The Sorcerer's Apprentice

 “Cut him off, don’t let him get away!” Günter shouted.

The six mercenaries circled cautiously around their quarry, but the cornered rat-man was no helpless prey. Hissing threats and baring his yellowed fangs, he kept his assailants at bay with his long staff. It would have been child’s play for the experienced soldiers to run him through with their swords but they wanted him alive. The ugly thing did not know it, but he was worth his weight in gold.

This was, without a doubt, the oddest and riskiest contract the men had ever taken. They had heard that a wealthy and mysterious mage would pay several thousand gold crowns to anyone who could bring him a Skaven. The rat-men were a common pest in the sewers of Miragliano but the mage did not want an ordinary rodent. The bounty would only be awarded for a grey-furred, horned Skaven. A Grey Seer, the most rare and dangerous of their kind.

At first Günter and his band of adventurers had shrugged off the news. Although the money would have been enough to buy them all a comfortable retirement, diving into the sewers to search for a rat-mage was more likely to earn them an early and very painful death. Things had changed when a town crier brought the news that an army of the creatures was sacking the countryside east of the city. The men immediately joined the relief force which confronted and scattered the monsters. As Günter had hoped, the Skaven war band was headed by a horned specimen. The rat-in-chief wasted no time in abandoning his troops when things turned sour but the six bounty hunters were able to track him easily as he scurried through the fields. They had expected a tough battle but, in a twist of irony, his bodyguards deserted him as soon as they realized that the mounted men in pursuit were after their master only.

Günter and Lorenzo exchanged a quick look and a knowing nod. Veterans of many battles, the two condottieri knew each other so well that talking was not necessary. Günter roared a war cry and slashed the air in front of the rat-man. Taken by surprise, the rat jumped back and squealed before swinging his staff menacingly. Taking advantage of the distraction, Lorenzo snuck up behind the Skaven with a bludgeon in his hand.

Maybe the men had grown overconfident, or maybe it was just bad luck. Either way, as Lorenzo was about to knock his target unconscious, the Skaven saw something in Günter’s face that made him turn around fast. Before anyone had time to intervene, the mage raised a clawed hand and screeched:

“DIE-DIE man-thing!”

An ear-shattering crackling sound and a blinding flash of green lightning instantly followed the words. When the men opened their eyes again, all that was left of Lorenzo was a charred corpse and the stench of burnt flesh. Fortunately for the survivors, the rat-man was clutching his staff with shaky hands, visibly exhausted.

“He’s weakened,” shouted Günter. “Disarm him but by Sigmar do not kill him!”

It was over quickly. The giant rat was mobbed and pinned to the ground on his stomach. He shrieked horribly and tried to bite the hands that kept him from moving but a few punches and kicks deterred him from further attempts. After tying his wrists and ankles, the men patted him down. His robes were lined with pockets and hidden pouches that contained various scrolls, flasks and other magical trinkets. Unwilling to take any chances, Günter cut off the filthy garments and tossed them aside, leaving the Skaven completely naked. His fur was grey with streaks of light silver and covered his whole body except for his hands and feet. A long scaly tail wriggled nervously from above his rump like a fat pink worm brought to light. The perched appendage also revealed a surprisingly large pair of hairy testicles between the creature’s legs. The men wrinkled their noses. The Skaven stank abominably. Günter’s first thought was that the rat-man had pissed itself in fright but the smell came from an oily, reeking substance that seeped from his exposed anus and stained the fur of his inner thighs and buttocks. The undignified scene caused more grunts of disgust than laughs. Günter was about to speak when he saw the rat rolling his tongue in his mouth, pressing it against his right cheek.

“Marco, hold his snout open. Be careful, if I lose a finger you will lose your cut.”

Marco complied, forcing the Skaven’s jaws wide apart with his gloved hands despite the rat’s protests. Günter shoved three digits down his mouth and began feeling down inside the fang-lined maw. A smile dawned on his lips as his fingers closed around something hidden deep down the rat’s cheek pouch.

“I knew it! The little bastard is cunning.”

