Late summer.
Treel have just brought a basket of grapes back to the shed and is trying to sneak a few moments rest in the shade, pretending to be checking the basket's straps when he happens to overhear what the two female rabbits are whispering about.
"Did you hear?" the black-and-white female whispers conspiratorically, "about Remarra?"
"No, what?" the tawny one responds.
"Word is that she's with child," the first exclaims, gleefully, "and she doesn't have a mate! She doesn't even have a suitor!"
"Couldn't have happened to a more deserving brat!" the second female grins. "Anyone knows who the father is?"
"Not a clue," the black-and-white rabbit replies. "There wasn't any coyotes visiting in the spring."
"Are you certain?"
"Well," the first one starts, "that's what I heard from the coon working in the kitchen, and she ought to know!"
Remarra? Pregnant? But... That's impossible!
"Hey you!" Snap!
The crack of the whip and the sound of the guard bearing down on him quickly brings Treel back to reality, and he hurries to shoulder the basket and run towards the long rows of grape-vines.
Snap!
Yowww! Thankful for the protection the basket offers his back, he rubs his butt and makes his way to where he left off.
Evening.
As the other slaves eats their evening meal -- mostly bruised fruits and vegetables -- Treel makes his way to the entrance of the pens.
"Get back in!" one of the guards, a heavyset wolf, orders.
"P-please," the raccoon stutters, going down on his knees, "I must speak with the master!"
"He doesn't want to talk to the likes of you!" the guard growls, hefting a heavy club, "now get back in!"
"B-but," the raccoon stutters, terrified, "it's about his daughter!"
"WHAT! You know who is responsible?"
"Yes," Treel mumbles, almost inaudibly.
"I'd order you to tell me who it was," the guard grumbles, "but then I would have to tell the master, and I value my life too much. Get up and follow me!"
"Yes, master," the raccoon mumbles, hurrying to follow the guard as he marches across the yard and into the main building. After leading him through a large hallway, up carpeted stairs and down a narrower hall, the guard points to the floor. "Wait here!"
Without a word, Treel goes down on his knees, puts his paws behind his back and bows his head.
The wolf scratches on the plate beside the door, then waits until he hears a grunt before pulling open the door and slipping inside. There's a muted conversation, then the guard returns. "Go in." Then he pushes the raccoon towards the still open door.
Well inside, the raccoon see a large, male coyote sitting behind a desk, reading some papers. He quickly take a kneeling position before him.
"Well, slave," the coyote states after what feels like half the night to the raccoon, but which must have been only a few minutes. "You know who is the father of the child my daughter denies she is carrying?"
"Y-yes, master," Treel stutters, "I do." Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he adds in a slightly higher voice, "I am the father." There! Now I've said it. If I'm lucky he'll kill me himself, before his daughter can get her paws on me.
At first the coyote just stares at him, then his booming laughter fills the room. Getting up from his chair and walking over to, and around, the raccoon he asks, casually, "Why do you want to die?"
"I don't, master," Treel whispers, still gazing down.
Stopping in front of the raccoon the coyote grabs his head in his right paw and forces him to look up. "I asked you a question," he growls, "and I expect an answer. Why are you telling me such a blatant lie?"
"I'm not lying," Treel manages to whisper, terrified. The large male is about to punish the raccoon when he notices something in his eyes, besides the terror shining from them. "You actually believe what you're saying? But it's impossible! No female can carry the child of a male of another race!"
"I know, master," the raccoon whispers, "but it's true!"
Letting go of the raccoon's head, the coyote moves to stand behind his desk. "And how is this supposed to have happened?"
"This spring," the raccoon begins, nervously, "she commanded me to have sex with her to 'ease the burning in her' as she said it."
"Don't tell me what I already know. I have excellent memory and can remember seeing you in the hallway. Tell me what I don't know!"
"There was this badger," Treel mutters.
"There's more than one badger," the coyote retorts. "Which badger, and what did he do?"
"It was last summer," the raccoon begins, uncertain, "I don't know his name, but he wanted to see the fields and everything."
"They all do," the large male growls, "they either think they can judge the quality of the finished products by looking at the fields, they just want to be a nuisance, or, quite possibly, both."
"During a water-break he approached us and begun passing out candy while telling us that it really was a medicine that would let us to have children with whoever we wanted."
"And no one questioned it?" "It was candy, master," Treel mumbles. "If someone wants to give a slave some candy and tell a tall tale and the guards doesn't object..."
"So... You ate this 'candy'. How many others did he give it to? Three, four, or?"
"Everyone. He gave us enough for every slave in the pens and told us to share."
Sigh. "That just saved your life. If only a few had eaten of it, I could have done something, but the whole pen? And I'll lay odds on that if what you told is true, that similar scenes occured on all the farms in the area." Getting up again, he heads for the door. "Stay as you are. If you move, touch anything or even attempt to leave, the guards will get to play with you for as long as they can keep you alive!"
Shuddering at the thought of what a wolf might do to him, Treel consentrates all his energy on keeping perfectly still.
For the poor raccoon it feels like he has been in the same position for several eight-days when the large coyote finally returns.
"A couple of the other slaves in the pens told the same story," the coyote grumbles, "and my daughter finally admitted that she had been with a male."
Whew!
"However..."
>Uh oh...
"You have caused a lot of problems, and will have to be punished. The other slaves gets ten lashes each, but that won't do for you. Unfortunately," he states, grinning evilly, "I believe in making the punishment fit the crime, but can't decide what the crime is, so... As my daughter is the victim, I'll let her decide."
"Nooo!" the raccoon wails. "Please, kill me!"
"Shut up!" the coyote growls. "You will go to her quarters, I believe you know the way already, and present yourself and accept whatever she decides is fitting punishment!"
Knowing that he's walking to his own -- probably quite slow, painful and messy -- execution, Treel still manages to get to his feet, out the open door and down the hall.
A minute later, walking as slowly as he can and occasionally prodded by the gard following close behind, Treel arrives at the door to Remarra's quarters. Sighing, he reach out with his right paw and scratches on the panel next to the door. When there's no response he reach for the plate again, only to have the guard catch his paw.
"She's in there," he states, "I can hear her. Go in!"
Pushing the door open, the raccoon calls, "Mistress?" then enters to stand in the middle of the room. There's a growl from behind and a searing pain across his back. He turns around and ends up almost falling backwards as he dodges a swipe from her paw, claws fully extended, which was aimed at his face.
"You!" she screams, "you did this to me?!"
"I didn't mean to!" he yelps, then ducks another swipe, this time from her left paw.
"You knew!" she crowls, "you knew but you still..."
Fucked and got fucked, he finishes for himself.
Screaming incoherently, she lunges at his throat.
Chomp!
Yaaarrh!!
Only reflexes honed by years of dodging whips allows Treel to lift his left arm up to block her attack, but still the pain as her fangs penetrates fur, skin and flesh to scrape against bone is almost too much.
Her jaws locked solidly around his arm, the coyote begins to flail and slash at his unprotected back and sides.
Panicking, Treel tries to push her away with his right paw, only to touch something round, soft and fur-covered.
At once the female's expression changes. "Don't touch my breasts!" she screams, letting go of his arm with her jaws and taking a step back, giving him a glimpse of her body, clad only in a simple robe -- which must have slipped open to expose her breasts -- before landing a terrible blow on the side of his head with her fist, sending him flying.
As consciousness fades the last he sees is her foot being lifted and swung back.
Then...