Infiltration’s Epilogue
By Limewah
Patron Reward for Flarfenarfle (July 2023)
18+

It is recommended you read Infiltration before you read this story - you can find it wherever you found this one!

–

Snap.

A moment ago, the foxdrone had been floating in a deep pool of intense pleasure. Each breath was met with a delicious, mind-numbing scent. His internal monologue was a slow loop of “I obey. I comply. I obey. I comply,” as sure and easy as the tides coming in and out. His body bucked and wriggled weakly against the milking tube as it sucked and pulled orgasm after orgasm out of him. A tube slid into his mouth now and again and poured nutrients into his mouth, to keep him suspended in the pod.
The drone didn’t mind the taste, or even consider the taste at all. He was entirely free of the burden of thought. He drifted in a foggy state, unable - and unwilling - to escape. He could see and sense what his body was doing, but from a passive, distant state, too anaesthetised by his hypnotic bliss to feel any complex sensations.

That changed with the Snap.

It yanked him up, headfirst, forcefully up through the fog. Gravity pulled at him, the sensations of the outer world too, and he was thrown back into the ‘waking world’. 
The office’s fluorescent lights buzzed and burned his eyes. His naked body felt chilly, after having been in that warm, gooey trance for so long. 
He felt like he was breathing for the first time, his lungs aching as the normally unconscious act became a painfully conscious one. He wheezed and bent forward, immediately finding his wrists bound behind him in what felt like a cheap, creaky, uncomfortable office chair. The only thing that stopped him from rolling away was a huge hand on the back of the seat, holding him in place.

“Welcome back to the real world, Clayton Firestick.”

The voice was unfamiliar to the Braixen, and it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the light. The purple and cream colour of the figure behind the desk across from him gradually took shape as a jowly, feline mouth, two beady eyes, and a long skunk’s tail lazily swinging in the air behind him. A Skuntank… 
“Wh… whassss…” Clayton moaned. He could still feel that floaty feeling calling out for him, begging him to come back to it - and how he wanted to. “Where’m I…”
“I had no idea I had someone from the illustrious Firestick bloodline in my battery room,” the skunk continued, brushing off his question as he slowly traced his fingers over a chrome-plated visor on the desk.
“I was wondering why our energy output was so high. Dangerously high, in fact. It’s a good thing we found you. But I’m really curious - how did you manage to blunder your way into there without getting caught? I’m honestly impressed.”
“Nnhn…” Clayton was vaguely recalling his capture now… blunder was the right word for it. He’d sealed his own fate, simply because he’d been thinking with his dick rather than his head. He blushed with embarrassment; a return of another long-forgotten, somewhat unwanted emotion.
“Anyway. We had to pull you out of there. You’re more useful here.”
“Am I…?” the Braixen’s mouth still felt sort of mealy and numb; he was still remembering how to talk; how to do anything other than Obey and Comply really…
“Yes.” The Skuntank didn’t look to be smiling, but there was a hint of a sneer in his voice for sure. “Someone like you, someone with such magic-rich blood… while you could practically power my operations single-handedly down below, I’d much rather have you up here. Someone of your standing… you’ll make a perfect trophy.”

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