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Teaching them Humility 4

And so, from one prison to another

“Fuck! Why do you keep coming here?”

“I don’t have a choice,” answered the Vulpera, scratching his shoulder and the fur that was sticky. Well, he had a choice. More like by choosing to fuck up at a certain moment, the Vulpera knew he’d end there instead of somewhere else.

The Pitlord, an enormous lizard-like Demon on four lower legs, slumped further while Crimson was given no instruction.

Nothing to say, nothing to act, nothing to do from Esthoroth, the master of portals. Which was perfect as Crimson strolled around, looking at the Demon at work.

Those clawed fingers danced on the runes flying above the numerous command controls, activating some and deactivating others in a sequence the Vulpera was trying to remember.

This place, this room, was the key to his escape attempt.

Located at the top of the ship, the room itself was open on the empty, starless expanses. It could only be accessed through one metal door, currently locked, and one of the three portal pads arranged in a triangular formation.

From there, the Pitlord regularly activated the portals: whether to receive crates from the destination or throw something back inside.

Of course, whenever he had to move a crate or something, the Pit Lord groaned and rumbled.

He always did; he always acted as if the smallest physical action was beneath him, despite his body being made of pure muscle and fat. A body so big that he could easily crush Crimson under his weight.

“Tsh. I’d have you worked to the bone if that were me, mortal,” grumbled Esthoroth, snarling at Crimson.

“And I’m glad I’m not,” replied Crimson with that same energy, certainly disliking the Pit Lord. Or all the demons. Or all those bastards who kept throwing Crimson away like a dirty sock, leaving him stranded from idle task to idle task before he was dragged back to the pit.

At no time would they be rough or even mishandle them… After all, Crimson and the others were pets. Not tools or slaves, though it could have been.

They could have been slaves; they could have been mere servants with no freedom at all… Whereas at that moment, Crimson was allowed to walk around and observe the different runes he tried to decipher.

Some were infernal, others from languages he didn’t understand. But none seemed to hail from Azeroth, making his search pointless for the moment.

“Get out of the way,” grumbled Esthoroth, waddling and almost crushing the Vulpera. Due to the sudden weight pressing on him, Crimson was bumped and fell… Though it didn’t importune the Pit Lord as he was back touching runes.

“Fucking rats. Why do I always have to keep you around? You’re always in my steps,” huffed the Pit Lord, rambling… Always repeating himself.

“Get out of the way. I’m tired of having you around!” Always repeating himself.

Again, Crimson was outside on the steel floor, rubbing his sore posterior and eyeing the door.

“That was pointless,” he mumbled before he stopped… And saw that instead of a typical Wrathguard waiting for him, grinning and chuckling, he faced a pair of scaly legs.

Gray-blue scales.

“What is it?” asked the Vulpera, getting up on his feet and dusting his fur off.

“The Master wants to see you.”

“Finally? He wants to see me?” said Crimson, having a thin smile. “I knew he’d change his mind.”

“… If you say so,” replied the Dragon, tilting his head left before beckoning the Vulpera.

“Do you doubt it?” asked Crimson, following along.

The corridors, by now, were a typical sight. The ship itself was torturous, composed of stacked levels that did not meet at a single point. Like you’d have to sometimes walk through the whole ship, width-wise, to access another set of stairs.

Much like now, as they stepped down, going toward the center of the ship, both the most secure place within it and yet the easiest to access from either direction.

But the walk was long, often cut with the presence of Wrathguards and other Demons that were keeping watch on them.

“It’s odd,” commented Crimson.

“What’s odd?”

“The Legion wasn’t dismantled. Why does Xavash keep all those demons around? It’s an army.”

“Master Xavash.”

“Master Xavash, yeah, yeah.”

“Master Xavash is a trader. As such, many can see him with suspicion. Some with greed and the hope to get his riches. This is how I met him.”

“Wait? That’s how you met him?”

The Dragon looked over his shoulder as they stepped into the grand Hall before Xavash’s quarters. Then Scale nodded.

“I was different. Before. But no longer. You should be careful about your ways, too,” said Scale.

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I said. Do you need more explanations?”

“Yeah, I do!” replied Crimson, huffing, forcing his legs to run ahead and be in front of the Dragon. “What do you mean?”

“You should be wary.”

“Wary of what?”

“Of what you desire.”

“Stop speaking in riddles!”

Crimson huffed and stopped, stretching his arms outward as if to stop the Dragon. Alas, the sole result was that Scale grunted and circumvented him. Twice, as Crimson tried it again.

“I need to understand.”

“Get your temper in check, Yip. We are there.”

“My name is Crimson!”

“Not from the Master’s words. You’d better be acquainted with that reality,” said the Dragon, knocking at the double doors.

“Reality. My ass,” grumbled the Vulpera, crossing his arms, listening to the knock… And then feeling the warm air rush to his face, along with the typical scent of burned wood, old parchments, dry ink, and old books. The library was still there, though it looked empty.

“He’s not there? Good,” grumbled the Vulpera, turning heels.

“He is here. In the pleasure room,” said the Dragon.

