There are many things that a traveler needs to be wary of when taking a road trip. One such thing is never traveling alone.

Snaklu often breaks the rules, and he does so now, wearing his traveler’s attire and carrying his more performative gear in his backpack. The kobold’s steps are jaunty but quick as he walks through the wilderness in the dark of night. After all, they were born into the dark. So no pesky bandits or monsters would catch him off-guard.

Of course, the night-time vision of kobolds is quite limited, and he doesn’t account for the tenacity and desperation of some bandits. This lack of forethought becomes abundantly clear when an arrow lands on the ground by his feet.

“Yipe!”

He falls, landing on his butt, and before he can fully stand, there are three figures, each twice his size, running rapidly at him.

The kobold drops his bag, pulling his dagger free with a flash and holding it out before the three burly fellows.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” One of the bandits says, his bow drawn and arrow pointed toward Snaklu.

“Looks like a dandy little dragon to me,” a second points out, a club patting on an open palm.

“One with a heavy purse,” says a third, using his staff to thread the straps of Snaklu’s bag and lift it up.

“I have nothing for you!” Snaklu squeaks. What’s in that bag will do you no good!”

“Oh, we’ll be the judge of that,” says the staff-wielder, sliding the bag close to his chest. He pulls it open and starts yanking out garment after garment.

Snaklu spins, his feet moving in an elegant and jaunty dance, hands thrusting forward.

The bandit drops the bag and falls to his back, bellowing out in a raucous fit of laughter, rolling about the ground and leaving his weapon behind.

“It’s a caster!” shouts the club bandit, swinging his weapon low.

Snaklu ducks underneath, rushing forward and reaching forward to grab the club-wielder’s thigh.

That’s when a fourth bandit, hidden behind the clubber and wearing a camouflage suit, rises up and throws a punch. The halfling’s bandaged fist sinks deep into Snaklu’s stomach, lifting the kobold into the air for a moment.

“Goooahaa!”

Snaklu falls to his knees, clutching his stomach, tears welling up in his eyes and hissing.

“Not so tough when you actually throw hands, are ya?” says the smaller bandit.

The bow-wielder picks through some of Snaklu’s belongings, lifting a particularly frilly dress. “Looks like the little lizard ain’t lying. It’s just a bunch of frilly outfits!”

Wheezing, Snaklu looks up toward the halfling standing before him. “I’m n-no merchant,” he groans. “I’m a dancer.”

She cracks her knuckles, flashing her missing-toothed smile. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his stomach. He flutters his eyes towards his aggressor. “If you spare me, I can put on a performance for you.”

The staff bandit gasps, finally pushing himself up and wiping the laugh-strewn tears from his eyes. “Fat chance we’re lettin’ you do that!” he says. “You and your sneaky dance magic will make you get away. If you ain’t worth nothin’, you ain’t worth livin’!”

Snaklu plants his hands down on the ground and bows his head low. “Please, I beg of you—through bruised stomach, I have learned my lesson! I am easily pliable to your ways, stronger and smarter entrepreneurs.”

“There’s only one entrepreneur around these parts,” a gruff, growling voice says. It’s more monstrous than the others and emerges from the shadows.

Snaklu glances up to see the wonder of this voice, only to have a giant axehead fall near his face, the metal so polished as to show his shocked reflection.

The kobold trembles, gripping the ground, but then he wraps his fingers around the shaft of the weapon and pulls himself up, his chest pressed against the pole. “Oh, you must be the leader of this band. So cunning you are. Please, allow me to thank you for sparing my life.” He speaks with a soft smile, his eyes hooded and fluttering, holding back a gasp as he sees the leader.

Standing a head taller than even the burliest of the bandits is a hyena-man, a gnoll with a wild and spotted mane and a muzzle turned into a wicked grin. He hardly wears a stitch, save for a harness for his axe and a battle kilt.

“My, my,” the kobold says, his eyes drinking into the beast of a man standing before him. “A tailor to cover your mountainous muscles would cost you a fortune!”

The gnoll reaches a paw down, grasping Snaklu’s tail and hoisting him up with as much effort as a child with an apple. He holds the kobold up high, staring through glowing eyes at the kobold’s attempt at flattery. However, at this juncture, Snaklu’s trembling is all but apparent.

