A Tempting Offer

Part 1

By Sigil Prince

Varkude strode through the city. The silver fox was just another traveler in Rakooma now. His years
spent in poverty erased, he walked proudly, eyes roaming over the crowds. He remembered well that
each of the people before him was responsible for bursting forty bandits only a few days ago. But, they
all acted as if nothing of significance happened. With blood spread thinly over many dozens of paws, the
guilt did not weight them down. Chatter and shouting hummed all around Varkude.

“Fruits of the desert?” A familiar face appeared before him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

It was the fennec fox prostitute that had helped pleasure the executed. Varkude wrinkled his nose in
disgust, and pushed her aside with barely a glance at her opulent costume or the basket of plump cactus
pears she bore. She squeaked, blue dress swirling as she stepped in front of him. The silver fox blinked,
and stared into her eyes. Usually that was enough to send any would-be deal-maker running. But, the
gaze that met the young vulpine's yellow-speckled eyes was as hard as his. Beneath her heavy eyelids
and drugged smile, the Ouroboros cultist was something else entirely. Cold fire, like his own, flared in
her, and she smirked as he bent down to speak with her, paw idly running over the basket of fruits, as if
inspecting her wares.

“If you want to sell me pleasure, whore, you picked the worst target. Or, is this some fierce new form
of haggling you cultists came up with for selling fruit?” He spoke quietly, but his paw was already
straying down to the sword at his hip.

“No, not at all, bandit,” the prostitute sang up at him.

It would take less than a heartbeat to behead the cultist whore. But, Varkude knew there was no
chance he could claim this was anything other than an unprovoked murder. Words, after all, were not
deeds. He had to bait her out!

“Do you want justice? Or just a cock to choke on?” The silver-furred vulpine presented his neck to her,
expecting a swipe of a paw or even a dagger from some hidden fold of cloth.

The attack never came. Instead, the fennec's eyes fluttered, her legs shaking in place, and she looked
up at him with renewed fierceness.

“I just imagined what would happen if I gave in and punished you right now. The Self-Devouring
Serpent's coils are most pleasant in death...,” she whispered. “You should try our drugs sometime.”

Varkude shook his head. She was definitely not his type. Too small, too scrawny, and the way her huge
ears twitched whenever she spoke made her seem even more blissfully mad than most of those that
worked in the temple-brothels. He expected she would barely make it past the size of a barrel before
splitting asunder in a most unsatisfying way.

“Of course, you are a creature of a different sort of pleasure. My mistress heard the rumors you spread
and we all know your secret. If you do not wish to have it spilled into the ear of every client that
stumbles into our arms, you will come with me, Varkude.” She turned, and walked into the crowd, her
basket at her side.

Varkude only spent a moment thinking before following the vicious little vixen. Her threat was no lie.
The city's streets wound around and around, until at last, they entered into secluded, incense-clouded
districts of pleasure. The Temple of Ourboros was an old, crumbling apartment building hung with
tapestries depicting, in painstaking detail, the scaled coils of their god. Cultists, practically brainless from
aphrodisiacs, opium, and other, more exotic delights, leaned against the walls, naked, waving and
cooing to potential clients passing by. An antelope, her breasts big enough to engulf half of Varkude's
skinny body, grinned at him and patted her belly.

“How would you like to fill my tummy, foxy,” the grotesque goddess of breast-meat crooned. “Wanna
see me pop?”

The vulpine male growled, but kept himself behind his fennec guide. Five feet from the antelope,
another cultist, a muscular hyena, his loincloth barely covering a massive, tree-trunk of a member, held
onto a short spear. It was obviously no toy. If Varkude so much as moved, the fox had no doubts he
would be skewered. This was a test and further proof of the vixen's words. He fixed his gaze on the blue
skirt of the fennec whore, and kept his mouth shut.

When they entered the temple, he clamped a paw over his nose. The overpowering smells of lust,
drugs, perfume, and sweat made Varkude's head swim. Worse than that, he could detect a faint hint of
blood, and drifting in currents of soft moans and orgasmic groans, the silver fox could just make out
pained yelps. His thoughts turned towards dark pleasures, and especially his recent destruction of
Sibada. He hungered for another, and now, in the Temple of Ouroboros, he knew he could easily find a
willing victim.

“Seems even you are not immune to the sacred aura of our lord,” the desert vixen said, continuing to
lead him deeper into the building, her passing alone making the low-burning oil lamps hanging from the
ceiling sputter and grow dim.

“I am mortal,” Varkude said.

“True. But, like our mistress, you have a bit of power about you. No ordinary mortal could force a
bandit leader to burst herself.” The fennec stopped, and pointed to a half-open door at the end of the
hall. “That's where my mistress resides. Enjoy your stay.”

Loops of self-devouring snakes, from beautifully painted murals to crude ink circles with toothy heads
sinking into sharp tails, spun over the walls of the hallway this close to the heart of the temple. The door
itself was covered in silver coins, resembling the skin of a titanic reptile. Varkude could not tell how it
was accomplished, even after he experimentally ran a claw between the individual coins. The silver
simply held together. With a heavy breath, he opened the door, and walked in.

