Hog and Birdy: Chronal Reunion Pt. 2
(Fantasy, Handjob, Kobold [canine], MMMMMF, deflower)

“I don’t think this fits,” Sylva said as she looked in the mirror.

Betsy, her mother, affectionately known as the Hog to patrons, circled her in their small room on the second floor of the inn. 

“Oh goodness girly,” Betsy said with a look of frustration on her face, “With a tush like yours, you could walk out there nude as the day you were born and still win the day.”

Sylva adjusted her glasses to hide the blush coming to her cheeks. She had never heard her mother say something so kind. Of course, that is because she didn’t remember her mother, not really. 

Sylva had travelled back in time to see her mother, a clean year (give or take) before she was born. This Betsy wasn’t a mother, not yet. That suited Sylva just fine, she was pleased to see her mother smile, fret, and frown. Every emotion was an experience well beyond anything she had ever had before.

Her eyes went wide as she felt a sharp pinch on her behind.

“That’s quite the chubby one for a bird as skinny as you,” Betsy said with a naughty grin, “You’ll do just fine. Plenty of padding for paying compliments, that’s what Tuttle always says.”

Sylva looked at Betsy, who was now standing side by side with her. Sylva was taller than her by some measure, and probably a whole woman skinnier. Except, as Betsy was so kind as to point out, in her rear. While Sylva could not compete, her rear had not escaped comment in the past, well, in the future.

“Paying compliments?” Sylva whispered.

“Paying compliments,” Betsy replied, then gave Sylva a resounding slap on the ass.

Sylva screamed, and her mother let out a laugh that shook the woman’s sizeable bosom. While Sylva was mortified, hearing her mother laugh and snort at her made it impossible to stay angry. She smiled, and soon she was giggling herself.

When she looked at herself again in the mirror, she didn’t look bad. The waitress outfit, from the low cut top to the pleated skirt, didn’t exactly have a lot of figure to hug. It was still more becoming than anything she wore recently. It was actually a little cute, if she admitted it to herself.

The door swung open, and Sylva wrapped an arm around her chest and bare legs.

“Ladies,” Said a wide man standing in the doorway. He had scraggly hair that hid his beedy and unremarkable eyes. 

“Mr. Tuttle,” Betsy said, running over and hugging the owner of the inn, “Isn’t she adorable?”

Tuttle didn’t move, and with his plain expression it was hard to tell if he was even looking her over.

“It’ll do, we have a party downstairs.”

Tuttle turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

“A party?” Sylva asked.

But Betsy shrugged. “Grab all your courage, Birdy, we’re going to work.”

They descended the stairs to the now familiar bar at the base of the inn. The typical variety of men and women were seated across the tables, with a few regulars at the bar. The satyr was back, though he had a wide frown now that told Sylva more than anyone else in the room could know without their own historical records.

The whole room was louder than usual, and Sylva tried to find the source. Then it was obvious. There were five little people in the center of the bar, talking loudly, pushing each other, and waving their arms around while speaking in a a language she couldn’t quite put together.

Tuttle was behind the bar, while Betsy and Sylva walked up on them from the side. Tuttle leaned over, looking down on them.

“Can I help you folks?” He asked.

The whole group turned on him at once, then they shuffled around until a particular one was standing a step forward from the rest. At this distance, Sylva could see more of them. They were furry. Not exactly covered in a thick coat, but their faces and arms had a short hair over it, a golden fur that made them look soft to the touch. On their heads were large shocks of brown hair that looked out of control. Their ears reminded her of a dog, long enough to fold down over themselves. They seemed to twitch, as if responding to the changes in sound in the room.

She knew exactly what they were.

“We’re getting married!” Shouted the front one with his arms crossed. The other… 4? 5? nodded their heads in agreement.

Tuttle took out a glass and started washing it with a rag. “Well congratulations, which of you is the lucky man?”

The front most man flared his canine-like nostrils and stood taller, as if that would even bring him to Sylva’s neck, let alone Tuttle’s.

