Sisterhood of Devotion
At first, there was only darkness. Wilcox wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed, so he tried closing, and then opening them, as wide as possible. Nothing. Not a hint of light. The wolf's ears flicked, sweeping through the darkness, as he tried to understand why he couldn't move. His arms were bound somehow, he could feel the tension in his shoulders. He took in a deep draught, but all he could smell was the faint smudge of incense and the sharpness of his own fur's oils. He must have been here a while, for his scent to be already so... present. Had he been unconscious? He couldn't remember. His head didn't ache, didn't feel dizzy. There was no pain, other than the stress in his hips and shoulders from his limbs being tied back and behind him. He had been in his car... updating his report... and his phone had beeped. 


His ears twitched again, as he remembered the sound his phone had made, not like a chime, but something else, something that he had not heard in a long time. That's when things ended, and this darkness began. He felt an ear flick again, the sound of rustling fabric approaching him from behind. Footsteps, too. The wolf's muscles clenched, trying to pull free, to scamper away from whatever was coming, but the bindings were true. 


The flicker of artificial light slashed down through the darkness like a razor through velvet. Wilcox slammed his eyes shut, his eyelids glowing red with the brightness. He could hear the figures approaching, some door having opened with a soft brush of air against the back of his ear, against the fur of his tail. He peeked open one eye lid, just a bit, letting his eye get used to the stark brightness before slowly opening both of them.


There were five figures, cloaked in black heavy robes, pulled up over their heads and hiding all but the very tips of their snouts. The Sisterhood of Devotion. Wilcox's heart sank, as he realized that he was very, very unlikely to be seen again. Every other agent who had been caught by the sisterhood had disappeared entirely. He had no idea, no background, to know what was going to happen next. Fed to an Amazonian Himbovociferix? Converted into a drooling worm-spewing mindless zombie? Would he be forced to start a podcast? His spiraling thoughts were interrupted, as the five figures pulled back their cloaks, revealing the smiling snouts of five, admittedly cute... females.


The black-masked ferret, lithe and quick-eyed, regarded him with a curiosity that belied her diminutive stature. Her gaze lingered on Wilcox's exposed body, eyeing him up and down. He glanced down, and realized how incredibly, and entirely, naked he was. Gray fur stretched over a strong, workout-attuned chest, and while he couldn't see much of his belly over his own pecs, he could see the thick barrel of his sheath, just jutting out from his groin. 


Beside her, the lushly furred red fox moved with a grace that was both alluring and dangerous, her amber eyes glinting with a ruly, untamed nature. She was tracing a finger down his side, letting it tease over the swell of his naked rear end. She said nothing, but he could feel the way she was appraising his body, sizing him up like meat.


The two otters, one black furred and the other albino, were standing on the other side, whispering to each other with whiskers wiggling in mischief. Their hands opened and closed as he pointed to him, pointed between his legs, and he swore he felt a ghost's paw caress against the swollen, heavy pouch that held his twin testes.


And then there was the lizard, her scales a mosaic of greens and browns that shifted with every tilt of her head. A salamander, of sorts, and clearly the leader of the group. She stepped forward, her voice resonant with a tone he had not heard before and instinctively did not like. It was commanding, and knowing, and powerful, and he mistrusted it.


"Wilcox," she hissed, the voice skirting over him like a breeze over still water. "We've been watching you...watching us. Did you think we wouldn't notice? Did you think you could prowl around our sacred temple unseen? Did you not think there would be consequences?"


Her words were a tangible thing in the room, and the wolf wasn't able to avoid them. Hypnotic programming, his mind urged to him feverishly. He rolled stats through his head, baseball games, flavors of chicken wings, anything except to think about what she was saying. He knew it was hopeless, though. He was a predator, himself, so he knew exactly what it felt like when you had your quarry pinned, and that feeling was exactly the tone she was sharing with him.


