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A rather graphic roleplay between Timanth and myself - Dras, returning to his dressing room after a crush show, lets out his pent-up trample lust upon a small and unwise would-be thief.
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Dras doesn't bother to restrain his broad, self-satisfied grin as he throws the stage curtain behind him and goes backstage. The roaring, hissing cheers of the audience follow him down the narrow corridor, echoing off the shabby plastered walls and thrumming through the wooden floor beneath his wet talons. "Wash bucket needs emptying," he says to a passing stage hand, who swallows and nods, and Dras rounds the corner into his dressing room. The reflection that greets him in the large mirror on the opposite wall is one of pure, lusty shamelessness: blood streaked up and down his sleek azure hide, his feathers matted with the fluids of his victim and a violent erection bobbing tensely against his scaly abdomen. He kicks the door shut and nimbly flicks the latch into a locked position with his tail, then crosses the room to grab a towel from the back of one of the leather armchairs and heads for the en-suite bathroom. As he turns, a scuffle of movement catches his eye and he whips his sleek blue muzzle round to see a small form dart along the edge of the dressing room and disappear into one of the messy piles of jumbled clothes, costumes and props that lie about the room.
*
Shayrian grins as he slips easily into the dressing room as the last of the servants departs until after the show. Dras was one of the most-known performers in the entire city...his dressing room was sure to hold no small sum of currency that he normally keeps on his person, especially since he had almost all but stripped for this performance, as the bipedal monitor lizard had witnessed earlier. Quickly and efficiently, he searches the different piles of costumes and clothes before he stumbles upon the raptor's regular wear, which, really, is not much more than naked. A few leather straps to affix his identification card and currency card to his body, and a loincloth for decency, but not much else. But it was the currency card that he's most interested in, which will no doubt contain the daily amount of money the deinonychus takes with him for daily spending. Removing the untangler from his tight-fitting thief's garb, he quickly swipes the card through, watching the decoder slowly cypher through the different numbers, methodically pinging the numbers to the bank satellite up in space until it receives a match. It does this all subtly, bypassing the regular checking systems and safeguards which would normally have locked out a regular user after three failed tries at accessing the account. The device gives a soft vibration as it finds the right code, and the lithe anthro reptile grins, his long tail swaying with satisfaction as the number scrolls to the top of the screen and the money begins transfer to an untraceable account he has set up with a private bank. His sharp ears suddenly pick up the sound of someone swinging open the door. The show shouldn't have ended yet! Checking his watch in alarm, he realizes that he must have idled for too long, or the codebreaker took too long to break the encryption. Either way, he had to move, and the green-scaled lizard dives sideways into what he thinks is the larges possible pile, praying that he has not been spotted. The currency card lies discarded next to the leather strap it was attached to, Shayrian not having time to set it back in place.
*
The keen yellow eyes of the anthro raptor narrow, slit pupils dilating slightly as Dras dips his head and surveys the messy floor. He spots the currency card, scattered carelessly on the floor, glinting conspicuously in the dim light of the dressing room, and his scaly eyeridges raise in surprise. "Oh you are fucking kidding me," the big raptor announces, stepping over to the clothes pile and snatching the precious sliver of plastic up off the floor. He inspects it briefly, then flicks it carelessly away and scatters the clothes pile with a well-aimed kick. "I saw you, you sneaky little shit, there's no point hiding. There you are," he adds as a flash of glossy scales leaps up from the remnants of the pile before him, and lashes out with his tail to smash the tiny reptile against the wall.
Dras looks almost amused as he struts over to the stunned intruder, scrabbling frantically for something inside his equipment pouch, and clubs him down under a sleek, wet raptor foot, comfortably engulfing half of the lizard's body beneath his sturdy walking section. "You're in deep shit now, bud, believe me," Dras says, squeezing the small reptile heavily against the scuffed wooden floor. "You even know what goes on back there?" He gives a derisive snort and rolls the gasping thief over to let him look up the blood-streaked body length of the lording raptor. "Let me give you a clue - no tranqs, no nanites, no survivors." He smiles a broad, chilling raptor smile and eyes the empty currency card holster. "And with that line of work, I bet you're off database, huh?"
