“Where are we?”

“Mama...papa, where are you?”

“Please, I want to go home...”

For the past few hours, that had been all Scott had known; the snivelling and whimpering of kids younger than him in a cramped room. 

For the past however long, he was too young to even know, the 11-year-old coyote had been in some kind of cramped room all on his own. The last thing he could remember before that was walking around the Uvani Space Port. It was just meant to be a short intermission before they hopped on the next ship back home. Someone had grabbed him, he thought, and his vision had gone dark since that moment. He still felt everything else; the touch of rough hands on his body as they forcibly undressed him, groping fingers clutching at his body, spreading his legs, inspecting every inch of him...it had smelt like metal and sulphur for a while, then incredibly clean, like chemicals. Someone had fed him something that flushed out most of his insides, and since then he hadn’t needed to pee. Every so often he got fed, and heard the murmurings in a language he didn’t understand, and it had been like that for what felt like an agonizing eternity until, just a few hours ago, he’d been taken and dragged into wherever he was now.

He couldn’t see; presumably, just like him, the other kids in the room had been bound and blindfolded. Scott didn’t know what they were made of, but he could feel the warm metal around his eyes, heated by his own body, but not around the sides of his head; they must be high-tech and suction to the fur and skin. His arms felt like they were bound in handcuffs, but thankfully they hadn’t bound them behind their arms; instead, he could sluggishly brush the metal of the cuffs against his stomach and chest to feel them out without his sight; they seemed blocky, but light, and no matter how much he strained, he couldn’t break them. They didn’t just bind to his wrists but also around his hands, forcing them to be balled into fists so he couldn’t even articulate his digits in any way. His feet were the same, though only around the ankles-- thankfully, he could still wiggle and curl his toes.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” A sombre, dejected voice came from his right, but didn’t seem to be aimed at him in particular. The room was spacious, enough for them to spread out, so Scott was sitting on his own without needing to bump up against somebody. He was tired; he hadn’t slept a wink, too scared to let himself drift off, but he didn’t feel hungry at all...it must be whatever they were feeding them, maybe.

“I don’t know. I’m scared.” Someone else responded for him, and his pointed ears twisted to their tremoring voice, on the verge of tears. Scott wasn’t exactly calm himself; he’d cried and screamed out quite a few times, but he’d lost all energy to continue. He was pushing his feelings down, but the fear remained, constantly settled in his gut alongside the anxiety and apprehension of what was to come. Part of him was intellectualising everything, trying to understand the finest of details, but it didn’t matter what he learnt and what he didn’t; no amount of knowledge was going to get him out of this anyway...he was old enough to understand that. He wished he could see his dad.

“Do you thi--” A click from across the room, and the approaching sound of footsteps, halted all speech. It was like this every time they heard an approaching noise, especially when it was easily identifiable; Scott hadn’t spoken much, but even he kept quiet in those moments. It wasn’t out of fear of backlash from speaking, but fear of what was going to happen-- the room came to a hushed, still silence, save for the shuffling of feet or the occasional whimper, as the footsteps approached further, coming to a stop nearby. The layout of the room was impossible to know, but maybe they were at a door of some kind.

A loud shuttering clang made Scott jump; it was a noise he remembered hearing just above he got thrown into the room. Another click followed, almost familiar, before there was a hiss of the lock undoing, and the shudder of the metal door swinging open. A gust of cold wind brushed across Scott’s body as he heard the scuff of boots against metal, and the delicate click of something else against the floor. Scott wasn’t sure what it was.

A sudden, sharp whistle echoed around the room, so loud and high-pitched that Scott snapped his arms up to try and cover his pointed ears, though it was impossible thanks to his bound arms.

What happened next was complete and utter chaos.

First came that sharp clicking from behind, this time rapid and multiple, a cacophony of clacking against the metal. Then came the whimpers, the complaints and cries of surprise, before some of the cubs around the room started to yelp and cry out for help. Some of them called out for someone to save them, others couldn’t even formulate the words. There came noises, ones that Scott had never really heard before, and some of those cries for help lapsed into quiet sobs and whimpers, occasionally interspersed with short, quick grunts and tender moans that just made Scott more confused and anxious. Then, it was his turn.

A weight barrelled straight into his body, knocking him over and forcing him into his back. He could feel something brushing and nipping at his body, starting around his side and moving up his left arm. Stabs of short, quick pain, that didn’t linger for more than a handful of seconds, made him jump and squirm as he cried out in surprise, and he did what probably most of the other cubs did; he rolled, cuffs scraping against the floor, and he blindly pushed himself onto his knees with the intention of getting up, maybe even rising to his feet, if the binds around his ankles would let him. He didn’t realise how much of a mistake that was until it was too late, for as he went to push himself upright, a weight pressed down to his back, forcing him onto his elbows.

