Mr. Straw was exactly the sort of Rhian one might expect to find in the farming-centric nation of Saskanar. The slightly build Eeee breed just isn't built for heavy labor, and Dromodons are a bit too dim for anything but hauling wagons and plowing fields. Rhians could do that and load and unload the wagons, chop wood, clear debris and so on. This sort of work attracts the shorter, burlier sort of Rhian: Mr. Straw was a big shaggy and thick, with a blunter, shorter muzzle than typical, Titanian-style fetlocks, and bangs that mostly hid his eyes. And while not as tall as Mr. Sackcloth, he was certainly more muscular and massive. He also had a bit of straw sticking out of his mouth.
It would be easy to imagine the draft horse wearing overalls and a straw hat, and maybe he does normally. He's not wearing anything when he's brought into the room. Willow is back in her manacles on the bed after being cleaned up after her encounter with Mr. Slither.
"Well, aren't you a big fellow," Willow remarks from her 'bed'. I would get up to greet you, but ... " she jangles the chains. "I'm a little tied up right now. Are you here for a roll in the hay or a drink at the bar, hmm?"
"Hmm?" the Rhian sort of.. grunts. Along with the bit of straw in his mouth, he's mostly straw-colored himself, with a few blotches of slightly darker color here and there. He comes to the foot of the bed, and looks down at Willow for a good minute, after which its pretty clear that he likes what he sees. "Bar? You got booze?" he asks, still inflating.
"Well, yes. All you men seem to like sucking on me," Willow claims, bouncing to jiggle her chest for emphasis. The inflation is starting to make her a little nervous, though. He's a big one.
"Oh.. that what Sack meant.." Mr. Straw realizes. One brown eye is visible through the mat of shaggy hair now - apparently there aren't any barbers on the base. Mr. Straw leans over.. then tries kneeling.. and eventually manages to not collapse onto Willow by holding on to the sides of the bedframe. He lips around her chest until he finds a nipple - maybe he's nearsighted, maybe he just wants to lip over her. He mostly uses his lips and tongue, since his teeth are rather large.. and Rhian lips are very sensitive and versatile.
Which of course makes Willow squirm! "I didn't say you couldn't, uhm, put that other thing to use too," she points out, even if she is afraid it might tear her in two! Ah, the trials of the reluctant slut. And besides, it's easiest to ken someone when they're very distracted.
As he inches up along her.. yes, that presses against her gate.. and then pushes in. It's.. a squeeze, certainly.
And the mare whinnies! Oof, it's a stretch, and why does that always have to feel good and excite her! "Well, hello big boy!" she eventually stammers out, eyes rather wide now. It's taking a bit to collect herself enough to even try to ken this one through his naughy bits.
It's already difficult enough to know where he ends and she begins, at least in terms of surface contact. He smacks his lips and switches breasts, still pushing in to see how far he can actually get.
"Sooooo," Willow says, trying to do small talk while her kips do their own talking ... and the shadow is worming its way into the man up through his ... well, you get the idea! "Do you come here often? Just visiting? Imprisoned and beaten regularly?"
This seems to confuse Mr. Straw. "I dunno. No beating.. on me," he explains. "Why do you have horn in head?"
"I was born this way, centuries ago," Willow claims. "So, how did you get here, then? Why are you here?" she asks, then starts to try and ken him, looking for any signs of being recently, well, dead and all.
There are certainly a lot of old wounds that have healed over - his bones have scars on them, and other signs of fractures and a hard life. But.. his appearance doesn't match up. Those injuries should have crippled him, and when she gets to his skull there are signs of a broken jaw, orbitals and skull fractures. It all looks as if he had fallen off of a cliff, or from some other significant height. "Came from farm," Mr. Straw claims. "I pull up stumps." So.. maybe not a cliff, but a really big tree could have fallen on him. "Why here?" he then asks, as if having forgotten the question. "Move rocks."
"Ever fall off a cliff? Or .... a tree?" Willow asks. as she tries to roll her hips and, er, pleasure the dumb Rhain? She isn't sure what he is at this point, given his injuries and the like.
"Got squished," the man says.. which doesn't explain a whole lot. He does start to move his hips now, trying to push in a little further with each stroke.. when he's not dragging Willow along with him.
