# Moonlight

* * * * *

The boar grunted nervously, his shoulders pressed against the creaking pole of his market stall. It was early yet, the broad street still sleepy with only the occasional vendor puttering about. Nobody paid each other any mind at this hour, a welcome blessing for the portly farmer that Amaeru had cornered.

The panther boy knelt under the lip of the stall, careful to keep his ear-tips from view as he nuzzled against the scratchy wool of the old boar's dirt-smeared tunic. Farmers could not afford fine clothes for market day, let alone the attention of a perfectly manicured young feline boy. The boar traded his potatoes and carrots for copper and silver; the city's brothels would demand gold for service like this.

"Be quick about it." The farmer snorted, his face a motley of pink and brown. He was already beading with sweat.

The kitten was naked, save for a thin leather shoulder strap to hang his purse. A purse full of silver he was *supposed* to spend on goods. But sly Amaeru was an expert trader, always looking for transactions where each party left with more than they gave. Silver was lacking that nuance: it was worth the same to everyone.

Amaeru pulled the front of that ratty tunic up so he could huff against the moist pink flesh of the boar's cock. The fat old man had already been working for hours, carting his goods in from the outskirts. His crotch stank of his farm, of beasts of burden, of soil and sweat.

The panther loved learning a man's life--his struggles and frustrations, his fleeting joys--through his scent. This poor farmer hadn't felt his wife's body in weeks. Amaeru's soft, tender paws were a delicacy, stroking so lovingly along the fast-swelling sausage. He took such pride in showing low men what it meant to be worshipped. He didn't have to look up to know the wide-eyed expression the boar wore. Who would believe a boy his age would beg to do this for a man like him?

His tongue swiped gently against the roll of foreskin, tasting the sticky fluid of his mark's need. His nose wrinkled, the smell of unwashed dick briefly overwhelming as he tugged it back with his delicate paws. He bathed it with spit, lapping over the plump round head with deft attention until it shone in the dim morning light.

He wasn't being quick about it. The boar kept impatiently pawing at his ear, though Amaeru ignored him. He reveled in inflicting this mixture of fear and frustration. The farmer didn't want to be discovered, and yet, he wanted everything Amaeru was giving. This was his one moment to relax, to be treated like royalty. He didn't *really* want it to end, did he?

Amaeru stroked the fistful of cock, feeling it spread his little fingers apart. Such an impressive tool gone unused! He couldn't even clasp his forefinger and thumb around it. 

He dipped his nose under it and kissed the pendulous sack that held his prize. The skin was wrinkled and roughly bristled, almost spiny against his adoring muzzle. Despite that, he curled his tongue under each oval, inviting them one at a time into his mouth, where he could pray in earnest for what he wanted.

The boar grunted loudly, his cock drooling a long thread of pre that smeared over Amaeru's forehead and ears. The panther never missed a beat, kneading and stroking just fast enough to keep him interested, but never quite enough to let him off. Those snorts and oinks resonated with frustration, perhaps even anger! A sharp yank at one of his ears commanded him to get to the point.

The tiny wooden stool creaked in protest as Amaeru dove deeper, draping the sweaty sack of skin over his muzzle-bridge and lashing his tongue against the pig's taint. Salty flecks stained his tongue and the farmer's musk filled his buried nose. The little panther's chest swelled with excitement, knees digging into the dirt to brace as he took one lungful after another, no longer caring for the noise of his own desperation.

He had lost track of his paws and they had sought their own reward: they jerked at the bouncing cock without restraint, tugging it taut and rolling it back furiously. "Ah! AH!" The farmer was trying to be subtle, but his pre had already run a river down the boy's palms and wrists. The open-aired stall reeked of his arousal. The kitten's hungry tongue, so deeply hidden from view, jabbed him incessantly now.

"Boy!" He hissed through blunt teeth, but it was too late. Flopping with each stroke, his reddened head twitched anew. Amaeru could feel the hot sack covering his eyes retreat against the boar's bulky body. He licked as far as he could reach, his muzzle pinned on either side by the vice of those bulging thighs.