A cry of surprise came from him as he squirmed, and he did what most boys probably instinctively did and scrambled forwards to try and claw his way out beneath whatever was on top of him, but large limbs hooked around his back legs and tucked against his inner thighs, pulling him in with surprising strength and dexterity. The lack of purchase from his bound hands made it impossible for Scott, a coyote, to pull himself away, and as his hips and legs were dragged back, his upper torso sagged forwards, his arms stretching out in front of him. He strained to pull his weak limbs back towards him as he turned his head left and right, trying to catch any semblance of understanding. He could feel fur brushing against his and heavy heat, intermingled with all the noises around him. He’d been online before all this, and he knew what those noises sounded like, enough to know something was very, very wrong. The whimpers, half-sobs, moans and cries for help made terror sink into his gut.

A mass pushed against his naked young behind in a peculiarly rhythmic moment, slipping around his cheeks and brushing across his fur before it sought to bury itself between his cheeks, at a spot that had otherwise been untouched, up until that moment. Scott instinctively wriggled his behind in an attempt to avoid whatever the creature was doing, but his efforts were futile; from his perspective, whatever it was was relentless, and a sharp stab shot through the back of his neck as he felt a mixture of wetness and tight pinching against his flesh. He did only what he could think to do, and turned rigid under the pain, freezing up and arching his back. Regardless of his lack of movement, that mass kept rocking and rapidly pressing into his behind, in irregular movements, until a warmth pushed against the coyote’s most intimate spot. Liquid smeared lewdly across his sensitive ring, and without warning, something started to force its way inside.

Scott couldn’t even utter a word through the strangled whimper that came from his muzzle as something entered him, an inexplicable warmth spreading across his ring and stretching it out in a way that felt unnatural and wrong. That heat permeated through him, beginning at his rump, and spread through the core of his body all the way to his stomach, where it coalesced in a discomforting tingle that stretched to every limb like wildfire. He whimpered again, moisture dotting his eyes, and the sensors within his futuristic blindfold sensed the tears, minuscule pinprick holes opening within the bottom of the blindfold to let them seep through. Every muscle in his body clenched as his behind squeezed, naturally trying to force the intrusion out, but all his flexing, clamping innards did was encourage the creature more. That searing pain around the back of his neck never faded, for whatever was painfully holding him remained there as cursory, simple movements, that slowed as that intrusion forced its way into him, assaulted the boy’s rump, before they began to rapidly pick up speed.

The 11-year-old wasn’t entirely naive; he knew what was forcibly penetrating him at that moment was a cock, but it was the unknown of what the creature was that scared him. From the way thick, furred legs cupped around his thighs, and with the way it mounted and wildly fucked him, all he could assume was that it was some kind of dog...and the more he thought about it, despite all that spasming pain from what could best be assumed to be a bite and the forced mating, the more it made sense, especially with the way the other cubs in the room cried out. Soon enough, lewd noises came from his own behind as the creature, some kind of dog or alien, pumped into him rapidly with reckless abandon, each powerful quick thrust smearing some kind of fluid deep into the cub’s body and around that intruding member.

The creature picked up speed as the coyote’s whimpers of complaint subsided, replaced only by sharp, pained exhales as his innards stretched, forced to accommodate the pounding length. Each thrust was met with a squelching wet slap as something thick pressed to his hole, mashing and dangerously trying to stretch his flesh over and over, which in turn made Scott tense up, arching his back further. Around him, he could hear the complaints of some of the other cubs dying down, some of them growing quiet after letting out a sharp yelp or cry that only made Scott fearful of what may happen to him as well. He could hear wild, vigorous panting, nothing that he or any of the other kids could make themselves without doing it deliberately, and that sound blanketed over all the noise of the heavy sex, drowning out the quiet murmurings of what sounded like people talking beyond.

With a sudden sharper thrust than before, Scott winced and clamped his muzzle shut, tears trickling down his furred cheeks and dotting onto the meta floor through the holes of his blindfold. Whatever was pushing against him was eventually making his muscles loosen to accept it, despite the coyote’s tension, and the 11-year-old strained, scrunching up his face as that mass pressed and pressed, trying to force its way inside. After a few moments, it abruptly pulled back, for barely even a moment, before suddenly ramming forward with as much vigour as before, enough to catch Scott’s blind muscles by surprise. With a squelching popping noise, something entered him that stretched him beyond his limits, something that spread a sharp, piercing agony through him that was quickly replaced by a dull, empty numbness, cut through by only the stabbing pain of sharpness in the back of his neck from a rough, still held bite.

