[center][b]No Sharp Bits[/b][/center]

[center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center]



For one of relatively few times in his life, Vincent wished weasels were as slippery as their reputation. The other times involved dealing with used car salesmen and customer service help lines.

“Fucking [i]mud.[/i]” He spat disgustedly. “Just wanted a nice hike, but no.”

Strictly speaking, this was probably his own fault. After weeks of working accounting during the most painful tax season Vincent had ever experienced, he had finally [i]finally[/i] managed to claim back some of his overtime as vacation. 

Not wanting to deal with anyone, the weasel had decided to start off spending some time with nature instead. And when the national park’s hiking trails had turned out to be too crowded for his tastes, he’d looked up something less official and more out of the way. Now he was stuck in quick-mud. In the middle of nowhere. With no cell phone, because he hadn’t wanted to be bothered. So apparently, it had been too much to hope that the universe owed him a little peace and quiet after the last couple months.

Vincent swallowed down his disappointment and frustration, and forced himself to admit it could be much worse. When he’d first noticed the mud close over his ankles, he had panicked. Maybe if he had acted a little more decisively he could still have hauled himself out at that point, but as he had sunk gradually deeper and deeper he hadn’t been able to think of anything except the terror that it would close over his head.

Now that he had stopped sinking with the mud about two thirds of the way up his thighs, with no sign of the descent resuming, he could afford to calm down and try to be positive. Less negative, at least. It was a lovely day, warm enough to have taken his shirt off to feel the sun on his fur. Last he checked it was slated to stay pleasant all week, so he at least didn’t have to worry about rain or snow. The park rangers would come looking for him eventually and he couldn’t imagine that taking more than a couple days.

And in the meantime, he had a nice view. Vincent had stopped here to look at the wildflowers blooming exuberantly in a dozen varieties to fill the clearing. Their bright colors and heady fragrance could keep him company while he waited in the shade.

A couple hours later, Vincent’s efforts to remain upbeat were suffering somewhat under boredom. 

“I’ll probably get hungry soon.” He observed to no one in particular, eyeing the backpack he knew held his sandwiches and trail mix. Vincent had thrown it away from him in an attempt to reduce the weight dragging him downward. Hadn’t helped, but the weasel didn’t really think it had been bad reasoning.

Funny how it wasn’t sinking at all, he mused. The ground under it looked the same as the rest of the patch that now covetously gripped his legs and tail, damp but seemingly solid soil. Vincent wondered if the bag was too light to go through the thin crust covering stubborn mud, or if he had had the terrible luck to stand on a very small sinkhole surrounded by otherwise firm ground. 

Vincent sighed, and started scratching out another game of go in the dirt. He probably had the rules wrong, what with going off a half-memory of some tv documentary once tic-tac-toe had gotten stale, but it kept him occupied enough that the sound didn’t get his attention before the shadow did.

The sudden flicker of darkness interrupted his search for any move that wouldn’t end in his crushing self-defeat, and his gaze flicked upward out of reflex. He just caught a glimpse of an enormous form sweeping past the treetops overhead as the [i]whump[/i] of a gigantic wingbeat rustled through leaves to waft over his fur. It was past as soon as it came, swinging into the clearing he had been admiring that morning.

Vincent’s eyes slowly pieced together what was happening in front of him. Sunlight played over the tawny gold flanks that bunched to absorb the impact of landing, the sweep of the long tail up the spine until it met feathered wings of smoke-edged white fanning to bring all to a stop. Mismatched feet flattened wedges of blossoms as they caught against the ground, and the huge body swung out sideways as only half of them gained traction, halting just short of the trees lining the clearing edge.

All in all, the startled squawk undermined the majesty somewhat. 

The trapped weasel found himself watching an enormous griffin daintily regaining its balance, picking bits of foliage off of forelegs. Then without further ado, it plopped back on its haunches. One rear leonine leg lifted upward and the griffin curled to scratch at their feathered neck with it, eyelids fluttering and beak half-open in an expression of utter bliss. Vincent couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdly self-indulgent birdy grin.

