It was January, and deep in the savannas of Botswana, it was hot. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, which meant the sun was free to beat down on the landscape below as harshly as it pleased, burning away against the teal of the sky like the eye of an angry god. The grass below was a dry straw colour, like the moisture had been baked out of it from the sheer heat.

Overall, a pretty typical day, if somewhat cool for the season.

This particular region was a vast expanse of yellow grass, dotted with the occasional acacia tree sprouting up from the ground. The horizon was perfectly flat, broken only by the silhouettes of far off mountains, though even those were hard to make out due to the sheer distance. It was the dry season right now, and it was certainly living up to its name. There hadn't been a drop of rain for a solid month. It was a wonder anything managed to survive here at all.

Yet somehow, life found a way. For all the heat and lack of rainfall, a pond had somehow managed to form. It was quite large given the circumstances, a good five metres in diameter, and it’d certainly not gone ignored by the earth. Greenery had sprung up all along its banks, plants eager to try their luck out here in the savanna taking root wherever a drop of moisture could be found.

They weren’t the only ones. At one end of the pond, an animal dipped its head down to the surface of the water, drinking deeply. It could almost be taken for a deer, with its four thin, hooved legs and long neck, but the two slender, twisting horns atop its head proved otherwise. They were the distinguishing trait of the impala, specifically of the males.

What wasn’t a distinguishing trait of the impala, however, was solitude. For some strange reason, this ram was alone, not a single one of its kind in sight for as far as the eye could see. He didn’t seem to be ill—on the contrary, he seemed to be a rather strong and healthy specimen. Whatever had driven him this far out on his own wasn’t discernible at a glance, and he seemed content to keep it that way, gulping away at the water without a care in the world.

But he wasn’t the only animal on the savanna.

A couple metres away, hidden in a thick patch of reeds, a lion was crouched. He was a bit smaller than one would expect one of his kind to be, and his mane seemed underdeveloped to match. Rather than the dark, flowing locks typical of male lions, his mane was sparse and light, a ruff around his neck that was just a touch darker than the rest of his fur. Definitely young, probably fresh out of his mother’s pride, forced to fend for himself.

But regardless of his age or his size, the lion was hungry, and there was only one thing a lone lion like himself could do to get a meal out in the savanna. He could see the impala through the gaps in the reeds, just a few seconds away if he sprinted, and it seemed almost too easy. The antelope barely even seemed away of his surroundings, totally absorbed in his drinking, secure in his false assumption that there were no predators around.

The lion stalked forward through the reeds, shoulders lifting his paws up high over roots, stalks brushing along his sides. He was nearly silent, only the slight rustle of leaves giving away his position, easily chalked up to the wind. So close.

He set a paw down in front of the other, but found instead of the wet mud he’d been expecting, he’d set his foot down on a dead, dry reed. It cracked and snapped under his weight, and even though the sound wasn’t loud, any prey animal worth their salt knew that something that could barely be heard was just as—if not more important than—something loud enough to carry over to the neighbouring grasslands.

This impala definitely fell into that category. As soon as the sound had reached his ears, his head shot up from the water, eyes wide. He froze for half a second, then turned away from the pond and bolted, legs scrambling to propel him forward.

So much for an ambush, then. Leaping out of the reeds, the lion shot after him in hot pursuit, the two of them streaking across the savanna like bolts of lightning.

---

Though the flatness of the terrain and the two animals’ natural speed meant they covered a lot of ground very quickly, it wasn’t a particularly long chase. The pool had disappeared behind them after just under a minute of pursuit, but while the impala seemed well suited to maintaining such frantic speed, the lion could already feel himself struggling to keep pace.

His kind weren’t meant for long, drawn out chases without any backup. They either worked alone and ambushed their prey, or they had others to help corral them into a position where they could strike. He had none of that here. All he could rely on was his own endurance, and despite his best efforts, it wasn’t going to be enough to outlast a creature born to outrun predators just like him.

Still, he was hungry, and this was the only prey he’d seen for miles around. He had to try.

Gritting his teeth, the lion worked his legs harder, thighs and shoulders burning with effort as he started to push himself beyond his limits. He paid them no mind, attention focused entirely on moving forward and catching up to the impala in front of him.

Perhaps a bit too focused, because he didn’t even notice when he set his paw down onto something too soft to be grass. It was a small piece of fabric, maybe about a foot long, sewn into the shape of some garment or other. Even if he had noticed, though, he probably wouldn’t have cared. After all, lions didn’t concern themselves with things like clothes. He just kept going, kicking the strange item into the air behind him. 

It stayed there for a moment, rippling in the breeze, then did something highly unusual of most forms of clothing: it hovered. The two animals were facing away from it and were and already too far to see it, but it was hanging two feet above the ground, like it’d been caught on some non-existent hook. A couple of feet away, another piece of clothing identical to the first shot out of the grass and into the air, facing its twin.

They stayed like that for a few more seconds, whatever it was they were doing completely indiscernible from a glance. Then, they disappeared, vanishing into thin air.

