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It hurt.

"One liter."

"Ungh..." It hurt so much, he was almost numb.

He was drenched, head to toe, reeking of the musky scent of arousal and sweat. His jaws were aching as the two vines finally withdrew, their tips still dripping with the repulsively sweet nectar they had forced down his throat. His arms and legs, after uncountable hours of struggling, had finally given up altogether, and he now hung limp, fingers and toes barely twitching, held upright solely by his restraints.

"One full liter. Half produced without direct contact to your shaft, with only a basic stimulant to keep you from passing out. I'm impressed."

"Aaaah, aaaahhh aaah aaaaahhhh..." Almost numb, but not quite, he remembered, as the vines unwrapped from around his limp shaft, making way for his torturer to grasp it firmly around the head and pump it vigorously until he was groaning in open-mouthed agony.

"I was right." The squeezing hand slowed, little by little, until it was just the thumb rubbing the underside, with the other fingers there to keep it in a loose grip he could still feel. "You are a remarkable specimen."

The vine noose around his balls constricted a little, then tugged down a little.

An hour ago, that slight touch had left him screaming. Now, pushed to his threshold and beyond, forced through far more pleasure than he could endure, all he had left to offer of his defiance was a weak, pained grunt.

"Truly remarkable." Forgotten wood pincers unclamped and lifted free from his nipples together. For the first few seconds after hours of being tightly pinched, the buds stayed numb. Green fingers saw to that, abandoning his cock and coming up to play with the flesh discs, squeezing, pulling and rubbing life and sensation back into them. His vision narrowed to thin slits, then blurred with hot moisture. He shut his eyes tighter, desperate not to cry in front of his captor, but he'd lost everything already - his freedom, his clothing, every last shred of his dignity - what else was there to be taken away?

Pain and humiliation won out over the last shreds of his pride. The Samurott bowed his head low, moisture flowing freely down his cheeks, soaking blue fur and dripping down from his bedraggled white beard. His chest began inflating and deflating rapidly, pulling in tiny handfuls of air by the pint - just enough to power the high-pitched whine of a canine in distress.

"You're off to a promising start." The Serperior's tone stayed neutral, his hands in their massaging, teasing motion, even as his gaze stayed trained on the defeated prisoner. "I must insist you impose further on my hospitality. We have more research to do."

"N-no -"

"You won't be disappointed." The green serpent spoke over his own choked whimper. "The only reason for your suffering is yourself. Your reluctance. Your limited perspective of your own place in the grand scheme of science." Vines returned, wrapping around his individual jaws and forced them wide. "If you could be taught to see beyond it, I'm sure you'd grow to love the process as much as I do."

"Auuhh... ungh..." He choked again, grunted and heaved, abdominal muscles twitching in and out as fingers invaded the space. They pushed all the way to the back, thrust at his throat to make him gag, bearing the taste of something thick and bitter and salty, fresh from the currently exhausted tap.

"Delicious, isn't it?" Semen-coated fingers caught at his tongue, stroked and fondled it to spread the taste around. "Truly exceptional quality. Perhaps you're beginning to see why you must stay here for longer. Indefinitely, if you'd like."

Groping fingers slid away, moving down to rub all over his stomach, massaging his eight abs from top to bottom.

"Aaauh... aaaaah..."

"Don't be shy." The vines uncoiled from his straining jaws. "Tell me what you need."

Suddenly free, the muscles in his lower jaw seized up, cramping, twitching. "Eh'd eeh... ggo..." he gurgled.

"No. For your sake, for the good of science: no."

"Please..."

"You're still not convinced," the Serperior observed. "Hardly unexpected, but maybe there's something more I can do for you tonight... something to change your mind." Plant fibers slithered, uncoiling from around his sack, and the Samurott scrunched his eyes shut and hissed through tightly clenched jaws as pain built like a slow fire.

"No..." he rasped through grinding teeth. "Please... no... no more... stop... stop... stop... please..."

And then he lurched forward, giving a doggish yelp, as one smooth palm smacked none-too-gently into his balls from below. And again, when cold, moist fingers gripped the two sensitive orbs and began to squeeze them, rolling them around, rubbing them together, making the otter-wolf see stars.

"Maybe another taste." The other hand found his shaft - somehow painfully engorged all over again, despite how mercilessly it had been milked before this respite - and it stroked and squeezed, gentle for half a moment before it picked up into a brisk, rough pace.

"I... can't... I can't... c-cant take it... stop... no more... no... more... please..."

The vine in his back passage, still oozing its own lubricant, started to move again. Its hard, round tip pressed into his prostate gland once more, and even as it rubbed the bump, trying to coax fluid out from his shaft, it pulsed, expanding ever so slightly to push against the sore ring of muscle that formed his tailhole.

