FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hey! Disclaimer! Violent sex/sexual torture ahead! Be warned!

Drake was nervous as he took the stage, looking over the assembled crowd. At his request, other members on staff at Plaisir were not allowed to partake in this auction. This was a sentiment he was starting to regret as he looked over the gathered assortment, and saw that many of them looked like they wouldn't care quite as much about him as his future coworkers. Still, he steeled himself to the best of his ability - he'd gone on enough performances in front of people he didn't know. This would just be another one of those. Easy.

"Come on out, Drake!" the master of ceremonies, a male Girafarig, called as he stepped into the light, revealing his coloring and its unique shade, glinting in the light of the bright spots as they focused on him. To say he was dressed modestly would be an insult to the word - the poor Flygon was adorned in only a thong as he took his place center stage. The crowd, witnessing the product on display cheered and jeered. It was sort of hard to tell from the noise which was happening a little more. He tried not to think about it that much given his already vulnerable state.

"Why don't you give these lovely folks a taste of why they're here today?" said the emcee's front head, swinging his microphone with a flourish, his psychic powers keeping it suspended. "Yeah! Let them see what they're going to pay for. Sample the goods with a little display!" the rear head followed up, with his own microphone, though with less flourish given the rear head wasn't as on display as the front head.

Drake did not have an act prepared, as he wasn't intending to perform today. His blood pressure was high enough being on display like this, but to perform in such a state, to a crowd intent on buying his body? It was a hard thought to wrap his head around as the crowd started getting early bids in based on his appearance alone.

The rear head seemed to sense his hesitation "Look, help us help you - we can't do all the work in selling you here." The Flygon nodded, accepting the emcee's words. He knew the Girafarig was right, even if he didn't like the implications. He took a deep breath and tried his best to calm his nerves. When he felt his voice was sufficiently unlikely to crack, Drake opened his mouth and began to sing.

The air was filled with a clamor of bidding voices, with the undertone of the Flygon's voice - one might almost call it a sort of dirge. Low and somber, full of notes dripping with his personal feelings of concern and despair. He stood at the end of the stage, on full display as his notes underscored the room. This did not impress the emcee. A voice chimed in Drake's head informing him as such.

Kid, what are you doing? Said the voice, which sounded a lot like the rear head. You're supposed to entice the crowd, not depress them. Give 'em some eye candy, sweeten the deal!

Drake hesitated, holding a note while his mind considered what to do. He had to do something and quick. A showman's grin cut a swath through his face as he sang a few more of the dirge's notes, before coming to a soulful quiet. Just as the last, haunting note seemed to be settling, he turned the tables on the song. His notes became quick and fast, as he made lyrics on the fly, improvising a different conclusion to the dirge, this one more upbeat and happy. The sound team scrambled to adjust to make it look planned. After a brief, rough transition which was fortunately minor thanks to the experience of the sound techs, the room was filled with life. Hot, fast, pop-y tones to help please the noisy audience below. He took to the air, spinning around with a flourish, as he tried to bleed the direction the song was going with one of his pre-written ones.

Eventually, it seemed to take, as the bidding became a fever below, Drake gently gliding overhead, and drawing the crowd's gaze, trying to get a better look at some of the major players in the bidding. One was a female Clefable who Drake thought was pretty, for a fairy type, Maybe he'd find her after his performance with whoever won and try to talk to her, maybe get to know her. The next was a male Mudsdale with a thick Texan accent, likely from just over the border. The large horse concerned him - he was much bigger and stronger than the Flygon, and he had a menace in his eyes that Drake didn't like. The third and final major player appeared to be a Sawsbuck, obviously male with his beautiful coat and long antlers. He was also not unattractive in his own way. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but there was a certain elegance to him. His odds looked good as he surveyed the prospects.

Unfortunately for Drake, it came to a close with the Mudsdale throwing out a simply massive bid, causing the other bidders to look back, consider their finances, and gracefully bow out. The Flygon was _not_pleased with the outcome, but he masked it quickly as the heavy ground type headed to the emcee. The pair worked out the details while the crowd returned to their various vices with the attending Plaisir staff, who had congregated to console those who didn't win. A consolation prize that they had to pay for, but not an unappreciated one, as far as Drake could tell.

