Pixel in Peril by Theophilous Bolt
Chapter 1: "Pixel and The Highwayman"
Pixel knew something was amiss when the steady, sedate pace of her coach
suddenly increased, four sets of hooves quickening to a thundering gallop. Her
carriage creaked and swayed upon its springs, and a peek beyond the heavy,
velvet curtains told her the bleak and desolate moors were flying by in a blur
of green. A shot! The guard's blunderbus fired off somewhere above her head,
while the driver urged the horses to greater speed.
In the distance, and growing closer, a fifth set of hooves could be heard,
heavier and fleeter than the others, coming up quickly from behind. She again
lifted a corner of the curtain to peer outside, and gasped as a tremendous
charger overtook her coach, the beast a throwback to the warhorses of old. It
was a black mare as large as a draft horse, but as swift and agile as any
courser, and it was keeping pace with the madcap flight of the carriage with
almost contemptuous ease. She saw something huge from the corner of her eye leap
from the horse and onto the coach, the conveyance rocking precipitously and the
wooden roof creaking and cracking under some considerable weight.
A bellowing laugh filtered through her pleasantly appointed compartment from
above, and with a surprised squeal, her driver tumbled past the window. The
coach immediately began to slow, and the guard soon followed, his weapon going
off ineffectually as he landed roughly on the hardpack roadway. The ermine
whimpered, and drew away from the window, clutching her travel valise to
herself, rummaging through it with frantic desperation. Her slender fingers
closed around a petite flintlock pistol, and with a shaky paw, she withdrew it
from the valise.
The weapon was a present from her father, concerned about bandits on the road
and ne'er-do-wells at Court, and she had only a cursory idea of how to use it.
It was already loaded, so she pulled back the hammer until it clicked once, then
twice, and with fumbling clawtips flipped aside the priming pan, checking to see
there was still powder in it. There was. She sat, small and quiet, in the middle
of the plush velvet seat, and trembled. The carriage again rocked and lurched
alarmingly as the highwayman leapt from the top to the ground in a single bound.
Her pricked-up ears followed the heavy footsteps walking around to the back,
where her baggage was strapped to the coach. She heard the sound of her trunk
being forced open and rummaged, cringing as she imagined rough, dirty paws
tossing through her most delicate silken garments. She nearly jumped out of her
skin when the brute addressed her through the closed door in his prodigiously
loud and deep voice.
"Ho, milady! I know who you are and what you carry. Fret not, I'm not after
a ransom from your father, all I desire is your coin and your jewels. I've
already got the baubles from the baggage, now all I'll need's your purse, and
I'll be on my way," he said, words thick with the gruff accent of the
northlands, all rolled "r"s and guttural vowels. Pixel sighed in
relief, searching through her valise for the small pouch of guineas that was her
travel allowance. She had some sentimental pieces in her trunk she was now sure
were gone, but was otherwise was grateful that the affair would be so neatly
concluded. The small sum of money would be easily replaced at Court, and her
Aunt there would make good on any debt she may need to incur during the rest of
her journey.
"Yes, yes... I have it here, and a pistol, so you'll take your money and
leave, if you know what's best!" she startled herself with how courageous
and cool she sounded. The burden of fear was further lightened when the robber bellowed out a hearty
laugh, and roared, "Fair deal!"
The relief was forced from her by sheer panic as the door opened, and a creature
of pure, pitch midnight with demonic green eyes reached in for her. It appeared
to her a monster too large to fit its entire form into her small compartment,
groping for her with a paw large enough to crack cobblestones into gravel. She
screamed, recoiling to the far side of the seat, firing the pistol wildly in the
direction of the horror. She saw it spin out of the way with a fluid grace even
as the powder in the pan flashed, and the shot fired into empty space beyond the
door. Even before her first scream had ceased, she saw the shadow spin back, and
this time saw it for a man. He was a panther of prodigious stature, nearly
freakish in his giant size and in the perfect ebony of his coloration, but a
mere man nonetheless. She felt foolish as he reached back in to pluck her pistol
from her nerveless grip.
A terrible shriek sounded from behind the highwayman at the roadside. His
emerald eyes widened with alarm, and he rushed from the carriage doorway to dash
toward the source of that terrible noise. Pixel could see that her shot had not
merely vanished, but indeed hit something: the highwayman's steed. The charger
thrashed wildly and neighed as it writhed in the dust, its foreleg shattered and
flopping, spraying blood. The giant panther knelt beside the beast, a lost
expression on his broad and handsome features. Pixel took him for a renegade
northlander noble, his black suit dated but well tailored, and he wore the tall,
black boots of a cavalry officer, unfashionable to all save those nobles with a
martial past. Many of the northlanders returned from the last war to find their
peasantry and their land belonging to southlander royal favorites. Not enough to
build a rebellion, but landless and bloody handed from the war, quite a few
turned to robbery, kidnapping and piracy.
