This is an epic, but unfinished roleplay that I had the great pleasure of playing with Ahastar a few years ago over the course of around fifteen months! It is unlikely ever to be finished, but Ahastar and I both think it's something we'd like to share with anyone else who might enjoy crushlusty reptiles.
It's gory and sexual, as all the best RPs are, and its story involves the recreational abuse of Ahastar by Dras and four of his fellow upper-caste deinonychuses. Having subjected him to a gruelling sacrificial rex trampling in
Sacrifice, these tramply classic raptors have dragged Ahastar up into an exclusive club spa-like treehouse den, where they proceed to use and abuse him all night in swanky privacy.
If you are weird enough to want a soundtrack while reading through this, try this one:
treehouse.mp3, which is totally what I had in mind while we were describing the crystally treehouse. Extra kudos if you can work out the relationship.
Many thanks to the white raptor both for playing this with me and for letting me share it here. I'm sorry it won't be finished, but it was a heck of a lot of fun and I hope someone else enjoys reading it!
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Sharp volcanic gravel crunches harmlessly under Dras' padded talons as he strides along the neat forest path towards the private den. Despite the sedate coolness of the evening air and the tranquil green-blues of the surrounding forest, the athletic azure deinonychus is wholly unable to keep his dark feather crest from trembling with excitement, or to refrain from taking the occasional glance behind him as he proceeds. Following along the path in his wake are two paler, less finely-crested raptors who between them carry the limp body of a third deinonychus - this one snowy white with red feathers and markings. The tail and hind limbs of the white raptor drag noisily in the gravel, drawing deep claw furrows along the path and spoiling the otherwise tranquil sounds of the forest.
Fireflies float silently around the majestic trees, and steaming pools of volcanic water line the edges of the path, some of which contain luminous algae that glows green in the dim evening light. The soft rumble of falling water becomes distinct, and as he rounds a bend in the path, Dras stops and lets a cunning grin spread across his lean scaly snout as he lays eyes on their destination. The path leads to a great winding rockface, tangled with thick old vines and mostly obscured by broad windy trees. The rockface - evidently a feature of some geothermal activity - is jagged and uneven, dotted with cracks and caves and outcrops all the way up its surface to where it disappears into the forest canopy. Dras allows his gaze to roam higher and he spies the den: a great treehouse, built around the tops of the great trees and wound into the curious features of the rockface. He turns and barks out for his two followers to hurry, then strides up the path to the entrance.
At the foot of the rockface he comes to a cave arch, its entrance guarded by two hunter-caste deinonychi. The powerful raptors dip their heads respectfully as he passes between them and enters the cave. The sound of falling water is much louder here and a fine cool spray dampens the stone walls, which are studded with bizarrely beautiful crystals that give off a soft turquoise glow. Dras' sickle claws tap and click on the wet stone, his footsteps echoing as he begins climbing the stone steps that lead up to the canopy; behind him he hears the guards admit his two servants and their unconscious passenger.
As he climbs, Dras finds himself thinking about what pleasures await the group this evening. After that one sacrificial ceremony that had brought Ahastar's unique qualities to his attention, the idea of a more private session with the resiliant white raptor has never been far from his sadistic thoughts. But it has been two months since that ceremony and in that time, Ahastar has been reserved for exclusive use by the gods - something that has has nigh driven Dras insane! Seeing the half-demon deinonychus pulped and crunched and snuffed out under the paws of the tyrannosaurian deities day after day has left him nothing short of hungry for the touch of the white scaly hide under his pads, and now that Ahastar has finally been released to him, two months of bubbling trample lust will be unleashed upon the hapless half-demon.
Dras chuckles and continues up the stone stairs, looking out into the cool evening forest and the windy gravel path far below as one side of the cave tunnel opens out. Reaching the top of the stair, he proceeds along a creaking wooden bridge high up in the treetops and comes to the vast wooden entrance of the den. With a thoughtful swaying of his tail, the sleek azure deinonychus pauses to carefully wipe both his sickled feet on the compy-skin doormat, then he plunges through the doorflap and disappears inside.
-----
Ahastar once again is caught in a deep, thought-suffocating darkness, utterly unconscious by a mix of herbal drugs crammed down his throat by a gleefully smiling shaman deinonychus, the very same that brought him back from the dead time and time and time again during the past two hellish months. Hardly a single days passed without at least a small group of tyrannosaur gods showing up in the raptor village from every obscure angle of the Mesozoic kingdom they rule over, demanding the by now fabled "sacrifice" beneath their weighty talons. Every last days of these ended with tremendous suffering and being trampled to death and far beyond was not seen rarely, as soon as the sadistic beasts recognized, marveled and finally rejoiced about the fact that this deinonychus’ doormats durability was indeed not a canvas for fairy tales, but complete truth! His sleep wasn’t much better either. Ever since his new life started, not a single night passed without the half demon’s dreams showing him endless rows of hellish, glowing red-eyed monsters trampling his body flat, his bones to paste and his organs into mush. The only part of his existence not in some way connected to broad, heavily padded, three toed tyrannosaur talons is.. being unconscious. Being at a point where even dreams and, much more important, nightmares, are nothing but a dim memory hardly to be seen in front of a fleeting gaze. Still though, no heaven lasts forever. Slowly, Ahastar blinks himself awake anew. The light, even though already fainting with dusk, sharply burns into his slit eyes. "Ssssssghh.." he hisses out in discomfort, shutting his lids and adapting to the evening sun. Fresh air tickles his nostrils, scents of leaves and rain and earth... and scales! Only now the ruckus of talons scattering over rock and wood reaches his eyes, a brief glimpse on a compy-skin doormat with two deep imprints evening out again - then Ahastar rips his snout upwards, grunting in alert as he realizes that, for some reason, that simple move costs him insane amounts of energy, sending his lungs wheezing! A hut. No. A massive sort of ...house. A complex. A BUILDING. In front of him, the hated blue deinonychus rump pads forwards, tail swaying left and right and feathercrest standing tall and proud. Much prouder at least than the leather strap and leash wrapped around the half demon’s neck.
-----
As Dras enters the den, he is first struck by the size of the complex - a great vast room of wood and stone and animal skins, homely and breathtaking at the same time, beautifully secluded. With one side of the den hugged close against the rockface, a good portion of the floor consists of rocky ledges and stone platforms; the rest is all wooden decking and broad flowing branches. Trees form the majority of the high walls, sweeping up to spread their vast branches and canopy as the roof, but here and there are stitched expanses of animal skin, spread over the floor, dangling from branches or draped over vines to form wall sections and more roofing. The sound of water here is constant - a small waterfall cascades down from the top of the rockface onto one the great stone ledges inside the den, from where it runs down and outside to the ground. Spray hangs around this part of the room, but it is made pleasant by the steam billowing from various warm, hot and scalding pools of geothermally heated water that are dotted around the various rocky sections of the floor.
Dras' gaze wanders over to find the various pieces of equipment and raptor-fashioned furniture scattered around the room, and he head-bobs a greeting to the two fellow raptors who currently half-lie, half-sit in scooped-out wooden seats lined with mammal skin. "And I thought *I* was eager to get here," he calls out, radiating electric anticipation from his azure scales.
The two cease their rumbled conversation and turn to face Dras. Both are female raptors - uncrested, and with leaner muzzles, but otherwise identical to the males. One is coated in pure unbroken crimson and the other is white-scaled with green tribal patterns all over her sleek body. Dras chuckles, his dark blue feathers dancing. "Wow, you had yourself painted up for this? We're honoured."
A sly smile spreads across the scaly face of the white raptoress and she stretches out her head and limbs from the seat to better display her emerald bodily patterns. "You expected less of a chief shaman?"
"We were beginning to think you weren't coming," the red raptor adds, chastising teasingly. "Did you have trouble with all those stairs?" While she says this, her lean powerful hind limb idly strokes from side to side over the head and throat of a live compy, rolling the tiny theropod limply on the floor while she plays with it under her sickle toe.
Dras snorts at his red-scaled mate and approaches her, prowling into the den with a playful smirk on his muzzle. "Nope, but my two crestless wonders probably did. They carryied him here about as slowly as a limping compy." He dips down to nuzzle the crimson scales of his mate and lick under her chin, then he glances down at the weak, muffled chirping from her captive compy. "Speaking of which.... shouldn't you save that mood for the sacrifice?"
She tilts her head to cast her green eyes seductively over him and says only, "I'm practising."
"Bring him in!" The azure raptor calls out, straightening up and turning back to the doorflap. Immediately, the groggy half demon is dragged into the den by the two pale, low-caste raptors, who unceremoniously drop him to the wooden floor and stand over him, waiting for further instruction.
-----
Ahastar only hears some muffled babbling behind the thick curtains of tree veins and animals hides. This here is a massive tree house, the half demon has realized by now... rather uncomfortably, since his first gaze away from the compy-doormat was into the endless depths of the luscious forest and jungle beneath him, the steam of the afternoon soon turning the water beneath her to vapor still hanging thickly in the air. Whoever designed this tremendous treehouse certainly didn’t want any sounds to be heard, to say nothing about any possible intruders. Only at a stern, loud command, his two capture raptors finally drag him inwards. The half demon doesn’t even have a moment to look over his new surroundings before he is dropped to the wooden floor like a wet sack! "Ooooooof!" he groans out, his body for some reason not at all listening to the commands his brain desperately fires off towards his muscles, rendering him fully awake, but almost unable to perform one sensible move! Slowly, and with a deep, exhausted rumble, Ahastar lifts his neck again. His first gaze is reserved for Dras. How much he hates him! Certainly, the Trexes that trampled and tormented him were what actually did the damage to his flesh and mind alike, but no matter if he thinks about "captivity", "enslavement", "toy-transformation" or "organic doormat"... the same grinning, blue deinonychus muzzle always appears in front of Ahastar’s eyes! He is the culmination of all his terror and breakdown of his pride. And at all of that, the azure raptor is not even as large and heavy as the half demon - a fact that is driving the half demon stark raving mad! Then though, his eyes start traveling. They behold two more raptors, females, both of them known well enough to the sacrifice to send it swallowing hard and deep. One of them toying with her razor sharp sickle claw upon a trembling, chirping compy, trying to escape but having no chance to even move. Odd constructions and furniture is located everywhere in the room. Most of it is made of wood, but there are some corners made of stone floor, one reserved for a luxury bath fueled by the volcanic water that prominently gushes out of the very rock inside the marvelous raptor village. All sorts of odd... toys and tools are tidily kept in boards and on top of tables, a servant behind a bar is waiting for orders, it seems. As are the two raptors standing left and right of Ahastar still. With hatred in his eyes burning like two pits of boiling acid, the half demon gazes into Dras’ face.
-----
Both the shaman and the red-scaled raptoress rise immediately to their feet as Ahastar is dragged in a dropped before them; the play-compy is forgotten and stepped straight over as the two females cautiously approach the drugged half-demon. Dras joins them and all three sets of gleaming eyes roam over the fresh white-scaled body of their victim, joyful and hesitant, as though each has had their greatest wish granted but can't quite believe it.
"All these new lives I have given him..." the Shaman intones softly. "It seems only fair that I should take some back." And she flexes her powerful forelimbs, splaying digits and padding up towards Ahastar.
Dras watches her happily, then glances up at the two waiting servant raptors and says: "You can go back now and help yourselves to a seedpod each or four compies, whichever you prefer." The two poorly-crested deinonychi growl their thanks at this reward and respectfully turn. As they reach the entrance, the doorflap abruptly opens again and they stand quickly aside as two further raptors prowl into the den - a sleek, sly-looking green female and a large brown male: clearly partners.
"Aaaah, welcome, welcome!" Dras greets as the two servants duck out of the doorflap behind the newcomers. "Here he is, just as promised, alive and kicking!"
Ahastar weakly moves a forelimb and collapses on his belly, disoriented heavily by his severe drugging. The poison-green raptoress snorts at this and looks skeptically at her mate, who chuckles and says, "Alive, at least..."
Dras pads right up to Ahastar, who is still trying unsuccessfully to rise out of his drugged slump. "Yeah," he agrees, crouching down to inspect the half-demon as one would a cheap but ultimately undesirable bargain. "I guess we'll have to do the kicking." And he grips Ahastar's feather crest in his lean powerful forelimb and yanks the half-demon's head up. "You remember me, bud? It's been a while but I've been thinking about you the whole time." Almost trembling with anticipation, he stands back up and lifts a clawed foot, letting it rest over the side of Ahastar's muzzle with just enough force to keep the drugged half-demon still under it. "You're gonna be begging to be sent back to those rexes by the time we're finished here tonight."
-----
Ahastar tries to roll over onto his back, feeling insanely vulnerable in this position, but even though he can feel at least a bit of his strength slowly returning, it is by far not enough to perform such a taxing task like a belly roll! Instead, the half demon lets out a gagged groan when he sees the two raptoresses beginning to move - one of them creating first a squishing, then a groaning, then a slimy, gut-exploding sound beneath her foot. The sacrifice now realizes the shamans green colored insignia. And while the deinonychus down on the wooden floor to this day didn’t fully understand the concept behind it or the meaning of these rituals, he did learn that a painted raptor body in front of him usually means a brutal raptor foot soon to be thrusting in between various mucous membranes of his body! Ahastar can’t even do as much as breath faster as the three raptors approach him, each one sleek and powerful, scales glistening with pride and energy, perfect hunters and sprinters. And even the shaman, usually a soft and soothing voice, appears like a greedy, snuff-hungry trampling goddess as she stands next to the earthbound raptor, her sickle and hand claws flexing and splaying with open desire! "You...you leave me alone you... disgusting...ungh..." Speaking is still much too difficult, much too straining! Not that anyone would care about his words to begind with, now that there is plenty of action going on in between the doorflaps! Two more raptors pad in - and a interested deinonychus eye can easily behold a string, sturdy shiver going through the sacrifice’ scales at the sight of that theropod couple! Ahastar remembers these two very, very well... just seeing them is enough for his mouth and especially his cloaca to cramp and shut together in wincing pain. Both of these organs would dive out of the window this very instant, but sadly, they are attached to Ahastar’s body - and he isn’t moving for a while for sure! Because not even when Dras lifts his sicklefoot, proudly flashing his black padded sprinter talon and driving the downed raptor’s heartbeat to such heights of stress and rage that the thumping in his chest might be audible for everyone in the room, is there more than a little flicker of muscles to be seen beneath the half demon’s white scales!
-----
Dras' heavy toes give a hard squeeze, then rip up from Ahastar's face and the large blue deinonychus takes a step back as the five raptors form a tight circle around their drugged victim and observe his lack of mobility with growing disdain.
"How much did you give him?" The red-scaled female of the group asks, squatting down to clasp Ahastar's chin and lift his head up for inspection. "I know you can be overenthusiastic with your fluids..."
Dras snorts laughter at this and gives his mate a nuzzle to the back of the neck. "Well this would be the first you've complained about it, my dear." He coaxes her back up as she unceremoniously drops the muzzled half-demon's head, and adds, "Don't worry, it's wearing off already. He just needs a bit of warming up and he'll be active as a compy in hot-" he breaks off as Ahastar's foreleg gives a grasping twitch and grabs around the red raptor's big curved sickle claw. Dras hisses triumphantly. "There, look at that." And he swings his powerful hind limb forward to smash-kick Ahastar in the face, sending him sprawling into the ankles of the Shaman. "He's ready for some plucking, I think."
With a flick of her white-scaled foot, the Shaman turns Ahastar over onto his back and slowly raises her powerful hind limb up high over his head. "Are you alive, or are you not?" she hisses quietly, rearing up high and slamming her clawed foot down. It stomps heavily onto the damp wooden floor, Ahastar having impulsively jerked his head out of the way just in time. Roars of laughter and mocking praise follow from the five raptors as their dazed, unsteady victim scrabbles onto his front and tries to rise.
"Not good enough." This time it is the green-scaled female who kicks him squarely in the chest, her sickle claw flashing as it buries itself in the white hide and whacks Ahastar rolling onto his back again. With lightning speed the crimson raptor continues the attack, chopping her stiffened tail down upon his throat and doubling him up for the brown male to finish off with a devastating pounce to the chest.
There is a loud crash as Ahastar skids backwards under the pouncing raptor, surfed by the big brown paws until a section of harsh stone flooring drags him to a halt. "This one's mine," the large male raptor growls out to the applauding group, and reaches down to humiliatingly pluck out one of Ahastar's blood red feathers, before stepping off the coughing half-demon and dragging him back by the tail.
As he is released, Ahastar manages to claw his way up into an exhausted half-squatting, half-sitting posture which gets rapidly turned into a fully-lying one as the white talons of the Shaman catapault him down in a vicious double-footed kick. Her sickled feet penetrate his belly as she lands powerfully and stretches forward to deftly take another of his feathers in her jaws and pull it out.
"And one for Torment!" calls out Dras, his own feather crest quivering in glee. "Let's see who gets the most."
-----
The fact that Ahastar, laying spread out all over the wooden floor like an organic carpet, isn’t giving as much as a twitch even when Dras cracks his demon-hated sicklefoot deep and hard enough into the subdued deinonychus’ cheek to press his pad into the teeth beneath speaks volumes about how utterly dazed Ahastar really is. Even when the azure raptor briefly leans forward to channel every last bit of his weight into the half demon’s face, Dras is greeted with no more reaction than an ominous "crrrunch"!
That move at least gets the trembling raptor beneath to twitch a bit, but this is by far not enough to satisfy the ruby-scaled mate of the sadistic lead deinonychus. Leaning down, she rudely grabs Ahastar’s feathercrest, pulling the raptor’s muzzle upwards. It still has her partner’s slowly fleeting footprint squashed into his cheek, but it lacks the strength to even prevent the deinonychus’ lower jaw from powerlessly dropping open. Slowly, Ahastar blinks his eyes awake again, groaning out at the five raptors having formed a threatening circle around him, hissingly conversing among each other while the ruby raptoress dangles the half demon’s snout around first and then simply drops it to the floor again like a rotten fruit. Rage builds up deep inside Ahastar, his forepaw sliding out. His fingers, while still quivering, tightly grab around the red’s sickle claw, trying with all their meek strength to break the offending talon in half. The demon’s heart pounds loudly in his chest, fury creeping up his veins. His jaws clench together, teeth gritting - and that is great luck for him, for it is the only thing saving the integrity of Ahastar’s skull when Dras’ dangerously clawed sicklefoot *batters* into the half demon’s face! One, two teeth fling bloodily through the air while the raptor’s body wildly flips and spins over the smooth wood planks, right into the white scaled shins of the Shaman.
She briefly smirks down at him, the dominating and dominated raptor being almost impossible to tell apart from each other, wouldn’t it be for the missing crest and emerald eyes and runes the female sports. Quickly, she kicks Ahastar over onto his back, exposing his deliciously soft and vulnerable belly side, quickly raising and falling with his breath. "Naaaarrrrrrrrrrr!", the re-voiced half demon manages to snarl out when he beholds the Shaman lifting her right foot high and higher, exposing glistening black pads and greedily spread talons! Evading the possibly face-shattering stomp that follows is the first sentient action the half demon has undertaken ever since he was dragged into the treehouse! Finally, the drugs in his veins seem to ebb off, at least a bit. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help him with the outright flurry of attacks homing in on him! The green female brutally kicks Ahastar in his chest, making his eyes bulge out and his mouth spit blood as she sinks her sickle claw into his flesh and finishes with smashing her knee into the half demon’s chin! The crimson fluid didn’t even manage to drop to the floor again when Ahastar already gets a cracking whiplash of a raptor tail smashing into his throat, sending him "RRRRRKKKKKKK"ing, gagging and doubling him up - just in time for the heavy brown male to perform a wild pounce with lots of force to back him up, thrusting his two broad feet harsh enough into the floorbound deinonychus to bend his ribs lightly inwards and make him rub and slide over the floor, leaving a trail of torn out, white scales and a few patches of blood behind as the hefty male utterly rides him! Only when he has ripped out a single feather from Ahastar’s already messed up crest does he step off of the crunching chest again, leaving two alarmingly solid and visible pawprints as well as a retching, rolling, painstruck raptor behind!
Ahastar feels anger inside him bubbling up, ready to explode and only failing to do so because the fuse it is triggered with is in absolutely no condition to deliver the spark. Instead, the half demon slowly rolls over again, blood and drool dripping from his lips as he begins to push himself up on his shaking knees and hands, hardly able to even stay in that humbled position. Still, the half demon manages just so to lift his wobbly muzzle, fury easily visible in his eyes... yet that is quickly exchanged with surprise, then shock, then fear - and finally a panicking screeeeeeech! "BAM, BAM, BAM...", harsh, padded sprinter feet whump on the floor as the Shaman spurts towards her downed victim, diving off of the floor, jumping into Ahastar’s face and, just a split second before her body collides with his, brings both of her brutal talons forwards with enough battering force to stomp flat a rock, sickles held up high! The moment of impact seems to almost happen in slow motion... First the shaman’s white-scaled feet both sinking into Ahastar’s face, deep and deeper until her padsoles drown and distort his features to the point where her paws and his muzzle seem to almost fuse together... Snarling out loud the Shaman pushes her legs forwards and forwards until her leg muscles bulge out steel hard, making sure to force every last Newton of force into Ahastar’s skull, which seems to be completely frozen in its spot in the air without moving at all except for the deformation... then a few alarming bulges and cracking sounds raise from the half demon’s neck vertebra, each of them pushing against the scales from inside in a vain attempt to somehow deal with the insane drive! ...Then, with sudden, almost lightning speed Ahastar’s muzzle gets RAMMED into the floor, bouncing off another time and coming to a rest! The half demon is that smashed down that he doesn’t even realize the snickering Shaman snagging herself on of his feathers as well while two gruesome footprints begin to swell up red and blue in Ahastar’s trembling face.
Shivering as if she would have just fractured his skull to pulver, this was the first time the usually calm and laid back Shaman has violently presented her sicklefeet to the sacrifice. Ahastar will never be able to forget it again.
-----
The five deinonychi continue their athletic assault on Ahastar, simultaneously goading the life back into their weakened victim and smashing it out of him with pounces, kicks, bites, tailwhips and bodily throwdowns. Every time the half-demon is flattened into breathless submision, a feather is symbolically taken from his crest and collected by his victoriously posing attacker - the three females of the group clutch these liberated feathers in their foreclaws, while the two males proudly add them to their own crests, all the time laughing mockingly at the ease with which they overpower their victim.
"You'd think he'd have learned to fight, from the size of him," comments the blood-red female after hurling Ahastar's neck down from the vice-like embrace of her jaws and smashing his head to the ground. She looks down and butts a clawed foot onto the side of his face, holding it there while she bends down and takes a feather for her collection.
"Perhaps not," replies the Shaman, circling around the group on silent pads, her crimson feathers proudly entwined between her lean powerful foreclaws. "He hasn't the size of a hunter caste, nor the wit of an upper caste; perhaps he is merely an overdeveloped gatherer."
This is met with barks of raptor laughter from the others while the brown male lifts Ahastar bodily to his feet for his mate who coils before them. "Not overdeveloped in the areas that count," hisses the acid-green female before leaping forth and slamming both sturdy talons into Ahastar's chest, catapaulting him back towards the shaman and landing upon him with a crack of breaking ribs. She mutes his gasping straining protest by planting her clawed foot over his muzzle and bends to take her feather.
"We mustn't overlook his remarkable talent when it comes to begging," smiles the white-scaled shaman before launching into a hissing, rapid-fire attack of her own. By now Ahastar's senses have mostly returned to him and the half-demon is able to rise and stumble back from his white-scaled attacker as she sends whip after bite after slash at his retreating form. A final spinning tailwhip catches Ahastar on the side of the head and sends him whirling around to face Dras just as the large azure raptor finishes him off with a devastating padded roundhouse kick to the face.
-----
Ahastar’s muscular control and wit only return slowly, while his hearing remains clearly on top of its abilities - and given the combination of mocking and being kicked all over the treehouse, the half demon certainly wishes these features would reattach themselves to his nerve ends in the opposite direction. Every time the sacrifice gets to listen to one of their downputting lines pretty much spit into his face, he feels an urge to eviscerate the most nearby raptor around him. And every time his mind instructs his claws to inspect the intestine layouts of his tormentors, his brain gets whacked down to the floor once more!
"GRRRRRKKKKKKKKKK!", Ahastar grunts out, briefly raising his muzzle in the jaw-crafted deadlock his throat finds itself in, if only to spit a thick glob of blood from his muzzle over the wooden floor! Only when the ruby scaled raptoress lets go of his neck does the half demon manage to stumble forwards, his still shaky fingers managing to reach for the wounds all over his throat - or at least almost, for another brutal, chest-shattering dropkick smashes into his bones, sending him flying together with his "passenger" anew - this time the poison scaled green female, flinging him through the air and coming to a rib-breaking, lung-pulping landing right on top of him! "Gaaaarrrrghhhh!", Ahastar groans out, clearly in solid pain! One of his handpaws reaches out for the female standing so dominatingly on top of him, trying to reach her... but his fingers only get squished into the floor beneath her glistening, black sprinter pads, his face at once following beneath her humbling tread. The half demon shuts his mouth, not even letting out as much as a degraded hiss when yet another one of his proud feathers finds its way into the clawed hands of his tormentors.
That, though, quickly changes the moment the ghostly shaman is all over him again! Her hands slash through his face! Her tail smashes on top of his skull with enough force to send his eyesight into witnessing exploding stars! Her teeth lash out to bite in his fingers, in his face, in his arms and neck. Her foot stomps powerfully in his face the moment he groaningly collapses onto it, her toes clenching around his features and dragging him back upwards to finally slap him into a wild, stumbling run - right towards the azure packleader who is already waiting for his price! Letting his tongue tip slip out and with his eyes narrowing for better aim, the slender, blue scaled raptor spins around his own axis with the alarming energy of a release switchblade, leaving Ahastar to only briefly behold a flash of black talons fly through the air! "BASSSSSSHHHHHHH!" - Three lines of vaporized blood stand still and frozen in the air for a brief moment, a couple of teeth following, exploding from the half demon’s side-facing snout - then the backlash hits him and, with the brutality of a Trex punting into his face, Ahastar flies into the next wall, bounces off like a rubber ball and comes to rest on the floor again, utterly finished and screeching with agony!
-----
"So what say we get this party started?" Dras calls out as he yanks another feather from Ahastar's crest and takes his sturdy clawed foot off the half-demon's neck. Ahastar appears very badly dazed after the round of heavy physical abuse, his white hide streaked with bloody cuts and riddled with bruises of various shape and size. Ugly blue lumps mark out several broken bones, and his once-proud crest is in limp tatters, barly a dozen feathers remaining.
Dras turns and waves a foreclaw to the far side of the gread forest den, where a lower caste servant raptor waits behind a rock-fashioned bar. "Uss! Start it up!" The grey-scaled bar raptor flashes a toothy subserviant smile in reply and leaps nimbly up onto the bar surface, his dull sickles clicking on the rock as he goes to sit upon his haunches and arranges several tribal-looking drums of wood and compy skin on the rock around him. Using his tail and forepaws, the grey servant raptor strikes the drums in turn and their sound, amplified and distorted heavily by the uneven rock and the cascading water, takes on an unnatural throbbing resonance somewhere between the deathly groan of an ancient tree and the bass-laden snarl of a tyrannosaur.
To a steady marching rhythm of these frightening sounds, the five raptors gather around their victim. "Time for the formal introductions, is it?" chuckles the green female with malice.
"Definitely," the brown male growlingly replies, pausing to carefully weave the last of his new crimson feathers into his dark feather crest before sweeping it back out of his vision. "Who am I again?"
Dras snorts in amusement, his own crimson-streaked crest quivering. "You are so new to this. Stay the fuck where you are," he adds, planting a large heavy talon upon Ahastar's chest and quelling the half-demon's sprawling attempt to escape. "You want to do the honours?" he asks, turning to cast a cunning smile upon his red-scaled mate.
The large crimson deinonychus slinks up to Dras and rubs her smooth crestless head under his chin, giving his tail a seductive squeeze with a coil of her own. "If my chieftan commands," she rumbles, to which he growls with lusty pride and nuzzles down the back of her muscular neck. The other raptors politely avert their gaze.
While Dras pins Ahastar securely down, standing on his left and forcing his padded foot heavily into the half-demon's chest, the red-scaled female steps over to his tail end and waits there while the remaining three form up around Ahastar's sides. The shaman positions herself directly opposite Dras, on the right side of the half-demon's chest with a clawed white talon planted firmly over the right forearm of the sprawled deinonychus between them. The large brown raptor and his acid-green mate come to stand on either side of Ahastar's hips, each clamping one of the half-demon's hind limbs down under one of their own and sending their own seductive glances to each other.
Thus surrounded by his five sleek, powerful and horrifyingly sadistic dominators, Ahastar can only struggle helplessly and lie before them, completely exposed. Even Dras takes his sturdy azure talon off the half-demon's chest and places it instead upon his remaining free forelimb - clearly showing what little he thinks of Ahastar's strength to free himself. The large crimson female rears up at Ahastar's tail end and casts her hungry gaze over the long stretch of soft vulnerable white hide before her, heaving as their victim struggles his strength away. She smiles predatorially and her yellow eyes glitter in the cool light.
-----
Only when Ahastar has spent a few moments on top of the wooden floor, lightly warmed by the hor jungle air surrounding the scenery, does the half demon realize the state the ongoing abuse has put him into. The fact that his muscles did not at all respond to his commands or, if they did, way too late, also meant that the sacrifice deinonychus was unable to defend himself against the numerous blows dished to his body. Thus every single strike and leash and pounce and stomp and smack has hit either precisely into an organ or a bone - and not even his sturdy physique and spectacular heritage could face an entire pack of raptors’ fury without his athletic musculature to numb the impacts!
So right now, he is gazing up to his surrounding tormentors, trying to act it up as an innocent gaze to the vine-ranked ceiling. His ridiculous attempt to not give his dominators the added satisfaction of seeing the fear and rage, the hatred and humiliation in his eyes is only met with a round of snarling laughter or mocking snorts. "Da-thumb - thumb thumb, da-thumb..." - Even a few cracked ribs are not enough to prevent the half demon from raising his head, even if it means having to both endure a spike of pain and the clear sight of the azure’s sicklefoot planted dominatingly on top of his pounding chest. Music! Ahastar hears music! Did they seriously crack down his skull so far that a few hallucinations are setting in? - No... not at all. There is indeed some drum play airing up in the treehouse, complete with an up-speed, thrilling beat. One that would be perfectly suited to... dance. Swallowing hard, the half demon gazes back up to the blue scaled hunter, finding him in a purrrrrrring motion, happily nuzzlebumping with the ruby raptoress in a manner that suggests way more than random acquaintanceship. Baring his fangs - which only consist of 2/3 of the teeth that were inside his mouth still half an hour ago - Ahastar tries to lean up. Yet if his badly cracked ribcage wouldn’t have made the half demon forego his plan with a solid snarl, the quickly pinning paw of the white raptoress and her friends certainly see to make sure of a motionless sacrifice! All the half demon can do is breath in and out. In and out. Trying to conceal his nearly exploding fury when facing his tormentors, wearing his proud, beautiful, blood red feathers in their hands or crests like a prize, his own neck looking like nothing more but a rag carpet.
Carpet. For some reason this is precisely the word Ahastar’s mind comes up with very first when he beholds the ruby raptoress padding backwards, eyeing him with a nearly... lusty gaze. Malice and kinky sadism badly - if all - hidden in her look, she beholds the half demon like nothing more but a piece of flesh for her to sink her teeth in, the proud female finally coming to a firm, firm stand right behind Ahastar’s spaded tailtip. Every last one of the six raptors gaze upon that nervously flicking appendage, then alllll the way over the soft, vulnerable flesh all the way to the sacrifice’ face!
-----
After a long stretch of lying pinned between the four raptors around him, Ahastar is finally boarded by the large crimson female. She does it very ritualistically - butts a broad-spreading talon onto Ahastar's writhing tail and slowly drags back, pulling the fleshy length taut before gracefully easing her hundred and ninety pounds of sleek muscled weight onto it and swinging her other hind limb forward to set one clawed foot directly in front of the other. Her feet leave deep imprints as she walks carefully up Ahastar's soft tail and onto his helplessly exposed underside. She closes her eyes and treads neatly forward until she reaches his shoulder, where she stops stops, crimson sickle toes resting together on the centre of Ahastar's collarbone as she stands neatly upon him. Her thick black pads press deep prints in Ahastar's scaly chest as she sways slightly, moving to the rhythm of the grinding tribal drums. Eventually she opens her yellow eyes and looks down at Ahastar's plunged-forwad head with an expression of mild amusement. "Do you remember me, my little compy? We met in much the same circumstances, if I recall." She bears her creamy-white fangs. "My name is Scorch."
The heavy raptoress pauses for a moment, clearly waiting for a reply from the straining raptor under her sickled paws. When none comes, she raises her eyeridges and begins splaying her clawed toes, digging her sickle claws carefully, one after the other, into Ahastar's chest and drawing yelps of pain from him. "You're going to greet us, disobedient little compy, when we introduce ourselves, or we'll just have to punish you." With that, she lifts a clawed raptor foot from Ahastar's chest and pushes it down upon his throat, pressing in hard until the half-demon's jaws spring open as he gasps silently, fighting for breath.
"Well thank you," the crimson theropod mockingly intones, and swings her other hind limb forward to tread fully over the side of Ahastar's skull and clamp his head down. With his skull forced hard against the ground, the writhing half-demon is unable to close his jaws, even when 'Scorch' pulls her powerful limb from his throat and goes to stand one-footed upon the side of his muzzle. Her warm black toe pads creep around the edge of his face, covering his eye and resting over his nostrils, and very gently, she brings her raised talon down to stroke her thick scaly digits over the open lips of the half-demon, toying with him and revelling in the dominance of her femeninity.
"Remember," she growls, soft voice resonating through the thick foot pads that coat the side of Ahastar's face, "my name is Scorch." And with that, the large crimson raptor slides her clawed toes deep into her victim's forced open muzzle and begins running them slickly over the length of the half-demon's helpless tongue, stroking and stretching the hot long muscle as the resonating drum rhythm increases in volume and takes up a relentless mechanical beat.
Dras and the other raptors add growls and snarls and hisses to the cacophany, and climb unhesitatingly onto Ahastar, burying him under their eight firm, worn sprinter feet and covering him under a layer of endlessly treading, shifting, trampling raptor pads.
-----
For what seems like hours, there is not a single sound rising up in the treehouse except for the solid, rhythmic drumming. Every raptor’s breathing and even the beat of their hearts seems to adapt to the tact delivered upon the room from a faraway angle. Ahastar’s fearful gaze travels over the five surrounding deinonychi. With closed eyes and talons slowly spreading, they seem to almost soak the music up into their very souls - and the pinned down half demon on the wooden ground realizes the horror of that fact. For this music is more than just a mildly stomping-suggesting sound, it is a brutal march that just begs for a whole group of raptors to violently trample all over something, then come to a halt on top of its face and mercilessly pound it into the floor underpad!
Finally, the ruby raptoress at his tail opens her ember eyes once more, her scaly lips parting into a sadistic smile! Ahastar’s pulse now forsakes the rhythm of the drums, easily outdoing its pace when the large theropod pulls his tail long and solid, forcing it to the floor underfoot - and finally heaving her slender body fully on top of it! *Squish... squish... squish...* Slowly the raptoress steps forwards, sicklefoot precisely in front of sicklefoot. With groaning Ahastar’s muscles still not fully able to strengthen, her treads go deep and solid, spreading the soft, white flesh nearly flat beneath her wake all the way until she reaches the thicker part of the half demon’s tailbase, from where on she leaves unyielding sickle-footprints behind with her coarsely padded sprinter paws. And she doesn’t simply just walk. She strides. She parades. Never losing her gazelock with Ahastar’s own quivering eyes, but making sure to seductively sway her hip and tail. And then, she steps right on top of the sacrifice’ cloaca. At once, Ahastar lets out a badly restrained screech, his neck and tail bending inwards, limbs still securely held down spread eagle under four individual raptor feet.
All of them stare down at the half demon, yet Ahastar has only eyes for that picture in front of him - the ruby, slender raptoress paw planted all over his sexual orifice. This truly is the worst part for the half demon - not the pressure building up inside his internal testicles. Not the struggling to keep his squashed bladder from releasing. Not the pain rattling his hidden member deep down in the ultra sensitive flesh. No. Just that picture in front of his eyes. For it is a sin in everything Ahastar believes. In this world, there is no such thing like a difference between the genders, except for the missing feathercrests on all female raptors. Yet the half demon never at all bought into this. In his packs, under his rulership, every female that even dared to look at the dominant males in an unfit way would be severely punished, then returned to nestling care duty and water catching. They had to be submissive, silent, seen and not heard. The sheer idea that a female would put a talon humblingly upon a male hunter was blasphemy. That she would do so on top of a cloaca reason for execution. That it is HIS cloaca just - breaks something inside the subdued half demon and makes him whimper out when the punishing clawfoot is finally removed from his sexual orifice, leaving a well recognizable imprint behind. The fact that her poison green scaled girlfriend so rudely mocked the sacrifice’ "assets" as well certainly not helping the situation.
When the ruby raptoress reaches his chest, Ahastar tries to keep his head far away, laid down on its back - but with the condition his badly bruised ribs are in, the heavy she-hunter brutally bending the strained bones inwards, the half demon has no other choice but to curl his head inwards from pain and pressure. Teeth gritted, desperately trying to battle the tears shooting into his eyes from a sensation of having a thousand glowing hot needles pierced into his chest, Ahastar gags as his dominatrix begins to sway left and right on top of him. Finally, she rests her movement, looking the sacrifice into his eyes. She seems like a towering goddess from her position on top. And then she begins to speak, her words dripping with sadistic desire and domination. The sacrifice has no other choice but to listen, apparently confused about what she tells him. Just gazing left and right, puzzled, Ahastar does not answer. Suddenly, renewed agony shoots through his chest as the ruby theropod begins to massage her razor sharp sickle talons all over the sacrifice’s ribs, only ceasing when she has made her point! Once Ahastar looks back up with tear-wet eyes, he just so manages to still behold the black padded raptor foot sinking right on top of his throat, squashing it heavily down! "Aarrrrkkkkk..gggggggggg!" The half demon squirms in the suffocating hold, his arms, trampled down as they are, not able to answer his brain’s call for aid! Instead, he beholds the raptoress’ second sicklefoot reaching out to step on his snout! Quickly, Ahastar tries to prevent the ongoing trampling session by hissing out "Scorch..." yet the raptoress doesn’t even ponder a single second before she rudely shoves her sprinter paw deeeeeep into his face!
She is heavy! Not skull-crackingly heavy like the Trexes were upon the killing stone, but still enough to make the dazed raptor whimper and writhe beneath her pads! Her tread comes with unbearable superiority, stretching her broadly spread foot all the way over the side of Ahastar’s face, her worn ball pad casting his upturned eye into darkness, her toe tips stretch leisurely over the half demon’s nostrils. Her smell is not bad. A mix of fresh earth and welcome reptile - but given the way of administering it, Ahastar would rather not to! The sacrifice can almost feel the gleeful, dominating sadism vibrating into his skull through the firm, athletic leg pinning him down, Scorch’s second foot coming to join the entertainment. Rubbing over the half demon’s quivering lips. Giving him a faint idea of the savor of her slender paws. She doesn’t want him to fully taste her sicklefeet yet. She plays it... slowly. Teasing. Tormenting. Already, Ahastar would trade an hour long cloacal trampling session against this utter indignity! "NGGGRRRRRRRHHHHHHHH!" - it finally comes out of his lips when Scorch penetrates his mouth! Her slender, taloned toes expertly find his tongue and begin to massage their flavor into the moist, hot oral muscle. For a good few moments, the sensation is so scale-edgingly intense that the half demon doesn’t even realize the trampling vandalizing of the rest of his flesh. But only until then, his body witlessly rocking beneath the shattering group stomping!
-----
The cool greens and blues of the evening forest begin to darken the natural colouration of all the raptors in the creaking canopy den, the last remenants of daylight fading and the moon not yet visible through the treetops. Ahastar's white scaly hide changes colour fastest of all though, it being quickly blotted with dark ugly bruises as the eight raptor feet begin stomping it without mercy while Scorch administers her smooth oral humiliation. The large crimson raptoress stands one-footed upon the side of their victim's skull, balancing with animal precision while her tail sways out behind her, its topside brushing along the underside of Dras' own. Her other talon, far from being raised, is busy applying the most intricate, intimate abuse imaginable of Ahastar's long lean raptor tongue. Having long since overcome the resistance of the hot slick muscle, she now controls it utterly with her long dexterous toes, dragging the soft tired organ out of his clamped-open jaws and squeezing it down against the wooden floor under her cold firm ball pad; or gripping it between two thick scaly digits and stretching it out fully, only to gradually release it and let its smooth wet length slide slowly between her clawed toes. All the time the domineering deinonychus keeps up a warm flowing purr for Ahastar to hear through her sturdy red talon plastered over his skull.
Effectively analysing her style of facial work, the drum-playing servant raptor quietens his beat, turning it from a triumphant catwalk march to a slower, more personal pattern of lighter drums. Through the new rhythm, the sounds of Ahastar's body breaking under the raptors' stomps becomes far more audible. Cracks and snaps and the ripping of claws accompany each of the hard whacking impacts; the four stomping deinonychi are easily overcoming his bodily resiliance with the combined power of their heavy foot work, and their growls and hisses plainly tell of how much they enjoy doing so.
"Be silent," Scorch snorts down to Ahastar as the half-demon's gurgling, tongue-gripped attempts to speak rise over the sound of the drums. "You wheeze like a crushed compy, but it's too late now. You should have addressed me when I gave you the chance. Now you have to suffer my punishment, and suffer it quietly like a good compy," This raises a few barking laughs from Dras and the large brown male. Scorch continues stroking her broad, warming toe pads over the squashed length of Ahastar's exhausted, aching tongue, pressing it intimately to her pads before curling it between them and stretching it out for another slow sliding release. This humbling treatment continues for around a quarter of an hour, Ahastar battered under the heavy stomps that rain all over his pinned body from shoulders to tailbase, and simultaneously forced to taste and clean the clawed toes of the crimson female raptor while she stands proud and calm on top of his face.
Eventually he is released from Scorch's service: "I think now you will remember me and address me by name, hmmm?" She uncurls her toes from Ahastar's tongue and posessively lays them over the tip of his snout while Ahastar answers. "Good compy," she purrs, stroking a little and leaving a wet patch. "I look forward to our next encounter."
The bone-cracking stomps of the other four deinonychi trickle to a halt and the theropods step off of Ahastar's underside to tread once more upon his limbs and pin him back in his posture of spread-out helpless submission. Scorch steps down from his head and pads out around the side of the group to take command of one of Ahastar's hind limbs, relieving the brown-scaled beta male of the group. This large earthy-coloured hunter-caste deinonychus briefly rubs flanks with the crimson raptoress then jumps to land double-footed upon Ahastar's formerly lashing tail, butting the scaly length into the hard wooden floor under his big talons and two hundred and twenty pounds of sturdy muscular weight. He lifts his black (and red) crested head and returns Ahastar's horrified gaze with a disdainful predatory snarl.
-----
Ahastar isn’t really able to grasp the fine tunes and differences in the drums’ rhythm any more, for currently other things rest way too heavy on his mind. Even if he would still have the capacities between his crushed temples to take in audible information well, most of it would go directly into the purrrrrrrring vibrations ringing in his own skull. The crimson raptoress stands on top of him in open, but very calm glee, enjoying the humiliating stance way too much.
Ahastar’s muzzle creates wonderful noises as well. Squelching squishes when Scorch drags his exhausted tongue in between her dexterous toes, giving her downed victim a good idea of the flavor of her digits. When she leans over to spread her dangerously clawed toes, sickle flashing proudly, she lets her hunter paw squeeze fully down in between Ahastar’s retching lips, burying the sacrifice’s tongue beneath her worn, coarse ball pad, merging wet red with tough black. The taste is similar, yet comes with much more squishing pressure and a far stronger tingle of earth mixed into it due to the fact that the dust manages to keep stuck in between the nooks and crannies of the padded walking section much better than in between her toes. The half demon gags and retches, trying to sooth his raptorian dominatrix with calling out her name, again and again. But each time he does he is either getting completely ignored or punished with an especially solid tongue-press or having his oral muscle dragged between her toes allllll the way from the deep root to the lightly forked tip. On and on she goes and soon Ahastar has lost all sense of time. Not that anyone seems to care.
Especially not the four other deinonichi riding the half demon’s body. WHUMP - CRACK - CRUNCH - BAMMM - SQUASSH - CRRRRRRKKKK - SWWWOMMPPP! One should never underestimate the fury of a trampling raptor’s steps, nature having intended them to use their deadly feet and terrible talons as primary means of attacking and slaying prey. And they show that to the subdued deinonychus with utmost force, lacking any sort of mercy or pity for their downed brother. Every single one of the tormentors tramples with every last bit of force he or she can come up with, quickly leaving tremendous imprints and nasty bruises in purple and red and blue behind in the athletic, firm flesh beneath them, stomping their shared organic carpet senseless. Only when Scroch finally sees fit to step off of her prize with unbearable arrogance, not without reminding him of a few duties of his in the process, the cascade of crushing stomps comes to a halt as well!
Ahastar’s body hurts all over, tears standing in his eyes only badly hidden. His breath comes rapidly, his body writhing in brutal pain while he grunts and whimpers out, the five sadistic raptors barking out laughter and relocating themselves upon the half demon, pinning him anew. Ahastar doesn’t fully realize what is happening before the red and brown deinonychi have swapped positions, then his sky blue eyes turn huge at the sight of the dark male, heavier than even the half demon himself, crunchingly jumps Ahastar’s tailspade FLAT under his sturdy pads, making the sacrifice SCREEEEECH out in perfect rhythm to the crunching tune of his tailbone.
-----
With intelligent predatory eyes, the brown-scaled male raptor rises up out of his landing crouch and examines the bruised length of Ahastar's underside stretched out before him: helpless and inviting to his destructive mentality. He turns his head to shoot a look at the den's servant raptor, who is still drumming away on top of the rocky bar surface. The two lock eyes and instantly the lighthearted beat changes to a vicious throbbing grind, the rhythmical raptor servant immediately noting the large size of Ahastar's new tormentor and correctly identifying his caste and its implications.
Dras, crouching on top of one of Ahastar's forelegs, smirks at this silent exchange. "Hunters and their crush-lust," he notes, to the amused growls of the three females.
The toothily smiling brown raptor turns back to face Ahastar and his lips curl into a malicious snarl as he rears up fully and lifts a powerful hind limb right up against his belly, before cracking it down squarely on Ahastar's pelvis and pile driving his substantial weight right onto the helpless half-demon's cloaca. He growls with pleasure and stomps his way forward, bashing his powerful raptor limbs down on the bruised hide beneath him and trampling his victim heavily. As he marches up the bruised length of Ahastar's body, the brown male clearly revels in this chance to show off his size and strength to the group; with his dark feather crest trembling to the impacts of his paws, he clubs Ahastar's vulnerable underside with his heavy padded soles and crushes his way upwards until both large digitigrade paws plant wide-spread uopn the half-demon's shoulders. His green-scaled mate purrs as she watches him.
The brown deinonychus pauses on top of Ahastar's shoulders, radiating malice through his threatening posture; his brown hide is darkened almost to black by the cool aqua light of the evening forest. The green glow of crystals sparkles in his fierce eyes as he dips his head and looks intently at Ahastar. "And you can call me, 'Stampede'." He bears his impressive fangs and gives the half-demon a moment to repeat the name while he stands there, then he simply treads on the white raptor's head and begins to violently stomp both feet down upon the bruised, screeching face of the half-demon. The side of Ahastar's muzzle is rapidly plastered with deep black bruises as 'Stampede' violently proves the appropriateness of his nickname, slamming both large earthy-brown paws one after the other onto Ahastar's face to the loud mechanical rhythm of the tribal drums. More snarls and hisses come from the other four, and they all enthusiastically climb back onto Ahastar's underside to begin trampling him anew, lust and pride combining in a collective desire to put their victim through seven hells of torture under their ten sturdy sprinter soles.
The thick hunter pads quickly flatten and tear Ahastar's delicate facial scales, crushing capillaries and creaking the very skull beneath. Blood begins spurting from Ahastar's nostrils to fleck and speckle the claws and shins of the facially-trampling raptor, but stampede only barks harsh raptor exultation as he cracks and batters the skull of the half-demon with his broad raptor talons.
-----
Ahastar leans upwards a bit now that the movements have come a bit to a halt, the tormenting raptors socializing with each other. The pain all over the half demon’s flesh pounds perfectly in the rhythm of his blood being pumped through his veins, but the held down sacrifice manages to forget that for a brief moment, uttering a "Gods... dammit..." silently to himself, but still loud enough to hear. Any desires for instant punishment boiling up inside the five dominating deinonichy quickly fade at the sight of Ahastar retching up and trying to rub the lingering taste of Scorch’s clawfoot out of his system. Since his own handpaws are once again securely held down, all the half demon has left to produce that desired result are his own teeth, rubbing his tongue over them but not gaining any satisfying effect.
"Auuughhhh!" A harsh squeeze of two broad brown raptor padfeet brings Ahastar back to attention, his eyes once again interlocking with the subduing gaze from horribly high above. Only now though the half demon realizes the fresh rhythm of the drum music raising in the den. A hefty, harsh rhythm. Almost some sort of battle march, it seems, one that would fit an army of bloodthirsty raptorian warriors to stride forward with nothing being able to hinder their progress. And then, the azure chieftain once again raises his voice. "...what...did you just say?", Ahastar manages to ask upwards, hissing lightly through his still clenched teeth. But any answer the blue raptor would possibly desire to give is quickly forgotten again as the brown beast takes over that part, giving the reply with an insanely heavy stomp directly upon Ahastar’s hapless cloacal slit! "NNYYAAAAAAARGGGHHHHHHHHH!", the half demon screeches out, the hardly kept tears in his eyes getting catapulted up in the air by the sheer impact, the heavy male hunter the first of the raptors to net some spoils of war, the half demon’s urine gushing free from behind the deinonychus’ crushing heel! BOOOOM, BOOOOM, BOOOM he prowls forwards, bending Ahastar into countless contorted angles! The demon’s tongue comes rolled out uselessly from his lips and already the sacrifice’ face is crab red from pressure and pain when the massive raptor comes to a halt on his shoulders.
"S-stampede...", Ahastar breathlessly intones. Then once more "S-stampede?", this time more as a question. That name fits. But that name is also terribly foreshadowing of the things to come... The half demon was always hard pressed to find packmates equaling him in size and weight, yet this massive hunter had absolutely no problem with even surpassing Ahastar’s limits. And now, he is staring up at the brutal, black padded sole of the massive male towering upon him, rising brutally high, still lightly dribbling cloacal fluids - to come CRUSHING into the half demon’s face like a meteor! WOOOM, WOOOM, WOOOM! Stampede tramples five brutal more stomps into his victim’s snout before Ahastar can even begin to scream and groan! "Plll...ackkkk...plea....KKKKK...ssseeeee! My... eyes! My... TEEEETHH!" Indeed, the sacrifice spits out four, five of the pointy tools with each crushing blow to his skull, the brown raptor keeping trampling the features out of Ahastar’s face with such terrible force that the half demon almost misses out the sensation of the rest of his body getting stomped down in another round of pack-crushing - but eventually his flattened brain manages to find some free capacity to process his crushed chest, squished flat belly, worked out cloaca and vandalized tail!
-----
Stampede really is unleashing about as much destruction as any single deinonychus possibly can upon the semi-demonic resiliance of Ahastar. His trampling paws would definitely have crushed the skull of a regular raptor by now, and still he continues, raw malice showing in his wanton physical destruction. The side of Ahastar's face beneath his stomping talons has turned completely black with hot swollen bruises, while teeth shatter and blood trickles freely from both nostrils and the upward-facing eye of the almost brain damaged raptor. With Stampede battering his face, and Dras, Scorch, Stampede's own mate and the shaman all enthusiastically trampling over the rest of his bruised body, Ahastar is completely covered by the heavy theropods, his limbs and tail flailing in reflextive insanity as the ten padded raptor feet pile rapid-fire stomp after stomp onto the creaking frame of their abused trample toy. The thick wooden floor creaks under the harsh action and the throbbing drums boom and grind with great hostility, their sound echoing off the stone sections of the den and reverberating through the canopies and out into the night.
When he finally finishes inflicting his introduction upon Ahastar, Stampede spreads his clawed toes and coils to leap viciously directly off the half-demon's head, yanking up tendrils of blood and saliva as his large paws rip free of the battered-black muzzle. He lands lightly and turns to growl proudly to the remainder of the group, who have begun moving back onto Ahastar's limbs, praising such a powerful display. "There," Stampede says, turning to address the gasping raptor in his wake. "Only ten minutes from me because you said my name with respect." He stretches his worked-out hind limbs out behind him and moves over to nuzzle his green-scaled mate, who is already taking position at Ahastar's tail end. "I softened up his jaws for you," the large brown male hisses, rubbing his feathered head underneath the chin of the considerably smaller female. She licks at his neck and both mated theropods croon softly to each other while the green steps neatly onto Ahastar's spaded tail in preparation for her own introduction.
