A pest issue

Furious steps stormed through the manor’s backyard, a path slithering across a few other buildings. Light steps rushed on, those of a few rat girls with far too few things in their hands, chased by an enraged kikimora holding a broom ready to impale. The demeanor of the rats betrayed the development of the situation, their cheering and taunting as distance grew. Though they ran into impassable hedgerows, they managed to escape, entering a dug out section of earth and vegetation. As the kikimora halted in place at the escape site, her shoulders dropped with a grimace growing.

Now she knew how they had managed to sneak in. However, it couldn’t surprise her. They had pulled so many tricks on her for so long, and still there were more. Their brute-forcing, so simply dig a hole in, left her in distress; the manor had too big an area to constantly monitor, and she was the only one present as well; the owners had left, a couple on vacation, so here she was without any help. To waste what finances they had left her just to hunt rats seemed prohibitive as well. Was this not what she had been trusted with?

A head reared up that hole, peeking from the other side. It was not a rat; too big to fit in, it only watched curious. Charcoal skin and even darker hair, fluffy to the point of being wild and messy, the kikimora recognized it in an instant. A hellhound, though one she had little trouble with. For better or worse, the hound did not seem to care at all about the manor, about what could be within, contrary to the rats. It seemed weird, as the manor was the only thing around for kilometers on end. Of that, she considered herself thankful, as rats were easier to chase than something as big as that. Past a few seconds of an idle, uninterested gaze, she departed.

Throwing her broom aside, she sighed out in agony as she made her way back home. She’d have to cover that hole with something, but it’d take too much time to properly fill it again.


A restless night had left her to remain at a table, coffee in hand and pencil in the other. She still had her full attire, knowing that sleep would not come any time soon, even as a pitch black darkness covered the world outside the window. Scribbles smeared the paper, of plans and scraps, of any attempt to think of a solution to the rats. She would not catch them. If she remained trying to react to their plans, it’d continue eternally, with them ever adapting. However, it was easier said than done; she had no plans at all, nor the creativity to think of one. She didn’t even know where they lived, as it they materialized out of thin air out of sight just to ruin her days.

A silence reigned. Not a breeze, not the crackling of a fireplace, not even her own pencil’s trace against the paper, nothing would cause a noise. She could even hear the faint ringing of her ears. At least, until she caught something strange, something widening her eyes. Low as if the fall of a pin, easily missable were there anything at all to distract from it, and after that, silence again. It was not natural. Her own intuition – or so many experiences with the rats – led her to a thought first and foremost: Something was in the warehouse, something that made a wrong movement and made something fall and froze solid.

Without a second to waste, she jumped out her chair and grabbed her broom and a flashlight, quickly running to the door.

Outside, she could see nothing. Only a nocturnal creature could see in this darkness, without even the moon to illuminate a thing. Outside of what circle her flashlight illuminated, nothing seemed to exist.

Another noise. Different this time, as if a ruckus began. Shouting. That voice, she recognized it as belonging to one of the rats, but what frightened her? What kept terrifying her, still shouting? At that moment, she caught movement. Two rats. They ran, not caring about being seen, not even taunting or cheering as before, but just running and running as if their lives depended on it. From where they came from, the warehouse, the shouting still continued.

She reached it. The door. She gripped the handle, but whatever was behind must be rat. Gripping her broom tighter – as if it had been the right thing to bring instead of something like a gun! – she took a deep breath and opened the door.

She saw it immediately, something pinning the rat against the floor. Her heart skipped a beat, seeing something far bigger than a rat having snuck into the manor’s grounds, but a frown in confusion replaced her terrified look. The charcoal skin, the dark hair, the messy coat of fluff: The hellhound was here, just now having thrown the rat onto the ground. She pinned it down, stomach against the floor, but Lord knew what it was planning on doing. Eating it? The kikimora certainly knew monsters didn’t eat other monsters in this day and age. Playing? But, here of all places and now of all times? Strange playing, the kikimora believed, seeing the hellhound lay down on top of the rat. The size difference turned apparent. The hellhound’s muscular frame almost completely covered the rat’s small and skinny body, with the hellhound’s breasts nearly sandwiching the rat’s head.

