by David Morgan
Chapter 8
Heavy chains tightly bound Dex’s wrists to a large, rectangular wooden table. He turned his head as far as he could in his present position, only to see that his ankles were fastened with equally heavy chains. Dex was chained, belly down with his limbs pulled out in all directions.
This wasn’t the first tight situation he’d landed in, and until the Dakimakura was dead, it wouldn’t be the last. Dex was beyond panicking. He relaxed his body. He would let the drugs wear off, and allow his eyes to adjust themselves to the light of the room.
Mentally, he assessed the damage to his body: arms/legs, disabled from without; eyes, adjusting—at 80%; any unknown pain? His ass was burning—a flesh wound of some kind, possibly from transporting him here, he guessed. He shivered—his clothes were gone entirely.
Slowly, he scanned the room looking for possible exits, weapons, any means of escape. A set of sharp, rusty, devices, resembling sinister gardening tools hung on the wall closest to him. There were no exits that he could see. A large mound covered in a sheet stained with puss and blood lay on a table towards the side of the room, giving him the feeling of being in the OR.
The last of the drugs were clearly wearing off. Thank God he didn’t drink the entire beer. If all the beers were drugged, Edwin was probably dead considering the quantity he took.
But if he wasn’t dead—what became of him? Was he in on it? Did he lead him into a trap? Of course he wasn’t to be trusted—there are few of his kind that are trustworthy. Ironic, how noble they consider themselves—but they’re mostly snakes, really.
The scuffling of paws on stone echoed from above. A door creaked open somewhere behind him and the feet came closer, growing louder with each step. No windows—feet upstairs, he must be underground, but how could he get out? If he was in the tavern, presuming he was somehow able to escape from the chains, he’d still have to fight his way up 20 feet of circular stairs? They could just light the place on fire and he’d be gone.
The feet grew closer, scuffling and shuffling all around him—though he could see none of them, it felt like there were about twenty sets of eyes staring at him.
A cloaked figure with large, plush paws creeping out from under the bottom of a robe walked into Dex’s field of vision. Another furry. How many of them were there? He cringed at the thought of being at the mercy of their vile sexual practices.
The cloaked figure walked over to the lineup of sadistic-looking tools and pulled a lever, previously hidden from view. An invisible engine clunked into gear followed by the steady rattling of gears as the table rotated until he faced his captors. He was abruptly jerked vertically as the table shifted again, forcing him upside down.
His captors numbered at least ten. Their hoods were down, revealing the inanimate faces of cartoon skunks, foxes, deer, and—in Jiggle’s paw steps—rabbits—all sculpted into permanent, mocking smiles. A forest of silhouettes danced in the dim lights of the dungeon.
The plastic eyes bore down on him like a drill, their sadistic excitement was palpable. They were at ease, relaxed—they felt safe...not like in the tavern.
“Mr. Dex,” The insidious Bunny creature furry said. “I hope you’re comfortable.” His voice seethed with lusty excitement, “How do you feel?”
Dex said nothing.
After a short time, Jiggles spoke again, “I see.”
He refused to look at the ghastly beings, perhaps they might leave once again, giving him more opportunity to escape. Maybe they would let their guard down. But then a noise—the sound of poorly oiled axles and wooden wheels being pushed across the floor.
Jiggles spoke again, “We’d like to show you something.”
“Come, come now, Mr. Dex.” Jiggles said in response to Dex’s silence, “We brought you all this way and worked very hard—the least you can do is admire your new…accessory.” Jiggles was almost beside himself in laughter—maniacal laughter, bursting here and there into fits of hysterical giggling.
Slowly, Dex turned his head towards the direction of his interlocutor. A tall mirror in a wooden frame, at least several feet wide and over six feet high stood before him, reflecting his naked body—bound upside down to the now vertical wooden table.
The reflection in the mirror revealed much more of the room---he was in a torture chamber. A furry torture chamber.
Jiggles signaled to one of the furries, who repositioned the mirror.
“Now, Dex—have a better look.”
Dex reluctantly turned his eyes to the mirror, assessing his body for damages in the mirror—but everything looked normal...except for his burning ass. He focused his eyes and the blood drained from his face. Seared into his left ass cheek, still charred and black—was the image of a cloud with a rainbow lightning bolt casting down below it. He lost control.
“YOU MONSTERS! YOU SICK BASTARDS!” He yelled, struggling—tearing and shaking at the chains in futility, rocking the table.