Warmth flooded him, quickly and, if he were in better spirits, sensually. Instead, all he could feel was a chill creeping up from his hump, spreading around his flank, chasing the warmth up his body. He could tell, from what he could feel of the throbbing and pulsing inside him, that something was shooting deep, and what limited knowledge he had from crudely looking at videos online gave him all the assumptions he needed. Fur brushed up his left side and dragged up toward his hip as those front legs unwrapped from around his thighs and withdrew, though to where, Scott wasn’t sure-- the jaws against his neck retreated in a similar fashion, and cool air brushed against wetness on the back of the cub’s spine, sending a cool tremble down his back, his body and mine unsure if it’s spit or blood. Those claws raked awkwardly against his side and scratched at his skin as the creature found purchase against his flesh, and the limb hiked more and move, until it brushed roughly over the top of the boy’s lower spine and ass, with that thick, bulbous mass still snugly locked inside. When the limb cleared, Scott was left with a feeling of freedom; there was no mass atop him, no grip to hold him down, no bite to the back of his neck. His first instinct was to try and drag himself forward, but as soon as he did so, he felt immediate resistance. He hadn’t been able to feel it through all the numbness in his behind, but that creature was still firmly lodged inside him, pumping away spurt after spurt, the warmth mixed in with the rest to the point of being unnoticeable.

Scott tried to push himself up onto all fours, but he barely even had the strength, and only managed to get as far as his elbows before he hung his head and huffed, body quaking with the sensations of the sex. Knowing he was stuck was the worst part; he was powerless to stop the creature advancing on him and fucking him, but it felt worse that he could practically taste freedom from the beast, but was unable to even crawl his way forward, both because of himself and because of that locking cock. Frustration built in him, but quickly dissipated in favour of the helplessness of his general situation. The sounds around him had calmed; there were still whimpers, sniffles and sobs of complaint, and the occasional whine for help, but all that rapid slamming, those wet cacophonous sounds of forced sex, had faded, making the room eerily silent, save for the click of claws against the floor and the shuffle of bodies.

There was another brush to his side, one that immediately had him freezing up, but he realised quickly, from the way it awkwardly nuzzled against his forearm, just beneath the handcuff, that it couldn’t be the creature that had abused him. Another came to his other side, and he could hear little nearby grunts amongst the clack of nails against the floor. Scott turned his head to the side right as he felt something brush up against his cheek, and hot breath wafted against his muzzle in short, quick exhales. He heard a whimper, faint but incredibly close, and deduced instinctively from that another one of the cubs must have somehow crawled to him, though surely not deliberately. A wetness slid across his cheek, the warmth of a tongue lapping up towards the bridge of his muzzle, before it slid down and moved to the side, searching for something. Scott kept himself still, paying close attention to not only the boy in front of him, but the one to his other side as well-- the other kid was starting to sneak under his body, tucking beneath his slim figure, and he could only tell that from the way fur brushed his chest and belly.

The 11-year-old’s body stiffened when he felt an exploratory groping around his crotch area, and he could guess from the hot breath against his sheath that it was a mouth, or at least a nose. The coyote’s crotch, as anatomically correct as they come, was stirred if only slightly by the recent abuse, but only because of the bodily sensations; the pain of it and the nausea he felt from being assaulted had kept him mostly flaccid. However, all that was thrown to the side when the sensation of warmth and wetness brushed across the tip of his tapered little dick, the tiniest amount of it poking from his sheath. Through all the numbness came a strangely intense pleasure derived from that sensual licking, further exacerbated by the other boy-- he assumed it was a boy, anyway-- tenderly kissed the front of his muzzle, licking up and down in an attempt to get him to open his mouth. Maybe it was because of the pleasure spreading across his body, or maybe because he was just too delirious, too wrapped up in emotion, but he found himself opening his muzzle, letting that tongue slip in to taste his own.

A sharp exhale came from his young muzzle as his body reacted to both comfort-seeking kisses and roaming tongues; the flesh dancing along the tip of his sheath, smearing up towards the tip and down to the fluffy pouch of the entrance to that intimate flesh, was warm and inviting, The feeling of it quickly stirred him, causing his member to slip from the sheath, and it started to twitch and pulse against the other’s tongue. All Scott could feel was those tiny little laps, focused on a part of him that didn’t feel entirely numb. The other cub explored his mouth quietly, making barely any sounds as Scott’s ears twisted to listen for the whimpers around him, making note of anyone coming in or out.  Pleasure spiked within him and grew rapidly, making his body shift and tremble, which in turn seemed to coax the length inside him, causing it to spurt deeper into him, warmth meeting with the pleasure and the numbing sensation that continued to assault his behind.

