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Day 156

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I spotted the orc first and started the war dance, to begin the hunt.

“Squeak!” I shouted in my manly bass voice. Back-flipping into the air like a little green Jedi, I began a short routine of acrobatic flips and cartwheels. The orc stared for a moment, mesmerized by my awesomeness.

Then the pain distracted him.

I continued to dance as my daughters began to jump on him and twist away chunks of flesh. By the time I was done with my dance, the orc had stopped twitching. Smashing a rock on the back of his skull cracked it open like an egg. I bent down and began to feed.

“Eat this” I used my hands to parcel bits out to my favored bitches. Morticia got the largest share of the brain as she pushed the other girls away from their own. I could only rub my hands together and chuckle.

Grow my minions!

We headed home with a headless orc in tow. We dragged him half a mile back to the burrow. Dirt was constantly being tossed out of the burrows front opening. I had gotten the instructions through to dig into my 'unenthusiastic' daughter's thick skulls. They were growing faster at digging as more rooms and air-holes were dug.

Stoats weren't that bad at digging once they get some practice in.

I had them open the entrance to the main chamber larger, as to bring the orc in with us. I would stack rocks there tomorrow to close the gap.

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Day 157

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“Hmm” I swatted at Bluescreen. “M sleepin”

“Fuck off man!” I swatted again and chittered several curses.

I was surprised to see an addition to my race upon awakening. I raped her to remind the new stoatling whos' boss. Morticia squealed like the dying orc as I pounded in and out of her. She was nearly my size, pure white(winter coat) with a black tail.

I preferred the new stoatling's pussy more than the stoats, as I could fit all the way in without her squeaking in agony like all the others.

All of a sudden a growl started from the entrance of the burrow. The sound was unmistakable. A race of demons who refused to accept stoat domination. The wolves.

“What fucking timing” I chittered as I filled my newly evolved daughter's snatch with baby-paste.

“Out the escape tunnel!” I squealed loudly.

We began to flee the main chamber, like rats from a sinking ship. We fled into side tunnels in every direction. The back entrance led to another burrow. We couldn't fight a wolf pack head on.

I could hear Mother and Milks squeals cutting off abruptly as I ran. I could only imagine the fate of my young hairless and blind kits. I felt tears stinging the corner of my eyes.

I would miss them. My little baby stoats.

I really liked those young snatches...

“I'll get you for this, you fuckers!” I chittered hollowly.

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Day 158

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The survivors of my group numbered 19. All were pregnant, or soon to be and some would need to stay near a burrow for safety. They were all part of what I've come to call the domesticated group. They understood orders better than the others, had silkier fur, and, were smarter. Morticia was beginning to bulge with young stoatlings.

I took all 19 daughters with me across the grassland. All ten miles of it. A single mile as a stoatling felt like what 20 miles did as a human. It took us two days. One of my daughters gave birth on the way, but I ate the younglings, rather than wait in the grassland.

Once we were in the forest, the food was different. I ate a two tailed fox. It was the size of a large dog, but stringy and not juicy like dog. There were feral pigs that were the best tasting of all the meats I've tasted so far.

I made home in the den of a two tailed fox and get to digging. I make two escape tunnels and pad the floor with soft fox kit pelts.

I stack rocks to block up the entrance to the den. You'd need thumbs to open or close off the main entrance.

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Day 168

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Morticia gave birth on the same day as a blizzard blocked us into the den. Hers was the fourth new litter to be born, but the first litter of stoatlings to have been born. All my other kits were were born as stoats.

I left the two male stoatlings alive, and let them rest and suckle with their 12 stoat and 4 stoatling sisters. They were all so impossibly small and pink. They were all trying to reach the middle of their nest to the warmest space between their siblings.

I spent my time planning revenge. I gutted my bone spear and carved out the insides slowly with wooden sticks. I rubbed dirt into the bone until it was smooth. I'd fashioned a primitive blowgun. I began making little needle-like darts.

