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Garrik the gnoll quaffed another tankard of cheap but potent ale and loosed a sonorous, deep-throated belch. Satisfied, he slammed the mug down on the table, rested his hand against his cheek and drummed his burly fingers on the stain-encrusted boards. Drink always made him pensive, and he had drunk a lot tonight. The tavern around him was bustling with a raucous crowd of tattooed sailors, sweat-reeking dockers, gaudy prostitutes, and even a few well-bred citizens who had come to mix with the riffraff of the waterfront. He ignored them all, and instead he reflected on the events that had led him so far from his native desert.

It was only a few moons ago that he had left his tribe, but it already felt like an eternity. He had lived a happy youth among his kin, hunting the wild beasts of the desert and trekking the vast expanses with his friends, and in time he had blossomed into a handsome, manly warrior. Sadly, there were too many people for the arid land to support, so his elders took him to the city and sold him as a slave. The tribe had grown too much, they said, and it was necessary to cull the excess male population or else chaos and strife would ensue. He remembered feeling very sad at the time, but it never occurred to him to rebel. Their word was absolute law, and the good of the tribe was paramount.

Things had gone wrong very fast. The naive gnoll thought he would be made to work as a labourer, but instead he was taken to a large hall full of strange, richly-clad people who bid fortunes for the right to buy the exotic creature and enjoy his body as they saw fit. Before the night ended he had been sold like cattle at a market, chained and raped - and then cruelly mutilated. The memory of that night made him close his eyes, and his hand slipped between his thighs, feeling only a small scar where his testicles used to be.

His new masters had kept him secluded in their manor for weeks, subjecting their new pet to such torments and deranged games that only their perverse imagination could invent. Finally, he had escaped their clutches, or so he liked to think. In truth, they had kicked him out after growing tired of their toy. Half-maddened by his ordeal, he was eventually "rescued" by two men who sold him again to a brothel on the docks where his eunuch status made him popular among a niche of customers. The Madame who ran the place was ruthless, but at least she kept him fed and clothed and did not mistreat him as badly as his previous owners did.

He sighed and held out his tankard for another refill. Every cloud has a silver lining, as the old cliché goes. For him, that silver lining took the lithe form of a small desert fox named Mèlu. Like him, he was a naive young man that the big city had chewed up and spat out, and like him he had ended up plying a shameful trade to survive. The two had become very close despite the obvious physical differences between them, and now that he had lost his kin Garrik counted him as his only true friend.

The crowd was growing more boisterous, the sailors erupting into bawdy songs and the prostitutes of both sexes courting the attention of the patrons in an increasingly shameless manner. From time to time a harlot and a customer slipped hurriedly towards the back of the room, where dark alcoves already housed many couples engaged in bestial love-making. Others were far too drunk to seek even a modicum of privacy, and he saw a wolf in the livery of a soldier throw a dog on a table and rip his flimsy clothes off with feverish gestures.

Garrik shook his head and finished his drink. He better get some sleep before his shift tomorrow. He and the fox had been paired together, and every week they performed a play to entertain the brothel's clients. Mèlu assumed the role of a veiled princess in a harem, and Garrik was his dim-witted eunuch bodyguard. The spectators threw money on stage between acts, and at the end the one who paid the most was allowed to ravish the oriental beauty from under the nose of his clumsy guardian and take him to a nuptial bed set on the stage. The plays were crude, and the spectators even cruder, but they were popular.

He was climbing the stairs to the dormitories when the sound of a heated discussion made him stop. The voices came from the Madame's office. It was not his habit to listen to conversations, but he distinctly heard Mèlu's name being pronounced, so he crept to the door and pressed his round ear to the panel.

"It's not right, that's all I have to say." The voice came from the huge bull that served as the Madame's right-hand man.

"Have I asked for your opinion? And since when did you grow a conscience?" He recognized the unmistakable shrill, imperious tone of the Madame.

