The Auction
By Limewah
Patron reward for Moxas (September 2023)
Featuring characters from Final Fantasy IX
18+

Fratley’s mind continued to race as he was tugged along. The Burmecian’s rat-feet were stumbling on cobblestones. All around him he could hear snorts and jeers and yells in a draconic language, a harsh, guttural snarl. He had been divested of all he owned - his spear, his armour, his cloak and hat - and he could feel those reptilian eyes leering at his nude, muscular body. He was caged between his legs, too, a cylinder of something soft yet constrictive that kept his maleness tightly compacted.

Only little pinpricks of light could get through the burlap sack over his head, tucked into the thick metal collar around his neck. That collar was connected to manacles with just enough give to make someone with lesser resolve try, vainly, to break the chains.
Fratley knew escape was not possible at this moment. Endurance was the best recourse he had; his fellow Burmecians would arrive soon. 
Fear was there in the back of his throat, but he was not about to allow it to overtake him. The fear was a motivator, an energiser, that would serve as a bulwark against the tortures that were surely in store.
A familiar voice growled into his ear, making him shudder. It had the same tone of sadistic triumph the dragon had earlier when he bested Fratley in single combat.
“We’re just in time for the auction, little mouse,” the dragon said. “There’s a step ahead of you.”
A scaly hand was pressed against Fratley’s shoulder, and another at his ass. It gripped and groped him, tugging the cheek in revolving circles as Fratley was forcibly made to climb.
Though the texture of the creaking wood brought a hanging gallows to mind, Fratley already knew that was not to be his fate. His captors had told him as such in his temporary prison, as their claws sheared his clothes from his body and their hands molested every inch of them. How they snarled and spoke to each other, barked out laughs as they smeared their shafts on his face, draped them on his back, rubbed them against his paws…
Even now, he could still feel the ghosts of their touch, and was disturbed by how pleasant the memory was. How, in spite of his peril, there was some strange primal part of him that was enjoying the attention.
Fratley was turned around to face the previous direction, and could hear the chorus of yelling voices all around. He didn’t need to understand their tongue to understand the intent. They were calling out, hungrily, like a pack of hungry hounds.
Another voice, this one older and shakier, brought the crowd to a hushed heel. Their voice was measured and slow, allowing each phrase to radiate out through the gathered crowd before continuing.

The dragon who defeated Fratley growled into his ear, his sharp, spade-like snout almost slipping inside.
“Let me translate for you, little mouse… he’s just explaining the rules of the auction, for those who’ve never been before. This is where we decide who gets the meat. Who gets to fuck our spoils of war.”

Ratley bristled at his touch, at the claws tracing along the divots of his abdomen.
“You are the property of the Serpion empire, now. This is just a rental. Anyone who bids the highest gets to have you for the day. As their personal cocksleeve, their fucktoy. And when that scant time is up, you’ll be brought back to me.”
There was clamouring from the crowd, and the elder Serpion called for silence.
“While I’d love to be the first to claim you,” his attacker said, “We do have rules about this sort of thing. You must be shared. But that just means you’ll be nice and warmed up for me when I get you back. Loosened holes, loosened will… and a better appreciation for your new purpose. But… hnnh. I want that hole so badly.”

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