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The sound of dripping water echoed through the cave, a small pond having small ripples with each drop of water. Striker leaned back on the blanket he had spread out on the ground, his arms propping up his head. Bombproof was to the side, chewing on the carcass of a hellhog that Striker had stolen for him.

Striker scowled, unhappy with how ever since the trial the other Wrath imps had begun to curse him out and throw things at him for being a royal lapdog that had thrown Blitzø under the bus. And refusing to sell things to him or kicked him out of places like the saloon. He felt frustrated by it, loathing that people were insulting him and treating him like a pariah when Blitzø was the actual royal lapdog. Even the mariachi band that used to stalk him had turned their backs, the last song they had sung about him had been calling him a sell-out.

He had done what he had to do, and it had been the best way to get back at Blitzø and the rest of I.M.P for ruining his jobs and causing him so much trouble. The scar around his eye itched slightly, Striker's tail cracking loudly as it moved from side to side.

"Maybe I should go and kill that ditzy owl. If I do it right I can take him out, he don't have his powers anymore. And Blitzy will be more hurt by that. I could see if that royal cunt wants him dead again since he wasn't killed in that trial. Or that peacock brother of hers." Striker mused, Bombproof flicking a ear in his direction as the hellhorse swallowed a chunk of flesh.

Striker tried to picture what Blitzø’s face would look like after Stolas was dead, knowing from how desperately Blitzø had screamed Stolas's name that the imp had fallen enough to actually love a royal. Disgust curled in Striker's chest at the thought, Striker choosing to ignore the slight jealousy intertwined with it.

But his attention was caught when Bombproof suddenly made a uneasy snort, the horse's fire tail snapping as Bombproof gazed towards the entrance of the cave. One hoof stamped as the horse made a unhappy shriek, Striker jumping to his feet and pulling out his gun. A gun that wasn't blessing tipped but he wasn't bothered by that in figuring it was a imp or something coming to hassle him.

"Hey, whoever the fuck thinks they can come into my cave and bother me has another thing coming." Striker snarled as he moved to peek around a large rock towards the entrance, seeing nothing but shadows at the entrance while the orange sunset of Wrath was visible through the entrance and there was no sign of anyone. Striker frowned to himself as he glanced at Bombproof, able to tell that Bombproof could sense something he couldn't.

Striker crept around the rock and walked carefully towards the entrance, his gun cocked as he was prepared to shoot anything that moved. He reached the entrance of the cave and carefully looked out, seeing no sign of anything out of place and there being no sign of anyone there.

Striker focused on the ground, only seeing his and Bombproof's footprints. Striker frowned in wondering if Bombproof had heard something or if there was a fire tornado about to happen. He uncocked his gun and returned it to his holster, turning to face Bombproof and began walking towards his horse.

Bombproof shrieked and reared suddenly, Striker noticing movement to his left and jumped back, freezing when he saw nothing but shadows still. But the shadows themselves were moving, some having a odd white edge to them. Striker pulled out his gun while cocking it, firing into the shadows with some blood appearing but the hole immediately disappeared. A strange chittering filled the air, Striker suddenly feeling terror grip him. He emptied his gun into the shadows in panic, a long shadow suddenly flying out to grab his wrist and jerking it harshly to the side. A loud crack sounded and pain burned through Striker's wrist, Striker dropping his gun as his broken wrist throbbed.

The last thing Striker saw before his world went black was red eyes glaring at him from the depths of the shadows, Bombproof's voice shrieking again as Striker passed out.

_____

Striker first noticed that he felt cold, the chill covering his body. The second thing was that there was rough stone pressed against his back, Striker trying to move to feel for a blanket but felt pain flare in his wrist as his arm didn't budge and realized that he was restrained. He also realized that he was naked, not a single part of his clothes anywhere on his body. Striker opened his eyes, blueish-purple flames flickering from candles fixed onto the walls in a large stone room. Striker tried to look around., the strap pressed against his throat limiting what he could do as he wasn't able to see the entire room.

