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Something stank.

That was the first ember of thought that managed to ignite itself in Logan's darkened mind. It flickered, weak and stifled under the thick fog which had overtaken him. Every waft of that bitter-sour aroma stoked it, and the fledgling flames were kept fed by a steady stream of sensation: tingling in his nostrils, something brushing against his lips and nose, something else settled on the crown of his head and brushing through his spines.

And, of course, the dull, throbbing ache in his head and limbs and gut.

The iguana woke up. He groaned and snorted, feeling his body convulsing. Hearing his own breathing grow unsteady as he stirred. Smelling that god-awful stench as it continued its assault on his nose and lungs. And when his eyes finally blinked open, and he saw what exactly it was being pressed against his face, the cogs of his mind slipped and spun wildly in mingled shock and disgust.

Someone's crotch; a guy's crotch, bulging outward to strain the pouch which cupped and molded it into a plump and heavy mound. Those briefs looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks, rank and deep-set stains all over the formerly-white cotton smearing old sweat--and other, raunchier things--onto his scales. Grey fur with just a hint of bluish color to it coated the massive, firm thighs and abs above and around that masculine groin; and judging by the smell being forced into his nose every time it brushed and tickled his nostrils, more than just whoever-it-was' underwear had gone unwashed for a long while.

A massive, heavy hand landed on the back of his head, both caressing Logan and keeping him locked in place. "Finally awake, huh? Sleep well, Thrasher?"

Again, every sore and fatigued muscle in the reptile's body twitched and convulsed, trying to get him away from the bastard who'd walked in and started humping his face. However, he quickly found that it was no use; his arms were bound behind him with metal manacles on his wrists and rope wrapped tight around his forearms, keeping them settled in the small of his back. Logan took in a panicked breath, and nearly had it choked back out of him by whatever was wrapped around his neck; the hard plastic of a small device snug against his throat, and a thick leather band that was secured by a buckle at his nape. A collar? "Mngh!" The iguana tried to speak, but found his jaw held shut by one more indignity: a muzzle affixed tight around his snout and wrapped over the top of his head to keep it firmly in place.

As he snarled against another rock of his captor's hips, more details started to drift into focus through the clearing fog. He was on his side on a cot, with his legs bound in a similar manner to his arms. The room--his prison--was lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the bare concrete-brick walls. The light also revealed that his captor was a horse--large and muscular and strong; and dressed only in those disgusting briefs grinding on Logan's lips and nose--and that the bastard wasn't alone. There were two men standing near the door. Rhinos, decked out in well-pressed suits and sporting dark shades which hid their eyes. The Stallion's men.

Time froze; Logan's body froze. His eyes flew wide open. He shivered as what had happened before he'd lost consciousness flashed through his mind; winning his fight, being led down the corridor to a dark room--the room he was in--by one of those rhino bastards, and then getting jumped and stuck with something that had put him out like a light.

There was another laugh from above; from the horse looming over him. "You should see the look on your face. Don't worry, though. I won't make this too unpleasant for you... if you cooperate."

"Nnf..." Logan snorted. He craned his neck to glare up at his captor; and twisted his lips as that stinking bulge settled right on his cheek. He was alive, at least; though Logan was starting to get the sinking feeling--a knot which twisted and then settled into the pit of his bruised stomach like a stone--that he'd regret it.

"You're probably confused. Waking up after getting knocked out and all. I'm sure you've plenty of questions, right?"

"Mm." An impatient grunt, and a snort to keep the bastard's stench from burning his nostrils.

"Let me explain." That hand continued to rub and pet his head in an almost-affectionate gesture, and the iguana's tightened throat rumbled with a growl. "The name's Dean, but you may better know me as the Stallion." The words--that name--were like another blow to Logan's gut, and his captor laughed at the reptile's flinching. "I was watching your fight, and I have to say I was very impressed." More than that, judging by the faint husky undertone creeping into the horse's voice. That hand on his head slid downward to his shoulders. To his bicep, kneading with as much curious and invasive interest as those groping 'fans' after his bout had. To his side, tracing from the still-dank cleft of his armpit down to his hip; and sending a shudder of revulsion down Logan's spine as he thrashed and tried to jerk away from the touch. "You're an excellent fighter, Thrasher. And I was very pleased with the show you put on for the crowd. For me..."

"Mmgh... nn... frgh...!" Logan squirmed harder, glaring up at the horse as he waited for the Stallion to get to the point.

"Congratulations on toppling Skullcracker, by the way. He's been the top of my league for months now, and it was quite... exciting... to see him getting thrashed by a bit of new blood." A nicker, and then a soft grunt, and Logan stiffened as the bulge rubbing on his neck pulsed. Grew plumper; engorged. Started to stink worse; this time with the sour reek of masculine arousal, far more concentrated than it had been in the basement-turned-arena. "I know you were promised quite the pretty sum of prize money, but that performance of yours convinced me to offer you an alternative reward."