"I've slit throats and crushed skulls," he grumbled, "But this is worse. You want to sell him to THEM? Do you know what they do to the poor wretches they buy? Besides, he is already making us a lot of money."

"Enough!" she commanded. "They paid me more gold that he could earn in ten years. I will hear no more. Tomorrow you will take the fox to the agreed place, or I will sell you instead!"

Garrik pulled back when he heard the bull's footsteps approaching and hid behind the corner. The large man stomped past him angrily without even noticing the lanky gnoll in the shadows, leaving behind a trail of sweaty odor and frustration. Garrik approached the Madame's room, but then he saw the fat cat slouched behind her desk studying her ledgers and her face caked with makeup showing that she was not in a mood for conversation.

Thoughts raced through Garrik's mind and constricted his chest with worry. He had to tell Mèlu what he had learned, but then what? They had nowhere to go, and little money to their name. Both of them were outcasts from their tribe and family, without friends in the city and no-one who would care if they disappeared. Even the Madame's interest in them depended solely on how much profit they could earn her. Garrik paced back and forth in the hallway, the creaking floorboards accompanying his nervousness. Back in the savannah he always knew what to do, but here in the city, among strangers and their even stranger ways he felt at a loss.

Eventually the indecision swelling up in his throat drove him to find Mèlu as soon as possible, even though he knew that the desert fox was working tonight. He paced along the smoky corridors, dodging loosely dressed prostitutes and their drunken, unwashed customers while he peeked into the rooms where they plied their trade. He arrived at the end where the private rooms for the more discerning clientele laid, and when he shifted aside a gold brocaded but worn curtain he saw Mèlu entertaining a guest. The fox's back was turned towards the doorway but Garrik could see that he was wearing the dress of the captured princess from the play, thin strips of cloth that crossed over his chest to hide his non-existent breasts and flowing veils of silk that hung from his hips and covered his slim, boyish waist. He was riding a human, a merchant based on the amount of gold he was wearing and the size of his gut, grinding himself against the man and his girthy, erect cock poking out between them. The human was groping Mèlu's ass with hungry fingers and twisting his wrist with his other hand, making the fox moan and arch his back from the rough handling. He seemed to enjoy being treated like a toy for the man's amusement, his eyes closed and mouth ajar in bliss, and the sight had an effect on Garrik too--whether it was hatred or lust, he could not tell. Perhaps he wanted to tear Mèlu off and tell him to explain himself, perhaps he dreamed himself in the place of the man.

The fat merchant let go of Mèlu's buttocks and gripped the scruff of his neck before forcing his muzzle against his hairy chest. "This is the scent of your new king, princess. Smell it," he grunted. In response, the small bejeweled fox moaned and sniffed deeply, trailing the man's fleshy bosom with his delicate nose and giving his nipples flickering little licks. The merchant's prosperous jowls wobbled in excitement when the cold snout poked his damp armpit. With a leering smile, the man suddenly wrenched Mèlu's head backwards and locked his salacious, piggish gaze with the fox's amber eyes.

"What shameful secret hides behind your veil, my little sand rose?" he said as his fingers slid along the fox's thighs and began to fondle the space between his legs. His hand clutched Mèlu's neck more tightly, and the fox opened his mouth and bared his teeth in a silent cry, although Garrik could not tell if it was in pain, fear or - worse - ecstasy.

The gnoll's ears flattened against his skull and a low growl began to rise from his throat. After the loss of his tribe his protective instincts had naturally fixated themselves on the small canine, and his aggressiveness, though dulled by his castration, had been roused by the sight of his friend being so roughly treated. In addition, and although he would never have admitted it to himself, it infuriated him to see another man do to Mèlu what he would never be able to do. A blood-red mist of frustration and rage rose before his eyes when the man pressed Mèlu's snout to his thick lips and kissed him ravenously. Without stopping to consider the consequences he leaped inside the room, teeth bared and ready to tear into the merchant's gross bulk.

