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A Study of Connections

Part 14

For a-lycotonum

By Draconicon

When the day of the trial came, Hazel had to be told that it had arrived. She didn't quite have an understanding of time at that point, only of the number of times that she had been summoned to Mistress Aster's office, and how many times her mouth had been put to work. They stuck out, mostly, by the taste of soap that she was forced to endure every time before she was put to work, either licking the hooves of the mistress clean or by putting her tongue to work between her legs.

When the latter happened, it was always against her asshole. There was never any option to lick her around the front. Whenever Hazel offered the possibility, the mistress would get angry and push her back, forcing her into the other one. She learned to enjoy the soft, slightly sweaty taste that came from the back, and she learned to find pleasure in being of service, as well.

So, when she was told that three days had passed and the trial was upon them, she could hardly believe it, and yet, by the math of how many times she had serviced Mistress Aster, she knew that it had to be true. There could be no denying it.

She was kept in the guest room of the mistress's suite, her head bowed, the pendant tight around her neck. No clothes were offered to her, her pussy on display with her legs chained apart. The part of her that had been drowned in pleasure and submissive need had no shame, and the rest of her was too tired to fight it. She had her canine sex fully on display, her legs were tied together at calf and thigh with bended knee, and her nipples were 'punished' by being clamped whenever she wasn't allowed loose.

It was in that position that she was found and informed. She squatted there on the balls of her feet, staring up at the pair of elves that had come to summon her, her eyes glazed over. She had to ask.

"Trial?"

"Tristan's trial. You are to present evidence against him," one of the elves said.

"Trial...trial..."

She was in a haze, so deep in a haze that she didn't even notice the elf reaching down and grabbing hold of the clamp. Not until he twisted it, at any rate.

"AHHHHH!"

The half-elf arched her back as she screamed, the pain coming through as actual pain rather than pleasure. The pendant did not stop that. She was still to be punished, after all.

The pain cleared her head, however, at least enough for her to remember what was going on, what she was supposed to do. Tristan had been charged with treason against the Church of Erastil, and he was going to be put on trial today. She, as one of his 'victims', was to tell the rest of the church just how much he had done, how he had abused his position, how he was a Friend of the Demons. She was the star and only witness, her credibility something that the mistress was banking on to win the case.

She stared straight ahead, slowly nodding.

"The trial. I remember."

"Get her up."

The elves undid the ties at her knees, allowing the blood to flow freely again through her legs. Her feet were immediately assaulted with the pain of pins and needles from the blood going down there and waking them up again, but that was secondary to the feeling of being pulled to her feet and almost falling flat on her face. The elves had to hold her up as they dressed her.

However, she was aware that they weren't dressing her in the garb of a priestess. She was being dressed in the gown of a shamed woman, deep and scarlet, clinging and tight. Worse, the skirt was cut up high, forcing her to expose herself, forcing her to show the world what had happened when Melchiresa had touched her.

The elves cautiously avoided her sex, but she shivered, feeling it puffing up again now that she was more sober, more aware of what was going on and how there were two males in the room that could see her. For a moment, for the briefest of seconds, she had a moment of actual shame.

Then the pendant warmed against her chest, and the shame melted away, replaced with nothing but the calmness of service. She smiled slowly as the gown was adjusted again.

"I'm ready," she said.

"She looks like she's been drugged," one of the elves said.

"Yes, well, we can't do anything about that. And everyone will be staring at...that...more than they'll be looking at her face."

"That's the hope."

"Come, you stupid girl."

They led her by the hands into the hallway, and from there towards the great chamber. She could feel their grip, but it was hard to focus on that when she could feel the dirt and grass beneath her feet. Paws. Feet. She wasn't sure what they were, but they were no longer entirely human. The corruption of Melchiresa had reached through her, changing her again and again, warping that inner part of her until it was reflected through her body. Warped, corrupted, touched by god and demon lord at the same time. She was nothing but the vessel that carried their power, now.