---

The chase was finally starting to go the way it was destined to go. Slowly, gradually, the lion was starting to fall behind. The distance between them that had once been five feet had grown to seven, and was starting to stretch out into eight. Still, the lion kept running, gasping for breath while his tired paws slammed into the ground. He had to get that impala.

The impala didn’t even seem fazed. His whole body undulated in huge, leaping strides, hooves digging into the ground for seconds before pushing off and propelling him forwards. This was clearly his element, and he was making the most of it. The lion could see every muscle in the antelope’s body working in tandem, shoulders bulging through the tan of his fur, hindquarters highlighted by red—

His eyes snapped back. Where just a second before there was bare fur, now there was red fabric. The impala had a pair of briefs stretched taut over his backside, complete with a hole for his tail.

Of course, while the sudden, inexplicable appearance of the underwear was surprising, the lion couldn’t muster much interest in them after the initial surprise had worn off. They didn’t seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary, they were just… there. Right now, he had something of a one-track mind, and anything that wasn’t related to catching his next meal wasn’t worthy of his consideration.

So he kept up the chase, pounding his paws against the dirt in pursuit of his prey, completely and utterly focused on his goal. The lion didn’t even think to look back at his own body, though if he had, he might’ve noticed the near-identical pair of briefs that’d appeared around his own legs. The only difference was in the size, these ones perfectly suited to hug every contour of his body.

When the impala he was chasing suddenly tumbled to the ground, rolling forward as his legs gave out under him, the lion didn’t give it a second thought. It must’ve been some critical mistake that the antelope had made. Maybe he’d tripped on something hidden in the grass. Whatever it was, the lion didn’t particularly care. All that mattered was that it gave him the opportunity to acquire his newest meal. So, baring his fangs, he reared back and prepared to lunge...

Only to find himself frozen in place, rocked back on his hind legs, moments away from leaping ahead and tearing into his prey. Not a single muscle in his body would obey his command, save for his eyes, which swept around wildly in an effort to deduce what was going on. Stiff as a statue, the lion tipped over onto his side, toppling onto the grass.

His mind was sending all the signals to thrash and yowl, but nothing in his body responded. He could still breathe, thankfully, but it was at a calm, even pace that he had absolutely no control over. Everything else in his body seemed to have locked up, leaving him stuck in the position of a cat ready to pounce. Lying on his side as he was, it looked quite ridiculous, though how he looked to others was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Then, the stiffness was joined by a new sensation. A strange tingling feeling, radiating out from his core and out into his extremities. It was almost like the prickling of a limb that’d fallen asleep, but it swept through his body like it was being carried in his blood, pumped into every inch of him by his heart. The lion reacted to it the only way a wild animal like him knew how, with fear and anger, the desire to either fight it or run away as fast as he could—but he could do neither. All he could do was wait while whatever this was worked its way through his unresponsive body.

The tingling didn’t last long before something else formed alongside it. In his legs, where the pins and needles had manifested most strongly, he could feel movement. At first, the lion was hopeful that his muscles had finally started to respond to his commands, but he wasn’t nearly so lucky. The movement wasn’t of his own volition, or from his muscles at all. Some outside force was moving them—more specifically, it was stretching them.

His thighs, his biceps, his calves, everything below his hips and shoulders felt like he was being grabbed from both ends and tugged apart. Strangely enough, it wasn’t painful. Whether it was because of some numbing effect from whatever had caused the pins and needles or something else entirely, it didn’t feel as agonizing like it seemed like it should’ve, only mildly uncomfortable. More from how unfamiliar it was than any discomfort, really.

The sensation was almost enough to distract him from the feeling of grass dragging along his paws as his legs started to grow, extruding out of him in a way that felt so uncanny, so utterly alien, that he might’ve just gnawed his own limbs off had he enough control of his body to do so. For better or for worse, the lion didn’t, and couldn’t even move his head enough to see the process of his body reshaping itself.

Once his limbs had reached a length that whatever force was responsible for this deemed suitable, his chest was next. His ribs pushed outward, pushing out against flesh that stretched readily to accommodate. His entire torso felt like a spring uncoiling in slow motion, and it felt far more satisfying than he could’ve possibly expected. His lungs had more room to inflate, and every breath he drew felt like he was taking a deep drink from the well of life itself. It was simultaneously energizing and calming, putting his mental struggles to rest, at least for a little while.

A good thing, too, because the lion apparently grown enough to reach the next stage of whatever process he was undergoing. Now that he’d acquired enough mass, his body was shifting it around, resculpting him into a new being. His back felt like a freshly broken Pangaea, his scapulae drifting like continental plates, muscles settling over top into new positions. The changes going on in his limbs were there, but it was difficult to say what they were. Without the ability to look at them, all the lion could go on was sensation, and the only thing that compared to what he was feeling in them was rippling water.

And then, just as the lion was starting to accept what was happening, it’d finished. The stiffness that’d locked his body in position disappeared, along with all the other alien feelings coursing through his body, and he dropped into a heap on the ground as his muscles finally relaxed. That relaxation didn’t last long, as the lion rapidly drew himself onto his hands and knees to inspect the changes.

