[center][b]Odd Punishment[/b][/center] [center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center] “Let the accused step forward.” Randall didn’t really step forward. He was more dragged, by the musclebound guards on either side. The tiger was dressed only in a pair of plain, brown trousers. Itchy trousers. His jailers didn’t believe in making things too comfortable, which included the ungodly early hour. “I would ask how you plead.” Drawled the bored judge. An owl. A very small owl, in the officious robes, and comically deep-voiced for his size. “But in addition to the enormous pile of witness statements on my desk this morning, I happen to be entirely qualified to write one. So it becomes more a question of: Will you be wasting all our times by insisting we do the entire procedure, complete with going quite far to find a jury that doesn’t already know all the facts? Or will you concede now so we can get this over with?” “Um….” The tiger squirmed, as much as the hold of the guards on either arm allowed. Neither of them were frogs, so it couldn’t have been a proper frog-march to the minimalist courthouse, but the matched horses were entirely adequate to the job. “…Guilty.” “Very good. Guilty it is.” Randal got out half of his sigh of relief- he was rather happy to have avoided the embarrassment of a trial- but the owl burst his bubble. “His lordship has suggested a very special punishment for your crime, as it was his victory parade you interrupted. Guards, if you will take him away…” “Wait!” Straining to look around, he could only bend enough to catch a sliver of a view of the diminutive judge. “What punishment?” “You’ll find out.” [center]***[/center] The guards’ path took him back toward the cells. Not optimistic enough to believe he was merely going to be imprisoned for a few days, Randall’s mind wove intricate possibilities for itself. Hot irons, pulled like taffy on a rack, pierced by spikes- Did they have an iron maiden? Distracted by his own speculations the tiger did not realize he had actually arrived until the shackles clicked closed around his wrists, fixing him to the wall. He was in a cell. Not the same as the one where he’d spent last night after his misadventure. This one did look a bit like he expected a torture chamber might, if all of the most gruesome devices and horrid instruments were removed to leave a rather plain, bare room. A solid wood table lined most of the wall to his right, mostly empty. If any of the bits and bobs resting haphazardly on its surface were tools of torment he couldn’t imagine how they were meant to be used. Other than that, there wasn’t much around. Plain stone walls. Heavy door with a barred opening in the upper middle for looking through. Another barred window in the wall over where he was chained. The two equine guards who’d brought him in, of course. And- “This the guy?” A bulky grayish-green scaled gator was the other occupant of the room. Flared tan pantaloons swayed when he took a step, his chest inadequately covered by a flashy red vest in the style of the east. One of the horses, brown-furred stone-faced gits that they were, only nodded. “Well ain’t you the lucky fella.” “Your accent really doesn’t match the clothes.” Randall pointed out in a daze. There were a lot of other things he could have said, most of them more dignified. That just made it to his tongue first. “Nah. The clothes is all marketin’.” The reptile snatched up a small bottle from the table, swirling its contents. “I can talk jus’ like a genie outta the bottle ‘f I need to, but y’aint the customer an’ I already been paid.” “That makes sense.” Tension overload was making the tiger focus on irrelevant details, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Oh, right: Why he was here in the first place. “So you-“ “I’m Cal. Nice t’ meetcha, stripes. Hear you caused quite the commotion durin’ ‘is lordship’s showoff session. Not a bright move, champ.” The muscle-bound alligator overrode his question by volume more than anything else, striding over to the feline he had a head of height advantage on. “I been asked ta help set up somthin’ special in my capacity as an alchemist-” That last word came out as something like [i]all-kee-mest[/i], but it was understandable enough. Wide, scaly fingertips popped the cork out of the tiny square bottle. The liquid inside was an aggressive, obnoxious pink. “-as part of yer punishment, so I’m gonna ask yah ta drink all of this.” “No!” Randall’s eyes went wide as he pressed his head back into the stone wall, sealing his lips tight the instant he got the word out. Whatever was in that bottle, he didn’t want any of it. “Now, y’could put up a fight and spit this out.” Long mouth studded with almost daintily separated teeth snapped off the last of that sentence with a wide grin. “But all that’d happen is, I’d go fetch another vial, add in some laxatives an’ poison ivy fer yer cheekiness, and get these fine fellas to help me pour it down yer puddin’-hole anyhow.” Randall got the distinct impression that the mismatched alchemist would enjoy that. For a moment he thought about asking whether ‘pudding hole’ meant his mouth (with which he might ingest pudding) or the opposite end of his digestive tract (with ‘pudding’ being a euphemism). It became too risky to ask when the end of the bottle was shoved up against his still-closed mouth, and he decided he didn’t really want to find out either way. Randal opened up and drank. It didn’t actually taste half bad. A little like peppermint with the sharp edges rounded off. He still coughed and sent a few drops running down to his chin fur when the gator poured a little too fast. “Careful now.” Came the tolerantly amused drawl. “Swallow that down.” The tiger managed, exaggerating the motion to make himself seem more cooperative. “What was that?” “Jus’ part of yer punishment.” How in the heck did anyone have a mouth that big to grin with? “You’ll see what it does in a minute. Here’s the second part.” Something, Randall couldn’t see what, was jammed into his mouth hard before he could so much as flinch. He was still coming to grips with the situation as the remarkably fast gator pulled straps from the thing tight around his head, closing some fastening of it around the nape of his neck. “Wha sh ih gyuh?” It felt like metal to his tongue. A sort of ring that had been slid in sideways and turned to press into the roof and base of his mouth, lodged behind his fangs. “Whu [i]hughhh[/i]?!?!” Randall had started to tingle. “Ooh, sounds like” [i]lahk[/i] “the potion’s kickin’ in. Mind if I get a full view o’ the results, boys?” Cal apparently didn’t actually care about the guard’s opinions and he definitely didn’t care about Randall’s. Strong hands freed the tiger from the incredibly itchy pants with a yank, making him yelp in incoherent surprise around the metal piece holding his jaw open. “Heh. Looky here.” Scaled muscles leaned out of the way to let the matched horses have a good look. “Kitty cat must notta been packing much to begin with, eh?” “Ah erhghl abh-“ Randall was going with his stock response, comprehensible or otherwise, on reflex. ‘I’m perfectly average for a big cat, dammit’ might be a little weak as an excuse in the face of equines and… whatever it was alligators had… but it was the truth. Except, when he looked down at the package his secured arms obviously couldn’t come anywhere close to covering, he [i]wasn’t[/i] average. His sheath, the pink tip that was usually visible peeking from it, and the balls under were all slightly but definitely smaller than they had been when he’d gotten up from his pallet this morning. And as he watched it shrank an undeniable fraction smaller under his gaze. One of the stallions chuckled, finding his teakettle wheeze of surprise, and the other elbowed him hard though he was grinning too. “Don’t feel too bad, little kitten.” Cal, still squatted down, poked Randall’s furry nutsack gently right between the balls, making them tingle even harder at the point of contact. “Won’t matter how much yah was carryin’ much longer.” Obviously the truth, with the speed at which Randall’s manly bits were retreating. He actually felt his testicles pulling up into his body, and the gator squeezed at his empty purse for a moment, fondling it in the instants before that disappeared into his taint as well. And the tingling was concentrating around Randall’s pecs too, swelling them out. It was a little hard to tell but they felt like they might be getting a little softer and- [i]Oh.