DAY ONE

	A great gate closes behind you, and you're led by two snakes through a small, lonely prison. Half a league from the city itself, the halls are still except for the rhythmic clack of the snakes' footclaws against the floor. Sunlight beams down via skylights, illuminating the dusty air in silence. Something isn't right about this place. Too empty and clean. No other prisoners in sight. Ominously peaceful.

	At least it'll be a quiet six days.

	As a foreigner, the City Watch is treating you kindly, of course. They have no choice. If they punish you the way they used to punish foreigners, it could start another war. Back home in the east, you'd never risk theft so openly, but thanks to the shifting, patchwork politics of this desert oasis, only a slap on the wrist awaits you. It won't be your first time in a cell, and a paltry six days behind cool sandstone walls will hardly break your spirit.

	The path down a hewn staircase ends at a single, secluded cell. It's nicer than you expected. There's a bed and a chair, even a little window near the ceiling. The guards sit you down inside. One of them, a sand-colored viper, produces a scroll and begins to recite from it in your language. As he explains the procedures of incarceration under their law - in a heavy accent and slightly broken as though he barely understands what he's reading - you take note of only one thing: the other snake.

	With no visible anatomy to hide, it's no surprise most snakes wear very little in this climate. Clothing is mostly decorative in the west, and the City Watch are no exception; naked apart from a sash over the shoulders, dyed blue and clasped at the chest by the city's golden spiral emblem.

	But this other, a white cobra, is different. His City Watch sash is more distinguished, dotted with small gemstones, and the emblem is considerably larger. At his waist, a short, blue skirt boasts intricate gold designs. Around his wrists and ankles are gold bands, polished to a mirror shine, and his impressive cobra hood is pierced with three gold rings on each side. Clearly a figure of some importance.

	Throughout the process, this cobra watches you intently. Arms crossed, forked tongue flicking, staring you down. While the other one babbles, the cobra never utters a single word. He offers only the language of his blue eyes, gleaming with more than just a guard's vigilance. You challenge his gaze for only a moment before looking away. There's something uncomfortable in those dark elliptical pupils.

	Finally, the time comes. "Sssentence begin now," spits the underling, ready to close the big iron door.

	But first, the stately-looking cobra steps forward. He makes you feel a bit small in your chair. For a long moment, you simply regard each other in apprehensive silence. The only sound is a gust of warm air from outside. Then, in a voice as smooth as the desert wind, he says, "I am Nitheem, Lord of the City Watch."

	"Pleasure's all mine," you chide. Under normal circumstances, you'd have something more clever to say, but those eyes...

	"Part of my duty is tending to the well-being of foreign prisoners," the cobra continues as though he's spoken these lines for years. He is remarkably fluent and commanding, his pronunciation perfect despite it not being his mother tongue. "You may ask for me by name. For the next six days, you will obey our commands. Unruly behavior will add to your sentence."

	Nitheem takes another sinister step forward, his scaly, clawed feet planting themselves so confidently to the uneven floor. He's close enough now that you can smell him. Lavender perfume masks his earthy scent, like an old fallen tree in springtime. It almost reminds you of home. "The snake from whom you stole does not use real gold or gems in his creations. The ring you took was iron painted as gold, and its sapphires were glass."

	A fake? Your shoulders slump. What a waste!

	The viper chimes in with a less-than-perfect grasp on his words. "He make no gold. He paint iron and sell to stupid foreigners," he says like you should've known better.

	"Indeed. Everything he sells is like you, fox..." says Nitheem before they turn and start down the long corridors that led you here. "Pretty, but worthless," he calls over his shoulder before the heavy door clangs shut. Their hissy laughter echoes from the other side.

	You scowl at the door. "Bastards..."

	The bed is clean and reasonably comfortable. The day passes as you lie there, furious with yourself for getting caught over nothing. Though in a sense, you suppose this saved you the embarrassment of proposing to the vixen of your dreams with a fake ring, pretty as it was. You're normally better about spotting fakes, but your mind was elsewhere in that shop, fixated on thoughts of her lovely face, and how enchanted she would've been when you returned from across the sea with such a treasure!

	It should've been a simple matter of waiting for the right moment to hide it in your tunic. No one was looking. The shopkeeper was distracted...you thought. Apparently, snakes had better hearing than you were led to believe. They were faster, too. Slippery young fox that you are, you're unaccustomed to being outrun. Not a mistake to repeat.

	After a time, the ill-spoken viper returns and takes you to the prison courtyard for a bath. Still you see no other prisoners. Nitheem is not present, either. Only you and the viper, who watches you a bit too closely as you bathe and dry. Your clothes are replaced by a plain linen skirt, which you begrudgingly wrap around yourself before being escorted back to your cell, where you are left alone once again. No guards, no commotion, just the sound of warm afternoon air.

	The thin finger of sunlight beaming through your window creeps across the floor until it disappears into moonlight. As night falls, you imagine far worse sentences. The metal loops sticking out of the floor and ceiling are likely remnants of dark times. You shudder to think what befell prisoners who were chained to them. Back home, you heard rumors of torture and mutilation here in the west. 'The old ways', they called it. But no longer. The snakes' proverbial fangs have long been dulled by the taming of eastern society.

	The sound of the outer gate echoes through the halls. Perhaps it's finally dinner time. You can't sleep on an empty stomach. You sit up, squinting your eyes in the dark. A shadow moves across the crack under your door. You hear the slow, crisp sound of a key in the lock, then the latch. Torchlight spills into the cell, stinging your eyes before you're finally able to see.

	Nitheem.

	The cobra appears to be alone. No sight nor smell of food. Instead, he holds a set of shackles and a chain over his shoulder. He steps inside and rolls the chain off himself, letting it fall loudly in a pile. "On your feet, please."

	You hesitate, but obey. Darkness clings to his face in the torchlight, and you can't quite read his expression. Is he going to whip you? He couldn't! He knows you'd bring home the scars. Surely you aren't worth risking war! Besides, there's no whip in evidence, and you didn't see that sort of thing anywhere in the prison. Are you being taken somewhere for a proper meal? That has to be it. But why the long chain?

	"This is a contraband inspection," Nitheem answers without being asked, sliding his torch into the wall sconce.

	"Contraband? What, in this rag you gave me? Your guard took everything when I was bathing. I want all that stuff back, by the way."