The dots were being connected. Logan was getting his captor's drift, and picking up what he was putting down. He'd known what kind of place the Stallion ran--had heard the stories from plenty of his fledgling connections--but hadn't seen any other choice. He'd thought he could enter the lion's den, earn his prize money, and ride off into the sunset a new, freer man. And yes, plenty of the stories he'd heard had involved the Stallion's other dealings--far worse than just underground fighting tournaments--but he'd known that it wouldn't happen to him. He'd thought he'd be smart. He'd thought he was untouchable; he was a big boy, he could hold his own against some petty crime lord faggot and his goons.

He'd thought wrong.

A laugh. Another stroke along his trembling spine. A pat on the head, patronizing and infuriating; only drawing out more growls from the bound, gagged, snarling captive. "I see you've caught on. Good. Then I don't need to explain what's about to happen." The hand that was touching Logan moved to fiddle with the buckle of the iguana's muzzle, and the Stallion's other hand moved down to cup his crotch. To heft the pouch--the massive ballsack hidden by a thin layer of stained cotton--and trace a finger along the growing tent of his erection. To hook his thumb into the waistband, pulling it down to free that raunchy dick from its filthy confines.

Logan's eyes widened in horror at the sight; and then the iguana grimaced as he realized that nickname, 'the Stallion', probably had to do with something more than just his species. The horse, like most of his kind were rumored to be, was massive in the cock department: long and thick, with a bush of curly pubes at the base and a generous hood of foreskin coating the fat and ample glans. Were he in any other position, Logan might have felt both a touch of awe and a stab of envy. As it was, though, the reptile could only struggle as he was forced to take in Dean's full majesty. To feel the heat pouring off that throbbing pillar of flesh. To scrunch his nose in a desperate attempt at keeping the stench out of his nostrils.

Sweat, ripened and soured into a pungent funk which put the worst of the locker rooms Logan had visited during his career to shame. Masculine musk which had been similarly aged into the bitter spice of BO. And last, but certainly not least, a fishy odor which the iguana knew well from his own days of skipping the occasional shower. Logan heaved and swallowed, trembling as he watched his captor's dick and ballsack push in closer to him; and jerking in surprise when he felt the straps keeping his snout clamped shut loosen and then fall away.

"Open wide..."

Logan opened wide, alright; with a snarl, he surged forward to bite at the bastard. A near-feral fury filled him, smothering every one of the reptile's thoughts except to escape. To fight. To survive. He rocked and writhed on the cot, snapping his jaws closed on empty air as Dean sidestepped and dodged away from the cornered animal his captive had become.

"Still have some fight left in you, hm?" The horse sneered down at the iguana, tossing his dreadlocked mane in what could only be frustration; the first crack in the bastard's smug, superior demeanor, which Logan was eager to strike at.

Another bite, and that time his jaws closed around Dean's thigh; but luckily for his captor, as sharp as the reptile's teeth were, they couldn't penetrate the horse's thick fur and hide. The iguana turned his head, hoping to bite something both more vulnerable and precious to the other male--to chomp on that sack, or take off that big dick of his, or at the very least take a bit of the horse's foreskin with him--but a punch to the temple sent Logan's head flying backward with his ears ringing. He shook the fog out of his brain, thrashed when the Stallion reached to grab his head, and snapped at the horse's fingers. He wriggled and tugged on the rope and chains keeping his limbs bound. He growled and glared up at his captor, feeling a brief surge of satisfaction when the bastard snorted and stepped back.

"If you don't want this to get really unpleasant, you'll cooperate." Despite the glower on Dean's face, his voice remained calm; calm, with a lingering husky undertone. And as the horse's eyes bored into Logan's own, the iguana could see the glimmer in them; the same burning light he'd see shining in an opponent's eyes in the thick of a fight. The bastard was enjoying it.

"I'm not gay, and like hell I'm gonna suck your dick!" Again, Logan wrenched his arms to try and free himself, until the joints of his shoulders began to ache.

Another snort. "You were fine with showing off for the crowd, weren't you? What exactly is so different now?"

"Back then, I thought you were gonna pay me. You know, with money?" Another bout of squirming. "And there's a world of difference between letting some faggots ogle you and getting a dirty dick shoved in your face." Another growl as he kicked his legs, imagining the feeling of the horse's jaw shattering under his heel. "I'm not gonna fucking 'cooperate' with you, so let me go or kill me." He spat the words out, and then sent a more literal glob of spit shooting out to splatter on the floor at the Stallion's hooves.

"I see." Another snort; and then another laugh, which sent another shiver down Logan's spine. "So it's incentive you want, is it? Then how about this?" The clopping of the horse's hooves on the concrete floor made the iguana flinch with every step. Dean made his way over to the pair of rhinos at the door; he murmured and nodded to one of them, who gave his boss a shallow bow before slipping out of the room, and then gave the other an expectant look. The bodyguard reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, rifled around, and then handed whatever he'd pulled out to the Stallion. Logan watched Dean approach him once more with wary eyes locked onto the device in his captor's hand.

