That Wicked Grin...

Waves of pain rolled over your dirtied form as the loathsome feral's leading pad stamps down just inches from your wincing face. Muscles quiver and tendons refuse your repeated demands to flee as your mind, so completely clouded from your abrupt flight, whirls helplessly as a leaf in the wind. Despite these worrying details, you are still able to level a disdainful glare up into the satisfied smirk your attacker now wears. This only manages to widen the smug grin now beaming down at your beaten form.

For his part, the Liepard revels in your useless animosity, supremely confident in your inability to resist him. For indiscernible reasons buried deep within your racing psyche, that burns hotter than the throbbing welts dotting your dirt covered body. Something about the way he, a once thinking, feeling Pokemon now lost to the throes of an unknowable infection, so bereft of everything that makes life worth living…

… can still look down upon you.

You who have fought and bled and suffered the indignation of so many injustices, each scar both physical and mental weaving together to make you all the stronger for having survived them. You’d earned your right to live your life as you’d seen fit and here, arms crossed and teeth glinting within a sadistic grin, stood the embodiment of everything you’d forsaken the clan for. His enjoyment of the pain he’s enacted, an unearned sense of entitlement to anything and everything you could achieve… All of it enraged you! Without thinking, propelled entirely by your hatred of what this man had been reduced to, the hand that had been clutching your aching side springs forth on a collision course for the cocky cat's leading ankle..!

… Only to swipe at the air beneath the now airborne hindpaw, a simple hop carrying your target clear out of your **** reach. At least until gravity brings it crashing down upon your extended hand, the **** of the feral’s full weight painfully burying it into the sod below. A surprised yelp bursts from your lips and anguished groans are quick to follow as the Liepard delights in grinding his heel into your pinned knuckles, the normally satisfying pops of the joints doing nothing to alleviate your agony. Another shaky look skyward shows that the sinister playfulness of your tormentor has only grown as a result of your disobedience, and despite the fresh waves of misery rushing up your arm, thoughts of escape are all you can focus on.

With gritted teeth to stem the flow of wounded whimpers, you tug hard at your trapped hand, shouldering the bite of each yank with freedom taking top priority. Freeing yourself, standing tall to repay the feral in blood, it is all delusion in the end as the sharp sweeping kick of the cat's free hindpaw connects below your chin. Flickering lights prance across the edge of your darkening vision as the ground rush up to meet your falling face. Mercifully, the soft earth provides a gentle landing for your muzzle, though you aren’t given time to appreciate it. Not a moment goes by upon your lips kissing the dirt than does a heavy pad stomp down upon the back of your head, driving your face into the soil.

There is the distant sensation of the weight lifting from your trapped hand, a kindness completely lost within the sea of fresh torment now pressing down upon your skull. As sleek and elegantly slender as the Liepard is, the full weight now focused on a single paw balancing upon your groaning head might as well belong to a Rhydon. Both the concentrated pounding in your cranium and the creeping lack of oxygen race to see which would be the first to usher you into sweet unconsciousness. As it would happen, neither would be granted the honor just yet as the detestable sole of the fiendish feline suddenly left your dome, the **** of his hop dislodging your face from the muck for a near divine breath of fresh air.

To have been able to fill your lungs was quite the stroke of luck as the oxygen would be sorely needed for the cry of misery that was driven from your earth caked maw when both of those devilish hindpaws came crashing down upon your exposed back. “Gggaaacckkaa hhah aaahha..!” The shriek would reverberate about the pillars of wood and flora, eventually fading into a pitiful wheeze. It is a struggle to secure a second breath with two toned legs squishing against your lungs, but somehow you manage to take in just enough to stave off the looming darkness. Despite your minor victory, limbs and muscles have all but abandoned you and this point, offering only token quivers or jerks as the Liepard continued with his play.

Surely taking note of your feeble endeavors, the bigger cat decides it’s time to show exactly where you rank in comparison to him. Just as you are **** out the last of your second inhale and hoping to be granted a third, you feel the slow, deliberate shifting of weight upon you. One of those pinning hindpaws, originally perfectly aligned with its mate at the small of your back, is now being dragged roughly up your spine, coming to a heavy halt just below your shoulder blades. Amid the pain clouding your hazy mind comes the question as to what the infected creature is planning, though you receive your answer as the roaming footpad leaves your scruff to join its partner just in time for it to begin its own trek back.

