Chapter Text
Thus were the three lionesses introduced to their daily lives for the next few months.
Nadina spent her days tied to that same bed. For the first few days, the routine was repeated, with the guards gathering about in a great cluster, gleefully fucking her one by one. As the days passed, however, the novelty of her seemed to wear off for them, and though they continued to constantly fuck her, they did so with much less ceremony, with those who wished to make use of her casually clambering on top of her, forcing their cocks in, grunting as they thrust in and out of her, and clambering off as soon as they dumped their load inside her. They continued to call her derogatory names and sneer about how they would impregnate her, but did so with increasingly less frequency, until some of them were going through their entire fuck-sessions with her without doing more than spitting in her face or saying “Thanks, cunt” as they finished.
Every so often, a group of them would untie her from the bed and drag her limp body off to a washroom, where she was doused with hot, soapy water, the dry splatters of cum and spit scrubbed out of her fur. She was then returned to the barracks, and tied to a different bed while the previous one’s cum-soaked bedding was hauled off for cleaning.
Nadina continued to whimper and plead for the first few days; but thereafter, she fell almost completely silent, beginning to grow permanently numb in both her mind and her body. She did little more than stare vacantly at the ceiling, hours sometimes passing by in a blink as she slipped in and out of consciousness. When one of the men clambered atop her, she did nothing more than obediently part her legs. When one of them stood over her face, she silently opened her mouth, allowing him to slide his cock in.
“Already lost every ounce of fight. I liked it better when she cried.” she heard one of the guards murmur to another at one point.
Farida, meanwhile, remained confined to her father’s bedchambers. The servants would bring her books and meals, and once a day would bring in a washtub and scrub her thoroughly, but she was never permitted to leave, nor to ever wear anything but a gown.
Every evening, her father would enter the bedchamber and fuck her. Sometimes he would snarl at her about how he expected her to be diligent in her duties as his new wife and the mother of his children, but for the most part, he would say nothing, simply glaring as he clambered onto the bed and forced himself inside her, frequently rolling over and falling asleep as soon as he was done. Before long, Farida learned that the best way to ensure that her conjugal duties were concluded as quickly as possible was to be waiting on the bed, lying on her back, legs spread wide, a blank, submissive look on her face.
Samira was likewise confined to the zebra prince’s bedchamber, all her needs attended to by servants, but never permitted to leave. Some days, the prince would disappear for much of the day, returning in the evening to fuck her; other days, he would stay in the bedchamber with her late into the day, fucking her over and over again.
At first, the encounters were as overwhelming and painful as when he had taken her virginity; and she frequently could not last more than a few seconds before passing out, waking up hours later splattered with cum. As the sex became a regularity, however, she began to acclimatise. Pain gave way to discomfort, and as she learned the exact ways to position her body and clench her muscles when he entered her, discomfort gave way to numbness – and sometimes, when her mind was calmer, to mild pleasure. The zebra rarely spoke to her throughout all of this, but that smug grin of his never once faltered.
Then, one day, the servants entered her room, dressed her in a long, flowy, pearly white gown, and lead out of the room, through the wide, winding corridors of the palace, and into a room with a towering vaulted ceiling, tall windows of shimmering stained glass, and a massive crowd that packed the room end to end.
As Samira was led through the crowd, her face burned with humiliation as she felt every eye turn toward her, a cacophony of indistinct murmurs following in her wake. She was led to the far end of the room, where length of crimson carpeting led up a dais toward a throne carved from shimmering, polished ebony. Seated upon the throne was a tall, broad-shouldered zebra, clad in a flowing purple robe and a crown of gold wrought into twisting patterns. He was strikingly similar in appearance to Prince Abongwe, though clearly some decades older, and with a cold, piercing glare which so reminded Samira of her father that she winced at the sight of him. Prince Abongwe himself, clad in his own flowing robe, this one a rich crimson, stood off to the side of the dias.
The zebra glared down at her in silence a moment. Then he spoke, his voice deep, calm and steady.
“Your father is a vile man, and my alliance with him is purely out of necessity.” he said. “Nonetheless, the opportunity to assure the continuation of my line, and to silence my son’s constant pestering to find him a wife to satisfy his needs, is a welcome one.”
