{ "submission_id": "405702", "keywords": [ { "keyword_id": "291", "keyword_name": "adult", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "31476" }, { "keyword_id": "53176", "keyword_name": "adult/cub", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "6701" }, { "keyword_id": "85", "keyword_name": "anal", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "129757" }, { "keyword_id": "37", "keyword_name": "cub", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "279677" }, { "keyword_id": "448", "keyword_name": "cubs", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "19222" }, { "keyword_id": "2193", "keyword_name": "fantasy", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "26950" }, { "keyword_id": "123", "keyword_name": "female", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "1091709" }, { "keyword_id": "3583", "keyword_name": "first time", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "4047" }, { "keyword_id": "1557", "keyword_name": "furry", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "121545" }, { "keyword_id": "1278", "keyword_name": "king", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "4458" }, { "keyword_id": "174", "keyword_name": "lion", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "43343" }, { "keyword_id": "165", "keyword_name": "male", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "1199773" }, { "keyword_id": "11507", "keyword_name": "male/female", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "96648" }, { "keyword_id": "10308", "keyword_name": "male/male", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "125033" }, { "keyword_id": "416", "keyword_name": "oral", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "67846" }, { "keyword_id": "112", "keyword_name": "rape", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "31771" }, { "keyword_id": "76", "keyword_name": "sex", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "132664" }, { "keyword_id": "528", "keyword_name": "slave", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "9659" }, { "keyword_id": "11278", "keyword_name": "slavery", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "3151" }, { "keyword_id": "133", "keyword_name": "snow leopard", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "9930" }, { "keyword_id": "73", "keyword_name": "twincest", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "2447" }, { "keyword_id": "41", "keyword_name": "twins", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "6318" }, { "keyword_id": "77", "keyword_name": "vaginal", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "52349" }, { "keyword_id": "2337", "keyword_name": "virgin", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "3371" }, { "keyword_id": "1233", "keyword_name": "yiff", "contributed": "f", "submissions_count": "18089" } ], "hidden": "f", "scraps": "f", "favorite": "f", "favorites_count": "81", "create_datetime": "2013-05-02 05:16:26.724417+00", "create_datetime_usertime": "02 May 2013 07:16 CEST", "last_file_update_datetime": "2013-05-02 04:50:27.323914+00", "last_file_update_datetime_usertime": "02 May 2013 06:50 CEST", "username": "Wingman", "user_id": "188179", "user_icon_file_name": null, "user_icon_url_large": null, "user_icon_url_medium": null, "user_icon_url_small": null, "file_name": "522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.png", "file_url_full": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/full/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.png", "file_url_screen": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/screen/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.png", "file_url_preview": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.jpg", "thumbnail_url_huge_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.jpg", "thumbnail_url_large_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game_noncustom.jpg", "thumbnail_url_medium_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game_noncustom.jpg", "thumb_medium_noncustom_x": "120", "thumb_medium_noncustom_y": "120", "thumb_large_noncustom_x": "200", "thumb_large_noncustom_y": "200", "thumb_huge_noncustom_x": "200", "thumb_huge_noncustom_y": "200", "files": [ { "file_id": "522904", "file_name": "522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.png", "file_url_full": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/full/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.png", "file_url_screen": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/screen/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.png", "file_url_preview": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.jpg", "mimetype": "image/png", "submission_id": "405702", "user_id": "188179", "submission_file_order": "0", "full_size_x": "200", "full_size_y": "200", "screen_size_x": "200", "screen_size_y": "200", "preview_size_x": "200", "preview_size_y": "200", "initial_file_md5": "1c1af4e23f1ecd06de2575607860c5b7", "full_file_md5": "039c555470d3dcacd411379d58b88ac4", "large_file_md5": "039c555470d3dcacd411379d58b88ac4", "small_file_md5": "23d44e94264ae5caa273cda435740500", "thumbnail_md5": "d3e3880d5b9f26e6d7d2c77654c7ce7d", "deleted": "f", "create_datetime": "2013-05-02 04:50:27.323914+00", "create_datetime_usertime": "02 May 2013 06:50 CEST", "thumbnail_url_huge_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game.jpg", "thumbnail_url_large_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game_noncustom.jpg", "thumbnail_url_medium_noncustom": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/522/522904_Wingman_the_kings_game_noncustom.jpg", "thumb_medium_noncustom_x": "120", "thumb_medium_noncustom_y": "120", "thumb_large_noncustom_x": "200", "thumb_large_noncustom_y": "200", "thumb_huge_noncustom_x": "200", "thumb_huge_noncustom_y": "200" } ], "pools": [], "description": "A taboo fantasy... A warrior returns triumphant from battle to claim his young rewards...\n\n\"Wingman\" (Anonymous) - 2013", "description_bbcode_parsed": "A taboo fantasy... A warrior returns triumphant from battle to claim his young rewards...

