A Life Once Forfeit, Complex Tales 1: "Taking Chance"


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﻿A Life Once Forfeit, Complex Tales 1: "Taking Chance"




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The doberman awoke in a dark room, nude, sitting on a stool, seemingly alone in a void aside from a solid beam of light that shone from directly above, and focused on him and him alone. The blackness of the room made it expressly difficult to tell what was going on but he heard some hushed words from elsewhere in the room, almost as if all around him where whispers, and barely perceptible eyes. He was groggy to say the best of his mental state and as his mind was able to focus and take more in he was clearly in pain, and feeling a bit woozy as well. He finally could focus enough to take note that he was indeed nude, and started to hone in on some pains other than his ever ringing head.


This is where the horror would truly start for him. There was a pain in his arms that was both severe and omnipresent, making him raise his head to look at them for the first time since he awoke. In his arms he saw large bolts that he could feel went through his forearms, just behind the wrist, between the radius and ulna, entirely penetrating his forearms.


 These bolts had flat plates on either side with one end of the bolt ground to a point with a hole drilled through it where the chain was hooked through. The wounds lightly oozed that warm blood that trickled down his arms to his elbows, amassing in small pools on the floor, at his either side by now. His eyes went wide as he saw his arms being held up like that from a chain that came down from the seemingly empty abyss of darkness. The instinct to pull his arms away in terror of the sight before him, being barely overridden by the realization of how much it hurt even right now, and what a sudden move like that would feel like.


“Wh-what the FUCK is going on around here!?” Shouted the young mid 20s looking doberman who stood  from that stool, fiercely kicking it aside as he did so. His cropped ears pinned back as he snarled into the darkness around him. Now standing and turning on the spot to look around he was on full display, and the many scars of his body and the tattoos of genetically altered fur follicles on his hide, showing he’d had a very rough life indeed.


“Do you know who the fuck I am? They call me Nero; I run the-” There was a voice from the darkness, a deep gruff masculine voice, that clearly struck a chord with the doberman. “Yari boys. That what you where going to say Kaizen? Oh that’s right. You always confuse running the organization for running the two hundred and eighth street sect. Isn't that right little pup?”


The doberman’s demeanor changed in an instant from fearful and aggressive to just utter terror and submission, his brown eyes growing wide as he knew that voice. With the realization of who was in the darkness it became apparent that the painful bars in his arms where the least of his worries. “B-boss?” The doberman shuddered as he looked into the darkness where the voice came from. “B-boss, hey, listen about, th-” A hand came from the darkness, grabbing those chains just above the cruel spikes that held his arms on those bars pulling them towards the darkness, forcing a loud yelp of pain from the doberman to cut short his sniveling.


Before him stood a much older, and highly cybernetically enhanced doberman in a fine suit. “Shut up you worthless mutt! You’ve been barking too much and have officially let your mouth outrun your ass. You’ve been promising creds you don't have for years now. All for what? To live that high life you flaunt for your floozies.” The  more imposing figure held tight onto these binds and jerked them forward making the doberman in the spotlight yelp in pain as he felt more damage being done to his wrists with each movement.


The large man in the suit carried on while the young man before him could do little else, but cower and tremble in that pain, in that terror “All the while dragging our clan’s reputation through the mud. Claiming time and time again, -YOU- ran -MY- clan. Well times come to pay up. You are officially just meat to us. Everything you own has been reclaimed by us. All of your cars, your home, your joy-toys, everything. And still that didn't cover half of what you owe!” The mob-boss snarled deeply and with glowing gold eyes looked right into the dull brown terrified eyes of that subordinate who’d royally fucked up. “So the boys and I have come to an agreement. Either you please us tonight by acting like the good bit of meat you are, or we have our fun and dump you in the waste disposal system. Dead, alive, doesn't matter, they’ll compact and incinerate your carcass all the same.”


The boss held up another one of those spikes with a flat bar of metal on it’s bottom, the other end a harsh pointed tip that had a hole through it just past that tip like the others. And all at once he was surrounded, hands from the darkness covering his entire body as he was held in place and no amount of struggling would have changed what happened next. He was not blindfolded, and whatever drugs they’d used to knock him out had fully worn off by now. He was wide awake, and entirely consumed with terror as he saw that spike disappear from his vision, to just under his snout.


