A Perverted Path to Victory

Sara Brown

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While the rest of the army marched on around them, Mui kept his piercing gaze on her, weight shifting from foot to foot. The knuckles gripping his sword rolled as he twisted the hilt in his hand, keeping the flat of the blade pressed against the steel-rimmed edge of his shield. His whiskers twitched.

Sara kept perfectly still. Her blacksteel sword was folded, her free hand occupied by a shield that mirrored Mui’s. Both their blades glowed with protective training enchantments, ensuring that the blows they landed would be merely painful, not lethal. Her stance was similar to Mui’s, but she kept her blade high over her head, like an executioner raising their axe for a killing blow. Folded as the sword was, she only had one effective cutting edge to Mui’s two. A fairly minor disadvantage, but not something to be ignored.

The collar around Sara’s throat itched. According to Evie, the unshattered collars had felt like a part of one’s own body, completely unnoticeable. Having been broken by Garen’s spellcraft, this one rubbed against her throat, leaving discomforting marks. Evie liked it more that way. Sara didn’t. The command that had been whispered in her ear had instructed her conscious and subconscious to fight with the speed and strength she’d possessed at Level Five, leaving her without an unfair advantage over Mui. This practice bout would be determined by talent alone, not Levels.

The army hadn’t quite finished marching for the day, but she and Mui had rode bikes several miles ahead to avoid being left behind, leaving them now amidst a long stream of passing soldiers. A ring of Powdered Lead soldiers kept anyone from accidentally interfering. The common Imperial soldiers watched, fascinated. The sight of a Chosen wearing a slave collar was utterly baffling to them. Sara didn’t have the time (nor interest) to explain it to them.

Mui made the first move. He closed the gap with three quick steps, a snarl bearing his dagger teeth as he sent a stab blurring forward.

Sara took it on her shield, sending it scraping off to her left, and threw her own sword straight down onto his head. He jerked back and raised his shield, catching the blade just before it would have crashed into his skull. He tried to shove his shield forward, aiming to catch the crossguard of her sword to twist it out of her grip, but she was already pulling back, moving her blade around for a swipe at his unshielded side.

Mui dodged yet further back, leaving her swipe passing through air. Rather than allow the contact to remain broken, Sara stomped forward, sending her shield slamming into his, her sword scraping and sliding in search of an angle that could beneath his armor. They shoved back and forth with brutal, inelegant grunts, their swords cracking and sparking against one another in a series of blind swipes and jabs, each searching for flesh that their steel could slip into.

Sara’s sword found its goal first. After a particularly hard clash, Mui’s grip on his sword weakened, the hilt twisting in his palm. As he tried to adjust it back to the proper position, Sara felt the tip of her sword bump against a raised piece of armor. Shoving with all her strength, the blade scraped, caught, bounced up, and then plunged inward, striking something soft.

“Gods be damned!” Mui swore. “Yield! I yield. You’ve won.”

They both stepped back. When Mui lowered his shield, Sara saw that she’d managed to get her blade up into the soft meat of his unprotected armpit. Though the enchantments prevented any serious harm, she knew a bruise would already be blossoming beneath his fur.

Swiping her hair from the spots it had adhered to her sweaty face, Sara grinned at him.

“That’s three to me, none to you. You ready to give up on that sword yet?”

“No!” He snapped, frustration getting the better of him. Then, sheathing the officer’s blade and setting his shield down to allow himself a moment of rest, he spoke more calmly. “No. No, I need to learn how to use this. That is what these practice bouts are for.”

Amidst the circle of Powdered Lead soldiers spectating the bout, wearing the control band that was linked to Sara’s shattered collar, Evie scowled.

“You are being a fool. Master Graf Urs of the Night’s Eye has said you show promise with a spear. Have you any idea what such praise means? How rare it is to hear?”

“No,” he growled, “and I don’t care to, either. Five years in the army earned me a Sergeant’s petals. If I show promise with a spear, then I will show promise with a sword as well.”

“Master Graf said you would not.”

“He does not know everything.”

“In matters of war, he very nearly does.”

“Look,” Sara said, interrupting the snappish argument. “We can keep drilling with the sword, but you’ve gotta admit that you’re still better with a spear, right?”

“I have spent five years with it. Of course I am.”

“So you should fight with it for now. At least until Evie and I can help you get you up to speed with the short sword.”

Evie’s scowl deepened. “Master Graf was not conditional in his orders. He said that Mui should immediately discard his—”

“And,” Sara loudly interrupted Evie, “I’m here to practice, too. There’s no one in the Powdered Lead that’s as good with a spear as you, which means you’re my best sparring partner. I need the experience.”

As Evie huffed and turned away, mumbling about fools that ignore a master’s orders, Mui finally relented. Keeping his sword sheathed, he moved to the edge of the impromptu dueling ring and took his spear from Apprentice Blessya, who had been inspecting the weapon’s craftmanship. Handing it back to Mui with a grin, her thick rural Tulian accent turned her attempt at Imperial so garbled as to be nearly unintelligible.

“Yeov’e gottaweeponn good’s it, says me.”

Mui blinked uncertainly. “Ah. Yes. Er, thank you.”

“Will’s ya.”

