"[AiE] Anon is stuck as a slave to roman griffons"
By 4th (https://pastebin.com/u/4th)

URL: https://pastebin.com/dVw9prrk
Created on: Monday 19th of June 2017 10:45:17 AM CDT
Retrieved on: Monday 26 of October 2020 03:30:45 AM UTC


>The whip cracks, its tip breaking the barrier of sound
>And with a bellowing scream, a deep gash is left on your back, instantly leaking a thick red stream 
>You plead for mercy, not ready for the pain
>The griffon just chuckles loudly, her face contorting in pure amusement. Like someone cracked a great joke
>"Just nine more." she muses and reels back for the second whip lash
>In the movies, the protagonists always bit their way through these things
>Not even screaming
>Defying their tormentors by showing them that they can take it
>Not you
>You cry like a little bitch
>The second time the whip kisses your skin, the pain is so intense that you howl like an animal
>With all your strength you fight against your binding, but only manage to chafe the rough rope into your skin
>The pain is nothing compared to the whip and the post both of your wrists are tied to is ordinarily used for combat practice, marked with indentations from countless training weapons
>Nothing you can do would ever budge it
>On the side, the rest of the slaves are watching. Just outside the sandy area of the training yard
>Mainly diamond dogs and starved minotaurs barely any larger than you are

>Some are terrified, some show no emotion, and a few look at you with a content expression. Like you're getting what you deserve and it pleases them that it's you and not them
>Feeling like they are above you, when in fact they are at the bottom of the barrel, no different than you
>"Hnng!" the griffon behind you swings her whip with a grunt
>Searing pain spreads from your back and radiates into every fiber of your body as your are rocked forth by the force of the lash
>Your mind goes numb with pain as you ask for forgiveness
>That last hit must have broken at least two ribs, every breath is a world of pain
>And you're wheezing like you just ran a marathon
>Bumping your head against the post, you succumb to your fate and wait for the next hit
>Weeping like a little child
>"Hnng!" she grunts and your whole body tenses up in pure panic
>Your legs quiver and if you hadn't been on your knees already, you would have fallen over like a log
>You wet yourself then and there
>But the strike never comes
>Reluctantly turning your head in confusion, you see her
>The most sadistic creature on this side of the equator, whirling her whip idly like a flail, Klawsteen Velvettail
>A griffon of the raven sub-species
>Pitch black from the beak to the end of her tail, and altough called 'Raven' sub-species, her beak is still shaped like that of an eagle
>The only thing not black are her eyes, cold steel-blue orbs that seem to pierce right through you
>Secretly, you call her a nigger
>"Hey, don't kill him." a voice quips from the balcony overseeing the training yard "Mom says he's rare."
>Tolip Feathercrest, the only son of your owner and as snotty a brat as they get
>Klawsteen just clicks her tongue twice whith a grin and gives him a wink
>The successor of the Feathercrests appears to be satisfied with that as an answer and vanishes back inside the villa
>You've never seen him being snotty with her
>Shortly after he is gone your punishment continues in full

>Klawsteen knew exactly how far she could go, where to hit to maximize the agony, what to say to break your will
>Whether she succeeded or not, you weren't sure yourself
>After it was over, another slave was told to stitch you back together
>But you were still bound to the post, was it not over?
>Melony was the one to tend to your wounds, a gentle tauress
>Well endowed and with a simple demeanor
>She wiped off the blood and got to work when you noticed something black in the corner of your eye
>"Are you ready to tell me what really happened to that jug of wine?" Klawsteen asked, voice calm and full of satisfaction
>Your voice quivers like a soft penis
"Yes."
>Two black claws clamp around your cheeks and turn your head, forcing those cold blue eyes into view "You didn't drop it on accident." she stated matter-of-factly
>You recollect what got you into this situation and shake your head, still in her grip
"No."
>She raised her eyebrows "You didn't drop it at all." her act of surprise is intentionally bad "Do you know how I know?"
>You can only shake your head in response and she continues "Because I checked the trash, no broken jugs. No intact jugs either. In fact, there weren't any jugs at all. Where is it?"
>Hesitation is foreign to you
"In the corridor to the cellar... there is a loose tile at the end of the hallway in the wall, with a large space behind it."
>The tauress behind you sighs loudly as soon as Klawsteen had vanished inside the villa "You shouldn't do things like that, she always finds out."
>It never occured to you that anyone would check the garbage over a broken jug
>Was it just bad luck?
>In the two weeks you were here, nothing like this happened before
>And you didn't expect such a severe punishment
>The black menace returns eventually, a redish brown jug full of wine in one of her talons
>She stands before you silently for a full minute, until she has your undivided attention
>What is she gonna-

