Holdenthorpes
Chapter 2

Winter weather was abysmal this far from Halkat's equator. Francesco Holdenthorpe watched the rain slam against his window in quiet disgust for it trapped him in his hovel, which served as an ever-present reminder that his days of ease and luxury were long gone - a literal lifetime ago. The Social Stipend provided the roof over his head and put food in his belly, but it hardly compared to palatial banquets and child sex slaves.
The weary Aspatrian dropped onto a sofa twice as old as he was, wincing as the ancient springs yowled in protest. He could afford better, of course, but there was always a risk with spending beyond your perceived means; the trick to keeping a low profile was to be poor. Besides, he would need all the credits he could scrape together when his plans finally played out.
His wandering paw found a datapad stuffed down between the cushions. Its screen still showed the landing page for the Young Hearts club, a place where rejuves and adults with shared interests could meet for a little fun, no strings and no legal repercussions attached. He had gone there a few times over the years; scratched the itch, but nothing had ever matched the old thrill. The 'children' there were all too old, double digits every one of them, and it just wasn't the same when the girl was willing.
He cleared the screen and stuffed the pad back into its resting place. With a grunt, Francesco freed himself from the sofa's grasp and wandered over to a nearby painting, a bad copy of a famous landscape done by a student painter. Behind the wall art was a safe, into which Francesco carefully entered a seven digit code and let the door swing open. He took from inside a thin, black communicator and plugged it in, waiting for sixty seconds to let the system boot before pressing a thumb to the blank screen. Green ripples formed from his furred digit, replaced moments later by a simple text interface.
A message formed: D: Met with T today. Discussed dept-wide contracts. V eager. Promotion got. Asked about bonuses from us. OK to give?
Francesco scowled at the glowing green text, a hint of Aspatrian fang showing between his lips. C: Hint at rewards, but confirm nothing. Be creative, and keep her sweet. Landing the government contract means easy money from here on out. Will transfer +5K to event funds. Use if needed. Treat yourself a little as well. Update again 1 week.
The account transfer followed as promised, and all business devices went back into the safe. Before he closed the door, Francesco indulged himself with a picture tucked firmly at the back, taken in secret by someone who really should have known better. It showed a white-furred fox, a little girl of around eight or nine, dressed in a pink ballerina costume and frozen mid-pirouette. With a fond smile upon his muzzle, Francesco traced a finger along her chin, neck, and chest. “Soon. I promise,” he whispered to the picture before returning it to the safe, resting the image against a compact device that took up two thirds of the safe's internal volume.
A knock on the door snapped him back to reality. “Who is it?” he called as he eased the picture back into place. No answer came. He glanced at the golf clubs placed close to the door, one of which was outside of the bag for just such an occasion – a simple thing easily dismissed as innocent, should the need arise. Stepping towards the door, he let his paw hover close to the club and turned the handle.
The door slammed into his muzzle, breaking his nose and sending him tumbling back. As he tried to regain his footing a heavy boot caught his chin and left him sprawled on the deck. Through a haze of pain and dizziness, Francesco stared up at a dark Aspatrian silhouette. The fox had black fur, broken only by a single streak of orange-brown that ran from his nose and up between his eyes. More pressing, however, was the phaser in his left paw. “I finally found you, Francesco!”
Francesco scrambled for his living room on all fours. He lunged for the coffee table beside his old sofa, paw outstretched in desperation. The air filled with the distinctive shriek and orange glow of a nadion beam discharge, and his paw exploded in a searing flash of harsh light. Dark wisps of oxide smoke billowed from the cauterised stump of his forearm, which Francesco cradled as he lay twitching in shock upon the floor.
The attacker straddled him, reaching for the table drawer and pulling out the crude, home-made laser pistol inside. “Tsk tsk. Concealed weapon? How naughty.”
“W-what do you w-w-want?” Francesco gasped, each word made agonising by the nigh unfathomable jolts of pain searing through his nervous system.
“I want you, Francesco. I want revenge!”
“Why? I haven't d-done anything to you!”
Francesco's outcry was answered by a sharp boot to the kidneys. “How the fuck can you say that after the life you've lead?” The wounded Aspatrian howled as his attacker grabbed him by the white fur of his skull and hauled him upright, only to kick his knee out and send him crashing chin first into the table. “You haven't even asked me my name yet. Aren't you the least bit curious who's going to kill you?”
