FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Part one

(In which a client avails himself of Temple's best-trained rebel, and is quite impressed with his submission.)

Ten Proudarm's fingers thumped on his keyboard. Exhaustion made him impatient, and in a hurry to end this day. His large yet agile bovine hands flew left and right as he finished reviewing his last report for the day, and forwarded it to the office of Minister Thomson, head of the Department of Police and Treason. Ten's job, as an assistant to one of the secretaries of the Enlightened Party Leader, was to work the language of internal documents to ensure maximum cohesion and harmony between departments. Usually, it meant removing insults, death threats and other inflammatory messages from emails and documents that transited through him. Not this week, though. This week, politeness between the departments was the least of his worries. Instead, he ensured the information or instructions on the hastily typed messages were clear, and if they weren't, he called the secretaries of whichever office had originated the document to try and figure out what the hell they'd meant.

The bull pushed his chair back, standing before his computer. He stretched while the machine shut down and ceased buzzing. The ambiance in their cramped central office was one of neurotic frenzy, with an urgent ballet of people moving from desk to desk, as party members yelled for their secretaries, and the secretaries yelled for their assistants. The latter group shared large desks, with each employee's area delimited only by stacks of memos and files. To the untrained eye, it appeared chaotic. Actually, it was the same to a trained eye as well.

Night invaded the wide room through the side windows and drained everyone, making them crazier. Nobody wished to be working at this hour, especially not after the week they'd had. At least, Ten was done.

-- Hey Proudarm, you heading out already?

Doyle slaved away on the other half of the desk they shared, in front of Ten. The camel hadn't even paused to look at his colleague while he spoke, but he drew a lengthy puff on his cheap cigarette. His fatigued, reddened eyes remained glued to his screen, without blinking, and he typed ceaselessly.

-- Uh-huh. Just finished that report on the new officers in training for P&T. They've upped the standards for acceptance a lot. Three quarters of the recruits will be rejected. They really don't want anyone to screw up for the next few months.

Doyle barely nodded.

-- As if it'll make a dent into the corruption stats. I've got the same, but for CM&W. About half of the junior officers will be sent back for retraining. What a waste. And I'm...

The camel lifted his index dramatically and pushed the "send" key.

"Done!"

Doyle put out his cigarette and stood in turn. He rubbed his hands into his face.

"Aw man, my eyes burn. I wish she was back already. A few heads will roll, but at least this insanity will end."

Ten gathered his things and grabbed his coat, giving Doyle's shoulder a light tap. He couldn't disagree, but he also understood the panicked reaction of the departments.

The Party was filled to the brim with dangerous individuals, with just about no limit to their power. Politicians that not only survived, but thrived in those kinds of treacherous waters tended to be worst, most lethal, most terror-inspiring characters. The Enlightened Party Leader Orellius, Minister Thomson, Minister Prema of the Department of Culture, Morals and War... Basically every minister and their main henchmen deserved mention, but one of them eclipsed all others in terms of sheer power and awe-inspiring authority. She headed the most powerful of the departments, and she alone had managed to survive two separate Party purges in her lifetime. Even Orellius avoided opposing her, even though he technically led the Party.

She was about to return from vacation, and she hated disorder.

The bull and camel walked together through security, announcing that they were leaving the premises for the day. They received permission and left the heavily defended government building. Outside, they crossed the cemented courtyard and waited together on the metallic wharf, under a tall watch tower that pointed mounted machineguns at the coming and going ships. They hailed for a taxi, and one of the boats circling the pier immediately began its approach.

-- Do you want it? offered Ten.

-- Nah, go ahead. I'll grab the next one and see you in a few hours.

-- You won't, as a matter of fact.

-- You've got tomorrow off? Lucky bastard!

-- Luck has nothing to do with it. I was saving it from last month because I knew things would get crazy this week. Who knows? Maybe she'll return tomorrow while I'm away. That would mean one less day that I'll risk becoming one of the disappearances, this year.

-- Smart guy, said Doyle while he lit another cigarette. Wish I'd thought of that.

The taxi boat immobilized itself alongside the wharf, and the conductor motioned for her client to get in. Ten stepped forward. He heard Doyle speak from behind.

"Hey, so do you have anything special planned for tonight?"

The bull turned around while he embarked on the small craft.

-- Yeah. It's been a while, so I thought I'd go and "pray".

Doyle laughed.

-- Good call. Put that government salary to good use. I heard they have a fancy new section. Check that out for me, will you?

-- Sure thing.

Ten waved away and faced the pilot, who leaned against the helm console in her glassed off booth. The old parrot with the discolored red feathers opened a tiny window.

-- Where to, sir? Temple, I assume? Unless I heard wrong.

-- You heard right, civilian. To Temple, please.

-- We'll be right off, young man. You look tired. You should use the cabin and rest for a few minutes. I'll wake you up when we get there.

The taxi pilot and her client bumped cell phones through the opening, and the transaction was complete. The avian radioed her permit number to the tower, and her destination was swiftly approved, allowing them to leave the area without getting shot to pieces. Despite the well-meaning offer, Ten remained on the deck. After so many hours spent trapped at his job, he enjoyed feeling the fresh breeze and smelling the saltwater as they navigated the tight waterways between half-submerged amphibious skyscrapers and the rare priceless areas with real, actual surface. Temple Island was such an area. The landmass was so impressive that asphalted roads had been built between the facilities, though it was also quite feasible to hoof it across the island.

After landing and going through the checkpoint, Ten made his way from the secure docks to the main building in a dozen minutes, and joined the regular flow of nightly clients and workers that entered and exited the immense, functionally-designed concrete main edifice with its many annexes and wings built over time, as Temple Corporation expanded. The entrance hall always impressed Ten, with its high ceiling and gargantuan grey rectangular pillars. It projected force and order beyond all else, dwarfing visitors to simultaneously remind them of their individual insignificance, and of their belonging to this grand, undefeated machine that was the Confederation of Unified Islands.

Here, even though Ten wasn't particularly happy or free in his everyday life, he got to wallow in the instinctively satisfying knowledge that, at least, his was the side of strength. Witnessing the degrading and punishing fates of those that dared attempt to challenge the regime comforted him in his decision to go along with it. In this revered place, he was invited to meld with his national identity, and take part in the Party's uncompromising supremacy over those that would oppose it. In Temple, power was worshipped. Up on the ceiling, in giant crimson letters, the Party slogan: "Only Pride."

Upon entering the area, Ten's phone had been automatically updated with Temple's inventory. Like other prospective clients, the bull picked a pillar at random and leaned against it to browse the corporation's official app. He scrolled through the slaves with which he could purchase some time. Remembering what Doyle had said, Ten was surprised not to see any prominent advertising for the new section. The home screen was instead filled with the ever popular stock from Section D: male and female bodies of all species wearing chains and collars, impeccably trained into unconditional sexual submission, rated and priced according to popularity and exoticness.

The humbled, enticing flesh on display caused him to harden fast, so Ten's instinct was to simply go for something hot and affordable from D or A for him to mount. Yet, his adventurous spirit got the better of him. He used the "search by section" tool, and indeed found that there was a Section E listed in there. Not much information was available about it, other than that it was, somehow, specialized in rarer items. It boasted a grand total of two offerings: a wolf and a cheetah. Both were freshly caught males, still unrated, and the cheetah wasn't even available yet. Hardly an impressive list, though the wolf's name caught Ten's attention. A certain Samuel Thorn. He knew that name, the bull was certain of it. He touched it for additional details, and a picture of the defiant, cuffed white wolf on the day of his arrest appeared on the left. On the right, a more recent photo appeared, on which the lupine no longer wore a suit. The snapshot had been taken from above, probably by his handler or one of the trainers. It showed the wolf crawling in abject obedience, utterly naked, knees spread wide, and being held on a tight leash, like an animal, by an unseen hand. His flashy fur had been shaved extremely short, and he glanced up at the camera -- or at the wielder of the camera -- with an appropriate air of ultimate defeat.

Ten chuckled. Of course, the bull recognized him, then! That was the Samuel Thorn, the rebel leader! He'd hosted the January Meetings, these illegal gatherings in which prominent figures of the resistance discussed their subversive ideas. Rebels hid their identities under masks and aliases, and then recorded the meetings for distribution as propaganda pieces through the black markets. They'd gotten away with it for years, provoking the Party's increasing embarrassment and ire, until a government agent finally managed to infiltrate the group and cause the arrest of almost every member, including the famous January himself, who turned out to be a young business owner from a wealthy family whose real name was Samuel Thorn. The Party had loaned their captive to Temple for breaking and training into a potent and visible symbol of what happened to those that challenged their rule.

Ten harbored mixed feelings for Thorn. Having watched some of the meeting recordings himself, the bull knew he was definitely a smart and handsome guy with intriguing but dangerous ideas about democracy, but he also deeply resented him for causing trouble and being fucking stupid enough to betray his country. Of course, Ten had been raised in a culture that taught him his nation was synonymous with power and superiority, so he failed to consider the possibility that "traitor" might be a subjective term.

Ten kept reading the description over and over again, and went from one picture to the next. For whatever reason, he was profoundly aroused by what Temple did with Samuel Thorn. From freedom-loving leader, they'd quickly reduced him into a lowly anal slave. The thought of having Sam broken before him was driving Ten's dick crazy, especially due to how subby the captive looked with his shaved and smackable butt. He would be able to make the wolf slut do absolutely anything he wished, and to use him however he desired. The intoxicating anticipation of dominance filled Ten's blood. The mahogany-colored bull couldn't wait to have the subjugated rebel under his full control, and to shove his strong cock deep into the compliant white round ass. He booked the night and received a confirmation number after a short delay, as well as instructions to get to Section E.

Doubt struck Ten for the first time when he saw the general state of this so-called "new" section. It was a bundle of cheap, unfinished spaces linked together by a single corridor, stuck between disused parts of B and C. The service cell wasn't much better. The walls were painted, at least, but the entire room felt unwelcoming and empty. It lacked that nondescript reassuring charm of service rooms, with their homogeneous decoration style and inoffensive paintings. No mirrors. No fuzzy carpet. No box of toys to use on the slaves. The bull had never been so weirded out by the harsh void of a room. What were the Temple people thinking?

Ten checked the bed, sitting on it to test the mattress. It was comfortable enough, and smelled clean. Soft paws timidly knocked on the door. At last!

The bull moved and rooted himself with a solid stance, his brawny frame filling the entrance when he opened the door. He folded his arms, but in truth his annoyance dissolved instantly into fierce excitement.

Sam's anxious muzzle looked slightly upward. It really was him. The slave's eyes widened briefly at the impressive shape of his proprietor for the night. Clearly, the tall wolf wasn't used to having to look up to the clients he had to serve, and Ten loved it. He detailed the pleasing white body completely offered to his senses. He blinked. The pictures were one thing, but wow, Sam truly did look like a trained bitch with his large shock collar as only attire, his low ears and disciplined, humbling posture. Ten's steely erection grew even harder than he'd thought possible.

-- Welcome, master... I'm item 1-E and I'm your property for tonight. I'm here to serve you however you wish.

The wolf slut was anxious, definitely intimidated by the bull's physical presence. It pleased Ten to let the moment linger. It happened to him a lot; he was fierce looking, sturdy, and his forward-pointing horns impressed those that didn't know many bovines. He said nothing. Instead, he slowly spun sideways, allowing the slave to pad in while he quietly shut the door.

To his credit, Sam didn't tremble when he stood in the middle of the room and presented his features. He controlled his breathing, keeping his muzzle and his brown eyes low in clear submission, while placing his hands behind his head and spreading his legs a tad. He expected rough stuff, Ten could tell. The lupine's apprehension wasn't unpleasant, but the buyer preferred his males calm and pliable rather than afraid. Additionally, Ten was in no rush. He wanted to take his time teaching this defeated rebel his place.

Ten bent Sam over with tough hands on his left shoulder and collar, and slammed him belly first on the bed. The well-behaved slut raised his tail out of the way without a word of protest. The white body tensed up but remained in place when Ten gripped its right leg behind the knee, and brought it up to the side. The slave's little tailhole was plainly revealed, and it twitched as Sam braced himself and prepared to be mercilessly dry-rammed by the bull's massive cock.

Ten smiled as he gave Sam his first surprise. He pushed the wolf bitch further on the mattress and sat comfortably against his round butt. Firmly controlling his plaything by the collar, the bull unzipped his pants and let his heavy erection rest on top of the round cheeks. With his free hand, he then began stroking the warm crack of Sam's butt. His fingers teased Sam's attractive and sensitive hole.

The fuzzy muzzle jerked sideways in shock. Sam had expected to be brutally penetrated right away. Ten still said nothing and kept going, keeping his slave down and low, owning him and playing with him as he rubbed his hard member against the firm bum. Minute after minute went by, and the cadence didn't vary. Sam started to breathe more regularly. After ten minutes of intimate petting, Ten finally sensed some of the tension waning. Naturally, the slave's nervousness spiked up whenever Ten shifted his weight on the mattress, or moved in any new way. After twenty minutes, even those spikes mellowed down, as Sam got used to Ten's dominance.

-- Flip on your back, slave.

Hearing his client's deep voice for the first time, Sam reacted, but more out of curiosity than fear. By then, he was warming up to Ten's unusual company, though he did hesitate briefly before he complied. The bull immediately understood why. Sam carefully rolled on his back within Ten's hold and revealed his own erect cock. The lupine's muzzle grew hot, but Ten simply patted the side of his embarrassed face, trailing up to the top of his head and pressing his ears down. That was exactly the kind of motivation he wanted to see. He continued caressing Sam's privates, adding the underside of the white balls to the area he stimulated. There was no longer any need to hold his bitch's collar at all, yet the bull continued to do so as the wolf relaxed more and more into his temporary master's touches.

The tamed slut that Temple had made out of Samuel Thorn was easy to turn on, and Ten appreciated that. The best quality slaves were taught to enjoy their lowly place. There was something terrifying and hot in equal measures about the thought that it was possible to forge even the most unwilling captives into moaning, perfectly docile cock sheaths. It seemed like magic, to Ten. How did the handlers even do that? Breaking someone's will was one thing, but training them to like it? It was dreamy, or nightmarish. He couldn't imagine what they did to that wolf, but the mystery was arousing too.

Ten switched gears. The slave arched his back and drew his knees, docilely offering himself. The bull aligned his overexcited cock and poked the hot, relaxed rear of his prize.

"Howl for me, slave. Softly. Howl, if you want my dick."

As expected, Sam complied and pushed a weak, yearning sound of spiritless surrender. Ten poked his fuzzy nuts with the mean, inflated head of his dick, shoving and marking them with his clear fluid.