The Mudsdale surveyed Drake with a sort of contempt which shook his already fragile composure. He'd learned a few tricks for keeping a smile on his face, but the malice coming from his buyer was making him falter. The Girafarig seemed to sense his trepidation - probably thanks to his psychic powers. Kid_came the voice again, _you don't haveto do this. You can just say no right now.

He wanted to. He really wanted to. The Mudsdale snorted, sending a chill down his spine.Well, kid? The Girafarig prodded again.

Drake sighed. Even if he could say no, he couldn't afford to. He replied back to the emcee in his head. No, I'll be fine. It's just one round, right? What's the worst that could happen?

The twin heads shot him a concerned expression, but nodded. We hope you know what you're doing, Drake. The emcee turned to the Mudsdale and explained that, yes, the performer had given his consent.

Drake immediately regretted it as he saw the grin cross the horse's face at hearing those words. Again, he reasoned, it was just one round. Nothing too bad could happen. He crossed over to the Mudsdale with his best showman's smile plastered on his face.

"So! Congratulations on winning!" Drake said warmly.

"Get on." The Mudsdale responded.

"Ex...excuse me?"

"Don't make me say it again." He said, his words drenched in his thick accent, which seemed to make his words more ominous.

Drake's smile faltered again. "Is he all paid up?" he asked to the Girafarig, trying to mask the fear and concern in his voice. The emcee nodded, holding up a large wad of cash - paid in full. "Good," he said, though he did not agree with his words. He climbed up on the Mudsdale's back, and the two headed off to a private room.

Drake looked around, trying to think of a way to break the ice with his client. "So... what do you do?"

"Oil." the horse replied. "And stones."

"Like, evolutionary stones? Thunderstone, water st..."

"Yes." He interjected.

"Good money in that?"

The Mudsdale did not reply, and instead found himself an unoccupied bedroom. Drake did not bother trying to strike up a conversation again. It was clear his client only wanted one thing right now. The duo entered the bedroom, and the Mudsdale kicked the door shut with a hefty slam, which made Drake jump almost a foot off the large horse's back, before clinging to the mane for security.

"Off." He commanded.

Drake obliged, shakily floating himself down, landing in front of the large beast. He looked over the horse, and decided to try one last time for conversation. "Do... you at least have a name?"

"Tex. Now lay down."

It wasn't much, but it was something. Drake did as ordered, taking his place on the bed. From this angle, Tex seemed much more intimidating. His shoulders shook a little as he lay on his back with his head by the headboard.

"No. This way." Tex said, a tone of impatience in his voice.

Drake had his reservations, but did as ordered, crawling onto the bed beneath the large draft horse and rolling to his back, resting his horn-like antennae hanging off the edge of the bed as he looked directly up into Tex's face. The ground-type nodded affirmatively - this was what he wanted. His large, flat hooves loomed over him as they landed with a thud on the bed, making Drake bounce a little. He was now directly under the beast, looking up at his chest a little over halfway down his body in some sort of unusual 69 pose, except he didn't expect Tex to be giving. The muddy brown and black markings rested just inches above his eyeline. His horns prevented him from looking farther back, though. In his current position, he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "So... what made you want me anyway? Are... you a fan?"

Tex laughed. A deep, throaty laugh at that. "No, I hate you," was his matter-of-fact reply.

"Then... why did you buy my time?" Drake asked, perplexed.

There was a short pause, before the Mudsdale snorted derisively. "Does the name Polly mean anything to you?"

It didn't. Drake felt it may not be in his best interest to mention that. Still, he didn't see much of a choice. Lying would likely get him in hotter water. "Sorry, sir. That name doesn't ring a bell."

The beast above him snorted again, and he could feel it wash over his tail. Drake felt a poke at the top of his head, and looked to investigate. He immediately wished he hadn't. The tip of Tex's cock had just tapped him gently. It was huge. It was thick. It was flared. It was perhaps the most terrifying thing about it, pointed directly at him. It had the same mottled, muddy brown and black pattern as his body, ending in a pink, fleshy tip. The slit seemed to be big enough for him to stick at least a finger in, which did not encourage the already frightened Flygon.

