[center][b]Making A Hippogriff[/b][/center] [center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center] “All is ready then?” The wolf tapped his foot impatiently, fine clothes white with purple accents shining in the midday light. “Yes, ser Lakan.” The pine marten, head stablekeeper assured him, trying not to appear too distressed by the struggles of his underlings behind them. Every one was straining at the ropes tied around an enormous feral gryphon with brilliant golden fur on its leonine hindquarters and pearly steel feathers. “If you’re still certain you want to risk Meela there.” Its keening cries cut through the chill air, promising murder to any of the ridiculous bipeds holding its leads, and jerking this way and that against the restraints. A few dozen feet away a fine Altai mare pulled against her hobbles. The horse’s eyes rolled in terror at the large predator behind it. “I’m certain. A hippogriff for my stables is worth the risk, Gevin” Lakan answered, looking sharply at the stablekeep. An undertone of disapproval ran through his voice. Ser Lakan, high nobility of the realm and a peer among peers, admired boldness. His own rough manner tended to discourage it though. “And look at it. I think you’ve no cause for concern.” The wolf meant the obvious arousal of the gigantic, easily horse-sized carnivore struggling in the loops of rope. The hardening of the beast’s penis had been obvious from the moment its pink skin began to peek from the furry sheath, such was the size of the animal endowment. Its smooth taper of the tip gave way to a bumpy texture at the thicker base. “…That is true, ser.” Gevin’s uneasiness was as obvious as the gryphon’s arousal. In his inexpert opinion the big catbird with the wicked beak wasn’t acting much like an eager stud. But what did he know about great violent flying bundles of sharp edges, or how they ought to act when feeling amorous? “I’m just no monster-wrangler and neither are my men. If he rips her to pieces and flies off neat as you please, I won’t be responsible.” “Yes, yes. Go on.” Bored by excuses Lakan waved one hand dismissively. “Loose him, or however you mean to do it.” “As you say, ser.” Gevin nodded at his overlord, sigh of dismay kept to the inside of his head. He cupped his hands around his mouth to give the word. “Oi, move ‘im for’ard now, steady as ye like!” The four burliest men in the stables hauled forward in a carefully rehearsed performance. Nonetheless it was a slow endeavor, with the gold and gray carnivore fighting them every step of the way. He yanked this way and that against the handlers, but slowly they pulled him closer to the increasingly panicky mare. Naturally, everything went wrong at the last moment. The handlers got the gryphon tom as near as a few feet to the mare. When they gave the massive beast a little more rope to let him mount the heated female, he made it abundantly clear that he had other ideas. He reared, sharp talons slashing once at the mare’s flank to draw lines of red across it. Already panicked and now in pain the horse screamed at the sky and redoubled her efforts to escape. A strap binding her leg to one of the breeding posts snapped, letting her kick out at the chest of the gryphon. The blow coupled with his own struggles overmatched the grip of two of the handlers, and the two remaining men lost their grips soon afterward, cursing the while. Shrilling triumphantly the beast lashed out, narrowly missing the throat of one bullish handler before dashing off into the stable. “Catch it!” Screamed Ser Lakan. Gevin restrained his lordship from running after the feathery beast himself, grabbing the noble by the back of the shirt. “Never mind that!” The head stablekeeper’s yell was higher pitched with distress. “Grab the pitchforks, chase ‘im out of the stables!” “Wha-“ Lakan rounded on his servant, well on his way to anger. Unlike the highborn wolf, the marten had other concerns than the sudden and likely expensive loss of an exotic creature. “If he slaughters his way through the horses-“ “As he says, get the beast out!” Gevin was right. More money and effort had gone into the equines over the years than even the exorbitant price tag of a live-captured gryphon. “Catch it if you can, but get…” Wolf and marten alike abruptly realized that there was nobody to carry out those instructions. One handler, a tough looking anthro-horse himself, was rocking on the ground with eyes wide, shaking. The bull who’d nearly lost his jugular was laid out fainted in a mucky puddle in the grounds. And the other two must have started running the instant their charge shook his leads and not stopped, for they were nowhere to be found. “Come on.” Lakan charged ahead, Gevin close behind after he’d snatched up a pitchfork. United in their determination to avoid losing the entirety of the castle’s horseflesh to one carnivorous hybrid, the two sped into the huge stable building. …And other than a bunch of startled horses and one more fainted stablehand, there was nothing amiss inside. “Keep going, he must have gone through.” The pine marten suggested, leaping over the unconscious anthro. The stable was one long straightaway, an open hall with two long rows of stalls to hold the best of the mounts the duchy was renowned for. The central access opened to the outdoors by two sizeable doors on either end to let beasts and riders in and out. “The pastures.” Lakan agreed, saving his breath for running. Most of the prized mounts were in here right now, or elsewhere entirely, and if he remembered correctly the only horse out in the pastures right now would be- “Sirocco.” “Fuckitall.” Gevin echoed his thoughts exactly as he vaulted over the lower gate out of the building. Sirocco was the jewel of the stables, the fine fiery stallion they both had high hopes of. Rumor had it there was a touch of unicorn in his line way back. Losing Sirocco would be almost