>Her arm stretches out and slowly tilts the jug
>The yellow sand greedily drinks every drop "I fathom you wanted this for yourself?" the words hurt more with everything the sand swallows
>When the jug is empty, she shoves her beak into your face and you rear back enough to barely avoid kissing her "Was it worth it?"
>You shut your eyes and shake your head, your backside burning like fire
"No."
>"Listen, meat. The mistress cut you some slack because she knew you are not used to your role as a servant. The usual punishment for stealing from her, is 30 lashes. Then you get sold off to work in the coal mines."
>"But I don't believe you got the message quite yet. You'll sleep in the pens with the diamond dogs for a month and you're forbidden from having dinner for the same duration."
>One meal per day and cuddling with smelly, drooling retards. Sounds delightful
>"I'll also have you wear one of these." she takes a dog collar from under a black wing and drops it in front of you, "So you have something at all times to remind you where you stand."
>Klawsteen chucks the jug to the side and it lands in the sand with a 'thud', then rips off your binding and vanishes back into the villa again
>Days went by
>Once you grew accustomed to the smell, sleeping with the diamond dogs wasn't as horrible as you thought
>Life around you settled into a rythm
>Working in the kitchen was yours
>Peeling potatoes, cutting vegetables, cooking meat, cleaning dishes, and nobody would be bothered by the occasional apple just vanishing
>You were just one of five servants in here, the other four were all minotaurs
>For some mysterious reasons the mistress doesn't want diamond dogs to prepare food for her family and guests
>Wonder why
>Probably because they eat poop
>Heh
>"What's so funny?" Melony asks with a coy grin "Got the next great heist all planned out already?"
>You'd rather sudoku yourself than risk another meeting with Klawsteen's whip

>"How about a friendly pat on the back to get you talking?"
"Was imagining what the mistress' face would look like if a diamond dog served her a tray of poop."
>The well endowed tauress makes a grimace "Yuck! They can be so nasty."
>Bramon enters the kitchen with a big tub of potatoes in his arms, he's the biggest minotaur in this estate, which isn't saying much
>The really big and strong ones get to fight in the arenas and work jobs that require brawn unattainable for griffons
>Or you for that matter
>Magic could do the trick probably, but you haven't seen a single pony in chains
>Not even on the big market
>The wooden tub'o'tatos falls to the ground with a bang
>"The mistress wants the meal tripled, she's expecting guests. She also wants stuffed and flavored salmons with spinach, use the big oven to make them all in one batch." Bramon looks at the two of you chatting, a smirk across his features "Are you flirting?"
>Melony rolls her eyes "We're talking about poop."
>He raises his hands as if to yield "Close enough." and was about to leave the kitchen again
"Wait, Bramon. Who are the guests?"
>The taur shrugs "Some griffons from the senate and their cohorts, I think. But I might be wrong, didn't hear anything specific."
>And with that he left
>Melony mumbles to herself more than to you "Senate, huh? Important people." she mocks
>You almost make a joke about putting poop in the fish when the pitch black griffon passes by the door
>She doesn't even register you, but you still peel twice as fast without a sound coming over your lips
>Melony didn't notice "What's wrong?"
"Uh, I... thought..."
>You hold up the potato
"...there was vodka in is thing."
>She just laughs a little and goes back to peeling carrots "You're an idiot sometimes."
>You need a plan
>A plan to escape this place
>You want brunch, and a warm bed
>Money, a garden, freedom
>But most of all, you want to tap that puffy pony pussy

"Mirabelle, what's the punishment for running away?"
>The busty cow stops and looks at you uncertain "Don't. Just, don't even think about it." she emplores "Really, I mean it. If you get away, all the slaves in the household have to be executed."
>Damn it, if only Mirabelle wouldn't be so cute
>And Bramon not such a bro
>And Nuffy the diamond dog so cuddly
"Forget I asked, bad idea."
>Two hours later the guests are feasting on the food Mirabelle, Bramon and you made
>While Mirabelle and Melony and most others are tending to them, you're still stuck in the kitchen
>Cleaning duty
>That and you're not desired to be seen by the guests, the relatively fresh wounds on your back still bleed a little from time to time and the mistress wants to avoid making the impression that her servant are insubordinant
>White toga's aren't exactly good at hiding red stains, that's not only applicable for wine
>It's actually preferrable this way, when you think about it
>Guests can get grabby
>Especially when there's wine involved
>You touch the collar around your neck and sigh while the background noises from the feast tell a story of joy, fun and unbridled sex with changing partners
>The pans and pots are cleaned in no time and you make a little hill in the bubble mountain of the sink kingdom
>A clicking noise behind you catches your attention, but there is nothing when you look
>The sun begins to set outside the window, the kitchen has a nice view this time of the day
>Too bad there's no one you can share it with, you're all alone scrubbing forks and knifes
>Maybe Fork-san can be your girlfriend tonight
>Looking through the bubbles at the fork in your hand, you try to imagine whether or not there are ways for a man to satisfy himself with nothing but this tool
>Maybe if you were horribly masochistic
>Not an option
>What about Knife-sama?

