FireFox

The thought warmed her, steadied her.

She didn't know how long she sat there. She could have finished off breakfast, she could have watched a news program, but she didn't want to. It was enough to sit and stare for her last few minutes of relative freedom. Jamison was checking out. And when he did that, someone would come for her. And she knew who it would be.

There was a step at the door. Unsurprisingly, this one didn't knock.

Firefox stood, went to her knees, and bowed her head. "Hello, ma'am," she said softly.

Tigre stepped over and touched her ear, releasing her.

Firefox bounced up, forcing energy into her body language. "Look at this," she said, pointing over at the table. "There's leftovers from breakfast. I'm full, so you can have it all."

Giving it away before Tigre could demand it was a risky tactic, but one designed to subvert Tigre's dominate / submit worldview.

Tigre sniffed. "That's ..." she said slowly.

"Kippered herring and baked beans," Firefox said, as though Tigre wouldn't recognize it. "He ordered breakfast for us. Mister Jamison told me about this trip he took to England with his wife. She liked the food so much it became her favorite breakfast."

"Milton is married?" she asked, dubiously.

Milton, not Jamison. She shouldn't comment on that. "His wife vanished, he said. He thinks she was kidnapped, and he doesn't know if she is alive or dead. That's why he hasn't remarried."

Tigre stared at the table. Firefox didn't know if she had heard her or not; so intent was the tiger on the table and the food on it. She paced towards it, ripped off a bit of herring, dabbed it in the sauce from the baked beans, and slowly brought it to her mouth. Her eyes closed, savoring the food, holding it in her mouth for several seconds before she swallowed it. She seemed lost, in a reverie so deep that a climax was nothing against it.

She opened her eyes, and looked at Firefox uncertainly. "Would you like some?" she asked, reluctantly. Firefox was stunned. The tiger wanted it all, but she was still offering.

"No, really. I already had a whole plate."

The tiger nodded. It wasn't until she finished that she turned around to look at Firefox. "Did he enjoy you?" she asked abruptly.

Bad question. If Firefox said yes, Tigre might be jealous. If she said no, then she might be angry.

Firefox stepped towards her, unzipping her dress, pushing the top down, letting her breasts free. She embraced the tiger, fur and naked flesh against fur, leather, and metal. Tigre allowed it, melted into her arms.

"I've been in your bed," Firefox said softly. "Did you enjoy me?"

"I want you back there," Tigre said. She took out a leash. Firefox nodded, looked at the leash, just slightly amused, as though it was unnecessary and a bit humorous.

Each time they stopped, Firefox took the opportunity to kiss and nuzzle her. Soon, Tigre was stroking her affectionately, like a pet, but at least not like a balky, disobedient dog. They were getting so playful, so normal, that Firefox saw a slave stare at them in frank disbelief. In fact, it was turning into something so close to a date -- apart from the leash and whip -- that Firefox was shocked and amazed to see a woman chained to Tigre's wall by her collar.

It was the mouse girl, naked, trembling, tail flicking nervously, trying to push herself into the wall as though it offered protection. She had her arms folded over her small breasts, as though that would do more than delay anyone wanting to look at her or nurse from her.

"Do you want to play with her?" Tigre asked. "You can use a crop."

Firefox swallowed. There was a touch of something odd in Tigre's voice. Like a mother cat giving her a wounded rodent, to teach her about hurting women. The mouse was a gift.

The smart thing was to accept the present and use it as Tigre intended. Firefox caught the mouse's eyes. There was nothing there but fear and the expectation of pain. So instead, Firefox turned and embraced Tigre. "I'd rather have my strong tiger," she said softly.

It was a bit of a gamble, rejecting her gift, but accepting her. Tigre smiled, briefly, and for a moment she looked embarrassed. Actually embarrassed. Without a word, she undid the chain holding the mouse's collar. "Out," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," the mouse breathed. The mouse grabbed her maid's outfit from the bed, gave Firefox a grateful look, and dove out, preferring to dress herself in the hall to spending another instant in Tigre's room.

Firefox wondered about the girl. The look she had given her was thankful, not reproaching the fox for seducing Tigre. The mouse actually thought that Firefox had boldly and heroically interposed herself between Tigre and the mouse, defending the mouse's back with her own virtue and pride. She'd probably think very differently if she knew that Firefox was actually looking forward to this.