“You wanna flatter me?” the bandit leader asks.

Snaklu gulps, his arms dangling down underneath him. “I certainly, ah, hope it’s working, master bandit. After all, I have something to offer that your compatriots forgot.”

Leaning so close as to keep their snouts only a mere inch apart, the bandit narrows his gaze and growls, his breath hot and heavy, making the kobold’s head spin as he breathes. “And what, exactly, is that, you runt?”

Snaklu boldly laps his tongue at the wet nose of the bandit leader, tilts his head, and says. “My body, of course.”

The gnoll snorts, but then he tosses the kobold, catching Snaklu draped over his shoulder, an arm catching and squeezing him.

Snaklu hisses at the stomach pressure on that giant muscled shoulder, but he has little time to consider his pain, as the captain says. “Pick up the stuff. I’ll be busy the rest of the night!”

The bandits grumble and mutter, but none among their crew would dare say anything against their leader when he has his mind and other body parts set on a goal.

Snaklu’s journey in the bandit leader's arms is long and bumpy, as the terrain off the beaten path becomes rocky and mountainous. The kobold endures the rocky motion of the leader’s quick movements, fearing and admiring the impressive strength and endurance that the gnoll shows navigating the treacherous terrain.

“O… ow! Can you be more careful?” Snaklu whines. “How am I supposed to indulge you if I’m all bruised?”

The gnoll flashes his white teeth. “As long as you’re alive, I can use ya. Besides—we’re here!”

Indeed, the chattering of wildlife makes way for the bustle of civilization, and Snaklu sees it once his captor hops to the highest rock point. With a paw gripping Snaklu’s butt, he turns the kobold to face the camp.

It is an expansive enterprise—much larger than the small bandit party would have customarily revealed. Snaklu takes stock of every tent and fire pit as he’s given this vantage point and chirps excitedly to the lord. “My lord has quite the following. You must be an amazing leader!”

“All will know me one day,” the gnoll says, hopping down to the rocky slope below. Tiny pebbles roll under his feet, allowing him to skate down the hill with no issue.

Snaklu grips tightly to the gnoll’s shoulder, yipping excitedly. His tail points up as the gnoll barks in haughty laughter.

“I’m back!” the gnoll shouts, “With spoils for myself!”

The camp produces a quick “huzzah” before returning to its duties, acting like a well-oiled machine instead of fully committed to his cause.

Snaklu’s tail swishes at the concept.

His master marches through the camp, making it to the center where the largest and the most decorated tents sit tall and imperial. The kobold’s captor pulls the flap to the side and, with his mighty shoulder and back, hefts the kobold up into the air and falls to the ground.

Snaklu screamed at the sudden ejection, only to land on a surprisingly high and soft mattress. He pats around it and pushes himself up, staring toward the bandit leader.

The gnoll lets go of the flap, leaving the two in the relative darkness of the impressive temporary structure. Reaching his belt, he removes a knife, lifting it up and sliding his thumb along the blunt side.

And his grin, ever wide, widens even more.

Sitting up on his knees, Snaklu smirks and nods, his eyes fluttering into a half-hooded gaze at his captor. “No-now there,” he says, squeezing his knees, “No need to use anything like that. I’m happy to work with you and give you everything you desi-ieeer!?”

The bandit lord is quick, and his dagger presses against the kobold’s throat as he looms over Snaklu, his sharp teeth so close to the kobold’s face, his tongue running over those dagger-pointed canines. “You’re mine,” he growls.

“R… Right,” Snaklu gulps, eyes wide now, his pupils turned to slits. “Well, what shall we get down to, my master?” he asks. That involuntary throat movement makes his scales scratch against the sharp blade.

The bandit lord locks his eyes on Snaklu’s, hand trailing down his body and undoing his battle kilt belt. As the thing drops to the ground, Snaklu gets the first sight of the member he is to please. It is a large, thick, and bumpy thing. Its veins are large and pulsing with anticipation as they raise the mast to its full attention.

But Snaklu’s assessment of that cock only gets more intimate when the gnoll pulls his dagger away and stands above the kobold, spreading his feet upon the bed, gripping Snaklu by the back of his skull, and pushing his face in against that large and erect thing, smushing his face up against it.

