…But the new noblewolf, to the former one’s horror, wasn’t done with the fallen count: a coincidence gave him the chance to annihilate Malcolm’s dignity for good.

“I wonder how much you’ll have to pray before your chance comes, cutie!” were the parting words that were suddenly interrupted by a figure shielding the sun that was entering through the opening created by the villainous wolf. A figure that, by the build alone, evil Malc knew was Alxio the tiger: chubby, in his 40s, with a tied Van Dyke beard and a hatred for his job as lead miner that translated into pure sadism to all the unfortunate slaves that would end up under his control… Poor Malcolm de’ Malchi simply had no idea just how much his life would worsen when the runaway sang “Oh, guaaaaaaaard~”

“Mh?” The dad-like man immediately turned his head towards the two wolves and stood in front of the entrance, his shadow protruding onto the surface of the tent. Looking down with the most unamused look on his face, Alxio saw the classic “Bad Slave” sight: sitting in a bound position and with his whole upper body hopping in place like a kangaroo, the restrained Malc was screaming as much as the gag allowed. “HLLLPH! HLLP MH PLEEF! PLEEPH HLLP!”

As the slave begged, the noblewolf harmed him further. “This loud slave is bothering my right to silence, please do something about it, my ears do not deserve such harmful treatment.” He feigned bother with a high-class accent, even putting his gloved hand over his head to deliver his drama queen performance.

An act that earned him the desired award: without making a single noise, Alxio stretched his left arm forward and clenched his fist on Malc’s tuft of purple hair, gripping the fibre like the top of a trash bag. Afterwards, he turned around and pulled the furry slave up, before carrying him right in front of his run-down clothes and holding him up with both his arms as if he was taking the garbage out.

Realizing his helplessness, the naked count went for one last plea. “HLLP! GRRRFS! GHRRRFS, HLLP MH PLEEPH!” He tried to call for his former guards’ attention, but to no avail: with the same coldness they had when he used to be the noblewolf, the two foxes escorted the new count away from the tent, unaware of all the shenanigans that had happened feet away from them.

“Ye slut thought ye coulda gott’n away with runnin’ away, then I’ll be gettin’ away with treatin’ ye 500 times worse.” The tiger then ominously threatened, his deep voice causing Malc to tremble like an earthquake.

It was going to be rough, no matter how much he obeyed.

[…]

The wolf didn’t know whether Gordian or Alxio was behind the unbelievably restraining position he’d been forced into. All he cared about was the unbearable fatigue he was in.

That was the… 6th? Yeah, the 6th load of stones his slim build was forced to carry in a very inefficient way: “cruelty over convenience” was the motto for the treatment of a slave like him.

Indeed, the cart bound to the chained wolf wasn’t pushed by his hands, but, rather, by a chain that linked a shackle on his neck to two hooks in front of the wagon. That, however, represented just 10% of all the metal on Malc’s body: above it, a lock connected to a muzzle akin to the previous one was forcing him to look up at the blue sky like a steed, therefore putting heavy strain on the back of his head and neck; below the collar, on the other hand, a huge circle with the shape of the key required to open it covered what used to be the symbol of his lineage, as if to underline his status change. From it, six chains spread out like the diagonals of a hexagon, successfully pinning his whole upper body in a geometrically perfect coil that reached his shoulders, his arms, and his lower sides. In the latter place, the chains would meet a metallic contraption that was strapped to the wolf’s crotch like the waistband of a jockstrap, which then merged into a tiny chastity cage that held his manhood (or, rather, slavehood) hostage. Finally, to ensure that precious part wasn’t spared from torture, a pin was locked to its only opening, from where chains led to two manacles locked on an ankle each: this way, every time the wolf had to move his legs, the cage on his straining dick would be pulled and lead to small abrasions at the base of his member.

That was the visible sadism employed by Gordian & Co., but that was only half of the abuse: unless you were a part of the market’s free team, you wouldn’t know that the new slave was making such an effort with his stomach devoid of both food and water; in other words, he was a dented car that was forced to drive with the tank close to empty. Yet, he was still holding on, despite the tears in his eyes hinting at his imminent breakdown.

Deep down, maybe that was what Alxio was aiming for: even if he had no idea the wolf in front of him wasn’t the same one from the previous day, seeing a slave cry and pass out due to exhaustion was the only redeeming factor of his job. With that in mind, the tiger held on to a leather whip and launched his right arm forward, making the same movements usually seen in shot put.

A perfect shot, with a “Keep pullin’, slut! Ye got a dozen more loads to haul if ye be wantin’ any water today!” in place of the usual athlete cry: the far end of the crop rapidly covered the distance between the abuser and the abused’s already lashed back.

“NMPH!” Malc whimpered in a high-pitch note, the burning scar running up his scorched body and causing him to automatically speed up: without caring for the additional effort, he made longer and faster steps to carry the heavy resistance he was chained to, hoping something out of the ordinary would happen to free him from that torture.

But he’d have to suffer until then…