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Forcing Obedience

Part One

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

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A continuation of the stories set in a futuristic dystopia where a tyrant king has taken over, capturing and forcing the rebels to submit to his reign…

The tyrant king sat on a large couch in one of the many living rooms of his mansion, the king of his palace, right where he was supposed to be and wanted to be. His legs were clothed in fine cloth, though the pet lion at his feet was not the sort to care about such things. Greyin yawned, the anthro lion's mind broken so that he was no more than a pet to the tyrant, his smooth, white fur complementing the king's perfect physique and grooming. Of course, with his smart, dark moustache and neatly trimmed dark brown hair, so dark that it could have been mistaken for black in most lights, he was perfectly put together. In the sanctity of his home, he wore a more casual house jacket that could have, in cheaper, more common fabrics, been mistaken for a dressing gown, though he would never have stopped so low as to wear such a thing.

He had worked too hard for what he had to stoop to something that was beneath him.

A dressing gown, of course, should not have been beneath anyone, yet the house jacket that he wore over a light, spun silk shirt, that was open at the neck, glistening with threads of real gold. The embroidering was exquisite, something that due royalty would have worn, but the tyrant king had made such a change to the world, the expanding corners of what was under his control, that he was the only royalty who could ever have been considered for such a lofty title anyway.

Thus, it was that only the clothes that suited royalty were permitted to him, under any circumstances. He had the best of the best, the king of them all, ruling fairly, though not even he would have said that he had a kind hand. His lips parted for a sip of port, the highest quality from the best that was available, exhaling softly with the pleasure of it. The fireplace crackled with merrily dancing flames, though they did not speak of the destruction that the king had left behind him, even though it had all been a necessary evil to play out in the rule that, ultimately, he had to forcibly grasp for his own.

“No one who asks for power gets it, dog. You know that, right?"

Greyin blinked up at him, the lion's tail lashing softly, though he didn't understand. He was “just a dog" in mind, the metal mind-control device implanted into the back of his neck and down his spine ensuring that he only thought what the king wanted him to think, behaving like a dog. The blessed thing didn't even know how to stand on two legs like the anthro that he had once been, dull and stupid, yet obedient to a fault. The king smiled down at him fondly. It was one of his best creations, one of many things that he laid claim to.

He knew that they called him a tyrant. He, however, was Saron. Just Saron. No other name needed to be used when the only one that he was having a conversation with was himself, Saron. It was, of course, not the name that he had been born with, but it was the name that he had given to the new highest mountain in the world, the peak that he had dubbed the pinnacle of all.

Of course, that peak had not existed, not really. But no one venturing into the increasingly inclement climate of the Himalayas, just one of many of the territories worldwide that he was steadily in the process of conquering, one after the other, was going to dispute that. And, well, if they died in their pursuit of a mountain that did not really exist, that was none of his concern either. He didn't care what became of those fools and would only have arranged to have the rebels dispatched, one way or another, on their return.

Saron reigned. The peak towered. His dominance prevailed.

“You've done all you could ever have dreamed of, my king… So, what now?"

The anthro lioness on the rug before the fireplace, stretching out like her feral counterparts, though in a far more intelligent, discerning fashion, rubbed her face pleasurably into the softness of the sheepskin, purring all the while. She was nude, for there was no reason for her to be clothed before him, the roll of her breasts pushing towards the ceiling as she arched onto her back, hips pinned down, tail lashing. A low yowl broke her lips and she panted, her sharp blue eyes darting back to Greyin.

Saron watched her, his sultry Minerva, a lioness with a rich, tawny coat, though it was more gold than brown with all the treatments that he lavished upon her. Not under his own hand, of course, but servants in his employ. The friends of his, the friends that he had… Well, it only made sense to keep them close and well, Saron knew where allegiances lay, how to use them to benefit himself. Minerva was a friend of several years, a loyal lioness, one who had been by his side, or near at least, through it all.

He'd not always kept those close to him right there to see the goriest parts of what his job entailed, however, as ruler of them all.

But she could have her fun with anyone she pleased, the diamonds dangling from her pierced years speaking of her wealth as she flicked her tail up over her back and yowled. She pushed her backside back towards Greyin, wiggling it seductively, begging him without words to mount him.

