FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It took me way too long to sit down and actually write something new. But here we go, a properly dark and depraved little story I wrote at, like, two in the morning. Based on a story idea given to me by a friend a while back.

WARNING: This story contains rape and graphic violence. There is no happy ending.

It was a sunny day sometime in late spring when the Inquisitor's work brought him to the western coast and into a port town of some disrepute. Word had begun to spread that a pirate frequented its taverns, a famous sinner who had recently begun to grow bold and impertinent.

This offended the leaders of the Inquisition, sequestered in their obsidian planning rooms far to the north. It was hardly because the pirate had sunk eleven ships over the past year and killed a fairly substantial number of people...that sort of thing happened a lot and held no real relevance to the Inquisitor's masters. Every day it could be expected that criminals all along the spine of the world would rob and burn and rape and destroy...but this pirate was something different.

An otter. Small and weak.

She had clearly forgotten her place and was in need of correction. There were other sins upon her soul as well, the Inquisitor knew that, but he only cared about that one.

It didn't take him long to find the pirate, for she wasn't making much of an effort to remain hidden. The Inquisitor simply wandered along the docks. Nobody noticed him, for he was dressed in the manner of a western citizen, in loose calf length pants and with no shirt, velvety black fur left exposed to the air. But he did not stand out, not amongst crowds of sailors from a hundred different lands. In the west there was nothing special about a leopard with no spots.

As he went he remained numb to the depravities he witnessed. There were beggars hunched in the shadows, orphans arrayed in gangs racing through the alleyways, and whores plying their trade openly and without shame...all the hallmarks of a society in terminal decline.

The Inquisitor contemplated bringing fire down upon the town, so that something righteous could be raised from the rubble, but that was not his assigned task and so he did nothing.

The otter was in a dockside tavern, accompanied by all manner of rogues and criminals and degenerate gamblers.

Myrrah. Dread pirate of the sea. She had killed men and sent ships to the bottom of the ocean. At the moment she was playing with a flickering bud of blue flame seated in the center of her right paw.

The Inquisitor could see a plain copper ring on the index finger of that paw, sparks dripping off of the band like water. She was channeling her power through it.

He slipped forward with uncommon grace, like an eel through reeds, and was already seated opposite the otter before anyone realized he was present. Some of the otter's companions began to bristle, but she calmed them with a look, amused by the Inquisitor's forwardness.

"You don't belong here." She said.

"Neither do you." The Inquisitor countered. Behind him, talk and action in the rest of the tavern had faltered, but he kept his attention on the otter. She was much smaller than him, perhaps four feet at the tallest, but she acted with outsized confidence.

There was a dirk sheathed at her belt, he could see that, but she carried no other weapons. No visible ones anyway.

The otter's friends, beginning to close ranks around the table, were better armed. Some had sabers and other regular weapons, but the Inquisitor could see the occasional flintlock pistol tucked into a belt, runes of destruction daubed along their barrels in crooked rows.

The otter had to know that he was some brand of the law, but she clearly didn't know what type...for she remained entirely unconcerned.

"I belong anywhere I please." She said, and there was an unmistakably boastful air of challenge in her voice.

The Inquisitor wondered if she would still be so haughty if he showed her the log of his Inquisition reports, names and dates and circumstances unspooling before her in endless rows.

She wasn't dressed especially modestly, an armless blouse beneath the black fabric vest she wore. Suddenly, the Inquisitor wondered if the otter was wearing anything beneath the tight velvet pants she wore and had to fight back a chilly tingle of anticipatory lust.

Later.

"I know who you are." He said, and wondered if she might attack him then and there, but instead the otter merely nodded and closed her fingers, snuffing out the blue flame burning atop her paw.

"And who is that?" She asked, still enjoying the little game they seemed to be playing.

He named her. The otter laughed. So did her friends, but there was an uneasy edge to the noise they made. They didn't like how still he was. How steady his eyes remained, fixed upon their captain.

Slowly, the Inquisitor placed his right paw upon the table, palm down, fingers curled over the amber medallion he held.

"I'm not interested in any of you," he continued, addressing the otter's men, "I only want her."

Even as he spoke he lifted his paw away, revealing the sigil of his cause, the cleansing mark of the Inquisition.

