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A proper collaring ceremony for Gretchen. Because, well, last story she came to a couple of realizations.\n\nHope this is fun for you. I know I sure as hell liked it!", "description_bbcode_parsed": "as contrast to the last one, this one has ALL the sex. A proper collaring ceremony for Gretchen. Because, well, last story she came to a couple of realizations.

Hope this is fun for you. I know I sure as hell liked it!", "writing": "Collared Chapter 41: Bow down before the one you serve\n\nBy TerraMGP\n\n\tThe poor girl felt her knees knocking. The thin cloak hiding her body felt impossibly light and did nothing to hold back the chill radiating up from the club's cement floor, though her feet, and all the way up to the roots of her molars. She dared a small glance up. The people present were mostly unfamiliar to her. A collection of men and women in all manner of `nice' clothing. Suits and dresses for a couple, though most simply in something she'd describe as `okish enough for Temple'. The dominants all wore cheap plastic face masks the likes of which one might find at a craft store. The submissive and switches generally with their faces uncovered or wearing hoods of leather and latex.\n\n\tIt all felt like a sex cult out of some movie. Though by `movie' she mostly meant old Hentai videos her Mistress had watched with her over streaming. Mostly the one with slave auction scenes. Except it was real. At least a dozen people or so. There was no way she could actually look up and count. It was taking all she had to stay standing. Painful amounts of effort to breathe in and to at a slow and steady pace. \n\n\tThe lights dimmed. A single spotlight hitting the stage. Long periods of Esme ranting about seemingly inane stagecraft now flooded her overactive mind. Then the feel of the cement under foot. Then the fact that only one of her nostrils seemed to be fully open and pulling air. She barely even noticed the figures flanking her. Twinned maids who were not twins. A marten and sable. Their silky gloves contrasting with the dark black material of the simple cloak, cutting a heavy contrast as they squeezed either of her arms through it.\n\n\tThere was no warning for her. No music. Nothing to let her brace. The maids flanking the poor mole guided her up the stairs and on to the stage proper. The reluctance in her footfalls wasn't for show. There was absolutely a part of her dreading all of this. A sickening combination of raw terror and inward fury churned in her gut as the two maids walked her into the spotlight and turned her. \n\n\tAnd then, without warning, the cloak was pulled away.\n\n\tIn her minds eye, Gretchen could see herself perfectly. In-bent legs with thick leather cuffs around either ankle, held together by comedically heavy chain which had been dragging her whole way up here. On a more athletic fur it would have made running impossible. For her it barely broke with her dragging baby-step gate. There were her chunky thighs, riddled and striped with ancient self-harm scars. Her belly protruding out and hanging over much of her pelvis. Tits just big enough from her overall body weight that they looked awkward and unpleasing to her, yet too small to do anything with or make them appealing to those who preferred such things. Arms soft enough with baby fat to hide their weak muscles. A fact that made the heavy cuffs and second oversized chain keeping her poorly trimmed digger claws pointed down. \n\n\tMatted over-softened fuzz fur contrasted with her frizzy-dry mop of brown headfur. Dirty coke-bottle glasses hiding dull garnet brown eyes practically swimming in tears. The very picture of dull, ugly nerd trash.\n\n\tAnd then, there was her cunt. The tight little mound dripping like a faucet. Leaking her shameful maiden juice down her thighs and on to the floor. The fluid marring the bar code that had been airbrushed on to her crotch fur ever so slightly. She was terrified, she was ashamed, she hated herself, and she would easily cum to a small gust of wind.\n\n\t``Present''\n\n\tMadame Dubois' voice. Even having spoken to her only a pair of times, Gretchen recognized it. The terrified mole felt her body snapping to attention. Her legs parted reluctantly and arms pulled up behind her head. The chain managed to catch a bit of her hair at that point. If her eyes hadn't already been full of tears, that would have done it. She pushed out both her chest and her pelvis, nearly falling over in the process. The mole maiden was a blushing, dripping, snotting, heaving mess. She just barely kept herself standing on shaky legs and looked out in horror at the faces both masked and exposed which all looked back up on her.\n\n\t``State your name'' The club owner said again from her position hidden in the darkness\n\n\t``Property does not have a name.'' The words were rehearsed, and they sounded it. Carrying all the power of some terrified schoolgirl forced into a play. ``This merchandise is a slave. It is registered property. This one does not have fundamental rights or freedoms. It exists to be owned, used, tortured and discarded. It is nothing. It means nothing.''\n\n\tSaying those words was one of the hardest and hottest things she'd ever done. The little masochist button in the back of Gretchen's brain had been mashed down and broken. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run. She wanted to cum! She didn't dare move, and yet couldn't keep still. That fact only made her more anxious and aroused.\n\n\tThe lull after her recitation gave Gretchen time to look out on the crowd. In spite of the masks she thought he recognized a few people. A chipmunk in a cheap hot topic choker and catholic schoolgirl uniform who she was pretty sure had been the boy fawning over her Master like a lost dog every time she'd come in here for any reason. An older, heavier equine woman in a southern belle dress and corset. A pair of pigs in gimp masks and leather, the older a man probably in his fifties though the younger she was sure she'd seen around campus at Western a few times thanks to the unique shock of purple and pink pigtails poking out of the hood's back. Yet for all of them there was plausible deniability. Not for her. Even if many of those watching were submissive. She was a slave. She was property. She didn't get even that dignity.\n\n\tThere was a snap. Loud enough to carry in the quiet of the room. Certainly loud enough to snap the blubbering mess of horny slave meat back to her senses. The two maids moved in a practiced unison, pushing her back into the darkness and up against a pair of well finished wooden planks. The light moved to center on her. The single improvised spot shaking a bit before finally finding itself illuminating the huffing girl as her weight collapsed against the beautiful stained wood of a St. Andrews cross.\n\n\tJust like that the effort Gretchen had put in to following those orders turned to nothing. The chain were now pulled taught and her limbs spread even wider. Where before she'd endured the shame of exposing herself now the theoretical option to hide was gone entirely. All she could do was struggle limply against her bonds while the not-twins began to feel and size her up like the meat she was. Soft gloved hands poking and prodding without a shred of care for her own comfort. \n\n\tThe reality of having someone other than her owners touch her was almost more than the slave could take. The groans and squeals choking her throat were impossible to stifle. Loud, nasal, guttural things which rose and fell with a dorky warble every times those silky fingers traced up her ugly thighs and so very close to her needy womanhood. \n\n\tShe resisted, naturally. Her body utterly unprepared for the attention it was getting. When the two maids began to pinch and twist at her nipples it was done nearly in unions. Close enough that she found it impossible to find any difference. A synchronized routine of painfully hard squeezes and tugs. The weight of them hefted and displayed in all of their uneven and ugly gory. Their thumbs danced along either tender little nub while wicked eyes scanned over her. Not just her tormenters, but the audience as well. This was hell. A glorious hell which she could not escape. Whimpering and pleading to stop only fueled the growing aura of lust within the room even if the watchers said nothing.\n\n\t``It seems this merchandise has been spoken for.'' The club owner's voice rose, thick with aloof yet imperious authority. Gretchen, or what little was still left of Gretchen, wondered if she also heard a bit of amusement. It made sense. To everyone else here this was simply an amusement. To everyone else this was a game. And what did it matter if it was more to her? She was a slave.\n\n\tThen they were there, a Goddess and a God. The former stood there in borrowed rubber thigh boots and latex opera gloves. All of it a deep purple. Otherwise, she wore only her collar and one of the cheap plastic opera masks many of the guests had been given. Hers at least was covered in glitter and sequence to make it appear more period appropriate.\n\n\tThe God, however, wore nothing. His hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. His slender, androgynous body held itself with confidence. It needed no adornment or decoration. Only the chained raven wing tattoo on his back broke up the simple brown fur. The crowd could see that. The fawning mole could not. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes captured hers.\n\n\tThe red panda Goddess strode forwards, her long single braid of black hair swaying with the movements. She grabbed hold of the mole's chin and tilted her face down until their eyes met. Her amber eyes drew a low whine from the mole. Her gaze was a heady mix of unconditional love and seething contempt. It scoured Gretchen's soul from her body. Soon nothing remained but a hopeless supplicant. Nothing but wonderful, hopeless awe. She only wished that this Goddess would grace her, and allow her to gaze on that dorky smile for the rest of eternity.\n\n\tOne forceful twist and another paw had pulled her face away. Cold, blue, unrelenting eyes scoured her. A Gaelic water god staring down at her with frigid contempt. The look on his face demanded punishment. Almost as if he was offended such a worthless creature had dared to waste a moment of his time. When he finally let go it was with a sharp snap. Discarded just as quickly as he'd gained her attention.\n\n\tEventually the bliss of their presence faded, ever so slightly. Master wrapping an arm around his beloved pet as they walked off to one side of the stage. ``It seems that the owners have requested a minor modification.'' The Madame's voice chirped.