The sight that greeted him was nearly enough to drive him mad with desire then and there. The
priestess sitting on the glittering pile of serpent-skin pillows was the very image of the fox's fantasies.
Pendulous breasts, nipples cupped with gold, spilled over a swollen stomach like a snake-skin covered
egg. The cat, orange-striped and green-eyed, looked like she was halfway through a pregnancy, her
scaled dress stretched just so over her body, its straps hanging off her, forgotten. Perhaps, the cloth
could no longer contain both her tits and her gut, the fox thought with a thrill. He longed to touch the
massive belly, to feel whether it was packed with food or young or something else entirely...

Varkude struggled to banish the need rising up in him.

“I am Oleesha.” The feline's voice sounded like poisoned honey, all fake matronly sweetness.

“Why am I here,” the silver fox asked in his best imitation of Sibada's angry growl.

The feline smirked, her left paw trailing down her swollen stomach to play with the hem of her skirt.
Spreading her legs, she shoved her middle upwards, letting Varkude see a sliver of red silk. She nodded,
pleased, when he blinked and looked away.

“Good,” she said. “If you serve me well, you will have a chance to enjoy my company.”

“So, I am here to serve you, Oleesha.” Varkude spoke more quietly now.

“Yes. Blackmail is an ugly thing, but I had to lure you in somehow, and simply hearing that I was heavy
with child would not bring someone like you running, would it?” The priestess patted her stomach.

“Indeed.”

“And now that you've seen me, you desire me.”

“Yes.” The fox tried to hide his excitement, but his voice still sounded desperate to him.

“Excellent. I will give my friends the order, and they will forget you are anything other than my lover,”
she said, and reached down to fetch a tiny bell from among the pile of pillows she rested on.

One ring, and a civet ran in. The cat whispered in the plump male's ear, the civet grinning like an idiot
as she let him suckle on a fat breast's metal-encased nipple. She dismissed him, and he rushed from her
side as if he were on fire, erection wagging in between fat thighs.

“Just one of my many loyal lovers. He has been in my service for a good decade, now.” Oleesha
giggled. “Do you envy him?”

“If you asked me a few years ago, before I ended Sibada, I would have said yes.” Varkude opted for
honesty. “But now, I would much rather prefer to be a master than a servant.”

“Life rarely deals us the paw we desire most,” the orange-striped cat said. “For instance, recently, I
became aware of a client that is not very friendly with my boys and girls.”

“You want him burst.” The fox raised an eyebrow.

“Her. And I want far more than that. I want you to indulge yourself until the fool learns just how
painful displeasing me can be.”

The feline madam, in spite of her current situation, was nothing like his previous victim. Where Sibada
stepped back, Oleesha stepped forward. The plump rodent had been flabby before her demise, muscles
slowly turning to jelly from the ease of her life. In spite of the luxury she was surrounded by, the cat
before him was far from simply fat and pregnant. There was steel beneath her fur. And, in her smile.
This task he was offered, Varkude thought with a growing admiration, was designed to teach him as
much as to educate the silly creature that upset Oleesha.

“It is a tempting offer,” he said evenly.

The cat sat up in her pile of scaled pillows, paws showing claws, her eyes narrowing.

“And one I accept, Oleesha.” Varkude clamped down on his panic and projected a cold indifference.

“When shall the punishment begin?”

VVV

She lay in her palatial tent, the biggest bear in the whole city. She long ago gave up on dieting and
exercise. Irra's mountainous stomach, soft as a feather bed, and as round and smooth as the solar disc,
dominated her bedding. Her breasts, as fat as any single merchant in the city, she covered with silk
tapestries to preserve some modesty, but anyone who knelt before her could easily see up the winding
cloth and admire her chest. But, Irra's size granted her vast reserves of strength and endurance, too. The
brown ursine waddled about the market, lifting nearly a ton of her feminine curves with ease. When she
took lovers, she was insatiable, just as when she drank or ate.

Dozens of unfortunate males could attest that lifting even a bit of her bulk could strain one's back, and
her belly could drive the breath from all but the toughest among them. Sometimes, she would hire out
some over-endowed male, and use him up until he was wrecked, pumped half-dead. Other times, she
would spend months with a single boy, until he stumbled, weak-kneed and sleep-deprived, into the
Temple of Ouroboros. Irra knew this upset Oleesha, the head priestess, but the bear simply did not care.
She paid good coin, and if a few of them suffered from an overabundance of her feminine charms, it
mattered not.

Most recently, however, a lynx scratched her behind when she accidentally slammed his back into a
tent pole. The cursing, yowling feline received a clawed paw across his middle for causing trouble. From
a bear of her size and strength, the blow was downright lethal, carving him open in an instant. But, she
called the healers, and managed to get the fool stitched up. Now, the pretty cat would have a souvenir,
just as her poor left butt-cheek would. Irra thought it justice. Oleesha disagreed. The fat, pregnant feline
demanded more coin, and threatened to have the merchant kept from the temple. Irra snorted, and
told her she would pay twice the usual rate to keep enjoying the services she grew accustomed to. Or,
the ursine made sure to explain, if the slut-cat made a stink about it, Irra would hire some particularly
nasty sorts to teach her a lesson for the same amount of coin.

