FSE

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WARNING: There is rape and violence in this story.

This is going to be the last proper long chapter of Synne's story, but expect a short epilogue sometime in the near future.

Lord Hart dedicated a great deal of time to Synne. When he first gave the wolverine her body back, she tried to lunge at him, only to be frozen in mid motion, arms outstretched, fingers hooked and claws ready to rip and tear. The elk smiled fondly at her efforts, one finger delicately collecting the tears from under one eye.

Even through the magic he'd put upon her, Synne still thought she could feel herself shivering with rage. Perhaps she was...everything else felt real enough. The residual tingle between her legs, the heat of the elk's cum sliding down the inside of one thigh, wetting the fur as it went.

"You," Lord Hart pronounced, "need more effort."

In an instant she was clean and new again, flat on her back but this time upon a velvet sofa upholstered in a soft, calming blue. She thought she could move, there were her paws off to either side of her, fingers twitching sluggishly, but any real attempt at sitting up or struggling away was completely impossible. Her hips were balanced on one arm of the sofa, lower back propped by pillows. Had he done all of that in an instant?

She supposed she had.

Oh...her legs were spread. Synne growled low in her throat, trying to close her thighs, but the effort diffused and melted impotently away. This was a softer form of control, she realized, giving her just the faintest illusion of self control. Lord Hart was just as much in charge of her as he'd been before, but somehow the tiny motions she was able to make only heightened her terror and shame and anxiety.

She should have been able to kick and fight, some part of her insisted...yet she could not.

Fuck.

Again the profanity electrified some deep down part of her. It was sacrilege, but had to be better than all of the rest of her surroundings. She repeated the word again, letting it resound inside of her head. Yet though it cleared her thoughts somewhat, it didn't make her any more able to move or resist.

"Stop." She hissed.

Lord Hart took his place between the wolverine's legs, looking over her sable slit.

"Do you remember our impromptu anatomy lesson?" He asked.

"Fuck you." The words came in a blurred, furious snarl.

The elk raised his brows, gently amused, like a person hearing a child swear for the first time.

"I think you broke a tenet." He commented drily, then stroked a finger along Synne's slit, eliciting a despairing groan from the wolverine. For all her bluster, she still couldn't do a thing to stop him.

She still felt weirdly sensitive down there, leftover feeling from the fucking he'd given her. What had been so different that time as opposed to the miserable rapes she'd endured from the lion and his men? She'd felt nothing but pain and terror then...

"I'm still not sure what makes the clitoris so...different from the rest of the female body," Lord Hart said, finger pausing atop her button, pressing gently onto it, just hard enough to inspire the slightest catch in Synne's breath, "but it's an area of intense study for me, I can assure you that."

"You're wasting your time," Synne muttered, "...committing depravities..."

"Depravities," the elk echoed, smirking, "...no, my dear, this is enlightenment."

With that he slipped a pair of fingers into the wolverine's slick hole, past her midnight hued folds, even as she did her best to clench down against his invading digits. But her reflexes felt muted and slow. All she succeeded in doing was massaging the elk's fingers as they plunged into her, tight, velvety inner walls molding around them.

Even as he did that, the elk was massaging her clit with little, firmly repeated strokes. Once more Synne felt an unwelcome tingle of warmth generating between her legs as the elk took up a practiced rhythm. His eyes weren't even between her legs, she realized after a moment, but focused on her face, watching her reactions with barely hidden satisfaction.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and that scared her badly. For a moment her fear even succeeded in taking the edge off of the burgeoning pleasure bubbling up within her, but it seemed to fizzle together after a while, the wolverine groaning deep in her throat, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched.

"What you're feeling is natural," the elk assured Synne as she came for the first time, fresh tears leaking from the corners of her closed eyes, whimpers bubbling from what felt like the very center of her, "...there's no need for you to be ashamed of it."

Synne hardly heard him, her mind was afire, confusion and horror dueling for space with a fiery, white hot blast of primal pleasure. It held no emotional room in the thinking part of her brain...rather it all seemed to originate from a deeper, more primal place. She was soaked now, Lord Hart's digits slicked with her juices, the wet noises of him pleasuring her all but echoing throughout the room.

He didn't slow down, not even as her muscles spasmed and her legs trembled, the powerful muscles in her thighs and core contracting, hard hard that they rippled through her fur. Lord Hart continued his motions, mercilessly bringing the wolverine to the heights of ecstasy again and again.

After some time, Synne didn't know how long...the very concept of linear time started to break down after a while, she began to weep openly, hysterical in her lack of control, mind stretched like taffy between the pleasure she felt rippling through her body and the humiliated shame her mind was soaked with.

Her sobs, plaintive and whimpering, caught and fragmented, tugged to pieces by half formed moans and grunts as her lower body shivered and bucked in place.

Some distant part of the wolverine's mind told her that she could move more of her arms now. With each orgasm she suffered, Lord Hart was giving her just a little more of her body back. She could clench her paws into fists now, she could turn her head...

But none of that was even nearly enough for her to fight back. The move was calculated, she realized, sadistically designed to allow her just enough control to participate in her own torture. In the way her tail had been left free enough to wriggle and spasm with each new climax. In the way her toes curled as she rode out white hot flashes of ecstasy.

The fur between her legs was sodden, the smell of arousal thick in the air. Lord Hart dipped in with a talented tongue at one point to taste her juices, complimenting her on how sweet she was even as Synne clenched her fists so hard that her claws drew blood.

