The cold, unyielding metal of the collar bit into Fox McCloud’s neck, its jagged edges scraping against his fur as he knelt on the rough stone floor. His arms were bound behind him, the restraints cutting into his wrists, and his knees ached from the hours he’d been forced into this position. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and rust, a fitting atmosphere for the cavernous lair of General Scales, the tyrannical warlord of the SharpClaw tribe. The faint drip of water echoed somewhere in the distance, a maddening rhythm that only heightened Fox’s sense of entrapment.

He squinted up at the towering figure approaching him, the dim light casting harsh shadows across Scales’ reptilian features. The general’s armor clanked with every step, a brutal symphony of metal and menace. His yellow eyes gleamed with sadistic delight, and his clawed hand idly traced the hilt of a jagged blade at his side. Fox’s gaze darted to the collar around his own neck, catching the crude etching in the metal: "jcik." The word—or whatever it was—meant nothing to him, but its presence felt like a brand, a mark of ownership he refused to accept.

“You want to tell me what ‘jcik’ means?” Fox growled, his voice hoarse but defiant. He tugged against his restraints, testing their strength for the hundredth time, but they held fast. His tail flicked in agitation, the only part of him still free to move.
Scales paused, looming over him, his lips curling into a sneer that revealed rows of jagged teeth. “You’ll learn soon enough,” he rumbled, his voice a guttural hiss that reverberated through the chamber. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Fox whole, and for a moment, the Star Fox leader felt the weight of his predicament crash down on him. He was alone—no Falco, no Slippy, no Krystal to back him up. Captured during a botched recon mission on Sauria, he’d underestimated Scales’ cunning, and now he was paying the price.

Without another word he reached down, gripping the base of his thick, ridged cock as it hardened. The sight of it—long, veined, and already glistening with a sheen of musk—sent a jolt of panic through Fox. Fox’s eyes widened, his breath catching as Scales stepped closer, the tip of his cock brushing against Fox’s lips. “No—wait—” Fox stammered, instinctively pulling back, but the collar and the ropes left him no room to retreat. Scales’ metal hand shot out, seizing Fox by the scruff of his neck and yanking him forward, forcing his muzzle against the throbbing shaft.
“Open,” Scales commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance. Fox clenched his jaw, shaking his head weakly, but Scales tightened his grip, claws digging into Fox’s fur. With a reluctant, shuddering breath, Fox parted his lips—just enough for Scales to shove himself inside.
The intrusion was immediate and overwhelming. Scales’ cock filled Fox’s mouth, the sheer length of it pushing past his tongue and hitting the back of his throat in one brutal motion. Fox gagged, his body jerking as panic surged through him. His airway was blocked, his muzzle stretched painfully around the girth, and his eyes watered as he struggled to breathe. The taste—bitter, musky, and overpowering—flooded his senses, a mix of sweat and Scales’ primal scent that made his stomach churn.
Scales didn’t relent. Holding Fox’s head in an iron grip, he thrust deeper, the tip of his cock forcing its way into Fox’s throat. Fox’s gag reflex kicked in hard, his body convulsing as he choked, saliva dribbling down his chin. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as oxygen grew scarce. He thrashed weakly, his bound hands twisting uselessly behind him, but Scales’ strength was unyielding. “Take it, jcik,” Scales growled, his voice laced with sadistic pleasure as he watched Fox’s struggle. Right then and there, Fox learned that cruel words definition.

Just as Fox felt consciousness slipping—his head swimming, his chest burning from lack of air—Scales pulled back slightly, allowing a ragged gasp to escape Fox’s throat. But the reprieve was fleeting. With a low, guttural chuckle, Scales began to move, his hips rocking as he face-fucked Fox with deliberate, punishing thrusts. The rhythm was relentless, each stroke driving his cock deep, the ridges scraping against Fox’s tongue and the roof of his mouth. Fox’s muzzle ached, his jaw forced wide, and his throat burned as Scales used him without mercy.
Fox’s mind reeled, humiliation warring with the physical strain. The wet, choking sounds of his own gagging filled the air, punctuated by Scales’ heavy breathing and the occasional grunt of satisfaction. The SharpClaw leader’s claws tightened in Fox’s fur, guiding his head to meet each thrust, forcing him to take every inch. “That’s it,” Scales murmured, his voice a cruel purr. “Learn your place.”
The assault seemed endless. Fox’s body went limp, his resistance fading as exhaustion took hold. His throat relaxed out of sheer necessity, adapting to the brutal invasion, though tears streamed down his face, matting his fur. Scales’ cock pulsed, growing harder as he neared his climax, and Fox could feel it—the subtle thickening, the heat building. With a final, savage thrust, Scales buried himself fully, his balls pressed against Fox’s chin as he came.
Thick, hot cum flooded Fox’s throat, the force of it overwhelming. He choked again, swallowing reflexively as the bitter torrent coated his tongue and slid down his gullet. Scales held him there, ensuring every drop was taken, his grip unyielding until his cock stopped twitching. Only then did he pull out, leaving Fox coughing and gasping, strands of saliva and cum dripping from his muzzle onto the stone floor.