“The… Pleasure room,” repeated Crimson, raising an eyebrow.

He… didn’t expect the Eredar to have a pleasure room. And the moment he stepped inside it, following Scale, he didn’t expect to see… Such a place inside that ship.

After days of being surrounded by steel, dirt, and muck… The pink and purple stuck to his eyes. Similar to the strange sight that was so many mortals, men and naked, relaxing around.

Only a handful seemed to hail from Azeroth. The others? They could be bipedal, taur-like, or legless. Their expressions differed, if any. And yet, there was that eerie relaxation exuding from all of them.

Stacked pyramids, covered with satin, silk, and fluffy fabrics, formed the beds on which they were enjoying themselves. They drank, they smoked, they played games, they fucked, they laughed.

Even Crimson could feel a smile creep onto his face as he watched the fountain of purple liquid from which they poured themselves drinks. His belly grumbled at the sight of the feasts he saw, despite the wrongness of watching those people throw themselves at it.

Moreover, he noticed that none bore any traces of the Fel. Not even Scale.

All in all, it looked like a hedonistic dream, a fantasy Crimson was watching despite rubbing his eyes.

In a corner, there were even instruments playing while the mortals danced and enjoyed themselves, spending their energy on it… Or by watching something from peering orbs located here and there, huddling around it and commenting in their languages.

Amidst this, Scale and Crimson were like travelers crossing a valley of pleasure. That room was bigger, much bigger than any other room on the ship. And it felt like minutes had passed while walking until they arrived at their destination.

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

Crimson grimaced.

That sight was everything he would have hated to see, and then more.

A canine. Like a Worgen. But it wasn’t Thunder that was on his back, his legs spread, collarless, and his hands close to his chest. Yet, the Eredar’s massive hands stroked the belly fuzz, played with it.

The digits ran along the skin, pressed against it… They dug into the shiny coat, brushing it as the Eredar would do with any dog or pet. And the blue-furred Canine? Oh, he was smiling and huffing. No, he was even hard from getting stroked that way.

His cock, bright red and wide, was dripping precum all over his belly while the Eredar cooed beside him, praising and speaking to him…

“Master,” interrupted Scale with a cough, extending one hand toward Crimson. “He is here.”

“Oh,” said the Eredar, stopping for a moment before a smile appeared on his face. A predatory smile before he patted Canine’s belly.

Canine, who opened his eyes and turned his head to Scale… Before his expression shifted, with a hint of pity as he saw Crimson.

“Claw. You can leave us and play with the others. Be a good pet,” said the Eredar, smiling as he patted the Canine’s face. And… For a second, Crimson saw it.

The joy, the desperation, the craving for attention, the alien gave before he mumbled a yes and stepped away. No, he ran away on all fours toward one of those piles.

Crimson, Xavash, and Scale followed the escape until the Canine disappeared behind one pile of tissues, leaving all three alone in a place that definitely looked eerie.

Strange, frustrating for Crimson as he squinted at it… Tried to make sense of what was surrounding him. There was no way a ship could house such a large space; it was almost like a countryside or a valley by itself.

But then, the Eredar sighed and sat, no longer reclining on his side.

He sat, stretched, shook his wings before he eyed Crimson and leaned forward, bolstering his chin with his palm.

“Yip. I am sure you have made yourself useful on my ship,” said the Eredar, smirking.

Crimson looked at him. Then at the Dragon. Then, at the people who were frolicking around… Fucking, having fun. They were having a good time compared to him. Compared to his situation, as messy and dirty as he was.

“Are you jealous?” whispered the Eredar, advancing a claw to point at Crimson.

“What do you want?” replied the Vulpera, stepping back. “You wanted to see me.”

“Yes. I wanted to know how far you’d gone in your search for an escape plan,” said Xavash, tilting his head.

“So you know about it.”

“Know? I guessed it would happen,” replied the Eredar, shrugging. “I did not attach you to a place or force you to stay with me. I never assigned a guard to you. I gave you all the freedom to search for a potential escape.”

Crimson frowned, gulping. He took another step, but it only seemed to motivate the Eredar to lean further, to advance while keeping that smug smile. That smug attitude.

“Speak your mind and tell me what you found.”

Crimson blinked. He felt it, the tug at his mind. The effect of the compulsion. His mouth opened, but something inside him screamed. And he closed it.

He frowned, then shook his head.

“Oh. Are you already fighting the compulsion? That is quite convenient,” said the Eredar, his eyes drifting to Scale. “Please. Remove it.”

“Remove what? And your portal roo-“ Crimson spoke, before he closed his mouth and used his hands to force his muzzle shut.

“The portals. Ah. That’s what I expected. But do not worry, you will not be able to escape through that one. But you should fear the consequences,” said the Eredar, watching Scale step behind him.

As for Crimson, he had his hands digging into his muzzle.

He wanted to speak so badly, to mouth his opinion, to rage. But at the same time, to push the Dragon away as he grabbed his collar and fiddled with it.

He tried to kick the scaly legs, but it didn’t stop the Dragon, not at all, as Crimson felt the collar drop. And… He felt somehow heavier with it, with pressure on his shoulder, but not only there.

