The Example

By Strega
Story Copyright (C) By: Strega
 2001 - All rights reserved.

Story not to be reprinted, or redistributed, 
without author's Permission.

If you wish to use the stories, or 
anything copyright by me, please e-mail me.
I'll also forward any mail to the author.


The Example

Lord Matthew shifted his blood-red cloak to shade his armor a bit more, and cursed the heat. It rarely got this hot in Greyston; one advantage of living a mile up into the mountains. But there wasn't even a breeze today, and the narrow valley the city occupied trapped the heat. His armor's padding was miserably sweaty.

Bloodripper panted at his side, no happier with the weather. The wolverine was in his battle gear; four hundred pounds of mustelid was wrapped in a hundred pounds of thick treated leather hard as fine steel. His paws were half-armored; long, polished and magically sharpened white claws clicked on the stones. Sharp spikes stood out from his armor at joints and back to deter anyone from seeking refuge from his claws and fangs there; anyone behind faced his armored tail and the foul spray he could eject, vile as a skunk’s.

The Meat Market was a place unique to Greyston. This place was the destination of those who would have been executed in other cities; renegade slaves, bandits, murderers, and spies. Those who committed lesser crimes faced fines or terms of backbreaking labor or slavery; the worst offenders ended up here.

A griffon’s feathers brushed against his arm on one side, and to the other was a lamia, not the snakey 'noble' sort but the strange badger-horse hybrid creature. A well-covered palanquin born by four sweating orc slaves was hoisted up so its rider – most likely one of the city’s resident vampires – could see the offerings on the stage. Matthew craned his neck to see past a many-legged scaled thing (a behir? It was to tell from this angle - there was a reason Greyston was also called Monster Towne), and eyed the latest victim. The newest offering on the block was a woman, not badly shaped, either….

Bloodripper rose up on his hindpaws at his master's gesture, shaded his eyes with a forepaw, and peered at the stage. The barker was advertising a wild-haired human woman, only five feet and an inch or so tall but well-muscled and scarred. She wore only a ragged brown slip, with enough holes to reveal more than it hid.

A band of gnolls nearby were pooling their funds to bid on her – heavens help her if they won, she’d be used until they grew weary and then most likely cooked and eaten. Bloodripper looked her over, licked his chops ostentatiously, and dropped back to all fours; Matthew raised his hand.

"One wheel 5 lunars." The barker went silent; a gnoll turned, saw who was bidding, and elbowed another roughly. A cackle of nervous giggling ran through the band of mangy-furred hyenamen, and they were suddenly looking anywhere but the stage. The scaled thing – the other bidder – gave him a glassy-eyed look and lowered its head as well.

"One wheel five, do I hear one wheel six?" The barker spoke half-heartedly; the price was low for a female slave, even a ‘meat’ slave who must be killed within a week of purchase, but who would bid against the general of the city’s guard? It was well-known that those who crossed him had a tendency to ‘accidentally’ end up inside one of his beasts, or at the very least, as a slave.

The barker didn’t bother with the customary ‘Going once…’, and merely pointed at Matthew. "Sold to the Lord General!" There was a mutter of discontent from the gnolls, and Bloodripper looked at them, grinning a fanged grin and hunching up his back several times rapidly, as though humping someone. That got a grin out of the lead gnoll, and the pack turned back to look at the next offering.

Matthew waited impatiently until the barker's assistant gestured him to the side; there, the slave-woman waited. She was both hobbed and manacled, and he gestured at the man to remove the leg-tie. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible, and if she did run, it would just be sport for Ripper to chase her down. As the hobbles were removed, he saw that her eyes were glazed; he recognized the effects of a common drug used to pacify unruly prisoners. That was good; the more difficult she proved, the better an example she'd make.

It was better than half a mile home from this part of town. Matthew led the woman on her leash, watching her carefully; occasionally she staggered, whether from the drug or in feigned weakness, he wasn't sure. He was confident that it was not true weakness, for under the grime she was plainly a woman of strength and determination.

Normally, he'd have had his giant riding-salamander to carry him back while Ripper padded at its side. The beast was ill, though; its new slave had fed it the scraps from the feast he'd hosted last night. There were many new slaves in his household, now, thanks to the plague that'd run through the city over the last two months.

Eventually they reached the manor, with its gem-encrusted gargoyles looming above. There was no graffiti here, unlike the warehouses and businesses nearby, and the gems in the statues stayed right where they were. His reputation was better protection than any guard would be.

