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The monster stops writhing. A final fetid breath escapes the maw filled with innumerable, uneven teeth, which forms a twisted smile of release. I don't get close immediately, watching for a few seconds. I'm not pleased at all. Black-horned demons are a much greater threat than what the bounty I've been offered led me to expect. Someone at the guild is going to get strong words.

I sniff a few times, catching my breath, sensing the burn of the aftermath in my muscles. I crouch to wash my hands into the nearby brook. I smell the water before I drink. The plains are quiet and fresh after the fight. My body calms down; I feel ready to return to the demonic remains.

In this moment, I wish my feline sense of smell wasn't so developed. Ugh. I wrap my nose into the fold of my arm and stand over the carcass. I stick the untarnished blue blade of the Sky Spear into the earth and run my hand through my thick ebony mane with yellow highlights. The reward isn't remotely going to compensate the time and effort I expended taking this thing down, but I still need to grab proof of my kill unless I want to leave empty handed. Which I really don't.

Slowly going down to one knee, I grab the diminutive but extremely sharp hatchet at my belt, and begin to hack at one of the glossy recurved dark horns to bring it back. Not only will it make for excellent evidence that the evil creature spotted in the plains has been removed, but it should also sell nicely. In fact, I decide to take the other horn as well, since I'm already there chopping through demon meat and bones. There's always a mage or two in town willing to pay for rare monster parts, and black-horned demons shouldn't be anywhere close to this area.

What was that guy doing here?

The black-horned are fiercely independent. You find them in isolated caves and into deep mystical forests, where the wild spirits will sometimes tolerate them due to their penchant for keeping to themselves. You don't find them near large towns; that's for lackey and lower demons, sent by their masters to prod for weaknesses. This black-horned was either very lost, or an even nastier thing managed to whip him into submission. Heh. A tamed black-horned? From this moment forward, I can safely say that I've seen everything.

I bag my prizes, but as I prepare to stand and leave, the descending sun is briefly reflected by something shiny half-hidden under the unholy neck armor. Curious, I reach for the necklace and give it a good tug to break its clasp, but even with my raw leonid strength, it resists. Magic? Perhaps the creature wasn't tamed, after all. Perhaps it was bribed! Much more interesting for me...

My spirits rise as I carefully turn the body on its front, and manage to unhook the piece of equipment. It seems halfway between a necklace and a choker, with bold chain links of cold steel attached to a golden band at the front. It's weighty and simple in design, but the craftsmanship is impressive. Made for a male wearer, probably a noble of some status, too. It's certainly a protection charm of some sort, though I don't know the quality of the magic behind it. A mage will have to identify it for me, but already I know that it'll be worth considerably more than my bounty even if the spell on it is cheap. If it's potent, though: jackpot. I could be set for a while!

Or I could keep it. Hmm.

The attractive metal feels great in my hand, so I try it on. It's tighter than I imagined, but it fits my neck size. I can't actually see myself, of course, but I can picture how the proud steel and gold look against my light buff fur. It might work great with the rest of my armor! I detach it and prepare to take it off and shove it in my pocket, but then I decide to keep it on, to see if it'll grow on me. It's not like it'll be worth any less because I wore it.

Evening falls by the time I walk to the city proper. Late-working villagers hurry back to the safety of their homes, moving in quick and silent huddled clumps along the shadowed roads, ripe for ambushes. It's the dangerous part of town, but I'm not worried. Local thugs keep track of strong adventurers, and they'll know better than to provoke an armed leonid. As a matter of fact, I do spot a few suspicious figures, hanging here or there in small groups, under high walls or in back alleys. They shrink in respect, trying to avoid drawing my attention. Others completely melt in the dark. This deal works fine for me. Most are petty thieves not worth the time it would take for me to drag them to the authorities. The reward in bronze pieces for ordinary street thugs is beyond pathetic for anyone with actual skills.

Then again, sometimes, you find one with bigger balls than brains.

I'm in a very tight alleyway when I hear quick movements nearby. After I turn a corner, a discolored bulky shape with a sturdy tail steps out of the dark and blocks my way. The brute curves forward, like many reptile races, and he holds a massive dagger. He's got a long, wide snout. Crocodilian. I can see he's not alone. Another lumpy blob of grayish scales is leaning in the blackness to my right, with his back to the wall as he waits. I frown and move closer under a weak spot of moonlight. The first ragged bandit gets to see me better, and suddenly he's not looking so sure about standing in my face. His eyes wander over my well-built frame, stop at my impressive mane, and then lock onto the glowing spear at my back, which I take out of its harness.

-- Been a while since one of you made that kind of mistake, I say.