[/i] [i]Well, shit.[/i] The pause, followed by the redoubling in Randall’s whimpers made all three of the other men- scratch that, made all three of the men in the room chuckle together. In turn the laughter was crushing to Randall, shattering his remaining composure. Cal had an excellent view of the penis shrinking away and the sheath pulling back and down, reshaping itself into something more feminine. It was damn satisfying to watch his work turn out so well. Not enough though, not nearly: He poked at the still-forming pussy, inserting a scaly finger in to the first joint and further as it deepened. “Heheh, not much of a tom anymore, are ya?” The gator chuckled up at the wide-eyed feline as he reached the second knuckle. “More of a bitch.” “Queen. Lady cats are queens. Ow!” One of the stallions had felt the need to chime in before the other, the quiet one, elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Dammit bro…” “[i]She[/i] can be queen of these cells, can’t you, stripes?” Cal continued, pulling out his finger as he stood and licking off the fine sheen that had accumulated on the finger. “Other part of the potion kickin’ in yet?” Randall was pretty sure that it was; his new genitals were awfully sensitive. More, he thought from observation on his own dalliances, than they ought to be. That might be from something about the change, but as the shifting in his belly slowed and the glands moved into place he felt a sudden rush of dampness trickle down the inside of one leg. He was physically aroused for certain, even if nothing about this appealed to him, and it must have shown on his face. “Good. Ain’t tried that recipe in a while, weren’t sure if I got the arrowroot right.” The gator snaked one hand behind Randall’s head to grab him by the scruff of the neck, dragged them face to face and forced his lizard-cool tongue into the tiger’s mouth through the steel ring of the gag. The tongues wrestled, Randall’s trying to force Cal’s out and Cal merely toying with him. Finally the gator pulled back and let loose a sort of deep croaking from the base of his chest, breath washing over the distraught feline. “Damn if you don’t take to it well, too. Think his prissiness would care if I tried her out?” “Nah.” Randall couldn’t see either horse’s expression past the gator still inspecting him, but they sounded like they might be pretending to be bored. “As long as we get ‘er to main street in another half hour or so.” “Tha’s what I like to hear.” Cal said amiably over the incomprehensible begging making its way through Randall’s ring gag. He wouldn’t have cared much anyway. Dropping the pantaloons he took one of the mostly-formed breasts in one hand, squeezing. That was a very odd experience for the tiger; his chest wasn’t supposed to be that pliable or that sensitive. “Just calm yerself down kitty. I’m doin’ you a [i]favor…[/i]” Randall didn’t see the cockhead that was brushing up between his legs, it was in too close by then. But he could feel the damp surface against his clenched-together inner thighs. Wet contact felt different, something about how it caught on the tips of individual fibers. That sort of feeling had been much, much more welcome when he wasn’t the female in the equation. And, well, when there had been dinner and flirting first. He wondered, with his spare attention, whether that part had felt as essential before the potion and decided he was probably just being sexist. [i]I probably get at least one pass after today.[/i] The alligator wasn’t waiting on this train of thought, however. For a moment he was content to grind up against the cleft between the pressed legs and into the white-furred stomach- he was still taller than the now-female- and grope at her breasts. But only for a moment. Then he grabbed Randal by the knees and pulled the rather shapely legs apart, lifting them up so the tiger was half-reclined and supported only at wrists and knees, lined up the fresh and extremely wet slit, and shoved. Randall thought it was just as well he only had so much dignity to lose. His shriek was shrill, and feminine, and ambiguous enough to put him in the red on that score. The way the guard’s chuckles morphed into outright laughter didn’t help, to put it mildly. It did, at least provide a distraction from the first few seconds of penetration. After that it just felt too damn weird to ignore. Like fingering his sheath near the surface, which made some sense insofar as that seemed to be what had formed his new lower lips, but further in was just odd. And when the shaft brushed against the clit… “Toldja I were doin’ you a favor.” Randall was abruptly aware that he had been making noises which could, possibly, barely, (and if he ever felt like being totally honest on the subject, which he doubted, [i]correctly[/i]) interpreted as pleasured. The crocodilian grin somehow grew even bigger than it had been already on noting how he clamped down on his vocalizations. “Figger I can start fuckin’ ya proper then.” “Uh-uh, uh-uh!” Aaaannnnnd yeah no that wasn’t stopping anything. The un(fortunately)comfortable fullness increased drastically as Cal, who hadn’t been more than half in yet, pulled Randall back hard onto his croc cock and he found out, the hard way, that it got wider toward the base. “He does look better as a she, doesn’t she?” Asked the more talkative guard, shifting his weight from one hoof to the other. Horses, as has been noted on many occasions, are very well equipped, and his steel codpiece was getting extremely cramped under the influence of the tiger tits bouncing in time to Cal’s thrusts. “Think we could-“ “Brother, we are on duty, and on a timetable.” The enthusiastic elbower was carefully studying one of the boards in the ceiling instead of the coupling. He wasn’t having a lot of luck with his gambit; some people get off on sound. It’s just rarely mentioned because it’s a lot harder to make the [i]shck-shk-plat-splat[/i] of genuine forceful sex appealing in poetry, prose, or song. Even to those who enjoy it entirely too much for their own comfort when it happens ten feet away. “Also it would be a shame to break her before the punishment is over.” His twin started to wilt before he added; “We can enjoy ourselves later. I promise.” Randall might have made a note of that to investigate for good blackmail material if he weren’t occupied. But he was, so he focused instead on the repeated slam of alligator penis into his (her? Randall was sticking with ‘my’ in his own mind, of course) remarkably tight snatch. Not all of it fit, yet, but it was making headway against his strained entrance. And even if his angle wasn’t pressing against his clit anymore, that little nub that seemed to have every nerve from its previous life as a dick compressed down into a much smaller size, was being squeezed by the opposing forces inherent in his limited elasticity and Cal’s cock. It was a little like having his crotch on fire, with the heat radiating up into his stomach. In a good way. [i]No, wait-[/i] “Get ready, stripes. Yer’ a real hot piece of ass, y’know?” Cal’s rumbling croaks had become more frequent as he worked Randall over his shaft. Flattering, if anything. “An’ lucky you, won’t be getting any eggs from me even if the con-trah-sep-tive didn’t take. ‘Course, yah may not stay lucky.” “Wah?” Randal was proud of fitting something that sounded interrogatory in between the grunts forced out by his jiggly chest which bent when scaly pelvis hit furry thighs. “Ferget I said nuthin’.” Cal brushed that off, grunting happily as he got his last inch into the former male, the wide bulb at his base slamming into Randall’s vulva in a rapid staccato as his thrusts became shorter. “Don’t wanna-“ He shuddered to a halt, pressing his mouth once more into the tiger’s in a one-way kiss that the ring gag made impossible to resist, his latest round of croaking roar reverberating through his chest into Randall’s knockers. Randall could feel him cumming. Cold blood, cold jizz. He still only barely managed not to join the alligator in orgasm; that bulb was pressed right up against his pleasure button. “-spoil th’ surprise.” Cal sighed in contentment. He pulled out all at once, his jizz spilling out along with Randall’s augmented self-lubrication to form a wet puddle on the floor. His cock, now that the tiger could see it… [i]Well, if anyone ever asks what an alligator looks like down there, I can tell them. How did I not notice the head?