Becoming a Tyrant’s Drone Pt. 01 – Fetish – Free Sex Story

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.


The wolf leaned back in his computer chair, his lips pressed tightly together. His white fur was barely visible in the dim light of his bedroom, the wolf only illuminated by the harsh glow of his computer screen. It was usual for Ralph to be up late, even though he worked a lot of shifts at a local supermarket, though the wolf just couldn’t seem to shake the insomnia that had plagued him, well…since the tyrant king had come into power.

His lips twisted, practically spitting at the thought. A tyrant! A king! Pwah! He would have spat if he didn’t want to clean up the mess, his small apartment too tight and cramped for him to want to make it worse than it already was. The hour was late and yet his shoulders ached as he hunched over the screen, the desk a little too low for him to sit comfortably at. Yet that was just where Ralph found himself, hour after hour, pouring over news articles and the deep, dark forums in the depths of the web that went against the new tyrant king.

He couldn’t think of the man as anything other than a tyrant, not with how he had treated everyone, dragging that damned useless lion along with him. The feline even acted like a dog! Ralph growled, taking a swig from his can of beer, though it was nearly empty. Fuck that. Fuck all of that. He’d never succumb to the tyrant like that, bowing before a man who thought that he was leagues above the rest of the world. Ralph may have barely been able to remember how the world, his world, had been before “Mayor Saron” had come into power, but that was of no matter to him. The wolf knew how the world now was and he knew that he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

Still, the monster that was the mayor, the one in charge of their city and sweeping across the country to take more and more under his control, did not seem able to be stopped. It was obscene, how he slammed into one place after another, digging out the tiniest scraps of rebel resistance, parading them before everyone.

Ralph shuddered. He didn’t want to think about how the tyrant had transformed a man into a horse, Hika, their leader, and made him fuck… Yeah. That was fucking gross, turning the sapient into the mind of a beast, breaking them down. Oh yeah, they knew all about how the tyrant liked to subdue his subjects, though none of it was to their benefit, he could tell you that much.

Whitewolf98: He stalks around like he owns the place, the stupid fucker.

Rebel909: He has another pet, a chipmunk that he has do tricks for him too. Have you seen the videos? It’s fucked up. Who does that to someone else?

Whitewolf98: That bastard, that’s who.

He was not a rebel, not like the ones who seemed to have been able to do something about it. In fact, Ralph was more than a little lost on what he was going to do with his life, where he was going to go in the world, all as the walls closed in around him more and more. His options were limited with the tyrant dragging more and more into his employ — and then where would Ralph be? The wolf’s lips twisted sourly.

He didn’t want to work for the tyrant in any capacity. But he didn’t feel like he had any choice in the matter, coming to the end of his schooling, his college studies. He didn’t want to be there any more than the next person, he was sure, though few dared stand up to the tyrant in any capacity. They all knew what would happen to those that showed their defiance. To say the least of it, from what he knew, they were very quickly quashed.

The tyrant… Ralph shook his head, his head fuzzy, slumping over his desk, the last message on the forum left unanswered. It would have to wait. The tyrant hadn’t filled any of his campaign promises, though Ralph was under no illusion that they had been real. He’d been in office since Ralph had hit his teens, shaping the world around him, the people that the wolf knew panicked, scared, shrunken into themselves. Some had leaned into the tyrant’s rule, though Ralph did his best to avoid them.

He drank the last dregs of the beer, his stomach a little queasy. Maybe it was time to head to bed, or maybe the beer had been off. Could beer go off? He wasn’t even sure about that, lost and shaking his head.

Yet his step was not steady as he rose from his computer chair and stumbled to his bed, the small room offering him little room for error. If he tripped over something, he’d crash onto the floor or into a wall in a heartbeat, though there wouldn’t be anyone there to catch him. Since his parents had gone over to the tyrant’s side, singing his praises, he had eased back into himself, renting his tiny, grotty studio apartment as soon as he had been able to. He’d just had to get out, though that meant too that he was out on his own, at the whim of a world destined to chew him up and spit him out.