Jiggles scoffed—a twisted vile laugh that apparently signaled the other furries to join in—as though they needed to be affirmed by their leader that the unbridled abuse was hilarious.
Dex exhausted himself throwing a storm of obscenities and threats at his captors—as the table shook under his mighty power, a few of the furries cowered in fear—but then picked up the laughter after seeing that he was indeed powerless against the shackles.
Jiggles had taken on an entirely new personality, it seemed. He had cast off the sullen and nostalgic persona of an heir within a great and noble order, trading it for the cloak of a perverse sociopath who enjoyed cramming his dick inside of plush toys.
“What’s a matter-haHAH—don’t you –HMMhmm—Like it?!” Jiggles’ words were woven with maniacal cackling.
“But—but but—we’ve still got another surprise for our dear guest,” Jiggles signaled to another furry, “Curly, please—show him our….other attraction!” A stout, fat pig-shaped being wearing only a white, blood stained apron, bowed at the wishes of his master and then walked over to the large sheet in the corner.
A sense of dread flickered inside of Dex as he anticipated what was to be revealed. He couldn’t believe it—he didn’t want to believe it, but when the rancid swine raised its farcically large, cloven hoof and pulled the sheet away, Dex vomited, sending a mess of chunky liquid splashed on the ground below.
The horror that lay in that corner was so grotesque that even some of the furries looked away—one even began walking back up the stairs, apparently wanting nothing more to do with this atrocity. It had gone too far.
“EDWIN!” Dex yelled in disgust. “EDWIN!” He cried, “You sick monsters! I’ll slaughter every single one of you for this!” His threats fell on giant, deaf ears—resulting in another eruption of salacious laughter from the furries.
“Meh HAH—heHEheHE—Well what--MEheheHEH--do you--HAHAhahahHEHE--think, Mr. Dex?” Jiggles said—now so excited with laughter that he could barely get the words out.
Dex looked over towards what had previously been Edwin. He hadn’t exactly liked Edwin, but he was an ally for a brief time—and Dex would not wish this kind of fate even on the Dakimakura herself, let alone a more/less harmless hammy like Edwin.
The mound of flesh that lay under the sheet was stitched together with black thread, creating a crude map of skin—the face was Edwin’s, but the body...it was unclear how much of the body was or wasn’t his.
Jiggles continued, having calmed himself to explain, “It’s some nice work, yes, Mr. Dex?! Curly is our butcher—ironic, I know--now the pork holds the knife!---HEAHHAAhhaahahaHEEhaw!!” He broke out into laughter, then quickly stifled it.”
“You’re a maniac!” Dex screamed, spitting the words like venom.
“Dex,” Jiggles answered, lowering his tone to faux-understanding, “Dex Dex Dex—if I’m a maniac, what does that make you? Chopping off the heads of innocent boys? Stuffing their mouths full of garlic?”
Dex had no response. How could he expect to reason with a psychopath l
ike this? How could he even begin to explain the threat imposed—the mistake made. It didn’t matter—Jiggles was the maniac—it would be a waste of effort to try and explain.
Dex looked over again at poor Edwin—the mountain of flesh was beginning to stir.
“Edwin!” Dex screamed in desperation, trying to get his attention.
“Dex?” Edwin responded, drowsy from the heavy drug-imposed slumber. “What’s happening? Oh man—everything hurts. What happened?”
Jiggles signaled to another of his slaves and they started to wheel the mirror over to the disfigured Edwin.
“Don’t do it, Edwin! Don’t look!!”
“Huh? What are you tal--” Edwin’s voice fell dead as the he looked in the mirror before him, scrunching his eyes shut. It was no longer himself—this was a nightmare, something far worse than a nightmare.
His head was his own, his tousled, greasy hair and wispy neckbeard, his many chins and swollen cheeks. But the rest…no, surely he would wake up from this, he thought, any moment he would wake up in his bed and it would all be just a terrible nightmare, soon to be forgotten.
But it wasn’t a nightmare.
“What’s wrong—Eddie?!” Jiggles squealed with joy, “Don’t you like your new…outfit?!? HeheeheeHAhaHA!! You’re our new P-P-P---PINKIEPIE!!!” And now Jiggles was practically rolling on the floor in ecstasy. “Help him admire his new look, Curly!”
As if it was the most casual thing in the world, Curly grabbed a small device from a table and fastened it to Edwin’s head. He clasped the pincers onto the eyelids and twisted the knob, forcing poor Edwin to feast upon the hideous monster he had become.