Well, change one, hands and knees. Those were new. Change two seemed to be absolutely everything else. Everything from his neck down was completely different from the body he once knew. Rather than the ordinary four-legged form he’d spent his whole life up to now learning and using to great effect, he now had something entirely different.

His hind legs seemed to be relatively untouched, if a bit longer and far more muscular than before, but his forelegs. Oh, boy. What was going on with his paws? They didn’t look anything like they were supposed to. They were too flat, and the digits were long, weird, and bendy. No pads either, just soft, lightly furred skin. How was he supposed to walk on these?

Then, a realisation came to the lion, with another following right on its heels. The first realisation was that those weren’t paws, those were hands. They weren’t for walking, they were for holding and manipulating things. The second realisation was that he’d become sapient.

Funny, how it just snuck up on you like that. He’d gone his whole life a beast guided solely by instinct, and now he was filled with intelligence, reasoning, and abstract thought. There wasn’t a light show, there were no loud noises, it just sort of faded in. It’d been gradual enough that he hadn’t even noticed it until it’d already set up shop for the past five minutes.

The lion wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about any of this, really. This new, rational part of him was telling him that he should stay calm and think carefully about his next course of action, but there was another part of him right alongside it: the old part of him that used to comprise his entire being, that animal part of him that was purely obsessed with satisfying his basic needs and keeping himself safe from those who would threaten him.

That part was just as confused as the rest of him, but even though it had no idea what was going on, it definitely had a course of action it wanted to follow: kill the nearest living thing, which would no doubt be the one responsible for what’d just happened, and then eat it. Perhaps not the most level response, but to someone who’d been walking on all fours ten minutes prior, it seemed to be a solid course of action.

Eventually, he decided on something of a compromise: split his decisions between the two. New rationality decided its first move would be to attempt to remove the briefs. He tried to push his thumbs into the waistband, but despite the comfortable feeling of the fit, it hugged his skin tight enough that the only way he would be able to get under them would be to rip them off. Judging from how durable the material felt, that’d probably involve ripping off a fair chunk of him, as well.

Now, it was bestial nature’s turn, which meant killing. So, pushing himself up onto his feet, the lion looked around for anyone else. The savanna was just as empty as it’d been before, nothing but still skies and breezy grass as far as the eye could see.

Save for one exception. On the ground in front of him and currently struggling onto his hooves was the impala, and from the look of him, he’d gone through much the same process that the lion had. Four legs that’d been ideal for loping across the grasslands had been transformed into two legs and two arms, slender, almost waifish. What was once a sturdy beast was now a gentle, fragile beauty. Even his horns had shrunk down to two little nubs on the top of his head. He was downright effeminate, really.

That is, if you ignored the bulge jutting from the front of his briefs. The impala was certainly packing a lot down there, and if what he was looking at was a sheath, then God knew how big it’d be able to get when he was fully erect. Still, the lion wasn’t impressed—gorgeous, ugly, man, woman, it didn’t matter. The antelope was still subject to the same rules of nature that he was, and something as small as a miraculous transformation hadn’t changed that.

Still, kicking him back to the ground and ripping out his throat seemed somehow inappropriate. Perhaps it was his newfound intelligence talking, but he felt the need to at least exchange a few words before letting nature take its course. So, the lion crossed his arms and waited while the impala staggered onto his feet.

When the antelope looked up and saw the lion looking down at him, his snout turned up in the slightest hint of a snarl, the expression of terror in his eyes annihilated any reservations the lion had about restraining himself. This was absolutely worth it.

“What did you do to me, prey?”

As soon as the lion’s voice cut the air, a deep, throaty growl, the impala started shivering. Shivering wasn’t even a strong enough word for it—the impala was downright quaking, knees wobbling under him like they were going to give out from sheer fear. He found it absolutely hilarious, but he managed to keep it from showing on his face. A smile like that wasn’t conducive to the kind of intimidation he was going for.

“I-I didn’t—”

“No, shut up. Don’t even. I’m gonna give you three seconds to tell me what you did before I invert your snout.”

Of course, the lion knew that the impala probably knew about as much about what’d happened as he did. That didn’t make it any less satisfying to terrorize him, though. In fact, it probably helped a great deal.

“Please, if you’d just—”

“Three.”

“I mean, I really—”

“Two.”

“But—”

“One. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He took a step forward towards the trembling impala, one hand raised in the air above his head, claws extended and gleaming. The poor thing took a step back at the sight, instinct managing to overcome the fear keeping him rooted to the spot, though it couldn’t push him hard enough to actually flee. All it could do was make him fling his hands up in front of his face defensively, like they would somehow protect him from a lion’s claws.

The lion swung his arm from the shoulder, putting as much power into his blow as possible, ready to feel tan hide parting under him...

“Stop!”

He stopped.