\n\n\tThat cue saw the two maids take up one breast in either hand. Only now did Gretchen look up at them. If her owners were deities, these two were dark Faye. The light-furred marten girl with her stylish glasses, borderline page cut and superior smug face somehow screamed `French art film'. Meanwhile the bored looking sable with her silver-dyed shoulder length headfur seemed far more bored, and more comfortable living in contempt of the thing she now handled.\n\n\tBoth women looked at each other, and then down on the task at hand. With the same synchronicity as before they each withdrew a needle from their garters. One the right, one the let. Poor Gretchen tried her best to look away. Instead all she could do was gaze down in shock and horror. Knowing it was coming did nothing to help. She bit back on a scream. Her chest inadvertently heaved in a deep breath. Just like that she was again reduced to a blubbering mess and sobbing helplessly. Then the needles went in. Burning pain spread though either of those pink nubs. How much of that pain was real and how much was simply inn her head was utterly unclear. Nor did it matter. Agony simply spread though her body. She heaved and twitched and blubbered in pain as the needles slowly passed into and then through the soft pink flesh. The rings which followed barely even registered. They were made to look thicker than they were. That made them heavy, though. Heavy enough that she was very aware of them even as the two maids pulled away.\n\n\tThe familiar, lilting fairy-giggle once again filled her ears as the red panda girl approached her. One of those digits curling around her new left nipple ring and tugging enough to inflict pain but not damage. Then came a slap, and another. No words. Only contemptuous little giggles while the dominant girl tested and abused her dolly. There was no warning when those fingers ran down and dipped into her overly sensitive folds. Stiff rubber rippled over the pink inner flesh. A choked, screaming squeal. A shudder of near-orgasm. Her jaw slumped open and her body twitching into something she had to imagine looked like she was just doing that dumb ahegao face. Maybe she was. \n\n\tNone of that really mattered when the digits slipped into her mouth. Sharp rubber and feminine musk filled her sinuses and traced down each single taste bud. The poor mole's body convulsed and writhed while the odd mix of sensations drove thoughts of the pain from her head and left her dazed. She tried to close her muzzle instinctively and suck. Her Mistress wasn't having it. Instead finger-fucking into her throat until Gretchen gagged. The stupid little slave was being shown that she had no control over this.\n\n\tWhen the wet digits were finally wrest free it left Gretchen drooling on herself. That taste still radiated on her tongue. She tried to lick the air just a bit. If she'd had any dignity before it was becoming clear her body didn't give a shit about it now. The small throng of people were now seeing just what a pathetic creature she was. Any idea that this frizzy haired dork before them now might have once been a `person' was utterly shattered. She was a `thing'. She deserved this. She was lucky to get even this.\n\n\tThe high of sexual over stimulation had consumed her now. The `thing' which had been Gretchen could only huff and pant now. Sexual over stimulation had reduced the poor thing to a quivering pile supported only by her chains. She wasn't quite sure how long she hung there in twilight. There was movement at her feet. Movement behind her. None of it was enough to kickstart her body back into place. Not until she felt a paw grab her hair and watched her paws fall before her. Watched as the floor came rushing up to meet her. Clumsy nerd reflexes kept her from bashing her face against the floor, though a grip on her hair assured her that something would stop her regardless. She was now on her hands and knees. The digger claws scraping into the cheap wood of the stage. Gretchen huffed, whimpered, whined. Every shred of effort she had went into keeping herself from collapsing on the floor.\n\n\tThen, even that was taken from her. One arm was kicked out from in front of her, leaving her sprawling with ass pointing up in the air. A foot kicked the chains forwards, then stepped down on her frizzy mop of hair, rolling her face to look at the crowd. Forcing her to see all of the people watching her. Watching them. She knew who had tossed her over. She could feel his familiar warmth. Smell the familiar reek of corn chips and boy sweat. The working man paws, so in contrast with his slightly feminine body, gripped one of her wrists and twisted one arm behind her back while the other glided along her back and the other arm to help him get into position.\n\n\tShe was not a stranger to sexual things. Far from it. Gretchen had masturbated more times than she could count. She'd violated herself in ways most people would find degrading and extreme, even before having owners who would do it to her or command her. She'd taken all manner of strange toys anally and orally. Abused her poor cunt with those sharp little diggers until it was impossible to even sit down.\n\n\tShe was a virgin only in the technical sense. Only by the strictest of definitions. But that... that was now at an end.\n\n\tSharp pain shot through her as her Master mounted his prize. One sharp sting and her maidenhood was stolen for good. The thick otter cock hammered its way in with no concern for her pleasure ore comfort. He buried himself into her, drawing screams. Her tight folds clenched violently on the intruder. She screamed though a gritted muzzle and huffed for air. His strength kept her in place. Kept her helpless and hopeless as he began to drive himself in and out.