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Pleasure Cruise

“Isn't it wonderful, Captain?" a musical voice rang out.

Brolath could see nothing. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his eyes, a dull pain growing deep inside his eyeballs. He didn't want to move or even talk, he just wanted to curl up on the soft bed and wait for the trip to be over with.

“Come now, Captain!" a friendly paw patted him on the shoulder. “The doctor said you could take those bandages off in an hour!"

A low rumble shook in Brolath's chest seconds after he felt the paw reach for the bandages, scaring him away.

“There's no need for that! Besides, the doctor also said that if you didn't take them off, you could go blind. So how about you take them off, get yourself adjusted, and we'll head on down to the bar, or the ballroom, or better yet, the dungeon for a good time on the Emperor's credit?"

“Fine," Brolath's jowls stretched back in a snarl as he began slowly unraveling the bandages.

When the bandages came free, Brolath kept his eyelids shut tight. Sighing, he slowly opened them.

The world looked mostly the same. Brolath had never been in a suite on the Caravan Liner before but he had seen advertisements. The walls were painted a light golden color and the soft, luxurious bed was covered in matching sheets. There was a dark, wooden dresser across from the bed, upon where a service phone rested.

Wait a minute...is that desk darker?

Perhaps he was mistaken and the desk was different from the one in the adverts, but Brolath could have sworn there was something off about the color and he couldn't quite describe what he was seeing.

Suddenly, his entire field of vision flashed and the room was bathed in magenta. Brolath's brain screamed, a sharp pain forming just behind his eyeball. The awful, foreign color quickly faded away and when it did, Brolath could tell there was a hint of something similar to it in the color of the wood.

“So, how's your first experience with green and red, Captain?" Rorgh, a brown-furred Lupiad chuckled, smoothing out the sleeve of his blue, formal tunic. The strings around the chest of the tunic were undone, showing off the top of his white underbelly.

“Awful!" the entire world turned green for a split second and Brolath pressed his palms against his skull, almost tempted to crush it and end the pain. “Call the damned help and get them to send some painkillers over!"

“The doctor said-"

“Dammit Adjunct! If you don't call them right now I'll skin you alive and send your pelt back to Lupus!"

Rorgh snorted and skipped over to the phone, pressing the receiver up to his muzzle.

“Yes, is this the help?" Rorgh rolled his eyes. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “The honorable Baron of Dryhaven requires some pain medicine."

It was a decent alias, Brolath figured. There were far too many Barons out there, most of whom were absolute nobodies, but ones with a good deal of crowns in their bank accounts. The perfect individual to take an interstellar cruise during wartime.

“Yes, yes, I know what the doctor said, but the Baron demands it."

Rorgh scratched behind his ear as the voice on the other line talked.

“Uh huh, yeah, do that. Just make sure you get here right away!"

The Lupiad lowered the receiver, letting it hover above the phone's mount before releasing it. It fell into its home with a satisfying click.

“They're on their way, Captain," he shrugged, leaning up against the dresser.

“Good!" Brolath opened his eyes just in time to see Rorgh's fur change from brown to red, which caused the Regulian's stomach to churn. “By the Emperor, why!?"

“Without the retinal modifications, you're a liability on Earth."

“How!?"

“Well, lets say you're trailing a group of human rebels who use yellow paper with red ink for passing messages along. You're sure as hell not going to be able to read it with normal Regulian vision, not unless you really focus! Every Claw agent has this done, so if you didn't want it, you shouldn't have ventured into the espionage division of the increasingly large and nebulous Guard!"

A tiny knock rang at the door.

“That must be them!" Rorgh grinned and his tail wagged happily as he left the room.

A few seconds later, Brolath heard the suite's door open.

“Your medicine, master!" a shy, submissive voice called down.

“Take it to the Baron, he's just in the room over there! And make sure you..." Rorgh's voice lowered to a hoarse whisper.

“What are you muttering about, Adj-!"

