The Legions United in the Loss 3
And in Prison, some Charrs discover themselves some appetites
Commission for Remy <3
The Legions United in the Loss 3
And in Prison, some Charrs discover themselves some appetites
“H-h… Commander.”
The voice was a whimper, a whisper amidst the sea of snores and groans and huffs from the sleeping Charrs in their cells. It was nighttime, but with Efram bringing light against his own will and by their natural vision, the Commander could see.
It was the perfect moment.
Or perhaps it was the worst, as the Commander looked tired. Yet, his cheeks were inflated and his mouth working diligently as he bobbed his head back and forth between the bars.
Meanwhile, Rytlock’s groans and moans were louder than before, his fingers clenching on the metal while his hips moved in weak thrusts. Just enough to titillate the Commander’s throat as that cock was pumped in and out, in and out.
It was massive.
It was a dream.
It was a fantasy.
And it was disappointing for the Commander. He’d been woken up in the middle of the night, begged to do something much like he’d done many times for Efram.
And now what? He was like a whore doing booty duty for someone who wanted to be elsewhere with someone else. Well, it was disappointing. It was taking too long.
The Commander glared at Rytlock, while his hand went to the Charr’s nuts. The testicles were stroked and caressed, the mouth minded… And then… Rytlock pulled out.
He grunted, he huffed, he trembled as if he was to lose balance in a second.
“Commander. That- That won’t do,” moaned Rytlock, his fingers on the bars.
“I don’t… Know what to tell you,” grunted the Commander, wiping his mouth. “I’ve done my best.”
All the skills he’d earned, the mastery over his own tongue. Even his training, so he didn’t have any reflex gag when ‘helping’ his squad? And now, Rytlock was refusing him this?
“What’s the problem?” the Commander asked, sitting and watching Rytlock’s erection bob up and down, angrily dripping on the floor while releasing hints of Rytlock’s own perfume. A scent that showed he was, in fact, rutting. Even his testicles were hanging lower than before, and now… He refused to give in?
“You’re… uh…. Moaning,” explained Rytlock, coughing.
“Yes. I have to breathe,” complained the Commander, rolling his eye.
“But your voice is deeper. Too deep.”
“Because I’m a male,” huffed the Commander before he rolled and landed on his back, his legs spread and arms on the left side. Uncomfortable.
“Probably. You could do it without breathing?”
“Are you asking me this?”
The Commander raised his head, watching Rytlock. He looked like a lost cub, his head hanging low while he scratched his neck.
“I can’t believe that,” groaned the Commander, reaching for his head. “You’ve woken me up for this and now, you… Ugh.”
“Maybe if I could hold you by the horn-… Nubs?”
“Absolutely not,” grunted the Commander before he looked up. It was a silly reflex; he couldn’t see his horns anymore. Remained then small nubs that had been overly sensitive, much like the brands or the skin under the shaved mane.
The sensitivity was gone, not the fact that he had been emasculated. And that, he, too, was feeling horny. Excited. Rutting.
Every so often, they were brought to the processing room.
Luckily, it wasn’t about losing something anymore; they were measured. Those with a checkmark on their testicles. They measured their height, their weight, everything… Down to checking their erection or even having their testicles on a scale.
They were all rutting. Something from what had been injected into them, while the others seemed lethargic. It had to be a poison or a drug… But it also felt weird.
As if something inside them had changed, as if their testicles were heavier. Their groins were more sensitive. Their asses? Even having those scientists exploring his buttcheeks was enough to make the Commander moan and groan. What if he imagined it?
His hole started to itch and burn.
Enough for him to… Touch it. To feel it. To sense that swollen entrance, to feel the muscle opening up… With ease.
“What are you doing?”
The Commander’s smile vanished, and his eye reopened on the prison ceiling before he lowered them on Rytlock. Watching the Blood Legion Charr being quite tense, and with his erection between the bars.
“I’m rutting, too. You know?”
The reaction was expected: Rytlock grunted and sat down, turning his back on the Commander.
“Do your business, then.”
A reaction that was unsurprising.