The throbbing stomp beat of the drums quietens down somewhat and fades back into the original march rhythm and the acid-green female begins walking neatly along Ahastar's tail and onto his hips. She stands for a poignant moment, her sleek, slender body pressing just a hundred and fifty pounds of weight onto the abused body beneath her, but her precise stalker-caste muscle control allowing her to ensure that every possible ounce of that forces through the inner sides of her lean, sturdy ball pads and into Ahastar's cloaca. She lets a deep soft growl chill him through her padded soles, then continues to walk forwards until she inhabits the introductory position: both digitigrade paws planted together at the base of the half-demon's vulnerable throat.
"Skewer," she says with silky malice. "That is what you will call me, and not for my claws." She chuckles and traces her big sickles around the base of Ahastar's throat. "No, I will be skewering you with other parts, in other places, but you may still fear my claws for the damage they can do from the inside." She raises a black-padded foot over Ahastar's muzzle and splays her clawed toes, the sickle gleaming ominously. "Open your mouth," she says.
Ahastar yelps and whimpers beneath Stampede’s merciless trampling, the massive male raptor’s whumpeting stomps being the only thing rivaling the brutal war-drum like tunes of the musician deinonychus. The half demon’s skull cracks and crunches beneath the broad padfeet of the brutal hunter, making Ahastar howl out in raging pain as his face slowly transforms into a blue and black, imprinted, messed up patch of dromeaosaurid husk! The desperate half demon down below tries his everything to escape the brainsplitting trampling of the dangerously clawed sicklefeet. His muzzle jerks left and right - only to be found time and time again by the chuckling, easily readjusting raptor. He tries to protect his face with his own flailing handpaws - which makes his skull-flattening tormentor roll his eyes and simply crush Ahastar’s fingers on top of his equally crushed snout until the half demon pulls his hands away in order to prevent his forepaws being blown into shattered bone fragments. Ahastar once more raises his hands, these limbs jerking brutally with every single one of the bone-pulping stomps of the ten raptor padfeet ravaging him. The half demon wraps his fingers tightly around Stampede’s sturdy ankle bones at both paws, trying to hold these trampling talons off of his destroyed face, but the hunter raptor sports incredible power inside these steel hard calf muscles. Stampede just keeps grinning, showing off his pointy fangs while he steadily flattens Ahastar’s screeching face, now with the added comedy value of beholding the subdued sacrifice holding on tight to both of the deinonychus’ ankles while they lift and fall, lift and fall, lift and fall.
Ahastar, for well understandable reasons, can’t see which of the other four raptors is currently busy trampling what body part of his to smear. But every single one of them seems to be trying extra hard this time, maybe to not stay too much behind the flesh-rending cranial stomps delivered by Stampede. Even the shaman, whom the half demon has only witnessed calm and laid back so far, shows her more violent side. Ahastar has no idea if it is her feet or someone else’s he is coating, but after almost 25 combined minutes of merciless and pity-free full body trampling, the half demon’s constantly crushed cloaca, being one of the prime targets in every round, pretty much explodes into a first violent orgasm! Three heavy heaves of raptor seed spurt out against a pair of relentlessly stomping sicklefeet - the violent paws not in the slightest modifying their tread as they get slimed. Only when Stampede is FINALLY stepping off of his almost hysteric victim come the other raptor feet to rest, slowly retreating and pinning Ahastar’s limbs once more. "Ten minutes..." it comes whispered out of a horridly footprinted, indigo trampled face. "that were only... ten minutes..." The half demon doesn’t even realize that he is speaking these words out loud, much to the added entertainment of all raptors surrounding him.
Ahastar’s desire to touch his blue muzzle for inspection is denied, for already he finds his limbs pinned down utterly and his tail mounted by the poison green raptoress, having purrrrrrringly snoutrubbed with what has to be her mate before. It is easy to realize the love the two deinonychi manage to siphon out of the destruction of their mutual reptilian carpet. The brown male greedily licking his lips while beholding his slender mate catwalk herself heavily down over the slippery cloaca of their whimpering victim leaves little room for doubt concerning his sadistic desires. "Skewer..." Ahastar breathlessly intones, tears in his eyes and the grass green raptor foot of the female all over his up-turned face. He peers up at her, his scales tingling and trembling with the impending doom and disgust of her "request." At first the half demon’s muzzle stays tightly shut. Yet then he whispers. "Wait... you... I know you... aren’t you the one that... on that stone...". Suddenly, Ahastar’s mouth JOLTS open, together with his shocked eyes. The only thing trying to shut close are his legs.
-----
The shaman lifts her eyes from her own white-scaled raptor foot plunged down into Ahastar's cloaca and gazes coolly up the length of his bucking body to 'Skewer'. The green scaled raptor doesn't turn, keeping her attention solely on her gasping victim, but she sways her tail in gratitude to the shaman. "I'm glad you remember," she hisses down at Ahastar, and she carefully places one foot over the side of his head to hold open his gaping jaws before the cloacally-intruded half-demon can recover enough to close them. "Nevertheless," she continues, gazing contemptuously down the length of her lean, muscular leg at him, "Our last encounter was sadly rushed, I didn't get the chance to show you the true talents of a stalker. Hopefully this evening will let me introduce myself properly."
While she speaks, the domineering deinonychus silently demonstrates the intricate muscular control of her caste by tensing various parts of her talon and leg to apply subtle pressure changes upon every region of Ahastar's face. While her thick black sole lies spread over the side of his muzzle, it shifts and flexes with highly focused strength, imperceptible to the surrounding raptors, but against Ahastar's sensitive facial scales, its movements are plain to feel and terrifying in their effectiveness. A slight spreading of the toes stimulates three separate facial muscles and sends an uncontrollable shudder down the half-demon's spread-eagled body; pressure from the upper left section of her ball pad forces him to open his closed eye and stare up at her; four throbbing twitches of her outer toe against the soft side of his snout brings him to the brink of sneezing, then a steady pressure from the same toe eases off the sensation again. She smiles down at Ahastar's shocked expression and finishes, "I may be smaller than my mate, but you'll find yourself just as dominated under my paws as you are under his."
The very base of Skewer's ball pad abruptly thrusts down hard and slides like a whipcord along the length of Ahastar's lower jawline, sending a flash of hot aching pain down the half-demon's neck and up the side of his face. When she lifts her talon, Ahastar's eyes gain a sudden terror and he tosses his scaly head around, his muzzle remaining wide open.
The shaman, now standing firmly on Ahastar's right hind leg, leans to the side to observe with interest. "Jawlock," she intones, and turns her emerald gaze on the smirking Skewer. "Very impressive."
-----
It is almost a bit hard to believe, but Ahastar indeed manages to somehow block out the impressive staccato of sensations rushing up and down his spinal cord like a convoy of fire and ice, routing from his badly worked out cloacal orifice. Still the half demon has no chance to behold who is currently working on neutering him in this tremendously uncomfortable way, and that is for the very same reason that makes him forget about the distress his lower body is currently in - Skewer. His face being worked underpad. And finally the combination: Skewer being the one working his face! Curiously enough, the lean raptoress was the only one of the entire crew currently tormenting him that did not previously get a chance to trample all over his face, having been "forced" to only "reduce" her talent to aim for the half demon’s cloaca. This, of course, makes the realization of her skull-cracking expertise all the more shocking!
Not a single one of her comrades can even fully behold the fine, perfected maneuvers she applies upon the scaled carpet beneath her, her coarse footpaw utterly manipulating the muscles, sinew and nerves beneath her! Ahastar can just stare in raging disbelief as he loses control about almost every last aspect of his facial features, not even able to control his blinking! Clearly, that raptoress must not only possess sickening talent in positioning and pressing with her talons, but also know more about raptorian anatomy than the half demon could ever hope to achieve! His legs scuttle over the ground in all the limited, helpless distance they can manage, being solidly stomped down as well as intruded heavily around the hip joint. Feeling his nostril tickling madly, Ahastar’s body tries to roll left and right, battling a sneeze - that slowly faints again with added movements and presses of the slender stalker! And then - sssSSSSSSlide! Pat! Crrrrunch! Patpatpat! "URRRNNGGGHHHH!" - The half demon stares in shock, eyes ripped open in surprise, his heart beating loudly - his jaws! He can’t close his jaws any more! "GUURRRNGH! Guurrrnnghhh!" truly, Ahastar had more proud moments, filled with more intelligent words.
-----
With a new drum rhythm pounding ominously through the den and drowning out Ahastar's unformed jawlocked words of protest, Skewer crouches down and grabs two clawed fists full of his tattered sparse feather crest, then yanks his head up by them. The other four raptors mount Ahastar properly, climbing onto the trunk of his battered body wherever possible and preparing to aid their sister-in-domination. Skewer rises back up, her powerful forelimbs bulging as she pulls Ahastar's head up and holds it firmly at the level of her knees, the clumps of feathers holding firmly in her fists despite the half-demon's attempts to wrench his head away. With perfect balance, she lifts one green-scaled hind limb up above Ahastar's gaping, wide-eyed muzzle and splays out her long thick raptor toes, claws gleaming in the glowing crystal light.
"I'm going to push this down into you whether you like it or not," Scorch says, holding her emerald-coated talon above the half-demon's maw. "So if you don't stop struggling then all that will happen is my claws will cut up your insides." She poignantly taps her sickle toe on the tip of Ahastar's upper jaw. "So hold still." When he obediently does so, the slender green female smiles triumphantly and lets her splaying hind paw lower into the locked jaws of the furious, trembling deinonychus under her. She proceeds slowly at first, savouring the sensations as her clawed toes creep over the length of his tongue and curl down the back of his throat; when Ahastar finally gags she gives a snarl and thrusts her long scaly raptor foot down into him as the drums reach a pumping crescendo.
Dras, Scorch, Stampede and the shaman all begin merrily trampling his lower body, their intrigued hush dissolving as Skewer begins thrusting mechanically in and out of the split-wide jaws of their mutual victim. Laughs and exulted raptor barks echo through the den while the drumming and the rumbling waterfall add a bizarre mix of harsh and gentle backing to the cacophany. The subtlety of Scorch's earlier facial manipulation vanishes and she becomes a sadistic carnal predator, wrenching Ahastar's head up by the feather crest while forcing her powerful hind limb down and plunging her sturdy digitigrade talon into him right up to the ankle. Ahastar's throat bulges with the clear shape of the twisted female's hind paw, and his asphyxiated bloodshot eyes begin to roll back in limp semi consciousness. When after a few minutes she releases his feather crest, Ahastar's head remains plunged forward, his locked jaws gaping around her calf muscle and his body completely limp; this has the effect of making Scorch the first of the domineering raptors to shudderingly orgasm on top of him.
Slowly and purringly, she pulls her long hind limb out of Ahastar, her black-soled sprinter foot finally sliding from the still open jaws and enabling him to flop limply down and gasp his breath back in. The other four raptors gradually cease their trampling, cheering and snarling to each other while Scorch steps down from her victim and retreats to his tail end. While Ahastar gasps, the tall, proud, snow-white form of the shaman steps forward onto his heaving chest and she prepares to begin her own introduction as the others settle back into limb-restraining duty.
-----
Ahastar violently shakes his muzzle when the slender stalker takes two solid handfuls of his mangled feather-crest, his blood red symbols of former dignity crunching in between Skewer’s greedy fingers, single feathers standing out between talon-crotches and taking on this angle or that. The half demon denies, hates, is caught in utter rage. His limbs try to slider over the floor, but can’t move more than a few pointless inches beneath azure and white and red and brown, restraining raptor padfeet. Ahastar knows precisely what the sleek female wants to do with him and he despises her for it. His heart begins to pound in his chest, heavy enough to send his entire body shivering, even more so when his locked open jaw is in the possibly worst position near the entire emerald raptoress - at knee height. His sky blue eyes meet her poison green gaze and whatever few bits of rebellion the half demon still might have had in him crumbles beneath her merciless, demanding look. With few, well placed words she puts her plaything into place... and indeed, Ahastar succumbs to her will, his muscles easing, even though his mind refuses to accept what is about to happen to him. The half demon thinks himself away. A remote hunting ground, rich and green. A water hole he once found. Back into the safety of his cave...
...whatever imaginary black hole the raptor might have constructed in his mind is shredded to bits and pieces the moment Skewer forcefully intrudes her brutal sicklefoot right between Ahastar’s jaws, her toes spread so wide that even her slender paw manages to bulge out the raptor’s cheeks grotesquely! Dirty saliva sprays through the air and every single bystander can behold the rough, black padsole of Skewer maliciously grinding forwards and backwards right over the retching half demon’s tongue, without any doubt whatsoever filling the mangled deinonychus with her taste. Ahastar’s body is, once more, rocking and dancing over the floor, brutally trampled nearly flat and down into the wooden floor beneath four renewed sets of sicklefeet, hammering and bashing into his already long footprinted, long bruised, long stomped out hide! Once more the half demon doesn’t have a chance to behold who crushes what, but yet again he can feel his chest, belly, cloaca and tailbase being the desired targets! "UUURRRRRRK and GGGRRRRKKK and a nearly vomiting BLLLRRRRUUUUGHHH!" all sound up, Skewer honoring her name, shoving her foot so deep into her toy that she manages to invade Ahastar’s throat! She gags him, chokes him, suffocates him! Drool comes spraying out even through his nostrils, foamy saliva flaking from his lips as she works and thrusts, impales and skewers! Only when the emerald raptoress is hissingly orgasming over the held tight face of her mercilessly held victim does she finally let go, not dropping but outright smashing Ahastar’s face back to the floor, leaving her flavor behind.
-----
The large white paws of the shaman now rest close together at the top of Ahastar's chest, her dark grey sickle claws almost tapping together as the constricted breathing of the half-demon lifts and lowers her slightly. At 170 pounds she is heavier than the average raptor, but less so than both Dras and his mate Scorch, and a good deal lighter than the massive hunter, Stampede. Her sleek muscular build and handsome facial structure identify her as an alpha caste, and even though her claws and pads are all stained dark and her eyes dyed green with chemicals, the pure perfect white of her hide reveals that she is an albino. Delicate spidery patterns of painted green decorate one side of her, standing out against her white scales and creating an imposing ritualistic impression that is solidified by her proud, dignified manner.
"You are right to be awed by a shaman chief," she says coolly to Ahastar. "But you can close your mouth now. Yes," she adds as Ahastar reacts with surprise to his sudden freedom of jaw movement, "I have powers over you even without my staff." She gives a deep chuckle and goes down onto a crouch, leaning out to bring her white-scaled muzzle over Ahastar's own. "Does it really surprise you to learn this? All the times I have chanelled life back into your destroyed body, we have grown closer, you and I. It is the nature of the very magic that resurrected you. Our bond is so strong now that you are all but a part of me - an extension of my own body to be manipulated with my barest whim. I can bend you as I bend my hind limb, or lift you as I lift my tail." She pauses to let the sexual connetations hit home, fully aware of how much they humiliate him... then she takes a deep breath and stands, dipping her head to gaze fully at Ahastar as she rises up to full height on top of him. "But we shall save that for later; there are yet many physical vulnerabilities to exploit before we progress to the psychological. One does not rush a good thing."
With this, the tall imposing female lifts her white-scaled hind foot and holds it above Ahastar's head. "From here on you will refer to me as 'Torment'," she intones from behind the broad expanses of rich black padding that coat her shapely raptor sole. "Repeat it for me now and you may be spared a full demonstration of its fitness."
As the shaman - 'Torment' - inevitably lowers her talon towards him, Ahastar writhes and moves his head from side to side, but the descending black-soled raptor foot easily lands upon the side of his face and she treads fully onto it, lifting her other hind limb up high against her underside and standing one-footed upon his skull. "You may find my pads rather..." she dips her head and gives Ahastar a broad, uncharacteristic smile, "...rough. I have prepared them for you." And she very slowly and deliberately places her raised foot down beside the first to completely cover Ahastar's face beneath her broad, sturdy raptor talons and plunge him into the warm blacknes of her harsh pads. As she slowly begins to wipe her feet alternately along his muzzle, the unusual gritty roughness of her soles becomes instantly apparant. The hard black pads grip and tear and grind as they drag leisurely back across the bruised white scales beneath them, pouring scorn onto Ahastar's burning face and rubbing it in with slow rasping wipe after wipe.
-----
Ahastar’s breathing comes in short and rattling. As if he would be trying to soak in the much needed oxygen through three layers of chain mail. With his jaws still locked wide open, the gasping half demon slowly brings his aching muzzle upwards to gaze over his ribs. He finds nearly his entire chest buried beneath glistening clean, shimmering white scaled raptor feet, almost a mockery of his own, wouldn’t it be for the mesmerizing green patterns and runes painted on top of them by fine talon and supple finger. The two pitch black sickle claws tip and tap impatiently on the half demon’s skin, his flesh already quite a bit blue and red from repeated trampling sessions. With his eyes half lidded, Ahastar beholds the relaxed shaman simply just standing on him, cutting his breath out. Watching drool dripping from the corners of his mouth that is still foamy from the tremendous workout Skewer mercilessly kept thrusting between his lips.
The ghostly shaman slowly goes down into her knees, crouching upon the groaning half demonic carpet beneath her. Her soothing voice does not at all fit to the mocking, mean words she is whispering out, smiling fondly and playfully scratching a finger claw around in between Ahastar’s flaring nostrils. Wouldn’t it be for the fact that the beautiful raptoress is heavily crushing her "partner’s" chest and said partner’s skin looking as if she and half a dozen of her girlfriends would have been trampling him ruthlessly for the better part of the day, one could almost assume to witness a romantic relationship between two curiously similarly designed raptors. That illusion quickly crumbles though the moment the tall raptoress rises back up to her full height once more, prompting the now locked jawed creature to form his lips into an o-shaped groan of "Torment" with the surge of weight pressing down his heart and lungs. The inscribed raptoress calmly lifts one of her sickle feet up, the appendage looking as dangerous and well formed as a jackknife know that the digitigrade stance balances out, forming one long line of bone and scales for the half demon to admire, if he wants to or not.
The moment the shimmering paw of the albino heavily steps down upon the screeching demon’s face, he notices precisely what Torment spoke of when she mentioned her "enhanced" pads. The tough features offer impressive coarseness, cut into his features with unparalleled, rough grit! Then her second foot follows, the shaman looking downwards with open glee in her sparkling eyes, heavily stomping it into Ahastar’s skull and thus sending a cracking shockwave through his entire subdued body. *RRRRRRRRRTCH!* A whole couple of scales are sent flying out behind Torment’s back-wiping sickle foot as her murderous pad ravages the whimpering half demon’s face for the first time. Whatever slickness the ghostly female might have picked up while she reamed out her victim’s crotch before does not at all matter. *RRRRRRRRRTCH!* The azure raptor bows forwards to chuckle at Ahastar "Come on, little Compy. She gave you your life back countless times. The least you can do is offer your beautiful little face for her to grind the dust out of her feet." *RRRRRRRRRRRTCH*, *RRRRRRRRRRRTCH*, *RRRRRRRRRRRTCH*, "And that is how to best trample cloacas?", Stampede calmly asks his head-nodding mate, the only sound rising above Torment’s doormatting. But only briefly. *RRRRRRRRRRRTCH*, *RRRRRRRRRRRTCH*, *RRRRRRRRRRRTCH*"
-----
After her initial introduction, Torment becomes completely silent while she abuses Ahastar - she doesn't growl, doesn't purr, doesn't speak, she doesn't even look at him, but only keeps her beautiful body in a stiff dignified posture of dominance while her long talons rasp and scorch his delicate muzzle scales. Her head stays high, eyes half closed in an expression of utter calm that contrasts so starkly with Ahastar's writhing and screeching as to make her twisted dominant abuse seem pure and natural. She is completely composed above his raging desperation, calmly destroying his dignity with the slow steady wiping of her heavy, thickly padded sprinter feet upon his face. Even as the other raptors mount Ahastar, Torment, the chief shaman, remains visibly in charge of the abuse. Two large crimson talons step carefully onto Ahastar's cloaca, shifting a little until the sore swollen orofice lies perfectly under the ball pads; a sleek broad azure-coated foot treads upon his shoulder, then another claims the base of his throat; two slender green talons plunge deep into the soft belly of the half-demon, and two huge brown ones climb heavily onto his chest to complete his coverage. The rasping scraping sounds of Torment's sturdy white feet sanding down Ahastar's muzzle are quickly joined by cracking whumping crunching thumping squishing smacking roaring hissing and snarling sounds as the four other raptors begin to trample and stomp the trunk of Ahastar's helpless body, exulted in their unified destruction of him.
Throughout the chaotic mass trampling orgy, the shaman remains regal and majestic in her proud thoughtless doormatting of Ahastar's skull. Her sleek white feet, having first leisurely wiped the contents of their thick black soles onto Ahastar's face, now agonisingly grind it into him as her unnaturally rough pads scratch his facial scales raw. So precise is she in placing her feet upon him, that six rounded toe marks can be clearly seen over Ahastar's snout, merging back into two long sticky-red friction burns that coat the entire side of his face. Torment's paws, whenever she she lifts one, are glistening with blood and pus, the padded walking sections having long since ground down the muzzle scales of the half-demon.
Before her hungry talons wear him down to the bone, Torment releases her victim and steps neatly down beside his face to flaunt her smeared soles to him as she walks away. The servant raptor changes his drumbeat from an embarassingly relaxed, leisurely rhythmn to that of an executioner's drum while the raptors resume clear off the trunk of Ahastar's body and step on his limbs to make way for Dras, who already has one foot on the helpless Ahastar's mid tail and is clearly preparing to catwalk over his broken body.
-----
Ahastar, whom was still merrily screeching and finally openly screaming in pain and humiliation as Torment’s wickedly rough footpads threatened to scratch his skin down to the very skull, comes to a sudden end of all things audible the moment Stampede boards his already quivering chest! The heavy hunter brutally blocks out all hopes for breathing and quickly begins another insanely heavy trampling routine together with his partners in crime! With the insane agony throbbing in his snout, his ribcage crunching beneath Stampede’s tread, Dras gagging his throat and Skewer’s slender sprinter feet crushing down into his belly, Scorch is the first one to finally draw raptor urine from beneath her cloaca-trampling talons. Ahastar tries to save what little is left from his face now that his left side is stomped flat thanks to Stampede and his right side currently getting ground raw. The half demon’s shaking hand paws raise up, but the moment the raptors are aware of that, Dras and Stampede are almost caught up in a duel about who can crush his arms back down faster.
Torment is absolutely mutilating her pet raptor’s skull. Her footprints are alarmingly noticeable upon the half demon’s face, her toe prints reflected as thick blue bruises surrounded by a crush-web of broken, red veins and the rest of the creature’s cranium being riddled with scratch and grind marks, essentially generating two massive, lightly seeping wounds all over his snout. Finally, the content raptoress steps off of the living doormat, making sure that both of her digitigrade, lifted heels point precisely towards his tear-wet eyes, showing off the blood and slime they tortured out of his vandalized skull. The rest of his body has fared barely any better, the happily roaring and bruising deinonychi only slowly stepping off of their mutual trample pad. Yet once they do, Torment makes sure to fling Ahastar’s muzzle upwards with her tailtip - far enough to show the nearly hysteric half demon that his hated azure dominator has already planted one foot at his end, getting ready for a mind shattering catwalk of humiliation.
-----
Dras' large sturdy talon pushes down heavily upon Ahastar's tail, squashing it against the wooden floor like a worm as the big raptor lords his dominant presence over the pinned and helpless half-demon before him. His deep pale chest expands as he takes a deep breath and lets it hiss out from bewteen beared teeth. "Well fuck me, it's been a long time since I had you under my paws, hasn't it?" He opens his eyes and dips his crested head to look squarely down at Ahastar while he takes a very slow, deliberate step forward, rear hind limb swinging in to step perfectly in front of the other and tread upon Ahastar's upper tail. "You remember the killing stone? When I made you the personal pad bitch of two hundred rexes and fifty raptors in front of the whole city? That was two months ago now." He pauses and snickers, stepping neatly forward again to plant a heavy clawed foot on Ahastar's bruised tailbase. "I was gonna say I'd forgotten how good you feel underfoot, but actually none of us have. Why the hell else would we bring you up here?"
The large blue raptor steps forward again, catwalking slowly up the length of Ahastar's struggling body and revelling in his utter domination of the other raptor. At 190 pounds in weight and seven feet tall including his crest, he is a large and powerful member of his species, and even though dwarfed by most raptors of the hunter caste - Stampede included - an air of natural leadership sets him above all others in the group. He is beautifully proportionate, long straight tail, lush feather crest, large paws and sleek musculature all bellowing out his alpha caste status. It's clear to see that he is naturally in charge, and indeed every last iota of his spirit seems to tread on Ahastar as surely as his impressive glossy-scaled body does. He smiles a chilling raptor smile and steps forward again, toes spreading wide as his trample-hungry sprinter feet lustfully consume Ahastar's helpless body with slow deliberate step after step. His every single movement is hideously posessive - every flourish of his broad padded talons, every flick of his feather crest, every careful swing of his muscled hind limbs proudly denotes his ownership of Ahastar. The thick black soles spread posessively as they move leisurely up him, claiming his trampled body one footprint at a time.
Eventually they reach the top of his chest and move to plant side by side there. "Wow, Torment's really fucked you up," Dras observes, eyeing the raw bloody friction burns all over the side of Ahastar's face. "Turn your head over," he commands, twizzling a foreclaw to demonstrate. "Only the clean side of your face is fit to be under my feet." He chuckles briefly at the sound of this, then adds, "And you're definitely not gonna want me stepping on this side."
As Ahastar obeys, Dras beares his creamy fangs down at him and rears up in all his proud, chest inflated glory, his clawed toes curling over Ahastar's collarbone. "When you find out what we've got in store for you later," he says, feather crest quivering in excitement and yellow eyes locked intently on Ahastar's own, "You'll suck my dick to let those two hundred rexes back on top of you." He gives an odd vocalisation, somewhere between a malicious snarl and a pleasured growl and he steps forward onto the middle of Ahastar's throat, then plants his other sickle foot on the clean white side of Ahastar's head.
"Oh yeah," the amused voice speaks from somewhere far above the warm blackness of Dras' eye-covering toe pad. "They call me Facedancer. You might want to remember that." There is a great squeeze of pressure over the half-demon's skull and the azure chieftan's other heavy, thickly padded sprinter foot plants down over the rest of Ahastar's scaly face and engulfs him.
-----
The first few moments of contact between the azure raptor foot and the already quite mangled, spaded tail tip of the half demon go past with nothing but silence filling the air. The two raptor simply cross gazes. Dras’ being sapphire rulership. Dominance. Possession. Desire. Ahastar’s being tear wet pain. Suffering. Humiliation. And enough rage and hatred to bring entire kingdoms to their knees. The other raptors, all of them being struck by awed silence during their limb restraining duty, almost seem to slowly fade out of existence for both Dras and Ahastar as an unspoken, unknown force draws a perfect image of owner and object. All the half demon can do is stare up to his blue scaled "brother", who seems to be so far above him in more than just one manner.
Finally, the azure sprinter heaves up on top of his foot, lifting the other one to aim for the half demon’s more upper tail. Briefly, Ahastar gets a glimpse upon Dras’ foot. As if he wouldn’t know it well enough already - it is perfect. Its layout. Its balance. Its shining talons. Its healthy scales. Its awesome pads. It is the body of nothing more but a prince of its species, designed to carry an entire gender of creatures towards their next evolutionary and surprisingly raptor-shaped step. Another step is taken upon his tail and again, Ahastar’s eyes seem to be fixed upon it, even though his gaze stares far beyond it. Every hell that happened to him ever since he was dragged to the tyrannosaurian metropolis of gold and malice can be pinpointed to this specific deinonychus. He is the representation of all his suffering, mental and physical alike. While the mauling and humiliating steps of his friends simply felt like brutal or degrading trampling, his express an almost unbearable declaration of possession, ownership and meaninglessness of every last cell in Ahastar’s body. He can’t help it. The moment that azure foot blatantly steps on top of his swollen red cloaca, making the half demon groan out with the shift of weight, he is filled with a sensation of being nothing more but a carpet inside this perfected raptor’s den. And that it is his rightful place, as intended by nature. And that he WILL shut up and deal. These ideas make Ahastar so sick that his head slips to the side and spits out rising bile!
The moment the downed deinonychus tries to steer it back into a beholding position, he finds it both impossible to move and securely held down by a sparkling sapphire padfoot. The tired, squashed eye in between a rough toecrotch gazes all the way up over the glistening scales, the pale, proudly puffed chest. The slender, muscular neck. The arrow shaped muzzle with his dominating, sadistic eyes. The flourishing feather crest, surrounding Dras’ features like a crown. "Face...dancer..." Ahastar breathlessly intones, that woosh of air carrying the major part of his leftover pride as he does as instructed, waiting for the azure raptor to lift his foot so the half demon may turn his face to the healthy, clean side. The other end burns in raging pain from Torment’s work before. But that sensation never even reaches Ahastar’s brain. Only Dras fully shifting his 190 pounds upon his face does.
-----
The spell of hushed awe is broken as a loud tribal-sounding rhythm starts up, the great noise echoing through the treehouse den to both enliven and synchronise the movements of Torment, Scorch, Stampede and Skewer as the four raptors step onto the trunk of Ahastar's facially buried body and begin to trample him for a fifth and final time.
With one ear hole pressed heavily to the damp wooden floor and the other covered under one of Dras' thick broad ball pads, Ahastar is less aware of the frighteningly intense sound of the drums, and more aware of the heavy resonating they cause within his skull and through the floorboards underneath his pinned body. The heavy warm talons stretched over his skull block out the world around him, holding him in complete darkness and eerie muffled silence. They also fill his sense of touch with their own intense and frightening placement, and replace all the other scents in his nostrils with those of Dras - a rival male raptor. The painfully heavy trampling now starting up all over his battered bruised body all fades into insignificance beside the monstrous indignity of Dras' big shapely sickle feet upon his face. Something about the smug azure chieftan's casual placement of his rich black pads across Ahastar's skull makes the act far more sickeningly humiliating than any of the previous raptors' facial abuse. Whereas the others had all been hurting and damaging and manipulating Ahastar with their paws, Dras only stands there, silently crushing the spirit of the half-demon with the intensely degrading symbolism of a face underfoot.
In the cacophany of rhythm and water and raptor noise above Ahastar, Dras roars out his energetic laughter to the other raptors behind him and begins to sway and shift his weight, pressing deep three-toed footprints into Ahastar's soft facial scales to the rhythm of the drums. A sturdy, three-fingered azure forehand drops down between his steadily pumping legs and the tribal chieftan begins to shamelessly pleasure himself. As he works himself up, Dras completely lords over Ahastar, shifting and treading his thick black soles onto the degraded facial scales beneath them and rubbing every last ounce of his alpha male dominance into the half-demon's head with deeply sensual wiping of his big talons. Several times he crouches down upon the pinned skull of his victim and spreads and splays his padded toes as he mockingly explores the contours of Ahastar's face, lustful and breathless in the degradation of his helpless victim.
Presently he begins to lift and re-plant his shapely digitigrade talons, thoroughly living up to his nickname of 'Facedancer' as he turns around and growlingly treads ever more and more anger and humiliation into Ahastar, almost wiping his feet upon the very mind of the half-demon. The heavy black soles lift and plant, spread and twist, rub and stroke, pulping and crushing the spirit of the half demon with their gently intense trample torture. It isn't long before Dras gives a squinting, tail-lashing screech of primal ecstacy while three long jets of steaming hot raptor seed spurt down to streak Ahastar's face and the blue scaly feet that bury it, not that this stops them from trampling.
-----
During the past nearly full hour of repeated body trampling, Ahastar always tried to somehow defend himself. His arms rose to shove and push and prod at raptors stomping his chest and belly flat. His legs creped upwards to lock down access to his groin. His tail tried to lash around to swat away whatever tried to castrate him with cloacal trampling. Of course, none of these vain attempts to preserve some dignity and fertility and oxygen all got trodden out instantly. But this time, it is different to begin with. The half demon does not react to the full body workout he is receiving in any more ways but purely following the laws of physiques. That is, arms flapping around uselessly with his chest and stomach being pounded and his tail and legs jolting up and down while his sexual organs are facing continued workout. It is not that the ordeal is any worse. Oh no, all four of the currently off-facial-duty raptors actively promote their curiosity about the stability of the treehouse’ floor. It is just that Ahastar doesn’t have any wit left for anything not concerning the fusion of his warm, supple face and Facedancer’s hot, demanding footpads!
At first, the azure chieftain just stands. Just lets his downed plaything rot beneath his dominance, the expression of ownership, sadistic desire and blatant sexual glee flowing down his two legs and into his feet to tell a story of it all right into the trodden upon demon’s ear. Ahastar can feel nothing more but the two cruel, perfected paws upon his throbbing face. His nostrils flare up and down, talking in the scent of the overlording creature. His eyes behold nothing but darkness, even when opened, seeing nothing but the pitch black endlessness that is Dras’ ball pad. He can even taste his toes on his lips. The half demon has no other place but his mind to try and seek defense in, try to hide behind, try to save his soul. But as he does, he only finds it bound and collared and shackled upon a killing stone made of blood and gold, countless Tyrannosaurs and Deoninychi ritualistically trampling over his screeching spirit, all the while Facedancer seems to be standing next to it. Smirking. Eyeing. Cracking his mental leash.
"Augghhhhh!", it comes almost too silently to be heard beneath the azure male the moment his padfeet begin to grow reckless. They start to balance. Start to slide left and right. Some grinding of a single foot right upon the nostrils. Bapatpatpatpat. A brief trampling session casually on top of Ahastar’s whimpering face, the azure raptor swaying left and right with perfected balance and right to the rhythm of the upscale beat. Doormatting follow while the half demon’s right hand rises, shaking, touching the steel hard calf muscle of his dominator right before he stomps down into the demon’s skull anew. "I... I... can’t...", Ahastar still manages to stutter, almost sobbing. Right before he is thrown into another messy climax of his own, coating the ever stomping pair of sicklefeet trampling between his legs. A single tear of enraged humiliation runs down Ahastar’s snout. Facedancer tramples ti deep into his rough, dry pad where it gets soaked up. And the half demon’s burning rage is drowned out beneath an ocean of white slime splashing against his features and feeling as if it would gnaw all they to his brain like seeping acid!
-----
Dras lets out a long hissing sigh of post orgasmic bliss and goes into a low crouch atop Ahastar's slickly coated, heavily burried face. It was getting dark, the evening light from above the treehouse canopy having long since faded, leaving only the soft glowing blues and greens of the light crystals scattered around. He brings up his scaly forehand from beneath him and shakes it dry, then snaps his claws to the den's servant raptor, and points to the jagged stone fireplace. The dull grey, sparsely crested deinonychus dips his head obediently and brings his drumbeat to a triumphant echoing finale, then drops down below the bar and emerges moments later with a flaming torch clutched in his jaws. As he goes around the great room lighting wall-mounted torches, the four trampling raptors on top of Ahastar's smashed body gradually halt their destructive tread in the absence of a drum rhythm and stand motionless on top of their victim, panting through exertion and excitement.
"I believe he climaxed once," Torment says and lifts her large, white, alpha caste feet alternately from over Ahastar's hips to examine their dark-soled undersides. "Though I was not gifted with stalker senses, as much as I wish I had been." She lifts her head and casts a contented green-eyed gaze over Skewer, who stands immediately in front of her and on top of Ahastar's belly, both poison-green talons severely flattening the soft bruised raptor hide beneath them, despite their modest size.
"He climaxed twice," she corrects with sly satisfaction. "I felt them both - Stampede forced the other one," and she stretches out to nuzzle her mate, who turns to her upon hearing his ceremonial name. Both of the large hunter-caste raptor's broad sturdy feet lie curled over Ahastar's chest, and judging by the uneven elevation of his toes, they have claimed many victims amongst the half-demon's ribs.
"Lucky bastard," he growls, dipping his feathered head to gaze between Scorch's crimson-scaled legs at Ahastar's facially covered head. "I haven't had one yet."
"You'll probably enjoy yours just a wee bit more than this little compy did," purrs Scorch with heavy sarcasm, still ploughing her sturdy red talons alternately up and down while they remain planted side-by-side over Ahastar's throat. "I don't think he's very grateful for the ones we gave him."
"He has... interesting thoughts regarding us," Torment confirms with cool complacency, splaying her clawed paws out over Ahastar's cloaca. "He wants to kill us all."
This draws a snort of laughter from Dras, who stands up slowly and casts a long savouring gaze down the length of Ahastar's body, carefully observing all ten raptor feet that cover him: sickles glistening dangerously in the light of the newly-lit torches, pads pressed deep into helpless vulnerable flesh, toes and claws splaying as they rapturously posess the broken body beneath them. The five raptors stand tall and proud, laughing in their effortless domination of their raptorian brother, keeping him symbolically flattened down on the ground underneath them. Dras smirks, his yellow eyes glittering in the light, and he says, "Sucks for him."
-----
Upon which the beautiful emerald-colored Skewer trades a smirking gaze with her heavy mate. “Yes, sucks. That will be a big topic for him during the night to come anyway.” His mate’s cruel words send Stampede in another fit of laughter, ending with him suddenly hissing out in surprise, his strong arms jolting up due to the immediate need for balance, his left heel having slipped deeper as yet another one of the gurgling half demon’s ribs has given way to the hunter’s punishing weight!
With Ahastar’s face being either smeared or held under Dras’ black padded sprinter feet, the half demon cannot take a single glimpse about what is going on. His nostrils are clogged as well, mainly from dried blood that he was forced to retch up as Stampede nearly trampled Ahastar’s cranium in. The crushed raptor’s sense of taste is equally blocked by thick juices, mainly of Facedancer’s climax but also mingled with a bit of what Skewer sprayed into him. The whole mess throwing bubbles on his lips, courtesy to Scorch keeping on pumping her dangerously clawed sicklefeet straight on top of gagging Ahastar’s throat. Feeling? Well… that sense is active. But what little parts are not busy transmitting pressure – and there is lots of that with not a single foot stepping off of their mutual scaled carpet -, all that they remain to relay to the half demon’s battered brain is pain, anguish, agony. Disgust, humiliation and degration are all produced inside of Ahastar’s skull alone though.
That leaves only one sense the trampled deinonychus can trust right now: His ears. Even hearing becomes difficult though with one of his ears pressed too tightly to the hardwood floor beneath him to function properly and the other one being halfway covered up by Facedancer’s rasping blue and black scaled heel. Still, Ahastar notices various things. First of all: The music! Announcing a grinding finale that would send the most stout-hearted spinosaurus to set sail and float away, the servant raptor finishes his tune, definitely under command of Dras, then moves off. The half demon can hear his footsteps slowly padding over the floor, a brief scent of coal and fire managing to intrude Ahastar’s nostrils even through the clogged blood. The other thing he can hear is much more alarming though and sends an amusing, almost massaging ripple through the five raptors’ shared carpet underfoot: Torment’s words! The mighty shaman, whose albino feet are just one Compy’s nosing distance away from sending Ahastar into a third climax right there, perfectly recited what is going on inside the half demon’s head! His desire for revenge, his clear thought for wanting to feast upon five raptor corpses! How can she… do that? Even Ahastar can hardly hear his mind through the fifteen layers of pain, seventeen layers of pressure and five layers of spirit-bending humiliation!
-----
With a crackling WHUFF, the dry oiled logs within the rocky fireplace burst into flame. The small grey servant raptor removes his torch from the fireplace and unflinchingly extinguishes it under a thickly-padded sole before returning it to a stone vase behind the bar. Dras admires the handsome fire for a moment, still standing neatly upon Ahastar's face, then he turns to his companions and says, "Let's have a quick break, give him some time to let that sink in. Maybe pull up some seats by the fire or something. Uss!" he calls out to the servant raptor while the four dominators begin to disembark from Ahastar's bruised and swollen underside, "We'll have drinks now. And bring me the tar."
As Torment, Scorch, Stampede and Skewer begin assembling queerly-shaped deinonychus seating around the huge jagged stone fireplace at one side of the den, Dras goes into a crouch and remains on top of Ahastar in the centre of the big room. He looks down at the bruised scaly snout protruding from under the side of his clawed feet and says, "If you only knew what we've got in store for you tonight, bud." He hisses a deep breath in through his pointed teeth. "That damn shaman - Torment, I should say - some of the things she can do send shivers down my tail and I only have to watch." He is silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest at night, the crackling fire and the conversation of the four raptors at the other side of the room. "You've only really seen her restoration magic so far and that's impressive enough to make her chief chaman, but wait 'till you see her transformation." With a snicker of sadistic glee, the large male deinonuchus splays his big clawed paws out over the straining face of his victim. "But I don't want to give anything away. I'm looking forward to seeing the look in your beady little eyes afterwards." He rises up, taking the clay pot that Uss has brough over with a clicking of claws upon its hard surface. The pale servant raptor dips his head respectfully and retreats towards the bar, and Dras steps backwards off of Ahastar's face, onto his panting chest.
"Now then," the azure chieftan chuckles, curling a foreclaw into the clay pot and scooping out a pawfull of thick black tar. It glistens on his scaly hand, webbing between his clawed fingers and sparkling in the flickering torchlight. "We're gonna play a little guessing game, and you're not allowed to look." He pauses and smirks, splaying his tar coated forehand experimentally in front of his own muzzle, then he shifts his weight fully onto one sickled foot and hunches his other hind limb up against his underside to stand one-footed upon Ahastar's chest. With a theatrical sigh, he reaches down and begins smearing the tar over his raised sole, spreading the thick viscous fluid over his pads and between his toes while he continues, "Trouble is, I'm just not sure I can trust you to keep your eyes closed, so we're gonna have to improvise. Nighty night." The glistening black sole plunges down and treads hard over the upward side of Ahastar's hissing face. Dras snarls out energetic laughter, tail lashing out behind him, and he ignores the weak broken-limbed struggling of his victim, only to rub and smear the sticky black contents of his padded sole over Ahastar's muzzle and effectively glue his eye shut with it. The chieftan turns Ahastar's head the other way with a flick of his sickle toe, then smearingly blinds the half-demon's other eye too, still laughing while he stands fully on top of him.
-----
Ahastar is almost openly weeping as four of his five trample torturers FINALLY grant his abused body a much needed break, the half demon hating himself for having to listen to a little voice in the back of his smashed head telling him he should be grateful that they untrampled him and actually thank them. The solid snort Ahastar gives that internal voice of his might make lesser raptors turn around in their wake and look at him in confusion, yet the four soiled-footed deinonychi now inbound to a much deserved snack to not seem to regard the half demon as much more than a gnat, not even breaking the tune of their conversation as they pad over towards their goal. Which Ahastar STILL can not see. For all Facedancer does upon Ahastar’s danced all over face is shift his position here and there, but always ending up stomping the hapless half demon’s muzzle.
Eventually, after listening to the ruckus for a while, Ahastar’s full attention is back upon the heavy raptor on top of his head whom he still regards as azure, if only from his memory. Again the “charming” leader speaks with his intoxicatingly alpha male voice. And once more, he mentions this promise of terror that will be brought upon Ahastar if he “just knew”. That is the fifth time today that the half demon hears Facedancer saying that particular line. Reapting himself does not at all fit the cunning prince of the deinonychus metropolis – and that is actually what scares Ahastar the most! If there is something waiting for him that even sends the calculating, intelligent mind of Dras to grow shivering in excitement, it must be something that gruesome that the half demon would gladly rip out his beating heart with his very own hands! For the first time in this most likely veeeeeeery long evening though, Facedancer offers Ahastar a few more chunks of information. Transforming? The shaman? Oh yes, the downed deinonychus gladly believes Dras! If almost all of the hate Ahastar feels is exclusively reserved for Facedancer, he has to say the same about fear and Torment. No. “Fear” doesn’t even begin to describe it. Ever since his ordeal as a trampling slave has started two months ago and ever since Ahastar has known the shaman for that time, his panic around her has grown. At this day, he is simply scared shitless of her! The magic she possesses is absolutely not… made for his mind. And whenever she toys with him, Ahastar can’t help but feel as either a little beetle she toys with or a branch in her talons, bending to her very whim.
“Oh gods FINALLY!” … Wait… did I just say that out loud? Apparently I did… Ahastar’s head turns into a crab red shade of shame as he hears laughs from all raptors surrounding him, especially from Facedancer whose foot-removal has caused the half demon to bark out his thoughts like that. Even at the price of having his crushed ribs be stood upon heavily again. Still, the half demon is just TOO happy to finally have his face untrampled, for the first time in way over an hour. Yet it appears that this condition will stay like that only briefly. “Wait… what do you… do?” Confusion gazes up straight towards Dras’ tar-slicked footpaw, a few chunks of the black smear already dripping upon Ahastar’s face… for the few moments it takes Facedance until he power-stomps his sicklefoot straight into the half demon’s groaning muzzle, with far more force than what would have been necessary. It leads to Dras’ success though. Both in blinding Ahastar for the moment and in sending his limbs and tail jolting that high from the impact that Facedancer can see the pawprints his raptors have left behind there over the evening!
-----
"Yep, you won't be cheating any more," Dras smirks, stepping back from Ahastar's tar-patched muzzle and onto his pale, bruised underside. The azure chieftan's right talon squelches quietly against the half-demon's chest, thick black liquid squeezing up around its scaly blue sides. "Now, your arms look too fucked up to work anyway, but just in case you get the idea to wipe that off, here's how it works..." He steps forward again to catch Ahastar's bucking head under his toes and ball pad and press it creakingly still against the wooden floor before continuing slowly, "For every time that something other than a raptor foot touches your face during our game, it'll be one hour under an execution rex tomorrow. Uss is keeping count." Dras smiles down at the tortured expression on the eye-blackened muzzle beneath him, then he pulls his padded talon from the deep footprint it made in Ahastar's face. "And you know how much I love watching you jerk about under those rexes, so don't give me any excuses, yeah?" He gives another barking bout of raptor laughter and swoops down to grab Ahastar's pitiful, tar-speckled feather crest in his clawed fists, then bodily drags the half-demon over towards the fireplace.
The now roaring fire casts a pleasant homely glow over one area of carved stone, close to the crystal-lit waterfall and geysers, in the side of the great treehouse den. The rock floor is worn smooth here by the constant wearing of thick raptor pads and slightly warm from the geothermally heated water bubbling up through it. Closely arranged in a neat circle in front of the fire are five of the strangely-shaped raptor chairs: smoothly carved lattices of wood, steamed, curled and bound together to fit the contours of an upturned, forward-facing deinonuchus body. While somewhat awkward looking, the wooden chairs allow a raptor to lie back within their curved framework and rest, while leaving the hind limbs free to rest upon the ground. Scorch, Stampede, Skewer and Torment occupy four of the five chairs, sprawled back and looking thoroughly relaxed, while the den's scaly servant passes out rounded clay bowls of some unidentifiable fluid, which the raptors hold against their undersides and consume with occasional dignified laps. Into this cozy arrangement Dras drags Ahastar, depositing him on the stone floor in the centre of the five raptor chairs before heading over to wash the tar from his azure talons.
Scorch looks down at the black-smeared eye sockets of the groaning half-demon and tilts her scaly head. "What's that for?"
"Guessing game," Dras smirks, returning. He sinks backwards into his chair and immediately rests both feet on top of Ahastar's belly, crossing one ankle over the other and and exposing his padded soles towards the fire. "I figured we'd make the break more interesting and see how much he's learned."
Stampede gives a rumble of approval and stretches out his impressive hind limbs to mimick Dras's dominant posture and rest own his heavy paws on Ahastar's chest. "What are we supposed to guess?"
"HE has to guess," the azure chieftan replies, reaching up to accept the drink bowl that Uss silently serves him. "Which one of us is which. When we put our feet on his face. I brought these to make it more... stimulating," he adds, taking a wrought iron jar from Uss before dismissing the servant raptor with a toss of his thickly-crested head. The jar twists open and to snarling, growling approval all round, Dras shows off the precious sense-enhancing seedpods that glisten seductively within.
Torment settles back in her chair and stretches her hind limbs out to claim Ahastar's head as her own footrest, planting both talons sole-down upon it. "This certainly shall be an evening to remember," and Scorch, resting her own large crimson paws on Ahastar's heaving throat, nods agreement. Only Skewer pauses for a moment, her own sickled feet planted domineeringly on Ahastar's cloaca, and says, "It might be more of a test if he has to taste our feet first, then guess." Judging by the sly scaly smiles with which this suggestion is met, the idea is well liked.
-----
Ahastar can feel his eyes tear beneath his lids, fortunately having managed to shut them right before Facedancer tramplestomped his azure padfoot tooth-crackingly into Ahastar’s snout. The thick coating of tar is that solid that not even the few tears manage to find a way out, pressing uncomfortably tight against the half demon’s bloodshot cyan eyes before they are swallowed by the biting heat of the black smear. It feels a lot more scalding to Ahastar’s face than it does for Facedancer’s thick black pads, which is the reason why he happily tramples and grinds it into his victim’s flesh while Ahastar’s arms whirl uselessly through the air. At some point, the half demon manages to wrap a single one of his trembling handpaws around Facedancer’s ankle, the lording raptor’s feet coated by a thin layer of tar and his own seed, the mix dripping from Ahastar’s fingers without providing much other use. "Yes... execution... rexes...", the agonized half demon pants, murderous bruises spreading over his chest. "I understood... I won’t touch... anything..." A few moments pass silently until the trampled deinonychus’ handpaw slips down to the floor again to prove his words, leading to Facedancer finally stepping off of his doormat’s body.
Ahastar can’t see Facedancer’s perfectly shaped handclaw reaching down to his tattered, torn remains of a feathercrest, but he can almost smell the regal raptor’s talons as they approach his face. Still the half demon doesn’t dare to do more than twitch, his breath coming in the same way his deinonychus body appears: Fast and flat! Facedancer might be surprised about the sudden lack of snarling, hysterical defiance from his organic carpet, but if he seeks an explanation, all he needs to do is behold Ahastar’s body. The badly beat up half demon looks like one single bruise from face to tailtip! It is mainly an off-color between red and blue and purple, but at some areas - especially the cloaca and even more so all over his face - the crush injuries clearly resemble two-and-a-half-toed footprints! All in all Ahastar looks as if he would have ended up under a stampeding raptor pack. And indeed, that truth is somewhat close, Facedancer realizes with a chuckle on his azure lips while his strong hand rudely grabs the groaning half demon’s feather crest, breaking and tattering it even more.
The strong princely deinonychus drags Ahastar’s limp body over the floor like some random piece of meat that is left over from last night’s successful hunt, not even looking down at the wheezing creature that he pulls over the hardwood floor. If he did, he could behold a thin trail of red and a bit of yellow left behind by the trampled senseless half demon, the first coming from countless stomp-bruises, the latter a result of the constant groin trampling having led to Ahastar’s mauled cloaca to swell up that tight that a first few hints of incontinence sneak into the proud deinonychus’ urinary systems, especially after having had Stampede crush and Skewer shatter his reproductive organs.
"UNNNGHHHH!", Ahastar loudly grunts out as Dras briefly lifts the half demon’s body up, only to smash him heartily against the floor! While the stomped out raptor slides forwards until he finally bumps against a solid wooden piece of furniture, he manages to feel the new floor beneath him, completely made of smooth rock and apparently held at a temperature just a few degrees beneath being uncomfortably hot. Something hard and taloned kicks the snarling half demon over on his back, revealing his soft underside again. Ahastar tries to get into a somewhat comfortable position and is just about to hiss out "Guessing...game?" when in the middle of his little sentence he is brutally interrupted by two large and broad raptor feet slamming deftly right on top of his face, burying it beneath rough pads and then just... resting there?! Hisssssssing out sharply in degraded fury, Ahastar is just about to unleash a piece of his mind upon the owner of these sickle-feet, when two more sets of padpaws deployed carelessly on his throat and chest cut off his air to do so! And only a moment later, his belly and especially his painfully swollen cloaca suffer the same treatment. Ahastar’s hands are held up high in the air, desperately trying to make up their mind about which brutal feet to pull off from where first - until a sudden flashback of execution rex pads reminds the half demon to better not touch anything at ALL and rather deploy his shaky arms back on the floor. Which he is alarmingly quickly becoming a part of this evening.
-----
First Stampede, then Dras succum to the irresistable temptation of turning their paws face-down on top of Ahastar, finally covering him in a humbling blanket of domineering raptor soles. Without the weight of the raptors behind them, their ten scaly feet simply rest upon the blinded half-demon, far more humiliating in this casual placement than when they had been trampling him.
"Mmmmm, tasting, huh?" Dras says thoughtfully, alternately pressing both paws into Ahastar's belly as he leans back in his chair. "Yeah that'd feel pretty fucking good, stimmed up. And he'll lick our pads right down to the scales if we tell him to, cause he knows there are execution rexes coming his way." A grin spreads across his azure muzzle and he pauses to lap from his drink bowl before adding, "Doesn't know how soon though."