A sharp pain was felt under his chin, far enough back to be behind the jawbone. And with a moist, crunching, popping noise resonating through his skull, he went to scream out in pure agony, while that spike pierced the flesh under his muzzle. He felt that cold uncaring metal press harder and farther up into his chin, only to have it burst through the bottom of his maw all at once. Thankfully pushing aside his tongue as it went, but still crashing into the roof of his maw where it once more dug in and drew blood by what felt like torrents.


The doberman thrashed and tried to scream out; But those arms and hands covering his every inch, held him so sternly in place it was no use. All he could do was scream, and scream, and scream with his muzzle clamped shut. His mind was gone now, and encased in that full blown horror, but even then he could not scream for long, as his muzzle was being clamped shut by those many hands which forced him to drink his own blood, else be smothered by it.


And still then it didn't stop.


There came a cracking, crunching, and grinding of bone, the small squeaking of his skull’s moist bone against that polished metal filled his head as that spike pressed farther and farther up into his sinuses now, filling them with blood as well, making his screaming more muted as he started to almost drown in his own blood and tears. Quickly he learns to swallow between bloody, but near silent wails.


His world was growing faint, color having long left his vision as he felt tidal waves of white lapping at the edges of his vision and a numb static trickling over his senses... The last thing he saw was the middle of his snout’s fur sticking up in a sharp tent, before all at once it snapped down against his snout again as that spike cleared the top of his muzzle. And his world faded entirely from perception, losing consciousness now from the overloaded sensations of pain and fear.


The doberman woke up screaming, panting and holding his arms out in front of him as he focused his vision, and thankfully saw his golden hands. Those golden cybernetic hands, replacements, ones gifted to him by his mistress for his devout service to her over many long years. But still the scar from the muzzle bolt remain atop his snout, a permanent reminder.


He sat there trembling as the echos of that flashback of his past rippled through his mind. That memory had been with him since the day he was first to become a slave. And even now decades later, a lifetime away, it haunted him. Chance looked over in his bed to see a large male lion, looking up at him from the covers and pillows. The lion’s expressions were not filled with surprise but with concern. “The dream again Sir Chance?” He asked in a soft caring tone. The doberman sighing deeply as he corrected the lion, “The memory....” Chance looked once more to those perfectly sculpted golden and ceramic hands and saw that large scar on the top of his snout. Long ago healed, but forever present.


Chance’s day started with the same routine as every other slave in the complex. The lion he’d sparred with the night before helped him to bathe, and he in kind did the same. Both helping one another into their silks and chains, and both making sure to groom and lube the other properly. This was clearly a normal routine among the two. It was not uncommon for the lion to challenge Chance. After all he was an alpha-slave, and the prestige of taking one down was well worth any pain or struggle it took, and should he be victorious, the prize was far greater than any shame from defeat. Even if he’d failed many times and never won, it was clearly a ritual for them at this point.


“Chance;... have you ever told the Mistress?” Chance growled lightly, and shook his head, fixing the chains on the lion’s hulking body, and straightening out his silks. “No, and I hope she never finds out how much it haunts me. To her those wounds are healed. Its... just up to me to make it right in my head.”  The lion turned back to look at the scarred and heavily modded doberman, draped in red silks and covered in golden chains and lavish jewels.


 “Why Chance? You know... she wou-” The doberman’s golden hand swiftly reached up and clamped shut the lion’s muzzle with a stern but pained glare. “She knows of my past. She knows how I ended up like this. She doesn't need to know any more. I'm just lucky I've never had the dream with her around. Lucky that I can't dream of anything but her when she is near...”


The lion nodded respectfully and simply placed his large hand on Chance’s chest with a sigh. “Ever with pride, showing only your passion Sir Chance. Perhaps this is why we are told we need the blues. We need to understand that at times passion is not enough. You of all people have stayed out of the blue zones. I don't know why. Discipline is not something to be frightened of Chance.”


