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Prisoner of the Eredar

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Kantaar had never led an easy life. As one of the Draenei, the exiled ones, he knew what it was like to feel hunted. Never safe, never peaceful. He had been born on Draenor on the plains of Nagrand, and since childhood he had been taught to be careful, always. He knew the land, and how do hide, and how to fight--especially against the Man’ari, the twisted Eredar that had submitted to Sargeras.
When young Draenei--especially young male Draenei--had started to disappear from his village, Kantaar had done what any smart Draenei would do. He’d heightened his caution, been extra careful on his hunts, and kept his wanderings very close to the village.

Which is why he is cursing himself so vehemently now.

The Man'ari had found him while he was out seeking herbs. He’d been knocked unconscious barely an instant after noticing the approach of the corrupted warriors. The last thing he saw was the red and black cloven hooves approaching across the grass before he lost consciousness completely.

Now, Kantaar is in a cell--a monstrous construction that reflected the demonic nature of those who had built it. Dim lights in shades of sickening greens are the only illumination. He can barely see anything, but he can hear plenty. Anguished cries and groans echo through his confined chamber. There must be other cells near his, containing other prisoners...perhaps the men who had gone missing from his village. Kantaar beseeches the Light to protect him, and his lost comrades, as he awaits what fate these Man'ari have in store for him.

The cell is very hot, enough to make Kantaar’s pale blue skin stand out with sweat. It’s enough to make him grateful that he has been stripped completely naked. He sits against the back wall of the cell, panting in the heat--but it doesn’t keep him from folding his knees close to his chest and hugging his arms around him. He knows how vulnerable he is to whatever torture the Man'ari are devising. From the sounds echoing around him, he knows it must be a terrible torture indeed. Every time one of his kin cries out, a horrified shiver runs down his spine, and he closes his silvery eyes tight.

Without the sun, Kantaar cannot tell the passage of time, but it seems like days before they finally come to him. The heavy door across from Kantaar opens, and two huge Man'ari men enter. They are dressed in full demonic plate, typical of their warriors. What is atypical are the vessels that they carry: what seem to be two huge pitchers of black ceramic. Kantaar presses himself against the wall as the door swings shut heavily behind them. The Man'ari approach, their huge hooves nearly making the ground tremble. They are so much larger than him. Kantaar pants like a terrified beast as they come closer, clinging in his heart to his faith in the Light.

One of the Man'ari sets down his earthen vessel on the ground and says something in the demonic tongue to his companion. He’s grinning, and Kantaar can see every one of his yellow fangs. The other nods, and the first Man'ari lunges forward to grab Kantaar. Kantaar struggles, but he is weak from hunger, thirst and constant fear. The Man'ari quickly subdues him and forces his arms behind his back. He shoves Kantaar down onto his knees, and grasps his arms harshly in one hand. He uses the other to grab Kantaar’s face and force it upward, towards the his companion. This Man'ari smiles at him, almost pleasantly, before raising the black jug he carries. Kantaar feels something shoved between his lips, and realizes that the Man'ari restraining him is forcing his mouth open. Kantaar can do little more than gag and drool as the Man'ari’s thumb is shoved between his jaws at the back of his mouth. His mouth is held open as surely as a wild dog’s would be.

The second Man'ari chuckles at Kantaar’s panic. “No struggles, little one,” he says in a deep, smooth voice, but it does nothing to soothe Kantaar’s dread. The vessel is raised to his gaping lips, and the Man'ari tilts it back to begin pouring its contents down Kantaar’s throat.

Kantaar coughs and gags. The liquid is warm, and cloyingly sweet. Kantaar tries to cough it out, but he can’t resist the sheer volume and the force of gravity. He is forced to swallow it or suffocate. Kantaar’s throat works again and again as he swallows the concoction. Gulp after gulp travels down his throat, causing his empty stomach to growl and groan as it is so rapidly filled. He coughs again, a weak noise of protest the loudest objection he can make. The Man'ari just chuckles again and continues to pour.
After a few moments, Kantaar’s eyes are wide and panicked. There is simply so much liquid! The vessel in the Man'ari’s hands is nearly the size of his own torso. How can he possibly be expected to swallow it all? Kantaar whimpers, causing the sweet liquid to bubble in his throat, but there is no end to the flow. Kantaar’s stomach gurgles again, and though he can feel his hunger being sated, he knows before long he will be stuffed full. And it just keeps coming, wave after wave of it, spilling down his throat and over his chin, dripping down his neck and chest.