He rose slowly from his knees as the horse's ruckus grew weaker, and cast her a
venemous, lethal look as he closed his fist about her tiny pistol, and
squeezed... she heard crunching and clinking, and when he opened his hand,
pieces of shattered wood and broken metal rained to the ground.
The huge brute winced as his injured mount shrieked and fell roughly to its side
as it tried to stand. With a furious determination, he stalked back to where the
guard had tumbled to the road. The fox looked like a child beside the looming
form of the panther, and he held up his empty blunderbuss to ward off the
terrible vision. The big cat's fist wrapped around the hefty weapon like
it was a toy, and he tried to shake the guard free of it. The fox held on
grimly, and nipped at the thick fingers of the rogue, only to find them guarded
by gleaming black leather gauntlets.
The huge brute snarled and stomped on the smaller man, driving him to the ground
and pinning him there with a boot across the throat. Still the fox held on, so
the giant simply stepped down, watching with grim satisfaction as his foe
flopped like a fish beneath his bootheel, letting go of the gun to clutch at the
leg of his tormentor. The highwayman looked on with a vicious sneer until he was
sure the fox was dead, his throat crushed, and then raised his eyes to glare
with undisguised hatred at the ermine in the carriage. Pixel shrieked and
slammed the carriage door shut, trembling and helpless.
She heard his heavy tread return to the coach, and she all but wept with fright
when it rocked as he stepped on the running board. He was gathering the guard's
powder and shot, and she slipped to her knees on the floorboards as she heard
him loading the blunderbus. She waited for him to throw open the door and shoot
her dead, but his bootsteps crunched away from her.
"Miss!" a voice whispered from the other side of the coach, the high
whine of her driver, a stoat with a long history of service to her family,
"Miss! Come out on this side, and dash away though the fields! He'll kill
us both if we stay here! Hurry, while he's attending to his mount!"
Pixel eased open the door, and allowed the stoat to help her to the ground. They
both jumped as the giant fired off a shot on the other side of the carriage, the
fuss of the wounded horse ending abruptly.
"Hurry! He's coming!" shrieked the stoat as he drew a dirk from his
sleeve, "I'll hold him here! You run, Miss, and you don't stop! Go!
Go!"
Pixel ran for her life, long skirts tangling in the grass, shoes sinking into
the mud deeper and deeper with every step. Soon she could run no more, and
slogged instead, weeping with terror. She cast a glance backward to see the
driver dangling by one arm from the terrible grip of the highwayman, his
blade fallen to the ground. The giant wrapped his fist about the head of the
stoat, and Pixel screamed as she heard a noisome crunch. The monster had killed
two grown men with his bare hands, and he did not even have cause to be angry
with them. He was very, very angry with her, and now he was striding her way.
The ermine, a minor princess and unused to toil, found herself toiling madly,
trying her best to run, the mud sucking at her hindpaws with every step. The
prodigiously strong brute pursuing her had no problems, his long legs powering
through the muck of the sodden field easily, gaining on her with inexorable
determination. She fell forward, squirming in the cold, wet mud, helpless even
to raise herself as he loomed over her, green cat's eyes smoldering with rage
and evil.
Pixel's long, mahogany-brown hair had come partly undone in her flight, the long
braid falling over her face as her lips worked wordlessly, trying to find the
courage to utter a plea for mercy, offer an apology, promise a ransom, anything
to keep him away. It was no use. He seized her by her intricate braid, twining
her silky tresses firmly in his fingers, and dragged her back to the carriage.
She screamed and kicked in absolute agony, humiliated as she slithered along
through the mud, unable to gain her feet.
The villain lifted her by the back of her coat, and tossed her unceremoniously
into the coach, slamming the door behind her. He hopped onto the buckboard, and
with an unintelligible roar, whipped the horses into a gallop. He drove the team
hard, for hours on end, along disused side roads and across hidden fords through
small streams, until they came to hilly country. She dared a peek through the
curtains as they came to a stop, and watched in disbelief as he man-handled a
boulder from the side of the road, revealing a hidden trail beyond. He led the
coach through, and then rolled the boulder back into its place. Pixel's heart
sank as she realized that there was going to be no rescue... the highwayman had
hid his way too well.
The stone manor was ancient, and well maintained despite its years, nestled in a
small, isolated valley between two gently sloping hills swathed in green clover
and grass. The stables were the main feature, dozens of stall doors opening onto
the paddock, fresh, soft sawdust strewn in a thick layer inside the whitewashed
split-rail fence. Despite its careful upkeep, the entire estate had a hollow,
abandoned feel, a silence that was profound. No servants came to greet them, no
stable hands earning their keep, no horses galloping and neighing.