On his shoulder, on his face, on his entire body. A pressure that was coming right from the Eredar as he was still in front of him. His aura was so intense, so strong, it was… Choking the Vulpera.

Crimson gargled, feeling the rope around his neck, but not only. That fear, that horror when the trapdoor fell. He gargled, unable to resist as he tottered. The humiliation, the rotten fruits hitting his body and fur, the cobblestones burning his toes.

He gasped, his mouth released so he could open it, and took sharp but shallow breaths.

One. Two. Three. Yet, he was still feeling crushed; his lungs too empty.

And the Eredar was there, smiling at him. No, even leaning to stroke his chest fur.

“Afraid?” asked Xavash, his voice sultry but with that fish-eating grin.

He observed the Vulpera breathing, coughing, gasping for air, and dropping to his knees while scratching his neck.

“No need to be afraid. Be at rest.”

Crimson’s fear… Vanished.

The feeling of strangulation, the weight on his neck… The pressure. It all vanished. Instead, there was that clarity of mind. No fear, no anger, nothing. No emotions that could overwhelm him. Only a restful peace that had swallowed him whole as he exhaled. And watched the Eredar keeping that grin.

“Was Esthoroth the sole option you considered for your escape?”

The Vulpera nodded, somber: “All other options sounded unlikely.”

“Good,” confirmed the Eredar, snapping at the Dragon. “Come. Be useful.”

Crimson looked over his shoulder, seeing Scale strut forward. He advanced with that joyful gait, so different from his stiff self. And then, the Eredar pulled his loincloth aside.

Right after, a waft of musky and warm air hit Crimson’s face. Similarly, he was struck by the size and the ‘presence’ of the Eredar. By that tool, which was not only impressive on that body but utterly massive. A flared cock that was already slipping out from that red leather sheath.

Green blood throbbed beneath, bulging under the skin and ascending beyond the median ring right to the flare at the end.

A flare, the Dragon approached before he pressed his muzzle against it. And sucked on it, on the urethra, while swallowing the greenish precum that dripped from it. He sucked, he drank, gulped… And soon, the sound of his regular gargling overcame the joyful cries from the ‘pets’ around.

“Now… Back to you,” whispered the Eredar. “Come closer.”

Crimson stepped closer, his body and mind moving at once until he was but a moment away… But a breath away from Xavash.

“Are you still jealous of Nestor?” asked the Eredar, his voice calm.

“I…”

“Speak your mind.”

“I am jealous. He seems to have it easy now.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He looks healthy. It has been weeks. But he looks healthy. Me… I look like…”

“Crap,” confirmed the Eredar, eyeing Crimson. Eyeing those thinner arms and legs, that matted fur, that disgusting outlook. His smell was not horrid, thanks to a few showers, but it was definitely among the worst.

“Would you want to take Nestor’s place? To have it be yours?”

“I want it,” said Crimson. “Even if I am afraid.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes. This place. It sounds too good to be true. I am afraid this is a lie.”

The Eredar’s smile grew as it extended one claw. One finger right on the Vulpera’s forehead. One claw pressed against the fur, the skin. It pierced the latter, enough for a drop of blood to drip from it onto the Vulpera’s forehead. Enough for Crimson to feel that pain sear through his mind.

With that pain. He saw it.

The cloying smell of Fel corrupting the waters. The semen was guzzled down with its rich, musky aroma. The air itself had that wrongness.

Sure enough, the music was there as well as the cries, the joy, the laughter.

But under that varnish, he saw the green Fel under their veins. And their bodies looked as terrible as his. No, worse.

Even Scale had emaciated, Fel-riddled, legs and arms. A pitiful sight now that he was on all fours, chugging the Eredar’s semen.

On all fours, with his legs spread and his glutes stretched enough to reveal something in between. Something the Vulpera would have preferred not to see.

He was no longer calm; he was no longer at peace. And Crimson felt the fingers closing on his muzzle, forcing him to face it.

“Are you still jealous? You could ask to have your place here. Are you not willing? Go on, Scale. Deliver it.”

Yet, the Vulpera watched that thing writhing out of the Dragon’s orifice. It looked like… A slug. Something definitely massive and bloating the Dragon’s guts. Something that kicked and pushed and hit from under the scales while the Dragon moaned and grabbed his belly.

Then, Scale squeezed it, squeezed it as the slug was coming out, slowly, steadily. Along with it came something akin to lube, though it was dense, white with a touch of green, and steamy. A liquid that dripped from the orifice on Scale’s empty scrotum before it landed on the metal floor.

Crimson’s belly churned, feeling nauseous.

Yet, he observed as the Slug’s head passed through. Then, as more of it was forced, the lube was leaking and spraying, even hitting the Vulpera’s feet while the Dragon moaned… And was cumming, his empty cumshot hitting the floor.

“Stay still, Yip,” ordered the Eredar. Xavash enjoyed it, putting one hand on Scale’s posterior and stroking the plushy ass with his thumb.