Wordlessly, without asking permission, Tigre stripped Firefox, dropping her clothes to the floor. When she was naked, Firefox put her hands on one of Tigre's buckles. She looked into the tiger's eyes for permission. When she nodded, Firefox reverently removed her clothes, tasting the fur she uncovered, folding each article and placing them in a neat pile. When she removed the tiger's belt, she kissed the coiled whip, the riding crop, the dildo Tigre had used to rape her. It seemed natural, proper, and right.

And on her knees, she brought her lips to Tigre's moist mons, rested her palms against her firm, muscular buttocks, and brought her lady pleasure properly, on her knees before her, without taking pleasure herself.

Tigre wasn't patient enough to let Firefox bring her to a climax. Instead, she reached down and pulled her to her feet. Tigre went to her bed, knelt on it, patted it to indicate where Firefox should sit. Tigre pushed her down across the bed, her feet still on the floor. Tigre lowered her head between Firefox's legs and eagerly licked her husband out of the fox.

Tigre was, at the moment, indifferent to Firefox's pleasure, but her insistent tasting drover the fox easily to orgasm, twice, before she was done. Each time the fox came, gasping and thrashing, the tiger growled softly, impatient for her to present herself again.

When Tigre was satisfied, she moved up, looking into Firefox's eyes, her weight pressing the smaller woman against the bed.

"You're so beautiful," Firefox said, kissing her. She reached down between the tiger's legs. Tigre frowned slightly, as though she was about to order her to eat her out.

"Please?" Firefox asked. "I want to see your eyes when I make you come."

Tigre considered, and lifted her hips slightly, opening her legs so the fox could reach her better.

Soon, Firefox could feel and hear Tigre's rasping breath in her ear. Tigre was moving her hips slowly, miming copulation, her eyes closed.

"You're my strong tiger," Firefox said.

"You're my girl," Tigre rumbled.

"I'm your girl," Firefox agreed. She hesitated. Now or never. "You're my flame."

Tigre stopped thrusting, opened her eyes, and looked levelly at Firefox. "Your what?" she asked.

"My flame," Firefox repeated. "You know, like the poem.

"Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

"In the forest of the night.

"What immortal Hand or Eye,

"Dared frame thy --"

"Stop," Tigre ordered, her eyes tearing. She embraced Firefox tightly. "Please, stop. I'm not angry. You're not bad. It's just -- it's so sweet -- my heart is cracking."

Firefox whispered soothing sounds into the tiger's ear as she held her, ran her fingers across the strong muscles in her back.

Maybe some of Saffron was still there.

"I want --" Tigre said shortly, and hesitated. "I want you to tell me what you want." She embraced Firefox fiercely. "I'm -- sorry. I don't understand this. Earlier, I said I didn't want to hit you. And I still don't. I thought I was just in a funny mood, but you're different from the others. I don't want you afraid. I want you safe, and warm, and protected. I'd rather see you climax than dance for me under the whip. I want to make love to you more than I want pleasure from you. Why is that?" she asked, bewildered, looking into Firefox's face.

"I don't know, ma'am," Firefox said softly, and ran a hand on the tiger's face. It was quite amazing. Tigre was actually showing that she cared about Firefox. "What I want? I want to lie here and hold you. And then I want to nurse you and hear your purr."

Tigre smiled at her, and Firefox was uncomfortable to notice that there was something sad in it.

"Don't fall asleep, again," Tigre said gently. "You can't stay here all day."

"I can't?" Firefox asked, groggy and incoherent.

"I wish you could, but --" Tigre cut herself off and hesitated. It wouldn't do to express disagreement with Master's will, would it? "We have work to do."

Firefox tensed. That probably meant Tigre knew what was on the schedule for today. "Ma'am," Firefox asked, "What does a red collar mean?"

"It means you're not tamed yet," Tigre replied absently. "Black with studs," she said, touching her own, "means you're a tamer."

"Are there other tamers here?"

"Two others. Alice may be joining us shortly." She hesitated, looked at Firefox. "You need to prove you're willing to co-operate," she said. "Would you be willing to beat another slave?"

"No," Firefox said firmly.

"What if Master ordered it?" Tigre asked, weakly, expecting a no but hoping for a yes.

"Absolutely not, then."