The man's eyes almost bulged out of their orbits when the ferocious beast jumped from behind the curtain, and Mèlu shrieked in surprise. "Garrik? But what..." Then, sensing the disaster that would happen if his client called for help and made a scene, he smiled and pressed a limp hand to his chest.

"My beloved!" he said in a quavering voice, "My father's goon has found us. Protect me!"

The merchant, fortunately rendered speechless by the intrusion, was shaking like a pile of pale jelly, but Mèlu's forceful winks quickly convinced him that this was part of a little game. "Cursed beast," he shouted after steadying himself, "I thought I was done with you, but it seems you need another lesson." Garrik growled in response, but Mèlu made signs behind the merchant's back, silently imploring the gnoll to play along.

Snatching his heavy leather belt, the man stepped forward and lashed at the gnoll's snout with all his might. Garrik yelped in pain and protected his face with his hands. "Submit, vile beast!" the merchant commanded. Realizing his mistake, Garrik kneeled while whimpering under the rain of blows. "Beasts don't wear clothes. Take them off!" the man huffed, sweating abundantly from the effort. Garrik clenched his teeth but complied, removing his breeches and revealing his emasculated crotch. The man moved behind him, his body smelling both of rank lust and lingering fear from his earlier fright. A sudden kick to his back made the gnoll crouch; rump reared high, elbows on the floor and head ducked between his arms. He felt the man grab his short scruffy tail and lift it, exposing his bare ass.

"You need to learn your place from a real man," the human said triumphantly as his pants dropped to his ankles. He gestured to Mèlu to come at his side, and then had him lavish his cock with his tongue until it was dripping with fox drool. "Worry not, my love," he said to Mèlu, "I will conquer this monster and then honor you like you deserve."

Garrik did not resist as he was taken roughly. The human grabbed his hips and dragged him closer like a sack of potatoes, then shoved his turgid member in his tail hole with force and little care for his comfort. Garrik yelped and whined as the thick human cock plunged deeper into his warm hole, thankfully made loose by the huge dockworkers he had to serve, but the merchant kept raining blows on his ass and back with the leather belt as he fucked him. His hatred for the gnoll was genuine, for having interrupted and frightened him, and even though Mèlu had convinced him that it was all a part of the play, he did not shy from taking his sadistic pleasures on the gnoll's hide. Garrik held in the pain and humiliation while his rectum was penetrated with the hard, throbbing member and his limp cock swung uselessly between his thighs, but what made it almost unbearable was Mèlu watching him being used like that. The desert fox stood by in silence, without making a move to intervene or distract the merchant's attention, his expression unreadable when Garrik squinted at him with his teary eyes.

Eventually the merchant had his fill, and panting and sweating he shot his load in Garrik's rear end. He pulled out and tossed the gnoll to the ground, and as if on cue Mèlu ran to him to clean his dick with his mouth.

"My hero!" he yelped and gave his cock an eager licking.

The merchant grunted and petted Mèlu's head, before turning to kick Garrik's rump once more. "Get lost, wretch! And send someone to bring me wine, I want to refresh myself before giving this princess what she craves!"

Mèlu squealed in delight and pulled the man towards the bed, making cooing, feminine noises and praising the merchant for his manliness. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned with his snout for Garrik to move, then returned to entertain his guest.

Garrik groaned as he rose to a half crouching position, his back aching with fiery streaks from the savage beating and cum leaking between his buttocks, and made his exit without a word.

A good while later he sat huddled on the roof, in their spot, swallowing tears and trying to find comfort in hugging himself. It was late enough to be early, the moon large on the sky and fading fast, the city's noises muted into bird calls and lapping of the river. The air was pleasantly cool and fragrant but it did not bring relief to Garrik's heavy heart. He could hear Mèlu approaching him from behind, but did not react when the smaller male reached his hands over his shoulders and hugged him, touching his neck with his snout and breathing in deep Garrik's scent.

"I'm sorry," he said with a small voice, but Garrik did not reply. The fox sighed and slunk under his arm, crawling into Garrik's lap to rest his upper body there. He pressed his face into Garrik's rough belly hair and nuzzled him. The desert fox had changed into his regular clothing, and based on his fresh smell had taken a long bath to scrub himself clean.

