Carl's Quest
Sidney had spent his whole life wishing and dreaming. Far from one might call a realist, Sidney had kept his head in the clouds and his feet somewhere at the level of passing jumbo jets. Drifting through school, he had wished to be out. Outside of school, he wished to be in. He drifted into this job, wishing for more, and then drifted into that job, idly wishing the days away. He wished for nicer clothes. He wished for a boss that didn't suck. He wished for a better car, a better house, a better life. He wished and wished, and never once made an effort past a flutter of his lips. Sidney was what you might call an anti-genie, a black hole of unfulfilled desire and a gaping void of entitlement.
It was perhaps all this practice that allowed Sidney to wish for something harder than anyone had wished before, to concentrate all his desire into an almost tangible force that he could taste. Sidney wished that he would die. The lemur's entire frame subtly quaked with this desire, a need to pass unmolested through the veil. Sidney wanted this more than anything he'd ever wanted before in his life. Why? For the simple reason that the leopard perched atop his chest was more frightening than the prospect of death. The threat of Heaven, Hell, Limbo, or nothingness forever were abstract concepts that lacked the grim reality of the steel spike in the leopard's hand, and the loveless gleam in his eye.
"I want you to understand, if you can." The leopard began, his voice thick with the air of educated refinement. "I will try to use small words." The spotted feline grinned, coldly. "You seem like an unhappy sort. Unsatisfied. Don't bother to protest." Sidney couldn't if he tried, thanks to the thick rubber ball taped securely in his muzzle, dry as a desert. "It can be difficult to live life without purpose. Without a driving, masterful force to direct you." One of the leopard's hands gripped the end of the lemur's muzzle, and held it firmly to immobilize Sidney's head. "I will be that force - that superior being to which you can surrender yourself." Now the long, surgical spike trailed along the side of Sidney's muzzle, creeping closer to his eye. The steel dripped frigid sterile fluids and disinfectants into the lemur's fur, and the bitter tang of them pervaded his tongue.
"If only I had time to fully induct you, allow you to discard all the lies about yourself and your false sentience. Time is, however, a factor." The long, slender spike alighted into the corner of Sidney's eye, barely brushing along the lachrymal duct. The dripping antiseptic fluid blurred the one eye, and his other turned and crossed to focus on the gleaming tool by reflex. "There is never enough time, and the Tower calls." The cat leaned back slightly, turning his head to more fully put his eye on the bound lemur's face. He twisted the spike carefully, aligning his forearm, hand, and surgical tool with his target deep inside Sidney's skull. Slowly, and with care, the spike was pressed into the socket between the very edge of the eye and the lid. Sidney's eyeball was depressed slightly, and between its new shape and the fluids, his vision went into strange distortions that only enhanced his terror.
Sidney tried very hard to scream when the lobotomy spike drove through the very thin bone of his eye socket.
Sidney tried very, very hard to scream.
Then he stopped.
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Frederick von Zedlitz, marketing expert and all-around good salesman, hated the jungle. Tropical, rainforest, mangrove, lowland, if it had 'jungle' in there somewhere the pudelpointer loathed it. The incredible heat, the cloying humidity, the voluminous insects, the lack of a good cappuccino machine and a big-breasted secretary, the list of reasons to hate any variety of jungle went on and on. Another could be added to the list, which would be 'island jungle full of faggots that want to cut your nuts off' and that could be in bold font and spoken with reverb. The zinger at the end of a 30-second commercial spot declaring definitively why jungles are terrible, the perfect offensive in a consumer war. Sadly, well crafted television spots or radio ads weren't going to get him off the island.