…He’s… I’m…

Shame rushes in as the realization hits home, and those hinds continue to rub themselves deep into your fur. Each new scrape causes your reddening cheeks to burn all the brighter. Still useless for anything more than clutching at the ground, your hands shake with the ebbing anger in your heart as a cold, all numbing despair begins to take hold. This was all you could do..? For all your close calls, for the challenges overcome and those left to face… THIS is what causes you to falter…?

A wannabe hero reduced to a pathetic pad mat…

That thought finally breaks you. More than any of the physical trauma this ill fated encounter has visited upon you, it is the harsh reality grinding along your matted fur that finally lets the misery snuff your fiery rebellion. Your head finally droops to the soil, half your face turned skyward and allowing you a slight view of your captor. He pays little mind to your whimpering, of course, those deep purple thighs sashaying in place as his legs go about their mock walk along your form. A glance back to check up on your impromptu Ashiatsu ‘massage’ has that sickening smirk drawing wider in the face of your silent tears. It is then that he knows he’s dashed any trace of resistance.

You grunt as the shock of one thoroughly cleaned hindpaw slaps down upon your fuzzy rump, toes giving it a firm pinch for good measure, before the Liepard finally leaps from your battered body, landing at your own hinds. Even knowing what’s likely coming, you can’t even mount a struggle for show. There’s just nothing left in the tank and when you feel your ankles scooped up, a probing tongue teasing at your heel, a small part of you just wants it to be over. The Liepard is the one holding sway over your fate, however, and he’s content to take his time. The laps at your exposed paws cause your fur to bristle as your final destination is all but confirmed and the icy grasp of dread makes its home in your chest.

T-this is… I’m gonna..!

That withering notion does get some pushback from the instinctive drive for self preservation, however, when both your hind paws are clasped together and suddenly enveloped in a warm, accommodating maw. Will broken and limbs completely flaccid, the power desire to continue existing has you biting back against the all encompassing paresthesia, pins and needles doing nothing to halt your pathetically uncoordinated struggling. Regardless of your rejection to the steamy invitation, the fight is horribly one-sided and as the digits of your trapped hinds feel the first tugs of a powerful throat, you know your fate is sealed.

The token resistance continues on for a while, getting a few raspy growls from the one who just claimed your ankles, though they seem to be derived from his wicked amusement at your plight rather than anger at your disobedience. Whether he thought that was funny or not, nothing could have prepared the both of you for what came after another strong swallow took your slender calves, lifting your torso from the ground. You feel it first, the cool breeze teasing at the sensitive flesh of a shamefully solid erection left to dangle helplessly in the air. The Liepard is quick to catch on, though, when his hand rubs against the pulsing tip as it reaches for a better purchase on your hips, eliciting an unsolicited gasp from your distressed lips. His progress on your thighs is interrupted, curiosity overtaking the ravenous hunger just long enough for him to redirect the offending hand to investigate the unexpected protrusion.

Whines of mournful humiliation escape you to mix with the stream of now undeniable feral laughter vibrating around your lower half. Having figured out that his simpering little prey had somehow managed to sprout a shameless stiffy during his devouring, the classless feline lets your member throb in his open palm for a few moments, wholly entertained by the lewdness of it all. You feel the urge to sob building in your guts as the dishonor is far more than you can bare, though the wetness edging your eyes is shocked away when that **** organ is suddenly, brutally grasped in a tight, toasty fist.

The delay of your gurgly end isn’t much of a comfort in the face of the smothering compression now squeezing at your manhood. Aside from a slight bit of wind torturously slipping past your barely exposed tip, the feral has nearly all of you quite literally in the palm of his hand. Trying to shift your arms back to assist your ensnared penis are in vain as the awkward suspension of your gullet trapped legs puts most of your remaining mass on your forelimbs, pinning them before you. Seeing that his stress toy is neither incapable or unwilling to intercede on his warped playtime, the Liepard gives you another firm squeeze before that perverted hand begins to pump the length of your cock.

