Iktrikk's Experiment Part II

Iktrikk was nervously pacing back and forth in his workshop. The rat-man was angry, angrier than usual. His master plan to selectively breed a superior race of deadlier Skaven warriors was not progressing at the pace he had hoped for. Less than a moon ago he had acquired Skeet, a strong, magnificent stormvermin with piercing red eyes and a luscious coat of black fur. He had recognised the Skaven’s immense potential as a seed donor for his project and at first his expectations had not been disappointed. Skeet was a most virile specimen and could dispense his semen in mouth-wateringly copious quantities. Soon however, Iktrikk had run into an irritating technical difficulty. The subject now stubbornly refused to let himself be milked for seed unless he was put into the proper mood with the help of the female breeder-musk.

“Dumb-stupid animal. Does he know-know how much this musk costs to extract? Does he think-believe poor Iktrikk is made of warpstone tokens?”

His finances had indeed taken a turn for the worse recently. The price demanded by Skeet’s handler to part with him had been so extortionate that Iktrikk’s normally meek treasurer had protested the expense and threatened to raise the issue with the grand council of clan Skryre. He would probably have acted on his threat if his life had not been tragically cut short by the collapse of a poorly-maintained tunnel.

“Still”, grumbled Iktrikk, “that impertinent-insolent wretch had a point. I must cut-cut costs. Make him cum without female musk!”

Frustrated, the warlock-engineer looked around him. His eyes wandered over to one of the many piles of clutter on the floor. An empty gas tank, a pierced rubber tube and a broken breathing mask. Useless junk, he thought, unless… The wheels in his hyperactive brain started whirling and a glorious vision flashed through his mind. The solution was obvious! Why didn’t he think of it earlier?

“Vurrik!” he yelled, “Come-scurry here at once you useless apprentice.”



Less than an hour later Vurrik had finished assembling the machine. The tank had been fitted with a manual pump and was now connected to the repaired breathing mask through the patched-up tube. Iktrikk congratulated himself for a job well done and ordered his assistant to carry the clunky contraption to the laboratory where the semen collection process took place.

The formerly bare room had been much upgraded since its first use. It was now fitted with all sorts of devices that allowed test subjects to be restrained as Iktrikk experimented on them. It was also guarded at all times by two stormvermin. The engineer was much worried about a jealous rival or an ambitious underling trying to steal his precious samples. The exhausted assistant carefully put the machine on the floor and turned towards his master.

“Pardon-forgive my inquisitiveness, oh greatest of geniuses, but what in the Horned Rat’s name does this new-new invention have to do with our research? We still haven’t inseminated a single…”

Iktrikk casually slapped him on the ear.

“Your impudent tongue will be your doom one day,” Iktrikk said while Vurrik whined and rubbed his paw against the side of his head, “but I am in a good-good mood and I will enlighten your tiny-puny mind.”

He walked over to a small metallic chest against the wall and unlocked it. Vurrik’s curiosity grew as he saw him pick up a thick, phallic-shaped metallic probe and a warp-powered battery.

“Our new subject has given us much-much satisfaction but he has also exhausted-depleted our reserves of expensive breeder-musk. I have therefore decided to improve him by making him breathe-breathe male-musk while I stimulate his genitals until the scent alone is enough to arouse-excite him. This will make our work much-much easier.”

Iktrikk grinned and held the probe to his face, examining it closely. “Of course, we must first collect-gather enough of the musk.”

“A most depra- I mean devious plan-scheme, worthy of the most cunning of warlock-engineers,” Vurrik hastily replied, “Shall I fetch-grab some slaves from the pens?”

“No-no,” Iktrikk shot back, “Slaves will not do. Too weak-craven, cannot produce sufficient musk.”

“But then who else? The clanrats?”

Iktrikk shook his head and snickered before pointing the probe in his apprentice’s direction. Puzzled, Vurrik looked behind him, then back towards Iktrikk. His expression changed to pure terror and he threw himself at the warlock’s feet, moaning and crying.