"Adapt, struggle, overcome. Reach the Tower and claim the prize!" Fredrick repeated the slogan mockingly as he pushed through the undergrowth. "Stupidest thing I've ever heard through a loudspeaker. No alliteration, no catchy rhyme. More like, struggle, survive, seek the tower and the prize!" The canid let his muzzle wrap around the words, let them tickle his ears. Even in a struggle for his nuts, he couldn't stop thinking about the sell, about how to market everything around him. He already had campaigns in mind for the new wardrobe he had plundered, and particularly for the kitchen knife stashed in his belt. Fredrick allowed the ideas in his head to percolate, to gather and form more distinctly as he pushed on toward the central mountain that rose above the treetops. The Tower would be atop the volcano of course, because where else would one put an ominous center for a deadly mutilation tournament? The cliche'd nature of it made him feel all the more bitter about his unrealized brilliance.
The sound of clattering stones banished the idle thoughts with alacrity. Fredrick responded physically out of a breed instinct, his body drawing up stiff and forward focused. His arm lashed out with a full body quiver that pirouetted him into the proper orientation, toward the sound. In that brief surprised instant, the dog felt a tremor of shame at his inability to control his pointing reflex. Bashfully, he shook himself out and let his fingers rub through his mustache nervously even though noone was around to see him. Settled, he crept forward to find the source of the sound as stealthily as he could.
Ahead the jungle finally ended, which was a ready source of comfort. The change was quite abrupt, from thick foliage to scrubby bush and rocky soil before seamlessly transitioning to gravel and raw boulders. At the very edge of the mountain's base stood a somewhat neglected looking building that sprouted thick cables running up to towers that led up the slope, obviously some kind of tram or lift system that went to the summit. More importantly, Fredrick spotted the source of the clattering stones, which was a ringtailed lemur of some kind. Sloppily attired in some secondhand jumpsuit, and stumbling around in a wandering path towards the building, Fredrick sized him up immediately as one of the drunken fraternity members bouncing around the island. The dog set his muzzle in a close-lipped expression, and grimly drew the long knife from his belt. "Sorry kid." He said, very quietly and to himself. "It's a cutthroat world."
Fredrick threw himself from the cover of the foliage and put himself into a full sprint. His long legs, popular with ladies that enjoyed a steady thrust, pounded his paws against the gravel to form a powerful loping stride. His open tropical shirt spread around his trim torso like a cape, exposing the disciplined results of evenings in the company gym. All that taut, masculine muscle had been carefully sculpted for the bedroom and the golf course, but it served well on the island. In a few heartbeats the pudelpointer reached the lemur, and Fredrick's free paw yanked hard on the loose jumpsuit. With his momentum and powerful pull, the skinny lemur went into the gravel with a clatter of stone and ash. Without losing a beat, the pudelpointer narrowed his eyes against the rising plume of ash and leaped onto his new-found victim with all his weight.
"Nothing personal, sport. Nothing faggy either. Just hold still and let me get your nuts off. I'll let you go on your way after that, fair deal considering some of the sickos running around." He had launched into a pitch without even realizing it, even as he brought the knife in to threateningly press against the lemur's neck. "So what do you...say....." The rest of the charming patter limped across his tongue, and died before it hit his lips. The dust had begun to settle a bit, and Fredrick started to get a good look at the pounced male. A sense of incredible wrongness flooded him from somewhere at the base of his spine, a jarring and gnawing sensation. The lemur was crying blood. A trail of blood ran from the corners of his eyes, thick with ash and beginning to clot. His eyes had an unfocused, glazed and empty look that failed to flicker at all when presented with the sight of a knife. Those blood-rimmed orbs just sagged there in those sad sockets like a long vacant house, no expression, no response.
Fredrick rolled off his failed victim, his paws scrabbling in the gravel for purchase as he put distance between himself and the lemur. Something had gone incredibly wrong here, the proposed narrative of slicing this male up and escaping had hit an unlucky re-write. "F-f-fuck this." Fredrick choked out, gripping the knife in his paw tighter for its comforting normalcy. With the bakelite handle digging into his pawpads, the pudelpointer kicked up a new cloud of ash scrambling to his feet. The clattering of gravel did not end when Fredrick got to his standing position, and the dog had just long enough to realize it before he was hit. The air was driven right from Fredrick's lungs, and the knife from his paw.
