Iktrikk's Experiment

The workshop was filled almost to the ceiling with all sorts of strange machines and the floor was littered with discarded tools, spare parts and assorted junk. In a corner, Iktrikk, warlock-engineer of clan Skryre and current chieftain of his warren, was poring over the blueprints of yet another invention. A green glass light suddenly flickered on the wall just in front of him, a signal that a visitor was at his door. Irritated by the interruption, he gathered his precious papers, deposited them in a safe underneath his workbench and cautiously picked his way between the piles of clutter towards the door. He looked through the peephole and immediately recognized Vurrikk, his young assistant. He cautiously opened the door and grumbled to the rat-man:

“Yes-yes? What is it now? Speak quick-quick!”

“Pardon-excuse my intrusion, oh cleverest of inventors, but Grissark from clan Rictus has come-arrived with the promised merchandise”.

Iktrikk’s expression instantly changed from one of mild annoyance to excitement.

“Finally! But what are you waiting for you fool-fool? Take me to him!”

As he scurried behind the other Skaven down the tunnels and corridors of the warren, Iktrikk mused over the events of the past few months. He had only recently inherited command of the colony after the previous lord had met an untimely death in a freak accident involving a doomwheel with faulty brakes. Although he had claimed at the time that he was only assuming the role of new chieftain out of a sense of duty to his clan, the truth was that he had long coveted the position. The stronghold was small but its coffers were full of warptokens and its armouries were crammed with deadly weapons. It was, however, lacking in good warriors. The breeders were giving birth to small litters of runty pups and even the black-furred Skaven turned out once grown up to be hardly more vigorous than common clanrats. Iktrikk was greatly dissatisfied with this state of affairs but he had resolved to tackle the problem with a scientific approach. A careful inspection had not uncovered any issues with the females. The fault must therefore, he reasoned, be with the local males. Obviously those weaklings were lacking in virility and could only produce sickly offspring. He was himself, of course, the exception to the rule but he could not realistically be expected to service all of the females by himself. Furthermore, his important duties as a warlord and engineer left him with no time for such base tasks. Another solution must be found.

“There-there! They are in this room,” Vurrikk said, panting after his long run back and forth across the warren.

After ordering his assistant to wait outside, Iktrikk pushed aside the curtain which separated the waiting room from the corridor and entered. Inside, Grissark was sitting on a comfortable-looking pile of rugs and cushions and casually eating from a platter of meat which a slave had brought him. Beside him stood the promised merchandise: a huge jet-black stormvermin, the largest Iktrikk had ever seen.

“Finally! You have kept us waiting,” Grissark said, still chewing, “but this is your money after all.”

Two weeks ago, Iktrikk’s genius mind had finally hit upon a solution. All he had to do to improve the breeding stock of the colony was to borrow strong healthy males from one of the neighbouring clans and collect their semen. With careful management, each sample would be enough to impregnate several females with some to spare, he estimated. Naturally, the nearby stronghold of clan Rictus soon attracted his attention. The clan was well-known for renting out its famed warriors to the highest bidder so when the warlock-engineer approached the local warlord, his proposal did not seem particularly incongruous. After much haggling the two chiefs had agreed that, as a first step, the clan’s best stormvermin champion would be dispatched to the Skryre warren for a full day where he would have his seed collected in Iktrikk’s presence. The latter did not doubt for a second that his devious new partners would try to increase their profits by cutting the precious essence with weak skavenslave cum if he did not supervise the process personally.

“So this is the one you have selected-chosen for the test?” Iktrikk said, surveying the imposing warrior and trying his best not to look impressed.

“Indeed,” Grissark replied enthusiastically, “This is Skeet. A fine-fine specimen I handpicked myself. He has personally routed an entire patrol of dwarf-things in their tunnels, decimated a horde of green-things in a cave and spearheaded an assault on a man-thing fortress. Truth be told, his exploits almost rival mine-mine!”

