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Count Gunzelin von Schwerin was raised from an early age to believe in his divine right as ruler. God, in his wisdom, had granted him and his forebears their lands and castles, their servants and sergeants, to rule over and protect, just as the duke and emperor would protect him should he need it. Beneath him and his retinue were the servants, the serfs, the wild beasts, and the tame creatures populating his fields. All had those above to obey and those below to use as they saw fit, a testament of the natural order which had blessed him with such bounty.

One of his favorite acts of leisure was hunting boar in the forest surrounding his estate. His huntsmen would go out at the crack of dawn with hounds from his kennels to sniff out prospective prey, while he and his courtiers and guests rested and breakfasted. When they found a good specimen, usually determined from examining droppings left by the beast, the hunting party would mount horses and take out the hounds and mastiffs with a detailed plan to chase down and kill them. With proper planning and luck, no dogs would be maimed or killed, but at times it was inevitable that the cornered brute gored one or two with their tusks. The count would strike the final blow with a spear, and then the gathered would unmake it and give the offal to the dogs, leaving the rest for a glorious feast in the evening. He proved, to all assembled, that his proper place was at their head.

One afternoon, in the spring, Count von Schwerin’s hunt had a hulking boar cornered at the shores of the outer lake. It was fierce, as trapped animals often are, thrashing about with its tusks and running back and forth to try to get out. The count’s guardian mastiff, Annette, was snapping at the boar, its body firmly between the boar and its master. All of a sudden, a brownish, greyish blur slammed into the boar, knocking it on its side. The shape dove upon the creature, tearing at its throat and pinning it to the ground as it screamed, gasped, gargled, spat, and shuddered, stone dead. It looked to be a wolf, but there was something more noble in its bearing, more like the hounds around them, and it was alone as wolves usually aren’t. When the boar stopped moving, this canine paragon licked its lips, then slowly rose its head and looked at the count. The look seemed to pierce his soul and froze him where he stood. Then, as quickly as he had come, the giant dog was gone, and the count was left standing over the conquest it had stolen from him.

His courtiers stood in silence as he carved the carcass; the hunt was technically a success, but none would say what all knew, that he was denied his prize at the end. It wasn’t the boar itself that he craved, but mastery over it, and for the first time in his life, he had encountered something in his lands that was not in his control. And so it was that when they returned to the castle Schwerin, they talked not of the boar upon which they dined, but the beast that had killed it and run. The count had a new quarry in mind now, and he would take it alive for his kennels if he could; if he could make keep it, and perhaps breed more of them, it would give him prestige with his liege lords and a bargaining chip for favor from his neighbors.

The count’s men went through his lands, offering a reward in silver for any information on the giant dog. Some of the peasants told them of the occasional deaths of their livestock, but from their accounts, what they saw may have been ordinary wolves. But farther from town, in the woods to the north, there were sightings of a giant dog. It was often distant, and ran when it saw that it was watched, but some hunters there spoke of the same awesome presence and piercing eyes. At last, deep in the forest, they found a woman calling herself Elisabeth, who told them an intriguing tale.

“The beast you seek lives in a den to the north. He responds to no name, but I call him the Hound of the Heart, for when he looks into your eyes, your heart stops and you feel his presence there. He is a clever one, wild, and fearful of men. But he and I have learned to trust each other. If anyone discovers his lair, he will kill them and flee. But give me a fortnight, and I shall convince him to come to you for an audience.”

The count was annoyed at having to wait, but he had seen enough to know that capturing the dog by force would be a risk. So, he waited, preparing his kennels and guards for their new guest. But nothing prepared them for the sight of this wild woman, walking assuredly beside the great brown dog. The pair, escorted by a half dozen guards, came into the count’s throne room, where his courtiers ogled them, and the count smiled broadly.

“Ah, excellent. I was not certain I believed my men when they told me of you and this great, noble beast. But now it is clear that you are the creature’s keeper, and that it is you that should answer for his crime.”

The Hound looked to Elisabeth, as if asking her to translate. She nodded back and looked up at the count.

“You lay claim to the beasts of the forest? Do yourself a favor; stick to ruling your people and leave the woods to those who live there. There is danger in the wilds, wonders which lie beyond your imagining.”

The count stood stiffly and approached his guests, pointing toward them as his guards drew their weapons and closed ranks around them.

“Perhaps you are ignorant of me. I am Gunzelin, Count of Schwerin, third of his name. My family has been granted these lands by the Duke of Brunswick and Lundberg, and I have ruled them since I was a boy. I have ridden through its forests, built its villages and churches within them, and slain dozens of dangerous beasts. Who are you to demand anything of me? I have had men killed for less.”