	"Your belongings will be returned upon release." Nitheem locks the broad, heavy shackles around your wrists. There's no chain between them yet, so they're essentially just ugly bracelets. "Are you familiar with the word st'vath?"

	"Hopefully, it means dinner." You twist the shackles around, feeling the strangely comfortable padding on the insides.

	"It means 'foreign criminal'," says the cobra, spite in his voice. "This is a st'vath prison; the only kind of prison we have, built in recent years. Do you know why snakes have no need for cells?"

	You can guess, but you let him explain anyway. He seems to enjoy talking.

	Nitheem retrieves the extra chain he brought, then slowly pulls the chair towards the center of the room. "The City Watch settles disputes and keeps the peace. We have very few laws, but if the Watch is witness to a crime, the sentence is death."

	"Nice and simple," you chuckle.

	"More simple than you know. In all my years as lord, can you guess how many times I've carried out such a sentence on one of my own people?"

	You open your mouth, but Nitheem doesn't wait for an answer.

	"Four."

	You roll your eyes. "You can't tell me you don't have crime."

	"Certainly, there are criminals here. Foreigners such as you," says Nitheem as he stands in the chair. There, he threads the chain through those sturdy-looking metal anchors embedded in the ceiling. "But our leaders have gone soft. They insist on treating st'vath gently, so as not to upset political relations with other lands...even though the inhabitants of those lands come here and take advantage of this new leniency."

	Nitheem quickly steps down and places the chair back where it belongs, a cold elegance at work in his every movement. He takes the chain now hanging from the ceiling and locks each end to your shackles. "Time was, I would make...sssuch an example of you. Your screams would echo through the streets for hours. There would be nothing left of you to send back across the sea. Alas, those days are gone, and now your punishment for violating our kingdom's law...is food and shelter on the kingdom's coin."

	"Well, I'm glad times have changed. Still waiting for that food, by the way," you provoke. Nitheem drags the chain, and your arms are hoisted away from your body and stretched outward in a 'V' shape until it's nearly uncomfortable. A sliver of worry begins to shine as something occurs to you. If this prison was built after they outlawed the old ways, what are these metal anchors for? "Is this necessary? The great 'lord' can't handle one little fox?"

	Nitheem locks the chain to itself. "How old are you?"

	Your arms are now hopelessly suspended. "Twenty."

	"Twice the age of my eldest son, and still he is better behaved than you."

	You smirk and shrug. "Cultural differences?"

	"As I predicted. No respect for me, my people, or my city." Nitheem steps outside the cell for a moment and returns with a metal rod. "Let us change that."

	Your eyes widen and your ears go flat. Are you going to be flogged?! As the snake approaches, you glimpse the shackles on both ends of it. In a snap, Nitheem grabs your left ankle and clamps it to the rod. "What are you doing?! What is this?!" You try to wrench away, but the cobra's strength is overwhelming. He slides the rod through the anchors in the floor and then your other leg is locked as well.

	"Since I can't take anything from you..." Nitheem begins to disrobe, first undoing the clasp on his sash with a single claw, revealing his trim chest. "I'm going to give you something instead."

	Your heart surges as the Lord of the City Watch unwraps his skirt. Rather than the smooth anatomy you're used to seeing between the legs of these snakes, protruding from the slit is a pulsing red penis. You gawk at the large, unfamiliar shape.

	"Something no one can see. Something you will never be rid of as long as you live."

	Panic shoots through you like lightning. You yank at the chains and squirm on your wobbly legs. "No... No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"	

	"Yesss, indeed," he says, flicking his tongue. "You violated the west. As a sanctioned representative of the west, I shall violate you in turn." He meticulously folds each garment and hangs them on the back of the chair before retrieving one final object from outside your cell. It looks to be made of leather. With straps.

	A muzzle.

	"Help! HEEELP! HELP ME! NOOO! PLEEEASE! HEEELP!"

	Nitheem throws the door shut. "I wouldn't scream like that much longer. You may damage your throat," says the cobra as he approaches, ready with the muzzle.

	You pull harder at the unyielding bonds, and your arms quickly give out. "This can't be happening! Please don't let this be happening!"

	"It is, fox," Nitheem coos as he circles behind you. "It is."

	The anchors beneath prevent you from turning to follow him. A flash of brown across your vision, then all you can smell is leather as he wraps your snout and tightens the straps. You shake your head and try to fight him off, but it's too late. He has you silenced and pacified, truly at his mercy. Only a tiny hole allows you to breathe through your nose.

	As quickly as he muzzled you, he even more quickly makes you forget about that as he strips away your skirt, leaving you just as nude as he. Right away you feel his claws down your back. You flinch as they get lower and lower, combing through your fur.

	"You do have quite a lovely body," says Nitheem, retrieving a small glass vial from his sash. He returns to your back and lifts your tail, spreading something cold under there.

	You twitch and frantically shake your head. This is really going to happen!

	Nitheem stashes the vial and puts a paw on your shoulder. "Now your true sssentence begins."

	The slimy thing spears its way up you, and you scream again as you're stretched wider than you ever imagined. He shows no mercy, hilting himself right away. "Don't fight," he says calmly as you thrash about.

	You try to make it as difficult for him as possible, but your arms and legs tire again, locked tightly in position. He grasps your hips and slowly begins to thrust. Your body is being invaded. Deeply. You scream and scream for someone to help, but only muffled cries come through the thick leather muzzle. No one is around to hear you, anyway. There's nothing you can do to stop him, and that crushing realization - knowing that this will continue with no rescue - is somehow worse than the sensation itself.

	"It's been ages since I've had a fox. Such a special treat. Tight as I expected," he says, moaning in your ear. His grip is firm, but he's careful not to dig his claws into you as he steals your anal virginity. "You feel like a female. I forget what they're called in your race. Bitches? No, no. Vixens. That's right."

	The pace he sets is relaxed. He's taking his time with you, savoring his special evening. You desperately scream for this to stop. It doesn't. You only succeed in marring your voice; he was right about that. Eventually, your throat can take no more.

	"I'm so relieved. You see, there is a moment...when my prisoners are chained and I show them what I'm about to do. Their moment of realization. With most races I can always expect the same shock and horror, struggling, panic, pleading, screaming. But I'm always relieved when foxes react that way. One tends to hear things about your kind. Can't have you enjoying your punishment, can we?"

