FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The old sunblasted walls rose soullessly from the sands in the rosy light of dawn. The impressive, but slowly crumbling arcades lead to complex sets of stairs and passageways, which would soon allow rich and poor alike to quickly find seating in their designated areas. For the moment, however, the single massive column dominating the center of the arena loomed over no battle, no feat of glory, and no bitter defeat. As shadows grew shorter, sleepy shapes popped from behind pillars, from the walkways between the elevated rows of stone benches, and, naturally, from the doorways. More of them wandered the coliseum and its bulky adjoining structure than was usual at this early hour. Weapons were cleaned. Draperies were hung. Floors were scrubbed. It was an arena day, and a special one. Everything had to be ready. A few of the fighters had already begun to arrive. Some went straight for the sacred column, to pray for supremacy in battle. Some more practical-minded ones headed to the annex, intent on training or sharpening their weapons. Some even went merely to familiarize themselves with the texture of the sand on which they would fight and bleed. But they wouldn't die. In the long-forgotten past, the burgeoning realm of Cander had had blood sports end in death. As their popularity grew with the crowds, more cities hosted them, and more nobles patronized them. The victors' purses grew heavy to attract the fiercest warriors, the most stalwart soldiers. It became a problem, for the realm couldn't afford to sacrifice its greatest fighters and heroes on this scale, while threatened by its neighboring empires and powerful city-states. Fights to the death were abolished, but without a consequence, there was no tension, and without tension, there was no spectacle. In the world of the good people of Cander, there couldn't be a winner unless there was a loser. A new caste of arena workers was created. Their caste had no name, because it didn't need one. What were needed were groups of vigorous, anonymous bodies. Male bodies. Ironically, audiences took to calling them the nameless, and it stuck. Barring occasional accidents, the blood sport had disappeared. People described it instead as: "white blood". When the sun reached its zenith, the crowd cheered violently. The shouts, sneers, and taunts lifted rhythmically, died a little, lifted again, died again, and with no end in sight. They followed the pace of the action, which, at this point, was too methodical to be a fight. In the far end of the annex, the attendant, behind the iron bars of his locked booth, knew that the nameless were doing their thing to some poor vanquished competitor -- or, possibly, to some happy vanquished competitor. It happened. Heck, he'd seen it recently, when he wasn't working the betting stall. "Nah," he thought with a tinge in his loins. He was too busy to start thinking about that. He was polishing his white and brown feathers with his crooked beak when the stallion returned. Glistening sweat covered his jet-black hide, which wasn't so surprising, because it was an oppressive day, but he was also out of breath. -- Y'er too soon. Why d'ya run so fast? Results ain't in yet. -- I won my bet again. -- Sure, the same as everyone else, all the time. Ain't ever met anyone who'd lost a bet before the results got in mah hand. Exactly as he said this, the bird heard tapping behind him. He turned to the back of the booth, and, through a small opening, barely large enough for an arm, he was handed a small piece of pottery. "Hang on. It's coming in now." He stared at the result. "Yea, ye won yer bet again. Can't believe it." The bird furrowed in some deep drawers under the barred window. On the other side, Akrow fidgeted his fingers nervously over the counter, while the feathered attendant counted, and checked the bets. A thunderous exclamation from the crowds resounded. "Gods, what're they doing'a'him?" The horse shook his head. He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He was tense enough as it was. "That'll be too much coin for ye to carry. Ah don't even have that much, here. Ye'll have to take a ticket and exchange it." -- That's fine. The stallion waited for the attendant to engrave the piece of bronze, and then he took it. He caressed the side of it lovingly, reading the huge number repeatedly. With some heartbreak, he put it down on the counter. "The same." The hawk's eyes widened. "Y'er betting again? Y'er crazy, son." -- It's not enough. -- I dunno what y'er trying'a'buy, but ah think y'er getting rolled. -- Rolled? -- Had. Screwed. Fucked. How d'ya know yer guy is gonna beat the odds again? -- I don't. But if he doesn't, I'll really be fucked. What the attendant would have known, had he been able to watch the fights, was that, of course, Akrow was betting on himself. The stallion trotted all the way to the fighter's lounges. He was not, in fact, in a hurry. He still disposed of some time before the next combat. All nine nameless had to finish up at least once. It could take a while, but in his state of excitement, walking wasn't enough. A low collective growl rumbled up to Akrow, as if a particularly tasteless thing had been imposed to the proud frog champion that he'd just defeated -- followed by an explosion of laughter, whistles and cheers. He felt remorseful about it; his elegant opponent had been acting a bit superior, sure, but he hadn't been rude. As an experienced gladiator, the frog had simply not expected his unknown adversary to stand a chance. In fact, the fight had gone so badly that the horse himself felt astounded when he finally managed to connect a blow. He'd slammed his shield right into the amphibian's face. The tall dark body with deep blue erratic shapes that had been freely dancing around him simply collapsed. The tide of the battle had changed so dramatically, and so decisively, the beaten prince from a faraway marshland, trained by expert weapon masters since birth, had gaped up to Akrow from the sand, half-stunned, with his long, strong legs folding slowly under him. He'd remained completely at a loss, all the way until the nine burly shapes walked to him, pulled his legs apart while tearing his armor off, and stuffed their raging erections into every hole he had. They worked him as the public, who'd also been mute up to this point, roared. Akrow had left before he saw them finish taking him on his back, and then take him on his belly, and then in a variety of other positions, as each of the nameless arranged him however they preferred. He'd left before they got even more inspired, and made the frog do things. It'd last until the loser satisfied all of them, unless some decided to take more than one turn -- and unless the defeated came before he was permitted to. Akrow felt sorry, but he absolutely needed to pay off his debt. Without this