Teaching them Humility 3
Our villains… Survived?
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Teaching them Humility 3
Our villains… Survived?
“Ugh… my… Head.”
Crimson reached for his forehead. He certainly could feel the throbbing headache in his skull, with the sensation of someone coming for his brain with a pickaxe. Worse was the rotting smell of sulfur that assaulted his nostrils.
For someone with such a sensitive nose, it was definitely akin to someone trying to murder his sense of smell or crush it.
Nevertheless, he shook his head… Then rubbed his forehead as he tried to look around.
It was pitch black. Not a light. Not a hint of something.
Sure, he could feel the ground below him, lukewarm and hard. But beyond that? It felt like he was…
“Am I dead?”
“Hrmph… What?”
Another voice answered. Oh, so familiar.
“Thunder? You’re dead, too?”
“Dead? Am… I?” asked the Worgen, though the sound of fur being rubbed came to the Vulpera’s ears.
“I dunno. Can you see anything?”
“No… Can you stop shouting?”
“I’m not shouting, you’re shouting.”
Definitely, they had the same headache that pulsated inside their skulls… Making them writhe as they tried to crawl closer. Then, Crimson’s hand found something furry. Hairy.
“Is that you?”
“Yeah,” grumbled Thunder. “But stop touching my balls.”
“Sorry. I can’t see anything,” said Crimson, recoiling. “And the stench.”
“Yeah. The… Stench. We’re dead?”
“How could I know I-… Wait.”
Crimson raised his ears. He heard something. It was faint. It was… Approaching. He turned his head towards it, just in time to be blinded.
Light, burning, searing, rushed to meet his eyes and sear them.
It was so powerful and blinding that the Vulpera had to cover his eyes, and yet, that wasn’t enough to peer at the figure that stood in the light.
“What’s happening? Are we dead?” asked Crimson.
Silence.
“Wait… Who’s that?”
Crimson squinted more. He could barely see who was here. But he could now make out the edge of a door, of a threshold. But beyond, everything was blinding with hints… Of green.
Then, as he looked at the green metallic floor, he saw… Hooves.
“Wait… Ashav?” he asked.
Silence again, but the hooves did not budge.
Finally, with enough blinking, Crimson was getting used to the light. But as he turned, he saw the two were like in a cabinet. A small storage room with nothing inside except them. It could have been a prison.
However, whoever was in front of them was definitely not Ashav. His skin was purple with green veins underneath. The legs definitely ended in hooves. But beyond that?
Well, it was purple skin… leathery purple skin covered with scars… And a loincloth. No, an armor looking like a loincloth.
Made of black steel. It was definitely not something the Warden would wear, as preachy as he was. And it reeked. It reeked of… The Fel.
“You are not dead. But you might wish it had happened,” answered the voice, rumbling.
One decisive step, and Crimson tried to pounce left. But his body barely answered: his legs were too sore and numb, dragging him back and right into the Wrathguard grip, who lifted him like he was lightweight.
“LET ME GO!” cried Crimson, already kicking and trying to bite the hand holding him by the chest. However, in that posture, Crimson could clearly see their captor better.
It was a Wrathguard, the typical kind summoned by warlocks.
He wore a helmet, lined with gold, his face purple. And his eyes had that green glow. Moreover, his horns looked twisted above his head, like ram horns… His lips were parched, yet they curled as he chuckled and searched for something that was attached to his belt.
“Not yet. I need you fitted, slave,” said the Wrathguard, producing a collar. It was made of leather and pieces of metal, each covered with runes. Runes that instantly glowed when the Demon forcefully fitted the collar around the Vulpera’s neck and closed the buckle on it.
Right there, Crimson was dropped like a dead weight, his posterior crying in agony as he landed on it.
“FUCK! WHAT IS THAT?” cried Crimson, reaching for his collar before he turned to see Thunder lifted the same way as he was. But… Something was different for Crimson.
The Worgen was lifted like a mere doll. No resistance, no kicking, no fighting was enough to release that death grip holding the large Barbarian until he was fitted with that same collar, too. And dropped onto the floor, like a mere toy.
He, too, howled and cried as his posterior hurt from the fall… And then, he, too, looked up.
That Wrathguard, they’d never seen him before. And… Demons were supposed to be dead, already killed during the last invasion.
“What’s happening?” gargled Crimson, reaching for the collar that was digging into his skin, making him wheeze with each breath. “What’s… This?”
The Demon looked at them, then he looked at something else… Before grumbling and ushering in a strange presence.
A Dracthyr.
It was a Dracthyr. No… It looked closer to a Dragon, but not exactly. Even its color seemed wrong, with the gray-blue color not fitting the typical flights. And then…
There was that green hue at his fingertips, at his toes… Even at his… Exposed external genitalia. Definitely something different from most Dracthyrs.
“Come now,” said the Dragon-like individual, looking at the Wrathguard as he departed, stomping away from the entrance. “We have much to do.”
Crimson frowned.
Then he shook his head, smacked his cheeks. He closed his eyes strongly, forcing them shut as hard as he could. But the smell of sulfur was there, and the Dragon remained, though he looked nonplussed. Whether at Crimson’s display. Or at Thunder shaking his head and giving himself slaps to wake himself properly.
The headache was gone. It was gone entirely.
“Master will punish you if you stay here,” said the Dragon, his voice stern.
“Where are we?”
Crimson’s question came as Thunder intervened, nodding.
“Are we dead? Are we in Hell?”
“Shut up. Hell doesn’t exist. It’s the maw or some shit.”
“The maw. I thought that was a lie-”
“Enough!”
Crimson and Thunder looked at the Dragon, stunned. The Dragon’s eyes had a strange green glow at the edge, like bloodshot but… Green. Fel.
“You are not dead. Master Xavash acquired you, and you finally woke up. Now… Come. The stasis spell must have been dispelled.”
“Stasis spell?”
“Acquired?”