	Nitheem brings an arm to your chest and hugs his body to yours. That earthy lavender aroma floods your nostrils. You swear you can feel every scale as you shiver against him in terror and shame.

	"Though, one rumor I can personally verify..." he pauses to groan and moan in pleasure, passionately grinding against you. "You are easily the tightest of all races. I must confess, when I heard a fox was arrested today, it excsssited me. What delightful creatures you are."

	The curses you sputter at him are unintelligible. You can't take this. Each thrust is a painful, hateful insult. Once again, you pull with all your might, trying to lift yourself. To what end, you don't know, but you refuse to simply be still and feel this. Your feet nearly leave the floor, but the metal loops between them hold you in place.

	"Impressive. I'm quite fond of athletic males."

	Your arms turn to jelly. Settling back down, you look up at your shackles and it suddenly makes sense; the inner padding isn't for your comfort. It's so they don't injure your wrists when you struggle. The snake was well-prepared for tonight. And far too calm. How many times has Nitheem done this? How many prisoners have stood where you stand, bound with these very chains?

	And he's never been stopped. The thought chills you to the core. How did you get caught up in this? It was only a ring!

	He groans and mumbles some exclamation in his own language. His grip on your chest suddenly tightens. And you feel something else, too - his long, powerful tail coiling around your middle. He lays his head over your shoulder, and with his whole body, he squeezes. You can barely breathe as he slides slowly in and out. Your inner muscles continue fighting, involuntarily constricting around him as he constricts around you.

	His hypersensitive tongue flicks against your fur, tasting you in ways you cannot know. Both your mind and body still refuse to accept this insanity as a feeling of wetness trickles down your legs. You know what's happening inside, but you try not to think about it. Thick cobra seed leaks from you, a disgusting end to a disgusting act. The sound of his cock sliding through it is the only thing you hear other than the throbbing heartbeat in your ears.

	Nitheem's sleek, scaly head rests on your shoulder still, and you peer downward. He looks so focused. Almost peaceful, eyes shut, concentrating fully on his own selfish pleasure. In the end, he was right after all; you'll remember this forever. You'll never be able to forget the feeling of his lithe, scaly body sliding against yours as he makes love to you.

	"Foxes always finish me so quickly," he says as he winds down. His iron grip around you loosens, and the instrument of your punishment is finally withdrawn with a sickening, sucking wetness. "But so well. So very, very well."

	First, Nitheem has you scrub his seed off the floor. Then he takes you to the empty courtyard for a second bath, where you are made to suffer further indignity by washing his scent from your body. He bathes himself a short distance away, watching to be sure you soap the appropriate areas. He can't get away with this. He can't! Whatever you have to do, whoever you have to tell. You retreat into your head, practicing exactly how you'll speak to the guards about this atrocity.

	Those leaders he spoke of, whoever they are, wherever... You must find a way to be granted an audience.

	Nitheem dries off with a luxurious cotton towel he brought for himself. While the water slides from his smooth scales, he watches you still - seems to know what you're thinking. "Who do you suppose will believe you..." he mocks, "over me, the honorable Lord of the City Watch?"

	Busy scrubbing under your tail, you don't answer. The soreness there is nothing compared to the ache of worry that he might be right. By now, half the city has likely heard of the thieving fox who was chased down by the Watch, and your reputation back home certainly won't help your cause.

	He tosses the towel aside and points in the direction of the city. "I've kept the peace on those streets longer than you've been alive. Just try it. Tell everyone...if you can work up the nerve."

	Once you've washed and dried, Nitheem gives the air around you a taste until he's satisfied that his scent has been erased. He leaves you there for a moment, then returns with a pewter plate of raw desert greens.

	Back to the cell you go, head hanging low. The whole way, you long for the small comfort of the linen skirt you were given today. Even though you're both without clothing, you feel so naked next to him, being the only one with external anatomy. The vulgar organ has vanished into the cobra's body, leaving almost no seam. So smooth and innocent.

	Once in the cell, he lays your food on the floor next to the chair and sits as though he's guarding it. You dare not make a move for the plate. Instead, you go straight for bed, hiding in the blanket.

	"So, tell me what you feel," he says plainly. His posture is relaxed, but proper, like he's ascended a throne. "Go on," he insists. "You've just been raped, surely you're feeling something. You can say whatever you like."

	You roll towards the wall, putting your back to your tormentor.

	"You were so expressive before. Have I broken you already? Speak."

	You aren't sure what he wants, but whatever it is, you won't give him the satisfaction. You stay quiet, hoping he'll leave you alone.

	"Very well," he sighs. You hear him standing up and finally unfolding his clothes from the back of the chair. "You need time. We shall see tomorrow night."

	You roll over and look up at him, completely beaten.

	A bitter, sinful grin spreads across his scaly mouth as he dons his sash. "You thought this was the end of your punishment? I imagine that's rather discouraging."

	"I hate you." The words just fall out.

	"Ah." His tongue flicks. "Yes? And?"

	"I'd kill you if I could."

	"I imagine that's probably true," he says with a snicker, finally wrapping his middle in that fine blue skirt. "Anything else?"

	The tears want to come, but you hold them back as hard as you can, looking away so he can't see. "I just want to go home," you mutter to the wall.

	"Behave yourself, and you'll soon be free." You hear him nudge the plate on his way out. "Eat if you're still hungry. I'll see you tomorrow night, my little foxsss."

	The door slams so harshly you flinch. You're locked in and left alone with the memory of what just occurred, and the dread of tomorrow.

	You listen for the outer gate. The moment you hear Nitheem depart the prison, you pull the blanket over your head, letting long minutes pass in your little womb. The temptation to begin calling for help grows, but it would be a waste. You're alone out here. You try to convince yourself it's not because you're terrified that somehow Nitheem would be the only one to hear; that he's out there somewhere, just waiting for you to try.

	You don't even look at the food. You don't move. Instead, you curl into a ball and sleep.

DAY TWO

	No. Not again.

	This time, when you hear the prison gate echo through the halls, you leap from bed and stand in the center of the moonlit cell. Now that you know his intentions, you won't let him chain you up. Whatever it takes. Maybe you could get a finger inside one of his hood rings and rip it out. At the sound of the key in the lock, your head lowers, eyes blazing. You plant yourself there, shoulders back, chest out, tall and proud as you can. This might be a losing battle, but you'll give him a fight to remember.

