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Timir shuffled, running his face along his pillow, if you could call it that. It was barely more than a thick rectangle of blanket. He'd begged for another many times before, but never to any avail. Rolling over to the edge of the wooden platform his masters called a bed, he reached out for his matches and lit the candle on the side table. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and blearily looking around. He stopped, seeing a piece of parchment on the table in the dim light. His breath caught in his throat as he ran his hands down his muzzle. A summons.

His hands trembled as he stood and reached for his loincloth and ran his fingers over the threadbare edges. Damned thing should have been replaced a year ago. He paced his room a few times, counting his steps as he went. Four along one wall, five along another. He tried ruffling his fur to clean it as best he could and smoothing it afterward. Finally, he made his way out through the doorless archway and walked down the hall through the slave quarters.

Timir seemed to be the only one awake. He could still just barely see everyone in their rooms, candles unlit, loincloths still hung up on the walls. At the end of the hall was the warden, another wolf, his feet up on his desk, and a book in one hand, a quill in the other.

"The king called for you, eh, forty seven?" the warden asked, not looking up from his writings.

"Yeah," replied Timir, his quiet voice barely making it to the warden's ears. "I don't know what he'd want with me, though."

The warden looked up, his eyes hitting Timir's chest before moving up to his eyes. "Well, whatever it is, good luck, son. You know how to get there? You haven't gone beyond the lower quarters, have you?"

Timir nodded, raising a hand to grasp his other arm. "No, sir, but there are directions on the summons. I'm glad I woke up so early."

"Well, best of luck, son." The warden nodded and waved his quill toward the door.

Timir nodded in return and took a step toward the door, but stopped when the warden held out his quill again and stood up, wrapping an arm around Timir's shoulders and placing his hand on his chest.

"Whatever you do, Timir...don't let him touch you."

He looked into the warden's eyes, not sure what to think.

"You hear me, Timir? Don't let him touch you." he nodded, patting Timir's chest again, and sitting back down, motioning toward the door with his quill again.

---

After what felt like hours of roaming halls, asking directions, and getting lost, Timir finally made his way to the grand hall. Skirting toward the wall to avoid bumping into one of the higher slaves, he looked around, dropping his summons and gasping at the sight of the grand hall.

The ceiling had to be three stories above his head, from which draped curtains of red velvet that framed golden pillars to his left and right. At the end of the hall was an archway, at least two stories tall, and wider than his arms held out to his sides by twice as much, if not more. Through the archway, framed by more velvet drapes, he could see golden statues of men, the morning sun glinting off of them, making their sculpted muscles visible from even this far away.

He made his way through the crowd of what felt like a hundred people, trying to keep out of their way, a feat in and of itself when he stood at least a head taller than anyone around him. As he approached the steps leading up to the arch, he heard a voice behind him.

"WAIT!"

He jumped, his ears flattening and the fur on his neck standing on end. A hand grabbed his arm and yanked, turning him around until he was face to face with a panther, well muscled, covered in jewellery, and looking him up and down.

"And just where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"I was summoned to see his majes-"

The panther cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Not looking like that you're not! Come!"

Before Timir could react, the panther had his hand around Timir's wrist and was pulling him into a room off to the side of the grand hall, shutting the door behind them. Inside the room, which had to be the size of the entirety of the slave quarters where he lived, if not larger, were racks and racks of clothing of all colours, most finely decorated with metallic threads, some adorned with jewels.

The cat stood in front of Timir, stroking his chin and looking him up and down again.

"Hmm...okay, strip."

Timir choked on his breath, losing his balance for a second. "Strip?!"

"Congratulations, you're a parrot. Now, my name is Rodyn, I am the royal clothier, and I need you to get out of that raggedy...rag...so I can put you into something civil."

Timir glanced around and opened his mouth, but Rodyn cut him off again, rolling his eyes. "You will not see the king if you don't look your bloody best, and it is my job to make sure of it! Do you understand me?"

He nodded and reached for his waist, his hands trembling. Rodyn's impatience took over again, and Timir yelped as he found his hands knocked out of the way as the panther stripped him of his loincloth himself.

"If you're not going to do anything for me, I'll do it my bloody self." he grumbled.

Finally, Timir stood naked, holding his arms in front of himself, trying to hide his crotch from view.

"Oh, stand up straight, boy!" Rodyn snapped, putting his hands on Timir's shoulders and straightening him. His eyes softened as he looked him up and down again, his hands still on his shoulders. "I can't fit you if you're cowering, boy."

The panther blinked and released his shoulders, turning around to his table to grab his measuring tape. He straightened Timir again and wrapped the tape around his waist, kneeling down on one knee. Timir yelped again as Rodyn cupped his balls, lifting them up and wrapping the tape around his package like a cock ring. He closed his eyes as he felt himself growing erect and breathed a sigh of relief as Rodyn released him.

"Hmm...hm hm hm...very nice size...VERY nice...I'll have to get a special garment from the back."

Timir opened his eyes as Rodyn made his way along the racks.

"Special?" he asked.

Rodyn poked his head out from behind a rack and rolled his eyes, "Must you repeat everything I say, boy?"

Timir watched nervously as Rodyn came back, a blue and gold garment draped over his arm. He reached down and grabbed Timir's leg, lifting one foot and inserting it into a waist belt, then repeating with the other, pulling the garment up to his waist. It seemed to be another loincloth, though the fabric was much softer than any he'd felt before. He closed his eyes again and tilted his head back as the fabric glided over his penis, grimacing slightly as he felt it tug lightly at his foreskin, pulling it back and running over his glans.

Rodyn stopped adjusting the loincloth at his waist and reached up to wrap a bandana around Timir's neck.