...

Hours later, the SharpClaw throne room was a cacophony of snarls and jeers, the air heavy with the stench of sweat and musk. Fox McCloud lay sprawled across the same scarred wooden table, his body pressed flat against its surface, his orange fur now a sodden, cum-crusted mess. His rear hung off one end, legs spread and trembling, while his muzzle dangled over the opposite edge, slack and dripping with excess cum and saliva. The metal cuffs binding his arms behind his back clinked faintly with each shuddering breath, the word "jcik" etched into his collar glinting dully in the torchlight.
Two lines of SharpClaw soldiers flanked him—one snaking toward his ass, the other his mouth—each warrior jostling for their turn with their broken prize.
Two SharpClaws were currently at work. Behind Fox, a hulking, grey-scaled soldier gripped his hips, claws digging into matted fur as he thrust into Fox’s ass with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. His thick cock slid in and out, the ridges stretching Fox’s already-ravaged hole, each stroke accompanied by a wet smack as his scales met Fox’s thighs. The vulpine’s body rocked with the force, his cuffed arms straining uselessly, but he was too far gone to resist—his whimpers reduced to faint, choked gurgles.
At Fox’s front, a wiry, yellow-scaled SharpClaw had his claws tangled in Fox’s ears, fucking his mouth with savage intensity. His cock, slick with spit, plunged deep into Fox’s throat, the ridges scraping as he thrust erratically. Fox’s muzzle stretched wide, his eyes squeezed shut as tears mingled with the mess on his face, his gagging muffled by the relentless intrusion. The SharpClaw’s grunts grew sharper, his movements jerky as he neared his limit.

“Take it all, jcik!” the yellow-scaled soldier suddenly roared, ripping his cock free from Fox’s mouth. He gripped himself with one claw, stroking rapidly as he aimed at Fox’s face. Thick ropes of cum erupted, splattering across Fox’s muzzle—over his closed eyes, down his cheeks, and into his open, gasping mouth. Fox flinched weakly, a pitiful whine escaping as the hot, sticky mess coated him, dripping from his chin onto stone floor below.
The SharpClaw laughed, stepping back with a triumphant snarl, his place instantly claimed by the next in line.
A broad, green-scaled SharpClaw stepped up, wasting no time as he shoved his throbbing cock into Fox’s mouth. “Suck, jcik!” he growled in broken English, claws seizing Fox’s head as he thrust deep, forcing a choked gag from the vulpine. His pace was brutal, hips snapping forward as he buried himself in Fox’s throat instantly, the wet, choking sounds resuming immediately.
All the while, the grey-scaled SharpClaw at Fox’s rear kept his steady pace, unfazed by the shift at the other end. His thrusts were methodical, each one sinking to the hilt, his grip tightening as he muttered, “Good vep,” under his breath.

...

Time had passed but Fox couldn't tell, the SharpClaw throne room had quieted somewhat, the raucous energy of the garrison dulled as the seemingly endless lines of soldiers dwindled to their final few, the previous Sharpclaws now lounging around, waiting for their next instructions. Fox McCloud remained sprawled across the battered wooden table, his body a wreck—his once-vibrant orange fur now a filthy, cum-encrusted tangle, matted and heavy with the evidence of countless SharpClaws’ use. His rear hung limp off one end, his legs trembling uncontrollably, while his muzzle dangled slack over the edge, drooling a mix of saliva and seed onto the floor. The metal cuffs binding his arms behind his back had rubbed his wrists raw, and the collar sat heavy on his neck.
Two SharpClaws were the last to take their turns. Behind Fox, a stocky, two tone-scaled soldier gripped his hips with rough claws, his thick cock pounding into Fox’s ass with a steady, brutal rhythm. Each thrust rocked Fox’s limp form, the wet smack of scales against fur a dull counterpoint to the vulpine’s faint, broken whimpers. His gripped tail otherwise hung lifelessly, his body too exhausted to tense or resist, simply absorbing the punishment.
In front, another green SharpClaw stood, his large hand cupping Fox’s chin to hold up his slack, drooping head. Fox’s muzzle hung open, his eyes half-closed and glazed, saliva and cum dripping from his lips in a near steady stream. The SharpClaw’s thick cock filled Fox’s mouth, sliding in and out as he thrust with a slow, deliberate pace, savoring the vulpine’s utter submission. Fox’s head lolled within the soldier’s grip, his neck too weak to support itself after hours of relentless use.
The green SharpClaw’s breathing grew ragged, his thrusts quickening as he neared his climax. His claws tightened under Fox’s chin, forcing his head up higher as he growled, “Swallow your failure, jculo!” With a final, deep thrust, he buried his cock in Fox’s throat and came, hot spurts of cum flooding down the vulpine’s gullet. Fox’s body convulsed faintly, a choked gurgle escaping as he swallowed reflexively, the bitter taste overwhelming his ravaged senses. The SharpClaw held him there, ensuring every drop was taken, before pulling out with a wet pop, letting Fox’s head slump back down to the table, a fresh trickle of cum leaking from his lips.

