PewDiePie is not white

You mean ALL Swedes look like Mongols then?

Guessing back in the 1700s there wasn't any air conditioning and a lot of the newly arrived immigrants worked outdoors. Swedes and Germans were probably in the mix of the ones taking the low paying wages and out n the sun a lot…. There is a reason we call most of the descendants of the Scot Irish rednecks….truth is white man is more like a chameleon … Environment dictates his color…

Benjamin Franklin as any person spreading racism said nonsense and fool theories without facts. Just reacting by fear then having weird thoughts.

If the world is so mixed, why exist racism (Especially when is convenient)? European countries who colonized and conquered new territories have mixed at pleasure. Germans owned the actual Venezuela then sold it to Spain but immigrants stay there and mixed. After the independence of American continent more Europeans came to different countries, even today.

There are Germans communities in my country and most of them are blond, blue-eyed. And I knew some have married and had children with people of here. They can speak Spanish some with German accent others without.

The reason of this words is to say seems like USA is the nest of racism not only today even in the past.

Oh, I remember some American in a forum saying "Looks like Europeans have a different definition of white that we have here in US". His comment was at cause of a blond girl with what they could swarthy white and European comments said she's white.

For those wondering how a comment like this can make sense, you need to understand that german was ruled by black and mulattos at the time. Hence he isn't talking about any old regular white german of today (who is actually physically indistinguishable from an englishman in all reality in terms of whiteness). The swedes and most of europe save england and the saxons were black ruled. Hence he is referencing these people who were wiped out through a series of race wars in the 1800s that not even franklin could imagine.

People saying white farmers would become swarthy (from the german schwarz or gothic svart meaning black) are deluded. You can go type in greek farmers in google images and see people whiter than any very white person in england.

The word swarthy means black you can look that up in an etymology dictionary. In the 1500s this word was displaced for the word black. Ben Franklins's comments prove that blacks ruled Europe and during Ben's time they were being displace into America.

it's sweden. there is bound to be mudslime filth spreading in the common gene pool.

Saged and reported for boardsliding pile of irrelevant dong.

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Join a fucking DOJO and stop posting stupid shit on here, kid! Man the fuck up!

dojotoolkit.org/

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Posting a fake director even if he were based af

I'll admit, I'm a bit impressed you combined all 3 into one offtopic bait

wait, unibrows make you not white?

Yes. All Muslims are non-white.

Pic related are Danish.
You decide.

imdb.com/name/nm0899121/bio?ref_=nm_dyk_tm_sm#trademark

I'm white and if I don't pull the hair from between my eyebrows I'll have a full unibrow

0/10

this is a shit thread, he is probably a Sami/Lapp mongol.

Belgians confirmed for non-white.

The room looked just as I remembered it. It even smelled as I remembered it. Sweat, musk. The scent of fresh spunk, it filled my nostrils with a pungent odour and triggered a whole lifetime of memories.

"You must have been here a few times my pet."

It was as if she read my mind.

"Yes my Lady. A few."

I heard her musical laugh then, and a soft whinny. It went straight through my spine, and into disparate places. Heart and cock. Both sang to her tune.

"It will be my first time witnessing some of the rites you colts go through. Perhaps I should have done this earlier."

Yes, I knew she would enjoy it, even though this was something for the males alone. She liked transgressing boundaries, did my lover. Even as Queen of our realm, Mare of the Herd, there were boundaries she was not supposed to cross. But for Melestane, boundaries were made to be broken. Like her lovers.

We stood in the barn, as I had known it back then, a colt barely eighteen, budding into a stallion. Was it really six years ago? I had been chosen by her to become a cadet here, the Royal School for Warriors. It produced her personal bodyguard, the Queen's Legion, and the finest fighters on the continent. Here we were taught, and here we were broken only to be remade.

I was living, if I can call it that, in the household of Lady Tassicar, an important noble. I had been there all my life, as far as I could remember, and all my life I had dreamed of something better. As the bastard foal of unknown parents, my fate had been better than most of my kind, but I knew well enough that I was not truly welcome there or anywhere.

My Lady the Queen had come to our estate on a royal progress when I was seventeen. As a groom, I had been ordered to prepare the finest horse in our stable for her to ride. A stubborn and truculent stallion called Demon, only I seemed able to make him behave. So I had won the job, and presented my charge to her with words of caution and advice.

She had laughed at me then, the first time I heard that music, and told me that she had no difficulty controlling a mere stallion. My face had burned, and she had lifted my chin with one delicately gloved hand and looked into my eyes. Her expression troubled me and thrilled me, and my skin burned at her touch.

After the ride she had ordered that I be sent to the Warrior School at her request, and enrolled as a cadet. It was so unexpected, my mistress had not even bothered to argue. She had recovered her wits sufficiently before I left to order a salutary thrashing with the braided whip for 'having the impertinence to offer advice to her Majesty.' I bore it stoically, knowing it was a last gesture of futile anger, and that I would be going. My wounds would heal, and I would be free.

If only it were that simple, and if only all wounds did in fact heal.

"Tell me about your first time here Aris. What was it like? Which side of the coin were you?"

My cheeks burned again, as the first time she had spoken to me. But this time I knew I had to respond.

"I had been here two months. I kept my head down, mostly, with a few whippings but nothing bad enough to bring me here. Then I had an argument with Swordmaster Prothane. He ordered a more severe punishment."

Her hand stroked my mane then. It was strangely soothing, and someone unfamiliar with her may have mistaken it for a sympathetic gesture. I knew better, and soon her hand strayed; over my back, across my flanks, over my rump. She was touching the places the whip would have hurt, wanting to taste the pain. I was already naked, at her command, my body exposed, hands shackled in front of me. I could not have stopped her touch even if I wished it, but I knew I did not wish it.

My blood boiled again, and not just at my cheek.

"Ahhh so beautiful. You look incredible under the whip my love, but somehow I feel cheated not having seen that moment. Who gave you your whipping?"

"Warmaster Galick."

Her hand stopped on my dock, her fingers in my tail. I shuddered.

"Was that when he…"

"Yes."

Ahhh that night. I still remembered it so well.

The room was dark, like tonight. I had reported to the Warmaster as ordered. I felt angry, and it showed I knew, in my eyes and ears and tail. I was a younger stallion then, hotheaded and not yet wise. The Warmaster could see my defiance.

When he led me in here, all that changed.

"Strip Aris."

I obeyed. It did not take much, after all. Cadets at the Warrior school only wore a simple loincloth in white linen, decorated with the royal crest in red. Removing it reverently, I had placed it on a bench and prepared to take my punishment. The Warmaster wanted to talk though.

"Why are you such a difficulty to us Aris?"

The question had shocked me. I thought I was being obedient.

The big Clydesdale stood close, just watching me. His eyes were thoughtful, and something else. I swallowed, and hung my head, but the feeling felt good all the same. I felt the heat of his gaze over me, like a hand stroking my flesh.

"I…I do not know what you mean Master. I try…I try to be a good cadet."

"Oh I know it Aris. You pursue your instruction in the arts of war with a manic devotion we all can recognise. Even Prothane…oh, he hates your guts colt, do not mistake me, but he can recognise a special talent when he sees it, and when allied to hard work, that is rare. He knows you as one of the best he has seen."

I hugged the praise to my chest like a fine garment, or a blanket against the cold. I could not help a little smile. I thought Prothane had no time for me, hence tonight. This was a revelation.

"But even the hardest steel must be tempered colt, or it breaks. You are so wound up inside, so intense. You barely speak to your fellow cadets, let alone anything more…agreeable. And you give nothing of yourself to your instructors but your will to learn. Why is that I wonder?"

I knew, but wondered if he did. Most of my fellows were sons of minor nobility or rich merchants. I was the orphan bastard colt, and I knew they all whispered it in the shadows. I did not belong. It was bad enough that some of them said it, worse still that part of me agreed with them.

The mention of more agreeable things cut me though. I knew what my fellow cadets got up to at night. The sighs, moans, nickers, cries filled my ears and made me jealous and lonely. I craved belonging, especially that way, but I held back and watched and listened instead.

It was only play, in any case. We were specifically forbidden to fuck, that privilege belonged to the instructors. But we used our fingers and our muzzles to give as much pleasure as possible, and bind our little herd together. Except for me.

His hand stroked my body then, as I stood in the barn. A surprisingly gentle caress, from such a gnarled warrior as he. Over my shoulders, down my back, along my flanks, then my rump. Just like my Lady now…but it felt very different.

"You are beautiful colt. And yet your pride holds you distant. A shame."

I looked at him finally, ashamed that I was close to tears. Sadness, loss, loneliness. It was too close to the surface for me to control.

"My pride is all I have!"

I should have earned a rebuke. Instead he leaned in and kissed my cheek. He knew his men, did Galick. And in spite of my attempt to build a wall around my soul, he knew me.

"Then temper it young colt. And grow stronger."

His hands caressed my chest then, and down my belly, and I gasped as I felt him touch the tip of my cock. I had dropped partially, without even realising it. My flare filled with blood under his touch, and I spread from my sheath to full erection, gasping and shocked, but still at attention as discipline required. His hand was still gentle, like a lover's. I ached.

"You are beautiful colt, I told you, but I need to show you before you believe it. Oh, you still get your whipping, but if you want you can have more. You see, I ordered the others to leave you to me, when you arrived."

I gasped at that. I had wondered, after two months when all my fellow cadets had been deflowered, some many times. Why was I singled out? Now I knew…

"Now cadet. Over the whipping bench."

I knew what to do, even if my body struggled to obey completely. But I managed it, trotting unsteadily to the frame. A simple enough but sturdy contraption, I would be bent over a bench, with my wrists and ankles tied, awaiting my fate. I saw it in the torchlight, the mass of wood and rope. And then I was standing before it, and shaking.

"Do you need to be tied Aris?"

"No…master…"

Kikes GTFO

My pride was still strong. I bent over the bench and gripped the bar at the far end, my hooves spread, and waited.

His hand returned. It hurt almost as much as a whip. I had never known a loving touch, and here…ahhh, why here?

Down my back, feeling the new grown muscles, my hips, my rump. Then his hand spread my cleft and I gasped but held on still as he stroked my private places. The soft silken place between my hole and my scrotum, that felt so good to touch. The wrinkled ring of my pucker, that felt so good when it spread round my fingers as I pleasured myself of a night hearing the cries of the other colts in heat, or the sound of wild mating coming from the Masters quarters when they took one of my fellows to bed.

He cupped my balls and squeezed gently, hefting them in his hand.

"A mighty stallion in the making Aris. You will make a mare very happy one day."

The memory of his words made me chuckle now. If only he knew. If only I knew.

The touch ceased, and I heard him trot over to the wall. I kept my eyes closed anticipating the worst. I could not close my ears though, and I heard the swish of leather through the air as he tested the whip. My body shook in spite of my efforts at control.

"You cannot defy a Master Swordsman in his own class cadet, even if he is a po-muzzled ass like Prothane. Do you understand Aris?"

"Yes…Master…"

"Good."

The crack was followed by a loud thud as the whip bit into flesh, landing across my shoulderblades. The pain came a moment later and I hissed but managed to stay mostly quiet.

"Count…"

"One…Master…"

The crack came again, and the pain. This time on my left buttock. I stomped a hoof slightly, gritted my teeth, and spoke through pain.

"Two…Master…"

By the twentieth I was in agony, but determined not to be broken. The whip danced over my body, back, thighs, rump. Pain was my opponent, and I would not be beaten.

"Spread your legs wider colt…"

I swallowed and obeyed.

The last few broke me, harder than any blow I had known, across both cheeks of my already sore rump. On the last, the tip flicked into my crevice and I screamed. I did not move though, and lay panting on the bench, my eyes gushing tears.

"Thank you…Master…"

His hands were back, and he bent over my prone form. I shook, and I wept. And he held me, his heat filling me with comfort inspite of the agony.

"Such pride colt. And strength. But you have no need for pride with me."

Lips found my neck and kissed. Then he traced the outline of my pains, fingers and lips touching every welt and suckling where the blow had drawn blood. All the way down my back, then over my rump, and finally, as I moaned and nickered, into the cleft of my ass where he kissed the spot that had been kissed moments before by the whip. His hot breath on my cleft felt like a dragon's, and did as much damage to my soul as a dragons fire could to my body.

"Well Aris?"

"Please Master."

I heard him unbuckle his tunic, and the soft sound of fabric moving over stallion coat and the thwump of garments hitting the floor. I turned to look at him then. He was a huge stallion with the thick body of a Clyde, black coat shot with some grey, white feathering, and big blue eyes that sparkled with life. His mane was close cropped, like his tail, and I could see now many scars on his body still thick with muscle. He had lived a warrior's life; I knew it, but now I got to see it.

And my eyes fixed on his cock, and I was done. It pulsed with life, blood rich and thick. A massive endowment, with a fat flare already pulsing in the air, and a thick medial, a tapering shaft, and all above a pair of heavy testicles in a black leather sac. I could see his urethra pulse in anticipation of my deflowering. I wanted to worship it forever.

He reached for the small pot of oil that always stood in this room, and slicked up his length. I watched him approach, and lifted my tail high in need and respect. My stallion, come to claim his due.

"So beautiful colt…and now mine. Enough of your pride youngster. Just feel it."

