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The Put Upon Fox

or

Ferrin's Dealings With the Wolf, Yisgrud

Part 1 of 3

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1.

Once upon a time there was me. My name is Ferrin the fox. I live a tragic and cruel existence under this ogre of a wolf, Yisgrud. A big, slobbering, beast that makes me do all the work and beats me, and fucks me, and makes me the miserable wretch that I am.

I know what you're thinking, dear reader, 'Ferrin, you cunning, beautiful, majestic vulpine, if he treats you so bad, why don't you run away? The kingdom is big, and a fox like you was born to roam.'

To which, dear reader, I respond with a haughty bit of scoff! Clearly you have not dealt with wolves like I have. Despite reeking like a rotting boot, Yisgrud, as with all his species, has an impressive sense of smell that never fails him. I did try running away, twice. The first time, he sniffed me out in a pitch black cave, then left me tied to a tree for an entire week... After beating me with a thorn bush's branch, of course. I'd... rather not talk about my second attempt right now, if that's alright.

This is the type of wolf I have to deal with, and there is no escape.

Anyway, the late spring day started like the day before it, and like the day before that one, and the several days preceding it, and- well, you get the idea. It started with an earth shaking bellow from Yisgrud's room in our tiny two-room cabin. I was plucked from the most delightful dream where the king himself, in all his leonine glory, was searching the realm for the best lay, and finding it was my ass that was firmest in all the land, took me away from all of this to live with him in his palace as his pampered love-fox.

"Ferrin! You heap of fleas. Wake your mangy ass up!"

And thus, Yisgrud put me back into reality, where I slept under the dirty pile of straw in the corner, next to the fire wood. I cursed and sprang off the hard floor, brushing my claws through my fur as I hurried to the big heavy door of Yisgrud's room.

Knock, knock!

"You summoned me, oh merciful and gentle Master?" I said in my most obsequious voice.

"Get in here," he growled.

"Ah, fuck me," I sighed quietly, knowing that's exactly what was about to happen as I pulled on the big iron knob.

Yisgrud had a bed. A real one. It went with the matching wardrobe that kept his clothes, and the locked trunk that he kept his treasures, and the cabinet he kept the things that hurt me. Yes, the wolf had it all.

"Ferrin," he half growled, half yawned, beckoning me closer.

"Yes, your Grace?" I choked out into the cloud of swamp breath that emanated from his broad drooling maw. Thank God the idiot wasn't good with sarcasm or I would have been skinned alive long ago.

"I need that mouth of yours."

I yelped as he reached out and grabbed me by the throat, dragging me onto his bed and dropping me between his spread legs.

I clutched my throat as soon as he released me.

"Y-you know, Master," I rasped, "I give my best blowjobs when my larynx isn't crushed."

"Shut up," he growled. "Sluts like you love it rough. Don't they?"

"Oh yes, Master. Nothing gets me hotter than the fear of imminent death."

His right palm struck my face. Fuck. I think he caught that snark. I pulled away his blanket and lapped at his red cock head. My way of changing the subject when we talk.

Yisgrud often wakes up horny, so at least I didn't have to coax his rod from its sheath. You should see what he considers foreplay. I still have nightmares!

Glistening with spit and precum, I took a few more salty licks and wrapped my lips around it. One pull, just the head. Two pulls, what my mouth could naturally take. Three pulls and his hot leaking tip was stabbing at the back of my throat.

Yisgrud leaned back, knitting his fingers behind his black hair. He sighed contentedly and watch me bob up and down, forcing his meat down my windpipe.

"Listen here, while you work. I've got a list of chores I want done today, and I'm not going to repeat myself."

I could see his crooked grin through my watery eyes. He loved making my miserable life even more miserable. I blinked twice, signalling I understood. Then it was a matter of listening to his tedious list of chores while giving a blowjob that would be good enough to maybe earn me some food.