\n\n\tIt was savage. It was not the act of a `giving' or `caring' lover. His heavy groans grew each time he bucked his hips. She could `hear' the slap and feel that her body was not ready to give way. It was not prepared to take so much like this so quickly. Yet that very pain is what caused her to whimper and mewl. A chubby grey lump of flesh and fur twitched each time he pushed himself in. She jolted forwards reflexively to avoid the heavy pounds and each time she did he simply thrust harder until hips met. So that her muzzle and overly sensitive breasts were forced to skid and grind on the cheap wood floor below them. \n\n\tShe was just a little toy. Just a little onahole. Just a `thing' The object her Master was using to please his cock while a crowd looked on and murmured. The silly little thing was dirt. A pathetic little dirt girl who bawled and sobbed from pain and shock while this glorious man reamed and hammered into her body. The longer it went, the more it felt as if he was `trying' to inflict harm. That his pounding shaft was looking to make her insides ache and quake with utter distress.\n\n\tSweat. Stink. Lust. Pain. Her body struggled of its own accord against the violation and her soul drank it in like water. Gretchen was finding it impossible to find where the screaming pain stopped and the quaking build to climax started. Her body fought and squirmed and bucked with all of its minuscule might. Master responded by pushing down harder on her arm. By snarling in her ear. By huffing and driving harder thrusts so deep she was sure it would batter and bruise her womb. Porn-brained nonsensicalness of the idea be damned!\n\n\tIt was though the tears and whimpers of this utter violation that Gretchen felt something warm inside of her. Without warning Master yanked back on her hair and quickly pulled her up to her knees. His once free arm now wrapped itself around her neck. Forearm holding her throat and just barely choking her. Though it all he was still fucking her. Now on full display. Now her virgin sex was being shown. The deflowering was a public spectacle. A way to amuse and perhaps arouse strangers as this pretty otter boy took his pleasure and his satisfaction from her worthless body. \n\n\tThis was the stuff of nightmares. The mole maid was straining now. Straining to breathe, to endure the pain, to stave off a quickly approaching panic attack. She was in a world of absolute, all consuming over stimulation. Her owner's thrusts had turn into borderline punches against her most privet and sensitive self. A part of her which was displayed at its most vulnerable moment. \n\n\tDim fragments of the poor mole were aware of those looking on her. Some fidgetting. The Belle woman fanning herself and trying to look coy. The pig couple drooling like, well, pigs. Even what she imagined were clear hints of jealousy hidden under the mask of the chipmunk boy. Yet none of it was for her. She was simply the object, the tool. They drank her in and felt nothing for her. It made her quiver.\n\n\tSomething was stirring in her. Moving in her. Filling her. It was dripping out of her with each thrust. By now she was a limp living sex doll. Even if she wanted to use her safe word she couldn't. Why should she? She deserved to get raped like this. She deserved her `first time' to be like this. She deserved to be nothing more than a tool, an object to make her owners happy. To make others happy. She was nothing. This slave was nothing.\n\n\tOnly that thought echoed now. While she stared blankly out at the crowd. While she felt Master's cock mash into other and her own body tremble in raw orgasmic devastation. When he finally pulled out and released her she collapsed in a heap. Everything had been hollowed out. Everything she was had been taken by others. The sex object which remained could not move, could not want and could not think.\n\n\tA paw wrapped into her hair. The sour, slightly metallic tang of her Master's balls filled her senses as he pulled her into them. The slave began to suck and lick reverently, guided only by instinct. She huffed the smell and traced her tongue along them. The rest of her body was limp and helpless. She just gazed with big teary red-brown eyes while he guided her up. She could taste it. The warmth of his cock-flesh. The familiar bitterness of his cum. The expected tang of her own fluids and virginity. Gretchen meekly lapped and licked along the melange as was expected. She lived to serve this man. To serve her Mistress. To serve her betters. He had claimed her, and to reverently clean his shaft of her violated sex was heaven for a slave such as her.\n\n\tIt was during this that she felt someone moving up beside her. She looked up to see her Mistress, feeling the wah's delicate fingers reaching down as Gretchen's collar was once again slipped around her neck. The familiarity of the leather and faux sheepskin drew in the fraying, disparate threads of all slave Gretchen was and held them in place. As the loop was closed and the lock secured Gretchen murmured two simple, soundless words.\n\n\t``Thank you''\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Collared Chapter 41: Bow down before the one you serve