A tiny remote control, with just a few buttons and a slider on it.

"I'm sure you've noticed that collar you have on." The iguana gulped, feeling it pressing against his working throat; he had indeed noticed. "It's been quite handy in training those I've decided to take under my wing."

"You mean the guys you..." Another gulp, and another shiver as the knot in Logan's gut clenched once more. "R-rape." His jaw clenched at the trembling of his own voice.

"To-may-to, to-mah-to." With a shrug of his shoulders, Dean clicked one of the remote control's buttons. The reptile jerked in anticipation of agony which didn't come; the device on his neck started to buzz, sending a tingle through his jaw and down into his chest. Annoying. Teeth-gritting. Eye-watering; but not painful just yet.

"Y-you..." The iguana forced a sneer onto his face, looking his captor in the eyes. He wouldn't break, no matter what the bastard did to him. He wouldn't give in. He wouldn't. "You think a little shock's gonna make me do what you say?"

"On the contrary, I hope it doesn't." The horse's thumb played against the slider. "Your resistance only makes it hotter for me."

The tingle grew more intense, spreading down into his shoulders. Up into his brain. Making the iguana wince and grit his teeth to choke down an uncomfortable grunt. And then it weakened, as if the Stallion was toying with him. More, and then less. More, and then less. Edging farther and farther into painful as the waves of sensation washed over him.

And then, Logan's mind went blank. His jaw fell slack in a silent scream. His entire body twitched and convulsed, sending him tumbling off the cot to writhe on the floor. Dean had pushed the slider all the way to the top, and the device on the iguana's neck was buzzing with fury as it sent an unceasing surge of voltage into him. Time--space, and even his very being--seemed to lose all meaning; he didn't know how long it took for that voltage to abate, leaving him in a panting and drooling and whimpering heap on the cold concrete.

The sharp clip-clopping of approaching hooves heralded a presence looming over him. And then fresh agony bloomed in his gut as something hard and merciless slammed into it; making sure to hit an unbruised section of Logan's scales to keep the pain as fresh as possible. "Look at you..." A hand grabbed his head, lifting him up by his spines, and then a fist crashed into his jaw and sent him reeling back and down once more. "You talk some good shit, but a little rough treatment gets you crying like a bitch, huh?" The reptile was hefted back up, and an iron grip on his aching snout wrenched his head upward to meet the Stallion's gaze. A diabolical smirk stretched the horse's lips as he squeezed, drawing out another whine from his captive.

Logan blinked the wet heat out of his eyes, wincing and biting back his own whimpering as his captor forced him to his knees. "F-fuck..." He spat again, staring at the pink foam that splattered on the floor in front of him as he tried to breathe in and then out. In and then out. In, ignoring the burning of his chest and rawness of his throat, and then out. "Fuck... you..."

"Still putting up a fight?" Dean laughed, low and rumbling like an approaching storm. "Good. That means I still get to look forward to watching you break." He turned his head, and his burning gaze landed on his rhino bodyguard. The iguana still moaning and shuddering at his feet flinched once more at the sound of the horse snapping his fingers. "Johnson, come here."

"Yes, sir." Like an obedient feral dog being called by its master, the rhino--Johnson--padded forward to stand beside the Stallion.

"You're a loyal man, aren't you?"

A nod. "Yes, sir."

"And that loyalty means that you follow every single one of my orders, no matter what. Right?"

Another nod. "That's right, sir."

Logan sneered when Dean gave him an aside glance, a smirk, and an--almost flirtatious--wink. He didn't know where the situation was going, and was growing ever more sure he didn't want to know.

His fears were confirmed by the Stallion's next words. "That includes my order not to bathe or clean yourself, right?"

Though the rhino's eyes were hidden behind his dark shades, the pink flush spreading on his cheeks as he shifted from foot to foot spoke of embarrassment; and--not that Logan was specifically looking, but it was hard not to notice when his face was at his captors' crotch level--the twitching of the bulge in his slacks spoke of perverted arousal.

"What the fuck...?!" Logan stared. He blinked. The slipping, grinding gears of his mind began to smoke as they whirred, trying to process the turn his situation had taken.

Dean let out a snorting, whinnying huff as his smirk became a devilish grin. "That's right. Here in my league, we have a certain... appreciation for the male body. How it looks. How it smells..." Another pat on the iguana's cheek, and then a cuff against the side of Logan's already-reeling head when he tried to bite at the horse once more. "And no one--my fighters, my bodyguards, or any of my other... employees... bathe without my express say-so. Isn't that right, Johnson."

It wasn't a question, but still the rhino answered. "Yes, sir." Another shift of his body as he clicked his tongue, hesitated, and then spoke again. "I haven't bathed at all this month or... last month, sir."

While Logan gagged at the mere thought, Dean let out another huff; aroused, if the pulsing of his returned erection wasn't enough of an indication. "Good. Take off your clothes so me and Thrasher here can get a whiff of you."

