Her teeth ground together audibly, almost enough to mask the growl of irritation which set the hackles of her advisors rising. That they had dared voice such an idea to her, here, in this palace she had won stone by blood soaked stone, she had half a mind to take up her axe and show the supposed heads of state who ruled Rusgard and whose duty it was to bow and scrape.
Luna Helti, Bitch-Queen of the Rusgard wolves, stayed her hand for now. Looking over the lesser wolves who served her, she saw in each of them the fear that was well founded. They’d known that voicing the suggestion would invite her fury, and they had done it anyway. Either they had gone mad, or they truly believed this was required for her lands to prosper. Still... she would not allow the insult to pass without making them piss their loins in fear.
"Did I hear that correct, Gretta?" She questioned, her voice low and deep with menace, "you truly dared suggest I invite something as disgusting as a husband back into my palace?"
Shivering beneath that baleful golden eye, cursing the gods that it had been she who had drawn the short straw from the council of earls, the lesser bitch raised her chin, as her peers looked away. To call the white wolf at the head of the table imposing was wrong, she was not simply imposing, she was terrifying. Even among a line known to produce potent warriors, Luna was easily a head taller than the rest, her body mountainous and muscular, her pelt doing nothing to hide it. Her claws were kept sharp, but it was her eye that was the most piercing. Singular and gold, its missing left twin replaced with a hard square of leather and metal studs.
"My queen," she licked her muzzle, finding her throat suddenly parched and her teeth chattering, "we only fear for the state of the Queendom. Should you be wounded, you have no daughter to inherit, and the people-"
There was a crunching, splintering of wood, as Queen Helti dug her powerful claws into the table, her growl rising in volume till all present ducked their heads in submission.
"The people want to see me dead? Is that it? They wish I invite another snake to my bedchamber do they?"
"N n no, my queen! No they would never, none would ever doubt you are their queen and better. We only suggest..."
"You only suggest I lie on my back for another wolf and hope they produce an heir before they slit my throat?"
Gretta's shoulders slumped and she whimpered, bowing to the table.
"We only suggest you present a legitimate heir to our people, one who can lead and fight like yourself, and your mothers before you. Forgive us our insolence, your majesty."
The monarch snarled, whipping out a paw and sweeping the table of its contents with one blow, sending cups and food flying, as the council scuttled from the room with undignified yelps and tails tucked.
"Fuck them," she growled under her breath, "they don't know the first thing about being a good leader, let them suffer like I did. I'd sooner lie with a corpse than take another wolf into my bed."
***
The night was cold, crisp and still. No wind blew from the north, the moonlight cast long shadows across the frosted ground as Queen Helti stalked the old halls of the palace, her anger having cooled like the stones beneath her paws, but not abated. She had always detested the council, that lot of pompous old bitches, but now they had gone too far. She knew none of them had much care for their mates, or else they’d be in their own halls, not haunting hers.
She paused to appreciate the cold of mid-autumn, already thick with frost and the encroachment of first snow. But as she did, her nose twitched, snuffling the air, catching a scent she recognised. A most unwelcome one given what troubled her at that time. It was weakness, familiar, and male, with little musk and no trace of the ordeals of the day. The scent of someone she spent as little time thinking about as she could. Her embarrassment, her son, her runt.
"Boy!" She shouted down the empty stone corridors, the only sound being that of her voice bouncing off the walls, "Linden, come here, I can smell you so don't you dare hide from me!"
There was no sound, no answer, no whimper. Her heart sank a little, and she padded off after the scent, following the trail through the cold stone halls and into the darker reaches of the palace, towards the thralls’ quarters. For daring to disobey her, he would have to be punished, but she rarely had the heart for that, just as she rarely had the time to be bothered raising him. He was too soft, too southern, and she didn't understand him. He had no warrior's spirit, and seemed to lack any desire to fight or hunt, or much of anything a proper wolf should do. And worse still, some kernel in her felt guilty for it, as it had been her that had left him to a slave to raise.
But what else could she do? She had killed his father, and he knew it, she had made sure he knew it. Dragging him screaming from his bed, still painted in blood and gore, mashing his face into the body, telling him the fate of traitors should he dare try the same as that man. That betrayer.
But that had been a decade ago, and if she did not remarry, she would surely see civil unrest grow and spread. She had killed many to take her mother’s throne, she did not relish having to kill more of her own just to keep it. But the thought of another male like her last one, betraying her again, being so close to her, able to strike the moment his weakness won him over. It would have to be a truly exceptional male for her to dare risk it.
Her paw was on the latch to a sturdy wooden door, her nose having led her to one of those rooms for the privileged thralls, the ones worth spoiling with a private cot. Taking a deep breath first, she prepared a stern growl and a vengeful glare for her wayward spawn.
