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The degenerate Tappahannock skirts Galendoria’s south. The east is squeezed by both the canine Keiferhetzen and the verboten, cursed lands of Elsteron. The beleaguered human kingdom had few avenues of relief, and teetered on the brink of collapse.

Anyone with a brain realized the cause was the king, a vain and stupid young man with little mind for stratagem or economic prosperity. The young king's penchant for bloodshed and petty squabbles with Keiferhetzen strain more than just Galendoria. If Elsteron caught wind of just how weak one of their neighbors was, the entire cordon around them could become unwound.

To that end, Emmett Clayton had plunged into Keiferhetzen. Sent forth with a simple duty to find and scout alternative passages, things that may give Galendoria an advantage in their constant conflict with their neighbors.

Most of the border between Galendoria and Keiferhetzen was a natural barrier, opened up here and there where the mountains and rough terrain permitted. Supposedly, years ago, free trade and the passage of people were allowed on those roads where they were built. Now nothing but fortresses and gatehouses.

Avoiding such things, Emmett sought the northernmost mountains. The heights of the range were quite travelable on foot. What made it impermissible was the weather. Harsh and bitter winds, and most months of the year snowfall blanketed the place. Useless for the transport of baggage trains or large numbers of men. But beyond this barrier, perhaps some solution.

He came equipped to tolerate protracted exposure, alone, in such conditions. He carved his way with bit of tactful travel, sufficient supplies, and a pinch of magical assistance.

Build into the peaks was a temple, old and alone. A tall tower from which few of the canines of Keiferhetzen, and fewer humans, had any knowledge. It lay on few maps but was of great cultural importance.

A holy place for the canines, where their feral goddess was given the praise and lavish sacrifices their ancient scriptures demanded. The phrase 'get thee to a nunnery', has entirely different connotations in the canine lands. Breeding, copulation, and the reverence of heats and ruts were key in the secretive practiced religion of Keiferhetzen.

Emmett hardly knew any of this, conceiving of it only as some minor outpost. The blustery winds whipped down from it, some warning from the gods to keep away. But in dire need of shelter, and with no alternatives, he plunged ever onward. The lack of any smoke or fire by the ken of his eye, and a general air of dereliction inspired Emmett forward. It was abandoned, he told himself. And it could be a place to hold up for a few days.

Frostnip was nibbling at his extremities, but it wouldn't be a problem at all if he got some shelter. Meager as the brickwork tower would offer. If it truly was abandoned, he anticipated it to be quite cold. Prepared he was, prepared for many causalities, including a storm.

What he didn't prepare himself for were the nuns, the occupants of the tower. So sure he was that it was abandoned - what from the darkened, small slit windows, and the entirely barren entryway. When he opened the great wooden door it was unlocked, and he hurried to slam it closed behind him to keep out the window and snow.

He propped closed the door with a bit of chipped stone lying around and gave an inspection of the environ. Dead quiet, save for the whistle of wind through some of the drafty stones. The bad ones could be plugged, he thought.

He found himself in a simplistic and relatively unadorned room. Curved metal holders for candles or rushlights lay here and there, worked to the stone. Thin, turrent-like windows with metal braced glass allowed in some dour grey light. The floor was mercifully not cold stone, rather a rough wooden paneling lay under his boots. The walls occasionally featured a tapestry.

Woven hounds dancing on fields of dull red. Lewd, sensual throes of passion depicted in a crude, but not talentless, manner. Simplistic but definitely dobermans, their cropped ears and long snouts gave it away. Emmett had culled a dozen under his mace's rounded bludgeon.

Stark little furniture lay about, an empty hearth, carpeting if the rags could be considered such. Not a table, chair, loom, or any sign of comfort or life.

Something caught his nose, but he pushed it aside. A human's senses aren't bad, but quite generalized in some places. Their sense of scent is nothing against that of a canine’s. Their eyesight was superior to their digitgrade counterparts, on the other hand.

This fact ran through his mind when he picked up on the barest hint of ash, the charcoal smell of fire's product. Anticipation, he chalked it up to, a desire to get warm. But what he could not deny was the sight of it. A bit of scattered ash, just strewn about the hearth.

Nothing, of course. Ash would stay there, right? If it had been used, and not cleaned, the ash would remain. Then why that warm, potent smell? He knelt before the hearth and ran his fingers across it. Warm. Barely, but undeniably warm.