It felt like a truck had hit him, and the sky spun crazily into view as Fredrick tumbled forward. Gray and black gravel, blue sky with white clouds, dappled fur, leather straps. Spinning and twisting through the air in a long air from the pouncing, Fredrick thought he might lose his lunch. He almost did, actually, when he struck the unforgiving gravel and his assailant landed atop him. "Mother..." The pudelpointer wheezed, his paws lashing out at the mystery attacker. A fist hit the dog's face, and dust went into his eyes. He fought, blindly, struggling to see who was trying to pin him down and beat him senseless. The pudelpointer could make out, amidst the violence and dirt cloud, that his attacker was massive. At least three hundred hulking pounds of thick and primal muscle that seemed to exist solely for beating him senseless. Thick black leather, in straps and a hood put boundaries on the silent attacker but did not reveal much beyond the sheer animal fury and masculinity.
Fredrick fought hard, kicking and punching, even biting. Against most furs, the pudelpointer thought his odds would have been decent, or even good. Three seconds into his struggle with the juggernaut, he realized his lean vanity muscles just couldn't rise to the challenge. That shock hit his subconcious as hard as the raining blows from the huge creature grinding him into the gravel. With a shudder, the pudelpointer's struggles collapsed under the bulk of the masked animal, and his limbs were crushed tight against his sides. 'What is this? Another trick of the island? A biological trap?' The questions helped occupy the parts of his mind that would have otherwise been consumed by terror, at least. 'Its going to eat me. I am going to die on this godforsaken island over a 2% dip in sales.' That thought, less pleasant and more on point, came immediately after the questions. In other circumstances he might have found death arising from a simple market correction hilarious. Now, the mundane cause of his own imminent demise only amplified the nihilistic terror. 'Damn, thats good copy.' He mused, for a brief fraction of an instant.
*CLICK*
"Good boy." The voice that spoke was cold, precise, and screamed 'Hard Sell' to Fredrick. It was hard to hear with the deep, wet breathing of the dappled attacker flooding his ears, but the pudelpointer detected the gravel scattering. When he tried to crane his muzzle out from under the thick-furred muscle to take a look, those breaths moved to his nape. Teeth, long as scimitars and razor sharp, tenderly fondled the dog's nape before holding fast as if he were a pup. One eye managed to swing high enough to see the small dust plume of the approaching figure. Larger than life, the mystery speaker blotted out the afternoon sunlight as he drew closer and bent down. "You caught a puppy I see." Fredrick's eye strained, searching for the stranger's hands. One held a small square bit of plastic with a large button in the center, over which the thumb was poised. Menacingly, the other paw held a syringe with a long and glistening needle.
A new-found surge of panic at the sight of that long needle put renewed vigor Fredrick's frame. The secondary surge of adrenaline was powerful, strong enough for the pudelpointer to rock his frame a few inches this way, a few inches that way. The shadowed syringe-bearer found the wriggling little challenge, and an expert thrust of the paw sent the needle home into the base of the dog's throat. A chill, and numbness dragged the pudelpointer into darkness.
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Awareness swam back up with a languid glimmer, like mermaids in a lagoon. That was from the ad for which resort? It had such bright white sand that reflected the sun right into the eyes, as bright as the light that stabbed through his eyelids. Dull pain washed through his body, more of an angry ache than a sharp rebuke. He tried, gamely, to sit up or even roll onto his side and found his body unresponsive. 'Side effects include sleeplessness, narcolepsy, restless tail syndrome, constipation, dry muzzle, and sleep paralysis' The warning rolled through his head a precursor. 'Drugged.' By the mysterious assailant that controlled the unknown animal, no doubt. It neatly explained why his entire body felt like dead meat sewn onto his head.