[/i] It was odd, sure, but not nearly as odd as things he’d heard about some reptiles. A funny sort of triangular bulb-ish head, smooth shaft, and something that looked like a knot holding it inside his cloaca. Pale bluish-white and dripping more white onto the stone floor. “Good timing. We were just about to have to interrupt.” The more solemn of the horses said. He was gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip, mostly as a substitute for what he really wanted to be gripping. “You have the other… things his Highness requested.” “Oh, sure.” The alchemist elegantly knotted the silk rope holding his pantaloons up, too late to spare Randall the glimpse of his cock retreating back in. He pulled a small tarp off a box on the table, and extracted a white- “Oh shih.” Managed Randall. Cal nodded and gave him that mouth-half-open grin again. “See? Yer gettin’ the idea.” [center]***[/center] Randall had been very, very wrong about running out of dignity to lose. It wasn’t a long or heavily populated stretch between the cells and main street, but it wasn’t by any stretch deserted. And every pair of eyes reminded him what he was wearing. Nudity might have been an improvement. Nothing at all covered the tiger’s generous new cleavage up top. They were big enough that he would develop back problems if this turned out to be permanent, definitely. He could feel the white-furred breasts wobble with his gait when he tried to walk normally, if he tried to move in a way that didn’t bounce them around he either got a yank from one of the guards for slowing down- the one that had him on a leash around the neck- or had to deliberately slide his hips along in a way that… To put it bluntly, it would attract attention to the white cloth of the padded swaddling over his feminine ass and nethers. He’d been diapered. Like some sort of infant. Though a sticky patch at the front rubbed uncomfortably with the remains of the very non-infantile fucking the alchemist had given him. And more, he thought he was unnaturally drippy on top of that. Physically, if not mentally, aroused. So far Randall had been able to push the way the inner pad of the diaper rubbed over his new clit step by step, but it was a deciding reason to put up with a wobbly chest rather than a smoother gait. He just kept on while the pleasant-painful-pleasant rubbing down below, rhythmic bounce above, and staring eyes ate away at the edges of his last intact nerve and pushed a blush strong enough to radiate through his facial fur. Oh, and the rope tying his wrists together behind his back didn’t help anything, [i]especially[/i] his balance, but that was almost a side-issue. The guards didn’t have any obvious problem with this state of affairs. One non-obvious problem, at least to Randall, was the way the one behind him nearly tripped twice because he was watching the swaying striped tail more than where he was putting his hooves. The swaddling wasn’t his thing really, but the potion-augmented tiger had enough ass to appreciate even through that cloth obstacle. As a result of these factors, the lead guard (the initially quiet one, and older brother by a handful of minutes) came closer than he would ever know to having both of them collide with him when he came to a stop in front of the designated spot. “Here it is. Guess something was set up on time for once.” Mused the stallion, oblivious to the abrupt stumbling behind him as oversized boobs and an unhappily restrained cock tried to pull their owners a step further than intended. “Come on. Get her strapped in and we can sit down over there to keep a watch.” The early morning light played over ‘it’. It was some sort of wooden frame, an irregular hollow shape that was connected at some sort of complex hinge to a table with weighted legs. At the upper right and left wavy protrusions were some heavy leather straps, with more at the lower end. “Got it.” The loud one took hold of Randall’s wrists while the tiger was trying to work out the contraption, undoing the ropes deftly without ever letting the captive have full freedom of movement. He passed one hand to his brother, and like clockwork they flipped him around and looped his arms through the straps, pulling them tight and secure before starting on his legs. For the second time that day Randall’s lower limbs were pulled apart, further this time in an exaggerated upside-down ‘V’ to reach the ends of the wooden frame. Almost but not quite far enough to be painful. [i]Girls must be more flexible than guys… I’m pretty sure that angle ought to feel worse.[/i] Main street was busier than the route they’d taken to get here, and there were several interested onlookers. An open air bar across the street was either already reopened for the morning, or never closed. Behind it a hairy husky polished a clay mug while he stared at Randall’s knockers with utterly feigned disinterest. A few passing women giggled, averted their eyes, and peeked back at him again on their way past toward the market- [i]…It’s market day isn’t it.[/i] The tiger realized that with a sort of dull horror, the kind of feeling that’s blunted because you can’t handle it all at once so your mind parcels it out over a longer time. [i]A lot of people are going to see me this way.[/i] “C’n we sit over there? Sun will be in our eyes half the day if we spend it all right here.” The (marginally) older twin, who Randall now noticed had a single gold hoop through his left ear where the other had two, squinted over at the bar and back at the well-displayed tiger before shrugging. “Fine. No drinking until our shift is up though.” He neatly detached the leash from the collar around Randall’s neck, then turned around, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed clearly to be heard by the steadily growing trickle of traffic along the cobblestone street. “Hear ye hear ye! This riff-raff has been found guilty of crimes against his lordship! Any may use this wretch as they see fit from now until sundown, save for permanent harm! Spread the word!” While Randall winced as much against the ringing in his ears as the sudden revelation that this was to be his punishment- the one-hoop stallion had an amazing set of lungs on him- the twins ambled over toward the bar, claiming a pair of stools for themselves. [center]***[/center] The first hour or so was relatively uneventful. Which is not to say that it was pleasant; Randall did indeed have the sun in his eyes for a sizeable chunk of it. So he couldn’t see the endless supply of passersby very well, whether they stopped to gawk at his half-naked body, comment gratuitously on his appearance, or just mock him. Mostly unimaginative drivel. He lost count of the variations on ‘What’s wrong pussycat? Feeling a little tied up?” fast enough for his little cringe at that jibe to be more embarrassment on behalf of the speakers than anything else. Then the clouds started rolling in. A welcome break from the glare let him spend more time with his eyes open, and get a good look at his tormentors. They were just people. Nothing better to do than take a moment’s amusement at his expense, and no more than a moment. Anyone out this early had real business to get to, but he had no doubt they would remember. Those who didn’t remember yesterday, when he’d gotten himself into this mess in the first place. Randall wasn’t sure if he preferred the ones that tried to ignore him to