"Calm down, boy." he said, looking down with a smirk, "Save your wits for the king."

That worked. Timir's nerves came back and he could almost hear the blood rush out of his penis.

Rodyn took a step back and looked him up and down again, stroking his chin. "Hmm...almost perfect..."

Timir flinched as the panther snapped his fingers and shouted, "Yes! Stand still!" and lifted the loincloth, grasping Timir's balls and massaging, causing him to yelp again, quickly moving to grasp his shaft and giving a quick stroke.

He put the loincloth back in place with another small squeeze of his groin and took another step back, admiring his work.

"Perfect!"

Before Timir could react, Rodyn was behind him, hands on his shoulders, steering him toward the door. He stopped before pushing him out into the milling subjects and Timir found a black furred arm around his waist, holding him close against Rodyn's muscular frame. He was surprised to find the graceful panther's muscles much more firm than he'd expected.

Rodyn whispered in his ear, "Whatever you do, dear boy...whatever you do...don't let him touch you."

With that, Timir was alone again in the grand hall, nervously looking around at the king's subjects. He wasn't getting the strange looks he was before, now that he'd been cleaned up. A few people looked down at his crotch before giving him wistful smiles as he slowly made his way to the giant arch.

As he walked through, he gasped, seeing the golden statues up close. All of them were men, expertly sculpted, though all of them were naked with looks of ecstasy on their faces. Every one wearing a loincloth, pulled off to the side to show enormous packages, all fully erect, a few of them appeared to be mid orgasm, with golden streams of semen flying from them. Timir couldn't help but grow erect, his imagination running wild, envisioning running his hands over their chests, down their thighs, wrapping his mouth around their tools...spreading their legs...

He stopped, realising he was fully erect. He tried covering himself with the loincloth, though it didn't do much good. The soft fabric ran over his glans again, and it was all he could do to not pull it aside again and relieve himself against the statues.

"Oh, don't hide it, son!"

Timir yelped again, turning to look around and seeing a massive wolf lounging on a golden half couch at the end of the room.

"Your majesty! King Hammond, sir! Please, forgive me, sir!"

The king laughed, a deep, booming laugh that reverberated through the chamber. "Come! Come, son! I've heard such things of you!"

Timir approached and knelt on one knee, painfully aware that he was still erect, the loincloth sliding over his glans again, causing him to throb. He was surprised to find he had enough blood left to blush. As he stood, he couldn't help but moan, closing his eyes as the cloth slid back in place.

Another chuckle came from the king. "Hmmm...someone is..." he stood, slowly strutting over to him. Timir glanced down, seeing some precum drizzling down from the king's enormous erection, a golden band around the base, wrapping under balls large enough that Timir knew it would take more than one hand to hold both of them.

The king walked around him, making noises of approval as he went. A voice in Timir's head silently begged for the king to bend him over the couch and take him, and it was all he could do not to voice those words. He looked down at his still erect penis and saw precum seeping through the loincloth. There was more than he expected, and for a moment wondered how badly Rodyn would take it if he saw what had happened to the loincloth.

The thought of Rodyn sent his imagination wild again and he pictured the king bending him over while he slid his tongue around Rodyn's shaft, under his balls, imagining his musk seeping into his nose as he moved up and down on him, and back and forth on the king's massive cock.

He moaned again, the sound bringing him up from the depths of his daydream. The moan caught in his throat as he opened his eyes and saw the king standing before him, hunger in his eyes as he licked his lips.

"Timir...I want you...to do exactly what you want to do..." he raised his hand as if to stroke Timir's face, but kept his distance, "Pull the cloth aside, and..." he winked, his hand back at his side. "Give me a show."

The king sat on the couch again, legs apart, one arm out to his side while his other hand grasped his enormous cock and started to stroke as another moan escaped Timir, "Thank you, sir...thank you..."

He reached forward and slowly pulled the loincloth aside, more precum leaking out as he exposed his own cock. He slid a hand under his balls, massaging his taint as his other hand milked his erection, more precum dribbling out and dripping down to the floor. As he milked, his foreskin slid back and forth over his glans, another involuntary moan escaped him. The king moaned in return, stroking harder and closing his eyes as he rolled his head back.

Looking at the massive king, Timir began to stroke faster, his other hand moving up his belly to his chest, the feel of his own well developed muscles adding to his pleasure. A loud gasp escaped the king as he thrust his hips forward, semen streaming onto his chest and into his open mouth. It was more than Timir could bear and he felt a bubble of warmth deep in his groin as he approached his own orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps, moaning ever louder.

"Hands behind your back, boy!" the king commanded.

Timir obeyed, his hips taking over, involuntarily humping the air as the king threw himself off the couch, kneeling before him, his mouth open, ready to swallow. A tiny voice in the back of his mind tried to remind him of what he'd been warned, not to let the king touch him, but he ignored it, his ecstasy more powerful than his will. He took a step forward and thrust himself into the king's mouth.

The king grabbed his legs and pulled him closer, moaning loudly enough to echo in the chamber as he slurped, greedily drinking all of Timir's seed, his tongue doing all it could to wrap around the shaft in his mouth.

Before Timir had finished, he looked down, a scream catching in his throat as he saw his cock turning to gold in a wave that soon covered his balls, making its way up his belly. The king pressed his face harder into his crotch, Timir's cock deep in his throat as he buried his nose into his pubic fur, his hands no longer on his legs, but roving up and down his torso, leaving a trail of gold wherever they went.

Timir closed his eyes and rolled his head back, his mind turning to the statues against the walls as realisation dawned on him, that he was simply the newest of the collection.