"There's a good boy who knows his place. To all fours. Spread your cheeks and beg."

With both hands, Ten gently stroked the white back while Sam obeyed. The vocalizing picked up a bit, but not too much that it became annoying. Truly, the slave was great at this, and Ten couldn't believe how much satisfaction he was getting from that soft, conquered presence. He wanted this so damn much! He also wanted it to last, for it was too good to waste on the impulsive desire to just ram that slutty rump fast and deep with his swollen sex. In these situations, self-control was everything, no matter how much the arousal burned in his entire body.

Ten knelt comfortably on the mattress, behind his acquiescent male. He aligned himself and pressed slowly, taking in the squishy and pleasingly resistant texture of Sam's asshole. He sodomized his fancy plaything lengthily with regular and progressive pushes, one arm holding his shoulder, his other hand grasping the hot white rump through the short fur. Sam took it all as he was supposed to do, despite the size of the bovine limb working him. His quiet howling gradually turned into snappier yelps. Ten minded the stress on the offered body, holding his most violent impulses back and breathing in rhythm as his strong hips moved forward and backward, drawing crisp pleasure from the penetration that mounted with every move. His shaft shuddered as it dug deeper into the private, shameful hole of the subjugated rebel that was now his to enjoy. It was all he could do to prevent the pace from increasing too fast. The wolfish sex toy served his purpose pridelessly, stretching his legs wider to stabilize himself for his master when Ten accelerated and shoved harder in his beaten butt. The dominant bull loved sensing the weight of this powerful predator reduced to a collared cock slut under him. His anus stretched and serviced the large girthed erection. Ten panted, sweat pearling into the creases of his muscular body as he took the subby male with selfish delight.

The client groaned and curved over Sam's back, gripping the base of his skull and pressing harder onto his buttocks as the intense orgasm began.

"Urh!"

Ten blew his loads, breeding the soft slave thrust after thrust as he closed his eyes to endure the excessive satisfaction. He also got lost into the smooth texture of the white hair, as he fell forward and allowed part of his weight to rest upon the used lupine. To Ten's surprise and amusement, the warm body held strong, even when the bull let his entire mass lie on the docile back.

"You're tough," Ten breathed. "You don't look the part, but you really are a wolf. I like that."

Sam remained in place for a few seconds, while his buyer stroked one of his thighs with a wide open hand, and released his skull to gently play with his muzzle; poking his nose and palming the top side. Ten kept his sex buried into his obedient item for a little while, enjoying the sudden tranquility of the aftermath. When the slave was convinced that the client was done, he said what he was supposed to say with a tiny bashful bow of the head.

-- I humbly thank you for your patronage, master. I was honored to serve.

Ten pulled himself back to his knees, and tapped the naked curved back while he carefully extracted his still hard dick from between the firm cheeks. A few sticky strands broke, and come dribbled along the crack of his broken ass.

Sam crawled toward the edge of the bed, certainly assuming that it was time for him to leave. Suddenly, the wolf turned to face his client, looking astounded. Ten had grabbed his paw, and pulled him closer.

-- You stay.

The slave's reaction confirmed what Ten already suspected: clients actually staying the full night for which they paid was beyond rare. He also usually left after his business was done. Yet, this time, the thought appealed to him of spending this night with the obedient canine that he'd taken and marked with his seed, and who waited close to his legs on the mattress. Yeah. He felt like keeping his soft plaything around for some warm slave snuggles and petting. That sounded super satisfying, actually. He might even extend his time into the morning.

Ten made the hand signal for "down" as he got off the bed and walked to the washbasin. The well-fucked, well-creamed rebel responded to the command and lowered himself on the bedspread, still unsure of what was going on. The bull splashed water over his face, undressed, and lowered the lights. Funny how the room seemed more welcoming, now, with a tamed bitch patiently warming the bed for him.

Ten slipped under the covers, and held them up for Sam to do the same. He squeezed the silky nude body that he owned, and his white wolf responded well, letting himself be hugged, caressed and enjoyed in the dark. The poor thing was still aroused, and it amused Ten to feel the hardened limb poking against his thigh and his waist while their bodies gently rubbed. Sam unambiguously knew who the alpha was, and though he clearly enjoyed the friction of his obedient cock against the short mahogany hair of this tough bovine figure, he never insisted, aware that his desires were irrelevant. He served only the pleasure and comfort of the client.

Ten grinned in the shadows. He slipped his left arm between their bodies, toward the white crotch. If Sam wasn't fully his by that point, the tender strokes that he gave to the lupine shaft sealed that deal. Under the blankets, his cute slave opened his legs wide in complete capitulation to the possessive and yet generous touches, and grinded his hot chest against Ten's. Silently, Sam moved his blushing snout to the side of his master's neck and gave it loving licks. Ten's right arm wrapped itself tightly around the fuzzy lower back. His fingers ventured a bit lower and patted the come-filled bum.

Eventually, they did fall asleep into a hot, wondrous tangle.

Morning was equally pleasurable. Ten called to extend his hours and have breakfast delivered to the service room, after what he rejoined his slave in bed. Since they'd peacefully awakened together, Sam's fear had completely disappeared into the mellow morning ambiance. The quality of his submission didn't suffer any drop for it. Of course not. Whoever trained him did a kickass job. Instead, the anal slave merely obeyed with more confidence when Ten had him sit on his dick, in bed, and fucked him a second time. Sam rode his male limb with great dutiful bounces of his hips, as the wolf clearly managed to enjoy the strong shoves to his prostate, erect and yelping for his owner. It had to be said that Ten also pinched and rubbed the tip of Sam's pink tamed penis, and this surely contributed to his slutty eagerness to please.

When breakfast arrived, Ten placed the platter on the bed and ate his veggie waffles and coffee, contented after another rich ejaculation deep up the vanquished tailhole. He'd even pulled out to mark the lupine's useless cock and balls with his sperm, to remind the renegade failure of exactly how owned he was. Sam accepted everything.

Ears low, smelling of thick bovine jizz, the pathetically pliable white wolf crawled on the mattress, on the other side of the platter. Ten wiggled his fingers at him, allowing him to eat the scrambled eggs and toasts that the bull had ordered. Perhaps the best part, for Ten, was the painfully obvious fact that this, overall, was a pretty fine day for Samuel Thorn. He'd spent a restful night in a comfortable bed, he received regular praise and affectionate touches from Ten, and even -- rarity of rarities -- ate free hotel-quality breakfast. The wolf knew his place, and that made playing the role of the dominant benefactor extremely easy and comfortable for his client. It reinforced the bull's vision of himself as one of the "strong ones," and even made him feel great about it, as the slave appeared to enjoy serving as his personal fuck toy.

Truly, there was no finer propaganda instrument than Temple. Freedom, prosperity, safety, Ten didn't really have any of those things in his life, but they mattered not at all. To keep an abusive regime in place eternally, you needed but one terrifyingly simple trick:

To make its subjects feel good about themselves.

Ten paused for a few moments as he searched his memories, trying to trace where he'd learned this concept, when the irony of the situation hit him in the face like a freighter ship; it was from one of January's recorded speeches. The bull chuckled and slapped Sam's leaky bum, before he grabbed and pulled him over the platter to sit the slave over his waist. Sam wouldn't give any additional smart speeches about society and power, but Ten did let the wolf finish his toast while he squeezed him, played some more with his desperate lupine cock and balls, and gave him a few last amusing commands to obey before he left...

Ten held his coat under his arm and walked along the corridors leaving Section E. He was ambushed by a shorter but solid shape stepping out from behind a corner in front of him. She wore a flawlessly ironed blue shirt with military camo pants. The bull stopped dead, breathless. He didn't recognize that tough-looking ewe with the smirk, but he sure as hell knew what that very special blue buttoned shirt meant. A handler! This was a real life handler that he was randomly meeting right there, in the middle of a hallway! He looked at the Temple insignia on her shoulder. She was from Section D at that! Ten stared with a gaping smile, too intimidated to move.

-- Oh my god. Are you a handler?

It was a stupid thing to ask. Of course she was. Ten knew it, but he was unable to think of anything smart to say. She exuded confidence with her grounded stance and perfectly straight back.

-- Sure am, she smiled, extending her hand to shake Ten's. Handler Wisp at your service, partner. I don't know you, so I'm assuming you're one of our honored patrons. Welcome. Were you looking for some place in particular? Nah. You have "the look". You were leaving.

Ten nodded blankly. That was handler Wisp. He was shaking the hand of the second most highly compensated handler in Temple, after the black rabbit, of course. He couldn't believe it. Doyle would freak out with jealousy when he'd tell him.

-- Ten Proudarm. You can see that in my face?

Wisp released his hand. She had a strong grip and short, soft-looking milk wool. Everything about her carried a certain military rigidity, mixed with easygoing charm. It all fit together oddly well.

-- Not just in your face. It's a whole thing. The way you walked and held your coat. Relaxed. Satisfied. We learn to recognize the hints. I take it you enjoyed your time with our product? May I ask which one it was?

-- Oh yes, I enjoyed it tremendously, ma'am. It was item 1-E.

-- Ah! Samuel Thorn! You're a man of taste. I like you already. It's a thrill isn't it, experiencing what a well-trained pup he's been turned into? No dignity or backtalk. All begging and complete submission. He'll even love it if you order him to. He's a true work of art.

-- He really is! confirmed Ten, already going over his recent but fond memories.

-- Did you know he was handled by Wicker himself? Our very own shiny little star.

Ten gasped. This day was getting better and better.

-- I didn't! I guess it shouldn't be a surprise, though. That explains the unrivalled quality!

Wisp's smile froze as she squinted briefly, but it was much too subtle for Ten to pick up.

-- Right. Exactly! Yet, can you believe that this good boy of ours recently came this close to getting a terrible rating, and being taken downstairs?

-- No way!

-- I swear! Only because someone left an unfair complaint to mess with him. Poor Sam suffered a lot for it. It was terrible to watch.

Wisp shook her head, visibly affected, before she continued:

"Personally, I think polite and obedient sluts like him deserve to be rewarded when they stay in their proper place and offer quality service. Otherwise, it's just not right. You know what I mean?"

Wisp stared. Suddenly, Ten doubted that she'd met him randomly. She had too much to say about Sam.

-- Uh, yeah! Absolutely, ma'am! I agree with you one hundred percent.

The ewe became amiable once more. She gave Ten's shoulder a light tap.

-- You honestly did enjoy making him thoroughly yours. I can see it.

-- Heh, yeah, blushed Ten. It's true.

Wisp placed one hand into Ten's back, and with the other, she pointed to his cell phone in his pocket.

-- Hey, wanna do something about it?

Part two

(In which Ayyal gets trained by the expert, the male handlers have an interesting discussion, and we see more of the slaves' routine.)

They called it the "enforced submission stance". Ayyal wriggled faintly, but didn't try to resist much beyond that. Wicker's knee against his spine kept the cheetah well under control, belly to the floor, wrists locked to his collar, though the handler kept the pressure precisely below the amount which would hurt. The slick-furred rabbit held and stroked the back of the predator's neck with nonchalant ease. With his free arm, Wicker toyed with his "cell phone" object; Ayyal could hear the button sounds when his dominator touched the screen. It irritated him, but he couldn't do anything about it, and he knew that for a hard fact. Sighing deeply, he tried to face this disgrace with his usual poise, and it gradually returned to him. He'd been in this position for twenty minutes, under the jet black bunny. A padded thumb slipped and rubbed behind his round feline ear.

-- There you go, kitty. Behave. Nice and humble like a smart male.

Ayyal grumbled, but he continued to mellow down. He fought the affectionate caresses of his golden spotted fur with some success, but it wasn't easy to completely disconnect from the pleasing touches on his head, and the gentle fuzzy kneading of his neck. Wicker knew what he was doing, and Ayyal still couldn't help but feel a disturbing amount of reverence for the fearless rabbit. This stance wasn't meant as a punishment. Far from it. Enforced submission was a basic training exercise used early on to get new slaves comfortable with the compliant attitude that Temple staff expected them to exhibit. Wicker, however, liked to employ it as a relaxation technique.

The point was to force the subject down to a humiliated, vulnerable position, and to hold them there for varying periods of time, until they accepted it and calmed down. Simple repetition made it almost reassuring. There were never any surprises. It was underhanded and cheap, and most frustratingly for Ayyal, it was effective. Not only did it trick his instincts into learning that showing docility to his masters was okay, but it also promoted this insidious impression of being close and intimate with his handler. As much as it pained the captured feline to admit it, these days, he felt safe when Wicker held him down. He knew nothing bad would happen, save for that lingering sense of humiliation, but it was dreadfully easy to get used to that. His body was associating safety and vulnerability to his handler. Somewhere deep down, this made him want to comply with this authority figure, and Wicker gleefully exploited the shit out of that fact.

"Feeling better?" asked the rabbit.

-- ... Yes.

The handler shifted to flick one finger at Ayyal's pink nose. The captive squinted with the brief sting.

-- This again? Show me proper respect. Let's try once more. Are you feeling better, slave?

-- Yes, sir.

-- That's what I like to hear. You did good today. I know it was tough, but you pulled through admirably.

Ayyal darkened while his master's short bunny snout gave his muzzle a friendly shove. He didn't want to be reminded of the insulting dishonor that had been visited upon him earlier. He'd known that it had been coming for days, but thinking about it and experiencing it were different matters entirely.

Hours prior, he'd figured out something was about to happen as soon as he entered the room with his handler, because his three usual trainers had been there waiting. The impassive short brown mouse was his general obedience trainer; the lean condescending yellow-and-black striped lizard served as the sex specialist; and the rigid charcoal gorilla managed everything related to etiquette and social behavior. The elegant hunter was thrown to his trainers, quickly stripped and forced to his knees. A circle of bullying boners were presented to his face, and he was made to suck onto pungent male meat for the first time since his capture. Surrounded, he serviced the trio as best he could, licking, tasting and swallowing their puffy cocks while they commented, complained and impatiently shoved each other for room in his mouth. Ayyal didn't care much for his trainers, and generally adopted a defiant attitude toward them during sessions, which made it even worse when they laughed and obliterated the brave façade that he'd painstakingly constructed for their benefit. The trainers forced him to go the whole way, coming down his throat and into his mouth one after the other as he had to gulp their tepid, lumpy seed. Meanwhile, Wicker closely observed, walking from one side of the scene to the other in focused silence.

