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A Piercing Study

For VeronicaFoxx and Tobias Foxx

By Draconicon

The Doberman would have arrived by stealth and surprise if he had his wish, but such things were not...suitable...between himself and this particular person. Tobias did not agree that unsuitable meant impermissible, but arguments from a certain dragon, as well as from the rest of his little family, had convinced him to do this by the book, and shortly after that, by the book rather than his book. Annoying. He had hoped that they would miss that loophole.

As a result, he arrived outside the motel that his objective and her keeper were using as their momentary base. The Doberman adjusted his sunglasses as the stereotypical dusty wind went by, taking a moment to adjust the knife and pistol that he kept on his person. The latter was clipped down and the former was sheathed tightly to avoid any accidental or incidental use, but they were both readily available.

The others had been in agreement that this visit needed to happen, though there were arguments over who should go. The...sunny one...had thought that she should go, to make it a visit where everyone was happy. At one point, the emotional one had thought she had best go, since the objective was closely tied to her.

In the end, he made the point that none of the others wanted to. The whole reason that this woman had been allowed to keep the vixen was because it was assumed that the vixen would be happy. Happier? Unlikely, but...happy. They all hoped that she was.

However, if she was not, then a change would be required, and the Doberman was best suited to create said change.

He hoped the vixen was happy.

As the portal shimmered to a close behind him, he walked across the parking lot, combat boots grinding through the gravel and filling the air with the familiar crackle sound. The lot was mostly empty, only a handful of cars and a single identifying van occupying it. He checked the license plate, confirmed it against the known number, and continued on.

The dragon had said that they were staying in room #207. He ascended the stairs one by one, instinctively looking in every corner, clearing it before moving forward. His hand clenched the guardrail, almost cracking it at one point before he forced himself to ease up.

I need another distinguishing difference...beside this skill...

The Doberman reached the second floor of the motel, walking along the railing. He heard the sounds of other, raunchier activities, the shouting, the screaming, the moaning, the faked echoes of...pleasure. He shook his head, his jaw clenched in annoyance at the fakery and deceit that passed through these transient places, wondering how anyone fooled themselves into believing that it was good for them.

He shook his head, putting the irritation six feet under as he stopped in front of room #207. The Doberman leaned forward, rapping the back of his knuckles against the door, restraining himself from putting his boot through it instead. It would have been his boot, considering the portal had stripped him of the packed, targeted explosives that he had meant to bring.

"Come in."

It was a female voice. Not the vixen's. Someone else. Likely the one that he was meant to meet. Shaking his head, he turned the doorknob, pushed the door in quickly, flat against the wall - best to disable any traps now - and waited.

The sunlight from the desert motel shone down on a white-furred wolf from behind, as well as the vixen that he had come to check on. She was tied up, though not extensively - merely with her hands behind her back, her paws pressed together - and was half-suspended on a shaft that was at least half her height in length. She was scrabbling on it, her toes digging into the shaft itself, trying to get a grip, and the sounds, the familiar sounds of pain and pleasure, echoed from behind a gag.

He forced himself to listen to them fairly, his ears twitching, his tail lying low. The pain was there, the pitches correct for that, but under them were the other sounds that he was listening for. Pleasure, a hint of surprise, a slight squeal of embarrassment and annoyance at the same time: yes, they were correct.

And the annoyance. That was definitely familiar.

A slight smile caught the edge of his muzzle, painful as a fish-hook, and he pushed it back down with the side of his thumb as the white wolf turned around.

"Tobias, I presume?" she asked with a smile, standing with her hands on her hips and not a hint of shame to her expression. "And here I was expecting some sort of explosive entrance."

"You expected correctly, though I was not...allowed...to fulfill such expectations."

"Drac took your bombs?"

"Yes. As well as the ingredients to make them."

"You should have brought some coffee creamer. Could have blown the hell out of that."

"I did. He saw to its removal, as well."

"Heh, can't say he isn't thorough." The white wolfess shook her head. "Give me a second, and we'll have proper introductions."

He nodded, shutting the door to the barest crack before leaning against the motel room wall. As the wolfess turned to the vixen on the toy, he watched her, studying the way she moved, how she behaved.

No shame, and no fear about being bound, or abused, he thought, watching as the weakness of that dangling clit chain continued to tug at his attention. No disgust, either. Or irritation for this appointment.

That was good. It would be better for both of them if they were able to treat this like adults.

As the white wolfess finally drew the vixen off of the toy, the tip making a pop and revealing that it was a bulb inflated to nearly twice the size of the middle of the shaft, that same smile tried to pull at the back of his lips. Once more, he pushed it down. There was no need to smile at this, no reason to be amused. No. He was beyond such...things.

"The vixen seems to be treated well," he said as the little female was laid on one of the beds. The taller female was in the process of removing the ropes. "You seem to know the right level of...treatment for her."

"Heh, I know how to use pain in a fun way, if that's what you mean."

"I have seen the records. You are certainly...creative. Guitar strings?"

"You should see what I do with violin cords."

"I never had the chance to learn."

"Pretty sure you could; if you got time, you could practice on me. I'm considering getting the studs to anchor them the next time I want a new piercing."

"...Perhaps. Purely as a matter of technical interest."

"Naturally," the white wolfess said, finishing freeing the vixen from her bindings. "At any rate, introductions. I'm Greta, the Rock Bitch Queen."

