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Breaking the Brat

Part 3

for Damiekinz

by Draconicon

Time brings in its wake changes, and whether resisted or embraced, such changes affect everyone. Branlin was no exception as the weeks and months went by and his escape attempts grew less and less brazen, less and less frequent. Not due to an excessive amount of guards or obstacles, for not even Lord Tyvo wished his company so greatly as to stand in his way to that extent, but rather to the punishments and pleasures that came when he made such doomed efforts. The spanking was the mildest of them, and nearly sufficient to keep him docile for a week at a time, but other punishments followed as the pygmy goat tested his limits.

Such punishments were always well-attended, for the privacy of prisoners is as nonexistent as Fairyland, which is to say, one could say it might exist, somewhere, but it cannot be found here. Within the first month, not a guard employed by Lord Tyvo had gone without seeing Branlin's naked body, and within the second, all had had the chance to touch it, embrace it, fondle it.

The pygmy goat's mind had sunk further and further from the outside world, building walls of its own to keep them at bay and keep him from thinking of the freedom that so pained him to lose. The walls of the castle gradually became his new world, the tops of them no longer his cage, but the horizons and the coastlines that rounded his existence.

Again and again, Branlin told himself that he would find his way to freedom, never quite realizing how ghostly such assurances had become until sometime in the third month, when he realized that he no longer dreamed of escaping the castle courtyard, but merely wished to escape the keep to walk in the courtyard under the sun.

That realization prompted his last true escape attempt, and as desperate as it was, it was the only time the guards struggled to bring him back, for as the pygmy goat stood atop the walls, lingering between the crenellations at the edge of the battlements, he saw the world spread out before him. For the first time in so many days, he realized what he had left behind, what he had forgotten, and what Lord Tyvo had taught him.

The world beyond was no longer his. Only within the walls would he have the slightest inkling of freedom, under the heel of Lord Tyvo.

In that moment, when he stared out at the great lands that his mind could no longer entirely encompass, Branlin was seized by guards desperate to keep their hides. They shouted at one another, casting blame for who had let the 'slut' and 'bitch' and whatever other word that they could think to call him get out, but they were united in pulling him from the walls. So stunned was the pygmy goat at what he had forgotten and what had been taken from him that he didn't fight them. All he did was go limp, taken below once more.

The alchemists were called, bringing with them fumes of sleep and oblivion. Branlin tasted them, breathed them, and passed from the world of the waking to the world of dream. It was all done on the orders of Lord Tyvo. If the goat would not remember his place willingly, then he would be marked so that he could never forget, and so extensively that sleep must be required to save the mind from breaking from what the body experienced.

#

Time brings in its wake changes, but Branlin was not allowed to understand his changes due to the fumes of the alchemists' potions and vapors for nearly a week. By then, the marks had healed, and the goat was allowed, once more, to see himself without the misty fog that had clouded his mind for the days of his recovery. When he did, he was shocked, shaken to the core at what had been done to his body, for it was not the punishment of a thief that had been given, but the markings of a king's whore.

His nipples were pierced with golden rings, not the thin, slender things that might have been seen on a woman's ear, but rather the thick, heavy rings that would be placed in the nostrils of a bull to lead them along. They pulled, tugging with their weight against his chest, and regardless of how he moved, they dragged and pulled on him, reminding him of their presence, giving him unwanted stimulation.

Further down, a piercing had been shoved through his belly-button, as well, a ring that did not quite close, but formed two points on either side, piercing through to look like a snake-bite of sorts. It did not pain him, but it was always there, always tingling, almost tickling him.

But the most humiliating was the ring that had been pushed through his nose, gold and bright and thick enough that one could have hooked a finger through the band to pull him along. Indeed, that very indignity had been the means to bring him back to the waking world, as one of the guards pulled him upright slowly but surely from his bed. The aching, humiliating soreness that it brought with it was more than sufficient to banish the last dregs of sleep.

"How...when..."