The hairs on his neck stood on end. Company. A dozen possibilities ran through his mind, and by instinct, he reached for the mace at his side. Free from the belt hook keeping it close, it provided a soothing familiarity to his white-knuckling hands.

A loud clap made him launch from his crouched spot and spin on a heel. The grind of his boots to sediment rang out. From some hidden trapdoor sprang an awful visage. The reflective, baleful eyes of a Doberman peered from the very edge of the hole in the floor.

Their sharp, perked ears tented up a nun's habit. He reared up to charge and knock this enemy's teeth out. How could he not? He was in unfriendly territory. There could be no negotiation. Snarling broke into a bark and the massive figure revealed themselves fully. Clambering up from the ladder and standing full and upright was a tall woman. The tight, black cloth of her frock clung around a motherly, swoon-worthy body.

Emmett froze, and this was his undoing. Some vague notion of not harming women crossed his mind enough to allow the cleric the advantage. With a whispered prayer and a wave of her hand, the human was disarmed. The metal of his mace heated up to such a degree, and so fast, that the steel was molten red.

He yelped and tossed it away from him, singing the wood. Grace had it the worst of the burn was blunted by his gloves, but his fate was sealed. A short half-prayer evoked a trance upon the human, and he fell into a black slumber.

As his knees trembled and he sank into a slanted pile, his woozy eyelids gave him a glimpse at the nun's approach, stalking forward one paw after another.

---

When he woke, Emmett was nude. Not cold, surprisingly. The room he found himself in was quite balmy. Dark, though. He was strung to some type of saltire cross. His ankles and wrists were all bound to wood, forced to a spread eagle position and quite exposed.

One wall containing a simplistic fireplace crackled and snapped at him. The smoke was ventilated to somewhere unknown. Something about the room kept it gloomy and ill-lit despite the fire.

As his bleary, tired eyes searched left and right, he found any noise or words he wished to speak choking in his throat. Some sound irritated his ear, scratching, grinding. Quill! Quill on paper!

He thrashed his head to and fro, searching out the candlelight by which one of the dobernuns was scribing. With her back turned, he had little ability to see if it was the one who'd detained him.

The loud clack of a door being open suddenly startled both the scribe and Emmett, and he was certain that was the woman, no the beast, who had captured him.

"Mother Superior!" the shocked scribe chirped. "Good morning."

Morning, he thought, had he been out the whole night?

A curt, "Sister Agnes," was the only reply for some time. The abbess got close to Emmett, inspecting him with a discerning and judgmental glare that he tried his best to meet with defiance.

In his exhaustion and disorientation, he could hardly muster much resistance. This brought amusement to the abbess, evident but her tight-lipped smirk. "Is he ready?"

"Nearly, Mother Superior!" Agnes replied with excitement and far too much pomp and neediness, springing from her seat fast enough to make it clatter. She scuttled over to her prioress with her hands clasped together over her breasts.

His eyes defied his will and dragged themselves across their features. The Mother Superior was not just superior in title. She was taller, and of a fuller figure, than her counterpart. A stern, tight, aggressive expression was laid across her features. Meanwhile, in exact contrast, was the shorter and more expressively jubilant Agnes. Her boobs and butt were slimmer, less rounded, but her all-around bouncy disposition and expressive face gave her splendid qualities.

He wanted to chew the flesh of his cheek to keep himself from gawking, how could he be here, strung up and practically salivating over the two of them?

Emmett felt a stirring in his loins he tried to temper, but his body was flush and susceptible. The reality was, they had drugged him in his sleep. Tonics, tinctures, and alchemical solutions made to send him into the closest a human can manage for a rut. But not without purpose. Oh, their plan was devious indeed...

"Sister Agnes, I will assign you to this no-fur's breaking-in and conditioning. I will allow you to select whatever you wish as his new object of desire."

The younger - though no less deliciously proportioned nun was elated. She bounced on her paws slightly, the tight garb of black showing off her perked nipples. "Anything?"

A silent nod confirms it. What that all meant, the human could hardly comprehend. The abbess touched Agnes' shoulder lightly and left her alone once more. She shut the door behind her with as much abrupt fury as she had entered.

When Emmett looked from the door, to the nun staring at him, he found a certain derangement looking back at him that wasn't there before.

"Paws. My paws. That's what it'll be," she said with a giddy clap.

He tried to voice some questions but was too dry and choked to do so, making only a confused croak and furrowing his brow in concern.

