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The bedroom was sparse, but it wasn’t empty. Rough-cut boards made up the walls, browned with age and candle smoke. The smell of honey and amber helped cover the odor of spilled beer and old wine wafting up through the floorboards like the conversation of patrons below. It was a murmur that kept the room from ever being truly quiet, sat second-story above the tavern’s main floor. A bookshelf with lions carved into the feet, an armoire tilted slightly to the side, a table with a wad of cloth shoved under the one too-short leg: it was a familiar room, but not as familiar as the featherbed set proudly against the wall.

It wasn’t hers. It was Galt’s. The wolf leaned against the bedpost nearest her, his gaze as flat as a cast-iron. Arms folded, the plain fabric of his tunic stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled up to bare the arms of a man who’d worked fields for half his life. Gray fur spilled beneath the cuffs, the rest of his shirt tucked into the brown cotton of his working pants. A rag spilled over the top, the same he used to clean the bar.

“I’d ask what went through your head, but we both know there wasn’t much in there to stop it,” Galt said, sighing. “If you were a smart cat, you wouldn’t be signing contracts at a tavern.”

Ashka fought the urge to roll her eyes. “And if you were a smart dog, you wouldn’t have found the one prissy stray to make your barmaid.”

Lifting his brows, Galt looked at Ashka and then the ceiling above them as if it held some sort of answer. Then his gaze settled on her again. “This ‘dog’ is smart enough to know you don’t tell a paying customer to ‘go fuck himself,’ especially the kind that can bite through your femur.”

“All bears look like that,” Ashka said. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop fidgeting with her dress. She was well aware that she was all alone in the middle of the room, nothing between her and a wolf twice her height. “You heard him, though. Everyone did. Damn near shouting, bitching like a kicked donkey over a hair in his pie.”

“Customers do that,” Galt said, weary. “Get used to it.”

“The shit ones,” Ashka replied, throwing up a hand. “Tolrek’s a gentleman, Alban barely looks me over and—”

“Cistine makes you mewl like a kitten, when you get the nerve to talk to her,” Galt said, amused.

That made Ashka’s face flush. “She has a way with words,” she said simply, trying to shrug away the embarrassment she felt. “A way that a bear would behoove himself to learn.”

“Behoove?” Galt looked at her. “Did you pilfer a library when you ran off the other night? I didn’t know you could read.”

Ashka rolled her eyes. “I was listening in to those men from Halaresh, the lizards in the orange sashes. They were talking about etiquette, something to do with addressing the Vizier when—”

“Ashka, you’re supposed to be listening to their orders, not eavesdropping on court politics,” Galt said, running his hand over his face. “You understand why I took your contract, yes?”

“Because I’m sweet and pretty and you’ve never felt a better mouth around your knot,” Ashka narrowed her eyes, only to shake her head. “I did take their order, by the way. It was a slow day and there wasn’t much else to do, not when I’ve got ears like this.”

She pointed, giving one of the fuzzy brown triangles a flick.

“I don’t care,” Galt said, “I need help running this bar, and if you don’t have the discipline to find something to do…”

“You pull in twice as many customers with me on the floor, and you know exactly why,” Ashka pushed back, taking a step forward. Irritation kindled in her gut, glancing behind him to take in the pristine bed and swept-clean floors Galt had dumped his linens on. “The customers get to talk, I get to listen. I came to Konatra to get out of the morgue my parents called home and actually experience the world. If it takes a year under your thumb—”

“A year employed,” Galt said, the last edge of the word ragged with a growl.

Ashka didn’t falter. “Employed, yeah. Bringing coin to your table every-time I’ve gotta swallow some lady-knight’s stress or listen to a pauper bitch about his mealy oats. The only stories I get to hear are the ones I snatch while cleaning your bar or filling a mug with swill.”

Galt’s lips were a line. “You’re upset, I understand. I’d ask you to—”

“Not been a lot of asking so far,” Ashka said, hand on her hip. “Not unless you’re asking me to tuck my tail for a bastard in a booth. I thought when I finally saw those city walls I’d have a chance to finally live, really live, not just wait out my days in a hamlet with dullard boys trying to rut. Except, get this,” she turned from him, pacing, “I find the one wolf who asks me to run out my youthful days bowing and scraping for dirty old travelers and haggard witches just to fill up another room.”