The bed was heavy, the sheets covering him, duvet smothering. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t even have the energy anymore to undress as he rolled over, grunting softly, though it didn’t sound like a normal grunt. How could something not sound like a normal grunt? Oh, Ralph didn’t know, didn’t know anything anymore…

The drink…wasn’t…right…

That was the last thing the wolf thought before slipping into unconsciousness, sleep claiming him. But it was not a natural kind of sleep.


The wolf woke slowly, his need rising, tongue dry, stuck to the roof of his mouth. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all, grunting softly, his head rolling weakly to the side as if he no longer had the energy to keep his head lifted. Where the hell was he? It didn’t make sense… Nothing made sense.

He tried to look around him, his fuzzy vision cleared slowly. He seemed to be in a laboratory, though it was not well-lit, darker than he might have expected… Though what did the white wolf know about labs, to be fair to him?

Oh no…

A laboratory… His stomach roiled sickeningly. He groaned, trying to bite it back, yet his tongue was as raw and as rough as sandpaper. No… No, that was bad, so very bad.

The other rebels… Those that had done something about the tyrant, or at least tried to. They’d all ended up in similar situations, their ends and new fates broadcast so that others would be put off rising against the tyrant king. He gasped, heaving, grunting, panting, eyes wide and staring, though he could not see anything. All his eyes could fix on was the cables attached to the ceiling, an odd swathe of them that wound in and out of one another, unmoving, but giving the impression that they could be brought to life with the click of a button.

Oh, fuck no…

It couldn’t be anything else: it had to be the tyrant’s laboratory. Fuck, fuck, fuck — what the fuck was he going to do? He had to get out! But he was tied down, strapped down with what looked like medical strapping, the sort of thing that they would hold patients down that were not in their right minds, struggling too much to administer a sedative safely, let alone treatment. He groaned and grunted, flexing muscles he didn’t honestly have in any strong capacity, heaving and panting, the wolf’s eyes wide and wild with repressed fear.

He hadn’t even done anything! He wasn’t a rebel!

He thrashed and howled, though it was a broken, lost kind of sound, though Ralph realised that he was not alone there. A soft grunt and panting filled the room as he stilled, cutting through even his own frenzied breaths, a white lion tethered to a post by what could have been a door. It was metallic and futuristic, not the sort of door that he would have seen in his days or his work at the supermarket, the sort of thing that secrets were kept locked behind.

Ralph shuddered. Was he the secret? He didn’t want to think like that.

But he knew who the lion was, sitting like a common, unthinking dog, the kind of creature that had neither anthro nor human sapience — truthfully, even ferals could be sapient too, but dullness shone in the lion’s darkened eyes. Ralph cast about for the name. He remembered it, it was all over the forums, everyone had mocked him for giving in as he’d had, though they thought it was the lion’s fault for being in the tyrant’s employ in the first place. Going over to the rebel side had not won him any favours in the rebel and underground community, that much was sure.

Greyin, that was it. That was his name. The white lion with a thick mane panted softly, his tongue lolling out and fluttering with every breath, eyes fixed on him. Apart from the lion, the room was empty, leaving Ralph’s eyes with nothing to do other than to wander the lion’s form, the metal strip that, as far as he could see, looked to have been implanted into his back, not secured there even by a harness. He’d expected to see the lion in his usual horrifying chastity cage that locked his cock into his sheath, forcing him to stay soft under any stimulation or abuse. Yet the lion seemed to have been under the influence of denial for so long that he didn’t even get hard anymore.

Ralph swallowed hard. It shouldn’t have been a thought that he should have at all had in his mind, but the lion had been extensively discussed. He was one of the tyrant’s most prominent trophies, one of those that left the sourest of tastes in the back of his mouth, as if a little bile had worked its way back up. The lion, Greyin, was in the public eye so much that it was impossible to ignore him at the best of times, but speculation and rumours had combined to form an opinion of him that was both feared and disgusted.

“Stupid dog… That’s all you fucking are, aren’t you? Stupid. You gave in too easily to him, everyone says so.”


Ralph would have spat if he had not been tied down, though the lion-dog gave him no sign that he had heard him at all, bar tilting his head. There was no understanding behind those eyes and it struck Ralph with a shudder of revulsion that the lion-dog probably liked being treated like that. He had fallen so easily into the tyrant’s indoctrination, after all.