"Wingman" (Anonymous) - 2013", "writing": "The King’s Game\n\n--\n\nNote: This story contains graphic sexuality between adult and juvenile characters. This content is portrayed strictly as fantasy, and the author emphatically neither endorses nor condones child sexual abuse in the real world.\n\n--\n\nIt is near sunset when the first herald spots the king’s army in the distance. From high atop the city walls, his trumpet blast—a regal, repeated cadence—echoes through the streets, following by an excited buzz of the populace. Other watchers quickly take up the sound, trumpet by trumpet, until all Thelkas rings with the joyous harbinger of victory.\n\nFor it could be nothing else but victory. The king would never have returned home unless the rebels were crushed and subdued—and a swift messenger has brought the news a week before. A triumph will surely follow, and a grand feast throughout the capital—the third in a year. Schemers both domestic and foreign had seen opportunity in the ascension of a young, inexperienced king three years hence, and each in turn paid the price for foolish ambition.\n\nThe feline folk of Thelkas crowd the streets and alleys of their city, a furry menagerie of stripes, spots, and solid colors, their din increasing by the minute while the tall gates are unbarred. When they swing open to reveal the army, the explosion of cheers drowns out all conversation as the king leads the column through the gates, tall upon his steed.\n\nHe is but twenty-five, this young lion, just twenty-two at his crowning three years hence, seven days after the sickness sent his father to the nether-lands to join the queen. Yet he leads men into battle with the strength and conviction of a grizzled, hardened warrior, and is wise enough to delegate most matters of state to appropriate specialists—an improvement over the old king, who too often took regality to equal expertise in all things.\n\nSo Thelkas has largely been spared the recession of regime change, and for it the lion king has the wild love of his people. The soothsayers who had warned of doom at his ascension were finding loopholes in their prophesies, or fast going out of business. And as the king leads his warriors through the Thelkan streets, the deafening roars of approval only seem to grow louder.\n\nThe lion is tall with a slender frame that hides lean muscle. His henna-brown mane flows over his shoulders to brush against his chest fur; his tawny coat is healthy and full. In a city of countless mongrels, his leonine blood is pure. Riding through the crowd, handsome in his thin armor, he is the picture of a storybook king and—proving he has not lost all of his father’s arrogance—he knows and happily milks it. There are worst vices than basking in the adoration of a hundred thousand voices.\n\nThe head of the column has passed through the market square, and is approaching the city center. Here the parade fractures—soldiers drift off to find their waiting wives and families, while the king’s private detachment enters the palace courtyard, with the king himself at its head. Slowly, the cacophony ebbs in the distance behind them.\n\n“Your Majesty!” Still, the tigress must shout twice to be heard. “Your Majesty!”\n\nWith the grace of a Thelkan noble, or for that matter most Thelkans, the lion slips from his horse and greets his grand minister with a crushing hug that would have been highly inappropriate outside the courtyard walls. “Eunice!” he laughs. “Eunice, dear, it was easier than Phynas and Zamberias combined! The grand so-called ‘King’ Liam pissed his pants when we smashed his vanguard, and emptied his own bowels before I could do it for him. We slew ten men for every one we lost!”\n\nGrand Minister Eunice gently pushes herself free—a right she has as one of the king’s oldest friends. “That still means many widows in the capitol tonight,” she said soberly.\n\nThe king scowls slightly. “Many more in Aquos.”\n\n“Mourn for them, too. They are also your people.” The tigress is several years the king’s elder, and often watched over him when he was small. A cripple with a severe limp, she makes up for it with a fierce skill in matters of state, and anyone who questions her competence on account of her gender soon finds cause to regret it. “It is not fitting for a king to revel in the duty of bloodshed.”\n\n“Ah, what a killjoy you are, woman.” Stripping off his armor, the lion hands it to a squire while another takes his horse. Bare-chested, he smoothes his ruffled coat. “Tell me: how fares my wife?”\n\nThe grand minister’s face does not smile; it rarely does. “The queen sleeps, even through your entrance. Her pregnancy has not been easy.”\n\n“She carries a strong-willed prince in her womb.”\n\nEunice nods. “If you would have me wake her—”\n\n“Best not.” In the tradition of Thelkas’ royalty, the lion married for blood, not love. He likes his lioness queen well enough, and cares deeply for her welfare (not to mention his child’s,) but it goes no further than that. “She may rest. I am more interested in the, ah, newest addition to my court.”\n\nNow the grand minister does let slip a tiny smile. “I thought you might be. I think you will be pleased with my selection.” Her nose wrinkles. “Your Majesty, beg pardon, but before you see them—\"\n\n“—I should rid myself of the stink of travel and horseflesh, aye,” the king laughs. “Have them await me in my personal chambers, then. I know the way to the baths.”\n\nHe strolls off through the courtyard. A few of his company begin to follow, but he waves off all but his personal guard, a fierce warrior of a mongrel-cat named Quentin, who, in the good tradition of a king’s personal guard, generally has very little to say.\n\nIn the royal bathhouse, the king simmers in the hot water as a buxom masseuse—a serval, by the looks of her, perhaps with a drop of jaguar in those ghosts of rosettes—works the kinks of battle and travel from his muscles. She would do more, he knew—she would do anything, if he desired it—but his intentions lie elsewhere. A thrill of anticipation smolders in his mind at the thought.\n\nOnce clean and dried, his scent accented with a light splash of oils, the king pauses in front of a reflecting pool, examining his naked form, sleek yet powerful, his tufted tail reflexively curling around his legs. He smoothes his fur again and flashes his own reflection a grin of bright-white fangs. “Let’s see just what dear Eunice has found me,” he tells himself, chuckling.\n\nSlipping a violet robe over himself, he exits the bath and walks to his personal chambers, deliberately forcing himself to check his eagerness. Quentin follows him silently. The room, a separate one from that which he shares with the queen, is not far. “The door,” he tells Quentin simply, and the guard dutifully posts himself.\n\nBreathing deeply, the king lion enters.\n\nThe two cubs are sitting on the bed in the candlelit chamber, and spin at the sound of the door. They scramble to their footpaws, then kneel in front of him. “Your Majesty,” they both intone, voices an equal light pitch and clean timbre.\n\n“You may rise,” the king says softly, kindly. “Stand up. Let me see you.”\n\nIt is instantly clear that the two are twins, a boy and girl—snow leopards, as close to full-blooded as makes no difference, white and gray with dusky rosettes, fluffy coats and long, thickly furred tails. Each wears only clean white undergarments: breeches and a light shirt. On each a shock of silver crown-fur spills across the brow, and, in the girl’s case, down her neck. From bright, innocent faces, blue eyes stare up with expressions of wonder.\n\nOh, well done, grand minister, the lion thinks. The tradition of cub concubines is one of the oldest in the kingdom, and one the king delights in. One of his harem’s females—a caracal mix—reached her blood just before the rebellion, and was dismissed to the many opportunities that await those who have served royalty. It had been Eunice’s job to find a fresh replacement, and she had outdone herself.\n\nThe king himself kneels, to be of a height with the children. “You are very lovely, both of you,” he says. “Tell me, how old are you?”\n\n“Nine,” they respond, again in unison. With a note of pride, the boy adds, “And a month!”\n\n“And a month,” the lion agrees, smiling warmly. He ruffles the boy’s crownfur. “Very good! And what is your name?”\n\n“Jake,” the little snow leopard proclaims. “My sister is—”\n\n“Sandy, your Majesty.”\n\n“Oh, Sandy, there’s no need for that! I’m not really your king here—I’m your friend.” He rests a paw on each of their shoulders, and tells them to call him by his own name. “You do want to be my friend, right?”\n\nTheir faces light up—friends with a king? “Yes!”\n\n“Good!” The king gives each shoulder an affirmative grasp. “Do you like to play games with your friends, Jake and Sandy?”\n\n“Yes!” they say again, and this time it is Sandy who continues, “We play tag, and chivy—”\n\n“—marbles, knucklebones, draughts—”\n\n“—the ring toss, I beat Jake every time—”\n\n“Liar! You do not! You—”\n\n“Stop, stop!” the king laughs. He likes these two very much already; they will be great sport. “Yes, those are all fine games for little cubs. But, nine and a month—I thought you weren’t so little anymore?”\n\n“No!” they both explode, talking over each other in their excitement. “No, we’re not, we’re not little, we’re grown up, nearly!”\n\nThe lion smirks—it is too easy. Some kings liked their cubs pre-trained; he prefers the satisfaction of grooming his own quarry. “If you’re going to be friends with a grown king, you must play grown-up games,” he tells them. “Are you certain you are ready for those?”\n\nThe snow leopard cubs almost fall over themselves declaring that they are.\n\n“Then I will teach you,” the king says. “But only if you do everything I say. Do you promise to do everything I say?” Again, a flurry of agreement. “Good. Then follow me.”\n\nHe takes Sandy’s paw first, delighting in the feel of her soft, fluff-covered pads against his own, and leads her to the bed. Sitting, he lifts her onto his lap, facing him, her tight buttocks resting on his thighs. The proximity of her young groin to his is already stirring him, but he holds back. “Grown-up friends’ games start with a kiss,” the king tells her, and leans down to kiss her—first on the pink of her nose, then on the mouth.\n\nShe instinctively resists, then remembers her promise and relaxes just enough. His paws grip her thin waist lightly as the kiss becomes deeper, the lion pushing his large tongue into the kitten’s mouth, wrapping it around hers, taking his first taste of his new toy. After a moment, she begins to kiss him back, clumsily, almost absurdly, yet the effort pleases him.\n\nHe takes her paws and places them on his own torso, at the same time pulling her tongue into his own maw, caressing it instructively. Slowly, she begins to learn, mirroring him when he brings a paw to her head, running her fingers through his mane. The king pulls the cub closer towards him and presses the kiss back into her mouth, harder than before, his tongue brushing past her tiny fangs. Beneath his robe, he feels himself beginning to rise.\n\nA few feet away, Jake giggles. “That’s silly!” he declares.\n\nIn an instant he king releases the girl. “Not for grown-ups,” he says, and pushes Sandy aside. Jake yelps as a leonine paw grabs his arm and pulls the little cub close. “If you’re grown, act like it,” the king orders, hoisting the snow leopard onto the mattress and pinning him down against it, then forcefully pressing his muzzle against the boy’s.\n\nJake takes longer to break than Sandy, his small body squirming beneath the king’s, which only excites the lion more as he takes the cub’s mouth for his own. The king’s paws roam the little leopard’s body, claws leaving gashes in his clothing but only gently scratching beneath his fur, along his stomach and chest, behind his ears. Gradually his resistance slackens, panicked whines turning to contented purrs through a maw filled with lion-tongue.