"Ah, at last you are awake. I wanted you to be conscious for the procedure." That voice again. Sharp as a scalpel and with an educated lilt to it. Cold, cold as the metal table that Fredrick could now start to feel underneath him. His eyes began to work once more, slowly focusing and drawing in to block the glare of the bright lights shining down. The sight that greeted him was himself, reflected with only slight distortion in a sheet of polished metal that hung above him. The familiar sight of himself stretched out in the nude was small comfort when he couldn't move more than his eyes and whiskers. For a brief moment, Fredrick looked at his reflection. Fur slightly dusty, but his arms were intact, the hard-won torso dipping up and down slightly with a ripple of taut muscle as he took shallow breaths. Most importantly, between his toned thighs still lay his thick sheath and heavy, potent nutsack. 'As long as I am intact, there is hope.' A thin thread to cling to, but the doomed man grasps at all lifelines.
His eyes then turned to the side, to the source of that cold voice. "The paralytic agent takes much longer to metabolize, in comparison to the sedative. Luckily for you, I managed to find some proper tools at the secret laboratory. This will go so much smoother." The words rolled off the tongue matter-of-factly from the tall, handsome snow leopard. His looks matched his voice, which is to say that the trim male was as warm and aesthetically pleasing as a marble bust. His choice of attire did little to assuage the sense of distance and sterility. Somewhere between a futurist Mao suit and surgical scrubs, subtly menacing with charged holsters for syringes and scalpels. "I am glad the island is so well equipped. You may well find yourself to be my first true success here. I am sure you will be grateful." The snow leopard stepped closer, his arms moving with practiced fluidity to snap on a set of black gloves.
Fredrick goggled, and nearly went into a new stage of panic as the feline drew closer. 'Move! Move!' He cried, silently, to his disloyal limbs. The chemically induced stupor had sapped his muscles of strength, and the dead weight of his arms and legs did little but twitch. His neck responded, lamely, turning his head to the side and giving him a clearer view of the room. Beyond the island of light lay the leopard, behind him several trays of terror-inducing medical tools, and beyond that the huge hulking shape of the animal. Its leather hooded muzzle and lensed eyes offered no further clues to what it was, except a huge and terrifying predator. The muscle tremors reached the pudelpointer's mouth, and it fell open like a dead fish with a single word. "Why?" Barely a whisper, more of a rasp.
The leopard's lips twitched, as if to slip into the barest hint of a smile. He paused, laying his gloved manipulators on the edge of the table. "A good question, but you ask it only from imitation. Still, I will humor you. I am Carl Lanskowski, animal trainer and doctor of veterinary medicine. It is my duty to care for the lesser creatures, the pets and slaves of the higher evolved and superior sentient race." Carl moved his gloved fingers now, to trace along the contours of Fredrick's strapping chest, tapping his ribs gently. "Therefore, you, as an inferior creature, fall under my purview. I am here to help you. To strip away your illusion of personhood and reveal you for the animal that you are. Will that not be a relief, to stop pretending that you are a person? To give up the lie of willpower, restraint, and sentience?" The black latex made a soft sucking sound as it rubbed down the cobblestoned treasure trail, and the surface felt cool when Carl's fingers wrapped around the thick sheath. The cat started to squeeze and rub that fuzzy tube, coaxing out the fat pink dogcock with ease.
The pudelpointer's mind raced with panic, then confusion, with undercurrents of arousal. Despite his apprehension, his sheath thickened and then surrendered his bitch-pleaser within seconds. It had been too well trained by all those nights between hotel sheets and on conference couches to resist. "See here? A sentient person would not become aroused in such a dangerous circumstance. An animal, however, cannot help his instinct. He is a slave to his base desires, and fashions his world around them in all things. Your body, these fine muscles and well tuned heart for example. Are they for your own sake, or are they for the base, animal purpose of fucking?" Carl almost spit out the last word greasily, his distaste for it evident. "You cannot elevate yourself with will above your body. You are an animal." The black-gloved fingers made a high contrast to the hot pink length of the thick bitch-stuffer, the tips exploring the swollen knot-base before tickling at the tapered head. One set of deft fingers held the rock-hard cock wonderfully still, while the second set wound thin rubber cord around the base a dozen times or more. The thin strips pressed together, forming a thick base that held Fredrick's cock high and almost painfully hard. With his cock fully seated, the crisscrossing strips shifted downward to encircle the root of his thick, heavy nutsack. Skillfully, the leopard wound the rubber in tight coils until both of those potent pup-makers were forced to the bottom of the generously low-hanging pouch. The outline of the egg-shaped nuts bulged through the thin skin of his velvety pouch, and the corded veins and rugged surface showed through nicely. With the dog's genitals bound firmly and held immobile, the procedure could begin.
