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The 29th day of the month of the Deafening Night, in the year of his majesty King Alderach II, 568

The King received my announcement with a delight that his usual gravity could not entirely conceal. He ordered me to prepare a potion following the same recipe as the one I gave the Akita. Should my brew be successful in giving him a strong male heir he promised to grant me a lifelong pension and to issue an edict of naturalization in my favour, making me for all intents and purposes a protected subject of the canine crown. He hinted at the very unpleasant things that would reward a failure but I am not afraid. My experiments have been carefully controlled and I trust that the outcome will be as expected.

The 4th day of the month of the Singing Flame, in the year of his majesty King Alderach II, 569

I saw Rufus at the baths today. We conversed again, and he regaled my ears with tales of his more memorable executions. His favourite game was to take payment - in gold or in ass - from his prisoners against the promise of a last-minute reprieve on the day of execution. I feigned shock but could hardly repress a chuckle as he described the faces the poor wretches made on the scaffold when the wooden blocks were kicked from under their feet.

Rufus bid one of the serving-ladies to bring us some wine and we shared a cup together. Perhaps the tiger wanted to loosen my tongue, in which case he was successful. The warm liquid made me bold, and when he prodded me to share some of my own anecdotes I confessed my foray with the legionary captain whose inclinations did not favour the female sex.

“Why didn't you say so earlier?” the tiger exclaimed. “Our duty is to report this miscreant at once so he may receive his due punishment.”

“Do not be silly,” I laughed, “I promised I would keep his secret. Besides, how would anyone prove something that happened months ago? He is a respected officer of the royal army.”

“Tsk, justice always finds a way,” he replied and refilled my cup. “I understand that your assistant is of the same sexual persuasion as he is, and that the two still offend the gods every week behind closed doors. What if an officer of the watch were to catch them in the act?”

“Oh, and now you want to drag poor Roswick into this!” I pouted and ran my finger down his glistening pectoral.

“Didn't you just say the rodent had been rather rebellious as of late? Maybe a little snip would teach him manners.”

I frowned and opened my mouth to rebuke the tiger but when I noticed the playful glint in his eye I splashed water at his face and laughed. We called for more wine and when our cups were empty our lips met in a fiery kiss.

The 20th day of the month of the Singing Flame, in the year of his majesty King Alderach II, 569

What a fortnight! My hand shakes as I write these lines, yet I cannot truthfully tell if it is in guilt for my role in the unfortunate incident or in fear for my own safety. The mist of wine that had filled my head was gone by the morning, but I remained convinced that my lover had only spoken in jest, thus I did not bring up the topic again or warn Roswick. A few nights later it was with an unsuspecting heart that my assistant went to meet his lover. Alas for him, an officer of the watch had been tipped off by an anonymous letter, and he and his men spied upon Marcus and Roswick entering the brothel and waited some time for them to consume the act before bursting in. The watchmen found them not simply nude in the same bed, but also carnally locked in the fashion of canines, with the soldier dispensing his seed into the willing body of my assistant. In such a state the two were naturally unable to escape or raise a hand in defense.

I was aghast at this turn of events, not least because the two men might speak and disclose my role in organising their first meeting, which would make me an accomplice to their crimes against nature. I ran to Rufus and to my fury he confirmed my suspicions and cheerily admitted to penning the letter to the captain of the watch.

“The king's law thirsts,” he grinned, “Our friend Marcus and his murine lover are due to be sentenced today. I understand they will escape the gallows, but they are sure to be publicly gelded.”

“But you led me to believe Roswick was to be spared such a fate!”

“Oh, how can one be so learned and yet so naive…” he chuckled and nuzzled my cheek with his nose. “I shall harvest their manhoods tomorrow, but do not be sad for the little man. If you desire so I will mount him afterwards so that he does not forget what a true male is.”

Rufus’s breath was hot in my ear, and the fire I had felt in the baths flared again and consumed my anger. “You are a scoundrel, but what is done is done. I only ask that you don’t torment my assistant more than you have to… and that save the best of your lust for me,” I whispered back as my hand ventured between his legs and felt his intact manhood through the taut fabric of his clothing.

Their punishment came swiftly. Under a hooded cloak, I followed as three times the two miscreants were paraded about the capital in a righteous procession. They lead the march, nude, and flanked by armed guards. Trumpeters, drummers and priests alike announced the day's upcoming event to the citizens. Though exposed, my assistant and his confidant clung tightly to what little dignity they had left. For neither of the doomed men spoke a word, nor did they once hang their heads in shame. I have no doubt they knew what was about to befall them. Perhaps their stoicism was some display of rebellion?

