Willing
Willing
By Danath
* * *
The thick shaft swung and Slave yelped as it struck his cheek hard. Then his lower jaw was pried open and the half-hard cock was forced down his throat, filling his muzzle entirely.
Slave's black-tipped ears flexed forward. The vulpine couldn't even whine around the thickness spreading his lips - Master was too big for him to even breath and the large feline enjoyed choke-play. He gazed up at Master through eyes that bugged out of his skull as he struggled for breath. The lion ignored him and simply humped forward harder, muzzle-fucking the fox viciously.
When Master pulled out, Slave couldn't help coughing and retching. Master didn't mind, however, so Slave felt comfortable taking a few deep breaths.
The fox had heard the stories and stereotypes all his life. Foxes were slutty, or had great muzzles, or would turn up their tails for anyone. Even Master had to deal with flak from the other doms occasionally - a fox sub was not a particularly great catch. But Slave had two things most subs didn't.
First, the fox had pure white fur, naturally bleached, except for the black on his paws, lower legs, ear tips, and the end of his tail. His body was slim, but Master didn't like seeing his ribs and fed him well when he behaved. He had a light amount of tone, because Master wouldn't abide him losing his figure. He wore no clothing because he had no possessions. Ownership was a foreign word to the fox. He was owned, he knew, but he was incapable of owning anything.
He did wear a belt around his hips. The leather dug into his fur as it wrapped around his lower belly, above his tail. Straps ran over his rump, one on either side of his tail, like a jock strap. They wrapped between his legs to a leather cap that completely covered his testicles and sheath. The top of the cap could be lifted when Slave urinated, but the opening was too small for anything else. Master made him wear it so that he couldn't grow erect when he wasn't allowed. It made cleaning more difficult, but the fox had learned long ago how to do it.
The second reason Slave was special was because of his devotion. Though he dared not speak what he thought aloud, he felt nothing but scorn for other submissives. They would whine, or beg, or plead, or use, of all things, safewords. Slave had no safewords. Slave wouldn't beg. He would yelp, or cry out, or scream, but he would never beg. Not unless Master told him to.
Slave's smooth fur was lush and silky, soft as down. He spent hours while Master was away each day tending to himself, whether it was hiding his bruises or scratches, tending to his pelt, or cleaning himself inside and out. He made himself as perfect as he could for Master every day. When he succeeded, the Master would reward him. When he failed, Master would punish. It was simple.
Other submissives believed in relationships and trust. Slave would smile, when he was alone and Master couldn't see him, and laugh at that. He had no relationship with Master. He had no trust in Master. He had no love for Master, or hate, or fear. Master was. The only emotion Slave allowed himself to feel was loyalty - Master was his world, above all else.
The broad-shouldered lion yawned as he hitched his pants back up and fastened the expensive slacks, then tugged his suit coat back around so it hung properly. Slave kept his head low and waited.
"Get my dinner," the feline said abruptly.
Slave nodded and stood, then turned and left quickly. Master would be at the kitchen table in a few minutes, and if Slave didn't hurry Master would wait, and Master did not like waiting.
The dining room had an old wooden floor, buffed to a sheen by Slave every morning. The large oak table had just one place setting, superbly arranged - wine glass, water tumbler, fork, knife, spoon, salad plate. The dishes were china; the glasses crystal. There was no plate - that would come with the food. A large chandelier hung over the table, set to a medium glow Master preferred.
The lion was just sitting down when Slave came out pushing a small serving trolley. He bowed to Master, then served the lion his food. Tonight's meal was one of Master's favorites. Thick filet mignon, cooked to perfection. Asparagus and sprouts. Expensive red wine and hand-made mashed potatoes with a thick slab of butter melting deliciously down the sides. The potatoes were sculpted; the asparagus arranged neatly against the side of the meat; the tender gravy intricately drizzled over the side.
Master smiled as Slave set the plate in front of him, then carefully poured water and wine. He pushed the trolley back into the kitchen, leaving it against the industrial-style racks and the large wall-mounted oven. Desert was in the oven and Slave checked it quickly before going back into the dining room.
He knelt to the left and slightly behind Master's chair, back straight, arms at his sides, head lowered. He heard Master chewing and his stomach faintly rumbled. His ear twitched involuntarily as he chided himself and hoped Master hadn't heard the involuntary insolence. The lion didn't seem to notice and continued to ear, occasionally purring as he savored the juicy, tender meat and exquisitely cooked vegetables.
Until Slave learned to cook well, he'd been beaten after dinner most nights, occasionally whipped. Master would usually fuck him then and growl when Slave yelped with pain as the lion's thighs smacked against his red, welted rump.