The heavy doors opened at his approach, and he smiled at Candra. The brunette petted Ripper as he slouched in, finding the only spot on the armored beast where fur showed - his muzzle. Most would have been reluctant to get their fingers near those fangs, but not Candra. "I see you have a…a selection, lord. Shall I have her made ready?"

"Yes." He leaned against the doorframe, thankful for the cool air. "Have the new slaves in the common room as soon as she's recovered from the drug , then call me. Hold Ripper outside until I call, and you might want to make sure he's ready, too." He smiled, patting the armored beast's head. "Just don't exhaust him prematurely."


Matthew entered the common room, clad now in his 'off duty' armor - not the full plate he wore outdoors, but a lighter and highly magical chain shirt. The Golden Sword still hung at his waist, the spiked golden gauntlet on his left hand - well, that was there to stay, barring his mage friend finding a way to remove it.

There were half a dozen women in the room, standing along one wall. The table and chairs had been pushed over to one side, leaving a twenty-by-thirty-foot space without so much as a rug - just the way he'd wanted it. As he entered, so did Candra, pushing the new slave-woman.

She'd been washed, and some effort had been made to comb her hair, but with her tanned skin and scars she still resembled a tribal chieftainess. Her slip had been replaced with an intact one, of white cotton; her dull-black 'meat' slave collar stood out against it.

"All of you are new here." He turned to look at the other slaves, with their bronze collars. "All of you know that I bought you to tend to my beasts - mostly my wolverines, Bloodripper and Redfang. Some of you have even met them already.

"You're here to today so that I may explain to you what your duties will be, and what will happen if you fail in them. I am not like your other masters; there is no appeal, no Slave Advocate to take your complaints to.

"I have selected each of you because I think you can do this work, and perhaps even enjoy it. Your previous owners tell me you can make friends with animals. Well, you will need to be more than friends with these."

He made a small gesture, and Candra pushed the new slave out to the middle of the room. He saw that her ankles were connected by a short leather cord, a lighter version of the hobble; she could walk slowly, but not run. As she reached the center of the room, the opposite door opened, and Ripper padded in, his armor removed.

The beast was coarsely dark-furred, black of legs and face and almost chocolate brown elsewhere; those two colors and the dark-gold stripes on his cheeks and sides were all the colors his fur had. His muzzle was held low, his rump arching up, and he moved with a weaselish waddle. Behind was a short tail with a brush of fur almost long enough to touch the floor. Finger-long claws were nearly white, and the tips of his canines hung below his chops, never concealed. Across the rump - his tallest point - he was well over three feet tall, stocky and muscular.

A slave-girl on the far side had opened the door for the beast, and petted him as he went through; Matthew suppressed a frown at gentleness that could spoil the presentation. Before he could say anything more, Ripper broke into a lurching run, and pulled the new slave's legs from under her.

"Xanya here - " He had learned that was her name, not that it mattered - "Could have been one of you. Had I just needed another slave to attend to the beasts, she would have been. This is what the wolverines will want of you."

Ripper had Xanya on her side, and ignored the woman's struggles as he bit into her short dress. A single tug, and the cloth gave way in tatters, pulling completely off her and leaving her breasts bouncing on the floor.

Xanya gave an almost animal snarl of anger, and slammed an elbow into Ripper's cheek. The blow moved his head perhaps one inch, and he gathered her in against his chest, hooking his chin in against her groin. A wash of wet pink tongue came out, lathering her sex, and she kicked up against his breastbone. He had her on her back now, her legs between his forepaws, and licked, tasting and wetting her sex. Twice more she struck at his head, aiming at his eyes, but he turned his cheek skillfully to take them where they could not even bruise him.

Her struggles bounced her breasts against his ears, and he pulled his head back to grin at her; the wolverine, who had once been a man, appreciated the jiggle. Lifting his muzzle to lap at a nipple, he caught another elbow in the ear, and with a growl of annoyance he rolled her onto her belly.

Xanya let out the first real scream of the encounter, pulling her knees up against her belly and squirming frantically; she knew what was going to happen next. A flurry of punches and fingers curled into claws didn't deter the beast from walking up over her. The pressure of furry breastbone on her back pushed her down, and she shouted wordlessly, struggling to get out from under.

She managed to get onto her side, but the wolverine's belly was pressing down on her hip now, and his sharp-clawed paws were to either side. Squirming violently, she tried to get her chest from under his; but as she struggled, his forepaws hugged her up against his breastbone. A careful step of his right hindpaw hooked his ankle under her knees, forcing them once again up against her belly - and in the process, giving the other slaves the first good look at his sheath.

