Snarls of frustrated voices outside the library preceded a perfunctory knock and the sharp, noisy banging of the door crashing open. Three furs burst in, their words incoherent as they cast angry glances around the darkened library. From my relaxing chair, framed in a comforting puddle of light from the lamp standing next to me, I looked up from the book in my lap equally sharply.

“What is the meaning of this?” I addressed the assembled trio of interlopers with a voice that brooked no nonsense. The tone had the desired effect, as this impromptu hunting party stopped in its tracks, perhaps as surprised at my appearance as anything else. I was dressed as I’d been that morning — casual shirt, comfortable knee-length shorts — rather than nearly-naked, as so many were, at least around the sex rooms down the hall.

I surveyed my rude guests. The male red fox was of the youngest of the three, perhaps my age. He wore only shorts that might have been considered modest had it not been for the half-open Velcro closure over his crotch. His body was not as ripped as my stallion friend’s, but he was well-made. If his face hadn’t been so screwed up with fury, he might have been considered attractive. Instead, he locked his eyes toward the floor in front of me, pointing and crying out, “There it is!”

“You certainly are not speaking of me, in that attitude.” My words dripped venom.

“Not you; that!”

“Are you referring to my hassock?”

My large lapine hindpaws rested comfortably on the belly of the strong caramel-brown bear who lay flat on his back in front of my chair. He said nothing, as a slave in his situation would not speak unless told to. That was part of the rapid education he had given me moments ago, and I hoped that I could play this part convincingly enough.

“That’s our plaything today,” griped a male badger. He was of middle years, not gone to seed but beginning to find his paunch. His traditional coloration appeared to have been cosmetically touched up, as some areas were showing touches of gray where others weren’t. It was probably his own doing. A proper professional would have made everything match appropriately, or at least blend in; instead, his facial fur held clean white and fully black delineations while the fur on his chest was showing a large sprinkling of gray. Like the other two, he was stripped to the waist save for (in his case) some sort of leather harness, with studded straps running over his shoulders and around his chest. His face was as pinched and unpleasant as the todd’s, and it added nothing positive to his already questionable looks.

“No,” I replied, raising my forepaw to show them that I held the leash. “It’s very much mine.”

“We claimed it earlier!” The third member of the group, a female leopard whose pendulous breasts should have had some sort of support before gravity claimed them permanently, seemed to be the one in charge. Her nether garb included some sort of net-like stockings that were likely to be ruining the fur on her legs and a skirt that consisted of mid-thigh lengths of 5cm-wide, thick fabric that overlapped but could just as easily be moved aside to provide (for lack of a more couth phrase) easy access. She could have been attractive, once upon a time, and even so now, if she’d set her face right and quit pretending to some sort of power that she neither had nor deserved. A sensation of contempt for the three of them, and for her in particular, grew in me, helping me to play my role a little more convincingly.

“You forfeited it when you left it alone for anyone to poach. When I passed the room, it made the safety cry — three sharp grunts. Discovering that no one was there to release it, I did so. Once released, he was able to tell me what had happened.”

My change of pronoun did not go unnoticed, but they only blinked surprise. Perhaps thinking that I could not be a proper Master, seemingly forgetting the “proper” use of pronouns, the female pressed further into the room. “You had no right!” she screamed at me. “It is ours; it gave itself to us, and we own him!” I saw her bunching her fists. She seemed to be spoiling for a fight, and part of me wanted to give her one. That would have lost the game. This role, properly played, was not about violence; it was about control.

“No.” I leaned forward, expressing myself with firm determination. “You were responsible for him,” I again emphasized the word, “until it was properly released, either by you or by use of the safe cry. I freed it, and after some conversation, he agreed to pledge himself to me, to be my slave. Without the ball gag to stifle him, he and I agreed upon a proper safe word before we began, and it has not uttered that word. It is content with me, and I am quite satisfied; it makes a fine hassock. Very good for my hindpaws.” I looked down at Francesco, carefully reminding myself to be commanding. Hoping it matched my character, I spoke firmly, yet softly. “Rub them.”

He began to do so, and quite expertly; his large forepaws clearly had experience in this area. There was no knowing if he’d served lapine lovers in his past, but he knew what buttons to press on me. I had to force myself not to enjoy it too much, or it might have given the game away entirely. In this situation, at least, I had to convince the interlopers that I was merely getting my due.

“A hassock with benefits. Nice.” I glared hard at the trio. “And all mine.”

“But… but we…” spluttered the badger.