Immediately silence cascaded through the tavern. Fur raised and the Inquisitor watched as the otter regarded the mark, eyes traveling back up to him. Her gaze remained cooly dispassionate, not even a hint of fear present...but he could see her body language going taut and ready.

Her friends had shot to their feet, paws gripped to saber hilts and pistol butts. They edged back towards their captain, forming a protective cordon around her.

"Oh. That's what breed of bastard you are." The otter said, and sounded almost disappointed.

"I have you for social perversion and piracy disadvantageous to the Inquisition and those nations hosting it. Are there any other sins you wish to have recorded?"

The otter opened her paw and conjured a flame. It was quicker now, the Inquisitor could see the fur on her arm being ruffled by its heat.

"No." She said flatly, but made no move to attack. Despite her bravado she clearly didn't know his capabilities just yet. So she was being cautious. Smart.

The Inquisitor smiled thinly and stood up.

"I was hoping you wouldn't lie to me," he said, "I was giving you a chance to confess."

"Confess what?" The otter asked, but he thought she already knew. Her voice treaded the edge of a growl.

She had to be wondering why he wasn't attacking her already.

"You wear a mage's ring," the Inquisitor said, tapping his own right index finger, around where the otter wore her plain copper band, "and you cast the magic of a mage...but we both know what you really are."

Something changed in the otter's eyes, a dark bloom of fury alloyed by a tiny spark of shock. She curled her lip, exposing sharp white teeth.

"And what are you but some milk lapping house cat sent by the fucking Inquisition?" She shot back, and drew her dirk, flames lashing up and down the blade, "I've killed worse than you could ever imagine!"

Bluster.

Good.

The Inquisitor rolled his shoulders, one hand coming to a casual rest atop the back of his chair.

"Confess now and I'll end this quickly. Otherwise you will need to be corrected," he turned his head slightly, trapping the otter's crew in the icy center of his gaze, "those of you who stand with the sinner...this is your last chance to run."

The crew shivered in place, some of them visibly uncertain, but none broke.

The otter scoffed, mouth opening to say something boastful, but before she could manage even a single syllable the Inquisitor was surging forward, swinging his chair ahead of himself in a vicious, flat arc. It flew to splinters against the foremost man in Myrrah's crew and sent him to the ground in a heap.

Even as he lunged the Inquisitor was judging his surroundings. There was Myrrah ahead of him, on the other side of the table. Surrounding her were perhaps a half dozen others who actually intended to fight back, the others had already been broken by the initial rude shock of combat.

None were especially practiced in any formal style of fighting, he knew that already. They were pirates after all, and so they knew how to brawl...but not with any great discipline. They would not act as a unified force. And indeed they didn't, rushing him piecemeal.

Behind them, Myrrah was already calling up a great gout of flame, the Inquisitor could see the electric edges of the blast beginning to form already but paid it no mind, instead looking to her crew.

The first two, a cat and a fox, lunged in rough unison, blades slashing forward. The Inquisitor dodged the cat's saber stroke, then stopped a hard stab from the fox with the flat of his palm, a vivid golden burst of light disintegrating the pirate's blade right up to the hilt. The shock sent the fox jolting backward and the Inquisitor heard his wrist break with a brittle snap, like a matchstick. The cat tried to backpedal but ran right into the rest of his friends. A flintlock discharged into the floor with a hissing bang and acrid skeins of smoke fogged the tavern.

Reaching forward, the inquisitor plucked the cat up by the throat and threw him headlong into the bar, so hard that his impact knocked abandoned drinks from its top. A hatchet blade came down in an overhead strike aimed at the spot where the Inquisitor's neck and shoulder joined but he met it with a fingertip and blew the blade to shrapnel. Its owner reeled back, free paw coming up to where his eyes were suddenly...not, and then he was shrieking.

The Inquisitor waded forward, lashing randomly into the melee, breaking ribs and jaws and arms at a swing. He could feel the warmth of blood spattering his fur and knew there was at least one dead man underfoot, but he did not intend to kill all of the sinners before him. He wanted at least a few to survive, to spread the story of what happened when one faced off against an agent of the Inquisition.

These were criminals after all, they held no ideology or real belief system. They would not fall back upon the propaganda of heretics in order to find some justification for their loss. For people like this there was only fear. And he was supplying it in bulk.