Finally, the Man'ari tips back the vessel. It is empty. Kantaar can’t believe he’s swallowed the entire pitcher. In fact--there’s too much. It’s going to come back up. Kantaar gags, tears streaming down his cheeks. Before Kantaar can expel the huge amount of fluid, the Man'ari clamps his large hand over his mouth. “You will keep it down,” he commands. Kantaar struggles and spasms, fighting as his body works to rid itself of the immense amount of liquid.

Kantaar has no choice. Between the one Man'ari violently squeezing the lower half of his face, and the other now gripping his spasming throat, Kantaar cannot hope to vomit. The spasms wracking his body slowly still, and Kantaar is left feeling agonized and dizzy. It feels as though his entire digestive tract is on fire--and then, somehow--it cools. He’s left feeling numb on the inside; impossibly full, but somehow unhurt.

The Man'ari holding the vessel nods, satisfied. He sets it down. Kantaar is flooded with relief. His body is aching and sore and feels strangely soft on the inside. He sags, gasping for breath, but out of the corner of his eye he sees the Man'ari moving to pick up the second vessel. Kantaar raises his head again. “No! No, please!” he cries, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I cannot take any more!”

His protests are met only with a huge smile. “You will drink, precious,” the Man'ari says again in his low, almost melodic voice. “You will have your fill.”

With that, Kantaar’s mouth is forced open again, and the contents of the second vessel are poured mercilessly down his throat. This time, though, Kantaar doesn’t gag, or cough. He doesn’t feel the need to, somehow, even though the volume of fluid feels like even more than before. His stomach is gurgling in protest. He feels tight and stretched, but the pain he experienced before is gone. He’s simply full...and fuller, and fuller, and fuller…
Finally the second vessel is completely drained. The Man'ari drops it carelessly to the ground. Kantaar is not released, but left panting, his mouth still held open. The Man'ari restraining him says something in the demon language, but the other Man'ari simply laughs. “Not until he wants it,” he replies in Eredun, and his fel-green eyes flash to Kantaar with a wicked look.

Kantaar is dropped unceremoniously with a nonchalant comment from his captor. He only just manages to catch himself before he landed face first onto the dirty, hot ground. The Man'ari gather up their vessels and leave his cell, their footfalls echoing loud in Kantaar’s pounding head.

After a long moment, Kantaar forces himself to sit up. He looks down at his tortured body. His stomach is more than a little distended, bulging beneath his muscles to an obscene size. Kantaar feels his face heat with a blush. He looks almost pregnant, if only a few months along. He curls his arms around his middle, ashamed and frightened. The liquid sits heavily in his stomach, his insides churning with it. What was it, and why did they force-feed him so much?

 

Kantaar’s questions are not answered. He is left alone again, without food or water, for several days. For the most part, he feels drowsy and overly warm--hotter than he was before the liquid was forced into him. All he can do is laze in his cell, his mind hazy and weak. It seems more than just weakness brought on by hunger, something near-magical in nature. Within a day or two, however, Kantaar’s body has regained its natural shape, and he breathes easier now that he no longer feels so immense and stuffed.

Within a few days, the two Man'ari are back…and to Kantaar’s horror, they are bearing the same black vessels that they brought before. The process is short and businesslike this time. Kantaar is grabbed, restrained, and his mouth is pried open once again. He tries to plead with them, to ask for mercy, but everything he says is completely ignored. Once more the sweet liquid is poured down his throat, and Kantaar cannot even gag before he feels it begin to fill him up once more.
This time, though, it feels almost…silky, inside him. Could it just be his hunger making his body more readily accept the sweet liquid? It feels like melted honey running down his throat. It feels...it feels almost good. Kantaar’s eyes lid and he tilts his head back, as much as his captor will allow. With every swallow, the liquid grows more appetizing. He reassures himself that it must be his hunger, it must be--but all the while he drinks it down with almost no complaint. His stomach still feels huge and stretched and uncomfortable, but the second vessel is not nearly as painful as it was the first time. Once they have finally stuffed him full, the Man'ari exchange huge grins. The one who fed him the liquid even caresses his jaw before they pick up their pitchers and vanish again.

Kantaar is left alone once more, and once more his middle is hugely swollen. Kantaar groans as he settles back against the wall, his legs spread to accomodate his large belly. Instead of hiding it, this time, he gives it an experimental rub, running his palm over the tight skin. A full-body shiver runs through him, a pleasant shiver, and Kantaar is immediately wracked with horror and revulsion. What are they doing to him?!
The next few days are even more torturous than the first, for now something is different. Kantaar finds himself restless, though his mind feels even more clouded than it was before. He paces his cell, massaging his stomach--for although it makes him feel ashamed and sick, it also feels discomfitingly good. At one point, he finds himself growing hard from the mere act of rubbing his hands over his swollen middle. His mind drifts often to the next visit the Man'ari will make. He finds himself...looking forward to it.