The pleasure in his young body rose quickly, faster than he was anticipating, and he didn’t know the reason for it, nor did he even get a chance to think about it, even. His member rapidly swelled to its full mast under the gentle, naive touch of the cub tucked under his body, and Scott tried to understand the position and how they might be bent against him based on feeling alone, but he didn’t have all the information. All he knew was that it felt good, and shame brewed within him as he awkwardly pushed his hips down, pressing his crotch down into the muzzle against his tip. Translucent fluid leaked from the tip as his breath hitched and his body stiffened, his tongue flicking up only slightly when the other’s own dared to smear across his. The base of his member swelled in a familiar way, which he now realised was quite similar to the creature that had fucked him, and as intense need spiked in his core, his body became more and more rigid, like he was trying to hold everything in...not just his body and the fluids, but his emotions, too.

He could only hold it in for so long. With a shudder and a final groan, something came from him; tiny, dribbling little spurts, befitting a pubescent boy like him, oozed from the end of his member to god knows where. Amidst all the heated pleasure, his body loosened and his muscles sagged, heavy with a mixture of fatigue and the slowly dwindling adrenaline as his body began to perceive no danger through the pleasant feelings. He moved his head away from the other cub’s mouth, hearing a whimper of protest as he turned his head to what he assumed was the floor, and his member twitched and bounced, dribbling the final remnants of his climax. His breathing was heavy, and at his backside, he felt small, purposed tugs, pulling on the number parts of his seared ring. He instinctively pulled in response, hoping it might ease that thick, turgid meat out of him, but it was steadfast and tight, and all his tugging did was coax it further. Warmth surged into him, albeit in small trickles, and for a moment Scott simply laid there, pressing his head to the cool floor.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. At some point, the two cubs who had been exploring him moved away, but only for a moment, adjusting themselves and inevitably coming back. Scott, in his half-tired state, had started to hear the murmurs of others around him, some of them talking, others sniffling and muffling their mouths in some fashion. Then came the squelches and pops, and the telltale noise of fluids hitting the floor, and the clack of claws. After some time, the door shuddered open and there was a whistle. Scott, who seemed to be the last of those to be free, was forced to endure a forced, harsh tug, and a shameful feeling of emptiness as that rock-hard cock inside him slipped free, the knot finally deflated. He slumped and rolled onto his side as the pain began to set in more significantly, and he listened to the sound of the beasts finally leaving, corralled by one of their kidnappers. A short moment later, someone came in through the door and pushed them around. They were manhandled, albeit briefly, and things were pressed to their behind, Scott included. When they were done, he felt...cleaner, but still in pain, especially from the rough manhandling. And then, there was nothing...not for a long time.

Finally, some rest.



---------- x x x ----------



He couldn’t recall how long it had been. There was no measure of time he could ever do, and he hadn’t the strength to count, to know how much had passed. It was agonising enough before with the creature, but now it was just silence, interspersed with quiet whispering and sniffling murmurs. It would be fair to say most of them were traumatised, but Scott couldn’t even process what had occurred fully, for the pain brought him back. He wondered if others had endured in the same way, but it was hard to tell-- unsurprisingly, he didn’t feel like talking.

At a sudden point in time, the door to their room opened again, but it was not met with the familiar click of nails in its wake. Instead, it came with the shuffle of feet and the new cries of other cubs. The young coyote listened to the cries of children around him as he heard the dulled sounds of slapping, where perhaps some had hit the floor, before he too was a victim. A mass landed on top of him that almost took the wind out of it, and it squirmed, fur brushing against fur. It was hard for him not to think back to what had happened before, and his body reacted instantly, pushing the mass off of him. They landed somewhere to his side and he heard a grunt, boyish and young, that snapped him back to reality. Just the realisation of it stopped him from lashing out, but in its place, he felt guilty. However, the person who fell on him didn’t say anything in response.

As quickly as those who had captured them came to dump more inside, they left, leaving them with a fresh set of arrivals. Similarly to before, they began to talk, but things were fundamentally different; the room was once spacious and now felt cramped. Scott couldn’t sit still on his own without something touching him in some fashion, whether it be fur against the bottom of his paw, or someone rubbing up against his side inadvertently, or otherwise. Some of them whispered in his direction, trying to speak to anyone, and there were a few sparse conversations. Some talked about what had recently happened to the newcomers, seeking comfort, others asked about how they ended up where they were...anything to fill the dead air. Despite being talked at, or in the general direction of, Scott didn’t want to talk to anyone in particular.