I felt it indeed. The first thrust of his cock, spreading my pucker wider than I thought possible. Abandoning pride as he instructed, I cried out, I whinnied, and even pushed back, demanding more. It hurt all the way in, but it was a good hurt, like his touch. And soon it didn't even hurt, and I felt the pulse of life deep in my gut and in my cock and in my balls.

He leant over me as he rutted, licking my neck and nibbling my ears and whispering in my ear. I was his, no other would have me. And I would be his whenever I wanted, but I had to ask. I would learn to temper that pride after all; it was all I could do not to knock on his door every night.

He reached under to hold my cock, not stroking, just holding, as his hips rode into a long leisurely fuck. I felt his flare scrape across the place inside me that burned with need, the pleasure building with each fresh thrust. His lips brushed over the nape of my neck, down to my shoulder, then he bit playfully and his tip slapped hard onto my swollen spot inside.

I let out a wild stallion whinny and came. My body unleashed, like a river reaching the ocean, on and on through countless spurts of pleasured release. I could smell my own ejaculation pungent and fresh. The room always smelt of cum; now I knew why.

As I lay panting, he held me, his body still. He had not spent himself yet, I could tell, and I ached for his cum inside me. Instead he pulled out, and I whinnied in frustration, and not a little pain. My pucker burned.

His gaze was not angry though.

"Stand Aris."

Wondering, I obeyed. His cock swung with need, slapping his belly. I stared at it desperate for it's pleasure.

He pulled me into a heated kiss, full body, strength and a warrior's need in the gesture. I felt my breath taken as his tongue fought mine.

"You will learn colt. Sometimes, taking your time when you can is the most pleasure of all."

He drove two more fresh climaxes from me that night, my screams of delight echoing off the stones, the splash of young semen adding to the stench. The last saw me on the ground, with my hooves over his shoulders as he rutted into me without mercy. Finally, as I sprayed our chests with a climax that made me almost lose consciousness, I saw him lean his head back with a grimace and let out his own whinny and I felt the burn of a stallion's cum inside me for the first time. It spread through my depths and I knew I was owned, claimed by his seed. And the knowledge felt good.

When I made it back to the barracks, my fellow cadets were as expected. Some slept, some talked, some played, and some pleasured. When one of us came back from punishment, their fellows tended to them. I had not participated before, even when I had felt the lash. Now though, and to their surprise, I sought out two of my fellows, a chestnut colt called Bayard, and a Friesian called Oban. And I asked them to make their fellow cadet's pains go away.

On the floor, I had two colts tending to me, but all the others watched as Bayard spread my cleft and lapped at my abused anus, the tingle growing to a fire, while Oban suckled my cock as I for the first time lapped and suckled his. I could hear the others stroking and moaning as many masturbated at our show and I didn't care. I felt home at last, and my herdmates were embracing me as well. The first gush of Oban's cum tasted sweet, and I moved to Bayard once I could no longer resist his licking on my ass and on the sensitive skin of my cleft. I slept between them, cuddled by two colts, and I slept well.

While Warmaster Galick was my lover, he knew I played with the others, and approved. He even took some others at time into our loving. Both Bayard and Oban had turns with us, and towards the end of my time in the School, he seemed to realise I needed others more. The time of our parting would not be long delayed.

Our last time was bittersweet. He invited both the other colts, and he taught us new skills that were not the province of war but were the province of warriors. I mounted my first colt, buried in Oban's inviting tailhole, and took the Friesian into mine as well, while I knelt over Bayard's muzzle and the chestnut suckled my cock. I had learned restraint by then, under my Master's guidance, and the night seemed to go on forever at a constant peak that didn't crest. Only when he took me and fucked one last time with all his passion did I spend as he spent inside me.

Back in the barracks I had to use all my will not to cry.

My memories were interrupted by the sound of a whip. I flinched in anticipation of delights to come.

"He was a strangely sentimental one that stallion, for a warrior. I hear he killed a whole legion with his own sword in his time. Tell me…how did his sword feel buried in your tailhole?"

The hairs on my back stood up suddenly, and I felt the grazing touch of the whip's end. She stroked it in deliberate slow motions down my back, until it reached my crevice, and she nudged it between my cheeks as I shuffled on my hooves and my cock spread from the lips of my sheath in shameful arousal.

"Tell me…"

Her hand now came to the party, and cupped my scrotum. Like he had, back then…but a very different gesture.

"It felt…I felt home, My Lady."

"Did you seed little colt?"

"Yes…three times with him inside me."

She laughed again, but I detected a note in her laugh. A harsh note, an uncertain one. Jealousy.

"One may almost believe you had fallen for him Aris."

I dared not speak, but I knew the truth. The first of many I lost.

"Did you love him as much as you love me Aris?"

Ahhh the question I dreaded. And yet the worst part was that I could answer truthfully.

"No My Lady. I still love you, even after…this."

She snorted, but I could tell she was pleased. It was in her ears when she came around the front to face me. And her eyes. Normally grey like ice, they sparkled with a golden fire now, and not just from the prospect of what she was to do to me. Somehow, my love mattered, even in the darkness. It was all I could hold on to.

"You are my most precious possession, Aris. That is why this will hurt me so much…but I bear it, because I must."

Yes, I could almost believe that. But I also knew, that a great part of her would enjoy it immensely.

She looked at the whipping bench, her curiosity piqued now. Her ears were attentive, and her nostrils flared too, as she sampled the same air. It seemed to fascinate her, these male scents. She licked her lips slowly, savouring.

"Tell me love, how many times did you get to use another here?"

"Many my Queen."

"Ahh yes…the privileges of the Queens Cadet. It was the first sign of what you might become, my love, when your fellows elected you their leader. And you enjoyed those privileges too, did you not?"

I had to nod. When the ballot was announced, I thought my heart would burst. Pride, but tempered as my lover and Master had hoped. Tempered with love, and humbling, always humbling.

"I can smell what you lot got up to in here well enough."

It was true. The place always stank of it. For some reason I remembered the last most fondly, though he was the last of many.

Though the cadets were able to relieve their needs with each other's hands and muzzles, and we spent our nights with the trainers instructing our tailholes in more subtle arts, still there was a need. A stallion needs to mount, and mate, and fuck. And the need grew in our balls and our cocks and our bodies.

For that, they had a special solution. Every now and then, when we earned it, a great warrior from our enemies was brought to the barn for us. Two purposes in one; to spend the growing need in our loins, and heap humiliation on the enemies of our city and our Queen.

The last had been a great bull of the Narvii, a warrior of fearsome reputation. He had been captured near the river forts, leading a small band of bulls to ambush our supply train. He had not gone down easily, and in the end a blow to the head had knocked him senseless. He would not have allowed himself to be taken alive otherwise.

Here he was, shackled, with four guardsmen from the Queen's legion to keep him under control. He was stripped naked, and tied down to the whipping bench. He was not due a whipping though, or any more conventional form of torture. As Queen's cadet, I had the honour of breaking him in, and when I entered the barn, he was already cursing and threatening in a bellow that shook the walls.

I surveyed him for a moment, enjoying the view. A massive bull, with arms and thighs like tree trunks, he was now splayed over the bench, his legs spread wide, ass open to the air, massive balls swinging as he struggled against his bonds. A huge brown-furred mass of muscle and sinew and malice, but for now he was contained. And I knew he was nervous, even though he hid it. His anus winked at me, closed tight, relaxing, then closed tight again. He knew, or at least his tailhole did, and he feared.

I approached him and bowed to the guards. They smirked and left, and I was alone with the enemy warrior. He saw me then, and snarled.

"Little pony, if you so much as lay a finger on me, I will slice your belly open and eat your fucking heart out!"

He stared, saliva dripping from his nostrils, and his nosering rose and fell as he snorted harsh breaths from the effort of trying to break the bonds that held him in place. I just watched, and then I smiled. His eyes went wide and he struggled afresh.

"You fucking miserable cunt! I will rip your balls off with my fingers and choke you with them little horseboy! You will regret the day you crossed a Captain of the Narvii little cunt…"

His words flowed over me like rain. I paid them no attention. Instead I focussed on that ass. Pausing for a second by the small bowl of oil, warmed by a candle, I took the time to lovingly coat my hardening cock. It glistened in the torchlight, and I felt the rush of blood that preceded a wild fucking. This moment always felt amazing.

"Don't…you…DARE!"

Finally I laughed at him. I swatted his rump playfully, watching the muscled cheeks wiggle under the blow. Then I gripped his tail, which was now, belatedly, trying to protect his crevice, and pulled it up painfully. He grunted but kept his silence.

"I don't have to dare cow. I am in charge of your destiny tonight."

Most males in my position would hump into the helpless warrior and spend in a moment of rough frantic fucking. I had different ideals though. First, I wanted to savour. The first fuck into an enemy warrior's anus was the most exquisite sensation I knew. The feeling of his ass yielding, the grunts, the struggle and the long deep entry was as close to perfection as you could come.

And second, I knew a secret. That the way to break a male wasn't just to rape him, but to make him enjoy it.

And so it was with the bull. I pressed against his pucker, gently but firmly. He fought, grunting with the effort, his pucker clenched tight as his body coiled with the strain, muscles standing out. I whinnied in admiration, and reached under to cup those magnificent testicles.

First a stroke, and he let out a moo. Then A squeeze, hard and biting, and he bellowed and in the moment of pain, relaxed his anus just enough.

I had him then, and he knew it. His pucker spread, and my flare filled him. Just the flare though, and the first couple of inches. As he panted, I went back to stroking the underside of his scrotum, and gently rocking my hips to nudge my length a little deeper into his ass.

"Such a good little cow. It is what you were made to be, Narvii. A cow. Or perhaps a mare, for a real stallion."

His anger knew no bounds. I let him struggle, continuing the long loving entry. I had found his secret place, the hot, beating pulse of his male need, inside him. And I tended it with my cock, in careful, determined strokes, while my hand caressed his scrotum.

He dropped, of course. And then he felt it feel good, and he begged me to hurt him, to whip him, to rape him like a worthless whore, anything but this. And I ignored him, tickling his shaft now, and then his fat cock head, and always rubbing the place inside him with a flare swollen and eager but never out of control.

My lover had taught me well. I could cum when I wanted, but hold on for an age if I wanted too. Our lovemaking had become languid, varied, his hand on my cock touching everywhere as he fucked me and rewarded me for lasting. I had learned how to hold my orgasm on the brink to earn his favour, even with his shaft buried to the hilt in my ass. The feeling of this tight virgin bull hole was no real challenge.

Bent over his body now, I whispered in his ear, all the while fucking into his ass as much as his soul.

"Such a good little cow…you will beg for me, Narvii…and for the rest of your life, you will remember the feel of my stallionhood inside you, and how good it felt when I fucked you, and you will know you are nothing compared to a stallion. And you will beg for a real male to fill your ass and make you tingle like you are now, and make you cum the way a cow should, like this Narvii cow…yes, no more fighting…you are mine…"

I gripped his horns and thrust. He let out a groan and shot, his cock spraying bull milk all over the floor. I opened my nostrils and bathed in the scent, different yet alike. The scent of male, powerful and rich, always smelt sweet. But this mature bull was a different taste to colt…or stallion. A worthy addition to the room.

Of course I did not cum. Not until I had fucked three loads from his ass and he was sniffling in barely contained agony as his hole clenched my length on each thrust and his balls ached for my touch. When I finally unleashed in him, he wept. His cock dripped a constant line of precum to the floor, joining the great pool of his semen that he had deposited there during our fuck.

I pulled out, and slapped his ass playfully.

"Do you still want to kill me Narvii?"

It was a whisper, but it was there. "Yes."

As befitted my rank, I got to watch the rest of his night. Twenty-seven of my fellow colts had his ass, some taking only a moment to spend in him, some fucking roughly enough to draw a grunt of pain, some fast, some slow, but none drew a fresh orgasm from the defeated bull. I had the honour to myself.

Oban was the last, the big Friesian grinning at me while he fucked into the warrior. I left my position at the bull's muzzle for that, cuddling my fellow colt from behind as he fucked into the bull, my own cock sliding in the crevice of his perfect ass.

When he came, his ass clenched enough to bring me off, and I shot my load on his back. I licked it all off, lest the others wonder, while we took in the sight of the bull. His anus was stretched wide open, unable to close, bloodied and broken, with a river of horse cum dripping over his scrotum to the floor and pooling alongside the puddle of bull seed he had lost.

He was not completely defeated though, for he looked at me, and his eyes shone.

Actual Swede here, no it actually looks like he has some finngol admixture.

I have a unibrow but am of northern-European descent. I have all very white phenotypes (very straight, fine hair, green eyes, pale skin, european nose, etc)
pretty sure this is just some low energy D&C work

kys

"One day, horse…one day, one of us will get you. I am just sorry it won't be me."

I stroked his muzzle. He did not flinch, expecting the worst but still proud in spite of everything. Something in me softened.

"Get the guardsmen in here."

My lover had been outraged, as much as terrified for me. He had assented though, as it was my right as Queens Cadet. He promised a whipping afterwards though, for making him so worried. And I knew I deserved it.

And so the bull got his wish, at least partly. Taken to the school battle arena, and given a sword, with me as his opponent. His wonder, and his confusion, were amusing enough, but I did not smile. It would have spoilt the gesture.