The pendant around her neck kept her in a haze, probably making her look like someone that wasn't entirely there, a victim of trauma. Was she? She felt like she was too happy in service to be that, but there was little chance to think of it. Little ability, either. Her mind was in a fog, a happy little fog of steam that made her feel better just to go along with what was done with her.

She slumped against the grip of the two elves, blithely letting them lead her along. Eventually, they turned on a branch, rising upwards along the outside of the great chamber, and she was led onto a balcony. They pushed her forward just as Mistress Aster was finishing her speech.

"The traitor, Tristan Drust, is charged with the utter betrayal of his oaths as a high priest. He has taken advantage of his position to weaken the moral sanctity of the temple, of our order, and of the village around us. The very fact that he had invited monsters to visit us should have been the first piece of evidence, but kindly as we have become, we have forgotten the truth of the world around us. Monsters will always be monsters. Those of us that forgot this have allowed their corruption to spread through the village, aiding his heinous acts.

"If you do not believe me, then cast your eyes to the balcony. There stands Hazel, and in her, you can see the plans of Tristan made manifest. Look upon her, and see what will become of the girls of the village if we do not act quickly."

She was pushed forward just a bit further, enough so that she stood against the railing. It was a surprisingly low one, barely pushing against her knees, and as she stood there, she could feel her sex pushing forward, sliding between her thighs. She moaned as her juices rolled down her thighs, the light spells that illuminated the chamber making them flicker and shimmer with all the foulness of her...her depravity.

The eyes of all the priests and priestesses turned to her, staring at her. Gasps of shock and judgment filled the hall, and her cheeks burned in mild humiliation. She stood with her legs ever so slightly spread, and she found that there was a temptation to spread them further.

"What happened to her?"

"She looks as shameless as a beast."

"No, see? Her cheeks. They're red. She still knows herself."

"She burns with arousal, not shame. Look at her legs."

"Can she be saved?"

"What happened to her?"

"What is that between her legs? What is that?"

The mutters continued, never stopping, never ceasing. She allowed them to get a good stare at her, letting them see what had happened, what she had hidden for so long. Every eye on her, every comment stirred her loins further than she thought was possible, and she gritted her teeth as she felt that lust growing hotter and hotter between her legs, the need rising further and higher.

It wasn't until Aster gestured at her that she realized that she needed to take it further. She cleared her throat, and the hall went quiet.

Hazel glanced from the mistress to the prisoner. Tristan had been locked away for the three days since their capture, but now, she hardly recognized him. He had grown dark fur on his face, gray along his cheeks. Not a beard, but more fur, like a muzzle that had started to grow. His robes were tented by something that looked more like a dog cock than a human one, and she wondered, briefly, how it had happened.

My fluids, a thought came to her, and she realized that it was probably right. There were days where she had been forced to squat over a bowl or a bucket, and it had always been taken away. Perhaps it had been taken to dose Tristan.

If that was the case, she was sorry for him.

The pendant burned against her neck, a command going through her. The order to testify, and worse, to lie. She held out her hands, trying to maintain the shamelessness of a proper witness, even as she felt the words coming to her that she knew were false. But mistress commanded her to say them, so say them she would.

"Tristan invited the hobgoblins to the temple, and he did it with secret orders that only they and I were aware of."

The former high priest opened his mouth, but no words came out. He must have been under a spell of silence. All for the best for the mistress. Hazel continued.

"He told me to see to it that the hobgoblins weren't interfered with as they went about their work. Anything that they did to the people of the town, they were to be allowed to do. There would be no reprisal, no sudden outbursts. Anything that they complained about was to be settled under the temple's authority, and never mentioned again."

The crowd grumbled under their breath, and the few sympathetic faces in the crowd started to turn judgmental. Whatever support that Tristan might have been counting on was fading away in the crowd. She stood there, waiting for them to go silent, and then she continued on her tale of lies.

"He told me that the hobgoblins were paying him for every young woman that they were able to collar. When the festival was over, they would leave with a number of slaves, and he would be compensated for that. He planned to tell everyone that they would be prayed for, that the paladins would be sent after them, but the message and the request would never be sent. He would then, some time later, retire on the gold that he was paid.