"What you'll be trained to love! Part of breaking you in is getting you addicted to a non-sexual body part. In less than a week, you'll be so broken you'd trade sex with a human woman and freedom for a whiff of my paws."

Her maniacal smile was gleaming at him, compelling him to silence as she continued, pacing the small room's confines slightly. "Can you imagine it? Cracking the psyche of a human man that badly, that he'd crawl behind you on a leash and kiss the sweat spots your paws leave on the stone?"

One of her hands dived between her legs and began lewdly patting her puffy cookie, the bulge of her pussy just barely visible against the black of her garments. "I won't have to imagine soon enough. You'll need a new name to go with your new place. What about something simple, like puppy?"

This made him gag in rage and frustration, thrashing against his binds, pulling at them. What filth was this? This woman, worse yet a mutt, thought she could talk to him in this way. Revolting. "My name is," he tried, straining and feeling a thin, fresh flash of pain in his throat.

"Puppy!" She said, clapping her hands a few times.

"Emmett!"

She waggled her finger. "No, no. Bad boy."

The man, soon to be beast, tried his best to spit on her in defiance, but missed. She gasped. "I see you're too rowdy to be ungagged." To shut him up and prevent any further saliva from being sprayed on her, the nun muffled him with a cloth. He put up what fight he could, but without any way to remove it, he could only bite on it in frustration.

More and more he didn't want to be free to pummel the woman, but to stroke off. His lust was overbearingly clouding his mind. Jerk off first, then fight these hounds, he told himself.

Agnes frowned and shook her head, turning her back to him once more and pacing to her desk. Her wimple fell unceremoniously to the floor, then her hands traveled up to her shoulders.

She peels her off the rest of her habit, spreading it. Emmett could see nothing but the broad, black cloth covering her back and being spread like a pair of wings. His breathing accelerated, his vision warbled, staring at it and waiting. Waiting for it to drop, so that he could see her nude back. The potent demand to keep her in view wasn't like anything he'd experienced outside his most lust-filled moments.

When the curtain finally dropped, and her splendid, curvy body is exposed, Emmett was panting just like the puppy he'd be molded into. Anges' unsightly name was an ill fit for her fertile body. Emmett's cock swelled at the simple, subtle suggestions of her motion. The sway of her ass slightly hither and thither, her hand brushing up her thigh and coming to rest at her hip. Not to mention those dark spots in her fur, dimples of Venus.

Agnes finally turns entirely. "Hard already? Never seen a nude canine before? Or maybe those aphrodisiacs are working?" Her excitement, sensual and otherwise, was evident not just by sight but scent too. Her right hand went between her legs to roll her puffy canine clit across her palm again and again. Emmett was drowning in the musky, tangy scent of her arousal. Each dragging sniff of the dense air in the sweltering room, had his cock throbbing and balls tugging up to release their seed.

Agnes grasped at his penis and stroked it. Only the most cold and logical portions of him cried out to pull away, struggling against his binds, "No!" he rasped, and yet his hips pumped forward at her bestial palm, which made her snicker.

"What a slutty cock, so eager to mate. Not yet, you're not ready." Agnes stopped her teasing and brought forth a dual set of pigments and an applicator, with a book tucked under her arm. She dabbed the brush into the bowl of blue, and then touched the tip to his skin. The sweat that had begun rolling down Emmett's bare skin did nothing to dissuade the paints the nun was applying to him.

She drafted a set of blue streaks, laid to the striations of his muscle on his biceps, chest, thighs, and calves. By the end of it, he looked like a tribal, but she wasn't uptight about her work. The tickle of the blue-drenched brush worked its way over many sensitive spots, and he couldn't deny himself the visual pleasure of watching her body move, her breasts hang or jiggle as she bent over.

"And now for myself. It's painless, I promise." The nun dispensed with the blue and began with the red - on herself. All those places which she'd marked him, she marked herself. But with a slow cruelty, a teasing exposure of her body. Twisting herself around as he watched to make certain his heart rate never dropped, and his mind was utterly consumed with desire for her form.

The fun stopped abruptly when her work began. The area in front of Emmett was cleared, and Agnes knelt before him. Her muzzle reached just above his cock, and she sat close enough to exhale rushes of breath against it, making it twitch. Since she'd painted his body, his dick had been leaking a long and warm trail of pre.