Spunk draped over his ears and neck. He couldn't see it or smell it or taste it, but he could feel it oozing between his fingers. He wanted to pull back, to enjoy the fruit of his labor, but nothing about the boar's weight would allow it. He mewled helplessly, nuzzling under those productive balls and kissing where he could, feeling spurt after spurt go wasted down his back and chest.

His hunger rumbled somewhere deep. *Good boy.* Even if his belly was left unsatisfied, the warmth of it on his skin gave him *such* satisfaction. His prim fur soaked it in, matting down where it had traveled, glistening with pride. The filthy old boar may not have seen it this way, but Amaeru had just been paid.


* * * * *

Commoners his age rarely wore clothes. Only wealthy nobles could afford new finery every few months to keep a growing boy covered. Besides, there was no shame in practicality. Amaeru exalted in the sticky stains of his morning activity, his muzzle preening accomplishment as he rolled his cart of produce through the now-busy market square.

What passerby would bother to guess what he had been up to? And if they had imagined it, that thought would sit like a seed in their mind. Planted, ready for his timeless god *Ji-Mugral* to germinate and bloom, feeding off another wicked creature's frustrations and suggesting--without subtlety--that they too should feel entitled to a panther boy's talents.

If he concentrated, he could feel where his god had taken root. He could follow those invisible rivers of black ooze and see which creatures were already hopelessly entangled in its lust. He knew they would give him *anything* he desired. But from experience, he also knew they would not satisfy his hunger. He was created to feed on those who did not know what they wanted. To teach them to want him.

And so he had left the boar in his stall, panting and spent. *Ji-Mugral* would fester inside the farmer. In time, the pig would take from others, inflicting his newfound lust and spreading their great evil. The panther boy's bleached white teeth gleamed proudly at that, his tongue sliding across them to remember the old man's taste.

Still a mile from the tavern he had adopted for a home, Amaeru observed the waking city around him. He had *existed* here for months, now. He had grown familiar with the narrowly-packed clay buildings and dirt alleys between them. The city thrived with life: thousands of people, each with their own web of desires and tribulations. Traders, guards, nobility, farmers, musicians, travelers, even adventurers mingled here.

But Amaeru was not convinced any of it was real. Had he imagined it all, an afterlife of pleasures of his own design? And if so, why was it all so unfamiliar to him? Beyond the occasional whisper of encouragement, *Ji-Mugral* had been pointedly silent since the day he had claimed the boy as his avatar. And unlike Amaeru's previous fantasy, the boy didn't seem to have any power to change or manifest his reality here.

He didn't linger on the question long, enjoying the spring breeze through his fur. Real or not, this was a pleasant place to spend his time. The people were easy to tempt. He had yet to bore of finding new marks to corrupt, day after day. He had grown an expert at sniffing out each victim's insecurity and mending it with pleasure.

And while every victim gave him some sliver of satisfaction, none of them truly dispelled his cravings. Something was missing here.

"You're late again, child." The tavern keep was a towering bear with ashen-grey fur.

"I can make it up you, Bargub!" Amaeru offered coyly, though the effect was muted by his struggle to shove the loaded cart through the pantry door.

"I don't run a brothel." The kind old bear was untainted and, as far as Amaeru could tell, unassailable. Bargub was alone, happily fulfilled running this humble tavern. He never gave the boy a hint of interest. The panther wondered if this was his actual task here: to figure out how to twist this frustrating paragon.

He hoped not. He could feel *Ji-Mugral*'s frustration alongside his own, when staring up at the fatherly bear. But Bargub had taken him in without question. He had cared for him, fed him (Amaeru didn't need to eat but obediently finished his meals regardless), bathed him, and given him a clean cot to sleep on. He had asked nothing in return, so Amaeru labored to show his gratitude.