After a minute of scratching itself, the griffin lowered its leg again and shook itself off from beak to tail. It came back to its feet, turned in place to stretch, and stopped. One golden eye fixed on the point where a hundred yards away, Vincent was caught half-stuck in the ground. 

Vincent broke out in a cold sweat as it trotted lightly over toward him, reminding himself that not all ferals were sapient and anything with that curved beak was most definitely a carnivore. As it closed in and perspective kicked in, he amended that it was a [i]very large[/i] carnivore. Luckily, he needn’t have worried.

“Howdy-do, little guy!” The cheery voice piped out of the big beak, feminine but deep from the size of the vocal cords it sprung from. Vincent relaxed a little as the griffin loomed to a stop in front of- or perhaps equally accurate, over- him. “I’m Nina.”

“Hi.” The weasel risked, feeling very small. Nina was about as big as a school bus. He had never seen a macro up close before, at least not one on Nina’s scale. “I’m Vincent…?”

“Nice to meet you, Vincent.” Nina offered him a single large foretalon. Vincent, uncertain, reached out and shook it like a hand. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I’m hiking.” He replied simply. Then he caught up with himself. “Well, I was hiking. Then I got stuck.”

“What do you-“ The griffin looked over him, saw that part of the mustelid was missing, and took a five-foot half step back to survey his position better. “Oh. Huh. Out here, though?”

“Well.” Vincent noted with annoyance that if the uneven depth of the clawprint Nina had left in the mud was any indication, he really had stood right in the middle of a fairly small patch of quickmud. “You know. I came to the park because it was so nice, but everyone else had the same idea, so…”

“This isn’t the park.” Replied Nina, a branch rubbing against her far wing as she stepped around to look at him from the side. “I mean. I hope it’s not the park. I’m not really supposed to land in the park. I’m too, um.”

He followed her glance back at the divots she had left in the wildflowers, just visible from about a hundred yards away, and developed a suspicion that the park’s management might have some rules about visitors who could, well… ‘Oops I accidentally the landscape’.

“I think we’re a couple miles outside the park.” Nina added. “But, um, just in case, maybe don’t mention me?”

“Uh… okay.” Vincent agreed. He realized, looking up at the lion-bird, he might have a solution to his mud problem. “So, uh, think you can pull me out?”

“Oh!” The griffin started from whatever she had been thinking about, gazed back down at him with those shining yellow eyes. “Sure. Right. I can try that.”

Nina circled back around to put herself on the cleaner ground in front of him, and brought forward one of her outsize eagle forelegs. Despite himself he flinched slightly as the scaly yellow digits closed around his whole torso.

“Okay. I’m going to pull on three. One, two, [i]three![/i]”

Her grip squeezed him, pressing uncomfortably hard on the side where her opposing talon dug into his ribs, and yanked him upward. Vincent held on hard, not wanting to slip, and so did the mud. A few seconds later it stopped.

“One sec, need a better grip.” Nina said cheerfully. Her grasp loosened, shifted around, flattening Vincent’s fur against his chest and brushing some of it quite the wrong way. “Okay, on three again. One-“

“STOP!!” Vincent shrieked. One of those black talons was in just the right place to give him premonitions of messy red splatters everywhere. “STOPstopstopstop, no, right. Don’t.”

“What?”

He pointed. “I want to keep that arm.”

Nina huffed at him through her nares. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

“Nuh-uh, nope.” The weasel pushed her talons apart with his hands. She let him. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“Okay…” Nina pulled the limb back, regarding the somewhat mussed weasel as he smoothed his creamy belly-fur back. “How about I try to dig you out then?”

“Yeah. Let’s try that.”

“It’s hell on my talons.” She pointed out reproachfully.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

So, Nina wriggled forward a little on her front, and pressed the lethal-looking black tips into the ground slightly in front of him, and pulled back. The try top layer crumbled off, taking his improvised board game with it, and she reached back again to dig away the first layer of thick mud. 

Maybe it had dried some since he had first begun to sink, because it came away like modeling clay, deep furrows trailing behind her talons. Vincent’s heart lifted. And then sank again, as it oozed back almost to its previous level, squished up by the mud underneath it.