He focused down his body, seeing his legs were bent and spread, the stone chair he was strapped to shaped oddly in a way that he was tilted back. His legs had straps on them as well, Striker seeing odd swirly writing he couldn't read etched into the leather. His arms were spread out, almost in a T-shape with each arm having three straps holding him down. He tried to twitch his tail, but even that was tied somehow in a way Striker couldn't see.

Striker felt his heart start to beat rapidly as fear coursed through him, what he could see of the stone walls being they were glowing with a soft light independent of the candles. He realized he had to be in a cellar or a dungeon or something, his stomach clenching.

The cold air made it hard not to shiver even if Striker tried not to. He wondered who had kidnapped him, his nipples hard and perked from the cold even if his cocks were neatly tucked into their slit. Suddenly the sound of footsteps echoed, Striker hearing the sound of talons scraping the floor.

"You're awake now, you odious little creature." A voice came through the air, cold and lofty in a way only a royal could sound. A large owl entered into Striker's view, a red and gold cloak that sparkled covering the tall figure. Red eyes glared from a mask-like face that had swirly designs on it, Striker glaring back even if he realized that the eyes were the same as the eyes in the shadow.

"What the fuck do you want with me?" Striker demanded, his tail tip twitching with his anxiety. He felt his stomach flop, questioning what the owl could want and feeling uneasy in wondering how the owl had found him in the first place.

"Did you really think that you would get away with laying your hands on a prince of hell?" The owl moved forward to stand directly in front of Striker, gesturing and a tray holding knives and other things floated over to hover by him. Striker felt his heart pounding harder, glaring still even if he felt terror rise. He questioned if he should've agreed to go to the trial after all, despite knowing that the peacock had made it clear that he had no other choice but to do so.

"I was granted immunity for my testimony-" Striker began protesting, the owl giving him a grave stare before selecting a knife with a bright sheen to it and suddenly stabbed into Striker's left shoulder, blood welling up as the sharp blade tore through muscle and scraped against the stone under Striker. Pain flared as Striker bit back a cry, not wanting to show any trace of weakness to the imposing owl.

"False testimony. That imp wasn't the one to hire you. And you will tell me who truly hired you to try and assassinate my son. Before that, I will do everything you did to Stolas but two-fold. This knife is made with angelic steel as I'm sure you can tell. And just because you have 'immunity' from the court doesn't mean I give a fuck about it. You are just a lowly imp that dared to hurt one above you." The owl clicked his beak, his feathers puffing slightly out of anger. Striker felt cold fear go over him, stunned in realizing the owl was Stolas's father. He wondered why Stolas didn't have the same sense of presence as the older owl, his stomach having a unpleasant squirming sensation in it.

Striker breathed roughly, trying to think of what to say when the owl pulled the blade roughly out of Striker's shoulder, blood flowing freely from the wound. The owl's hand swung down, Striker's right shoulder blooming with pain as it was impaled by the knife and blood spurted, some landing on the owl's white feathers as the eyes gazed coldly at Striker. Striker opened his mouth to speak when a gag was suddenly shoved into it and fastened with magic, Striker's fangs biting into the rubber but unable to push it out with his tongue.

"I am not ready for you to speak. You will speak when you are allowed to do so. Creatures like you should be silent until told otherwise. My name is Paimon, but when I'm ready for you to speak you will address me as "your highness"." Paimon's voice was flat and distant, Striker feeling his stomach drop at the words. He screamed through the gag when the knife was yanked out, his blood covering the blade as his wound throbbed painfully. The pain throbbed in time to his heartbeat, Striker breathing through his nose.

Paimon traced the knife-edge down Striker's torso, the sharp edge of the blade not quite pressed down enough to scratch or break the skin but still tingled unpleasantly. The knife reached Striker's stomach, sliding down the abs in a slow and almost sensual way, Striker flushing when he felt a flutter of warmth in his stomach that wasn't fear but arousal. He questioned why he felt aroused at the sensation of the knife gliding against his skin despite how painful it would be to be stabbed in the stomach.