	The door opens. Nitheem has dispensed with the pretense of clothing, wearing only his jewelry. The nude cobra seems unimpressed, almost disinterested in his prisoner's defiance as he drops the chain from his shoulder and puts the torch into the wall sconce just like last night.

	He takes a step forward.

	You swing.

	Nitheem moves like water, at once avoiding the attack and seizing your arm. He effortlessly flows around you and pins the arm to your back, bending it in a painful pinch. Before you have time to think about how much your wrist hurts, you hear a hiss and feel two sharp points on your neck. You know what they are.

	You don't consider yourself a worldly fox, but snake venom is common knowledge even back home, and cobras are especially renowned for their deadly bite. You freeze in your captor's grip, no longer feeling anything but those two needles and their owner's warm breath. The fear is now very real. "You... You won't. You can't!"

	Nitheem holds you there, fangs to neck. He breathes slowly and calmly, almost as though he's contemplating whether to bite down. Finally, he lifts them away. "Can't I?" His serpent voice is only a whisper. "Perhaps you were never in this cell. Perhaps the mysterious thieving fox essscaped the City Watch by running into the desert, and he was never seen again. Those who chased you down would gladly tell the same tale if I commanded it."

	It's getting easier to believe him. But maybe he's just trying to break you. The longer he holds you like this, the angrier you get.

	"The bite is a peaceful death, did you know? Muscles fall limp like a doll. There is a feeling of warmth. Then sleep. No blood. No trace after the desert creatures dispose of the body. I've been punishing st'vath for many years, collecting them in this very cell. Do you not think I've considered all the angles?"

	The rage boils over. "You fucking savage, get off me!" He lets you push him away.

	You face each other. He stands beneath the window, clutching those shackles in a paw, moonlight shimmering brightly against his white scales. "I urge caution, young one. My prisoners return home with a new perspective...or not at all."

	The open door is right behind you. What if you just make a run for it? Dash away and take your chances in the city, if you can even get through the prison gate...

	Almost as if he could see that very thought, he narrows his eyes. "I'll make this simple. Either my seed will fill you, or my venom will. What shall it be?"

	Of course, if those toned legs carry him as swiftly as the rest of the Watch, he'll catch you. You're stuck. The door is wide open, but by the stars, you're stuck! "Please don't. Please! It was just a ring, and it wasn't even real! I'm sorry!"

	"What a disappointing apology," he says with a shake of his head. "And quite telling that you still think this is about the ring. This is about you," he points a shiny black claw, "and the arrogance with which you disssconnect yourself from the world, as though your actions have no consequences. Well, fox...be grateful to the leaders of our land. If not for their weakness, this would be done on the market stage for all to see. And that would only be the start."

	Regardless of the west's past, the snakes would never sanction this treatment today. You're convinced Nitheem is acting on his own, yet you still can't figure out if he's only using this patriotism as a twisted excuse to rape, or if he really believes what he's saying.

	"So, I'll ask again; seed or venom? Shall I choose for you?" He extends his fangs in a wicked smile.

	You make one last plea, one last desperate attempt to connect with the snake, being-to-being. "Please..."

	"Venom it is." He moves.

	"Seed!"

	Nitheem halts at the word. The heartless snake seems to consider things for a moment before throwing the shackles at your feet. They clatter loudly against the sandstone floor. "Put those on. And take that off," he says, pointing to your waist.

	With a moment of painful hesitation, you unwrap your skirt.

	"But it's interesting that you've resorted to begging," he teases as he casually walks past you. "A measure above stealing if you ask me, and progress of a kind."

	"Fuck you." Even in defeat, locking your own wrists as instructed, you can't stand to keep quiet. It's all you can do not to be crushed under the weight of his words. "Fuck you."

	Nitheem returns with the muzzle and the same little vial of oil. "No, I'll be fucking you tonight, fox," he insists, checking that the shackles are tight. "And every night until your time here is done."

	He chains you up, shuts the door, and your punishment continues.

DAY SIX

	Sunset. Moonbeams. Outer gate. Approaching footsteps. Shadows under the door. Key in the lock. Cell door creaks open. Blinding torchlight.

	It's become a bizarre routine. The last five days have felt like a thousand years, but at least it's almost over. Just one more night of this. Wearily, you rise from bed and prepare yourself for this final assault on your honor.

	Nitheem steps in, but this time, there's someone behind him. The door shuts, and standing in your cell this evening are two figures instead of one. You don't recognize the other...until your eyes adjust to the flame. The viper. The guard who was here when you were brought in, who patrols the prison during the day. Still in his City Watch sash and emblem.

	Nitheem is naked as usual. "You've met Jek," he says, gesturing to the viper, who looks quite pleased to be here.

	Only then do you notice what the viper is holding. In his left paw, the chain for your arms. In his right paw, that awful muzzle.

	"Jek has expressed some ideas about you that are...shall we say...in keeping with my own," Nitheem begins, fixing the torch to the wall like always. "For your final night in our glorious land, we'll do something special. Something even I haven't done before... I'm going to share."

	You shy away from the viper's hungry gaze. You remember him watching you bathe on your first day. One rapist wasn't bad enough? How is this wretched place real?!

	Nitheem approaches with the shackles, as well as an emerging erection. "You don't mind the extra company, do you?"

	Silence. You know how things work by now. Any effort to protest would be wasted. You might as well be muzzled already. Hanging your head, you shut your eyes, hold out your wrists, and wait.

	"There's my good boy," he mocks with a grin on his slithery voice.

	By now, you're used to the procedure of being trussed up like a party favor, a rape toy. Nitheem's lavender scent begins to fill the room as he prepares. All the while, Jek watches with great interest, especially when Nitheem pulls away your skirt.

	"Mol se alja ru kethi."

	"Now, Jek," the smile Nitheem wore was too coy to be harmless. "We have a foreign guest. As a courtesy, we should speak his language."

	The viper returns the smile, only far more toothy. He approaches, giving you a clear sampling of his own perfume. Jasmine, you think. It plays with Nitheem's lavender in strange ways. "Yesss. I say I could take." He points to your nethers.