This makes Willow grunt, and wonder if she is about to be squished! "Squished by what? How did you survive?" she wheezes.
"Boat," Mr. Straw claims. "Fly boat. Dunno.. was asleep.." He then grunts and lifts up the bed a bit so that he's not having to squat so much.
"How do you know if you were sleep?" Willow wheezes out! She feels soooooo full, making it harder to breathe! She pokes around a bit more with the shadow; namely looking to see if he has no resistance.
There certainly doesn't seem to be any resistance to Life Magic - it's the only way he could have recovered. "Doctor told me when I wake up," he says plainly, and tilts things so Willow is sliding a bit more towards the foot. This.. just means she's being rubbed against the mattress more as he moves. This.. isn't very satisfying. "Why you tied?" he finally asks, determining that the restraints are the problem.
"So I don't escape," Willow explains as she scoots and stretches about uncomfortably.
This actually makes the horse bray in laughter. "Escape where?" he asks, and unhooks the shackles from the wall - they're still on Willow's wrists though.
Willow rolls her eyes. "And probably so I don't hurt myself? I think it is odd too," she claims as she wiggles, feeling impaled.
It takes another minute, but then Mr. Straw has gotten her ankles freed.. only to push them towards her wrists. "Hold these.." he says.
Willow ooofs! This is an awkward position, to be sure! But, she, er, grabs her ankles? And feels like a pretzel, really.
Now Mr. Straw lifts her up, and turns to press her back and shoulders to the wall. Now he can push without worrying about the furniture (although worrying about Willow should be in his thoughts.. somewhere).
This is ... not comfortable. But then being a 'whore' is about their pleasure, not hers. How Inala-like, that! "You don't ... oof see many women, do you?" she wheezes.
"Just little crunchy-bats," Mr. Straw notes. "Sometimes Vartan. Sometimes Rugrhat."
"Wait, you .... sleep with the animals?!" Willow squeaks out! Well, she always heard about farmers and lonely nights...
"Stables are warm," the man claims. "I'm too big for little houses." And too big for normal-sized people, it feels like. Since he's still having issues with pulling back, he ends up sitting on the bed with Willow in his lap.. and then he lies back so she's straddling on top of him.
Willow lets go of her ankles and now tries to rise up and fall on his, er, mast. "You seem to fit in me," she claims, though she's straining to do this!
"You really stretchy.. or Doctor fix you too?" the man asks, content to let Willow do the work for now.. so he doesn't have to worry about breaking anything.
"I've never met the doctor," Willow claims; "I'm just a captive here." IT's a lot of effort, but she;s able to ride this stallion. Still, he's so large it's probably fun for him, but for her ... only slightly!
"So why you here then?" he asks. "Everyone here for reason." He begins to stroke her legs as he watches her.. not exactly bounce.
"Prisoner? I don't really know. The raiders drug me back here," Willow complains as she goes up ... and down, and up ... and down.
"Raiders?" Straw asks. "They only bring back little people," he claims, and then bucks his hips upward when Willow is coming downward. This does make things bounce suddenly. "You not broken?"
Willow whinnies in surprise at that! "No, I'm quite intact," she claims.
Mr. Straw grins at the whinny, and tries bouncing Willow some more. "Bounce," he even says.
Bounce Willow does! It's jarring, she can feel it in her teeth! She can't really talk when he's doing that, it leaves her just making noise instead.
The Rhian sits up, and nuzzles at Willow while still bouncing her, and then holds her breasts so they don't bounce quite as much.
Willow gives up on interrogation at this point; instead she just focuses on riding the horse until he explodes ... which may make her explode. But hey, practice makes ... it more enjoyable?
There may only be a few inches of motion, but it does make Mr. Straw a bit sweaty all the same. He keeps leaning forward, pushing Willow back until he's the one nearly bent double, and supporting her with his arms behind her back. He speeds up as much as he can to use those few inches though. With the shadow still partly in place, Willow knows he won't last much longer - there's just too much friction involved.
Willow uses the shadow in interesting ways, too, like making it feel like he has dozens of snakes squirming around inside his thingie, massaging everything they can find! Whomever claimed unicorns were not very good never met her!
