FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The first thing Fernald realized as he slowly regained consciousness was that he was lying on his side on the floor on a coarse carpet. His first assumption was that after falling asleep, his host had decided to put him somewhere where he could lie down for a while. But why on the floor?

The next thing he realized was that he'd been stripped. As he sat up, hearing the soft clinking of a chain, the squirrel felt himself. He was wearing nothing except for his underwear, a pair of white cotton briefs, and his nice argyle socks. Where were his clothes? Where was Mr. Linarcos? What had happened?

Fernald squinted in the darkness. It didn't take him long to realize he was a in different room that the one he'd passed out in. That one was brightly lit with large windows. This one had no windows, and was almost pitch black. As his eyes adjusted, slowly, Fernald could make out a few shapes in the gloom. There were some obvious ones like a table and a sofa, he thought, but still others were difficult to pin down. Exercising equipment? He had the strangest sensation that he was in a basement. He also, oddly, heard a quiet bubbling sound. What could that be?

He felt about. He was up against the wall, which was smooth, polished wood. Next to him was a table. Gripping the edge of this for purchase, the squirrel hoisted himself up with some effort and felt the world tilt, his head swimming. He also felt slightly nauseous. If he hadn't been leaning against the table, he would've certainly fallen over. Every time he moved, Fernald heard a chain, and also felt something smooth and cool against his front. He grabbed at it and discovered it was a chain after all, and his hands followed it up to discover with confusion and growing worry that it was attached to a metal collar.

A collar?! Why was he wearing a collar? He continued feeling along the chain. It was of a good length, but he couldn't judge how many feet. The other end of it was attached to the wall somehow. He gave it a couple of experimental tugs and it wouldn't come loose. Neither would the collar when he tried in desperation and ever-growing fear to wrench that loose, as well. He heard a high, wheezing whine and realized suddenly it was his own panicked breathing.

"Hello?" he called out softly. No echo. He must be in a small room. He tried again, louder this time. "Hello? Is anyone there? Please help me."

There was no answer. Mr. Linarcos wasn't here. He was totally alone in the room. He felt panic threatening to take him again and then fell to his knees, bowed his head, and placed his palms together in front of himself. He prayed. Not for anything in particular, and indeed, he didn't even speak aloud, unlike this morning - was it still even the same day? - but instead he prayed simply to calm himself. His mother and father had been adamant that through prayer he could not only talk to God, but also sooth himself in times of crisis, spiritual and otherwise. This... what this was... was definitely in the "other" category. It usually worked. Sometimes not. Thankfully, this was one of those times. He calmed and felt a little more at ease, but when he finished and said "Amen," as he always did even if he had not prayed aloud, he was just as confused as ever.

Fernald sighed and placed his hands in his lap. Without his clothes he felt very naked. Even with his underwear on, he felt vulnerable. He took his big fluffy tail and wrapped it around his nearly bare body as he had when he was a boy. He was still a boy in many ways, he reminded himself. But now wasn't the time for introspection. Now was the time for deduction! The chain, the collar, this room... the fact he'd been relieved of almost everything he wore... what did it all mean? Absently, it came to him that without his pants he had no idea what had become of his wallet.

"Dear Lord," he said softly, "what's happened to me? Where am I? Am... Am I being robbed or abducted...? Oh, please, Lord, help me."

Suddenly the room was flooded with a bright light as a door opened somewhere above. Fernald shielded his eyes and turned away from it. He heard a door slam, plunging the room into darkness again, and heavy footsteps on stairs, and then they were trudging across the carpet.

"Well," said a voice. Mr. Linarcos. "It looks like you're finally awake."

The squirrel turned to look at his host, and, now, apparently, his captor, lowering his hands. But in the darkness Fernald couldn't quite make him out. No matter. He'd gotten a good enough look at him earlier to remember what he looked like. He got angry.

"What am I doing here?" he asked, indignant. "Where is here anyway?"

The shadowy figure turned and clicked on a flourescent lamp that was sitting on the table. Fernald winced and covered his eyes again. It took him a moment or two to adjust to the sudden brightness, but when he did, he lowered his hands again and this time they were trembling. A middle-aged, well-built wolf was standing over him. Yes, it was Mr. Linarcos, all right. If he'd had any doubts about the identity of his sudden company they would've been dispelled right then.

"Here is the basement," Scott Linarcos said. "Or as I call it, the playroom."

"P-Playroom?" Fernald said, and, some dots of light still swimming in his vision, slowly stood and looked around.

The lamp's light didn't illuminate everything but now Fernald had a better idea of his surroundings. As Linarcos had confirmed, he was in a basement with wood panel walls and a coarse blue carpet for a floor. There was a pool table, a plush black leather sofa and a very large exotic aquarium, which was the source of the bubbling he had heard earlier. Its light was off. Fernald felt his heart skip a bit as he saw what else was down here, however. Chairs with restraints on them. A big, X-shaped wooden cross with manacles at all four points. Leather harnesses, some studded, some with spikes, some with none, dangling from the ceiling by chains. Apart from the door at the top of the stairs there were two other doors on either side of the fish tank. They were shut.

Having never been to any of the types of establishments which have them, Fernald did not recognize them for what they were. To him they looked like implements of medieval torture. But even he, sheltered as he was, was beginning to get an idea as to their purpose, and suddenly everything made sense. Chains, collars, restraints... he felt icy fear grip his heart.

"No..." he whined softly. "This can't be happening."

Linarcos apparently didn't hear him. He had walked over and turned on the fish tank's interior light, giving the basement some added but still meager illumination. The fish inhabiting it could be seen now but for obvious reasons, Fernald didn't pay them any particular attention. He slowly slid back down to his knees and felt as if he was going to have an anxiety attack.

"What's that?" Linarcos asked as he walked back over, having heard the squirrel's mumbles.