The second bandit immediately joins his pal. He's older and more confident, wielding a rusty studded mace. His scales are ravaged by a combo of blade marks and rough living. The damaged leather armor he wears is practically worthless, barely covering his left arm and the lower part of his chest. The bumps on top of his large head appear worn and smoothed. There's cunning behind his scarred stare. He's the one to watch out for.

-- Two of us, the leader says. Or is that three?

Rumble behind me. A swift glance confirms that an additional threat emerged from the unclean streets. All crocs, clearly from the same gang. This isn't good. There could be even more. Then again, the leader is in no rush to provoke a fight. I can tell he knows stopping me was a mistake, but he doesn't want to lose face in front of his guys. I'm too risky for them, so he's looking for a non-violent way out, using intimidation. They're very good at it, but I know the game.

-- Your hides won't be worth much, but croc meat sells. I'll have a few drinks on you unless you get out of my face.

I wave the Sky Spear expertly. The pair of criminals back away a step or two. The first reptile turns to his boss, worried.

-- I dunno, Trax. Maybe we should-

The smart leader silences his minion with a gesture before he completely ruins his intimidation attempt, but it's my turn to stare wide.

-- _You're_Trax the Fat?

Trax shrugs and inclines his head.

-- The bounty on my head is starting to date. I've lost a lot of weight these last few years.

The violent thug next to him suddenly turns and grins toothily.

-- True, boss, and we always meant to say that we like it a lot.

The third gruff voice comes from behind me in further support.

-- It looks great on you!

Trax isn't remotely fazed by the absurd conversation. He nods.

-- Thanks brothers, I appreciate it. Now, let's focus on the situation here, yeah? We still have a kitty to bleed. Seeing as this fancy blade looks like the Sky Spear, I'm thinking this is Elias of Volarburg, caught in our trap.

The talk is tough, but I see plainly that Trax is about to give up. He knows what I can do. He merely wants to try his luck one last time. He continues:

"See, we don't have nothing against you personally, so there's no need for things to get rough. How about you just give us that bag you're carrying? Then, we'll let you-"

The crocs are dazed when the bag containing my precious demon horns fall at their scaly feet. I just threw it. I watched myself do it. They're utterly astonished, but that's nothing compared to what I'm feeling. What the fuck did I just do? I gaze at the bag. That's mine! I just gave it to them for no good reason! The bandits don't dare pick it up yet, checking what I'm going to do. I want to crouch carefully and take it back... At the same time, I know that I won't do it, like there's no willpower behind the thought. What is this bullshit?

Trax squints, then examines my angry face, looking for fear that he can't find. He's totally confused, but after a few seconds, his idiot follower adopts a victorious smirk, takes the bag and assumes that I've been cowed into submission. Before his boss can say anything, he decides to push their luck.

-- Drop the weapon too!

Suddenly, I'm in full critical alert, because I sense that I'm going to do that too. The world seems slowed down. My heart pumps like crazy but my fingers release their grip and the Sky Spear falls on the stony street with a loud clang. Holy shit! What? Why? What!? I've dropped my weapon in a bandit ambush! The bandits don't understand what's happening any more than I do. They gaze at the dropped object. I desperately need to get my spear back, right the hell now! I'm aware of that, but I don't budge! Worse, I know I won't do a damn thing! This is beyond bad! I'm truly terrified. I know exactly what it can mean to surrender to bandits... This can't be happening to me! It doesn't make any sense! I merely need to bend over and grab my fucking spear!

I stand there, horrified, while Trax carefully approaches and picks up the legendary Sky Spear. He's in shock, but as he tests the balance of the weapon, his shock turns to bliss and extreme curiosity toward me. I'm completely disarmed. My hatchet isn't meant for combat. The other crocs get agitated, absolutely excited by their incredible catch. They fail to grasp that something extremely abnormal is going on, but Trax gets it.

-- Wait up, he says. You're surrendering to us?

-- No! I shout. Give me back my spear or I'll kill you all!

-- Why did you drop it, then?

I don't know what to say. Shit! I imperatively must get out of there, I realize. Something is dreadfully wrong. No matter if I have to abandon the spear and items, I have to protect my life! I must flee, no matter what it'll look like! I know that I must! Right away!

I fall into the infinite depths of despair when I'm filled with the unassailable understanding that I won't do that either. Panicked, I can barely think, but I kind of already know why.

Trax said to wait. I have to do it.

The bandits close in on me, but they're still wary. They scrutinize my every move. I can't do anything else, so I roar threats and warnings at them, but that doesn't work for long. One of them tells me to shut up, and I do it. I go completely silent. I can't even move! What the fuck is happening to me!? They could kill me where I stand!

"Do you have any other weapons?" asks the criminal boss.