Sara felt pretty sure the girl had been trying to say ‘you’re welcome,’ but even her Blessings struggled to parse the broken words. As an armorer’s apprentice, Blessya had spent even less time than most amongst the Imperials, and her grasp of language reflected that. Her eternal kind politeness helped to bridge the gap, at least. Raising an eyebrow at Sara, Blessya spoke up in Continental.

“General, you want a spear, too?”

“Sure,” she said, after a brief moment of consideration. “An even match is probably best.”

Blessya disappeared in a flash, then reappeared with another Imperial short spear just as quickly. Sara took it from her as she handed her sword off to Evie.

She gave it a quick spin, testing the balance. Decent enough for an army weapon produced in the tens of thousands. Sara would have preferred better, but that was mostly because Hurlish had spoiled her. It would serve perfectly well.

“Hey, General,” a Private called out. “We allowed to take bets on this duel?”

She tossed a cocky grin over her shoulder. “What, you think I’m gonna lose?”

“I mean…” A few soldiers looked at one another sheepishly. “He’s beaten the lot of us black and blue a more’n a few times. And you’re s’posed to be making sure you’re about the same Level as him, so…” Another shrug.

Sara laughed. “Fine. You can make bets. But keep ‘em light, alright? I don’t want to start breaking up fistfights over gambling debts when I whoop his ass, alright?”

“Aye, ma’am!”

She walked back to the far side of the dueling circle, bouncing the spear in her palm as she went. Mui was already waiting patiently for her. Sara took her stance.

She knew from the start that this was going to be a more equal fight. Mui did, too. She could see it in his eyes. With sword in hand, he’d had an anxious, shifting gaze. Now the yellow eyes above his dark muzzle were locked unerringly on her. Though she’d mostly gotten used to the strange variety of humanity present in this world, it was moments like this that drew Sara’s mind to the panther that Mui so closely resembled. He’d caught her interest by virtue of his kindness and empathy. The kind of traits you might expect from someone unwilling to fight. That would have been a mistake. Five years at war didn’t make a soft man. That was so fascinating about him, she supposed. A kind killer.

The spear duel was a slower affair than spear and shield. The term ‘short spear’ was a misnomer, Sara had always thought. The weapon was only short in comparison to the twenty foot pikes used in the heaviest of armored divisions. The ‘short’ spears had ten inches of razor steel sprouting from six feet of toughened wood. It gave their weapons a reach far beyond that of a mere sword, yet barely weighed any more than those blades. When she’d first begun training Sara, Evie had told her that spears were the king of weapons. The first created, the most enduring, and the yardstick that all other weapons were measured against. After fighting for so long herself, she could understand why. The ability to kill your enemy from a distance they couldn’t match was about the biggest advantage you could get in a fight.

The first exchange began without warning. Mui’s grip abruptly twisted from a low underhand to high overhead, as if he were going to throw the spear like a javelin. He barely had to move in order to get in range, stabbing down at Sara’s collarbone like he was skewering a fish.

Sara raised her spear and twisted aside, wincing at the shrill scrape of his weapon’s blade against the steel rim of her shield. She threw her shield up to knock the weapon back in the same moment that she thrust from below, aiming to disembowel Mui.

He’d anticipated that. His shield was already in place to block her jab, wood crunching as the tip dug deep. He stabbed from on high again, wooden haft twisting around her shield, hungry for the meat of her neck.

Sara’s shield came up yet again, barely deflecting the blow in time, and then she swung her left arm forward, bashing the shield into his shoulder. Mui was driven back with a grunt, stumbling, but one foot threw up a cloud of dust as he slammed it down into the dirt, catching himself.

If the duel between sword and shield had been the harsh collision of headbutting rams, spear against spear was the sinuous weave of striking vipers. Instead of digging deep into their reserves of strength as they shoved and grunted, they now lunged and retreated, boots dragging lines in the soil as they skittered trepidatiously across the tight dueling ring. To even the odds, Sara wasn’t wearing her full suit of plate metal, forgoing enough pieces that she was equally protected as Mui was in his standard-issue Imperial armor. That meant that they both had weaknesses, gaps to protect. With the hissing speed that their spears were capable of, any blow could be lethal.

This single duel lasted longer than all three of the sword duels combined. They each darted forward, found their blow countered, and had to fling themselves backward, graceless dodges and hurried ripostes barely saving their lives. Several glancing blows on legs and arms were earned, light cuts that would have been steadily dripping blood if it weren’t for their weapon’s protective enchantments. Stances shifted from one to the other, high to low, left to right, the story of their conflict scraped into the mud.

Mui was good. Not exceptional, not the best Sara had fought, but good. He had quick reflexes and strong fundamentals, yet didn’t fall into the trap of dogmatic adherence to doctrine. He could improvise, going off script when the crack and clatter of their messy exchanges produced situations that no training manuscript had ever put to words. He was a good sparring partner. Fun to fight against. And, as they broke apart once again, both breathing heavily, she saw the way his panting muzzle curled into a light grin. He was enjoying himself, too.

