Tibbit screamed at the top of her lungs as her battle-axe swung in a deadly arc.  That, at least, was the plan.  Instead, a squeaky yelp echoed in the clearing, and the hatchet she wielded (the heaviest she could carry) bit barely an inch into the practice dummy.  That wouldn’t have been quite so humiliating, she thought, if the practice dummy hadn’t been made out of straw.

Rage!

Her inner monologue circled the concept.  Anger.  Frenzy.  Fury.  Frenzy!  Any of those would do.  Just one of those destructive emotions would fuel the berserker spirit she knew she had.  She just had to.  It was all that was left!

She had tried sorcerer, but the magics of the world wouldn’t speak to her.  Wizard, too, had been beyond her grasp.  Her head just wasn’t a tight enough trap for all of that information.  Cleric and paladin had evaded her—after what she’d been through, faith just wasn’t in the books.  Ranger?  No.  She was decidedly near-sighted, so the bow and sling were more of a guessing game.

But she was determined, and that had to count for something.  Kobolds weren’t meant to be adventurers, but great Denmother Kilik had proven that wrong.  She was a wizard now, and that was definitely more than a “monster”.  Since then, all of her old tribe had picked a role.  Ishi and Tik were fighters, and even though their armor was still pretty piece-meal, they looked so dashing with their shiny swords and kettle-top shields.  Dak was a bard now, even though his singing voice was horrible.  Even Pikkit was now officially a rogue.  Not far from his previous sneaky ways, but it still counted.

But Tibbit?  Poor little Tibbit, who was barely taller than a hatchling even though she was well past her third molt?  Nothing seemed to fit, and she’d rather throw herself into a dragon’s open maw than be left behind.  So since it was the only thing she could think of that she hadn’t tried, today’s less was Barbarian!

Rage!  Come on, Rage!

No matter what, she just couldn’t work up a decent blood-lust.  But, she thought rationally, maybe she was coming at it from the wrong angle.  No one excelled at their chosen profession on the first day.  Maybe she needed to sneak up on anger.

So instead, she looked at the straw dummy and focused her thoughts at an easier target.  Annoyed!  Now that she could do.  She squeaked again (she noted that she’d need to workshop that battle cry later.)  Then swung her axe.  She’d been holding it wrong, so the blunt side of the axe bounced off of the dummy’s scarred tunic.  But it had felt better!  It was filling her with…

Damn!  That was pride.  Pride wasn’t annoyed.  She needed to stay on target.  Annoyed!  Frustration!  Exasperation!  She could do those emotions!  She swung her little hatchet around again.  She wanted a satisfying ker-thunk, but she’d have to do with a sort of ‘slsh’ as the blade bit through straw.  That was the way it was supposed to work!  She couldn’t feel the blood-lust, but she could sort of channel the stop-bothering-me pretty well.  In the throes of her victory, she tried her battle cry again.  Squeak!

Then echoing from the forest surrounding her came an answering squeak.

It wasn’t like a bird.  She’d heard enough of those.  They were horrible and unnatural, all feathery when clearly anything that flew should be scaled and leathery.  But they were also harmless and tasty, so she’d learned to tolerate them.

No, the squeak she’d heard was very much like hers.  High-pitched and breezy, but with a falling tone.  Very much not like a bird.  Curiosity and kobold nature warred inside her.  Kobolds were naturally skittish.  She knew she was brittle, and even for a kobold she was on the small side.  Her instincts were screaming at her to hide until whatever made the noise went away.

But that’s not how a Barbarian acts, is it?  No!  Barbarians feel no emotions other than Rage!  She was never going to get anywhere with this if she was hiding all the time.  And she wanted to succeed.  Oh, she wanted it so deeply it hurt just a little.  Everything else she’d put her mind to just hadn’t worked.  She didn’t want to be a barbarian because it called to her.  No, it was all she had left, and she wouldn’t go back to the tribe being nothing but a stupid kobold.  Not when they’d all found these amazing new realms of adventure.  She was determined not to be left behind.