I don't answer. Trax pauses. His viciously intelligent eyes shine.

"Answer me," he orders tentatively.

-- Yes, I do.

-- Give them to me.

I take my short axe and hand it over to Trax. He takes a long look at it. I'm out of my mind. My blood boils. My brain is on fire with apprehension. The dirty thugs start laughing. They see I'm no longer a threat. They surround me. A cold blade is placed against my throat, from behind. Another is slipped under the front plate of my armor, and pressed against my stomach fur. I close my eyes.

"Don't cut him, morons. Something interesting is going on, here. I don't think our dear Elias can disobey direct orders, but I want to make sure. Watch him. I have to get the others. I hope we still have that true sight charm we lifted last month."

Trax begins walking away, but then he turns.

"In the meantime, Elias, why don't you remove your armor? Get comfortable."

He's right. I know he's right. It doesn't make sense, but I start undoing my pauldrons and bracers while the nasty reptiles whistle, amused. They soon press closer against me. I feel their scales. I can't believe what I'm doing. The dagger remains at my throat while I take off every piece of protecting gear that I'm wearing like a compliant captive. The outlaw that is no longer pressing a blade against my belly examines my armor greedily.

-- Dibs on his breastplate! I'm sure boss will want the spear thing for himself. What will you take?

Humid reptilian breath blows against my neck, but I stand there in my cotton padded undergarments, silent. I gaze frantically at the end of the alley, hoping that anyone might walk in and help before it's too late, but that hope is dwindling fast. What's going to happen to me? The blade digs harder into the fur of my neck, and I have to lean back into the dirty bandit holding me. He laughs, enjoying the warmth of my vigorous body. A clawed hand lands on my side.

-- Not sure yet. I could get some ideas. I've never had a mighty leonid so close to me, before.

The other gets up and examines me from up close. I stay. I can't even say anything.

-- I know, right? They won't get any closer than spitting distance.

They laugh meanly. The croc in front of me looks at my face, my mane, my neck, my arms. He pushes his long snout against my shoulder. I feel his protruding teeth even though his maw is closed. I've never felt so vulnerable. It's the most intense thing I've ever experienced. It might be the last. He finally pulls back.

"He smells good. See how clean he is? Think it's the same under his shirt?"

-- Of course! answers the blade holder. That's all leonids do: bathe and wash. Ain't got nothing better to do with all that silver.

-- I wanna see.

I tense up when the front croc waves his own dagger. He cuts my padded shirt at the shoulders, then at the side. Instantly, I feel the chilly air on my bare body. I'd resist, but the second thug keeps the blade painfully tight against my throat. I can barely breathe. They keep me fully under control, so I stand there with my buff chest exposed. The callous rogue hesitates briefly. He puts his weapon away and suddenly touches my top half with both hands. They're rough and inquisitive. My abs and pectorals are felt. My armpits get explored. It's extremely intimate, and seems fully wrong in this dingy alley. I want to shout and claw his face, but I can't, even when he starts toying with my left nipple. He squeezes it, and then flicks at the sensitive tip. My heart beats like some mad hammer. I make angry eyes and breathe loudly. The dim reptiles don't notice. They're having fun.

"Man, that's amazing. Is it weird if I wanna make him dirty?"

The front croc jerks away from me when a nearby creaky door opens. However, my relief is short-lived. Trax returns with a bunch more vicious crocodilians who all rush into a semi-circle. Some have rope, shackles and stuff for controlling a prisoner. They love what they see. There's much excitement in the air; energies are high all around. This is crazy! Some bandits try estimating the value of my equipment pieces, and dig through my bag like it's nothing. My guts are twisting. I had no idea it was possible to be this nervous. Who knows how far they'll take things? It's strange how I feel more alive in this critical moment than I ever have. Trax sees it in a flash and grins. He takes my naked shoulder, and it's obvious he enjoys putting his hands over me. He makes it last, grasping and kneading.

-- There he is, boys. Mighty Elias, the adventurer, all nice and caught for our benefit.

Trax stares.

"Don't worry, Elias. I'll figure out what's wrong with you. Won't take a moment. While I do, I'd like you to kneel and place your hands in your back, please. Just in case tempering with whatever spell is on you would -- you know -- do something."

The rest of the crocs are exceedingly amused when they witness that I do indeed comply perfectly and prostrate myself while offering my wrists to the rope. They are quickly bound tight, and the croc thug that used to keep a dagger to my throat instead pushes down on the back of my neck to keep me in place, holding my rope with his other hand. Even if I could try to escape, I know that it would be too late, at this point. I look up to Trax. There's no meaning in trying to hide that I'm scared. They can do whatever they want with me, but they already have all of my amazingly valuable stuff. Maybe they'll let me go? It would be fair. Either way, I don't play the tough guy. I don't want to provoke them.

