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Ristin awoke, as he usually did these days, on the hard stone floor. The room had a bed, but it was not for him to use - furniture was never for the prisoners to use. Even if he wanted to rebel and use it, he wouldn't be able to pull himself up onto the soft comfortable surface of the straw, barely a foot away from the rough stone floor. He looked down at the metal caps that hid the remains of his right arm. During his time in the dungeons, all four of his limbs had been cut off to leave short stumps in their place. His tail frizzed as the memory of the torturous amputations returned, no anesthesia, squirming and struggling against the hard metal shackles as he could feel the cleaver slice through flesh and bones, his wounds branded shut by red hot metal. He shook his head, opting to look up at the barred window that showed the first glimmer of stars in the evening sky, admiring the night sky with the slow drift of snowflakes falling, distracting his mind from the painful memories of torture.

Stretching out as far as he could (not very far at all), he rolled over onto his stomach. It took a few attempts, rocking back and forth, but eventually his chest met with the cold hard floor. Once there, he could "crawl" under the desk and wait for his tormenter to return. Ristin's stomach rumbled at the thought of a meal - even if it was table scraps from whatever hot meal was eaten above him. It was still better than what he would be than when he was in that terrible cell. The grey gruel that they fed was indescribable, but when it is the only meal each day you learn to swallow it and keep it down.

The raccoon waited, his mind anxious as he knew the kobold would soon return to the room.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a short scaly body walked in, their toe-claws clicking the stone. Soon, those same feet were pressed into the racoon's back as the kobold took a seat at the table, stretching out his toe-claws and pushing them into the raccoon's fur. The kobold let out a sigh as his exhausted feet were warmed by his "foot stool". Cold soles brushed along the grey fur of the racoon's back, and claws teased the warm skin below - the abrasive claws irritating the barely healed whip marks and other wounds that littered the coon's body. Ristin learned from experience to lie still, to not talk or make noise. Speak when spoken to. Keep your head down. And just let the kobold forget you're here, so he might give you an easier time.

His stomach rumbled again, louder this time, as the smell of hot food wafted down from the desk above. Roasted vegetables, maybe some cheese on a good day? And meat for sure. There was always meat. Always smelling burned, or charred to some degree. Sometimes bits of fur stuck on the surface, sometimes. Never familiar, always with some weird texture. Almost everyday is different, distinct in both taste, texture, and how badly burnt. Ristin swallowed as bile rose to the back of his throat - he didn't like thinking about the meat in a place like this, given there were no farm animals anywhere in the prison. It's always the question of where the meat came from, but.... He needed food to stay alive.

Soon, the feet lifted themselves from his back and a shallow bowl of food was put near his head, dropped carelessly so some of the precious food splattered to the side.

"Thank you, sir" he whispered, and then awkwardly ate his dinner. Propping himself up slightly, he planted his head sloppily into the bowl and used his tongue to help guide morsels into his mouth. The familiar charred burnt flavor and the strange textures flooded his mouth. Any normal person would have spat it out, but closing his eyes, he chewed a few times then swallowed the mess. The flavor was gritty, bitter... but luckily there were some berries on one side to help wash it away. There was no cheese today, but the amount of food was greater than most would get in their cells. The kobold walked across the room to the fireplace and started cleaning himself with the water basin there, stripping off his outfit and tossing it to the side. He dipped a rag into the water, letting some drip before wiping along his pits, and creaveses. He reached for a strange smelling bar - soap made from the remains of old prisoners, perhaps. It didn't create any lather, but it helped remove any blood from his scales without drying them too much.

Ristin managed to finish his food just before the reptile finished his wipe-down.

"Time for bed".

His tongue made one more pass around the bowl, gathering up what he could and lamenting the remaining bits. Then he slowly waddled over to his tormentor while licking his face clean. Just as he reached the platform of the bed, the kobold put his hands on Ristin's cheeks - stopping him in place. The raccoon opened his mouth slightly, and let himself be moved until the tip of the Kleet's shaft was within his lips. He closed his mouth - being sure to pucker his lips out to avoid any teeth from touching the shaft - and waited. Soon, a lukewarm acrid stream washed over his tongue and he began to swallow. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't painful. However, he didn't gag. He kept swallowing every drop, making sure to swallow every bit. Not a single dribble spilled. The first few times he had to be forced, choking on the vile liquid and earning hours of painful punishments for "spilling" even a single drop. He used to struggle or gag, but that just resulted in more whip marks to his back and belly. He learned very quickly that he had to endure it. After a few mouthfuls of urine, swallowing carefully every time, the stream started to slow. He licked and sucked the last dribbles out, his tongue cleaning over the tip, before removing his lips from the kobold's cock.

"Do you need to piss?"

"No, sir". Ristin had learned to empty his bladder before his dinner, since the kobold liked to find interesting ways of stringing the raccoon up, to confirm his bladder was fully empty. It was much easier to avoid the hassle.

The kobold patted the raccoon's head, rubbing between the ears as if he was a dog that did a trick. He then put his hands under Ristin's armpits and lifted him up. He dropped the amputee onto the low straw platform that served as a bed, then clambered onto the mattress himself and lay next to the coon. It was warm by the fire, but Ristin knew his reptilian master would want more warmth on a cold night like this. A thick fur blanket was pulled over the two small bodies, the self-tanned hide heavy and matted as it covered them both comfortably. The kobold gently wrapped himself around the raccoon, his tail wrapping around his fuzziness, his legs sneaking between the stumps, as his arms wrapped around his waist, grinding his scaled form against the furry one. The kobold's snout snuggled against the chest of the raccoon, his head resting on the soft body, letting his horns lightly poke into Ristin's peck. Soon, his breathing relaxed and slowed, his reptilian eyes closing as he slowly sank deeper into the raccoon fur.

Ristin lay there, still awake, sweating from the heat of the fire and fur on one side, the cooler spikey body of the kobold offering some relief. The kobold was using him as a self-heating pillow. He usually couldn't get to sleep, his body lying awake as he was assaulted by varying temperatures on both sides, but life was good here. Better than it had been. As the snow fell lightly outside, as the night slowly passed, the raccoon drifted to sleep eventually. His small figure leaning into the kobold, taking in the greasy metallic scent, hoping tomorrow won't be his last.