She stuffed her instincts down into the cold pit of her belly, where butterflies had stopped fluttering and instead had opened a hostel and tavern—fluttering classes available in front dawn through dusk.  Then, with her jitters temporarily conquered, she let out her battle-squeak again.

This time, it was answered not by one squeak, but a series of high-pitched squeaks from the far side of the greenery that clung to the ground between trees.  Then she heard crunching, as of twigs cracking and branches strained past their breaking point.  The butterflies in her belly started up their mid-afternoon fluttering classes.

She’d barely made it twenty feet before she even realized she was running away.  She’d made it another ten feet beyond that when she realized she’d dropped the axe.  Yeah.  Not that it was going to be much use against whatever was making that cracking noise as it tore through the underbrush.  Oh, and it was getting closer.  Well, rage didn’t seem to be working, but at least the rest of her terror receptors were in full working order.

Then came the squeaking.  Now it was all around her.  She broke through a low-lying thorn bush and found herself in a clearing.  And in the middle was the squeaking monstrosity.  It was huge!  It was dire, with fangs and claws and cute, rounded ears, and a body like a…  Well, now that she looked, it really was just a tube that bent in the middle, with stumpy little legs.  It was big alright, but she recognized at least the style.

“A weasel?!”  She asked out loud.  Then something barged into her from behind.

She was sent tail-over head into the clearing.  The world tumbled.  When she was able to pick herself out of the grass and look upwards, she saw inquisitive snouts poking down at her.

“Ack!  No eat Tibbet!  Kobold not food!  Away!  Shoo!”

Much to her surprise, the creatures backed off.  She sat up, then dusted the dirt from her scales, marveling at the fact that she still was in possession of all of her limbs.

Sitting—or standing, she couldn’t quite tell—in front of her were three of the big weasels.  Big as a horse.  Or a pony.  They were all bigger than Tibbit, and once they got to a certain size, the differences between them started to matter less and less.  For a kobold, these three weasels would be classed as “Sufficiently Big.”  But while monstrous and scary and surely sporting claws and teeth that could probably tear her apart, they gazed back at her with intelligent and curious eyes.

So Tibbit took a risk.  She squeaked.  Three pairs of ears lifted, and the weasels returned her call.  As one, they dashed forward and surrounded her.  This time, there was a bit less of the knocking over, though there was still quite a bit of intrusive nosing.

Tibbit laughed.  They were so curious!  It was just like the rats the kobolds kept back in their warrens as pets, but these were so big that she couldn’t even fit her arms all the way around one of their necks.  When she tried (just for reference, of course) she was met with a cold, wet nose pushed into her face.

“Ack!  Not in mouth!  Ew.  Weasel buggers on tongue.”  She sneezed, and the three curious bodies around her jumped.  They were almost as skittish as she was, but where she might have kept running, they took only a second to reset back to curious.

She reached out, and while they explored her, she took the opportunity to return the favor.  Their pelts were so soft.  One as a deep auburn.  Another was tan, and the third was a blotchy brown.  They crowded close on all sides, until she felt like she was swimming in a sea of fur.  She felt a nip to her waist, but while the butterflies gave another flutter of danger, no ripping, tearing, or rending followed.  In fact, she was starting to feel pleasantly warm, wrapped in a blanket of snug, living pelt.

A face lifted towards her.  A squeak met her ears.  It had an upwards inflection, like a question.  What were they asking for?  She was feeling happy and floating on her bed of weasel, so without giving it too much thought, she squeaked back.  A broad tongue licked her face, and tubular bodies squirmed around her.  One of the three—the one with creamy tan fur—bounced away, all four legs in the air and body bent double.  Then it tumbled playfully.  Ah!  That squeak must have been asking to play.  Well, that she knew how to do.  She’d tussled with the wargs the scouts kept as mounts back in her tribe.  They were excitable and playful like this, though they were missing that clever look in the eye that these weasels seemed to have in abundance.

She grabbed the one beneath her and lifted.  Even though her strength was clearly not sufficient for the task, it flopped onto its side and swung stubby paws at her.  She ducked and sprawled herself out across its chest, rubbing her hands through its thick fur.  Another squeak, and the third she’d been neglecting behind her snuggled up close.