\n\nThis kitten’s flavor is just different enough from his sister’s, and the king takes his time enjoying it, hungry saliva flooding from his own mouth to fill the boy’s. What an honor for these children, the lion thinks, for such passionate first-ever kisses to come from the maw of a king… He is purring now himself, deep in his throat, a growing purr of desire to match his swelling member.\n\nWith a fierce tug, his claws shred what remains of the cub’s shirt and cast them aside. Jake makes a half-hearted attempt to scramble free, but is quickly re-pinned to the mattress by two strong leonine paws.\n\n“I think your sister is better than you, cub,” the king rumbles. “Sandy—come here.” Obediently, she comes. “Show Jake how a grown-up kisses.”\n\nThe girl-cub hesitates, adorable in her childish bewilderment. “But he—he’s my brother.”\n\n“It’s just a game, Sandy and I’m winning. We kissed, you and I, and I kissed him. Two for me, one for each of you. Unless you two kiss, I win the first round. Of course, if you like to lose…” \n\n“No!” Her spirit flares again and she bounds onto the bed. Smiling, the king makes way as she straddles her bare-chested brother on all fours. “Come on, Jake, we—”\n\nBut Jake’s own competitive fire has been stoked, and it’s him who attacks with a snarl, launching himself upwards and into her. Brother and sister roll along the bed and crash into the headboard with Jake atop, his fangs locked against Sandy’s, his furred chest against her shirt.\n\nThe two cubs slaver against each other inelegantly, their youthful inexperience on full display. They grab and roll, petite bodies pressed together, wrestling with paws and maws alike, mewing and mewling their kitten noises of exertion. Long, furry tails flop and tangle behind them, wrapping around each other and themselves like scarves.\n\nYes, the lion thinks, yes, they learn! His paw slips beneath his robe, finds his engorged manhood and strokes it gently, watching the children play at lovemaking. Soon, soon they will know what it truly means...\n\nTime to move forward. “You are both skilled at this,” he declares. “But it’s time for a real challenge.”\n\nBoth pause and look up at their Thelkan king. He holds up the tatters of Jake’s ruined undershirt, grinning. “I have a special prize… for whichever of you does this to the other’s garments first.”\n\nA beat, then Jake yowls a feline yowl and tears into his sister’s shirt. Before she can even react, he has leveled the playing field, leaving them both bare above the torso. Matching gray and white fur crashes together, each cub twisting to try to get at the other’s breeches. It doesn’t take long before the rips and tears add up and each pair of pants simultaneously pulls free of their legs.\n\nA beat, a lull. The siblings glance at themselves, then at the king, confused—who won?\n\nThe king drinks in the sight of the nine-year-old cubs’ naked forms splayed across his bed in the candlelight. Even undressed, they look much alike: two elfin bodies in luscious, thick mottled-gray coats that draw out into their bushy tails. Beneath her chest fur, Sandy’s breasts are no more developed than her brother’s, her nipples no larger either; though down below her waist, her skinny thighs meet at a taut mound, where Jake’s find his boyhood, sheath and small, fur-covered stones.\n\nThe lion licks his lips in anticipation. They are perfect—innocent, pure little cherubs, his to use.\n\nStalking forward on the bed towards them on all fours like a feral hunting beast, the king lets his robe slip from his shoulders, exposing to his charges their master’s full tawny splendor. “You both win,” he proclaims, and grasps each by the chest, pulling them together. With each paw, he begins tickling the cubs’ stomachs, sending them into instant conniptions and convulsions. Their flailing footpaws strike him lightly, but his grip allows neither to escape, keeps them firmly in his power.\n\nSoon he slips lower. His right paw finds Jake’s furred sack and begins to massage it lightly, fingers fondling him, brushing his undeveloped sheath to a slight swell, claws dancing gingerly across the skin; the boy stops squirming and begins softly moaning instead. And soon his left paw extracts the same sound from Sandy, brushing across her firm child’s vulva, each finger in turn sliding through her slit to dance across her pleasure spot, then rubbing her mound with the whole paw.\n\nLooming over their quivering bodies, the king savors the snow leopard cubs’ dual expressions of mixed enjoyment and trepidation, eyes shut and whiskers trembling as he toys with their young privates. He lowers his maw to Sandy’s face and licks it slowly. “You are mine,” he whispers, stroking her harder, letting a finger stray to flick across her rear to incite another tiny shiver. He moves down her body, burying his muzzle in her coat, filling his nose with the scent of her fur and her fear and her delight.\n\nHis right paw closes on the base of Jake’s sheath and tugs gently, giving the boy no choice but to let himself be dragged underneath. The king pushes the cub’s head downwards until his tiny muzzle is parallel with the lion’s thick, pulsing cock. Jake’s blue eyes widen at the sight—surely he has never before seen anything like the huge, finely barbed, deep-pink organ that now brushes against his whiskers.\n\n“Lick,” the lion commands. “Lick it, kitten.”\n\nIt has gone too far for protest. Whimpering, the boy-cub obeys; his tentative, wet tongue comes forth to lap at the king’s manhood. Then he licks a second time, and a third. He has never played this strange game, this innocent child, but his role is becoming clear to him. A new, strangely alluring taste fills him and intensifies his tongue’s caresses as he grips the lion’s thighs with tiny claws. Up and down the thick shaft he slides, washing it in the warm juices of his mouth.\n\nOnly a soft grunt escapes the king, who revels in the fantastic sensation of youthful tongue on his member, but never pauses his amusement with the boy’s sister. His nibbles follow the slight curve of Sandy’s body down to where her legs meet, where her prepubescent sex awaits his pleasure. With both paws, the king gently pushes the cub’s legs apart and surveys her slit approvingly. For all his paw’s attention, she is immature and so barely wet. He can remedy that.\n\nSandy gasps when the king’s own tongue reaches her mound and begins its work, a short, “oh!” and then again in a sigh, quavering as her vulva is bathed in liquid. The cub may not have flowered, but she still has a woman’s sensations, and the king knows well how to trigger those. His thumbs spread her tight labial lips and he presses between with his maw, nuzzling fiercely against her most sensitive spot; she cries out again and reactively grabs two pawfuls of his mane, shuddering as this new delight takes her.\n\nAnd meanwhile her brother licks and licks at the rod of lion-meat, flicking across the glans to taste a tiny bead of leaked secretion. He is acclimating to the contest now, learning his place, and somehow this savory flavor instructs him: he must do more, extract more. His maw wraps around the tip of the lion and slowly begins to suck, stroking the skin with saliva and tongue and lips, laboring to extract more precious droplets.\n\nRumbling with approval, the king pushes back, suddenly forcing his cock deep into the little cub’s gullet. Jake gags briefly on the hot flesh filling his throat, stretching his jaw—too much!—but no, somehow he manages to take it in, to recover. Embarrassed, he sucks at the lion’s manhood slowly at first, molding it to his mouth soaking wet with desire. Then he moves faster, eagerly, greedily, drawing forth more hints of royal essence, happily pleasing his new master.\n\nEvery flash of ecstasy Jake delivers seems to pass through the king’s body and into Sandy, who squirms and quavers and mews out wordless cries of joy. She presses into the lion as he presses into her brother, tugging the king’s mane, gripping at his ears, every gesture begging for more, more of his tongue, more of his forays deeper into her preteen vagina. \n\nSlowly, the candles burn lower.\n\nThe king’s lust is raging wildly by now; breathing heavily, throatily, it is all he can do not to lose all control and complete his conquest in a rapacious frenzy—but no, no, careful, the children must not be harmed, not too badly, and if he loses his senses, he might do anything—\n\nBut he can wait no longer. “Enough,” he tells Jake, “enough! Release me.”\n\nHe has other need of his manhood now. Letting it slip free of his maw, the boy looks up questioningly from underneath him. “You are an excellent friend,” the king praises, “and you have done well. Now—” he gestures to the side—“you will watch.”\n\nFor his labor on Sandy has not been for her pleasure alone. Her cub’s vulva lies dripping with his maw’s fluids, bare and beckoning to him to be taken. Gradually he raises himself upwards along her, his paws moving from her legs to her hips to beneath her arms, his ocher-furred thighs pushing hers further apart, until he looks down from above her with his saliva-soaked cock brushing against her maddeningly tempting groin. “And now, you—you must relax for me.”\n\nSandy’s angelic face is filled with confusion. “Why? What happens now?”\n\n“I will show you,” the lion murmurs soothingly. “It may hurt just a little. I need you to be brave for your king—for your friend. Can you be brave for me, my cub?”\n\nShe hesitates, then nods. He smiles and kisses her forelock gently. “Good. Now breathe relax... yes, that’s a good girl…”\n\nHis paws grip her small, furry shoulders and press them against the mattress; her tail flicks wildly against his backside teasingly. His manhood is rubbing against her wet slit, back and forth between her splayed legs, tantalizing in the promise of what is now so close... Sandy writhes in his grasp helplessly, involuntarily as for the first time she feels a male press into her…\n\nThe cub’s folds swallow the king’s tip, and then more of him; he pushes slowly but firmly, further inside her. He takes her virgin’s membrane in an instant—Sandy yelps in pain as it rips, arching her back, jerking against his hold; he feels a stream of blood flow across his member and his balls. He lowers his muzzle and clamps it on hers in a violent kiss to silence her, slipping deeper inside, feeling her little body swallow him more and more—\n\nGods above, she is so tight—so pure and untouched, unripe yet so delicious to pluck—the lion’s claws bite her skin and pull her back into him, forcing her onto his meat, fitting his piece to hers—her firm warmth fully enveloping him, immersing him in a pleasure that washes over his entire self—\n\n“I—” Sandy whimpers, tears brimming in her eyes. “I don’t—I—ah—”\n\n“Hush,“ the king tells her, “hush, my kitten—oh, you are so good, so delicious—“\n\nHe takes her fully now as she wriggles and mews and moans against him, stretching her, mating her, his fine-grained barbs stroking her as he slides through her again and again. Growling, the lion nuzzles deep into the girl’s neck-fur to take her scent, the feline musk of his child lover, his prisoner, his victim, his prey. His sharp fangs clamp down on her throat—gently, only gently, and yet they hold her very life—one crunch, if he so chose—\n\nFrom beside them, Jake stares with intense fascination as the king breeds his twin sister. It swells something in him, something repressed by his youth, but something that nonetheless compels him—his paw goes to his own boyhood, where the king’s had touched him—he rubs, fondles himself, watching as his king and his sister do their strange dance.