"I was a witness to the deal made between him and the warchief. It was finalized only a few nights ago, when Tristan and I left the temple. I am here to testify now, driven by fear and shame of what he was turning me into."

The pendant burned against her chest again, and she slowly spread her legs, showing off everything that she had. The swollen pussy between her legs, the darkening flesh between her ass cheeks, the stub of a tail that had ever so slightly started to grow back there. The transformation had touched her, pushed her, taken her further than anyone had ever thought would happen, but here it was.

The crowd gasped, barely believing their eyes, but the shock was short-lived compared to the outrage. They turned, screaming at Tristan.

"Craven!"

"Greedy bastard!"

"You tried to sell the faithful? Heretic!"

"Liar!"

They heaped their insults upon him, never slowing, never stopping. They just kept coming, falling in bundles around his ears. He lowered his head, his cheeks red and his eyes closed.

For a moment, Hazel almost felt guilty. This felt...wrong. Wrong that she was going this far, that she was perpetuating this. Why was she -

And then the pendant glowed again, and she was herself, the slave and servant of Mistress Aster. She stared straight ahead, locked in her own obedience.

"There you have it, my fellow followers of Erastil. Straight from her mouth. Evidence of Tristan's betrayal."

"Evidence presented by a corrupted woman," one of the priests said. "Who is to say that this isn't a way of betraying our leadership and weakening us?"

Tristan looked up, and so did Hazel. She cocked her head to the side, staring at the young man that had spoken up. Another priest, an older woman that looked like someone's grandmother, did the same.

"That's right. He's new, but he's never been less than good. Where is the proof of this? Where is the gold?"

"The proof is in the collars of the young women in the village. They have already been claimed; they were merely waiting for the chance to run off with them," Mistress Aster said.

"You say that, but the collars haven't harmed anyone. They've done nothing but enjoy themselves," the old woman said. "We are a church that encourages binding, loving families. What is the harm in allowing them to do this, if it is all consensual?"

"Have you forgotten what we are?"

Aster's question rang out in the chamber, the hooved woman slowly turning in place. She held out her arms, her antlers glowing over her head, her eyes catching each and every member of the order in attendance. There was a charisma to her, a terrifying presence as she swept her eyes to each and every person. Even Hazel felt it through the power of the pendant around her neck. There was something to Aster that the others didn't have, something that made her that much more convincing to listen to. Not charisma, she realized, but something deeper. Conviction. She believed what she said, completely and utterly, and it made her different to those around her.

"Have you forgotten what Erastil is?" she asked. "He is the stag, the protector of the herd. He is that which stands between the herd and those that would feed on them. He is the one that grows it, protects it, and guides it. He does not invite others into the herd. He does not allow the wolves to roam freely within the herd, to take what they want just on the chance that they might become one of us.

"Erastil would look at us all now, and he would be ashamed at what his church has come to. We have fallen far. We cannot allow this to fall further."

Aster's words were chilling, coldly delivered and just as coldly received. The elf stopped in place, pointing at Tristan.

"This man has come from a past of sin. He came to our church, but rather than take it upon himself to seek punishment and atonement, he sought a place of leadership. He believed that he knew better than the texts, than the traditions of the church. And now, we are poised at the greatest precipice that we have faced in modern times. This tragedy, this catastrophe, will define us for the rest of history.

"If we can rise to meet it, then we will pass into the future as the light bringers, as those that stood against the darkness and chaos and told it no more. We are who we are, and we will not accept those that will not do the same. If we fail...if we fail, then there is nothing more to be said. The evidence of even the briefest brush with corruption stands on the balcony above us."

Hazel felt all eyes turn to her again, and she shivered, trying not to be too aroused. Yet, at the same time, that was all but impossible. Her needs were too strong for her to deny, and she wanted more than ever to spread her legs, to reach down, even, and touch herself. Her puffy pussy was begging for her, and she panted softly as she moved a bit closer to the railing, almost kneeling to grind on it.

With the sight of her, and her testimony, the voting judgment was swift.

