Chapter Text
Hannibal woke up the next day not feeling much different, and it worried him. With the elk he remembered feeling sweaty and almost sick. Perhaps it was just too soon to expect much of a change. Or perhaps with a different animal, the side effects would be different too.
But he began to feel different as the day went on. A bit hazier. Damp from what he first assumed was sweat collecting at the base of his spine and pooling in his groin, but then realized was the wrong consistency. It was lubrication that his hole now apparently provided for itself. That gave him mixed feelings, because in a way it was a relief, knowing it could ease the way, but it was also another humiliation, another way his body was being changed to become an object for breeding.
His desire began to build even between feedings, and by the third feeding of the day, he had gone beyond arousal, beyond desperation, beyond the persistent ache of pain. More than his cock was ready; his entire body was ready and needing to be caught and pinned and fucked.
He groaned. Ixios was feeding now. He was larger than his brother and drank more, and rather than defaulting to suction he liked to gnaw at Hannibal’s teat and yank with his hard gums. It meant the nursing jolted Hannibal’s entire breast and was murder on his nipples. But somehow that pain wasn’t canceling out the pleasure.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Ixios wasn’t quite done but he wouldn’t go hungry, so Hannibal gently pried him away from his chest. Ixios stared at him with huge eyes, affronted, then burst into a wailing bleat.
Hannibal winced and leaned against the wall, setting the baby beside him and petting him as a weak consolation. “Will, I’m ready,” he moaned. “I have to go now. I can’t last any longer, I can’t—”
“You are not ready,” Will said sharply. “You can’t leave your baby crying because you want to go get fucked, no matter how much of a shameless whore you are. I’m not going to breed you unless you can take care of the infants you have already.”
Hannibal was aware that months back that would have sounded like a win-win situation: no monster babysitting, no more monster babies. Now the threat felt serious, and he cringed.
Will walked over and picked up Ixios, bringing him up to the same nipple that he had just been torturing, despite Hannibal having three others to choose from that were less red and swollen.
Ixios latched on enthusiastically, and Hannibal whimpered so loudly it startled the baby into stopping for a few seconds, before resuming his merciless chomping. Hannibal started crying, his hands clawing at the wall and even his feet beginning to kick in pain and frustration.
When Ixios was satisfied, after much too long a time, Will finally set him down and offered Hannibal a hand.
Hannibal was at first not certain he could stand. He felt like jelly. A hot, desperate lump of jelly.
But he was able to get to his feet, and he went with Will outside.
It looked like the whole pack was there, circled around the firepit, and he barely made it a foot out the door before he was falling to his hands and knees, desperate to have one of them mount him. Will gave him a nudge forward with his foot and Hannibal quickly crawled into the midst of the hounds, whining with need. He even arched his back and waved his ass in the air in an active invitation.
The hounds were going mad sniffing, and he was sure they were only staying in place because Will had compelled them to. He could see tails wagging and a few growls. The growls made him moan again, because that sounded like aggression, that sounded like hounds who wanted to leap on him and fuck the living daylights out of him until he was caught on their knots. And that was exactly what he wanted and needed.
“Please,” he said out loud. He didn’t know if he was talking to Will or the hounds. He wiggled his ass in the air again. “Please, I’m ready, please breed me.”
Nothing was happening. What more did Will want from him?
Hannibal’s front end collapsed fully and he groaned as his breasts were crushed beneath him. He sobbed into the dirt. His cock was painfully hard. He felt like he might die if he didn’t get to come soon.
“Please!” He cried out. “Please, God, anything, give me anything—”
The blasphemy slipped out before he could stop it, and part of him cringed at that word in this context, but he didn’t feel like he was able to control anything he said now.
He heard a simple command from behind him, past his own whimpers: “Hudson, go.”
And now—yanking a sound from his throat like a yowling cat in heat and spurring a mental stream of blasphemous thanks —the hellhound mounted him and plowed into him without hesitation.
It was heaven. He forgot every image he’d ever had of a serene celestial heaven with sunlight and angel choirs and fluffy clouds; this was the true heaven, down on all fours with a hound’s thick cock rammed into him so hard he saw stars, tits throbbing and nipples rubbing on the ground, all after a month of painful denial that he thought would never end.
His relief was so intense that he was far gone from anything resembling shame. Far gone from anything resembling rational thought, really. The cock was exactly where he needed it to be, he felt it sliding against his neglected prostate, and his painfully hard cock was bouncing against his stomach and already leaking profusely.
It felt so good that he didn’t pay attention to the fact that he wasn’t coming yet, until the knot popped inside him and the pressure against his prostate was mind-melting.
