Blinking his eyes, the young werewolf was confused. He was used to his older sister doing odd things now and then... she had been ever since they’d been changed into werewolves. But he knew whatever she did, she did for what was good for the pack and all that—she was the one that kept them going after the God-King has been gutted like a fish by one of his former Mistresses and had kept them ahead of the armed retaliation of people from the former Lord’s lands.
True, it wasn’t an easy life but it was a good one. They had each other and everyone else in the pack, there was plenty of hunting and no one went hungry...
Yet, for the life of him... he couldn’t figure out what his eldest sister was doing. He knew she always got first pick of things, being the Alpha and leader of the pack... but why was she so intent on looking through that horse-drawn carriage that they’d manage to knock over and ransack which had belonged to the ladies of that ‘house of ill-reputation’ old man Lupus was always going on about?
“Wrong, wrong, wrong, not slutty enough, wrong, too slutty, wrong, who was she kidding, wrong, good last century, wrong...”
And apparently, why wasn’t she satisfied with the outfits it had available.
“Hmm,” his sister paused, grabbing an outfit, and putting it against her. She turned to the werewolf elder and asked, “What do you think?”
The gray-furred werewolf male raised an eyebrow. “I think there is no way in Iceron’s Wet Dreams you’ll be leaving in THAT!”
Shrugging her shoulder, the female werewolf replied, “It’ll do.”
Old man Lupus sighed. “Child,” he told Amethyst. “I know as Alpha, you value my experience as the eldest of the pack to aid you in leading us... but in my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have guessed you’d want me opinion for...” he trailed off, staring at her. He then made a waving motion towards and carriage and her and shouted, “THIS!!”
The Alpha of the Werewolf Pack snorted at how the one male she could trust with her plans wouldn’t think outside the box. “Lupus, you’re the only one I can trust with this sort of thing... you’re the only male I know for a fact who can’t get it up but is most certainly straight. I know you wouldn’t try anything.”
The old werewolf twitched. “Gee... thanks...”
Looking up from the corset, Amrthyst told him, “I meant that in a totally good way!”
Snorting, the old man replied, “Sure you did...”
“You’re my best friend!” the female werewolf pleaded.
“...Not helping...” the older werewolf replied in a bitter tone.
Glaring with annoyance at her mentor, Amethyst commanded, “Look! Just take the damn compliment before I neuter you with that rusty knife!”
“...You just can't help yourself, can you?” the old werewolf snorted. He looked as the woman started to undress and whimper. Damn it... she was so... “healthy”... and yet that damn bone between his legs refused to fossilize!!
Deciding to find out just what the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks was going on, the young male decided to find out what was going on. Making his way out of the underbrush, the young male piped up, “Sis! What’re you doing?”
“It’s called being prepared,” the Alpha replied, being careful to work the outfit over her hips, lest the dress rip and create a sluttier outfit than what she was going for. That was for later if the new Lord was worthy... or if he needed some convincing... or if she was simply drunk enough.
“I FORBID IT!” her brother yelled, even as the Elder slowly started to cry, muttering, ‘not fair’ over and over again. “My sister will not debase herself in such a manner!”
Holding out her hand, the Werewolf Alpha told her sibling, “Hand me the thong.”
“...Sure,” he replied, handing her the offending scrap of cloth. “This is above you, my sister, and I shall have no part of it!”
Turning about, the Amethyst asked, “Zip me up?”
“Sure, watch the fur...” the little wolf replied as he fastened her corset. “And there.”
Turning to look at herself in the cracked full-length mirror, the chestnut-furred female werewolf smiled at her reflection. “Wow, perfect!”
“Thank you. NO PART OF IT!”
Smiling, the Alpha Werewolf leaned over and kissed the young teenaged werewolf’s forehead. “Thanks, little brother. Love you.”
“Love you too, sis. NO PART I SAY!”
Looking over the two siblings, the older werewolf asked, “What is wrong with you two?” he pointed to the Alpha. “Amethyst! If you’re certain you want to meet with this new “Lord”, then why not meet him as an equal? And you, boy!” he pointed to her younger brother. “What is your malfunction!?”
The Werewolf Alpha rolled her eyes. “An equal, you say?” Amethyst replied, before snorting. “May I remind you that this child is spawned from Iceron himself? You expect me not to use underhanded tactics and trickery to get what we want?”
Nodding his head, the elderly werewolf explained, “It would be the honorable thing to do.”