A tiny nugget of warpstone was pinched between his index finger and thumb. The grizzled mercenary knew enough about magic to know that the foul rat-men ate the substance to power their spells. Günter quickly flung it away. He was still wiping his drool-coated hand on his shirt when he saw a flash of steel from the corner of his eye. He lunged forward and grabbed the arm that was about to plunge a dagger into the rat-man’s neck.

“Stefano! What do you think you’re doing?”

“That vermin killed my brother. He won’t get away with this.”

“Lorenzo knew the risk and he accepted it,” said Günter in a soft yet firm voice. “Dead, this one will only fetch a few copper coins from the ratcatchers. Alive, he can make us rich. Do you want your brother to have sacrificed his life for nothing?”
The younger mercenary ground his teeth for several seconds, his eyes filled with burning anger. Soon, however, cold business logic won over raw emotion. The hand that held the knife relaxed and the blade fell harmlessly to the ground. Stefano drew back from the prone Skaven with a sullen look and saw fit to give him one last kick in the ribs, drawing a cry of indignation and impotent rage from the pinned rat-man. Günter smiled.

“Besides, he’s not getting away with it. I don’t know what the mage has in store for that little bugger but it can’t be pleasant.”

*	*	*	*	*

The mercenaries tossed their prisoner on a cart borrowed from a nearby hamlet and hid him under a pile of old sacks. They set out in the direction of the city, avoiding the main roads as much as possible. The Skaven was not a pleasant travel companion, as he spent the first half hour of the trip alternating between begging his captors for mercy and threatening them horribly. The rat possessed a rather impressive repertory of sailor’s curses in the Tilean tongue, an unexpected detail that Günter found amusing until he realized it meant the Skaven had spies in the taverns and docks of the city. The exasperated men muzzled him with a piece of cloth but the Grey Seer kept shouting through his gag until Stefano jumped onto the cart and set his boot on the Skaven’s testicles.

“Our employer wants you alive but he did not say whole. Shut up or I’ll give you a good reason to scream. Understood?”

He punctuated his threat by pressing down on the furry scrotum, squeezing the vulnerable orbs just enough to make the rat yelp in fear for his masculinity. There was another whiff of stench in the air but the prisoner remained quiet for the rest of the journey.

The sun was low on the horizon when the small troop reached a ruined farmstead on the outskirts of Miragliano. The building was located conveniently close to the city but was sufficiently far from the main road that it attracted little attention, and the men used it as a hideout whenever their activities put them at odds with the local militia. A quick reconnaissance confirmed that the place was still deserted, so the precious cargo was unloaded in the courtyard and taken to a small room in the cellar. The rat looked bruised and slightly nauseous after the rough ride along the bumpy roads. Günter refused to untie his bonds but he made sure he was covered with a blanket and fed some bread and meat. He was pleased to see that the Skaven wolfed down the food and even vociferously asked for more. The last thing he wanted was for his ticket to fortune to fall sick and die on his hands.

Taking the Skaven’s rags and personal effects with him as proof of the catch, Günter rode off to contact the mage’s agents inside the city and arrange a handover of the captive. He took Stefano with him, not trusting the hot-headed young man with their prisoner. The mercenaries left behind spent an uneasy night listening to the rat desperately trying to gnaw his way through the thick door of his cell.

Both men were back early in the morning, escorting a cart. The cart’s driver, a dark-haired young man with a Bretonnian accent, introduced himself as Tristram, the mage’s apprentice. The lad peeped cautiously into the room to inspect the now sleeping Grey Seer and nodded approvingly. He uncorked a small flask and poured its contents on a plate of food. Less than one hour later, the drugged Skaven was safely hidden inside a barrel and a considerable amount of gold had changed hands. Günter escorted the cart a short way down the road and looked on pensively as it made its way towards the city, loaded with its strange passenger.

“Good riddance,” he thought as he patted the clinking sack strapped to his saddle.

