Vivionne's Pets

It's been three years since renowned adventurers Adelaide and Freya were defeated by the powerful succubus Vivionne, Duchess of Dark Reach, and forced into the role of her pets. Three years of imprisonment; three years of degradation; three years of torment under the influence of Vivionne's aura of lust. Just as Adelaide begins to suspect she's on the brink of losing her sanity, Vivionne forces her two precious pups to compete for a chance to earn an orgasm. 9k words, very dark content rating.

This story was requested by a reader who wishes to remain anonymous.

Content warnings/tags: noncon; sexual slavery; permanent imprisonment in mechanical restraints; anal; forced exhibitionism; mind break; nonconsensual pet play/puppy play; degradation

Adelaide woke slowly, swimming through a fog of cloying arousal.

As always, it started out pleasant: the warm sensation of pleasure echoing through her, the promise of beginning her day with the sweet pleasure of a strong climax.

Then, as she became more aware of herself--aware of the confinement, the metal restraints locked around her limbs that prevented her from reaching between her legs or even rubbing her thighs together to satisfy herself--the arousal sharpened to a heavy ache, unsatisfied and demanding.

Finally, cohesive thought surfaced at last, and Adelaide let out a long groan as she, once again, faced the reality of her new life.

Imprisoned. Demeaned. Desperately needy.

Permanently owned by Vivionne, Duchess of Dark Reach, a highly-ranked succubus and incredibly powerful sorceress.

The worst part of it, Adelaide told herself, was the indignity.

Not the imprisonment, the occasional pain that she suffered at her Mistress's whims, or the constant--Goddess, the never-ending--ache of deep, pure, unsatisfied wanting in her loins.

It wasn't that. That wasn't the worst part, because if that were the worst part, if she began to think she couldn't handle it any more--if she started to tell herself that she couldn't tolerate another second of hungry throbbing from her neglected, weeping cunt, couldn't even think about how long she'd gone untouched there without tears of desperation prickling in her eyes like she was some sort of--

That wasn't the worst part.

The worst part had to be the indignity.

Adelaide was, or had been, one of the most accomplished adventurers on the continent; from the wyvern-infested heights of the Stark Mountains to the bandit-plagued swamps of the Lowlands, she'd carried a reputation as friendly but capable, mercenary but fair. She could handle just about any threat for the right price, and she never left a job half-done.

And when she had found an adventuring partner in Freya...

Just the thought of Freya made her ache--in her heart, as well as...other places. Not that they'd ever been romantic partners, not in such an uncomplicated way; they were both too practical for that.

But they'd been many things to each other; business partners, sisters-in-arms, best friends. And, yes, occasionally, when the road was lonely or boring, they'd been bedmates--but that hadn't been important, in the scheme of things. That hadn't been what had kept them together.

For the five years or so that they'd adventured together, fought side-by-side, they'd formed a bond deeper than friendship or romance, a bond that hinged on their like-minded camaraderie.

Some adventurers were in it for the gold. Others risked their life, day after day, just for the opportunity to say that they'd done good.

Adelaide and Freya had both agreed that the gold was certainly nice to have, and that they felt pride in knowing they were tipping the scales of good and evil in the right direction, but their reason--the force driving them, day after day, to pick up their weapons and throw themselves at whatever monster was making a nuisance of itself--was simply to prove that they could.

They needed to feel the rush of vital energy that came with battle, the thrill of victory when the final foe fell.

It wasn't that she ached for Freya. Freya, after all, was right there; Adelaide couldn't see or hear her, but she knew that the other woman wasn't far, trapped in her own metal shackles, her own dark hell of desire. Their fates were so intwined that Adelaide had little opportunity to miss Freya, even if their relationship was decidedly...changed by their new circumstances.

No, she ached for the past. For that time when they had stood together, strong, so sure of themselves, so certain of their own ability to survive anything that wanted to kill them.

Maybe that was where they had gone wrong.

The succubus, it turned out, hadn't wanted to kill them. She'd simply wanted to...keep them. Her toys. Playthings.

Her pets.