He glimpsed briefly over at Prince Abongwe, who looked back at him with that familiar smug grin. Then he turned his eyes back to Samira.
“You will be treated well, and enjoy all the comforts of my palace; but in exchange, you will be expected to dedicate every evening to performing your wifely duties. I want you pregnant by the end of the year.”
The zebra king then turned his eyes toward a pair of tall, slender gazelles who stood near the front of the crowd, dressed in the long black robes that denoted them as officiaries of his kingdom’s temples. “Let us get the wedding ceremony over with.” he said to them. “I want her back in my son’s bed as soon as possible.”
The next few hours passed by in something of a blur. Religious texts were recited, the gathered crowd chanted eerily in a language Samira had never before heard, and the lioness was fed vows to recite. Then, when she and Prince Abongwe had both had a thick golden bracelet clamped around their right forearm, the young zebra had taken her by the arm and led her through the crowd and back into the palace’s winding corridors. From there, they had returned to his bedchambers, where the grinning zebra had once again unceremoniously stripped her naked, thrown her upon the bed, clambered on her, and, with nothing in the way of foreplay or preparation, shoved his throbbing black shaft inside her.
As the months passed, all three lionesses’ bellies swelled.
Nadina’s first signs of pregnancy were the cause of much raucous celebration in the barracks, followed by a great deal of heated arguments over who the father likely was.
“It’s mine!” the hyena who had fucked her first snarled. “My sperm claimed her eggs before any of you whelps even put it in her!”
“Fuck off, it’s mine!” a zebra yelled back, yanking his trousers down and cupping his immense, heavy black testicles. “There’s more sperm in one of these balls than in all of the rest of you put together!”
“It’s mine!” the elephant bellowed in his thunderous voice, pulling out his enormous cock and standing over Nadina’s swollen belly, waving it over her. “This thing flooded all your watery loads out of her!”
After a while, however, the heated arguing subsided into jovial quips, the swapping of friendly wagers, and eventually, into discussions of what each of them would do if the child turned out to be theirs.
“I’ll take it home and raise it as my own.” said an immensely built, muscular black gorilla. “My wife and I have been trying for our first for a while now, but it just hasn’t taken yet.”
“Me too.” said the red-maned lion. “My son’s been asking for a little brother or sister for ages now, but my poor wife said she’s just not ready to go through childbirth again yet.”
“I will too,” said a young gazelle. “I’ve wanted to be a father for a while now, but finding a wife is so damned hard.”
One of the guards, a crocodile with a stout gut and immense biceps, glanced over at Nadina, a lecherous grin spreading over his long snout. “If mine’s a boy, I’ll bring him back here on his eighteenth birthday to fuck his whore of a mother.” he said smoothly. “There’s not many men can say their first time was with a slut with royal blood.”
One of the other guards snorted. “And what if it’s a girl?” he asked.
The crocodile’s grin widened, and a devious, lustful look burned in his eyes. “That should be obvious.” he said. “I’ll take her as my wife. Her eighteenth birthday present will be an unforgettable night in her father’s bed, and an inbred brat in her belly. She’ll be carrying divine blood, after all, and it only makes sense to be sure that it remains as concentrated in my bloodline as possible.”
Some of the guards let out raucous laughter at this; others looked away and shifted uncomfortably.
Farida’s first signs of pregnancy drew little reaction from King Amir. He seemed at times to be deliberately casting his eyes away from her steadily swelling belly, as if he was hesitant to allow himself to grow too hopeful. But one evening, when the swelling had become obvious and undeniable, King Amir had made his way over to Farida’s reclining form on the bed, run his hand over her swollen belly with a tenderness he had never once shown before, and given her a slow, silent nod.
From that day forward, the sex was just a slight bit more tender. When he pushed his fingers into her, he did not do so quite as roughly; and he ensured she was fully wet and ready before entering her. When he orgasmed, he still hilted her, but did so slowly and steadily, rather than slamming himself into her. On certain rare days, he even allowed her an evening of reprieve, simply entering the chamber, climbing into bed, and falling asleep directly.