as bad as any half of the others. Neither wasted any more words to urge the other on, driving forward on burning legs into the immense fenced field that served as exercise yard, sometime pasturage, and practice ground for the duchy’s mounts, making to round the small copse of trees that was between the stable and the imperiled stallion’s favorite spot. Gevin pulled ahead on his long legs, leaving the duke to puff along behind him as he kept the copse on his left, lungs burning. Startled whinnies filled the air now, cutting through the light breeze. And then he could see it too. Drawing his sword to drive off the ravenous beast savaging the precious stud stallion, who was bucking and jerking against the clutches of his attacker, Lakan charged. He [i]started[/i] to charge. Gevin’s arm was thrown against his chest, stopping him well short of the animals. “Stop!” “Are you mad? Get off!” The stablemaster grabbed him with both arms now, physically pulling him back. “No, don’t startle him. He might hurt Sirocco.” Concern mixed with startlement in the eyes of the marten, teeth clenched and swaying with the exertion of keeping the slender gray-furred wolf back. “It’s already-“ Lakan was about to run the uppity stablekeep through in his haste to rescue his prize breeding stock, but something hooked his eyes. Something that didn’t make any sense. “No, he’s still well, just…” Gevin loosened his grip on the now wide-eyed noble, now that he had frozen to the spot of his own accord. Leaving one hand on the wolf’s shoulder he turned back to join him in taking in the bizarreness happening several yards away. The precious stallion might have been jerking wildly under the grasp of the huge hybrid, and there were even a few shallow bleeding claw-marks on the horse’s side. But now that Lakan was really looking it seemed as though the gryphon wasn’t making any effort to rend the equine catch with its talons. Quite the opposite. One gigantic eagle claw was reached forward around to hold Sirocco by the front of the chest while the other wrapped around the underside of his barrel, seemingly in an effort to restrain the frightened stallion, pulling him in too close to properly kick at or throw off the creature on top of it. More shocking still to the watching anthros was the way the gryphon’s hips were working repetitively, leonine balls swinging gently with the limited motion. “What in the nine hells?” Still breathing hard and voice hollow with incredulity, Lakan was surprised out of any considerations of attack for the time being. “I reckon featherbrains wasn’t interested in Meela.” Gevin had had a few moments more to come to terms with the unexpected and faintly ridiculous sight of the proud stallion’s mounting. His answer was still shaky though, punctuated at the end by a laugh that was more hysteria than humor. With an effort the marten brought his nerves under control. “Heh. Hem. Beg pardon, your lordship.” “We should stop it.” The dazed wolf looked over at his servant, then back at the animals. “If we startle him, he might…” Gevin finished with a sharp clawing gesture, keeping his tone even in the way of those who work with beasts. “Mayhaps we just wait, and chase the beaky bu- er, blighter off after.” “Tis unnatural!” Lakan hissed at the marten. “Don’t reckon he cares about that.” Now that the initial panic for the continued wellbeing of the stables was passed, and even Sirocco didn’t seem in immediate peril, Gevin was starting to rethink the fervor with which himself and his lordship had chased after a gigantic superpredator. “I don’t reckon if saving your stud’s virtue is worth our hides and his, either, your lordship.” Lakan shook his head uneasily, but said nothing. Taking no notice of his spectators, the gryphon blithely took his time with the agitated horse. He patiently brushed at the base of the tossing neck with his beak, ruffling at the short chocolate fur sensuously. The point of the hard gryphon penis prodded around more or less randomly on the wide rear end of the stallion. Much too low to penetrate, it was still making a leisurely tour of the horse taint, hips, and now and again poking at Sirocco’s scrotum (pulled up tight to the horse’s underside in apprehension). Every touch left a generous smear of clear stickiness, the gryphon’s productivity evidenced by the area covered in shiny pre-ejaculate. The natural lube oozed out of the hole at the predator’s pointed pink tip steadily, enough to flow down the equine backside and the shaft it emerged from in little creeping rivulets whenever the uppermost male stopped moving for more than a second. An animal can only be absolutely terrified for so long before other things begin to creep in to displace fear. Sirocco was reasonably bright for a feral horse, and starting to figure out that: Primus, the claws were not slicing through his hide after that first alarming grab of the beast to get on top of him. Secundus, attempting to escape was not working at all. And tertius, he was being rather pleasantly groomed to offset the peculiar wetness shoving here and there at his hindquarters. In his dim way the stallion added those up and came to the conclusion that this situation was not, by any stretch of the imagination, [i]completely[/i] agreeable- the thing on top of him smelled uncomfortably carnivorous- but further effort to get away was a waste of time. Accordingly, he ceased the periodic abortive bucks and shaking to stand stock-still and wait for this nonsense to end. The lion-bird apparently approved of this, neck extending forward to let him coo into the stallion’s ear. Pleased by the acquiescence he loosened his grip a little to rub at Sirocco’s chest fur. He also pressed in more steadily, grinding his penis against in the slickened groove that ran between the stallion’s legs from balls to anus. The leonine legs extended a little more to bring his tip to drool against