Star Fox: Humiliation - Built to Fall: Part I
Months Prior
Katina had always been an interesting planet. At one time, Falco made no secret of the fact that he hated everything about it. Though he had visited the desert world only once in his life, and in that time, he never left his Arwing, but he had been all too quick to form a total, overgeneralizing opinion about the place. It was filthy, inhospitable and dead; that was what he had thought. Now, at a second glance, his outlook had changed. It didn't appear dead anymore, but serene, like an ancient, simple statue weathered by nature and time.
Falco had been given plenty of time to take in the planet's pristine beauty.
For the last hour, it had been hurtling toward him with enough force atomize him completely, and this time, he didn't have an Arwing.
"Falco," Fox's voice crackled in his ear. The vulpine slid into view beneath him, encased in a dense, bulky reentry suit with his arms and legs spread wide for a slower, more controlled descent. Both of them knew what he was going to say next. The avian adjusted his position in his own suit in anticipation. "We're entering the stratosphere now. Radio silence from here on in, over."
"Roger that, Foxie," Falco called back with a smirk, watching as flames started to materialize around the curt, determined canine. "I'll shut up for once, out."
The atmosphere struck the bird like an uppercut from a fist the size of a battle cruiser. For a moment, it felt as if he had instantly stopped descending. As he struggled to stay in control, he watched Fox's every move in order to stay in formation. Once the vulpine had stabilized, he tipped forward, forcing his limbs to his sides and diving toward the planet like a missile.
Falco immediately followed suit, straightening his body and piercing through the sky. The expansive surface of the desert below felt like a giant, glowing yellow screen that burned so bright, it caused him pain to look directly at it.
Luckily, Fox soon broke off their formation, drifting out into open space and giving both of them more room to maneuver. It allowed Falco to close his eyes and take in the pure silence of the fall. He heard nothing. He felt nothing. He saw nothing. There _was_nothing, yet a whole world raced upwards to meet them. Even at terminal velocity, he would have almost five whole minutes of overwhelming, otherworldly paradise before his compensatory thrusters kicked.
Who says I need a ship to fly?
Falco took a breath deep into his very soul. He let his heart sing as he and his leader shot down to the surface of Katina, nothing but two scorching lacerations in the sky.
And then he felt something in his suit go pop.
He found himself face up partially buried in a long, narrow crater he had made. The landing went poorly and had almost been a disaster, having gone by so quickly, Falco couldn't even remember what happened. All he could remember was that he had acted on instinct and practice.
With a grunt and a groan, the avian fought his broken shattered suit, reaching up and pulling his helmet clean off. He took in the sweltering air of the prairie, hoping to bring his violent heart rate back to normal. As he admired the gray clouds in the light green sky and felt the rushing winds ruffle his feathers, he remembered what had happened.
His suit was poorly insulated, and the reentry shorted out every single thruster on his left side, rendering him incapable of slowing his fall. At first, he had panicked, opening his reserve chute too early and causing it to burn out like a match. With no other option, Falco used his remaining thrusters to slow himself down as quickly as possible. The one-sided propulsion tipped his body into a spin, but he didn't stop. Whenever the thrusters revolved directly below him, he would fire them again, eventually building a rhythm that picked up in speed exponentially. He approached the ground at a flat glide and by the time he landed, he skidded across the ground with the speed of a drill that could pierce the heavens.
As the avian sat up, he felt most of the suit fall away, broken apart from his collision with the ground. He stood and straddled the giant groove he had made in the dry, grassy dirt.
"Falco, ..re ... alright?!" Fox's voice came and went in bursts. Falco's com must have been damaged. "Your bea... south of the... Over!"
Falco jabbed his finger into the device on the side of his head. "My beacon probably broke off in the crash, so it's unreliable," Falco sputtered back. "I ain't hurt." The bird pressed his feathery hands into the small of his back. He thrust his hips forward and cracked his vertebrae back into place. "Damn, I'm good... Over."
"... at ... Z... tallest hill you... Wait there..."
"I'll take that as 'Find the tallest hill you can see and wait there.' Unless otherwise instructed, I'm doing that. Over."
No response.
"Out."
Fox had landed perfectly on the LZ with no malfunctions. At that LZ, they had been provided with transport: a cheap, _wheeled--_as in, non-hovering--pickup truck with enough gas to get to their waypoint, but little further. Falco had landed surprisingly close, having missed by less than ten kilometers. Fortunately, Fox had carried all the vital equipment in his suit during the drop, including Falco's stealth suit and sniper rifle.