money, he might be sold into slavery. With only one more fight, he would be able to pay everything, and even have a comfortable reward for himself. The sum that he'd wagered on himself was insane, and the odds still strongly favored his opponent, though his string of victories that very day had changed a few minds. He wouldn't allow himself to even think about defeat until he was safely out of the grasp of the nameless. There was nothing more to do, and listening to the reactions of the crowd knotted his guts. Akrow wandered about the fighter's lounges, until he stumbled on the only other competitor left for this series of matches. The lion looked up at him. -- Hello. He sat cross-legged on the floor, and seemed composed. His mane was trimmed very short, which gave him a young, spry look, and it was red. Flame red. It was too red to be natural; dyes of some kind had been involved. "Can I do something for you?" -- Oh, no. I got nervous, so I strolled around. Akrow paused. "We're going to fight." -- Yes. The lion observed the stallion serenely, with deliberate head movements. "Did you want to introduce yourself?" -- Sure, I guess. I'm Akrow. Akrow extended his hand, and the lion looked at it, and then he took it with a smile. They shook. -- I'm Baneil. You're not a suitor, are you? The horse felt like he'd missed something. -- I'm sorry? -- You're not here to impress, in hope of courting her ladyship. -- I'm afraid I have no clue of what you're talking about. Baneil nodded patiently. Akrow suddenly noticed the armor the lion would use, hanging on a stand. It was a bit on the heavy side of what was allowed, and it looked filthy rich. Another noble? Akrow didn't know what was going on. He wasn't from this city, he'd come for the arena. "Are you a lord?" Baneil tilted his head down in a gentle, graceful motion. -- Like many others, I'm here after the announcement that her ladyship, the owner of this arena, and of much lands, would attend today. This is why they gave the coliseum a bit more... frill, than usual. It's also why a second set of matches will take place in the afternoon. -- I wouldn't know. It's my first time. I'm unconcerned by any of this. I'm here for gold. Baneil couldn't stop himself from grinning widely, apparently amused at the absurd notion of doing anything for money, or perhaps it was the fact that Akrow had admitted it so openly that provoked his laughter. Either way, he obvious struggled to courteously hide his hilarity. -- Of course, I fully understand. Akrow found himself a bit vexed, but not too much. It wasn't the lord's fault if he'd been raised as a pompous idiot, and the stallion was used to dealing with nobles. In fact, the people he'd borrowed from were much less approachable than Baneil was proving to be. "We should probably begin to armor up. It can't be much longer, now." He was right. Akrow gave the lord a nice little bow. He seemed flattered. "Why, thank you. That wasn't necessary at all, but I return your respect." True enough, the lion bowed in turn, and Akrow felt like he'd made a new, slightly puffed up friend. -- I'd wish you good luck, but in the circumstances, that'd also be bad luck for me. Baneil laughed. -- In this case, may the best man win, is, I believe, the appropriate formula. -- Still, if bad things happen to you because of me, know that I'll regret it. The lion waved his paw before his muzzle, thoroughly undisturbed. -- Oh, I guarantee that won't happen. Baneil ceased smiling with a small frown, only realizing that that had been a prick-like thing to say after he'd said it. Akrow maintained his friendly expression, but he discovered that part of his qualms about sending Baneil to the nameless in his place had evaporated. The stallion left, and returned to the lodge that had been assigned to him. He heard a shout in the corridor. -- Combatants, gear up for the final round! Then, Akrow really sensed the knots in his entrails. He strapped on his hardened leather, and grabbed his mace and shield. It would be over soon, he thought. He would walk free of worry and debt, just like before he'd made his latest series of questionable decisions. Baneil couldn't be more of a challenge than the frog prince had been. Akrow stood ready at the end of the underground passage leading from the annex to the arena. He observed his own armor. He looked solid and serious in it, and that reassured him. Soft paws neared from behind, and soon Baneil joined his side in the shadows, clad in his gleaming gold-trimmed ornamented steel. They waited. -- Are you really certain you'll win? Baneil turned to the silhouette of the black stallion, whose face was hidden by the obscurity. -- I'm sorry, I never meant to imply- -- Are you? Baneil hesitated. After a few seconds, his face hardened. -- Yes. You won't have a hint of a chance. A long, plaintive trumpet announced the next fight. Akrow rolled his shoulders. -- I guess we'll see about that, then. Akrow went running upon the sands too fast, and witnessed the end of the previous show. The nude dark frog was now -- mostly -- white, utterly coated in thick cock juice. He was being walked on all fours in the center of the group of contented, smirking males. The posture looked even more ridiculous because of his oversized legs. The conquered prince was repeating, with a failing, crackling voice, that he was a worthless sac of jizz, like some strange endless mantra. A broken piece of his own quarterstaff protruded out of his round, creamed bum, and wobbled meekly left and right with his movements, while the opaque sticky fluid leisurely oozed down his arms, legs and buttocks, and trickled from his chin. Akrow hoofed aside to allow the procession a wide berth, but Baneil moved in, standing in the way of the frog prince, perceptibly delighted by the absolute debasement of his rival. The frog stopped, and barely looked up to Baneil's legs, still intoning the words he was being made to say with full dedication while the lion absorbed the sight. At last, one of the nine brutes, a rhino, struck the filthy backside. -- Move, you cock sheath. The crowd taunted the cock sheath for a few more seconds. The broken amphibian crawled lengthily around Baneil's feet while the lion watched the staff piece resume its slow waggle. The nameless disappeared with their victim into the tunnel, and soon, Akrow couldn't hear the mantra anymore. The nameless' area, dug under a few benches at the periphery of the arena, was refilled by a fresh bunch of mostly huge, hung males, and the battle was announced. Both opponents had necessarily reached this final stage of the competition by remaining undefeated, and when he thought about it like that, Akrow felt worried. It didn't mean that the last fight would be the toughest either. The random matching could easily have a competitor face his most dangerous foes early on, and, sometimes, like in his previous match, a less