Agnes allowed him to drip to the floor in peace as she concentrated on reading from a book laid before her. Her guttural chanting, growls like a coyote in heat, became a howling wail that rose up from the prayer she began with to a raving madness. And with the surge in her voice came a blisteringly hot feeling across Emmett's entire body. Steam wisped from him, and he clenched his fists to deal with it. There wasn't pain so much as discomforting heat. A sort of heat that warned of pain imminent.

What he was missing, with his eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched to the cloth, was Agnes' spellcraft. The musculature, the strength and body size Emmett had cultivated for years was being sapped away and applied to Agnes herself. For her, it was a chill, not a heat, that ran through her body. Her nipples, all of them, hardened as she shivered slightly. His muscle was melted to her fat. Strength was softened to plumpness, filling out her ass and tits, the curves of her body, and tightening her waist to produce a perfect hourglass. What's more, Agnes was now nearly as tall as her Mother Superior.

The consequence was Emmett's reduced size freed him from his binds. And, the nun was quick to grab him before he fell. The poor test subject could do little but squirm as the strength was drained from his limbs.

"That's a good boy, just rest now," Agnes said, rubbing over his back with her claws, tickling his clammy skin. The dobernun chuckled, cooing in pleasure at feeling him thrust against her body. "Needy, I can feel it. You won't be humping anything but my paws, puppy."

Agnes grasps at her toy's head and lays him on the floor. A troubling tiredness fell over Emmett, and something felt terribly off about his body. He looked around, at himself, at the nun clasping his hair and holding his head aloft. He was smaller, and he felt weaker. Had she altered his body that easily?

There wasn't even a chance or ability for him to resist her spell craft, it was just drained from him, drawn out like water from a well. Leaving him poorer for it, and enriching Agnes' body.

"That's a good pup, lay at my paws." Agnes drops her toy's head and stands to her full height, nude and bare. He simpered at her, wincing as she raised up her sweat-soaked left paw, and ground it to his face. The delicious saline of her damp paws soaked to his cloth gag, being snorted to his nose and drank in by his senses both olfactory and taste.

Delicious? Why did he find it delicious? Why did that reeking, dense paw musk, with all its rank and earthy tones - the eye-watering harshness - why did he want it with such desperation?

"Oh look at you hump the floor, I guess your body is trying to tell me how much you love all those pheromones."

She put her weight on his face, grinding her soft toe beans back and forth across his nose and mouth, clutching it between her toes and poking the skin with her claws. The nun rocked his head back and forward. The lull of motion unsettled what little defense he was trying to muster up.

The wonderful scent was murderous to his willpower, striking it down like a hammer to a vase, shattering his psyche into pieces with something as pathetic, lowly, disgraceful as this doberman's paws.

Agnes stepped across his body, rolling him to his back while his strength was still drained from him. "In one week, these will be your whole world. Ready?"

---

It had not been a week. And he was broken. Day in, day out, for the last five days 'puppy' was exposed to little other than Agnes' paws. While she scribed, he was beneath her, under her desk. His nose buried between her toes huffing the stink, thrusting at the air with the after-effects of the wire-crossing the priestess' conditioning and alchemy had done.

The human warrior previously known as Emmett was fed a delicious, filling spread of food. But in addition to that sustenance, he was forced to imbibe potions that dulled his logical senses and set fire to his more desperate lusts. The first few times, he could shake the feelings off. After the sixth dose on the third day, he thanked Agnes for it.

Much of the day, if she didn't want him tending to her paws, he was wrapped close to her chest. She said it was to inundate him with her musk, to soothe him and help him be reminded of his place. It was warm, soft, and pleasant, as much as he tried to tell himself he hated it. She wrapped him up tight in her nun's habit, the small outline of his body bulging from between her tits and over her torso.

Some of the other nuns scratched his back through the fabric, tickling him. They took joy in seeing him bundled up and bound to her velvety body and stuffy clothing. Being treated like an object did much to wear out his mental fortitude. Now and then he found himself nuzzling between her breasts, appreciating her scent and the constriction of her clothing.

This evening now, he would be given a special task that would occupy both his hands. Applying a red varnish to each of Agnes' toe claws. With a brush, and a mortar filled with the thick cosmetic paint.

"Slowly and gently, puppy. Enjoy it. Remember that servicing these is pleasure for you now. Meditate on that while you work," Agnes said, sitting in her tall-backed chair. For emphasis she squeezed and splayed her paws in her boy-toy's lap, brushing the pads across his nude thighs.

