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Fallen Fates of Rebels Lost

Part Three of Three

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

This story contains fictional non-consensual slavery and sexual acts performed on a captured rebel in a dystopian universe, including "mind breaking" and forced orgasms in public restraint.

The young stag fought like the devil, reeking with sweat, pouring with it. The van that he had been transported in had just been something filled with crates and he'd thought that the soldiers had shoved him into something else entirely, mistaking him for another, though he should have known that those under the tyrant's employ did not simply make mistakes like that. Shoved in amongst boxes and sharp-edges metal crates, he'd clung to anything that he had been able to, trying to keep himself in place, hold on through it all as much as he feared jut where he was going.

He was just a college student, an adult on the cusp of the rest of his life. But he should have known already that there was no one in the city, let alone the further reaches, that got to live any kind of life that may have been their own to claim.

The van juddered to a halt, light spilling in as he was grabbed by his rack and dragged out into the light, wearing only his loose pants. He'd been asleep in bed when they came for him but Phillip had no life left in which rest would do him any good.

"Let me go!"

"Rise and shine, antlers!"

They didn't care for his fighting, his squalls of protest, though Phillip could at least say that it took four of them, big, strong dogs that reeked of gun polish and something rank on their boots, to subdue him. He wanted to fight, his muscles big and strong, powerful, rippling with them even though he was light and lean enough in comparison to be agile.

Twisting, he managed to strike his hoof into the thigh of one who staggered off, only to be replaced and dominated by another in the absence of his grunts of pain. A zebra with his ears pinned, the new creature muscled him on, dragging him into the building, not caring how much pain was caused to him in the process. It was not as if the young stag was of any consequence to them, after all, and they most likely say ten more like him every single day.

The lab was brightly lit - but only in certain sections. The remainder was cast into darkness, scientists moving around, though they were not there to help Phillip, not in the slightest.

"Get your head down!"

They didn't let him look, grinding his head down and forward by the back of his head, gripping his antlers to make sure that he could not pull back again so easily. The ache of it all blistered down the stag's neck and he grunted, the deer swallowing hard, shaking his head, growling in the back of his throat.

"Fucking cunts... Lot of you... Trained fucking imbeciles..."

"Yeah, well, look who's going to be on their knees. Want a glimpse of your fate, deer-boi? Fucking little weak fawn like you gonna get what's fucking coming to them."

They hauled him up, showing him what he had loathed to see, imagined and hating both at the same time. He did not give the tyrant the satisfaction of seeing his jaw dropping, the man that he hated drawing himself up tall simply by taking a breath through his nose, the line of his lips contemplative behind a moustache and neatly trimmed beard. Did he think that made him look more refined? The cloth on his back would have paid for a lifetime of living expenses for Phillip but, of course, the elite and powerful did not think like that. They didn't think like that in the slightest.

A stag, however, just like him but older, was beside the tyrant. Phillip could be like for like with him, though he would have been forgiven for not realising, at first, that there was another deer there. He was shrunken and small, a shadow of what and who Phillip was, a stranger to Phillip even though something in him pulled for the other stag. It was not something, not in that moment, that was to be understood in any way.

He shook his head, grunting thickly, trying not to look at the tyrant. He was not due such satisfaction, not even as Phillip's chest heaved, inflating and gasping, panic trying to set in as he turned his head to more nefarious means. He had to hang on, had to stay in the moment, had to breathe slowly and evenly, controlling who he was, remember who he was above all else. That was all he had to do, sinking his nails into it mentally, desperately, though even he, at that time, knew that there was no way to evade, to escape. It was all about controlling himself, holding on for as long as possible, even though Phillip could not have said quite why he had been chosen and taken to be the tyrant's newest...

No.

No, he couldn't follow that line of thought.

"So good of you to join me."

The king's lips seemed pulled into a perpetual sneer, showing a gleam of saliva, his body not within his control.

"Take a closer look."

It was not as if Phillip had a choice, shoved forward so that he was nearly face to face with the stag. He was encased in a pod that swallowed up his arms and legs, face-down with something mask-like covering his face. But he was inescapably a stag, his antlers bearing thick stumps, though one had been snapped off, leaving it broken. He'd grow a new rack but that would only come in time.

If he lived that long.