those who openly ogled his breasts or not. He knew he preferred either to those that stared with disgust or morbid curiosity at the diaper on his midriff. Why all of this, why the potion and the humiliating garment, why here where there were so many people? Stupid question. Because that all made it worse, and a punishment was supposed to be bad. He just hadn’t expected anything more than a few days in prison, or maybe a large fine. And instead he was on display to everyone who took this way to the market square, which would be most of them, and everyone who heard and took a detour to look. The first one to actually touch him was a woman, surprisingly. “My my. Look at these…” A pointed nail brushing over his nipple jerked him out of the meditative daze he had sunk into since being strapped in with a grunt. The one touching him was a lady vixen, moderately well dressed in a brick red frock and long dress. She carried a bulky handbag, and was grinned in an unsettling way. “Are they natural?” Randall shook his head frantically, desperate to convey that they were not for some reason that escaped him at the moment. He knew it was a mistake, somehow, when her lips curled up higher. “I didn’t think so. I’ve seen feral cows with smaller udders.” She slapped his left breast hard enough to set it wobbling again, bouncing into its neighbor and making the tiger wince and whimper. “You’re a whore desperate to lure men between your legs. You enjoy this.” He kept shaking his head, tried to mutter a denial. [i]I’m a man, this wasn’t my idea, it’s a sick joke-[/i] Another sharp slap to his other breast stopped him short. A few others had stopped to watch and gasped along with him, and the vixen kept grinning. “Don’t try to lie to me, silly girl. You love being here for all to see.” She pinched one of his nipples gently, almost tenderly. It was electrifying, making the tiger draw in a breath of surprise. The little bumps that had been all but invisible under his fur before were sensitive now, and he felt the dampness at his crotch suddenly renewed where it had begun to dry out and warm where it had been cooling down. “Such a slut. And a kitten, too…” The vixen groped the front of his diaper hard, smiling even wider at his sounds of shock. Definitely getting damp down there all over again, and Randall thanked his lucky stars that either there was enough padding to absorb all of it or she didn’t bother to mention any wetness she felt. The stimulation of his sensitive bits with the rough fabric was bad enough. “You know, I was going to go sketch the cathedral, but I think I’ll do us both a favor and immortalize your day for you. After I give you a little finishing touch.” She reached into her bag, drawing out a small jar and unscrewing the lid. A brush emerged from the same bag, dipped into the jar and zipped to Randall’s breast. It glided over the white fur, going back for more paint every few strokes, and never wavered even when he tried vainly to twist away at least enough to mess up whatever she was doing. “Naughty kitten. Can’t stop me like that. Almost done.” The brushstrokes were distressingly stimulating. [i]It’s just the potion, nothing to do with me. It feels nice and that’s not my fault and I can’t stop it anyway.[/i] All true, but it didn’t help much. He just hoped he didn’t appear too obviously aroused to the onlookers. When the vixen stood back to survey her work and nod happily before setting up a clever folding stool off to his side and pulling out a large sketchbook, he craned his neck down to look at himself. Randall couldn’t make out most of the marks he had felt her make on his body, but a large print ‘SLUT’ adorned the top of his right breast matched by a ‘WHORE’ on the other. Barely readable to him out of the corner of his eye, but he was sure everyone else would see. Still only midmorning. [center]***[/center] Astoundingly, the vixen both provided some protection against further molestation while also finding ways to make him feel [i]worse.[/i] She happily worked at her book, scribbling away in pencil and charcoal. Periodically, she would move to a new angle. Some of the spots she placed her stool blocked just enough of the street to force traffic to move around her, drawing even more attention to the vixen and her subject. Sometimes, when someone wandered up to grope at his oversized- and they really were ridiculous, even to him, having settled to a size that was just within what might be plausibly natural- the vixen would chase them away. Because they ‘shouldn’t encourage the slut’ or were ‘in the way’. And sometimes, she would let them close. Let them paw at the labelled breasts and [i]suggest how they should do so[/i]. One hand under that breast, haul it up for her, cup it, yes like that, other hand gripping her hip- I bet that’s a lovely handful of needy cat- and take one half step, perfect. And then she would draw that. She would show him, and let him blush even harder because, honestly, they were good drawings. Very sexy. Extremely degrading. He took some small solace from unspoken, eye-contact-only commiseration with those of them almost as embarrassed as he was. The vixen had the kind of way about her that would have been very hard to say no to even if he could have done anything, so he understood how they felt. A ‘this is the kind of person for whom the phrase [i]bitches be crazy[/i] was coined, and she wouldn’t [i]really[/i] claw my eyes out for not humoring her but try telling my survival instincts that’ feeling. “Hey, ma’am.” The two-hoop guard evidently had no survival instincts. “What? I’m busy.” She snapped up at him, only taking the minimum amount of time away from her current sketch to do so. “Orders are to let anyone do what they like with ‘im as long as he comes back in one piece, so you’re fine on that, but you’re blocking the street and it’s getting toward the busiest part of the day.” He pointed out reasonably, bending his neck to look at the sketchbook over her shoulder, then look up to compare with Randall. “So as a member of the watch I have to ask you to stop blocking the way.” The vixen glared up at him witheringly. “I’m not done. And I still want to get a set with that swaddling out of the way t- Did you say him?” “Well. Was a him. Alchemist fixed that on his lordship’s orders.” Answered the horse smugly. “You’re running out of paper anyway.” “Hah! So I am.” She leapt to her feet, clapping the sketchbook shut and dumping it into her bag, folding up her stool. “Can I come back later then, with more?” “Don’t see why not, if there’s few enough folks coming through.” Two-hoops didn’t seem at all bothered by the sudden reversal. In fact, he grinned to echo hers. “Tell you what: cat gets off the rack at sunset but we don’t really let ‘em go until tomorrow morning. If you come by the cells you can draw up all the fun we’ll be having with kitten there. Even pose ‘em however you want if we get to keep a couple.” “Deal!” The vixen cackled. She walked over to the bound tiger with a glint in her eye. “I’ll be seeing you again, charmer. You’ve got some beautiful girls for a sissy.” She pulled herself into him with a one-armed hug, and bit him on the shoulder. Just this side of drawing blood. Then she looked down at her breasts pushing against his, squished together. “Shame I can’t sketch this from the side. I’ll just have to ask if the watch has any women.” She walked away cackling. Randall breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey. Got a drink for you, slut queen.” Two-hoops, now hefting a waterskin meaningfully, had closed in right after her. “Can’t have you passing out and missing the fun.” “Uh.” Randall agreed. His mouth was awfully dry, with the ring-gag keeping it open. Water would be a relief right now. “Open up.” The guard chuckled at his own joke, hoisting the skin up to the tiger’s mouth. To his surprise, it wasn’t water. He coughed a little, not quite swallowing right on the first try. “What’s wrong, kitten? Babies have to drink their milk.” He pointed out faux-reasonably to the feline. “Besides. We ain’t taking off that gag just to listen to you whine. Might