The pain, tiny as it was, disappeared into the greater ecstasy like a drop of ink poured into the ocean. Her extremities had begun to go numb, Synne realized, her face prickling with pins and needles each new time she came. Her legs hung limp now and in the center of her flashed an almost intolerable pain as sore muscles twitched and protested.

She boomeranged back and forth between discomfort and unspeakable pleasure, even the noises she made turning formless and undefinable.

...And suddenly she was on the floor, the sofa and pillows gone, body hers once more.

Synne thought dully about getting up for a moment, but knew even as she did that such an action would be impossible. Even forming thoughts felt strange and slow, her mind fragmented and blurry, body sore and aching.

Nothing felt even remotely right.

Next to her, perhaps three feet away, Lord Hart looked down to the wolverine's twitching form, smiling as she laboriously pulled herself onto one side and curled into a ball, tail tucking between her arousal stained thighs. Her juices had begun to go cold, the aftershocks of the elk's assault on her was fading.

Everything hurt.

"What do you say to me?" Lord Hart asked.

Synne knew what he wanted but offered no answer. She didn't think she could bear another moment of humiliation.

The elk was silent for a moment, then knelt down, one hoof finding her shoulder. Synne could feel the faintest hint of warm breath on the side of her face and squeezed her eyes as tightly shut as she could manage.

"I asked you a question." The elk said, and suddenly Synne could feel an intent in his touch, an eagerness to punish. She knew right then that he would repeat the exact process to her again and again, for however long it took her to give him what he wanted. There would be no end to it.

Next to that, giving Lord Hart one small, insignificant thing suddenly didn't seem so bad.

"...Thank you." The wolverine mumbled, words catching in her throat, coming out nearly inaudibly.

"Good girl." The elk said, and gently repositioned Synne so her head was resting on his lap, facing away from him.

She trembled as he stroked her velvety fur, burning with humiliation but too frightened and tired and hurt to even consider any sort of resistance.

When he put her to bed, it was in a pleasant set of chambers, the farthest cry from the dungeon that Synne had expected. The bed was comfortable and, borne by the elk's magic, the wolverine puddled atop the sheets, still shaking like a leaf. Lord Hart stepped to the side of Synne's bed, hesitating a moment before sitting down next to her, slowly reclining until he was lying on his side next to her, clothes evaporating into nothingness as he went.

Synne's breath caught in her throat and she clenched her paws into fists, breath going shivery, eyes burning with abject hatred and despair. It mingled, blooming into something close to hopelessness.

Could he see that she wanted to rip him apart?

Could he see that she knew she'd be unable to?

It didn't matter whether he was one inch from her or a million, Synne realized as the elk wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close that nothing she could ever do would be able to bring him down. Even if she stretched her jaws wide and shredded his throat from ear to ear...he'd be whole and unharmed again by the time her teeth clicked shut. Even if she snapped his neck, his magic in those last dying moments would ensure his salvation.

She could feel the hot, throbbing length of his cock against the inside of her thigh for a moment, then he was sinking it into her soaked hole, the wolverine whimpering into the elk's shoulder, where her muzzle was pressed. She gritted her teeth, suppressing the urge to bite him, even as tears wetted Lord Hart's fur.

He worked his length into her, savoring the ease with which he claimed her pussy, hooves roaming low to squeeze her rear, grinding himself more fully into her. Synne groaned. Her body hurt, muscles spasming each each new, achingly slow thrust the elk made into her.

The worst part was that she could still move. He wasn't hindering her in any way, yet she was still paralyzed despite that. Lord Hart had demonstrated his will with such ironclad totality that resistance almost seemed like a foreign concept.

The elk fucked her slowly and with expert precision, the wolverine's quivering pussy stretched around his length, pre splashing into Synne's depths, setting her afire. She came once, a slow, breathless sort of orgasm that made her her tremble in place, toes curling and face going numb for a long, silent moment.

Lord Hart climaxed perhaps a dozen thrusts later, hilting into her sodden hole, cum spurting into Synne's womb, a hot pulse of cervine seed drooling down the inside of one thigh as he withdrew, one last weak spray of white landing on the wolverine's stomach.

"You've been good today," the elk said as he stroked along Synne's back, touch gentle yet loaded with barely hidden command, "...you'll like what I have planned tomorrow."

Synne barely heard him. Her consciousness was fleeing, blackness tugging at the edges of her vision.

When she awoke the next morning it was to an invitation for breakfast with Lord Hart. She felt strange and almost dizzy, her mind unfocused and thoughts fuzzy. She felt almost as though she'd been drugged but knew that couldn't be the case. Her reflexes were as sharp as ever, and there was no dullness in her senses...just her mind had been knocked completely off kilter.

Could she really be blamed for being so disoriented?

Synne had no answer for that self directed question.

She was taken to breakfast by a pair of armored men who, though she only distantly feared the possibility, relieved her by not making any attempt to take her, as had the lion and his men.

...Had that really happened only thirty odd hours before? It felt as though an eternity had gone by since then.

Lord Hart was outside in the gardens, in a carefully secluded place bordered by perfectly trimmed hedges. There was a wire framed table set upon a marble patio, a fountain gurgling pleasantly nearby.

Synne thought for a moment that perhaps she could lunge at the elk, but though her muscles tensed and her mind burned with the humiliating memories of what he'd done to her, she made no such move and simply sat down. She'd been kept naked, but that hardly seemed to factor anymore.

Lord Hart had on a tunic, of the same design as the one she'd seen the previous day. Morning sunshine played off of the silver thread it was trimmed with.