Standing at the doorway of the room was a Vulpeculan, naked save for his sandy, golden fur. His eyes were a pale yellow at first, but Brolath's vision flickered and they switched into an intense, emerald green; along with his fur, which rapidly switched red. His legs shifted, covering up his sheathe and he lowered himself.

The Vulpeculan's snout touched the floor as he bowed, lifting up a jar of pills in his palms. A polished, silver collar was wrapped around his neck, “Master, forgive me for taking so long to deliver this! Please, allow me to make up for my mistake!"

“That's fine," Brolath snatched the container and poured a couple of pills into his mouth, crunching them up and swallowing. The pain slowly began to fade and Brolath could have sworn the colors were starting to stabilize. “You were very fast actually."

“Master is too kind!" the slave's paw suddenly touched Brolath's leg, causing the Regulian to jump. The Vulpeculan recoiled, but didn't remove his paw. “I'm sorry, Master, did I hurt you?"

“No, uh..." Brolath purred as the Vulpeculan's paw slowly tailed towards the inside of his thighs, eventually brushing up against his testicles, “...is this normal?"

Brolath felt like slapping himself but all that would do is draw out the pain from the fog of his meds. He felt like an ignorant cub, of course he knew what kind of services were offered on these cruises, they were the same thing offered in any pleasure district in the Empire. You weren't a proud Regulian unless you had the chance to prove yourself intimately to one of the subject species and if you couldn't afford a slave of your own, you rented one.

All Brolath could think of was Chikal and how he turned down his offer. For a moment, the Vulpeculan's red tail flashed with black stripes, a hallucination that couldn't have been merely from the surgery and it sent the Regulian reeling back.

Brolath swatted the slave's paw away and as he rose, the slave bowed to the ground, begging forgiveness. Stumbling across the bedroom, he emerged into the living room of the suite where Rorgh was lounging on the couch with his legs spread as a silver-furred Vulpeculan with a gold collar massaged the crotch of his trousers.

“...Lupiads treat their slaves as part of their pack, you know?" he smiled as he rubbed the top of the slave's head. “They're family of a sorts, no matter what!"

“Sounds nice..." the silvery Vulpeculan said wistfully.

Rorgh's eyes suddenly turned to Brolath and they suddenly changed hues from amber to a vibrant green, “By the Emperor, Baron! Get back in there and let that slave show you a good time!"

Brolath looked back at the doorway and saw Chikal standing there, looking at him from behind his glasses with a sorrowful look in his eyes. Brolath blinked and the Procyonid was replaced with the slave, who replaced his lost love's sorrow with fear, as if he was deathly afraid of being punished for failing to service such an important VIP.

A strange sensation came over Brolath, it weighed down on his heart.

Chikal, what is this?

“Drinks..." Brolath gasped and pointed towards the door, “...drinks are on me! Lets all go to the Diamond Deck and have a good time!"

Rorgh wrinkled his nose in disgust but his slave's ears perked up and his tail wagged. Rorgh pointed towards the television screen, which was showing an advertisement for an upcoming exotic slave auction, showcasing an Equuleian who was as black as midnight with an astronomically large sheathe, even for his kind, “Come the fuck on! Lita's Pack is about to air and I'm dying to see what happens!"

“I..." Brolath looked back at the red Vulpeculan and tried to read his face. They were canines, much like the Lupiads, and their facial expressions were very energetic just like theirs. Right now, the Vulpeculan had his lips in a neutral expression, very common for Regulians for most social interactions but Brolath wasn't sure what to make of it on a canine.

This is hard…

“I would like to show our company a good time!"

The Vulpeculan's lips curled into a tiny smile and his tail began to wag.

This is good, isn't it?

Sighing, Rorgh flicked the television off and tossed the remote onto an empty armchair, “The doctor did say you should expose yourself to different environments."

