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A battle against the Margrave was no battle at all. Her expert tactics were dizzying. Something about the methods she used always had the armchair generals pissing and moaning that the enemy should have foreseen her telegraphed moves. Of course they’d said such, though, she was well-versed in historical texts and drew inspiration from them often. They pointed and gawked at those shamed soldiers returning from the field. ‘Why didn’t you read up on your history?! You’d have had those hounds running for the hills if you had just…’

The grey, old historian had the luxury of calling her maneuvers basic. He, who had never drawn a sword nor stepped on the battlefield. He, who was buried nose-deep to ratty old parchments, and never had his face in the mud. These people could debate the facts afterward. Those on the field had the real task of contending with her in the heat of battle.

Her army’s naturally superior. Her preposterous knowledge of the enemy's home. Her singular use of terrain and advantage in range from weather to time of day. How could one compete against all that? In truth, she never took a battle she wasn't ready for, and this helped grow her legend. If she, or her army, wasn't ready for the task, they fled the field. Who knows what heat she got from her higher-ups, ceding territory now and then. Sometimes even for weeks. Yet still this fact was brushed over in the face of her many victories.

Each time such transgressions she was forced to let slide were revenged tenfold. And never was a civilian allowed to suffer from her retreat. Her internal rule of retreat and patience did not sacrifice the unarmed populace under her watch. This made her a particular favorite among those in her home. Those with wits tried to maneuver her into positions in which she'd be forced to defend such targets from assault. And, these were the closest she was brought to defeat.

Extreme loyalty among the number of her troops, and their seasoned experience, helped her edge out a win when other factors were disfavorable. To the aggressor this was but another battle. To her and her men, this was not only a potential stain on her career but so too the lives and well-being of smallfolk.

Nevertheless, her career was nearly void of loss, embarrassment, or retreat not purposefully taken.

All this taken into account, how could Corbin not be grasping at the reins of his horse in worry? How could he be blamed for tying his stallion's leather cording around his palm again and again? Watching, and waiting, as the mists covered the scenery before him. Even his commanding officer looked uncertain. This was a nightmare of an assignment, set here guarding a small nook of territory. It had been carved from the border of Keiferhetzen last summer and submitted by the Margrave to her human neighbors with minimal bloodshed. Gods know why Corbin's king wanted this mucky, rainy bit of hill and pasture. And Gods damn him for putting me within the grasp of the Margrave, the dragoon thought.

Would Pa be proud, seeing Corbin atop his stallion and waiting to flank those damn dogs? Or would he be hooting and hollering to turn tail and run? Go find that nice girl with the freckles on her tits and try to forget his duty to the service? You're only a deserter if they remember you, Corbin told himself. Imaging again and again, as some ward against the cold morning air, the warmth of a life in the countryside with freckle-tits.

Corbin could feel the stallion beneath him pick at the ground with his horseshoe. "Yeah, boy, it's a bad day to be hitting hoof to earth," he whispered to his mount. The stallion's ear twitched and turned his head to his rider. His large, glassy black eye, lidded with lashes seemed sad. Maybe Corbin was just projecting, but the look made him uneasy.

Before he or his stallion could spend any more time worrying, a horn was blown in the distance. At this very moment, the human's main columns had entangled with the canines.

Corbin flinched at its coming, knowing what was next. He couldn’t be sure if it was minutes or seconds, but the whistle was blown for him and his dragoons. The call to action for a flanking move that should do something to throw the enemy into disorder. Perhaps it would have worked. If the Margrave and her personal cadre weren't on that left wing themselves.

Corbin's unit lanced headfirst into some of the most competent warriors north of the Wultrus River. The smell of earth, iron, and blood was heavy in the air. The screams of the horses, the snarls of the hounds, it was disorienting. Corbin tried to keep his wits about him, and his stallion under control.

With swings of his saber, he opened up the shoulders and bellies of the lupine infantry, sending spurts of blood and tufts of fur into the air. Through the mist and mire, he noticed a tall, heavily armored, thin figure standing right in his way. Corbin, cutting through the others, made to roll them over with his horse.

Deftly, the hulk of iron that was this warrior in his sights moved aside and hacked the stallion's foreleg off. The sudden maiming sent Corbin to the dirt, ejected from the saddle. His chin and cheek ached most immediately, and a brain-knocking pain pulsed at his temples. There was no time for wound licking, he needed to get to his feet or he'd be dead.