“Let your lovely dog take me, my king…" She crooned, flashing him a smirk, heaven painted on her muzzle. “I think the mutt is needy…"

Greyin panted heavily, his pink tongue lolling out, yet the “dog" sat there obediently, not moving a muscle. He didn't know whether he was allowed to go to her, thus any orders that came from his master ruled, even the one that had not been spoken – which was to merely sit there and be a good boy. Saron petted his head, moustache twitching as his lips pulled higher in a pleased smile. He was coming along so nicely, his lovely dog, the broken anthro lion with his tail hitched up, always exposing himself like the mindless creature he was. All under his control of course."

“He may be suited to you, but he'll never as beautiful as you, my dear."

Saron smiled, but to see her taken would be a pleasure indeed, pleasing to him. There was no need to hold back as the lion's shaft stayed put, the chastity device that was permanently locked onto him refusing it. It left a mesh-like substance that was not perceptible to the human eye over his shaft, killing the nerves and muscles that would have aided in its release from a lion's sheath. Yet all it took was a press of a button on a small remote control to turn it off.

He watched, a part of the scene and yet distant, as Greyin stood. He knew what Greyin did not and that was that he had not ejaculated in close to a month, though, for Greyin the dog-lion, all the mutt knew was that he needed it. For him, it could have been one day of denial or one year: it would all feel the same to him.

Greyin's mind swam with lust, something buzzing under his tail, though he could not have seen just how the king's finger twitched on that remote, lazily turning it on. The dog-lion did not know that it was a dildo-like butt plug – larger than the typical butt plug to stretch him out nicely and ensure that he could not relieve himself in that way when he was not supposed to, yet with the narrowness before the base to lock it in place. All he knew was the pleasure, the shock of it, humping, grinding, panting, a beast in mind that was mindless at the best of times and yet mindless with lust right then and there.

“What a good boy you are…"

He smiled, turning the dial up even more, Greyin shifting his weight, the king watching greedily on. Yet what was greed when one got to indulge themselves in such things each and every day? It was what had led him to power, what allowed him to tease the lion's shaft out, centimetre by centimetre, drawing out the anticipation, as much as the lion thrust and ground, staying in place the whole while.

“Wait…"

“Oh, just let him already!"

The lioness could be a savage when she wanted to be, despite the golden glow of her beauty – but weren't they all savages? People in his kingdom just did not like when he acted in a savage way out in public. Theirs was the kind of civilisation that liked their savagery to be locked up, hidden away, even if it was always present. They did not want to pay heed or tribute to something that was part and parcel of life, but it was him and only him that had had the courage to bring it out into the light.

It couldn't be hidden away forever, what was part of humanity and the anthros alike, however they lived together. It was not a battle between each other, just a battle to survive and take the top role under all circumstances, though Saron knew, with a warm glow of self-admiration, that there was no one out there that would have done it just like him.

That was why he was unique.

Maybe Greyin would have thought differently as his eyes locked onto the backside of the lioness, her rump pushing back, edging closer, though she was not in his face. He panted heavily, but obeyed without question, not even under any mind control, the drug that forced his obedience in the early days. Of course, he could not remember that. If anyone had asked him anything, all Greyin would have done would have been to blink dully back at them, perhaps bark, do a trick, chase his tail. In his mind, all that he was and ever had been was a dog and a dog's role in life was to be pleasing, to obey a master and to always be with them.

His loyalty would not allow him to break his obedience as his cock was permitted out, the pink shaft glistening with a hint of marginal self-lubrication, though his lust-addled mind did not think that he would need much, not to penetrate the lioness. She was already hot with heat with her pussy dripping for him, grinding back closer and closer, spreading the folds of her sex with her fingers.

A female. A bitch. He whined and whimpered, letting his need break free, the vibrations in his backside ramping up, grinding onto what he would have known was his prostate, if he had had his old mind in any context back. But he was not the old Greyin, not the Greyin who had been a part of the rebel forces, who had fought tooth and nail to the bitter end against the king, only to be broken down and turned into his pet dog.