that anus, holding still while that steady stream of slickness continued to flow down around the cock and the lower rim of the donut it was bumping against. Beak opened to breath hot damp air across Sirocco’s face, same time as an internal twitch sent a surge of pre gushing with enough force to coat all of the stallion’s exit and the bottom of his tail. “That should be a mare, dammit.” From where Lakan was standing, it sure looked as though the immense hybrid were whispering sweet nothings in the stallion’s ear. “I’m losing a chance at a riding hippogriff because some deviant animal-“ His tirade spluttered away to a frustrated nothing. Gevin tried not to snicker. “Better’n losing our best stud because the deviant animal was hungry. Assumin’ he doesn’t work up an appetite.” A thought occurred to him. “If he gets dozy instead of peckish, after, we might get another chance.” “There is that, I suppose.” Whether or not the gryphon might later be coaxed into a less unproductive rutting with a mare more to his taste, he was definitely giving his all to a try with Sirocco. Sliding back a few inches, he shoved forward hard. Right on target. Sirocco’s jump would have sent him a foot up in the air if not for the weight on his back. Instead the gryphon’s erection slid about an inch deeper into his asshole than it would have otherwise. The resulting ruckus of discomforted horse made the watching anthros wince sympathetically. In truth the penetration wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. The gryphon’s voluminous clear output was exquisitely slick and by now coated all of the intruding flesh along with the asshole it was piercing. Added to that the naturally tapered shape whose point had hooked into the horsey donut spread it gradually. ‘Gradually’, it is important to note, is not the same thing as ‘slowly’. All the lube in the world couldn’t have prevented the burn of the sudden rectal stretch to two and a half fingerwidths from edge to edge at that speed of insertion. Sirocco was a large enough animal to keep the sensation from qualifying as the complete agony a dry entrance could have been, but he felt it and let the world know as much. The gryphon’s grip tightened once more around the renewed frenzy of the horse under him. Returning to grooming about the stallion’s neck he patiently waited for the uproar to pass, enjoying the way that the tight hole around his first few inches of cockflesh moved with the struggles. From his bestial perspective, the most difficult part of this was not letting too much more of himself slide in while he waited for the horse to calm down a little. Or, as the little ripples under the golden fur of his flanks attested, resisting the urge to hump in. Despite the additional stretch of the ground lost (or gained) during the escape attempt reprise, or perhaps because his movements only made the confusing intrusion hurt more, Sirocco did eventually settle into a subdued trembling punctuated only by the occasional twitch. The situation was after all more or less the same as before in futility. Sirocco’s undesired lover showered him with more coos of affection, nuzzling happily while the horse worked his way through the unpleasant pulling sensation in his backside. As a stallion he understood the concept of mounting. As a feral male (or more specifically, as a pampered and rather fiery-tempered stud from Ser Lakan’s stables) the idea of [i]being mounted[/i] was a more complex feat of mental gymnastics. It was quite beyond his animal brain. The gryphon was patient enough that Sirocco figured out something else however, in his fuzzy-minded animal fashion. Namely, that relaxing the muscles of his anal passage eased his discomfort. And beyond that, if he actually bore down- That didn’t push out the thing at all, but it was much better. On top of him the immense hybrid chirred. Taking the rippling of the flesh around him as a signal he began to slowly, laboriously, tighten his hips. He inched inward with (to the gryphon) tortuous slowness, the way forward generously lubricated by the pre-ejaculate still spewing steadily from him. It was drooling out faster now, if anything, right into the virgin-tight hole that fluttered wetly around it. Sirocco’s hard breathing broke into a soft whicker when the first of the soft bumps studding the lower half of the shaft pressed against his rim. By now the carnivore dick had leveled out to a fairly even three and a half fingerwidths diameter, not counting the bumps. And for the horse, pain had faded into a mildly uncomfortable pull, with an intriguing tingle where the pre soaked into his inner walls. “Wonder how long gryphons go.” Gavin sat whittling at a twig with his boot knife. He’d sat down on the grass when it became obvious the animal was going to take its time about this. “Why would I know?” Lakan paced back and forth. The wolf’s eyes were riveted on the large quadrupeds, his cheeks burning with frustration. “You’re the damned animal handler.” “He’s already been a lot longer than a stallion, is all I’m saying ser.” Idly flicking a wood-shaving off his trouser leg, Gevin looked the picture of innocence that many underlings come to adopt when thinking something impertinent. In this case he’d swallowed down the suggestion that, if Lakan was so bloody impatient, maybe he’d like to go back and try for a worse or a holf as a consolation prize for the hippogriff he wouldn’t be getting. Poor Meela seemed to be missing the ride of her life, after all, with the best breeding prospects one on top of the other out here. [i]Duke ought to be a good enough pedigree, I’d reckon[/i] he muttered under his breath. Regardless of the insubordinate half-grin Gevin kept to himself, the object of his lordship’s ire was happily bottomed out in Sirocco’s tailhole. Rubbing cheek to cheek with the horse he purred and set properly to work. The gryphon started slow, pulling