	"Ah, you want to complete your set," offers Nitheem as he tightens the final strap on the muzzle. "Why don't you show him?"

	Jek excitedly reaches into his sash and pulls out a string of bones. Special, very specific bones.

	"His baculum necklace," says Nitheem as Jek runs a claw through them like wind chimes. "Collected from mammals who were foolish enough to break our laws. Now the old ways are gone, wearing it would be bad form, but I allowed him to keep it as a treasure."

	Jek chuckles, his pink tongue wiggling like a skinny flag in the breeze. Rather than wearing it himself, Jek adorns you with it instead. You can't help but look down in horror. There they are, once proud parts of someone's anatomy, now polished to ornamental perfection. Two are wolves. You can't identify the other seven. Who were these nine souls?

	"Almost have ten," says Jek. "But then mammals make friendly."

	Nitheem hugs you from behind, pressing his full maleness against the small of your back. "Such a shame, don't you think? Just one more is all he needs for a nice even number. And look..." He reaches down and tickles your sheath with his claws. "There's one right here. Fancy that."

	Your eyes go wide. They couldn't! Nitheem would never allow it! Why go through all the trouble of keeping this secret and leaving no evidence only to mutilate your body on the final day? They'd never throw the east and west back into war just to complete a necklace...right?

	Jek fondles you alongside his lord. "And easy to take. Mammal parts all out. Weak. Soft."

	"Exposed," offers Nitheem.

	"Yes, exposed. Easy to touch," the viper says, suddenly clutching your jewels. "Easy to crush!" He squeezes. Not hard enough to hurt, but his mean paw there sends your heart into your throat.

	"Believe me," says Nitheem, who spreads the oil under your tail while Jek plays, "I enjoy the idea of ending his lineage, but we won't be doing that."

	A gentle wave of relaxation flows down your body.

	The viper doesn't so much let go of your jewels as dismiss them like trash. "Nitheem save you, fox. If he not here, I cut all this off," he gestures between your legs, then between his own, "make you smooth like us."

	"Jek misses the old ways even more than I do. If I left things to him, you'd be in tatters," says the cobra, positioning himself at your entrance. He pushes all the way into you with the same callousness you've come to expect. After the previous nights, your well-abused hole has traded some of the pain for soreness. Your muscles have learned to better accommodate him, but the shame is just as piercing.

	 As Nitheem's hips begin to move, Jek cackles without pity. Already, you feel as though you understand the full measure of this new snake. He stands there, arms crossed, grinning, watching his lord slowly rape a helpless prisoner while he makes fun. You never thought you'd miss being alone with Nitheem. Having an audience is vastly more shameful and humiliating.

	Jek's green, reptilian eyes keep drifting downward, fascinated by your naturally exposed privates. Unable to help himself, he sits on his tail for a closer look. You instinctively try to shy away, but the cobra behind you is immovable.

	"Why mammals always cover so we not see?"

	Nitheem chuckles behind you. "Because the shame of their parts is so terrible, they'd rather be wrapped in thick garments all day. Even under the desert sun."

	"East is strange," ponders Jek.

	"Indeed. Their word for it is 'modesty'. I'd translate, but we have no such word." Nitheem turns his attention to you. "Because we take pride in the nature of our bodies."

	The idea of Jek ogling your sheath while his lord breeds you and belittles your culture is slowly approaching bearable. That is, until Jek reaches out. Staring in perpetual fear of his claws, you watch what he does. It takes the viper several attempts to figure it out before he successfully slides the sheath down, revealing the prize inside. You quake as your naked penis is exposed against your will. The pale-pink thing is thin and unaroused, begging to be put safely back into its home. You've never felt so utterly vulnerable.

	"Small," accuses Jek.

	It's perfectly average at full size, but vanity is among the very last of your concerns today. His tongue ripples in anticipation as he explores you, searching for the bone inside. You flinch when he finds it. "There," he mutters, eyes gleaming. With a finger and thumb, he massages along its narrow, rigid length. You dare not move. "Karhtes ner taij?"

	"Taij? Ugly," answers Nitheem. "That's the word you're looking for."

	"Yes, ugly." He continues gently masturbating your baculum for several moments before saying, "Nitheem, I want very much. Please? So small and ugly, he not miss."

	"I'm afraid our leaders would not approve."

	The viper glares up at you. "You hear? Nitheem save you again."

	Pride and ego insist you shouldn't have to be grateful for that...but you are. Through all this, you note they're still speaking your language amongst themselves. These two are putting on this bit of theatre for your sake. The realization is not comforting.

	Finally, Jek stops molesting you. He stands and moves to your side, affording himself a new view. Doubtless, he can see you being penetrated from there. "How he feel?" he asks Nitheem.

	"Foxes are always the best."

	"Mmm. Can't wait." Jek doesn't touch his own erection, obviously saving it for you. He circles around with a sort of meandering menace, proud penis in the open waiting impatiently for its turn. He looks across your shoulder to his lord. They exchange a few quiet words in their tongue. You don't understand any of it, but it frightens you, especially when Jek points between your legs. Are they deliberating? Now more than ever, you wish you'd studied before traveling.

	"Okay, Nitheem say I can cut." With that, the viper pulls a curved dagger from his sash. Moonlight gleams off the steel. "Bad day for you."

	Shrieking, thrashing, wailing, your only hope is to break the anchors in the floor and ceiling. They have to break! This can't happen! They have to break!

	Nitheem's grip on you tightens. "You'd better hold still. He's out of practice."

	You hardly hear him over the clattering of your restraints. It doesn't matter how many other prisoners tried and failed, you would be the one to wrestle free. The chains would give way at the perfect moment. You'd turn the dagger on your captors, then escape.

	"Listen to me," Nitheem insists. "That blade will sting much worse if you don't relax."

	Ignoring his advice, you dance like a worm even as the tip of the dagger comes dangerously close. "So, I take maybe just the bone out?" Jek hesitates, pointing it downward at your jewels instead. "Or take all and make you smooth? You choose."

	The bone necklace, soon to be completed, rattles against your chest. You strain your quavering muscles with every ounce of might you have left, but you still can't move. The anchors won't break.

	You instantly stop struggling when Jek taps the flat side of the blade to your nose. "St'vath, I tell you choose! You not choose, I cut ssslow."

	Your heart thuds like a deep drum. How did you come to be at the mercy of these monsters? What right do they have to do this?!