“Have pity-mercy, oh most benevolent of mentors. This one is unworthy-unmanly, only good for squirting the musk of fear.”

To emphasize his point, Vurrik vented the pungent stench from his scent-glands. Iktrikk was about to kick him in the face when he heard someone chuckle. He turned his head towards the door and saw one of the two guards shaking with barely contained laughter. Livid with rage, he barked: “You find this funny-clever?”

The rat-man instantly stopped laughing but it was too late. Vurrik saw his chance and took it.

“Yes-yes master. This one is strong-fit warrior. He will provide much-much better musk!”

A few minutes later the naked and whimpering stormvermin was lying face down on a wooden frame, his wrists and ankles tied with leather straps, his rump high in the air and his sheath and balls dangling loose. Behind him, Vurrik produced a small flask of oil from a fold in his robes. The unfortunate Skaven squirmed when he felt a hand unceremoniously lift his tail and a pair of clawed, slick fingers slid into his exposed anus, coating it with lubricant.

“The volunteer is ready-prepared for the test, master.”

Iktrikk connected the probe to the battery and turned it on. The infernal device immediately started vibrating and crackling with warp-energy. The tied-up guard craned his head over his shoulder and, upon seeing what was about to be inserted into him, began to scream and beg for mercy. Ignoring his panicked plea, Iktrikk rammed the probe deep into his asshole, hitting his prostate. The rat-man let out a sharp yell, but his cries of shock turned into a low moan as the device massaged his insides, flooding him with sensations. His body twitched and his cock swelled and slid out of its sheath, spurting precum.

The warlock-engineer brought his snout close to the stretched hole, huffed deeply and grinned as his expert nose picked up the unmistakably male smell of the musk of arousal. He looked under the stormvermin’s belly. His member looked painfully hard and its tip was dripping abundantly. Iktrikk picked up the battery from the floor and pressed a button, sending a surge of warp-lightning down the probe. The rat-man groaned and his whole body convulsed as his overstimulated prostate was struck by the full force of the shock. His pulsating cock bolted upright and shot a long line of white semen which splattered against the floor. Iktrikk renewed the warp-shock several times in quick succession, causing his test subject to cum repeatedly until his cock throbbed dry in the air. After orgasming one last time, the stormvermin finally passed out, his balls thoroughly drained.

Satisfied, Iktrikk yanked the probe and inspected the subject’s anal area. He saw with great pleasure that a good quantity of male-musk had oozed from his glands. He carefully collected as much of it as he could into a test tube and sniffed it. His snout wrinkled in disappointment and he bared his teeth. This did not even compare with the rich and heady aroma that Skeet produced.

“Weak-mediocre,” he grumbled, “but this will have to make-do. We will need much-much more of it though.”

He turned his head towards the second stormvermin. The rat looked horrified, not out of empathy for his companion but out of fear for his own ass.

“You,” hissed Iktrikk, causing the guard to jump in fright, “This wretch-worm is spent. Take him back to the barracks and tell-tell your Fangleader that I need a full claw-pack of his best-best soldiers for an important-crucial experiment. Tell him he will have to volunteer himself if I do not have them now-now!”



The stormvermin let out a croaking squeak and ejaculated for the fourth time. A thin and watery orgasm hit the floor, his empty, aching balls unable to discharge any more cum. He let his head hang loose, too exhausted to even beg Iktrikk to stop. Fortunately for him the warlock-engineer and his assistant were also quite drained after spending the whole day gathering the oily musk. A heavy, masculine fug of sweat, semen and arousal-scent hung in the air and a smelly pool of translucent spunk had formed under the wooden frame on which the guards had been tied. Iktrikk had not deigned collecting it. After sampling Skeet’s superior essence he had lost all interest in the weaker sperm of the other rat-men.