Then she became aware of three things simultaneously.  First, the basic loincloth she’d been wearing was gone.  One of them must have bitten it loose while they were  investigating her.  Second, the weasel behind her was male.  And third, he had remarkably good aim.  While he snuggled close and pinned her body between the two weasels, she felt a slim invader slide up beneath her tail.  It had an alien feel and shape as it nudged apart her slit and pushed so deep that she was sure it was going to prod something vital as soft, fuzzy hips met her legs.  She was so surprised by the intrusion that she froze in shock.  She felt a throb, then a hot rush, and then the weasel’s hips backed off, and that was it.

“Hold it!  Back off.  Give Tibbit room!”

Again, to her surprise, they seemed to understand.  The three of them—brothers now that she was really paying attention—stood a few feet away with attention on her.  Well, two of the three.  The third, who’d just been inside her, was wearing what she thought must have been a satisfied grin and was smirking at the other two.  Then one of them bit him, and the three contorted into an argument that seemed to be all squirming bodies and very few other limbs.

Tibbit used the moment to recover.  Had he really just…  No, that was a stupid question.  She spread her legs, and could feel the runny remains of weasel drip out of her slit.  That monster!  That horrifying beast!  That infuriating… Male!

But what did she expect, another cruelly rational part of her mind asked.  They were just animals, and animals do what feels good.  She wasn’t a complete stranger to those ways.  The wargs back in camp were shameless, and she even found the rats curled up and licking themselves just because it felt nice.  And what did she think?  Well, for something the size of a horse.  Or a pony.  Or whatever they were the size of, it hadn’t hurt at all.  In fact, it felt rather nice as it slid up into her and throbbed about.

And a little seed of an idea blossomed in her mind.

“You.”  She pointed.  The trio stopped their bickering and three pairs of intelligent eyes stared at her.  “You understand Tibbet, yes?”

Three pairs of eyes nodded.

“And you knew Tibbet didn’t understand you back?  Not really?”

One head hesitated, but the other two nodded.

“Then you!”  This time, she pointed specifically at the auburn-furred head.  “You not ask permission.  Not right!”

The weasel endeavored to look guilty.

“You no do that again!”  Now it looked positively crestfallen.  “Not without asking permission first.”

Three sets of ears perked up.  They all three had looked disappointed, but now renewed interest perked.

Tibbet pointed her finger at the other two brothers.  “You two.  You cuties don’t have to ask.”  And she winked.

It took a few seconds for her words to register.  Then with a chorus of chirping squeaks, the two other weasels bounded towards her, backs arching and hind legs running not entirely in-line, ending with a sideways canter that made Tibbet smirk.   They snuggled in against her excitedly.  The third—the one who’d already taken his liberties with her, approached with head hung low.  Feeling a little pity for her would-be assailant, she reached down and curled a finger under his chin.

“It’s okay.  Tibbet forgive you.  If you want, you can-OOF!”

The last came out as a rush of air as a body knocked her forward.  She sprawled across the dire weasel’s face as another climbed up behind her.  Well, she had given them permission to not ask permission.

Just like before, she felt the slim flesh sliding up under her tail.  This time, she lifted and tilted her appendage off to the side to make room as the slick weasel cock slicked against her scales.  A tongue joined it as the seeking tip found her slit and pushed.

When she hadn’t been expecting it, it’d felt good.  Now that she wanted it, it felt fantastic.  The weasel had interesting anatomy.  He was dished out at the tip, wider than the rest of his shaft, with a curl at the end that felt almost hooked—though not nearly enough to be anything more than a lovely added sensation as it slid against her inner walls.

The tongue lapped at her sex while the weasel slid deep.  Oh, now that felt lovely.  Just like the first, her lover didn’t take long.  A push in, a couple of delightful throbs, then a hot rush inside.  The tongue lapped as remnants of his brother’s orgasm dripped out.

Tibbet pushed herself up to sitting as the weasel behind her dismounted.  Beneath her, the broad head of her first lover was lapping at her lips while he looked up at her.