Groans of anguish, or possibly forbidden lust, are extracted from your quivering mouth as the rough hand job continues to work over your confused libido. Clenching your teeth against the pleasure is of little consequence as those sinful moans escape as heated hisses all the same. You tried to hold back, to deny the undeniable, but the tingling in your balls was growing harder to ignore. The feral was clearly enjoying himself as well, his warm huffs of air colliding with your wiggling back side every few pumps or so. You couldn’t see it from where you lay, but the muggy air rising from his own crotch suggested that he’d have to take care of himself once he was finished with you.

As if your disgrace wasn’t humbling enough, you lasted about as long as it took the superior feline to trample you into the dirt. When you begin to hear your own wanton moans begin to grow short with an edge of haughtiness, you know the end has arrived. The other hand of the Liepard that had been supporting your torso falls from your abdomen, his maw tightening to compensate for the full weight of your midsection, and it takes its place beneath your pre-stained cock head.

“Nnnn-nuuhhh Hhhaaahh NnnnaaaaaAAHHHHH!!”

The jolt of that first unwanted shot hits hard as your arms shoot out below you, driving your front upward to put a rather delicious arch into your shuddering back. Unbothered by your carrying on, the infected cat continues his speedy jerks, milking your generous offering into his waiting palm below. Where you failed in longevity, you more than make up for in production as the **** orgasm only begins to wean off a few seconds shy of the whole length of your foe’s rigorous stroke session. By the end of it, though completely lost in your bliss tangled mind, his hand is covered in the pearly liquid, the pool draining over the sides and through his fingers.

As the pleasure subsides and your lust induced strength flees, your frail arms drop you back down into the dirt you’d grown accustomed to, barely registering the eager mouth taking in your drooling penis. Ears are ringing when the hips disappear, probing licks teasing at your belly button are similarly lost in your hazy afterglow, and it isn’t until you feel your pert nipples scrap on the dripping teeth of your opponent that you shake back to the here and now. The moment of clarity is sorely needed and with your horrible urges dealt with, you're ready to mount a furious denial of the Liepard’s ill gotten gains. Both arms prepare to strike out behind you to take the indulgent predator by surprise.

*SPPLOOORT*

The golden, cream drenched handpaw comes up in a flash, smacking sloppily over your shocked expression. The soggy mitt clasps over the majority of your face as your attempt to push away the obscene delivery are thwarted by superior strength. In the end, the spunk soaked fingers rub the sticky essence into their owner's devastated face, your tears lost in the salty quagmire. There is nothing left in you to oppose the next few swallows and it is with one last tug from the vibrating flesh tube that your head, arms, and any hopes of being anything other than a foolish, cum glazed morsel are lost to the world forever…

__

The purple eyed Liepard sat reclining against the unyielding oak that moments earlier had served to put an end to his snacks attempted escape, the smaller male now twitching weakly in his engorged yellow belly. The victorious cat couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten Sneasel for lunch, though he couldn’t remember most of the previous day due to the virus clouding such pointless thoughts. Still, the unexpected ‘frosting’ was a delightful surprise addition to the scrappy fighters already delightful flavor.

He idly lapped at the last bits of Sneasel jizz that caked his grinning maw, endeavoring not to waste even a single drop of the meal. When at last, when his lips were left spotless and each finger had been sucked clean, the lounging leopard laid back fully, allowing his gut to begin its pleasurable work. The tiny kitten within would occasionally push against his juice slicked confines, though the feral was unsure if these were conscious movements of a crestfallen wannabe top cat, or the last nudges of a soon to be patch of fat on his hips.

Whatever the case may be, it fell far short of the throbbing priority that stood proudly between the Liepards legs. A saliva coated hand found his aching erection in short order, ready to enjoy his own euphoric release. A smug chuckle of contentment would be the last thing the trapped Sneasel would hear before the rhythmic slaps and groans of what was certain to be a very pleasurable bout of self love rocked what was left of a would-be hero into his eternal slumber…

__