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"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

The leader watched the helpless stallion with a dispassionate appreciation for the finer points of torture. Rusty really was something of a connoisseur, and as much as he would have preferred another means of teaching the arrogant stallion a well needed lesson, this was eminently satisfying. Still, he did feel a certain twinge of regret.

"A pity he couldn't spend some time with my scorpions Mr Kitty. That cock would look so beautiful with a stinger embedded somewhere sensitive."

"ARGHHGHGHGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

The stallion's screams had quietened a little since they reached a peak a few minutes prior. Now Number Seventeen was gurgling as much as he was screaming, though it was still loud enough to cause the cat to twitch his ears in slight discomfort at such a racket.

"I left you in charge of my scorpions Mr Kitty. You have displeased me greatly by not having them ready when most needed. Bad pussy, no saucer of milk for you."

The feline made a face, like a cat that swallowed a sour mouse. The fucking dog really was insufferable...

"It's not my fault Number One. Blame OH&S section. They needed to update the handling regulations and PPE manuals for scorpion torture and..."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

The stallion had suddenly become more active now, his screams persistent. The cat glanced at the screen, then back at the stallion and shook his head. He gave a little shudder, which for an anthro housecat looked kind of cute. Mr Kitty would have hated how cute he looked. His master gave an indulgent smile and patted his assistant on the top of the head. That was the final straw for the cat, who flattened his ears and hissed slightly.

"And that's another thing."

"What Mr Kitty?"

"I have a name dammit. You treat me like some pet, but I have an MBA and a PhD from Harvard!"

"But, Mr Kitty is my pet name for you and I thought you liked it?" the evil overlord was becoming a little surprised now. His assistant normally wasn't this outspoken. Perhaps watching the awful torture had got to him somehow.

"I don't. Especially in front of the men. How am I supposed to maintain any respect from these big studs when you keep calling me Mr Kitty and treating me like a pet?"

Rusty bit his tongue, figuring that now was not the time. The stallion seemed to be blissfully unaware of their little spat anyway, his eyes now unfocussed and drool dripping from his open muzzle. His screams had given way to a sort of panting gurgle. He must be close.

"Fine Mr Ki....I'm sorry. Mittens."

The cat bristled. He hated his parents almost as much as his boss for that. He let out a meow to try to distract the dog from his embarrassment. "I am a PhD you know..."

"My apologies. Doctor Mittens. Is that better?What do you think of my latest torture device anyway Doctor Mittens?"

The cat surveyed the stallion in detail now. He should be enjoying it, of course. Mittens hated them with the deep all-pervading hate of the dorky kid who was picked last for football every fucking time. He loved nothing more than watching some musclebound stud being tortured, and of course none more so than stallions.

Fuck he hated horses. All of them. One day, he would be in charge, and then every big stud horse who ever made fun of him would pay. Painfully. Especially Him. But still...

"I'm...I'm almost feeling sorry for him." Mittens was chagrined to realise this was the truth. He scowled, trying to find it in himself to obtain perfect erotic satisfaction at the picture before him. It wouldn't come though, and all he could do was examine the bound and helpless stallion and shake his head. He took refuge in minutiae, avoiding the big and terrible picture.

Minutiae like the many perfectly positioned electrodes, at the end of lengths of narrow insulated wire. They all terminated in the box, of course, the computerised hunk of manic mayhem under the long low chair the stallion was shackled to. As the stallion writhed in pathetic attempt to avoid the horrible torment, the cat concentrated on tracing the lines of each wire to it's terminus, every time getting a little shudder as he saw the glint of metal on sensitive flesh.

Two snaked upwards, ending in little clips that bit into the flesh of a pair of erect stallion nipples. He could almost see them twitching as the computer gave the stallion a burst of charge in response to the unspeakable degradations on the screen. Likewise, more wires cascaded across the stallion's body, one ending in a loop just under Number Seventeen's thick flare, two more taped to the base of his throbbing testicles. The cat could see those abused orbs swollen and sore, throbbing and bouncing as jolts of sensation went into them and the stallion began to scream again.

Of course, the most terrifying in some ways was the one long wire ending in a shiny silver probe that had been shoved deep and hard into the helpless stallion's anus. His thick ridged pucker could be seen gaping wide round the buttplug, with its single wire jutting free. It looked harmless enough, but Mittens knew the probe had a series of protruding metal hemispheres designed to press against the sensitised nub of the victims prostate. The stallion's torment would be completed by matching surges of current into his nut even as his cock and balls and nipples took their own hits.

Finally though, he could not avoid the worst. His eyes slid up the shaking torso of the stallion, with sweat pouring from his coat and every muscle tensed. There was the face, a mask of pure dread. The stallion's head had been placed in the bindings, held tight and facing straight ahead at the screen. And from the side, little metal arms fitted under his eyes, with cruel pincers holding his eyelids open. The stallion could do nothing but watch, and struggle in vain, while the final set of wires brought sound direct to his ears. The torment had taken a toll already, and the stallion appeared almost on the verge of madness, but he still held onto a shred of his old self and that shred fought for dear life against the impending crisis.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

Number one moved to his head and stroked the stallion's mane, almost gently.

"Yes. This is the price, Number Seventeen. I'm sorry, but the others needed a lesson. Nobody. Nobody, gets to bring up Alanis Morisette in my presence. Not even you my beautiful stallion..."

"NOOOOOOO...PLEEEEEASEEEEEEARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The computer had decided to ramp up the stimulation in response to the stallion's disgust. The little electrodes knew...they knew how to fuck with him, completely and utterly.

