The Challenge (Patreon)

“You want a drink, huh...” the old cow said in a voice suggesting she’d had one too many cigars in her lifetime. From behind the bar she idly polished a glass as she eyed the little panda in front of her. At half her height, the little thing could barely reach over the counter. “We don’t just let anyone in here, ‘specially newcomers. Kid like you could barely hold down wine, let alone a stiff drink.” She scoffed.

Bastian scowled. He’d been getting that a lot lately. These remote villages and towns were always a little reclusive, which was a nicer way to say ‘assholes.’ This seemed to be the only bar/inn in town, however.

“But...” she pondered out loud. “We got ways of seeing if you’re worth your salt.” With her head, she gestured toward the far corner of the tavern. A large, glass box sat atop a small wooden stage. It could fit a full grown man or two, easily. A round hole was cut into its top, big enough for a person to fit through at first glance. Below it was a metal grate, presumably leading to an area underneath the stage. It had caught Bastian’s eye the moment he entered the room, but his tired mind and body had spent little time wondering about its use. As he stared, he didn’t notice the smiles and chuckling coming from the tavern’s sparse regulars.

“It’s simple,” the bartender continued. “Dump that armor. Dump those pants, and hop in the box.”

Bastian raised an eyebrow. “Is this what you guys do for fun out here,” he sneered. “What’s the catch? What’s it do?” Before he could receive an answer, the stage began to shake. Something pushed its way through one of the large holes in the grate. Bastian had trouble identifying it from a distance, but as slowly made its way toward the top of the box, it became apparent that it was an tentacle of some sort. Long, pink...slimy. At first it stood alone, feeling its way around the insides of the box, but then another emerged, and another, and another. In seconds the box was full of them, writhing and pressing against every inch of the cube.

“Gosh, darnit, Priscilla!” The old cow yelled toward the box. “Didn’t I tell you to wait?!”

The tentacles recoiled for a moment and stopped. A defeated grumble could be heard from underneath the stage.

The bartender sighed. “There goes the surprise...Oh well. Whaddya say, newcomer? Few minutes in the box and I’ll make you something on the house.”

“No fucking way!” Bastian recoiled, the sight of the box making him shudder. “Come on. Can’t you just do me a solid?”

“I ain’t got a problem letting you walk, kid. But it’s getting dark out there and lemme ya, if you’re lookin’ for a place to stay, your best bet is right here. Tell you what. Stay an extra minute in the box, I’ll even let you rest for free. Been a little borin’ round here, and the regulars could use some entertainment.” She motioned toward the remaining bar patrons, many of them looking on with interest at the prospect of some much needed entertainment.

Bastian winced at the thought. He had begun to sweat, knowing the old cow was entirely right about his lodging situation. He stared at the box, mulling over his options. Besides ‘leave,’ there didn’t seem to be any. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this had happened, but…

The old cow huffed. “Guess I shoulda expected as much. You out-of-towners are as yellow as they come.

“H-hey! I’m no chicken! I just, uh…”

“Heard it all before, kid. But don’t you worry about it one bit. We can’t all be brave. Head on home with your pride. We won’t tell no one.” Still staring at the box, Bastian hadn’t noticed the old bartender’s smirk.

“I said I wasn’t scared!” Bastian slammed the counter of the bar. With little hesitation, he removed his breastplate, his gauntlets, all of his protection, and threw them to the floor. Chicken? No way! He’d plowed scarier monsters on the trek here! This would be a cakewalk...easy. “Yeah, easy…”

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Well, there it is. Took all fucking day to ink and color, plus the other days for all the sketching. My god. Comics are SO not worth the time. Glad I got it out of the way though. It's an idea I've had for a long time. Exemplary of my horniness. Poor Bastian. He's so easy to manipulate.