"Wh-What do you..." Fernald started, then choked up with the sudden urge to scream and vomit at the same time. He knew the answer to the question he was trying to ask. It was plainly, horribly obvious, but he needed to ask it. Needed to be told. "What do you want with me?" he finally managed to spit out. "Why am I down here? Where are my clothes?"

Linarcos chuckled. His hand slid down and caressed over the squirrel's head and Fernald flinched away. "Oh, don't worry, your clothes are fine. They're folded on the washing machine upstairs. And as to what you're doing down here... that ought to be obvious," he said softly. "But since you're pretty obviously inexperienced in these kinds of things, I'll just tell you. I've brought you down here for a little one-on-one playtime. Just you an' me, kiddo. We're gonna have tons of fun together."

Rape! Fernald's mind screamed as the wolf's hand continued stroking his head. Homosexual rape! He shook his head violently from side to side. No, no, no, this wasn't happening, oh, please, God, don't let this happen to me! Tears filled his eyes.

"But not right now," Mr. Linarcos said, his hand drawing back. Whether he had seen how obviously distressed his captive was, or had his own reasons for wanting to wait, Fernald didn't know. "In a little while. I need some time to get prepared... and you need some time to let all this sink in, I think."

He turned and headed for the stairs. Fernald called after him. "Wait!" he cried. "You can't do this to me! You have no right to keep me down here!"

"True," said Mr. Linarcos as he mounted the steps. He smirked. "But I'm going to anyway." He went up and disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him.

"No!" Fernald yelled, crying. "Please let me go!"

But Linarcos didn't return. Fernald sprung up and resumed pulling at the chain, digging his heels into the carpet. If he hadn't still been wearing his socks, he'd have given himself rug burn. He strained, pulled, sweated, and got nowhere. Finally he collapsed to the floor and sobbed openly. As he waited for the return of his captor and the dreadful things to come, he prayed. He prayed for strength and protection. And as he prayed, he thought back to how he had gotten himself into this mess, though through no fault of his own...

~*~

Earlier that day, or so it seemed, Fernald had been going door to door evangelizing, and having about his usual luck, which was none. He was dressed about his usual: a white shirt, tie, slacks and cell phone and pager clipped to his brown leather belt, snappy dress shoes. His imitation leather briefcase was in one hand.

This route was much like his previous one where he'd met George, a recent housing development, the sidewalks and yards totally treeless, except this one was built on a hill that sloped upwards. And today, at least, it was a cloudy, gray sky, and so Fernald was spared the merciless summer heat for a change. He was worried it would rain however, and hoped he could be done with his task here, or at least inside someone's house telling them about his church when the storm finally broke.

After striking out for the fifth time, he found himself at the sixth house. A male fox answered. He was young-looking and well dressed. There are a napkin in one hand. Beyond, in the warm glow of the dining room, he could see a female fox and a couple of children at a large table. Apparently, Fernald had interrupted a meal.

"Yes?" the fox father asked, sounding exasperated but polite.

"Hello Mr...?"

"Durden," said the fox.

"How very pleased I am to meet you, Mr. Durden," said Fernald, smiling. "I'm from the Church of Light and Reverence. I was wondering if perhaps I could have a moment of your time. Uh... although I see I've interrupted dinner."

"Who is it, John?" asked who Fernald assumed was Mrs. Durden from her spot at the table.

"A missionary," Mr. Durden said, then turned back to Fernald. "We're already Christians," he said with a gentle smile. "Sorry to disappoint you. But, well, if you have any spare Bibles..."

"Do I?" cried Fernald, and opened his briefcase in a flash, nearly spilling its contents. The fox watched in some amusement. "Sure, I have one right here!"

Fernald handed Mr. Durden one of the "freebie" imitation leather Bibles he gave out. The fox accepted it. Fumbling a little, the squirrle managed to get the unwieldy briefcase closed again.

"Thank you," said Durden. "Good luck at the next house, kid."

After some other pleasantries, they said goodbye and Mr. Durden shut the door. Fernald felt a little better now. Another case of not exactly a convert, but at least he managed to give out a Bible. He had several more in his briefcase.

One thing he did not have any more of were those horrendous anti-everything tracts. Certainly he had them in a bag in the backseat of his Jeep Wagoneer, which sat at the curb down the street, but he did not take any with him door to door and in fact decided he never would again. George was right. They were hateful things and only offended potential converts and pushed them away from Christianity, the precise opposite of what Fernald was attempting to do... even though he still had his doubts that interrupting people's private lives was the wisest way to spread the gospel.

He sighed and turned to look at his next destination, the house on the very top of the hill. Almost on cue, thunder rumbled distantly. It was very modern-looking compared to the other houses, and larger, as well; it had an ominous, almost fortress-like appearance to it, reminding Fernald of a military bunker. For an instant he hesitated whether to even approach it, but divine duty called, and Pastor Dick expected him to visit every house, and would know if he were lying. So with a sigh, the young squirrel went up a winding series of concrete steps to the imposing-looking front door and knocked.

For a moment, there was no response, and Fernald wondered if the owner was home. There was a car in the driveway. Some kind of muscle car. It looked old and beat up in contrast to the house. Just because a car was there, he reminded himself, didn't mean its owner was; they could be a married couple with two cars. However, he thought he heard faint noises coming from inside, and placed one ear to the door. Yes, he definitely heard noises. A TV playing, it sounded like.

He disliked interrupting someone's TV time, but he answered to higher purposes than whatever primetime drama was on, and so knocked, harder and more insistently, hoping the owner would hear him over their show. Finally, the door flew open with such suddenness that Fernald actually leaped back in surprise as a big, middle-aged gray wolf wearing a polo shirt and jeans stood framed in the doorway.

"What?" he demanded. His eyes were lidded, giving him a half asleep appearance. Fernald wondered if he hadn't woken this man up while he was napping in front of the TV.

The squirrel gulped. First interrupting dinner, and now he'd interrupted what was either a nap or TV time. He was definitely going to have to convince Pastor Dick that they ought to rethink their approach. But, as long as he was here and had the wolf's attention, he decided to plunge ahead.

