Work Text:
It was 8:12pm by the time Cecily Fallowfield pulled her black SUV up to the modern stone, steel and glass construction she called home. She had been offered the services of a chauffeuse but had declined, enjoying the sense of freedom the open road afforded her. Night had already fallen, the cold air was making the fur that covered her stand on end and the sky was a blanket of pinprick lights this far removed from the city. Their children were elsewhere for the night, a carefully coordinated opportunity that had been in the planning for some time. She would be late. A small spark of excitement fired at the notion.
If she hurried, he might not even notice. She exited the vehicle leisurely and began to stroll towards the house, taking her time to admire the building. It had taken a year to construct it out here, time well spent to make sure it fit her exacting specifications. It was a home befitting one of the senior executives for Fallowfield Consolidated Holdings, not just as a personal space but also a site to entertain, awe and intimidate. It screamed wealth and taste, ostentatious in its carefully considered minimalism.
She let herself in, re-arming the security devices as she went and giving a short expressive wave to the cameras that watched. He would have received notifications she was home, and would likely know at this stage further delays were all by her own design but she did it all the same to make sure the point was driven home; the tone was set for the evening.
She discarded her wedge heels and paused to admire her full figure in front of a hallway mirror as she did so; she looked damn good for forty, even as silver had begun to intermix with her yellow and cream fur and dark spots. As servals, most of her family were tall, lean women and she embraced being the exception; her stomach, breasts and hips were hugged tightly by the grey pantsuit and cream blouse she wore, a consequence of endless business brushes and desk work. Her tail trailed languidly behind her as she approached the kitchen and poured a glass of Malbec before making her way to the den.
One wall here was dominated by a bookshelf that ran floor to ceiling and as she walked along it, sipping the red wine and tracing her paw gently along the spines of the volumes therin. Most visitors barely glanced at them, the books merely serving as an extension of the overall effect of the house but if they had taken the time to do so they would likely not recognise the titles printed. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, The Annals, Candide…remnants of the world, knowledge to be left behind. Owning the titles was not illegal, strictly speaking, but reproducing them had been. Not that it caused her much concern to do so of course; of all the family crimes, printing pre-anthro literature barely registered.
Cecily tried to imagine the world as it stood then; a world where there were only humans and men actually held power. Her most pressing fixation was what the humans back then called ‘the middle ages’ a time of castles, knights and kings. She pondered idly what it would be like to step foot back in the world back then, to take in the sights, sounds and smells of a world that was totally alien to all that she knew. Sometimes she liked to just imagine the wonder of it.
And then she would be found. She would appear a ravening monster to the people who did so; more than a match to any individual but a group would capture her quickly. She would be captured, bound tight, muzzled and paraded from town to town as a curiosity and sold as a trophy to some lord or other. She would be locked up in a dungeon and left there, treated as little more than a wild beast until one night the lord, deep into his cups, would descend to sate the curiosity which had been planted from the first moment he had seen her and which had slowly but surely eroded his resolve…
She pleasantly shivered at the thought. When she had first started having these desires, born out of lurid images found on deep corners of the web well out of the mainstream, she hated them. So sick, so perverse, so unnatural. She hated how she felt after returning to them or envisioning them, the heat rising in her body, the desperate pull to release, the chasing spiral as her mind pushed the fantasies on in an ever building crescendo of ‘and then’ as she imagined greater and greater violations and perversities, before finally collapsing in waves of pleasure which ebbed into self loathing and shame.
In the wake of such moments of clarity she would promise herself it was the last time. A Fallowfield could not harbour such desires, the risk of discovery was too great. She would delete whatever she had found, scrub it from her history and try to move on. She tried to watch more conventional content but found little interest in it. She intellectualised the malady and tried to find workarounds, exercised with greater frequency, put more into her job or her hobbies but nothing worked. The sickness was inside of her and no action she took could exorcise it. Isadora had always been firm on one principle above all others: anthros were superior to humans. It was innate, evident from birth and only truer as time ran its course. Humans were born as tools; barely sentient, pitiful things useful for pleasure and to propagate the species and she took it as a point of pride that her family had only produced daughters. The concept of a human taking his pleasure from an anthro, controlling and using one, let alone a predator, let alone a Fallowfield was deviant degeneracy of the most deplorable sort. It was a cruel quirk of fate that she of all people would be inflicted with it. She carried it with her as a secretive facet for years, a quiet fixation of self loathing and weakness.