\n\nThe king has brought many a Thelkan cub to bed, but perhaps none sweeter than this little snow leopard girl, this beautiful, delectable cherub whom he fills with his leonine virility, sinning her, initiating her into his domain of carnality. She is amazing—cute, soft and shy, yet spirited, feisty, as even now she writhes upon him, hissing, snarling, crying out at his every thrust—\n\nBut the cries are changing, and so is the writhing—Sandy is no longer pulling away; perhaps without even realizing it, she is embracing his force, moving along with him. He is nearly twice her size and still well in command, but the dynamic has changed—pleasure is overtaking pain for her, the two mingling to flood her senses, erase her control, numb her very sense of being.\n\n“That’s right, little kitten,” the lion growls hungrily, knowing. “That’s right, you love this—come on, purr for me, purr!”\n\nHe shoves deep inside her again, more ferociously than before, pressing her lithe body back into the headboard, where he holds her, dominating her, his thick, dripping erection claiming her for his own. Again and again he plunges through her snug, warm cub insides, now himself panting, chuffing, growling to match the noises she gives him.\n\nShe shudders violently, gasping out a squeal, “yes, yes—gods, yes—”\n\nThe king snarls agreement. He licks her face again, rapidly now, his tongue possessively stroking over her kitten features, the dominance bringing him to the edge of his pleasure. His paws grab her waist and impale her upon him to the very hilt, extracting a small shriek, the final stroke lighting fireworks in his brain, sending him over the edge—\n\nThen he is roaring and spraying, and roaring again, and spraying again, erupting from both maw and cock, clutching the leopard child to his chest as he pumps his hot seed deep within her. His orgasm’s bliss splashes over him, washing the room into a whirl of colors—it is the highest peak he has ever known, a rapture beyond imagination, exploding from him into this little girl, his little cub, his little conquest.\n\nAnd Sandy clutches him back, mingling her coat in his, feeling his ejaculate splash her interior as she is rocked by her own first-ever climax. Her entire groin clenches around him even tighter, squeezing out every drop of his essence, her mind lost in a fog of delight.\n\nThe moment stretches into eternity, king and cub locked in ecstasy.\n\nWhen it finally ebbs, the lion slowly draws himself free, panting, glowing. His member pulls out of her, slippery with come and slobber and traces of blood: the same cocktail that has leaked across the bedspread. He looks down at Sandy; she gazes up weakly with a faint smile. “Did I—Was I a good friend?” she asks faintly.\n\n“The best,” the king tells her truthfully, smiling.\n\nFor a beat, all is still.\n\nThen, all of a sudden, the lion grabs Jake once again and shoves him back to the mattress. “And now it’s your turn, cub,” he hisses, feeling himself rise again even before his last erection has waned. It would have been impossible most any other time, but his feral lust for the second virgin cub barrels through his refractory period and brings him back to firmness in an instant.\n\n“What—What, no! I don’t—I’m a boy—” Jake stammers.\n\n“Of course,” the king agrees, pushing him face first into the slime-covered bed with one paw while the other curls around the cub’s fluffy tail and lifts, hoisting his rear upwards. “All the better, in fact,” he adds, inspecting the boy’s orifice casually—it is cleaned, well-prepared for him, and sinfully pure, a taut pucker hidden in the fur of the snow leopard’s cleft, just beneath the base of his tail.\n\n“I don’t—”\n\n“Quiet.” The king leans forward and pulls Jake’s tail towards him until the two meet, with his muzzle buried deep between the cub’s buttocks. His lion’s tongue finds the child’s anus and toys with it, dancing across the muscle ridges to cover them in slaver, slipping just barely inside to lube the interior of the boy’s ring.\n\nJake is quiet as commanded, but cannot keep from trembling with nervousness, utterly bewildered even as the king’s actions give him an odd pleasure. He looks at his sister, who has replaced him as the curious observer even as semen oozes from between her thighs—she smiles a bratty, knowing smile, a smile that says: now you’ll get yours—\n\nSoon the boy’s tail-hole drips with saliva; the lion licks drool from his fangs and grabs Jake’s hips with both paws. Still keeping him face-down, he drags the cub back into his groin, pushing his legs aside, and mounts him. The gray-spotted tail flops against the king’s chest as his sodden member presses up into Jake’s cleft, the boy’s fur tickling it delightfully until it brushes against his wet backside.\n\n“Relax,” the king commands again, now to this other cub. “It will hurt less if you are calm.”\n\nJake twists, squirms in foolish defiance. “Stop! I don’t want to!”\n\n“This is the last part of the game,” the king says, holding the boy forcefully, broaching no dissent, “and you will play it, as we agreed. Now—be calm, kitten.”\n\nAs he says it, he bears down on the cub’s rear and his slick cock enters, sliding through the taut, drenched orifice and into viscera. Jake yowls in anguish as he is penetrated, the lion’s barbs raking the walls of his insides. His eyes well with tears—his claws grab the sheets frantically—his fangs bite his own tongue and the taste of blood fills his mouth—again and again he cries out as he is stretched to capacity—\n\nIt takes longer to fill the boy than it did for his sister; he is an even more snug fit, the muscles of his rear end gripping the king’s organ like a vice—a spongy, warm vice that the cub’s involuntary spasms only intensify. The king presses deeper, tempering his desire with gentleness, feeling the little child’s tight virgin ass give way before his deliberate, methodical entry.\n\nOnce he is fully inside the cub, the king pauses, petting Jake’s quivering head soothingly, then his sides, his belly. “It will all be fine,” the lion reassures. “Oh, yes—yes, it will be fine—”\n\nHis paw finds the boy’s and brings it to the child’s bowed waist, so his own padded fingers begin to stroke his half-swelled sheath once again. It doesn’t take long before Jake is rubbing himself unassisted, almost subconsciously. Satisfied, the lion re-grips the cub’s s body and begins to move inside him once again, now pumping his slick canal in smooth, slow strokes.\n\nAnd then, a moment later, the king jerks to a halt again and nearly pulls out in surprise. Sandy—! The girl-cub has slipped behind him without his notice, and is nudging up underneath his own tufted tail inquisitively, mimicking how she just saw him treat her brother. She feels him tense, and shrinks away—but no, no, he approves, and nods back to her—and so she resumes, bringing her muzzle beneath his lion’s tail, her whiskers tickling the king’s rear as she explores him.\n\nAnd the erotic tableau is complete: the king lion, mounted over a beautiful snow leopard cub, thrusting deep into him as the youth fondles himself, while the cub’s twin sister, groin still dripping come, rims the lion’s own backside.\n\nThe game has been played perfectly.\n\nThe king bends down and grasps the scruff of Jake’s neck in his jaws as he plunders the cub, for all Thelkas like his feral, four-legged ancestors would when breeding on the savannah plains—and the noises the boy is making do no longer resemble speech, only bestial cries. Driven by the incredible sensation of tongue on his rear, the lion snarls and grabs and shoves and thrusts, thrusts, mating the boy, making him his, feeling the furred skin twist between his fangs as his cock rams deep.\n\nJust like his sister, Jake bleeds where he is violated, a small trickle of red running down his thigh, but neither he nor the king seem to notice, there is only their coitus, their joining in pleasure and pain, the king’s utter power and dominion over his little concubine, and the willing massage of Sandy’s mouth beneath the lion’s tail.\n\nOh, the girl was sweet, but the boy is just as much so—his canal even tighter, his struggles even feistier, his kitten sounds even more piteous—\n\nAnd yet, like his sister, Jake too is doing more than merely protesting. The lion’s member throbbing and thrusting organ inside him brings more than just pain; his pawing at boyhood has produced a cub’s erection, and he is approaching something he has never before known.\n\nThe king is approaching it again, too; his plunging is quicker now, rougher, and somehow sensing it, Sandy’s tongue works faster as well. Moving more and more urgently, his copulation becomes a passionate flurry, his claws biting deep, his growls growing in volume, his flesh sliding against the child’s flesh again and again and again, pressing deep, raping his innocent purity, taking it all— \n\nJake hits his first climax a moment before he is nearly split in half by the king’s final thrust; a bellowing roar is followed by an explosion of sticky fluid into his bowels, and then another. The king’s fangs tear at the cub’s neck, nearly breaking the skin, and his sudden lock-grip on the boy’s body nearly suffocates him. They howl in perfect orgasmic unison, joined in sound and body.\n\nParalyzed in euphoria, the lion clutches the little snow leopard close as rapture flows through him from head to footpaws, nuzzling the child’s neck and ears when it finally begins to fade to afterglow. Even when his peak finally passes, he still waits a moment longer, savoring for the night’s last time the feeling of cub meat on his member. It has been so good…\n\n He withdraws slowly this time, not to shock the boy, and his load follows after, a white, red- streaked waterfall spilling from the cub’s tail-hole. Jake moans at his freedom and flops onto the mattress bonelessly, a worn and sore kitten. Sandy crawls to his side, her giggling at her twin brother’s humiliation tinted with sibling concern.\n\nThe lion reaches down and pets his newly-initiated servants. “I am very pleased with you both,” the king declares regally. “You play the king’s game very well. You have made your families, and Thelkas, proud.”\n\nSuch words from a king are praise beyond description. “Thank you, your Majesty,” Sandy says instantly, her face beaming, and, after a beat, Jake too chokes out, “T-thank you, you—your Majesty.”\n\n“You are welcome,” the king says. “And did you like the game?”\n\nA beat, and then Sandy giggles and nods agreement, and when Jake eventually decides that, yes, he too rather liked it, the king laughs and musses their crown-fur again. “Very good. You will enjoy it even more next time.”\n\n“N-next time?”\n\n“Of course. Welcome to your king’s service, kittens. Your every need will be met here, and we will be good friends, so long as you play my games whenever I wish it. Are we agreed?”\n\nHe is already contemplating that next time as the cubs assent. There is so much more he can do with these two—Sandy still has an untouched backside, for instance, and the possibilities with Jake will only increase as he is trained—perhaps next time, he will bring some toys, or ropes—he wonders if the boy can maintain enough of an erection to mate his twin sister yet—\n\nAnother day, though. “My little friends,” the king says, hugging the children with real affection, perhaps more than he has ever afforded any of his other concubines after their first time with him, “I must leave you for now.” This night, at least, he should sleep by his wife and his unborn son. “Someone will be along to clean you up, and I promise: I will be with you both again very soon.” \n\nHe gathers up his robe and kisses each of the cubs on the forehead one last time. “Thank you,” each murmurs once more, voices he will not forget. Very, very soon, he thinks.\n\nOutside the door, the king’s bodyguard has not budged from his post, but does now, silently following the royal lion as he begins the stroll to his chambers proper. “You know,” the king murmurs thoughtfully aloud as they walk, “you know, Quentin, if that—that—is what I come home to after crushing a rebellion, well, I’m afraid I’m rather looking forward to another one.”\n\nAs usual, Quentin has no reply, and that suits the king just fine.\n\n--", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "The King’s Game

