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Iron Author

Chastity

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Caged Bird

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Aquilan

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Aquilan would have turned his head back and forth, if it would have done him any good. The eagle anthro had a hood over his head, his eyes covered completely, though it felt more restrictive than even a mere blindfold ever would have been. He swallowed his anxiety, for it was not the time and place for it, not as the cage that he had been bundled into, like a giant birdcage, was hefted onto the shoulders of some other creatures.

It shifted and jostled the eagle, but he was able to stay on his knees, his arms up by his head, for the feat of his bonds. It moved, shifting, though he was left blind to what was actually going on around him, chest rising and falling sharply, snatching in grabs of air through the nares of his beak while the fallen knight tried to retain his composure.

Oh, but it was not as easy as all that, no... Not as everything grew louder and louder around him, a jeering mob closing in on all sides. He swore someone grabbed at the cage and, against himself, the eagle flinched from them, tail feathers shifting and rustling against one another, not knowing what else to do. Not even Aquilan could get out of something like that, though he wished that he knew what had become of the other survivors on the battlefield. He hoped they were okay, in a better position than he was, perhaps even being held for ransom. At least that would give them a route home.

The cage jolted and shifted around him, under him, caging him. The bird swallowed hard, refusing to let a sound break his beak.

In reality, the golden cage that the captured knight had been bound within was being paraded through the streets of the capital of the kingdom that he had been fighting to conquer. Not for himself, of course, but because that was where his battalion of knights had been sent. In that moment, Aquilan could not remember the reasoning for it.

Yet the golden finery around him was not for him, from the gold of the bonds chaining him with his legs apart, a spreader bar between the narrowest point of his thighs to keep them away from one another, to the gold of the very cage that the bird was trapped in. Nothing more than a prize of the kingdom, showing just how far the knights of their opposition had fallen, jeers and catcalls surrounded him.

"Heathen!"

"Slut!"

"Songbird!"

Aquilan would have quailed, yet he did not, not even as the cage jostled and shifted around him. His heart pounded and his tail feathers fanned out a little more, coming down to cover his buttocks as much as he could, but, well, that wasn't going to do him any good anyway. For there were so many eyes on the eagle that they could all rake him over from beak to claw tip and back again, devouring his tail feathers with their eyes and imagining, even then, just what they would do with the eagle.

If they won the bidding, of course. But Aquilan didn't know about that, not yet.

His shaft pressed against the inside of the chastity device, a golden cage locked over his dick, caging his hips and between his legs too, so that there was no way for him to get at any part of his member. The eagle did not feel aroused, quite honestly, but they had fed him something to make him sensitive, tingling, feeling just how his flesh teased into the restriction of the cage. It was wrong, so very wrong, and yet the jeers as to his state of apparent arousal were not the worst of it.

No, that was yet to come. He was there to be used as an example, after all, breath catching, trying to maintain his composure. The hood helped, just a little, but it was strange, even for the avian, to feel so separate and cut off from his own body, his body responding to whatever the hell it was that they had given him while his mind screamed, barricaded in on itself where not even he could connect the two.

Up and up... He lurched as he ascended awkwardly, tipped at an angle. Up on a stage? And then he was lowered heavily to the ground with a soft groan from those that had been carrying him, though the eagle was sure that that was more from the weight of the cage than his body. Despite his muscle, he was not the largest of knights, which suited the eagle's cause just fine.

His legs ached as a voice rose above the rest.

"We have here a despicable knight, though a fine piece of flesh, my lords and ladies!" The announcer called, somehow managing to put a sneer into his voice, though Aquilan had no idea what species he was. "Fine feathers, tail feathers tipped with red... I'm sure you can imagine all the wonderful and terrible things you may do to him!"

They shouted and called and Aquilan grunted throatily, drawing back into himself. If he shrank away, remembering his training, he would be okay. He would be able to find a way to bear through it, to live through the experience, even if it didn't sound like they were going to kill him, no. It didn't sound like an execution, for which the eagle was exceptionally glad.

Truthfully, it was not his fault that he was there. And Aquilan did not blame the knights and squires and foot soldiers from that land either for fighting back. In a sense, they were all just pawns of the powers in charge, whether they were a king or a governor or even an emperor. He could follow his code of knighthood all that he willed, while he was in his home lands and control, but he could be called upon at any time to fight a war in which he had no true personal stake, as was the case in what had happened there.

