FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Fallen Fates of Rebels Lost

Part Two of Three

---

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

Please note that this story contains non-consensual capture of rebels in a dystopian world and involves rape, non-consensual intercourse and torture, ultimately death of a character by asphyxiation. This is fictional and intended to be taken and understood as such. Please note that consent is always required for any sexual activity outside fiction and extreme kinks should never be acted out, even in roleplay, for the safety of the individuals involved.

"Quickly - this way!"

They had to run, had to flee - both the orange tabby cat and the dog. Lac and Mentham had been together for a long time but nothing really could change the relationship between them after things had become so tangled in the light of the resistance. Once, they had just been friends but their pounded paw steps hurling them through the warehouse district, between old, towering buildings that held equipment, factories and more sordid matters entirely.

Their paws broke from where they'd been held, the scent of their fear rank on the air. Lac yowled, whiskers quivering, but he was even fast than the canine that followed him, though Mentham had never been a particular swift dog with pale fur, something like a Retriever of some kind, perhaps? Not many canine-types had particular breeding after furries had moved away from species related nuances in times long gone by.

Lac grabbed for Mentham, desperation in his eyes. The ginger feline knew that the gig was up but he had to, had to keep pushing on, driving through. It was all that he could try to claw at, dragging his partner and lover into the warehouse, yet it was all for nothing. The warehouse that Lac had chosen was something used for storage, towering with racking and boxes of heaven knew what. Lac did not want to know.

Furniture? The racking cave way to plastic-wrapped wardrobes and armchairs, things that he had not seen in such good condition for a very long time. It was not as if the rebels could afford fineries and the like in such times, everything they had gotten coming from their previous homes when they could afford to live at least somewhat normal lives. Those times were long gone, however, as they flashed by older and older furniture, dust layering the plastic wrapping, dirt clinging to some of the older models.

They weren't good enough for the remaining free citizens under the dictator. Or maybe he just didn't want the lower classes, those that could afford basics like that without going into extravagance, to have anything at all. That was plausible as well.

"Here!"

Lac had to fight, had to claw his way through to the bitter last even as Mentham hesitated. Near the back was a wardrobe that had had some of the plastic wrap torn already, hanging loose and ragged: something of a hiding place, at least. All hope was lost but they could but try, Lac dragging the light-coloured dog in with him.

Mentham growled, leaning back, the door open a crack as Lac cursed and tried to wedge it shut.

"Hellfire... Mentham... Mentham, help me here... We got to get it closed!"

But something in the dog's eyes changed in that moment. Gone was the soft brown, the teasing pools that dragged him down into warmth and lightness, that took him away from the harsh reality that he was caught up in. Mentham's lips tightened, the thin, hard line of them rough in its simple presentation.

Lac stepped back, though there wasn't much room to move in the wardrobe.

"Mentham?"

The next he knew was that the dog's paw closed at the scruff of his neck, shoving him forward, the wardrobe door slamming open, spilling light into the dark, musty interior of their hiding place. Lac flew out with a desperate growl from Mentham at his back, the wardrobe door closing just in time for the dog's hiding place to be secure while the soldiers rounded on him with snarls afoot.

Mentham cowered, not looking out as the hard-soled boots of the soldiers heaved in, surrounding his boyfriend - well, the fur that had once been his boyfriend. He didn't think that Lac would ever look at him that way again, that was, of course, if their eyes ever met again. The dog whimpered and covered his ears, the fear of a coward clawing its way into his heart, yet he should have known that he was done for too. It was a cowardly, last-ditch attempt to save his own skin and hide, to try to get out alive while he sacrificed his boyfriend to save himself.

"Get down!"

A bull soldier snorted and kicked Lac in the head, sending the ginger feline sprawling on the ground. He whimpered and twisted but it didn't help him as they hauled him up by the scruff of the neck, pain lancing through.

Three, four - up to six. More than enough to take him on. Lac squirmed and fought, a desperate yowl on his lips, but he may have not done anything at all as they tossed him down like nothing more than a stray sack of meat, something without a mind to consider. For they were the soldiers that had gone willingly into the employ of the tyrant for all the crimes that he would allow them to commit, all the pain that he would allow - all under his rule. He had to try, had to force his way on, had to fight, even as they ripped his clothes from him, claws and teeth tearing through.