"You're bold," Tigre said, a touch of steel in her voice.

"Your bed is an honest place," Firefox replied, calmly. "And we are honest women."

"Uhrm. Yes," Tigre agreed with a low laugh. She turned serious. "Master is trying to decide what your persona will be."

"What sort of character does he see for me?" Firefox asked.

She sounded uncomfortable. She gently brushed hair out of Firefox's eyes. "Firefox, do you know who Candi is?"

"Technofox."

"Technofox's persona," Tigre corrected. "Firefox, Candi is a schoolgirl. If Technofox were smart, she'd be a very slutty little whore of a schoolgirl. But she isn't, so Candi is a schoolgirl rape fantasy victim."

Firefox looked away. She had known that, but she kept trying to put it out of her mind.

"She doesn't like it at all, but it's a beautiful thing to watch," Tigre reflected. "She's so magnificently helpless. I saw her take on three men at a time. I watched to make sure she didn't fight back too effectively. Two or three men have very little trouble overpowering her. But usually it's just one. Then she's usually tied up--"

"Shut up," Firefox gasped, "Shut up, damn you."

"You care for her?" Tigre asked, surprised.

"Yes, of course I do."

Tigre sighed, exasperated. "It doesn't matter what happens to that silly little bitch," she said disdainfully. "Why can't you see that? Master doesn't care, I don't care. Why should you? You have to learn that Master's will is more important than she is. That's what it means to be tamed."

"I don't want to be tamed," Firefox said, keeping her voice tightly controlled. If she hadn't known about Saffron, she would never have been able to keep even partly calm. "Don't sit there and tell be about how much fun you have watching my friends gang-raped. I can't accept that. And I hope I never can."

Tigre rapped her knuckles impatiently against the wooden bed frame. She had the air of someone trying to deal with a hysterical friend, swallowing the impertinence for her sake. She seemed so annoyed that for an insane moment, Firefox wondered if she herself was being unreasonable. The sheer incongruity of that thought kept her rage from blowing up.

"Firefox, it ... " Tigre looked away, ashamed. "You matter to me. I'd rather have you in my bed than another slave. I don't know why that is, but it's true. I'm trying to help you."

"Help me?" Firefox asked.

"I don't want to see that happen to you," Tigre muttered. "I don't want you to rebel so obstinately and so stupidly that Master decides the only thing you're good for is a chained-down cock warmer. You need to tame yourself, before we tame you."

"You won't," Firefox said flatly.

Tigre looked at her sharply. "I've heard that before, girl," Tigre said softly. She put out a hand and rested it on Firefox. "Some women have a spark in them," she said gently. "If they lose that, they'll never be tamers."

"If I'm tamed," Firefox said, "I won't be Firefox."

"What a horrible thought," Tigre said, and shuddered. "Don't say things like that."

Firefox was silent for a moment. "Are you saying that Technofox--"

"Why are we talking about her again?" Tigre asked, exasperated. "Look, Silverfox is getting regulars who sometimes rent her by the night, you've got a regular if you play your cards carefully, Shadowfox has tasted half the cocks that come through Blue Diamond, and Technofox can't even learn to dance. What else is she good for?"

"She was a good model," Firefox pointed out, fighting to remain calm.

"Yes," Tigre agreed. "And she'll be doing some more of that. With you."

Firefox nodded wordlessly, trying to keep from smiling. She must have heard about Jamison's shoot.

"But I don't want to talk about Technofox," Tigre said. "I'm afraid for you."

She was looking at her, pained. Firefox felt the hair on her spine raise.

Tigre looked away. "I have to give you ten today," she said slowly. "And I can't pull them."

Firefox took Tigre's hands, and looked into her eyes. "What are they doing to me today?" she asked.

"You know I can't tell you," Tigre replied calmly. She hesitated. "But you need to fight, struggle, swear, and scream. It's what the client wants. You'll be servicing another man today."

"Then to hell with that," Firefox muttered.

"Damnit, damnit," Tigre hissed. "I'm not angry at you," she immediately explained. "Look, I won't say you need to fight because it's Master's will and it's the right thing to do. I'm saying you need to struggle because no matter how hard you try to look bored, you will struggle." Tigre actually looked sick, fighting the order to remain silent about plans. "Firefox, they think they can use your implant to make you angry. They can push a button and make you go berserk. If they do that enough, you can become addicted. The client wants to fuck a dangerous animal. And we can make you one."

