How to be a Proper Prisoner

Enough distractions. Time is of the essence, and you have loitered or indulged for far too long. While the dinner bell hasn't been rung yet, you dread that dooming echo could announce itself throughout the Golden Hive halls at any moment, calling upon your companions' end, if not your own considering the queen still anticipates a Lucario dessert to top off a three-course meal; a dessert that's currently missing from its platter.

"...Alright Bertie, I'm good to go." You ensure him as you calm yourself down despite what all has happened. Traversing through enemy territory out in the open doesn't grace you with much optimism, yet your faith had to be held into this one chubby Caterpie as your stalwart cover. Bertie. This out of shape caterpillar guard and his overtly tubby softness. A lone hero in which you'd be surprised if any muscle was packed into that thick pillowy hide, but, bizarre things have happened in life. In the same vain that others hearing of you taking on a beastially large Aerodactyl, well, who would you be kidding to deny their doubts of being prehistoric pudge. Perhaps Bertie can surprise you. He's showing great conviction, a strong spine.

Though, you're rather certain that he might not even have bones amidst his fat either.

Caterpillar anatomy aside, your wrists are still cuffed in silk, leaving it up to Bertie himself to properly fend off danger...assuming he'd simply get by any confused inquiry from a Golden Hive passerby as to why you were undergoing a transferal. It would require an apt answer, and Bertie is as confident as he is pushable. The guise is that you are being guided to the Queen herself, to witness your own companions to be eaten by her at her decree, before you too are eaten as the emotional and literal cherry on top. It is punishment for your uppity with containment. It was your crime as a mammal to defy Her Majesty's hospitality after all. Hopefully that was a simple and believable excuse; it isn't to you, however Bertie assures you that most Golden Hive populace wouldn't dare question a decree from a Queen in stopping her from getting what she wants, especially when food is involved.

It was time to go.

The Caterpie himself is left blushing when you approach him for any obvious reason, in which he huffs, "O-Okie dokie Lace, I'm ready! But just...uhm..." He fumbles his own thoughts when looking up at you with his large eyes, having the air of great contemplation or...withdrawal for whatever logic. You blankly return a stare before you encourage a real answer out of him, echoing the sentiment that you're ready and he should just spit it out. The portly bug stiffens to alertness and finds his words, "Er, sorry! It's just that, no you're right, I should spit it out... Well. Here. Can you like, lower down some?" His soft hands reach up at you, specifically towards your face oddly enough, gesturing you to ease down to your knees to be more eye-level with him.

Confused, you indulge the request and kneel down on both legs, allowing your head within Caterpie's-reach, in which your warm cheeks meet his cupping hands. His doughy palms help still your face in, locking your head in place, which both of you are looking to one another. Bertie's full dinnerplate eyes glisten when leaning in close, pursing that olive pucker of his in place that dares itself near your snout. Your lips wrinkle. Was he...leaning in for a kiss?

Before you question your protector, the caterpillar bloats his cheeks before spitting on your muzzle. The chilly splat sends a shiver down your back, enticing you to recoil, but the caterpillar's hands help tighten your head against doing so. "H-Hoald shtill...!" He wetly grunts, full mouthed before he spits again. White gooey silk drools over the side of your snout while he pinches his mouth and feeds out more globs of silk. The gluey fluid is spat around at your mouth, in which his hands brush over to thumb it into long sticky strings, performing the same act as he's done for your wrists. He's...muzzling you.

You question at first, disgruntled, "Mnkmrph?" but his hand squeezes at your jaw to remain shut.

"Shh. Sorry Mister Lace, er, Lace sir. Erk. Just Lace, I-I mean." Bertie attempts to explain, trying to get over his cultural conditioned hurdle. But he does get around to exculpating his deed here, "We were so busy talking, I forgot I needed to restrain your mouth. If we want to make your capture look real, we'll have to go through the usual procedure. The Queen doesn't like blasphemy and lies coming from her meals, so they're usually gagged...among other things. But this way, it'll let me do all the talking! The guards'll trust me."

You have some concerns to voice, very loud and bargaining ones, but they only come out muffled from the sinew drying and the bindings keep your trap shut, as intended. Your shoulders and bound wrists shimmy uncomfortably when feeling this small bug deny you your own voice. This wasn't the agreement, but...you did place your faith unto Bertie. He was just as much in danger now as you are for his treachery. It'll just take some trust now to ensure you both succeed, but that doesn't mean you'll forego any and all complaints. "...Nrrfph."