Furries, sometimes, could be even more brutal than humans. The human in their midst laughed and jabbed him in the gut with the butt of his gun, Lac doubling over, heaving and retching, though it was not the worst of it. Oh no, the true horror was yet to come as he howled, slammed down onto his stomach as something bare and hard ground over his buttocks.

His mind froze, fight or flight...or freeze. His body took over, primal instinct claiming him as he whimpered and tucked his head down, surely seeing the end before him, or at least the sort of an end that he didn't even want to be present in anymore. He didn't know who was behind him but he knew more than anyone else what the driving jab of a dog cock felt like as it pressed to his pucker, his tail cruelly yanked up and out of the way, burning at the base where the pain was the worst of all.

He may have cried out. He may have screamed. He may have said nothing at all. The fact of the matter was that it mattered not one single bit to the soldiers raping him, abusing him, blasting him with insults, spit flying like their words.

"Imbecile!"

"Cretin!"

"Weak meat!"

Lac ducked his head but not even that could hide him from the pain searing through his behind, the howl that burst from his lips. A massive dick sawed into him without any care or consideration for his pleasure but, then again, he could never have expected that anyway. The soldiers were brutish thugs at best and he was there to be taken, abused, hurled away - though he had no doubt that at the end of it all his life would come to an end too.

He screamed and screamed, clawing fruitlessly at the concrete as he was struck about the head by the butt of another gun, their jeers bouncing off him. Betrayal snarled in the pit of his belly but not even that anger was enough to get him to such a point that he could fight back, overpowered, someone kneeling on his back, pressing him down.

Breathing came with great difficulty, dragged in ragged and raw breath after breath. He whined and whimpered and blubbered - it was funny what came out when one was at such a point of desperation, all things that he could never have expected, not for him. But he had to try, had to claw, had to press on, howling and screaming, shrieking to the rafters so high above. It was all his body would let him do, frozen as he was, imagining that he was fighting back more than he actually was, all while tears streamed down his face, soaking his fur.

Mentham... Mentham had betrayed him.

Mentham... Mentham had thrown him out for dead.

The dog in question hunkered down in the wardrobe, but one of the problems there with that particular wardrobe was that the plastic wrap was wedged in the door, not allowing him to close it completely. That meant that he watched every last sordid, humiliating second of Lac's debasement, the cat that he had loved broken and bleeding. Sometime in the fray, he'd taken a rake of claws across his face, blood dripping into those pretty, cat eyes, but the feline could still hear and see everything, his expression contorted as he cried out with the savage encroach of pain all over again.

"Fucking shut up, you weak fucking cunt."

"Should have kept your gob shut."

"Only good for sucking cock."

"Weak whore."

The soldiers spat on him and Lac shook his head. Mentham shuddered. Did he know he was watching? Did they even think that he had escaped somewhere else? Lac wouldn't reveal him, he was sure of it, though he didn't know why, in a way, why he wouldn't reveal him. He was the one who had pushed him out, after all, guilt curling in the pit of his stomach, though it was still something wrapped up in fear. And everyone knew which one was more powerful when allowed to fester and grow.

He'd seen every last one of his brethren disappear before him, those that he had fought alongside. He didn't know why he'd gotten involved in the rebellion to start with - teenage angst or something? Mentham didn't want to push back against the aura of control all that badly but he wanted to do his own thing too...you know? Some could have said that he had fallen in with the rebels at the wrong time, though it was all just a matter of working out what one wanted to fight for, if they even wanted to fight at all.

Still, he was forced to sit there through Lac's screams, the cat's face soaked with blood and tears as the first dog finished under his tail, wiping his cock off on Lac's backside and tossing him at the next. The bull had his dick out already, trousers tight around his knees, but he wasted no time at all in hooking his finger into the crook of the cat's mouth and forcing it open. He had to keep it open to take his pleasure, crudely raping the cat's mouth too, though not one of the soldiers even knew who Lac was or what his name even was. They didn't care. All they knew was that they had to bring the two of them in and they got to do whatever the hell they wanted to them in the meantime.