The unwashed dick is salty against the kobold’s mouth, and his instinct is to keep his mouth well and closed, but a hand that clasps over his snout forces him to take a breath, and it is at that moment that he has to gasp.

The gnoll thrusts forward at that moment, sliding that shaft into Snaklu’s mouth.

Snaklu gulps and gasps. That meat hardly fits in his maw. The head prods at the back of his throat, sending dull sensations and sparks of surprise to his brain. With no means of breath, the kobold grabs the gnoll’s thighs, letting his balance be his only anchor to life. Even his vision blurs as tears well up in his eyes. Through it all, though, the kobold takes it like a champ!

“Mmmgh mmmm!”

“You should have been a poet,” the barbarian jests, unpinching the kobold’s nose.

With that cock pushing so deep into Snaklu’s throat, the freed nostrils are merely a tiny reprieve, as air is still precious and scant.

“Mm mmm mm mmm mm mm!” Those words come mostly from Snaklu’s throat, his diaphragm working overtime to let the sounds escape from the thick thing rocking in and out of his mouth.

The gnoll relents, yanking his cock out, the precum and saliva bridging between the kobold’s mouth and the gnoll’s head, stringing and then breaking and falling upon the kobold’s clothing.

“Gaah…. FAh… ha…!” Snaklu gasps, falling forward and clutching his throat.

“You have something to say?” The gnoll asks, a huffing grunt flaring at his nostrils. “Speak now, my slut, for you won’t get much opportunity to do so later.”

Rubbing his throat, the kobold glares up at his master. He sucks in a deep and much-needed breath and groans in a hoarse, tired voice. “Master… I am an… entertainer. I can do so much for you on my own. You need not overwork yourself.”

The gnoll scratches his chin, chuckling softly. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps I could give you some leeway to perform upon me.” He leans in, grabbing and squeezing his skull. “But know this—I will not lie down and be still. We shall give and take until the sun rises!”

Snaklu rubs his throat, coughing and staring toward the gnoll before him. He swallows and composes himself, nodding gently. “I would like you to lie down, at least physically. I am a small creature, and climbing you as you stand would be difficult.”

The bandit lord plops onto the bed, nodding. “Heh, you’re right. Well, go ahead, you wonderful little slut. Show me exactly what you can do!”

With that, the gnoll flops back onto the bed, his thumb gliding along the handle of his dagger as he watches his kobold.

Snaklu snorts and unbuttons his traveler’ stop. It’s already messy from the drizzling of cum, but he pulls it off with aplomb. Once the garments are over his head, the kobold’s soft and smooth scales come into view.

“Whew…” The gnoll admires, “You sure you’re a male kobold? Your scales shine so much. Is that a sign of your desires for me?”

“No, my lord,” Snaklu says, undoing his other garments, slipping out of them, his tail poking out first and then shimmying out of his leggings until he is naked before the gnoll. “I actually bathe.”

“You have quite the tongue on you,” the gnoll says, huffing. “That actually reminds me of something.”

“And what could that be, oh great bandit lord?” questions the kobold.

His answer comes from a swift pounce from the gnoll, who pushes Snaklu down to his shoulders, giant paws rubbing down the kobold’s body with such speed. Despite the alacrity, those mitts make their way over his shoulders, chest, tummy, and sides. It is a touching exploration that goes to his hips and thighs. From there, the gnoll grips and lifts the kobold up, leaving Snaklu lying on the bed on his shoulders, stuck as the bandit looms over him.

“What happened to me doing the work on you!?” Snaklu gasps, squirming about to relieve the pressure on his shoulders but fearing to move too much.

The gnoll lets go of one leg, letting it fall upon his chest. “Oh, we both need to tend to one another to be prepared for what I will do to you.” He says this, narrowing his eyes and leaning in, his face so close to the kobold’s crotch, his hot breath gushing forth from a sharp-toothed snarl. “But if you so much as hint at what I’m about to do, I will kill you!”

Snaklu gulps. “I can keep a secret, oh master!” the kobold whines. “But whatever could it be that would make it so embarrass-aaa!”

His answer comes in the form of a large, wet, warm tongue lapping at the base of his tail.

Snaklu gasps, his toes curling, but he has little time to react as the gnoll spins him around, the two men facing one another. Before Snaklu’s face is the Gnoll’s impressive cock, hanging low and tapping against his chin. He wraps his mouth around the thing, placating the desires of the bandit boss with a slow bobbing.