“Exactly and..." Brolath awkwardly shuffled over to the Vulpeculan and grabbed him by the paw. The Vulpeculan squeezed slightly, “…I think it could be fun."

Rorgh's ears went erect for a second before folding back.

“By the Emperor..."

“Really, Master Abel, you shouldn't cause such a ruckus at the Academy!"

Yin didn't take his eyes off the road for a second as he lectured. A black chauffeur's hat was resting atop his brow, the visor ending near the beginning of his long muzzle. Regnath had bought him that hat, thinking it made the servant look quite sharp and Abel had to admit that it accented his vulpine features quite well.

Abel looked up from his datapad, which was displaying a pre-invasion essay on the virtues of representative democracy. Shrugging carelessly, Abel sardonically replied, “What did I do now?"

Yin snorted, “Don't act like you don't know!"

Outside, below the highway, the African savannah was rolling by with the occasional tree dotting the landscape. It was a harsh, arid region, sparsely populated before the invasion, which made it ideal for the Regulians to build their own capital region from scratch. The highway had six lanes each way and at this time of day, only the occasional taxi or delivery truck would pass by Abel's Father's limousine.

Kicking his legs up and resting them on the seat across from him, Abel amped up the sass, “Humor me."

Abel could see Yin's pupils narrow in the rear-view mirror as he saw the human rest his shoes on the soft, leather seats. Abel felt like a bit of a jackass for a second, he did like Yin, he had effectively raised him from a child along with Regnath and unlike his Father, when Abel had given himself a human name, Yin never once called him by his Regulian name from that day forward. However, some of his neurosis did grate on his nerves, not the least of which was his loyalist attitude towards the Regulian Empire.

Still, Abel honestly had no idea what the Academy was complaining about this time. Was it him taking part in a protest to end the war? Was it him sassing Professor Rowth by declaring that human rebels in the invasion were justified in fighting back?

If Abel had been a worrying sort, perhaps he would have panicked a little the idea of the school finding out about his little clandestine operation that he had planned, but he knew that if that were the case, they wouldn't have bothered to contact his family and would have just reported him to the Claw.

It was a little hypocritical, perhaps, reveling in taking his chances to flaunt Regulian authority. If he did not have a Regulian Father with connections or was not a graduate of the Cultural Advancement Program, surely he would have been arrested as a dissident by now.

“You've flagrantly violated the uniform code on numerous occasions!" Yin gently swerved into the left lane to overtake a shaking, shambling old diesel bus.

“What the hell are you talking about?" Abel asked with legitimate bafflement. He truly had no idea what his violation was.

“The Headmaster personally called to say that you were wearing an unauthorized scent on your uniform! He said you smelled like salted meat!" Yin lectured as they passed a sign that announced, in Simplified Regulian, that the Ralothburg Airport was at the next exit. “By the Emperor, Abel! I know you humans have difficult with scents, but how hard is it to rub the approved school fragrance under your armpit every two hours or so!?"

“Humans sweat, it's a thing we do!" Abel shrugged and kicked his legs off the seat. “Let me ask you something, Yin, Beta Vulpeculae is a desert planet, yeah?"

“Don't change-"

“Yet all the Vulpeculan's I've seen have thick fur coats and they only sweat through their noses and paws. I've never seen a Vulpeculan with a short, summer coat, why is that?"

Yin lifted his snout proudly, despite his humble position, “Any Vulpeculan worth his salt will ensure he or she has a magnificent pelt! Even a barbaric nomad in the wastes will do the same, to do otherwise would be as good as death!"

“But it doesn't make sense, evolutionary-wise! I mean, the Regulians have an arid planet but their fur is short!"

“Beta Vulpeculae used to be more temperate, long, long ago..." Yin yawned slightly, “...but the planet's orbit began drawing closer to the sun, through the dust field surrounding it. A combination of the increased heat and frequent meteor strikes ensured the climate becoming more desolate. Thanks to the Regulians, at the very least, the latter is no longer an issue thanks to their Anti-Debris Perimeter Defense!"