Mr. Straw lets out a low moan and shudders.. giving more milk than he drank, certainly. And he wasn't even moving at that point, thanks to the shadow-massage. "You.. grow up on farm?" he gasps out.
"I don't remember my childhood, the curse of being immortal in all but mind," Willow laments ... some time after she feels like she was just a balloon and the Rhian was the inflator. She's still twitching and looking rather, ah, swollen down below.
The Rhian doesn't seem to be deflating yet. "This only part not get squished," he notes, commenting on the situation. And since they're stuck for the moment, he goes back to nursing, since Willow is.. well.. right there.
Willow pokes at her bloated belly and winces. But, as she's not going anywhere, she leans back a bit, uses her hands to brace, and lets the horse nurse away. At least it doesn't make the hooves ones as loopy!
The pressure does start to ease, which lets Willow deflate a bit as well, even if it means being very sticky. And Mr. Straw isn't as shy about using his teeth now.. nor his hands to squeeze things. Although he's mostly squeezing Willow's rump. But.. that also helps things flow a bit.
Willow is squirming around a bit more. So, here is another one that doesn't remember much and was easily manipulated. He's so limited in the mind department, she doesn't think he would be involved directly with any of the real plans. So ... she lets him have his feel-up fun, and even makes sure to whinny at appropriate times so he grins again.
The door opens, and this time it isn't Sackcloth. It's another Rhian though, of the less burly sort. Like Willow, he's nearly all black, including his mane, but has dappled gray mixed in on his hide. Her's carrying a mop and a bucket. "Too early for cleanup?" he asks.
"No. We're both a mess," Willow admits and pats the top of Straw's head. "Who are you? You are not my normal jailer," she notes.
"Mr. Bucket," the Rhian says. He's actually wearing overalls, and he lifts his mop bucket up as if in explanation of his name. "I clean up."
"You're a janitor? How did you end up here?" Willow asks ... while petting Mr. Straw's head.
"Came with Rahktors," the man claims. "They need lots of cleanup."
"You're not a captive, then?" Willow asks.
"Can't leave," the man says. "So.. what's the difference?"
"You a pet of the Doctor's, then?" Willow asks.
"Mmmm, not sure what you mean?" Mr. Bucket says, and sets his bucket down so he can sort of lean on his mop as he waits for the mess to be finished messing.
"Are you a patient of the Doctor, like this one?" Willow tries to clarify as she continues to, er, ooze.
"Oh.. of a sort," the man claims, and grins slightly. "Couldn't fix everything though."
"What do you mean?" Willow asks.
"I was hanged, but no longer hung," Mr. Bucket claims. "Not so innocent as some of these men probably are. The Doctor likes those who've tasted death. Now, until now I didn't mind some of the things I left behind."
"Are you missing parts?" Willow has to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Why were you killed?"
"I wasn't killed, I was hanged," Mr. Bucket points out. "There's a difference. Killing is direct, an intimacy between killer and victim. A stool kicked out from underfoot isn't a killer. Nor is a rope. But before it got that far, another form of justice was.. enacted? Committed. Yes, committed against me. I can't say it wasn't appropriate to my crimes though. Let's just say I won't be joining in you quite the way Mr. Straw has been."
"Castrated, where you?" Willow asks, brow arched a bit, too. "Rapist?"
"Oh.. a bit worse than just a rapist," Mr. Bucket says. "I know it's against the unwritten rules to really talk about our pasts, but.. I like it when others are a little scared of me."
Willow looks him up and down. "Of you? You're hardly scary, I'm afraid. I've seen far worse," she notes a bit dryly.
Bucket taps the side of his head. "Oh, it's not my physical presence that's scary," he claims. "The Doctor.. he's not afraid. Why, he even seemed sympathetic to me, you know. 'Why, back in Babel, under the Sabaoth, you wouldn't even be a criminal old Bucket' he'd tell me."
Willow laughs at that. "Sorry, but I'm too old to be scared by men with insecurities and try to hide them by appearing to be a monster," she remarks rather darkly. "You don't have the barest idea of terror, child."