Rytlock glanced over his shoulder, then away. On the other hand, the Commander grinned. He grinned while he reached for his pucker. His digits danced on the pinkish ring, exploring the flesh, pulling and pushing on it until one finger was at it. Until the clipped claw nudged in, then the finger itself. He felt it: relief.
It was different from having someone else do it. This time, he was doing it at his own pace. Slow, methodical, yet pleasant.
Pleasant from his rim slowly opening up. Purely physical.
Taking it in the ass was… Pure pleasure. Even if it meant regularly taking discreet enemas after showering to please Efram. Well, despite their terrible situation, the Shaman of the Flame was definitely getting better at this. He was more brutish and direct. He wasn’t so delicate with the Commander anymore, and their nights? They could be something else.
A vision, an idea, that filled the Commander’s mind as his fingers delved deeper. As he yanked on the hole, pulling it to the left while the flesh opened ever so slightly. A sigh. Not his. The Commander smiled, his eye closed. He breathed slowly, pulling with a second finger. Next, a third to make a show of his clean orifice and the warm insides.
The rumble that followed was definitely born from sensations and needs… Not that the Commander was too ashamed, as he had his fingers digging deeper, reaching for… That spot.
The first time he had such an experience, with one member of his squad, he’d been quite ashamed and unsatisfied.
It'd taken him training to get used to the sensation, and then to embrace it.
At that instant, he was nearing it: the Apex, as he called it.
His breathing quickened. His fingers dug deeper around the glans while his cock throbbed harder. Harder than before. And the sound of skin sticking to skin resonated in the cell, followed by their disjointed breaths.
But it mattered little; it didn’t deter the Commander from having his digits digging deep and with pleasure. To have the organ teased lovingly while his legs and arms shuddered. While his cock bobbed up and down, delivering precum over his belly.
It was messy, and he would smell. But he was stuck in a prison.
It wouldn’t be much of an issue; that precum dripped over his fur, coated it, covered his belly and pectorals.
He'd done that before… being entirely covered in spunk from other men.
The warmth against his fur while relishing the afterglow? It was something he loved.
He licked his lips, listening to a deep growl while the sound of skin sticking to skin continued to grow. A crescendo of intensity and frequency, building up as the claws hit the bars.
“Do you like it, Rytlock?”
The question came from the Commander’s lips, a smirk plastered over his face.
One which grew twofold following the audible gulp and the slowing hands.
The Commander’s fingers kept circling his prostate, playing with the organ thrumming with life, with fire, with blood.
Blood legion. Sanguine as they were, in love and in life and in battle. A battle of wits as the Commander opened his eye on the bashful Rytlock, watching him stroking himself and pulling on his testicles at the same time.
“Shut up,” groaned Rytlock.
Then, the Commander raised his paws, his tail hitting the ground below him. He was making it a display. One hand went to his testicles, which he poked with his index finger. The other hand was still busy with his ‘insides’, pumping and yanking on his sphincter.
“You can watch,” said the Commander, his tone suave and mocking.
Rytlock? He huffed and groaned, looked away… A second. Before he coughed.
“I can?”
“My breathing doesn’t bother you?”
“Not as much,” groaned Rytlock.
Silence.
Well, he wasn’t asking for more.
The Commander huffed, then closed his eyes, pumping his fingers deeper, his knuckles brushing his hole that had been burning and warm, even if it wasn’t from Efram’s backshots.
Moreover, it felt much warmer compared to his testicles, although he couldn’t tell why. But his hole? It was a blaze, a fire that wouldn’t be put out with a mere touch.
No, he had to pump deeper and faster, even if it brought a few queefs before the orifice was gaping wide.
“It doesn’t bother you?” asked Rytlock, his voice low and rumbling.
“Keep cranking, Rytlock.”
Definitely, the old Charr was too stuck-up.
He'd been with Crecia; Perhaps a few more females? But men? Oh, it wouldn’t be surprising that he was a virgin in that aspect. Not that it mattered; The Commander’s thoughts drifted back to his pleasure.
To his needs. To his desire to cum. Efram hadn’t stuffed him that night or the last one, so… It was definitely time. Time for the Commander as he inserted two fingers inside them, as he had his digits stretching his entrance, rotating, and then pulling.