Tired, and wounded as he was, he was still a formidable opponent, but I knew my own skill then. I knew he would be no match. And after a few minutes where he tried to batter me into submission, the kill had come quickly.

He sank to the sand with my sword in his belly, clutching it ineffectually with a hand bereft of strength. He had the strength left to smile though as he died, still a warrior, even with what had been done to him.

Warmaster Galick had not spared the whip then. It was the hardest flogging he had given me, and yet my cock remained hard through it all, dripping with an anticipation of his cock. When it came he took me without oil, and without ceremony, to teach me the depths of his anger and his fear. It felt good, because I knew he cared enough to be angry, and I came so soon he had barely begun to fuck.

"You stupid, stupid horse. Have I taught you such arrogance? Is this my fault?"

I could not tell him he had taught me anything but arrogance. He had taught me the meaning of respect.It was after that night he began to share our time with the others, as if he knew he was losing me before I was gone, and he needed to prepare himself as much as me.

I gasped as I felt a hand on my cock. I was fully erect, the memories fuelling my length to anguished arousal.

"You want it Aris…I know you my pet. I know you will enjoy it too, as much as I do."

"No!"

I could not tell her, for it would be my undoing. How I knew she would never respect me the way I respected the Narvii bull, as an equal, even if an enemy. And how much I loved her partly because of that. Even as my fame as a warrior grew, I had been seeking someone to worship, someone for whom I could be the moon to their earth, and who better than this beautiful mare, ruler of all horses? And her voice was the rain upon a parched land when she spoke to me and called me beautiful.

But it never felt quite like it did when master Galick whipped me and then made love to me, or the others who had come after him and before I had taken my current position with her. She may make me cum with a deftly placed whip stroke, she may make me eat my heart out with need for her, and she may protest her love for me absolutely. But I knew she did not feel for me the way Galick had, because she could not. And yet somehow, it made me love her more.

When she came to me with the plan, I had been appalled. But I knew my role was to obey. And in a way, I could be proud. She trusted me enough to do this, when nobody else could have been trusted with this.

"Are you ready my love?"

"Yes my Queen. I…goodbye, my love."

"For now, Aris."

She kissed my cheek, and I banked the feeling for the time to come.

"So who will it be Aris?"

I had to frown at that. Unfortunately, I knew.

"Valcrane."

Her little laugh was almost solicitous.

"Oh dear…a most arrogant and difficult colt. Lady Cyrelle gave birth to two delightful fillies, but her colt was a different kind altogether. Well, he must have some redeeming qualities if he is the Queen's Cadet."

"He is a good swordsman, my Lady, but not a good stallion."

She gave me a pat on the rear and a smile.

"Well, I shall get to admire his sword work shortly."

At a gesture, I was taken to the whipping bench. I had asked her to at least let me be unrestrained, but she would have nothing of it. For this to work, everyone had to believe I was in disgrace. And so she could spare me nothing, not even this.

After I had been tied down, I tried not to test my bonds. I knew it was futile, and it would only hurt more. The door opened, and I refused to look at the colt who entered. I had spent some time here, helping out their training, so I knew them all, and this one always grated on me.

I could hear his smile even tied down and with my eyes closed though.

"My…Lady. Your majesty. Your beauty is even more stunning in person than from a distance."

He was a crawler too, it seemed.

My lover giggled like a school filly, but I could tell she was putting on a show. Still, she was good at it.

"Beautiful colt. Your name?"

"Valcrane, your majesty."

"A name as beautiful as you. I have need of your cohort tonight, cadet. Can you assist me?"

He swallowed, and shuffled his hooves. He seemed to try to speak a few times, think better of it, then try again.

"Ahhh…your majesty, may I ask a question?"

"Of Course."

"I can't help noticing that you have the Queens Champion, Master Aris there tied over the bench."

"Indeed. He is no longer Queen's Champion. He had disgraced himself, my most ignoble stallion, and he is to be cast from my service. But first, as punishment, I thought he needed to be taught a lesson. And who better to teach it than my faithful Cadets?"

The colt coughed, clearly astonished. The gossip vine would have started already, and the pieces would come together soon enough. The story was that I had seduced one of her ladies in waiting, the Lady Jarissa Kharanly. A most dutiful mare, that one, she would attest to the story, not least by being exiled for a time. In compensation, my love had allowed the mare to mount my cock and use me for her pleasure for a night. She had held a knife to my scrotum the whole time, with her other hand rubbing Jarissa's clit, waiting for me to disobey her injunction that on no condition was I to cum without permission.

My balls ached so much by the end, and partly because I knew she would really have followed through on her threat. A few times she dug the tip of the knife into my balls, enough to draw blood, and enough to make me scream, but not enough to make me cum. That came later, when she used the leather penis that she kept in her rooms for these nights, strapped now to her groin, and fucked my tailhole while I lapped at the poor Jarissa's oversensitive pussy. Then I came, many times, begging for her to use me harder all the while.

That had been three nights ago. My balls ached again with need, and the thought of losing her for a time.

"I hear from a reliable source, young stallion, that enemies are sometimes placed here for humiliation just like this."

"Ahh..yes, your majesty."

"Well, treat my former Champion as you would them. Do not hold back."

"YES!…err, yes, your Majesty."

I knew Valcrane would need no encouragement. The vengeful colt had a reputation for cruelty, and a temper to match. I had cause to discipline him a few times, and he would not be the type to forgive. He would be savouring this.

I heard him trot to the pot of oil.

"Wait! No easing of the way for my disloyal Champion, colt. Take him dry."

I cringed, and gritted my teeth. His whinny of pleasure was hard to ignore though.

A hand gripped my tail and fondled. He didn't pull it up immediately, I noted, but seemed to enjoy playing, his fingers running through the strands. He was enjoying my touch, the bastard. And his hands roamed over me like a lover as I tried to resist the temptation to fight it and try to kill him.

Finally he lifted my tail, and I felt the kiss of an overeager teenage flare on my pucker.

It took all my strength not to scream. The bastard took me in one thrust, all his might in one push that conquered my ring and drove a path of tearing burning pain into my guts. Right on to the hilt, his balls on my sensitive skin, the sensations running through him manifest in his gasp and his huffing breaths as he adjusted to the feeling of taking a mature stallion's ass.

"Does he feel good colt?"

"Ohhh yes….er, your majesty."

"Then enjoy him cadet. Make him feel it."

He gripped my hips and trust again. This time I could not help letting out a scream. So deep, and so rough. I felt my tunnel spread and torn, the blood soothing his passage for a third and deeper thrust.

"That's it colt. Harder…"

He tried to obey, slapping his hips against me. I took it stoically, and then less so, when my lover reached under to stroke my sheath and coax me into shameful arousal.

"Good…not too fast. Make him feel it colt…make him feel it…"

The cadet let out a whinny and slowed a little, his thrusts in time with my heartbeat. I grew slowly to full erection, in spite of my self, under her touch. She knew how to make me drip even now.

Her hand left me, and I coudnt stop myself watching her. She brought her hand to her lips and tasted my pre. She gave me a wink, and walked behind the colt. I saw him then, eyeing me in triumph, his chest covered in a sheen of sweat, the grey coat shining in the torchlight. He was a strong one, his chest muscles and abdomen nicely defined. I had admired him, knowing I could not take him, but I had dreamed of bending him over more than once and doing to him what he was doing to me now. He seemed to be enjoying it at least as much as I would have.

She reached round him then, cuddling against his body, her chest to his back, her hips to his ass, her pussy against his tail. She brought her hand to his muzzle and fed him my pre and I closed my eyes and groaned.

"See colt…he likes it. You have made him your mare indeed."

She held onto him then as he fucked me, enjoying the feel of my rape. I heard her whinny in orgasm, and assumed she had touched herself while it was going on, overcome by the pleasure of watching my violation. The scent of mare in heat was thick, and it was too much for the colt.

"Ohh…ohhh…OHHHH!"

The gush of hot colt seed filled my ass, leaking out as he continued to thrust wildly in his orgasm. When he pulled out, she held his cock, and I watched them kiss and felt the dagger pierce my heart and a single tear fell from my eye. She saw and approved.

"Tell me colt, will you one day enter the Contest to become the Queen's Champion?"

"You can count on it, your majesty."

I ground my teeth at that. The little cunt would never have the balls. He was when all was said and done, a coward.

"I look forward to that then, cadet. Can you send the next one it?"

She made me take only twenty of them. I guessed I should be grateful. Some were as rough as Valcrane. Most were thoroughly disturbed though, and tried to obey her orders though they hated them. For some it meant they came almost immediately. For other they could not cum at all. One sweet colt, called Falys, had tried to object. I caught his eye and told him it was all right. He had been loving, even gentle. It was the hardest of all; I almost came under his loving strokes.

When the last had gone, I heard the whip again. The time had come.

"Ahhh I will miss this the most my love. Oh, I will miss your cock, and your muzzle, and your chest, and your hands, and your voice. But most of all, I will miss your screams."

She played my body like a harp. The whip rose and fell, touching me everywhere she knew the best. Her hands had explored me over our time together, until she knew each individual nerve ending, and could touch it with her tongue, or her finger, or her whip. And when it was the whip, I screamed, and shot precum in great lines, from the impossible mix of pleasure and pain that was her touch.

Outside, I knew the whole School could hear it, along with half the city. The story would spread, and be accepted. They did not know the depths that loyalty could drive a stallion, clearly.

She stroked my mane as I lay, panting, in agony, her touch so fine. She kissed down my back, as my lover master Galick had those years ago, and like him, she licked the welts, but this time, there was more than enough blood for her to savour. She loved the taste, almost as much as the taste of my muzzle after I had eaten her out. And last, she touched my crevice, her fingers running from my broken hole to my scrotum and back, the sensation growing inexorably as she built the pressure.

"Now raise your tail, Aris."

I obeyed. And then the whip sang, and so did I. And as it tore the skin of my tailhole and my scrotum and the oversensitive flesh in between, I came.

OP is probably just a assmad baby-haired lowtest faggot

TOP KEK

Please look the other caucasian types guys. The greeks spreaded around the near and far east. Thanks to Alexander the Great who fought those peasents. They simply spread the genes later through the Byzantium, Roman and Assyrians.

Consider the haircolour, eyes, facial features and everything else.

TOP FUCKING KEK

modern Greeks aren't Greeks, fam

also check

boards.4chan.org/hm/thread/1350061/blond-men

The sun was shining. The sky was a bright, beautiful, gleaming shade of blue unsullied by even a single cloud. A gentle, warm breeze carried the scent of summer flowers mixed with freshly cut grass. The faint sound of the wind was drowned out by a chorus of birdsong.

Milo smiled. Up until that moment, he hadn't even realized he had created birds. Ever since the he had arrived in hell it felt like he'd been rushing from one place to another, dealing with some crisis, working on expanding his ever-growing kingdom, researching notes on an ancient and massive divine contract, or, well, partaking of the fruits of his labor. He had never really given himself a chance to stop and appreciate the little things.

Not even his concerns with the "Reset Clause" he discovered buried in the contract could bother him right then. He hadn't forgotten about it by any means. The instant he resolved to bring his concerns to Chas, the goat up and vanished. That part didn't worry him, exactly. The goat had disappeared before, something about returning to the source of his power. Still, Milo would be lying if he said the timing wasn't at least a little worrisome.

After their last chat, the last thing he wanted was to anger the God of Lust due to a silly misunderstanding. He had a potential solution to the reset issue anyway. To keep the hiring of new caretakers from resetting duration of all damned souls' sentences, he could volunteer to be Lust's caretaker permanently. That way, he could stay in his own personal paradisiacal playground forever, and the damned would properly move on to wherever it is they go when their time was up. Everything would be as it should be. Everything would be perfect.

Unless the goat was already aware of the clause and its consequences… How could he not be? Avarice said a long time ago he was hiding something… And what else…

Milo shook his head. He was in his room to relax, not to spend his time wringing his hands, worrying about things that were firmly out of his control. There was nothing he could do about it for now. The goat would find him when he was available, and they'd talk from there. Stressing himself into an ulcer, even if he could instantly fix it, wasn't going to do him any good. Best to relax, sit back in bed, look out the window, and spend some time enjoying those little things he so often took for granted.

Of course, the bigger things were often far more enjoyable. The pink-dyed ram lying belly-down between his legs, enthusiastically deepthroating his thick, throbbing cock, for example.

Churring with pleasure at the crushing, moist warmth enveloping his shaft, Milo grinned even harder, watching Karl's perfect, masculine body at work. The rhythmic gyrations of the ram's hips were mesmerizing, the taut butt flexing every time rubbed his caged sheath against the sheets. Milo had no doubt that several sizable stains of leaked pre-cum were already decorating the bed, though he didn't mind. He knew his slave would be happy to clean it up. Speaking of which…

Grabbing the pair of curled horns like handles, he pulled Karl's head up from his crotch, forcing the sucking mouth off his cock with a loud, wet pop. Totally subservient, the ram remained on his belly, gazing up at the weasel, waiting for a new command.

"Spin around please, Karl," Milo said, making a horizontal circular motion with his finger.

Without missing a beat, the ram rose to his knees, shuffling around to get into position. As expected, a number of large, dark streaks stained the sheets, appearing precisely where he had been humping the bed.