"How'd you sleep?" Hart asked.

Synne didn't answer. She'd caught sight of a little vial sitting just beside her linen napkin. Perhaps a teaspoon of pale blue fluid was contained within...the exact color of the sky above.

She ignored it, as Lord Hart seemed to be doing, yet felt her stomach do an ugly flip inside of her at how insidiously it had been placed for her, without any comment at all.

"I want to kill you." She said, the words slipping free before she even realized what she was saying. For a moment there was fear, some dull terror of the consequences bubbling up, but none of it felt very immediate.

On the other side of the table, Lord Hart nodded evenly, not even remotely frightened of her. How could he be, Synne wondered bitterly, after the pathetic display of the previous night.

Though she was clean and fresh again, no doubt thanks to the elk's magic, she could still feel his length burning inside of her, eternally claiming her again and again. It made her feel low and small and powerless.

"That's to be expected," Lord Hart said, "and I don't fault you for it. Today we're going to be learning how to dismiss those thoughts and accept subservience."

Breakfast came, fruit and granola swimming in cream, garnished with mint leaves. Synne stared dumbly down at her food for a moment, not feeling even the slightest bit hungry. She hadn't had anything to eat for nearly two days at this point, unless a few loads of cum counted, yet the thought of eating anything made her feel ill.

"Subservience is natural for you," the elk continued, taking up his spoon, "even before falling into the true system," he encompassed his castle with a flick of the spoon, "you still found pleasure and a sense of correctness in obeying orders and being part of a strict hierarchy."

Synne took a deep breath, anger flaring up deep within her. She almost wanted the elk to hit her at this point, just to provide something familiar. But she knew he wouldn't, no matter how badly she disobeyed or dissented. He'd already spelled out his reasons after all...he knew she was longing for the familiar, and he wouldn't give it to her.

As she watched, Lord Hart stood and moved next to the table, just a few feet from her.

"Your first order is to kneel." He said.

Synne curled her lip, but there was an uncertain edge to the action. In the back of her mind she knew she'd be forced to comply, but...

...But what was even the point of resisting in that case? Why was she wasting her energy on this small thing when there were worse actions that she could be dealing with instead?

No answer became apparent, and slowly, reluctantly, Synne slipped from her chair, kneeling obediently on the cool marble.

"Good girl," the elk complimented her, "now open your mouth."

This time Synne shook her head curtly. She knew what this was leading to and refused to play along, glaring daggers at Lord Hart, even as he traced his hoof along one side of her face, clothes melting away, leaving him just as nude as her.

"You're not upsetting me by resisting," he said, "or hurting anyone but yourself. I like doing this."

Synne opened her mouth to growl an ugly retort but was caught off guard, her words trailing to a halt, a bizarre tingle traveling the length of her body. It seemed to settle between her legs but there wasn't anything happening there.

Magic? What had he done to her now?

"You..." Once more the wolverine trailed off, blinking hard, mouth ajar, eyes widening. She swallowed, tongue moving, a curious, slippery sort of warmth gathering within her. Even her breath, exhaled through her mouth, seemed to intensify it.

She stared at the elk, horrified.

Lord Hart smirked, thumb traveling down to trace the corner of Synne's mouth, inviting a strange, unfortunately pleasant feeling that curled into her depths.

"I've been wanting to try this for a while," he said, "I hope you don't mind."

"What...?" Synne managed, biting back an involuntary groan, eyes still wide, body beginning to tremble as she put together what had happened.

She'd been...linked somehow, her mouth to...

Oh.

Oh no...

And it was working. Every minute motion of her tongue. Every rush of air or move she made when swallowing...it was all adding up, so distractingly hot and strange.

"Open your mouth." Lord Hart repeated.

Once again Synne hesitated, but her mind was afire with thoughts of what the elk would do next. He'd already proven imaginative, and if this was the first thing that came to his mind, then...

Slowly, eyes narrowing, hot tears boiling at the corners, Synne's mouth fell open. Lord Hart stroked a hoof along his thick length and slowly positioned the pointed tip between Synne's lips. A drop of pre splashed her tongue, salty and with an almost creamy hint of metal. It seemed to spread throughout her entire mouth. She longed to snap her mouth shut and try to run, but knew that that would be useless. She was already on her knees and in a submissive position. Lord Hart had her at his mercy. Resistance would be futile.

The elk slid in, his length gliding along Synne's tongue, filling first her muzzle, then her throat, packing her mouth with cervine cock.

Fresh tears filled the wolverine's eyes, but these were reflexive, and she shivered in place, suppressing a gag as he cut off her air. Yet the feeling was nearly indescribable, like everything between her legs was a moving part, all working together to accentuate the shameful pleasure she felt. Each adjustment of her tongue, each bit of Lord Hart's cock that stretched her mouth wide open...it all blurred together.

She was drooling, she realized, all but shivering, and that made it even worse.

The elk took his time, allowing Synne brief sips of air, stroking her pinned back ears as he claimed her mouth. She could taste his pre, the scent of his fur filling her nose as he pushed right up against her muzzle, hard muscle rippling beneath his fur as his balls pressed against her chin.

Synne came with a muffled cry, her thighs pressing hard together, paws balled into fists at her sides as she felt a scalding, steamy heat gather between her legs, the scent of her arousal apparent to anyone in the vicinity.

Yet despite the disgust she felt at herself, her mouth remained wide open and her tongue worked along the underside of the elk's cock, almost unconsciously, anything to continue the ecstasy she was feeling. It was only when Lord Hart tensed and gripped the sides of her head that Synne realized fully just what she was doing and how complicit she'd become.