skillful fighter could win due to what Akrow couldn't describe as anything other than good fortune. He still saw the abused bottom of the frog, fading toward the annex in his head. Then, he saw the bronze chip. -- I hope fortune smiles on me today, he said to himself. The presenter grandiosely introduced the opponents: Akrow was described as a mysterious, unexpected challenger, a wild force to be reckoned with. Did he have untapped resources he was yet to deploy? The public would soon find out! When it was Baneil's turn, he was noticeably described as the expected winner. He was the mighty, unbending will. He incarnated the force of order, who could tame any threat, any beast. So, Akrow was wild, and Baneil was the one who tamed. The implication was plain. It didn't make any difference. Akrow breathed deep, and focused on the job. Baneil was having fun, stimulating the crowd, parading around with theatrical poses. He was asking for a beat down, and the stallion had to actually cool himself to make sure he'd remain unaffected by the boasting. He couldn't get overaggressive. He had to keep his mind clear. Akrow was happy to discover that he felt strong and together. The presenter went on to announce that the finale was dedicated to the honor of the Lady Nel. The short, twitchy fennec with the booming voice, jumped aside, gleefully designating the person behind him, up in the highest balcony. The lady didn't step forward, and neither did she bother to stand, so Akrow couldn't get a good look. Baneil, however, acknowledged his cue. He instantly ceased goofing around, stood, and knelt chivalrously with a profound bow before the balcony. Akrow wasn't going to do anything, until... The stallion, for no other reason than to aggravate Baneil, dropped his mace in the sand, closed his fist against his chest, and gave a straight, rapid warrior's bow that sent his long black mane flying into the wind, in order to go along with the wild force theme he had going on. It worked. Apparently, the entire city knew about the potential matchup between Baneil and the Lady Nel, because the crowd gasped, and then they went crazy. As they screamed with ravenous anticipation, the lion turned to Akrow. He didn't seem furious, but he was unquestionably upset, perhaps wounded. The two stared at each other, while the presenter hopelessly attempted to regain control of the crowd. They didn't see or hear him anymore. He didn't even exist anywhere near the arena. In the end, the fennec shrugged, and sat down. The fight had started. Baneil shook his head with disapproval, but he allowed a tiny smile to break into his face. He pulled his longsword, roared in a way that sent shivers up Akrow's spine, and charged forward, digging into the sand. The stallion took measured steps, calculating when Baneil would reach him. He inspired, and blew in three short gusts. He did that again, and again. The gleaming feline approached. The lion bared his fangs as he swung at the exact limit of his reach with both hands, in an upward diagonal motion. The tip of his sword flashed, and cut heavily in Akrow's leather covered wooden shield. The crowd was awed by the beauteous, fluid strike. Cold sweat covered Akrow as he leaped backwards. The lion's attack had been mind-bendingly true. His shield would not be able to suffer this kind of assault for long. The stallion couldn't afford to allow his opponent any further easy hits. He had mere fractions of a moment to focus on dodging the next swipe, as the lion used his momentum, and began to swing downward. Akrow stepped out of range again, while the crowd booed, but he remained concentrated, and saw the trap quickly enough. One of Baneil's hands was subtly releasing its grip. The lion swung from the side with only one hand, to increase his reach. Akrow managed to block in time with his mace's iron shaft. The shiny blade slid along with a high-pitch screech, and stopped against the small ring jutting over the mace's handle as a guard. Akrow pushed hard with both arms, capitalizing on his kind's raw natural force, but to his surprise, Baneil didn't tip over. The lion pushed right back, using his other hand against the flat of his blade. Both plowed their paws and hooves into the soft, powdery sand. They glared, their faces mere centimeters from each other's. Baneil ducked to the side, suddenly giving up his doubtful contest of strength against the black stallion. Akrow's weight carried him forward, and he tripped over the lion's leg. The sand tasted of blood and sweat, but Akrow had no time to dwell on that. He pushed himself onto his right elbow, and blocked another powerful slash with his shield. The crowd yelled high and low, engrossed, as they witnessed the many shreds of lumber fly up, dislodged from Akrow's weakening protection. Baneil, arrogantly, stepped back. He threw his hands up. -- Come on! he shouted. Make me look good! The crowd cheered at the provocation. Akrow got back onto his hooves. He worked his elbows up and down to relax his muscles, and raised his shield again. He moved forward, and launched a careful attack. The mace hit the air over the noble's snout as he curved backwards. Akrow aimed lower for his backswing, but that meant he had to get in closer. He made one careful step, but it was one step too much. Baneil's weapon wasn't lighter, but it was better balanced, and he dove in to Akrow's unprotected right flank, swinging fast into the stallion's side. A wide red streak appeared under the dark armpit, where the leather armor was thin and supple. Akrow grunted in pain. Blood was drawn, and the mob celebrated. Baneil didn't let up, bouncing behind his target while the horse was recoiling, and trying to find his foe. The flame-mane warrior slashed deeper into Akrow's back. The hard leather gave out, and, this time, Akrow screamed. He rolled forward to avoid any further wounds, though it did sting like hell when sand got into the opening. That would make a wide scar. The horse observed the confident noble. The latter patiently held his sword, unafraid, somewhat interested, but not much more. This was nothing to him, Akrow realized. Just another bout. This was exactly like the fight against the frog; he needed only one good blow. One strike, and it might all turn around. The challenger refocused. He advanced again, and the crowd, for once, seemed on his side, applauding his dedication and courage. He decided then that, if he won, he'd stick around for a little while, and watch Baneil get taken down a notch or two. Akrow kept his shield up, and extended his right arm for an over-the-shoulder swipe. The lion scoffed at the obvious attack. He tiptoed in and out of reach, prepared to duck, dodge or block, but the attack never came. Baneil kept moving back, or to the sides, baiting the attack, and Akrow kept pacing forward, refusing to release his prepared strike. The crowd did not like it