“…are not worthy of being considered Masters or Dominants. You broke your word to this otherwise willing submissive. I will not tolerate it, and I doubt that the Earl will, either.”

A sudden silence descended. Clearly, the threat had struck home. The leopard regained her tongue first. “There is nothing to your claim. The three of us will tell the Earl the facts; he will take our word over that of a mere slave.”

“He will take my word over any and all of you. In matters of Dominance, he considers me an equal.” I made myself believe it enough to convince them. “Now, you may leave. Close the door after you; I will have privacy and quiet.” I looked back at my book, giving them nothing more of myself.

After several more seconds of silence, the three renewed their spluttering and complaining, ultimately lowering themselves to hurling insults at me. Focusing on playing the part, I ignored everything, pretending that I was actually reading the large volume that I had plucked at random from the shelf. Just my luck, I’d grabbed a beautifully-bound, gilt-edged, illuminated, fully-glossed edition of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives. I didn’t like the damned thing at uni, and it didn’t interest me now. Even so, I focused my attention on it, trying very hard to absorb the words if only to prevent me from reacting to Francesco’s massaging of my hindpaws with the exuberant and appreciative moaning that it truly deserved.

More spluttering of alleged ownership of “their” slave, bait to which I refused to rise. They complained vociferously, but they did not try to take the bear away from me by force. This “game” (I still couldn’t think of it as one) supposedly had some kind of rules. As I had understood from Francesco’s words, it was about power and control, not aggression and violence. If they did try something more physical, he would cry the safe word, jump up, grab the leash for himself, and take ‘em all down in ten seconds or less. All that would be within the rules of this game, save for violence; that would be mere self-defense. If necessary, I could help, although I’d hate to lose the soft buzz that the massage had given me.

Nothing like that happened; instead, invective turned to sour grapes as the trio began to talk about finding someone better to be their plaything. At one point, the badger turned his back to me and lifted his tail; I noticed then that his own shorts had a large hole in them, presumably for an ease of access similar to that of the female. He was not offering me that option. Instead, his behavior brought forth to my mind a line from Dante’s Inferno: “he made a bugle of his breech.”

If I’d not been seething before, this display of abject immaturity only added more fuel to the fire. Not one member of this trio deserved the bear’s slightest attention. Francesco was handsome, intelligent, attentive, perhaps affectionate, even in this strange context. My short conversation with him told me a great deal. Once this insanity was over, I was thinking it might be a good time to get some tea with him, since he clearly was someone I actually could talk to. I could not play games like this one, but even I could see that this gathering of cretins wasn’t worth his time, much less his subservience. He deserved respect above all else, in whatever manner he chose to seek it. These three idiots, these blustering buffoons, were really getting on my wick.

“Let’s get out of here,” said the leopard, spitting her contempt, shaking her head and slinging her dangling tits sideways as she pivoted toward the door. “That… that thing isn’t worthy of us.”

My response seemed involuntary. Keeping my gaze down, I slammed the book shut with all the strength I had. The overly large tome made a sound as sharp as a pistol shot. It silenced them, made them jump. I no longer felt that I was play-acting as I slowly raised my head, willing my eyes to bore laser beams into the trio. The looks on their faces made me think that they might have felt the heat.

“Stop rubbing,” I softly said to the bear. He released my hindpaws, and I shifted them carefully away from his body. Still quietly, perhaps even tenderly: “Get up. Stand next to me.”

Francesco nearly bounded to his hindpaws, standing tall, arms to his sides. I set the book carefully on the table next to me, then took my time rising from the chair, my lasers focused and fixed on the three of them. I had the distinct sensation that they were trembling. I would have laughed at them, but that wasn’t my role. I was the Master here, and the insult they had hurled was personal. No one insults my choice, my slave. My blood pounding through me, I seared each face in turn before selecting one to burn.

“You.” I jutted my chin at the badger with the leather harness.

“M-me?” he stammered.

I pointed to the floor in front of me. He hesitated, and I made a stronger jabbing motion with my finger. His shaking legs brought him to me quickly. I jabbed downward again, even more forcefully; he finally got the message and knelt in front of me. Behind him, his two compatriots gave the distinct impression that they were grateful I hadn’t called on either of them. I knew that my choice was correct. One breaks a chain at its weakest link.

Gesturing tenderly toward my bear, I told the badger, “Kiss his hindpaws.”

Eyes wide with disbelief, the mustelid tried to speak and failed. I leaned close enough to bite off his nose, if I had the taste for such a grotesque morsel.