“Malfunction?” the teen asked, before looking around. “What? Did they post something on my back again? I’m not wearing the Happy Helmet of Protection again, am I?”
Sighing, Amethyst reached over and pat her brother on the head. He had taken a grievous head injury BEFORE he had been changed into a Lycanthrope... and while the transformation did help a lot... well... he hadn’t been ‘quite right’ ever again.
But she loved him all the same.
Lupus sighed heavily. “You do realize that going dressed like that might make the young lord decide to simply enslave you, ravage you, and then fu—PUMP you for information as to where the rest of the pack is... right?”
“Meh,” Amethyst replied, before looking towards the table, gathering the rest of her needed tools for the night, including a birth-control ring—no way was she carrying any brats if the guy was a loser—as she explained, “Lupus, he’s obviously new at this, so I can probably deal with him.”
“He defeated the former Lord!” the elder of the Werewolf Pack insisted.
“You’re worrying too much,” she continued. “Besides, if need be, I can try for a quick assassination.” The guy was reported to be a teen. What teenager didn’t think with either their stomach or their crotch?
“ACHOO!”
“Bless you, Furry Lord!”
“Thank you,” Ranma sniffled as the trio of werecats spoke. Looking them over, he asked, “Now, then... where’s the food?”
“Now then,” the female werewolf said in all seriousness. “If you’ll excuse me... I’m going to go what is best for our people!”
“Don’t you mean what is best for your non-lead-lined plumbing?” the werewolf elder grumbled.
“Hey!” Amethyst snapped. “At least MY plumbing works!”
“That... that was a LOW blow, Alpha...” Lupus said with a defeated whimper.
“Whatever,” she waved off to her brother and the male werewolf that might as well have been a eunuch. “Don't wait up!”
Still running in circles, the Alpha’s brother called after her. “Hey! Help me get this off my back! I can’t find it!”
“...And she left you in charge,” old man Lupus mumbled, before walking away. Damn species was about to become extinct, and he couldn’t even go grab some tail.
Life sucked!
Sighing, Sherisha looked over all the dead bodies of the various female wererats that littered the floor of her throne room. “Well, that does it... anyone who I could’ve used to impersonate me is dead... dead and rotting...” she took a deep breath. “Spy,” she spoke up with a bored tone.
Looking out from behind the suit if armor he’d been using for cover, the male wererat said, “Yes, my Empress-Dictator-For-Life, ma’am?”
“Your voice is pretty high. Your testicles haven’t dropped, have they?” she asked seriously.
“...I have testicles, my liege,” he told his people’s ruthless ruler. “I just haven’t hit puberty yet.”
The woman considered that for a moment before nodding her head. “Good enough, boy,” she said in all seriousness. “You’re “Queen” while I’m gone.”
“...Excuse me?” the boy who’d brought news about the old lord’s death and replacement questioned.
“Well, I can’t really leave without a Head of State in my place,” she stated, glaring at him. “And you have proven that you may be able to pretend to be me and stay alive long enough for me to complete my mission.”
The youth shuffled his feet, trying to think of how to diplomatically put his feelings forth. “Um... can I take some time to consider, my Empress-For-Eternity?”
“No.”
“...Can we at least keep it secret that I am to replace you?” he once again asked, wondering why a red point on the wall seemed to be inching towards him.
“Do you not understand the point of secrecy?” she asked, flicking her wrist and sending a dagger into the dark shadows, eliciting a Wilhelm Scream as a figure collapsed to the floor.
This did nothing to deter the advancing red dot.
Whimpering, the wererat spy decided if he was going to die young, he’d make the best of it. “Can I at least look through your underwear drawer while you’re gone?” he asked. As she glared and the red dot paused in confusion, he explained, “Have to keep up appearances! That includes going through personal belongings and clothes!”
Although still pretty pissed at the audacity of the youth, Sherisha considered it for a moment. “...Fine. But if I come back and find your corpse wearing anything frilly of mine, you are going to find yourself brought back to life so I can personally kill you, castrate you, and shove your tiny pecker up your ass... not necessarily in that order? Understood!?”
Whimpering, the wererat youth nodded his head and replied, “Understood Supreme-Empress-From-Now-Until-Oblivion, ma’am!”
“Good!” the female wererat stated firmly. “I had also better not find said frilly items stretched out, with odd stains, or sold!”
Gulping, the youth nodded his head firmly. “Yes, Grand-Empress-Whose-Mercy-Slaughters-Fools!”