It was… Well, an exploration in a way.
But he had that itch. He’d found his spot… And he wouldn’t let go of it, especially as his mind ached, too. That lack of release, of orgasm, was hammering his mind, too.
Soon, the Charr was all grunting and huffing while he desperately searched for that bliss.
It eluded him at the moment, same for Rytlock, who kept cranking and masturbating, his voice louder… Enough for another Charr to shout ‘Shut up’ in the distance.
Would they stop? Not at all.
None desired to stop it now, not when they were so close. Not when they were about to reach that climax, and… The Commander felt it.
Touch. A press. The rhythm, he had it. He had it as he circled, and even… Went as far as grabbing his own shaft to stroke it, to masturbate it. To… Squeeze it. As hard as possible.
Only then, only with that squeeze, did he manage to cum.
One, two, three cumshots flew across the air. Glorious, steamy, white. They flew and landed at Rytlock’s feet, right on cue as the former Tribune roared, too, clutching his ballsack and cock. He roared, his feet planted in the soil, while he answered with five cumshots, or more: less dense, but in a quantity that was impressive. It even hit the Commander’s backside.
They were… Spent.
Or rather, they ought to be, as their bodies cried for peace, but their cocks were again hard… Pointing forward or upward, with beads of precum at the end.
No end in sight for their libidos as the Commander grunted and raised his head, looking at Rytlock leaning against the bars, headfirst.
“You… You came from that? From playing with your hole?” asked Rytlock.
“And being watched,” retorted the Commander, with a sly grin. “I appreciate the public.”
Rytlock’s jaw dropped before he grumbled, his face scrunched up: “You’re joking.”
“Well. I’d be joking if I wasn’t offering another try,” replied the Commander, spreading his buttcheeks to expose his gaping hole. “If you want to watch.”
As he did that, he collected Rytlock’s fur sticking to his ass with his index… And stuck it inside, eliciting a deep groan from the former Tribune.
“Yeah.”
-
“Are the reports true?”
“They are accurate and consistent,” replied Caithe.
The dark-blue-skinned Sylvari definitely stood out from the human populace. Well, she also contrasted with her own kind with the crystal-like flowers growing over her body. A change brought by Aurene, making her look closer to a precious stone piece than a breathing, alive, plant-kin.
She had the poise of a thief, tiptoeing around as if ready to run away, even though they were meeting in Divinity’s Reach, the Human capital. It was noisy; it was chaotic. Hence, it was perfect as they were by Rurikton, near the fountains.
Even though the district had been, somehow, the last bastion of Ascalonian culture on Tyria, it looked different with the presence of the Charrs refugees around. Many had spread and established outside the capital walls, settling on the rebuilt shores of Lake Doric.
But many more had found housing near the disconnected Asura Gate, which led right to the heart of the Charr homeland.
They were still yearning to return, something Caithe understood as she leaned against a stone, keeping watch for any potential spies.
“Why… Why has she not contacted us ever since?”
“Malice is smart. She wouldn’t have survived so long if she weren’t. But contacting the Human directly was ill-advised.”
“So… you.”
“Me,” replied Caithe, having a faint smirk while tilting her head right. “Will you tell Anise?”
“That they’re alive? I must. But what’s happening to them? That’s cruel.”
Caithe’s smirk disappeared, her attitude flippant. She glanced at a group of chattering old women. Then she returned to Logan, one hand on his shoulder to ease him.
“I know. You care about them, Rytlock especially. He wouldn’t think any differently,” she said. “But he would understand we need to be discreet about this.”
“Then… What will you do? You’re in contact with Malice.”
“I was,” replied Caithe, shaking her head. “When she is back, I will help her.”
“When… Are you sure she will come?”
“Certain. So long as we don’t have unwanted guests,” she said, pointing her chin left.
They had eyes on them, a few. But enough for Caithe to notice them.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Tell Anise and Jennah what they need to know. They have the influence.”
“And in the meantime…”
“In the meantime, I’ll be chasing rats scurrying among the walls.”
“Caithe…”
Caithe turned and offered him a sly smirk. She was definitely different ever since Aurene. More open, more jovial. Less weighed down by her own story. Something Logan appreciated as his shoulders dropped.