out to almost half of his shaft. With most of the textured portion outside, shiny with his own pre, he froze. Then jammed forward in a mighty pump of his hips, any pretense of patience forgotten, setting the pace to a rapid humping driven by exhausted restraint. Sirocco shrieked with all of the air in his lungs. Not frightened or trying to get away this time, but something like triumphant. The tingle where gryphon pre drenched his insides had morphed into a sort of pleasant, hot itch that made the rough fucking heavenly. He actively tried to shove back to meet the catbird’s thrusts, not quite matching the rhythm and turning the pattern into an irregular staccato. The stallion gloried in the way the textured portion of cock yanked away at his soft rectal walls on the retreat, slippery pre not enough to keep the bumps from pulling at his folds and rim. Inward return was even better, now-delightful fullness rushing back in to fill the passage, tip battering aside the folds pulled tight by the vacuum-tight seal of anal entrance and pull of the cock’s removal. Only to do it all again a second later. An anthro would have said it felt like their insides were towed out, packed in, rearranged over and over in the best way possible. Sirocco said much the same without words while the gryphon pulled him onto his shaft with the same grip he’d restrained him, balls slapping into stallion taint like a squishy war drum to accompany the beat of rising gryphon cries. An immeasurable period of rutting slamming ecstasy later the predatory dick was buried in Sirocco with a ringing [i]SLAP[/i] of wetted down fur on wetted down fur, two euphoric bestial screams shattering the air. In the dead quiet after, one could hear the churning gryphon balls sliding up and down against the equine taint they were pressed to, laboring to pump out shot after shot of white gummy virility as deep into the stallion as possible. With a squawk dripping smug satisfaction the gryphon nuzzled one more time at the Sirocco’s neck, and released his grip to stagger awkwardly back off of the stallion. The curved beak dipped to press its curve once against the distended anus whose clenching around empty air turned into a lewd kiss of the smooth surface. Nares full of the scent of bred male the eagle-head raised to the sky proudly. Sirocco just shook on unsteady legs, wheezing. Now that the more important matter of breeding Sirocco’s colon was accomplished, the regal beast could turn to more important matters. Just as stunned as the horse by the primal force of the creature’s release, neither Lakan nor Gevin moved. They didn’t realize that the stud- the feathery stud, not the stallion, for he definitely deserved that title- was wedging his beak under the leather straps binding one of his wings until it gave with a snap. “Stop! Catch him!” Lakan panicked. Like a flash the wicked beak was through the other set of wing-straps, and the gryphon bounding along to get up speed. Acting on possessive alarm the wolfish duke whipped his leg muscles into a sprint, diving to catch hold of one of the ropes still trailing from those tied around the escaping hybrid. The huge creature dragged him along behind like a child towing a toy, wings spreading to catch the wind. Gevin saved his ruler from being carried off by the simple expedient of leaping on the wolf much as the wolf had leapt on the rope. Lakan’s grip towed them a dozen feet before it gave out, simultaneous with the gryphon launching himself into the air, mocking cry drifting back to them on the wind. The marten recovered first from having the breath knocked out of him. He rose to his knees, dusting off his tunic. “Are you well, ser?” “…I almost had him.” Lakan rolled onto his back and let the back of his head thump against the grass with a morose sigh. “Three hundred gold crowns.” “He almost had you, begging your pardon.” Gevin corrected. He took the wolf by the hand to help the dusty, grass-stained noble to his feet. “Could have been worse, ser.” His ruler gave raised an eyebrow querulously at the way the marten giggled. “Mayhap I ought to be asking if [i]you[/i] took a blow to the head.” “Might have, ser.” Gevin forced himself to take a long breath before (almost) repeating himself. “Could have been- em, turned out less well.” “That’s to be seen. Come on, I want to make sure Sirocco isn’t injured.” An inspection showed that the horse was, barring the initial few scratches, in perfect health. If one ignored the swollen, reddened ring of muscle under his tail which didn’t close properly yet. And the drying patches of sticky pre, reaching all the way from that to a large drop collected at the lowest point of Sirocco’s scrotum and fell into the puddle from earlier. And the way the horse’s penis hung half-limp from his sheath, one string of gluey white trailing from its tip to the handful of scattered ‘pearls’ next to the clear puddle, where they’d been pumped out of Sirocco by the force of his buggering. That last might have weighed in favor of the stallion being quite well indeed. Lakan did studiously ignore all of that. Gevin checked enough to make sure there was no blood, finding none from the abused hole. None of the gryphon’s semen either; apparently deposited too deep to leak. Neither of them answered the questions about what had happened in any detail. Explaining that the precious jewel of their stables had been bred like that would have been much too awkward. [center]***[/center] Ser Lakan was in a foul mood today. He found himself like that uncomfortably often in recent weeks. There were a variety of reasons for that: Unpleasant diplomatic functions, an unseasonal harsh storm that had caused all kinds of problems, and assorted minor inconveniences that stacked together most frustratingly. The one thing that caused him the most bother, disproportionate to its real impact on his life, was the gryphon incident of