This gradually draws smiles and sly scaly looks of comprehension from the four other raptors. "Execution rexes, yes," Scorch chuckles, then an awed expression crosses her sleek crimson muzzle. "Such an honour to be so likened to the Gods." She shifts her scaly feet so the deep ball pads rest side-by-side upon Ahastar's throat.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," says Stampede, his own great dark hind claws spread wide across the half-demon's chest, very heavy in themselves. "Rexes on the raptor, not raptors on the compy." And he laughs barkingly, black feather crest dancing in the flickering firelight.
"Enough," Skewer reproaches mildly, and leans forward to look directly at Ahastar's head, buried under Torment's calm, white-scaled paws. "We don't want to spoil the surprise." To keep his mind on the here and now, the slender green female begins intrusively stroking a scaly talon over the half-demon's swollen, bruised cloaca, planting her other clawed foot over his tailbase and applying firm pressure there. "He knows enough now to never disobey," she says, beginning to apply the intricate muscle control of her stalker caste as she subtly curls and cups her slender black sole over the increasing bulge between the half-demon's twitching legs, stimulating it with horiffic skill. "After all, he's the only sacrifice to ever experience two hundred Gods and leave the killing stone alive."
"He didn't really LEAVE it," Dras puts in, carefully reinserting several of Ahastar's crimson feathers into his own crest. "I had to peel the heavy bastard off it and carry him back. Where the hell are the gatherers when you need them?"
This sparks another round of animalistic laughter and the raptors begin a loud and animated debate on the advantages and disadvantages of trampling a victim en masse, but under the muffling talons of the white-scaled Shaman, the cacophany of snarling statements and barking laughter grow fainter and Torment's own rumbling voice comes softly down to Ahastar with an impossibly clear, ghostly air to it. "I hope you are listening, little one," she intones, addressing the half-demon directly and sensually working his abused face under her thick roughened pads to show it. "We shall expect you to get straight to your task when our drinks are finished, and to know precisely what is required of you. If you fail to do this you will be punished, and remember: our punishments transcend damage and death. I can rebuild your broken bones and bring you back to this world long after the last breath has left your lungs." Her thick toe pads creep around the edges of Ahastar's face and a single claw scritches at the tip of his snout, playful, teasing amidst the rush of other horiffic sensations from all over his body.
-----
With Facedancer and Stampede flipping over their paws and foot-resting them on top of Ahastar’s body, the half demon’s misery is quickly completed. The “massage” his guts are forced to endure beneath Dras’ azure talons is anything but enjoyable, but his lack of air is the vastly bigger problem! With Stampede’s heavy paws restricting Ahastar’s lungs, Scorch kinkily kneading his trachea flat and Torment shoving her pads into the way of whatever little lick of air he might still have, oxygen quickly becomes a far-away, ribcage-burning memory.
All this mentioning of trampling executions and rexes and fearsome magic indeed gets the half demon thinking. But his first few fleeting clues are instantly vaporized the moment Skewer begins her expert cloaca torture! “UNNNGGRRRHHH!”, Ahastar’s bruised body tenses slightly upwards, much to the snickering amusement of Scorch and the silent smirk of Torment, both of whom send more strength down their legs and easily manage to press their victim’s snout and throat back down into submissive flatness. Of course that doesn’t spare Ahastar the degrading ministrations by the stalker’s rough, padded clawfoot. Her talon not only slides and rubs over the half demon’s quivering, swollen orifice, but manages to lightly penetrate it. Her thick, mean pads are entering just deep enough to kiss and scrap over the top of the slimy, ultra sensitive mucus membranes. It feels as if someone would try to rape his slit with a thick pole wrapped in sandpaper, but not… quite daring to fully enter. For a few moments, Ahastar pumps as much oxygen as he can even with Torment, Scorch and Stampede grinding out his lung system… and he feels as if he could just so bear it – until suddenly Skewer’s other foot solidly stomps down and stays tight right above the gasping half demon’s tailbase! Both the high pitched screech that rises up from the half demon’s lips and the fact that Torment has to briefly lean in all of her weight to get Ahastar’s face back nice and flat beneath her big alpha caste sicklefeet prove just how well Skewer knows her raptor anatomy – her second talon having stomped and now pressing its coarse ball pad precisely on top of the half demon’s internal testicles, allowing them a quarter of their common space at best. The result is a shaking, shivering, squirming raptor caught under forty cruel pads trying desperately not to explode into another humiliating orgasm and a free footpaw-massage for the proud owners of said pads.
Even with all of his concentration and self-composure, Ahastar just cannot control the stalker’s merciless footplay. But after a few moments, his senses are at least able to process more than the sensation of ten raptor paws covering and working him, allowing the hapless half demon to listen to the passionate conversation rising up above him. His ears – just as his mouth and his nostrils – only get whatever input Torment’s dominating and still artificially rough-padded paws allow them. With his face full of her sickle-feet, that isn’t particularly much. Ahastar only manages to get snippets about “why it is different to have a thousand raptors trample one time compared to having five raptors trample two hundred times”, at what time a victim should “have his cloaca spread open to allow stampeding raptors to step into instead of on top” or “at which point a raptor is representing too much noblesse to trampoline-jump around on someone’s face like a youngling fresh out of school.” After a few minutes of this spirit-shattering treatment, things suddenly change. The heavy feet on top of his face twist his skull over to the other side and the conversation, currently circling around if it is better to use ice water or thunderstick rods in order to prevent a victim slipping into desperate unconsciousness after four solid days of trampling without a sleep break, is slowly silenced out - to make room for the spooky, ghostly voice of the shaman rising up, right in between Ahastar’s temples. The things she tells him break his heart and dunk its shards in rage. But even with that added reason for the half demon’s shaking, all he can do is lay there and permit Torment spreading out a single middle toe of hers to almost seductively run the digit’s pad slowly, teasingly over Ahastar’s trembling lips.
-----
"The more the better, I say," Stampede announces loudly, and lifts his drink bowl above his broad muzzle to lick it clean. "More paws, more weight, more damage." He receives a reproachful butt in the flank for this, and turns to his green-scaled mate in the chair beside him. "What?"
"That's too impersonal," Skewer replies, and dips her muzzle conspicuously to draw attention to her own talons upon Ahastar's hips. "It only takes one to apply the most humiliating abuse a victim can bear." With a careful movements, she draws back one firm scaly foot to reveal the glistening length of the half-demon's malehood, throbbing helplessly under her thick black soles. She pauses for a moment amidst the snorts of derisory laughter from her fellow raptors, then dexterously cups her clenched toes around the head of the swollen organ and gently grinds down with her ball pad, drawing a muffled, shuddering screech from Ahastar and a jet of bloody raptor seed that spurts violently from beneath her big sickle toe, streaking Dras' closest hind paw.
More snarling laughter, especially from Dras ("Gods damn it, I just washed them!") and Stampede smiles broadly at his mate, leaning in to nuzzle her on top of the cranium, his brown-scaled head drawfing her own slender green one. "Now imagine dozens of raptors doing that to him, one after the other, all day long..." He receives a purring lick under the chin for this shared thought, and the two exchange affectionate muzzle rubs while Torment mutes the remenants of Ahastar's post-orgasmic moaning with a firm, splaying squeeze of her big white feet on top of his face.
"Perhaps more than mere dozens," suggests the shaman, setting down her own empty drink bowl and thoughtfully steepling her impressive foreclaws. "Was there not an old punishment of public humiliation involving hundreds, all marching over the convicted in a single great line?"
Dras, absorbed in carefully wiping Ahastar's expelled fluids back onto the half-demon's belly, says, "Sure - the sacrifice." But Torment shakes her sleek white head.
"Not Gods, raptors. Hundreds of raptors all trampling someone as punishment for a crime."
Scorch, lapping up the last splashes of her drink, abruptly squashes both her broad crimson-scaled paws down upon Ahastar's neck, causing the half-demon to convulse beneath the ten sickled feet resting upon him and choke into Torment's dark-stained pads. The other four turn to look at her as she licks her muzzle and places her drink bowl down on the stone floor. "The walk of shame," she says with a knowing smirk. "I've been teaching it to my hatchling groups this season. I'm surprised none of you remember, it's something we all learn about when we're young."
"Ah, the walk of shame!" Dras chuckles, leaning back in his chair and idly kneading Ahastar's belly with his large alpha-caste paws. "Yeah, I remember that one - blasphemy, right?" Scorch gives a nod of her crimson head and Dras continues, "Why don't you tell us how it goes, my beautiful mate, and we'll start our guessing game."
-----
More paws, more weight, more damage. The half demon sure learned about the meaning of these terms during him being sacrificed upon the altar of blood and gold in the rex city. He has to agree a bit with the massive hunter currently busy crushing his chest, the weight on top of his ribs telling him that if the brown Deinonychus just wanted to, he could most likely bash his entire chest in. The half demon’s left handpaw raises up meekly, shivering fingers wrapping around Torment’s white scaled ankle. The green markings and signs covering her skin appear to not be fragile to the touch, but still the alpha female notices her foot stool fingering her leg. "Please..." the downed raptor whimpers beneath her large sickle-feet, apparently trying to shove her left foot over a bit for him to get some more air, the shaman having left her teasing foot behind to cover Ahastar’s lips, nearly suffocating her floor-mat in the process. And much to the trampled Deinonychus’ surprise, Torment actually does allow him to remove her pad out of his face - leaving the half demon unaware about the fact that she does it for two reasons only. The first: To make sure that Ahastar can closely listen in to the more and more vigorous conversation surrounding him.
The second: To allow her friends and partners in crime to enjoy Ahastar screeeeeeching out loudly when Skewer first reveals his throbbing, ground up black raptor shaft beneath her dominating pads, then surrounding the tip, pressing down with that paw and even stronger with the one still shoved right in the middle of the half demon’s trembling internal testicles. The result is a single, heavy heave of raptor seed, mangled with blood, splattering against the side of Facedancer’s sturdy ankle! The reason for Ahastar’s even louder than normal scream is simple - he didn’t actually orgasm. With sheer foot-control and perfectly placed force, Skewer just bashed out his fluids through his unsuspecting cock, badly paw-printing it in the process! The half demon’s entire body tenssssssses up, feeling like a block of iron beneath the ten sadistic raptor feet covering him like a humbling blanket, yet quickly loses its strength again to leave behind an even more badly exhausted victim.
With his flesh well tamed and whipped back to degraded flatness, all that leaves for the trampled Deinonychus are his senses. His feeling is well occupied, as are most of his facial sensors, thanks a lot to Torment’s pads grinding the features out of Ahastar’s muzzle. But his hearing... his hearing remains nearly unaffected. And given what the shaman begins to talk about, he doubts that this is all coincidence. At first, the half demon doesn’t fully register what enters his mind, even though he is listening in closely. But then, a fearsome shiver starts to shake him up. His mind begins to wander about the things appearing in front of his eyes, painted for him on the black canvas that is Torment’s crude pads! "Walk of shame"? He never heard about it before, but neither did he imagine that cities of god rexes would exist, to say nothing about a raptor metropolis! "UUURRRRKKKKKKKK!" For the first time ever since he has been turned into an organic carpet, Ahastar decides to "contribute" to the conversation, mainly due to the fact of his trachea being momentarily pressed to his neck spine beneath Scorch’s careless tread! He perks his ears though. Just like everyone else on the table.
-----
The heat of the fire has long since driven off the chill of the night air, its lively crackling making an interesting auditory contrast with the leisurely pounding of the nearby waterfall and the bubbling of geysers. Crickets are out in force, adding their familiar nightly chirps to the sounds of the forest, raptor voices drift quietly from the nearby village, and from the east comes the occasional distant sound of tyrannosaurs - a soft deep rumbling in the night.
The grey-scaled Uss collects up empty drink bowls while Dras, Stampede and Skewer arrange their chairs close to those of Torment and Scorch, forming a tight curve around Ahastar's head and leaving the rest of his body exposed in the flickering firelight. The heavy white paws of the chief shaman remain firmly on top of the half-demon's head, but Scorch removes her own from his throat after a final playful squeeze and rub. The other three raptors climb into their newly-placed seats and place down their viciously clawed raptor talons as close to Ahastar's head as possible, forming a tight semi-circle of thickly-scaled toes and claws around the buried muzzle of the half-demon. Scorch continues explaining the 'walk of shame' while Uss returns with a clay plate of tiny velvet-furred rodents, sickle punctured and stuffed with herbs, which the five deinonychi purringly accept.
"Leave the rest on his belly," Dras directs, and the slender servant raptor unhesitatingly obeys, crouching to set the clay plate upon Ahastar's exposed underside before returning to the shadowy, crystal-lit bar. Dras leans forward and Torment lifts one foot from his muzzle as the azure chieftan says, "Hey, bud. We're gonna let you lick our soles now and you have to work out who each one belongs to. We told you our names and you should know these paws pretty fucking well by now, so to listen to this." He leans down lower and contines, "If you guess wrong, you get a point. And if you guess too quickly - before you've had a real good taste - you get two points. For every point you get, there's gonna be the equivalent of what..." Dras looks up at Torment, who mentally calculates for a moment, then silently mouthes the word 'twenty'. "Twenty rexes," Dras continues with an uncontrollable grin, "all trampling on you at once." He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath. "Oh, and there's a plate of pliomys on your stomach - don't spill any of them or you get five points and a bonus trampling from me." He gestures for Scorch to continue as Torment plants her talon back down on Ahastar's face.
Scorch says, "Well the walk of shame was a tribal execution that was mostly used-"
Torment interrupts with an unexpected bark of laughter as she dips her head and splays her clawed toes over Ahastar's face. "Not yet, little one. Wait until I take my paws from you, then you may lick whatever you find held above your muzzle." She pauses, eyeing the tense, squirming half-demon, then lifts her green-eyed gaze to Scorch. "My apologies, he is quite eager to begin. Please continue."
-----
You know you are in a bad spot if you can’t trust your ears if the crackling sounds rising to them is indeed coming from the fire warming your scales or from various bones maimed inside of your flesh. And you know that you are in even deeper trouble when you can’t try and at least have a look at what happens, for they are shut closed with by now hard, scratching, gnawing tar. With the licks of the fire wafting over the treehouse by now engulfed by the darkness of a jungle night, fireflies calmly drawing nature’s stars into the chilling air. Is tar flammable? Should he make sure to stay far away to not have his face burned off? Ahastar doesn’t know. "What... what is going on? What are you doing?" he hisses out with a high pitch of panic on his lips. He feels the hardwood floor beneath him tremble lightly, coming from the heavy grind of wood on wood. Something heavy is moving around him, a pleasant change from on top of him, he has to admit, yet it still drives him nervous.
"Ooooggh..." the moan leaving the half demon’s muzzle is almost one of orgasmic bliss when finally his tormentors take off the sickled feet from his body, even if it comes at the price of having his throat once more crushed nearly two dimensional, drool flinging out to splatter against the returning servant raptor’s talons from Scorch’s severe push! The well trained, well experienced Uss does not break stride, not even gaze down to what hit him while he delivers the morsels to the exclusive party. After all, he is used to fluids hitting his grey scales while he is hosting these noble groups. Even he has to admit that this specific plaything they picked themselves is a fascinating one, though. He does not remember when he last saw the noble shaman carrying her riddling signs and symbols. Clearly, the mighty alpha caste raptoress took tonight’s event very seriously. Taking a brief bow, the servant placed the snacks upon the designated target, the trampled raptor’s belly. Uss sure finds a few of these footprints useful, placing the plate in one of them for added stability. But when he manages to listen in to what the consequences of Ahastar losing the tasty rodents will be, Uss gives the clay a cunning, but firm slap with his tail tip as he turns to move away. "Beg your pardon, lords and ladies." he ushers with another submissive bow of his crestless head, then leaves the masters and mistresses to their ministrations.
"What... what did he put there? This feels so... cold?" Ahastar is quickly becoming more and more worked up. He can smell the raptors surrounding him, his neck scales standing upright as he can almost feel them staring down at his flesh. Finally, one of the heavy female sickle feet comes pulled free from his face, for the first time ever since it dropped there, proudly having left a solid pawprint behind. "Unnghh..." The half demon waves his hand in the air before it drops back down again, listen closely to Facedancer speaking. Ahastar’s entire face reddens with shame and humiliation, he even manages to wedge his snout a bit to the side beneath Torment’s other paw, as if he couldn’t face gazing into the eyes of the dominator ordering him to perform such a humbling task - a ridiculous movement, given that Ahastar’s eyes are shoved full with tar anyway. "20 rexes?!" The half demon doesn’t speak it out, but his heart rate nearly doubles. "At once..." it comes whispered out from his lips though, in a tune suggesting both panic and complete confusion. He... he... doesn’t want to take any chances! At once, the raptor’s mouth opens, ready to lick anything he would get. But all it does net him is a solid, smothering stomp from above together with the shaman’s humiliating note. "I don’t ENJOY this, do not act as if I would look forward to it!" Ahastar’s outburst only earns him chuckles and open laughter while his own handclaws, shaking in rage, dig into the hardwood until his claws nearly burst!
-----
The crimson female waits with eyeridges raised and a clear expression of amusement while Torment smotheringly subdues Ahastar's outburst under her rough padded paws. Scorch allows a poignant pause before continuing, "As I was saying, it was mostly used after unwanted tribal killings. If the victim didn't have anyone to avenge him, then the guilty one would be executed by his whole tribe, through the walk of shame." Scorch pauses to tilt back her head and lower one of the tiny rodents into her jaws, holding it by its tail. "They would tie him to the ground and trample him to death in a single long line."
There is a general mmmming and rumbling of approval, and Stampede licks his scaly lips, dipping his head to eye Ahastar's bruised underside. "Shame we don't have that one any more." He turns to Scorch, whose jaws are making short work of their little warm-blooded snack. "When did they stop doing that?"
Scorch's crimson colouring doesn't quite hide the trickles of blood that roll down from the corners of her mouth, but she licks these away with a long dexterous raptor tongue after swallowing down her rodent. "I don't know, I'm afraid. The Gods perform all executions themselves these days, but the walk of shame is still an official punishment." She turns to Dras, who smirks and nods.
"For blasphemy." He toys with his own mammal snack, rolling it between the digits of a padded azure forepaw. "Which explains why we don't see it any more - no raptor's gonna go disrespecting the Gods. Not even the crestless wonder here." And he nods to Torment, who smilingly pulls one clawed talon from Ahastar's muzzle and strokes his slender bruised snout with it. Subtlly, Dras manoeuvres his own clawed foot above the still-pinned head of the half-demon, and Torment finally removes both paws from Ahastar's face. "Start licking," Dras says, spreading his large azure foot over the exposed, eye-blackened muzzle between them all. "Nice and slow. And tell us who you reckon it is."
The athletic blue chieftan smirks as he feels Ahastar's snout bump up against his toe pads, recoiling quickly with an instinctive hiss. After a long pause, the hot moist pressure of the raptor's tongue curls out against his ball pad and Dras closes his eyes, settling back in his chair with a broad cunning deinonychus smile.
The other four raptors watch Ahastar's head bobbing upwards beneath Dras' dominantly spread hind foot, the pressure of his licking pushing the large blue paw upward in little bounces while its owner relaxes with copious smugness. Skewer keeps her yellow eyes on the attentive licking, but tilts her head in the direction of Scorch and ventures, "They just walked over the victim until he was dead? No skilled trample-tortures?"
Scorch reaches down to take a second furry rodent from the wobbling plate upon Ahastar's belly. "Nothing fancy," she says. "Just plain, simple walking over him from tail to head. I'm sure they walked slowly and with the smallest steps possible," she adds with a grin, tossing the little snack into her jaws and beginning to crunchingly chew. "But the execution records don't have that much detail."
-----
Ahastar's heart pounds heavily in his chest, the half demon’s building rage sending it pumping with nearly shattering speed and the constant fear and lingering threats Facedancer has been hissing into his brain all night long fueling it. The half demon is SICK of it. SICK of constantly having raptor feet shoved into his face! Aside of the sheer physical strain - which is still absolutely worth mentioning even with most of the weight carried by the chair beneath Torment - it is incredibly humiliating and downputting. The two broad paws cover his muzzle nearly completely, denying the half demon’s once so proud skull to even show a single scale of it! "Craaaack!" Finally, one of Ahastar’s talons breaks upon the wooden floor, as does the silence surrounding him. With the shaman’s sprinter soles still shoved into his face, the half demon gets to hear what the five aristocrats around him plot and plan with unbearable smugness and arrogance in their voices.
"Crrrrunnnch!" Shocked by the sudden noise of bones being turned to shards, Ahastar’s left hand reaches to where he thinks the source of the gruesome tune is coming from, only to have his forepaw splattered with blood! This, understandably, kicks the half demon into an even stronger frenzy of panic, until he finally realizes that it has to be chewing, high above. Only now Ahastar gets what was placed on his belly - his BELLY! With the jolt of shock that traveled all over his body, the half demon didn’t spend too much attention on the ever so dangerous clay table put on his stomach. "Whew", he hisses out, right through Torment’s ever kneading, ever squishing hind feet. Unfortunately though, when Ahastar is removing his hand from the rodent’s grave, his cracked talon manages to lock on to a shard of the clay’s edge - and louuuuudly rips it from his scales to drop on the ground. A loud, raging snarl leaves the abused victim’s mouth, dragging his claw back violently - and at once brining it back to place the pot back on top of his belly! Not a single one of the rodents has dropped out, not that Ahastar could see that. He can only hope that none of his tormentors witnessed what just happened. Surely, due to his state of panic and rushing adrenaline, the falling table must have sounded much louder to him than to anyone else! Right? Right?... Ahastar isn’t sure what would crush him more. The promised five points, each good for a rex-times-twenty, or the fact that the hated azure lead Deinonychus promised him a "bonus trampling session" delivered by his very own sprinter feet.
"Oooooooooh GODS yes!" Ahastar doesn’t care about the fact that every last raptor in the tree house laughs at him for his loud outburst, the half demon is just endlessly happy that his face is finally free of sickle-feet again! AIR! Much desired air! Touching his scales again! This is like paradise! Like a dream! Ahastar has to reach for it to believe it. His hands rise up, nearly whimpering in glee... but all they get to touch is the heel of a big, broad raptor foot presented to him. And right there, Ahastar’s heart breaks again. He recalls his task. The four, five feathers his crest still has left raise up sternly in rage, in humiliated disgust. But he does as commanded. His lips part wiiiiide, his rough, slimy, hot tongue slipping out. Quickly, they find the tough sole in front of it. At first, Ahastar hesitates. But that lasts only briefly! Within moments, the raptor shoving his foot to him receives a strong, full flexed pedicure! Amazing what a conversation about execution rituals can do!
-----
The sight and sesnsation of Ahastar submissively licking under his foot is pleasurable enough that a full minute passes before Dras interrupts Scorch and Skewer to exclaim, "Fuck me, I forgot the seedpods!" Being careful not to move his splayed hind paw, the large alpha caste chieftan leans sideways and reaches down to pick up the iron jar from beside his chair.
Stampede snorts in gruff amusement. "Start again, compy," he says, addressing Ahastar. "Whoever's paw you're licking now doesn't want to miss anything. Sounds like this walk of shame would have been wasted on normal victims," he adds, looking back up at Scorch. "The last couple of hundred would all have been trampling on a crushed corpse."
Scorch shakes her muzzle. "This was back when we lived in tribes - thirty or forty-strong at the most. Getting marched over by thirty raptors will kill pretty much any caste except a hunter, but only just. Almost everyone would have been able to trample the victim before he was killed." She pauses and leans over to take a seedpod from Dras' jar, then romantically applies it to her azure mate, rolling its soft flesh against his scaly snout and pressing it against him until it bursts in her crimson forepaw, splashing its potent oily contents against her pads and Dras' snout. The seed itself - a beautiful glossy capsule of rich reddish brown - slips out of the pulpy remains and drops to the stone floor, ignored by the raptors, and Scorch smoothly rubs and caresses the precious oil into the fine scales around Dras' snout while he contiues to hold his clawed foot over Ahastar's muzzle, watching his mate with half-closed eyes.
"We've got to get this walk of shame thing reinstated," Dras says. "I want to see this guy slowly crushed to death by fuck loads of-" He breaks off, not trusting himself to say more as the fumes of the seedpod oil take affect. The treehouse changes around him, groing sharper and more distinct as his already finely-tuned raptor senses peak intensely. The crackle of the fire feels like a physical sensation, electric excitement in his belly, and its heat floods over him. Every pressure sensor throughout his magnificent azure hide sings with a wealth of new information - the glossy smoothness of the carved wooden chair around him, the tickle of cool breeze through his feathers, the warm rough stone of the ground under his dangling tail. He focuses his mind on the licking against his sole and almost passes out from the pleasure of it. The half-demon's tongue drags meekly up the length of his ball pad, spreading moisture in its wake. He could feel every single taste bud against his thick black pad flesh! Every groove and contour of the little tongue, its heat, the way it spread out as it pushed to the hardness of his sole, the hot huffs of Ahastar's shaky breath against his scales, the tingle of saliva evapourating in the heat of the fire. Every rough dragging lap sends a shiver of orgasmic pleasure raging up his spinal cord, and with eyes squinted shut, Dras pushes back into his chair and silently mouthes, "Gods..."
-----
Ahastar still can’t see anything, so if he wants to or not, he has to make use of his handpaws to aid his enforced ministrations. Haplessly seeking, the badly trampled out deinonychus’ fingers grasp here and there, looking quite retarded as they catch nothing but thin air before finally a single talon manages to touch Dras’ ankle - leading Ahastar to grab around the azure raptor’s thick leg joint both to support his own already uncomfortable position a bit... and to make sure his hapless, fleshy tongue aims well for the supple sickle-foot it has to savor, the thick tar in front of his eyes filling his gaze with an almost rex-pad like consuming darkness, making it absolutely impossible to even see a single scale of his own body.
While Ahastar’s tongue keeps orally pedicuring his tormentor’s sole blinded, his ears naturally concentrate more on his surroundings. The majority of what he hears are feral sounds of physical action, like the drumming of his own heart, resounding heavily in his ears. The slimy, slippery squishing of his own moist tongue salivating over firm, smooth scales and coarse pads. The clicking and scrapping of dangerously sharp talons running over wood. The rest of his aural input is veeeeery dedicated to listening to what his assorted doormatters chat about though. Always having been a loner, Ahastar knows jack about the life in a raptorian society, much less about their capital punishments. Even he can’t deny the brutal impact of that destructive concept though. "Walk of Shame." The sheer name is already enough to humiliate any victim having to suffer it. The "Walk" part even more than the "Shame", Ahastar finds, suggesting that whoever has to endure the ordeal becomes a part of the pavement. Trampled over. Spit on. Worn and crushed, then withering away. With no reality to occupy his gaze with, fantasy forms pictures in front of the half demon’s eyes. He can see a line of thirty tribal raptors standing together, close enough to let shaply chins come to a rest on top of the predecessor’s shoulder. Wouldn’t it be for the first ten or so raptors trying to keep their balance, nobody would recognize the soft, slippery and badly mangled ground beneath them to be another living raptor! Not even having the air to screech, all it can do is cramp and groan, throw up and piss itself. Ahastar can imagine the lead raptor snarling down at his victim’s swollen face, showing it the middle claw, then rising his leg to slam a broad, solidly padded sprinter foot right into the creature’s face! At the same time, his friends and packmates crush everything else: A brown foot flattens the lungs. A red sickle claw turns the throat two dimensional. A white padpaw flattens important organs with a determined double-legged jump into the stomach. And a green talon drives its heel brutally into a trembling cloaca to provide incontinence and infertility. Given the trampled raptor’s body though, he wouldn’t have to worry about that for long.
A silent, but trembling groan from high above slams Ahastar’s remaining senses brutally back into reality. He can smell the slippery innards of a seedpod having been used. He remembers their scent very, very well. And even though the half demon has long found out whose padpaws he is licking, able to taste the remains of tar upon it and realizing the sound of pleasure is male, Stampede’s barked "recommendation" keeps him going. To Dras, the intensified sensation of getting his soles slurped like this is absolutely magnificent. He could swear he’s able to... feel and smell the little spark of electricity fired into Ahastar’s brain the moment one of his rough, coarse taste buds presses against Facedancer’s thick black pads, the fine oral sensors being squeezed flat to soak up the flavor, taking a tiny bit of dust with it. His entire scaled sole is tickling, as if it would be repeatedly dunked into buckets of a bit too hot and afterwards a bit too cold water, again and again and again. The seedpod robs Dras of all feeling for time. So when Ahastar finally retreats his tongue, breaking a single, clear rope of saliva in the air, swallowing down and meekly announcing "Face...dancer...", the azure Deinonychus has to look over to his packmates to ask them if the time spent licking his padsole was acceptable.
-----
When Ahastar finally dares to shamefully proclaim the identity of his abuser, the five raptors are unable to contain their snarling laughter. "You reckon it's mine, huh?" Dras says, prising open his dilated eyes. "I guess my paws and you have a pretty strong bond by now, I can see why you'd be imagining them everywhere." He laughs again and his sickled foot descends to plant firmly upon Ahastar's upward-facing snout.
Torment calls out, "Uss! Five points for our friend here!" She leans forward in her chair and says to Ahastar, "You will be more careful with the pliomys from now on, I hope. We do you a great honour in letting you hold them for us."
With a silent shiver of pleasure at the intense contact of it, Dras pushes Ahastar's muzzle to the side and slides his sturdy blue talon onto the half-demon's face, immediately placing the other one beside it and pressing Ahastar's head down under all his thick padded toes and shapely black ball pads. He begins applying firm facial squeezes with one foot, then the other while Scorch confusingly addresses Ahastar. "I don't think I want to let you go yet, my little compy. Perhaps you should continue to lick my paws while I pleasure my handsome mate."
Stampede, Skewer and Torment watch with mixtures of amusement, pleasure and lustful envy, and Scorch leans over to gently lick under her mate's chin. Dras gives a purrring growl of thanks at this, and raises both forepaws to rub up and down the back of her neck. "Your scales are perfect, my love," he says, gasping as he runs his hypersensitive pads against the smooth musculature of the female raptor. She responds with a chuckle and extends her own front paws to cup Dras' bulging cloaca and sensually massage it. This drives the azure chieftan into a snarling frenzy and he forces himself back into his chair, foreclaws curling tensely around the back of Scorch's neck and head plunging forwards in squinting pleasure. The dark pads on his soles spread generously against Ahastar's muzzle as he forces his sturdy raptor feet down upon the half-demon's clamped head and squeezingly buries it. "Lick them!" he snarls down to Ahastar. "Lick them, you fucker or I'll have you trample raped by every rex in this city!" He pants in delight as he feels the lower jaw of the half-demon prise slowly open under his centre pads and the hot shaking tongue slip resentfully up against them. Scorch, meanwhile, dips her head and opens her jaws, then slowly runs her own tongue up the gleaming black length of Dras' now-fully-extruded male organ, which utterly sends him over the edge.
Ahastar's skull comes about as close to being crushed as it ever has before under mere raptor feet, Dras' screeching orgasm plunging them down upon the scaly footrest beneath them with incredible force while the other raptors rumble and purr, Skewer and Stampede already nuzzling each other intimately. As his sense-enhanced climax subsides, Dras slumps back in his chair and pants coolly, his eyes heavy-lidded and milky with pleasure. "Okay then," he grins after a moment. "Let's switch around."
With considerable effort, the azure chieftan unsticks his large alpha-caste talons from the footprints they pressed in Ahastar's face and shakily rolls forwards out of his chair. He pauses to whisper something into the ear of his crimson-scaled mate, who smirks and nudges him under the chin, then he pads over to one of the waterfalls to wash the streaks of raptor seed from his scaly chest. Silently, Scorch lifts one of her sleek, powerful red hind paws over Ahastar's retching muzzle and lets her toes close together in smug relaxation. Stampede swallows down one of the stuffed pliomys and growlingly tells the half-demon to begin again.
-----
Ahastar’s blinded muzzle looks quite humbled as it remains lifted up in the air, the azure blue raptor foot still casually resting its heel on top of it. The half demon listens to the rising words, his ears struggling hard to make out the source. An undertaking that grows especially mean due to the fact that Dras slightly turns his own muzzle to the side while he chats. "Yes, I... I think... Facedancer..." Ahastar once more speaks out. The trampled deinonychus’ muzzle turns a little redder while the alpha caste lead raptor chuckles down at him, more shame building up with no chance to find an outlet. Spooked, the half demon jumps a little as different voices from behind him raise up. "What... do these points mean?" he finally dares to ask. His voice is easily reflecting 50% doubt that needs to be sated and 50% fear of what he might possibly get for an answer.
Instead of a reply, all Ahastar gets is added doubt. Scorch? Could he possibly have been that wrong? Nooonono, he is sure it wasn’t her. He... knows her flavor from having the female squeeze his tongue almost into the hardwood floor not even a full hour ago. But seriously... why should raptor pads have different tastes to begin with? It is not like he even tried to keep them all in mind while they muzzlefucked them with their dangerously sickled footpaws. "Aghhhhh...", Ahastar finally loudly complains out, his up-turned snout slowly being pressed down to the floor by a single talon, then quickly having his abused face pressed under a pair of raptor paws again. Just like Torment did for alllll this unbearable time, just this time on the other cheek. The half demon just can’t TAKE this torment any more! It is not only the humbling touch in itself - the sprinter feet resting on his sensitive face are simply just painful! Coarse pads meet worn sole scales that could grind even the floor beneath him bare, if they just had enough time. And still they demand more of him. Ahastar can hear Facedancer’s usually melodic, mocking voice turn riled up, almost screaming down at him! The half demon’s pulse kicks up, his breathing turning faster. The scents in the air change, growing more lusty. "Yesyes, I will, I will!" Ahastar quickly groans out, opening his lower jaw as fast as possible with the considerable weight pressed into him, a lightly swollen tongue slipping out to begin another solid raptorian pedicure upon him. It is fucking difficult to reach the paws standing on his face though, his tongue having generous reach, but simply lacking the prehensile features to curve twice. Thus the requested licking ends up more like a witless lapping over the rigid raptor heels deployed so solidly onto his cranium...
...and one moment later INTO his cranium! "NYAAAAARGHHHHHHH!", Ahastar screeches out, his handpaws jolting up to reach and grab the ankles of the two sprinter feet that nearly crush his cranium, the toes on top of his skull spreading greedily, pressing their tip pads deeeeep deep into glistening white flesh together with razor sharp, well kept claws! Blood drips from the half demon’s muzzle, the snarling creature desperately trying to push off the two merciless sicklepaws. But they don’t move a single inch! Crrrrrrunch! A tooth turns loose inside of the half demon’s skull, then a second follows. Then a few squirts of hot liquid splatter over the grunting raptor’s face. Then, and ONLY then the two paws rip out of the whimpering living doormat, the pawprints inside of the tough skull so deep and harsh that they refuse to let go of their creators until they pull with all their force. A padding sound rises up from next to him, definitely a raptor moving. And another sensation creeps into Ahastar’s senses - the warmth of another paw close to his face. Wordlessly and now footprinted on both sides of his face, the half demon begins to lap and lick over the padsole in front of him yet again, unaware of its redness.
-----
The small grey servant raptor slinks back into the fire-lit semi circle of chairs with a large clay jug held against his chest and begins refilling the drink bowls, subtlly eyeing Ahastar's enthusiastic licking of Scorch's relaxed red hind paw with something akin to a faint smile. Torment holds up her empty bowl and watches as Dras returns to the group. "If we are to have this one submitted to the walk of shame, the Gods must first give their blessing. Lick harder," she adds, glancing down at the half-demon.
Dras, rolling back into his wooden chair, nods his crested head. "Yeah, that'd be safer. Like I said, it's still officially the penalty for blasphemy, but that's only because no one's committed blasphemy for gods-know-how-many years. If anyone DID commit it, you can be sure the gods would have him killed by an execution rex, not this walk of shame." He tilts his azure head up thoughtfully, rocking back in his chair with little pushes of his powerful hind limbs. "I guess I should speak with the God-Emperor."
Dras swallows visibly at this prospect, and turns his attention instead to Scorch, whose gently splaying hind paw is still held domineeringly over Ahastar's upward-bobbing muzzle, the pressure of his tongue moving it with occasional tiny jerks and bounces. The azure raptor smiles suggestively at his crimson mate and holds up a seedpod before her, rolling it enticingly between the clawed digits of a forepaw. She nuzzles him and submits with greedy passion as he bursts the flesh of the soft pod and massagingly rubs its oil into her scaly snout and lips, leaning in to nuzzle and lick at her as the two saurians share in the fumes. Scorch reacts the most, hot powerful muscles tensing beneath her sleek glossy scales as the initial shock of sensation floods through her, then her tooth-filled lower jaw drops open and she splays her clawed toes over Ahastar, purring uncontrollably as she experiences the full glory of her victim's crushed dominated spirit writhing beneath her in meek submission, his fine, long tongue humbly pleasuring the warm blackness of her perfect sole, licking it, tasting it, experiencing its coarse worn underside and intimately inserting itself into the grooves and contours of her thick dark foot pads. He was so far beneath her, it was an honour for him to be allowed to lick them.
Dras smirkingly leans in against her and lightly brushes his feather crest under her chin, sending shivers through her beautiful crimson body. He props himself upon the arm rest of her chair and watches Ahastar, the memory of his own sense-enhanced pedicure still burning in his mind as he begins to sensually massage his mate's tailbase, working his padded fingers closer up until they stroke teasingly around the soft rim of her swollen cloacal orifice. Torment turns to Stampede and says something, but neither Dras nor Scorch hear it, so caught up are they in their affection for each other and the abuse of Ahastar. The azure chieftan begins to gently push two long scaly digits into his mate, still squeezingly massaging her tailbase with his other forepaw. Scorch gasps and thrusts her wet padded foot firmly down upon Ahastar's face, butting his head to the side and spreading her clawed toes wide to engulf the skull of the surprised half-demon, whose tongue is caught helplessly between two of them and squeezed against his own muzzle. Her large red foot dominatingly plastered over the side of Ahastar's face, Scorch gives a screech of primal ecstacy and clenches up in her chair as a trickle of hot fluid seeps up around Dras' sunken forehand and runs smoothly down the side of her hind limb. Dras growlingly prolongs her orgasm with forceful ministrations of both forepaws, before finally, panting, Scorch lifts her big scaly talon from the face of her footrest and allows him to speak.
-----
Ahastar once again begins the humbling task of licking, another clawfoot arrogantly shoved nearly into his face, eyes still blinded beneath the by now horribly tickling and itching patch of still warm tar. His tongue slips and slides over rough, worn-walked scales, reptilian-leathery hide and the ever so prominent pads, rough enough to almost interlock with the zealous taste buts covering his dripping, moist and slimy raptor tongue, the fine sensors sending an outright scatterfire all the way up into Ahastar’s brain with the intensity of a bashing jackhammer. And even though the half demon feels as if the flavor is being driven into his mind with the fury of a Trex kicking against his skull, he has to realize with soul-shaking shock that... he can make out almost no difference at all in the taste dripping from his worming oral muscle together with clear, sparkling saliva. Sure, there are a few diverse details, but all in all it is perfectly the same combination of reptilian skin, summer earth and a faint aroma of wood chips.
Retching, the badly trampled deinonychus was hoping for at least a little bit of an oral clue about whom he is forced to service! But there is no such thing to be found! No idea, no help, no aid. "Think, Ahastar, think!" Growing nervous, the half demon lets his commissions slip, earning him a stern, hissed order from high above his head! Instantly being driven by fear and hatred, the humbled Deinonychus gets fully into it again. His tongue shhllouurppps free from his muzzle, the moist, hot organ pressing out. It shoves into the padded sprinter sole in front of him with that much vigor that for a brief moment, Ahastar’s usually slim tongue turns almost as broad as the entire talon’s walking surface! That special moment is also when his spirit-crusher feeds herself the seedpod, the sudden impact both in her senses and at her foot feeling like a jackhammer of arousal hitting her instantly, and from every imaginable angle, too!
Ahastar doesn’t quite catch what is happening, of course, still blinded - but he isn’t stupid. The loud moaning on top of him and the jittering of the sicklefoot he keeps orally pedicuring tells him just what that raptoress is enjoying and.. and.. THAT IS IT! Ahastar’s scaled eyeridges rise beneath their casket of tar! He might not be able to catch the different tormentors by flavor, but he can still use logic to determine who is working him! Female. Yes, it has to be a female. Because why else would it be moaning like this. Or is it just a voyeur from the side? No... the movement of the padfoot in front of him suits the groaning rhythm. The size... is correct as well. Yes. That has to be it, it is - Ahastar withdraws his poor, swollen tongue into his drooling muzzle " ...Torment. That is... Torment..."
-----
There is an explosion of barking laughter from the domineering raptors as Ahastar delivers his first incorrect verdict. Dras leans in to nuzzle his proudly smiling mate and Torment amusedly looks down at Scorch's red scaly paws, comparing them with her own white ones. Stampede catches the attention of the servant raptor before grinningly holding up one clawed finger, upon which the small grey male gives a nod of his poorly-crested head and, after dipping a long flint stone into one of the iron jars on the surface of the bar, he adds another hissing, bubbling notch to the clay slab he is using as a scoreboard. It now shows six notches.
Skewer, upon receiving a gracious 'you go first' gesture from the white-scaled shaman, lifts a sleek emerald-scaled hind limb and holds her slender stalker-caste foot over Ahastar's exposed snout, splaying out her clawed toes in an obvious attempt to make her paw seem larger in the wake of Dras and Scorch.
"Start licking, little one," says Torment, and she fixes her sharp green eyes on the display at their feet, her own large alpha-caste paws splaying and flexing as though she herself were experiencing the same attentive pad treatment that Ahastar hastily begins to give Skewer. "Speaking to the God-Emperor yourself may not be necessary," she says after a moment, lifting her head to look at Dras with tense pride. "Perhaps I could mention it to her royal highness when I next have her attention. She listens to me."
Meeting the shaman's piercing gaze, Dras nods thoughtfully before giving a snort of amusement and replying, "She doesn't just listen to you, she nuzzles you, lets you sleep with her... Gods! What is it about shamans that the rexes like so much?"
Torment smiles coolly. "Their power, of course."
Dras chuckles at this, but Stampede looks faintly irritated. "Hunters are powerful," he says, his dark feather crest twitching.
"Hunters are powerful in a different way." Torment's expression softens as she seeks not to antagonise. "The power of a hunter is physical strength, which, though far greater than that of any other caste, is exceeded by even the smallest tyrannosaur. The power of a shaman," She continues, "Is magic. Magic and all its subtleties that the Gods - even in their great wisdom and might - are yet unable to equal."
"So you are more powerful than the Gods," Stampede says flatly.
"Of course not - I have less power than you. Mine is simply of a different form."
He nods thoughtfully and stretches out his muscular brown hind limbs, toes splaying out to an impressive girth as he watches his own display. "I suppose to be treated as-"
An explosive screech interrupts him as Ahastar shakes his head free of Skewer's mildly splaying hind paw and cries, "Oh gods, SKEWER!"
There is a brief startled pause as the five raptors look down at Ahastar, then turn to glance questioningly at Dras. The azure chieftan blinks and gives an unimpressed lip-curling sneer, then opens his jaws to speak but Scorch beats him to it.
"Too fast!" she snarls, plunging her lean sturdy sickle foot into Ahastar's face and holding it there as she rolls out of her chair and drops into a crouch over the half-demon's head. "How dare you stop after such a pathetic effort! If you knew what fucking world of pain you're rushing into, you'd spend hours on every scale!" With an enraged snort that blasts Ahastar's neck with hot air, she squeezes her heavy black sole over his gasping snout and angrily rips her clawed foot free.
Dras allows the air to cool for a moment before stretching out his hind limbs and crossing both talons on top of Ahastar's head. "Well no surprises there: you got Skewer right," He splays his clawed toes luxuriously. "But that was way too fast, so two points for you." He waves to Uss and holds up two fingers, then settles his foreclaws on the arms of his chair. "Two MORE points, I should say - you've got quite a few now. I'm looking forward to working them out with you, and I just know Skewer is too." He turns to grin at her and she nods grimly, before leaning in against Stampede and resting her head upon the ridge of his chest. Dras snickers and takes his sickled feet off Ahastar's head. "Yep, you've fucked your chances of surviving those hundred-ton rexes now, bud. Who's next?"
-----
Ahastar’s muzzle briefly stays stuck at what he assumes to be the white scaled footpaw he "knew" so well due to the various torments applied to him, his tongue tip having been unluckily caught in between two of the firm raptor toes without him noticing it. Only by pulling backwards solidly does the half demon manage to get his poor oral muscle back out fast enough to prevent a very painful tear, a few flakes of dirt and drool spraying through the air from the hefty pull! The hapless half demon grunts out loudly. "AUGH!" - these scales fucking hurt when being slammed back so quickly, almost like a grater to the ultra sensitive flesh of his tongue. The trampled senseless deinonychus raises his shaky handpaws, managing to find his abused mouth, fingering the oral organ to make sure it is still in one piece.
Doing so, Ahastar’s fingers lightly stride over the rock hard heel of yet another raptor sprinter foot - clearly waiting for him again. "Oh come one, please, not again... give me a bit of a break, will you? I can’t even FEEL my tongue any more..." The fact that the half demon so desperately barks this out tells everyone involved precisely how bad their mutual trample toy’s state is already. And one single look from wicked ember eyes also tells them that Ahastar isn’t lying! That roughed up tongue of his is already a deep red and a few bits of brown, horribly swollen to the point that it is throbbing with the beat of his heart. "Bam... Bam... Bam..." It is also beginning to turn painfully dry already. Because even though his tormentors and abusers generously enjoy their drinks and morsels, the last time Ahastar saw water was when he got splashed with ice to prevent him slipping off into trampling-induced unconsciousness. He doesn’t get any mercy though, at least not until random arrogant laughter and a stern whip of a command to start lapping or else count as a benevolent act.
And so, with a solid grunt, Ahastar shoves his thick tongue out of his teeth yet again. Within seconds, it has found the raptor heel in front of him, the rest of the padsole quickly discovered. And then, the half demon quickly realizes the different size. That "small" paw? Only large enough to completely cover Ahastar’s face when they press on it completely combined? There is no doubt that they belong to the smallest of the pack. And in one thoughtless moment, the deinonychus just blurts the answer out! "SKEWER!" - At first, there is silence. Ahastar grins, congratulating himself on apparently impressing his enslavers enough to stun them with his rapid guess. Yet then there is a sheer OUTRAGE exploding around him, snarly voices hissing down, berating, insulting, hissing and spitting at him! From his side, something heavy drops on his skull yet again, pressing him down, grinding the pride and wit out of his muzzle while the agonized half demon screeches into the floor. "RRRRRRRIP!" Even when they leave, they do it with so much hatred and rage that they tear a good bunch of scales out of the already mangled demon face, pulling his entire skull upwards - where he can feel, in all glory, how one of the dominating dinosaurs abuses his skull as a footrest, shoving one of his paws into the faint rest of Ahastar’s feathercrest. "Sorry...", the half demon whimpers out even with Dras’ paws deployed on top of his snout. "I... didn’t mean to... I ..." Nobody listens to him. Nobody even cares.
-----
Stampede immediately unfurls a great hind limb and holds his big brown-scaled talon over Ahastar's muzzle, scowling grimly down at the blinded half demon that so insulted his mate. "Lick," he growls. "And do it slowly. And do the whole thing. If you miss out the back of my foot I'll slice you up with some hunter moves." Firmly, he plants his other large hind paw upon Ahastar's throat, locking the half-demon's head between his wide-splayed sickle and middle toes before presenting the long sleek arch of his raised digitigrade talon above the shocked-looking white-scaled muzzle.
Dras snorts laughter as he leans down to take the last rodent from the plate on Ahastar's belly. "Yeah, I didn't reckon he'd have any trouble guessing yours either. You might have just played along though..."
The large hunter gives a guilty grin to his azure chieftan, then dips his muzzle to observe Ahastar's humbled licking. Unlike those of the his companions, Stampede's clawed foot isn't moved so much as an atom's width by the forceful strokes of the half-demon's tongue, it stays right where its owner holds it and impassively absorbs the strength of Ahastar's laps. In its stretched-out glory, the huge brown paw dwarfs the white scaled head that bobs and tilts beneath its scaly underside - the length of its mere walking section looks long enough to all but cover the length of Ahastar's head - but the brown raptor still proudly splays out his clawed toes, driving home the point of his superior size while he watches Ahastar with a disdainful look of grim enjoyment. Occasionally, he lifts his hind leg higher for extended periods, forcing Ahastar to humiliatingly strain up from between the splayed toes of Stampede's throat-pinning foot to lick the sole of his raised one.
Torment speaks quietly so as not to drown out the soft slick sound of Ahastar's tongue against Stampede's scales. "Then I will raise the question to her royal highness in our next meeting. I feel quite confident that she will approve."
"Tell her how grateful we'll all be," Dras says, still chewing absent-mindedly on his stuffed rodent. "How every raptor in the city will praise the Gods for their generosity if they let us do the walk of shame on him."
Scorch adds, "And remind her that he can always be resurrected for when they next need him. At least, I assume..." She looks at Torment, hesitant, and the white shaman gives a smiling nod.
"I can bring him back as many times as we can kill him."
Skewer suddenly lifts her head from Stampede's chest and asks, "What do the Gods usually do with him, anyway?" She pauses to look down as her mate presses his talon down upon the side of Ahastar's face and crackingly works the raptor's lower jaw under his warm, licked-clean ball pad, before slowly lifting his foot and allowing the moaning half-demon to continue.
Torment steeples her foreclaws and answers, "He is most often summonned as a courtship toy," which makes Skewer raise her eyeridges in surprised delight.
Dras says, "I'm sure you saw it happen in his sacrifice a few months ago - two rexes will offer him to each other as some kind of sex toy gift, then stomp him to death while they mate." He smirks. "It's pretty awesome. Sometimes a God will just want him for private use and we don't get to see what happens, but there's always screeching and he's always flat by the end." He turns to Torment, grinning wickedly, and says, "I love it when you hear him beg, then there's a crunch!"
A crunch is exactly what follows, as Stampede again rolls his great tough ball pad over the side of Ahastar's jaw, before turning the thoroughly dominated head of the half-demon upright and settling his heavy clawed foot upon the white raptor's snout. "Right, you can say it now," he growls, the hint of a smile tugging at his scaly lips.
-----
Ahastar's handclaws once again slide over the hardwood floor, the white, rugged up fingers turning to a firm fist. The raptor doesn’t even care that this move and his badly inflamed rage lead to quite a few scratches upon his scales, tearing a little at the harsh wood. The humiliation is almost too much to bear. He knows it is Facedancer’s azure paws that os idly, mockingly rest on his snout. He can feel his perfect talon-toes slide through the few torn and tattered feathers Ahastar still has left, grinding them further, just for fun. There can’t possibly be any cleaning effect still involved in it, for whatever there would probably have been left to clean is already resting in the half demon’s belly. Or stuck in his throat. Or still somewhere in his mouth. Finally though, they are released. And apparently only because Dras fears for the integrity of his own ankles should they dare stand in the way of Stampede’s massive hunter claws being thunderbashed into Ahastar’s face. Clearly, the huge raptor is pissed off. And the half demon can guess why. He can still hear Skewer sharply soak in the air through her bared fangs. It is easy to guess that wouldn’t it be for the sake of politeness, the stalker would be right now busy testing out how far she can possibly batter a sicklefoot of hers into Ahastar’s cloaca.
The fact that Stampede just barks pretty much his own name right down to his trample toy says quite a bit about the grim hunter, but Dras is right - their shared carpet would have guessed the hulking just-still-so-sprinter-feet of his current torturer right away. Hell, just slipping his tongue over the unique, triple-bent walking pad of the prowling raptor paw would have been a dead giveaway. One thing surprises Ahastar though - the vigor and cold passion with which Stampede begins to command the demon’s tongue. That cold sickle claw pointing precisely around his throat is more than just an idle threat: It is an ice cold ambassador of a possibly very messy death. Ahastar can hardly believe the size of that talon! It casually swings its curved inside around the half demon’s throat! And it does a spectacularly good job in holding him put. The trampled deinonychus would never have assumed Stampede to be so determined about getting his paws licked. He thought he would be pretty much "only" a crushing brute, but oh hell no! The brutal bruiser tilts and twists and almost deforms Ahastar’s muzzle as he begins to lick and lick and lick again, the paw lingering in the air before him so big and broad that it seems nigh endless to the whimpering half demon. Eventually, it is just too much for his poor, abused oral organ, starting to very lightly bleed against the unmovable, rock hard brown flesh!
It twists and turns and bends and crunches Ahastar’s head, forcing him to hop his head up like a good little Compy to lap over heel and sole, bowing left and right to give the half demon the "opportunity" to savor the entire organ of crushing destruction! And how Ahastar licks! Over the talons, over the toe tips, even over the arches and finally the back of Stampede’s paw, just as requested. It is nearly unbelievable how big that appendage is - and how much strength it must possess, given that even Ahastar’s most furious, shoving lick cannot move it even a single millimeter! Finally, after the half demon thinks that his throbbing tongue must have been worked out by a chainsaw, he is "allowed" to "guess" who the owner of these proud paws is. The words leave Ahastar’s dried out lips with a rasping tune: "Stampede..."