As the hellhound slowly moved, the rat began to panic, far more than before. She squirmed and shouted, throwing plea after plea and insult after insult in erratic fashion, desperatedly struggling to escape. However, at that very moment, the hellhound bucked her hips forward, smashing against the rat’s ass and forcing a scream out of her.

No, a moan. The realization made the kiki drop her broom and bring her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening as her cheeks turned scarlet. ‘No, it couldn’t be that…’ She thought to herself. Her flashlight’s aim turned to the hellhound’s bare butt, just to see it withdrawing partly only to hump again, driving the rat against the floor with another moaning gasp. The hellhound did not seem to care, not even enough to even shoot a glance at the kikimora illuminating them; her humping didn’t stop, but rather gained a rhythm growing faster and faster.

Part of her still could not believe it. Maybe the hellhound was pretending? No, how idiotic that sounded. She had to have one. However, from where the kikimora stood, she could get no confirmation. Her fear had died down completely, repleased with morbid curiosity, driving her to take a few steps and circle the couple, reaching behind them and aiming the flashlight.

She saw it. The hellhound was certainly well endowed. She could see her cock ramming against the rat’s pussy over and over, size clearly looking like it was on the very limit of her capacity. Each movement had her balls slap against the rat, each humping which grew frenetic as time passed, with each intermittent gasp turning into a low, continuous moan heightening with each hit.

She couldn’t unglue her eyes from it. Rather, she felt she needed a better view. Without even thinking, she stepped closer and crouched, getting a sight of every detail, of the fluids sneaking out and the noises the ordeal caused. Before she knew it, she had slowly brought her hand under her skirt, sliding it over her own thigh and begin to fondle. Her underwear had become damp, but she had little care for it; she pulled her panties aside, and as she watched the hellhound relentlessly pummel the rat against the floor, she began to finger herself.

Faster. Harder. What used to be a silent night now was nothing but gasping, moaning, and flesh hitting flesh. As the hellhound hastened, the kikimora fingered herself faster as well. The buildup of fluids only gave way to lewd noises growing louder and messier.

The hellhound had begun panting. Her humping turned violent, almost as if it’d result in bruising. The slaps became louder, the rat’s moans as well, and even the hellhound’s gasping. The kikimora’s fingers went at it with greater vigour, her focus undivided to the point she had begun breathing heavily as well, with a drop of saliva threatening to sneak out drooling. And then, the hellhound smashed her hips against the rat with all her strength, driving her slightly forward, her shaking legs and uncaring moan signalling how she had begun filling the rat’s womb for all she had. The sight drove the kikimora into a frenzy of lewd thoughts, fingering herself harder just to orgasm as well. Spasms almost coincided, the hellhound’s seed invading the rat and the kikimora’s legs shaking with each wave of ecstasy.

Twice, thrice, three and four times, on and on the hellhound humped at ever slower yet still as strong intervals, until there was no more in her aching balls. The rat had grown silent, other than the heavy panting she shared with the hellhound and the kikimora, but the kikimora grew curious at a certain thing. For all the hellhound must’ve ejaculated, there was not a drop to sneak out.

That is, until the hellhound tried to pull out. The kikimora had realized what was the cause. Something bulged out as the hellhound’s hips attempted to withdraw, something swollen inside keeping her cock stuck, with the rat’s erratic and wavering moaning cementing how badly it had grown.

Tug. Tug. The rat’s legs violently shook each time, her mind growing blank and her eyes almost rolling back, until one last attempt led to the engorged base of the hellhound’s cock popping out almost with an audible sound. The rat’s pussy retained its cavity for a second, pulsing back into shape, but with each pulsation a thick, viscous fluid began to drip out. Lots of it, as if it were a tiny continuous strem, pooling under her on the ground.


It had been days since that night.

‘That rat must’ve been so traumatized, they all stopped coming!’

That’s what the kikimora would’ve wanted to think, and ignore how she was already getting tipsy with a wine bottle – straight from it as well. But, no, she rambled internally. The rats had just stolen like a week’s worth of food, condeming her to certainly go out and buy food. And leave the manor alone to them. The thought only drove her to grab the bottle and take another sip, with a frown now almost permanent on her expression.