Branlin's questions fought to be the first to leave his mouth. When, it seemed, was too weak, and too obviously answered. Since his last escape attempt, obviously, and done without mercy, but with great care. Nothing bled, nor did it hurt with the pain of the newly implanted. It must have been days. Days, indeed.

"Why?"

Yes, that was the question that seemed most appropriate. The panther that stood over him shook his head.

"Lord Tyvo's orders."

"But why?" he asked again.

"Lord Tyvo's orders."

"You...you can't...I...I am..."

"You are his. And that's all that matters." The guard pulled something that he'd kept tucked under his arm into the open, offering it with one hand. "And these are your new garments. I'll give you a minute to change."

Branlin did not miss the silence at the end of the sentence. Previously, he had always been referred to as 'prisoner' or 'thief'. Something else had changed if the guards did not give him even that epithet any longer. He felt his heart sink, clasping the clothes in limp fingers.

In truth, he had become a pathetic figure, one that the guards barely felt needed watching. The goat was still in shock, of course, his body drugged and slumbering for so long that it had not yet truly awoken, but the guards knew resignation when they saw it. There might still be fire in the goat, some hint of rebellion, but the great flames had been banked and caged. What remained did not present a risk of escape. The slump of his shoulders, the shakes of his hands, the wavering balance: all were things that spoke to a prisoner that had been brought to heel, and would soon be broken.

Eventually, Branlin unfolded the garments, only to find that they were not true garments, but mere accessories. They spilled between his fingers, pink silken scarves that were merely a few feet long with a slight gap in the ends to be tied or attached to things. A golden plug stood out among them, as well as a piece that might have been called underwear, had it only had a back to it. He stared at the collection, his mouth working soundlessly as it tried and failed to find words of protest.

Without comment, he pulled one of the silk streamers to his chest. It was easy enough to tie one end through a nipple piercing, and the other to the other nipple ring. From the piercing at his belly-button, he hung several others, allowing them to dangle down his legs, doing nothing to cover him, but knowing what the fashion was.

Yet, the more that he 'dressed' himself, the more angry he became. This was unfair, unjust, even, and to be so humiliated and punished awoke the rest of him that had been sleeping.

No sooner had he clad himself in the transparent silks than he stomped his little hoof. The guard turned from the cell door.

"You're not dressed," the panther said.

"Then give me something to wear!"

"Lord Tyvo's orders. You're not allowed anything without his permission."

"I will not wear this!"

"You will."

"...I...Will...Not!"

"..."

Apparently, he would, and he winced from the force of the experience. The pygmy goat walked ahead of the panther as he was escorted from the dungeons to the great hall, where a small crowd had gathered without. The sight of his near-naked body was a public spectacle at this point; he had been walked in the nude around the outside of the keep more than once, but such exercise had only occurred at night before. This time, it was in the middle of the day, and while he had a hint more clothing than usual, such clothing did nothing to hide his greatest shames from those assembled felines.

Every step moved the golden plug that the panther had all but rammed up his hole, something that didn't really belong there, something that was almost too big for him. It would have been too big for him, months ago, but the constant 'abuse' of Lord Tyvo's shaft training his hole had given him tolerance for larger things.

No, it was not merely the size of it that inconvenienced him, but rather the golden base that pushed further out, visible between his cheeks to all those that bothered to look. Considering that he was all but naked, only his cock and his balls covered up, there were many eyes for him. Many eyes indeed.

The panther walked him to the door of the throne room, and Branlin kept his head down, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands at his sides. They were tightly balled fists by the time the door opened, and it was all he could do not to shout and scream at those around him.

I am Branlin the Thief, he wanted to tell them. I am Branlin, the great, the shadow, the leaper!

And yet, here he was, little more than an amusement to the lord of the castle, and little more than a plaything to those that wanted a show. The goat gritted his teeth tighter, feeling his jaws ache as he was led through the doors.

