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Dungeon Delights

Chapter 37

Ettoras thought being locked away in the dungeons would mean the molestation would stop. Now he laughed tonelessly at how truly naïve he was. As Zeinara was marrying Jule on the level above, Jule's servants were sucking Ettoras off in his cell. They kept his wrists chained to the wall above his head, and with his rippling belly trembling, they crowded him, licking his large penis up and down the shaft until it was standing, hard and hungry. Ettoras sat against the wall with suffering eyes as they held his thighs apart and pleasured him, unable to resist, unable to ignore the skilled tongues that left hot drool rolling down his shaft. They fingered his anus under his tail, they sucked and slurped on his sack. He trembled and thought he would burst, but just when he was reaching a climax, they always backed away and simply let him throb . . . only to move in again when he had caught his breath. He always erupted in ones mouth eventually, and the male usually swallowed without complaint . . . only to go down on him again.

The worst part of all was having the other prisoner in the cell next to him watching with a hard-on. Ettoras was soon to learn that this other prisoner was Prince Florian. He was a handsome young dog whose breed Ettoras could not guess - what did he know of dog breeds? Prince Florian was red with a white chin and white hair fluffing out of his crumpled, half-open waistcoat. He appeared somewhat older, perhaps late 20s or early 30s, with bleary, tired gray eyes and a messy red mane spilling in curls around his dispassionate face. He had a very soft, feminine look about him, and though he was slender in build, his body was still toned with muscles. Many rings winked on his fingers and his clothes were very finely tailored, not unlike Jule's, only without all the Maldoenian ruffles. A gold stud was also in his ear, but for all his jewelry, he was filthy, torn, and undone, as if he'd been dragged from a gutter to sit in Canderly's dungeon. He looked like a wealthy drunk who just didn't give a damn, and Ettoras was soon to learn that was exactly what Prince Florian was.

As the foxhound servants sucked Ettoras and teased him to throbbing arousal, Prince Florian watched in the next cell with a large bulge in his pants. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He unbuttoned his pants and took his erection in paw, stroking it slowly and carefully as he watched Ettoras moaning in pleasure and muttering in protest. He came in his own fist and ordered one of the horny servants to lick him clean, but the servants always laughed at Florian's demands and threw filthy washrags in his face, telling him to lick himself clean.

The servants were especially cruel to Florian. They would toss a bucket of water on him whenever he came in his fist, leaving him wet and stinking. They hardly fed him. And when his complaints became unbearable, there was even a servant - the biggest of the lot -- who opened his cell and spanked him with a cutting board, as per Tabitha le Frey's instructions. Ettoras thought Florian would have learned his lesson after such spankings, but his complaints always escalated to threats. As the servants walked away laughing, would he clutch the bars of his cell and shout that his father would have all their heads displayed on the gates of Wandourg. Then he would curl up in his cell and sob himself quiet.

Ettoras thought Florian was a spoiled, obnoxious prince, who deserved the spankings, the buckets of water, and the mockery of the servants. But at the same time, he didn't exactly understand why Florian - annoying as he was - deserved to die. And some small part of Ettoras was glad the plan had failed. Some small part of him still hoped. Motsumi and the others were still out there, after all. Maybe they could get away from Canderly alive. Maybe he could talk some sense into Motsumi.

The night of Zeinara's wedding, a group of foxhound servants returned to the dungeon, drunk and staggering, and with them came the biggest servant of all, a handsome foxhound named Burl who everyone called The Bear. They called him The Bear - obviously -- because he was very large for a foxhound, standing at six feet and eight inches, with a very muscular frame. Ettoras was six feet tall, but The Bear made him feel miniscule.

They opened Ettoras' cell door, and as The Bear stepped into the cell, his shadow fell cold over Ettoras. He was hard as a rock and practically bursting from his pants, and Ettoras gulped visibly when he pealed his pants open to reveal the great erection jutting behind the fabric. With a lusty smile, The Bear picked Ettoras up like an empty sack, and with his wrists still chained, hugged him tight and plunged his enormous shaft up between his squirming buttocks. Ettoras choked as he was slowly filled and his head fell back as The Bear proceeded to hump him slow and deep against the wall.