Hot cum splashed the back of her throat, filling her mouth with salt and iron, streams of alabaster drooling from the sides of her mouth.

Breathing hard, Lord Hart withdrew, cock flopping free, strings of cum dripping onto Synne's breasts, a slash of liquid heat adorning one nipple.

"Swallow." The elk commanded.

Synne did so, almost without thinking about it, then felt sick, slowly slumping as, abruptly, the pleasure seemed to shift somehow. She still felt tingly and warm between her legs, but the ecstasy had lost its immediacy. Whatever magic Lord Hart had been using on her was obviously removed.

The wolverine wiped her mouth, staring hard at the ground, feeling ashamed and ill. The elk knelt down beside her and slowly put his arms around her, one hoof traveling up to stroke her ears. Synne's fists clenched but she felt too drained to even growl or snap.

"You're good with your mouth," Lord Hart said, his words relaxed and imbued with an undercurrent of satisfaction, "as a reward, how about we see the gardens after breakfast."

...Oh. Right. Breakfast.

Synne had completely forgotten.

She ate almost mechanically, the sweetness of the granola and cream washing the taste of the elk's seed from her mouth. But even if the taste was gone, she could still feel the hard splash of the first jet of seed hitting the back of her throat, replaying over and over again. And the way his balls had tightened just ahead of it, lust pumping through him.

She blinked hard and stared down at her barely touched food.

"I'm not hungry." Synne said quietly.

"There's always lunch." Lord Hart said, and had her bowl cleared away.

Their walk through the garden was quiet. Though she half expected the elk to order her to debase herself further, instead he simply noted the flowers and the birds that had nested atop the inner sanctum.

"How many others are there?" Synne asked after a long few minutes had passed.

"Hmm?"

"How many slaves?" The wolverine clarified, doing her best to keep her voice level.

"You said 'others'," the elk noted, "...do you think of yourself as a slave?"

Synne stiffened, wheeling around to face Lord Hart, fur bristling, teeth bared.

"You'll never-"

"I know," he cut her off, clearly uninterested in her proclamation, "...as to your question...there are many. Some people are subservient, and some people are dominant. That is the way the world works."

Synne had nothing to say to that. She didn't think she could break the elk's belief in a system of his own creation. He was too far gone...

Instead she thought of what he'd said earlier. About her subservience...even in the Church. It had been untrue of course, but it lingered in her mind for some reason, like a string of meat stuck between two teeth.

They stopped at a stone bench overlooking a fountain, a few gold coins glittering from the bottom, distorted by the foamy water. Lord Hart sat down with a sigh, leaning back, still perfectly nude. Synne hesitated close to the side.

"Sit on my lap." The elk instructed.

The wolverine hesitated for a long moment but didn't especially want any further magic used on her. The previous instance had been...odd.

She sat carefully on Lord Hart's knee, the elk smiling gently before shifting her properly in place, snuggling her rear against his sheath, which felt firm and thick, full of burning potential.

Synne stared ahead, sitting stiffly as Lord Hart's hooves traveled up to caress her breasts, gently pinching her nipples. Between her legs, Synne felt a sudden hard poke and shifted in place, alarmed, the elk's cock hardening, sliding between her thighs, massaged by velvety fur. Her tail twitched in place, trapped between her back and the elk's stomach.

"You have such lovely breasts," Lord Hart said, giving the wolverine's perfect globes a fond squeeze, "what's your favorite part of me?"

Synne grimaced, remaining silent.

"...You know," the elk continued, "this reminds of a game I like to play, a competition really. I ask you questions while you use your paws to make me cum. Once I do, that's the end of the game...but until then I get to ask you whatever I want and you must answer correctly. Does that sound like fun?"

Taking a deep breath, Synne stared down at Lord Hart's length, throbbing between her legs. The first part sounded easy enough. Using her paws was preferable to any other part of her body, but the rest...

She didn't much like the thought of what he might ask her.

Still...it wasn't like she had a choice.

Reaching out, she encircled his thick length with both paws and began to stroke briskly up and down the elk's cock, trying to set a rhythm, eyes averted from her task.

Hart grinned, pleased by her easy acquiescence.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Synne." The wolverine said, glancing back, momentarily caught off guard.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty three."

"Do you like the taste of my cum?"

A sharp, almost outraged intake of breath from the wolverine. Her grip on his cock tightened ever so slightly.

"No."

"Did you ever climax before coming to my castle?"

"...No." Her fur began to bristle. She stroked faster, slicking Lord Hart's cock with pre, all but openly urging the elk to cum and get the whole ordeal over with.

"How many times did you cum last night?"

"I don't know." She had to answer through gritted teeth.

"Where were you born?" Lord Hart asked, still massaging the wolverine's breasts, enjoying the patter of her heartbeat under his hooves.

"At a monastery."

"Do you think of yourself as a slave?"

Synne froze in place, her paws stuttering to a halt, then shook her head, the motion jagged.

"Fuck you." She growled.

"Synne. Do you think of yourself-

"No."

The elk smirked, leaning back, bucking his hips slightly, spurring the wolverine back into action, a further spurt of pre wetting the fur on her paws.

"How hard did you cum when I fucked you last night?"

A faint groan escaped Synne's lips.