The tiger sat, the rest torn out of her, involuntarily. "Oh, God, Master told me not to tell you. He wants to use it without your knowing. Please, just act, like you did yesterday when I flogged you. Or they'll hurt you, Firefox. And I don't want that. Master is wrong." The last was a whisper.

Firefox stared at her. It wasn't until later that the staggering import of this moment struck her: Tigre had broken through and said Master is wrong. She was too horrified at what Tigre had told her.

It was technically possible, she knew. Firefox's implant was designed to allow her to interface with computer equipment. Her brain had been grown inside a web of electrodes and sensors. So densely packed was the structure of a brain that strands of the implant would sometimes end up in the wrong place. Normally, an electrode that could trigger rage would be shut down. But that was a software switch. Which could be reprogrammed.

"And he wants me on the struggle board?" she asked.

"Yes."

"That freak Walton?" she guessed.

Tigre barely inclined her head. "And his son. No breakfast for you today," she said quietly. "You're too likely to throw up. And you need an enema and a shower."

Firefox cradled her head in her hands. "For God's sake, Tigre. Will you listen to yourself?"

"An enema and a shower," Tigre repeated, more firmly, slipping into her role. "Here, or at the beautician's. Your choice."

Firefox stood in a room; it was large, and the air currents said she was near the middle. She was blindfolded, standing spread-eagled. She was wearing clothes, cheap cotton with the seams slit so they could easily be shredded to rags. Her leash dangled between her breasts.

There was only one other presence in the room; Tigre was fixing a muzzle on her.

"Here," Tigre said softly. Firefox tasted something, salty and sour, poking into the corner of her mouth. "It's a strap end on your muzzle," Tigre explained. "You can bite down on it."

"Enh," Firefox whispered. She cleared her throat. Talking was difficult; but she was sure she could make herself understood if necessary.

Tigre rested her hands on Firefox's hips. Firefox tensed. "I am going to give you a couple of lube suppositories," she said softly. "One anal, one vaginal. They'll help."

Firefox nodded, gratefully, as Tigre slipped a hand into her pants and inserted the capsules.

Her ears turned. A mechanism was clicking.

"They're opening the door," Tigre said.

Firefox couldn't see. The fact there was nothing for her to do gave her a strange feeling of calm. It was as though she were floating, with nothing to anchor her to reality, as though her very helplessness was a perverse freedom from decisions or the necessity to understand things. She didn't need to plan or think if she was simply there to be used.

There were two sets of steps coming in. "There," Walton said.

"She's beautiful," came another voice, lighter, more pure, old enough for the voice to drop and young enough that it was not worn or cracked. Sixteen, maybe?

"Yes," Walton agreed. "Take a chair."

"Gentlemen," came Tigre's soft tones. "It's my pleasure to discipline this woman for you. I hope you will enjoy my art."

Firefox somehow sensed Tigre's slight bow, as though she heard it instead of imagined it.

"Sir, if you would care to unwrap her for me?"

That had to be directed to the kid.

"She's tied up?" he asked nervously.

"Yes sir, she will not get free. She might thrash a little, but don't let that frighten you. She's not going to break loose."

"But -- " he said dubiously. "Dad, does she want to be here?"

Firefox's head drooped down and she laughed, helplessly and silently and mirthlessly. She shook her head.

"She's a chimera," Walton said patiently. "She was created for this. Go up and have some fun. It doesn't hurt her the way it would hurt a human. This is what she's for. Like that girl you had last night."

"She wasn't tied up," the kid countered. "Yeah, she had the collar and stuff, but that's just kink, the uniform, like mouse ears at Disneyworld. Ma'am, I'm sorry, but can you let her go, and take the gag off her? I want to hear her say that she's okay with this. I want her to tell me her safeword."

There was an awkward silence. Firefox thought it over, and was surprised to realize that she actually would probably consent to this if the kid were alone. She kind of liked him. Screwing a stranger, even being tied up and screwing a stranger, just didn't seem beyond the pale any more. Sex, even kink, was about as casual to her as a smile. She wondered about that: was it a defense mechanism, something to reduce stress levels that would otherwise break her, or was she so starved for simple decency that she over-reacted to any show of it, or was it something entirely more sinister?

