The Hunter and The Lioness - A story from my youth

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The Hunter and The Lioness - A story from my youth

Postby nem5352 » Sun Aug 14, 2022 1:38 am

Hello all,
The following is my memory of a story that I heard decades ago when I was still in seminary school, and perhaps the single most relevant factor in why I ever became interested in vore. I remember it only loosely and have taken some creative liberties to embellish the parts that caught my attention. Ordinarily I would have just uploaded it to a writing gallery and let it be, but having given the matter some thought it occurs that this isn't a conventional vore story and its intention was never to be just that. I can't expect that anyone else would relate to it from the same subjective point of view that I did at the time. Because of that, I'm instead putting it here for posterity's sake. Comments and critiques are of course welcome, and if anyone is interested in using it as inspiration to produce their own art or stories, that would be delightful.

The Hunter and The Lioness

Many centuries ago, in one of the ancient kingdoms that once stood astride the Sahara, the king suddenly found himself severely ill. The disease that afflicted him was like none that had ever been seen before, and the physicians and wisemen toiled over many a long night to devise a cure. After much time and effort, they assembled before the throne room to announce their prognosis, which could not have been more grim. If the disease were left unchecked, the pain and suffering would only intensify and lead to slow, miserable death. There was, however, a ray of hope. A cure could be made, though it would demand a list of exotic and rare ingredients. Trade had flourished in recent years, each of these ingredients was speedily sought out in the markets and stockpiled in the palace... except for one.

The one ingredient that no merchant nor passing caravan could come by- the milk of a lioness.
Every alternative was tried and failed. Every lead to make the acquisition turned into a dead-end. All hope seemed lost until an odd traveler knocked at the gates and requested an audience, claiming to know how to resolve the matter. Word had traveled quickly, and the traveler revealed himself to be a renowned hunter who was rumored to be able to tame any creature. The king recognized him immediately and was aghast. The two had known eachother in their youth, and were bitter enemies. Clearly the hunter had come to gloat over his rival's misfortune, having heard of the predicament from afar. Death seemed preferable than accepting the help, but the king grew desperate and made a generous offer nonetheless. The hunter, arrogant and well aware of the situation, brazenly demanded double the pay. The king was furious, but felt the disease gnawing at his bones and had no choice but to agree. Under his breath he muttered curses and swore that if the agreement went awry in any way, he would have the hunter's head mounted on his wall.

Undeterred, the hunter collected a portion of the pay in advance and moved with purpose. He knew his quarry well and had long since formulated a cunning plan. He made his way to the farmers and herdsmen, buying up as much cattle of all kinds as could be found. After many a gold piece had been spent the hunter now found himself at the head of a great flock of varied livestock. And confounding every eye that dared to watch, he led them all straight into the wilderness. Murmurs quickly spread that he had lost his wits and would never be seen again. Many hoofbeats later, the hunter's flock had been brought to the savannah and in the height of the dry season no less. It was not long at that point before they assembled at the nearest watering hole and attracted the attention of the local predators. Beating aside all comers, the dominant pride of lions asserted reign on their territory and moved in to quench their palates.

The hunter knew that they would be desperate to feed in this treacherous drought, and that they wouldn't stop until they had packed away enough nutrition to last until the rains came again, even if their stomachs burst in the process. Sheep after sheep and ox after ox were sent out to be eaten, and over the course of days the flock began to thin. So it went until even the trusty mule which the hunter had ridden was claimed in the night. The following morning, all that was left of the once mighty flock were a handful of little lambs. These too wandered right toward the lions' waiting maws, but oddly there were no sounds of butchery to follow. Incredulous, the hunter followed them to observe for himself.

At last his plan was vindicated when he beheld the entire pride on their backs, lazily resting off the smorgasbord, immobile, weighed down by bellies stretched tight and distended, packed with meat. So too were the cubs, whose mothers had been able to nurse them nonstop on such a rich diet, and now lay too indolent to even suckle another drop. The hunter was confident at just how well his scheme had turned out, but was still wary. At any moment he too could share his flock's grizzly fate. He spent a while deciding which lioness would be the safest to approach first, and was answered by a curious sound- the bleating of a lamb. He followed the sound through the tall grass until he came to a remarkable sight- the largest and roundest lioness of them all, flopped on her side. Even compared to her peers, her belly was unusually gravid. Sagging and heavy, it twitched and quivered, straining to contain both a generous load of mutton and several unborn cubs, both seeming to jostle and compete vigorously for space. And only complicating matters were the lambs who now crowded at her swollen, dribbling teats.

The hunter was taken aback. He finally approached close enough not just to see, but to also feel his handiwork. He considered plucking aside the lambs and collecting her milk then and there, but thought better of it and let them be. He knew then that his needs would be met elsewhere. He strode triumphantly through the brush, stopping at each of the other lionesses. As his fingers ran along their bulging bellies and grasped at their nipples, all they could do was purr. They were just too full, content, and satisfied to make any protest. Most had been so decadent in their feasting that their engorged teats ached for relief, each tug of the hunter's grasp soliciting a relieved groan and a generous spurt of milk that would have put the dairy cows that had just been eaten to shame. One by one his bottles were filled until at long last, the time came for him to return to the palace and complete the job.

On the return journey however, his own ego would get the best of him. So proud was he that even his various bodyparts would begin to quarrel and argue amongst eachother over which should get the credit. "The idea was mine!" said the brain, soon interrupted by the eyes' retort that "it would have been impossible to do blind". The arms argued that they did the heavy lifting, the heart argued for the merit of courage, and the legs interjected that none of this would have worked without their support. So it went until the hunter proudly entered the palace and presented the bottles of milk to king.
"I have brought you...." he said with a meticulously rehearsed flair, "the milk of...." and then something strange happened, his tongue acted of its own accord, "the milk of a dog!"

As he was being dragged to the gallows, his tongue blithely whispered to all the other bodyparts, "see who truly has the power here."

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