“Who-”
“Cesare. Cesare Banovario. Ah, you recognise that name!” Cesare delivered another harsh kick for good measure. “You destroyed my family! We lost everything because of you! We were exiled to living on a cargo hauler, my mother became the ship's whore, and I spent my childhood suckling on the filthy cocks of navvies for the scraps of food they deigned to offer us! Oh, but we never forgot you, Francesco! None of us did! My bedtime stories were all about you and your fucking bloodline! I dreamed of the day I could hunt you down and make you suffer! All my fucking life! Well, here it is!”
“I'm not the one you want!” Francesco wailed in desperation. “I was just a front! A face! It's my sister you want!”
“Bullshit!”
“It's true! She engineered the whole thing! She made all the deals, came up with all the plans! I never did anything but play along because I was scared to oppose her!”
Cesare snorted in disgust. “You really expect me to believe that you were terrified of a woman?”
“I did it because I'd be killed otherwise! Why do you think I fled to this miserable fucking planet? My family wanted to kill me because I was a fucking embarrassment to them!”
With a sneer, Cesare lowered the phaser to Francesco's head. “You should have had the decency to die on Aspatria.”
“I can give her to you!” he wailed in desperation. “I know where she is!”
The space between his outburst and the lowering of the weapon was punctuated only by the soft, pathetic sound of Francesco pissing himself. Repulsed, Cesare stepped back. “Where is she then?”
The wounded fox waved his remaining paw towards the cheap painting on the wall. “In my safe. Open it.”
“You open it!” Cesare hauled the wretched Aspatrian up and threw him at the wall. He bounced off and crumpled onto the floor, the damaged canvas clattering down on top of him. “Get the fuck up and open it!”
Francesco lay sobbing in his filth until Cesare dragged him up. With a phaser pressed against his spine, Francesco punched an eight digit code into the keypad, but as his paw grasped for the handle he was once more hurled to the ground.
“Smart man might have another weapon in there,” Cesare said.
The safe opened, and Francesco barely had time to slam his eyes shut. Even through his eyelids he saw the ghastly silhouette of the energy bolt driving through Cesare's throat. He lay panting on the floor until the ringing in his ears faded from ear-splitting to merely uncomfortable, then carefully peeled his eyes open. Most of Cesare was crumpled in front of the sofa. The rest was a fine, dark smoke wafting around the light fixture. “That... is why you don't fuck with a Holdenthorpe!”
The ringing in his ears began to modulate, shifting from a single loud tone to one with troughs and peaks. Sirens. Police sirens. Francesco looked to the pair of weapons on the floor, and the smoking hole in his wall. He tried to come up with a compelling excuse, but the only word that came to his lips was “Fuck.”

“Good morning, Mr Holdenthorpe,” the black-and-yellow Karrian said as he settled into the chair opposite.
“That's not my name,” Francesco responded automatically. “My name is Carlos Elden.”
“That's the name you applied for citizenship under, yes, but the DNA we recovered from your ship about... a hundred years ago, give or take, suggests otherwise.”
“My name is Carlos Elden,” Francesco repeated.
The Karrian shook his scaled head. “Mr Holdentorpe, I don't think you realise just how much trouble you are in.”
“I have no idea who that man was! I have no idea why he attacked me!”
“I suppose you have no idea who built that booby trap either? Or the laser pistol with your DNA and prints all over it?”
To that, Francesco only had one answer. “My name is Carlos Elden.”
With a frustrated grunt, the Karrian leaned forward. “Mr Holdenthorpe, I'm sure you're aware we arrested your sister after your previous visit. She had the wisdom to cooperate with authorities. I strongly advise you do the same.”
“My name-”
“Yes, yes, I know,” the reptile waved away the defensive statement. “Let me give you another name. Francesco Holdentorpe. That's the name on the ownership papers of this ship.” he flicked a printout over, displaying the vessel Francesco and Isabelle used to use all those years ago. “Maybe you aren't aware, but that vessel was registered under your name as a 'Mobile Corporate Office' here on Halkat. In your name. That means, legally speaking, that ship operated under Halkat legal jurisdiction for three years prior to its seizure. We have multiple testimonies as to what sort of thing you did aboard that ship during that time, Mr Holdenthorpe.”
The interrogator waited for the parroted reply, but was met only with frightened silence. He continued, “Why did you come back to Halkat? Of all the places you could have gone, you chose a world where you were a wanted criminal. Why?”
“I needed my sister,” Francesco whispered.
“You thought you could recruit her again? And what, return to your life of crime?”
“Yes.”