“I had also better not find my bed has been defiled!” she snarled.
“Um... which ones, Ma’am?” the young spy asked. He knew the woman slept all over her castle as to not give any would-be-assassins a routine to follow and plot around.
“All of them,” Sherisha said seriously.
“But... then where shall I sleep!?” the young wererat cried.
The ruler of the wererats shrugged her shoulders. “Find someplace, anyplace. Just don’t create any rumors about me when I am gone.”
“And the bodies, My Lady-Whose-Beauty-Makes-All-Werecats-Look-Homely?”t the youth asked, wondering what could be done with all the failed impersonators. They were starting to smell...
Raising a hand to her chin, Sherisha considered that for a moment. Finally she decided, “Give them to the Soylent Green School Lunch Program.”
“Ah, yes, oh Wise-And-Most-Generous-When-It-Benefits-You-Ruler...” the young wererat replied. “I’ll make sure their corpses go to being part of a nutritious lunch for all young wererat children being trained in your Assassin Guild to become your Personal-Hell-Army-of-the-Damned.”
Sherisha nodded her head. “Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pack.” She gave him a stern look.
Feeling odd by how she glared at him, the young lad asked, “So?”
“That means,” the first wererat said in all seriousness. “I get first crack at my underwear draw and lingerie closet!”
“...You have a lingerie closet?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with awe.
“None that you will find,” she huffed as she left the throne room. “And you had best still be alive before I leave, else the same penalty applies!” By the Creator, it was like she had to do everything!
...
......
...Oh... wait... that was how she designed things. Oh well! It was too late now to begin massive social upheaval for her society. The work of nearly a decade couldn’t just be forgotten.
One Wilhelm scream later and the figure who had been tailing her to learn the location of the Hall of Lingerie was taken care of.
“Maybe I should curse his soul,” she muttered. “Make him destined to always be reborn an eternal virgin of small stature in everything, always haunted by perversion...”
...
…...
“...Later,” she muttered. Besides, if this guy was supposedly Iceron’s spawn, she needed to prepare!
Now, where would she find X-Small condoms this time of night?
Hey, if he was the son of Iceron, anything else would be too large! She knew from personal experience how much she tried to keep him from filling her and it just wouldn’t stay on! Dear Non-King God! The sliminess... the sliminess...
“Just why the hell was I so set on making him my thrall anyway?” the woman mumbled as she went through her secret stash. Upon finding the metal dildo that could siddenly turn into a spiked club, she smirked. “Ah yes. Because payback is a bitch...”
She frowned as she realized, yes, now she would never make that rat-fucker know the same hell he put her through... she would never have her revenge!!
“Looks like I’ll just have to take the reparations for my frustrations out of his hide,” she mumbled to herself as she stuffed said adult ‘toy’ into her bag.
Besides, it wouldn’t be that hard to get to see the soon-to-be-dead Lord. After all, like his father’s small dick, he would have also inherited the old fool’s lust for furry pussy. And no one brought a better milkshake to the club than her! There was a damned good reason why he never lowered himself to nailing those canine bitches when she was around!
Well, that and they couldn’t act worth a damn. Many of the female werewolves’ last words were, “Are you in yet?”
“Well, I’ll be coming in...” she said to herself as she shouldered her bag. “It’ll be nice to have a second castle...” it would give her a place to hide all the excess dead bodies. Those little children couldn’t eat Soylent Green worth a damn!
Oh yes, she looked forward to this. Like his father before him, the brat would be brought down by her tight, sweet, succulent—
“Peach!” Ranma exclaimed happily.
“Then that shall be the first of the next dozen pies I make for you, Oh Grand Furry Lord Too Grand For Hyphens!” Martina proclaimed with a large smile as the werecheetah dove into her pie...
The one she made, not her own. Still, the chubby jagwere just decided she’d pace herself. After all, she knew that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach...
It was ALSO a way to keep a man from sexing! Most men, anyway! This God-King could pack it away and she doubted that it would stop his lust for life... and booty. “I’m glad you like my Peach Pie, my sweet and generous God-King,” Martina said with a large grin. “Would you like to try my Apple Pie next? Or how about Melon Pie?”
Pulling his head out from the pie tin, the pigtailed werecheetah looked at the chubby jagwere in awe. “You... you can make melon into pie?”