"I am worse than useless, I am an idiot," the gnoll said, his voice breaking.

"Were you trying to protect me?" the fox asked. He had placed his hand on Garrik's bosom, and his fingers were playing with the thick fur of his chest.

"I can't love. I can't fight. I can't even get any respect from a weak human," he wept, tears streaming from his eyes.

Mèlu sighed but said nothing, letting his friend empty his sorrow. At last when the sobs had grown weaker he put his hand under his chin and directed his face towards his.

"You silly hyena. You're still man enough for me," he grinned, and his free hand slid under Garrik's belly to caress his cock through his pants.

Garrik opened his mouth to respond but Mèlu shut his muzzle with his paw. "Tut-tut, I won't tolerate any disagreement. You're my strong, courageous warrior."

His fingers deftly undid the gnoll's pants and freed his penis, squeezing the dark-skinned shaft just under the head. It was thick, meaty, and hopelessly limp. A gelding's dick, Garrik thought bitterly, good for pissing and not much else. Yet when Mèlu leaned down to kiss his tip and take it in his mouth he felt a semblance of life return to his manhood. "See? All you need is a little help," the fox smiled, lifting his head from the semi-erect member, "Now on your back, quick!" he gently urged.

Garrik rolled over, lifted his legs in the air and let his friend drag his pants down to his ankles. He could no longer see Mèlu but he felt his warm breath on his pucker. "Does it still hurt?" a voice said from between his legs. "A little," Garrik replied. It was a small lie, the merchant hadn't been nearly as rough as some of his other clients, but he thought that the fox wanted to hear that. "You poor thing," Mèlu whispered, and he began to lap at the exposed tailhole.

It was as if all the pain and humiliation of the day were being lifted from Garrik's chest. For now, all that mattered was the soft, incredibly smooth tongue that soothed his rear end. Mèlu worked wonders with his mouth, caressing the flesh and rough hair around the cavity then squeezing his tongue past the gnoll's sphincter and licking his insides. Garrik moaned, and for the first time in too many weeks he felt the dead embers of his virility glow to life. He grabbed his semi-flaccid penis and stroked himself, breathing and huffing loudly in his efforts to achieve something worthy of being called an erection. Mèlu encouraged him by pushing himself deeper, burying the tip of his nose into his rectum. The vile scent of the merchant was still faintly there, but he ignored it, and washed it away with his drool.

Garrik was staring at the sky, squeezing and stroking his cock, when a low rumble started in his loins. To his astonishment the pleasurable sensation rolled through his belly, and his cock throbbed weakly and spurted one, then two ropes of gooey, clear liquid. It wasn't anything like the mighty, roaring gushes he had experienced in the past, more like a small wave that came and went too quickly, but it was still an orgasm. He brought his hand to his muzzle and sniffed his cummy fingers. His ejaculate was thin, lacking the rich sperm that his body could no longer produce, but it was proof that he still could cum like a man.

"You came faster than that slob. You impress me," Mèlu said, licking his lips. Garrik did not reply. Still stunned, he lay on his back with his legs spread wide, his spent dick lying on his stomach. Mèlu crawled over him, heedless of the cum that coated his belly, and he ruffled his mane with his nose. "Now tell me," he asked, "What the hell got into your head earlier?"

Garrik's spirits fell, and he took Mèlu by his shoulders to look at him. "You're in danger, the Madame is going to send you away tomorrow!"

"Oh. Do you know where?"

"No, but even the Bull was against it. I don't like the sound of it, we have to do something!"

Mélu shook his head and smiled with a sad look in his eyes.

Garrik did not understand and continued with greater urgency. "I'm not going to lose you! We need to talk to the Madame, or run away, or something!"