When the truck pulled up on the hilltop, Fox got out in a hurry, still clad in his undamaged pressure suit, and started disassembling it, stripping himself down right in front of Falco.
"I checked the transport. It's safe. No bomb or anything. You okay?" Fox asked as he twisted and detached the left arm of his suit.
"Think so. Shouldn't you check me if I'm injured?" Falco suggested; the scant remains of his shattered suit clung to his slender form in a tattered disarray.
"Still gonna check if I'm not at least hurting," Fox explained as he detached the right, steel-plated sleeve and pushed a button inside the suit's collar, causing it to collapse and fold up until it retracted into the top of his boots, which he then kicked away, revealing his signature, coverall, green flight suit. "No pain," Fox shrugged. "Let me check you first."
"Fuck it," Falco grunted before clawing away at his ruined suit, pulling the useless remnants off of his body until he stood completely naked. He spread his strong, toned arms and legs wide open. "Do you really have to check every single inch?"
"Do you have to go commando every time? Without the flyer-wear, you could have easily passed out."
"But I didn't, and I ain't vacuum sealing my package. That shit can't be healthy," Falco said, gesturing toward his own bare body. "I think I'd know if I broke my leg during the drop. Just sayin'."
"Even after a _decent_orbital drop, a hairline fracture could form anywhere, and there's no way to tell under all that adrenaline," Fox explained, cradling Falco's beak with one hand and massaging the back of the avian's neck with the other. He scanned Falco's face for any sign of pain and found none. "Did I tell you about that one time with Bill in training?"
"Nope," Falco grumbled as Fox worked his way downward, pressing his fingers firmly into the bird's fragile ribcage before working along each arm. "By the way, my right hand's been feeling funny since the crash..."
Fox backed away with a gasp, horrified at the sight of Falco's disjointed, dislocated wrist. For a second, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened before he got the joke and crossed his arms, glaring.
"Don't fuck with me, Falco. I know you're double-jointed."
"Just messin' with ya," Falco chuckled as he tightened his right hand into a fist and popped his hand back in place. He pulled the joke on Fox in hopes of taking his own mind off of the stirring in his loins. "What was that thing about Bill?" Whatever you do,_the bird ordered himself. _Don't get a stiffy...
"During an exercise, Bill flew so far off course that he had to check himself and did a shitty job doing it," Fox said as he reached around Falco's torso and pressed his palms into the bird's back. "He ended up running a mile on a broken ankle without realizing it. Spent a whole two months out of action."
"You almost done?" Falco groaned, weaving his fingers together behind his head and looking back up at the sky.
"Just about." Fox crouched down in front of Falco, kneading along the length of each leg and foot before remarking further. "It'd go faster if there wasn't a risk of you poking my eye out."
"Shit," Falco mumbled, covering his face. "Listen, man..."
"Save it. I don't care. It happens." Fox jumped to his feet and opened his suit, dropping the attire around his ankles and readjusting his briefs. "You're good. Now, check me."
For the first time in years, Falco hesitated. As he pinched every inch of muscle and pressed for every bone in McCloud's body, his hands never stopped shaking, and even worse, his own throbbing, rigid cock refused to go down.
"I've been there," Fox continued to rationalize the uncomfortable moment. "Sometimes it just happens. Just sticks up unannounced and such..."
"Just don't talk about it."
"Okay, okay."
"Almost done," Falco said, working his fingers down Fox's chest, under his arms and over the vulpine's firm, strong back. "Gotta check that tail, too."
"Definitely," Fox nodded. He gasped as Falco leaned in, working his hands down the length of the fox's tail and timidly pressing their torsos together. "Uh, you know..."
"Yeah?" Falco asked, head resting on the vulpine's shoulder as he examined the soft, fluffy tail between his fingers.
"You can just... walk around behind me and check, you know."
Falco froze, quickly backing away and taking his hands off his leader. "Right. That was stupid." Now noticeably nervous, Falco quickly stepped around the waiting vulpine, where he quickly, thoroughly ran his hands down the length of Fox's tail, as well as the back of his bare, hard legs. Once satisfied, the bird rolled back onto his feet, giving the fox a solid slap on his round, hard ass as he stood back up, which he knew would either make the situation a little less awkward, or infinitely more unbearable. "That ought'a do it."