The other servants tossed back bottles, staggered, and hooted, as they watched Ettoras take it under his tail. Ettoras hated that Florian was watching with hungry eyes, that the servants were grinning and stroking themselves, that his own penis was rock hard. It wobbled against his belly with every careful thrust, and he wished to hell that it would go down. The Bear looked deep into his eyes as he made love to him, then gave him a sloppy, drunken kiss that made him squirt a little. As if this were an invitation, one of the servants stuck his head between their bellies and sucked Ettoras off, hungry and slow, even as The Bear stroked deep inside him. Other servants joined in, and before long, they were licking his heavy sack, kissing his thighs, toying with his nipples.

Ettoras trembled all over as they moved in on him, and his moans rose with the grunts and deep groans of The Bear, whose muscular body seemed all-consuming in that dark little cell. Ettoras felt himself flinching in a servant's mouth. He released with a helpless cry, and The Bear grimaced as he in turn squirted hot inside Ettoras. He let Ettoras tumble gently from his arms, and as Ettoras sat on the floor, panting and tingling with the touch of their mouths, the servants withdrew, hooting and drinking still. The Bear remained behind only a moment, looking at Ettoras with soft eyes, then he was gone as well, taking one of the torches with him.

In the wake of the gentle gang-rape, Ettoras sat with his arms chained above his head, and suddenly wished violently and desperately that Yeneneshe and Kayya would never find their way inside Canderly again. It was bad enough that he couldn't save Zeinara from whatever it was Jule was likely doing to her right at that moment. He closed his eyes unhappily, and as he sat there worrying, it was then that Florian spoke to him. For the first time.

"I'm Florian . . . prince of Curith," Florian said quietly, his white chin wagging in the darkness. Ettoras thought he sounded hoarse and unhappy.

"Why don't you fight them?" Florian muttered, his voice gravelly and bitter. If Ettoras didn't know any better, he'd swear Florian was jealous that Ettoras had been gang-raped and not him.

"A creature like you must have magic," Florian added. "Or did they stick you with one of those tranquilizers?"

Ettoras sneered. "I not. . . creature," he said in broken dog tongue.

"Well, you're a fox, aren't you?" Florian said matter-o-factly, as if he were politely informing Ettoras that he was beneath him.

Ettoras glared in the direction of the prince's voice. He wished it wasn't so dark. The servants had left only one torch behind, and it was too far away to properly light Florian's face, but Ettoras could make out the gleam of his gray eyes and the flare of his white chest fur peeping from his shirt.

"I'm prince," Ettoras said through his fangs. He hated that he couldn't speak fluent dog tongue. "Like you! No . . . not like you. I don't smell like armpit."

Florian laughed softly. "Cute. Did Swill teach you to say that rubbish? Swill likes her jokes. Wish we'd ever had such a cook back at Wandourg. Jule doesn't appreciate that bitch nearly as much as --"

Ettoras moaned irritably.

"What's the matter?" Florian asked. "Did they hurt you?"

Ettoras blinked, surprised by the genuine concern in Florian's voice. "I'm not lying," he gently explained. "I'm from S'pru. Second Sun."

There was a pause, and then Florian whispered in quiet awe, ". . . you aren't shitting me, are you?"

"No."

"I . . . I thought you smelled different. You don't smell like most foxes I've bent over the ol' barrel . . . I mean, when I go down on a fox, his ass usually smells like earth or mud or something --"

"Stop. Stop talking."

" - but I can smell your tail from here, and it carries a different scent. Like trees and earth I've never smelled before. And those wings . . ." Florian laughed softly again, chuckling as if he should have known better. "I guess I really am drunk."