“Oh yes, My God-King,” she purred. “You’d be amazed at the pies and creamy deserts I can make.” Oh, it was so great to have a Lord who appreciated her for her talents, both in and out of the kitchen.
It also helped that the two ‘protectors’ who had led him to her kitchen we currently on the floor, rubbing their stomachs, complaining about ‘never-ending golden goodness’.
And yes, knowing the Former Lord—may his soul be used by demons for toilet paper—she most certainly didn’t want to know what they were referring to. “Yes my lord,” the Head Chef said with a happy, giddy tone. “Now, sit down while I get... you...” she trailed off as she looked down with a curious look on her face. “Uh... my God-King?”
“Yes?” Ranma replied as he looked past her and to the table where there were already a few filled pie tins—Pie! REAL PIE! PIE FOR THE STOMACH GODS!—which he was certain were for him. “What is it, Martina?”
“Who is that werecat practically humping your leg?” the jagwere questioned curiously.
“MYNE!” the Siberian weretigress growled as she held onto his leg with a death-grip.
“Wuh?” was the pigtailed werecheeath’s response. Looking, he exclaimed, “Oh! That's just Stella, my Head Librarian.”
“...This place has a Library?” the Head Chef jagwere asked with a confused tone.
“I know,” he muttered, grabbing another tin that was about to be sacrificed to appease the Gods of his belly. “A lot of people don’t seem to know that.”
“MYNE!”
“Uh... will she be okay, my God-King?” Martina asked, wondering if she would be like that after ‘paying homage’ to the Furry Lord.
Shrugging his shoulders, he grabbed another tin. “Stella?”
“MYNE!”
Lowering the tin to her, the werecheetah in purple polyester offered, “Pie?"
That made the Head Librarian pause for a moment. She blinked her eyes once, twice. “...What type of pie?” the violet-tressed white-furred weretigress asked curiously, her insanity and need for cock momentarily forgotten as she was offered pie, her first warm food—outside of her lord and master—in weeks!
Smiling, the lovely chubby jagwere replied, “Whatever flavor you like. I made all sorts of pies for the God-King: peach, apple, blueberry, raspberry, banana cream, chocolate cre—”
“THERE’S CHOCOLATE CREAM PIE!?” Ranma squealed like a kid on Christmas Morning. Oh he absolutely LOVED chocolate cream pie, especially when Kasumi made it! Sadly, everyone would always hog every piece whenever it was available at the Dojo, Akane purposely starting a fight with him whenever it was served, malleting him away! By the time he would get home there would be none for him! NONE!
“MYNE!!” Ranma replied, sounding much like Stella as he grabbed that pie tin.
Martina blinked her eyes as her God-King held onto the pie in what could only be described as a lovers’ embrace. As he continued to hug the pie tin, the jagwere became a little nervous. “...Sire?”
“...Please...” Ranma whispered. “Just... just let me have this moment.”
She nodded, not wanting to jeopardize her own chance at nookie so good, it turned a librarian into... well, someone who would hold onto a leg like that.
The Lord of the Lycans just looked at the pie, sniffing it. “I know... I know we didn’t have the time either of us wanted... but, you know...”
“Sire?” asked the Librarian, somewhat shocked she had been pushed aside... for a pie.
Well, to be honest, what werecat woman wouldn’t be? Fear and self-survival, yes.
Pie? WTF!?
Sniffling, Ranma continued to hold the chocolate pie. “Shush... shush... don’t cry, my love... if you do, I’ll start crying too...” he told the confectionary delight. “I know Akane always did her best to keep us apart and then try and force me to be with one of her abominations against nature... but I’m here now and I’m never going to leave you..."
“...What if I make you another chocolate cream pie?” Martina offered carefully, not wanting to upset her lord and master.
Blinking his eyes once, twice, all Ranma could ask was, “Threesome?”
The ring-patterned werecat just twitched. She was used to being blown off—not in a sexual way—because of other issues.
For pie? Really? Such could happen!? Really!?
“I’m only okay with it if you are, my love,” Ranma told the chocolate delight, looking as if he was about to kiss it.
Then again, she was slightly pudgy: did she have many choices? She couldn’t run as fast as the other werecat women—especially not those werecheetah skanks—if she was going to get any sexing, she had to lure these men in with her wonderful cooking!
She just wished that her culinary skills weren’t so good that it would turn her God-King into a cibosexual!! “Now, my God-King... you should be careful. There is more to life than pie... why fill up on sweets when you can have something meaty and juicy too? Like some “tuna” or “rump roast”,” she offered pointedly. “Especially thick cuts.”