“Well, at least you're being honest,” the officer slid a datapadd over for Francesco to view. “Your sister was lucky, in a way. Records say she got a plea deal. Still served a lot of hard time, but she escaped the worst of it. That's going to be much more difficult for you, Mr Holdenthorpe. Some of your victims are Halkat citizens now, and they've been waiting a long time for justice.”
“What happens now?” the Aspatrian's words were practically inaudible.
“That depends on you. There are interested parties who have spent a hundred years building a case against you, and the fact you've evaded custody for so long hurts your chances. Not to mention the crimes you've committed after that – obtaining falsified citizenship papers, defrauding the welfare system, and the mess of illegalities within your home. Your sentence will be harsh, Mr Holdenthorpe. Likely one of the harshest anyone's ever seen.”
“Give me a weapon.” The request made the interrogator recoil. “Give me a gun and I'll do what Cesare should have. My... victims can have peace knowing I'm dead.”
“That's not how we do things here. You'll do time. The question is simply how much and how hard. Believe it or not, confession and contrition will help you. We have three days before formal prosecution begins; make a plea before then and we might be able to reduce the time and severity you serve.”
“Fine. But on one condition.”
“You are in no position to make demands.”
“A request then. My sister, Isabelle. I want... I want to be with her. Please.”
“We can't promise anything, but we'll do our best. I'll have an officer escort you to the holding room. We've assigned a nurse to offer you any help you might need, given your injuries.”
Francesco allowed himself to be helped up and escorted out. The sound of his own heart pounding in his chest was beyond deafening. In so many ways, his life had been over decades ago, when he was forced to flee Aspatria. Back then, he'd never imagined things could possibly get any worse.
He was about to discover how utterly wrong that belief was.

No-one, especially not a former penitatas, wishes for a police officer to knock on their door. Isabelle was summoned from her basement bedroom and called to join the officer and her parents in the living room, ears folded and tail dead behind her back as she caught sight of the uniforms.
The female officer smiled at her. “It's alright, Isabelle. Come and have a seat. We have something to discuss with you that you might find difficult to hear.”
“What is it?” the girl asked as she planted herself on her mother's knee, glad of the comforting cuddle the seat came with.
“It's your brother, Francesco Holdentorpe. He was recently arrested here on Halkat and charged for, well, a great many crimes. He'll be serving his time here in Northrock.”
“That's... not possible. Francesco is probably dead by now! Even if he weren't, he'd never come back here!”
“In fact, he's been living here under a false identity for the past forty years.”
The words slammed into Isabelle like a wrecking ball. “That can't be.” Her mother's hug tightened.
“We expected that you would want to meet him. Given your history, you likely have a desire for closure.”
“I'm not sure 'closure' does it justice,” the girl snarled. “He was a fucking monster! And he left me for dead!”
“We know, Isabelle. He's been charged with 40x4-8. Black-Five severity grade.” The girl's parents gasped at the announcement. “We are willing to give you the details of his new family.”
“I want to be there when he arrives!” she growled, her whimpers and tears sharply contrasted by the furious scowl upon her muzzle. “I want to see him come home to Northrock and really fucking suffer!”
“We can't permit that, but we'll allow you to visit once she is settled. She'll be living with Ross and Avelyn Hutchins, moved here especially to take on the charge. They'll be in touch in a few days.”
A cruel smirk formed over the Aspatrian's features. “I guess that just gives me time to properly plan my welcome.”

“Isabelle! Come in!” the grey-scaled Karrian woman at the door beckoned her in with a warm smile. “I must say, your punishment idea was... inventive.”
“I hope so. It's the least he's owed.”
From the corner chair, the man of the house gave a smirk. “He is a 'she' now, Isabelle. Shall we go upstairs and say hello to young Francine?”
The Karrian parents gently guided Isabelle upstairs. The home was familiar, similar in layout to the one Talek and Rilka lived in – over the years, Northrock had started to copy-paste designs that worked. As per her request, her former brother had been firmly bound to a 'therapy mat', one normally used as a way to carefully measure, and properly deliver sexual relief for a pent up little Penny. That wasn't necessary for the punishment Isabelle had in mind, but it made things all the sweeter. The mat had been placed on a firm table, with a stool placed in front of Francine's spread legs. Multiple additional bindings kept the younger fox girl splayed and utterly helpless, but perhaps the most distinctive addition was the hood. Black leather and tight fitting, it held Francine's muzzle tightly shut and kept her facing straight up at the ceiling. With her crotch towards the door, she had no idea who had come in until they stepped into her field of vision.
“Hello, Francesco,” Isabelle said as she loomed over. Through the mask came a timid whimper.