He shifted his briefcase from his right hand to his left, extending that hand towards the wolf. "Good evening to you, sir," he said pleasantly, putting on his wide, toothy smile, "I'm from the Church of Light and Reverence, and I was wondering if perhaps I might have a moment of your time?"

The wolf looked at the offered hand as if he'd never been offered a handshake before. He didn't take it, and, after a moment, Fernald hesitantly withdrew it.

"The Church of... huh?" the wolf scratched his head, then suddenly seemed to realize. "Oh, right. Yeah. You're one of those door to door 'Have you found Jesus' types." He scowled suddenly. "Not interested."

Fernald's smile faltered. "But--"

"Get lost!" The door slammed shut and the wolf was gone.

"Great," Fernald said, flinching as another rumble of thunder sounded overhead. "And on top of everything else, it's raining. Oh well, through rain, sleet or snow..."

However, as he turned to head back down the steps, he heard the door open behind him. He turned and watched as the wolf exited and walked up to him, smiling. "Hey, listen, that was real rude of me," he said. "Listen, why don't you come inside and tell me all about your little church?"

He turned and gestured with his hand at the open front door. Fernald felt a twinge of worry. Something about this wolf seemed off. It passed quickly, though, and with a nod of thanks, he entered. The wolf followed behind him, shutting the door. Fernald didn't notice as he gently turned the lock with a soft click.

"Go on in the living room and have a seat," the wolf told him.

The squirrel ventured in there while his host went into what Fernald took from the bright flourescent light to be the kitchen. The living room was quite large, furnished in dark wood and stone. A big, flat screen television was set into the largest of the stone portions, above a gently crackling fireplace. It was currently on mute, playing some violent-looking action film. A ponytailed wolf in a leather jacket was using a pool cue to fight some mean-looking men in a billiard room.

The fireplace provided the only light in the room at the moment, playing its glowing orange light over an ugly lime green sofa and an odd-shaped armchair. The back portion of the room was glassed in with a sliding door, overlooking a patio with a swimming pool.

Grimacing at the odd choice of color for the sofa, Fernald went and had a seat on it. There was no coffee table as there had been at George's house, so his briefcase was set on the cushion beside him. Opening it, he removed the various things he'd need to evangelize to his host, including the spare Bible he intended to leave here when he left, when the wolf returned carrying a single glass of green Kool-Aid.

"Here you go, sport," said the wolf. "Something to wet your whistle."

"Golly, thanks," replied Fernald, who was always grateful for the refreshments people bestowed upon him during his visits. It was very nice of them. He sipped. It was a strange flavor. Sort of lime-y but with a twinge of something else he couldn't identify. It didn't taste bad, exactly, just strange. He would've much rather not drunk any more, but he didn't want to appear rude to the wolf, who he realized was watching him intently. Only later did he realize why. And so with a smile, he'd taken a few more drinks, eventually finishing the entire glass, and handing it back to the wolf with a sigh. "Ah, thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it," said the wolf. "By the way, the name's Scott Linarcos." He extended a hand.

"Fernald Smithers," the squirrel replied, and, numbly, he realized, raised his hand to take the wolf's. He suddenly realized he was feeling pleasantly sleepy. He figured it must have been because of his long day.

Mr. Linarcos chuckled. "Fernald. What kind of name is that?"

"It's French," Fernald replied, a little indignantly. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned. With a weak smile, he asked, "What kind of name is Linarcos?"

"Fair enough," said the wolf. Picking up the remote from the arm of the sofa, he clicked off the TV just as the ponytailed canine onscreen was jamming a gun rather roughly into the mouth of another wolf who Fernald assumed was the villain. Fernald was grateful. He didn't like violent movies. Walking over and setting both remote and empty glass on the mantle, Mr. Linarcos turned back to face him. "So, tell me a little bit about your fruity little church."

"Fruity church?" asked Fernald. "Wha...?"

Why would Mr. Linarcos put it like that? Something was definitely wrong with all of this. Fernald still had no idea what, but the bluntness with which the wolf had said that was setting off warning bells. Sure, he'd been invited inside for the express purpose of being made fun of by people before, but this was something different. And now, in addition to feeling tired, he was starting to feel queasy, and squinted his eyes as everything began to slowly swim in front of him. He suddenly found the dancing flames in the fireplace fascinating and stared at them.

"Something wrong?" asked Mr. Linarcos. His concern sounded forced.

"I... feel funny..." replied the squirrel, who tried to stand up.

As he lurched to his feet, though, the room suddenly seemed to tilt and he found himself struggling to keep upright, uttering a small cry. The entire time, the wolf didn't move from his spot by the fireplace. Finally, Fernald lost his balance and pitched forwards. He watched the tan carpet rushing up to meet him and then the world exploded in a sea of bright stars followed by complete blackness. He had a vague notion that he heard Mr. Linarcos chuckling and then subsequent events interested him no further.

~*~

As his recollection of what had transpired came to an end, Fernald sitting against the wall hugging his knees to his chest, the basement door reopened and Mr. Linarcos returned, carrying a plastic cup and a ziploc baggie. Fernald scrambled to his feet, his chain clinking softly, watching as Mr. Linarcos set the glass and baggie down on the table, then went and shut the door. Fernald heard the sound of the lock clicking.

The wolf came back down the stairs and approached him and for a moment the two stood regarding one another, without saying a word. The squirrel was trying to screw up his courage to again confront his captor, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he was backhanded.

"You'll speak only when spoken to, boy," snarled the wolf.

"But--" began Fernald, and was rewarded with another slap. He staggered, rubbing his cheek where he'd been struck, tears welling up in his eyes.

"From this moment on," said Mr. Linarcos, "you are my slave. Until I say otherwise. Cooperate and do as I say and I'll let you go. Give me a hard time... and, well, I can't say when exactly I'll set you free." He grinned his wolfish grin. "Do you you understand?"