three months back. He knew it shouldn’t bother him by now. Looked at objectively, Lakan lost very little from the event. A few hundred crowns wasn’t trivial even to a duke, but neither did it rise to the level of major inconvenience. The clothes dragged through the grass had washed out well enough and the seamstress had fixed the tiny rip in the collar invisibly with less than an hour’s work. It did bother him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way the gryphon had railed Sirocco, both male. That… well, in Lakan’s book, it was [i]off[/i]. Oh, the priesthoods varied on their opinion of such goings on between those of the same sex, but the duke had tended toward viewing such as, at the least, inadvisable. Just in case. With the need to eventually produce an heir and little time to himself it was irrelevant in any case from a personal perspective. And that should have been no trouble either, taking into account that a couple of animals presumably didn’t need to worry about imperiling their souls (if that was even an issue; again, the priests couldn’t seem to come to a consensus on the subject). So no problem. … He still thought about it. Lakan would never tell anyone else, but, walking Sirocco back to the stable, penis still flapping and generally smelling of gryphon, the wolf’s codpiece had felt a little tight. Probably his imagination. He hoped. And he dreamed about it too, from time to time. The hybrid on top of the horse, plowing in, or the other way around in a scenario he’d never seen with waking eyes. The details of either monstrously large maleness, in use or just flopping around under their owner. That moment when he’d been pulled along behind the gryphon by a rope seemed to have a worryingly detailed memory of the view attached to it, though he couldn’t possibly have taken in that many particulars at the time. [i]It’s nothing[/i] the duke assured himself, turning his eyes back to the papers he had been working at before getting distracted. [i]It was just a very… striking event.[/i] The intensity of the rutting would have left an impression on anyone, regardless of the participants. “Come in.” A rap on the oak door of the duke’s study had caught Lakan just as he was getting into the flow of his work. The hinges creaked almost reluctantly, revealing the weasely face of stablemaster Gevin. “Ser? Could I speak with you?” “I suppose I have a moment. What is it?” Setting aside his quill, Lakan folded his hands patiently. The marten seemed nervous, rubbing at his hands. “It’s about Sirocco, ser.” The wolf shifted in his seat, leaning back and holding his expression neutral. “Has he taken ill? Earl Cemmidge asked me to send him to cover some of his mares this year.” “Not ill, ser. Not exactly.” Gevin’s hapless half-shrug pulled his noodly body into a curve with his nervousness. “That is… I think maybe you should see for yourself ser.” [center]***[/center] “You’ve been overfeeding him.” The wolf’s stern rebuke made Gevin cringe slightly under its weight. “If you need me to tell you that, I need a new stablemaster.” “It’s not that!” Gevin replied, professional pride tingeing it with a little more anger than he would normally dare. “I know my business, that’s not it!” “Then by all means, tell me from the beginning.” Lakan raised his hands, eyes rolling back to the decidedly plump brown horse. “He looks overfed to me.” “I will!” The marten agreed with a huff, reaching to open the stall. They were alone in the stable for the moment, except for a few of the other horses watching interestedly. “It’d have to have started right after… the gryphon.” Nodding along, the duke followed him into the partition. “Go on.” “Sirocco’s been acting a little funny after. Suppose I expected that, really, it was a hell of a thing.” He stopped to take in the way Lakan inclined his head in agreement. The marten was right about that much. “Been a little less nippy, more agreeable. I reckoned the birdy bastard put him in his place good, buggered the mean out of him. Er, pardon my language.” “Pardoned.” The wolf sighed, patting at the side of the stallion’s neck affectionately. He got a soft whicker in return, the horse pressing back into the pats. “And I imagine I would think the same. So your hands gave him too many sugar lumps for being a good horse?” “No, ser.” Gevin groaned at the attempted humor, pressing one hand to his face with a grimace. “Well, ‘haps a little at first, but I told them to stop when he started getting wider.” “All right. I’ll just let you finish then, no more interruptions.” “Thank you, ser. There’s been other things too. Some too little to put words to. But he’s been reluctant to cover the mares too. No-“ He waved off the duke’s surprise, evident from widened eyes. “-not such like as has been a problem. I wouldn’t lie to the stock books, point of pride.” “My thanks.” Lakan said drily. Meela had been covered by Sirocco a few days after the gryphon had made its escape, and a handful of others. So said the stock book. “He just takes a little coaxing, is all.” Gevin didn’t acknowledge the way his lord forswore himself regarding interruptions. It wasn’t really important to him anyway. “Doesn’t go right for ‘em the way he used to, or any stallion does for that matter. Happy enough to put a foal in ‘em if you lead him into it, and between you and me I think the mares appreciate that he en’t being so rough. So I thought the whole business put him off his stroke, but he’s been slapping his belly a fair bit now and again. Still plenty lusty, that way.” The marten was, of course, referring to the way stallions tended to pleasure themselves if left bored, or occasionally at any other time, like any other male. Any other male not sworn to one of the more restrictive priesthoods (and if you believed bawdy rumor quite a few of those that were). He took as little time to breath before going on as possible, wanting to