Punished By His Mistress

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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The dragoness towered, without even doing anything at all. It came naturally to her, whether she was striding out across the grounds of her mansion or taking her leisure for tea, a willing slave acting as a footrest for her. Adalinda was a dragoness who relished always residing in the lap of luxury, not wanting anything else. It was what she had been born into, after all, so why should she ever hold back from anything that she had considered her birth right since, well, birth?

There were different worlds for different creatures and she only knew one of luxury, spending days in leisure, occasionally taking her hand to the head of the household. Staff were employed to keep records of the books and accounting, though there were still some things that she had to make decisions on. Adalinda's nature of work came more in making connections with other nobles, furries in positions of power. She had no time for those under her, except when she had something on her mind.

Then...well...anything was fair game with a slave. Even the servants, but they were set in their roles and it would have been a shame to upset the balance of her home. She was a fair mistress, head of the household, but one who did not tolerate misdemeanours from her servants, let alone her slaves.

There was plenty for a slave to do for her, from massage her black and gold scaled body to polishing her golden horns, rubbing wax into them so that all was in the finest condition. Across her upper arms, wrapping around her biceps, resided a golden mark -- a symbol of her status in not only her land, but her world. Adalinda made sure that they washed every inch of her when bathed, enjoying the sensation of smaller paws sweeping over her body. Everyone seemed small to her, though maybe it was something about the mammalian slaves that she chose for her own use that made them seem littler than most others.

The otter quivered, his head respectively bowed in the privacy of her chambers. It was normal for him to be called to her service, the otter with no name, but the click of her bare hind paws, talons tapping the stone floor, told him that something was awry that night. With the late hour, he doubted there would be anyone up to see where he had gotten to, though the otter did not know what he could have possibly done wrong.

"Slave."

He stiffened, forehead pressed to the ground.

"Yes, mistress? How may this lowly one serve you?"

The otter should never have admitted it, even though he thought, once upon a time, it had been forced from him when he'd been strapped to a punishment cross. He loved serving. He loved his position in the world. He didn't want a choice, though that seemed unfair at times. No one else understood why he would throw it all away -- a slave who never even the once made an attempt at escape -- but he could not explain the deep, purring satisfaction it rendered deep in his chest.

But he'd done something wrong and the good feeling of servitude came with something else, something more, something that meant he had to take the bad with the good.

A whip cracked into her paw and he flinched, whimpering.

"Mistress... Mistress, I'm sorry..."

"What are you apologising for?"

Her question came with a bite to it as he quivered.

"I... I do not know, mistress," the otter confessed. "But I must have done something wrong... I had no intent, but I understand the consequences."

She showed him, hefting his naked form up by the back of his neck. It was just as well that the otter was light enough for her to do so, squealing and squirming, though he tried to quell his cries the best he could.

"You..." She hissed, dangling him before the fireplace. "You did not polish this correctly. Is this work you would be proud of?"

He shook his head the best he could. That was fair, he knew that he had not spent as much time on the fireplace and the silver decorations on top of it as he should have. He had not thought that his mistress would be back so soon and there had been so many things to do... But that was no excuse.

Shuddering a sigh, he tipped his nose down submissively.

"I accept my punishment, mistress."

Being a slave, willingly, meant he had to take the bad with the good, the good with the bad. He was there to serve and that was all he could do, all he needed to do, going forward, always looking forward, ahead to the next thing.

"Correct, slave."

The whip had only been set aside for a moment: a hunting crop with a large, triangular flap at the end. It was thick and round, though it was not one that anyone would ever have seen Adalinda use out hunting, for she treated her riding mounts with the fairness that she ran her household. There was no cruelty in her, but the world order was different, in her lands, to what other furs overseas might have expected.

Those that had misbehaved had to be punished.

And that was how the otter found himself laid over her lap, the whip running down his back, whimpering, though he held himself still for her. It was fine, yes, all fine, he would not have to worry. His mistress would punish him for it and he would recall the sting of her punishment every time he polished the fireplace and decorations going forward, ensuring that his work was all the better for it.

It was all he could do, all he could remember. All to be his best in his service to Mistress Adalinda.

The dragoness licked her lips, his fine, small body, a good three-foot shorter than her, though she was tall at seven-foot, seated nicely over her lap. That was good... He would learn, as he always did. What the otter did not know was that he was her most treasured slave, though that was why she had to punish him as she did. However else would he learn?