be your only meal today.” Randall glared at him but didn’t stop trying to swallow the milk down. The horse was right, really. And it wasn’t bad. He drank, and kept drinking until he felt full. Some of the milk dribbled over his chin onto the cobbles. When the skin was pulled away, it was mostly empty. “Good kitten. You’re almost halfway through.” Praise. Sarcasm. Both. Whatever. The guard walked back to join his brother at the bar stools. One-hoop waved at Randall. Ugh. [center]***[/center] Randall started regretting drinking so much of that milk pretty damn fast. What goes in must, eventually, come back out to satisfy the tyranny of physics. And in the meantime it would make its presence known by bloating out his bladder. Across the road the two horses were getting pretty chummy with the bartender. Twice one had left- Randall didn’t have much better to do than watch them- with the other staying on watch. Probably to go take a piss just like the tiger wished he could. And if he thought for an instant that he could get unstrapped to do so, he would, but they had put him in a diaper. The odds of being allowed off of this contraption so he could take a leak were slim to none. He could hear the taunts that request would prompt in his head. [i]Kitten should just use his diaper like a good baby. Only big kids get to use the potty.[/i] Then again maybe that was just his own sadistic streak chiming in, but he didn’t want to risk it. It was about early afternoon now. Maybe two hours after if he was lucky. He hadn’t heard the midday bell, but that didn’t mean anything. He kept slipping into sort of daze in self-defense of his ego. With effort, the tiger thought he might be able to keep his bladder under control until he was taken down. Maybe he could just focus on the leg cramps instead. Twelve loud chimes rang out over the city. [i]…Crap.[/i] Okay, scratch that plan. Randall knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out until anywhere near sundown, and really it had been wishful thinking even if he were spotted another three hours. So he picked a new goal: Make it through at least a few more hours. Minimize the time he would spend soggy. Cut down the amount of foot traffic and gawkers that would have one more thing to tease him about. There were still a lot of gawkers at the moment. Not as many as there could have been, thank the heavens. Traffic was heavy and steady enough just now to discourage anyone sticking around for more than a few moments no matter how much of a spectacle Randall’s bust was. He could even derive some amusement from the stares and passing gropes. It was all still as embarrassing as hell, but after a while with only people-watching to occupy him, he had to appreciate the irony. He’d have loved to get a handful of a pretty woman’s milk bags- [i]Nope, nope, bad phrasing, save that thought for when something else lower down isn’t a very full milk bag[/i]- even if the swaddling would probably be a bit of a turn off. Not too hard to see what a certain kind of girl got out of leading men around by the wedding tackle. It was an interesting thought. Randall made a mental note not to think too hard about it when all this was over, but for now it was just the distraction he needed. The oddball fantasies, with himself variously in the male or female slot, carried him through most of an hour. More and more though, his bladder was no longer merely full. He was starting to get messages that it needed to release, and soon. Maybe it was just that there was less between his bladder and the outside world, but it seemed to gain urgency faster than it would have as a male. The tiger could not squirm very effectively secured as he was. It was enough to get him into even more trouble. “Lookin’ a bit uncomfortable there.” Instantly latching on to any distraction, Randall looked up to the speaker. A beaver. Little pudgy around the gut but overall more muscular than fat. Simple clothes. Probably in carpentry if that wasn’t too much of a stereotype. “Uh hhn.” That was supposed to come out as ‘I’m fine’, but Randall had astoundingly managed to forget the ring gag. His verbalization sounded more like agreement than anything else. He shook his head in a bid not to give the wrong (right) idea. No use. “It’s a little hard to tell, way you’re tied up.” Continued the beaver nasally. “I think you’re feeling a little full how you’re moving though, girly. Reminds me of some of the kiddos.” “Eh.” Well. No point making an issue of it. Not when he couldn’t talk. “You look like more of a mommy though. Except for this, of course.” The man pointed at the swaddling around the feminine tiger’s waist. Randall just grunted again. The guy was being nice enough. No need to get upset, just focus on not letting anything leak- “So what’s wrong, you feeling a little bit shy, babygirl?” “EEEEEEEEEEEEGGHHH.” [i]Of course I am you fucking idiot! I’ve been out here all day, I’m stiff, I’m sore, I’m tired, I’m mostly naked, naked would be an IMPROVEMENT, and I REALLY don’t feel like giving the peanut gallery even more to make fun of me for![/i] To be fair, Randall’s absolute last nerve snapping startled him as much as the beaver he’d shrieked at. Call it the cumulative effect of his day so far, plus unsettled reshuffled hormones, and the overstrained fullness. Speaking of which, the tiger had actually lost control for a moment, a few drops escaping before he could clamp unfamiliar genitals down again. Randall’s muffled shriek turned into more of a whimper at the end. “Easy, easy.” The beaver, recovering quickly enough, rubbed over the tiger’s stomach, prompting another round of whimpers. “Everything’s fine. How about you let ol’ Jed here help with your stage fright, eh?” “Wah uh huh?” [i]What the fuck?[/i] Randall got his answer when Jed brushed down over his stomach fur, the toned hourglass figure that wasn’t really his, until that hand was over the bladder the tiger was sure would be visibly swollen if not for the diaper cloth covering most of it, and pressed down on it. Not hard at first, but with increasing pressure. [i]The sick fucker is even smiling.[/i] “Come on, sweetie. Just let go. You’ll feel so much better.” His voice and smile were both gentle, as far as it went. The glint in his eye undermined that a little while Randall’s bladder threatened to burst like a balloon if he didn’t do just that. “Be a good girl and pee for me.” And Randall didn’t hold back any more. Not the tide of liquid that streamed out of him with the weight of a waterfall, or the muffled invective he directed at the beaver ‘helping’ him (who paid him no mind and just kept that stupid smile pasted on). He wasn’t prepared for just how strange it felt. When he had a penis, he could feel the stream running through the entire length of his urethra. Now his urethra was barely more than a floodgate leading directly from his bladder. No way for him to tell right now, but he would guess it was a wider stream, not something he could have aimed much. Sloppier, maybe? And it reminded him a little of some of the sensations that had gone along with the unpleasantly pleasurable fuck with the alchemist. [i]Do other gi- Do girls- What the fuck am I even asking, anyway?