...

As the last of the SharpClaw soldiers stepped away from the table, their crude laughter fading as they lost interest in their spent toy. With a rough shove, Fox was pushed off the edge, sending him tumbling to the cold stone floor below. He landed heavily on his side, the metal cuffs binding his arms behind him clinking against the ground. His body curled instinctively, both legs drawing up into a tight fetal position, his bushy tail curling inward in a futile attempt to shield his ravaged ass. Cum oozed from his hole, pooling beneath him in a sticky, glistening mess, mingling with the crusted layers already matting his fur.
Fox wheezed, a thin, rasping sound escaping his throat—too weak for a sob, too broken for a cry. His chest heaved with shallow, labored breaths, his muzzle slack and dripping, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.

"Bring him here.."

Reaching the platform, two SharpClaws dumped the former hero unceremoniously at Scales’ feet, his body slumping to his knees. One of the SharpClaws produced a jagged key, unlocking the metal cuffs that bound Fox’s wrists. The restraints clattered to the floor with a hollow clang, but Fox didn’t move—his arms remained limp at his sides, his strength long since drained. His dull eyes stared blankly at the ground, his breathing shallow and ragged, as Scales leaned back in his throne, ready to cement Fox’s defeat once and for all.

Scales leaned back in his throne, his reptilian eyes glinting with sadistic delight as he surveyed his broken prize. "Time to make your defeat a permanent one," he declared, his voice smooth and commanding, a stark contrast to the guttural growls of his SharpClaw soldiers. One of his lieutenants approached, bowing low as he handed Scales a searing branding iron, its tip glowing red-hot with the jagged, unmistakable insignia of the SharpClaw tribe. The air crackled with heat as Scales gripped the iron, his metal hand steady and unyielding.
Fox whimpered, his body trembling as he knelt at Scales’ feet, his once-vibrant orange fur now matted and crusted with layers of dried cum from the endless rutting he’d endured. His eyes widened in terror as Scales rose from his throne, the branding iron casting an ominous glow across his scaled face. "No, please—" Fox’s plea was cut off as Scales pressed the iron into his chest, right above his heart. The sizzle of burning fur and flesh filled the air, accompanied by Fox’s piercing scream—a raw, animalistic sound that echoed through the cavernous throne room. His body convulsed, the pain overwhelming, but the SharpClaws holding his arms kept him pinned in place.
When Scales finally pulled the iron away, the SharpClaw insignia was etched into Fox’s chest, a permanent mark of his subjugation. Fox’s screams faded into pathetic sobs, his head hanging low as tears streamed down his cum-streaked face. Scales smirked, twirling the branding iron in his hand before tossing it aside. "Look at you, Fox McCloud," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "A hero no more—just a whimpering jcik for my tribe." Scales leaned lower, face to face with the broken pilot. "Ready for round 2, Jcik?" He planted his clawed foot squarely on Fox’s face, the rough claws scraping against his muzzle, and with a forceful shove, he pushed Fox off the elevated throne platform.
Fox tumbled down into the waiting crowd of SharpClaws below, his body hitting the stone floor with a dull thud. He curled into a ball, his arms wrapping around his knees as he whimpered incoherently, begging for mercy that would never come. "Please… no more… I can’t…" His voice was a broken whisper, lost amidst the jeers and snarls of the horde descending upon him.