The lion certainly didn’t want to stop, but that didn’t seem to factor into the equation. His shoulder jerked painfully as his muscles strained to stop his momentum, then he was still, stuck in place like the air had frozen around him. His claws were still extended, stopped mere inches away from their target.

The impala was still hunched over, cowering under the cover of his hands, and it took him a second to realise that the attack he was anticipating wasn’t coming. He peeked through his fingers, and when he saw the statuesque lion in front of him, he took the opportunity to take five quick steps backwards and put some space between them.

The lion’s face followed him, eyes wide with shock, and it was then he realised that he still had control over everything from his neck up. He quickly wiped away his look of surprise and replaced it with something more threatening, fangs bared and brow furrowed, but it didn’t seem to have the effect he’d desired. Sure, the antelope flinched a little bit, but that was all. None of the absolute terror he’d been hoping to inspire.

The impala moved closer, and despite an expression that that promised death and destruction, the lion didn’t move an inch. He extended a hand, poking one of the lion’s biceps with a finger. Nothing. With growing courage, he grabbed the muscle and squeezed, testing its firmness. It was rock solid, flexed regardless of the lion’s wishes, trying its hardest to keep itself in position. Not that it was a difficult task—the lion’s muscles had been toned and strong before, but the transformation had grown them to something to rival a power lifter’s, with strength to match.

Curious as to the extent of his control, the impala stepped back, stroking his chin while he considered the captive predator in front of him. “Uh… sit?”

Once again, despite his best efforts to resist it, the lion found his body rushing the obey the impala’s order before he’d even consciously registered what it was. His legs gave out from under him, sending him falling into a squat, his arms flinging out in front of him to prevent him from falling over. Barely a second after the impala had finished speaking, he was down on his rear, knees hunched up to his shoulders in an awkward squat.

He looked up with the same fierce look he’d been shooting before, growling in an effort to sound intimidating, but it seemed to have even less of an effect on the impala than before. Now, the smug little bastard was outright grinning at him, looking at him from up high with a hand on his hip.

“Alright, now stand.” The lion’s knees straightened out so quickly he yelped, worried he’d fall right on his face, but he didn’t even stumble. The briefs seemed to know exactly how to move his body for whatever commands they forced him to do. Even better than he could, even. Once the shock had worn off, he went right back to glaring, baring his fangs at...

Nothing. The lion turned his head just in time to catch the swish of a tail, whipping out of his peripheral vision as the antelope made his way behind him. Try as he might, the small amount of neck he had control over wasn’t enough to look over his shoulder, and the rest of his body still stubbornly refused to obey his commands.

“I’m going to kill yo—”

“Shush.”

The lion’s lips snapped shut at the impala’s command, the last of his sentence dying out into a hiss in his throat. Try as he might, he couldn’t growl, hell, couldn’t even grumble. The most he could manage was a soft exhale, apparently not even allowed to breathe too harshly under his newest order. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was by the antelope’s intent, or if whatever was enacting his will had taken creative liberties.

“From now on, you may only speak when spoken to. Understood?”

“Yes.” There was a whole lot more he wanted to add onto that sentence, but yes was the only thing that would come out of his mouth, and then it was right back to unwilling silence. The lion’s hateful frown intensified, a face of pure wrath that was wasted on the grass ahead of him.

“How about you spread your legs for me a little bit?” With an eager haste that he utterly detested, the lion widened his stance, stepping his feet apart until he was halfway to doing the splits. Once he finished moving, he was met by a slap on the ass, one hard enough to send his arms wheeling to keep him from toppling forward.

“Nice.” The impala’s hand lingered on his stinging cheek, squeezing and kneading it none too tenderly. The lion worried about his intentions, all sorts of ideas about what the antelope intended to do forming in his mind, but they were put at ease by the knowledge that whatever he did, he’d have to do through the barrier of the briefs. Still, that only provided mild relief—there were still plenty of things he could do, even with that thin layer of protection in the way.

With a parting squeeze, the impala released his grip on the lion’s ass, taking a step back. “Lie down and close your eyes.”

His eyelids slid shut, enveloping him in darkness, and any relief the lion might’ve felt was immediately swept away in a tide of anxious anticipation. Still, he did as he was told, crouching down and rolling onto his back with his legs straight and his arms at his sides. He could hear the impala moving around above him.

“Alright, open your eyes!”

The lion did, and was greeted to the sight of brown fur, covering two legs that stretched up from either side of his head. The impala was stood over his face, and as soon as his eyes were open, he dropped down. There was only just enough time for the lion to turn his head before the antelope’s bulge was pressing into his cheek, narrowly sparing him the indignity of being smothered by it.

“You aren’t very obedient, are you? Snout up, keep it that way.” If there was a single time throughout this whole event that he could have control of his body, the lion would pick this one. His neck muscles strained as he tried his absolute hardest to resist the control of whatever had possessed his body, and to his credit, the motion did seem to be a bit slower than usual.

Which only added to the anticipation, because after five seconds of painful resistance, his head ended up snapping into position anyway. His nose and lips buried themselves into the fabric covering the impala’s sheath, but thankfully, he still had control over one thing. Shutting his eyes tight, he held his breath.