Staggering, pulling himself together, he nearly lost an arm at the wide swipe of his assailant. The air hung still, adrenaline in his veins pulling time to a slow like a stretch of rubber.

His sword wouldn't do, so Corbin made no wasteful moves to draw it from his belt. He dove for his screaming stallion, the poor thing thrashing about. Wrestled free from the leather reins, Corbin got his spear loose only a second too late. Just as the armored figure came down on him with their blade.

It was then he noticed the slight bulge of her breastplate, the high and pointed metal ear covers, and their perforations for hearing. Not to mention the ornate designs laid to the metal. Equally as shaking as the blow she made to his spear and bicep was the reality that Corbin was facing down the Margrave.

The bone-rattling strike to his off-hand had Corbin on the back foot, his spear's length the only thing keeping the Margrave from killing him. Superior speed cut its teeth against superior reach. Her weapon clattered and clashed with his, and Corbin missed what scant chances he had to wound her due to his injury.

She grew bored of toying with this one and sought a decisive blow. With the mud sucking at Corbin's boots, the Margrave leaped up at his next sluggish thrust and landed her footpaws down on the spear's shaft, driving it to the dirt and Corbin with it. Then, with a solid blow to his skull, he was out like a light.

---

The cell in which Corbin was placed had few comforts. It was a cell, though, that was something. He was alive - if alone, and wounded. The rank stink of torture's profits hung in the musty air around him. Grey shafts of light poked their fingers in from a few open bars far above his head.

His left hand was shackled to a point on the wall, the metal of the manacle chafed his skin. Just as he figured, his left bicep was bruised badly. His armor had done its part to dull the damage. His head rang with the strike to his dome that had blacked him out. He couldn't do much but hang his head while trying to stay sitting up.

Hunger and thirst came to him, but he had only to languish for a few hours in contemplation. By the light, he supposed it was early evening or late afternoon, bringing a chill and the appearance of the Margrave.

Entering abruptly and flanked by a guard, or perhaps the warden, she stood in a partial battle kit smeared with blood. Her helmet was held under her arm, her ears as slim and pointed as their metallic representations. Her snout seemed regal and authoritative as well as a bit aloof.

"Have you served as a page or squire?" Her voice was as stiff and rigid as her posture.

Corbin tried to raise his head to meet her gaze fully, his head throbbing. "I'm sorry?" he managed, his voice cracking dryly.

"You are sorry for what?"

"I don't understand."

"Are you slow?"

Corbin shakes his head, a rumble of pain coming from him as he does. "I've been both, to a knight, yes."

"Serve as my page or be executed."

"What?"

She tapped her footpaw on the stones, her nails clacking. "I am not repeating myself."

Corbin's mind swirled. Some joke? Some idiocy? Serve or be killed, who asks such a thing, and why him? But, even in his disorientation, his dry lips parted. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I will, will do that."

She turned to the attendant, "unshackle him, wash him, and present him to my chambers."

And so he was, like a pet going to the groomers. Handlers spoke little to him, and given his injuries, he had little to say. Corbin thought for a moment that he should be angry, that his enemies had him in their hands. The enemy that killed his friends.

Or was the enemy the king he ‘served’. The king that was giving Corbin a pitiful wage to die and serve for the interest of his coffer. The same lordly, mighty individual who saw fit to harass his neighbors that his father had treaties with. The despot that demanded Corbin and his friends throw themselves against beastmen who were otherwise all too content to focus on the shared threat in Elsteron.

He had plenty of time to think on this as a healer saw to his wounds and his concussion. In the coming days, he'd rest, and be given his new orders. A prisoner still, though now one working on all the secretarial needs of his captors' commanding officer.

---

The canines of Keiferhetzen were renowned even among their kind for possessing stamina and speed beyond the normal. Corbin came to learn that their rigorous, daily training was the cause. The trials of physical training were drilled into soldiers to some degree among the human kingdoms. Formations, usage of their weapons, mostly. Nothing at all compared to the Margrave's unit.

Corbin met with stunned silence seeing that even a common footman in her unit could lift and push a boulder nearly of his own size, some unknown weight that he couldn't even begin to conceive of. Apparently, even on march, time and energy were dedicated to the physical maintenance of this strength. Corbin could hardly think of forcing the men in his band to do that.