Then Myrrah was atop the table, dirk raised and fire gathered at the tip of the blade. The Inquisitor threw a chair at her, aiming for her ankles. He knew it would not hit, and indeed she slashed it aside with a desultory blast of magical flame, but she'd been put off balance.

The last man in Myraah's crew raised a flintlock musket and the Inquisitor let him fire, the runes along its barrel glowing sun bright as the gunpowder ignited. Scarlet smoke lanced from the barrel but the ball hissed away into steam an inch from the Inquisitor's chest. He reached forward, took the flintlock from the uncomprehending pirate, and broke his skull with the brass capped stock. A staticky sort of golden righteousness curled within him, growing stronger with each sinner he dispatched. It curled within the center of his very being, so hot it nearly took his breath away.

The otter shied back a half step before she could stop herself, visibly surprised. Then she recovered herself and lunged, the blade of her dirk glowing red hot.

The Inquisitor met her first strike with both paws and the impact blew out every window in the tavern. The otter was strong, the Inquisitor noted, and fought with feral desperation. She was no longer smug or cocky, the act had been dropped. The creature before him now was grim and possessed, utterly determined to survive.

Yes...a sinner to the very core.

He turned her blow aside but she came at him again, dirk aimed, the air shimmering past the point of her blade. He couldn't quite grip the space around her weapon and do with it what he pleased, not yet at least, but he could easily keep her from hitting him. Even if her power was strong, she did not know how to use it, the finer edges of each technique were lost to her.

"You know how to summon the magic forth," he said, and knocked her into the side of the bar with a crash of splintering glassware, "but you don't understand it. How typical for an aberration."

The otter scrambled up, eyes wild with fury.

"Fuck you!" She shrieked, and then was lifting from the ground, the floorboards smoldering beneath her, the air shimmering in a perfect sphere all around her body. Her eyes had gone narrow with the effort and her teeth were gritted.

The Inquisitor let her come and met her blows again and again and again. For a moment it seemed like they were nearly evenly matched, but she was spreading her power just a little too thin and with each subsequent strike the Inquisitor could feel it growing shivery and thin in places. And so when she went for his throat, the silvery needle of her blade surging forth, he met it with one outstretched finger and felt the tip of his claw poke through the skin of magic protecting her.

The copper ring on her index finger, already shivering crazily in place, shattered with a high, crystalline noise that seemed to transcend sound. The otter staggered back, her fire disappearing in an instant.

Just like that the tavern was still again, scorched and tattered, its furniture splintered and each window reduced to a hole rimmed with shards of soot streaked glass.

The otter was still standing, but just barely. Her fur was singed and the blade of her dirk leaked smoke, warped and spotted with corrosion. She staggered in place, breath coming in desperate little gasps, blood dripping from her right paw where the broken shards of her mage's ring had cut her.

But still she remained defiant, raising her blade at him. The Inquisitor let her come, the otter conjuring a pitiful little ball of flickery fire. He stopped her blade, then let her blast him, her fire boiling away into nothingness a few inches from his skin. Her efforts didn't even ruffle his fur.

Twisting the dirk from her paws, the Inquisitor cast it into a far corner, then cracked her across the face and knocked her to the ground. Again she tried to get up but he put one boot between her shoulders and pressed her back down, hard enough to make the otter whimper as she squirmed desperately in place.

"Submit." He ordered her.

"Never!" She snarled, the word coming in a furious hiss.

Though the task was beginning to turn into more work than he'd anticipated, the Inquisitor couldn't say he was disappointed. It was good exercise to find an especially stubborn sinner from time to time.

The Inquisitor let his boot off of the otter, then hauled her up by the scruff of her neck, letting his claws dig into her flesh. Myrrah writhed and squirmed in his grip, more like a snake than an otter. She was even baring her teeth. Then the Inquisitor slammed her back down and heard the air forced from her lungs in a hard, painful whoosh. Myrrah gagged and managed a few disjointed little movements, but was not able to get back up.

The Inquisitor turned the stunned otter onto her back with the tip of one boot. Her nose was bleeding and little droplets of crimson dripped from the tips of her whiskers. She tried to spit at him but only succeeded in further staining the floor. He put the tip of his boot into her ribs, not hard enough to break bone but certainly enough to make her whimper and curl onto her side, trying to roll into a little ball. This left her kidneys exposed and the Inquisitor kicked her there with artful precision, the otter going rigid all at once, mouth open in a silent scream.