The doberman smirked and patted the lion’s shoulder with a wry grin spreading across his face like a wildfire. “Because I've not yet mastered passion! And that's all that I know brother. I’ve been disciplined enough, once was all it took.” This made the lion shake his head and gently move a paw to the doberman’s chin intending to comfort him. Only to have that hand harshly slapped away by the golden hand of the doberman, and in kind came a deep growl of anger or of fear roiling up from the doberman. Hands near his muzzle sparked the memories of that spike, making his muzzle throb with pain. No one put their hands near his muzzle, no one but the mistress.


The lion took a step back and his gaze narrowed on him. “Chance; you can't keep this from her. It's been so many years. And It's not getting better, you’re not able to fix it yourself... It's not going away. I know you value your strength, and your pride more so. But even to me; you’ve been losing it lately. Letting your facade down more than is normal... What happens if you snap at The Mistress like that? What then Chance? And what of the slave you broke the spine of the other day? He performed a legal and sanctioned head grab during practice and you nearly killed him!”


Chance snarled and pinned his ears back shouting, his voice trembling “I don't know! I don't know why it's getting worse, or won't go away! I don't know why I'm letting it show more... I... I’m stronger than this damn it.” Chance slammed his golden hand against the solid stone wall, neither the hand nor the wall much caring between them as the hand clattered and the wall let out a deep thump that bounded along its surface from the impact. “It’s so much easier to defeat something with a body that you can break. Something physical I can handle.”


Chance took a deep breath and composed himself, straightening himself up and looking back into the eyes of the lion, giving a light nod as he exhaled slowly. “You’re right, but not yet... Not right now. The Master is coming in a few short days. I need her to know she can count on me. He comes so very rarely. And she is so proud of me. I need to prove to him I'm worthy of being her Alpha. That I can take care of all of you.”


The lion sighed and shook his head “But can she? Can she trust you with us? Again, you nearly killed the poor boy Chance. You let passion slip into fear.” The lion placed his hand on Chance’s shoulders and stared at him in the eyes, those golden eyes of the lion meeting with the brown eyes of the doberman as they stood face to face.


The lion spoke with deep passion and conviction, the only way to talk to chance and make an impact, “And what if the master goes to hold your chin? Maybe the reason the mistress can be is because she is female. All the males that touch your chin, take their lives into their hands as it is. But the master... he is so much like your old boss. And what if that old fuck, the gang-lord himself came in here? What would happen if your old boss showed up!? This is a ticking bomb Chance. One you cannot beat by smashing some skulls.”


Chance simply shook his head and shoved passed the lion, walking out the door, leaving the large mass of muscle and fur alone in Chance’s room. And leaving Chance feeling entirely alone in a complex filled with hundreds of slaves, and patrons.


Chance’s station was at his mistress' side today. A guard of sorts as she dealt with, trained, and disciplined slaves who needed more than the annex could provide within its own hierarchy. She was not the only dom, but she was the head dom. In fact most days Chance had his own slaves to attend to. All named doms where indeed alphas among the other slaves, and had their own submissives assigned to them. But these days The Mistress had kept Chance on a tight leash. Be it that she sensed something was wrong, or that she simply needed him more, he did not know.


Chance entered the mistress’ training chambers, that large white empty void of a room seemingly capable of producing any kit or equipment needed at a given time. He walked up to the mistress’ chair in the middle of the “throne room” and knelt down before the empty seat waiting patiently.


His patience would soon be rewarded with the sound of the door behind him and the mistress coming in with the blue silked papillon woman following close behind scribbling on a data pad. The Mistress takes her seat before extending a foot-paw out towards Chance. “Good to see you again dear. Are you ready for today’s lessons?” The doberman leaned forward and kissed the top of her foot before returning to his upright kneeling pose. “Yes Mistress. Who is on our roster today?”


As he asked he looked up and towards the papillon woman who was the mistress of schedules. Only to see she looked back down at him with a bit of a surprised, bewildered glare. Her attention then snapping to the mistress with a quick glance. The doberman’s own eyes followed over to the large feline-dragon hybrid who grinned down at him with a devious smile that could only mean one thing.


It was his day for training.