"PLEEEEASEEEEEEE!"

"I'm sorry Number Seventeen...I wish I didn't have to do this, but..."

The stallion tried to shake his head from side to side. It couldn't be; in his rapidly disintegrating mind, he knew it couldn't be. But it was, and as the colourful figures danced across the screen, and the aimless cheesy music blared in his ears, he felt a mammoth orgasm build in his balls and in his anus, propelled by the infernal caress of the machine.

"Oh God...not that. Anything but that..."the cat found he could not look. This was...too much...

"I know Mr Kitty...sorry, Doctor Mittens. But we must be harsh. This is an evil organisation bent on taking over the world after all. All shall fear us...and the power of our tortures will be legion."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

The stallion bucked and suddenly ejaculated, spurt after spurt of thick horse semen joining those already deposited on his chest and belly. The stallion screamed through each new surge of sperm, until he was left a broken deflated mass of weeping horseflesh. The torture went on though, as it would through day after day. They had many more hours to go before it was complete.

"It's...almost demonic. Making him watch the entire back catalogue of Eurovision in order would be bad enough. But making it so he is conditioned forever more only to become aroused by cheesy europop? That's..."

"Too cruel?"

"Yes.."

"There is no such thing Doctor Mittens. We will be feared."

"Yes but...did you have to make him cum watching That?"

The stallion was panting now as fresh waves of terrible pleasure coursed through his erogenous zones. All he could think of, with what remained of his brain, was the last horror, the worst of them all. Like a mantra, he whispered the awful syllables as his cock strained and twitched.

"Bucks Fizz...Bucks Fizz...Bucks Fizz..."

"Cheer up Doctor Mittens. He still has about thirty years to go. If nothing else kills him though, I imagine Conchita Wurst should just about finish him off. Still, he survived Abba, Lulu and Brotherhood of Man already. So there is some hope..."

"I don't think so...look..."

The stallion had started drooling in earnest now, as his cock began dripping as well. He had the wild eyed look of the damned, and he was babbling incoherently.

"Oh yeah...give it to me Celine...give me all your sultry lyrics...oh yeah...and that costume...ohhhh fuck me baby....!"

The cat turned away in disgust. "If you need me, I'll be in my quarters...and for fuck sake, please think of something better than Doctor Mittens to call me, other than Mr Kitty. How about Tiger? That's way butch."

Rusty just nodded, not bothering to watch him go, and the exasperated cat just turned on his tail and stormed off in a huff. The dog's mind was on the stallion. He had liked this one, even had those dreams about him, the ones that his mother used to complain about because they gave her more work cleaning his sheets. A pure manly dream with absolutely no homoerotic tendencies at all, kind of like rugby teammates having a gangbang together on an end of season trip. Nothing homoerotic there. He didn't want to fuck the stallion; no he just wanted to borrow his fine, long masculine length of horseflesh for some serious...

"Celine...Celine..." the stallion was delirious now, as his cock pulsed with shameful arousal. The computer had reduced the stimulation now, knowing it's work was done. It was all the stallion's own perverted brain, finding the ultimate erotic possibility in the leggy Canadian chanteuse. Her song called directly to his balls.

"Oh God Celine!"

Number one caressed the stallion's mane as his body shuddered, wracked by another massive orgasm. Finally the stallion passed out, with his master gently fondling his scrotum.

"It's ok number seventeen. Celine knows...your heart will go on..."

"Oh yeah, and fuck you Kubrick. You're a pussy."

*****

Mr Kitty activated the palm print monitor for his private quarters. Being the personal assistant to the most powerful evil fur on the planet did have some compensations. Like his own private suite, and, though he hated anyone to know, the finest saucers of milk money could buy. He headed for the study, and his own private desk. He knew he should put the horrors of the torture room out of his mind, but somehow they wouldn't recede.

He pulled open a drawer in the desk, absently flipping through paperwork. He knew it was there, of course, and he grimaced as he reached inside the drawer for the little metal nub that only he knew. He felt the nub slide backwards with a click, and the secret compartment in his drawer opened to reveal a small folder.

The cat didn't like sentimentality too much, but for some reason watching that stud being destroyed had brought it out in him. As he lapped at a saucer of milk to make himself feel better, he flicked through the old and faded photos in his paws. Memories of a past; those glory days of his youth.

Fuck he hated them. And especially...

"Ohhh I wish you had been the one strapped to that chair. Except I would have found the scorpions too...and made sure they were especially stingy. As well as turning the computer up to danger levels of stimulation..."

He finished the milk and groomed his whiskers, staring at the final photo. A sporting team, the school football first's, with their star player and all round stud in the middle, with his hoof digging into the back of the poor abused waterboy who was holding up the sign for the photographer; a familiar thin reedy cat waterboy with a haunted look in his eyes. That cat had come a long way, and intended to go further. As had the star football player...

"Good luck horse...I told you, one day, somehow. It's close, I can feel it. Soon, I will have you where I always wanted you. At last, I will be revenged on your perfect body and your easy charm and your horrible teasing and every wedgie will be repaid with scorpions. And I will make it all Bucks Fizz for you...over and over and over...how do you like that... Agent Stud Colt?"

Mr Kitty's personal encrypted phone buzzed, and he snatched it up mildly annoyed. He hated being interrupted in the middle of a good insane rant. The text message made him forget that annoyance though. From his compatriot.

We're off and racing.

Good.

Time for another saucer of milk.