He should have guessed it might be inevitable that the comfort some of the kids sought became something more. They were quiet about it, maybe because they were being respectful, but in the eerie echo of the room, it was easy to make out the noises, the sharp inhales and bated breaths. Scott felt a little sick at the thought, if only because it made him relive things he’d rather forget, but there was no blocking out the quiet, wet noises of mouths around cocks, or the smack and smear of tongues. It was easy to recognise the noises of orgasms, too-- they were all still kids, and even Scott knew he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, if he were in that position.

It wasn’t only the kids surrounding him that were partaking in things for themselves. Every so often, through a journey that never seemed to end, the guards came into the room. Most of the time it was to feed them-- Scott would never be able to get the grainy taste of that cube they force-fed them out of his mouth-- but every so often they, too, needed sating. Scott counted himself lucky that he was never chosen, but those that were tended to be vocal, and afraid. Scott had to hear them whimpering and telling the men no often, but from the sounds Scott heard throughout the blind trip, none of them ever went as far as to do anything more than use their mouths. Though it wasn’t frequent, the times that it did happen became so engrained into the 11-year-old’s brain that he could tell, just from the slick, lewd noises, whether it was a blowjob or something else. The cubs often coughed when it was done, and were comforted by other kids thereafter-- as best as they could anyway, since none of them could use their hands.

It felt like an eternity before something finally changed. The doors had shuddered open in a way that made Scott think it was another meal, but when he heard the shuffling of multiple boots, and the grunts of cubs being pulled to their feet, he immediately felt an intense fight or flight rush through his body, and his heartbeat started to quicken. A minute or so later, a hand roughly grabbed the cuffs around his wrists and with a firm, easy tug, they yanked him to his feet. At first, he stumbled, his feet catching on the floor as he hit his knees off the metal, but whoever was pulling him didn’t seem to care, and continued to drag him across the room until he found purchase on his own. He was guided blindly towards the chill cold of the room, and the stark smell of metal hit his nostrils; he’d become so accustomed to the room that he’d forgotten what it had smelt like.

He paid close attention to the feel beneath his paws...first cool metal, then harsh concrete and finally, coarser metal that had grooves and bumps. All of it occurred over a minute or so, if he had to guess, before he was lifted up onto more sleek metal and then roughly pushed from behind, where he stumbled and fell into what he initially thought was a pile of fabric, but quickly realised was other cubs. Even his young, rather immature brain could put two and two together, and understood he had been moved, along with the rest, to some other kind of room. It was only when the floor began to vibrate minutes later, and his ears twisting to the whirr of engines, that he understood they were in motion once more...another ship, maybe? Or perhaps something smaller?

The trip was significantly shorter, and for the duration of it, they weren’t bothered or disturbed. Only the clang of a metal shutter indicating the entrance and exit to where they were informed them of their entry and exit, and Scott, amongst the group closest to the front, seemed to be one of the first few to be pulled out. He was dragged along in the same fashion as before, unable to do anything but listen, smell and feel. He could hear nothing...that was perhaps the most eerie part. There was the thunk of boots and the patter of paws on the floor, and the murmurs of adults talking, but there were no whining cubs, no whimpers, no pleas for help. He smelt chemicals, and the scent of perfume, which made his nostrils twitch. 

He seemed to be being led from the metal back to something more sleek and cool, some kind of tile-- it reminded him of the kitchen back home-- and he was pulled along further and further until the tension in his arms loosened, and whoever was guiding him let him go. He felt a rough hand on his back, pushing him forward into somewhere, before a hand brushed across his shoulder and up to the side of his face, slowly and carefully. It made him tremble and his body tensed up, before, with a hiss, something around his eyes came undone.

It was blinding, like nothing he’d ever felt before. He had to close his eyes just to endure it, and during that brief moment, the hands came down and loosened the bindings around his wrists. With another telltale hiss, and a loud metal click, the metal levered away from his hands, and his boyish wrists slipped out. His hands felt weak, but he flexed the fingers and sighed with the freedom of just being able to move them. He tried to peek an eye open as he turned around, but his vision was struggling to adjust to sterile white lighting; he didn’t even get to catch a glimpse of whoever had escorted him before a sleek, glass door closed. The figure-- a pure black silhouette, to Scott’s blurry vision-- waved a hand, and the transparent wall in front of him dimmed and became opaque over the course of a couple of seconds. Scott only got to see a glimpse before he was met with a blank wall.

