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“Your first dance of the day starts soon, my pet. Perform well. You know what happens when you disappoint me."

Lazrin's master didn't speak the bear's first language, but Lazrin understood every word well enough even with his thick accent. The ferret also spoke slowly and clearly, drawing his voice out into a menacing cadence. The ursine had been in his menagerie of slave dancers for weeks, and still didn't know if that was his normal speaking voice, or if he spoke with the sinister affectation merely to be understood by his captives and instill fear and fealty within them.

Lazrin had been a shaman of his clan before his capture. An ascetic druid in tune with the needs of the land who helped ensure a bountiful harvest of crops and gatherings as well as fair weather for his tribe. As a sage, albeit a young one who hadn't yet seen his first gray fur of middle age, he was one of the few who had learned the language of the mustelid empire that ever encroached upon their lands from the south. This ended up being either a blessing or a curse, depending on one's point of view.

When the soldiers came and set their huts and tents ablaze, all his kin who were not killed outright were rounded up to be auctioned off to the patriarchs of the rising nation's silver mines, where they would labor until they dropped dead of exhaustion. Lazrin alone in his clan had been spared that fate through a couple of virtues.

One, he knew the language, and could speak it (albeit haltingly- the ferrets used words with many syllables and laced them together in complex and varied ways, unlike the bear's more straightforward tonal dialect with a set grammatical pattern).

And two, he was considered quite an attractive specimen of his species. He was tall, especially compared with the smaller anthros who had done away with his tribe and even their lupine mercenaries which were omnipresent in any war camp. Lazrin was solidly built, with a layer of round pudge all over his broad-shouldered physique. He had the shape of most bears, bottom-heavy, but strong. His pelt was a fine chocolate brown, with a lighter, muddy shade of dappled tan, like that of an oak tree's bark in the summer sunlight, as the softer tone of his underbelly and the scruff around his neck. His paws were wide and shovellike. The claws they once held no longer gleamed now that they had been filed dull to make him more subservient and less of threat. His eyes were icy blue sapphires that glittered strikingly from his dark, natural mask.

After the ferrets had imprisoned him, they made efforts to break him- as they did with all of their new slaves. It was a swift and brutal affair. Commands were issued and any failure to immediately comply was met with violence. Beatings were the most common via a whip across the back or the soles of the foot-paws, but paddlings and sexual torments were not rare either. Lazrin remembered being up on the auction block when it was announced that his purchaser would be keeping him an erotic dancer and concubine rather than becoming a simple laborer. He still had fresh lashes and his wrists were bound to a pole across his shoulders, exposing his naked form to the slinky anthros that were roughly half his size.

The mustelids, having descended from the wild weasel and polecat barbarians in millennia past, were a small species and prided themselves on being at the apex of sophistication, uniformity, and culture. They found great enjoyment in fondling the bear's plum-like testicles and ample sheath. When they teased him to arousal and revealed his full erect length of over nine inches of rigid flesh, they laughed. His cock was as savage and unwieldy as the beast it was attached to, they had claimed.

In the present, that genitalia, monstrously large by the smaller mammals' standards, was locked in a golden prison. They had fastened a cage that fit over his sheath that prevented him from getting erect. Even the pressure of getting somewhat plump caused pain as his member inevitably yielded to the metal of the device and it stifled his hardness before it could truly begin. He had not been allowed an orgasm since his capture and he had long since given up believing they would grant him one. He wasn't forced to wear the cage at all times. It was usually removed for his dances in front of the high ranking soldiers and traveling merchants who paid for entertainment and wished to taunt him about pent up while they fondled and edged him until he leaked a cascade of precum down his trembling, denied shaft.