"Word of advice, Falco," Fox grumbled as he walked over to the truck, bending over the side of the bed before pulling out a duffel bag full of their gear. "Normally, that's a perfectly suitable, masculine gesture, but not when you're naked and standing right behind me with a hard-on big enough to choke a giraffe. You know?"
"Whatever," Falco shrugged, trying to play off his actions as if he hadn't just made the wrong move. "Just give me the cloak."
"Arms straight ahead," Fox ordered as he dropped one of the bags between them. With quick, familiar precision, he opened and assembled an excessively complex device. The energy cloak, a small, chrome disc the size of a hockey puck, hovered in the Fox's hand as he stood up and placed it in the center of Falco's chest, slightly below the sternum. The cloak generator clung to the pheasant's plumage like a magnet once active, but Fox still took precaution, strapping the apparatus in place with the attached long, black strips of canvas.
Two stretched around Falco's ribcage and linked behind his back. Another two looped over his shoulders and hooked onto the previous strap. The final strap was the most necessary and easily the most awkward. It stretched from the bottom of the generator, between the user's legs, and hooked onto the primary strap.
Without a word between the two, Fox reached down, grabbed Falco's cock, and lifted it, pinning it to the bird's plush, firm abdomen.
The lack of clothing fitting, though overdone. The invisibility cloak worked by shaping a light-warping electromagnetic shield over the nearest attached heat source, so normal loose-fitting clothing would either merely become transparent or not disappear at all. However, electromagnetically sealed clothing would be cloaked perfectly.
"Usually," Fox sighed as he knelt in front of Falco and worked the strap over his twitching shaft. "At least minimal clothing is involved. Such as, I don't know, a flight suit of any kind?" Fox made his point by yanking down on the strap, unspooling the fabric from the reel attached to the cloak generator and running the smooth, ridged material along the sensitive underside of Falco's package. The stimulation made the bird gasp and jerk his hips forward, bumping directly into the vulpine's snout.
Fox didn't react, instead rising to his feet and sliding the strap up Falco's back and snapping it into place. "Are you secure?" he asked.
Falco paused, settling his fingers around his waist and staring down at his ludicrous setup. "In what way?"
"Physically and mentally," Fox replied, dipping a hand into his own gear bag and pulling out more desert-friendly attire. He sneered and rolled his eyes and he changed. "We both know you're not stable sexually."
"You know what, since when did you start being an ass?" Falco snapped back, flicking the mechanism on his chest and disappearing instantly.
"Just about when you started slapping mine," Fox's muffled voice grunted as he tugged a soft, brown t-shirt into place. Once his head popped through, Falco was nowhere to be found. "Alright, the cloak worked. I can't even see you when I'm outright looking. It worked. Let's--"
Fox gasped as his tail was pulled tight, grasped firmly in a feathery fist that the fox couldn't see. The invisible fist yanked upward, pulling Fox onto the tips of his toes with a twitch and a grimace. Too shocked to even remember how to resist, the fox could only try to keep his balance before--
THWACK!
A flat palm clapped onto Fox's buttock, strong enough to physically affect his balance and push him to his knees. Fox yelped and cradled his stinging rear with both hands, shocked at how easily Falco had humiliated him.
"I'm ready to go, cupcake," Falco chuckled. The truck dipped on its suspension as an invisible bird vaulted into its bed. As Fox shakily stood, a sniper rifle hovered in the air before Falco activated the cloak that had been attached to its stock, rendering it invisible as well. "C'mon! What's takin' ya so long!?"
Fox had no idea what to say; his pride had been slapped even harder than his ass. As he hastily slipped into his cargo pants, socks, and boots, he tried to act perfectly calm. He failed.
"D-did you... Uh. Where's the package?" Fox stammered.
Falco could easily have made a joke, but instead, reached into the far corner of the truck bed and lifted the small, black briefcase for the shy fox to see. "Still here, Foxie. You should know. You put it 'ere."
"Uh, right."
Falco stared endlessly as Fox fumbled his way into his clothes. Usually, Falco wouldn't stare, but right now, there was no way his leader could ever know. Unarmored and completely unarmed, the vulpine swung the truck door open and jumped in. The job had rules, and Fox wanted to appear as though he were following them.
First rule: Come alone, which, to both of them, meant "Bring backup, but don't let anyone find out." Falco's job was simple. Find high ground, perhaps in a building, and watch the deal from far away.