Thankfully, the throne room was not so packed as it had been in the past weeks. Lord Tyvo sat on his throne at the far end of the hall, the white lion leaning on his fist, his robe of office delicately wrapped around him, but doing nothing to hide his thick shoulders and broad form. His lips turned up in a smile, and Branlin fought to hide a quiver. He fought, and he lost, trembling as he was led down the great red carpet to the throne.

The panther stepped to the side, joining the other guards at the edges of the room. All told, there was a crowd of twenty people all around him, and no more. They watched as he came to a stop five paces from his captor, and the goat struggled to breathe evenly.

"...Why?" he managed to ask, finally.

"Why?" The lion smiled. "Why what?"

"Why did you...do this?!" Branlin gestured at his chest, at his stomach, at his face. "Why? What...what is the point?"

"That is not all I did."

"...What?"

Lord Tyvo snapped his fingers, and someone stepped forward with a mirror two feet in diameter. The goat looked at his reflection and saw nothing. He turned -

And there. There it was, right over the small of his back. Through the dark, near-black fur that ran down his spine and covered his rump, one could just barely make out a pink tramp stamp, one that marked him as a dick-taker, a...a slut. A pink heart with gold filigree coming off the side, it truly did make him look like nothing less and nothing more than a possession.

"As for why I did this..."

Lord Tyvo stepped up from his throne, cracking his neck from one side to the other as he descended. The lion's presence was such that all other sound in the room ceased to make space for him that demanded it. He crossed his hands behind his back as he circled Branlin, his greater height making the pygmy goat feel smaller and smaller by the moment.

"You have had three months to come to terms with your new arrangements. Three months to understand what you have become. I have been lenient, perhaps too lenient, in allowing you the various freedoms that you have retained. Your walks, your room, your occasional bits of privacy in your cells: they have allowed you to believe that you are better than you are, that you deserve more than you have.

"That stops today. Today, you will learn what you are. It starts with your marks..."

The lion turned, making his way back to his throne. He paused, his back to the goat, and Branlin dared hope that there was a hint of mercy creeping into his captor, something that would make him think twice about pushing this further. That hope was shattered as Lord Tyvo rolled his shoulders, allowing his robe to fall from his back, the lion going so far as to fully expose himself before his own court.

"And it will end with your mouth buried on my shaft."

As his captor turned, Branlin's mouth hung open. Not in hunger, for he was not such a whore as that, but in shock as the lion turned. In all their prior encounters, in all their past meetings, he had been tied down, his rump in the air, not allowed to see that which penetrated him. Even in their first week, when he had been held to the lord's sac, forced to swallow and worship the heavy balls within, he had kept his eyes closed or turned to the side, refusing to gaze upon his tormentor.

Now, he had the choice taken from him, for who could have looked from the beast before him?

He had always been aware of the white lion's stature, of the sheer strength of his build, of the raw masculinity that he exuded and the control that he exerted on every situation. His presence was akin to chains and shackles, holding others to expectations that only Lord Tyvo seemed to be able to explain and command. Yet, it was not that which held his eyes, but the meat that stood out from between the lion's legs.

It was dark, nay, black, blacker than the dried pitch which he had climbed time and again. It stood out and pointed right at him like something that had emerged from the night itself to swallow and claim him, like a direct counterpoint to the light-colored fur all around it. Lord Tyvo smiled, pointing down at it.

"Come."

"..."

"I said come, prisoner."

"I...I..."

"You will come. And you will please me before the court."

Branlin stared at that shaft, trying to find the words to explain his defiance, the right phrasing to cast his hatred of this task back at the great lion. He had been humiliated, stripped of any chance of having a normal life again. He had been marked, given piercings that would stand the test of time that he had no way to remove without leaving scars through his body. He could be led around by the nose like an animal. He very likely would be.

And this...this command to debase himself before the rest of the court, before the guardsmen that had captured him time and time again, was his fate? He was expected to obey this?

The goat spat on the ground before he could stop himself. The room went silent as he lifted his head.

