Oh, yes. Yes, they are.

As you follow your new Master through the markets of the tower, you look and see people staring at you, whispering, pointing... Your face burns as you feel their eyes roaming along your curves, your obscene breasts, your thick thighs, your childbearing hips, your spacious and jiggly ass, your shapely back... You're completely bared and exposed to the eyes of everyone you walk by in the Tower Market. Their eyes boring into you make you feel ashamed of your curves, humiliated by your nudity before them, and...

SQUELCH

You try to hold back tears at the lewd noise your loins make. To you're absolute shame, you feel arousal well up inside you. Even as the pit in your stomach speaks of how anxious you are, the heat inside you shows that this shameful exposure and submission as a slave is causing some kind of masochistic pleasure to awaken in you! A line of feminine fluids begins to run down your luscious thigh and your walking is awkward to avoid hearing the wet noises from your pussy as proof of the lust you can't suppress.

Every slight draft in the Tower Market, the heat of the torches on the walls, the stone floor beneath your bare feet, every groove amplified on your soles and toes... Even if you close your eyes and try to follow your Master via your senses, you're still acutely aware of just how nude and vulnerable you are. You can't forget it. Your fat sea-cow breasts bounce out of your arms every time you try to catch up when you lag behind, so you resort to crossing your arms under them, Joyeuse in one hand, to give them some support while you walk. Even sitting atop your crossed arms, the blubbery Selkie bosom wiggles and jiggles in front of you like two large peach-colored Slimes being carried in your arms.

You hate this. You hate your body. You hate being naked. You hate being a slave. You hate being stared at by people.

So then why do you like this?

Why do you like the shame? Why do you enjoy the submission? Why do you love the humiliation? Why do you adore the arousal? Is there something wrong with you? Are you a deviant?

You hate this... but you love this... but you hate this... but you love this! But you-

You fall to your knees just as you reach the threshold of the next stairwell, squishing your massive bosom to your chest as you hug it, the tears falling down your cheeks. You feel cold, alone, and unprotected...

But you don't feel that way for long. Your eyes shoot open when you feel arms around your body, a chin on your shoulder, and rough cloth against your arms and bare breasts. Leathery red wings flare up behind your hugger and proceed to wrap around you, sheltering you in the alcove by the stairwell.

"M... Master?" you squeak.

He just nods against your shoulder. His embrace isn't strong, but you feel secure and safe. The wings around you make the Tower Market feel smaller and more manageable, like you're in a tent. He's not rubbing you, he's not squeezing you... He's just holding you.

"M-Master, I..."

Something hard presses against your lip. You look into those ember eyes of Devin's. His face is neutral, his perfect poker face unreadable. You look down and are surprised to see his hand is just like his feet: Covered in hard red scales like a reptile with sharp yellow claws. You didn't see them until know since he'd always kept them in his coat pockets.

A whimper of distress escapes you as he shifts his position. Keeping you surrounded by his wings, he pulls you deeper into the corner of the alcove. The demon rests his back against the wall and pulls you into his lap. You feel a blush come to your face, memories of childhood fantasies of being swept off your feet by a knight filling you as he arranges you to sit sideways in his lap. The wings still surround you, almost like you're in your own little world, just you and Devin.

You look into Devin's gray face again, still unable to see past that perfect poker face. His air is tranquil... He feels almost brooding, but it's like feeling soothed by a dark room or rainfall. He doesn't look at you, just staring ahead impassively. You open your mouth to speak, but his scaly, clawed finger silences you with a press to your plump lips. Instead, you just nuzzle into his doublet-clad chest, letting the tears fall while he holds you in his arms and rubs your bare back.

"Uh, Master-" you squeak, the demon's red leathery wings casting shade on your little tent.

"You don't have to force it. Take a deep breath, give yourself some time. We can wait right here as long as you want. Here in my arms, you're away from all that noise, all those lights... You'll always have what meager shelter the crook of my wings can provide from the stormy night you see in your head. When day breaks in your heart, you'll know you've found it and you can keep moving forward with surer steps because of it. If you need a new one, come find me. If you're lost? I'll hear you call and come find you so you won't fight alone."

"I'll know I've found... what, Master?"

His face is still that perfect poker face... You really can't get a read on what he's feeling. But in his arms, surrounded by his wings, you feel like no matter what's going on outside of this little shelter, you're safe. This is the most you've heard him talk... In fact, you think this might be the first time you've heard him use complete sentences. He smells of patchouli and woodcarving supplies... It's a nice scent.

"Your frame of mine."