One of her paws searched out, the motion jerky and awkward, and the Inquisitor realized that she was reaching for a knife dropped by one of her fallen comrades.

He stomped on her again, but though this made her cry and wheeze, she still resisted when he picked her up by the scruff of her neck, squirming and hissing and digging her claws into his wrist.

Sighing, the Inquisitor redoubled his grip, then turned and rammed her face into the corner of the table where, not so long before, she'd been drinking happily with her crew. The blow was hard enough to break teeth and when the Inquisitor let her go Myrrah flopped limply to the floor, conscious but no longer strong enough to resist in any meaningful way.

She sniffled weakly, blood dripping from her muzzle, and managed to turn onto her side. There was a flicker of blue flame at the tips of her fingers, but it vanished when the Inquisitor put his boot onto the side of her head and pressed down, hard enough to make her whimper.

He had to take a deep breath before continuing. His heart had quickened in his chest and there was a familiar tightness growing within him as he contemplated the downed otter. It was difficult not to give in and simply rut her there amongst the ruins of the fight...but that wasn't part of his job. Yet.

Instead he knelt, doing his best to slow his breathing and sound cool and collected once more.

"I meant what I said about ending it quick. You should have confessed." He said.

Myrrah shut her eyes.

From the tavern he took her to a place friendly to the Inquisition, a stone building on the edge of town. The room he was provided with was windowless but comfortable enough, the walls and floor alike made of smooth stone. All of his needs had been accounted for and there were even chains and manacles provided, though the Inquisitor did not think he would need them.

He began by laying the otter out upon the floor just short of the bed and undressing her. Myrrah's frame was sleek and leanly muscled by a lifetime of hard work, her chest perfectly flat. Between her legs was a tiny pink slit and an even more diminutive tail-hole, both nearly hidden by a short, soft coat of velvety brown fur.

The Inquisitor stroked a paw brazenly between the otter's legs but she was too far gone to feel it. A part of him wanted to continue and take her as she was...but once more he stopped himself.

Not until she confessed.

Instead he healed her piece by piece, repairing the worst of the damage he'd done to her in the tavern.

She didn't ask where she was or even look around as she awoke. Immediately her eyes landed upon him, then her lip curled to expose sharp teeth and she was lunging. Her fingers stiffened, but even as she tried to bring fire forth, nothing was happening.

Her surprise slowed her a little and the Inquisitor hit her in the face with a closed fist, knocking her to the ground. Myraah tried to struggle back up but he was on her in an instant, ignoring the red hot lines her desperate little claws drew across his arms as he forced her onto her back.

"Your magic is forfeit," he said, "only people bonded to the Inquisition can channel here."

Myrrah's eyes narrowed and she squirmed beneath him, blunt tail lashing against the backs of his knees. But she could not shift him an inch, even if she'd had her magic back in its full, the Inquisitor's position was too good.

"One more time," he said, watching blood drip from her bruised nose and pink her bared teeth, "confess."

Myrrah spat, and this time she hit her target, saliva and blood wetting his cheek. It occurred to the Inquisitor that he could lean down and bite her, he could take her by the throat and rip until she was gone...but he remained still.

She was truly ferocious for such a small creature. Against anyone else she might have had a chance, but he was fortified by the truth, and in it there was no room for him to lose.

Beneath him, Myrrah worked her knees up to her chest, then was scrabbling desperately at his stomach with her feet. Rather than force her back down, the Inquisitor let go of the otter and stood, curious to see what she would do.

The first thing the otter went for was a length of chain, which the Inquisitor supposed was a fine enough weapon, if a touch unwieldy. She whipped it at him, striking sparks from the stone just to his side. Immediately, so quickly that he wasn't sure even she saw it, he reached out and took hold of its end, jerking the otter off of her feet.

Even as she scrambled back up his paw went over her face, the Inquisitor pushing her backwards, ramming her into the wall. The back of Myrrah's head met stone with a crack and the otter jerked in place. He hadn't quite knocked her out, but the Inquisitor could see a blurry haze fill the otter's vision, her eyes not quite focused. Then she bit him, teeth sinking into the flesh between his thumb and index finger.