"Well, there's one thing we could do..." Mèlu sighed and buried his face in Garrik's chest ruff. He moved his body slightly forward, smearing the gnoll's semen between them as rapidly cooling glue. "You could take my cock in your mouth and suck me dry," he whispered and smirked faintly.

"What!? This isn't-"

"Shh. Shhh." Mèlu laid his delicate finger on the tip of Garrik's snout. "If I'm not going to survive at least I want to leave the memory of my scent to you."

"Don't talk like that..." Garrik whined, the weight in his heart constricting his throat. He grasped Mèlu tighter, pulling the smaller male against his chest in a fierce grip like a drowning man.

"What choice do I have? If I flee I'll be hunted down like an escaped slave. I can't match any price Madame has been paid for my body, and she has no pity left in her withered heart." He caressed Garrik's cheek, trailing his cool fingers to wipe away his tears. "But we can make our last moments together pleasant ones. Please. Do it for me..."

Sadness, pity, then anger all swelled up in Garrik's chest. It was not right! Every fiber of his being rebelled against giving up the desert fox, and in his desperation he grabbed him roughly around his neck.

"Maybe they won't want you if you were ugly..." he snarled between clenched teeth, fighting back tears, raising his clawed hand.

Mèlu froze in place, his eyes wide from shock, but he did not try to break loose from his friend's grip...

A maelstrom of confused thoughts whirled inside Garrik's brain. The big gnoll couldn't find the words to express his fear, but the prospect of losing his only friend filled him with near-animal panic. Better mutilate him, or even kill him right here, so that no one could take him away. His raised hand quivered in the air, ready to strike.

There was a flash of fear in Mèlu's eyes, and he shut them in anticipation of the blow, his fingers clenching around the fur of Garrik's chest. But when the hand came down it was to land gently on his forehead.

"I'm sorry," the gnoll whispered, "I will not let you lie down and give up. Not without at least trying."

He felt Mèlu's tense body relax in his embrace. Perhaps, despite his words, the fox had not fully resigned himself to his fate?

"But if we flee they will pursue us," he sighed, his sad eyes staring at the ground, "And they will punish you."

"Then I'll go down with a fight," Garrik replied, "I'm tired of whimpering like a frightened dog."

"So I was right, there is still some warrior left in you," Mèlu murmured. A faint smile was now upon his face, more amused than truly joyful. "Alright," he continued, looking into his friend's eyes with a more determined expression, "So, what do we do?"

Garrik fumbled. It was one thing to fight, but it was quite another to think of a plan of escape. His instincts were of no use here, and he became indecisive again.

"I have saved some tips from customers," he began, "Maybe we can buy passage on a caravan leaving the city."

"Your savings wouldn't bribe a guard at the fish market," the fox replied patiently. "They'd laugh at us and turn us in."

Garrik opened his mouth and then closed it in frustration. Mèlu was right of course, but what, then, could he do? He felt as if he was running round in circles, like a caged animal, and his fists clenched in impotent rage.

They both jumped when a pouch landed at their feet with a loud thud. "Your little stash won't get you far," a gruff voice behind them said, "But this should buy you a spot on a boat."

To their astonishment, the voice belonged to the huge bull who had spoken to the Madame earlier. Garrik's heart leapt at the sight of the man. Their escape was over before it had even started. Before he lost his orbs, he could have fought the bull and hoped to win, but now he knew that he didn't stand a chance. The bull's sharp horns shone in the darkness, his ebon-skinned arms and legs bulged with thick, knotted muscles, and his shirt was taut over his mighty shoulders and chest. Unlike Garrik he was a full, intact male, with a body honed for combat and a fighting-spirit undimmed.

Garrik moved to rise to his feet, hoping at least to earn his friend enough time to flee, when the bull motioned him to stand still.

"There is silver and gold inside that pouch," he said. "Go to the wharf at the end of the canal and look for a galley. Give the captain the money and tell him I sent you. He owes me a favour."

"But... but why?" Mèlu asked, his voice hovering between suspicion and confusion.

"My conscience is already burdened enough," the bull shrugged, "And there are deeds so repellent that even a hardened criminal should recoil from them."