The dancing itself was always a thoroughly embarrassing affair. Before his imprisonment, dances were done naked beneath the moon with his tribe, bodies painted in multi hued pigment runes as an offering of joy to the land in the form of music and merriment. Now, he often wore elaborate costumes. Most commonly was the one he was currently wearing. It was crafted of thin strips of sleek, tight, black material that hugged his form from his shoulders to his groin. It was adorned with flowing sleeves connected to locked wrist cuffs that were honestly more like ornamental shackles. The outfit was intended for a female, and accentuated his large backside with a series of braided tassels around the waist like a skirt. Held in place under the taut strips of fabric that covered his pectorals were a pair of soft, round sponges to serve as makeshift breasts and fill out the chest of the outfit. They pressed outward, like perky cleavage and were meant to humiliate him by pretending he was a female of his tribe. This irked him to no end. The feminine form was as revered in his culture as the male one. Doing something that made light of it felt antithetical to the teachings he had always held dear. Floral scented oils and powders crafted of enticing herbs were brushed into his fur daily, until he felt unnaturally perfumed and robbed of his natural musk.

Lazrin's master, a ferret of early middle-age called Martialis, reclined on a plush cushion on the floor puffing fragrant smoke from a hookah as he watched his pet prepare. He was dressed in a toga of richly dyed silks. Jewelry decorated every bit of him; earrings, necklaces, rings, anklets, armbands, and more. He was practically a walking treasury and clinked with every small motion he made. His fur was trimmed even and uniform with not a whisker out of place. He puffed out a ring of smoke and admired his property through its hazy center with an unfeeling gaze, like a dragon appreciating its favored bauble.

“You'll be entertaining Legate Titus and his honor guard to celebrate his latest victory in the field. He's an important ferret and his influence can not be understated. Impress him if you want to earn your keep and avoid punishment. The soldiers with him are wolves. Lateborn princes of their lands. Romulus and Vitus are their names. Consider this a warning that they are known to have an appetite for cruelty and depravity, and steel yourself. I shall suffer no hesitation when it comes to following their orders. Am I understood, pet?"

Lazrin responded with a nod. He'd grown somewhat numb to the daily dire warnings, but while he hadn't given up hope of escape, the glimmer of freedom seemed ever more distant. He'd be beaten either way, but if he pleased his owner's clients, it would at least be bearable. When he first thrashed and fought, he had been paddled and whipped so severely and he couldn't sit down or lay on his back for nearly a week as his tender flesh knitted and his bruises healed. They promised that they could do worse and the bear believed them once he saw his torturers flick their eyes back and forth between a nearby reed switch and his ball sac.

The ferret had just finished issuing his words of caution when the beaded curtains at the opening of his tent parted. Lazrin retreated behind the heavy cloth curtain from which he started his show, but couldn't resist peeping out through a fold in the fabric.

A pair of fit wolves entered first. One was taller and muscular with a coat that was completely ash gray, while the other was shorter and more lithe with a pelt the rusty color of fresh, damp clay. His fur had crimson streaks dyed into it, including on his face, like a semi-permanent mask of war paint. The larger one had numerous visible piercings and scars, but the smaller one favored his armor being more damaged than his body was. Each wore a polished bronze breastplate, armored skirt, and intricately engraved greaves above their sandals. The gray wolf, Vitus judging by the ornamental V on his shield, kept his palm on the hilt of his gladius, while Romulus held a falx sickle in each paw. They stood at attention on either side of the opening. They were younger than Lazrin, maybe just into their early twenties and full of youthful vigor, but wolves aged gracefully and it was difficult to tell.

Stalking in after the pair was the legate. Despite by far being the most compact of the three, he was the most imposing. His segmented breastplate glittered over his long torso in the smoky light of the tent. His muzzle protruded from the plumed, open-faced helmet he wore and his shoulders were widened by a pair of heavy spaulders. A cape billowed behind him as he strode, and he tapped the butt of his spear on the ground like a hiking staff with each step of his short legs. He was the eldest in the tent, but still younger than expected for such a high ranking officer in the ferrets' legion. The bear would've been surprised to learn that he was past his late thirties; mid-forties at the very most.

Master Martialis immediately rose from his cushioned nook to greet his important visitors with a regal deference. They chatted briefly in their own tongue, but it was too fast and too muffled by the curtain for Lazrin to follow the conversation. What words he understood were a mix of pleasantries and eroticism. Legate Titus handed a bulging purse of denarii to the slaver. The ferret fished out a few of the silver and let the clinking coins fall through his fingers back into the bag with a genuine smile.