-----
Dras gives a mocking cheer as Ahastar finally coughs out Stampede's name, and the hunter nods curtly, removing his great brown-scaled foot from the half-demon's snout. "I think he'd have stomped your skull in right there if you'd gotten it wrong," comments the azure chieftan, giving Stampede a smirk and getting a scaly grin in return. "So here's your last paw to lick, bud. Get going." He shoots a look at Torment and the white Shaman gracefully lifts her powerful scaly limb to place the sole of her clawed talon above Ahastar's blindly searching muzzle.
The tangled web of mysterious Shaman tattoos all over her hide give an imposing look that is enhanced by Torment's large size as a raptor of the alpha caste. Her beautifully proportionate body, square, handsome jawline and large paws all give an impression of powerful, regal grace that is well complemented by her calm manner. Were it not that royal positions are reserved for tyrannosaurs, she would surely be a queen. She allows a broad smile to creep up the sides of her long scaly muzzle as Ahastar thrusts his snout into the base of her toes and quickly begins to lick the broad, black-stained ball pad he finds below them. Whereas earlier her pads had a rough, coarse grittiness that viciously wore down Ahastar's facial scales, now the shapely patches of flesh feel thoroughly unremarkable: thick, tough and well worn, like the sole of any adult deinonychus. Ahastar gets no clues from their texture!
"So are you all ready to go?" Dras asks Torment, lifting his gaze from the thorough licking of her raised foot. "All prepared to uh... bring about the climax of our evening?" He chuckles and runs a foreclaw through his feather crest.
Torment gives a single nod. "I am. You have only to give the word and it will be done."
"Give the word?" He smirks and looks at Scorch. "Well then, as Head Chain Bearer of the City, Messenger of the Gods, High Chieftan of the Alpha Caste, hereby do I give the word. Consider it given." With snarling emphasis, he capitalises the appropriate titles, before breaking into a toothy raptor grin for his audience.
Torment smiles coolly. "But not just yet?"
"No, not yet. When he's done licking." Dras leans back in his chair and laps at his drink bowl.
With a snort of amusement, Scorch stretches out her hind limb and strokes her clawed toes over those of her reclining mate, her big sickle claw raised safely. "I'm amazed our little compy here can withstand the weight of you and your ego together."
This draws a slightly nervous chuckle from Skewer, and Stampede lifts his head to watch, but the athletic blue chieftan only smirks.
"A healthy ego never hurts when you're the head chain bearer." And he raises his own sickle claw to stroke back along Scorch's crimson limb. "How's he doing anyway? Will he need some restoration before we proceed?"
Torment doesn't look up, being quite absorbed in the act of mildly pressing her well-licked toes and ball pad down upon the sparsely feathered cranium of Ahastar while he strains to lift his muzzle high enough to lick the scaly arch of her long digitigrade talon. "The change will restore him to full health," she says absently, her green eyes narrow with dominant pleasure. "He will be in pristine condition, fully healed of the damage we have inflicted." With an abrupt WHUMP, she stomps Ahastar's head against the warm stone ground and holds it there as she looks up to the rest of the group. "But he will require a great deal of restoration when we begin to... play... with him. I must ask each of you to begin carefully at first so that I may gauge the intensity of magic needed to keep him alive." She lifts her foot from the pinned head of the half-demon footrest, allowing him to continue licking it. "This will be a new experience for me as well."
-----
A thin trail of blood drips down Ahastar’s throat when Stampede’s two grasping sprinter feet remove themselves, a goodbye - not farewell - gift left behind by the sickle claw the hunter keeps razor sharp every day, requiring it both for the hunt and apparently to trample subdued deinonychi through treehouse floors. "So... endgame..." Ahastar thinks to himself. The raptor around him keep chatting, keep preparing. Once more the half demon can feel movement behind him, the heat of yet another dromeaosaurian padsole being held towards him close by. This final act of licking is equally redundant as Stampede’s. Facedancer. Torment. Skewer. And the massive hunter. Ahastar might be trampled nearly senseless thanks to Stampede, but he still has enough three-dimensional brain cells left in that two-and-a-half-toed footprint display formerly serving as his snout to know that if you guessed 4 out of 5, the last guess is the only option. So in short, this is Scorch. Or at least she would be, if he could find just where she is holding her paw at already.
Needing quite a bit of stupidly looking nuzzling around in thin air, the humbled reptile eventually manages to push his nose precisely against a toe tip. Then another. Then the one of the shorter sickle claw. Awesome, just awesome! That sprinter foot is held up that high above him that Ahastar needs to stretch out every last cell in his body to reach against it, and he just so manages. His swollen, torn jaws part yet again and, even though his tongue screams bloody murder for mercy at his brain, the sensitive oral rug is commanded to creep out yet again - and start its cruel job!"RRRRSSSSSP! RSSSSSSSP! RSSSSSSSSSP!" The sound rising up from beneath his tormentoress’ padsole is not at all still one of moisture, much more like a raptor sole grinding over a raptor sole, coarse pad locked with coarse pad. A single gaze out of lingering, sadistic deinonychus eyes is enough to confirm that there is not a single drop of saliva still to be found anywhere inside or upon Ahastar’s mouth. That pretty much disables any cleaning effect, but definitely empowers the transmitted flavor. "The size... taste... rrrrrrrrkkk... yes... could be Scorch...", the half demon thinks, even though he can’t fully trust his exhausted tongue any longer. His eyes begin to tear from the horrible, piled up flavor of no less than five individual deinonychus paws in between his cheeks.
"BASSSSSHHHHHH!" "NYYAAAARGHHHHH!... " The movement of their sister in torment came so rapidly that even her surrounding packmates’ feathercrests raise up in alert. Relaxing only slowly again. The wicked shaman has smashed the unexpecting half demon’s snout that brutally and quickly to the floor that, as if caught in slow motion, the entire rest of Ahastar’s body remains floating in the air due to a head-standing impact! Dust whirls up high from the hardwood floor, that brutal padsole pressing deep and deeper into the grunting half demon’s muzzle until they finally DO break his face in, most likely fueled by the idea that "automatic healing" will commence due to whatever wicked plan this hellish pack has come up with. The echo of Ahastar’s neck vertebra cracking have not fully silenced when the last dominatrix to degrade the living carpet has raised her padfoot once more, allowing the half demon to now lick her arch and heel and her fellow raptors to behold the gruesome footprint her fine little move left behind. Deep down. Way more deep than the sheer elevation distance suggests...
-----
The deep dark of night has long since spread across the sky, visible only as scattered pockets of pure black between the canopy branches of the the roof. No stars are out tonight, but within the treehouse den the fire flickers and crystals glow blue-green, all casting warm shadows over the creaking wooden floor and glitteringly illuminating the raptors within. All sounds of activity from the tribal city have died down, leaving only the music of the forest - a symphony of nocturnal creatures, chirping, chattering, all accompanied by the deep comforting rumble of the waterfall. But the sound that is most focused on by the five deinonychi is barely heard above the crackling of flames: a dry, gritty rasping as Ahastar tries to lick the dominantly raised arch and heel of Torment's large white alpha-caste talon. Even with no saliva left to lubricate his exhausted tongue, the act of sliding it against the sole of his reptilian mistress is more than enough to satisfy her and her four companions. Eventually however, Ahastar can bear no more.
"Scorch," he gasps, his worn-out tongue making it sound more like 'Thcorch'. "I think Scorch... please..." He strains his head down against the stone floor to back away from the splayed raptor foot held over his muzzle. It remorselessly follows him down and plants firmly upon the side of his face. Ahastar seems only relieved to have a respite from the licking, and he lies still at the feet of the five chuckling raptors, submitting with tired resignation to having his face used as a footrest.
"Interesting" Torment says, casually placing her other sturdy white talon sole-down upon Ahastar's muzzle beside the first and beginning to warmly knead him. "He has come to recognise us only superficially."
Scorch nods her crestless crimson head and smiles to the shaman. "But I'm honoured by his verdict."
"Uss!" Dras calls out. "Torment's gonna want her staff. And bring over the scoreboard. Let's show our friend how many hundred-ton rexes he'll be meeting." He licks his scaly lips, feather crest trembling with anticipation, and rolls forward out of his chair. Stampede, Skewer and Scorch all follow suit and the four raptors move their chairs up against the stone wall to clear more space on the floor, but Torment remains seated, her scaled feet still planted upon the side of Ahastar's face. With slow, deliberate movements, the white-scaled shaman begins tracing a big sickle claw around the warm bung of set tar that clogs Ahastar's upward-facing eye socket, loosening it with teasing insertions of her claw tip. After a few circuits, she digs her sickle into the centre of the firm tar and, after working it carefully left and right, pulls the entire thing out of Ahastar's eye. With a soft chuckle, she reaches down and removes the offensive globule from her claw, tossing it into the fire where it splutteringly melts.
"These would likely cause your head to explode if I left them in before proceeding," The shaman says with a cool smile, watching Ahastar's exposed bloodshot eye blink rapidly between her splayed sickle and middle toes. "Yes, I regret to say you mistook me for Scorch. Turn your head over." She lifts her scaly paws from him while he meekly obliges, then resettles them and begins similarly working the second patch of set tar from Ahastar's other eye socket, keeping his head under her feet the whole time.
Dras takes the stone scoreboard from the grey servant raptor and props it prominently against the wall beside the fireplace, before helping Uss gather up the drink bowls and return them to the bar. As the four raptors return to congregate around Ahastar's battered, bruised body, Torment, now clutching her carved wooden shaman staff, rolls forward out of her chair and squarely onto Ahastar's head. Her large white talons crunch as they spread heavily, still planted on top of the half-demon's skull. She rises up to full height and steps back, settling her weight on the ground but keeping one foot planted on the side of his face, his eye still visible between her splayed toes. "Do not struggle," she warns, turning her stained-green eyes upon Ahastar's wide, bloodshot one. "Anything you do now to antagonise us will only increase your pain three hundred thousand fold. It may be best if you don't see what happens to you." And with a smile, she covers Ahastar's eye with her sickle toe and looks up to Dras. "May I proceed?"
The azure chieftan gives his shaman the most chilling look of sadism she has ever seen upon him, and he says, "Do it."
-----
Ahastar keeps working his completely swollen up tongue over and over and over whatever parts of her sole "Scorch" presents to the coughing half demon. The trampled deinonychus feels as if he would have turned into the last round after a sheer endless, tormenting marathon run. His "legs" ache so much he could just collapse right here on the floor to never even move again. But if he stares backwards, he can behold this eerie nightmarish shade that has been following him ever since his run started. It is constantly threatening with claws and blades and teeth and pads - and for some reason that phantom of anguish is colored in an azure hue. And now, Ahastar can see the goal! The finish line! It is right ...in front of his muzzle, so to speak. But with every step he takes towards it, legs heavy like lead, that gods-damned line seems to creep two steps backwards! The raptor battles, fights, stumbles forwards, retching, coughing bile, always only one step away from vomiting.
"RRAAASSSSSP... RAAASSSSSSPPP... RASSSSSSSSPPP!" The half demon’s twitching, completely dried up oral muscle runs up and down and up and down his torturer’s slender, solid arch, then Ahastar just can’t take it any more. With the last bit of voice he can still grab and wrap out of his throat, feeling as is a new desert is about to form up inside, his vocal cords the center, the dromeaosaurid doormat gags up the last name, followed by a nearly begging whimper as his skull collapses to the floor. Even if said patch of hardwood floor would be the stampede grounds of five thousand execution rexes, the half demon wouldn’t care at this point any more.
For a few moments, it seems the collected raptors are happy with the finale - even though a moment later Ahastar has to feel another solid sicklefoot trample down right into his face, once more with enough force to make him sure whoever the owner of these rough pads is - he or she is trying one’s best to crack the worn sprinter sole all the way right into his brain! "OUUURRRGHHH!", the half demon snarls out, then tightly closes his own jaws to keep the integrity of his skull, even at the price of feeling his aching throat and muzzle muscles even more sternly. "Rnnnggggghhhhh!", he adds once he feels the second footpaw treading down on his head, the still heavily pawprinted body of the subdued deinonychus briefly rolling over to better work with his reassigned job of facial padfoot-rest and the new stance it demands from him. How he HATES being treated like this. Getting trampled all night long was one thing. Having your face stomped out certainly being even more infuriating. But this CONSTANT attention towards his face and especially the simple humbling paw-placement as of late are driving Ahastar to trembling insanity! Yet even with his handclaws scratching over the hardwood floor in cold anger, he manages to put his handpaws on top of his head, purely out of instinctive need for protection when he hears the other deinonychi begin to shuffle around - or, better said, upon the two big, sickled raptor feet scaldingly humiliating him!
While he holds his exploring fingers there, the grunting half demon manages to feel the dangerous sickles and talons working at the tar of his eye, manipulating it and driving insane panic down Ahastar’s spine, fearing for his eyes to get impaled - yet the bloodshot sky blue orbs are allowed to healthily and blinkingly open. If only to just peer allllll the way up to the mesmerizing face of the snow ghostly shaman, abusing and degrading the half demon with the continued touch of her soles. "Get off...", Ahastar snarls. Almost silently. Yet Torment can still hear him. It seems he doesn’t care much about the sparkle of projected horror the usually calm shaman seems to want to infuse his own eye with. Until she finally buries it to begin her... ritual.
-----
With one sturdy black-soled paw settled on the side of Ahastar's head as she stands over the downed raptor, Torment already looks about as dominant as can be imagined, but when she throws back her white head and raises her staff high above the half-demon, she dons the look of an executioner. "Vale ah hathav valleg ha mathrah," she begins to incant, before being thoroughly drowned out by a sudden howling of wind. The other four raptors all look up in surprise at the canopy roof as the deafening gale swirls up out of nowhere. It roars and crashes, bellowing like a hurricane and sending leaves scattering into the den as the branches above sway and bow. No one can be heard above the sound, but Dras' jaws can be seen silently forming the words 'fuck me!' right before the fire and torches are all simultaneously extinguished. As quickly and unexpectedly as it started, the wind stops, leaving stunned silence in its wake. Torment has stopped incanting.
The soft blue-green glow of the crystals eerily illuminates patches of the darkened den, barely revealing Uss' small grey form as he runs to re-light the torches. One by one they whuff into life, vanquishing the darkness, and all eyes turn on Torment.
Skewer is the first to speak, shaking leaves off her back. "Gods, that was more dramatic than I expected... where is h-" She is interrupted by sudden laughter from Dras, and Torment pointedly looks down. Following her gaze, Skewer's lips curl into a broad smile of pure malicious delight. "By the gods, you did it..."
Stampede steps closer to the proudly smiling Shaman, and so do Skewer, Scorch and the still-laughing Dras, the four raptors shuffling forward into space formerly occupied by Ahastar's body. As the five sets of malicious slitted reptilian eyes turn downwards, the white-scaled shaman illuminates the gnarled tip of her staff and holds it above them all, casting a clear white light upon Ahastar. The sickle toe that had formerly covered his eye socket now completely buries his entire head, the other two scaly white raptor toes raised up above the trembling body of what is now, unmistakably, a compy. The compy is also unmistakably Ahastar. Its tiny slender body is pure white save for a multitude of neat crimson stripes down its spine, and its tail still sports a miniture version of the distinctive barbed spade at its tip.
The shaman lowers her staff proudly and eyes her work. "Not a flawless change, but he should suffice for our pleasures." She presses slightly with her sickle toe, squeezing Ahastar's totally engulfed head against the stone floorand making him squirm amusingly.
"Does he... know?" Stampede looks at Dras, who has managed to bring his barking laughter under control.
"I don't think so," snorts the azure chieftan. "Probably still thinks he's got both of Torment's feet on his head." He nuzzles his crimson-scaled mate "Oh gods, this is going to be too much fun."
"Now he really is our little compy," Scorch agrees, nuzzling back. "So slender and fragile..."
Skewer adds, "And so tiny! What will he think when he sees us now?"
Torment mildly runs the tip of her outer toe claw down Ahastar's exposed back, causing him to curl in surprise. "We shall see..." And she lifts her sturdy white talon from Ahastar, placing it down next to the compy and dwarfing him beside it. The other raptors step closer, tightly encircling their tiny victim, all grinning down at him while he blinks confusion from his eyes and looks around.
Stampede sums it up nicely. "Gods, we could crush him with one step."
-----
The fearsome sight of the white scaled shaman in their midst makes even the stout-hearted other deinonychi of destructive domination take a step or two back, feather crests rising in the lingering, but solidly suppressed fear of all things supernatural! Fresh leaves from the nearby tree tops waft through the air, collide and stick to raptor hides! A small lick of electricity tingles at every single scale in the generously roomed tree house, Uss’ little gray body ducking safely behind a table. With Ahastar’s cramping body shivering beneath her beautiful, perfectly shaped alpha cast padfeet, sickles lightly twitching, Torment looks like a mistress of magic having sprung right out of the fearsome legends of old days, her entire graceful body almost dancing upon the bashed skull under her tread. For one brief moment even the mouthy Dras is stunned beyond belief. A single second passes in which he is absolutely convinced that he just, for one fleeting heartbeat, got to witness a picture of absolute, perfect raptorian domination!
"Urrghhllrrnnn..." Ahastar gurgles out, a straaaaaange sensation creeping up his flesh. He feels as if two invisible hands would reach through the skin of his belly, driving deep into his torso and pulling knots into every rope of intestine they can find. It is as if... ice and fire would be creeping up his spine simultaneously. The half demon just wants to puke his soul out, but at the same time feels as if he would never have eaten in his entire lifetime, spearing hunger splitting his tummy, but for some reason not making it rumble. And then - RRRRRRRRRIAAAAAAPPPP - "yaaaaaAAAOAUUGHHHH!" Ahastar’s entire lower body jolts up high into the air before crudely slamming to the wooden floor again. This just felt as if... the scales of the two massive sicklefeet, apparently full weight standing again given the crushing weight, ...somehow exploded forwards against his skin but at the same time didn’t move at all?! It left a severe bruise and abrasion behind on his cheek, only aiding the half demon’s terror. His hands raise up, feeling oddly light, to touch at his snout again. Yet the sudden sensation of an apparently wickedly sharpened tree log makes Ahastar forget that plan quickly and instead makes him decide to grunt into the pad covering him.
Yet he doesn’t get the chance any more - for one second later, with a earth-shakingly loud "SLLOOUUURRRRPPP", the raptor feet on top of his face move off, the blinding light of torches shooting into his eyes. Very... distant torches. The half demon rubs his poor, hurting snout, then following up to do the same with his eyes. All he can see is shades. His gaze narrows. His head turns to the side...
It takes Ahastar a good while to register that this behemothian construct of snow white scales resting right next to him is... a raptor foot! With his lower jaw dropping one inch with every dozen of meters his eyes gaze upwards, Ahastar eventually follows that towering, slender leg, the solid calf muscle, the leathery, sturdy knee. The hip. The chest. The arm holding a golden staff ending as a gigantic obelisk of metal a good ten meters away from where the half demon lays. And then that face! That white scaled face! Ahastar can hardly still make out its features because it is blurred with distance, to say nothing about the foggy roof a MILE away! And then... four more of these scaled giants! Reptilian raptor gods! Huuuuuuge creatures, ten fiery eyes grinning down at him with endless malice. "What did... you do... WHAT DID... YOU DO?!"
The former trampled raptor peers down at his own body - and what a laughable excuse for a dinosaur it is! Tiny limbs stretch up in front of his vision, a muzzle filled with itty bitty teeth that could probably crack a bug, but not much more. His fingers and branch-like slender toes end up in ridiculous claws not even good for climbing something! His sickle claws! GONE! DISSAPEARED! A Compy! He is... a Compy! "NOOOOOOOOOO!", he screams out! But when he realizes that even his voice has become a cute chirping, Ahastar turns over and violently vomits over the floor... recognizing dust and dirt he couldn’t even see before!
-----
After having a good cruel laugh at the dazed confusion of their tiny victim, Dras catches Ahastar's attention with a sharp double-tap of his big sickle claw and says, "Up here, bud." He meets the beady cyan eyes that lift to stare at him with a broad grin of pure predatory malice and goes smoothly down into a crouch to bring his muzzle looming over the tiny half-demon. "Yup, Torment's turned you into a compy," he says, matter-of-factly. "You're our little talon-sized pad pet now." With a snorting chuckle, the azure raptor reaches out and lightly sets a huge finger pad upon Ahastar's crestless head, allowing it to linger there for a moment before stroking down the half-demon's spine. "'Course, you've always been a compy to us," he continues. "But now you'll be easier and much more pleasurable to put down underfoot - here, check it out."
Dras' forelimb snatches out again and grips Ahastar by the tail between two dexterous clawed fingers, then drags the protesting compy in towards him and swings the little creature around through 180 degrees with a flick of his scaly wrist. Now with tail at Dras' toes and head at his heel, Ahastar is quickly trodden upon by the azure chieftan, who stands back up and plants the large black-soled walking section of his shapely alpha-caste talon upon the middle of Ahastar's body. "There, how's that?" Dras chuckles, placing his sickle toe upon one of the scrabbling compy legs and covering the other with his middle and outer toes. "You're pretty fucking small now, huh?" He applies a couple of small squeezes of pressure, flattening Ahastar from the belly down. "Must feel weird to be smaller than the feet you've just spent so long licking. How long do you reckon it'd take to do them now?" He laughs and leans to the side to have a good look at the exposed chest, neck and head of his tiny victim, which jut out comically from the broad back side of his scaly blue foot, then with nothing but a malicious smile, the athletic blue raptor slowly crouches down and lets his long digitigrade talon flatten out over Ahastar's upper body. The sleek scaly arch comes down with inescapable finality, steamrolling Ahastar flat and eventually squeezing his head to the ground at the very front of Dras' narrow heel. Two ticklish little compy arms scrabble up frantically on either side of Dras' heel, but the lustfully purring raptor reaches down and gently tucks them under his planted arch, poking them in and shuffling his large digitigrade talon until the half is completely covered up beneath it. "Fuck me, he feels good," he announces to the four happily watching raptors. "It's about a million times better than doing a normal compy."
Scorch strokes her mate's impressive feather crest. "Are you going to keep him all to yourself?"
"Nah, I guess you can have a go too," Dras says, smirking up at her. He stands up, arching his talon again to reveal the coughing head of the half-demon-compy. "Let's get on with the trample line! Move Torment's chair so he can see the scoreboard."
Uss does this, while the other four raptors excitedly arrange themselves into a line behind Dras. Scorch steps in immediately behind him, accepting the strokes of his tail against her flank with a purr, and Skewer moves to stand behind her, followed by the massive Stampede and finally Torment at the rear, her staff now discarded. "Tread carefully," the white-scaled shaman warns to the group, even while her own toes splay in anticipation. "He still has the resilience for which we use him, but it is as much diminished as his size. I will attempt to heal him as I walk upon him myself, but we should be careful at first - our weight alone will probably be enough to kill him. Perhaps some music?" she suggests, as an afterthought.
Dras nods, "Yeah, let's try not to waste him straight away. You don't rush a good thing. Uss!" he calls out, waving a foreclaw. "Let's have some music!" Without even looking, he expertly manipulates the compy Ahastar underfoot, turning him around to face the stone scoreboard. "See that, bud? Each notch is one of the points you picked up in our little guessing game." He pauses and snickers, working a big sickle claw mockingly upon the cranium of his tiny victim. "You were pretty shit at it, that's nine points right there. Which means we're all going to walk over you nine times." He grins and looks down, catching Ahastar's terrified gaze. "Any questions?"
-----
"YOU MONSTER! YOU ROTTEN, FILTHY MONSTER!", Ahastar chirps out to Torment’s far away face with the terrifying vigor of a reptilian nightingale. His tiny little arms pick up packets of dust and wood chips, flinging them towards the white scales of the shaman. The insignificant weight of these debris together with the practically nonexistent strength of the Compy’s throws results in them not even hitting the shimmering white raptor scales though. Their pathetic drop back to the ground after a few inches just underlines the half demon’s whimpering, weeping helplessness. The fact that Ahastar’s former body shape is still wafting in the air as a shape of fog and vapor, only slowly drifting apart with the cool night air, testifies the arcane fury with which Torment tore the soul out of her victim’s flesh and trash-compacted the leftover meat into the shape of a Jurassic rat. "DIE! DIE YOU SICK MONSTER! I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KIILLLLLL YOUUUUUUU!" Ahastar fires off his last and most impressive patch of dirt, the tiny pebble clicking almost inaudibly against the horrific tower of impalement that the shaman’s left sickle claw has become. Then the half demon turns around to start to cry and weep into his arms.
Yet when he does to try so, all he gets to see is the no less impressive sickle claw of Facedancer. He would recognize the monstrous azure padfoot it is attached to between 500.000 raptors. Ahastar is on his knees. His gaze is solidly locked with the wooden floor. He can feel the chieftain deinonychus’ eyes resting on him with the weight of the entire world. The Compy forms his hands into little fists. He is sure that a gaze out of the azure’s eyes would tear him more apart than Torment’s spell. But still, once that massive cranium comes into his horizon, Compastar can’t prevent him looking back up at the beast that owns him any more. "Oooooooooof!" Ahastar’s entire body nearly crumbles to dust beneath just the idle touch of Facedancer’s tough fingerpad, completely twisting the finesse out of the wee skull, distorting his features. The ex-raptor shivers madly, holding his breath. His eyes fill with tears while he tries his best to not burst into a crying fit right in front of the azure dominator. But when that unspeakably powerful raptor hand flings him around and fires him over the floor, just to start and tread on him!
Ahastar’s eyes grow huuuuuuuge as he has to behold Facedancer lift his hut-sized hind foot! With a grimace of disbelief, the Compy stares up while dust and tiny wood fragments rain down at him, the hulking padfoot looming into his horizon, armed with a crushing black sole, so tough, so hard, so completely flattening. The darkness of the shadow creeping over Ahastar in Dras’ wake is more suffocating, more hope-shattering than the ex-raptor would ever have thought possible, the monstrous pad finally coming down on him! - .. . Never before - not even on the killing stone - has Ahastar felt something THAT heavy. That... GUT-TURNINGLY heavy! And still, it lacks the situational crushing of a rex paw. It is more... an universal flattening. "OOOUUURRGHHHHH!", the Compy once more begins to vomit his little soul out while Facedancer flattens him out, steamrolls him onto, into the floor! "HELP ME! SOMEBODY PLEASE HEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEE!" are Ahastar’s last chirped words before his entire skull disappears beneath endless pounds of firm, blue scaled foot-flesh.
And there it stays! Only when Dras lifts his heel again to reveal a whole row of raptors behind him - the last two completely blurred out in visual distance - does the Compy’s snout resurface. Tightly glued and stuck to Facedancer’s paw, carrying its scale profile as a bruise. And only to listen to the gruesome, hellish verdict that the azure raptor melodically pushes upon his victim. For a few moments, Ahastar manages to keep his composure. But then he bursts into a raging weeping of utmost fear, terror, panic. "Listen... listen to me... please...", the Compy whimpers out. "I will do... whatever you ask from me. I will live with you. Stay with you. Never ask a single question again. Let you do whatever you want. But please... PLEASE... I beg of you... don’t do that... you will crush me. Completely. Just... just give me my body back and I will do whatever you want! Forever!"
-----
Dras grins at the desperate protestation from his tiny victim and leans his head to the side to watch as Ahastar scrabbles and strains under him. His handsome azure talon doesn't apply any pressure at all, it simply rests upon the white compy, the weight of the raptor chieftan's leg more than sufficient to hold the tiny creature down. With the broad sturdy walking section of his paw placed upon Ahastar's lower half, the upper regions of the struggling compy heave and push against the long sleek arch of his scaly foot, tiny little hands splaying desperately against its raised back side as though trying to push the vast godly azure talon off him. "You finished?" he asks simply as Ahastar gasps out his pleading offer. When the half-demon lifts his head to look helplessly up at him, Dras smirks and gently strokes his heavy sprinter foot downwards, steamrolling Ahastar's upper body flat under it and covering the compy from the waist up in warm black alpha caste sole.
Scorch, directly behind him, leans her crimson head over his shoulder and whispers, "Are you sure we should trample from head to tail? What if his skull isn't any stronger than a normal compy's?"
Dras lifts his gaze from the scrabbling compy legs at his toes. "Then we'll resurrect him after each step," he says simply. "If we do him from head to tail he gets to see the rest of us waiting to walk over him, whenever his face isn't under pad." And with that, the athletic blue raptor rolls his weight slowly forwards and flattens Ahastar's head against the warm stone ground beneath his spreading ball pad. There is a crackle and a few light snaps, all muffled by the heavy sole engulfing him, and Ahastar is slowly put under all of Dras' 190 pounds of sleek muscular weight as the raptor chieftan closes his eyes and blissfully eases his body forwards. Slowly, carefully, the rear foot pulls up from the ground and swings forward to tread perfectly upon the lower body of the sprawling compy. Tiny ribs splinter with a quiet prolonged crackling while Dras evens out his weight upon Ahastar, pressing him completely still as heavy, black-padded toes and balls settle gently down over him and absorb his most forceful resistance with only a silent pleasured splaying of raptor toes.
The end half of Ahastar's spaded tail lashes out from under Das' middle toe in muted distress, but the entire remainder of his compy body is covered under the azure chieftan's broad sturdy alpha-caste feet. The lording raptor cannot resist to sway slowly back and forth, pressing crackles and crunches out of the tiny body with his big paws and reaching down to massage his inevitably bulging cloaca. "Godsdamn that's good," he growls, easing his weight fully forwards and breaking both of Ahastar's legs with muffled cracks as he begins to slowly lift his rear foot and peel the chest, arms, neck and head of the gasping compy out of his long toes and hot black sole pads. Purring, Dras holds his raised talon still while Scorch carefully digs Ahastar out with her toe claws and pushes his upper body immediately back down under her own crimson raptor foot.
The azure chieftan moves forwards and so does Scorch, pressing her equal 190 pounds of weight onto the half-pound compy. For a few hellish seconds Ahastar is under the feet of both raptors, subjected to the whole of Dras' weight on his hips, legs and tail, and the whole of Scorch's on his head, arms, chest and belly, but as the purring theropods move gracefully forward, Dras' fore foot finally steps back upon the stone ground and the weight gradually eases off his victim's lower body. Scorch is immediately in position to slide her own powerful red-scaled talon in underneath Dras' own and press the compy's hips and legs flat under her own heavy black pads as the azure chieftan steps off the half-demon. Save from his hysterically lashing tail, not a single portion of Ahastar's body is uncovered as the two equally sized deinonychi trade places; only the vast shifts in weight and the pulling and stretching of his compy body tells Ahastar that he is now under the feet of a second lusty raptor.
-----
Ahastar presses up against the steel hard scales of Facedancer’s azure arch. He can see and tell apart every single one of the firm, tough scales. A lot of them are still shimmering in a thin film of fluid, most likely the crushed Compy’s saliva while he still was larger than your average rat. The half demon can’t even begin to process how huge that raptor talon flattening him is. It spreads so far that the transformed deinonychus can’t even turn his pressed red muzzle enough to completely look over it. His tiny, weak fingers are shoved directly up against the merciless arch of what his feeble little mind can only describe as a raptor god – and a very malevolent one at that. Having almost no more room to breath and even less to talk now, all Ahastar can do is move his wee muzzle to the side, humiliatingly poking out from behind Dras’ firm foot, the Compy’s lips producing a soundless, begging “Please…” – a request for mercy that is only answered with a broad grin of lots of pointy raptor teeth.
Ahastar is terribly afraid. The scent of his panic creeps into the nostrils of the assorted raptors, most of them still under the influence of the seedpods and thus having an easy time to soak up the exhilarating smell deeply, fueling their sadistic desires. There is no pleading and no begging of Facedancer though, who at this murderous size dances on way more than just the face. Looking down over his own flesh, the half demon can hardly believe how sharp and absolutely flattening Dras’ paw is cutting off his little torso, as if his feeble body would have been crushed by a boulder rolling on top of it! A heavy, earthy reptilian scent fills Ahastar’s nostrils, intensifying when another raptor steps up close! “BOOOOOOOOOOM!” A heavy impact sends the Compy panicking strong enough to bolt up and hug around Dras’ brutal arch. What was that? An exploding bomb? A mountain slide? The treehouse finally giving in under the relentless trampling and completely collapsing? No… apparently it was nothing but Scorch setting one of her gigantic sicklefeet down a few yards away from where Ahastar’s head rests. Casually and with no push or stomp behind it. And still the sheer noise alone was almost enough to shatter Ahastar’s skull. It leaves the awed, terrified Compy wide eyed – but only for a brief moment. Because a split second later, Facedancer steps down.
“UUURRRKLLLLLL!” The last sound Ahastar manages to produce before his upper body vanishes utterly beneath cruel arch and spreading ball is a rather unintelligible one, but no wonder really given how much the behemotial raptor flattens his little victim out! The half demon battles furiously to keep at least a bit of his flesh out from beneath the grape-crushing sprinter foot mangling him, but no matter what he tries, he cannot prevent his arms cracking brutally to the side and having his entire cranium vanishing beneath glistening blue scales. He can behold his horizon, his entire world growing more and more narrow and finally disappearing completely upon Dras’ foot stepping flush with the ground under it, burying the Compy’s entire body sans a single finger here and a twisted handpaw there. One moment later, the pressure once more shifts with skeleton-busting fervor! Ahastar can feel his bones bending horribly out of shape – and so can the princely deinonychus on top of him. Another sound of crunching bones, two heavy snaps of agony from down below. Gods, how much the half demon would love to be able to scream out his anguish. Much to his surprise, he actually manages to hear himself do so! Shocked, he rips open his eyes! His upper body is severely stuck at a blue arch rolling forwards, his sensors still telling him he is being crushed though – most likely the severe pressure having damaged them already. “OOOUURGHHH! No more, noooo moooreeee…” the tiny creature whimpers out, a sacrifice upon an altar of ancient, wicked raptor entities. All he gets though is a face full of claws, peeling him off of the gartering scales he is stuck upon – to press him beneath another dusty, pitch black ball pad, once more flattening his skull, throat, chest, arms. Hell, Ahastar isn’t even sure if the red he saw flashing up there briefly was indeed the color of his new tormentor’s scales or just blood bursting out of his eyes. For one thing is for sure: The moment Facedancer and Scorch stand on him one footed each, the pressure they inflict transcends ANYTHING the half demon has ever felt!
-----
"My, what a soft little compy you are," Scorch purrs, grinding the worn padded ball of her rear foot gently down over Ahastar's head and splaying her thick sturdy toes over his chest and arms. "I'm glad my mate didn't crush you completely, but I still don't think you'll survive this for long." She ceases her grinding and simply stands upon her little white victim, feeling the delicate body compress heavily under her big crimson paws. So firmly has she pressed her rear foot over Ahastar's head that his skull has sunk deep enough into the heavy darkness of her ball pad for him to feel the calm pulsing of blood through her veins: a steady, regular squeezing of faint warm pressure against his cheek that serves as a cruel reminder that the life of this purring raptoress will continue long after Ahastar's own has been trampled out of him.
After a few blissful seconds with both her talons burying him, Scorch's weight flows smoothly to her front foot, cracking the knees and ankles of her tiny victim under her spreading toes, and the huge red foot pulls slowly upwards. Ahastar again finds himself sticking helplessly to the big black-soled walking section that crushed him, something that Skewer - the next in line - is quick to comment on.
"Aww, he doesn't want to leave you, Scorch. He wants to stay under your paws." But she expertly lifts a green-scaled stalker-caste foot and firmly strokes the smooth curve of her sickle claw down the back of Ahastar's neck and upper back, forcing his upper body out of Scorch's steadily raised sole.
"Don't fret, my little compy," chuckles the crimson raptor as Ahastar's upper body drops to the stone ground behind her. "You'll have eight more chances to stick to my pads before this trample line is over."
The gasping half demon has only a fraction of a second in which to gulp down air before Skewer's spreading foot descends onto him, plunging him back into deep black raptor sole. Her slender scaly toes rub across his ribcage as she steps down, and her all-to-familiar ball pad completely engulfs his head and neck. As the vast weight of Scorch eases off Ahastar and the big red talon pulls up off his broken lower half, Skewer rears up to stand one-footed upon Ahastar's upper body and aims a fully powered stomp upon his legs and tail, shattering them into splinters with a wet popping crunch. "Oh dear," the emerald raptor sneers, viciously grinding Ahastar's legs into warm pulp with a slow deliberate twisting of her hard-scaled ankle. "My pads seem to be angry with you. Perhaps you should have gone to greater lengths to satisfy them earlier." Slowly she draws her sleek green talon backwards, putting the base of her ball against the toe claws of her other foot and letting her ball pad rest poignantly upon Ahastar's cloaca. "You know what my pads can do to you," she says darkly, then steps forward to continue the trample line.
Immediately follows Stampede, who makes his presence known by fitting Ahastar's head, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, belly and hips all under the rough black sole of a single foot. He doesn't even splay his toes out, his sturdy hunter-caste foot already dwarfing Ahastar's entire body in width. "And she's my mate," the brown deinonychus growls, letting his great paw rest posessively on the upper two thirds of Ahastar's body for a couple of seconds, before barking out deep deinonychus laughter and adding, "But she's going to want to punish you herself, I think." He watches with amusement as Skewer's smaller green talon pulls up from the mangled legs of the half-demon, then snorts and looks down at the tiny body poking out from under his relaxed toes. "I don't think you'll survive this, but..."
There is an initial crack as Stampede lifts his rear foot, then a horiffically prolonged crunching crackle as the big raptor rolls his weight forwards, swinging his other powerful limb in to carefully tread on Ahastar's legs and tail. Ahastar is badly crushed as the 220-pound hunter body forces itself down upon the half-pound compy one, breaking ribs and judderingly sinking down into the tiny creature as cracks and snaps accompany minute decreases in Stampede's altitude. The large deinonychus smiles grimly as he settles both large brown feet upon Ahastar and carefully lifts the rear one to continue on his way.
-----
Ahastar, for as long as Scorch is only crushing him sense-and-boneless, feels compelled to snarl at her that he wouldn’t be such a soft Compy right now wouldn’t it be for the nearly evisceratingly intense tread of her mate and that his chances for survival would likely skyrocket if she could cease her grinding the skin off of his bones! Unfortunately you can only do so much talking when your insignificant little rat skull is pressed cracked open, jaws spread wide, teeth bending in and tongue pressing out to melt into a hot, pitch black ball pad filling it with the taste. Heavy taste. Nothing about a deinonychus talon the size of a small raptor cavern could probably be anything BUT heavy. “Ba-BOOM..Ba-BOOM..Ba-BOOM”… Ahastar is forced to listen to the rushing blood behind the immense walking pad, so rough and so coarse that its sheer pressured presence is already enough to wear down his scales. The raptoress’ pulse is more than just a constant reminder about who is in charge and who will continue living though, it actually drives Scorch’ sole downwards a little bit with each beat of her cruel heart. It is unfeelable by her – but to Ahastar it is a constant little poke at badly torn and tattered flesh. “CRUNNCCHHHHHHH!” A severe flapping of hapless muscles drives up beneath her crimson tread as the female’s other dexterous sprinter foot sinks down, her outer and middle toe having perfectly adapted to the location her mate has left the broken legs of the half demon behind. Each padded toe of hers buries one of the mangled appendages, turning broken bones to shattered ones and completely rendering Ahastar immobile with the second of 45 promised raptor tramplings!
When Scorch finally lifts her first foot off of the Compy’s upper body, the crushed creature’s heavily bruised and footprinted flesh once more stays stuck to the gruesome sole. Weight shifting forwards forces Ahastar to violently spray out crimson urine between wide-splayed crimson toes. Bloodshot cyan eyes have one, two beats of a shocked, pumping heart to recognize a green scaled, black-padded, narrower paw from building nightmares swinging into his horizon. “Noooooo!”, Ahastar hisses out even while he is forced to purge the contents of his belly next to him, red dripping from his shaking lips. “Please, PLEASE don’t!” – “CRRRRRAAAACCCKKKK!” Of course something like the dieing wish of a tortured beyond any rational limit creature does not stop a raptoress in her wake, especially not a sadistic and pissed off one like Skewer. Her gigantic middle toe slides agonizingly over Ahastar’s broken ribcage, sending flaming fire of pain through his destroyed chest before her firm black ball pad steps down completely, remorselessly smothering whatever she can catch beneath it. A heavy staccato of crunching and crushing bone and tearing tendons rises up, muffled by the wicked amount of foot-flesh stored on top of the flat Compy, brutalized by Skewer standing on one paw. Ahastar’s lower body dances over the wooden floor in wild, epileptic cramps – before Skewer’s other green paw comes RUUUUUUUUSHING down like a scaled meteor, a gruesome impact making Uss swallow hard, even he able to hear the shattering bones of the Stalker’s target. Skewer absolutely presses empty both bladder and testicles beneath her, red and white and yellow exploding though the air, slamming high enough to dribble from her knee! She isn’t sure if her victim can hear her. He is likely caught in monstrous agony and has his ears pressed shut by countless tons of flesh. That doesn’t stop her from spelling doom and horror over her scaled little doormat though, making sure to rest her second ball pad dominatingly and possessively on top of Ahastar’s sexual orifice, flat as it may be.
Moving on and off of her living carpet, Ahastar’s only still working eye peers upwards, beholding this terrible, gigantic shadow looming in on him. A few twitches of a double dislocated arm is all the Compy can muster up in defending himself against the genocidal nightmare that is Stampede in his new form, the endless brown foot with the heavy triple-coned ball pad coming down with the finality of a planet crushing against a gnat. The rising chain-crunching of bones and squashing of flesh that rises with this monster’s steamrolling tread makes ever sadistic, trample-fetishistic raptor in proximity leer towards his two life-ending hunter paws, eager to behold the results of his trash compacting weight!
-----
When the white scaled shaman comes to walk over Ahastar and complete the first line, she finds him badly crushed in the wake of Stampede's large sturdy feet, sticking to the huge black soles of the hunter like molten glue. It looks almost as if he will be torn in half as the brown male swings his rear leg forward and yanks the compy's upper two thirds over the top of his legs and tail, which still lie clamped under his other foot, but with a slurping 'thuck!' Ahastar's upper body peels out of the hunter's pads and flops limply back down to where Torment is waiting for it.
At first, her stained-black albino pads feel as hot as those of the other deinonychi, but as the white shaman squashes her weight onto Ahastar's broken upper body, they cool and harden against him, spreading an unnatural numbing chill through the tiny compy body as the pale female begins to softly incant. Her weight rolls forwards, sending a great wave of bone cracking pressure from Ahastar's head to the base of his chest, and a second heavy raptor talon treads upon his lower half to bury him, its sole quickly turning similarly cold and numbing as it comes into forceful contact with his squashed, helpless body. The extra hardness of Torment's thick pads feels terrifyingly damaging at first, but as the raptor shaman moves her weight forwards, instead of crushing Ahastar, the big dark soles seem to revive and rejuvinate him. There is a wet snapping noise as bones reform and musculature solidifies, and the rear foot of the raptoress lifts to reveal a plump, reformed (if still badly bruised) upper compy body beneath it. Ahastar barely sticks at all to the cold hard pads of the shaman, and she is able to chucklingly step off him to make way for the delighted Dras.
The azure chieftan doesn't actually manage to lay eyes on his compy victim, so closely does he follow his Shaman to begin the second trample line, but his eager spreading talon finds the upper body of the half-demon wonderfully firm and healthy feeling, but... "Fuck me, he's cold! Was that part of the plan?"
Torment steps down from Ahastar's tail and legs, turning her green-eyed gaze upon Dras. "Healing through bodily contact is less efficient than through a staff, I'm afraid. The coldness will be unavoidable in so small a recipient. I'm sure it won't last long though," she adds with a cool smile as she walks around the group to rejoin the back of the line.
"Yeah, we'll get you warm again, bud," the grinning chieftan says, leaning forward to lift the ball of his foot and briefly reveal Ahastar's gasping head. With purring pleasure, the athletic blue raptor steps fully onto the tiny compy, covering the cold length of Ahastar's body under both big alpha-caste talons and rocking slowly back and forth. The thick black soles of his handsome feet spread heavily over Ahastar, breaking him anew with little cracks and squishes as he moves rhythmically to heat the soft crunching compy with a steady kneading of his warm dark talon padding. "Gods, I like you this size," Dras says, massaging the parting lips of his cloaca while he sways. "You're more of a pad bitch if you can be totally covered under them."
The sound of his energetic barking deinonychus laughter is drowned out for Ahastar by the squeezing ear-ringing pressure pressing down his body. New pads slide in to displace Dras' own and another surge of weight squeezes over his head as Scorch adds, "Mmmmmm, he is rather cool, isn't he?"
The agonising crushing sensation of being trodden upon by two fully grown raptors subsides as Scorch's foot slides forward in place of Dras', leaving the compy purely under her own soles. She lingers for a while, toes splaying posessively upon her victim, before moving along and making way for Skewer. So skillful do the sadistic theropods become in the placement of their feet that Ahastar is less and less exposed to the night air while they proceed, being squeezed and squashed and stretched and covered repeatedly by hot thick raptor soles with absolutely no gaps between them. One raptor overlord begins to blur into the next and as the crushing session progress, time becomes one long meaningless blur of horrific weight and cracking bones, interspersed every now and then with Torment's cold healing tread and Dras' mocking voice.
-----
Ahastar was still buyy trying to fully sink into the terrible fear of what Skewer, clearly enraged, now the size of a goddess and with clear intent to destroy him would do to his feeble little body during her walkovers to come, yet even these dark thoughts are pounded out of the ex-raptor’s brain with a step that sends dirt and wood flakes around him jumping up into the air! It doesn’t come as a surprise that Stampede’s horrible tread has completely brutalized his little plaything, the gigantic raptor who trampled Ahastar in his deinonychus form almost half to death being nothing but a hulking, world-ending behemoth to the hapless Compy beneath him now. With each of his heavy duty, thickly padded brown sickle-feet being larger than the half demon’s entire new body, Stampede has to tap into the unfamiliar field of graceful, well placed stomping movement. It takes the giant among the five a bit of getting used to, requiring cunning placement of what parts of his soles he wants to plant upon the flattening flesh of his victim, but not only is it worth the hassle, he has also eight more turns to perfect his approach! Ahastar’s body didn’t just turn instantly to a pulpy pancake beneath his tread. No, it actually tried to fight back, desperately attempting to hold on to its integrity. Yet still. With each millimeter of elevation of the brown, grinning hunter lost, it was clear that Stampede is nothing but a living fatality to the hysterical Compy under his soul-rending step!
And when the destructive, messy executioner finally sees fir to step forwards, the visible results make almost every raptor in vicinity reach down to their either bulging or dripping cloacas – Ahastar is absolutely mangled! His entire body has adapted a shape of wicked bulges and nearly two dimensional patches of skin, all of that only to represent the shape and texture of Stampede’s sole. The entire half demon is nothing bit one huge footprint, one that is shaped that sharply that it would fit the gruesome hunter like a sock, would he desire to step into it right again once more. There is not a single scale on the Compy’s body that still carries a hue of white. It is all a red and blue and purple pressed… mush, most of it covered by a thin film of red. One foot and one entire arm of his are missing, nowhere to be found. The hefty, ripped open wounds hardly bleed though, the arteries inside the destroyed body having been fused together by infinite weight. Ahastar’s lower jaw has been crushed through his upper one. The teeth having taken part in that endeavor are the only ones left to him because they were somewhat protected from Stampede’s crushing tread – the rest of their brethren lay scattered around the cracked skull of the Compy. The fact that he is still alive testifies the demonic heritage of their transformed trample slave, a single lung and a beating heart now resting somewhere at throat level.
Ahastar clearly licks the mat displayed in front of death’s door, and he doesn’t seem to mind the flavor at all when his slime-turned single eye is forced to behold a white sole reaching for him, displaying broad and firm black pads like every other raptor in the line. When Torment plants her tough soles down upon her violated victim, even her large alpha cast feet do not manage to lure another single crack or crunch free from the Compy’s body. Stampede simply didn’t leave enough bone mass behind to still reveal anything but a claylike, slimy, squishing sound. Like flowing liquid Ahastar’s flesh creeps up in between the shaman’s toecrotches and edges of her paws, because she too brings along her other foot as well, the wicked mage deploying all of her cruel weight on top of the barely living tissue beneath her. The next few moments are unreal to the half demon. All he can feel is pressure, cold ice poking into his very fabric. He isn’t a sentient creature any more when Torment raises and drops, raises and drops her feet, almost caught in a ritualistic dance and trance with the shaking, crushed creature sprawling out beneath her soft, but highly effective tread. Ahastar sticks to her soles, if very briefly, lifting up with each pad and then dropping to the ground again to be once more trodden upon by the gargantuan raptoress.
As if nothing ever happened, the Compy’s senses suddenly snap back into reality! Life returns into his eyes as a sky blue sparkle, his entire body having returned to healthy weight and three dimensions. Only a few bruises are left behind. Ahastar feels as if he would be freezing! His body shivers from being so cold, but any trial to curl up into a warm, protective ball is ruined by the piss-milking shaman foot still resting on him. Ahastar is utterly confused when he looks up, beholding another blue and black sole coming for him like a oversized vulture. “Wait! WAIT!” the Compy desperately snarls out, but he doesn’t even have the time to place his tiny handpaws protectively on top of his head any more to offer him a tiny bit of protection. Not from the azure feet mocking him with glee. Nor from the red ones that play and toy with him. Nor from the green ones that are still trembling with cold sadism and hot rage. Not from the brown ones that crush him all the way through the world into hell, through hell and back to the other side of the world to let him drop back into hell once the sole removes itself. And when the ghostly white feet are back to him, Ahastar wonders if all of the agony he just felt was only a Déjà vu. It is the fact that he has been laying on his stomach all the time instead of on his back that tells him that no… this was another round. And a slimy sensation beneath his once again healed crotch also speaks volumes about just how much and hos successfully each of his torturers has made sure to make him pressure-mate with the wooden ground beneath him.
-----
There is absolutely no respite for Ahastar as the relentless trample lines continue, huge thick raptor soles sliding in one after the other to tread on the compy with gentle insistance, pushing him down flat and squashing him mercilessly while the laughing deinonychi walk neatly over their tiny victim again and again. By the sixth pass, the mood and style of the trampling raptors has changed noticeably, blatent sexual posturing and growls of lusty pleasure accompany the crunches and squishes beneath their padded feet. Long thick toes begin to splay and curl as they spread out over Ahastar's cruched compy hide, which grows gradually hotter and wetter as friction heats the half-demon and the thick black pads that tread upon him, and sexual organs begin dripping their burning fluids onto him from high above.
The cold healing tread of the white-scaled shaman is by now a purring graceful dance, her dark-stained soles lustily splaying and conforming over the tiny compy body, pressing crackly healing magic into Ahastar's mangled hide and heavily wiping over him as they seek to gain as much humiliating contact with the compy as possible. Perhaps because of the concentration going into her healing or perhaps due to her heightened magical link to their victim, Torment has become the most blatantly aroused of the five raptors, this fact revealed by her lusty dancing, her deep purring and her changing scent. She sways and rears up and bucks her beautiful white body, heavy-lidded green eyes glittering in the light of the fire while her thick black soles lift and tread, rub and squeeze with endless greedy rapture. As she crunches her way down his tiny body, Torment's tail begins to lash and her purrs turn thick and juddering as physical pleasure floods through her dilated veins. In a quick snarling moment, she backs up, plunging her great white raptor foot back over Ahastar's head and crouches down over the top of him, foreclaws slamming down to dig into the rock floor and dig six long grooves alongside Ahastar's tiny outmatched body as the alpha caste female screeches out her sexual exhileration and orgasms upon her shrunken victim. The huge white talons of Ahastar's tormenting dominatrix splayingly posess his now-tiny body under their crushing black soles, pressing thick deep pad prints into his warm flesh and claiming him with lusty passion as thick hot liquid stretches down from Torment's dilated cloacal orifice and pools heavily around the planted heel of her front foot. She purrs and growls softly as her intense orgasm subsides, and she slides her broad handsome talon back to slowly spread her sexual fluids over Ahastar's tiny compy body and gently rub them in. The crunching, crackling, purring of the trample line becomes a quiet slick sound of sole pads smearing slimey raptor fluids over weakly protesting flesh, and when Torment finally rises up to continue the line, her thick dark soles peel up from a gasping, thoroughly slickened compy, revealing Ahastar to the light of the cave for the first time, but only so Dras can get a good look at him before purringly indulging his own sexual drive.