--

Note: This story contains graphic sexuality between adult and juvenile characters. This content is portrayed strictly as fantasy, and the author emphatically neither endorses nor condones child sexual abuse in the real world.

--

It is near sunset when the first herald spots the king’s army in the distance. From high atop the city walls, his trumpet blast—a regal, repeated cadence—echoes through the streets, following by an excited buzz of the populace. Other watchers quickly take up the sound, trumpet by trumpet, until all Thelkas rings with the joyous harbinger of victory.

For it could be nothing else but victory. The king would never have returned home unless the rebels were crushed and subdued—and a swift messenger has brought the news a week before. A triumph will surely follow, and a grand feast throughout the capital—the third in a year. Schemers both domestic and foreign had seen opportunity in the ascension of a young, inexperienced king three years hence, and each in turn paid the price for foolish ambition.

The feline folk of Thelkas crowd the streets and alleys of their city, a furry menagerie of stripes, spots, and solid colors, their din increasing by the minute while the tall gates are unbarred. When they swing open to reveal the army, the explosion of cheers drowns out all conversation as the king leads the column through the gates, tall upon his steed.

He is but twenty-five, this young lion, just twenty-two at his crowning three years hence, seven days after the sickness sent his father to the nether-lands to join the queen. Yet he leads men into battle with the strength and conviction of a grizzled, hardened warrior, and is wise enough to delegate most matters of state to appropriate specialists—an improvement over the old king, who too often took regality to equal expertise in all things.

So Thelkas has largely been spared the recession of regime change, and for it the lion king has the wild love of his people. The soothsayers who had warned of doom at his ascension were finding loopholes in their prophesies, or fast going out of business. And as the king leads his warriors through the Thelkan streets, the deafening roars of approval only seem to grow louder.

The lion is tall with a slender frame that hides lean muscle. His henna-brown mane flows over his shoulders to brush against his chest fur; his tawny coat is healthy and full. In a city of countless mongrels, his leonine blood is pure. Riding through the crowd, handsome in his thin armor, he is the picture of a storybook king and—proving he has not lost all of his father’s arrogance—he knows and happily milks it. There are worst vices than basking in the adoration of a hundred thousand voices.

The head of the column has passed through the market square, and is approaching the city center. Here the parade fractures—soldiers drift off to find their waiting wives and families, while the king’s private detachment enters the palace courtyard, with the king himself at its head. Slowly, the cacophony ebbs in the distance behind them.

“Your Majesty!” Still, the tigress must shout twice to be heard. “Your Majesty!”

With the grace of a Thelkan noble, or for that matter most Thelkans, the lion slips from his horse and greets his grand minister with a crushing hug that would have been highly inappropriate outside the courtyard walls. “Eunice!” he laughs. “Eunice, dear, it was easier than Phynas and Zamberias combined! The grand so-called ‘King’ Liam pissed his pants when we smashed his vanguard, and emptied his own bowels before I could do it for him. We slew ten men for every one we lost!”

Grand Minister Eunice gently pushes herself free—a right she has as one of the king’s oldest friends. “That still means many widows in the capitol tonight,” she said soberly.

The king scowls slightly. “Many more in Aquos.”

“Mourn for them, too. They are also your people.” The tigress is several years the king’s elder, and often watched over him when he was small. A cripple with a severe limp, she makes up for it with a fierce skill in matters of state, and anyone who questions her competence on account of her gender soon finds cause to regret it. “It is not fitting for a king to revel in the duty of bloodshed.”

“Ah, what a killjoy you are, woman.” Stripping off his armor, the lion hands it to a squire while another takes his horse. Bare-chested, he smoothes his ruffled coat. “Tell me: how fares my wife?”

The grand minister’s face does not smile; it rarely does. “The queen sleeps, even through your entrance. Her pregnancy has not been easy.”

“She carries a strong-willed prince in her womb.”

Eunice nods. “If you would have me wake her—”

“Best not.” In the tradition of Thelkas’ royalty, the lion married for blood, not love. He likes his lioness queen well enough, and cares deeply for her welfare (not to mention his child’s,) but it goes no further than that. “She may rest. I am more interested in the, ah, newest addition to my court.”

Now the grand minister does let slip a tiny smile. “I thought you might be. I think you will be pleased with my selection.” Her nose wrinkles. “Your Majesty, beg pardon, but before you see them—"

“—I should rid myself of the stink of travel and horseflesh, aye,” the king laughs. “Have them await me in my personal chambers, then. I know the way to the baths.”

He strolls off through the courtyard. A few of his company begin to follow, but he waves off all but his personal guard, a fierce warrior of a mongrel-cat named Quentin, who, in the good tradition of a king’s personal guard, generally has very little to say.

In the royal bathhouse, the king simmers in the hot water as a buxom masseuse—a serval, by the looks of her, perhaps with a drop of jaguar in those ghosts of rosettes—works the kinks of battle and travel from his muscles. She would do more, he knew—she would do anything, if he desired it—but his intentions lie elsewhere. A thrill of anticipation smolders in his mind at the thought.

Once clean and dried, his scent accented with a light splash of oils, the king pauses in front of a reflecting pool, examining his naked form, sleek yet powerful, his tufted tail reflexively curling around his legs. He smoothes his fur again and flashes his own reflection a grin of bright-white fangs. “Let’s see just what dear Eunice has found me,” he tells himself, chuckling.

Slipping a violet robe over himself, he exits the bath and walks to his personal chambers, deliberately forcing himself to check his eagerness. Quentin follows him silently. The room, a separate one from that which he shares with the queen, is not far. “The door,” he tells Quentin simply, and the guard dutifully posts himself.