As Ayyal had discovered, handlers didn't work alone. They employed trainers to shape up the numerous items under their care, and develop basic or specialized skills. Ayyal already had those three -- and Wicker had told him that he'd get many more -- because the bunny wanted him to become a "party" slave, which apparently was one of the most demanding functions for which items could be prepared. He'd become an "obscenely priced, extremely highly sophisticated, exotic plaything that clients might rent for their events in private clubs or residences." Those were Wicker's exact words. Ayyal would need to strip and dance to show off his gracile and athletic feline body, as well as interact socially with wealthy clients to entertain them in an appropriately subservient manner. Obviously, he'd also need to be ready to perform in any way that would satisfy his buyers' sexual desires. If he could get a decent rating for himself as a party slave, he would become a "very, _very_highly regarded slut." Again, Wicker's words.

The trainers had left once their job was completed. Sometimes, they merely acted as props for the handlers, when the latter required bodies for their slaves to practice with. Ayyal felt sullied by the demeaning exercise, but that was the point. His new owners wanted to get him used to this undignified sexual compliance. It was unfair, but he was captured. They could reduce him into anything they wanted, and he knew it.

Wicker finally ceased playing with his phone. His free hand reached down under the immobilized predator. Unashamedly, the warm pads stroked Ayyal's balls and penis. It still appeared unnatural to the feline, to have a harmless rabbit control him so intimately. He kept his calm, but he couldn't prevent his body from responding. Wicker tightened his hold and rubbed more vigorously. A meek complaining moan escaped the hunter as he hardened into the dominating hand. He knew how much the bunny loved toying with his predators... If only he could prevent himself from collaborating! This was Wicker's main trick, and everything he did was always a variation of it. He first demonstrated his dominance, then he patiently allowed Ayyal to feel safer with it, only to have his caught cheetah experience arousal. It happened too softly and regularly to be threatening and Ayyal couldn't fight back! It was maddening! That damned little bunny was training him to associate pleasure and forced submission. Sometimes, Ayyal wondered if his time with Seec before his capture made him particularly primed for that, but this was way scarier. It felt different. Wicker wasn't his friend. They weren't pretending. Wicker wanted him permanently reduced, crying and begging on command, and, in time, he'd get exactly what he wanted. This entire place was designed for this purpose. Escape was the only solution.

Despite everything, though, Ayyal couldn't detest his handler. The rabbit master's cool charisma left no asperities to which hatred could cling. Perhaps that was part of his power to compel. The cheetah focused; he couldn't just give up his pride as a hunter and become a mindless amusement for the rulers of this strange world! He went silent and detached, succeeding in beating back his shame while Wicker worked his erection. The rabbit detected the change and whistled.

"What a spirited beast you are, resisting me the entire way! I knew you'd be a joy to work with since the very first moment I laid eyes on you. You don't disappoint! I make you swallow three cocks, and you barely look shaken. I rub your hard cock in my hand, and you go cold on me. How much pride do you have?"

Ayyal ignored his handler.

"Come on, give me something. Tell you what: I'll trade you for it. I want a nice mewl right now, and I'll end the training for the whole day. That's right! The entire day, all yours."

Oh. Tempting. Such a devious individual. Ayyal weighed the cost in his heart. He sure didn't want to meow for Wicker like a tamed slut, but he really liked the idea of a training break. Damn. The more he thought about it, the less he could refuse. Ayyal blushed, realizing that he wanted to do it. It was only Wicker and him in the room. No one else would witness it if he gave up that teeny bit of ground. His body suddenly felt hot. His heart pounded harder. Curse that bunny! He'd managed to make him feel humiliated. Ayyal swore in his mind. He'd lost his precious poise.

The handsome cheetah complied and vocalized cutely in the hold of his malicious handler. It was high-pitched and regretful, but very brief. Doing it made Ayyal's body burn. The strokes on his erect penis increased as the insightful rabbit mercilessly capitalized on the weakness that he'd found, quite obscenely pleased with himself.

"Nah, that was too short, kitty cat. I want to hear a beaten predator politely pleading for my permission to stand up. Considering what I'm offering in exchange, you must make it nice and heartfelt."

Fuck. That degradation made him too hot, but Ayyal didn't want to walk back now that he'd committed. He wanted his reward, even thought he knew the disgrace made him Wicker's boy. Those obsessing strokes on his shaft were taking over his mind. He was becoming unable to ignore the intoxicating sensations. Suddenly, pleasure caused the situation to flip. The slave barely noticed it, but the humiliation became the point. He mewled lengthily while Wicker touched him, held him. It was pathetic and broken. It was sexual and needy. Blissful and apocalyptic. Ayyal's excitement was unleashed.

"Amazing! Sweet and broken! I'm so proud of you, you handsome mini tiger! Give me some more, and I'll keep rubbing you. Be a nice male that loves his place, and vocalize. Clients will appreciate that."

Ayyal yelped and squealed. Wicker praised him, making him feel weirdly approved even as he did everything he didn't want to do. He reached the maximum that he could endure, as his master kept handling his most intimate attributes with hearty motions. There, exposed and on the floor, meowing for the black bunny that held his collar, Ayyal's climax began, and his agile body trembled with the shock and tension of pleasure. He ejaculated, lost in the satisfaction, squirting again and again under himself while Wicker fondled his neck and his balls. When the sex frenzy decreased, and he heard his chains clicking once more, Ayyal's ears fell in embarrassment. He couldn't believe he'd exhibited his secret desires like this in front of the rabbit!

-- Damnit, he whispered.

Wicker finally released his captive, and helped him slowly rise to his paws. He adjusted the slave's collar to have the word: "PARTY" up front.

-- Don't give me this look, spots. You did great. Give it time, you'll learn to love your place. You deserve your reward and then some! Now, stand politely for me. I want to see a calm kitty that's ready to return to his dorm.

Ayyal felt like a total slut, and having his hands tied to his collar in a pitiful raised position didn't help any. At least, it was almost over. This too was a disgrace, but the predator went ahead and proved that he was well-behaved and apt to return to the Section E common room. He stood patiently for Wicker to appreciate the truth of the matter. The rabbit examined him and nodded.

"Alright. At ease. Let's get you cleaned and dressed up."

After Wicker unlocked Ayyal's wrist shackles, the pair headed to the nearby washroom. The bunny ensured that his item had everything he required, and then waited on the other side of the open door. He stood with his back against the doorframe, close enough to hear everything, but granting his dutiful cheetah a respite from being observed.

As with every feline, Ayyal despised feeling soiled. He wasted no time grabbing a thick brush, placing it under hot water, and using it to rub soap into his slick fur, though he did stare at the faucet for a few seconds, as usual. Running water still looked like magic to him. He removed his own jizz from his white belly, and thoroughly scoured his face, still remembering the musky and salty taste of his trainers' cocks in his mouth when they made him swallow. He placed his tongue under the faucet and spat out a few mouthfuls to cleanse it. He was drying his fur with a rough body towel when the rabbit spoke from the other side of the doorway:

"We could run around the grounds, later, if you want. I can make room in my schedule."

Ayyal hesitated to give his handler the satisfaction. He did relish the opportunity to head outside and smell this world's fresh saltwater breeze as he lapped around the Temple facilities, following the coast of the tiny island on which they were located. It amused him to witness the physically fit Wicker barely keeping up behind him as they moved between the towering grey constructions. The bunny would've been utterly unable to catch up to the cheetah if he'd made any effort to outrun him. However, there was no point in trying such a thing while Ayyal wore his shock collar, so he followed the rules and steered close to his handler. Still, he welcomed the opportunities to examine the installations, and also to simply get out of his restrained little universe in Section E. It was much more fun than having to exercise inside, naked at his trainers' paws.

Ayyal shrugged with a disinterested grunt.

-- I guess we could.

Wicker's shoulder, which Ayyal could see through the doorway, tensed up slightly at the annoying lack of the word "sir", but he let it slide. After all, the feline was supposed to be off duty, according to their deal.

Ayyal dressed up in the humble outfit provided to him: drab, colorless pants and a shirt. He joined Wicker outside the washroom. The latter gazed patiently.

-- Let's head back home. Think about it, and I'll check up on you later, to see if you're up for it.

By "home" Wicker meant the Section E common room. Ayyal's fellow wolf captive, Sam, often commented on how Section E depressed him, and was ugly, empty and unfinished. To the tribal cheetah, however, who'd come from a world in which a warm hut during cold nights was a luxury, it was difficult to relate. He thought the smooth walls and even floors were unbelievable. He couldn't imagine how people managed to construct such things. Half the time, he failed to even recognize the materials! That wasn't to say that he liked Section E, nor did he think of it as his real home by any means. That was... no. He missed Seec, so he tried not to dwell on such memories. On the other hand, he had to admit that the common room was getting familiar to him. It was a space that he could inhabit along with Sam, and it connected with the relatively private area that was his cell. The prisoners spent much of their time in this shared room, when they weren't being trained, or in Sam's case, submitting to clients. They talked and prepared together whatever food the guards brought them weekly. Every once in a while, they could ask Wicker for special treats like slabs of real meat. Sam, in his great wisdom, barely cooked them in a drop of oil. In this world, there was no need to smoke or dry meat to cure it, because people possessed tools designed to keep food cold, and this somehow prevented it from wasting. Ayyal didn't understand the principle behind refrigerators, but he knew it worked. The feline felt terribly lucky he had his very first canine friend to guide him through the innumerable oddities of this technologically advanced land. He would've been utterly lost, otherwise.

Ayyal tagged along with his handler out of the training room, and crossed the slim corridor that was Section E's sole artery. An unusual scene awaited them in the common room.

Throning in the center of the superbly empty space, handler Wind was cheerily humming a victorious march; one of those grandiose yet catchy melodies that were played by professional orchestras in the backgrounds of propaganda ads that played on every TV. Even Ayyal had been exposed to those. One of Wind's tan legs was folded to the side, and rested on top of his other knee. He'd taken off his boots, so his paw twitched left and right with the rhythm of his tune, as did his head. Wind's presence in Section E wasn't anything of a shock to anyone. The blue-eyed puma loved hanging around, keeping his new favorite pet wolf under his strict feline domination. He spent so much of his free time there that he'd bought a luxurious red velvet armchair with his own money, as well as higher quality kitchen appliances and a large maple table near the kitchen counter. That was because, some days, he stayed for meals and had the slaves cook for him. All of the best furniture in Section E was there because of Wind.

The phantasmal part of what they were witnessing was not only that Wind appeared in a magnificent mood, but that Sam, lying in lowly deference next to Wind's seat, appeared to share the mysterious enthusiasm. The white tail wagged in overt happiness, and the soft chin brushed the floor when Sam moved his muzzle toward the new arrivals, welcoming them with big excited eyes. The wolf wore grey slave clothes identical to Ayyal's, which Wind rarely allowed, since he preferred his pet on full display. The utterly tamed lupine didn't dare make a move without his feline master's permission. Though Wicker was indeed Sam's official handler as he was for Ayyal, most of the time, the rabbit seemed fully content to let his colleague have his fun with the canine, as long as he didn't push things too far.

Wind energetically sprang out of his comfortable seat, heading straight to meet with Wicker and Ayyal. The puma, with a smug glance of pure satisfaction, clicked his tongue at his personal little bitch, as if he was calling an animal. With resigned, extremely measured movements, Sam pushed himself up slightly, and crawled on all fours along Wind's steps in spiritless obedience. When the two pairs of slaves and handlers met, Sam simply paused and immediately descended to his belly once more, awaiting further instructions. Those arrived without delay, when Wind nudged his pet's side with a rough paw, making a stark head motion toward Ayyal. The meaning was clear, and Sam hurriedly got up and approached Ayyal to salute the "superior" feline. Wind always had him do that, even if Ayyal was a slave himself. The wolf sat at the cheetah's paws, and rubbed his warm, short-furred head against Ayyal's legs. The latter couldn't help but notice that the texture of this contact changed gradually, as Sam's fur regrew. It was still quite short, but, by then, it merely gave a well-groomed vibe of domestication, instead of making him look like a humiliatingly shaved rat.

Due to Wind standing directly next to them, observing, Ayyal played the part and haughtily ignored Sam, simply flicking his hand to signify that his show of canine humility was sufficient. Wind smirked while the wolf returned to his place. Satisfied, the steely blue eyed predator focused his attention to his colleague.

-- Did you guys hear? asked the puma without preamble.

Wicker frowned.

-- Hear what?

-- About Sam, obviously!

-- I guess we didn't, because I have no clue what you're talking about. What happened?

-- I was _so_hoping you'd say that. You're in for a treat. Here, look at this.

Wind handed over his phone after taking it out of sleep mode. The rabbit took it and started reading. He fell silent and appeared thoroughly confused.

Meanwhile, Ayyal took a curious peek at the screen, but given the fact that he couldn't read, there wasn't much of interest for him to see. He slipped away toward the kitchen area, and poured himself a cup of milk. Carefully going over Sam's indications in his mind, he placed the cup in the microwave, pushed the right buttons, and watched the cup rotating in the machine for twenty seconds. Handler Wind gave him several bemused glances, before he faced Wicker inquisitively.

"Where does this slave get off, walking past us like this?"

Wicker brushed it off with a hand gesture, still focused on the phone.

-- I gave the day to him for good behavior. It's fine.

Wind shook his head.

-- You're much too soft with them, Wicker. But don't let me tell you how to do your job.

The bunny smirked and muttered:

-- There's no danger of that.

At last, he looked up from the phone, astounded.

"Wind, what am I reading? Is this real?"

Ayyal returned with his cup of warm milk, sincerely interested into what was going on with his friend, who still gently wagged his heavy wolf tail. He also deployed permanent efforts to understand the fine details of his masters' world. He didn't know what might be useful for later, so he observed everything carefully. Nonetheless, the cheetah maintained a respectful distance with the handlers.

-- It is! said Wind. It's a bona fide positive review for Sam!

The rabbit and puma moved their attention to the groveling arctic canine. Wag speed increased. Wicker went from gazing at Sam to the phone, and then back to Sam multiple times. Incredulity reigned over his traits, but it was gradually being replaced by pride.

-- I didn't know it was possible for clients to leave public reviews of items. Has this happened before? Ever?

-- Not to my knowledge. Apparently, a low rank Party official named Proudarm left this glowing and detailed account of his time with Sam on Temple's customer service forum. Within a few hours, it had the most views for any single forum thread. The customer service people immediately caught on and reported what was happening, and now Admin is all over it! This is how I heard that it was happening. They fucking love it! Free sexy advertisement. They want to add a review section under every slave's page on the app.

Wind went down to one knee, next to Sam, and tugged at one of his ears. The defeated pet followed, placing his muzzle flat onto Wind's folded leg. The feline straightened his back while he began scratching behind the soft ears, possessively.