Part of him was confused why he wasn’t shooting cum everywhere; most of him was simply too deep in bliss to care.
He swayed slightly forward and back to feel the tug and press of the knot inside him. Only when the hound pulled free was he able to formulate a question and remember that when Will had compelled him not to come, there had been no expiration date on it.
He whimpered, horrified that this could turn into another torture.
“Will, please, please tell me I can come—” He descended into a moan when another hound mounted him and started fucking. Hannibal was again lost in the intense pleasure, barely able to get out the final words: “you promised… when I’m… bred…”
“You can come when a hound breeds you. Successfully. When its seed reaches your womb and gets you pregnant. Better make sure those hounds get it done fast.”
Hannibal just accepted whatever demon magic this implied, that the compelling power would be able to figure out when exactly the conception happens. In this reduced state, Will’s order made a kind of primal sense—fuck harder, get bred better, get reward.
So he whined and fucked back against the cock that was already thrusting into him, making the hound over him growl. And in a couple more thrusts it knotted him, and despite the frustration, he was suspended in a hazy cloud. It was good, it was right, it was what he needed.
And then every male in the pack descended on him, circling and sniffing him and snapping at each other for rights to breed him next.
He cried out when another thrust into him without warning. His mouth hung open as he gasped, and a hound in front of him curiously licked over his face, his lips, and into his mouth. He moaned. It didn’t taste good, something like old blood, but the motion of a tongue licking against his was thrilling in this state. He licked back, chasing its tongue, desperately seeking the same gesture in return, as if he were a teenager again, drunk and lewdly French kissing a partner while grinding together.
Another knot tugging at him, and he whimpered, mouth going lax and allowing the curious hound in front of him to lick deep into his mouth, all the way back to his tonsils, making him whimper again. It felt obscene. It felt devastatingly invasive and vile. He didn’t care. He was even disappointed when the beast lost interest and wandered away to get in line to fuck him. He wished he had a cock to choke on to distract him from the building sense of frustration without orgasm.
A couple hellhounds nosing beneath him discovered his nipples leaking their sweet milk and began to lap at them. His back arched sharply, jolting the knot inside him, and the irritated hound pulled out before the knot was fully down, adding pain on top of pleasure.
One of the hounds discovered it could get more milk if it tugged with its teeth, and Hannibal began crying out again, on the verge of sobbing from his poor abused teats and increasingly desperate need to come. His belly already felt full from the multiple large loads the hellhounds had given him, and it stretched his womb and put even more pressure where it would pleasure him.
Another cock inside him, nice and thick and juicy and…
“Oh, God,” he blasphemed again, feeling like he was stretched paper thin and wound tight enough to snap. He clenched around the cock inside him, hoping it would make it happen faster. He was nothing but an aching screaming body right on the verge and unable to go over. He couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t stop himself from pleading, “God, please. Breed me, please, breed me, breed me now, I need it, I, I—”
The knot came, and then the tangible pulse of the cock inside him as the hound released its cum. This knot felt so big, his prostate was crushed, his eyes were going crossed and he couldn’t take it, it was too much, he—
He tipped right over the edge, screaming as his cock finally released and painted his chest with white, and his body shook and spasmed, mind an empty buzzing field of absolutely nothing but the ambient pleasure in every inch of his body.
The first thought to float back into his mind once the knot pulled free and he was jerked back into the present was, I’m bred.
It had taken. A puppy inside him, or multiple puppies, more small creatures to make his body balloon grotesquely. Another mark of a beast inside him, a perverse infant filling the womb he was never meant to have. And he didn’t care.
In fact, the pleasure was so intense that it made him feel like he even liked it. He was so relieved he’d been bred that he could have cried; his face was damp enough that he thought he might have. He’d been bred and it had been ecstasy. He had been rewarded for fulfilling his role. He felt so grateful to the beast that had bred him that he wanted to bow down and offer it his body again, or his mouth—he felt like he could have taken its cock down his throat and just felt a dazed sense of happiness that he had pleased it.
Of course, in the present moment his body was still offered to a much larger group, and it didn’t seem like the hellhounds were planning to stop anytime soon.
He was more sensitive when the next cock entered him, but it still felt good and right. Tongues and teeth continued to ply his nipples, and he groaned and writhed and rolled his hips.
He was surrounded by hot furry bodies licking and nipping and humping him. One found the liquid still dripping from his cock and he keened. It was so much, every inch of his body tingling. He came again, and the hound started lapping at his cock with even more enthusiasm, until it was painful and his body jerked, trying to escape the sensation.