She didn't need to bind him. But she did soften the punishment, only a touch, by beginning with her paw. A sharp smack rang out through the room, though it took the otter a moment before the pain registered, gasping and arching his back, his body trying to strain away from the punishment even while he knew that he had to sit there, had to take it all.

No! He clamped his jaws shut, holding back his cries as the blows rained down from her right paw. Adalinda's fingers splayed sometimes, catching him with the tips of her claws, and other times she laid her fingers smoothly together, bringing the rise of a stringent burn to his arse. It was not so bad, though he was not such a fool as to think that there was not something more coming, not as his cock remained soft under him.

Sometimes, the otter got hard when he was being punished. It was always ignored. But he was not specifically a sex slave, not only a bedroom toy, so he had not been denied masturbation. Others mocked him for how he pawed off in what little privacy slaves and servants had around the mansion, down around the back or by the waste containers, all with his mistress' name on his lips and her image in his mind.

He was broken, too far gone, though he still grunted through his teeth as her paw was swapped for a whip, cracking down over his backside with a smack that had his ears ringing. Still, he had to bear through it, desperate through everything to be the best slave, the only slave that she would ever want again near her. He might have known that there were other slaves and lovers in her life, but he still wanted to be near her, to do anything that his mistress wanted.

The rain of blows struck him, one after the other, allowing him no respite. But there was to be no rest for a slave who was being punished, a lesson imprinted into his memory so that he would never again forget. But he would not, he was a good slave, a good otter, the otter with no name.

His arse warmed, a welt opening up, though the trickle of blood where she had cut through fur and skin to break him open did not bother him as much as the pain of having failed her. He wanted to be good, so good, yet he didn't even know what a slave he was if he did not do what his mistress wanted at all times.

"Stand."

He blinked, tears in his eyes, gasping, not even aware that he'd been sobbing dryly. But the tears had not yet spilt and the otter could be proud of that.

He was good... He was...serving his mistress.

Pain wracked him, though it was one of many things, in his life as a slave, that he had learned to compartmentalise, to set aside so that he did not have to think too deeply on it. It made the pain easier to bear too, even as his mistress held him high, though in two paws that time so that the scruff of his neck and the skin around his shoulders did not hurt too much. It was one thing, however, that further exacerbated the height difference between them: the tall, overpowering dragoness taking ownership of him so quickly while he was left curled up, small, so small.

"Little slave," she rumbled through a growl, tail lashing the air. "I don't think you've quite learned your lesson yet."

He stiffened, eyes wide and plaintive. Oh no! Had he forgotten something else?

The dragoness' gaze swept the room disparagingly.

"You've been slacking."

She jabbed every misdemeanour with her tail as she named them, punctuating the words sharply.

"The dirty fireplace poker. My silver jewellery, unpolished. The untied curtain. The doorknob, tarnished. The balcony, dusty."

He shivered as Adalinda listed everything that he knew had been missing, but the little otter didn't know how to tell his mistress that there were simply too many things for him to do, too much on his plate. That was simply the way of it for a slave and there was no telling what she would do to him for "slacking" on his duties, even if some of those were things that he had not yet gotten to that day.

"I... I'm sorry, mistress, please... Please," he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the threat of tears. "Please, let this lowly one make it right..."

But some mistakes could not be made right -- not without a stronger lesson. She held him high, opening her jaws to a colossal extent, though the squirming, suddenly fighting, otter could not tell that she had unhinged her jaw. All he knew was that the gaping expanse of her mouth and throat delved down before him, as if he was about to plunge into the abyss -- and, with his mistress, that was very likely what was about to happen!

"N-n-no, please!"

He broke that time, not knowing what else to do, thrashing, squirming, scrabbling, the instinct for wanting to simply stay alive kicking in. There was nothing else he could do as the warmth of her breath hit him, Adalinda chuckling through an open mouth.

This is what comes to slaves who do not please me. Learn your lesson well, tiny otter.

And then he was falling, dropped from her paws, squealing as he turned head over heels and his small body disappeared into her maw. There was no crunch of teeth, only a warm, wet tongue pushing him down her throat as she gulped noisily, forcing him deeper and deeper. The cavern of her belly greeted him, bloating out her stomach, howling and gasping, tears streaming from his eyes.

A good slave, he told himself, even as he quivered in fear, forced to the edge of his limits. I'm... I'm a good slave. I'm good for mistress. She'll let me out again. I know she will.

Maybe the magic inside her would keep him alive, as she'd said, for the lesson to stick better. Or maybe Mistress Adalinda was done with him.

There was no way for the otter to tell.