"Your priorities have been misplaced," the lizard continued, her tail flicking with a rhythmic cadence that hypnotized even as it warned. "But we shall realign them. You will serve a purpose far greater than your salaried career as a corporate private eye. You will lose everything, but gain so much more."


"Yeah," the ferret said, lickign her chops suggestively, "And then we're going to eat your balls."  


Wilcox gasped, and he felt his scrotum tighten, or at least, try to. There was a significant poundage of wolf testicles filling that furry bag, and realizing that the females were all staring at it made his sheath tighten more than his bag did. They were trying to intimidate him, and it was working. 


The cultists moved closer to him, and reached out to touch the trapped, bound male wolf. The air was thick with the musk of anticipation, both theirs and, he realized, his own, as the females shed their cloaks to the floor. They were nubile, their bodies taut and sleek, brushed and groomed and fragrant with unknown oils and forbidden perfumes. The ferret stroked along his chin with one hand, the other holding a simple bridle, the kind used for a stallion. The metal bit in the middle was replaced with a cylinder of wood. "Come now, be a good boy and open your mouth for me. I need to make sure you don't have any secrets in there."


He turned his head away from her, finding the lizard right there next to him. "I shall have to send thanks to your boss, the dark lion," She said, smirking in satisfaction as his eyes widened. "Oh, yes, he knows just who to send us." Her fingers alighted upon the wolf's scrotum, just the barest touch of her fingers against the soft fuzz along the underside of his scrotum.  
"I think he's outdone himself. These orbs radiate virility. I'll guess he implemented our suggestions for your training...  have you been allowed to touch yourself, since you started this mission?" 


She took his choked gasp as her answer, lips pulling upwards into an even more satisfied smile. "That's what I thought."


The bit was there, then, pushing between his jaws before he could think to close them. His tongue pushed against it, tasting dishwasher soap soaked into the wood, his cheeks pushed back as the bit was locked in place and secured around the back of his head. The ferret rubbed between his ears, playfully. "There we go," she said, winking at him, and he growled around the mouthful of wood. If they thought he would whimper like some puppy, they were wrong, though. Wilcox may be trapped, bound and at the mercy of these terrible, beautiful females, but he still had his pride.


The lizard inclined her head, the scales along her neck catching the light as she spoke. "Sisters, we must give thanks, for this male provides us with the final component we have so dearly sought," she said, her tongue flickering out to taste the charged air.


Wilcox's heart hammered against his rib cage, not in fear but indignation. He could see the way they stared at him, the creatures licking their lips and smirking knowingly to each other, as if they were the ones on top of the food chain, and not him! They wanted his 'component', eh? The sensual attentions of them suggested that they were looking for his seed. The threat of emasculation would make a lesser male worry about his virility, the unconceived pups that were still yet to have their moment. These females wanted to take his seed, and no doubt use it to control him. They coveted the potent essence housed within his fat wolf balls, but his seed was his sovereignty, the very emblem of his primal strength. Like a fortress under siege, he silently vowed to guard it, to keep the gates of pleasure firmly closed against their onslaught.


He tried to growl out a warning, but it came out too guttural to understand. The fox canted her head to the side, and he looked past here, just for a moment, to the two female otters who were fussing over the insides of a wall mounted cabinet, moving objects around as they looked for something. Her hand against his belly brought his attention back to her, and he regarded her with stern yellow eyes, not about to give in to her feminine wiles. 


"My sisters enjoy surprising our 'guests' with a surprise at the end, but we do have a code, so I will tell you a second time, dear wolf," she said, as her claws scraped slowly through the fur of his belly, trailing off to the left, and then back to the right. He couldn't help but feeling his fur bristling, a wave of pleasure at the soft, friendly-seeming touch. "Should you... succumb to the throes of ecstasy, we will relieve you... of your seed... of your mind...." 
She smiled, and her hand lifted away, only to grip against the neck of his scrotum. The wolf grunted, as if kicked, though there was no pain in the way she held him, only a soft anxiety that she might stop. "And of these."


