| Story, "Walking the wolverine". M/m consensual sex, semi-rape, vore, wolverine/otter.
Posted by Strega on August 2, 2009, 10:47 pm
98.154.158.153
This story is the result of a somewhat homoerotic dream I had in which I met Ripper the wolverine. Unfortunately the dream didn't go as far as the story. 83
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Walking the wolverine
By Strega
Celicia had only gone three blocks from the General's house before she realized she was being followed.
Greyston (Monstertown, to most) was a reasonably safe city. Yes, the humans like her were collectively outnumbered by the goblins, orcs, gnolls, hestan cat-people, ogres, and dozens of other humanoid and nonhumanoid species, but the Guard kept the streets safe...in most places. There were neighborhoods and bars where anything could happen and often did, but she wasn't in one of those neighborhoods. She was in Mantowne, not a thousand paces from her employer's house. And yet she was being followed.
The hammered iron collar she wore, which had no lock or latch and could only be removed by a blacksmith, marked her as a slave. As such she was not permitted to carry weapons, but she wore a suit of flexible yet protective leather armor. Atop that was a finely patterned linen smock sewn with beads along the seams. Celicia's hair was raven-black and her skin tanned.
Celicia might have been afraid, even here on a main street, were it not for two things. First, her collar and her smock were each set with a unique symbol. One glance would send all but the most determined robber or rapist running, for it was the symbol of General Matthew. One of the two Generals in the town Guard, he was well-known and well-feared both for his fighting skill and for his assortment of hunting-beasts.
The second reason Celicia wasn't worried was that she was not alone. She held the end of a leather leash, and at the far end of that least was one of those beasts. This animal was almost as feared as General Matthew himself: Bloodripper the wolverine. Four hundred pounds of muscle and sinew in a scarred, furry pelt, he was one of the General's “hunting dogs” along with his “brother” Redfang and the smaller but equally deadly Razorclaw the aurumvorax.
Ripper wore his lighter suit of armor today, a perfectly fitted series of leather plates that covered his back and extended down the top side of his tail. The leather was hardened to a metal-like toughness by an alchemical process, with steel plates bolted on at critical points. As the guard-beast of a general his armor was of course powerfully enchanted. Besides the armor, Ripper wore a thick leather collar from which hung a bronze name tag. Even his claws and fangs were sharpened by enchantments re-applied daily.
The leash was more to reassure passers-by than it was to actually restrain Ripper. The wolverine, who had once been human, was still as intelligent as a man and ranked much higher in the house hierarchy than she did. If he so chose he could turn right around and mount her, and she could but meekly comply. That was, after all, one of her duties, and the reason for her leather armor – especially the double thickness of its high collar. He liked to nip his lovers' scruffs and could not be bothered to be gentle.
So Celicia stopped where she was on the sidewalk – Mantowne had stone sidewalks, while most of the other districts had wood – and waited to see who dared to follow.
It was an otter. No, not an otter, she corrected herself. An otter-man, a young and sleek water weasel. Rumor had it there was a whole community of the creatures in some distant swamp, but there were only a few in Monstertown. Some were intelligent but fully otter-shaped, and some were mostly humanoid. The latter were usually the product of matings between the full otters and humanoid women – the otters were popular in the gladiatorial arena and some had female slaves or were allowed to rape their conquests right on the sandy arena floor. The women who survived often bore these halfbreed children.
Few of the otters had any real standing in the city, and the simple loincloth this one wore told her he was a mere peasant. She was curious, though. Usually as soon as someone recognized Ripper or the symbol on her smock they crossed the street or recoiled into the nearest doorway. The otter, though, approached. He hesitated, shy, but something drew him forward like a magnet draws filings. Celicia realized that his eyes were fixed on Ripper.
“I'm sorry to bother you,” he stammered as he got close enough to talk. “But your pet is so beautiful. I had to see him up close.”
Celicia had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing. Apparently there were people in town who didn't know the wolverine on sight. “He certainly is, isn't he? I get my exercise walking him, the big husky brute.”