Paimon didn't seem to notice as he brought the knife down to Striker's thigh, idly brushing the tip in a slow circle against the meatiest part of Striker's slender thigh. Paimon pressed down lightly, the knife barely scratching the skin.

"If my memory serves… you fractured my son's left arm, broke his right leg, stabbed the lower part of his right leg and stabbed his left thigh. Out of wounds I haven't repaid you for yet." Paimon's tone was mild and detached, almost bland as red eyes flicked up towards Striker's face. Paimon rose the knife up before bringing it down, pain bursting through Striker as he felt the knife slice into him, scraping the bone in his thigh while tearing muscle and going all the way through.

Striker gurgled around the gag, some drool sliding down the sides of his chin as he tried not to let tears well up in his eyes. Paimon twisted the knife, tearing the muscle and skin further as blood ran down the stone, Striker feeling faintly dizzy. Paimon withdrew the knife, blood welling up as Striker smelled the scent of it stain the air.

Paimon brushed the knife against Striker's abs, smearing more blood along the muscles there while Paimon gave a eerie smile, Striker feeling fear twist his insides. Fear mixed with arousal, his body reacting differently to the pain as Striker felt his cocks stir in the slit, some slick starting to build up.

"Now, shall I stab your other thigh or start with your calves, little one? I could break more of your limbs, too. Your forearm will be broken along with your wrist, since that wrist break was more for you daring to shoot at me." Paimon purred, his voice soft and sensual despite what he had said, Striker feeling his arousal spike despite the threatening words. Striker whimpered into the gag, sweat dripping down his face as he felt woozy and any intent to hide his fear having melted away like butter.

Paimon ran the knife lightly against Striker's stomach before pulling it back, stabbing into Striker's left calf in the thickest part, twisting the knife several times to shred the muscle, Striker screaming through the gag again. Paimon pulled the knife out with a smile that seemed almost friendly, the hand not holding a knife going to squeeze the calf. A gloved talon probed the edge of the wound, scratching lightly.

"There, there. I will be stabbing your shoulders again, just so you know. But that will be saved for later. You mortal hellborn are so fragile. I need to be careful not to accidentally kill you too soon." Paimon smiled lazily at Striker, his tone similar to one would use with a child. Striker felt slick drip out of his slit, the fear-tinged arousal growing even stronger.

Striker breathed roughly, his stomach twisting in wondering how his body could be reacting by being turned on while being tortured. He knew he was turned on by torturing others but hadn't ever allowed anyone to try anything remotely similar to him. He watched as Paimon moved the knife to be above his right thigh, Paimon moving his other hand to rub a circle gently into the skin there.

"I should maybe cut your ankle tendons too. Can't have you finding a way to escape from me, after all. I don't intend to kill you yet. But nor will I be letting you go." Paimon mused thoughtfully, Striker feeling his stomach clench again. His cocks squirmed, the very tips peeking out of his slit as he felt more turned on.

Paimon's hand suddenly moved fast, stabbing into Striker's right thigh and cutting down to tear the muscle, red eyes studying the torn flesh with amusement. Striker felt pain throb through him, the room spinning slightly as Paimon moved the knife and stabbed the uninjured calf, twisting the knife before yanking it out carelessly. Striker cried out, feeling drool drip down onto his chest as saliva ran out from under the gag and blood flowed from the newest wound.

"There, there. Now for breaking the bones. I'm a bit annoyed you seem to be enjoying this but I should have guessed a lowly little thing like you would enjoy being tortured." Paimon sneered at him before going to prod at Striker's slit, stroking the cock tips that were poking out. Striker felt shame curl through him, wanting to protest that he hadn't even known that he liked being stabbed. But he felt like Paimon would just mock him further, Paimon pushing a finger into the slit and rubbing Striker's cocks slowly and teasingly, playing with Striker's body.