"I can't do that, sir," Tigre said softly. "And she has no safeword."

"So she didn't consent?" the kid asked, surprisingly sharply.

"Sir," Tigre tried to explain, "she's a slave. Her owner has given his consent. Her consent doesn't matter."

Firefox couldn't help but chuckle at that. Tigre was so deep in that mindset she didn't even realize how it came across.

"You're kidding," he said.

"Boy," his father barked. There was a pause, and he continued in a more reasonable tone. "There's such a thing as too much sympathy. She's just an animal. She's even less than an animal. She really was created for human use. She wouldn't even exist if people didn't want to use her for this. She didn't evolve, she is not a creature of God, she is an artifact."

"She can say yes and no."

"Alright," Walton said thoughtfully. "I won't force you to stay here. You can go back to your room if you want. But by doing that, you aren't saving her from anything. Not a single thing. The only difference is that someone else is going to enjoy her."

"I'm going back to my room. I can find my way."

"Then I'll see you in the morning."

"Fine, dad."

There was a pause, and footsteps, and a door closed.

Sigh. "What do you do with a kid like that?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

Send me to his room so I can screw his head off, Firefox thought, trying not to weep.

"He's a good boy, though. But you don't get anywhere being a good boy, do you? Ah well. Can you take her blindfold off? I want to see her eyes."

"Yes, sir."

"And the muzzle? Or is she likely to bite?"

"She'll probably bite, sir."

"Well, I defer to your judgment. You're the expert."

"Thank you, sir."

Tigre's hands were on her, undoing the blindfold and sliding it off. The light was bright, almost cruelly so. Firefox screwed her lids shut and squinted.

"Ah," he said, "now there's a face."

He walked around her, slowly. Firefox forced herself to stare at a fixed point on the far wall, a rack hung with paddles, whips, oversized and studded toys to be forced into different orifices. She remembered a movie she had once seen, where the Inquisitor villain declared, "Show the witch the instruments of torture!" It had seemed funny. There was also an ashtray on a stand and a coat rack, so he would have someplace to put his expensive suit. The floor was white linoleum, easy to clean. Tigre was standing off to the side.

Firefox heard a lighter flare into life behind her and flinched. Then she smelled tobacco burning, and a chuckle. "No, little fox, I'm not going to burn you. Burns are ugly, and burning fur stinks, and Blue Diamond does not allow permanent marks. So you can rest easy on that score. Any marks you get at Blue Diamond are temporary. Except the ones up here," he said, tapping the back of her head. "Those, you'll never leave behind. What I'm going to do to you today is forever. It will sit in the back of your mind like a snake. You could leave Blue Diamond and become a nun, pray six hours a day, and once in a while, as you go to sleep, you will see my face, and feel me inside you."

His step was slow, and his cigar was very strong. Firefox had always disliked the smell of cigars, but she was determined not to let that out.

He wandered into her peripheral vision. Firefox ignored him, tried to pretend she couldn't hear what was being said.

Tigre was behind Walton. Firefox saw her eyes, suddenly frightened. And Tigre mouthed one word: fight!

The warning came an instant too late.

Firefox lunged at him, jaws snapping. It was a bizarre fury: even in the midst of it, she wasn't actually angry at him, per se. She simply had to kill something, and he was closest. He jumped back, she stumbled and swayed, held up by her wrists. She heard a wordless, animal howl echo off the walls, and for a moment she wondered who had made that sound.

It was a curious sensation. She blinked, and her mind was impossibly clear, as though it had just rebooted herself. The bonds around her wrists were wide and pliable, but her wrists and ankles ached. She had wrenched them. Shaken, she stood again. Yes, resting her weight on her feet hurt less than resting it on her wrists. She could switch off if her ankles started hurting.

He smiled, broadly. "Feisty thing, isn't she?"

Tigre shot her a warning glance. Firefox growled, and kept her eyes squarely on him. Her pride ached at this, at doing what she knew Blue Diamond wanted from her, but she didn't relish having her string jerked again. Strange. If Tigre hadn't warned her, she might have fought anyway, out of sheer defiance. Of course, then she might have gone hysterical with fear after going atavistic.

He circled her, looking at tits and ass and tail and hair and never seeing a woman. He pointed with the cigar.