The coyote slumped, bringing up his hands to rub at his eyes, trying to adjust them. He brushed fingers across fur and wiped the crust of dried tears from them as he blinked, over and over, his eyes getting more and more used to the brightness. Finally, he raised them, only to find nothing identifiable around him. There was a single circular light above him, illuminating a uniform, blank cube room. Each of the walls was sleek, white and minimalistic. All that was unique and out of place was a singular fluffed-up pillow that, when Scott pressed a hand into it, sprung up and retained its shape. He was well and truly alone, but most certainly not free...he was a prisoner in some kind of cell. Had he committed some kind of crime? Is that why he was here? No, he was a good boy, he ate his greens and did what his parents told him to do...so where was he?

It was a question he didn’t think he’d ever get the answer to. For the first time in what felt like days, he had a chance to reflect...and it hurt. All he could do was lay on his side, relive the experiences he’d endured, and cry. He wanted to go home, wanted to see his parents. He’d never do anything even remotely bad ever again. He’d never swear or say a mean word. He cried and cried, somehow understanding that his sounds wouldn’t be heard to those outside, and his brain swam with the sensations of being violated, with the cries of the other kids who had suffered the same, with the noises of sex, the smell of it, the nausea that it brought up in his body...and the shameful numbing feeling of experiencing a climax by someone else’s hand.

He put the pillow over his head and letsthe darkness takes him...it’s all he could think to do.



---------- x x x ----------



How long had it been? Maybe only a couple of hours. He thought he might be able to keep track of time better if he was able to see, but it actually didn’t seem to matter at all, since all he could stare at was the corners of the room, for at least some change of scenery. He rolled around with his head on the pillow for some time just thinking and looking at himself.

His fur wasn’t dirty, surprisingly. He was in relatively good shape...ish-- a little thinner, but still fine. Of course, he’d touched himself, but not to any degree; it felt weird just to do it, but everything was intact. It had been something that made him anxious, being unable to touch his own body or even see it, and admittedly it was a relief to be able to have that freedom to just look at himself and know he was okay, at least physically. All that was left was the suffocating suspense of what was going to happen to him. There was no indication of where he was, or what his captors had planned for him. He couldn’t even plan an escape...he’d seen too many dumb videos on the internet in video games about escaping prisons, but none of it applied here. This was real life.

There was a flash and a quiet humming noise, something that he’d heard a handful of times before when he was at home, through devices and other things around the house. He raised his head and saw a change in his environment-- on the opposite wall were two blue circles, evenly distanced and roughly at chest height. As he moved into a sitting position, he could see there were 2 other circles as well, but those ones were on the floor instead. Scott felt naturally wary, his eyes jumping from one to the other, before a voice made him jump in his seated position.

“Put your hands and feet inside the circles.”

The first instinct was to refuse, but when he took a moment to deliberate on it, he understood how much of a bad idea that might be. If previous events were anything to go on, the people who’d kidnapped him were capable of so much more than just telling him sternly to do something, and he couldn’t shake the fear brewing in his cut. The young coyote sucked in a breath and willed himself to stand, shuffling closer towards the circles, tentative to even approach. He placed a paw into one of them and heard a quick, simple hum in response. It made him nervous and he tried to lift his leg back, but it was stuck-- something under the floor must be forcing him to stay in place. He was scared, but he had no choice but to keep going. One paw went into the other circle, and he placed his palms up against the wall. Like his feet, they were stuck firmly as a result.

He heard a hiss to his right, but he didn’t even get a chance to turn his head before he heard a whirr above him. He naturally drew his attention to that instead, and his eyes widened as a panel in the ceiling opened up to reveal several mechanical hands. He’d heard horror stories online about it and it made him squeamish just seeing them, to the point where he tried to bend his body to move, growing more fearful by the minute. He let out a noise of complaint as one of the arms sailed down in front of him, and locked less heavy, more flexible straps around his wrists, that were soft on the inside. Another arm came down shortly thereafter holding some kind of tool that, when it came towards his face, he started to recognise. He went to turn his head, but the pressure against the sides of his face forced him to look directly forward as, for yet another time, a device was placed over his eyes to obscure his vision, and the familiarity of them confirmed to him that they were the same type of blindfolds as before.

His arms abruptly flopped down, suddenly dislodged from the wall, and his wrists were tugged together firmly by some kind of force as he felt the same fur wrapping around his ankles in the same way. He tried to pull his hands apart, but was met with resistance, but at least he could flex his fingers; he felt a little relief in that, at least. He experimentally tried to twist his ankles a few times until they finally seemed to dislodge, but they were forced together in a similar fashion as his hands, allowing him to walk freely, to a point; he couldn’t stretch out too far without his ankle getting snapped back. 

