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Iron Author

Slavery

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Slave Labour

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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It was not a life that Ark would ever have chosen for himself. One day, his tribe and his home community had been raided, from where he was living peacefully in a way that worked with the world around him. Deep in the jungle, it had been the natural home of the tiger, though they had had black panthers in their village too, coming together as similar felines with a language that they both could understand.

Yet when they had been raided by the slavers, everything had changed. Weasels and foxes and dogs of all kinds, even some bird anthros too - they didn't seem to have any limit as to their species. But they ripped Ark from his life and the family that he had known for so very long as if it was of no matter at all to him, speaking in a language that he did not understand.

Thus, Ark was forced into the mines, as he was big and muscular - and would ripple with even more lean muscle after he had been made to work down there. The miners seemed more advanced in terms of technology than his village had been, though that was not something that had ever mattered to Ark or those that he had lived with.

Down there, in the dark of the mines, waters running and dripping with moisture, he didn't even see anyone that he knew. There were just too many slaves down there and, in the back of the tiger's mind, he thought that they may have been killed.

In chains, he was forced to dig, hacking away at the walls to mine, using a pickaxe. He dug, moving rock and earth, sending waste material out of the mine in rattling carts that had been known to run over slaves down there too. He didn't have a death wish, regardless of how dire his situation was, though he was, at the very least, useful to the slavers.

He was not one that they could toss aside so easily.

A brand on his hip seared, for he had only been marked the day before, the smell of burned flesh following him. Of course, a heavy collar had been placed around his neck too and a muzzle that weighed him down. As much as the tiger tried to keep his head up and held high, the muzzle kept dragging his head down, the collar tighter than it needed to be.

In time, it would rub away the fur around his neck.

His capturers, one day, would pay for everything that they had done to him. Heaving, the tiger slammed a pickaxe into the wall, knocking off another chunk of rock.

"Unff..."

"Keep working, slave!"

He did not understand their words, but he did understand the crack of the whip as it lashed down beside his hip. Fortunately for him, the slaver, who held a lantern in one paw, didn't have the best of aim, though that was just the first lash.

The second and the third that came down, just for good measure, struck home, striking his thigh and then his buttocks. The tiger wheeled and snarled, half-tripping over his manacles, tail lashing the air.

But the wolf slaver only bared his yellow teeth in a truly feral grin and sent the lash of the whip striking down again. And again, and again. For what could a tiger like Ark, in chains and locked back and away from where the slaver was, do to him? His teeth were sealed away, locked behind the caged muzzle and his claws had been trimmed too. The tiger's fury surged, red hot and seething, though he was not in any position to get his paws around the slaver's throat.

The chains held him back. Of course, not a single one of the slaves was permitted to wear a single article of clothing, the females with their breasts bare too, though that was not all that unusual for Ark and the life he had led. What made the nudity all the more striking was the fact that the slavers all wore clothing, perfectly covered up, drawing a line between them and the slaves.

Never before had Ark been so bare, so exposed, even when he had been completely nude. The manacles and the chains were not as concealing as they could have been, his bare shaft twitching lightly as he tried to protect it, chips of rock and stone flying off as he worked. Like most of his kind, he did not have a sheath, though that could have been very useful.

That was something that the feline would have to try to manage, all in time. But his nudity was something that was going to stay with him, marking him even more than his black stripes layered over his orange fur did. Even the creamy white of his front, stretching down to his crotch and lightly between his legs, was exposed, though that was rapidly dirtied with the grit and the grime of the mines.

It was not as if he could hope to bathe anytime soon, after all, not even in one of the safe watering holes that his village had worked to secure, ensuring that there were none of the dangerous biting fish in there or even larger, more dangerous predators that could take down a fully grown anthro like himself.

He worked hard, moving amongst the other slaves. Some of them spoke the same language as him and others did not, though that was not so much of a problem for him. He was big and bulky enough for them to move around him and to try to stay out of his way, one way or the other, even if he wouldn't have minded them coming to him, sitting with him.

He was given a hunk, half a bun, of dry, stale bread to eat. When his muzzle was not removed to allow him to eat, the tiger was forced to break off chunks with his fingers and work them carefully between the bars of the muzzle to make sure that he got at least a little something into his body. They didn't often eat bread, which required farming and wheat, in his village. Fresh meat was something more like what a tiger looked for, even if they could have a little fibre in their diet too, hunting with friends and family to take only what they needed from the jungle.