Prince Abongwe’s reaction to Samira’s first signs of pregnancy came shortly after fucking her one evening. As he pulled his thick, throbbing cock out of her, his eyes wandered down to her belly.
“You’re looking a tad bloated.” he said casually. “Think you might finally be carrying my foals?”
Samira, who had been staring unseeingly at the ceiling, nodded without looking at him. The zebra let out a snicker.
“My father will be pleased.” he said. “I won’t tell him just yet, though. Making him an heir has been a convenient excuse to spend my evenings fucking you instead of going to those wretchedly boring council meetings.”
On a single fateful day some long months later, all three lionesses gave birth.
Shortly after midnight, Nadina was awoken by a sensation of sharp, spasming pain shooting through her body. The guards’ slumbering forms began to stir as she moaned and wailed in pain, straining against the ropes binding her.
A heavyset rhinoceros in the bed beside her rolled over and glared at her. “What the hell are you whining about, slut?” he growled.
Nadina looked over at him, whimpering and writhing, her eyes wide. “The…the baby! I think the baby’s coming!”
These words sent the room into a frenzy. Guards scrambled out of bed and began dashing back and forth, bellowing at each other as they stumbled about in the dark. In amidst the chaos, the oil lamps were lit, and Nadina felt her limbs being unbound, and several strong pairs of hands heaving her body off the bed. She was carried off through the dark and cacophony into the washroom, where she was lowered into a tub of warm water that soothed her spasming pains somewhat.
Meanwhile, in the bedchamber of the lionesses’ father and of Prince Abongwe respectively, Farida and Samira lay in their beds, surrounded by servants and nursemaids, moaning in pain as the babies in their wombs made their way out.
Some hours thereafter, each one of them lay in their respective beds, cradling their newborns. Nadina had birthed a male lion cub whose golden fur was accented with thin red tufts around its ears; the cub lay slumbering against her bare bosom as the red-maned lion guard stood over her, grinning smugly at the other guards gathered around the bed, several of them grumbling to themselves as they handed him their wagers.
“You bastards never had a chance.” the lion sneered. “A princess’s eggs only accept the seed of the truly worthy.”
In her father’s bedchamber, meanwhile, Farida lay with one newborn cub nursing at each of her breasts, for she had birthed twins, a boy and a girl. As the servants gently cleaned her, her father, tall, muscular, naked, lay upon the bed beside her, watching her feed their newborn cubs with a familiarly stern look upon his face. When, finally, she found the courage to turn her eyes toward him, he gave her a slow, approving nod.
Lying in Prince Abongwe’s bed, Samira held a wriggling, babbling female zebra foal against her bosom. King Mohlane stood at the foot of the bed, clad in his flowing purple robe, looking down at her stoically. Prince Abongwe himself was nowhere to be seen; he had, some days earlier, secreted himself away to one of the city’s high-class brothels, remarking to Samira as he left “You perform your duties well enough, but I can’t do without a bit of variety here and there.”
“You’ve done well for now.” King Mohlane finally said to her in his steady, sober voice. “But I will also be expecting you to provide me with a grandson.”
None of the lionesses were given very much time with their newborns. After a few hours, both Samira and Farida’s children were taken away by the nursemaids. Their saddened protests were dismissed. “You’ll see them as they grow.” they were both told. “Baby rearing is the work of servants. Your focus should be on bearing more children.”
Nadina’s child, meanwhile, was taken from her shortly after its birth by the red-maned lion. He grinned down at her, his expression a strange combination of smugness and reassurance, when she cried in dismay as he pried the cub from her breast.
“This boy will be raised by my wife and I.” he said. “Don’t worry, princess-whore, you’ll be birthing many, many more children after this.” He gestured at the crowded barracks behind him. “I’m sure one of these bastards will let you keep theirs.”
He glanced down at the cub cradled in his arms with an expression of warmth that felt entirely alien to that place. “Thank you for giving me this beautiful little fella, princess-whore.” he said with odd sincerity. “My son will be delighted with his new little brother.”