With a cruelty that came with practice, Ross gave a little wave. “Your mother and I are heading out for the day, so Isabelle will be babysitting you. We should be back in about eight hours or so, okay? Be good for your sitter!”
The frantic howls into the mask were music to Isabelle's ears. She let 'Francine' scream and sob in desperation, the little cub wearing herself out before the main event. “Hush, Franny! Here, let me give you a drink. It's just water!” she added, noting how the girl's eyes widened in terror.
The muzzle had a stopper in the end, with a simple funnel attachment that allowed for easy feeding of liquids. Isabelle spoke softly as she carefully poured water in a little bit at a time. “It's okay, drink up. I know full well how hard days like this can be. I've been through it all myself.”
Francine might have believed the drink was merciful, but her timid whimpering grew in urgency as a second bottle was forced down her throat. “Now then, what's next?” Isabelle asked with false sweetness as the muzzle was stoppered once more. “Oh! Cleaning time!”
Francine's eyes swivelled desperately, her little head wriggling in the binds to try and see what Isabelle was doing. The answer came when something cold and rubbery pressed against her tailhole.  The Penny girl let out long, pained whine into her gag as the bung slid home, and an ever more urgent series of whimpers as she felt something cold glugging into her back passage. Shivers ran up and down her spine as more and more liquid entered, causing her stomach to gurgle and cramp as the air in her intestines was compressed. With each glug and spurt of water the cramps grew worse, bulging her gut and making her howl all the more into the suffocating gag. The in-flow stopped without warning, save for a sharp push on the butt-plug that sent a fresh surge of misery through her body.
“There we are! You let that all slosh around and wash you out! Oh, but there's a little hole right here as well, and we don't want that leaking!” Eyes wide in terror, Francine thrashed as much as her tight bindings would allow, which amounted to little more than her tail-tip fluttering helplessly. Her panic increased tenfold as she felt something thin, wet and rubbery poking around between her legs, and with each contact she felt a lingering itch that rapidly grew into a hot, urgent sting. “I've lubed this up with plenty of fire-cream. Aha! Here's your naughty little pee-hole!”
“Nhhhhhr!” the shriek of agony went unheeded by Isabelle, who forcefully shoved the sounding rod home. Francine's whole body spasmed as waves of molten heat coursed through her intimate places, boiling her bladder and cooking her from the inside out.
“Oh hush! It's not going to cause any permanent harm. Unlike the things you used to do.” She returned back into Francine's field of vision, though the little girl's eyes were blurry with tears. The older Aspatrian held a thin, red-handled brush up for her 'sister' to see. “I got this from Mr Kal. He was the one who welcomed me to Northrock all those years ago. He was, and still is, a big fan of nettles. This is his 'nettle brush'; the tip feels just like the real thing, I'm told. Let me know what you think.”
“Mnmm?” Francine's eyes darted back and forth to try and track Isabelle's movements, but the girl was quickly lost from sight. Francine lay helpless, urethra set aflame, guts strained by cold water. It might have been mere seconds, or minutes, or hours before Isabelle made herself known again, and she did so with yet more cruelty.
The nettle brush flicked against Francine's exposed slit, making the tiny Penny girl yowl in pain and shock. As she reeled from the sudden, stinging contact, Isabelle slid two fingers over the four-year-old's tiny folds and spread them wide. The second touch was slower, brushing over the pink, feminine flesh that hid the fox's unseen clit. A feral, vixen whine erupted from Francine's snout, nostrils flaring and huffing under this new, unwelcome torment.
“Did you like that?” Isabelle asked with mocking sweetness. “Tell you what, I'll just sit here and brush that little nub of yours until you tell me to stop, okay?”
“Strp!” Francine howled into her gag as the nettle brush stung her again. A hundred little sparks of anguish flared around her tiny clit, crackling like hellish lighting as she screamed for mercy into the hood. Seconds later, the brush touched her again in the same place, renewing the hell.
Flick. A thousand red-hot needles pierced her cunny. Flick. A million shards of glass sliced her nerves. Despite the ache of the sounding rod and the bottled up enema, the nettle sting was the worst of it as Isabelle refreshed it every few seconds. That sharp, acidic anguish became the sole focus of Francine's awareness, pulling her mind into tortured focus. She gave up pleading, settling instead on howling and wailing as best she could as the demon brush stung her over and over, making her most sensitive flesh swell at its touch.
The brush went 'Thwip', and the pain increased tenfold. A strand had found a spot where her sensitive, undeveloped flesh had failed to shield the baby clit beneath. A long, primal howl of purest pain shook the inside of the mask she wore, and she was still howling when the brush touched her again to find the little clit once more.