Before Phillip's eyes, the stag shuddered and took a breath, his back inflating with the movement of his lungs within. His ribcage showed through the brown fur of his back, tipped with grey, evidencing old age. Or maybe he had been prematurely aged by something the tyrant had done to him.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Phillip shook his head. Speaking was useless. He had to be strong, had to pull back into himself, remember who he was.

The tyrant didn't care if he replied or not.

"You thought you could spread lies and dissent about my reign and more, did you not, young fool?"

Phillip didn't even blink. He was stronger than that.

"You thought that you could start looking into resistance groups, researching... Your internet blockers do nothing against my sources."

Phillip's stomach sank but, still, he did not make any sort of reaction at all. His face remained impassive, though he could only hope that a tiny wrinkle had not appeared in his forehead. That was his tell, however small of a one that it was.

Maybe the tyrant would not notice.

"You... You thought you'd be the next generation of the resistance. You thought that you would step into the background ranks of the rebels, quiet and discreet, one that they would come to rely on. It's surprising that you have the physique that you have, considering your background in technology. You would have been an asset to my program. It's such a shame that you'll never be a part of it, but your mind will, your memories... Well, let us just say that you will not have any use for them any longer."

Phillip let his eyes glaze over.

Go somewhere, go anywhere else...

_ _

He didn't have to focus. But, still, he did. The stag was not as old as he had first thought, locked into the pod. He was...perhaps middle-aged? It was hard to say but the grey on his muzzle, what could be seen of it, was still there to be claimed, his eyes wide open, yet unseeing - just like Phillip's were when he was present in a situation that he didn't want to be in. When he wanted to be somewhere else. Just like he'd been when he had stood in that park and ignored them carrying off the protestors, one by one.

It had been easier to not do anything.

He had no expression. Phillip swallowed minutely, looking closer. It was not as if he had anything else to distract himself with. Maybe the details would show him a clue in the tube that held the stag's mouth open, drool slipping down his chin around the mask that was locked around the tube and the back of the deer's head, keeping it all in place. It glistened with his saliva, his muzzle soaked in it, though he did not move, not even a muscle.

Yet the pod beneath the stag was not entirely solid in shading either, allowing Phillip's eyes to adjust a little more to his environment and surroundings. Even the mask was clear, though a part of him wondered why he had not seen that detail, things coming together slowly, piece by piece.

But...something wasn't right. Of course, it wasn't right. It was the tyrant that he was talking about there. He didn't care, didn't linger on a single thought of anything but himself. Yet all Phillip was doing was distracting himself as his eyes had to fall, slowly, so very slowly, to the container beneath the stag and his pod. The translucent material allowed him to see what was within, the tube that went up to the stag's hard length, Phillip's lips tightening only a little as the fluid, which could only be semen, filled the container.

He didn't ask the tyrant what he was doing. He was enough of a showman to tell him for himself.

"This is the only use that the body of a rebel holds for us, for one such as him."

Poking the stag with the toe of his boot, the king sighed and shook his head as if genuinely disturbed. Of course, as always, it was all an act.

The tyrant held up his hand ceremoniously, everything a show. A small clicker with a red button nestled there but the purpose of it was due to come soon enough as he depressed it.

The stag before them grunted, quivering, his backside contracting as if there was something in him that was pushing on, trying to thrust. Could it even be considered thrusting when one was in such a position? Phillip didn't think it was his position to say, not even then, watching in raw horror, eyes wider and wider, the liquid level in the container hooked up to his cock rising.

A normal orgasm couldn't make a fur come that much and not a human either.

Phillip resisted the urge to gulp, fighting to the last, though the lump in his throat was not one that he wanted to swallow.

What had they _done_to him?

"This stag..." The tyrant paused for effect, spreading his arms wide. "He is your father."

Phillip blinked.

"I didn't know my father."

The words were out before he could stop them. Damn it! But he clamped his jaws shut immediately after, restricting himself, even though the guards still held him far, far too tightly for him to even consider slapping a paw over his mouth.

Control. He had to have control. Over himself, if nothing else.

"Yes... I knew that too."

What, did he know fucking everything?

"He has been here for over twenty years, a political opponent of me, back in his day. He should never have stood against me, run against me, but it was his fate to fall before me. After my victory, he came to me in anger. This was the neatest way to begin my reign - and is it not a beautiful one? To bring him down to the level of nothing more than a cum slave, proving myself over him? If it was any easier, perhaps it would have not been worth it at all. Yet there is a sweet taste of victory about it, even after all these years..."