Iktrikk squeezed a few more drops from the stormvermin’s swollen anal sacs. He had harvested the pheromone-filled secretions of more than a dozen rats and his little flask was almost full. The last two warriors stood huddled together in a corner of the room, naked and trembling. He looked at them with nasty eyes. He was tired and he judged that he had enough musk but on the other hand he did not like the idea of letting them get away so easily. Eventually, weariness won out.

“That is enough for now-now. Take this maggot-meat with you and get out of my sight!”

The two stormvermin silently thanked the Horned Rat and hurried to untie their comrade. They lifted him by his armpits and feet and scurried out of the laboratory with their tails between their legs.

“You are dismissed-discharged for today,” Iktrikk said, addressing his assistant. “Tomorrow we will implement the second part of the plan-scheme. Be sure to come early and clean-mop that mess,” he added, pointing towards the rapidly congealing puddle of male goo.

Vurrik repressed a shudder of disgust and bowed deeply before darting out of the room. Finally alone, Iktrikk sighed. Why did his minions not share his enthusiasm for his research? It did not matter. Soon, he would be able to work with Skeet without the pesky intermediary of the breeder-musk. “Skeet”, he told himself again dreamily. The thought of this gorgeous pointy muzzle, razor-sharp incisors, rough black fur and long naked tail made his groin itch.

Iktrikk looked at the tube with hazy eyes. The liquid inside was sufficient to saturate the pressurized air in the tank but he wanted to add a personal touch. The probe was still in his hand, steamy and slick with lubricant and with the mixed musk and ass juices of his guards. He unfastened his robes and let them fall down to his feet, revealing his own rock-hard erection. He kicked the garments aside, lifted his tail and crouched, his heart beating faster in his small chest. With a trembling hand, he guided the device to his anus and slowly pushed it in. He squeaked and tears welled up in his eyes. As a Skaven of high rank, he had never let another rat mount him and his tight hole was ill-prepared for the experience. He was tempted to remove the foreign object immediately but he was not one to tolerate failure.

“I must-must persevere,” he gasped, “the experiment will fail unless my own strong-potent musk is added to the mix.”

Grinding his fangs, he pushed the probe ever deeper, feeling his anus stretching. He paused and caught his breath until the burning feeling subsided. He then cautiously began raising and lowering himself on the metallic rod, finding to his own surprise that the initial discomfort was giving way to a pleasant sensation. His rathood started twitching and spurting little gushes of precum in the air and his musk glands released a gust of arousal-scent. Emboldened, he pressed harder and increased the pace of his back and forth movements, feeling the tight muscles of his sphincter clenching the probe. He kept working and panting until the pressure inside his cock became almost unbearable. His hand reached out for the battery, intending to press the button and finish the job with a jolt of warp-energy. He stopped mid-way, a strange thought having abruptly crossed his mind.

“Is this what Skeet would feel-feel like inside me?”

At the same moment, the tip of the probe hit a sweet spot. Iktrikk moaned and lost his balance as his build up reached climax. He stumbled and fell on his back, shooting his load straight into the air in large arcs which landed on the fur of his stomach and chest. He squealed until the last wave of pleasure receded and then fell silent, stunned.

Iktrikk remained in this position and basked in the afterglow, caressing his cum-splattered belly and idly squeezing a few more drops from his softening rat cock. After a while he straightened up, removed the probe from his ass and reached for the flask inside his piled robes. His mind still blurry, he collected some of his own musk and corked the tube. He smiled blissfully, knowing that Skeet would breathe it tomorrow.

The sound of footsteps in the tunnel outside the laboratory interrupted his pleasant dreams. Almost panicking, Iktrikk hurriedly put his robes back on and replaced the probe in its chest, just in time before the two stormvermin who were on duty that evening entered the laboratory. Their sensitive noses twitched as their master passed them on his way out of the room but they kept their comments to themselves.



The duo was back in the laboratory the next morning. Vurrik was busying himself with last-minute adjustments to the machine under the stern gaze of the warlock-engineer.