"Just between us, I'm totally claiming this. This is because of me, and how I taught him his station as a servile little bitch. Obviously, the clients love a broken, shaved canine. Right Sam?"

Ayyal cringed in secondhand embarrassment when Sam yelped pitifully in acknowledgment. The wolf knew better than to leave the feline hanging, at this point. Wicker grinned widely, thrilled as he slowly realized the implications of this amazing news.

-- Hah! Don't you dare. I broke Sam's spirit first. I made him pliable and loyal; you merely added to my groundwork. Damn, this is going to be great for his rating! Admin has to drop it soon, now. He might get "Docile" or maybe even all the way up to "Eager"!

The handlers fist-bumped. Wicker gave Wind's phone back, and also crouched near the slave, rolled up his shirt, and stroked his exposed back with both hands.

"Well done Sam! You're a good boy! Yes! You're going to earn us a lot of profit, and if you're very obedient, you may even be allowed to keep a few coins for yourself for every cock you hop! This visibility boost is exactly what Section E needed to get started."

Sam accepted this dubious praise readily, excitedly responding to the touches inasmuch as he could do so without leaving his down stance. While witnessing it made Ayyal uncomfortable, he also understood the wolf's outlook. Objectively, regardless of anything else he might feel about it, their masters being happy with him was eminently preferable to the other way around. They continued to pat and caress him in silence, but Sam seemed relieved to no longer be the sole center of attention when the Temple employees initiated conversation about a new topic. He peacefully received his reward.

-- So, did you manage to get a handle on your issue with Wisp? asked Wind.

Wicker's tall and elegant ears sagged.

-- Yes and no. We're supposed to have dinner together soon. You know, it's Wisp, so I figured I can cut a deal and make her erase that stupid strip tease video if I let her have her fun and torture me for a night. She loves to win and gloat. Especially over me. She won't be able to resist.

-- Couldn't she mess with you and then still release what she's got on the net? You keep saying she's tricky.

-- Yeah, but she won't. That's not like her. Everything's a game to her, and a game's no fun if you don't play fair. I wanted to do it tonight and get it over with, but she said no. She prefers we delay our date to another week, and I can't figure out why. It freaks me out when I can't read the moves she's making.

-- What if you didn't play along, then? How bad would it be if you let the video hit the net?

-- It's just a strip tease, but it's humiliating. She made me take poses, and insert a yellow fluo marker in... You know. Anyway, it's pretty bad. We can hear her giving me orders through my own phone in the clip. It wouldn't do any service to my public image as a handler, that's for sure. I don't want that thing to spread before I'm chosen as Master Handler, or at all, actually, but particularly not before then. That's why it makes no sense for her to wait. I'm already at my most desperate.

Wind laughed.

-- Maybe civilians would enjoy viewing that side of you? Maybe you'd be more popular than ever! I sense that the cool black rabbit star of Temple being taken down a few notches and bending in shame for the camera might make the rounds pretty fuckin' fast.

Wicker frowned, not amused in the least.

-- Should I remind you whose fault it is that I'm in this situation? I still can't believe she didn't grab any dirt against your dumbass too when she had the chance. I guess you're lucky you don't even show up on her radar. I'm Temple's champion, she's the challenger. You're just that loser who happens to work at Section D. You're mooching off the glory that we built!

Wind recoiled.

-- Whoa, watch the aggression! I was just teasing. Didn't mean for you to take it so personal-like.

Wicker nodded. He returned to a calmer disposition, rubbing his forehead.

-- Yeah. Sorry, man. Wisp is keeping me on edge.

The puma appeared to accept the apology.

-- If it helps, I think I might know why she wants to wait.

-- Why?

-- Minister Cristella.

At the mention of the name, both handlers shivered in terror, prey to shared memories that Ayyal couldn't know. Even Sam visibly shook. The cheetah instantly detected that this person was high within this tribe's power structure. Very high.

Wicker suddenly took a step back, as if the physical act could actually help him consider the bigger picture in his mental representation of this tight race to the top. He gazed into oblivion for a second, zombified.

-- You're right. The minister will be back from vacation soon. You and I will be directly in her crosshairs when she comes for Sam. That can't be a coincidence. I feel like a piece of the puzzle is still missing, though. Why would Wisp care about Cristella's return?

-- Perhaps she calculates you'll be even more afraid of getting humiliated in front of the minister, and that she can pressure you even harder then, to get you to do "fun" things you wouldn't ever agree to otherwise.

-- It's possible, admitted the bunny. That is pretty daunting. You never know how Minister Cristella's going to react to anything.

The tan feline folded his arms.

-- Man, Wisp will make you suffer, won't she?

-- Yeah.

-- And she'll savor every second of it. She'll make you wallow in her complete triumph over you, and train your ass like you're one of her own lady items.

Wicker grumbled, increasingly annoyed.

-- I know!

-- She's gonna have you do the damnedest things, and lord it over your head for the rest of your life, knowing that you had to crawl and plead for her to let you become Master Handler.

-- Shut up, already! I know!

Wind snickered.

-- Heh. Okay, okay. Just glad I'm not in your pants.

-- It'll be one degrading night, and then I'll become her new boss, but I'll owe her. We'll be in balance again, and that's how it should be.

-- Won't that balance tip in your favor, though?

Wicker nodded.

-- That's why she'll make extra sure to strip the entirety of my dignity while she's got the chance. I'll be able to exact revenge upon her little by little. She probably looks forward to that too, in some ways, cause that's my Wisp, and she's crazy.

Wind displayed savage fangs.

-- What about you? he meanly asked. Do you in some dark and crazy ways look forward to when she'll break your spirit?

The bunny froze, and then he turned away toward the door.

-- I'm heading out, now.

The rabbit left, and the agile puma dashed after him like he was on the hunt.

Brutally, only the cheetah and a resigned white wolf lying flat at his paws remained. The slaves glanced at each other, but didn't move a muscle until they couldn't hear any further footsteps in Section E's corridor. They were alone. Ayyal bowed and offered his hand.

Sam still couldn't completely repress his flinching reflexes when the feline hunter made sharp movements close to him. His entire furry form withdrew automatically from the arm, but then the canine overcame this reaction and grabbed Ayyal's arm with a guilty blush. The athletic cheetah pulled the heavier wolf up with minimal effort. Sam hugged the dotted golden chest. Ayyal gently patted the white back. They released each other.

-- Hey, um, this review is probably good news for your rating, right? Like Wicker said?

-- Yes, confirmed Sam. It should be an enormous help. If I can get anything above "Willing", I'll receive significant advantages.

Ayyal felt awkward. Sam always worried a lot about his rating, but this felt like praising his friend for surrendering his honor.

-- Congratulations. I know it matters a lot to you. Are you really certain it's a good thing, though?

Sam smiled, exhibiting a mix of shame and acceptance.

-- I know what it looks like. I used to feel that way too when I arrived, but this place runs according to its own rules. We don't get to choose.

Ayyal nodded deep.

-- I understand, and I'm not trying to guilt you! I'm happy for you. I get that we have to play along. I just don't think we should be looking forward to this type of reward. Our minds should be set on escape, instead. The rest is just meant to ensnare our spirits, and make us bend.

Sam placed his soft hand on Ayyal's arm.

-- You're right. It's nice that you're not losing hope. Anything is possible. On the other hand, the odds are not on our side. Our masters have all the advantages, and this place is designed specifically to control us. Temple is an old institution. Other strong wills have been broken within these walls. It wasn't because they couldn't think of escaping.

Ayyal sighed.

-- I don't like to reflect along these lines. I don't want to become tolerant of this situation.

-- I know, and you don't have to. We'll take the days as they come together, okay? Just avoid betting everything on escape. I don't want to see you disciplined needlessly. Keep Handler Wicker on your side.

-- Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about him, he's beyond happy with me.

Sam cheered up.

-- That's good. That's really great!

-- I just wish he'd teach me how to fight like they do...

The wolf gaped.

-- You didn't ask him that, did you?

-- I did.

-- What!? Oh, no! What did he say?

Ayyal pouted, looking insulted.

-- He laughed at me. Said I'd be busy enough learning how to satisfy big dicks. Then he shocked me. That prick.

Sam exhaled, reassured.

-- You must stop pulling those stunts. What if he took it as a sign of potential disobedience?

-- I doubt he took it as anything more than this week's funniest joke. I meant it, though. If we could fight like the handlers, we might have a chance to break out.

-- To go where?

-- I don't know, but it'd be a start if we at least could do it.

-- Well, don't ask a handler again. If they figure out how wild you still are, I promise they will arrange to have you tamed. When they get serious on your case, it's not fun. Trust me.

Ayyal heeded the warning, having often witnessed Sam's treatment at Wind's hands. He bowed his head in acknowledgment.

-- I'll be careful. Thank you.

Sam turned toward the kitchen area. The common room left a different impression when it was just the two of them in it. Such a large free space, and it seemed like it belonged to them. Ayyal had to constantly rein in a joyful territorial instinct to run around and occupy it.

-- Hey, kitty, want to help me make some chicken pasta? I'll show you how to use the stove.

Ayyal rolled his eyes and smiled, joining Sam.

-- Sure.

The pair had barely begun chopping up their marinated chicken when a heavy buzz rang from every corner of Section E. Ayyal grumbled and swiftly placed the chopping board in the refrigerator so their precious meat wouldn't go to waste, while Sam winced and covered his sensitive ears with his hands. The canine was anxious, for he knew what the interruption likely meant.

-- Items in their cells, said the machine voice after the buzz.

Both captives hurried and joined their respective cells. Ayyal stood clear of the bars. Very soon, they slid shut and locked in place with a heavy sound.

"Items unclothed."

The cheetah heard his friend undressing in the neighboring enclosure. Angrily, Ayyal complied as well. He took off his grey shirt, placing it flat on the floor before him, as he was supposed to do. He did the same thing with his pants. As always, he hesitated before pushing down his underwear, but he knew what would happen if he refused to obey, so he bent and exposed his privates. The feline slave flattened his underwear next to his pants, annoyed that their guards would once again get to view and probably deeply rejoice of his obscene submission to their unfair rules. His long fuzzy tail stiffened in discontent.

"Items displayed."

Ayyal took the display stance. He wasn't very good at it, according to his trainers and his handler, but he failed to see what he could do differently. He stood with his legs in a slightly more than natural spread, straightened his spine, and placed his hands together behind his head. The captured hunter made no effort to look happy, though. That wasn't required, so fuck 'em.

A team of two guards finally entered the common room, armed with batons and, of course, their most discreet and terrible weapon: remotes for activating the captives' shock collars. They wore Section D uniforms. Section E was still too small to deserve its own security station.

A boar with thick, stiff charcoal fur was accompanied by a hilariously tiny beige rabbit. Both performed their duties soullessly, but professionally. They went around the common room to ensure everything was safe and in order, and that no cookware was missing, especially the knives. The hog regularly shook his head, as if trying to keep awake, while the rabbit guard appeared more worried about styling her ears than by any risk that might be posed by the naked slaves in their cells. Ayyal could hardly blame her. He felt so neutralized, standing there in surrender.

-- How about this, then? Do you think it looks good?

The rabbit released her ears after bending the tips forward. The boar looked at her and curled his lips, rotating his hand left to right. She shuffled her ears, bringing them back to their natural floppy curve.

"You're difficult. I don't know why I bother to ask you. You only like what you see every day."

-- Heh. I don't know either. For the record, I said I was okay with the fully lopped one.

-- This one?

She pulled both of her long ears completely down.

-- Yeah.

-- I'm not sure about this one. Feels subdued with my ears low.

She motioned toward the cages.

"Like these guys."

When the guards approached the cells, they both turned to the white wolf.

-- Hi Sam, they said together.

-- Hi Dario. Hi Holly.

The guards split and each picked one slave to inspect. Holly chose Ayyal. She stopped in front of the bars and detailed his nudity, with perhaps a faint guilty glimmer of pleasure, but mostly detachment.

-- That's a bad stance, by the way, but I'll let it slide because you're new. Also, I don't really care, so there's that too.

Ayyal stared back.

-- Yet you're talking about it.

The guards chuckled. The rabbit adopted a sarcastic tone.

-- Oooh. Snippy slave. Never seen that, before.

She moved closer to the bars, and examined Ayyal's collar.

"Party slut. They're going to train you hard, handsome. Won't take long for you to get a whole lot more polite. Want a taste?"

Holly aggressively signaled for the cameras and Ayyal's cell door opened almost instantly. The cheetah heard Sam's voice from the other side of the wall.

-- No, please ma'am. He didn't mean to be rude. Apologize, Ayyal!

-- Shut up, Sam! yelled Holly. Back of the cell, slave! Belly against the wall!

The feline's blood heated up. He yearned for a fight, but he also was flooded by the sobering knowledge that he was getting himself in trouble for no reason. Violently repressing his defiant desires, he turned around and flattened his exposed body to the back wall, next to his bed, defenseless to the guard.

-- I apologize, ma'am. I should've been more courteous.

The confrontational energy broke with Ayyal's quick surrender. Holly ceased shouting, but she still sounded pissed. Clearly, the security personnel did not enjoy being challenged in any way.

-- That's better. Stay as you are.

The irate bunny stepped in close behind Ayyal. She yanked his wrists behind his back with unexpected force and they were cuffed before the cheetah could figure out what she was doing. He could no longer try to defend himself.

"There we go. Turn around and look at me."

Ayyal revolved, wondering if the conflict was over. To his surprise, the bunny pulled her ears down once more.

-- What do you think, slave? Do lopped ears make me look weak?

The boar roared with laughter. Ayyal wasn't sure what to answer.

-- Does it matter, ma'am?

After an eerily long time, Holly chortled once. An isolated brief sound. She pinned the feline with her adamant caramel eyes, backed by the power she represented. A single finger tickled up and down her baton.

-- Now, you will kneel.

She meant it. Ayyal didn't think there was any reason for that command, other than to flaunt her power over him. The cheetah carefully descended to his knees, knowing what his curved nude figure looked like to the guard. She took a step forward and touched his face.

"Bow your head."

Ayyal complied. The rabbit guard no longer expressed any anger. He sensed her fingers on his round ears. They were delicate.

"Drop your ears, feline. I want to see if you'll look weaker."

Holly folded Ayyal's ears and he kept them as she placed them. She viewed him.

"Nope, you're fine," she giggled. "Don't provoke your guards. Others won't be as tolerant as I am."

In a flash, the staggered cheetah's cuffs were removed and Holly left the cell. She didn't bother to have the bars shut.

-- He's cool? asked Dario.

-- He's cool. Let's get Sam and roll.

Sam made an inquisitive yet unsurprised sound.