If this had been a real fight, with death on the line, Sara probably would have tried something stupid and extreme a long time ago. When it came to an honest battle, she hated getting in these sorts of prolonged, testing exchanges. They always ended when one exhausted party became convinced they were being worn down faster than their opponent, causing them to throw out some unpredictable, desperate maneuver. Sara did those too, but she preferred to do them early, when her opponent wouldn’t expect it. Now that she’d let things go on this long, Mui would be ready for something. He might even pull one out first.

Mouth hanging open to suck in as much of the humid air as she could, Sara hefted her shield and spear once more, resting the haft of her weapon atop the shield as she retreated as far back as she could get within the cleared dueling zone. Seeing this, Mui braced himself. She grinned at him.

“I saw this in a movie once.”

“What?”

Breaking into as much of a sprint as she could muster, Sara charged him. Mui cursed and scrambled backward, but he didn’t have much time to react. She was putting her all into this. With long, loping steps, Sara raced forward and, just before she was in range of his thrust, threw herself into the air with both feet, shoving her spear down with all her might.

She felt her weapon pass through empty space. An instant later, something struck her gut, driving all the air from her lungs in an inglorious splutter. Her momentum entirely arrested, she fell straight down, landing on her side with a wheeze.

Mui stood up, twirling his spear with obvious satisfaction. He’d dropped into a kneeling crouch right before she’d jumped and braced his spear against the ground like he was preparing for a cavalry charge. That was a damn interesting move for him to pull, considering the fact that cavalry didn’t exist in the Empire. She’d impaled herself on his weapon. They only had Krapeu, and bracing for a charge against one of those was as good as tossing yourself into their jaws on a silver platter.

“The fuck?” Sara coughed out, pounding her chest to help jump-start her diaphragm. “How’d you know I was gonna do something that stupid?”

“Well, for one,” he offered her a hand, which she accepted, letting herself be tugged to her feet, “it was stupid, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she wheezed, “but that’s why you shouldn’t have expected me to do it.”

“You did something very similar in Ta-Tomo, did you not?”

“I jumped over the spears then.” She supported her weight with her weapon while she caught her breath. “And I was fighting at a lower Level for this duel. Plus, that was a proper anti-cavalry stance. Where the hell did you learn that?”

He chuckled. “You have had me training with your mercenaries for some time. They aren’t the only ones who have been learning lessons.”

“Fuckin’ apparently,” Sara grumbled, rubbing her sore stomach. Training enchantments worked by letting a set fraction of the pain through, telling you how bad you would’ve been wounded if the blow had been real. Judging by the ache in her stomach, she would have been run straight through. Stretching, she clapped Mui on the shoulder and smiled. “Good job. Probably made a lot of people mad that they lost their bets.”

“No,” Evie said drolly. “They used me as a broker. You were bet against by a ratio of four to one.”

“What?” Sara spun, eyeing her troops. “Four to one? The fuck, guys?”

Eyes were averted and feet shuffled even as light laughter went through the ranks. In the back, someone spoke up.

“Like we said, he’s hit us all over the head with that spear!”

“Yeah!” Another called out. “And you weren’t even using your sword! I woulda bet on you if you had that!”

Seeing the out that had been offered to them, the rest eagerly raised their voices in agreement, saying they definitely would have bet for her victory if she’d been fighting with her greatsword. That was fair enough, she knew, but she had a role to play in this little comedy play.

“Nah,” she said, dragging the word out for several seconds. “You lot already betrayed me. I’m not gonna give you the chance to make even more money off me.”

Laughter echoed. Sara waited for the response she wanted, but when no one managed to find quite the right words, the ever-helpful Evie supplied them on their behalf.

“Are you sure you aren’t concerned you would simply lose the duel yet again, dear?”

Like a group of school-children spectating a raucous argument, the Powdered Lead let out a nearly unanimous cry of OoooOOoooh!

Putting her hands on her hips, she faced Evie squarely.

“You know I’m not.”

“It would certainly seem that way.”

Mui, too polite to recognize the little farce that was going on, stepped forward. “I’m sure you would do excellently with your sword, considering your greater experience—”

“Well, you’ll have to wait to see that,” Sara announced, cutting him off before he could get too apologetic. “The army’s almost ready for camp, and I’ve got a bunch of bullshit to prepare for.” She waved her laughing audience away. “Go on! Out of here, go back to your squads. You’ve got tents to set up. I heard there’s supposed to be rain tonight, and I don’t want you exhausting the healers ‘cause you all caught a cold!”

Once more, Sara was struck by the peculiar similarity that professional soldiers had to immature school children. Even as they obeyed her order, they whined and groaned their protests, breaking up into cliques to chat as they dispersed. She supposed it wasn’t that surprising. A lot of them, maybe even most of them, were still teenagers. Younger than even her. And, even though she had a child of her own, Sara still felt like a kid half the time.

Evie stepped up to take her place beside and behind Sara, joining with Mui as he wiped the foamy sweat from his exposed arm. As he pressed down, Sara was treated to the sight of the cabled muscle that was usually hidden beneath his sable fur. Though his coat did a good job of hiding them most of the time, he had thick biceps and strong forearms. In a world of Levels and Skills, muscle definition came not from overall strength, but rather strength relative to your Level. For a Level Five spearman, if put in Sara’s earthly terms, Mui was a damn sleeper car. Underneath all that slick fur, he was fucking jacked.