It seemed to work. The boys kept coming. They were far gentler now, and much, much more careful
around her. Many left after mere days, tip-toeing away in the night. She did not mind. Variety was the
spice of life, and they were always competent enough to please her.

And now, a messenger from the districts of pleasure came to her tent, and announced that a special,
new prostitute Oleesha was certain she would enjoy would be coming later that day. This one, the red-
furred doe with sparkling black eyes assured Irra, would not leave. He was a fox, and his enthusiasm for
the larger ladies only matched his desert-forged beauty.
 “So, he is a scrawny, weather-beaten fat fetishist, eh?” Irra growled, and swept her plump paw
through the fluff around her cleavage.

“As you say, honorable client. Shall I tell the high priestess your fat cunt doesn't itch for him?” The doe
spoke quietly, but the edge of hate could be read with ease even in her drug-clouded eyes.

“Go and tell your priestess to feed you more opiates, whore. You're showing your true colors,” the
bear rumbled, and shoved herself into a sitting position.

Too late, the messenger realized she was within reach of the massive ursine merchant. Irra's paw
clamped down on the deer's throat, and squeezed lightly. The doe choked, eyes bulging, paws flailing
impotently against the bear's arm.

“And if you ever insult me again, I will kiss you.” Irra grinned, showing her sharp fangs.

The doe wheezed, paws clasped together, eyes pleading. The bear shook her head, and let the
messenger go.

“I will keep him. And if he displeases me, I might just make him stay forever. I could use a fox rug.”

The doe scurried away as quickly as she could, coughing as she scrabbled on all fours. Irra wondered if
perhaps she had been too harsh. The deer was probably just upset with how the bear treated one of the
other prostitutes, after all. And, Irra had to admit, it was more fun to hear a little insult now and again
than to have drugged-up zombies shambling in to deliver words they memorized right from their
priestess' mouth. She rang a heavy brass bell next to her pleasure nest, and one of her guards appeared
at her side, his armor's scales clinking together.

“Follow the doe and make sure she receives... twenty-five silver. That should be enough to cheer her
up. Oh, and ask why she was so angry with me in the first place. If you like what you hear, give her
another twenty-five silver. If not, don't hurt her.”

The muscular, graying badger nodded curtly, and clinked off to find the messenger.

Irra stood up from the bed. Stretching, the big bear sow sighed. She swore, when she first arrived in
Rakooma, she was a better person. She was raised in the Church, the second daughter of a powerful
noble in the North, and absorbed all that the saints could teach of mercy, compassion, and kindness.

This sort of cruelty was just not her. Sure, she liked it rough, and sometimes, a lover got hurt, but Irra
never took pleasure in another creature's pain and suffering. What she did to the doe scared her.

Irra promised herself she would be good to whoever that bitch Oleesha sent. Maybe even good
enough the fox would want to go with her when the caravan she owned set out again, instead of staying
around Rakooma's filth and corruption. Yes, that must have been it. Irra was merely a good lady in a bad
place, adapting to the crude, vile customs of the savages. Away from them, she would once again be the
beacon of goodness she always knew she was.

With those thoughts and fantasies of returning to her father's estate, Irra stomped her way to the
nearest food stall in the market, three of her bodyguards breaking off their card game to follow her. It
was time for the afternoon meal.

VVV
 “The mistress is in a good mood today, fox. Do not disappoint her. Or else,” the badger growled under
his breath.

Varkude cocked an eyebrow at the old male. He looked tough, but with so many years weighing him
down, the threat sounded weary and beaten. Rakooma was a dangerous place. Surely, a merchant
queen of Irra's stature could afford better? Still, he followed the guard without voicing such an opinion.
Let the old fool think the fox behind him is a pathetic, cringing pleasure slave. That would serve
Varkude's plans nicely.

“I heard she breaks her lovers frequently... how may I pleasure her without suffering a similar fate,
sir?”

The question made the badger pause. He stood at the tent's inner curtain, paw clinging to the fabric,
claws tensing on the threads.

“I pity you, boy. You think it's not part of her fun?” He chuckled, grabbed the fox's shoulder, and
shoved him inside.

The tent could easily accommodate everyone Varkude ever knew by name. The luxury astounded him,
every bit of the cloth chamber shining with gold, copper, and silver. Tapestries depicting scenes of the
northern civilized lands and the desert outside Rakooma vied for his attention. Decanters filled with all
manner of colorful, intoxicating liquids breathed perfume into the air. Gilded plates of fine bone china,
more expensive than even the truffle-sprinkled preserves piled atop them sat by a bed unlike any
Varkude ever witnessed before, a mattress big enough for six of him to lie down on with room to spare
covered in heaps of overstuffed pillows, blankets, and entire tapestries. It would take a wagon just to
move that bed.

“Enjoying the view, eh? You're a lucky one, fox. The mistress must have gone off to her meal. Count
the heartbeats until she returns.” The badger laughed, an ugly, wheezing sound that put the vulpine in a
dark mood instantly.

The job was done already, as far as he could tell. Bears were by nature big, but Irra's size, judging by
the way the pillows were shoved around her bed, put her somewhere above six hundred pounds. Her
heart, struggling to shove all the gallons of blood inside her, could rupture at any moment. Her paws and
feet would be nearly useless. Cruel and demanding as she might be, Varkude could easily bend someone
as lustful and greedy as her to his will. The smell of her latest climax lingered, in spite of the perfume in
the air. She was just a pile of lard with a mean streak. He could deal with that.

