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Iron Author

Non-consensual

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Power Play

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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Cupun towered over him, Harris cowering, his arse sore from far more than merely friendly play. It was hard to consider anything at all as the malamute loomed, although a strange little part of him still could not quite feel all that sorry about calling her a husky. It had led to some interesting experiences indeed, although he very much doubted that he was going to feel all that good in himself (and the back end in particular) once she was done with his scrawny human arse.

“Please…" His voice was so faint as he looked up at her, a rippling, muscled silhouette, thick with fur. “No…"

It had gone too far, at that point, however, and he needed a break. Hellfire – a greater man than he was would have needed a break by then! His anal passage tried to clench down but was stretched into a lewd gape, the remains of what could have been a forced orgasm soaking into the bed, a glistening drop on his lower abdomen, although he did not have the presence of mind to look into that one any further. There was too much going on, simply too much, and a man such as Harris simply could not possibly be held accountable for what happened then as her paw connected solidly with the side of his head.

He must have landed with a solid thump, considering that he was already on such a soft surface, but his ears rang too ferociously to tell, gasping and groaning as he rolled his head back, although he was not even privy to that noise. His stomach rolled and heaved and he forced down his breakfast from so very many hours ago, his gut not even sinking as, finally, the realisation set in that he had made a terrible, terrible, mistake.

“No…"

The malamute snarled cruelly, her dark lips pulling up from deadly teeth. It was not the teeth, really, that a human should quail away from but the jaw strength behind them, the power that she could boast as a canine anthro while a weak, human male had to simply take what she dished. Maybe Harris could have escaped or not but there was most certainly a lack of trying involved as he grunted and rolled over onto his back on the bed, sheets half-off the mattress in a crumpled, crude mess of sweat and even further bodily fluids that he really didn't want to think about.

Oh, yes… Cupun had him right where she wanted him and the malamute female was not about to let him go in a hurry. There were some indiscretions that she would take him for another round for and, well, the rest of it all was just for her fun, her pleasure coming above all else. She liked to be in control, to bat him around like a lump of limp meat, and, truly, it had been too long indeed since she had had a willing-unwilling victim to toy with.

A cat with a mouse, undoubtedly, had nothing on Cupun.

Growling, she lunged for him, tossing him around as if he was nothing more than a rag doll, the difference in their sizes evident even more so. His weight meant nothing to her and she barked a raw, cruel laugh as he collapsed on the bed, fingers twitching weakly, legs hanging off. His head may or may not have connected with a bedside table that had been left in the guest bedroom but if anyone else at that party downstairs even took note or notice of the commotion, they certainly did not pay it a single jot of mind. People had lovers at those kind of things, didn't they?

Of course, that was perhaps one point where Harris may have very well have liked to be rescued, considering events to follow, but everything spiralled out of control – hell, it was already well out of control – far too quickly to be followed. An anthro may have had the sharper senses to catch her bloodlust rising but not a human man who was dull in the senses in comparison to the malamute.

She grabbed his arm and forced him down, her other paw slamming into his head. And again. And again. There was no rest or respite for him at all as she bared her teeth, slapping and punching him, her paw making a fist and a flat palm over and over again, cruelly goading him on to guess just what kind of blow was coming next. There may have been a growl in there somewhere but his head pounded so viciously with a full sort of scream that he would not have noticed even if he'd been with himself in mind and in body.

Harris' mouth gaped in a silent howl and he caught a brief glimpse of the dark bedroom around him as he was flung to the floor, the barrage continuing on and on and on. Cupun didn't know what human limits were and could not have possibly have understood that, even then, she was getting close to his, just what a man could stand and tolerate even in the rawness of alluring sexuality. His cock was not hard – how could it be? Any sense of arousal he may have felt (or not, as it was) from proceedings had long ago slipped away into a world of pain, punch and smack following blow as they rained down and down, pummelling him into the ground.

But her growls… Oh, he could never be sure if he had imagined those, but they seemed louder and more seductive than before, something that came right along with an edge of feral glee. She laughed – or did he imagine it? The line between reality and a twisted, sickening lie blurred and he couldn't breathe, drowning in open air, his lips moving over and over again, gasping for what was not his to take.