What she saw took the wind from her lungs, and all thoughts of scolding Linden for his disobedience. All she could do was stare, at her pup, her son, eating a slave bitch like a seasoned whore. He had crawled between the legs of the thrall, his muzzle buried in the slave's groin, the soft muffled moans of the southerner's pleasure filled the small chamber. She would have liked to say she didn't recognise the woman, but there were only so many southerners in the palace, and this one was always close to hand whenever she had cause to see her child.
The russet furred she-fox had her eyes closed, leaning back in luxury as the young wolf followed her guidance and did just as she told him. Her paws rested on Linden's head, rewarding his lapping with strokes and tugs on his ears, puppeteering his eagerness.
"Ooooh yes," she gasped in that fluttery soft voice of the weak, "just like that, oh you are doing so well. You are so good at this, my little prince. You know, what to do next, don’t you?”
Lurking in the doorway, Luna watched transfixed as the southern bitch's body squirmed and bucked, the way she took joy in having Linden's muzzle between her thighs. Her teeth grit together, a snarl started to rise at the slave's audacity, and then dying in a gasp as Linden began to push the tip of his muzzle inside. The soft lips of the slave's sex engulfed the prince's nose, his tongue now delving deeper as his tail wagged eagerly to her praise.
Linden loved this game, it made nurse Wella so happy, and he loved to see her happy. For some time the game had been going on, getting more and more complex. From that first time when she'd explained why she was called a wetnurse, to now when he had to help her with her “itch” as she called it, he was always eager to please her. He loved the feeling of her legs wrapped around his head, the stronger scent of her in his muzzle, and the way her cries of pleasure made him feel so accomplished. She was his best friend, he owed it to her to see her happy. He had not understood why they did as they did, she told him it was just to help soothe her wound, and he would do anything for her, just as she did so much for him. His muzzle was deep in that furry mound, and he could feel the soft warmth of her gash enveloping him, squeezing and caressing his tongue. Her fluffy thighs gripped him tight, like a lovely blanket all about him, while his nose was nestled between them and breathing in the rich sweet musk of a playful fox.
"Ohhhh, yes! So good, you're making me feel so goooood, mmmmm! Just a little bit more, and I'll let you stay with me all night, oh, yesss!" The vixen moaned happily, enjoying the boy she'd been training to her whims. To think her time as a slave of the wolves would be spent corrupting a prince like this, some little puppy so desperate for love he'd do anything for a kind word. It made him the perfect target for her perversions. And what a tongue! That lupine organ reached all the right spots, nice and broad, yet muscular and flexible.
Wella had not lied when she told him the itch had gotten worse, the season coming to her, and if she were to see any strapping male about it, she would be at their mercy. But not her prince, not the sweet and trusting, naive little boy. And the way her charge licked inside of her was heavenly, making her fur rise and fall with each lap, and when he went all the way in it gave her that stretch she craved. Her paws were tangled in his white locks, holding him to herself, feeling his little body squirm and wiggle, unaware of the abuse of his trust. The thick wet heat of her sex gripped his features tight, the sharp tang of her filled the air as he drank her up thirstily. His tail wagged hard, listening to the cooing noises and simple affections as he made the itch in her go away.
"Ohhhh yes," she gasped, "right there, deeper, more, oh, you're making me so hot, just like that, good boy, yes, oh yes!"
The young wolf didn't have time to think or ask questions, before his nurse began to grind against him, humping his face for all she was worth. Her paws held him fast, forcing him down into the wound between her thighs, her hips bucking and grinding with need as his nose pressed into her sticky passage.
"YES!" She cried out, holding Linden tight as she came, "oh gods, YES! YES, I'm there, I'm, Gah~!"
The boy could only sit there and breathe deep as the slave went through a soaking orgasm, his tongue, his face, coated in her, excess spilling out and down his chin in a slimy mess. When he felt her finally relax, he drew back, panting hard. His mouth was tingling and numb, his nose still smelled the spice of Wella's arousal. He felt hot, his whole body was on fire and his heart was racing.
And he wasn't the only one whose heart was pounding and nose twitching. From her hiding place by the door, Queen Helti watched the entire debauched scene, seeing the spasms of ecstasy on the southerner’s face, and the practised way her child ate the bitch out. It had been a long time since she had felt that way. The pleasure of having a male, so desperate to please, so desperate to give himself to her. It made her drool just to see it.
How long had she been standing here watching? It felt like hours, yet she hadn't moved an inch, transfixed by the sight of the young prince giving a female what she wanted. And not just any female, a disgusting southern weakling, one of her slaves. If it had been some proud and powerful wolf bitch, someone deserving of that sort of treatment, someone a match for herself, someone...
She felt her jealousy grow, and her growl came back as it did. In shock the pair spun to find her dominating the doorway, staring with a venomous glare at the vixen and the prince between her thighs, the fox’s slitted eyes darted about the small space as though she wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go with the mountain blocking the only door.