"Are her boobs natural? They're getting so good at sculpt I can't tell any more."

"That's a matter for the philosophers, sir. None of us are 'natural.' She does not have any implants, sir. Sculpting while chimera are being grown is common, sir."

"Yes, I know that. You all have such perfect bodies. Humans don't look so good unless they've had enough cosmetic surgery to practically qualify as chimera themselves. You don't like my cigar, do you?" he asked Firefox abruptly. He inhaled on it, and blew smoke at her. Firefox turned away and coughed. "You should like my cigar. When I'm done with it, we get down to business."

He took a small bottle of iced water, unscrewed the cap. He drank about half of it, and stepped towards her. He held the bottle out to her, and then upended it, pouring it onto her breasts. She jumped back, but the T-shirt was soon drenched, transparent, clinging to her white and red fur, the cold poking her nipples erect. He smiled, looking at them.

"You ever fuck her, Tigre?" he asked. "I mean, apart from on stage?"

"No, sir," Tigre said immediately. Firefox blinked. "There's a lot of slaves here. There's a mouse girl in particular."

"You're fond of the mouse?"

"I enjoy her, sir."

"You prefer the women, do you?"

"I prefer slaves. That leaves the women, sir."

"Good point. Mind loosening her muzzle a bit? I like to hear them talk."

Firefox looked over at her, wondering what was going on in the tiger's mind. Was she trying to distance herself from sex in Walton's mind, or did she consider sex with Firefox something too precious to share with him? The tiger stepped over, loosened her muzzle slightly, enough to let her part her teeth. She couldn't think of anything to say.

And so, Firefox watched the cigar silently, shrinking bit by bit, as he walked around her, savoring the body he was going to enjoy. Firefox felt fear rising in her, and she knew she had to fight that -- turn the fear to anger.

Slowly, he stubbed the cigar out in an ashtray on a stand. He took off his jacket and tie, hanging them. It was almost ritualistic -- no gentleman wears a tie to molest a bound slave. He stepped behind her, and she felt his hands reach for the back of her shirt. He gripped it firmly, and pulled down. It ripped, loudly, as he pulled the fabric off her back, and tossed it onto the ground where Firefox could see it. She could feel the wind stirring the fur on her back, and her hackles rose in fear and helpless fury.

He put his hands on her waist, and she started struggling, hurling herself against the bonds again and again, sending sharp pain through her wrists and ankles as his hands ran up and on her breasts, cupping them, lifting them, pinching her nipples. She stopped fighting to get her breath, and he twisted her nipples sharply and painfully, making her gasp. She tried swinging her head backwards to catch his face with the back of her skull, but missed.

Next, he ripped off her shorts, letting them flutter to the ground. Her panties were a tiny triangle of fabric on her crotch held on by two thin strips of elastic. He pushed his hand into her panties, fingernails clawing at her vulva, moist with the lubricant from the capsule, triumphantly slipping a single digit inside her in his first act of symbolic rape.

His teeth found her neck, pinching the flesh, so different from the bites Jamison had given her before. Those had been playful, trusted, "I could hurt you but won't", these were cruel, inflicted because he could and because a kiss would be affectionate. She writhed, helpless, acutely aware of the rock-hard erection in his pants.

And when he stopped, she knew it was to start something worse. He took his hand out of her panties and stepped in front of her, rubbing his fingers together with an air of disappointment. "Getting wet already," he said, presumably unaware it was artificial. "Shame. I was really hoping to hurt going in."

"'Otherhucker," Firefox forced past the muzzle.

"Ah, but you'll never be a mother, will you? That would just keep people from being able to fuck you for a few months. That's the difference between a foul-mouthed talking sex toy and a real woman." He patted her belly through the remnants of her shirt. "You don't even have proper ovaries. They're more like hormone fountains, constantly signaling your brain that you're ready for a man to breed to you. You spend your whole life in heat. You hear human words and terms, about human behavior, and you fantasize they apply to you. You can't make love. You can't even understand the concepts. You're only good for rut."

Firefox didn't have to fake her anger any more. She would have given her life for ten minutes with him, unchained. He stood in front of her, smiling. "Tigre, please stir her up. I think I've given you enough to work with."

"Do you want to finish stripping her, sir?"

