Farewell Man -

"We'll find you," Morgan promised.

A moment later Morgan was called away to the table, leaving Kei and Chris standing with the rest of the tribal men. Kei fidgeted, trying to keep from making any sort of noises or movements that would attract the attention of the guards again, but unable to keep himself from shifting and twitching. Chris seemed relatively unbothered, but he had also been the kind of person who would suffer in silence for as long as Kei had known him. The dark-skinned Futa who seemed to be the leader of this expedition had taken a special sort of shine to Morgan, but neither Kei or Chris seemed so lucky.

One of the Futas grabbed him and forced him along to the desk. The Futa behind it gave a questioning look. She made a gesture Kei couldn't see and the dark-skinned Futa shrugged before making an indecipherable note on her paper. He was forced into the next room, more because he couldn't force his legs to work than because he wanted to resist. The next room along was a communal shower, complete with lockers on the other end, some open and some locked, some smashed or warped in a way that suggested the way the women went about unlocking things was much more of a brute force approach.

"Cute one," An olive-skinned Futa wearing a skirt, an unbuttoned police shirt, a pair of sunglasses, and nothing else was sitting with her arms crossed and gave a jerk of her chin toward Kei. "Free-use pens?"

"If he makes it through the market," The Futa pushing him along grunted as she brought Kei up against one of the walls of the shower.

"So no, then," The sitting Futa spat on the floor.

"Maybe you'll be lucky this time," Kei's handler stepped back. They were both looking at him in a way that could only be described as predatory. It made him squirm.

"Considering I got the same type as Amber and her bitch daughter?" The officer laughed harshly, "You think if we rough him up a little she'll ignore him?"

"Not sure how much roughing up this one could take, he looks fragile." The handler groped herself lewdly when she saw Kei was watching, waving her oversized cock at him. "Might be fun, if you don't mind getting into trouble for it."

"We've got the whole night ahead of us," The officer stood up, but instead of going for Kei she headed for the open door across the showers. "Assuming the rookie doesn't make us work late."

As she was about to poke her head out, another giant Futa nearly rammed into her. Carrying a bucket of water and wearing something just shy of a hazmat suit, she was red in the face, though it looked more like anger than exertion. The skirted Futa gave her a look of anger.

"Fuckin A, why are we slowing down?" She pushed up her sunglasses and sat back down.

"I want my break," The hazmat set the bucket down next to Kei. "It's hot, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and this shit sucks."

"We're almost done, take it now and you're going to cut into dinner." The handler gave a look that suggested she didn't like the hazmat much either.

"Royal. Fucking. We." The hazmat mumbled under her breath and picked up the sudsy rag hanging out of the bucket.

Kei was cleaned, and in the process what limited body hair he had was stripped by the strokes of the sudsy rag. Then as the hazmat-wearing Futa walked back out of the open door he was locked into a chastity cage. Both the glasses-wearer and the handler seemed to take their time putting it on him, giving his body more than a few accidental brushes with their hands or their members. He was all but certain they were going to get bolder, but eventually they forced him along into the next chamber, where he was handed off. They left him with another Futa, this one in a slightly more proper and covering police uniform, though her cock still swung out of the bottom of her skirt. As she was taking him away, the other two leaned in and whispered to her conspiratorially. Kei could make out them asking what number cell he would be kept in.

He couldn't hear what she responded, but the uniformed Futa then led him to a cell down one of the wings. A few moments later another Futa came along to tattoo him, and he let himself be marked on the stomach and the back without any resistance. She went to the cell across from him after, where the man inside seemed to struggle and fight it. It only seemed to amuse her, and she overpowered him with the same ease as a parent manhandling their child. Then when she was done and had moved on, Kei caught sight of the man in the other cell.

"Kei!"

Chris was trying to find a comfortable way to situate himself, his tattoos noticeably more smeared and smudged than Kei's. He had also been completely stripped of his body hair (which for Chris actually represented a noticeable change) and slipped into a chastity cage. He scowled at Kei perfunctorily, but seemed glad to see him.

"Did you see where they took Morgan?" Chris hissed through the bars, having settled into an almost meditative pose on the floor.