*	*	*	*	*

Rattskit tentatively opened one beady red eye, then the other, groaned and raised his horned head from his chest. A flash of pain made him lay it down again with a whiny moan. His throat felt parched and his head was aching horribly. What had happened to him? He breathed deeply and tried to focus despite the throbbing pain between his temples and the mounting fear in his gut. There had been a battle and his cowardly troops had ruined his brilliant plans by fleeing at the first sight of the enemy. In spite of the disaster he had done his duty by saving the most important of his clan’s assets, namely himself. But a group of cruel man-things had hunted him down like an animal. Worst of all, his traitorous guards had refused to honour their pledges to sacrifice themselves for their leader. In fact, they had tripped him and left him at the mercy of his pursuers to cover their own flight!

He felt the rage build up inside him and felt all the better for it. The anger was drowning out the pain in his feverish brain. All his careful scheming, the ruinous bribes he had paid and the undeserved flattery he had lavished on his superiors so they would put him in command of his own army. All for nothing! All ruined by incompetent underlings and jealous rivals. There would be a bloody reckoning with the survivors when he got back.

But where was he? The red mist in front of his eyes cleared enough for him to inspect his immediate surroundings. He was sitting with his back against a wall in a dark, dank room but it didn’t smell like the one where he had fallen asleep. He tried to stand up and felt something heavy holding him down. He attempted to shake it off and heard a clanking sound. Rattskit finally understood that he was chained by his ankles, wrists and neck to the wall. As he moved his body the hay that formed a litter on the cold floor scratched against his exposed ballsack. This reminded him that he was still completely naked. Another abuse he had suffered at the hands of the barbarous man-things! The cowards had ganged up on him, several hulking brutes against one poor little Skaven. They had beaten him up despite his protests of being harmless, robbed him of his precious amulets and scrolls, stripped him of his sacred robes, forced their dirty fingers inside his mouth, tossed him around and dragged him from one dungeon to another. This had all been very unfair, very humiliating, very… arousing? He lowered his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. His sheath had started swelling, leaving a little pink tip sticking out. “Not-not again,” he thought, increasingly worried. He had had a raging erection in the cart after that nasty man-thing had threatened to crush his rathood with his foot on front of everyone. Fortunately they hadn’t noticed anything and he had managed to lose it before the end of the trip. Now it was back with a vengeance.

“Why in the Horned Rat’s name is this happening to me-me?” he raged aloud as his bulging penis slid out of his body. His mind was filled with pictures of the strong, rough hands that had tied him like a slave bound for the market and patted his rump like some vulgar breeder. He was a Grey Seer, a chosen prophet of his god! This undignified treatment should trigger his righteous anger, not excite him. He breathed deeply. “The drug. Yes-yes! That must that horrible-nasty drug they made me swallow-drink.” He felt reassured. Nothing wrong with him, he just needed to wait and the after-effects of the drug would surely wear off. In the meantime, a little bit of innocent self-indulgence would soothe his wracked nerves.

He was now fully erect, and despite the surrounding darkness he felt a bead of precum roll off the head of his cock. He reached his hand towards his member but the chain stopped him. He tried to lift his leg, hoping to use his prehensile foot instead, but was again thwarted. He pulled on his chains with a cry of rage that ended with a frustrated whine. The harsh iron fetters restrained his movements and left him totally helpless. The thought made him even hornier, and the urge to touch himself was now overwhelming. With considerable effort he laid his crotch on the ground, hoping to grind his painfully engorged dick to orgasm against the floor. He gave up after a few thrusts. The contact of the rough stone against his sensitive skin caused him more pain than pleasure.

The once-proud Skaven was almost sobbing. Why was life so cruel to him? In a last-ditch attempt to find relief he bent his body to suck his cock but only succeeded in teasing himself even further when the tip of his tongue wrapped around his glans. The titillation combined with the taste of his arousal in his mouth was maddening and the rat let out a shrill squeak of fury that reverberated beyond the walls of his cell.

Rattskit could not tell how long he had been writhing in an agony of frustration before he heard the muffled sound of incoming footsteps outside his cell. They stopped and were followed by the clinking of keys in a lock. The door flung open, illuminating the dark room and making the Skaven shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, a man-thing in a long flowing robe was standing a few feet away from him. “Good morning, my friend,” the shadowy figure said.

The rat peered at him with angry red eyes. Who was this man-thing? This could only be the mastermind who had orchestrated all his woes. Now he had come to gloat at his misfortune!