Wishing to see the dripping cage for himself, Milo knelt behind the ram's muscular rump and took a closer look between the slightly spread legs. He lifted the dangling nutsack out of the way, giving the fat orbs a little squeeze, taking a brief moment to admire just how fat and pent-up they'd gotten. The ram let out a sharp gasp at the sudden pressure, though aside from raising his little tail, he remained completely still. As Milo inspected the silver cage, he could see a thin line of pre-cum streaming from the slit at the tip, looking almost like he was pissing the bed. "Clean up your little mess there, would you Karl? And make sure to put new sheets on later."

Without nodding, or otherwise responding in any way, the ram lapped at the sheets, dutifully licking up whatever of his mess he could find, accomplishing little more than making the dark spots damper.

Though Milo was still completely erect, his throbbing, spit-slathered cock bobbing idly in the air, he was far too entertained by the little show to want to stop watching. Something about seeing the big, masculine, pink ram leaking onto the bed as quickly as he could lick it up was endlessly delightful.

A stirring against the wall drew his attention. He glared over at the tightly bound kangaroo, who was struggling to sleep in a pet bed on the floor. With his limbs bound and tongue sticking out, pierced to an extended bar from his ring gag, it was understandably difficult for him to get comfortable. Which was just the way Milo liked it. His only regret was not calling the roo over to do the cleaning instead of Karl. No matter, he had other plans for after he finished with the ram. He had to make sure Connie's tongue stayed hydrated, after all.

Looking back at the ram noisily slurping the sheets, Milo was well past ready to get started. He sharply brought both hands down on Karl's curly-furred ass, the hard slapping making even the stoic ram chirp in surprise. Snickered to himself, he placing his length between the enticing cheeks, hot-dogging them with several long, slow thrusts. He pulling his hips back, aiming his cock tip lower, pressing it flush against the fleshy ring while his slave simply resumed his work of cleaning the sheets. Knowing full well that the ram could easily take even his impressive thickness, he gave a single hard thrust forward, burying himself inside up to the root in a single try. A weak bleat escaped Karl's lips, though it was mostly muffled by the bed sheets against his mouth. After taking a moment to enjoy the heat of his slave's insides, Milo proceeded to fuck his ass raw, furiously slamming their hips together with blinding speed.

Across the room, the repetitive slapping noise woke Connie from his fitful almost-slumber. With a groan, he feebly tried to roll over and cover his ears. The kangaroo hated being woken, but more than that, he hated himself for being so frustrated by total orgasm denial that the sound of two dudes fucking was turning him on. With a low, rumbling groan, he tried in vain to rub his needy cock between his thighs, attempting to get some kind of relief. Pierced as it was along his scrotum and to his taint, he had no hope of getting off, let alone getting erect, but he was desperate enough to give it a shot.

Oblivious to his kangaroo slave's pathetic squirming, Milo continued to hump Karl's rear, falling forward onto the kneeling ram's back. He wrapped his arms around his broad chest, squeezing tightly, rapidly speeding up his thrusting as he felt his orgasm approach. Before long, he hit his peak, moaning just shy of screaming as his flood gates burst, thoroughly coating the ram's insides with a geyser of hot weasel cum. He didn't stop thrusting until he finally felt his load taper off, then pulled back out, leaving the ram with a gaping, cum-flooded tailhole.

"Excellent as always, Karl. Thanks," Milo said, taking note of the full puddle underneath the ram's cage, the small silver dome twitching as if it was about to burst. If it weren't for the whole 'this is hell' and 'he's being punished' thing, he might have been willing to let his perfectly agreeable servant get off every here and again. The kangaroo, on the other hand… "Karl, before you finish with the sheets, go ahead and share your gift with Connie. His water bowl's looking low, he could probably use a drink."

Giving no reply, Karl slid off the bed, making his way to the semi-conscious roo. He grabbed the lesser slave's shoulder, rolled him onto his back, and knelt on the floor, squatting over his face. With practiced precision, he lowered himself down, mounting his loosened hole on Connie's forcibly extended tongue. The kangaroo thrashed about when the weasel's load instantly began oozing into his mouth, gushing through the spread anus now flush against his open gag. As usual, the larger ram had no trouble keeping the formerly dominant jock pinned to the floor. The struggling eventually ceased as Karl's pheromones took effect, the sickeningly strawberry taste of his altered rear end putting Connie into a drug-like stupor. It took very little for the kangaroo to completely surrender himself, actively sucking the spent cum out of the ram's sloppy hole.

Milo rested back against the bed, happy to spend just a little while watching another lovely show unfolding in front of him. He doubted seeing that bastard get brought lower and lower would ever lose its appeal. It just goes to show, he thought, chuckling to himself, that if you're going to be a soulless son-of-a-bitch, just make sure it's not in front of the next caretaker of hell. Noticing from the clock on his nightstand that it was almost noon, he finally slid out of bed. He left his two slaves to their business, energetically striding into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Now this is shitposting.

off by one m8

I don't care. The shape of the eye, the color and so on are more important.
I didn't say something about them.

Pilsudski?

Of course …

Before bothering to start his morning ritual, brushing his teeth, taking a shower, drying his fur and the like, he stopped to take a piss. He silently strolled up to his personal urinal, a skunk kneeling on the floor, held in place by a massive hollow butt-plug stuffed in his rear, as well as a set of steel shackles bolted to the floor around his knees and ankles. His arms were behind his back, stuffed in a tight latex binder that was chained to the floor alongside his big, fluffy striped tail, forcing his back into an arch. A posture collar and a large plastic cone kept his head completely still. A pair of tubes, one from the tip of his chastity cage, the other from the base of his cone, were connected to the base of his plug. The skunk nervously looked up at the weasel, who hadn't bothered to hide his rock-hard, cum-covered erection.

Unceremoniously shoving his fat prick partway through the skunk's gag, Milo relaxed his muscles, preparing to let out the heavy stream of urine that had built up overnight. Just before it began, he stopped himself, not expecting to feel his urinal's tongue firmly caressing his shaft. Whether it was due to some remaining ram pheromones, or because the skunk was simply trying to push him out of his muzzle, he didn't care. If his favorite piece of furniture wanted a little extra attention, he was happy to oblige. Grabbing hold of a convenient set of handles around the cone, Milo slowly pistoned his cock in and out, moaning every time his length was fully embedded in the bound skunk's throat.

As enjoyable as the resulting mix of squelching grunts and feminine squeals were, Milo wanted to keep things short and sweet so he could get on with his day. His overall sensitivity from having just finished spending the morning with the ram was a definite help. Speeding up his movements, he could feel the tingle of another orgasm approaching, quickly exploding into an overwhelming burst of pleasure. He let loose another voluminous gusher of spunk, injected directly into the skunk's gullet, humming happily at the wonderful, warm feeling spreading throughout his body. Standing still for several seconds, enjoying the afterglow, he teasingly rubbed his musky pubic fur against the skunk's nose as best as he was able with the cone in his way. Without warning, he let out a loud sigh, finally letting loose and pissing straight down his urinal's throat.

Aside from the additional warmth and fullness, the skunk didn't even notice the extra fluid until the weasel pulled out, still firing a pungent stream of urine, now arcing directly onto his face and into his open mouth. If nothing else, the skunk was thankful he managed to close his eyes before the stinging liquid made contact. He could do little more than squirm and sputter as his face was soaked, the cone slowly filling to just over the rim of his mouth. Once the stream finally ebbed, he opened his eyes to see the weasel peering down at him with a satisfied smile. He drank down whatever liquid he couldn't stop from flowing past his gag, pleadingly eyeing a nearby pull-chain, trying to signal his owner to flush him. It wasn't a perfect solution, as flushing the cone would only send the fluid down a hose, through the plug, and into his rump. Regardless, that was still vastly preferable to stewing in piss for however long it took for the ram to get around to cleaning him.

Luckily for the urinal-skunk, he happened to catch the weasel in a good mood. He let out a garbled, relieved sigh when the chain was pulled, triggering a small pump to turn on, rapidly draining the contents of the cone. The sigh switched to a groan of discomfort as every ounce of it shoot through the hollow plug straight into his rectum. By the time the pump finished, his abdomen felt totally bloated, sloshing around with every little movement he was able to make. A small pained gurgle escaped his open gag as he unsuccessfully attempted to adjust his position and get more comfortable. He had no idea how it was physically possible for someone, regardless of size, to produce so much urine in one go. However it happened, he only knew it'd be several hours before it all trickled back out through the plug, then down into the pipes through the floor.

Milo wasn't about to give him an answer either way. He only playfully tousled the skunk's black headfur before strolling over to the shower and turning the faucet on. He quickly forgot all about the bound skunk as he got ready for another lovely day in hell.

Strolling casually to his throne, Milo happily greeted a blurred series of bodies constantly rushing by, headed someplace or another. If nothing else, he was truly pleased that his world seemed to be running so smoothly. Given the disaster he had begun with, he considered it nothing short of a miracle that everything worked out for the best. Once he reached his throne, he lounged lazily upon it, sitting back with his arms crossed behind his head.

Since he had put off any new developments on hold until sorting things out with the goat, he decided to spend a bit of time living among his creations. He had designed it from the start to grow and evolve itself as needed, with or without his input, and things had certainly changed.

At some point, when he wasn't looking, his throne room had gone from a large, regal space decorated by the standard living statues to something more like a massive perverted swap meet. Not that he disapproved. It was truly a sight to behold as he sat perched on his throne, surveying his creations, most of whom he had never actually met, while they put their wares on display. Some were offering used, no longer needed bondage gear for trade, and some others were trying to make a bit of extra cash renting out their property. In fact, a whole row of the makeshift stalls featured nothing but bound, chaste, and gagged furs of every species imaginable being advertised by their owners.

One particularly aggressive gray wolf stood next to a table in his stall, a pair of fingers from each hand buried in a bound, cock caged snow leopard's tailhole. He shouted offers to every passerby, stretching the cringing cat's rear wide open, proudly showing off his pet's assets. Judging by the wide gape explicitly on display, the cat had been extremely well-prepared for his role as a rented hole.

Across the aisle, a nearly identical wolf - possibly the first's twin - had another stall where he was equally aggressively trying to sell time with a bound and gagged female red squirrel. Rather than using his fingers like his doppelganger, he had his entire fist shoved up the squealing girl's painfully spread anus. Running a claw from his free hand along the glistening cunt, pierced shut by a series of labia rings, he shouted at the top of lungs in an attempt to drown out his rival.

As the pair tried to one-up each other, a massive bull walked up and handed the first wolf a few coins. After the wolf counted the coins and gave an approving nod, the bull licked his lips, eagerly dragging the struggling feline behind the table by the scruff of his neck. In a flash, the table began shaking as if an earthquake had hit.

Infuriated at his loss, particularly because of the mocking sneer from his winning rival, the other wolf gave his squirrel a hard slap on her rear, forcing a sharp, muffled cry from his disappointing toy. With a shrug, he resumed barking his offers and enticements while attempting to force his other hand in alongside the first, much to the squirrel's displeasure.

Another stall a short distance away appeared to be advertising for a toy store out in the mall. A heavily pierced white rabbit with dark black headfur was energetically handing out fliers to passersby, occasionally stopping some to try out their sample products. To his side was a tall, vertical steel frame with what was most likely a skinny bat hanging upside-down inside it. A pair of shackles around his ankles were attached to the top bar of the frame, holding his skinny legs wide apart.

All told, Milo wasn't totally certain it was a bat, since the creature was covered head-to-ankle in thick black latex. An especially thick patch of latex totally covered his sheath and balls, preventing not just erections, but any possible pleasurable sensations from reaching the trapped genitals. Only his nose, a wide patch around his ass, and long, clawed footpaws were left exposed. Between the footpaws, the latex-encased wings, and the equally covered wide, round ears, it was a safe bet that it was a bat.

Those lucky few playtesters the rabbit brought over could do whatever they wanted to the shiny, black bat. Some picked out one of the many dildos of varying type and size to try out under his tail, pumping it in and out of his rear as he struggled to get free. Others, rather than try out a single dildo, chose several to see just how many the flailing creature could fit in his impossibly stretchy hole. A few wished to try something completely different, grabbing riding crops, cattle prods, or odd, spiky, pizza-cutter-like items to tickle, torture, or whip the vulnerable footpaws and ass cheeks. Both had grown a bright shade of red, showing even through his light brown fur. Once each prospective customer had enough, the rabbit thanked them and sent them on their way, making sure they had a flier and some coupons. He then removed any dildos still holstered in the bat's rump, put the toys back in their proper places, and went right back to handing out fliers and flagging down more customers.

Milo's gaze eventually drifted to one particular stall where a black cat was selling some sort of snack treat. Suspended inside a series of pipes forming a large rectangular framework was an otter, dangling from chains attached to the joints of his bent, latex-sheathed limbs. Despite a massive pair of breasts, the otter was quite obviously male, at least going by the equally large pair of testicles dangling between his legs. He had a large ball-gag stuffed in his mouth, along with a thin tube running from his sheath cage through a hole in the gag. Whatever fluids his trapped cock produced, which thanks to his overly productive balls was mostly a perpetual stream of leaking pre-cum, were recycled into his mouth for him to swallow back down. His tailhole, though pink, moist, and obviously well-used, was currently empty, while his thick rudder of a tail was chained to the back of his gag's strap. A matte black metallic machine with tubes running to suction cups on each of the unnaturally large-breasted mustelid's nipples sat on the table next to the frame.