There they were, by the entrance to the manor grounds. She didn’t even care to close the gate anymore – they could climb it effortlessly, and it’d take too much time and finances to wall off the grounds against them. It’d shock the owners too much to return to a fortress rather than their image of a comfy countryside. The rats would just dig underneath. Too many workarounds – not worth it. The rats sat on the gate, their feet dangling along in rhythm. They were smiling. Of course they were smiling. Just their presence alone was enough of a taunt. She could not catch them. They knew she could not catch them. So, she only sat there and stared, from the chair see sat on, by the table she had her bottle on, under a parasol, at the front of the manor.

Their smiles died as they glanced aside, followed by their hasty departure. A turn of her eyes revealed the cause: The hellhound approached in her usual leisure stroll, probably too drowsy from her nap to have even noticed the rats were there at all.

Although, the kikimora began to remember. That night, how she took a rat, leaving her a filled up panting mess on the ground. The strength of her humping – the faint definition of muscle on her legs for it. Restless nights had followed from that one, though thoughts clearly invaded by that event leading to some stress relief every now and then. She had begun pondering. Is that the reason she even sticks around? She sought nothing from the manor. No food, no shelter, no interaction, yet she had always kept close. Thinking it clearly, maybe it was no enigmating revelation; if she could cover her necessities and found a bunch of rats to relieve herself with every now and then, why would she leave?

Maybe she cared little about the rats, and would have no issues in keeping them out of the manor. The problem, however, was what reason she’d have to care about such thing. There, the problem turned greater by those details from before. She somehow kept herself fed – very well if her figure had not atrophied. Shelter – did she care for any? Then again, if she did, she’d have broken into the manor grounds for it anyway, so most likely not a bargaining chip. Clothing? Given for how long she must’ve walked around nude, she’d probably find them only constraining and asphyxiating.

Stumped. She had nothing to convince her to join her with. Giving up, she took yet another sip of her bottle. Lord, she’d run the cellar dry at this pace. She needed a break, or she’d break.

One thought snuck in, probably aided by her faint drunkenness. The rat, taken by the hellhound. She couldn’t help but wonder, how did it feel? Glancing at the hellhound now, seeing it stop by the entrance to stretch, she could probably find out. Could she? Curious, she brought her fingers to her mouth and whistled out loud. She had doubts as to whether it’d gain her attention, but it certainly did, for the hellhound lazily turned her gaze to the kikimora while scratching her head.

So many days without rest. So many nights of paranoid watch. She was too exhausted to ponder whether it was right or wrong. Those rats had nothing on her voluptuous figure, anyway. Leaving the bottle aside, she stood up and faced the table, to then lean against it and pull her long skirt up to her waist. Caring not for it to be all out in the open, she left her rear mostly exposed. Her butt, her plump thighs, the stockings which end tightly pressed against the flesh. The rats would look like starved creatures in comparison to her.

The hellhound, however remained still. Though she did not act, she did not turn aside either. What went through her mind, the kikimora did not know. Was she shocked at the sight? Confused? Uncaring, amused at what she was doing? Who knew if the hellhound was about to laugh at the desperate display. What lust was in the kikimora turned into impatient annoyance, bringing her hands to her waist and pulling her panties down enough to expose her pussy to the hellhound, slowly swaying her ass from side to side.

That got the hellhound’s attention – too effectively, much to the kikimora’s shock, seeing her jump to action and rushing full speed on all fours, arriving to the kikimora in hardly a few seconds. She crashed into her, smushing her against the table. Her tail swung from side to side, heavy enough for an audible gust of wind to follow each time.

“Hey there~” Greeted the kiki, but found the hellhound to busy too even process it.

The hellhound pressed her hips against the kikimora, dry humping as if trying to insert it without even the focus to aim it, but soon found something to stick her cock now at full mast into. The kikimora felt its full warmth invading her spaces, though that of her thighs pressed together. The hellhound missed, yet it did not seem too upset, thrusting in and out as if fucking her thighs instead. A certain drunken smugness grew on the kikimora, knowing well that the rats would never be capable of giving the hellhound this.

“My oh my. Here, let me help you out.” She said, bringing one hand down and taking it firmly. It was so hot it seemed burning, pulsating with eager impatientness, twitching on and on dying to enter her. “How big can it be anyway–” She said, guiding it towards her already so terribly wet pussy, but at the moment the tip aligned, the hellhound threw herself forward with a great buck of her hips. That burning cock forced its way in all in one go, hitting depths she had not felt the sensations of. The kikimora had been interrupted, a loud moan finishing her sentence as she lay pressed against the table.

