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Settling the Score

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by D.C. Yote

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Dora slowly, very slowly, removed the manacles, one by one, although they had long since been unlocked by her sister and Yote, the coyote in question who had not quite been able to look her in the eye. Of course, it wasn't that he hadn't seen his mistress and lover naked plenty of times before, but he had not seen the German Shepherd with lines of welts running through her black and tan fur, the marks something that may have been better suited to his coat, as the submissive partner in the relationship. And he had never seen her with the light gone from her eyes, although the hard line to her jaw still remained.

The other marks on her body, telling tale and testament to the abuse she had endured as an undercover slave for Mr Black, a jackal with high stakes in the slave trade. He was in the business of taking what he wanted when he wanted it and, well, enslaving the word senator's daughter was sure to have repercussions, even if he was especially good at covering up his tracks.

But not good enough to hide from an inside job. Nobody had wanted Dora to do it but they all knew well enough the terror and abuse of the slave trade, a crude and dark enterprise that was a little too close to their pasts and hearts alike. That didn't make it easy to go undercover and play the part of a kidnapped slave dog but Dora had, of course, performed her role admirably, never breaking stride not even the once and feeding information back to those on the outside who were just as desperate to get her out as she was to bring the whole sordid affair to an end.

Taking a deep breath, Dora stood and pushed her shoulders back, her eyes roaming the room where the slave bitches were kept, dogs of all breeds and denominations. It was not a room for presentation and cages lined the walls as if they were nothing more than feral creatures in their enslavement, although Dora doubted herself that that sick fucker had even once considered them to be intelligent beings, just something to be used and abused that could not even debate or complain as to their treatment. She had noticed too, to their own shock, disgust and horror in various measures, that Mr Black did not enslave males, further sending his fate into a spiral of debauchery.

She set her shoulder blades back, eyes hard as her clothes were passed to her, Yote brushing her cheek with a light kiss, so tentative that it was as if he was afraid of hurting her. She didn't want to see the marks on her body anymore either but she would have much to talk through with her fiancé after the fact.

Now it was time to settle the score.

Dora knew where he was and, clad in her usual loose combat gear and boots - oh, it was such a privilege and relief to wear clothes again, although she would never have told anyone else that - made her way, slowly and patiently to the holding room. A small room with a steel door where she had been abused and humiliated bodily and mentally on more than one occasion.

Her lips pressed together, trembling into a thin line that she would not attest to. She hated that room. Not solely because of what had been done to her in there, experiences she refused too to put into words, but what had been done to those weaker than her, less able to defend themselves. Those who thought they would never get out alive.

And that was just why she had to do what she needed to for them. It was the least she could do and all she could do as she paused outside the heavy, metal door, which was flanked by her two favourite furs and the two that she least wanted to see after her torment. But, like everything else, all would come to pass, even if they knew far too many of the details of what she had been through.

Her gaze hardened as she locked eyes with her sister, Danica, the brunette German Shepherd standing to attention with an automatic assault rifle in her paw. It was a testament to her quiet fury and the shake of her mind that Dora did not even recognise just what was clasped in her sister's paw. Her own pair of pink pistols, among all the other firearms that she had lovingly collected over the years, felt out of place on her hip, although the time would come for her to return to herself once more.

Dora took a deep breath, facing down the door like a foe she had to vanquish at all costs. It was so innocuous but it was the jackal that awaited her behind it, ready for torture and interrogation like a slab of meat laid out on a table, that was the true cause of her moment of pause. But she needed to do it. If not...well, she would not have completed all of her mission. And Dora was a canine who always completed her mission, whatever it took.

Even if that was every last bit of her.

"I'm ready."

"I'll come with you," Yote said quickly, moving as if to rush to her side. "You shouldn't have to interrogate him alone."

But it was not Dora who stopped him but Danica, who held her arm out in time with a small shake of her head.

"This time, you should wait outside. You don't want to see this."

Yote growled and straightened up, taller than the Shepsister but not more intimidating than a German Shepherd who had seen it all before. And Danica knew what she was doing was right as she put her paw on the coyote's shoulder, softening her expression just enough to get through to him.

"No, really. You don't want to see this."

And so the German Shepherd entered the room alone, everything she needed already in there ready for her, including her victim. It was more than about time too that he became the victim, although it was all just what he deserved, all coming due. Still, he sat there, bound to a metal chair that was bolted to the floor, the metal bed frame at the side of the room stripped of the mattress. He sat there as if he had any right to be there, pointed ears pricked and an almost cocky, conniving smile on his lips, disarmingly charming to those who were not in the know. A metal chest at the foot of it was new, however, and Dora nodded at it grimly as the door clanged closed, bolting behind her and sealing her off and away in the perfectly soundproof room.

