Poison is a son of a bitch

You cling to consciousness, no matter how blurred and distorted it may be. The one thing sustaining your awareness was the rage at your defeat and humiliation kindling inside. You see a blur stand over you, forcing your wrists and head into something, as well as doing something to your ankles.

You don’t know how long it’s been, but the world finally starts to become clearer. You can hear the three talking somewhere in the distance, and begin to get feeling back in your body. A chill sweeps your entire body, as you finally can feel the sensation of a cool wind on your sweaty and exposed skin. Your limbs can weakly move... though you notice not very far. You finally realize that you’ve been locked in metal stocks, hooking each wrist on either side of your neck. Your legs have a little more freedom, as metal shackles rattle around each ankle with a shirt chain between them.

You’ve never been so helpless in your life... and your rage builds. You think of all the horrible things you will do to those elves. You try to speak, to curse at them, but just mumble and drool.

The elves don’t notice your movement, as they debate what to do with you. You can’t tell who is saying what, but the main debate seems to be weather to sell you in the city, or to keep you for your product. Those basters... oh when you get out they will all get a good taste of your ‘product.’ One of the many unique things that separated Futas from other races was that if futa cum was digested it was highly addictive. This helped in training the slaves of Futas, but on the very rare case a futa was captured the underworld would use this by mixing the cum into other products, or sell it directly to escapes slaves who still had the need.

You try to listen, and attempt to calm yourself to think of a way out of this.