She turned to him, pushing a finger into his chest. “Just because you wasted your life in a field doesn’t mean I want to do the same beneath a table.”

Immediately she knew it was a mistake. Ashka had to crane her neck to meet Galt’s eye, her chin lifted with that little bit of defiance tugging at her lip. It left her no time to to shy away from the wolf’s hand.

“Is that right?” He said, his hand settling between her jaw and her shoulder like a lead weight. Ashka swallowed. It wasn’t painful, wasn’t the grip of a man about to cut her breath short, but just the pressure was enough to remind her of the thickness of his arm, the breadth of Galt’s chest as soft as stone and thin as old-growth oak. He held her neck between his fingers like an Evanese merchant held a chopstick, every slow tease of his thumb through her fur enough to send shivers down her spine.

“Yeah,” she said, the word slow as it rolled off her tongue, more breath than word. That drew a smile, long in the grey of his fur, like a crack in rock. He leaned in, his thumb hooking through the leather of Ashka’s collar just to draw it tight, remind her of the strap biting faintly into her skin. Galt didn’t stop, not until his lip was against her ear, breath hot and husky.

“Pretty little priss wants a change,” he said, every word as soft as roses and sharp as thorns. “Your wish is my command.” He nipped her, teeth digging in gentle and quick with all the promise of a knife. Ashka squeaked out a sound despite all the bravado she tried to muster, her whole body jolting as she scrunched up her face and jerked back, only for that collar to halt her. She blushed.

“Over the table. Now.” Galt leaned back, dropping his grip on her collar.

“I—” One look at Galt’s face shut her up. She scuffed her foot against the floor trying not to look away as he held her by her collar, lifted so that she was up on the ball of a foot. The glare, the iron, it was as if he could stare right into her soul, see into the depths of what made her nothing but a kitten. Judgement. Disappointment. Iron.

Ashka looked away, her face reddening. Galt didn’t have to grunt a word, the little feline stepping back without meeting his eye, only the squeak of a floorboard breaking the quiet between them. Quiet, not silence. Above the tavern floor, the muffled, muted conversation of a dozen patrons burbled like a creek, spilling up to accompany her walk of shame. It was thankful they couldn’t see her, not as Ashka brushed past the bed and scraped aside a wooden chair.

Glancing back once, she folded herself forward, her skirt brushing her calves in a green curtain. Footsteps. All Ashka could see was the table, the oiled wood cupped with time and chipped with use. Grain like mountains sprouted from the wood, cut short by a carpenter’s plane and the paper. Some tree’s life spilled out and hardened, shoring up daily life in plates and cups and knives. And punishments.

She strained to see patterns in the grain, fought against her ears as they tracked Galt’s approach. It wasn’t the wolf she avoided, she knew his touch well, but the iron in his voice.

“Much better, kitty,” Galt said from behind

Ashka’s breath hitched as she felt his hand, fingers digging through cloth to find the inside her her thigh. Her own claws dug into the table as she huffed a breath, forced to lay there with her ass lifted as Galt felt the softness of her body. There wasn’t any yield this time, not like her neck. No, Galt’s hand dragged the fabric of her skirt up and up, a green coif of cotton lifting like the curtain above a stage to bare the darker black of her fur.

“Not so quick to speak now, are you?” Galt spoke, amused. His voice resonated like the belly of a cello, roughened only by a half whisper. “Tell me, find yourself like this often? All the merchants of Konatra have surely had you over their knee.”

“Hahhhff…” Ahska shifted, squirmed, arched her back as she lifted onto her toes. There was nowhere to go. The table bit into her thighs, pinching the front of her skirt in place while her cheek warmed the wood. There was only the feeling of claws against her skin, dragging gentle trails through the fur, gentle trails that left little red lines tingling down some of the most sensitive skin of her body.

Their destination was obvious, Ashka’s heart beating quicker and quicker. They were alone in the quiet of Galt’s room, a place that she’d been naked half a hundred times, yet now she felt vulnerable, bare in a way that clothes couldn’t hide.