Fetch more firewood. Got it. Mop out the cabin. Can do. Mend his red cloak. Nothing too difficult. Replace the split board in the shutter an-

Shit! I mistimed a breath. My gag reflex kicked back in. I tried to pull off only to find Yisgrud was quick to clamp his hands onto the back on my head. He pushed, stabbing his cock down my throat.

"Ngph! Mmn'kph!" I sputtered in desperation. My throat spasmed, doing a better job on his length than my lips and tongue did, but leaving me unable to breathe!

Yes, dear reader, even as his balls shriveled in his readiness to shoot, he still held me down. While the winged pixies were gathering like flecks of light in my dimming vision, to drag me to whatever underworld I'd earned a place in, Yisgrud was having himself a ball.

"Rahgggh! Don't fight it, Ferrin. Your body is mine!"

Wouldn't that just be fitting? I thought to myself as my fingers went numb. The final indignity of my young life: the ethereal sensation of an erupting wolf cock, flooding my empty lungs as I die?

Hah! That would be far too short a tale for a fox, would it not?

Yisgrud yanked me off like a soiled sock, thrusting me to the floor. I lay gasping and coughing up his seed -which I was quick to force back down so I wouldn't be liicking it off the floor when his royal Highness decides I should clean his room- while Yisgrud growled in self congratulation.

"Enough fun, Ferrin. Get to your chores or I'll beat your lazy hide until you're nothing but a cheap rug."

He swung his legs out of bed and, perhaps developing a crude sense of ironic humor, stepped down on my stomach as he walked off to attend to his morning ablutions.

That, friend reader, may have been the final straw. It could have been the twice swallowed cum that took my sense of complacency with it as it made a third dash for freedom, or at least a sprint to my formerly jizz-free chest tuft. Or maybe the pragmatic fox in me died, impaled on that suffocating cock. Who's to say? All I know is that when I pulled myself off floor I knew with all my heart that Yisgrud had to go.

***

My fingers pads were bloody pin cushions by the time I finished stitching Yisgrud's hooded cloak. Fortunately, it was a red cloak, so the blood wouldn't show. Don't misunderstand, I'm a fine seamster. The fault is with Yisgrud refusing to replace the dull nub of a needle he makes me use. It wouldn't surprise me if I'd be trying to mend with a spoon if I let this go on long enough.

I got up to hang his cloak by the door. The slightest creak brought out a disgruntled grunt from the slumped mountain of dark gray fur.

"It is just your faithful servant, Ferrin," I hummed, not stupid enough to sneak up on a groggy Yisgrud.

A thick rope of drool connected his powerful jaws to the table as he lifted his head. "Chores done yet?"

"No, oh patient and lenient fur, who's tailhole I am not fit to lick." The simpering came fast and easier than ever before. As if my words were spurred on by a new burning hatred for my cruel master.

Yisgrud snorted and his heavy eyelids started to fall.

"Uh-h, Sire? I was going to cut the firewood before mopping, so I don't bespoil your floors with tracked in dirt... C-could I dress now?"

"No," his answer was expected, and his snarl was a lazy one.

"As your all knowing wisdom dictates, Master." I bowed deep even while Yisgrud was back to sleeping at the cabin's table. Oh, dear reader, if words the I write were as acidic as they felt in my mouth, this manuscript would melt in your hands. Such was the venom I spat those words with.

Wouldn't it have been satisfying to slam the door on my way out? If only.

Our modest little abode was set deep in the forest, away from prying eyes and travelers feet, so my nakedness was more symbolic than humiliating. Yisgrud liked to remind me I was no better than a trained feral in his eyes.

I took the narrow trail I'd tramped over the years down to the little clearing where I cut wood. The air was fresh and breezy. A welcomed change from the close, musk filled air of home.

Yisgrud said to add more wood to our stockpile. It looked fine to me, but being out here gave me a chance to think.