Lac screamed around the dick in his mouth, though it thrust brutally into his throat, driving him to retch and gag. There was no way to get away from them, someone else holding his paws behind his back, forcing his head down and down, yanked back and forth in a crude semblance of thrusting, though it was not really. Lac yowled but he couldn't have gotten his teeth closed around that fat length of dick even if he'd tried, hissing, crying, wailing.

He was lost, lost and gone, just like the rest of them. The rebels had been picked off, one by one and in groups, raids taking them as their resistance fell more and more. They had nothing left to fight for and everything to fight for, Lac's head spinning, trying to take him away from the present moment that was too brutal to think about.

Cum sprayed, shooting down his throat, though the bull cruelly jerked his cock back to splatter the cat's face with his seed, marking him, humiliating him. He needed to be forced, the little cunt, though Lac only knew of the abuse. Tossed to the next of the soldiers, the man, he was jammed down onto all fours, his body locking up as if he was willing, though it was merely his mind trying to make it a little easier on him, softening the edges, grunting thickly. If he didn't move, maybe it would hurt less...

...But it didn't. It split him through and tore him up from the inside out, his anal ring bleeding and broken, the human snarling like a feral creature as he slammed in over and over again. There was no concern for him and their pleasure was taken whether he was present in the moment or not, drifting in and out, pain coursing through. The pounding of his heart did not help, not in the slightest, as he yowled and twisted back and forth, hating himself for being so weak, hating the moment, wanting nothing more than to turn back the clock and take a different route that day.

Maybe if he hadn't been with Mentham... Still, he flickered to reality as the human's dick spent itself into his tail hole, the man twisting and snapping his tail wickedly.

"One for the road, cunt... You'll fucking remember this."

"He deserves it. Get over, time for a real cock to tear him open!"

That was a tiger, someone with cruel, dark, beady little eyes that Lac looked away from as soon as he acknowledged him. A punch to his gut had him heaving all over again as he tipped over and cried out, but, on his back, the tiger could force him to look up at them all, the slam of his barbed dick grinding into that exposed, strained tail hole all that mattered in the heat of the moment.

Even with his paws over his ears, the screams of Lac cut through him, Mentham grunting, trying to curl in on himself. There was nothing he could do, he told himself, not even as Lac quieted, taking cock after cock, allowing the tiger to finish in him as another took his mouth - another dog. They all looked the same to Mentham in the dim light and their soldier garb, monstrous beings, the attack brutes of the tyrant.

And he had set them on Lac.

Yet he would never again see Lac as the feline was dragged from the wardrobe, hauled by the ankles, dripping in cum, a cruel paw closed around his tail. The soldiers, of course, could haul up their belts and pants and hide their nudity - not that it was embarrassing to them at all. Their power was artificial, not something that they could take in paw forever but borrowed from the tyrant, their greed allowed in what they were at the very least useful for. The cat, however, was naked as he rolled over, eyes dead and lifeless, despite his heart still beating and his lungs still moving. There was nothing in it for him as he was dragged away, barely present in the current time, not caring about anything.

After his boyfriend's betrayal, he most likely would never care about anything else ever again. He lost consciousness: a blessing for him.

Mentham, however, faded. He didn't think as the wardrobe slammed open, the light obstructed, the human snarling down at him, missing a tooth. Maybe Lac had gotten one good blow in. He could hope for that still, regardless of everything else.

His world went black.

*

"Wakey- wakey... Arsehole."

Mentham blinked, coming back to consciousness slowly, a room forming around him. Clinical but dirty with forlorn, grey walls, it seemed to close in around him. Of course, there was nowhere for him to go as he stood there, his paws drawn up on either side of his head as he was fixed to a cross-like structure in the centre of the room, his ankles heavy with manacles, bolted down into the ground.