-----
Ahastar’s body has turned nearly completely blue and purple in the meantime, raptor upon raptor steamrolling his little bits of flesh, leaving murderous, immense footprints behind, crafted fine enough for the deinonychi to wager a bet which print belongs to what paw. The crushing ordeal stays the same, but the mood greatly differs. Comp-hastar’s trample tormentors grow less brutally stompy and more... sinuous, more delicate. Vibrating in open lust and greedy desire of sexually fuelled sadism. Not even the half demon can completely evade that shift of desires. His eyes appear half lid, tongue rolled out of his muzzle every time one of the gigantic raptor paws lifts off of him, returning him from reptilian-scented, padded darkness for the briefest of moments. His little form steams heavily in the cooling air of the night, his trampled scales covering the deformed flesh glisten wetly, almost slimily. The tiny creature is soaked in a puddle of its own juices, blood less present than one might probably assume, yet there is plenty of saliva, urine and a good amount of squished out compy seed.
And then, once more, Ahastar has the briefest of moments to behold these distinctive, white-scaled, black padded raptoress clawfeet hovering in. Torment, usually so sooth and calm, changed the most during the past few minutes. Her lithe, athletic body is steaming with lust and desire, her scents rising and building up beneath the roof of the tree house – and thus only spurring on Stampede and Facedancer as well. The tiny compy beneath her pays the highest price though. The methodical, stoic heal-trampling she dished out upon Ahastar’s writhing body transformed into a lusty, calm and almost ritualistic shaman dance! Her two massive alpha caste feet lift and plant, lift and plant, grind and wipe, shove and push. Cracks and crunches and slimy squishing rises up beneath her padded soles. Little bruised arms frantically flail between her splaying toes, little legs jolt up and down from beneath her trampling arches and a little, nearly flat tail slams left and right, left and right, accompanying the movement of the legs that trample-rape him. For every raptor beholding the show, there is no question that Torment’s white scaled feet are absolutely flush with the stone floor. There cannot probably be a living creature still beneath them, just for the lack of space! And still, these tiny limbs writhe and shudder with more than just the physical results of hefty impacts.
“Gllrrgghhh...!”, Ahastar hisses out. His snout and part of his neck caught in between two ivory toes too high and massive for him to even gaze over. Thus his eyes peer into the only direction free for them: upwards. “Plt...pltplt...” A few drops of saliva shower the footprinted compy face as the shaman lewdly moves her slender body forwards, rolling Ahastar flat beneath both her paws and, for a slim moment, granting him a gaze to the deeply reddened folds of her own cloaca, so high above. One moment later, the compy’s horizon erupts into a world of slime! Hot and thick it covers his snout, his arms desiring to wipe it all off, but still caught beneath crushing toepads! Another heave hits Ahastar’s gurgling muzzle, and then once more. And even when Torment begins to relax, steamrolling her paw backwards again and rubbing her fluids into the bruised compy scales like a slick lotion, Ahastar still does not manage to wipe his eyes clean. Only when she steps off does the exhausted little creature get a chance to clean himself off – and just in time to see a wall of shining blue scales!
-----
The azure chieftan catwalks purposefully onto Ahastar, his broad blue raptor feet crunching as they break him with steady crushing step after step. One great black ball pad sinks down over the compy half-demon's head, engulfing it utterly and forming a tight seal with the rock floor around it, then another plunges down to smother his cloaca and flatten his belly, toes spreading to rest heavily upon his legs and crack them with a gentle splaying. The large alpha-caste deinonychus is aroused to the max, a single clawed forehand lustily massaging his fully extruded male organ while his handsome azure feet make short work of reversing all of Torment's healing work, turning Ahastar's firm fresh body mangled and uneven simply by settling upon it here and there, pressing his weight into it and muffling out the screams of their little victim under thick warmed soles. Dras makes no secret of his soaring arousal, and for a raptor so fully indoctrinated with the city's trample lust he is able to bear no more than six slow catwalks over the crunching, retching body of their shrunken compy - by the seventh, he too finds himself overwhelmed by the moment and spiralling inevitably into an intense orgasm.
With a breathless snarl, the azure male hunches forwards to plant both forepaws upon the ground and adopt a sprint start position, for the single sadistic purpose of aiming his forthcoming seed more comfortably at Ahastar. With one firm blue-scaled foot utterly burying the half-demon's face and the other planted heavily alongside his tiny body, Dras throws back his dark feather crest and plunges one forelimb back beneath him to forcefully masturbate. Under the hot dark sole of the azure chieftan, Ahastar is subjected to several rapid rhythmic squashes of hellish pressure upon his cracked-open skull, then a muffled screech of furious pleasure hammers its way under the engulfing talon and thick, burning hot liquid spurts over the uncovered length of his body, splattering heavily onto him and streaking him from his broken tailtip to the portions of his chest that lie exposed between Dras's thick long toes.
The raptor chieftan purrs with ecstacy as his orgasm subsides, rolling his weight cracklingly forwards and squeezing the last drops of his sexual fluid onto the weakly scrabbling body of his compified victim before turning to grin breathlessly up at his crimson mate, who is also purringly pleasuring herself, the long scaly digits of a forehand sunk deep into the swollen orifice between her powerful hind legs. The two mated raptors exchange loving gazes for a moment, then Dras rises up to his feet with a further crunch and shakes off his post-orgasmic bliss to neatly catwalk over the crushed, humiliated compy, uncaring as to the slippery mess they tread in. Ahastar writhes helplessly under the athletic chieftan's broad-spreading raptor feet as hot thick seed gurgles and squirts out from between the soft wet compy body and the edges of the big heated soles. Dras' fluid mingles with that of Torment, running down the half-demon's bruised white sides and pooling quietly around him as the purring raptor steps slowly off him to make way for Scorch, whose wide-splayed digitigrade foot is already plunging down with Ahastar's face written all over it.
-----
Ahastar, Fully realizing that this is not so much a trample line any more than a trample-group-rape, Compy-Ahastar raises his two handpaws up high when beholding Facedancer’s perfectly shaped body looming into his view. The little, perfectly re-healed creature actually wanted to beg, wanted to whimper at the towering, princely Deinonychus to not do this to him, to please, please spare him this fate – for Ahastar is sure, should this... bastard stomp himself into orgasm on top of Ahastar, something in his soul would break. To a point that allows no repair. Yet... when the half demon has to behold the myriads and myriads of slimy tendrils forming up between his risen handpaws and the pad-heated stone floor spelling out his doom, all voice leaves him. He can only stare at the mess and then down his body! He is soaked! Absolutely soaked! A single dribbling female raptor’s climax was enough to leave him bathed in her fluids. Having to swallow that shock, Ahastar finds his voice again – but it is already too late. “BASSSSSHHHHHHH!” Two shining blue raptor sicklefeet mount their victim, leaving not a single scale untrodden upon, yet claiming many a crunch and crackle from down below.
Ahastar can hardly believe what follows! Facedancer is catwalking along his little body! A tremendous display of agility and grace, given that his two titanic padfeet combined can easily cover the compy whole. With every turn the inevitably dominating, lording raptor prince calmly pads over his little plaything, every time hitting a ball pad on top of Ahastar’s cloaca and, one step later, exceedingly burying the tiny face! Catwalk doesn’t even begin to describe it. Every few moments when the half demon’s muzzle is not skull-crackingly pressed and forced open beneath luscious black raptor pads, he can behold Facedancer’s stance and stride. The alpha caste raptor is pretty much parading on top of him. His blue arms are spread wide for perfect balance, making sure that every ounce of his endless weight is channelled into the stone floor only through Ahastar’s body. The sickle talons on both of his crushing, obliberating paws are held high and displayed proudly and Facedancer’s head is slammed that high that the compy beneath him has to wonder why it doesn’t scrap the ceiling open.
“Crrraaack – crrrunnchhh!” Once more Ahastar feels his cranium smashed in, his jaws spread apart to the point where the connection skin slightly tears in, teeth cracking out. “MMLLRRNGHHHH!”, he grunts into Facedancer’s hot, black sole, the chief raptor’s pad flesh slowly creeping into the compy’s mouth. It seems to take an eon, Ahastar’s mind compressed beyond the ability to still decipher time, when suddenly his bashed in brain registers something else than pressure! Heat! Moistness! Slime! More and more and more comes raining down, soaking the half demon’s body from tailtip to his badly mangled ribcage. At some spots the mess is that thick that Ahastar’s skin can’t even be seen through it any more. “Fortunatly” for the retching, nearly mental compy down below, Facedancer begins to parade over him a few more times again. His broad padfeet spread his seed out enough to reveal the half demon once more, even at the price of squashing a lot of his slime deep down into Ahastar’s own cloaca. “Please...” the compy hisses out, gurgles out with slime dripping from his lips, forced to behold Scorch’s red raptor foot coming for him, shaking with lust. “I can’t TAKE this any MORE!”
-----
The fact that these torturous sadistic raptor overlords are pack animals is driven home to Ahastar as it becomes clear that Scorch too is going to climax on top of him. Her hot padded sprinter feet catwalk crushingly down the length of his tiny body, only to stop and remain on him - two huge firm expanses of burning, crushing pad flesh and sleek warm scales. She doesn't step off and only begins to growlingly lift and tread her godly crimson talons into the tiny body sticking helplessly to them, her yellow eyes heavy lidded with pleasure and her long scaly fingers sliding smoothly in and out of her slick, swollen female organ. The scent of arousal floods through her sensitive nostrils, most of it that of her mate, and she submits with greedy lust to the heat of the moment, feeling the tiny body of her helpless shrunken victim compress and give way beneath her now-devestating weight. Scorch presses footprint after footprint into Ahastar, displacing his organs and cracking his bones with a firm smooth treading of her close-together raptor feet. At ground level her broad black soles manipulate the compy-half-demon intensely, heaving half of his tiny body up with each lift and allowing just enough time for him to peel slowly from their hot toes and ball pad (thick ropes of raptor seed gluing him in) and begin to drop back down before the scaly foot plunges down to tread him immediately flat against the stone ground. Generous slimey oozings of deinonychus fluid squeeze out from between Ahastar's mashed flesh and the heavy black soles of the purring shivering female; it creeps down his sides and expands the growing puddle of hot liquid around his increasingly mangled body.
Scorch needs only seconds of this firm treading self-pleasuring to coax herself into climax, and with a shuddering hiss of ecstacy, she follows the example of the shaman, collapsing into a crouch and throwing her head back as she claws the ground in burning ecstacy. Her instinctively raised tail lashes out behind her and with a final juddering grunt she dribbles her own lubricating cloacal juices onto the tiny compy body that lies buried beneath both her broad, sickled feet, raising a deep throbbing purr as she does so. Rising smoothly back up to her natural height, the crimson female slow blinks in post-orgasmic bliss and dips her head to watch as she begins smoothly wiping her thick black soles alternately over the squashed body of the compy beneath her, spreading her sexual fluid over Ahastar as Torment did in a gesture that begins to feel more like a statement of humiliating posession than the fulfillment of a kinky desire. She clearly expects absolutely no resistance from her tiny prey and she gets none - with two great talons, each of which outclasses Ahastar in both size and weight, both strokingly manipulating him, there is just no contest between them the purring 190-pound deinonychus and the broken, humiliated one-pound compy beneath her. Eventually, still glowing with creamy satisfaction, Scorch deems to step forward and leaves Ahastar to the tender mercies of Skewer, whose glittering eyes speak as much about her near-orgasmic sadism as her ripe, glistening cloaca. Behind her and over her shoulder, the rigid head of the hunter caste Stampede watches Ahastar from on high, his brown-scaled forepaw sensually massaging the swaying tailbase of his green-scaled mate right up until she sneeringly steps forward to plant a single stalker caste raptor foot upon Ahastar's tiny face and begin his torture anew.
-----
Ahastar lets out shrill, shrieking groan the moment Scorch’s first massive raptor foot pushes down, catching the little compy’s face and slowly pressing it down into yet another hot-padded grave! The last thought the half demon manages to conjure up before the raptor-dominatrix’ weight pushes all ideas out of his swollen brain is the realization that they are ALL going to do this to him. For one brief second, his terrified mind is haunted by the image of Skewer’s poison green muzzle laughing down at him, the fire of an inquisitor in her eyes, before the reality of Scorch’ compy-genocidal sicklefoot sets both in and on! Having the upper body of their pack trample toy absolutely beneath her first foot, the red raptoress heaaaaaves her gruesome weight upwards, drawing a staccato of alarming, splintering crunches from beneath her tread! Ahastar’s body is forced belly down, a sharp, flattening cut proposed at where his upper body begins to be spread and crushed down underpaw and his still somewhat three-dimensional lower form starts. That part of him is lifted up high into the air due to his spinal cord curving upwards from the murderous pressure, the two compy legs kicking out madly while his tiny cloaca is forced to urinate upon the ever expanding pool of sticky raptor seed and female fluids beneath it. These few insignificant drops hardly manage to turn the hue of the mess into a golden colour though, even with Scorch purrrrringly giving her doormat to be a few precious moments to humble itself... before she brings down her second footpaw with annihilating finality!
And that is it. Not a single bit of Ahastar’s flesh is still visible beneath the two big, broad she-raptor’s talons. The compy is absolutely pressed into the stone floor for a few agonizing moments... before the gruesome trampling session begins. Slowly, Scorch begins to lift and replant her feet. Left. BASH. Right. BASH. Left. BASH. Right. BASH. The half demon, severely smeared with slime out of two raptors by now, is absolutely *glued* beneath the female’s hot, trampling Deinonychus paws. The stickyness is that intense that not even Ahastar’s tiny handpaws manage to peel off before the red paws hammering, battering, bashing and trash compacting this piece of tattered garbage pelt the shaman left him with reach a distance at which they simply tear the bond apart! Often taking a few exhausted, loose scales with them. The half demon either gurgles and screams with crushing pain whenever Scorch lifts her left foot or violently kicks out or keeps pissing himself any time the right paw rises. Only a few times does the thick gel fusing Compy flesh with raptoress sole miss its chance to let Ahastar stick at Scorch’s pads. Most notably are the two moments. First, when the half demon (with his lower body still crushingly pinned under the other paw) tries to crawl out from under his dominatrix’ hard working footpaws, only to collapse into the puddle, almost reaching to his nostrils like that. With utter defeat and helplessness in his eyes his right, apparently broken handpaw reaches out for Torment, the shaman, being his healer, the only one Ahastar can probably think up to SAVE him. Of course the white alpha cast raptoress just snickers at him and gives him a little farewell wave of her hand – a moment before Scorch’s face-crushing left paw BATTERS back down to turn the compy’s upper body two-dimensional again. The second, when Ahastar’s lower body remains on the floor. Twisted. Torn. Twitching. And finally HEAVILY orgasming into the stone floor it has been forced to mate with for minutes upon minutes beneath Scorch’s relentless trampling.
Finally, after what seemed like ages of being stomped senseless, the red raptoress showers her halfway laughing, halfway crying trample toy with her own lust. Ahastar keeps weeping while she keeps wiping, making sure that whatever bits of pride the half demon might probably have prevented from drowning while coughing and gurgling her hot, viscous fluids are ground and doormatted out of his system. Then stepping off of him, SLOURP, SLOUURRRRP! The compy’s mind is completely turning into survival mode. Ignoring the ravaging agony it causes him, he tries to force himself up on his broken arms and shattered knees. He almost, ALMOST manages to crawl a single inch. Yet then he feels a dooming, horrible shadow, making the three neck scales he has left turn on edge – with huge, stomped red eyes, the half demon’s muzzle darts backwards. Just in time to see a green goddess of malice, sadism and kink leash out with her punishing footpaw, a snarl of rage on her lips so high above, baring her pearl white fangs – and then shattering her steel hard heel spot on into Ahastar’s face!
-----
Skewer's sleek, sturdy raptor feet come to plant crushingly upon Ahastar's wet, steaming little body, burying his underside easily with room to spare. She radiates grace and malice as she catwalks neatly onto him, her lean scaly paws perfectly seeking out the soft portions of the devsastated compy and purringly pushing them flat. After a single pass down the length of his body, Skewer disspells any hopes that she might not continue the sticky trend of seeding Ahastar's body by stepping backwards, planting both her comparatively huge padded talons side-by-side upon Ahastar's cloaca, and going down into a crouch on top of him. The writhing and hysterical pleading of the tiny creature causes Skewer to bear her fangs in sadistic pleasure and she turns her head to sneer down at Ahastar, reaching a clawed hand back to mockingly stroke his broken muzzle with a single finger pad, then turning his head upward so he can see the wet glistening lips of her cloaca poised perfectly above his face. With a final narrow-eyed snarl, she turns back and lustily begins to work the little body of her victim under her thick black stalker-caste soles.
The huge raptor feet knead intimately, risingly fractionally up and down upon the dwarfed body beneath them to squash and stretch Ahastar under their huge undersides. The long, thick middle and outer toes caress the upper compy legs that they bury, splaying and curling with gentle insistance while the big short sickle toes firmly knead the helplessly outclassed, outweighted and overpowered tail of the half-demon, sinking endlessly up and down into its soft upper base. With her great black ball pads pushed close together and ludicrously burying Ahastar's hips and belly, Skewer begins to purr deeply, the vibrations thrumming down her powerful coiled legs and flowing into the tiny compy under her sleek green stalker feet. She manipulates her victim with incredible dexterous skill and begins to humiliate Ahastar in the best way she knows.
Stampede, standing behind and watching over his crouching mate, only smiles grimly, but Dras sidesteps out of the queue to intently observe the action with greedy yellow-eyed enjoyment. Behind Skewer's mildly rising and falling heels and the sleek scaly arches of her sickled raptor feet, Ahastar's broken compy arms begin to flail, his mangled face twisting into a brief expression of shock moments before his tiny eyes roll back and his jaws fall open, his little compy muscles tensing amusingly under the back sides of Skewer's shapely paws.
"One..." the crouching raptor says, a malicious smile spread across her scaly muzzle as she reaches back and begins smoothly pleasuring herself directly above Ahastar's milky-eyed gaze. The compy, quickly recovering from his post-orgasmic stupour under the vast hellish weight upon him, begins to screech and writhe about in angry, weeping, laughing, terror, but Skewer only slides her clawed finger out of her cloacal orifice and presses his tiny head down while she begins to manipulatively sway again. Ahastar's broken, flailing compy arms scrabble and claw uselessly at the slick scaly forepaw clamping his skull still right up until his tiny body again tenses in sick shuddering submission and Skewer lifts her clawed digit to resume masturbating. "Two..." she purrs, as Dras barks out raptor laughter.
The arousal of the neat, compact female deinonychus becomes ever more intense as she steadily works her way through "Three" and "Four", raping the tiny compy repeatedly underfoot while the other raptors lean out of their trample line queue to laugh and derisively comment. After the fifth enforced compy-seeding of her thick black ball pads, Skewer finally reaches her limit. She strains and tenses and gives a great convulsive shiver as she wetly returns the favour, releasing a thick trickle of hot, clear liquid that piles wetly over Ahastar's little muzzle. As the intensely pleasured growls of the green-scaled female calm to a soft purring, her cruel and manipulative raptor foot inevitably slides back and begins posessively spreading her cloacal juices all over the head and chest of the buried compy, seeking out his every crease and orifice and humiliatingly filling it while she stands up upon her tiny victim. After a final, long, double-footed wiping, Skewer wordlessly walks forwards off of Ahastar, leaving him slick and shivering at the clawed feet of her huge hunter-caste mate.
-----
Ahastar's entire vision explodes into a wild array of dancing stars the moment Skewer mercilessly slams her rock hard heel precisely on top of the Compy’s head! Wouldn’t it be for the fact that the saurian’s by now tremendously slickend body slides backwards a bit, the brutal blow would probably have crushed his cranium flat right there – of course the tiny fraction of Ahastar’s brain not currently busy processing pressure and pain does realize that this was likely calculated in by the wicked stalker. Right after that, Ahastar needs all of his strength and resilience though to not completely go under the cruel raptoress’ treads! “BOOOOOOOM!” Her first foot solidly stomps down on the Compy’s lower body, trampling everything deeper into the ever growing puddle of raptor seed and juices Ahastar is forced to keep soaking in. “AYYEEEEEEEEE”, the little lizard screeches out! Following the laws of physics, the badly bruised and distorted upper half of the saurian stomp toy slams against Skewer’s sickle toe. Ahastar is forced to hug around it and whimper into the steel solid, black talon. “Get off! Get oooooffffffff”, the demon whines up at her, his little Compy fists hammering against her toe. A mean staccato of cracks and crunches rises up simultaneously with Skewer, the stalker’s other poison green clawfoot reaching forward to at first prod, then prepare, then dislodge and finally ruthlessly step on Ahastar’s upper half, making sure to have the face with its forced-open jaws precisely in the middle of her ball pad. Every raptor that is watching can spot Ahastar briefly vomiting up a mix of red and white in the very brief moment the stalker needs to reposition herself, before once more forcing the half demon back beneath her slender sprinter soles.
In this new position, only Ahastar’s body is forced on its back. His head is fully creeping out from behind Skewer’s firmly scaled heels, the compy’s face showing signs of immense strain and tension, grinding exhaustion and infinite, crushing pain beneath seventeen layers of pulped in raptor footprints. Countless strings and tendrils of white slime web up between the heavily secreted upon floor and Ahastar’s gasping muzzle, his breath coming fast and flat. “Nooooo!”, the half demon whimpers out, his head trying to evade the moment Skewer leans down upon him to seek out his face with her fingerpad. Yet the hunt is a brief one and at its end, the stalker presses Ahastar’s trembling snout halfway down into the messy puddle he is soaking in. Shivering, the half demon has to endure every last second of this humiliating ordeal, only slightly moaning into the female’s finger as it rubs and kneads – and finally twists the Compy’s head upright! With his vertebra cracking audibly, Ahastar is forced to peer up into the glistening, moist slit between Skewer’s legs. And as such also has a prime perspective of said legs beginning to lift slightly, then sway. “Unnnghh! Oooooof! Ouuurrgh! Auuuughh!” The half demon has a loud comment for each of the stalker’s low, teasing, but inevitably firm steps. Her soft trampling testifies her ability and cunning. Her two ball pads cruelly keep trampling on top of Ahastar’s cloaca (and belly and tail base and chest...) while her toes make sure his lower limbs and tail are in constant motion! That squeezing, molesting tread soon reaches its desired target! Gulping and letting out a loud, groaning moan, Ahastar violently seeds the raptoress’ soles! One moment later, the half demon realizes what is going on and slams his handpaws on top of his lips to shut himself up, eyes growing huge and face turning red, but the treehouse is already filled with embarrassing, humiliating raptor laughter! With a cruel snarl, Skewer shifts slightly back on her heels, steamrolling Ahastar’s handpaws back down under her feet and starts to trample again! The half demon does everything to end this raping ordeal! He screeches at her at number two. He whimpers and begs and pleads at her at number three. He snarls and hisses out threats and insults at number four accompanied with tears of hate and rage dripping from his face. And he finally can’t help himself but moan and grunt into Skewer’s by then dripping heels at number five. By then the half demon has lost every last bit of control over his lower body, all of it sticking to the stalker soles whenever one rises. Ahastar’s expression is one of shivering shame and sobbing embarrassment when Skewer finally, purrrrrrringly showers him in her own juices. And the compy is still busy trying to vomit up the female fluids she pressed into his mouth as well as pushing it out of his ears and nostrils the moment Stampede steps forward. “Awwwrrrrr”, Scorch chimes up. “Look at the little guy. It seems he wants to just melt into the floor.”
-----
Amid the snorts and snarls of energetic, aroused raptor laughter, a vast, brown-scaled, black-clawed raptor foot claps down alongside Ahastar's body with a heavy thump and a clicking of its sickle claw, and Stampede draws himself up to full height, efficiently lifting his other big talon over the spluttering, mangled compy. The great black-padded sole comes down firmly, whumping over the trunk of Ahastar's body and thrusting the air out of him, the two deep grooves along its centre pad squeezing over Ahastar's shoulders and sealing him into the vast sole of the hunter. As with the previous six trample line passes, Stampede uncaringly squashes all his 220 pounds of weight onto the already badly crushed compy and crunchingly breaks what remains of Ahastar's skeleton, but this time, the hunter stops. With one hefty sprinter foot lightly placed beside the half-demon and the other heavily planted on top of him, the powerful brown deinonychus curls his head behind him and stares at Ahastar's exposed muzzle, poking out behind his planted ball pad. One look into the dilated pupils of those deep yellow eyes tells Ahastar all he needs to know and as the hysterical breathless compy protests start up, Stampede reaches down to tensely grip the fully extruded length of gleaming black flesh that juts out from between his powerful hind legs. "Shut up, I'm only being fair," he growls down to the tiny creature beneath him, eyes half closed with pleasure. "My mate gave you at least five orgasms just now, but you've only given us four between the lot of us. You owe me."
With a broad, uncharacteristic smile spreading across his earthy features, the powerful male raptor begins to firmly masturbate and turns his large body sideways upon Ahastar, crunching down hard with one scaly talon and lifting the other to plant both side-by-side across the length of Ahastar's compified form, completely, utterly dwarfing the tiny theropod under his sickled feet. A splaying broken compy hand reaches desperately up from between Stempede's left sickle and middle toes, and the last few inches of the off-white compy tail flips and writhes in silent agony out of the side of the hunter's right foot, but the half-demon compy is otherwise complely engulfed beneath the large, brown-scaled deinonychus paws, sealed away under the heavy black soles that crushingly bury him. A deep, throbbing hunter-caste purr rumbles forth and Stampede begins to intensely trample Ahastar, snarling and tossing his dark feather crest while his powerful hind legs pump smoothly, lifting and lowering his broad, sturdy hunter-caste feet and thrusting his tremendous weight from Ahastar's chest and head to his belly and hips and back again. The last few crunches quickly die out as Ahastar's body is lustily trampled soft and limp, but the relentless black-soled talons continue to lift and tread with sadistic hunger, squashing and pulping the tiny creature beneath them while Stampede forcefully pleasures himself, dribbling a steady dripping flow of hot clear liquid from his glistening male organ onto the destroyed compy body and expanding the puddle of raptor fluids that the tiny theropod lies squashed into.
With the heat of friction warming his pads through and sticky liquids coating them, Stampede quickly finds Ahastar fusing strongly with his dark broad soles, half of the compy body tearing limply up from the puddle of raptor seed and stretching as he lifts one foot, only to be plunged back down and squashed anew as he steps down. It doesn't take much of this treatment before Stampede is crouched and shivering in tense excitement, his clawed forehand rapidly pumping beneath him until finally, with a great screech, the hunter thrusts one hind foot back and arches his back as he empties his considerable load onto Ahastar's ruined body and the top side of his own scaly foot. His screeches become snarls, then growls, then finally, with a deep throbbing purr, he dips his head down and slowly wipes his lubricated black sole up and down Ahastar's length, posessively coating the pulped theropod before rising back up out of his crouch and slowly walking off the half-drowned compy.
-----
Ahastar only slowly manages to gaze up again, his mind still busy registering squeezing, trampling treads that have long since ceased. Good gods, the Compy so badly wishes he would have serviced the stalker’s sickle-paws a little more thoroughly when she ordered him to, maybe she would have refrained from trample-raping him in the middle of his sadistic audience. For right now, Facedancer, Torment, Scorch, Stampede and Skewer are all busy with laughter and mocking and insulting in various degrees of intensity. No wonder: Right now Ahastar is resting in a thick puddle of white slime, lightly steaming in the chilly night air, two massive raptor footprints showing up in the middle of the mess, trample-bruised Compy included, the gaps only slowly being refilled by creeping in slime. The half demon tries to push himself up on his elbows to at least get a momentary relief from the pride-shattering bath he is forced to soak in, but the puddle is simply too slimy, making Ahastar slip out right again and messily slam back into the fluids. Rolling over and retching, rubbing his head free, the half demon finally ends up on his knees and shaky handpaws, already half trampled to death and coated from snout to tailtip. It is in this humbling, disgraceful stance that he is now peering up allllll the way to the last, brown scaled raptor standing in front of him. Towering like a grim god, a destroyer that got spit out from the depths of hell itself, a reptilian giant whose only task is to crush and grind out bodies and souls. Cowered down in a lake of humility, the kneeling Compy doesn’t even reach up high enough to be on the same level as Stampede’s ankles while Ahastar sobs and shivers in shock!
And then, the murderous raptor foot lifts up high! “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”, the half demon screeches out with a broken, toothless maw, but there is no mercy to be expected. Stempede’s sicklepaw slams down on the Compy with the force of a meteor’s impact, only briefly lifting the half crushed creature back up under another half-stomp in order to flip the mangled body back on its spine, making sure it is the belly side that is forced to have contact with the endless, rough, coarse raptor padsole. Ahastar doesn’t even feel any pain yet for a brief moment. All he senses is shock as Stampede moves over sideways. That first, towering raptor foot is in direct contact with the floor. The half demon just… can’t explain how his lower body can probably even exist beneath its sole as anything more than a two-dimensional sheet of Compy husk. Stampede, of course, knows that the flesh he is burying right now is forced to wallow in the grooves of his sole’s pads and the ridges between his scales. “CRRUNNNCHHHHH!” – “BLLOOOUURRRGHHHHH!” The very moment the massive hunter heaves his other paw up, Ahastar violently vomits thick, red blood against the flank of Stampede’s first foot. The half demon doesn’t even get a chance to have his head slamming back down into the seed puddle when already the other sprinter sole of his raptorian destroyer ends on top of him. The last thing the Compy sees is the brown’s strong handpaw reaching for a raptor shaft probably larger than all of Ahastar combined. “BOOOOOOOOOM!” And finally, there is nothing left but darkness and pressure!
“CRRAAAAACK! CRRRUNNNCH! SSCCCKKKRRRCCHH! SRRTTSCCCH! SQUISSSSSH! SSSSSSSHHHK!” With every single stomp Stampede gives, he testifies the truth of his pseudonym! The mighty hunter tramples with no mercy and even less care, letting his compy victim feel the gruesome strength of his trampling legs and sickle feet with each crushing stomp he takes! Soon, the sounds change from a crackling, skeletal march to something that resembles a jackhammer splattering time and time again into a pudding. “RRRTTTTSCCCCCHHH!” Ahastar’s tail is the first to go, stomped off of his body and staying stuck at Stampede’s heel. The rest of the raptor can behold one of the Compy’s legs to splinter, then being ground, pulled away and finally off in four stomps altogether, before it too gets torn free from the flattened demon hide. “HOOUULLLRRRRGHHHH!” Another loud splatter fills the ears of the audience. It is tough to see with roughly half a billion of slimy-white tendrils forming between Stampede’s padded soles and the puddle he is trampling – and contributing to – with every step he takes, but the pinkish-dangling pieces of flesh suddenly expelled from Ahastar’s mouth are likely his guts. Lots of it. And still, the half demon is alive when Stampede *floods* him with his hunter load. Eventually, the Compy indeed dies from drowning instead of being trampled to death. But Stampede takes pride in the fact that it was only a matter of seconds.
-----
The sight of black, upside-down raptor pads framed by pure white scales looms blurrily above the tailless, drowned compy, and Ahastar is stepped firmly upon by the Shaman. Torment raises her eyeridges and smiles coolly as she feels the state of the tiny half-demon; his mangled, wretched body spreads out and fills the grooves in her shapely alpha-caste sole like warm putty and the thick slimey mixture of compy blood and raptor seed oozes up between her long, thick toes. "My, isn't he a flat little compy this time around?" she says as she slowly mounts him with her other clawed foot and poses regally upon his corpse.
The hot black pads that coat her shapely soles quickly grow icy cold and she begins to catwalk leisurely up and down Ahastar's tiny length with closed eyes and humiliating baby steps, cruelly rebuilding the flesh, but not the consciousness. As usual, a staccato of snaps and cracks accompany the placement of her comparatively huge raptor talons upon the tiny motionelss body, but it is almost impossible to differentiate between those that signify the sudden reforming of bones through magic and those that are actually bones breaking again under her cruel trampling. Torment could, of course, reform Ahastar's body swiftly and efficiently by simply laying a forehand upon it, but the fact that she chooses to mockingly do it through sole contact, and while actively trampling him perfectly demonstrates both her own tremendous power and her lusty sadism. There is little point in rebuilding a lifeless compy fully, so Torment only plys her dark magic enough to amuse herself and her fellow raptors before ending the spell.
"I shall bring him back properly later," the white scaled raptor announces, firmly pushing a heavy black ball pad back behind her to wipe the thick coating of raptor seed from his mildly misshapen face before she lifts her huge paw and stands one-footed upon his belly and hips. "But we must not let our victim's ephemeral absense spoil the fun." With a calm, slow blink down at the limp, lifeless compy hindquarters exposed beneath her, she catwalks forwards over Ahastar and steps off him leaving his tiny body mangled, but plump before the eager azure paws of Dras.
HISSSSSSSSS! The hot sole pads of the chieftan send steam belching out from under them as they make contact with Ahastar's cold, lifeless body and conform mockingly over his shape, toes curling slightly as the handsome azure-scaled deinonychus foot posessively plants down upon the tiny compified half-demon and its owner looks down in amusement. "It feels pretty weird not to have him struggle," Dras snickers. "But I miss the begging," he adds with a jaunty, lop-sided grin to the exposed legs and torn-off tail of the compy, lying motionless beyond his azure toes. "So let's finish this off."
Already half-covered in a heavy blanket of thick, perfect alpha caste sole padding, Ahastar's body is quickly squeezed down under all of the raptor chieftan's weight and his delicate hips crushed as Dras swings his other powerful hind limb forward and treads on his lower half. The hundred and ninety pounds of sleek muscular deinonychus weight proves horiffically damaging for the only partially-reformed compy body and as the weight, squashed down into Ahastar's head and chest, begins to surge forwards and steamroll down his length as Dras places his other foot, the shell of the half-demon is completely oblitterated. His spine snaps and crackles as the firm ball pads roll over it, bursting and pulping organs through his destroyed ribcage and squeezing the tangled mess that remains of Ahastar's guts down through his flacid body. Blood spurts forth from the exposed compy snout that pokes out beneath the arch of Dras' rear foot, but the big raptor only smirks and slides his huge azure talon backwards fractionally to bury it as he steps slowly forward. Long thick raptor toes splay in lusty pleasure over the mangled body beneath them, herding and squeezing the mass of organs forward until Dras' walk cycle climaxes with a triumphant bouncing shift of weight onto his front foot which bursts the stringy tangle of guts out from between Ahastar's limp, broken legs and between the splaying raptor toes. Dras gives a cruel smirk and eases his weight backwards again until Ahastar's head pops messily under the planted ball pad of his rear foot.
-----
Ahastar is hardly recognizable as something that probably lived at one point in time, forcing Torment to at first gather up enough bits of raptor paste here and there with her toes, piling it all up to one fine hill of Compy remains – before she gets to luxuriously plant one of her beautiful shaman feet solidly on top of the pulpy leftovers. They squeeze up as a mangled mix of red and white smear between her splaying toes and the edge of her feet, her constant, elegant and graceful catwalking drawing loud, slimy, peeling sounds out from beneath her padsoles. The color of the slime she steps in and the fine white of her own scales seems to almost merge a bit, giving the whole show a bit of a creepy impression. Thoroughly impressed is also what the flesh beneath her constant, perfectly rhythmical tread ends up as. It takes the almost dancing tribal raptoress a few moments, but soon enough the treehouse fills up with the sounds of crunching bones again, announcing the return of their mutual trample toy’s body! Like a goddess of domination, Totrment eventually plants her big alpha cast paw solidly down on top of the Compy’s body, forcing its tail to raise up high, it head as well. Legs and arms spread apart wide, her icy sole comes to a halt with all of its weight perfectly placed on top of Ahastar’s cloaca. Even with the creature beneath her still dead, it is important to announce utter sexual domination at all time. Stampede and Scorch lift their muzzles further forwards, hardly able to believe that their half demon is indeed still lifeless. But all the movement and curling they get to see is indeed only a physical, bodily reaction on the pressure enforced upon the Compy.
With her sprinter sole being hardened with its frosty temperature, Ahastar doesn’t get to stick to Torment’s foot – yet Facedancer is very quick to take up her spot! Much to Dras’ surprise, his own sole briefly meets the resistance of a tiny layer of ice having formed on top of the now stagnant puddle of raptor seed and female fluids, the body beneath his tread also feeling tough and solid – and thus challenging! Slowly, the proud prince of raptorkind can feel his victim spread out beneath his humbling catwalk. Every moment the dead creature spends under his trampling tread it grows softer both from the renewed loss of skeletal integrity and the rise of temperatures! “Crack! Crunch! Crackle!” The gruesome violence and havoc his sprinter feet bring the Compy beneath them stands in stark contrast to their perfect shape and beauty as Facedancer dances on way more than only faces, his brief catwalking sessions intensely slamming the half demon’s corpse to mangled bits again! With no mind to control muscles and strive to dampen impacts, all the stomps Dras dishes out hit with unrestrained force on vital parts, bringing forth annihilation a lot faster! Limbs shatter and ribs and hips turn to dust, it is a lot like trampling around on a lifelike puppet made of clay. “SQUIIRRRTTCHHH!” Much to the blue deinonychus’ surprise and entertainment, his front foot manages to press our his trample toys seed and urine yet again, even in death, apparently Torment having been generous enough to refill these organs just for Dras. “SSSSSSCCHHRRRKKTHHH!” And apparently the same goes for intestines. They nearly rupture and fling out of the Compy’s groin and it is almost a little strange to not see an expression of grinding anguish on top of Ahastar’s face – before Facedancer lifts another foot of his, crunchingly brings it down on said muzzle, leans all of his weight in and raises his leg once more to reveal a split open, crushed flat Compy cranium, showing off a creepy, mortal grin.
-----
Dras gasps with pleasure as he steps off the limp, wet compy corpse and he steps out of the trample line, going into a crouch a few mentres away and watching intently. Scorch, having seen the small bloody explosion of Ahastar's skull collapsing under the sole of her mate, steps forwards regardless and begins to catwalk sadistically over the hot remains of the half-demon, setting her large red sprinter feet carefully one in front of the other and purring lustily at the feel of warm pulpy flesh oozing up between her toes and mashed organs spreading slickly under her thick sole pads. Her hefty crimson talons leave mashed patches of wet, pale reddish-brown as they slowly lift, Ahastar's fluids and mangled corpse mixing with the large quantities of raptor seed surrounding it. The instant she steps free of the gore, Dras pounces her and the two deinonychi begin to energetically mate on the warm stone ground while Skewer and Stampede take their turns to trample over the dead compy.
It isn't enough for the emerald stalker raptoress to simply tread on Ahastar's remains; once upon them, she turns to one side and begins wiping her sleek, powerful talons back behind her one after the other, spreading out the mutilated compy corpse into a rough smeared patch of lumpy innards and thick, diluted blood. Stampede follows suit, his murderous hunter paws squeezing any remotely solid matter into liquid and spreading it over their thick worn soles as he purposefully treads and grinds and occasionally stomps, flicking blood up his shins. The emerald stalker and her earthy-brown mate admire their mutual compy pasting for a moment, then they too break free from the trample line and curl up together. Stampede traces long playful lines of smooth compy paste along Skewer's tail with his sickle toe, and he reaches a lean, muscled foreleg in to slide two padded fingers into her swollen cloacal orifice while she growls happily and curls her head down to smoothly lick at the tense length of his male organ.
Amid the lusty snarls and coiling scaly bodies, Torment steps forward to stand still in the soft wet mess of Ahastar's compy body, feeling the warmth of life drain slowly from around her sickled feet while she contentedly lifts and replaces them. After watching the two couples happily engaged with each other for a moment, she turns to collect her staff, only to notice the grey servant raptor crouched on top of the bar and looking across the den at her hopefully. Uss quickly averts his gaze and hops down behind the stone counter as the shaman gives a deep chuckle and reaches down to pick up the staff from on top of her chair.
Even so soon after climaxing, it doesn't take long for the aphrodesiac-enhanced deinonychi to satisfy each other for a second time, and the sounds of animalistic pleasure gradually calm to a soft rustling of scales against stone and contented purring. Blood is plastered over the stone ground in distinctive two-and-a-half-toed raptor footprints of various sizes, all leading from or to the mashed remains of Ahastar, in which the Shaman continues to firmly stand, tracing odd patterns in the mess with the tip of her staff. "I would consider that a success," she says with a cool smile, addressing the four raptors lounging on the ground around her.
Dras rolls onto his front and bobs up, inspecting the generous coating of crimson that his azure hide has gained. "Glad to hear it," he says, flicking a lump of something red and sticky off his scaly knee. "Because that was the single most fantastic thing I've ever had the pleasure of taking part in." He lifts his head and grins at Torment, padding over to nuzzle her under the chin. "You're incredible."
"Have care," the white raptoress chuckles, indicating the bloody staff-drawn patterns at Dras' sickled feet. "You do want him brought back, don't you?"
The azure chieftan looks down and steps back. "Sure do! But let's keep him a compy for now, huh?" He turns to look at his fellow raptors, who all visibly agree far too much to need to say anything verbally.
-----
The mess Facedancer’s padsoles leave behind is still somewhat recognizable as a Compy, the semi-crushed corpse having had to endure the trampling wrath of “only” one sadistic, trample-lusty raptor so far. Wouldn’t Ahastar be thoroughly dead by now, chances are his skeleton would disintegrate just by the sonic shockwaves of Scorch’s immense purrrrrrring! The kinky raptoress has to feel pretty close to a nuclear meltdown of lust by now, given how much her body vibrates the moment she mounts the Compy-shapes tree-house carpet. The power and grace with which she trample-catwalks over Ahastar and the fact that she takes as small steps as possible – meaning 2 and a half, the half only on top of expelled Compy guts – tell everyone watching just how much the red raptoress enjoys to trample on things with her stunning alpha caste dromaeosaur feet, mushing and crunching and messing the half demon up. Dark passion and utterly enjoyment make both her eyes and her cloaca sparkle up, adding a few treads before she finally steps off to join her mate.
By then, Skewer has already taken position right at what formerly was the half demon’s face. For the first time ever since Ahastar have been transformed, she is presented with a Compy that wouldn’t be completely buried beneath both her sharply shaped stalker sicklefeet. Already she had trampled and subdued this half demon more than she ever did with any other creature in her life before, and still the dark voice in her head tell her to go on. She doesn’t feel satisfied at all yet – and she isn’t sure why! Of course the only way to find out for certain is by more trampling and more humiliation! Ahastar should not be allowed a single second in existence in which he considers her stalker paws as anything less than his gods from now on. And while one poison green hind paw lifts up, toes spreading in insane greed, Skewer is sure that he isn’t a believer yet by a looooong shot! “SRRRTCH! SRRRRRTCH! SRRRRRRRTCH!” The stalker raptoress keeps her head that high during wiping her coarsely padded soles on Ahastar that she is on eye level with her mate for the first time during the entire evening, Skewer almost pitying the fact that the creature beneath her tread is unable to worship and beg and pray to her while she does. Quivering in pure, scalding sadism, she finally steps off again to make room for the monstrous paws and the genocidal weight of her mate, who is in need of a saurian doormat as well.
*SRTTCHHH!* Stampede notices how much his beloved is steaming inside. Clearly, she was enjoying herself, but he knows her well – the intense raptoress cannot probably be satisfied. *SRRRRRTTCHH!* Not only did she not yet reach the level of trampling lordship and humiliating superiority over their mutual crush Compy, she is also not yet happy with how much and how thoroughly he serviced her paws. *SRRRRTTCHHHH!* Of course she would never announce it loudly, for she wouldn’t want to insult their proud blue leader or dare taking some of his absolute domination away, yet still, she has a hard time coping. *SRRRRRTTCCCHHH!* It is probably also because of the guessing game from before. The half demon pretty much spat his mate’s green sicklefeet out the instant she finally got to shove them into his mouth. How disappointing that must have been for her, and how insulting too! In all the years of their mateship, Stampede always noticed how much his mate adored to force her wicked sicklefeet into the orifices of her victims, she even named her after this preferred action. *SRRRRRTTTCCCHHH!* While beholding Ahastar’s flat face being torn off of his body by Stampede’s wiping feet, the massive hunter decides to help his mate out. If at any time tonight there would be a second chance for his beloved to ride humiliation into the core of the half demon, he would do his best to aid her!
Stepping off and beholding their shaman, Torment, re-mounting and healing their trample toy, Stampede hopes that will be soon. Until then, he goes off to his mate to fill her worries and anger with lust and passion!
-----
"I'm going to wash off," announces Scorch, rising to her feet and heading across the den to the the bubbling geysers in its far corner.
"I'd better help," Dras says seriously, and turns to follow her, leaving the other three raptors variously occupied around the remains of Ahastar and beside the crackling fire. Stampede lies on his flank, his great hunter caste body curled inimately around that of Skewer, whose slender green-scaled form rests back against him, her head upon his tucked-in forelegs and his head in turn upon the back of her neck. The clawed talons of the two mated deinonychi are stretched out conspicuously together, curled slightly in grim relaxation with their compy-coated soles exposed - Stampede's being large, broad and totally blood covered while Skewer's are smaller and more slender, with patches of creamy white smearing the bases of her long thick toes.
Torment continues to stand in Ahastar's steaming remains, intricately preparing them for re-compification. She moves the tip of her staff carefully to draw bold arcane patterns in the gore then softly incants over it for a moment, only to scoop the remains into a single pile with neat, controlled movements of her clawed feet, and place a single sturdy, alpha-caste talon on top of them to continue incanting. After another pause, she pushes slowly down, spreading the wet, glistening pile out and oozing crimson between her toes, then she begins to draw again.
"I hope you don't need all of his remains for that to work," comments Skewer, her eyes half-open as she rests in the arc of her mate's body. "I think most of him is either plastered over our feet here or being washed into the waterfall over there."
Torment looks over at Dras and Scorch rolling about in the geyser water at the far end of the den, then she turns back to gaze at the content stalker beside her. "Provided the remains are his, the amount is immaterial; it only takes longer if there is less of him to use. I have more than sufficient here, since I am to resurrect him as a compy and not a deinonychus." She looks down at the steaming pile of mess beneath her lightly planted raptor foot and adds, "He feels... pleasant between the toes."
Stampede gives a growly chuckle and opens his own eyes to watch the leisurely resurrection process. "The bubbles are a nice touch," he comments, tucking himself tighter around his mate.
Torment gives a curious half-smile and looks down, then her scaly eyeridges furrow in confusion and she whips her staff out of the remains. "What is this?"
A loud, deep rushing sound rises up, like wind through the mouth of a great cavern, and the bubbling compy remains begin shifting and moving at the feet of the shaman. Before the growling white female can step back, the rushing sound abruptly stops and in an instant of total silence, the gore pile billows upwards like mud spewing from the mouth of a geyser and solidifies into a fully formed, white scaled half-demon deinonychus, upon whose scaly face Torment is left standing.
Only her impressive training prevents the shocked shaman from toppling backwards as the liquid remains burst up and solidify beneath her. She gives a terifying bark of enraged alarm and snarls, "Who has done this?!" as Skewer and Stampede lift their heads and look at her in confusion.
"I thought he was supposed to be a compy," Skewer says, as Ahastar's decidedly raptorish tail gives a lively flick and one of his exceedingly raptorian hind limbs twitches.
"I haven't begun the resurrection yet!" Torment looks down, her green eyes flickering over Ahastar's reformed body and her mind calculating, despite the toothy snarl of alert on her muzzle. She shoots a quick look over to the back of the den where Dras and Scorch continue to play together in the water, oblivious to the development.
Skewer rolls into a crouch and Stampede sprawls to his feet and pounces directly onto Ahastar's chest with a wet splatter. "I suppose we'll just have to group trample him again," he says with a toothy hunter-caste smile. The half-demon's limbs plunge upward and flail in alarm as the big raptor jumps on him, and muffled snarls of confused indignation begin to escape from beneath Torment's thick black soles, off of which blood and mashed compy innards drip slowly down the sides of Ahastar's head.
-----
Ahastar is in the only condition that having spread 80% of your body among ten sadistic, gigantic reptilian sickle-feet possibly allows: Extremely dead. Wouldn’t it be for a single, horribly mangled arm rising between Torment’s white-scaled shaman foot and a patch of gut here and a curled in, twisted Compy tail there, the mess she is currently loudly, mashingly squeezing her tremendous sprint-paw in would hardly be noticeable as something that at one point was alive. The half demon looks as if he would have been trample-steamrolled by five cruel gods of crushing, then having one of them return to shoo out of reality what little remains, probably to make sure there is not even a body left to burry.
But of course, a flat lizard is only so much fun for a bunch of deinonychi already eagerly showing off their three toed executioners and the bloodbath they are coated in with. Ahastar doesn’t get too much of Torment’s renewed resurrection ambitions, his brain currently being part flat, part hunter pad and part soaking in geyser water. It is still demonic flesh though and the wicked enchantment that binds bone to flesh is just waiting for an opportunity to rejuvenate, to find back together. And when the crimson-hued clawtoes of the white scaled shaman push enough dead matter together, the spells that grant Ahastar his fascinating boon awaken.
“BOOOOOOOM!” For a brief moment, the entire tree hut is illuminated by a rushing explosion of white light! The strange illumination seems to flare up from the half demon’s body first, then seems to come out of the very wood of the den itself, casting away everything that is a shadow in the vicinity, Facedancer and Scorch the only two raptors nearby who completely miss the show. Apparently the light doesn’t manage to penetrate water well, or the two playful mates are way to busy with each other to be fully aware of their surroundings.
Torment, on the other hand, knows precisely where she is. Roughly one foot high in the air compared to where she had been standing just moments ago. With big, magic green eyes the mighty shaman stands solid, her thick black pads pushing uncomfortably deep into Ahastar’s now once more raptorian skin, busy to yet again leave their sole profiles and pad imprints behind. The mystical artifact in Torment’s slender handpaw becomes a mere balancing staff for a brief moment, excelling at that job, too, of course. “Unnghhrrr”, it rises up beneath the tread of the confused raptoress, Ahastar’s two handpaws reaching up to weakly grab around her ankles. The half demon desperately tries to shove the baffled raptoress and her dominating tread off of his face, but his arms probably wouldn’t be able to come up with the necessary strength in this position even if he didn’t just return into the world of the dromaeosaurids. “HUUUNNNGHRRRRHHH!” … And *especially* not when there are over 200 pounds of brutal hunter raptor suddenly coming to crash into his ribcage, Stampede easily managing to crack and crunch a staccato of nasty tunes out of the flailing half demon’s chest! If the raptors surrounding him didn’t notice what happened before, Ahastar’s grunting, retching and the wild spasms of all of his limbs certainly do the trick now.
-----
Torment continues to stand on top of Ahastar's face, instinct keeping her in this position as much as anything else. With his eyes and earholes obscured, the wild struggling of the miraculously reformed raptor is ineffective: Skewer, now crouching upon his hips is easily avoiding the occasional butts of his upper hind legs and Stampede has pinned the arms of the half-demon still beneath his own foreclaws. The shaman thinks for a moment, then says, "Bring him over here to Dras."
"Facedancer," Stampede corrects playfully, but the shaman snorts at him.
"This is important," she hisses, stepping backwards and down off Ahastar's muzzle and leaving two large crimson footprints plastered over it.
Ignoring the suddenly coherent protests of the half-demon, Stampede jumps forwards off of his chest and swipes down to grab a handful of crimson feathers, then the powerful hunter bodily drags Ahastar along by the crest while Skewer and Torment follow warily alongside, ready to pounce and subdue the lively deinonychus if necessary.
The hot, steaming geysers are, of course, the main attraction of the treehouse den, and the main reason for its having been constructed. They speckle the stone floor of the farthest corner of the room - an area surrounded on three sides by the rockface. The floor is worn smooth, but very uneven, half of it flooded to various depths by the hot geyser water which gushes in from deep dark craters in the stone and flows out through a long, flat channel at the bottom edge of one wall. A small waterfall gushes down into the deepest end of the geyser pool, its cold water throwing up clouds of steam as it churns and mixes with the hot. It is in the warm shallows that Dras and Scorch lie together, mating gently while steam curls around their wet scaly bodies. First the crimson, then the azure raptor growlingly climaxes and the two sprawl together, purring contentedly as their three companions arrive with Ahastar.
Dras opens his eyes and lifts his head as the sounds of his mate are drowned out by a familiar hissing voice. "Isn't he supposed to be a compy?" the blue-scaled chieftan asks as Ahastar's head is dropped down on the stone floor and Stampede immediately plants a clawed foot on his neck to hold him still.
"Something has come up," intones Torment, stepping up beside Ahastar and going into a crouch to look down into the half-demon's cyan eyes. "It seems he can self resurrect. He did it before I could cast my spell." She turns her eerie green-stained eyes upon Dras and smiles coolly. "Quite ironic in hindsight."
Dras looks momentarily stunned, then he gives a bark of laughter and disengages from Scorch, rising to his feet. Skewer, having squatted herself back on the hips of the half-demon, gives a snort of annoyance and says, "What do you mean, self resurrect? How can he resurrect himself? He was dead."
The shaman opens her jaws to answer, but Dras says, "He wouldn't have chosen to do it, it's just his nature." He turns to smirk down at the scowling half-demon, shaking his crested head in amusement. "Yeah, that makes sense. I should probably have guessed."
Torment says, "He may only be able to do it once in a season, or at every full moon, or perhaps even once in a year."