The fox allowed himself the ghost of a smile as he heard Master's purrs. When the lion was happy, he couldn't help but feel happy too.
Fork and knife clattered and Slave raised his head. Master was leaning back and patting his stomach. The fox kept his head low as he went into the kitchen and readied desert. The chocolate concoction was hot, sticky, and sweet-smelling. Slave plated it, drizzling some cold white raspberry sauce around the finely-cut slice, and topped it with chilled whole raspberries, delicately placing each one to ensure it was perfect.
He set the plate on the serving trolley and covered it, then returned to the dining room. He first took the empty plate and silverware, then set the desert in front of Master and removed the cover. The lion's smile broadened and he carefully tasted the chocolate cake.
"Very good, Slave," he said, purring deeply.
Slave didn't appear to respond, but inside his heart was beating at the unexpected praise. It was rare and an opportunity for Slave to rejoice that he pleased his master.
He returned as the lion was finishing the cake. The large male pushed his chair out, stood up, and took off his jacket. He held it out and dropped it without looking, but Slave was there to catch it, fold it carefully, and lay it across his white-furred arm. He didn't worry about stray hairs getting on the jacket - he brushed himself several times each day to prevent just that and since he never left Master's house, he never grew a winter coat to shed.
Master walked into his study. Slave quickly went upstairs and hung his suit coat in the closet, then went to the kitchen and prepared a tray with ice and glasses. When he got back to the study, Master was reading a newspaper.
"Whiskey, rocks," the feline said absentmindedly. There were a few clinks and the sound of the drink being poured, then it was in his paw. Master sipped it slowly as he read.
Slave waited patiently, kneeling once more unobtrusively in the corner. He would do dishes and cleaning tomorrow; when Master was home, Slave rarely left his presence. The fox was so clean he had little natural scent anymore, so often Master forgot he was there at all until he wanted another drink.
Master suddenly sighed and laid his newspaper down, then looked at Slave. Slave kept his head down, but he saw the lion rise and stroke the bottom of his mane, where the dark brown fur formed a near-goatee under his chin. The lion was handsome, muscular, and very masculine - properties that attracted Slave to him in the first place.
The lion stood in front of Slave, staring at the small fox. The vulpine didn't move, not a muscle, just waited. He wasn't nervous, wasn't afraid, nothing. Whatever Master wanted, whatever Master did, Slave accepted gladly as was his duty.
"You did very well today," the lion said.
Slave nearly twitched his ears. More praise? Very unusual.
"You've been very good lately," Master continued. "I haven't had to punish you for anything. Everything has been flawless." He sounded almost disappointed. Slave slowly tipped his muzzle upwards, trying to see Master's face so he could better understand what Master wanted.
The lion looked wistful, almost, but his eyes were burning with the kind of fire Slave had only seen when he'd been punished the worst. His fur was nearly regrown now over the over the branding scar from the time he'd forgotten to send Master's suit to the cleaners. It still itched occasionally. It was on his lower leg, just above his ankle - Master said he didn't want to spoil his body any more than necessary.
"I have a gift for you," the lion said, holding out his large paw. Slave looked up at that. Master's paw uncurled. Laying in the palm of his hand was a delicate, intricately worked, tiny glass lion-head, sitting in a small ring-box of deep purple velvet. "You may keep this as your own where you sleep upstairs."
Slave nodded, but made no move to take the gift. He was puzzled and stared at the open box quizzically.
"Take it," Master said, so Slave did.
He stared at the little figurine. It didn't look like Master and was impossibly tiny to have so many fine details. Each strand of hair in the main was beautifully made and sculpted.
"Thank you, Master," Slave said, unsure if that was the proper response or not. He rarely spoke, unless told to reply, and had to struggle to remember the nearly forgotten memories of birthdays and holidays years before he found his true calling.
Slave resumed his position, head bowed, this time with the small box in his paws. Master returned to his seat, but when he snapped his fingers for another drink, Slave noticed he still appeared unsatisfied. The desire was in his eyes, and Slave thought back to what he'd said. He hadn't punished Slave in a long time. Even the throat-rape when he came home earlier was normal - Master often desired his muzzle after work.
Slave tried to think about why Master would mention that he hadn't punished him in so long. Was it... that Master enjoyed punishing him? The fox blinked as he dropped ice cubes into the glass. Master wanted him to be perfect. Master defined what perfect was. In order to be perfect, Slave had to be... imperfect?
The fox blinked again. It was difficult, strange logic, but it made a little sense. Master's cock was always hardest when Slave was screaming involuntarily from pain or struggling as he was being choked by the lion's large shaft. Master had never fucked him as hard as the night he'd branded "S" for "Slave" into the fox's calf.