Clinking, the sound of a rolling stand over uneven concrete, broke Fredrick from the hypnosis of those smooth words and smoother strokes. Even as he tore his eyes away from the bobbing pink length of his cock in the metal mirror, it sent a throb through his spine. It cried for attention, and only the paralyzing drugs in his system kept his paws from stroking himself. A flicker of revulsion passed through the salesfur's mind. 'Could I really be that impulsive?' His mind, slightly unfocused by the drugs, flipped back over all the bitches he had mounted. Half of them he couldn't remember their names, some their faces - just tits and ass and sweet pussy. They were all just a swollen knot and sticky sheets to him. THUNK! That sound brought him out of his woolgathering. The tray had bumped the edge of the table, and it was heavy under the weight of gleaming steel. Scalpels and scrapers, saws and cleavers, picks and probes, almost every manner of nightmarish surgical equipment seemed to be represented.
"An unfortunate accident of fate put you in the wrong body. I will correct this as best I can, poor pup." Those long-fingered and black gloved hands moved to the tools now, caressing them as attentively as they had explored Fredrick's frame. Those fingers found a set of long, black tourniquets, with thick buckles and fat straps. Fredrick tried to hyperventilate from anxious panic when the thick rubber found its way around his strong thighs, but his best effort only produced a wheeze. His terror amplified the sensation, and he could feel every fiber of the rubber as it dug in against his fur and skin just above the knee. The sensation of tightness turned to pain quickly, as his blood found its flow arrested expertly. "Walking on your hindpaws is sure to confuse any animal into thinking he might be a person. Removing that temptation will go a long way in your recovery." The light from the heavy medical cleaver was as blinding to Fredrick as the prospect of losing his legs. How would he ever run again? Golf? Rock climb? Thrust deep into happy barking bitches? Wait, that should be the last thing to cross his mind when a crazy leopard is poised to...
SHHHHLLLLLISSSSSUNK!
Screaming might have made it hurt less. Kicking would have made it more bearable. Even biting on a gag or straining against ropes may have softened the blow. Fredrick could do none of that. The paralyzing drugs may have made his body as non-responsive as slabs of butchered carcass, but it did nothing to stop him from feeling. If anything, the inability to move just heightened the sensation of the thick, razor sharp steel cutting first through his fur. His skin resisted for a painful fraction of an instant that seemed to stretch for heartbeats. Then it surrendered, and his muscle folded faster than that, allowing the metal to rape through it all the way to the bone. Fredrick imagined he could feel his ligaments and tendons rolling up like window-shades when the cleaver cracked against the bone.
It hurt so much that spots, actual dark spots swam before the pudelpointer's eyes. If only they obscured the horrific sight of his leg nearly sheared off. Or more unsettling, his still throbbingly hard dog-cock. Both points of interest pulsed with blood, the colors blurring together in their similarity. "Very good bone structure. I'll need the saw." The leopard commented more to himself, setting the cleaver down in favor of a wicked bone-saw. Long steel teeth descended into the gaping wound, settling to the thick shaft of the bone firmly. No amount of milk drinking and hard exercise could make bone the equal of steel, and in a set of strokes the thick femur was cleanly cut. Every swipe ground into the bone, across the marrow, sending painful shivers all the way to Fredrick's pelvis.