“Do not hurt them before delivering them to my people.”
“I will be careful.”
-
The air was dry. Dry, much like Ascalon or the Black Citadel. Yet, different. Less rusty, more stone.
The chariot kept bouncing on the smallest stone, jumping and throwing the chained prisoners left and right. It was a communal effort to keep them from ending up stuck in the middle.
In a way, the Commander would have been happy if the situation were less... rocky.
He was practically sandwiched between Efram and Rytlock, all naked. All erect, all excited. The scent of rut was everywhere. On another occasion, the Commander’s nose would have been bleeding. Instead, he had a stupid smile.
“Are you thinking of having us two fucking you?” asked Rytlock, his voice rumbling.
“This is an admirable fantasy, you should know, Rytlock,” said the Commander with his eye closed and his pleased expression the same.
“We’re prisoners,” he replied, raising his chains.
“I think the Commander prefers to focus on the… Perks of the situation,” added Efram, politely pointing down at their Charrhoods.
“I’m not against this. But we’re not alone,” said Rytlock, pointing his chin ahead.
At the other Charrs in the chariot.
The other Charrs, who were definitely erect and looked less pleased. Fact was, they were… Even different. Were their testicles so big that they had to keep their legs naturally spread? Or the color of their eyes was clearer than for typical Charrs?
The Commander sighed, his back against the wall, then purred.
“I used to dream about this a few months ago,” he said with levity. “To be stuck between you and making love.”
“I… Might have an idea why you never broached the subject, Commander,” said Efram.
“Yeah,” scoffed the Commander, shaking his head. “War isn’t nice. And the Blood Legion isn’t so… Well. Open. Compared to Ash or Iron.”
“Or Flames.”
“They are open to this?”
“Well…”
Now, Rytlock and the Commander turned towards Efram, with Rytlock even leaning his head down. Even their public watched Efram.
“I thought the Flame Legions were stuck-ups,” commented a young lad.
“With… Women,” said Efram, his expression bashful. “Females were considered weaker and unworthy, so we would breed and enslave them. But… Among men. It was considered normal for an officer to sodomize a subordinate.”
“To sodomize,” repeated Rytlock, with a grunt. “So, Commander, you’re the subordinate?”
Grunts came from their public, disappointed. But the Commander exhaled loudly, akin to a chuckle.
“So long as he gives me a collar and a leash.”
Silence.
The Commander opened his eyes, watching as he was the center of attention.
Rytlock grimaced. Efram was definitely ashamed, yet as hard as steel. As for the Commander, he ended with a cough in his fist.
“Too much information, got it,” he said, trying to lower his shoulders to appear smaller. “So.”
“So…” continued Rytlock, trying to look at the small opening at the top of the door. “Where do you think we’re going?”
“Doesn’t smell like Drizzlewood,” said one Charr with one hand ending in a stub.
“It’s not Ascalon,” added the Commander, taking a deep breath. “Or south.”
“We’re at the border with the Flame Legion homelands,” said Efram before the eyes were on him. “I lived close to this place. It must be… The Firebreach quarry.”
“Slave duties?” asked Rytlock.
Almost all Charrs nodded, Efram among them, while the chariot continued the route. But not so long after that, it stopped, and the grunts from soldiers attracted the eyes. Then, the door was flung open. The Charrs hid their eyes due to the blinding light reflected by the ice-covered Charr at the threshold. He said nothing before he grabbed the chains joining all the manacles and yanked on them.
As soon as he did so, all the Charrs felt the tug on their manacles and had to step outside.
Black cliffs with scaffoldings, clouds heavy with smoke, an acrid taste of ash in the air. They were definitely at the border. However, the place was different. Ice was… Everywhere.
They were too far south for it, but it blossomed atop the cliffs, on the structures, with frost on every steel surface. Then, before the Commander could see more, he was dragged ahead along with the other prisoners.
They descended a slope to a basin that was filled with… Charrs. Enslaved Charrs with collars, with muzzles, with manacles and chains wrapped around them.
The majority were males, a minority of females were kept aside and wore rags compared to their masculine counterparts. It formed like a sea of fur, different colors, different origins.