It was almost painful, resisting the urge to stroke off and orgasm across her footpaws. But, the nun had denied every pleading beg he made for relief. Each time reinforcing that her needs came first. And the use of his dick was at her leisure, not his own.

He hated it, but agreeing, submitting, and allowing her to deny him, was potently arousing. It set her above him absolutely, stealing away bodily autonomy on every level he could conceive. She'd warped his form to a softer, weaker one. She'd warped his desires to one of the lowliest things he could imagine. And each time she was adamant in her denial of his masturbatory requests, she was denying him sexual agency.

Mulling that over in a feverish haze of arousal, he took her left paw to his left palm, and ran the brush in his right hand round and round the bowl. After collecting a good, solid coating, he brushed off the excess on the lip of the bowl. It came naturally, doing this, he'd applied war paint before and it was similar. He wanted to do well, he wanted them to be perfect.

Moreover, he simply had to see what they looked like. How sexy would they be when dressed up in a dangerous red, her paws? It made his hands shiver. But, he kept himself controlled and cautiously dragged his brush across the claws of her toes. Big, soft, and beautiful.

'Puppy' felt his body tremble with each stroke of the brush across her long, curved nails. Just like she had said, it was pleasurable. Undeniably so. Had they really broken his mind that quickly? Did he even fight it? He savored each claw’s painting.

Finishing with the pinkie toe of her left foot, he looked up to the smiling, kind-hearted Agnes and thought 'No, I didn't fight it, they are superior.' Even the feeling that Agnes was kind, just because she smiled, patted his head, and let him thrust at her socks. What treats were these? Boons given to dogs. Which is precisely what he'd been melted down to.

"You're panting, is it too hot in here? We have to keep the fires burning, puppy. It's very chilly outside. Especially for a no-fur." She inspected her left paw, back and forth. He was waiting for it, a smile or nod or approval, clutching at his thigh in suspense.

"Good job! Very good boy, do the other one as nice as that and I'll think about giving you a treat. How does that sound?"

It sounded stupendous, especially when she patted the underside of his balls with the back of her right paw. Did that mean he'd get a pawjob? He couldn't fuck this up. He couldn't spoil this for himself. It needed to be perfect.

And so, when it was time for her right paw to be painted, he took the utmost care. He divested himself of all thoughts of arousal, ignoring the stirring in his loins. Sister Agnes needed his service. He had to focus on it. She demanded his perfection and he would give it at whatever cost him himself.

Nary a twitch of his hand occurred, and he capped it off by dutifully blowing on all her painted claws to help dry them. Much to Agnes' amusement.

"Some excuse to sniff them more, pup? Well go on, seems to me you've earned it."

Emmett may have been snapped in two by these dobernuns’ magic, but he clutched at his own throat to stifle the happy bark that tried to eek itself out at her words. He choked it down, but her inspecting look gave away that she'd noticed.

"Can you look right here, please?" the Sister said, pulling from within her habit a long silver chain. At the end, a small emblem dangled, the head of a doberman wrought in precious metal. It flicked and twitched in the dark room's shady fire light. "Keep focused on it."

He obeyed, he had no choice. He hardly noticed when she'd completely 'dropped' the chain. However, her magic kept it suspended by her bosom, swaying in a cumbersome arc from one breast to the other. With her hands free, the sister did little but rest them. She needed to focus on her chanting, after all. The magical prayer she spoke wormed its way into her puppy's head, curling its tendrils around the wrinkles of his brain to reshape it to her whim.

Emmett was none the wiser, after all. What he felt was all-enveloping pleasure. His eye was entertained by the pendulum. His ear tickled and stimulated by her low chant. His skin pulsed with the radiant warmth of the room - not to mention the slow rubbing of her paws on the inside of his thighs. His deep and regulated breathing drew in dense pulls of her musk. Now a comforting smell more reassuring than the memory of his own mother.

Agnes took it slow with his pawjob reward. She wanted him to savor it, he had earned it after all. He was such easy prey, and Agnes had broken him so soundly, that the Mother Superior had commended her. A rare thing that was. He was in a blissful paradise, feeling the underside of her squishy pawpads clamp his cock in a vice and pump up and down.

He hardly had consciousness to put it to thought, but he had never felt something better around his penis. This is where his dick belonged, under canine paws. He heard something compete with her chanting and realized in the musk-mad confusion it was his own ragged panting.