Second rule: No armor or weapons. In a way, Fox followed that rule. Aside from the clothes on his back, he had nothing, and he would definitely get frisked. No way around it. Falco would be his first and last line of defense, all through sight of a scope.
As Fox started up the truck and set it rolling downhill, Falco ran through the plan again in his mind. Their destination was a dilapidated ghost town, abandoned since Andross' invasion and pulled right out of a cheesy, low-budget cowboy movie. Fox would make the drop, get paid, wait for the other party to leave, then beam down some Arwings and fly back to The Great Fox.
A simple, easy plan always made Falco feel calm, and as he watched the bare, simple fields zip by, a strange, nostalgic strain welled up in his chest. This was great. With the town coming into view over the hill, Falco spoke up one last time.
"Fox, remember when I said this planet sucked?"
"Yeah. Why?"
I still can't believe everyone left but me.
"No reason." Falco shook his head and leaped off the side of the truck.
"So, you're Fox McCloud..." the gorilla said.
"Isn't that obvious?" Fox gave off a facial equivalent to a shrug, unimpressed at the attempt to intimidate. The fox stood in the center of the ghost town's abandoned central square, in front of the rundown pickup, unarmed and easily within shooting range of the dozen mercs to his front, each with a rifle trained directly on him. They all stood lined up shoulder-to-shoulder. The gorilla stood at the center with a squad of heavily-muscled, heavily-armored thugs to each side.
High noon would usually be an unforgiving climate on most habitable planets, and doubly so for Katina. The glaring sun forced Fox's eyes into a near-useless squint, but he didn't dare raise his hands to give himself some shade. Any sudden movements, especially anything that could look like a signal, would prove lethal.
To the gorilla's immediate left was a hyena, even bigger and taller than the rest and positively ecstatic. He shifted from one foot to the other, unable to contain his anticipation, even though they wasted no time getting to business.
"Okay, hands up," the gorilla ordered. He motioned to the hyena. "My associate is going to make sure you're not carrying anything harmful to your health." The ape nodded, and the hyena strode forward, all too optimistic.
As expected, Fox raised his hands, knowing he wouldn't enjoy the subsequent treatment. He had been frisked before, and every single thug that got their hands on someone as prominent as Fox McCloud, they would tend to take a few... liberties.
"Just a pat down?" the hyena grumbled, cracking his knuckles as he stepped forward. "Or can I do a full-on strip-search?"
"Here we go," Fox mumbled to himself.
"Whichever one you want. Maybe a mix of the two," the gorilla suggested with a smirk. "I mean, he's dumb enough to come here alone."
_In a few ways, I am,_Fox noted. Even though Falco was definitely in one of the few tall buildings around them, they had no working communication. If the deal went bad, Fox would simply have to run and hope for the best.
"Alrighty, then!" The hyena walked up to McCloud and shoved him against the hood of the truck. "Turn around and bend over, bitch."
After suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Fox carefully rolled over and flattened his torso against the hood of the car. The hyena leaned on top of him and spread the fox's arms wide to either side. "Don't fuckin' move. Got it?" His hot breath washed over McCloud's neck; his panting tongue patted against the end of the fox's fur.
"Got it," Fox growled, laying his jaw flat on the hot sheet metal hood and keeping his eyes straight forward. He refused to make a sound after that, no matter how firmly the hyena groped at him under some pathetic facade of security.
First was his neckline. The hyena dug his fingertips into McCloud's shoulders and slowly inched his way down. He slid his palms down the fox's back, pressing deep into the slender, toned muscles and causing the vulpine to arch his back, pressing his buttocks into the hyena's waiting groin.
"Mmmm." The hyena darted his tongue forward and briefly took McCloud's ear into his mouth, sucking on it firmly before biting down lightly. "That's a good boy." He let the insult devolve into a boiling, heckling laughter as he rapidly jittered his hips, back and forth in a lewd, circular motion. In an erratic, humping rhythm, he slid McCloud back and forth along the hood.
"Hey, Baxter!" one of the thugs shouted at the hyena. "Hurry it up! We don't got all day!"
"Fuck you!" the hyena yelled back over his shoulder, standing up and powerfully driving his hips against McCloud's rear. "I'm gonna enjoy this shit while it lasts!"
Baxter quickly calmed himself before laying himself back down on top of McCloud, his hands steadily climbing up the fox's thighs. Eventually, he prodded McCloud's right buttock with a claw. "Get up and turn around."