“Come,” sighed the Dragon, snapping his fingers. “We do not have all day.”
Crimson again glanced at the Dragon, then at his partner, and soon… The Vulpera pushed on the ground. But this time, he wasn’t feeling so weak. Nor was it painful to stand up. Something similar to Thunder, as Crimson noticed it…
No clothes. Like the Dragon, they were naked. And that mere realization made Crimson shudder.
“Are you here to fuck us?”
“What?” asked Thunder.
“No,” replied the Dragon, deadpan and shaking his head. “Please. Come.”
Crimson grimaced and approached, stepping outside the closet, followed by the Worgen, solely to end in a corridor made of green metal and Fel-riddled stone.
It looked like those Legion ships he’d seen years ago, younger. But different, now that they were inside.
“Where are we? Are we dead? Or in a prison? Or… Space?” asked the Vulpera, following the Dragon as that unnamed prisoner was deciding the pace, forcing the two to follow and walk through mazelike corridors.
On some turns, the Vulpera could see rooms filled with that strange Eredar tech he’d been buying and selling every so often on the black market. But in some, he saw vats filled with various substances of different colors.
A torture room… A war-room even… And all neatly aligned. Clean, too.
“Could you tell us anything? Hey. Can you hear me?”
The Dragon’s shoulders raised… And then dropped, before he stopped and turned.
Crimson stopped and narrowly stumbled when Thunder ran into him.
“Watch it, big guy,” cried the Vulpera, wiping himself and then turning to the Dragon as he pinched the base of his muzzle.
“I knew that would be difficult,” sighed the Dragon. “You’re on Xavash’s ship. You were acquired a few weeks ago. Now, he plans to keep you as servants.”
“Acquired? But…”
Crimson had his hand going to his throat, still remembering the feeling of that rope around his neck.
“We were dead,” said Thunder, speaking it out loud.
“Dead? Certainly not. Xavash cannot acquire souls,” said the Dragon, waving his head and attracting the eyes to another door leading to what looked like a storage space, except it opened on the empty void. A star-riddled expanse they could peer at.
“You must have been acquired under specific circumstances. What is your world called?”
The Vulpera grimaced and shook his head.
As for the Worgen, he shrugged: “Our world?”
“It has a name, shouldn’t it?”
“It has a name?”
“It’s… Complicated. Azeroth. That’s how we call it,” said Crimson, gulping as he still examined his throat. “Why do you ask?”
“Because some worlds are peculiar. You wouldn’t know that murder and slavery are tied. But Azeroth! I heard from my master that it was the first world to push back the Legion. And to deal a decisive blow!”
“It’s… Complicated,” answered Crimson, eyeing Thunder as he nodded. “Your master. Is he a demon from the Legion? Like that wrathguard we saw?”
“Avex? No. He’s a worker like me. And Xavash is a free trader.”
The Dragon beckoned them, enjoining them to walk as they passed along a few more rooms.
One was filled with weaponry. Another with artifacts brimming with power, even from a distance. There was even a room that was filled to the ceiling with gold. Piles and piles of gold that made Crimson’s eyes water. Such… Beauty.
“You can take some,” said the Dragon, patting Crimson’s shoulder.
“What… Wait? I can?”
“It is nothing compared to the Master’s collection. Gold is worthless.”
Right away, Crimson’s delight turned to ashes, and he turned away from the pile, though Thunder remained a while longer… Before grimacing and hastily walking.
“You don’t take the gold.”
“It’s pointless,” replied Crimson, shaking his head. “We’re as good as dead here.”
“But we’re not. Are we?” asked Thunder, checking his neck, too.
Definitely, he felt it too.
_They both felt the rope around their necks. How elated they’d been to poke fun at all the nobles, at the pompous fucks that had been in the tribune to watch their execution. At the crowd that had been shouting insults at them.
‘Cunts.’ ‘Bastard.’ ‘May the birds peck your eyes out’ cried the Kul Tirans, like a sea of waved fists.
Then… The cords tensed. The trapdoor beneath them dropped. His feet instantly kicked as a reflex while the rope dug into his neck. It squeezed the flesh, constricted his vocal cords, and crushed his neck.
They should’ve died on the spot, their necks snapped, and gone limp._
_Instead, they had been kicking and struggling while the rope dug further and further into the flesh, crushing the windpipe. Breathing went from a thoughtless act to an impossible feat.
Quickly enough, despite their gasping mouths, the two could have felt it.
The numbness in their limbs, at the tips, at their lips. The heartbeat was going faster in a reflex while their vision was starting to fade.
Everything was becoming dull and black. His heartbeat deafened every other sound, like a throb that was shaking his entire world. The thoughts raced, yet felt sluggish at the same time.
The hands went and tried to dig into the cuffs, then up.
The feet were kicking and-_
A hand landed on Crimson’s shoulder, shaking him. Snapping him out of his trance-like state.
Thunder was here to shake Crimson, bringing them back to their reality.
To the hall they were in.
“That’s it? That’s where we meet him? Are you sure we need to? There are no portals we could use to escape.”
“If I knew about a portal, would I be around?”
Crimson’s ears dropped while he watched the Dragon smirk and eye the door ahead.
Though they were standing in a hall, surrounded by steel pillars, sconces lit with green flames, the floor covered with a long red runner…
The door ahead was definitely weird.
Not that it was fantastic or impossible to work.
No… It was a plain, towering, double wooden door.
With doorknockers, steel hinges, and practically that hint of eerie that made one believe they might cross over to another plane of existence once they go through the threshold.
It was grating enough that they were guided by someone who looked quite close to a Dragon, but not exactly. Or to be sure…
“How did he… Acquire us?” asked Crimson, frowning at the Dragon while he was about to knock at the door.
“It depends. Only Xavash knows. But he certainly bought you for a hefty price if you come from this world,” said the Dragon, knocking at the door.
One, twice, thrice.