"I felt you clench down on me," Lord Hart said, breath coming a bit faster, "I heard you moan." He bucked his hips slightly and Synne had a sudden, almost tactile flashback to just how it had felt. She'd been all but limp, the elk coaxing one last climax out of her. She'd shivered more than clenched, but her silken tight inner walls had rippled and massaged Lord Hart's invading member, jitters of agonizing pleasure rolling through her.

"It was against my will." The wolverine muttered.

"That's not the question I asked..."

She squirmed in place, hopelessly humiliated, forcing herself to continue stroking the elk's length, the knowledge that he was enjoying the hell out of this only making things worse. She lifted one paw momentarily free from the throbbing cock she was massaging, her fur sodden with pre, droplets of the stuff pattering down onto her thighs.

"I don't know." She mumbled at last, the barest trace of a helpless whimper edging her words.

"How hard did you cum when I fucked your mouth?" Lord Hart asked.

"I didn't enjoy it."

"If you don't enjoy this, why have you climaxed each time I've fucked you?"

"...You..." Synne's motions failed once more, her mind gone blurry and unfocused with a sudden bolt of terror at that unanswerable question. She didn't know.

"Synne." The elk pressed.

A tear rolled down the length of the wolverine's muzzle and splashed onto the head of Lord Hat's cock, which throbbed impatiently in her grip. Still she said nothing.

"You enjoy this," he said quietly, "...and that's why you think of yourself as a slave."

Synne let go of the elk's cock and stood up, taking a pair of long, stiff steps away before spinning around, openly distraught, caught between an uncertain sort of fury and the dark, icy depths of doubt.

Surely he wasn't right...but...oh she'd sinned, she'd lost her connection to the divine, she'd given in and enjoyed the degenerate erotic pleasures...she'd...

Oh no.

Oh no.

Above her, the light of the sun suddenly seemed to turn cold and colorless. She was well and truly beyond any sort of salvation now.

That realization, the utter icy shock of it, sent the wolverine slowly to her knees, then further, until she was unspooled in the grass, paws clutched to her chest, helpless whimpers bubbling up from somewhere deep inside of her that housed nothing but despair.

She could see Lord Hart standing a respectful distance away, clothed once more, watching her with some faint pity.

"Why'd you do this to me?" She asked at last, voice trembling.

"It'll happen to everyone eventually, Synne," the elk said, stepping closer before dropping into a sitting position, gently wiping the tears from under one of the wolverine's eyes, "you must see this as an opportunity to become your true self."

Synne blinked hard, eyes hot and lower lip trembling. She felt so weak and useless, and being in such a state before her very worst enemy only made her feel worse. But she couldn't summon up the energy to be angry, there was no rage or wrath or even spite coming to lift her from the terrible apathetic emotional gully she'd slid to the bottom of.

Nothing in the world seemed to hold much intrinsic value anymore...least of all herself.

When Lord Hart sat her up and shifted her back into his lap, she didn't bother even contemplating resistance. Not even when a pair of fingers slipped between her legs, teasing her clit once more. Not even when the elk's cock plunged into her slippery sable hole, filling her once more. Her tail fluttered in place, its fluffy tip tickling the underside of Lord Hart's chin.

"Ride me." He ordered.

It took Synne only a moment to realize what the elk meant. Shifting into a better position, his turgid length throbbing inside of her, she slowly rolled her hips. With each motion she made it stimulated them both. His fingers stroked her slick clit, and his thick member slid in and out of her hole, provoking a familiar heat, a growing ecstatic precursor.

She ended the ride trembling in place, breath coming in uneven little gasps, the fur on her tail fluffed out. Lord Hart slowly smoothed it with one hoof, enjoying the way the wolverine's appendage twitched under his grip. Synne all but collapsed back against him, feeling a momentary flash of guilt for the pleasure she felt, but was distracted by the gentle kiss she felt planted on the side of her neck.

"Good girl." The elk said, and kissed her again.

The next few days and weeks seemed to blur into each other. The little vial of blue liquid was made available at meals, but when Synne refused to so much as look at it, after a few days it disappeared. Lord Hart made no comment on this, but Synne thought she could see a sort of pride in his eyes all the same.

He dedicated a great deal of time to Synne. Sometimes the days were long and she ended them trembling with exhaustion, Other nights she curled into herself and silently wept at what her life had become. But slowly, gradually, those moments of doubt began to recede, and she emerged each new morning still ready to obey.

Synne learned about her body and the applications for ecstasy that lay within. The elk taught her how to seek her own pleasure and enforced a habit in her of doing so. At the end of the first week he bent her over the breakfast table and slid a finger into her tail-hole, stretching the wolverine's supple pucker with care, until she was ready to take his length.

After that day Synne knew that all of her, from her muzzle to her paws to the tip of her tail, belonged absolutely to Lord Hart. And when he ordered her to kneel or bend over, she did so. Resistance offered her nothing, she'd learned this a hundred times over.

One morning they sat together for breakfast, Synne unfolding her napkin across her lap. The wolverine was naked, as she always was, Lord Hart in a similar state. He seemed equally comfortable wearing clothes or walking around in the nude, no matter who happened to be around. It was freedom, he'd explained to her once, and freedom included the right of a person to do anything they wanted.

"I'm impressed by you, Synne," the elk said after a moment, taking up his fork and spearing a strawberry off the top of the fruit salad he was having, "you draw ever closer to accepting your true self."

The wolverine nodded faintly.

"Thanks." Her reply was quiet.

"It's come to my attention that the men who brought you here will be leaving tomorrow," Lord Hart said, eyes flashing up to gauge her reaction, "what do you think about that?"