"But we've never given him need to," Dras finishes, stepping over through the shallow water and onto the dry stone before Ahastar's head. Water runs down his neat, compact body and pools in big, distorted footprints around his alpha-caste sprinter feet. "You've always been around to bring him back after every rex pulping session. Gods!" The sleek, powerful chieftan lifts a clawed foot and plants his hot ball pad squarely over the tip of Ahastar's muzzle. "So you can self resurrect, huh? Too bad for you we figured out your little secret." He smirks mockingly, turning Ahastar's head to the side and squeezing the length of his shapely alpha-caste sole down over the side of the raptor's face as he goes smoothly into a crouch. "That would have been a fucking great escape plan - I bet you figured we'd all get bored and leave you as a puddle of goo somewhere, then you could resurrect yourself and sneak off." The bloody remains of Ahastar's former self dilute and smear as Dras humblingly strokes a sturdy wet sole over his face, lording over the newly-formed deinonychus and humiliatingly asserting his authority while Skewer presses her padded feet into his cloaca and Stampede crushes his neck against the warm stone. "Well guess what - you're valuable property. You're never gonna be set free or allowed to stay dead. Every time you feel life rushing back into you and you blink open those little blue eyes for the first time, my pads will be right there for you to kiss hello." The azure raptor grins toothily and accentuates every word with a slow, firm stroke of his hot sole pads over the face of his victim: "Every - single - time."
-----
SCHLLLLK – SCHLLLLK! With Ahastar’s flesh still soft and loose after his most recent resurrection, Torment’s two black padded feet leave their mutual footrest with two loud peeling, squishing sounds. As a parting gift though, they grant the half demon two immense alpha cast pawprints so deep and so perfect that they would fit the shaman like a wrapping. She could plant her sicklefeet back into these gaps and they would snug right back into the worn hide beneath her. Now finally free to groan and hiss and grunt out, the reformed raptor leans forwards as much as Stampede’s heavy weight allows him to. His snow white handpaws desperately reach out to towards Skewer, her two cruel paws having planted down with inevitable solidity right between his legs. Yet even that vain attempt is cut short as Stampede growlingly steamrolls his muscles forwards, his big brown claws grasping a good hand full of Ahastar’s regenerated, full neck crest and bodily heaving him upwards, ripping out three or four of them but still leaving enough of them intact to give the mighty hunter an easy time working his victim.
“Gaaaagh! Let me go! Let GO!” Ahastar snarls out on his way towards the steaming air, the scent of hot water filling his sensitive nostrils. His senses have fully returned for sure, but the strength of his body is still completely amiss. Stampede has to drag the den’s trample toy nearly by all of his own strength, the half demon not even able to take two solid steps on top of his wobbly knees. Eventually, when the rough raptor-hunter simply slams Ahastar down on the polished floor, the half demon collapses to the ground like a living carpet. Soaking up the steam surrounding him and the thick scents of two raptors having mated, the reformed deinonychus can’t shake off the impression as if a guard would just have picked him up from the streets, delivered him into a throne room and now just threw him in front of the feet of a lording prince that finds his amusement in dishing out cruel punishments for even the most mundane affront. “Craaaaacccck!” Stampede stomps and squishes his mighty brown clawfoot that deep and hard into Ahastar’s twitching neck that some of the demon’s vertebra loudly protest, not that anyone would care. His handclaws scatter around for a few moments, but Ahastar quickly keeps them with him the moment he beholds the azure raptor stepping out of the pool. Wet, sparkling sickle-paws approach with a cunning mix of gentle treading and solid slamming, leaving fresh water behind where they plant.
Gasping for breath, the half demon reaches upwards to grab and remove Stampede’s crushing foot from his neck, but if he failed with Torment’s before, he of course doesn’t have a lick of a chance with Stampede’s! All he can do is lay down and accept Facedancer’s dominating padsole gracefully stepping down right between the nostrils of Ahastar’s muzzle tip. His step is elegant and full of humiliation and domination, trampling down the half demon’s soul. Being unable to move, all he can do is listen. The princely raptor having found out about the half demon’s unique abilities is one thing – Skewer steps up, slam-planting her own stalker padfeet right between Ahastar’s legs again. But being forced to listen to Facedancer’s cruel plans and intentions while he wipes and grinds and squishes the half demon’s face down beneath his hot, water-relaxed pads is unbearable to the point of letting tears of rage and hopeless embarrassment fill up Ahastar’s eyes. “AUUUUUUGHHHHH!” With a loud, mean, scale-twisting sound, the two sickled feet of Skewer begin to force their walking sections down in between the demon’s cloacal lips. And, much to Ahastar’s infinite disgrace and trembling fury, the lips further up on his body indeed begin to suggest to his brain that he should open his mouth and lick and suck Facedancer’s foot, already feeling way too natural.
-----
"Shall I return him to his compy form?"
Dras looks up at the shaman and ponders for a moment, then he rises back up out of his crouch, keeping the sturdy walking section of his digitigrade foot firmly upon Ahastar's muzzle. "Nah, keep him like this for the moment; we'll have another break. Uss!" he calls out, whipping his big talon from Ahastar's face and turning towards the bar area. "Bring over some more drinks and the rest of the seedpods." He turns back to the group and grins. "The night is young, my friends!"
Beginning with a hefty kick from Scorch, the five raptors begin bodily subduing Ahastar, thrashing the fresh, rejuvinated spirit of the half-demon with a maelstrom of physical and verbal abuse. Dras lifts him by the feather crest and tailwhips him into the water, then Scorch pounces him over backwards and plunges his head beneath the surface as she begins a knee-deep trampling of his throat. Before he can drown, the large crimson female grabs him by the tail and drags him back onto the smooth rocky ground for Stampede to forcibly empty his lungs of water with a heavy, rib-cracking stomp rhythm.
Uss arrives with five full drink bowls skillfully stacked in his foreclaws and the jar of seedpods clutched in his jaws, and he carefully sets everything down just out of range of the splashing. Before the small grey-scaled servant raptor can slink back into the flickery shadows however, Skewer attracts his attention and he pads over to her, head bowed. The green-scaled raptoress whispers to Uss for a moment, then pulls her head back and turns to look at him as he gives a single nod. She smiles a chilling raptor smile and motions him away with a flick of her scaly head, then pounces with a hissing screech onto Ahastar to rejoin the group.
"You know what this reminds me of?" Dras says, his azure padded feet lifting and treading alternately on top of the half-demon's half-sunken face. "Three hours ago when we were doing the exact same thing! Gods, it must suck to be this raptor." He snorts in amusement and tosses his lush, blue feather crest back, intensifying his trampling as Ahastar gives an anguished screech and energetically tries to grab around his scaly ankles.
"Aww, I think he wants you to get off," Scorch grins, her own hefty crimson paws carefully treading up and down the length of Ahastar's right foreleg, breaking it here and there under the surface of the shallow water.
Dras laughs maliciously. "I already did get off." His powerful hind legs continue pumping to a smooth rhythm as he dips his head and calls down, "All over your face, you little compy pad bitch! Remember?" He bears his fangs in lusty sadism and begins regally wiping his thick padded soles slowly down Ahastar's face and neck, one after the other.
The group trampling continues for several long minutes, steam curling through the displaced air as the five deinonychi stomp and trample their victim, the hot geyser water splashing up their scaly bodies and washing them free of compy gore. Eventually Skewer slides her clawed toes out of Ahastar's heat-swollen cloacal lips and wades back out of the shallow water to sit down neatly on her haunches and take up one of the drink bowls. Scorch soon follows and it isn't long before only Dras and Torment remain on top of Ahastar, crushing his face and his cloaca between them. They are only interrupted by the loud arrival of Uss, dragging begind him a large contraption of thick, gnarled wood and rusted iron hinges. Dras pauses his trampling and furrows his eyeridges in momentary puzzlement, but Skewer sets down her drink bowl and rises to her feet, padding over to take the rope from the servant raptor with a very sadistic "Thank you."
"Aaaah," the azure chieftan says, lifting a talon from Ahastar's face and leaning his head to the side to gaze down into the half-demon's exposed eye. "Looks like Skewer has plans for you, bud."
-----
Ahastar feels as if all of his strength would be sapped out right through his face and into the big, padded sole of the azure raptor standing so regally on top of his skull. Every deinonychus nearby can feel the half demon’s flesh turning more soft, more giving. Being forced to listen to his five tormentors drifting off into yet another conversation sealing his fate. And, for the first time ever since he was forced through the door of this treehouse, the half demon actually agrees with one of the verdicts! Staying a raptor. Being a Compy was complete, utter hell, a nightmare he hopes his brain will quickly manage to forget and eradicate from his memory. “BASSSSSSHHH!” – “OOOUURRGHHH!” …Or, of course, if Scorch keeps adding a few of the murderous facial kicks like the one she just gave him, there won’t even be any active forgetting necessary. She will simply punt it out of his mind!
Ahastar’s body flips and slides over the smooth floor with almost no resistance, finally dropping down into the steaming water. Driven by instinct, the half demon instantly tries to stretch his muzzle back up, managing to behold five deinonychus faces snarling, pointing down at him, calling him the crudest of filths, declaring a life full of being a pad bitch and trample toy, if only for a split second – for one heartbeat later, Scorch *pounces* on top of the demon’s throat! Geyser water splashes all the way to the ceiling while she vigorously tramples around on Ahastar’s throat, gagging out what little air the half demon had to begin with! “SPLASH, SSLSSSH, SPLASSSSHH!” The red raptoress and her white scaled, mental submarine stomp toy transform the pond into a wild fountain, slowly ceasing in energy as Facedancer’s mate pummels the life out of Ahastar. The half demon doesn’t even twitch any more when she finally fishes him out, throat cruelly bruised up. The nearly drowned deinonychus slips off into a welcome darkness – but is forced to see the light STRAIGHT away when Stampede utterly *jumps* on top of his ribcage, the cruel cracking noise of Ahastar’s bones breaking not even managing to echo off when Stampede is already in the middle of a wild, grunting trample session, stomping hunter-paw upon hunter paw down into the half demon’s chest as if he wanted to try and crush the flesh down all the way until he feels stone floor beneath his triple-split pads again!
Ahastar finding back to a retching, thrashing life is, of course, the invitation for the rest of the pack to join! Torment quickly mounts the demon’s belly again, Scorch stretching out one of her red handpaws to invite her mate for a dance on top of Ahastar’s upper end. The two of them are quickly back in a rhythm of solid facial and throat trampling. Both of them do it with elegant grace and in perfect rhythm. Ahastar’s body, halfway embedded into the bubbling, hot water, making a perfect floor for the steaming wet raptor couple. A prince and his princess enjoying the raptorian version of a cruel tango, their paws not at all having the powerful tread of Torment or especially Stampede further down south, but pushing stylish domination and unabashed dominance into their mutual living carpet. All Ahastar can do is sob and groan out beneath Facedancer’s face dancing, forced to behold the azure raptor’s black-padded, big sickle-feet rise and fall, rise and fall, pressing into his muzzle here and there, then here again. Weakened by having more water than air in his lungs, Ahastar can do nothing but accept his current fate, letting the five of them trample him from top to bottom. Their combined weight of them reduces the half demon’s volume by nearly a third, yet even with Facedancer slams footprint after footprint into Ahastar’s muzzle while always eyeing him from so far above, the half demon still finds the time to twitch and grunt out loudly every time Skewer pushes some of her green raptor toes deep down into the crushed deinonychus’ quickly swelling up cloaca. “BASH. BASH. BASH!” Only when the azure raptor slams his neck crest back and points over towards some grim looking construct does Ahastar manage to break the ember eyed gaze of lordship to behold one torture having stepped between his legs and another one waiting for him in the shape of wood and iron.
-----
As if on auto-pilot, the azure chieftan slowly places his raised foot back down upon Ahastar's face beside the other and begins absent-mindedly trampling it while he gazes calculatingly over at the wood and iron contraption. Scorch, now standing still beside her mate her with her padded toes close together upon their victim's heat-softened cloaca, gives a chuckle and calls to Skewer, "You are planning to convert him?"
"In a manner of sorts," the poison-green raptoress replies, her scaly lips pressed into a thin, grim smile. "May I have your permission, Facedancer?"
Dras ceases his trampling to simply stand on the side of Ahastar's face, his firm azure talons clamping the head of the half-demon still in the shallow geyser water. "You are one devious stalker, Skewer," he says, putting particular growling emphasis on her ceremonial name. He breaks into a toothy grin and dips his crested head. "Sure, you go ahead and convert him, but I want a go afterwards."
Skewer dips her head in thanks and continues pulling the contraption. In its collapsed form it looks simply like a two dimensional frame of broad wooden beams, all folded neatly together with cast iron bolts and hinges at their ends. Set on two pairs of cast iron wheels, it rolls smoothly along the stone ground, but the obvious strength that Skewer puts into moving it is visible proof of its considerable weight. The stalker's brown-scaled mate quickly comes over to assist her and the two raptors wheel it up against a section of cave wall, beside the geyser pool.
"What is it?" Stampede asks, nudging the wooden frame experimentally with his snout and running the pads of a powerful forelimb against it. "Some kind of chair?"
Skewer crouches neatly and twists down a rusty metal protrusion at the bottom corner of the frame, bracing it against the rock and raising the corner wheel up off the ground. "Two chairs actually. It's a kind of torture rack." She pauses and looks up at the tall wooden contraption. "It unfolds somehow..."
The two big crimson paws pull up wetly from Ahastar's hips and splash down into the shallow water beside him as Scorch wades back through the pool to help out. "The bolt at the top will unlock it," she says to Skewer. "And it's a 'conversion rack', actually. They used to use them to interrogate and convert the godless into followers of our way. I didn't realise the den is old enough to have one - they haven't been used since the unification of the tribes." She reaches up to slide the metal bolt above the head of the smaller raptoress and snorts in amusement, tuning to look down at Skewer. "At least, not officially."
Skewer gives a malicious smile up to the larger female. "Oh, they're still used. The Evisceration Guild has one, but they never use it in quite the way that I've always wanted to. Fear not, little one!" she suddenly calls out to Ahastar, whose head is partially uncovered as Dras obligingly lifts one of his feet to let the half-demon listen. "I shan't be eviscerating you at the moment! Quite the reverse, in fact. Your parts will not leave your body - my parts will enter it!" And she turns to laugh with barking sadism at Ahastar, who is returned to his facial burial-by-raptor-pads as Dras smirkingly steps back down.
-----
It is amazing how vocal a raptor can be even while having his face literally shoved full with the broad, all-dominating and dangerously sickle-clawed padfeet of another deinonychus, but Ahastar manages just fine! The half demon gurgles and spurts beneath Facedancer’s constant trampling, blood red neck feathers wobbling up and down on top of the unwaking water’s mirror. The two raptors couldn’t possibly display a greater difference. The azure alpha cast body of Dras keeps moving and trampling in perfect rhythm, constantly lifting and replacing his princely clawfeet while his entire attention rests upon his surroundings, way more curious in his fellow raptors and the massive construction the slender Skewer drags after her than in what happens beneath his sparklingly washed clean pads. Ahastar on the other hand desperately trashes and lashes out, his handpaws always struggling between haplessly waving through air and water or trying to grab around Facedancer’s blue, bony ankles. And sometimes he does manage to hold on to these powerful limbs - but they just keep on trampling, dragging Ahastar’s hands with them while they leisurely tread the features out of the severely footprinted face beneath them.
Scorch isn’t particularly better. Her own equally large and broad sprinter sicklefeet split the half demon’s legs apart as if someone would have slammed a pile driver in between the two white-scaled appendages, Ahastar’s limbs lightly kicking, toes clenching and spreading in perfect tact with the alpha caste raptoress’ comfortable swaying. The half demon’s badly swollen cloaca would probably have shut together completely from all the abuse it already had to take so far, but the geyser water that flows over the heftily trampled half demon sooths and relaxes all of his flesh. Eventually his strength leaves Ahastar. With a silent, exhausted grunt the half demon’s limbs simply drop down into the water the moment his two remaining trample torturers cease their footwork, deploying their padded paws all over their mutual deinonychus carpet, burying his face and cloaca respectively.
And then, Facedancer lifts one of his face dancing feet. Wet, hot pads briefly create a peeling, slurping sound, only the drops of hot water dripping from the azure scaled sole telling Ahastar that half of his pounding muzzle has indeed turned uncovered. Slowly, the half-drowned deinonychus opens his revealed eye. Almost his entire horizon is occupied by a massive, towering blue raptor body that has its root on the other part of Ahastar’s face, seemingly reaching all the way up to the wooden ceiling. And far, far above, there is the ember eyed, smirking face of his enslaver, the smug peer of the azure face prompting Ahastar to gaze to his left. There he finds Skewer. And Stampede. And, much to his surprise since the half demon’s badly worked out cloaca still feels as if someone would stand on it, Scorch as well. All of them are raptorhandling a construct that seems to be as old as this city’s sadism. The half demon listens closely to what the poison green raptoress has to tell him. And in the very brief moments in which Facedancer allows *his* raptor muzzle down below to only deal with one of his shapely paws, Ahastar wonders what he should probably be terrified of more: The fact that a female raptor threatens him with bodily intrusion that sounds not at all comfortable or the very look on Skewer’s face while she tells him - it is an expression of deepest, vibrating sadism. The slender stalker nearly hyperventilates in rapture, her razor sharp claws and talons slicing through the air, a wicked grin forming a grimace of deepest malice upon her muzzle. Her fangs are not poisonous. And still to Ahastar it appears as if every last one of her pointy, pearl white teeth would right now be dripping acidic, necrotic venom.
-----
Torment, sitting neatly on her haunches and watching the proceedings with a steady, green-eyed gaze, lifts her white head and says, "You are aware, I'm sure, that any modern shaman is fully capable of constraining, interrogating and even mentally converting another raptor, purely with magic?"
Stampede pads over to join her and takes up a drink bowl for himself. "Maybe that's why those racks aren't used for converting any more." He flops down on his flank and stretches out, sliding his hind paws into the warm geyser water. "That and there's no one left to convert. The only raptors we get to conquer these days are those tiny feral ones. And they're not really raptors anyway." He looks up to find Torment smirking down at him and dons a 'what?' expression before getting heartily splashed by a flick of her tail.
"I shall never understand the tendency of some to favour complexity over the simple."
Stampede, who somehow manages to sprawl into a crouch without spilling his drink, dips his head and laps from it before setting the bowl down and rising to his feet. "Complexity is more sexity," he chuckles, turning from Torment and wading into the water towards the facially pinned Ahastar. The great brown deinonychus comes to stand at a cautious distance from Dras and gives a respectful churring bark to draw the chieftan's attention.
Dras looks up. Even standing on top of Ahastar's head, the alpha-caste raptor has to turn his deep yellow-eyed gaze upward slightly to meet the paler, wider-set eyes of his hunter-caste comrade. He raises his eyeridges and a smile spreads across his scaly muzzle as he lifts one princely alpha-caste talon from Ahastar's face. "So what do you reckon? Does he feel like he needs converting to you?"
Stampede looks down at the exposed portion of Ahastar's muzzle: a wide cyan eye, blinking as water drips from the pads of Dras' raised sole into it, and a tense, rigid snout tip, pressed half-open by the weight on its jaw muscle and straining uselessly to close. After flickering a gaze back up at Dras, the hunter grins and lifts one of his own hulking raptor feet, planting it down with a wet smack upon Ahastar's face. Side-by-side, the two hefty theropod talons curl heavily across the head of the white raptor, pressed close together and facing opposite directions. The hunter's paw is comfortably larger than that of the alpha-born, but not as beautifully proportionate or as sleekly scaled; it oozes brutal physical strength while Dras' own radiates pure royal power. For a brief moment it looks as though Stampede is about to heft his weight onto the half-demon's skull and stand one-footed alongside the azure chieftan, but he only gives a pleasured rumble and pulls his digitigrade paw away, stepping back in the shallow water as Dras places his own raised talon back down beside its handsome blue counterpart and re-buries the half-demon.
"I would say he definitely needs converting," the hunter says, his feather crest tensing and his cloaca bulging with renewed lust from the pad contact with Ahastar's head. "Shall I take him?"
"Go for it," Dras replies, and his long thick toes splay out wide before he fully pounces off of Ahastar's face. There is a crunch as the sturdy azure talons compress down, then the bruised white face of the half-demon is ripped upwards by the leaping talons, firmly glued into their thick black soles until the weight of Ahastar's dazed body unsticks it and he splashes back down in the shallow water as Dras lands alongside him. "Scorch'll know how to set the rack up," the blue chieftan says over his shoulder to Stampede, wading deeper into the geyser pool. "I'm gonna have a swim." And with that, he plunges underwater.
The ripples from his dive spread out across the turbulent surface of the water and lap against the sides of Stapede's feet as the large hunter-caste raptor swipes down to grab Ahastar's chin and snout in a single forepaw, then drags him backwards out of the water towards the rack. "I think we should see what my mate has planned for you," he says with malicious pleasure.
-----
Ahastar is so, so utterly sick and tired of having to endure Facedancer’s padfeet upon his muzzle. Again, he might add! The half demon’s entire muzzle is throbbing and shivering in arterial and muscular strain beneath them, his facial flesh trampled that soft already again that it "flows" around the edges and in between the toecrotches of Dras’ azure paws - while at the same time having to endure being viciously marked with deep, painful but mainly humiliating raptor footprints. Ahastar always loved his face. He found himself to be quite a sexy raptor. Beautiful in proportion and made of slender muscle. His shining, white scales glimmering so brightly and royally. All of this has lost its value beneath Facedancer though! The raptorian prince took all of it, *stole* all of it, and channeled it away to make himself appear even more proud and regal! Ahastar’s features have to conform to Dras’ tread, Ahastar’s face is demanded to carry the proud azure’s footprints and the fine, white hue of the half demon’s scales is replaced by whatever colour these perfectly shaped sicklefeet manage to press out of him from deep, deep inside. Of course, with the flowing, warming geyser, there is not a single spot of dirt covering these black-padded deinonychus soles. Their scent fill Ahastar’s dripping nostrils with pure domination and rulership, mixed with the smell of a reptilian hunter and the cold, bony whiff of claws. Even the half demon has to admit that he never saw a single raptor paw more perfectly crafted than Facedancer’s - and Ahastar should know, he probably saw more of them than even their owner.
For some odd reason, the trampled deinonychus peers over towards the water-bound Torment to dare hiss out his question. Maybe it is because he feels the most "safe" with her, which is quite ironic, given that she is the one that constantly drags his soul back into a patched together body again to have both trampled even more. "Con...conversion?", Ahastar hisses out with a bubbling, watery voice. The half demon doesn’t seem to have a clue about what a raptor could probably be forced to convert to, but a good (and scared) part of his just needs to know, especially since apparently he too is aimed for that - transformation. Ahastar can’t help but lose the impression that this construct is an old, vile relict out of a time where the raptors surrounding him were even more vicious and feral in their rituals and tramplings.
The half demon desperately waits for a reply from Torment’s emerald-eyed muzzle, but he isn’t granted one just yet. Instead, he has the briefest of moments to get a glimpse upon a massive, earthy-brown raptor foot looming into his field of vision, followed closely by Stampede’s fearsome body and its even more horrifying weight! The harsh hunter’s toes spread out rapidly while he aims to slam his hindpaw downwards, and he batters into Ahastar’s face with all the strength he can muster up! *SPLASSSHHHH* The impact is that severe that some of the hot geyser water soaks the ceiling of the treehouse, slowly dripping back down and showering the bystanders. The trampled deinonychus’ face doesn’t witness that though, being completely buried by the alternatly-angled padpaws of the two males! Their soles grind and shove into Ahastar’s flesh, the half demon desperately bringing up his handpaws again to grab around scaly ankles. The blue one he doesn’t even manage to reach around completely and the brown one laughs at its begging hand for even trying. The two face-crushing deinonychi briefly seem to be caught in a tournament of cranium crushing, but eventually bring their mutual stomping to a halt! *SCCHLLLKKK-SLOOUURRRPP-slllrrrrppp* One, two, three sicklefeet pull out of Ahastar’s face, each one briefly tugging the muzzle-flesh into another direction due to the intimate, sticky fusion between soles and skull, leaving two massive and one gigantic two-and-a-half-toed footprints behind. All of the raptors in the audience get to behold these impressions very closely as Stampede carries his scampering torture toy towards the rack, icy fear standing in Ahastar’s sky blue eyes while his cranium is caught in the all-powerful grasp of the hunter’s imprisoning hold!
-----
With the assistance of the ever-knowledgable Scorch, Skewer finishes setting up the conversion rack, twisting down stabilising legs, swinging out wooden frame components and fixing leather straps to the wooden beams. When the two raptors are done, their creation is a bizarre and intimidating thing. Rusted iron glitters in the flickering torchlight and dark shadows dance across gnarled wooden beams; the rack consists of two square frames, a metre and a half apart, one raised a half metre higher than the other. Fixed into these frames are curled wooden contraptions closely resembling the den's oddly-shaped raptor chairs. The two seats face each other, the lower one rough and angular and reinforced by bent iron strips, and the higher one smooth and well-finished and comfortable looking. Both have broad tail holes in their back sides that suggest their raptor occupants should recline backwards with underside facing forward and hind limbs stretching free, but whereas the upper chair has no further embellishments, the lower one is fitted with straps, buckles and chain links that are clearly intended to restrain. The thick wooden frames are reinforced with diagonal stabilising legs and the entire rack is apparantly very sturdy, as evidenced by Scorch giving the nearest beam a powerful workout with her jaws and foreclaws and barely even managing to make it wobble.
"The conversion rack," Skewer says proudly, stepping back to admire the contraption. Her lean scaly head turns and she casts a piercing gaze upon Ahastar, who has been pushed into a submissive crouching posture underneath Stampede, the lower body of the larger brown-scaled raptor weighing heavily upon his hips and tailbase and a long digitigrade hunter-caste talon stretched across his back. "Bind him to it," Skewer purrs, her green scales glittering in the torchlight.
Stampede dips his head and clamps his jaws around the back of Ahastar's neck, then grabs around the half-demon's sides with his foreclaws and takes his foot off the back of the marginally smaller raptor. With Ahastar still coughing up water, the hunter is able to easily subdue him and Stampede bodily hauls the half-demon up and forces him backwards into the lower seat on the rack. Scorch and Skewer are immediately there, their strong, clawed forehands flashing over Ahastar's struggling body and fixing straps and buckles all over him. His wrists, tail, chest, ankles, neck and hips are all restrained with thin, strong leather straps and hard, scaly foreclaws press his head back against the wooden frame, prising open his upper and lower jaws and fixing chains around them to keep them open. As a final insult, the wooden beams to which Ahastar's hind legs are strapped are swung wide apart and locked into position, leaving his swollen, bruised cloaca on stark display. The scaly claws retreat and the half-demon is left clamped still and helpless in the lower seat of the great rack, able to do nothing but stare ahead at the empty opposing chair, and behind it, Stampede, Skewer and Scorch standing tall and proud, their variously sized muzzles all curled into smiles of sadistic pleasure as they watch his fruitless struggling.
Skewer pads around to the side of Ahastar and rears up to plant a lean, slender green-scaled raptor talon upon his upper leg. She leans her muzzle in close to his own and hisses, "Since you're such a disobedient pad licker, you won't have any choice in the matter any more." Her glossy green facial scales crease as she gives a silent snarl, then she leans in and licks the side of Ahastar's forced-open upper jaw. With a surge of weight, the stalker-caste female heaves herself gracefully up on top of Ahastar's legs and tailbase to climb into the upper rack chair. She folds herself neatly into it and relaxes back with a sadistic smile, her knees on a level with the half-demon's head. Casually she stretches out her impressive hind limbs and places the firm black-soled walking sections of her long digitigrade raptor feet side-by-side upon Ahastar's cloaca. "Can we hear the history of the conversion rack, Scorch?" she asks, raising a single eyeridge and turning to look down at the crimson raptoress standing to the side. "I get the feeling our victim is curious about it."
-----
Ahastar just can’t bring it over himself to gaze anywhere but down at the floor when he is so humblingly held beneath Stampede’s powerful bulk, even though a sternly lifted muzzle of his own would probably have reinstalled at least a bit of his dignity. As it is though, the half demon only looks to the stone soil beneath him, with the hefty hunter dominatingly pressing him down underfoot and undergroin. Ahastar doesn’t know if Skewer is fully aware of that or if the fact that she steps her emerald sickle-feet precisely into his peer is purely coincidence, yet that concern quickly dwindles the moment Stampede growlingly SLAMS the half demon up into the rack! "Accccchhhkkk, let go! LET GO!", the half demon snarls out with all the fury bursting out of his soul, but no less than six able raptor hands nearly fly over the rack, fitting shackles, fixing straps, firming chains! The long, taloned fingers slide over the deinonychus’ skin in an almost sensual, sexual fashion. And when they finally all come to cover and seal against his face to try and pry Ahastar’s jaws open, the half demon violently presses his lips shut. Stampede just gives a grim sneer and his victim a rapid jab to the throat."ACKKK!", Ahastar coughs out, instantly tasting raptor fingers that enter his mouth, play with his tongue, and finally slam his jaws apart, quickly fixing them with mean chains between his teeth. What gets revealed is a fresh, moist and healthy, red-hued raptor mouth, looking almost a bit inviting in its cleanness.
"SSSSSSSPLIT THEM!" comes a harshly hissed, female order - and one moment later, Ahastar feels his legs being forced to spread apart nearly to a dislocating point, his hip bone cracking loudly in protest. "Naaaaaaghhhh!", the half demon painfully hisses out, but that screech is quickly exchanged with a silent, embarrassed gaze of Ahastar. All raptors surrounding him peer down at his cloaca. Torment gives a brief snicker. Skewer hisssses out with the sound of a scalpel cutting through tissue. Stampede rolls his eyes and laughs into Ahastar’s face. Then, suddenly, a firm weight presses down upon the half demon’s left upper leg. Of course the deinonychus looks down, having to watch an emerald sickle-sprinter-foot resting on top of it. And then Skewer licks him. Right over his upper jaw, wide forced open as it is. It is a rapist’s kiss, nothing else. Ahastar can smell Skewer’s arousal, the stunning raptoress vibrating with lust. Then she heaves herself up, briefly and nonchalantly trampling over the half demon’s head with her other footpaw to take a seat on her throne!
Slowly and with a shivering gaze that not at all hides the anxiety of his soul and the heavy pulse of his racing heart, the half demon looks this entire menacing construct up and down. It is old. Quite old, actually. Every last bit of metal shows at least a tiny bit of rust, but there is simply that much material that the layer of oxidized iron does no harm to the device’s integrity. In fact, the half demon would probably have preferred cold, solid, clean steel - the bare rust feels itchy on the skin and uncomfortably grates over Ahastar’s scales. And probably over those of his predecessors’ as well - for clearly, the caught half demon is hardly the first victim to lose his freedom and will to all this surrounding metal and ancient wood. The construct reeks of raptors that have been strapped into here before him. Plenty of them. Just barely though, a tiny whiff that is only noticeable by a creature whose senses are flooded with adrenaline bred from lingering, cold panic. Apparently this... rack has been cared for extremely well. Which makes the fact that its materials show so much wear and tear even more disturbing. The air around it tastes of... copper.
Nothing has really started yet and still Ahastar cannot escape the imposing nature of this construct. It is completely silent and soulless and yet... the half demon feels exposed all the way to his very core by it. As if he would have been reduced to a tiny, slithering lizard beneath the godly pads of a rex for everyone to see. The seat his body is forced to dwell in puts him halfway into a revealing, almost relaxed back-angle and halfway into a completely humbled and humiliated kneel. Right in front of the other, the "master’s" chair. During the ages, this wicked beast of metal and wood has put victims in front of the proud sicklefeet of raptorian lords, leaders and priests, all of whom have probably mercilessly worked their bound victims beneath their throne until they received exactly what they desired. And now... now Ahastar finds himself in it, staring all the way up over Skewer’s beautiful, lithe body. Her gaze pierces down and impales Ahastar’s spirit, her eager breath coldly waving over the utterly revealed, pink flesh of the half demon’s cloaca, stretched so horribly wide by the more than just straining leg-beams he is forced to endure - before she shoves the sensitive orifice full with her coarse stalker pads! And still, the bound deinonychus can hardly move a single inch. And the reason for that is perfectly transmitted: For as long as he sits here, his body parts do not belong to him any more. They are owned by the rack. And it generously serves them to whatever ruling raptor takes a seat in the comfortable master’s chair.
Suddenly and with dazzling speed for his size, Stampede is right next to the bound raptor. One brown-scaled forepaw shoots forwards, takes a good hand full of the screeching half demon’s feathercrest and powerfully pulls the entire creature over towards him - testifying the hunter’s immense strength, for even the old rack has to budge lightly until Stampede’s muzzle-tip manages to whisper into Ahastar’s ear. His words are hard to understand, hissed out with the vibrating intensity of cold, predatory rage. "You listen well, cockroach! You have no idea how much you insulted my mate during the tasting game. It is not like she would need me to impose her well deserved revenge upon you. For trust me..." Stampede briefly strokes one of his mate’s cloaca-squashing sickleclaws, sending a solid jolt of icy pressure through Ahastar’s entire body, "...before this here comes to an end, you will pray to my mate. Not because you think she will go easier on you if lay down the last bits of your pride in front of her to stride over like a morning carpet in our den. No, but because you will be convinced that she IS a goddess of rape and pads and all your agonized, feeble little mind will be able to do is worship and bow before her while she walks over you like the street dirt that you are. And still..."
Torment viciously tugs on the feathercrest in his hand, ripping a few of them out of Ahastar’s head, which sends the half demon’s eyes to water up with sharp pain, "...you should remember one thing: You WILL end up as a Compy beneath my pads again, and probably fucking soon! Make no mistake about it - I will trample you so hard I will pulverize that pathetic joke you call a body until its remains fill the gaps in my sole scales. But if you do not want to have the impression that a giant devil has crept out of the earth to smash you down into hell by simply trampling you all the way down there, then I SUGGEST you satisfy my mate’s every whim, desire, kink and thrill!" Stampede’s rage-flavored drool is still dripping from Ahastar’s left ear when already the fine, white muzzle of Torment bows down to calmly whisper into his right. "You will want to relax your cloaca once this starts. Stalkers have viciously sharp claws to begin with and I know that Skewer is rasping hers to razors, so... if you don’t want her to slice your intestines out of your belly, you should do your best to keep all her shredding and shaving and thrusting and twisting in between your cloacal confines. Because if I have to resurrect you, these eyes of yours will be back in a Compy skull again right away...", the ghostly shaman smiles over to Stampede, "...and you just heard what will happen then." And with these dooming words, Ahastar gazes up all the way over Skewer’s strong legs, her slender frame and into her face. The stalker gives her two padfeet a brief push into her victim’s cloaca - before her sadistic gaze alone spells a bound easily as strong as the entire conversion rack.
-----
The sleek green sickle feet of the stalker-caste Skewer raidate power and suspense as they rest firmly between Ahastar's wide-splayed legs, their warm padded undersides pressed humblingly to the most highly private, highly sensitive and highly vulnerable area of the half-demon's restrained body in a posture as devestatingly degrading as it is terrifying and posessive. These stalker feet have already proven their incredible dexterity and their sly green owner has more than proven both her unnatural skill with them and the cruel pleasure she takes in using them to degrade her victims. But the emerald raptoress for now only rests them side-by-side upon Ahastar's groin, letting their complete motionlessness work fear and uncertainty into the mind of her victim while her piercing amber eyes gaze voyeristically down upon him.
Scorch hefts her hind limb and curls a big crimson talon over one of the lower wooden bars as she leans comfortably in against the side of the rack. She casually folds her forelegs together and rests them on top of Ahastar's strapped-down left arm. "It is a rather imposing device, isn't it?" she chuckles, leaning her stark red muzzle in close to the half-demon's own. "And it's one of the keys to our success, my little compy, to the success of the First Tribe and all of us whose veins still flow with their great blood. You are strapped to an antique and a religious artefact and a weapon of war; I hope you're duly honoured." She smirks, uncurling a forehand to scritch a single claw under Ahastar's forced-open lower jaw. "It was during the initial conquest, when the expansion of the First Tribe was - proportionally at least - at its fastest, that the idea of forcibly converting the assimilated tribes was had. After all, it was by following, and perhaps even creating, The Way, that the first tribal leaders had acheived such success, so they had no intention of letting it be diluted away by the influx of conquered tribes from the initial expansion. You," Scorch says, pulling her claw away from Ahastar's chin and stepping back to look at the whole rack, "Are strapped into a device that symbolises the single greatest invention of our civilisation: Conversion. It pains me that today we know so little about it..."
She trails off thoughtfully and the other three raptors observe a respectful moment's silence along with her. Suddenly there is an explosion from the geyser pool and Dras surges up from under the surface of the water, looking refreshed. He swims back to the shallows and wades out of the pool, water streaming down his sleek muscled body and pooling in large watery footprints as he pads over towards his brethren, eyeing up the rack. "I remembering these things being bigger," he says, then stops and shakes himself vigourously, sending water spraying out over the rack and the other four raptors, none of whom so much as blink. "Don't let me interrupt." He takes up one of the drink bowls and stands beside one of the side bars of the rack, adopting a similar stance to Scorch by planting one talon upon the wooden beam and leaning casually in against it. His calm yellow eyes settle upon Ahastar and he laps his drink. Torment and Stampede also gather themselves in closer, surrounding the sides of the great wooden frame and peering maliciously in at the half-demon.
Scorch continues, "After a victory, survivors of the conquered tribe would be brought back to the capital and either converted or executed. Of those that were executed, the less important typically died under the marching feet of the army, and the more important were sacrificed to the Gods in a ceremony that you might remember, little compy." The crimson raptoress smiles broadly, hoping to get a reaction from Ahastar but the half-demon's tense, trembling-jawed, wide-eyed attention is fixed rigidly upon Skewer, under whose apparantly motionless feet his cloacal region is helplessly swelling. Recognising the sly, self-assured expression on the scaly muzzle of her stalker-caste sister, Scorch realises that the slender green raptoress has been silently plying the infamously minute muscle movements of her caste to invisibly stimulate the half-demon while she has been speaking. Torment, Stampede and Dras seem oblivious to Ahastar's violent enforced arousal, so with a mild snort of amusement, Scorch continues, "However, thanks to the conversion rack, the executed were almost always fewer in number than those who were assimilated into the tribe. The majority of prisoners became loyal followers of The Way." As if on cue, the restrained half-demon gives a loud, open-jawed moan and Torment, Dras and Stampede all look at him in surprise, then one by one grin and turn to gaze up at Skewer, whose sly expression has become one of sadistic rapture.
"I don't even want to know what you're doing to him under there," Dras says, flicking his wet feather crest towards the still motionless green-scaled raptor feet pressed side-by-side between Ahastar's split legs.
-----
Ahastar certainly tests the strength of that device! Not only his constitution is one of a half demon’s his strength is rather remarkable as well, easily challenging a hunter, perhaps, even though he is physically quite a lot smaller than Stampede or his kinmate. The bound deinonychus thrashes and shakes, then briefly freezes as he is made well aware of Skewer’s humbling, degrading touch... then trashes and shakes all the more! In the end though, the conversion rack shows that it isn’t "old". It is only... "experienced". Its shackles and chains, bars and frames hold solid, allowing Ahastar to writhe in his misfortune - probably much to the amusement of whatever raptor has taken a seat in the master’s chair, so much higher above than its sheer location suggests. Eventually though he has to accept that there is no escape, the rack taming the fixed half demon and putting him under the wanton, sadistic eyes of first Skewer, sitting there like an emerald goddess, and Scorch, who calmly joins the conversation in an overly relaxed, laid back way. Of course Ahastar can’t help but notice her planting her own solid alpha cast padpaw near him - nor can all the mental travel to his imaginary happy place aid him with his escape from this mockingly scratching raptoress talon beneath his snow scaled chin.
There was a time when Ahastar would have called the attention of two females as, well... "high standing" as Scorch and Skewer quite a fortunate and entertainment thing. This right now is probably not such a situation. The bound deinonychus indeed manages to briefly forget about Skewer’s razor sharply clawed sicklefeet right on top of his fearfully quivering cloaca the moment the red scaled raptoress begins to talk. At first Ahastar doesn’t even understand or comprehend her words. But as Scorch keeps chatting and explaining, her eyes almost dreamily slipping away into the passion of her noble tribe’s history, a few things dawn upon the half demon. Not what this rack is actually for, mind you, his mind probably rejecting that conclusion. Oh no, it is more the fact that compared to these raptors, Ahastar feels like a savage, brainless animal. With every word leaving over the red raptoress’ ever so eloquent lips, she metaphorically grabs the half demon’s feathercrest and dunks him face first into that fact. All that is missing after her speech is the patronizing line "But of course the likes of you would never understand that, would you? Here, go for what you are good in", followed be he shoving him down to her sprinter feet again to use his face as her doormat, rolling her eyes. And to a rather cocky and patri-archaic raptor like Ahastar that just doesn’t fly! Nor does he, much to the continued misfortune of his by now burrrrrrrning cloaca that finds itself getting briefly pressed to the point of driving the half demon into a resounding groaaaaan, greatly amusing every bystanding raptor.
The half demon once more gazes left and right, finding every single one of the remaining four raptor gathered around him, sipping drinks, shaking wet, sparkling scales or simply trying to not snarl out into ravaging laughter. All of their eyes are fixed over Ahastar - who probably has never felt this exposed before. His mouth is turning so dry, forced open in the night air. He still keeps listening to Scorch, politely explaining various execution and torture methods. A solid wince travels through the half demon’s body when she mentions the sacrifice ritual - still filling his dreams every night ever since he got here. The Way? The paws of the army? The Walk of Shame? All these terms make Ahastar’s head spin, which is quite an achievement given its racked bondage. He tries his best to not grant his tormentors the added entertainment of listening to his embarrassed grunting and groaning.. but it is nigh impossible with Skewer’s wicked attention. Ahastar has no idea what she is doing. To him, it looks like she wouldn’t move a single muscle. But he can’t help but shake off the feeling as if a trex toe was already halfway thrust into his cloacal orifice, grinding and twisting!
-----
The warm flickering torchlight glitters in the five sets of sadistic raptor eyes that gaze relentlessly into Ahastar's own, and the soft glow of luminous crystals gleams off the pristine scaly bodies of the powerful (both socially and physically) deinonychi as they surround Ahastar. Skewer, in all her poison-green glory, settles her slender stalker-caste body back in her carved wooden raptor chair, her malevolent yellow eyes fixed on wide cyan ones of her victim as firmly as her sleek raptor feet fix against his heavily swollen cloaca. Dras leans in against the right side of the rack, one of his own princely talons curled over the lower rung of the wooden frame and a drink bowl held neatly in one of his foreclaws. Torment stands beside him, her ghostly white scales glowing orange and turquoise in the den's fire-and-crystal lighting as she holds herself regally. Opposite Torment on the other side of the rack, Stampede leans in close to the chair that holds his mate, his huge hunter-caste body enabling him to rest his head comfortably on top of one of the upper wooden rungs of the rack and grimly watch Ahastar while he stands there. Scorch stands beside him, leaning in towards Ahastar opposite Dras, her crimson forelegs folded casually over the middle rung of the frame and her claws curling and furrowing the gnarled wood as she speaks. The half-demon himself is bound helplessly and surrounded by his sadistic captors, his jaws clamped open and his entire body tensing with the potency of Skewer's subtle, invisible stimulation.
Scorch is saying, "But even though the rack was the most important part, it wasn't enough by itself to fully convert someone. Undoubtedly it could break the mind of a victim, but not reprogram it."
One of Skewer's green hind limbs bends as she pulls her long digitigrade talon from Ahastar's cloaca and lifts it to settle its clawed toes against the half-demon's snout. "May we hear the process itself?" she asks, stroking her long thick digits over Ahastar's nostrils and lips and smiling broadly as he strains in his bonds, fruitlessly trying to move his head away. Settling back in her chair, she lifts her other talon and brings it up beside the first to gently stroke and touch his snout and upper jaw with both black padded soles, clearly revelling in her power over the larger deinonychus.
Scorch chuckles as she watches this and she says, "The old Conversion was a wonderful process. If it wasn't so time-consuming and inefficient it would definitely still be in use today. Then - as now - the aim was to reprogram the mind of a victim to convert him into a follower of The Way. Without the magic of the shaman tribes, the best way to do this was by prolonged sexual abuse interspersed with appropriate physical stimuli to condition the mind. The rack was used as you are using it now, Skewer." She gives a purring nod of her crimson head to the stalker-caste's slender green talons, the toes of which have already begun alternately stroking over the length of Ahastar's cornered tongue. Scorch says, "For the first stage of conversion, the victim would be bound into the rack and made to drink small quantities of aphrodesiac oil."
Dras immediately snaps his claws and points over to Uss, who dips his sparsely crested head and obediently trots over to the bar to retreive the said oil.
Scorch continues, "Under the stimulation of the aphrodesiac, the victim would be repeatedly raped by the converter's talons for extended periods, depending on his size and strength."
Torment smiles at this and Dras drops a foreleg to massage his own bulging cloaca. He sets his drink bowl down on one of the rack's wooden beams as Uss arrives, and takes the clay jar from the small grey servant raptor, who disappears back into the shadows of the bar area.
"The second stage involved shorter periods in the conversion rack, interspersed with compy crushing sessions, in which the victim would be bound to an altar and a compy would be strapped to his chest. Again with the use of aphrodesiac and seedpods, the converter would trample the compy to death on top of the victim and stimulate a talon-induced orgasm at the exact moment of the compy's demise."
Dras gives a bark of laughter and turns to grin at Ahastar, recalling a similar moment during the half-demon's Sacrifice ceremony two months ago.
Scorch continues, "The third and final stage of conversion took place during a Sacrifice. The victim would be forcibly stimulated and made to witness the execution by tyrannosaur trample line of his conquered tribe's leader. Again, an orgasm was induced at the moment of death."
Stampede and Skewer exchange highly pleasured looks and Dras says, "Son of a sauropod! Why the hell did we stop doing that?"
Scorch says regretfully, "It took weeks to convert a single prisoner, and even then it didn't always work. As soon as shaman magic became advanced enough to perform mental conversions, the physical method was abandoned."
Dras is silent for a moment, shaking his crested head in disbelief, then he picks up his drink bowl and chinks it against the wooden frame of the rack. "To the old way," he says, and the other three, grinning, join him.
-----
Ahastar’s eyes, pretty much the only part of his body still allowed and capable of rolling around freely, take in the sight of his surrounding tormentors. They all look calm and relaxed on the outside - Facedancer also looking moist on top of that - but beyond that veil of scales and flesh, they are all... searing inside. Each one in their individual ways, sure, but these eight ember and two green eyes leave no doubt about that. The half demon can peer down into the dark, sadistic souls of every last one of them and finds nothing but malevolent voyeurism and dominating glee. They are looking forward to this. Immensely. Facedancer tries to make a good show of relaxed, smug watching, but he can probably hardly wait to give his own cock a heavy workout at the sight to be. Torment remains the most silent of them all, standing a bit further away. She doesn’t move a single inch, her eyes hardly lidding. She is like a grim ghost of this accursed treehouse, enjoying to watch its inhabitants suffer. Scorch? Half of her will enjoy Skewer royally fucking up their bound trample toy while the other half will probably witness and record what is going on, to make sure if the "Old Ways" still work in these modern times, always being the scholar without morals. Stampede’s grin is the most honest of them all. He just wants to see Ahastar getting broken, and wants to see his mate finally netting in her longed for revenge. Skewer herself? She puzzles Ahastar with why the wooden chair she is resting in doesn’t spontaneously inflame, given how heated up her body and mind are, her joy of looking forward to this the only thing keeping her at bay right now. In short: Ahastar feels as if he would be sitting in an execution device, surrounded by five axe-swinging deathdealers with one of them having won the dice roll.
This lingering curse keeps silent for a while, but eventually Skewer can’t resist any longer. Ahastar is forced to behold her lifting one of her sicklefeet, the razor sharp talons of hers flickering, shining threatingly in the restless torchlight. The bound deinonychus thrashes and snarls in his shackles, but he just can’t move away! One moment later, he feels the night-cooled pads of the slender Skewer pressing against his face with more dominance than 50 of her size could probably store in their bodies. With her toes grasping around his nostrils, playing with his twitching eye and almost seductively running their pads up and down his pulled open lips, Ahastar can’t prevent a silent whimper escaping his mouth. His urge to close it with the sadistic’ stalker’s other paw rising up high almost as strong as the rack’s muzzle-peeling iron - yet only almost. "Unnngghhrrrrhhhhh!", he groans out when Skewer delicately pressed the entire ball-padded sole of her other foot precisely on top of Ahastar’s tongue, then squeezing the hot, soft, moist oral muscle down upon the lower jaw of the gagged creature. If her fellow raptors care to take a close look - and they certainly do - their sharp eyes can actually behold a few single taste buds of Ahastar’s rattling up and down as they are forced to disappear, then resurface beneath the purrrrrrrring raptoress’ constantly shifting sprinter soles. Even when she begins to playfully swap out the reptilian feet currently shoved in between the half demon’s cheeks does Ahastar not stop straining, sending amused groans of wood and metal through the uncaring rack.
And then there is Scorch’s continued story. Even with the majority of his brain busy processing the pure lizard flavor of Skewer’s paws inside his mouth and stroking over his lips, Ahastar’s brain still finds enough capacities left to listen closely to what she has to say. The half demon has been here for roughly a month by now, yet only now he begins to slowly understand just where he ended up here: A metropolis of malice, a city of sadism, a tribe of raptorian trampling. Their whole culture, their entire existence begins to bloom into heights that even these five raptor surrounding him might not fully see coming yet, and all of that due to his involuntary arrival. Scorch’ words install perfect pictures of her rich and colorful descriptions into Ahastar’s brain, cutting into his self confidence and hopes and longings as if she would vivisect his brain itself with these brutal sickle claws adorning her sturdy paws. "To the old way!" It is Facedancer’s drinking spell that makes the half demon’s eyes jump open again in panic. And just in the right time to behold the gray scaled servant raptor arrive with a luxuriously crafted flask! "No!" For the first time during this long night, Ahastar raises his voice with a begging tune. "Not with that stuff! Please, I can make it work without it. It isn’t necessary!" He hates himself for the very words slipping from his mouth, but with Skewer’s foot planted inside, he has no tongue left to control them with.
-----
"Hey - hey! Don't worry, bud, we're not gonna convert you. It's much more fun to have you screaching and begging while we trample your scaly ass into pulp." Dras leans his azure muzzle in close to the side of Ahastar's wild straining head as he says this. He waits until one of the gagging stalker talons pulls out of the half-demon's muzzle, then his handsome alpha-caste features curl into a smirk and he admits, "It wouldn't work anyway; nothing fucks up a conditioned rex foot fetish better than being trampled to death under them. And I just don't think our Gods could resist trampling you, even if you were a folllower. They enjoy it too much - we all do."
"May I have the aphrodesiac, beloved?" Skewer's hissing voice drips with malice and she pulls her clawed toes out of Ahastar's held-open jaws and pushes their thick ball pads against his snout, just because she can. Stampede reaches down and takes the clay pot in his foreclaws, holding it up for Skewer, who reluctantly breaks eye contact with Ahastar to dip her head down and nuzzle her mate gratefully. She reaches a forepaw into the pot and scoops up a dripping fistfull of the aphrodesiac oil, then, pulling one clawed foot from Ahastar's snout, she hunches her powerful hind limb and reaches forwards to rub the clear fluid into her long digitigrade raptor sole, taking particular care over its padded walking section. Upon finishing, she stretches her hind leg back out and rests her narrow digitigrade heel upon Ahastar's chest, letting the long glistening underside of her sole curve lazily upwards in front of the half-demon's eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, Skewer pulls her other talon from Ahastar's snout and smoothly applies the same oil to its sole and toes before arogantly stretching it back out and crossing her ankles to inescapably display the sparkling pads of both feet in front of the face of her restrained victim.
"Too bad he can't move his head," Dras comments, watching Ahastar struggle with a lopsided smile of amusement. "He knows what's coming, Skewer. I reckon he'd lick your pads right down the the bone now if he could!"
Skewer gives a cruel smirk and splays her long oiled toes in front of Ahastar's muzzle. "I'm sure he would." She fixes her yellow-eyed gaze on the straining half-demon and gives a low growl. "But the time for that has come and gone and he failed to satisfy me." One sleek green-scaled talon lifts from on top of the other and Skewer slowly traces its splayed sickle toe around the edge of Ahastar's lower jaw, continuing, "You've shown us that can't be trusted to lick my pads when commanded, little compy, so I must feed you your aphrodesiac more... forcibly. I hope this serves as a memorable lesson." And she settles back in her chair, lays a forehand upon her cloaca and carefully inserts her lean scaly talon into Ahastar's open jaws.