Three knocks, something like a drum hitting the entire place. Even dust lifted off the ground while Crimson turned to Thunder, pointing his chin behind them.
Thunder answered by frowning and raising an eyebrow.
To clarify, Crimson scrunched up his nose while pointing at the dragon with his chin.
One hand open, the palm up, from Thunder.
A shrug from Crimson, a snarl. Then his teeth clenched, and his lower lip was drawn down.
“I wouldn’t plan anything reckless if I were you.”
The voice echoed through their mind, making the duo almost jump while the door opened, with warm air rushing to them.
But it was not the kind of scalding air; it was something completed with hints of grainy wood, burnt logs, paper, acidic fruits. It was a mix that filled their noses, comparable to a study or laboratory.
However, one corner perfectly fit the image of a library filled with cozy books and a seat by a fire. Another corner belonged more to a kitchen.
“Come,” spoke a voice, complete with authority.
The Dragon beelined towards it, his movements stiff. So were Crimson and Thunder’s; their limbs answering them while they approached one large table, onto which had been displayed all sorts of ingredients and fruits.
And… Strangely. An Eredar. A truly pure-blooded Demon was cooking.
With one hand, the Eredar was whipping cream while observing a decrepit book that floated by him… Before he leaned forward to the trio, his green eyes gleaming with unfeigned interest.
“You took your time, Scale,” spoke the Demon with a voice that was deep, powerful, and made the mortals shake to their cores. Especially Thunder and Crimson.
Despite the tentacles and crest typical of an Eredar, the ‘Lord’ had an oiled beard and hair braid that whipped around whenever he moved fast. His wings were folded close to his back, while his long tail was covered in gleaming gold. Much like his belt; he wore nothing but that mere golden belt holding onto a loincloth.
“I ensured they were acquainted with some facilities on the way. Avex fitted them with their collars, as required.”
“Is he… Cooking?” asked Crimson, tilting his head toward Thunder.
“That smells good,” mumbled Thunder in return, sniffing. Whatever the Eredar was preparing, it indeed smelled good enough to titillate the sensitive noses.
Yet, the Eredar was barely focusing on them.
“Good. And from what I see, you divulged little about this. Good,” said the Eredar, his voice calm and suave, before he stopped, his green eyes focusing on Crimson and Thunder.
“Yip. Nestor. Two precious prizes.”
“Wait? How do you know my name? And who are you? Are you cooking?” asked Crimson, taking a few steps further, even pushing the Dragon aside.
The Dragon, who tensed at the touch and the remark, before he turned tail and stepped away.
“Wait? Where are you going?” shouted Crimson at ‘Scale’.
“Master Xavash has no need for me to stay here. Please. Master, they still think they are dead.”
Crimson raised an eyebrow, then turned to the Eredar who still baked, adding something that looked like flour to whatever he’d been wiping. Baking, it is. Nevertheless, it was strange and worrying.
More so with the relaxed way the Dragon stomped outside, and the enormous double doors closed on him, leaving them together. Leaving that room that was downright cozy… if oversized.
Meanwhile, the Eredar’s hooves continued to advance while the two remained still. And eyeing him, though Thunder salivated.
Finally, Crimson opened his mouth.
“Are you Xavash?”
“Nestor. Fetch me the Lamba roots,” said the Eredar, barely finishing pouring the dough into a dish.
Crimson turned and saw his partner step closer to the table and climb onto it, using a stepladder adapted to their size.
As freakish as it was, the Worgen followed the order and reached for whatever the Lamba roots were, some spindly purple roots. He presented them to the Eredar one by one so he could crush them.
Only then did the Worgen stop, his ears dropping and his eyes looking around, his shoulders dropping.
“What…”
“Yip. Join him. And please him.”
The voice felt surreal, echoing through the Vulpera’s mind before he could open his mouth to answer. This time, it was different. Instead of walking like a stiff puppet, he advanced in a haze. Hazy thought, hazy reflections as he knelt behind the Worgen and grabbed his posterior.
Thunder’s ass was definitely the most muscular for them both, and once the Vulpera squeezed them, the cheeks opened, revealing that slightly gaping asshole.
Definitely the same asshole that had been trained relentlessly in prison.
An asshole the Vulpera then ignored before going for the Worgen’s taut and cinched testicles. To those orbs that were swollen, throbbing, and warm… Orbs he kissed, giving them each a lap. All the while, listening to the Eredar crushing some roots only a few steps away from them.
“Now. Nestor. Speak your mind,” said the Eredar.
Crimson felt the Worgen’s orifice clench above him. The thighs definitely tightened, narrowly closing on the Vulpera’s face if not for the Vulpera’s fighting hands.
For a second, a shudder ran through the Worgen’s spine before he sighed.
“You will hurt us?”
“I will,” confirmed the Eredar, his voice still calm. “Continue.”
“You bought us to hurt us?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I felt like so.”
“You wanted to hurt us?”
The question remained unanswered for a second, with the Vulpera still licking and playing with the Worgen’s sweaty testicles. Licking taut skin, slightly pulling on the folds formed by the tight metal at the base of the scrotum.
“I want it. You can ask about something else.”
“The Dragon-“
“Scale.”
“The… Scale. Scale. He said we were not dead. What happened?”
Crimson’s ears dropped. It was usually his turn to speak or ask questions. Thunder was the brawn; he was the brain.
“Someone acquired you and sold you to me. No need to ask for more.”
Again, silence with Crimson licking and now sucking on the testicles.
The salty skin, the brutal touch of Worgen musk. And yet, not so far above, the smell of ass. One he eyed before he returned to those testicles, covering them with… Kisses.
“You’re cooking? Is this for us? Or for someone?”
“For someone? Ah! No,” replied the Eredar, laughing. “I will throw this out once I’m done.”
“But-“ started Thunder, his belly growling. “I’m hungry. Crimson might be hungry.”
The Eredar smirked, shaking his head.