Fernald shook as he tried to weigh his options. The religious part of him, the one that was still trying to reconcile his own potentially homosexual urges with his faith, wanted to resist, to refuse Linarcos and tell him to do his worst, that death or worse was preferable to whatever this wolf had planned for him. To die a martyr. However the realist in him didn't want to die - and he had no doubt Linarcos would kill him if he came him enough reason to - he wanted to see his parents again. His mother, father and brother. He wasn't any good to anyone dead or kept captive.

"I said do you understand?" bellowed the wolf with such suddenness and ferocity that the squirrel jumped.

Fearfully, Fernald nodded. He decided then. He'd cooperate with this horrible man. The slim chance of freedom was his only reason.

"Good boy," purred the wolf.

He then went and opened the ziploc bag and from it removed a small pink round pill. This, he handed to Fernald, dropping it into the squirrel's shaking hand, and offered him the cup, which turned out to contain more green Kool-Aid. Fernald almost asked what the pill was, but then remembered Linarcos' edict. He looked questioningly at the wolf.

"Swallow it," Linarcos commanded. After a moment, though, he added, more softly, "It's just something to calm you. And don't worry about the Kool-Aid. There's nothing in it this time."

He chuckled and with a scowl Fernald took the cup, put the pill in his mouth and drank some of the green liquid, swallowing it. The cup was then taken away from him. Darn, he thought. He'd wanted to throw the remainder of the drink into the wolf's face. Almost at once he began to feel strange. Not dizzy or anything like before, but a little bit sleepy, and calm, exactly as Mr. Linarcos had said.

He didn't resist in the least as the wolf knelt down alongside him and started to rub and stroke over his developing teenage body, kissing his chest and stomach. Nor did he protest at all when he felt Linarcos' hands grip and pull down his briefs, leaving him completely nude except for his socks, which the wolf ignored for now. He leaned back against the wall as he felt the rough, strong hand cupping his young genitals. His balls were rolled gently but firmly, and fingers explored his uncircumsized penis. He gave a little gasp as a bluntly-clawed fingertip pulled the foreskin back.

"Mmm," said the wolf approvingly. "Uncircumsized. Quite a delight. Turn around."

Fernald did as he was bid. His bushy tail was yanked up and his firm young buttocks were grabbed and squeezed, and parted as Linarcos looked him over thoroughly. He winced as his anus was probed with a finger. Linarcos nodded and gave his ass an approving smack, making him jump a bit.

"You'll do," he said, and reached around the teen's form to resume cupping and rubbing his cock and balls. He frowned when he was unable to get much of a reaction from the boy. "It seems you're having some problems getting it up. Must be the drug. Oh well, I have something for that. First, though, let's get you situated."

Linarcos unhooked the chain from the wall, and, holding it like a leash, gave it a gentle little tug. The squirrel followed along obediently, despite the fact his mind was racing with terror. He had no clue what his captor had given him, but it was having the strangest effect on him.

He was then turned so he faced the big X-shaped cross he'd seen earlier, as Linarcos removed the chain from his collar, then shoved him forwards so he was planted against the cross. Fernald now noticed it had a hole in the very center. He thought he had a good idea of what it was for, and his suspicion was confirmed when Linarcos slipped his captive's limp cock through it. Fernald's wrists wrists were seized and strapped to the top ends of the "X" and his ankles to the bottom portion, leaving him spread-eagled with the front of his body against the smooth wood, his head poking between the top fork of the "X", his cock dangling through the hole in the center.

Mr. Linarcos stepped back and crossed his arms as he admired his handiwork. Turning, he dropped the chain down onto the pool table with a metallic clunk, and started undressing. Fernald turned his head numbly and watched over his shoulder as the wolf stripped off his tight shirt revealing a muscular physique offset by a slight potbelly. He swallowed as Linarcos then began taking off his pants, feeling his familiar sinful, but dim, desires for other males beginning to resurface, so that finally his cock began to harden, but only a little. The drug Linarcos had given him was seemingly still preventing him from becoming totally erect.

Now wearing nothing but a pair of bikini briefs that bulged with his wolfhood, Linarcos then went and retrieved the ziploc baggie and the cup of green Kool-Aid. Despite the tranquilizer - Fernald had by now decided this was what Mr. Linarcos had given him - Fernald began to worry about what other drugs this insane wolf wanted to poison his body with, and numbly pulled against the restraints keeping him held against the cross. He winced as he felt the straps biting into his wrists and ankles, tightening even as he pulled.

Suddenly Linarcos was before him. "Open," he commanded.

Fernald clammed up. He shook his head. Already he was feeling his head beginning to clear. The tranquilizer must have been a very mild one, for the purposes of getting him into this bondage contraption without incident, as already he was beginning to feel less calm and sleepy, feeling his fear and panic beginning to return. And his resistance. Not that he was in any position to properly resist the wolf. With a growl, Linarcos grabbed his face and Fernald gave a pathetic little muffled cry as he felt the thick fingers inserted past his lips, easily forcing his small mouth open.

"Bite me, and you'll be severely punished," Linarcos threatened.

Fernald glowered at him, then watched as he took a small diamond-shaped blue pill and put it into the squirrel's mouth. It bounced along Fernald's tongue, and then Linarcos' fingers withdrew, letting the boy close his mouth. Before he had a chance to spit the pill out, he felt the rim of the plastic cup placed against his lips. He again attempted to resist, refusing to resist, letting the green liquid slop out over his chin, struggling to keep from swallowing the pill. The wolf growled and again used his strong fingers to force the maw of the teenager open, and poured the remainder of the Kool-Aid into it.

The Kool-Aid washed the pill to the back of his mouth and he reflexively swallowed without thinking. It was either that or have it get washed down the wrong tube and choke. Not all of the Kool-Aid was swallowed along with the pill, though, and, working up his nerve a little, Fernald spat it back at the wolf. Linarcos gave an enraged cry as the green drink splattered over his chest and face. With a growl, he seized Fernald's face, squeezing his cheeks rough enough that Fernald was certain bruises would be left. It hurt, and his eyes watered a little bit.