*
Shayrian shivers just a little, internally, as he hears the footsteps of the raptor getting closer, listening to the words. He can feel his muscles tense in reflex, waiting to spring to escape in the sudden confusion of having a small reptile scamper out of the pile. But the sudden explosion of the clothes pile leaves him disoriented and he ends up leaping up towards the, he sees now, blue raptor. A quick strike of the tail and he's knocked against the wall, his head ringing with the impact even while the breath is driven out of him in one huge gush. He can't focus on anything for the first few seconds, but his first instinct is to quickly snap open his bag and reach inside dizzily for the stunner located inside. Of course, with his credentials he wasn't allowed to buy any lethal weapons, but the small firearm of deterrent was allowed for all citizens who wanted personal protection. Fortunately for him, his forged identification card was enough to fool the robot dispensing them, and he always kept it loaded.
All thoughts of pulling the gun on his raptorian adversary, however, are quickly neutralized as the huge hind foot plants down upon his back, driving the oxygen out of his lungs and causing him to gasp and groan with the pressure. He knew of this particular raptor and what line of work he was in, and even knowing this, he can't help but shudder at the splatters of blood painting the underside of the azure-scaled frame, the bodily fluids still dripping wetly down from his form. He gulps and tries not to nod reflexively at the raptor's question. Indeed, being a thief, he was well away from the database, where every transaction was recorded. Officially, he didn't exist; his real name and form had been recorded as dead in a train accident, body never recovered. But the green monitor lizard only shivers again and hisses out, "Please...I have a family..."
*
"You have any idea how tough it is to stay in character for two hours onstage while you're stomping some unlucky fucker to pulp?" Dras unfolds his arms and holds them out as though to better expose his sleek scaly body. "I've had a hard-on for the last two hours," says the raptor, yellow eyes gleaming with malice. "So I don't give a fuck about your family. You fucked them over when you decided to steal from a snuff star." With an ominous squeeze of pressure, Dras takes his foot off the diminutive reptile and bends down to pick him up. "You're not gonna be needing these any more," he says, tearing off the comparatively tiny equipment belts and tossing them onto his dressing table. "Shouldn't be too hard to sell. Even jobs like this don't exactly pay well." After stooping to pick up his towel, Dras slings it over his scaly azure shoulder and heads into the bathroom, victim-to-be gripped securely in his clawed fist.
The heat of Dras' foot pads squeezes small patches of steam over the floor tiles in his every footstep as the big raptor flicks on the shower and crosses the bathroom to a dented metal cabinet on one wall. His victim struggling fruitlessly in one fist, Dras opes the cabinet and pokes through its contents until he finds a plastic-sealed syringe marked with a winding serpent symbol in red upon a background of dirty white. "Sucks for you," the blue raptor snorts as he snaps off the seal and remorselessly plunges the needle into the writhing body of the would-be thief. "I guess we're not out of nanites after all." His scaly lips curl into a malevolent smile and he eases the plunger in, slowly and deliberately emptying the syringe into the smaller reptile. "You know how these little fuckers work, bud?" he asks, plucking out the needle and tossing the empty syringe onto the floor. "They're gonna do their best to keep you alive while I stomp you. They'll do a pretty good job too - you'll probably last half an hour or so. But I'm not gonna stop trampling until I've jerked off enough to make up for those two hours onstage, so if you can make it good enough that I'm satisfied before you're dead, maybe I'll let you heal up and you can go. Deal?"
*
Shayrian shudders again at the casual, uncaring words the raptor throws at him, each one a hammerblow to his pride and to his hope that somehow he will get out of this situation alive. As the small lizard writhes and squirms under the massive foot of the deinonychus, he sends up silent prayers to the gods he has long renounced that he is able to get out of here alive. And his chance seems to come when the large hind paw of his captor suddenly lifts. Springing to his feet, the monitor begins to sprint, but only finds his legs treading air as Dras picks him up, completely ineffective. Still trying to talk his way out, he manages to hiss out, "Those are pieces of illegal equipment. If you try to sell those, you'll have the Patrol upon you in seconds."