-- You've got a client, doggy, said Dario. That's why we're here.

The wolf nodded while the boar gestured to get Sam's cell open.

-- I figured.

Sam quietly padded out of his cell, and let the security officers escort him. Holly gave his white butt a slap when he walked in front of her and stopped near the larger guard. There was no reaction. Sam passively stood in place, his desirable rump completely vulnerable to her for further slapping. She held back and merely smirked at its sight.

-- Get to work "rebel". Time to stretch for your betters. One-two, one-two.

The group walked out of the large room. Alone, Ayyal dressed up and once again realized how weird it was for him to occupy this space. He thought of Sam, and regretted that they wouldn't get to cook together. He felt bad for him, knowing that he was being taken away to be degradingly exploited. The cheetah made up his mind to carefully teach himself how to use the stove -- he'd seen the wolf do it a few times. He couldn't do much, but he'd have a hot, comforting meal ready for when his friend would return. All he had to do was to not set fire to the kitchen.

Part three

(Wherein Sam learns new tricks.)

Sam cautiously pushed the door to the service cell open, because it wasn't shut. This was the moment that caused him to experience the most tension. First, because he didn't know what the client would be like and whether or not they'd be rough with him. Second, because this demeaning sense of vulnerability pushed his buttons, regardless of what he wanted. Part of him was still the confident Samuel Thorn that he knew he used to be, and loathed his disgraceful, bleak fate. That part knew he deserved much better. However, a hidden and commanding aspect of himself found it compelling when Wind yanked his leash and made him curl loyally around his evil feline paws, or when a forceful client called him a slut, pushing their arrogant cock up his tight offered ass, invading and working his deep personal space as if it was a cheap attraction. Pain and pleasure were confused by the vulgar honesty of his needs. Sam hadn't asked to get sexual thrills out of being bound and reduced to an abused spunk dump, and yet the notion of being grimly trained into it appealed to him in an animalistic way that was hard to fight. There was a desperate, humiliating logic to learning to enjoy what he couldn't escape...

Sam's thoughts were interrupted. He went completely blank when he saw the highly recognizable figure of Luther standing between the bed and the washbasin. The colossal wolf and Section D security chief gazed at the walls and damaged ceiling.

-- This place sucks. You can't tell how bad it is through the cameras.

Sam blinked.

-- Luther? Sir, what are you-

-- I'm your client. I bought time with you.

-- Oh.

Sam wondered why he was so utterly staggered. There were no rules against that, though he worried about the chief's size. He initiated a forward step. Luther's unwavering arm rose and the brown-and-grey mottled palm stopped the naked lupine.

-- Don't. You entered wrong.

Sam was confounded.

-- I did?

-- Yes. I want to read you something before we start.

Luther, this massive chunk of uncombed wildness covered with a thick security overcoat, undoubtedly the most physically impressive being anyone could encounter in Temple, deposited a surreal pair of minuscule reading glasses on top of his muzzle, and began to read from a crumpled sheet of printer paper. Sam ceased even trying to understand what was going on. He listened. Luther began to read mid sentence:

"... Instead, I discovered that the rebel learned his lesson in the best possible way. Far from an independent spirit, Thorn has been broken into a spiritless cock rack that delightfully proves prideful wolves can also handily be shaped into slutty subs. Even after I creamed his butt twice, watching him bounce around and beg like a pup while he wore my jizz was very satisfying."

Luther folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. He removed the glasses.

"It continues in a similar tone. That was a short excerpt from the review Mr. Proudarm left. I hope you can appreciate the nature of my problem with this."

Sam understood, and his tail hid low and secure between his legs.

-- I... dishonor our species.

Luther snapped his fingers. It sounded like a gunshot.

-- Precisely.

-- But I don't have a choice, sir! Submitting is what I'm supposed to do!

Luther pointed an accusing clawed finger.

-- Wrong! Pleasing the client is what you're supposed to do! You've been letting Wind slip into your mind, and it's time you re-learned how to be a real wolf. That's what we're going to practice, so I don't have to be systematically embarassed when I lay eyes on you.

Sam gaped, unsure what to say or do. Luther walked behind him and opened the door.

"Get out and enter the room again. Pretend I'm a normal client you know nothing about."

Sam moved out of the room and the door slammed in his face. Luckily, none of the guards were currently there patrolling the corridor. They would've been as confused as he was. He knocked. Luther's irritated voice filtered through the strong door.

"Don't waste time knocking, you idiot. This is practice. Just come straight in."

Sam felt lost, but he did what he was told. He twisted the handle and gave a short push to the door, revealing a disapproving giant wolf as he padded inside the service room.

"No, see? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're limp. All your tension is inward, and this means fear. You already look like you're about to roll over and lick my paws."

-- That's what the clients want.

-- Some of them, possibly. As you walk in for the first time, though, you don't know that, and they might not know either. The way you present yourself will affect the direction things will take. There's a fine balance for you to maintain between shaping your clients' expectations and responding to them. Many will be here to make you grovel, but that doesn't mean you should encourage it in everyone. Do you _want_to be crawling and begging full time? Do you like being as pathetic as the puma wants you to be?

-- Well, no, but-

Luther interrupted him again with a head shake.

-- In this case, you're not ashamed.

-- I'm not?

-- No! Don't act like you're collared and stripped!

Sam frowned, getting annoyed in turn.

-- But I _am_collared and stripped.

-- Are you? You're wearing a band that testifies of the rigorous quality training you've successfully endured, and you're tastefully unclothed to reveal the deep magnetism and sexual allure of your impressive figure. From now on, that's what you are. Use your male charm.

-- My what?

-- Oh, gosh...

Luther grabbed his own square muzzle, inclining his face with impatient despair.

"Don't you young folks learn anything anymore? You know how females have that special femininity thing going for them, where they're graceful and glamorous? Male charm is the masculine version of that. It's our raw charisma."

This was unarguably the strangest meeting with a client that Sam had ever lived, but he was starting to lighten up. Despite Luther's gruff manners, Sam felt safe with his fellow wolf.

-- So, you want me to use my "male charm" more to bewitch clients.

-- Don't laugh, grumbled Luther. It's real, and it works on everyone. Male charm is about awareness of what you really are and what you can project. Different people have different pools of natural qualities from which they can tap. As wolves, we have the most, of course! We have gentle loyalty and wild unleashed threat, grandiose nightly mystery and stalwart open honesty. We're spirit and body combined. Clients will be honored to have a slave like you service them!

-- You really believe they'd like that kind of thing?

-- Customers are here to be pleased. If one is going to dominate either way, which sounds the most pleasant: possessing something epic and powerful, or something meek and submissive?

Sam rubbed his chin.

-- I guess I see your point, sir.

-- Let them own your awesomeness. Appear proud, but humble to them. Those who want to bring you low will do it anyway, and they'll enjoy it more. The others will be satisfied just from having you to themselves. Walk in again. You don't know what I want. Seduce me.

-- Alright, I'll try.

It was so silly, Sam nearly laughed, but he contained it. He faced the door from outside, grabbed the handle, and opened it with a bit more force. He walked in less hesitantly, and realized he still held his muzzle low. He straightened his back and raised his head. Luther observed.

-- Slightly better, not nearly good enough.

The massive security chief placed his huge padded hands under Sam's arms and made him extend them to the sides. Luther pawed his muscles along the length of both arms, staring intently. It wasn't unpleasant. It reminded Sam of his own virile figure.

"You have the stalwart blood of the northern islands. Your fur can endure permanent winter, so you're never really naked. If you're to be displayed, it's cause you're a work of art, okay? Feel it."

-- I've been shaved, so I mostly feel naked, honestly.

-- That doesn't matter! My point is that you're always a dignified wolf! No matter if you're shaved, or muzzled, or whipped.

Sam pointed to his neck.

-- I'm an anal slave. It says so on my slave collar.

-- Then you'll be a dignified wolf slave taking it up the ass for your very worthy clients. Remember: male charm is about awareness. Yes, you're a slave, and you're tense, but you're also an amazing prize. Don't withdraw into yourself and try to hide like you're shy and afraid. Externalize that tension you feel when you walk in, and show your client that you know you need to perform for them. Keep an active posture. You're honored to show off for their personal satisfaction. Make them believe you're an unbreakable force of nature who can only be tamed by them. Get out and do it again. I'm a random buyer. You don't know what I want.

Sam complied. He took more time instead of less. As he entered, he granted Luther a long glance and then humbly lowered his snout, carefully closing the door behind him. He kept his shoulders firm and let his arms descend along his defined torso at a slight angle. He breathed deeply and allowed that simple movement to blend into his posture. He was very vigilant not to hide his immaculate chest with his arms or the tip of his muzzle. When he saw the sharp satisfaction in Luther's face, he filled with self-contentment, and gave the air a few slaps with his elegant tail, but even that, he did with controlled motions.

"There we go! Now, you're getting it. You're a noble and obedient focus of desire, not just a submissive broken slut. Take a display stance, but keep the same mindset. You're honored to do it for me, because I'm just so special, and you want to be my hot entertainment. You'll be a sweet male only for me. Usually, you're a lethal predator. Yeah! There! Fluid, confident moves. Every motion should be a burning memory for your buyer. Be a dream. Excellent!"

Luther grinned and clapped as Sam adopted the pose, attempting to incarnate the proposed persona. It was easier than he'd expected. It reminded him of back when he was January; a respected figure and leader. He held his arms up and spread his legs slightly wider, mindful to present the results of his solid training under Wicker. Was that a hint of pride he felt? The emotion appeared alien in this context, due to how obviously owned he was, but he did feel impressive. He was a glorious, compliant lupine trophy. It soothed and refreshed him to be something other than a leashed, quivering bitch. He could sense how desirable he was! Heck, he could even see it in Luther's expression. The security chief continued to praise him, and it was incredible. Sam wanted to show off more of what he could do! His entire body increased in sensitivity as he became conscious of his every muscle, and of the appeal they had. He got quite excited, and his body made it apparent...

Sam suddenly wavered and blushed. His muzzle dipped for a moment, but Luther quickly brought it back up with a firm hand.

"No, don't be ashamed. That's fine. You're eager to be here and to give pleasure. You don't mind if it starts to show. In fact, you want your admirable client to know. Let it happen. You're a splendid, healthy male. You're potent, and you wish to offer that for them as well. The thought of belonging to them thrills you in the deepest ways. It's not because you're defeated, though. It's merely because your client is so admirable. Right? They should toy with you and use you. You'll play along because you're perfect. A perfect slave god, in binds for their sheer joy. They'll worship you, as they should. You're a wolf."

Sam tried to focus and keep with the narrative while his erection grew and rose. He stood in full display, immobile. It was beyond blatant. It could've been vulgar. Instead, it was... charming? Perhaps. Sam was getting it. He was sure he was getting it!

-- Yes, sir. I am.

-- Use master, I'm a client.

-- Yes, master.

When Sam said the word, he felt it. He felt mastered, at least as much as he had back when he was in the peak of his training with Wicker. The arctic wolf's whole body was responding violently; he hadn't been so unbelievably aroused for a long time. Luther simply circled around him, controlling, indomitable. When the giant predator moved a bit closer, Sam wagged his tail faster for him, and even lowered his ears in docile acceptance. He made sure to keep his strong stance, however. He didn't flinch, and continued to display his disciplined splendor; his flamboyant nakedness. His hard dick trembled, and Sam was primed to obey absolutely anything for his alpha, at this point. He awaited the next step of this unusual and unforeseen training session with bated breath.

-- Softly, slowly, you now invite the buyer to take what they came for. Move to the bed and crawl on the mattress. Don't lose the flow. Nothing changed. You spread your knees, curve your back, lift your tail and expose your anus, but it's not pathetic! Think of how desirable it will be for the client as they get to watch this young magnificent male wolf spread his cheeks for them. It's a gift because they deserve it. You're honored to bend for them, and to sate their needs. Go ahead.

The white wolf tried his best. He took lengthy decided steps toward the bed, but found he truly had no clue how he was supposed to crawl on the bed on all fours without appearing overly pitiful. He decided to get through that step fast, and hopped delicately on the covers. He gave Luther a glance to verify if he did well. The chief sniffed and scratched the bridge of his nose.

"You'll get better with practice. Keep going. Why don't you stretch out? Show me your back and what a nice round butt you have. Remember, no wolf is a simple slave; you're divine obedience. You're aware of your own worth, and you'll have it acknowledged."

With his rump fully presented and his tail high, Sam's hands slipped forward on the covers as he extended his upper body, arching his back. His arms reached far ahead and then drew back provocatively. Once the movement was complete, he rested his head over his arms. Luther approached the manifest sexual offering. Sam sensed the heavy steps, and a cool security vest against the short velvet of his open cheeks. Luther's burly hand trailed up his spine, and stopped at his collar to clutch it.

"If I was a real client, this is where I would..."

The massive lupine went silent, holding Sam's warm exposed body. He stared cryptically, as if he suddenly became aware that the lighter wolf belonged to him in this moment, and that nothing would ever stop him from taking the acquiescent male for a juicy orgasm. He'd even paid for it. The seconds lingered. Luther shook his head. With his free hand, he gave Sam's haunches a firm rubbing.

"Yeah, nah, I'm not going there. Not at the expenses of one of my own kind. You did amazing, though. The fact that I wanted it so badly is proof. You can make them crazy with lust and conserve face."

Luther released his grip. Sam rolled off the bed and stood close, still shamelessly erect. He'd never felt so safe with the giant.

-- I doubt that's something Wind will approve. He wants me broken.

-- Did you ever try anything else with him?

-- Hah! Hell no, sir! Way too risky!

-- Then, you don't know what he wants. Besides, you shouldn't let Wind win so easily. A nasty feline like him doesn't deserve the satisfaction of causing the disgrace of a wolf. Either way, you can practice this approach with Wicker. He'll see its value.

-- I don't have many training sessions with Wicker anymore. He feels my training is over. I'm about to get my rating. I can practice with the clients, though! Keeping everything you said in mind.

-- Good.

Sam cheered.

-- Good? That was unbelievable, sir! You may have missed your calling. Did you ever consider a career as a handler? I heard Wicker say that the W Wing prefers in-house recruitment. I bet you'd get a badass handler name, like "Wall" or "World" or... "Woof".

Luther chuckled lightly.

-- Yeah, right. You can leave.

Sam performed an over-the-top military-like salute.

-- Yes, my alpha! As you order! Hope to train with you again!

Sam left the room, but as he stepped out, he gave a final subtle glance through the door before it closed. He saw a pensive canine.