The Hound of the Heart stood between his traveling companion and Count Gunzelin looking him in the eye once more. Once more, the count felt his power and judgment, but his fear was mixed with anger at their impudence. Elisabeth stood still, fearful, but defiant.

“Of course, my lord. I meant no offense. In fact, we have a proposition for you, should you care to hear it. Please, have mercy, for all our sakes.”

The count stopped and considered for a moment, then ordered his men to sheath their swords.

“Do not mistake my hesitation for weakness. If I wished you dead, it would already be so. Now, speak, and if I like what I hear, I will forgive your little indiscretion.”

Elisabeth smiled nervously and continued.

“My lord, this noble beast is the only one of his kind and wishes to sire pups of his own. Your hunters had with them many hounds which are no doubt yours. He would like to stay in your kennels and, when he finds one suitable, mate with her. You, of course, would keep all but one of the pups, which we would take into the forest to learn our ways and continue his line. Would this satisfy you that the debt is paid?”

The count looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, that would be satisfactory. But you will stay with him in the kennels, and I will be the one to decide upon his mate. I want to have the cleverest and strongest hunting dogs in the duchy, and I will not grant a mere beast the choice of mother to my dogs. Refuse me, and I will have both your heads. Take them to their kennel.”

With that, the count dismissed them, and the two were taken to a large iron pen lined with straw. They would not have long to wait, for many of the bitches were in the beginnings of their seasons. The count’s two houndmasters brought them scraps from the kitchens, in addition to tending to their usual duties. They sometimes saw, or thought they saw, Elisabeth whispering into the great dog’s ear, or the Hound staring out to the other cages at the other dogs, who were transfixed by his gaze.. Over the course of a week, the other dogs became quieter and better behaved, which was a relief to their normally overworked caretakers. They began to relax and even talk to their prisoners, in whom they found a kindred spirit in the love of their animals. It was odd how they were suspicious one moment and best friends the next, but it was harmless enough.

When, at last, some of the hounds were at the peak of their seasons and whining for relief, the houndmasters retrieved their lord to come and choose a dam. He arrived at dusk, examining his stocks with care, then chose Annette, his personal guard mastiff and fiercest hunting dog. He ordered his servants to retrieve their guests and bring them to the breeding pen. It took longer than the count expected, but soon the group was there, the doors locked behind them.

“Annette is ready for him. I’m eager to see their brood when it comes: if they are like their sire, they’ll be exceptional.”

The woman stared daggers at him.

“Of that, there can be no doubt.”

Then, Count Gunzelin felt himself locked arm in arm by his men and pinned down onto his knees, his shouts for help muffled by their hands. Annette sat, panting, as the woman and her noble companion approached their new captive.

“I warned you about the dangers of commanding the wild. Now it will command you. Just relax; it will be a most pleasant experience.”

Count Gunzelin’s head was forced up, his eyes pried open. The great beast looked back at him with those piercing eyes, and suddenly his panic and anger were gone. The words rushing through his mind, vows of revenge and murder, were replaced by instinct and passion and desire. His reason was gone, and in its place was the loyalty and recklessness of his hounds. The noble, giant dog looked back at his companion, who ordered the count’s release. He fell forward on his hands, crawled toward her, and licked her face.

“Oh, you are so much more polite this way. But you should really thank your men for this: they know how to pamper you so well, and they want nothing more than to please you.”

He crawled around toward them and lay on his back, begging for belly rubs in a way they had seen thousands of times. But the two were insensitive to his begging: they had a job to do, one which their new master had fully given to them in the prior days. They undressed their liege, then went out to the kennels to retrieve some playmates for him.

“Now, unfortunately, my companion here cannot sire pups for you in the natural way. Magic often has that effect. But we will keep our bargain with you. Eventually.”

The Hound of the Heart moved around the corners of the pen, marking them with his scent it was powerful, and its effects on the count were immediate. He felt a great, burning lust, spreading through his body, concentrated in his cock and balls, making every sensation ten times stronger. He understood nothing of the words spoken, nothing but the kindness of her tone and the fervor of his own passions. Annette whimpered at the sight of her master fully exposed to her, licking her lips.

“Patience, my lady. You will have your turn. But first, he will learn how to please you.”

One of the houndmasters returned with a brown scenthound bitch, then shut the door behind him and stood outside the room.

“Ah, your first lady. A little on the gangly side, but then, you won’t be so discriminating, now, will you?”