Like the rest of him, it was dark-furred. Swollen thick as a man's forearm, it hung heavily from the fold of fur that held it against his belly; his darker ballsac seemed small compared to the bulky sheath and the slick, pink protruding tip. Matthew smiled; he would have bet a wheel that the slave who'd opened the door had been 'getting the wolverine ready'.

Ripper's other hindpaw stepped in against Xanya's back, trapping her on her side, and with an economical movement he put the tip against her groin. There was a moment's pause as he felt for her slit, and then he lunged up over her, his back humping up as he forced himself in.

She'd her legs pressed tightly together, closing her sex, but it didn't stop him; his cock was made rigid by erection and also a bone that ran its length. With a snarling grunt he rocked his hips forward and back, wedging himself deeper, and Xanya let out a despairing cry as the cock slid in. The sheath drew back to the balls, exposing the rest of him for all to see, and wolverine clasped her tight up against himself, humping rapidly.

The women stared, some turning to whisper to each other, and Matthew caught one actually smiling. Xanya had gone silent, and the only sounds were the wolverine's panting, the squelching sound of entry, and the slap, slap, slap of his balls against his unwilling mate's sex.

Xanya began to squirm again after a minute or so, pushing her elbow up against Ripper's throat, but the wolverine ignored her. A minute after that, and she was struggling violently - struggling as much as she could with her legs pinned. She was wrapped into a tight bundle, only able to move one arm effectively, and Ripper let that thrash. Her forearm and elbow struck his underjaw and cheek, and still he ignored her, his rump going up and down more swiftly now.

His panting grew irregular after another three minutes, by Matthew's silent count. By now he was thrusting so hard he was pushing her up against his chest; swollen fully hard, his cock appeared and vanished. He pumped the wrist-thick thing in, growling now, his hindpaws trying to move of their own accord, and then he was shuddering.

He rolled his belly up over Xanya, pulling her hips up by sheer force of his thrust. He buried his shaft, the wet black ballsac pressed up against her sex, and the fur on his flanks twitched rapidly. A shiver ran through the pelt, big muscles spasming uncontrollably just beneath, and he pulled up his muzzle and snarled!

The closer slaves could see his ballsac tense and jerk up against his body, pulsing there in the same rhythm as his flank-fur's shivering. Xanya cried out as well, not in passion or despair, but in rage, and she redoubled her efforts to break free. Streams of watery semen spilled out around the impaling shaft, dripping down over her rump and splashing on the floor.

The wolverine's snarl of lust trailed off, and for a moment he stood panting, the only other sound Xanya's faint cursing. Matthew smiled, catching the wolverine's eye, and the beast shifted his paws to release her, stepping back to pull out.

There was a squelch, and the dripping wolverine cock was out for a moment - and almost as fast the sheath slid back up over it. Xanya was still curled up half-under the beast when Matthew spoke.

"This is what they will want. Maybe not every day; it may be weeks between sometimes. Or it may be several times a day when it's the season their females go into heat. You can cooperate, be their friend and lover, or just accept; you could stroke them when they are in the bath, suck on them when they are half-asleep. If you don't accept them, sooner or later this will happen to you." He pointed at the curled-up woman.

Xanya uncoiled all at once, her face flushed with rage, and kicked up between Ripper's hind legs. She put all of her strength into the blow, and it would have had him retching on the floor…except that it didn't land. The wolverine's panting, post-coital relaxation had concealed a keen wariness, and the moment she moved he stepped a hindpaw up to cover his groin. Her insteps slapped into his pawpads, and his forepaws went around her again as Matthew spoke.

"And if you do something stupid - like Xanya just did - this is what will happen to you." He didn't have to point - her stifled scream drew every eye to her as Ripper yawned over her face. Black, rubbery lips drew back, exposing yellowed fangs as long as a man's fingers; wet palm-wide pink tongue slid across her chin.

And then her cry was muffled down to nothing; Ripper hooked his chin under hers, and with a sudden arch of his neck took her face into his mouth. The black lips rode up over her cheeks, then over her neck, and her head was just a bulge in his cheeks.

The wolverine cast a surreptitious glance at Matthew, who nodded slightly. One of the other slaves let out a terrified yelp as the wolverine lifted his muzzle again, put a furry-padded forepaw against Xanya's shoulder blades, and swallowed. There was a gurgle; His neck bulged out, the fur stretching thin, and every woman there knew that the meat-slave's face was in the wolverine's throat.