The mistress shooed dismissively the blue silked woman with the data pad, who didn't leave the room but instead knelt off in a part of the room that was to be out of the way. Leaving her head down and paws in her lap in quiet submission. “Today, is your day Chance. It's been far too long hasn't it boy?” The mistress stood up and walked over to one side of the room as the chair slowly receded down into the floor, and in the spot she was walking to her favorite toy, that large black and silver Saint Andrews Cross came up from the floor.


Chance was not ready for this, especially not after his morning, nor as bad as his cracks where showing. “Mistress; I am appreciative of this, truly. But surely you ha-” The mistress held up her hand to silence him, making him instantly go quiet and lower his head in submission. “I have other slaves who need my attending. But so do you. You know full well I take no substitutions. Your time, is your time, and only your time. And clearly; we have some problems to discuss. Because the Chance I trained knows all of this already.” This was met with only the sharply barked response “Yes Mistress!” The well drilled bit of his submissive side is coming out in full now.


The mistress set up the cross, grabbing leather shackles that had mild studding on the insides of them, designed to hurt when pulled on but never break skin. At least for his ankles. For his arms she would simply use steel cable and an anchor point on those mechanized arms of his. No need for wasting time setting up cuffs. “Come Chance. Bare yourself before me, and receive my forgiveness for your wrongdoings.”


Chance wasted no time and as he stood and briskly walked over, deftly stripped himself down to his bare body leaving a trail of silks, chains, and jewels in his wake. He stepped right up to the cross without any hesitation and even helped himself into the restraints for her, leaving her only one last arm to do herself.


“Chance; don't think i’ve not noticed you lately. Your attention is slipping. Your aggression is growing. You nearly killed a combatant in training the other day, and no one knows why. And in keeping these secrets you have broken our most sacred rules. You forgot to care for yourself and your fellow slaves. You where not rational. You did not apply balance in training. And for this... I am most grievously saddened.”


The mistress had taken a braided steel whip from the back of the stand Chance was strapped to now. But Chance had not noticed as such. As she often did with the cybernetically enhanced slaves she’d shut off his vision the moment the last bind was set on him. But he was already biting down on the bite bar that was set up on the back of the cross for him. And though his teeth rested on it gently for now, he knew he’d soon need it. But he also felt that no physical pain she could inflict on him would bite him sharper than her words. No punishment greater than knowing that he’d failed, and upset her.


He whimpered, wanting nothing more than to beg her to forgive him for that if nothing else. He knew she spoke the truth, that he had indeed severely injured someone under his care and command. That he had lost balance, lost control. And he was only shocked that this day, his day, had not come sooner.


There came the harsh whooshing from that long steel whip, the sounds of that rough metal sliding across what sounded like stone flooring in that white room. The mistress ready now behind him, asking simply; “Chance. What is our number one duty?” The doberman steeled himself, taking a deep breath before shouting loudly “To protect those under us!”


He clamp down on that bar with an intense ferocity while that loud whoosh came once more along with a deep gash down across the diagonal of his back, followed by the loud yelp of pain from Chance as he shuddered hard against that cross. It seems that she had not only turned off his vision but had nearly doubled his sense of feeling through his body. That now bloody gash across his back feeling more intense than ever before. She’d never been this angry with him. Nor with any slave he’d ever seen her discipline for that fact.


But he had done the worst thing he could do in this world. He betrayed the trust afforded to him as a dominant in this world. He had hurt a submissive without need, beyond reason, and beyond their own personal level of growth and comfort. Some pain, some damage was normal in this world. But it was all tempered, measured, and balanced.


But he’d gone beyond that. And so; he had to pay.


The mistress shouted at him again “What is our primary duty!?” Chance shakily released the bite bar and called out once more loudly, his voice cracking as it echoed through the room “T-to pr-protect, those below us Mistress!” And once more he bit hard onto that bar, and again the loud roar of the whip came through the air, and this time didn't hit him just once but was to fall on him first once straight across his back directly in the middle, and within an instant in one seamless motion, followed up with another going from left to right up the other diagonal of his back.


Each one felt as if he was being skinned alive with flaming knives. The deep tracks in his flesh lightly weeping blood as he scream in pain, and tremble against those binds, only to once more go limp against the cross between strikes, panting hard and just waiting for the next.