He was not himself. In a way, that excused him from his “ferality", the nature of it coursing through, the chastity finally leaving him fully, a snap of the king's fingers giving him permission. The lion all but howled as he was finally and blissfully allowed to go at the lioness, her backside raised for him as her breasts bowed down to the floor – but he wouldn't have even known what to do with breasts if he'd been ordered to pay attention to that part of her. That was no something that Greyin's dog-mind could comprehend, his cock out, forepaws curling around her hips, for he could not even see what he had there as hands anymore.

His master had hands. A dog did not.

But he could hold onto her, the lioness grinding back against him as his rampant, wild, untamed thrusts jabbed and poked wildly, seeking out the heat of her. he was so far gone in mind that he could only thrust madly, trying to find her entrance. In the end, Minerva had to grasp his cock and put it at his pussy for him, letting him slide into her, the useless pet dog who had to be shown how to fuck as he did not have the mind of an anthro.

“Ohhh, yesss!"

The lioness did not have to be cool and calm and in control, not when she was being fucked so hard, his hips working like a piston, mounting her with a beastly mind. His tongue lolled out happily as he bred her, mating hard and fast, aching for release. Ejaculation was so rarely allowed to him and yet Greyin would have thrust with the same pleasure and lust even if he had not had an orgasm at the end of it.

His tail lifted higher and higher, as high as it could go, even though that had no determination on his ability to mate, how deep he could go, cock aching powerfully. No, he had to show himself off, to present himself pleasingly to his master even during sex. There was no other option available to Greyin, his training well and truly locked in, grunting, heaving, slamming in, mindless, brutal. Yet she loved every moment of it, his balls swinging, the grey skin of them on show as she howled and climaxed on his cock.

He didn't know what a climax was, not when it came to a female. All he knew was that he had to hold onto his bitch harder than ever, tugging her back onto his cock, ensuring that she would not get away from him when he was not yet done mating with her.

It had to be done, saliva splattering the back of her neck and shoulder blades as if she really was being mounted by nothing more than a mindless pet dog – at least mindless in the sense that Greyin was not on par with any intelligent conversation anymore. No one that had not been broken into unthinking obedience, had their sense of self stripped away, would have been quite like him, grinding in, her soft folds closing around him, pulsing and rippling, though even Greyin's thrusts were erratic. He did not know how to be smooth and gentle when he was out of chastity, only understanding how to spend his need, to obey his master, the lioness panting heavily under him.

“Oh… Yes, you brute!"

She coaxed him on, though Greyin did not catch her sharing a look with his master. The king watched down, though it was a common enough scene in his household – that was when he allowed Greyin to mate, of course. He didn't have to allow him to get off, however, relishing in the power he held over that soul, Greyin grunting and snarling, making throaty sounds like a dog would. Saron could not even remember the last time that a word has passed the white lion's lips or a sound that would have been more feline in its presentation, living life well and truly as a dog.

Only better. One could not control and do to a dog what he did to Greyin, his anthro-dog, the lion turned dog for his cruel abuse. Oh, he knew that he pushed things further than he had to with his dog-lion – but wasn't that half the fun of being the king, in getting to do things that had, before, been off-limits to him? Such things should not have been set aside as if they were dirty and forbidden, but put to the test of those who had the willpower to handle them.

He grinned. Even if that meant taking someone else's willpower away. Yet would anyone truly argue that Greyin was less happy than he had been? The lion-dog thrust and thrust with mindless determination, the ripple of light flesh and muscle glorious to watch. He was so much better than he had when Saron had had to break him, taking a firm hand in his training, wanting him, of course, as a personal pet. It was not all for nothing, after all, but to make him into the perfect pet for him, the lion-dog obedient to a fault and more than willing to defend the life of the king, even if it meant sacrificing his own.

What a difference from the mutt you used to be…

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The king smirked, leaning back, relaxing deeper into the comfort of his armchair, the finery of it not escaping his attention even then. All for him, always for him, Greyin thrusting wildly, the lioness moaning as she was overcome. Though she had control too, as a friend of Saron, and what happened there was only permissible, in that instance, because she allowed it. He could have forced the issue, of course, if he'd wanted to humiliate Minerva, but the fact of the matter there was that she had not given him any reason to.