Ettoras heard a cork pop and realized Florian was drinking. The prince of Curith gulped in the darkness, then sighed and closed his flask again.

"What you doing here? Why Maldoene?" Ettoras asked, peering around his arm at the prince's white chin in the darkness. He wished his arms weren't still chained above his head, as it made him feel like his penis was on display on his thigh. He could feel Florian looking at it every now and again, as if he would reach through the bars and grope it, and it made him uncomfortable.

"You mean why aren't I in Curith?" Florian muttered bitterly. He sighed, and Ettoras could hear his clothes rustling in the darkness. The prince slumped against the wall and drew up one leg, resting his elbow on it. "I had to get away from my father. If I didn't, I was likely to kill him." He snorted. "At least Grandfather would have been proud."

Ettoras frowned in confusion. "Your father?"

"The prince and heir of Curith!" Florian supplied impatiently. His head nodded up and down as he practically yelled, and his mane tumbled in his gleaming eyes. "Bloody hell._You really _are from another world." Ettoras heard the liquor swish as Florian took another drink. "So you were a prince on the Second Sun. That means you're Azrian's child, right? Bloody hell," he muttered again and shook his head, his white chin going back and forth in the darkness. "No wonder you're here. Jule has got some nasty schemes rolling, hasn't he? Eventually, it's gonna be too much for him to handle. Lucky for him, he has that _tart_Tabitha."

"That why you here?" Ettoras asked.

"Something along those lines. Jule's keeping me prisoner until I agree to help him seize Varimore. It's my own fault, though. I came to Maldoene looking to get away from Father and court intrigue and all the nonsense. Seems the nonsense just followed me here, didn't it?"

"But why Maldoene?"

"Maldoene is beautiful, potent, and dangerous . . ." Florian took another drink. "Just the way I like my cock." His eyes turned to Ettoras and appraised him curiously. "Why are you here, handsome? You fall out of the sky?"

"Yes, actually."

Florian laughed. "No doubt you miss S'pru, then. I hear it's a right paradise," he said derisively.

Ettoras' eyes clouded. S'pru was burning even as he sat there doing nothing! "Was a paradise," he muttered to his lap.

"No doubt," Florian said with a chuckle, "if hard-bodied boys like you were strutting around up there. I bet you had all the little girls tripping over their tits to suck you off."

"Maybe," said Ettoras, who was beginning to realize that Florian liked him and was trying to discover his sexuality.

"The boys too?" Florian whispered huskily.

Ettoras scowled. "You --! Worse than Jule!"

"Feel free to speak your own language whilst you're yelling at me," said Florian in weary amusement and took another drink. "I speak fox fluently, you know."

Ettoras hesitated, uncertain as to whether or not Florian was serious. Finally, he said in fox tongue, "I'm just a plaything to you! You dog_bastards_ are all the same."

"No. I am nothing like Jule." Florian pointed at him with the flask in-paw. "That's where you're wrong."

"Really?" Ettoras said skeptically.

"Really. First, Jule is a functional addict. Whereas I'm . . . not functional at all," Florian muttered, and Ettoras could see him trying and failing to button his shirt. "And second, I'd never keep you on a bloody leash and treat you like a pet. At least with me, you'd have your own quarters, money, my protection, clothing that I could peal your delicious dick out of and suck until it was choking my mouth . . . I'd never treat you like an object."

Ettoras glowered. "You mean I'd be your well-kept whore and not merely your toy?" he said in fox tongue.

"What's wrong with being a whore?" Florian said with genuine astonishment. "Some of the best dogs I know are whores. Some of the best foxes as well."

Ettoras stared at Florian in amazement.

"I'm completely serious," the prince said. "Twenty years before, when your kind scrambled off to join your mother in the sky, there were many foxes here who were left behind or simply didn't want to cross the bridge of light --"

Ettoras snorted. "They didn't want to live in paradise?"

Florian looked at Ettoras calmly. "You truly believe S'pru is a paradise? Your mother is a tyrant, handsome. A tyrant."