"Won't these people take you instead? That's what the Madame said," Garrik interjected.

"Don't worry about me. A young, lithe desert fox writhing naked on a sacrificial altar is an offering worthy of their foul god," he said, his gaze falling on Mèlu. "But a tough old bull is hardly a suitable substitute."

"Besides," he added, "Don't think there is nothing in it for me. I will make sure the blame for negligence falls on the Madame's shoulders. And then I will be ready to inherit her business..." he grinned.

"Now go," he said, "Before someone sees us."

Garrik hesitated, not sure if what he was hearing was true or a cruel joke, but then took Mèlu by the hand and started to run, hugging the money purse tightly against his chest. The Bull did not stop them leaving and just watched after them, his tired expression tinged with sadness.

The two of them made their way through the waking city, surrounded by its noises and smells shrouded by the tepid mists rising from the river. They arrived at the docks and huddled in one of its reeking back alleys while waiting for the earliest dock workers to pass them, then headed for the wharf. At its end was a large, creaking galley manned by swarthy wolves. Their captain was a fierce looking character, his hide was scarred and his gray fur coat shaggy, with bits of colored string tied all over his mane, and his entire upper row of teeth were gilded. His expression turned sour when he heard the Bull's name being mentioned, but the bag of silver and gold made his smile return.

"This is for hiding you from the authorities," he said with his low, raspy voice while hefting the bag in his hand, "you'll have to earn your passage by working." He turned to speak to the first mate as he hid the bag in the folds of his weather beaten coat. "The tall one can work the oars while we sail up river, and the short makes for a cabin boy." With a single, dismissive gesture from him Garrik and Mèlu were separated, and their journey started.

Garrik was walked under deck and shoved roughly among the galley slaves, where men of every breed were chained to the benches where they worked and slept. The air was stale with sweat and the smell of unwashed crotch, the only light dim glints peeking through the cracks. Their taskmaster was a large, muscular wolf who wore only a cloth wrapped around his waist and between his legs, and a scarf wrapped into a simple cap. He was brutish in both speech and behavior, quick to crack the whip when he was not pleased with the rowers, and seemed to take a particular dislike to Garrik. He lashed at the gnoll when he rowed too slow, or too fast, or just whenever he felt bored, every time with a mocking grin that he rubbed in Garrik's face. However, Garrik did not find it hard to endure, for they were moving out of the city and into safety for Mèlu.

Garrik estimated that it was about midday when they dropped the anchor and let the crew rest. He was tired and aching, his entire body crying for a reprieve from the hard exertion, and to his surprise he saw Mèlu entering the deck. He was distributing water to the rowers, in a jug that looked suspiciously similar to the one where they relieved their bladders while being chained, but Garrik still took a thirsty gulp from it, spilling the water on his sweat drenched chest.

"How are you?" Mèlu asked, speaking under his breath not to draw attention to themselves.

"I've been worse. You?"

"The captain made me his personal cabin boy, so I'm not in... public... use. That's worth something."

Garrik noticed bruises around Mèlu's wrists, and made an alarmed sound, but Mèlu hushed him quiet hurriedly. "Shh, not so loud!"

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

"The captain... he's one of those people who enjoy hurting other people during sex." Garrik started to stand up, but Mèlu tugged him down again. "Don't. We're getting away, and you cannot ruin it by doing something rash."

He saw Garrik's expression, and smiled at him softly. "I can handle it. I've seen worse, you know?" He made a small chuckle, then lifted up the water jug again. "I must go. We'll talk later. I love you."

With that he scurried away, leaving Garrik bewildered and alone among the slaves. It dawned on the gnoll how vulnerable they both were: alone, drifting away from everything they knew and at the mercy of a ruthless man who could do with them as he pleased. He cursed himself silently as he began to doubt the wisdom of his decision, but the taskmaster's cracking whip quickly focused his mind on the present again. For now, there was little else to do but row, and hope for the best.