"Your majesty," she whined, "I... we..."
Fur bristling, the bitch queen stalked into the room, making the pair quail away and press themselves further into the bed. The woman held out a paw to try and stop the far larger she-wolf, but it was swatted aside, before she grabbed Linden by his scruff and hauled him away, out of the chamber, into the corridor, where she promptly shook him like a doll.
He may have shared her coat, but nothing else. He dangled limp in her paw, small enough you could mistake him for not having seeing his tenth winter. He lacked muscle, and had a puppy’s fat about his limbs and cheeks, even his pelt had failed to firm, staying as soft and useless as the rest of him. But what she hated most, what she could not stand to see above all else, were his eyes. They were blue, the colour of clear skies before sunset. Eyes like those, made her control creak.
"Linden! What in the frozen hells were you thinking!? Disgracing yourself? Fucking my thralls!? Are you a complete idiot!?"
The white pup could only stare wide eyed, whimpering and shivering as the larger wolf near enough choked him, barely able to squeak out a word as he stared into that angry golden eye.
"I... I..." he whimpered, "I... was good, like you wanted. I was... making nurse Wella happy. I was just… making her itch better, I always do."
Helti snarled in disgust at his admission that this wasn't the first time he'd been playing around. How long had this been going on under her nose? The palace would be full of stories about her runt being a slut for the slaves, the other wolves would never take him seriously, his marriage prospects would be dashed, her honour stained like his filthy chin. It caused a tirade to spill from her, a mix of slurs for him, and condemnation for any creature from south of their borders.
Linden, for his part, shrivelled beneath his mother's glair, the only sound coming from his muzzle was a fearful whimper. He didn't understand, not one word, but he knew to fear his mother when she was snarling with wroth. Looking into those shining white teeth, feeling the sharp pinch of her claws on his skin, this was death, he knew, he'd be one more head on the pikes outside the gate.
A sharp smell reached Luna Helti's nose, and the soft drip of water on stone. He'd begun to wet himself, curling up and mewling while he stained himself yellow. She hated that, despised weakness in any form, but that didn't stop the tingle that ran down her spine. She felt the jealousy grow, tearing her gut like the cold northern wind, making her paws shake. What was she thinking? This was her son, pathetic as he was. It was all that damned council's fault for reminding her of her husband... and of her needs!
"Linden," she barked, pulling him up to look into his eyes, "If you are going to act like a whore in the palace then I will treat you like one."
She released him, the pup falling to his paws, tail tucked between his legs, ears low as he trembled. In his mind all he could see were pikes and bloodied bodies, imagining he'd be joining them soon.
"I will not do anything to you, now," she told him, "but if I’m to have a whore living under my roof then I’m not letting them walk freely. From this night forth you will do what I say. You will stay away from the thralls, you will never, EVER disobey me. Is that understood?"
Linden nodded, tears in his eyes, anything to live another day. He wished more than anything that she'd forget about him again, let him escape into the background of the castle once more while she went off raiding and killing. He wanted his wet nurse and his games.
Helti took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words form in her gut. She considered her options, weighing her wishes and needs against those of the nation, and finally, against the well-being of her offspring.
"Go," she growled, "back to your room, and await my summons in the morning."
***
"I just don't understand," Linden whimpered, looking up at the great grey wolf as she glared down at him from across the stone altar, "Why did her majesty want me here?"
He squirmed beneath the unflinching gaze of the court chaplain, the warrior priestess was his second most feared nightmare within the stone of the ice encrusted castle. So when he was dragged from his bed by the guards at first light, he was only slightly relieved to be taken to the brazier filled chapel of Oak and Axe, rather than the executioner’s block.
"The queen has sent you to me for judgement," she rumbled, "she said, and I quote, 'Get that pathetic excuse for a wolf out of bed, and see if he has anything to redeem him'. So far, I am unimpressed."
"B-b-but," he stammered, "I didn't do anything, I promise. I didn't disobey the queen, I don't know what I’ve done to anger her."
The priestess scoffed and sneered, "And yet she has seen fit to send you to me to judge. So tell me, whelp, are you a wolf?"
"I am," he whined, "I'm a wolf, my mother is the queen, I'm a prince of Rusgard."
"Are you a warrior? Have you ever stood before an enemy and faced them in battle? Have you ever slain another wolf?"
"N-n-no," he shook his head, "I’ve never… never been taught, how to."
Grimacing, the face of death loomed over the young prince, the stink of the charnel house coming with her every breath.
“Are you a hunter, able to provide for your home and kin?”
Again he shook his head, “I’m too small, for a bow, or spears, and they said, I can’t keep pace with the others.”
Death leaned closer, iron clinking, and leather creaking. “Have you the heart of a bitch to vouch for you, who would take you as husband and shelter you?”
“M-my... mother, perhaps?” Even he was not certain of that, and the chaplain clearly knew it to be false.