I put a log on the chopping stump for splitting, then took the axe from where I left it. I brushed off the dirt and dead leaves, examining the rusted iron head. My lips pulled back in a rictus grin. In a flash I hefted the axe above my head and brought it down in a blur on Yisgrud's ugly head... I mean the log....

What? Of course I fantasized about it every time I cut wood. How satisfying it would be to cleave that brute, limb from limb. I'd become lost in the catharsis, swinging and hacking and howling like a wolf until I was a sweat drenched, panting mess. Almost as good as sex!

Heh, of course, friend, I hear you ask the obvious question. Why don't I axe Yisgrud for my freedom?

Allow me to forgive your atrocious pun, and shed a little more light on the bane of my poor existence.

Under his filth and fur, Yisgrud is hard muscle. Before he came to own your humble narrator, he was a skilled and highly sought after sell-sword. Specializing in fighting as a champion for furs of wealth wishing to settle debts of honor. The fact that he's still alive tells me he's never lost. And although he now contents himself sleeping away the days in slothful bliss, he still puts his skills to use every now and then when he desires something he can't beat out of me.

Occasional highway robbery always puts him in a good mood. It's after these little excursions that he comes back splattered with blood and arousal. I am always tasked with cleaning his swords. The euphemistic one that claims me daily, and the steel monstrosity that he wields as naturally as his cock.

Even with both hands I struggle to lift the death bringer. Seeing me carry it always makes him laugh. What would a fur like that do to a fur like me if I were to hit him with an axe barely sharp enough for the dry logs? I shudder to think of it.

Unfortunately for me, I couldn't spend the evening in my mind. I had other chores and couldn't afford to waste all my meager energy dreaming. Two loads of fresh firewood and some minor maintenance to the cabin's exterior and I was on to my last task.

Yisgrud watched me like a hawk from the cabin's only chair as I struggled with the sloshing bucket. I set it down, my eyes wide with horror as I watched the water splash over the side. Only a tiny splash but I knew it wouldn't go unpunished.

"Sorry," I cringed.

Yisgrud's smile said it all. The rack-like torture machine he called his brain cranked into motion.

I crept toward the mop, optimistically hoping he'd be too lazy to come up with a punishment.

"Ferrin," he snarled.

"Yes, Master?" I reached for the mop.

"Since you have been getting careless lately," he stroked his chin, testing me if I'd become stupid enough to correct his lie, "I think it would do you well to remember your place."

"I know my place," I bowed my head in submission. "It's where ever you say it is."

The silence was deafening.

"Leave the mop be. I want you to use that slutty tail you're always flaunting."

"M-my tail?" I couldn't believe what I'd heard.

"Yes. Get on your knees and scrub my floor clean with your tail."

I'm sure, dear reader, that you can appreciate the pride we foxes take in our fabulous tails. I dare say they are the most stupendous tails in all of furdom. Bushy, expressive, living flags to signal our moods, or complement our dress. One look at the grime surrounding the table, and the dirt by the door, and the soot under the stove...

"Please, Master... Anything but that," I whimpered. My tail curled around my torso and I clutched it protectively.

Yisgrud raised an eyebrow. "Have you so forgotten the lessons taught to you by our friend, Luther?"

My heart stopped at the mention of his name. If my knees hadn't given out at that moment, I would have fallen to them anyways. A shuddering sob left my clenched jaw. I grasped my tail and dunked the snow-white tip into the bucket. It came out a soggy fistful of fur, and I scrubbed it along the floorboard.

I hear you ask me, my friend, 'who is this Luther, who at the mere mention of his name sends you into a quivering shell of the beautiful fox that you are?'

Well, thank you, my dear dear reader - I too think I'm beautiful. But as to... Luther... Do you remember when I first began this tale, that I mentioned I ran from Yisgrud's grasp twice? Luther is the reason there will never be a third.