The scenthound sniffed at the count’s smooth flesh, as he sniffed at her fur. When her cold nose breathed hot on his sheathed cock, he stopped and growled softly as it grew beneath him. She licked at the tip, salty precum building on the tip, as he started to hump clumsily against her muzzle. She knew instinctively what he wanted, and turned to offer it to him, her pussy warm and gorgeous. He sniffed and licked at it, teeth chattering with desire, then mounted her, hips bucking wildly with pent up need. It didn’t take long, thirty seconds at most, before his humping ceased and he howled with delight. He stayed on top of her for a few minutes, breathing heavily with her, before she walked out from under him back toward the door. Grinning madly, Elisabeth knocked on the door, and the houndmaster came to take the happy hound back to her pen to rest. The other houndmaster entered with two clay bowls, one filled with water, and the other with the offal of the geese that had been that evening’s supper.

“Wonderfully done, my lord. Now, eat and drink; your next lover is coming soon, and you will need to recover your strength.”

The count crawled over to the bowl of offal and took a mouthful, chewing it and swallowing with some difficulty. The water was easier to swallow, and more refreshing, and he took a long draught from it. As he did, the door opened, and another, larger scenthound was let into the room.

“You must be tired, my lord. Not to worry, you can be still and let him enjoy himself.”

As the count stood next to his bowls, his new friend sniffed at his backside, strongly focused on his genitals. He could smell arousal, faintly, as the count waited for what would happen next. He felt a weight on his back as the hound climbed on top of him and began to hump him. His shoulders were pushed down to the floor, scratched by the creature’s claws, as his other end experienced a wholly different form of restraint. It was painful, but so hot and so fast that pain soon gave way to arousal. A bulb grew within him as something hot and watery flowed inside of him. He was relieved of the weight on his back soon, but the bulb stayed inside, tugging behind him and throbbing strongly.

For some minutes they stood there, back to back, panting with pleasure. Then, with a pop, the hound pulled out, licking his red cock while the count slowly turned around and thanked him with nuzzles. Then he was gone, and the count went back to his water.

“Interesting. I did not know you would take to bitchdom so well. But then, someone truly manly would not have needed so many guardsmen to threaten a single woman.”

The next bitch to enter was a greyhound, sleek and soft. The count had difficulty mounting her, as she could not properly support his weight, but she was receptive enough when she got on her back. It was awkward for him, but he eventually got inside of her and gave her a few minutes of bliss before collapsing to her side. Laying there, spent, he met his next partner with his tongue, coaxing his pencil-thin cock out of its sheath and tasting first something watery, then something thicker and saltier. It mattered little to the greyhound himself, since he still felt the pleasure of mating, even in an unusual way.

Fully rested, his palate cleansed with water and more goose fat, he next wrestled with a foxhound bitch . This one he licked for far longer than the others, his tongue working into her and making her wriggle with pleasure before running frantically around the room, jumping and nibbling at her partner before presenting herself to him again and taking him fully. It took him longer to cum now, but it felt as good as the first time when it finally did happen.

Another foxhound came in and he lay on his back, legs and ass in the air, adjusting to give him a good angle to enter him quickly. The hound licked at his sweaty chest as he humped, roughly rubbing his nipples as they hardened and scratching at his abs. His cock pulsed above him, the head rubbing against his lover’s chest and teasing him before he was at last free to get up.

Next came the alaunt, towering above him, jowls dripping with drool. He attempted to mount a few times, but her height worked against him and he was too tired to stay on top of her for long, so he walked off to his bowl for more water and lay down. She licked at his cock, now a little sore but still very ready for her, then lay beside him and licked his face and mouth. He returned the licks, shuffling underneath her as she sat between his legs. His arms gripped at her sides as he ground into her, finding a way into her pussy at last. She was surprised, but it felt too good, and she began to hump against him, gripping him tightly and pinning him down on his back. He came quickly, but she was unrelenting, and forced him to stay inside her until she was satisfied. When she finally left him, he took some time to dwell in the afterglow before getting up for another drink.

The alaunt bitch was larger than the count, and so was her male counterpart. This he felt firsthand as he took him, feeling every thrust go deeper and harder. He no longer aware of himself and his surroundings; he and his mate were tied so closely together, they were effectively the same being, the dog’s thick drool dripping into his forehead, his forepaws scratching the count’s chest. He didn’t even feel it when the dog came into him, the force of his thrusts constant and overwhelming for what felt like hours. When his gigantic partner finally stopped, he lay moaning and shivering in a puddle of their mixed fluids.