“Are you sure-certain this is working? I will be most-most disappointed if the experiment fails because of your incompetence.”

“No need to fear-worry, oh great designer, I have filled the injector with the vaporized male-musk as per your orders and checked-checked the mechanism twice.”

Iktrikk cast a suspicious eye on Vurrik. He cranked the pump slightly, picked up the breathing mask and held it to his apprentice’s nose. The younger rat coughed and sputtered after inhaling the heavily musk-laden air but did not seem to be otherwise hurt. Satisfied, Iktrikk turned the mechanism off.

“Good-good,” he said. “But I will give-offer you a friendly warning. If anything happens to my precious specimen, I will flay-skin you alive and use your mangy pelt as a doormat to my warren.”

Vurrik gulped and decided to check the machine again. He was barely finished when Skeet made his entrance, escorted by a pair of guards.

Iktrikk felt his heartbeat quicken. The mighty black-furred warrior stood a head taller than the other Skaven in the room and his muscular frame made the stormvermin next to him look like scrawny goblins. He was covered by nothing but his customary loincloth. He did not wear it out of any sense of decency but because the thin cloth drew everyone’s gaze towards his bulging crotch. Skeet stopped for a moment, wagging his tail and relishing the envious stares of the other rats. Iktrikk finally opened his mouth.

“Enough-enough, stop showing off you prideful beast! We have an important task-job to accomplish and I must-must stay focused.”

He dismissed the guards and instructed Skeet to remove his loincloth. The rat-man grinned cockily at his master, lazily untied the garment and discarded it onto the floor. He rested his hands on his naked hips, his virility proudly displayed for all to see.
Iktrikk felt the air in the room become uncomfortably hot and was tempted to imitate Skeet and remove his own clothes. He caught himself as his hand was about to unlace the first strap of his robe. Blushing, he angrily pointed the Skaven towards a horizontal cross-shaped rack in the middle of the room. Skeet eyed the thing carefully, noting that it was equipped with iron shackles. His suspicious expression soon turned into an amused smile. He had learned that by playing along with Iktrikk’s strange experiments he would be rewarded with an ejaculation and a post-climax feast. He climbed onto the frame, laid himself on his back and spread his legs and arms wide. The warlock-engineer fastened the shackles around his wrists and ankles, taking the opportunity to caress his fur and feel the strong muscles underneath. “Soon-soon,” he thought, “I will be able to breed a full army like him. I just need-require a few more samples.”

Vurrik handed the breathing mask to his master. Noticing the odd apparatus for the first time, Skeet growled as Iktrikk tried to fasten it to his snout. Barely able to contain his impatience, the engineer explained:

“New-improved way to deliver musk. Much-much more potent and efficient.”

Skeet’s eyes gleamed with lust and he stopped protesting. Iktrikk stepped back and ordered Vurrik to open the pump. The tangy air started flowing through the tube to Skeet’s nose. The Skaven breathed it greedily, but after a few deep gulps the look of anticipation in his red eyes gave way to confusion and then rage. He roared through the leather of the mask and strained against his bonds with all his might. The thick wood creaked and for a moment it looked as if the bolts holding the shackles in place would give way and that the angry colossus would manage to free himself. Iktrikk went pale under his brown fur, thinking that now would be a good time to ask Vurrik to keep watch over the specimen while he scurried to the barracks to fetch some assistance. This turned out to be unnecessary. After struggling for a full minute Skeet abruptly stopped, realizing that he was only exhausting his strength and inhaling even more of the musk-soaked air. Reassured, Iktrikk approached him and petted his sweaty fur with something approaching tenderness.

“For your own good-good, yes-yes? This will make you more cooperative, much-much improved.”