By the time she lumbered in, sweating and snorting, Varkude built a whole fantasy of her demise in his
head. And promptly discarded it when he laid eyes on the ursine. How could he be so wrong? She was
huge; that much was true. But her meaty thighs and arms moved without any wobbling hesitation, no
hint of pain on her beautiful, plump-cheeked face. Where a lesser creature would be a defeated,
diseased lump barely able to breathe, she radiated strength, her fat a sign of a long, indulgent life. Her
breasts, hidden behind more cloth than would be sold in the market in a day, or so it seemed, were
boulders. The expanse of her gut made the feline he met seem small, all her pregnant girth a mere
shadow of the rotund, fluffy belly of the bear.
 “Hello there, little foxy,” she rumbled, her placid smile becoming an amused grin. “They warned me
you were a bit on the skinny side, but I never imagined anyone could be so small. Why, I could probably
swallow you whole!”

Varkude nodded dumbly, eyes drifting over her bulk. Her hips, her thighs, the plumpness of her pussy
he could just see beneath the roll of cloth she used as a robe, they all put him in a trance. The cultist cat
disappeared from his thoughts.

“My lady, it would be a pleasure to serve you in whatever way you wish of me.” He bowed low, his
eyes fixed firmly on her deep navel.

Could he fit his whole paw inside? His cock? He felt a flush on his cheeks he thought died long ago. At
least, the erection that fought against his clothes would be normal under these circumstances. He was
here to ogle, compliment, and pleasure her, after all. If she would have him, anyway.

“Just looking at you makes me hungry.” She reached down, grabbed a large bell, and waggled it about
as if it were a feather in her paw.

It rang three times before a servant scurried in. Varkude eyed the boy. The plump meerkat scraped the
tent floor with his nose and begged to be of service in a breathless mantra that only ceased when the
bear rumbled her instructions.

“But mistress, you were just-” he began to say, and the fox firmly kicked him in the rump.

“How dare you suggest the mistress can be sated with the pathetic offerings of a single stall. Fetch the
meal she requested, and be quick, or I will personally have you stuffed and cooked,” he snarled, just
loud enough for Irra to hear.

The bear watched, eyes wide, as the meerkat picked himself up off the floor and sprinted off. She
blinked, slowly, and reclined on her bed, propping many pillows behind her with a single swipe of her
arm.

“Well, then. It would seem you have more fire than any of the other whores the Temple of Ourboros
sends me,” she giggled finally.

Varkude breathed a sigh of relief. He wondered if the risk justified the reward, but seeing her lust turn
to fascination was worth it. The merchant had made love to drug-addled cultist’s for so long, a more
assertive male would be interesting. And, of course, the fox never planned on defying her. The trick, he
decided, would be in tricking her into crossing the threshold he thought she already passed. Surely, a
few meals more atop her usual feasting would put enough stress on her beautiful flesh to make her a
bedridden plaything for him. Then, he could dispatch her at his leisure, slowly letting her go beyond her
limits. Varkude licked his lips. He could just imagine the sow on her back, pinned by a gut that reached
the ceiling, pleading for him to split her open...

“You know I expect you to feast with me, don't you, little foxy? I need you nice and strong. Otherwise,
you won't last very long with me.” Irra waved a paw over her massive cleavage and patted her belly.
“They don't call me Irra the Bed-Breaker for nothing. Though, they do not call me that to my face.”

“Of course, of course, Lady Irra.”

 “And what should I call you, little foxy?”

“Varkude, my lady,” he answered readily.

Lying would serve no purpose here. If she wanted to, she could discover that the fox was nearly
nothing before he came into a significant bit of money. It would be of no consequence. Plenty of virile
young males chose the easy life of prostitution rather than face the dangers of trade and travel. And just
as many changed their ways the moment a client became something more. Irra could, with time, see
him as a potential mate.

“And I would be delighted to feast with you. I am something of a glutton, and I hope my savage desert
ways do not offend. Food is scarce where I came from.” He smoothly slunk over to her bed and sat at
the very edge, tail just tickling her massive thigh.

That was a simple, honest answer, just shy of the truth. He watched her emotions change, a tempest
of mild outrage, confusion, and delight. To her, he would no doubt seem a kindred spirit now. The
ursine's foreign nature cast her adrift, too. She probably crushed any unfortunate that called her savage,
but that did not matter. It still hurt. And as for gluttony, Varkude thought with a small chuckle, she was
the finest example imaginable, and needed a creature to enable her downward spiral. Her servants had
held her back long enough.

When the food arrived, carried in on plates that could hold Varkude with ease, Irra giggled, eyes
twinkling with greed. She snatched a gilded platter of salmon fillets, painstakingly brought into the
depths of the desert still fresh, and began to swallow them one at a time. The ursine's mouth accepted
each pound of fish without so much as a hitched breath. She chewed and gulped down the fillets in
moments, then cast aside the plate, bowling over a servant. Then, as if it were an afterthought, she
looked at the silver fox.