Her magical word weaving was carving lines into his personality, ruining the plasticity of his mental capacity and replacing it with what she wanted: a complete and ruthless addiction to her paws.

The tantric flow of her words and her paw's movement kept the nun's puppy on edge for what felt like a lifetime. He was nearly on the verge of tears, a swirling and dogged demand to orgasm bursting from his pores.

"If you cum, these effects will be permanent, puppy."

Her voice sounded like it was coming across as one of his own, original thoughts. Surrounded by a dizzying backdrop of his, and her, thoughts telling him to submit, to love her paws, to give into her musk. Changes? He hadn't a clue what those changes could have been.

But, he did understand cumming. He wanted that. He had to have it. It burned him not to have it. So, regardless of the consequences, Emmett grasped at her ankles to give himself some control. And like a dog with a pillow, he humped at her and howled, fucking out his seed at his own pace, painting her pawpads with his defeat.

There was splendid, immediate relief, a bombastic orgasm whose pleasure was the only thing that kept him moving. Exhaustion fought against the joy of release for whether he should keep nutting and grinding against his owner's pawpads, or collapse.

Some small, tender notion at the back of his mind held self-awareness still. And, admitted defeat. It felt good. It felt better than any brothel girl, any human he'd ever bedded. Blowing against this dobernun's paws had felt better than a raw fuck with any of the virginal farmer's daughters he'd deflowered.

Just like she'd set out to make him, her puppy was ruined for human women. And all to the reassuring call of 'good boy!'

Agnes caught her experiment before he could collapse to the stone, making sure he got his well-earned rest wrapped in her arms.

---

By the second week, Emmett had only a dim awareness that he was a captive. His cage, as it were, brought so much pleasure that it could hardly be called captivity. It was true that he was made to crawl, often forced to be nude around the nuns, and performed many of their menial tasks. But, he also got to kiss the paw-shaped sweat-spots Agnes left on the floor, so surely that was an equivalent exchange.

He learned much about his surroundings now that he was given further leave of the abbey. It used to be predominantly based in the tower. However, as weather got worse on the mountainside they turned inward. A mixture of captives and hirelings were made to carve out the many rooms of the religious retreat.

Much like the southern hill dwarves, all of their sustenance was grown and harvested in the darkness. It wasn't lacking in flavor or nutrition, Emmett learned. He was instructed on how to prepare meals and assist in kitchen duty. He was allowed little else but a dainty apron to conceal himself when serving and mise en place. And, dotingly kept from anything hot or dangerous.

Some flicker of annoyance came up in these moments, most of his body on display, and a towering dobernun speaking to him like he was an idiot who'd never peeled a potato. He was a warrior, he'd fought in battles against these beasts. He'd lost companions to these feral, inhuman-- And then the nun would pat his head and call him a good boy. His ire melted to desperation to please his superiors.

When scrubbing ruddy dishes and pots after a meal, the dull duty was brought spice when one of the nuns would grasp and knead his ass. Or weigh his balls and assuringly whisper, "Soon." He could feast on that word for hours, mulling over its meaning.

His handler, Agnes, hadn't allowed him an orgasm since he was given a pawjob. To his combined shame and arousal, his easy-to-excite condition was fully visible to his captors. Given his nakedness, their teasing and words often got a rise out of him, which would bring pleasure to the dobernuns. All of them took express joy in seeing how their bodies, magic, and speech could invoke such a reaction in their enemies.

One evening, after a fast in the cloister, 'puppy' was brought to a bed. Larger, and far more comfortable than Agnes' for certain. Though his mind was a haze of half-aroused soup, he had awareness enough to recognize these bedchambers were from someone special. The only person he could think of was the Mother Superior.

The room was a bit colder than much of the underground hideaway. Larger in every way. A higher, domed ceiling canopied fanciful and comforting adornments lining the walls. The attending sister told Emmett to remain on the covers and, “be good, don't touch a thing.” Emmett pathetically found himself soft-soaping for the nun's favor. Extolling at great length how he'd be compliant.

A sly smirk was his only reply, which gave him little comfort. So, he remained kneeling. Occasionally he'd run his hands over the linens and appreciate just how soft they were compared to Agnes'.

After an indeterminate amount of time, his suspicion was realized. The Mother Superior entered. Her nun's habit was gone, and in its stead a flourished, superfluous set of lingerie. Only the decorating pieces were on her body, it left her dark black puffy pussy entirely exposed. Similarly uncovered were her heavy tits, and their pinkish nipples. Dotting her abdomen were 8 more pup-feeders, flat but no less round and aroused.