After the procession had gathered a crowd that Rufus deemed adequate, he ordered the guards to stop in front of the king's shining gates, where a felled tree trunk had been erected. Marcus and Roswick where restrained to the log on opposite sides, their wrists bound by rope and their ankles by chains.

If the sea of canid eyes were not looking down between the criminals legs already, Rufus' next action would ensure attention would be drawn to their shame. He brought forward two small woven baskets, holding them by a thin silk line that he had tied to their handles. He crouched before Roswick, who began to breathe heavily as the large cat reached for his testicles. For the first time since his capture, the rodent’s maw parted.

"Please..." He whispered.

Rufus' tail twitched in delight, and he continued his work, steadily lifting Roswick's hefty pink sack and wrapping the silk line around its crown. He then finished with a knot to keep everything in place and stood while releasing the basket, letting it swing from Roswick's genitals like a pendulum. The tiger leaned into the mouse's face.

"Save the begging for the coming moments, queer. I'll need your voice."

He winked and Roswick shrunk back.

After tying the same loop around Marcus's maleness, Rufus rose to listen to what the canine had to say. Marcus simply spat at his feet. The proceeding slap echoed across the plaza, some audience members gasped. Rufus grabbed Marcus's chin, a bruise now swelling up on his jaw.

"Congratulations, I'm about to enjoy this far more than I thought I would." With a smirk, he turned to his audience.

"People of Alderach's kingdom! Today, you all bear witness to rot that hasn't reared its head here for centuries!"

"What? You?" A bulky Dane in the crowd shouted in response. Thunderous laughter and applause followed his remark.

Rufus' ear twitched, but he maintained his composure with grace.

"No, far worse than any feline, my friend. For the men before you have brought shame to my lord Alderach and his poor father. In the face of their generosity, they have committed a most grievous sin." He gestured to the former captain. See now, the exquisite form of captain Marcus Evolvulus, and think to yourselves for a moment, about the value such a male as he has for our society. Think perhaps, of the many strong soldiers someone like him could sire. But I am remiss to tell you all, that this man has chosen to abandon femininity entirely! He wishes instead to become the enemy of nature, and desires to unleash his future generations into men's behinds!"

The crowd went silent. Many wide eyed onlookers looked back and forth between Roswick and Marcus, their minds seemingly coming to conclusions they didn't know how to rationalize.

"It seems you understand," Rufus continued. "The men before you have left a blemish on our community, they have demeaned our values and aim to undermine our very way of being. If shameful men like these two are left to their own devices, who can say that our civility will remain intact? Do we intend on letting our culture fall to barbarism and misconduct? Do we wish to imitate feline customs?"

The dogs in the crowd began to shout, howl and throw their fists in the air. "No!"

Rufus smirked at me with confidence. It was the kind of smirk that says "See? Too easy.”

"May I propose then, that we revive an old custom?" Rufus asked his now enthusiastic listeners. "Shall we move to eliminate the rot at its source?"

The dogs around me were now imploring Rufus to continue.

"According to ancient law, tail raising is punishable by castration, as you all may know."

Roswick flinched.

"Those who desecrate the gift of love are not entitled to have it" Rufus quoted. "In our kingdom's founding years, sodomites had their genitals put to the sword like the eunuch bulls and horses that toil in the fields under the watchful eye of their masters. Of course, the wretched dregs never failed to beg for their manhoods, but none of their fates could be avoided. Today will not be an exception for these two souls, but the collective might of Alderach's people shall have them pleading for their punishment instead."

Rufus unsheathed his curved blade and pointed it at the criminals, being sure to keep his glowing eyes on the audience of those who once despised him.

"Each of you who is loyal to the great witch hunter and his legacy, the king, come forward, and weigh down the baskets I have hung from these men with your coin. It can be any amount, until the weight of your support has become too much for them to bear, and they yield to their own emasculation."

The audience clamored with support. Men next to me dug through their pockets and pouches, more than willing to play Rufus' game, even before he finished his speech.

"Hear me, eager souls, for I have one final message from the king himself, he says 'He whose coin finally breaks these men shall have the lot.'”

If the civilians weren't enthusiastic already, they were now. Roswick audibly whined and wriggled his body about as a semi-organized line formed in front of him. The swaying of the basket between his legs brought full attention to the most intimate parts of his body.

"I think he may be more impressive than you!" one man jabbed at another.

"I wish he could have used them properly... I would have been inclined to help him do that if I'm being honest," whispered a woman.

