petals of flowers strewn about the dull red brick floor. Creamy marble walls tinged with reds and pinks formed intricate patterns in the bouncing light of a dozen or so torches mounted on the walls. Overhead, a clear glass dome allowed a pleasing view of the dark night sky above, not that the stallion's gaze drifted far from the tiger.

In the center of the room, a bubbling hot water bath, housed in a ring of dark black onyx stones, held in place by mortar mixed with precious jewels. The fire heating the water from below caused spectacular shafts of richly colored light to shine from within. The onyx pulsed around the edges with a near unearthly glow. Cushions ringed the bath of a variety of shapes and sizes, all covered in wonderfully soft and plush fabrics. Silk linens and down-filled blankets lay scattered and tossed aside. Another male servant stood a few feet away holding a towel; next to him, a servant with a silver tray holding a jeweled crystal decanter full of a dark red liquid and a matching crystal goblet.

Tory was, in the stallion's eyes, a prize equal to any of the treasures populating the room. Tigers were rare in his country, coming mostly from beyond the sea in the Eastern Lands, a collection of nations bordering the ocean on one side and a massive range of mountains on the other, granting them both isolation and protection. Prince Fesling didn't much care which particular country the tiger came from, just that he had signed the contract, which meant he could do this to the handsome feline any time he pleased. Which was often. Servants came and went, of course. The prince's accountant did a busy trade daily for new contracts or trading contracts to other royals. Some stuck around a few days, some weeks, some even years, though the longest contracts were generally those who were smart enough to include certain clauses limiting their duties to certain tasks only, rather than giving the Prince discretion, such as the tutors or the physicians. It was probably for the best, considering how little Fesling would eat should Tory have been his chef.

The tiger was handsome. Tall, at just over six feet, but with a lithe, slim build that nevertheless sported impressive musculature beneath a full, glossy pelt. He moved gracefully and easily, but with an innate wariness in his pricked-up ears and tense tail. At the moment, his expression was one of the mildest displeasure, barely detectable as he squeezed his eyes shut every time the stallion's thickness drove into his throat.

The first few days after he'd arrived at the mansion where Prince Fesling lived, he'd done mostly odd jobs, getting passed around from one foreman to another, trying to find something he was good at and could stick with. That was when Prince Fesling had taken serious interest in him by sticking him on fan duty, meaning the tiger watched as the stallion went through a parade of servants, some of whom obviously enjoyed themselves, others who were in it strictly for the contract bonuses. One received a whole extra day's pay bonus each time he could get the prince to cum. The few who decided after signing they weren't able to fulfill that part of their contract were traded off with penalties, usually doubling their contract to sell at a good price on market. Tory had chosen to participate rather than double his time owed for no extra pay, though at this point he was sure he'd be rich if only he'd had an extra clause or two in his contract.

But no, that was something he'd left behind when he took the ship to leave Mohwr in the first place, the reason he'd signed the contract to pay for his trip. Was it fate that he ended up in the same sort of lifestyle on a whole other continent?

A more lewd sort of service generally followed after being assigned to the fans in the bath house. The tiger spent the past month on his knees or back, leaving him surly and tired under the motionless neutral facade. Would the spoiled stallion never tire of his new toy?

Fesling's eyes flicked to the left, then the right, trying to catch one of his nearby servants watching him fornicate with the tiger's muzzle. The servants knew better, however, and none dared move their heads the slightest bit. They were purposefully stationed so that the area around the tub itself was just out of view for all of them, but tantalizing close. Just a little flick of the eye... Fesling's punishment for voyeurism was to have other servants continuously edge the offender for hours. And then maybe a few more. The stallion would sit on his throne, nude, legs akimbo, his huge shaft flexing across his smooth belly and chest, as the offending servant was teased by other servants for the prince's own amusement. He was disappointed not to attract the attention of even the new servant, a very good contract indeed, the stallion thought, the one holding the wine. Surely the slim, effeminate brown hare would react to a moan or two?

The prince let out a grunt, though it was just a tad too eager to sound quite genuine, and ground his hips forward suddenly. Tory's throat closed around the invading length automatically. The stallion wrapped the chain around his fingers, tugging the slightly taller tiger forward, enjoying himself as he glanced back at the new servant. No dice. The hare had obviously learned his lesson after being caught twice already. And he'd only been here three days! Oh well.