“I knew acquiring you was worthwhile. Nestor. Hold Yip’s head. Do not let him breathe.”
Crimson’s eyelids opened. His brows lifted. But the Worgen widened his stance and then closed his thighs on the Vulpera’s head, almost crushing it. Another hand pressed on the Worgen’s nuts, pressing them until the sweaty skin pressed on the Vulpera’s nose… And his orbs were rushing for Crimson’s mouth.
He couldn’t escape, only inhale that musk while those sweaty balls were rubbed against his face. Until he had droplets of sweat inside his nostrils. Breathing… But so faintly.
“This is but me reminding myself of old pleasures. So no. This is not for you.”
“I… Don’t get it. Could Crimson ask for me?”
“Yip,” said the Eredar, his tone cold.
Sure enough, Thunder gulped. But his grip did not falter, not the pressure that pushed Crimson to be… Almost choked, unable to breathe, as those balls were forced inside his mouth and he couldn’t fight back.
Worse was… The more he licked, the more tense his groin became. And the more he could feel his erection pressing against the familiar metal, making it even harder to focus on the words.
“Could Yip ask questions for me?”
“Sure. Suppose you’d prefer to have him handle your genitals. Yip… Crush Nestor’s testicles.”
The voice came out muffled, and he practically had to wait one second to get it right. Yet, his hands moved on their own without him understanding.
The orbs were removed from his mouth and face; the thighs were opened. And then...
Each hand palmed one of the Worgen’s orbs, palmed the testicles, palmed those organs that were definitely heavy and swollen.
And his fingers closed on them, the digits closing on the oblong organs and… Squeezed. Squeezed so hard that-
A yelp, the Worgen almost jumping, his thighs almost crushing Crimson’s hands.
“STOP! Please!” cried the Worgen, dry-heaving.
“Yip. Stop.”
Crimson’s hands stopped, though the fingers remained on the testicles, feeling the sensitive orbs throbbing, potentially from pain. Yet, the heat that emanated from them. It was something…
Something that aroused Crimson, made him hurt in his cage as he held them, and if he wanted-
“You can choose. Speak. Or Yip will crush them.”
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!”
“Good. Yip. Release them.”
The Vulpera’s hands released the orbs and… There was a pang of dissatisfaction hitting him as he was silenced and impotent, forced to lick and clean the Worgen’s sweaty taint.
For a moment.
“If you do not ask. Yip can take your place.”
“What are we doing?”
“We… We. Or we… You two?”
“We. Us. Crimson and I,” mumbled the Worgen.
“You are my newest acquisition. The pets I shall enjoy. After all, someone prepared you both for me.”
Crimson’s eyes widened, his fingers twitching. He had to poke Thunder’s leg to tell him.
“Who?”
The Vulpera’s ears dropped, and he grunted, definitely frustrated.
More so when the Eredar laughed and stopped cutting something, only to lean forward. Closer to the Worgen. He poked his belly.
“The lessons on the Virtue of discipline. Do you remember them?”
“I… Am bad at reminding lessons.”
The Eredar clicked his tongue, smirking.
“Ashav will be so disappointed. He put so much effort into preparing you, I heard. He is the reason why I acquired you, after all. Do you think so, Yip?”
The Vulpera groaned, his voice muffled by the Worgen’s taint, by those meaty buttcheeks. But he would have nodded easily.
“Good. This shall be interesting before I finally break you and sell you to a partner.”
Clap
The Eredar clapped, and some shuffling occurred, while Crimson could only barely see some shapes. Some individuals, naked, go around carrying all the preparations.
“I don’t get it. You… We are slaves. You will torture us. But… The Warden sold us? I… Don’t you hate him? Draeneis and Demons?”
“Hate him? No. I love everyone and everything. That is why I collect what I can, to keep them close. And that is why… I love you. My precious pets. Yip. You can stop.”
With a gargle, the Vulpera pulled his face out. His fur was covered with sweat and saliva. He reeked like a rutting Worgen, and worse, he looked at the table that was now… Empty.
Only for the Eredar to stay by it, and then beckoning them.
“Come closer.”
Again, Crimson’s thoughts became hazy, but he approached enough for the Eredar to reach and… Touch both cages. Their cock cages, the ‘trinket’ that’d been given on their way to their first prison.
The cages had to be kept clean despite the lack of a key, to the point that some guards had to brought thin brushes.
The cages that dropped, releasing their organs. Crimson gulped. And yet, felt blood rushing to his face. Now that the cage was out, he could see the marks of the metal digging into his groin. And worse, what had looked like a firm organ, hanging down proudly, was different.
“What… What happened?” cried the Vulpera, dry-heaving.
“I am smaller! How is it possible! I am so small!”
The Eredar enjoyed the show, putting one elbow on the table and leaning forward.
“Come now. Try to make each other go hard. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Unless you are impotent.”
Crimson would have almost chuckled.
He was already hard. His cock, once freed, bobbed up and down. He’d been hard while licking and handling Thunder’s balls. It had to be the same if he masturbated him.
Yet, as Thunder’s furry fingers landed on his cock and stroked it… It was different.
The Worgen pulled on his foreskin, pulled on it, pulled on the flesh. He squeezed with his strong fingers; he used his palm.
Yet, the more Thunder stroked, the more the Worgen tried to eke out a strong erection out of Crimson, the softer Crimson’s cock became. The smaller it looked. And Thunder?
The Vulpera fought against that cock, pulling on the foreskin, revealing the clean cocktip, but without any result. Blood was inside, so the organ wasn’t entirely limp. But it wouldn’t go stiff, throb, or harden. No erection.
“Go harder,” said the Eredar. “Pain will help you.”
Crimson gulped. He gulped when he sensed how Thunder’s grip on his cock was harder. A wrong move and he could twist it and fracture it.