Therein lay the difference, in his eyes, between his friends and his enemies. Saron grunted softly, admiring the curves of her body while Greyin thrust and thrust, the lion as strong and as powerful as he had ever been. It would have been a shame, after all, to stall the muscle of such a creature, as fine as he was. He was just better off in life playing the part of a pet dog rather than an anthro assassin. Really, he had been wasted in his previous life!

“Good boy…"

The king's fingers twitched on the remote, sending the dildo in Greyin's backside pulsing, though he could be forced to stall orgasm or to tip over the edge, however he pleased. With Minerva roaring in climax, clawing at the rug, the moment was ripe for him to allow his pet lion-dog one reward, even if his pet would not remember it.

In the lion's mind, all Greyin knew was lust, the rumbling twisting of ecstasy curling through him, twisting through the pit of his stomach, clawing, desperate for precedence. The lion's muscles pushed and bunched, sparks of pleasure shooting through, dominating every part of him. For everyone, even the tyrant king, was prey to pleasure in one way or another, whether they held onto it tightly, greedily, or allowed it to ebb and flow in one way or another, teasing forth and backing off, just as it pleased.

He could cum though, panting heavily as his orgasm built and built and built, howling inside him, a storm from which there was no coming back from. He could not hold it, his mind brimming over with pleasure, the only conscious thought in him being to cum, to mate, to cum again – only that. Nothing else existed for Greyin as his thrusts sped up and up, ploughing into her hot folds as she roared again through another orgasm, his shaft hitting all the right spots for her, cramming in hard and fast, so deep…

Yet the lion-dog had been permitted to orgasm and there was no going back from that, not at a moment like that as he snarled and heaved and barked loudly, tail wagging, balls throbbing, orgasm taking him. He slammed in, harder and harder, yet that was all as the breeding “bitch" under him wanted, Greyin merely there to service her, to please her, to do everything for her that could ever have been wanted and more. His tail remained high even as he wagged and bark like nothing more than a feral, pet dog, his mind blank with wave after wave of pleasure, swamping him, clawing into him, snarling and snapping like the beast that he had become.

But he was no longer a beast, not as he hung over her, tail obediently still raised even in the draining of climax, his cum spent inside her. No, he had his master to hold him, to tame him, to keep him where he needed to be. And that was all that the lion-dog would ever need again.

“Ohhh…"

Minerva stretched out, fingers trembling, though she was so limp that she could hardly support herself, panting, lips moving, though barely any words managed to come out.

“Oh, that's it… That's a good boy, a very good dog…"

“You're fortunate, my dogs aren't usually rented out. You caught me in a good mood today."

They laughed together, for the moment was for them, really, not Greyin, the lion-dog remaining gently over her, purring throatily. He could still purr, of course, when the implanted device sending drugs to his mind allowed, though it most usually cut off all manner of feline behaviour. Yet that was one instance and example of where it could be modified to suit the needs of others, considering that Minerva enjoyed the purring of her partners, rumbling through to her, tickling her fur.

They spoke softly above Greyin's head, though they were not trying to not disturb him – to them, he was only a dog. And a dog would do as he was permitted as he sat back on his haunches, panting dully even though his eyes shone brightly.

A good boy, yes… He whimpered. He'd been a good boy, a good dog, all for his master. That was all he needed to do, all to be pleasing, to do what his master wanted him to do. And he'd gotten to be with a female, which was better than anything else, a reward, a pleasure – yes! That meant that he'd been a good dog, a very good dog!

Obedience was all that Greyin knew, all that he craved, whimpering, sitting, his cock still out, for the dildo buzzing away under his tail ground into his prostate, forcing a stream of pre-cum to push forth, hard and read to go again. If there was any strain present there, Greyin did not feel it, his body always in a state of contraction in some way, tension held somewhere where chastity and the release of such was played into.

But he was not satisfied, not as he pushed back, trying to get a little more pressure under his tail. Some part of his broken mind understood that that felt good, even if the lion-dog did not know why. He didn't have to know why when that was not important to his life, though he still growled and grumbled very faintly to himself, not loud enough for his master to notice.

“The rebels will fall…"

“There's so few left to bring down…"

“The world will be yours."

