The blacksmith's hammer stopped mid-swing, its rhythmic clang interrupted by a single, frustrated exhale through gritted teeth. Bilac wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, leaving a smudge of soot across her brown fur. The unfinished blade on her anvil shimmered with potential, but its edge remained dull—missing that one damn ingredient again.

From the shadows beyond her forge's flickering light came a chorus of low, amused chitters. Three pairs of glowing eyes blinked into existence near the scrap pile. "Problem, rabbit?" The tallest Gazimon stepped forward, his claws clicking against stone as he leaned on a rusted pipe. "Sounds like someone's in need of... assistance."

Bilac's ears twitched backward instinctively. She knew that tone—nothing good ever followed it. Still, her fingers flexed around the half-formed blade's tang. "Unless you're carrying refined Vorpalite, piss off. I'm busy." The lie tasted bitter; she'd been stuck on this commission for days.

The tallest Gazimon's grin widened, revealing needle-sharp fangs as he pulled a small, iridescent ore fragment from behind his spiked pauldron. "Funny you should mention Vorpalite," he purred, tossing it casually between his claws. Behind him, his two companions shifted closer, their tails flicking with barely-contained anticipation. "We *might* have a few chunks... for the right price."

Bilac's nose twitched at the scent of the ore—pure, high-grade, exactly what she needed—but her stomach knotted at the hungry way their eyes traveled down her sweat-dampened work apron. She knew their reputation; Gazimon packs didn't trade in coin. "Spit it out," she growled, though her ears flattened slightly when the second male circled behind her, his warm breath ghosting over her shoulder.

"Simple." The leader ran a claw along the curve of her hip, stopping just shy of the apron's ties. "We give you the stone... you let us play with that pretty little body of yours." His tongue dragged across his fangs as the third Gazimon crowded her other side, his rough paw already sliding up her thigh. "All of us. At once."

Bilac's hammer clattered to the floor. The weight of their combined stares pressed against her fur like physical heat—part revulsion, part reluctant arousal twisting low in her belly. She could break a jaw with one well-placed kick, but the Vorpalite glinting between those claws made her hesitate. "Fine," she spat, shoving the nearest male back with her elbow.

The leader didn't wait. His claws shredded through her apron ties with a single jerk, exposing the soft swell of her breasts beneath sweat-stained bandages. The second Gazimon pinned her wrists to the anvil while the third buried his muzzle between her thighs, inhaling sharply through his nose. "Fuck, she's already wet," he growled, his tongue laving a rough stripe up her seam.

Bilac gasped as the leader's teeth grazed her nipple through the fabric, his claws shredding the wrappings with practiced ease. "Little rabbit's got a body worth melting ore for," he murmured before sealing his mouth over one peaked bud, suckling hard enough to bruise. Behind her, the second male ground his erection against her backside, his claws digging into her hips.

The third Gazimon didn't bother with foreplay—he hooked two fingers into her with a wet squelch, curling them just shy of cruel. "Tight," he groaned, adding a third as his thumb circled her clit in rough, uneven strokes. Bilac's thighs trembled; she hated how her body arched into the touch, how her breath hitched when he nipped at her inner thigh.

The leader's fangs scraped lower, leaving red trails down Bilac's stomach as his claws raked through her fur. He didn't stop until his muzzle bumped against his packmate's wrist—then he licked a stripe up her soaked slit, his tongue flicking where the third Gazimon's fingers pistoned inside her. "Taste that?" he growled against her skin, "She's dripping on your claws." The third male responded by twisting his fingers deeper, wrenching a strangled moan from Bilac's throat as her hips jerked involuntarily.

The tallest Gazimon didn't waste time—he shoved his packmate aside with a shoulder and lined his cock up with her entrance in one fluid motion. Bilac barely had time to gasp before he speared into her with a single brutal thrust, her inner walls clamping around him instantly. "Oh fuck," he snarled, claws biting into her thighs as he bottomed out, "Tighter than a sword's grip." Behind her, the second male grabbed her by the ears, dragging her head back until his cock slapped wetly against her lips. "Open," he demanded, and when she hesitated, he pinched her nose shut until her mouth fell open with a gasp.

Bilac's vision swam as the second Gazimon shoved past her teeth, the salty-bitter taste of him flooding her tongue. He groaned when her molars grazed him, his claws tightening in her fur. "Suck, rabbit," he rasped, thrusting shallowly into her mouth while his packmate pounded into her from below. The third Gazimon—now freed from between her thighs—grabbed her wrist and wrapped her fingers around his erection with a possessive growl. "Stroke me," he ordered, guiding her grip up his shaft with rough jerks, his precum slicking her palm. Bilac's muffled whine vibrated around the cock in her mouth as her body was used in three places at once, each Gazimon setting a rhythm that left her no room to adjust.