“Before Regnath bought you, you were living there, right?" Abel paused and rubbed at his chin. “You've never talked about it."

“The past is the past!" Yin anxiously deflected, as he always did whenever Abel tried to approach the subject. “I'm grateful to your Father for allowing me the chance to leave Beta Vulpeculae! You and him, you both mean the galaxy to me!"

Abel sighed and crossed his arms, his face turning a bit red. There was no denying that he felt guilt for bothering him. Regulian lick-spittle or not, Yin was a good person and he had been kind to Abel.

“Sorry, Yin, for creating trouble."

“Apology accepted, Master," Yin sighed.

And I'm sorry, but I'm not going to stop.

The limo exited the highway, snaking down an offramp and wandering down a side-road trailing by the airport, eventually coming to a halt by the departures terminal. Yin energetically leaped out of the vehicle and hopped over to the back, pulling out most of the luggage before Abel could even exit the car.

Yin hauled a long, black case and placed it atop a metal cart with the rest of the luggage. Flicking his tail, Yin smoothed out his anachronistic butler's jacket, which was drawing stares from damn well every alien at the airport, and began pushing the cart, beckoning Abel to follow.

“I can take it from here, Yin!" Abel rushed up and grabbed the cart.

“Oh no, Master! You'll need my help!"

“I've got it!" Abel groaned as they began to wrestle for control of the luggage.

Sighing, Yin relinquished his grip on the cart and lowered his ears, “I keep forgetting you're not the same kit I bottle-fed anymore...where does the time go?"

A chill ran down Abel's spine. His childhood memories were always a little hazy and he had assumed, for whatever reason, that Yin was acquired around when he was five years old.

“I didn't know you took care of me as a baby."

“Fed you, cleaned you, and changed you!" Yin announced with a satisfied grin on his long snout.

“Do you know who my real parents were?"

Even through the heavy coat of fur, Abel could somehow see Yin go completely pale. His pupils went so narrow that Abel was afraid they'd up and vanish. Yin's jaw quivered as he began to fight for a response to give.

Before he could say anything though, a Sirian security guard with floppy brown ears approached the two of them.

“Hey! This section is for unloading only! Get a move on!" the guard barked.

“Oh no!" Yin exclaimed, giving Abel a quick hug and a short nuzzle against the cheek before making a beeline to the limo. “Sorry, Master, I've got to get moving!"

“Hey, wait!"

“Sorry! Unloading of passengers only!" Yin hopped into the car and fired up the engine. He rolled down the window and looked at Abel. “Regnath is your Father, Abel, and we both love you."

“But-"

The limo's wheels squealed as Yin slammed down on the gas and darted out of the terminal before Abel could get another word in.

Although security outside had been mostly amicable, or at least, as amicable as a six foot tall, almost literal guard-dog angry about parking in the wrong zone could be; it was a whole different matter on the inside.

As soon as Abel entered, he immediately noticed bestial eyes locking on him behind ceramic helmets and gas masks. Hulking aliens in combat gear, mostly Regulians and Lupiads, almost seemed to outnumber the hopeful passengers, and they were all wielding assault rifles that had tear-gas grenades loaded into their underbelly launchers.

Just in case one was inclined to follow the notion, “If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," an advertisement flashed on a tall television screen mounted on the wall, showcasing human soldiers heroically fighting under their Regulian officers in order to fight the scaled, Lacertan menace. It ended with the message, “JOIN NOW."

With the war going on, only one of three types of soldier in the Imperial Army ended up in a position like this: the punch-clock warrior who just wanted a cushy position where they didn't have to face Lacertan resistance, the over-eager berserker who was too trigger-happy even for the most dishonorable company in the military and so was consigned to a place where they couldn't do too much harm, or the worst of them all, the seething sociopath who wants to inflict as much passive, bureaucratic misery on a smaller species.

Unfortunately for Abel, he was about to encounter the third kind.