And Striker's cocks were coaxed to come out, the slender and dexterous cocks that had spines along them rubbing against Paimon's hand in seeking pleasure. Striker flushed when Paimon actually began jacking him off with a amused snort, the touch feeling amazing as Striker instinctively tried to thrust into the touch but was kept unable to move much because of being strapped down. Paimon seemed to know the exact correct of pressure to use, the arousal cutting through Striker's stomach like a hot iron.

"Oh, you are a eager little slut. The spines feel nice I suppose." Paimon let go of the cocks and moved his hand away, Striker feeling a whine of protest in his throat as he felt a odd sense of disappointment go through him despite not particularly wanting to fuck Paimon. The cocks squirmed in mid air, Striker feeling the arousal burning in his lower stomach.

Paimon put the blood-stained knife onto the tray, picking up a small hammer. He looked over it carefully, Striker feeling the stickiness of his blood that streamed from his wounds to cover both the stone and his body. His vision blurred at the edges as he felt increasingly woozy as the bloodloss was starting to effect him.

"Let me see… I'll start with the left forearm." Paimon focused on Striker, the owl's voice mild right then. Paimon spun the hammer once in his hands before bringing it up and sharply swinging it down with the hammer being a blur. It struck precisely on the middle of Striker's forearm, a loud crunch filling the air as shards of bone ripped through Striker's skin, blood weeping from where the bones poked through. For a moment there was no sensation before pain felt like it vibrated out from the break, Striker flinching as more drool spilled out from the gag. Paimon nodded to himself, Striker seeing spots dance in his vision.

"Hold on a bit more, little one. Can't have you fainting too soon." Paimon spun his hammer before once again bringing it up, another crunch filling the air as the hammer hit Striker, Striker flinching as his broken wrist was jarred and the bones in his forearm splintered. And Striker realized that tears had started dripping down his face at some point, the pain from the stabs and his broken limbs pulsing through him rhythmically. But his arousal had also climbed, his cocks dripping precome as they squirmed around in seeking stimulation.

"There, there. You can handle this. After all, surely you wouldn't dish out what you can't handle?" Paimon soothed mockingly, the heavy scent of blood having grown only stronger and thicker as Striker felt even dizzier. The room was still spinning for Striker as the black dots had multiplied. Striker felt a sob force it's way out of his throat, Paimon's hand patting Striker's hand condescendingly and jarring his wrist further.

"Don't worry. Just two more breaks and then a couple of stabs. A big, strong imp such as yourself should handle it well." Paimon gave Striker another pat before tapping the hammer lightly against Striker's right calf, his grip tightening. And the hammer rose and fell, the snap of the bones loud. Striker shrieked through the gag, his vision blurring further as a sob wracked his chest. Paimon ran his hand lightly over the area before pushing down roughly, Striker trying to move away but not doing much besides jar his other injuries. Striker shuddered, feeling colder as his vision swam. But his cocks were still desperately seeking stimulation, his arousal still strong despite it all.

Paimon lifted his hand off of Striker's calf, moving to grip Striker's cocks again. Striker let out a mix of a sob and a moan through the gag as Paimon squeezed the neglected cocks lightly. Striker felt his cocks rub against Paimon, the owl skillfully jerking Striker off. He lightly rubbed his thumb against one of the slender cock's tip as a talon pressing delicately into the hole.

"You truly are enjoying this going by how hard and leaking your cocks are. Rather a kinky little fucker you are." Paimon squeezed the cocks again, Striker moaning at the touch. Paimon continued on playing with Striker's cocks, Striker feeling the arousal burning harder even through the fog of pain settling through him. He felt his cocks slide against the glove, breathing roughly through his nose that was slowly clogging up. The touch felt good, Striker instinctively seeking out more of it as his body reacted favorably to being handled.

He felt his body tremble, his stomach tensing in a way that he knew he was close to coming. But suddenly Paimon let go of his cocks, a whiny sob leaving Striker at the abrupt stop. He blinked to bring Paimon's face into focus, a sneer on Paimon's beak.