finish the conversation as soon as he could. “But mostly, he’s just been getting rounder. And I think I’ve figured why. But you’re not about to believe me if I just say it, so you’d better feel it.” The stablemaster took one of the wolf’s hands, pressing it against the side of Sirocco’s widened belly. Lakan humored him, waiting. It felt like the side of a horse. “…What am I supposed to be fee-“ Gevin knew his duke had felt the same he had, by the way the wolf’s eyes shot wide and his jaw dropped. A kick. “Nine hells.” “Right, ser.” He nodded solemnly at the flabbergasted nobleman. “I think you’ll be getting that hippogriff after all.” For almost five minutes, Lakan looked at Gevin, back at the overweight, no, [i]pregnant[/i] stallion, and Gevin again. He finally decided what question to ask first. “How?” “Do I look like I would know? Gryphon’s are supposed to be magic, right? Maybe ask a wizard.” “Fair enough. When?” “For a mare with a foal, a little less than a year. A stallion with a hippogriff?” Gevin through up his hands hopelessly. “He looks a little further along than the three months it’s been, but sure as salt I couldn’t say.” Lakan raised a hand to his mouth, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “One other thing then. Who else knows?” “Just you and me.” “Keep it that way, however you have to.” In answer to Gevin’s querying glance, he sighed. “A tame hippogriff is a feather in both our caps but if it comes out how that happened…” “It’d be a dirty joke in every tavern o’ the whole kingdom quick as a greased rabbit runs.” Gevin nodded understandingly. “You’re right, ser. I’ll puzzle something out. Take him to a separate shed on the other side of the pasture, say he’s ill. Nothing serious but shouldn’t be kept with the others. One of the mares too. We can say she got knocked up by the featherheaded menace in the time we lost sight of him, or summat.” “Good man.” The duke patted Gevin on the shoulder approvingly. “Keep me appraised.” [center]***[/center] In the dead of night, a paw shuffled once on the dirt. The very spot over which the poor rejected mare Meela’s cunt had dripped her heat three months ago. The owner of the bare paw (left bare for maximum quiet on the stone and wood floors of the keep), winced. Everything sounded louder when you were trying to be quiet, he knew that, but it still seemed incredible that the crunch shouldn’t shatter the earth, raise alarms, bring the guard running. He stood still waiting for the uproar for much, much too long before he got a hold of himself and continued on toward the warm light from the crack in the stable door. Pressing one pointed ear up against it, he stopped, holding his breath to listen. Soft snores. Nothing else. The skulker pulled the door open, wincing at the creak of rusty hinges, but as there were still no hue and cry he stepped in, closing the door behind him and resting his back against it. “Why the hell am I here.” Lakan whispered to himself. It wasn’t really a question- he knew why he was creeping out here in the dead of night. He’d known he’d do it almost from the instant he felt the kick of the unborn hippogriff. It [i]was[/i] an unborn hippogriff, of course; he might have wildly thought for an instant of asking Gavin if Sirocco had gotten mounted by another stallion at some point, but that was really even more unlikely than for either unconventional matings to [i]take[/i]. Walking out of the stable after talking with Gavin, he was certain that the tightness of his codpiece wasn’t imaginary. Something about the idea of the proud, excessively masculine stallion getting impregnated, let alone by such a majestic beast… It was arousing beyond belief to him. He [i]knew[/i] he was coming back the way he knew a dropped rock would fall. What he didn’t know, not exactly, was what he came to do. The source of the snores was an odd anthro, fur a lighter grey than Lakan’s own coat. Short, with short arms and legs, a round face, round ears, and a large, round, black nose. All dressed in a rough homespun shirt haphazardly buttoned over plain trousers. The duke thought he recognized the man from his description- Dello was something called a koala. Gevin often complained that he would throw the man out for sleeping so much and so deeply, except that he ‘does such bloody good work when he is awake, it puts the other men to shame’. That suited the wolf well enough. It would give him time to sort things out. Not long after he came to the stall where half of the whirling center of his confusion was lodged, letting himself in. Sirocco’s head lifted to greet him, snuffling softly at his visitor. “Hey, friend. You should be asleep.” Lakan chuckled, rubbing behind the horse’s ear. “A mother to be should get her rest after all.” The stallion snorted and licked his face. “I surrender.” The wolf fended off the tongue with one hand. “The mother to be should get [i]his[/i] rest. Better?” As if understanding perfectly Sirocco went back to nuzzling at his chest affectionately. Lakan, struggling not to laugh too loudly, always had been good with animals. It was a pity his duties kept him shuffling paper and tending to the state; he thought he might be happier switching places with Gevin sometimes. “Let’s take a look at you, eh?” The wolf trailed his hand along Sirocco’s black mane to his wide back, then downward to fondle at his side. He kneeled to feel it with both hands from below, the little motion he could feel within sending a shock of… [i]something[/i] up his spine. It wasn’t the arousal, though there was a lot of that too. His package was definitely constrained by even the loose pantaloons he’d chosen for this little excursion right now. More than that, just the fact that Sirocco was so stretched out, so full. With the offspring of that gigantic gryphon. Lakan was vaguely aware that the predator had grown beyond even the massive life size in his mind’s