The women huddled together as the horror progressed; Ripper's paws pulled Xanya up, and his lips stretched out over her shoulders. It took the better part of a minute for him to cover that smooth skin with his maw. Her hands scrabbled at his neckfur, sometimes striking right where her face bulged out; a slave gave another squeal of anguish. And then silence again, as the shoulders vanished, and the beast's neck swelled further.

Xanya's feet struck the wolverine's chest with dull thumps, and her hands rustled through his pelt, trying to get a grip. In the near-silence, the beast could be heard swallowing, each wet, gurgling effort pulled another inch of the woman into his jaws; naked, sweaty breasts bulged out around his lips softly, then were pulled inside. His forepaws pulled and prodded, getting her lined up and then shoving against her back and hips to push her in.

One of the slave-girls fainted. Matthew had expect it; she had gone greenish pale a minute before. Two others rescued her from her fall, then turned to watch.

Ripper's neck-fur pulsed, a ripple travelling down from his stretched cheeks to where the neck swelled out into the torso. The gulp sounded its wet, sucking pull, and Xanya was past her elbows in the wolverine's maw. Her fingers opened and closed now, pressed against her sides, and half her forearms vanished in one more hungry gulp. His claws scraped as he moved his forepaws apart to make a wider space between his legs; the woman's head-bulge had traveled down his neck and vanished into the greater width of his torso.

The hips were the next obstacle, and Ripper hurried onward, pushing Xanya's knees against the floor and leaning downward. His fangs scraped over her belly and back, leaving reddened streaks that vanished into his mouth. Her ass squeezed into his jaws, flattening under the pressure, and hip-bones stood out before they, too vanished. The widest part of her pushed into his maw, stretching his cheeks out full and fat, his underjaw bulging out and neck swelled so tight the skin could almost be seen.

The women were whispering to themselves again; at least none of then had started screaming this time. Matthew watched Ripper gather in the woman's rump, arch his neck, and swallow with a liquid sound; the huge bulge of ass pulsed down into his neck. Xanya was still kicking strongly, and had the presence of mind to not kick the floor, but rather double her legs up and kick Ripper from above.

Her heels struck the wolverine's flat head-top with a hollow sound, and one of the other slaves let out a little cheer; all it accomplished was to make the beast's eyes narrow in irritation. She kicked again, and Ripper lunged upward, opening his jaws wide.

He didn’t have to swallow; her weight pulled her in, and her legs flailed helplessly as her thighs slipped out of sight. The broad, furry muzzle shut on her knees, and the wolverine stretched out his neck. Swallowing with heavy, neckfur-rippling force, he sucked the rest of her in; something like a sigh passed through the group of slaves as the clear shape of her knees moved through Ripper's throatfur.

A strand of saliva drooled down over her instep, and beaded downward in a rainbow-thin string. Ripper turned his muzzle slightly to look at the women, then looked down at the toes, and with a slow, sucking gulp pulled the feet into his maw. He opened and closed his jaws a few times, as though showing off the last bit of his meal, still kicking; the feet slapped against his tongue with loud wet sounds.

There was a collective sigh as he closed his jaws, and then just the sound of him swallowing, over and over. The long bulge in his neck worked downward, the feet increasing the swell,
and then they were gone too, and the wolverine tilted back his head and kept swallowing.

His neck was back to normal, and his belly had begun to bulge; as he gulped, his torso creaked and popped, the woman stretched out in his gullet pushed gradually downward. His belly
swelled, rippled, and then bulged out into a tight curve, the shape of the meal standing out through the shaggy pelt as his throat forced the rest of her in after. The wolverine yawned and
snapped his jaws shut, and then his tongue did a slow circuit of his chops.

The women stared at the beast in horror; Ripper looked back, still licking his lips.

"That is what will happen," Several women started at Matthew's quiet speech. "If you do not please them when they want to be pleased, brush them, tend to them. If you do not do what they want when they want it."

He paused, waiting for the right moment to deliver his climax - that if they served well for five years, he would set them free - when he was distracted by a faint sound. He looked at Ripper; the beast was washing a paw. But it was not that sound…the forepaw was put back down again, and Matthew was conscious of a faint sloshing sound, and an even fainter slapping. His eyes moved to the wolverine's furry belly…and there was something moving there. Beneath the three inches of muscle and fur, Xanya was still struggling; her face bulged out of the fur, then a knee, a hand.

One of the slaves started screaming. Matthew scowled, his speech ruined; Ripper put an end to both the discussion and the struggle inside him.


The End