"Lass..." chimed in another man, "Don't you have a husband?"

I had always assumed that Roswick was well-endowed. For an inherently inferior species, he compared to the canines fairly well.

Marcus's line was far shorter, but no less excited. It seemed that the prospect of castrating a former legionary captain attracted a large group of soldiers, perhaps feeling personally slighted by this veteran's disgrace.

Where Marcus kept his eyes on the paved street beneath him, Roswick stared deep into the soul of each canid who donated weight to his basket, desperately trying to make some empathetic connection with them. It was a fool's errand, for he was no more valuable than dirt in their eyes. As time passed, each coin given to him would make him groan louder and louder, the twine at the crown of his testicles tightening and choking the life out of them.

"Please... Please... Please..." My former assistant's voice was cracking. I noticed his knees buckling from the great pull between his legs. His orbs, once white as pure snow, were now inflamed and tinged with a sickening purple.

A young coyote, draped in fine robes a similar hue stepped in front of him, an aristocrat. He smirked and dangled a heavy coin purse in front of Roswick's face.

"My new purse will be the envy of all my brothers and sisters." He looked to Rufus. "I can have the balls too?"

The tiger behind Roswick's pole shrugged. "In his majesty's words, 'the whole lot.'"

The rodent's eyes widened. "No... Have mercy... This is sick! No!"

The coyote lowered his purse and playfully dangled it above Roswick's genitals, absorbing each and every plea, before he was satisfied and released the weighty bag.

The disgraced male's body jolted forward with the clanging sound the bag made amongst the other coins. His pleas morphed into screams of agony almost instantly. He thrashed about as the canine before him cackled.

"Remember boy... You can end your suffering," Rufus growled from behind him.

"C-cut them off! Do it!" Roswick yelled. "I don't care! Cut them off!"

"It would seem then..." Rufus walked around to face the wriggling mouse, reaching down and carefully lifting his penis, "We have a winner."

His blade swiftly severed the connection between mouse and maleness. Roswick gasped as the great weight was lifted, but soon his face contorted as a new pain settled in. His basket hit the street with a thud, and with it, his once proud sack rolled in the pavement. Some members of the line cheered, others groaned in disappointment as their chances of winning the prize were dashed.

Tears of humiliation welled in Roswick's eyes as his pride was presented to the coyote right in front of him. The young man grinned, and rolled the fleshy orbs about in one hand, while struggling to carry the weight of the basket in the other.

"I'll see the tanner at once!" He said with glee. For the first time in recorded history, I then witnessed a canine bow to a feline.

Unlike my assistant, Marcus had not surrendered his manhood to the gamblers yet, but the sweat that ran down his bulging muscles and the twisted scowl that warped his face told me that the pain was beyond any man's power to endure for long.

In front of the line stood a young vixen, dressed very daintily in her Sunday-clothes. She did not share the joyous mood of the other participants. Instead, I distinctly saw her dab a tear from the corner of her pretty eye as she pulled a gold crown from her purse. This perplexed me, until I remembered overhearing that the battle-scarred captain had been quite the popular figure with the ladies. His aloofness towards the female sex was well-known but, far from putting women off, this stern attitude only added to his desirability. To aspiring maidens it was as if he were a finely carved marble statue, beautiful to gaze at but raised on a high pedestal and desperately out of reach. Even his refusal to indulge in the base pleasures of the taverns was interpreted as proof of his virtuous character, and it led many young women to naively believe that he was saving his love for the One that would find the key to the fortress of his heart. Alas, the shocking revelation of the man’s hideous vice had dashed their hopes forever.

Marcus raised his head and, panting heavily, stared at the fair maiden through eyes that were bloodshot and wet from pain. The vixen’s own gaze was also misty, but her tears weren’t tears of sympathy for the dog’s suffering. Rather, it was the pain of one who beheld what she had hoped would one day be hers, but now knew she had dreamed in vain. With a longing sigh she brought up her hand and ran it down the masculine chest and belly of the soldier, chastely averting her fingers from the manhood that he had used in unspeakable ways. Then, after one last wistful look she dropped her contribution to his punishment into the basket and ran away weeping from the fallen hero.

The next people in line weren’t so delicate. The group of soldiers I had noticed earlier had dug deep into their pockets and they tossed bronze and silver coins until even the captain’s pride could not keep his voice from rising in agony.

“Your kind is a blight on his majesty's army!” a bulldog barked before slapping Marcus hard across the face.

“Yeah! If I was in charge I'd put you all to the sword myself,” another hound shook his fist and took a swig from a bottle.