"You are cruel, sister," the lizard said, as she curled up behind him, and her hands rested on his shoulders; his tense, tired shoulders. She began to slowly knead, fingers pressing into taut muscles, squeezing firmly enough to help the flesh shudder and relax. "You make him think that he has options, as if he is in control of his fate. Everyone here, except for this handsome wolf himself, knows that his body is our domain, now. We know the strengths... and weaknesses... of the male form. We will strum him, like a harp, and he will sing for us."


Wilcox felt a surge, similar to panic. It was vulnerability, something that perhaps he had woken up with but which he was now fully realizing. The fingers on his shoulders were not cruel, were not twisting and prying to extoll answers and submission from him. They were gentle, loving as they caressed and worked against him. 


The ferret stroked her palms against his cheeks, and he could smell something in the oil on her fingers, something that smelled like citrus. It was pleasant, better than the chemical taste against his tongue. Her palms were warm, small but deft as they slid against his cheekbones, and then claws softly pulled back, ruffling his cheek fur up. She slid finger tips up his snout, and he closed his eyes, automatically, as she began to rub and gently massage along his ocular sockets, just touching him, stroking her fingers against his flesh in a pleasing, soothing way. 


They weren't the only ones touching him, though. The fox had slipped to the side, standing next to the lizard, encircled the bulk - and there was bulk there to be sure - of his sheath with her wide, slender fingers. She didn't squeeze, didn't pull, she just held him, her fingers lifting up under his sheath. He had his eyes closed, but he kept waiting for her fingers to touch his maleness, to stroke against the naked flesh of his gleaming, thickening red wolf bone that was no doubt jutting out of his sheath. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, thick and sensitive as her fingers lazily held his dick like that, just kind of half hard. 


"Such a nice piece, really..." she said, her voice laced with honey and venom, sounding both aroused and scornful at the same time. It made his ears perk, and made him open up one eye suspiciously, "It's just such a shame that it's going out of commission. Just a relic of your past, of no use to anyone for anything but as our little toy, when we want to play with it." 


To the other side, nestled up against the ferret,  the white otter scooped up his heavy gray-sacked balls in her webbed paws. The touch was so blatant compared to the others, the teasing tawdriness that they all shared offset by the grabbing possessiveness of the otter's thick fingers. They almost enveloped his scrotum, holding one nut per paw, lifting them up just enough to help slightly with the ache that had been building in the cords. Perhaps it was the years of having them stuffed in his underwear, when they weren't being pushed against his mattress while he snored, but just letting his balls hang out in the open, held up only by the endowments of his body, made them feel flushed and full and even more achy. Or, perhaps, they were always this achey, and he simply had not realized it.


She squeezed his balls, and he groaned from somewhere deep in his chest, eyes scrunching at the casual kneading of his eggs. He couldn't reach down to slap her away, and he couldn't close his thighs to protect them; his balls were entirely under her control. Just like the fox said.


"Now now, don't fret," the ferret cooed, as her fingers slid down over his nose, giving it a playful pap. They moved down, and he felt her fingers slide against his lips, caressing against his lower one slowly even as the otter down below relaxed her squeeze and instead pulled. His stomach ached; he wanted to curl up, but instead he was forced to endure every touch of their bodies. 


Fingers slipped in past his lips, hooking into his lower jaw. The ferret pulled down, peering inwards as she pried his jaws apart with a surprising strength for one with such small paws. She held his jaw down, and his tongue gagged, trying to find a way to exist in his mouth with that damn bit in the way, before he felt her citrine flavored fingers wrap around his tongue, holding it. His eyes opened then, staring at her uncomprehendingly, actual fear bubbling up inside him as he thought about the things she could do with that small paw. He could taste her fingers, the pads of her palm, but if she was supposed to laugh maniacally and yank, she hadn't gotten the memo.


"Hmmm," she said, as she slowly stroked the robust muscle that twitched and tentatively curled against her wrist. "He has such strong teeth. Well groomed, he's spent a life keeping himself in good working order," she said, as she gently pulled his tongue to the left, to peer around and under it. "Hardly even any plaque." Then again, to the right. His tail tried to curl, he had never had anyone examine his mouth like this. 