when their champion was pushed on the defensive. Just watching his traits, Akrow knew, then, that the lion was deeply affected by what they thought of him. The people booed, and sneered. Akrow mechanically continued to threaten. The sun was scorching, and Baneil's armor was heavier. He was having no more fun, forced to run circles around the stallion that had decided not to make any more blunders. "Fucking attack, already!" -- Make me look good. The crowd laughed. Baneil gaped, and squinted. For a little while, he was infuriated. That was the state in which one made mistakes, Akrow knew. The lion lunged, but Akrow didn't withdraw. The shield took the blow. Akrow simultaneously struck. The swordmaster scrambled to block in time with the hilt, but was blown clear in the sand anyway. The public was blown away as well, but it recuperated fast, and burst with joy. In some areas, they began to chant "stallion" repeatedly, cherishing the stirring change in the way the wind blew. Baneil shook the sand from his fur, and leaped nimbly to his paws. He prepared to charge. If he delivered a massive enough hit, he could finish the equine's shield. Without his shield, he wouldn't be able to threaten, and to defend at the same time. Akrow considered this as well, and he did something about it. He ran in decisively. Baneil, frenzied, grinned madly, and jumped high for a devastating overhead attack. It would not only have split the shield, but probably also Akrow's skull. At the last possible moment, Akrow shifted his shield aside, and blocked with the iron mace, holding with as much strength as he could. The swing stopped right over his head, but the sword's upper half exploded into pieces. Akrow closed his eyes when his face was showered with sharp steel. Nevertheless, he attempted to deliver the attack he'd prepared with his shield. When he opened his eyes, he understood that Baneil, unable to avoid, had jumped into the blow before it had accumulated enough momentum. The shield had ineffectively crashed into his armor, and he hung on to it desperately with his claws, and his broken sword. It didn't look graceful for a quarter of a bronze penny, but it had been efficient. The stallion lifted his mace again triumphantly, and read a bit of fear in the lion's angry face. Baneil did something crazy. Hanging to the shield, he lifted his legs, crouched, and propelled himself backwards far away, flipping in the air, and landing expertly onto his paws, demonstrating that he wasn't down for the count yet. The crowd was confused. They didn't know what they wanted anymore, or whom they rooted for. All they knew was that this fight was something else. They were too drawn-in to make sounds, and an eerie silence floated while Akrow and Baneil stared each other down. Baneil's expression morphed. He calmed down, smiled, and even laughed a little. Akrow remained stone-faced. The noble gradually stopped smiling, and became just as single-minded as his low-born rival. With a reverential nod, he said only one word: -- Okay. Both warriors moved for the finish. Baneil, like before, stopped at the exact reach of his broken weapon, and slashed with swift continuous strikes. Akrow attacked before the shield gave in, and Baneil did nothing but brace himself. The mace smashed into his ribs, and he grimaced, delivering yet another strike. The trusty piece of equipment finally split into two useless halves, and as the sword pierced through, it cut rather deeply into the equine's forearm, but Akrow too had been prepared to take some damage for the win, and unleashed the subtle upward strike he'd primed. It was so intense that Akrow could have sworn the moment lasted minutes. Baneil was readying a final crippling attack, aimed at the stallion's shoulder, while Akrow's slower, but already underway swing travelled toward the lion's neck. Both attacks were clumsy, for the fighters had no time to position well; whoever connected first would incapacitate his foe. It had been a close call, but the horse's mace built up more speed. Baneil's attack was too uneven, too low. Even if he'd managed to hit from that angle- Wait. Baneil didn't strike. He'd wagered everything that he would be able to duck even such a close-ranged blow in time, and he did. Akrow's mace brushed the lion's nose as the latter fell toward the ground. His attack had never been awkward. It was always meant to be delivered from a low position. Baneil fell, and struck Akrow's hoof with his hilt. The stallion's supporting leg gave out under him. He stumbled backwards, while the lion was already thrusting himself up. Akrow landed on his bum, and the blinding broken blade appeared against his neck, and slid under his armor onto his pectorals. He sensed its biting edge. Time stopped completely. And then, it resumed at full speed. The crowd was ecstatic. They screamed their throats out when the Lord Baneil raised his hand, and waved in a wide semicircle. Akrow remained paralyzed in the sand. He figured he looked as dumbfounded as the frog had before... -- Oh god. He turned his head. The nameless were on their way. The presenter enthusiastically yelled things that no one heard. Baneil seized Akrow's attention with a twist of his blade. He pushed the weapon under the stallion's chin. -- Lick it. The tournament winner was perfectly serious. Akrow sensed the nine heavy presences encircling him, but they appeared disposed to wait. Empty-minded, Akrow stuck out his tongue, and began to lick the steel from the broken tip. "All along to the hilt." It tasted of metal, and arena dust. Even if it was half as long as before, it remained a rather lengthy distance to cover. Akrow was careful of the sharp edges, hoping that the lord wouldn't give the weapon a cruel little twirl. While the stallion did what he was told, stretching further and further forward toward the hilt, a brawny stag produced a sharpened knife, and slipped it under the conquered fighter's armor pieces, and along his clothes, until he was stark naked, and his slick, sweaty hide glistened in the sun. His tongue touched the hilt. He was about to face the cost of his defeat, but the lord moved. "Wait." Baneil, with a high-and-mighty sneer, flipped his sword. The unclothed men chortled. The crowd was amused as well, but as the show moved on to a part that provided them with a different kind of excitement, the presenter became audible again. --... seems that the champion isn't quite done breaking in the beast! All the way to the hilt! How's that for symbolic significance? Akrow miserably carried on licking Baneil's sword while a dragon covered in coarse, grey scales swatted his tail aside. The worst humiliation, however, was still growing and growing. The audience began to notice. They whistled, and they snickered to each other. The presenter caught on as well. "Can you see this? That one feisty beast might not be completely averse to some