By TerraMGP

\tThe poor girl felt her knees knocking. The thin cloak hiding her body felt impossibly light and did nothing to hold back the chill radiating up from the club's cement floor, though her feet, and all the way up to the roots of her molars. She dared a small glance up. The people present were mostly unfamiliar to her. A collection of men and women in all manner of `nice' clothing. Suits and dresses for a couple, though most simply in something she'd describe as `okish enough for Temple'. The dominants all wore cheap plastic face masks the likes of which one might find at a craft store. The submissive and switches generally with their faces uncovered or wearing hoods of leather and latex.

\tIt all felt like a sex cult out of some movie. Though by `movie' she mostly meant old Hentai videos her Mistress had watched with her over streaming. Mostly the one with slave auction scenes. Except it was real. At least a dozen people or so. There was no way she could actually look up and count. It was taking all she had to stay standing. Painful amounts of effort to breathe in and to at a slow and steady pace.

\tThe lights dimmed. A single spotlight hitting the stage. Long periods of Esme ranting about seemingly inane stagecraft now flooded her overactive mind. Then the feel of the cement under foot. Then the fact that only one of her nostrils seemed to be fully open and pulling air. She barely even noticed the figures flanking her. Twinned maids who were not twins. A marten and sable. Their silky gloves contrasting with the dark black material of the simple cloak, cutting a heavy contrast as they squeezed either of her arms through it.

\tThere was no warning for her. No music. Nothing to let her brace. The maids flanking the poor mole guided her up the stairs and on to the stage proper. The reluctance in her footfalls wasn't for show. There was absolutely a part of her dreading all of this. A sickening combination of raw terror and inward fury churned in her gut as the two maids walked her into the spotlight and turned her.

\tAnd then, without warning, the cloak was pulled away.

\tIn her minds eye, Gretchen could see herself perfectly. In-bent legs with thick leather cuffs around either ankle, held together by comedically heavy chain which had been dragging her whole way up here. On a more athletic fur it would have made running impossible. For her it barely broke with her dragging baby-step gate. There were her chunky thighs, riddled and striped with ancient self-harm scars. Her belly protruding out and hanging over much of her pelvis. Tits just big enough from her overall body weight that they looked awkward and unpleasing to her, yet too small to do anything with or make them appealing to those who preferred such things. Arms soft enough with baby fat to hide their weak muscles. A fact that made the heavy cuffs and second oversized chain keeping her poorly trimmed digger claws pointed down.

\tMatted over-softened fuzz fur contrasted with her frizzy-dry mop of brown headfur. Dirty coke-bottle glasses hiding dull garnet brown eyes practically swimming in tears. The very picture of dull, ugly nerd trash.

\tAnd then, there was her cunt. The tight little mound dripping like a faucet. Leaking her shameful maiden juice down her thighs and on to the floor. The fluid marring the bar code that had been airbrushed on to her crotch fur ever so slightly. She was terrified, she was ashamed, she hated herself, and she would easily cum to a small gust of wind.

\t``Present''

\tMadame Dubois' voice. Even having spoken to her only a pair of times, Gretchen recognized it. The terrified mole felt her body snapping to attention. Her legs parted reluctantly and arms pulled up behind her head. The chain managed to catch a bit of her hair at that point. If her eyes hadn't already been full of tears, that would have done it. She pushed out both her chest and her pelvis, nearly falling over in the process. The mole maiden was a blushing, dripping, snotting, heaving mess. She just barely kept herself standing on shaky legs and looked out in horror at the faces both masked and exposed which all looked back up on her.

\t``State your name'' The club owner said again from her position hidden in the darkness

\t``Property does not have a name.'' The words were rehearsed, and they sounded it. Carrying all the power of some terrified schoolgirl forced into a play. ``This merchandise is a slave. It is registered property. This one does not have fundamental rights or freedoms. It exists to be owned, used, tortured and discarded. It is nothing. It means nothing.''