Mr. Linarcos stared into the terror-filled eyes of his prisoner, as green Kool-Aid dribbled off of him. "You'll pay for that, you little bastard," he said, then released Fernald's face and went to grab a small towel, wiping himself off.

Fernald gasped as he was released. Turning and watching the wolf, he demanded, "Wh-What did you give me?"

Linarcos smirked, tossing the towel aside onto the pool table. "Viagra," he said. "To help get your motor going, so to speak."

Horror filled Fernald. Viagra! He had thought that Viagra was only for old people in those inappropriate commercials about erectile dysfunction. He was ashamed he even knew the name of the condition. Already, he could feel his genitals beginning to tingle with the familiar but somewhat unwelcome stirrings of arousal. He didn't know it worked this fast! The wolf walked over and took hold of the uncircumsized squirrel cock and slid a metallic ring of some sort over it, slipping it down to the base, where it fit a little loosely.

As the Viagra took effect, Fernald's cock started to stiffen and lengthen, the foreskin pulling back a little to show the tip of his cockhead, his piss slit already dribbling a little bit of precum. As his cock became more engorged the once loose ring at the base fit more snuggly, tightening around the swelling length, making Fernald gasp and start to whimper.

"That's going to keep you from cumming until I say you can," Linarcos said.

"I... I don't want to cum!" Fernald whined. He swallowed. Orgasming in a situation like this was beyond unforgivably sinful! It was the last thing he wanted, and he told the evil wolf as much.

"Oh, trust me, sweet thing," Linarcos cooed, stroking one of the squirrel's cheeks tenderly, "before I'm done with you, you will. In fact, you'll be begging me to let you cum!"

"Never!" Fernald declared. He winced, though, at how hard and hot his poor cock as throbbing.

"We'll see," chuckled the wolf. Then his smirk disappeared and was replaced by a scowl. "And now, because of your earlier insolence, before I give that tight little ass of yours a nice good pounding, you need to be punished. To remind you of who your master is."

Releasing Fernald, he turned and went to the aquarium, opening the cabinet underneath it. From this he removed something that in the dim light provided by the fish tank had a handle and what appeared to be several dangling tendrils. However when Linarcos walked over, Fernald could see it was actually several strips of thin leather that dangled limply, each one covered on both sides with little silver studs, and, to his mixed fascination and revulsion, the handle of the thing was shaped like an erect cock, with the head at the bottom and the leather strips coming out of the "base." The cock-shaped handle was made of very shiny thick rubber.

"This is called a flogger or a cat o' nine tails," the wolf explained, gripping the strips and tugging them as he geld the instrument up for the squirrel to see.

Fernald suddenly realized what was going to happen to him. He'd heard of such things used during the Inquisition. He was going to get whipped! His breath quickened and his heart raced. He shook his head.

"No!" he suddenly found himself pleading, ashamed of his sudden cowardice. "Please! I'll be good, I'm sorry I spat the drink back at you! Please don't whip me!"

The wolf said nothing, merely walking around behind the squirrel. Fernald turned and watched out of the corner of one eye as Linarcos held the flogger and raised it up in a big arc. Unable to watch its approach, Fernald turned away, and gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. He screamed harshly at the first lash across his bare back. He was given no time to recover before he was struck again across the shoulders. He wailed in pain and misery and struggled against his restraints to no avail, tears filling his eyes and flowing freely down his cheeks. He cried aloud to God to save him.

"Oh, God, save me!" he screamed to the ceiling. "Deliver me from this evil!"

"Silence!" bellowed Linarcos, and the flogger was struck against his back a third time, eliciting a third pained squeal from the teenager.

He uttered no further prayers. Not aloud anyway. Inwardly, though, he begged the Lord again and again for salvation and protection from his vile, evil wolf, but the whipping never let up. Never in his life did Fernald imagine he would endure the kind of torture he'd read about in his history books.

He tried to protect himself by covering his back with his bushy squirrel tail, but Linarcos seized it and moved it out of the way, and the beating began anew. He whipped Fernald until he didn't even scream anymore, merely whimpered and sobbed pathetically. Then with a dark chuckle, Linarcos hiked Fernald's tail up, and gave his pert young buttocks a bood smacking with the studded leather strips of the flogger. At this, Fernald moaned and sobbed more and screamed anew. Throughout the entire ordeal, his cock remained painfully, shamefully erect.

Eventually, it stopped. He felt the sting of the whip no more, merely hung his head and panted. Slowly, he opened his eyes and winced. His back and butt ached severely and he was convinced he was bleeding. At the very least, the flogging had raised several welts beneath his fur. Mr. Linarcos came around to stand in front of him again, the flogger leant against his shoulder, a soft smile on his wolfish features. Fernald looked up at him with a mixture of hate and fear, then he lowered his head again. He felt the rubber head of the cock-shaped flogger handle slide under his chin, tilting his face back up to look at his captor. Linarcos sneered down at him.

"I trust, now, that you'll do as you're told, unless you'd like to taste the lash further," he said.

Fernald said nothing. However, he lowered his gaze, and this was all that needed to be done to show his submission. He heard the wolf chuckle darkly.

"Good boy," he said, and the cock-handle was withdrawn. "And now for that good pounding I promised earlier."

At this, Fernald tensed, looking up once more, as Linarcos walked around to stand in back of him once again. His buck teeth bit into his lower lip so hard he feared they'd draw blood as he tried to stifle a scream. He knew what was coming next, and he didn't know what he feared more: the violation he was to endure, or the wolf's cruel punishment if he protested it. He could feel the scream welling up deep inside of him, and he clamped his lips tighter to avoid letting it out, lest he get flogged again.

God, please, no! he begged silently in his mind. Over and over he pleaded with his Lord to intervene and save him. No divine intervention came, of course. Fernald decided it was because he was not saying the prayer aloud. But once again, fear of being beaten by Linarcos kept him quiet. For now.