The orifice was steadily giving out; the muscles being stretched to the limits of what Crimson had been taking. And slowly, that… Slug. That parasite was being pushed out. More than half of its body was out, with the Dragon looking much emptier by now.

Yet, the creature fought to return inside despite the contraction, unwilling to leave its host. Meanwhile, the Vulpera was forced to watch, to see, to admire what he’d been… Jealous of.

As the Eredar was too focused on observing Scale’s ‘birthing’, the Vulpera looked away. He saw a group of ‘pets’ bathing in those Fel-riddled waters, relaxing in it despite the Fel creeping over their flesh.

Whenever they stepped out, he saw their bellies bulging… Or the liquid dripping behind them. Something that was familiar, somehow.

He was certain he had seen it before, but he wasn’t sure where.

“Come now. Do not miss the spectacle,” purred the Eredar, grabbing Crimson’s muzzle and forcing him to see the last moment. To observe Scale crying and huffing. The Dragon pushed out that parasite… And it wiggled on the ground.

“I can feel your disgust, Yip. You are no longer jealous of it. And… Perhaps you are curious if Scale is free without it?”

Xavash chuckled, patting the Dragon’s posterior to force it to face the Vulpera. Forcing both to face each other.

Scale’s eyes were green, entirely green like the Eredar’s. And he had that blissful smile, with his lower jaw dropping stupidly. He had cum all over his face, but he wasn’t even licking it. No, the Dragon was almost despondent before the Eredar guided it to his cock once more.

“You regret thinking you were worse than them. You are afraid now. You don't want to end up like Scale, do you? And… You are afraid to see what happened to Nestor. You do not want to see what happened to him. Let’s call him, shall we?”

“Don’t!” Crimson shouted with a hiss, with a snarl.

He could see that creature wiggling, then stopping and relaxing. It didn’t have any face, not even a mouth. From one side to the other, it was indiscernible.

It was only a slug on both ends, the white scales veined with Fel. And the disgust Crimson felt didn’t end there. Not as he could see the Dragon shivering and trembling, the stretched orifice winking back at the Vulpera while spurting on the ground…

All egged on by the Eredar, by the fingers he inserted into that slurping hole, squeezing and playing with it.

Of course, Crimson gulped and almost felt it happen in his face. But worse were the sounds coming from the Dragon, gargles mixed with pathetic huffing and moans. A cacophony that could make anyone recoil… The Vulpera included.

“Are you giving me orders, Yip?” asked the Eredar, cocking an eyebrow.

The tone was amused and gentle. But the suave tone, the picked words. It was a threat.

“No- I-“

“Come,” said the Eredar, beckoning Crimson.

The Vulpera gulped, but his legs moved. His feet stomped on the green puddle to approach, eyeing the Eredar above. Before the green eyes guided him. They guided him to the Dragon, to watch that gaping orifice. And to feel the heat coming from within, to feel that air rush against his belly as he gulped and looked at the Eredar.

“What…”

“Use your hands.”

The compulsion was intense enough for Crimson’s hand to land on that scaly posterior. He ought to ignore it, but he couldn’t.

Underneath his fingers, the flesh was muscular and strong. The orifice itself was sultry, tempting, with the rim utterly stretched and gaping. It practically beckoned him, too. It practically begged him to insert a single finger.

The warm insides, the sultry walls, made him insert two more fingers.

No resistance, no cries, no fight. The Dragon kept gulping down the Eredar’s fluids, sucking on that flared cock while Xavash watched and… Whistled.

The Vulpera’s ears listened to the tone before they dropped. His eyes returned to that entrance, to the sultry asshole he was almost fisting. One more finger and he’d have his entire fist suckled by the orifice, entirely inserted within Scale.

And then what… What was it? He could feel the burn from the Fel-riddled liquid coating his hand, and yet…

“What… What do you want?”

“Make you feel it,” said Xavash, one hand stroking his chin. “Feel it. The Fel. The energy. This is what you have been jealous of. A ruined body, beyond what fellow mortals have treated you.”

“You…” Crimson gulped and closed his eyes, closed his fist, and inserted it within Scale. The orifice didn’t resist. It suckled on the fist, swallowed it with that disgusting suction.

It was… Overwhelming.

So overwhelming to feel it rather than to receive it this time. He wasn’t the victim. He wasn’t the pet. He wasn’t the abused prisoner. But as he pushed his fist deeper, egged on by the Eredar, it didn’t… Appease him.

No. The Vulpera grimaced. He gargled. He swallowed his saliva.

Then, he tried to yank his hand.

“This needs to stop.”

“Continue.”

The Vulpera’s fist inserted deeper, his wrist already gone inside the Dragon’s depths. Beneath that flailing tail, while the Dragon’s moans grew more intense and, again, he shot blank on the ground.

Something that was clean, odorless, impotent.

“Can you feel it? That small organ under your fingers. Go on, touch it,” egged on the Eredar, grinning from ear to ear as Crimson brushed that walnut-sized spot. A gland. Something that had been thoroughly abused. Thoroughly played, pushed, and teased.

Crimson widened his stance, then dropped to his knees as his hand went further… He was going with his entire forearm, deciding to ignore that prostate.