Fesling shivered and pumped away, driving himself deep over and over. The tiger's throat wasn't the tightest or the best he'd ever had, but there was just something about the feline that kept him coming back. The stallion enjoyed himself immensely as his flare ground back and forth, popping free of the tiger's lips, only to slide between with force a moment later, again and again, then a few deep strokes, all the way to the hilt, so that he could feel Tory's nose against his belly, and then... then...

Tory's throat opened for the invading maleness as a thick load of cum surged into his belly. The stallion's fingers tightened around the back of Tory's skull, keeping his nose ground into the stallion's soft lower abdomen. Cum oozed from the corners of the tiger's muzzle as the prince's over-sized testicles let loose with gush after gush of warm seed. Once past the initial blast, Tory was patient, working carefully to swallow as cleanly as he was able without putting any pressure on the stallion's shaft. It was impossible not to impart at least some pleasure, but Tory was surprisingly good at making the horse feel less than he ought to, something the stallion hadn't quite caught on to yet.

The hoofed male snorted and pulled his cock free, vigorously finishing off his orgasm with both hands, finding it felt good to really give his shaft a firm squeeze after the tiger's warm but gentle throat. He made sure to aim the sticky strands of cum at Tory's face, sending seed soaking into the tiger's uncovered pelt from ears to belly, staining his dark orange fur and black stripes and wetting down his soft white chest and stomach fur. He tipped his head back, thrusting hard into his hands, shuddering each time his flair stroked past his palms.

Fesling finished a few minutes later. The black stallion glanced down at the tiger's thighs and was disappointed to see that though the tiger's sheath bulged slightly, he was disappointingly soft. The prince frowned as he used one hand to wipe his huge, semi-flaccid length clean against the tiger's cheeks, leaving globs of cum in the feline's pelt, increasing the sticky mess covering him. Fesling liked it when his toys got hard as he fucked them. He knew they wouldn't like having to take care of things back in the servants' quarters and that gave him a real giggle. But this tiger... after the first few days, the stallion failed to get much of a rise out of the tiger without having gone so far as to directly stimulate him, and there was very little chance Fesling would stoop to such low behavior. He was no dumb bottom bitch. He was a prince!

Fesling's thoughts continued like this as Tory waited patiently in front of him, head slightly bowed, a carefully neutral expression on his muzzle. The stallion got angry, considering the lack of arousal on the tiger's part to be nearly an insult. No, it was an insult, he decided. Anger mixed with lust in the young horse, barely into his adulthood. Hormones reared up, kicking a new erection into gear. It jerked upwards, harder even than before, pulsing hotly, as flushed as its owner. Fesling jerked on the thin golden chain attached to Tory's nose ring, forcing the tiger forward, onto his hands and knees. The stallion's nostrils flared, snorting, taking in the subdued feline's exotic scent.

It didn't take long for Fesling to kneel behind Tory. He'd show this servant who the master was. There was a reason Fesling held the contract, after all, not the other way around. Didn't this dumb feline get it? Frustration fueled the stallion's lust. The tiger stiffened slightly when the horse pulled on the base of his tail, but by the time the eager male was grinding his flared tip forward, the feline's muscles were nearly limp. Fesling managed to cram his over-sized cock deep into the tiger's body in just a few seconds, facing little resistance at all. The size, which would normally have been impossible, caused no pain or damage to the tiger, but did allow for the muscular feline's belly to distend, partly outlining the trembling flared tip. The stallion leaned back, hips pumping, one hand splayed over his hips, the other yanking the golden chain, forcing Tory to lean backwards into him.

The slaps of the stallion's straining thighs bouncing off the tiger's relaxed hips echoed through the room, almost drowning out the burbling of the hot pool next to them. Fesling dug his fingers into the fur at the crook of Tory's neck, squeezing the feline's neck and pinching, all while keeping his head tipped back and up with the chain. The tiger panted, almost groaning in the back of his throat when the prince's shaft plunged to the hilt, pushing out against his belly, stretching his tail hole impossibly around the invading length, driving in deeper and harder than anything possibly could thanks to the powerful charms of the perverted sorcerer.