But even then, the raptor does not stop to converse with him, and the diminutive reptile watches nervously at the steam rising from the contact point between the trample star's heavy black pads and the floor, wondering how hot the bottoms of his feet get. Still trying to use his arms to wriggle out of the blue raptor's grasp, he doesn't even notice the cabinet being opened before the huge needle smoothly punctures his body. Clearly, the syringe is not meant for beings as small as him, as the very cylinder of the needle itself is a noticeable fraction of the width of his forearm. He struggles weakly in pain, and then discomfort, as the nanobots distribute themselves through his body. Indeed, he is familiar with this system, having used it himself to survive certain...unpleasant thieving conditions, but this batch must be designed for larger organisms, as the sensation of the little nanites replicating and flooding his entire system is anything but pleasant. But he catches enough of the raptor's offer to nod emphatically. "Yes....deal."
*
Dras smirks, his handsome features oozing satisfaction as steam begins to billow around the small bathroom, the sound of running water flooding the air. "Good choice," he praises. "Guess I'll need a couple more of these then." And he takes a small plastic bottle from the cabinet, flips off the lid with a claw and taps two plain white pills into his open jaws. "I hate these fucking things," he confesses, swallowing them down with his eyes squeezed shut as he shudderingly grips his shamelessly erect shaft and applies a few slow, firm strokes. "But you can't get by without them in my line of showbiz. I'm pretty good at self control, but no raptor with a healthy trample fetish can last two hours onstage with a victim underfoot and not need a little... medicinal help." He gives an amused snort at the appalled squint on Shayrian's muzzle, and casually tosses the tiny reptile into the tiled shower alcove, hanging his towel on a hook before stepping in after him.
Water and heat saturate the air, swirling and hissing in the confined, but generous space of the alcove. Dras draws closed a plastic curtain and turns to smirk down at Shayrian as the small lizard struggles out from under the barrage of water falling from seven feet above. "Right, bud. You can start by licking my pads. And don't even think about trying to escape," he adds, leaning casually back against the rear wall of the shower cubicle and staying out of the hissing jets of water for the time being. "You saw what a good shot I am. You set so much as one finger off these tiles and I'll stomp you to pulp right here. Got it?" He reaches forward, wetting his scaly hands in the shower jets, then slicks back his feather crest and folds his arms across his chest as he leans back against the wall. One sleek azure talon lifts from the wet tiles, flaunting the jet-black pads that adorn its shapely, powerfully broad sole. "Come on," the raptor says. "Worship them like they're your gods and you've pissed them right the hell off. I wanna see that you're real sorry for what you did."
*
Shayrian seems to shrink in upon himself, his mind at odds against his pride. He knows this is the only way that he will possibly remove himself from this situation intact and alive, but his own personal ego is screaming at him to spit in the raptor's face and run off instead of having to suffer that humiliation. But the accuracy of his tail, and the pin-point way in which the massive hind paw found his back...another shudder wracks through his body, although one of fear, instead of the one of arousal that courses through that of his captor. He only gets a moment to don the horrified expression before it turns to one of alarm as he's tossed carelessly into the shower. Instantly, he's assaulted by water, spraying, churning, steaming. It's almost too hot for him to bear, although by no means boiling, and he thrashes around in it, unable to see, but hopelessly trying to struggle to the far wall where the water cannot reach.
Finally, he reaches the edge of the water, only to find himself staring up at the huge raptor towering over him and leaning against the wall, seeming even more like some kind of reptilian god with the steam rising all around him. The small monitor lizard nods nervously and nods at the raptor's question, making it perfectly clear that he understands. Slowly, he walks forwards, unsure of what to do, having never had to perform an act this degrading before. Choking back a soft groan of humiliation, he steps under the steamy shadow of the deinonychus' foot, and, leaning his muzzle back, he does the only thing that comes to mind with the word worship: he begins to nuzzle and nose at them, raising his hands to slowly stroke his hands along the thick leathery padflesh..
*
Dras needs only a brief moment to assess the effort being expended on his waiting pads. With an unimpressed snort he slaps his foot down on Shayrian, smacking the small lizard down on his back in the gurgling water and squeezing him against the hard tiles. "The fuck was that supposed to be?" he snarls, glaring down at the other reptile, arms still folded as he looms above. "I said worship, you little runt, not flirt." He bears his teeth and presses down, long, sleek, azure toes splaying out under the force. "Look at you - you're fucking tiny. I could pop you right here, just like a rotten fruit. If you don't give my pads the best godsdamn worshipping they've ever had, then that's just what I'm gonna do. You're off database and no one knows you're here; you're fucking mine to do with as I please. Now do it properly."
