“Why, I’m not messing with the meat,” you say jovially. “I’m only fattening them for later, see?”
This incites twin giggling, which along with fucking and eating really forms the golden trilateral essence of gnollhood. Some select suave (of which you’re naturally all about) should be able to steer these two to wreck a havoc on someone else’s evening.
“I say, haven’t I seen you two somewhere?” you continue smoothly. “Let me see, let me see… That’s right, you were in the vanguard of today’s assault, no?”
“What guard?” asks one of them.
“The frontlines I mean. Only few survived it I understand. You two must be formidable, hmm, that is to say fearsome, warriors.”
The pair grunts and nods agreeably. In fact you’re certain these two weren’t anywhere near the vanguard, or at least the odds are strongly against it since nine tenths of the first wave was cut down in the first five minutes. You know that because you were in the frontline.
“You came looking for fun, right? Well, it’s fortunate you run into me first. Heroes such as yourselves shouldn’t bother with thrash the likes of this,” you say, nodding at the girls in the cage.
“Seem fine to me,” says the spokesperson of the duo. “Got heads, got hands, got legs. Got the thing between the legs.”
“Quite,” you reply, stifling a gringe. “Still, appearances can be deceiving. You know the foul substances these creatures tend to put on. Things like ‘soap’ and ‘scents’ and oils and worse. Eat that and you’ll be sick for days.”
“That true?” said the gnoll, looking over your shoulder at the women.
“I’m afraid they don’t speak the language,” you intervene quickly. “But you can see for yourself. Just take a sniff.”
The gnoll kneeled, lowering his big head on level with the huddling humans. You know perfectly well they don’t wear any more luxury products than most people, but for a gnoll everything cleaner than a full garbage bin smells clinically pure – especially if you feed their suspicions first.
“Funny stink,” he says, standing up.
“Not good eating raw at all,” you agree. “Better wait until the morning when the cooking pots boil them nice and soft. In the meantime, I swear I saw some less fancy peasants being held up over there. Always go for the poor ones I say: they’re all organic.”
The gnoll rubs the mane at the back of his head, grumbling indecisively. As a last push you tell him you already saw a couple of other gnolls heading that way a while ago, which tips the scales in your favour. Gnolls don’t like feeling bested when it comes to acquiring food.
As they amble off you unzip your pants again. “Now, where were we? Ah, you were about to show your deepthroating skills, weren’t you?”
“No!” snaps the little sister. “Those two were going to eat us!”
“Yes, and I just saved you. A little thanks might be in order, don’t you think?”
“They’ll be back,” insists the girl. “You won’t. You’ll have to let us out before we do anything else for you!”
You hiss under your breath. Apparently these two chickens were dumb enough not to have realized what their fate was going to be, and now that they did, they’re dumber still for not accepting it. It’s a shame the elder one really knew how to give head, and the two working together should lead to even more fantastic results.
There’s certainly no moral or practical reason for you not to liberate them: the lock of the cage is in as bad a shape as the rest of the camp and you couldn’t care less if the meat pots tomorrow ended up two women shy. Only the risk of getting caught weighs in the scale against probably the best blowjob of the night. The safer course of action would be just to jerk yourself off right here and fulfil your end of the bargain of feeding the girls. You still have your honour left, at least.