I ground out knifes with rocks from the boar bones discarded in the burrow's corners. I ended up with three decent blowguns and twelve knives by the time the first blizzard of the winter's snow melted. Morticia helped once she understood the concept of stabbing instead of biting.

She started making little bone needle-darts whenever she had the time once she saw how much it pleased me.

Domesticated indeed!

The I chewed a little belt out of deer's skin and wore two little bone knives tucked into the belt at my waist. Morticia did the same.

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Day 200

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“Nice” I chittered as I tried out my oldest natural-born stoatling daughter's tight virgin pussy. I relished the feeling as I jerked her squealing, hairless, and , pink body up and down over my groin. “Welcome to the tribe” I slapped her ass.

After finishing with the last girl stoatlings, I moved over to the boy stoatlings. I picked the first one up and dropped him on my lap. He squealed like his sisters as my cock began to fill him. I'll be damned if there is a dominant male anywhere near my nest.

An animal need to assert dominance filled me.

I fucked his brother up his tight little ass too.

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Day 220

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Winter seemed to be coming to an end. My white hairs began to fall off, only to be replaced with pitch black fur. I had an abundant pack of hunters now. Thirty hunter stoats, seven stoatling hunters, and four milkers that stayed willingly.

The new milkers were of the 'Domesticated' breed of stoat and seemed happy, if not prideful to be constantly fed choice meats and suckled from. They birthed double the young my other hunters did.

I started with separating my stoatlings and stoats from each-other while hunting. I gave command of the hunter stoats to two different daughters 'Day' and 'Night'. They were twin brown stoats. With a pack of fifteen each, Day and Night took turns hunting and guarding the nesting grounds. They hunted for vole, rats, pigs, deer, and rabbits.

For the stoatlings...

They and I perfected a new form of hunting.

It began after One of my daughters had died of convulsions the year before. After eating a small frog, she had immediately dropped dead to the ground, the chewed frog falling from her mouth. I had begun planning the blowguns then and there.

As soon as the first batch of frog spawn hopped out of the unfrozen river, we were upon them. After spearing them, we soaked our darts in the frog's bodily juices. If the poison was on the skin, it should still work, pulped in with the rest of the little frogs' bodies.

I noticed thousands of large eggs growing in the river., guarded by these little poison frogs.

I told Adam and Cain, my stoatling sons, to investigate whose eggs these were. I told them to stay and watch who came to tend to the eggs.

Stoatlings, unlike stoats, are smart enough to understand what I want but are still too stupid for complete sentences and intelligent conversation. Even goblins are smarter than stoats. What stoatlings did come with are some very pliable infant minds at first, followed by a very quickly honed hunter's instincts.

We honed our new skills with practice.

Day 230

Only Cain returned alive and told me Adam had tried to escape. He brought me Adam's head as proof. I chuckled at his thin lies and asked him about the eggs. “No idea whose eggs those were, but some frogmen came and let more of those poison frogs out of boxes.”

I blinked. “Frog men?”

“Yes, so we can go get more poison, Father.” Cain seemed to rub his hands together.

I buried my bone knife to the hilt in his ear before he could blink.

Idiot.

It was early morning as the bullywugs came to the river to drink. There was a small tribe of them. Numbering a few dozen. They were manageable. Their thousands of eggs however?

There were only seven of us.

I had us all covered in mud, rolled in twigs, and dotted with grasses plastered on with more mud. Four daughters and I hid in the trees above the spot where the bullywugs came to drink. Three of my daughters hid in the tall grasses across the riverbanks.

As the bullywugs crowded together, I let loose the first dart. A bullywug snatched the dart out of his behind and dropped to the ground, in quick succession. More darts came down. Silent and deadly, the stoat tools of death whispered. It only took seconds, before the ambush was over.

“No eating this meat!” No one argued when I said “Its tainted!”

Thousands of eggs were ours.

I had the stoatlings begin transporting the eggs immediately.