The lion-dog blinked and “whuffed” again, softly, grinding his backside down against the floor, his tail wagging like that of a dog, even though it was still tipped with a white fluff of fur. Sometimes, it was shaved to look more like a canine tail, though there was no denying, truly that the lion was the species he was. There was more in his attitude though, at the tyrant king’s side on all fours, that made him look like a beast, useless and Horny, his movements more dog-like than Ralph could ever see being anthro.

Even then, Greyin tried to get more pleasure, though Ralph could not see if there was anything shoved into his tail hole. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to. From how the lion-dog ground against the floor, humping and woofing, making all manner of soft, dog-like noises, he thought there might have been. Pre-cum streamed from his sheath, despite his obviously soft cock, a slick trail marking a pool on the floor.



Ralph gave a deeper bark, tail wagging, eyes on the door as it slid back with a whoosh of air, as if the room that Ralph was in was completely sealed. A brown and white patched cow anthro, a little dumpy in stature, strode into the room with a clipboard, an oversized white lab coat flapping around her thighs. Her blue eyes landed on him and Ralph would have reeled back from the chill that her stare was laced with. Where her arms and the softness of her body may have been suited to bundle someone into an embrace, her eyes said something different.

Ralph didn’t want to dig too deeply into that as she stood over him, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“Ah, you are awake. I see you are now ready to take your place in the tyrant’s policy of work and life.”

The cow hummed to herself, looking him over as if it was something she did every day, ignoring Ralph’s squirms. The wolf could have done well to realise that he was naked before that point, though it had not been the greatest point of contention prior, his shaft soft. He didn’t have a sheath to hide it, though he feared that his dick would have been out and exposed even if he had had one, based on all that they had so easily been able to do to the wretch that was Greyin. Were they going to make him like that too? Fuck!

Stall, stall, stall… You’ve got to fucking get out of here, you weren’t causing any trouble!

“I’m not a rebel,” he said, forcing the words out as if through a thick sludge in his mouth, heavy and cloying. “Anyone has a place in his policy of work and life… I work in a supermarket, isn’t that good enough? I know my place.”

The words came bitterly from his lips, but he knew he had to do something, anything, something to make them realise that they’d grabbed an innocent, someone who wasn’t going to do anything to overthrow the tyrant king. Who the fuck cared about that? Ralph knew well enough that he couldn’t do anything about which mayor was in power or not, besides voting and speaking his mind, but those had been taken from him, along with everyone else in the city and beyond. So, he never would have tried. Was bitching about the current situation of his life on forums really enough to get him dragged into the lab?

The cow didn’t pay him any mind, checking her clipboard, his body, making a mark and moving on down to the foot of the table he was strapped to. The cold metal had long warmed to the heat of his body, though Ralph didn’t like the look she gave him one bit.

Like he was a piece of meat. Something dead. An object. Not a living, breathing, talking anthro with a mind of his own. The wolf’s stomach churned.

“I know him… I know his story,” he said, fishing for words, inclining his head towards Greyin, all tied up to the post like a common dog. “Pathetic. Brainwashed, broken down, faded into nothing more than a mutt, a beast who thinks he has a “good and kind” master. He had to be trained, but he took to it too well, didn’t he? He thinks he really is a dog.”

Ralph clenched his jaw, his wolf heritage rising in a snap of defiance.

“So, what is the bastard going to do to me, useless king that he is? Is he trying to add a fucking white wolf to his menagerie, his freak-zoo?”

The scientist raised an eyebrow, rocking back slightly onto the heels of her cloven hooves. She could not have said that she had expected him to know as much as he did, but that was none of her business. She could admire his defiance, for it would be quashed soon enough, broken down just like the one that he thought that he was so far above.

There was no use replying to someone who wasn’t going to have a mind of their own that meant something though. So, she ignored him.

“Initiate procedure, one-three-six-five. Set timer.”

She smirked and would have fluttered her fingers at him in a mocking little wave if she had not considered herself a professional, her bare hooves snapping sharply across the smooth floor in a clack-clack as she left. There was no need to stay: if she needed to check in on her experiment, what had been ordered for the wolf himself by the only one who mattered in their city, she could check the monitors. The machines, calibrated and toned, would do the rest for her.