Varkude examined the steady stream of vegetables, soups, preserved meats, steaks, and fruits. This
called for a little show of force. It was nothing the vulpine could not handle, but he hated the trick. With
an exaggerated flourish, he reached out, plucked an entire chicken from the tray, and began to shove his
mouth over the thing, bones and all. He listened for the snapping of bones, felt around the roasted
bird's hollow insides to rearrange dangerous bits, and finally, had it diminished to a size he could stand
to swallow. It hit his gullet like a lead weight, and plopped into his stomach in a dangerous heap. Too
many herbs and honey spoiled the taste of the fat chicken, but Varkude made a show of patting his
stomach and looking content, before grabbing an apple, and nibbling on that, looking up at Irra
innocently.

“Well, you've got an appetite, Varkude!” The bear laughed, before sinking her teeth into a leg of meat
drenched in gravy.

The feast kept coming. The servants knew what their mistress wanted, and thanks to the fox suddenly
catapulted into her favorites, dared not stop. The bear stacked plates by her side on the bed, the pile
occasionally crashing to the floor, cracking and spilling shattered bones, sauce, and utensils. Forks and
knives lasted only a little longer than her food. Lady Irra's paws bent spoons into little knots, and forks
lost their tines as she used them to pop open fruit pits, turtle shells, bones, and at least once a giant
pickled mussel. The knives dulled visibly, the steaks she cut apart easily more than a dozen pounds each.
And all that food went into her!
 The silver fox licked his lips. Her belly bulged, rounder than before, its softness reduced. Irra's middle
looked taut. She laid a paw over her gut, the churning becoming weakening spasms as her stomach
struggled to overcome the sheer amount it suddenly held. The ursine gave no heed to the discomfort of
her stretching innards. The merchant queen continued eating, winking to Varkude when she noticed him
staring, and urging him on with a nod towards the piles of delicious torment before him.

Perhaps the servants hoped he would choke and die, thought the fox, his smile tight. The platter
before him held the biggest pie in the city. It weighted more than him, he was sure! The steaming, fluffy
baked good burned his paws as he dug into it, but the vulpine was not about to quit. He shoved
mouthfuls of the fruit-nut-and-meat combination into his mouth, groaning with pleasure while the
scurrying meerkats, coyotes, and mice looked on with disgust, envy, and fear. They could smell his
arousal, he was sure, could tell where his perversions lay, and their instincts told them he was trouble.
But, Varkude was not about to hide from them. Lady Irra's servants were mere tools of her will. A will he
could feel around his digits every time he scooped a piece of the pie. The bear watched him eating,
rumbling her lust, her guts matching the sound with their own growls.

He did not have to finish the pie himself. Varkude motioned for the ursine to join him, and her bulk
shifted, hundreds of pounds of fat and stuffed bear bending down to grab the plate from the floor. She
pretended to pick at it daintily with a single claw, giggling as she copied him, before shoving her face
into the meats of it, slurping and snorting with pleasure. Wet bits flew everywhere, showering her
servants, the fox at her side reaching out to put a paw next to hers on her dome of a gut, feeling her
stomach's slow digestion, the titanic battle within like a distant earthquake beneath his claws.

“If you're half as good at fucking as you are eating, this should be fun.” She belched, and swiped a paw
over her breasts, sending oily sauce and crumbs to the floor.

“The meal isn't over yet, Lady Irra.”

“It isn't, is it?” She chuckled, then glared at her crowd of servants.

“You heard the little foxy... he wants more bear to hump, and I am not full yet!”

More arrived. Soon, Varkude no longer needed to play along. The gluttonous ursine needed only a
little encouragement. She ate as if she were starving, and when the last morsel passed her lips, she
slurped it up with as much enthusiasm as she had at the beginning. The fox held his ear to her belly, and
smiled, listening for the tell-tale creaks and destructive little pops. All he heard were bubbles and a
healthy, strong pulse. The enormous belly could stretch even further! Lady Irra's belly looked like a furry
sphere, her hide spread thinner, lumps of overworked organs showing through the fat just enough to
send shivers through Varkude as he caressed the fever-hot skin. That gut looked a little pink, but no
more than a little, beneath the fur.

“My lady, you are not about to burst, are you?” He smiled, looking up at her face, past her belly, past
her titanic, heaving breasts.

“Burst? Hah! I could eat another barrel of fruit and as much meat and beer,” she boomed, and
wriggled a paw until a servant brought her a giant goblet of wine.

Irra drank it all in one gulp, belched, and waved the servants away with an irritated grumble. Then, she
flopped onto her back and spread her legs, pillows and cloth cascading off the mattress like rock-slides.
Gut thrust upwards, breasts pooling at her sides, she reminded Varkude so much of the rat he
destroyed. And yet, she was whole. More than that, she thrived under such self-abuse. She eagerly
humped, small tail wagging somewhere between her ass cheeks as she panted, muttering invitations.

He obeyed eagerly. Such beauty demanded attention! He made up for his lack of size with his energy.
He thrust against her folds, hugging close to her belly, clutching pawfuls of fur, rubbing over her swollen
clit with his member. Irra rumbled and shook, pounds of her rippling meat heaving upwards with
pleasure.

“Come on, just put it in and stop teasing! I need a fucking, not a teasing,” she finally barked from
between her tits, slapping the bed with both paws.