He blinked up at the lioness kissing his master full on the mouth, but that was not a sign of affection that Greyin would ever play into for himself ever again. It was one of the many things, however, that let him know that the lioness was no threat, his cock throbbing, slick with her fluids and his seed, gleaming in the low light.

Minerva dressed slowly, sensually, though there was not that sort of relationship between her and the king at that time: maybe there would be again. The shift and nuances of such relationships was an ever-changing concept and the reason why she had survived for so long in a world such as the one that she lived in. She had to be supple and flexible, building allegiances and relationships, yet everything, in some way, had to benefit her, even though things were forever changing.

The king, however… He was one constant that remained in her life, leaving the mansion set in reasonable grounds in the heart of the city, an oasis amongst the chaos. The limousine waited for her and, like the golden beauty that she was, wrapped in fur coats, Minerva slipped off into the night as if she had never been there.

Saron had not walked Minerva to the door, smoking a cigar – though it was, of course, of a type that had been developed specifically not to damage the lungs of the one who smoked it. It was better that way, allowing greater enjoyment of something that could no longer be considered a vice but a simple pleasure. Of course, those cigars and even cigarettes were only available to those in the city and beyond that had the money with which to pay the high price of them. Anything and everything on the black market, well… That would still ruin the bodies of those that sucked them down into their lungs.

Greyin whimpered, his master's smile coaxing him in, cock still out. It could have slipped away, if the button on the remote control had been pressed, yet it was not for him. He could not control himself, not even as his master eased down onto the rug with him, lying there, relaxing, every part of his expansive home for him to take and enjoy in any way that he pleased.

“Here, boy."

He treated Greyin like the dog he was, stroking him, petting him, that luxuriously white mane. Oh, it had been well-conditioned by his groomers too and he ran his fingers through it as he inhaled, pressing his face into the lion-dog's mane. The lion-dog may have been larger than Saron, but he acted as if he was the smallest of puppies, quivering and whimpering with the enjoyment of being so close to his master, shivering, pressing in.

Closer, just a little closer… Greyin's eyes would have misted over if he had been an anthro and still capable of such things. Oh, how he loved his master! The absolute best master of them all, the only master that he would ever need, ever again, not anyone else at all in the whole wide world.

His need softened, though was still there, panting, flanks shuddering for breath. His need snarled, though the beast of it retreated to the pit of his stomach. Greyin could have stalked and paced, but with his master sitting there before him on the rug, holding his head and stroking his name, he growled softly, leaning into his touch.

It was better to be there for his master than it even was to cum.

“Let me tell you a story, Greyin…"

Saron smiled, brushing his moustache with the tip of a finger. It would be trimmed by his aestheticians in the morning, ensuring that he always looked his best, that there was never a hair out of place on his whole body. To be in power meant to be perfect and he was swallowed up in the devoutness of his own perfection. Never again would he be imperfect.

Being imperfect meant that he was not in control. And he had not been able to change the world without that control.

“My family was in biomedical. You can imagine how that brought us a lot of money, a lot of power. Controlling medicine is one of the great strongholds left in the world, even adjusting research for long-term treatments rather than outright cures. Even that, when it seems to be about people and their health, is about money. It's always about money."

Greyin blinked back at him, the white lion not understanding, though his tail wagged to listen to his master. He liked the sound of his voice.

“It is a good business, one that needs to be present in the world… But I wanted to do more. I thought that I could bring more, even that medicine or a change in medicine, to the masses, to the people, to everyone who needed it. The city… Oh, dog, you have seen the sordid terrors down there, the filth and the grime in the hearts of the people. Even before I turned eighteen, when they were priming me to join the company, I knew that I had to do something different."

He took a breath, resting on one elbow, lying sprawled s if he really was talking to an animal that was only a pet, not a creature who had once been a living, thinking anthro and could be again – if Saron so chose for that to be. But he had other needs and uses for Greyin, the broken rebel turned into a lion-dog.

“I knew that power was what was needed, but not the kind of power that my parents had taken, though they did help too, in a way. I didn't have many friends, but I did have a very loyal dog, a dog just like you. He kept me company as I learned how politics worked and searched for the meaning, the meaning that would make my life what it was meant to be today."