The sleek raptor foot lifts again and releases its spluttering captive, and Dras leans back again and watches down the impressive length of his athletic body while the would-be thief begins tending to the exposed pads upon his sole with greater enthusiasm. Steam condenses upon his gleaming azure scales and the thick warm pads heat through, softening in the moisture as the ministrations of their diminutive attendant roam over their stunning surface area. Eventually the big raptor smiles, his toes splaying in pleasure, and he reaches out to wet his hand again before dropping it to stroke at the glistening length of tense flesh that continues to throb steadily at his abdomen.
*
Shayrian lets out a loud yelp as he's kicked backwards onto his back, the huge foot of his captor coming to thump down heavily upon his body. He hisses at the discomfort, and then whimpers, then cries out in pain as the relatively immense weight of the deinonychus presses down upon him, his taunts drawing a slow well of tears into the monitor's lizard's eyes, his pride trampled as flat as his body would be if he did not comply.
Shuddering as he is let up again, the reptile darts forwards, almost enthusiastically, and once more begins to nuzzle at the black pads. But this time, his tongue darts out, almost reluctantly, and begins to lick at the black padflesh. Surprisingly, it does not taste as foul as he imagined, the light tinge of blood almost palatable to his taste buds if it wasn't for the fact that it was coming off of the sole of one of the most well-known trample-stars in the city. His muzzle digs in with all the muscle his small body can muster, sinking into the softening ebony flesh and moving in slow, thorough circles of the black expanse of the large pad. He occasionally moves his muzzle up to lick between the toes, where the reptilian taste of his captor is stronger, but mostly he focuses upon the walking section and the arch of the large hindpaw, slowly working his way up to the heel before traversing back down again, focusing his mind to the task at hand, the thief's concentration showing itself as he tries to drown out the overwhelming humiliation his mind attributes to his task.
*
Dras allows the feverish attention to his sole a few leisurely minutes to play out, all the while steadily pleasuring himself, before he steps back down alongside the exhausted lizard and lifts his other hulking digitigrade talon to present its sole for the same treatment. The narrowing yellow eyes of the azure raptor stare remorselessly down, almost overflowing with smug, sadistic self-satisfaction at seeing the other reptile so humbled and degraded before him. His smirk pours scorn upon Shayrian, expressing every iota of superiority that the trample star plainly feels over the smaller creature as he is mercilessly forced to worship the feet of his captor.
When finally he feels his victim has no more energy with which to worship, Dras treads uncaringly upon him and steps forward to plunge his lithe body under the streaming water. Squashed horrifically under all of the 7-foot raptor's weight, Shayrian gives a noisy crunch and curls up around the hard ball and sleek, steely-powerful toes upon him, emptying the contents of his stomach over the glossy scale-plates that neatly coat the top side of Dras' handsome azure foot and kicking his legs frantically in the air around the raptor's ankle. Were it not for the nanites burrowing through his squashed innards, releasing chemicals and rebuilding tissue matter, the lizard would already be dead, but this fact does nothing to alter Dras' cruel intentions: the raptor simply slides the shellshocked reptile directly beneath him, water cascading upon the tiny broken body, and casually puts his other foot upon Shayrian too.
*
Shayrian continues to worship, his mind focused on the task at hand now, keeping his survival always as a faint glimmer of hope in what seems to him like the far distant future. This extreme focus drains his energy faster than usual, but he feels it is a small price to pay in order to keep his stuttering, outraged mind in check. Emotionlessly, he moves under the thick black pad thoroughly and systematically, his tongue reaching out to swipe over every scale, every portion of the leathery flesh. He barely notices when the other foot is preferred to him, only moving over to firmly lick and nuzzle at the padflesh, even as his inner mind clamors in turmoil. Slowly, he works over the entire length of the other foot as well, feeling his bodily strength draining as he struggles to cover the entire area of the large raptor's hindpaw.