Part four

(Which begins with an important flashback being presented as a dream sequence, which is happening inside Wind's mind, who is asleep in Section E only a few hours after he returned just in time to help the slaves put out Ayyal's inevitable fire. Also, a new captive is introduced to Wind's "hard style". Wow.)

These were old paths already treaded. Familiar. Wind didn't question it. It didn't even occur to him that it was curious to relive the same things twice. He merely felt anxious about what he knew was about to happen.

This was on the day that Sam had been brought to Temple in shackles, several months prior. They waited into a comfortable salon, Wicker and him. The dimmed lights and chic atmospheric music invited relaxation, but the tawny feline paced endlessly, wearing out the rug with his boots. Wind straightened his handler shirt, which he wore tucked under his belt, into his black pants. He shivered despite the warm temperature of the room.

-- I wish they'd get here already. This is freaking me out.

Wicker responded nothing. The black rabbit had bundled into a deep armchair, his knees drawn to himself. He wore the same shirt, but his was loose and slightly wrinkled. He contemplated a single black hair of his own fur that he held up between index and thumb. His large and strong ears moved up and down along with his unknowable train of thought.

-- Now that I've plucked it out, is it still a part of me? Or was it just fur, and never something of myself in the first place?

Wind sighed profoundly.

-- Aren't you worried?

The rabbit dropped the hair at last.

-- Sure. A bit.

-- Fuck. This is too much for me.

The puma walked to a table, and got the ring bag and metallic case out of his pocket. Irritated and shaking, Wind hurriedly placed the case on a low central table, and knelt in front of it. He expertly dropped a pinch of powder from the case into the bag, and did his usual thing. He placed his thumb over the ring, flicked his wrist up and down, and sharply breathed in the contents. He coughed once, licked his thumb, and put everything back into his pocket.

-- You shouldn't breathe that shit. It's bad for you.

Wind shut his eyes and leaned backward, gaping while sweet respite filled him.

-- There are many things in this world that are bad for me. First and foremost on that list is that I have to deal with you every day.

The rabbit chuckled. He let Wind continue.

"Second on that list are surprise visits from high ranking Party members with special requests."

-- It's nothing new. You're making a big deal out of nothing.

Wind grinned painfully.

-- You don't know _which_Party official it is, do you?

Wicker gazed at his feline colleague, taking him seriously at last.

-- Who could it be? I mean, it isn't...?

-- Yes! Yes, it is!

The rabbit made a "huh" sound, obviously troubled by the news, but didn't leave the armchair. He thoughtfully squeezed one of his ears.

-- Even so, it doesn't really change anything. We listen and we grant whatever favor she wants.

-- Well, thanks, Wicker! I was planning on refusing her, but now, with your genius plan of not actively trying to get our eyeballs boiled into their sockets, I feel much better!

-- Just take it easy, and try to look professional.

-- What if we fail?

-- Fail what? We don't even know who she wants us to train.

-- Of course, we know! It's gonna be January, you moron!

Comprehension filled the bunny's traits.

-- Right. They caught him yesterday. This Samuel Thorn character on the news. So what? It's an overconfident young white wolf. We'll hear what she wants out of him and we'll make him bark in tune for her. Besides, name one Party official that's left dissatisfied with our efforts.

The puma went silent.

"In our entire careers. Name just one."

-- Alright, alright. I get your point. It's the nerves talking.

The rabbit cheered up his companion.

-- Correct. Sit down and listen to the soothing music.

Wind resumed pacing.

-- I can't. I might fall asleep if I did that.

-- See? This is why you should stop with the Mist.

-- Leave me alone, you freak.

-- Fine, we'll just talk about something else, then. Keep your mind awake.

The feline paced fast, but then he stopped abruptly.

-- Hey, Wicker. Did you hear about the Upsilon Machine?

-- What of it?

Wind spoke in a lower voice, looking suspiciously at the closed door of the salon.

-- I know a guy who works as an assistant to Dr. More, right? He told me that in their last report to the Founder, they stated having achieved "tangible results".

The bunny appeared unconvinced.

-- What's that supposed to mean?

The puma smiled with the pleasure of revealing critical information.

-- Apparently, they managed to move stuff back and forth. For real.

Wicker looked evidently creeped out.

-- You're kidding. I mean, does it fully work?

-- I don't know, man. I was too scared to inquire further. They might not have tried with living beings yet, but I have to assume it's the next step. Crazy, right?

Wicker shook his head, and sunk into his deep armchair.

-- Yes. Crazy. I'll be honest with you. Upsilon scares the hell out of me.

-- For once, said the puma, we agree.

The door flung open with a brutal thud. The single most dangerous being in the entire world stormed in with swirling anger and malice.

Minister Cristella had, during her lifetime, achieved the unique feat of surviving no less than two separate Party takeovers and subsequent purges, all the while retaining charge of the single most crushingly militarized department: the almighty Department of Fishery and Waterways. Naturally, with that kind of influence, she wielded the true power in the Party, and no one ignored that even the Enlightened Party Leader Orellius jumped at her command. Rumor had it that she'd put him in place.

Cristella was smart, old, mean, paranoid, and an ostrich.

She flew -- well, not literally flew, but she entered the room at high speed -- flapping her arms and raining gray feathers in every direction. Both handlers bounced to their paws and stood in a line like stone columns.

-- This motherfucker! she erupted.

-- Welcome, Madam Minister! began Wind. It is an honor for us to-

-- Shut the fuck up!

-- Yes, Madam Minister, finished Wind.

Minister Cristella finally slowed down, and ceased flapping her arms hysterically, but she didn't calm down. She hadn't calmed down for thirty-five years. She dropped a file that she'd been holding under the left arm of her gray suit that matched the color of her feathers. It fell smack in the middle of the central table where Wind had just done some drugs.

-- Samuel fucking Thorn is in a cage in the basement! He's the cunt responsible for organizing and hosting the January Meetings! He's the one who's been corrupting the sanctity of our waterways, using them to sneak illegal material, texts and even criminals!

Administrator Cristella ceased moving for less than a second, and her head twitched.

"It fucking reeksof Red Mist! Who did Red Mist on this fucking table?"

Terrified, and before he could even think about it, Wind raised his hand high.

"You fucking retarded twat! Next time you dare do drugs in my presence, I'll make you cut off your own head and eat it!"

-- Yes, Madam Minister!

-- How? perplexedly asked Wicker.

-- Not that head, you fucking moron! she screamed.

-- Oooh! made the rabbit in understanding.

-- Shut up!

-- Yeah, shut up please, Wicker, pleaded the increasingly worried puma.

The devil ostrich continued as if there'd been no interruption.

-- Death is too sweet for that kind of terrorist scum! He deserves the most sordid of fates! I want him d-e-s-t-r-e-er, I mean, y, no o...

She was too hyper, and Minister Cristella lost track of the word she was spelling.

"Whatever! I want him fucking destroyed! His spirit, shattered! His body, sold and humiliated! His image, obliterated! I want him to live out the rest of his life collared and broken and behaving like a dog, taking orders and begging, and with come leaking out of his ass! Yeah! I want him in chains and whipped, forced into anal slavery, and then I want it on film and shown everywhere! Nobody will be inspired by his heinous crimes! When people see what's happening to him, they must feel fucking glad they didn't fuck with my waterways! I want his own mom to think that he's a fucking whore! I want him to beg for it like a bitch in heat! I want his little friends to like it despite themselves, seeing his depraved form! He must be so whipped and pathetic that they'll come and pay us to fuck him too! Only when I'm satisfied will he be allowed to spend the rest of his fucking miserable life taking it up the tailhole in private, earning me chump change. Whenever I close my eyes, I want to know that, right then, he's getting painfully reamed by a massive dirty dick, or locked up naked in a dark cell. Understood? Can you make it happen?"

The sudden silence shocked the handlers. They had entered a kind of nightmarish trance. They struggled to shake it off.

-- Uh, yeah, sure, said Wind. We can tag him as an anal slave and add him to the Temple roster. He'll be trained and we'll call you when he's ready. For a charge, we can provide filming equipment, and you can record him doing whatever you wish. We'll basically rent him from you, but you'll remain his sponsor and official owner.

The ostrich glared irately.

-- Who the fuck are you talking to, junkie?

Wind glanced urgently to Wicker.

-- Um, yes, confirmed the rabbit. Exactly what my colleague said.

-- Good. I'll tell the guards to beat him up and start teaching him his place.

Minister Cristella turned, and strutted toward the door. Wind managed to breathe. She was out of their fur, and they'd survived! He thanked his lucky star.

-- No, you mustn't do that, firmly warned Wicker.

Wind stopped breathing as his lucky star petered out, and he stared at his fellow handler with hateful, incredulous eyes. The large bird stopped in her tracks and rotated on herself like a tank slowly coming about.

-- What the fuck did I just hear?

Wind panicked.

-- What my friend meant is that, dear Madam Minister, you don't have to bother with doing that because we'll do it for you! It would never cross our minds to question your decided punishment for this dirty traitor!

Cristella stared doubtfully at the black rabbit.

-- Is that what you meant, pipsqueak?

-- No.

Wind clawed at his own face, and stepped away from Wicker as if a ballistic missile was about to drop onto his head. The rabbit continued:

"Madam Minister, we are professionals. The entire point of hiring us is to get the product you desire. From this moment on, in order to ensure optimal results for you, it is my duty to recommend that you leave the item entirely to our management, including the aspect of discipline."

Minister Cristella marched slowly, ominously, to the rabbit, until her neck was completely craned over him, and he had to look directly up to stare at her.

-- Okay, pipsqueak. I like your balls. If this works out to my satisfaction, I'll look out for you. But if I'm not entirely satisfied, you and your junkie fur ball will share Samuel's fate. I want a broken, spineless, pathetic dog that will obey literally anything, and beg for cock on camera. I'll want progress reports every week. Squaaack!

The ostrich left with a final flap of her arms. A few more lost feathers snowed delicately around the room.

-- Huh, said Wicker. Didn't see that coming.

Wind hissed in pure rage right next to him. His muzzle was puffed up and reddish under his fur, and his fists were balled up so tight that his claws dug into his skin, but he was too angry to retract them.

-- Did you hear that!? he exploded. If we succeed, only you get rewarded, but if we fail, we both get our bottoms wrecked!

The puma appeared to deflate like a balloon, and simply, slowly, lay down on the floor.

"I can never win. I hate my life."

-- Oh, come on, said Wicker.

The rabbit crouched over the feline, and rubbed his belly through his blue shirt.

"You don't have anything to worry about, or even to do! I'll take care of this one. Predators are mine to break, remember? Hey, when I get a reward, I'll share it with you."

-- I hate you too, Wicker.

The rabbit kept rubbing.

-- It makes perfect sense, if you think about it. I'm a part of your life.

Wind responded nothing, because he was swiftly losing consciousness, emitting cute uneven snoring and odd little chirps...

The puma rose up in his velvet armchair with a sudden gasp, brutally pulled out of the uncomfortable dream by an incoming message. His heartbeat took a few moments to slow down. The room still smelled a bit like smoke, and he was back to reality. No, Minister Cristella wasn't around yet. Noticing that the Section E items were looking at him with wide eyes from the table, the predator tried to regain composure, slicking his head fur down. Ayyal had been quietly watching Sam doodle, as the wolf occasionally did to pass the time, until Wind's rude awakening interrupted them. He reached into his pocket for his vibrating cell phone.

-- It's nothing, just an intense dream. Get back to whatever.

As was often the case, the text was from Wicker. He needed to see Wind in the "welcoming" area for new arrivals, where captured slaves were first broken to the strict rules that would govern their lives in Temple. The feline knew was it was about, because Dr. More's team had announced earlier that an additional exotic target had been successfully torn from their world, subdued, bound, and was ready to be delivered to the handlers' care. They had to meet to decide who would have charge of this one.

Wind hopped out of his seat, while the slaves refocused onto their peaceful activity. Wind felt energized; his imagination ran wild with possibilities as he wondered what the future item 3-E would be like. Surely, he was male, for Admin had called Wicker and Wind on the scene instead of Wisp. If he turned out remotely as attractive while collared as the cheetah -- the first victim of the Upsilon Machine -- it would be a blast to teach him some manners. Though he'd avoided making a big deal out of it, Wind did feel rather jealous that Ayyal had been all for Wicker. He secretly hoped that the second Upsilon slave would be his to whip into shape.

At least, he could alleviate his boredom with Sam, but as he got attached to the dumb dog, being mean to him became less and less fun. These days, when Sam surrendered and showed his vulnerable belly after a satisfying public walk on a leash, Wind preferred to stroke it with his paw, and to make him squeak in acceptance of his undeniable feline superiority. As shameful as it was, Wind didn't enjoy making this canine suffer as much as he used to. On quiet nights, he went so far as to bring the muzzled Sam to his apartment to have him sleep on the cover of his bed as a silent pet, sometimes without even bothering to fuck his ass, or to tie him up to smack his balls, or to abuse and degrade him in any other way. Of course, he'd never admit this to his feline pals. What an embarrassment that would be!

Wind traversed the installations and made it to the far end of the section that was forbidden to clients. He took his time too, wanting this giddy excitement to last, and thus stopped a few times to chat with acquaintances and buy himself a Carnibar at a vending machine. He chewed on the tough dried meat lined with salty caramel and finally made it to the secure welcoming room. Armed guards from Temple security allowed the handler in with a rigid salute.

-- Handler Wicker's waiting for you, sir. There is one live untrained in there, but he's restrained and collared. Set your remote to temporary channel Zeta if you need the shocks.

Wind nodded. He could hear some commotion inside. There were loud voices and violent struggling. The chaos excited him at once, and he felt the sting of adrenaline. His predatory instincts rose anew. He entered.

-- ... To a common peasant like you. You don't even deserve to be in my presence!

Wicker stood in the center back of the room, at a distance from the chained captive, who actively thrashed into his binds. Many guards surrounded the area, but they were professionals and knew better than to get involved with a handler's work without being invited. Wicker appeared weary. His face sagged to the side into the palm of his left hand, and he rubbed his mouth, lost in unproductive thinking. Genuine cheer sparked in his serious eyes when he saw his colleague, and this goodwill spread to Wind, pleased to be appreciated. In these moments, the hostile feline remembered that he actually liked that demanding and bothersome black rabbit.

-- Wind! Man, am I glad that you're here. Meet our latest addition. The Upsilon people didn't mess up, this time. They got us a bona fide warrior prince to train, as he'll gladly let you know himself.

The angry slick dark blue figure jerked weightily toward Wicker.

-- Don't talk about me as if I'm not here, perverted cretin! My name is Wakairaka, Fourth Prince of the Shoochaw! Staff master! Traveler! Men tremble the world over when it is spoken.