The cycle of cruelty grew with every stroke. Each touch made her intimate parts swell and redden, growing in size and sensitivity. Not by much, but even a millimetre gave more surface area for the nettle brush to find, and thus more to sting and swell in kind.
The helpless fox felt her abdominal muscles tighten. Her little head began to spin, eyes rolling up involuntarily as a new, perverse sensation grew inside her. Small as she was, and painful as this torment was, stimulation was stimulation – and enough of it had an inevitable outcome. A long, heartfelt sob of total despair escaped Francine's throat as a device let out a chirrup somewhere by her hips, followed by Isabelle's mocking tone. “Aww! My little sister had her first girly orgasm! I knew you'd love this!”
“Prs!” Francine whimpered, “N'mr!” Her muffled begging was answered by another flick of the brush.
“Oh, but you're only a quarter done! Four orgasms for the four year old, and then we can take a break.”
Francine howled, and howled, and howled. But no-one who heard her cared at all for her suffering.

When the brush was finally put down, Francine was near catatonic. The fire-cream had burned itself out, and the water had been warmed to body temperature, but the constant nettle sting had gone on so long it became impossible to remember a time when her little clit didn't burn like a newborn star. The fifth orgasm “to grow on” faded, the single worst and most unbearable climax of her centuries-long life, and at last the mask was unbuckled and pulled away.
“I have a bottle for you here,” Isabelle said. “A nice bottle, full of warm milk.”
It took a few seconds for Francine to remember how to form words. “P-p-pee! Let me pee!”
The bottle came into view, along with the brush from Hell. “You don't get to pee. You can have your bottle, or another orgasm. Choose, or I choose for you.”
“Bo'l!” the little girl squeaked. It was warm, as promised, and tasted nice. But it was also more liquid, and her little bladder was already strained to bursting.
“I'll make sure daddy knows how much you love nettles,” the older fox cooed as she fed her bound twin. “and I'm allowed to come over whenever I want, so I'll be sure to give you plenty of bedtime climaxes.”
Through the bottle's nipple, Francine barked, “Fuck you!” sending flecks of warm milk flying.
Isabelle withdrew the bottle. “I was going to give you a break, you know. Let you empty out and then put you to bed for an hour. I think we'll switch it around – nap now, potty in an hour.”
“No! I gotta go too bad!” Francine howled. “M'sorry Isabelle! Please!”
The two foxes stared at one another, one's muzzle full of disgust, the other desperation fuelled by agony. In the end, the former relented. “Fine. I'm going to let you up now. Move slowly, okay? You've been bound in place for a while, so your limbs will be stiff. Easy now, okay, now let's get you to the potty.”
Placed down, and made to lean against her older sister, the little Penny whimpered as Isabelle's fingers pressed and poked at the sounding rod. “This is going to hurt a lot,” she said, and yanked it free in a swift, sharp motion.
Francine threw back her head and howled as her bottled-up bladder emptied itself. The forceful flow scraped against her stretched urethra to inflame it all the worse, reigniting the pain that had dulled through the long bouts of clitoral torture. The butt-plug came next, dumping the hefty enema into the bowl with much more noise, but less discomfort. It felt almost blissful to be left empty after so long.
“Straight into bed now,” the older fox commanded, her white-furred paw thrust forcefully towards the cot in the opposite corner of the room. “I've got plenty more punishments lined up for you if you so much as put a toe on the floor before I come back for you.”
The 'Black P' fox stumbled drunkenly along beside her 'older' twin. “Tired,” she mumbled.
“I bet you are,” Isabelle answered in a more sympathetic tone. “So you'd better rest up. We're not done yet.”
“Stay with me?” the request made the older girl pause. “Isabelle, please? I... I want... I have to tell you so much...”
“I don't see what we have to say to one another,” she answered coldly as Francine was half helped, half forced under the covers.
“I din' wan' t'leave you,” Francine's words became a mumbled slur, her eyes unable to stay open. “pl's...”
Isabelle watched the strained, sorry features of Francine's face as sleep overtook her. The older girl's stomach began to twist as she realised just how alike they looked now, and how eerily familiar Francine's voice was. If Francine were five years older, or Isabelle five years younger, the two would be indistinguishable.
“Fuck it,” she whispered, and climbed under the covers to wrap an arm around the softly-sleeping penitatas.

“I-Isabelle? Where-” Francine's head rose from the pillow and scanned the room in bewilderment, her chest rising and falling rapidly before Isabelle's probing arm wrapped around and pulled her back down.