The wolf licked his lips as he eyed the bound squirrel spread-eagled on the big wooden "X" and set the flogger aside and slipped off his underwear, allowing his full six inches of throbbing hard wolfcock to spill forth. Even at this reasonable distance, Fernald could smell the musk, the sheer maleness, pouring off of Linarcos' wolfhood, and it both enticed and disgusted him. He broke out into a cold sweat and whimpered as he felt his Viagra-hardened squirrelhood thicken even further at that male scent coming off of his captor. No! he thought, why was this foulness arousing him?

"Since you've been a good boy for the most part, and already endured enough punishment for today, I think, I'll be merciful and use some lube," Linarcos said softly, so softly Fernald barely heard him.

He grasped a bottle of Astroglide and upended it over his mammoth erection. The clear goop dribbled down over the already glistening shaft, and was spread over it and rubbed in by Linarcos' big hand. Fernald turned away. He shuddered at the thought of that titanic monster going into him. Certainly there were larger cocks in the world, but this was bigger than anything the young squirrel had ever imagined in his life, mostly because up until now, he'd never had anything except his own dick for comparison. Even when he and Castor Wilkes had "fooled around" a bit at Castor's house, neiter of them had taken their underwear off.

He suddenly felt Linarcos' broad, muscular chest up against him and tensed. Something hot and slimy probed beneath his tailbase. He realized it was Linarcos' lubed-up cock, the Astroglide having been warmed by the sheer heat coming off the wolf's maleness. At this, Fernald sobbed in despair. The wolf slid his head over to have his face beside the squirrel's.

"Don't cry," he said. He licked away the boy's tears and gave a small "mmm" of delight at their taste. "I promise you'll enjoy this."

Fernald almost said that was exactly what he was afraid of, but held his tongue. Then Linarcos' face withdrew and he felt the wolf's strong hands on his narrow shoulders. One of them was coated with Astroglide so that it smeared the lube into Fernald's shoulder fur. The boy wiggled a bit, and then tensed up again as he felt the bulbous head of the cock pushing against his virgin hole. God, no, please, he thought, hopelessly, for there was really no stopping it now, don't let him take me, don't let him take my virginity!

He did. Although the virgin squirrel's anus was clenched tightly from fear and having never been fucked before, it offered very little resistance to one such as Scott Linarcos. His thick cock spread that little squirrel's ass like a hot knife going into warm butter. Fernald's eyes widened so hugely they seemed to threaten to engulf his entire head, and he tried and failed to stifle a scream, loosing a holler of pain that echoed off the wood-panelled walls of the basement as that throbbing monstrosity was fed effortlessly up his rear end inch by inch.

"It's okay," Linarcos said with a grunt, "you can scream all you want, now. Remember, the playroom is soundproof!"

"Oh, God!" screamed Fernald with minimal prompting. "Oh, Jesus, fuck, it hurts, fuck, Christ, deliver me from evil! Save me! Oh, shit, it shitting hurts!"

Linarcos chuckled at the boy's mixture of profanity and pleas for help from his god and bucked his powerful hips forward, shoving himself into the squirrel to the base of his cock in one strong push that made Fernald's thin form shudder. For a few seconds they remained as they were, with the wolf fully hilted in the squirrel. Fresh tears flowed from Fernald's eyes. There went his virginity. The wolf didn't give him time to adjust to his sheer size, instead immediately pulling out slowly, until the head was almost out, Fernald sighing in relief and thinking it was over, but he found out how mistaken he was when Linarcos began pushing in again.

And so it went. The wolf's claws dug into the squirrel's shoulders as he slowly fucked him, and Fernald had to admit, it started feeling shamefully good. Possibly though this was just his frenzied arousal brought on by the Viagra. He admitted he didn't know whether Viagra affected a person mentally as well as physically. All he knew was that despite his revulsion of the wolf, the cock up his ass started to feel rather good, despite the pain; his cock seemed to agree, judging from all the precum it was leaking. He looked down at it in despair. Viagra or not, he felt as if his own body was betraying him.

The fucking became more insistent, more powerful, as Linarcos' lust overtook him. Fernald's body bucked with each thrust, and he was certain that Linarcos' cock was bulging his stomach out, like in a cartoon. Not that he had seen such cartoons. Throughout the rape, the wolf growled and snarled with animalistic lust whilst his squirrel victim merely sobbed and whimpered in shame and terror. For the first time in his young life, Fernald knew what it was like to be prey in the hands of a predator.

One of the wolf's hands - the one with lube on it - left Fernald's shoulder and slid around to grip at the squirrelcock. Fernald hissed between his teeth and shook his head. No! He could endure the rape, but he didn't want to orgasm, to derive pleasure, from another man penetrating him against his will! He was confident that despite the forced arousal brought about the Viagra and his body's natural reaction to the physical stimulation, he could keep himself from cumming. He felt it was the one thing, the only thing, he could do to preserve his dignity in God's eyes.

The devilish wolf had other ideas, though, his clawed fingertips teasing along the painfully swollen shaft, sliding up to the foreskin-covered head. Fernald gasped and whined, and pleaded silently not to cum, as the wolf's fingers slid inside of the foreskin to tickle his sensitive cockhead. This made him yelp and involuntarily gasp in pleasure. He blushed hotly.

"No!" he begged aloud. "No, I don't want to!"

"Don't wanna what?" asked Linarcos behind him, his voice gruff, panting. His teasing of the squirrel's cock stopped, and his humping slowed to its original pace.

"Please!" Fernald wailed. "Let me keep my one shred of dignity! Don't let me--"

"--cum?" asked the wolf, his lupine lips suddenly close to Fernald's ear. "Oh, I get it. Godboy thinks if he doesn't jizz, then everything'll still be cool between him and the man upstairs, is that right?"

