Low Breeding

The bite of winter on my nose and the crunch of snow under my paws were a gentle distraction from the feast in the margrave’s mansion — my familiar was out hunting.

Ever since we’d bonded we’d shared one soul across two bodies, but there were times when magic was stronger and the feeling of being in two places at once was at its most powerful: the senses of the big dog prowling the woods were not the faded daydream they usually were at such a distance, but a vivid vision that frequently distracted me from the table of the minor noble whose guest I was.

The margrave didn’t make a habit of open feasts, but for the week of the winter solstice a small exception was made — if only so that those peasants whose misfortune left them unprepared for the season could be pacified by a modest share of scraps.

As a scholar, my own livelihood was not quite in the same category of peril, though I was still a commoner; I lived entirely under the good graces of the lord of the land, and took every opportunity to make sure I kept them.

The politics were tiring, but at least I had Phoenix; the dog lived a much simpler life, and it was a comfort to live in his head when I could.

The scent of wild boar came to my nose — not the prepared carcass of the animal being served tonight, but the reek of a living creature that had left its mark in the woods outside. Phoenix had caught its trail and was tentatively trying to orient himself to where the beast might live.

Be safe, we thought. The dog was big and sturdy, but on his own was no match for a boar; luckily it didn’t smell like it was too close by. Phoenix moved his interest elsewhere while I focused on the meal in front of me and the goings-on at the high table.

The margrave was an immensely fat marten who filled out most of a chair that was wide enough for two. It was no secret that he lived only to indulge in food, and it was no secret that the badger at his side encouraged this passion in order to pursue her own — the several children she’d borne had no resemblance to him whatever, and he showed no signs of being bothered by this.

She was looking out over the crowd with evident boredom as the margrave yelled for a servant to come feed him, as he was getting too tired to keep reaching over his plate.

Better not get caught staring, I thought. My sedentary life of study had allowed a bit of weight to build up on me as well, and it would be disastrous to be seen as a rival.

Out in the forest, Phoenix’ body tensed with alarm. He’d caught another whiff of the boar — much nearer this time, and with little cover around him to run to.

I put down my fork and gave him my full attention. The dog had good instincts, and I couldn’t usually better them, but I was more observant looking through his eyes, and sometimes that helped.

Phoenix stood in an open clearing, paws sunk into half a foot of snow. He faced the sunset, where the stink of the boar was strongest, though a hedge blocked off any sight of where it might be watching from.

Rustle, rustle.

Phoenix didn’t flinch as a deer rushed past.

Rustle, rustle.

We’d better hide.

Rustle, rustle.


The boar crashed through the hedge. Phoenix ran, not away from the boar, but in the opposite direction, hoping the beast couldn’t turn around quick enough to stop him from taking shelter in the denser woods.

It almost worked. The boar swung its head as he went by, knocking him over with a jolt that made me flinch in my chair, startling the vixen seated beside me.

(“I beg your pardon,” I said. “Please excuse my…tremors.”)

Fortunately Phoenix hadn’t been damaged by the beast’s horns, but recovering from the tumble gave the boar opportunity to round on him, chasing him back through the hedge and into the shadows of the forest.

While the dog had more agility than the boar, the boar knew its grounds better; Phoenix was only just keeping ahead of it. Then the dog’s footpaw sank into a shallow pit obscured by a mass of leaves, and the beast was on him in an instant.

I shared Phoenix’ sense of panic as the weight of the boar pinned him down, his nostrils filling with its strength of stink, and crass laughter from the margrave at the high table did nothing to ease my fears.

I turned my head to look up at him, but the nobleman was only chewing sloppily on a leg of chicken, eyes closed in contentment.

A pressure at my rump nearly startled me out of my chair — the boar who’d caught my familiar was making his desire known, its hips thrusting its slender arousal at the dog’s hindquarters in search of a hole to breed.

Phoenix’ yelp came in time with my own as the boar found its target, plunging inch after inch into the dog’s hole.

Others at the table started to stare. “An attack of the tremors,” the vixen beside me explained to them. “You’ll be all right, won’t you sir?”

I did my best to nod politely despite my body insisting that a wild animal was hammering its member into me like an iron spike. I tried to hold back the impulse to shout out even louder, to flail for freedom the way Phoenix was, but I was worried that I’d already caught the margrave’s attention, and the excuse of ‘tremors’ could only explain so much.

Certainly it would not explain the guilty tent in my trousers.

Phoenix whined as the boar dominated him, thrusting harder, and the beast panted heavily, a sound that was curiously mirrored from the high table…

The margrave was struggling to breathe, his ears and nose flushed with exertion as the servant feeding him tried to fan him down as well.