“I'm here.”
The young Aspatrian rolled over, putting her muzzle to muzzle with her sibling. “I thought for a moment we were home.”
Isabelle couldn't keep the snarl from her voice. “Aspatria hasn't been my 'home' for a long, long time.”
Francine's eyes scrunched shut. “Father is dead. Mother too.”
The older girl felt her heart pounding at the news, which surprised her given how much hatred she bore for her clan. “I assumed as much.”
“He ordered you killed,” Francine continued. “That's why the captain abandoned you. Father thought your schemes would bring too much heat upon the family, so if things went wrong you were to take the fall.”
“Sounds like something he'd do.”
With a gentle whimper, Francine shifted focus. “I didn't do so well without you. The task of managing the new holdings fell to me, but I achieved nothing of note with them. I sired a few kits along the way. Father rejuvenated once, though he didn't give mother the same privilege. Dominique undid me, really. Father raised him more than I did, you see, and made sure he learned all the things I never did. Raised him too well in the end; Dominique was more ruthless than we ever were, and had the smarts to match. He killed Father, shot him in the face at the dining table in front of a dozen witnesses, then calmly told them all I'd pulled the trigger.”
“Dominique is your son?” Isabelle asked.
Francine nodded. “I should have strangled the little fucker at birth! I barely got off Aspatria alive! The only one who stayed loyal to me was Argus, but in the end even he was bought and turned against me. I think he sold me out to Cesare.”
“Who?”
The simple question caught the little Aspatrian off-guard. “Cesare Banovario. I thought you knew?”
“No. Wait, Banovario? As in Erdmund Banovario?”
“Grandson. Bore a blood-feud against us. Came to kill me.” Francine rubbed her wrist, wincing at the memory of a vaporised paw.
“What about the rest of the family? Is Vladimir...? Or Peter...?” she left the question unfinished, but Francine understood well enough.
“Vlad is Vlad, as always. Or was last I saw of him. He had a lot more scars, but no more brains than you remember. Peter died years ago of lung-rot. He didn't suffer long,” Francine added with a heartfelt bitterness.
Isabelle took in the revelation as best she could. Speaking of her long lost family was making her throat dry. “Why did you come to hide out on Halkat? Of all the places you could go, why would you come to a planet where you were a wanted man?”
Francine's eyes lit up with a primal, childish longing. “For you. I never wanted to leave you, and of all the family you were the one I was closest to.”
“But I hated you.”
“You worked with me! You spent all your time with me!”
“Because you sometimes treated me like a person!” Isabelle spat back. “Father hated me, Vlad wouldn't speak to any female directly, and Peter-” a shudder rippled through the fox at the mention of her sibling.
Francesco had no such fear of speaking the unspoken. “I know. He raped you.”
“Yes, while you watched.” Venom dripped from Isabelle's lips.
To her meagre credit, Francine had the decency not to look her sister in the eye when she replied, “you weren't the only one scared of Peter.”
The pair of white foxes let the awkward silence linger between them, turning the warm bed cold until Isabelle crawled from beneath the covers. “I hope you're not trying to use them as an excuse,” she said, glancing at Francine over her shoulder. “They didn't force you to rape and murder all those little girls.”
Francine sat up, fixing Isabelle with a hard glare. “We both used people.”
Isabelle span around so quickly that it startled the younger girl, making her jump and nearly tumble out of bed. “Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare compare what I had to do to survive to what you did to satisfy your sick urges! I had to... I...” Her paws curled into tight, trembling fists. She took a steadying breath and continued, “I am about to lose my patience with you, and you already have a good idea what that means. Don't push me.”
Soundless sobs bubbled up from Francine's throat. The young, pale-white fox teetered on the edge of her bed, scared to death of Isabelle's anger. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled.
Cooling a little, Isabelle said, “you should get used to saying that. Take it from someone who knows, learning to accept your mistakes makes this whole ordeal a lot easier. They'll wear you down in the end; the longer you fight, the more you suffer.”
The Penny girl nodded frantically in response, but it was clear the act was more to avoid further conflict than show genuine understanding. As meek and submissive as she looked, there was a hardness to Francine's eyes and a thin, tight line upon her lips that told Isabelle the girl was simply biding her time to lash out. The assessment was as much an act of self-reflection as anything. “You're probably starving,” the older girl said diplomatically. “Shall we see what your parents left for you to eat?”
“It'll be shit,” the young fox snarled. “They've fed me nothing but filth since I got here!”