“We’re getting married,” He repeated, then he motioned his arms in a way that would make no sense to a human, “all of us.”

Tuttle’s eyebrows lifted, “Oh, is that so?”

The bar rose in applause, and the men all took turns bowing and smiling little pointed teeth at the room. 

“Tonight,” the leader said, “we party. Drinks for everyone!”

The cheering redoubled, and Sylva was startled by men rising from their seats to put the little men on their shoulders.

Kobolds. They usually only came to the surface to hunt or steal. There was one other note she remembered from her studies. Kobolds lived in bunches, in underground dens. As far as their identity was concerned, they operated as one person. When Kobolds entered into deals, including relationships, it was all of them or none of them. Terrifying little creatures.

Bodies were moving everywhere, and Sylva couldn’t hear her own words. 

Betsy, mother, was smiling wide. 

“What do we do?” Sylva said into her ear.

Betsy almost seemed surprised to see her. “Oh, go to the bar, grab a tray. Fill every table with glasses.”

It was easier said than done.

Grace was never her strongest feature. Carrying a tray of swishing liquid while navigating a drunken crowd, she would have rather been on the battlefield. Explosions were easier to avoid than drunken Kobolds dancing with a soot-covered miner.

Was this what Dundly was like all the time? Nothing happening, except in the chaotic inn. You would think someone would have written this down, taken note that the Dundly Inn was a focal point of exotic races and wild parties. Maybe her sample set was off.

She managed to hit two tables, only losing three glasses. Tuttle didn’t seem disturbed by this, he passed her another tray and nodded when she had her grip on it. 

“Watch out Birdy,” said Betsy as she flew past. 

Sylva had to look twice. She was carrying two trays, while a Kobold was latched on to her chest. If she wasn’t mistaken, the Kobold was drinking alcohol from her cleavage. 

“Amazing,” Sylva said.

“She is a natural,” Tuttle said as he started to pour another drink, “Don’t let her intimidate you. She had her practice too.”

Sylva blushed. Intimidated? Why would she be intimidated by her own mother?

She took the tray and set a several drinks down on a table. Then she felt what could only be described as a new sensation.

Something was clamped onto her underwear. There was a small pinch, but now she could feel the material stretching away from her rear.

Sylva looked over her shoulder, and saw that her skirt was billowed out by a head, one floppy ear poking out from beneath it. She tried to balance the tray and swat at his head, but her skirt flipped aside to reveal the scene to anyone with the mind to look.

Her panties, a soft white pair that she didn’t want to say were her favorite (on account of the jackalope printed on the back), were stuck in the teeth of a Kobold who was growling while yanking back on them. This act, which she imagined was performed due to lots of alcohol in tiny bodies, left her cheeks exposed to the whole room.

“Stop it!” She screamed, “Let go!”

Several men stopped and pointed to laugh, and Sylva felt blind with the heat of embarrassment. This was her first day on the job, all she wanted was to get to know her mother. This was not going well at all.

Sylva dropped the tray, reached a hand up, and backhanded the Kobold with enough force that he yelped as he fell to the floor.

The room went quiet as the tray hit the ground, the sound of glass scattering everywhere.

“She hit him!” Said one of the human patrons. 

The other kobolds ran to their friend, a ball of fuzz as they checked on their fallen friend. When they stood again, they shuffled around until the leader was again up front. Sylva couldn’t find the one she had struck.

“What’s the big idea?” The leader said, “You’d hit us on our big night?”

Sylva looked around, and was shocked to see that everyone looked as angry at her as the Kobolds. 

“I…” She tried to think of something to say that would please these simple villagers, “I… he bit me?”

Grumbling rose from the crowd, and Sylva felt a knot forming in her stomach. Had she ruined her future here that quickly? 

Sylva screamed as a heavy hand wrapped around her, then felt a warm hand on her shoulder. It was Betsy, with a large smile on her face, and a tray in her hand.

“He was just playing around,” She said, “They get a little frisky, it means they like you.”