"You don't get to come yet. There's still more to do." Paimon tapped the hammer lightly against the calf that had yet to be broken. Striker breathed roughly, his body trembling harder as he saw Paimon pull back his arm. A muffled yelp left Striker as the hammer slammed into his calf, the pain shooting through him as the bones caved under the hit.

Striker panted around the gag the best that he could, tremors shaking his body as his entire body was alight with pain. He blinked his eyes, seeing Paimon watching with the sneer still being apparent. The hammer was returned to the floating tray, Paimon not picking up another tool. He reached up to touch Striker's right thigh lightly, stroking it before a smile that made the fear tighten it's grip on Striker's heart spread across the owl's face.

"I suppose now I'm breaking away from what you did to my son. Though you may have gotten off to torturing him for all I know. But with how much you're enjoying this I imagine you'll like this part too." Paimon ran a finger against the edge of the thigh wound, Striker feeling uneasy in questioning what Paimon was going to do.

Striker breathed through his nose roughly, tears still rolling down his face as the pain burned through him. Paimon suddenly took off his cloak, Striker confused until he saw Paimon undoing his pants and felt the arousal that still sat heavy inside him pulse. He could handle the owl fucking him, Striker not looking forward to the thought but preferring it to more knives, broken bones, or wounds.

Paimon dropped his pants and underclothes to the ground, eyes flicking around Striker's body before settling on his left thigh. Striker studied Paimon's cock, seeing that it was a similar color to his feathers and larger than he would've expected. Striker watched as Paimon gripped his cock and began slowly stroking himself to full hardness, his gaze still focused on Striker's thigh. Striker breathed slowly, his teeth pressed into the gag as the mess of saliva still dripped down.

Paimon suddenly stopped with stroking himself, Striker wondering if Paimon would use his ass or fuck his slit, his cocks still hard and leaking between his legs. But Striker felt confused when Paimon moved close to his left leg instead, watching as Paimon climbed to straddle his leg, long legs carefully positioned while Paimon's cock laid against Striker's thigh. Striker whined when Paimon shifted, the movement causing a jolt of pain through his broken calf.

"Here we go. Your blood should work well enough as a lubricant." Paimon shifted forward, guiding his cock to slide to the hole in Striker's thigh. Striker felt stunned in realizing what Paimon was about to do and let out cry as he felt pain flare as the cock slid into the wound. Striker closed his eyes as Paimon began fucking him, the cock sliding against the torn muscle slowly. Each thrust sent pain flaring out, squelches marking each movement.

"This is somewhat sticky, but your blood is helping out here." Paimon squeezed Striker's thigh lightly, his voice rough. Striker felt each thrust, imagining how the cock would be pressing against his flesh and what fat was in his leg. And while the pain of his wound being violated was high, there was a burn in his stomach as his arousal actually got stronger, his cocks trying to thrust in mid-air.

Paimon grunted as he moved, his cock spreading the wound further open, black blood sliding freely down Striker's leg and soaking into Paimon's feathers. Striker opened his eyes, focusing at where the thick cock was fucking his leg. He felt his face flush, his breathing rough and rapid as he felt the arousal build, the familiar tension in his gut soaring even as his leg throbbed non-stop with pain.

He saw his blood was smeared along Paimon's cock, Paimon's breathing making his chest move visibly. Paimon's tail brushed against Striker's calf, the soft texture tickling slightly. But Striker felt the tension break in his stomach, his cocks spraying out cum as his back tried to arch, moaning into the gag. He felt the wave of pleasure of his orgasm wash over him, the spots dancing in his vision turning more white as his fingers curled.

He heard Paimon moan, feeling a sting as the cock slid in him and feeling the sting worsen as Paimon's cum filled his wound. Bloody cum frothed up as Paimon moved, his full weight on Striker's leg as his feet lifted off the ground. Striker grunted into the gag, his head falling back against the stone as he felt weak, his cocks remaining outside of his slit. He felt Paimon still, the cock buried in his thigh.