He considered, reached for her collar, and pulled, ripping the shirt off her round breasts, leaving tatters on her sleeves. He opened the ripped shirt, pushing the halves like curtains off her breasts. He unbuttoned his shirt, hung it. He was old, pale, wrinkled, and at that moment, loathsome. He looked down at her crotch.

"No, let's leave a little mystery in the relationship for now." He stepped forward and embraced her, his hands on her butt, his head back so she couldn't lunge. "Your tits are going to feel fantastic. Tigre, start whipping her, please."

It was bad, savage. Tigre was hitting hard, but the delight in cruelty which had been there before wasn't there. And it made a difference. The pain was intense, but bearable: what was worse was the way her body thrust against Walton's, as eagerly as a lover. The leather between her teeth helped, the taste seemed to block the pain. She didn't have the strength to stand firm as the whip snaked over the fur on her back.

She could never keep count of the strokes when Tigre flogged her. The tiger broke her pattern in a manner designed to confuse and disorient; Firefox braced herself against a blow that didn't come, relaxed when she vaguely wondered if that was it, and suddenly a blow would throw her forward again. A lash and scream was finally followed by Tigre's firm voice. "Ten."

Firefox relaxed, and gasped. He took the opportunity to kiss her muzzle, darting the tip of his tongue over her gum.

"That's one mouth that won't be tasting my cock any time soon," he said thoughtfully. "May I see the whip?" he asked.

"Sir, I'll remind you that beating the slave is extra."

"Oh, I know that," he said crossly. "I wouldn't beat her in your presence anyway. It would be like daubing on a canvas in front of Picasso. I just want to see it."

She handed him the whip. He ran his fingers on it, stroking the coil, looking at it intently. He shook his head. "Such a simple thing to cause so much pain. Amazing. Tigre, that's enough foreplay. Let's get serious with her."

Firefox started breathing deeply. She didn't doubt for a second it would be worse.

"Yes, sir. She should have some water first."

"Wait. I'll give it to her." He went to a mini-bar, taking out a small bottle of water. Firefox watched him suspiciously, wondering if he was going to spit in it. Even if he did, she knew she'd have to drink it -- she was already thirsty, and she knew she'd be losing more water through panting and sweating through her hands and feet. And she would be lubing up, shameful as the thought was. She knew, with an ugly certainty, that her body would welcome him in as a guest even as her soul fought it.

Amazingly, he opened the bottle and held it out. She tilted her head and let him pour it into her mouth. She couldn't open her teeth wide enough to bite the neck of the bottle, but she could put her lips around it. He watched, smiling, and she knew he imagined her slurping and gulping on something else. Damn him. Behind her, she could hear clicks, something heavy being wheeled across the floor. She didn't know if it would be better to see it or not.

Her tail hit against it first. Metal. Vertical surface, like a wall.

Raised studs.

It came closer, stopped when Tigre wheeled it against her butt and the backs of her legs. Firefox flinched away from it.

Tigre quickly and efficiently unhooked each of Firefox's limbs and locked them into place on the vertical surface of the struggle board. She's really good at this, Firefox thought irrelevantly. Firefox was in a strange, passive state, watching what was happening to her as though she were a character in a film that wasn't particularly engaging. Struggling seemed as pointless as warning a leading lady there was a man with a knife behind the door. There was a broad border on the board, padded leather. Walton was folding his trousers.

Tigre threw a catch and the board tilted backwards. The center of the board, where her back and buttocks would rest, were unpadded. She grimaced as her weight was gradually taken up by the raised studs, yelped when they dug into a welt left by the whip. She shifted, arched her back, lifting as much off the board as she could. She knew she couldn't keep in this position for long. Was it worth exhausting herself? She should save her strength ... well, for what? A chance to break free?

He climbed onto the board, lay next to her on his side, hand fondling her breast. She looked away, gritted her teeth. She shifted into a more comfortable position. There was a click of a mechanism in the table, and a row of studs retracted, shifting her weight onto fewer studs. She half-rolled away from him, and a row extended, lifting her slightly off the table, all her weight on a welt. She gasped, thrashed, and his lips brushed her cheek, and she felt his cock against her leg, through his underwear.