Tristram smiled. The potent sleeping drug had been perfectly dosed and his guest was alive and well. How fortunate it was that these mercenaries had fulfilled the contract put out by his master just the week when the old man was out of town! He now had the Skaven for himself for at least a few days and he intended to exploit this opportunity to its fullest.

“I hope you will forgive me for the rather rustic nature of your lodgings but…” he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes going wide as he noticed for the first time the long pink stick that protruded from the rat-man’s groin. He remained silent for an instant before he resumed with an amused grin “…but I can see that you have already made yourself at ease.”

The Grey Seer felt warmth rush to his face. He shuffled around, trying to hide his tenacious erection between his thighs but the chains made it impossible to conceal his arousal.

“No need to be embarrassed, it can happen to the best of us,” Tristram said in a friendly voice. “Now,” he added, dropping one knee to the floor to look the Skaven on an even level, “my name is Tristram. I am a student of the arcane arts. This is one thing we have in common I believe?”

The Grey Seer did not answer, his eyes remaining fixed on the floor. Undaunted, Tristram pursued his monologue.

“I have dabbled in many schools of sorcery, both legal and forbidden, and I have heard that your kind have great expertise in the field of corruption magic. I propose a mutually beneficial agreement. You will teach me what I seek to know and in exchange I guarantee that you will leave this tower once my curiosity is sated. Do we have a deal?”

“Of course,” thought Tristram with an internal grin, “I cannot guarantee that you will leave alive”.

The Grey Seer abruptly raised his head and spat on Tristram’s robes. “You think Rattskit is dumb-naïve whelp?” the rat hissed. “Rattskit has seen much--much better liars. You will free Rattskit now-now or he will kill-slay every stinking man-thing in this city-nest!”

Tristram drew back, almost falling to the ground. A hint of anger briefly crossed his face. After the initial shock, however, he gave the chained Skaven a honeyed smile.

“I fear we have gotten off on the wrong foot. It was selfish of me to speak of my desires without any consideration for your own... feelings.”

The rat simply stared at him with suspicious eyes, trying to gauge his intentions.

“I sense that your current condition has made you a bit skittish,” Tristram continued, his eyes moving towards the Skaven’s crotch. “I cannot free you from your bonds for now but maybe I could… offer you release? Consider this a gesture of goodwill. I am sure you will feel much more relaxed and cooperative afterwards. Do not be shocked, I have done far more unnatural things.”

Rattskit reeled internally when the meaning of Tristram’s words became clear. Was this filthy no-fur offering to touch him? How disgusting! But, maybe this was only fitting. After all, the purpose of the man-things was to serve and please superior beings such as him. Or perhaps, a part of his brain whispered, perhaps it would simply be delightful to be bound, utterly naked and at the mercy of the groping hands of his captor. Perhaps it would be thrilling to feel this man-thing manipulate his genitals and make him grunt and ejaculate his seed on the dirty floor like a beast.

The thought made his cock throb and spurt a thick stream of precum. Rattskit turned his head away in embarrassment, bit his lips and finally gave up. He thrust his hips forwards suggestively, sending droplets flying towards Tristram and silently asking him to proceed.
“That’s more like it,” Tristram acquiesced. He wrapped his fingers around the painfully stiff member.

Rattskit closed his eyes. His contact-starved body shuddered as the man-thing delicately stroked him up and down. The hand was moving expertly, applying pressure to the right spots, squeezing his long shaft and swiping his glans with his thumb, smearing it with precum. After a while Tristram set his other hand to work, caressing the rat’s scrotum with his fingers and cupping his fat testicles in his palm. The raunchy, pungent aroma of unwashed animal dick and arousal that permeated the room became overpowering as the Skaven squirted his pheromone-filled musk from his anal sacs. Rattskit craned his head backwards, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. This was so intense, so much more refined than the quick, furtive and beastly fucks he was used to! Maybe the man-things weren’t all so bad after all? He was still panting in sheer pleasure when he noticed that Tristram’s strokes were slowing down, almost imperceptibly at first but then more and more noticeably. He opened his eyes and growled, what was this man-thing doing? In response, the young man increased his pace. His fingers were covered in a sticky, smelly mixture of precum and rat smegma, and his hand made squelching noises as he masturbated the Grey Seer. Much better, Rattskit thought. He shut his eyes again, feeling his climax building up in his balls when the pleasure stopped once more, abruptly this time. He let out a cry of rage when he saw Tristram grinning at him, visibly enjoying his distress. The mage kept this little game going for several excruciating minutes, bringing the Skaven closer and closer to the edge but always denying him his orgasm. The Grey Seer was hysterical now, spitting curses and desperate pleas incoherently. After one last stroke, Tristram let go of the swollen, blood-red cock and contemptuously wiped his dirty hand on the rat’s snout, leaving a trail of glistening, stinking slime across his nose.

