Contents include: degradation, m/f, soft vore, anthro furries, women, gnolls, a gepard, cruelty, nonconsensual sex.
This story is a sequel to this one: https://aryion.com/g4/view/461859.
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People of the little village in the plains from which he originated sometimes asked Julian Corr, during the rare occasions of the year when he visited the place anymore, why he’d chosen such a risky occupation as a scimitar for hire. There wasn’t really a good answer he had ever been able to give them, but had he been able to summon them all next to him right now, he thought that a couple of them might’ve listed up themselves the following morning. The sight of an ancient castle going up in an inferno against a moonlit sky did have certain dramatic allure of the breathtaking calibre.
Of course there were also some minor perks to his job such as the chance of getting filthy rich overnight. Selling off the princess he had sacked from the burning castle for ransom had been a most lucrative business. Resting his lean back against an armchair which had once seated lords, Julian patted the clinging pouch on his left hand and sloshed the half-empty wine bottle with the other. What else could a gepard wish from life, really?
A restless twitch inside his breeches replied the hypothetical at once. The ransomed princess had solved two of Julian’s three conditions of happiness, but one of them only temporarily. A hot memory of that lovely mouth made him purr eagerly and take a mental gander at his options. A gnoll army camp wasn’t an optimal place to start looking for a whore of his liking, mostly because they couldn’t stand the smell or because the prospect of being eaten tended to discourage even the carnal sort of business. Still, there should be no shortage of prisoners around, should he go through the trouble of looking.
On the other paw, being a limb feline that he was, he could always withdraw to his tent and solve the problem in a more autarchic mindset. Sucking himself off wasn’t half as fun as making someone else do it though.