"Don't worry, I'm almost done!" The Caterpie soothes before tying the silken threads tightly together, forcing your teeth to grit and grind from the pressure. The jawline is bound to the roof of your mouth, pinning your tongue to awkwardly flex in its pancaked state. Your growls are guttural now. When finally releasing his hands from your chin, you wiggle your head and test your jaw. It remains snug, bound and muted. The Caterpie's properly muzzled you. A dejected groan exits your throat when looking your roped gag... The only silver lining you can find to appreciate is that you can still breathe freely from your nose, loudly too with your reaction to the accessory. Bertie actually chuckles, seeing your eyes naturally go cross-eyed, considering when looking down the depth of your snout, your eyes are **** to pinch inward together. Even your ears are subconsciously folding a bit back.

Bertie giggles, nodding at a joke you never told, but he's amused all the same. "That's a good prisoner look! People won't be intimidated by you if you look like that."

Ouch. With that revelation, you try to course-correct your expression, now looking annoyed at the accusation, but it comes across as more begrudged with your sealed lips. "Grhf..."

"Let's go with some commands. Up!" An order comes your way from the expectant caterpillar. You flick an ear and cock a brow painfully up; you didn't know which reaction Bertie would pick up on, but the answer is that your face flew over his head, considering he tugs at your restraints that he has silk-leashed. "C'mon Mister Lace, you can do it!"

What the hell was this, motivation? You grunt in response, but the tugs yank at your face and wrists, yearning your thighs to straighten up. It earns an awkward sputter of breath within you, stamping a hindpaw down to better brace yourself to a leg, and then its mate, wobbling up to an even more awkward stand. "Brrttfy?! Wh-mmphgh fhnkch? Mllph?" You try to debate with him, but it leaves the Caterpie confused.

Bertie double-blinks. "H-Huh? I thought we could do some practice commands before we go out there." He wiggles nervously at seeing your disapproval, but you also sense disapproval from him. "You got that wrong, you shouldn't have to make me yank you like you don't know what 'up' means. They might suspect something Mister Lace, you need to keep the act going for anything I say...so don't get flabbergasted, or they'll sniff you out. If you're my convict, they'll need to know you respect and listen to me, or else they won't believe us and might take you themselves!" And unfortunately, there was no hint of self-awareness of what the Caterpie was doing to humiliate you. This tubby guy genuinely beamed his concern that your insight has to take in like a crashing wave. For Bertie, you were too uppity. If you were a caterpillar's catch...you clearly would have to obey the caterpillar.

"Remember, you need to be, uhm, what's the word...sponty, er, spontaneous!" Bertie snaps like he came up with a genius explanation...for his own anxiety. "If you're quick with commands and listen, you'll fool the guards. Willing servants last longer her, and it puts folks at ease when you show you're not a threat to our Queen, so be kind to them, but also listen to me and what I say! You can't ask me questions as a mammal I'm transferring, you gotta play your part like I have to play my part Mister Lace. And I think through some practice, you'll be a natural pet!"

Again, his words to ignite some fiery passion just makes you feel less in control, beyond the silk restraints.

He orders aloud, "Down boy!"

You hesitate. And it's too long for Bertie to be appeased. "C'mon Mister Lace, you have big ears...! You were so quick to defeat Trapist Valentina, I know you're not this sluggish. S-So...down boy!"

...Despite your independency and pride, you cannot handle being told you were doing a 'bad job' at something so basic, by something so basic. Your knees thud to the floor again, shaking your breath and some of your mental well-being. "G-Grgh..."

"Perfect~! Now up!" Bertie announces, squeezing at your leash not to tug at it, but in anticipation. It takes a second longer than Bertie would prefer, but you do stagger back up to a stand with more grace...as far as grace allows your demeanor any more. You're not standing to attention in a straightened vice of pride, you're asymmetrically hunched towards the shorter captor thats beamimg up at you like he actually owns you. The plan to guise yourself as a prisoner couldn't get any worse. Well, it will in spite of your shortness of imagination.

"Now uhm, hmm... Oh! Sit boy!"

A beat. Another beat-

Your rear thumps the floor, like that of an unceremonious bell, teetering you down by your own weight to part your legs spread, returning you eye-level with the doughy bugling once more; your 'master' for the afternoon to be percise. "...Mrghk."

"Wow, g-good boy...~! See Mister Lace, you're getting the hang of it now!" Bertie announces his appreciation and goes as far as to palm your scalp with a pleased fervor. Your ears sway in the dance of a rewarding scritch...enticing a twitch of your leg. You swear on your future grave that it was due to your bandaged injury, and definitely not any kind of conditioned or natural habit. Idle vexation is what beats your tail at the floor, not the wagging of a 'good boy'. It doesn't stop Bertie from enacting his role however. "Alright, let's-"

He gives pause. Bertie lacked a mouth-gag, leaving him with less of an excuse to be as muted as you. His eyes center between your legs, locked onto the invaluable purse hanging in place...with the ebony shaft peeking out from its hiding place. Your sheath twitches, actively. It would be one thing to say prior events caused your enticement, but it's been minutes since then. All you've had for stimulation is this shortstack spitting on you and tying you up to be at his command. A heat burns in your face, with you both realizing that a boner was shifting out to an obvious mast. Bertie just blinks before glancing up. "...Shoot, you're right. Good thinking Mister Lace!"