A meaty paw covered in thick, synthetic gloves suddenly slammed down on the top of Abel's luggage and swiped the topmost suitcase onto the ground. Biting his lip, Abel looked to the green suitcase and then to the large Regulian dressed in heavy, brown combat armor. A long, red scar parted the fur across the left side of his muzzle bridge.

“Pick that up," a muffled voice ordered from beyond the mask.

Before Abel could object or put on a display of groveling, the Regulian withdrew a needler from his hip and loaded it with a stack of blue-tipped needles, less-lethal submission rounds. The needler hummed cheerfully as it activated and it was soon casually pointed at the human.

“Got ourselves a troublemaker!" the Regulian waved another guard over, a brown-furred Sirian with a black muzzle and tall, erect ears. His nose was twitching as he marched over, sniffing for contraband. “Think we should take him in for questioning?"

Abel did not move or say anything, something in the back of his mind told him that if he were to talk without being addressed first, the guards would treat him as a threat. Either they were having fun with him to break up the monotony of their job or they wanted any excuse to subdue him and practice their interrogation methods. Suffice to say, any requests for a lawyer or civil treatment would be ignored in favor of more beatings and unprofessional cavity searches.

An advertisement for professional cavity searches flashed on the screen. “ALL CAN DO THEIR PART!" a voice proclaimed as a scrawny, male human carried a drink to the a gray-furred Regulian officer lounging in an armchair against a desk. After giving his superior the drink, the human stroked the feline's shoulder suggestively. “JOIN THE AUXILIARY RECREATIONAL CORPS AND HELP HEROES SAVE THE GALAXY!"

The dog-like Sirian got close enough that his nose brushed up against Abel's cheek as he sniffed. Abel exhaled slowly, trying to keep his fears under control by thinking about how if he had a knife on him, he could stab the Sirian in a flash. He was breaking security distance protocols but then, it was clear that the Sirian had other things in mind for Abel.

“I think we ought to give him a cavity search," the Sirian growled threateningly. “What do you have to say for yourself, human?"

Swallowing, Abel spoke, “I have a document in the left, inside pocket of my jacket, it will explain everything. May I pull it out?"

The Regulian stormed over and ripped the brown suit-jacket off of Abel's back and rifled through the pockets, starting with all the other ones first. Meanwhile, the Sirian was patting Abel down and paused shortly after putting his paw on Abel's crotch, staring into Abel's eyes with a dominant, suggestive gaze. The back of Abel's mind told him to look away but Abel refused to show weakness and matched the dog's eyes.

“Get your filthy paws off him!" the Regulian roared, pulling the Sirian away, who whined almost pitifully. The Regulian waved a piece of paper around. “He's the Minister of Culture's adopted cub!"

“Sorry!" the Sirian bowed apologetically, his tail, which was covered in segmented armor pieces, tucked between his legs. “L-let me help! I'll carry your luggage!"

“That's fine, ju-"

Without listening, the Sirian ran over to the long, green suitcase and picked it up. Shortly after, his brow furrowed and he put it back on the ground, opening it up and pulling out a rifle with a wooden stock and a black, metal barrel.

Abel's heart began to beat rapidly, “It's all in order, I have the movement tags and-"

“Is this a Ruger Mini?" the Sirian gasped, taking off his gloves and rubbing his paws all over the barrel. Abel briefly wondered whether it would be a good or bad thing to have an alien's pad-prints over his gun, before deciding on it being bad, making a mental note to wipe it down. “.223 calibre, 30 round magazine, semi-automatic..."

“By the Emperor!" the Regulian gasped, pawing over it as well. A small crowd was beginning to grow, gawking at the peculiar behavior of the guards and Abel was starting to find the attention unwelcome. “It's a beauty!"

By far the most curious behavior of the occupying aliens had been their obsessions with pre-invasion artifacts. Five years ago, the biggest rage had been human computers and whatever data lurked on them, and now, possibly thanks to the outbreak of war, it was firearms.