There is a creaking of bone as Skewer lowers her sickle toe and pushes her thick scaly digits into the maw of the half-demon, rubbing them forcibly back and forth along his buried tongue and creeping them gradaully towards the back of his mouth. Ahastar's cheeks bulge out and his eyes flicker frantically to and fro as his incomprehensible noises of protestation are muffled by the long scaly sprinter foot in his mouth. Skewer begins to stroke and massage her cloaca as she feels the warm compression of her victim's throat squeezing around her relaxed toes, pushing them together; She pauses for a moment and shoots a malicious look of pure sadism at the half-demon, then slowly splays them out, bulging Ahastar's throat horiffically and causing him to choke and gag in desperate self-preservation reflex. With a smile of pure pleasure, Skewer closes her eyes and lifts her other foot to begin carefully working it into Ahastar's jaws too, first pushing its clawed toes in underneath his upper jaw, then slowly extending her hind leg until the top side of the long digitigrade foot begins to disappear into him. There is a muffled crack and her first paw slides smoothly in up to its heel, the long sleek arch rubbing its oiled scales against Ahastar's overpowered tongue and down his throat, then another crack and the second foot begins to creep steadily into him. With both her narrow digitigrade heels filling the open jaws of her twitching victim, Skewer breathes a deep purring sigh and slides two padded fingers into her cloaca, her long sleek tail swaying and curling with fluid pleasure beneath her wooden chair. She opens her eyes again and pushes her sleek oiled feet in deeper, rubbing their scaly heels over the flattened tongue of the half-demon and forcing them slowly down his gullet.
"Fuck me," Dras breathes as Ahastar's bloodshot eyes finally roll back and he stops convulsing. "Even for a sneaky little stalker that's unbelievable."
Scorch's grim smile neatly shows off the tips of her fangs. She gives a nod of her crimson crestless head and says, "Not strictly part of the conversion process, but very entertaining."
Skewer's calf muscles bulge, cracking Ahastar's jaws open further, and the sleek green raptor smiles luxuriously, her hind limbs sunk almost up to the knees in the warm organic innards of the restrained half-demon. "His heart's still beating," she purrs, masturbating smoothly and unashamedly with her padded digits, "But his lungs have stopped."
Torment chuckles. "Perhaps he acted a little too heartily on my advice to relax."
Stampede's eyes travel downwards from the gaping white-scaled jaws and his deep hunter caste voice hisses, "Guess the aphrodesiac worked." He gives a derisive snort and adds, "But it's hard to tell."
-----
Of course that single moment of weakness displayed by Ahastar’s desperate words is instantly raptorily pounced upon, then getting eviscerated, then having its guts sloshed all over the place and THEN having said guts being danced upon by padded paws - that doesn’t surprise the half demon. It also doesn’t surprise him that it is the blue scaled deinonychus that generously comments on Ahastar’s begging whimper with words so much dripping in smug that it could probably oil this very rack here. What does surprise Ahastar is how much Facedancer’s words still hit him. Every last one of his melodically hissed out words of tramplelust slice and dice into Ahastar’s flesh. The lead raptor just loves the half demon underfoot - and not just his own! He probably enjoys watching him get trampled by rexes and raptors as much as doing it himself, and he gladly hits home with that - together with the fact that he owns Ahastar... but is very willing to lend him around.
Then Skewer suddenly speaks up! With his ears full of Facedancer’s colorful descriptions of rex paws trampling Ahastar to pulp, the half demon didn’t manage to fully catch what she was saying. But the sharp, cruel tune of her words... she might probably have asked for a vat full of sulfur acid to pour down the restrained raptor’s mouth! "Aaaaah-AAAAHCCKK!", Ahastar grunts out loudly when the slender stalker shoves his face full with her sternly shaped sprinter feet, feeling tough to the touch and blocking out his eyes as well as nearly the entire rest of his upper jaw. The half demon can’t see a damn thing except for black pads and poison green scales, hi fingers and tail twitching nervously in their respective bounds. *scchlllrrrppp* Then Skewer removes one of her punishing feet from her groggy victim’s muzzle, letting a single eye blink open again and behold the show. Ahastar’s vision is blocked out halfway, his entire right hand side made up by a massive raptoress leg rooting from somewhere behind his nostrils, then growing more and more narrow all the way towards her sadistically leering face. The wicked stalker doesn’t even look down upon her face-trampled half demon while she thoroughly oils her pads, enjoying the trickling, smooth sensation probably as much as the idea of cramming both her feet up Ahastar’s mouth, then taking her merry time with her other paw as well, then simply placing them down on top of his chest, placed one upon the other and arrogantly displaying these tough, rough walking sections of her feet to the whimpering raptor beneath her. Even when dripping with translucent oil and being completely relaxed, these paws *still* appear as if they could wipe the green out of a Compy skin without much hassle, Ahastar’s swollen cloaca nearly swallowing itself at the grim idea of having to undergo this "sexual abuse" Scorch is still philosophing about to a very curious Facedancer.
Then the half demon once more rises up his muzzle and his voice, both as much as he can. "Look, I apologize for earlier, okay? I had no idea that it... is so important for you. I just... wasn’t aware! I could do now if you..." The fleeting power in Ahastar’s voice seems to be directly proportional to the narrowing of Skewer’s ember eyes for even daring to directly address her, and then everything is too late! Swallowing open-mouthed one last time and snarling out something between a desperate "NOOOOOOAAARghhhhhh!" and a racing threat, Ahastar’s mouth shoots out drool as Skewer’s skewering hindpaw honors its name! "Unnnghhrrllll...accckkkkknnnn!" The half demon’s entire body trembles into the direction the stalker’ foot is leashing out to, his face horribly contorting into whatever angle she pleases. His cheeks buuuulllggggeeee out with Skewer’s talon ravaging his face, not because of her site being unbearable, but because she knows how to stretch her toes to maximum effect! Ahastar can hardly believe how strong her foot is, spreading his jaws, an experienced hunter and carnivore’s, apart as if his skull muscles would be made of clay! By the gods and their cracking jaws, her footclaws are sharp as razors! Ahastar doesn’t dare bringing his tongue up to his gum, for he is sure one swift movement of the raptoress would cleanly severe it - that way it has no other choice but to stay and duck down below, right beneath Skewer’s constantly shifting, grinding, rubbing sole. That vile aphrodisiac oil easily enters his flesh and bloodstream that way, pumping through his veins! After a few moments Ahastar is convinced his cloaca must be openly steaming and smoking, his entire lower body feeling like every last bit of heat his body produces would be concentrating there. "OUUUURRRGHHHHHH! One ofter tho other! ONE OFTER THO OTHER!" The half demon’s eyes roll in his skull in pure despair as Skewer murderously shoves in her other sicklefoot next to its brother as well, filling his mouth so badly that more than just a few scales hop off of his hide from the sheer, bulging pressure! And she just keeps pushing down... clean into his throat! Usually Ahastar would puke up his entrails by now, but his brain simply has no steering chemicals left with all this arousal processing and oral input of flavors and smells. "Hrrrrkkk! NNRRRGHHHHH!" Every last muscle straining, the half demon’s body tries to expel Skewer’s destroying sicklefeet when they finally pierce down into his throat, spreading it apart to the point where Facedancer can make out the shape of her toes inside Ahastar’s neck. And then it is simply too much - the bound raptor’s organs begin to come to a screeching halt. And as a final insult, that suffocation just perfectly aids the aphrodisiac ambush, netting in the desired "result."
-----
For several long minutes, Skewer enjoys the warm tight confines of Ahastar's insides squeezing around her padded talons and lower legs, but even with the coronary aid of her gently flexing toes deep inside his chest cavity, the half-demon's heart soon weakens and she feels its beat dwindle until even her peaked stalker-caste senses are unable to detect it. With a growl of creamy pleasure, she begins the lengthy process of removing herself from her victim, still pleasuring herself while she does so. When at last her sleek scaled feet slide wetly out of Ahastar's forced-wide jaws, they are slick and slimey with the half-demon's internal fluids, their toes joined with webbings of thick saliva and their claws frosted by stomach acid. The sly female predator stacks them again on top of Ahastar's chest, saliva pooling around her heels, and the five raptors wait for him to come around.
A twitch signals the first stage of the half-demon's recovery, the sudden movement making Skewer's lazily curled hind paws wobble on top of him. A moment later he twitches again, the raptors all watching in silent voyeuristic fascination as their victim begins convulsing and finally coughs violently before gasping air back into his demonic lungs. "Welcome back," Skewer says, slowly stretching thick tendrils of saliva and mucus between her toes as she splays them with obscene arogance. "Though you have barely enough flesh for any of us to be sure, it would seem you require some relief." She gives a minute nod of her emerald head, indicating Ahastar's burning aphrodesiac-enforced erection, then she smiles cruelly and lifts one slimey sprinter foot. "Allow me."
The rageful hisses and indistinct, open-jawed screeches of the half-demon draw vicious barks of sadistic raptor laughter from his five tormentors, and his desperate writhing is indifferently absorbed by the sturdy wooden frame of the conversion rack. For all his semi-demonic power, Ahastar is helpless and his green-scaled tormentress gleefully makes him feel it, yawning as she settles back in her carved wooden raptor chair and stretching out her lean, muscular hind limb before she slowly lowers it and smirkingly lays her slick padded toes against the shaft of the half-demon's malehood. She leers, bearing her fangs as Ahastar gives another rageful hiss and tries to writhe away. Applying mockingly gentle pressure, she pushes the underside of her two long outer toes against his hot tense flesh and begins to slowly slide them up and down, sending throbbing convulsions down its length.
"Lubricated with his own stomach acid," Torment comments with an intrigued cocking of one eyeridge. "I suspect he is the first to receive such unusual treatment." She inflates her impressive alpha-caste chest and leans in against the rack, giving in to lusty sadism like her fellow raptors.
"Doesn't sound too grateful for the honour though, does he?" chuckles Stampede.
"Distinctly UNgrateful is how I'd put it," Dras says, dropping his smirking gaze from Ahastar's wide-eyed gasping to Skewer's skillful talon. "You'd think he'd be happy - looks like he could barely satisfy a compy, let alone another feral or whetever-the-hell he is." The azure chieftan gives a shake of his damp feather crest and snickers, looking back up at Ahastar. "This is the closest you'll ever get to fucking another raptor, bud. Make the most of it!"
Skewer now brings her other scaly talon down from its casual perch upon her victim's chest and begins smoothly working its padded walking section into the base of Ahastar's swollen shaft, her hot, slickened foot pads massaging with all the tremendous physical skill of a purebred and intensely trained stalker-caste deinonychus. The moaned begging of the half-demon falls upon merciless earholes and Skewer only smirks cruelly, beginning to trace a splayed sickle toe around the hot swollen lips of Ahastar's cloaca while she continues to stroke the long thick toes of her other talon against the fully extruded length of his malehood. With slow, precise movements of her powerful body, the green raptoress curls apart the half-demon's sensitive cloacal lips and smoothly pushes her long scaly toes inside him. The hot black ball pad of her caressing talon begins exerting firm pressure upon Ahastar's hard fleshy length, pushing it down against his tense underside and rubbing back and forth with warm, fluid precision, and the last thing the half-demon hears is Torment's soft purring voice, "Rrrrelaxxxx..." the instant before Skewer, orgasmic fluid seeping from her own swollen orifice, extends her powerful hind limb and mercilessly slides her slick scaly raptor foot into him right up to the heel.
-----
Curiously enough except for the lack of begging and screeching and writhing, a dead Ahastar looks suspiciously alike to a living one, which probably has to do with the death-mocking nature of the rack, holding the half demon’s corpse up solidly and stealing away even what little dignity it might have found in the other world. Now with their snuff toy so utterly presented to them, the five fellow trample torturing raptors have prime tickets to watch the resurrection show! A few of them peer along with a bit of a nervous eyes, after all they are not fully sure if Ahastar really will come back to life after all. Fortunately these dark worries are tamed well by a shaman in the vicinity - even if Torment should have been wrong, which she rarely is, she is only a few moments of staff swinging and shamanistic incantations away from correcting her failed observations. Of course, it is not necessary to go there! The only real surprise is the white, booming explosion of pure light that apparently travels out of every last cell in the half demon’s body, peaking the curiosity of Torment and Scorch for further research and the continued crushlust of all five.
"Ack-Hagh!", Ahastar coughs himself painfully awake again. Groooaaaaning, he writhes in his rack confinement. His throat feels as if someone would have ripped off a Stegosaur’s tail and viciously muzzle-fucked him with it. Blinking his eyes fully awake, the first thing Ahastar notices is Skewer’s emerald-green, black-padded stalker feet deployed smugly on top of his chest again, this time dripping in more of his juices than he cares to count. The second thing he finds out is that he is currently out of a voice, most likely due to his vocal cords having been stretched apart by these flashing sickle claws in front of him mere moments ago. "Ach... snngh... ughh!", Ahastar coughs out, shaking his muzzle and gritting his teeth. All he gets from it is yet another face shoved full with Skewer’s soles as well as a round of mocking hissing and snarling delivered by this gruesome raptor surround system that just keeps making his life utter hell!
"Ssssssshhhhhh...!" - "NNNRRRRGHHHHHHHHllggghnnghhh!" Still without a voice but with enough air in his lungs to press out an agonized moan, Ahastar suddenly begins to almost ride his rack! Even if Skewer’s well scale-armoured feet easily manage to cope with Ahastar’s sharp stomach acids, his poor, pitch black and quite sensible shaft does not share that protection! Hot tears of pure anguish drip down Ahastar’s muzzle when Skewer begins to slickly grind and stroke his malehood under her rough, coarse pads and scales, that cunning stalker foot rubbing the half demon’s sensitive flesh raw and filling the gaps she tears into its hide with the vile acid covering her feet - almost as corrosive as her merciless, twisted gaze right though Ahastar’s eyes and into his very soul. Up and down and up and down the stalker moves her sprinter paw, driving the half demon nearly insane with raped "pleasure". Her fellow raptors nearly go ballistic with sadistic lust, and yet they still have the best to see.
Ahastar doesn’t even realize that Skewer is moving her other foot towards his swollen, shivering cloacal orifice, even though every single one of the myriads of nerve ends inside that ultra fragile pocket of flesh is right now burning in the aphrodisiacs vile effect. Only when her steel cold claws are already pressing apart his sexual orifice’ lips with their razor sharp touch does the half demon manage to peer down. Shock stands in his eyes, a desperate, pleading begging in his face. He shakes his muzzle. His gaze offers Skewer his heart and soul for her to trample upon, but she just kicks both away, refusing. "N... noooouuughhhh!" Ahastar finds his shredded voice back right when Torment reminds him of what he’d better do, should he care for the continued integrity of his cloaca. But that is much, muuuuch easier said than done. Slime suddenly sprays nearly up to the treehouse ceiling around Skewer’s swiftly impaling clawfoot, cloacal lips sucking loudly, wetly around her very ankle and indeed a slight crack form in the right side beam of the conversion rack as Ahastar’s muscles nearly go into rigor mortis from a lance of purest, cleanest agony! "AaaaaaauuuuRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!!!" That unearthly scream is loud enough to travel into the most far away corner of the raptor city, sending every last snout inside to shift into its direction! Skewer has fully entered her target - in a way that promises rich neutering and a feeling Ahastar will never forget again, no mater how many times they bind him upon their altars.
-----
The five raptors all recoil in surprise as Ahastar bellows out his agony, the sound echoing and reverberating around the den and ringing in the glowing crystals long after it has wavered into shaky sobs. Uss lifts his head from behind the bar and looks over to the group with some alarm, but the other raptor begin laughing in a mixture of sadism and adrenaline. Skewer's powerful calf muscles tense as she squeezes Ahastar's hips hard against the back of the chair, holding them perfectly still while the rest of his body convulses as much as the restrains of the conversion rack allow.
"Didn't like that much, did he?" laughs Dras, shaking off momentary surprise from Ahastar's tremendous scream. He leans in against the side of the rack and reaches out to grab the top of Ahastar's oil-slickened snout with a forepaw, and forcibly holds his head still as he looks into the wide cyan eye and says, "I sure hope you found a few ferals to screw before we caught you, bud, because after this-" he tosses his feathered head to the side, indicating the cruel skillful feet of Skewer, "-that little thing of yours is gonna curl up and die from shame if it doesn't get burned off first." The azure chieftan smirks and pulls back to lean on the middle beam of the rack again, picking up his drink bowl while he watches.
With her left talon sunk up to the heel inside Ahastar's cloacal orifice and her right casually stroking up and down the length of his male organ, Skewer allows a cruel purr to rumble through her sleek, lean body and she takes a lap from her drink bowl before saying, "I can't help but notice that you aren't relaxing as Torment advised; I should have thought you'd have more respect for her." She turns to grin at the white-scaled shaman, who slow-blinks a contented look at Ahastar and doesn't reply. Skewer continues, "No matter. I only seek to destroy your mind, compy, but I will happily take your body as well if you don't want to relax those little muscles of yours." She minuitely splays her toes inside Ahastar's cloaca, brushing the curve of her sickle claw against the underside of his tense stomach tendons while at the same time running the thick wet pads of her two longer toes along the tense bulge of his rectal muscles, and she leers cruelly at his strained reaction.
"Not sure he can even hear you," says Stampede, eyeing up Ahastar's wild expression with some amusement. "He looks like a hadro with its throat sickle sliced."
Torment tilts her sleek white head slightly, as though listening to something, and she smiles coolly. "He can hear."
Skewer turns back to settle her calm yellow eyes upon Ahastar's gaping muzzle and curls forward in her raptor chair. "Alright then," she says. "let's begin." In a single fluid movement, she splays apart the toes of her right talon and presses Ahastar's burning shaft down against his underside, then she begins slowly pulling her left out of the half-demon, sliding its sleek scaly arch smoothly between the swollen cloacal lips until a few inches of glistening sole are visible, then smirking and pushing it firmly back in. The agonised groan of the bound raptor acts as a stimulant for the watching deinonychi and all lean in closer to watch, eyes glittering with malice and pleasure. Skewer's clawed toes splay fluidly within Ahastar's cloaca, bulging his hip and belly scales from the inside, then she smoothly pulls her sleek talon out further, letting half of its slimey wet arch see light before clenching her toes and pushing it back in. She repeats this with quickening motions, muscles firming and rippling beneath the scales of her hind leg as she forcibly slides her long scaly foot in and out of his bucking, hysterical raptor before her, holding firm constant pressure on the tense length of his shaft as she holds his hips still with her other paw. Unable to restrain herself, the green stalker caste raptor begins to bark out harsh sadistic deinonychus laughter as she abuses her victim, plunging her scales, claws and coarse wet pads deeper and deeper into him until in a final hissing thrust, she forces her heel in through the bruised cloacal lips and engulfs her ankle. Skewer stops thrusting, the entire length of her lean scaly sprinter foot burning Ahastar's insides. "My," she says, calming her laughter back down to a soft throbbing purr. "Are those your ribs?"
-----
Even Ahastar’s own ears are still ringing with the earth-shaking scream he was forced to let out – it was one of shock and exploding pain. Yet now, with the adrenaline slowly ebbing off and the brief, eruptive agony making space for a creeping, numb pain spreading through his groin, the half demon’s sounds shift as well. Every word is a meek whimper, every breath – no matter if in or out – comes as a well calculated move, accompanied by a screech of air. Rolling his eyes in suffering, Ahastar even has to change his breathing technique. With the razor sharp claws of Skewer spreading out his entire crotch, he can’t dare to fill his lungs deep down to his midsection. The stretch of his belly might pierce his own guts upon the destructive, horribly raping sprinter foot of the grinning, twisted raptoress. Even the slightest move of her harshly scaled toes seems to scrap apart a billion of Ahastar’s nerves, and Skewer begins to spread and clench her taloned digits with the inescapable force of a pear of anguish.
Indeed, most of Ahastar’s wit has left him. When the accompanying raptors return from their stunned surprise of their victim’s murderous scream, chatting and laughing down at him, it all seems wobbly and out of phase to the agonized half demon. Even when Facedancer rudely grabs his pad bitch’s face and twists it to gaze in his eyes, Ahastar’s own peer never manages to fully focus on his azure tormentor’s leering snout. Everything around him seems to happen behind a thick curtain, one that has extended all the way over his head and framing it in hot, lightly moist cotton. “….ax. Told him… relax… muscles…”. The bound raptor can hardly follow a single sentence, his entire brain forced to deal with that wildfire of pain spreading from his loins, seemingly pumping through every artery in his body, all the way to the tip of his teeth and the curve of his claws. It feels as if someone dropped a running chainsaw in between his legs and forgot to shut it off even then. Moreover, Ahastar can’t move a single inch! All he can do is sit there and endure, his raptor butt pressed so hard in his involuntary seat from the inside that he can’t even twitch his tail.
“….ahahahahaha!” It is Skewer’s malicious laughter that complete reverses Ahastar’s perception of reality. What seemed so distant just moments ago, so far away, covered behind a nearly non-transparent drape, now …tears open wide. Gasping awake as if he would just have been ripped out of a drowning dream, all of Ahastar’s senses return to him in crystal clear attention. “NO! By the GODS, no! Don’t! DON’T!” *SCCHLLLLKKKKKK!* …Skewer slams her foot into the half demon’s horribly swollen cloacal lips like a reptilian pile driver, the slender female’s experienced calf muscle bulging out so hard that it sends her leg scales to stand on edge! A brief groooaaaaaan rises up – coming from the rack itself, mind you, Ahastar’s teeth gritted so hard that his tooth flesh starts to drip blood, accompanying his wet eyes. *SCCCCHLLLLLKKKKKK!* That raptorian silence is broken the moment his vile tormentoress backstrokes her raping sickle-foot though. From that moment on, Ahastar is nothing but a screaming, screeching, whimpering bundle of scales. His feathercrest stands tall, shivering, his eyes roll to every direction his skull can probably offer, his muscles clenching violently. And in all of that, Torment might be able to notice that the half demon indeed tries to relax his cloacal flesh. He has too! For every shove and stroke of Skewer swells up his groin, the blue and purple bruise nearly extending at a visible speed around the dripping, spasming, shifting, constantly green-intruded cloacal ground zero. And then, with a mean sneer, Skewer *rams* her foot in so hard that Ahastar’s lower lips swallow her sicklepaw whole and his upper ones nearly choke on their own spittle.
Ahastar’s shocked cyan eyes simply just stare into the infinite depth of Skewer’s sadistic, amber peer. The ribs? His shivering, shaky jaws simply can’t find enough sense to form a reply. So instead his steamingly abused groin offers an answer, violently spasming for one brief moment before messily shooting its own, lightly blood-mingled raptor seed out from the nearly flattened, black malehood of the impaled creature, messing up quite a bit of the whimpering half demon’s underbelly!
-----
The derisive barking laughter of the four observing raptors floods the den and echoes through the night, bouncing off the nearby cliff face and floating through the ghostly forest with its steaming geysers and glowing algae, laughter interspersed at regular intervals by agonised raptor screams. The sounds make excellent entertaiment for the two hunter caste guards who still stand dutifully at the rocky entrance to the den, far below the action.
In the flickering torchlight of the main room, Skewer gives a grinning shake of her sleek crestless head at Ahastar's pleading, semi-insane protestations and she pulls her clawed foot smoothly out of his slack, bruised cloaca, holding it up before the face of the half-demon in a proud display. "Do these pads look familiar to you, compy?" she calls out above the laughter of her brethren. "Because I'm afraid I seem to have made a mistake." She sneers toothily, splaying her clawed toes with slow controlled motions that stretch thick tendrils of gleaming cloacal fluids between them. "These pads belong to my left paw, but it was the pads of my right that you so wantonly disrespected during our licking game. Those are the pads that want revenge, compy, not these ones!"
This is met with another burst of barking laughter from Dras, Stampede, Skewer and even Torment, and sure enough, Skewer pulls her right talon from Ahastar's sore, throbbing shaft and casually replaces it with the heavily slickened sole of her left, then she slowly, deliberately creeps her padded toes into his cloaca and mercilessly slides her entire right foot into him. As the cloacal lips close around her thick digitigrade ankle, she bears her creamy white fangs and begins harshly thrusting in and out, sliding her long talon back until the wet glistening undersides of her scaly toes are half out of their warm tight cloacal confines, then pushing forcefully back into him until her heel vanishes completely inside the abused sexual orifice of the convulsing raptor. Her left talon, meanwhile, dexterously rolls and splays over the bruised length of pulsing raptor flesh that it holds prisoner beneath its slick, slimey pads, skillfully stroking forth orgasm after hellish orgasm within the tortured body of the derranged half-demon. Only after she has raped him repeatedly for several long minutes does the panting stalker dare to mildly stroke around the healthy lips of her own cloacal orifice, and with a deep shuddering sigh she lounges back in her chair, clear fluid welling up from between her powerful hind legs and running down her swaying tail. Automatically she leans out to find her mate and the large brown hunter is there immediately, nuzzling. The two raptors lick each others' muzzles and even mock bite in lusty affection while Skewer's potent climax subsides. Only then does she slowly pull her clawed talon out of Ahastar and stretch both hind legs out on either side of him, extending her limbs to their tense, shaking maximum length before she rolls forward and climbs smoothly out of her chair, leaving the half-demon shivering eratically in his restraints. "You can consider your debt to me paid, little compy," she says without a even backward glance at her victim. "And I hope next time you'll show my pads the respect they deserve."
-----
Ahastar drools as if someone lobotomized him with a rusted shotgun, his body trembling in exhaustion. He can see sparks dancing in front of his eyes, but with these he could probably live. The other things he has to behold are much more to his soul’s concern. Blinking the tears out of his eyes does not at all change how fluid Skewer’s arrogantly lifted padsole looks like, the malicious she-raptor’s walking section – and then some – filling nearly his entire horizon, dripping in red, white and yellow. Indeed, now that the havoc-wreaking shave-talon of Skewer is out of that twitching hellhole she left behind, Ahastar pisses himself like an incontinent hatchling. And then, with his brain managing to desperately climb up that pool shore of fluid suffering it was tossed into, the half demon realizes what his tormentoress is up to.
“Nooo…”, he whines, shivering in his rack. “I learned my lesson… I am so …sorry. Please, I will do whatever you want, I just… can’t… take this any… more…” With every breath he lets out, Skewer’s new sadistic sickle-foot sinks further downwards. His words achieve nothing, except for probably being torn out of the air by the other four gleefully listening raptors surrounding him, pouncing his syllables out of the clouds in a sadistic hunt, every tear of the torn in half demon a delicious morsel to their tongues, every whispered whimper for mercy a sickle-licking fine delicacy.
*SCHLLLLLKKKKKKK!* In the meantime, Ahastar has a vastly different problem. “Gllnnnrrggklllgh…”, he witlessly grunts out as his throbbing cloacal lips are toepad-parted yet another time, the green digits and their equally rasping claws sinking in deeper and deeper, the whole foot quickly inserting itself. It spread, stretches, tears and tickles Ahastar apart, and Skewer too learns a lot about what she feels. The destruction she has brought to her victim has to be immense! Just a few seconds ago, Ahastar’s cloaca was still battered apart to easily fit around her foot, but during that time his mangled internal flesh managed to swell up nearly into one single ball of a hypersensitive bruise. Now these two borders, just having formed a recovering truce, are forced to stumble away, screaming on their crutches, while a monster’s foot from the sky returns to trample their ambitions in half yet again.
For the next seeming eternity, Ahastar screams. Begs. Whimpers. Twitches. Bites his lips. Thrashes in his bonds. Tries to fall unconscious in his bonds. Laughs in knocking insanity. Roars out at Skewer with wild insults. Speaks in tongues. Is driven into a wild hiccup. Vomits up a few globs of bile. Brutally pisses himself in a way that can only mean his bladder has been shredded. And orgasms no less than seven times in a manner of minutes, driving his climax count at Skewer’s emerald padfeet to something around… twenty tonight alone. None of that makes the raping any more or less endurable, it constantly stays at a reliable level of “soul twisting.” Finally, when she GODSDAMN tears her other, soaked foot from her victim’s insides and loses herself into a humiliating orgasm of her own, Ahastar is nearly reduced to the mental capacity of one of the glowing algae of the den.
And while the cruel mistress of cloacal destruction pads away on paws that look as if they would be socked with white slime, Ahastar’s tear-wet eyes leave no doubt about the fact that should Skewer ever shove her green scaled stalker claws back into Ahastar’s mouth, she will probably be lucky to pull her legs out with her feet not completely licked away…
-----
Dras gives Skewer a congratulatory nuzzle to the neck as she purringly pads past him, and she and Stampede wade into the geyser pool together, the stalker dwarfed by her hunter-caste mate. In a swift, fluid motion, Dras hauls himself up between the middle and upper rungs of the rack and climbs into the raised converter's chair. "What do we reckon?" he asks the two remaining raptoressses, settling down in the smooth wooden seat and stacking his clawed talons upon Ahastar's chest. "Shall we compify him again now, or keep him like this for a while longer?"
Scorch puts a clawed foot on the lower rung of the rack and leans in to rest her crimson head on top of his azure underside. "I'd have preferred to put him under all five of us at once, but it doesn't look like he'd really appreciate it in this state."
Tilting his lengthy azure talons apart, Dras glances into the wild, unblinking eyes of the twitching half-demon and snickers. "Yeah, he does look pretty mindfucked... What do you reckon, Torment? He gonna need healing?"
The sleek white raptoress appears to blink out of a trance, and she uncrosses her powerful alpha-caste forelegs from the mid rung of the rack and glances up at Dras, her green-dyed eyes milky with pleasure. "Beautiful, is it not?" she hisses, her voice laced with purrs, "His mind is in pure chaos; I can feel it struggle and writhe and fold in on itself." She takes in a deep breath and lets it hiss slowly out of her narrow nostrils. "Never since our bond was forged have I felt him in such torment. It pleases me." And she folds her tattooed forelegs again and rests her head upon them, returning to gaze at the shivering half-demon.
"Okay then..." Dras makes a 'who knows?' expression and turns to grin at Skewer. "Nah, I think he's okay. Probably Just needs some gentle stimulation to bring him down from Skewer's stuff. Come up here, my love," he suggests, folding his forelegs in against his chest and exposing his underside better. "We can stimulate him toegether." He makes an affectionate thrumming noise as Scorch smirkingly ducks between the rungs and climbs up into the chair to lay herself carefully on top of him, pressing her underside down against his own and straddling him as she settles down and curls her forelegs around his flanks. The red raptor's powerful hind legs drop down on either side of Dras' own and curl over one of the lower rungs of the rack; she lifts her head and pushes the tip of her scaly snout against the tip of her mate's and the two raptors relax together for a moment, before Scorch says, "I can't really see him in this position, you'll have to direct me."
Dras snickers and gives her a lick under the chin. "Couldn't have it any other way, could we? I'm the chieftan." He moves his head to one side slightly and gazes forwards over her crimson back to where his sleek digitigrade paws rest stacked upon Ahastar's chest, obscuring the restrained head of the half-demon. "Okay, higher and back more," he says, and Scorch shuffles a little on top of him, lifting up one of her hind legs and stretching it out blindly behind her. "Back more," Dras says, "and left a bit... no no, left. Oh wait... yeah, right, sorry." Her clawed toes touch against the hard blue scales of his own and he pulls his head back in to grin at her, muzzle to muzzle. "That's me."
In unison, the purring theropods stretch slowly out until their feeling toe pads meet Ahastar's muzzle. "There he is," Dras says, and they both nuzzle each other, eyes closed while they press and feel the facial features of the restrained raptor with their coarse worn sole pads, thick scaly foot flesh and long creeping toes of crimson and azure quickly engulfing his head.
"Hello? Helloooo? You still in there, bud?" Dras splays apart his sickle and middle toes to admit a cocky grin between them, then pushes his toe pad back into Ahastar's eye socket and presses the padded ball of his sleek digitigrade talon against the side of the half-demon's muzzle. The sole of his other sturdy blue sprinter foot plants firmly on top of Ahastar's cranium, weighing heavily upon the topside of the bound raptor's snout, its toes splaying posessively in his seed-splattered feather crest.
"Wake up, my little compy," Scorch purrs, still gazing into the content yellow eyes of her mate. She curls her padded toes underneath Ahastar's chin and pushes her broad, handsome ball pad into his other eye rocket. "You only got raped five or six times by one of the smallest females in the city; there's still plenty of humiliation left for you in our care."
-----
Blinking his azure eyes open, Ahastar tastes… sand. “Unnggh…”, he groans out, lifting the bulk of his upper body up on top of his shaking hands, kneeling, his tail still covered by the hot, grainy soil. Coughing out, the half demon tastes nothing but dryness in between his lips. His mouth feels as if it hadn’t seen a lick of water in months. More dried out husk than living being, Ahastar somehow manages to step up on his feet, nearly collapsing forwards again right away, but achieving to stay steady with nothing but enraged willpower. With despair in his eyes, he looks around. Sand. Nothing but sand. An endless, completely flat desert that offers no hope, no relief, no escape. And no hint to where Ahastar should probably wade. Everything looks the same. There is nothing but perfectly blue sky and perfectly white soil. Is there no escape waiting? How did he even come here? The half demon walks forwards in one direction, only to doubt himself, turn around and walk two steps into the opposite way… then standing still completely. Groaning, Ahastar holds him temples. His head is racing with pain. The scalding heat of the sun burning on his skull not helping the matter, either.
And then, suddenly, a ghostly raptoress appears in front of him! Her snow white scales and emerald eyes peer upon him with cold, well controlled sadism. Ahastar raises his rough voice. “Who… who are you? Are you here to help me? Please, I… have no idea where I am! You have to help me out! I will surely lose my mind in this place.” “Oh no.”, the sooth raptoress answers with a purrrrring voice. “I am just here to watch your suffering.” Despair forms on Ahastar’s face at these words. At that sight, leaving neither sound nor print behind, the raptoress steps forwards, opening her mouth and licking all over the half demon’s snout. “Mmmm… so… delicious. All this misery. All this torment. Your mind lays in ruins. Maybe I should just leave you here and watch you rot in the maze of agony’s insanity. Yes. I think I will do…” And with these words, the ghost turns around, seemingly to leave. Her head reclines, snout lifting upwards as if she would smell something else than pure heat.
“Mmmmffffff… aaaaaah. What a lovely scent.” In the meantime, Ahastar has fallen to his knees again. His head feels as if… it would be… exploding any minute now. He curls up in a fetal position, shivering in fevered cramps while it seems as if this hopeless desert’s sun would climb further and further down from the firmament to sit on his body and burn it. This headache! This horrible headache. Yet then suddenly, something grabs his feathercrest and violently pulls his head upwards. Again, it is the spooky raptoress, halfway translucent to his blood-dripping eyes. “Make no mistake about it. If it would be for me, I would let you walk now. Wit me right after you. My singing voice would hum you from horror to horror while I stalk behind you, untouchable, performing a purring melody for you that slowly drills the last bit of your sanity to rasped nothing. For all eternity. But I am not that selfish. After all, my more …physical companions still want to trample you through the treehouse floor. So here. Wake up.” And with that final hiss, the raptoress brutally slaps across Ahastar’s face! The three deep cuts her claws leave behind tear the non-reality of the half demon’s mental desert away, and throw his feeble mind back into…
Darkness? “…wake up my little Compy!”; “Hello? Helloooooooo? You still in there, bud?” Retching and thrashing in his bonds, Ahastar quickly recognizes that his eyes are covered by worn, coarse, leathery pads, his face shoved FULL with four seductive sickle-feet, playing with his lips, his scales, his nostrils, chin and cheeks, sloppy feathers. “RRRRRRRKKKK! Get me OUT… of here! GET ME OUT, I TELL YOU!” Torment calmly pads up next to Facedancer, giving him a supportive smile. “Oh yes, he is still here. If only by devilish intervention, but he followed my prints back home. Now maybe yours can welcome him there?”
-----
Dras turns his crested head to the side and casts a broad raptor smile down at Torment. "We'll give him a good printing in a moment," he replies, smugly ruffling his thick toes and sole pads through Ahastar's bedraggled feather crest. "I reckon it's about time we all trampled him together. But first," he adds, and curls a lean, muscled foreleg over Scorch's back, pulling her hips down against his own...
Torment smiles coolly and turns away as the two raptors in the chair begin to growlingly mate, Scorch's crimson body rising and falling smoothly on top of Dras' upturned azure form, and the white scaled shaman directs her tattooed muzzle towards the restrained head of the half-demon, totally burried by two large azure talons and one sleek crimson one, all of whose long thick raptor toes splay and clench to the rhythm of the pleasured growls coming from the opposite chair.
Dras closes his yellow eyes and leans his head back, pushing himself up into his mate in time with her own sinewous motions, and at the same time he begins heavily rubbing the coarse, padded walking section of his right talon against the front of Ahastar's snout and upper muzzle, keeping his left firmly pressed sole-down upon the half-demon's cranium. The noises and protestations of their now-conscious victim only spur on the two upper caste deinonychi and Scorch purringly lifts her other foot up behind her, feeling slowly along her mate's powerful outstretched hind limb until her toe pads meet the bruised white facial scales at its end. She creeps her upward-facing walking section beneath Ahastar's open mouth and presses her sole pads underneath his jaw, her long toes curling upwards to fit the curve of his chin and throat. Dras begins stroking his mate's flanks as the two raptors rise and fall together, and he gradually slides his coarse sole pads down over Ahastar's snout and pushes them flat against the half-demon's tongue, forcing his left sturdy digitigrade talon into his victim's jaws while keeping his right pressed heavily upon Ahastar's cranium. Both raptors begin licking each other passionately as the hissing screeching protests of their mutual victim become more desperate and less distinct, and Scorch slides her own sleek sprinter foot from the side of Ahastar's muzzle into his gaping jaws to push its upturned sole pads up against the roof of the half-demon's mouth, keeping her other long talon forcing up against the underside of his jaws.
With uncanny symmetry, the four raptor feet end up pressed in layers against Ahastar's upper and lower jaws: a handsome azure talon clamps down on top of his head, the thick sole pads of a no less handsome crimson one squeeze up against the roof of his mouth, a second scaly azure one splays arrogantly down against the tongue of the restrained half-demon and the remaining red raptor foot coats the underside of his chin, toes splayed along the curve of his throat and narrow digitigrade heel locking in front of the tip of his lower jaw. In purring unison the two mated raptors begin pushing their sturdy talons deeper into Ahastar's maw and slowly down his throat, their thick black raptor pads running smoothly along the tongue and soft upper mouth flesh of the half-demon. About a third of the way down Ahastar's long neck, the upper sides of the two opposing deinonychus feet are pressed together, the large paws unable to proceed further into their victim, so the two passionately mating raptors take turns at pulling back up Ahastar's throat and thrusting down further into it and hot slickened raptor pads rub alternately down the top side of Ahastar's throat and the bottom. Scorch even thrusts her other scaly foot against the underside of Ahastar's chin and throat in unison with the thrusting of Dras' own inside the half-demon, allowing the two raptor paws to feel each other on either side of their victim's scaly white hide.
The snorts and growls of the two deinonychi grow sharper and more intense as they begin to mate with more energy. Their yellow eyes gaze only at each other while they use Ahastar to humiliatingly aid their own arousal until eventually the big theropods snarl out their orgasmic pleasure and slow their thrusting as they luxuriously climax in unison, and thet lie still against each other, purring deeply while Ahastar chokes at the ends of their muscled legs.
-----
Ahastar slowly returns fully back into this world, the half demon’s senses regaining their sharp edge. All these things he saw triple and double so briefly ago return to one single imagine in front of his star-dancing gaze, but unfortunately that does not lower the amount of raptor paws shoved against his snout. To state that the bound deinonychus would have the face full with Facedancer’s azure and Scorch’ red and black sicklefeet would be as gross an understatement as a Compy being one-footed stood upon by an armor packed war Rex and declaring that his offender would qualify as “solid”. Ahastar begins to solidly thrash and gag in his imprisoning chair, with Torment, Skewer and Stampede gleefully beholding the action from the side. They don’t even turn away the moment Scorch and Facedancer go for a wild, blatant mating, right on top of the chair with their mutual victim heavily worked out by their padded sprinter paws. The bold red hue on top of Ahastar’s face is mainly a result of the immense pressure and strain squashed down his snout, but one doesn’t need a shaman’s intuition and mind-reading abilities to understand that a good deal is also sheer embarrassment!
Still, Ahastar doesn’t have much of a chance to dwell in the tackiness of pretty much being forced to behold the two exhibitionistic raptors above his face, for he has MUCH greater problems. “Agghhhhh!”, he snarls out, desperately trying to bring his face away from the constantly grinding, shifting and splaying toes and walking sections that so heavily scratch and tear over his face, pressing, splaying, squeezing the features out of his muzzle! The half demon’s entire horizon is shoved full with thick, coarse black pads and not much softer scales. Wouldn’t it be for the difference in red and blue colors, Ahastar wouldn’t even be able to tell which of the two by now puurrrrRRRrrrring raptors is currently riding his face the wildest! All he can see is strong legs and calf muscles turning and twisting into every imaginable direction in front of him. The moment one is gone, another already takes its place, scratching and wiping the snarling half demon’s face red and worn.
Ahastar didn’t even notice that his mouth is kept left open by the vile conversion rack he is still strapped to. Only when Torment’s enigmatically tattooed snout briefly looms into his field of vision, the shaman raptoress turning the holding straps even tighter does the demon groaningly heed the machine’s grim touch. But with his two jaws parting a little further, rows of fresh tendrils of saliva stretching up between them, his problem quickly takes a turn from torturing to hellish! The bound deinonychus writhes and groans and snarls out, but it doesn’t help him. With inevitable, smug arrogance, one blue scaled sprinter foot travels down between his cheeks, briefly splaying them with its black, stretching claws, before pressing the entire sole walking pad forwards down upon Ahastar’s twitching, lively, dark-red tongue. *Squusssshhhh*, it presses nearly flat beneath Facedancer’s sole, only the shivering, forked tip of the half demon’s oral muscle peeking out from behind the azure raptor’s heel, the slimy flesh twitching madly – like a big worm slowly being pressed flat. The half demon rolls his eyes up at the strong reptilian flavor quickly filling every last nook and cranny of his skull. Ahastar probably couldn’t explain it if asked, but even though all of his tormentor’s sicklefeet taste the same – like a mix of hot leather, scales somewhere between copper and wood or probably bone and a bit of dry summer earth – he could clearly tell them apart by now. There are some odd, tiny nuances that each of his trample torturers provides to make them distinctive enough. And Ahastar could probably tell this one special raptor’s paws apart from a million others.
Facedancer’s heavy foot presses with enough force to slightly dent Ahastar’s retching, lower jaw outwards from the inside, but only until Scorch decides to join the cruel game. Her up-facing talon creeps beneath the half demon’s chin to press the flesh flat beneath the combined paws, not to mention shoving her other sickle-foot up against the groaning half demon’s gums. And before the bound deinonychus truly realizes what is happening, his eyes are already rolling up in his skull again – this time not out of a mix of annoyance and disgust, but sheer, physical reaction to a most brutal suffocation routine! “RRRRRKKKKLLLL! GLLLRRRGHHHHH!” Thick, foamy saliva rains from inside Ahastar’s muzzle as the two vicious, snarling lovers violate both his pride and his face all the way down to the middle of his neck! The combined flattening out of his throat against Facedancer’s foot inside and Scorch’s pressed flush against Ahastar’s scales is especially wicked. The two raptors manage to run down in and out over their victim with such precision that each of the four black pads of the two almost perfectly same sized sprinter feet lay precisely upon each other, just with an alarmingly thin, throbbing, convulsing patch of demon flesh in between their broad, heavy soles. Finally, when Scorch and Facedancer are washed away into snarling, purring ecstasy by their mutual climax, they are not alone! Ahastar too heavily seeds the bottom of his chair with a violent, spasming orgasm, mercilessly induced by the suffocating, gagging raptor feet in and out of his bile-dripping, crab-red, groaning muzzle!
-----
Stampede's deep yellow eyes narrow a little and he dips his crested head to nuzzle the tip of Skewer's snout. "Shame our legs are different lengths. I don't think we could manage that." He watches his mate lift her gaze from the choking half demon, whose gaping jaws are full of blue and red raptor heels, and the raptoress looks up at him. She stands directly in front of the large hunter caste male, her back pressed against his underside so she almost stands underneath him; her tail extends out between his powerful legs and strokes and sways its upper side dexterously against his bulging cloaca, while in return, one of his long forelimbs curls around her flank and playfully strokes at her own swollen sexual orifice.
"I think the problem would be one of paw size, not leg length," Skewer chuckles, lifting her lean stalker-caste muzzle to nudge Stampede under the chin. "Yours are too big. They'd split his skull open like a seedpod." Both raptors smile at this thought and turn their yellow eyes back on Ahastar as the two upper caste rack occupents begin to pull their padded feet out of the retching half-demon.
Scorch retreats from the hot slick confines of Ahastar's mouth first, and she pulls her other paw from the throat of the white raptor and climbs down off her mate, who extends a forelimb to stroke along her back and tail as she goes. "I like the idea of seedpods," Scorch says as she climbs out of the rack and noses greetings to Skewer, Stampede and the silently watching Torment. "May we have some for the group trample, my dear?"
Dras blinks, still upturned in the rack chair and fully absorbed in slowly sliding his long digitigrade sprinter foot up out of Ahastar's throat. He looks down to the watching raptors and furrows his eyeridges thoughtfully. "Are you gonna be able to stomp him properly, stimmed up? Everything feels pretty... hefty, remember?" The sleek alpha-caste chieftan takes his padded toes out of Ahastar's mouth and spares the half-demon a glance in order to place his sturdy sprinter foot upon Ahastar's cranium and humblingly wipe his hot wet sole pads against the white raptor's feather crest. "Tell you what," the azure chieftan says, after giving the hissing half-demon a calm 'and-what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it?' smirk, "We'll have seedpods, then we'll get Uss to play some music and we'll just dance on top of him first. Save the stomping for later when the 'pods wear off." He pauses and grins at the rest of them. "You all like dancing, right?"
Torment smiles with cool amusement, her green facial tattoos deforming upon her handsome white muzzle. "Yes, Facedancer, I am sure we all enjoy dancing."
Dras chooses to take this at face value and he nods his well-crested head. "Great then!" With a final dominant push of pressure upon Ahastar's head, the athletic blue raptor hunches his limbs back against his upturned underside and rolls garcefully forward out of the converter's chair, then heads off to the bar. "Get him out of the rack and over by the fire," he says over his shoulder. "I'll be there in a sec." The impacts of his sickle claws go from a sharp clicking to a soft thudding as he strides out of the rocky geyser corner and back onto the den's wooden floorboards.
Upon seeing the large alpha caste chieftan approach, Uss jumps down off the stone bar counter and straightens up behind it, eyeridges raised and sparse feather crest angled backward in a standard subservient posture. "We're gonna be wanting some music," he is told by the larger raptor, "And I need the rest of these seedpods."
Dras takes the iron jar off the bar counter and leans down upon the rock, casually planting an impressive alpha-caste talon upon a convenient bump in the side of the counter. "Start with something light, okay?" He motions to the servant raptor's drums. "We'll just be dancing to start with, but then it's gonna get pretty intense after a while, so have something heavier in mind for when we switch." The smaller grey raptor nods obediently, and Dras dips his crested head and says, "Nice work earlier, by the way." He turns and strides away again, the iron seedpod jar clasped against his narrow raptor chest.
-----
Ahastar barely manages to jump back from the corner of drifting into a deep, probably very welcome unconsciousness and once more into reality, just in time to look at Scorch royally padding over towards her friends, leaving only Facedancer behind to occupy that vile chair. With eyes half lidded and mouth still completely full, the half demon peers upwards to the azure raptor prince. He doesn’t even grant him a gaze, already hissing more commands. From Ahastar’s position, there is no chance to deny the absolute domination of Facedancer. Not only is he royally leaning back in his wooden chair, very much making it appear like some sort of throne, the image is also completed by Ahastar pretty much as his living footrest. And oral one, at that. The half demon looks up the length of his torturer’s shining blue leg all the way to his still quivering cloaca, dripping with the mutual juices of his and his mate’s. “Unngghhh…” As if Ahastar’s gurgling moan around his solid sprinter foot would tell Facedancer that his plaything is in fact still existing in this world, the smug raptor chief grants the half demon the briefest and most arrogant of glances, before slowly creeping his sturdy sicklefoot back out of Ahastar’s mouth. It is a slow, mean pull, with the sole and walking section of the middle toe cruelly gliding all the way over the half demon’s tongue, making him savor it until Facedancer’s claw runs perfectly through the middle of Ahastar’s forked tines. Sure enough, the lively raptor prince pads right away without a second glance, each of his footsteps sounding alternately dry and heavy and slick and moist.
“Oooouuffff…” Ahastar on the other hand completely collapses in the vile rack, before gritting his teeth in a rush of rage, starting to snarl and hiss and shake the entire construct with fury, fed by his stockpiled humiliation. Of course the conversion rack barely aches in even the half demon’s most frantic struggling. A broad, threatening shadow casting his skin into darkness yet again makes Ahastar cease his shaking though and instead look up – straight into the ember, cruel eyes of the broad brown Stampede. “Want to get out, hm? Well, that can be arranged.” The hefty hunter’s forepaws calmly travel here and there over the sadistic rack, slowly freeing the half demon from his nasty predicament. “Ouunnngghhhh!” At once, Ahastar regrets just having spent so much energy on his little outburst, for his exhausted, sore muscles don’t even allow him to sit straight any more after all this abuse, now that his shackles are gone. Instead, the half demon noisily collapses to the floor. “Laying down is natural for you by now, isn’t it? Come on then, let us try and see just how much we can make you hump the floor.” Drooling a little puddle next to his drained face, all Ahastar gets to see are two massive, brutal padfeet slamming into his field of vision, before one of Stampede’s burly handpaws reaches down to messily grasp the half demon’s ruffled feather crest. “AaaaaHHHH! Let go! Let GO I SAY!” Stampede just snorts down at his prisoner and bodily drags his captive over towards the remaining raptors like a wet, lifeless sack of scales and bones, “accidentally” stomping right on the snarling half demon’s hands every now and then.
“RAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!” Straining all muscles in his impressive body, Stampede manages to pull snarling, protesting Ahastar up into the air at his red crest, forcing the half demon’s body to perform an involuntary cartwheel maneuver before heavily *pile driving* the half demon back down on the OOOFing wooden floor with enough vigor to make Uss jump up and hold on to something, fearing that the treehouse is about to crumble together. The echo of Ahastar’s crunching vertebra hasn’t fully ebbed off yet when Stampede is already next to his mate, handing her the couple of red feathers he tore out of his prisoner’s skull during his vicious throw. “Here, my dear. I brought you a gift.” The hunter briefly nuzzles over the neck of his beloved stalker, before turning to the closet nearby and fetching five long, firm leather straps. Pulling them behind him with precisely the same amount of dignity he gave the half demon’s body a few moments ago, he arrives back next to Ahastar. The dancefloor to be is far too dazed to have moved far, and even when Stampede fixes the first leash around the half demon’s hand does Ahastar manage to do much more but haplessly blubber some witless words.
Only when the brutal hunter slams one of his massive sprinter feet down upon Ahastar’s chest to fix him in place and tear on the arm-leash with enough force to JUST so not utterly dislocate the slammed down deinonychus’ shoulder does the half demon’s muzzle return to its protesting duty. But even four additional limbs later it doesn’t do him any good. Instead, Stampede marches over towards a wall-fixed valve nearby, grabbing it firmly and beginning to pull! “ARRRRRGHHHHHHHH!” The screech of agony coming from Ahastar’s quivering lips manages to even outdo the rusty, heavy sound of working metal that wasn’t moved in an age. All five solid iron loops the hunter fixed his plaything’s bound arms, legs and tail inside begin to move apart at once, stretching the screeching half demon in a way that would probably quarter (plus tail) any other raptorian creature. Only when the half demon’s body is as stiff as a cocked crossbow does Stampede stop, fixing the valve and nodding over towards Facedancer and his metal box. “There you go boss. I think he can hardly wait!"
-----
Dras arrives by the den's huge rocky fireplace to find Ahastar flat on his back on the wooden floor, gasping under the domineeringly planted talon of Stampede, who looms posessively over him while Scorch and Skewer combine their cunning and perception to check the fastenings that hold all of Ahastar's limbs to the rusty iron loops that lift up out of the floor boards. Torment directs the three raptors, looking doubly impressive with half of her impressive alpha-caste body glowing in the light of the fire, which casts stark, flickering shadows across the floor. The cupped raptor chairs have all been moved back against the stone wall, leaving a large open area into which Dras confidently strides, his feather crest held high.
"Looks good to me!" he replies, putting the jar down. "There. Enough seedpods to stim a war rex. Good idea, strapping him down, by the way. Here, let me help with that." And the sleek azure deinonychus crouches down by one of Ahastar's restrained forelegs and checks the fastenings, planting the toes of a hefty padded foot upon the half-demon's wrist while he pulls the straps tighter. "They'll all need tightening," Dras says to Scorch and Skewer. "He'll be able to slide crushed forepaws out of these if they're this loose." he turns his attention on Ahastar and takes his foot off the half-demon's wrist. "You know, you should be grateful to me, bud. These guys all wanted to group stomp you into raptor pulp right away, but thanks to me we're just gonna dance on you to begin with." He stands back up and steps as close to the half-demon's head as possible to loom over Ahastar and smirk down into the white raptor's wild, rageful cyan eyes.