"She's my daughter." Tex said. "She said she had an intimate encounter with you."

Drake frowned. That definitely didn't sound familiar. Never before had he had an 'intimate encounter' with anyone, unless his and this Polly person's definitions of intimate differed somehow. He tried to remember. Polly, Polly... No... He didn't know anyone by that name.

"Now, I am an understandin' soul sometimes," the Mudsdale continued with a shrug that almost seemed good-natured, were it not for the tension in every last muscle in his body. "If she's attracted to a prettyboy like you, that's her business. I was upset, but I wasn't gonna do anything about it. It made her happy." Then, Tex's voice darkened as he leaned back, bringing his face closer to Drake and making sudden eye contact, causing him to shiver and shrink away. "Until she comes home in tears, tellin' me that you were denyin'_the time you two had spent together. Sellin' yourself as a _virgin, like you ain't done anythin' before."

Drake felt the color drain from his face. He tried to speak, but panic was beginning to set in. He wanted to say that it was true, that he didn't know anyone by that name and that he'd never had any intimate encounter before. Maybe it was a different Flygon. But would he believe that? A different shiny Flygon singer? He tried so hard to remember someone by that name... Polly...

"Now, my daughter tells me you're a real prettyboy..." the Mudsdale huffed through his thick accent. "I'm inclined to agree." Drake opened his mouth to speak, just beginning to find the courage, but found his voice stifled by Tex's cock suddenly stuffing his mouth, and sliding almost effortlessly into his primed throat. Turns out the singing may have warmed him up in other ways. He wished it hadn't, as it was incredibly painful. Drake writhed in pain, his moans vibrating around the dick as his hands moved to at least try and soothe the pain the huge length brought with it, and suddenly to boot! He wanted to cry, but the huge plug in his throat made it impossible for him to do more than whine softly around it as his throat adjusted to Tex's size.

Tex's shaft flexed tightly in Drake's throat, making the prone Flygon gag around the meat. "She tells me you an' she were intimate before." Tex reiterated, flexing again, prompting another round of choked gags as Drake attempted to keep his composure, or at least, whatever precious little he had left. "So, as I sees it... Either yer lyin' or my daughter is lyin' and I... Didn't... Raise... No... Liars." his grunts punctuated the last few words as he pushed his shaft right to the hilt each time. The Flygon whined plaintively, his arms unable to do much to the heavy horse above him as that flared cock shoved its way down his throat. Drake could feel himself struggling to breathe with each thrust, the Mudsdale dick in his throat was taking up all the space he had and then some - he could even feel it making making a bulge in his long, slender neck as the Texan workhorse used him like a fleshlight.

Drake started getting light headed from the rough fucking of his throat, his antennae serving as sort of stop as the shaft plowed its way deep and repeatedly. It seemed to even reach his stomach. Maybe not all the way, but the Mudsdale did have almost a foot on the slender dragon. Tex huffed, his shaft growing thicker. Drake grabbed his throat instinctively, and could feel the faint outline of the Mudsdale's shaft as it filled him. The Flygon struggled for air, thrashing and writhing under the heavy draft horse.

Light seemed to obscure his vision, a white film creeping over his vision, with black swiftly following it. Tex could feel the Flygon's struggles growing weaker beneath him, and retracted his dick from the dragon's throat. Drake sputtered, and caught his breath with a heavy gasp, breathing heavily to help his oxygen-deprived system.

He was only barely listening when Tex spoke again. "So, I'll ask you again," he declared, his tone menacingly low and threateningly slow. "Do you know my Polly?"

"N-no!" Drake panted, eyeing the shaft with a growing fear, fidgeting uncomfortable in the shadow of the Mudsdale. His presence alone was overwhelming, and exposed Drake to a level of fear previously unknown to him. "I never met..."

"WRONG ANSWER." Tex shouted, his booming voice reverberating off the walls. He returned his shaft to his new bug-like hilt, cutting Drake mid-sentence, and resuming his rough fucking of the Flygon's throat. Loud... His voice was loud. He really hoped someone would hear this, would hear the trouble he was in, would come to help...