It was a little handy in cases like this though. Abel didn't even have to explain that he was a member of a shooting club that was going to New Orleans for a tournament and that he had all the right forms permitting it.

A klaxon suddenly blared, shooting the alien's hackles up and the Sirian dropped the rifle to the ground.

“INCOMING ORBITAL STRIKE! REPORT TO THE NEAREST SHELTER! THE IMPERIAL DEFENSES ARE SCRAMBLING TO PROTECT ITS SUBJECTS!"

“You heard the voice!" the Regulian patted Abel on the shoulder. “Let's go!"

“But-!"

“Don't worry, no one's going to take your luggage!" the Regulian continued to prod Abel. “Come on! Move!"

There was no arguing and it was not like the flight would be leaving on time anyways. Abel went with the guard, through a door and down a long, deep set of stairs.

What am I doing here?

Brolath was shuffling in the booth, its soft leather was comfortable but oddly chafing, and it didn't help that its color kept shifting from brown to blue. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, Brolath had imagined something a bit more friendly and intimate, for the sake of the servants, but the environments were somehow even more decadent and sleazy than what Rorgh had no doubt imagined as a quick lay with the ship's slaves.

Carrying drinks around were countless slaves, mostly humans or Vulpeculans, dressed in sleeveless tunics that were fit to just barely cover over their bits between the legs; their tunics had yellow or blue trim along the edges, signifying their roles but Brolath didn't know which meant what. The nobles, moguls, and officers, along with their mates, could hardly restrain themselves from feeling up the slaves as they dropped off their drinks, a practice that was encouraged as being part of the ship's ticket fee.

Across the sweeping hall, a Vulpeculan trio was singing a heart-breaking love song about a doomed Prince and his harem. Behind the singers, a plate-glass window revealed the endless stretches of space, with the occasional escort ship flying into view, weapons armed at the ready. This might have been a pleasure cruise, but there was a war going on.

At the booth, Rorgh was ignoring his superior and probing his silver Vulpeculan with his nose, clearly and loudly enjoying the scents he was taking off of him. Meanwhile, the red (Which still gave Brolath a headache to see) Vulpeculan was tapping his claws on the counter, occasionally sipping at an Earth cocktail known as a martini, that smelled like cleaning fluid to Brolath.

Think back to when you were seducing Chikal, what did-

Brolath's chest ached at the thought. He wanted to make this right, but it was so hard to think of the right words. Why was it so much easier when he was trying to deceive people?

“Uh," Brolath reached over and placed his paw on the red Vulpeculan's own paw. There was not much of a reaction from him, “do you have any hobbies?"

He tilted his head at Brolath, “What do you mean?"

“Things you do in your free time!" Brolath licked his lips nervously. “I, uh, I like to paint landscapes!"

Brolath pulled out his datapad, rubbed his pawpad over the sensor and unlocked it. A document about the Vulpeculan Republican Resistance flashed on, Brolath quickly swiped the program closed, opening up a digital scan of an oil painting he did of Areth's Needle, a towering, thin mountain just outside the old Eastern Regulian capital. The Needle seemed to divide the blue sky of the painting as if the atmosphere was cut in half. However, Brolath's eyes itched as the dried grass surrounding the base of the Needle flickered between yellow and green, making his precious painting look unusually alien.

“It's very beautiful, Master!" the Vulpeculan smiled and lifted his glass to his muzzle, gently taking a small lap before licking his lips seductively.

Rorgh was looking over at this scene with a deep frown on his lips.

“Say!" Rorgh addressed the slaves. “Why don't you two handsome creatures go and fetch us another round of drinks! I'll take a grape wine!"

“Adjunct, grapes are poisonous!" Brolath objected.

“Live a little, Baron! I'll take a filter pill!" Rorgh waved his paw at him dismissively. “Get him a beer!"