Fernald swallowed and nodded. He was a naive young man, and even in the darkest of times, expected the best out of people, even rapists. In his heart he may have known the truth, but his hopelessly optimistic side was certain that the wolf would honor this one simple request. Mr. Linarcos quickly proved him wrong.

"Too bad."

"Wha--?" cried Fernald, then squealed as the teasing began anew, as did the fast-paced thrusting. "No!" he yelled. "No, please, God, please, no, don't... ahhh.... unhhh..." His words devolved into inarticulate moans as the pleasure started overtaking his young mind, his libido overriding his senses. He spoke no more, he merely made animalistic whines, grunts and groans.

This pleased Linarcos immensely. For the wolf liked nothing more than to completely violate someone. It wasn't necessarily because Fernald was a Christian. If he'd been a door-to-door atheist, it would've been the same. He simply enjoyed taking someone against their will and breaking them down and forcing them to, at least temporarily, allow his forceful sexuality to overcome their sensibility, making them give into pleasure and be his slaves. And most of all, he liked making them feel small and helpless, for he'd always been a vile bully.

It wasn't long before Linarcos hit his peak. Feeling his orgasm building deep within himself, he squeezed his eyes shut, and gave one final, deep thrust into the squirrel, forcing Fernald to arch his back, then threw back his head and howled at the ceiling. He came ferociously, shooting load after load of his hot spunk up inside of his young captive, and with such force that the pressure made some of the cum squirt out of Fernald's ass around the wolf's cock. Linarcos lolled his tongue and groaned, humping his hips as his twitching dick shot the last few little squirts up into the boy.

At the same time, as he arched his back, throwing back his head and opening his mouth in a silent scream, Fernald hit his own orgasm. It wasn't his first. He'd jerked off before, and had the occasional wet dream. But this was his very first time cumming with someone else, specifically that person's prompting. It was absolutely overpowering and felt so utterly, sinfully wonderful that for one beautiful moment, he forgot where he was, and who had brought this climax about. Nothing came out, though, and Fernald remembered the metal ring that had been slipped over the base of his cock.

"Agh," he whined.

"Beg, beg to cum," he heard Linarcos kiss into his ear. "Beg me to cum, you little shit!"

"Ahhh, no, please, I don't..." Fernald whimpered and moaned.

"I said beg me!" Linarcos roared.

"No!" He was lying. Yes, he did. He very much wanted to. He licked his lips as he squirmed in the restraints and tried to cum, without success. Finally, he broke. "Please, let me cum! For the love of mercy, let me cum!"

"That's better."

He felt the wolf fumbling at his genitals, and then the constricting ring was slid up and off his shaft, and immediately his cock spasmed in Linarcos' hand and shot forth thick ropes of his own seed, a meager load compared to the one the wolf was filling him with, but impressive for a squirrel, at least.

Slowly, he came back to reality, though, and remembered instantly the situation he was in. Realizing he'd cum to being anally taken by a male rapist, he sobbed anew and hung his head in shame and defeat. He heard the wolf's throaty chuckle and then winced as the wolfcock was extracted from his thoroughly used rear. He shivered as he felt cum run freshly down his inner thighs.

Linarcos left him like this for a little bit. Fernald didn't see where he went, and he thought he must've passed out or otherwise lost track of time because it seemed like hours later when the wolf finally returned, dressed in a fresh set of clothes and apparently having showered. He undid the straps holding Fernald to the cross and the squirrel's limp body slithered down into a sitting position on the floor, whimpering. Linarcos smirked and petted his head.

"Bedtime, my little pet," he said softly, and Fernald felt the chain being attached to his leash again.

He was guided to his feet, and so weak from his ordeal he didn't even think of resisting as he was led to the door to the right of the aquarium. It turned out to lead into a small, closet-sized bedroom. There was a comfortable looking bed, a collapsed TV tray, a dresser and, ominously, a bucket, somehow all crammed into this one tiny room. Linarcos shoved Fernald in here, and the squirrel practically fell on the bed. He lay on it, grateful for the softness. He was unsure if he'd fallen on it, or had thrown himself on it.

"This will be your home from now on, pet," said Linarcos. "In a little while, I'll bring you some food and I'll bathe you, as well. If you need to use the restroom, that's what the bucket is for."

That's what Fernald had been afraid of. He shuddered at the thought, as the wolf attached the other end of his chain to the bedframe securely. Without another word, he left, shutting the door and plunging the room into blackness. After he was gone, Fernald lay there for a while, alone with his thoughts. And his pain. The pain! Even moving slightly made him want to scream in agony. His rear felt as though it'd been split in half vertically. Worst of all, his erection was still throbbing stiffly. He buried his face in the pillow and sobbed.

What had he done to deserve this? he wondered. He wasn't sure. He entertained the idea God was punishing him for something. But was He? Fernald knew the Lord was not cruel. He didn't punish people for no reason. If He allowed Fernald to endure this horrible treatment, it was for a reason. For the moment, though, Fernald couldn't imagine what that reason was.

He sat up and winced as the pain in his ass shot through him. Even though Linarcos had said he would be back with food and also would take him and wash him, Fernald was too exhausted to think of eating right now. He wanted to sleep. But before he could sleep, he had to say his prayers. He had to remain faithful even after such an ordeal as this. And so he slid carefully out of the bed and knelt alongside it as much as the cramped space of the closet-sized room would allow, his feet touching the dresser, still shamefully erect cock nestled between his thighs.

He clasped his hands and bowed his head, and softly prayed, shivering the whole while, "Lord, give me strength in this, my darkest hour... help me to endure this vile treatment at the hands of this cruel person! Lord, let me see my family again, I beg of you! Please, take care of them." He sniffled a little, tears welling up in his eyes. "And all my friends at church.

"And... forgive me, for having... enjoyed what was done to me. It was d-done against my will. And, please, Lord, forgive Mr. Linarcos."