The bandit boss takes a fragile talisman and holds it up. It looks like a small wooden stick with feathers tied to it. Trax lifts one of his scales and stabs himself with the sharp end. The drop of his dark blood gets sucked into the object, and his eyes begin to glow. Not a second later, he points a finger directly at my damned necklace.

"It's that thing he's wearing. Aw, you guys, you should see it. Big curse, there. Obedience hex, undoubtedly. There's a small illusion spell, too. Let's see. Reveal thy form!"

The bandit gang goes blank for a moment, and then they explode with hilarity. Some double over, trying to catch their breaths. I can tell that the jewel is different. What used to be a chain now feels like a leather band around my neck. I move my head and hear a tinkle, for there's a medallion tied to the band. Infuriatingly, it's impossible for me to see it. "Generously," Trax takes it between his index and thumb. I feel his fingers under my soft chin. He reads:

"Male pussy. Strangely accurate, but the curse is demon magic. Tell us, pussycat, how did they manage get that collar on you?"

So that was the story on how the black-horned was being controlled. This demon was conquered and collared, certainly kept as a humiliated slave by his vengeful rival, until the master deemed the sentence sufficient, and sent him to get butchered by mortals as a final disgrace. Placing an illusion on the cursed object was probably the demon master's idea of a funny joke at the expenses of any idiot vain enough to fall for it. That's me. As a cherry on top, I have to admit every detail about my own stupidity.

-- No one did it to me; I decided to wear it. I found it on a demon's corpse, and I wanted it because it looked precious and powerful, even though I didn't know what it was for.

Trax looks astounded.

-- You put it on yourself!?

The mocking roars are renewed, with even more force than before. It's the funniest thing the bandits have ever heard. They elbow each other's sides. I stare down at my knees. My ears burn.

-- What a dumbass!

-- Everybody knows better than to put on magic gear they didn't identify!

-- Hahaha! Yeah! This is, like... Hello? Looting 101!

-- How did this pussy survive more than two weeks as an adventurer?

They're right. I fucked up bad, but I'm still bound to silence by the spell, so I wait on my knees and take the abuse, displayed for them, completely defeated. I begin to fear that my fate is sealed, but I still don't know what the brutal bandit clan will decide to do with me.

Trax ceases glowing and puts the talisman away. His cruel grin destroys my last hopes of being allowed to leave. He stares at my attractive nude chest, and puts his hand on my head. His claws dig deep in my mane, and my ears become soft toys. We both know that I'm their property.

-- Poor, proud Elias. I don't think we need to remove that collar just yet, right guys? We might think of some use for male pussy.

The clan approves boisterously, overtaken by obscene enthusiasm. They shout. I get shoved left and right, but the bandit boss holds me by the collar. I wish I'd realized the truth earlier, and had removed the cursed item while I could. It's too late, because my hands are bound. If they give me the wrong order, it's over. I pray that they won't think to do it.

"Triage his gear and stuff and inventory everything. As for our new entertainment, we'll do what we usually do with things we can't split."

Trax takes his erect reptilian cock out of his pants and strokes it. It's bulky and wet. It has a pungent masculine smell of enclosed musk. I understand what's going to happen. It seems insane, but I can't look away.

"We'll share."

The bandits roar and get ready to celebrate their unbelievable catch. They're not discreet. This part of the streets belongs to them. No one's coming.

Trax presses his leaky dick against my muzzle. It's smooth and robust, and leaves a trail of sticky reptile juices on my nose and lips. I can't do anything about it.

"Lick my cock, pussy."

The other crocs are fascinated. I place my tongue against the slick shaft and lick it up to the round top. I rub it loyally. I cover the sides. I taste every bit of Trax's salty meat. I clean it like a prideless sex slave. It keeps dripping, but I slurp its tiny hole as soon as it accumulates. The criminal boss hums with pleasure and pulls onto my mane. I discover the texture and flavor of my owner's dick. I can't help but expect that I'll get to know it very well. The thug that enjoyed my chest earlier steps forward.

-- Holy hell, boss. Can we really keep him, and make him do whatever we want?

-- Of course, says Trax. We'll play with him for as long as he's fun, and when we're done we can tie him up good and ship him away to be sold for a tidy profit. That way we can keep the collar, and use it on our next catch. No risk of escape, no need to watch them. We can even untie this pussy! We merely need to give him one important order, first.

Trax takes my chin and lifts up my compliant muzzle, interrupting my licking. I look up. I fear what he's about to say. It makes him happy that I do.

"Never remove your collar. Now, suck."

