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After his humiliating submission to the Marauders' Chief, Prince Kwame was led away. Not dragged, as he had been brought before the Chief to begin with, but led away by gentle hands out of the tent and past the jeering faces.

A glance to his side told him the hands belonged to someone he could only assume was one of the Chief's attendants - small and lithe compared to the more muscular and bulky raiders, with a small leather shawl around his shoulders to match the apron that preserved what little modesty he had. Where the warriors - man and woman alike - had all been jeering and intimidating, aggression and power flaunted with the bone and ivory they wore to mark their status, the attendant was soft and almost meek, head bowed and gaze low.

He was led away to another tent, smaller than before and gratifyingly empty of jeering faces. The only furniture in the tent was a mat woven out of grasses and a bronze tub, and its only occupants were a small gathering of servants holding buckets of water. He realised what was happening now, but if there had ever been any fight in the Prince, it was long gone now - resistance, by this point, would've been nothing more than a futile gesture, so when the Attendant gently urged him to step into the tub, he did so with the same quiet obedience the gathered servants seemed to exude.

The water was warm, which was a small mercy unto itself, as it poured down his body, through and cross his fur, the Prince's own garb - his fine linen cloak, his leather skirt and sandals, his belt - was unceremoniously sheared away with small sharp knives, wet and dripping and cast aside. It was a clear message - he would not need it here. Even the shackles were removed, although they were treated with more care than his finery, set aside to no doubt be used on some other unfortunate soul. Once he was properly naked, they brought out stiff bristled brushes and began to dutifully clean him, lifting his arms and shifting his legs as they worked, almost reverent in their silence.

He felt very much like a sacrifice being prepared for the Gods - or a bride preparing to marry her groom. The thought didn't burn as much as it should've anymore. He'd already fallen this far, after all.

He let out a small gasp of surprise as a gentle but firm finger pressed between the firm muscled globes of his rear. A sharp glance behind him let his gaze meet the Attendant's, who looked almost apologetic even as he pushed an oil-slicked digit past the tight ring of his entrance, slowly worming and wiggling it's way in, bringing with it the shame he should've been feeling already.

As a Prince, even if he brought other men to warm his bed, it had never been as the receiving partner - he was royalty, after all - and the intrusion was the first time anyone had even dared. Even in his private moments, it had never occurred to him to even wonder what it must've felt like to be the one being taken...

The Attendant didn't seem at all concerned with the Prince's feelings on the matter, however, and simply continued doing his job with dutiful silence, sinking the finger in deeper, until his palm was flush against his skin and he could feel each little curl inside of him.

Another, softer gasp escaped him then as the finger brushed up against some secret part of him, his knees wobbling dangerously as they suddenly found themselves without the strength to support him. Another pair of hands appeared on his shoulders, steadying him gently as the finger began to pull out, almost achingly slowly. The Prince almost couldn't believe what he was doing when he instinctively tried to squeeze down around it, letting out a quiet whine as it slipped entirely. The absence seemed so much more notable than before, but it was a short lived disappointment as firm hands spread his cheeks apart, the only warning he received before something warm and wet pressed itself against his hole.

He gasped again, louder and more shocked, almost breathless as the tongue (it was a tongue, he realised, it was a tongue) pushed into him insistently, squirming inside past his tightly clenched ring. This was an act he had never even considered in any capacity, and there was something about the thought that sent an electric shiver through his body, his cock twinging lightly where it was hanging, surging to life the more he felt the broad, wet tongue invade his depths. It was so much more than a finger could've ever hoped to be, soft and pliant but insistent all the same, and it wormed its way into him to find parts of his body he had never contemplated could even exist.

He could feel the Attendant's lips against his skin, and he groaned as his skilful tongue withdrew to lap at his hole in short, gentle strokes, then let out a gasp as he pushed it back in, deeper now that he was relaxed. There was shame burning at him as well, but it was lesser, mixed with a strange thrill and confusion at the situation he found himself in, for even as the Attendant was servicing him from behind, the others had not ceased in their duties. He groaned deeply, unable to stop himself from rolling his hips back against the muzzle pressed against him as the servants brushed his spotted, golden fur to a perfect shine and went so far as to gently comb his darker, brown headfur to match.