Adelaide often spent these early hours--if "early" held any meaning in the bowels of Dark Reach, where the sun ventured only infrequently, casting weak rays for a few scant hours at a time over the scarred land and the fiendish creatures that lived there--contemplating that final fight, thinking with dismay over how short it had been, how little chance they'd had to recognize what was happening, to change their fate.

Sometimes, she decided that they'd had no chance at all. Sometimes, that was easier.

Other times, she would fixate on a moment: when they had first walked into the castle, had it seemed too quiet? Too abandoned? If they had used a spell of detection, would they have flushed out some evidence of a trap? Would a simple blessing from a holy person over their armor, their weapons, have given them enough of an edge to change the outcome?

Adelaide would think and worry on these little things, picking them apart like a nervous child with a favorite toy, fraying her memories to pieces as she sought out blame.

Was it her or Freya who had made the greater number of mistakes? What little thing might have been done differently that would have saved them from this eternal hell?

What else did she have to think about? How else could she distract herself, because, oh, Goddess, her sex was so achingly, mind-meltingly empty...

Fortunately, she wasn't given too long to think, from day to day. The darkness, the stillness, was only a temporary reprieve.

It was never quite a relief, when their Mistress called for them.

Today, the playful whistle came sooner than Adelaide might have wished. Her muscles tensed in response, although the signal required no response from her: she remained fixed in place, even as her restraints began to shift around her, metal groaning and whirring as the mechanical carapace in which she had been...installed...woke from its slumber and stood, carrying her with it.

The visor over her eyes was still dark, and besides, there were no mirrors in the kennels, but she knew what she looked like. Four metal legs, tipped with paws; a finely-crafted snout and alert ears catching the light with the fine metal sheen.

Suspended in the middle, her own soft, exposed, elfin body, her breasts hanging pendulously, leaving her sensitive nipples exposed to the cool air of the dungeon-kennels of Dark Reach Castle.

A metal tail, planted firmly in her backside. She felt the plug that anchored it, shifting awkwardly inside her as the magically-powered mechanical body stretched into a play-bow and then shook itself, shook her, as if it were a real, flesh-and-blood dog.

That was what their Mistress had wanted, after all.

Pets. Two lovely little pets to play with.

Mistress had commissioned the automatons herself, had brought in some evil master-smith of a dwarf to fashion the dog-shaped contraptions out of Adelaide and Freya's own battle armor, out of their shields and their swords, every piece of enchanted metal they'd accrued over the years that was meant to protect them.

While the vile automatons, their walking prisons, had been constructed, their Mistress had simply tossed them in the kennels and let them adapt to the flow of her aura, laughingly encouraging them to engage in their carnal desires while they still could.

Adelaide sometimes thought back on those early days, too, and regretted that she'd been too prideful to take up her Mistress on her advice sooner. She'd thought she was winning some sort of victory every day that she resisted, every hour that she refused the pounding urge to find something to rub off against in the bare kennel-cage, to even just squeeze her thighs together, anything...Of course, she hadn't had free use of her hands then, either, to simply frig her clit the way she ached to, but there had been so many avenues of satisfaction open to her that were now forever closed.

There would be no rubbing or squeezing of her thighs, no humping or thrusting in the automaton. Just this: the endless pulse of lust dripping through her blood like honey as her Mistress's sucubbine aura enveloped her; the grinding half-pleasure of the tail-plug planted in the wrong hole; and nothing, nothing, nothing, not the barest sensation to comfort her empty sex or her aching clit.

Not even a stray touch could reach her there. The metal guard ensured it, extending down from the faux tail to curve between her thighs and well up under her stomach; although a hole was bevelled into the guard, exposing her wet slit and twitching little organ to the open air as if to provide easy access, nobody dared to touch her without Mistress Vivionne's permission--and Mistress never granted permission for anyone to touch her pets, not where they wanted to be touched.

The automaton began to walk, and Adelaide couldn't hold back a low groan at the sensation as the movement of its legs shifted her folded arms and legs, jostling the plug in her ass once more.

If she were unsupported, she would be on her knees and elbows--feet and hands both folded up into the air. It should have been a deeply uncomfortable position to be imprisoned in, after nearly three years in her Mistress's kennels, but the magic of the automatons meant she felt no stiffness beyond the usual stretch of waking after a deep sleep. She never needed to eat or drink, either, nor to pass waste. She was sustained by her Mistress's magic.