Wicker sighed while Wind approached and began to detail the twisting, well-cared-for body, stretched vertically by the chains pulling at his shackled ankles and wrists. He'd been completely exposed for evaluation. He was a frog -- a rare species indeed -- with a tall, obviously agile physique, probably honed by constant battle practice, if the "prince" was to be believed. Large spherical eyes were set in a flat, sharp skull, granting him a permanent frown and an air of condescending authority rarely found in such creatures. It certainly contributed a sort of nobility of appearance that Wind already calculated would serve them extremely well when the time would come to market his smooth-skinned, fit, and extremely lively ass. Chains and other harsh restraints might exert obscene attraction on clients when pressed against this flashy nudity. The most unusual element of this physiognomy would probably be the impressively long, strong legs and webbed hands and toes, but those too weren't without exotic appeal. This was a slave that might be quite intriguing to explore with touches and strokes. Also, those meaty hips and thighs were exceedingly spankable, and the glabrous navy skin with formless lighter blotches would certainly bruise easily and beautifully under any decent whip or strap. Wind estimated there wasn't anything particularly impressive with the limp penis and balls hiding in the shadows of the immense legs, so the best thing to do with these features might be to lock them up tightly and forget about the key. That way, it would at least serve to amuse buyers.

-- There's a ton of potential there, assessed the feline.

To the handler's great surprise, the captive suddenly glared at him, and spat at his paws. He looked even more infuriated, for some unimaginable reason.

-- You remind me of him! That sac of pseudo-noble lion trash!

-- Who? asked Wind, amused.

-- Lord Baneil, of course! exclaimed the haughty frog as if the answer was obvious.

Wicker and Wind peeked at each other.

-- Who's that? asked Wind.

-- Beats me. Some guy from his world, I assume.

The rabbit shrugged, but the frog prince displayed open disbelief.

-- Don't you fools even know about the realm of Cander's most important bloodlines?

-- How about we don't give a shit about your feelings or your weak-ass slave world? hammered the puma. You're never going back there, and I sure don't plan to visit.

No answer. The frog captive conserved his maximally defiant expression.

-- Don't even bother, warned Wicker. I already tried explaining the situation. He's immune to reason. I have to be honest, he's proven unreceptive to my approach, and I'm starting to feel like your hard style might be better suited for him.

-- Also, he's not a toothy scary predator, so you don't fancy the time-consuming job of crushing his spirit. He's not your type.

From the back, an insulted voice rang.

-- I have teeth, you uncultured pair of twits! I eat meat from insects and animals. Frogs are total predators!

Wicker ignored him wholesale, and smiled guiltily to his colleague.

-- There's a bit of that too, yes. I won't deny it.

The enticing challenge pumped Wind up like rarely before. He absolutely wanted that grandstanding and unique frog slave under his claws. He'd revel in the thrill of dismantling his flamboyant will chunk by chunk, until there was nothing left but a tortured, hopeless, mindlessly obedient pair of well-used holes.

-- Don't worry about it; I'll take that one with pleasure. Have Admin register him under me.

Wicker didn't hide his relief.

-- Thanks buddy. I'll leave him for you to break. He's a tough bastard, but do try to enjoy yourself without damaging him too much.

-- Wicker...

-- Make sure he behaves and has a well-trained rectum, because with that attitude I figure you'll end up tagging him as an-

-- Now, who's telling who how to do their job?

The rabbit raised his hands in surrender.

-- Alright, alright. None of my business. Ignore me. I'm gone.

Wicker departed. Wind grinned sadistically, but the royal amphibian seemed unimpressed. Once more, he challenged his shackles, tensing up pointlessly. This future item had both physical force and that of character in full display for Wind, and damn did it arouse the puma. The admirable glistening figure struggled for him. He couldn't wait to have it reduced, sullied and squealing for his cruel satisfaction. What was his name already? Wakairaka? He was all Wind's.

-- From this point on, you're nothing but yet another conquered butt to be beaten for fun, a tight hole to be stretched, and a tongue to be trained. Your feelings are irrelevant. Your personality is meaningless. Your past doesn't exist. Your handsome body will exclusively serve the sexual needs of others. You'll get nothing in exchange, and it won't be long until you lose hope. You'll never escape, and your future is entirely in my hands. I'm Handler Wind, and you're an honorless, powerless stain of a slave. Your life will be bleak and painful, and you'll accept it because you can't do anything about it. If you try to resist, your suffering will only increase until you can't take it anymore. You'll be respectful, and you'll obey every command without hesitation, regardless of how much you might wish to refuse. Your decisions will no longer have any impact on anything. You're an object. An item. And you're on my list. My methods aren't refined, and they don't give fancy results, but they don't fail.

Wind was astonished to see the frog smirk.

-- Are you finished? Oh, did you assume this is the first time I get in trouble? I'm a fighter. I traveled the world. I've put up with worse than a little bondage, before. I don't fear pain.

The feline could barely contain his glee.

-- Is that so? Maybe you haven't had a sufficiently intimate encounter with it, yet. You have a hardened shell, I can see that. Trust me, though...

Wind stepped in aggressively, provoking an instant reaction in the captive that caused a loud clatter of shackles and chains. The handler stood close enough for the frog's chest to brush against his clothes. He stroked the slave's inner thigh, right under his testicles. Smooth and pleasant, as expected, with a whiff of foreign musk, sweet and subtle. The flesh vibrated under his touch. Wakairaka hissed in righteous anger at the violation. His muscles were so tense in his bonds that his webbed feet ceased touching the floor.

"... Together, we'll explore you and your limits very intimately."

Wind stepped away and used his remote. He had it on power setting number five, and pressed the switch.

-- Ghh!

The naked frog's limbs shook and contracted as much as the chains allowed. Wind watched attentively, greedily, as the merciless buzzing current coursed through the prince. Dignity was no factor during discipline. The restrained slave slobbered and contorted in anguish, finally being forced to exhibit his undeniable vulnerability. It was so simple and beautiful. Wind pressed a button, and here this handsome naked body twitched and cooked to entertain him, in excruciating pain. He could make it stop, or make it continue. It was entirely up to him. He wanted to watch this new slut acknowledge it, and be filled with the dreadful sense of what his place and his fate would be. How rewarding it would be to see his flame inevitably diminish, day by day, as the humiliation of punishments and service would be imposed to every exposed part of his flesh. His male self-importance would disintegrate with each erect dick shoved and sated into him. Most importantly, every step of the way, the frog slave would have his handler witness the iron truth of his disgrace.

Wind released the button. Wakairaka stopped his burning dance, panting, but he summoned the strength to glare.

-- Honorless coward... I've owned slaves my entire life... I know what you're trying to do... But, as I said... A true fighter doesn't fear pain.

Wind was impressed, though far from discouraged. Already, he loved that damned frog, and wanted to test him further. With an adamant left hand, he gripped the heavy electric collar.

-- You're right. Neither do I, really.

The predator took the remote out of his pocket, and showed the button. Wakairaka glanced at the arm holding his collar, then back at the button, astonished as he understood what was about to occur, but Wind gave him no time to say anything and pressed the button once more.

The horrid uncontrollable pain forked from Wind's left arm and into his shoulder, reaching far into his chest while the sickening buzz surrounded handler and item. The prince jerked powerfully in his binds, desperate to escape the renewed torturous loss of motor functions. Wind's arm appeared to be turning into boiling stone, but Wind fought back to keep control over the blinding, imperious desire to stop pressing the switch with his other hand. It was near impossible to push words out with the current running in him without screaming incoherently, but he forced his maw open into a nightmarish grin.

"There are... worse things than... pain."

Wind released the button and recoiled. He stabilized his breathing, watching his left hand tremble heavily. The captive frog moaned with a mechanical sob. They were silent for a moment.

"Like lack of control, for instance. Now, that is a scary thing. I'll shock you again to prove my point."

-- No!

The shout had been instantaneous. Not yet pleading, but brutal and honest. Wind gave the chiseled blue chin light pats.

-- See what I mean? The pain in any given moment is nothing. On the other hand, can you imagine if I was insane enough to press that button again, and then again, and then again, and to never really stop?

Wakairaka yanked his short triangular snout away.

-- You think that... you think that you're a tough guy, don't you? I've met tough guys. You're a... you're a little bitch who can't get his hands dirty, so you need your chains and tricks. I'd have more... respect for a pile of dog turd.

The restrained amphibian grinned in turn, arrogant to the end. Immune to reason, indeed! Wind outright laughed in delight, or at least, he laughed as much as he could with the pain in his chest.

-- Fuck, I think I've just found my soul mate. You wanna go, froggy? Seriously think you can take a Temple Handler in unarmed combat? This is what we train for the most, you know. We made battle into a fucking science. Handlers aren't allowed to graduate until they've invented a new move for the pool, or found a way to improve an old one. I'll whup you to a pulp, dip you in water, and use you to clean the floor with a broomstick up your ass. You won't like it.

Wind wasn't laughing when he said that last part. He fully meant it. Wakairaka stared just as seriously.

-- Try it, pussy.

Wind paused. He knew it was a bad idea, but he wanted to see what the frog could do more than anything else, in that moment. He removed his boots, then unbuttoned his handler shirt, and threw it aside, revealing the top half of his tawny, perfectly defined physique.

-- Unshackle him.

The security guards whistled and laughed, forming a large circle. They took bets. Wakairaka displayed real surprise, but it soon changed to vicious satisfaction. That frog was fully confident, that much was clear. It only made Wind more eager to begin. The armed personnel unlocked the captive's binds. The freed prisoner rubbed his wrists, thoughtful.

-- I feel right at home, he suddenly admitted.

-- Why?

-- The ring. Betting. High stakes. I've always lived for that moment.

-- Arena fights? You did that in your world?

-- It's my specialty.

-- Not for much longer, slave.

-- You don't know what you're getting yourself into.

Wind brought his hands up in a fighting stance and balanced himself onto his paws. Ready for action.

-- Show me.

There was no transition from peace to war. Within two huge steps, the prince had achieved full sprinting speed and launched a right-handed palm strike so aggressive and impeccable that Wind nearly shed a tear from the sheer poetry of it. Getting full value out of his feline reflexes, the handler dodged sideways while keeping a steely eye on his opponent's legwork, but there was no weakness to be found there. A single one of those huge-muscled legs absorbed the weight of the dash, and gracefully annulled it with a gentle knee bend, allowing the other leg to reposition for the immediate follow-up attack. Never did the round eyes betray anything beside dangerous, bitter focus. Fucking frog flowed like a dark, deep river!

Wind performed a complex pseudo-feint and deflect, swatting the blow away with a strong right arm while winding up his counterattack from the left, and hinting a possible kick when he'd have the momentum. Barely perceptibly, he slowed down the wind up to have his target believe it was a feint. The expert arena fighter noticed without delay, and prepared to block low, for the kick, but that was the whole point. Pseudo-feints were meta-moves, meant to confound other fighters of great skill, and the amphibian fell for it. The feint became a delayed attack which Wakairaka could no longer block. The blue fighter jerked his entire upper body backward with a withdrawing step, sacrificing balance and momentum to buy himself enough time to defend. Wind pursued the obviously harmless attack anyway, landing a hard punch against the prince's stout defenses, just so that he could taste heavy contact against such a foe, and it was exquisite! The frog blocked, accepting the shock and letting his body slide away to safety with the push. The guards roared after the lightning paced, viciously heated exchange. The captive's expression changed to an involved one.

"Oh, Waka, Waka," said Wind. "I'd no idea you'd deliver so generously on your promises. So unique and adaptable! You're much more fun to fight than the rabbit. He's only about form, form, form."

-- You're slightly better than I expected as well.

-- This changes everything. Knowing your true worth only adds to the fun. Removing your spirit will be the high point of my career. I'm getting too damn hard! I wanna make obscene kinky art out of you and sign it. I must imprint my mark all over you.

-- I'll _never_give in to you rabid animals!

Wind smirked at his own sadistic fantasies.

-- Can I have that in writing for later?

The prince's anger flared up at the feline's irredeemable impudence. The unyielding round eyes frowned deeper than ever.

-- I'll show you what you can have right now!

The frog fighter leapt high with such speed and force that Wind only managed to read the swirling leg strike when it connected with the side of his face. He barely had time to place his hand between his enemy's knee and himself before he took the full blow, with pain exploding into his head and neck. Without any time to think, he frantically tried to wrap his terrible claws and arms around the volatile warrior, and succeeded in catching him mid-air, digging into his stone-like thighs. Momentum carried them both into a wild spinning motion, as Wind worked hard to maintain balance despite the sudden traumatic blow and the weight of the body to which he hung. Then again, Wind was by no means easy to knock off his paws.

After two or three steps, when the position felt favorable to him, the puma finally allowed them both to fall as he slammed the frog on the floor under himself. Wakairaka's satisfied look from the savage hit he'd landed switched to alarm when he sensed himself being caught, and then to pure pain when he encountered the hard floor on his side, heavily accelerated by Wind. The latter covered him, and struck and slashed furiously as the prince did everything he could to protect his stomach and head from the enraged onslaught. Only a masterful twist managed to draw his right leg back between the activated predator and his vulnerable naked body to shove him away.

Wind staggered backward, urgently trying to convince himself not to remain lost in the comfortable animalistic lust for perilous battle, blood and violent domination of his prey. He still felt the fresh meat tearing under his claws. Everything boiled in him as this painful microcosm of festive ruin energized him in the least sane of ways. The lethal puma wasn't aware of that yet, but the white of his left eye had filled with red, thanks to busted blood vessels from the frog's world-shattering knee strike against his skull. His prey was a much, much greater threat than he'd given him credit for, and he adored it. He'd found something on his level that he could fight, hurt, and kill that could kill him right back. The appeal was mesmerizing. In the end, Wind was a beast. The potent combination of his deadliest instincts triggered by the genuinely destructive blow he'd taken and his frightening skills could be just as annihilating for his personality and self-control as it could be for his prey.

The guards gawked, fascinated. Wakairaka slowly pulled himself back up, and that sight almost drove Wind into a renewed frenzy. The slick blue skin had been streaked with hot red over his hips, legs, back and buttocks. The feline licked his bloody claws, feeding off the marked prince's arousing essence, as he enjoyed the sight of the traces he'd left on this mighty undefeated opponent. Truly, deeply, Wind desired nothing more than to take this most exciting of conflicts to its decisive conclusion. He would be dead, or his prey would lie under his claws and fangs, wounded and fully beaten, threatened, where it would belong to him completely in the basest and most primal manners, and Wind would be free to dispose of his claimed prize limitlessly. To bite. To own its life. To make this prey his subservient! His! However, hidden among his impulsive desires running amok, his meticulous handler training also kicked in.