He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the pressure building up with each gentle lap of his tongue, and the servant in front of him let him lean forward against his shoulder to keep him upright as he panted and shuddered, the pleasure reaching its peak as-

The tongue pulled back, and a hand clasped itself firmly around the tip of his cock, squeezing down just hard enough to make him gasp out. The hands on his body grew firmer all at once, holding him in place as he whined. He had been so close! Just a little bit further and he would've...

Heat burned at his cheeks as he realised just what he'd done. He had been inches away from spilling his seed... over a tongue inside of him. His submission to the Chief had been one thing, but he was falling further and further, and a part of him was afraid of where this path was leading him. He'd given himself for the sake of his people, but had it been worth it? Would it be worth it, if at the end, he couldn't even recognise himself?

(It was worth it, whispered a traitorous part of his mind, it would all be worth it just to feel that again and again, to be taken as he had taken others)

The servants held him still, even though he did not resist, for a good minute longer, until his cock began to soften in their grip ever so slightly. Then another shower of warm water, poured out of a small bowl, and the hands urged him out of the tub and onto the mat. He wasn't sure when they had collected the clothing, but he was dried off with small strips of cloth before they started to dress him.

The apron was the same as theirs, well-treated leather tied with a cord around his waist, and a necklace of feathers was placed reverently around his neck. Something cold slipped along his tail behind him, and when he glanced back, he saw the Attendant sliding a gold band down, until it rested snugly at the base.

At once, the gathered servants stepped away from him, and left him in the cool, dry air. He felt... clean. Almost reborn, and a part of him shivered at the thought for in a way, he was. The Prince of the Savannah Kingdom, reborn as... what, exactly? A slave? A concubine?

He didn't have time to contemplate his new future any further before the Attendant was steering him out of the tent, hands gentle but firm as before. The Camp around them was buzzing with life, and he could feel curious eyes land on him from all around. Worse, he could hear them murmuring, some going so far as to openly point. The Attendant just urged him on quietly though, moving just a little faster the more stares they got.

Finally, they arrived at the flaps of a grander tent, and with the same obedient silence he had done all of his tasks with, the Attendant turned and gestured for him to pass in. And there was nothing else for him to do but obey himself, ducking his head slightly as he slipped through.

He couldn't help but feel it shouldn't have been as surprising as it was to see the Chief waiting for him, laying back against a clump of furs as though it were a makeshift throne. On the surface, he looked much the same as he did in the main tent - tall, powerful, imposing, golden fur with dark blotchy spots. But he was entirely naked now, his hefty cock resting gently above his swollen, fuzzy sack, almost entirely soft, and the atmosphere he exuded was... gentler, than before, without the rest of his tribe looking on. "Prince," he rumbled quietly, a smile playing on his lips - no less predatory than before but somehow softer. "I was beginning to worry you had been waylaid."

The Prince didn't know what to say to that. Any response he might've thought appropriate died before he could even think of voicing them, the hefty weight of the Chief's stare stifling him. What was he meant to do in a situation like this...? What was expected of him...?

Whatever the Chief saw, he seemed to come to a decision, eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a small chuff. "I do not believe I have been introduced properly. I am Chief Ganya." He held a hand out. "Come. It is getting cold."

Kwame looked at his hand as though it might burn him, and he found the courage to voice his thoughts. "Do you intend to take me... like this every night?" His tail lashed behind him despite himself, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks from the very suggestion, but he knew that if he did not at least ask, the question would've burned him worse than knowing the answer.

The Chief (Ganya, he reminded himself) simply quirked an eyebrow at him, faintly amused more than anything. "Do you wish for me to, Prince Kwame?" he asked, straightforward as ever, "I assumed you would rather go slowly with these things."

"Wh-" Kwame cut the outburst off a moment after it formed, heedless of the way his tail was lashing wildly behind him. "That's not what I..." He took a deep breath, feeling indignant of all things at Chief Ganya's increasingly amused expression. Against his better judgement, he stalked forward towards him, and settled down on the furs, pulling a particularly large one over himself as a blanket. Despite his apparent bravado though, he had kept his distance for the most part - although it hardly helped matters, given the furs all smelled strongly of the hyena chief, his scent ingrained in them so deeply, it certainly felt like being buried in his fur.

It lasted for all a handful of seconds, before a powerful arm reached out, wrapping around his waist and pulling him back until his back collided with the warm, muscled chest behind him. He could feel Ganya's hot breath washing over the fur of an ear, sending tingles all across the skin it touched. Worse, he could feel his cock pressing up against his bare rear, snugly fitting between his cheeks.