Varkude shuddered, sinking into her, guiding his cock as deep as it would go into the fat bear's pussy.
Well-used, wet, she drenched him in her juices, and cried out as he thrust quick and rough. Varkude
knew well what she expected. He played the savage, all the while showering her stomach with kisses,
teasing her deep navel with slow strokes of a claw around and around its cavernous entrance. He kept
himself from shooting with the thought of taking advantage of that belly button, of her breasts, and
finally, of those full lips. Varkude could feel her meal respond to his humping, every clench of his
buttocks and roll of his hips sending the ursine's immense meal into a frenzy. If she were gravid, her
offspring's kicks would not be so strong, he thought with an evil grin, and licked Irra's belly, collecting
the bear's sweat on his tongue, along with a few sweet crumbs.

Satisfying her was hard labor. Varkude feared he would climax and pass out, but he kept his eyes shut
and imagined sweet success. Somewhere in all that humping, the silver fox resolved to destroy the feline
that hired him to kill such a wonderful lover. The merchant was his! Her infinite appetite, her cruelty,
her insatiable sex drive...

Varkude whined. His balls ached, his muscles clenched, exhaustion taking hold. At last, the mountain
of ursine shook, thrusting upwards, meeting his thrusts. She roared in pleasure, and quaked around his
cock. The vulpine slipped off, and fell from the bear, his breathing ragged. He never worked so hard!

“Oh... now there was a fucking...,” Irra panted.

“Thank you, Lady Irra. I live to serve,” Varkude whispered, his heart pounding behind his eyes as if it
sat in his skull.

“You served well, but I do not feel any fox spunk inside me.” The growl sounded closer, and the bed
shifted beneath Varkude.

The fox opened his mouth to say something, but her paws were already digging under him, pulling
upwards. She huffed, kissing his mouth with the same terrible hunger she had for her feast. He felt his
poor, numb length enveloped by cleavage, his rump resting on Irra's belly.

“Come on... cum... make my tits wet...,” she whispered the command into his ear. “A reward for such
good service!”

Varkude obeyed. He shuddered, muscles seizing, trying to hump between the heavy, sweaty breasts.
The ursine chuckled, and helped him along, roughly pushing him closer. He wrapped his arms around
her neck, and hung on, moaning in pleasure, tongue seeking her own. He came soon after, the cum
squirting from him a relief. The fox wondered how the whores could deal with it. Perhaps, the drugs
helped.

“Thank you... Lady Irra.”

“Just call me Irra.” The bear chuckled. “Anyone who makes it this far is high above the usual trash the
Ouroboros cultists send me.”

VVV

The feasts continued. The bear's appetite, far from waning, increased with every day. Irra was
insatiable. It likely helped that Varkude indulged his own fantasies with her whenever she permitted it.
As time went on, it became more and more about enjoying each other, and less and less about being a
servant to the massive merchant queen. But, even the most blissful existence carried with it some
challenge. Irra had businesses to run. And her silver fox lover had planning to do.

Varkude walked from stall to stall in the city whenever he had free time, using the money generously
provided by his patron to look for ways to destroy the orange-striped feline and her cult. Oleesha
controlled much, but she was not all-knowing, and with the right poison, the fox was sure he could bring
the Temple of Ouroboros down. Better than that, he could run off with Irra. He heard the ursine
mention her former home, and he could not help but lust after it. After all, if it produced a creature like
her, it was bound to produce more... Already, the silver fox's mind whirled with fresh conquests, even as
he imagined himself balls-deep in the bear's plump rump.

Today, new trinket stalls took up the empty space created by the end of yet another trade caravan's
stay. Varkude could not tell where they came from. The strangers wore the common traveling clothes of
the desert as if they were foreign to them, their belts too loose and their robes wrapped wrong over
their shoulders. Their fur seemed oddly colored, too, almost a pale green.

Varkude finally shoved his way to the front, and glared down at what he hoped was the stall's owner.
“Where do you come from and what are these things?”

The rat looked around, as if surprised anyone would ask such questions. His eyes were rimmed with
red. His fellow traders were all similarly afflicted, and all had the peculiar fur coloration.

“Rakooma does not know the Old Fora. Until a few years ago, we did not know of Rakooma. Now, we
are here, to trade the goods of our forest home and to offer the blessings of our swamps,” the rat said.

Varkude nodded.

“We benefit from metal and wood and stone, but we keep our own ways. The forest granted us
different tools, and these we turn to many purposes,” the trader continued, his eyes alive with greed
and pride. “Here, we have acorns, each one filled with enough food to last a fox like you days.”

The acorns indicated were the size of Varkude's little claw, and he bought seven without bargaining,
then nodded for the rat to continue, waving his paw over the rest of the junk piled atop tables and
carpets laid out on the ground. Surely, people like them had something unique and unexpected Varkude
could turn to his advantage.
 “The forest's leeches are medicine of the highest sort. They may seem dead to you, but merely dipping
them in water will bring them to life in an instant!”

“Old Fora's wines, made from bitter, dried grapes and fresh swamp fruits!”

“Curiosities from our far-off land! A great snapping turtle, preserved in brine! A crystal that predicts
rain! A collection of parasites! Among them, we even have the dreaded, deadly Sin Worm!”