“I mean, good effort, but… start sniffing.”

Damn. Immediately, his lungs expanded, drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils. His nose was filled with the smell of the impala’s crotch, drawn right out of his underwear. It was mild, hardly the scent of a strong, dominant male like himself, but that didn’t make it much better. In fact, it might’ve made it worse. He was being forced to huff the scent of another man, one that should by all rights be his inferior or, better yet, his next meal!

“Hey, don’t be afraid to get some mouth action in there, either.”

Apparently, even suggestions were taken as commands, because the lion’s muzzle flew open and his tongue slipped out of his mouth to press up against the fabric covering his face. He inhaled softly through his mouth, then exhaled, letting his hot breath wash over the impala’s sheath. The moisture from his breath and the saliva from his tongue were wicked up by the material of the underwear, letting it cling even more tightly to the antelope’s sheath, in turn letting the lion feel it grind against him all the more vividly.

“Oh, wow,” the impala sighed, pushing his hips forward and pressing up against the lion’s snout. “You’re a natural!”

As the lion felt the impala’s bulge mash up against his muzzle, sheath fur poking through the fabric slightly and tickling his nose, he was positive that things couldn’t get any worse. That certainty lasted for a whole thirty seconds before it was proven wholly incorrect. The lion had been too enamoured with his own frustration and embarrassment to notice it, but the impala’s sheath had been swelling to life with every hump against his face, growing thick and plump. A sign of what was to come.

The impala pulled back slightly, aligning his sheath with the lion’s lips, and pushed forward. This wasn’t aimless humping like before—this move had purpose, purpose that became immediately clear to the lion. The impala’s tip had just poked free from his sheath, slick with moisture and starting to drip with fluids, which all too readily soaked into the fabric of the briefs and onto his tongue.

He could only get the faintest taste of it through the underwear, but even that hint of flavour was more than enough. It somehow made everything far, far worse.

“Idea!” the impala exclaimed, moments before peeling his now moist bulge away from the lion’s face. Finally allowed access to clean air, untouched by antelope musk, he took a deep breath in an effort to purge his nose of the impala’s residue. It was only mildly effective, but it was better than nothing, and kept him from dreading what was in store for him next.

He could’ve timed his breaths better, though, because he happened to be in the middle of an inhale when the impala spun around and took a seat directly on top of his snout.

“Oh, you [i]can[/i] be taught,” the impala said, the smirk audible in his voice as the lion took a deep breath with his nose pressed right under the antelope’s tail. He tried to stop himself as soon as he’d realised what was happening, but it was a fruitless gesture. A fresh wave of the impala’s musk had washed over his nostrils and was resting heavily in his sinuses.

There was a subtle yet distinct difference between the scent here and the one coming from the impala’s crotch. The lion supposed the best word to describe it would be earthy, as opposed to the slight spiciness of the other end, though both of those made it sound almost pleasant. It wasn’t. Every moment he spent with his snout pressed up against another male’s rear, feeling his tailhole twitching against his nose, was complete and utter agony.

This didn’t stop his body from taking deep, shuddering whiffs of it, acting in flagrant disregard of his wishes.

“Hmm,” the impala hummed in thought while grinding against the lion’s face, mashing the feline’s snout almost painfully hard into his asshole. If the briefs weren’t in the way, the lion would probably be a few inches deep inside by now. “Get hard.”

The lion wanted to say that he couldn’t obey something like that even if he wanted to, which he certainly didn’t, but the universe seemed keen on proving him wrong in every possible situation. His sheath, dormant up until this moment, suddenly started to stir from inside his briefs. It was one of the fastest erections he’d ever achieved; one moment, he was ice cold, and not five seconds later, he was already halfway extended and pressing up against the front of his underwear.

The impala reached down with a hand and squeezed the bulge the lion had made in his briefs, feeling the slight spikiness of his cock through the fabric. The demonstration of exactly how little control he had over his body made the lion want to growl, but simultaneously brought into hard focus how he couldn’t, how all he could do was let himself be groped by this prey animal while huffing his tailhole.

But he was granted yet another small mercy as the impala lifted up off of his face, taking his hand away from the lion’s crotch as he got to his feet.

“Hey, you lions are flexible, right? I got an idea. How about you…” The impala trailed off, eyes narrowing in thought, and a hand rose to his face to tap on his chin. “Uh, how do I describe this…? Wait, do I even need to describe it?

“Let’s try this,” he said, flinging out his hands like a wizard casting a spell. “Assume the position!”

To both of their surprise, the lion started to move. His hands planted themselves on the ground to either side of his head, then his middle folded in, curling him up into a ball. By the time he was done moving, he had his knees planted on either side of his head, his crotch suspended just above his face.

“Oh, wow, it worked!” The impala dropped to his knees in front of the lion, ignoring the feline’s face in favour of the bulge dangling above it. It was certainly prominent—now that the lion was erect, the full outline of his cock was visible, running from his crotch up into the crook of his thigh, pinned there by the elastic material. The impala reached out with a hand, touching it lightly through the fabric.