Not to be deterred, Nina tore at the ground again, scooping it away in the shallow clawfuls that she could force out of the almost-but-not-quite-solid muck. Seeing little progress, she dove in again, frustrated.

“AAAAAH STOP STOP STOP-“

And Nina stopped. This time she didn’t have to ask what was wrong.

“Oh gosh oh jeez, sorry, sorry!” The macro griffin cringed apologetically, slowly pulling her foreclaws back. A shred of Vincent’s shorts came along with them. “I did [i]not[/i] mean to do that.”

“-stop, stop stop-” Trembling, Vincent’s mantra slowed to a stop. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m ohhh-kay. Everything is still…”

He was staring down at where there was a big tear in the front of his pants [i]and[/i] boxers, which both sagged down onto the sludge that was already rolling back into place and left his family jewels bare to the air. Thankfully, both nuts and sheath were still in place, and no new holes decorated his midsection. 

“I’m all right.”

“Sorry.” Someone the size of a truck shouldn’t be able to look shamefaced like that.

Vincent remembered he wasn’t alone and covered his bits with his hands, and then remembered that as a feral Nina might be more likely to tease him for modesty than nudity. He turned it into a pat down of his stomach to make doubly sure everything was still in place. 

“Just… don’t, please.”

“I can go slower.” She offered, starting to reach forward again.

“NO!” Vincent yelped, and calmed himself while she froze. He pointed at the disappearing dent in the ground. “I don’t think you can do it fast enough without… getting me. Or maybe burying me. I think your weight is pushing more clay in from the sides.”

Nina pushed herself back and up onto her haunches. The ground where her chest had been did seem like it might have pressed in, just a little. “Maybe, yeah.”

The weasel sighed. “I think you’d better fly over and get the park rangers.”

The griffin winced. “I, well, I don’t really get along with them. And this might be in the park.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else to try.” Vincent tried to pitch his tone gentle, but firm. Nina seemed nice enough even if those talons were a major hazard. “So please go get them.”

The griffin looked down at him for a long while, shifting on her hind legs in mental discomfort. Vincent was about to reiterate, when she spoke again.

“I think I have an idea.”

“If it has anything to do with your sharp bits, I don’t think I want to-“

“No, nothing like that.” Nina held up her foreclaws placatingly. Under his skeptical gaze, she added, “I swear, no sharp bits! Can I try? Please?”

Vincent hesitated. “Promise if it doesn’t work you’ll go get someone to help.” 

“I promise!” She put one muddy claw over her heart, then grimaced when she realized the dirty smear on her chest feathers.

“Okay then. One more try.” Vincent sighed. “I really don’t know what you think you’re going to do, though.”

While he was rattling on, she stood up and turned around. Instead of going to get something or walking off, she backed toward him, looking over her shoulder.

“Here goes nothing, then!” Nina said, cheerful by way of effort.

Vincent had a very short time to take in the enormous leonine rear end towering over him. Long enough to emblazon the image in his mind. Two round golden-furred haunches flanking a cream-furred undertail in which were set her red-pink pucker and the vertical slit of her pussy, both openings fleshy divots in the elongated mound of muscle-under-fur of her perinium. The feral hindquarters tilted, lowered itself toward him.

“Wait a moment wait wh-“ His reflexively upflung arms failed to stop Nina’s inertia, elbows folding where he had tried to hold her back by the fat poofs of the furry outer labia before he was muted by her pussy opening up over his pointed head. His mumblings were absorbed by her insides as she slowly sank onto the struggling weasel.

“Calm down, it’s all part of the plan.” Nina’s voice was muffled by her body, but intelligible. He could feel it as well as hear it. She sounded less certain than he liked. Her lips (not ‘lower’ lips, of course, because she didn’t have any upper lips) spread with some reluctance over his thrashing shoulders as she lowered herself very gently, forcing his arms to his sides.

Vincent tried to protest again without thinking, getting a mouthful of salty pussy fluid for his trouble. He must have made some noise, though, or else she had planned to continue with an explanation already. 