“Sin worm?” Varkude leaned in, ears perked up.

“Ah, I knew a young sinner like you would want to know of such things! You Rakooma people are all
the same! Drinking, feasting, fucking all night! But this creature here...”

The rat raised a jar up to the light, and tapped the glass. The mud filling the jar suddenly churned.

“The Sin Worm does not die. It lives! If it had the chance, it would bury itself in your innards, and drive
you to madness even now! It is a fate worse than death for all but the pure people of Old Fora. Only we
have the medicines to make its bliss a heavenly one.”

“However did you get this past the city gates,” Varkude asked, rubbing his paws together, his plans
changing.

“It is only a curiosity. Who would be foolish enough to open the jar, knowing what it contains? And I
would dare anyone here to try breaking this glass by accident! It is the finest glass in the world!” The
pale green rodent chuckled.

“And if someone were stupid enough to open the jar... what then?”

“I heard tales of your... rat bandit, Sibada. She died due to gruesome excess, did she not? The victim of
a sin worm would outdo her a dozen times over before death, given the chance. And every moment
they do not sate the beast inside them will feel like hell's torment! But, of course, if you buy the herbs
we sell...”

Varkude rolled his eyes. Even among foreigners, avarice, religion, and pure, single-minded stupidity
ruled. The ridiculous faith of Old Fora meant nothing to Varkude. He bargained with the rat for a time,
before throwing the money down, and making a show of generosity. Let the crowd think he was a
convert!

“Foreign magician, I know such lust, such evil in my life! It would be a relief from all my appetites to
live as your people live! Let me have the herbs and the sin worm, please,” he cried, loudly enough to
disgust those listening nearby, and draw attention from the purchase.

Before he went on his way, the jar tucked under his arm, the rat stopped him, and motioned for him to
bend down.

“I do not know what vile thing you plot, demon-fox. A word of warning, should you be a fool enough to
open the jar. Sin worms replace the generative organs, stomach, liver, and kidneys first. Then,
everything else, bit by bit. Do not gift such a creature to anyone you would see alive and well,” the pale
green creature whispered.

“A fine purchase for me, then,” Varkude answered with a grin, rising up.
 He strode away from the Old Fora stalls with a lighter step and a cheerful whistle. The jar he held
boiled with movement. Perhaps, the fox thought, it sensed what use he had for its talents.

VVV

Picking the right time was tricky. On one paw, Varkude itched to see what would happen. The fox's
dreams, already a dark place, filled with glimpses of the sin worm in its mud-filled jar. On the other paw,
he knew that Oleesha would want to see progress. Arriving in her temple without a good reason would
end badly.

Fortunately, Varkude did not need to wait long for Irra to provide him with an excuse.

One night, as she ate, he noticed the beginnings of stretch-marks. What had been an unassailable
fortress of gut showed cracks at last, the fur thinning and the strain showing even before her meal
ended. Her breathing was harder now, and she sweated far more when they made love that night,
belching and complaining of indigestion. In all his days, Varkude never heard her say anything about
such things. He found the idea of causing her excessive discomfort strangely upsetting. The silver fox
spent a good part of the night gently rubbing healing salves into her hide, helping to knead the
mountain of ursine excess until it stopped gurgling. At its apex, he began to notice the depths of her
navel turn into shallows, her innards pushing upwards, fighting the belly button for space.

He arrived at the temple-brothel the next day, his jar filled with sin worm hidden in his cloak, safely in
a tiny sack slung across his shoulder. The whores greeted him with more gentleness than before. They
knew he worked for their mistress. A handsome goat nodded to him, massive arms folded across his
chest. That chest was easily three times wider than the vulpine's. The caprine led him to Oleesha,
chuckling as he murmured praises to his lover and cursed the merchant-queen.

“Oleesha is so wise, you know. She must have asked the right creature for the job. That bear bitch
nearly killed everyone we sent her. But you... you must have a way with that one. Surely, the priestess
will reward you.”

“Indeed.” Varkude rolled his eyes, but kept his voice neutral.

“She is so far along, and yet so strong. She still takes clients...and she still fucks like the coils of the self-
devouring one!”

The feline's condition did nothing to improve the smell of her temple. Walking through it still made
Varkude choke. If anything, the smell of aroused cat seemed to overpower all other scents once he
entered her sanctum.

Oleesha no longer wore a thing. Her pregnancy progressed much since the last time he saw the cat,
and now, her belly could compete even with Irra's. Or, at least, compete with Irra's belly before he took
on the task of growing it for the ursine. The merchant was far lovelier than the orange-striped cat. And
even if he could not help but lick his lips, imagining clamping down on her thick nipple and humping
against the immense, swollen womb of hers, Varkude knew she no longer had any power over him. All
Oleesha the high priestess would do now is suffer for daring to endanger his lover.

“Enjoying the view,” Oleesha gasped out, her tongue lolling out visibly as she spoke.
 Her many offspring kicked inside her, the agitation making her seize up. But, she did not seem
unhappy. In fact, the burden seemed to add to her lust all the more. Varkude shuddered, eyes cast
down between her legs. Had she climaxed? Was she about to give birth? Was Oleesha about to
surrender herself to him?