Was it an hour, or minutes for the amputation? Pain and drugs confused the pudelpointer so much that it was hard to tell. No, it couldn't have taken long. The blood on the table was so red, and so fresh. The evil leopard was good, practiced even. With the bone and flesh severed, those black and red gloves were flying to tie of arteries and veins, preventing a total bleed out. 'I wouldn't mind bleeding out.' The dog thought, idly. 'Sounds....peaceful.' The needle was set aside, and a spray brought to bear, giving the pudelpointer some reprieve. He had no way to know the experimental spray on skin was from Charnco's laboratories, that it would seal his new stump and encourage its recovery. All he knew was that was cool, and dulled the pain of losing his right leg.
Snap! Carl peeled off the bloody gloves, tossing them aside into a small biohazard bin in favor of a fresh and clean pair. "That went smoothly. Let us move on to the other leg."
They say that Hell is the same thing happening over and over again. Repetition.
As it turns out, Fredrick's left leg felt almost the same.
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"There, so much better. Now you won't have to worry about trying to walk like something you are not." The leopard actually smiled, slightly, like one might to a child. Or to an animal. His gloved palms stroked down the dog's thighs, loosening the tourniquets. "Not as good as proper paws, but effective. You will be where you belong, on the ground. Beneath all the real people, like the base animal you are." With a soft, purring hum the satisfied leopard took hold of the still warm and twitching foot-paws and calves that had so recently been attached to Fredrick. He dragged them off the table, let them dangle by the toes. Blood dripped with soft plonks.
"Spot! Come here boy! Time for treats!" In a blink, the leopard's voice took on a new, warmer tone. A pleasant one that when combined with the name Spot and the word 'treats' summoned the hulking leather-clad animal from the shadows. In the mirror, the dazed pudelpointer gaped at the sight of the massive animal. The hooded head lifting up, the pink maw opening wide for the offered tidbits, worse still the sound of his bones crunching in the forceful bite. Fredrick found himself beginning to pant with disgust as the leopard cooed and patted over the snacking beast that was eating his legs!
_ _
'Wait a second. When did I start to pant? I could barely breathe just a moment ago!' Had the pain distracted Fredrick so much that he never noticed the strength returning to his chest? There it was again, that glimmer of hope. 'Maybe, just maybe....' The dog shut his eyes, and focused all his energy on his right paw. The paw so close to the heavily laden tray of sharp, deadly instruments. He could feel, but not see his paw respond slowly, stretching out to touch the cold steel. 'Let this be real, let this be real, let this be real!' He cracked his eye, breath held tight in his chest as he confirmed his feeling. His paw had moved! The paralytic drugs were wearing off! 'I have to act fast, before he stops fawning over that animal and cuts me up again.' Survival became the new goal - so his legs were gone. That could be dealt with after the mad veterinarian was dead!
Time slowed to crawl as Fredrick commanded his paw with every ounce of fury. Driven by sheer survival instinct, his paw crept onto the tray, and grasped the first instrument he could find. He turned his wrist slightly, and noted with satisfaction that he had nabbed some kind of wickedly curved scalpel. 'Curved Scalpel: When you have psycho leopards, think scalpel!' Just holding the firm steel made the pudelpointer swell with a giddy sensation. His eyes turned to the gloating leopard, leaving the feasting animal to return to the table. 'I've got just one shot.....'
"Let us continue. Just a few more alterations until we have your body in line with what you are, pet." Carl began to put on fresh gloves, and there in the moment where his attention was absent, Fredrick attacked. Adrenaline helped him shrug off the last vestiges of the paralyzing drugs, and he felt very confident with the full commitment of the lunge. His eyes were focused on the leopard's chest, his paw arcing to bury that scalpel directly into the icy heart of the spotted monster. Carl was slow, too slow to jump out of the way of the gleaming steel weapon.
The curved blade all but sung as it passed through the air. If Fredrick still had his legs, it would have hit home - but for the unfortunate dog, he had been counting on the additional leverage of his heels digging into the table. Unable to compensate, his swing was slow and high, and it missed the leopard's chest completely. Instead, it scored a gash across the cat's upper bicep, cutting through the shiny white uniform and turning it red.