And then, she had been given Benjamin to be her husband. Naturally his pedigree was excellent and his looks didn’t hurt either. His dark, tousled locks, his wide, muscular frame, his piercing hazel eyes and deep voice…from the first moment she sighted him she couldn’t deny the attraction. A part of her had hoped that with such an excellent partner she would grow out of her condition and feel normal for once.
Their first ruts were awkward, painful affairs. The thought of forcing him left her truly sick and so she accommodated any sign of reluctance, but on the few occasions they experimented with intimacy there was no passion there, no fire or particular pleasure in their movements together. Evidently it did not feel too bad for either party but it was somehow empty and did nothing to slake her true desires. If anything they were worse now, the reality a pale reflection of her inner life. On any occasion where he voiced hesitance or reluctance it felt more of a relief than an issue and she left him to his devices. When she heated, he attended to it with more diligence than desire. It wasn’t until after the birth of their first, Clarissa, that they actually exchanged more than a spare sentence or bodily fluids.
She had woken one morning to the sound of Clarissa fussing and as she had gone to see her was shocked at the sight of him rocking their child back to sleep, love in his eyes. Tender, genuine affection was a rarity in the Fallowfield house growing up and to see him with their child made her fall in love with him just a little. Step by step she spent more time with him and step by step she became infatuated. The deeper she fell, the more he crept into her fantasies and became the star of them. She would spend the night with her husband, her marked and claimed human and at night in her mind he would ravish her over and over again.
Yet as much as her desire for him grew, she struggled more and more with the concept of expressing them when the reality would be so far from the dreams she held. Spending time with him became a torture that eventually she could no longer endure; perhaps if she opened up it would at least clear the air between them. One night months after and fully recovered she had unsealed a bottle of 20 year old McRae whisky, poured them both a measure and opened up about her wants. If he was disgusted it would get him out of her system and he was in no position to start sharing what she wanted besides.
It had been a halting process at first, but to her surprise he listened with an inscrutable but attentive expression on his face, swirling the amber-brown liquid in his glass and with no sign of revulsion or disgust. She had broached it as an abnormality, something she had no expectation of him to fulfill but something she had to come to terms with in herself. When she had finished, expecting a curt acknowledgement he had instead closed the space between them, wrapped a hand around her throat and kissed her in a way that left her feeling like she would dissolve then and there. Had he harboured similar desires and felt like he could not express them, or was there simply a willing outlet for the pent up years of rage that had built within him? She couldn’t tell, but either way it had been transformative. Many years, two more children and many, many adventures later and their bond had never been stronger. Over time they had even met some like-minded couples, their shared secret bringing them closer. It had helped her come to terms with herself and even if it had to remain guarded knowledge to prevent a scandal, here she was free.
She set down her wine glass and pressed a volume entitled ‘salo’ and the case swung away revealing well-maintained stairs down. Sex dungeons were not a rare feature in these houses (some were even featured prominently in house listings) but few were put to these specific uses. She descended the stairs, enjoying the little thrill of anticipation each step brought her. He was waiting for her down there, his mind no doubt full of sadistic intent; after all these years, the thought still set her heart on a faster tempo.
She arrived at the bottom of the stairs which opened into a ready room of sorts. One wall opened onto a closet full of costumes and lingerie, but no instruction had been left on the red leather stool and so he clearly had no particular designs to that end tonight. The stool was set in front of a door that led to the play space but typically she would not enter it by herself unless she found the door open and today it was shut. As per his usual wont, he would collect her.
Carefully she disrobed and folded the discarded items into a marked hamper by the wardrobe, a light chill catching through her fur. It would be like that. His ready room also fed into the playroom but had a number of additional features - not least of which was the ability to control the temperature in her room. It was a subtle tool to aid in her discomfort by one direction or the other, one of the many ways he had to prepare her for what was to come, bringing her into the appropriate mindset. Now naked, she took the only mandatory item from a bust set next to the door: a thick black posture collar, a large metal D ring set into its front. She affixed it carefully and with a hint of reverence: the collar symbolised the shift in their dynamic, confirming that as long as she wore it she was his to play with. As she did, she glanced back towards the door and looked at the relief of a flame set into the door. ‘Embers’ was their safeword but in truth she hadn’t used it for years; after so long together he knew her body, her expressions and the signs that begged him to slow or stop or, for that matter, increase and continue violently. With her collar now on, she knelt in front of the red stool with her back straight and her hands clasped behind her, her nipples hardening with the chill as she waited.
A camera that fed directly to his room captured her position. It was a sad necessity that she could not record this footage or any of their escapades lest it fall into the wrong hands but it still thrilled her that he would see her positioned like this, just for him.
