The male raccoon slowly uncurls and opens an eye. Why am I on the floor? Why is the carpet red?
Darkness...
When the raccoon again opens his eyes it's dusk. Is it evening? Evening?! I have tasks to do in the kitchen! He slowly moves his right arm out from under his head and tries to lift himself up. My paw isn't supposed to move like that, is it?
Darkness...
"What a mess!"
The kitchen mistress?
A wet cloth across his face, caressing and bringing comfort.
Darkness
Groan.
"You're wake, already?"
Groaning again, Treel slowly opens his eyes to gaze up on the lioness standing beside him. "What?" he asks confused, "Where?"
"You're in the kitchen," the female states, patting him on the shoulder, "but as for what happened, I have no idea."
Remarra! "Remarra," he whispers.
"That I already knew," the lioness states. "One of the guards found you in the hall with a bloody trail leading back to her rooms." Then, patting his bandaged arms, she asks, "What I would like to know is what you did to anger her like this, and how you managed to crawl as far as you did with two broken arms." P>Broken? Hall? B-but...
When he tries to lift his arms, the lioness stops him. "Don't try," she commands, "it took us ages to patch you up, and you don't want our efforts to be in vain, do you?" Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Your left leg was broken and you have more broken than whole ribs. You were very lucky not to lose an eye and I didn't bother to count all the gashes, cuts and bruises."
"Lucky?"
"Yes, you have a gash which stops a fraction of an inch from your left eye," she explains, running a finger from the back of his head and between his ears, stopping on his left brow. Then she moves her paw to press gently against his belly. "Does this hurt?" she asks.
"N-no," he stutters.
"Good!" she exclaims. "Then there shouldn't be any internal injuries, which means you'll live to annoy Remarra again."
"Hooray..."
"For someone who will be waited on paw and foot by my girls, you don't sound very enthusiastic," the lioness mutters. Moving over to a counter she dumps a powder into a bowl, adds a hot liquid from a pot hanging in the fireplace and stirs it with a spoon. Sitting down beside the raccoon she orders, "Open up."
When he opens his maw she begins to spoon the hot mix -- broth, he realises -- into his mouth. Half a bowl later he finds his eyes beginning to sag.
"That was quick," the lioness states. Then she puts down the bowl and pulls his blanket up to his chin. "Sleep well."
Creak. "He's still alive?"
The master!? Fearing that the large, male coyote is there to finish what his daghter started, Treel lies completely still, hoping against all reason that no one will notice him.
"Alive and getting better," the lioness states. "Are you here to change that?"
"No, he's not that lucky," the coyote states. "For what he did, he should have been whipped to within an inch of his life, then thrown into a cage in the backyard, but I have use of him, so he gets to live for a while longer."
Remarra must have told him what I did!
"What are you going to do with him?" the lioness asks.
"For starters," the coyote grins, "I think we'll move him out of here so that he isn't in your way."
"He's not a problem to us," the lioness counters, "at least as long as he can't use his paws."
"Doesn't matter," the large male states. He then barks a short order and two guards enters with a stretcher.
The guards quickly rolls the raccoon over on the frame and lifts it. Then they turn, and instead of heading towards the backyard and the pens, they carry him towards the main part of the house.
To Treel's horror the coyote opens the door to Remarra's rooms and lets the guards carry him inside. Then they dump him onto a narrow bed in the corner furthest away from her bed, but close to the fireplace.
"We can't have you sleeping in the hallway," the coyote states, "it looks so untidy." Then he pulls a written note from a pocket and places it on top of the raccoon's chest. "Don't try to move," he orders,"if my daughter doesn't notice my message she might do something rash."
"P-please, master," Treel stutters, "don't leave me here!"
"Shut up!" the coyote growls. "My daughter will soon give birth to a child, which will be totally helpless and dependant on her. She needs the practice and you don't have anything to say about it!"
"I-is she going to?" the raccoon asks with dread, looking down his body.
"No," the coyote grins, "for that task, she can ask the slaves, but she will have to take care of all your other needs."
Remarra, feeding me? Why can't he just whip me?
Slam!
The sound of the door, then of someone moving towards him, pulls Treel out of his doze.
"You!"
The raccoon doesn't need to open his eyes to know that the young, female coyote is standing over him, scowling. There's a swishing sound and Treel steels himself for the attack he expects, but all that happens is that she snaps up the paper still laying on his chest.
The female growls, then stamps out of the room, leaving the raccoon to breathe a sigh of relief.
A few minutes later the female returns, swearing profusely. She marches over to the raccoon, grabs his shoulders and shakes him hard.
"W-what?" he mumbles groggily.