The tyrant's lips quirked softly.

"Ah... But those are the ramblings of an old man. A powerful man. A strong man. A man who well enough deserves whatever brands of petty revenge he desires. All have their use and it just so happened to be that I locked onto his perfect use. Is that not sublime?"

No... No, it really wasn't. But there was no way for Phillip to convey that as he clenched his jaw, losing his grip, paws balled up into fists. His fingers dug into the palms of his paws, leaving crescent shapes in their wake, as painful as that could be at times. They were thicker than the human nails of the tyrant, so weak and pink with flesh, the dogs stronger than even the man with their claws.

"He cannot think, do not worry. He feels no pain."

You sick fuck.

_ _

"He's broken. So many opponents... All of them broken. Is it not beautiful?"

No. Blood roared between Phillip's ears, though he had to think, had to hang onto his thoughts. They were for him, only for him. No one else could have them.

But the tyrant wanted them.

"So... You knew about your father. When did you work out that your parents were not your parents?"

Phillip could not hide the tension in his shoulders.

"Eleven."

"Yes?"

"I was eleven years old."

"Very good... Oh, how astute you are! So, they were not your parents but your mother deer did birth you, of course. You were a subject of IVF but the seed that was used, of course...was that of this less than lovely stag right here."

The tyrant's grin showed in a flash of teeth that were far too white for comfort.

"I did not expect you would follow in his path... Your talents should have been used for our better world, the new world that is being built under my jurisdiction. There is no other choice left to me but to put you in the same place as him, harvesting your seed...until the end of your corner of eternity."

Phillip was in motion before his mind had caught up with what the tyrant was saying, instinct kicking in. He had to flee, had to get away, had to do anything, everything - everything possible just to get away. He would have been amiss if he did not stay there in the moment, if he did not flail and fight, elbowing the guards, letting them take his weight as he swung his hooves back into them. They sunk home, connecting with balls and thighs, wherever the stag struck leaving imprints of pain in their wake.

Another pod loomed, whirring as it rose from the floor like a hidden console in a living area, exposing what was to be his fate forevermore. He had to fight and he fought through them, sweating, screaming, swearing, giving himself strength through his resistance. If he lent himself enough energy through fighting back, snarling deep in the back of his throat, a feral cry ripping through that was not cervine in its presentation.

But he saw the mask looming, his muzzle forced into it, his limbs driven down into the restraints of the pod, locking around all four. His tail perked up, though he should have expected his clothes to be ripped from him, leaving him naked and humiliated, trying not to shriek, panic setting in as entrapment closed in over the initial fight.

What more could he do?

Not give in... Yes, yes, that was it. He had to not give in, lying on the pod, a defiant curse still on his lips as his face pushed into the clear mask, leaving his expressions on show to those around him. Scientists rushed in, adjusting something, his body encased securely, even more so than if the pod had expanded up over his back.

"There... That's better. That is your place now."

The soldiers backed off only when they knew that he was secured where he was supposed to be, smirking, dismissed - for the time being. They could watch for the time when they were not needed and, well, the tyrant did so like an audience. There was little better to break the spirit of one who was already lost but just didn't know how far gone they were even then.

Something pushed against his lips - a tube? He tried to keep them closed against it but a sharp shock to his buttocks had him gasping, allowing it to slide into his mouth, depressing his tongue.

"Here, boss."

A soldier, he did not know who, lifted his small, cervine tail to allow a mechanical arm to insert a dildo. Phillip grunted, struggling, pulling at his restraints, but they held fast. Maybe he had ignored what had been lodged up under his father's tail, or maybe it had been there the whole time, his mind simply unable to make sense of it all, to take it all in. It was too much all at once, his skin hot and prickling, aching with desire - the desire for freedom, to not feel locked in and locked down for a single moment longer.

But that was not to be. He was lost, the soldiers gathering, laughing and mocking him, pointing, jeering. He was there to put on a show, his body something to be amused by, though it was not long for him, not long at all.