It wasn't long before the Legate was guided to a heavy pillow where he sat cross-legged next to the bear's owner. The base of his sac, unclad by any codpiece, was just visible under the opening of his skirt. The pair of lupine soldiers laid their arms aside, but remained standing, flanking their commander. Martialis offered Titus the hose of a hookah as he retrieved a lyre. The dark wood was inlaid with gold and jewels and Lazrin distantly wondered if it cost more than he had. Money wasn't something his society often needed beyond the rare trade, and its value often eluded him.

Martialis strummed a few chords, plucking away a slow quiet tune. It would pick up when Lazrin took the stage, as it always did, but for the moment it set an sultry, intimate tone and warned the ursine that he had best be prepared because the show was about to begin. Wanting to avoid any punishment, at least until he had a reasonable chance of actually escaping, the bear double-checked to make sure his outfit was in order.

The black straps that hugged his body formed a V from his shoulders to his groin. Even with the chastity cage compacting them, his sizable genitals made a prominent bulge in the material which the form-fitting costume clearly outlined. His cuffs were buckled on securely. Each had several metal rings sewn onto them to allow for chaining Lazrin into any position required to suit Martialis' customers tastes while they had their way with him after his dance had finished. The dangling tassels draped over his plump buttocks and round hips. They flowed freely as he danced, but when he stood still they merely accentuated his body.

His cue was fast approaching and he positioned his foot-paws as he had been shown when he first was taught to dance. Thankfully there was no broken pottery or hot coals scattered about the floor as an incentive for him not to misstep like there was when he was first being trained. He yanked the curtain cord and let the cloth flutter to the floor, dropping the barrier between him and his audience. He spread his arms and began to dance to the beat, shaking his chest and rotating his shoulders to make his false breasts bounce and sway. Lazrin did his best to keep from scowling at the perversion of dance and music the mustelid culture had developed. It exalted itself and the players and composers. Their music was only meant to be pleasant to the ear and have proper accompanying dances, including erotic ones, whereas his own people played their music with wild abandon for nothing more than the merriment of themselves and the spirits of nature. Still, the stringed instrument was able to ring out a hauntingly sensual melody.

He spun and writhed. He thrust his hips and twisted to highlight his sexual parts, whether it was the round curvature of his ass, the press of his testicles against the sheer cloth above his naked thighs, or his fake boobs that bounced with every twist.

The wolves leered at him with open desire. In Lazrin's experience, lupines were rough but quick lovers, often spending more time tied with his hole post-coitus than they did actively thrusting into it. And while they often bit his scruff to steady themselves as they pounded away, it rarely was such a harsh bite that the resulting bruises bothered him much. The ferrets on the other paw tended to relish cruelty for its own sake during lovemaking. They would bite him over and over again as they used and abused his hole, regularly squeezing, scratching, and otherwise being violently physical in their mating. They didn't just want to fuck. They wanted to dominate their partners just as they dominated most of the known world with their empire.

The ferret legate made a silent motion with his claw which Martialius interpreted for him.

“Strip," he ordered softly, almost sing-song, while not missing a note of his tune.

It used to be difficult to disrobe while maintaining his steps, but he had been lashed harshly for being too clumsy and had mastered the technique in short order. He slid the straps from his shoulders. Immediately his fake breasts popped free and tumbled to the floor. One stayed where it fell while Lazrin danced around it while the other rolled unevenly across the ground and came to a rest at the gray wolf Vitus' feet. He snickered and lifted like he was holding a bitch wolf's breast in his paw, before discarding it casually over his shoulder.

Lazrin continued to dance, disconnecting his flowing sleeves from his cuffs so he could slide the rest of his garment down and off. With how it clung tightly to his body, it took some effort to take off smoothly without ruining the flow of the dance, but he succeeded, leaving it cast aside on the floor. He was naked then, except for the gilded cage imprisoning his long neglected maleness.

He danced closer to his master and paused before Martialis, gyrating his hips. The slaver stopped his music only briefly to withdraw a glittering key on his slender chain necklace from beneath his toga and remove the lock on the chastity cage. Its components clattered to the floor.

