Treel is siting in the corridor, brushing his fur and waiting for his mistress to finish her breakfast. Since he had begun waking as soon as she stirred, he could get her breakfast before she got up to kick him. Maybe she's satisfied with my work? he muses, after all, she didn't have any of her awful little jobs waiting for me today.
"SLAVE!"
Her yell soon brings him back to reality. "Coming, mistress!" he exclaims, then hurries to place his brush on the shelf before pulling open the door and entering her room to drop to his knees before her.
"Get up!" she yells.
"Yes, mistress." Only when he lifts his head does he realise that she's only wearing a robe which seems to accenuate her growing belly. Without thinking, he reach out and places his right paw on her belly.
Smack!
"Did I give you permission to touch me?!" she yells at him.
"No, mistress!" he exclaims, sitting up from where her slap sent him. Why did I do something as stupid as that?
"I will punish you for that later!" she growls. "Now, get the tray back to the kitchen. Then go to the front door and wait. I'm expecting two friends. As soon as they arrive, lead them here, then bring us a fresh pot of tea and some snacks. Understand?"
"Bring the tray to the kitchen, wait for your friends by the front door and lead them here, then bring tea and snacks," he lists, "I understand, mistress."
"So what are you waiting for? Get going!"
"The mistress was in one of her moods today?" the rabbit asks when Treel enters the kitchen and deposits the tray on the counter.
"Yes," he replies, grinning ruefully. No reason to tell her why. Then, on a more serious note, he adds, "She's expecting some friends, soon. I have to wait for them at the front door."
"I think I know who," the rabbit comments, "and they already know the way. But thanks for the warning. I'll tell the mistress so she can plan the dinner." Then, thinking for a moment, she asks, "She probably want a pot of tea when they arrive, right?" When he nods she adds, "I'll put the kettle on the fire as soon as I hear the carriage pulling up."
"I'd thank you," he grins, but your mistress doesn't like it if I touch you." Then he hurries through the door to the great hall and past to the front door. He takes a quick peek through a glass pane and when he doesn't see anyone or anything on the road, he sighs with relief. Noticing the large mirror on one wall, he pads over to it and checks himself out. No need to annoy Remarra by looking dirty when I receive her friends, he thinks as he brushes off a few specks of dirt from his trousers, then quickly combs his tail with his stubby claws.
Much sooner than he would like a fancy open carriage, pulled by two white horses, pulls up to the front of the building and several females steps down. Knowing what is expected of him -- The mistress of the kitchen had explained it to him in detail a few days earlier -- he pulls open the heavy doors, then steps aside and goes down on one knee to let them enter, giving him a good look at them as they walk past; a tall wolfess at about his age, and obviously pregnant, a slender red-and-white furred fox at Remarra's age and to his surprise, a rabbit, younger than the vixen, wearing only a skirt, showing off her small but perky breasts, and lead by the fox on a thin leash. Gathering his wits, Treel announces, "Welcome, ladies. Mistress Remarra is expecting you, please follow me." Then he shuts the door and hurries to take the lead.
"He's got a nice butt, don't you think so, too?" one of the females asks.
"Yes, mistress," another voice -- the rabbit, he assumes -- responds meekly.
"Too small!" the third female barks, "I like them a few sizes larger and stronger!"
"Not everyone enjoys having a wolf ram his pole up their hole," the fox counters, "I think he's about the right size."
With his ears almost burning with embarrassment, the raccoon reaches Remarra's door. He scratches on the panel beside the door, then, when he hear her response, opens the door and announces, "Your guests, mistress." As soon as the three females are inside he closes the door and hurries towards the kitchen.
When Treel returns a few minutes later, carrying a tray filled with all kinds of goodies, he finds Remarra and the wolfess seated in the deep chairs, the vixen on the end of a couch and the rabbit sitting on the floor beside her, eyes closed and a slight smile on her muzzle as her mistress casually scritches her head. Trying to be as inconspicious as possible, the raccoon walks around the room to approach the table from behind Remarra's chair. After setting down the tray he turns to look at Remarra, expecting to be told to get out.
"What are you waiting for?" she growls, "start pouring!"
"Yes, mistress," he mumbles, grabbing the pot of milk and pours some into a cup, then adds tea and a lump of sweetener, just as he has learned that she likes it, before placeing the cup and saucer on a small table next to Remarra's chair.
"No milk, but two lumps," the wolfess states when he turns towards her. As he prepares her order, she muses, "I wonder if my mate would serve us tea like that if I slapped him around a little?"
"Make mine with milk, but no sweetener," the fox states. Then, grinning towards the wolfess, "Talking about big, dumb brutes, where is that mate of yours now? I haven't seen him around lately. Did he split and run when he heard you were pregnant?"