The shoulder massage had progressed; he felt the lizard's cool, slender body press against his broad back, and her arms curled around him in a hug, even as her chin rested on his shoulder, just against his neck. She was snuffling, sniffing at him, taking in his scent, even as fingers caressed against his pectorals. "He's strong, but he will yield," She said, her voice low and husky, maybe even just a whisper, maybe even just in his head. Fingers found his nipples, and she lazily rubbed the tips of her pointer fingers against the wide, soft nips. "He can't help it, he is too eager, too needy to be able to resist. Feel his body, it's getting warmer, getting softer, as-"


"Speak for yourself," the fox interrupted with a sultry growl. The fingers of the vixen had been joined with her other hand, and together they had slid into his sheath, ignoring the jutting erection that was struggling to fully erect. For the first time, he wished they would touch him, wishing they would pull his sheath back so that his knot could come out. Her fingers were instead slowly rolling in lazy stroked along the inside of his sheath, her knuckles brushing her shaft as she pushed, stretching his furry holster to one side and then the next. 


That was four of the females, he realized, but where was the last? The black otter? 






She was waiting behind him, perhaps waiting for him to look around for her, for as he started to, he felt her hand grip against his buttock, giving it a firm squeeze. "Oh, don't worry about me," she said, whispering into his other ear. She gave soft smooches against his shoulder, giggling to herself. "I'm just the one that gets to cut off your balls."


She lifted up her hand, showing him the cute, yes cute little dagger. It had a whimsical curve to it, the handle inlaid with smooth, sparkling jewels, but despite being no longer than the otter's finger, the blade looked terribly, uncutely sharp. 


"This is what I'm going to cut your big, heavy wolf balls off with," she said, pausing to let him whine pathetically into his gag. "Oh, it's too late to try to run now. You're already erect, handsome warrior wolf, and soon your sperm will spurt, and make a big splashing thump on the ground, and then, after three of those spurts, your balls will make a thump on the ground as well." He clenched down, the fingers that touched him pausing as he squirmed, but they resumed caressing and stroking and teasing him all over after only a few moments. 


"That's why you should just give in," she whispered. "I mean, you can't help it. Your balls are coming off. It's a done deal. So you might as well... enjoy yourself."


"Yes," the white otter agreed, as she twisted his scrotum lazily to the left, and then to the right. His eggs were aching, his stomach aching, but there was a fire in them that he had not felt before, a peculiar urge that made his whole body tingle in thirst, in need for more. "You've carried this burden around for so long... so cumbersome... so tiring... isn't it time to let us carry them now?"


His ears were nearly red at this point, so darkened with embarrassment, his cheeks flushed and hot, and he wondered if his tongue was similarly flushed, if his blush was showing on the inside of his cheeks as the ferret traced a claw over the jagged points of his molars, stroked tender fingertips along his drooly, slick gums. 


"Go on," The lizard said, as her fingers danced across Wilcox's chest, her claws tracing furrows and ridges into the thick gray pelt. She captured the peaks of his nipples, gently twisting them. "Try to resist. I love it when they try to fight back.. it makes the harvest so much sweeter..."


Poor, poor wolf! His mind reeled, caught between the instinct to fight, the instinct to fuck, and the growing realization that the only thing he could do was enjoy himself, and enjoy the ride. He wanted to stare down at his traitorous erection, which he knew that by now was oozing and leaking his precum, was sure it was knotted and fully engorged, but he couldn't even peek to see it, not with the ferret monopolizing his mouth and face. He hurrged, pushing his tongue against her palm, trying to get it out of her mouth, but all she did in response was stroke him. 