The highwayman unhitched the team of horses, and led them into the main entrance
of the stable, their iron-shod hooves ringing on the tiled floor. He unharnessed
each animal himself, currying their coats to a gleaming luster with a sure and
practiced hand before leading each one to an empty stall. All the stalls were
empty, and only one had shown any sign of recent habitation. Pixel sat on the
velvet seat muddied by her dress, cold, bedraggled, filthy and in mortal fear,
watching silently as he cared for his stolen horses. Then he came for her.
Without a word, he threw open the door, and squeezed his immensely broad
shoulders through to seize the ermine as she tried to shy away from him. No use.
His huge hands grabbed her roughly, and he pulled her, kicking and shrieking,
from the refuge of the coach. Tucking her under an arm like a loaf of bread, he
marched halfway down the row of stalls, to one beside the door to the manor from
the stables. She made to bite him, savaging a mouth-full of his fine linen coat
before his thick, powerful fingers clamped around her muzzle. His leather glove
dominated her senses... the smell of fine leather filled her nostrils, and she
could feel his hard, calloused hands beneath the supple glove as he gripped her
dainty muzzle fiercely, the creak of the tight leather echoing in her ears as he
fought her struggles mercilessly.
He dumped her unceremoniously on the cold, green tiles, and took a long set of
leather reigns from a tack-box outside the door. Pixel fought him again, and
lost just as bitterly when he bound her wrists together tightly with the leather
strap. He simply sat on a stool, and bent her over one of his massivley muscled
thighs, the tight riding pants straining against his powerful contours. With one
hand still wrapped firmly around her muzzle, he pressed a finger across her
nostrils. Her fierce struggles grew fiercer as she fought for breath, hindpaws
kicking in the air and her finger-claws scrabbling at his tall boot. The world
grew red, and then black, and she found the strength to resist gone. She
breathed deep, gasping and panting, too distracted to realize the reins were
being wrapped around her wrists and expertly knotted.
He hung her from a lantern-hook in the beam overhead, her toes barely touching
the floor when he tied off the free end of the reins to an iron loop set into
the side of the stall. He shrugged out of his jacket, and slowly unbuttoned his
vest. His shirt was ripped badly underneath, probably by her teeth, and with a
disgusted grunt, he tore the thin linen from his body. He towered before her,
his broad, bare chest was covered with silken fur that shimmered in the wan
light of sunset, as black and gleaming as onyx. His pearl-white fangs were
revealed in a snarling sneer as he worked his fingers, making sure the gloves
were on snugly, his astonishingly green eyes narrowing dangerously as he
considered her.
Her eyes wide with fear, she tried to recoil from him, but found there was
nowhere to go. He siezed either of her jacket's lapels, and roughly pulled them
apart, her gold buttons flying about the stall.
"No! What are you doing? Stop!" she cried as he literally ripped the
garment from her. Her petitcoat was next, and Pixel recovered some of her spirit
as the huge fingers thrust themselves down her bodice, sliding through the soft
fur of her cleavage. She cursed and kicked and tried to lean in close enough to
bite the big cat as he ripped her dress away. He merely laughed, shrugging off
her blows, and let her work her teeth against the leather of his glove for a
moment before clutching her slip with his free hand, and wrenching it away with
the sound of shredding linen. He captured one of her long, kicking legs, and
undid the laces of her shoe, flicking it from her hindpaw, and sliding the
stocking from her leg. He caught the other just as she was about to kick at his
nose with it, and repeated the operation, taking his time sliding off the long,
silken garment.
The highwayman stood back from his little prize, casting a critical eye at the
pretty body of the ermine. Long, shapely limbs, and full, voluptuous curves,
with perhaps a little extra weight that lent her aristocratic build a pleasing
softness. She was weeping with helpless rage and shame, and this pleased him,
too.
"Loot at you. You're a mess," he chuckled. Pixel blushed, her fur at
her tail-tip turning a bright crimson, as she realized how muddy and bedraggled
she must look.
"Brute! Let me go! Give back my clothes!" she demanded through her
tears.
"Oh, why should I?" he asked sneeringly.
"Because I'm a princess! You don't want to cross my family, they'd..."
"They'd what? Take away my land and people? Already done, by that king
uncle of yours. Kill my horse, the last of a bloodline older than your own,
princess? You've just seen to that. No, my pretty... this is my revenge. I'll
not have my stables empty of royal blood, and so you are to take the place of
that magnificent charger you killed," replied the norlander with a grim
smile.
"What? You can't be serious," gasped Pixel as she twisted against her
bonds, "Let me free! Let me free at once!"
"Deadly serious," said the big panther as he stalked toward her, a
leather bit and bridle dangling from one hand, "Now, we'll just slip this
on, and then I'll have no more sass out of you."
