The Enemy Within
Sequel to Unseen, Unheard, Unknown. You don't need to read it first, but if you like the looks of this one, you'll probably like it too!
Warning: This story contains extreme content. Check the tags before reading.
The black pantheress couldn't see where she was going, but Vicky had some idea. The wolves had caught her on her scouting expedition, and she'd had no option to escape or effectively fight back, as effectively 'incapacitated' as she was by a feral wolf that, as it turned out, was actually a trained guard dog. Before the feral's knot had started to shrink, his two anthro handlers had already stripped her and then gagged and blindfolded her with scraps of her own clothing.
She hadn't just laid back and taken it... but her attempts to fight had been ineffective, earning her little more than a swift boot to her side. She had stopped struggling at that point. She knew she couldn't get away, and she knew the wolves took all their captives as slaves. Maybe if she cooperated, she could get a less onerous post. If one had to be a slave, better a house slave than sent to the mines. Her biggest regret is that she wouldn't be able to let the commander know of the pending invasion. How many comrades were soon to join her because of her failure?
So now she was slung over one wolf's shoulder. Her head was against his back, hands tied together, and both ankles held by one massive paw. The insides of her thighs were covered in the feral's copious seed, and she was being held such that her stained womanhood was on display to every passing soldier. She couldn't see them, but she could hear them, their calls, their whistles. Every one would probably like a turn at her... and for all she knew, that may very well happen.
After a few minutes of being marched through the camp, she hears the sound of hammering and clashing metal - not practice, probably a smithy. She is lifted and then thrown haphazardly to the ground, landing on her shoulder with a wince and curling into a ball, as the wolf who had caught her starts speaking. "Vance, got any of the good training collars ready? Caught myself a feisty one here, and she needs taught her place."
She hears footsteps approach and then stop behind her, then a paw rub along her neck. A coarse but obviously wolfish voice responds. "Caught another little beauty, did you Rickard? We're low on chokers and spiked collars right now, had more surrenders at our last assault than expected. Gonna have to take a plain steel band. Unless... well, I've got something special. Bears are feisty, so they made a special collar to deal with them. I've got a few, just in case we come across any mercenaries, and I could make one of the smaller ones fit. I've been curious to see what they'd do to a feline. I can't just be handing this stuff out, but... I'm busy now, but one of these nights, give me a turn with the new cat and the vixen?"
Her new owner - Rickard, apparently - lets out a deep laugh. "OK, I have to see this. If it's really that good... hell, maybe we could come to a standing arrangement in case you get even more toys. Lets do it."
Vicky lays there for a few minutes, the footsteps first going away, then returning before a hand grabs her by the scruff of her neck, effortlessly lifting her into the air like a kitten. She is hauled across the ground, then her face is smashed into a cold, hard surface. Finally, the blindfold is removed, revealing her resting place to be a large anvil. "Hard to see once it's attached", the coarse voice says. "Best to let them see it with their own eyes, know how hopeless it is."
A wolf's hand, heavily scarred by burns, waves a metal ring in front of her face. As she looks more closely, Vicky sees it is no simple slave collar. There is of course the normal hinged ring of steel, with a hole into which to insert a padlock, but there is also a large box attached to the side. From the box extends a thick leather leash that runs back behind her head, apparently held by Rickard. The inside is ringed with leather, but a couple dozen blunt metal pins protrude through the leather, positioned such that a number should make contact with her skin at any time. "This, kitten, is to be your life." She hears a click behind her, and then the scarred hand taps two of the metal probes against the anvil. There's a sharp crack! as a sparks jump between the probe and the anvil, like little bolts of lightning. The pantheress starts at the sound, eyes wide as saucers, although she is unable to move away due to the giant hand pinning her down.
Both wolves laugh as Vance slips the collar around her neck. She feels a searing heat behind her, and realizes they're not going to padlock it on - he's inserting a red-hot pin into the clasp, intending to make the collar a permanent fixture. Several deafening hammer blows later, and it's done. Nothing short of a blacksmith and several hours of work will remove the collar, at least without taking her head off in the process.
She gets paraded back through the camp, but this time on her own two feet, her new owner hauling her along by the leash. After the display of what the collar could do, she follows him closely and precisely, and soon arrives at a tent nearer the edge of the camp. The wolf looks at his hand with a bit of disappointment; at the end of the collar is a small box, apparently the means by which the wolf could control the little lightning bolts, and it seems he wished for the opportunity to use it during the trip. He finally shrugs, stepping behind her. He cuts the cloth binding her arms and muzzle, then shoves her through the flap into the tent.
Vicky stumbles and falls, ending up on her face in the tent. The hides lining the floor of the tent smell of cum, and fear, and blood, and... fox? Vance had mentioned a vixen. She turns to the side and sees she and the wolf are not alone - there is a bedraggled looking red vixen in the corner, eyes closed and curled up in the fetal position. Her fur is a mess - it does not appear to have been taken care of in months and sticks out in every direction; there's also signs of cuts and burns in various places across her body. She wears a collar as well, but of a different design - instead of a solid ring, this one is made up of many small segments, each one of which has a dull point extending inward.
Rickard steps in after her. "Ok, new meat, on your knees, we've got some rules here. As you can see, the fox bitch isn't good at following them." The vixen curls a little tighter; the shine of a tear starts forming in the corner of her closed eye, but she does not otherwise move or look up. "Her name is Cunt. You haven't earned a name yet... and don't try to tell me you already have one. The sooner you forget about that, the better. I am Master, or Sir."