The dildo pushed deeper into his tail hole, stretching him out, screaming with the indignity of it all, heart aching for the father that he now knew was beside him. Something that he could not see sucked around his cock, soft and pliable like some kind of liquid latex, forming a tight seal around his shaft, pulsing and pulling his length out and out and out of his sheath. Even in that moment, he knew that it would keep him hard, even if it was in a different way to how his father had fallen. Maybe their technology had simply come on since then. Maybe it would be worse for him than his father.

His cock swelled, hard and desperate. He tried not to think about it, not even as something rubbery and transparent slipped up and over his body. More restrictive even than what his father had endured, he let it slide over him, as much as he hid from it, sinking into himself, grunting thickly, trying to push the tube out of his mouth even then with his tongue. It was useless, of course, but he had to try, had to do something, struggling to break free even as movement was taken from him more and more, inch by inch.

Something poured down his throat, forcing him to swallow, his throat numb and allowing more than enough to slide down where it belonged. It happened quickly, arousal shooting through him, the young stag grunting and trying to roll his hips, though he still tried to tell himself that he was trying to break free, trying to get rid of the bondage layering his body, covering him so much that it seemed that only his head was left exposed, for the moment. He wouldn't put it past the tyrant to change things, something in his expressions still visible as the mask secured him, tight around his muzzle.

Yet he could not ignore the lust rising, the arousal. His skin prickled with an overload of sensation, heating up, his cock hard and swelling even more. The shocks under his tail made him jolt and jump and he trembled in place, but it satisfied something carnal and primal in his body, despite everything else.

"Yes... Let go. You don't need to hold onto this life and world any longer. It's not for you. It was never for you."

He would live but the stag wasn't even sure that he wanted to live anymore, not to be put on show as some kind of grotesque amusement, milked for his seed over and over again. It could not be his life, would not be his life, not even as pulse after pulse of electrical energy shocked his anal passage, directly into his prostate. He grunted thickly, twisting his head back and forth, though he could not even do that, not really. It just strained his neck, pulling against the mask and the pod, the restriction even more terrifying than what was happening to him.

But the shocks, oh... Oh, they could not be held back from, pounding into him more brutally than a cock, though he had not had that pleasure in his life before. Phillip would not have said that he was a virgin but he had not had most things in life and the experimentation of it was something that he would have much preferred to take in paw with a loving partner...not before the tyrant. Not with his father suffering the same fate beside him.

His cock drooled, a stream of cum oozing forth, though it did not feel like an orgasm. There was pain coursing through with the shocks and the pulses kept right on coming. More fluid food poured down his throat, leading it straight to his stomach, flooding him with drugs, everything that would render him helpless to the pod.

It's...

_ _

His brow furrowed, not wanting the thought to come, despite everything. No, no, he had to hold it back! Pleasure arched through him.

So...good...

_ _

Yes, it was good, as much as he hated to admit that, horrified by the reactions of his body, thrusting and grinding, though he tried to tell himself that it was just a muscular contraction, a reaction to the electric shocks zapping him. They seemed to lance down his spine, somehow, though his brain was too fried to consider just how that was possible, twisting and bucking, grunting thickly.

When he struggled, the sensations came more rapidly and he could not stay still, the dildo driving into him, harder and harder, pounding him as if he was a living sex toy. The stag howled, throwing his head back, though the mask kept him in place, even if that did not stop the desire coursing through beneath the surface. It was as if he could feel every electric shock firing up his veins, pulsating through, the dildo pounding and driving, stretching him open. No lubrication, of course, had been used, but that did not matter as his body was forced to accept it all without his consent, fading and failing, his resistance turning, slowly but surely, to rampant lust.

His body was dominated... Cum leaked from him. It was too much, so very much too much as he growled hopelessly through climax. Cum poured forth - a true orgasm - and he was treated to the pleasure of it still, his need spilling out and out and out as if it was not to be restrained ever again, not in the slightest. He had to let every last drop go, humping and grinding, his hips working within the limits of his restraint, though he did not know just how much he could move. He seemed to have just a little bit more freedom than his father, if it could be called that, grunting and groaning, thrusting and humping fervently, his hips rising to send what little power he had left forth.

"That's right... This is where you belong."

The tyrant grinned, satisfied - at least, for the moment. Only time would tell whether he would, of course, remain satisfied with the young buck as he twisted and whined. So easy to break... It seemed that some things could be genetic. He refused, as ever, to believe that he'd simply gotten lucky.