The same magic that tormented her, enflamed her lust, heated her blood.

Nearby, there came the metal-on-stone clatter of another pair of paws; Freya, emerging from her own kennel.

Adelaide opened her mouth to try and attempt some greeting, even just to say Freya's name, but the automaton chose that moment to begin wagging its--her--tail, twisting and wiggling the plug that secured the heavy piece of metal inside her. The sound that burst out of her was instead a deep, guttural groan. She thought she heard Freya make a similar strained noise, but was distracted as her dark world suddenly lit up.

The visor had come to life. It was part of the dog's-head helmet, retractable at the Mistress's will if she ever wanted to see their eyes--but it remained in place most of the time, displaying visions of fevered debauchery.

She winced against the sudden brightness, squinting, but careful not to fully close her eyes as they adjusted. As long as the scrying-glass inside the visor was active, refusal to watch was not permitted; if her eyes were to close for longer than a half-second's blink, then the plug in her rear would come to life with a sharp, painful shock, punishing her for her ungrateful response to the visual entertainment that her Mistress so kindly provided.

Adelaide had never learned how, exactly, Mistress Vivionne commanded the scrying-glasses in the visors, or even where the images were coming from. She only knew that their primary role was to provide additional torment.

This morning, Adelaide was forced to witness what appeared to be a young woman--some farmer's daughter who couldn't be more than nineteen--shyly following a boy her own age into a dark corner of a barn, where he...oh, Goddess...it had been so long since Adelaide had felt a hand between her own legs like that...questing, gentle fingers, opening her up, seeking, stroking...

The young man in the scrying-crystal was clumsy and nervous, but it made no difference to his sweetheart, and it made no difference to Adelaide, either, who was so desperate to be touched at all that she would have been set to panting and squirming just as quickly. When the boy ducked his head down under the girl's skirts, Adelaide let out a low cry at the same time as she saw the young woman's mouth fall open in pleasure, lending her own voice to the silent visuals.

When the man stopped his play between her legs, the young woman was still unsatisfied, vacant-eyed and writhing in the hay, her thighs trembling--Adelaide's trembled, too, restrained in the hard metal carapace of the automaton that had once been her armor--and when he plunged his cock into her, Adelaide sobbed.

But the young woman wasn't so pleased. She permitted the quick, unsteady coupling, rubbing eagerly between her own legs, but then scolded her lover, spreading her thighs to demand that he finish her with his mouth.

Adelaide felt a stab of irritation at the girl's imperious demeanor, at her lack of gratitude. Adelaide would do anything, nearly, for even half as much attention paid to her quaking sex--just a bare few thrusts in her empty tunnel, even a cruel pinch to her clit, anything, even just an acknowledgement that her sex still existed, still needed, even imprisoned as she was in the fiendish construct--

The scrying-crystal zoomed in on the young woman's face as her lover dutifully went down on her again, giving Adelaide an achingly clear image of her quaint, unpainted visage twisting in the agony of release, all the sweeter for the delay and teasing the girl had been forced--had been blessed--to suffer from her young man's inexpert attention.

Another whistle echoed through the stone of the castle, and the automaton sped up to a run, hurtling Adelaide's heated body through the long corridors and great, echoing chambers.

The scene on the viewing-crystal faded into a new one: a housewife welcoming home her husband after some time apart, the look of serene satisfaction on her face as he bore her to the comfort of their marriage-bed to give her a thorough seeing-to.

"There you are!" cooed a voice that still sent ice down Adelaide's spine, even after these three years. "Addie, Frey, my beautiful little bitches! Come here!"

The automaton bounded forward and then bounced happily in place like a poorly-trained puppy.

Obscene grunts and groans were driven from Adelaide's body as each impact of the dog-construct's metal paws on the stone floor jolted through her, shifting the heavy tail inside of her. The movements were almost in time with the vision on the scrying-glass, matching the husband's driving thrusts into his impassioned wife, and Adelaide's cunt twinged with jealousy even as her tits bounced mortifyingly in the open air.

Over the ringing sound of the metal paws on stone, Freya could be heard whimpering in similar discomfort.