"Have they told you my name, puppy? Or have the sisters only called me Mother Superior around you?"

Emmett thought a moment and shook his head no, looking at the sheets in deference.

"Ceinwen." Her age was visible in the pitch of her voice, and the slight sag of her features. They did nothing to sully her appearance, naturally, if anything they amplified her boxum characteristics. "I will be the mother of your children. And you will have many."

Before that idea could settle, he was leaped upon. Her claws dug into his shoulder painfully, grasping at him and pinning him back down to the mattress. She ground and slapped her squishy, puffy dog-puss on his stomach in fitful grinds.

"Look at me, and listen!" She growled, grasping at his chin and forcing him to look directly at her. Her snout aimed down at him and her snarling, horrific visage drooled down at him with a mad, magically-altered lust. To aid in the breeding, she'd consumed many of the same tinctures Emmett had been given.

"That whore-poker of yours is going to have a long, busy evening. We will not be stopping until I am satisfied."

The induced heat Ceinwen was experiencing was maddening, and it could only be sated with a severe session of rutting. The scent of her, the feeling of her warm and wet slickness smearing his tummy, and her ferocious growling were getting him more than sprung. Painfully throbbing moved his shaft as his dick tip slathered itself against her pussy and asshole.

Quick as a whip she slipped a hand between her legs and guided his wood into her. Immediately Emmett gasped and clutched back at her biceps, which only made her redouble her pin on him. The feeling was sublime, tight and warm, clutching with an aching need they were equally experiencing.

"Are you thinking that you can’t knock me up? That your seed will do nothing in my field?" The pace she was setting with her downward thrusting was driving him mad, it was knocking the breath from him, he couldn't respond because he was trying to lift her off him.

The strength he still possessed was too little to resist her squelching, rapid humps downward. "The alchemy has taken care of that. Hnn~ Oh, what's that face? Still confused? I told you I would be the mother of your children. And we will be making many beautiful puppies."

He clutched at her breasts, squeezing and pinching them - hoping maybe the pain would slow her down but she only howled in further pleasure. Her pussy felt nothing like a human woman's. It was cushy and pudgy, and the squishing down of it onto his body was foreign and uncouth. The prominent, erotic lips of her snatch were undeniably superior.

The triangular, cushy labia of her dark cunt was seductive in a degrading way. Her feral, canine snatch swallowed up and clenched down on his dick with fervor.

"That's right, you're useless for human women now." She patted his nuts with a firm smack, making them draw close in a dull throb of pleasure. His shaft felt like it was melting, sore with just how hard it was. "You'll never make a human heir, but those puppies will be yours."

She brushed her claws through his hair, sweaty with the effort and disorientation. "They'll have this beautiful fur the same as your hair, and piercing eyes the same shade as yours."

Wet, violent plapping rung out in the stone chamber as the sounds of their hate-making reached a fever pitch. The rattling clack of wood smacking stone followed along the shake of the bed, springy sounds of the mattress' padding shifting joined it.

"But they won't have this delicate flesh. They'll have thick hides, claws, and fangs," she snarled, snapping on his neck and chewing on him painfully. Her weight kept him down, her cushioning breasts laying on his bare skin. "You'll be made into a stud-slut, that cum in your tanks is the only value you hold, understand, bitch?"

Her movements were getting more and more erratic, having to pause in her humping to cool off before reigniting, grinding, and sliding back and forth. He desperately wanted to hold back, to not blow his load in her. If on some chance whatever the nonsense she was spewing was legitimate.

"Go on, give it up, nut. Roll over and submit to your superiors, ejaculate all your pride and resistance right into my fertile womb. Accept defeat!"

At some point, he tipped over the edge, moaning like a whore up at Ceinwen. The magnitude of his orgasm, the filth of the act, and the inability to hold back all culminated in an experience that nearly had him black out from the pleasure.

"Because you're a lesser cretin without a knot, I'll need to keep atop you to make sure I'm bred proper." Ceinwen punctuated her statement by tormenting his post-orgasmic dick, swaying her hips to stimulate him. "Don't worry, your sons won't have that problem."

With bleary eyes Emmett looked down at the sloppy, messy pussy atop him. Cum and her arousal slathered all over their thighs. Foul talk, or a reality? He'd be sure in time.