The leader pistoned into her with bruising force, his claws leaving crescent marks on her hips. Every snap of his hips drove her harder onto the anvil's edge—the cold metal bit into her back, a sharp contrast to the heat coiling low in her belly. She hated how her cunt clenched around him, how her tongue flicked instinctively under the second male's frenulum when he groaned. The third Gazimon hissed as her fingers twisted just right, his free hand groping her bouncing breast with greedy squeezes. "Fuck, she's good at this," he panted, thumbing her nipple until it ached. The leader snarled in agreement.

Bilac's ears flattened as the second Gazimon fucked her throat in shallow, insistent thrusts, his claws tangled in her headfur. Tears streaked her cheeks, her gag reflex flaring each time he hit the back of her palate—but the third male's grip on her wrist tightened, forcing her to pump him faster. The rhythmic squelch of her own arousal mixed with the slap of skin against fur, the forge's heat making the musk of their bodies thick enough to taste. Her thighs trembled when the leader shifted angles, his cockhead grinding against some deep, stupidly sensitive spot that made her toes curl. "There it is," he growled, pounding that spot relentlessly.

The third Gazimon suddenly wrenched her hand away with a snarl, pinning her wrist back against the anvil. "Enough teasing," he muttered, lining his dripping cock up with her asshole in one rough motion. Bilac's eyes flew wide—she tried to buck away, but the leader held her hips immobile as his packmate pressed inward. The stretch burned, her body resisting until the third male spat into his palm and worked the saliva into her clenching rim. "Relax, rabbit," he breathed, sinking deeper with a groan that vibrated through her spine.

Bilac's scream was swallowed by the cock in her mouth as he bottomed out, her body now impaled in every possible way. The leader laughed against her neck, his thrusts growing erratic as her cunt fluttered around him. "Feel that?" he panted, "You're taking all of us like a proper little whore." The second Gazimon choked her throat with a sudden deep push, his balls slapping her chin as his claws scraped her scalp. Tears blurred her vision when the third male started moving too, his hips snapping in sharp, shallow jabs that sent sparks of pain-pleasure up her spine.

The leader's fangs sank into her shoulder as he came, his roar muffled by her fur as his cock pulsed inside her. Hot seed flooded her cunt in thick spurts, but he didn't pull out—instead, he ground his hips in tight circles, milking every last drop while the third Gazimon fucked her ass in earnest. Bilac's muffled sobs turned to broken moans when the second male finally spilled down her throat. The third male's breath hitched—he slammed home one last time, his claws digging into her hips as he filled her ass with a guttural snarl.

Bilac's body went slack between them, her limbs trembling from overstimulation as they pulled out one by one. The leader licked a stripe up her neck, his tongue rough against her sweat-slicked fur. "Good rabbit," he purred, tossing the Vorpalite onto her discarded apron with a clink. Behind her, the second male wiped his cock on her thigh while the third lazily traced circles around her swollen clit. She flinched—too sensitive—but he only chuckled, pressing two fingers back inside her leaking cunt.

The moment their pawsteps faded into the forge's shadows, Bilac shoved herself upright, her knees nearly buckling. She snatched the ore with shaking hands, her ears pinned flat as semen dripped down her inner thighs. The acidic tang of Gazimon musk clung to her fur, mingling with the forge's smoke. "Fucking animals," she spat, scrubbing at her mouth with the torn remains of her bandages until her lips burned.

The water trough's surface shattered under her furious plunge. Bilac dunked her entire head underwater, the icy shock doing nothing to erase the memory of their claws, their teeth—or worse, the way her tail had twitched when the third male bit her nape. She came up gasping, droplets flying as she scrubbed between her legs with coarse lye soap. The sting grounded her. By the time her fur stopped dripping, her hands had stopped shaking.

She snatched up the Vorpalite with teeth marks still denting its surface—those bastards must've clenched it during—no, she wouldn't think about that. The forge's embers flared when she kicked the bellows, her hammer finding the blade's edge with punishing force. Metal screamed under each blow, sparks catching in her tangled chest fur. Every clang drowned out another filthy echo: the wet slap of skin, their panting laughter, her own traitorous moans.

The blade took shape faster than it should have, her arms moving with feverish precision. Heat and rage burned the rest away—until the steel quenched with a hiss that sounded like relief. Bilac stared at the finished sword's flawless edge, her reflection warped in its surface. It was good work. Damn good. Even if her fingers trembled when she wiped oil across the blade.