"Then you are no wolf, boy, you are not even a whelp. You do not deserve the title of prince, nor the blood of your mother, that is my judgement of you."
"B-but I... I don't understand," he whimpered, "I haven't done anything wrong."
"You have," she rumbled, "you are weak, you are soft, you have dared to debase yourself instead of finding a family. I find nothing to mark you as a wolf, and not an outsider."
"B-b-but... I…" The pup battled for words in the face of the warrior priestess, all he wanted was to go back to the warmth of his nurse, to not be noticed any more.
"I find no merit in your words," the priestess continued, "you will be judged and punished for your sins. The queen has requested this, and I find that Teer is in agreement. If you wish to keep your life, and not meet death, then obey. Strip."
"Wh-what?" He yelped, "strip? But, I..."
"Strip!" She roared, slamming a fist down on the altar, causing the iron axe upon it, and the pup before it, to jump. "If you wish to keep breathing then you will obey me. Your clothes! Off! Now!"
He quickly disrobed, setting his boots and covers aside. Now naked beneath the intense glare of the priestess, he felt his face grow warm and his ears flatten in humiliation.
"Look at me," she growled, "look at me well, and take note of my words. I am the voice of the gods, and I judge you unfit, you are no longer a wolf, you are prey, you are no longer a person, you are property."
His heart was clutched in his throat at the harsh words, feeling great twinges of fear build in his stomach and shake his knees. The priestess's paw slammed down on the altar again, making him jump and squeak.
"Bend over the altar!" She barked, for the second time, he had been so terrified he had not heard her the first.
Nervously, he did as he was told, putting his paws on the stone and arching his back to bare his buttocks. He was panting in fear, looking back at the imposing warrior standing above him. He was so small compared to her, so weak, so very weak.
She raised a paw, bringing it down on his rump with a sharp slap, making him yelp and jolt forwards in surprise. He had had a beating before, but it was an old memory from a different time and a kinder hand. The priestess smacked him again and again, causing his soft white fur to stand on end, the tender skin below turning pink, a chorus of yelps escaping him.
"Silence!" She ordered as she tired of his whimpering, "or I will make this even more painful. Understand your place now?"
He nodded, hiccuping and shivering as he felt the burning on his rump grow worse. And by the time she stopped he felt as if the skin would fall off, and even then he wasn't sure it was whole.
There was the sound of iron dragging against iron, a rustle of coals, then the priestess lifted his tail, exposing him fully to the cold air. He did not move, not daring to try and escape from whatever was to come next.
"Good, you learn quickly," the priestess grumbled, "this will be less painful than you deserve. You have dishonoured your queen, your race, and this will be the price of your crimes. Prepare yourself."
The prince didn't have time to think before the burning iron was pressed against his backside. Agony, like a thousand needles pressing into his skin, wrenching screams from his lungs. His paws gripped the altar tightly, and he closed his eyes, trying not to imagine what was happening as the stink of burning fur and skin filled the chamber.
When it was done, he could feel the fire across his entire body, the burning ever present even when the iron was gone. He had never known such pain before, dwarfing the beating. In sick irony it made his blood run cold and the feel of ice fill his heart, and he began to weep as the priestess told him to stand again.
His tears were ignored as he was dragged forwards by the guards, marched through the open doors like a captured trophy, before the whole the throne room. There was a gathering of people there, his mother, the councillors, the powerful of the nation.
"It is the judgement of the queen, and the gods, of the queendom of Rusgard," the priestess's voice boomed across the court, "that we find this male, Linden, unfit for wolfen life, we strip him of his name and titles, and declare him a slave. His life is no longer his own, he is property of the Queen of Rusgard, and all she does to him is the right of the strong and the will of the gods!"
The condemned, wolf no more, was dragged to the steps of the throne. His ears pressed low and his tail tucked between his legs. Tears fell freely from his chin as he limped forward, the brand on his behind still smoking, and he could smell the stench of his burning fur and flesh.
Queen Helti's cold eye found him, and she sneered. She didn't even have to say a word, the guards throwing him to his knees. He squealed as the pain of the brand flared with every spasm of muscle, leading him to try and curl up and vanish away, but the butt of a spear forced him to unfurl and present as he was judged him like meat in the market.
The bitch queen panned her one eye around the council chamber, waiting till each wolf in turn acknowledged her gaze before she spoke again.
"I declare from now on, Prince Linden is dead, no, he never was. There is only Linden the thrall, who will never be spoken of or recorded. You will forget him, as I do."
A dark shadow fell over Linden's mind, and he whimpered, trying to look up and speak, but he couldn't. His voice wouldn't come, his limbs were numb and heavy, and all he could see was the stone floor before him, the shadows of the councillors standing over him.
"The council of earls give their blessings to this," the lead bitch acknowledged.