Ettoras scowled and his chest heaved. "Shut up about my mother!"

"No," Florian said quietly and took a drink. "Listen to me. You might learn something."

Ettoras was about to snap a retort, but he looked in Florian's eyes, saw he was serious, and bit his lip instead. His ears flattened and he looked away. But he was listening.

"A lot of foxes in Curith lost their homes and their families in the earthquakes," Florian went on. "One quake took an entire wing off Wandourg and Father nearly died. He broke a leg and crushed some ribs, and he was laid up in bed a long time. I found myself hoping he'd bloody well croak and I'd be free of him. Of course, I wasn't that lucky. I was sixteen at the time. I thought foxes were beneath me. I rode out to the forest thinking I'd bag some easy fox pelts off some corpses . . ."

Ettoras made a face.

"But instead I found foxes injured and in pain, wandering the forest, screaming for loved ones that could hear them no more," Florian continued, and his eyes were haunted. "I realized in that moment that they were not beneath me, that they were beasts who could hurt and bleed just like me. I wanted to help them. I rode hard back to Wandourg and came to my father's bedside, begged him to do something for the foxes." Florian's face hardened. "But he wouldn't. He thought I was mad. And I knew that to him, asking to open a hospice for foxes was like asking to open a hospice for mice. He still didn't see the foxes as equal beings and treated me like a child who'd found an injured kitten.

"I went behind his back and opened the hospice any damn way. The foxes were suspicious at first, but eventually, they flocked to it, and I was able to care for them. All of Curith practically turned its back on our family, and Father hated me ever after, he loathes defiance, but I didn't care. It was worth it to see those foxes safe and free. Ha. At least Mother was proud. Then, of course, King Etienne starts a bunch of reforms that only piss off my subjects even more. . . ."

Ettoras perked up. "King Etienne?" It suddenly occurred to him that he knew very little about his father. In fact, he knew nothing.

"That's right, handsome," said Florian, who eyed Ettoras curiously when he noticed his sudden peak in interest. "King Etienne outlawed the Hunt and did his damnedest to protect the foxes left behind here. It sent the nine kingdoms into a right fit. Dogs started hunting foxes left and right in protest, and I soon realized the only way to protect my foxes at the hospice was to . . . make them whores."

Ettoras looked at the prince with wide eyes. "What!"

"Yes," Florian whispered unhappily and gave a bitter laugh. "If dogs wanted to fuck the foxes, they weren't going to skin them. And it worked. Not a fox in my hospice has been taken for a pelt in twenty years. I keep them fed, healthy, and well protected, and in exchange for my protection . . ."

"That's horrible," Ettoras said darkly.

"And it worked," Florian repeated with a shrug. "It worked better than anything Etienne or Azrian ever did for them. Your mother abandoned them here to their fate. That's horrible."

Ettoras made no reply . . . because he had no argument. And he hated that he had no argument.

"You have no idea what S'pru was really like," Florian went on. "There's a reason why Ayni hates Ti'uu and your mother. The reason being they are both well-meaning fools."

Ettoras scowled. _ _

"Some of the foxes who'd gone on to S'pru were exiled from it by Azrian and wound up in my 'hospice.' They would tell me stories of the Second Sun, how they were banished with little proof of their guilt and no where to go. So I took them in. Me. Prince Demented."

"What?"

"It's what they call me," Florian said with an idle wave of his paw.

Ettoras snorted. "Alright, so you helped a couple foxes. You_still_ think we're beneath you. The way you talk down to me --"

Florian chuckled softly. "Darling," he said, screwing the lid on the flask, "everyone is beneath me. I'm the fucking prince of Curith."

Ettoras rolled his eyes. "So I take it that means someone is coming to save you?"

Florian sighed in the darkness. "If Father ever gets around to sending someone. There's no telling with him, honestly. If he feels like it, he'll send along a few Great Danes in maybe eight months or so. Give or take. I don't know if Jule has even sent a threatening letter yet."