"You got off to having your wound fucked." Paimon's voice sounded rough but amused, Striker whimpering when he felt Paimon's weight shift due to the pain flaring through his leg as Paimon pulled out and then got off of Striker's thigh. Striker focused at the owl, Paimon touching the still sensitive cocks and teasing them. The oversensitivity made the touch feel overwhelming, the cocks writhing slightly. Striker inhaled sharply through his nose when he realized that Paimon was still hard, Paimon reaching with his other hand to push a finger into Striker's slit. Striker moaned, a mix of slick and blood making the slide easy.

Striker felt Paimon's finger sink in as deep as it could, stroking the walls of the slit experimentally. Pleasure at having his slit massaged in such a way felt good, pulsing warmth building up at Paimon's touch. Striker moaned into the gag again, closing his eyes tightly. His body was enjoying this part at the very least, and Striker preferred it happening over what else had happened. He felt Paimon pull his finger out, bracing himself for what he guessed was about to happen next.

He felt something far larger press against his slit before sliding in, Paimon's cock easily spreading him open. His cocks rubbed against Paimon's, Paimon letting out a low moan. Striker felt a tickle of feathers against him as Paimon bottomed out, feeling hands grip his waist. Striker wasn't used to people fucking his slit, generally preferring to either be doing the fucking or having whoever it was use his ass instead. Mostly since he hadn't been interested in having a kid, but he knew that right then he didn't need to worry about getting pregnant.

Paimon began slowly thrusting, each movement sending waves of pleasure through Striker. Striker moaned, relaxing as the pain seemed to be a more manageable throb even if he felt colder. He felt the hands holding his waist squeeze, breathing roughly through his nose.

His cocks were soon hard, rubbing against Paimon's cock and the feathers. The thrusts were gradually going faster, the sound of their bodies hitting together mixing with squelching as slick leaked out of Striker. He felt the pleasure building, preferring the feeling of his walls being spread open compared to his wound being fucked. He felt increasingly light headed, his heartbeat going oddly fast as he also began feeling thirsty, opening his eyes to focus on Paimon.

Striker felt the tension in his stomach building pleasantly, even if he felt nausea mix with it. Paimon's eyes met his, a look of concentration on Paimon's face. His slit squeezed around Paimon's cock, the thrusts picking up in speed.

Striker felt the tension break, his body trying to milk Paimon's cock as slick gushed out of him and cum spurted from his cocks again, drenching Paimon's feathers, shirt, and waistcoat with cum. Striker felt Paimon's thrusts grow more ragged, Paimon stilling as Striker felt cum drench him inside and filled his womb. Striker felt his body going limp, the black at the edge of his vision filling it as he passed out, eyes closing.

_____

Striker felt his body throbbing with pain, feeling a warm hand pressed against his neck. He opened his eyes, seeing Paimon and feeling fear spike as his heart clenched.

"Good, you woke up. It seems I miscalculated how much you could handle, and you weren't as durable as I thought you were. Since I don't intend to kill you yet your wounds have been treated and I assume you're ready to confess who hired you?" Paimon smiled at him pleasantly, Striker realizing that he no longer had a gag in his mouth. He glanced down at his body, seeing the bandages covering his body and that the broken limbs had casts on them, including his wrist. And a blanket was covering him from the waist down even if he was otherwise strapped to the same stone as before.

Striker opened his dry mouth, a cup of orange juice suddenly floating up with a straw poking out. Striker blinked and glanced uneasily at Paimon who he realized was sitting on a chair.

"Drink and then speak." Paimon ordered, Striker immediately obeying. He downed the orange juice quickly, realizing just how thirsty he had been. After the orange juice was gone the cup floated away, Striker clearing his throat.

"Good. Now who hired you to try and kill my son?" Paimon asked, lounging back against his chair with one leg crossed over the other, his foot idly bobbing in the air.