Meanwhile, the gnoll growls, his tongue slipping up and down that tail base on the underside before it presses downward and tickles at the kobold’s star.

Snaklu squeaks, his mouth full of dick, his body squirming, but the strength of the bandit lord keeps him well and truly held down, even as he dangles.

The gnoll huffs, his nostrils flaring as his tongue swirls up and down and side to side, playing at that exit. The tastebuds and the wetness combine to form a strange but enticing texture that Snaklu wasn’t expecting today.

The poor kobold cannot help himself at this point, for when the tongue rolls and pushes into that hole of his, he squeaks with that cock in his mouth, his eyes rolling back, and his own kobold cock rising out from its hiding place.

The gnoll’s maw is open wide, nose pressing to Snaklu’s tail, and hand wrapped around the bard’s back, holding him close to the bandit lord’s fuzzy chest. He growls and grumbles as he feasts on the delicacies of ass, the tongue wriggling and delving.

So clean, indeed! Snaklu must maintain a safe diet and sanitation for his boyish figure. Because of this, the humiliating exercise is one of exhilaration and delight, making Snaklu forget for a time that he was the prisoner of a bandit lord. Instead, the kobold bobs his head along the impressive shaft, sighing and moaning, letting his tongue and mouth and throat vibrate against the invading member, for the more he does it, and the more that the bandit’s tongue laps and lashes his insides, the more he realizes the inevitable truth of this exercise. The more he realizes what must be done to prepare for a very rough time.

The bandit whips his tongue from the hole, gripping Snaklu’s tail tightly. “Fuck YES,” he groans. “Now that’s the taste of a real slut! I bet this hole of yours is prime fuckmeat, isn’t it?”

He yanks Snaklu away, and since the kobold was in mid-suck, the vacuum on that cock leaves Snaklu tugging that shaft before finally relinquishing it with a POP.

The gnoll looms over Snaklu, holding him by the tail and looking down at the cock, dripping with spit. “Well, well, well,” the gnoll says. “Now that’s what I call service.

Snaklu rubs his throat, clearing it and nodding. Even upside down and with a cock in his face, he keeps some semblance of his dignity. “I wouldn’t hold back the service I provide to a great Bandit King such as yourself.”

The gnoll huffs, smirking at that. “Oh, king? Hardly?” He tosses Snaklu to his back and leans over him. “I am no king for you, little cocksleeve. To you, I am nothing more than the epitome of your worship. To a little pathetic piece of flesh such as you, I am indeed a god!”

Snaklu shudders under the imposing and looming form of the bandit leader. The bard stares up at the feral eyes of the gnoll and licks his lips, letting out a frustrated sigh. “If I am to venerate you,” he says, placing a hand over the blade-wielding paw, “Then I should be free to do so without threat of violence.”

The gnoll’s growling breaths slow down, his eyes refocusing, his smile going from manic to more genuine. “Ah… you’re right…” he says, plopping himself back onto the mattress, laying on his back. “But realize that you cannot overpower me nor escape. I have far too many companions for you to sneak past.” He chuckles as he places his knife off the side, lying back with his hands supporting his head. His cock playfully bounces up to attention as he nods toward the kobold. “Come on, my pet—show me your unfettered devotion. Show me that you love your new lot in life.”

Snaklu licks his lips, crawling up along the mattress. He reaches far in front of himself, practically dragging his seemingly spent body up along the sculpted legs of his captor, his eyes fluttering, his death a dreamy, almost musical sigh. He pushes his chest forward, arching his neck, stretching his back, and rubbing against the gnoll’s thighs. “Master…” he breathes.

That cock twitches, standing tall in great spite of the force of gravity, drooling with anticipation for the attention it was soon to receive.

Fingers stroke up past the thigh and to that pubic area, slipping up along the shaft and over that tapered head, picking up some of the semen to slime down the shaft. “I cannot think of a better fate for a foolish traveler than I,” Snaklu sighs. “A lifetime of servitude—no longer needing to think, no longer needing to worry, only living to please you.”

His master shifts, pushing his hips forward and closing his eyes. “Hah… yeah… that’s the stuff. You keep praising me, and I might make you a favored wife!”