Linden felt a tug at his scruff, yanking his snout up to see his mother's face, the terrible golden eye glaring down at him.
"Go with the guards," she snarled, "I want you ready to serve by the time I am done here."
The crowd parted to let the procession by, no one sparing a second glance, or a whisper at the spectacle that had once been the heir to the throne. What thoughts the queen had, seeing her flesh and blood led away in pain and tears, she kept to herself. But all could tell she was distracted throughout the council meeting. She seemed to grow angry at the slightest provocation, and took her frustrations out on the petitioners, which left them cowering before her like whipped dogs.
As the court began to file out, Luna Helti remained behind, alone in the great stone chamber. She thought back to last night as she'd caught her son, and her own thoughts and feelings towards it. Her mind wandered to the slave vixen, and how she'd acted, and how Linden had performed for her. She pictured his face between the vulpine's thighs, that confident and eager tongue working without hesitation. Her mouth began to water.
Her paws gripped the arm of the throne, claws digging into the stone, causing it to crumble. She growled as her arousal grew, that soft heat began to burn in her stomach. Was it worth it? She felt no joy in ordering the boy broken and burned like that. But more she hated to consider the turbulence in her head at seeing the runt so helpless, so powerless, so pathetic. But, if it meant she had her fun...
She sighed, closing her eye and leaning back on the stone throne. She knew she couldn't trust the council not to challenge her eventually, so she had made up her mind. If they wanted heirs so badly, she'd give them what they wanted, but she wouldn’t ruin her sleep by keeping her last eye open for a blade in the night.
With her mind made up, she allowed herself to enjoy the thought of a young male, willing to do anything to please her, one that was completely hers. She imagined him kneeling before her, begging for her approval and her touch, looking at her like she was some goddess, fresh from the field of glory.
Her paw slid down her chest, from bound breast, to between her thighs, feeling the dampness there. She grunted as her fingers spread open the lips of her cunny and allowed the aroma of arousal to spread about. Yes, it had to be done, for the good of the realm.
***
The pit was empty, cold and dark, lit only by a single candle. Deep underground, beneath the great keep, beneath the mound it was built on, and with only an iron grate door to allow anyone in or out. It was a punishment cell, designed to keep only the rawest of prisoners while the better thralls were weeded out. A place to break the worst filth the wolves dragged back from their battles.
Linden, whimpered in pain, trying his hardest to keep warm with only the thread bare shift they had tossed over him. He could only pray his nurse would come and rescue him from the cruel and cold place. It seemed like hours that he lay there, shivering, when the clanking of iron keys in old locks roused him, he knew it must be the warm and fluffy vixen come to make all his ills better. Only to find instead the looming and pitiless faces of the palace guard.
"The queen wants you," one of them grumbled, "now get up, we don't have all day."
"B-b-but..." he shivered, "Wella... where is she?"
"I don’t give a shit," another snapped, "now get up, or lose an ear."
He did as he was told, with protest, climbing to his paws and staggering towards the open door. He was in a terrible state, bruised by his rough handling, starved since the start of the day, deprived of the sauna or bath, and of course bloody from the untreated brand oozing down his thigh. Stupefied by it all, he expected to be brought back to his own chamber, to be shown a kindness after what had happened. But instead the guards hauled him through the halls of the palace and upward, his paws scraping against the floor as he was dragged along. He felt like he was going to fall over any moment, he couldn't walk without support, the only thing keeping him upright were the two strong hands either side of him. A small wail escaped him as he was pushed past the familiar hallway to his own chambers, his sanctuary away from the frightful world, and was instead goaded to keep climbing till his paws stood on wood boards and rugs, the chambers of the royal majesty. His mother's domain.
The guards forced him to his knees as the great double doors swung open, revealing the lick of amber flames and the ghost of warmth. He looked up to see her, clad in her fur cloak of office, standing over him. Her face was twisted into a sneer of disgust, looking at her son as if he were something filthy and vile.
"You stink," she said matter of factly, a wave of spent wine carrying on her breath, "I said to be ready."
He shivered from a deeper cold, feeling the icy claws of fear dig into his gut, trying not to imagine how she’d disembowel him. What else could this humiliation be for? But she didn't move to touch him, instead, she paced around him several times. Finally, after what felt like an age of torture, she turned and ordered him to follow her, giving swift instruction to the guards who abandoned him to his own fickle legs, limping behind as she made her way back to her bed chamber, following the warm light of a roaring fire. He dared not make a sound, lest he make his predicament even worse.
The chamber was opulent, in the manner of Rusgard, intricately carved wood panels, covered in furs and pelts, rugs and tapestries, all the spoils of a life of reaving. The great bed itself was made of oak, and piled high with mounds of soft pillows and blankets and stolen bolts of exotic cloth. It looked warm and inviting, but Linden knew better than to do anything without her instruction when she was in a foul mood.