The mistress was enraged clearly. She growled and shouted at him “Why Chance? What are you hiding!?” Chance knew that if he responded properly, he could be free right now... all he had to do was tell her the truth. All he had to do was tell her about his dreams, those memories. But... he could not. All he could do was whimper out a pathetic “I... can’t... say.” And he knew he was signing himself up for more punishment.  He’d been down this road many times in his years of service, seen it many more times with other submissives. His punishment was over when he admitted his wrong doing and accepted it himself... but he’d chosen to ignore her question, and didn't speak the truth.


The sound of the whip flying through the air was once again in his ears, and he bit down hard again on that bite bar. But instead of a crack, instead of the sundering of flesh he felt that metal whip coil around one of his thighs and the cross, only to deliver a strong electric jolt down that leg to the nearest shackle. Chance screamed out in pain once more, but this time was different to him. She knew he hated electric play. He could not stand the feeling. He knew she was punishing him by going against his own wishes, and knew he could not flag out this time... it was a punishment.


The doberman shouted in pain and trembled there, panting and crying as he was tortured, and the fact was not lost on him. It’d have already ended if he had just told her the truth. And again, she demanded loudly “Why Chance!? What compelled you to break your word? What has driven you to injure a submissive in your care?” To which the now crying and whimpering doberman, once so proud and strong, simply whimper and cry out in a cracked voice “I c-can’t say mistress! Please!”


The large feline-dragon hybrid sighed and once more let that cable around his thigh deliver another jolt, this time harsher than the first as it traveled down his leg and made him scream out, not even having time to get back on that bite bar before its full ferocity was on him. And still not having that bar in his maw when she pulled hard on that whip causing it to unfurl with enough speed to slap his other thigh several times, and take fur and hide off from around the thigh it had been wrapped. The braids and bands of this whip were so fine it was as if it was sandpaper against flesh, and she hated using this whip, partially because it caused a little pain to the user as well since it was indeed so rough to handle.


“Chance... Please tell me... Why? What is wrong!? Don't make me keep hurting you! Because I promise you I will break you if I must slave!” She said, showing both care and anger at the same time. Her choice to call him slave, to not use the name he earned, stinging almost as much as that whip to him.


She clearly wanted this over as much as he did. She never liked punishments, no true dom ever did. As much as she enjoyed inflicting pain she never did get used to having to hurt someone who knew better. Using pain as a tool for punishment as opposed to an amplifier of pleasure. And worse, having to use it on some one who knew that she was ready to end it but CHOSE to keep going. To punish themselves with her as their instrument of torture.


Chance sobbed and trembled against those bindings, panting and quivering as he lay there against that cross, bloody, and bare. And again; he simply whimpered out “I. Can’t. Say.” And this was where he was sure it was almost really over. He’d never seen her go farther than this with anyone. No one had ever had more than three deep lashes like this. Sure some had one or two deep lashes and then a mess of lighter ones. But none had ever been farther than two with this whip.


The mistress sighed deeply and snarled out “Wrong choice boy.” And just as the second time she’d brought the whip down on him she’d lashed him twice, this time she landed three deep gashes in quick succession each across his ass at different heights, each as deep as the last, each instantly becoming slightly bloodied and starting to swell. Chance’s mind reeled in this pain, not having felt anything like this since his arms where bound back in those memories.


And again the Mistress sought reason with him, ordering him “Speak slave!” To which chance sniveled out a pathetic, “I can’t...” And like that, the mistress started walking towards him. In his mind, he’d done it, he’d won the punishments where surely over for now. He knew she’d start her aftercare now and while it’d take some time, he would heal and this would all be over.


But in truth; being as high up as he was it only meant that he had so much further than most to fall. And he didn't know he was still so high up yet. With unexplored depths of hell ready below to break him entirely if it is what it took, to make him spill his guts, almost all too literally if need be.


The mistress  came up behind the trembling doberman who was normally the pinnacle of a passion slave’s power and skill. And she reached into a pouch she wore on her hip and pulled out a vial. She poured a little of the white powdery substance on her hand and gave a blow towards his back, the powder filling the air and stinging the senses as she stepped back quickly. Each of those marks came alive with the fury of a thousand suns, a broiling heat bearing down on him as if he was being cooked alive. Each of those gashes feeling as if a red hot iron had been placed upon it, causing that flesh to sizzle and sear. And while no damage was actually being done, the powder would have been the most intense pain he’d ever suffered except the thing that had left a scar in his muzzle. But even then it was getting so close.