Synne blinked. She hadn't seen the lion or his little band since they'd first taken her to the sanctum. She'd known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that they were around, yet their duties hadn't led them to cross paths with her. She'd been relieved by that.

"Good." She mumbled.

"Would you like to bid them farewell after breakfast?" The elk asked.

The wolverine's eyes dropped down to her breakfast, appetite fading.

"Do I have a choice?" She asked.

"You always have a choice, Synne, it's just that some choices don't lead anywhere."

Silence settled over the table for a moment as Synne considered. The thought of seeing them even for a moment ran chills down her spine and made her stomach clench. Yet, despite Lord Hart's odd wording, she knew that the reality of the situation was that she would be face to face with them no matter what she did.

Readily obeying the elk, in its own odd way, would be taking the situation into her own paws, she supposed. At least she'd be more prepared.

"Okay." She said, but didn't touch so much as another bite of her breakfast.

Lord Hart led her to his study and the throne room, with its simple wooden throne and tall bookcases. He'd allowed her to spend time reading before, but Synne hadn't ever managed to find a tome that wasn't either focused on indecipherable magic runes or descriptions of acts so lewd that they made her face burn and her paws move to slam the book shut seemingly on their own.

Her eyes caught on the throne as she walked in. Lord Hart had fucked her on there more than once, and even thinking back to that, memories flashing up unbidden, made a residual tingle arise between her legs.

The elk positioned her carefully just in front of the throne, facing the far doorway, then sat down. It was, she realized, the very place where he'd first fucked her...an impossible eternity ago.

"Here they come." He said fondly.

Synne took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. Just a farewell, then it would be over.

The soldiers filed in, the lion coming first. Synne flexed her paws, not quite daring to ball them into fists.

They looked well groomed and relaxed, their armor resplendent. Clearly sanctum duty had treated them well. Synne could feel their eyes roving over her, the lion smirking, some of the others exchanging glances, momentarily surprised by how...tame she was.

"Synne," Lord Hart said from behind her, "are you happy living with me?"

The wolverine managed a stiff, jerky nod.

"Yes." She whispered, the fur on her tail gone bristly and jagged.

"These men delivered you to your present life. What do you say?"

Synne tried to swallow but her throat had gone dry. The five men before her had hurt her, had raped her over and over, until she was a cum streaked puddle of whimpering nothing. Yet through the pain and shame and rage that surged up in response to those memories, as sharp as a blade, she knew what Lord Hart wanted her to say.

Her lips moved but no sound came out.

"Try again." The elk said. There was reassurance in his voice, but an iron tone of command behind that. Refusing was an option that would lead nowhere.

"...Thank you." Synne whimpered, and realized she was trembling, her lower lip gone quivery, eyes filled with tears.

"Good," Lord Hart said, "I'm proud of you. Now kneel."

It didn't take much effort for Synne to sink down, her legs failing beneath her. The wolverine's paws, still clenched together, came to a rest in her lap, claws digging into her flesh, hard enough to bruise skin.

"I've been meaning to ask," the elk said after a moment, "do you think you could ever go home?"

Synne glanced back, but only so far as she could keep the lion and his men in the corner of her eye. She didn't think she understood. Was Lord Hart seriously considering letting her go? Why? For what purpose? Was this a test?

"Home?" She asked, voice faint. It didn't even seem like a word that properly existed. As a child she'd once said the word 'mountain' so many times that it blurred into a collection of sounds that held no meaning at all. This felt similar.

Lord Hart smiled and stood from his throne, the soldiers kneeling in unison as he moved, eyes going to the carpet. The elk paid them no attention, they might as well not have existed, his eyes were on Synne and Synne alone.

"Perhaps I used the wrong word," he said, "imagine, if you would, a return. Would you, after what you've experienced here, really be a fit for the Church anymore? I'm sure the Matriarch would embrace you, and your sisters would assure you that nothing had changed, but in the quiet moments would you notice their stares and the wary looks in their eyes? How differently would they think of a devotee who had come to know the pleasures of the flesh? What would you be to them other than a beacon of degeneracy, beaming out a thousand blinding points of scarlet light? Do you think the Matriarch would suspect you of tempting the other girls? Would they ask you what it was like in unguarded moments? How would such thoughts haunt them?" It went on and on, Lord Hart's voice soft and measured. He knelt, his arms closing around her shoulders, holding the wolverine gently as he spoke into her ear.

Synne felt her heart clench tighter and tighter, until it felt as though it were hardly beating anymore. She could envision it all so clearly. It was...

A faint part of her insisted that this would never happen, but she wasn't sure. She felt ashamed and ugly and broken, all of the worst things that had happened to her boiling back to the surface. She had violated the tenets of her order, she had wallowed in sin for so long that a return would be...

A tear rolled down the length of her muzzle and plinked to the carpet below.

"I intend to visit the place you once called home," Lord Hart said after an indeterminable amount of silence, "very soon."

"...What are you going to do?" She asked, but already knew the answer.

"The Church is going to come after me," the elk said, "I intend to end a costly conflict before it can begin."

"But..."

Lord Hart looked down at Synne for a long moment, even after she trailed off. He knew what she'd been about to say. Didn't he intend world dominion? Didn't he wish to smash the other kingdoms and impose his rule over everyone and everything? He settled her back against his chest, Synne sniffling miserably.

"I only intend to set an example," he said gently, "which the enlightened people of the world will shortly follow."

Synne shut her eyes and felt tears dampen the elk's fur. His heart was going, she could hear it loud and clear, beating at a slow, assured pace. One of her paws had fallen right at the edge of his sheath, the firm bulge pressing hard against her fingers. Yet there wasn't anything lewd in the moment, and all Synne felt was strength.