Breathing deeply, the king lion enters.

The two cubs are sitting on the bed in the candlelit chamber, and spin at the sound of the door. They scramble to their footpaws, then kneel in front of him. “Your Majesty,” they both intone, voices an equal light pitch and clean timbre.

“You may rise,” the king says softly, kindly. “Stand up. Let me see you.”

It is instantly clear that the two are twins, a boy and girl—snow leopards, as close to full-blooded as makes no difference, white and gray with dusky rosettes, fluffy coats and long, thickly furred tails. Each wears only clean white undergarments: breeches and a light shirt. On each a shock of silver crown-fur spills across the brow, and, in the girl’s case, down her neck. From bright, innocent faces, blue eyes stare up with expressions of wonder.

Oh, well done, grand minister, the lion thinks. The tradition of cub concubines is one of the oldest in the kingdom, and one the king delights in. One of his harem’s females—a caracal mix—reached her blood just before the rebellion, and was dismissed to the many opportunities that await those who have served royalty. It had been Eunice’s job to find a fresh replacement, and she had outdone herself.

The king himself kneels, to be of a height with the children. “You are very lovely, both of you,” he says. “Tell me, how old are you?”

“Nine,” they respond, again in unison. With a note of pride, the boy adds, “And a month!”

“And a month,” the lion agrees, smiling warmly. He ruffles the boy’s crownfur. “Very good! And what is your name?”

“Jake,” the little snow leopard proclaims. “My sister is—”

“Sandy, your Majesty.”

“Oh, Sandy, there’s no need for that! I’m not really your king here—I’m your friend.” He rests a paw on each of their shoulders, and tells them to call him by his own name. “You do want to be my friend, right?”

Their faces light up—friends with a king? “Yes!”

“Good!” The king gives each shoulder an affirmative grasp. “Do you like to play games with your friends, Jake and Sandy?”

“Yes!” they say again, and this time it is Sandy who continues, “We play tag, and chivy—”

“—marbles, knucklebones, draughts—”

“—the ring toss, I beat Jake every time—”

“Liar! You do not! You—”

“Stop, stop!” the king laughs. He likes these two very much already; they will be great sport. “Yes, those are all fine games for little cubs. But, nine and a month—I thought you weren’t so little anymore?”

“No!” they both explode, talking over each other in their excitement. “No, we’re not, we’re not little, we’re grown up, nearly!”

The lion smirks—it is too easy. Some kings liked their cubs pre-trained; he prefers the satisfaction of grooming his own quarry. “If you’re going to be friends with a grown king, you must play grown-up games,” he tells them. “Are you certain you are ready for those?”

The snow leopard cubs almost fall over themselves declaring that they are.

“Then I will teach you,” the king says. “But only if you do everything I say. Do you promise to do everything I say?” Again, a flurry of agreement. “Good. Then follow me.”

He takes Sandy’s paw first, delighting in the feel of her soft, fluff-covered pads against his own, and leads her to the bed.  Sitting, he lifts her onto his lap, facing him, her tight buttocks resting on his thighs. The proximity of her young groin to his is already stirring him, but he holds back. “Grown-up friends’ games start with a kiss,” the king tells her, and leans down to kiss her—first on the pink of her nose, then on the mouth.

She instinctively resists, then remembers her promise and relaxes just enough. His paws grip her thin waist lightly as the kiss becomes deeper, the lion pushing his large tongue into the kitten’s mouth, wrapping it around hers, taking his first taste of his new toy. After a moment, she begins to kiss him back, clumsily, almost absurdly, yet the effort pleases him.

He takes her paws and places them on his own torso, at the same time pulling her tongue into his own maw, caressing it instructively. Slowly, she begins to learn, mirroring him when he brings a paw to her head, running her fingers through his mane. The king pulls the cub closer towards him and presses the kiss back into her mouth, harder than before, his tongue brushing past her tiny fangs. Beneath his robe, he feels himself beginning to rise.

A few feet away, Jake giggles. “That’s silly!” he declares.

In an instant he king releases the girl. “Not for grown-ups,” he says, and pushes Sandy aside. Jake yelps as a leonine paw grabs his arm and pulls the little cub close. “If you’re grown, act like it,” the king orders, hoisting the snow leopard onto the mattress and pinning him down against it, then forcefully pressing his muzzle against the boy’s.

Jake takes longer to break than Sandy, his small body squirming beneath the king’s, which only excites the lion more as he takes the cub’s mouth for his own. The king’s paws roam the little leopard’s body, claws leaving gashes in his clothing but only gently scratching beneath his fur, along his stomach and chest, behind his ears. Gradually his resistance slackens, panicked whines turning to contented purrs through a maw filled with lion-tongue.

This kitten’s flavor is just different enough from his sister’s, and the king takes his time enjoying it, hungry saliva flooding from his own mouth to fill the boy’s. What an honor for these children, the lion thinks, for such passionate first-ever kisses to come from the maw of a king… He is purring now himself, deep in his throat, a growing purr of desire to match his swelling member.

With a fierce tug, his claws shred what remains of the cub’s shirt and cast them aside. Jake makes a half-hearted attempt to scramble free, but is quickly re-pinned to the mattress by two strong leonine paws.

“I think your sister is better than you, cub,” the king rumbles. “Sandy—come here.” Obediently, she comes. “Show Jake how a grown-up kisses.”

The girl-cub hesitates, adorable in her childish bewilderment. “But he—he’s my brother.”

“It’s just a game, Sandy and I’m winning. We kissed, you and I, and I kissed him. Two for me, one for each of you. Unless you two kiss, I win the first round. Of course, if you like to lose…”

“No!” Her spirit flares again and she bounds onto the bed. Smiling, the king makes way as she straddles her bare-chested brother on all fours. “Come on, Jake, we—”

But Jake’s own competitive fire has been stoked, and it’s him who attacks with a snarl, launching himself upwards and into her. Brother and sister roll along the bed and crash into the headboard with Jake atop, his fangs locked against Sandy’s, his furred chest against her shirt.

The two cubs slaver against each other inelegantly, their youthful inexperience on full display. They grab and roll, petite bodies pressed together, wrestling with paws and maws alike, mewing and mewling their kitten noises of exertion. Long, furry tails flop and tangle behind them, wrapping around each other and themselves like scarves.

Yes, the lion thinks, yes, they learn! His paw slips beneath his robe, finds his engorged manhood and strokes it gently, watching the children play at lovemaking. Soon, soon they will know what it truly means...

Time to move forward. “You are both skilled at this,” he declares. “But it’s time for a real challenge.”

Both pause and look up at their Thelkan king. He holds up the tatters of Jake’s ruined undershirt, grinning. “I have a special prize… for whichever of you does this to the other’s garments first.”

A beat, then Jake yowls a feline yowl and tears into his sister’s shirt. Before she can even react, he has leveled the playing field, leaving them both bare above the torso. Matching gray and white fur crashes together, each cub twisting to try to get at the other’s breeches. It doesn’t take long before the rips and tears add up and each pair of pants simultaneously pulls free of their legs.

A beat, a lull. The siblings glance at themselves, then at the king, confused—who won?

The king drinks in the sight of the nine-year-old cubs’ naked forms splayed across his bed in the candlelight. Even undressed, they look much alike: two elfin bodies in luscious, thick mottled-gray coats that draw out into their bushy tails. Beneath her chest fur, Sandy’s breasts are no more developed than her brother’s, her nipples no larger either; though down below her waist, her skinny thighs meet at a taut mound, where Jake’s find his boyhood, sheath and small, fur-covered stones.

The lion licks his lips in anticipation. They are perfect—innocent, pure little cherubs, his to use.

Stalking forward on the bed towards them on all fours like a feral hunting beast, the king lets his robe slip from his shoulders, exposing to his charges their master’s full tawny splendor. “You both win,” he proclaims, and grasps each by the chest, pulling them together. With each paw, he begins tickling the cubs’ stomachs, sending them into instant conniptions and convulsions. Their flailing footpaws strike him lightly, but his grip allows neither to escape, keeps them firmly in his power.

Soon he slips lower. His right paw finds Jake’s furred sack and begins to massage it lightly, fingers fondling him, brushing his undeveloped sheath to a slight swell, claws dancing gingerly across the skin; the boy stops squirming and begins softly moaning instead. And soon his left paw extracts the same sound from Sandy, brushing across her firm child’s vulva, each finger in turn sliding through her slit to dance across her pleasure spot, then rubbing her mound with the whole paw.