“I’d love that. Let me please you, my future husband.”

And with that, Snaklu leans down, hissing out his tongue, tickling the tip as he tastes the precum.

“Nnrr…!”

“That’s right, master, my god,” Snaklu praises. “Enjoy…”

While Snaklu’s honeyed words should be enough to placate the hyena for a time, he moves on from them to attempt a different approach. His muzzle lowers, swallowing the cock. Without the knife at his throat, he can take more of it in with slower and more deliberate action, taking more and more in, pushing himself up so that his head can tilt back, giving the cock an unimpeded time slipping down his throat.

The more it fills Snaklu’s gullet, the more he stretches around it, feeling his body accommodate for the sleeving of that impressive and destructive member. If the bandit had decided to get rougher with him, he may very well have been ripped apart, his esophagus a stretched and useless tube.

He shudders at the thought.

The gnoll shudders in his response, twitching and thrusting his hips upward.

“Gglk!”

“Something the matter?” the gnoll says. “You’re doing such a wonderful job so far, my cocksleeve wife.” He curls up, not supporting himself but reaching and grabbing Snaklu by the back of the head.

Snaklu opens one eye, his cheeks puffy as he is pushed down against the cock at a different pace than he had built himself up to. He furrows his brow, an almost bratty scowl filling his face.

“Aw, ain’t that cute,” the gnoll says. “But we do things at my pace, little wife,” he growls, and with that, she thrusts the kobold down all the way, smashing Snaklu’s snout against his fuzzy pelvis.

He squeezes the back of Snaklu’s skull, his claws digging against the kobold’s scales, chuckling to himself. “Well, that’s some endurance you have there!” He snickers, watching as the kobold’s eyes bulge and water. “How, how long can you hold on until you pass out? I wonder.”

“Mmmff!”

“Come on, make me cum, fuckwife,” the bandit roars, “prove yourself worthy, or end it here!”

Snaklu can’t move his neck or head, so he makes do with his tongue. The muscle coils around the shaft, tasting every inch of its musky saltiness. He fights past coughs, frothing up his spit as his lungs scream at him to breathe. Even his nose is blocked off from the impressive meat, making it home inside him.

Despite his best efforts, the tongue cannot do what it is working to do. As he finds himself losing much control, that is when the back of his throat twitches and convulses in the coughs, and hope beyond hope, that is the last movement he can do.

“GOraaaah, fuccck!”

That cry, coming out pathetically from the whimpering form of the gnoll, sends shooting strings of cum down the kobold’s throat. After the second of the mighty spurts, the gnoll pulls his hand away, letting it fall limply to the side.

Snaklu rears back, taking in a great big gulp of air! But because his mouth is no longer around that choking cock, the last shots erupt high into the air, painting the kobold’s chin and the gnoll’s stomach with the arm and sticky and thick substance.

Snaklu falls forward, gripping the mattress before him, panting in heavy, desperate breaths, spit and cum drizzling down from his chin, his eyes wide, his mouth wider, his breaths heavy and so very thankful to taste the air, even if it is the heavy, sweaty air of the bandit lord’s tent.

Underneath him, the gnoll stretches and yawns a great big yawn. “Aaawh… yeah, that hit the spot.” He grumbles, grabbing Snaklu by the shoulder and hoisting him so the kobold lies on his chest. “With an arm wrapped around Snaklu’s body, he squeezes the kobold to him, keeping Snaklu from moving.

But as Snaklu lies there, a hand upon the gnoll’s chest, one thing is sure for him. He needs to get out of here tonight, or he might be unable to escape.

After all, that experience was probably the hottest thing he had experienced in a long, long time.

How long did it take for the bandit lord’s breath to steady? How long was it before the hustle of the camp finally ended, leading to the return of the dark of the night sky? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours, but it felt like an eternity for Snaklu.

But it isn’t an eternity he spent idly. A plan bubbled in his mind while he lay next to his lover for the evening, fermenting into a supple drink that would lead him to his eventual escape.

There is a moment when a partner falls so deep in sleep that the subtle movements of the bard would register as nothing in their mind. Snaklu slips free from the paw, watching it flump with no problem upon the mountain of muscle.

The kobold sighs, staring at what could be. Shaking his head, he returns to the task at hand, slipping on his clothing. It’s a messy time underneath, but he sniffs and pokes his head out of the flap.