The pain came in a hard, icy jolt but the Inquisitor offered no reaction, only worked his fingers past Myrrah's teeth so he could grip her lower jaw.

Too late, she realized what he was doing, but before she could do more than tense in an attempt to pull back the Inquisitor closed his grip and pulled her jaw out of place with a crunching pop of stretched ligaments.

Myrrah bucked in place, a sudden look of wild fright lighting her eyes. There was blood drooling from the corners of her mouth, hers and his alike, but try as she did she couldn't close her mouth.

She tried to reach up in some desperate attempt to correct herself, but the Inquisitor pressed her back against the wall, stilling her resistance. She was very soft and warm, her panicked motions spasmodic and random, hardly even focused on him anymore. It reminded him of how it felt to hold an injured bird.

There were noises leaking from the otter's ruined mouth, little whimpers and half halted sobs, tears of mingled fury and terror glossing her eyes. Words had become an impossibility.

He was hard, the Inquisitor realized, his cock throbbing in his pants, poking against the otter's flat stomach. For a half second he chastised himself for such an obvious loss of control. The sinner had not yet been broken, it would be irresponsible for him to sate his desires before that point...but in a way he supposed that it was doing his work for him. Seeing his lust had to be adding to Myrrah's terror.

After all, to enjoy his work was no folly. Especially if it served to degrade the sinner in the process.

The Inquisitor pressed a paw roughly between the otter's legs, his strength winning out over her attempts to squirm away. Myrahh made a spluttering noise, rich with fury, but bordering that anger was fear and dread as she realized that there was no possibility of victory for her. She would be dominated. She would be ruined.

Her slit was velvety and hot, so tight that the Inquisitor could barely push his fingers inside. Myrrah clamped down on him, her shivers growing more erratic. Her tail thrashed against his legs but he was so focused upon his task that he hardly felt it.

Even if she could not speak, Myrrah's eyes were bright with horror. There was still a part of her refusing to accept that she'd lost. The Inquisitor relished the fury he could see lingering there. It made his job harder, he knew that, but this was a part of his job that he enjoyed.

Then he unsheathed his claws inside of her and the otter screamed. Suddenly, the heat of her pussy was so much more intense, a stream of the most vivid crimson dribbling over his paw, soaking it right up to the wrist.

Myrrah shrieked and shrieked again, the noises strange and harsh through her dislocated jaw. She tried to push him away, tried to lift herself off of his paw, but the Inquisitor pinned her to the wall and worked his fingers inside of her violated hole, hurting her even more. Before he could resist he leaned in close and put his teeth to the place where her neck and shoulder joined, biting down until he tasted blood. Hers was sweet with terror, he could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the desperate motions of trapped prey.

She made a noise, a strangled little moan, then repeated it. She was trying to talk, he realized.

'Please.' 'Please.'

Good.

The Inquisitor eased his teeth from her bloodied neck and reluctantly let her drop, fingers sliding free. The space between her legs was lathered with blood and Myrrah pressed her paws there as she curled up and broke into helpless little sobs.

He healed her, erasing the ravages inflicted upon her tiny frame with a casual flick of one blood slicked finger. Myrrah stayed where she was, eyes wide, paws pressed between her legs, tail folded over them in turn. For a long moment she didn't even seem to realize that her injuries were gone.

It was a strange thing to be healed so suddenly. Her nerves were probably still singing.

The Inquisitor knelt.

"Are you ready to confess?" He asked.

It took the otter a few moments to collect herself enough to speak.

"You already know everything." She muttered, voice halting and hesitant.

The Inquisitor looked over her body again. He could see scars there, a legacy of many hard fights. She would have none from this, he knew that already. Everything she'd suffered and there would be no trace...

"I do," he confirmed, "but I want to hear you say it."

The otter was silent for a long time, but she made no effort to snarl or spit or grab for a weapon. She knew she was beaten now, fully and completely. There was a numb hopelessness forming just behind her eyes.

"You're evil." Myrrah said.

The Inquisitor thought about hurting her for a moment, but she was probably expecting that. Instead he simply stayed still and watched her, until she hunched her shoulders and continued to speak.

"I...I was born in a mage's castle."

"Born isn't the right word." The Inquisitor corrected.

Myrrah's paws curled into fists but she didn't quite dare express any more obvious signs of resistance.