The insatiable young panther pranced about his tasks with an overeager imagination. He certainly wouldn't say no if Bargub woke up one day and decided he wanted more from him than simple chores and waiting tables. He just wouldn't push the same way he did with his other victims. If the old bear was happy in his chastity, Amaeru wanted him to be happy.

Besides, a tavern was an idyllic place to find less scrupulous patrons. Bargub didn't *think* he ran a brothel. Amaeru knew better: tired travelers and drunk adventurers made easy targets for a shameless kitten on a mission.

* * * * *

That night, Amaeru brushed tail-to-ankle along the crowded tables, plucking coins and depositing ale. A local bard had begged his way to the corner stage, flailing a harp with middling skill. *The Bubbling Pot* overflowed with conversation, whispers and boasts from all species of clientele. 

"And when I landed, I cut the mongrel in half!" A voice roared above the din. Amaeru slipped toward the laughter and cheers radiating from a successful story. It was only seconds before the predictable chorus emerged:

"Another round for Moonlight!"

Would-be heroes were a common sight at any tavern. True or not, a grand story could inspire all kinds of benefits, drinks being the most mundane among them. Most heroes were formulaic and easy to please, almost a boredom for a talented whore. But occasionally, a seasoned veteran would make for a decadent meal.

Amaeru popped his black-furred head out between the gathered fans, his arms cradling three sloshing flagons.

"Another round, boys!" He winked as if performing a magic trick, thudding each onto the table in front of the so-called Moonlight. The crowd cheered almost as excitedly as they had for their hero. The little panther glowed from the momentary attention, paying particular mind to the eyes that lingered longer than they ought to've.

They were all so very predictable.

*But who was this Moonlight, anyway?* Amaeru craned over the table to shove one of the vessels toward the imposing silver dragonkin. He was relaxed, one arm thrown over the back of his seat and a furred cloak draped haphazardly over the other. A great axe leaned against the wall behind him, the instrument of his wondrous story.

His chest was broad and bare, silver scales glowing in the firelight. A leather loincloth was all the decency the barbarian could muster, and even then it left very little to the imagination. Moonlight had a great deal to boast about. And as he boasted, the wide barrel of his muscled gut quaked with mirth. This was a man that looked like he could have done everything he claimed.

*You must have him.* The hunger laughed at him. The boy flicked his ears in contempt, realizing it was right. Amaeru had grown used to being the object of desire. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so intent on something as he did the chance to kneel in front of this dragonkin.

"Not now." He mumbled his frustration, wishing suddenly that all the excitable patrons would finish their drinks and call it an early night. Of course, there was no such luck to be had. The tavern blustered for hours at night. Hours of listening to that dim-witted hero brag about past conquests and exotic prizes. Hours of inventing the ways *he* wanted to *be* that overconfident warrior's prize. 

* * * * *

Luckily, Bargub didn't require the kitten to work any longer than he chose, and when the impressive silver-scaled barbarian finally stumbled his way outside, his shadow looked decidedly feline.

Amaeru danced on his toes in the dark alley, prowling a stone's throw behind the lumbering beast. He flinched when the dragonkin belched an intense white flame. Something about the shine of light against the array of Moonlight's teeth made the kitten's spine go soft.

Steps later, the barbarian chose a wall and leaned his elbow up against it, grudgingly squaring his boots and glancing in either direction. Amaeru scampered to his knees behind a nearby stoop, peering at his prize: the dragonkin's loincloth was tugged to the side with practiced ease, letting the dark black brick of flesh it had been taunting him with all night hang free in the air. 

Amaeru hadn't realized but his paws were already kneading at his own delicate sheath. Hardly large enough to be noticed at his age, but refusing to be ignored in the moment. He rolled it back and forth, pumping his fingers along what little he had to play with and trying not to purr.

Not that noise seemed to be a concern for the warrior. Hefting his axe against his shoulders, he groaned a fruitful sigh of relief. Untouched and unaimed, his thick black length spat a healthy river of shimmering fluid against the clay wall.