In truth, Tory didn't mind his current situation as much as someone would expect, for reasons of his own that he'd yet to explain to any of the other servants. The tiger couldn't help but feel pleasure when getting pounded by such a magnificently large shaft - easily one of the biggest he'd handled - and, considering the mansion afforded its servants plenty of downtime in appropriately luxurious surroundings and facilities, it wasn't altogether that bad of a gig. He'd been through worse. He hadn't expected the sex when he signed the contract back in Mohwr, of course, but he surely was not unfamiliar with it.

The cause for his current attempts at sexual disobedience were aimed squarely at Prince Fesling's snotty attitude.

Tory struggled not to shudder as the stallion jerked on the chain. His nose felt tender, but he couldn't argue that the sorcerer's spells didn't work. In fact, he quite enjoyed bondage this way, compared to that time north of Mohwr, when he'd found that cougartaur with the twisted ankle and at night they would --

Prince Fesling's hips slapped forward. The stallion's teeth opened and nipped at the tiger's shoulder.

Without thinking, Tory let a full moan slip from his lips, distracted by his own thoughts and forgetting where he was. The feline's eyes remained still and calm, but his body gave itself away, jerking slightly in response to the prince's nipping teeth. The small motion didn't escape the stallion's attention, however, and the hung horse pulled Tory's head to the side, exposing the left half of his neck. The prince nipped again, speculatively. He wasn't sure this was going so far as to behave like a bottom would. In fact, as he thought about it, he realized this was probably something the tigers did to each other. Who knew what kinds of depravity those foreigners engaged in?

He wasn't far from the truth of it. Though his eyes remained still, Tory's muzzle opened and his tongue poked out, drawing up and down with every quickening breath. The stallion was right in that this was definitely a behavior used in his home nation, but sent awkward signals to the feline. Back home, the dominant one exposed their throat. Confidence was, culturally, the best quality, sung about by musicians, written about by poets, exemplified in the heroes of ages past. Though not as prized as in ancient times, there was still plenty of primal emotions brought to the fore by the behavior, which, in terms of sexual activities, was a certified public taboo. To do this in front of so many servants was... lewd. Tory couldn't help but respond physically, though his dark blue eyes remained, as ever, impressively impassive.

Tory shivered. His cock throbbed, erupting from his sheath, driven by the primal aspects of the virile feline's sexual nature. The stallion suddenly pulled back, removing his teeth from the feline's lower neck, where he'd nibbled his way down nearly to Tory's shoulder. The stallion leaned forward, inadvertently shoving his cock deep once more into the tiger's guts. He was confused, even as his cock jerked and throbbed deep in the feline's warm rump. The tiger's cock was much larger than it had been the last time he'd seen it erect.

Had he not known better, Fesling would have suspected the sorcerer was involved. No, this was something else entirely. Fesling groaned, staring over Tory's shoulder at the tiger's impressive erection. The stallion wouldn't ever admit it, but the tiger's cock enticed him. The stallion licked his lips, tasting salt as beads of sweat rolled down his smooth black hide. The incense and sweet perfumes in the air mixed with Tory's exotic musk, sending Fesling into a spin. Without realizing it, he'd lowered his head, inhaling the rising scent of the feline's powerful musk.

"So that's what it takes," the stallion said, his voice gleeful at discovering this Apechilles's heel. "No more holding out on me, servant."

Tory's body went taut by the time the stallion's flat teeth sunk into the crook of his neck a few moments later. Fesling was awkward, too rough, without any sense of tact or grace about his neckplay, but after being so pent up, Tory's body gladly welcomed the excuse to let loose.

He may have been able to mask the outward effects of his time with Prince Fesling, but he wasn't immune to it. Finding time to get away to take care of things had been difficult the past several days. The tiger was pent-up. Stonewalled. Blue-balled. It was hard not to find the smooth stallion attractive anyways. The horses back home always had long-hair hides, matching the extra-heavy pelts of the other dwellers of the northern country; the smoothness of the Ingling male was unique and attractive. If only the Prince weren't such an insufferable bag of spoiled milk, Tory's feelings towards him would be very different.