He tried to move, to wake himself from this hideousness, but his neck—it was so much longer, and why couldn’t he stand upright? His torso felt so much heavier than before. Slowly he moved his legs—but they didn’t work the same. The knees bent the wrong way and a clack against the wood told him that his feet were no longer flesh—but bone. The strong, hairless hind legs of a horse replaced his once flabby human thighs.
“NO! No! NO!!!!” Edwin screamed, as his mind strung the pieces of the puzzle together, realizing what he had become, struggling to gain control of his new body. He rolled off the table—shifting his weight and screaming—neighing in torment and trying desperately to escape the horror into which the furries had sewn him.
He tried to free his arms, but they too were turned into little better than sticks with knobbed hooves on the ends. They, too, no longer bent in the correct direction. He forced his eyes to take in the sight in the mirror—a long, bristly tale, and a mane—haphazardly sewn down his elongated neck. There was no fur, they must have used Edwin’s own skin. The naked flesh that once rounded his robust belly had now been stretched, cut, and patched to form the hide of a little pony.
Edwin rolled off the table onto the floor with a thud—scrambling to his hooves to find that he stood only a few feet off the ground, his large stomach almost dragging on the floor, enveloping his micro penis rolls of fat.
He bucked and whinnied, trying to run—but quickly lost balance and fell.
At present the insane Jiggles began to speak in repressed laughter, “There there, My Little Edwin, don’t tire yourself! You’re not fully He--he--HEALED yet!”
As the Edwin-creature kicked and brayed, the furries surrounded him to suppress the furious hambeast—a product of their depravity.
Dex watched as the tears streamed down EdwinPie’s face, and he felt compassion for the grim plight of this sad kid. “Don’t give them the satisfaction, Edwin! Don’t cry!”
“Oh but HEheHAhaha--HE should cry!! We like it when they cry, don’t we?!” Jiggles answered. “Besides, Mr. Dex—I thought you should get a glimpse of your own future!! HEHEEEHAAAAHAHAA!!!!”
“YOU FILTH!” And Dex fell silent—finally able to control his rage. He needed control above all else—now was a time to exercise discipline. The only way out of this would be calm, controlled, calculated action. Above all he would need a strategy and a clear head.
Or maybe he wouldn’t.
A loud crash followed by thundering footsteps echoed throughout the building—a cloud of dust fell from the ceiling in the torture dungeon.
Jiggles’ laughter was cut short as he signaled two minions to run up and see what the commotion was about.
Jiggles turned to Dex, “Now—let’s get started,” he said, rubbing his paws devilishly…But he didn’t get the chance.
The brilliant light of day burst into the basement as the door flung open. Furries tumbled back down the stairs as large shadows burst through the door, crashing into the basement. The furries scurried in chaotic panic.
A girl with a blue streak in her hair, and a large, bald man whom Dex recognized as the blacksmith both flew into the fight, followed by two others. Each was sporting thick, leather armor and armed to the teeth with swords and daggers, and the Blacksmith wielded a large Warhammer: flat on one side with a large spike protruding from the other.
They moved with skill, taking advantage of the furries’ momentary confusion, slashing, swinging, and crashing. Blood stained the plush costumes as some were slashed. Giant heads flattened under the crushing weight of the Warhammer, and others tripped and fell on their own weapons in the clumsy, giant feet of their costumes.
Even Edwin found opportunity to kick and buck with his new, powerful loins—granting him swift vengeance for his aberrant surgical ‘modifications’.
The fighters looked to Dex like silhouettes in the blinding light from the upper room, fighting their opponents with great energy.
“NO!!” Jiggles’ once hysterical voice was now rife with rage. He grabbed a meat cleaver from the wall, swinging it wildly at one of the intruders as one of the silhouettes fell to the wayside. The girl with the blue streak jumped across with a large knife, slicing the cleaver out of the rabbit’s hand.
Presently, one of the rescuers was leaning over him.
“Who are you?” Dex begin, ready to pass out from the blood amassing in his skull.
“Don’t speak. We’re your rescue party.”
“What? How did you—who are—?”
The fighter moved swiftly, unfastening Dex’s bindings. A battle axe smashed the chains and broke the links holding his legs, he crumpled to the ground in a heap. In a moment the blacksmith came over, hoisting Dex to his feet.
They fought their way out of the dungeon and Dex caught one last glimpse of the battle—he passed out to the sight of Jiggles disappearing into a door, hidden in a distant corner of the room.
Dex attempted a few weak steps before collapsing completely—the flow of blood returning to his body, the shock of the torture, the burning on his ass—he passed out.