Some part of him noted that he was going crazy, and forced calming behaviors to emerge. Wind simply held back, emptying his thoughts, pushing the pain of his wounds aside. It made room for common sense. It was with a fresh sense of self-dominion that he welcomed the gradual return of his mind. That slave was too risky an opponent. What if he won the fight and turned this into a hostage situation, threatening to snap Wind's neck, or something? His career would be over, everything he'd worked for, and he'd never get the unimaginable joy of making Wakairaka into his pain slut. A handler's first duty was to prevent escape of the items. He was being stupidly unprofessional. As profoundly as it disappointed him, he couldn't allow this fight to go on.

The royal frog clearly had more to give, snapping back into a perfect fighting stance, but a glimmer into his seductive large eyes fulfilled Wind beyond anything else; this was the stare of a battered, bleeding animal that gazed at their predator.

-- Alright, Wakairaka, Fourth Prince of the Shoochaw. Respect, but I have to grind you down into a polite fuck toy. We'll call it a draw.

The spherical eyes widened.

-- Huh?

Wind pressed the button and kept it down until the quaking fighter crumbled in agony under the obnoxious crackling sound. The betting guards grumbled, disappointed in the lackluster conclusion, but also reassured by the handler's prudent decision. Many threw worried side-glances to his bloody eye. Wind ignored them. His clawed paw stepped on the gasping blue throat as a show of dominance. It was time to move things back in their proper order. The weakened slave tried to remove the oppressive paw, without success. He could barely speak.

"Knew... you... wuss."

-- Think whatever you want. No one cares about the thoughts and feelings of a muzzled bitch.

Out of nowhere, whispering sobs came out of the frog. No, wait. He was chuckling hard at the inquisitive feline, continuing to do so for several seconds. He stopped to catch his breath.

-- You can't figure it out, cat. I'll spell it out for you. I see what's going on, here. You train slaves. You need me to behave so you can rent me out to your wealthy buyers. In other words: you depend on me. Because I know it, you have nothing on me. You can't damage your own product, fool!

Wind pressed harder on the exposed throat, shutting the item up with a choked gurgle.

-- Big mistake, pal. You're the one who fails to grasp exactly who I am. I dunno what speech Wicker gave you, but I don't give a shit about what you decide to do. I don't waste time worrying about ranks and reputation, that's not my job. My job is to break males. If you want to comply, fine, I can make you into a nice, fancy fuck with a high rating. But if you refuse to accept your place, I won't be the one tagged for the basement as a cheap chunk of beaten meat with a low rating. I wouldn't think twice about it. Down there, once you're branded, silenced and completely immobilized with your holes exposed, it makes no difference whether you wish to submit or not. Contrarily to others, I get that Temple needs a supply of cheap products too. In fact, I'll make it happen right away. Don't worry, though. I'll visit often to see how well you're learning your lesson.

Wind took out his phone, logged on to Temple's secure server for handlers, touched a few buttons, checked one or two boxes.

"There. I just said you're rebellious, and recommended the "disobedient" rating for you. That's the lowest one. As you'll discover, my friend, getting a bad rating is easy and swift. Take him away, people. You know the drill."

Wind stepped back while security surrounded the coughing frog slave. He tried to speak, but the skillful officers worked fast, throwing a few kicks to keep him down, shackling his legs and wrists, and slipping on a tight hood that espoused the shape of his head and snout, but wasn't elastic enough to let him open his mouth. The ex-prince did attempt to struggle, but the multiple tough guards effortlessly mastered him, and soon the naked blue shape was utterly secured, neutralized in the firmly humiliating position of having his powerful long legs folded and forced into his back, hogtied to his wrists. He wriggled harmlessly on his belly until the guards lifted him up and easily carried him away.

Wind dressed up and accompanied the group. He wished to be the first to try the frog's handsome ass after they'd be done with the electric branding iron. Damn, did he look forward to that! He wouldn't miss it for anything!

The puma also had an intriguing thought, while he'd watched the guards taking bets on the fight. Arena battles between stripped, oiled slaves, who'd fight loyally to entertain their masters. He wondered if there might be any demand for this exciting sport. When the frog would truly be tamed, Wind was certain he'd make a fierce contender in this. Maybe he'd make a bit of money off his back! Not to mention that the winners might earn visibility, and become quite desirable for clients.

Wind shrugged. He'd pitch the idea to Admin, and see if anything came of it. First things first, though. For the moment, he had some bound frog bum to fill with his spunk.

Part five

(Which happens a few days after the last part. In it, secrets are secret in the Founder's office, and then Wisp springs her devious trap, and you go: "Oh, so that's what she was up to!")

In the warm heart of Temple, in a dimly-lit, smothering room, the Founder's outline barely emerged from the shadowy half of his office. Walls were busy with sinister ancient portraits from renowned artists. Polished redwood furniture of historical significance occupied much of the space in the cramped room, covered with equally precious pottery and porcelain artifacts, as well as stone statuettes. All of these bore very little harmony with each other, but shared the property of being linked to the archipelago nation's turbulent past. Here, a statue sculpted out of a block of marble from the demolished temple of a forgotten conquered people. There, a rich carpet that had warmed the paws of the nation's last true monarch before the Old Revolt. Hanging from the ceiling, a tasteless copper-and-crystal chandelier that had been the first object created by the Global Electric Works company, which had made the Founder's family fortune. It didn't work anymore, and the diffuse crimson light came from other hidden sources.

At the other end of an immense empty desk that served only to intimidate visitors, Dr. More had temporarily abandoned her pink lab coat for presentable wear: a dark aqua no-nonsense business dress with a mock neck. The head scientist of the Upsilon Project did seem passably annoyed that she had to dress up for this meeting with the man who funded her efforts, which she perceived as merely one of many kinds of wastes of her time. Secretly, though, she also enjoyed the excuse to put on something that complemented well her short and chubby groundhog body.

Next to his unshakable boss, her intern looked squeamish and timid. Nick Turner's big droopy dog ears rested over his shoulders, and he sat immobile on his chair with a curved posture, as if he was trying to hide into a ball. He simply wore his usual lab coat over his sand-colored fur, because, in his case, nobody gave a damn.

The Founder's comfortable chair creaked, but his dark outline barely moved.

-- I was told the capture proceeded without incident, this time.

More put her hands together.

-- Yes. The target was tranquilized at the lab and restrained immediately for transport to Temple. This is the method we will use from now on.

-- Any hints of the instability that you feared?

-- Not yet. Link Force averages the same with every parallel reality so far. We are still studying the nature of this connection. There are many things we don't understand, but it seems that every one the worlds to which we have access, including ours, share the same origin. Maybe some kind of event, or a particular kind of energy that is beyond the laws of nature as we currently know them. Scriptal Physical is a fascinating field, and our work may -- in time -- reveal unimaginable secrets about the essence of our reality.

-- Yes, yes. Very interesting. I noted that Mr. Turner's algorithm performed better in identifying a powerful enemy figure to abduct. We obtained ourselves a prince to house-train. Congratulations.

Nick's heart skipped a beat. The Founder knew his name? The Founder was talking to him! That wasn't how he preferred things to be. A compelling need to temper expectations immediately seized him; he was terrified of disappointing anyone.

-- Ah, um, thank you very much, Mr. Founder sir, but it may possibly have been a fluke. I've been going over the conclusions drawn from Upsilon's second analysis, and they sounded very similar to the first ones.

The Founder had listened very carefully.

-- What if I unlocked additional funds to increase the available computing power? Would that help?

Nick nervously fiddled with his own ear.

-- Honestly, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt, but I highly doubt it would make a noticeable difference. The Upsilon Machine is already the most powerful suite of computers in existence anywhere, by far, and adding to that would be massive overkill, at this point. The algorithm is self-taught, so what it really needs is more data sets and more time.

The dog chuckled in embarrassment, and continued:

"As it is, Upsilon is already computing so fast that it's entering these crazy self-analysis feedback loops that eat up unbelievable amounts of memory and processing power when we don't give it anything new to work on. Heh... Half the time, I don't have the slightest clue what it's thinking about. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume that maybe-"

-- Thank you, abruptly interrupted the Founder. I will have twenty percent more processors and memory banks delivered to your lab. See them installed as soon as possible, and we shall endeavor to grant the algorithm longer time windows to feed on these worlds' information. This should help us achieve results.

The canine withdrew and nodded, cowed into submission. When More saw he wouldn't muster the courage to say another word, she leaned forward in his place.

-- Nicky also warned me that we should expect the algorithm to evaluate data differently from us. We tend to think of the relative importance of individuals in terms of social hierarchy, but we don't attempt to measure the impact of ordinary everyday actions, for instance. Upsilon might see things we can't, and this could create unexpected results, but it may not mean the algorithm is wrong. Certain characters could be significant in ways we aren't equipped to comprehend.

-- I understand. Anything else? I think we are done here.

Turner gave his boss apologetic doggy eyes, afraid that he'd messed up due to the rude way they were being dismissed. As the visitors stood up and left, Dr. More responded with a reassuring glance. She soon led him outside of the Founder's oppressive office with a motherly hand on his shoulder.

Shortly thereafter, two simple knocks sounded against the dense wooden door.

"Is it you, Wisp?"

-- Yup.

-- Come in, child.

The ewe marched straight in and shut the door behind her with a perfectly calculated shove of her hoof. Like most ruminants, she loved gum, and there was a bit of a sound as she chewed. The Founder stood to welcome her, but he groaned at the sight of her camo pants.

"I wish you would wear your regulatory outfit."

She pinched her blue handler shirt.

-- I got the top half. Isn't that the bit that matters? I know you don't like it, chief, but this is how I'm comfortable. Habits, you know?

The Founder dismissed the matter with a flick of his hand.

-- Alright. You wanted to see me? Please, take a seat.

Wisp was comfortable and had her legs crossed before her employer was done speaking.

"I am assuming this will have to do with the Master Handler selection?" he asked.

The sheep grinned cheerfully and made a finger gun toward the dark figure, clicking her tongue.

"I'm listening. Why should I pick you?"

Wisp appeared surprised.

-- Nah, that's not why I'm here. Sure, I'd be honored, and I definitely I have more than enough experience to oversee the sections, seeing as how I've handled the training of the entire Section D female population by myself, which is more items than the combined total the boys have had in their hands...

-- I am aware.

Wisp guiltily shook her head, looking ashamed to have let her pride spill over her professionalism.

-- Anyway, I'm here to give Handler Wicker my support for the promotion. Out of all of us, it's clear he deserves it the most.

The Founder shifted into his chair.

-- Truly? That is very gracious of you. Also unexpected, I have to admit.

-- Hey, don't misunderstand! I'd love to show him up, for once, but the quality of his work speaks for itself. His items consistently have the greatest demand in Section D, and under his unofficial leadership, Section E is already starting to rise out of the shadows, despite the odds stacked against it. Placing item 34-D in there -- well, I guess it's item 1-E, now -- was a masterful stroke.

The Founder's head inclined a little.

-- What do you mean: "despite the odds"?

-- Did you see the place? Everyone in Admin knows about the extremely high expectations for this new section, so nobody wants to risk authorizing investments into it, 'cause they don't wanna look in charge if it fails. It's a vicious cycle. It wouldn't meet the expectations without resources, and no one would pool resources into it since it didn't seem likely to meet expectations.

-- And it is doing better?

-- Yah! Ever since the positive review on Thorn, wolf booty stocks have spiked way up, if you know what I mean. Rebel dog is being taken to the pound almost every day! Big money there, so the boys have had it reinvested to promote their "prince in chains" thing.

-- Prince in chains?

-- It's super recent. The latest Upsilon got a low rating, but he was a royal of some kind in his world, so they're marketing him as a defiant enemy prince taken downstairs to be cruelly broken to his hopeless fate.

-- They are spending ad money on a low rated product?

-- It's novel, but it's working. He's the same price as the others in the line, but every once in a while they have free shows where he's displayed and whipped, or his balls get locked and caned, or he's blindfolded and they cattle prod him to lick the asses of every customer who want it for a few hours. Stuff like that. I've seen a few, it's fun, and it makes him unique to the clients. They enjoy feeling like they're contributing to punishing him and teaching him his place. Apparently, the basement employees have to splash water over both of his ends every hour, or he gets so messy that people complain.

-- Is that not taking clientele from the other products, though?

-- Absolutely, but it also came with an increase in total daily visits.

-- How much?

-- Six percent.

-- Six percent increase in basement business with a single slave?

-- People see him announced and they come for him, but then maybe he's in use already, or he's too coated in jizz, so they move on to other slaves 'cause they're excited. No need to advertise all the cheap products; we just want the clients to come -- forgive the pun.

-- This is, hmm...

The Founder paused.

"Why are you telling me this, Wisp?"

The ewe uncrossed her legs and leaned over the massive desk.

-- In case you had doubts! Wicker is the best we have. I mean, sure, Wind is also involved in the "prince in chains" concept, but come on. We know who the brains of that outfit is. Who trained Samuel Thorn in the first place? Who's micromanaging Section E? That's our bunny! I get that some in Admin might be worried about changing a winning formula, but honestly, the odds of that becoming a dangerous problem are infinitesimal.

-- Dangerous?

-- Well, with Minister Cristella about to return... We know she's bound to march in here demanding to see results for Samuel Thorn's taming. Did you read the review? It sounds like he's exactly how she wanted him, groveling and panting, a well-spanked pet that'll comply with any degrading command. Wicker may not be able to personally fine-tune his items anymore, or to manage Section E as closely as he used to, when he becomes in charge of overseeing the entirety of Temple. However, Thorn will probably continue to behave just as obediently as before, even if he loses his handler, and Section E may continue to rise by itself. There's almost no chance of a pissed off Cristella storming into the building, or of a failure of your most important project! What matters is that you pick a Master Handler that understands the complex inner workings of Temple, and can manage large scale problems, right? I'm sure an artist and hands-on perfectionist like Wicker will be able to adapt.

Wisp offered a final "encouraging" smile, and left without a word. The shadowy Founder remained immobile for a long time, plagued by images of an angry Cristella searching for figureheads to blame.

At last, he took small sheet of paper out of a drawer. Picking up a black pen, he crossed the first name off at the top of that list.

Path A.

Admin picks up Wind's suggestion of setting up arena fights between some of the slaves (not all) for the entertainment and monetary gain of their clients and owners. This quickly becomes a popular side attraction in Temple.

Path B.

Admin doesn't pick up Wind's idea, and nothing happens of it. No arena in Temple!