His hands wandered affectionately over the muscular belly until they reached the skin that connected it to the sheath. He grasped it and rubbed it, finding the long rod inside still flexible and soft. “Not for much-much longer,” he chuckled internally. He made a sign to his assistant. Vurrik nodded and adjusted the pump, releasing more musk into the tank and reducing the flow of air to the tube. Skeet’s breathing became more laboured, his head started bobbing from left to right and his gaze turned cloudy. A smile crept on Iktrikk’s face as he felt the flesh inside the sheath swell. The asphyxiation was having the desired effect and Skeet was getting aroused. His claws tugged at the loose skin of the opening, toying with it. He slid his thumb and first two fingers inside, reaching for the tip. Having caught it, he began to delicately massage it. Skeet started squirming and struggling again, angered by the intrusion. Undaunted, Iktrikk kept caressing the now overly sensitive glans with his fingertips, feeling the member slowly expand and harden until the whole sheath looked uncomfortably stretched. He pulled out his fingers, already wet with precum and, using both his hands, carefully slid back the long furry foreskin. His heart raced as the full red length was revealed in all its glory. “Finally, oh finally” he whispered softly as he trailed his nose along the turgid moist cock, drinking in its sweet, incredibly masculine smell. Despite having had Skeet at his disposal for several weeks, he had never been able to inspect him at such close quarters. Frustratingly, the presence of other Skaven during the experiments had always prevented his natural scientific curiosity from being fully quenched. He had completely forgotten the presence of Vurrik, whose jaw was dropping lower and lower as the scene went on.

Having filled his nostrils with Skeet’s fragrance and analysed it, Iktrikk decided to study his taste next. He opened his maw and gave the cock a few quick playful licks, savouring its raunchy flavour. The member pulsated under his touch and squirted little jets of salty precum which he eagerly lapped up. He then bathed it from top to bottom with his raspy tongue, occasionally venturing under the folds of the retracted sheath where the aroma was particularly sharp. Reluctantly, he raised his head from the saliva-coated organ and looked Skeet in the eyes. The stormvermin was still furious but there was confusion in his gaze. He didn’t know if he was more angry at the warlock for having tricked him or for having suddenly stopped worshipping his cock.

A familiar, delicious smell wafted into Iktrikk’s nostrils. “We are starting to like-like it, aren’t we?” he said, baring his fangs in a wicked smile. He reached out for Skeet’s tailhole, stopping on the way to cup his scrotum and feel the weight of the heavy testicles inside. As he suspected, he found the anus slick with musk. He titillated it without penetrating it, smearing his fingers with the oily secretion. Skeet squirmed under his touch but this time it was a moan of pleasure rather than a cry of rage that came through the heavy mask. Iktrikk brought his stained fingers to his nose and sniffed deeply. He did not think it was possible for his own erection to become any harder but the scent of the manly juice almost made him climax on the spot. Gasping for breath, he pulled up his robes, brought his hand between his legs and rubbed the tip of his fingers against his hole before inserting them inside. The thought of Skeet’s musk mixing with his own sent his mind spinning. “Maybe this mighty-potent musk could be weaponized? Yes-yes, fire it on enemy clanrats, make them drop their weapons and breed-breed each other uncontrollably. I would be invincible!”

Another muffled growl made him turn his head. Skeet stared at him with hazy eyes and pointed towards his throbbing penis with his leather-wrapped snout. The neglected stud was demanding his urgent attention. Iktrikk let his robes drop and, with infinite slowness, passed his hand along the inside of the muscular thigh towards his crotch, cruelly teasing the maddened Skaven. Finally, he delicately grasped the basis of his cock, eliciting a grunt of approval. After letting Skeet hang in suspense for a few long, never-ending seconds, he started stroking him. The mighty warrior immediately let out a grateful sigh of relief and let his tense body relax slightly. His fur was glistening with sweat and his suffocated mind was overwhelmed by the torrent of conflicting feelings and the pheromone-filled air. Iktrikk kept masturbating the captive beast, alternating slow, languorous caresses with rapid, almost furious strokes. The pleasure was excruciating, each sensation magnified tenfold in the oxygen-starved brain. It did not take long for Skeet’s breathing to accelerate. Feeling his deliverance finally approaching he exhaled, closed his eyes and waited. When the expected orgasm failed to materialise, he blinked and saw Iktrikk grinning cruelly at him. The warlock had stopped at the last moment, denying him release. Outraged, the black-furred Skaven stared menacingly at the small brown rat. Using the last of his strength, he lashed his powerful tail and thrust his hips suggestively, sending droplets of precum flying. With mock fear, the object of his anger resumed the stroking motions, only to interrupt them again as Skeet neared climax. After a few rounds of this game, Skeet was whining like a new-born whelp and pathetically dry-humping the air, his pride forgotten.