Once tents were set up and the campfires lit for the human armies, that was it. It was food, a bit of alcohol, and rest. However, even after marching in kit and formation, these dogs still keep up with their routines. The positive effects were clear, after all, Corbin was now a captive of theirs. And, the humans were in a rout.

The Margrave's body was as perfect as her tactical acumen. Her tight, sleek coat was trim to the muscles of her body. As her 'page', of sorts, Corbin saw and participated in her entire personal routine. Secluded from her unit, the Margrave had her own area to lift in the fort to exert herself.

Her voice, just like when she initially questioned Corbin, was always curt and pointed and direct. She said something once. And if Corbin didn't get it, she forced it on him. When he mishandled the halteres in a motion, she descended on him like a bat swooping a bug.

"No, no. You will strain yourself. The form must be perfect or there will be injury," she barked. She'd not make eye contact, but she'd adjust his body with her hands. Poking, prodding, and holding his muscles until he was right. Then with a grunt, she was off to her own set again.

The feeling of her draped around him made an odd sensation in his chest. She was oddly attractive, bestial, yes but her femininity showed through even with the musculature and abrasive words. The guidance was somewhat welcoming. It was the only warmth he could get, the others in her army were loathe to speak to him. Many considered him and his sort weak and useless.

Corbin caught himself between rests staring at her. The sweat on her coat, the twitch of her ears as she struggled through the last few repetitions of a movement. Her bicep curled up, tightening, then relaxing. The tensing of her thighs and splaying of her paws as she lifted a barbell over her head with a muffled huff.

She was aware of his gaze, of course, and always cast a cutting glare back to him. 'Back to work', that stare meant. As she said, her page must be as fit as her. No exceptions.

As the days and weeks carried on what little weight Corbin had melted, and with a superior diet, he began to grow in mass. Looking down at himself in the morning was a surprise each time, seeing just how the Margrave had molded his body into a tightened coil of muscles. A mirror of her own. Though lacking in the fur and claws.

In one such workout session, Corbin stared a little too long. The Margrave was resting between sets, sweaty and slick with a glistening and lovely sheen of effort. Perspiration rolled down the dragoon's own forehead from his exertions. But part of that was from the barely contained excitement.

Even Corbin's indelicate nose could detect the potent, pheromonal musk the Margrave gave off. She seemed to be in some kind of heat, all the female officers were. They could relieve themselves with each other and the men, of course, but no one could afford getting knocked up. This meant no tying, and according to the grumbling of the soldiers on both ends, it just didn't scratch the same itch.

Thinking of it, Corbin didn't find the concept of pulling out just before cumming very worthwhile. He wasn't sure how he found the concept of pounding the Margrave, sitting there, staring at him with her legs spread a bit on the bench. Glowering at him, her long muzzle and cropped, pointed ears high and attentive. The scent was delicious, and something about it made the blood in his veins run hot.

Earthy, sweaty, dense. A scent that marked the Margrave as her, and that she was incredibly fertile, and trembling with need to be pumped with pups. A litter would put her out of commission, so all she can do is sit and stare at her page. Her page, which she's spent weeks training now. Her page, who could fuck her as much as she demanded with no repercussions.

Corbin felt like a hare, under her sharp gaze. But the idea had him short of breath. Surely she wouldn't lower herself to that. Even if Corbin could smell how wet she was from across the room.

"Page, closer." She curled a nail at him, beckoning him forward, breathing heavily. Either from exertion or not. Corbin approached, and she laid her hand to his shoulder, applying pressure, bidding him to kneel between her thighs.

They were slick with sweat and heady with that serene scent. Corbin felt no need to resist, especially with that domineering smirk she was giving him. She held the back of his neck, did she want him closer?

His question was answered when she pulled him forward, right before the undergarments she had. "Have you serviced a woman with your tongue before, Corbin?"

He had, and so he nodded, words weren't coming to him, just a desire to draw in her scent and be beneath her.

"We shall see if you're prepared to take on more significant duties, such as those. I will be bathed. Present yourself in my chambers clean. And wear something comfortable."

He went to stand, though her hand forbade it. She compelled him forward. There was an odd lust that lay in the Margrave's eyes. Had the heat of his breath and the sight of him kneeling made her as weak as her scent made him? "Kiss it goodbye."