“My boyfrie- My ex, I mean.” She corrected herself, without stopping the careful downward movement that fed more and more of him into her pressing folds. “He said sometimes I squeezed on him hard enough to pull his, um, his thing off. And you’re about the same size. So maybe…”

All in all, Vincent didn’t think he found that reassuring. Her muff was down to his elbows, wet innards squishing and moving around his face and chest. 

“B-but there’s definitely no sharp things there.” Nina continued on. Vincent was pretty sure he heard some embarrassment. She damn well better be embarrassed too, he figured, if he was being shoved into her cunt with no notice at all. “So just, um, hold still and let me try to get you out.”

[i]Not like I have a lot of choice, do I?[/i] Vincent thought wildly. Still disoriented by the sudden… enveloping… and accompanying darkness, he couldn’t formulate any other options. So, surrounded on all sides by Nina’s cooch, he tried to hold still. 

He could feel her heartbeat, he realized. Especially near his nose and shoulder- an artery, probably. If he could see anything it would be red against the rest of her insides. And then it was past until he felt it against his slicked-down chest fur. She was just about down to his stomach now, leaving an ever-shrinking section of his middle bare to the world between her privates and the mud that still had a death grip on his legs and tail.

As that gap closed to as near nothing as geometry allowed, she groaned a little, a vibration that travelled through him. “Okay. I’m going to… I’m going to start trying to squeeze, all right? Just like… yell if something hurts.”

[i]Unnhph[/i] Vincent reluctantly agreed. She already had him all the way up in her crotch. She might as well try, he supposed.

A twitch ran through the walls around him, a quiver pressing against him from all sides of the cavernous cooch he found himself in, and she pulled upward.

Her tightened outer lips pulled against his hips and sides, wrenching up his arms along with it so his hands slid up to shoulder level and put his elbows against her opening. But his lower half remained firmly anchored by the mud. Nina might have gasped, somewhere in that all-over swirl of sensation.

“Not quite…” She said, still muffled by her own innards. “…might take a few tries.”

And she was sinking back down onto him before he could give protesting in mumble another go. She sank down, slowly as before, until she bottomed out. A second later he felt the ripple around him again, a bit stronger this time, and wrenched upward again.

That cycle repeated, sometimes a stronger squeeze and pull, sometimes weaker. Vincent was grateful for the delicacy with which she lowered herself onto him, a little surprised that such a large creature could manage without snapping him- well, as a furry slinky, he’d probably just bend, but he didn’t think anyone else would have snapped either.

Especially impressive since, as the inside of her cunt got increasingly wet and he heard/felt soft moans from the giant griffiness, he was pretty sure Nina was getting into it.

After a dozen or so tugs, she paused, staying down on her haunches around him. Panting. “…Need a second.”

Vincent mumbled something that hopefully sounded enough like ‘go ahead’ to pass.

“I guess I’m not as good at making it happen as I…” Nina was panting, trying to catch her breath. This wasn’t necessarily a great physical exertion for her, but it was taking more concentration than she had thought. In fairness, it wasn’t something she’d really tried to do before. And perhaps more importantly, she was trying to avoid making any [i]noises.[/i] 

She was aware that this rescue attempt was unconventional, to put it mildly, and she didn’t want to make things any more ‘unprofessional’ than she already had in her desperate bid to avoid contact with those whiny buttheads at the park. But it was hard not to let her building arousal out vocally. Vincent felt good down there, just thick enough to fill her out. If anything she wished she could get a little more of him in.

A faint brush caught her attention. She carefully slid upward, not trying to squeeze this time, and bent her head down to look between her legs. To her relief she didn’t see any broken bones sticking awkwardly out from him, though he was humiliatingly wet (which couldn’t have been helping with getting him out). Something else was sticking out instead.

Nina paused to think out her approach, and cracked her beak open in a wicked avian grin.

“Would you look at that.” She purred, reaching one foreclaw down to brush Vincent’s little hard-on with the smooth rounded outside of the talon. It jumped at the contact, and he said something she couldn’t make out. “I was trying not to make things weird, and here you are popping a boner for me.”