Carl let out a yowl, both of pain and surprise when the tables turned. His cat-like reflexes weren't enough to keep him from the first blow, but he hit the floor right after. Outside of the dog's reach at least, even if he arrived there in a decidedly undignified and uncatlike way. "Spot!" For the first time, a hint of panic crept into his voice, and a crack formed in the cold facade. From the shadows, a bloody-muzzled Spot lunged.
Reeling from his unbalanced strike, Fredrick rolled onto his side, and his arm went well over the edge of the table. The drugs still had some hold on him, and with his effort expended the dog found himself dizzy and weak once more. Still, he could move - enough to crawl off the table and engage the leopard on the ground? 'I'd crawl through broken glass to gut that fucker!' Determination flooded the pudelpointer, at just about the same time that Spot's jaws found the scalpel clenching paw.
Spot's head was massive, blocky and masculine with an incredibly threatening profile of muscular jaws and a thick neck. The obscuring hood of tight leather and smoked lenses that hid all but his maw helped added to intimidation factor. Within his jaws, rows of white teeth gleamed razor sharp, and with the wide predatory bite Fredrick's entire paw would have fit easily inside. Most of his head would, in fact. So when Spot lunged forward, the incredible striking power of those teeth knocked the scalpel from the pudelpointer's paw. Then those teeth clamped down, and the strong, triangular teeth sawed through flesh and bone better than surgical shears.
In a flash of pain, the dog's fingers vanished into the gulping throat of the massive pet, leaving behind stumpy digits. Too short to be of any use, except to bleed. Which they did, profusely. Hoarsely, Fredrick began to scream, his muzzle gaped and eyes wide as he stared at his newly mangled paw. He was too shocked by the ferocity of the sudden mauling to see Carl getting up off the floor. To admire the quick draw holster that gave up its fully loaded syringe with a wrist flick. It wasn't until the needle hit his neck, and cold numbness washed down his spine that he became aware. It was too late by then.
"Very naughty puppy. Very bad dog." The leopard's voice was calm again, but harder. Scornful, even. The sound came before the vision, which swam into focus much faster than earlier. Perhaps the holstered syringe was a different mix? It must have been, because the blood on the table from his paw-mauling was still red. His paw was sprayed and banadaged, but the blood was still red, still red. He was out for just a minute, but....wait. _ ' My right paw was bitten. My dominant paw. The mirror, I must be seeing it wrong, my other paw.'_ The shallow breath caught in his throat. Both paws were bandaged! "Fingers are not for animals. They lead to all kinds of trouble. The false thumb, removed. The over-long digits, trimmed to their proper lengths. You are almost looking like the proper animal you are."
Carl brushed his gloved hands together, then peeled them off. New gloves one more, a fresh set for every procedure. The leopard meticulously stretched a fresh set over his long, dexterous fingers. At some point, he had dressed the gash in his arm and stitched the sleeve. "No more troublesome walking. No more false fingers. Now the most important step, which is to control your base urges. For too long you have been obedient to the breeding urge. I must shift your focus to serving the superior sentient, and away from chasing bitches." The leopard smirked, smug as if he had a muzzle filled with canary. "Fortunately there is a very simple procedure to effect this aim."
Fredrick's blood turned to ice water, and if his massive nuts hadn't been firmly restrained by several feet of rubber cord they might have hidden in his guts. 'Oh god, oh god, I will become a monk and wander the earth, just let him say a series of sexual harassment prevention seminars. Christ above, I beg this of you.' Deep in his heart, in the small pessimistic corner though, he knew that was the aim of the entire island. To remove his nuts, which was bad enough. Here though, this monster was removing everything else that had made him a male, even a person. Ripping apart his identity piece by piece.
Worryingly, Carl was silent as he lifted a new scalpel. A small, standard scalpel like anyone could find in any doctor's office. It was his other paw that did the threatening, moving to cup those well trapped pair of fat dognuts. "No wonder you are such a bad dog. These huge testes are pumping your body full of hormones, causing sexual and territorial aggression. Luckily, the fact that they are so very large and so very low hanging will make their removal easier." Bound tight in the bottom of their sack, those heavy orbs had little play. Regardless, Carl worked his fingers, rolling them around in his palm as much as they would shift, weighing them carefully. 'Stop dripping fuckslop, you stupid cock! He's no bitch, he'll hurt you!' Yet his stupid animal cock would not listen, it only responded to the warm caresses. Its knot swelled, and the tip burbled out watery precum in thick rivulets.