Dora leaned back on the door and exhaled slowly, steadying her nerve. She would need every last bit of it.

"Mr Black... So nice of you to meet with me. Could I fetch you a refreshment? Oh... That's right."

She raised an eyebrow, closing the space between them and wrenching his head back, her teeth snapping close to his exposed throat as a snarl ripped itself from her throat.

"You denied food and drink to those most in need of it, all in the name of control. That's a start, isn't it? But your list of crimes is so long that I fear we shall not have the time in what remains of your short, sad life to go over each and every last one of them, you cunt."

It was not like her to be so vulgar in that regard but it seemed fitting and drew her mentally up taller, lips pressed tightly together so as to keep the growl back behind her lips. She expected him to spit and merely moved out of the way, a blade in her paw that she could not have honestly said how it got there. She pressed his head all the way back even as he cursed and tried to snap but it was easy enough to keep him under her control, his bonds holding true over his ripped and ragged suit, torn in the struggle.

That didn't matter though. It would soon be off him, humiliating the jackal every bit as much as he had humiliated each and every one of his slave girls, the female furs that he should never have owned in any sense of the word.

The scalpel flashed in the buzzing overhead light, the strip lighting the least flattering anyone could find, as Dora's chest heaving, each breath tearing itself through her as if she was being sliced up from the inside out. Now wasn't that a torture method that would slicken the route of answers?

Creepily, she smiled, eyes flashing deranged. But she needed to be deranged for what she was about to do. The thought of paying back every last abuse to him doubly so had been the only thing that had gotten her through the last few weeks. Although, she was one of the lucky ones: Dora had gotten out before he'd killed her.

"Let's mark this pretty face of yours first, shall we?"

And then it began. It was such an easy method to start off with, demeaning him as he had demeaned so many others. The jackal, to his credit, merely hissed as she sliced into his flesh, the spill of hot, steaming blood flooding her hand, a rush of power rushing to the forefront of her mind. The German Shepherd took no note of any sounds he may or may not have made after that point, carving the same pattern on his face that, well... She held down a shudder, a rare one threatening to crack her armour.

That memory was still a little too fresh.

"Do you remember taking your blade to Serena?" She breathed, pressing his lips out into a sickening pucker, blood trickling down into the corner of his lips. "Do you remember how you ruined her looks? Of course, you didn't care what happened to her, once you were done with her. She's already been retrieved from one of your mines, but it will take months for her body to heal."

Dora growled, the sound ripping itself from her throat and lips as she lost that edge of control. The fucking piece of shit!

"Her mind? That will never heal. And that's all because of you!"

"Oh, cry me a river!" The jackal bared, jaws clenching as blood stained his teeth, mingling with the slight sheen of saliva. "That bitch had it coming, fucking whore!"

Her fist connected with his face the moment that word left his mouth, blood splattering as it soaked into his fur, a tooth flying out. Rage pummelled Dora and she ground her teeth together, a second fist connecting with his muzzle as she pounded him viciously, one fist after the other. There was nothing like getting a little physical just to warm up her taste buds for the darker ilk of torture later on. There was time enough for that too.

"Tell me what you know, where you sent lot six-one-two," she growled, putting her lips close to his ear. "Maybe I'll go easy on you then, if you tell me what you know. Release those you've enslaved to me and I can make all of this go away...so easily too."

Of course, she didn't tell Mr Black that she would end his life as soon as she had what she needed from him - like anyone would mourn the death of such a despicable soul - but the jackal was not such an easy nut to crack. She wouldn't have expected any less from one such as him, after all.

When he did not speak, she merely shrugged and re-did his bonds, securing him separate to the chair before even thinking about moving him from it. And, when the ties lashing him to the chair simply fell away, he could only curse and thrash, toppling off into her hard paws, just as bound as he had been to begin with. Dora smirked cruelly. For what she had in mind, she wanted to see him dance.

And on the bed he went, the frame providing plenty of points with which to lash him to, the bonds conducting...well, what she needed, just fine. They'd do well enough. It was not the simple bondage of the bedroom that she had in mind for him and made sure everything was tight enough to cut into his fur and skin, leaving marks that would never be found. For they would never find the body or even be able to recognise it after she was done.

His clothes too: those came off. Why afford him cover when she and so many others had been stripped naked? She sliced them away easily, nicking skin and tufts of black fur, the jackal ragged and bald in patches when she was done, sheath weak against his stomach. She glared at that sheath and took his balls in hand, squeezing with all the strength in her arm, claws biting viciously as he screamed. Oh, how beautiful that scream was.

"Such a pathetic cock," she muttered. "Useless. Only because of the fur it's attached to, don't get me wrong. You arsehole, you fucking arsehole."

Eyeing the jackal, she snapped her jaws. It was time. It was so fucking time.