As his fingers reached just beneath her cheek, she felt as if her heart was going to run right out of her chest. She had to stand there, ass hiked up and tail lifted, baring herself to a wolf like nothing but a toy all while his claws lingered a hair’s breadth from her pussy. Hot. Eager. Wet. She couldn’t hide it if she’d tried, not as each tease of his hand pushed his calloused fingers into skin as yielding as pillow-down. Ashka couldn’t help her gasp, breath hitched, her thighs straining as—

Galt shifted his hand, fingers trailing up and over the round of her cheek as if that’s always what he’d wanted. There was no relief, no reward for her patience, her anticipation. There was only the whine she had to bite down on, the frustration in her throat and the groan leaking through her gritted teeth. There was only the cold air between her thighs and a wolf’s hand gripping her like a jewel.

“Bad little kittens deserve punishment,” Galt said, his hand shifting slow over her ass. There wasn’t anything to hide her now, just his fingers trailing through bare fur. It was as though he was savouring the softness of her cheek, fingers gently spreading her, sending little sparks up her spine every time his claws delved the barest bit between.

Crack! Galt’s hand fell like a gavel— Ashka cried out, jolted so hard the table bruised the top of her thighs! Her own claws bit into the wood, pushed caverns into the wood grain as though she could dig right to the heartwood with a hard enough grip. It didn’t help the heat in her ass, the lingering sting. Not at all.

Ashka turned as much as the table would let her, her voice strained. “If you think that was—” Crack! She pitched into a squeal, screwing her eyes shut tight as his palm struck flesh like lightning. Her ass jiggled, her toes curled, every muscle in her body tensed. And all she could do was keep herself bent, gasping hot enough her breath condensed against the tabletop like dew.

Galt let her lay there a moment, though his hand never left her. Instead, even as she caught her breath, Galt squeezed his palm against that reddened flesh every now and then, firm enough to draw a squeak and a whine.

“You’re done mouthing off,” he said, the words heavy as stone. “When we’re finished, the only things I want to hear out of your mouth tonight are ‘Yes, Sir,’ ‘No, Sir,’ and ‘what can this little maid do for you, Galt?’” He squeezed her cheek again. “Understood?”

It was humiliating. It was meant to be, she knew. He’d already said he was going to punish her, and now of all things she had to shut herself up and accept the lesson. It chewed at her, bit at her pride as she screwed up her face like she’d bit into lemon-rind. Already a growl rose in her throat, not the deep and bassy warning of a dog, but that higher sound that started in her chest, the kind that sounded like a violin wound so tight it’s strings were about to snap.

It earned her another smack.

“None of that.” Galt said, gravel in his voice. Ashka panted, gasped against the wood. She squirmed between him and the table, wiggling the soft, half-moon curves of her ass against his waist with each shift of her hips. Galt continued, the patience in his voice thin. “Answer. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled, glaring into the back of her eyelids with a silent scowl. If that’s what it took to end this, she’d swallow her pride. Some of it.

Ashka yowled like the cat she was as Galt’s hand struck her ass again, hammering the same spot. It leapt across her cheek like wildfire, burned through her fur as though pushed. It was like a hot coal beneath her dress, and yet the real pain twisted in her gut. He was disciplining her like a badly behaving kit, like she wasn’t even worth the 20 odd years of age she’d scraped out in this city. It wasn’t the punishment of a shit employee, it wasn’t the discipline of a working girl, it was the kind of thing you did to a girl who couldn’t think for herself.

She lay heavy against the table as she whined, her tits smooshed flat against the wood. It was like she could feel every seam of her apron, every wrinkle of her dress as she fought to take her mind off of the pain beneath her fur. The hem of it cut into the front of her tit where the fabric lay rumpled beneath her, some stray button hard against her nipple. Another discomfort layered on.

Galt pulled her attention back, the flat of his hand trailing up the curve of her cheek like a shark around a shoal. Ashka sucked a breath, tense, body electric with anticipation. One slip, one shift, and he’d send that same dagger of heat into her cheek again.

Instead, his fingers curled around the base of her tail, slow and gentle as they tugged. She hadn’t a choice but to obey, arms curled beneath her head, belly lifted off the table just to push her hips higher. The rougher cloth of her apron hissed against the table edge as she shifted, but Ashka could feel only the air cold against her, chilling the tenderness of her cheek and also—

“Ah,” Galt said, amused. “A brat and a slut.” Ashka flushed hot as he said it, but she could only mewl out a sound as Galt’s other hand slipped up her thigh just to find the wetness between. Slick and hot, tender in an altogether different way, she shivered out a breath as he dragged a finger over her lips.