"Shush now. Neutering will only help you, puppy. You will be so much calmer." The tip of the scalpel, cool and thin, pressed gently to the top of the well trapped nutsack. The tip dimpled the fuzzy skin delicately before it sliced in, blood welling up at the site of the incision. "So much more focused on Master." Carl's powerful hand held the dog's nuts still as stone, his steady cutting motion travelling down the midline of the taut scrotum. The scalpel's tip traced the 'seam' there, splitting the oversized velvet as easily as an over-ripe orange. Blood and watery fluids dripped out, splattering against the steel table as Fredrick's sack was split. "Able to take a deeper breeding." The scalpel completed its traverse, and the pudelpointer's overstretched sac was cleanly split. With only the mildest squeeze, Carl plopped the dense dognuts out of their fuzzy housing, letting them tumble to the cold steel surface.
Fredrick could not look away from the sight of his own nuts being destroyed. Partly from his paralysed eyes, partly from the hypnotic horror of seeing his own heavy balls manhandled. The way they sat in a puddle of blood, trailing cords and blood vessels. He could swear that they pulsed, still feeding his cock pre-cum even as the leopard's scalpel twisted around the cords. Bundled up and tied off, the cut was over before the dog knew it. Unsupported and loose, his testes rolled a few inches down the slickened table surface. "There! A few stitches left...." The needle flashed, like quicksilver thoughts. 'I'm nutless. Like a feral four-legger. Nutless. I'll never have pups. I'll never, I'll never be a man again.'
_ _
Carl whistled low, setting the scalpel and needles aside. "Spot! Treat!" Both nuts, still warm from the sack, were picked up. The big, heavy orbs needed a hand each to lift without bruising or squishing them. First one nut, then the other, flashed wetly in the bright lights as they tumbled through the air. The open pink maw was an easy target, and with a satisfied growling gulp Fredrick's nuts were swallowed whole by the massive pet. Slippery with blood and cum, they slid with ease down Spot's throat, splashing softly into the acid of his gut. There, they dissolved forever.
Satisfied that his pet was fed, Carl turned his attention back to the mutilated and castrated pudelpointer. Fresh gloves were snapped on, and the clean latex stroked through Fredrick's fur once more. "So much better, look at you now, pup. Like a proper animal." 'Like a freak. A nutless bomb victim.' Those stroking hands began to unwind the rubber from around the dog's deflating knot, the freshly stitched line of the pointer's missing nutsack. 'Still. Neuticals. Hormones. Prosthetics. At least I am alive. Maybe...maybe I can put something like a life together after this.'
"Now we just need you to think like the proper animal you are. I am afraid I don't have time to do it the subtle way." While Fredrick had been trying to come to terms with his mutilation, the leopard had hefted a shiny chromed drill. The narrow bit spun up as the feline tugged the trigger, testing the battery. "Luckily I have some practice as a neurosurgeon."
Fredrick's last coherent thought was how to sell his soul to Satan.
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Much later, everything was clean and packed. The scalpels and saws all re-shined and honed, the drugs back in their bottles, the syringes in their holsters. Carl sighed quietly, silently going over his supply checklist. "Well, that is everything. Come, Spot." He snapped his fingers, pushing open the door of the tram station. He and his massive pet left the building.
They left behind two figures in the semi-darkness of the abandoned surgical suite. A sloppily dressed lemur, and a deformed dog that laid across the ringtail's lap. Both had glassy, distant expressions on their muzzles, and blood trails from their eyes and skulls. After a long while, the lemur gargled wetly. "Walrm." He dragged his fingers through the dog's curly fur, and began to stroke the warm flank with a jerky uncoordinated enthusiasm.