Sylva was shivering, she had never had so many eyes looking at her so critically. Especially when her ass was just exposed to anyone who cared to look. 

“Look at them,” Betsy said with a playful grin, “Frisky little monsters. They just want to have fun.”

She leaned down in front of the Kobold leader, her rump pushed out toward Sylva and the room, and put a hand behind his ears. Betsy started scratching the Kobold leader, cooing kind words at him.

“You’re just looking for a good time aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

The leader’s eyes started to roll back, and the bushy tail on his back shuffled back and forth. His foot drumming the wood floor.

Seeing her mom be so free with her body, it was strange. With how low cut their shirts were, the Kobold had a wide open view of her bountiful assets. The smile on her face could charm a frost drake into the desert sun. It almost made Sylva feel, inadequate. 

Then Sylva gasped, the Kobold had a noticeable lump in his pants. The look of pleasure on his face made Sylva blush.

“Alright!” The Kobold yelled, stopping Betsy’s playful tickling, “I’ve decided. Tonight, we want her.”

The Kobold leader pointed at Sylva, and she felt her heart thump in her chest. 

“Me?” She whispered, her face going red.

Betsy stood, and looked at Sylva over her shoulder. She seemed to be thinking, though so far Sylva hadn’t figured the Hog for a master tactician.

“She’s a little shy,” Betsy said, “So you don’t mind if I come along do you?”

The Kobold leader frowned.

“We’re a package deal, cutie.”  

All 6 of the Kobold’s circled up, talking amongst themselves in the growl-heavy tones of the Kobold language. Betsy came back to stand by Sylva, smiling at her as if they weren’t bargaining for their lives.

“Don’t worry,” Betsy said, “I think we have a good chance. The one that bit you already can’t help himself.”

“I’m glad someone thinks that well of me,” Sylva whispered to herself. She wasn’t bursting out of her shirt, and her hips didn’t knock over men as she passed. It felt silly to be upset about it, but no one would come so far just to spend the night with her, she was no Hog.

When she saw her mother in the records, when she searched for the information that she could, it was like standing in the aftershocks of an idol. Was this how she made her mark?

“We’ve made our decision,” the leader said, “We will accept. Both of you will be a fair trade.”

She didn’t know what the ‘trade’ was, in payment for her slap?

“You won’t regret it, sir,” Betsy says with a shake of her hips, “I’ll have Mr. Tuttle get you the best room in the house, then Birdy and I will make sure you have the night of your life.”

Sylva tried to smile, but the Kobold’s turned a look on the two of them that made her stomach drop. It was like they were meat, ready to be devoured. Considering what Kobolds did in the wild, it wasn’t an impossibility.

Within the hour, Sylva found herself upstairs in the inn suite. Her hands were twisting over each other. Betsy was standing in the mirror, spreading a brown-red balm over her lips. It made her lips glisten in the low light, but it didn’t make Sylva feel any better.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Sylva said, “I’m not very good at this, Betsy.”

“Are you kidding me?” Betsy said with a chuckle, “You can’t go wrong. They want us already, you did the hard part, little Bird.”

There was a knock, and then the Kobolds came crashing into the room. She couldn’t tell if they looked more or less sober than before. They each had a wild look in their eyes, thirsty for something she couldn’t imagine.

Sylva was having trouble breathing. She was a scholar, an adventurer, not a prostitute. This wasn’t a skillset she ever imagined working on. What if she did something wrong? What if they got angry and attacked her? What if they didn’t enjoy themselves?

The Kobolds were arguing amongst themselves. Shoving, nipping, growling.

Betsy stood in the middle of the room, her back straightening like a military commander.

“Okay boys,” She snapped, “Eyes on me!”

They didn’t pay attention, instead their fighting increased.

“Boys!” She repeated, then pulled down her blouse until one of her breasts popped free. 

Sylva’s eyes bulged at the sight of her mother’s breast. They already seemed large enough when squeezed into her top, but now she saw just how much she was outmatched.