"I'm NOT feeding you!" she growls. Letting go of the raccoon she stomps over to a corner and pulls hard on a rope.
Thankful for the reprieve, Treel sinks back in his bed.
A few minutes later, while Remarra is busy lighting a lamp, a skunkette arrives with a tray. She glances towards the raccoon -- as if to check whether he's still alive, or not -- then hurries to place the tray on a table before disappearing as quietly as she came.
The coyote pours herself a cup of tea and sit down in a chair. Then she picks up a book, takes a sip of her cup and begins to read.
A while later, as she pours her third cup of tea, she looks at the raccoon, and noticing how he looks at the pot, she growls, "What? Do you want something to drink?"
"Uh, n-no," a suddenly very thirsty raccoon stutters nervously. Dying of thirst and starvation can't be worse than her claws, can it?
"Good!" Draining her cup in one single gulp, she gets up and walks over to a door made to blend with the wall and disappears through it. When the coyote returns a few minutes later she has changed from her usual dress to a simple robe. "What are you staring at?" she growls. Grabbing a piece of clothing and tossing it so that it covers his face, she states, "If you try to remove it, I'll hurt you." Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Maybe I'll hurt you anyway, just to be on the safe side."
Terrified, Treel can only lie there, waiting and listening as she walks around the room, only relaxing as the light dims and he realises that she's only extinguishing the oil-lamps. There's a rustle as she removes her robe, a creak and another rustle as she pulls up her duvet.
The sunlight shining directly on his face and the dull throbbing in his ribs pulls Treel from an uneasy slumber. At first he just lies there, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, then a realisation strikes; The cloth! If it isn't covering my face when Remarra wakes, she'll... Turning his head to the side he catches a glimpse of the fabric, crumpled in a heap beside him. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he rolls over on his side and snags the cloth with his teeth. Then he pauses for a moment or two to let the pain in his ribs subside somewhat before slowly rolling back, pulling the fabric along. Exhausted by the strain he drifts back into a slumber.
Creak
The sound of the coyote moving about stirs Treel. For a moment he's afraid that his struggle earlier might have awakened her, but as he hears her tug on the bell-cord in the corner, then return to her bed, he realises that he's not in trouble this time. She only wanted breakfast.
A few minutes later the door opens and someone pads quietly across the floor to Remarra's bed, then leaves again just as silently.
"Ah! Breakfast!" Remarra exclaims. Then the room fills with the sound of cutlery scraping against a plate, chewing and even belching.
That must be bacon, he thinks, hearing the way she chews something crunchy, remembering the time he helped wash after a large dinner and managed to snag a pice from one of the dirty plates. It's soo good! Then realisation strikes. She's chewing it far more than usual because she knows I'm awake and listening!
Still ignoring the raccoon, the coyote pours herself a cup of tea and leans back, sighing contentedly.
Remarra is still enjoying her tea when the door suddenly slams open and someone steps heavily across the floor. "Why haven't you fed him, yet?" the visitor asks. Then, walking over to the raccoon and yanking away the cloth covering his face, he adds, "And what's the idea with this?"
"M-master?" Treel stutters, looking up into the face of the large coyote towering above him. Think fast or Remarra will do something nasty! "Master," he begins, "it was the mistress' idea, to keep the morning sun out of my eyes so that I could sleep longer and heal faster."
"I didn't ask you," the coyote growls. Turning back to his daughter he barks, "And you better start feeding him now or you'll be sleeping in the same room as the pregnant slaves!"
Oh no! Remarra will be angry! Groaning to himself, he closes his eyes and sinks down in the bed.
There's a rustle as the female gets out off bed, then another as she puts on a robe. The floor by the raccoon's bed creaks, then, "Open your muzzle."
When the raccoon carefully opens one eye he sees the coyote standing by the bed, a wooden bowl in one paw and a spoon in the other. Whoever brought her breakfast must have brought the bowl, too.
"It'll be easier to feed him if you raise his head a bit," her father states, then stomps out, slamming the door after himself.
"You heard him," she states, grinning evilly. She puts down the bowl and spoon, then grabs his shoulders and yanks him upright.
"Yaaahhh!"
"Oh, was it painful?" she asks in a concerned-sounding voice.
"M-my ribs," he gasps.
"What, theese?" she asks, patting him in the side and sending lances of pain throughout his body. Seeing him gasp in pain, she adds, "Maybe I'll enjoy this after all."
I bet you will, you... you...
"Unfortunately, I have other things to do than play with you all day," she growls, "so open up." Then she grabs the spoon, scoops some broth and lifts it to his muzzle.