“Your cowardly snout hasn’t seen a battlefield in the best part of a decade you lying fat-thing”, Iktrikk thought. Grissark was less than athletic and even fairly plump, the result of many years of good living. His companion, though, was a force of nature. He was standing at least one foot taller than a common rat-man with powerful arms, strong legs and a ferocious-looking head in which two piercing red eyes were set. His short-trimmed fur was of a deep rich black which highlighted rather than hid the iron muscles underneath. Despite his savage appearance, the warrior was well-groomed and his crimson cuirass was polished to a shiny gloss. He was obviously taking good care of himself. Iktrikk’s eyes slowly drifted towards the area between Skeet’s legs. It was covered by a loincloth but a large bulge in the front made it clear that his genitals were more than proportional to the rest of his body. The engineer suddenly felt the urge to lift the cloth covering the goods and examine them up close with his hands and nose. Purely to ensure that he was not being sold faulty merchandise of course.

“Well-well,” said Grissark,” shall we get started or are you going to stand-stare here all day?”

Iktrikk snapped out of his daydreaming. Both Skaven were looking at him impatiently and the stormvermin was tapping his powerful tail on the floor in irritation. The stud did not want to be kept waiting.

“Yes, we will start at once. Vurrikk!” he called through the curtain “take our two guests to the laboratory. I will follow-scurry behind.”

The grandly-named laboratory was actually a bare room with a dirt floor whose only furnishing was a rickety table on which several glass jugs were standing. The assistant briefly inspected the flasks before turning towards Iktrikk and addressing him respectfully.

“Everything is ready-prepared as you requested, greatest of leaders.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time. You!” Iktrikk barked after turning towards the black Skaven, “Strip-strip now! Quick-quick.”

Skeet did not need to be asked twice. With expert movements, he unbuckled his armour and let the pieces fall one by one to the ground. Iktrikk felt his heartbeat speed up as more and more of the black furry body was revealed to his eyes. Now wearing nothing but his loincloth, the athletic Skaven paused for a second and toyed playfully with the knot keeping it on his body before untying it in one gesture and letting the garment join the pile of armour at his feet. Iktrikk’s eyes went wide. This was indeed a fine specimen! Two heavy pup-makers were dangling majestically between his legs and his meaty sheath looked like it housed a very large and deadly sword. The engineer felt a pinch of jealousy. In comparison to the colossus in front of him, his own scrawny bodyguards were unworthy of the title of stormvermin. The mouse-hearted cowards had not even been able to protect their previous lord! It was truly inacceptable that someone like him, a crucial asset to his clan, had to rely on such dregs for his close protection and service. Fortunately, in a few season-cycles he would finally be able to replace them with more suitable warriors. Maybe they would make half-decent slaves or test subjects after being demoted.

Vurrik hurried to move the pile of armour and clothing out of the way. This done, he pulled a small flask out of his pocket, opened it and sprinkled a few drops of its oily contents on a rag which he handed over to the naked stormvermin. The Skaven picked it up with a puzzled look but soon his nostrils flared wildly and his eyes started to glitter with lust. Greedily, he brought the cloth to his face and rubbed it against his nose. The effect of the breeder-musk was almost instantaneous: his sheath swelled rapidly and a pink tip emerged at the opening. The young assistant quickly grabbed a jug from the table, dropped to his knees in front of the panting rat and with his free hand carefully pulled back the sheath to free the now turgid member still trapped inside. Ikktrik held his breath as the virile organ was revealed in all its glory. It was almost as long as his own snout, wider at its base with a pointed yet rounded glans at its top. The skin looked smooth and shiny and was now coloured an enticing bright red which the black fur of the sheath and belly further enhanced. “Maybe it would be best-best to do the job myself”, thought the engineer, “Such a delicate operation cannot be left to a stupid-clumsy underling.” It was a bit too late though. With the concentrated look of someone tasked with an extremely important mission, Vurrik grasped the swollen and twitching cock and started rubbing it up and down. His efforts were immediately rewarded by a deep groan of pleasure from Skeet as well as by several powerful spurts of precum which arched through the air before landing on the dirty floor. The heavy male started squirting the pungent musk of arousal from his scent sacs and the Skaven in the room began to show signs of agitation as the potent and acrid smell wafted into their nostrils.

“This is most excellent,” said Iktrikk, now panting heavily, “but we can make the process much-much better. Vurrik, give this thing a good licking at once!”