Ark's ears flipped back, the black rounds of them twitching. The slavers... They would pay...

It was not good for him to languish in thoughts of revenge, though there was little else for the tiger to think about, some of the tunnels that he was forced down, pushing carts or hacking away at the walls for whatever it was that they wanted him to mine, tight enough that he had to squeeze.

"Unff..."

The tiger grunted as he forced himself through a gap that would have been better suited to a much smaller anthro than he, though it was not as if he was given a choice in the matter. The slavers came down and poked him with pieces of sharp metal, like tools that he would have used for hunting, or used the lashes of the whips to cut through his fur and flesh when space allowed.

Thus, Ark knew...that he had to do as they said. If only for the time being.

That, however, was not the worst of it, not even on that first day with his hide sore and burning, shoulders aching furiously from standing hunched over for so long. Ark had not thought that life could get any worse, trapped in the cage of his thoughts while his body was still very much restrained.

"Get down."

He blinked at the slaver, lifting the pickaxe again and striking the wall. He didn't know what the fox was saying, not as his muzzle bristled and an expression of true fury pushed through his face, lips twitching even as they peeled back from his teeth.

"You brute!"

Ark growled as he was forced down to his knees and then all fours, scraping and scrambling - but the chains stopped him from getting his ankles apart too much, claws scratching over stone.

Get away from me!

_ _

Yet he could snarl as much as he liked in his language, spitting curses and more...but it was no use. It did him no good, not as the slaver took full advantage of his nudity, yanking his tail up out of the way of his unprotected hole.

And it was right then and there that Ark learned just what more the slavers did to slaves that they liked the look of. What they liked about him especially, maybe his muscle or his size, subjugating one that was bigger than most of the slavers, Ark would never know. But what Ark would remember the most about the experience, on that very first day, was the press of the slaver's fox cock into his backside.

He had not known that it was possible to have sex like that, not having any other prior experience. Yet he let out a yowl that felt as if it had dredged its way up from the pit of his soul, howling, grunting, the slaver bearing his slick, throbbing length into his backside. Stretched out and on his way to being broken, the tiger ducked his head, gritting his teeth when he was not gnashing them against the inside of the muzzle.

He wanted to fight back, to shove the fox back, to show him that the might of a tiger was not to be reckoned with. And yet he had been reduced, in his nudity, to nothing more than a plaything to them, a working slave forced to remain naked at all times, for he would never again, with them, earn the right to wear clothes. The slaver grunted above him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper, grunting as he worked back and forth, thrusting over and over again.

He groaned, tipping his muzzle down, though Ark did not submit. Not that time and not through the many further rapes that would happen down in the mines, the slaves never allowed back out into the light of day.

He would not break, not even as his tail flicked up higher, trying to find a way to ease the tension within him, muscles taut and contracted where releasing them would have, at the very least, made it easier for him.

However, that was not what his enslavement was all about. Not even as the fox put his clothes back into place, the rustle of cloth drawing Ark's mind from the pressure in his backside, how the trickle of hot cum cooled on his rump, matting up his fur. He didn't move, a part of him already understanding just how things worked down there, though the collar could not have weighed any more heavily on his naked form as it did then.

He was set to pull carts for the rest of the day, but...time no longer had any meaning to him down there. How was Ark at all meant to tell the passage of time without the sun to guide him? There was no daylight in the mines, not as his nudity chilled him. Even though the mines remained at a certain temperature, underground, the damp still seeped into his fur and his bones, reminding him just where he was, what he had become.

Though he would not remain there forever, oh no... He would get out of the mines one day, find his dignity again and perhaps even reverse his nudity. Ark would choose what he wanted, again, though that was not to be his reality for the time that he was under the control of the slavers.

One day, he would no longer just be a slave, not a force used for slave labour.

Yet, until then, he would have to bear his nudity, the lash of their whips and the depraved sexual acts that they forced him into, against his will.

Ark groaned, eyes closed in the dark of...whatever time they allowed for the slaves to, briefly, rest.

Under their control, he didn't have a voice of his own.