"No...I won't...I won't!"

Lord Tyvo looked down, as did every other guard in the room. They were braced, ready for the command of their lord. Branlin was ready to flee, sure that his latest defiance had crossed a line that could not be forgiven. He waited, the goat at the ready, the panthers at the ready, seemingly the castle itself at the ready.

And yet, the lion said nothing. Instead, he stared at the shimmering globule on his carpet, and then slowly lifted his head. He fixed the goat with the stare of a disappointed predator...

And then, he moved.

One moment, Lord Tyvo stood before his throne. The next, he was at the goat's side, and scarcely past that, behind him. Branlin yelped as he was picked up, tossed over the lion's shoulder and carried as if he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

And in truth, he was. There was little to him, anymore. The muscles that had carried him up fences and over walls had faded, his body softened by the uses to which he had been put. There was less and less of him to resist the lion's commands, and that little bit of resistance was nothing compared to the muscles that carried him along.

He wanted to scream, but could barely produce a whimper. He wanted to shout, but barely found the air to hiss. He wanted to put on a show of defiance, but could barely tremble.

They reached the throne, and the lion took it, sitting across it and putting the goat over his knees. Branlin clenched his hands into fists, trying to hold back from begging for mercy already, his fear climbing even as his rage against what had happened to him, what had been done to him, tried to hold out. He managed to keep from begging even as the lion's hand stroked across his bare rump, rubbing against his pucker, against the plug that filled it.

"You have one chance, prisoner."

"I won't...apologize," he hissed through his teeth.

"You will."

"I - NNNNGH!"

He screamed as the first smack came down, feeling the jiggle-snap of his ass bouncing back against the lion's hand. The impact drove the plug further into him, filling his hole that much further, making him that much more aware of its sheer size. The breath wheezed out his lungs, and he lowered his head, trying to pull free.

His captor did not let him. An iron hand gripped the back of his neck, holding him in place as soft fingers, humiliatingly soft, stroked across his cheeks, only to pull back.

He could see it in his mind's eye, could see the white-furred hand rising higher and higher, the claws sparkling, poetic, childish justice about to rain down on his -

SMACK!

"NNNGH!"

Another gasping whimper and whine, another hiss of breath leaving him as he felt the heat burning in his ass cheeks already. The entire barracks of the royal guard were here, staring at him, watching as he was punished for his insolence. Somehow, this was worse than just being walked naked, or being seen by the one that had escorted him to the lion lord. They were all here. They were all seeing him suffer.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Each time that hand came down, he was reminded of his place. Not a great thief, not some threat to the regime, not someone that would steal his glory from fate itself, but merely a prisoner. Not even that anymore, but a prisoner that had been reduced to something so slight as a slut. Someone that could, should, and would be used by those above him, someone that needed to learn his place and just...stop...fighting.

"Nnngh...mmmph...please..."

SMACK!

"AH! Please!"

SMACK!

"Please! STOP!"

SMACK!

It would never stop, and he finally realized it. His punishment, his humiliation, would never stop until he gave in and allowed himself to be broken. No matter what he did, he would never get away. This would be his fate, no matter how good at escaping he was, until he finally allowed himself to be shaped to the lion's desires.

Branlin, it turned out, was not great. He never had been. He never would be. All he could do was be what he was told to be.

SMACK!

He was screaming still, but between the screams, interlaced between the heated smacks, the squish of his cheeks coming together, was something else. Branlin could hardly believe it himself, but -

SMACK!

"Mmmph..."

It was a moan. A soft, simple sound, something that nobody would have expected to come from a goat getting spanked, but he still let it out. His shaft, held barely constrained in a hint of pink cloth, throbbed ever so slightly, and his nipples stiffened slightly against the piercings jammed through them.

No. It didn't seem possible, and yet...it was. It was all too possible, and the entire court, once more, could see what he was. He bit his teeth, hissing through them as the smacks continued to land, as his cheeks continued to roll and shake. His legs tensed, pressing together, the sheer heat coming from his cheeks getting too hot for him to handle.