"He's off to the east, doing a lumber trade. He'll be back in a couple of eight-days, and he's not that dumb; he knows what I would do if he tried to run..."
"If you say so..." the vixen grins. Then she pours some of the tea from her cup into the saucer and puts it down on the floor, before the rabbit who bends forwards and begins to lick it.
"Slave!"
"Yes, mistress," Treel responds meekly, "what is your command?"
Nodding towards the wolfess, who have put her legs on a footrest, she states, "I need something to put my feet on."
"Yes, mistress," he responds, turning to look around the room, but without seeing anything suitable. "Shall I bring one from another room, or will a couple of pillows suffice?"
"You will not put my beautiful pillows on the floor!" she growls, "and fetching another footrest will take too long, so drop!"
Knowing that if he doesn't obey immediately, she'll most likely hurt him, the raccoon quickly drops to all fours in front of her chair.
"Lower!" she orders, nudging him in the ribs with her right foot, "down on your belly!"
Sighing softly to himself, Treel lies down on his belly. Maybe it won't be so bad, the carpet is nice and soft. No sooner has the thought entered his mind than her feet slams down on his back, much harder than necessary, making him gasp. Who am I kidding? Remarra wouldn't ever do anything nice!
With the raccoon out of eyesight the females' talk turns to clothes, friends and relatives, rumours and slander. When the large pot is finally empty, instead of letting Treel up, they send the rabbit to get it filled; she obviously must have done it before as she doesn't need directions to the kitchen.
Afternoon
Treel is still laying on the floor, acting as Remarra's footrest, dozing and beginning to enjoy the situation; the carpet is soft and thick, Remarra haven't yelled at or kicked him, he hasn't had to move a finger all day and he knows the mistress of the kitchen, no matter how much she scowls, will love to hear all the gossip he has memorized. Maybe my luck is turning?
Then, something lands directly in front of his muzzle, snapping him back to full alertness.
"You looked hungry," the wolfess grins, nodding towards what is laying on the carpet. Tilting his head he manages to look at the object and realises it's a slice of cold roast, the best piece of meat he has ever seen in fact, but now sprinkled with the dirt and loose fur from the carpet.
"Eat it!" the coyote growls, "or my friend will be very disappointed, and you don't want to hurt her feelings, do you?"
Glancing towards the large female and noticing not only the long rows of sharp teeth, but also the muscles rippling under her fur, he shakes his head. No, I don't want to anger her! Inching forward to reach the piece of meat, he tries to blow gently on it to remove some of the grit, only to have Remarra's feet slam down on his back.
"Eat!" she growls.
The master never forces us to eat from the floor in the pens, not even in the CAGE for that matter! Moving another inch forward he manages to slip his tongue under the piece, pulls it into his mouth and begins to chew it.
"Well, his tongue looks OK," the wolfess states, "maybe he isn't completely useless after all."
"Yeah," the vixen adds, "how is he in bed?"
"In bed?" the coyote retorts, "why would I want to have sex with him?"
"Why not?" the wolfess counters, grinning widely, "the nice thing with a slave is that they'll concentrate on pleasing you, not themselves as most males, and this one is already broken in, so to speak. There's a skunk back on my uncle's timberyard who get's a hard-on and begins to whimper the moment he sees me."
"But this one is useless!" Remarra exclaims, then kicks the raccoon in the ribs. "I picked him because I wanted relief without risk of getting pregnant, but even that he managed to mess up!"
"But you can't get more pregnant than you already are!" the wolfess counters. "So why not use him? I bet he'd like to serve his mistress to the fullest..."
"Yeah," the vixen interjects, "why don't you? Have you castrated him or something?"
"Not yet," Remarra mutters, "but I'm considering it!"
"He can't have been that bad, can he?" the wolfess asks, "good sex is great, but even bad sex is better than none. Can you at least tell us how big he is?"
"You only think about size!" the vixen exclaims, "shape is just as important, and if he knows how to use it, even more so!"
"You want to know?" Remarra asks. Then she kicks Treel in the side again and orders, "Get up, drop your pants and show them!"
Fearing Remarra's wrath more than the embarrasment, the raccoon stands up, quickly takes off his pants, then turns to stand so that both the wolfess and the vixen can see everything.
"Well, it's a nice enough sheath, and the balls seems to be there," the wolfess admits, "but it's a bit difficult to judge the size of the cock while it hides like that."
"You're right," the vixen interjects. Then she pats the rabbit on the head and whispers, "why don't you try to coax it out. I know you want to see it, too."
"Yes, mistress," the rabbit responds meekly. Then she gets up from where she was sitting, pads over to the raccoon and sit down on her knees in front of him. She slowly reach out with a delikate paw and begins to caress his sack and sheath, then she leans in and rubs her muzzle against his crotch. "He smells nice, mistress," she states, then gives the opening of his sheath a quick lick. "And he taste nice, too."