The hole kept squeezing and sucking, spraying that fluid on the Vulpera’s fur. But nothing more. The Dragon was fully clean, thoroughly… Yet, Crimson kept grimacing when the liquid coated his arm. And at the idea of the Dragon taking most of the forearm in.

“You can be rougher, Yip. After all, Scale took my shaft in,” said the Eredar, snapping his finger and making Scale stop. “Him… And all the others.”

“Even… Thunder?”

“Even Nestor,” confirmed the Eredar, pointing with his chin behind the Vulpera.

He could see it, could see him.

There was a crowd now, of all those people, those servants. They had those green eyes, with veins going around them as if the Fel had consumed them. The same for the Fel rushing along their limbs, along their bodies.

They… Were comparable to zombies in Crimson’s eyes. They looked drained, yet filled with fluids and by those slugs inside.

And among them, Thunder.

He wasn’t at the front or the middle, but on the side.

The Worgen, too, had that swollen belly, though he looked less drained. His muscles were still there, and his eyes remained sharp, though touches of green were creeping in.

Fel ran along his groin underneath the fur, going right to his cock. To his cock barely out of the sheath. And below… Just like a cut pouch dangled the Worgen’s empty scrotum. Emptied.

“He-“

“He is a good neutered pet. They all are,” confirmed the Eredar, smirking, raising his hands toward the crowd that watched with no comment. Their breaths were almost silent compared to the Vulpera’s aching breath. “They all welcomed it in the end. Their roles for us. We can feed off them. But not… The most precious.”

“The most… precious?” blinked Crimson, eyeing the Eredar.

“Those we do not consume. Those who walk among us. They are the true collection,” said Xavash, grinning as he snapped a finger and one of the Fel-consumed approached, holding something behind him.

“I-“

“Yes. You understand now. Your jealousy? Your… Desires?” asked Xavash, his hand lowering to reach for the Vulpera’s cheeks, stroking them. “Even if you are already offered one of the most precious roles here.”

Crimson gulped, now watching the Eredar in the eyes and sensing something else. Jubilation. Sadism. Utter satisfaction as Crimson’s tremors grew.

“This is… Fucked up,” mumbled Crimson.

“It is,” snapped the Eredar.

Something closed around the Vulpera’s neck. A rope, a linen rope that closed on it, pressing on his skin much like before.

He felt it digging against the fur, pressing into it. And so followed a gasp from the Vulpera, a sharp inhalation as his heart thumped faster in his chest.

“No- No! Ghl!” he shouted and then gargled when he was yanked away from the Dragon’s orifice.

With that violent pull, he almost yanked the sphincter out. However, the result was for the Dragon to moan and again shoot while the Vulpera was dragged back.

Crimson cried, kicked, and lifted dust as he tried to free himself. As he tried to bite one of those tendril-like arms holding him.

“Thun-hr! He-help!” cried the Vulpera, wedging his fingers under the rope to give himself some room to breathe. But it wouldn’t end here. Not as hands grabbed the Vulpera while the rope was tightened around his neck, but not… Crushing his windpipe entirely.

Yet, his breathing was ragged. His lips were becoming darker as he watched around.

The Eredar whistled, and they followed the orders. Xavash reclined on the side while many approached with oil to rub his body and massage it. Some even climbed on top of him.

In a thunk, something was planted in the ground nearby. Twice.

But the Vulpera continued to kick and push, watching Scale go before the Eredar’s half-hard cock and, on all fours, present his orifice.

Yet…

The Vulpera’s face was yanked, and he was forced to watch behind him. To look as if the rope was attached to a pole behind him. Right… In front of a Worgen on all fours.

And finally, as if to complete the humiliation…

Someone yanked the Vulpera’s testicles, grabbed them, and squeezed them. And then tied them at the base. Tied them before forming a knot, passing the rope in a loop attached to another pole, forming another knot before dropping the rope dropped behind.

It was absurd. It was tedious. It was all to bind.

Crimson’s choking mind tried to grasp at it; it looked like a game of chicken. And yet, not.

If Crimson moved away, he’d have the rope tightening around his neck.

If Crimson didn’t, Thunder could approach. Likewise, the ropes around his nuts made it so Crimson couldn’t circumvent the Worgen. It was but a play, rough, old… And worse, the Eredar could have done something more sophisticated.

But Xavash wanted it.

His eyes were drawn to Crimson’s body, observing the shivering Vulpera as the rope dug into his neck, pressed against it, and slowly strangled him.

Even gulping made his Adam’s apple bobble and press against it, making the Vulpera wince.

Finally, Crimson was released.

Arms. Legs. But not the rope as he watched around… And then looked at the Eredar.

“What was this?!”

“An offer for you. Which of the two deserves to be here?”

Crimson gulped and heard the moans behind him. He heard the Worgen’s growl. And then… That presence. The suction. The sound of something slimy being pushed out. Something the Vulpera wanted to avoid, as he instinctively pulled on the rope. And stopped when the rope dug into his flesh.

“Isn’t it what you desired?”

