Short Story 1
READ THE TAGS! THIS IS not CANNON!
A warning, before you read this: Anyone who has read the story by Element & I, will NOT like this. I hesitated posting this after I wrote it tonight, but...I am in a mischievous mood, I guess.
Do not feel compelled to read this. There is no love, no redemption, no caring in this. It is all sick, sadistic pleasure. It is what I often do to Randall in my mind when I am upset, or in need of relief. I apologize in advance, but read the tags, and then decide if it is for you. I might even lose a few watches over this, I'm not sure. But, you were warned. This is dark, and it will not leave you with a happy feeling. Randall suffers, and there is no way out for him.
"A Lion's Healing Love" has an uncertain future right now. I have not been able to get in touch with Element for quite some time - in the past three or four months, I've seen him three times, maybe. I am not sure if real life is kicking his butt, or what. Happened to me, certainly. I may take over transforming the original into a story format here pretty soon, if I can't get ahold of him.
Most Randall art and stories can be considered to take place in an alternate universe. I am not strict enough to demand that they fit in with with universe and story established by "Slavery Legalized." The events "this version" of Randall suffers, are not what he went through in the SL universe.
Short Story 1
by Draugr
Starring Randall
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License
"Bend over, Randall..."
Randall squirms a little, he knows what is coming, as this sadistic, humiliating punishment is not something I'm hesitant to use on him. But, he does so, and his fuzzy rump is soon centered right on my lap.
I pull down his boxers - he's not allowed to wear anything more than that in the house - and yank up on his tail.
Not because it wasn't already raised, but because I like to hear him yelp.
I quite audibly count out six little foil-wrapped pills, taking time to unwrap them, enjoying the bodily shakes that seem to have overcome my wolf. The anticipation is everything - and makes for a more memorable punishment.
Without giving him warning or chance to prepare, I stick one, slick, bullet-shaped pill up against his anus, and shove it in with my thumb, enjoying the reaction his body gives me. I keep my thumb in his butt for a few moments, making sure the suppository is going to stay where it belongs (although the few twists I give were probably unnecessary), and then remove it.
I quickly follow suit with the remaining five. Six butt-pills total for each question he got wrong.
Before I allow him up, the temptation his raised ass is presenting me is just too much to ignore. I rub his thighs, just below his cheeks, in a sensual manner. Randall tenses - apparently this must be a habit of mine, because he seems to know what is coming next. I don't disappoint him. I bring my paw back, and with as much force as I can manage, I strike his left cheek. He cries out, but it doesn't hurt yet. I match it with a strike on the right. Without pause, I land eight more strikes - four each to the exact spots I struck before, alternating between each cheek. I know how to make my wolf cry.
His tailhole tenses and winks at me as I hesitate, breaking the rhythm. I can hear him sniffling, which nearly sends me over the edge. I wonder if perhaps I shouldn't fuck him, knowing that after the pills have run their course, that will not be something that appeals to me, but I decide against it. He can use his mouth if I am unable to control my libido. I let him up, deciding I don't want to listen to him bawl while I continue my work. He's been spanked enough.
Stripping him of his boxers, I order him into his closet, where his "supplies" are, to change. He heads off, tail tucked, and ears pressed back against his head, closing the door behind him.
I call Randall back into the room, five minutes later, sure to give him a humiliating smirk at his new attire. His tail is tucked quite firmly between his legs, I know how much he hates this. I call him over and then, reach around him with one paw, grabbing his buttcheek and pulling him forward. With the other paw, I grab one of the tapes, and, with an audible rip, peel it off, and re-apply it a bit more tightly. It wasn't really necessary, but I like for him to think he isn't even capable of changing his own diaper. I release him, and he takes a step back - but no further. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet nervously, unsure of what I have planned for him. I reach under my desk, and pull something out - eliciting a flinch from Randall - but instead of beating him with it, I place it in his paw.
"For indulging me," I say, handing him the bottle of a specially manufactured soda - knowing full well Randall didn't believe a word of it. I could tell he thought it was yet another part of my sadistic punishment. He hesitates to drink it, so I feed him a lie. I could order him to, but, this would serve my desires better.
"Don't worry Randall, this isn't my usual thoroughfare. You've not complained a bit about any of your punishments these past few days, and you deserve a reward - the only one you'll get, mind you, so enjoy it."
Randall drinks the soda, smacking his lips after he's finished. He loves cherry. I am sure to angle away so he will miss my sadistic grin. I almost - almost - feel sorry for him as he thanks me for the treat. Poor clueless bastard.