\tSaying those words was one of the hardest and hottest things she'd ever done. The little masochist button in the back of Gretchen's brain had been mashed down and broken. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run. She wanted to cum! She didn't dare move, and yet couldn't keep still. That fact only made her more anxious and aroused.

\tThe lull after her recitation gave Gretchen time to look out on the crowd. In spite of the masks she thought he recognized a few people. A chipmunk in a cheap hot topic choker and catholic schoolgirl uniform who she was pretty sure had been the boy fawning over her Master like a lost dog every time she'd come in here for any reason. An older, heavier equine woman in a southern belle dress and corset. A pair of pigs in gimp masks and leather, the older a man probably in his fifties though the younger she was sure she'd seen around campus at Western a few times thanks to the unique shock of purple and pink pigtails poking out of the hood's back. Yet for all of them there was plausible deniability. Not for her. Even if many of those watching were submissive. She was a slave. She was property. She didn't get even that dignity.

\tThere was a snap. Loud enough to carry in the quiet of the room. Certainly loud enough to snap the blubbering mess of horny slave meat back to her senses. The two maids moved in a practiced unison, pushing her back into the darkness and up against a pair of well finished wooden planks. The light moved to center on her. The single improvised spot shaking a bit before finally finding itself illuminating the huffing girl as her weight collapsed against the beautiful stained wood of a St. Andrews cross.

\tJust like that the effort Gretchen had put in to following those orders turned to nothing. The chain were now pulled taught and her limbs spread even wider. Where before she'd endured the shame of exposing herself now the theoretical option to hide was gone entirely. All she could do was struggle limply against her bonds while the not-twins began to feel and size her up like the meat she was. Soft gloved hands poking and prodding without a shred of care for her own comfort.

\tThe reality of having someone other than her owners touch her was almost more than the slave could take. The groans and squeals choking her throat were impossible to stifle. Loud, nasal, guttural things which rose and fell with a dorky warble every times those silky fingers traced up her ugly thighs and so very close to her needy womanhood.

\tShe resisted, naturally. Her body utterly unprepared for the attention it was getting. When the two maids began to pinch and twist at her nipples it was done nearly in unions. Close enough that she found it impossible to find any difference. A synchronized routine of painfully hard squeezes and tugs. The weight of them hefted and displayed in all of their uneven and ugly gory. Their thumbs danced along either tender little nub while wicked eyes scanned over her. Not just her tormenters, but the audience as well. This was hell. A glorious hell which she could not escape. Whimpering and pleading to stop only fueled the growing aura of lust within the room even if the watchers said nothing.

\t``It seems this merchandise has been spoken for.'' The club owner's voice rose, thick with aloof yet imperious authority. Gretchen, or what little was still left of Gretchen, wondered if she also heard a bit of amusement. It made sense. To everyone else here this was simply an amusement. To everyone else this was a game. And what did it matter if it was more to her? She was a slave.

\tThen they were there, a Goddess and a God. The former stood there in borrowed rubber thigh boots and latex opera gloves. All of it a deep purple. Otherwise, she wore only her collar and one of the cheap plastic opera masks many of the guests had been given. Hers at least was covered in glitter and sequence to make it appear more period appropriate.

\tThe God, however, wore nothing. His hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. His slender, androgynous body held itself with confidence. It needed no adornment or decoration. Only the chained raven wing tattoo on his back broke up the simple brown fur. The crowd could see that. The fawning mole could not. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes captured hers.

\tThe red panda Goddess strode forwards, her long single braid of black hair swaying with the movements. She grabbed hold of the mole's chin and tilted her face down until their eyes met. Her amber eyes drew a low whine from the mole. Her gaze was a heady mix of unconditional love and seething contempt. It scoured Gretchen's soul from her body. Soon nothing remained but a hopeless supplicant. Nothing but wonderful, hopeless awe. She only wished that this Goddess would grace her, and allow her to gaze on that dorky smile for the rest of eternity.

\tOne forceful twist and another paw had pulled her face away. Cold, blue, unrelenting eyes scoured her. A Gaelic water god staring down at her with frigid contempt. The look on his face demanded punishment. Almost as if he was offended such a worthless creature had dared to waste a moment of his time. When he finally let go it was with a sharp snap. Discarded just as quickly as he'd gained her attention.

\tEventually the bliss of their presence faded, ever so slightly. Master wrapping an arm around his beloved pet as they walked off to one side of the stage. ``It seems that the owners have requested a minor modification.'' The Madame's voice chirped.