He stared right at it. The bulge in her garments, the pointed, cushy, puffy labia of her bestial pussy. A dog's cunt, foreign and animalistic compared to the features of his race's counterpart. Corbin wondered briefly what it would feel like to pound himself against that puffy padding of her pussy. There was little time for fantasy now, had had a command to execute.

He put his hands to her thighs and pressed his mouth forward, kissing the impression of her labia. He throbbed against his garments, and he desperately wanted to pounce atop her and fuck her against the bench she was sitting on. But, she wouldn't let him. He was lifted up by his arm, and she closed her legs, sweeping them over the sides to stand and leave.

He had his orders, and complied. Few in the fort paid Corbin any mind, and what little they did was usually negative. An odd position, he held. He arguably had access to better facilities than the rest, but none of the liberties. A quick, chilly wash got him back to a clean state. Some attendants insisted that he was fully shaven aside from the hair atop his head, and given they took their orders directly from the Margrave, he couldn't decline. After a change of clothes, he loitered in her chambers.

Her room was stately, to say the least. Illuminated by moody candles and magical light, it gave a sleepy and intimate feeling to the room. Its adornments were far nicer than Corbin had ever owned or been near. The bed alone, with its expensive and ornate frame, surely was worth more than a few years of his wages.

Red quilts laid atop sheets that looked softer than anything he'd laid on for the past few years. Not to mention these past few weeks in an awful cot.

It was hard to sit still, Corbin hadn't been with a woman for a long while, and now the Margrave was asking for his head between her legs. The very idea got his blood pumping. It was only enhanced by their history. They'd crossed blades, she'd won out, and taken him captive. A bit morbid, he thought, but exciting too. He’d been at her annoying beck and call for weeks. Weeks of frustrating trivialities.

He hadn't expected how she'd look when entering her chambers shortly after his arrival. Upset. "That will not do. Disrobe."

Corbin hardly had time to consider the clothing draped over her arm, as she snapped her fingers - a signal to hurry up. And, he does, why wouldn't he? Best not fuck things up right at the finishing line.

Once nude, he did little to hide his modesty. She looked at his cock, stirring with just the most minor of excitement, and smirked. But she turned away, leaving him standing there until she was done rummaging in her closet.

It was with undue self-satisfaction that she presented Corbin with a white lace set of woman's lingerie. Corbin had seen courtesans in such garments, tailored to suit their curves and womanly features. His heart was already accelerating with the very thought of the Margrave in such a lewd outfit. Surely that white would stand out well against the blacks of her fur.

Before he could get too excited, she threw it on the bed. Toward him, and spoke. "Put this on."

Corbin exchanged a long stare with her. Not saying no, but confused. Very confused. He was meant to dress himself? What joke was this? He was ill-suited to that sort of clothing, surely!

The Margrave thought differently and didn't back down an inch. She delighted in the clash of masculine and feminine, and seeing a lithe, hardy frame like Corbin's dressed up in girlish lingerie riled her up. Doubly so at the notion of riding him like a hobby horse while he was dressed that way.

With a rough hand, she shoved him to the bed, Corbin nearly falling over onto the quilts. She knelt, but given her stature and presence, she absolutely didn't feel lacking in control. With surprising delicacy, she curled up one of the stockings into a small bundle, then unfolded them up Corbin's freshly shaven leg.

The gentle feeling was terribly enthralling, and with the smooth sensation of bare skin meeting this expensive material, it was giving Corbin shivers. The Margrave's expression didn't verge passed a vaguely stiff austerity of superiority. Corbin made no effort to hide his arousal as she continued.

Up next was a belt of sorts, a garter belt. The Margrave slide it up his legs and butt, squeezing a cheek and spreading his ass slightly. His cock bobbed just an inch from her face as she knelt and affixed this garter belt to his stockings.

Over his head, now, came a corset of sorts. It was entirely ornamental, serving no purpose for deducting from his waist. This white material was thicker than the stockings and garter, which was a thin sort of lace. It felt equally as silky, of course, and when the strings were pulled tight on his back he exhaled a wheeze.

The gloves he could put on himself, fingerless and strangely laced objects that rode up to the elbow. Looking down at himself, for the second he could, Corbin stood from the bed beside his captor and observed in some legitimate awe.

