So—a toad, a frog and a gecko hop into a tavern.
“I don’t understand any of this!”
“What’s the matter, Frank?”
“Why is called breaking camp? Or for that matter, dawn broke? How can you break the sun?”
“Don’t be such a dickweed, it’s a figure of speech.”
“Fuck you, Tabbart, I was asking George.”
“Guys. Take a chill—no, don’t make me uncoil my orc-hide whip before coffee. Frank, it’s called breaking camp because you literally ‘break’ apart whatever structure or space you utilized. As for the sun, I haven’t a fucking clue. Ask a nature mage when we get to Breedsopolis.”
“And that’s another thing—” Tabbart and George groaned in unison as Frank launched into his well-practiced diatribe. “—Why do we have to be the trio sent to retrieve the magic crown and kiss some Royal ass? I mean—I like rimming as much as the next guy, but it’s a pure human Princess for crying out loud! Doesn’t anybody read the damn union regs? We’re gay weres. We don’t do females—any way shape or format.”
George coughed over his remark, “Says you,” before forcefully speaking up. “That’s enough croaking, Frank—and don’t flap your gills either, Tabbart. The bosses put me in charge, and I’m tired of you both butting heads. The next frog, or toad, that cheeps out of line, gets my whip and my head up your ass for a fucking you won’t soon forget. Now! Break camp and let’s hop on out of here before the sun drives us underwater!”
Frank’s whiny complaint was cut off when Tabbart flipped him over his knee and began—what by now had become a daily ritual—spanking the croaking were. “Why are you such a brat every morning?”
“Ow! Not so hard!”
“Why can’t you just drink coffee like George does?”
“Cause only a spanking gets me wired?”
“Smart ass! I’ll show you a smarting ass, Frank!” Tabbart punctuated his scolding with rapid flutters of his leathery webbed hands. The green skin of Frank’s wiggly-jiggly bottom gradually took on a pale yellow tinge as the hard spanks accumulated. It wasn’t the only hard thing in camp, and Frank atoned to his lover with his mouth after Tabbart was finally satisfied with the punishment.
Twenty minutes later, the fearless—if feckless trio—resumed the much delayed, and debated, journey from Rephibton. They’d set out two weeks past, but thanks to the ongoing drought, were forced to seek frequent water breaks. Even in an upright bipedal shape, the most charitable of observers would have called them, ‘strong in characteristics but handsomely challenged’. There wasn’t normally much traffic along the forest track, but they didn’t seek out company either. It was a secret mission after all.
On the other webbed foot, orcs were always fair game. When waves of slavers had burst forth from hidden tunnels, the warriors had sprung into action and smashed the raid; thus earning them the gratitude of an entire nearby village impressed with their martial prowess. Until they found out that is, the doughty men preferred the muscular militia instead of the blushing maidens. It could have gotten ugly. Thankfully, the Local 369 smoothed things over with an increased share of the gold gleaned from the battlefield.
That was yet another thing Frank bitched about. He was trying to save for a deluxe pad to get away from his sister’s tadpoles. Being a werefrog wasn’t all that great when the exotic lands the recruiter promised, were, for the most part, human hovels and rogue were hideouts. Then, to top it all off, George, a lowly weregecko, was promoted to major and given the assignment instead of the traditional Frogmaster. Fine, Frank had acknowledged, both he and Tabbart were only enlisted corporals, but still! The warts festered until they broke in a torrent of complaints.
“Travel! Booty! Free beer! I can’t believe I fell for that spiel,” Frank whined.
“He wasn’t lying about the combat part,” Tabbart replied.
“True dat.” Frank puffed out his throat pouch—strangely attractive in his humanoid guise. “I kicked that one orc right over a tree, and stomped the rest to paste.”
Tabbart batted his eyes and crooned, “Oh… My hero!”
“Knock it off, you know I’ll always belong to you.”
“Maybe you can prove it to me later, big boy,” Tabbart crooned.
George slid between them and linked arms. “You know, before this quest, I never considered taking a werefrog or weretoad as a lover. I would have sooner if I’d realized what a pair of kinky fucks you are.”
Frank and Tabbart shivered in unison. “Does that mean you’ll whip us? And spank us? And make us suck cock and be ass fucked?” Frank asked with an eager expression.
The taller and more slender weregecko, wrapped his arms around the broad shouldered soldiers, and squeezed with deceptive strength. His long and narrow sticky tongue flicked across their lips; quickly joined by the rounded, blunt tongues of both the other men. George sprang straight into the air, did a double forward tuck, and landed on all fours in front of Tabbart and Frank.