Without any rest of mercy, the hellhound began fucking her at full speed. The force of her hips smacking the kikimora’s ass made the small circular table tilt on its sole footing each time, quickly tipping the bottle of wine which rolled off the edge and fell to the ground.

“Ohhhh~!” Moaned the kikimora, letting no shame stop her from going full volume. She could feel her flesh stretch to accomodate the hellhound’s cock ravaging her, a size so great she felt herself splitting in half. Over and over, her belly subtly bulged out as she took it to the base, feeling the hellhound’s balls touching in each thrust. Her mind had begun going blank, her legs began to lose feeling, and she could do little other than hold onto the table for dear life. “If I…” she gasped, her breath escaping her in so arduous a pounding, “had known you had something this big… I’d have done this– Hah~! On day one! Nngh–!”

She couldn’t tell – nor care – what the hellhound thought. Did she even listen? Probably not, and for good reason. The kikimora’s ass already began aching, the hellhound’s legs giving it all they had. She could not remember well with all the ecstasy overwhelming her, but she could swear she was fucking her even harder than the rat. If she did, if she not, what was there to worry about anyway? The kikimora did not find the performance lacking in any metric – rather, she feared she’d grow addicted to it.

“Haven’t had this good a fucking in years– Hah~! Nnngh… No, not ever! Hah~!!”

She could feel dampness running down her leg. Was it her own fluids, or was it the sweat starting to cover her? She could not tell anymore, as he mind had been fixated on what melted her from within. Such was the force, the sensations, the heat building up, that her clothes felt asphyxiating, cooking her within them. Maybe that’s why the hellhound had no interest in clothes.

it did not take long, before the hellhound broke into a mad humping rhythm, far faster than what the kikimora even believed she’d be capable off. The front of her legs already ached by the pressure against the table, but she did not care, as the frenetic pounding had not reduced her to a panting mess. The sudden surge in tempo almost broke her, drool sneaking out her mouth, panting madly without a coherent word to come out in anything other than moans. Just then, the hellhound took the kikimora by the wrists, firmly pressing them against the table as she bucked over and over, her feral moaning and gasping already turning obvious what would follow. The kikimora, however, had little peace of mind to even see it, as even her eyes had begun rolling back.

Then, the hellhound smashed the kikimora’s ass with her hips in full force, for a thick warmth to flood in. That there broke the kikimora, nearly knocking her unconscious as the ecstasy overloaded her senses, her legs left violently shaking. But, it did not end. As the hellhound bucked again, as another wave of her seed rushed in, the kikimora could feel her walls being stretched. The constant, ever increasing pressure sent her into an orgasming spasm, near continuous, gritting her teeth as she whimpered out in uncontrollable pleasure. Each subsequent thrust of the hellhound had an ever stronger tug of the knot swelling, forcing itself in and out until, at the last ejaculation, it turned too great to come out. As the kikimora lay on the table, exhausted, drooling a smile from ear to ear plastered on her face, she was met with the constant pressure of the hellhound’s sperm trying to drip out of her pussy. But, the knot would not let it. She had been plugged with it.

Whether by exhaustion or pleasant comfort, the hellhound did not even try to pull out. Rather, she eased herself down – or collapsed, almost – over the kikimora, squishing her with her breasts. The two panted on and on, the kikimora’s clothes dampening over the sweat the two built up, either unwilling or unable to do much other than rest.


Peace. Solemn peace, of body and mind. It had been days since she had to chase a rat, and no longer did paranoid thoughts fester in the night. When was the last time she could just sit on the balcony and relax? To just lazily sit on her chair with her shades on, lazily gazing nowhere, enjoying the sun without a worry in mind?

Looking down, she derived a certain joy at the sight. That of the hellhound dragging a rat whose hands dragged on the ground. All the way to the manor’s limits, to then be swung around and thrown over the hedgerow. An amusing sight which forced a snicker out of the kikimora, humorous and catharcic.

It had turned out to be a good deal for both parties, thought the kikimora. The hellhound needed only keep vermin out, and she’d enjoy food, accomodation, and a good bit of fun frequently enough. That the hellhound had completely dropped interest in the rats over her fostered a smug smile out of her.

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