The Flygon's throat was starting to really hurt as the thick shaft throbbed in him, once again depriving him of air. Tex appeared to be perfectly content to hate-fuck Drake's throat until he coerced a confession... or at least, the confession he wanted to hear, or the Flygon below him passed out, or worse. Would it have been best not to struggle, and just let himself pass out? Would that be enough? Either way, his body wasn't listening to him - for the next few agonizing minutes of getting his throat stretched out by Tex's huge, throbbing shaft, Drake's wings fluttered and buzzed helplessly, his tail thrashed about and he gripped at the large horse's hips with his hands, trying in vain to push him away, or at least slow his repeated advance. By now, Drake's vision was starting to fade out again in the familiar white then black coating. Once again, Tex withdrew his torturous shaft at the last second before Drake lost consciousness, and tried once more for a confession.

"NOW -- do you know Polly?" he demanded.

Drake whined, catching his breath, weakly trying to adjust and orient himself, tears in his eyes beneath his yellow covers. "I..." He said, starting to object, before looking at that shaft again. His horn-like antennae were starting to really hurt thanks to practically being used as a door stop. His voice was hoarse and raspy and the word was hard to get out. He didn't know how well he would take another round.

Could he run? Could he get up now, burst through the door and scream for help? No. The massive horse would be on him again in a second if he got up. Even if he wasn't, could he throw open the door in time? And even if he did, could he call out with his voice so hoarse? He regretted not paying attention to the path they took here, otherwise he would have tried to run back to the bar he'd agreed to this mess in. But, of course, would he really make it there in time?

" WELL?" Tex bellowed again, his anger seeming to overcome all else. It also made his shaft throb menacingly inches from the recovering Flygon's head. Normally, Drake would maintain his honor, integrity and honesty by denying the claims. The thought of an obituary that contained the phrase "Strangled to death by cock" however, made him reconsider his morals.

No. This was hopeless. Running would just make it worse, wouldn't it? Maybe it was best to talk this out. Hope for mercy. Hope beyond hope.

"I... yes..." he rasped, coughing as he reintroduced his body to its old friend, air. He hated that sound. His voice... What had he already done to it? Hopefully, a hot drink after this would remedy whatever damage had been done. "W...whatever she said... it's true. Just... please let me..." He was cut short with a strangled cry, an instant later cut off by the meat filling his throat again. Maybe he'd need more than a hot drink.

"I _knew_it," Tex snorted malevolently, bearing himself against the Flygon, pushing straight down to the hilt, smashing Drake's face against his hip. The Mudsdale's shaft filled every inch of his throat, even places he didn't know he could feel as it throbbed ominously. There was no thrusting this time. He just held it, letting the slowly weakening struggles of the Flygon stimulate him as he came close. As the Flygon's vision faded out, Tex bucked and his shaft flared, forming a sort of plug in Drake's throat. The skin on his neck grew so tight from the pulse, he swore it was going to burst trying to contain the monster within. The thick, heavy seed was dumped into Drake's fading body, the jet of the thick Mudsdale seed shooting directly into the Flygon's stomach. The sensation drew a few more frantic, airless struggles from the fading Flygon. His stomach filled quickly under the immense load, but had nowhere to go as the flared tip blocked it in. Each shot of climax roared down Drake's strained throat like a bulge - he could feel each wave as it slid down his throat and came to rest deep in his belly.

Drake felt Tex's weight shift above him before the pressure of one of those flat hooves sat atop his belly, giving it a hard knead. Drake tried to gag as he felt the contents of his stomach slosh and move around under Tex's hoof, which drew a malicious laugh from the domineering Mudsdale. He felt the hoof pressing harder and harder, with an almost morbid curiosity, his stomach felt like it was going to pop like a balloon if more weight was applied. To Drake's relief, Tex paused and the hoof was withdrawn, falling back to the bed with a thud somewhere near the Flygon's prone hips. He slowly felt Tex withdraw his shaft from the Flygon's spent body, feeling the impressive length as the bulge retracted from Drake's almost-mercifully-numb throat. He couldn't see, he could barely feel, hanging onto a fraying thread of consciousness for dearest life. He could feel a warm sensation splash onto his face and heard a wet, sickening pop as Tex's shaft was removed from his body. He couldn't move to respond, he couldn't even bring himself to breathe as he felt the seed leaking out of his body, slowly draining up his throat in an unusual experience he hoped he would never have again.