“What do you have to prepare for with such urgency?” Mui asked as he flicked the sweat free from his arms.

“Nothing that important. The army’s high-up types are having a little get-together tonight to eat fancy food and get a bit more drunk than they probably should on campaign. I’m going to force myself to show up.”

Evie sighed. “If you view it so negatively from the start, I doubt you’ll be able to maintain a polite facade for long, dear.”

“Yeah, well, no changing the fact that rubbing elbows with these fucks is gonna suck.” She flashed a beaming smile at Mui. “That’s why I wanted us to practice. Needed to have at least something to look forward to today.”

“And this was it?” He rolled his spear in his palm, inspecting it for chips or dents. Finding only a few inconsequential marks, he returned it to its spot on his back. “I doubt that a simple sparring match would make up for your much-dreaded and oft-avoided political bouts.”

“You’re half right.” Focusing on her Blessings a bit to make sure no one was listening to her, Sara leaned in close and dropped her voice to a husky whisper. “But aren’t you wondering why I’ve still got this collar on?”

Leaning away from her, Mui made a face. “Er. No, I wasn’t. Do you intend to have a second match away from prying eyes…?”

“Depends on if you consider your tent private enough.”

“A-ah. And so the collar is for…” He trailed off. When no answer came, he shook his head and looked away. “Nevermind. I’m sure I’ll… find out. Soon enough.”

“Yep.” Sara stepped up beside him, resting her elbow on the shorter man’s shoulder. She licked her lips. “So. You want some help getting your tent ready?”

“I suspect my answer matters very little on that front.”

Stepping ahead of them, Evie rolled her eyes as her tail flicked, gesturing for them to follow. “How astute of you, Mui. I have already determined which porter is carrying your tent and its supplies this evening. As I do not wish you to hold Sara for too long, it would be best if you hurried up.”

He swallowed audibly, which made Sara laugh. She gave him a swat on the ass that made his tail jump, prodding him forward.

“Come on, big guy. It’s been weeks. We need to make up for lost time.”

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Mui Thom

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There had always been a certain amount of nervous trepidation when he knew Sara was coming to his tent for a… visit. How could there not be? Pleasurable as her attentions were, they were always overwhelming. She had a body that was literally divine. To be allowed in her bed was intimidating, to say the least.

That it had been so long since they’d last been in one another’s embrace made it even worse, and now, when Sara and Evie had both disappeared after helping him find and unpack his tent? He was downright petrified. The familiar routine of assembling his tent was all that kept him from being driven mad by distraction.

He’d just finished laying out his bedroll when there was a rapping knock against his tent pole. Before he could think better of it, he called for the figure darkening the tent flap to enter, only turning around once they were already inside.

He started, instinct sending his hand flying to a knife that he didn’t currently have at his belt. With hands on her hips and a smarmy grin, a completely unfamiliar woman was staring at him.

Oh gods. Calm down, Mui. He put a hand to his chest as his shock faded. It’s just Sara, isn’t it?

She had transformed herself into the same tiny catfolk woman she’d tried to impress him with the other day. It had been laughable then, seeing her lose an entire foot of height while still clad in armor meant for a far bulkier build. Hardly alluring when most of her body had been covered in misshapen lumps of steel.

Now he most certainly could see her in full. Dressed as one of the army’s camp followers, a simple launderer woman, she was wearing the same scandalously threadbare outfit that they used when wading into a river with a basket of dirty clothes. More risque than that, even. He had seen underwear that covered more than the paltry top and bottoms she wore, both of which left the underside of her breasts and buttocks entirely exposed.

It was obviously a calculated decision, one meant to flaunt the changes she’d wrought upon herself. This was not a mere illusion; she had truly become a catfolk. One with an astoundingly exotic coat, like nothing Mui had ever seen. A thick, puffy coat of grayish-white fur ran up and down her body, clean and luxurious, complimented by a fascinating array of black rings running in fetching patterns every which way. Thick and elegant as her fur was, her tail was even denser, its coquettishly twirling length tipped by a dull, rounded end, rather than tapering to a narrow point like his own. Her muzzle was slim and well-defined, straight-edged whiskers twitching as her wet button nose sniffed the air. Her ears were as fur-speckled as the rest of her, cute little dots that swiveled this way and that like an anxious kit that hadn’t yet gotten control of their twitches.

And she was short. So very, very short. At least a foot shorter than she had been, which meant she was most of a head below Mui, her eyes level with his chin. Despite that, nothing of her body’s wonderful proportions had been sacrificed. Her breasts were large on her frame, her hips wide and sultry, the stomach between them slim and covered in fur that looked enchantingly soft. Before, Mui had said he’d never seen a more beautiful human than Sara. Now he could say that he’d never seen a more beautiful catfolk than her, as well.

The only oddity, the stark break in her beauty, was the collar that remained on her neck. He didn’t understand why, but when it was placed next to the exotic scenery that was her Blessing-altered body, he could barely give it a first thought, much less a second.

“Well?” She popped a hip out to rest a hand on it. Her smile was devilish. “What do you think? I’ve dressed up for a night of fun plenty of times, but I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve actually grown fur for it.”

“It’s… remarkable,” he managed to say. “I’ve never seen a catfolk like you.”