Below the Eredar, the Dragon was moaning. His belly bulged obscenely, filled with the shaft that was pushing inside it. As impossible as it was, Scale took that cock. Xavash was all grins while stroking the Dragon’s back with an index finger, like a pet. He even scratched between the ears…

And his many ‘servants’ were all rubbing his body, stroking it, oiling him up.

“Come on, Nestor. Push it out faster,” said Xavash.

Right after, the Worgen yelped, and the suction sound grew faster. Same as the contraction.

That Slug, that larva, was steadily pushed out like the others. And the Vulpera eyed it, his eyes bloodshot and watering.

“Don’t. Don’t do that, Thunder.”

Alas, the Worgen’s muzzle pointed up, and his ears dropped. He howled while the green goo dripped out before the Slug’s ugly head was out. Same as half of its body sticking out.

Certainly, Crimson retched or wanted to. But retching meant forcing on the rope, crushing his throat. Nothing came out but saliva.

“Now, now. It’s not the time to be disgusting, Yip. You can choose. Face your death. Or receive Thunder’s place. I am sure you’d rather take the second option.”

Crimson’s eyes were bloodshot and turned toward Xavash, seeing him, seeing that disgusting, ugly grin. He observed how satisfied the monster looked. And how he seemed to desire more abuse. More humiliation, more destruction of the Vulpera’s body.

Crimson’s eyes watered before he felt something slimy press against his posterior.

He yelped, he cried, he shouted as much as his body could.

That slug had outstretched its body and brushed the Vulpera’s crimson posterior, making him feel that clammy touch.

“G-Get it away,” he gargled, reaching for his neck to tug at it, to remove it. He had kept his claws sharp for his escape, so he tried to use them to cut through the rope. To cut through the fabric as he heaved and took another step forward.

“Fu-Fuck this,” he gargled, hearing the Worgen grunt and crawl closer.

Again, that touch. That clammy touch that made the Vulpera try to step to the left, solely to feel how that Slug’s head was following his movement. It didn’t have eyes, but it wasn’t entirely blind.

It followed the Vulpera, followed him until Crimson practically felt the rope around his nuts being pulled. No, one slave tugged on it. The Vulpera had to stop crawling or...

“Stop! Stop this!” he shouted before he tried something else. To face… To face Thunder’s posterior, and to sit.

It allowed him to use both hands and to pull on the rope, trying to loosen it around his neck. A quick thinking that was rewarded… By the presence of that slug reaching for Crimson’s face, poking his cheeks.

Of course, the Vulpera recoiled and scooted back, but it earned him a clicking tongue.

Xavash had been watching this all the time while entertaining Scale. Scale, who was impaled on the Eredar’s dick, the orifice tight around that massive cock. The Dragon was practically crushed from inside, his body shaped like a barrel. But Xavash seemed rather negative.

He frowned, grimaced… And then, he snapped.

“Be a good boy, Yip. And follow the rules. No more walking around.”

Crimson’s mind became hazy again. He heard the grunt and watched as Thunder moved away for a moment.

The Vulpera went back on all fours. And more ropes, more poles, were brought. Until the Vulpera's limbs were pulled in different directions until he couldn’t step away in one direction without having one leg or one wrist yanked back by a tied rope.

Sitting would be impossible; he couldn’t escape this time. He was not even allowed to grab the rope around his neck, as any of the Fel-riddled pets could yank on the rope.

A play. A toying. A moment of utter torture Crimson had to endure as he watched Xavash wave back at him before he stroked the Dragon’s back.

Playing. It was all a play. The Vulpera lowered his head before feeling that clammy touch.

Touch that forced him to advance, to pull, to feel that rope tighten around his neck. To close, to make him… Feel it.

_The moment when the crowd watched him with smiles.

The moment when the rope closed on his neck without snapping it, without killing him on the instant.

He dangled, kicked, gargled while his saliva foamed. His eyes were bloodshot, his vision going dark so fast.

But he’d seen them. Two faces, one with a horn. The other with green eyes.

He'd seen them chuckle and smirk before-_

“AH!” Crimson cried, feeling that head press against his entrance, his back entrance.

His reaction was to clench, but after the abuse he’d received, he… Couldn’t close it as much. At best, it was weak resistance, merely slowing the creature's advance. From digging inside him.

“Are you so afraid of a life of pleasure?” asked the Eredar.

His voice was suave, calm. And cloyingly teasing. Meanwhile, the Vulpera felt that head against his back entrance, squeezing the muscles, testing them.

He wanted to cry, but the sound that came out was more like a whistle. And his breathing was so ragged. His head dropped, so heavy.

Yet, he felt so light-headed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t act normally.

His fingertips were numb. His toes were numb. He was definitely feeling numb and in pain.

His lungs were on fire, burning and aching, and his abdominal muscles hurt. They hurt as they tried to eke out a proper breath.

But the result was that his diaphragm contracted and released in spasms. Hurtful spasms.

“S-Stop,” he tried to whisper, the sound so raw.

Even speaking was hurting, his throat getting crushed by the rope as he clawed forward.

As he… Tried to yank that creature’s head away.