Slave nodded, to himself, as he fixed the drink. Instead of handing it Master, he dropped it just as the large feline was about to take it.
The sound of the glass shattering on the wooden floor was deafening. Whiskey splashed across the edges of the large red rug in the center of the room and trickled over the wooden beams.
Slave watched as Master's fingers clenched the newspaper, then slowly lowered it. The lion blinked at Slave, looked at the spill on the floor, then back up at the impassive fox, who knelt, head bowed, next to the chair, awaiting instructions. The lion's other paw remained half outstretched, as though still trying to clutch the glass.
"Slave," Master said, folding his newspaper. "Did you intentionally drop that glass?"
"Yes, Master," Slave responded automatically. Lying was forbidden.
"Why?"
Slave paused before speaking, forcing the words out. "I... will be perfect for Master."
"I don't understand, Slave. Why did you drop the glass?"
"Master appeared to desire me to be less than perfect in order to be punished," Slave said, keeping his head low and voice neutral. "In order to be perfect for Master I gave Master reason to punish me for being imperfect." He tried not to sound confused, but it still didn't make much sense to him.
Master stared at him. A large smile abruptly crossed the large feline's face and he lifted the paper back up. The fire in the lion's eyes had faded, replaced by something altogether different.
"Clean the mess, Slave, and get me another drink."
Slave blinked. Normally dropping a glass would mean getting impaled on Master's cock with his arms and legs bound, a rough spanking, or, worst of all, a night spent in the sensory deprivation tank. He couldn't see, hear, touch, or even smell Master in the tank.
"Hurry up, Slave," Master said. The tone was mild but the command was implicit.
Slave fixed Master a new drink first, then scrubbed the floor clean and blotted out the rug. By the time he was finished, Master set his newspaper down and stretched out.
Slave knelt as Master stood.
"Clean up here, eat something, then go to the bedroom."
The lion left the study and Slave heard him climbing the stairs. The fox quickly put the damp rags in the hamper and the tray of ice and glasses in the kitchen. He left the cooking dishes soaking after eating a few bites of the cold leftover filet mignon. It didn't taste as good as it did hot - Slave had to taste his dishes while he cooked, or he couldn't be sure they were perfect, after all - but he ate enough to sate his hunger before going to his bathroom on the first floor, which Master had him use to keep the shampoos and soaps and other products Master bought.
Slave brushed his teeth, combed his fur, and then went upstairs.
Master was in the large bed in the center of the room. It was a four-post affair with a light red canopy atop. The covers were fine cotton and the sheets silk. The mattress was comfortable and light. Slave had been strung up from those posts more than once, spreadeagled, and milked for hours until his cock hurt. He'd been chained to the corner post, then had his legs pulled to the other corners so Master could whip him, then fuck him. He'd been bent over the bed every way, or knelt in front of it. He'd licked his master clean on the bed, sucked on Master's toes, and been kept awake all night when Master fell asleep with his cock inside him. With no instructions from the sleeping feline, Slave remained that way until almost two in the morning, when Master woke, slapped him off the bed, and rolled back to sleep, leaving Slave gasping in pain. In the morning, Slave was kneeling at the side of the bed as ever.
Slave knelt at the edge of the bed, head bowed, waiting for instructions. Master sat up.
"Bedtime, Slave."
Slave stood and went to the corner of the room. There was a small round cushion there, no pillow, but a thick blanket. Slave bent down and put the small blue velvet box with the glass lion head under the corner of the bed.
"No, Slave. My bed."
Slave couldn't help the twitching of his ears this time. He'd never, ever been allowed to sleep in Master's bed before. Assuming Master was instead planning on abusing him, Slave hitched the leather belt around his hips, held his tail high, and stood next to the bed.
Master smiled. "No sex, Slave. Just lie here, next to me, and go to sleep."
Slave did as he was told and slid under the covers next to the bulky lion. He closed his eyes, but started when the male's paw reached under his backside and tugged him close. He found himself on his side, hugging Master, with his muzzle pressed into the side of the lion's chest, so that his mane tickled Slave's face.
Master leaned over and kissed Slave's forehead, between his eyes. "My perfect fox..."
Slave blinked, confused again, but closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Master was acting strangely, but Slave wouldn't allow that to affect his service to Master. The lion's arm squeezed him firmly, but relaxed when the bigger male fell asleep. Slave heard Master's steady heartbeat and allowed himself a small, tiny smile, before he too fell asleep, exhausted from his day's labors. Perfection was difficult work.