“People mocked me. They thought me childish to say that I could change things, that I could make a difference, but, even then, I was committed to my cause. Is it childish, perhaps, to wish for a better world? Perhaps so."

He sighed, eyes drifting from Greyin's.

“I had one friend, however, just the one. A stag. Yes, you know him, you're right, Greyin – that is Philip's father, the young stag. He is well, yes, but… Back then, we were rivals as I campaigned for mayor, him being aligned with an opposing party. That was all well and good: healthy competition is hearty for the soul, what gives us life. Privately, however, our values aligned, seeking a better future, better times for our people, better protection, better jobs, better lives. We both wanted the same thing."

Saron looked down, his mind drifting back, so far back. Oh, how different things had been back then, though that did not always mean that they were well in his memories.

“But he saw things differently. Oh, what a fool I was. I thought we were aligned, that, ultimately, what we wanted was the same thing. But I was wrong."

“After the election, where I won, I expected him to be there. He was a proud soul. He would congratulate me. But he never came to congratulate me and, instead, I found him seeking out assassins, corresponding for control, to usurp it for his own purposes, even though I had rightly and fairly won the election."

“I should have known better than to trust him."

“Other cities rose to fight back. There will never be any reason behind them other than lies, things that should never have come to pass. He riled them up, fed them inconsistencies and made untruths out of them. Yet their special forces were easily countered by my own, what I'd already worked on building up in the city through what power my family had, all to my benefit. If I had not thought ahead and foreseen betrayal, I would not have been able to keep power, to keep the control I needed to make this city and beyond a better place."

He paused, taking a breath.

“And it was you, Greyin, so long ago. You would remember that, if I had not had to break you, to twist you down into obedience. Yet that was another past life of yours, a time when you were once strong and proud, a beautiful assassin, one of my most loyal and trusted bodyguards. I made a mistake even with you though, for you too left to join the rebels before."

The king smirked, Greyin panting, eyes unfocused, not really seeing, not understanding, yet the lion-dog comfortable in the moment.

“But look at you know… You're broken. Your body is a toy, a sex toy for the whims of anyone that I say can use you. What good are you now? If only you had not joined the rebels, your life could have been different, Greyin. I could have given you everything that you could have ever wanted, as an anthro. Now… You are just a dog. A lovely dog. You make a better dog."

And that was true, though even Greyin did not know what the king was saying, his adoring master, the master that he loved so very passionately with all his heart and soul. There was a life and a time for him there and it was only at the feet of his master, obeying, doing as he willed, his muscles showing lightly through his white fur but not to the point that the silk luxury of it could be forgotten. Oh, he was glorious, so sleek and so powerful, yet he had needed his master to do something to contain that power, to make him something that he could not otherwise have been.

Without his master, Greyin did not have the power in his body. He believed he was weak and helpless, that he needed his master there to protect him, even though that did not match up with his need to protect his master, how he would lay his life down for his master, if it ever came to that. It would happen without question, playing the part of the bodyguard that he had once been without even knowing it, becoming his master's loyal pet to defend him from all ails and physical ills in the world, the people who may have come for him.

Yet his body lost its power in being a living sex toy for the tyrant too, his tail always flagged, even as he sat there. Something in Greyin pushed him to lift his hips from the rug, despite being facing the king, his master, letting himself be lewdly and crudely always exposed. Of course, he would defend his master, but he was there for other things too as the tyrant king finally pressed the button on the remote that allowed his cock to slide back into its sheath, the chastity device sparking to life around it once again. Greyin whined, pawing at his master's shoulder.

No! Oh no… No! He wanted to cum, but he couldn't do anything about it, not as the toy under his tail buzzed audibly, pressing over his prostate, sending throbs of need through him. It did not actually give him that much pleasure anymore, only the need to climax, to thrust, to orgasm, and perhaps that was something that would have to be enough for him. He was only allowed something bigger, something better, when his master allowed it, though Greyin's dog-like mind was so dulled and softened that he didn't even know what his master did to allow him to orgasm anymore. He only knew, with the mind of an animal and not the sharply intelligent assassin that he'd once been, that his master controlled it.