But it was relentless. It was as ruthless as Xavash’s abuse. As the constant torment had been their lives since their capture. Sent to prison to be raped. Then ‘trained’, then abused, then… Almost killed.

And now?

Crimson was… Feeling himself slipping.

He was running on empty, his breathing but that faint trickle of air. Not enough to think, not enough to act. His asshole opened up, and he could sense that slimy thing inside him.

He felt it, through the haze, like a clammy and icy touch spreading inside him. So icy, so cold, it was burning in return.

Like frostbites. An impossible sensation, surrounded by the Fel, by the fire, by the torment.

By the chuckles.

“You’re almost ready for the parasite,” said Xavash, barely heeding the Dragon’s moans and cries. Scale was begging for something, crying his love for the Eredar.

Xavash didn't care one bit. He chuckled and laughed. And smacked. The sound of smacks echoed through that place, enough to be heard and understood by Crimson’s strangulated mind.

Then… As the rope tightened again; the Vulpera slipped, his limbs betraying him, he… Looked around.

The Fel-riddled grunts were there, stroking their limp cocks. They were all neutered, all ‘fixed’. Yet, they were erect. Their cocks were pointing at him while they came at different moments, all their fluids similarly watery and cold… And sterile. And not even sticky.

It sprayed all over the Vulpera like rain while he teared up and sensed that Slug dug deeper inside him, forcing its way through.

Thunder howled, too. He was howling in the distance. Perhaps he came too.

But that sound was erased by the inner echoes that were Crimson’s body giving out. To the pressure assaulting his guts. To… The overwhelming torture that was his life.

And… Then. He advanced one hand and planted it on the ground.

His limbs screamed in agony. His body was on fire. His lungs were empty, and his world began to whirl from the lack of air. But he clawed… And dragged himself further, his mouth opening in an empty sound as the slug slipped out of his orifice.

Finally, when the Vulpera planted another claw, his hands and arms dropped limp. He was foaming, his eyes entirely bloodshot.

His jaw dropped, unable to close. His snarl, his grimace, were gone.

His limbs twitched under him, but… the Slug was retreating. Retreating to the echo of applause.

Common applause from Xavash and all his grunts. All those slaves looking down at Crimson.

They all grinned, alongside their master.

-

The tongue was powerful, massive, overwhelming.

It forced through the lips, pried the jaw open, and forced its way down. Down until there was no other option but to swallow it while one finger went inside.

It was bigger than most dicks. Bigger than a Tauren’s. And yet, inside, it felt pleasant. Oddly pleasant as Nestor swallowed the mix of saliva mixed with Fel.

It burned a little. But his ears stood down as he was chugging it down and smiling… Right before the Eredar played with his tiny entrance.

With his orifice.

With his tiny prostate that always buzzed whenever the Eredar poked at it. Master Xavash made him feel good. Extremely good. So good, he didn’t know why he hadn’t tried to find him yet.

Soon, the Worgen’s sheathed cock shot, the white jet landing on the pink and purple floor.

He sighed deeply, his chest lifting and dropping while the Eredar continued to rub and circle the prostate. He poked it, played with it… And once the Worgen’s ears dropped and his shot weakened, the finger popped out.

Then, Nestor sighed, his mouth liberated while his asshole, his ‘cunt’, burned from the remnants of the sensation. The remnant of the penetration that made him… Ache for more.

“Thank… Thank you, Master Xavash,” moaned the Worgen.

“Always a pleasure with my pets,” said the Eredar, scratching the Worgen’s chest before he patted it. “Now. Have fun.”

The Worgen smiled, suddenly getting to his feet. Well, he wobbled and almost dropped because he was clumsy. But then, he stood up and turned to the smiling Eredar, who waved him off.

The Worgen walked away, his nose up as he sniffed the nearest buffet. The scent of chicken and tomato sauce with hints of pepper bells and citrus tickled his nose. He didn’t resist it, barfing and clawing at the chicken to stuff his mouth.

The flavor was so intense, the sauce so pleasing, that he took a handful and poured it into his open mouth like an addict. He wouldn’t want anything else as he smiled, as he sighed, as he closed his eyes.

“Nestor! You coming?”

The Worgen’s ears stood up, and he turned, looking at the others. Their names eluded him. But he knew them. Their roundish, furry faces were familiar, and he nodded as he followed them, but not without wiping his mouth with his hands and licking them.

He followed them to one of those steamy baths that relaxed his body, happy as the warm water stroked his fur, burning away all the dirt… And the worries he had.

“Oh… So good. I love it,” said the Worgen. He loved warm baths, which is why he was taking them so regularly, almost thrice per day. Baths ought to be as pleasant.

“Hey. Master will receive new guests soon.”

“We’ll get new friends?” he asked, his ears standing up in anticipation.

“Yes! We will have new friends joining us! We will have to teach them to play bowling!”

“And how to take bets!”

“And what to eat is best!” added Nestor, his index up, laughing.

They all laughed, their faces relaxed.

-

“He’s getting used to this. I’m sure he’s listening.”