With Tristan taken to the dungeons, to be held until the paladins could take him away, she was taken back to her quarters. She was tied up, her legs bound once more and spread, and the elves looked down at her with disdain, disgust, but...also a hint of arousal. Or at least, one of them did. His pants stretched slightly at the crotch, and he stared down at her puffy, fleshy sex in a way that the other didn't.

"She'll be healed, eventually, won't she?" he asked.

"Who knows? The high priestess will decide."

"Just seems unfair after she gave evidence."

"I said, the high priestess will decide."

"...Alright, don't have to get so annoyed."

"Well, you can stop staring at her like you're one of the beasts, then."

"I wasn't staring!"

"You were so."

"Was not!"

"Was so!"

They were arguing the whole way out, leaving her to her lonesome shortly after. She slumped back a bit, her head rolling along her shoulders and her hair running down her spine. The hot smell of her own arousal wafted up to her, and she knew that she'd be needing something sooner or later. Sooner than later, as a matter of fact, considering just how hot and needy she was feeling down there. She gritted her teeth, lowering her head again as she felt the first clench down there.

Yes. Definitely sooner than later. She imagined Mistress Aster extending a leg for her to grind on, something to hump, something to slide on and rub and feel against her puffy sex. She wanted something inside, but she knew that wouldn't happen. Her mistress refused to let her go all the way. Something about 'not wanting to further the corruption.' Whatever that meant. The necklace kept her from thinking, holding her down, making her want to obey.

The corruption, however, kept disturbing that peace, pushing up against it, trying to get free and get something for herself. It felt so strange to fight against that, to feel that hunger, that eagerness, that need.

She didn't know what to do with it. She wondered if her mistress did.

The door opened some time later, and she looked up from her breasts, from the sight of the fluid, silver string running down from her sex. Mistress Aster stood in the doorway, looking haggard, holding a flogger in one hand and panting softly.

"Mistress," she said.

"You. Get...get over here."

"I can't, Mistress. I'm tied up."

"Try."

It was hard; she was staked out in that strange position, but she was able to slowly pull her legs together, to roll her knees forward until she fell on them. She had to crawl that way, her heels digging into her ass cheeks. Bit by bit, she hobbled across the floor, crawling, wobbling, moving like a dog.

Eventually, she made it, her breasts hanging down as she stopped before the other woman. She looked up at her mistress, tried to smile, but only felt the aches of bruises forming on her knees and elbows.

"You served your purpose...adequately," the mistress said.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"But you distracted my people."

"Mistress?"

"One of them was erect at the sight of you. Your corruption is...spreading."

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I didn't know. I wasn't trying to -"

CRACK! The flogger came down hard, sweeping across her back. Even through the light dusting of fur that had started growing in, she felt that, and she hissed at the impact. She lowered her head further, almost resting it on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mistress."

"You will be punished for that, just as he will be punished for succumbing. I will not have your lusts spreading through the temple."

"I'm sorry, Mistress."

"You are not, but you will be."

The mistress moved around her even as Hazel tried to find a way to express her regret, her sorrow, her sympathy. The mistress was wrong; she did feel sorry, she hadn't meant this to happen. She had done as she was told, no more, and that was all that she needed to do. Everything that the pendant had given her as an order, she'd followed. What was wrong there? What had she done?

She didn't know, but the flogger began its lessons, sweeping through the air and cracking against her. It struck her along her thighs and her bottom, leaving red lines on her flesh that had nothing to do with blood. Swish, swish, swish, CRACK! Another strike, with lines of heat and welts following.

Hazel screamed with every impact, unable to stop herself, unable to fight the shocks to her system that followed. This was not pain as pleasure, but merely pain. Pain that she was not allowed to flinch away from, pain that she was forced to deal with as more and more of it was given to her. There was no sliding away, no ignoring it, no trying to make it better. Just...pain, for the sake of pain.

The mistress wielded the flogger with brutal intensity, bringing it down across her ass until it was red, pushing her right to the edge of being able to take it, and then switched to her back. No longer merely coming from below and above, it came from a sweeping side-to-side motion, shocking her, ignoring her spine in favor of her sides and the occasional blow all too close to her kidneys.