It was weirdly relaxing and certain, something that would always be present. Her existence would be guaranteed if she did what he said, she knew that.

"Don't hurt them," she said, "...let them go. Please." Her plea was soft, spoken into Lord Hart's chest.

The elk stroked her ears for a fond moment.

"I'll give them a chance to leave," he said, "but only if you come along to see me do it."

Synne squeezed her eyes as tightly shut as she possibly could, and nodded.

There wasn't anything else she could do.

In the end it was just her, Lord Hart and the five soldiers who went. The elk seemed to treat the whole thing like an afternoon ramble. He wore no armor and carried no weapons, even as the soldiers geared up for a tough fight. She could feel their eyes finding her every so often but just stared hard at the ground and tried to render her mind blank against the rush of unordered thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.

At one point the lion asked why Lord Hart had given them the privilege of such a mission, but the elk just seemed faintly amused and changed the subject. Then, after an anxious eternity, they were ready, assembling in the front garden of the inner keep, slaves and soldiers alike circulating around them, deferring to Lord Hart with practiced grace, sparing the others no attention at all.

Synne glanced around her. She'd been expecting others to join, at least a company's worth of armored infantry and perhaps twice that of bowmen. Yet Lord Hart called for no reinforcements, brought up no mules or horses for baggage and indeed seemed perfectly ready to set off just wearing his usual afternoon clothes.

He hadn't even asked her a single question about the monastery's layout or defenses.

"We're two days away," she said as the soldiers settled into a straight, well disciplined line in front of them, "...how are we-"

The elk pressed a finger against her lips, silencing the wolverine, a faintly patronizing smile crossing his face.

"You ought to know this by now, I can do almost anything with magic."

And suddenly it was colder, Synne's fur fluffing out as the temperature dropped noticeably. She blinked hard, the soft grass beneath her paws replaced by stone, the palatial gardens replaced with austere, snow speckled mountains.

And before them, cut into the side of the pass, overlooking the approach for miles, was the monastery and the wall that protected it.

She tried to say something but couldn't manage to get the words to line up right, everything inside of her head felt vaguely scrambled, correcting itself only reluctantly. In front of her, the mink tried to take a step back and instead went to his knees, looking ill, his comrades not too far removed.

Lord Hart ruffled the fur atop Synne's head as she recovered, clearly amused by the spectacle before him. It took the soldiers a few minutes to recover, and even after the weird jumbled feeling was slowly sifted from her mind, Synne still felt weirdly cockeyed, like one of her eyes had crossed without her realizing.

By then, tiny forms had begun to appear on the walls. They were too small to make out any details, being several hundred yards away, but Synne suddenly felt a dreadful ache in the center of her chest, her heart squeezing in on itself.

She probably knew most of the people up there. Were they looking through spyglasses now? Could they see her?

A hot jolt of shame shot through her and Synne shifted in place, tail darting between her legs, groin covered with a fluffy blanket of fur, arms crossing over her breasts.

Lord Hart turned to face the monastery, one hoof falling upon Synne's shoulder.

"There's the Matriarch," he said, "she knows."

And somehow Synne knew he was right, in a curious sort of way she could see her...was it former? Her former master? It didn't sound right, but she couldn't think of any other proper descriptor.

The Matriarch was still, silver fur ruffled by a chilly wind. Then she spoke, voice magically enhanced, carrying easily down to Lord Hart.

"So you've come at last." Her voice trembled with barely contained hatred, fingers tightening on the hilt of the sword she wore at one hip.

"I'll ask you once to open the gate," Lord Hart said, voice amplified in a similar manner, "if you don't, I'd advise you to clear the walls."

The soldiers watched with barely hidden awe, their fur fluffed up with anxious anticipation. The wolf blinked hard, as though he could hardly believe he was actually present.

The Matriarch said nothing. The gates remained shut, and instead Synne heard the faintest hint of a snap, a crossbow string releasing, followed shortly by a dozen more.

None of the bolts made it more than a few yards before vanishing into thin air. Lord Hart shrugged slightly and raised a hoof, the other remaining on Synne's shoulder, gently reminding her to keep watching.

The wall buckled, cracks appearing in the stone, the parapets jolting in place. Synne saw the Matriarch nearly lose her footing, then the tiny figures were scrambling away. They knew that the wall was lost.

It was only after they'd just barely managed to evacuate the crumbling fortifications that the elk let it fall, a cacophony of tumbling stone thundering down the pass. The air seemed to shiver in place, and Synne pressed her ears flat, wincing, paws balling into helpless little fists at her sides.

Yet she offered no resistance when Lord Hart magicked them to the front plaza and the rock garden there, the suddenness of their travel once again sending her mind spinning.

He could have sent them there from the start, she realized, but no...the elk had wanted to prove a point by breaking down the monastery's defenses. Each shard and splinter of broken stone spoke of his immense power.

As Synne's mind settled she realized she was on her knees, a hazy skein of dust slowly settling, giving the whole plaza a foggy, silvery filter. They'd landed in the very center, she realized, there were smooth, polished pebbles beneath her knees. Lord Hart took a step forward, his hoof leaving her shoulder, gravel crunching as he advanced.

The devotees who'd been forced from the wall were unordered and bunched up close to the main monastery building itself, and as Synne watched she could see more and more appearing. Some had noticed her already, complicated expressions of confusion, pity and horror flashing over dozens of faces.