The otter was easing closer with each word. He just couldn't take his eyes away from Ripper, who turned his head to look at Celicia and grinned only on the side of his muzzle the otter could not see. He too could read the otter's body language.
“May I touch him?” He was already close enough to touch. Celicia looked around for witnesses, for this could not fail to end badly for someone, and noticed they were next to an alley.
“Let's step off the sidewalk so we aren't in people's way,” she said with a smile, and led the innocently horny young otter to his probable doom. A mere few steps and they were in the shade, only visible to people passing by the alley mouth and those who might peer through the closed shutters in nearby buildings.
The otter's webbed hand came to rest on Ripper's head, and gave this unarmored bit of the wolverine a pet. Ripper stretched, showing every sign of appreciating it. As he moved the otter's hand was effortlessly pushed along, as though he were petting a statue that chose that moment to lift its head.
“Oh, my goodness.” The otter's whiskers quivered. His hands slid down Ripper's neck, then over the brute's shoulders. The wolverine's shaggy pelt kept his iron-hard musculature from showing, but now the otter could feel it. Celicia knew exactly what the otter was experiencing. Every morning she brushed Ripper's fur, and she knew every curve of his solid, sinewy body. Even she found it arousing, which was why she had been his slave for three years now with barely a scar to show for it. Previous, less appreciative slaves had not lasted nearly as long. Some had lasted only a few hours, when it suited to General's mood to make an example for the other slaves.
The otter was rubbing Ripper's forelegs now. They were as rock-solid as the rest of the beast. Strange, Celicia thought, how it was usually males who reacted this way to the wolverine. Females might be tempted - some offered him sex, which he of course gleefully accepted - but it seemed males were more prone to admire his muscles.
The wolverine stood like a statue through all this admiration. When the otter sat down between his forelegs his dark eyes peered down at the top of the water-weasel's head. He was perfectly aware that here was a meal for the taking if he wanted it. Patiently he stood there and let the otter rub his chest, until the otter asked the question that must have been eating at him the whole time.
“Is it all right if I...?” he said, sliding his webbed hand under Ripper's chest. Celicia just shrugged and made a show of checking the polish on her nails. The otter did not hesitate but slid himself between Ripper's forelegs until he lay on his back beneath the wolverine's belly. One webbed hand pulled away his loincloth, the other reached up between Ripper's hind legs.
How had he survived this long? Celicia wondered. There were many in Monstertown who would take advantage of such a trusting person. In a dark alley, underneath a violently predatory wolverine his thoughts were not of safety or escape. Instead he rubbed and licked, and when Ripper's formidable endowment appeared he began to suck.
The wolverine rumbled deep in his chest, shifted his paws wider, and began to thrust. Even light humping made the otter gag until he managed to move with the beast, letting only a few inches of the slick black shaft into his throat. One webbed hand gripped Ripper's cock, the fingers unable to meet on the far side. The wolverine was turning out to be everything he had imagined, it appeared, and his other hand vigorously pumped his own thinner, yet still lengthy shaft.
Ripper gave this exposed flesh only the rare half-interested lick, engrossed as he was in his own enjoyment. He was nothing if not self-centered. As his pleasure grew he thrust harder. It was still nothing compared to the powerful thrusts he engaged in when mounted, but it was too much for the young otter. The water-weasel gagged, squirmed, and finally tried to wiggle out from underneath. But Ripper was not ready to end the encounter. The steely pillars of his legs moved as he stepped over the otter, turning so they were no longer nose to tail.
The otter gave a squeak of complaint as Ripper skilfully slipped the shaft in beneath his balls, then let out a wail as the big wolverine drove it in deep. He tried to wiggle loose once more, but a huge five-toed paw came down on his chest to hold him still as Ripper began to hump. Celicia had to grimace and look away as the thick wolverine cock vanished inch by inch. Eventually, though some internal rearrangement of the poor otter's lower intestine the glistening black shaft was able to completely enter, which was Ripper's signal to really go to work.
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