Trent's Scenario
WARNING: The following story contains harsh language, violence, and sexual content not suitable for younger audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
A special note: While there is no -explicit- snuff in this story (hence, it's not in the tags), there is an 'audio playback' of such a scene, and the potential for this to -become- such a scene.
Paw
The lights flickered, then snapped to life in the small room where the muscular wolf sat, chained to a chair. At first, nothing more changed in the small, harsh room, its sole occupant unconscious, unaware of his surroundings.
Suddenly, a disembodied scream of pain and fear ripped through the room. The wolf started awake at the horrific sound, jerking in his seat and nearly choking himself on the steel collar that held him firmly in his position.
"The fuck...?" He started to shake his head to clear it, his mind clouded with the aftereffects of a potent sedative, only to find the collar was fixed in place, not allowing even the smallest of movements. "What the hell is this shit?"
His attempt to standup met with more resistance; his ankles and wrists were fastened to the chair as well. The lupine strained his muscles, but there was no give to his restraints, nor any fastenings to come loose - the bindings were built directly into the chair.
Panic began to set in. "Hello? HELLO? WHAT THE FUCK?" He began to thrash around, quickly finding that there was more room to move than he initially thought. The chair, though bolted to the floor and firmly holding his arms, legs, and neck in place, allowed the rest of his body some movement. Still, he wasn't likely to be getting off his seat anytime soon.
Finally, out of breath, the wolf collapsed back into his seat. There was a tiny, but still audible click as he did, and a tightening around the base of his tail. Panicking again, he started to thrash, and then bit back a scream as agony ripped up his spine. Going still, he realized that the click had been a lock fastened around his tail, preventing even that motion.
Another noise came to his hyper-alert ears as he sat, trying to think of ways to free himself... A quiet 'squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak' from behind him, coming around the side. Wide-eyed, he strained to catch a glimpse of his tormentor.
From the side of a chair came a small red wagon, the kind that so many young furs have in their early childhood. Seated in the wagon, next to an old-style television set and VCR, was a strange-looking mechanical contraption - similar in look to a fur, but without a muzzle, or ear, or tail. The wagon, propelled by some means invisible to the wolf, wheeled slowly around in its curve until it stopped about 6 feet in front of him, waiting, motionless.
The wolf stared at the contraption, his panic starting to fade into a deeper state of confusion. After a short period of inactivity, he screamed "What the fuck!" again, and suddenly the strange doll jerked into life. In a jerky mechanical motion, it lifted a VHS tape from the top of the VCR, and slowly inserted it. It then turned the TV on, static buzzing for a split-second before it was replaced by darkness. The wolf watched warily as the lights in the room beyond the TV screen flickered, and then snapped on.
The image before him was of a cast-iron chair - similar in design, if not the same precise chair, as the one he now sat in. Several moments passed in silence as the wolf stared dumbly at the trap he now sat in, uncertain what was to happen next.
Then a voice began to speak, heavily altered by a voice modulator. "Hello, Trent. I'd like to play a game. Listen carefully, if you want to find out how to win - and I know you do."
The wolf squirmed, but remained silent, watching the monitor closely as the speaker continued. "Over the past five years, you have spent your life in a rut - literally. During the days, you would live your life as a normal person... but at night, that's when the real Trent would come out, isn't it?"
Trent whimpered high in his throat, as several pictures were slowly reeled by on a thus-far unnoticed clothesline on the monitor. "Once every few weeks, you would leave your luxury apartment in the middle of the night, and go to the nearby park. There, you would find someone - preferably a fox, by the look of things, but most specifically someone alone - and you would force yourselves on them."
The pictures continued to reel. Trent tried to keep count, but soon lost track as his arousal began to grow, seeing himself taking so many furs so violently, even as they tried to fight him off. "Oh yes, Trent, I know about your night life. I even know..." - and another picture slid across on the clothesline - "...where you dumped the bodies when you were finished with them."
Trent furrowed his brow in confusion. He started to open his muzzle to ask what was happening, and then shook his head, realizing the futility of asking a TV screen a question. "I could have sent these to the police... but I had a better idea. You might even say... more fitting."
The pictures scrolled off the screen, no longer blocking the view of the heavily modified bondage chair. "The chair you sit in now is on a timer. In a matter of hours - 12, to be precise - you will be released from your captivity, and free to walk out the door and resume your life."
The wolf, still confused but far less panicked now, nodded carefully around the steel collar. "Ah, but there is one catch, the part that makes this a game. You see, I also have these recordings..." And the painfilled scream that brough Trent to his senses ripped through the room again, making him tense in his bonds, his thick erection bobbing up and down in front of him. "Here, let me play that back for you again..."