“...” Ranma considered the Head Chef's offers. “Is there a way to have ‘tuna pie’?” he questioned. For some reason, to his new feline senses, such sounded like a very good treat!
“Oh yes,” the female jagwere purred. “In fact, tuna pie can make even more pies, if you eat it properly.”
“...Really?” Ranma asked. It sounded like something Kasumi would say, right before he was fed Akane’s cooking under false pretenses.
It only took three stomach pumps to learn his lesson.
“Oh yes,” she purred once again, her grin very wide. If a man could be won through his stomach, then ain’t no bitch stormin’ her beaches!
Ranma smiled as he looked between Martina and the chocolate pie. He looked between them both for a few moments more before asking the female jagwere, “Could... could I finish this Chocolate Cream before getting some Tuna-Flavored Pie?”
Martina turned her head slightly. Did she want a lover who was on a sugar high?
Correction, did she want a lover who was more than she had had in the last few years?
“Of course, my Lord,” she replied with a smile. Hell, he had to be good! Just look at the other three werecats there! Two with stomach cramps and one refusing to let go of his leg!
If he had a food fetish, so be it! Mama wanted some meat in her pie, damn it! And she meant thick sausage too, not the previous Lord’s “mince-meat”!
Ranma grinned widely at Martina before turning to his pie, his attention of the circle of chocolate and cream. “...I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible,” he promised before tearing into the pie with power and brutality, flecks of chocolate splattering everywhere from the sheer ferocity with which he ate!
But as he did such, Ranma started what would become a racial stereotype that would be applied to his people for millennia to come...
“Om nom nom nom nom nom!”
As she watched her new Lord demolish a pie like she’d hoped and prayed for her cooch to be demolished, Martina couldn’t help but lick her lips.
Confirmed: the new Lord loved pies.
Confirmed: the new Lord really loved chocolate pies.
Confirmed: she had an ever-ready tub of chocolate cream within arms reach; the werecat never had to worry about sugary goodness in that location.
Fact: she was going to get some!
Ranma pulled his head back with a flash of ferociousness, letting off a dominant roar, one that held such a volume of might, an audibility that carried for miles and a tone hat spoke of... ‘nobility’?
Whatever! It was a cry that let one know he was the King of the Jungle... and that it was good to be the king!!
“ManthatissomedamngoodPIE!” the male werecheetah dressed as what would later become the basis of all Pimps shouted in one breath. He licked his lips and looked towards the Head Chef with a look of gratitude. “Say... Martina?”
The woman blushed through her fur at the look her God-King gave her. “Y-yes, Lord Ranma?”
“What is the highest honor this place has? You deserve a freakin’ MEDAL for your desserts!” he said in all seriousness. In Ranma’s mind, people that could fight where a dime a dozen and nothing out of the ordinary... but genuine and competent cook? Those were rarer than getting through a day at the dojo without Akane hitting him!
Blinking her eyes once, twice, the female werecat started purring louder, even as her left finger messed with the tie on her apron. “The highest honor, my Lord?” she repeated
Smiling widely, Ranma nodded his head firmly. “Oh yes! You deserve nothing less!” he replied. That was damned good pie!
Blushing enough so that it showed up through her facial fur, Martina explained, “My God-King, the highest honor... is to become one with the Lord of the Castle.”
That caused Ranma to pause for a moment. Why did he have the sudden feeling he had just doomed himself?
And why was the cook stripping down? Wasn’t that a problem that could lead to hot grease in bad places?
Smiling graciously as she let her apron drop, the cute and chubby jagwere began to undo the buttons of her blouse. “Now, my God-King... will you grace this loyal servant of yours with the castle’s Highest Honor and fuck her until she can barely stand?”
On one hand, Ranma could only make mental note that he needed to come up with some sort of ‘medal’ or ‘award’ system for a job well done.
On the other mental hand, he wondered who would be up to cooking dinner if he fucked her senseless!?
Too many consequences! What was he to do!?
“Take me, my God-King!” Martina cried happily. “Make me your servant forever!”
...
......
...Well... couldn’t argue with that sort of logic! How often did you get a great chef offering eternal loyalty to you?
That was Ranma’s thought before being tackled by a jagwere who had a healthy amount of cushion for the pushin’.
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(Posted Tue, 21 Jun 2011 18:28)
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