"His wife. The princess Stella. She was pissed off by him sleeping with Blitzø, and for wanting to divorce her. The first attempt was stopped by Blitzø and his employees, while the second one right when I was about to finish him off she suddenly called it off." Striker immediately told the truth, wondering if Paimon would release him if he cooperated fully. Paimon leaned forward, not looking the least bit surprised at Stella's name coming up.

"Details of when and where for the first attempt." Paimon stated bluntly, Striker being able to tell it was a demand and not a question.

"It was at the Harvest Moon festival. Since the- Prince Stolas never goes out of the house it was the best opening. The plan was for me to use a Carmine rifle to snipe him while he was doing the fancy spellwork for the harvest. But Moxxie found my rifle and while I locked him and his wife up in the basement of her family's house he was able to get out and tell Blitzø and they stopped me. I had started working at the farm months before after killing their former farmhand to open up a spot." Striker immediately told him, realizing that the pain didn't seem to be as bad as it should be and feeling uneasy about it.

Paimon nodded slowly, his eyes remaining steadily aimed at Striker's face. His foot seemed to be bobbing faster and his eyes were narrowed in a way that made Striker's skin crawl.

"I see. And for the reason she called it off the second time? And how did it come to be those two other imps were the ones to take Stolas to the hospital?" Paimon asked, Striker feeling sweat drip down his face and back out of fear.

"Something about needing him alive. And I had been going to blind Prince Stolas but Moxxie and his wife appeared and stopped me. He had called Blitzø since I hadn't taken his phone after kidnapping him and while it seems Blitzø’s daughter needed the hospital he still sent help and they were able to track me down." Striker answered quickly, feeling fear rising in seeing the look on Paimon's face grow darker at the mention of blinding Stolas.

"That stupid woman. She has no idea how long it took for Stolas to be born and his role and abilities are important for hell to function. And it's good you didn't blind him, otherwise that would mean I would be blinding you right now. That would have impacted his ability to do his job. I assume Andrealphus had talked her out of it. And for the kangaroo court of a trial?" Paimon spoke, his tone flat and cold which made a chill go down Striker's spine and he wondered exactly what Stella had dragged him into.

"The peacock- Andrealphus showed up and told me to do a false confession and made it clear I had no choice. I dunno what his plan was fully but I got the feeling that he would have been fine either with Blitzø dying or what the prince did end up doing in taking the blame." Striker explained uneasily, Paimon nodding slightly before lifting a hand, a metal rod with a circular end floating from the tray that Striker realized had still been floating in place.

"I see. And I assume you were paid for that as well. How unlucky for you to be pulled into this but you also had the choice of rejecting Stella. I'll keep you alive for now, you could prove useful. But first… in case you somehow figure out a way to escape, I need to make sure I can track you down. It was so tiring having to track you down the first time and I hate wasting my valuable time." Paimon stood up, Striker tensing when he saw that there was something etched into the circular end of the rod and that the end had begun to glow. He realized it was a brand, tensing as Paimon pressed it against his chest, Striker feeling a odd mix of burning and like something was burying itself deep inside of his chest and heart, gasping in confusion as it didn't quite seem to hurt like he thought it should have.

"It's been a few centuries since I last used this. But I'll be able to find you regardless of where you try to hide if you somehow escape. And this marks you as my property now, too. No one can protest a king taking possession of a little imp such as yourself after all. Especially given you tried to kill my son." Paimon removed the brand, Striker seeing more squiggly lines and Paimon's name emblazoned on his chest. It glowed slightly before fading to being a black mark, standing out against Striker's skin.

Striker felt fear curl through him, questioning what more Paimon could want from him and letting out a shaky breath.

"We shall see what happens in the future. I suppose I should make arrangements for more comfortable lodgings while your wounds heal and then I'll find some use for you. Your horse has been placed in one of my stables. No sense in wasting a fine horse, and he could be a good stud since he is ungelded." Paimon idly waved a hand, the straps keeping Striker trapped opening. Striker didn't move, seeing no point in trying to rebel and not wanting to risk upsetting Paimon further. He was relieved that Bombproof seemed to be safe and sound, trying not to cry over it.