And… Even if the Commander was ashamed to have done that, he’d seen their bodies, their genitals. They… Also had the checkmarks on their swollen testicles.
And he bit his lips.
“Turn… And behold.”
The whisper was something the Commander might have brushed off. A sound at the back of his mind. But when it echoed… He blinked. And he knew it. He glared at the ice, felt the air colder than it was.
Then, he looked at a trio of individuals standing on a stage, overshadowing the basin.
“Salute the Khan-Ur!”
“Salute me.”
The Commander wanted both to grit his teeth and to salute. It was the latter that won. The Charr’s body tensed, yet it answered the order.
His fingers twitched before they landed against his chest in a closed fist, much like the other Charrs. A glance left, and the Commander confirmed the same had happened to Rytlock or Efram. To everyone present, their heads were then forced up and directed toward the stage.
They looked like an army of ragged and tired Charrs, of exposed Males whose bodies looked very similar… Down to their erections, they presented all the same.
Perhaps, somewhere, someone recorded this moment. The Commander could swear he saw a glint from a lens atop the cliffs. But then, his eyes were drawn to a familiar face.
The horns pointing up, Bangar was definitely a strapping stud, even at his age. Imperator of the Blood Legion, he’s the one who’d been pushing for the reunion of the Flame Legion before. Yet, it was also the one who’d been seeding the Legions with pro-Charr propaganda.
He was the one who’d weaponized their fears of the Dragons, of Kralkatorrik, to make them push against their allies.
He was the one who, through political maneuvering, had sown discord even in the United Legion while the Commander was down.
The Commander had earned a nasty scar on his chest from the betrayal. From being shot at by that dastardly old Charr.
Old Charr, who beamed with satisfaction, his fur having taken on a white tone, almost icy. But his eyes, deep and blue, were as intense and as cunning as ever. Even his smile was perfect as Ryland flanked him, Rytlock’s son, on his left, and another armored Charr on his right. That one looked different from the others.
The Commander’s reaction was to push against the order. His hand landed on Rytlock’s shoulder, steadying the grunting and huffing former Tribune. Tribune, who snarled, grimaced while Ryland looked back at him. But wouldn’t react.
Likewise, the Commander squinted and frowned towards the new ‘Khan-Ur’ who took a moment to impose his authority before he raised his fist.
“Criminals. You are all criminals under the Dominion.”
The words were heavy, and somehow, the Commander felt their weight upon his shoulder. A glance, and he confirmed the same was for Efram and Rytlock. For every Charr who felt the presence of the Khan-Ur imposed upon them. Not his own, merely borrowed power. But enough to impose authority.
“You raised your blades against your brothers and sisters who fought for a just cause. You betrayed everything the Legion stood for because you thought we Needed those who would become our enemies.”
“YOU ARE THE TRAITOR!”
The Commander blinked, almost jumped, while his eyes went to his right, to the source of the cry. It was another Charr, an Iron Legion Tribune. An old Charr who’d lost his left arm in the conflict and had been using a prosthesis before. A good Charr who had his head on a swivel and was good at logistics. A waste condemned to rot here.
Bangar didn’t answer on the instant, instead raising his muzzle as if to defy it. A pause.
“Why is that? Who colluded with Dragons who’d been our enemies? Who colluded with the Undead assaulting our lands? Who… colluded with the Humans who’d skinned our people?”
Lies and rhetoric.
Twisting the nature of the Commander’s actions during his years. And now?
It was turned against him, much like Bangar’s gaze as he had an obvious smirk.
“We never colluded! We fought to survive! We never gave up… O- On our beliefs!”
Another Charr, an Ash Legion who seemed to shrink into the shadows when the eyes went on him. But the smile from Bangar grew.
“Is that so?” asked Bangar, his voice suave and cold… And portent. “When the High Legions united against the Flames and beyond, the Ash Legion was the one to protect our backs. Your orders were to protect the Charrs from the unseen enemies. But if you did so… Why Charrs fought Charrs?”
Again, Rhetoric.