With a nod and a grunt, as though his boss had merely ordered him to check the weather forecast, Johnson obeyed. He popped the button of his suitcoat and shrugged it off, then unbuckled his belt while kicking off his shoes. As Logan watched, transfixed with mounting horror, the rhino's slacks, shirt, undershirt, and socks quickly followed; and when the iguana saw how filthy Johnson's own micro briefs were, the once-colorful cotton faded and stained and crusted with sweat and smut, it was all the captive could do not to vomit.

Johnson indeed looked--and reeked--like he hadn't bathed in at least a month. The thick coat of hair down his chest and gut and disappearing into his tented briefs was dark and greasy. There was a faint sheen of sweat, both old and new, on his leathery grey skin. And his cock, when he pushed his underwear down and off before stepping out of it, had nuggets of overripe cock smut caught in his bushy pubes and gathered in a thick buildup within the folds of his foreskin. Every shift of his body sent out a wave of sour stench to wash over Logan, and the iguana's disgust was as deep as the horse's delight.

"Mm." Dean breathed in and then out, slow and deep; filling his lungs with that raunchy, overtly-masculine scent. Then the horse pressed in close to stroke through the dark forest coating his bodyguard's firm pecs while grinding his gargantuan erection on Johnson's hip. One of the audience members who frequented the matches held in the Stallion's underground ring might've enjoyed the sight of those two burly bodies rocking together; especially when Dean ducked down to press his nose into the cleft under Johnson's arm, and the rhino obediently bared that hair-filled pit for the horse's appreciation. Logan, however, could only stare like he was watching a fiery train crash, frozen and unable to look away no matter how much he wanted to.

"See, boss? I stink." The words were spoken in a flat tone, but with just the slightest undercurrent of pride.

"Fuck yeah, you do." The Stallion nickered while praising his underling. "How about your ass?"

"Got swampass rank enough to put the new blood out like a light, boss." Another low grunt and grumbled-out groan; the rhino seemed to be picking his next words carefully. "Some of the boys even say it stinks worse than Mr. Finney's."

"Is that so? And your dick?" A hum of arousal. "Mine's only gone unwashed for a week. Think your dick stinks worse?"

A deep breath, in and out. A grunt. A shift from foot to foot. "I'd have to get a whiff to see, sir."

With his stomach roiling and threatening to send the hot bile surging within it upward, Logan finally wrenched his eyes away from what was happening in front of him. He then clenched them shut, feeling wet heat spill onto his burning cheeks, as he was forced to listen to the sound of Johnson kneeling down and taking a slow, deep sniff of his boss' unwashed shaft. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. It was all a dream, and he'd wake up in his shitty bed in his shitty apartment ready for another day of getting his shitty life back together; or maybe he'd wake up back in his cell in the clink, even that sounded like paradise compared to the hell into which he'd been dragged. Again, as long as they kept whatever the fuck they got up to out of his face, Logan didn't have any problem with gay people. And sure, he knew what happened in prison; it didn't count to get a blowie from another guy or take a turn at the cellblock bitch's ass, since you could always close your eyes and pretend it was a hot chick bobbing or bouncing on your dick. But seeing and hearing two men dry-hump right in front of him before one got on his knees to get his face in the other's crotch--and not because he was lowest on the prison totem pole, or in desperate need of a smoke with nothing else to trade, but because he enjoyed it--was sickening. The exact opposite of arousing. Disgusting; and not just because of the stench which filled that shadowy, stuffy room.

He flinched as another sound reached his ears, and then felt another clench in his chest; the door had opened, and more people were filing in. For just a single breathless moment, a half-desperate, half-insane hope flared in the captive reptile: they had come to help him. They'd untie him, and get him out of that room and away from the sick freaks still putting on their little show. He didn't even care about the money at that point; he just wanted to leave.

That hope died a pathetic, whimpering death, of course, when his pain-and-shock-fogged brain finally registered what his eyes were seeing. More rhinos; more of the Stallion's men. More naked fags, whose burning arousal flared in their eyes and pulsed in their plumping cocks as they watched Johnson huff and sniff all along the length of Dean's dirty shaft. More sweaty, smelly, weeks--or longer--unwashed men, whose stench added to the raunchy locker-room funk hanging in the air until it was a suffocating miasma.

"Ah, thank you, Cranston." The horse standing tall and proud and shameless before his equally-shameless subordinates nodded to the leader of that small--about six or so--group. Then he glanced down to the one still worshipping his package--Johnson had moved down to press his nose into the crease between his boss' heavy ballsack and inner thigh--and tapped the rhino on the crown of his head. "Well, Johnson, the boys are here. Does my dick stink?"

"It does, sir."

"Is yours worse?"

Again, the rhino seemed to be choosing his next words carefully; or he was just putting off answering in favor of continuing to huff the horse's overripe musk. "As you said, sir, you've skipped bathing for a week. I think after a month your dickstink would be much more potent."

"You think, do you...?" That finger continued to tap a steady, staccato rhythm between the rhino's ears.