As far as Milo could tell, the machine was a milker, only far larger than any he had previously seen. His curiosity having been piqued, not to mention his hunger, Milo rose from his throne and headed over to check it out, barely dodging a cheetah riding a pony-geared wolfess speeding by.

The slinky feline manning the stall looked almost surprised as he approached, her eyes growing wide upon realizing he was headed her way. She appeared somewhat flustered, not having personally met her creator before.

"Ah! sir! It's a pleasure to finally meet you! I'm Frances!" she said, smiling awkwardly as she grasped his hand and vigorously shook it.

"Just Milo's fine," he politely replied, offering back a smile of his own, trying not to laugh as she subtly smoothed out a few wrinkles in her long, slinky red dress. "Nice to meet you too, Frances. So what're you selling here, exactly? I don't believe I've seen a set-up quite like this. Doesn't look quite like a standard milker."

"Oh, it isn't! Long story short I bought the otter for a party a little while ago and decided to keep him afterwards. I had an idea for a customization and brought it to Edris, who then had R&D implement it. It… well, I'll show you! Free of charge, just for you!" Kneeling down by the table, she unsheathed a cylindrical plug from a docking station, a wisp of freezing vapor escaping after it. The icy plug was thick, at least a foot long, and slathered in some sort of goopy, glistening gel that resisted freezing. Upon seeing the source of his torment appear once again, the otter weakly shook his head, flailing his bent limbs without effect. At most he only succeeded in making himself sway back and forth, suspended in his frame.

Placing the ice-cold cylinder's slick tip against his tailhole, Frances easily shoved it past the rim despite his desperate clenching, soon hilting it completely inside his colon. The otter splayed his webbed toes from the icy intrusion, heavily arching his back as he let out a loud, extended groan partially muted by his gag. A sudden surge of pre-cum shot out of his needy, caged cock, rapidly speeding along the tube into his mouth.

With the plug securely in place, Frances moved to the main machine sitting on the table. She tapped a few buttons and the over-sized milker sprang to life, humming mechanically as it began its suction. The otter let out another groan, this time more from a sort of tortured pleasure. He shook in his bonds, shivering both from the cold and the sensation from his thick, sensitive nipples being sucked. Before long, slushy, partially frozen milk could be seen flowing down the tubes and into the main device.

D&C everyone

I prefer Marvel.

this

UNIBROWS ARE WHITEEEEE!!!!!

...

I hope that someday I too will be able to have such majestic eyebrows

I'm convinced where do I sign the petition

it's really only ONE eyebrow

...

No fucking shit he's not 100 percent pure aryan etc. etc.

The "Scandanavians aren't white" meme is a shill tactic on this board. You can't reverse the rape and pillaging of the mongol hordes, just ask the slavs.

I can think of no better inhabitants for the land.

This is a raid. These fuckers are flooding cuck/pol/ with the same shit.

I don't care get this fag off my board. Reported

...

He's from YouTube, actually.

who cares?

...

I would probably be relieved that he isn't if I could spare a fuck.

After a minute of the otter's torment, the flow ceased, the machine stopping its suction while he dangled limply in his bonds. The droning hum of the machine continued as Frances tugged the plug back out and replaced it in the docking station. As she stood back up, a ding sounded from the milker and a door on the front opened. Promptly reaching inside to retrieve the contents, she held the resulting item, a white creamsicle on a popsicle stick, up to Milo.

"Otter pop?" she asked, smiling from ear to ear.

Stifling a laugh, Milo gladly accepted the treat. He took a bite, his eyes instantly shooting open with delight at the sweet, creamy flavor. Without a second thought he wolfed the rest down, much to Frances's delight. "That was amazing!" he said, thoroughly licking his lips. "How does it that all work exactly?"

"Oh, darned if I know! Something about the device lowers the milk temp. It just works, that's fine by me."

"Fair enough. You know, you should look into getting a few more of those special milkers and opening a full ice-cream shop in the mall. I guarantee that'd be a hit! Especially on a nice warm day like today."

Frances's face lit up, far more happy than she ever was before. "Thank you sir! Milo! Sir Milo!" she shouted, gleefully bouncing in place, squealing with joy. "Sorry, just a bit overwhelmed." She sheepishly looked away, still smiling ear to ear. "I'll start looking into getting a shop of my own immediately!"

"Quite alright. Thank you very much for the treat, Frances. It was delightful."

"You're very welcome! It was my pleasure!"

The otter rolled his eyes at her exclamation.

"You know, I'm just kind of wandering around today, just exploring and all that… Perhaps I'll stop by the farm and see if I can get the ball rolling, hm?"

Frances looked as if she was about to explode, barely able to contain her excitement. "Thank you! That would just be incredible!!!"

"I'm happy to help. Something that good is certainly worth my attention." With a polite wave, Milo left her to serve the long line of customers that had formed as they chatted. Grabbing the recharged plug from the docking station, she grinned down at her good little milk-otter. "Looks like you're gonna be real busy, huh!"

The otter simply closed his eyes, whined through his gag, and dropped his head, continuing to gulp down the flood of pre his heavy, overworked, balls unceasingly pumped into his own mouth.

______

Stepping out into the sunny courtyard, Milo felt totally reinvigorated. For the time being, the pleasant conversation and tasty treat had totally erased all the worry and doubt that had been plaguing him. Ice cream was truly magical. He kicked himself for not thinking of that sooner. Remember the little things he repeated to himself, smiling at the same pleasant breeze from earlier that morning blowing through his short brown fur.

The farm was a sizable distance away, making him grateful that he'd had the roads paved. It certainly made the walking - and dodging the myriad taxi-carts pulled by pony-slaves zipping by - quite a bit more convenient. He happily strolled along at a brisk place, whistling a cheery tune while appreciating the nice day. A crocodile driving a cart pulled by a pair of pony-geared greyhounds, a silver female and a white male, sidled up next to him, matching his walking speed.

"Need a lift, sir?" the crocodile asked, pulling back on the dogs' reins to make them slow down.

"Hm? Oh, why not?" Milo said, grabbing onto a handlebar and attempting to jump onto the passenger seat. As he jumped, he stepped on the front hem of his long, regal robes, succeeding only in performing a graceless face plant on the edge of the road.

"SIR! Are you alright!?!" The crocodile frantically signalled the greyhounds to stop running, leaping out of the cart to help his boss back to his feet.

"Ah'm all 'ight," Milo said, quickly realizing he had broken both of his front teeth. With a wave of his hand he restored himself, once again smiling at the crocodile helping him to his feet. "Nothing I can't fix. Just don't, uh, spread around what just happened, okay?"

"Sure thing, sir!" The crocodile helped him into the cart, taking special care to keep the robes out of the way, then climbed back into his driver's seat. "So, where to?"

"The farm please."

"Can do! Giddyup!" Pressing a button on a small control panel, the plugs in the rears of both greyhounds sparked to life, sending a small shock under their tail, triggering them to resume running. The crocodile took the reins, guiding the blindfolded dogs along the way to the farm.

Sitting back and enjoying the stronger breeze blowing in his face, Milo glanced down to inspect the duo speedily pulling them down the road. The dogs both shared a similar build, tall, lithe, and wiry, with unusually strong legs. The female's petite chest wasn't even that distinct from the male's completely flat one, both having a pair of heavy gold rings attached by a chain pierced through their nipples.

The gear adorning the pair was uniformly colored to match the respective dog's fur color, blending in while still completely visible. Their footpaws were locked into hooved boots, while their arms were locked into hooved gloves and attached to their chest harnesses in a begging posture. Matching chastity belts were locked around their waists, trapping their genitals behind a metal grate while making room for the electrified control plugs stuffed under their tails. Despite their natural long, bony tails being visible, a full pony tail was attached to the end of each plug, swaying behind them as they ran. A solid latex hood covered their heads except for their wet, black noses, and the bit gags propping their jaws open. A water bottle shared between them had tubes connected to their gags, allowing them to drink when necessary, keeping them hydrated despite the warm, sunny day.

Shifting his gaze out into the fields passing by, he couldn't help but notice a large number of pony-slaves of varying species, all decked out same as the dogs while working alongside farmhands. A few pulled plows behind them, preparing the ground for new plantings. The majority pulled small carts behind them, helping the workers to conveniently store and move the harvested crops. Every once in awhile, one would be unhitched from their burden so one or more workers could take a break and let off some steam. Just off to the side of the road, Milo could see a large, sweaty wolf humping a red fox pony-slave, currently in the process of knotting the squealing male's tailhole. A short distance down the road, several workers were using a kneeling female rat pony-slave for a bathroom break, taking turns arcing streams of piss into the girl's ring-gagged mouth.

The cart came to a jarring stop, having arrived at the farm's central building, a large, white, sterile facility more like a laboratory than something that would be expected on a farm. Milo had been so focused on watching the fields going by that he hadn't even noticed they were nearing his destination.

Jumping back onto the ground, again minding his robes to avoid another bad landing, Milo said, "I shouldn't be here long, do you mind waiting a few minutes?"

"No problem, sir. I'll keep the engines running!"

Chuckling softly, Milo stepped inside.

______

Like the outside, the inside of the building resembled a sterile scientific facility, which was appropriate since it contained the primary milking area. Milo strolled past stall after stall filled with massive-breasted individuals of any gender or species, each with their bodies below the waist embedded in the wall. Their hands were embedded in the wall the same way, only higher up, forcing them to arch their backs, thrusting their dangling, pendulous breasts out. Detachable feeding tubes were attached to the mouth holes of the latex hoods covering their heads. Naturally, pumps and suction cups were attached to all of their nipples, a constant flow of milk heading off to be stored in tanks, then processed and shipped out later.

With their heads and lower halves hidden, it was almost impossible to tell the females from the 'enhanced' males, not that it really made a difference to Milo. Besides, each milking slave had a small bio with those details for those interested whenever tours came through. It seems even in hell, Milo thought, farm tours weren't uncommon. It certainly explained why the feeding tubes were so easily detachable from the gags.

Stopping at the end of the aisle, just before reaching the main office, he took a moment to check out the last milk-slave in the line. The pudgy black and white furred creature was a female badger, if the bio was accurate. He gave one of her hanging beach-ball-sized jugs a small squeeze, smirking at the resulting moan and momentarily increased flow of milk. With an appreciative nod, he turned and entered the office.

As Milo strode through the door, he was a bit surprised to see Alvin not at his desk, but kneeling on the floor, fucking a male mouse through the bars of a metal cage. The cage was barely large enough to fit its little, gray-furred prisoner, holding him in the cannonball position on his hand and knees with no room to stretch or stand, but plenty of open chest-space. He assumed that the mouse was on his way to joining the others outside, given the decently-large rack growing on his chest. Though his new tits were already impressively large, judging by those others, the new milk-slave still had a ways to go. The feeding tube locked on his muzzle made sure he was force-fed all the nutrients and hormones he needed to make sure they grew nice and big as quickly as possible.

For a moment the obese boar froze stiff, startled to see an unexpected guest standing in his doorway. "Oh, heya, boss! What brings ya here?" he asked, promptly resuming his humping of the caged rodent's rear.

"Is this a bad time? I can come back later."

"Naw, just havin' a bit of fun with the new fella here. Still got another day or so left before he's ready to install, but he's comin' along nice-like. If'n it weren't such a pain to get the feeder out ah'd offer ya the mouth."

"Don't worry, I'm just stopping by for a moment anyway. I wanted to ask you a favor, actually… Would you mind donating a few of your milk-slaves for an ice-cream shop in the mall?"

"Ice cream, huh? Sounds like a damn fine idea to me! Ah'll be happy to help out, especially after ya fixed us up with this nice new place!"

"Yeah, that was the least I could do after… flooding… the old one…" Milo sheepishly scratched the back of his head, not taking his eyes off the mouse's breasts. A pair of dark stains were growing on the carpet at either side of the cage, formed by streams of milk from the mouse's long, thick nipples. Every thrust the boar made squeezed the prisoner and his breasts against the floor of the cage, forcing a little more milk out. "Anyway! Glad to hear it, I'll have Frances get in touch with you so you can hammer out the details. Looking forward to getting that all going!"

"Same here, boss! Sounds great!" Alvin reached his hand through a gap in the bars, pressing down hard on the caged rodent's back. "Hope ya don't mind goin' from makin' cheese to makin' dessert, huh fella?"

Milo didn't bother to wait for the pathetic creature to respond, merely waving as he slipped out the door and headed back to the waiting cart.

As promised, the crocodile was still there, sunning himself on his cart while the dogs stood still, waiting for a command. He perked up upon seeing Milo return.

"Where to now, sir?"

Off in the distance, Milo saw the faint outline of the stadium he had created. It hadn't struck him up until then that he had yet to see it in action. If he was lucky, perhaps he could catch a game of some sort. "Take me to the stadium, please…" It also hadn't struck him until that moment that he had never gotten the croc's name. "I'm sorry, but I don't think you introduced yourself."

"Sawyer, sir."

"Stadium then, please, Sawyer. Thank you."

"Happy to oblige, sir!" Another spark under the dogs' tails sent them on their way.

To his delight, Milo arrived just in time to see the start of a game of soccer. Specifically, it was the third game in an eight team soccer tournament. He planned on sitting among the spectators in the stadium's standard seating, but as soon as he arrived he was ushered to a personal VIP box up top that he, frankly, had completely forgotten he added.