>Cleaning the cutting tool of scraps, you marvel at yourself in the blade's reflection
>There is someone behind you
>It's too dark to make out any distinct outline, but two steel-blue orbs gaze into your eyes through the reflection
>You whirl around with eyes as big as saucers, spraying drops of water and bubbles in an arc around you
>There she stands
>Though she is smaller in height, she weighs more than you
>Quite a bit in actuality
>Like real lions, bundles of muscle and energy
>You always wondered if the beak made them more dangerous than lions
>Standing on all fours, her head is level with your chest
>Why isn't she saying anything?
>You're about to break the silence when she raises an ashen talon slowly, reaching for your own hands and squeezing them together
>That's when you notice that there is still Knife-sama clutched in between them, held forward in something that could be considered a threatening gesture
>She could have you flayed alive for this
>An attempt to release your weapon is hindered by her own talon, she doesn't crush your hands. God knows, she could do it
>Griffons talons are freaks of nature, you've seen them stop blades and crush stones
>But she doesn't, she stares you in the eyes
>No malice, no sadism, you can't read her at all
>Like a creepy doll
>After what felt like minutes, her talon wanders to the knife and pulls it from your fingers without resistance
>The blade reflecting the last rays of an orange sun vanishing behind the horizon
"I-I didn't mean to-"
>She puts the knife on a counter and turns to leave "Wash yourself, and change your rags. Your presence was requested by one of the guests."
>The raven exits the kitchen
>Not exactly the romantic sunset you had in mind, and certainly not as relaxing as you hoped

[]=======================================[]

>"Looks like a minotaur to me." an old griffon patriarch says, a dozen golden necklaces hanging from his neck

>You're standing in the biggest room the villa has, it has a fancy name you don't remember, but it doesn't matter anyhow
>"Yes, yes." a second one agrees, clinging to the first one like a tumor "Like a mishappen minotaur, a naked mishappen minotaur. Are you sure he doesn't have any sicknesses?"
>The mistress Feathercrest answers him promptly "If he had any communicable diseases, I wouldn't have bought him in the first place."
>She gestures Mirabelle to fan her just a tad bit quicker with the twirl of a claw, her boobs jiggling faster accordingly
>D-Down, boy!
>The feast is loud and all around you
>Almost two dozen important bird people of different paths in life are conversing without a care in the world
>Stuffing their bellies with your food, there is a spark of proudness coming to life in your chest, no one dislikes it
>Most have one of their own servants with them, always the same white roughspun tunics
>Like a uniform for slaves
>Imperial guards are stationed at every entrance, the city provides them for a small fee at these banquets
>They're armored with pompous helmets and the uniforms of the griffon army, flashy red cloth and silver plate
>You wonder what they are thinking
>Probably nothing, soldiers don't think
>They're just here to make these people feel safe
>And as insurance that you behave, the black bitch lounges nearby and eats to her hearts content
>Never quite letting you out of the corner of her blue eyes
>Hopefully she chokes on it
>"No, you fools." An elderly griffon berates the other two "I've seen one of those before. He's not mishappen. In the murals of the old temple..."
>Yes!
>Tell them what a pristine example of a human you are!
>"He's an octopus hybrid." The old fart goes on 
>Oh god, why
>"Tell him to get rid of the toga, my dear." The old one is very familiar with you owner, who in turn just points at you with a half-hearted nod
>You get the message and rid yourself of the fabric
>Let them bask in your nakedness

>The griffon with the gold chains rubs his chin and his second 'hmm's
>As if they knew what they were looking at
>"He has those stunted teats that male minotaurs have." Goldie exclaims
>His tumor grabs him by the shoulder and jerks him once "Yes, but no hooves, no horns. His gait isn't that of a cripple."
>Your eyes wander over to Klawsteen, she's talking with a gruff looking griffon with a full beard and more scars than feathers
>No one to save you, Mirabelle is looking at you very scrutinizing though
>It's cold in here, okay?
>"Does his dick work?" the old one asks nonchalantly
>Your owner nods in reply and the griffon, who's more gold than bird, pipes in "Make him fuck. I want to see it, please."
>"If it's one of your slaves, sure." Feathercrest states "But I'm warning you, the guy I got him from said he's one of those breeders."
>If it's sentient and has a pussy, you're gonna make it pregorate
>And it's not gonna be a hybrid, and it's not gonna be a human
>Goldie makes a face "Ugh, I already have two pregnant slaves. No thanks... what about your servant manager?"
>Feathercrest wrinkles her forehead "You'll have to ask her that yourself, I have her employed, not in servitude."
>Servitude, they love using euphemisms to make slavery sound less like slavery
>The rich griffon jumps up without warning and and makes his way towards the raven one
>Giving your backside a glance while passing by "Ooh, looks like some servant was naughty."
>You see a telling twitch in the corner of your mistress' eye
>She didn't like that
>Pray to all the gods that you don't get punished because people saw you got punished
>That would be ass
>Over near the banquet table, you see a pitch black griffon make a denying gesture to a griffon with mad bling bling
>He folds his talons and bows, but she just shakes her head
>They talk heatedly for a full minute and eventually Klawsteen points to the senators chest
>Looks like they're talking about space shuttles