Vincent tried to bend his furry noodle body to get out of her, an escape she prevented by lowering herself back down by six inches. His renewed struggle felt pretty good, all things considered, with him bending this way and that- did he even [i]have[/i] a spine?- and fighting to try to get an arm out. Probably wanted to cover himself, silly little two-legger. He also said something, and she grinned imagining it was intended as some witty comeback. 

“It doesn’t seem fair that I should be having all the fun.” Nina teased. She was buying time while she worked her way up to the naughty little idea she had had. His struggles paused. “How about this…”

She eased herself back a fraction, making him bend back to follow her cunny, and then overed carefully down, ears pricked for the slightest sound of real distress in his incomprehensible queries. 

Vincent was, of course, naturally concerned about being bent into a shallow ‘s’ shape and wanted to know what (the fuck) Nina thought she was doing. His erection, brought out partly by the knowledge that Nina was getting off on him and partly for reasons he declined to examine just now, was bouncing against what he thought was one of those nasty black claws. Not the business end, or he would have immediately lost the large fraction of his blood hanging out down there as it exited under high pressure.

Her snatch, which she had incredibly managed to distract him from, slipped down past his ribs. More importantly, his tip nudged against her outsides. [i]Is she going to put it in?[/i] He thought giddily. It seemed silly to think any more of him could be inside her pussy, but that would be the part to make sense.

But… No. She didn’t press it against his belly and shove herself down. She seemed to be looking for something, nudging it softly to right and left. He thought he bumped against her clit, she definitely shivered at one point. And then she found it, and his tip sunk in.

To Vincent, it felt like sliding into a lubed asshole, something he had only done a handful of times in his life. Tight. Smooth.

Was that her urethra?

There wasn’t anything else it could be. Not where it was. It sank down over his shaft down to the root, a little muscular ring enclosing him and trembling at the unexpected intrusion.

“Oh, that feels a little weird.” Nina confessed, experiencing for the first time something solid inside that exit.  “But kinda good, too… I can feel your balls on my clit”

She (correctly) interpreted the ambiguous motion of the weasel inside her has agreement. He could feel her clit too, just nudging his nutsack into the mud.

Carefully, she lifted her hips a smidgen, leave his erection’s tip just inside her urethra. Then Nina dropped back down, a tiny motion for her, but enough to drive Vincent’s cock back into her urethra to the root. He jerked inside her, shocked into movement by the thrust, and forced himself to shivery stillness when he felt her move against all of him again.

“That’s right. Just let Nina fuck your cock with her pee hole.” Nina giggled, keeping up the short shallow undulations. The motion was subtle enough to pull Vincent’s fur around her insides deliciously, alongside the intriguing sensation of his little penis inside her. 

Vincent was going a little bit crazy. Nina’s soft vaginal walls rubbed all over his upper half in a strange full body massage while her much smaller opening squeezed tightly around the erection he hadn’t been trying for. His hips jerked, futilely trying to hump into her, but the circumstances left the pace entirely to the giant female’s discretion.

“I think I like this.” She moaned. Her insides twitched around the furry dildo she had made of Vincent of their own accord, throwing her off the slow rhythm she had set up for an instant before she pushed back down onto him. Clit bumped into balls and sent a tingle to ricochet around under her ribs. “Feels like you do too.”

Even with such a comparably small thing like Vincent’s penis, inside her sensitive piss-slit Nina could feel the cock twitching. She kept the shallow (balls deep) thrusts coming, riding with all the steadiness of a girl who takes good care of her toys. His thrashing grew with the passing moments. No doubt an unspoken plea to go faster. Nina resisted the urge to oblige him and maintained the slow pace until she felt him stiffen inside her.

“Mmm. Yeah you definitely liked that.” Nina held still, keeping herself pressed down to bottom him out inside her. He was cumming into her, miniscule spurts to paint her urethra. Then, when she felt him go limp inside her pussy, she pulled up until her entrance reached his chest, craning her neck so she could watch his spent but still hard cock fall loose of her, dripping his jizz into the mud.