And because Kwame's body had betrayed him in every way that mattered, he felt the heat pooling in his loins as much as it did his face, and his own cock began to stir underneath the leather apron.

"There's no need to be distant, Prince," Ganya rumbled, the noise reverberating from deep within his chest, "You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together, after all." There was a teasing glint to the words now, further emphasised by the way an arm snaked under his side, clawed fingers trailing across his thigh.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even as he tried to will his erection away. It was, as he'd already know on some level, futile, and by the time those traipsing fingers ventured far enough, they were greeted with Kwame's cock, throbbing needily at his touch.

"See?" Ganya purred, pressing his chest further against Kwame's back, holding him just a little bit tighter, "At least some parts of you are honest, Prince."

He wanted to rebut that, to argue the point, or maybe just curse him out for this situation but then the fingers were squeezing his shaft as they pulled, and all that came out was a strangled little gasp. There was an answering rumble from behind him, as much an amused little chuckle as it was a lustful, hungry noise, like a dragon playing with its food. The fingers coiled tightly around him, moving along at a slow, purposeful pace and every little squeeze drew another gasp from the Prince, muffled desperately by his hand.

Sharp teeth nipped at the shell of an ear, and he couldn't suppress the shiver that shot through him. "Shhh, let it all out, Prince," Ganya rumbled, smirking against his skin, "Be a good boy, and tell me how much you love this." The rough, calloused pad of a thumb paused to rub teasing circles at his head, spreading the slowly dribbling precum out around his tip.

Kwame bit his tongue to bury the moan as it formed, his hand clasped tightly over his muzzle. The feeling was unbearable - Ganya seemed so terribly warm all around him, but worse was the heat inside of him that burned with every little touch.

But then the touches stopped, and the warmth pulled away and the absence began to gnaw at him almost immediately. He squirmed, trying to resist the urge to ask him why, to try and follow that tantalizing heat (he was cold, that was it, it was just a cold night) but he only lasted for a minute, before he turned around. He, thankfully, did not help in surprise as he found himself almost muzzle to muzzle with Ganya's smirking expression. "... Why..."

"... did I pull away, Prince?" Ganya finished smoothly, eyes gleaming with a teasing light as the Prince flinched at his words. A clawed fingertip brushed against the bottom of his chin, tilting his muzzle up just enough for their eyes to meet. "Because you were being cold." There wasn't a hint of hurt in his voice, just that same lilting taunt, and Kwame hated it more than anything for the way it seemed to effortlessly make his face burn all the way to the tips of his ears. "If you want me to continue, you'll have to say it."

Although he thought he knew quite well what Ganya meant by his words, he still found himself saying "... 'It'...?" as his ears gently folded back against his skull.

"Yes," Ganya rumbled, and there was definite delight in the twitch of his lips as Kwame shivered under his fingers, "'It'. I do not believe in ruling through fear, my little spotted Prince," and Kwame's ears flicked despite himself at the thought of being called 'his', of being possessed, of belonging to the powerful chief, "so I will not force you to do anything you do not choose to do."

"You forced me to su-submit." The words tumbled out of his muzzle before Kwame could think on the wisdom of voicing them, and for a moment, he was struck with fear at the reprisal that would surely come, but all Ganya did in response was chuckle again, deep and rumbling, reminding him of a thunderstorm.

"Force you?" he questioned lightly, an eyebrow raised, "I gave you a choice."

Kwame wrinkled his snout. "You were going to kill my warriors."

That got him a frown, however slight. "Is that what you think of me, Prince Kwame?" There wasn't any anger in the words, but there was an almost genuine hurt. "I won't lie to you and pretend that they would've been treated well, but I would never have allowed them to be killed."

"But you said you were going to get rid of them!"

Ganya snorted lightly, and for a moment, Kwame had forgotten that the chief was very much naked and very much close. "And you assumed we were going to kill them...? At worst, Prince Kwame, I would've sent them back to our village to be held as hostages."

He spluttered. "You-you-you tricked me!"

Ganya had the unmitigated gall to roll his eyes at him, that familiar teasing smirk firmly back on his lips - it was the only warning Kwame got before he felt a broad hand give both cock and balls a playful but firm grope. "I don't remember this part of you complaining," he growled. It wasn't an aggressive noise, but definitely a predatory one, and as Ganya leaned forward, all Kwame could bring himself to think was 'this is how it feels to be devoured, mind, body and soul'. "Or did you not notice how badly you wanted it...? You were so hard, I thought you were going to cum just from the taste of my cock."