“Really?” She spun in place, still grinning, letting him see her from every angle. “I was wondering about that. I haven’t seen a catfolk that looks like this either, but I always thought snow leopards were pretty, so…” She stopped her spin and shrugged. “I stole their style a bit.”

He licked his lips. “It was an… interesting choice.”

She stepped forward. There was barely any room at all in his tent, and so he didn’t bother trying to back away, though there was some part of him that wanted to. No matter how tiny her body, Sara had a presence about her. Almost physical. Though he’d caught her scent from the moment she’d entered the tent, it became something altogether different when she stood a mere few inches away. His snout was graced by the aroma of a catfolk woman in the fullest of blooms, one who was radiating carnal hunger. It made his nostrils flare and his body shiver, floral scents and tingling spice swirling down into his lungs. She’d had a catfolk’s scent to her several times before, he knew, but this was so very different. Her pheromones were thick enough in the air he was surprised he didn’t taste them. It left his eyes blurry and his head spinning, weakening yet his body refused to stop taking deeper and deeper inhalations.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Sara’s hands landed on his ribs. The soft, now-furry pads of her palms slid down his fur, making him shiver, until they stuck the landing atop his hips.

“Catfolk noses are fucking crazy,” Sara murmured. She tugged him forward, into herself, and he was too dizzy to do anything but end up following along. She lifted her muzzle and rested it on his shoulder, dark pupils staring up at him. A few months before, the ravenous appetite in that gaze would have terrified him. It still did, frankly, but there was now a tremble of anticipation alongside it.

“Wh-what do you mean?” He stammered. Gods, that scent. No flower or perfume could ever compare. It was a living creature that enshrouded her, infectious tendrils worming their way into his body and setting hooks there that were never meant to release. A foreign part of his mind, so very rarely roused to action, was practically screaming at him that he was in the presence of a woman that must be bed— crude, animalistic instincts telling him she was fertile ground for his seed. He had heard other catfolk soldiers talking about how they would pay twice or thrice as much at a brothel if the woman was in a similar state, regardless of the acts allowed, and he’d always thought them fools. Now he understood.

“What do you think I mean?” Sara asked, tightening her grip on his hips. She began to sway slightly, as if dancing to a slow tune. “Just walking through camp to get here was crazy. The things I could smell, how much I could learn just from scent alone… Oh, and the ears!” The round appendages perked up as she laughed. “I don’t know how you sleep at night. Every little thing must be irritating as hell. I’d need to bury my head in pillows.”

“Army life was certainly an adjustment,” he nervously agreed. She was still simply holding him, keeping their bodies pressed close. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and only had thin trousers. With her stomach against his crotch, she had to feel him growing hard, yet she didn’t show the slightest sign of recognition.

“Your eyes are a bit worse though,” she continued, as if they were sharing idle chatter on the march. “All the colors are a little bit duller, everything’s a little bit blurrier, and I can’t see as far at all. But I think the ears and nose more than make up for it.”

“That is… interesting, I suppose?”

“You suppose?” Her hands squeezed his hips. “I think it’s downright fascinating. Why don’t you?”

Though her brand-new catfolk head still rested against his shoulder, he could feel a smug, self-satisfied smirk spreading. He huffed out a frustrated breath.

“There are other distractions currently drawing my attention at the moment, I must admit.”

“Really? Which ones?” Her hands slid forward into a full hug, which she used to shove them together even tighter. “These two?” She teased, giving her chest a shimmy, rubbing her breasts against him, “Or this one, maybe?” Her leg lifted, spreading his thighs apart as she applied a pressure to his crotch that made him groan. “Or maybe even this one?” Her tail rose over her back like a scorpion, weaving from side to side in a hypnotic rhythm. Before he could give an answer, that tail slid down and around, its tip curling around the base of his own tail with a tight squeeze.

“W-wha?” He stumbled forward in surprise. She easily supported his weight, keeping him in place as he lost his balance under the assault of such a strange coiling sensation. “H-how did you…?”

“Easy,” she all but purred. “Just because I look like a catfolk doesn’t mean I need to keep myself stuck with all the same limits. There’s a lot of types of people out there, Mui, and…” her tail squeezed again, at the same moment it dragged itself outward, stroking his tail from base to tip, leaving his fur raised like a static charge had rolled through him. Her laugh at his reaction, now tinged with the early rumbles of a catfolk’s purr, seemed even more beautiful than usual. “I intend to use a goddess’s Blessings to their fullest.”

“L-lovely,” he muttered. The hoarse whisper was all he could manage without his voice breaking entirely. The scent of her, the feeling of fur against fur, and now the slow, rhythmic stroking of his tail, it was all conspiring to drive him mad. “I suppose we’ll have to see if I manage to… to survive your attentions.”

“You will.” She gave him a fond pat on his buttocks, pulling her head back to look him in the eye with a sort of faux sincerity. “That is, you will if you do what I say.”

Even as her tightly-wound tail kept stroking his own, her hands began to roam upward. Abandoning his hips, they ghosted over his ribs, her snow-white fur mingling and brushing against his own darkness. Every touch, every breath, every passing second, they all served to wind him up further. The scent of blooming flowers and hunger were growing ever thicker in the air, suffusing every nook and cranny of the tiny tent. There was no avenue of retreat, nowhere to escape her attention.