I go back to my task, this time taking Trax's entire sex in my mouth. I work him and please him. It's over and he's won. He pets my head like I'm an obedient kitty slut. His dick pushes deeper, tickling my throat. I gurgle but keep working. That amuses the bandits. I keep his reptile shaft warm; that's what I'm going to live for until I'm sold into slavery, in a faraway port where nobody knows me. That isn't the fate I'd imagined for myself, but then again, we never really know ahead of time, do we?

-- He doesn't look right, blurts one of the croc minions.

-- It's the pants, says another. Bitch like him won't need them. He should strip.

-- Yeah! Strip, pussy!

Patient with his gang, as always, Trax lets me go so that I may comply with the latest command. My ropes are cut, and I drop my pants for the cheering outlaws. A moment later, I lower my underpants as well, and I stand completely exposed between them. They close in, impatient, drunk with their power over me. I get trapped between tough scaly chests. They squeeze me. Hands smack and pat my cheeks, pull my tail, grab my heavy testicles. My nipples serve as a pleasant tactile experience, while my body warms theirs. One arm grips me by the mane.

-- It's still not enough! Our slave looks too proud. Leonids love their dumb manes. Let's make him shave it!

-- Shave! Shave! Shave!

My eyes widen. My blood freezes. I search for help, but all I see are chanting pitiless reptiles. Trax shrugs and pulls a small sharp knife from his belt, only to hand it to me. No... There's no need! I want to beg my bandit owners, and swear that I won't be haughty, but I remain disallowed to speak. I have to obey because this is what they want, and I must be a good boy. My screeching will has no effect. I start cutting my long imposing mane. Toothy jeers rise, and many others join in with their own blades. Bundles of black and yellow fur fall upon the dirty stone bricks. I can't look at it. They keep fondling me. Strong hands reach under my thighs and my ass, as well as under my arms. My paws leave the ground as they elevate my nude body, but I continue to remove my precious mane. They spread my legs wide for better control, and incline me so that I can continue to service their leader's cock while I shave. As a mean joke, I get shoved like a ram over Trax's stout shaft, and choke on the head of his dick. I'm kept there, milking Trax with my gag reflex in extreme discomfort that makes my eyes water. I gasp desperately when the crocs pull me back, but all I can breathe is the thick scent of hard crocodilian penis covered with my drool, because the boss slaps my face with his sex to discipline me. They do this whenever they think I'm taking too long to finish my chore. The job is difficult, but with the "motivation" I'm given, my glorious mane is soon gone, probably forever, since I don't expect to be permitted to regrow it as a slave. I must look like a defeated whelp; maneless isn't a respectable look for an adult leonid male. I cringe at the thought. A low whine escapes me so I get punished for it with another shove. Cock reams my gullet again and I milk it.

Trax ejaculates violently with a massively satisfied grunt. His sperm fills my throat and my mouth, spreading over my muzzle as it flows over my chin. I sway in the hands of the spiteful gang. Everything's happening so fast, I can barely keep track. Come stains my face, and Trax grabs my nape. I must look pathetic with my dumbfounded expression and shaved fur. I can't believe other males are owning me like this. I feel like a disobedient young kit, eager for the hunt, who ventured too far from the pride and fell to a bunch of enemy predators. I can't expect any mercy.

-- Bad pussy! proclaims Trax. From now on, you'd better learn to swallow!

The croc hands are rough and I get lowered to the ground. My stripped body is pressed against the cold stones as punishment for my failure to contain all of the thug leader's vile reptilian jizz. There's muscular scaly legs and arms moving around and stimulated growls. Trax's scaly foot presses on my head as a show of his absolute domination. The bandits celebrate loudly, striking their chests and arms. My buttocks are spread open by mean clawed fingers, and multiple crocodilian erections rub against my ass and thighs. The scent of sex fills the area as more bandits get their hard cocks out of their cloth prisons.

-- Bad slave pussies don't get to stand! shouts one of the filthy outlaws.

-- Yah, now you crawl on your hands and knees like a dog! Crawl slave!

I'm still forced down on my stomach, so I can't easily comply. It's hard to push myself up with a couple heavy crocs practically sitting on my back, especially with the paralyzing anticipation making my muscles tremble. My tail gets pulled up, and harsh strikes begin to land on my defenseless balls, repeatedly. The pain spreads wide and consumes me. I struggle to obey faster, to the bandits' delight, who keep cheering and quickly slapping my male parts. As I wriggle in despair, unable to think of anything else than the need to fulfill my latest command, I finally manage to lift myself up to my hand and knees, and I drag myself around at their legs like a terrified animal within the tight circle of reptiles. Some step back to give me more room to move while others laugh and kick halfheartedly, wiping their grimy feet into my previously untarnished fur. I don't know what else to do, but at least the pain in my beaten orbs is diminishing.