Ettoras looked at Florian in amazement. He couldn't understand how the prince could be so casual. "What is it with you and your father?"

"Oh, it's the same old story. Daddy doesn't love me, so I get drunk and fuck everything that moves. Etcetera."

"Ah."

"What about you, handsome? Who slept with the Second Light to create the magnificence in the cell beside to me?"

"King Etienne."

Florian laughed. "You're shitting me."

"No," Ettoras whispered bitterly.

"Mm, and I take it by your tone that his majesty the king is not in your good graces?"

"I . . . I'm not angry at him," Ettoras muttered. "Well, okay . . . I am. My mother has been miserable without him, and he never once tried to come to her! But Zeinara made her way across the bridge of light, made my mother mortal, and - hell! - did _everything_Etienne should have been doing!" Ettoras paused for breath and realized his body was tight with anger. It took him a moment to notice Florian staring at him with quiet lust.

"You're beautiful when you're angry, you know that?"

Ettoras averted his eyes. "Shut up."

"You are. You and damned Zeinara look so much alike . . . hell, you're just a pretty male version of her. Prettier than her, I'd say. Why didn't I see it before?"

Ettoras looked at Florian with grudging curiosity. "So you know my sister?"

"In a manner of speaking. My father once entertained the notion of marrying me to her. Ayni and Maret tolerate each other, so they would have tolerated the alliance - me, a son of fire, with Zeinara, a daughter of death. Father thought that by marrying Zeinara, I could take what we Carringtons were supposedly cheated of."

Ettoras looked at Florian in confusion.

"My great aunt," Florian explained in a bored voice and waved his paw, "married Etienne's father and was to have a child with him, as per some arrangement that would bring peace between Curith and Varimore. But instead of having a child with Aunty Donica, King Bastian boffs some duchess tart and has your father. Etienne revealed the truth of it twenty years ago and dared anyone to challenge his claim to the throne. Not that he was any less worthy - I mean, his mother was a_Kingsley._ But still, it took balls to square off with the church like that. I'll give him credit."

Ettoras stared at his lap, wishing he hadn't asked. He'd just been given a bunch of information he didn't give a crap about.

"So you and Zeinara . . ." Ettoras said curiously. "You realize she and I came here to kill you, right?"

Florian shrugged. "Hardly surprising. Zeinara despises me because I despise her - your - father."

Ettoras looked at Florian in surprise. "You despise . . .?"

"Your father? Yes."

"Why? What'd he do to you!" Ettoras demanded in confusion.

"It's not what he did to me. It's what he did to . . ." Florian took a shuddering breath, and even in the darkness, Ettoras could see he was visibly upset. "It's what he did to _Jonathan._There have been rumors circling in court for years that Jonathan and the king . . ." He took another shuddering breath and glanced at Ettoras, as if he was suddenly remembering he was there. He looked away again. "Forget I said anything."

"But . . . who's Jonathan?" Ettoras couldn't help asking. He could never help asking.

Florian's eyes darted at Ettoras angrily. "Forget I said anything."

"But --"

Florian reached lightning quick through the bars, and Ettoras sputtered when his fingers closed around his soft penis and vigorously started rubbing. His mouth fell open and he frowned with pleasure as Florian's tight fist massaged him to arousal, until he was swelling and lengthening in his grasp.

"A-Ah! F-Florian --!"

Florian watched with narrowed eyes as Ettoras stiffened in his paw, and Ettoras could see him bulging in his own pants. But he never paused, never stopped, jerking Ettoras harder and faster, until his rippling belly was trembling and heaving, until his moans and cries of deepest ecstasy were echoing off the dungeon walls.

"Ah!"

Looking as if he would sneeze, Ettoras came with a sputtering cry in Florian's fist, and his muscular body sagged in the shackles again.

Florian drew his paw to his lips and tasted his wet fingers. "Mm," he said as Ettoras panted, "you even _taste_like you're from another world."