'You're wrong', he wanted to say. 'I didn't. That's not true.' But it was. He couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes again, nor could he suppress the tiny whimper that escaped his pursed lips as calloused fingers rubbed teasing circles against his sensitive flesh. His body had always been more honest than his words, even to himself.

He could feel Ganya leaning forward, his fur brushing against his cheek and then hot, steaming breath washing over the shell of his ear, through the sensitive tufts within. "Say it," he commanded, voice firm, his fingers still but tight around his cock as it surged to life within his grip.

"I want it," Kwame said, his voice no more than a breathy whisper, and was immediately rewarded with a small squeeze around his aching shaft.

But Ganya wasn't satisfied just yet. "What do you want?"

Kwame shuddered, unable to stop himself, unsure if he wanted to stop himself anymore. His world was swiftly melting into a haze of heat and pleasure, and all his thoughts rapidly consumed by lust, desire and need - all of which centered entirely on Ganya. "You..." he said, his words just a touch louder, his breathing just a little harder. "I want... you..."

Every syllable was rewarded with another, gentle encouraging squeeze, but still Ganya wasn't satisfied. "Want me to what, Prince?" he asked, voice rumbling in his ear, and Kwame whimpered with need as he squirmed in the chief's grip.

"I want you to... to... take me..."

"Take you how?"

Kwame whimpered again, louder and more desperate, his voice almost breaking into a keening whine. "With.... with..." the words struggled to form in his throat, a struggle not at all helped by the way Ganya continued rubbing teasing circles with the pad of his thumb, or how he hummed directly into his ear. "With your cock... I-I want you to take me with your cock..." Some part of him could scarcely believe the words that had just come from his mouth, but the rest of him swiftly overwhelmed it with the hungry need to see those words fulfilled.

Now Ganya was satisfied. He shifted, rolling Kwame onto his back with the same movement that saw him settle between the cheetah's legs, the Prince's legs hiked up over his shoulders in a way that made him shiver with anticipation. It had been hard to tell before, on his knees before his throne, but the chief was a good head taller than him, with shoulders as broad as an ox and arms to match. "Good boy," he crooned from above, smiling down at him with an air of pleased satisfaction, and Kwame could scarcely deny the way his cock jumped at the words.

He let out a small whimper as fingers, slick with something that felt like oil, gently stroked between his cheeks, teasing at his hole. He was broader, rougher than the Attendant had been, and the Prince gasped as the digit pushed into him, wriggling and squirming as though testing him.

Whatever he seemed to find, satisfied him, as he let out a small, pleased rumble. "This your first time, Prince?" he murmured, easing his finger out slowly as Kwame nodded weakly, his arms reaching out to wrap around Ganya's neck and shoulders to brace himself for what he knew was coming as he felt the blunt tip press against his tight ring. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you enjoy it."

The moan that escaped him would've been enough to make him die with shame if he could even think to hear himself, but all and every thought he had had been burned away by the feeling of his, until now, virgin hole spreading open around Ganya's thick, powerful cock. Inch by inch sank into him, stretching him open bit by bit and leaving him feeling filled in a way he had never realised was possible. His claws dug into Ganya's shoulders as he squeezed around him, gasping out as their hips bumped together, feeling a hefty sack brushing up against him and realising that all of Ganya was inside of him now. It had been one thing to feel it in his throat, but now that he could feel it pulsing in his innermost depths...

A coarse tongue swiped across the side of his muzzle, and he opened his eyes to find Ganya's own boring into his, a smirk spread across his lips as he repeated the gentle, teasing lick. "Good boy," he echoed, rolling his hips against him as Kwame shuddered around his cock, a needy little mewl slipping out before he found himself silenced by rough lips and a rougher tongue.

He moaned again, full throated and deep, abandoning even the pretense of resistance as he returned the kiss with all the enthusiasm and energy he could muster. It was sloppy, and hungry, and hot, and his teeth clacked against the hyena's as much as his tongue ran across his, and it was as though he were nothing more than a young man, fumbling his way through his first flings with his shield-brothers again.