The legate showed emotion for the first time- an amused smirk- as he reached forward and cupped the bear's testicles. He heaved one nut in his palm ponderously, marveling at the weight and heft of the larger species genitals. The fingers on his other crawled toward the ursine's needy sheath. He gripped it and felt heat pulsing through it in time with Lazrin's heartbeat. Titus massaged it with his nimble fingers, coaxing out the engorged fleshy tip of the captive's erection.

“As brutishly large as the rest of him is," the commander remarked to his honor guard. “Those poor savages, bending over for such a beast of a fur. Are they all so absurdly large and cumbersome?"

“All that I have seen. Their bodies are as wild as their souls, honored Legate, but we have tamed them," the other ferret responded. “Would you like me to have him service you, or perhaps order him to lie down and submit to you and your guard?"

The soldier hadn't ceased stroking Lazrin's developing length, and his shaft was almost fully erect. His large phallus jutted upward and quivered in the open air like the shaft of a pike, needy from its many days of denial.

“It seems your slave likes that idea, but a good commander sees to the needs of the heroes who fight for him first. Perhaps I will have a go once the princes have taken their due."

The legate turned to look at Vitus and Romulus. The pair of armored lupines watched the performance with salacious gleams in their eyes, but continued to stand at attention despite their apparent eagerness, until their commanding officer gave them a nod of encouragement. Both anthros immediately began to unbuckle their armor. The pieces tumbled to the floor with clanks and heavy thuds.

Before long they stood gloriously naked and not the least bit ashamed of their nudity; not that they had any reason to be. Despite their physical differences they were still fine specimens of wolves, with sleek pelts and healthy forms. Both were erect already. The larger gray wolf's knot had already worked its way free and fell forward under its own weight. The shorty, rust colored one's had its knot struggling to pop free of its furry sheath while its marbled, glistening flesh stood out against the white fur of its underbelly. Both rods were sizable, compared to the ferrets, and were no doubt subjected to disparaging remarks when they were not within earshot of the mustelids, but both still paled in comparison to the bear slave's length and girth.

“Shall I chain him up?" Martialis asked.

“No, let's see this brute's strength. Let him struggle. I'm confident that even one of his power cannot wrestle two of my finest at the same time."

The shorter wolf was already stretching with his paws clasped above his head, arms outstretched, arching his back and pelvis forward, while the other popped his neck and cracked his knuckles.

Lazrin was unsure of what to do. He wasn't a warrior, but he was large and strong. Still, the legate had used the word for “wrestle" not “fight" leading the bear to believe it was supposed to be a grappling match. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to lose on purpose or do his best to win, and making the wrong choice in the instant could lead to severe consequences later in the day when he was punished for any rule infractions that he had invariably tallied up.

Seeing as he was given the chance, he made the snap decision to fight back, just as the duo lunged at him. He made heavy swings with his arm, trying to knock either of the duo aside as they came at him. The red wolf, Romulus, nimbly dodged by ducking the blow, while the larger wolf caught his wrist in one paw and twisted his arm behind his back, using the bear's size against him. Lazrin made an effort to flip the wolf forward and over himself, but as he coiled the muscles in his legs, the smaller wolf swept his feet from under him by hooking his ankle against the off-balance bear's foot-paw. The bear staggered and fell forward onto his knees with Vitus still against his back. The carpets littering the tent softened his fall. He snarled, simmering with rage that the pair of smaller anthros were so easily able to outclass him in such a humiliating fashion.

“That's the sort of unfocused barbarity I expected to see. All power, no precision. No wonder his tribe were so easily dealt with," the legate said with a snide laugh. “Have your way with him. Let him continue to struggle while you take him if you wish. I know you like it when they put up a fight."