The two slaves, squeezed past the Guards, the red one making sure his rear pressed up against Brolath's muzzle. Brolath couldn't help but breathe in and found the slave's scent to be more intoxicating than the alcohol.

When the slaves were gone, Rorgh leaned across the table and looked at his Captain with a grave look across his drooping jowls.

“You need to stop this, right now."

“What are you talking about?" Brolath looked around.

“You're trying to flirt with the slave, knock it off."

“Isn't that what you're doing?"

“No, Captain, I'm trying to have some fun with them before fucking, there's a world of difference!"

“I want to treat him well and..." Brolath lifted his glass to his lips, despite the fact it was empty.

“Then just take him to the bedroom, fuck him, and dismiss him!" Rorgh tapped his fist against the table. “You're just wasting his time with your lovey-dovey bullshit!"

“Look, uh, during my last mission..."

“You fell in love, I know, I read the report, we all did! You did an excellent job at infiltrating those Procyonids, I don't know how you did it, but you poisoned yourself by falling in love with your target!" Rorgh rolled his eyes. “But that doesn't change anything! You're making everyone uncomfortable, especially the slave!"

“I wanted to treat him like he was..." Brolath trailed off and sighed, “...someone, I guess."

“He's not here looking for love, he's here because he got sold by his parents, his debtors, or just flat-out got kidnapped. He just wants you to fuck him so that he can go back on break and be left alone for a few minutes without getting punished. The longer you drag this out with this shit about oil painting, the more awkward it will get!"

“The Emperor gave me a personal budget that is quite generous," Brolath tapped the datapad, “maybe I could buy him from the liner."

“By the Emperor!" Rorgh snatched a shot-glass from a passing servant's tray and downed the clear liquid it contained. He then rubbed his temples. “If you really want to buy yourself companionship, you'll get yourself a much better price on Earth and with someone probably more willing! Even if the ship was willing to sell him, do you really think that's what the Vulpy wants?"

Brolath slumped in his seat, “I could free him."

“And then pay his Emancipation Tax on top of that? You realize that he'd be under no obligation to stay with you, right?"

Brolath chewed on his lips, “What should I do?"

“Take him back to the room and have a casual fuck. Purge all thoughts of love from your mind and get rid of that tension."

Nodding, Brolath noticed the two slaves approaching and he stood up, firmly grabbing the red one by the arm.

“Let's go back," Brolath growled with dominance rolling off of his tongue. He leaned forward and took a deep sniff of the slave's neck, which instantly got Brolath's penis to poke its way out of his sheathe.

“Yes, Master."

Brolath pulled the slave through the massive hall, dodging serving staff and drunk passengers stumbling around. His vision was beginning to fog as lust overtook him, musk was rolling off him in waves which caught the attention of a lot of passengers who, after catching his scent, began to cheer him on as he took his prey away.

Exiting into the corridor, Brolath soon found himself lost. The flickering colors, mixed with his growing arousal was making thinking quite difficult.

A vision of Chikal entered his mind and Brolath chased it away. Nervously looking over to the right, Brolath saw a sign written in both traditional and simplified Regulian directing him to the, “Dungeon of Sighs."

Fuck it, might as well go all the way. He's just a slave.

Brolath went down the hall, following the signs direction until he reached an unassuming door.

It's just a slave.

He pushed the door open and a white Lupiad wearing a black leather corset greeted him.

“How may we enhance your experience tonight?" she grinned, looking at the slave Brolath had in his paw.

“Room," Brolath growled.

“We have numerous fantasy chambers available!" the Lupiad tapped on a computer screen and began reading off a lists. “Some of our most popular are: the Gardens of Emperor Haresh, the Imperial Harem, a Vulpeculan Principality's Court, Lupiad Warrior Lodge, Ancient Regulian Slave Market, Earthen-"

“Slave market!"

Brolath slapped his card on the counter and the Lupiad daintily picked it up, blinking at the Regulian before continuing her sales pitch.