Suddenly, strong hands immobilize me by the butt cheeks, and my balls get grabbed again. I turn with a supplicating look, for as humiliating as it is to beg these evil bastards, I really don't want my crotch slapped anymore. It's Trax, but he's busy with my manhood. Most of his guys are also looking with interest, and innumerable arms suddenly keep me in place. In particular, my thighs are forced open wider and I'm prevented from closing them. I don't know why, at first, but then I feel cold metal enclosing my most intimate bits. I... I recognize what barbaric and vulgar nonsense this is. I didn't believe these sick objects really existed! Screw this!

I try to fight back however I can, but the crocs shrug off my pointless squirming as merely another funny display of how defeated I am. I can't do anything but to protest with meek sounds while my dick and balls get locked up in a chastity cage, and placed under my captors' exclusive management.

-- Wait! brusquely screams one of the despicable oversized lizards. It'll be even funnier to make him do it!

Trax reacts immediately, recognizing the "inspired" suggestion with a gaping grin.

-- Damn, you're right, brother. Slave! Flip on your back and spread your legs to give us a nice view, then lock your own cock and balls up in that cage. They belong to us, like the rest of you.

My obscene nightmare continues as I roll over under crocodilian sounds of admiration for the awesome idea expressed by their friend. My head is about to explode with shame, but I fully display my soft sex and large fuzzy balls to my new owners, and slip them within the punishingly restrictive metal ring and device, which interlock around my -- from this point forward -- useless nuts. Fingers draw attention to my hopelessly flushing face, which I'm sure is red through my fur. I even hold the pieces in place for Trax while he inserts the key and locks them together. The bandits close in triumphantly as Trax raises his fist holding the key to my privates, and the cage gets eagerly pulled left and right, up and down, until the vicious reptiles are certain that my sex is fully secure under their control, and that I'll have to humbly plead with my outlaw masters any time I'll wish to experience sexual pleasure again, _if_they allow me to beg. They tug on my collar to force me into a parade on all fours, so that everyone gets the chance to appreciate how cute my chastity cage looks from every angle when I crawl between them. The crocs love it and many rub themselves slowly. How I feel about it appears fully irrelevant.

It seems that my fall into defeat and disgrace is endless, however, because the young-yet-bulky yellowish-green croc that is just so brimming with creativity proposes something else, encouraged by the positive reception to his previous idea.

-- Guys, his claws could be dangerous, though! Let's wrap them up in stuffed leather mitts!

The thugs hail their overexcited crocodilian friend as a veritable modern genius while worn bits of black leather and cotton stuffing from my own padded clothes get unceremoniously thrown to me. What is this? What are they going to reduce me to? More bandits approach with lengths of rope.

-- Wear the mitts, pussy! That's the beaten slut we want!

-- Yeah! He can be our obedient pet, like, our mascot or something. Hey! Joknar should ride his ass first, like, a kind of reward for his smart thoughts!

I wrap the ridiculous patches of leather and padding around my paws and hands. A croc ties them solidly with rope and does my last hand. The pathetic round mitts will prevent me from using any objects, or really from doing anything other than to drag myself around like a mindless animal. How could anyone ever guess that it is possible to feel so neutered and beaten? Could I truly be condemned to spend the rest of my life as a bandit clan's disciplined pet, satisfying dirty reptile cocks until the years make me too tamed and passive to be entertaining? I'm a leonid! This kind of thing can't happen to me! I don't end up as a submissive sex slave!

Meanwhile, the clan appears busy proving me wrong in every single way, as they come in agreement that frisky Joknar deserves the honor of being the first to break in my handsome and muscular rear. Trax grants his blessing, and the yellowish brute of a young croc gladly makes his move behind me. I try to turn around on my hands and knees but it's not like there's anywhere I can go. Large clawed hands immobilize me by my firm round butt. Joknar's hold is strong. The circle of evil bandits standing over me stare with gluttonous lust, stroking their terrible erections into ever increased hardness while their buddy aligns his waist with my tailhole.

-- Stay in place, pussy! orders Joknar. Spread your cheeks nice and high. I'm gonna stuff you good with real croc bone! But first, I wanna give you a hard spanking like every adventurer bitch deserves!