“You should consider it a compliment that I think you worthy of it.” I dropped my voice to a growling whisper. “Perhaps you’re not.”

He let forth an audible gulp before practically diving at Francesco’s hindpaws, kissing the bear’s toes in a desperate frenzy.

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he begged between kisses. His apologies were quick, repetitive, sincere only in the sense of his fear of my reprisal, nothing more. Pathetic was too weak a word to use; deplorable, contemptible, despicable… There was only so much of it I could take; whether it was the role I was supposed to be playing or the revulsion that I genuinely felt toward this waste of fur, my stomach lurched. The word vomitous came to mind as well.

 “Enough!” I cried, and the mustelid backed up, still kneeling on the floor, trembling from ears to tail. The air had already been fouled by the stench of his bowels; now, there was unquestionably the acrid tang of his bladder as well. I had to stifle the impulse to slap him, to strike him forcefully enough to add the coppery scent of his blood to the mix. The urge shocked me. I’m not a violent furson, yet what these furs had done, their obsequious toadying, the perverse and false bravado of them, their soulless emptiness…

“Leave,” I told them, with intense and genuine contempt. “You disgust me.”

In his terrified haste, the badger very nearly got to the door swiftly enough to bowl over the fox and leopard, who seemed rooted to the spot. They uttered no intelligible word, merely squeaks of terror, and my nose informed me that the mustelid was not the only one of them who had lost bladder control. Between them, they remembered to pull shut the door, quietly, as if not to disturb me further.

The silence was broken only by my attempt to breathe carefully, slowly. I couldn’t do it. My heart was pounding, my senses unclear.

“Senegal,” came a sudden cry.

The room swam, and I felt myself falling back toward the chair before being collected in a pair of strong, gentle arms. The bear gathered me to him, supporting me above and below, and I turned my cheek to his thickly-furred chest, all of my energy leaving me at once. I was still conscious, but I couldn’t move. I was particularly glad that I didn’t have to. Instead, it was Francesco who shifted to sit in the chair, slowly, carefully, cradling me in his powerful embrace. I was panting as if I’d run a dozen klicks or more. After another few moments, I found myself shaking.

“You were incredible,” Francesco said. “Thank you, Antony. Thank you.”

I managed to raise a forepaw to place it to his chest, patting him gently. Words were more difficult; they failed to materialize.

“Just relax a moment. I’ve got you.” He squeezed me with an amazing tenderness, bringing that idea of the gentle giant to mind.

“Why am I shaking so much?” I wondered aloud, my voice tremulous.

“I don’t want to put words in your maw.” His voice was quiet. Being so close to him, I both heard and felt his rumbling words. “I have to guess you’ve never done anything remotely like this before.”

“Ya think?” I immediately felt embarrassed, patted his chest again. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m getting better, if my snark is coming back.”

His voice smiled at me. “I understand. It’s okay. You really got into that role. I gave you a quick idea, but the rest… Where did you learn…?”

“I read too much.” Something in me dredged up a chuckle. “I just tried to be a power-mad asshole.”

“No.” The bear squeezed me again, with great affection. “What you said about them abandoning their responsibility for me… that came from the heart. You really fought for me, defended me, exactly the way a proper Dom would have done. Some of that must have come from your reading, if you’ve never been part of this sort of game before.”

“Definitely not my scene. I just hated what they’d done to you. I hated calling you ‘it,’ but you said that was part of this… game.” The word tasted wrong on my tongue.

“That was what they would have expected.”

Shuddering, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I couldn’t do that to someone.”

“It’s not the way you treat a lover. You feel too strongly, too openly, for that. You make a different type of connection. You’re an honorable furson, Antony.”

My head shook. “Don’t paint me that good. I wanted to slap them all senseless. I wanted to beat them bloody for their insensitivity, for what they put you through, for what they might have done to others.”

Francesco squeezed me again. “But you didn’t. That’s what makes you strong.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A wonderful teacher once said that it is the weak who are cruel; the strong can afford to be gentle. You are stronger than they are, truly strong, not merely pretending to be. That’s a rare thing, Antony.”

Even as I considered the idea, I felt him kiss me atop my head, a long and lingering kiss of sincere affection that, ultimately, had the effect of stopping my shivering and making me feel warm again. Despite the unreality of recent events, I felt the power of his kiss pushing everything else away from my thoughts, at least for a moment.

“Think you can stand up now?”