Not his cock, of course, no, they were touching every goddamned part of him but that, but sure, she could stroke his tongue, that was fine, her fingers slowly sliding along the bumps of his taste bud, pressing against the slick underside, her knuckles brushing up against his palette. 
There was simply too much for him to process, and none of it, maddeningly, was bad. He couldn't find any pain to distract himself with. No, there were just soft, fawning touches, squeezing and holding him, brushing through his thick pelt, his fur, caressing parts of him that he himself had never even thought to touch. They had no reservations about handling his big, proud body, and that was even more emasculating than the threat of cutting off his balls!


He was caught, caught in a den of predation, the evil females wearing him down with strokes and kisses and squeezes instead of claws and bites and punches. He hadn't been trained for this!


The otter between his legs began to wrap something around the neck of his scrotum. His balls were churning, so hard and full and aching, demanding that he plunge his cock into something, though of course he couldn't. No, instead, he felt that strap, leather maybe, being wrapped slowly and surely around the thick neck of his heavy scrotum. His balls filled his sack, and they had never hung particularly low, so as the otter tightened it, they bulged out against the skin on the bottom of his pouch. He could feel it, hugging around his balls, compressing them together in a delightful, err, terrible way. But this may be the last time he felt them feeling anything at all, and he tried to focus on that, on how heavy and full and needy his nuts were, how large they felt right now, how small the otter's paw felt as she gripped and kneaded them.


Oh, shit. The wolf was going to cum. He wasn't cumming, not yet, but his body had just decided that it was going to. His toes splayed, fingers clenching as he tried to reverse it, but his big dumb stupid cock and his big dumb stupid brain didn't catch the message. He could feel himself bouncing happily towards orgasm, and he hadn't even gotten his dick sucked yet. 


"There it is," the fox said, and she knelt down, and he felt her breath stream against the tip of his cock. "He's gonna cum. Any second now. And then," she said, and her voice seemed to space out into distinct syllables that shone as brightly as possible in his mental landscape, warning and promising all at once, " we   are     gonna     cut     off        his       balls."
Strangely, it wasn't his cock that he felt more than anything, it was the hand on his backside, the black otter who was kneeling down as well, shifting to press in between his thighs. The five females crowded around him, his fur brushed and whorled into a thousand directions from the ministrations of ten different female hands, but there was a dark otter crouching between his legs, her ears tickling against the underside of his buttocks. 


He opened his eyes again, desperate to keep himself from climaxing. He couldn't feel it, but he knew the blade was near his testicles, hidden between the supple, feminine bodies that were pressing more insistently against him. He couldn't help but imagine it, damn her for letting him see it, that cute little blade so close to his masculinity, to his virility. He wiggled, his hips trying to buck, but that just made his dick flop through the air - so sensitive now that he could feel the air as it brushed against it. He wanted to fill something, wanted to plant his seed into a womb or a mouth or a butt or even nostrils would do now, anything, just something that he could breed and claim as his own, but that wasn't going to happen was it and fuck now he really WAS cumming. Damn them, touching and giggling and rubbing him as he felt seed pouring up and through his loins. 


No. He could stop it. He had mastery over his body. He thrust into the fingers on his nipples, lapped lewdly at the tongue, did all of the things he wanted to do, but he wasn't going to cum, not yet. 


"Oh, he's trying," the ferret said, and  her hands left his mouth, one hooking his lower lip with a claw, tugging on it playfully, just a single pinpoint of a slight pain to distract him with. 


"But he's gonna, isn't he?" she teased, and he felt her hand, warm and soft and gentle, rest on the muscles between his ears. She strrrrrroked, pressing her palm against his skull, giving a soft massage against his crown. "He's gonna spurt for us, because... he's   a       good          boy."


Sprrllrlltt.


He just shot, seed heard splattering the ground, maybe a good distance away but he couldn't see how or where, the females could see everything though and they were cooing in appreciation, and damn it he was cumming! 


Sprltt!


Another shot, shit, if he shoots again, no he couldn't, instead he braced himself, he pulled back, willed his body not to cum, not caring if it ruined his orgasm, no, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.