*You are such a predictable child.* It was laughing at him, again. Amaeru hunched over his paws, whimpering at the accusation. He couldn't fool his god, who fed on his every desire. It knew how he wanted to be pinned against that wall, to taste and smell what he could only watch from this vantage.

His need was echoed in the whispered voice of his god. *It belongs to us, just take it!*

And yet, he stayed where he was. He huffed over his furious little motions, glancing between his task and the magnificent dragonkin that had a full barrel of frothy ale to empty into the alley. He could feel the well of excitement growing in his navel, his boyhood twitching desperately to coax it out.

*Pretend you are a proud feline all you like, little Amaeru.* His fingertips slipped against his shaft, imagining how it would feel to bathe in the stuff being wasted just a few feet away. *But part of you is just a pitiful kobold, built for nothing more than this.* It spat at him. And as it finished speaking, he exploded against the side of the stoop. His mouth bit against the clay to muffle his moan, pumping the rest of his meager load into the dirt as quick as he could manage it.

Moonlight hadn't noticed. He simply shoved off the wall and perfunctorily tugged his dick back into the pouch of his loincloth. "Long hike to camp." He muttered in draconic. For a minute his eyes debated returning to *The Bubbling Pot,* idly shifting the weight of his axe.

Amaeru panted silently, watching Moonlight opt for discretion and turn away from the tavern once more. The scent of dragon-mark reached the little panther's senses, drawing him out from hiding. He crept along the ground until the dirt felt warm and moist under his fingers. He pressed his body against the wall, wiping his cheek where he had imagined being, earlier. He sniffed deep, wanting to *know* Moonlight.

*Too late, child. THIS IS NOT ENOUGH.* Amaeru sunk against the scent, cooling puddles soaking under his toes and knees. The voice was right, this didn't feel the same. It didn't feel like he belonged here, like he had served his master.

His body cramped and tensed into a huddled ball. His fur began to bubble with black ooze. His muscles tensed until they burned and tore. In small pops of ooze, scales began to burst onto his skin.

"Nnnnnn..." The panther boy protested, unable to form more than a noise as a tentacle grabbed his tongue and yanked his once-feline muzzle into the beaked shape of a filthy kobold. It tasted so bitter and burned at his lips. It was disappointed in him.

*Now you've done it.* The black ooze bled up through the dirt all around him, lashing like ropes to hold the little kobold's body prone and prostrate. *Why did you hide, when you knew our desire?* Scales were solidifying across his chest and belly. They bore that old, dull sheen he remembered from his previous life.

"No, please master!" He managed to gurgle before his throat was strangled for the goo's own voice.

*WHY DID YOU DENY US? DID I NOT WARN YOU?* He was howling at himself, in the middle of the night on the city streets. Another lash of ooze snapped at the boy's navel, licking across the spent little nub of the half-kobold's boyhood. It left a thick trail of slime that expanded and frothed around his bits, burning with the same acidity as his lips a moment earlier.

"He could have killed me, master. I can't simply..." Amaeru argued with himself, struggling to pull his arms free of the ooze's uncompromising grip. The burning spread into his nethers, feeling like it had when *Ji-Mugral* had first erased him. "...I can't..."

*Do not forget yourself, avatar. You can and will, and you will **atone** for this.* As the stuff dripped away from his body, Amaeru's muzzle was clamped wetly shut to muffle his horrified scream. Only a smooth patch of scales covered his groin; there was nothing left there to touch, any longer.

The last of his noble panther fur melted into dripping fluid, seeping down his arms and dripping off his knuckles. Amaeru propped himself up against the wall and sobbed, his claw-tipped hands finally free from restraint to search his body. Scales, everywhere scales. Not even a trace of tabaxi. Nor a trace of boyhood.

He was nothing more than a kobold, now.

*Now go. Worship your pale excuse of a dragon, like you were meant to do. Sniff out your filthy prize or die trying. Either will please me.*