“Very much.” He cleared his throat, looking up at her with a smile.

“Tell me why you are here, and perhaps... you will do more than look. My growth has made me hungry
for attention, and I hear the bear enjoys you,” the cat giggled.

“My work with Lady Irra has reached its climax. I expect things will go downhill for her very fast after
this point. Her appetites continue to grow, but I sense the first signs of strain.”

Oleesha smiled, green eyes glittering. She motioned for him to approach closer. The place she lay, an
old altar of her cult, reminded Varkude of Sibada's last days. Surrounded by luxury, yet on the cave floor.
The fox strode over and placed his paw square in the middle of her belly, feeling the slow movements
within. Full of life, full of spite, and entirely at his mercy, the feline moaned, eyes half-closed in bliss.
Veins standing out on her belly pulsing stronger.

“Such wonderful news... deserves a reward,” she panted.

Varkude wrinkled his nose. Oleesha seemed different; dumber, duller somehow. The creature writhing
beneath his paw no longer pretended to be anything other than a drug-addled whore.

“You drugged yourself,” he said.

“And what of it, if I did? Do you think anyone here could judge me? I'm practically a goddess. And, my
dear boys and girls... heh... they eat and drink and fuck in a haze of drugs. Pregnancy has its discomforts,
and a little pleasure goes a long way to... making it better.”

“Then you won't mind if I add to your pleasure,” Varkude growled under his breath.

Deep down, he knew it was an excuse. He wanted to destroy Oleesha, and what she did to her unborn
kittens did not matter. Varkude suspected the sin worm would put an end to her pregnancy, in fact.
After all, if it replaced her womb, there would be no way for anything to stay alive inside her! But, it felt
good to pretend he was an avenger. For a moment, he wondered if he could make a life for himself in
Old Fora. He could play the religious zealot well.

“Add to my...good. That would be good. You deserve a reward, and I deserve a reward...” The cat
thrust her stomach upwards, tits wobbling, milk beginning to leak down over her gut.

“Do you think it will take long to doom her,” Oleesha asked.

“Not at all.”

Varkude opened the jar slowly. Hidden behind his cloak, the bag containing the jar shook, the thing
inside it seeking an escape with ever-increasing urgency. The sin worm smelled its prey.

“This is something from Old Fora, a land far away,” the former bandit said, and freed the open jar from
behind his cloak, letting the stopper fall to the floor.
 The sin worm was just as he imagined it in his dreams. A glistening, black slug, all teeth and tiny,
wriggling cilia. It sniffed the air briefly, mouth-parts clicking, before shooting out like lightning. Oleesha
barely noticed. The moment the beast touched her hide, the slime it exuded set her to moaning and
kicking feebly, eyes unfocused as she begged to be fucked. Varkude stood over her, watching the sin
worm slither over her belly, seeking an easier entry, though from the copious saliva running down its
many fangs, the silver fox guessed it would have no trouble digging its way inside her if given no other
option. Unerringly, it made its way down to her pussy, sliding over her clit, tasting at it with its cilia,
before with a disgusting squelch, sinking in. Fat and long as it was, it took a few moments for it to make
it inside. Oleesha shrieked, eyes wide. Ecstatic, she did not seem to care that her lover was not the fox
standing before her fully clothed and smiling coldly. Dripping with juices, both her own and the sin
worms, she heaved herself up, clawing at the air, gasping in bliss. Her belly moved oddly, rippling with
new, strong life. Judging by the strange noises, the feline's brood was now doomed, and she was well on
her way to becoming a host for the sin worm.

And worst of all, Varkude thought as he walked away, leaving the cat to her fate, she was enjoying
every moment of it, unearthly pleasure burning through her very core. He could see it every time he
closed his eyes; the desperate need for more in Oleesha's eyes, the climax rocking through her body,
sending her fat-laden breasts slapping over her belly, and the futile struggle to say or at least think
something beyond the next orgasm rising to the surface as he turned away. Perhaps, she already knew
he had set her destruction in motion. If Oleesha had any strength, any wisdom left at all, she would send
assassins after him now. But, Varkude doubted that very much. The swollen creature he left in the
Temple of Ouroboros was already a slave to the monster inside her.

Now, all he had to do was escape. Irra would understand. He could tell she loved him. A word here, a
little pleasure there, and the bear would gladly uproot her whole life, flee back North, and take her
favorite fox along. Perhaps, if the journey proved boring, he could find others in need of punishment
and pleasure. After all, just because he could not enjoy the chaos unleashing the sin worm on the
temple-brothel caused did not mean he could not enjoy himself elsewhere in peace. With the right
presentation, he was sure the ursine's natural cruelty could be exploited to that end. He could get used
to seeing a swollen-to-bursting belly beneath the tent of Lady Irra, his beautiful bear working alongside
him to break some poor, foolish creature.

On the way out, he helped himself to the temple's stores of drugs, assuring the bored-looking ermine
on guard duty that everything he took was for his ursine client. The cultists must have known she was to
die, because the bags of herbs, potions, and pills Varkude fetched would be enough to kill two of her,
and the weasel asked no questions. Not that any male with balls that big had many questions come up
in his life anyway, thought the fox with a cold smile. If luck held out, the sin worm would spread.