This last part gave him pause, as it came almost unconsciously, but he didn't change the request. To Fernald, Christianity wasn't about vengeance upon his enemies; in his mind, he had none. Not even a someone like Scott Linarcos. Even a vile rapist like him, who had Satan in his heart, was one of God's children, and deserved love and forgiveness, no matter what he'd done to Fernald. And no matter what he would do in the future.

"Yes," he elaborated, "forgive him. For all he's done... and for everything he might still do." His prayer became more conventional from here on out. "Bless my family and watch over them. My father and my mother and Chet, and Beastly. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen."

He felt better. Not great, but better. Slowly, he rose, and got back into the bed. He lay on his stomach because putting pressure on his thoroughly abused ass caused him great pain. He slid his eyes shut and tried to sleep, found it didn't come, and so lay there awake for what seemed like an hour, during which time the Viagra finally wore off and his erection went away. Finally the door reopened, and Mr. Linarcos returned. He flicked on an overhead flourescent light, nearly blinding poor Fernald who covered his eyes with his forearm, rolling onto his side.

"Suppertime," Linarcos said sweetly in a singsong voice.

Slowly, Fernald lowered his arm, and watched the wolf put a plastic tray like the kind they had in fast food restaurants onto the dresser, and then he set up the TV tray. The squirrel then managed to sit up as Linarcos placed the tray of food in front of him.

"Enjoy," he said simply, then left, shutting the door.

Fernald looked at the food. Celery, an apple, a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato on pumpernickel bread, and a tall glass of chocolate milk. It wasn't exactly a feast, but he was grateful for the food all the same, as seeing it made him realize he was hungry after all. Even though he was afraid the wolf had drugged it as he had drugged his drink earlier, he was too hungry and thirsty to really care. He dug into the sandwich, pausing every now and then to take bites of celery sticks and sips of chocolate milk.

Soon both sandwich and celery was gone, except for the crusts of the former, as Fernald hated sandwich crust, and the glass of milk was empty. As it turned out, the food hadn't been drugged. He remained awake through the entire meal. He was halfway through eating the apple when Mr. Linarcos returned.

"All finished? Good." This was in spite of the remaining apple, which Linarcos forced Fernald to put down. "Bathtime, sport. Can't have you going to bed smelling like a back alley slut."

He seemed to find this uproariously funny, as he laughed deeply as he unhooked Fernald's chain from the bed and gave it a tug, indicating he wished the squirrel to come with him. Fernald obeyed. He was taken into the other door in the basement, the one on the left of the squarium, which had a small bathroom roughly the same size as the pitiful excuse for a bedroom Linarcos had put him in, likewise illuminated by a painfully bright flourescent ceiling lamp. There was a sink, mirror, and walk-in shower, but no toilet. Well, that explained the bucket, at least.

The sink looked old, and indeed so did the room itself, as the walls and floor were concrete. Only the shower looked modern. Into this, Fernald was shoved, chain, collar and all, and Linarcos turned on the faucet, and ice cold water sprayed from the showerhead and cascaded down over the boy, soaking him. His fluffy tail withered and looked like that of a drowned cat, but this was usual for him whenever he bathed or swam. Linarcos had only turned one faucet handle, the one marked with a blue dot. He yelped and shivered.

"Sorry," said Linarcos, "but the hot water's busted."

To demonstrate, he turned the second faucet handle with the red dot, with no change to the water's temperature. And so Fernald bathed in the freezing cold water. Or, rather, he stood there while Linarcos bathed him; the wolf used a sponge and clean washcloth and some soap and body wash to get him all lathered up, paying special attention between his legs and underneath his tail. While he did this, he instructed Fernald to shampoo his hair, which he did using a bottle of reddish colored shampoo that smelled like berries. During the shower, Fernald was, at least, relieved to discover he hadn't actually bled from his flogging earlier, although it had raised some severely painful welts that showed through the fur of his back and buttocks.

It wasn't long before he was thoroughly sudsy and nearly numb from the cold. Linarcos made him remain for a few moments longer to wash away most of the suds and rinse his hair out thoroughly, before he mercifully shut the water off finally, and handed the boy a towel. Shivering, Fernald dried himself off, and was then escorted back to his "room" smelling like a mixture of berries and soap and with his dried tail frizzed up something fierce. His chain was reattached to the bed and the towel was taken away.

Linarcos left him once more, but left the door open. Experimentally, Fernald decided to see how far his chain would allow him to go. Not far, he discovered, despite the room's tiny size. He sat back on the bed with a slight wince and wondered once more if he'd ever see his family again. How long before anyone noticed he was missing?

It occurred to him that Linarcos didn't know what type of car he drove, and that, to completely hide his presence here, he'd need to find and dispose of his Wagoneer. He hoped Linarcos didn't interrogate him about his vehicle, since he did have the Wagoneer's keys because Fernald had them in his pants pocket. His one hope was that someone came looking for him on this route and found the Jeep sitting on the curb at the end of the street.

Just then, Linarcos returned holding a pill and a glass of Kool-Aid.

"Oh, no," whimpered Fernald, realizing what was about to happen. He scooted away from the wolf, not wishing to get drugged again.

"Don't fight me," the wolf warned sternly, sitting on the bed.

He grabbed Fernald and forced the pill into his mouth, and put the glass to his lips. Fernald resisted a bit but then drank, and swallowed. Smirking, Linarcos then stood and collected the food and serving tray and took them away, whilst Fernald began feeling pleasantly sleepy. By the time the wolf came up and folded up and put away the TV tray, Fernald was barely conscious, and slumped limply onto the bed in a thoroughly awkward-looking position. With a chuckle, the wolf flicked off the light.

"Sleep well," Linarcos said softly. "We're going to have some more fun tomorrow. And the next day."

Fernald would've been horrified if he'd been awake enough. Instead, he simply mumbled something inaudible as the wolf shut and locked the door. Left alone in the darkness and chained to the bed, the squirrel slowly drifted off into a gentle drug-induced sleep which was plagued all through the night by horrible dreams that, mercifully, he didn't remember the next morning.

To Be Continued!