"I'm sure of it, sir. Very sure."

"Well, since it hasn't been a month for me just yet, that makes you the perfect man to break in the new toy, yes?"

"What?!" Logan felt his hackles rise once more, but still he went ignored.

Dean stepped away from Johnson, and the rhino rose to stand at attention with the Stallion's other underlings. "This one has proved to be quite uncooperative." The horse waved with a careless gesture towards the bound iguana still kneeling on the concrete floor. "As such, I've decided he'll need a bit of intensive training. You seven have been chosen to assist me with this." He spoke like a general addressing his troops, or a manager coordinating his team; not at all like a naked pervert standing in a room with other naked perverts. "I do warn you, though, he's a biter." A wide, sadistic smirk curled Dean's lip. "So don't blame me if your dick gets bitten off."

The group of rhinos looked to one another, and then one--neither Johnson nor the one sent to gather up the others--raised his hand. "Question, sir: does it matter if he gets a little roughed up?"

A laugh. A nicker. A shake of the horse's head. "Not at all. Be as rough with him as you like. In fact... I encourage it."

A similar smile to the one on Dean's face was shared between the rhinos. A few of them reached down to grasp and stroke and pump their manhoods--rolling their foreskins back and forth to smear the smut and residue gathered in the folds over their cockheads--while a couple others shifted from foot to foot in anticipation.

Logan, meanwhile, snarled and squirmed and tugged on his bindings once more. "Don't fucking think about it...!" The air around him grew more oppressive--more rank--as the rhinos moved in around him. "Don't touch me, you fags!" He bared his teeth. "I'm warning you, don't-!"

"Shut up." Pain bloomed in the iguana's temple as Johnson's fist slammed into it. Logan was sent reeling, only to be caught by one of the rhinos at his left side.

"Got a mouth on him, don't he?" A palm running along the underside of his jaw, from throat to chin.

"Yeah." Johnson's voice from somewhere above him, rumbling in a chuckle much like his boss'. "Wanna help me put it to good use, boys?"

"Fuck yeah!" Another hand gripping his right bicep to keep the wriggling captive in place.

"Mmf... been thinking about these tits since watching his match." Fingers tracing the ridges of his chest, under one pectoral and into the cleft between them.

Logan grunted. Logan thrashed as more hands grabbed onto him. Logan tried to hold his panicked breath against the assault of masculine musk surrounding him. It was worse than when he'd been held down and knocked out, worse than having to play nice while the freaks in the audience felt him up after his match. He tried to snarl and snap at whatever he could of his captors, but the bastards were starting to make a game of baiting him with flicks against his lips and nose only to pull away at the last second. Laughter and jeering surrounded him, mingled with moans of masculine arousal which sent fresh shudders of revulsion down the iguana's spine.

He was their toy. Their plaything. And no matter how the thought wrenched in his gut and stung his eyes with wet heat, there was no way he could fight against it.

And so the rhinos groped him. Molested him. Traded off holding him by the shoulders and arms so they could take turns running their hands over his chest and stomach. When he tried to hunch over and block their reach, they just wrenched him back upright; and when they noticed his cheeks growing red under the blue of his scales while they caressed his slight paunch, they began to put more focus on it. On the tufts of hair peeking from the clefts under his arms and the waistband of his micro briefs. On his nipples, rubbing and pinching and tweaking the plump buds to make him hiss and whine in between his growls of displeasure.

Then a massive, strong-gripped hand--Johnson's--clamped his jaw shut more firmly than even the muzzle had managed, and his head was jerked forward towards the other male's crotch.

The stench was like another punch to the snout, making Logan reel and sputter and groan in his captors' grip. Rank, like an old pair of underwear stewed in stale sweat, with the sharp and acrid edge of piss to go along with it. Raunchy, far moreso than Dean's own unwashed dickstink. Swampy and choking and vile, over a month of BO left to stew before forcing itself into his burning nostrils. The reptile coughed, and gagged, and heaved; and his struggling to break free of Johnson's grip only seemed to delight the rhino's cohorts all the more.

"Go on, huff his balls." A smack right to the center of his back, forcing the stained air out of his lungs.

"Poor guy. Can't handle a real man's smell?" A hand on the back of his head, grinding his snout into the dense bush at the base of Johnson's pulsing erection.

"Aw look, he's cryin'!" Jeering at the sight of his misery while jostling him back and forth.

Logan's teeth ground together as he blinked his eyes, wishing he could break out of the bastards' hold to chomp the fucker's manhood right off. He wasn't crying, dammit. The odor was making his eyes water, that was all. He jerked and wriggled, trying to both swallow hard and keep himself from inhaling any of the rhino's crotch funk. Trying to ignore the silky skin of the fag's balls, the scratchiness of those pubes, and the pulse of that shaft on his shame-and-rage-flushed face. Trying to dissociate from what was being done to him; but every surge of sensation within his abused body--his captors' touch, the way his gut heaved and tightened and roiled, the sting of injuries old and new and physical and mental--kept his mind bobbing on the surface of the stormy tide in his head.