Slouching back in one of the posh chairs, he had to appreciate the perks of being in charge. There was a perfect view of the field far down below, the furniture was some of the most comfortable he had ever used, and the snacks were delicious. As if that wasn't enough, the box even came with his own complimentary servant to make sure he enjoyed his stay.

At the moment, said servant, a red wolfess, was kneeling between his legs, suckling on the tip of his cock like a lollipop. The wolfess was encased by a black latex bitchsuit, keeping her limbs bent, forcing her to walk on her heavily padded elbows and knees. The suit left her head, heavily-pierced cunt, and plugged tailhole exposed, while a chest window let her petite, yet perky tits hang free. A muzzle covered the bottom half of her head, propping her jaws open with a built-in dental gag. The rage in her eyes was unmistakable, glaring up at Milo as she sucked him off, reluctantly putting aside her pride in order to prevent any more shocks from the plug under her tail. Or from the rings and chain piercing her nipples. Smirking down at his loaner pet, unperturbed by her gaze, he placed his hand on the back of her head. With a pleasured sigh, he looked out the window, slowly pulling the gagging wolf down to his root while focusing on the game.

At no point in his life had he ever been terribly interested in sports of any kind. Even so, he had a fast appreciation for the specialized version of soccer being played. The members of either team wore nothing save for cleats, latex mitts locked on their hands, a collar, and an adjustable muzzle locked on their faces. The muzzles also acted as athletic mouth-guards, keeping their mouths securely shut while reducing the players to muffled grunts and growls for communication. Every player also had a standard chastity cage or belt, whatever fit the respective player better. What few pieces of gear each player wore were colored to indicate the team they were on, acting as a lazy kind of uniform.

A purple-clad raccoon was gingerly kicking the ball downfield, trying his best to get it to someone who could score despite his clumsy ball-handling abilities. Almost all of the yellow team was chasing after him, desperate to get the ball back under their control.

As it was explained to Milo, the reason why the players were so desperate to win the tournament was that the winning team was rewarded by being allowed a quiet night to rest and prepare for the next day's games, whatever they may be. The losing teams, once eliminated, were sent to a play area and placed in stocks, hogtied, or otherwise bound so that the fans could make use of them at their leisure. There was a also a betting parlor, a remnant of the system Bridget had set up, where the fans could place bets on the games, with the top winners being given their pick of the losers to take home for the night.

Whatever their personal tastes and interests, not a single player wanted to get eliminated and experience that kind of pain and humiliation. Though none of them were anywhere close to the professional level, or even novice level, with that added incentive as motivation they may as well have been professionals.

Down on the field, a great dane from the rival, yellow-geared team came barreling toward the raccoon, slamming shoulder-first into his opponent's side and sending him flying off the field. Before he could try to take the ball, a ref ran up, tossing a red card at his feet. The crowd erupted into a roar of cheering while the big, sweaty, gray dog went pale. He attempted to run away, not getting very far before a pair of security guards caught up to him. The horse and wolf grabbed the disqualified player, dragged him off the field, and forced him to his hands and knees. After adjusting the muzzle to hold his mouth open, the horse unceremoniously slammed his long, thick equine shaft down his throat. The wolf did much the same, licking his lips as he forced his knotted member between the firm, upturned butt cheeks. Underneath the kneeling, grunting dog, a field camera zoomed in between his legs on his cage, the tip of his red, pointed cock showing through the cage's slit as it futilely tried to grow erect. The guards would get to use him for as long as they desired, after which he'd be taken to the play area same as any of the other losers. Whether or not the rest of his team would be joining him was yet to be seen, though with a man down, their odds weren't great.

Back on the field, a ref gave the ball back to the dizzy raccoon and play resumed. Milo watched on in amusement, finding himself wishing they had sports like that in the real world. Before that moment, he'd never have considered wanting to watch a whole game, much less a tournament. He was pleased with his decision to pay Sawyer and send him on his way before coming in, rather than making him wait outside again. There was no way he was going to be leaving before the end.

Off on the side of the field, the horse and wolf had switched places, continuing to mercilessly spit-roast the rule-breaking dog. Between watching that and his own in-house entertainment, Milo was ready to pop. He bit his lip and slid even further down in the chair, squealing with glee as he felt the rush of another orgasm hit. Holding the wolfess flush against his crotch, he came deep down her throat, especially enjoying the increased, flexing tightness from her desperate attempts to gulp it all down. As soon as he let go of her head, she pulled off his cock and coughed several globs of spunk onto the floor. Milo said nothing, instead pointing down at the mess. The wolfess growled in defiance, immediately stopping and using her long tongue to lick up the spent cum the instant Milo brandished her shock remote.

Feeling like he could use a full meal after his bit of fun, he jotted down his order on a nearby sheet of paper. Once the wolfess was done cleaning, he pinned the note to the back of her suit and pointed out the door. Understanding what her master wanted, she gave a defeated sigh, and shakily rose to her elbows and knees. She gradually shuffled out the open door to deliver his order, her small, pierced tits jingling slightly as she moved.

As he was fully aware, it would be quite some time before she returned with the food. Luckily, he had more than enough to keep himself busy in the meantime. Kicking his feet up, leaning back in his chair, he joyfully resumed watching the game.

______

By the time the tournament was over, it was late in the evening, completely dark out save for the glowing moon and a smattering of stars. He began his walk home in a wonderful mood, positively beaming as he left the stadium. Between finding a new pastime and taking the wolfess under the tail several times as the day wore on, not to mention the ice cream, it may have been his single best day in charge of hell.

Seeing the overall winner of the day's betting walking out with the disqualified great dane was just the icing on the cake. The dog was huge, sure, but he was nothing compared to the hulking bull effortlessly carrying him heaped over his shoulder. His struggles were met by little more than amusement by the pleased bull, who gave the dog's heavily dangling pup-makers a slap. Squealing in pain, the dog ceased his struggling and went limp, wanting to avoid any further strikes to his genitals.

Nodding a polite hello as he passed the pair, Milo was almost tempted to follow them to wherever they were headed. Ultimately, he decided to let the bull enjoy his winnings; he had plenty waiting for him back at the castle.

He didn't bother getting a cart for the return trip, preferring to take in the beautiful summer night. The same warm breeze was blowing, slightly cooler than before. Crickets had replaced the birds, making him chuckle to himself, having forgotten he made crickets as well.

As he traveled, however, he grew to regret walking. Being left alone to his thoughts turned out to be somewhat unwise decision. Throughout the day, he was bombarded by so much stimuli, keeping him distracted and happy, that those creeping worries regarding the goat and the contract were effectively kept buried. Now, with nothing left but quiet introspection, or the occasional cart zipping by, it became apparent that appreciating the little things was only effective when paired with a warm throat suckling his cock.

Approaching the entrance to his throne room, he sighed softly, looking forward to a bit of extra entertainment to get his mind off of things before calling it a night. He passed through the doors, happy to see that the swap meet was still going strong, if a little less crowded. Many of the stalls he passed by were different than before, likely having changed hands as their owners' schedules allowed. Pleased to have plenty of new sights to get his mind off things, he strolled down the aisle and checked the new stalls out.

Milo froze in place, surprised to see his assistant, Bridget, manning a stall of her own. The lithe, buxom weasel was lying back against a long, portable lounge chair, her legs spread wide, one foot on the floor, the other flat against the seat. A thin, white t-shirt was all she was wearing, leaving her totally nude below the waist. She held a book in one hand, somehow able to read despite the constant din of activity from all sides. Her other hand was pressing down on the back of a kneeling skunk's head, holding his muzzle against her moist, warm cunt, thoroughly enjoying the long tongue exploring her folds.

Only slightly geared, the skunk was wearing a set of black latex mitts on his hands and footpaws, a collar, a small silver cage, and a butt-plug reading 'Berry'. From what Milo could tell, the hand on the back of his head was only a show of dominance. Not once did the black-and-white slave try to pull away from her, even when she momentarily lifted her hand to turn the page of her book. She briefly shivered as the probing tongue tickled her inner walls before going back to reading her book.

Off to their side - seemingly the only thing on display in the otherwise empty stall - was a slender buck, sitting on his knees, straddling a long, half-cylinder-shaped seat. Unlike the lightly bound skunk, he was covered in leather straps and harnesses, holding him totally still with his ankles tied to his thighs and his arms wrapped together behind his back. Rather than a cage, a silver ring was locked around the base of his cock, keeping him hard at all times, extremely sensitive, and completely unable to orgasm. The sapphire-studded tip of a sounding rod was visible, resting against the rim of his piss-slit. The thin rod could be heard quietly buzzing, keeping the needy bit of flesh nice and hard.

The seat he was straddling had a built-in butt-plug that was jammed snugly in his rear, holding him flush against its cushioned base. Another plug, similar to the skunk's, aside from the text reading 'Twig', sat in a small puddle of lube on the floor. Locked around the back of his head was a ring-gag, holding his jaws open almost painfully wide.

A dark gray clydesdale was hard at work testing the limits of Twig's gag reflex, thrusting his over-sized equine cock through the wide metal gag, aggressively fucking the deer's face, alternately snorting or panting like a feral dog. It was a safe bet that Twig wasn't enjoying himself as much as his companions, wincing from the thick shaft pounding in uncomfortably deeply, letting out a wet, choking gulp each time the horse's flare struck the back of his throat.

"Will we be getting back to work tomorrow?" Bridget said, not looking away from her book, only stopping to turn another page. "Not that I'm complaining about the extra time with my pets. That's been exceptionally wonderful." She lowered the book for a moment, humming with pleasure as Berry began lapping at her clit. "Just wanted to know."

"Haven't been able to get a meeting with the goat yet, so go ahead and take another day," Milo said, totally transfixed by the horse and deer, almost hypnotized by the pendulous balls slapping Twig's chin. "So, what's the deal with your stall? Selling time with your slave?"

"Oh, no, he's giving it away for free as a punishment. I wanted to give my pets a nice, relaxing day out, and Twig decided to throw a tantrum when I told him to put on his nice, pretty dress." Releasing her hold on the skunk's head, she cupped her hand under her chin and grinned at the deer. "You can't tell at the moment, but whenever that gag of his is empty, his plug inflates, slowly growing bigger and bigger until someone finally decides to make use of that smart mouth of his. Sometimes you need to show them why it's in their best interest to obey. Isn't that right, Berry?"

Berry looked up from her crotch, his muzzle utterly dripping with her juices, and vigorously nodded with a wide, beaming smile on his face.

Giving her favorite pet a loving scratch behind his ear, Bridget leaned forward and licked the side of his muzzle, getting a taste of her own cunt. "You're welcome to use his rear, if you like," she said, gently pressing the fluffy skunk's head back down against her crotch. "I guarantee it'll get your mind off the contract and that whole 'reset clause' business." In response to her offer, Berry hiked his tail up as high as it would go, wiggling his plugged rump for the other weasel.

"I probably… You know? That does sound good. Sure." Milo promptly knelt down behind skunk and tugged on the base of his plug, almost startled at how easily the thick, greased object popped free. Parting his robes, his throbbing shaft sprang free, already at full mast thanks to the twin displays going on in front of him. Wasting no time, he placed his tip against the slick, gaping tailhole and thrust inside. He met little resistance as he pushed past the rim, bottoming out in mere seconds. The moment his pelvis met the skunk's rounded ass cheeks, he pulled back and thrust back in, quickly establishing the tempo for his pumping.

Berry dug into Bridget's folds with even more vigor, stopping only to let out a low, delighted moan before diving back in. With his own prick throbbing inside its small, metal prison, his only real pleasure came from serving his mistress. But he truly loved serving his mistress.

Yannopoulos?

"Mostly because nothing I say would have any effect on what you do. You made your choice the instant you found that clause. The only reason you want advice is because you're a coward. In the likely case that the goat is already aware of the clause, it means that he wasn't entirely forthcoming when he explained how everything works. That makes you worried, wondering what other lies he may have told to get you to sign up, and that kind of a mystery is understandably terrifying. As such, you're desperate for someone - even if they're just a construct telling you what you want to hear - to give you the confidence to do something about it."

Milo listened, wide-eyed, to the other weasel's impromptu speech. A pregnant silence hung in the air for several seconds. Just as he began to reply, she interrupted him and continued.

"There was never any chance of you letting something like that go. Your entire ability to enjoy yourself here, to function at all, really, stems from the idea that punishing sinners to rehabilitate them is good and honorable. Crime and punishment. Hurt others and get hurt in return. That concept of hell makes perfect sense to you, and you're happy to be a part of the system. But more than that, what you truly desire is the same thing that so, so many others do; the chance to indulge your darkest desires while also being the hero for doing it. Finding out that the majority of the damned are here for eternity changes things from being about punishment and rehabilitation to being about torture for torture's sake. You go from being a hero to a monster, no better than any of the other monsters down here, and there's no way you could ever accept that."

"That… was… impressive…" Milo said, utterly stunned by her spot-on assessment.

"I can read you like a book. Sir." Bridget smiled warmly, looking down at her boss from her lounge chair. "You may be a coward, but you're a brave coward. With or without anyone helping you, you'll do what you think is right. I truly respect you for that."

"…Thanks?… I think?" Milo said, confusedly squinting at his assistant, who had to stifle a laugh.