"I was summoned. The mage summoned me to serve as a familiar, a receptacle for raw power."

The Inquisitor nodded. This was a good start, but there was still more to tell.

"You were brought to this world to serve a master," he said, "and what did you do instead?"

The otter's shoulders hunched and she glared down at the ground.

"Everyone deserves to control their own destiny." She muttered.

The Inquisitor unsheathed his claws, letting the light play off of them. Immediately Myrrah shuffled back against the wall, tail tucking tighter between her legs.

"What did you do instead?" He repeated.

"He was a cruel master. I killed him."

It was exceptionally rare for a familiar to turn on a mage, the Inquisitor knew that. Such a thing was equivalent to a doll murdering the child that owned it, or a pet savaging its master. It also violated every bit of the Inquisition's societal edicts. Each person, by virtue of what they were, had a role to play in life. The strong would rule, and the weak would take it. That was how it was and always would be, no matter the chattering of heretics and sinners that had not yet been corrected.

Had the mage summoned Myrrah in the form of a leopard like himself, perhaps the Inquisitor might have understood a little more. But she was an otter, the very image of a weak species meant to be governed by its stronger betters.

"And what else?" He asked.

"I took his ring. And I burned his castle to the ground." There was a spark of defiance back in Myrrah's voice but still the Inquisitor did not move to extinguish it from her.

"Do you see where all of that has led you?" He asked.

Myrrah straightened up, her back to the wall.

"I see...I see a sadist in short pants playing errand boy for a bunch of theocrats." Her voice was aflame with fury and fear alike.

"I wont make it quick for you." The Inquisitor said, then lunged at her.

Myrrah tried to dodge, but she was still too shaky from what he'd done to her to have a real chance. Instinctively, she tried to call fire, but of course her channeling was blocked. Then the Inquisitor had her by the throat. She clawed at his arm but he hardly felt it, there was a fire raging inside of him now, lust and anticipation roiling in his very center. She tried to kick him between the legs but caught his thigh instead.

The Inquisitor was, in a way, strangely relieved that she was still fighting. It made things more interesting than if the sinner was simply lying still, all defiance broken beyond repair.

He thought about bringing her to the bed but was simply too impatient to go even those few steps. Instead he pushed the otter against the wall, grinding her face into the stone, and slipped from his pants, feline length springing free. He was breathing hard as he ground against Myrrah, cock poking against the base of her tail.

Myrrah didn't bother telling him to stop or even begging, she knew that wouldn't work. Instead she writhed grimly in his grip, trying to scratch him, bite him...anything at all to take a piece from him before he could do the same to her.

The Inquisitor took a moment to savor the feeling of the otter's trembly little body struggling against him, then pressed the pointed tip of his tapered shaft against her slit. He was wet with pre already and slipped in more easily than he'd expected to. Still, there was resistance, Myrrah clamping down so tight that for a moment he though he would glance right off and have to try again. But the Inquisitor shoved his hips forward and felt the otter's tight little cunt slowly open up around his invading length, a burning, desperate heat joining a growing slickness as he hilted into her.

Myrrah screamed, nearly as loudly as when he'd put his claws to her, and bucked in place. A jittery sequence of contractions massaged his barbed member as he thrust roughly into her. Getting up to speed, the Inquisitor slipped a paw around the otter's front and gripped her muzzle, keeping it forced shut. Her breath came in snuffly little sniffs around his fist and tears wetted the fur there, the otter beginning to sob.

Idly, he wondered just how intensely she was regretting not acquiescing to his demands immediately, then figured that it didn't matter. This was no longer about her. The next stretch of time, however long it would turn out to be, was dedicated to him. A reward for his work.

Even thinking about it, how he'd broken her crew and beaten her down, made the Inquisitor's breath come faster. His cock jerked inside of the otter's scalding pussy, splashes of pre further easing his violation of her. Almost before he could fully realize it his balls were tightening and he gritted his teeth against the coming climax.

But rather than try and fend it off he ground his length even more fully into Myrrah's abused hole, driving the breath from her little body as the pleasure he felt graduated into ecstasy. Then his cock was twitching and he growled, pinching one of Myrrah's ears between his teeth as he came, spraying a half dozen rapid spurts of feline seed into her womb.