After minute or two, the hot climax resting in his body was starting to drool out of the singer's maw in force, oozing out of his stomach and back up his throat. Drake felt his wing getting used as a rag for the Mudsdale's dick, he was cleaning up the remains of the Flygon's efforts and his own cruelty against the dragon. As he heard the hooves clopping away toward the door, he finally faded completely out of existence.

The next thing he knew, a sharp pain hit him in the chest, kickstarting his breathing again, a small bit of the Mudsdale's essence flying back up into Drake's mouth and onto the ground as he struggled for air, his lungs getting used to working again. Drake looked around unfocused as he was brought back to consciousness.

"If yer smart, you won't get back up." Tex said angrily. "Learn yer place an' stay down." before he left the room, leaving Drake to lay on the bed, a mess, and trying to make sense of how to feel about what just happened.

How else could he feel, really, other than violated and betrayed? By someone he didn't even know, no less. Caused by someone he knew even less about. Who was Polly? Why had she lied about this, was it just to hurt him? Why would she want him hurt? What had he really done to her? He was sure he'd never heard of her before.

He cried. Or, tried to. He curled up in a ball, gasping for air as he silently sobbed, wishing that he hadn't agreed to come back here with Tex. If he had known what the Mudsdale would do... He'd practically seen it! He'd seen the hatred in his eyes, the knot of unease he'd felt in his chest - he should have paid more attention to it! Knowing that... didn't really make the situation any better. It just made him angry at himself. His throat felt hot and sore, and some of Tex's essence oozed out of his mouth as he wept on the floor. He spat it out like venom, and coughed again, feeling like he was going to vomit. He tried his best to clean himself up, but he was shaking so much, it was difficult.

He cried for a long, time, each time he would open his mouth to wail, hoping to get some of the anguish out of his body. Each time, his voice cracked and nothing came out. He coughed and slowly tried to come to terms with the fact that his voice was gone, at least for now. He tried to pull himself together and stand up. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around himself, obscuring his form completely as he went in search of a drink of water. Something to help soothe his aching throat.

It took him a little bit to find a bathroom. He quickly scooped water into his mouth, drinking it down like a wanderer in a desert. He knew to take it slow, at least. Dehydration only got worse if you hurried to remedy it. Of course, he was probably going to throw up anyway, but still... His throat burned like an afternoon on his native sands. Soothingly, the cool water slipped down his abused, raw throat, a much more comforting and welcome sensation than... _that._He stood still for a while, leaning over the sink for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath again.

He sighed, then despaired as it turned into a quiet retch. He didn't want to be seen like this. Aside from his fragile trust now, he must have looked pathetic. It was all he could do to find an unoccupied stall to sit in, wrap himself up as tightly as he could in his security blanket and weep silently as he processed the events he had just been subjected to.

Kid?

A familiar voice rang in his mind. The emcee. He tried to groan, shutting his eyes tightly. He didn't want to hear that voice, but he didn't know how to block it out.

I lost track of you a while ago, he continued, hearing no response. I've been keeping an eye on you since you went off with your client. Are you OK?

Drake didn't know what to say. His first thought was No, which the hurt Girafarig accepted, before he even had time to second guess himself. Psychic types.

I thought so. There was something wrong about him from the get-go. I should have never let you leave with him. I've already contacted security - Petier will be meeting with him shortly, and I think that Syl will have some choice words for him...

That did make Drake feel a little better. Petier, the buff Sylveon with a unique coloring and a thick accent, was not a force to be messed with lightly. He hadn't exactly had a run-in with him in the past, but he just got this feeling about him. A good one. Thank you, Drake thought.

Don't mention it, the emcee replied. I should have done more. It didn't have to be this way. I should have followed our gut feelings before any of this happened.