Without warning, she spun him around. Bereft of the support he’d not even known he was relying on her for, he almost collapsed forward, but she was too quick. He felt her breasts— bare, now— rubbing against his back as her hands returned, burying themselves deeply into the fur over his stomach to hold him in place.

“God, you’ve got some fucking abs under here,” she muttered, the sultry tone of her voice fading for a moment, as if she couldn’t help but voice her admiration. His lower half’s reaction to that praise was severe enough to produce a twitch from beneath his pants. It did not escape Sara’s attention. “Oh?” She purred. “You liked that?”

“The admiration of a beautiful woman? It is hard to dislike it, I would think.”

“Oh, but there’s a difference between liking something and liking something.” Sara’s tail joined her hands in roaming across his body. Venturing lowest, the extra limb teased and prodded at the fur just over his pelvis. He had to resist the urge to squirm in place. From behind, she brought her muzzle up to his ear, hot breath rolling over him. “Everyone likes getting complimented. At least a little bit. But…” Her tail ventured lower. Beneath his waistband, beneath his underclothes, until the silken texture rubbed against his aching erection. A shudder wracked his entire body as Sara nipped at his ear, still torturing him with husky whispers. “Some people, Mui Thom, really like compliments. Praise. Telling them that they’ve done a good job.”

“Th-that seems… fairly normal?” His words were broken and choppy, his breath coming too quickly. His throbbing erection, now so stiff as to be pressing painfully against his pants, became steadily, achingly enveloped by the sinuous curl of her tail.

His reaction was pitiful. His lungs were afire with the scent of a goddess, his mind stuffed so full of heavy cotton that he could barely string a sentence together. Her fur was like a narcotic; everywhere it touched, everywhere she rubbed against him, his skin shivered and twitched, an almost feverish heat rushing to the surface, and nowhere was that worse than his cock.

Her tail twisted around it again and again. Once, twice, thrice, until the fluffy appendage had covered it from tip to base. No catfolk tail could have bent like that, and it certainly wouldn’t have had the strength to squeeze, a coaxing, rippling motion that ran from end to end, milking a yearning whimper from him that he bit his lip to try and hide, futile though the effort was.

“Liking praise is normal, Mui,” Sara murmured. Her hands rose away from his stomach, moving instead to his chest, her strangely catfolk paws kneading the muscles hidden beneath his fur. “But having a praise kink? That’s a lot more fun than just liking a compliment.”

“Y-you’re the expert, I suppose. And—” Before he could continue, her tail’s pumping redoubled.

“That’s right.” Her words were like molten honey in his ears, slowly but steadily submerging his thoughts into their sugary sludge. She was so short now that she had to go up on her tiptoes to get her muzzle close to his ear, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he found that all the more alluring. “I’m the expert. And that means you’re going to do what I say.”

“I—”

A tight squeeze of her tail around his cock, now combined with a pumping stroke, stole the air from his lungs in the form of a whine so high-pitched it was nearly humiliating.

“I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you what’s going to happen. And you know what we’re going to start with?”

Her tail had begun to slide up and down his cock. Not in earnest yet, it was still slow and teasing, but by the fucking gods, it was impossible how good it felt. It was as if every moment they were in contact drove his sensitivity higher, sending tingling sparks of pleasure that started in his groin, each repetition spreading further and further, until he felt worried the deadening pleasure would leave him numb from ankle to belly. He fought with all his strength to remain standing, but he realized in short order, to his chagrin, that much of his weight was being supported by Sara, who once more used her newly-formed razor teeth to nip at his ear.

“You’re gonna cum for me.” Another squeeze. “Just from this.”

“W-what?” He tried to look back at her, but his body was too disorganized, under assault from waves of pheromones and the agonizingly teasing strokes. “Th-that’s not, ah, what I thought you would want…”

“You thought wrong. You know what I want to see?” One hand came up off his chest, moving to his collarbone. Though the wound was entirely hidden beneath his fur by then, Sara nonetheless expertless traced the scar that an errant musketball had left behind. She smiled lightly. “I want to see you get rewarded for being such a good boy.”

Apropos of seemingly nothing, Mui’s cock throbbed. He let out a strangled groan, his chin dropping against his chest as he struggled to stay standing. The words seemed to echo in his head, over and over again, every imagined repetition sending another pulse to his cock.

Sara’s pumping slowed. He couldn’t see her, but he felt the lecherous grin crawling up her face.

“Did you like that?” Her silken touch resumed, even faster now. He put his hands back behind him, clutching her fur for support. “That’s one hell of a show you put on there. That little kitty mewl? I loved hearing that.”

“I don’t… what is the point of…” He shook his head, fighting the waves of heat that were permeating his body’s core. “Of pleasing only me? Is that not my role for you?”

Sara tsked. “Mui, Mui, Mui. Always so close to the point, but so far away.” His vision blurred as his cock was consumed by an even firmer squeeze, like a velvet vice lovingly stroking his entire length. “You know what I want from you, big boy? I want to watch you feel good.”