Such a powerful grip, such a vice grip that it was almost starting to be as painful as being within the cage. And worse were the strands of fur rubbing the cocktip, the cocktip, even the urethra.
“I-I can’t get hard,” mumbled Crimson.
“I… I can’t, too. What’s happening? Crimson!” whined Thunder.
“I don’t know!” said Crimson before turning to the Eredar. “What are you doing? What… Why are you doing this?”
“I am doing little if it’s not encouraging you to partake in your pleasure. It has been so long since you received anyone’s touch. When was the last time you came with your penis?”
Crimson gritted his teeth and turned to Thunder, his face red.
Meanwhile, Thunder certainly kept the same grip, making Crimson wince and squint.
“Stop it. You… You’re hurting!”
“But- What-“
“I’ll do it!” said Crimson.
His hands abandoned the Worgen’s cock. After stroking for so long without getting any result, either by changing the pace or the grip, the Vulpera went for something that mattered.
He went for the twin orbs, orbs he held in his palms, with his fingers closing on them. Thunder whined, his ears dropped, obviously.
“No- Not that. It- It hurts!”
“It’ll work! Now, release my cock!”
“I can’t!”
“Sure you can!”
“I must… Do something-AH!”
The Worgen yelped as Crimson squeezed his nuts hard.
He gave them that squeeze that almost felt good. His mind raced as he heard that cry, his lips curling slightly as he could feel the orbs in his grip… That very manhood in his palms.
Something he held, controlled, possessed.
And-
“SANDS!” cried Crimson when his own testicles were squeezed.
One tear ran along his left cheek, and his legs were feeling weak, as was his stomach.
But he remained steady, up… And watching Thunder holding onto his nuts.
“What- What are you doing?!”
“H-Helping!”
“How does that help?! It hurts!”
Yet, the Worgen’s eyes lowered, and the Vulpera’s eyes followed. They looked at one another, at the blood that had rushed inside.
They were getting hard. They were definitely getting stiff from having their balls handled so roughly. And though it felt disgusting and frustrating… Crimson couldn’t deny a part of him was feeling… Good at being handled.
“You are definitely enjoying this. Go harder.”
The Eredar was egging them on. He was definitely getting a kick out of that situation as the two were holding one another by their balls.
Their organs were like bloated fruits in their palms, ready to be crushed by a firm hand. Fruits that were warm, fuzzy, and definitely the source of their current erection as the fingers dug deeper, feeling even the epididymis and the tubes joining them.
A little clawing, a claw planted, and it would be the end.
Crimson hastily chased that thought, shaking his head… Solely to narrowly stumble when Thunder squeezed his nuts at the same time.
His reflex? To grip harder on the Worgen’s testicles, to yank on the scrotum.
“STOP!” yowled the Worgen, his eyes shutting and his ears dropping. He was tearing up, too.
“You are almost done. It wouldn’t hurt to continue a little more.”
Crimson felt blood rush to his face at the idea, his lips pursed. There was something else in that pain and torment… Both inflicted and received.
His cock was definitely getting hard, but he wasn’t sure if that was the Eredar’s doing or his own. Or Thunder’s.
But as he rolled those nuts in his hands, as he released them for a second to squeeze them back, with the same done to him; he was… Feeling it. The rush of adrenaline, the hit of pleasure, the expectation building up in his mind.
It was insane. It was crazy.
But… He wanted it. He desired it as his fingers squeezed harder, enough for Thunder to yelp.
And Thunder did the same.
Crimson’s vision began to go red. His breathing was ragged. His stomach churned, though he wasn’t retching or dry heaving. He could endure it. Could take it. He could do it.
He had to do that.
They had to get hard. That-
The moment the realization hit Crimson’s mind, he heard a chuckle. And then, he felt something pop.
Something that changed. He felt sick. Yet, he was cumming. And he gripped harder, feeling something that was softer in his hands.
He felt the cumshot hitting his stomach. He felt the warm semen hitting his belly as he finally opened his eyes and saw Thunder… Before his world began to twist and roll.
-
“They are done. They will wake quickly.”
Crimson frowned and clenched his eyelids shut. His body… Well. It didn’t hurt. But he could feel how groggy he was and something different. His sensations were numbed, if slightly.
Besides him, he heard… Pumps. And water running. And something akin to scales rubbing against the floor.
Not closer.
Finally, as he took his breath, Crimson opened one eye and saw a familiar face glancing at him with a dull expression.
A… A Naga? That definitely looked like a Naga, except the scales were dulled and had a hint of green around the edges, as if green blood were underneath.
“You’re awake. Sssstand up,” said the Naga, crossing his arms over his broad chest, uncovered.
“I- Give me… Where am I?” asked Crimson, reaching for his forehead as he looked around. That place… It looked like an infirmary, if the Legion had one: resting beds, cabinets, a few curios. And a garden on the side. Plus that Naga.
However, Crimson’s first reflex was to look down. Last he remembered, something bad had happened. Something awful, enough to make him drop like a dead weight. Yet…
He looked at his genitals, which were soft and uncaged. And his testicles, though he could feel their warmth and… had a glimpse of the green glow inside.
Something similar to the Naga’s scales.
“Wh-What happened?”
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out!” shouted the Naga, pointing to a nearby door. “You have legs. Up!”
“But- You’re a hea-“
“OUT!”
Crimson, without a doubt, bounced off the bed and hit the floor, going away. And surprisingly well. His legs were numb, but they moved as he rushed through the door and stumbled against a Demon who was about to enter the room.
Quickly, the Vulpera mumbled an apology as he went around the large purple-skinned demon and stepped into a room that could be compared to a barracks’ common room.
There were tables and benches aligned, with a majority of Demons being around.
“Where… Am I?” stopped the Vulpera, only to have a hand land on his shoulder, forcing the Vulpera to turn toward his left. But not entirely back.
“You’re healed. Go to your corner, pet.”