“Have a taste of your own filth. Know that this is the least of the torments I can inflict on your worthless hide. I will leave you to ponder my proposal for the rest of the day. I will be back after dinner. Do not worry,” he added with a smile, “I will wash my hands carefully before eating.”

He turned and left the room, ignoring the Skaven’s cries behind him. Rattskit kept begging and shouting for a long time after his departure.

*	*	*	*	*

The wait lasted only one afternoon, but to Rattskit this felt like an eternity of agony in Slaanesh’s perverse hell. His vocal cords had given up on him after the first hour of screaming and wailing. Eventually, he had been able to regain control of himself and by carefully regulating his breathing he had mostly succeeded in bringing his painful erection down. But he was still tormented a constant dull, throbbing ache in his unsatisfied cock and balls. It was almost a relief when the urge to cum was replaced by a pressing need to empty his bladder. After many contortions he managed to urinate on the hay that covered the floor without splashing his legs too much. His anger mounted again at this new humiliation. No more fantasies of submission. Only the thought of the exquisite tortures he would inflict on that hateful man-thing allowed him to retain his sanity. His dark ruminations were interrupted by the sound of the key being turned in the lock again. Tristram stepped into the cell and was immediately greeted by a rank smell of animal piss and wet fur.

“Well,” he laughed, “it seems that your rest has not been very refreshing. Have you reconsidered my offer?”

The Grey Seer was sorely tempted to unleash a barrage of insults at the smug man-thing but he composed himself. Vengeance would come in due time.

“Yes-yes, Oh mighty-potent sorcerer,” he whined with a hoarse voice, “This pitiful-miserable one has learnt his lesson. He will teach you everything he knows. But there is a problem-issue.”

“An issue? What could that be?”

“Skaven are weak-impotent without warpstone. This one needs just a little-tiny bit of it in order to show you his magic.”

Tristram frowned. Warpstone? His master did have a walnut-sized nugget of the stuff in his safe. The substance was highly dangerous but if he could learn how to use it…

After a quick trip to the laboratory the apprentice was back in the cell, a few crumbs in his gloved hand. Rattskit’s eyes burned with greed at the sight of the green rocks.

“Yes-yes! This is it. Give-give some and eat-swallow the rest. Rattskit will teach you an invisibility spell.”

The apprentice narrowed his eyes in suspicion. This was all too simple.

“Do you take me for a fool? I am wearing a potent amulet of protection,” he said slowly, “And no one knows where you are. Even if you trick and kill me you will slowly starve to death alone in this cell.”

“No-no,” the Grey Seer eagerly replied, “Rattskit is no traitor-meat. He would never dare defy such a potent sorcerer.” He gave the man a wide, fang-filled smile that was far less reassuring than he intended.

Tristram hesitated but he was a gambler at heart. His master would be back soon and now was his only chance. Besides, he was confident that he could counter any spell the rat might throw at him. He approached the Skaven and dropped a few pieces of warpstone down his gaping maw. He breathed deeply and swallowed the rest.