He bit her nipple, increasing the pressure until she moaned, and when he realized how much she hated that, he bit harder, as though it were rubber and not living flesh with nerves. She squirmed and her back ached, so she squirmed some more, dragging metal studs against a flogged back. His tongue played with the stud in her nipple, twisting it painfully one way, and then the rest. It was a relief when he lifted his head. He looked down between her legs, and she knew what was coming.

He reached down between her legs with one hand, gripping her panties firmly, ripping them off with a single, strong tug.

"Will you look at that?" he said softly, reaching down. He stroked the delicate folds of skin with one finger. Without looking at her, he hopped off and peeled off his underwear. His cock swung out. He stepped to the end of the table, between her legs, climbed on, kneeling above her. "Enough foreplay? Hmm?"

"Ton't," she whispered.

"Why not?" he asked. "Do you really have anything better to offer me than this?" he asked, patting her mons. "And why shouldn't I take it? How many men have been there already? What's the harm? I must say you're taking a very selfish attitude towards this."

It was hopeless, Firefox knew, but she looked pleadingly at Tigre as he maneuvered the head of his penis. Tigre had defended her from Tiomkin, hadn't she? Tigre was alert but unconcerned. She might worry, and genuinely so, about a wire in Firefox's brain, but rape? Firefox was merely being put to use by a client, as Master had ordered. And Tiomkin had simply been misusing Master's property. There had never been a question of defending Firefox then.

Walton was slipping into her. His head was sliding in, a firm, steady motion with his weight behind it. She squeezed, as tightly as she could, slowing him, but he was inexorable. His weight pushed her bruised flesh harder against the studs, making her struggle against the pain.

He was soon deep inside her. She felt his tight scrotum against her mons. He had her, he was taking her as a slave, and he knew it. There was a silent, motionless moment, as she desperately looked into his eyes for the slightest trace of remorse, for any acknowledgment of the crime he was committing. He smiled.

They didn't need to push any buttons, send any sparks into her brain. She fought like an wild animal, pulling painfully bruised wrists and ankles, hissing, growling, snapping, struggling even as his thrusting brought her closer to the edge, cursing him even as he drove her to an orgasm. She fell back against the studs, too exhausted to feel the pain as they dug into her back.

In that instant, with sick certainty, she knew that Tigre and Shadowfox were right about her. She had climaxed. Even under these circumstances, in pain, filled with hate and rage, humiliated, with an inexpert and unwelcome cock doing little more than pushing in and out of her like a piston, she had nevertheless had an orgasm.

He had none of Master's skill, none of Tigre's cruel beauty, none of Jamison's warmth, and he had brought her to orgasm. Oh, she was optimized for this. She had to be. Her designers had not sculpted her to fight, not to be ferocious, not to compete and win. She was a pussy's life support system. A sense of depression and betrayal spread over her, even as he was thrusting away.

He didn't stop or pause. "Bitch," he hissed. "I'll teach you to come first."

He came then, and she felt him void himself, wet and sticky, into her.

He rested, spent, as she gasped for breath, squirmed, tried to force him out of her. "Sit still," he snapped. "Silly cunt." She saw his face again.

How dare he do this to her.

How dare he insult her.

"I think she has something to say," he said, idly stroking her breast. "Loosen her muzzle, please." He probably expected Firefox to thank him. Tigre pursed her lips, considered, and complied.

"You and me," Firefox hissed. "Ten minutes, no chains."

The threat struck home, for a moment. Firefox felt him wilt, even while he was still inside her.

"But there will be chains," he replied. "There will always be chains, and whips, and there will always be Tigre." He grabbed the end of her snout, used the leverage to pin her head down. He forced a tongue past her lips and licked clenched teeth. "Your mouth tastes like dog spit," he said. "Something we should work on for the next model."

"...We?" she asked, softly.

"Oh," he said, sliding out of her. "I never mentioned that. I'm a genetic designer. You're a Vulpine model ten, a Vix-Dix. And I've just given you a little taste of what you were created for. Something dear and close to my heart. Rape fantasy." He patted her belly. "Remember how it felt as I pushed my way into you? That's your life, from here on out. You'll suffer, you'll fight, but despite that you'll come every time someone waves their dick in your direction. That's my little contribution. My mark in your brain."

She fell back against the table, wordless. She turned her head, and even though he was still there, she started to weep.

"Don't cry," he said, hesitantly. "I really am very proud of the way you turned out. I envy you in a way. You know exactly what you were created for."