	He peels your sheath back again and demonstrates by tracing an imaginary incision up the middle of your cock. "Bone?"

	Your racing, panicked mind tries to consider which would be worse. Extract the bone, or simply lose it all? Mutilation or full emasculation? You're terrified of making the wrong choice, but you can't think with his fingers against your exposed flesh! Would your anatomy even function after having the baculum ripped out? What's the use in keeping your maleness if it no longer works?

	You look down at him with pleading eyes. He simply waits for an answer, blade at the ready.

	Nitheem - still happily pleasuring himself inside your body - laughs like he knows a dark secret. "Descisions, descisions..."

	Finally, you shake your head. You'll take the coward's path. One quick slice sounds better than a fantastically painful and destructive amateur surgery.

	He mercifully sheathes you. "Ah. So, you want smooth like us?" The mad snake is clearly worked up by this, oozing strings of precum onto the floor.

	You give the tiniest, grieving nod.

	"Smart," whispers Nitheem. The cobra places a surprisingly gentle paw under your muzzle and brings your gaze to the ceiling. "Probably best if you don't watch."

	You shut your eyes and wait. Jek clutches everything between your legs, pulling it upward away from your body and holding it there. You feel the touch of cold metal at your root. Is this how the nightmare ends? With your maleness being undone? A precious piece of you forever adorning Jek's necklace? Your kits never being born? You swallow terror and choke on your sobs as you imagine the blinding pain you are about to feel.

	"Hah! Stupid fox!"

	When Jek suddenly stands up, twirls the dagger, and returns it to his sash, the relief is unreal. Your captors begin laughing heartily, and you nearly laugh with them.

	"Have the foxes no sense of humor? Take heart, my young prisoner," Nitheem says, giving your bottom a few pats. "If he truly meant to cut you, he would first heat the blade."

	Jek takes you by the throat and brings his scaly lips to your ear. His jasmine perfume attacks you. "And I never let st'vath choose how I cut. Why I let you choose when you have chains? Stupid fox. Fool fox."

	Nitheem's hips never stop. "He tightened quite nicely, too. When he thought you were going to do it."

	Jek looks over your shoulder at his lord. A wicked idea seems to crawl across his face as he kneels again, taking a moment to stroke himself. "Khu thek A st'se alja?"

	"Not too hard," Nitheem answers.

	Not too hard? Not too hard, what?! You jolt in a white flash of pain as something strikes your left testicle. Reflexively, you look down and see him grinning up at you, apparently quite proud of what he'd just done. You silently beg him not to do that again. Jek giggles, and treats your right testicle the same, flicking it with a finger while he masturbates.

	Nitheem shares in the little chuckle. "You see? Mammal parts are sensitive. You needn't use a blade to hurt those."

	Some naive hopefulness in you wants to believe Jek won't touch them again. Of course, he immediately proves you wrong, having found fun new toys to play with. To your horror, Jek's open paw rises from between your legs to swat the fragile fuzzy purse. Not hard enough to do damage, but certainly enough to send your body into a pained panic.

	Nitheem feigns concern. "Too bad foxes don't have our anatomy. I cannot imagine how badly that must hurt. Poor mammal. Perhaps Jek should cut them off, for your own good."

	"Yessss. I take away, then never they hurt again," Jek suggests. He stands to face you, so close his tongue nearly touches your nose. "Want me to cut?"

	With all your thoughts, you wish you could bury this bastard serpent. You shake your head.

	He slaps them again, a little harder this time. "Are you sssure?"

	You try not to let him see the power he has over you, but the hard, aggressive breaths coming from your throat likely give you away.

	"Keep going, Jek." Nitheem wraps an arm around your neck, forcing your eyes forward into Jek's so you can't watch what the viper is about to do. "See if you can convince him to change his mind."

	Jek's bit of mischief turns to cruelty. You feel a finger and thumb around your sac, pulling the jewels against the bottom. He holds tightly as he continues slapping them, still looking into your eyes. Trying to pull away hurts more. You can only stand there and take it.

	Every strike is unpredictable. Fast, then slow, then fast again, never settling on a pattern, never giving you the tiniest hint when the next one is coming. Your vicious hatred for these two begins to lose focus in the haze of what's happening down there. Soon, you no longer feel Nitheem inside. Only this new pain - the shock of each slap and the sickly, dull ache reaching up your belly.

	Nitheem is obviously enjoying himself as you clench around him. "Oh, that feels so nice."

	"I make tighter for you?"

	"Yesss, keep going... Just a little harder," Nitheem insists, ignoring his own earlier warnings in a shaky voice.

	Jek obeys, and your legs buckle.

	You shake your head violently from side to side and tug on the chains, trying to will the world away. Jek won't stop. He's getting Nitheem off by hurting you more, giving him pleasure by giving you pain. Worse than that, it's a particular flavor of pain that he, as a reptile, can never know. So unfair.

	"STOP IT!", you try to scream at him through the muzzle. "FUCKING STOP! STOOOOP!" Nothing makes it through but raspy whining.

	He smiles at you knowingly. "Hurt, yes?"

	It hurts so much. Your muscles seize. Your chest convulses. The edge of the muzzle is growing damp with tears as you furiously scream curses at him, none of which are heard.

	Jek watches your face. He studies every twitch, every sound as though he wants to seal this experience in his memory forever with perfect clarity. He stares, cold and unblinking. Everything begins to go dark, but not those eyes. When the rest of the world drains away, Jek's eyes remain - little tidepools that look back at you. There's no mercy in them, and you give up searching for it.

	You realize your only salvation is Nitheem's release. In your mind, you urge him on, hoping that he spends himself soon. You can't stand it! Doesn't matter what they plan to do next! Anything but this!

	Finally, Nitheem makes his familiar noises, and you feel wetness. "Vethross," he declares. His hold on your neck tightens, and you feel his tail around your waist, constricting as he orgasms hard. As always, his head hangs over your shoulder. Mouth wide, fangs extended, he cries out in deep, passionate pleasure.

	His cohort cheers him on. "Yesss! Fill him with snakelings!"