eye, and let himself sink into the memory of watching it atop his favored stallion, pumping in and out with balls swinging. He expanded those balls in his mind, let them swell out to swing as hefty pendulums against Sirocco’s own nuts. Imagined hugging the big life-giving orbs to his chest, even humping his wolfhood against them. Reservations on the subject be damned, anyway. Speaking of balls, there were a couple of pairs within easy reach, only one of them his. He diverted one hand to fondle the velvety orbs. Definitely heavy. Good weight. Good reminder that this beast here was a paragon of virility, had fathered easily a few dozen offspring of his own even before being filled up himself. Lakan was sure he was making a damp spot in his trousers thinking about it. Positive, he could feel that, even if it was nothing to the gryphon’s fountain. Belatedly he realized that, easy way with animals or not, Sirocco was being awfully calm about the groping. Looking up, the horse had his head turned to look back at him in the semi-dark with one big eye. The equine chuffed at him, and Lakan would swear the stallion was acting disappointed that he’d stopped feeling up his seed purse. “You have mellowed out.” Not that the wolf was complaining at all, he could do without a kick to the head. Or worse, a vocal enough protest to get him caught. Maybe the thought about Sirocco getting mounted by another stallion wasn’t an impossibility. He patted at the gravid belly once before taking one big testicle in each hand, squeezing softly and rubbing them one against the other. “I guess a bun in the oven suits you, eh?” Sirocco casually turned away, with a yawning pant. He was waking up a little now from the attention, and not just him. The horse’s sheath was disgorging his clublike shaft into the warm air of the stables, hanging heavy over the wolf’s wrist. He kept working at the balls, watching that fat cock bobbing up and down, and- hells. The stallion’s maleness had stiffened up nearly all at once, and was pressed up against Sirocco’s distended belly. Hard enough to press a little dent in the rounded stomach. Seeder and seeded in one, and emphatically ready to try at the first if the latter weren’t in the way. Lakan shuddered at the sight, squeezing the balls a little harder in a displaced need. He could reach out and touch that penis. Rub at it, lick it, press it to the bulge of the unnatural- wonderful, enticing, [i]thrilling[/i]- pregnancy, hold it up and let Sirocco grind against his own baby bump until he painted his underside white. Lakan would soak his pants at the same time, sure as morning sunrise. But. Tempting as that thought was, as much as he knew he’d enjoy it, the duke felt he was here for something else. Progress. He wasn’t here to work Sirocco’s stallionhood off against his own pregnancy. Not tonight. He stood, pressing one hand against his nose to appreciate the masculine odor. Three steps brought him around behind the mount where after only a moment’s hesitation he lifted the black hair of the horse’s tail out of the way. Lakan hadn’t made any detailed study of animal’s backsides. Not really. But standing right here, right now, he could no longer deny to himself that after the gryphon fucked Sirocco’s his eyes had strayed at least a little every time the opportunity had arisen. Just a glance here, a flash there. This, though, this exact hole was the one he’d really wanted to look at closely deep down, well before knowledge of the life planted inside had snapped away the self-imposed delusion of disinterest. It closed properly again, having recovered from the brutal stuffing of months ago. Perhaps implausibly well, though Lakan really hadn’t any experience to base that on. He thought that the muscled ring might be puffed out more than previous glimpses suggested. As he stared at the black flesh, it twitched visibly, relaxing back and further to open just a little. Sirocco was looking expectantly back at him. The wolf gulped nervously. In a moment he would definitely be going past what almost any of the priesthoods held acceptable (though, one heard rumors about the rites of the Lord of the Wilds…). He should stop. Stopping was as unthinkable as a dropped rock falling into the sky. He grabbed a stool from the corner, set it behind the big brown stallion where he would soon need it, and without a second thought slurped wetly on the index and middle finger of his right hand. The wolf fancied he could taste a bit of Sirocco’s sack on them. Holding the tail to the side by the dock, he pressed the spitted fingers into the puffy ring. And Sirocco pushed back. Lakan groaned as he watched the fingers sink into his best horse’s tailhole, felt it squeeze around the digits lovingly. He worked the fingers in and out once, twice, to transfer as much saliva as he could and brought them back to his mouth for more. The flavor of horse ass was as sweet to him as the finest dessert wine, rich as goose pâté. The duke wasn’t quite ready to throw away so much of his dignity as to taste it directly, but he thought he would be back. When the hole glistened with spit, a poor substitute for gryphon leakage he thought but good enough, he stepped up onto the stool. Unfastening his belt to set his erection free he pushed aside Sirocco’s tail at the dock, which the horse was happy enough to allow. “You want it too, degenerate horse.” Lakan’s tip pressed against the bulging rim of his stallion’s hole, which opened up to draw him in an inch before he was ready. “You got rutted good by another male and you loved it.” The low whinny was probably an agreement. The wolf drove in all at once to the top of his knot, no mercy for the stud whore in front of him, who didn’t want it anyway. His pretty manners and lofty dignity thrown aside to be picked up later or never Lakan jerked back so he could hump into the willing beast, bashing against the large but