Feelings or no, his body couldn't help but react. His cock pulsed, throbbing, whipping back and forth, smacking into his belly. The tip of the rigid black length reached nearly to his sternum. Blobs of thick white cum burbled up and out, running down the trembling length, taut and smooth and slippery with cum, into the white fuzz of his stretched sheath and roiling testicles, which now seemed on the small side in comparison to the feline's shaft compared to his sheathed state. The tiger's fists clenched and his whole body tensed as an orgasm ripped through him, momentarily forcing him to lose control. His hips went taut, grinding down around the stallion's own erection. Prince Fesling's ears folded and his eyes widened, though they couldn't focus and rolled upwards. He dug his fingers into the feline's pelt, shuddering and shivering, unable to stop the quakes rolling from the tip of his flexing maleness to the root, where it radiated into every nerve in his body. Fesling's muzzle opened slack and his throat seized, unable to breathe. His orgasm crashed into him, knocking the spoiled stallion senseless as Tory struggled to regain his quivering figure. Muscle memory is a powerful thing, and the way the feline's hips rocked and rolled and swayed on the stallion's cock would put anyone into the care of a well-trained physician.

And Tory wasn't even trying. The big cat dug his fingers into his palms, squeezing so hard he could feel his claws pricking the skin. Just as he was about to draw blood, he forcibly retracted his claws and exhaled, releasing the tension in his body. He still shivered and squeezed when the next pulse of the orgasm swept through him, but he was no longer treating the stallion to the orgasm-induced coma in which the horse now found himself.

In fact, even as Tory's erection let out another thick burst, firing out in a long arc to splatter against one of the floor stones many feet away, Fesling slipped backwards, dragging his semi-hard erection free of the tiger's loose-again rump with a low gurgle. Tory remained still, frozen as he realized that the prince would be expecting much more from him in the future. The tiger sighed and let his head slump.

The servant with the wine bottle struggled himself not to turn his head or even perk his long brown ears up. The sounds were intriguing, however, but now he was concerned because Prince Fesling sounded drunk. Or ill. Something was odd. The rabbit chanced to move his eyes, catching the scene in his peripheral vision, which caused enough alarm to make him turn his head entirely. The hare's pupils widened in shock when he saw Fesling on his back, looking like he'd just fallen from a great height, though his cock was still jerking and shooting madly, and the kneeling post-orgasm, a large male, lean and powerful, coming down, breathing hard, swollen from head to toe.

The hare found the tiger quite impressive. But dangerous, too. How had he managed to lay out the prince? Had he? Had the prince fallen? The rabbit's hand trembled slightly, causing the tray to wobble a bit. Should he call for the guards? That would make him guilty of looking, wouldn't it? But if Fesling was hurt, they would all be punished anyways. Better to... to...

The hare's muzzle opened slightly, but stopped where it was when Tory lifted his head and looked straight towards him.

The tiger considered the hare for a moment, taking in every detail of the skinny brown-furred male. Soft. Plush fur. Little muscle tone; likely an academic or son thereof fallen on hard times. Maybe some other upper middle class family couldn't afford to continue the education of their youngest. Hardly likely to be a threat. The tiger's fur smoothed across his shoulders, though he had to admit it was slightly embarrassing to have done that to someone and been caught at it. No more rumors and stories and inflated egos describing his prowess, he had hoped. Well, maybe the rabbit wouldn't talk about it if he got a chance to explain.

The tiger winked.

The brown rabbit blinked a few times, reconsidered some things, and, when Tory's lip curled into the slightest of grins, grinned right back.

Fesling coughed and struggled to get onto his side, then awkwardly push himself onto unsteady legs. The hare's head snapped into place, unnoticed by the disoriented stallion. The gold chain slid from his fingers, dropping to the floor, but Tory didn't move. The stallion wobbled past him, towards the rabbit. The hare's right foot shifted, tapping rapidly up and down, though his pads fortunately didn't cause too much noise against the marble floor. The wine trembled only slightly before the Prince of Isling snatched it and the goblet, poured himself a glass of wine, and held the jug back out towards the rabbit. Still without saying a word, the horse dropped the pitcher; the rabbit leapt forward, snatching at the handle and swinging the jug away from the stones. The prince, unfazed and uncaring, tottered forward a few more steps until he was at the edge of the bubbling tub.