The pumping picked up pace yet again. He bucked and trembled, his knees quivering as he fought to stay upright. It was unbelievable. Her hot breath rolling across his face, the scent of thick, slick arousal dripping from between her thighs, leaving the fur there sticky enough to smear between them both, and that touch. Impossible. It should have been impossible to feel like this. He was drowning in her pheromones, an aphrodisiac, one that didn’t rob him of his inhibitions, but rather turned every threadbare trickle of pleasure into a cascading waterfall.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” She whispered. She sounded eager. Excited. The way her tail slid and coiled and twisted, it was almost giddy. “You’re going to cum right into my fur. Mark me with your seed. Every catfolk in the army will smell it on me, won’t they?”

Through heavy, panting breaths, he opened his mouth to tell her how utterly terrible of an idea that was, only for her hand to whip up. She hooked two fingers against his cheek, pressing them to the back, against his tongue. He couldn’t speak. The hand in his mouth kept his rough tongue pinned in place while the other continued to rub admiring, lustful circles over his musculature, and all the while her tail, that fucking tail, kept sliding faster and faster.

“What do you think people will say about you?” Sara breathed. Her breath was coming faster now, too. “When they smell your cum on me. When they know you fucked a Chosen. When they know you spilled your cum all over me, and I loved you doing it enough I didn’t even bother to clean up? There’s already been whispers, but what will it be like to walk around the army with everyone knowing you fucked a Chosen?”

He tried to respond. What he was going to say, he had no idea, but it didn’t matter. The moment his tongue began to move, the twin fingers in his mouth moved aside, pinning it in place. His attempts at speech, already a disaster from the moans he couldn’t hold back, became nothing more than the sound of his tongue lapping at her fingers, the very taste of her skin adding to the dizzying intoxication that was sweeping away his better reasoning.

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, nearly manic. With her head against his shoulder, she was watching her tail swiping over his cock with rapt attention. Every little pump was ticklish and tight, hot and smooth, and she continued to contract the limb with a serpent’s grace, even as she went faster and faster. “You can cum for me, Mui. I want you to. I want to hear you cum, y’know.” Unexpectedly, shockingly, she turned and pressed a human kiss to his cheek, the wet nose of her snout leaving a dot in his fur. “I’ll tell you what kind of boy you’ve been when it starts. I know you want to hear it again, don’t you? But you’ve gotta earn it.”

Earn it? He wanted to scream. What even was it, and how could he ‘earn it’? He was doing nothing for her! She didn’t even have a hand between her legs as she stroked him! She wasn’t toying with her breasts or having Evie attend to her while she focused on him. He was doing nothing, just standing there, and she was giving him everything. It was shameful. Even the men who visited the brothels bragged of the pleasure, real or not, that they brought their purchased women. He tried to fight, to turn around and at least do something for her, but every twitch he began was dissolved by yet another squeeze, robbing his limbs of strength.

As if she read his thoughts, her whispers returned, lurid and eager. “It’s okay. You can let go. This is for you. All for you. Just let it out, alright?” Her sharp teeth grazed his cheek, right over his scent glands, and she spoke even quieter, even more intensely. “You’re gonna cum for me one way or another. I’m not letting you go without my fur getting painted white. You earned that, Mui. And good boys don’t try to hold back, do they?”

There it was again. Those words. Good boy. Praise he hadn’t heard in years, twisted in the light of uncompromising lust, a gust of fiery wind that tossed the addled tatters of his mind to the horizons.

“I- I-”

“Shh,” Sara hushed. “Just do it. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He tried to hold on. He’d heard too many women complaining about their men lasting barely a few minutes, had heard too many men bragging about how long they could keep going, but this… no one could resist this. The Chosen of Emotion whispering molten desire into the ears of some common, nobody sergeant, practically begging him to give in.

So he did.

Sara knew it the instant it began. Her tail gripped his cock, twisting and shoving down to his base and circling up over the top, covering the head. Lightning that even an archmage couldn’t have equaled seized Mui’s body, white sparks dancing across his vision as she began to twist and twist, even as the knot at the base of his cock swelled, applying a pressure that rippled up and forward, coaxing his climax upward.

He felt himself spill into her. Into her fur. His hips tried to thrust forward, but she slammed her palm against his pelvis, keeping him pinned against her as he thrust and twitched ineffectively in the ear, his mouth open as a long, whining groan filled the air, a sound that was not, to his horror and delight both, loud enough to drown out her words.

“There we go. That’s a good boy. Let it all out. I’ve got you. Relax into it, okay? I want to see your cum. I can’t wait to lick it out of my fur. You’re a good boy. Good boy.”

He writhed in her grip. It was pitiful. It was exquisite. It was a climax that went beyond the body’s physicality, lighting up his mind itself with a sparkling rush, a deep, profound relief echoing in his mind: it was okay. He was okay. She wanted him to cum, and he was cumming. Through all their differences, through all their arguments, he was still allowed in her arms. Embraced, even. Welcomed with eager, helping hands— and tail.