"It's not about terror," the man says. "I just like to keep myself a little separate from the others. I'm not called Mr. Bucket because I'm the janitor, after all. That's what they called me before I got caught. So I kept it. But.. are you ready for me to mop up?" Mr. Straw is definitely at a point where he's not exactly plugging Willow up anymore.
"Mop away," Willow says and then actually waves her hands a little dismissively. "Then you are excused."
Still grinning, Mr. Bucket dunks his mop and starts mopping up around the bed, whistling as he works. Straw doesn't look too comfortable about it. "I should.." he starts to say, then stops. "I wait to leave with Bucket."
Willow arches her brow at that. "Are you afraid of him?" she has to ask? "Why?"
"Not leave him alone with you," Mr. Straw says. This makes Bucket laugh. "She's a bit too old for me, Strawberry," Bucket claims. "Too big for my bucket. But you can both go stand over by the wall while I work. Let me know if you want to be mopped down as well."
Willow finally eases herself off of the large horse. She then sashays right by Mr. Bucket, and as she passes, she whispers softly to him, "Give me a reason to end you." Then she flashes him a polite and innocent looking smile, as if he must be imagining she would say something like that! And over to the wall she goes.
Mr. Straw joins her, never taking his eyes off of Bucket, who just keeps whistling as he peels off the blanket that covers the straw mattress. "I don't know what she's told you, Strawberry, but I wager she was sent here by the Doctor," he says to Mr. Straw, who just grunts in reply.
Willow snorts. "Never met him," she notes. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your raiders. I'm an ambassador from Sylvania."
"You aren't a Kavi or a Skreek," Bucket points out. "So why'd they bring you, eh? These boys aren't the sort to go against the Doctor. So must have made a big impression, you're a bribe, or you're here for.. hmm. If I were the Doc, I'd send someone in to see just how willing people are to grasp at a bit of hope or happiness in defiance of me. Good way to do know who to.. well, replace."
"Because I'm an Aeonian, and that interested them," Willow notes, then switches and speaks in perfect, unaccented, Sylvanian, "And let us be honest, they are not the brightest people."
"Don't know that tongue," Bucket says, as he.. turns the blanket over. Maybe they only have the one, but at least the sticky side is down now. "Wouldn't be at all surprised that the Doc would have allies in Sylvania though. Not. One. Bit. I mean, he makes out like he's from Babel, but you can never tell, eh?"
Willow snorts and rolls her eyes. "I work for Countess Draco, not this mythical Doctor that you are all afraid of," she notes.
"I don't know that these guys are afraid of him," Bucket notes. "He's just some shriveled up Eeee. They're afraid of what the don't know, aren't they? What can he do to them? The Raiders have no doubts. I don't think anyone of the others here got whatever shock they got.. but then, nobody else here can come and go."
"Only one creature I have known is actually terrifying; and it is not an Eeee," Willow remarks.
"You need to really know someone before you can be properly terrified," Bucket claims. "It's easy to be terrified of the unknown, but if you really know someone.. and still find them terrifying.. well, that's something a bit more real, isn't it? Lots of real things in Sylvania to be terrified of, yeah?"
"My employer, for one. Countess Draco can be terrifying, if she chooses. But, the one overarching nightmare that scares even the monsters is Amenlichli," Willow notes. "The first, and worst, true monster of this world. Immortal, immoral, and ruler of Aztepa still. Also the source of many of the greatest wars in history."
"Undead isn't the same as immortal, is it?" Bucket asks, leaning on his mop again. "Though, I wouldn't want to be undead. That would probably make anyone want to kill the world. Being alive is just rubbing their rotting noses into what they've lost, I'd think. Yeah, I'd want to kill everything in that case. Which is a shame, because there just wouldn't be any pleasure in it, would there?"
"She isn't quite undead. She is ... unique," Willow remarks vaguely. "She makes undead, but she is something ... entirely different."
"Eh, after a certain point of horror, it probably doesn't matter," Bucket claims. 'Ooo, that giant monster is gonna eat us!' 'Oh, but it's worse, it's an undead giant monster that's worshipped as a god and..' It doesn't matter past the eating part, is what I'm getting at. Unless of course it makes you undead, and you gotta experience the whole process of.. well, do zombies even poop?"