If he had any objections to his master’s orders, the assistant did not voice them. Bringing his muzzle close to the red hot member, he opened his mouth and enthusiastically caressed the shaft with his long, agile tongue until it was entirely coated in a slick mixture of precum and saliva. He then resumed the stroking motions at a faster pace, now considerably helped by the makeshift lubricant. Still holding the musk-soaked rag to his snout, the massive Skaven closed his red eyes and raised his head to the ceiling, drinking in the sensations. Suddenly, his long tail thrashed convulsively, the claws of his feet curled and dug into the ground and the continuous low growl which had been issuing from his throat changed to a series of high-pitched squeals.

“He is about to come!” Shouted Iktrikk, “Use the jug now, Fast-Fast!”

Vurrik was not fast enough. Panicking, he tried to direct the pulsating cock with one hand towards the jug he was holding in the other but fumbled inefficiently until the stormvermin exploded in his face with a mighty groan, coating his snout, brow and ears with a generous layer of warm and sticky goo. The unfortunate rat was left stunned as the member he was still gripping kept shooting thinning spurts of cum on his clothes.

“You… you have wasted it!” Screeched the warlock-engineer, fuming. “This precious seed splattered on your ugly mug cost me more warptokens than your miserable flea-bitten hide would fetch at a slave market! I will have you tied under a doomwheel and crushed-squished, I will have you fed to the rat-ogres, I will…”

“It is not my fault, oh most merciful-kind of masters,” whined the smaller Skaven who, having finally let go of the half-erect organ, was now pathetically trying to wipe the mess off his face and stuff as much of it as he could inside the jug, “this brute is too hard-difficult to control! It is impossible to harvest him by hand.”

A small string of semen was still dangling from Skeet’s cock, which was now rapidly softening and retracting inside his body. Grinning, the black Skaven casually ran a claw over the hapless assistant’s spunk-covered cheek and licked it. Far from being embarrassed by the situation, he was obviously greatly amused by the commotion around him. Iktrikk heard a chuckle behind him and turned towards Grissark.

“Sorry, dear-dear customer, no refunds.” The representative from clan Rictus said. “The deal-agreement was that our best-best stallion would come here and donate his seed, which he did most generously. Your logistical issues are not our concern-problem.”

“I am surrounded by incompetents,” fumed the warlock-engineer, his tail lashing the floor in anger, “but fortunately I was prepared-ready for such an eventuality. Tell me, can he cum again?”

“Yes-yes of course. His endurance is legendary, but…”

“Then wait-stay here, I will be back soon-soon.”

Iktrikk darted from the room under the baffled eyes of the three other Skaven. After a few minutes he was back, dragging behind him a naked and visibly frightened slave. The carefully groomed little rat-man came directly from the warlord’s personal warren, where he kept a number of skavenslaves for his own private enjoyment. Stepping into the room, he reached into his pocket and pulled out several long sheaths made of a thin rubbery substance and dropped them on the table.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Grissark.

“Since manual harvesting has proved inefficient,” explained Iktrikk, “the subject will slide one of these cloths on his length and breed-breed this slave. The seed will be collected-squeezed from the cloth afterwards without any waste.”

“A most ingenious-cunning plan, oh cleverest of leaders,” whispered Vurrikk, “but what if this dumb-stupid brute does not share your, ahem… refined taste for male slaves?”

“You fool-meat, do you believe I did not think of everything?” snapped the engineer, “just stay silent and watch!”

Grabbing the musk-flask from the table, Iktrikk ordered the slave to stand with his hands against the wall and spread his legs wide. After pouring a generous quantity of the liquid in the palm of his hand, he abruptly lifted the slave’s tail and rubbed his oiled fingers against his anus before inserting two claws, lubricating him and soaking the hole inside and out with the breeder-scent. Satisfied, Iktrikk stepped back, turned his head towards Skeet and signalled him to come closer. The Skaven stepped forward reluctantly but the sceptical look on his face instantly changed as he picked up the scent that drifted from under the slave’s tail. He rushed towards the whimpering slave, dropped on all fours, pressed his nose against the source of the enticing smell and started lapping greedily. Leaning forward, Iktrikk saw with great pleasure that Skeet was growing hard again. Quickly, he took one of the cloths from the table and, with some difficulty, managed to grasp the dripping cock and slide the thin garment into place. It was just in time. Grunting with excitement, the stallion rose up, pressed his muscular body against his makeshift mare, grabbed the scruff of his neck with his teeth and started humping. The smaller Skaven squealed as he felt the massive dick ramming his buttocks repeatedly before finally finding the entrance and pushing its way deep inside him. The slave was used to being bred from behind but it was clear from his gasps and mousey cries that the onslaught was stretching his well-lubricated hole to its limits. Despite this, the other Skaven in attendance observed that the submissive rat was now sporting a small, pink erection of his own and squirting thin streams of precum.