He lurched forward, chest heaving to admit gulps of air through his open jaws. He puffed and panted, tears streaming freely again as pleasurable stimulation overflowed into pure agony, and the Serperior's voice flowed like an undercurrent, the words lost in the tide of pain.

He came at last with a sob, at the end of a tormented eternity. His balls stirred, pulling closer in; his ring clenched tight, squeezing the vine, and he jerked forward while his member bucked and strained. The hand on his sack departed, cupped his shaft head while the other continued jerking the muscle. Then it was over, and he was too weak to move, too dazed with the double-edge of bliss and agony to protest.

He drifted, waiting for the seed-coated hand to force its way into his mouth...

"Interesting." The snake's voice sounded distant, maybe through a trick of his distorted perspective - or not, as he opened his eyes to a blurred double-vision, which showed the Serperior crouching in front, carefully rubbing and inspecting his limp shaft. "We appear to have reached your limit..."

The vine in his hole, still slowly moving, began to shift faster. Hands went to his genitals and rough squeezing resumed, slowly forcing them out of the numbness they had finally reached. "Or perhaps it was simply a fluke. Shall we try again?"

"N-no... no..."

Hands squeezed tight, then paused, not letting up the pressure. "Are you sure?"

"Yes..." the Samurott nodded frantically. "Please... please... no more..."

The first hand released his balls. Fingertips ran over his body, barely brushing the fur, straight up the middle to lift his chin. Red eyes sought red again, one pair cold and shark-like as they had been from the first meeting; the other dimmed, no longer glowing with a defiant light, meek and broken and brimming with tears.

"Yes... please... who?" The grip on the blue jaw tightened.

Breath quivering, lower lip trembling, the Samurott whimpered and averted his gaze. "...master..."

"Say it again." Fingers pressed in harder, with almost enough force to bruise. "Look me in the eyes and say it."

He struggled to look up - until he met red eyes, no longer cold but blazing like an inferno, ferocious want paralyzing him, dragging him in forever until he couldn't look away.

His voice was a dry whisper, when it finally broke free of his parched throat. "Master..."

Fingers relinquished their vise grip at once. The blaze snapped back into cold, calculating barely-interest, or perhaps he'd been imagining it all along. The captor took a step back while the captive looked away, to the side, then down, unable to look at the other, unwilling to gaze at his own body, until they slid shut at last, found a home in staring at nothing.

Footsteps in the dark. Moving away. Moving back towards him, after a pause. He didn't look back up. Didn't want to care anymore. If he stayed still long enough, the Serperior would forget him. The universe would forget him. He'd sink into the floor and fade away and never have to feel the crushing shame or the sated exhaustion of his own treacherous body or anything, at all, ever again, if he just stayed still until it all went away -

A thick, bitter scent wafted into his nose from right beneath it. He averted his snout with a shudder, and the Serperior caught his beard again, dragging him back to the source of the scent. He opened his eyes. The reptile was in front of him, one hand holding a filled glass to his lips. A pitcher hung from a vine right next to him, filled with the same white liquid.

Another whining noise escaped his throat. He pulled his head back in a bid to keep his distance, and the glass was offered again.

"B-but... it's... it's my - "

It pressed up against his lips, then between his teeth, and tilted. The warm subtance spilled over his tongue, reducing his final protest to a gurgle. His throat quivered as he forced the rising lump back down - fought the growing tide of bile and his own revulsion, and made himself swallow.

"That's better." He shivered at the sound of the other man's voice. Had there been a note of approval in it? Why did that feel so terrifying, so much worse?

The glass was emptied at last. Filled again, forcefully offered again. He made himself drink it again, and felt the whimpering voice of protest curl up and die in his mind, even as revulsion turned itself around and found a new, much juicier target in himself.

He let out another sob after he finished the third glass.

"Stop your sniveling," the Serperior answered while forcing a fourth down his throat. "I don't judge you for enjoying this, and so neither should you."

His beard was let go, and the fifth glass held up. Left near his lips, hovering, simply waiting.

He paused, and it continued to wait, and the snake's knowing gaze continued to drill its way into his soul. Until he lowered his head, and took the first voluntary gulp of his own seed.

And then it was over. The almost-forgotten vine gave a seemingly affectionate throb as it eased itself out of his rear passage. He felt the touch, vague and unreal as everything else that had happened since he'd awakened.

The room swayed. He shook his head, and it spun more.

"The stimulant should be wearing off by now," the Serperior explained as the canine squinted at the blurring world. "Rest well. You've earned it."

A pencil scratched over paper. A smooth, cold voice read out the words for his benefit. He listened, too dazed to feel or react, and let fatigue wrap its slow embrace around his body and mind.

"Learns quickly. Has excellent potential as a test subject, possibly greater still as a pet."

"More testing needed to fully gauge quality."