In the end it was lust, rather than compassion, that led Iktrikk to put an end to the stormvermin’s torment. Driven wild by the male musk that saturated the air, he raised his robes above his head and flung them away. Now entirely naked, he climbed atop the squirming rat-man and sat astride his legs, his ballsack resting on Skeet’s scrotum. Shivering in anticipation, he pressed his maleness against the twitching dick in front of him and ground their erections together, both painfully throbbing and slippery with precum. Neither of them lasted long but Skeet was the first to come. Despite the thick leather that encased his muzzle, he let out an ear-piercing screech and Iktrikk felt his urethra pulsate as the seed was about to gush out of him. Thinking quickly, the warlock cupped his hand over the tip of his partner’s cock so that when the explosion came both their members were drenched by a shower of warm, smelly goo. Free at last, Skeet tilted his head backwards, groaned and lost consciousness. Iktrikk followed soon after. Rubbing his hand against his snout and licking his cummy fingers greedily, he thrust harder until he squealed and made his own pitiful contribution to the thick layer of spunk that coated both their dicks. Exhausted, he sighed happily and let his head rest on his chest.

He remained lost in a state of blissful oblivion for a long time, squeezing Skeet’s softening organ with his hand and feeling the hot, sticky substance drip between his fingers. Eventually, the warlock-engineer became vaguely aware of a furtive movement at the periphery of his vision. His natural paranoia reasserted itself and he immediately turned his sight towards the suspicious form. Vurrik was clumsily trying to sneak out of the room before his master regained his senses. The apprentice had a strong intuition that he had seen too much.

“I think-believe,” said Iktrikk, still sitting naked atop the limp, sweat-soaked body of the unconscious stormvermin, “that the experiment was a great-great success. Don’t you agree?”

Vurrik stopped in his tracks. After a few awkward seconds, he whirled towards his master and prostrated himself.

“I never doubted the brilliance of your plan-scheme, oh great genius. I bow-submit to your superior brain.”

“Yes-yes,” came the sarcastic reply, “but such highly sensitive-delicate research must-must remain a secret. We cannot let our jealous-envious rivals learn about our work, is this clear?”

“Vurrik is much loyal-true to you, master!” squeaked the diminutive Skaven, now close to panic, “He would never betray your trust-confidence!”

“Good-good,” nodded Iktrikk, “our allies-friends from clan Moulder are always harassing-pestering me for specimens. I would hate-hate to lose my faithful assistant.”

Vurrik nodded vigorously, the musk of fear running down his legs.



Skeet and his master eyed each other uncomfortably across the warlock’s personal chamber. It had taken the efforts of six guards to restrain the enraged Skaven yesterday after he had been unshackled, and several of them had ended up requiring urgent medical attention. Even now, Iktrikk could see that the anger had not fully disappeared from his eyes. He decided to break the silence.

“You are hungry, yes-yes?” he said, pointing towards a plate of steaming roasted meat, “Grilled dwarf-thing with warpstone seasoning, your favourite.”

The naked stormvermin remained mute. His piercing red gaze made the warlock feel very small and vulnerable. He had ordered twelve of his bodyguards to lie in wait outside the room, ready to intervene at his signal. Now he realized that it would only take a fraction of a second for the monster to rip his head off. His hand reached out for the globe of sleeping gas hidden in his pocket, fidgeting with it nervously.