“Is that why you’ve been behaving so badly, little kitty? Poor girl needed a dog to show her a rougher hand,” Galt laughed. If the table could have swallowed her, Ashka would have thanked it. Some embarrassed squeezed through her throat as she buried her face in her arms, forced to keep her ass perked and lifted for the man teasing her pussy.

The spanking had been bad enough, but this? It was torture. Galt didn’t even satisfy her, not as he left her stewing in her own shame. She had to gasp, had to curl her toes, had to rock against the table as he dragged his finger in slow, deliberate strokes that delved just the barest bit inside her. The dull flat of his claw caught against her clit, and sparks showered the inside of her skull.

She broke.

“Yes!” She finally managed, voice far and muted through her arms. “That’s not why I was mouthing off, that guy was a prick, but… God, Galt, you know how I get when…”

She trailed off. When she looked back, Galt was waiting with his brow raised.

“When you act like a wolf,” she finished, looking away. “Your hands on me, that rumble in your voice, how you nearly bite the words. It just… does something.”

He didn’t respond. She tried to wait him out, but every second that passed left the silence thick, thicker even than the finger teasing her to madness. When she finally turned again, huffing a breath, she could see the grin in the corner of his mouth.

“Cute. Bad for your punishment though.” He patted her cheek, forcing her to groan through gritted teeth. “Now, hands behind your back.”

“What? Galt, I—” All he had to do was move his hand and she shut right up. Slowly, that irritated look on her face, she brought her wrists behind her and tucked her arms into the small of her back. It left her with her cheek pushed into the table, her tits flattened by her own body weight. Not a comfortable position, but she knew that was what Galt wanted.

“Good girl, finally behaving.” Galt pulled his hand from between her thigh, and she had to fight a whine as he left her wet. “I want this lesson to stick, little kitty, so I want you to repeat after me. Every time I spank you, you’re going to say ‘Thank you, Galt.’ Say it.”

Ashka glared back at him, but she knew better by now. Her ass cheek burned, his handprint all but tattooed into her skin. It pained her, pained her almost as much as the way she opened her mouth with those words already on her tongue. It was admitting she was wrong, it was giving into his authority, it was submitting in a way that sat thick as oil in her chest. And still she spoke.

“Thank you, Galt…”

“Good girl! Let’s make sure that wasn’t a fluke.”

Crack! Ashka danced on the spot as she cried out, her hips wiggling back and forth as her shoes clicked against the floorboards. “Thank you, Galt!” There wasn’t a thought, only the pain in her ass, the ripple in her thigh as the image of flame and fire burst through her brain.

“Good, again.” Crack!

She squealed like a kitten, her eyes screwed shut as tears welled in the corners! Like her fur was embers, like her skin crackled with tongues of fire, the poor feline dug her toes into the floor as if she could push herself away, will herself away from his hand. “Thank you, Galt!” She gasped, spit flecking the table.

Hre body strained to leap away, but there was nowhere to go. Everything in her fought to pull her arms apart, to push and squirm and tear herself from his hips. Yet something deeper, something welling in the core of her only lifted her tail higher, only pulled her chest into the depths of the tabletop as though lead itself could pull her down. It wanted to feel his hand against her body, wanted the punishment it promised.

That’s why she was wet, why she was burning between her thighs twice as hot as his hand left her. The promise of his fingers lingered in her mind just as much as the feeling of his body, his crotch against her hip, his palm weighting the base of her tail like stone. There was strength. There was power. She wanted to feel him atop her, wanted to please him like only a good girl could. That’s why she kept her back arched, why she lifted her hips so high she was all but on the tips of her toes. She wanted it. Wanted him.

Crack! “Thank you, Galt!” She shrieked the words, and she heard the conversation beneath them go silent. Fresh fire blazed across her skin, consuming her like wood beneath an iron stove. Blackened. Marked. Claimed in the way fire fills a brand, humbled like the kiss of a switch. Galt let go of her tail, a grip Ashka hadn’t realized had held her up. She collapsed into the table.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, the far wall of the room hazy as a mix of pain, humiliation, and that simmering, shameful delight roiled in her belly. The girl’s knees knocked together as she gave a sound that was half a sob and half a moan, her dress hooked above her tail, bare to the air that chilled her tender ass.