He turned and faced his servants.

"I'll be taking a bath now, and will be occupied for some time," he said, his voice unerring, completely normal. "You're all dismissed." The stallion lifted his goblet in the air. "Have a wonderful time." The horse drank deep, tossing his head back, and fell over into the pool with a splash following the uncharacteristic toast.

Nobody moved for a few moments as the stallion's legs slipped over the edge. The horse's muzzle rose above the water as his thick erection drifted back and forth in the heat. Wearing an addled smile, he drifted in the pool while the tiger rose to his feet, unsnapped the chain from his nose ring, and tossed it into the tub with the satisfied stallion. Servants stopped waving their fans, shrugged at each other, and piled them in the corner before leaving, glad to be given the evening off and knowing better than to show interest in how this turn of events came about. The hare holding the wine made to follow them, but glanced back over his shoulder at the tiger. Tory was already walking quickly out of the room, a neutral expression on his face once more. As he passed by the rabbit, the tiger's eyes shifted, making contact with the rabbit, and his lip curled into a grin once more.

"Hey, do you know where the library is?" the tiger asked.

The brown hare's eyes drifted from the muscular big cat's crotch, where his thick maleness drooped over half-hard, up his hard white-furred belly, across his sculptured chest, and finally to his dark blue eyes.

"Th-the library?"

Tory nodded.

"It's down there, keep going past the kitchens, on the left. I think. I'm new."

The tiger purred at the hare and lifted his eyebrows. "I can tell. You're pretty cute... I'll see you around."

Tory grinned as he walked down the hallway, leaving the hare speechless behind him. The tiger's purrs echoed as he formulated a plan. Perhaps it was possible a loophole existed after all, but he'd need the library's documents to check. His tail twisted in the air behind him as the part of his brain not thinking about getting even with the snotty stallion thought instead about getting to know the cute brown hare. If everything went according to plan, there'd be plenty of time for that soon.

#

"About clause I.A2, I'd like to specify that sheets in the servants' quarters should be cotton, not wool."

"Unnnnffff, yes, yes, okay..."

Tory didn't appear to move, but the stallion's head tipped back and a few lewd gurgles and grunts rolled past his tongue. His fingers squeezed at the tiger's hips, pulling him back, trying to grind every inch inside the tiger with unbecoming eagerness. He'd woken the next morning on the side of the tub calling for the tiger.

"Next," Tory said, his face still neutral, his voice matter-of-fact, "is the matter of clause 17.C4(ii). This one is my fault, I should have noticed this when I signed, but I'd like to change the holding company for the escrow from my salary from the Isling National Bank to the Far West Trading Company. I know it's not as secure as Isling National, but I feel like I should be more supportive of my homeland and it's principals are from Mohwr. Know what I mean?"

Fesling wasn't listening. The stallion was pumping his hips with frustration, almost dancing with irritation. Despite being sac-deep in the feline, he wasn't feeling anything like the bliss he'd had a few moments ago. He thought agreeing to open contract negotiations would mean the tiger would do whatever it was he'd done the night before, but instead, it was just a bunch of legalese.

"Fine, fine, wonderful," the stallion snapped, realizing the tiger was patiently waiting for his answer. "Whatever."

There it was again. The stallion hunched over, fingers clenching into the tiger's shoulders. But it was gone again all too soon.

So. The tiger was playing with him. The stallion's lips pulled back in a grin. Maybe he should come up with a counteroffer during the negotiation.

The stallion leaned forward, lips parted to nip at the tiger's neck. Sensing what Fesling was trying to do, the tiger merely flexed around the horse's shaft, rippling from the tip to the base, sending a pulse of excited pleasure shooting through the equine's smooth figure. Fesling's head pulled back and he gasped.

"I'd like to discuss clause VII.A8(vi) as well. I know it's a terribly selfish thing to ask, but I'd like to put in a clause here requiring regular updates to the plumbing in the servants' quarters. I considered putting this in with the request about the sheets, but you would understand better than I--"

Fesling tried to go for Tory's neck again, the only thing he could think of to stop the feline's droning on about clauses and contracts and whatever. The lust-addled stallion whinnied as the tiger ripped around him again, once more stopping him from getting to the feline's neck.