And dropped back down on him to fill up her pussy once more with a squelch.

“You don’t mind if I get off before pulling you out, do you?” She asked. It was a rhetorical question. The increasingly damp noises coming from her pussy as she rode him drowned out any answer he tried to make and she couldn’t have stopped herself anyway.

Dazed by orgasm and deafened by the clinging cuntflesh that dragged up and down over him, the world was a dark, grinding, sliding, squishing mélange of sensations for Vincent. He rode it out on the tide of endorphins fogging his head, only vaguely aware that Nina was now outright fucking herself on him quite a bit faster than she had tried to pull himself loose. 

The feelings changed. Gryphon innards squeezed down harder on him, pulling on his fur, ears, and arms. She had begun pressing down with enough force for her fist-sized clit to mash his softening penis down onto the mud on her downstroke. The exhausted organ plumped back up halfheartedly under the battering, and the sound of her fluffy rear smashing against the mud around his waist shivered the leaves with the sticky impact.

All at once, with a shriek loud enough to pierce the sloppy fucking, she clamped down on him with a shocking force that jammed his arms in against his sides. The pussy, already steadily leaking around him, suddenly flooded with a wash of salty femcum. The deluge came with enough force to slam into his nostrils and throat and coat them with fragrant griffiness. Just as fast, her muscles shifted around him, and it swept out down his front and back while he was clamped in hard from the sides, then reversed itself and flattened him front to back and sent the torrent down along left and right.

In the midst of her climax, Nina hazily recalled her original reason for this. With an intense exercise of will, she fought her instinct and forced herself upward. Still clamping violently her pussy took Vincent with it, finally wrenching him free of mud softened by her soaked-in fluids. His yelp was swallowed by her insides as he felt his hips reluctantly decline to pop out of their sockets.

Nina fell forward onto her belly on the wildflowers, panting and trembling after the effort. Her legs splayed out behind her. They spread out against the ground, shaking and weak with pleasure. She rested like that while the aftershocks reverberated inside her, her cunt the only part of her that moved with deliberation as it squeezed down on its occupant, pulling him yet further in even as more gushes of her release splashed out around him.

Eventually she blinked her way out of her stupor. Vincent, who was getting his bearings about the same time, was shifting and wriggling his noodly body inside her. 

She rolled onto her side, looking back at her hindquarters in a semi-dazed hunt for the source of the feeling. A squawk of dismay escaped from her at the sight of her rear end, crusted in drying mud from ramming it into the muck pit that had trapped Vincent in the first place. And, of course, Vincent’s legs sticking out of her grime-crusted cleft from the knee down, equally crusted and kicking halfheartedly in the air. 

“Oh bugger.” Nina swore, surveying the damage. “I’m never going to get all of this out of my fur.”

[i]Mmmgkhhhh phnnnnn[/i] said the weasel nestled inside her privates. Or something like that. Vincent of course could have meant anything from ‘Oh really?’ to ‘I can’t tell from here’ (but in fact meant ‘Ow my ribs’- Nina’s cooch had not been gentle with him). 

The macro griffin made her unsteady way to her feet, intensely aware of the man wedged inside her sensitized insides.

“Hey, so, it’ll be late soon.” She said, carefully stretching her hind legs and grimacing from the brown ooze that came off in globs. “I’m just gonna… fly home to my den? So I can get cleaned off. How about I take you with me?”

[i]Ggggnnnphh.[/i] 

“I’m just gonna take that as a yes.” Nina said. She looked around, and snagged the backpack lying a little way away from the sex-soaked mud pit. The griffin shuddered “You’re definitely going to need it too. I think you tracked mud into my- Nope, nope, not thinking about it, you’re gonna help fix that. Right? Right. So, yeah, don’t try to get out until I tell you we landed, okay?”

[i]Mmmhn.[/i]

Vincent, warm, wet, fucked [i]and[/i] weirded out (maybe in a good way, he could decide when he wasn’t one big erogenous bruise), felt the jolt when she took off. The tired weasel fell asleep mid-flight.



[center]The End[/center]