[/i] “See, you’re feeling happier already.” Jed’s reassurance made Randall aware that he was moaning in relief. Under other circumstances, that particular womanly tone would have made him hard. Under the influence of whatever extras had been in the potion it made sure some of the liquid rapidly soaking his pad wasn’t yellow. Randall felt his ears folding back, lying flat to make him as small as possible while he blushed, utterly humiliated. A half dozen city-dwellers of various species had stopped to watch the beaver force him empty too. Mostly anchored by a disgusted need to watch. One looked more thoughtful. Randall didn’t think he wanted to know about what, beyond the obvious. So of course, Jed educated him, because this was just that kind of day. “I always liked this idea.” The husky beaver fondled Randall at the crotch lovingly, eyes dreamy. He could no doubt feel the stream still coming even through the thick fabric, which was even now damp and yellow on a substantial portion of the front. “Pretty lady getting all wet, just for me.” “Uuuh.” Of course there was someone into that. He really, really ought to know better than to think anything was off limits for fetishism. Hell, Jensi once told him she wanted a bee sting right on her- Uh. Randall decided to put that on the list of Things I Do Not Think About for now. He could take it back off later, after he didn’t have the anatomy in question any more. At least his bladder wasn’t screaming at him any more. Just now that was a fair trade for wishing it was possible to die of humiliation so it would end. “Hey. There’s a box of extras there.” The thoughtful observer, a rat, said in a tremulous tone and added herself to the cascade of [i]fuck this[/i] which was Randall’s life at the moment. She was pointing at something behind Randall, out of his field of view. “Pins and everything. And it looks like this thing sort of folds back, so if you wanted…” The rat was almost as red as Randall fancied himself at the moment, shuffling one foot against the cobble stone. Jed turned, astonished, as if he had forgotten the bustle around him and his wet girl. Slowly, his look of shock turned back into a smile. “Say. You’re right.” Overdone slyness suffused his voice. “Think I should change kitten here?” “…yes.” The rat’s squeak carried over Randall’s garbled outrage. “I think you’re on to something. Here, help me figure out this contraption.” The contraption in question must not have been complicated, because the tiger barely had time to see some of the audience shake themselves out of morbid curiosity and go back to whatever they had been doing, only to be replaced immediately by others from the crowd with fresh disgust or fascination. As a whole the frame turned backward, putting Randall horizontal on his back. This thing, whatever it was, was remarkably well made: The frame to which he was fixed fit neatly into inset grooves on the weighted table, and some set of hinges on the leg attachment points pulled his legs up, bending to raise but still spread out to the sides. His arms slid out orthogonal to his chest, those struts fitting neatly into the flat surface. As for the entirely too curvy feminine butt, it was planted lightly on the flat of the table by all of him sliding a bit backward over this whole process. [i]This fucking thing is made for this. It’s a goat-buggering changing table.[/i] The bound captive realized. [i]Or a rape bench. And display case and a set of stocks. I suppose you could literally bugger a goat on this. Definitely going to be a changing table for me. Fuck.[/i] “That’s perfect!” Jed at least was pleased by the clever mechanism. Probably the rat too, but Randall couldn’t see squat. “Cooked up by someone after my own heart.” “Oi. If you’re only interested in that end, mind if I have some fun over here?” A rough sort of voice, deep. Not the rat, or beaver. “I don’t see why not.” Later, Randall would have to think about how someone so amiable could be such a freak. Didn’t this guy feel even a little bit weird doing this in front of everyone? Felt like the tiger was getting both shares, from where he was standing. Lying down really, but he knew what he meant. “Great.” The other voice clopped- someone with hooves- around the side of the table to the end Randall’s head was dangling off of. Looked like a ram, with thick fingers undoing the fastenings of his belt- [i]Well, fuck. Again.[/i] “Open up kitten. I can give you some ‘milk’ while you get changed.” Randall, who had no choice but to keep his mouth open in any case, didn’t get any more warning than that from the man who seized his head in an iron grip and shoved his maleness in through the ring gag. It squished weirdly against his tongue, still half-soft and spongy. The ram’s sheath mashed against his jaw while he made a futile attempt to push the dick out of his mouth with his tongue, only making the flesh start to harden up under the stimulation enough to jab him in the uvula. “Bitch has a nice mouth.” He remarked casually, pulling back enough to let himself straighten back out in the gagging tiger’s mouth before driving the first inch of his hardening member right down Randall’s helpless throat. “Can’t believe you’re more interested in a dirty rag.” Jed was happily working at a pair of safety pins holding the yellow-drenched cloth onto the beleaguered cat’s nether regions, pulling open the flaps once those were out. “I don’t expect everyone to have such refined tastes.” “Bet missy here has her priorities straight, eh?” The ram said good-naturedly in the direction of the female rat, over the gags and rhythmic slippery noises he was generating. “What do you say, sugar? Bet you’d rather get a piece of me after I’m done with the cat here.” “Huh?” The rodent looked up from the diaper Jed was opening up long enough to goggle at her questioner for a moment. “What was that?” “She’s a lady of taste, obviously.” The beaver bantered back. “Heh. Not just her, either. Looky here at how naughty our little baby kitten is?” Randall couldn’t hear most of this over the sounds of the cock hollowing out his throat. The ram wasn’t very wide, but from the feel of it he was at least three inches into the tiger’s throat and still only mostly hard. All he could see was the big swinging balls of the caprine reaming his face, which were a little too heavy to actually slap him in the forehead. It seemed incredibly unfair, somehow, that this bastard should have more than twice what Randall usually carried between his legs, especially right now. They blocked his field of view as much as the matching penis intermittently blocked his airway. He could feel when his groin was exposed to the air though, the coolness of evaporation setting in almost immediately. And more importantly, all three of those watching closest could see how his slit was wet with more than just piss. “That makes it three to one, doesn’t it?” Jed caressed the inner thigh of the big cat. It was a fine sight, juices welling up in that pink cleft glittering in the sunlight. Randall’s clit protruded proudly from the top of the swollen folds, hard as a ruby. “She loves it. Getting changed in front of everyone.” “She’s just excited by the taste of my cock.” Insisted the other man, thrusting savagely a few times to underline his point. “Damn. Kitty’s throat’s great. Why don’t you give her what she wants as a reward, eh?” “I think that sounds like a fine thing. Got better taste than to pull down my pants in public, though.” A tweak of the red clit set drew Randall’s attention away from the rough throat-fuck and sent him moaning around the ram just in time for the very tip to wedge itself between his vocal cords. [i]Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck why does that have to feel so damn good…[/i] Randall was feeling more than a little overwhelmed, between the salty and frankly somewhat rank (and, he insisted for the sake of his own sanity, unpleasant no matter what his tongue said) flavor of dick dragging itself over his tongue, sweaty balls wafting their scent into his nose, slight dampness still clinging to his crotch fur, intermittent inability to breath, and alchemically-induced arousal. No doubt there was a sizeable clot in the afternoon traffic around him, all watching him get fucked over. Mostly unaware that the overendowed tigress was usually a tiger. And damned if he couldn’t feel those alien breasts wobbling a bit under the increasing force of the face-fuck the ram gave him, too. He… kind of wished he could see that. With someone else here on the changing/fucking table and him in the crowd. A finger slipped between his folds interrupted any such musings, another moan muffled by sheep meat that jumped in response, all together making Randall one interconnected ball of reactions. Jed, inspired by the backdrop of yellowed fabric pinned between the tiger’s rear and smooth wood, worked that pussy hard. No additional lubricant or preparation was required to wedge one, then two, then with some difficulty three fingers into the needy