That was why he had to love his master, his balls resting on the rug as he kept his hips angled, sitting awkwardly on his haunches, though obedience always trumped comfort. He didn't have to be comfortable to please and to serve his master, oh no, not at all, for there were other things that were far, far more important to Greyin. He may not have been able to put words to them, the language part of his brain having devolved into something more carnal and suited to his position in the world, but he knew what to protect and to serve was, to obey. It was all he needed, panting, licking his lips, the lingering remnants of the pleasure he'd felt mounting the lioness tickling through him.

That was something that his master had allowed too. Therefore, his master was a good man, and Greyin would not hear anything else of it. His view of his master was all that mattered to him. Though his master had talked a lot that evening…

Saron hugged the white lion tightly to him, seeing only a dog. He was not the Greyin that he remembered, but a better version of him, a version that would play into his plans perfectly, becoming everything that he wanted the lion-dog to be and more. It was no longer Greyin that controlled his life, but the tyrant – and wasn't that a beautiful thing? Things had changed, all for the better, Greyin warm, and happy and comfortable, no longer locked away in a rebel's bunker or so-called safe house. They should have learned, after he'd started picking them off, one by one, that there were no safe houses left for them.

His master was…sad? There was something there, pulling him in closer, Greyin whimpering, licking his master's face as he hugged him.

He didn't want his master to be sad. He didn't want him to feel lonely. How could he be lonely when Greyin was there to comfort him, to be with him?

“You're a good dog, Greyin…"

What Greyin did not know was the depths of how much the tyrant loathed betrayal, a personal affront to him, even when he did not know the individuals who were betraying him and his rule on a wider scale. Greyin had been instrumental and it had even been him that had forced the stag, a fully grown adult with a huge rack of antlers, some tines snapped off in the struggle, into the pod. The pod had seemed like something to lock him down in, as a prisoner, but Greyin had seen the first inklings of the tyrant king's rule that day, how he intended to conduct himself as the stag was locked down as if on all fours, naked, his body accessible.

His head had been partially enveloped in a mask that allowed a feeding tube into his mouth and air tubes into his nostrils, taking care of his needs without requiring him to be removed from the pod. He'd heart it all before, how they had to “come down hard" on those that opposed the king's rule. Back then, he'd wondered at the strange way that his employer had wanted him to refer to him, the “king". It was not right for a mayor, but he had been following the course of his work in defending him, protecting him, carrying out his will. It was the right thing to do, his job and position there, and he didn't have to think too much to carry it out.

Still… Greyin had paused when he'd seen through the translucent material of the pod – something like plastic but far, far stronger. It allowed him to see how the probe-like tube pushed up into the rectum of the stag, another folding around his shaft. It was not simply something to imprison him safely (why had a cell not done the same job?), but something to torture him, to break him, to sway him to the will of Saron the mayor while he was helpless to do anything else.

Yet Greyin, back then, had been a bodyguard, a trained assassin, though he did not concern himself too much with looking for targets. He was a high-paid assassin, of course, one who selected jobs with skill, applying to his own ethics and values, the moral code that he held close to his heart.

But there was nothing in his morals about locking down a helpless slave, a stag who looked at the tyrant king as the last thing he ever saw with an intelligent, living mind. For what happened afterwards as he was turned and abused and broken into a mindless cum-slave was not at all what Greyin had expected to see, his dick milked, day in and day out, forced to cum, denied orgasm, seed trickling from him constantly as he lost all control.

The ability to relieve his body naturally of waste products was taking from him, dehumanising him, even though he was an anthro: they had not come up with a like term for that, but the meaning behind it remained the same. Everything that had made the political opponent of the mayor who he was as a person, as a proud stag, was stripped from him.

The need for orgasm flowed through the stag, his eyes desperate, snapping back and forth, wriggling, writhing, seeming like he was thrashing, though he could barely move an inch back and forth, muscle wasting away in his imprisonment. Greyin was forced to keep track of him, to ensure that his imprisonment was “sufficient", though those were his employer's words, not his.

He'd wondered back then if that would happen to him if he disobeyed his employer, someone that he had only thought that he was doing a job for, everything in line with his morals and values, the principles by which he lived by. But things like that could turn and change in the blink of an eye as he watched the stag fade and fade, knowing that the stag would not remember him. No one in that state of contorted, twisted need, whimpering incoherently, not even knowing how to ask for help anymore, would ever be able to pick out one face amongst the many that had tortured him, abused him sexually.