Looming over their quivering bodies, the king savors the snow leopard cubs’ dual expressions of mixed enjoyment and trepidation, eyes shut and whiskers trembling as he toys with their young privates. He lowers his maw to Sandy’s face and licks it slowly. “You are mine,” he whispers, stroking her harder, letting a finger stray to flick across her rear to incite another tiny shiver. He moves down her body, burying his muzzle in her coat, filling his nose with the scent of her fur and her fear and her delight.

His right paw closes on the base of Jake’s sheath and tugs gently, giving the boy no choice but to let himself be dragged underneath. The king pushes the cub’s head downwards until his tiny muzzle is parallel with the lion’s thick, pulsing cock. Jake’s blue eyes widen at the sight—surely he has never before seen anything like the huge, finely barbed, deep-pink organ that now brushes against his whiskers.

“Lick,” the lion commands. “Lick it, kitten.”

It has gone too far for protest. Whimpering, the boy-cub obeys; his tentative, wet tongue comes forth to lap at the king’s manhood. Then he licks a second time, and a third. He has never played this strange game, this innocent child, but his role is becoming clear to him. A new, strangely alluring taste fills him and intensifies his tongue’s caresses as he grips the lion’s thighs with tiny claws. Up and down the thick shaft he slides, washing it in the warm juices of his mouth.

Only a soft grunt escapes the king, who revels in the fantastic sensation of youthful tongue on his member, but never pauses his amusement with the boy’s sister. His nibbles follow the slight curve of Sandy’s body down to where her legs meet, where her prepubescent sex awaits his pleasure. With both paws, the king gently pushes the cub’s legs apart and surveys her slit approvingly. For all his paw’s attention, she is immature and so barely wet. He can remedy that.

Sandy gasps when the king’s own tongue reaches her mound and begins its work, a short, “oh!” and then again in a sigh, quavering as her vulva is bathed in liquid. The cub may not have flowered, but she still has a woman’s sensations, and the king knows well how to trigger those. His thumbs spread her tight labial lips and he presses between with his maw, nuzzling fiercely against her most sensitive spot; she cries out again and reactively grabs two pawfuls of his mane, shuddering as this new delight takes her.

And meanwhile her brother licks and licks at the rod of lion-meat, flicking across the glans to taste a tiny bead of leaked secretion. He is acclimating to the contest now, learning his place, and somehow this savory flavor instructs him: he must do more, extract more. His maw wraps around the tip of the lion and slowly begins to suck, stroking the skin with saliva and tongue and lips, laboring to extract more precious droplets.

Rumbling with approval, the king pushes back, suddenly forcing his cock deep into the little cub’s gullet. Jake gags briefly on the hot flesh filling his throat, stretching his jaw—too much!—but no, somehow he manages to take it in, to recover. Embarrassed, he sucks at the lion’s manhood slowly at first, molding it to his mouth soaking wet with desire. Then he moves faster, eagerly, greedily, drawing forth more hints of royal essence, happily pleasing his new master.

Every flash of ecstasy Jake delivers seems to pass through the king’s body and into Sandy, who squirms and quavers and mews out wordless cries of joy. She presses into the lion as he presses into her brother, tugging the king’s mane, gripping at his ears, every gesture begging for more, more of his tongue, more of his forays deeper into her preteen vagina.

Slowly, the candles burn lower.

The king’s lust is raging wildly by now; breathing heavily, throatily, it is all he can do not to lose all control and complete his conquest in a rapacious frenzy—but no, no, careful, the children must not be harmed, not too badly, and if he loses his senses, he might do anything—

But he can wait no longer. “Enough,” he tells Jake, “enough! Release me.”

He has other need of his manhood now. Letting it slip free of his maw, the boy looks up questioningly from underneath him. “You are an excellent friend,” the king praises, “and you have done well. Now—” he gestures to the side—“you will watch.”

For his labor on Sandy has not been for her pleasure alone. Her cub’s vulva lies dripping with his maw’s fluids, bare and beckoning to him to be taken. Gradually he raises himself upwards along her, his paws moving from her legs to her hips to beneath her arms, his ocher-furred thighs pushing hers further apart, until he looks down from above her with his saliva-soaked cock brushing against her maddeningly tempting groin. “And now, you—you must relax for me.”

Sandy’s angelic face is filled with confusion. “Why? What happens now?”

“I will show you,” the lion murmurs soothingly. “It may hurt just a little. I need you to be brave for your king—for your friend. Can you be brave for me, my cub?”

She hesitates, then nods. He smiles and kisses her forelock gently. “Good. Now breathe relax... yes, that’s a good girl…”

His paws grip her small, furry shoulders and press them against the mattress; her tail flicks wildly against his backside teasingly. His manhood is rubbing against her wet slit, back and forth between her splayed legs, tantalizing in the promise of what is now so close... Sandy writhes in his grasp helplessly, involuntarily as for the first time she feels a male press into her…

The cub’s folds swallow the king’s tip, and then more of him; he pushes slowly but firmly, further inside her. He takes her virgin’s membrane in an instant—Sandy yelps in pain as it rips, arching her back, jerking against his hold; he feels a stream of blood flow across his member and his balls. He lowers his muzzle and clamps it on hers in a violent kiss to silence her, slipping deeper inside, feeling her little body swallow him more and more—

Gods above, she is so tight—so pure and untouched, unripe yet so delicious to pluck—the lion’s claws bite her skin and pull her back into him, forcing her onto his meat, fitting his piece to hers—her firm warmth fully enveloping him, immersing him in a pleasure that washes over his entire self—

“I—” Sandy whimpers, tears brimming in her eyes. “I don’t—I—ah—”

“Hush,“ the king tells her, “hush, my kitten—oh, you are so good, so delicious—“

He takes her fully now as she wriggles and mews and moans against him, stretching her, mating her, his fine-grained barbs stroking her as he slides through her again and again. Growling, the lion nuzzles deep into the girl’s neck-fur to take her scent, the feline musk of his child lover, his prisoner, his victim, his prey. His sharp fangs clamp down on her throat—gently, only gently, and yet they hold her very life—one crunch, if he so chose—

From beside them, Jake stares with intense fascination as the king breeds his twin sister. It swells something in him, something repressed by his youth, but something that nonetheless compels him—his paw goes to his own boyhood, where the king’s had touched him—he rubs, fondles himself, watching as his king and his sister do their strange dance.

The king has brought many a Thelkan cub to bed, but perhaps none sweeter than this little snow leopard girl, this beautiful, delectable cherub whom he fills with his leonine virility, sinning her, initiating her into his domain of carnality. She is amazing—cute, soft and shy, yet spirited, feisty, as even now she writhes upon him, hissing, snarling, crying out at his every thrust—

But the cries are changing, and so is the writhing—Sandy is no longer pulling away; perhaps without even realizing it, she is embracing his force, moving along with him. He is nearly twice her size and still well in command, but the dynamic has changed—pleasure is overtaking pain for her, the two mingling to flood her senses, erase her control, numb her very sense of being.

“That’s right, little kitten,” the lion growls hungrily, knowing. “That’s right, you love this—come on, purr for me, purr!”

He shoves deep inside her again, more ferociously than before, pressing her lithe body back into the headboard, where he holds her, dominating her, his thick, dripping erection claiming her for his own. Again and again he plunges through her snug, warm cub insides, now himself panting, chuffing, growling to match the noises she gives him.

She shudders violently, gasping out a squeal, “yes, yes—gods, yes—”

The king snarls agreement. He licks her face again, rapidly now, his tongue possessively stroking over her kitten features, the dominance bringing him to the edge of his pleasure. His paws grab her waist and impale her upon him to the very hilt, extracting a small shriek, the final stroke lighting fireworks in his brain, sending him over the edge—

Then he is roaring and spraying, and roaring again, and spraying again, erupting from both maw and cock, clutching the leopard child to his chest as he pumps his hot seed deep within her. His orgasm’s bliss splashes over him, washing the room into a whirl of colors—it is the highest peak he has ever known, a rapture beyond imagination, exploding from him into this little girl, his little cub, his little conquest.

And Sandy clutches him back, mingling her coat in his, feeling his ejaculate splash her interior as she is rocked by her own first-ever climax. Her entire groin clenches around him even tighter, squeezing out every drop of his essence, her mind lost in a fog of delight.

The moment stretches into eternity, king and cub locked in ecstasy.