The lion wanted to growl at his touch, but he couldn’t even do that. All he could do was watch and pant slightly as the impala’s fingers brushed across his bulge, then outright grabbed at it as he grew more greedy, squeezing the lion’s shaft through the underwear.

“You must not get a lot of action, huh?” the impala said, still groping at him. “Look here, you’re already starting to soak through.”

The lion had no choice but to obey the command. He could clearly see the wet spot starting to form on his briefs, a small dot of pre that was rapidly expanding as the impala continued to touch him. The impala was right, of course, being that he’d never taken a mate before. But he was hardly going to [i]tell[/i] him tha—

“How many girls have you laid, anyway? Or guys, I don’t judge.”

“None.” As soon as the word left his mouth, the lion cringed, which intensified into an outright grimace when he could hear the impala start to laugh.

“Oh, wow,” he said between giggles, letting out a snort, “real king of the jungle, eh? Or savanna. Whatever, your lips, there, now.”

The lion complied, lowering his hips a little more so his snout could reach his crotch, simultaneously grateful that whatever had transformed him had given him a flexible enough back that he didn’t snap like a twig and frustrated that this was all happening at all. His mouth opened to allow the tip of his dick to slip inside, still wrapped in fabric, then his lips wrapped tight around it so it couldn’t slip back out.

“Alright, rules, no cumming. I’m gonna do whatever I want. Whenever you feel like it, just ask politely, and I’ll let you finish. Understand?”

The lion was in the middle of mumbling an affirmation when the impala’s hand clenched down on his cock, getting as much of a grip on it as he could manage through the underwear. “Great.”

The impala started out slow, mostly focused on squeezing him rather than stroking him. It wasn’t intense, but it was constant, and slowly ramping up in speed and pressure. Those squeezes were getting harder, more frequent, and his hand was starting to move up and down his shaft. Never quickly enough to be satisfying, though.

The lion was stuck there, contorted around himself while the one that should’ve been his prey milked him into his own mouth. The worst part was, it was working. He could feel himself throbbing in response to the antelope’s touches, each time spurting a bit of pre into his briefs. The thin fabric could only hold so much before it was saturated, though, and it was starting to soak through and drip past his lips.

He could feel the stuff leaking into his muzzle, sliding over his tongue and pooling near the back of his throat. It was thick, salty, and had an odd taste to it. Masculine in a way that was somehow familiar. The lion supposed that was to be expected when it was your own brand, but that hardly made it any more tolerable. It didn’t necessarily taste bad, but the indignity of it all definitely made it the worst thing he’d ever had in his mouth.

Still, at least he didn’t have to swallow it. He could still breathe perfectly fine through his nose. That was some small relief.

A jolt worked its way through the lion when he felt a hand grab his balls through the briefs, squeezing them gently. He was big enough to fill the impala’s palm, and that was with everything being squished down by the underwear.

“Oh, wow,” the impala murmured, sounding both impressed and amused at the same time. “You got a lot going on down here, don’t you? Hot, too.”

The lion said nothing, just laid there quietly while the impala did as he pleased. Even if he could make a sound of his own free will, that’d require clearing his mouth first, already about a quarter full of his own juices. Since the order to keep his lips in place was still in full effect, there was only one way that was going to happen, and he wasn’t even going to humour that idea. No, all he could do was take it as stoically as possible.

“Well, don’t you look determined,” the impala said, giving him a particularly strong, double handed squeeze that was nearly enough to make him gasp. “See how long that lasts when I really get going, eh?”

Before the lion could consider what he meant by that, the impala suddenly tripled his pace.  There was no more of the slow, subtle motions he’d been employing just moments before. Now, his hand was flying up and down the lion’s cock with wild abandon, making the absolute most of the small range of motion the briefs would allow him.

The lion’s fingers dug into the ground below him as he struggled to contain himself. He didn’t know if it was something due to the underwear or if the impala was just naturally good at this, but he was already very, very close. And that hand didn’t seem intent on slowing down, either, working him faster and faster while the other continued to gently squeeze and rub at his balls just below. Just a few more seconds, and he’d be...

Left high and dry, because the impala let go of him without any warning, hands flying away from his groin like it was a hot stove.

“Nope! You know the rules.”

He let out a groan, bulge twitching and throbbing in the confines of his underwear. His cock was positively spurting pre into his muzzle now, like it was punishing him for how the impala was teasing him, drooling down along his palate to join the growing pool of it at the back of his mouth. With the addition of a particularly thick rope that he swore let out a splash as it landed, he could feel it starting to collect in his cheeks. He was running out of room for it all.

But he found himself less concerned with that when the impala’s hands touched him once again, gingerly like a slight breeze might set him off, then returned to all the force and speed they’d been at seconds before. The lion’s body certainly appreciated the return of the attention, yet another blob of precum sliding between his lips to join the rest of the stuff sloshing around his maw.