He tried to squirm, breath quickening, though his stomach roiled and his head pounded. He was bound too tightly, metal cutting off the sensation in his extremities, even his tail forced back against the metal structure. It had been bolted down into the ground too so firmly that there was no way for it to shake back and forth, designed for a struggle, and the canine's heart plummeted. Another metal band around his waist kept him pinned back in place, everything on show, even the soft length of his cock that hung down, out of its small sheath. He didn't have time to consider that, however, as he was not alone in there.

He could only see the fur standing before him as an executioner, a stallion with a smirk on his lips and terror in his eyes, though he had forgotten to wear a mask. Perhaps it did not matter when one was doomed anyway, fear curling back and forth in the pit of Mentham's stomach, his tail tucking down, trying to cover himself. The executioner snarled, showing his teeth, though it was not a sound that an equine should have ever made.

"Leaving your whore of a boyfriend out to dry?" He sneered. "Did you think the rest of them didn't fucking know you were in there? We have a special task for dirty curs like you..."

Mentham's ears folded back as he whined, shaking his head, trying to say "no", though no sound came back as he opened his lips. The executioner groped him, his hand going straight to the stallion's cock, squeezing it, groping it, showing him quite intricately just who was in control there.

The dog tried to twist back and forth, but there was nothing he could do to get free, though he was not yet resigned to his fate. Mentham grunted, but no amount of working his jaw seemed to get out any words at all. He did have a muffled howl through a clenched jaw, however, as the stallion's fingers shoved under his tail, finding his tail hole and stabbing deep. It was not even a hard penetration but a brutal one, one that was more akin to preparing a meat product for roasting, perhaps, though it had been a long old time since the canine had tasted cooked meat.

That wasn't something that he would ever get ever again.

"Unnff..."

"Go on," the horse goaded him, twisting his fingers back and forth, the hard tips of his fingers that were moderately hoof-like digging in painfully. "Cry for me. No one's ever going to see your face again, not from a whining, snivelling wreck like you."

Mentham twisted but there was nowhere to go, his hips thrusting, the only part of him that he seemed able to bow out from the stake that he was bound to. The stallion laughed and drove his fingers in harder, humiliating him, taking everything from him, though there was still some tiny part of the dog that knew that he was guilty there. If for nothing he had done as a rebel, as he was still conflicted on that side, just for what he had done with Lac.

Lac...

_ _

Was the cat even still alive? He didn't know whether to hope for one outcome or another with regards to him. Still, the stallion did not care for anything that was going on in the dog's mind, grinding his fingers in more and more, drawing a gasp of pain to the dog's lips. He had him right where he wanted him, though he did spare a moment to strap his tail up too, the heavy leather fixing it up and back, regardless of how he was crushed there. The base ached but it was the least of Mentham's worries as he bore back, those fingers driving deep, forcing his body to stretch around them. Not that he was given any choice in the matter, of course.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Mentham quailed but there was nowhere for the coward to go or even run, grunting and turning his head away, yanking the dog's tail up even higher, though it was bound, just to cause him pain.

"You'll never see your offspring," the executioner hissed. "Nor have any. A big dick like that? Man... You must have been proud of that. Not like you had anything else to be proud of."

Mentham groaned. Was that the best he had? Death... Oh, all of the rebels had expected death to come for them at some point. His arse was left gaping lightly, though it would tighten up again but a few moments, the stallion wiping his paw off on the dog's stomach, ruffling through his fur.

No... No, no offspring for him. No pups. Still, it twisted his guts, curled deep inside him, a sense of unrest like nothing else pushing at the base of his belly. He had to push through it, somehow, to hold on to the moment, not to let despair take over him, not to drag him down, not to bear him into the ground in a way that would have him howling and whimpering, begging for mercy.

No... His paws closed into fists, defiance lingering, rising like a second skeleton inside him. That would be his sticking point, the thing that would keep him there, defiant to his last breath. Maybe they wouldn't even kill him. If all they wanted to do was to torture him, that was something he could live through, hope to escape after. Whether or not they took his malehood - he shuddered at the thought, the implications behind those words - was not something that he could think about if he was to grind his way through.

He had to try.