“Yes,” muttered Iktrikk under his panting breath, “Yes… fill him up well-good. We need to make up for last time.” The warlock-engineer watched the scene intently and Vurrikk noticed a growing bulge at the front of his robes. Soon his master slipped a hand under his clothes and started stroking himself, oblivious to the presence of the other Skaven around him.

Skeet had been rutting the slave for less than a minute when his groans turned into squeaks again and his tail lifted, revealing a convulsing pink anus oozing with male musk. The heavy testicles between his legs contracted and his cries rose in pitch as he started shooting his load a second time. All three Skaven looked on fascinated as the warrior climaxed for several long seconds before breathing a deep, contented sigh and letting his head rest against the shoulder of his smaller partner. The two rat-men remained in this unexpectedly tender position for a few awkward moments before Skeet pulled out his softening member with a wet schlorp and stepped back. Almost instantly the exhausted slave collapsed to the ground and curled up into a ball, a few drops of watery cum on the rough wall and ground the only traces of his own weaker orgasm.

“Most-most excellent,” whispered Iktrikk.

He gestured for Skeet to come closer and grasped his half-erect penis with a firm hand. Carefully, he withdrew the oily and slippery cloth and squeezed the semen into one of the jugs with the help of his assistant. The latter noticed that the bulge in his master’s robes had disappeared but that a large wet stain had taken its place. He wisely decided not to comment on it.

Iktrikk raised the jug to his face with a satisfied smile. The harvest had been very abundant and the bottom of the container was filled with a rich, creamy white liquid. He plunged his greedy claws inside the glass, brought them to his twitchy nose and inhaled deeply. The scent reminded him of the precious chemical substances in his own laboratory and the warm goo on his fingers felt slimy and sticky. Half-dazed and intoxicated, he licked his paw clean, savouring the salty taste on his tongue. This was indeed the most virile and strongest male essence he had ever sampled. The thin cum from his slaves and bodyguards was little more than watered-down piss in comparison. And there was plenty more where that delectable juice came from! Slowly, he brought the jug to his lips.

“M-Master, what are you doing? Is everything fine-fine?”

Upon hearing the shy voice of Vurrik, Iktrikk emerged from his reverie and realized that all three Skaven were staring at him. Blushing, he hissed in anger and slapped his assistant across the snout.

“How dare you interrupt-question me? I was simply controlling the quality of this sample. Now,” he said, pointing towards the slave still lying prostrate on the ground, “fetch the guards outside and tell them to return this miserable wretch to my warrens and bring a new one here.”

He turned his head towards Skeet and his handler.

“I will give that dumb-stupid animal one hour to recover before we start the next collection. Given how much you are gouging-ripping from me I will milk him until he drops from exhaustion!”

“Yes-yes most ambitious of masters,” whined the assistant, “shall I take-relieve this sample from you and bring it to the workshop?”

“No!” Iktrikk immediately replied, “I will keep it and carry it myself. A fool-fool like you would spill it again.”

Iktrikk clutched the precious jug tightly against his chest as the guards dragged the half-unconscious slave out of the room. Still unashamedly naked, Skeet was standing with his back against one of the walls, devouring a slab of meat that another slave had brought him. The engineer gave him a long admiring look. “Maybe,” he mused, “I could ask-convince the greedy-thing Grissark to sell him for a good price?” He felt his rathood tingle again at the thought of having access to unlimited samples and of tasting them directly from the source. Until then, he would make the most of him for the rest of the day. “I wonder,” he chuckled, “if I will run out of slaves before he runs out of steam.”