Finally, he can do no more and simply tries to catch his breath in the heavy, humid air, panting as fast as he can. But his respite does not last long as he's kicked backwards, directly into the torrent of the shower, and as he cries out, he feels a massive weight crush against his chest, completely compressing his upper body and some of his lower. Even as his eyes register in shock the massive blue-taloned foot firmly crunching down upon his fragile frame, his entire body curls up in reflex, his previous meals literally being pressed out of him by the pressure of his stomach, the sour taste of bile and vomit bitter against his taste buds as he whimpers in pain and humiliation. He can feel the little robots inside of him rebuilding him even as he is crushed, his legs kicking feebly behind the ball of the azure deinonychus. Even the nanites cannot keep the small monitor lizard from blacking out momentarily as the full weight of the 7-foot raptor settles upon him briefly, crushing his ribcage in, before his other foot settles, only his head and the very tip of his tail showing, his pained muzzle gasping desperately for air, but only getting a mouthful of water.
*
Dras tilts his head back and closes his eyes, letting the hot water spray against his face and run down the sleek contours of his muzzle. His narrow nostrils flare open with a watery spurt as he dips his head to put his matted feather crest under the torrent, and he rakes through it with both foreclaws, opening his yellow eyes to smirk down at the would-be thief that lies squashed under his sickled feet. The small lizard is utterly dwarfed beneath them, covered up from the knees to the neck under the great black soles of the raptor and sealed down against the smooth, hard bathroom floor. Dras just stands there, water streaming off his powerful body while he enjoys the sight and sensation of such a small victim under his feet. "You know how pathetic you look down there?" he taunts. "I've always said lizards make the best victims for a raptor." He gives a careless snort, and spits a wad of saliva into the splattering barrage of water before continuing, "And not just 'cause they're the perfect size for stepping on. You little runts always act so fucking dignified - it pisses us raptors right the hell off. You fucking well know you're inferior but you still act like you deserve the all this respect, like you're too sophisticated to care about size. Well take a good look, bud, 'cause this is where you and the rest of your runty little species belongs: under the feet of us real reptiles. Not so dignified now, huh?"
The athletic reptile gives an upward toss of his head, flinging the sodden feathers back out of his eyes, and grabs a dirty gray bar of soap from beside the shower tap. His feet step slightly from side to side as he does this - an almost subconsciously casual gesture on his part, but one that shifts lethal amounts of weight back and forth over Shayrian, splintering the few ribs that remain intact within the small lizard's chest cavity, cracking his pelvis, breaking his legs in several places and squashing the contents of his bowels and bladder into the churning water around him with a slick burping sound.
*
Shayrian lets out a weak cry as the raptor shifts his weight around on him, both feet cracklingly pressing deep into his body. Not even granted the relief of a soft floor beneath him, he can feel the hard tiles grinding against his spine and the rest of his bones as the heavy blue raptor above continues to simply stand on him, taunting him heavily with his words. Soft tears of shame and rage well out of his eyes and he has to keep his tongue in check, holding back a retort that surely would be drowned out by a mouthful of the shower water. He can only gaze upwards at the distant azure form of Dras above, blurred a little by the curtain of water constantly crashing down on the exposed portions of his face.
But all of the sudden, the deinonychus moves into motion, and the green monitor lets out a shrill whimper as the left foot of the dinosaur lifts, shifting all his weight onto the right hind paw currently burying his hips and lower body. The heavy increase in pressure of the black padflesh sealing down around his frail body and squeezing against the ground is accompanied by several sharp crunches and screams of pain from the tortured lizard. His internal organs, having nowhere to go since they are utterly sealed into their current positions by the crushing paws covering them, can do nothing but give, heavily, under the heavy tread, the monitor lizard crying in shame as his excretory control gives out and he pisses and shits helplessly out onto the shower floor, his pain-wracked face soaked in tears quickly washed away by the shower water into the drain along with the rest. But that is not the end, as the massive theropod's weight shifts yet again, this time slowly but inexorably shifting all that horrendous pressure onto his upper body, causing him to throw up yet another round of bile before his ribs are finally crushed down and he lets out a heavy fountain of blood from his maw, splashing up against the blue raptor's ankles.