greedily clenching tailhole with his considerable knot. “I wager the little griff in here will grow up to be a bestial slut just like their mother.” Fingers pressed against the bulging sides of the horse felt at least as sensitive as the pink skin of the wolf’s penis, feeding his lust as much as his fucking did. “But I wager even more you’d love it if he took after his dear father, and fucked your own grandfoals into you.” It was probably his imagination that Sirocco bucked back into him at that suggestion. Well, in the haze of lust filling him he thought the stallion would approve of the sentiment anyway. The anal passage was implausibly tight around him for the size of the creature it belonged to. Lakan wondered if Gevin had done this. Not his problem if the stablemaster was too much of a bloody fool not to take this tight ass as often as he could, though. “Don’t you worry. Even if you have a daughter or your son is too much of a priketaker to keep you happy, I’ll make sure you have plenty of stallions to pump you both full. You’d like that.” The fire of lust was burning hotter and hotter, white-hot, blue-hot as he thought about an unending line of horsecocks to feed into the hole he was plowing, to keep on until he himself couldn’t touch the sides. “I’ll give every one of my guard a turn at you. I’ll bring more gryphons. And bulls, and dragons, and every other beast to sate even your slattern’s asshole.” And he’d fuck both of them, as much and as often as he could arrange. Any one of those ideas would be enough to bring duke Lakan to climax, with or without the clenching gripping greedy anus he was screwing. But the one that finally made him cum, slamming his hips in hard enough to bury his knot in his best horse, was that maybe… Just maybe. He could get that same gryphon back, and get it to impregnate him as well with its massive phallus. So that the hippogriff gestating in the stallion he erupted into could give him the same welcome to motherhood he was giving Sirocco, with its half-siblings swelling him out like a full wineskin. Duke Lakan had the orgasm of his life, squirting and spurting into the welcoming fertile embrace of his stallion’s back end, howling to join his mount’s triumphant cry of pleasure as Sirocco emptied his own load onto the hay covering the stable floor. He stood there, panting, knotted in the periodically squeezing embrace. The wolf could easily fall asleep right here, upper body splayed across Sirocco’s wide back. “Hhhzuh?” The duke froze, then frantically yanked himself out of the stallion, toppling into the hay behind. Sirocco’s small shriek of discomfort from the passage of Lakan’s near-fist-size knot (which had never swollen so large before in his life) and disappointment at being empty once more didn’t quite cover up the scrambling sound from the main floor, where Dello wasn’t snoring any more. Cursing he rushed to fix his pants closed to hide his shame, bolting upright to stand by Sirocco’s side and pat at it comfortingly. “Who goes-“ The stubby koala skidded to a halt outside the stall gate, lantern in hand. He blinked muzzily at the disheveled wolf petting the overweight stallion in the stall he had come to, the only one with more amiss than a startled horse inside. “Ser Lakan? What’s going on?” “Hmmm?” Lakan would have been proud of the imitation calmness he projected if he could see it from the outside. Inside, he was terrified it wouldn’t be good enough and lashing his thoughts to run faster with a whip, for a way to salvage this. “I heard the most awful noise.” Confused, Dello scratched behind one ear, yawning. “Did I dream that?” “Well, I took a bit of a tumble a moment ago. Sirocco here was startled.” Chagrined smile pasted across his muzzle the duke focused on rubbing down the stallion’s spine. Not the side. The side reminded him of the life planted there, threatening to give him an obvious tent for Dello to see. “Go on with your rest, Dello.” “Erm.” The koala looked sheepish, searching the rafters for an excuse. “I’m terribly sorry, ser. I didn’t mean to nod off, or I would have greeted you on the way in. …Why [i]are[/i]-“ “Don’t mind me. I couldn’t sleep and wanted to pay my favorite horse a visit.” That wasn’t even a lie. “And stablemaster Gevin has often told me your fine work is worth your little naps. Just don’t tell him I said so, eh?” “As you say, ser.” The fuzzy man nodded, smiling sleepily. “I really should check on Breeze anyway, that mare’s been colicky.” “You see to that then. I’ll be leaving soon enough.” Watching the koala stroll off with the lantern, Lakan breathed a sigh of mixed relief and exasperation. There would be no chance to explore further tonight. Gingerly, he bent over to take one last look at the gravid stallion’s belly from close up. He reached out to the flared penis dangling softer now beneath it, grateful the angle had been too sharp or the stablehand too dozy to notice it, and rubbed at the tip with his palm to coax a happy whicker out of Sirocco. “I’ll be by again, don’t you worry.” Lakan stood, the last gobbet of sticky semen from the stallion’s maleness coming away with his hand. He lapped it away hungrily, savoring the taste of male. “Might not manage quite everything else though. A dragon… what was I thinking.” [i]I could definitely manage another gryphon though.[/i] And it would be easy enough to arrange as many visits as he wanted to keep Sirocco happy, when he was moved to the other side of the pasture. Walking away from the stable with a spring in his step, he thought about just how many men he would have to swear to secrecy to make his own session with a gryphon work. [i]I suppose I could promise to let them have a turn…[/i] He was all the way into his well deserved bed before he realized he’d never specified, even to himself, who or what that turn would be with. All the possibilities sounded lovely. [center]The End[/center]