One thing, however, that Greyin had to admit, was that the stag would surely be under the tyrant's control forevermore after such an event. Never again would he be a threat, and he grappled with himself, back them, trying to make justice out of it, even though he didn't think there was any kind of justice to be had there.

He could try though. That was all that he could do.

But Greyin would have nightmares every night until he finally left the employ of the mayor, his power growing, all nightmares of the stag's horrified face as he was forced down into the pod. How hard he had fought, as if he had known something that Greyin hadn't, not at that time. How the stag's cock had started to cum, forced to be out, the moment it had been shoved into the tube wrapping around it, pulsing, taking all sense of self from the stag, moment by moment, with no other option at all available to him.

There could be nothing else, no more in the stag's life, nothing other than mindless orgasms, the need to cum and to cum again. Every bit of him had been taken away and Greyin had had a front row centre seat to it, forced to watch. Maybe the king had thought that it would secure his obedience even more. It had done the opposite.

He'd tried not to think too much of the stag, his nudity, his helplessness, wondering if, one day, that was going to be him. The curves of the stag's muscles, where they had risen proudly, softened over time, wasting away, for there was no longer any reason for his body to hold onto them, never again. Greyin had asked once if they were going to remove the stag from the pod when his punishment was over, but the guard had only laughed at him.

“That's not for traitors. He deserves this!"

Greyin wasn't sure. Thus, he questioned.

However, once the tyrant had finished with the stag, his work had not been done and he had taken Greyin along with him, seeking out the special forces soldiers from other cities.

“Do you remember that too, Greyin?" His master murmured in the present time, stroking his head. “The time when you were sent in to take out the special forces soldiers? Oh, their crudeness…their lust for violence… It is no wonder that, somehow, it had to find an outlet. Yet that did not mean that the rest of humanity had to suffer for it, twisting their violence into, safer, bestiality. They did make fine experiments in the first human and anthro to feral creature transformations, didn't they? Not all successful though, but they all lost their humanity, one way or another, the anthros too. It's a chance for them to be useful in the world, after all, even if they are only, in the end, giving their bodies over to science. I couldn't think of a better use for them, truly."

“It was their fault and bearing for interfering, after all, though those cities are under my control now too as we extend our reach further and further. Soon, there will not be a soul in the whole world to stand up against me, and I will be able to make the whole world, not just the city, a better place."

It was what he'd desired the whole time, yes, of course, not aware that he had long ago gone off his path, that it had become something else. Yet that was the will and the bearing of power, why he was genial in giving those that went against him “another chance", even if it was no kind of chance in life at all. The dog sitting beside him, Greyin panting softly, waiting, watching, listening to his every word, was living proof of that. Neither the king nor Greyin, however, knew that.

“Yes, yes… No one goes on without a second chance, I know. You know. You're a good boy now, Greyin, doing your job, being a good dog."

He looked at Greyin, the dog close to him, the lion's white fur soft and gentle.

“I didn't expect you would not be able to resist the temptation of corruption… But you are well now, Greyin, aren't you? It's all better now. I made it better for you."

His master rubbed the back of his hand across his face and, concerned, Greyin leaned in. Why was his master so sad again? He hadn't seemed sad for a little while, but something had changed again. Although the lion-dog licked his master's face comfortingly, he didn't know what else he could do to comfort his master other than being there, though he would have told his master that he was very comfortable right where he was, if he could. As the dildo vibrated in his arse, the hum of it lower than it had been, pulsing through another cycle, the lion-dog left him wanting to cum, but knowing that there had been no command yet to do so.

He knew who he was, where he was in the world, what he was to do. It was a simple life for Greyin, at least from the lion-dog's point of view, but it was his life. He had not, in his current state of mind, known anything different.

As he licked his master's cheek and barked contentedly, he wagged his tail. Maybe his master would have a treat for him?

But even his master's mind was elsewhere that night as he held his loving dog tightly to him, taking comfort in the feel of his body pressed up against his.

Continued in part two…