“Here.  There’s payback for you.”  She said as she slid forward, riding the bridge of his muzzle.  Weasel come dribbled out, painting a splotchy picture in the weasel’s facial fur.  “You get to wear your brother’s cum until you convince someone to clean that off.”

His paws reached up, but before he could push her away and start to groom, she tapped the top of his skull.

“No.”

Paws stopped moving.

“Leave it.  You ask him.”  She pointed towards the third brother, who appeared to be patiently waiting his turn.  “And when he—and Tibbet—think you’ve learned your lesson, he lick you clean.  Understand?”

Tibbet marveled at herself.  She’d never been in control.  Not like this!  She squirmed about on the weasel’s head.  The sense of power was intoxicating, and intensely sexual.

She stood, straddling the dire weasel’s face with cum still dripping onto his whiskers, then walked bow-legged to the third brother.

“On your back.”

He obeyed.  Without hesitation, she crawled up onto his belly.  Her fingers stroked through his fur.

“You’re the good one.  You’re Tibbet’s favorite.”  He preened under her praise.  She felt the other two crowd in, but, as if in deference to her, they didn’t interfere.  “You know the value of patience.”

While her paws stroked through the thick fur of his belly, she felt his eagerness bouncing against her tail.  She lifted herself up and slid backwards.  When it slid between her legs, she could feel that he was already twitching, and his tip was already curved.  She played it between the lips of her slit.

“Your brothers were too fast.  You’re going to let Tibbet ride you, and when Tibbet say you cum, you cum.  Yes?”

The weasel tried to nod his head, but his whole body went rigid halfway through as the kobold started to slide backwards around his length.  She went slow, letting herself really feel his shaft.  It was enjoyably thin—slim enough that she felt it more as tickles and twitches against her inner walls, rather than a stretching.  The weasel beneath her was struggling.  Head tossed back and forth in an effort to hold on.  When she sat back against his crotch, she could feel him twitching deep inside.  He may be thin, but he was long enough that she could feel the twitches tugging her forward.  She reached back.  His nuts were dangling just below where she sat.  She ran them through her fingers, holding them in either hand while she sat still—letting the weasel regain his composure.

Then paws on her shoulder pushed her forward.  She was able to catch herself against the weasel’s belly, but the body mounting up behind her kept her leaning at an angle.  As if using the first as a guide, a second slim length slid up against her slit.

One was thin, but two was enough to make her feel stretched.  She let out a squeak as the second shaft slid up alongside his brother’s.  The weasels surrounding her squeaked back, and she felt the one behind her spray.  It dripped down around the two cocks and dribbled out of her in runny gushes.

A broad head pushed against her, and a reedy squeak asked her a question.  Oh!  Right.

“Yes.  You may.”

Finally given permission, the last brother twitched beneath her.  Where his brothers had been a spurt and a dribble, it seemed only the couple of extra minutes waiting for his turn had built up quite a lot.  A throb, and then a jet that soaked her inner walls, then squirted back out of her, soaking both himself and his brother.  She let them squabble between each other, as his wet orgasm let her hide her own clenching as she peaked around the two brothers’ shafts.

“Good.  Good.  Tibbet happy with this.”  While she stroked her hands through thick fur, the weasels bunched up against her.

And now, she had to see if it had worked.

She squeaked, and three pairs of ears lifted.  She squirmed her wait out from between them, then squeaked again.  The three had different tones when they squeaked, so she tried to mimic one—the tan, creamy one.  He trotted forward, and when she pointed down, he lay on his belly for her.  She climbed up onto his back, leaving smears of weasel cum in his fur where she straddled.

“That way!”  She pointed back into the brush, and he charged, following her previous trail back to where her hatchet lay useless in the dirt.  The remaining brothers scampered after, with that awkward weaselly gait.

Ignoring her old, useless weapon, she pointed at the straw dummy.

“Kill.”

Tibbet, the tribe’s newest Beastmaster, smiled as the ferocious weasels tore it apart.  The dummy never saw it coming.