Elisabeth stood over this broken, sloppy mess and sneered down at him.

“You have had quite an ordeal, and it is nearly at an end. But even though you will remember nothing, it will do my soul good to explain to you why you deserve nothing you have. My father, the Duke, granted you these lands as a prisoner of war. Hundreds of men fought until they were knee deep in blood, beating back the Danish from your shores. My family was stripped of its titles, which were granted to you as a boy no taller than my knee. What have you built on your own? How much of your lands have you cut clear to accommodate your churches, your projects of vanity? How many creatures, terrified and desperate, did you run down to convince yourself of a mastery over nature that never existed? Blood must pay for blood, but perhaps in making new life you can redeem yourself for the dishonors of your old one.”

The count looked up at the woman, whimpering at being scolded. All he knew was that he had been bad, and he didn’t want to be. She smiled at his low position.

“Annette, your wish is finally coming true. Go to him now and show him how you feel.”

Annette, colossal though she was, was slow and nervous in her approach. She began to lick at the count’s body. His wounds stung at first, but it was soothing and gentle, almost motherly. She worked her way around him, first on his sore backside, then the scratches on his chest, and up to his face. He saw in her eyes a hunger, but also a tenderness and kindness. He licked around his eyes, at the tears of pain and fear that had rolled down his cheeks, and then at his mouth. Her body was broad and warm, a great, heaving fur blanket made with affection. He gripped her and held her close, licking and sucking on her tongue, his erection growing and hardening beneath him, rubbing against her belly and nipples.

Annette was growing warmer and more ready, and turned around, presenting her engorged vulva to him. Panting and wide-eyed, he hungrily licked it, closing his jaws gently around it and burying his face in it. She lowered herself into him, grinding his mouth and nose against her soft folds. He and she developed a rhythm, building in frenzied energy as she got more and more heated. His enthusiasm matched hers, finding a sweet spot and flicking his tongue against it more and more quickly. Then she stopped grinding, shuddering with pleasure as she had never known.

The mastiff stood, walked a short distance away from the count, flagged her tail, and looked back at him expectantly. He rolled onto all fours and scrambled toward her, leaping onto her back and humping into her. He was well-practiced now, so the angle was easy to him, and her size made it a comfortable fit for both of them. He jackhammered behind her, focused on nothing but becoming a part of her and siring her pups. What he lacked in the size of the alaunt he had taken, he made up for in zeal and stamina, pounding her relentlessly for many minutes. It wasn’t until she felt that euphoric shuddering again, and he felt it surrounding him, that he ejected the last of his seed deep inside her. The two stood together, wishing for the moment to last forever.

But the moment passed, and Annette walked away from him and lay down to sleep. The count looked lovingly at her through half-closed eyes, then curled up beside her and went to sleep himself. Elisabeth looked over at her companion.

“Our experiment is over, for now. But it will take some weeks before we can see the results. All that is left, for now, is the cleanup.”

At that, Elisabeth opened the door, and the houndmasters carried the count to his chambers. The Hound of the Heart nuzzled each of them, and then the count himself, before returning to the kennels for the night.

The count awoke in an exceptional mood. His guests had been exceptional, not only breeding Annette with what would be a strong litter, but also choosing excellent pairings for all of his breeds. He himself had spent the night in his chambers with Elisabeth, a night of passion and drinking and rough sex that had left him sore, but very satisfied. At least, that was his recollection the following morning.

Two moons later, the pups were all born and ready to be inspected. As they grew, they were similar to their mothers in body, somewhat larger and stockier, but the most striking differences were in their minds. They were not only exceedingly quick to train, understanding simple commands and hunting tactics with ease, but they were sometimes able to follow commands they weren’t previously taught, or follow conversations they overheard about the next day’s hunt and know where they were going.

Annette, of course, was mother of the largest and brightest pups, and as promised, Elisabeth and the Hound returned to select one of her litter. To the count’s surprise, they chose the runt of the litter, one with shaky paws, but a large head and a curiosity about the world around them. There was something repulsive to the count about it, and strange things seemed to happen when that pup was upset, so he was glad to be rid of it. He got the better of the deal, with five wonderful pups of his own.

Annette was given a place in the count’s chambers, dining on the choicest cuts of meat alongside him. She was always by his side, even at meetings of matters of state. And once in a while, one of the servants would hear odd whimpering from the room in the middle of the night, or an unusual stain in the count’s bedding. No one questioned the count on this, but she, and later other giant dogs, always female, would share his chambers for many years to come.