	The cobra continues doing exactly that. He collects himself long enough to say, "Too bad he isn't female, he'd have quite the clutch to bring home," in labored breaths before losing himself in his moans again. His orgasm goes on and on, driven by your suffering. He's never gone so long before! You begin to fear that Jek will never stop hitting you! By now, a choir of agony drowns out your thoughts. Your mind is going numb. You feel faint...

	The moment Jek releases his grip is the happiest in your twenty years of life. They still ache, but the sudden absence of that crippling, horrendous pain is nothing short of bliss. You blink a few times, trying to reacquaint yourself with the world just as Nitheem withdraws his generous length. The familiar trickle of seed leaking down your thighs isn't something you imagined getting used to, but you have.

	Jek rudely snatches your attention back by cuffing the side of your face. "This all happen because you steal! See? You come here and steal, now you hurt, and you take ssseed like a wife!"

	"I believe he understands what he did wrong," says Nitheem, after catching his breath. "Don't you, fox?"

	You offer a shameful, teary nod.

	Jek discards his sash, and they quickly exchange positions. Now you find yourself staring at the cobra, who stands before you with arms crossed and a satisfied smile. His penis once again sinks into his body like it was never there, leaving nothing but scales, smooth and white.

	You don't realize your tail is tucked between your legs until Jek yanks it skyward like he's pulling a root. Before you can mentally prepare yourself, you're already being stabbed with the viper's cock. Jek is even more forceful than his lord, clearly eager to get things going after waiting so long. His tail coils around your right leg, and he takes your hips in his claws. "Nitheem bigger, but I go harder," he warns.

	Immediately, it's obvious how true that is. Jek's cock doesn't stretch you as much, but he makes up for it by slamming his body into yours twice as hard, and you yelp in alarm the first few times. It squelches in and out, sliding easily through Nitheem's seed, which doesn't make the ordeal any less painful. You grew so used to Nitheem's habits and quirks, but Jek has an entirely different spirit about his business. It's like the first night all over again.

	Meanwhile, Nitheem watches closely as you endure the full force of his subordinate's sexual frustration.

	Jek moans without shame. "How he feel so good?"

	"He's a fox."

	"All foxes so good like a female?"

	Nitheem nods.

	Jek gives you a sideways look from over your shoulder. "You go home and tell more foxes come here and steal, okay?" the viper jokes with claws around your neck, threatening to tear your throat open. Nitheem looks so calm and satisfied, you're no longer certain he would intervene.

	Retreating into your head, thoughts of home threaten to come tumbling in. Your lush green forest town. Cool air, summer rain. And her... But you blink yourself out of your little reverie. Thinking too much is dangerous, lest you poison those things with this memory. You even shoo away ideas of revenge. You should never have come here in the first place. That much is clear. Returning would be monumentally stupid.

	Nitheem moves for the door.

	Behind you, Jek says, "Lith rel shem?"

	"To the courtyard for a pail of water," he responds, pausing at the threshold. He flashes you a short-lived smile. "Justice is thirsty work."

	And without another word, the door shuts, leaving you alone with Jek. A few moments pass as you listen to Nitheem's clawsteps fade into the quiet corridor. As soon as they're gone, things immediately change.

	Jek's pace slows to a crawl. From over your shoulder, you hear a low chuckle, like the satisfied growl of a dangerous beast who's finally cornered its prey. Suddenly, the viper grabs your jewels and massages them gently. You tense up, waiting for the moment when he hurts them again, or simply crushes them, but it never comes. Instead, he whispers, "I can be nice snake." With his sharp claws, he lovingly tickles them. "I hurt, but I am nice snake, too."

	To your absolute bewilderment, Jek unsheathes you with one paw and begins stroking you with the other. Not like before. Sensual and sweet. Squeezing the base. If you didn't know any better, you'd call his movements...genuine. "Foxes like?"

	Even if you weren't muzzled, you haven't a clue what you'd say. Yes, the physical sensation is soothing compared to what you've been through, but...

	"I think you like a little bit," he says, interrupting your thoughts. A long, thin tongue slides up your neck. "I could be friend after thisss? Maybe you come secret to my house, come live with me. Nitheem think you go, but really you live with me, yes? People talk that I am good friend. Nice friend."

	Still stroking, he licks again, dragging that forked tongue upward until it reaches your ear. He whispers in it. "I promise no cut. My ten bone stay right here," he says, squeezing your penis. "And you stay with me. We do nice like this. Good fox. Soft alja and fur. St'vath nice ru vethross..." He seems to drift across languages, speaking more and more words you don't understand until it loses all meaning.

	When you hear Nitheem's claws clacking down the hall, Jek goes silent. He quickly re-sheathes you, and his entire posture shifts, indicating that even Nitheem would disapprove of how he'd just been acting. Somehow, that scares you more than anything that's happened so far. He resumes his rough fucking just before Nitheem opens the door. It's absolutely sick that you're relieved to see him again.

	The cobra seems none the wiser as he sets down the bucket and shuts the door. He sips from the wooden ladle, then offers it to Jek, who gladly accepts. He slurps messily and dribbles on your shoulder.

	Nitheem watches his partner moan and thrust with a sadistic smile. "Feel good? Quite the treat, isn't he?"

	Jek moans a word you don't understand.

	"Close?"

	"Mmmmh," Jek affirms. "Can keep open his mouth? Make him drink?"

	Please, no... You desperately hope he's talking about the water...

	Nitheem snickers. "I knew I liked you. Hold it in for a moment while I speak with him?"

	Jek snickers and slows down. Please don't let him do this...

	"Look at me," says Nitheem. A white paw cradles underneath your muzzle to make you face him. His blue eyes overwhelm yours, those thin black slivers cutting into your soul. "We're nearly finished with you, and then it's only a matter of hours until you go free. When I take thisss off," he says, tugging at one of the straps around your head, "you'll want to bite. You are young and impulsive. I understand. You'll want to do that very badly...but instead, you'll be a good boy and drink Jek's seed." He plays with the penis bones hanging at your chest. "If you even look like you intend to bite, he shall have a completed necklace."

	The viper behind you struggles to contain himself. "Hurry," he says, voice laced with pleasure.

	Nitheem reaches for the straps, but pauses. "Nod if you understand."

	You nod immediately and vigorously.

	The muzzle comes off. You resist the urge to open for a deep breath, keeping your mouth closed. You don't want to be misinterpreted.