It was extremely fascinating and arousing in a guilty way to be dressed up like this. There was an intense feeling in Corbin, anchoring him down from his chest, a feeling of submission and giving in. And all the pleasures that could bring if he just gave in further.

"The panties, page," the Margrave insisted, the final item dangling from the claw of her index finger. Corbin nodded and took them to his hand. He'd peeled many similar pairs of women before bedding them. And now, looking up at the massive canine before him, he would be made into her woman.

The dragoon slid them up himself, but couldn't pull them fully up on account of his bobbing erection. She licked her lips as she drank in the sight of the panties clutching to his hips and butt. A butt she’d help tone these past weeks. She took it to her hand, for the first time, grasping at his cock. And with no ceremony or special circumstance, stroked it a few times.

"Are you proficient with your tongue, boy?"

Corbin smirked and, without getting too ahead of himself, opened his mouth to answer in the affirmative. But merely opening his mouth was enough for the needy Margrave, for she palmed it like a melon and nudged him to his knees beside the bed, while she sat in the spot she'd dressed him in.

"You'll service my nethers with your mouth, and in exchange, you may hump yourself against my paws for a while. But do not orgasm until you're told."

The surprise on Corbin's face she waved off and snarled to cow him. She tapped between her legs with his finger, putting her legs up to peel off her panties and finally reveal her cookie.

Like the rest of the Dobermann, it was of a deep and dark shade of black, the muddy, earthy shades of her tummy feeding into the onyx between her legs. It looked absolutely delicious, not to mention the heady, lovely girl-stink of her pussy. Corbin was drawn up close to it between her muscular thighs, one of her legs laying across his shoulder, the other going between his legs.

She bounced his balls on her paw, gently teasing them as she observed him gawking at her snatch. Slick and glistening with the arousal of heat and seeing Corbin in this state.

The dragoon felt his breathing and heartbeat reach a fever pitch as he drew in her delicious scents and dove his face forward with abandon. He wanted to leap atop her and rut her, that was certainly what all her pheromones were telling his body to do. But dressed like a courtesan from a whorehouse, on his knees, thrusting up at her shin... it just didn't feel right to do without permission.

And so he ate his conquerer's cunt. Feasting upon her lupine twat with fervency. Little technique, in truth, but rather pure musk-addled worship. His lacy, gloved hands clutched at her thighs and sent a purr rumbling from her throat. The pale of his grasp matched well against her dark fur.

Seeing his finger clench into her thighs made her tense them, letting him feel the strength and ferocity of her legs. The same muscles that provided the speed which had won the day against the human dragoon. And now he was tongue-kissing her pussy as her new cunt-licking dress-up doll.

She appreciated his flagrantly tactless slurping and snarled in pleasured dominion over him at the feel of his cock thrusting up against her paw. She played with his hair with one hand, and guided his head with the other, grinding her pussy against his lips and nose with forward humps.

The flavor was surprisingly familiar to Corbin, just denser and thicker than any human female. It clung to his tongue, a musky tang of superiority that laid its scent and flavor to him as if to mark him as a piece of subservient property. He thrust faster at the soft pads of her paw with more intensity when realized he'd just been labeled as the Margrave's pussy-eating bitch to all the other canines.

Just as he's looking up at her in a daze, the Margrave puts a hand between her legs and began rubbing her clit in a circular motion, leaving her lower parts for Corbin to suckle on while she brought herself to a grunting, howling orgasm across his face and neck.

A hot splatter of girlcum from her cookie squirted across his features, making him rasp with the efforts of keeping his head above water as it were. She got over the initial shock of her orgasm fairly quick, only to stand slightly, leaving his cock on its lonesome as she plapped her cookie down against his face a few times.

The musky scent of her heat-suffering pussy was so intoxicating, Corbin thought the intense stimulus of it might be enough to make him cum against the floor.

But, then she withdrew.

"Good," she said without pomp, only that slightly winded hint to her voice. This brought Corbin particular satisfaction. "Very good. You'll be made to wear clothes like these under your uniform any time you are not engaging in physical training. I will select them for you in the morning."

His head spun, mostly from the fresh air he was finally being given access too. He could do little else but blink up at her as she stared down at him, huskily describing his new place. He got the sense he’d be getting very little sleep…