The Commander frowned, but he could feel how the other Charrs were swayed. Not Rytlock, not Efram, not those who’d been recently brought here. But those already there? They looked as if they were trembling under the weight, unable to bear the insult of the opprobrium. Their minds must have been relentlessly assaulted for them to offer such pathetic resistance.
And then… The Commander’s mouth opened. His voice trembled as his eye went on Bangar.
“You instigated this! Do not blame them! You were the mastermind behind the betrayal. You twisted the Blood Legion’s ideals against your people!”
“Commander.”
“Commander.”
The voice was calm, amused, and so tempting. It was definitely not the voice of someone who’d been challenged. But the voice of a predator whose prey had stepped into a trap.
His hand raised towards the Commander.
“Come to me.”
“Come to us.”
Now, the eyes were on the Commander. Even Ryland, even the already present Charrs who whispered to themselves, recognizing the Commander. They spoke while the Commander gritted his teeth. But he took one step. Then the other.
His feet didn’t answer his orders. They answered Bangar’s.
He was forced to ascend, to follow a slope guiding to the stage.
The fire of glares bit him in the back. They hated him for what he’d done for them?
The Commander kept his head raised and his teeth bared as he approached Bangar… And his ‘escort’. Although there was something similar in how the armored Charr presented himself.
But then, his head snapped back to Bangar as the older Charr’s arm was on his shoulder.
He wanted to pounce, to rip that Charr’s throat, to bite inside that throat.
He snarled; he snapped his teeth. But Bangar? He wasn’t bothered.
“Here is the fabled Commander. In the flesh, ready to join you. Would you like to hear his stories? And how such a fabled Charr slayed Dragons?”
“Bangar,” grunted the Commander.
“How would you prefer to hear how his slaughter is bringing us closer to… The end?” he asked, his claw going under the Commander’s chin, forcing his head to raise and crane.
Meanwhile, the eyes were on the Commander… Even as he was forced to turn, to present his back to the Charrs, to the crowd, while Bangar looked down on them.
“The Dragon Killer. The God Slayer. You did so much damage. You did enough damage, don’t you think?” asked Bangar, his voice calm and suave. “You sowed destruction in your step, with the help of your pet Dragon. But isn’t it enough?”
The Commander grimaced and frowned.
“You allied yourself with Jormag.”
“To protect the World against your interference. To control a Dragon, above yours, and ensure no Charr will love with their head bowed to another kind.”
“You bowed your head to Jormag!”
“And you bowed yours to more than your pet,” said Bangar, his voice intrusive.
Then… Something was different. A hand, a touch, a caress on the Commander’s posterior.
He felt it. He sensed the claws digging into his fuzzy buttcheeks. The pain as they dug into the flesh, and yet the warmth. The pleasure, the sensation. And his eyes drifted away to see Ryland playing with his ass.
“Wouldn’t you know? Our Commander has been allowing other males to use him. This is what he is desiring for us,” said Bangar, his voice stern.
“What… M- This has nothing to do with Jormag and what you have done!” roared the Commander. He snarled.
Next, he mewled, he trembled, he quivered while one finger went inside his asshole. Speared his pucker, stretched it, spearheaded it… And then, found his prostate. His organ that had grown needy and warm with the days. An organ that was so easily touched, pressed on… And then milked.
Milked as the Charr mewled as one cumshot flew ahead, one single shot, yet his cock remained stiff. In return, his asshole clenched on the finger, sucked on it while the Commander’s legs trembled, his tail swaying.
“Is that the Charr resilience? You mewl so pathetically when an enemy touches you here?”
“You-“
The Commander’s words broke when he sensed that finger tracing around his prostate, teasing and nudging the flesh while leaving him shuddering and stunned. Unable to resist.
Not even as Ryland’s breath was upon his ears, nibbling on while he had his back presented to the crowd.
“You should have accepted my offer. I would have spared you this humiliation.”
“Si-Silence,” moaned the Commander, only for him to be silenced by the finger darting his prostate and making him almost buckle.
“Stay put.”
His legs locked.
No, he lost control of them as his body buckled, but somehow remained on his feet. An impossible balance of effort while Ryland’s finger continued to play with his spot, to tease, to push… To make him cry and tremble… And almost collapse.