"--that these sorts of things are probably best kept separate, so I put the plumbing request under housing, but the sheets request under bedding, in the dormitory agreement paragraph of the previous clause. I think it's fair to ask for pipes that don't rattle and shake all night long, and furthermore--"

"Fine! Yes, enough! You can have your plumbinnngggg!"

Another burst of pleasure, another clause agreed. The stallion grunted, hoping the feline wasn't smart enough to ask for anything really important. He was getting impatient and wanted the tiger to really turn it on, for good. He was prevented from getting at the feline's neck, though, and getting more frustrated and blue balled by the moment.

Could he pull out? Find another servant to finish in? Sure. But this was pride. And lust. A dangerous combination. The stallion's nostrils flared. He wouldn't be out-maneuvered by a foreigner in the area of contract negotiations! Impossible! But with so few options, he needed to wrap things up quickly.

"And finally, I'd like to go over one final piece of business," the tiger said, his voice even and far too slow for the lustful stallion's liking. "This is a delicate clause concerning some of the way the servants run household services and I'd like to make sure you're fully on board with the idea before we go any further. Now, as I'm sure you're aware, there exists plenty of examples in contract law of revisions such as this, so we're not treading new ground in a legal sense. I'm sure you have no objection--"

The stallion shuddered. His testicles ached. The tiger was probably going to ask for something silly and useless again. Whatever. Lust and pride in equal amounts caused the black stallion to abandon reason. His legs stretched, straining, as he pushed himself deep into the tiger.

"Yes, yes, if it will close negotiations, I have no objections, let it be so, etc."

The tiger's face didn't move. The watching hare wondered what the tiger was up to. Nobody cared about the sheets in the dormitory.

"Well... that was easier than I expected."

The tiger reached back, pulled away from the stallion, and freed himself from the other male's grasp.

"Hey! Where are you going! Get back here!" Fesling shouted.

"Don't use that tone with me or you'll be in breach of contract," Tory said, a grin splitting his lips and revealing his teeth. The tiger stood, stretched, and turned towards the hare. He snagged a stack of paper's from the brown-furred male's wine tray and tossed them to the floor at Fesling's hooves.

Mute understanding transformed Fesling's face into a long look of shock. The stallion dropped to his knees, reading and re-reading the clauses attached to the end of the contract amending the original version. The sheets, yes, the plumbing, whatever...

The stallion's eyes went a few lines further, stopped, went back, and read once more. He looked up at the grinning tiger, back at the pages, and swore.

The rabbit, completely confused by this point, still dared not look at what was happening, even as the stallion's voice rang out.

"No! I'll... this never happened. It's my word against yours!"

The tiger waved a finger at the stallion.

"Careful, Prince."

"Who would believe you?" the stallion asked. "Ha!"

"I would."

Tiger and stallion both turned to look at the gray-furred, skinny goat that emerged from the shadows of the far corner of the bath room. The goat was slightly bent with age and wore, besides a robe and glasses, a decidedly pervy expression on his lips, above the wispy white goatee hanging from his chin. The sorcerer lifted his fingers, reached into his robe, and readjusted himself before continuing.

"And you'll get laughed out of the contract court by claiming the word of the royal sorcerer is worthless," Tory said, his voice a self-satisfied purr.

The goat nodded at the tiger, grinned a pervy little grin, and disappeared back into the shadows, though the hare's sensitive ears could pick up the sounds of fapping coming from that area over the rest of the room's noises.

The stallion stared at the tiger, a look of dismay on his face, until a though struck him.

"Wait! I'll just buy out my contract! How much?" he said.

The tiger's eyes narrowed, his hunting instincts kicking in as the rush of the negotiation caused his sheath to flush with arousal.

"This mansion, the contracts of every servant in it, and enough jewels and gold to maintain its upkeep for the next ten years," the tiger said. The stallion gasped, but Tory kept talking. "You can keep the furniture. It's not my style."

The stallion shook his head. "My father will never agree to that much! It's half my trust!"