You're still too muffled to correct him about the use of 'mister', but worse yet, you cannot ask him what he assumes you have in your head.

All of a sudden, a wet sensation strikes your penis.

A jolt unlike any other sends you recoiling up with a stiff back, inhaling sharply as though you had been stabbed. The sensation was familiar, but easily overstimulating. Cold, gooey silk trickles down the length of your cock, imitating like that of an orgasm before another pucker-mouthed projectile spits at your length. The cock wobbles at the impact, forcing pre to bead awkwardly to your abdomen as you jolt once more. "G-Grgmgphk!? Brrhtyh!"

The Caterpillar you demanded explanations of just grabs your surging cock to thumb the chilly gunk about, kneading the underbelly of the penis to work around the growing knot. He traces the swelling basin, and explaining was now already obvious, "R-Rhh, could you hold still...? You're shifting a lot..." Bertie blinks and shakes his head, "Erk. Oops, I should still practice like I'm your captor still. Hold still, dog! I'll be just, uhm, a second. So be a good boy, stay...! Staaay..."

Even as he nervously commands, he's still too focused on tying your hilt with a similar bondage, leaving a few extra messy strings tickling and stuck to your meat like wet hair. The stuff dries, staying the sticky thread. It only teases your cock with ever natural throb it pulses from your heartbeat, which admittedly, was rising in the well of frustration and awkward arousal. Unwilling erections always seemed extra uncomfortable. "Ffgkh...mmnghh..." Your noises permeate the mouth bindings, in which you pinch an eye shut and rock back and forth partly. You understand he's tying your cock...but to what end? The knot awkwardly thrums, pinched up underneath in a looped spool of dried silk, all for a length of the strings to be wound up and connecting to your wrists. "Wh-Wwmhnhgh?"

Out of reaction, you lift your bound hands to see what was going on, only to **** on your bark. The lift of your wrist restraints pull your own cock; a silken tether is caught taught when scaling your hands away from anywhere than above your lap. The gesture **** a gluey bead to bleed out from the summit and trickle to the already stringy decor of your shaft. "H-Hhlhk...Brrttyh..." You groan in confusion, but no answer would be good enough to justify your **** arousal. Your hands awkwardly have to stay in place, not slack, but not too high either. You have to keep them partly lifted, or else feel your own shaft by your finger-touch...or the silken lasso collaring it.

"There..." Bertie utters when wiping his mouth with a chubby arm, like he finished a hard day's work. A single glance to your readable face shows distress, confusion, and begrudgement. You clearly wanted some explanation why you're cock-bound. "O-Oh! I thought you were hinting for the extra detail..."

You wished you could repeat those last few words in the form of a question. With your best efforts, you attempt to convey the question with your blushing, half-sealed expression in the biggest cock of a brow you can muster...within the wincing limits of your throbbing arousal. The silk still contrasted cold to your naturally warm penis.

Bertie at least picks up on the prompt, glowing a gentle rosiness to his own face, flicking at his pucker-mouth idly when having a stray glance to the side. "W-Well, the Queen likes it when her meals have, y'know...all of them showing, to eat that is. So, prisoners for her often have the uh...extra detail out there and tied too." He straightens a bit more, laughing to himself nervously. "Hah, you look great despite it. You're awfully big, Mister Lace. It'll help really sell that you're my prisoner for Queen Vexna if you have all of that out and twitching!"

No amount of godly **** or aura could halt your cock from twitching on instinct in reaction. "H-hlhm...mrk-" The silk strains audibly as you try to get up, but you're still too unused to have your dick out and having it tethered to your cuffs, leaving you a couple inches off the ground before your blue ass hits the ground. You huff, but do not pout. That would be a line too far, even though you feel several lines past your comfort level.

"Need help getting up, boy?" Bertie inquires, taking the leashing length of silk to perk you towards him. Again, that title, or rather the replacement of one. You don't give a worded answer, but your nose gives a dismissive huff that wafts his face. He giggles and gets to be the big hero, having to help strain you up to a less than heroic stand. Your wrists naturally hoist forward to help balance your upper body, but that was a mistake. A tug around your knot buckles your knees.

"G-Grmpgk--!"

Troublesome as it was, you needed Bertie's help to rise properly. Your cock denies you any comfort. Your bindings deny you any subtlety. Your noises deny you vestiges of any pride leftover.

But on your paws, you rise, stamping the pads a bit awkwardly to get upright, but upright you make it. A pleased beam from the Caterpie's face suggests the situation was anything but embarrassing. For Bertie, it was two heroes about to make their way on an adventure. For you, it was a story that you would never reiterate to Jackal nor Gold. The things you do for your friends...