Ganya didn't seem to mind his fumbling though, and the pleased rumble made Kwame squeeze all the tighter around him, with his claws and his hole alike. He rocked his hips back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, seemingly content to just spend his night devouring the Prince's mouth, but all too suddenly his hips were pulling back just far enough that when he pushed back in with a short, sharp thrust, Kwame could feel himself being speared all over again, the sound of his sack slapping against his firm rear echoing alongside the muffled moan that erupted from within him. He repeated the motion, again and again, setting a clear, steady and measured pace that soon had Kwame crying out underneath him, his own aching cock slapping against his stomach with each thrust.

"Oh Gods...!" he moaned, eyes squeezed shut as he broke the kiss, "Fuck, yes, please, fuck me...!" He bucked his hips as best he could to try and feel more of Ganya, but the chief's hold on him was secure and all he could do was writhe and squirm underneath him as he fulfilled his earnest wish to be taken. It was beyond the dark little fantasies he'd been entertaining, far beyond even his deepest imaginations - every downward thrust seemed to strike so deeply within him, made all the sweeter by an almost aching absence each time he pulled out.

"That's it, Prince," Ganya growled, grinning down at him, "let it out all out, there's a good boy... fuck, you've got a tight little ass, don't'cha? Gonna fill it up with my seed - that's what you want, isn't it?" He delivered a sharp smack to the Prince's rear, relishing in the tight squeeze that followed it. "Say it. Say you want my cum!"

"Yes!" Kwame cried out, arching his back as he felt him thrust harder, deeper, "I want it! I want you to fill me! Please! Please breed me with your cock, I-mmph!" Ganya's muzzle pressed itself over his once again, his tongue thrusting so deeply into his mouth he thought he could feel it tickling the back of his throat, and Kwame felt his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as it all started to become too much. The haze of lust and pleasure overtook him near completely, until all he could do was cry out for more - for Ganya to go harder, faster, to just give him more, and he was all too willing to oblige him.

If he were still capable of coherent thought, he would've been glad for the greedy, hungry kiss if only for the way it muffled the keening cry that escaped him, his entire body shuddering and shaking with unrestrained pleasure as he reached his climax. It was (and perhaps, always would be) the most intense experience of his life, feeling the pleasure crest within him until it seemed to erupt and overflow all at once. His cock twitched and trembled in time with the thrusts as it begin to spew thick, pearly ropes of his cum all over himself, splattering across the creamy fur of his chest and stomach, a stray few globs managing to reach his face.

The feeling of him clenching down around Ganya seemed to awaken something in the hyena, and all too suddenly, his thrusts grew even harder, primal, seemingly intent on rutting Kwame through the very ground they were on.

It was all Kwame could do to hold on, his breathless, desperate cries either a plea for mercy - or for more. At this point, it wasn't as though either of them could even tell, and soon, the entire tent was brimming with the sound of their hips slapping together, Kwame's ecstatic cries of pleasure and even Ganya's own deep growls and groans.

There was no warning when Ganya's climax came, save for a deep, rumbling groan and a particularly hard thrust that saw him buried so deeply inside of the Prince, Kwame nearly came a second time then and there. Ganya bit down on his shoulder, sharp teeth digging in just enough to draw blood as his cock began to shudder inside of the Prince as it finally spilled its seed deep within him, his fuzzy sack tightening up against him.

The feeling of Ganya's seed, its sticky warmth spreading through him and filling him in an entirely new way, was an experience that Kwame would never forget, as this single moment seemed to stretch on and on. He moaned again, long and drawn out, his cock trembling once more as it begin to dribble out a second load, weaker and spent, feeding into the pool that had already formed between the ridges of his abs.

Ganya ground his hips against his, slow and steady as though to ensure all of his cum was spread evenly throughout Kwame's depths, leaning down to gently lick away a stray strand of spunk that had found its way to his chin. The tongue trailed along his jaw, his neck and seemed particularly preoccupied with the bite marks in his shoulder that were still weeping slow tears of blood, but as the high of his orgasm began to fade, so too did Kwame's consciousness.

He let out a weak, soft groan as he felt Ganya's cock, still semi-hard and oozing cum, slip out of him, but he could scarcely feel the tongue as it trailed down his chest nor could he even focus on the arm that gently pulled him closer to the pleasantly warm body, the soothing scent relaxing the final tethers on the waking world until he slipped away to an exhausted sleep.