The tent is in the middle of the camp, and there are small fires bathing the place in a soft glow. With a deep breath, he rushes out, his body low and flat as he travels from tent to tent, waiting, listening, and heading through the dark parts where only a few of the bandits would be able to see.

And thinking of it, two of them sat on the edge of the camp, sitting upon a log and chatting away at one another. No doubt, they were there to keep any intruders out, for they were both felines and had their ears high, twitching and swiveling at the slightest suggestion from beyond the treeline.

The bard nods, and he rolls his shoulders. Under his breath, he mutters, and he growls. He taps his throat and lets out another whispered grumble.

Beyond, one of the feline guards perks up, turning their head in his direction.

“Whazzat?” the second guard says, grabbing their sword.

“Dunno.” The first says, standing up. “What’s going on?” he shouts, standing up. “If that’s you, Dale, I told you to lay off on the grog!”

Tilting his head back, the kobold barks, but it’s not in his own voice that his words fill the air but in the voice of the bandit lord. “You incompetent kittens. It’s me. My damned whore is being too much of a brat and I need your help, now!”

He punctuates his grave mockery of the captain with little murring mewls and giggles.

The guards both hop up, slowly approaching. As they do, the tent flap in front of them opens up, and a dwarf with an uncombed beard pops his head out. “What’s the racket!?” He grumbles.

The cats leap back, shouting simultaneously, muttering, and catching the dwarf up with harried and confused conversation.

The bard dips under the tent, scurrying past the three. As he does, he notes how similar this tent is to the bandit lord’s, but smaller. That means it is easily set up and collapsed. He just has to hook his tail around one particular knot, flick around with the dexterous thing, and let go!

“Yeah, I heard ‘em!” the dwarf said. “But why would he want to call you two to help ‘em with that. I’m the whore tamer ‘round here and gaw!”

The tent falls upon the dwarf, causing the cats to leap back again. One of them gets onto his knees and frantically picks up at the canvas, all while the dwarf swings so many expletives, each of them adding to the bard’s repetoire most certainly.

But the second cat keeps up and sees the shadowy streak approaching the forest. “Sound the alarm,” he says, tightening the grip on his sword. “We got a critter, and it can mimic the captain!”

With that, the feline bandit dashes off into the dense foliage beyond the camp.

“Alright, you monster, you’d better run if you know what’s good for ya. ‘Cause I’ll catch ya and skin ya alive!”

Snaklu hides in one bush, watching as the feline gets closer and closer. He holds his breath, but he has something else in his hand.

“I know ya got a brain on ya!” the cat says. “Just come out, you fairy thing or gobbledygook or whatever the hell you are, and we can end this quietl-eeeee!”

The kobold tugs the line, fishing line to be precise, sending the cat stumbling forward, hitting his jaw upon the ground, stunning him.

When the kobold emerges from the brush, he sashays away, looking over his shoulder and winking at the guard. “It’s been a lovely day here. Tell your boss he owes me. I’ll be sure to come collect.”

The feline groans, reaching his hand out toward the kobold.

Snaklu swoops down, grabs the paw, leans in, presses his nose to the back, and licks. “Enchanted, but you, my friend, aren’t going to cut me out, are you?” He flutters his eyes. They almost seem to shimmer in the night darkness.

The guard blinks, his jaw slack, his ears flattening as his whiskers droop. “N-no, of course. You go right ahead.

“I’m oh-so-glad. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with the adventurer’s guild and the town guard with you. Toodles!”

The guard smiles, so comforted by the promise of this friend.

But the shouts of the camp and the rousing of his allies snap him out of it. He grabs at the kobold, but he is no longer there.

But of course, he remembers that the kobold had asked him nicely to let him go, and he did.

Shivering, the guard pushes himself up, only to back up against the large, half-clothed form of the bandit leader.

The hyena clasps the cat’s shoulders, leaning in over them. “Well, now, I lost my pet. What are we gonna do to make up for it, hm?”

The cat looks up to his boss, a soft purr rising from his chest. “Well, I can think of a few things, boss.”

And Snaklu, having bolted for his freedom, was just out of earshot enough that he would not hear this saucy nugget of intrigue. Alas, a bard can’t know all the hot tea spilled in the world.