The Kobolds went silent, their eyes all locked on the pink bud of her nipple. Sylva could swear they were panting.

“Now this is what we’re going to do,” Betsy says, “My friend Birdy is a delicate flower, and you’ll treat her with the kindness of a newborn, you understand?”

The Kobolds nodded furiously.

“I want you to pay attention when she gives an order, and don’t you hurt her, or you’ll answer to me.”

Their heads turned down. Her voice was impressive, with a flash of skin and sharp words, they were all in line.

“Now drop those pants,” Betsy said, “So I can see what I’m working with.”

They fought with their string belts, then pulled down their pants to their ankles. Sylva moved closer to Betsy’s side as her mother repaired her modesty.
Their individual manhoods there between their legs. Sure they weren’t as large as she feared, but they were packing considering their relative size. They seemed proud, standing in a row, the leader having an obvious advantage over his brothers.

Betsy smiled at Sylva, then winked at her. Was that supposed to be a cue? 

“Oh my,” Betsy said as she kneeled before the leader, “I should have known what I was getting in to. No wonder you boys bagged wives.”

The leader gave a smug snort, “We’re the strongest den in the region. No one would dare challenge that.”

Betsy reached out and ran a hand down the hip of the leader, a lone finger trailing toward his groin. His length seemed reactive, the fuzzy balls giving way to a growing flesh pole. As she touched him, it twitched, growing up and toward her like a flower reaching for the light.

She stroked him, from tip to base, with a moment to explore everything along the way. The Kobold leader at first tried to seem stern, but soon his hands held her at the shoulder, and his eyes were closed.

The others looked at each other, and soon Betsy’s free hand had another penis plopped into it.

“Me too!” shouted another Kobold, “Don’t let him hog it.”

The leader growled, and gnashed his mouth at the others. They cowered all at once, with a particularly small one in the back pushing himself against the wall.

“Oh my, all this over me?” She said, “I only have so many hands, but I promise no one leaves without having a little fun, okay?”

They returned, and Betsy reached out to take another man in her hands.

“Birdy,” Betsy said, “You’ve just gotta feel this. You won’t regret it. I’m sure they want to feel those delicate hands of yours.”

Sylva opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out. Then she nodded. With small steps she moved beside her mom, and got on her knees in front of the line of Kobold men.

Betsy moved close to her ear, so close she could feel her glazed lips brush her. It made Sylva feel warm all over.

“Don’t worry,” Betsy said, “I won’t let them hurt you Birdy, not ever.”

She went flush, and for a moment she couldn’t move. Those words were more important to her than any she had ever heard. 

“It’s just a cock, it won’t hurt you,” Betsy said, “Don’t look so embarrassed.”

Sylva shook her head, then smiled at her mother. “Right, sorry.”

She reached out and touched the Kobold in front of her, and felt it twitch slightly in her grip. It seemed warm, textured. It wasn’t what she expected, not in the slightest. She squeezed a little, and the Kobold yelped.

“Gentle,” Betsy said, “treat it how you would want to be treated. That’s the King’s rule.”

Sylva nodded, and ran her hand along the length, feeling it grow as she gave it attention. It did something to her, as it slid over her fingers, it tickled something inside her. Her lower stomach tightened, and she felt like she was sweating. 

A phallus plinked off of her glasses, and Sylva nearly fell back before she realized another Kobold wanted her attention. She felt busy enough with one, but she reached a hand out to grab the other. She ran along the length of both of them, felt their bodies shift and move with their excitement. She could see their tails swish back and forth, hear their small mewls of approval. It stirred her emotions. It was a little embarrassing, but she could feel her nipples tight against her shirt, and her thighs squeezed close together.

They were so excited, why did that excite her? Wasn’t she afraid of that? She didn’t want to center her life around the sexual pleasure of strangers, yet here she was loving the sensation of their heat sliding between her fingers.