A laugh. A glint of devilish delight in the eyes which bored into him. A rough squeeze on the bridge of his nose and the bottom of his jaw. "You boys wanna hold his mouth open so I can give him something to cry about?"

"Ngh! Ngaagh!" Again, the reptile squirmed. Struggled. Fought against the grip of his captors in vain as the rhinos reached to wrench his mouth open. He choked and whined as Johnson brought his stinking erection close, smacking it on the bridge of Logan's nose. His tongue was finally exposed to that raunchy miasma wafting from every pulsing inch of the shaft, and the captive's teary eyes rolled in his head as it burned his tastebuds. He could feel more unwashed bodies--more hairy chests and stomachs and crotches, more flexing and masculine muscles, and more throbbing cocks--pushing in and pressing against him as the others held him still. And then Johnson's hand settled atop the crown of the iguana's head, brushing through his spines with almost-tender affection.

"If I feel any teeth, I'm gonna knock every single one out of your mouth. You understand me?" It was a threat Logan had heard being made in the clink a lot; spat at the cellblock bitch by his fellow inmates, and even in his own voice a few times. But never had it been directed at him; he'd made damn sure that anyone who even thought about it knew good and well why he'd been a former title-holding champion. Logan shuddered and grunted, wishing he could do the same to the bastards surrounding him.

And then Johnson shoved his dirty dick right into the reptile's open, waiting mouth.

Scent. Flavor. Sensation. It all crashed like a wave over Logan, but in his shock not a single iota of it registered. He couldn't breathe; his airways were blocked by the shaft which had pushed with merciless insistence into his throat. He couldn't think; Johnson's stench, and masculinity, and presence was smothering him, finally plunging his floundering mind into the dark and musky depths. He couldn't move; more than just the ropes, or the cuffs, or even the hands on his shoulders and snout and sides kept him frozen in his place. All he could do was gag and dry heave, the pain of it slamming like a fist into his gut, while the rhino used him.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Grinding that sweaty, greasy, smut-smeared cock on the lizards wriggling tongue. Pulling the foreskin back to make his tastebuds sting with the sour-fishy taste of the rhino's ample smegma. Grinding the overfull and hairy ballsack on the iguana's chin as the orbs within roiled with pleasure.

"Mm, fuck yeah. You like that, bitch?"

"Bet he does."

"Come on, Thrasher. Thrash that tongue on Johnson's balls!"

Back and forth. In and out. Fucking his face; forcing his nose into the dank and stinking forest of his pubes as that cock forced itself into the clenching passage of his throat. Again and again as Logan's reeling mind went numb. Just get it over with. Let the bastard have his fun.

At last, Johnson threw his head back and groaned. He yanked his erection free of Logan's gullet, making the captive gasp and gag and cough while clenching his eyes shut. And then hot, wet, sticky heat splashed on his snout. It coated his cheeks. Dribbled down his chin and neck. Splattered on his tongue, the alkaline and salty flavor leaving no doubt about what had happened: the rhino had orgasmed, and was painting Logan's face and maw with his cum.

The other rhinos laughed and jeered and hooted at his humiliation as the iguana began to sob.

"Nice one, Johnson!"

"Me next! Been waiting to blow a load in the bitch's mouth!"

"Think he'd like licking ass? Been needing to-"

"P-please..."

The quiet, trembling, whining whimper drew the rhinos' gazes down to the shuddering captive. Logan's entire body trembled as he felt their eyes upon him, pitiless in their enjoyment of his torment. He coughed again, gagged again, heaved again. And then, again, he began to beg.

"Please... p-please..."

Kill him. Let him go. Even he couldn't tell which would be the better option. He was soiled, inside and out, and would never be clean again. His pride shattered, his body defiled, and his resistance broken. He didn't care about money anymore. He didn't care about wiping away his record. He didn't even care about being able to get his reputation as a champion fighter again. All he cared about was making what they were doing to him stop.

In answer, Johnson laughed. The other rhinos laughed. Dean, the Stallion, the ringleader of the sick freaks who was watching from the cot while stroking himself to orgasm at the show, laughed. Logan was pushed and pulled and repositioned onto his hands and knees, and his face was guided into another man's unwashed crotch; not nearly as rank as Johnson's or Dean's, but still sweaty and overly-musky. "Be a good boy and lick my balls, bitch." Another large, supple, silky sack was dragged across his lips and nose.

"N-no..."

"No?" Snickering as the rhino looming over him shared a look with his fellows. "Hey, boss, can he get another shock?"

Logan's eyes flew wide open. His breath caught in his throat. "No! Stop!" He thrashed as another surge of electricity shot through him from the buzzing collar on his neck. That was it. He was going to die. He was going to die there, in that dim cellar, surrounded by his rapists.

He whined when at last the tingling ceased, only for him to feel a hand drag him back upward by the spines on his head. "I said lick, bitch."

