King John gazed down at his visitor. A smile creased his lips, baring yellowed teeth. He had been looking for some entertainment, and here it was: an effeminate foxcoon kneeling before his throne. Never once had John trusted the scoundrels this foxcoon led, but at times they had been useful mercenaries. However, with the feline kingdom under his thumb, King John had little need for backstabbing scoundrels and thieves.

"Greetings, Desmond," said the rat, cheerfully enough. "Have you come to offer your services again?"

The foxcoon raised his head and met John's gaze. The sight of the enormous, naked rat had once given him pause, but no longer. "Your Majesty. My people need your protection. Tensions are high with the felines. We've lost dozens to their knights."

The rat beckoned for an aide, a young male rat who leaned in close and lent his ear. King John whispered to him, then shooed him away. John turned his attention fully to Desmond. He said lowly, "Desmond, where are your manners?"

"Ah. Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive me." Desmond stood before the throne, leaned close, and after a moment's hesitation placed a kiss on the rat's hefty scrotum.

"Very good," King John said, smiling. "Hm, protection. Do you wish to immigrate to my kingdom?"

The foxcoon eyed him. "No... but we wish to be under your protection. To place our country under your guard."

In short order, King John's aide reappeared, bringing a platter of cheeses and a glass of red wine. He stood holding these concessions as the king spoke and at times ate. "I see. You wish for sovereignty but also the protection of my knights?" He smiled slyly at Desmond, who nervously smiled back. Then he ate a slice of cheese - cheddar, simple but a classic for a reason. He offered a slice of it to the foxcoon, who took it graciously. "Your group has been most helpful with regard to my attempts to expand my kingdom. And I am sure the felines are quite resentful of your efforts to make their fields barren."

Desmond smiled again, though now with some pride. "Damn felines. I would do it all again in your service, Your Majesty."

King John nibbled a slice of muenster and chased it with wine. He then sat back in his throne and said, "But my kingdom now is poised to engulf the feline kingdom, and any evidence that you provocateurs worked on my behalf is simply unacceptable."

Quickly, Desmond's eyes widened. He backpedaled into the arms of a pair of guards who clutched him by the biceps. "King John!" he cried out. "We did your dirty work for you!"

"And you did it so very well, Desmond!" John said, smiling broadly. He turned to his guard captain, distinguished by the loincloth he wore and the gilded spear he wielded. "Take your men to the bandits' hideout and kill all of them. I leave the specifics to your discretion."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the guard captain, who departed at once. Desmond snarled and lunged at him, but the guards held him fast.

"John! God damn you!" Desmond screamed. "We can still be useful!"

[i]"You[/i] will be, for a time," said the rat king. He enjoyed another slice of cheddar, downed his wine and shooed his young aide away. He stood from his throne. "Have him disarmed and brought to my chambers."

King John loafed in his bed for a time. He had removed his crown and put away his many rings, leaving himself entirely nude. He sat in bed, rump on a pillow, back against the headboard, and he enjoyed a book. It was an old tome of fairy tales, ones with typically bleak endings which favored cunning rats. Life was quite good, and he had to smile. The feline kingdom would soon be his. The nearby ursine kingdom was coming around on its own - and he quite liked its princess, who had relished in kissing the royal scrotum. And now the bandits who had once aided him were being exterminated, their stolen land soon to be folded back into his kingdom. All that left was Desmond, and really, the rat had been looking for a new male to rape. Why waste him on the guillotine?

The guards knocked twice. King John said told them to enter. And so they did, two burly guards in leather armor dragging Desmond by his biceps. He was beaten and clawed, but there was a fire in his green eyes.

King John perused the foxcoon in their grip and smiled. "Well, well. What have we here?"

The rat's eyes fell on what lie between Desmond's thighs. Plush and black, a vulva like John had never seen before. He cupped it, slipped a fleshy finger past its lips and marveled, "A vagina, Desmond? My, but you're more of a treat than I ever would have imagined."

"Die, rat," Desmond spat. One of the guards cuffed him on the side of the head, his gauntlet clattering against the foxcoon's skull. Desmond dangled semi-limp in their grips.

"Put him on the bed," said John, "and remain outside."

"Yes, my king," said the guards in unison. They placed the beaten foxcoon on the bed and took their leave.

John forced apart the long legs and spread the thick vulva with his thumbs, which he then dug in. He pulled apart the lips until the delirious foxcoon began to hiss with pain. Coming around, Desmond spat, "Kill me or let me go, rat."

"I shall kill you," John said, almost bored in tone. "But first, this curious vulva of yours has my attention." John nosed into its split where the black lips gave over to lively pink. He took a deep hit of the musk and shuddered, then said, "Such a potent musk. Nearly enough for a rat." He dragged his tongue through the folds, lapping over the orifice of the vagina and the hooded button of the clitoris. Though Desmond shuddered, he tried to pull away; John gripped his thighs fast and lapped again.

"King John-, Your Majesty, please, call off the attack... you wish me to be your slave?"

"Too late," the rat gravely said. "You have, I'm afraid, outlived your usefulness. Perhaps you'll live a day or three longer as I amuse myself with this lovely pussy you've brought. Then you, too, will join your men in a mass grave. A perfectly indignant burial for bandits such as yourselves."