snatch, in and out and pulling his insides along with them as much as anything else. The matching thumb pressed down on the tiger’s nub and moved in time with the rest of the hand. Heat built in the white-furred belly, a fire fed by dozens of repeating sparks from the clit and feeding on fullness. Even with all that, the ram came first. Randall had been trying to pay more attention to the cock between his jaws in what he already knew was a futile attempt not to have a roaring female orgasm in front of everyone on main street. As a result, he felt the tension pulse through the pole in time to brace himself for the sheath to ram between his lips, stopping against the ring gag while the over-generous balls unloaded themselves right into his throat. For a long time. Too long, long enough that Randall’s vision went a bit grey at the edges before it pulled back. “Damn good.” The ram sloppily extracted his softening shaft from the cat’s mouth, never having been fully erect in the open air. A belated smear of his cum came out right against the Randall’s tongue to taste and nearly inhale before coughing sent it back out to taste again. He ignored the hacking of his most recent cocksleeve, re-dressing slowly for what he fancied was the benefit of the crowd. “You want more, come looking for Garuf in the green quarter, kitty.” [i]I’ll come looking to rip off your fucking balls you-[/i] Randall didn’t get to finish that thought, because now that he wasn’t choking on ram cock the triple finger-fuck caught up to him all at once. All in all, it might have been better to focus on that first instead of the facefuck. That way his groaning, shuddering, shaking first female climax would have been muffled by Garuf instead of loudly audible to absolutely everyone who took an interest, after. Randall found out that, whether this was true of any natural born female or just a side effect of the potion and no experience, this orgasm seemed to hit his whole body in a hot cascade, rather than just a white-hot spark dancing around his feline cock. His vocalizations matched. “You are a naughty girl.” Jed grinned, pulling his hand away to watch the slit contract and tense around empty air, gushing enough clear fem-juice to overflow the used diaper still beneath him and trickle some onto the hardwood beneath. “Lucky for you I like that. Let’s get you some fresh cloth, huh?” Randall didn’t bother to look down as the used swaddling was pulled out from under him, replaced, and pinned back together. (However that was done. Randall didn’t have any younger siblings to have helped with when he was growing up, and he really didn’t care.) He just stared up at the sky, deliberately not hearing the shocked giggles and whispers from the ad-hoc audience. “All done.” The beaver patted his behind gently, then hauled him back upright. Randall’s breasts reminded him of their presence by coming to a stop later than the rest of him. The new set of lascivious stares would have done it for them. “Excuse me.” The rat-girl’s voice was shaky. She came up next to Jed, whispered into his ear for which he bent down helpfully. The tiger couldn’t make out the words, just that she was saying them breathlessly. Her legs, he noted, were shaking. A bit like his felt like they would be, if not for the steps. “…I’d be happy to. I even have some cloths the right size.” Randall hated that shit-eating buck-toothed beaver grin just a little. Jed linked elbows with the rat, and tipped an imaginary hat at the bound tiger. “Must be going now. You be a good girl for the crowd, kitten.” As they left, Randall could see the rat’s slim tail looped around the beaver’s thick one from inside her skirt as they walked away together. [i]Really is somebody for everyone, I guess.[/i] “’Ey, tiger!” He stared balefully through his post-orgasmic haze at his latest harasser. A bird. Finch, if he remembered the species name right. Hoisting a beer bottle. [i]Damn it all.[/i] “Just passing by, and I thought a kinky girl like you shouldn’t be allowed to dry out. That’d be a cryin’ shame.” Randall resigned himself to the rest of the day. He would probably be getting at least one more change. [center]***[/center] The tiger was right about getting changed again that afternoon. A total of four more times, in fact. He didn’t know if more people than he ever would have believed shared the beaver’s fetish, or if everyone just got off on making his day more difficult, because after a while it seemed like everyone was pouring water down his throat. The third had been left on him for so long that he’d started to leak right through it, forming a puddle on the ground between his legs. His current swaddling, the one he was wearing right now, was soaked in a mix of his own piss and what belonged to a big badger. Burly bastard had just whipped it out, poked the tip down into the fabric at his waist at an angle that would have poked at the rim of Randall’s sheath if he still had one, and let go. The stream had poured over his mound, every drop seeming to trickle specifically over his clit. Damn that potion, for making him come so close right then that he wished for a wild moment that the badger had drunk one more beer. Not all of his unending humiliation had revolved around the diaper, either. Randall had been made out with, throat-fucked four times more, fingered repeatedly, and vaginally fucked once (he spent the whole time hoping that a tomcat wasn’t close enough by blood to knock him up, and that there really was a contraceptive in the potion, and that it had taken), and everyone seemed to want to touch his chest after a while. One cow had proved to him, perhaps ironically, that he could lactate if someone sucked hard enough at his teats. And that turned him on enough to wish for the tomcat back, risk or no. But now… Dared he hope that his eyes weren’t deceiving him? That it really was dusk, or just past? Praise be, One-hoop and Two-hoops were coming to their feet across the street, bidding farewell to the husky bartender (the one who had spent a half-hour knotted to Randall’s ring gag, leaking at a rate that forced the tiger to swallow repetitively and constantly while One-hoop generously manned the bar for him) and walking toward him through the thinned crowd. They hauled him down from the frame, relief from finally being released from the restrictive structure flooding him. Both horses had to more carry than lead him, back through the same path they’d taken to get here in the first place. Their jovial insults might have gotten to him if he hadn’t heard them all already today. Snide congratulations on his accomplishments as a ‘counterfeit pussy’ and ‘slut baby’. The smear of cum some bull had sprayed over his waist, jacking off onto his stomach and rubbing it in, was more of a bother right now to the exhausted feline. It pulled and crackled in his fur as then made their way through the doors of the watch house, and then toward his cell. “There you are! Took your sweet time.” That was the crazy vixen again. The sight of her, with her nutty smile, holding a folded up easel, and holy fuck she must have made multiple trips to haul in those canvases against the walls. “Can’t make the clock go faster. Can’t hurry the sun.” Grunted One-hoop as he and his brother tossed the tiger onto the cot. “Good news is, though, we’re off duty.” Randall knew the clicks, clatters, and thumps were the guard twins taking off their armor. Let himself believe, for a few minutes, that there could be any other explanation. Until one of them pulled him back off the welcoming cot. The other- One-hoop- took the spot, bending over with arms rested on the thin padding. Muscled hips under mahogany fur pressed out pointedly in the tiger’s direction while his brother undid the clasp of the ring gag. “I’m taking this off now, stripes. Before you do anything stupid with that mouth, like whining-“ The guard said cheerfully, smug in the knowledge that the feline’s arms were tied behind his black and orange back. “-keep in mind we don’t give a damn. Stick to something useful instead.” Before the tiger could ask what might qualify as ‘useful’ (neither