Getting on her knees as commanded, Vicky listens to Rickard's... Master's... rules with a growing sense of trepidation. She keeps her gaze down, but her eyes keep twitching over to the vixen, who seems to have started shaking the longer Master goes on.
"Second, my word is law. Doesn't matter what I tell you, because if you refuse, the punishment will be worse. Third, no talking to anyone without my permission. Not to me, not to her, don't even talk to yourself. In fact, I think Cunt is overdue a punishment from earlier today on that one, and you could stand an object lesson. Little bitch thought she could talk back to me. Watch carefully, new meat. You look away, and you'll have to feel it instead of watching it." He pulls a key from under his armor and opens a lockbox in the back of the tent, then extracts a two foot long riding crop. The end has a faint sheen of blood, as if well used.
The vixen finally reacts when she hears the click of the box opening. Eyes opening, she sits up and scrambles back, although she can't get far before a chain arrests her movement. She is looking at the wolf in stark fear. "Good, you're finally paying attention. Present yourself for punishment, Cunt, or it will be that much worse."
The vixen shakes her head, then with a faint voice, responds. "Nnn..no... no more... can't take any more..." She crosses her arms across her breasts, which are already heavily marked from the wolf's frequent abuses.
Master shakes his head in disappointment. "You think a little bitch is finally starting to learn something, then they have to pull a stunt like this." He steps forward and brings the riding crop down, leaving a welt across the back of one of her guarding hands. "I did NOT..." another swipe, to her side. "Say..." a third, across her muzzle. "YOU COULD SPEAK!" He drops the crop and kicks her, the vixen collapsing to her side and bawling from the pain. "Worthless piece of trash... you, grab her ankles and hold her legs open."
As ordered, Vicky has watched the whole thing, but she hesitates. Watching is one thing, but participating? Her resolve immediately crumbles after the wolf levels a glare at her. Make the best of a bad situation, she can at least stay on Master's good side. She crawls forward and grabs the vixen by the ankles. The fox kicks at her, but she is weak and able to do little. Getting up closer, the pantheress is able to see that the vixen's collar has two chains attached, each running to a tent peg - one the center of the tent, and another the back corner in which she had been cowering. The chains are short enough that the fox would have very little room to move... and not enough slack to wrap the chain around her own neck and end her captivity.
Crawling backward, the cat pulls the fox's legs straight, then splays them wide; the rest of the vixen's body is kept still by the chains. The fox has entirely given up struggling, just laying on her back crying. The wolf retrieves the riding crop, whacking it against his hand a couple of times. "OK, Cunt, now it's time for your punishment. It was just going to be a single stroke, but now?" He brings the device down on the inside of her thigh, producing another welt and another anguished cry. He repeats this on the other side, then works back and forth, each time closer to her womanhood. Finally, he strikes her folds directly three times, the sound of the blows even sharper than those before. The vixen is silent at this point, tears spent and shuddering silently, but Vicky can smell fresh blood.
"We'll see if she learned her lesson this time. She didn't - she never learns - but we'll see. How about you, cat? You learn your lesson?"
"Ye..." Vicky's eyes shoot open. She hadn't been told she could talk! She claps her hands over her mouth, looking up at the wolf, and nods.
He gives her a toothy grin and laughs. "Good. Good, you actually seem capable of learning. Capable of serving. Keep this up, and maybe things won't be so bad for you. I'm not necessarily a cruel man. I just have certain expectations for my property." He reaches to his belt, undoes a strap, and drops his pants. He is already erect, apparently excited by dishing out the abuse. "Fenris already tried out your pussy, but how's your mouth? Heard you cats are pretty good at that. And no teeth. I feel any teeth, and I pull them out with a pair of pliers. Even Cunt over there hasn't been stupid enough to try that." He settles back into a cot, set up on the wall opposite the vixen's corner.
The pantheress rapidly nods her head and crawls forward. She nuzzles his rod with her check, then suckles on the tip for a moment before opening wide and engulfing his length with her mouth. "That's it, get yourself a treat, kitten."
She begins gently running her tongue along the bottom of his shaft, the barbs pushing just hard enough to tease without hurting. One hand slowly snakes up between his legs and begins rubbing his furry sack, causing the wolf to start murring in contentment, leaning back a bit farther to give her better access.
Still moving her tongue, the pantheress starts bobbing her head. She can feel the wolf twitching - she knows she's doing a good job. Finally, the wolf starts grunting, and grabs Vicky by the ears, dragging her back into his crotch. She gags at the tip of his cock enters her throat, although he thankfully stops with just mashing his knot into her nose and not trying to shove it all the way in.
Strings of cum shoot into her throat. he tries to swallow, but isn't able to keep up, bitter seed bubbling up into her mouth. Finally spent, he lets go of her ears and collapses back into his cot. Vicky sits back, and is about to spit... but realizes that's likely to earn her a beating, and swallows the rest. She gasps as she catches her breath, waiting with down-turned eyes to see what the wolf does next.
Master does not stir for a couple minutes, enjoying the afterglow, but finally sits up. As Vicky expected, he glances to the ground in front of her to see if she spit; smiling, he looks her in the eye. "Keep this up and I see great things for you, Kitten. That's your name for now, at least as long as you keep me pleased. Now, it is time for bed." He steps over and grab's Vicky's... Kitten's... leash, locking it to the same anchor on the tent's center pole as the vixen's chain. "Behave yourself. If you try to escape or to hurt me... well, you saw a bit of what Cunt goes through, and even she doesn't try that. She saw what happened to the last one. Some fear death, but you'll learn that there is much in this world that's worse. Good night, Kitten. We have so much more fun ahead of us."