Having given birth, each of the lionesses was afforded a small amount more freedom. Nadina was never restrained to the bed again; any guard who wished to make use of her would simply grab her, throw her upon his bed, and unceremoniously push himself into her holes. Farida, meanwhile, was allowed to leave her father’s bedchamber during the day; and the two of them were once again given free reign to wander the palace. When they first met, they said nothing; they simply ran toward each other, held each other in a tight embrace, and wept.
Samira, meanwhile, was likewise allowed to freely wander King Mohlane’s palace. Slowly, the twisting corridors became more and more familiar to her, and she began to learn the names and faces of the guards and the servants, all of whom treated her with great courtesy, as if they knew the turmoil she had endured to come here.
Much of her time was spent in the palace’s library, perusing texts she had never before heard of. With King Mohlane’s approval, she began to write letters to her sisters, and receive them in turn. Though she still wept for them many nights, their correspondence served to sooth Samira’s homesickness, the three of them offering each other words of comfort and reassurance, and promises that they would reunite one day.
Years passed, during which the young lionesses’ fertile wombs were made full use of.
The birth of Samira’s first daughter, whom King Mohlane had named Amahle, had not slowed Prince Abongwe’s appetite for constant sex in the slightest; and shortly thereafter, Samira gave birth again, this time to a male zebra foal. A delighted King Mohlane named him Mandla, and declared him to be next in line to the throne after Abongwe.
Another male foal soon followed; granted permission to name the boy, Samira dubbed him Khalid, in honour of her grandfather, a man whose warmth and wisdom had made her father’s cruel nature all the more overwhelming.
From here, Prince Abongwe’s constant fucking of her would begin to ease off. His father, he remarked to her one night, had indicated that he was satisfied with the number of grandchildren she had given him.
“You take some time off.” the grinning young zebra told her. “I could use some variety anyway.”
From that day forth, though Abongwe would still fuck her on some nights, on others, she would step into their room to find the prince in bed with another woman wrapped around him. One night it was a young, skinny gazelle girl who worked in the kitchens, barely past her eighteenth birthday, lying on her back with the prince on top of her, the girl squealing and sobbing in a way that Samira imagined was very similar to how she had sounded on the night she first took his massive throbbing zebra cock inside her. Another night it was a curvaceous middle-aged leopard from one of the city’s more expensive brothels; clad in a see-through gown of gossamer blue silk, she straddled the prince’s groin, and despite the obvious strain in her expression, she managed to keep silent as his cock throbbed inside her. Another night still, it was a pair of young zebra twin sisters, identical to the last stripe running along their curvy buttocks, one running her tongue up and down his shaft while the other passionately kissed his round, black, fleshy balls. Each time, he would greet her by shooting her his usual smug grin and giving her a curt not, before turning his attention back to the woman in his bed.
After naming the twins that Farida had birthed – the boy, he said, would be called Hassan, and the girl Aisha – King Amir wasted no time impregnating his daughter again. He returned to his routine of fucking her every night; and on more than a few occasions, she would awaken at the crack of dawn to find his chiselled body looming over her, staring down at her with his icy gaze, his throbbing cock already halfway inside her. Before long, she gave birth again, this time to another girl, who her father would name Omara.
From this point, her father seemed satisfied that she had given him a sufficient supply of heirs, and she too would be shown some mercy in the performance of her wifely duties. Some nights, her father would still fuck her, but others, he would be satisfied with simply shoving his cock in her mouth and allowing her to suck him dry; others, he would simply climb into bed and fall asleep without touching her at all. He still rarely said a word to her; but the way he looked at her, while still unsmiling and cold, seemed less suffused with hatred than it once had been.
For Nadina, however, there was no end in sight to her pregnancies. She quickly lost count of how many babies she gave birth to, but with every one, the competition among the guards only grew more and more intense. The intense arguments over who the father could be when her signs of pregnancy first started showing, the whoops and cries of victory from the father when the baby was finally born, all grew more overwhelming every time. Nonetheless, she continued to diligently perform her duties, making herself fully available every evening, taking every cock into whatever hole it was stuffed into, and enduring the months upon months of pregnancy. The pang in her chest, and the tears she felt welling in her eyes, whenever her newborn child was taken from her and away to the family of whatever guard had fathered it, however, never lessened.