content/commissions/group_2022/Illustration29gggd.png
Crunchy Gryphons
"Jack, no, you can't do this!"
Uttered Maple, his voice managing to sound both imperative and distressed. The slender, orange gryphon and his blue conspecific were stuck under the talons of their comparatively far taller friend, who even sat down on the grassy ground effortlessly towered over them. In fact, the penguin that was currently exerting an uncomfortable amount of control over the two ferals was quite the imposing fellow, reaching just above seven metres in height and two and a half tonnes in weight.
"I thought we were friends!"
Chimed in Torvid, the blue gryphon.
"Oh, yes I can. Who's going to stop me, you?"
Replied Jack, and rather condescendingly so. He was looking down at the two, their heads peeking between two of his black, webbed toes. His knees were bent with arms resting on top of them, soles down flat on the unlucky gryphons and the ground. This alone was enough to cause the two some pressure-related discomfort.
"As a matter of fact, I don't think there's anyone that can help you, right now."
He continued with a chuckle, his icy-blue eyes brimming with self-satisfied, indulgent malice.
"You have one chance to let us go, or els-HRRK"
Maple's desperate attempt at sounding yet again demanding was effortlessly quashed by the bird, who didn't need to do much more than lean forwards a little and put some more weight onto him. Air rushed out of the gryphon's throat and nostrils as his lungs were flattened, the cartilage in his joints and ribcage popping under the pressure. Torvid could only stare impotently as his friend spent the following, long seconds unable to draw breath, eyes barred and lightly bulging from the pressure and beak clacking in a desperate attempt to down even a sliver of air. Only when his struggling and fight for oxygen started to wane did Jack finally let up, allowing the orange feral to fill his lungs with the dusty, leathery scent of the bird's talons.
Despite the thick, leathery soles, the penguin could still very much feel what was going on beneath his paws. The brushing of fur and feather, the racing hearts of his friends, the way Maple's own slowed down as he was temporarily deprived of air paired with the fruitless spasms of his diaphragm. This, paired with the thrill of being able to so leisurely toy with their lives, was enough to get him going.
"Or else, what? Sorry, I didn't quite get you."
Replied the bird. Nobody had anything else to add.
"That's what I thought."
Jack's hands then approached his paws and his victims beneath them, with what looked like some appropriately-sized fishing line. Appropriately sized for him of course, while it might as well have been a steel cable for the two gryphons who could stare right up at his greatly amused captor as he carefully grabbed their arms, forced them around the sides of his paw, and tied the wrists together.
Little would the somewhat incoherent pleas for mercy coming from both Maple and Torvid do to sway the penguin's ideas, no matter how many 'please' and 'I beg you' they could cram into them. Soon, they'd be just where the bird wanted them to be: their head was still stuck between two of his toes, with their entire torso covered by that heavy, leathery sole. The heel was pushing right into their groins, and their legs had been pulled up and tied at the back of Jack's ankle.
"Ah, there we go. Nice and tight."
Said the penguin, commenting on his ropework while testing it out by slowly grinding the two gryphons back and forth into the grass and dirt.
"Wouldn't want you to accidentally slip out from under there. It'd break my heart..."
His attention would then turn away from the well-secured insoles, with one of his hands reaching up to his beak. A subtle gulp was followed by a lump crawling up his throat, then a little ball of saliva-coated feathers would be gently deposited by his long, dexterous tongue into his open palm. A diminutive, white snowy owl, who had spent an unknown amount of time safely stored inside Jack's tight crop. Torvid and Maple would be able to see the penguin allow the candid raptor a few seconds to get his bearings before closing his hand around him, head poking out from the bottom and just his talons sticking out the top.
His blue eyes then fixated briefly on the gryphons, offering them a rather malevolent smile before getting himself up without a warning.
The two immediately quit their begging. Less so because they realised that Jack would not change his mind any time soon and more because their lungs had just been deprived of any singular particle of air. Even if the grass and the recently unpacked dirt beneath them were offering some give, it was nowhere close to being enough to bear over a ton of weight each. Their hipbones and coccyxes were the first to give in under the far less forgiving heel, splitting open with a sound and feel not too distant from how one cracks a chicken's chest for grilling. This allowed their legs to bend slightly more comfortably around said heel if they could manage to ignore the agonising pain of having a vital part of their skeleton turned to splinters and allowing it to sink further into their soft guts.
If the two could manage to focus on the bird above them, they'd likely immediately notice that his black, tapered cock was standing proudly against his immaculate, white feathers. The hand that held Smowl, the little owl, would end up pressed into it, with the front of the raptor unceremoniously pushed and smeared against its underside.
And so, as the two gryphons slowly met their demise underneath the penguin, Jack would slowly rub himself off to it. He enjoyed their anguished expressions, their beaks wide open in a perpetual, silent, completely breathless scream of pain. He enjoyed how their skeletons popped and crackled at every light shifting of his bone-pulverising weight, with their ribs giving in with a sickening ripple of snaps, together with the collarbone. Their shoulder blades required some further convincing, with Jack leaning more heavily on the balls of his foot to achieve the desired result.
With little to no bones in their torso left intact, Jack could finally enjoy the soft, squishy feeling of their mushed insides, the vain struggle of their flattened lungs, and the gargantuan yet slowly fading effort put forth by their hearts to keep pumping blood under so much pressure.
And as the two gryphons neared their excruciatingly slow death, the penguin would stroke himself off to their anguish, making sure to press Smowl's beak against the tip of his shaft moments before the climax. He'd be forced to swallow, his little body growing bloated with whatever he could take before spilling over and out of his throat. Stuffed like a cream-puff, the owl would not be granted time to recuperate before getting slurped up off of Jack's hand by his tongue, then dragged down the deep recesses of his throat.
Spent and possibly satiated, the bird would look around for any most unfortunate onlooker before setting off for a leisurely walk, the crushed bodies of the two gryphons still very securely strapped beneath his soles.
Drawn by Torakuta, Gryphons getting stepped on are Torvid and Maple. Owl stuck to dick is Smowl. Penguin is Jack.
Crunchy Gryphons
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