Fox closed his eyes as he peeled himself off the hood, turning to face the hyena as he did so. Eyes still shut, he felt some force grab him by the wrists and move place his hands on wide, brawny shoulders covered in coarse, clammy, thick fur.
"Keep your hands on my shoulders where everyone can see 'em," Baxter ordered as he ran his fingers down Fox's front. In a quick, unwarranted breach of privacy, the hyena reached his hand around Fox's back and gave a firm tug to the vulpine's tail, while the other raked over the front of Fox's shirt before cupping over his rigid groin. "What's this?"
Baxter raised his eyebrow, entirely aware of what he was holding. "I think he's got a weapon." He took a step back and crossed his arms. "Drop trou."
"You've gotta be kidding me."
"Fine. Don't move and _I'll_do it."
"Don't you even--" Fox cut himself short before he could finish his threat. Part of him wished Falco would open fire from wherever he was hiding, but for now, he could only keep still and let the hyena pull his cargo pants around his ankles, aching to provide a more in-depth pat down.
"That McCloud is a fucking idiot."
"Too fucking right."
From nearly a mile away, the two ferrets watched through their scopes as their comrade stripped down the demure fox, allegedly the most fearsome warrior alive, and fondled him, fingers jabbing about, around, and under McCloud's groin through his skintight undergarments. Even from such a ludicrous distance, they could both read exactly what was on Fox's mind. To keep from shivering with nerves, along with a slight trace of arousal, McCloud slid his arms around the back of Baxter's neck, clutching fur in a tight grip as the hyena ran his hands over every inch of the fox's plush, curvaceous rump.
In their old, rickety clock tower, they weren't alone. Behind them sat a chubby, yet tough boar, laughing to himself in a gurgling guffaw as he scratched the stiff, twitching bulge in his leather trousers.
Under the boar's massive, heavy rump, lay a nude, bound pheasant, mortified at how easily he had gotten caught.
"You know, we weren't fucking around. I really did just trip over you. That's it." the boar's voice seemed to ooze out from his throat. He unsheathed a knife from his ankle and slid the flat side of the blade over his fingers as he spoke. "You really should have thought this through."
"I noticed--" Falco grumbled into the floorboards, his sentence brought to an abrupt end with a slap to his hard, feathered ass.
"Don't fucking talk, slut." The boar subtly belched in the middle of his sentence, idly sliding a foot forward and toying with the cloak harness he had wrestled off the bird. "You're gonna be my bitch, so don't interrupt me--"
"Fuck you!"
The knife silenced him. In a pulse-stopping SNAP, the boar drove his knife through the floor, splintering the plank directly in front of Falco's beak.
"That's right," the boar derided, leaning on his side and pressing his elbow between the bird's slender shoulder blades. "You will, but I don't think that's what you mean..."
"Hey, Sloague!"
The boar looked over to the ferrets, both perched on either side of the massive window in front of them. "What?"
The ferret on the right shrugged and turned his vision out to the street once more. "I think you should let him scream. We're too far out for anyone to hear."
"This is getting ridiculous," Fox cringed as Baxter slid a hand down under the fox's groin and curled the canine's entire weight with one arm.
"You're telling me," the hyena said, giving the vulpine yet another squeeze. "How the fuck do you get an ass like that?" Baxter shook his head, putting the fox down before turning around. "Alright! We're good to go!"
Fox crouched down and pulled his pants back up as the gang closed in on the truck. "The briefcase is in the back of the truck," he said, but once his hands found themselves occupied with his zipper and belt buckle, the hyena reached down and held the vulpine's wrists together with one hand.
"Hold that thought." Baxter winked as he brought his other hand up to his ear and started giving orders through his earpiece. "Did you get that sniper yet?"
Fox took the hint. With all his weight, he jerked his wrists downward, breaking them out of Baxter's grip. He then drove a vicious kick toward the hyena's groin, but not quickly enough. Without even looking, Baxter shifted his footing and bent his legs inward, pinning Fox's leg in place between his knees. Now off balance, Fox couldn't even fall to the ground in time to evade. Baxter scooped McCloud up in one arm, pinning Fox's arms to his sides in a one-armed bear hug.
"Alright, my man. Good shit." Baxter nodded without missing a beat. "Do whatever you want with him. I got the prize."