*
Dras doesn't even notice his victim's distress and simply begins to lather the muscular contours of his gore-splattered body with soap. "Course, everyone knows why you runts act all superior," he continues casually. "You do it BECAUSE it pisses us off. You don't like us and we don't like you, and nothing those crestless compy-lickers at City Central can say is gonna change that. You know why?" He swipes the soap from his eyes and looks down again, a grin spreading easily across his scaly features as he sees the damage his talons have already inflicted: conspicuous streaks of dark fluid flowing freely from the squashed lizard and chaotically tracing their way to the drain. He says, "Because we're a lot sexier than you. Because no lizard has ever looked at a raptor without wishing he WAS one, and no raptor has ever looked at a lizard without thinking how fucking good he'd look with that little runt under his pads."
Dras snorts, soapy froth dripping from his muzzle and splattering over the tops of his scaly feet. It seeps down between his long azure toes and tingles against the squashed hide of the pinned lizard as he derides, "You guys are just natural sex toys for us and you know it. WE know it! Everyone knows it, but we still have to live together in peace and harmony and pretend that we respect each other when in reality we're all just secretly picturing us - the natural predators..." He holds his arms out and bows his head. "...trampling all over you - the natural prey." Dras' sleek, long toes splay and he squeezes Shayrian's middle with his sickle toes, sneering down at the half-drowned reptile beneath him. "So, yeah... there's no dignity in being small, bud. You've got nothing. You're just trample fodder that happens to be self-aware. And the sooner you dumbass lizards admit that, the better we'll all get along. Now shut up and crunch." And he returns to his scale lathering, beginning to steadily trample the little would-be thief.
*
Despite all the pain, Sharyian still manages to let out a hiss of resentment. The raptor's statements were definitely not correct. There had been a long-standing resentment between the lizards and the theropods in general simply because the dinosaurs liked to lord their larger size over their smaller relatives, continually using their naturally much-larger frames to deny the smaller monitors and iguanas access and opportunities, both legally and illegally. There had been horrific tails passed down of lizards who had suddenly vanished from the database overnight, only for their battered, crushed bodies to be found smearing the asphalt by the cleaning crews the next day. And now one of those very raptors was calmly soaping himself up while treading upon him! Humiliation clamors with rage in his mind, and what emerges is a brief, energetic struggle with the entirety of his body during a brief pause in the raptor's actions.
But that brief bit of resistance is drowned out by the much louder cry of pain as his weight shifts once again, the soapy water stinging heavily in the scrapes and abrasions caused by the rough and crude way in which the deinoncyhus has treated him. The scornful, contemptuous words continue to rain down from the finely chiseled muzzle hovering above, and the monitor lizard hacks up another glob of blood, recently regenerated from the nanites, the fluid tracing a spider-pattern along the grooves in the tiles before it's washed away down the drain. "Now shut up and crunch." Indeed, the green-scaled reptile is forced to do so as the trampling begins, quickly destroying any ability for his lungs to maintain any air flow, completely crushing his frail body under the relatively massive weight of the azure male upon him. Each step continue to fragment his already splintered bones, driving the shards deep into his flesh. Try as the nanobots might to repair him, they are simply not doing a fast enough job of repair to reverse the damage done by the steady, pulping tread of the blue raptor, Shyrian's body quickly becoming a flattened sheet, his organs long ago ground to paste, his spine already broken in several places. It is a wonder he is still alive, but apparently the nanites preserve consciousness first, and so he is forced to witness the complete destruction of his body and all the shattering agony that comes with it, his mouth hanging open in a silent cry of pain as the fluids are firmly, methodically pressed out of him, leaking out of his cloaca, his maw, his tailhole.
*
After a few minutes a steady trampling, with his victim all but two-dimensional and oozing up between his toes, Dras steps back and simply rests one foot upon Shayrian's squashed body while he continues to wash himself, cruelly giving the nanites time to regenerate the anthro lizard before he begins to trample again. "Hey, you know how much a recording of this shit would be worth?" he calls down through the hissing water, absorbed in attentively scraping the lines of crusted blood from between his chest scales with a single black claw. "If I hadn't just come off stage, I'd have gone and found us a camera first. Little bit of touching up and the odd fake digital mark here and there and you'd pass as a virtual lizard, no laws even bent. That's how the pros do it, but don't tell anyone." He snorts in amusement at the renewed struggling from under his planted pads, Shayrian's infusion of nanites having successfully reattached ligament and tendon to bone and given the lizard back a small degree of his original movement. "Ready to go again, bud?"