There was no escape. He was trapped on hellhound cock, and even a single step to try to get away would see him tackled to the floor and mated or mauled. Or more likely, both.
But he didn’t really want to get away, anyway. All the attention on him felt good, hot tongues on his flesh, deep penetration, thick firm knots. Eventually the pain simply became a fact, a buzzing discomfort over a throbbing pleasure, and he accepted it all.
He accepted every hound’s cock, tongue, teeth. Let himself be used until he was gaping open and surely swollen. Tits drunken dry, cock an angry inflamed red. He moaned and panted open-mouthed and sometimes took a hound’s tongue in his mouth, and sometimes he licked back weakly. He became nothing but a hot fuckable body, brain buzzing empty.
Eventually the last knot popped out of him with a groan, and only a few lingering nuzzles remained. Front half fallen limp onto the dirt, he stared blankly into the distance, unable to do anything else.
Will crouched down in front of him. It took Hannibal a moment to recognize him, his vision unfocused and blurred, or perhaps his eyes had crossed slightly. He didn’t respond to Will’s presence any differently than to a hound, leaving his head drooped and mouth open and still panting from exhaustion.
Will stuck a couple fingers in his mouth and Hannibal automatically licked around them like he would a cock or hellhound’s tongue. He wasn’t dissuaded when Will pushed them back far enough to trigger his gag reflex. He was used to it by now.
Will smiled at him, hooking his fingers behind his teeth and pulling his head up to meet his eyes.
“Look at you, Father,” he said, and it took a long beat for Hannibal to remember what Will meant by Father, and his forehead furrowed. He didn’t like remembering that, not now, not when he was being this thing.
“What, don’t you like being called that anymore?”
He shook his head, Will’s fingers still hooked in his mouth like he was a caught fish.
“Aw, I know. It must be awfully confusing for a breeding bitch like you to have all those memories of being a man. A man people respected and admired. Do you think those people would respect you if they saw you now?”
He shook his head again. His pleasant, blank haze was fading. He felt his body’s aches and pains and a throbbing in his chest that he thought had nothing to do with the rough fucking, but rather with Will’s words.
“Of course not. They couldn’t see what you really were. You were always a monster, Father, but you weren’t good enough. You could never have competed with the real monsters, the ones with claws and fangs and demon blood. When those monsters see you, they know you. They know this is what you were always meant to be, a breeding bitch for your superiors, a pretty little fuck toy for monsters to play with. This is what you always were underneath all those fancy words and pretenses. A monster’s bitch.”
Hannibal tried to shake his head again, because that went too far, he could never admit he had always been this—but this time Will grabbed his jaw and didn’t let him.
“Don’t deny it. Look at yourself, Hannibal. You asked for this. You begged me for it, you sucked a dog’s cock for it and let it knot your throat and suffocate you. You fell to your knees and stuck your ass in the air and begged a pack of animals to fuck and breed you. You wanted your belly full of another baby. You wanted your ass to be fucked raw. And look at you now—a pup in your belly, a few gallons of cum spilling down your legs, mouth smelling like a hellhound’s because you couldn’t resist tongue-fucking them.”
Hannibal squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at Will. Because he was right, every word he said was true.
Will sighed and patted Hannibal’s cheek. “Don’t look so despondent. There’s no point fighting it, and there never has been. You can’t change what you are.”
Will stood back up. “I have some of your milk saved, so I’ll go give the babies a bottle. I think the hounds probably drank you dry. Clean yourself up and crawl back in whenever you’re ready. There’s a bucket of water by the door.”
Hannibal collapsed until he was completely flat on the forest floor, not caring that he was further covering himself in filth. He just lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, until the cool wind convinced him it was time to return inside.
Standing made more cum pour out of him, and he winced. He hated that Will’s assessment had been so accurate. There was a washcloth with the water, but it was frankly inadequate for the state he was in. Even if he’d had a full shower, that would have only gotten the surface. If he couldn’t scrub out his insides, he couldn’t be clean. And he realized he would never be clean again. It would be this cycle over and over again, one creature barely out of his womb before he’s being defiled again. Even asking to be defiled. He would slip further and further into this depravity until no part of his self remained, all corroded by these monsters and their various bodily fluids.
For the first time in a while, he wondered about trying to run away. Will had threatened his hands if he tried it, long ago when Hannibal had first gotten here. At the time, the thought had been unbearably horrifying. Now he didn’t know if it truly made much difference. He was losing himself anyway, and if this was to be his life, would it truly matter if he had that limitation placed upon all the others?
He was sore and tired and despairing. He did the best he could to clean himself, then returned inside to the babies.