“I’ve a better idea, boys, why don’t you whip out your cocks, and I’ll show you how a weregecko swallows.”
Two cocks, one a green spade, the other a gold scepter; rose in unison seeking the fresh air and dappled shade drifting through the dense forest canopy. The loose tunics were brushed aside as they freed the thick erect flesh.
Stroking with his hands, George licked back and forth between the rounded heads then pressed them together. Unhinged his lower jaw, he guided both cocks into his salivating mouth and down his vibrating gullet.
Frank and Tabbart made a simultaneous, “Gurk!” and slipped their arms around each other’s waists for support. Their muscular thighs quivered like waves in a bog as the weregecko used sonic gargles to massage and suck the cocks in his throat.
Despite having come earlier, Tabbart felt the rising sap ready to boil over, while Frank—always quick on the trigger—clenched his butt as his cock started to pulse and eject fluid.
George pulled back as the first waves of cum splashed and pumped the swelled organs with his curled fists.
Their suddenly weak legs gave way and the two corporals slumped to the ground, drained of both sperm and conflict.
“That, my mighty warriors, is how a real were disciplines his subordinates.”
“Oh my! Bravo I say! Bravo!”
The echoes from the unfamiliar high-pitched voice hadn’t yet faded by the time the weres showed why they were such fearsome fighters.
From lethargic post-orgasmic haze, to dual arrows shot from crossbows took but an instant. In the next blink, Frank was a seven-foot tall frog bounding into the woods as the strange voice yelled out, “Ffffffffuck!” and fell through a nearby tree with a great crashing of limbs and leaves.
The clang of steel on steel rang out, and a short slender figure dressed in a subtle brown and green weave raced through the clearing, pursued by the sword wielding frog.
A sharp crack and George’s orc-hide whip snacked around the fleeing assailant’s ankles bringing it down with a thump and puff of detritus. A single tug of the whip handle brought the captive sprawling at his feet.
George casually kicked the long knife away. “Well, well,” he laughed, “they make spies younger each year!”
“I am not a spy!” the cloaked figure glared up at him. “I was simply minding my own business when the three of you decided to go all kinky. You didn’t even check your perimeter first! I could have been an orc, or… or a cave troll!”
“I’m not a kid! I’m 234 in elvish years. Let me go! Or I’ll… I’ll put a spell on you and you’ll be stuck as humans!”
“What do you want to do, boss?” Tabbart asked with a worried frown. “I’ve heard elves can hypnotize you and make you bark like a dog.”
“As if I’d waste my time on you toad face. You better let me go before the rest of my squad gets here. They’ll turn you into pincushions.”
George stroked his chin for a moment then jerked up on the slack whip.
Squawking as the forceful yank spun it around several times clear of the ground, the elf let out an ‘oof’ as it landed on its stomach. Spitting dirt, the elf said, “Very funny.” Standing up and brushing off leaves and twigs, the next request surprised all of the weres. “So, can I go with you?”
“What?” Rang three shocked voices.
“You’re obviously trying to be incognito, and who better to serve as a native guide than an elf? I’ll only charge a gold crown a day. I’m feeling magnanimous and will accept your apology for attacking me.”
“Kid—we’re on a holy mission. We form the sacred triangle—”
“—isn’t that triumvirate?” Frank interrupted.
“—of power essential to all quests,” George smoothly finished. “Adding you to the alchemy would create a quad—”
“—you mean quartet,” Tabbart insisted.
“—and everyone knows,” George glared at his soldiers, “four of anything is unstable and verboten. Besides, a quartet is a mini-musicale (I hear humans are batty for that kind of stuff). A quad is Will-O’-Wisp Magic. Very dangerous stuff.”
“I can cook, and clean, and transcribe your epic Saga in real-time, and even darn your socks!”
“What a minute! That’s women’s work.”
“Is not! I’m fully qualified as a trans elf identifying as male for purposes of the centennial census. I’m traveling to Breedsopolis to have hippo-suction and meet with a Gender Wizard to pick new genitalia from the Guild’s Catalogue of Unusual Organs.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Well I don’t. What’s the difference between a wizard, a mage, a sorcerer, a warlock, a magician and how many other types there are? And aren’t sexes fixed at birth?”
“Are you pulling the gender card of wands on me, frog face? I’m twice the elf you are—or will be. I don’t know what you funky bastards get up to out there in the dismal swamps, but here in civilized climes, people don’t go around making waves about gender orientation and ethnicity. Capisce?”