"Like hell!" Fox grunted, lifting his arms and torqueing his hips; he fell out of the hold and hit the ground in a flat spin. The fox used the momentum to swing his body around and take out Baxter's legs in a perfect sweep. The hyena flipped over, crashing onto his shoulders with a yelp.
"Fucking get him!" Baxter yelled, just in time for one of his lackeys, a rhinoceros, to stomp the back of Fox's knee and grab the vulpine in a full nelson. The rhino was strong, even skilled, but not disciplined. He made a big mistake, having charged to quickly into the hold and stopped just a quickly. He had also lifted McCloud, hoping that pulling the fox off the ground would render him helpless. What he did, was practically swing the fox out of his hold.
Fox tucked his knees into his chest, rotating within the rhino's grip until he gently laid himself down over the rhino's head, horn and all. The brute let go of Fox's arms, trying to grab a hold of the canine's torso, but Fox, yet again, was too quick. He jumped off the rhino's shoulders, dropped into a roll and prepared to come up in a fighting stance.
However, before he could stand, the remaining ten thugs threw themselves on top of the fox, burying him alive under the raw weight of their bodies. Once at the bottom of the dog-pile, Fox knew he had lost. He physically could not move.
"Oh..." he could hear Baxter catching his breath, the hyena dusting himself off as he stood. "We are not gonna be gentle with you."
"And there they go," Sloague sighed in contentment, leaning back atop Falco like a piece of furniture. He furthered his gloating, slipping his hand between Falco's cheeks and pressing his index finger inside the bird's anus. Falco refused to make a sound or even move. However, his efforts turned fruitless once the boar hooked his finger, pinched the edge of avian's opening, and tweaked it upward. Falco's buttocks involuntarily flexed, pressing together around Sloague's hand. "Your butt-buddy's goin' far, far away," he said, worming his other hand under Falco's prone chest and prodding at one of the bird's erect nipples.
Falco didn't react when the boar leaned in close and prodded the back of his neck with a tusk, just enough to ruffle the plumage. However, he let out a tiny, minute gasp when the boar opened his maw and prodded that same spot with his tongue.
"Oh, don't even _pretend_that you don't want this," Sloague glowered, hefting his own unkempt, yet masculine weight so that the boar straddled the bird's torso, facing the avian's taught, feathered thighs. "Cheer up!" he said. "I'm gonna treat you like you always wanted to be treated!"
Sloague belched, adjusted his clothed erection, and smacked Falco on the ass, hard enough to make the bird squeal. He struck again, this time with both hands, one on either cheek, then he started to improvise, playing with his toy like a set of naughty bongo drums.
"If you didn't want a finger in your butt-hole," Sloague chanted to the beat of his pet's rump. "Then you should-n't have been run_nin' 'round _'nek-kid..."
The boar paused, having just brought down both his hands and kept them on the clenched blue ass before him. "Isn't that right?" he whispered, pulling the cheeks apart. He found his prize and prodded Falco's pucker with his tusk.
"Don't you fucking _do_it!" Falco grunted, finally starting to kick and struggle under the boar. The only response he got was a chilling, heavy chortle as Sloague lowered his grinning snout to the bird's tight hole.
He said nothing else. Instead, the boar used his tongue to spear the hapless pheasant.
Then and there, Falco fell silent, tense and shivering as Sloague pushed deeper. Once his lips pressed against the bird's plush cheeks, he quickly retracted his tongue partway, then back in again. Once he started to build momentum, the boar then began to prod to the sides, lapping at Falco's inner walls, and then, the bird finally made a sound.
The noise that rattled from Falco's throat fell somewhere between a whimper and a wheeze, trying to force as much air out of his lungs as possible in order to make it impossible for him to moan, but soon, that became impossible.
Falco felt the boar reposition, now straddling the bird's shoulders and grabbing hold of his soft, feathery thighs. Slowly, the swine bent the avian's legs up, leaving the bird's pink, pulsing member dripping in open air.
Eventually, the pig bottomed out, reaching as far as he could with just his tongue.
"Oh..."
Sloague stopped. In one, brutal motion, he pulled his tongue out of his prisoner.
"What was that?" the boar asked as he leaned back, bending Falco's legs even higher into the air as he looked into the bird's eyes, which were wide open and looking anywhere and everywhere, except for the eyes of his captor. "Getting into it, huh? Want me to guess what you had for breakfast yesterday?"
"You're sick."