“Wait — where are you going? Let me the fuck out of here, I’m not a pet! I’m a fucking wolf — I don’t care who the mayor is!”

He howled and thrashed, but he was alone there, the lights dimming as if whoever or whatever controlled them knew that it was no longer important that the room was well illuminated for him. Ralph’s chest heaved, snatching what breath he could through streams of curses and expletives that wouldn’t get him anywhere.

The cables… The ones strung up to the ceiling. They twisted and writhed into one another, dropping down, wrapping around him, mechanical hands and pincers unhooking him from the strapping of the table, far more dextrous than either human or anthro hands. He heaved and tried to flee, but the cables were relentless, moving with the mindset of machines, seeing nothing other than a subject that they had been programmed to complete a procedure on. They and the cow scientist, in that manner, were the same.

The wolf tried to cry out, but the words died in his throat as he was lifted into the air, weightless and heavy in the same moment, his heart hammering so fast that he feared it would burst from his chest in a spray of blood. That would be horrifying, grotesque, even, but it would be something, something that he could let be his last moment of glory, even in death.

He didn’t want to be a slave. He didn’t want to be nothing. He didn’t want to be a dog like Greyin, who still sat there, quietly, panting, watching everything. Nothing seemed to bother that damn thing.

“Please! Stop this!”

He broke, whimpering and whining, that flash of defiance from earlier gone as quickly as it had appeared. He hadn’t even known what he’d been doing fighting back in the first place, but he’d thought he’d been trying to explain to them that he was not a rebel, just a nobody, a nobody working in a supermarket scanning groceries — that was it! He wasn’t important, not at all, and if it saved his life Ralph would scream and protest that he was the least important thing in the whole damn world all fucking day long.

He tried, thrashing, begging, pleading, Greyin raising his head with a wag of his tail.


It was a deep bark, a friendly bark, yet a warning one too. Greyin wanted him to stay still. For all that happened there was under his master’s will and everyone had to be good for his master, just as he was good for his master, a good dog, a very good dog. Greyin only wished that he had a better way to tell the strange other dog that, though he did not smell like anyone he knew, thrashing and whining and fighting as he was. What he did reek of, however, was fear, slick and heavy, laying over his body from head to toe.

A metal bar lay between his shoulder blades, only a few inches long, but flexible so that it could bend along with his body. The pinpricks should not have been enough for a wolf to notice, but he did feel them, heaving and panting, eyes wide in fear.

Panic swamped him.

“Why me? I only said — ouch! I mocked him — I didn’t do anything more than that! I didn’t join the — argh! — resistance, I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t worry, little white dog.”

The scientist’s voice echoed strangely around the room through a speaker system, letting him know that he was being watched, whining, cheeks wet with fearful tears.

“We won’t turn you into the lion next to you, not that you have any choice in that. Your memories will be preserved.”

She chuckled darkly, mirth crackling through the speakers, buzzing and tinny.

“Your personality and identity… Maybe not…”

“What the fuck does that even mean? Hey — hey, you! Answer me, c’mon! I didn’t do anything, I don’t want to do anything bad or against the king!”

He gasped, jaw falling slack, his body no longer under his control, as if someone had pressed a button and simply made it so. Goodbye control, goodbye bodily autonomy. It was all as if it had never existed, Ralph heaving and panting, forced to keep breathing, his heart still beating, by the strip of metal implanted into his back, controlling him, sending nanobots into his body, infiltrating his bloodstream, his spinal cord, seeking the attention of his muscles.

When they reached his brain, it would be game over for him, but the wolf had no way of telling when they would get there, infiltrating his body, changing him against his will, turning him into something that not even his own sick, twisted imaginings could have conjured up. He’d thought, before, about what the tyrant could do to him if he wanted, but the thoughts had driven him into nightmare after nightmare. Ralph had forced himself to stop thinking about them, trembling from the slick tease of a cable on his back, locking into the metal strip, more sinking needles into his arms, his legs, his stomach, all over his body. What they were for, however, was beyond him, unable to move, held there by the cables alone, locked into his limbs to keep him in the air as if they had been “plugged” into his limbs.

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