Chance lasted but a moment before he broke at this, begging her, pleading her, crying out in pain as his back felt as if it was literally on fire. “PLEASE MISTRESS! PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I-I-I, I’LL TELL YOU!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he jerked at those bindings harshly. But she simply stood there and said nothing, letting him scream incoherent words of pain and suffering as that intensity only ramped up higher, and higher, and higher still.


Then suddenly it was all mercifully gone. No more pain, none at all. And all at once Chance collapsed against that cross as his mistress had turned off his pain receptors with his implants. And she asked simply “Why Chance? Why did you do it? Why did you break your code and hurt them? Why fight and disobey me? What is wrong?” The doberman sobbed and caught his breath slowly. And knew if he didn't tell the truth that pain would be right back, and by now, since it had been ramping up all this time, would be beyond anything he’d ever felt before.


“M-my past Mistress. I promise to explain, just... please... no more...” The woman walked over and snapped her fingers towards the papillon woman who stood up and rushed to get the med-kit, bringing it over and opening it up for her mistress. The hybrid woman grabbed a bottle, and quickly sprayed down his back with it. And as she did his sense of pain returned, but gone was the fire... leaving only those deep gashes and one spiraled abrasion on his thigh.


The mistress grabbed a bottle of salve from that kit now, and squirted it into her hands before starting to gently rub across the doberman’s back, this calming his skin of any left over irritation, and also making the wounds stop bleeding  as it cleaned and clotted them.


The mistress looked to the papillon woman and sent her a silent message between the pair which made the woman carefully set down the med bag, and without an ounce of hesitation she knelt before the doberman on that cross and started gently licking over his jewels and already exposed cock. It seemed Chance enjoyed some pain, or perhaps it was just being nude before his mistress. His rod was already somewhat hard and exposed from his sheath, having lost his normal composure that kept it in that sheath with his ordeal.


The blue silked slave instantly went to sucking on that cock and let it probe deep into her throat, pleasuring the doberman with a sense of poise and grace about herself, even in such a submissive task that normally was something akin to the realms of passion.


The Mistress spoke quietly and kept rubbing over his back, letting that other woman do her job and pleasure him for finally deciding to speak the truth. “So; your past. What about your past has made you so... aggressive Chauncey. Why are you breaking so many rules? And forcing me to be so cruel to get it out of you. You’ve always been a stubborn boy but I thought we’d gotten past that. You promised me no more secrets years ago. And you renege now? Just; why? What on earth is so bad that you cannot tell me my boy?”


Chance still sobbing in spite of it all; in spite of the cooling salve on his back, his mistress loving touch, and the expert affections of that other woman playing with his pleasures as if his body was but an instrument. He sob a bit and shivered more on that cross, going entirely limp on it and resting his chin now on the bite bar. He was not so upset about the pain, he was upset because he could hear the hurt in her voice and knew even after all this pain she was not better, and didn't fully forgive him. Not yet. Because he’d not finished their deal.


To be forgiven, one must accept the punishment, and then accept the fact they are forgiven. But he didn't want to be forgiven, not for this. It was his one weakness, his phobia of hands near his muzzle. It had come back so strongly now. And he was lashing out in all the wrong ways.


The mistress slowly stroked his body and sighed, covering every ounce of those wounds with that gel, leaving his back and thigh feeling icy cool and all the more healed already. “Speak Chauncey. Tell me what troubles you.” she returned his vision now, as she spoke while looking over his shoulder into one of his eyes. “I-I-...” She could tell he wanted to say he couldn't once more, but it dawned on him that there was indeed so much further down he had to fall yet if he didn't give in to her entirely here and now as per his word.


“When y-you bought me... I had those p-pier.... Those...” the mistress rested her chin on his shoulder and sighed, moving a finger to his lips which made him whimper with ears back, and cower away from her. “Your piercings. Those cruel, life changing piercings. They’d welded your muzzle shut with a piercing, and led you around for days with those bars in your arms. By the time I’d bought you, infection was setting in and they,.. your hands... They where entirely unsalvageable. I know, boy.”