“See! This is what you have been worshipping! What Smodur had been pushing you to admire! Even I was fooled at first before I knew he was weak of mind and body.”
What a way to say that when they’d been rutting for days, all thanks to the injection.
But it had to have its effect on the crowd… Its effect on the Charrs watching the Commander moaning and cumming while he was molested.
No, had to watch as Bangar’s Right Hand removed his codpiece to reveal his cock. Deep purple and massive, it was akin to an arm. Only then… Only then was the Commander grabbed by the hips and forced to face the crowd, to face the eyes turning into glares while that cock hilted inside him.
Suddenly, all the training to take cocks, even the nights with Efram, was something he regretted. He regretted as he clenched his teeth, clenched his buttcheeks, clenched his thighs. He found no result other than for the pain of penetration to soar and climb along his spine.
He roared, he cried… he came, his cumshots going through the air only to land on the edge of the stage or down on the stone below. But the eyes, they were focused on him, focusing on the Commander’s stoic mask that was steadily breaking apart under the constant pummeling. Under the thrusts moving with such regularity, such intensity.
“You have been frolicking with my sire much, did you?” asked Ryland, whispering into the Commander’s ear, nibbling it while Bangar’s speech continued.
“Is that what you wanted to offer to the Charrs? A future where they will be fucked and abused by the other races? Bending over for someone else? Is that your pride?”
It wasn’t what the Commander desired, but it was just rhetoric. Easy rhetoric by twisting what the Commander stood for, turning his own desires into weapons against his cause.
It wasn’t a display of power, but a judgment of value against his lust and personal desires.
He was… But a tool with which Bangar could propel himself and exude confidence.
But why? The question returned as soon as the wave of orgasm left the Commander bereft and drained. Why would he speak to them? Why would he have them… Here? Why would he be doing this?
The Commander’s eye rolled when Ryland’s cock went inside him. It was… Everything like Rytlock’s cock, in fact. It was, in fact, much bigger, much more satisfying to take… And the control, the thrust. Oh, he was even better than Efram in taking the Charr who had to fight. Who had to fight the yearn to purr.
“I heard you had him watch. You think I’m like him? That I prefer to watch? Is that why you refused me?”
“Ry-Land,” groaned the Commander, with saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll let you think about the truth… I’ll let you think about what future you want to leave for future generations,” roared Bangar, raising his hand. “But even Smodur agrees we must… Work together.”
The Commander hiccuped. But he had the answers; everything clicked. There was something Bangar wanted from them: submission and collaboration.
He would’ve laughed and smiled…
Yet, he felt as if he was breaking apart.
Ryland’s cock again pushed against his depths, milking him of an orgasm. Making him cum and cum while his erection was finally flagging, dropping, lessening. It’d never happened before. It’d never flagged down since the injection, or not to the point of his cock slapping against his thighs…
The surprise was there, but so was the surprise as the helmeted Charr, besides Bangar, finally reached for his helmet.
He removed it… And a silent gasp took the crowd.
Yet, the Commander’s gasp was only for Ryland. For Ryland’s cock milking him. Again. And again.
-
“_We have enough, Rytlock. We’ll take those with us,” said the Commander.
Bangar’s office looked like a battlefield. The shelves had been thrown down, the stacks of papers aside. The unwanted documents had been burned, leaving only ashes, while the others had been stuffed in their armor. Their purpose was to take the intelligence or to destroy it.
Either way, it was perfectly fine to leave a mess. After all, the extraction would be messy. And so, with the papers brushing against their furs, the two Charrs turned toward the nearest door.
“Good. Now, let’s move. I think they’re inside,” said Rytlock, pointing at the metal sheet.
“You heard something?”
“Smells funky and weird. And the mists… That’s too complex.”
“Always lacking the words, Rytlock,” replied the Commander with a faint chuckle as he had the hand on the door and the other counting down._
_Rytlock needed little to pull Sohotin from the makeshift scabbard and to have the blade at the ready. Then, there was the countdown with the Commander’s fingers.
Four. Three. Two… One.