big horse looked to be in position to make him suck them off), or properly enjoy being able to actually close his dried-out mouth for the first time in hours, Two-hoops took him by the nape of the neck and crammed him face first into his brother’s asscrack. It was warm, sweaty, and smelly in there. “Oooh, hold him there!” Enthused the vixen in the corner, sketching frenetically to put face-in-butt to canvas with the hefty curve of tiger bosom beneath to keep the lines pleasing. “Exquisite!” “That’s the plan. Let’s get this off.” Reaching one hand back, the stallion fumbled at the damp diaper, undoing one safety pin before pulling the other open in his impatience. He groped at Randall’s crotch, poking into the [i]still[/i] wet folds while he ground the tiger’s face harder into the waiting horse ass. “C’mon, kitty. My big brother loves getting tongued.” “I do.” Agreed the big brother. He clenched his glutes to squeeze at the tiger’s cheeks, mashing the damp masculine scented fur against Randall’s face. “Do a good job and Fritz back there might be gentle. Gentle-ish.” With no, or at least very few, choices, the feline decided playing along was the way to go. That was his story, and he was sticking to it as he tentatively opened his mouth to inhale some of the sweaty, musky, unreasonably enticing horse rump. He hesitantly extended his tongue to bump its rough surface to the salty donut of the stallion’s back door while Two-hoops- Fritz- roughly shoved one then two fingers into the still-unfamiliar female opening and, before the tiger could really get going on his ‘meal’, pulled out. They both knew what was coming. As a sort of self-distraction Randall wetted his tongue and pushed inward past the ring of muscle. He was rewarded with a pleased whicker by One-Hoop (whose name he still didn’t have a clue about), the earthy taste of the anus clenching around him, and the head of a flat horse cock pressing to his pussy lips. The last one didn’t last for long before Fritz made his first thrust. And true to stereotype, the stallion was big. He opened up Randall much further than he had been yet today, stretching the lightly-used vagina open from entrance to cervix in one motion that Randall experienced as a profound burning stretch even while enjoying it far too much for his own comfort. The tiger had kind of expected the latter at this point. His plumbing seemed much less difficult to please than any female he’d had the pleasure of screwing himself. Not quite to the point that he would gladly keep it that way, but he was starting to think that might only be a matter of time. That potion would wear off. Right? His grunt of discomfort-pleasure didn’t go unnoticed by One-Hoop. “Oops. Guess I lied about Fritz being gentle. Get in there anyway, or I definitely won’t be.” Randall obliged, forcing his way further into the stallion’s clenching ass, poking and prodding around. The man seemed to like it when he pressed hard toward his stomach with his tongue tip. That was where the prostate was, probably. He’d heard about that. Maybe felt it a time or two when he had experimented. While he was doing that, Fritz pulled back about half way to settle into a easy repetitive hump that ground Randall’s knees against the hard stone of the cell floor. More to the point it sent his medial ring, that bump that ran all the way around the halfway point of any male horse’s length, oscillating back and forth through the tiger’s cunny lips and over his clit. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before he- “Oh yeah. That’ll do me.” One-Hoop rolled over to the side, leaving Randall tonguing at nothing at all while he thought through the fog of impending orgasm. “Hold her up- lets fuck her like we did that one palomino.” “Wha-“ The tiger didn’t get a chance to ask what that would entail (because of fucking [i]course[/i] not) before Fritz shoved a pair of fingers still coated in pussy juice into the corner of his mouth, pulling him back up until he was sitting on the lap of a the horse buried in him. Then he was lifted up off that cock, half sad to see it go, and then it was nudging around under his tailhole. He shrieked around the fingers when the wide head pressed up and in. Not far, but it didn’t have to be far to force that entrance unpleasantly wide. An equine penis isn’t significantly thinner at the tip than the base. “Ooh, fuck.” Fritz crooned approvingly. “She’s a tight kitty.” “Not after we’re done.” One-hoop had taken the opportunity to kneel, scooting himself so he was kneeling similarly to his brother, with his legs on either side of the other stallion’s. Which, Randall noticed through the rapidly fading pain in his ass (damn his horny cockhungry body) put One-hoop’s balls resting on Fritz’s knees. A few suspicions and insults he had muttered unintelligibly through his erstwhile gag were confirmed for him when the two kissed passionately. He could [i]hear[/i] their tongues wrestling each other right next to his ear. While Fritz pressed Randall’s ass down on his erection with agonizing slowness, his brother humped up between Randall’s thighs. Not penetrating with his rimjob-hardened length, surprisingly, but grinding against the tiger’s stomach and the inside of his feminine hips in a way that made his medial ring catch against the cat’s pleasure nub on every pass. Randall came hard, moaning and sucking on the fingers in his mouth while he soaked both sets of horse balls under his slightly gaped cunt. The brothers chuckled to each other, pulling their lips away from each other. Naturally they kept fucking the tiger. They weren’t anywhere near finished. Fritz’s voice was smug enough to make Randall want to slap him even through the climactic haze: “Thirsty bitch. Queen. Queen bitch. Bet the rest of the watch’ll love taking their turns, no matter how much we stretch you.” “Best subjects [i]ever.[/i]” Stated the vixen in the corner, on her third canvas sketch already. Randall dreaded, and craved, what was sure to be a long night. [center]***[/center] The officious little owl was back in the morning to let a shaky, re-diapered tiger (/tigress) out of his cell. Randall wobbled as he was escorted out. The tiger was tired, dehydrated, fucked out, and more than a little out of it. But he still had enough presence of mind to ask the question that had bothered him most of the night. “…How… how long am I going to stay female?” “A few days, most likely.” The bird shrugged, signing some sort of paper as he cut the bonds at the feline’s wrists. Randall was going to kick himself for asking. He asked anyway. “Most likely?” “The alchemist told me it usually wears off. Not always. His lordship has made no provision for a reversal if one is not forthcoming on its own, before you ask.” He added unnecessarily, pushing the wobbly big cat (and his even more wobbly breasts) out into the street. “Don’t take off that swaddling until you get home. That’ll be another public nudity charge. Likely with a less interesting sentence, but all the same.” The door slammed behind him. Randall set off on unsteady legs for home, grateful he was too tired at this point to care who else might see. Not like half the city hadn’t had a chance yesterday. His thoughts were still something of a haze as he stumbled along. [i]Weird punishment for streaking a parade.[/i] For right now, he needed home. Home would have the water barrel, and a change of clothes, and a bed he would actually get to sleep on. (And no fox in the corner recording… everything. Some of which might end up on the watch barracks wall. In lovely oil paint. There [i]were[/i] at least two female watch members, it turned out, who had been happy to let the vixen get a good sketch of their petite breasts mashed up against the tiger’s.) Then, he thought, he might have to track down that alchemist. Whether he’d ask for anything to change him male again, he could decide then. But he still had a needy pussy. Now that his sentence was officially over, it only sounded fair to him that the gator do something about that. Preferably as hard and often as possible, for at least a few days. [center]The End[/center]