The rest of the group laughed and took turns tossing coins, cursing and hitting the rottweiler. “No cheating! Don't touch his nuts,” Rufus warned with a smirk. Only one of them stood somewhat away from the pack, as if reluctant to take part in the onslaught against the helpless man. He was a wolf with light grey fur that was almost white, and clear blue eyes whose boyish expression starkly contrasted with the rough features of the men around him. Eventually, his shyness caught the attention of the bulldog.

“Come on, what's the matter? Give him what he deserves!”

“H-hey, didn't you serve under him during the last campaign?” a big shepherd slurred, bottle in hand.

“Under him alright! Bet he took your tail on the first day!” a third dog guffawed.

“What do you expect, a pretty boy like him!”

“Shut up you drunken swine!” the bulldog growled. He turned towards the young lupine with a fatherly look on his face. “I know how you feel, Aelius, but he's not your captain anymore. He won't be able to punish you. So do your duty and show everyone what we real soldiers do to perverts around here.”

The bulldog shoved a handful of coins into his palm and gave him a push towards the naked man. Marcus was in a piteous state, his left eye bruised, his nose and lip bleeding and one of his ears gashed and dripping. His smooth, dark-skinned testes were stretched horribly low by the heavy weight that swung between his legs, and I knew that each blow he had received had sent a fresh thunderbolt of pain through his tortured nether regions.

Aelius stepped forward, so close that he and Marcus could certainly feel each other's breath. The two of them exchanged a silent look, then the briefest hint of a smile passed upon the dog's tired face and he moved his lips faintly. The raucous noise that surrounded the pair ensured that the whispered words that they exchanged remained private, but from a distance I was able to catch glimpses of Marcus’s speech upon his lips.

“...nothing you can do to save me… but I want you to have them… spare them further degradation…”

The wolf had his back turned to me, so that I could not read his answers, but his hands and chin trembled ever so slightly, as if he was struggling not to burst into tears.

“…I want a memory of the male I once was… please…” Marcus whispered, his head dropping slightly.

The grey-furred canine flinched at the enigmatic request. The men behind him were growing impatient, and he half-turned his head towards his companions with what looked like fear.

“What are you waiting for? Drop the coin!” the soldiers urged.

Aelius must have felt the full weight of the other man’s desperate gaze. The wolf hesitated, bit his lip and reached out between Marcus's legs. Gasps of surprise erupted around the two men as Aelius’s free hand grasped Marcus's sheath, squeezing its full meaty length with a firm hold and digging his thumb into its moist opening. From my vantage point I saw the wolf rub the tip of the condemned man's shaft through the loose skin that covered his sex. Then, before Rufus could intervene he clasped his hand around the rottweiler's snout and wiped his musky fingers on the prisoner's nose.

“Yeah, that's it, rub it in his face!” a soldier behind them giggled.

Marcus's nostrils flared and he breathed in and out heavily until the younger man withdrew his hand, shut his eyes and tossed his fistful of coins into the basket.

The dog immediately threw his head back and arched his spine. From between his gnashed teeth escaped a hiss that was like water poured on white-hot coals.

“Ahhhh…” he rasped, sweat beading on his skin and his eyes staring wildly at the empty sky.

“Haha, nice work! Bet he regrets sticking his meat where he shouldn't have,” the bulldog roared and slapped a meaty paw on the wolf's shoulder.

“T-take them…” Marcus groaned between labored huffs.

“Your wish is my command,” the tiger grinned. He crouched between the man's legs, drew his blade and grabbed the dangling testes. Moments later a blood-curdling howl reverberated through the street. Instead of unmanning Marcus in one clean swipe, as he had done for Roswick, Rufus was slowly slicing through the taut skin and vessels that linked his orbs to the rest of his body. The grim task couldn't have lasted more than a dozen seconds, but when it was over and Rufus triumphantly pressed the prizes of flesh and coin into Aelius’s hands the young wolf had to be propped up by his comrades to stop him from fainting.

“That’s the honor of the regiment restored,” the bulldog proclaimed after a silence, as if to dispel any doubt as to what he and his comrades had done.

“Now let’s go drink our prize and celebrate!” another man shouted.

In an instant they were gone, and soon so was most of the crowd. They left behind the two chained men, who would remain thus exposed for the rest of the morning so that every passerby could stare and jeer at their maimed bodies. Now that quiet had somewhat returned to the street I could distinctly hear Roswick’s low, choked sobs and Marcus’s hoarse heavings.

Rufus turned towards the dog and with a big smile licked his bloodied palm.

“I knew I would find you to my taste.”