He slapped Phillip's arse with a sharp smack of his paw connecting with flesh. The stag may have jumped but he thought it was just another part of his torture, his humiliation, the force sucking and rippling around his cock pulling him down more and more.

He tried not to jump as the tyrant pushed his tail up high, the dildo moving, pumping into his anal ring like a desperate slough of fervour. It was a partner who would never fall tired, always horny, always wanting, driving and pumping and grinding as his poor, abused tail hole clenched and pulsed around it. Phillip tried to tighten around it, even though he didn't want to, not really, yet the onslaught of further sensation was not something still that even he could bear through.

Dominated, abused... Oh, why did he love it so? He'd never stumbled across that kind of porn before but somehow his blood sung to be so restrained, so desperate, so very wanton. His cum flowed into the tube as he climaxed and he twisted his head desperately, eyes half-closed, the pleasure illicit and yet taboo even as he was forced to feel it.

"Now... I think you've earned a reward, don't you? Oh, don't you worry - this is the best kind of reward you can get here. You'd best get used to it. Not that it matters to me either way, but you're going to be here for the rest of your life, after all."

Phillip shuddered. There was no longer any sense in trying to hide what he meant, what his expressions conveyed. There was something about the bondage that made him feel small and weak and an even larger part of him that liked that just as much. None of it made sense and it never would to him as his mind was chipped away at, bit by bit, the stag grunting and groaning, rolling his hips, aching for more, always more.

He almost didn't notice the tyrant bending down, removing the container with his own hands, attaching it instead to the feeding tube with a dose of cum already sloshing about inside. It was a fair amount, the stag's nuts slowly cradled by something warm and cloying, something that would make them produce more and more semen in time, though he would soon produce more, much more. That was Phillip's purpose there, after all, milked of his seed over and over again, though the king wanted to give him a taste, if only to humiliate him.

"Bottoms up!"

Phillip tried to close his lips but the tube kept them open, smooth and pressing up against his lips, though there was no gap to be had. It was a snug fit and one that made his jaw ache, even as his teeth ever so slowly bedded into it over time. The stag gulped and whimpered, eyes watering, though he could not say quite what they were brimming over with in that moment, grunting and groaning, his own semen pouring down his throat.

Little did he know that it was a vital component of his first feeding, liquid food sliding down as well, ensuring that he received the nutrients to stay alive. He trembled, the taste overpowering, something fruity dancing off his tongue, though the thickness of his seed could not be denied either. His body trembled, quivering in place, fingers stretched out, though they were not comfortable where they were dug in. Nothing would ever again be comfortable as he swallowed and swallowed, his seed gone and that container re-attached down below to the tube leading from his cock. But there was more and more laced food to slide down his throat, whimpering as he obediently suckled, swallowing, though it felt like gulping down mud with how thick his throat felt in that moment.

His thoughts slipped away - well, he could still feel them there, drifting back and forth, but he could not catch and pull one out for himself, no matter how hard he tried. They swirled and he drifted, whimpering in place, the fruity taste disappearing from the flow but still lingering in his mouth.

Of course, it was more drugs. More to break him down, the beginning of something more. His back end ached as if he needed to go to the bathroom, though he didn't know how to go, what to do - he was in the wrong position. It didn't feel right, not comfortable at all, whining, clenching his jaw, teeth digging in painfully to the tube with all his might.

"There's nowhere private for you anymore. Get this on record."

That had to be directed to one of the scientists but there was little else that Phillip could do but obey, not when his body was working on without his command. He had no autonomy anymore and the dildo under his tail opened up to allow his waste to pass through it, defecation something for private matters only and leaving him to excrete his waste out in public.

He didn't think of who was around him, how many others were there, all watching him. Maybe they'd seen it all before but it was something that he quailed from, shrunken and small, broken and beaten, grunting lightly, though he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself, even then. It didn't matter that, for a few minutes, he was the tyrant's favourite plaything, but only for a while. He would be tossed aside and discarded as easily as his winding thoughts were, turning back and forth, over and over again.

He was left clean, if not fresh, as his waste was removed from him, the need to urinate with a full bladder also taken care of with his cock encased in the soft tubing. The tip of his shaft was left feeling a bit wet and slick in a bad way, but he had no say in that matter, having to twist and wriggle in place, fixed only on the upcoming pleasure.