discipline. Our entertainers could get quite a bit of sport out of him! In my experience... my, oh, my, look at the size of that thing!" Akrow was almost completely inclined against Baneil when he finished his task. Both sides of the sword were covered with his drool. He didn't dare return the lord's gaze. The humbled stallion withdrew to his knees. The movement revealed his upright sex to the rest of the public that hadn't noticed it yet. They howled in amusement. His organ wasn't significantly larger than the average for his kind, he was sure, but the public had made it a thing, and the nameless would undoubtedly make him regret being born that way. Baneil towered over his kneeling, offered conquest. He examined his humid sword, and decided he had sufficiently stalled the spectacle. He extended the broken sword, and smacked the side of Akrow's ass with the flat. He swiftly sheathed it. -- I'll keep it as a souvenir. He nudged Akrow's rigid limb with his paw. "Have fun." Baneil walked away, but just as Akrow imagined that he couldn't be a worse, more obnoxious winner, he spun to face Akrow and the horny brutes again. He showed them all of his fangs. He whispered: "I bet ten silver coins to every nameless that he doesn't squirt." Akrow's face fell apart. Baneil merrily turned his back, and left to bask in the crowd. The nameless grinned to each other, nodded, and muttered approvingly at the notion of ten easy silver pieces. All they had to do was to teach one of Baneil's arrogant rivals a lesson in submission. -- Think you're good enough for the lady? Akrow heard from behind. You ain't that big. I'll show you big. The stag's hoofed fingers firmly landed over Akrow's cheeks. Two strong thumbs stretched his tight ass wide for the large cock that immediately embedded itself under his tail. The stag plugged away so mercilessly that the stallion's entire exposed body waved with each thrust. The physicality of the massive shaft shoving into his gut made it near impossible to speak, but Akrow managed to mumble something apologetic about being new here, and just needing money. The grey dragon positioned himself before his face, and grabbed his long muzzle with both hands. The nine chuckled, and the dragon's barbed dick shut him up. He went deep enough to gag the stallion. -- What a greedy little bitch, going after the lady for her money. You think everything's yours, don't you? The dragon paused, tilting his head backwards while his forked tongue coiled slowly in the air. "We know a few things your greedy ass can have. Right boys? He can't wait, give it to him now; Duke'll make you some room." The stag continued to ride him hard, and jammed his thumb in as well, describing a half-circle along the already stretched-thin anus. Only a few seconds later, he wedged his other thumb in to make complete circles. Akrow panicked when a tall dark gorilla and a well-hung tiger moved from the sides, and disappeared behind him with somber, callous looks. He tried to keep them in his view, but the dragon prevented him. He straightened Akrow's head, pushing his abrasive dick further down his throat as chastisement. -- No, he tried to protest, you can't put them all in! No sound that came out of the cock receptacle resembled a word, but since he was obviously protesting, a yellow-and-black striped desert lizard, covered with horns and pointy protruding scales knelt, bent over the horse's back, grabbed both of his arms from under him, and joined them together into a stout hold. Minutes later, when the tiger's hefty rod managed to insert itself along the stag's in the reddened hole, the crowd rejoiced that the ambitious, heartless contender was being put in his place, and relished his muffled whimpers. After a while, both cocks worked rhythmically together in Akrow's abused and helpless rectum; one pushed in while the other retracted. The gorilla approached between them, and the stag stabbed his first thumb in. Meanwhile, Baneil finally tired of playing the crowd, and of hearing the sounds of the stallion being taught his station. He paraded around the group one last time, because he was curious to see what an anus looked like with three colossal cocks in it. He decided that it seemed critically unpleasant. The stalwart Akrow, that had given him such a startlingly refreshing challenge, didn't look so brave anymore, as his kneeling, bent over body shivered whole without any possibility of resistance. From his athletic, spread-open legs, to his polished, horizontally-maintained torso, to his gaping mouth and throat filled with throbbing maleness, the nameless kept him well under-control. It was vulgar, but not unpleasantly so, when the dragon that was handling his front climaxed down his throat until seed seeped out of his maw. One down, and only eight more to go, Baneil reflected. If all three working his rear finished up at the same time, he would be almost halfway done already. The dragon let go, but Baneil had seen enough, and he had better things to do, like courting her ladyship for a few hours before the second series of matches begun. He had to win those too. There was no sense in going only halfway in. As a result, Lord Baneil heard, but did not see when the dragon's replacement -- a short but hefty ram -- wasn't quick enough, and Akrow had time to gurgle the beginning of a pathetic plea. "Please, mercy! I apologize! I'll do-nngnh." The ram silenced him with his bulging shaft. -- Yeah, yeah, we know. Trust us. You're not even nearly sorry yet. They all guffawed. With the experience that they had, they knew it to be true. Minutes after Baneil's depart, the public entertainers decided to take care of business first, and to play around second. All three dicks ceased rubbing into Akrow's tamed butt. The ram wrapped his arms around the captive's shoulders to keep him in place, and all three cocks brutally prodded the prostate. Akrow squirmed loudly when his own limb pulsated, and discharged into the sand under him. The audience voiced their disappointment. The commenter, who'd ceased paying attention to converse with the nobles, up in their elevated box, returned his attention to the show, and spotted what was wrong. -- Ladies and gentlemen, it looks as if our friends' new plaything was naughty, and came before they were done. It'll be the stockades for this animal when they're done training him. Make sure to visit, and to verify whether or not they've done a good job! The fennec, estimating that he'd been witty enough, turned his back, and resumed his conversation. The horned lizard that had been curved over Akrow's warm body for a while, now, released the punished stallion's arms with one hand, and patted the shaky, whiny sides. -- There, there. Now, we can have fun. Easiest ten silver we ever made.