He stepped into her, his huge, hard body unyeilding as she struggled against it,
powerful fingers forcing her jaws open, forcing the leather-wrapped bit between
her jaws. She bit down at it, fiercely, but it was too late, and he buckled the
straps of the bridle tight about her head. She shouted and shrieked and cursed
and begged, but it was to no avail, her voice was hopelessly muffled.
Her captor then set to with a curry brush, running it through her fur, brushing
out all of the dried mud and road dust, carefully grooming his new prize. Pixel
dangled limply from her bonds, doing her damndest not to enjoy the sensation, to
fight against him. Exhausted, physically and emotionally, she gave up, and let
him work his will upon her. He brushed her with firm, even strokes, the stiff
tines of the brush sweeping through her fur to prickle the skin beneath. She
closed her eyes tight and bit fiercely at the leather bar in her mouth, a
trickle of tears seeping down her muzzle as she resisted the unbidden, unwelcome
wave of arousal that built up within her at this sensual treatment.
She dreaded his touch, was terrified of the grim reality that he was going to
have his wicked way with her, ashamed that a small part of her was anticipating
it eagerly. Soon he was finished with the grooming, and to her surprise, simply
left, closing the stall door behind him. Her sobs redoubled in relief and
dissapointment as she heard him rifling through her trunk again before stalking
into the manner itself. She hung there, spent and frightened and weary, unable
to sleep or even rest while she was strung up by the wrists. It was a long, long
tome before the sun rose, golden morning light filtering into the stall.
She passed the day the same way. It wasn't until close to dusk when the
highwayman returned to her stall. He had not been idle.
"This," he said, "Is your tack and harness. You will never be
without it while you're part of my stables."
He held an assortment of off black leather oddiments, two of which were
apparently footwear of some stripe, for he fit them to her hindpaws. She was too
weary from her ordeal to fight him, and looked on in a despairing daze as he
laced them up. They crept up over her knees and well along her thighs, laced
sinfully tight, revealing her every countour. Might as well have been nude, save
for the blasphemy at the feet... her peite paws had been transformed into hooves
by the accursed boots! Her feet rested in what was, at one point, a pair of her
slippers, but they had been built into a wood and leather artifice that made
each of her legs look like they ended in a horse's iron-shod hoof! He strapped
and buckled a webwork of leather straps across her body, each junction between
two or more of the quarter-inch thick stips of leather marked by a steel ring or
silver buckle. They bound her breasts together, almost painfully so, and lifted
them in a wanton display. She could not even voice an intelligible protest
around her bit.
He then untied her, and slid a pair of her long evening gloves, of the finest
black kidskin... but he had sewn a metal ring into either wrist, and these he
tied to the straps at her hips. She flexed and wiggled her fingers, but could
not reach the binding... her arms were effectively trapped at her side.
The final article was the capstone of her humiliation, a tall, black leather
collar that forced her long, gracile ermine neck to stand straight in perfect
poise and posture. Never again could she allow her chin to droop. It was buckled
in the back, and the front was fitted with a large, iron ring. To this he tied a
long, silken rope, and roughly tugged her from the stall and into the rose light
of sunset out upon the paddok. She staggered as her feet became accustomed to
her new boots, they clopped and clanked on the hard tile, and threatened to
pitch her on her face as they trod upon the soft woodchips. She wailed despite
herself as she saw him grab a training whip from beside the door on their way
out.
Standing at the end of her tether in the center of the paddock, the highwayman
barked a command at her. She glared at him, and he shout it again, "Geeyup!"
Pixel simply sneered at the fellow around her bit and bridle, and was rewarded
for it by a crack from his whip. It was a long, thin leather braid at the end of
a pole, and it stung like nothing ever had before. She yelped and pranced
forward a few feet, and shrieked as it landed another blow upon her well-rounded
backside. She trotted forward fearfully, crying out at he tugged at the leash to
changer her direction, and laying into her with the lash when she slowed or
pulled away from him. Before night fell, he had her prancing to his command,
running full bore in a gallop at a mere word, and coming to an stomping to an
abrupt stop with a single syllable.
"Neigh!" he commanded. She shook her head, breathing heavily from the
exercise, and her head muzzy from a lack of sleep and the red haze the lashes
put her into. Each one stung like a demon at first, then spoke like the devil,
seducing her with it's warm proof of the highwayman's mastery. He flicked his
wrist, and the whiplash cracked into her again, and again, with expert aim and
application each time. She relented, broken, and uttered forth a neigh like a
horse. He commanded it again, and as the stars and full moon lit the sky, she
found herself prancing and cantering and galloping and turning and neighing at
his command, and she could not recall when he had untied the leash or ceased
using the whip upon her. It really did not matter anymore...