On his chest, bearing him into the floor. Or was he in the air? It was hard to tell what was what, up and down taking on different meanings, twisted workings curling around him and seducing him away. What he did know, however, was the onward drive and throb of pain powering through him, pummelling him just like her fists her, a brutal force that could not be denied.

If only he had not called her a husky. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe the scent of her arousal would not have been thick on the air. Maybe he could have had a different sort of time with her. But probably not. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way, in all honesty, even if things had gone further than even his kinkiest, most decrepit dreams of being pinned beneath such a powerful, lusty female could have gone.

He slithered as if falling but lifting at the same time, floating and seeming to laugh without actually moving the muscles in his face that would allow him to do so. Harris's skin rippled and contorted with the force of every punch, the malamute easily batting him around, a helpless, hapless toy on which she could vent her frustration. And there was so very much of that frustration pent up and ready to be unleashed, powering through her as she snarled, muzzle wrinkled and eyes intent, seeing only the man before her to be abused and nothing else. In that moment alone, Cupun would have been quite right in saying that nothing and no one else mattered to her.

Down and down and down… The darkness called, the soothing grey of unconsciousness. At least there, there would be no pain, nothing more to hurt him. He felt as if he was flying through the air but that could not be right as his head was on a pillow again and it was soft, so very soft. And then he knew no more of that world, Cupun not caring that he was no longer with her or even able to tell just what was going on, what was happening to him in the land of the waking.

His body was still there, after all, and she flipped him over with a raw howl, relishing in the fury of beating him up, arousal tingling in her crotch, a tightening of muscles in need. She would not have her orgasm from him, of course, but the lusty tension was a pleasure indeed and drove her on to pummel him all the harder, dragging him back up onto the bed with a bark and even a wag of her tail too, clearly enjoying every last second of it as she drove her fists into his stomach, sending his body doubling over from the force of them.

He would not have been able to breathe if he'd been awake but his subconscious, working away in the background, did a good enough job of ensuring that his functions kept on going, although the damage all over his body from such a beating may well have challenged even the most devout body. There was only so much that he could do but skin was caught by claws and would be if she was not more careful with him – and Cupun had no intention whatsoever of easing up or even lessening the force of her brutal beating.

Had he not deserved it, after all? Never again would the scrawny wreck of a man treat a malamute as a husky or consider an anthro beneath him. She had never been privy to what had been going on in his head and she made up the story for herself, running with it and ensuring that she was the one, of course, that came out on top, undeniably triumphant. He'd remember her and he'd remember the pain too as she propped him up and stared intently, eyes narrowing as she drew her fist back as if in slow-motion, powering up for a blow that would have knocked him out cold if he'd been awake to bear witness to her divine might.

And, when it hit, it sent his head snapping to the side, spittle flying and even a tooth jolted out, a white shard that should never have been seen out of a human jaw. He sprawled, well and truly limp, and not a soul could have ever claimed that he was at all in control of his body, knocked out and dead to the world, even though her beating would not send him entirely from one world into the next. Sure, she was brutal, but there were some things that not even Cupun would force on another, if only for the nuance and knowledge that she simply would not get away with it.

There was only so far she could go.

Breathing heavily, breasts rising and falling dramatically with each and every snatched breath, Cupun glared at the beaten and bloodied human, bruises blossoming across his face, both eyes black. There was no denying who had done it but no one would ever seek to challenge her about her treatment of him or, really, anyone else that had faced the misfortune to cross her path at some point or another. It was the way of it that the strongest got their way in a world, as long as there was no real law-breaking involved; and the only way that that would ever come to fruition would be if Harris reported her. Of course, he would not.

With a smirk, she peeled her lips back in a one-sided snarl, the sound that tore itself from her beastly throat truly otherworldly, reminiscent of the true power of her kind – a power that could never, not even once, be matched by humanity. On the bed, Harris moaned in the world of the unconscious, not privy to anything that was going on as his body shut down, working on repairing itself, as slow as the human fashion of doing so was. A split lip bled freely, ruby liquid trickling into his mouth as the malamute chuffed lowly in self-satisfaction.

Her little toy was well and truly broken.