A couple of minutes later the coyote drops the spoon into the empty bowl which she deposits on a nearby table. "Want me to help you lie down, and maybe tuck you in?" she asks, grinning sweetly.
"N-no!" the racoon stutters, terrified. Then he very slowly lowers his upper body back down.
"Good!"she grins, "You know the rules."
"Yes, mistress," he responds qietly, "I don't cause you any trouble, and you won't hurt me."
"Oh, I will hurt you," she growls, "I just haven't decided how much, yet." Then she gets up and walks over to the closet to change into her usual clothes, leaving Treel to contemplate the serious question of whether or not to ask her to get one of the other slaves to help him with a serious need. In the end he decides to try to hold out until someone comes by to pick up the breakfast tray.
An eightday later.
Remarra is out so Treel is slumbering in his bed instead of cowering in terror because of her particularly bad mood the last couple of days when he hears somebody outside the door.
"Why do you want to go here? It's much nicer in the library!"
Remarra? I thought she would be out all day.
The door swings open and the coyote marches in, quickly followed by her wolf and fox friends, and finally the young rabbit slave who quietly closes the door and sinks down on her knees beside the chair her mistress sat down in.
"You've moved him in here?" the wolfess asks, gesturing towards the raccoon, "so that he's nearer when you feel the need for a male?"
"It's my father's idea of punishment, " Remarra growls, "instead of throwing his carcass to the worms, I have to nurse him back to health."
"Well, being cared for by you may be considered punishment," the fox grins. Then, patting the rabbit on the head, she orders, "Check that no vital parts have been damaged on him." As the rabbit gets to her feet, she adds, "And you know what I consider vital."
"Yes, mistress," the rabbit responds meekly. Stopping by his side, she lifts the blanket covering him and studies his bandages for a moment, then she grabs his sheath with her right paw and squeezes gently for a moment. "Was that painful?" she asks quietly.
"N-no," he whispers. Actually, it felt nice.
"He doesn't look to be able to use his paws at the moment, " the rabbit announces, "but both his tongue and cock seems to be fine." Then she walks back to her mistress' chair and resumes her earlier position.
"That proves it!" the fox exclaims, "you have him in here only to satisfy your own needs!"
"Don't you ever think about anything but sex?" Remarra asks, disgusted.
"No," the red-furred female replies, grinning. Then, gesticulating towards the door, she orders the rabbit, "Go and fetch us a large pot of tea." "Yes, mistress," she whispers meekly, then rises and makes for the door.
As soon as the rabbit is out of earshot, the fox asks, "Anyone have any idea of where I could get some of that medicine?"
"What do you want with it?" the wolfess asks. "Seen a wolf you like?"
"No," she replies, "but my older sister is playing with a skunk, and trying to keep it secret. I figured that slipping the medicine in her evening tea would be a sweet revenge for when she put nettles in my bed."
"You're evil!" the wolfess exclaims. "Just wish I had thought of it. But haven't the slaves at your place been given the stuff? I know that most of ours managed to get it."
"Most of our slaves were off to the south, clearing a new field when that badger came by, so only a few of the household slaves got it," the vixen explains, "and you can be certain he won't be showing up around here again for the next few years."
"If he does," Remarra growls, "I will skin him alive, then cut his heart out while it's still beating!"
"And here I thought it was the raccoon you fancied," the wolfess grins, "and instead you want to play with a grumpy old badger!"
"That reminds me," the vixen states. Getting up from her chair, she walks over to Treel's bed, goes down on her knees beside it, slips a paw under the blanket and begins to stroke his sheath.
Soon he begins to stir and his member swells.
"Feels nice, doesn't it?" she asks sweetly.
He nods, uncertainly. What is she up to?
Suddenly she squeezes hard, her claws digging into the sensitive flesh. "If you mention a word of this conversation to anyone, I'll rip something off, is that clear?"
"Y-yes!" he stutters and nods his head vigorously.
"Good," she states, letting go of his member and withdrawing her paw. "You wouldn't happen to know where I can get hold of that medicine, do you?"
"N-no," he stutters, "mistress."
"A pity."
When the rabbit returns with the tea a few minutes later, the females are talking about dresses and the only sign that anything has happened is a slowly sagging bump on Treel's blanket.
Evening.
The visitors have long gone and Remarra is somewhere else when the raccoon from the kitchen enters. "I figured it was better to get this done while the mistress was out," she explains, brandishing a curiously shaped bottle.
"Yeah," he sighs, "she doesn't like to be bothered later in the evening."
"Or any other time," the female grins. Then she pulls off his blanket and leans in to place the bottle-end against his member. "What's this?" she asks, running a finger along a barely visible scratchmark.
"Don't ask," he grumbles.