The corner was… More like a pit. Situated in the corner of the room, it was a depression leading to many cages. Here, there was something other than Demons. Mortals. Of all sorts, with some that were among the weirdest sights Crimson had noticed. An ogre, a two-headed Cat, or a fox-like creature. But beyond, there was Thunder. Talking to the Ogre.
Crimson took one step.
Then he frowned. Yip… Last he remembered, the Worgen had done something to him. Something he now had in mind as he saw the pathetic expression on Thunder’s face while discussing with the Ogre.
An expression going worse when the Worgen turned his head, his ears standing up for a second before they dropped. A hint of hope.
Crimson snarled and tried to take a step away, only for him to be shoved by a Wrathguard.
“To the pit! Get it?!” shouted the Demon, making the Vulpera stumble and then fall forward.
“The Sands is wrong with you?” shouted Crimson, glaring over his shoulder.
“You want another turn in the infirmary? Get there!” replied the Demon, kicking Crimson in the posterior and sending him stumbling down the depression. Dust was lifted and kicked, then stuck to the Vulpera’s fur as he rolled down until he was at the end of the slope, and he had no more momentum left.
Crimson groaned, snarling as he went on his belly and tried to stand up.
“What was that for?!” he shouted, turning to where the Wrathguard had been. He was gone.
As for the Demons at their tables or the edge of the pit, they eyed Crimson, shrugged, and then returned to discussing among themselves.
“The sands are wrong with them,” groaned Crimson, sitting up.
“Ashuk Everan,” said a voice. High-pitched, but not hysterical, merely high-pitched by nature. And quite a strange fact, as Crimson turned to see the Ogre approaching. No, that was an Orc and Ogre hybrid. But a tall one with a skin that had that green hue around the naked… And dangling genitals, same for his neck.
“What?” said Crimson, eyeing the offered hand and then shaking his head.
The hybrid blinked, but then stopped and hid the hand away. He stayed around, then he left Crimson alone. Perfect as the Vulpera sat and dusted himself off.
“Crimson? Are you okay?”
“Okay?” he scoffed, looking over his shoulder to see Thunder. “After what happened, and that? I should be happy there are no… lasting consequences.”
The Worgen opened his mouth, then closed it, grimacing.
“It’ll happen again.”
“Again? Does… This never end?”
“Ekchun,” added the Hybrid in the distance.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t speak common or anything I know. But we can… No. It doesn’t end.”
“Great,” sighed the Vulpera, closing his eyes and passing his hand onto his muzzle. “Fine. Good. I… Just had my balls exploded by my partner and I’m… Forced to sit in a pit. Is there any food?”
Thunder grimaced, but he stepped away. He returned with a bowl of cream: white with a green glow. Pungent. Quite pungent. But the smell tickled the Vulpera’s belly.
Enough that he salivated when he collected the ‘cream’ and sniffed it. And sucked it off his fingers. The taste was good, salty, but definitely satisfying.
“Odd taste. What’s this?” asked Crimson, tilting his head.
“Graun,” replied the Ogre.
“Graun?”
“Graun,” nodded the Hybrid.
Still, as he took one chunk into his mouth, Crimson could feel that cream settle in his stomach. Quasi-instantly, he could feel his stomach settle, his shoulders relax and drop… And his mind eased enough so he could turn and face the two individuals.
Even Thunder, who grimaced.
“Is there a problem?”
“You won’t like where it comes from,” said the Worgen.
“Unless they’re shitting it, I don’t care,” replied Crimson, taking another handful. “I’m hungry. I’m trying not to rant or cry about… How crazy that situation is. … How are you so calm about it?”
The Worgen’s grimace stopped. Instead, he had his hands joined between his legs, between the thighs. Then, he closed his thighs.
“Are you hiding something?” said Crimson.
“I… Can you promise you won’t be angry?”
“I don’t know… How could I be more angry than that?”
The truth was, he didn’t know how he wasn’t raging more than that. He had all the reasons to scream, to shout, to be running in circles, or smack his head. But no. At this point, he was… Incapable. In shock.
And probably eating something that was cum.
No. Something that was definitely cum when he saw a guard descend the pit with a bowl, peeling his loincloth off to stroke that massive cock and cum inside the bowl. Solely for the other pets, some Crimson hadn’t noticed, to huddle around the steamy bowl to get their fills.
Even now… Crimson was almost salivating when watching it, despite currently eating a bowl of lukewarm fluids.
“Can you promise?”
“I-“
“Nestor!”
The voice was from the very same Guard who had delivered his cumload.
His voice was stern and powerful, cutting through and making everyone turn their heads, even twinned, toward that Demon.
“The Master asked for you!”
Crimson frowned but stood up, watching his partner do the same.
“What else is happening?” mumbled the Vulpera, approaching the Guard.
“Not you,” shouted the Demon, shoving Crimson back on his posterior, leaving him stunned.
“Wh-What?” he asked, blinking and watching the Worgen approach, only to be grabbed by the arm.
“I’m sorry. I need to leave.”
Crimson blinked, but he saw how the Guard yanked Thunder’s arm, practically breaking it, before the Worgen followed suit, climbing the slope and disappearing.
“Farasu. Comiso,” said the Hybrid, nodding.
“Oh. Shut up,” said Crimson, throwing the bowl away.
Thunder was gone, so were the ‘muscles’ between the two. Only leaving one option for Crimson as he stood up, his hands on his waist. He examined the slope, frowned… And then, he tried to climb it, only to be shoved back down by the Demons.
Each time, the Vulpera raged enough to make the other non-Demons take a few steps back away from him.
He did it once, twice, thrice…
With each push, the Guards grew rowdier until they practically threw the Vulpera into the pit. Though each time, Crimson endured the fall before he dusted himself off, watching for another time to climb out of the pit when they were not watching.
The fourth time, as the other ‘pets’ were giving him a wide berth, Crimson climbed out of the slope with no Guard stopping him.