"Pull off that rag," the low growl of the bitch queen ordered him, "and throw it to the fire, I've had enough of the smell."
He did as he was told, tossing the tattered shift into the blaze, fur puffing as the air touched the hot and tender brand on his rump. His appearance naked seemed to displease her more, as she stalked about the room as if she were on a hunt and he was the sickly prey she'd cornered.
"Didn't even wash. Didn't clean yourself up. You want to make me more disappointed in you Linden?"
He didn't reply, the only sound coming from him was a pitiful whine. She seemed to believe he'd been free to tend himself, and he could not find courage or stupidity enough to tell her how much pain he was still in, how cold and afraid he was, and how he had spent the hours since his torture locked away in the dark of the dungeons.
"You're weak, Linden, pathetic. I suppose that's my fault, not finding you a bitch, not toughening you up myself. Well, this is your chance to prove yourself useful. You will serve me tonight, and I want you to make me happy, understand?"
Linden nodded, looking down at the floor, avoiding the stare of the terrible one-eyed queen.
"Well," she barked at him, "answer when spoken to!"
He looked up at his mother and squeaked in the affirmative. She seemed to take some sort of satisfaction in that, her mood changing slightly from one of rage to something more relaxed, and her tail began to wag gently.
"Go to the baths, wash yourself, you reek like a pig," she ordered, waving a paw in dismissal, "I want you ready for me when you come back, understood?"
Swallowing in fear and hazy with pain, he found his voice long enough to speak even as his head bobbed in rapid agreement, expecting further punishment should he refuse.
"R-re-ready for what? Moth- your majesty? What do you... want of me? What are you... going to do?"
"Gods you cannot be this stupid, runt. Go! And hurry up about it," she snarled, her anger returning as quick as it had abated.
He shuffled backwards towards the door, avoiding her gaze, before finally turning and limping away as quick as he could to be out from under her eye.
As the door slammed shut in the constant draught, Luna Helti sighed, walking over to the vanity and snatching the pitcher that waited there. The alcohol had dulled her mind, and she could feel it. She wanted this, she was sure. She'd made up her mind that the boy was the right choice, and that she should enjoy it, even if it was just to shut the council up.
But all she could think about was how terrified and helpless he looked, how much she'd hurt him and humiliated him. It made her angry, and the anger only served to feed her own arousal. He was supposed to be a wolf, gods damn him, not some meek sheep, and how dare he make her feel like this for his failures.
She downed yet another goblet, before divesting her garments, taking off each piece and letting them drop to the floor. Her shirt, her drawers, and finally her breast band, till she stood in nothing but her fur and her crown. Well, perhaps stood was generous, swaying with drink being more candid and accurate, but this was to be a night of celebration, of rampant fucking with her own offspring, there was no chance she'd do this sober.
Finally, she climbed into her bed, sprawling out among the cushions, waiting for Linden to return. Her ears were forward, her tail wagged gently, and she licked her lips in anticipation and the memory of what she'd seen last night.
It took longer than she expected before he skulked back to her, in the flickering firelight she could see how exhausted he was, the way his tail hung low behind him and his foot paws were dragging along the ground. He was still trembling, and she could smell the blood on him from where he'd torn the scabs open.
"Get in here!" She barked at him, "come here boy, come to your queen!"
He obeyed, shuffling across the room towards her, moving like an old man with a limp. The queen felt the familiar anger begin to stir in her again, this pup was supposed to be her willing whore, yet he failed even at that. She grabbed him by his neck, pulling him over so he was lying between her thighs.
His body was warm, that soft puppy fluff was finer than cotton, and it smelt nice, even the scent of blood didn't spoil things, it would make this better. She liked blood.
"Well? Get to it!"
When he only looked at her with bleary eyes, she forced his muzzle down, bringing his lips to hers as he tried his hardest to wriggle free, until even that protest died. She mashed his snout in, grinding him up and down a while till it became clear he wasn't just going to open up and give her what she wanted. With a frustrated sigh, she took his muzzle in her paws and held it, looking him straight in the eye.
"I gave you an order, whore, do you want to make me have to hurt you? Because I can hurt you, if you want. It’s my right to punish you, however I like."
"N-no, I don't," he whined, "please, no. I want to... please mother... please forgive me. I don't know what I did, or what you want, but I don't... I don't... I don't want to die!" With that the floodgates burst and his tears came, large and ugly, blue eyes red and raw as the terrible day finally finished the last of his resolve. "I don't want to die, I don't want to be a slave. I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
And for once, soaked in wine, she did not know what to do. This was not the way it was supposed to be, she had made up her mind, she had the right to do this. He wasn't supposed to cry, he was meant to serve, to do whatever it took to cling to his miserable tainted existence a little longer. She felt a rage burning in her belly, and she pulled him up from between her thighs and held him fast in her paws.
"Enough! I did not give you permission to cry! Look at me, boy! LOOK AT ME!"