On. Off. On. Off. The impala’s arms didn’t seem to get tired and his interest didn’t wane a bit, completely enraptured by bringing the lion to the edge and cruelly yanking back right before he could achieve release. All the while, the lion’s muzzle was running out of space, his own fluids funnelled inside without any way for him to avoid them or spit them out. When he felt them start splashing back against the backs of his fangs, the lion knew the time was coming to make a very difficult decision.

But it seemed that decision was going to be made by the hands of another. When his cock throbbed yet again and fired off a fresh blast of pre, this one caught the impala’s attention. Instead of disappearing into the lion’s mouth, it bubbled out from the corners of his lips, splattering across his chin. He grabbed the lion’s muzzle with one hand, shifting it away from his bulge to get a better look at his mouth.

“Open.”

The lion had no choice but to obey, jaws parting just a touch to let the impala see what was inside. He could feel a fair bit of the liquid inside his mouth flow out the sides of his mouth and down onto the fur of his neck, but even more of it stayed inside, safely contained in the back of his mouth. The impala didn’t seem annoyed by his efforts to avoid swallowing his own juices—if anything, he seemed amused, judging from the crooked smirk on his face.

There were no more commands after that. Instead, the impala leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the lions, sealing their lips together in a kiss. When their muzzles were locked together, one of his hands moved up and settled over the lion’s nose, squeezing it shut.

The lion’s first reaction was one of panic, but he had absolutely no way to express it. He’d been ordered into position, so he couldn’t move a muscle to resist. His mouth was now blocked by the impala’s, putting aside the fact that it was packed full of his own juices, so he couldn’t yell—hell, couldn’t even breathe. And now his nose was being pinched, depriving him of his only airway. Had the impala decided to kill him?

When the impala’s tongue slipped past his lips, dipping into the pool of thick pre that’d gathered there to probe at the inside of his mouth, the lion realised what was going on. No, he wasn’t trying to kill him. He was trying to make him swallow. With the kiss in the way, there was no way he could spit, and the nose pinching meant he had a very strong incentive to clear his mouth as soon as possible. No doubt the tongue was just for the impala’s own sick pleasures.

He considered trying to resist for a moment, but ultimately decided against it. Unless he considered passing out and drowning to be a victory, there was nothing the lion could do to win in this situation but go along with what the impala wanted. So, putting aside his disgust and shame, he swallowed. His tongue pressed up and hugged the impala’s own as he did so, pulling it deeper into his mouth as he gulped down the pre polluting his mouth.

It was just as bad as he’d expected. When there was this much of it, the sliminess of it was almost unbearable as it slid down his throat before finally splashing down into his stomach. The taste seemed keen on lingering, too, soaked into his taste buds from how long he’d let it pool in his mouth. The only benefit was the removal of the impala’s hand from his nose, the ability to breathe his reward for being a good boy. The impala’s tongue stayed for another minute, though, pressing up against every surface of the lion’s mouth before he finally pulled back. A clear strand of saliva connected their lips for a moment, then snapped, leaving the lion gasping for breath and the impala looking down with an amused expression.

“Alright, back to work,” the impala said, grabbing the lion’s bulge and forcing the tip of his cock back into his own mouth. The lion murmured something, but the wet fabric shoved between his lips garbled it beyond intelligibility. It still caught the attention of the impala, though. Perking an ear, he grabbed the base of the lion’s cock and popped it back out of his mouth, freeing it to speak.

“What was that?” the impala asked, looking at him expectantly. 

The lion mumbled something inaudible under his breath, looking off to the side and refusing to meet the impala’s gaze. 

“A bit louder, if you’d please.”

“I want to cum,” the lion whispered, this time just loud enough for the impala to hear. A smirk formed on his face, but he looked away before the lion could see it.

“Ah, sorry, you really gotta speak up. I’m a bit hard of hearing.”

“I want to cum.” The lion was at normal speaking volume, now.

The impala shrugged, unable to contain the smile that’d grown to encompass his whole face. “Almost got that one. One more time?”

“I want to cum!” This time, he was shouting loud enough to echo across the savanna. At least there aren’t any other people around to hear it, the lion thought to himself, though it was little consolation.

“Oh,” the impala said, sounding genuinely surprised as he got to his feet, though the smile still lingering on his snout said otherwise. “Why didn’t you say so? On your back, we’ll get you sorted in a jiffy.”

For once able to obey one of the commands of his own volition, the lion rolled out of the odd shape he’d folded himself into and flat onto his back, grateful for the opportunity to relax his spine. Felines like him may have a good deal of flexibility, but even they needed a break every once in awhile.

It was just unfortunate that his break had to be interrupted by the impala setting himself down onto his knees over the lion’s head, grinding his bulge up against the big cat’s nose.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” the impala said, using the same tone one would use for talking about the weather, “you get me off, you get off. Get on it.”

This wasn’t what the lion had been expected, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t an offer, it was an order; he didn’t have the option to refuse. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, sliding up along the impala’s bulge while his hands moved to grip the antelope’s thighs, keeping him firmly pinned to his face.

