This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
All characters in all of my stories are over eighteen and legal adults in all sexual situations.
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Slaves and Studs
Part Two
Continued from part one.
The private show, of course, took place at the same facility but on the very top floor where there was no one to overlook them through the windows that spanned the entire length of two walls, the room large and rectangular. A bar was present but those attending were often too distracted to drink, a long staging area flanking one wall that was not taken up by mirrors. Everything about the area oozed elegance and opulence and it was clear that there was no shortage of money in the slaver's facility, his earnings going back into it to show off just how high up he considered himself to be in the world. When it came to The Engineer, of course, Boglan had a very different opinion about the snickering hyena who just about always seemed to be on the edge of rubbing his paws together with glee.
The main stage was a circular ensemble placed in the very centre of the room, surrounded by tables as if it was a much tamer sort of show to be enjoyed while partaking in dinner. There was no dinner or food of that kind to be had, however, and Boglan surveyed it all with a canny eye, noting just where The Engineer had skimped on the quality of the tablecloths, some too short for the tables that they were covering, although the extra space near the floor and the legs of the tables would only be noticed by those who were truly discerning.
He's sloppy.
Nothing that Boglan did or thought came without an air of certainty, knowing exactly where he was and what he was doing, and it was that that had sent him up so high in the world, his knowledge sometimes playing second fiddle. Yet he doubted that anyone else would care about such a small detail as tablecloths. Pressing his lips together, though not making a harder line with them, the boar exhaled quietly. To him, detail was everything.
He'd had his house slaves prepare Marcus for the event and he was led in behind Boglan on the end of a polished, well-oiled leather leash. The subtle display of wealth, again, was evident in the stitching and the high-quality of the hide, the clip on the end silver where it attached to the O-ring of the bull's collar. His collar that time, however, was a chunky leather almost as large as a posture collar, allowing him a very small amount of freedom and flexibility while still reminding him just who he was. A slave did not own anything he wore and even the leather harness slipped around his torso and down to the bull's midsection belonged to his master, showing off the goods rather than allowing Marcus to have any agency at all in his attire or manner of dress.
Boglan could have grown to see Marcus as another fur but, alas, that was not the way of him. As he had always been excellent at separating his personal life from work, he was just as good at separating another anthro from a slave, the two of them far from equal. That was the way of it and it was hardly a status quo that the wealthy boar had any interest at all in changing when it was something that, already in his life, had served him so very well.
That was not the end of the bull's appearance, however, as he shifted his weight comfortably back onto the rear side of his cloven hooves, lips ever so slightly parted. His tail hung loosely, tufted with a little red hair, though it was the definition of his muscles that truly stood out under the harness, gleaming with a touch of oil that had been painted on strategically by other household slaves before he had been led from his master's home. No one would be able to tell that he was anything other than perfectly natural, though the low, tasteful light of the private gallery did wonders for showing him off from his very best angles too. If he'd been a vainer sort, he would have puffed up his chest proudly to know that but, right then and there, all he could do was keep one eye on his master, looking out for the next order to come. Obedience, after all, was all that he had going for him.
"Sir, if you would come this way."
A staff member dressed as a waiter, though he was surely better paid than such, bowed and led Boglan and Marcus to a table with an excellent view of the main stage and the side-staging area, which was destined to be populated very soon. There was only one seat there and Boglan took it as Marcus waited, watching for the signal.
There. The boar's eyes dropped and Marcus obediently folded his knees, dropping to the ground by his side as he exhaled softly. He'd caught the cue at just the right moment and his master smiled minutely, though it was enough for Marcus to know that he'd done just the right thing. It was a small sense of pride and, of course, achievement too for him to come so far in his training but some part of him still hoped against hope that his master would never tire of him. He knew that there were worse lives out there for a slave and his was not all that bad.
Boglan's paw idly dropped to the bull's cock, his seat allowing him easy reach as Marcus shuffled in closer, submitting to his master as he had done for so long already. Nothing could have seemed more natural as other masters and buyers entered, some with their own slaves too, although there were none there that were as good as his. Boglan smirked to himself, letting an alcoholic beverage wet the back of his throat and harden his nerve, the night only just beginning as he looked over the gathered slaves on the staging area down the length of one wall.
They didn't all have to be in bondage but the accumulation of leather and latex and rope certainly tickled his fancy as he sat there partaking in top-shelf vodka, anything that was hard to come by and to his taste. If a drink didn't suit him, he merely set it aside for the wait-staff while he enjoyed the slaves, the view something too to be drunk in and slowly savoured.