Taking the words as yet more youthful petulance, Isabelle changed her tune upon seeing the package on the kitchen counter. A 'Healthy Choice' meal option, known to provide everything a child needed save one, critical ingredient: flavour. Isabelle's gaze returned to Francine, hovering in the door, rubbing her paws anxiously, muzzle turned down but eyes constantly flicking up to Isabelle and then away. She had never been that young during her time in Northrock, but otherwise it was a hauntingly familiar scene. Inevitably, Isabelle thought to what she would have wished for in such a situation. “Get dressed. We're going out for lunch.”
Francine looked up, puzzled. “Out?”
“Yes, out. As in 'outside of this house'. I'll call a Watchdog to escort you to Mr Wu's. But first, we'll find you something to wear.”
“I don't have any clothes,” the girl grunted. “I've been kept nude since day one.”
“Oh. Well... how do you feel about being a little cold?”
Francine shrugged. “Cold's not so bad.”
“Alright then. At least tell me they bought you some shoes?”
Minutes later, clad only in a pair of black dress shoes, Francine stepped out into the chilly midday to find an egg-shaped drone bobbing outside of the door. Isabelle gently explained what was expected, and the pair set off without any fuss. By the time they reached the restaurant, Francine was clearly feeling the cold and sulking openly, but the warm interior soon improved her mood. A young Karrian woman seated them at a side table, and less than a minute later an older male came over, a look of awe on the lizard's face. “Isabelle! And... Isabelle? Good gracious, you've sprouted a duplicate!”
The older Isabelle smiled and gestured to her younger self. “This is my sister, Francine. We're twins.”
“Oh! Well, it's lovely to meet you, Francine! But where are your parents?”
“Isabelle's babysitting me,” Francine replied, showing more assertiveness than Isabelle expected.
“Really? And you brought her out for dinner?”
“It was this or a Healthy Choice bolognaise,” Isabelle replied.
A look of pure disgust flashed across the Karrian male's features. “We don't say the H-word in this diner, young lady! Ptew! Vile, evil stuff! It's a crime against flavour! Francine, have you arrived too late, or do you still remember what food is supposed to taste like?”
“I do remember,” she said, the barest hint of a smile on her muzzle.
Wu's grin was much wider. “Then there's hope for you yet! I'm Mr Wu, and in my restaurant we have only two rules: no crying children, and no snot disguised as food! Now, what'll it be?”
Francine barely even glanced at the menu. “I want ash'rko.”
Both Wu and Isabelle were left puzzled by the comment, albeit for entirely different reasons. “I'm afraid I don't know that one,” Mr Wu confessed.
Ever helpful, and with hand gestures, Isabelle did her best to explain. “It's a side dish from Aspatria. Sort of a creamy cake made of sliced, starchy vegetables.”
“Ah! That sounds a bit like dauphinoise! I can manage that.”
“Then I guess we'll both have that.” Isabelle confirmed with a confident nod before turning her focus back to Francine. “I'm surprised you asked for that. I don't recall you ever eating ash'rko. Barely ever saw you eat anything resembling a vegetable, in fact.”
“I ate it when you made it. Remember? When you were ten?”
Memories trickled back into the older girl's brain. Moments of a childhood long-since past flashed behind her eyes. “I... I'd almost forgotten that. I was hurting, badly, and wanted to be alone... and she said 'there are other things a girl can do, Isabelle'.” the fox flinched at a particularly unwelcome jolt of recollection. “We went into the kitchen together and she... she taught me how to make ash'rko.”
“I'm glad you remember.”
A scowl formed on Isabelle's muzzle. “I remember you saying it tasted like shit. You and our brothers all mocked me, said I can't even cook right!”
“I only said that to try and fit in with them!” Francine replied with a whimper of shame. “I actually really liked it. I... I should have said so at the time. I'm sorry, Isabelle.”
Lunch was served with a flourish. Two bowls of gently steaming, creamy potatoes sat before the girls, topped with thick, gooey cheese. The moment she took the first bite, Francine's ears shot bolt upright, a gleeful light forming in her eyes as the joy of good food overwhelmed her. Satisfied, Mr Wu left them to their meal. “How is it?” Isabelle asked as she tasted her own.
“Not as good as your ash'rko, but it's close enough,” Francine said with a grin.
The pair ate slowly, Francine wanting to savour her first decent meal since becoming a penitatas, Isabelle chewing over her thoughts. “I guess it's pointless to ask this, since it's not like you'd give me a straight answer, but is anything you've said sincere?”
A predictable look of hurt met the question. “I'm not lying, Isabelle!”