"No, I think one of... them thought he was special." Kei whispered.

"They'll have that in common, at least." Chris sighed.

"I heard them say something about a market..." Kei leaned forward, "Like they intend to auction us off."

"Yeah, and if nobody is buying, the 'free-use pens' they said." Chris tried to play it cool.

"What do we do?"

"Depends on which one you think will be easier to escape from. Try your best to get sold, I guess."

One of the Futa workers had come along to feed them, and she hit her nightstick against the bars to quiet them down. They waited until she was out of sight, then Kei went to start eating. He looked up first and saw Chris picking at the food suspiciously.

"You don't think they put something in it, do you?" Kei asked nervously.

"Probably not," Chris still didn't seem to be eating, "They'll probably try to drug us before the auction, but they'll want us healthy until then."

"They wouldn't hold an auction at night, would they?"

"You're the scientist, take a bite and find out."

Kei was hungry enough that he was willing to risk it. The time to escape wouldn't be during the auction anyway. He took a few cautious bites. It tasted bad, obviously. It was prison food, but it didn't taste that off. As he continued to take slow bites, he saw Chris take one and then set his food back down.

"You don't taste anything wrong?" He asked Kei in a way that sounded more paranoid than anything.

"A little strange, maybe." Kei set his down, "But it's an alien planet. Their soil and water probably have an entirely different composition."

"You're probably right," Chris pushed his plate away regardless. Kei went back to eating, but couldn't bring himself to finish.

***

That night, Kei woke up to the sound of footsteps.

He had assumed it would be harder to fall asleep than it wound up being. In a new place on an unfamiliar and uncomfortable bed, worried about the future. But the day had wiped him out enough that one moment he was lying there staring at the wall and the next he was in the dark, listening to people approach.

It took him a second to get a grasp on things, because there were dozens of sets of footsteps moving and stopping and starting at different times and distances. The night suddenly alive with a great variety of sounds from keys jingling to cell doors opening. He worried for a second that he had misjudged things and they were about to be auctioned, but all he could do was hold still and wait.

Two sets approached close enough that he was pretty sure they were right outside his cell, then keys jingled and he heard a door opening. He was pretty sure it was his, but the sounds got farther away as they moved into Chris's.

"You sure this is the one?" Though she was whispering, Kei could hear the voice of his handler from earlier.

"This is the one Mary said." And that was the sunglasses-wearing one.

As they got right next to Chris's bed, Kei heard him suddenly leap up. The dull thudding of flesh hitting flesh, and then a womanly chuckle that cut off into a groan of pain and a sharp slap. Then the bed springs creaking.

"That was a bad idea." The officer growled.

"This isn't him!" The handler hissed.

"Yeah, I noticed." The officer grunted angrily. "That means we have a new volunteer for washing duty."

"Let's go!"

"Fuck it," The officer growled, "I'd rather teach him why you don't kick a girl in the balls than spend all night looking for the other one."

There was a string of curses from Chris, which seemed to imply that they had uncovered his mouth if even for just a moment, then a great cacophony of bedsprings. Kei risked looking up.

The two Futas had positioned Chris on his knees facing toward the window that hung over his bed, one of his wrists locked into a pair of cuffs as the officer linked the other cuff through the bars before hooking his other wrist into it. He couldn't stand up or lay down, only keep himself up on his knees or slump forward uncomfortably, arms extended up and face pressed against the stone of the wall. He started to thrash against his restraints, but as he did the officer Futa climbed onto his bed behind him, forcing his knees open and slapping her cock against his back. Her partner watched, stroking herself idly.

"Might've been more embarrassing for him if you put him in a position where we could spitroast him,'' the handler snorted.

"It'll take longer this way," The officer slapped Chris's ass hard enough that he collapsed awkwardly, wrenching his shoulders and crying out. She put him back in place casually, "Plus now I can leave him like this."

"Damn, he get you that bad?"

"It's those little feet men have, they get up where it hurts." The officer started to press the head of her garishly oversized cock against Chris's ass. He screamed, but she hooked her fingers into his cheek and pulled his head back. Kei heard her spit, but couldn't see if it was in Chris's face or his hole.