The play room slid open and he was standing there. Time had placed a little white at his temples and a little weight around his waist but he was still the man she fell for; the strong bearded jaw, the thick arms and hands, the wiry hair that covered him. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs with his manhood pressed prominently against the material. A metal clip attached to a black heat leash which dangled loosely from his grip.
She stared straight forwards as she approached him, perfect in her posture. A single whisker out of place, real or imagined would be swiftly met with punishment but she had already infringed enough for the day.
“You’re late. I told you eight pm sharp.” He stated, his low voice the first soft thunder of a coming storm.
“I’m sorry, master.” She lied, fighting the smile off her lips as she let the honorific roll across her tongue, gathering disrespect as it went. She was determined to rile him and see the anger brought to bear but if he felt anger he didn’t show it.
“Not yet you aren’t.” He responded, affixing the leash to her collar and pulling it taught. At the signal she fell forwards, following him into the playroom on all fours like the animal she was. His animal. His pet.
The room was decorated in blacks and reds with specialist furniture bolted to the floor. A St. Andrew’s cross was set against the wall near a hoist which had been reinforced with sturdy bolts set in a metal plate. Today however, she was led to a bench with thick leather manacles attached to chains that ran under the body of it. Steadily she mounted it, bent over with her stomach resting on the cold black leather of its main body, her legs slipped into smaller fastening footrests on either side. The manacles were affixed to her hands with thick padlocks that he snapped shut before attending to the restraints on her feet. She took a moment to test their strength and enjoyed the sense of powerlessness and confinement the limited movement brought. Like this, every advantage she held over him was removed. Like this, he would have full control.
He let go of her leash and left it to dangle as he took a moment to lick his fingers and then began to stroke her nipples, enjoying the soft mewls she made with each and every touch. She had always been sensitive there and it was a weakness he was keen to exploit. Something rattled beneath, and then there was a pinching sensation as he attached clamps to her nipples; now however she moved and squirmed on the bench would correspond to a pull at her breasts, little arcs of pain for the rest of this session.
She lay there exposed as he walked around her, checking and rechecking each strap to ensure her inability to move or slip it but that it wasn’t too tight on her fur. It was not just the bonds he was checking though; he lingered as he walked here and there, groping her body at whim, making small satisfied noises as she twitched and chuffed at his touch. She was on display to him like this, her vulnerable body exposed for his judgement. She had lost sight of him for a moment but could hear even his most gentle footsteps and felt him behind her, close and looming. He reached out and ran a single finger along her wet lips making her shake in the slightest of ways, before sliding his finger inside her to the knuckle.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already.” He mocked her gently as he beckoned inside her. It lasted only seconds before he withdrew and she heard him clean his own finger, savouring the taste of her as she heard herself whine softly.
“Oh, you’re needy tonight.” he whispered into her large ears, causing them to twitch involuntarily. “Don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about your punishment and I’m sure I can accommodate you.” He took a step away and her heart raced with anticipation for whatever he had in mind, a question that was answered when she heard the soft hum as a toy came to life. Delicately he slid it into her and she felt it pulse, writhing at its vibrations. She gasped as he slid it back and forth a few times. The action sent a wave of pleasure through her but also served a practical purpose; between its rhythm and how wet she was there was a genuine risk of it dislodging. Despite his efforts as she moaned and pulled against the clamps the device began to work itself free but he had a contingency in mind there.
A harsh, sharp sound alerted her to his intentions; he had brought a roll of their medical tape alongside the toy and affixed it to her, sealing the toy in place. Eventually either the motion of the device or her own juices would wear the tape loose, but for now the sensation of it sealed inside her was maddening in the best possible ways. Her body moved involuntarily, sending shudders through her and pulling at the clamps attached. As he walked in front of her and adjusted the remote, she made low, carnal moans with his every flick and adjustment of the settings.
He moved closer to her face, pressing his bulge against her, forcing the full scent of him down her nostrils and driving her wilder still. He wedged a thumb beneath his waistband and slowly unfurled his cock, pressing it against her face as she whimpered with the toy inside her. She extended her tongue, desperate to taste him, desperate to serve the organ held against the side of her face and leaving a trail against her cheek.
He stepped back, the tip of him barely out of her reach as she struggled against her bonds uselessly. She pulled and writhed, her movements mixing pain and pleasure into a sensory orchestra which worked to overload her senses. She was feral now, a rutting beast eager entirely at his mercy and desperate for a relief of some kind. She tried to beg but it came out as a garbled mewl of frustration and want. In response he looked at her pityingly, a hand grabbing the soft tufts of fur on her head before moving forward and sliding his cock down her throat.