There was only one way for this to stop, and he knew it.

"I'm sorry!"

That shout echoed through the throne room, echoing for nearly ten seconds before finally dying down. The crowd was silent, and the one thing that he wished could have been drowned out by more spanking wasn't. It lingered, like a ghost of a life past, and he knew that it was the dying gasp of his old world.

"Are you?" Lord Tyvo asked.

"Yes...yes, I am."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For...for saying no."

"And?"

"For fighting back."

"And?"

"For trying to escape."

"And?"

"For being wrong."

"Yes. That is the root of it, isn't it?" the lion said, his hand resting against the goat's rump, white fur against dark, large against small as it cupped him and caressed him, holding the warmth against him to an almost intolerable level. "You were wrong, and you could not admit it...and now, you finally do."

"Yes."

"Will you do what you're told?"

"Yes," Branlin whispered.

"What was that?"

"Yes! Yes, I will do what I'm told! Yes, alright, yes!"

"Heh..."

As the lion pushed him to the ground, the pygmy goat struggled to keep himself upright. He didn't want to sag; his rump hurt too much, aching from the beating that it had taken at the hands of the lion's harsh hands. Instead, he forced himself to kneel, his rump higher, kept from touching his hooves so that the heat didn't spread, so that the pressure didn't make him wince from soreness.

And as he did, his eyes were level with that dark shaft. He stared at it, already trying to measure it with his gaze, seeing if he could take it the way that he had been ordered. After all, he had taken it under his tail a great many times now, made to enjoy it, made to be nearly addicted to the feeling of the lion's shaft between his legs. It had never been gentle, but nor had it been too hard, too firm, too cruel. It would have been easier in some ways if it had been, only causing him pain for the lord's pleasure, but Tyvo had never been so callous as to do that. Whether through brilliance or kindness, the lion had always made sure that he enjoyed it, and that pleasure, that wish for it, still lived in him.

He reached up without thinking, caressing the base of the shaft, feeling how warm the dark flesh was. The goat leaned in, dragging his nose from the base to the tip. For how large it was, he almost expected it to stink of the beast-scent from the stables and the rutting fields, but there was none of that. Oh, certainly, there was a different sort of scent, the kind that called the mind to the body and the warmth of rutting, but it was hardly a stink. Merely the smell of flesh...

And rutting.

He shivered, his tail flicking up, his hole clenching down on the plug within. He could feel the hunger in him again, the need to taste it, to have it inside of him. There would be no riding, though. He'd been ordered to consume...

And consume, he shall.

Tilting his head to the side, he dragged his muzzle right up to the head, where he slowly pulled it past his lips. The first taste was thick, warm, powerful, and it was almost enough to make him pull back. He didn't, and not from the threat of the claws so near his head. No, it was from...

From fear? No. Not from fear. Fear was for punishment, and while he could be punished if he did pull back, that wasn't why he kept going.

No...no, it was something else, something that was starting to burn that much hotter inside of him. Something that required attention like this, direction, commands. This...this was what he had earned. Not from doing things well, but from doing things so badly that he needed someone else to take him in hand.

So, Branlin pushed himself forward, taking inch after inch of thick lion cock past his lips, all too aware of the difference between them. Him small, Tyvo large, dark and light, soft and hard. They were completely at the opposite ends of every spectrum that one might care to name, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was wanted, craved, even, and that shaft was his to serve.

Forward, back. He tasted it, felt the whole length of it through his muzzle, and the head was about to pop into his throat before he pulled back. He gasped around the head, his fingers pressed to the base before he pushed in again. All the way forward this time, past the pop of the tip pushing into his throat, and this time he held it.

Swallow.

Gluk.

Swallow.

Gluk.