A mass touched his back and he instinctively stiffened, before that mass brushed across his side, cold and sleek, before grabbing his left forearm. It directed him, making him turn, and something came to his lips. The grainy texture and aroma of it was unmistakable. He opened his mouth in compliance despite not feeling hungry, and a square was forced into his mouth. He chewed and quickly swallowed before something else was brought to his lips. He didn’t know what it was this time, but opened his mouth regardless. It was slippery and wet, and it abruptly shoved into his mouth, making him gag and cough with surprise-- at least, he tried to, but instead he just gulped for air as something slid down into his throat. He tried to reach up to grab at it, but a firm grip forced his hands down, and he squirmed on the spot, spluttering and choking for a moment until a coolness flooded his stomach and made him feel full. Just as quickly as the thing had arrived, it pulled back out of his throat and he coughed violently, the grip on his arm relaxing enough to allow him to cover his mouth. Despite the coughing, he didn’t want to vomit; in a way, he felt weirdly refreshed, though he couldn’t explain how.

Whoever was there let him cough as much as he wanted, which was maybe a minute or so, before he was pulled along, forced to follow. He had to make short strides, but they felt comfortable and natural, and whoever was leading him took their time in taking him from wherever he was to their destination. At first, it was nothing but the quiet, clapping sounds of his paws against the cool floor and the dull thunk of boots, but as they continued walking, he started to hear sounds, that grew louder as he presumably approached.

Though they were hard to make out at first, there was no mistaking them once he recognised them; sharp, loud claps met with poignant moans and manly, more masculine groans of pleasure. There was a jingling of metal chains and a whimper, along with the sounds of someone crying, and some kind of whirring noise. As he came closer to the sounds, little by little, he could hear the familiar, lewd wet sounds that he knew all too well-- the noisy, messy sounds of sex. He could hear boys and girls whimpering and begging for them to stop whilst others sounded like they were more into it, some of them more than others. Under his paws, the cold tiles became warmer plush carpet, and his feet became muffled in their steps as he walked, unable to envision his surroundings. All he could do was imagine, and what he saw in his mind was horrible.

He came to a stop a minute or so later, surrounded by those cacophonous noises of wild, likely forced sex. He could smell the sweat and cum in the air and it made him uncomfortable, but as hands tugged him along, he knew he couldn’t particularly resist, even if he wanted to leave. A pair of hands twisted his body, turning him around, and a force pushed him back, causing the back of his legs to bump and nudge into the back of his legs, causing him to freeze and jolt, momentarily. It feels smooth and cool, though not cold...it was hard to tell what it was.

Hands manhandled him, some tugging and guiding his hands and arms clinically, others touching his thighs and pulling them up to lift them off his feet. It felt intimate in a deeply uncomfortable way, but where he was, and with his arms and legs being bound and restricted, to varying degrees, made it impossible for him to resist. His back met with that material and the feel of it made him suspect it was something like leather; he squirmed to get comfortable as his arms were pulled up and over his head, strained to their limits until they were slipped in under and around the thing he was laying on, keeping them well out of the way. He could barely move them; a quick tug all but reminded him that he couldn’t do more than move than half an inch, and he could twist his arms a little, but not enough to do anything more than wriggle them. As he toyed with his limits, his legs were pulled and manhandled in a similar fashion; but where he was expecting them to be pulled beneath where he was laying, they were instead lifted up and dragged back as presumably the anklets around his feet loosened. He could feel the cool air against his behind and around his crotch, and unease spread through his body when his legs spread far enough to reach his head, at least that’s what it felt like. There was a jingle of chains, and an easy of tension, but it ultimately came back quickly, and Scott found himself uncomfortably spread-eagled, though his back felt well placed on the leather.

His instinct was to turn his head left and right, and his ears did the work of picking up the sounds and figuring out the space around him. There were people to the left and right, most definitely a mixture of adults and cubs-- he could tell from the quiet whimpers, the occasional loud, young cry, and the deep masculine grunts, occasionally interjected by a loud smack and inevitably cry of pain, or perhaps pleasure, in some instances. That, combined with the sloppy noises of sex, and his own contorted position, painted a grim picture of what was going to happen to him. There was no suspense or anticipation this time; just deep, sorrowful resignation that, soon enough, he would be violated in the same way. The thought of it brought tears to his eyes, but the chance to process those emotions was over. His ears twisted to the sound of shuffling feet and the murmur of someone talking, before heat brushed across the right side of his body, up towards his hip and around to his rounded rump.