After a moment, Galt helped her up, his arm a gentle cradle. She curled her nails into him, only realizing she’d dug her claws into his flesh when she heard him grunt. Shaking still, she drew them back as she cried. Galt hushed her, his baritone rumble as welcoming as a feather bed at dusk. Where before his hand had been like iron beneath velvet, now she felt only the warmth of his palm, only the gentleness of his fingers as he treated her like a lamb.

“Hush, it’s okay now. It’s okay,” he said, fingers coming through her hair as he held her to his chest. “You’re a good girl, Ashka. You took your punishment well.”

Ashka nodded, her lip trembling. A shudder rolled through her, a pinkish wave of bliss and adrenaline. It wasn’t the kind that came with pleasure itself, not the kind of delight that found itself between her thighs, but the kind that came from deep in her gut, coiled around her bones like rope and chain.

“I know,” she said, quiet. Raw. “It was just… intense.”

Galt was silent, but she could feel his nod. They stayed like that a long, long while, listening as the faint sound of distant conversation returned from below. It did nothing for the heat in her face, though it did bring a smile back to Ashka’s lips as she thought of all the tavern-goers listening in. Galt saw it too.

“Kinky little thing,” he said, chuckle rumbling against her back. “You know, I haven’t finished your punishment quite yet.”

Ashka’s arms felt like lead, but her ears perked up all the same. “I… don’t think I can handle another round,” she said, though somewhere inside she still felt a craving. Galt shook his head.

He held her in both arms, one wrapped around her chest and the other slung about her waist. The latter slipped back slightly as he shifted, his palm warm against the fur of her hip. “That’s not what I want,” he said, his finger trailing slow circles through the fur of her belly. She shivered, closing her eyes as she took in every drag of his claw like the spirals of a shell against her skin.

“I think everyone should know what happens to bad little sluts like you,” he said, his hand tightening. Ashka shivered, a smile playing over her lips.

“And how would they know that? I think everyone already heard us,” she said, glancing back. Galt’s lips twisted into a wry grin.

“Lift up your skirt.” Galt stepped away as he said it, leaving Ashka’s brow furrowed as she glanced back.

Curiosity had always been her weakness. Slowly, again, she drew up the back of her skirt with a pained hiss. Even the feeling of the cloth sliding over her ass was enough to send sparks of pain through her. Yet she slowly rolled it up, gripped it tight in her hands as she stood there with that blush climbing back over her cheeks. Galt knew how to leave her feeling naked even when she was standing in a dress, all alone in the center of the room with her ass bare to the world.

“Good girl, still know how to listen,” he said, though it sounded like something was in his mouth. She glanced back and saw he had a cloak-pin pinched between his teeth, a ring of metal with a thick needle in the center.

He took the back of her skirt with a hand, keeping it pinched above her tail. He was careful to miss the latter with the pin, instead driving it into the fabric of her skirt with a firm push of his thumb. Looping the coil back over the top, he fastened it in place so that the fabric draped over her hips and ran down the sides of her thighs, but left the backs of them as bare as her ass.

“There,” he said, smiling down at her as he admired his handiwork. “I think the regulars will enjoy that.”

“Cistine certainly will,” Ashka said, biting her lip. The thought of walking down there, of having everyone see Galt’s work reddening her fur let alone her ass hanging out… It was as humiliating as it was delightful. She shivered. “And that bear from earlier…”

“Him? I already kicked him out,” Galt said, shrugging. “You’re a brat, but you’re not always wrong. Not the kind of business I want.”

Ashka laughed at that, her claws dragging against the table as she propped herself up, swayed to her feet. She shoved the bigger wolf’s chest with tired arms, though he barely swayed. “Prick! Making a pretty girl cry just to admit she’s right!”

“Careful, little kitty, or it’ll be over my knee next,” he said, though his growl was only playful. “Sometimes a girl needs discipline, even when she’s right. Now, are you going to need another lesson, or are you going to go out and serve my customers?”

“No, Sir,” she said, smiling wryly. “Or… yes, Sir?” She furrowed her brow, only for that grin to brighten across her face as she leaned up. Ashka pushed a little kiss against his jaw, only to step back, careful not to sit her ass against the table. “This little maid will find something to do, Sir.”

As she turned from him and stepped to the door, Galt could only admire the jiggle in her thigh and the perk of her ass. Even in the dim light, framed by the green curtain of her dress, it burned as red as coals.