The Commander snarled as he pushed against the heavy-duty door, almost kicking it down. He didn’t roar, but he slammed it open while Rytlock ran inside. Then, once the Tribune’s tail followed, so did the Commander as he pulled out his own blade. Ready for the fight._
_Instead.
They froze. Their bodies were rigid, stiff, and enduring.
It was impossible. It was painful. Yet, the two armored Charrs were definitely locked in position, like statues, while they watched. They smelled. They heard.
Smodur moaned, his voice breaking while he sucked on the offered finger. His legs spread, his arms bound, he looked like a cheap hooker._
_No, worse… He looked different. His eyes were different.
His horns had been cut, trimmed, reduced to nubs instead of the proud horns pointing backward. His movements were sluggish, and even his reaction when seeing Rytlock and the Commander wasn’t one of surprise. No, it looked like he was dazed, or hypnotized, or drugged.
Either way, the Charr did not look the same. The brown-furred Charr had been a monster of muscle and strength, a cunning politician and diplomat. Yet…_
_He was definitely fucked in the ass, his orifice bulging from the immense purple cock stuffing his donut of a hole.
He was definitely cumming, too, as seen by the blue juices dripping from the chastity cage; made of stainless steel and devoid of any style.
The one they’d come to save, the very head of the United Legions, was mewling and cumming his balls out, riding a cock bulging through his guts before a heavy grunt came from under.
“You took your time,” said one voice, echoed. Bangar._
_All along, while the head of the Dominion had Smodur in captivity, he wasn’t torturing him. He wasn’t extracting intelligence from the Imperator. No, he was fucking him… Stuffing the Imperator who hugged his swelling guts while groaning… And yet, again ejaculated that glowing blue liquid on the ground.
Yet, much like a discarded toy, Smodur was lifted, thrown aside, and forced to roll on his sides until he was on his belly… And hence, presented his gaping entrance. One gaping entrance that unleashed the unrestrained flood inside, delivering a cascade of spunk onto the metal floor and the edge of the rough bed._
_Meanwhile?
Bangar was poised, one leg bent. He wasn’t afraid to expose himself, to expose his entirely naked self, with his icy fur. Nor did he bother to hide his Charrhood with his genitals that were… Excessively big. So big, in fact, the Commander couldn’t help but glance at them and gulp.
He’d taken cocks, but something like that? It was akin to an arm.
“Admiring your new Khan-Ur, Commander?” spat Bangar, his voice stiff. “Or are you here to steal my prize?”_
_The Commander grunted, but it was Rytlock who answered first, roaring.
“Undo this, Bangar! And face us like a Charr!”
“Me? Face you after you killed Dragons and a God?” asked Bangar, sitting down, ignoring the droplets of spunk he left behind him as he stood up and reached… For the papers sticking out from the Charrs’ under armor.
Definitely, he was much stronger. And it was obvious Jormag had made him his champion, against all odds.
“Stealing my property? I taught you better than that, Rytlock. As for you… Commander.”
“You… You… What have you done to Smodur?”
“Smodur?”_
_Bangar’s ears fluttered a moment before he turned to the groaning and grunting Smodur. Then, he patted the Commander’s cheeks.
“I only taught him the virtue of loyalty. Now, he wants nothing but to serve his Khan-Ur.”
“Bullshit,” spat the Commander, shaking his head. “You… You broke his horns!”
“I did more than that. Commander,” replied Bangar as he put the paper back into the under armor, not without securing it. Next, Bangar went for his armor, discarded in every corner of the room, to put it on while surrounded by three Charrs. With only one free of his actions._
_“I was tired of waiting for you. I expected you a few hours ago,” said Bangar, putting his chest plate on. “I guess your wound must have limited you. A shame. If you’d woken up earlier, perhaps the Civil War would have turned in your favor.”
“Bangar… You miserable-“
“Quiet,” said the Charr, raising his hand, and the two Charrs answered to the order. “Come now. Guide me to your friends so we can stop this charade of a conflict. I have an Imperium to establish.”_
_The Commander’s grip on his weapon tightened. But even facing Bangar, even facing that enemy showing his throat. He wasn’t able to cut through it… And to end that civil war once and for all.
Instead, he turned on his toes alongside Rytlock, going to guide him to their last allies._