From what I know, or at least think I know, Luther comes from the far north, way beyond the borders of the kingdom. He's ursine, but I could only guess as to his exact species. Bigger than even Yisgrud, and said to have been a slaver for the barbarians before seeking the comforts of civilization. But he never lost his love of barbarity. When I ran away the second time, Yisgrud caught me in town. Instead of being dragged back to the cabin for a few broken bones and some intimate moments with Yisgrud's angry cock, as I expected, we spent the night in town at an inn. I spent my time tied so tightly to the bed that my paws went numb, but Yisgrud was gone until daybreak.

That morning I was handed over to Luther. For a week.

He broke me. It was so bad that there was not a command he gave that I wouldn't treat as a divinely given quest...

That was a long time ago. Today was the first time I let myself admit that I had to get rid of Yisgrud. I needed to stay strong.

"I think tomorrow we'll pay our friend a visit."

I scrubbed harder. Not caring about the painful splinters, or the horrendous state my tail was going to be in. I just worked. Scooting my naked ass every few moments to wash a new area of floor. It might have been hours, and I would have scrubbed away all night if Yisgrud didn't stamp his foot and growl to get my attention.

"I'm hungry. Go out and find something for me to eat. If you're not back by sundown, I put you in the stove."

"I- I'll have to go into town," I knelt up, wringing out my tail.

Yisgrud nodded and I went to my pile of straw for the only article of clothes I was allowed. A literal burlap sack that I'd used my sewing talents to turn into a shapeless tunic that would at least cover the dangly bits that could get a fur in trouble with the town's guard... or some of its more impulsive denizens.

I wrapped my corded belt around my narrow waist and slipped in a short knife. Then as quick as I could, I ran for the door, stooping to snag the bucket I'd left out.

"Stop," Yisgrud growled. "Leave the bucket. No sense wasting good well water on you. I'll let you drink it while I enjoy my diner."

The water was a black soup. I set the bucket down with a whimper and left.

***

How, oh reader, how could I continue on this way? Was I not a pitiable case? Had my endurance not warrant a divine pardon?

Well, my empathetically sobbing friend, someone must have been listening. For as I cleared the treeline, my moral at its lowest, inspiration struck! Or, some might say insanity. Either one would have been fine, seeing as I was at a loss trying to figure out who would trade me food for pleasure when my tail looked like a gnarled branch, dripped in an algae covered pond.

I looked at the sky, wondering if I had enough time to make this work. Then I ran. As fast as the wind has ever blown, I ran! The road that went to town passed through a few hills. They were gentle hills, like the curve of a good ass, but they would have to do. I scaled the first hill that could give me a view of the road that wound around its base.

Now the hard part... well, the hard part until I actually had to risk my life. That would be the really hard part. But after a couple hours of rolling rocks heavier than I was, and the nerve wracking task of stacking them at just the right angle to miss the trees when I would shove them down the hill, I wasn't sure if I could last long enough to make it to the really hard part.

Panting and heaving, like I had this morning, I collapsed. I had eight rocks ready at the hill's peak, propped up with hastily carved steaks, ready to become a landslide. The road was quiet, as our town was not a busy one, but it drew enough traffic that I worked in constant fear of a fur glancing uphill and catching me scrambling between the trees.

The next phase now, I told myself, grunting and forcing my tired body back to its feet. I stripped. I had to be naked for my plan to work. This part was key, dear reader, do not think this an embellishment for your benefit... But if the thought of my lithe, sweat drenched body, quivering with a mix of excitement and exhaustion as I stretched my muscles, peering down at the winding road turns you on... enjoy with my blessing.

Another hour passed. I can tell you now that I was watching the wagons and carts for specific furs and cargos. I began to worry at their absence. A wagon laden with salted meat went by earlier, but its team of feral draft horses were spurred on by a white bear of the north. No good for my needs. There was a cart, pulled along by a diminutive pair of field mice, chatting noisily. I nearly let the rocks slide until a gust of wind uncovered the blanket that shrouded their precious wares... stupid handcarved pipes, in sizes that would accommodate almost any fur, from other field mice to elephants. I sank my teeth into the hilt of my knife to keep from screaming my frustration.