The vibrations started again, only massaging his cock. The tyrant may or may not have been there but he knew that others came and went, no marker of time allowed to him. He whined and tried to push his head down but the pleasure called him each and every time, whether it was shocking his cock, pounding his backdoor entrance, his cock drooling and spurting, every last drop of his seed collected wantonly.

Phillip was not Phillip anymore, though he hung onto his name for as long as possible as he filled more than a single container in one day, or so he thought. It was hard to tell when a lab tech came to remove the container and swap it out for a fresh one as his orgasms came so frequently. All controlled by the push of a button, sometimes kept wanton and denied in-between but his cock forever hard. There was nothing else for him, no break for him, panting and heaving, head hanging.

He'd thought he would be harder to break. But that was no longer anything for him to worry about when even his thoughts were gone. He let them pulse vibrations over his cock, leaning into it, loving the lifestyle even though it was not something, not truly, that should have ever been for him. He was trapped, he should have hated every last second of it. But...the problem was...that he didn't. He cried and he whimpered but the control, oh... Oh, it was not the ability to cum but the ability to only get off when someone else controlled it that got him to that point.

"So, I just press this button here?"

He knew they were not lab techs or anyone in the employ of the tyrant but visitors instead. They came, sometimes, to gawk and stare, jaws dropped and eyes wide in the aftermath of shock on initially seeing him in such a state. Sometimes he had lots of visitors clustered around him, making him cum time after time, other times a single person just stayed there for hours on end, shocking him or forcing him, sometimes denying him release.

It was all under their control, no longer his. There was nothing private anymore, nothing at all, a groan rising in the back of his throat as he blinked up at a dog, though he could not see much of the creature who looked to be something like a Saluki cross. They would have been handsome if not for the fact that they held the controls in their paws, shocking his balls so that he jerked and jumped in his restraints. His cock still pumped cum from that stimulation alone, even though he barely knew what he was feeling in a denied orgasm, a milking of his seed without allowing him that pleasure.

It was still bliss, bliss in a way, but not any kind of bliss that he understood. It was wrong and it was right as he adored it, no longer concerned about the tyrant. He just needed to cum, getting off over and over again, his backdoor entrance pounded, his balls massaged, his cock vibrated. The sensations would change at the whim of the controller and that was all that he lusted for too, grunting and groaning, whimpering, begging without words for more.

Still... He fought. A little. Sometimes more. The drugs were something that the body could grow to resistance and his thoughts sharpened. He wanted the pleasure, yes - but Phillip also craved the sweetness of freedom, a fresh breeze stroking his fur. The fight of the rebellion may not have been for him but being out and in control of his own life, yes, that was what he needed. Even if he handed over control of that to others, from time to time.

He knew that he could fight though, forcing the tyrant to increase it, to give him what he truly wanted. For it was not the light of the outside world that was his to take, losing more and more of his intelligence day by day. That was, ultimately, what led him to give it all up, though he could not help that much, not even in that moment. For his life was no longer his own to control, despite everything, despite his confused thoughts, fighting and squirming, even letting the defiance shine out through his eyes.

Yet it was the tyrant who ultimately had control. And he knew that too. Maybe that was why he had really pushed him, the fact that freedom was no longer an option for him leading him into even darker reaches of debauchery. If he could not have what he wanted on the outside, he would have what he wanted on the inside, even forcing the hand of the tyrant himself in one, tiny way. It was the best way, the only thing left to him as the tyrant frowned, shaking his head.

"Increase everything. Drugs, stimulation... I'll not see him thinking for a single day longer."

The tyrant did not stay to see the effects, the stag grunting and dry-cumming in the end, forced to multiple orgasms within the space of half an hour and then more again still. He howled and screamed into the gagging dildo but even that fucked his face, the tip of the tube able to close up into a phallus-like shape. It was humiliating but he could not even quail from it as he faded, losing himself.

He even forgot his name. He didn't think of himself as a stag, seeing without understanding, his days solely commanded by wave after wave of pleasure, seeking it out with every sordid fibre of his being.

Thrusting and cumming, yes... Yes, that's all that he had to do. Nothing more than that. Nothing else mattered and that was alright too. He didn't need to do anything else, be anything else, his groans ever-present. Others came to him but he did not recognise what they were at all, much less who they were. He didn't know what people were or even furries, the anthros that had made up his life before senseless in the aftermath of swallowing so much food laced with drugs.