The brutes blew their loads in, and over Akrow, to the gratification of the crowd who viewed it as the terminal humiliation. More replaced them to fill his battered, slimy hole, and they showered him with seed as well. He discovered that dragon, ram, and lizard semen all tasted slightly different. He was also made to profess loudly which he preferred, and when he picked ram, some rather offended dragon and lizard elected to take second turns. The dragon opted to try on Akrow's newly reshaped anus, and commented that: "You can barely feel anything now!" It apparently didn't stop him from adding his contribution to the white stream overflowing from the punished stallion's ass to his balls. The lizard figured Akrow for a sweet, if filthy ride, and rode him at length around the arena, while his mount expressed a profusion of remorse over its poor taste in quality jizz. To make reparation, the lizard demanded for Akrow to lie down in the sand under his legs, and to satisfy him with his hands, while the lizard lazily reclined, warmed by both the sun, and Akrow's body. The lizard had been of a mind to make this service last more or less eternally, and he might have been able to -- Akrow knew better than to disobey, protest, or, indeed, say or do anything out of turn at this point -- had he not had to balance the fact that the public was almost completely gone, and that his colleagues, while patient, wouldn't put up with his antics forever. Regretfully, he got up, and he walked around the subjugated stallion. The lizard kicked him, commanding that he present his fuck-hole, and achieved satisfaction again. For kicks, the lizard wrote "sweet ride" in the drying come over their plaything's bottom while he had his second fill of him. Upon showing it to the other nameless, they all agreed that it was hilarious, and when Akrow was asked for his opinion, he sure as hell shared it. That was the way he'd been brought to the stockades, in the busy street leading to the arena. He was imposed a twelve hours sentence, and was locked facing away from the passersby for easy access. Akrow had time to realize that he had nothing much to look forward to when he would be released; he'd lost all of his money, and certainly wouldn't have time to raise even the starting amount that he'd bet at the tournament. Considering what he owed, he'd have to become a fugitive, and if he was discovered, he'd be auctioned off. All in all, things didn't look very good. Akrow heard carts roll by, and citizens walk around. Every once in a while, strangers took place behind him, undid their pants, and put him to use with lewd groans until they released a bit of pressure from their day into his bum. Half of them had seen his last match, and additionally threw a few insults, noting that he "didn't look so cocky now" or that he "was trash and belonged here, and not with Lady Nel". They were all amazingly dirty and foul-smelling. Akrow couldn't see, or really smell them, but he knew it. Nobody clean would even approach him. The stallion was proven wrong when somebody very clean did approach him. It was somebody that'd been much less clean when he'd last seen him. The frog prince walked leisurely around him, and into his view. He wore rich, exotic clothes. A long black silk robe covered his body down to his knees. A waistcoat covered the robe. The front was mostly leather, but it was trimmed around the shoulders and the neckline with bright red wool cloth. He looked cross, to say the least. -- I don't know what's worse: that I lost to you, or that you went ahead, and managed to hand this showy fool Baneil the victory. Akrow hadn't exactly done that last part on purpose, but he didn't feel up to responding. Not that the frog appeared prepared to listen. "Well, I hope you enjoyed my degradation while it lasted, because I asked around the arena about you, and I heard that you were quite the gambler." Akrow gulped stressfully. The prince moved to the prisoner's side. He inclined his head to read the writing, and then traced his long, round-ended fingers over Akrow's buttocks in a deliberate, possessive stroke. "I asked myself what kind of common scum has the means to throw away that kind of money, so I dug a little deeper with my merchant friends, but they didn't know you." Akrow's bowels twisted. The fingers ran up, and slid under his dark, messy tail. They caught a few strands, and pressed to smooth them, undoing some of the knots made of crusted seed. "That might look good, braided," the frog mused. "Anyway, I felt silly, but I thought I'd verify just in case, so I asked my friends among the local nobility. As expected, they didn't know you either." Suddenly, the prince crouched, and his soft touch became a tight grip over Akrow's ballsack. The stallion shuddered, fairly certain that he knew where this was headed. "I don't know if those will be necessary for what I have in mind. What was I saying? Oh yes! In the end, there was one last group of people who have access to that kind of wealth, so I went, and I asked my moneylender friends if you were one of them. You were not." The prince returned in front of Akrow, and showed his dirty fingers with an icy stare. "But they did know you. Open up." Akrow's bowels continued to twist while he opened his mouth. The fingers were stuffed in, and the soon-to-be slave lapped them clean obediently. "I'm afraid your status has been reported to the appropriate authorities. You're scheduled to be arrested and auctioned upon your release from the stocks. I'll buy you. I'll bring you home with me. It's far. You'll learn to pose, and to do your chores noiselessly. I'll change your name to something more suitable, and you'll respond only to that. I'll have you branded, and you'll keep the mark, which will be located on your ass, visible at all times. I'll whip you. I'll chain you. And, only if you're obscenely servile, I'll permit you to sleep at my feet from time to time, and that'll be an upgrade. You'll address me as master, and you'll do absolutely anything I desire. Are we clear?" Akrow, to his superb regret, had stiffened nearly completely during the prince's tirade. His sex pointed resolutely to the elegant frog. The horse nodded despondently, and then he figured out what the prince was waiting for. -- Yes, master. -- Good. I'll see you at the market. The frog poked Akrow's nose with the tip of his finger. He left with a glance at his cock, but before he did, he carefully cleared a spot of sticky semen that had hardened over Akrow's right eye, and which had been unspeakably annoying. The stallion latched on to that tiny gesture, hoping that, perhaps, after he'd calmed down, the frog might be a gentler master than he'd let on. It wasn't much. All in all, things looked even worse. And that might have been that for Akrow. Had things happened just slightly differently, he might've lived out his days in a strange swampy kingdom, among colorful, slick-skinned and long-legged people. He would've served compliantly as an exotic, exceedingly