"No, they just slowly rot, which they do feel," Willow notes, "And as for her, she can give and take parts of you, allow you to feel normal again, then tear it away, and do that over and over, for eternity. She can give you hope beyond anything, then rip it away and toss you like so much garbage. Even her descendants were nothing but tools to her. She ... the peak at which all other evil in the world can be compared to. Many forbidden zones are her work, places where she fought great battles against her sister."
"And yet she always manages to fail in the end," Bucket notes. "But.. well, I suppose she only has to succeed once. Unless it's all a game and she just wants to drag it out."
"Fail?" Willow asks, brow arched. "Dear boy, she's playing the long game. She has not even come close to failure. Time means nothing to her, one day, a thousand years, irrelevant."
"I still think it's a game to her," Bucket claims. "Something for her to do. Stir things up every so often when she's bored. Eh, but I'm not a crazy god?"
"From what I heard in Babel while meeting with those in power on trade agreements, she's right now playing a game with the Gods of Babel and their emissaries, like the Barsunala. Wether that is true or not, couldn't tell you."
"Heh, I can believe Babel being tangled up.." Bucket starts to say, until Sackcloth enters. The two glare at one another for a moment, and then Bucket picks up his bucket, throws his mop of his shoulder, and leaves whistling.
"He's not supposed to be in here," Sackcloth claims. "You should go wash up, Mr. Straw."
The farm horse nods, gives Willow a kiss on the cheek, and ambles out.
"What's that jerk's problem?" Willow asks and gestures after Mr. Bucket.
"He's... ugly in his soul," Sackcloth says. "Did he try to touch you or.. anything?"
"Nah, he's convinced I'm an agent of the Doctor," Willow remarks. "He had no interest in touching me."
"What did you tell him when he said that?" Sackcloth asks, brows raised.
"that I'm not. Because, I'm not," Willow notes. "Don't think he believed me, though."
"He doesn't believe anyone," Sackcloth notes. "I'm.. half-convinced that he actually believes he's dead."
"He's a fool," Willow snorts. "And I suppose you have to tie me back down."
"After getting you cleaned up," Sackcloth says, and sighs. "I really should tell people not to undo your restraints. You haven't been asking them to, have you?"
"Of course not," Willow says. "Why?"
"We just aren't used to having anyone tied up," Sackcloth notes. "It shouldn't be an issue for the rest, they aren't.. as trusting.. as Mr. Slither and Mr. Straw."
"Wall, or bed?" Willow has to ask. "For restraining me this time."
"How's the bed holding up?" Sackcloth asks, looking at it. "For Puff and Fingers.. the wall isn't an option. Any preference?"
"Well, the bed is messy, but I can live with it," Willow concedes/
"I'll send the shorties in next then," Sackcloth says. "I can get a fresh blanket ready by the time you're done with them."
"That would be appreciated. So ... what are the other ones, then? This Puff and Fingers?" Willow asks.
"A Lapi and a Skeek," Sackcloth notes. "Not the sort you'd think to find in a place like this.. but then I don't think any of us are the sort to find in a place like this." He pauses, then adds, "Except Razor and Bucket."
"They are small, then," Willow muses. "So, if they, er, decide to have sex, it'll be well, the back door I guess."
"I have no idea what they'd prefer," Sackcloth admits. "But, they don't have hooves, and are not massive like Mr. Slither. So they may pass out."
Using his own bucket, Sackcloth dips a cloth and starts cleaning up Willow before her next round of interviews.
Willow spreads arms, legs and just looks upward and tries to not think too much about what is going on.
At least things haven't had a chance to get too crusty. He's got her cleaned up fairly quickly - and it probably helped that she wasn't on her back this time.
"This is really degrading, you know," Willow remarks a little dryly, and sighs. "Back to the bed, I suppose."
"Well, you can wash me down later if you like," Sackcloth says with a wink, as he helps Willow back into her restraints..
"And after I wash you down, you'll hose me down, you dirty old horse," Willow teases, but doesn't say no to that. Instead, she's back to the bed, and fitted to it, spread and waiting for her next 'customer'. Still, it could always be worse she supposes...