They may not have all been to his taste, of course, but they were something indeed and something to enjoy. Ten of them, to begin, were lined up, although some were carried in or wheeled in on flat-bed trolleys, already bound for the enjoyment of the guests. An okapi's daring stripes stood out from the crowd of them and he took the middle position on the stage, hog-tied with his arms and legs tugged up as if to meet in the centre of his back, although he was not quite that flexible. His cock had been tucked down and away, considering his position, and one could have even considered that the slaver had been considerate in locking up his shaft in a chastity cage. It surely would not remain but that was for those conducting the show to decide.
That wasn't in line with Boglan's inclinations, however, and Marcus immediately picked out the one slave over there that would have been of the most interest to him, if not for the dragon that was still to come. He was a hunk of a zebra that claimed attention even though he was on his knees, forced to sit back on a dildo with a chain connecting the manacles around his wrists to an O-ring in his stage. He could pull away, a little, but would be forced over the course of the display and the night to sit down on it more and more, groaning softly in the back of his throat, although Marcus' ears were sensitive enough to catch it.
Sweat gleamed on his hide as he was forced to take it, a brutal length of toy driving up under his tail, a passing staff member slapping his arse lewdly, though that only made him contract around it, a rippling pulse. The zebra's breath caught as if he could not breathe, if only for a moment, and he tried with all his might to pull away, the chain shortening a notch as the wicked ring that it was attached to cranked back into the stage. Down and down, it drew him, forcing his back into a seductive arch, though there was so much more to be had as he sweated heavily, his hide gleaming, begging the attention of wanton paws.
Waiting outside, Shane was privy to none of that, the lead-up to the main event building the crowd's lust for what was to come. Yet he was there and he pushed back against the pressure on his mind, leaning into it, growling softly, though the staff member holding his leash did not take him seriously. The dragon was nearly broken anyway. What did he have to worry about there? Shane grunted, straining and fighting, his mind swirling with emotions unlike anything that he had ever taken on before. But his time as a slave had rendered him such that memories no longer came so easily, his mind but a fog, whimpering as he tried to push back against it. His tail ached and throbbed to pull down, to cover his tail hole, but he should have well enough learned that resistance was futile as sweat poured from his hide, making him look quite as if he was oiled up, slick and ready for action, a slave in the prime of his life.
The dragon shuddered bodily. No... No, he couldn't push back anymore. Where was he again? It didn't seem right, it didn't seem real, tail shaking against the restraints, pushing and pulling, though all he did was sink down and down and down onto that huge dildo, stretching him open. With eyes on him that he could not see, blinking through streams of sweat, his musk hanging about him, all Shane could do was groan and pray for it all to be over soon.
Marcus strained to see but it was just about visible in the low light that a placard had been placed before each slave on the side-stage to denote their best features. Of course, cock size was the first on each list, which was one of the things that those looking for pleasure slaves were the most interested in. They could be changed, of course, if a master liked the rest of a slave but not his cock, but that was a procedure in itself and something that most avoided taking on due to the recovery time involved. Better to find a product on show that best suited their needs right from the get-go.
A hyena on the end must have particularly set The Engineer on edge, although he was smaller and slighter with a black Mohawk that seemed to have been styled into a sort of crest, a black latex jockstrap giving him a more athletic air even though it was fetish that rang through most strongly.
"Gentlefurs, do I have a show for you tonight!"
The Engineer approached the main stage, flanked by two horses that could have been brothers or could have merely have had their coats dyed to match. A pure black with thick feather around their fetlocks, long, flowing manes and tails and, finally, a white blaze on each of their muzzles, they were near enough identical but for their collars, which were heavy, fine-quality metal set with precious jewels. They could have been better suited to a lady's slave but there was something about seeing slaves dressed up in a master's finery too that stirred the loins of many a prospective buyer. Despite his attitude, The Engineer knew his job well and how to put on a show.
He grinned, spreading his arms wide, his slaves instantly dropping to their knees on the stage without even an order coming from his lips. So in-tune were they that The Engineer had to acknowledge it, lest he appear out of place to the gathered crowd of clients, eyeing up the closest of the two slaves as if he had actually managed to surprise him.
"Good boys."
The praise came with a harsh snap to it, although perhaps the words could have been softened if coming from the lips of a master that did not simply see them as commodities passing through his establishment. He had to be distant from them but they were lesser than the hyena too, kneeling with their heads lowered, obedient to a fault and putting some of his very best conditioning work on full display.