Apparently, the impala had been enjoying the show just as much as the lion had, because his underwear was positively dripping. A huge wet splotch had formed on the front of his briefs, spreading out from where his cock poked against the fabric, and that seemed to be right where the lion’s tongue was keen on spending its time. One lick, and his own taste was purged from his mouth and replaced by the impala’s. It was similar, to be sure, but just a touch runnier and more mild. In other words, familiar enough to be palatable, but just different enough to be sure it was another man he was tasting.

The lion was infuriated, disgusted, but his body now had a mind of its own. His lips wrapped around the impala’s cock as best they could with the briefs in the way, sucking on the fabric like he wanted to wring every drop of liquid out of it that he could. It wasn’t ineffective, either—he could feel some of it pulled into his mouth, then a whole lot of it pumped into it as the impala let out a squirt of the stuff right over his tongue. 

He gulped it down to make room for another mouthful, and the lion found he had enough control left over his body to cringe at the sensation of it sliding down his throat. Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough control to prevent his right hand from grabbing the base of the cock in his mouth, squeezing down on it and stroking it through the briefs. Nor did he have enough control to stop his left hand from sliding around back to the base of the impala’s tail, stroking against the hole there for a moment before moving down to his taint, pressing down against it.

“Ooh,” the impala moaned, running his hands through the lion’s mane and rubbing between his ears. “Kitty knows some tricks!”

He didn’t, but whatever was controlling his body certainly did. While the lion wouldn’t have been able to do anything even remotely like this under his own power, whatever had a hold of him now seemed to be a natural at it. Even with a pair of briefs in the way, the lion managed to milk out enough of the impala’s pre that he had to constantly swallow to keep up with the output, each mouthful sitting heavily in his stomach. No doubt the transformation had gifted the antelope with extra productivity in that regard.

But before the lion could consider that line of thought much further, the hands on his head pressed down, pushing his head further into the impala’s crotch. He could feel the cock pushed against his snout throbbing wildly, each time flooding his mouth with yet another burst of the other male’s fluids, and the impala’s perineum was firm and swollen under his fingers. There was no doubt about it, he was about to hit his peak.

What the lion wanted to do was wrench his hands free and cover his face, shield himself from what was sure to be an incredibly productive orgasm, if the amount of pre the impala had pumped out was any indication. Instead, he sucked even harder through the briefs, pushed down firmly against the impala’s taint with his left hand, and jerked as quickly as he could with his right.

The effect was immediate. The impala pushed his hips forward, grinding himself against the lion as much as he could, letting out a throaty moan that contained a single coherent word. “Cum.”

It wasn’t an announcement, but a command, and one that the lion had no choice but to obey.

While the impala’s cock pulsed between his lips, shooting off ropes of cum that forced their way through the fabric of the underwear and straight into the lion’s mouth, the feline was undergoing pleasures of his own. For seemingly no reason besides the impala’s say-so, his cock started to throb inside his briefs, suddenly filled with feelings that seemed to have no grounding in reality. The best he could describe it as would be an electric heat, one that seemed to come from inside him, shooting out from his groin and all throughout his lower body.

It was intense, irresistible, and wouldn’t stop until it got exactly what it wanted. Overcome by the sensation, the lion could only let out a deep groan as his dick twitched and then started to unload into his briefs. It wasn’t a powerful, shooting orgasm, but more like a valve had been turned inside him, his cum leaking out into his underwear while far greater quantities were pumped into his mouth by the impala.

They spent a good half-minute like that, the lion’s lips glued to the impala’s groin and sucking down every spurt of his cum while his own release dribbled out of him and soaked into his underwear, leaving him a soggy, sloshing mess. Whatever was controlling him seemed unwilling to let a single drop of the antelope’s cum stay in his underwear, and by the time he was done gulping it all down, it felt like his stomach was packed with the stuff.

He was the spitting image of a thoroughly used bitch, his gut full of another man’s seed while his own dripped down his legs, and he hated it. That hate didn’t prevent his body from sucking the last few drops of the impala’s cum out through the underwear, all the while taking deep whiffs of his scent.

While the impala straddled the face of his lion, revelling in his afterglow, something caught his eye. At some point during all the festivities, unnoticed by either of them, they had acquired an audience. A dozen pairs of red briefs, all identical to each other. Judging from the fact that they were all suspended four feet in the air, there was no doubt that these were just as magical as the ones they were wearing now.

“Hmm. How big’s the pride you came from?”

“Twelve in total,” the lion replied, voice muffled by the impala’s bulge still pressed up against his mouth.

“How about you get up and introduce me?” The impala stood up and stepped away from the lion, giving him room to get to his feet. The lion hurried to obey, more than willing to indulge this particular command. Twelve territorial lions versus one cocky antelope? He fancied those odds.

Then, he noticed the briefs. They’d all arranged themselves in a circle around the impala, like they were following him—or protecting him.

The lion sighed. At least now misery would have company.