As they begin to trample once more, the sleek, sturdy feet of the azure raptor are shown off in all their regal, shapely glory. Dras steps on his victim only very casually, mostly absorbed with scrubbing at his own scales, but even through the idle motions of absentmindedly treading on Shayrian, the skill of the snuff star in what he does is made blatantly clear. The precise, neat way he spreads his toes, the strength and grace with which he raises his powerful digitigrade legs, even the well-practiced angling of his handsome feet, exposing quick, teasing flashes of glistening black sole area all scream out the talent and professionalism of the lithe reptile. He is, quite simply, outstanding at his work, and the knee-high anthro lizard never even stands a chance against him, quickly being reduced back to a limp, squashed pelt under the steady treading of the huge, sleek raptor feet. Dras is only playing with him.
*
Shayrian's mouth leaks drool constantly which simply flows down into the drain, carried over by the heavy torrent of water. He can't do much else by now, his body completely flattened against the tiles by the sealing, crushing hind feet of the blue deinonychus. His lungs lay crushed and it's a wonder that his brain operates at all, since it is only receiving minimal oxygen from the nanobots working desperately to restore his body. The pulped flesh bulges and mounds between the splayed toes of the azure raptor, and his entire constitution is somewhat that or a thick paste held together under a thin membranous skin. But gradually, the torture ends, at least for the moment, his captor stepping backwards and letting the nanites begin their true work. He watches with amazement, as he always does, the swift reconstruction of his entire body, organs strangely beginning to fabricate themselves as bone fragments are sewn together, blood vessels are reconnected, and life once again pumps through him. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, he leans his muzzle to the side to cough up a large spurt of blood before breathing deeply, feeling his chest expand.
He can barely hear Dras' degrading words, so absorbed in his sudden ability to absorb oxygen from the surroundings again. Until, that is, the theropod decides to once more set his feet heavily upon the small monitor. "No, waitNRRNGH!" is the only thing the small reptile manages to spit out before another surge of fresh, healthy saliva is completely crushed out of him, followed by another large fountain of blood as the raptor holding him prisoner begins to brutally trample again, carefully avoiding any part of his head or face. His arms and legs are immediately shattered, but his ribcage and pelvis follow soon after, once more spraying his fluids into the steam of the shower. He gurgles wetly in his throat as his organs begin to rise out of it in a wet, bloody red froth, the nanites still attempting to force them back in even as the pressure from the ploughing, pounding feet presses them out.
*
As this casual torture continues, it isn't long before the robust medical nanites are all that keep Shayrian alive, and then only in the loosest sense of the word, his body totally uninhabitable and his consciousness existing only in the form of weak electrical signals that pulse dutifully between individual nanites, forming the representation of a neural network. But with his body trampled open and his blood swirling steadily down the drain, the lizard's duplicate consciousness becomes increasingly dull and faint, virtual neurons vanishing in droves as nanites are washed down the drain, crushed under Dras' trampling or overwhelmed by the frenzied, mindless death throes of Shayrian's immune system. A tremendous number of the tiny machines stick to the raptor's soles, providing a disorienting perspective from which the lizard's consciousness is able to perceive the endless degradation of his former body. Again and again Dras' shapely reptilian feet plunge down into its wet remains, trampling relentlessly on the lifeless husk and denying Shayrian even the remotest hint of dignity in death; then as a final insult, after several minutes of heavy masturbation, the soaked raptor gives a great shuddering sigh that rises above the hiss of the steam, and he spurts his long built-up load over the squashed lizard. The raptor's seed provides a faint sizzling of sharp sensation to Shayrian's virtual consciousness, but only for the brief seconds before the sleek azure feet begin to leisurely rub the hot fluid into his remains, neutralizing the surviving nanites in their thousands. "Sorry bud," the raptor says as he methodically eradicates the heroic machines, his voice laced with pleasured hisses. "No lizard gets to see shit this illegal and lives to tell the story. No hard feelings - you little runts are okay."
By the time he stops, the nanites have long since given up their hopeless struggle and Dras, still creamy-eyed with post-climatic bliss, disposes of his little victim by carefully treading Shayrian's soft, pulped corpse down the drain hole, then he hauls up one scaly foot and reaches for the soap again.
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I've got a rusty knife here with his name on it. Unless he's a lizard too, in which case he's screwed. 