Then she decides to get serious about it and, while gently scritching his balls, she lets her very agile tongue roam along the length of his sheath.
Her efforts soon pays off as his member begins to swell and a red head pokes out of the sheath. Seeing a reaction, she grins, then slips her right paw behind him to scritch at the base of his tail, at the same time as she begins to suckle gently at the tip of his member. When it swells and protrudes further she opens her mouth and engulfs it, rubbing her large front teeth along the upper side of it while supporting the underside with her tongue.
Treel, at a loss for words, but feeling he must repay the blow-job somehow, puts a paw on top of her head and slowly strokes her long ears.
His caress seems to spur her into increasing her efforts as she also begins to suck on his member, in addition to stroking his balls.
Since Treel haven't been with a female for eight-days before being assigned to work for Remarra, it doesn't take long before he is panting hard and his member is rock hard.
The rabbit gives his member a last, long lick, from the base to the tip, then lets go off it and moves aside.
"Well, it's not as small as I feared," the wolfess grudgingly admits.
"Small?" the vixen retorts, "I think it looks like a nice size."
"That still doesn't mean he's any good, though," the wolfess states. "As you said yourself: how he uses it is more important than the size."
"Well, only one way to find out," the vixen responds. Then, pointing towards the rabbit, she adds, "Show us! Fuck her!"
Fuck her? More like rape. Glancing towards Remarra for directions, he gets a short nod. He goes down on his knees beside the rabbit, cups her left cheek in his right paw and begins to caress her breasts with his left paw.
"Get to it!" the wolfess growls.
The vixen is about to add her comments when a gong sounds.
"Dinner," Remarra states.
"That late already?" the vixen asks. "We must leave as soon as dinner is over." Then she turns to the rabbit and orders, "Go and make certain the coach is ready for us."
"And you," Remarra adds, getting up and stepping on Treel's tail, "don't you have duties in the kitchen?"
"Yes, mistress." he mumbles. Then he gets up and opens the door for the females.
As the three females disappears towards the dining-room, Treel turns to the rabbit. "I'm sorry about what almost happened," he begins.
"Don't be," she counters, "my mistress always makes me try out every new male she wants to have sex with. After the wolf she forced me to try last autumn, anything else would be pleasant. Besides, you wouldn't hurt me, would you?"
"No," he responds, "but still..."
"It could have been worse," she finishes for him. "We must take our pleasure where we can get it. Besides, she usually treats me nice; I even sleep in her bed at night, after pleasing her, of course, and sometimes she even returns the favour." Then, as they've come to the entrance hall, she pats his cheek and walks towards the large doors. "Maybe we'll meet again some time?"
"Maybe," he responds, if Remarra lets me live that long.
When Treel enters the kitchen to help with the chores -- the lioness had quite easily talked Remarra into it by listing all the messy jobs needed doing -- he finds a pregnant skunkette sitting by the table, eating stew. "Mena?" he asks, "what are you doing here?"
"Master Larr picked me as his persnal servant," she replies.
"But the pregnant females aren't moved into the house for several eight-days yet?"
"Maybe this has something to do with it?" she asks, stroking her belly, "after all, I spent my heat in his bed."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" she asks, "It was my idea. No I didn't believe in the badger's story, I just figured that if I was nice enough, Master Larr would treat me nice, too."
"And did it work?"
"I slept most of the day, ate the same food as he, and never did any labour for two eight-days," she replies, grinning widely. "He even made an attempt at returning the pleasure I gave him; he wasn't very good at it, but at least he tried. Having his child is just good luck."
"Good luck?"
"Yes. He might have killed me, but last night, when he brought me in, all he wanted to do was to lie beside me, stroking my belly."
"No sex?"
"Well," she replies, "he isn't that bad looking, smells nice, too, so I was rather aroused when I woke this morning."
Before she can describe in more detail exactly what happened that morning, the lioness and the rabbit enters and Treel is given tasks to do.
The dinner is barely over, and the dishes washed, when the bell for Remarra's room begins chiming.
"Your mistress wants her tea early tonight," the raccoon comments.
"Yeah," Treel mutters. I don't know how, but she even managed to make the bell sound angry. He fills the small kettle and hangs it over the fire, then quickly assembles her usual snacks on a tray. No sooner has the water reached the boiling point than he fills the pot, places it on the tray and hurries off.
Reaching her rooms, he stops for a moment to check that nothing is missing from the tray, and to calm himself, then slowly pulls open the door and enters.
Hearing him enter, the coyote gets up from her chair and scowls at him. "You took your time!" she growls. Then she points at the small table by the bed and orders, "place the tray there, then get out!"
With pleasure! Relieved that she seems to have forgotten the incident that morning, and happy at the prospect of an early evening, the raccoon quickly places the tray where indicated, then hurries towards the door.