His eyes remained open as wide as those of his father, still beside him, though Phillip did not know who they were. It was another thing, something, but not like him, surely not? He could only react to external stimulation, his mind blank, full of mindless craving, moment after moment pushing him on as the seconds of life ticked by. If someone got him off, he felt that. If someone walked by, he did not know. If someone said his name, he didn't recognise it. Phillip simply was.

The tyrant stood over him, finger crooked at a lab tech in a white coat.

"Monitor his thoughts. Take everything."

They pulled it from him, analysing the manner of his breaking, step by step.

"Pleasure...good..." The scientist read out, interpreting the brainwaves, turning data to words. "No...need...think...no...just...pleasure...cum...cum...cum...again....more...cum..."

There were more like that.

"Animal...no...more...just...animal...cum...need...cum..."

"Tired...so tired...no...more...think...cum...pleasure...cum..."

That was enough for the tyrant: he was gone and that was all there was to it. He clicked the button again for a symbol of finality, sending an overdose of the drug straight down the stag's throat as he grunted and whined, hardly even able to make the same sounds that he had before. He struggled as pleasure lanced through him, not differentiating the pain of having his prostate abused from pleasure, thrusting and grinding, so lost in the moment that there would never again be anything else for him. He didn't remember the past and he knew nothing of the future, not even to look for it, pulling desperately at the pod as his body tried to contort in the ecstasy of orgasm. He filled the container again, his balls replenishing themselves with the drugs fed to him, always heavy, always swollen, always needy. Despite everything, there was a part of the stag that knew he was where he needed to be. Or there was a part of him that thought that before he had been stripped of his mind.

He thrust wildly, pounding down into the pod, groaning and howling like a wild animal that had never known what it was to have a mind. Cum poured from him again but it was not enough, his ability to think at all, even in those tiny, fragmented thoughts, broken, taken from him. It slipped away, just like his seed, but there was nothing there that would ever again be replenished, not as his throat closed up, losing his ability to make more stag-like noises. Only grunts remained to him of different pitches, his drool flooding his mouth, sliding down around the tube and his chin as he groaned and thrust.

Side by side with his father, they were a perfect match, one younger and one older. There was no difference between them as they climaxed time after time in feral instinct alone, grunting and groaning, drooling and salivating for more. They craved it, the only thing that their minds ever could come to in the heat of a turgid moment, skin prickling, fur bristling, sweat pouring. They could not take care of their needs and sometimes the lab techs washed them off, but there was no need really to keep them all that clean and fresh when that was no longer their purpose in life.

Visitors stopped coming after his breaking. They were only ever intended to be part of the process. The tyrant stopped them from coming as soon as his breaking was complete, torn down into nothing more than a mindless animal, a cum-animal. He was not a creature, after all, but a process that would come and go, up and down, with the rise and fall of his climaxes.

No one knew he was there, kept in darkness. Sometimes the lab techs and more took care of needs that the machines could not. But the underground room that they were dropped into, well...it was for the lost souls that were ripped and brutalised, sliced from reality in a way that would never again see them returning.

Still, the stags climaxed, side by side, unknowing, feeling... No more than that. There was no need for any more as he filled the container, never seeing it being removed. It had a use, yes, of course, but that was not for either of the stags to know as their seed was used for research for both good and bad.

It was the way of it. And pleasure was the way of them as they drooled and drooled.

*

Thirty years later...

_ _

The stag had matured over time, though his muscles were not larger, due to his lack of activity. His father, though he did not know he was his father, was weaker by his side, older and frailer, his fur laced with grey so that he appeared to be a different species of deer entirely other than a proud red deer. He was so old that his antlers did not grow back anymore after being handled too roughly too many times.

Phillip was still the image of his father, however, lacking any thought activity shining in his blank, always held open eyes. He did not even need to blink anymore, constantly ejaculating, needing to cum whenever he was between orgasms. Life had been reduced to ejaculating, waiting and ejaculating again. There was no need for anything else, not even in the moments between, the tyrant, finally returning to see what had come of them.

The room lit up, allowing the tyrant inside as he strode out, a young stag following - about the age that Phillip had been when he had come in first of all, perhaps a little older. Scrawny and wide-eyed, he fought and twisted but did not have the muscle mass to support him, for the world of his kind was not one in which any kind of luxury was best held in the slightest. He had not the luxury of eating well and resting well, forced to serve and rebelling despite everything else.