Romulus and Vitus wasted no time. Vitus, still holding Lazrin's paw behind his back, forced his legs apart. The ursine's stubby tail did nothing to conceal his ring, and his heavy sac hung between his hefty thighs. The gray wolf fondled his scrotum with his free paw, squeezing the heavy orbs far harder than need be. Lazrin's throaty growl quickly changed to a yelp and a whimper until the lupine released his tight fisted grip. Meanwhile, Romulus had scurried in front of the prostrate bear and grabbed his jaw, lifting Lazrin's face to eye level with his meaty phallus.

“Open," he commanded harshly, followed by a snide hiss of, “No teeth." It seemed the mustelid language was his second tongue as well.

The bear briefly considered chomping, but he knew when he was defeated, and a glance over at his master told him it was time to stand down and follow orders again. He parted his lips, and stuck forth his tongue, still panting slightly from the brief tussle where the wolves' skill had triumphed over his raw strength.

Lazrin heard a wet slapping, and smelled the tang of olives in the air. Vitus was slathering slick oil all over his cock until it glistened with a fine sheen, then used his fingers to wipe the excess lubricant on the bear's exposed hole. He worked his wet fingers in between his cleft and found his tight aperture. The first digit slid in with a smooth twist of the wolf soldier's wrist.It seemed to the bear that the wolf was an expert at preparing a submissive. With his role as both prince and decorated soldier, the bear had no doubt that he left a string of violently bred camp followers and conquered warriors and squires in his wake. He had the demeanor of a male who was not used to being denied.

His finger found the sweet spot within Lazrin and was rewarded with an involuntary gasp of pleasure. He pressed against it, kneading it, making the bear moan and quiver. He had been kept chaste for so long that even the ministrations of such a cruel partner electrified his need for an orgasm. Romulus, not to be left out, thrust his pelvis forward and into his unwilling sex slave's muzzle, dribbling a trail of salty pre across Lazrin's tongue. The bear, wanting to finish this mating as quickly as possible, wrapped his long tongue around the shaft, making the wolf puff out a hot breath of pleasure. The bear worked his tongue into the base of the wolf's sheath, where his knot stretched it to its limits. The scent of desire and need hung heavy in the air, and even Legate Titus' heavy skirt was tented by the press of his erection.

Vitus added a second finger into the bear's ass, and spread his digits apart while rotating his paw. He eventually brought them back together and thrust them in and out in a harsh, but steady rhythm. The wolf leaned over the captive, stretching his neck forward so he could speak huskily into his ear.

“A savage barbarian? A dancing girl? And now a sex-slave boy? Where I hail from a male has but one role, and from the looks of it, you'll never experience it again- if you ever had, that is," he whispered cruelly, just as he withdrew his paw and used it to angle his dripping tip at the ursine's entrance. He jabbed his cock blindly a few times, missing the mark just a bit with each, but on his fourth thrust found his mark and plunged in deep. He speared Lazrin on his cock, letting it sink halfway in before he even slowed his penetration, giving the bear no time to adjust to the invasive member.

Lazrin groaned in discomfort but continued to orally service the red-furred anthro in front of him, slurping along his rod like it was a delicious treat. Romulus spurted jets of pre into his throat, which he swallowed quickly, rather than letting it sit on the back of his tongue. It was difficult to continue to suckle on the wolf's cock while another pried him open from behind, but he managed, bobbing up and down on the trembling shaft. Vitus eventually worked himself in all of the way until his knot was pressed at the bear's hole. He then pulled back until only a half-inch of his tip remained lodged inside of his unwilling lover. Without warning he bucked sharply forward until his knot smashed up into Lazrin's crack once again. He repeated this, enjoying being a rough partner. He clamped his fangs down on Lazrin's scruff, making him unleash an embarrassingly throaty rasp in reply. His neck had always been sensitive and his past, consensual lovers had found no shortage of pleasure in teasing him with nibbles there.

Vitus humped wildly, and within a few minutes, he started to grind his fleshy bulb against the ursine's entrance, forcing the knot into him.

All the while Romulus was picking up steam and pumping away into the bear's mouth.