"We talkin' medically or mentally?" the pig replied before prodding Falco's sac with a tusk. "Because... well, yeah to both--Say," he changed the subject instantly. "Why don't we take this over to the other room, get you all tied up, and make this personal."
Falco's eyes met his captor's, his effort at giving an icy stare somewhat hindered by the tears starting to form.
"Great!"
Sloague gave the bird's pucker one last kiss, effortlessly draped him over his shoulder, and carried him out of the company of the two ferrets, out of the observatory, into a room filled with light that was filtered through the yellowed glass of a giant, ancient clock face.
For nearly half an hour, Fox rode in the backseat of a hovering personnel carrier with a thick, black bag over his head, arms tied and secured to some musclebound moron in the right seat, and his legs tied to the one on the left. Even worse, his body lay stretched across the lap of the gigantic hyena who had molested him not too long ago.
He may have been unable to see, but Fox could still easily tell it was Baxter; the bastard was drooling.
With Fox's pants once again around his knees, the hyena took further opportunity to take advantage of his so-called prize. Ever since the fox had been strong-armed into the hovercraft and tied up, Baxter had been eagerly alternating between fondling or licking the helpless prisoner, especially over the vulpine's covered, coveted groin.
"Quit it, Bax," the thug at Fox's feet scolded. "Remember how the boss said he didn't want McCloud--what'd he say?"
"He wanted the bitch unsullied for his evaluation." The voice originated from the driver's seat. "It means he doesn't want McCloud covered in your fucking slobber. Fucking savage." The last part, the driver had whispered, only picked up by Fox's hearing. Most mercenaries, after decades of work, had profound hearing damage, but Fox had always taken special care of his body.
"Not to fuckin' worry, 'kay?" the hyena defend himself, wiping his hand over the growing, stiffening bulge in Fox's crotch. "This stuff is like Flexlon, nothin' sticks!"
And sure enough, he was right, not a hint of saliva anywhere was left on the fox's body, although the clinging, seeping feeling of violation still lingered.
"Well, we're almost there, so put his pants back on and get him ready to move."
The mercs had to untie Fox's legs to easily remove him from the vehicle, and he provided no resistance, he figured it the best option to save his energy for a later time, when an opportunity revealed itself.
Nonetheless, they took great precaution in immobilizing him. With his right arm tied to one goon and his left tied to another, Baxter took hold of his legs and he was carried through the desert heat from who-knew-where to who-knew-where.
All Fox knew was that he hadn't been carried far. He soon felt shade pass over him, as well as the acrid odor of motor oil. He had been taken into a loading bay of some kind and found himself seated on some cold ledge made of concrete as the unoccupied members of Baxter's team called for an elevator. All of these things, Fox managed to deduce through sense of hearing and smell alone.
All this training, and I still end up as someone's bitch.
A short elevator ride and a shorter walk down a hallway, and Fox found himself pushed into a dark room, then heard the door shut behind him.
He could sense five people in the room: himself; the two holding his arms; Baxter, who had just let go of his legs; and one more. A mysterious presence on the other side of the room, slowly, rhythmically tapping a claw on a hard, wooden surface.
"Baxter, I believe the hood has served its purpose."
"Yessir."
The hood was yanked off Fox's head, yet he still kept his eyes shut. It was his best chance to have his eyes adjust to the darkness as quickly as possible.
"Are you scared, little fox?" it asked, tapping growing louder. As the rhythm slowed, so did the beat of Fox's heart. An unnatural calm fell over him, a calm that he suspected wasn't entirely his own. His fear was gone; it had been stolen.
Only ten seconds. He only needed to keep his eyes shut for ten more seconds. Luckily, his species had been gifted with strong night vision.
The large, unnamed presence rose, kicking aside the chair it had been sitting in, and vaulted over the desk. It hissed.
"Open your eyes."
Without objection or thought, Fox complied.
The room was very empty, only the chair and desk that he had heard earlier. Two windows adorned the left wall, shuttered so tight that not a single beam of light shone through.
Nothing stood between him and the leader of his captors.
His real captor.
Fox's eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the darkness, and all he could tell about the creature on the other side of the room was that it was huge, undeniably male. A monster that seemed to be twice Fox's size and five times his weight. Once the beast was sure that Fox had opened his eyes, it opened its own, demonic yellow, staring straight into Fox's soul. It froze him in place, transfixed.
Then, the monster rushed forward.
Fox screamed, and instantly, it was upon him.