When they come again, it’s almost as though they know. They saunter into his cell, and when the strong one grabs him, Kantaar doesn’t even struggle. He reaches for Kantaar’s mouth, but with a sick thrill of horror Kantaar finds that he has let it fall open himself.

“Good boy!” croons the one holding the black vessel, and he strokes Kantaar’s short horn with one hand. He is taller than the other, and his skin is a darker shade of red. Kantaar’s lips twitch a little in a smile. For some reason he likes pleasing this one.
When he raises the pitcher to Kantaar’s lips, Kantaar greedily drinks it down. The warmth and sweetness are no longer cloying, but delicious. It’s like he cannot get enough. He wants more, and more, his throat working eagerly as he devours the concoction. His stomach fills, bloating out once more, and Kantaar feels a surge of glee, knowing that he will soon be round and full once more. When the first vessel is empty, Kantaar shuffles forward on his knees, mouth open, eyes glassy, his tongue flat against his bottom lip. The Man'ari grins in obvious satisfaction, and feeds the eager Kantaar the second huge pitcher.

When both jars are empty, Kantaar is bloated full once more. He sighs, tipping his head back and licking the last of the honey-sweet juice from his lips. He looks down at his bulging stomach, and to his delight he sees that his cock has hardened. It rubs up against the bottom curve of his belly as he shifts, and a little moan escapes his lips.

The taller Man'ari stops at the door and looks back at him. He thrusts his jar at his companion and shoos him out of the room, then strides back towards Kantaar. He has slumped against the wall once more, legs spread, but he looks up at the Man'ari in uncertainty and fear.

“Go ahead, little one,” the Man'ari says in his low voice. “Enjoy. You will be ready soon...just have a little taste, for now.” He bends to stroke Kantaar’s horns once more, then runs a hand almost possessively over his distended belly… and then leaves.

 

By the Light, this shouldn’t be happening. He should not feel like this. Kantaar can’t help it, though. His erection is throbbing and he feels as if he will die if he doesn’t attend to it. Besides, crouching on all fours like this, his huge belly almost brushing the dirt, his hand furiously pumping at his cock… it just feels so good. Kantaar jerks himself hard and fast, his mind focused on nothing but getting off. He hasn’t come in so long, and oh… he feels so good inside. He feels like he’s full of velvet warmth. The liquid sloshes and gurgles in his stomach, a silky, soft presence making him heavy and hot. Kantaar comes with an anguished groan, coating his hand and his rounded stomach with thick splashes of cum. He slumps against the wall, satisfied and panting, but the silky feeling in his stomach remains. The desire in him is only banked, not extinguished...and Kantaar has a feeling that he will soon be hard again.

Kantaar does shift a little uncomfortably against the wall, for there’s an odd slickness beneath his tail that he doesn’t remember acquiring. He reaches back to wipe it away with his clean hand--and finds to his surprise that his ass cheeks and thighs are drenched. A little more probing proves that the wetness is emanating from his asshole, which feels oddly soft and loose. Kantaar feels himself blushing. It feels almost like...almost like a woman’s entrance when she is strongly aroused. It must have something to do with the delicious liquid they’d been feeding him, for he’d never felt something like that in himself before.

Kantaar tries to ignore it and coax himself to fall asleep--but his rest is anything but peaceful. Every few hours, he grows so aroused that he cannot do anything but masturbate, dizzily rubbing his stomach until another orgasm relieves him.

 

Kantaar had not seen the last of the tall Man'ari. He comes alone now, with only a small black jar, about the size of a table pitcher, every couple of days. He always feeds it to Kantaar--the Draenei is never permitted to hold the vessel himself. Every time, he seems very pleased with Kantaar’s willing reactions. Kantaar cannot help but smile and be docile for him, though he does wish that he had more to drink. He’s missing his round belly, though his intense sexual drive has not abated.

After a few visits, the Man'ari notices Kantaar’s disappointed rub of his flat stomach. “Do not worry, pet,” he says in his thickly accented voice. “You will soon be full again.” To Kantaar’s surprise, he hauls him to his feet by one horn. He reaches back to pull Kantaar’s tail up, and dips his broad, clawed fingers between Kantaar’s ass cheeks. Kantaar gasps and squirms in protest, but before he can do anything the Man'ari’s finger is sliding into his hole. He has no difficulty at all--his entrance has been constantly slick and wet these days. “Oh, very soon,” the Man'ari rumbles in Kantaar’s pointed ear. “You are ready now, my dear one.”

As he leaves, Kantaar can only stare after him in confused horniness. Ready for what, he has no idea.