 She sighed and pet down his side, slipping her arms around his body and pinning him lightly against that cross. “I made sure you where given basic synthetic ones at first. But the scar in your muzzle will always be there won’t it? And clearly the scars on your mind too are still present.” She said, kissing his cheek as he sobbed lightly.


Meanwhile that papillon woman was still hard at work. Her head bobbing up and down on his rapidly growing shaft, that was slowly inflating in her muzzle while he let himself go now entirely. The mistress changed gears with the doberman pulling away, and leaving him there with that woman nursing on his cock as if it was the only thing in her world right now.


The Mistress stepped away and moved to collect some things from around the room, wheeling over a large device. This device had a piston on which a number of generic toys could be fitted, and was mounted on a swivel that allowed it to move in 2 axes, so even if the slave moved it’d simply adjust and follow. She set it up with a fairly typical sized phallus on it and lubed it up well before slowly inserting it into Chance’s tight backside making him moan out and whimper some from the pain still on his ass from those lashes. And the fact that since he was an alpha, he’d not been ‘taken’ in some time like this.


She switched it on nice and slow, speaking aloud “Slow down Elyssa. Just tend to him for now. Don't pressure him to finish.” And with that the woman on Chance’s rod slowed down; and the mistress walked around the cross so she could stand over the woman tending the doberman’s throbbing manhood. His mistress looked him in his eyes as she pet over his head, and those lovely pointed ears. “Don't worry my dear Chauncey. You’ve suffered enough and are forgiven. Now close your eyes and partake of these generous pleasures I've deemed you worthy of dear.”


The pain at his back was almost entirely gone now; a mild stinging and throbbing from the lashes being just about as bad as a much more normal set of lashes now thanks to that salve. But his tight and largely untrained backside was indeed being stretched a bit around even that moderate and fairly average size toy. He whimpered looking at her and simply nodding.


Only to ask in a near silent whisper ‘M-more pain please...’ The mistress simply grin and nodded politely as she adjusted his implant to start picking up on that stinging more, making him hiss, and moan loudly as he felt the lashes on his back practically jump off his skin with a throng of pain, his head starting to swim some in the massive mix of chemicals that was flooding it.


The mistress cupped his cheeks and looked deep into his teary eyes. To him, those eyes of hers where his whole world in that moment. They always had been. Since the first time she held him like this, it was always what he craved. The first thoughts of his mistress in his head where always those eyes, how full of compassion, and care they where. But always this small twinge of sadness. A hidden pain of her own deep down. He always wondered what it would mean to fix that pain of hers. Even as close as he was to her he never knew of her past, no one here did.


And even though those eyes where inches away, the way she hid herself and her emotions, they may as well have been lightyears departed from him. Always focused on what felt just past him, as if looking through people rather than at them. It was as if she was never really in the same room as her submissives, always on a great voyage of the mind, forever lost in her own thoughts and memories. Even now she was lost in visions of her past, a similar situation in her mind unfolding, where she’d been Chance, and before her stood her master, The Kirin.


The doberman could not help but pant and moan for now, but he pulled himself together long enough to push himself forward and touch noses with his mistress. He looked deep into her eyes with those big puppy eyes of his that begged her to come back to him and stay in that moment with him. He wanted to ask her such, but moving from the sex toy in his ass and the girl on his cock made him only moan out in calling for her “Mistress” the only discernible thing from his lips as he shuddered and whimpered there before her.


His call to her and the touch of their noses made sure she locked eyes for the moment,... seeing that love for her, far beyond simple carnal lust in them. The mistress Kiri smile and lean in kissing the doberman, while at the same time the fuck toy in his ass sped up and the girl on his cock started taking the entirety of his length down into her throat gulping around it as her throat milked his rod.


He closed his eyes for but a second before opening them to see that same style spike that had caused his terror and his nightmares for so many long years in the hand of his mistress. He recoiled and whimpered loudly, opening his mouth to shout out, and plead for her to not hurt him, but she’d clamped down around his muzzle and the chains held him in place, unable to escape. She called to him “Shhhhh, its me you should be focused on boy. Not this. Calm. Calm yourself. Focus on me Chance.”