The executioner did not care for what was going on in the mutt's head. An insignificant rebel... Well, no one cared what happened to someone like that, not at all. He was not worthy of a second thought, not even in the slightest, as he groaned deep in the back of his throat, relishing in the moment. It was what he did, of course, for a living, under the tyrant's rule, but there was no one who would volunteer for such a role without bearing some element of cruelty in their heart.

The stallion did not care. The world was a harsh, cruel one. Why should he not follow suit? After all, at the end of the day, he was doing what he was supposed to, what he'd been told to do. No one could complain about that, not so much. At least, in his mind.

But it was not for the executioner to worry about anything or even to make excuses about what he was doing and why he was doing it: he had a job to do. The dog squirmed as his huge cock pulsed, reacting to the push of the stallion's fingers. They were all the same.

"You will not survive..." The stallion said, his voice deceptively soft, eyes glinting with barely withheld glee. "He does not take kindly to those that betray. You can't beat that out of anyone's blood. Your death grows near..."

Mentham flinched, breath catching, his Adam's apple bobbing but not allowing the tightness in his throat to dissipate in the slightest. The dog's ears slipped back, drifting from reality, trying to protect some part of himself as his tail twitched back and forth, back and forth. Of course, it was tied up out of the way and there was no way to tuck it down again, to preserve his modesty, yet all he saw was his Lac before him, the times they had shared.

Maybe he had done wrong. But it was too late to have regrets over something like that. If there was one thing that Mentham knew, it was that he had no way to escape what fate had set out for him. The bonds...well...that helped. That helped somewhat.

Mentham grunted through a whine as something slid over his cock, already trying to soften as fear took hold. Only later would he realise just what a chastity device was but the pain pushing into his cock as the strange rod pressed in, forcing his urethra open, driving deep was something that claimed his mind more right then than any other time. He had to bear through it, panting, twisting, something cold sticking to his balls, another pressure under his tail bringing a whimper to his lips.

A dildo. Electrodes. He only knew what they were when his body contorted through the shocks. His cock swelled the moment that a needle was slipped into his neck, all the better for hitting the most vulnerable, humiliating of veins, and he howled, his shaft swelling, digging into the chastity device, metal casing painfully tight. Yet he could not get fully hard, not ever again, his cock kept straight with the rod inside, pulse after pulse of furious, electrical energy coursing through him over and over again.

"Dance for me, puppy..."

He barely heard his executioner, pain lancing, yet pleasure trying to break through all the same. The rod inside his cock made it all feel tight, too tight to relieve himself, twisting and contorting, rattling against the stake where he was bound.

"Philtre, a little potion. It won't make it easier for you."

Mentham believed him. His arousal was great but his hips shoving their way out and out from the bondage stake was not something that he could bear through, not for long, not for long at all. He managed to blink away tears, watery and streaming down his muzzle, though he didn't understand just how everything came together, how everything was fated in a moment like that. He could pulse and twitch and pant and try to get off as much as he liked, his body driven by that injection, that insatiable, futile arousal, but there was nothing for him, nothing at all.

There never would be ever again.

His body quivered, electric shocks coursing through him. He would have been surprised, as he fought, sweating profusely, that there was not as much pain as he would have expected, but he was not present in his mind, not anymore. The room shuddered around him, vision greying out and swaying, though he never fully lost consciousness. That was not a worry, not a worry to the executioner, a type of smelling salt blasted into the room so that the dog would not fade too swiftly. That was not the punishment that they had in store for him.

The dildo vibrated, pulsing and pounding, driving into him with the force of a machine that only was programmed for one thing alone. For the dildo was fixed into the ground, a sex machine that could have been used for more lurid pleasures, though that was not its purpose in that moment. It pounded him full, stretching his tight hole, the mutt thrusting and grinding madly to the extent that his bondage allowed, which was, admittedly, not very much at all. It was too restrictive, so restrictive, his muscles contracting, pulling him back into place, right where he was supposed to be.