His mouth dropped open. His tongue moved out. Logan began to lick. More sobbing wracked through him as he dragged his wriggling, irreparably-stained oral muscle over those balls, around the thick base of a throbbing erection, and over the cleft between the hairy sack and a firm, supple thigh. He pushed his tongue into that hollow, and then heaved once more at the soured funk it found; salty and earthy, the swampy flavor of unwashed crotch mingling with the darker miasma which wafted from deep within the rhino's taint.

"Yeah, that's it..." Pulling out to rub over the curve of that sack once more. "Fuck, you're good at that..." Lapping at the shaft. "Get ready, bitch." Being tugged up to let that length force itself into his mouth. Once more Logan felt the stab of humiliation at being face-fucked like a prison bitch, and once more he could do nothing until the bastard shot his load.

But the assault didn't end there. Once the one rhino had flooded the iguana's slackened mouth with sticky seed, Logan was pulled right into another stinking crotch. Again he had to hold his breath to keep the sour stench out of his lungs. Again he had to lick and slurp and resist the urge to bite down, for fear of another punch or smack or shock from his collar. Again he had to shut his eyes and wait while being dragged back and forth, back and forth, that dirty dick smearing its smut on his cheeks and tongue and the insides of his throat.

Then another man stepped forward to take his turn; and as he raped the reptile's mouth, his wandering hands moved down to cup and caress Logan's heaving pectorals. Rubbing all over them. Giving them a squeeze, and then brushing his fingers through the curly hair coating them. Teasing and tweaking and pinching the plump buds of Logan's nipples while his cock plunged into the captive's throat and his balls smacked on the iguana's chin. Logan clenched his eyes shut and tried to block out the rhino's husky words; praise for how supple and fuckable his 'tits' were, orders to flex and show them off, lustful murmuring about how good they'd look squeezing around his dick. The iguana almost mistook being shoved backward and off that pulsing shaft for mercy; but then the rhino grinned, rolled his foreskin back to bare his smegma-coated cockhead, and ground it onto the reptile's pecs until he blew his load all over them. And then he stepped aside, leaving behind a few smears of cock-smut as a souvenir, and Logan was pulled towards the next man's crotch.

It was so much. It was too much. It was filthy, and disgusting, and every inch of his body rebelled against what was being done to it. With every choked breath and touch from his captors and taste of what their bodies had to offer, the bile in the iguana's belly rose higher. Up into his chest. Up into his ragged and ravaged throat.

He coughed, and shuddered with yet another heave, and the rhino rubbing Logan's face in his sweat-soaked bush pushed the reptile away from him just in time. As Logan was sent sprawling in a boneless heap on the ground, the contents of his nauseous stomach finally surged up and out of him into a puddle on the floor.

"Aw, poor bitch can't handle the taste?" Laughing.

"Need something to wash that down?" Jeering.

"Come on, you still got work to do. Got another couple dicks to suck clean, bitch." Surrounding him, looming over him, and giving his trembling body a few impatient prods with their feet.

"Stop... please, just... stop..." Logan panted, swallowing hard and whining at the flavor of bile which had joined the bitter-sour taste of dirty manhood filling his mouth. His sore limbs shook, unable to tug at his bonds anymore. His spine had turned into gelatin, and his head felt heavy as the cold concrete scraped his wet cheek. Bloody snot and cum coated his nose and lips, and his eyes were puffy and aching.

The clopping of hooves approaching him. Another presence--large and stifling and heavy--looming over him. A nicker of arousal, and a pair of hands dragging him up to his knees once more. Logan couldn't lift his head to meet Dean's burning gaze, but he could feel it boring into him. "You gonna cooperate?"

Logan gulped. He wanted to spit all the filth in his aching maw at the bastard. He wanted to surge upward and give the horse one--just one--chomp. He wanted to kick, and bite, and rip the sicko's eyes and throat out. But as another shudder rocked through him, all the iguana could do was force his head to bob up and down.

"Good boy." A palm stroked over his head before giving him a pat, as though he was an unruly dog who'd finally been broken into obedience. "Will you do what I say?"

"Y-yeah..."

"Anything...?"

Logan felt his lips curl into a weak snarl, but again he nodded. "Anything."

Dean wrapped an arm around Logan's waist, supporting and dragging him along as though the iguana was a shitfaced drunkard being led home. Over to the group of rhinos. Laid down on one of the burly, stinking men's chest. Petting Logan's head as he forced it into a hair-filled armpit. "Sniff."

Logan groaned, and whined, and forced himself to take a short sniff. Once more the bitter-spicy scent of a man filled his lungs, and once more he coughed and heaved; especially when he felt large and calloused hands grip his waist, pulling him down to press a still-hard-and-dribbling erection right onto the bruise on his stomach.

"Yeah, that's it. Mason here smells real fucking good, doesn't he?"

"Ngh..." A shake of the iguana's head. "No... he fucking stinks..."