That shocked her harder than the rest, and almost made her lose control of herself. Tears ran down her face as she was punished and pushed, her eyes closing tightly as she felt the welts burning against her sides and back, along her hips and sides and -

CRACK!

Another right against her breast. She wailed at that, her nipples stiffening, becoming targets for the mistress's wrath. One blow after another followed, wreaking havoc on her body, leaving her burning from the base of her bottom all the way to the base of her neck. Everything hurt. Everything hurt so much.

She wasn't sure how long the punishment went on for, but eventually, it was dropped. She remained on all fours, panting for breath, while Mistress Aster stood over her. The older elf stood there with her arms shaking, her face covered in sweat, her composure all but shot. When Hazel looked up at her, on the verge of losing control herself, she could see that the mistress was barely holding it together.

"You...are touched...by a demon...but you can be...saved."

"You..."

"I will fix you."

"Mistress, please."

"I will find a way to burn this corruption from you, to purge it. Even if it takes Erastil himself. This was not your fault; this was something that you were forced into, made to do by Tristan and the others. You are young enough, even if impure, to be brought back to where you need to be. I will see it done. One way or another."

"M-Mistress..."

"Return to your spot. I will..." Aster took a deep breath. "I will return later. After I have punished myself."

The older elf left, leaving her alone once more. Hazel wasn't sure that she could move, but the pendant forced her to try. She wobbled to one side, then the other, and then completely collapsed. All of her muscles were still spasming and shaking, and she couldn't keep herself upright enough to actually make her way across the room. She slumped down, forcing herself to keep breathing as everything hurt.

Have to make it back...have to...make it...

Hazel gritted her teeth, trying to pull herself upright again, but her limbs wouldn't listen. She was too tired, too beaten down to be able to do what she was told. The pendant tried to make her forget, but the pain pushed through the happy fog of submission that it created, and more than that...

More than that, the underlying pool of corruption pushed at her, too, growing stronger and growing hotter. It was angry, very angry. It wanted her to be angry, too, to try and get angry enough to fight back. Hazel had almost forgotten the feeling of rage, but for a moment, it came back.

Fight...fight...rip and tear...for the pack...

The words came through, almost too quiet to hear, but they were there. They were words of a feral beast, something that she was trying not to be. It was...it was wrong...wrong to submit to beasts...wrong to be a -

Fight for the pack. Fight for what's yours. Fight and protect.

She groaned, shaking her head. She hadn't done anything wrong. The pendant -

You betrayed the pack. Betrayed your pack. Betrayed yours.

Tristan. She saw his face, saw it from the great chamber again. This time, she understood his expression. Hurt. Betrayed. Abandoned. She had lied and handed him over, caused him pain, when he had been trying to help her, trying to help all of them.

The corruption and chaos bubbled beneath the gentle order of the pendant, fighting against the fog that was even now trying to descend on her mind again. She struggled to slide herself free of it, feeling something needed to happen, feeling an unexplained worry that if she was caught, she would stay caught for a while. Mistress Aster might find out that the fog had slipped, that she had started to think for herself again.

Hazel tried to pull herself up from it, dragging herself onto her knees again. Her body still shook, but not as bad. Stumbling along on all fours, she managed to teeter her way to the windowsill, looking out at the world. She could see the forest, the rest of the temple, and in the distance, the campfire smoke of the hobgoblins. Something distant pulled at her mind, something that she could almost see. No names, just faces, but faces that had been kind, faces that didn't deserve the lies that she was made to tell.

Still lost in her own haze, but able to glimpse just that little bit past the fog, she whispered into the wind. It was little more than a message spell, something short and doubtlessly less than nothing, but it had to be done. Why? No idea, but it had to be.

I am not me, not myself. In danger. Can't stop. Save or hide.

And that was all she could say. Her focus was fleeing, the fog falling, and she knew that the spell had to go. She held the faces of the hobgoblins in her mind and let it go, hoping that it reached them.