I helplessly curve and raise my bottom while the hung brute fits his thumping monster cock into the crack of my ass. The texture is damp and slick, and I've never felt anything as crude and primal as this sensation on my sensitive fleshy hole. The croc dick slides up and down with force, squeezing itself mercilessly in my most intimate area. I hear huffing and puffing. The claws dig in my captive rump as his pleasure becomes more intense, and I think I'm about to go mad when that stimulation causes a few drops to leak out of my own caged sex. Shaved and stripped on the pavement of this grimy alley, with my muzzle covered in bandit seed, and another reptile about to pump my tight beaten ass full of cream, the desperate situation caused some appalling primitive instinct to betray me, and offer away my final shred of dignity even before my anus got forcefully stretched by filthy and stupid brigand dicks.

Since this waking nightmare has to be absolute, of course, my outlaw captors immediately notice, which causes a predictable uproar of derision. They shout for Joknar to be even harsher, and I detect a rumble of intense, dark appreciation rising from the croc. His powerful hands tighten yet more around my completely vulnerable ass, and the chafing back-and-forth of his mean dick pushing between my cheeks speeds up. I start to complain with a moan, but I'm cut short.

"Defeated male pussy like you must learn its place! You only get pleasure when we say so, and you never complain!"

The sonorous smack on my controlled rump resounds in my flesh. It freaking hurts! The severe sting gets a tiny mournful squeal out of my throat, but I contain it in silence as much as I can, constrained by the callous command. A second blow lands as my thorough spanking continues. Joknar is a beast; he's done this before, I'm sure. He doesn't even stop laboring my crack which is becoming disgustingly slippery, far from it. The burn in my rear motivates him. He loves slapping my ass while he puts it to good use. My pain is spice; it makes me a better fuck for him. He spanks my offered bum again with his rough scaly hands, back to the first cheek. Even my face reddens as my body tenses. I look pleadingly to the crocs, praying they'll understand. I get it! I'm theirs! I'll obey and have no pride! They laugh and encourage their kinky pal to strike harder, which he does.

I receive the discipline helplessly in front of all the bandits, for as long as they wish. Between the weighty smacks, Joknar continues to hold and work my pleasant crack, with his hands and his thick sex. He grunts and yells in extreme satisfaction, while I'm taught my degrading, painful lesson. At last, it's clear that Joknar isn't willing to delay anymore. The brute is primed. With a sharp breath, he lines up the puffy, round head of his cock against my hole.

Trax interrupts him by pressing his large sole on my upper back. The clan shuts up, for once.

-- Take a good look, boys. If you ever think that our days are too tough, remember this spanked, collared slave bitch. This is the ultimate fate of adventurers. You go looking for trouble long enough, thinking you're a big shot, and you're bound find more than you can handle. One mistake, one bad day is enough to stop living the exciting life of triumph, and start paying the price for being a failure. No. Best stay in the shadows, prudent, and take what we can only from those who can't fight back. Don't draw attention, don't be too bold, and wait patiently. Wait for one of those fancy adventurers to have themselves a really bad day!

On this, Trax turns and backs away as he shouts:

"Train his ass and muzzle well, brothers! This pussy belongs to us! Enjoy your reward, and bring him back to the hideout! God knows the place needs a decent scrubbing, and it'll be great humility practice."

I gaze at the pavement, lost. The crocodilian bandits acclaim their chief deafeningly, unleashed once and for all. Joknar's solid sex shoves forward, reaming my anus. He invades deep. I sense his organ jabbing my prostate, and humping roughly as he cheers and slaps my conquered ass. It sends waves of tortured arousal into my caged sex. My eyes widen and I gape at the intensity of my uniquely degrading future, lying among the remains of my removed honor and mane.

-- Swallow my dick, pussy! And savor it!

Oh, fuck me. They can make me do that, too, I realize. A stinky chunk of unwashed croc grabs my front and shoves his dick straight down my gullet. It's even worse than Trax's meat, but I taste every part of it that my tongue can reach, unable to disobey. I wrap it tight and service it devotedly even as it dives too far and makes me gag. Both brainless lizards spitroasting me shove my body with enough force to send me deeper on the other one's shaft. They're entertained when they notice, and make sure to do it even more. Some others close in. They touch my moving body. One crouches and rubs his erection against my nipple.

-- Yeeehaw, guys! Train this failure for us!

Joknar kicks things up another notch, pounding my punished ass faster. He grins effortfully.

-- He's too tight, brothers. Help me out.

I hear him spit, and sense cold liquid land between my cheeks and on my taut anus. It quickly gets spread by the large cock pumping into me and disappears. Joknar spits again, and many others join in, chuckling when bubbly reptile spittle covers my previously glorious butt, and Joknar's cock does indeed start sliding faster. He slaps me some more in celebration, then bends further over my back, and humps as hard as he can, hammering my prostate into overstimulated pudding, which causes the sensitive flesh of my trapped penis to grind horribly against the metal, while more miserable dribbles leak between my legs for the gallery to witness.