high-value slave, shown-off to his master's envious friends. He would've grown attached to this brave land, and to its inhabitants, with their perplexing attitudes combining short-tempered vanity and kind generosity in equal measures. When unimaginable betrayal would have stricken the nation, he would have found himself trapped at the center of a legendary conflict which would alter the fabric of the entire known world! Instead, he heard yet more people approach. They were speaking. -- That can't be him. He seemed much more impressive. -- My lady, I must remark that no one seems very impressive in a stockade. Take a closer look. -- Ha! I rather think not. How could I even distinguish anything under this gunk? -- Can you spot another stallion in stocks? -- Maybe he was switched with another. Maybe we have a hero thief! Baneil sighed when he walked before the captive with the Lady Nel. Akrow would've been powerless to say which one had the other on their arm. -- I've seen him from up close. Trust me. It's him, and he's not a hero. -- Oh, you could never take a joke. Besides, he looked fairly heroic to me when you were fighting him. -- Looks do not a hero make. -- It's a mercy in his case. He'd be a downright pitiful hero, now. The Lady Nel was a cougar. She had a small malformed right ear, and her eye on the same side was blind, though it moved along the other with an almost undiminished incisive spark. It couldn't be said that she was very pretty, but she had a hearty feminine spirit that pulled at the restrained male. Akrow couldn't help but wonder what she looked like under her pale embroidered robe, and if her touch would be soft or firm. He was mortified that she witnessed him in this state. At least, his erection had dwindled down. Baneil, unsurprisingly, was exactly the same as before. He even wore the same armor. The lion stepped forward in a crouch, filling up Akrow's view. -- Hello, Akrow. What have you been up to? Me, I've won the afternoon series too, and now I'm winning this lady's heart. -- Don't be like that. The Lady Nel struck her elbow into her partner's ribs, precisely where Akrow had bashed with his mace. Baneil curved forward, wincing, but didn't quite cease grinning. -- Ow. -- I'd like you to know that I've enjoyed your fights tremendously. The way you beat Prince Waka... Wakari... Baneil corrected her. -- Wakairaka. It's not that hard, and he's been here for months! Lady Nel made a contrite face. -- I know, and he's been delightful, but I just can't get their odd names right. He would be so angry! -- But he wouldn't take it out on you. -- Oh, no! Never. -- He'd take it out on me instead. -- That's because he's a real gallant suitor. -- I know he looked very cute in the middle of your loyal nameless. The Lady laughed, clearly enthused. -- He really did! You didn't see half of it. He's extraordinarily flexible. Baneil grabbed the stallion under his chin. He held his face up. -- What about Akrow, here? Did you enjoy his afterfight? -- Oh, yes. Even though I was hoping he'd win. -- What!? Lady Nel took a tiny step toward the stallion, and suddenly talked to him as if they were alone. -- Can you imagine our very own Baneil down there? Getting his tail pulled, and some of his limbs stretched a bit... -- My lady... -- ... Learning a thing or two about pleasing someone else for a change... -- ... My lady! -- Oh, alright. I'm just saying I would've loved to see it. Maybe then I wouldn't have to deal with your attitude all day long. -- Please. My attitude is more robust than this. Nel laughed again. -- The sad truth. They kissed affectionately. Akrow couldn't believe how jealous he felt over someone that had literally just walked into his field of view. It was clear that they were very much an item. The other suitors, whoever they were, didn't stand a chance. He had to stand before them and watch, immobilized, covered in come. After that, he would become the frog prince's slave. The couple released their embrace. Baneil went to the side of Akrow, in the exact same spot the frog had stood in. -- In the meantime, you'll have to be contented with the memories of how this one squealed and pleaded with every additional erection they forced his bottom to service. Baneil's gauntleted left hand caressed Akrow's neck. The stallion was disgusting. His mane was glued to his neck by the half-dry, lumpy sperm. The noble didn't seem to care. His right gauntlet went to the bound stallion's other end, and one single finger pushed slowly into his oozing rectum. Akrow was locked in place. He had no choice but to receive whatever attentions Baneil decided to impose to him. The lady might have helped had she been less interested. Even through the metal, the lion's strokes were precise; soft and insistent, gently tickling. Akrow closed his eyes. He told himself that it was in shame. The fingers spread over his neck until he felt the palm of the hand, and then the hand pulled away. The tip of the fingers reappeared over his neck, and spread again. It wasn't long before the touch was warm against Akrow's skin, despite the metal. Baneil began to trace his fingers along the side of the captive's neck, slightly scratching it with the tip of his claws that stuck out of the plated glove. At last, he flattened his full hand at the base of Akrow's skull. He rubbed soothingly. To compensate, his other hand's fingering increased. Baneil's middle finger drew small circles along the soggy anus, in an infinitely less unpleasant version of what the stag had done earlier. Akrow couldn't help stiffening, but he tried. "You'll have to remember how much seed he gulped, how servile he became when they pushed him around, and how they rode him like a mindless beast." The right hand abandoned Akrow's fleshy ring. It gave his left thigh a small tap. Then, it followed the curvature of his buttocks, barely brushing them. The left hand remained as caring and reassuring as ever, petting his head, fumbling his cute, pointy ears. Akrow was losing the battle for his cock. "Most importantly of all, you'll have to cherish how rigid he was when he dutifully cleaned my sword." Baneil padded away and to his lady, casually motioning to the stallion's crotch. Akrow assumed, wrongly, that he had been sufficiently humiliated. With a flick of his agile fingers, the lion's spiny sex jumped out from under the detached belt. It was, of course, perfectly proportioned. The lord wrapped his hands firmly under Akrow's throat, and over his face, covering his eyes. "Go ahead, Akrow. Hop to it. Your stint in the stockades isn't over yet. You must serve your betters." -- That's just mean! the lady protested, although she did nothing further. Akrow's shaft quaked openly when he grudgingly took Baneil in his mouth, and began to gratify him. The lion stood closer, holding the stallion's head against him. With a head movement, Baneil designated the obedient