The red wolf was the first to cum. His body shuddered climax as his sac drew tight and he paused mid-thrust. His breath hitched and he released a snarl just as his first spurt erupted from his spasming crown. He gripped the bear's head with both paws and held him there as he trembled and came, shooting thick ropes of lupine spunk into Lazrin's maw. There was nothing the bear could do except swallow the mouthfuls of the soldier's ejaculate in a few, large gulps. Just as he managed the final swallow, Vitus managed to force his knot past the halfway point, and it popped in, locking them together.

He, too, froze as his orgasm came with great intensity. His bite gripped harder and his paw that wasn't binding Lazrin's wrist clutched behind his back was at the bear's hip with his claws just barely not breaking the bear's skin beneath his shaggy pelt. The knot swelled and flared as it pumped a load of wolf seed into the submissive slave. His chest rose and fell heavily as he rode out the orgasm and subsequent afterglow.

Lazrin too, was exhausted from first the dance, then the tussle, then the mating. He looked over to his owner and the legate when the wolf in front of him finally pulled his spent shaft out of his muzzle and milked the last vestiges of his climax into pearly droplets that he wiped on the bear's cheek. He hadn't even noticed Titus rising and undressing, but there he stood, starkly naked in an authoritative pose with his paws on his hips. In one fist he clutched a short whip with many braided tassels. Silently the commander waved the princes away.

Romulus backed away with ease, but Vitus was still tied. He tugged himself back, making Lazrin's eye's bulge at the sensation of being stretched all over again while the swollen knot fought to be free of his backside. He sighed and shivered with relief when it popped free. The larger wolf's tip trailed a strand of sticky goo with it. The face he made told of the overwhelming pleasure and sensation that pulling himself free before his knot had properly deflated had caused, but he too obeyed and stepped away.

The ferret strode forward until he was standing in front of the bear who was on all fours, panting from exertion. Due to their difference in size, the bear was eye level with the mustelid's torso. Silently, the legate lifted a footpaw and placed it on the bear's head, forcing his face down to the carpet-laden floor of the tent.

He suddenly whipped his arm forward, sending the flog across the bear's back. Lazrin yelped and his eyes watered as pain blossomed from a dozen stinging lashes. Titus snapped his arm back the other way and drew the implement back across. The feeling was even worse the second time, with the flesh already tender from the first stroke. Again and again the whip came, until the bear didn't know how much longer he could last without crying out and pleading for mercy. He hadn't experienced something so bad since when they first sought to break him after his capture.

The many tips of the flog reached every bit of his back, even wrapping around to bite at his hips and rump. Lazrin lost count of the swings. His arms and legs trembled, barely supporting him as he took his beating.

“He's durable," Titus commented to Martialis. “Perhaps I should focus elsewhere, like that unsightly sac of his."

The bear had had a paddle taken to his ass and testicles before his sale to the ferret merchant lord, and the feeling had made him gasp and cry and nearly pass out with pain. He wanted more than anything at that instant to never experience it again.

“If you liked his performance, I could be persuaded to part with him for the proper price. His many dance outfits are fully included, of course."

“Not without a complete sampling of the wares. Chain him up."

Titus took his place behind the sniveling bear and massaged the rosy spike of flesh protruding from his sheath.

Martialis ceased his strumming and rose from his cushion. He had several coils of chain prepared for exactly such a request. He quickly and efficiently connected one end of each chain to one of several pegs hammered into the earth, then tossed them over the beams that supported his palatial tent. After he instructed the bear into a standing position and he attached the chains to the rings on the wrist and ankle cuffs that Lazrin wore and yanked them tight before slotting some slender iron rods through the links of the chain to secure them to one another, leaving the ursine completely defenseless and at the mustelid's mercy.

Legate Titus strode in a slow circle around the bear a couple of times, taking in his physique. After two complete circuits he lashed out several times in rapid succession, striking even harder than before and aiming for Lazrin's aching rump. The bear howled with surprise and pain, involuntarily thrashing against his bindings, but they held so firm he couldn't do more than writhe in agony to a symphony of clanking metal. The ferret reached around him from behind and fondled his sheath, coaxing the dancer to erection again, then masturbating him silently for more than a minute. He alternated between several swift strokes and a dozen or more torturously slow ones to edge the bear to his limits. It wasn't long before Lazrin leaked a shimmering strand of pre that reached to the floor.