"Do you happen to have any coronation paperwork for your title?"

"It's a self-appointed one."

"Ah. Then, useless."

"More like a title of conquest. Feel free to put yourself against me; my wars don't leave bodies."

"..."

"Too much?" she asked, leaning against the wall across from him, smirking slightly.

"No. Merely deciding what response is appropriate to cut you down for that remark."

"Feel free to call me when I need to come back for the comeback." She chuckled. "Anyway, we were just finishing up, thinking about heading out to Vegas for a little shopping. I've had a few good gigs, and I was going to treat myself to a few new chains."

"Strange."

"Hmmm?"

"That one so free would desire so many chains..."

"It's an aesthetic. Plus, you know, good for hitting people."

"Ah. Yes." He smiled, and this time, he didn't push it back down. "A good reason."

"Care to join us? I'd love some input on the best one, and I'm planning on giving Veronica over there a new set of nipple links. Got enough to treat someone else, too, if you're in the market for some."

Tobias arched an eyebrow, slowly rolling his head to the side. Greta chuckled.

"What?"

"Are you flirting with me? If so, you may wish to quit while you have yet to be disappointed."

"Is that a dig at yourself?"

"No. It is the disappointment of my inevitable refusal."

She threw her head back, laughing nearly to the point of howling. He understood the reasons for the laughter, but he was quite serious. There were a handful of individuals that he could stomach dating, and only two, perhaps only one, that he could see himself enjoying such time with. Everyone else would receive nothing but a flat refusal, regardless of their individual merits.

Eventually, the white wolfess stopped laughing, rubbing her eyes. She shook her head.

"Okay, I haven't laughed that hard in a while. Tell you what. You help me pick out a nice chain, and help me make sure that Veronica over there looks good in her new get-up, and I'll pay you as a consultant. Your choice whether you take that payment as a piercing, cash, or something else."

"My prices reflect my tastes: expensive."

"I'm flush."

"I will hold you to that. But first, the reason I came here."

"Yes, of course. Go ahead."

He turned from her as she gestured to the bed, walking over quietly. The Doberman knelt at the side of the cheap bed, laying one hand on the quilt, brushing off a few dust particles, pulling his sunglasses off to look the vixen in the eye.

It was not Veronica. Not the real one. But it was the vixen. She looked at him, knowing and not knowing at the same time. Veronica had changed, but could not leave the vixen behind, not entirely. She was not forgotten, and he...He still had his responsibilities. Yet, at the same time, it stung to see someone that had once been as intimate as this no longer quite recognize him.

It is better. She is safer this way.

Yet, despite himself, he whispered something, something soft. A quiet question.

"Safe in the Den?" he whispered, not in English, but in French.

The vixen's eyes lit up, and he saw the not-knowing turn to knowing. She knew him. She remembered him. She knew what he had become. And she gave him that same damn smirk that he had seen a hundred times before.

"Heh, safe and happy," the vixen said in the same language. "Why? Too much danger for you?"

"Obviously not. It seems you have a kinder mistress these days."

"Kinder? She ran me like a roadrunner through Death Valley! You coulda cooked eggs on my paws."

"Then she's treating you correctly; you always did feel the need for pain."

"Yeah. Ain't got nothing on you, though." The vixen chuckled. "She dishes it out. You? You -"

"No." Tobias shook his head, covering the vixen's mouth. "I do not do that anymore."

She nodded, though not with the same understanding that the rest of the family had. There was a difference now, a shift, a change. They had been apart long enough that they were not the same, could not be the same.

But that did not mean that she didn't matter.

He took his hand from her mouth, and for a time, they talked. The depth they could have shared was avoided, sidelined, skirted around. It was not small-talk that they shared, for neither of them could abide that, but rather targeted, probing. She tried to get into his head, pushing and nudging, either because she had forgotten what his rules were, or because she thought that he was different with this form. He, on the other hand, pushed for information on how she was treated, and how she felt here with the wolfess.

They were not interrupted, and at length, he was satisfied. French was abandoned, and he stood up slowly, looking over his shoulder at Greta. She was still leaning against the wall, spinning her clit chain like a dog without a handler. Despite that, despite her nudity, despite her raw display of sensuality, she did not drip, nor did she smirk at him.

He nodded.

"You understand."

"Heh, not in any logical way, but I get the feeling." She waited for him to approach, dropping her voice. "People from the past might be important, but the links that you had? Yeah...fucking hurts when you realize how much it's changed."

"..."

"Still up for that shopping trip?"

"...Give me a minute."

"Take ten. She's gonna be a pain in the ass to get dressed."

"I'm amazed you can get her to wear clothes."

"Who said anything about clothes? I'm resorting to paint, these days."

That mental image was enough to put the smile back on the Doberman's face, melancholy as it was. Shaking his head, he stepped out the door, leaning on the guardrail as the wolfess got to work.

The urge for a cigarette struck him, but he resisted it. Instead, he pointed two fingers as if he already had one, idly tapping them as he looked out towards the distant spires of Vegas. They were well out of the way of it, but it was reachable.

He had his answer. Now, he needed his understanding. The family and the dragon had allowed him up to 48 hours to make a decision; it seemed only fair that some of that time could be used to observe a little longer.

The End