He turned back to her, eyes brimming with tears, staring at the cyclopean woman. The sight of those blue eyes made her blood chill, to see those eyes cower and tremble so, without so much as a hint of passion for her.
"Am I that terrible?" She spoke more to herself, "You ate that slave's cunt like it was slathered in honey, but you won't even look at me?"
He began to sob again, but she’d had enough. She grabbed him by the neck, holding him there as she shuffled down the bed to lie flat on her back. Her thighs parted, baring her cunt to the cold night air.
"I want you to eat my cunny boy," she growled, "I want you to taste me, I want you to pleasure me. Like you did that southern bitch. It's something you are actually good at for once, and it’ll be for someone worth it."
"Do... do you... is it itchy for you too?" He asked, puzzlement breaching fear. Was that all his horrible, monstrous mother wanted?
Chuckling darkly, her face creasing into a predatory grin, she nodded.
"Yeah, I have an itch for you, so get your tongue, in my cunt. Now."
Her paw dug into his scruff, holding him there as she spread her legs open, baring the soft folds of her femininity to her new whore.
He brought his tongue up, feeling the hot skin of dark lips against his nose, noting the aroma of her musk. Her scent was overpowering and sour compared to his beloved nurse, but he had little choice but to do as he was told. He did not wish to think about it, all he wanted was to please his mother, as he had done for Wella, though for fear of his life, not love for his friend. He began to lick, slowly at first, tracing the salty lips with the tip of his tongue, feeling her shiver and grow wetter. She tasted different from the fox he longed to return to, but still that unconscious thrill awoke in him, which he knew only as satisfaction from pleasing another.
"That's it boy," she growled soft this time, "don't stop. Get inside me."
He did as told, pushing his muzzle between her thighs, trying to do just as his nurse had taught him. The queen was big, so much bigger than the vixen, but he knew he needed to please her, to take care of her itch, maybe then she wouldn't put his head on a pike. He heard her gasp as his tongue easily split her open, far faster than the many licks and laps it would take with Wella. The queen moaned, gripping his neck tightly, digging her claws into his flesh, and he feared he had done wrong, till a warning noise ended his faltering.
Tongue lolling, she basked in the attention of having someone tend to her again. After so many years ignoring her urges, the feeling of a warm tongue working in her was electrifying, cutting through the wine fog to fill her head with sparks of pleasure.
"That's it, boy, make your mother happy for once."
Her thighs clamped his cheeks, and her breath began to grow hot and ragged, panting heavily as her hips bucked and ground into the young pup's face. It seemed that vixen was on to something, that small snout of his could get right in there, letting his tongue reach the perfect places.
Linden could feel her inner flesh gripping and rippling, like Wella's did, only the scent was heavier in his nose. It made his head swim and his thoughts grow slow, while his sheath stirred with a foreign need, something his nurse had promised to explain one day.
Unable to defend against such a siege, after so long without shoring her defences, Luna melted easily once that cold nose and warm tongue struck her weak spots.
"Oh fuck! Oh yes! I'm gonna fucking mark you! My little slut of a boy! Fucking drink it!" Luna barked as she came undone, shaking and convulsing on the bed, her legs trembling in the throes of orgasm, the tight grip she had threatened to pop his skull, as the lightning bolt struck.
She finally released the pup, with her legs at least, a clawed hand snatched tight and dragged him bodily up her breasts. She saw his eyes were wide and full of fear, but more than that she found the joy of something firm pressing to her womanhood.
"Fuck me," she growled.
"Wh-what? Moth..."
Her paws gripped him tight, holding him still as he squirmed, feeling her cunny begin to grind on his sheath, the heat of her arousal radiating through him. Her thigh dragged hard over burnt meat as she bucked drunkenly, trying to pull his cock inside her.
"What? What's wrong with you? It's been a while for me, but I’m not some hag! Do you not want to mate?"
He didn't reply, and she pulled his muzzle down to hers, forcing a kiss on him. He whined, a tang in his mouth from the wine mixed on her breath. It was not like nurse Wella's kisses, it was vicious, and unwelcome, with teeth and pain to accompany it.
"Get inside me!" She growled, "Fuck me, whore! Make me happy!"
"N-no," he shook his head, trying to free himself from her paws, "I don't want to hurt you. I'll be punished. Please let me go!"
"No? No?" She growled, her eye narrowed, her jaw clenched, "I am your fucking queen! I demand you fuck me! You fucked that bitch didn't you, so do it for me!"
She roared and raged and he quaked and sobbed as he shook his head.
"I've never, I swear I didn't, please believe me! Believe me, I'm not spoilt, I promise I'm not. Mother, please, don't kill me!"
"Shut up!" She screamed, "just shut the fuck up! I am sick to death of your whining, you little runt!"