He gasped as he pulled back again, barely able to hold it for that moment, but Tyvo smiled, and the lion's shaft rewarded him with a spurt of pre-cum across his muzzle. The transparent string of heat sent a shiver down his spine, and he went back to it, sucking, swallowing, and pressing it with his tongue in every possible direction.

Sometimes, he made mistakes. He knew when he did when the lion snapped his fingers, freezing him in place. He would stop, pull back slowly, and be made to understand what he did wrong. Teeth getting in the way. Not enough tongue. Lips out of position. Every time he was told something that he had done wrong, he listened, internalized it, and tried again.

And little by little, he felt the shaft throbbing to greater and greater hardness inside his throat, getting stiffer and thicker, heavier and wetter with excitement.

But even with the changes between them, one thing hadn't changed. He had to...he had to give one last glance, one last reminder that he was - or at least, had been - Branlin the Thief. He looked up...

And he lost his nerve. What little bit of defiance was left in him withered at the stare from the great and powerful lion. He felt like he was being pinned in place by some great alchemist, a subject beneath their magnifying glasses, burning beneath that stare. Any defiance, any anger, any growling grumpiness at being made to follow his orders, shriveled up and died.

And so, he bobbed forward and back, forward and back, glukking every time that it went into his throat before he pulled back again. His hands were busy, a shuffling fap-fap every time that he bounced it along the bottom half of the shaft, occasionally hissing through his nose if he lowered himself enough for his hooves to touch his rump. The heat of his ass burned through him, reminding him of the raw pain that waited if he disobeyed again.

Up, down, up, down, always sucking, always playing, always learning what made the lion feel better. What made Tyvo feel better.

Under the eyes of the guards, under the eyes of the lion, the pygmy goat finally pushed his captor over the edge. Tyvo came, and he came with great volume, spurting the whole thing right down the goat's throat. He felt the heat, the rush, and he knew that if he pulled back at all, he would be at risk of being punished again for spitting it out, even if it was an accident. So, he pushed forward.

He swallowed.

And when his stomach no longer felt like it was being flooded with the thick lion seed that seemed almost as good as to be a meal, he pulled back. He had to struggle to pop past the head, gasping for breath, his eyes spinning.

"Ah...ah..."

"Stand."

Stand? He could barely keep conscious. Yet, his body was already working to obey that order, putting his hooves under him as he wobbled from side to side. As his legs woke up again after kneeling like that, his rump did the same, and the heat came back. He whimpered, wiggling his hips from side to side in discomfort.

Tyvo laughed.

"You have learned something, at least."

"...Thank you," Branlin said, knowing that something was expected of him, and hoping that was sufficient.

It seemed to be. The lion snapped his fingers, and two panthers stepped from the ranks. For a moment, Branlin was sure that he was to be taken back to his cell, and he braced himself for the embarrassment of the walk.

Instead, they pulled out a pillow and a matt, guiding him to it and lying him down. He blinked in surprise as they set up what seemed to be some sort of care station, and within moments, soft fingers were not just stroking him, but massaging him, taking the stinging heat from his rump. With strokes and massaging oils, they slowly eased the discomfort that had been beaten into him.

As the panthers settled in, massaging his poor, overheated rump and pouring cooling oozes over his cheeks, Branlin looked up. He watched as the lion pulled his robe back on, as he covered himself up once more, and he thought.

Why?

Why did this happen this way?

Why did he have to be punished?

Why was the lion suddenly kind?

Why did this all feel good?

There was no clear answer for him, and even as he stared at the great white lord, hoping for some sort of understanding, all he received in return was a knowing smile...and one that invited him to enjoy this more, if he so chose.

Branlin gave a weak smile in return, and slowly laid himself down.

The End

Summary: Branlin makes the mistake of trying to escape just a little too well, and ends up getting marked for it.

Summary: M/M, Lion, Goat, Pygmy Goat, Series, Spanking, Public, Exhibitionism, Embarrassment, Humiliation, Anal Plug, Piercings, Slave, Oral, Blowjob, Sucking, Orgasm, Cum, Aftercare,