He could see his cock below him. He watched every throbbing string that spilled into her fur. The black-spotted white became more and more matted as his hips thrust, each new wave adding to the mess. It was so much. Line after line, thick and dripping, until it began to overrun her tail and spill onto the floor of his tent. The scent of his climax joined and mingled with the aphrodisiac pheromones and the sweet, tangy slickness of her arousal. Despite being lost in the throes of his climax, he noticed that this last scent, strong though it had already been, was absolutely exploding. As he was dragged through a seemingly unending climax, he could sense Sara’s lust roaring like a wildfire, the scent growing until it was nearly as strong in the air as the scent of his own cum, and then further still, until it was stronger by far. It was proof, deep, inarguable proof, that she loved seeing him like this.

That realization was the tipping point for his ability to focus on anything at all. He fell into her, no longer trying to control himself. He simply let the pleasure wrack his body, trusting that she would catch him, carry him, keep stroking him, whatever it was she felt was necessary while he lost himself in the bliss.

“Good boy.” Her stroking slowed. “I told you, didn’t I? That’s a good boy.”

It didn’t seem right for him to be in such a daze from such a simple touch and a few strange words, but he was. He felt her breasts pressing into him from behind, nipples achingly hard, and could still smell the pure arousal leaking from her. He expected to fall asleep almost immediately, so exhausting had his climax been, but he should have known better. Just as his eyes began to droop, foreign arousal flushed through him. The tense sensitivity of his softening cock vanished, replaced instead by the dull, circulating thrum of desire. It was something he had experienced before, and he knew it was utterly unique to bedding the Chosen of Emotion. Lust returned, yet the satisfaction of his climax didn’t leave him. A contradiction that he couldn’t quite make sense of, yet felt all the same. Though he began to stiffen once more, hunger pooling in his belly, he could have been done for the evening then and there without a single regret. But he could also go on.

He had a suspicion which option Sara had planned for him.

As she released him to regain his footing, leaving him wobbling like a newborn ox, she took several steps back. There was a brief rustling of clothing, a shucking of garments that occurred too quickly for him to turn around to catch her disrobing.

What faced him was all the more arousing. Sara, rendered as a tiny catfolk woman, naked for all but her fur. Heavy handfuls of breasts rose and fell with her breathing, just above a trim stomach and waspish hips, wide and fluffy. She had brought her thickly-stained tail around to her front, its shining tip pressed between her toned thighs. His cum, thick, white globs of it, was shoved against her dripping, pooling arousal, hiding what lay at her core. The fur of her legs was soaked, ruinously so, a swirled mess from the way she’d been rubbing her thighs together.

As he watched, her tail rose. Like the curtain of a long-awaited play, inch by inch, she began revealing herself to him. Her lower lips, pale and glistening, showed first, and then the long white streaks that she oh-so-deliberately rubbed into herself. When her tail kept going, even after she had fully bared herself to him, he belatedly realized what she was doing. Spreading his cum across herself intentionally, deliberately. Doing for him what he hadn’t— marking herself with his scent.

“Well?” Her tail finished its ascent with a lazy flick, coming back around to curl coquettishly behind her back. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He couldn’t stop himself from staring at her. Couldn’t stop breathing in the blurred rendition of their two mingled scents. He shook his head, chuckling quietly. “I think I’m very confused.”

She blinked, a flicker of concern crossing her expression. “How so?”

“What do you mean? What makes sense about… this?” He waved, indicating her from head to toe. “About you being with… with me? A nobody sergeant?”

“I told you Mui, you impressed me with—”

“I know.” He swiped his hand across his muzzle. Even that had her scent on it. “I know why you say that. I just find it hard to believe, even still. And…” He chuckled again, more cynically this time. “What you called me? My reaction to it? What was that?”

She laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “Really? Getting called a good boy hit you that hard?”

“Yes!” He said, an involuntary shiver running through him even then. “It is… remarkable what it does to me. I can’t believe it. Why would I have that reaction to it? That is what a mother calls their child, or an owner their dog, not—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Mui.” She took a step forward, taking his wrists in her hand. For a brief moment he thought she was going to do some kind of kind, heartfelt gesture, but he should have known better. She dropped his hands on her breasts. “You know what getting off on that is called? A praise kink. It’s the most normal thing in the world to have, and I love that you have it, because it’s fucking adorable and hot all at the same time.”

“But—”

“Shh.” Her finger landed on his muzzle. He stared at her in surprise. Down at her. That was so… so bizarre. He didn’t know why even the simple act of having to crane his neck in that direction had something warm stirring in his belly. She smiled devilishly at him. “You like being a good boy for me. I like that, too. But you’re still wrapped up in thinking about all this other stuff, and while that’s understandable…” She grabbed his hips, dragging him into her, and practically growled into his ear. “This fucking pheremone bullshit works both ways and I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating like a goddamn rabbit in heat, so if you don’t stuff your cock in me in the next ten fucking seconds, I’m going to go insane.”

“Wha-”

“Mui. Mui, you know what this collar is doing to me right now?” She tapped it for emphasis. “It’s hooked up to Evie outside this tent, and she gave me an order to put me at Level One. You’re worried about me being out of your league? Some fancy Chosen that you shouldn’t touch? Wrong. You are SO much goddamn stronger than me right now.” She brought her face closer to his, muzzle to muzzle, their breaths intermingling. “And if you want to be a good boy for me, you’re going to fucking prove it.”

Mui was not a clever man in the realm of romance and seduction. But he wasn’t an utter fool. He knew what she was asking from him.

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