The scrambled sound of a long rewind was followed by a moment of silence, then the thumping sound of running feet. Shortly, there was a loud rumpling noise, the sound of two bodies falling to the ground. Cloth began to rip, and Trent closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the fabric parting under his claws. Then, quietly, he heard his own voice say 'Scream once, and I will kill you. Now shut up and take it, foxslut." A choked sob was then followed by a scream, and then a subsequent growl Trent realized was his own. The second scream was choked off, and the tape drifted off into gradually quieting gurgling noises, accompanied by the muffled impact of furred thighs.
The 'click' of the stop button on the tape recorder made Trent jump, and then yelp as his tailhole, and strangely the base of his shaft behind the knot, registered the pain of the rash movement. "Ah, pleasant memories, aren't they?" Trent opened his eyes and tried to crane his neck to see what had gripped his shaft, free only moments ago, but couldn't quite get the right angle.
"You took your pleasure from that young boy's body as his life drained out onto the ground. He was the first time you killed before you were finished, but not the last. Now, Trent, it's time you learned the value of a life."
Suddenly, in the video, the chair moved slightly, and Trent's attention suddenly refocused. A small loop of wire had just pushed out of the front of the chair, sliding down a conveniently placed wooden dowel, and then tightening. "As you've found by now, you're not going to be moving from, or in, that chair." The loop at the base of his shaft tightened painfully, and Trent's fists clenched as he fought down the instinct to try and pull away.
The chair in the video began to move again, and Trent squinted to see what precisely was going on, as the seat began to move. The camera zoomed in to show that the chair had a hole in its base; through the hole, a thick, pointed shaft moved, the black latex glistening with lubrication. Almost simultaneously, he could hear motors begin to whir behind him, and something beginning to poke between his cheeks. This time, his reaction was too quick - his body attempted to lurch away from the pole, only to elicit a pained yelp from him as both his front and rear registered pain.
"For the next twelve hours, you will be subjected to the treatment you have subjected your victims to over the past half-year. Much like your victims, the tool used in the process will be rather larger than that of your own kind... down to the knot at the base."
By now, Trent was whimpering loudly, and trying to pull his arms and legs free without moving his midriff. The restraints stubbornly refused to budge. On the video, the shaft in the chair began thrusting, but the one in his own seat hadn't begun to move yet. "Now here's the game, Trent. You wanted your victims to be quiet as you took their virginity, forced your way into them... Now it's your turn. There are sound registers in this room that will activate in a few moments when this tape has ended. The sound registers are directly linked to a switch in the chair. If, at any time, the sound in this room reaches a high enough intensity - such as, for instance..." The dead fox's scream rang through the room again, wrenching a whimper from the captive lupine. "...anything of that nature, the switch will be triggered. Several things will happen. Here, let me show you."
The screen flickered, and suddenly a life-sized wolf mannequin was in the seat where Trent was. The shaft was still visibly thrusting, vanishing into the fashion mannequin's seat and then reappearing. The scream was played again, and the effect was immediate. The dildo pulled fully free from the mannequin, then plunged fully in in a single stroke, the knot forced in fast enough to make an audible 'pop' as it passed the resistance of the hole carved in the base for it. The camera then zoomed in on the rope, still around the wooden dowel in place of the sexless mannequin's genetalia, and it also suddenly tightened, the wire strong enough to dig straight into the wood. The camera zoomed back as the shaft began making full, rapid thrusts, removing the entire length including the knot before slamming it back in. After three thusts, the wooden dowel simply snapped.
Trent was completely speechless, his eyes almost wide enough to bulge out of his face. The scene on the TV snapped back to the empty chair, now still. "In addition to what you saw, the tumblers on the lock will have a small amount of acid dripped onto them, fusing the metal. You will then live out the remainder of your life in that chair, though I doubt that would be long. If you're lucky, you may manage to stay until the battery beneath you dies out..." There was a low sound, half-laugh, half-cough. "Let the game begin."
Trent's muzzle snapped open wide as the over-sized canid shaft forced its way into him, the lubricant scant help for his virgin tailhole, but all that emerged was a soundless squeak. The machine began to work as he whimpered in the lowest tones he could manage, writhing in his seat even as the ring of wire dug into his sensitive flesh, cutting off the circulation and preventing him from losing his erection...
I think I'll stop there for now. As always, thoughts are welcome. If this story is well-received, I do have a few other ideas with which to continue.
Oh, and yes, I know I'm a sick bastard, and I revel in it. :)