Stampede, still dutifully standing on Ahastar's chest, adds, "Kind of like what the hunters do on top of a hadrosaur, except you'll bruise a lot quicker and we won't bother eating you afterwards."
A snort of amusement from Skewer as she and Scorch finish tightening the strap around Ahastar's last remaining limb and come to stand around him. "Eating him? What a disgusting thought... He's barely worthy of being under our pads, let alone inside our bellies."
Torment nods her ghostly white head, looking down at Skewer beside her. "He must have been trodden upon by a hundred raptors and a thousand gods by now. Would you want to put that in your mouth?" To which skewer emphatically shakes her crestless emerald head.
"Not for all the compies in the city. He stays underpad where he belongs." The two females nod seriously to each other, then break into amused growling and turn their gazes on Stampede as the great earthy-brown hunter rises up out of his crouch.
"So who's to go first?" he asks, stepping casually down off Ahastar's chest and poignantly treading on the palm of the half-demon's forepaw to totally bury it under the huge walking section of his hunter-caste talon. He sends an unimpressed snarl behind him as Ahastar hisses out in pain, then steps off the white raptor completely and goes to stand beside his small stalker mate.
Dras says, "How about the two of you?" And he crouches down to take two seedpods from the iron jar, then tosses them to Skewer and Stampede. "We'll all judge your dancing," the azure raptor adds with a grin as he flops down on his side and luxuriously stretches out his handsome padded feet alongside Ahastar's head. Torment and Scorch follow suit, relaxing casually around the upper body of the half-demon and extending their hindlimbs to surround Ahastar's head with the striking raptor soles beneath which he will shortly been humiliated all over again.
Stampede dips his upper body down to listen as Skewer whipsers something to him, then the hunter gives a huff of amusement and turns to look at his stalker-caste mate, who raises her eyeridges curiously. The brown raptor nods to the green, and both take up positions on either side of Ahastar's bucking hips.
"Whenever you're ready," Dras says, as a confident and casual drum rhythm begins to throb forth from the bar area, and the three eagerly (and one angrily) watching theropods see Skewer and Stampede set their variously-sized talons upon Ahastar's cloacal region and purringly climb onto him.
-----
The one good thing about five of your largest limb joints all feeling as if they would be soaking in liquid fire is that all this pain combined from all these directions easily comes into an argument about whom is to be driven into their owner’s brain first, resulting in neither of them moving from the spot. Unfortunately for Ahastar, this is a very delicate equilibrium. And indeed, a single poke of a single raptor finger is already enough to set up a merry firework of purest agony in the very limb that was touched. And since Stampede, Facedancer Torment, Scorch and Skewer all easily find their favorite limb to stretch out further at the same time, they are greeted by a very, veeeeery vocal half demon!
After letting out a snarling array of complaints and curses, all of which include various questioning of the bound raptor’s tormentors’ genders and brain capacity, Ahastar suddenly turns exceptionally quiet. It is because of the impressive form of Facedancer looming in to the half demon’s very earthbound snout, appearing like a tower of a Deinonychus next to the haplessly bound, stretched and bruised creature beneath him in so many ways than just the physical position. Desperately trying to pull at his straps, Ahastar attempts to free himself. Or at least get a hand free so he can protect his face from its certain fate of ending up beneath the trampling pads of these azure sprinter feet yet AGAIN! The half demon isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. This vile torture has been running for a felt eternity by now, and after all these hours his crushers and dominators have begun to place their padded paws upon parts of his soul that lays behind Ahastar’s protection of ignoring, defying and pure rage.
The idea of becoming a living dancefloor for this sadistic pack is certainly shocking enough to shut even the most stalwart feral raptorian victim right the hell up, but it is not enough to silence the half demon when Stampede murderously stomps one of his immense sickle-feet straight down upon Ahastar’s forcefully upturned hand, the palm and fingers disappearing beneath the ground-flush padsole all the way to the wrist, a good deal of the forearm included. “AARGGHHHHHHH! GET OFF! GET OOOOOOFFFFFFFF!” The pain is immense, like a hundred needle bites slowly creeping up the half demon’s limb. Would he still be on top of the rock floor in the back of the tree house, the heavy hunter would just have pulverized Ahastar’s forepaw. That way he only smashed a few dozen thin fractures down the bones, sending the half demon’s hand to swell up – but probably not enough to fill the impressive footprint Stampede left behind when walking towards his mate, chatting and hissing silently with her while nuzzling the stalker’s emerald scales. Ahastar’s soul freezes when he sees these two plot what certainly is the next chapter of his doom. The half demon is just about to fearfully announce whatever deal and compromise he can think of towards Facedancer, but the raptor prince isn’t standing next to him any more. Nor do his mate or the ghostly shaman. Ahastar doesn’t have to look far though, all three of them have taken a ludicrously relaxing pose around his upper body, framing his embarrassed snout with their perfectly proportioned alpha-caste paws and making him raise up the three crest feathers he has left in rage and degration.
It is Torment’s sickleclaw tough that tickles Ahastar’s ear back into the direction of Skewer and her massive mate. And JUST in time for the half demon to behold both of them grinning down at his ground-bound body, before lifting one of their paws each. They meet up in the air and form one brutal, off-sized double-paw to bash straight into his cloaca! Screeching out, Ahastar starts slamming his head repeatedly on the floor, thus scratching his muzzle scales over Facedancer’s exposed soles. The two sadistic raptors heave their combined weight up upon the quivering crotch of their victim. Stampede’s cloacal part completely disappears beneath the brown foot while Skewer’s mean, lean stalker paw forces Ahastar’s sex-lips to paaaaainfully curl around the flank of her foot.
-----
Skewer dips her head and shuffles to the left and right a little until her sleek emerald raptor talons stretch perfectly over Ahastar's cloaca, her long toes splaying upon his lower belly as she faces up the length of the restrained half-demon. Stampede hefty his huge earthy brown body onto the chest of the half-demon and faces his mate, then the two raptors nod to each other in time with the rhythm and silently count each other in.
In perfect unison, the small stalker and the large hunter begin to enect what looks like a highly rhythmic and fetishised courtship dance, both raptors dancing out firm trample patterns for each other to mirror, though the emphasis is clearly on Skewer, who doesn't move from Ahastar's cloaca and simply rotates there every few beats, while Stampede moves quickly around the imaginary circumference of a circle to face her whenever she does so.
Initially, Skewer faces Ahastar's head and Stampede stands on his chest to face her; the hunter tucks his forelegs against his chest and rapidly tramples for nine beats, then drops quickly down into a crouch and bobs back up again to repeat it: left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, down! Pause... up! The straining white hide of the half-demon's chest stretches and folds and bulges between the long thick toes of the hunter and deep prints form as his hefty brown feet alternate rapidly. Skewer perfectly mirrors this pattern on the next count of the drum rhythm and her lean, padded soles mash rapidly down into Ahastar's cloaca for nine beats before she drops heavily into a crouch and bobs back up.
Upon completion of this first copying routine, Skewer's right talon thrusts firmly back down onto Ahastar's writhing tailbase and the graceful female spins herself, one-footed, through 120 degrees upon his cloaca to face perfectly down the length of one of his stretched-out hind limbs. She sets her other foot down beside the grinding one and begins stomping heavily left and right while Stampede flattens himself down into a crouch upon Ahastar's chest, then devestatingly leaps high in the air and smashes his huge body down upon the white raptor's hind limb with a loud crack. The hunter bobs up to full height and spins to face his mate again, then the two begin another set of sleek, pulping trample patterns.
Torment's green facial tattoos stretch as the sleek white shaman smiles upon seeing Stampede jumping on top of Ahastar, and she says, "One has to admire the hunters' ability to bring crushing into everything they do. I wouldn't have thought it possible to break bones in this particular dance they have chosen." She chuckles and her long thick toes splay and spread alongside Ahastar's face.
Dras, still lying on his flank on the opposite side of Ahastar's head to the shaman, doesn't remove his gaze from the two dancing deinonychi, but says, "They're kind of... expanding it a bit though. I like their version better."
Scorch, lying beyond Ahastar's head and between the other two raptors, tosses her crestless head towards Torment's rhythmically splaying toes and the heavy-lidded flickering eyes of the half-demon, his head still framed between the padded soles of Dras and the Shaman. "What are you doing to him?"
Torment turns to look at Scorch, then smiles coolly down at her own shapely white talon. "Merely stimulating his nerve centres," she says and gives a flex of her sickle toe that makes Ahastar gasp and buck his head. "He hasn't the pleasure of a seedpod this time around and it would be a shame for him not to experience their dancing to the fullest degree possible." She turns back to look at Skewer and Stampede.
The two dancing raptors continue to lord over their mutual victim, their four generously padded soles plunging down into him with rapid, stylish motions while the stalker rotates and the hunter pounces. Stampede ends up leaping from Ahastar's hind limb to his tail, trampling that and applying a heavy wiping routine to rasp his thick toes and heavy black ball pads down the length of the stricken, flacid length while Skewer strokes her cruel talons over his cloaca, then he leaps from Ahastar's tail onto his other hind limb and batters it under a barrage of heavy trample moves, then finally Skewer spins herself again and Stampede launches himself off the broken hindlimb in a stunning full-powerred raptor pounce that sends him almost twelve feet in the air and brings him crashing down upon the half-demon's chest in a violent crushing impact that has Ahastar cough blood all over the hunter's powerful crouching back.
-----
Ahastar is caught in a wild, screeching groan, not unlike what a raptor of his size would manage to sneer out while somebody tried to cram a sharpened tree trunk up his cloaca. “AAARRRRRRRRR- OOOOffffff!” Yet the half demon’s screeching is cut painfully short the moment Stampede begins to deviate from the ultra heavy, double-raptored groin-stomping routine and instead plows his massive hunter paw down brutally upon Ahastar’s ribcage! The half demon’s eyes turn big and bigger, staring into nowhere. His mouth is still open in a desperate attempt to howl some of his pain out, but Stampede’s immense, ribcage-bending weight presses every last lick of air the bound deinonychus still had completely out of his lungs. Drool begins to slowly run down Ahastar’s wide jaws, then being flung through the air the moment the two raptors begin their highly ritualistic courtship dance! Even one of Stampede’s mighty hunter-paws is enough to exterminate every hope of Ahastar’s about catching some oxygen for his burning lungs, the massive male marching and trampling it right out again, creating funny, wafting sorts to hiss up within the half demon’s nostrils.
It is even more entertaining because of Skewer viciously trampling right on top of her continued sickle-slave’s cloaca, leftrightleftrightleftrightleft, her smooth, skilled stalker feet moving almost too fast to recognize single stomps! “Fft. Fft. Fftfftfftfftfft!”, it comes out of Ahastar’s muzzle. Wouldn’t it be for the tears of pain to shoot out of his eyes and the gushing heaves of thin urine flying through the air behind Skewer’s heels, one could almost assume that the half demon probably isn’t even conscious any more. “Gnnrrrrghhhhhh…” A heavy, thick groan rises up in the tree house, and what could have been assumed to route from the heavily trampled raptor’s muzzle actually prove to be the thick leather straps. Scorch is the first one to notice that the new sounds rise up precisely the moment Torment seems to concentrate all of her attention upon the twitching, crying muzzle resting behind her constantly splaying clawtoes. Whatever vile magic the spooky shaman channels into the brain and flesh of her victim yet again, it somehow is terrible enough to allow Ahastar’s agonized flesh to cramp together enough for tearing a near-snapping sound out of leather straps that are probably more solid and enduring than even the most solid muscle in his body!
Finally, and leaving a whole patch of red, blue and purple footprints behind, Stampede *dives* off of Ahastar’s chest and right on top of the muscle-hard thigh of the half demon! *CRRRRACCCCCKKKKK – crunch – cruunncchhh!* The following sounds of a breaking, then further shattering femur is certainly loud enough to be heard all the way to the two raptorian guardians standing watch at the bottom of the tree house’s stairs. “AUUUURRRGHHHHH!”, the half demon’s entire body cramps horribly upwards in his bounds, blood seeping from where the thick leather begins to cut into his flesh from the immense strain. “Get OFFFFFFF of it! You broke it! You fucking BROKE it! I will …oof! Oofoofoofoofooofffffffauurrgh!” Ahastar doesn’t get a chance to elaborate his certainly cunning plan for revenge, for Skewer begins yet another scaldingly sadistic trample pattern! At first, the wicked stalker yet again turns on her walking section, standing one footed with all of her weight precisely upon Ahastar’s cloaca. That horrible move alone sends a couple of the half demon’s groin-scales flying through the air, and whatever rebellious thoughts he had are quickly pounded out of his distorted crotch. The poor organ is swollen up that far by now that Skewer’s feet sink into the bulging flesh nearly to her ankles, and they only slam in deeper after having her mate shatter both Ahastar’s tailbase, then doormatting the scales and a thin layer of flesh both off of his crotch and tail, before doing another sadistic spin and commencing with the destruction of the whimpering creature’s other femur!
Torment can feel a few more synapses in her victim’s brain burning into useless charcoal from the infinite pain, and the brooding shaman is gladly letting the agony she infuses with her strengthening magic being passed on through every last nerve she can find inside the demon’s body. Yet even the sooth magician is surprised about the incredible level of stress, fear and sheer terror relayed to her upon the sight of a mighty hunter raptor jumping up nearly all the way to the tree house ceiling! Way beneath him, two disbelieving azure eyes stare at his brown, airborne body, two hefty, padded sickle-feet stretching out and, as if in slow motion, come to a perfect landing upon Ahastar’s chest. INSIDE… Ahastar’s chest. Every last one of the raptors can behold the jagged fragments forming and pressing beneath the half demon’s flesh from the inside. Clearly, Stampede just shattered all of the creature’s ribs and sent the sharp bones to press against both flesh and organs beneath him! Said fragments seem to form up a horrible “wall” around the edges of the brown feet, while Ahastar’s head jolts up high, mouth and nostrils flaring wide, and fountaining an alarmingly intense gush of red, steaming blood all over the hunter’s earth-brown body. On Ahastar’s other end, Skewer’s relentless cloacal trampling also nets a slimy result – yet another demonic orgasm, this time mixed with quite a bit of red a hue as well. The stalker is that used to having her manipulative sprinter-feed seed-washed by now though that she probably won’t even stop trampling into the cloaca beneath her for a split second.
-----
Dras hunches his sleek, muscled leg to quickly slide his face-intimidating talon back away from Ahastar as the hunter's impact sends blood spraying from the head of the half-demon. "Gods damn," he snickers, unable to hide his surprise at Ahastar's lack of instant death under the brutal pounce of the much larger raptor, and he lifts his crested head to look at the canopy roof. His yellow eyes narrow and he turns to give a sharp raptor bark and get the attention of Uss, then points up to the splattered blood on the thick roof branches. He watches the keen eyes of the gatherer caste servant pick out the mess and Uss obediently nods his sprasely-crested head by way of acknowledgement, all the while continuing to drum for the dancing couple.
Skewer steps forward from the slippery cloaca of the half-demon at the same time as Stampede climbs out of the crater he smashed into Ahastar's ribcage and the two feisty deinonychi step and tread fluidly around each other on top of the belly of their gasping organic dance mat. The big sickled raptor feet plunge relentlessly into the bruised white scales beneath them, sinking down into Ahastar's soft stomach with rhythmic thrusting stomps as the mated raptors dance energetically: Skewer's dexterous physical skill making up for her lack of size and Stampede's enormous size and the tripple-padded balls of his large feet making up for his lack of precision. The belly dancing lasts only a few seconds, but almost succeeds in exposing the half-demon's contorting spinal vertibrae through his trampled-flat stomach region; presently Stampede steps back onto Ahastar's chest - stepping precisely back into the two crushed-deep, jagged bone-lined footprints there - and begins to rotate on the spot while Skewer leaps onto one of the bound raptor's hindlimbs and begins stroking her sharp sickle claws through his flesh and muscle, before leaping onto the next limb and staying opposite her rotating mate as the two swap their positions and continue the dance.
As his muscles are torn and tattered, Ahastar inevitably flops back down and his head falls between the abusive sickle feet of the three lying raptors, Dras, Scorch and Torment all watching the dancing with narrow-eyed pleasure. Almost subconsciously, the powerful theropods extend their hind limbs and Ahastar's head is quickly clamped between the hot, coarse foot pads of three large upper-caste deinonychus talons.
"You know, we should give this a name," Dras says, absent-mindedly curling his long middle and outer toe over the tip of Ahastar's snout. "This death by dancing... it's pretty good. You reckon the Gods'll like it?" He turns to look at Torment, who lifts her gaze from the screeching maw of the half-demon beneath her own large alpha-caste paw and smiles to the chirftan.
"I have little doubt that some of them will." She turns her tattooed white head to watch as Skewer barks laughter, slicing her sickles one after the other through Ahastar's tail despite the frenzied attempts of her victim to writhe it away from her. "Though it does it does strike me as an entertainment better suited for raptors."
Scorch stretches out her tail to stroke its crimson tip up and down Dras' muscular outstretched hind leg. "A regular event, perhaps - a dance show!" She raises her eyeridges suggestively as her azure-scaled mate turns to her thoughtfully.
"Yeah, that's a good idea." Dras nods his crested head and grins toothily, turning back to watch Skewer and Stampede. "I'll have the festival guild look into it."
-----
Ahastar’s completely distorted body is still daftly wrapped around Stampede’s brutal, triple-padded feet, the massive hunter having bashed into the half demon’s already quite annihilated chest with almost enough force to rip him out of his bounds! Fortunately for Ahastar, he didn’t quite succeed, only pressing the pressed flat deinonychus’ wrists and ankles so hard against his restrictions that they cut into his flesh and draw a bit of blood. The entire tree house seems to aaaaache loudly at the chained strain, and it even begins to drip from the ceiling. Ahastar notices neither that nor Uss’ competent broadband-serving, he is more busy with finding back to both his enforced dance floor position and a chest form resembling something different than a completely pressed and stomped flat mush of flesh and scales. Stampede’s brutally impacting jump bashed every last bit of white colour out of the gurgling raptor’s torso, replacing it with nasty potions of oddly shaped blue and red and purple.
With his rib fragments dangerously licking at his lungs, Ahastar’s high-pitched sigh of relief is well understandable when Stampede roughly tramples forwards, sending disturbing cracks and crunches to sound though the air as he moves his broad sprinter feet. Skewer at the other end of his already badly slammed down body finally steps her two lean, mean stalker paws out of the two perfectly emasculating footprints she trampled into his swollen, throbbing cloaca, each one of her poison-green, black-padded talons pulling a thick tendril of off-white slime forwards through the air, tearing apart and dropping on the half demon’s underbelly only when she has made a full step forward. Unfortunately both mates are thus aiming to stand on the same region – Ahastar’s still relatively unharmed belly. “Unnngggghhh…rrrkkk!” Once more the half demon’s body teennnssssses up in his bounds, forcing him into as much as a sitting, tail-curling-upwards position as his mercilessly spreading eagle shackles allow him to. The trampled deinonychus’ stomach is quite firm, athletically and well built, but the sheer weight of these two raptor combined – they actually have to lean a bit against each other to have enough room for their allocated mass of sole area – makes even his flesh excruciatingly bulge in between all these spread out toe crotches as well as around the edge of their feet.
And right then, the trampling starts anew. *BASH! SLAP! BASCCHH! BAMMM! SQUASH!* The excited, ritualistic snarling and roaring of the dancing mates is almost as loud as the continued impacts of their padded feet into Ahastar’s belly, the poor stomach muscles and the helpless guts beneath them being thoroughly ambushed! Whatever parts of his entrails Skewer can’t pound to the floor and crush flat, Stampede’s paws find, slam down and dance into lifeless flatness. Whatever parts of his belly organs are tiny enough to hide from Stampede’s steamrolling stomp, Skewer finds and cruelly grinds out of existence beneath her coarse stalker pads, lifting her foot up again to see how much damage she did, then retrampling into the heap of whimpering organ to make it much worse. The results are not surprising – Ahastar’s stomach-hide sticks to brown and green raptor talons like thick, broad gum, losing beautiful white colorization but instead being granted countless footprints. Stampede’s produce a huge are of squeezed collateral damage wherever they hit while Skewer’s marks look razor sharp, almost a little bit deeper than her mate’s. Ahastar on the other end has to lean his snout over to the side, being grasped by Scorch’ feet just in time and turned over so the severe, loudly retching puking that follows in unending heaves flows nicely down a nearby drain.
Only when their floor mat’s stomach has the consistency of warm jelly do the two dancing raptors loudly remove their sprinter feet with slourping noises. “Auuughhhhh!” A loud, agonized whimper rises up as Stampede precisely steps back into the cemetery of bone fragments he dug up in Ahastar’s ribcage, the sound of further splitting quickly adding up with the loud, slashing noise of Skewer viciously raking her feet over the half demon’s thighs, her sickle claws fully pressed down, drawing gruesome wounds into her trample toy’s flesh! The pain must be incredible, but Ahastar only has a brief moment to turn his muzzle once more and shout it out – for something harsh, hot and two-and-a-half-toed smacks into the back of his head and pushes his face that hard and deep into Facedancer’s azure-black padsole that it muffles up the half demon and even makes his tough muzzle flesh bulge in between the princely raptor’s toes. Just one moment later, the groaning creature can find a similar object deftly smacking into the top of his skull and pressing down, hard. Being that facially overwhelmed, Ahastar’s whimpering and painful gasping for air right in between Facedancer’s azure toes isn’t even noticeable amid the bone-splicing tune of Stampede’s rotating scattertrampling and Skewer’s nearly witch-like, sickle-driven evisceration of muscle and sinew.
-----
Hot blood squirts and splashes out from under her sleek emerald sickle feet as Skewer tramples and tears at Ahastar's outstretched foreleg, then there is a muffled crack as she flattens her slender stalker-caste body into a crouch and springs off the tattered arm to butt her scaly feet down upon Ahastar's head, scattering the indulgent talons of the three resting raptors amidst barking laughter all round as she lands neatly. Facing her and marching stoically upon Ahastar's now-crumpled chest, Stampede swings his black-crested head left and right - an act that his mate mirrors perfectly - and treads slowly backwards down the length of the spread-out half-demon, making way for the sleek green female who treads slowly forward. The two raptors give and make way alternately, dancing neatly up and down the length of their gurgling, contorting dance mat to the energetic rhythm of the drums before finally, in total unison, leaping up into fully-powered, 15-foot-high deinonychus pounces, switching positions to land at either end of Ahastar's body - Skewer on the half-demon's instantly-flattened cloaca and Stampede devastatingly on his head; and an almighty crunch signals the end of the dance.
As the drums climatically cease, the three watching raptors laugh and cheer and thump their tails on the ground approvingly while the big brown hunter and the small green stalker rise up out of their impact crouches, grinning in mutual elation and panting from the exertion of their lively trample dance.
"Fuck me, that was impressive!" Dras praises, his own feather crest quivering with aroused excitement. "You guys beat the hell out of a compy trample show." He pauses and snickers at the strained, breathless expressions on the two raptors. "Yeah, you'd better go and mate before something explodes."
Skewer and Stampede acknowledge this with as much amusement as two highly aroused raptors can portray after an energetic courtship dance, and they pull their shapely talons out of Ahastar's remarkably still-alive body and growlingly chase each other over to the geyser pools.
"Are they allowed to upstage their chieftan?" asks Scorch, sprawling playfully onto her back as Dras turns to look at her incredulously.
"Upstage?" He snorts and rolls onto his front to stand up. "Who said anything about upstage? Come here!"
Scorch grins and sends a glance to Torment, the white shaman already settling back comfortably to watch, her hind legs extended to lay her padded soles conspicuously alongside Ahastar's head. The crimson raptoress bobs up and nuzzles her mate, who whispers to her as the two climb unhesitatingly onto the torso of the helpless half-demon.
"Uss!" Dras calls out, and the small grey servant raptor lifts his head alertly. "Let's have that main Utahraptor clan rhythm." The athletic blue chieftan smirks to his mate and she nods happily, going down into a crouch upon Ahastar's belly and leaning to one side to make way for her mate, who steps onto the half-demon's chest and crouches down to face her, leaning his body to the other side. The large bodies of the two crouching raptors totally obscure Ahatar's own damaged form, and the large, sleekly-scaled feet of the big theropods spread posessively over the half-demon's chest and belly, toes curling around his sides and tails swaying excitedly over the top of him.
From the bar area a new drum rhythm starts up: mysterious and dangerous with a steady, powerful booming beat behind it. Dras stands first and takes a single step back, planting his shapely alpha-caste foot upon Ahastar's collarbone and dipping his head down low. As the rhythm grows stronger, the two raptors begin alternately lunging in and out of low crouches and stepping slowly forward and back across Ahastar's bruised, broken body, then abruptly there is a single crashing drumbeat and, instead of standing up again, Dras pounces as Scorch ducks, and he jumps right over the top of her to crunch down on the half-demon's hips as his mate whirls around and steps back with perfect timing. The two resume their alternating ducks and steps for a few more beats until, seemingly at random, the massive drum crash comes again and Scorch this time leaps over the top of Dras, pounding her own sickled feet directly into Ahastar's cloaca where her mate's have just stepped from. Both raptors grin and resume their ducking, waiting for the next pounce in the steady, tense rhythm.
-----
Ahastar's legs look as if they ended up in a badly maintained combine harvester, torn open, scales scattered all over the floor from the brutal cuts, going deep enough to completely tear apart important muscles and cut through sinew as if they were mere silk fabric. Of course the vicious stalker not only makes sure that the half demon will never walk again, unless Torment channels her alarming magic once more, but also further strengthens Ahastar’s locked down predicament – no way in hell he will get up again or even move much like this. At least not on his own free will! The spread eagling is more about keeping the dance floor in position now than forcing him to stay on the ground.
The bound deinonychus still does plenty of twitching and blood-gushing jolting, all coming from having Stampede mercilessly march on top of his annexed chest, unrelenting, unyielding and unmoving. Ahastar’s ribcage is that badly bashed in by now that his mouth, still having his face shoved full with Facedancer’s sturdy blue padfoot, of course, spits up blood not as a runny fluid but actually a wildly bubbled and foamed up mess. Skewer, too, does not end it early for Ahastar, no matter how much he requests aid from Facedancer’s rather uninterested sole. The cruel stalker slices up the half demon’s arms just as brutally as she did with his legs, her green feet coated in red all the way to her knees, the intensity of her sickle-splayed wiping sending scales, hide and even a bit of muscle freely flying through the air, flopping all over the tree house floor and giving the drumming gray raptor quite a bit of work to look forward to.
“HA-OOOOOOOFFFFFF!” When suddenly a pair of closely pressed together sprinter-feet not only steps, but *jumps* into Ahastar’s face with enough intensity to send a few teeth flying, the other three deinonychi quickly bring their own lazily facially oppressing paws in safe distance, not desiring to be part of the cranial explosion Skewer’s cruel dive creates. The half demon beneath her, mainly working with colours to determine whose pad bitch he currently became, at first thinks that Scorch got up behind him without him noticing, now pounding his skull so deep into her hot padflesh that he can almost lick the inside of her ankle. A brief look up at the heavily breathing underbelly next to a high, hard reptile heel tells Ahastar’s flat stomped brain that he is erring though – it is Skewer that so harshly pounced his face, the red covering her soles he mistakenly took as Scorch’ natural colour simply being his blood in obscene quantities.
From all of the raptors, Skewer clearly is the one having trampled Ahastar’s facet the least. Yet the slim hope the half demon held up that maybe she is not too good at it quickly vanishes – with rapid, smooth and tooth-crackingly harsh impacts of her mean padsoles, the stalker quickly proves that she can stomp the features out of his face with just as much power and dedication as she can rob Ahastar of his masculinity. The bound deinonychus can only lay down, helplessly, and accept every single trampling stomp his verified rapist unleashes onto his eyes or nose or mouth or lips or facial flesh, all the while having her reptilian battle tank of a mate crunch down his chest further. By now it feels as if everything that once was hard and tough in Ahastar’s ribcage has turned into a fine powder, leaving the heavy hunter to utterly trample his broad, flattening feet into the half demon’s lungs and heart.
Their united dance mat nearly weeps with joy as Skewer and Stampede FINALLY leave his face and chest alone and deep, pulped in footprints behind. The hunter’s are one gigantic bruise covering Ahastar’s entire torso while Skewer’s are two perfectly shaped marks all over his face that could probably be traced by a cunning artist, so fine that even the differences between her pads and sole scales are visible. The groaning, gurgling half demon is even willing to pay the price of having his belly and groin walked all over again, his legs nearly collapsing with Stampede’s heavy feet covering his crotch… more fiercely even for one moment. Then… the loss of all weight.
The next thing Ahastar sees is the shape of one massive raptorian sole area pressed together by two close, brown hunter paws, toes spread wide and triple-walking-pads aiming perfectly for his eyes, one brief moment, before Stampede comes JUMPING into his face from nearly under the tree house ceiling! Only Torment’s quick reaction and the flex of one of her magic forepaws is to be thanked for that Ahastar’s skull, briefly completely disappearing beneath the ground-flush hunter feet of Stampede, not shatters into a million pieces right there. Having intruded her magic into the half demon’s body anyway, the calm shaman briefly smirks, eyes her friend Skewer’s feet slamming her victim’s cloaca flat once more and decides to grant her a bit of arcane stimulation as well, tapping into Ahastar’s testicles and making him furiously spray his seed between the stalker’s more-red-than-green toes, high enough for her to have to move her face out of the way to not get her chin drenched.
For the next few moments, Ahastar’s senses only receive signals through ten felt layers of cotton. Only when Stampede’s monstrous raptor feet step off of his face, taking quite a few broken scales, battered feathers and cracked teeth with them, does the half demon fully regain his wits. And just in time to groan out a breathless “No more… enough… no more!” to Scorch and Facedancer, who already place one foot each down on his steamrolled bruise of a torso. Even just the lightest tap of their toe tips feels like a crush rex on top of him, making Ahastar groooaaaaan up with red-pressed tears in his eyes and gritted teeth, tail shivering high in the air, when the two raptors fully mount him. The pain is already immense from them just standing there, but sure enough, Uss once more turns into a new, dark rhythm.
A… threatening tune this time. Full of held back, but promising power. Sure enough, the two alpha cast members quickly begin to sway and lightly trample. Their dance floor comments even the most minute move with loud snarls of agonizing pain, and MUCH more when Facedancer suddenly leaps off and slams both of his regal raptor feet deftly down into whimpering Ahastar’s cloaca! Being as soft-swollen and slimy as that part of the steamrolled half demon is by now, even the graceful azure raptor completely slips off, having only his cunningly smirked at mate to thank for holding him by the tail. The good news is though that one moment later with Scorch transforming the half demon’s sexual orifice into her personal trampoline, her mate already picked up all the smear beneath his coarse soles, leaving her a safe landing zone behind.
-----
The two upper caste deinonychi pay Ahastar absolutely no attention while they utilise the natural power and grace of their sleek, strong bodies to dance heavily on top of him. The big theropods maintain eye contact with each other throughout the entire sequence of steps, jumps, crouches, grinds and other ritualistic sickle foot movements, and they don't even glance down at the restrained, broken body that they so perfectly use as a living, scaly dance mat. Having already been trampled hot and soft by Skewer and Stampede, Ahastar's bruised, footprinted hide doesn't resist the shapely soles of his new tormentors at all - it gives way to each tread and impact with a welcoming squelch and obediently admits the hungry, spreading toes and pads and sleek, firm sole scales down into his mangled body. It has no choice.
For the first few minutes the dance pattern consists exclusively of precisely-timed ducking and jumping: the first raptor catwalks backwards up the length of Ahastar's body until he or she reaches the shoulders of the half-demon, while the second remains to march stoically on the hips, then on a seemingly random (but apparantly memorised) beat of the rhythm, there is a crashing drumbeat and the first raptor leaps up and over the top of the second, who ducks into a crouch, twists around to continue facing his or her partner, and steps back onto the flattened belly of the half-demon to make way for a messy, fully-powered impact directly upon the cloaca of the screeching raptor. Upon landing, the first raptor stays in a crouch while the second bobs up and begins catwalking backwards towards the shoulders of their victim, and thus the two big theropods switch positions continually.
Dras opens his jaws and begins to pant as he lands another perfect impact upon Ahastar's hips - not through exertion: his naturally athlatic body could pounce and trample all day without reducing his stamina, but rather through elation. Hot, crimson-stained raptor seed squirts and gurgles up between his long, wide-spread toes and he feels the badly-trampled body convulse under him, totally helpless to prevent its own gradual destruction under the dancing feet of his mate and himself. Without breaking his concentration on the rhythm, the alpha-caste chieftan grins to the red female, and she returns his yellow-eyed gaze with aroused affection while she neatly steps back to Ahastar's shoulders. He watches her, seeing the signs of her arousal - the dilated black slitted pupils, the sinewous swaying of her long, sleek tail, and of course, the helplessly revealing lifting and replacing of her large crimson talons - almost a gentle kneading across Ahastar's shoulders.
Dras senses the next crashing beat approaching, and a wide-eyed, clench-jawed glance from his mate assures him that she feels it too, then abruptly she coils her sleek body and he lunges down into a crouch to leap over the top of him. The male raptor has only a fraction of a second in which to enjoy the head and shoulders of the half-demon rip up off the wooden floor in the wake of Scorch's big red paws, then he whirls around, grinding still more seed out of the swollen cloaca under his foot pads as he slinks back onto Ahastar's belly in time for his mate to land with a soft, brutal WHUMP upon the half-demon's hips. She gives an elated raptor bark this time and Dras smirks at her, catwalking backwards and swinging his powerful digitigrade legs inward to step perfectly in line over the broken chest until his big sprinter paws step onto Ahastar's shoulders and plant there side-by-side.
The long sleek arches and narrow digitigrade heels of Dras' handsome alpha-caste feet stretch up, proudly exposed in front of Ahastar's muzzle while the pressure forces his head forwards enough to lightly nuzzle them, despite his continued efforts to flick his head away. Dras runs a clawed forehand through his lush feather crest and kneads the half-demon's shoulders unconsciously, the back sides of his big azure talons spreading and stretching in time with the drum rhythm. When the moment comes, he gives a sharp intake of breath and lunges down to coil powerfully, clubbing Ahastar's head down under his bulging tailbase, then he pounces like lightning, surging pressure down on Ahastar's shoulders and finally cracking the collarbone of the restrained half-demon before both sleek blue paws rip up and sail harmlessly over the top of his crouching mate, then land devastatingly upon the cloaca of the screeching raptor, spurting up yet another fountain of bloody seed as they plunge down into it.
-----
Ahastar's body has turned completely soft, smooth and hot by now, the countless crush injuries and cruel wounds Skewer ripped into all of his limbs holding his crippled body perfectly in place. In fact, the sharp leather straps wouldn’t even be necessary any more to keep the half demon restrained, yet the trampling raptors do not at all see a reason to remove their mutual dance mat from its confinement. After all, a dance floor need a sound foundation. By now, these straps are mainly there for added humiliation, even more helplessness and, quite simply, to allow the dancing deinonychi to perfectly slam their shapely sprinter feet precisely where they want them to be.
Right now, that spot would be Ahastar’s cloaca. Again. The half demon helplessly whimpers out against Scorch’ ruby-red heels, the raptoress “gently” stomping his already cracked shoulders, forcing him to hunch upwards and involuntarily nuzzle her lifting and planting footscales, sliding his face around her strong calf muscles and having his chin bumped against her heels. Gods, how much Ahastar would give for these cruel beasts to FINALLY leave his cloaca alone. There were some years in his adult life in which he climaxed less than he was forced to do under the unyielding tread of endlessly many padded raptor soles in this terrible night. But of course, no amount of wishing and hissing and groaning does make the two princely sprinter feet on top of his cloaca cease their dancing trampling. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. They come to hit the immensely swollen, crab red orifice in a nearly unbearably perfect rhythm, sinking into the soft, moist sexual flesh almost to the ankle, delivering a cruel dose of surging weight and coarse, rough touch before lifting back up, drawing away countless tendrils of red, yellow and especially white slime with their off-black pads. The pain is immense – clearly, Skewer’s vicious foot-rape must have left Ahastar’s cloaca beyond as a wreck, Facedancer and Scorch now taking turns to tread up the last bits of juices from deep within their trample toy’s crotch, checking the damage the stalker caused deep, deep down and making it worse with every step they add.
The half demon screeches out at the next stomping, pouncing jump, and then another, and another! His ears ring with the tune of the powerful, drumming music, the ground and his body shaking in the precise dancing interpretation of his two tormentors. And there is nothing Ahastar can do about it – he has no other choice but to lay there, trampled to a broken heap, covered with flesh-annexing footprints and accept every single stomp Scorch and Facedancer give him. Each time one of them lands between Ahastar’s legs, a sudden, violent lance of pain comes shooting up his spine, feeling as if it would burst every vertebra open in the process, only to slam into his brain with nearly enough force to have it bashed out of his skull and rolling straight up to Uss’ smaller sickle-feet.
“HAAAA-OOORRFFFF!” Once again the raptors switch their positions, forcing the half demon’s cloacal lips to stretch and gurgle helplessly beneath female raptor feet again, the six toes digging up wildly bubbling slime like earth oil from a deep, deep cavern. After having taken so many turns, both Scorch and Facedancer’s proud raptor feet are coated in their victim’s cloacal juices nearly up to the ankles. “Hfff…hhhfff…hffff” Ahastar violently pants, his muzzle forced to slide and bump against formerly azure deinonychus paws with every shoulder-cracking step they take. He tries to resist. He tries to prevent. He bites on his own lips until they bleed. But Ahastar can’t avoid another agonizing orgasm filling the footprints Scorch tramples into his cloaca. The half demon whimpers out a high pitched moan three times, once for every climaxing, loudly squirting heave. Yet the amount of squeezing slime coming from deep within his legs is nothing compared to that rushing flood of blood shooting from a surprised Ahastar’s nostrils and maw as his collarbone gives in, a crack loud enough to let Torment next to him look around for a piece of fallen off wood. The thick tendril of red-hued seed Scorch carries with her is only broken when Facedancer jumps his victim’s cloaca flat under his regal feet once more, at once continuing where his mate left off: Emasculating stomps.
-----
For the first few repetitions of the dance pattern, whenever his head isn't reflexively cramped forward to butt his snout into the arches of whichever raptor happens to be treading on his shoulders, Ahastar finds his neck muscles tensing and convulsing in a lively manner; but after the seventh pounce, they become strangely nonfunctional, considering they have hardly been trampled at all yet. In the wake of Dras' shoulder-leap, the head of the half-demon flops back down to the wooden den floor and is unable to move at all. Torment, lying on her flank alongside the restrained dancemat raptor, smiles and puts down her staff, then extends a hindlimb to soothingly stroke her coarse foot pads against the motionless muzzle, sliding her shapely alpha-caste sole back and forth against the side of Ahastar's face while he lies there, unable to move. With a final posessive squeeze and a soft chuckle, the ghostly shaman releases her spell in time for the half-demon to jut his head forward into the arches of Scorch's crimson talons as she steps back onto his broken collarbone, crunching and grinding it under her shifting weight.
While the dance pattern of the two upper caste theropods doesn't change, it does become more rapid, the speed of the rhythm increasing and the great crashing pounce drumbeats occurring closer and closer together until in a great booming drumroll, the rhythm stops. Dras, standing on Ahastar's broken shoulders, gives a growl of elation and steps back to cover Ahastar's face under the wet walking section of his right sickle foot, thrusting it down on its side. In the hot blackness of his sole there is a heavy squeeze of pressure and raptor seed squirts out from under the big foot pads, then another alpha-caste talon crushes down on his neck and the face-covering one shifts, turning sideways to spread its padded toes and ball over the rear half of the gasping white muzzle. Quickly, the pressure flows back onto Ahastar's head and the neck-crushing talon lifts to plant down alongside its scaly counterpart, leaving Ahastar's head pushed down against the wooden floor and the exposed side of his face utterly buried under the shapely talons of the smirking azure chieftan.
Scorch catwalks her way onto the badly pulped cloaca of the white raptor and, as the echoing of the drumroll dies down, it becomes clear that the rhythm hasn't stopped - only softened.
His purr resonating deeply through his thick black pads, Dras curls his long scaly toes posessively around the skull of his dance mat and begins to slowly knead Ahastar's face with his big talons. The pounce-liberated raptor seed that coats his thick foot pads is forced to squeeze and squirrel out from between them and the facial scales of the half-demon as the pressure changes rhythmically. Rich, hot alpha-caste sole padding stretches and spreads, curling to conform over the broken shape of the half-demon's head, and hot bloody fluid begins creeping down the sides of Ahastar's face as Dras gracefully lifts and replaces his sleek, sickled feet upon it, working his padded soles gently down into the mind of his victim to seek out and purringly extinguish what little dignity they find there. The motions of the powerful alpha-caste talons are neat and precise, each one expertly radiating dominance and ownership over the shocked half-demon as they plant and spread, knead, tread and grind him into helpless submission.
Scorch begins a similarly soft and gentle trampling upon Ahastar's cloaca, and the two upper caste deinonychi sway and purr to each other, stretching forwards to hold their red and blue muzzles side by side while they rape their victim - both physically and mentally - under perfect sole scales, flexing toes and an ever-shifting, all-posessing layer of hot black upper-caste pad flesh.
-----
Torment proves to be a very rude raptoress! Ahastar seemed just in the middle of an apparently quite intense conversation with Scorch’ ever lifting raptor heels, when suddenly the wicked shaman interrupts their lively dialogue. The half demon’s muzzle plummets to the earth as if someone slammed an executioner’s axe all the way through the dance mat raptor’s throat. His tired azure eyes, riddled with red spots from capillaries having bursted with strain, rest upon the ghostly shaman’s calmly smiling features, her green scale patterns having lost nothing of their mesmerizing, glowing intensity. The two physically so similar, but as far as rank goes quite different raptors keep on their silent gaze for a while, only interrupted by Ahastar’s body heavily convulsing and thrashing whenever one of the four raptor feet batters into his flesh. Suddenly, the half demon’s horizon is filled with the sight of the shaman’s shapely raptor foot, white sole-scales and a sparkling black pad greeting him, encroaching his dignity and finally planting solidly against his face. Only to rub over it, slowly, up and down, up and down. The hot sole flesh wipes the dignity right out of her moaning doormat. Her foot feels as if it would… radiate into Ahastar’s very brain. With all her sooth nature, Torment rests her snout on her staff, her emerald eyes steadily keeping a dominating gaze upon her conquered victim, then giving him the added indignity of running her toes over his lips, ever so slightly intruding his mouth. Just before her middle toe makes contact with the half demon’s whimpering tongue, the shaman pulls her sickled foot back again, releasing Ahastar from her hex and nodding her snout upwards, as if to instruct the half demon to gaze at the ceiling.
And Ahastar does. His vision is filled with the broad, long image of Facedancer’s padsole, the smugly smirking raptor prince’ face visible far beyond his lifted knee. The half demon only has one moment to gasp at the current condition of the azure male’s foot: It is covered in his own cloacal juices, mostly in white slime, with a few streaks of other fluid in the mix – yet there is not a single blue scale or patch of black pad still visible. The last of Ahastar’s thoughts before that pride-shattering paw comes to slam into his face is one of pure marvel. He did, of course, notice how badly these two raptors pummelled his cloaca – but he had no idea they made him fountain up that much juice. “Ouuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh!” … The sound coming from beneath Facedancer’s shifting, and finally double-face-standing sprinter feet is one of a victim that has reached a status of perfect humiliation. Indeed, for Ahastar it feels as if time has frozen in this position. All movement and all thinking around him is gone, the only thing remaining the two alpha caste sickle feet pressing his face in, exchanging his charming features with footprints and dripping squirt after squirt of fluid down his gagging mouth.
And then, the trampling starts. Soft. Smooth. Swaying. Facedancer violates Ahastar’s face while his mate Scorch keeps gently pumping her female raptor feet into their rape-victim’s cloaca. It is clear what they want, and the half demon just… can’t… accept that. A tiny bit of him is still fighting. His slashed open arms with their gruesome wounds briefly pull up in their leashes, hands wide open to grab something, aiming for Facedancer’s ankles. The half demon keeps pulling until his bounds cut into his flesh and make him seep even more blood. Yet then, it is over. Ahastar’s arms drop powerlessly to the floor. And for the first time in the tree house night, the half demon completely loses himself. Every last bit of strength flees from his body, leaving his flesh behind soft and supple like reptilian jelly. Every time one of Facedancer’s feet sinks into his features, the half demon lets out a light, sexual moan filled with utmost helplessness. He begins to urinate beneath Scorch calmly rocking padfeet like an incontinent hatchling. His legs spread apart further, his tail barely moves and eventually, he even starts to cry into Facedancer’s constantly trampling padsoles. Not that anyone would notice it, given the thousands of tiny tendrils of white slime forming between the all-dominator’s formerly blue feet and the footprint-riddled face beneath him. And then, after a few minutes of this ungodly treatment, Scorch feels the “earth” beneath her quivering again. If the female cares to look down, she will find her feet coated in fresh orgasmic juices once more - and Ahastar loudly moans in the tact of Facedancer’s shifting feet, while the proud azure raptor holds his eyes closed and sways his index fingers through the air, like a humming conductor.
-----
The hot, hard soles of the big alpha-caste chieftan begin lifting and replacing in time with every off-beat of the now-leisurely drumming, pressing deep three-toed raptor footprints in Ahastar's facial scales as they step around on the spot. Dras utterly lives up to his ceremonial name, moving gracefully and efficiently as he tramples his social superiority and pure-bred caste status down into Ahastar's face, making damn sure that no single scale on the half-demon's muzzle escapes being forcefully trodden on by both his broad ball pads and touched firmly by every single one of his padded toes. Even though the specifics of the act are lost in a squirting gurgle of pad-covering raptor seed, the symbolism is unobscured.
Scorch's own generously sized talons simultaneously perform the same delicate trampling upon Ahastar's destroyed cloaca, grinding their hefty foot pads deep down into it and pushing forth long streams of blood-stained body fluids with their every purring step. The sleek paws of the big crimson theropod step here and there, sinking into the heavily trampled hide of the facially-muted dance mat and ripping up out of it with long sticky noises. As Dras' slickened sole pads begin to prise open Ahastar's jaws with the chieftan's considerable weight behind them, so Scorch's flexing toes begin penetratuing deeper between his cloacal lips until the entire length of both large digitigrade feet step down inside Ahastar's cloaca whenever she shifts her weight
The now-open jaws of the half-demon prove to be no problem for the athletic azure male, and he expertly plunges his every fourth step down between the open jaws to squash Ahastar's flailing tongue against the wooden floor and smirkingly grind his pad taste into it. Dras' coarse, slickened soles don't just trample Ahastar's face, they engulf it - make it experience their every detail. The hot black pads tread and squash and grind and shift, sometimes wiping warm, trickly raptor seed over Ahastar's muzzle with slow, deliberate strokes, sometimes pushing a large sickle pad into his eye socket and holding it there while the long splaying toes clench posessively around his skull, sometimes simply pressing their perfect footprints into him. Dras makes it absolutely clear that, as far as the natural order of things is concerned, his own sleek, alpha-caste raptor feet are not simply 'able' to trample him - they are obliged to do so. They have the responsibility to crush the shape and sense out of his head with heavy ordinance raptor trampling as well as the right to reduce Ahastar's pride to a cowering rodent under the toe pad of a playful young rex. The muzzle of the half-demon, quite simply, belongs to the regal, princely deinonychus - belongs under his pads - and Dras makes him feel it with step after grind after heavy, padded step while his purr throbs down through his trampling feet to vibrate Ahastar's skull.
Soon the two dancing theropods are glassy-eyed and breathless with intense arousal, the sight of each other trampling their mutual victim through the sinewous courtship dancing quickly proving too much for them to bear. Scorch is heavily swollen between the hind legs, dribbling into Ahastar's own mashed-apart cloaca and enthuisiastically rubbing it in with her padded soles, and Dras is fully erect and trickling juices of his own onto the scaly top-sides of his alpha-caste feet, which steadily trample it into the face of his buried victim. The drumming grows in intensity and so does the dexterous footwork of the two big raptors until finally the rhythm changes again, turning rapid and vicious and heavy: throbbing bass-laden beats crashing one after the other in a sudden crescendo of booming sound. Dras and Scorch immediately leap upon each other and Ahastar is squashed anew as the big theropods scrabble and step around on top of him, nuzzling and licking at each other before they both crouch and sprawl over, Dras rolling onto Scorch and both energetically coiling their powerful bodies together with Ahastar tied down and broken underneath them. A long azure hind foot kicks out, toes splayed wide, and butts against Ahastar's face while at the same time three sleek crimson toes curl around the tail of the half-demon and stretch it out as Scorch extends her powerful leg in energetic rapture. The growling purrs of the raptors become snarls and hisses, both thrusting their sleek scaly bodies against each other as they mate upon their softened and rather wet trample mat, rubbing together and coiling sinewously until they both gasp out in shuddering bliss and flop limply against each other, purring like engines.
-----
Ahastar’s moaning never stops, just as the two trampling deinonychi never cease to lift and plant their feet. A small part of the half demon allowed himself the hope of his two trample dominators probably stopping their dance once they finally made him climax another time, but two continued orgasms later he still feels Scorch’s broad feet pumping into his cloaca… and Facedancer’s inevitable padsoles keeping on ambushing and devouring Ahastar’s face like two insatiable vultures.
By now, the azure scaled raptor prince has wiped and stomped and ground and stretched that much of Ahastar’s juices against his dance mat’s face that a good part of his true colour appears on his feet again. The swaying, stepping lead raptor does not only trample his bound, moaning, whimpering victim. He forces him to live his feet. Exist by them. Take him and make his pads Ahastar’s world. Every single step Facedancer takes is a world of humiliation. The proud deinonychus shines with superiority, dominance, ownership. He places his heel on Ahastar’s nostrils and grinds them both down until the half demon knows no other scent than the heavily reptilian, leathery smell of his destroyer’s paws. He pokes a cruelly padded toe tip into the half demon’s eyes and pushes and squeezes the tears out of it, then lets go so he can watch being stomped. He sways left and right, to and fro over the bound deinonychus’ muzzle to make sure not a single inch of his snout stays untrampled. He shuffles back into the perfect middle of Ahastar’s snout and heavily shoves and pushes with his pressed together paws, trying to and succeeding in leaving two marvellous alpha caste footprints behind that are that perfectly etched into his victim’s flesh that they might as well have been tattooed on his face, to forever announce that Facedancer’s padsoles and his victim’s features are made to be combined. Everybody shall see it, everybody shall know it. Only when the princely deinonychus is absolutely certain that his marks are left behind in Ahastar’s features with such excellence that a blacksmith could fit toe-armor to Facedancer’s feet just by measuring the prints on the half demon’s muzzle does the bound deinonychus’ trample rapist turn around again and start stomping anew. This time, he performs a cunning heel grind precisely on the retching half demon’s jawbone, making his mouth jolt open. There it lays, that weak little oral muscle, helpless and bare of any protection, but offering myriads of sensitive nerve ends, all made to taste, fine, a carnivore’s tongue. Facedancer briefly purrs at the sight, then buries the squelching oral muscle beneath his foot, making sure to give it as much sole contact as possible. A loud, slimy noise fills the air, followed by Ahastar’s crying moan. His tongue flesh bulges around between Facedancer’s toes and around the edge of his foot, rising high and shivering. The half demon rolls his eyes, absolutely experiencing the prince’s raptor paw with an intensity that erases all other tastes he had known in his former life.
At the same time, his cloaca faces the same stern workout. Purrrrring loudly in arousal and watching the helpless, beggingly stretching sexual organ beneath her, Scorch absolutely violates Ahastar’s slit. She feels like a giant monster having stepped into a city of tiny Compies. They are trying to rebuild their homes, their nests, attempting to escape, but she just keeps crushing underfoot whatever she finds. Slowly, she starts to enter the half demon’s orifice. At first, she only presses a single toe down his swollen slit, getting a loud, whimpering moan back in return. Then she adds a second toe with the next stomp. And finally, she splits the barely held together cloaca open like a banana and fully steps into it. First one foot, then, not worrying about tearing the organ apart, the other as well. To her, it feels as if she would be trampling right on Ahastar’s spinal cord now. The half demon certainly feels his bladder and testicles still being in the way though, forced to undertake the most intimate contact with the female’s constantly squashing, trampling feet. Only with her paws shoving her victim’s cloaca full to the rim does the purrrrring Scorch manage to shove and push the last few drips of juices inside of the half demon together, forcing him to release even his most severe emergency supply in a spraying, grunting orgasm. With that goal achieved, the two mates can’t hold back any more! They pounce each other like wounded, young hadrosaurs and turn into one single raptor ball of leashing claws, kicking sicklefeet and dripping organs. And lo and behold, they even include the bashed in half demon in their sexual deviance – after all, not only does he serve as their mating nest, he also gurgles Facedancer’s seed and feels his footprinted testicles filled with Scorch dripping juices.
-----Maybe to be continued one day.....!
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