Tired of the delay, she took what she wanted, as she always did. Throwing him onto his back, she mounted him instead, his small frame dwarfed entirely, as her powerful legs came down on either side, her wet spade landing on a surprisingly firm pair of balls, and a fair sheath above them. He wasn’t a champion of masculinity, but he seemed oversized given his stature, the warm pink and red rod had answered her call, even as he pretended not to understand.
Once she had that tip between her lips, more and more of him emerged to meet her, reminding the proud queen of wolves the differences between cruel fingers, and supple, springy, cock. Warm, slick, and smooth, it grew to match her needs. She didn’t do much more than shift, fore and back, till she was satisfied she had all of it.
“Finally,” her nostrils flared, a shiver of relief running through her mountain of a body, “something you’re good for.”
And that was it, she leaned forward, sour breath coating his miserable face, as her hips rose, and then fell.
Slap. A wet echo muffled by her thick coat and the bedding below. Slap. Her tail was arching as instinct set in. Slap. Her fingers curled to either side of him, as she eclipsed the room and took him.
For his part, the former prince gasped, shivered, his tears hot and wet through his fur, but his pleas crushed out of him by her weight. His organ was engulfed, swallowed whole by her, sinking into something hot, and soft, so unlike the person. It caused his mind to race, that he was inside of her, in that place he’d been taught was often sore and delicate, that place his only friend had said itched so bad that only gentle lapping could tend it.
There was nothing gentle in how his mother moved.
“Come on, come on,” she grunted, huffing, rising and falling, seeking to drive him ever deeper, “don’t lie there like a gutted pig. Fuck me!”
“I… I don’t…” His voice was hoarse in his throat, choked by the pummelling, but also that piercing eye, that burning orb. He flinched, and looked away to see anything else, but a strong, sharp, claw, corrected that mistake. Her hands, wrapped about his skull, forcing him to see her, see the face she made, drunk and crazed, furious and needy, something hungry and not to be denied.
“What’s the matter, not as good as that slave you whore yourself to? Move, those, gods, damned, hips, and fuck me, Linden,” she drove him down harder into the protesting timber frame. Even a bed built for her suffering in her maddened, drunken rut. A creeping pleasure was taking her, mixed with wine and the autumn heat to make even the crudest sex torturously good, needing just the smallest effort from him.
Instinct, or fear of failure, kicked him into motion, his hips rocking, slow and clumsy. Every thrust made him wince as sheets dragged on damaged flesh. But still, that little effort earned him a slow moan from her, and the hammer blows slowed.
"Good, that's the idea," she cooed, feeling him accept her, even his knot beginning to make itself known, "keep going. Keep fucking me, come on boy. That’s what I want."
Hot and slick, the two glided together more easily. Artless, but working towards completion despite each other. Their bodies taking over, she bucked more as her tail wagged, tongue slipping free in an expression of stupidity. He moaned and gasped, paws uncertain and clutching at anything but her, while feeling that’s where they should be.
She broke first, for the first time in all things between them both. But then, she was the one enjoying herself.
“Oh, gods, yes, yes, you worthless whore. Get that knot in, get it in! Mmm-make me, fuck. Make me cum! Fuck! Tobi!” She howled out the name, forgetting herself, monstrous body quacking, not realising what she said as spasms wracked her from tail tip to nose point. Her fur bristled on end, and her swollen gates clenched tight and trapped her victim by the firm bulge of his glans.
Linden had a brief moment to stare in horror at what was happening, before she fell like a tree, atop him, smothering his face in the heat of breasts he’d never touched. Buried in her scent, her weight, her heat, he felt a terrified calm settle on him, betrayed only by the prickling feelings of his loins. Pressure built slowly, and he would have moaned if he had breath, but in the end, there was just the relief, when finally he felt a pulse, a jerk, and again, and again.
When her majesty, the fearsome queen of wolves, regained her senses, it was to the satisfaction of a warm, and wet tie. Liquid heat pooled inside, deep, where it needed to be. She creaked as badly as the bed, as she dragged herself, and her plaything, back, and over, till they were at the head of the bed. The fire was low, and the night’s chill was creeping in.
“Well done, pup,” her tired voice barely beating the whistle of the draughty walls. “We’ll have, a strong girl, before too long, won’t we?”
He didn't answer, nor did he wake. Luna smiled as she reached down between them, pawing at her stomach and feeling the warmth of his seed in her. She had made a decision, and now she was going to keep it, and if that meant hurting this boy she had brought into the world, then fine. It was a cold and hard world out there, and if this is what it took to keep her throne, and keep her happy, then she'd willingly do it again.
Absently running a hand over his back a few more times, enjoying the feel of him, the softness of him limp, and at her mercy, she soon too succumbed to sleep. Wine, the pleasant weight of his body, and the two climaxes she'd been able to enjoy, led her eyelids to flutter closed, the room stinking of sweat, and wolf, and sex, and blood.
***