The first trust. 
One guard gave the other money. He had bet that the biggest monster of the hunt festival couldn’t put his meat in the little pest they had attached to an improvised breeding bench. But the larger beast was also the strongest. On the first trust. On the first trust it had buried a third of its thick length in the rat burglar and the guy knew he’d lost.
“If he dies though, that means he can’t take it, so I want my money back.”
The poor shoplifter had insulted and begged, then cried when several creatures relieved their stress on him, using him as no more than a sex doll. They did not believe he actually was a burmecian prince and his family would offer money to get him. They just laughed at how this cunning little brat was trying to trick them like they were that stupid. It had been years he made fun of them, thinking he could do whatever he wanted in their city.  Here, he was finally useful to something, said the men, and he was indeed helpful in order to keep those fucking monsters quieter than usual. But then had arrived the Zaghnol and all that came before it was a summer breeze in comparison to the typhoon that soon devasted the kid’s ass. Thunder personified, clashing all around a big rod that almost split him in half when it impaled him with a savagery never seen. No more voice to beg, just a screech that repeated itself as the boy’s insides were torn apart again and again and again with nasty angles and what seemed like an ever-growing shaft. 
The first trust was all it took for him to pee himself. Then the beast pulled out and he almost passed out from the feeling of his guts turned upside down. But the following clash was so painful it woke him up; there was no escaping this. No death and no relief. 
The first trust was all it took to break “his highness” will and take away all his wit; never again would he brag and steal and make fun at the guards… The first trust was all it took to have him cry for his mama drowning in tears and snot but it was still just that one trust. Only one simple trust. Just a warmup for the ferocious beast that had the stamina of a hundred men. 
Now it could begin. 
It would take almost three full hours of the boar pounding his all and a few gallons of cum into the fucked silly rat shaped hole to exhaust his pulsion of mating.  
Puck was not a mess at this stage: he was so wrecked he couldn’t move a finger, remember his name or do anything else than fart spectacularly while the monster discharged and packets of heavy stinky cum leaked out of the tunnel of his ass. 
After that, the men held a fisting contest. The first guard managed to won his money back by plunging his arm halfway to his shoulder. Finally, it was a lucky day. 
They laughed and laughed at the sounds the rat made.
Then they dropped him on the river on a leash “to wash” and put him in his cage for rest. A sign saying “Princess” was put on the door. He was left alone for 4 hours. 
The next time, Puck was desperate. He didn’t make jokes. He didn’t threaten. He begged, and he agreed to offer them blow jobs to be freed.
He blew them. He was not set free. 
He was tied back to the mating device. And another day of 14 hours of being fucked by beasts began for the young delinquent. 
There were still 47 days before the Festival.