body. He whispered to the lady. -- Come, come. Stand closer to his side and observe. Nel playfully did as she was told, but she kept a safe distance from the sullied male. -- Observe what? -- His strong back. His chest. His breath. The way his tail twitches. The shivers in his shackled legs. Look for the subdued, tiny movements in this stalwart warrior. Nel giggled, as if she thought this was all very foolish, but as she stared on and focused on the offered stallion, she began to see. "Notice how his entire form waves faintly despite the stockade. Take in how viewable he is for us, right now. Watch him live." Despite her better judgment, the lady crouched a bit closer. She concentrated on the horizontal shape, the noble, round, rear, and the angle made by the legs. She could scarcely see the filth anymore. "Witness his contained power. His muscles are tensing, and then relaxing almost invisibly as he submits. Isn't he magnificent?" -- Lord Baneil! You're a poet! -- My art is that of vision. I draw the beauty from every moment. The Lady Nel stood back, and clapped her hands, impressed. Baneil inclined his head. His lower hand left the throat, and rested over the upper back, just under the left shoulder. "You're doing very good, Akrow, keep going. More tongue over the tip." Akrow had never felt so utterly possessed. The most unsettling thing was how naturally obedience to Lord Baneil came to him. He heeded the order. His tongue moved more dynamically around the bulge. Baneil gave out a thrilled moan. "I'm about to finish. Swallow all of it. I want you to sense my seed in you for the rest of your existence." Baneil huffed, and ejaculated hotly into Akrow's mouth, and into the deep of his throat. Baneil pressed the stallion's head over his cock. The latter drank up the viscous liquid, mouthful after mouthful. Even after he was done, the lion left his sex to Akrow's attention for a few seconds. Akrow, pathetically enough, suckled every last little drip from the shrinking limb. Baneil withdrew, and hid it away in his pants. He fastened his belt. He exhaled, as if after a good day's work. "Well done," whispered the noble with two light slaps to the side of the overwhelmed snout. Baneil then spoke as if nothing had happened. "So, Akrow. You're something of a mystery to us. We know you're a great fighter. What's next for you? What will you do when you're released?" The Lady Nel nodded approval at the inquiry, legitimately curious as well. Akrow wasn't at his best. He was so downtrodden, so dominated by these two, he decided that there was no point in hiding his undignified fate. His demolished pride didn't protest at all. He confessed. -- I'm going to be a slave, he mumbled. The lady and her knight both opened wide eyes. -- What did you say? she asked. -- I'm not going to be released. I'm over six thousand gold pieces in debt. I bet on myself in the arena to win enough to pay it back, but now I have nothing. The frog figured it out, and he reported me. He said he'd buy me at the auction in the morning. He's going to do things to me, and I can't do anything about it. Akrow had sunk into terror near the end of his confession. The cougar seemed shocked and sympathetic. Baneil was thoughtful. He moved his hand in his short mane, inexpressive, deciding whether or not life as the prince's sex slave was too much punishment for Akrow's insolence in the arena. After a moment, he snapped his head to the Lady Nel. -- Do something. She was taken aback. -- What in the world do you want me to do about that? Buy him myself? -- Of course. I can't win a bidding match against Prince Wakairaka. The Lady inclined her head left and right, weighing the option, but she was obviously reluctant. -- I might be able to outbid him, but if the prince really wants him, it'll get ugly. What would I do with him? -- Isn't it obvious? A nameless. He's got what it takes. Baneil pointed toward Akrow's hard stallion cock. "You always complain that it takes a special kind of person to do this job willingly, and that there aren't enough suitable slaves. Here's one." The lady appeared offended. -- I'm not going to pay twenty thousand gold for a single nameless! That's crazy! -- Wakairaka probably won't drive the bidding that high. -- Or, he might drive it up to forty. How the hell do I know? -- You could give it a shot. If it goes too high, let him have it. -- I'll seem to be a fool, bidding so much only to give up. They'll think I was moved by some passing fancy! -- Well, isn't he fanciable? Baneil turned on the charm. "Come on. He doesn't deserve to be a beaten trophy to those barbarian bog dwellers. I'll borrow him from you every once in a while to help you recuperate. I'd love to see how he looks waiting patiently on the covers of my bed." And thus, the lady appeared curiously more motivated. She turned to Baneil. -- On your bed? -- On his knees. No! On all fours, like at the arena. He'll wait patiently on top of my bed, on all fours. Akrow couldn't believe what was going on. He didn't know what it meant for him either, but those two seemed a far safer option than the pissed-off prince. A resourceful smirk began to break the Lady Nel's pout. -- I would love to see that. -- Maybe you should. The lady deliberated with herself. She began to pace. Then, she stopped in front of Akrow. -- How much do you owe, exactly? -- Six thousand one hundred and seventy-three gold pieces. -- To whom? -- Lord Mansellus. -- Ha, that stain, commented Baneil. The lady silenced her lover with a gesture. -- I'm lending the sum to you. Baneil will run and pay it back right now, before the arrest. You will be indentured to me, and you will work as a nameless with no wage until I'm reimbursed. -- That's a lot of money for a temporary slave. -- Especially considering that I'll have to provide room and board, but it'll still be a lot less than a bidding war with the prince. -- He won't be happy. -- He's leaving, either way. Baneil laughed wholeheartedly. -- You're ruthless. Marry me. -- Yes, keep begging. I like it. The Lady Nel turned to a dumbstruck stallion. "I expect you to be my sexy plaything every once in a while." She fingered Baneil as well. "I'll arrange some activities involving you two. You'll both cooperate, and love it. Am I clear?" Baneil bowed his head. -- Perfectly clear, my lady. They both stared at the bound, nude, jizz-covered Akrow. It didn't seem that he had much of a choice. -- Yes, my lady. All in all, things didn't look too horrible. The Lady Nel briskly walked away to gather the sum. Baneil stayed for a few more seconds after she left. It occurred to Akrow that he had little idea of what he was getting into. He knew next to nothing about being a nameless. He said so. -- I wouldn't worry about it, responded Baneil with an amused face that returned to his trademark, weapons-grade heartlessness. I hear they train the new recruits scrupulously.