	"I'll loosen this so you can kneel." As the cobra fiddles with the chain above, Jek enjoys a few final thrusts before pulling out. There's no time to enjoy the relief of being empty after so long. A strong paw on your shoulder pushes you to the floor just as the chains give. Once on your knees, Nitheem locks them again so your arms are still suspended.

	With the combination of oil and Nitheem's seed, Jek works his cock as he steps forward. Those green viper's eyes shine. Grinning. Moaning. Stroking. Right in your face. It oozes a long strand, ready to deliver one final dose of punishment.

	Nitheem stands beside you. "Open wide," he insists.

	You obey half-heartedly, and the cobra has no patience for it. You flinch at his sharp claws as he reaches for your face. His fingers grip your muzzle and force it open, holding you there as your jaw quickly begins to ache. You could easily chomp those fingers. He'd scream and bleed. But you wouldn't dare, and he knows it.

	Above, Jek shuffles closer, proudly masturbating toward a swift finish. You clench your eyes shut and wait. Heavy breaths and slick noises tell you it's coming, but when? And what will it taste like? The hateful anticipation of it seems to go on forever.

	Jek makes a loud hiss like hot metal being quenched. You keep your eyes closed, but you hear his moans and exclamations of pleasure, all at your expense, and a warm blast of something hits your tongue. It's strange and salty and bitter. Like old broth made from seawater. Your first instinct is to spit it out, but Nitheem holds you fast. As Jek adds more to your mouth, your tongue insists that it shouldn't be there. Your throat closes. You never expected it to be so strong. And so much! A puddle pools beneath your tongue before his orgasm stops.

	"Good boy," says Nitheem. Out of nowhere, he clamps your mouth closed with the muzzle. "Now swallow."

	Your eyes fly open in a panic. You struggle without even thinking. 

	Nitheem immediately blocks your nose. He squeezes. "Swallow!"

	More struggling. You can't breathe. The muzzle is wrapped so tight you can't even open your lips enough to spit.

	"The longer you take, the longer that taste sits on your tongue."

	With wild gags and sputters, your body reflexively drinks to keep from choking. It's so thick, it leaves slimy globs that slowly ooze down your throat with a rich, clinging saltiness. Four gulps, five gulps, then six. Once he's convinced you've done as you're told, Nitheem removes the muzzle. Before you can take your first breath, you gag one last time on the lingering taste.

	Jek, having only just recovered from his climax, laughs as you cough and retch. "You not like prison food, fox?"

	You look up to see Nitheem examining the back of his paw. He shows you the long streak that landed across it. "You missed a little."

	With a look of mild fright, Jek says, "Thall, thall..."

	"No need to apologize. Our friend here will clean it." The silvery strand is so thick it doesn't drip as he holds out his paw to you. He presents it like a king presents his ring to be kissed. The cobra peers down at you with a knowing smirk, one final time daring you to bite.

	You don't. The best you can do is think about biting as you drag your tongue across his smooth scales. The last of Jek's thick, potent flavor slides into your belly while a number of fantasies play out, not the least of which is taking a chunk out of that paw.

	Looking up at your cruel masters, the cobra isn't quite satisfied. "Be sure to get it all."

	With the slack in the chain, you could shoot to your feet and strangle him with it. But of course, Jek's fangs would likely end up in your neck. He'd love nothing more than a reason to acquire his tenth baculum. Again you surrender those thoughts as if they were never there, and lick Nitheem's paw clean. "What a good boy," he coos.

	Only then do you notice Jek still nursing a full erection. His paw glides slowly up and down the slimy flesh like he hadn't just spent himself. "Laka. More," he demands.

	Thankfully, Nitheem comes to your rescue again. "My dear Jek, someday soon we must find you a wife," he says with a fanged smile. He wraps an arm around his underling's shoulder. "Time presses. The hour is fast approaching when our return will look suspicious."

	Seeming mildly heartbroken, Jek groans as he continues masturbating.

	With a thoughtful glance between the viper's legs, Nitheem rolls his eyes. "Though, I suppose I can't have you walking the streets with your maleness pointing skyward. And I must admit, watching him gulp your seed has warmed my blood again." 

	Their evil grins turn your stomach to ice.

DAY SEVEN

	Nitheem leads you through the dusty streets, and the world looks exactly as you left it. Snakes go about their morning business. They take little notice of you, but nearly everyone sees Nitheem. They nod respectfully to their protector, having no idea what he did to you just half a league up the road. You fight the urge to shout the truth. Who would believe you?

	As of dawn this morning, you're free, but you follow Nitheem closely, giving him no reason to act on his hateful whims any further. You don't even ask where he's bringing you. You just walk. Soon, ship masts begin appearing past the rooftops.

	At the harbor, you can just make out the sound of waves over the market crowd. The cobra leads you straight across the main road onto the docks. Bells ring. Moist air from the sea tickles your ears. Seagulls caw overhead. At last, he comes to a stop, and so do you. Standing there on the wooden planks, an uneasy moment passes before he turns.

	"I have something for you." His expression is unrecognizably soft and pleasant, but his tone is dark. He takes your right paw and places it in his own, imitating a friendly gesture.

	You shake his paw, equal parts instinct and fear commanding it. Suddenly you feel him slip something onto your finger. You look down in confusion at the ring that began this whole mess. The glass sapphires shine and sparkle in the bright sun, a perfect incarnation of Nitheem: beautiful only on the outside.

	 "A token," he says with a smile as false as the ring. "Should you ever again feel the urge to steal, look at your finger and remember me."

	His grip tightens around your paw, and he pulls you close enough that he can mutter in your ear. "I have a confession," he begins. You shiver as his tongue flicks against it. "I had more fun with you than any other st'vath I can remember. You haven't the slightest idea how dessssperately I want to keep you in my prison."

	Gulping nervously, you stare over his shoulder at the water - the sea, the road home - and think how easily you could've spent the rest of your life as a rape slave, or how your life itself could've been cut short. Finally, Nitheem releases your paw, but not before dropping several coins into it.

	"Take the first ship across the sea, and pray I don't follow you."

	You watch him draw a deep, satisfied breath of the warm air, then turn and go about his life as though the last six days never happened. The Lord of the City Watch slides confidently into the weaving crowd like sand through an hourglass.

	With a little effort, the ring comes off. You'll toss it overboard as soon as you're at sea...

	Probably.