He began to fuck her face roughly, his cock moving a rhythm which she fought to take as best she could. She had little control over this now; she was simply a hole for him to use, a vessel for his pleasure. It became too much; the thoughts and the sensations and the smell and taste of him overwhelmed what little senses she had. The orgasm built inside her and she shook with a desire to cum. He knew, of course, pulling out of her throat and watching her fight for breath and against the pleasure.
“Please…” she was able to whimper out before his cock entered her muzzle once more.
“Please what? You know it’s going to be hard for you to ask to cum with my dick down your throat.”
Of course that was his game. He violated her mouth deeper, relishing the textured sensation of her tongue against the base of his shaft as she took him to the hilt.
“How about this? For every -ugh- minute you were late, thirty six to my count, you, -mmm- endure this for an equivalent second and don’t cum. Ifffff….you do before then, then I put another toy in your ass and leave you like that overnight. Do you understand? I’m going to, hah, count you down.”
She barely did, lost in a sea of overwhelming sensations but somehow her brain filtered it through and she gave a small nod of assent.
“Good girl.” He responded, beginning to count as he thrust and steadily increased the power of the toy squirming inside her. Every inch of her felt on fire, her whole body a raw nerve of sensation as she fought for what control she could. He savoured each number in turn. Every one was an agonised victory as she held on for dear life, his dildo working it’s evil magic against her, the sensations of being used causing her eyes to roll back in her skull. The buzz of the device, the wet sound of her throat being used, his gasps among the numbers threatened to rip her grip away and send her tumbling over the edge but she held on, held on for dear life, held on for him. As he reached the end of his count he ceased his assault on her throat and let her catch her breath, gagging slightly. He would want her to speak for this part and he was nearing his own climax in truth.
“PLEASE!” She begged as she found her voice, the last few seconds still to go.
“Thirty-four” he responded, smugness dripping from his tone.
“Please master, let me cum!” She implored, uncertain she could hold on.
“Are you sorry?”
She was near tears now.
“Yes master, yes I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, let me cum please!” One of the most powerful women reduced to this by him. A low, base, feral creature lost to her needs and begging a human to be allowed to cum. A disgrace.
“Thirty five.” He simply responded, his eyes locked with hers as drool fell from her maw. She groaned in paroxysms of ecstasy or agony or an overwhelming concoction of both. She wouldn’t make it. She wouldn’t make it. She held on desperately.
“Thirty six. Cum for me.”
Sensation was total. There was his voice and a world of overwhelming feeling. She shuddered and shook so hard the bench rocked against its steel bolts, screaming her release as the tape gave way and the toy fell to the floor, landing in a wet pool of her cunt juices. As waves and waves overcame her it was followed just as harshly with the sudden lack of sensation and only one thing could fill it.
“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck meee!” She squealed, her pleading eyes set on him.
“Beg for it, you stupid fucking animal.” He responded coldly.
“Please master, fuck this worthless anthro slut with your perfect human cock. Please use me. Please.” She threw out each degrading word, whatever it would take to feel the warmth of him inside her. At his own pace he picked up the leash before he positioned himself behind her, before grabbing her tail and sliding inside, her saliva and cum mixing as he fucked her.
She keened in joy as she felt him move, angled perfectly to press every inch of her inside. The collar pulled against her throat, the clamps against her nipples as he took her roughly, one hand on the leash and the other at the base of her tail. It wasn’t long before she was begging to cum once more, a permission he granted with no delay this time as she quivered. She couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to; thought had long abandoned her and all that was left was his desires imposed upon her. The force of her orgasm and the shift of her muscles around his cock changed his tone. He was close now and redoubled his efforts, pounding harder and harder as they rutted mindlessly together, words lost, grunts and groans a duet to their pleasure until at last he came, a white hot wetness pushing her back over the precipice one last time. She howled beneath him as she felt him slump and collapse on top of her, his sweat on her bound form. How long they lay together in that joined up state she wasn’t sure; long enough that she came back to a sense of consciousness, roused by their steadying breathing. Soon they would shower together and cuddle together and after that their domestic life would reassert itself. Soon her mind would turn back to the days events, the meetings she needed to organise, the projects she needed to check up on. But for now, there was just this moment of perfect simplicity. Owned and owner together, joined now and for the rest of their lives.
“So, are you going to be on time for our next play date?” He asked.
“Darling, of course.” She responded. Who knew? Maybe it would even be true.