His throat burned and he was seized by a fit of cough. The stuff was horribly bitter. He looked across the room at the rat-mage. Already, his eyes had turned a bright, sickly green and he was chittering an abominable incantation. Eldritch energies were gathering around him and Tristram came close to panic. His hand closed around the amulet hanging from his neck. He breathed deeply, shut his eyes and forced himself to analyse the waves of magic emanating from the rat. He had not lied. This was indeed a spell to alter appearances. Invisibility, yes! Two times yes! Many, many possibilities. He would be able to steal and rob anything he wanted from the shops in town. He would spy and snoop on his master with impunity. And when the time finally came to kill and slay the old crumbling thing he would sneak and creep up on him and stab-stab him. His nose twitched at the pleasant thought. He would become the mightiest and most feared of sorcerers. Plenty of female-things at his clawed feet! He felt a fire light up in his loins. The heavy orbs between his legs were filled with squirming life and his superior-potent seed would soon fertilize dozens of breeders. He licked his incisors. And if he ever grew tired of female-things, there would be countless little slaves and strong warriors ready to satisfy-indulge any of his perverted whims. He wagged his scaly tail and his fingers played joyfully with the triangular pendant in his pink hand. Yes, soon-soon all these well-deserved blessings would be his and Triskreek would rule all!

“Stop gawking with your mouth open and free your master, you dumb-stupid slave!”

Triskreek came crashing down to earth. What had happened to his triumph? Who was this naked and very angry Skaven in front of him? In addition, where were his own clothes?

“Are you deaf-dumb? The key is at your feet. Free me or I will blast-burn you to ashes!”

Rattskit emphasized his point by summoning some warp-lightning from his hands. Too frightened to protest, Triskreek complied and unlocked the chains. Rattskit rolled on the floor, groaned in pain and massaged his stiff limbs. Gradually, he felt strength returning to his legs and arms. He rose to his feet and stared at the ash-furred Skaven in front of him. The rat looked completely dumbfounded.

“You impertinent-insolent wretch. Show some respect to your betters.”

Triskreek dropped to the ground and prostrated himself, his nose pressed against the cold stone and his rump pointing to the ceiling. His hyperactive mind raced for an explanation amidst the confusion. This place smelled oddly familiar but it did not look at all like a burrow. In fact, it looked like a man-thing den! He vaguely remembered that he had been an apprentice before. Was the Grey Seer in front of him his master?

“Horrible-nasty man-thing…” rambled Rattskit, “I should tear-rip you apart with my teeth…”

The younger rat swallowed. Man-things? Yes, obviously man-things where behind all of this. Hopefully, his master would protect him. But he looked so furious. He was circling around him now, gritting his teeth in rage.

Without warning, Triskreek lifted his tail high in the air. Frightened by his master’s anger, he instinctively exposed his little pink anus as a gesture of submission. Rattskit was taken aback by the unforeseen development. He sniffed the offered hole cautiously, pressing his cold, wet nose directly against the ring of flesh. His raspy tongue gave it a few quick licks. Yes, he thought as he licked his chops, this smelled and tasted like fear and deference and it was delicious. His penis slid out of his sheath.
Two clawed hands grasped Triskreek’s hips, holding him still. The rat-man smelled his master’s erection a few seconds before he felt it pressing against his anus. There was a moment of discomfort and a brief sting as the long, pointy member pushed past his sphincter, stretching the tight muscles of his virgin asshole. Fortunately, his musk provided ample lubrication when the larger rat started fucking him like a dog, his cock sliding in and out increasingly fast.

“Yes-yes, finally!” panted Rattskit, “Take that! Not so clever now, you dirty man-thing?”

Triskreek felt confused again. Who was this man-thing his master kept talking about? It did not matter. His offer of peace had been accepted and hopefully the Grey Seer would be in a better mood after shooting his load inside him. Besides, he found that the warm sensation in his rear was not so unpleasant after all. He pushed back with his hips, sending his heavy ballsack dangling between his legs. His own rathood was rapidly swelling and soon the little lips of his sheath parted to reveal a pinkish bud of male flesh.
The two rats fucked in rhythm, their large, loose scrotums beating against one another. Rattskit climaxed in less than a minute. He squeaked for several seconds as his long-denied orgasm sprayed a full cup of rat cum deep inside the guts of his ex-tormentor. His thrusts slackened as he caught his breath and Triskreek thought that it was over. He was wrong. The master tightened his hold, grabbed the scruff of his servant’s neck with his teeth and forced his head backwards before resuming his onslaught.
“You’re not getting away so easily-quickly, we have many-many scores to settle,” he muttered, his mouth filled with loose skin and hair.