Yet there was no going back, no turning away from knighthood, not as his skin burned and crawled under his feathers, itching all over as if he was moulting. His legs ached and his knees throbbed from being pressed down so hard into the solid floor of the cage, the spreader bar not allowing him any room to move. The golden chains and manacles around his ankles, where they narrowed to give way to his talons, clinked musically, though it was not the kind of music that the eagle would ever have wanted to hear.

Up there, exposed, he could do nothing, not even to protect himself as his shoulder blades ached and ached and ached. There was no one there that cared either for his condition or to come to his rescue in any way, for they all saw him as the enemy, someone to be put in their place.

And his shaft ached, throbbing into the chastity device, confusing emotions swirling within him, unable to push down the shame entirely. It was there, a sinking, cloying burn that sweltered in the core of his being, as if it had always been there and being so exposed was only a vessel to, finally, bring it out into the light where it should have been before.

A cool breeze tickled his feathers, ruffling them up, and something soft played over his head where the avian hood blocked out his vision. Aquilan let out a soft noise, though it was overcome by the bellow of the announcer, who seemed to be using some sort of magic to raise his voice even higher. The eagle wondered, however faintly, where he was, for he had not seen anything of the light of day since he had been removed from his prison cell, where, at least, he had been fed and watered adequately, even if not given any sense of freedom.

No...despite putting him up on the stage for everyone to see, to devour with their eyes, they were not savages. And the eagle could not find it in himself to treat them as such either, keeping his beak firmly and proudly clamped shut, ever the image of the night, even with his shaft locked up in chastity.

To them, he was most likely no better than a slave at that time. And that was something that he was just going to have to live with, until he could escape.

"We will start the bidding at two thousand! Do I hear two thousand?"

Of course, he heard exactly that from the eager crowd. There were too many, far too many, lords and ladies there that all wanted to put him in his place, to take the prize of the battlefield and show Aquilan just how "weak" knights from his land truly were. They wanted him and he didn't think that he would appreciate anything that they wanted him for, his shaft aching, pressed up to the bars of the chastity device.

"Look, my lords and ladies! The proud knight, so far fallen, is growing aroused at the thought of being yours! Let's take the bidding to ten thousand!"

The numbers meant nothing to him in their currency, though Aquilan wished that he could tell them that, of course, he was not turned on. Of course, he was not. But they wouldn't have believed it even if the hood had not been tight around the edges of his beak too. He could part his beak just a little, but it was not enough to allow speech. Not for a slave to be sold, not for someone like him.

His stomach turned over and he gulped hard, trying to ignore how his guts churned and ached, as if he had swallowed something squirming and writhing, something that very much did not want to be trapped in his belly. Up and up, the numbers rose, but the eagle could not help but quiver under so many hungry gazes, feathers ruffling, all too aware of the musculature of his body that was on show, his bare form there for all to enjoy.

Would they enjoy him? Were they enjoying the sight of him, his trembling humiliation, even then?

Aquilan did and didn't want to know, though it should have come as no surprise to the knight that he felt that way. Such things were common, opposing and conflicting courses of emotion clashing with one another, leaving him confused and bundled up somewhere that he could not put a name to.

"Twenty-thousand! Thirty-thousand!"

The numbers didn't mean that he was going to a good place. On the contrary, his heart sank more and more even as his cock throbbed, aching tenaciously. It should not have been hard and yet it only served to wrap the cold chill of humiliation in exposure around him even more firmly, securely, as if it was taking on a physical form of bondage all of its own. There was no escape and the numbers just kept climbing and climbing, even as the bidders dropped.

Not everyone could afford the price on his head, after all, or even wanted to. Not even as the announcer, the auctioneer, coaxingly spoke of the beauty of his rich, brown feathers and the red tips "like the blood of his enemies" painted on his form, apparently. The auctioneer pointed out his shaft, though he had to comment on how it was a moderate size only.

Aquilan shivered. He didn't know how he compared to others in that land and neither did he care. Regardless of what was said about him, the twisting curl of humiliation, clawing into his veins and sinking into the quivering heat of his loins would be there one way or the other.

"Sold! For eighty-nine-thousand! You've made a good purchase!"

Aquilan exhaled. It was done, one way or the other, the clamour dissipating as the cage shifted around him, carted off to wherever it was that he would be collected. He had been sold and he had no idea who his new master, or mistress, was.

Still in chastity, still the caged bird... And yet Aquilan would not sing.

It was the only form of defiance he had left.