It exhausted her, and little by little, she dragged herself away from the window, going back to her squatting place. She managed to fall back on the balls of her feet, staring at the door across the way. She didn't know what she was staring for, save for the return of her mistress. That would be enough.

She closed her eyes, letting herself drift on the currents of pain and pleasure, of need and submission. The pendant pulsed pleasantly, and bit by bit, she slipped back into that happy, obedient fog.

Elsewhere, discontent was stirring. Mostly in the camps of the hobgoblins, but also in the collared ones in the middle of the village. A feeling had taken hold of the village around the temple, a feeling of fear and anger. Those that wore the collars of the hobgoblins felt concerned that they might no longer be welcome, and some even feared for their lives.

By noon, a small migration had begun. In twos and threes, they fled to the encampment, running to the hobgoblins that had collared them. Mol and Vakrozad didn't know what was going on. Neither Hazel or Tristan had told them anything, and they had been rebuffed from the church every time that they had gone to see what was going on. It was the villagers coming to them, however, that finally broke the news.

Mol was shocked, but Vakrozad, for a change, wasn't. It was as simple an act of war as anyone could imagine when one got right down to it. Remove the leader that was in the way, and then pick a new enemy to focus your army on. That was the quickest way to seize control. You waited until someone else was already focused on everything but you, and then take over, forcing their old followers to believe that there was a greater enemy that needed to be dealt with. By the time that was over and done with, there was no more need to deal with the one that took over. They had completely seized control, and most of the followers would agree that they were doing a better job.

The part that confused him was how Hazel had let it happen. Vakrozad knew her, knew that she was better than that. Why had -

He stiffened as he heard her voice. It was quiet, wheezing, sounding like it came from a victim of torture rather than the strong woman that he had come to know.

I am not me, not myself. In danger. Can't stop. Save or hide.

And then the voice was gone. He slowly turned, looking over the edge of the camp towards the church in the distance. That had come from Hazel, alright, and if she sounded that bad in the message spell, then she was likely in a horrifying amount of pain.

But what did that mean? Not her, not herself? What was going on?

"Mol."

The seer looked up from the fire. Vakrozad turned to her, and she winced with a hiss.

"I haven't seen you look like that since we put down the Fire Stallions. What is it?"

"Hazel's captured."

"...What about Tristan?"

"Probably. She sent me a message spell."

"Smart girl. What'd she say?"

"That she's not herself, and that there's danger. Something about saving or hiding."

"...Then it's starting."

Vakrozad didn't have to ask. They'd come here knowing that there could be a reprisal to their mere presence. They'd both known it, had both chanced it anyway. If it all worked out, a little fight would be worth it, and besides, hobgoblins liked a good tussle.

This, however, had changed things. Someone that he actually liked was tossed in jail, the one person that had been willing to give them a chance had been kicked out of power, and if he was reading this right, then the church would be turning against them. He had brought only a small portion of his people down here, without most of his warriors as a gesture of good faith. Mol had said that it would come out alright, in the end, but the seer had always been vague about what 'alright' actually meant.

He didn't care about that anymore. He cared about Hazel. That pain...

The hobgoblin grunted under his breath, clenching his fist as he felt the slow tingles of transformation running through him. The ends of his fingers hardened into something like hooves, and his teeth started to sharpen and curl. A tusk started to slide out further from below his lip than usual, and he could feel his muscles bunching up along his arms and shoulders, getting thicker and harder.

It took a great effort of will to reduce and reverse the changes. As much as he craved the fight, he knew that he needed more than this for a battle plan. Vakrozad forced the changes back, shaking his head.

"Get me four warriors. The best-rested ones. All weres."

"All of them?" Mol asked, blinking.

"All of them."

"You're running wild, then."

"It's the only way. Now, get them."

The End

Summary: In a desperate situation, Hazel is kept under the control of a pendant, and made to turn against her own people.

Tags: F/solo, exhibitionism, humiliation, mind control, corruption, half-elf, elf, temple, series, fantasy, magic, nudity, canine anatomy, forced betrayal, transformation, bondage, pain, flogging, BDSM, punishment, wet,