The ferret commander called for a stool for him to step up onto, and when one of the wolf princes brought him one, he was the perfect height to dominate the captive. Titus used the lingering oil and remnants of his honor guard's essence as his lubricant as he pressed his hardness at Lazrin's hole, poising to skewer him. The mustelid steadied himself with his paws around the bear's sides and began to thrust with great fervor, sliding in and out with ease after the stretching his soldier had put the dancer through. He hissed and grunted as he humped.

His stout length was angled perfectly to assault Lazrin's prostate and he found himself flushing shamefully as spurts of pre splattered out of him to the delight of the lupine audience. Romulus and Vitus howled with laughter.

The legate motioned for them to approach and they crouched down on either side of the bear, their sacs dangling between their legs, heavy with the scent of their recent climaxes. One reached in to cup Lazin's testicles in his paw, fondling and intermittently squeezing them just to the precipice of tolerable pain. The other did the same to the druid's meaty length, though that sensation was much more pleasurable than painful. His face burned hot with shame as his pre leaked over the wolf soldier's knuckles. The canid smiled as he rhythmically squeezed, but never stroked. After so long kept in chastity, being held at the precipice of bliss was as torturous as any other cruelty he had been subjected to. The pacing and tightness of the fist clamping around his shaft gradually sped up. The chains clanked loudly as he involuntarily fought for enough leeway to hump into the wolf's paw, but failed. He was torn between the burning desire to cum and the impetuous impulse not to give the warriors the satisfaction of seeing him peak.

But the decision was not his to make.

'Oh no!' Lazrin thought in the wake of a particularly strong squeeze, as he felt a heat well up in his testicles that he hadn't experienced in countless days- his body reacting of its own accord in response to the sexual torment. His muscles tightened and just as Titus was approaching his own point of no return. With a feral roar, the bear felt himself get pushed over the edge and his member twitched twice before exploding, blasting heavy gushes of bear spunk out in front of him. They splattered several paces in front of him and it was a good half a dozen pulses before the feeling subsided into a dull glow that filled his aching body.

In the throes of his orgasm, the bear's ring clamped down tightly around Titus' length. The squeezing heat was the final nudge needed to make the ferret snarl and fill the druid with his seed. It mixed with the wolf's cum and leaked out around his sensitive, quivering shaft. Eventually, his softening cock slipped from the ursine's aperture, trailing a stand of sticky seed along with it, and retreated slowly into its sheath. Titus stretched his sore muscles from the mating and turned to Master Martialis as he retrieved his gear and began to methodically don it.

“My guard will be by at the next sunrise with the denarii needed to purchase the barbarian. I expected him to be bound and plugged when they arrive. You can forgo the chastity cage."

The legate and his entourage departed soon after, and Lazrin cleaned himself and prepared for the remainder of the day's visitors. They passed in a blur as his mind was focused on what woe dawn might bring. He slept poorly, even after the exhausting day of rotating between dancing and sex. He was surprised he even dozed off at all with the girth of the butt plug inserted into him, pressing uncomfortably against his prostate with every toss and turn he made. Eventually, he was awakened by the rattling of chains. He opened his bleary eyes to see Master Martialis standing over him, shackles in his paws. He led the nude bear to a cart with a cage on it.

The prison was clearly meant for a much smaller captive than the ursine's bulky form, and he had to squeeze and hunch to fit into it. His fur and bulges of flesh pressed out between the iron bars, especially around his thighs, rump, and midsection. His sheath and sac protruded between a couple as well, as if intentionally on display. His paws were bound on the outside of the bars, and were the only part of his body that had much in the way of potential motion. They were clasped just below his belly and above his genitals.

He heard the voices of the wolves from the previous day, but didn't have the space to turn to see the speakers. A heavy bag of clinking coins was exchanged. A not-quite comprehensible joke. Some laughter.