They didn’t wait, though perhaps Scott should have expected it; as soon as they made themselves known by their groping fingers, another turgid mass pushed and rammed up against his hole that was decidedly bigger than the last one the coyote boy could recall. A shiver rolled through him at the feeling of it, quickly chased by an unimaginable fear that spread up his body and towards his chest, reminding him of what was about to happen.

He had but a few moments to brace before there was a rough, powerful shove. In one fell swoop, with more wetness and fluid than he was expecting, that mass glided into him. Despite its ease of entry, incredible pain seared through the boy’s body, starting at his ring and shooting up his body. If there was one thing for certain, it was much thicker than the last thing he took; it was so girthy that he thought he might split in half from the insertion, and he could practically feel it bulging out his stomach, pushing outwards and making him suck in a breath and cry out as he trembled. The person inside him seemed to greatly relish his squirming and cries of complaint, for his hands squeezed roughly around the coyote’s spread hips, and claws raked against his young, supple flesh. With his eyes covered, all of Scott’s senses were heightened-- he could smell the scent of sex, could hear every whimper, every smack, every dark chuckle, and felt every twitch and throb inside him, each pulse that pressed to a sensitive spot inside him and made him sickeningly aroused alongside all the pain.

He could feel it sliding back, leaving another sense of emptiness within him that made his stomach concave in as he took in a breath, before his body stiffened again as it forcefully slammed back in, sending spikes and spasms of pain up his spine. A tingle travelled across his loins, that arousal spreading discomfort across his chest as each powerful pound of the person’s hips made his body tense up and clamp down like a vice. He couldn’t control the sounds coming from his muzzle; each thrust brought forth a whimper and a whine, occasionally even a cry or gasp, and he often got a growl or a murmur of approval in response. The person’s thrusts quickened, their hips swinging and causing heavy nuts to bounce and slap into his behind, and the growing wet noises of sex filled his ears, lining up perfectly with each spasm of pleasure and agony. He huffed, gritting his teeth to keep himself quiet, to not give them the satisfaction, but the futility of it, and the growing pain of being violently fucked, quickly brought tears to his eyes. He sniffled, and that spurred the person on further.

A sudden, sharp smack to his behind had him immediately clenching and arching his back, as much as he could, and his toes curled with the sensation of it. He rocked his body back and forth as he let out a sharp cry, his body writhing as the person continued to thrust, regardless of his whimpers. If anything, they seemed to speed up, and remarkably quickly, too; their hips pounded with reckless abandon, the wet, smacking sounds of the violating sex causing Scott’s breathing to grow more and more ragged.

Then, all of a sudden, something changed. A feeling twisted in him as he strained his arms and legs, feeling but not really registering the brush of fur against the side of his elbow. A tension formed and quickly dissipated, and with it came a wave of intense feelings and abrupt discomfort, like something within him had snapped. Then, abruptly, a rush of endorphins followed in the wave of over-sensitive sex, and his innards gripped tightly as throbbing, warm, embracing blankets of bliss thrummed over his front, leaving him breathless. Moisture dotted his chest and stomach, and for a moment the person violating him slowed, giving him time to acclimatise to the feeling...and to understand it. He realised, both in dismay and shock, that he’d cum all over himself-- however, he didn’t know. He’d only endured for a couple of minutes and thought he would never cum on his own. He hadn’t even recognised that he was hard beforehand...but there was no denying the familiar fatigue that settled into his body.

But this wasn’t his bedroom with his terminal and a seedy website; this was an unknown place, where he wasn’t the only one being fucked against his will. Even as his orgasm faded, the person abusing him was not even close to done. Though they slowed for a moment, they quickly began to speed up again, and Scott was sure he was saying something, but the discomfort, the belly bulging, and the disorienting feeling of his post-orgasm bliss made it difficult for him to concentrate on the sound. Instead, he turned his head to the side, his eyes closing even beneath the loincloth, making no difference to his sight. He felt like he was going to pass out...but in that moment, he felt clarity, if only briefly; hot breath wafted across his face and brushed over the metal covering his eyes. It was short and filled was effort, much like his own, and he shuffled closer, quickly finding fur meeting the end of his muzzle. He heard a gasp, close and abundantly clear, followed by a wetness against his lips. He didn’t know why, and maybe he’d never understand, but he opened his mouth, and let that wetness brush against his own tongue. The breath that came from the unknown figure opposite him slowed, and to Scott, felt strangely comforting.

Scott couldn’t remember how long the person had kept going for. Somewhere along the way, his body had grown numb, his mind focused entirely on the comfort he got, if only slightly, from the kisses of what he assumed was another cub being violated in the same way as him. Maybe the abuser had finished and another had taken his place, or maybe it had been the same person all along...but all he knew was that this nightmare was probably never going to end.