Mentham could not think. He was not present there, panting, tongue lolling pinkly, saliva drooling. It splattered down his chest but that was not the end of it as everything ramped up, his body jerking, thrusting, lost in a moment that was not even his own to claim. He howled, head thrown back, though he did not even register the pain as his head connected with the metal pole behind him, clanging, clanking, shaking it with the twisting weight of his body. Pain overtook pleasure and yet there was still very much the sensation of wanting to cum, needing cum, imagining that he was howling but having no way to tell.

The dildo slammed in, forcing his arse to take every inch, a monstrous length that even swelled to take more and more of his backdoor entrance. He was not, after all, expected to survive the encounter, so what did it matter if they split him in two? The device cupped his nuts and they throbbed within it, though it only seemed to funnel the electric shocks all the more fervently, his balls pulsing, desperation coursing through with the sordid, ever-present beat of his heart.

Tight, too tight... He fought and jerked on the stake, a puppet for the puppet master of the executioner, who watched it all. Toying with the settings, the executioner played with the dog for a little while longer, making him think that it was coming to an end by slowing down the vibrations and shocks before blistering them all the way back up into a pound and grind that could not be evaded.

Mentham came back around to his new version of reality with his hips thrusting, still struggling to cum when that would never again be something he could take for his own. Something tightened, pulling him up to the tips of his toes, his tail tugging uselessly at his bonds as if there was still something in him that thought any manner of escape was possible. He should have known but a dog that could not even think anymore, well...they could not be held responsible, surely, for their lack of thoughts?

The metal cage around his shaft dug in even as he grunted and whimpered, pleading with his eyes, words lost to him. His lips parted but no words came out as he squirmed there, right where he'd been put, where he would meet his fate, the stallion leering before him.

"Time to say goodnight, cur. Don't worry though... You won't be missed."

A rope lashed around his neck, more symbolic than anything else, tightening, restricting his already very limited range of motion even more than before. Mentham's eyes widened, bulging out of his skull, leaning back, trying with all his might not to put pressure on that rope, his neck rippling as he swallowed repeatedly. His ankles were locked down so that he could not shift, though it was possible to drop and put more pressure on the rope as something crinkled nearby. He didn't even have enough freedom of movement to turn and look.

But he knew what was happening as the plastic bag, a specially designed plastic bag, slipped over his head, tightened around his neck above that rope. The rope was then used to ensure that the already tight seal was even tighter, flush with his skin, though Mentham was not present in the moment enough to realise anything of that. No, all he did was gasp and gape, fighting, knowing without knowing that there was something there, something that was lessening his air supply as he sucked down the last, hardly blissful scraps of air in there.

"This is your fate..." The stallion smirked, rocking back onto the heels of his hooves, a creature there, at long last, merely to enjoy the show. "This is all there will be left for you... Dying...weak...helpless... No one cared about you. No one wanted you to live anyway. You're doing them a favour by succumbing and suffocating here."

Death... It was dulled through the plastic brushing his ears, slowly growing smaller and smaller, his face imprinting on the front. The rope dug into his throat, however, where he was tied off, stopping him from thrashing, from bearing forward, from even trying to use his teeth to rip through the plastic. Not, of course, that it was going to do him any good at all. The bag shrank as he panicked, no thoughts of even trying to breathe lightly remaining in his mind, fear setting in with an icy, claw-like grip.

The executioner squeezed his throat, forcing him to look at him, to witness every second of air leaving the sanctity of his lungs.

"Suffocate... But feel."

The electrodes started up again, attached to the box that shocked his nuts, forcing his cock to drool and drool, though it didn't go anywhere. The rod inside kept it all right where it was supposed to be, where the tyrant wanted to be, off elsewhere sipping a drink, top-shelf vodka. He didn't have to worry about those that had been trapped and brought under his rule, not while it was still very much within his power to snuff out their lives like the insignificant wrecks and wretches that they were.

The plastic shrank, the dog writhing, panting, his lips moving, losing air, losing oxygen. There was not enough in there, not even as his lungs hopelessly expelled carbon dioxide, along with other waste matter that should not have been present for a second time in anyone's lungs. He didn't want to die, but fighting with desperation was never a tried and tested way to survive, not even for a dog on the cusp of the abyss. His lips moved but his nostrils still sucked in breath after breath, his throat juddering, forcing out, at long last, the words that he should have spent earlier.