The tiger's sheath swelled until the tip poked free of the white fuzz on the sheath. The big cat purred as his length slowly grew. Prince Fesling glanced from the shaft to the contract and back to the tiger's stalk.

"So," the stallion said, lifting his chin haughtily, "you're merely a petty tyrant when given the opportunity to turn the tables. Either I am forced to behave as a... a servant to you, or pay you half my trust. You're a blackmailer, is all. You're no better than me."

The tiger's fingers slipped around the base of his cock, squeezing it and causing to to swell more quickly. He walked forward pressing the semi-hard length against the stallion's belly and chest.

"In that case, why don't I give you the night to think it over," Tory said. "And no arguing back - that muzzle is going to be used for something else than negotiating now."

Fesling's smooth chest rose up and down as sweat beaded across his black hide. The tiger's aroused musk, his warm, hard cock pushing into his soft, smooth belly... he could feel the heat of the thing as it throbbed against him and moved his fingers to it. He was so distracted he didn't even think about the implications of what the feline meant until the tiger's paw was already on the back of his skull, pushing his lips and nostrils across the veined stalk, forcing the feline's scent straight into his lustful brain.

"Wait... no, I mean... mmmmmhhhhmm..."

The stallion didn't manage to say much before opened his lips and swirling his tongue around the tiger's thick stalk, still not fully engorged. It throbbed in Fesling's muzzle, growing rapidly, filling his cheeks and throat. For a moment, he panicked, but remembered that, thanks to the contract, he was now covered under the same charms as the servants.

Protests about waiting another night fled his mind. His cock jerked, surging, still achingly hard, as the tiger's maleness filled his throat. The taste made the stallion shudder and eagerly suckle his way down the tiger's shaft. His paws groped at the feline's huge balls, squeezing firmly. He was very into it, enough to surprise even Tory. The stallion didn't care by this point, however, and besides, the contract ruse was a good excuse to indulge in something he otherwise never could.

The hare stiffened as he heard the tiger moan and the stallion suckle. Their conversation had been quiet for the most part. Something to do with the sorcerer, whose voice the rabbit had heard earlier. What was the tiger planning?

Tory moved to the floor, bringing the cock-hungry stallion along with him. Reclining against the pillows, the feline surveyed the room with new eyes. A change in management was what this place needed, he decided. Along with new clientele. All above board. All legal. All his, and with the protection of law behind it.

The tiger's eyes crinkled as he grinned, laughing at the absurdity of the circumstances. A street hustler trying to go legit merely legitimized his old career. Tory glanced around and spotted the hair. With one paw on the back of the stallion's head, pushing the male down every time he tried to pull off, the tiger lifted the other and beckoned the brown rabbit.

"You, with the wine."

The hare gulped and walked with deliberate formality to the pool, poured a goblet of wine, and handed it to the tiger, all while the stallion busily slurped at the feline's thickness. The hare tried not to stare.

Tory reached out, slipped his paw around the small of the hare's backside, and pulled him close, until they were muzzle to muzzle. The brown-furred male closed his eyes, melting into the kiss, forgetting his worries for at least a moment. The tiger purred into the kiss, even as his paw worked the stallion's eager muzzle up and down.

Eventually the tiger broke the kiss, leaving the hare blushing.

"How?" was all the rabbit could think to ask.

Tory's paw slipped down to give the hare's rear end a firm squeeze. The tiger smiled as the rabbit shivered at his touch. Sometimes the cute ones were the easiest.

"Didn't you hear? I own this place now."

The hare's eyes widened. "But... how?"

"Turns out I was in the right business on the wrong continent," the big cat said with a devious grin.

The hare's breath quickened. He had eighteen months left on his contract. If the big cat had his contract, that meant that... The hare blushed, cock throbbing, bouncing back and forth, saying more than enough to answer any other questions Tory may have had.

The skinny brown rabbit dropped to his knees, fighting to space with the moaning Prince Fesling for access to the tiger's thick stalk and heavy balls.

Eighteen months of the tiger wouldn't be enough.

"Oh, by the way, sorcerer!" Tory called out, flashing both males servicing his erection a playful smile. "How about that growth spell already?"

The hare gulped. Maybe eighteen months would be plenty.