There was a grinding, meaty sound as she forced herself inside, Chris crying out again even without being able to properly articulate. It shouldn't have been a possible penetration, but she slammed her hips against his forcefully. Chris's cries were strangled and pained as she stretched him out, but that didn't make them any quieter.

"Noisy! Cunt!" The officer gave two forceful thrusts into him and yanked his head back with each of them.

"Hold on, I got an idea," The handler was stroking herself disinterestedly.

She took the nightstick from her partner's belt and brought it around to Chris's mouth. The officer pulled his cheeks apart with both hands to let the other Futa force it between his teeth without resistance. At least without intended resistance. Kei could hear Chris sputtering and gagging.

"If you don't relax your throat, it isn't going to get any less unpleasant." The handler teased as her partner pounded.

The gagging continued. The handler took the nightstick out of Chris's mouth and loudly cracked it across his backside between her partner's thrusts, then pushed it back between his lips.

"Come on, slut! You either know how to relax that throat or you'll figure it out."

Eventually, the gagging stopped, replaced only by the coughing, heaving sounds of Chris's throat letting the intruder in. The handler stroked herself in time with her other arm's movements as she pushed the stick in and out of his throat. The officer kept pounding until eventually she grabbed Chris's hips and gave a gasping, panting groan. As she leaned forward, Kei could physically hear her orgasm, even over the slapping of skin, even over the sounds of Chris's violated throat. The officer seemed to be pumping her load into him by the gallon, great wet sloshes accompanying each time her balls drew up.

When she was finally done, Chris's normally tight stomach was visibly hanging down between his legs. The officer spat on him a final time before the handler took her place behind him, taking the nightstick from between his lips. As she fucked him, Chris was starting to make a different kind of sound. Kei had already seen a little leaking dribble of cum hanging from his cage when the first Futa had finished up, but as the second Futa started to have her own fun with him, he was making noises that sounded almost... pleased. The handler saw to that though, she brought the slick club down against his ass so hard that the sound was less of a slap and more of a banging. Then hit the other cheek. As she fucked him, whenever he started to sound like he might be enjoying himself too much, she would slap the club against him. Either his stomach or his legs or his cage when it wasn't his ass.

As the handler also finished, Chris's belly grew a little more and the two futa gave him a final look over as they gathered their things. The handler gave him a couple final, gentler hits with the stick before ramming into his abused ass. He was spread so wide at this point that it seemed like it wouldn't stay in, but Chris couldn't keep himself up any more and slumped against the wall, hands above his head. As he leaked slowly around the club, the officer snorted and they walked out.

***

Kei didn't realize he had fallen back asleep until he was woken the next morning by the sounds of one of the guards going around handing out breakfast. His dreams had been vivid flashes of continued abuses towards Chris, the Futas then moving on and coming after him. It took him a full few seconds to realize none of that part had happened, but when he looked up Chris was still hung from his window and slumped against the wall, belly rounded and billy club still sticking from his abused ass.

The Futa guard passed a meal packet into Kei's cell and caught sight of Chris. She sighed and unlocked his door, then went in and unlocked his cuffs. He collapsed awkwardly onto his bed, coughing and whimpering. She gave an annoyed look at the club stuck in him and stuck out a hand to grab it, then waved it off and left his breakfast in his cell before moving on.

"Chris!"

Chris gingerly moved down from his bed, reaching for his shoulders. He looked different, despite not sharing the bruises that marked his legs and back. He was pale aside from extremely flushed pink cheeks, his lips seemed swollen and pouty. He tried to sit down to eat but seemed to only notice the club still inside of him when it clacked against the floor. Reaching down, he slid it out with a grimace and a whimper, then tossed it away disinterestedly and started to eat.

"You're eating it?" Kei whispered incredulously, "Aren't you worried about us getting auctioned?"

He didn't even glance up, eating his food slowly, a glazed look in his eye. Reaching his hand up to his face, Kei felt his own lips had seemed to swell a bit, though not to the same extent. Maybe something in the air or water, maybe Chris's more personal exposure to the Futa was bringing it on. Either way, they seemed to both be affected, no matter how minorly. Kei didn't eat.