“Would you care to rent additional actors? They're quite good at setting the scene and joining in, if that is what you wish."

“No, just us," Brolath huffed, growing impatient.

“Very well!" the Lupiad kept the card as a deposit. “Room 113, on your right!"

The slave stroked Brolath's arm as the Regulian dragged him down the hallway.

“Master is so strong..." the slave sighed, faking interest in his current client, “...I'm just a poor, weak Vulpeculan, what are you going to do with me?"

“You'll see," Brolath snorted as he opened the door to Room 113.

Inside, Brolath was greeted by an unmanned desk and behind it, two doorways leading to a wooden auction block with chairs placed around it. On the gray, stone wall by the block, several pairs of chains attached to manacles hung from the walls with keys stuck out of the bracers.

“Oh no, please don't lock me up, Master!" the slave grinned playfully.

He was reading off lines now, Brolath could hear it from the tone of his voice.

Inserting the wrists of the Vulpeculan into the manacles, Brolath snapped them shut.

“Please, Master, can you loosen my cuffs a little bit?" they hung quite loosely around his thin wrists and it looked like if he really wanted to, he could have just bent a little bit and slipped out.

“No."

Brolath stepped back and sat in one of the chairs.

“Come on, lift your tail!" Brolath ordered, clapping his paws together. To his surprise, a spotlight turned on, focusing on the wares for sale at the auction.

Nervously, the Vulpeculan lifted his bushy tail slowly, until the small, smooth area around his anus was visible.

It's just a slave.

There were oils and tubes of lube on the side of the wall, but Brolath ignored them as he removed his trousers. The slave was probably used to this by now.

Brolath's cock was a dark pink, conical and covered in tiny, barb-like nubs, as all Regulian penises were. Mating for male Regulians always involved a bit of pain, which helped drive the dominance culture behind it, but there were those who grew used to the pain or even liked it.

It's probably used to this.

Leaning his muzzle into the Vulpeculan's neck, Brolath licked at him with his rough tongue, eliciting moans of feigned protest. Today, Brolath would be a conquering Regulian hero, taking a slave of a subject species, as was his right as a Regulian.

Finding a lot of resistance, Brolath had to violently shove his cock past the slave's defenses, forcing himself all the way inside. The slave yelped loudly, but Brolath brushed it off as being part of the game, helping make the Regulian think he was even more dominant.

“You like that, you little slave?" Brolath growled as he pounded the Vulpy from behind. The slave's claws were wrapped around the chains leading from his wrists, digging into them.

“Y-yes!" the slave yelped as Brolath gave him another hard thrust.

“I'll bet," Brolath nipped at his neck.

Pleasure was aching in every part of Brolath's cock as heat washed over him. He hadn't felt this way in years.

Rorgh was right.

Brolath nuzzled up against the back of the slave's neck.

I was foolish.

Brolath gently licked the slave.

This is right.

Brolath tightly clamped his fangs into the Vulpeculan's scruff, just enough to hurt and quickened his thrusts.

The slave was so tight, it felt like his rear was giving Brolath's cock a warm hug. The friction from the dry fuck was getting too much for Brolath to bear. It had been so long and this felt so good.

Cum spurted out of Brolath's cock and the Regulian groaned heavily, drool slipping from his jaws onto the slave's back.

Once the eruption had stopped, Brolath pulled himself out, his barbs raking up against the Vulpeculan one last time before letting himself fall onto the ground, gasping for his breath.

“You can go now..." Brolath exhaled, “…you did well..."

Slipping out of the manacles effortlessly, the slave bowed and thanked his Master before walking towards the exit. Brolath noticed he was now walking with a heavy limp, as if he had pain in his lower back.

It's all part of an act...let the Regulian think he left his mark…

Brolath swallowed and once again found himself thinking of Chikal.

Isn't it?

Closing his eyes, Brolath drifted off to sleep on the auction block.