For being outdoors, with the sound of an awakening war camp around him- the clang of hammer on bronze, the trumpet to rouse the soldiers- he felt extremely claustrophobic. The former druid yearned to be running through the meadows and forests far away from the mustelids, not boxed in; motionless and broken. Whether due to the anxiety of his uncertain future, or the press of the bars on all sides of him, he was visibly nervous for the first time in a while. His breathing quickened to the point he felt light headed, and even trembled. Even though he had barely been in the cage for mere minutes by the time the slave pulling the cart began his trudge, slowly wheeling the bear toward the legate's tent, he already felt his muscles ache, as if cramping preemptively from his confines.

Romulus led the poor slave pulling the wagon, pausing briefly here and there to chat with some of his friends. He encouraged the ferrets to grope the “savage barbarian's gravid orbs and prodigious sheath" which most did with enthusiasm, often quite a bit roughly, caring little if they squeezed too hard or twisted too much. With the physical attention the bear couldn't prevent himself from growing erect, much to the marvel and delight of the warriors. The mustelids ran their nimble paws along his veiny length until it bobbed at full hardness with every lurch of the uneven wheels. More than a few grabbed a handful of his backside or helped themselves to a squeeze of his meaty thighs. Vitus kept pace beside the cart, a braided whip clutched in his paw.

Once they left the initial cluster of tents he sneered at Lazrin.

“Pleasure that obscene cock of yours. Let them all see how much you enjoy belonging to the legate. If you cum, you'll wish you hadn't, and if I feel you are not stroking enthusiastically enough, you'll feel my lash," he said, motioning emphatically with his whip. “And make sure you moan. Let the whole camp hear how good it is or I will personally make you howl."

Eyeing the sinister implement was all the encouragement that Lazrin needed to start to publicly masturbate. He grunted with the effort of wiggling in his minute cage to properly grasp his penis with both of his large paws, one atop the other, which together just barely went from the base of his shaft to just beneath his crown. Onlookers whistled and jeered as he was carted by, occasionally spurting jets of pre into the dirt, leaving dark, damp patches in the ear like a breadcrumb trail behind the wagon. Lazrin wasn't naturally loud as he enjoyed carnal pleasures, so he had to force himself to vocalize and groan. He huffed and whimpered until he was hoarse. He tried to maintain a steady pace, but found himself needing to slow here and there lest he erupt and face the wolf's wrath.

He was rewarded on each occasion with the sharp bite of the whip against his ass. The shaman would yelp loudly at the pain, which at the very least pulled him back from the precipice of orgasm.

The slave pulling the wagon was a ferret himself, and it felt like hours by the time the smaller creature was able to finish their trek. Lazrin's shaft was raw and sensitive from the endless attention. He was parked outside the legate's massive vibrantly colored tent, but not released, renewing the trepidation of not knowing what lay in his uncertain future and giving him too much time to focus on the gnawing claustrophobia of his tight confines.

The wolf honor guard stood with him, inviting every officer who strolled by to enjoy the prisoner's misery. They kept up making him masturbate and edge himself for a long time. More than one ferret quipped something along the lines of: “Unable to control their baser impulses even when enslaved. This is why I keep my servants chaste." Lazrin wasn't even granted the kindness of being able to explain himself, so he just moaned louder to drown out the voices while pre cascaded over his knuckles.

By midmorning, if it weren't for the bars keeping him motionless, he probably would have fallen over from exertion, but finally he was commanded to stop. They let him out of his cage and led him into his new home, at least until the camp picked up and moved on again. The weakened bear noticed that against one curving, canvas wall, was an X of sturdy wood, with hefty wrist and ankle cuffs chained to it at the top and bottom corners. Next to it on several low shelves were a variety of implements. Some obviously sexual in nature, plugs and phallic toys, but also paddles, whips, candles, and more.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, seeing his new master, Legate Titus, standing in only his codpiece, examining his tools thoughtfully.

“I'm not as lenient a master as Martialis," he issued casually. “I intend to push you to your limits."

Lazrin had managed not to completely break under his previous owner's humiliating and painful tutelage, but he'd be lying if he said his confidence didn't waver, but he still yearned for his freedom and remained defiant. He steeled himself, ready to endure until a chance to escape presented itself, however many moons that might take.