He pulled himself together. Surely a mighty warlock-engineer wouldn’t let himself be cowed by a mindless beast! Besides, he needed to know if his revolutionary theory was correct. Gathering his courage, he moved closer to the much larger rat-man, took his robes off and boldly pressed himself against him. With his heart racing from fear and excitement, he reached out for Skeet’s crotch and started caressing his heavy balls and stroking his sheath.

The black rat growled. Iktrikk was not sure if it was in anger or arousal but he had gone too far to give up. He buried his snout in the furry chest, inhaling its manly scent. He was hard now. Slowly, he rubbed his erection against the virile flesh of his partner. Soon, he felt his musk-glands clench and release a few drops. The snarling sound died in Skeet’s throat, replaced by a series of surprised sniffs. The powerful muscles tensed.

“Yes-yes,” exulted Iktrikk, “I am a genius!”

Before he had time to react, a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground. The kicking and screaming Skaven was carried off to a nearby table and thrown down on his back. “He is going to kill-slay me for yesterday,” he thought, horrified. He realized how wrong he was when he saw what Skeet had between his legs. Without ceremony, the stormvermin lowered his head over his terrified captive, spread his trembling thighs and hungrily lapped at his asshole. Iktrikk writhed as a long and agile appendage forced his anus wide open and penetrated his body. Skeet’s dick soon followed his tongue inside the warm saliva-soaked cavity.

The guards stood in the corridor, unsure of what to do. The screams and sounds of struggle had died down, replaced by panting grunts and little mouse-like squeaks.

“That sounds bad-bad. Should we help-rescue him?” one of them hesitantly said.

His neighbour spat on the floor and shook his snout.

“My ass is still sore-sore from what he did the other day. I say-say we let the brute have his way with him.”

Iktrikk could feel himself being stretched to the point of bursting. The massive cock was filling him with sensations that were far more intense than those that the probe had given him. The smooth member felt warm and alive inside his rectum. It was hard but also wonderfully flexible and his partner knew exactly where to aim his thrusts. He stared at the ceiling with his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth for an indeterminate amount of time, his whole being surrendered to the relentless onslaught. His wandering mind came back to earth when he heard Skeet’s growls rise in pitch.

“Not in my ass. Do you hear-hear me you dumb-stupid beast? Not in my ass!”

Somehow, the shrill order managed to pierce the fog of lust that clouded Skeet’s brain. He brutally pulled out with a wet noise, grasped his quivering dick and aimed for the warlock’s torso. He came with a roar, hosing down the brown fur with a torrent of piping hot seed. Iktrikk squirmed and wriggled on the table as the superior male hit him with his powerful jets. He smeared the thick gunk all over himself, feeling it on his skin, in his mouth, in his nose and in his brain. Finally, he gripped his dick and stroked himself furiously. He climaxed almost instantly, squealing and sending drops of cum splattering all over his stained pelt.

He curled up into a ball, his breath short. After a while, he gathered enough strength to raise himself on his elbows. Skeet was looking at him with mocking eyes while eating a piece of meat, the glistening tip of his penis still peeking from his sheath.

“Now we’re even, no hard-bad feelings?” he said between two mouthfuls.

Iktrikk felt his ears and nose blush in embarrassment. He was furious at the stormvermin for having used him for his bestial pleasure. He was even more furious at himself for having enjoyed it immensely. Skeet saw him go red and smiled amusedly.

“You are cute-cute when you are angry.”

Without leaving Iktrikk the time to explode in rage, Skeet threw the half-devoured meal over his shoulder, leaned over his master and began to lick the semen that coated the scrawny body. He gave the stunned warlock a quick glance, his eyes silently extending an invitation. Iktrikk hesitated for a few seconds before joining him enthusiastically, his anger gone as fast as it had come. The two Skaven gobbled up the cum in unison, their wet tongues meeting more than once.

“So many-many new promising areas of research,” dreamed Iktrikk, his scaly tail wagging excitedly.