She wanted to ask Betsy if this was the way it was supposed to be, if this was why she did it. When she turned, she found her mother’s mouth occupied. She had moved to handling three Kobolds, one with each hand, and the leader with her mouth. Sylva couldn’t speak.

Was that expected of her? She didn’t even want one touching her, let alone tasting it. A nervous wave washed over her. There were six of them right? Would the third appear any moment now, his manhood prodding at her while her hands were still occupied? Would they respect what Betsy said, and listen if she said no? She couldn’t be sure, and instead she was left imagining what it would taste like. Was it dirty? It was definitely warm, to the touch, and pulsing with their pleasure. Her mind ran wild, and she froze in place with a mortifying realization.

She wanted to try that.

No, she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place, and it wasn’t her mission. She was not the Hog, she wasn’t her mother. Not even her mother was supposed to be like this. The record books didn’t have her down as an inn whore. 

Using that word made her both sad and angry. Her mother was the Hog, the town whore. She fought off the great horde, studied with the greatest minds on the fringe of the kingdom, and survived the wake of the new king, to meet a whore.

Wait, where was the 6th Kobold? She looked between them, and saw the smallest one in the back. He wasn’t moving to come forward, and instead his hands work sliding over his own manhood. 

Was he at the bottom of their pack? Was he not allowed to enjoy himself until the others finished? She saw a black mark on the side of his eye, it was the one that she smacked. She felt guilty, was he afraid? The only reason they were in here, having a session with the Hog, was because he took a snap at her butt. If Betsy was right, he was the one that actually liked her. 

Even as Betsy took on three at once, the runt was watching her as he stroked himself.

“You don’t have to hide back there,” She said. The words even surprised her, “Come on up.”

The others snapped to attention, except the leader who seemed well beyond lost as Betsy’s lips tightened at his base.

The runt looked down, then to his denmates. He edged forward, his erection larger than the two Sylva already had in hand. Her mouth opened in surprise. Then as her mind flashed to her previous thoughts, she squeezed her lips shut.

“We can take turns,” Sylva said, “come on up.”

She tried to think of what Betsy would say, “everyone gets a turn.”

There was an audible sigh of joy from her mother, and Sylva turned to see her wiping her mouth. She swallowed it?

“Is he the one who got too close?” Betsy asked with a smile, “In that case, I think you should help him one on one.”

Sylva swallowed, “One on one?”

Betsy scratched at the ear of two of the Kobolds in front of her, “I’ve wanted to play den mother before. It is like being comforted by a new fur coat. You won’t be mad if I take the other five, right?”

“Oh,” Sylva found it hard to smile, “No, go right ahead.”

“Take the bed,” Betsy said with a wink.

Sylva stood and caught the eye of the runt. The look of lust in his eyes was strange. It wasn’t a human man’s eyes, she held those before. It wasn’t the smoldering desire. This was wild, primal. She felt like he was suffering, his erection at a length that as long as she was there for him to see, he would be in pain until he found release. 

She let out a breath, and realized just how labored her breathing was. 

“Come on,” She said as she laid across the wide bed of the suite. She sat on the edge, then backed her way onto it. Her knees fell open as she did, and the runt watched her there. She knew he could see her panties, could he smell her excitement? 

Kobolds could track their prey for hours, of course he could smell her.

He climbed onto the bed, and slipped his hands under her skirt. She shuddered at his strange touch, rough hands. Then she felt them grip the band of her panties. They slipped down, and her knees knocked together as he brought them up and away from her. 

Her heart was beating faster now, and she knew that this was going to happen. 

He brought the panties up to his nose, and took a deep breath. He shuddered, and she shuddered in kind. Why did she feel such a strong connection? Was it because it was right there, the sign of his urges swaying as he drew closer to her.

The runt leaned over her, his nose sniffing loudly as he tracked up her belly, ran over the plump of her cleavage. He took deep breaths, and seemed satisfied with each as he got closer to her lips.