"I mean it sincerely. Whether you did it on purpose or not, you made me different from the rest of your constructs. They tell you what you want to hear; I tell you what you need to hear."

Milo could only chuckle back, knowing everything she said was absolutely correct, almost relieved to hear it said aloud for once. "Thanks either way, Bridget. I think getting it all out in the open helped-"

A loud whinny from the clydesdale interrupted him, grabbing both of their attention. The horse was just finishing, rapidly pumping his long firehose of a cock in and out as he came straight down Twig's throat. After thrusting in up to the root one last time, getting a final grunt from the deer, he pulled the whole way out, exposing the sloppy, white-smeared horse meat to the open air. Giving a thankful wink to Bridget, he wiped his cock off using the gasping deer's cheek fur and took his leave, not concerned at all by his nudity. Or at how he nearly clotheslined a passing mouse as a result.

Once more unoccupied, Twig slumped his head forward, lazily oozing a thin stream of spunk from his open mouth. For several all-too-short seconds he rested, a dazed expression on his face, until a gentle hum sounded from his cushion. His eyes flew open in a panic, grunting in discomfort, frantically searching around for any available cocks. Catching sight of Milo's own overused cock idly pulsing between his legs, Twig tried to beckon him over. He shouted a series of desperate, begging shouts of muffled gibberish, every once in awhile peppered with a pained moan as his plug inflated, slowly but surely increasing in size.

Milo watched on, oddly amused despite the serious conversation just a moment ago. "How big will that plug get, exactly?" he eventually asked, cocking his head to get a better look at the base of the plug.

"You know," Bridget replied, scratching her chin as her skunk pet slept soundly, resting his cheek against her pubic bone, "I honestly have no idea. It got maybe football-sized once a while back. There's been such a crowd all day it hasn't been much of an issue. With the crowd thinning I guess we'll have a chance to find out. Maybe it'll keep going until he blows up like a hot air balloon? That might be fun to see!" Hearing that, the deer redoubled his efforts trying to coax the male weasel over, whining as the plug steadily grew larger. "Either give him some relief, or sit back and let him suffer. It's up to you," she said, lying back against the lounge, closing her eyes, and resting her head on her crossed arms. With a smile, she placed a footpaw on her sleeping skunk's back, using it to stroke along the plush fur.

"Well, when you say it like that, how could I refuse?" Milo said, chuckling as he rose to his feet, cracking his back with an arching stretch. He stepped up to the begging deer's face, playfully tapping his nose with his cock tip before pushing it through the open gag.

The precise moment the slick member entered his mouth, sliding along his tongue, a look of relief bordering on ecstasy appeared on Twig's face. Even with the taste of skunk ass and weasel jizz overpowering his senses, feeling the massive plug deflate once again was heavenly. If it weren't for the cock ring and sounding rod, he might have shot his own load right then and there. As it was, he only let out a long, extended sigh through his nose, not stopping until the plug returned to its default size.

Tired from his long, if incredibly fulfilling day, Milo lazily gyrated his hips. By that point, he was so far beyond spent that he was perfectly fine enjoying the warmth while waiting for someone else to take his place. His mind eventually changed, spurred on by the wonderful tongue rubbing the underside of his shaft. Shrugging slightly, he decided that one more climax before calling it a day couldn't hurt. He increased the speed of his thrusting, tightly gripping the deer's ears as handles while he worked himself to his peak.

Several minutes of mildly aggressive humping passed before Milo felt the telltale tingling in his groan, followed immediately by spurts of cum shooting directly into the deer's stomach. With a satisfied, if exhausted sigh, he held still, willing to wait like that until someone arrived to take his place. Glancing over his shoulder, outside the stall, it appeared that either his presence or his performance had drawn a small crowd.

Milo pulled out, willingly making room for an eager bull, who replaced him without a second thought, making good use of the cum-stuffed deer. He stretched his arms out, giving a loud, extended yawn, and began to leave, stopping to say, "'Night Bridget, have fun tomorrow." Assuming she was asleep, given her lack of response, he nodded and left for his room to call it a night.

As he left, she groggily said, "Good luck, Milo," before nodding off for real.

______

A short walk later, he reached the twin doors of his bedroom, opening them as he let out another yawn, far past ready to get to sleep.

"I believe you have been looking for me," a deep voice said, stopping him in his tracks.

Milo barely kept himself from gasping, not expecting to find the goat he had been searching for sitting on his bed. He was equally surprised to see Karl sitting on his lap, his ass totally reamed by the goat's impossibly large shaft. The ram let out a series of weak bleats as he was pumped up and down the long shaft by powerful hands on his waist, his stomach round and bloated from gallons of cum being pumped into his colon, effectively nothing more than a cocksleeve for Lust.

Steeling his nerves and giving a nervous gulp, Milo nodded and stepped inside.

I thought so.

The trip had been dragging for a while. Everybody was getting loud, especially the guys at the front. Marius hated those. Galivar Penya stood at the top of his hate list. He was a seventeen and something years old bastard of latino heritage who never stopped picking on the weak. In school, he had the Menoa brothers to torment.

But they didn't come in this Safari trip. He did. Marius, a bigger geek than the geekiest pair in his class and friend to no one but himself. Who would love a nineteen years old geek with perfect scores across the board? The parents? The teachers? Oh, those never disrespected Marius. Not in the same way his colleagues did. It wasn't unusual for him to return from a break to find his backpack ransacked by the biggest dick in the classroom. Penya sounded similar to penis. The guy was literally the embodiment of a phallus, with darker skin, curly black hair, and a face only a mother could love. He was also fat. Not huge, like Fat Joe -rightfully named for his prematurely developing beer belly- or Sam the Tank, who was a panzer in his own right. Penya was just heavier than the average person. Stupider too.

So why was not anybody picking on this unattractive fat boy? Because Penya also had connections with plenty of pennies. Word circulated that a man cannot get fat on thoughts alone, and Penya was the embodiment of that saying. He never went anywhere without a fat bag of chips or some kind of munchies. Right now he was munching on a delicious double steak sandwich, the smells of mayonnaise and ketchup filling the bus from the front -where Don Marquez's obnoxious shouting started- to the laughs and giggles of the party squad bunked at the end of the bus.

That's where the cool guys nested. People who weren't as rich as Penya or smart like Marius. Life was a constant party to them. Buried beneath bottles of beer, cheap snacks and a host of mini skirts, the guys were having the time of their life, adding to the crunching pebbles shifting underneath the wheels of the bus and Don Marquez's lectures.

The din became an insupportable tide of nonsense. It was so annoying that Marius looked straight out the window. The golden plains of the savannah stretched as far as the eyes could see. Some trees sprouted here and there, but Marius wasn't particularly interested in them. He had trees back in his hometown too. No. He came to this Safari because he wanted to see the wildlife. And judging by the looks of it, there were still several hours separating him from his end goal.

"Can we have a bit of silence here?"

"Eat my nuts, Marquez!" a shout came from the back.

"If I come there, you won't have any nuts to brag about, so shut it."

And he really meant that. Marius turned his eyes back to the teacher. Don Marquez was improperly dressed for this weather. He had a tan leather jacket over a blue striped shirt. He wore pants unlike most of his class, who preferred cargo trousers or something shorter, and on top of his head rested a hat that could have made him look like Indiana Jones from a distance. From two seats though? Not a chance. He moved his eyebrows far too many times, and Marius tried to keep his eyes away from his mouth. Don Marquez liked smoking, and though his voice remained pristine over the years, his teeth were not quite so resilient.

"Hey, group in the back," he jabbed a finger. "Put the bottles down now."

"Or what?" one of the guys asked. "Wanna come over and bust my balls too, teach?"

That was the wrong thing to say to Marquez. He was a teacher, not a fool, and when a man took his hat off, he meant business.

"See this?"

"Yeah. Nice haircut, cue-ball."

"No, this," he flicked his hat towards the window. "See how fast it can fly? Your bottles are going to be next."

"Shit, bro."

"C'mon old man. Why so serious? Can't we just have our fun while you entertain the geeks in the front row?"

That was probably John. And the slap that followed probably came from his buddy Steve.

"What the fuck dude? I'm not negotiating with-"

"Shut the hell up. Teach's speaking."

"Gentlemen!" Marquez dragged his voice. The atmosphere slowly dimmed around him. "This is a field trip, not a circus. You all had your fun, but as of right now we're a few hours away from our lodge. I want to make sure you know everything. What to eat, what to stay away from, what leaves to wipe your asses with if you get lost in the bushes, all of that."

A few laughs followed. Marquez wasn't impressed. He took a few steps forward, and all that smell of acrid sweat contained beneath his jacket now washed over Marius' nose.

"There are dangerous beasts out there waiting to make your acquaintance. Maybe they'll bite you, Fernandez. I hear mosquitoes like a bit of alcohol in the blood."

"Eat it, old man."

"Or maybe they'll crawl up your bare legs, muchachas."

"Ewww. What the hell?" the girls in the middle started making all sorts of moany noises.

"Wouldn't worry about that, patron."

"Hmh?" Marquez tilted his head over his shoulder, straight at the grinning teeth and the gleaming eyes of that evil fat boy.

"Your smell is gonna put them to sleep, for real."

The bus burst into laughter. Even Marius struggled, though his chokes had a different kind of trigger. He moved closer towards the window, trying to get a breath of decent air.

"Ey, gringo. Ey, I'm talking to you."

"And I'm talking to you," Marquez hissed. "Keep it down. All of you, or I'm going to throw you off the bus and see how much you'll last out there."

Some grumbles in the back, a few whispers in the middle, but aside from Marquez's huffing breath, the bus went relatively quiet.

"Good…Good…" he slowly put his hat on that sweaty head of his. "Glad to see booze and stupidity haven't dimmed all your wits. This trip isn't about having fun. It's about survival. Now, do you want to make sure you get home with adventures to tell, or are you going to be th

"Tigers, man. We're tigers!"

"Fuck tigers dude. I wanna be a jackal."

"Who asked you, lizard face?"

"Quiet!" Marquez slammed his palms together. "Wanna talk? I'll give you something to talk about. Who can tell me what indigenous species inhabits the Krearyi jungles?"

There was silence all around, and plenty of smiling or contorted faces. Marius knew the answer. He just didn't want to say it out loud.

"Penya? Did I detect an ounce of initiative?"

"I was scratching my balls, sir."

Marquez scoffed, mahogany eyes scanning around the bus. "Anyone who has other itches? Or maybe an idea about who these creatures are? Come on, people. They're not an average sort."

Marius licked one cheek, then followed along with the other. The answer was practically begging to come out of his mouth.

"You?"

He jerked in his chair when that heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"Look a'him!" Penya pointed a fat finger. "Gringo's pissing his freaking pants!"

"At least he knows what he's getting into. Right, son?"

Marius looked up at Don Marquez. A stern man who frowned more often than he smiled. Yet right now, something seemed to be…different. The edges of his lips formed a thin crevice over his mouth. He was…smiling?

"Come on. You can do it."

"They're…" Marius swallowed uncomfortably, then pressed himself tighter against the back of his seat. He noticed how many stares he attracted. From Penya's evil eyes to Adriana's emerald gaze, the whole bus from the front part to the middle had their eyes on him.

"You know it. Come on," Marquez pressed on.

"They're called Maradi," Marius spoke with a frail, yet certain voice.

"Good, good. Tell us how they look."

"Like hyenas, or rather, like us. They walk on two legs. They're anthros."

"No shit Sherlock," somebody burst into laughter.

"Got the next genius of the century here. Hey teach, why don't you take this prick out in the jungle and leave the bus to us?"

"Didn't see you two goons answering," Marquez stomped his foot down. "Be smart for once and let this man speak."

Marius' blood warmed up. Damn, he hated talking in front of an audience, especially a crowd of selfish bastards who taunted him at every turn. He shifted his view from one colleague to the other until his eyes found peace in the rolling grasses of the plains.

"Maradi aren't nomads. Not anymore. The jungle provides them with shelter, food, a place to grow and protect their children. They prefer to remain isolated, though a few of their hunting parties venture towards the jungle's edge when the prey eludes them. If a farmer lives nearby, he'll miss a cattle. If they find a cabin, however…"

"They kill everyone inside!" somebody in the back snickered.

"No," Marquez patted Marius on the back. "They won't kill you. The Maradi have more respect for life than we do. They prefer to create rather than take away, so what they'll do to you is the opposite of killing."

"Are you gay or something?"

Marquez turned to the most annoying chum in the bus. Penya.

"Don't come closer. Don't come any closer you puta marica!"

But Marquez still advanced, turning the slur of curses into weird sets of whimpers. "They'll take you to their huts and spread you apart like a ripe peach, little boy. Then, when the leader is done with you, because it is usually the leader who takes the first bite, you will be passed to the rest of the tribe like a cigarette, and everybody will get a taste of you."

"Dude, what…what the fuck?" Penya scrambled back into his friend.

"You're sick, Marky. Why the hell can't you teach normal stuff?"

Marquez stepped back, chuckling. "I got your attention, didn't I? Now who can tell me who inhabited the jungles before the Maradi arrived?"

"Nobody did. It belonged to the ferals that made their home there. Tigers, raptors, snatchers are one of the few I can name."

"Perfect," Marius received another pat on the back. "And how did the Maradi manage to tame the jungle?"