Perhaps reluctantly, I nodded and began extricating myself from his embrace. Francesco helped me gain my hindpaws, held on to me until he was sure I wouldn’t fall over, then stood up himself. After a moment, he smiled at me and passed the leash back to me. When I drew my brows together in confusion, he chuckled.

“I still need to get back to my room, after all.”

“Seriously?” I smirked gently.

“Best way to get through the hallways.”

Considering for a moment, I managed a smile. “You said the safe word, but I guess I’m still responsible for you until you’re back in your room, aren’t I?”

He bowed to me, a smile on his face. “What is your will, Master?”

“Don’t call me that.” I turned away from him. “I can’t do that.”

I felt his forepaw, so gently, on my shoulder. He said, “I’m sorry, Antony. I was joking. I only mean it to say that I trust you. I won’t call you that again.” He paused before adding, “Will you trust me, too?”

“My feelings are… confused right now, Francesco.”

“They should be. That’s what makes me responsible for you.”

With great tenderness, he turned me back to look into his eyes.

“You didn’t plan to get yourself involved in a Master/slave game. You played a Master in order get me out of a bad situation. You played it perfectly, Antony, and that disturbed you. That character is not really you, but a small part of it was. The part that protected me, defended me, that was you. I’m certain of that. The rest, though… that scared you. Anyone who tries that role will find it frightening to some degree, the first time. You may never do it again, and it’s okay if you don’t. But you did do it, this time, and you need to talk about it. That’s my job now — to make sure that the experience hasn’t hurt you. That’s why I’m responsible for you. It’s called ‘aftercare,’ and any Dominant worthy of the title knows how vital it is to a submissive.”

“But I’m not—”

“Aftercare happens after any boundary has been pushed, by any party. Antony, you have pushed past so many boundaries, all at once. Just as a new sub needs a properly experienced Dom, a new Dom needs an experienced sub. It can be frightening to hold power over someone, even as a game.”

I felt myself remembering that sensation of power, of control, even the ideas of violence that crossed my mind. There was a feeling that I had unearthed a demon inside me, some evil self that would negate any good that I could ever hope to do in the world. My emotions had many names: shame, outrage, shock, revulsion, terror, lust, covetousness, vengeance, fury… Nothing made sense. I could no longer understand me. I didn’t know me. I was ready to wreak havoc on those three, by physical violence, or by bending them to some twisted will that would hurt them, humiliate them, and I would have thought that they deserved it. By the gods, in that moment of power, I would have relished their punishment, even though it would have made me just like them. Was that cruelty really a part of me? How could I have thought this, done this, any of it, how did I…?

Francesco’s eyes changed, as if he had read my thoughts. He shook his head softly, put his forepaw to my cheek, and whispered, “Antony. I trust you. Now, I need you to trust me. Take me back to my room. We can talk there. You’ll be fine, I promise you.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I have seen your heart. Your strength. Antony, I have played the Dom as well. I have been where you are. Please, come talk with me.” He paused before adding, “I need you to talk with me.”

Whether he knew it or not, that was exactly the word I had to hear. As I looked into his reassuring, understanding eyes, I felt myself bound to him in a way that I couldn’t really understand. I’m not stupid; we’d had a small adventure together, played a game together (as he put it), so of course we’d made a connection. The agonizing emotions that wound themselves inside me were softly set aside by that stronger emotion of connection, of… yes, he’d named it, twice: Trust and need. In that moment, I felt the truth of his emotions even more than the sense of his words. I needed to talk, and I trusted that he would help me do that. He would take care of me.

“Okay,” I nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Francesco.”

He waited until we were at the door before resuming his submissive pose. I put him in front of me, prepared to tell anyone who might question me that I had told the bear to lead me to his… no, to “its” room, no matter how much I hated the idea of calling him that. I could still hear sounds from the far hallway, various cries brought forth from any number of activities in those “playrooms.” Befitting his “station,” Francesco paid them no heed, and I found space in me for a touch of envy. As we walked, we encountered no one on that ground floor, and the back stairs (so that’s where he was leading me) held only two liveried servants of the mansion who silently made way for us, looking down, carefully making no judgments. I suspected that the Earl had trained them well.

As we reached the upper landing, I saw that the hallway for the guest quarters was also empty. We reached Francesco’s room without incident. I still held his leash, just in case. I had come to feel that, somehow, it was another way that we had bonded with each other. That was something else I’d need to talk to him about. He had just opened the door for us, when a startled gasp caught my attention, and I glanced toward it.

The look on Cory’s face was priceless.