Where was the food? The town's furs had to eat, didn't they?

And just as I feared all was lost, what should grace my keen eyes? A slow wagon, pulled by two feral oxen. The smell of rich earth wafted on the wind, unmistakable. I scrambled to the sapling that braced the rocks. They were moles driving the oxen. Moles! Those hole dwelling rodents were practically blind. My plan might yet work!

I laid my head on a boulder, my breath ragged, escaping in shuddering near-whines of fear and eagerness. I knew little of the moles culture, but I did know they were not artisans or smiths. Their shallow villages never sank deep enough for ore to be a major commodity. That meant those sacks on the wagon had to hold crops. Mushrooms, maybe. Or carrots! My mouth watered. My hand trembled, grasping the steak that held back the avalanche. They were close enough for me to hear the creak of the wheels now.

I only had one chance.

Just a little closer...

Now! I sprung my trap. The boulders tumbled wildly, bouncing and twisting down the hill. I tensed, my fur bristling like a porcupine's quills. I stared in horror, trying to calculate if any would make their target.

One snapped a thin tree, alerting the moles. Two collided, splintering one into a jagged slab that stuck in the bushes. Fuck, I yelped. The mole with the whip cracked it on the oxen. "Nonnono!" the largest rock was so off course it sailed in front of the wagon, doing nothing more than confusing the oxen.

I started running down the hill before the last two stones were done.

"Faster!" shouted the driver's companion as he watched a rock bound across the road behind him.

I grabbed hold of a tree midway down the hill. The smallest stone of my ambush rolled into the road. I held my breath. It hit the rear wheel, but already lost so much momentum it could only shake the wagon harmlessly.

I sank to my knees. How could fate be so cruel, I cried out, dear reader, gnashing my teeth. It was all for nought. The day was nearly gone, Yisgrud would surely eat me when I returned empty handed. I was as good as--

What was that that caught my eye, friend reader? The moles were as panicked as I! They drove their beasts of burden carelessly. A startled feral ox was as dangerous as a wild boulder apparently. The two ox could not decide on a mutual direction, pulling and jerking the wagon wildly. One of the moles was tossed and the other jumped just as the wagon tilted beyond its balance. I pumped my fists as it rolled off the side of the road, spilling its cargo.

With all haste, I continued my descent, howling like I'd learned to do while splitting wood. Howling from the depths of my soul! I came upon them like a rabid wolf, like Yisgud, my jaws snapping and my arms swinging my knife and a long stick I'd picked up.

The moles screamed. Undoubtedly assuming I was a possessed wood demon. They scrambled as quick as their stubby legs would carry them, fleeing from my awesome terror.

I howled after them, piercing the evening gloom with my echoing wail.

I'd done it. The wagon's spoils were mine and soon, if fate allowed, I might be rid of Yisgrud.

***

***

"Ferrin, you worthless, flea infested, whore," Yisgrud greeted me warmly as I crept back into the cabin.

I was back in my itchy tunic, most of the mud and leaves I'd managed to brush from my fur. I kept my head bowed and slinked my way to the stove.

"So," he growled, "you actually found a poxy fur desperate enough to pay for you. What did you get?"

"Potatoes, Master." I hefted a bucket of clean water and poured it into the iron cauldron on the stove.

"Mmm," he rumbled.

I could hear his wet slobbering tongue swipe his lips behind me. I focused on my task, stoking a fire, cutting the largest potatoes as I dropped them into the water, then adding the right dried herbs that I knew Yisgrud liked. I was used to him looking over my shoulder as I worked on his meals.

I'd brought in almost a full sack, hoping it would impress him. "Master," I asked when I'd left the food to boil, "might you find it in your mercy to share a portion with your humble fox?"