Desmond's face tightened with anger. Unrestrained, beaten but hateful, he lunged at the rat king with a snarl and clawed his face. He opened a bloody gash just below the king's right eye; John hardly reacted and immediately clutched the unruly foxcoon by the throat. Off the bed they went, King John slamming Desmond into the stone floor. All of the wind came out of Desmond's lungs in a tortured wheeze and then John wrenched on his neck. There was monstrous strength in the rat king's hands. He squeezed, grinning hatefully at the foxcoon, watching as a blood vessel burst and turned Desmond's left eye a muddy red.

"Pathetic creature," spat King John, spittle landing on Desmond's snout. "I could kill you here and now, with my bare hands - and you believe your band of thieves is of any further value to me?" Now he straddled the foxcoon who kicked and thrashed, but weakly. Desmond's maw opened but only lame croaks came out.

Violence always turned the rodent on. He released Desmond's neck with his left hand, but the dominant right held it fast. Even so, a little air was allowed into the foxcoon's lungs. He sputtered and gagged, then managed to say, "Stop! [i]Stop!"[/i]

King John gripped his penis. It was enormous, as anyone who came to his court had seen, but when stiff it was especially magnificent. He touched its uncircumcised tip to the foxcoon's plush vulva and rammed it inside. Desmond's back arched and his jowls drew back to show gums and teeth. The plushness of the vulva made the rat hiss with pleasure; but the deep pink channel of the vagina was as wonderful as any other. His blunt cock crushed the orifice leading into Desmond's womb and the foxcoon screamed despite his strangulation. The king grinned broadly and shoved again, forcing open the cervix, plunging into the womb. Blood rolled out of Desmond's overtaxed vagina, countless tears and rips weeping.

John released the foxcoon's throat but pinned him by the chest. For such an enormous, corpulent rat, John moved swiftly. His hips crashed into Desmond's again and again, big balls swinging pendulously beneath. He said in a snarl far removed from his usual royal patter, "I'll rearrange your guts, foxcoon! How does that feel? I will impregnate you, and when you drop your mutt-litter, then I will have you beheaded!"

Desmond saw his only hope for salvation. He couldn't dare let on to the rat that he was infertile. So instead he bleated, as he held the rat's wrist, "Please-, please, no! Don't breed me...!"

The rat king hunched over the foxcoon, breathing foul breath across his girlish face. His emerald eyes burned with savagery; his cock gouged the foxcoon and the pain was unimaginably intense. Desmond found himself barely clinging to consciousness. He groaned, "King-, King John! Your Majesty, please, it hurts... it hurts so much!"

"Your men are dying, being eradicated," King John breathed, "and you weep so over a little rape?" He hawked and he spat in Desmond's face, the fat globule hitting an eye; Desmond cringed and pawed at the saliva. "Ah! Take my litter, bandit! [i]Grow my pups in your mongrel womb!"[/i]

Again he wrenched on the foxcoon's neck. He squeezed as he drilled the hated creature, gouging him, raping him until at last he sunk his cock inside and he went still. He clenched his teeth and gripped with such savagery that Desmond was choked unconscious; the foxcoon's tongue dangled out of his slack jaws. John, who in that moment didn't care if the foxcoon lived or died, brayed with undignified pleasure and dumped the contents of his enormous balls. Rich white ropes of incredibly fertile semen gushed into Desmond. The thick fluid filled his womb, then quickly overfilled it. Cum poured out of the abused vaginal passage, running down John's heavy scrotum as a well-churned slop.

Only then, with his lust sated, did John release the foxcoon's throat. He looked down indifferently, waiting to see if the bandit would cough and return to life, or if he would eventually turn cold. It would have been a waste of fine, unusual pussy, thought John, but hardly the end of the world.

Desmond revived with a wheeze, then a shudder of pain. His voice was ragged when he spoke, "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"I shall," the rat said, as he slowly pulled his penis out of Desmond. Though an enormous amount of semen poured out, he was confident he'd implanted enough for fertilization - had the foxcoon been fertile. "After you give me my litter."

The foxcoon nearly forgot; being oxygen-deprived had left his brain slow to work, but the ruse returned to him. He said softly, but eagerly, "Wh-, why just one litter, Your Majesty? I can give you many pups..."

King John chuckled. He stood, got into bed, and lazily scratched his scrotum. "Join me. So long as you carry my litter, you will be afforded some care."

It took more effort to get up than Desmond expected. He swayed on his feet and felt strangely hollow. King John's seed still poured from the gaped lips of his vulva. He fell into the bed and panted from exhaustion. After a moment, the rodent lazily rolled onto his stomach. The fleshy whip that was his tail teased its way around Desmond's bruised body, and the king said lowly, "If you are going to share my bed, you will make yourself useful."

On the bed, Desmond found it slightly easier to move; the soft, down-filled mattress was much more forgiving on his beaten body than the stone floor. He knelt between the rat's stout legs and, after a moment of trepidation, sunk his snout between the cheeks. Desmond had always enjoyed musk, but his hate for and fear of the rat made it difficult to enjoy the bounty that was King John's scent. His heart ached for his clan and he feared for his life. He hugged the sweaty gray cheeks of the rat's bottom and he drank in the smell. There was nothing else he could do.