~
With a sigh, my night's work is finished. I shut off the computer monitor, and swing my chair around to see my diapered wolf sitting in the corner. "Randall, stand up and come over here."
Randall gives a pleading whine, and looks over at me - but he doesn't move. He's holding his stomach, and clenching his buttocks.
"Aww, does puppy's tummy hurt?" I tease him, cruelly. "Why don't you come over here and I'll see what's going on."
Randall still doesn't move. I think he's afraid that when he stands, he'll lose the control he's been trying to maintain for the past forty-five minutes - an endeavor I am never able to understand, given that he always loses the battle, in the end.
"Randall, that's an order. If you don't come over here, more than just a few pills will be going up under that tail of yours."
Nodding, he stands up, legs shaking. He walks over to me with an odd gait, as though he's already loaded his diaper. I can hear him crinkle the entire way over - a sound I know he hates, but I don't remind him of it, this time. I stand up, and slowly circle around him. He watches me for as long as he can, biting his lip.
When I get around behind him - Randall does not watch, as he's trained - I take a finger and pull out the back of his diaper, peering down inside.
"Hmm, you haven't made messy yet. Perhaps I didn't use enough pills."
Randall shakes his head emphatically.
"Oh? Then why don't you have a dirty diaper to change?"
Randall lets out another one of those whines I love so much - the frustrated, defeated timbre is music to my ears.
"You've got two minutes, Randall. If I don't see a messy diaper in that time..."
This time, Randall nods his head. He knows all too well what I'll do to him if he doesn't comply. I am always sure to make that punishment much worse than the punishment for using his diaper.
He stands there, trying to release, but there's still some sort of mental block. Even after all the time I've owned him, he's still humiliated by what I force him into. And that's why I love him.
I let him know he can get on all fours, if he wishes - truth be told, I prefer seeing him in that position.
Randall does so, and as soon as he lifts his tail, several loud, wet farts fill the room. The back of his diaper expands outward as he begins to fill it. Not much - it seems the soda is going to make its way out, first.
With any luck, Randall will associate this "fun" side effect with the suppositories, and not the soda I've "rewarded" him with twice so far. It was expensive, but I've still got ten more left in the case, and it will amuse me to see how long Randall will keep drinking it of his own free will.
With a yelp, his front collapses to the floor, his diapered ass going high up in the air as he lets out another fog-horn blast.
I look down at his face - I see nothing but humiliation. He's red, and unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears. Well, that's what he gets, for answering the quiz incorrectly. He knows how upset that makes me, and he knows better than to make me upset. Maybe the next time he will have learned not to be so stupid.
And now, the floodgates open. With a cry, he can no longer hold back - and the glycerin is finally alowed to do its work, emptying his bowels. Even through his brown-stained padding, I can see his tailhole at work, squelching out more mess into the bottom of his diaper. With a cry, he pushes again - and another rip emanates through the quiet room as the last of the soda makes its way through his poor, abused digestive tract. A few, silent moment passes - Randall's reddened eyes meet my lust-filled gaze - and I am rewarded with one of the most degrading looks I've ever seen on my pup, as the last bit of shit makes its way into his diaper, announcing itself with one last blast of air.
Once I'm sure he is finished, I walk around behind - lean down beside him - and push the seat of his diaper up into his fur. He tries to lean forward, away from his mess, but a quick pop of my paw on his diapered hip ends that feeble act of resistance.
I take a few moments to massage the mess into his rump, and knead it up around his balls - or at least, where they would be, if he still had any. Moments like this I sometimes regret having him neutered. It would be nice to have a fat pair of wolf balls to roll around in my paw right now, but as I told Randall when I bought him - there's only room for one male in this house.
With my other paw, I give a few smacks to the seat of his diaper. He needs to know what a dirty, filthy, disgusting puppy he is. He quivers and whines as he feels his own shit mash into the fur coat he's so proud of. But as long as he doesn't keep me awake, I'll allow him to shower as late as he likes. I don't want to smell him any more than he wants to smell himself in this state.
I reach a paw between his legs, and pat the front of his diaper, squeezing his sheath through the padding - not surprised to find it soaked with pee. He didn't have the best of control under normal circumstances, and I hardly expected him not to lose it now.
"Just like a puppy," I sighed, voice dripping with irritation. "When will you grow up, Randall? Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Randall whimpers. He knows any time he soils a diaper, that's his attire for a week. Even when he accompanies me outside our home. After all, you can't trust a pup that isn't housebroken.
v1.03