He'd known too what happened to those that resisted. It hadn't stopped him.

"No! Nooooo - don't do this to me!"

He howled with all the air left in his lungs as he was forced into a similar pod beside the first two, the tyrant himself yanking up his tail in the first act of humiliation to allow a dildo-tube to be rammed deep, bigger than what even Phillip had taken. The younger stag gasped and groaned, eyes rolling back, pain overcoming him, though the feeding tube ramming into the back of his mouth, of course, distracted him somewhat. As he was set up, his limbs imprisoned in the pod, the mask sliding into place, the fluid poured down his throat swiftly, feeding him, the drugs working quickly to turn up his arousal.

His cock pulsed, aching with a massage, a trembling vibration that shocked him to his core. But not really: that was to come later, as much as he did not know that. The stag whined and fought and struggled but he tried to thrust at the same time, his tingling, overly aroused body aching for release.

Confusing... It was confusing, too much coming together at once as something sucked his cock, drawing it deeper, forcing it hard, pre-cum drawn forth. A plug inflated under his tail, pressing right up against his prostate, shocking him, the electric pulses coursing vehemently, trembling and shocking, delight aching with pain so teasing that he knew not what he was doing even.

He didn't know how quickly he was breaking. It was easier as the tyrant went down the generations, oddly enough. But that was something that would benefit him in the latter years of his tyranny, his rule going on and on. Everlasting life was his next goal and, with all the testing that had been done on the rebels, the king was within a hair's breadth of such a revelation, just for him, that he could almost taste it.

The young stag howled through his first imprisoned orgasm, mind slowing, fading, whimpering. His body ached and trembled, sweating as if he had run a marathon, though that was only the start of it, knowing the tyrant was above him, watching as his muscles tried to relax when they could not. Of course, they could not - not when he already needed to cum so badly.

"This will be the last time."

No more generations from that line of stags. Not when they were not needed, not anymore. They had done their job and would continue ejaculating until the end of their days, until their very last breath. The youngest, of course, would likely last another seventy years, what with modern medicine and the lab techs to care for them, but they would not be alive in their minds.

The young stag humped and ground, unable to help himself, though horrified at the same time by just what he was doing. He wanted it but didn't want it - but he just could not stop his hips from pumping over and over again, his tail even flicking up as if he was trying to invite more. How could that be so? The dildo under his tail pounded and slapped into him, shocking him with every thrust, every shock sending a spurt of cum from his cock without pleasure. The strain remained and he screamed through the gag for release, eyes streaming, his lips already wet with saliva.

"Again."

A click. More pleasure. Horrific, mind-numbing pleasure. There was no escaping from it, not as he screamed and howled and cried out for release, any kind of release. He needed it, wanted it, as much as his mind swung back longingly to thoughts of his past life. It would be all that he clung onto in the coming days, as much as he slipped from it, groaning lightly, failing and fading just like all that had gone before him.

His cock ached, vibrations pulsing, the materials around his shaft sucking him deeper, almost as if he was within a hot, wet maw. It was not a bad sensation, yet even thinking that was something that he reeled from.

The light hit his face, his smile fixed, moustache in place and his beard as neatly trimmed as ever. If anyone had been left from the early days of his rule, they would have been amazed that he hardly seemed to have aged. But death, ah... Ah, yes. That was the final frontier to push back and, finally, to eradicate completely for the tyrant. Then his rule would never again be questioned.

The door to the lab closed after the tyrant. He didn't need to watch the breaking of the youngster, not when he was merely an experiment. He would see if he could be used again for anything later, but, for the time being, that was all that he needed to do.

Left there, in the dark, were two silent stags, not even able to grunt anymore, and the moaning young stag, still able to speak and think. Not for very long, of course, but he did not yet understand his fate as his hips worked and pumped, coursing orgasm after orgasm from him, cock aching for respite and relief both at the same time.

The moaning would not last long. Already, his mind wavered, losing part of himself, looking for the control. When that became his every day and night, no longer able to tell the difference between day and night, the control of others over him would be what he leaned into, what he hungered for. Just like his father, Phillip, he would fall. None of them would take a different path.

Their fate was sealed.

The last of the rebels were gone.