It occurs to me that the savage bandits won't run out of original ideas to humiliate my enslaved body anytime soon, when I sense a different liquid on my lower back. I can't really turn my head, with the massive erection thrusting down my abused throat, but I soon figure out that there's a brush involved, and that the liquid must be black ink. They wrote something on my nude, groveling form. They can write whatever rude or nasty stuff they want, of course, and I'll have to wear it.

-- Failed hero, slowly enunciates the proud artist, barely able to read the words he painted directly above my butt cheeks.

Joknar probably finds that idea super hot, because he tenses up a lot, pinning my spanked bottom and my reamed asshole in place with more strength than ever before. The rough reptile moans with his bursting orgasm. His waist gives my rear few more solid thumps while he squirts his plentiful lukewarm seed up my bum, which make my chastity cage waggle under me, and cause me to milk the front croc's huge dick even deeper. The latter begins to ejaculate as well, so one of the surrounding bandits grab the maneless base of my skull to ensure I'll swallow everything, which I do, since it was ordered. The pressured creamy fluid hits the back of my throat and flows down in heavy spurts until the spiteful thug withdraws to cover my nose and my face with his white spunk. This naturally prompts the delighted gang to write "Cum spunge" across my shoulder blades. They pat the backs of their satisfied buddies.

Fresh outlaw reptiles replace the ones who've already had their fill of my dishonor, but they grab me and flip me on my back. I can barely see due to the sticky sperm in my eyes. After blinking desperately, I see that Joknar hasn't left yet. He holds the ink brush.

-- Spread 'em, pussy! Gotta mark you properly.

Weirdly, I notice that young Joknar has nice calligraphy. He writes "Croc property" above my caged genitals, over my pubis. The sight of this supremely personal spot being so desecrated hits me. At least I couldn't see what they wrote in my back. This, I can't really ignore.

"There," he says. "That oughta remind you of your place, adventurer."

The evil bandits guffaw, and new bulging cocks are introduced to my sullied holes.

Trax's clan eventually brought me back to their lair, that night. It's an old decrepit building in the middle of the city that used to be a forge. The cunning bastard has his guys actually operate and maintain it painstakingly so that it still looks occupied. They even have a few legitimate clients, making nails and such simple orders. They're not good at it, but they don't charge much. Since twenty crocs working at a single very slow business would be suspicious, they dug their true hideout underneath the shop, where they live and keep their booty. That means also me.

I'm calm, in the moment. Bandits strut around my displayed butt without paying too much attention. Things are quiet in the middle of the day. I'm presenting my submission with my tail high, and licking Trax's ballsack. I was right; I've learned exactly how he tastes. If it wasn't Trax's ballsack, I'd know without looking.

He's sitting on his boss-only chair, legs open, relaxing. I tongue his orbs and play with them, keeping his male kit warm. I reach and lap further under the base of his sex, dangerously close to his most vile and dishonorable spot, but I rub dutifully anyway, just like he enjoys. I know better than to whine or attempt to resist. This is actually what I prefer to do, because Trax likes me clean, as opposed to most of the less refined clan members, who can't seem to give a shit. I might be a disgraced bandit slave and obedient sex plaything, but I'm still a leonid. I feel way better when I've been washed.

Another reptile comes to speak with Trax. They discuss where they'll post me tonight. The industrious outlaws found out that they could easily and safely sell my trained holes in the less recommendable corners of the town, mostly to other groups of thugs and petty criminals, excited by the opportunity to help taking Elias of Volarburg down a few pegs. I'm the town slut, now. I think they forgot all about selling me in some foreign port. They're making profit hand over fist, and they don't want to go back to cleaning their lair by themselves. They love watching me scrub at their feet, whipped and silent. It's arduous at best with the mitts, but that's part of the "fun". I know they're desperately trying to forge a branding iron, upstairs. I hope they won't succeed anytime soon.

The grey reptile talking with Trax crouches nonchalantly and gropes my "failed hero" ass. His middle finger slips between my cheeks and shamelessly strokes my anus. His other hand rests on my upper back. He caresses the words there. From the lustful way he's touching me, I know that I'll end up in his cabin soon, working his shaft deep between my buttocks with my cage trickling pathetically while he holds me and achieves a juicy climax. He won't unlock me. They never unlock me.

I truly am a failed hero, a cum spunge, and croc property. I'm a futureless slave. My only hope is that I'll get lucky, and some epic adventurer group will suddenly decide to do some cleanup around the streets even though there's no money in it, figure out the clan's secret hideaway, attack this place and liberate me. It could happen. I could happen this week, or even today! It really could.

I try never to think of the fact that Trax the Fat and his gang have been running uncaught for over fifteen years.