No. Instead, he saw the gaze from the pets drilling into his back while he faced a Guard who smiled back at him.
“Oh… Crap.”
The wide hand landed on the Vulpera’s scruff, pulled on it, and lifted Crimson like a mere kitten. His limbs went limp for a second before he shook the reflex off.
“Get me down!” he shouted, definitely snarling at the Demon who… Chuckled and carried Crimson amid the chuckling, laughing crowd composed of Wrathguards.
They definitely looked like soldiers inside that common room… And they definitely struck Crimson’s mind as pigs when he saw… Their kitchen.
Well. It definitely was a kitchen, befitting the barracks, with oversized pots, even for the Demons. Everything was covered with that green sludge. From the cauldrons to the ground with that sludge and many unknown ingredients being crushed by the Guard’s hooves.
The place was a mess, and it was there Crimson was plopped down. Then, the Guard left. He left the Vulpera standing in that disgusting muck. Crimson eyed it, snarled, grimaced… And roared when he received a towel in the face.
“Clean!”
After fighting the sticky towel and trying to get off his face, Crimson faced a Wyrmtongue Demon. He was not the only Demon, or the only Wyrmtongue. But that one was shouting orders and wearing a Toque above his osseous and diminutive head.
None of the hunched, small demons cooking and preparing had that hat, and all seemed to defer to him.
A situation Crimson wasn’t agreeing with as he yanked the towel away and snarled, roared, before tossing the towel back at the Wyrmtongue.
“Do that yourself!” cried Crimson.
“Clean!” shouted back the Wyrmtongue, throwing the towel back.
It could have devolved into a throwing fight, with Crimson stomping closer, smacking the Toque, and potentially attracting the ire of all the diminutive demons around.
But as Crimson received the towel in the face, again, he could feel the daze. The haze over his thoughts, his fingers clutching the dirty fabric they wanted him to use. He frowned, though the frown easily vanished from his expression as he went on all fours in the muck.
Despite his ego and pride, and his eagerness to fight back for himself, the Vulpera was on all fours like a servant. And with that slimy towel, he had to wipe that muck.
It wasn’t ending here either, as his body acted following the same order ‘Clean’ but in different ways. Whether the Demon shouted by the dishes or by another puddle his fellows produced, Crimson’s body answered.
He crawled, he cleaned, he limped across the Kitchen while being bumped around like a pet. Through the haze of his body doing everything for them, a part of Crimson wanted to act.
A nagging feeling, a presence at the back of the Vulpera’s mind that was as impotent as he’d been under the collar’s control.
However, this time, he was… barely there.
The kicks and pushes were dulled. The affront of receiving a spoonful of green goo in the face was lessened. Even the smaller Demon kicking him as he was on the floor received little reaction despite the Vulpera’s tendency to fight back.
No. He was but a tool here, his precious crimson fur getting covered with that muck. The hands, unused to such simplistic and degrading tasks, moved in perfect coordination.
The dishes were cleaned; the cauldrons scrubbed clean, and everything that was to be carried was piled on the Vulpera’s smaller stature.
“Clean!” shouted the Wyrmtongue, repeating the same order again and again, making the Vulpera run from one corner of the kitchen to the other, sometimes while avoiding one of those hulking demons as they stepped in for something.
It could have been it.
It could have been what Crimson would be doing endlessly. But after one hour or two… The Vulpera could feel the pain in his limbs through the haze.
Those tasks were definitely hard on the body, especially as he had to pass behind Demons who had no care about his share of work or if they were making a mess by throwing their caustic sludge of a meal around.
And…
“Stop!”
Crimson stopped, his limbs going stiff and his back straightening. He was holding a pile of cleaned plates to set them aside.
The Toque-wearing Wyrmtongue was around, blabbering to his kin before he stepped in front of Crimson and grabbed the plates off while snarling.
“Useless! Get out!”
“W-What?” asked Crimson, reaching for his forehead.
“Too useless! Out! Out! Out! Out!”
‘Out!’ ‘Out!’ ‘Out!’
As Crimson’s mind returned to himself, he heard the kitchen break into such a chorus. All the Wyrmtongues, too busy working on the preparation, were now raising their fists, shaking them while shouting the same word.
A discordant chorus, making Crimson’s head hurt as he turned and ran, feeling that he was… Chased by the cries that acted like a beating against his mind. Each word was a hit from a mace onto his skull, making the Vulpera wince and snarl until, through the circumstances, he was out of the kitchen.
The air outside was colder, but more breathable. More bearable for the Vulpera as he heard the distant chant behind the door, making him wince if he offered it an ear.
He breathed. He exhaled. He sighed. His mind raced much like his heart, feeling as if he’d been under assault. Being attacked.
His body shuddered, his knees quivered, and his steps were unsteady as he took two steps away from the door, only to be grabbed by the scruff once more.
“Perfect!” said a Wrathguard, lifting the Vulpera like mere deadweight before slinging it over his shoulder.
“Hey! Put me down!” cried the Vulpera, solely to be taken again somewhere else.
The next time he was plopped down, Crimson was put in an armory.
The air was stale, the place grimy and covered in dust.
In one corner of the massive room, a Mo’arg, a demon with metal limbs, was busy forging something in hellish flames. His hammer-hand rang as it struck the Fel-riddled metal, bending it over before he threw it in the fire. Then, he took another ingot to reshape it.
For a moment, within the room that could have been more of a collection than an armory, the Vulpera was… Almost like a little mouse, lost.
Again, a Wrathguard had grabbed him, put him there, and abandoned him.
“You!”
The shout surprised Crimson, making him wince as he looked at the Mo’arg, at the metallic eye going up and down his naked frame.
Naked frame, he pointed with his own fingers: “Me?”
“Yeah. Who else is there?” shouted the blacksmith. “Go handle those blades!”
The Demon waved his hand at a pile of rusty blades that had been left in a corner to accumulate dust, with the majority being bigger than the Vulpera’s body.