The SharpClaws wasted no time. Rough, clawed hands seized Fox, flipping him onto his stomach as the first soldier mounted him. His thick, ridged cock plunged into Fox’s already-stretched ass, the vulpine letting out a choked sob as it thrusted in with brutal force. "Tight jcik!" the soldier growled in broken English, his claws digging into Fox’s hips as he pounded relentlessly. Fox’s face pressed into the dirt, his muzzle open in a silent scream as another SharpClaw grabbed his entire head with a single clawed hand, hoisting it off the ground, forcing his mouth onto a throbbing, musky cock. The taste of sweat and cum flooded his senses, familiar yet no less degrading, as the soldier face-fucked him with abandon. "Suck good, slut!" the SharpClaw barked, laughing as Fox gagged around him.
The horde took turns, shifting Fox into position after position. They bent him over that familiar table, his branded chest scraping against the surface as two SharpClaws double-teamed him—one slamming into his ass while another stuffed his throat. His legs were spread wide, held apart by clawed hands as yet another soldier thrust into him, his balls slapping against Fox’s cum-crusted fur. "Look how he take it!" one jeered, slapping Fox’s ass as the vulpine’s body rocked with each punishing thrust. They flipped him onto his back, pinning his arms above his head as a massive SharpClaw straddled his chest, jerking off until thick ropes of cum splattered across Fox’s face, matting his fur further. Another took his ass in this position, lifting Fox’s legs high as he drove in deep, grunting, "Jcik love cock!"

Hours passed, the SharpClaws relentless in their assault. They hoisted Fox into the air, suspending him between two soldiers—one fucking his ass while another rammed his mouth, their movements synchronized in a cruel rhythm. Fox’s body went slack, his mind fracturing under the ceaseless effort to cling onto consciousness. His fur, a proud symbol of his identity, was now a sodden, sticky mess, encrusted with the seed of dozens if not hundreds of SharpClaws. His voice was gone, reduced to hoarse whimpers as the last soldier finished, pulling out and leaving Fox to collapse in a heap on the floor, trembling and utterly broken.
Scales watched it all from his throne, his clawed hand stroking his own hardening cock as he reveled in Fox’s destruction. The SharpClaws dispersed, leaving Fox a quivering wreck at the base of the platform, his spirit shattered beyond repair.

...

Months later, Fox knelt at Scales’ throne, a heavy iron collar chained to the armrest keeping him tethered. His fur remained a crusted, filthy mess, the SharpClaw insignia on his chest a constant reminder of his defeat. The throne room had been adorned with trophies of his downfall—salvaged pieces of his crashed Arwing, twisted into grotesque decorations. One such piece, a flickering holographic projector, now stood before the throne, casting a pristine image of Fox McCloud as he once was: confident, heroic, a beacon of hope. The contrast was unbearable.
Scales lounged in his seat, his massive cock buried in Fox’s throat as the vulpine serviced him with mechanical obedience. Fox’s lips stretched around the girth, his tongue working the underside as Scales had trained him to do. The SharpClaw leader groaned in pleasure, his metal hand gripping Fox’s head to guide him deeper. But then, with a cruel grin, Scales yanked Fox’s mouth off his cock, a string of saliva and precum dangling between them. "Look up, jcik," he commanded, gripping him by the hair and forcing Fox’s head toward the hologram.
Fox’s dull, broken eyes met the image of his former self. The sight stabbed at what little remained of his soul—memories of freedom, of fighting for justice, now reduced to this. A news broadcast flickered to life within the hologram, a Cornerian anchor’s voice solemn: "After months of searching, the effort to locate Fox McCloud has been officially called off. The hero of the Lylat System is presumed lost." The image of pre-enslavement Fox lingered, pristine and untouchable, mocking the ruined creature he had become.
Scales chuckled darkly, his clawed foot nudging Fox’s branded chest. "Awwww.. It seems no one’s coming for you, Mccloud." With a sadistic chuckle, he slowly guided Fox’s head back down, guiding his muzzle onto his cock once more. "Finish your job, jcik."
Fox obeyed, his lips sealing around Scales’ shaft as he sucked with hollow desperation. Scales’ cock throbbed, thick and hot in Fox’s mouth, the musky scent overwhelming as it filled his senses. The SharpClaw leader thrust his hips, driving deeper until the tip hit the back of Fox’s throat. Fox gagged but didn’t resist, his hands resting limply on Scales’ thighs as he took it all. Scales’ breathing grew ragged, his claws tightening in Fox’s fur as he neared his climax. With a guttural roar, he came, thick spurts of cum flooding Fox’s throat. The vulpine swallowed instinctively, the hot, bitter taste coating his tongue and sliding down his gullet as Scales held him in place, ensuring every drop was taken.

When Scales finally released him, Fox slumped back, his muzzle dripping with saliva and cum, his eyes vacant. The hologram flickered off, plunging the throne room into silence save for Scales’ satisfied sigh. "Good jcik," he purred, patting Fox’s head as the broken hero stared into nothingness, his fate sealed as Scales’ eternal slave.