Scarcely more than a few were armed or armored, Lord Hart had clearly caught them by surprise. The soldiers, standing together as a unit, eyed the devotees with wary appreciation. They were outnumbered at least ten to one but hardly seemed worried.

They had Lord Hart after all.

The wall garrison slowly parted and out stepped the Matriarch, her fur tacky with dust, eyes narrowed.

"Wherever your soul is," she growled, "what tattered remnants may yet remain, preserved in some demon vault...the rest of you will be joining it shortly."

"What's your name?" Lord Hart asked, disregarding the silver fox's threat, "I've only ever heard you referred to solely by your title."

The Matriarch didn't answer, simply raised her sword.

Glancing back at Synne, the elk nodded to himself, like he'd almost forgotten something.

"All of you," he said, dark eyes making a cursory traversal across the several dozen devotees, "just as I gave you a chance to let me in...I will now allow you a chance to leave. You have the next ten seconds to decide. If you remain past that then you will become my property."

The Matriarch opened her mouth to speak but Lord Hart flicked a finger and, in an instant, her gleaming silver armor, inscribed with sigils and runes of the divine, had evaporated into curls of steam, leaving her clad only in a regular tunic.

A low groan of terror passed through the rans of the devotees. Synne heard a sword clang to the ground, dropped from a shock loosened paw. Then perhaps half of them broke and ran, the rest lunging forward in a confused snarl of motion.

Synne felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, but no matter how hard she tried to stare down at the gravel and simply leave the whole scene behind, it was too terrible for her to look away from.

The fight was over before it even began, the devotees frozen in place, clothes and armor evaporating, fur and bodies left exposed. Only the Matriarch was left, standing still, her sword trembling at her side, watching dumbfounded as the elk arranged his new prizes in neat little rows, tears of terror and rage boiling from twenty sets of eyes.

The devotees who'd been smart enough to run hesitated at the edge of the rubble, but none of them lingered for too long. They knew the fight hadn't gone their way, and any last minute heroics would only result in exactly the consequences that Lord Hart had threatened.

"No..." The Matriarch muttered, her eyes dropping to the sigil engraved into the pommel of her sword.

He'd left her alone. The silver fox could still move, but she...didn't. She was too stunned.

"If the divine is real," Lord Hart said, "then it doesn't care about you. Why would you worship something like that?"

The blasphemy seemed to reach down deep into the Matriarch's soul and touch something white hot, her shock blown to ribbons, action restored.

"Degenerate." She hissed, and lunged.

The soldiers surged forwards to meet her, understanding somehow that this was their role in the fight. Lord Hart didn't seem especially interested in dealing with her.

The Matriarch, though she had no armor, was still a trained fighter and she crashed into the middle of the five soldiers without so much as a moment's hesitation, crackling with rage, shoving her shoulder into the mink's chest and sending him flying back before cracking the jackal across the side of the helmet.

He staggered away, being replaced in an instant by the lion, who grabbed hold of the Matriarch's sword close to the hilt, steel sheathed fingers squealing against her blade. She tried to tug free, then was bent double by a blow from the wolf.

Synne rose to her feet but remained in place, a weird, distant sort of panic jittering through her. She should help...she knew that. If she lunged forward and knocked the lion off balance then the Matriarch would have a real chance.

But she was frozen, too scared and ashamed and...

The Matriarch's eyes found her. They were bright with terror.

No...

Fuck.

Synne shut her eyes, ears flat, shoulders hunching as she sank back to her knees, a whimper working loose from deep in her throat.

Lord Hart sat down next to the trembling wolverine, stroking her ears with slow, gentle motions. Synne allowed herself to fall against him, too weak and despondent to even move.

She wanted to leave, but knew somehow that Lord Hart had no intention of doing so. Not until everything was complete.

"You should watch this." He said.

Synne opened her eyes, but only partially, just in time to see the lion fold the Matriarch in two with a kick to the side, the fox wheezing, eyes reduced to fury brightened slits, muzzle bloodied and tunic ragged. She tried to take up a rock but the jackal ground his heel into the back of her paw until she withdrew.

It felt strange watching the actions happen to another person. Synne felt almost distant, shock and guilt and disgust levering her free from her own body, emotions made distant and almost alien.

When the soldiers tore the Matriarch's clothes off, they hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances, giddy as children, hardly believing that they were actually getting to do something so fantastical.

The Matriarch herself snarled and shouted and protested, trying to clench her legs shut or curl her tail up,anything to hide the delicate pink slit nestled just above her tail-hole, nearly hidden by fluffy silver fur.

The fox had her first, shoving his length roughly in with an almost desperate jerk of his hips. The Matriarch screamed, so loud that Synne thought her ears would fuzz out and her hearing would be lost. The soldiers muttered their disapproval, the wolf grabbing hold of the silver fox's throat, squeezing until her horror was cut off and the Matriarch's cries had turned to strangled, hoarse yelps.

Synne sniffled, tears rolling down her face, cutting tracks in the fur there. It felt as though she had an entire storm raging inside of her, demanding she push out an entire ocean of tears through only two tiny holes. Any more and she'd explode.

Lord Hart continued to pat her, easing the wolverine further and further into his lap until she was curled there, trembling, little hiccupy sobs leaking through her distressed silence every so often.

He was relaxed, the very image of contentment, watching as his men took turn after turn, until the limp, whimpering thing they left behind could hardly be defined as a person, let alone a former Matriarch.

"You know," he said, almost to himself, "she never did tell me her name."