"P-please..." He groaned, gasping, his air running out, chest tight, heart aching. "Let...me...go... Don't...wanna..."

His eyes bulged, stuck there, cock throbbing. The pleasure mounted, the pain present in his chest above all else, forcing him to acknowledge it even as the stallion crossed his arms, shaking his head. His work there, for the time being at least, was done. He only had to enjoy the show, bearing witness to just how the dog's body twitched and jerked, losing all sense of himself, wanting to cum but unable to as he suffocated right there before him.

Suffocation was a slow, painful death. That was why the executioner enjoyed performing those executions the most.

He fought, though his twitches and pulls at his bondage became weaker and weaker. Mentham felt as if he was throwing his full body weight into every ounce of resistance but there was nothing, nothing left. He had nothing left to hurl forth, as much as he wanted to.

"No...more..." His mind blurred with the chance of little ones, offspring, that he had never before thought about so deeply. "Let my...seed...stay..."

"Oh, I don't think we need to do that. Besides, you won't be able to beg for much longer. If you've got something to say, you should say it now."

Mentham tried - oh, he tried. He thought he was begging, whining and wailing, begging to be freed, not to have his bloodlines drawn to a halt...but he didn't really make any sense at all. The executioner mocked him with every breath into his own lungs, fuelling his desperation, the burning tightness in his lungs, dominating all else.

Still, he thrust, his body jerking, every muscle aching. His tail tried to lift, forgetting all that he should have taken for his own, all that he had lost, all that had never been his to claim. His cock swelled and pulsed into the device and he thought, at one point, that he did manage to achieve orgasm, though it was all a plot and a falsehood, something that his air-deprived brain thought, vein bulging out from the side of his neck.

The bag grew smaller, seconds ticking by, though he experienced it all as if time was dragged out. The world greyed before him, his vision blurring at the edges, though Mentham did not understand that he was slowly losing consciousness. There was no point in clinging to any kind of life that he had left but he still tried so very desperately, whining, tears staining his muzzle, though no one was there for him at the final thrust and twitch of his body. No one had ever been there for him, and that was his own fault once it was within his control, grunting and whining, head lolling forward.

Tired, so tired... He didn't have the energy anymore, his balls feeling as if they were about to burst out of their own sack, swollen and blooming, though the seed within had to be spent, just had to be. That was the one and only thought in his mind as the pain blurred, blandness taking him, pulling him down and down and down into the abyss, falling from the room, the executioner drawing back further and further away from him. But it was not the stallion that was moving but the dog in the process of losing his life: a cold, clinical procedure to one who was so used to dispatching those that the tyrant wanted gone.

And what the king said always was done.

He thrust and thrust even as he fell unconscious, never again to know, never again to see. The shrunk plastic bag clung to his muscle, his body engaged in trying to cum even as his thoughts faded from the living world. Slowly, so very slowly, his struggles to cum weakened - not because he gave up in unconsciousness but because his brain was shutting down, his body following suit. Without oxygen, there was nothing more that his body could do for him, cock flush and swollen, pressing fervently out against the edge of the cage, trying to evade restriction, yet failing.

He was gone. A final twitch heralded the last drop of fight slipping from him, hanging, leaning heavily onto his bondage. The dog's head tipped forward, muscles relaxing, and the body knew no more.

The executioner checked his pulse, removing the bag and peeling back his lips to check the colour of his gums. There had been more than one in the past that had survived, even though the resulting brain damage meant that they were even easier to despatch the second time for sure.

"Done."

He smirked and patted the dog's backside, still cruel beyond Mentham's last breath. But it was no more than the dog deserved. Digging his fingers in, he gave the dog one last grope, withdrawing the sounding rod from the mutt's urethra, cleaning it off as the dog's cum finally poured out in the failed, spurting orgasm, that had been denied to him in the beauty of life.

No more would the mutt be in pain. But no more would he know.

The executioner took care of the final details.