The doberman thrash and pant, whimpering as he’d been pulled away from all of his pleasure by utter terror, seeing that spike in her hand. But he did his best to do as ordered, always. And his struggle turned to loud pained whimpers as he watched her slowly release his snout, and lower that cruel spike below his chin. But he didn’t recoil again. He didn't thrash, he didn't beg nor even plead. He simply sat there and locked his eyes on hers. Those once love filled eyes now tinted with fear, but never breaking contact as he trusted her implicitly.


He felt that spike run up his chin, towards the scar on the bottom of his jaw, the sharp tip teasing the senses as it drug through his short muzzle fur and scraped the flesh below. But he never recoiled. Eyes steady, filling with tears now as he trembles, but never pulled away. And even as he felt it tease over the old scar and felt a pressure there; he held himself as steady as he could. The trembling in him heard through the cross he was on as he managed to shake it to its very core along with his body. The rattling chains and items on the back of the cross making a quiet clattering and jingling.


His mistress stopped there though, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You are forgiven of all of your wrong doings here on my cross. You are absolved of all your crimes, your misdeeds, and mistakes. Yet you still fear your past. When it is only ever the present, and the future you should worry about.” And with that came the sound of metal sliding against flesh. But not like from his nightmares, the quiet hiss of metal gliding over flesh as his mistress had tossed the spike behind her into his vision, letting it ping, clank and then skitter across the floor.


She leaned in and with her hand at his throat, gripped lightly as she whispered into his ear. “I need my boy to feel that pleasure. Focus your mind. Feel the girl beneath you, begging you for her treat . Feel that rod in your ass and realize it was I who placed it there. And real or fake, it is my will that you be upon it, and treat that shaft with the care, and respect you would have had it been my own.”


The doberman’s eyes where wide, but started to glaze over and roll back in his head now, as he did exactly as ordered, The spike was gone, it could no longer harm him. He was here now, and now, in this moment, all he felt was the embrace of his mistress, the warmth of a mouth around his member, sucking, bobbing, and milking his shaft for it’s every ounce of worth. Under his tail he felt that false-phallus, penetrating and probing him deeply over and over. And on his back, those throbbing stinging marks adding wonderful resonance to the pleasure with a counter symphony of pain.


Then his focus to his sight he saw his mistress once more, and once more those eyes. No longer lightyears removed, but right here, right now, intently focused on him and him alone as his mistress purred deeply while watching the doberman tremble under her ministry.


The doberman was lost in this, his mind washing over in the light stings of pain, and in swelling torrents of pleasure. His senses, cast into total bliss as a sea of naturally released chemicals took him far from where he was and pitched him headlong into a boundless void of total submission. His body was left there in the real world, on the brink of climax, but holding on barely as he tried his best to ride out this high, this land between worlds within his mind. But in that endless void of subspace, it was almost like a roaring tide had slowly well, had started to come through his senses, and started to wash him down stream from where he was.


All at once, as if flung over a waterfall from beneath the waves he surfaced from that void and his climax was upon him like a herd of driven buffalo from a jump. Shepherded expertly to its own end, the high tossed him, whimpering, and crying back out into reality where his thick hard shaft throbbed in the woman’s mouth below, his tight ass clench and grind hard against that merciless machine that fucked him without falter in its repetition.


Trembling he threw back his head in a loud moan, whole body seized in this grip of passion as he emptied the contents of his heavy orbs into the slave below’s waiting maw. Into that papion’s muzzle gushed string after string of hot delicious cum that she greedily drank down not letting a single drop spill. This was the slave’s task after all, and a slave of her stature would not dare miss a single step on a simple task like this.


With his seed he felt he’d lost a bit of his own ghost, a numbness descending over him as his brain slowly shut off most of the outside world, and all he was left with was the vision of his mistress eyes, locked on his. And he noticed only now she held his chin in her paw, and uttered the words he so desperately needed to hear, that he craved above all other words, whose power was tantamount to a spell over him in the wholest of meanings.


“Good boy.”