"Remarra being Remarra again?" she quips.
Deciding that revealing who did it might be enough to get into more trouble, Treel just grunts noncomittaly.
"Won't talk, eh?" she grins as she finishes fitting the bottle and turns away to let him relieve himself. A minute later she turns around again, removes the bottle with a practised movement and wipes him off with a wet cloth. "All nice and clean!" she announces and pulls the blanket back over him. "If the mistress wasn't ordering a certain skunk for extra duty in the kitchen tonight, I might have stayed a while," she adds teasingly before leaving as quietly as she came.
Yeah, right! he thinks. Remarra have threatened to kill any slave I have sex with, and not even your mistress can protect you then.
It's long since dark whe Remarra stamps in, carrying a candle in her left paw. She lights an oil-lamp, then begins to remove her clothing before noticing that Treel is still awake. "What are you staring at?" she growls, then throws her skirt over his muzzle.
"Smells nice," he mumbles without thinking when he notices the scent imbued in the fabric.
"What did you say?" she asks, growling.
To his horror he can feel his body beginning to respond to the scent. "Y-you smell nice, mistress," he stutters. Please don't let her notice!
"How I smell or not is none of your business!" she hisses, "and if I hear another sound out of you tonight, I'll burn out your nose!"
She's crazy enough to do it, too!
Obviously satisfied that she has scared him sufficiently, she continues her undressing. Then she blows out the lamp and quickly slips under the cover of her own bed.
Soon her breathing slows and Treel can finally try to sleep himself.
"Grrr."
The sound pulls Treel from his slumber just in time to feel strong jaws close around his throat. Terrified he tries to push his attacker away, only to have strong lances of pain shoot through his body when the broken bones in his arms shifts and rubs against each other.
His blanket is pulled off and a strong paw grabs his flaccid member. The jaws around his throat disappears and someone growls, "Get it up or die!"
Remarra! Please let this be a very bad nightmare!
"Get it up!" she hisses, then locks her jaws across his throat again.
Gasping for air, the terrified raccoon suddenly feel his body reacting to her orders.
As soon as his member is sufficiently stiff, the coyote releases him from her choke-hold, clambers on top of him and impales herself on it. "If you come before I'm finished, I'll feast on your entrails," she hisses. She grabs his shoulders with her paws and digs her claws into his flesh, then slowly begins to move up and down.
"Oooahhh," he groans when she slams down particularly hard and her knees rubs his broken ribs.
"Shut up!" she growls, then lets go of his left shoulder for just long enough to slap him across the muzzle a couple of times.
She's gonna kill me!
Sighing, the coyote lowers herself on him and starts riding up and down, first slowly, then faster and faster.
Treel, scared witless and completely helpless, can only clamp his jaws shut and pray that he'll last the distance. Then a cloud hiding the larger moon moves away and the room is no longer completely dark. Now he can see her shape as she bounces up and down on him, her muzzle wide open and her tongue hanging out on he side as she pants and gasps. Further down he can only vaguely sense movement. Don't look at her breasts! he orders himself, look away! Close your eyes, you idiot! Then another cloud moves in front of the moon and Treel is spared the sight of the coyote's breasts bouncing in front of him.
"Ah... Oh!" the coyote gasps, panting heavily.
Is she coming already?
"Grroarrrr!" she screams, shaking wildly as she plunges down as hard as she can, her claws digging further into his shoulders. Then she slowly topples forward, burying the raccoon's muzzle between her breasts.
Whimper.
The sound coming from under her slowly pulls the coyote from a dream and back to reality.
Groan.
Puzzled she opens her eyes, lifts her head and upper body and peeks down. "What are you doing in my bed?" she mumbles, still not completely awake.
Treel just glares up at her.
"Oh yeah, last night," she mumbles, "this is your bed."
"Get off me!" the raccoon hisses between clenched jaws.
Bending down until her muzzle is level with his right ear she growls, "Are you giving orders to your betters?"
Rot! Why couldn't I keep my muzzle shut? "N-no, mistress," he mumbles, "I only meant that it would be better for you to move off my lumpy, bony body and over to your nice, soft bed."
"Shut up!" she growls. Sitting up and somehow manageing to knee him in the groin, she looks herself over in the pre-dawn grayness. "You've bleed all over me!" she growls.
Knowing that she'll use anything he could say as an excuse to hurt him even more, Treel clamps his muzzle shut and closes his eyes.
A few moments later he is relieved to feel her weight disappearing.
"It's too early for a bath," she grumbles. Then she pads over to her own bed, slips under the cover and promptly falls asleep.
"Mistress?" he whispers, glancing towards a bundle on the floor, "what about my blanket?"