“I'd like to believe that. I really, really would.”
The smaller fox began to fold in on herself. “If you don't believe me, why are you being nice all of a sudden? You clearly wanted to make my life a fucking misery this morning!”
“I wanted you to get some idea of what it felt like to be a little girl on the wrong end of a sadist,” Isabelle growled in response.
“My dad has shown me that already,” Francine whimpered back.
The girls held off their fight until Mr Wu returned with dessert; a scoop of chocolate ice-cream each. Little Francine consumed it with ravenous hunger, and was brought nearly to tears when Isabelle finally announced it was time to leave.
Seeing the pair out, Mr Wu took the time to offer the little Penny a comforting hug. “You are always welcome back here, Francine. I pride myself on making this restaurant the one place a Penny doesn't have to feel like a Penny, no matter what they might have done to earn those letters!”

The Hutchins returned to a quiet household a little earlier than promised. They had expected to find the sounds of wailing, but instead found two little foxes sat together on the living room floor. Between them were an irregular assortment of scavenged objects formed into a crude game board, from which both girls looked up at the door's opening.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Ross announced with a smirk. “I didn't imagine I'd see you two getting along.”
“We had a lot of time to talk. Turns out my need for vengeance ran out sooner than expected,” the older girl confessed.
Avelyn nodded, “That's no bad thing, Isabelle. We'd be worried if hurting others came easily to you. Speaking of hurting, have you given our little girl her evening punishment?”
Isabelle shook her head, and taking the prompt Ross strode forward. “Well, I can take care of that here and now.”
A squeal of terror erupted from Francine's lips as her father approached, for his paws were unbuckling his belt. “No!” the little Penny wailed, scrambling to her feet in fear. Too late. A grey paw clasped around her fore-arm and pulled her towards the sofa.
“You know running won't help you,” Ross scolded, seating himself down and holding Francine tight to his chest. He sucked upon a finger to coat it with saliva, then eased the digit down between her squirming hips. A feral yowl met the point where his probing finger found her passage. “All this fuss! Would you rather I go in dry?”
“St-ooop!” the little fox wailed, her anguished whimpers growing to full-on howls of torment as Ross pressed his hardening cock against her little passage, and forced her down.
A moan of pleasure slipped from the Karrian's snout. “Ooh, that's nice. You like being daddy's little fleshlight, don't you?”
“No!” came the desperate reply from Francine's thrashing muzzle. Her defiance was rewarded with  a short, sharp thrust that drew a shriek from the little fox.
“You know I can go deeper than this. If that's what you want...”
Francine hid her face in her paws, sobbing in shame and anguish. Avelyn joined the pair, running fingers down the fox's spine. “Come on now, you know what to do.”
“I l-l-like b-b-bein' a fl-leshlight!” Francine sobbed, and her self-inflicted degradation was rewarded  with more soft stroking on her head as Ross resumed his leisurely act of self-pleasure.
“Yes you do,” he growled with each slow thrust. “You like it, and you deserve it! You earned this from all those years of pain and suffering you inflicted on others!”
With little warning, the girl was lifted up and passed to Avelyn, who immediately forced her to her knees. Ross took her muzzle and pressed it to his cock, forcing the Penny girl to give an unwilling blowjob. “You get ten swats for every time I feel those teeth!” he warned.
Sobbing and spluttering, Francine was forced to suck upon the male meat filling her maw. Each time she tried to pull away, a parental claw kept her firmly in place, leaving her with no choice but to gag. The sensation of her throat trying to eject Ross' cock clearly brought the Karrian considerable pleasure, for he sighed and moaned softly at each act of retching until, with a satisfied huff, he shot his load.
Released, Francine was allowed to pull away. Retching and wailing, seed and spittle alike dribbled from her mouth and soaked into her fur, which neither parent seemed concerned about. They turned their attention back to Isabelle, becoming warm and kind in an instant. “You are welcome back any time, Isabelle.”
The older fox looked down at her twin, stomach knotting at how terribly familiar her situation was. How many times in her first childhood had she been left broken and sobbing on the floor, covered with, or filled with a male's seed? “God, I wish it were Peter in your place,” she mumbled, before kneeling down to help sooth her sobbing sibling. “Hey. I'll see you again soon, okay? I'll try and make my next visit a little less... unpleasant. We still have a lot of catching up to you.”
Francine merely threw herself into Isabelle's arms, bawling out her pain. The pair stayed there until Avelyn firmly announced it was past bed-time, and Francine let out a timid, “g'bye”, along with a sad wave, as she was dragged upstairs to bed.