Yeah, you really should have. It was the same voice, but it replied as if it were a different person. The other head, perhaps? Or just his subconscious? It was hard to tell. Like I told you to.

Look, Rig, the voice replied, he said yes and we made our judgement at the time. How could we know what he was planning?

You know we can read minds, right Gir? Why were they having this argument in Drake's head? Drake's horn-like antennae twitched in irritation.

_ Then why didn't you, if you're so smart?_

_ Guys,_ Drake thought, interrupting the squabbling brothers. They fell silent. Beyond silent. He could practically feel their eyes on him, wide and startled. Had he thought that with as much venom as was now echoing in the walls of his mind? Drake mentally sighed, but knew by now not to mirror that reaction physically. I appreciate the sentiment, but it's a bit too late now. What's done is done. I.... am alive. Hurt, but alive. Unable to talk right now, but alive. It was an unpleasant experience, but it's over now. We can just move on.

He didn't feel as confident as his thoughts might have conveyed. He felt scared, vulnerable, hurt and, most of all, tired. He didn't want there to be, but maybe there was anger, too. Maybe he agreed with the latter voice, maybe part of him wanted to berate the two for... for getting him into this situation. But he didn't really blame them, did he? He didn't want to. It wasn't their fault, not really.

It was hard to tell if the brothers could sense this or not, but they grew quiet. Sorry. Gir eventually whispered. He could tell them apart, somehow. We should have done something, and we're just... sorry we didn't.

_ You contacted security to make sure he didn't get away, I'm happy with that,_ Drake reassured. Again, his voice carried more confidence than he felt. I think I'll be fine with a little rest and healing. Don't worry.

They didn't reply. The talk ended there. He heard someone enter the bathroom, and for a moment, he seized up, afraid he'd be found, but he sensed that it was them. Gir and Rig placed a sign on the outside of the door - the image sent across the psychic link told him it was an Out of Order sign to give him some privacy. A sort of last gesture of good faith, or an attempt at some form of consolation. With that, they left him alone. Drake was only a little glad that he had some privacy to recover and come to his senses and bearings, but it was mostly him sorting his feelings and experience out.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he did know where he woke up - on the same toilet, and wrapped in his same security blanket. Unfortunately, it had not been a nightmare - it had happened for better or for worse. Almost certainly for worse. He tried to perform a morning ritual of his, greeting the day. He tried to speak, but his voice didn't come. He tried again. Still nothing. He rose from the stall and got some water from the tap. It burned, but it wet his throat. He tried a third time. His voice was raspy and hoarse, and it burned slightly to speak, but he could talk again if he needed to.

This was going to make his job as a performer hard - his act was singing with some dancing, not dancing with some singing. He... would need to find some other activity to... oh. The implications sank in. He didn't know how he was going to handle his employment, now that he would be relegated to more Waiter role than Performer, and the implications of having to do more.... More.... More of this... He considered running back to his home desert. It was appealing at first, until he started thinking about everything he would give up in the process. It... did not seem like an easy thing to do, but was it worth it?

It took him a few hours of absorbing, just sitting in the bathroom staring at the wall while his mind worked overtime. He would _have_to be okay with it, both his experience and what he would have to do at Plaisir to help maintain his life, at least until his voice recovered and he was able to return to being a performer. The auction had been a mistake. At least the Girafarig pair knew that, right? What if... What if his were exceptional circumstances? What if he could go on an excusable hiatus? Surely no one could be mad at him for... No, they couldn't! This wasn't his fault! He was innocent, blameless in all this! Why should he pay for this?

But then... if he really was innocent, they would have done more, wouldn't they? The auction had been his idea -- he'd even set it up! He decided he only wanted customers, not other staff members of Plaisir. He was the one who ignored his obvious trepidation, and that of Gir and Rig and agreed to go with Tex after the auction was over! He... may not have been entirely blameless, but he didn't deserve all that.

He didn't know what the future held for him as he rose to his feet, leaving his panties on the floor. He'd forgotten he'd had them. All he knew was that he wished he had never come here. Still wrapped in the blanket and nothing more, he stepped out of the bathroom and into the lights of the brothel's hallways and into his bleak, uncertain future at Café Plaisir.