Stomps went away, but he clenched his eyelids. He didn’t know why. But he wanted to, wanted not to see what was around. His jaw clenched as he listened to the slithering around.

His mind raced with something, with… A feeling. A sensation of something missing.

And he opened his eyes, watching the Naga’s face.

His eyes were as intense as before, with ire and frustration. A gaze that pierced through the Vulpera as he asked with a hoarse voice: “I get out?”

“Out,” confirmed the Naga, pointing to the door.

Crimson sat on the bed’s edge and then jumped down. He limped; his posterior ached, though he didn’t know why.

Still, he reached for his neck: no burn or missing fur.

“What happened?” he asked.

The Naga shrugged, pointing at the door again and leaving no choice but for the Vulpera to leave the infirmary.

Still, he examined himself.

No… Piercing scars. No trace of sutures. No signs of broken bones.

He frowned, trying to pierce through the gaze as once more he went through the door. It wasn’t the second time. Nor the third.

But it was becoming easier to ignore the pain and the nagging feeling as he was led back to the pit where his meal awaited.

“Akashuc,” said the Ogre, holding a bowl.

“Thanks,” nodded Crimson, swallowing as he watched the Wrathguards still eyeing him, still watching his ilk.

Then, after he gulped the cum down, Crimson stood up.

His legs wobbled under him, and his posterior ached from the steps. But he climbed out of the pits and was welcomed by a grinning Wrathguard.

He frownedn but was grabbed by the scruff. The first task was to clean the Kitchen.

Without surprise, the Toque-wearing Wyrmtongue shouted at him.

It shouted, pointing fingers at the Vulpera and then at the many piles of dirty dishes, at the muck, at the tasks he wanted done. And Crimson followed, his ears low.

With the same dirty towel, he cleaned until the dissatisfied Wyrmtongue told him off.

“Out! Out! Out!” cried the Chief, repeated by the others. And their voice, the cacophony, chased the Vulpera out before another Wrathguard grabbed him by the scruff.

Another task. Another duty.

Engines. Checking the door locks. Dusting off the main hall to Xavash’s quarters.

The latter was the most mundane. He had to wield an oversized broom to dust the immense Hall. Whether it was the runner or the pillars around. His body ached, and he certainly felt the hunger gnawing at his belly.

Worse, he could feel the frustration as he glanced at the towering double doors. It was… A monster of steel and wood, something he watched with a mix of envy and jealousy.

“Thunder. You lucky bastard,” grumbled the Vulpera, going back to the broom he wielded, trying to form a neat pile before he heard distant steps.

Already, the Vulpera was getting ready for the reaming he’d get from the Watcher on cleaning duty.

But… He heard something else.

“Where are we? Are we dead?”

The Vulpera’s ears straightened as he looked left and right. He was in one corner of the room, and there were only two potential ways to enter the Hall: through the door to Xavash’s room. Or from where the voices came.

His heart thumped as he looked around and then propped the broom behind a pillar and hid behind another.

It was the first time he could watch an arrival. They were rare, those days.

He gulped and observed the two individuals fighting with their collars. One was a taur, with a body covered in scales. The second, smaller, was akin to a dwarf, but with a baby face.

“You are not dead. Master Xavash is generous, and he saved your life,” said one voice. Scale.

The blue-gray Dragon had that calm demeanor, his hands behind his back.

He looked relatively clean, naked, his pendulous genitals swaying. Meanwhile, the newcomers kept asking questions.

‘Who’s Xavash?’ ‘I only have one lord!’ ‘Someone is waiting for us’.

All questions were deflected by the Dragon’s answers. Dragon who looked away from the newcomers for a second. His eyes turned to Crimson, making the Vulpera recoil and hide further behind the pillars, only listening to their muffled steps on the runner until Scale knocked at the double door.

One, twice, thrice. Same for him, and then… The door opened, and the waft of sweet aroma, of burned wood, of dry ink, titillated the Vulpera’s nose.

For a moment, the light from the Library rushed into the hall, lessening the Fel green and tempting the Vulpera.

He gulped, clenching his fist close to his chest.

Envy… Jealousy. They all rushed as he ran ahead, and he dashed to the double doors.

They were closing closing on the trio.

He was close, so darn close, and-

_The rope tightened around his neck.

It crushed his throat. His vision was going dark. As much as he tried to open his mouth wider and inhale. He couldn’t. He was choking. He was strangled. His feet kicked the air, but he couldn’t find ground.

Green. Green surrounded him, and then… There was the smile.

The empty green gaze of a familiar face._

Crimson recoiled.

He gasped, holding his throat for a second. But there were no marks, no signs he’d been strangled.

He looked at the door, eyeing the massive doorknockers. He raised his hand. He could call, knock until it would open. He could enter and finally get what Thunder received instead of him.

It had been so long since he saw his partner, but he sure was having the sweetest life there.

Still. The Vulpera’s ears dropped, and he fetched the broom.

It was not easy; wielding it made the Vulpera’s body ache and burn. But he was used to it. To sweep in front of the door leading to Master Xavash’s quarters.

A mere pet. A mere slave. And nothing more.