"They didn't tame it. The dry seasons lasted more every year, and the conflict between the wandering tribes forced the weaker to take drastic measures. With no prey in sight and a bleak future ahead of them, one of the Maradi tribe took to the jungle, where they lived ever since."

"Perfect, man. You've done your homework."

"Yeah, that's what geeks do," Penya cut in. "Tell us another tale, gringo. Maybe how you jerk off in front of a mirror or something!"

"Hey, that's enough!" Marquez grabbed the bully by the back of his slimy neck. "I hear one more insult and you fly. Understand?"

"Take your hand off me!" Penya shook Marquez off. "Touch me again, and I'll have my father fire your sweaty ass off, puta marica stupid maricon."

Marquez had the sense to back off. When faced with the richest kid in the group, anything could happen. A confrontation just wasn't worth it for something as little as being called gay in another language.

"Alright, that went well," Marquez rubbed his palms together. "Let's talk about survival kits, namely how to make the best with the resources you have at your disposal. If you find yourselves placed in a survival situation and the Maradi don't come dragging your asses off into their tribe, you will need to know how to build a shelter, gather food, and most importantly know what to eat."

Everyone in the buss groaned once Marquez took upon that particular path. He talked on and on, rolling monotonously like the wheels of the bus.

Marius stared out the window. He made himself as comfortable as he could. The seat next to him held his backpack along with a thin impermeable coat in case of rain. He was glad nobody sat next to him, but during this long, lonely trip, even a guy like him couldn't help but wonder how it felt to have a friend. A true friend, not the partnerships he formed throughout the school year. Solving his own assignments earned him grades along with that particular teacher's favor. Working for someone else? Well, that kept some bullies off his back and in a few rare cases earned him a friend for a day or two. The bravest lasted a whole week. Nobody wanted to be associated with the nerds, especially the weird ones. Some of the rumors even said he was gay.

Truth was, Marius had no particular love for his own species. His family was decent. He had no problems with them, but colleagues like Penya stuck out like a sore thumb. Assholes who earned a place on Marius' hate list from a single offence were rare and far in between, but somehow he had the luck to stumble upon them one way or the other.

Marius blinked. He realized the faults of this line of thinking. Two years ago he skipped a whole month from school after completing his project on prehistoric creatures. Marius chose raptors. Velociraptors to be exact. He scoured the internet first, then stormed the library. When he put his mind to the task, nothing stopped him. He earned a straight A for the most comprehensive presentation ever…along with three weeks of heavy depression. Day after day his mind was filled by the raptors he had created. Marius had been so deeply embedded in that project, he had a whole world created within his mind where dinosaurs drank, fed, hunted and mated like living, breathing creatures. The power to create was such an enthralling prospect, so good in fact Marius forgot about everything else. What was the education system compared to pure freedom? What were people when placed in the same environment as the raptors?

Prey. Meat. Sustenance. That was the answer Marius came up with. Strip humans of their weapons, and they are left with nothing but wits and stones to survive. And how many could do that? How far would Penya's attitude take him? How sharp would John's tongue need to be to stop a hungry creature from devouring him alive?

Marius blinked again. The plains re-appeared before his eyes. He took a deep breath, then exhaled his tension along with the warm, humid air. The Jurassic period was over. Now he had a Safari to worry about.

After three or so hours of butt aching, leg spasming journey, the bus finally arrived at the destination. Penya and the other hotshots got off first. The decent squad rolled after that, being in the middle and all, and lastly came the party people, all cheerful and cherry from the copious amount of alcohol they ingested. Their steps clanked on the thin metal stairs. One bam after the other, grinding painfully against Marius' ears until all he heard was furious chatter.

"C'mon son. You're the last one."

"Mhm," Marius nodded to Marquez, who got off and lit a cigarette. Smoking was distasteful, yet not as much as alcohol. That one turned even the most respectable men into beasts.

Good thing the weather was good. It was sunny outside. No need for rain protection. Marius stuffed the gear into his pack, hoisted it over his shoulder, then climbed out into a sauna of smells and sounds. The air was warm like an oven, assaulting his skin like invisible rain.

"What's wrong, culo pendejo? Never been to the jungle before?"

Penya said big words considering how damp his own shirt was.

"Look at him. Doesn't even have the respect to look at me."

"He's weird, bro. Just keep away from him."

"I don't wanna keep away! I want this punk to respect me, puta marica gringo!"

Marius was far too slow to react. Penya's hands struck like lightning, shoving into him like a sack of bricks. Marius stumbled back, fell, then once he got up, he ran to Marquez, ignoring the putas, maricas, and the other insults Penya was throwing from behind.

"I need a single room please."

"What's that?" the teacher scratched the back of his neck. "C'mon, I didn't hear. Say it again."

"I want a room. Solo. Nobody in."

"You'll get one, same like everybody else. Nice place, huh?"

Marius wasn't the kind to admire man made buildings. He also wasn't the kind to take the initiative of entering them, so again he waited for the whole group to go inside the luxurious lodge. Two pretty girls handed fliers to each of his colleagues. Some of the guys spoke to them. Would he have to do the same?

Marius swallowed and walked nervously towards the girls.

"Hey, welcome to the jungle. Here's a brochure with the local attractions…"

"And here's a little welcoming gift. Have fun!"

Marius didn't even look at them. That's how focused he was on avoiding embarrassment. With a crown of natural flowers around his neck, he made his way into the lobby, where people of all ages walked about, ate, or talked on their phones. Marius tried to ignore them as he walked to the tail of his group. There, he stood behind two guys reeking of alcohol. Thankfully none of them was lucid enough to acknowledge his presence. One by one, the members of the group received a key along with a guide. Marius waited for his turn. He was good at this game, but he was really crap with surprises. From the moment he heard a mewl, his instincts had to get the better of him. Where did it come from? How? Why? He nervously tapped his foot, scratched his arms and waited until he finally came face to face with the biggest cat he saw in his life.

"Wh-that's…whoa, it's a cat. That's a cat right there."

"A hybrid, to be precise," the lobby lady said. "We have trained pets that take guests to their rooms. Want Tabby here to show you the way?"

"Sure. I love cats. I mean I love all animals. I admire their tenacity. Technically speaking, we're way behind them. For example-"

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've got people waiting. Single, or double?"

"Double," Marius smiled. "Two cats are better than one."

"I meant the room."

Marius' smile flattened. "Single. How…how do I…"

The spotted feline grabbed the keys in his mouth and leaped on the ground. Marius smiled awkwardly, then chased after the cat. The damned bugger took to the stairs, forcing him to climb six rows before he even got to his room.

"Sixteen D," Marius panted. "What do you think it means, buddy?"

The cat dropped the keys, then rubbed around his legs, looking up for extra attention. Though he was tired, Marius eagerly sank his fingers into the tomcat's silky fur. "Penya, one of my douchebag colleagues would probably say dick. Sixteen inches. Terrible joke, considering you're a cat and all. Do you…you know…ever did it with a lady cat?"

Tabby meowed. He purred heartily from his throat, got his dose of love, and after he grew bored, he ran all the way back.

Marius picked up the keys. Four twists took care of the lock, and one single push took care of his hopes. Room Sixteen D deserved its name completely. Bed, living room, kitchen and bathroom all fought for the right to exist in a square-ish block that barely allowed five steps in each direction. The only good thing about this room was the view. The window overlooked the better part of the jungle, and when faced with a sight like that, Marius could find no discernable reason to complain.

He put the keys in the lock. Then, he dropped his pack, his shirt, his pants, and jumped straight in the shower. Lukewarm water did wonders for his mood. When he came out, he felt as relaxed as if a dozen felines massaged him with their fluff. Marius crashed in his bed with the intent to stare at the jungle, and fell asleep with the jungle in mind.

Somebody knocked at the door. Marius opened his eyes, shuddering when a second knock came.

"In here. What do you want?"

Nuke it from orbit

...

"Seed!"

Marius received a hard prod in the chest.

That taught him to remain silent. The Maradi fell into an organized group, two leading the way forth while the third held Marius hands in a painful clutch behind his back. It didn't take a genius to know where they headed. Biting back the pain and forcing his fear deep within his churning belly, Marius placed one leg after the other, following the maradi towards their nearby village.

It didn't look like much. Primitive structures were built around the trunks of the trees. The bigger were erected above ground level, connected by a series of bridges and walkways tied with vines. Marius blood turned to ice when he was put in front of a spiraling stairway. The steps were crafted from branches and shook hard under the steps of the two maradi climbing ahead.

His captor tightened his grip, his warm breath falling upon Marius' ear like a rolling cloud of moistened terror. What was better, falling five or so meters on the ground, or being eaten by an angry maradi?

Marius climbed. The bridges felt awfully flimsy, wobbling from one side to the other like a man after a round of drinks. Marius wished he could grab onto the vines, but with his hands held painfully behind his back, all he could do was count the steps before this nightmare ended.

He breathed a sigh of relief when hard wood thumped below his feet. His escort went to talk to the guards posted outside the arboreal hut while the friend behind pushed him insistently.

Marius pushed his head through the pelts draped over the entrance. The smell of wood had a strange homely feel to it. There wasn't much inside the hut aside from a crude table surrounded by stumps, or as Marius labeled them, 'wanna-be-chairs'. Different pelts covered the walls. One belonged to a tiger, while the other, a black with white spots eluded Marius' mind for now. His eyes moved quickly in search of any possible threat, and the only one stood right in front of him.

"Release him," the maradi flicked his tail.

Marius swallowed. This one lacked the growly accent displayed by the others. True, words still came out a bit rough thanks to the elongated muzzle of a canine, but nothing about these creatures was the embodiment of softness. They had powerful muscles hidden beneath their black striped fur, bare feet topped with sharp claws, and when they chose to reveal them, a mean pair of snowy fangs.

Marius focused on the tail. It was bushy, with many nuances of browns, auburns and blacks fighting for dominance. But he didn't have the chance to admire it for long. The maradi turned around, staring at him with a pair of olive eyes.

"You are shaking," he -for there were no breasts or any signs to indicate the creature's gender- spoke with a surprisingly tender voice.

"I'm just…excited," Marius licked his lips, stiff as a pole, trying to control the tremors rushing through his flesh. "Never seen a maradi before."

The hyena's fangs revealed their tips for a moment. "First time?"

"Yeah," Marius chuckled nervously. "Yeah, you can say so."

He had so many questions he wanted to ask. So many doubts, fears, curiosities. Something about this maradi seemed different, and it wasn't the clean aspect of his fur. At the risk of staring like a creep, Marius pressed his lips shut and took an analytical look at this maradi. It looked almost like every other, with black rounded ears and black spots spread all over the three shades of amber fur covering his body. The darker covered the back, making his belly stand out a little. An animal's pelt covered the maradi gender, so Marius looked at his face for extra clues. Was it even a he? Feral hyenas were not the usual kind of beast, but this anthropomorphic version looked slightly different, with a straighter muzzle, olive eyes, and a curious nose that twitched far too many times.

"Am I threatening to you?"

"No, I was just looking," Marius admitted. "You seem different than the ones who brought me here. Cleaner."

"Snatchers and I only share the color of our spots. Their tasks are slightly different than mine." The maradi waved towards the table. "Seat you."

"Yourself."

"Mrrr?"

Marius paled. This wasn't a good time to correct broken English!

"I'm sorry. My tongue…it sometimes speaks without consent."

"Human tongue," the maradi smiled toothily. "Soft to the ear, yet hard on the tongue. Look."

Marius winced. The maradi spread his jaws fully, revealing the full extent of his marvelous teeth. Then his tongue started licking and slapping around, making him look more like a foolish pup rather than a fearsome hunter.

"It's…yeah…it's dexterous."

...

Who?

CHECK MY DUBS

...

That's really a trap?

Are you blind?

...

...

...

didn't he blow his brains out?

Wouldn't mind the sauce on that one.

wow these divide and conquer threads sucks, reminds me of the danes are mongols thread the other day.

Hitler, if you people can't even do a good work, your better off just spamming racemix porn, atleast that actually pisses us off.

I wish.

8ch.net/pol/res/6506476.html

...

this

...

Provide sauce on faggot.

...

Yeah go fuck yourself.

...

Mods Wtf? Why hasn't this thread been bumplocked/deleted yet and OP been banned?

It's freedom of speech.

0/10, off to the gaschamber with you

...

That's a boy with a pussy.

...

boards.4chan.org/hm/thread/1350061/blond-men

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Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

—Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:

—Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

—Back to barracks! he said sternly.

He added in a preacher's tone:

—For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

—Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

—The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.

—My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

—Will he come? The jejune jesuit!

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

—Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

—Yes, my love?

—How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

—God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

—He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

—A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

—I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

—Scutter! he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said:

—Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

—The bard's noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can't you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

—God! he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of Kingstown.

—Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.

—The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.

I didn't know 5 year olds used this board. I don't know whether to be proud or horrified. Somewhere in-between?

warning to all Holla Forumsacks. The defilement of Holla Forums is getting worse. Mod are doing nothing while shills and shitposters post crap like this, at the same time mods will delete Holla Forums tier threads for the slightest infringement of rules

Everyone should consider moving to a non-compromised Holla Forums

I know you /Putin/shits like blondes
so here's a compilation of beautiful young blond lovers:
boards.4chan.org/hm/thread/1350061/blond-men
enjoy

...