More laughter, and another nicker of arousal; which was answered with a few deep rumbles from the rhinos joining their little pile. They kneeled down around Logan and Dean and 'Mason', touching and groping and pushing in to rub their cocks on the iguana's--and their fellow bodyguard's, but not their boss'--shoulders and neck and cheeks. The horse sneered, and pressed a thumb right into a spot in the reptile's side which sent a fresh jolt of agony rocking through him. "And you love it, don't you?"

"No..." Denial. "It's fucking disgusting..." Contempt. "You're fucking sick if you think I'd... I..." A single ember of defiance still sputtering deep within the iguana.

"Well, that's real funny." With another twist of that thumb, Dean stopped his captive's words and breath with a choked-out whine. "You're one to talk." That hand finally moved from his side to stroke down to his hip. To rub over the sweaty micro briefs the iguana was still wearing. To push under Logan and cup his--completely soft--bulge, grinding over it to smear the reptile's own ripening scent onto the palm. Dean made sure that Logan was turned toward him, looking right into his sullen eyes while groping and fondling his crotch; and the horse made a show of huffing the captive's musk off his hand. "When did you shower last?"

Logan's reeling mind could hardly comprehend such a question; so normal--almost casual--after everything he'd been put through. "M-morning..." The words leaked from his ragged throat in a quiet croak. "Morning before my match with Skullcracker..."

"So about a day and a half." The horse nodded even as more appreciative moans sounded out from the rhinos. More precum splashed and dribbled onto Logan's scales from the cocks grinding on him. More male arousal-stink filled the air around him. "And already you're as stinky as my men." Heat bloomed on Logan's cheeks as he growled, embarrassment and shame roiling in his gut. "I wonder how you'll smell in a week, or a month..." The horse's hand moved back down to grind on the reptile's crotch once more.

"Fuck you..."

"No." A smirk. A wink. A nicker as Dean moved down. Grabbed Logan's hips and hefted his hind end upward. Rubbed and groped the firm cheeks of the iguana's ass through the cotton of his micro briefs. "Fuck you, stinky little faggot."

The Stallion was sniffing his ass. No, not just sniffing; grinding his nose into the sweaty cotton which hid the dank cleft from his sight, and huffing the iguana's own ripening odor like he was taking a hit off the best joint in existence. And from the sound of his groaning, and sighing, and the slick and rhythmic squelching of his fist pumping his cock, the freak was loving every second.

Logan blinked, mind reeling. He squirmed, disbelieving. He groaned out as he heard a slow, deep inhalation from behind, and shuddered at the feeling of humid breath gusting over his crotch. But he couldn't protest, either against the bastard's actions or his words; and with his arms and legs bound, he could do nothing but let Dean get his sick jollies. He could do nothing as another cock was shoved into his face and down his throat. He could do nothing but wait for his humiliation to end.

Another face-fucking, in and then out and then splattering his face with cum. Another. Another. And what was worse, he had to hear and see the other men being gay and perverted with each other all around him while he was molested; while he was violated. Cranston was getting his pits sniffed by two other rhinos. Johnson was letting Mason eat the dickcheese right off his cockhead. Dean whinnied and pulled back just in time to shoot his load onto the flexing soles of Logan's feet, and then reached between the iguana's legs to rub and knead and squeeze the captive's pendulous--but still flaccid--bulge. And all around him, cocks both filthy and spit-shined were batting on his shoulders and cheeks and awaiting their turn to slip into his mouth.

On, and on, and on. Until all the rhino bodyguards had blown at least one load onto or into the iguana. Until Dean had sampled Logan's sweaty BO from every inch of the reptile's crack and crotch. Until the captive was shoved onto the hard floor once more, and left in a panting and gasping and groaning heap.

The Stallion got to his feet, brushing himself off and nodding in approval to his sated bodyguards. "Good job, boys. You're dismissed. Johnson, hang back." Once everyone but the apparent-highest-ranked underling had filed out of the room, Dean kneeled down to lug Logan upright. He stared, smirking, at the defiled iguana for a long moment. "Are you a good boy?"

Silence.

"Are you going to cooperate?"

More silence.

Dean let out a grunt of annoyance. "You'd better get used to this, Thrasher. You're going to be here for a long, long while. If you understand..." His smirk widened. "Come and give me a kiss."

The iguana shivered and looked to the horse. He breathed in and out, slow and careful. He made no move to obey.

"Alright then, be that way." The horse stood once more; and then his hoof lashed out, slamming into Logan's chest and bowling the whining man over once more. The Stallion turned on his heel to stalk out of the room, throwing one last order over his shoulder as he left. "Johnson, keep an eye on the new toy, would you? I'll come back tomorrow to see if he's learned his lesson."

"Yes, sir."

Curled up on the concrete floor. Ignoring the stench and smut staining every inch of him. Heaving and gasping out every breath in a strangled sob. Logan laid where he'd been put by his captor, trying not to think about the further degradation the bastard had in mind for him if he didn't 'learn his lesson'.

It was all the iguana could do.