He was positioning, mounting her to use accurate terminology. She could feel his heat touching her thighs, sliding closer to its mark. It bumped against her lower lips, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

Sylva had to distract herself, had to be somewhere else. She looked to the side of the bed, and saw her mother covered in fur. The Kobolds had her pinned down, their tongues lapping over her body. Her breasts were exposed, and glistening with who knows what. Her skirt was trapped above her waist, her socks discarded. 

She held a Kobold in each hand, and the leader straddled her chest. Her bosom was squeezed tight around him as he thrusted against her. From this distance, Sylva could see the red head of his shaft poking between her chest with each thrust.

Another Kobold was between her legs, groaning as it pumped away. It seemed oblivious to the others. 

Sylva gasped as he pushed into her. There was a pinch, and then a heat like she had never felt before. His hands fell to either side of her as he thrusted deeper into her. When he pulled, she felt every detail of his length, then when he returned, she could feel the depth of his penetration. This was it, this was the pleasure that Betsy sought.

Each time he came against her, she could feel more, felt a deeper connection. She felt small sounds escaping her, matching the animalistic grunts of the small near-human on top of her. Was this how it was supposed to be? He was focused, his eyes locked on her as he thrusted harder, faster, claws dug into the bed.

She gripped the bed herself. She felt something inside of her, something new. It piled on top of the intimacy she already identified. It felt like small waves at first, reaching from her pelvis and spreading everywhere. Now the waves were thundering, building into a strange feeling. 

The Kobold gripped her breasts through her shirt, and as she felt his pressure against her nipples, this too added to the growing concern inside her. It was getting hard to breath, she didn’t know what to think. Then she moaned, a loud moan that she couldn’t stop if she wanted to.

Her eyes snapped wide open, and she looked at the runt. He had a toothy grin on his face. Her embarrassing display had given him new vigor. She found herself gripping the bed just to hold in place as he drove himself deeper. 

Sylva couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was swimming with thoughts, the heat around her was oppressive, and her body felt like it was going to explode. Yes, explode, that is what she feared. Her toes curled in anticipation of the burst, her knuckles went wide at the sides of the bed, she held her lips tight.

Then she felt it, something about his manhood changed. It twitched and shuddered, and she felt a sudden spray of warmth inside her. He groaned, or was it a howl? It didn’t matter, the surprise, the intimacy of it, was more than she could withstand. 

It kept coming, and she realized that he couldn’t stop it either. He held on to her as if something could go wrong at any moment. Around her entrance, it felt like he had inflated. He was stuck there, emptying his passion into her, jet after jet that felt like it was filling her. His tail was going wild.

Her mouth opened in a growing moan. It was like an out of body experience, she could feel it, see her back rising as it shook out of her, see her eyes squeeze shut. Still, she couldn’t stop the bliss that racked her body with each successive shot of ejaculate. Her shoulders twitched, and her toes locked. She couldn’t help but smile as her back slid back to the bed.

Was this it? Was that what it felt like to be the Hog? She could do that. Maybe not as often, but she could definitely do that.

“On your first time?” Betsy interrupted. Her mother was standing next to the bed, a splash of milky liquid across her chest and lower chin, and her clothing generally in disarray. “That is not fair young lady, not fair at all.”

Sylva would have blushed if she wasn’t already beet red, “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Betsy looked at her as if she just cursed the dead. Then shook her head and dug in the drawer next to the bed. 

“Nothing to be sorry about honey,” She said as she pulled up a wipe cloth and got the white liquid from her face, “You take a nap, and relax. You’ve earned it. You are a hard working girl now.”

Betsy leaned over and kissed Sylva on the forehead. A wave of peace ran down her body, her limbs feeling incapable of anything.

She looked down and saw that the Kobold runt was sleep there on her chest. The other five were curled up on the floor, all passed out.

“I’ve gotta get cleaned up,” Betsy said, “the tap is open so there are still plenty of drinks to serve.”

She felt a little guilty, leaving Betsy to do more work. Still, her mother seemed to embrace it without hesitation, or complaint. No wonder the world thought she was so wonderful, someday.