"The only reason I'm not gagging you is to hear you scream," she said, teeth showing as she slowly unpacked the battery and jumper cables. "And I do hope you will scream prettily for me."

Hefting up the equipment she needed, the German Shepherd bared her teeth, ignoring his curses and cries and hisses for release - not for mercy though, for the jackal still believed that he was innocent of any crime.

What a sick bastard.

His words - not even pleas - fell on deaf ears as she snapped the cables onto the bed frame, ignorant to where they bit. They would do the trick, even if they were old and rusty, a tool of torture and moistening the throat. He spat a curse as she locked on the battery, ensuring that the maximum current would be transmitted, the roar between her ears deafening her to any sense of presence in the situation.

Dora locked eyes with the jackal, her lips not even twitching. And then she turned the power on.

His screams filled the room, seeming to leach into every last corner as his naked body convulsed and twisted as if caught by a sickening power, drawn up into such shapes that it simply should not have been natural or possible for a fur to look like that. She kept the first blast short, allowing him a single breath of respite before slamming on the power once more, holding it longer and longer, right up to the point that she thought his body could sustain it. The battery energiser was not set at a powerful enough voltage to actually end his life, in theory, but there was that pesky thing of a body falling into shock or simply shutting down when put under enough stress. And she needed the fucker awake and alive to get what she needed from him, although she would not have been averse to putting him down either.

"Are you ready to talk?" She asked calmly, allowing a break. "This could be easier... Or I can increase the voltage. Your call."

The jackal spat and she calmly and dispassionately wiped his spittle from her cheek.

"Fuck you!"

"You'll regret that."

Ramping up the voltage, she smiled as his screams filled the room. Not even the most steadfast could hold back with such a tool. And it was the beauty of it that it had him blubbering, traitor tears trailing down his bloodied cheeks to mix with his blood even as the beast, for she could not consider him a fur, soiled himself, soaked in his own sweat and trying to cling to anything, anything at all, to hold himself fast.

But Dora broke him, as she broke every other fur who had gone before him. Electrocuting him was not the least of it, the German Shepherd furthering his humiliation as she shaved him naked - well, every part of him that she could reach without releasing him. A few snippets of information came after that but she had to hold his paws out flat, using the points of a hedge clipper to piece his palms and them, bluntly, saw off two fingers before he howled and spilt some more.

It wasn't enough. The reek of metallic blood surrounded her and she took a deep breath, some sick part of her relishing in it. He could live without a couple of fingers, although there could have been a better way to remove them. She didn't intend on letting him live for very much longer, however. The jackal was not a fur that deserved to live.

"Keep talking, sweet one..."

But there was no sweetness in her voice as the canine coaxed more and more from him, running the blade of the scalpel around his balls, although she did not slice into them just yet: let that be the final one before he found her blade at his throat. Without his fur, he hardly was the "Mr Black" she'd been forced beneath for weeks and each scream she drew from his lips eased her aching soul just a little bit more.

Slaver.

Abuser.

Cunt.

She carved the words into his bare skin, the trickles of blood running together into one bloody mess as she dug the point in cruelly, twisting it as he gave her another name, another location. He was but a slab of meat to her that she had to tease information from and there were no limits whatsoever to how far she could go in the name of that, even if she would yank out each and every last one of his teeth in the end. He'd done that to a slave too, saying it was to make them better at sucking his cock.

The German Shepherd snarled, the sound curling from her over and over again, a sinuous chain of threat even as, finally, he begged for mercy. Yet, he still did not give her the information she wanted from him and she was 'forced' to grab the container of fuel - diesel - and pour it over his legs, slathering them thickly.

He didn't need legs to talk. He didn't need much of anything at all, in fact.

Her eyes flashed as she lit the match, the despair in his eyes palatable in the air between them. But Dora's decision was made, only the dropping of the match to his fur required.

"Burn."

The jackal howled, twisting and writhing as he leapt in the flame, racing over every inch of diesel-soaked fur that it could reach, devouring him in its hunger. He would not burn, however, completely: just enough to scorch him and send the sickening aroma of charred flesh through the room. And, if that did not break him, she would remove the coating of non-flammable gel that she had drawn a border with, although she'd have to be careful not to allow the smoke from his burning flesh to fill the room too much.

Wrinkling her nose, Dora eyed him from a distance, set back away from the scene that she had set into motion. Best give herself a break from that. She wouldn't want to get it into her lungs, carrying a part of him away with her.

Stepping out, she put her back to the door, the jackal's screams briefly filling the following hallway where Danica stood, the German Shepherd as still and unmovable as a statue.

"He needs a moment."

Danica, somehow, held back a gulp, appraising her sister cautiously as she kept a little distance between them.

"For what?"

Dora smiled menacingly, the light of what should have been there not reaching her eyes.

"To cook, of course."