The blade, sharp, smooth, cool, and harmless, pressed against the back of his sack, just underneath the tight band of leather that was gripping and holding his nuts. That was the knife that was going to cut off his - oh shit, dammit, no!


Sprrt! His load spattered out of him, far away, he was sure he hit the wall, and he loved it, moaned loudly as he felt the knife cut into the flesh of his scrotum, his whole body tingling and shuddering in unabashed pleasure as the females took his masculinity, took the burden of being a big proud stud wolf away from him. 


As soon as it happened, he felt lighter, not just between the legs, but in general, like he had been holding on to the football for too long and had just passed it off to someone else and now he could just be free. The balls came off, and the wolf kept cumming, long overdue spurts of much needed release flushing all the stress and anxiety out of him.


He felt the thick leather collar curl around his neck, around his throat, strapped down just tight enough to remind him that he was only breathing right now because they were choosing to let him. He was no longer a predator, certainly not a dominant one. 
He was subdued. Claimed, marked, and broken. Whimpers trickled from him, as the females pulled away, leaving the scuffed up, rumpled, gelded wolf to see what they had taken from him. 


The white otter held his balls in her two hands, and the tied off sac had not a spot of blood on it. The wolf heaved, tasting his mouth, his gums and lips and cheeks feeling strangely tingly as he licked at himself. He couldn't believe the surreality of the moment, as he stared at himself in her soft little hands.


"Oh, they're even heavier off..." she said, jostling them from paw to paw. She handed them to the fox, who took them eagerly, holding them by the neck and lifted them up to eye level.


"They weren't finished, were they? Such a shame, sliced off before they even really started to unload..." She gestured to his cock, and he looked down, yelping in surprise as he saw that he wasn't even hard, wasn't even knotted, his big cock only half hard. Still, it was spurting, clear ejaculate splashing in dribbling puddles on the ground. 


The ferret snagged them from the fox, playfully stepping away so that she could roll them around between her fingers. She sniffed at them, even gave a lick against them, and his blush-bruised muzzle tightened with heat once more as she handled him so casually. "I like the shape. A little fatter, a little longer than most. They really fill the pouch up nicely. I think they'll be perfect for the ritual."


And then the lizard had plucked them from her hands, and moved back up to the wolf, holding them in one hand against her chest, clutching them possessively.


"A bounty, to be sure," she said, her head canting slowly to the side. "A heft that only moments ago swung between your legs. I can feel your balls twitching, wolf, as they die off, still trying to fertilize something. You've given us... a magnificent gift."


He was expecting them to be taunting, mocking him for cumming, for losing his balls, but if anything, they almost seemed to be.. eulogizing them. There was a hint of respect in their tones, as if they appreciated what he had... sacrificed for them. The wolf whimpered, not knowing what to think, not knowing how to think, as they handed his bag off to each other, appraising and hefting and toying with them. 


A gentle paw returned, resting on his forehead, pulling the wolf out of his fixation. It felt soft, tender, just as it had earlier, and he turned to see the black otter, smiling up at him. 


"Shh. No more worries now," she said. She stroked between his ears, slow and soothing, and he could feel his eyes rolling back in his head. No. He blinked, stared at her, but she stroked him again, and it felt so nice, so relaxing. "You've given us exactly what we need... sleep now... you shall be reborn as our vessel.. strong and obedient, and with no need for such..." she turned, glancing at his balls, which were being consulted over by the fox and the lizard, "...frivoloties."


Her voice was reassuring, but he wondered at what she meant. What was she promising? What would it mean, to exist devoid of the... the burdens that once weighed on him? He remained bound, for now, gelded and collared and spent, the future unknown to him but known entirely by the females who had gelded him. Whatever they wanted for him, that is what he would be. He really didn't have to worry about.. worrying about it, anymore. 


She stroked his head, again, and he felt his eyes roll back, and this time he allowed it. It had, he mused, as he slid into darkness, been a great orgasm. Worth it. Whatever came next, he embraced it.
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