The gesture awoke the lust deep inside Triskreek’s rodent brain. His delusions of grandeur were all but forgotten. The rat wanted this strong-smelling male to mate with him and fill him with his seed. His stiff cock was hanging free between his legs and leaking copiously on the damp hay of the floor. Rattskit shivered and came again, his second ejaculation just as abundant as the first one. He did not let go of the tuft of skin he held in his mouth, and the ash-colored Skaven winced when the sharp teeth made a small incision in his thick hide. The rat above him enjoyed the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

Rattskit was showing signs of fatigue but his pent-up lust was not yet sated. Gathering his strength, he fucked in long, slow strokes. Cum seeped out of Triskreek’s ravaged hole and down his taint each time his master’s dick slid out of him. The foul-smelling liquid left shiny trails across the thin fur of his balls and dribbled on the floor where it formed a growing pool between his legs. The new, intense sensations emanating from his rectum left little room for any rational thoughts in the rat’s mind but he briefly wondered what could have caused his master to hold so much cum in his balls. After several minutes of grunting and groaning, Rattskit pressed himself to the hilt and pushed his cock in the deepest recesses of the tight anus. Triskreek moaned as he felt a swollen glans pound against his prostate. Both Skaven came in unison, the Grey Seer finally draining his balls to the last drop and the smaller rat shooting a thick stream of cum which joined his ass juices on the floor. After one final hoarse squeak, the two rat-men collapsed one top of one another in a mess of tangled limbs, stained fur and still-twitching dicks.

They laid panting in a sloppy puddle of warm filth, the fear and paranoia forgotten for a few fleeting moments. Eventually Rattskit felt something tickling against his backside. He turned his head and his eyes widened in shock. Triskreek was trying to coil his tail around his own. The Grey Seer’s struggled to interpret the strange gesture. Was this some sort of challenge? The smaller Skaven did not look aggressive. In fact, he was curled up against him, his pointy nose buried in his ribs, breathing softly and looking as if he was asleep. Still, the horned mage could not take any chances. “You have been a good fuck-fuck, man-thing, so I will grant you a fast-quick death.” He chuckled and raised a hand already crackling with lightning. As he was about to fry the unfortunate rat, he saw something that left his jaw hanging. His head! That couldn’t be...He extended a trembling claw and patted the dozing Skaven behind the ears. His fingers felt two little hard nubs. Two budding horns.

“A chosen of the Horned Rat, like me-me?” The man-thing had indeed claimed to be a student of magic. Of course his powers had been no match for Rattskit but maybe some of that ability had been transferred into his new, much improved, form. “A rival! I shouldn’t let him live-breathe,” he thought. His eyes wandered over the warm body pressed against his and stopped on the plump, fuzzy bottom. “Or maybe-perhaps he could be of use,” he pondered, “but can I be sure-certain of his obedience?”

Triskreek woke up with a cry when a strong hand slapped his ass. Bewildered, he lifted his head from its furry pillow.

“You lazy vermin! How dare you sleep-slumber when your master needs you?” The Grey Seer barked as he pushed the hapless rat away from him. Before the latter had time to utter an apology, Rattskit pointed at his limp penis, still half-out of its sheath. “You lick-clean!”

The ash-furred Skaven shuddered. A residual part of him felt revulsion at the sight of the beastly cock that had just visited his own ass. He hesitated, torn between disgust and fear, before his nose picked up the scent. The slimy juice smelled like both their musks mixed together. It felt oddly reassuring, almost appetizing. He drew his head closer to the other Skaven’s groin, wavered once more, took a deep breath and started lapping, timidly at first but then enthusiastically. Soon the soft member was licked clean, the taint replaced with a shiny coating of saliva. Triskreek set to cleaning his master’s sheath, inserting his tongue deep into the fleshy recesses and swallowing the recently-trapped cum and the older deposits alike.

Rattskit smirked in satisfaction. He saw with pride and pleasure that his companion was still leaking cum abundantly from his rear, a testament to his own virility. He playfully inserted a claw inside the puckering anus and licked it, smacking his lips at the taste of his triumph.

“Yes-yes, it is time I took on an apprentice.”