When it finally ebbs, the lion slowly draws himself free, panting, glowing. His member pulls out of her, slippery with come and slobber and traces of blood: the same cocktail that has leaked across the bedspread. He looks down at Sandy; she gazes up weakly with a faint smile. “Did I—Was I a good friend?” she asks faintly.

“The best,” the king tells her truthfully, smiling.

For a beat, all is still.

Then, all of a sudden, the lion grabs Jake once again and shoves him back to the mattress. “And now it’s your turn, cub,” he hisses, feeling himself rise again even before his last erection has waned. It would have been impossible most any other time, but his feral lust for the second virgin cub barrels through his refractory period and brings him back to firmness in an instant.

“What—What, no! I don’t—I’m a boy—” Jake stammers.

“Of course,” the king agrees, pushing him face first into the slime-covered bed with one paw while the other curls around the cub’s fluffy tail and lifts, hoisting his rear upwards. “All the better, in fact,” he adds, inspecting the boy’s orifice casually—it is cleaned, well-prepared for him, and sinfully pure, a taut pucker hidden in the fur of the snow leopard’s cleft, just beneath the base of his tail.

“I don’t—”

“Quiet.” The king leans forward and pulls Jake’s tail towards him until the two meet, with his muzzle buried deep between the cub’s buttocks. His lion’s tongue finds the child’s anus and toys with it, dancing across the muscle ridges to cover them in slaver, slipping just barely inside to lube the interior of the boy’s ring.

Jake is quiet as commanded, but cannot keep from trembling with nervousness, utterly bewildered even as the king’s actions give him an odd pleasure. He looks at his sister, who has replaced him as the curious observer even as semen oozes from between her thighs—she smiles a bratty, knowing smile, a smile that says: now you’ll get yours—

Soon the boy’s tail-hole drips with saliva; the lion licks drool from his fangs and grabs Jake’s hips with both paws. Still keeping him face-down, he drags the cub back into his groin, pushing his legs aside, and mounts him. The gray-spotted tail flops against the king’s chest as his sodden member presses up into Jake’s cleft, the boy’s fur tickling it delightfully until it brushes against his wet backside.

“Relax,” the king commands again, now to this other cub. “It will hurt less if you are calm.”

Jake twists, squirms in foolish defiance. “Stop! I don’t want to!”

“This is the last part of the game,” the king says, holding the boy forcefully, broaching no dissent, “and you will play it, as we agreed. Now—be calm, kitten.”

As he says it, he bears down on the cub’s rear and his slick cock enters, sliding through the taut, drenched orifice and into viscera. Jake yowls in anguish as he is penetrated, the lion’s barbs raking the walls of his insides. His eyes well with tears—his claws grab the sheets frantically—his fangs bite his own tongue and the taste of blood fills his mouth—again and again he cries out as he is stretched to capacity—

It takes longer to fill the boy than it did for his sister; he is an even more snug fit, the muscles of his rear end gripping the king’s organ like a vice—a spongy, warm vice that the cub’s involuntary spasms only intensify. The king presses deeper, tempering his desire with gentleness, feeling the little child’s tight virgin ass give way before his deliberate, methodical entry.

Once he is fully inside the cub, the king pauses, petting Jake’s quivering head soothingly, then his sides, his belly. “It will all be fine,” the lion reassures. “Oh, yes—yes, it will be fine—”

His paw finds the boy’s and brings it to the child’s bowed waist, so his own padded fingers begin to stroke his half-swelled sheath once again. It doesn’t take long before Jake is rubbing himself unassisted, almost subconsciously. Satisfied, the lion re-grips the cub’s s body and begins to move inside him once again, now pumping his slick canal in smooth, slow strokes.

And then, a moment later, the king jerks to a halt again and nearly pulls out in surprise. Sandy—! The girl-cub has slipped behind him without his notice, and is nudging up underneath his own tufted tail inquisitively, mimicking how she just saw him treat her brother. She feels him tense, and shrinks away—but no, no, he approves, and nods back to her—and so she resumes, bringing her muzzle beneath his lion’s tail, her whiskers tickling the king’s rear as she explores him.

And the erotic tableau is complete: the king lion, mounted over a beautiful snow leopard cub, thrusting deep into him as the youth fondles himself, while the cub’s twin sister, groin still dripping come, rims the lion’s own backside.

The game has been played perfectly.

The king bends down and grasps the scruff of Jake’s neck in his jaws as he plunders the cub, for all Thelkas like his feral, four-legged ancestors would when breeding on the savannah plains—and the noises the boy is making do no longer resemble speech, only bestial cries.  Driven by the incredible sensation of tongue on his rear, the lion snarls and grabs and shoves and thrusts, thrusts, mating the boy, making him his, feeling the furred skin twist between his fangs as his cock rams deep.

Just like his sister, Jake bleeds where he is violated, a small trickle of red running down his thigh, but neither he nor the king seem to notice, there is only their coitus, their joining in pleasure and pain, the king’s utter power and dominion over  his little concubine, and the willing massage of Sandy’s mouth beneath the lion’s tail.

Oh, the girl was sweet, but the boy is just as much so—his canal even tighter, his struggles even feistier, his kitten sounds even more piteous—

And yet, like his sister, Jake too is doing more than merely protesting. The lion’s member throbbing and thrusting organ inside him brings more than just pain; his pawing at boyhood has produced a cub’s erection, and he is approaching something he has never before known.

The king is approaching it again, too; his plunging is quicker now, rougher, and somehow sensing it, Sandy’s tongue works faster as well. Moving more and more urgently, his copulation becomes a passionate flurry, his claws biting deep, his growls growing in volume, his flesh sliding against the child’s flesh again and again and again, pressing deep, raping his innocent purity, taking it all—

Jake hits his first climax a moment before he is nearly split in half by the king’s final thrust; a bellowing roar is followed by an explosion of sticky fluid into his bowels, and then another. The king’s fangs tear at the cub’s neck, nearly breaking the skin, and his sudden lock-grip on the boy’s body nearly suffocates him. They howl in perfect orgasmic unison, joined in sound and body.

Paralyzed in euphoria, the lion clutches the little snow leopard close as rapture flows through him from head to footpaws, nuzzling the child’s neck and ears when it finally begins to fade to afterglow. Even when his peak finally passes, he still waits a moment longer, savoring for the night’s last time the feeling of cub meat on his member. It has been so good…

 He withdraws slowly this time, not to shock the boy, and his load follows after, a white, red- streaked waterfall spilling from the cub’s tail-hole. Jake moans at his freedom and flops onto the mattress bonelessly, a worn and sore kitten. Sandy crawls to his side, her giggling at her twin brother’s humiliation tinted with sibling concern.

The lion reaches down and pets his newly-initiated servants. “I am very pleased with you both,” the king declares regally. “You play the king’s game very well. You have made your families, and Thelkas, proud.”

Such words from a king are praise beyond description. “Thank you, your Majesty,” Sandy says instantly, her face beaming, and, after a beat, Jake too chokes out, “T-thank you, you—your Majesty.”

“You are welcome,” the king says. “And did you like the game?”

A beat, and then Sandy giggles and nods agreement, and when Jake eventually decides that, yes, he too rather liked it, the king laughs and musses their crown-fur again. “Very good. You will enjoy it even more next time.”

“N-next time?”

“Of course. Welcome to your king’s service, kittens. Your every need will be met here, and we will be good friends, so long as you play my games whenever I wish it. Are we agreed?”

He is already contemplating that next time as the cubs assent. There is so much more he can do with these two—Sandy still has an untouched backside, for instance, and the possibilities with Jake will only increase as he is trained—perhaps next time, he will bring some toys, or ropes—he wonders if the boy can maintain enough of an erection to mate his twin sister yet—

Another day, though. “My little friends,” the king says, hugging the children with real affection, perhaps more than he has ever afforded any of his other concubines after their first time with him, “I must leave you for now.” This night, at least, he should sleep by his wife and his unborn son. “Someone will be along to clean you up, and I promise: I will be with you both again very soon.”

He gathers up his robe and kisses each of the cubs on the forehead one last time. “Thank you,” each murmurs once more, voices he will not forget. Very, very soon, he thinks.

Outside the door, the king’s bodyguard has not budged from his post, but does now, silently following the royal lion as he begins the stroll to his chambers proper. “You know,” the king murmurs thoughtfully aloud as they walk, “you know, Quentin, if that—that—is what I come home to after crushing a rebellion, well, I’m afraid I’m rather looking forward to another one.”

As usual, Quentin has no reply, and that suits the king just fine.

--", "pools_count": 0, "title": "The King's Game", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "image/png", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "5", "views": "2870" }