Far away in the forest the boar pulled most of its cock from my dog’s ass, and pounded it back in with its full strength. When I gasped out again in pain, the margrave turned to look at me, giving a dark smile.

He gestured, and a pair of wolf servants pulled me out of my seat and stood me in front of the high table, where I tried to remain composed as the boar’s thrusts increased in intensity.

The marten, of course, was of a size where he needed no excuse to be sweaty and short of breath. The eyes of the hall turned and waited for him to speak, none suspecting that the margrave was not taking his time merely to regain his composure, but was enjoying himself while his proxy finished violating mine.

I could only imagine the thrill in his mind from secretly using me in front of the whole hall, but I didn’t have to imagine the boar’s grunt as it slammed Phoenix hard, flooding his ass with jolt after jolt of his seed.

The margrave was gasping like he would explode, yet still no one at the high table seemed concerned; clearly this was a common occurrence. So food isn’t his only indulgence.

The last spurts of the boar’s cum ran down my dog’s balls as the margrave condemned me for my lewd display in front of everyone — the stubborn erection in my pants now highlighted even more by a spreading stain of precum.

He laughed as the wolves dragged me out of the room.

I spent the remainder of the evening in one of the cells beneath the manor, trying to comfort Phoenix. He’d taken some battering from the boar’s aggression, and he kept licking blood from his leg; I wished I could be with him to take care of him, but at least the beast had wandered off once it was sated and left him alone.

There was no such luck for me, of course — after the feast had ended, the margrave came down, waddling on his fat little legs. “So you met my dear Orrin,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed his hospitality as much as you’ll be enjoying mine.”

The wolf guard at his side grabbed my arm, and pulled me down to my knees at the big marten’s feet. “Honor your betters!”

The margrave smirked down at me. “Don’t forget, scholar Lorik, that you belong to me and serve at my pleasure.”

“Yes, your Lordship.”

He pulled open his robe, revealing the enormous dark-furred gut that hung low over his crotch. With a grunt he reached down to lift his belly, revealing a small, stiff cock almost entirely buried in fat.

I hesitated, unsure, but the guard pushed me forward roughly, planting my muzzle squarely in the marten’s crotch. I reluctantly took the obvious course of action, taking his member into my muzzle and suckling on it as the margrave let go of his belly, the weight of it sinking onto my head.

In the darkness under the margrave’s belly there was only me and his cock, an enforced intimacy with the rank scent and salty taste of the sweat that soaked him even in the winter cold.

Not content to let me work at my pace, he started thrusting in. Though the fatpad buried his cock, there was nonetheless quite a lot buried there; at the depth of his thrust, his cockhead pressed firmly against the back of my throat, my muzzle fully engulfed in furry fat.

I was getting hard despite myself as the margrave used me, thrusting harder than I would have expected someone of his girth could, though his ragged panting certainly betrayed how hard he was exerting himself.

He didn’t last as long as his boar; soon he ground in against me with a groan, spurting a couple of shots of his seed into my muzzle.

As he recovered his breath, he stepped back, relieving me of his weight on my head, and secured his robes again.

“Find a dog in the northern woods,” he said, addressing his guard. “I could do with another toy for Orrin. You two will serve me, won’t you?”

Even without meeting his gaze I could read the threat behind the alternative. “I belong to you and serve at your pleasure.”

He smirked. “Of course you do.”

Weeks have passed now in my cell, in the margrave’s special service. If it were only the marten’s regular visits, unloading into me every evening — “for the sake of his constitution,” as he put it — even then it would be a tolerable burden.

But later at night, just when I’m getting the taste of him out of my muzzle and trying to fall asleep, then his boar comes to Phoenix.

He keeps the animals near enough to the house that the pleasure he takes doesn’t fade with distance; but neither, alas, does the pain he inflicts. The shape of every inch of the boar’s cock is burned into my mind — burned into my hole, which feels Phoenix’ pain sympathetically.

I tried, once, to spare my poor familiar: wherever they are keeping him, he is near enough for me to fully trade my spirit into his body and his into mine. When the boar was sated and I returned to myself, finding my blankets torn and the pillows bitten through, I saw my mistake. What good is sending him out of his body, when our bodies share this abuse?

My only hope is the certainty that this cannot last long. The margrave’s health is not robust; perhaps all this vigorous breeding will take its toll on his heart. His wife’s ambitions grow; perhaps her eldest will become impatient of waiting for his title, and take the matter into his own paws. My cell is a prison, but it is not competently secured; perhaps one day I will have the courage to put the knife that trims this pen to another use.

Whatever happens, I am certain that this will not last long.

Liked the story? Worth a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/muskwalker