\tThat cue saw the two maids take up one breast in either hand. Only now did Gretchen look up at them. If her owners were deities, these two were dark Faye. The light-furred marten girl with her stylish glasses, borderline page cut and superior smug face somehow screamed `French art film'. Meanwhile the bored looking sable with her silver-dyed shoulder length headfur seemed far more bored, and more comfortable living in contempt of the thing she now handled.

\tBoth women looked at each other, and then down on the task at hand. With the same synchronicity as before they each withdrew a needle from their garters. One the right, one the let. Poor Gretchen tried her best to look away. Instead all she could do was gaze down in shock and horror. Knowing it was coming did nothing to help. She bit back on a scream. Her chest inadvertently heaved in a deep breath. Just like that she was again reduced to a blubbering mess and sobbing helplessly. Then the needles went in. Burning pain spread though either of those pink nubs. How much of that pain was real and how much was simply inn her head was utterly unclear. Nor did it matter. Agony simply spread though her body. She heaved and twitched and blubbered in pain as the needles slowly passed into and then through the soft pink flesh. The rings which followed barely even registered. They were made to look thicker than they were. That made them heavy, though. Heavy enough that she was very aware of them even as the two maids pulled away.

\tThe familiar, lilting fairy-giggle once again filled her ears as the red panda girl approached her. One of those digits curling around her new left nipple ring and tugging enough to inflict pain but not damage. Then came a slap, and another. No words. Only contemptuous little giggles while the dominant girl tested and abused her dolly. There was no warning when those fingers ran down and dipped into her overly sensitive folds. Stiff rubber rippled over the pink inner flesh. A choked, screaming squeal. A shudder of near-orgasm. Her jaw slumped open and her body twitching into something she had to imagine looked like she was just doing that dumb ahegao face. Maybe she was.

\tNone of that really mattered when the digits slipped into her mouth. Sharp rubber and feminine musk filled her sinuses and traced down each single taste bud. The poor mole's body convulsed and writhed while the odd mix of sensations drove thoughts of the pain from her head and left her dazed. She tried to close her muzzle instinctively and suck. Her Mistress wasn't having it. Instead finger-fucking into her throat until Gretchen gagged. The stupid little slave was being shown that she had no control over this.

\tWhen the wet digits were finally wrest free it left Gretchen drooling on herself. That taste still radiated on her tongue. She tried to lick the air just a bit. If she'd had any dignity before it was becoming clear her body didn't give a shit about it now. The small throng of people were now seeing just what a pathetic creature she was. Any idea that this frizzy haired dork before them now might have once been a `person' was utterly shattered. She was a `thing'. She deserved this. She was lucky to get even this.

\tThe high of sexual over stimulation had consumed her now. The `thing' which had been Gretchen could only huff and pant now. Sexual over stimulation had reduced the poor thing to a quivering pile supported only by her chains. She wasn't quite sure how long she hung there in twilight. There was movement at her feet. Movement behind her. None of it was enough to kickstart her body back into place. Not until she felt a paw grab her hair and watched her paws fall before her. Watched as the floor came rushing up to meet her. Clumsy nerd reflexes kept her from bashing her face against the floor, though a grip on her hair assured her that something would stop her regardless. She was now on her hands and knees. The digger claws scraping into the cheap wood of the stage. Gretchen huffed, whimpered, whined. Every shred of effort she had went into keeping herself from collapsing on the floor.

\tThen, even that was taken from her. One arm was kicked out from in front of her, leaving her sprawling with ass pointing up in the air. A foot kicked the chains forwards, then stepped down on her frizzy mop of hair, rolling her face to look at the crowd. Forcing her to see all of the people watching her. Watching them. She knew who had tossed her over. She could feel his familiar warmth. Smell the familiar reek of corn chips and boy sweat. The working man paws, so in contrast with his slightly feminine body, gripped one of her wrists and twisted one arm behind her back while the other glided along her back and the other arm to help him get into position.

\tShe was not a stranger to sexual things. Far from it. Gretchen had masturbated more times than she could count. She'd violated herself in ways most people would find degrading and extreme, even before having owners who would do it to her or command her. She'd taken all manner of strange toys anally and orally. Abused her poor cunt with those sharp little diggers until it was impossible to even sit down.

\tShe was a virgin only in the technical sense. Only by the strictest of definitions. But that... that was now at an end.

\tSharp pain shot through her as her Master mounted his prize. One sharp sting and her maidenhood was stolen for good. The thick otter cock hammered its way in with no concern for her pleasure ore comfort. He buried himself into her, drawing screams. Her tight folds clenched violently on the intruder. She screamed though a gritted muzzle and huffed for air. His strength kept her in place. Kept her helpless and hopeless as he began to drive himself in and out.