Slowly, the Inquisitor sank to his knees, still keeping Myrrah pressed against the wall. The otter was trembling, gasping for breath and trying as hard as she could to stifle her sobs. The Inquisitor let go of her muzzle and instead hugged the otter against him, enjoying how warm and soft she was. Myrrah tried to squirm away but was too weak even to dig her claws into his arms. Instead she hung limply in his grasp, sniffling as he continued to make slow, lazy little thrusts inside of her, enjoying the way her pussy gripped his cum streaked length.

When he got bored of that he withdrew and let Myrrah collapse to the floor. For a moment she lay still, trying to recover from what had just happened to her. There was cum beginning to drool from her abused slit and the Inquisitor could see threads of crimson here and there. Evidently his barbs had done the otter no favors.

After a moment she tried to stand up, but her legs were too shivery to manage it. Her eyes found the Inquisitor for a moment but though he could tell she wanted to scream at him, or simply to scream in general, that burst of rage was replaced by a flood of helpless, uncomprehending tears.

When she did try to hurt him it came in the form of a wild lunge that even she had to know wouldn't work. The Inquisitor batted her easily aside and the otter crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. She tried to get back up but the Inquisitor was already upon her. He moved with no real urgency, pressing the otter onto her back before driving a fist into her stomach. The breath left Myrrah's lungs and once again she made a jerky, slow attempt to curl into a ball, her diaphragm spasming and muscles aching.

The Inquisitor didn't let her, grabbing the otter by one ear before jerking her upright, so hard it snapped her head back. Myrrah tried to scream but all that came out was a whispery little noise, so loaded with misery that the Inquisitor leaned forward and impulsively kissed her bloodied mouth.

She was too hurt to even contemplate biting him and made no noise when he bent her over the bed and knelt behind her, digging his claws into her shoulders as he knelt over her brutalized body, cock pressing impatiently at the pink pucker of her tail-hole.

She'd had no preparation to help her take his length but the Inquisitor did not slow or make any allowances for her comfort. Instead he pressed forward, sinking his barbed length into the otter's tail-hole inch by inch, until he was hilted into her. Myrrah sniffled into the bedspread, trembling helplessly as he violated her in an entirely new way.

He fucked her with hard, rough thrusts that rocked the little otter in place, but no matter how much he endeavored to hurt her, sinking his claws into her shoulders or leaning forward to hammer his cock into the silky heat of her ass, Myrrah did not scream. She seemed too numb, too deep into shock to even feel most of what he was doing to her anymore.

A part of the Inquisitor was disappointed by this, another part emboldened. Shuffling forward, he gripped the otter's hips and took up a faster pace, humping her with ruthless abandon, fucking a whimpery little groan from her bloodied mouth.

Again he could feel himself getting close, each thrust into the wet warmth of the otter's tightest hole driving him nearer to another climax.

Leaning forward, over Myrrah's back, he ground his hips against hers. The otter's eyes were glassy with tears, distant and yet locked into the reality of what was being done to her. The fur on her shoulders had gone spiky with blood where he'd cut her with his claws but she hardly seemed to feel it.

"The strong rule, the weak take it." He grunted, then sank his teeth into the scruff of her neck and grunted as he hilted his cock into her tail-hole one last time, filling her tight ass with hot jets of cum.

When he got off of her the otter was still for a moment, then slowly slipped off of the bed and puddled to the ground, trembling miserably, tears leaking from her half open eyes. She hardly looked like the fierce, arrogant beast he'd encountered in the tavern. Now she was limp and used up, splashed with blood and seed alike.

The Inquisitor sat back and watched her for a time, but when Myrrah did move it was to try and drag herself under the bed. Smirking, he caught her by one ankle and hauled her back out. Then, even as she tried to pull away from him, he pressed the otter into his lap and found her nipples, pinching them into stiffness even as Myrrah squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

When he got hard again he took her tail-hole for a second time and relished in the way she squirmed and whined as he ruthlessly aggravated old hurts. But he fucked her slowly this time, keeping the otter in his lap as he slipped a pair of fingers into her mouth, all but daring her to bite.

She didn't.

The Inquisitor relaxed against the bed and stroked his free paw through the fur on the otter's chest, claws barely unsheathed, letting her feel their needle sharp points. Soon he'd put them to use. Soon there would be one less sinner in the world.

Then he could move on to the next one.