“I-“
“Handle them!”
The order shook Crimson to his core.
This time, however, he could… Feel it. Feel how his thoughts were forced to accommodate. He had no instructions, but his mind knew what to do. He grabbed the first blade by the rusty handle and pulled it, yanking it off the pile as it crumbled. A clamorous thunder with many weapons spilling out of the pile.
Then Crimson grabbed a bottle of oil, as large as his torso, uncorked it, and poured it onto the blade.
Followed by the work of grabbing a piece of textile and rubbing that glowing green oil onto the Felsteel. Unsurprisingly, the metal gleamed as it absorbed the oil, the rust itself being devoured before the Vulpera, who watched, both amazed… And curious.
“Faster!” shouted the Mo’arg, making the Vulpera’s ears drop.
Faster it was required. The faster the Vulpera went, rubbing and pouring the oil, until the two-handed blade, he assumed it was, was entirely coated and had lost its dusty exterior to become a perfectly gleaming blade, with Fel forming veins on the sleek surface.
Only then did the Vulpera drag the blade toward a rack before abandoning it there. His task resumed then with another blade, another weapon, another tool of destruction, while the constant hammering from the Mo’arg marked his every action.
And in the dusty, barely lit armory, the Vulpera felt almost better than in the kitchen. His skin itched when he touched the oil, but as long as he was careful not to nick his fingers or to pour the oil on himself, Crimson was fine. Or so he thought.
Stomps.
The hammering had stopped, making the Vulpera turn to the forge and the Mo’arg approach. Aaand... Crimson was grabbed by the scruff and lifted him.
“Quit it. I asked them for a real helper. Big and strong. Why do I get that scrawny little thing?” scoffed the Mo’arg, opening the door and throwing the Vulpera out. “Tell them I want someone bigger than you!”
That last shout was definitely hurting as the Vulpera almost skidded on the steel floor.
Such a frustrating end… And another frustrating beginning when the Vulpera faced another guard.
“Ah. He’s difficult. Let’s go, little one.”
“Hey! Let me go! Put me back in the pen or anything!”
“No can do. Someone asked for a pet.”
Again, the Vulpera was thrown somewhere.
Right into a garden that was tended to by what looked like a tree-person. Not like an Ancient from Azeroth or those Botani. It was a creature of bark with Fel burning inside, which didn’t speak but only pointed at different plants.
Naturally, the compunction forced the Vulpera to follow the orders and directions, grabbing the bag of rotting meat to throw at the many carnivorous plants living under that green canopy.
Yet, as expected as it was, Crimson was quickly thrown aside.
He was too small and scrawny to carry the bags, it was enough for the plants to consider him fresh meat; they tried to grab him with their tendrils to eat him. Many times, the gardener had to yank Crimson away from the tendrils… Especially since the Vulpera couldn’t even voice his concern and fear.
And… Again, the Vulpera was set aside, grabbed by another Guard coming by, and given another task.
Helping with the engines?
Crimson almost got burned inside one of the large silos that housed the magical reactions to produce energy.
Tending to someone’s quarters? It ended with him being unable even to peel the sheets off the bed in time before the Demon, alongside a one-eyed rocky giant. Crimson was kicked, but mainly on the ground; they needed to use the bed at that instant.
Logistics and noting the stocks? Crimson could handle the numbers, but he narrowly got crushed when a box was thrown at him, a box he was supposed to push somewhere else in the ship… Despite the box being thrice his size.
Each time, the Vulpera would be grabbed by the scruff like a mere pet. And each time, he was feeling less and less willing to fight it back before he was set on the stone… And picked again.
Paper duty? He’d narrowly die under the stacks of paper falling onto him.
Communication? He couldn’t reach for the floating runes flying above his head.
Ship’s doctor? The Naga kicked him out before he could breathe a word.
And it continued, with the Vulpera being dragged, pushed, thrown, and forced to all sorts of tedious tasks until his captors finally dropped him in the pit alongside the other pets, though the Vulpera was looking worse.
His fur was matted, his limbs sore as hell, his eyes barely able to focus. And he was feeling quite hazy as he sat, listening to the guards coming and going, each time bringing along a slave.
With enough of them, it could be possible to power a whole ship… And their babblings, even if short-lived and curt, were getting on Crimson’s mind as he crawled further into the pit, trying to find peace… Quiet. Even if he had to curl up in a corner, his tail between his legs like an animal.
“Crimson?”
The voice cut through the haze and the pain like a knife.
Crimson opened an eye. He might have fallen asleep or merely gone despondent because the number of slaves had grown again. Yet, amidst this was Thunder.
The Worgen was looking clean… No, pristine. His fur was shiny, the coat so healthy he could have been a precious pooch for a lord. His teeth were white, his eyes glimmering with energy despite the hints of green.
“Thunder?” huffed Crimson, shaking his head and snarling. “What are … What happened to you?”
“This? The Master wants me to bathe for my duties.”
“Your… Duties?” asked the Vulpera, reaching for his forehead. “Sands. I feel like I’m a mess. They dragged me to… Ugh. I pulled my shoulder.”
“Are you okay?”
“Do… I look like I’m okay?” asked Crimson, snarling and glaring at Thunder.
Of course, the Worgen was coy.
He was sitting on his butt, his hands between his thighs. He almost looked like a lost puppy looking for an owner. Meanwhile, the Vulpera could be described as mangy as he ran a hand over his fur, scratching it.
“That place is worse than Tol Dagor or Kul Tiras. We need to get out.”
“The Master said it’s impossible. Scale said the same.”
“Fuck them both,” grumbled Crimson. “I’ll find a portal to get out.”
“Well, the mas-“
“I said I’ll find a way out. I don’t care what you think; I’ll get us out of here. Without your help,” huffed Crimson, frowning at his partner…
Partner whose ears dropped, his shoulders dropping.
“As you say so.”