A few moments after Chris had finished, another Futa guard came along and cuffed them before putting gags in their mouths. Kei was led out with the rest of the men through the jail. More than a few of them looked to have been picked out by the Futas the previous night, but none of them showed the same level of abuse as Chris. There was a bruise here or a cut there, but they were either far less resistant or had been lucky enough to be picked by less cruel jailers. Several of them walked with the sort of bow-legged wobble that suggested that the Futas only saw one reason to bother interacting with men.

They were led outside to where an elevated platform had been arranged in what looked to be the dilapidated parking lot of the police station. It was unbearably hot, not just in the air but the pavement already stung the feet even early in the morning. Kei was glad to be up on the platform, even if it left him and the other men exposed for the leers and taunts of the sizable crowd. There were easily over a hundred Futa, seemingly less affected by the heat or simply willing to suffer for the spectacle.

It was the first good look at a crowd of them he'd gotten since landing, as the scattered groups Kei had seen while coming into town hadn't been more than four or five a piece. Whatever human genes there were to them still seemed to be the dominant, though filtered through the shortest of them still being around seven feet tall by his estimate. There was a little more body type diversity than he'd seen, they weren't all pure muscle, but the filled-out build did seem to be average. Fat Futa were around, though uncommon, but thin or more effeminate Futa seemed the rarest of all, maybe five of the whole hundred. They had the same range of skin color that a human crowd might show, pale, dark, olive, and everything in between, though the average seemed like a tan medium.

Uniquely, the most active designation of class seemed to be how a Futa decorated her cock, though it was hard to guess if that stemmed from their apathy to nudity or informed it. Several of the Futa standing at the front of the crowd (which Kei guessed would be the active bidders) wore bangles or other jewelry around the shaft. Piercings and tattoos were present, but uncommon. What Kei assumed to be the middle class seemed to favor nice fabric, able to afford some jewelry but not to the same extent, they tended to have piercings which were little bits of gold or gems. Then at the back, those who were likely there for the show more than to bid, you saw unspectacular metal piercings, more abundant tattoos, simpler fabrics. Few were truly unadorned, even if it meant tying little bits of string or fabric into bows or as slings. Considering how deep the phallic fixation ran, Kei would have guessed that it informed the nudity more than the other way around.

One of the guards went through and picked out the men who had already been visibly used and abused, separating them into a different crowd. Chris and the others were led away from Kei down the platform, exposed to jeers and snickers from the Futa in attendance, some who split from the crowd to follow them. Kei watched the cart with the men roll away until it had disappeared, a small group of mostly destitute Futa following behind it like buzzards.

Even among the wealthy who stayed behind to bid, a hierarchy pretty quickly emerged. The first men to be auctioned became the sources of bidding wars, two or three Futa talking each other up and up in price until one eventually won, then usually walked away with her acquisition. While other men would get less attention but consistently get purchased by the same couple of bidders who, by the time half the men were gone, had four or five to their name. The few times somebody would come in to challenge their initial bid, they usually backed off, though likely not because they had to.

By the time Kei was up for auction, fewer than half of the wealthy Futas who had made up the front row remained. A couple of them gave him an eye, but so many men had hit the front at this point that he wasn't likely to present anything exceptional. An initial bid was placed by a salt-and-pepper haired older Futa, who had collected close to a dozen men at this point, but when a young Futa challenged her, she bid up instead of backing down. Then another one of the mass collectors bid for him and then another. He thought for a moment that a more serious bidding war would start, but then the young Futa gave a sourly smug look and tripled the previous bid.

"Silver spoon cunt," Kei heard the usually unconcerned guard next to him mutter under her breath.

A similar wave of scathing looks passed from the older Futa to all of the other serious bidders, but none of them challenged the younger. After a few seconds the auction was closed and Kei was handed off to the younger Futa, who had two other men she had sniped from the others, though none for quite his price. As soon as he was hers, however, the young Futa went from looking at him greedily to almost complete disinterest. Kei suspected that he himself didn't matter so much as winning the auction.