>He then holds up one of his accessoirs and she says a short sentence you can't hear through the noise, while circling a claw over all of them
>You feel a bad feel when the senator comes back in proud strides, entirely without anything golden to his body
>Following in his wake is the raven, looking like Mister T
>You're not sure whether you should laugh or cry
>It suits her surprisingly well
>"Dear Chicks and Gentleroosters, we have a show." The senator announces, much louder than neccessary and obviously trying to get more attention than you'd like
>Altough that threshold's been crossed the moment you entered this room
>Heads turn and chairs are moved
>In no time you have an audience of over a dozen smug chickens
>Melony appears amused, why?
>You didn't really think this would happen, it hasn't fully sunk in yet
>"Hey, slave." The tumor senator addresses you directly "How many children do you have?"
>Wow, that's private
"I've absconded sex in the pursuit of becoming a wizard."
>The two senators, the old geezer and your mistress exchange glances before breaking into bellowing laughter that spreads through the audience
>"A wimp, huh?" one of them says in amusement
>Rude
>Your goals are noble
>Klawsteen appears from behind, pulling a lounger behind her
>Didn't even notice her vanishing
>You're starting to get nervous
>Your soldier isn't ready to salute in front of so many generals
>And griffons don't exactly have the curves to get him marching
>A black talon pushes you back and you fall on the lounger with a 'pomf'
>Before you can say 'Wah', she already has you straddled
>Did she miss the part where they said you are quite fertile, even with griffons?
>She was there when Feathercrest bought you off the market
"Aren't you going to get pregnant?"

>"Nah." she quips as she rubs her butt against you, testing and checking how best to proceed
"Are you going to explain why?"
>Long winded explanation about conception, you're an ace at this sex thing
>"Nah." is all you get though
"Listen, human sex is dangerous. Our secretions are volatile and aci#$%^Mmmpfh"
>Her talon clamps shut over your mouth "Shut yer trap already, we're doing this one way or another."
>Is it too late to revoke your consent?
>[One rough intercourse later.]
>Klawsteen lies comfortably on the lounger next to you, smoke rising from a pipe in her talon
>The other arm stuck under your neck and flung over your chest
>She just stares at nothing in particular, content with how things are while you silently cry into your palms
>The attention of the feast quickly dissipated after you shot your cannon
>A senator is still arguing with the old one whether you're a weird minotaur or an octopus hybrid and the mistress excused herself shortly after the raven was done with you
>The feast is slowly coming to an end and a few guests are already leaving
>The hysterical woman inside you is continiously screaming 'RAAAAAAPE!' and you lost your chance to become a wizard
>But apart from that, you don't feel bad at all
>You lean onto Klawsteen and draw sensible circles in the fur on her belly, telling her in a husky voice
"You know, humans mate for life."
>Her eyes shoot open as wide as saucers and her head snaps around to lock onto you in one lighting movement
>You can literally hear her Jennies rustling
>"That's just a cultural thing, right?" there is hope in her voice
"I will literally die if I have sex with someone else."
>She rolls her eyes, relaxes again and says with a smoke filled sigh "Good luck then."

>She didn't buy it, damn
>Her next sentence is whispered and she doesn't look in your direction on purpose "Hmpfh, keep doing that."
>There is red under all that black, you know it
>Your hand continues to draw abstract penises into her fur, and she starts making a weird sound with every breath
>It takes you two full minutes to realize that she's trying her damndest to suppress her purrs
>Unf
>She avoids eye contact
>You expand your abstract dongs into a detailed map of the pre-industrial cluster of northern european city states in alphabetical order
>For the untrained eye it looks like ordinary belly rubs, but they aren't
>One of the patrons notices what's going on and smirks, pointing at the two of you while talking to his friends
>Klawsteen stops you and gets up as soon as she notices, then stomps out of the room with a tail swishing like mad
>Since no one is interested in you anymore, you excuse yourself from the dying gathering
>You find yourself wondering where the raven went