He lumbered past me and took a deep breath of the rising steam.

"I- I wouldn't presume to ask, Lord of my life, but it has been days since I'd eaten last, and to best serve you, I-"

"Shut up," Yisgrud snarled. He turned on me and I shrank back. "You think I've forgotten you recent insubordinations?"

I clutched my protesting stomach through my tunic. Soon, I soothed, soon it would be our turn to feast.

I served Yisgrud at the table, carrying a heaping bowl of the red skinned roots, flaked with green seasoning. My mouth salivated as I stood back, clasping my hands behind me, obsequiously waiting for his next command. He didn't bother with a knife, picking an entire potato up with his fingers and popping it in his mouth. I could imagine how fluffy and perfect I'd cooked them, they practically melted on his tongue. I could smell the mix of herbs from where I stood. It beckoned me until I was leaning forward without noticing. Even the sloppy ravenous work he made of them wasn't enough to put me off.

I would not be offended, friend reader, if you wished to break for a snack before finishing this part of my tale.

The bowl was nearly empty. I stepped forward. "Can your lowly servant fetch you another helping?"

Yisgrud looked at me and belched. Of course he wouldn't want to leave me any, so it was no surprise when he shoved the bowl into my chest. I filled it as full as the first and waited again. Once more the wolf devoured it all... well, all that managed to stay in his mouth that is.

"More, Master?"

"Yeah," he growled and turned in his chair to watch me.

I wonder if he thought I was trying to poison him? Probably not, dear reader. If he even suspected as much, I would have at least been given a bite to eat for proofs sake.

His third bowl was as full as the first two. I wouldn't want him to think I dared to hold anything back from his all consuming gluttony. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment.

"Tell me, worthless one, what vile deeds did you commit to earn such a bounty? Even a useful fox isn't worth his weight in potatoes."

"Nothing, sire," I said, watching his ears piqued with interest. "But I think there is enough for another serving, if you desire it." I'd cooked the entire sack. It was important that Yisgrud notice.

His fists slammed the table. "Do not try me, Ferrin! Tell me how you came upon this harvests worth of food."

"I- I- it's as I said. I was on my way to town, fretting how best to fulfill your command, when I happened, no, more like stumbled, upon an odd sight. You see, there was a wagon that had tumbled down the steep embankment of the road. It must have been lost in the underbrush for a long while, as no other furs were about. I poked around like the lowly scavenger that you tell me I am, and..."

"And you found a sack of potatoes?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Oh no, Master. I found many sacks of potatoes. As if the whole shipment had been written off. I- I, being the weak lowly creature that I am, could only manage to carry but one sack."

"That," Yisgrud started only to hold up his hand. "Wait. You're telling me that there is wagon-load of food for the taking?"

I nodded.

He stood fast enough to knock over his chair. "Fool! Why did you not tell me this immediately?"

"I'm sorry, Master!" I dropped to my knees, forcing a few fake tears, that came easy thanks to Yisgrud's easy inspiration. "I was scared! Th-there were feral beasts about, a-and it was getting dark."

Yisgrud stalked toward me and I cringed, bracing for a blow. But instead, he hefted me by my tunic, bending so we were eye to eye.

"Take me to this wagon, you simpering halfwit."

"A-as you say. B-but, what about the feral beasts?"

He snorted in my face. "I'll bring my sword, you coward."

"Wh-what of the cold, oh brave wolf? Won't it be too cold this night?"

Yisgrud glanced at his cloak that I'd hung at the door. "I will be fine. You," he laughed, "you had better hope I'm satisfied with what we find, or by the gods, I'll leave you out in the cold, with the ferals. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Master!"

He threw me to the floor and stomped to his room. By the time he returned, I'd pulled myself to my feet. Yisgrud had his mighty sword at his belt.

"Come, fox," he motioned while grabbing his crimson cloak. "Show Master where your thieving nose led you."