\tIt was savage. It was not the act of a `giving' or `caring' lover. His heavy groans grew each time he bucked his hips. She could `hear' the slap and feel that her body was not ready to give way. It was not prepared to take so much like this so quickly. Yet that very pain is what caused her to whimper and mewl. A chubby grey lump of flesh and fur twitched each time he pushed himself in. She jolted forwards reflexively to avoid the heavy pounds and each time she did he simply thrust harder until hips met. So that her muzzle and overly sensitive breasts were forced to skid and grind on the cheap wood floor below them.

\tShe was just a little toy. Just a little onahole. Just a `thing' The object her Master was using to please his cock while a crowd looked on and murmured. The silly little thing was dirt. A pathetic little dirt girl who bawled and sobbed from pain and shock while this glorious man reamed and hammered into her body. The longer it went, the more it felt as if he was `trying' to inflict harm. That his pounding shaft was looking to make her insides ache and quake with utter distress.

\tSweat. Stink. Lust. Pain. Her body struggled of its own accord against the violation and her soul drank it in like water. Gretchen was finding it impossible to find where the screaming pain stopped and the quaking build to climax started. Her body fought and squirmed and bucked with all of its minuscule might. Master responded by pushing down harder on her arm. By snarling in her ear. By huffing and driving harder thrusts so deep she was sure it would batter and bruise her womb. Porn-brained nonsensicalness of the idea be damned!

\tIt was though the tears and whimpers of this utter violation that Gretchen felt something warm inside of her. Without warning Master yanked back on her hair and quickly pulled her up to her knees. His once free arm now wrapped itself around her neck. Forearm holding her throat and just barely choking her. Though it all he was still fucking her. Now on full display. Now her virgin sex was being shown. The deflowering was a public spectacle. A way to amuse and perhaps arouse strangers as this pretty otter boy took his pleasure and his satisfaction from her worthless body.

\tThis was the stuff of nightmares. The mole maid was straining now. Straining to breathe, to endure the pain, to stave off a quickly approaching panic attack. She was in a world of absolute, all consuming over stimulation. Her owner's thrusts had turn into borderline punches against her most privet and sensitive self. A part of her which was displayed at its most vulnerable moment.

\tDim fragments of the poor mole were aware of those looking on her. Some fidgetting. The Belle woman fanning herself and trying to look coy. The pig couple drooling like, well, pigs. Even what she imagined were clear hints of jealousy hidden under the mask of the chipmunk boy. Yet none of it was for her. She was simply the object, the tool. They drank her in and felt nothing for her. It made her quiver.

\tSomething was stirring in her. Moving in her. Filling her. It was dripping out of her with each thrust. By now she was a limp living sex doll. Even if she wanted to use her safe word she couldn't. Why should she? She deserved to get raped like this. She deserved her `first time' to be like this. She deserved to be nothing more than a tool, an object to make her owners happy. To make others happy. She was nothing. This slave was nothing.

\tOnly that thought echoed now. While she stared blankly out at the crowd. While she felt Master's cock mash into other and her own body tremble in raw orgasmic devastation. When he finally pulled out and released her she collapsed in a heap. Everything had been hollowed out. Everything she was had been taken by others. The sex object which remained could not move, could not want and could not think.

\tA paw wrapped into her hair. The sour, slightly metallic tang of her Master's balls filled her senses as he pulled her into them. The slave began to suck and lick reverently, guided only by instinct. She huffed the smell and traced her tongue along them. The rest of her body was limp and helpless. She just gazed with big teary red-brown eyes while he guided her up. She could taste it. The warmth of his cock-flesh. The familiar bitterness of his cum. The expected tang of her own fluids and virginity. Gretchen meekly lapped and licked along the melange as was expected. She lived to serve this man. To serve her Mistress. To serve her betters. He had claimed her, and to reverently clean his shaft of her violated sex was heaven for a slave such as her.

\tIt was during this that she felt someone moving up beside her. She looked up to see her Mistress, feeling the wah's delicate fingers reaching down as Gretchen's collar was once again slipped around her neck. The familiarity of the leather and faux sheepskin drew in the fraying, disparate threads of all slave Gretchen was and held them in place. As the loop was closed and the lock secured Gretchen murmured two simple, soundless words.

\t``Thank you''

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