"Alright, alright, behave," their Mistress laughed indulgently, as if she were really dealing with two pups that she loved too dearly to discipline, rather than with a pair of magical constructs that behaved in exactly the way she wished them to.

The machines immediately settled and "sat", making both Adelaide and Freya cry out as the tails bumped the hard stone floor of the castle.

Freya was audibly panting. Mistress Vivionne cooed at her again, her hand stroking down Adelaide's naked spine absently as she lavished attention on her other pet.

"Ooh, my sweet Frey, you're so happy to see me, aren't you? Are you enjoying your visions this morning? You just love to see a virgin bride enjoying her wedding night, don't you? Is that something you used to fantasize about--marrying a strong man, letting him claim you?"

Freya responded with a faint, stuttering whine in her throat, like she'd started to say something in response to the taunting, but then had thought better of it.

Adelaide, still watching the housewife--the woman was now experiencing her third orgasm under her husband's expert attendance, her entire body quivering with exhausted pleasure--bit her lip to try and keep back an answering whine.

"Oh, you're both just so adorable," Mistress Vivionne purred. "Kisses, sweeties, kisses."

A wet sound as she kissed Freya first, and Adelaide no longer bothered to try not to listen. There was no point; whether it was because the helmets somehow amplified sound, or because she was simply more attentive to her other senses with the visor blocking her vision, everything caught her attention: the obscene smacking of Mistress sucking on Freya's lips and tongue; the faint, nasal whimpers that Freya uttered as she was subjected to their Mistress's attentions and the potent, enflaming venom of her succubine saliva.

Adelaide could only listen, and watch the tantalizing scene playing out in her scrying-glass--and then it was her turn: sharp nails and firm fingers on her chin, turning her head up so that Mistress Vivionne could duck down under the metal muzzle and capture her lips, devour her.

Mistress's mouth always tasted faintly sweet, and faintly metallic, like she'd just been drinking wine spiked with blood. The succubus venom left Adelaide's mouth numb and tingling, bursting with sensation wherever Mistress' tongue swiped through, wherever her teeth nipped.

The pleasure was overwhelming, dizzying. It was almost enough to distract from the unattended ache between her thighs.

Almost.

When Mistress Vivionne ended the kiss, Adelaide was panting, too, and drooling, her mouth hanging open in a desperate bid to invite more. She gasped in surprise when two fingers briefly invaded, pressed down on her tongue, the scrape of Mistress's claws both desperately invigorating and just on the edge of uncomfortable.

"Messy, sloppy bitches," Mistress giggled, gripping Adelaide by a sharp pinch on her jaw and shaking her head playfully before finally letting her go. "You're just drooling absolutely everywhere. Oh, well. Come now, we've work to do and a party to prepare for."

***

The day passed in what had become, largely, the usual way.

Adelaide and Freya followed along as Mistress Vivionne attended to her business, walking to and fro throughout the enormous castle.

Adelaide had long since given up on trying to map the interior of Dark Reach Castle by counting turns and steps; she had begun to suspect that the castle re-arranged itself, either at the Mistress's whims or at its own. The alternative was that she was just so disoriented and distracted by her daily torment that she could no longer reliably count, which hardly bore thinking about.

Often, Mistress Vivionne was so busy that they were ignored for long spans of time, leaving Adelaide to simply suffer the unyielding, constantly-shifting bulk of the tail-plug in her rear, and to watch the inescapable visions in her visors: a middle-aged woman experimenting with some sort of magical sex toy for the first time, shocking herself with the power of her pleasure when the phallus-shaped piece of wood began to hum inside of her; a collared slave from one of the coastal cities, where consenting adults of submissive inclinations could be trained to a life of sexual servitude, begging and pleading for climax after being loosed from a chastity belt and finally being rewarded with permission to ride her master-husband's cock until she fell unconscious from bliss; a whore being happily fucked by five men in a row, apparently experiencing near-violent pleasure for each one.

Then Mistress would bestow little touches, affectionate and playful, at the most unexpected times. A stroke of her claws along the sensitive skin of the back or the thigh; a little tickle on their exposed feet; a questing hand hefting the hanging weight of an exposed breast.