"Bombproof is a good horse. I've had him a long time." Striker spoke cautiously in not being certain Paimon would be fine with him speaking. Paimon nodded at his words with a odd smile on his face but didn't seem upset at Striker speaking.

"I could tell. I imagine your room has been prepared, so stand up and follow me." Paimon ordered before walking away. Striker forced himself to stand, feeling his legs throb in protest as he wrapped the blanket around his waist and followed Paimon, led to a large and windowless room that had a surprisingly comfortable looking bed, a desk, a bathroom with a screen blocking it from view and books on a bookshelf. Striker felt slightly confused that the room seemed fairly nice and better than he expected but went to the bed when Paimon waved towards it.

"This shall be your room for now. Better than that cave. Your possessions were retrieved, but I shall be looking over them carefully. Your clothes will also be different than the cowboy outfit. Someone will bring you food." Paimon closed the door after leaving, the sound of a lock clicking as the door was locked from the outside. Striker noticed that the bottom of the door was big enough for a tray to be pushed under it.

Striker felt angry resentment well up aimed towards Stella and Andrealphus. His tail cracked as he felt pissed off at being turned into a captive because of royals making him do their bidding but then flaking out on making sure he wouldn't be affected by their sloppiness, laying down as his tail flicked rapidly back and forth. He had no idea what might be coming next but knew that there was little to nothing that he could do besides sulk in his new home.

He wished that the bed wasn't so comfortable, resenting Paimon even if he also felt scared of the king, sensing that Paimon was not someone to cross and not wanting to risk making him even angrier if at all possible. He settled onto the bed, hoping to heal fast. And tried to ignore how he somehow felt faintly horny, his slit aching pleasantly from the earlier fucking despite how it had been forced. He wondered if Paimon would turn him into a sex slave, not fully liking the thought even if a small thrill went through him still. He knew he'd need his birth control in that case, the shots he used having been among his belongings in his cave. He knew that there was no risk of getting knocked up from being fucked that day at least, but knew that if he didn't get the birth control soon enough to follow his schedule then it would get messed up.

But he also groaned in realizing that he was turned on at the memory of Paimon fucking him. His body had clearly enjoyed it, and he had preferred it over being stabbed. But he didn't want to be fucked again or to get knocked up by the owl.

"I ain't going to be some royal fuck toy. I did not want it then and I don't want it now. It felt good when my slit was fucked, but that won't happen again. And I don't want to give birth to some fucked up hybrid." Striker grumbled to himself, his slit clenching slightly. He settled onto the bed, his left hand creeping to finger at his slit as he remembered the feeling of being stabbed.

His forearm throbbed in protest but he was able to ignore it in favor of trying to sate his body's hunger. His cocks slid from his slit all too quickly, Striker grunting as the two cocks wrapped around his fingers. He sank a finger inside of him, feeling that Paimon hadn't cleared out his cum from the slit. Striker threw the blanket off, fucking his finger inside of himself and scooping out some of the cum, bringing his fingers close to his face. He hesitated before sticking his fingers in his mouth and licked off the cum, a faintly salty taste making his stomach clench.

Striker began stroking his cocks, breathing roughly as he masturbated. His hand slide down the flexible shafts, the spines running pleasantly against his hands. His slit throbbed, the emptiness making his stomach clench. He let go of his cocks reluctantly, wishing his wrist wasn't hurt so that he could jerk off and finger his slit at the same time. He pushed two fingers into his loose slit, fucking himself with slick making it easy to fuck himself. He remembered how Paimon fucking his wound had felt, his breathing growing heavier as he felt the warmth build. He could feel his cocks leak precome onto the sheets, his slit squeezing around his fingers as his stomach throbbed.

Finally he came, groaning as cum and slick soaked into the bed, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He felt exhaustion cover him, too tired to wash his hand as he pulled the blanket back over his body. He sank into sleep, his tail flicking as his eyes closed with his body relaxing as much as it could.