FSE

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"...last of my unit, about two klicks from the mesa, low on supplies. No more MREs, few sips of water, only munitions I have left are what's loaded in my sidearm. Requesting immediate medevac."

It was hard to keep the fear out of her voice. Sierra was a tough mare, but being tough was what anybody had to be to survive out in the dunes. She was just doing what she was trained to do. You followed orders, you shot your enemies before they shot you, and you tried your hardest to keep your fellow soldiers alive. And when everyone else in your unit had their brains and blood splattered across the sand, you kept going as long as you could and hoped backup made it to you in time.

"Sierra of Viper Company. I'm the last of my unit," she repeated into the fizzing, crackling radio. Bursts of static answered her, same as before. Her heart sank. Her stomach, already a hungry fist, seemed to jab into her chest. She pushed away the fear and despondence, tried to ignore the hunger, and scanned the horizon with her binoculars. A towering anvil-shaped front of sand came her way, drifting across the dunes in a way which appeared, because of its distance, to be very slow. Sierra knew better.

"Of course," she groused. "This is what I need. This is just what I need right now." She didn't realize she was talking to herself.

The mare huddled back into her pitiful sprawl of equipment. Quickly but with practice, fearful but keeping it beneath the veneer of professionalism a Combat Specialist was expected to have, she put everything into her backpack and slipped on the goggles she had pilfered from a fallen comrade. Farewell, Private Essex, she thought, just one in a frenzy of considerations and worries racing around her head like ricocheting bullets. The mare pulled the bandanna of her uniform up over her snout, doing herself up like a nomad. She tried the radio one last time - "Out of supplies and reduced to one, requesting immediate medevac" - and when she was answered by static again, tucked it back into the pack and started toward the mesa.

Her calls for help did not go unheard.

Sierra ran through the sand at an admirable clip. Even with a heavy pack on her shoulders, she could move like a track star. It was expected of a tall and muscular mare to put her long legs to good use, and she did. The sandstorm rumbled and snarled behind her. Errant winds pushed ahead of the anvil, stirring up eddies of grains, threatening her with things to come.

She dashed through the sand, huffing through the bandanna. Her charging hooves kicked up fans of sand. The storm blew waves of it past her as if to show her how it was done. She could run fast, but she could never outrun a sandstorm. A chopper couldn't outrun a sandstorm; she was only prolonging the inevitable and she knew it. But what else am I supposed to do? Curl up and die?

The anvil hit and everything became confusion. Like a hammer in the back, the full force of the winds took her off her hooves and slammed her into the ground. She caught herself with her hands, thrust her body back up, sprinted for the mesa again. She no longer knew where the rock was. Her entire world had shrunk down to a cloud of shifting sand.

Even in the sandstorm's chaff, Sierra recognized the rumble of an engine. It buzzed past her, missing her by what seemed to be inches. She heard whooping and hollering, sadistic yaps she knew all too well. Training took hold and Sierra no longer cared about the desert storm. She drew her sidearm, its matte black finish dull and sandblasted. Drawing a bead on the first wavering figure she saw, she squeezed the trigger and a .45 caliber round punched through the sand screen, finding a new home in a warm body's chest cavity. The body flopped to the ground and a war cry rose. Rounds peppered the sand around Sierra and she huddled into the small dune. It became impossible to tell what was being kicked up by the enemy's flak wall and what was being whipped by the storm.

When a lull came in the fire, Sierra looked into the swirl. She saw the outline of the vehicle but no figures. Hiding behind the vehicle. Good idea. Good cover. Need to make that vehicle mine.

She hauled herself up from the sand. It rolled off her body like water. It crunched between her teeth and stung her eyes, the goggles doing well, but not insulating her perfectly.

Going wide, the mare circled the vehicle as best she could see it, but it was impossible to scope out her assailants. She knew they were wolves - it was always the wolves - but she could not see them if they were there, and to start shooting again was only to invite a hail of return fire she might not be able to duck. With no time to question her tactics in such frantic times, the mare sprinted for the vehicle. When she was near, she could see three bodies pressed flush to its side, weapons ready and goggled eyes peering into the sand screen, each in a different bearing.

Too many to shoot. Hostage. Her thoughts flowed swiftly, more like impulses driven by training. Essex was no longer in her thoughts. Even thirst had fallen to the wayside, and her actions happened as naturally as breathing.

Sierra grappled with one of her attackers, but there was no real struggle to it. The muscular mare had the wolf in her grip. She knocked his AK-47 into the sand and stabbed her 1911 into the base of his skull. The others trained their weapons on her, but none would pull the trigger now.

"I'll splatter his brains across the hood if you don't throw down those rifles!" Sierra called out, shouting through her bandanna and the storm. "Throw them down now!"

"You're dead, American, you are going to be dead," the squirming wolf in her grasp yowled, his English rumbling across in a thick Siberian accent. His comrades threw down their rifles and backed away gradually, never losing sight of her.

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. How about you, fleabag? Willing to die for Mother Russia?" Sierra fiercely asked.

She began to turn, pulling her protesting hostage along. He slowed her down just long enough for the others to finish the pincer. Sierra intuited them behind her back, but before she could pull the trigger as a final act of defiance, it was lights out. The butt of an AK-47 smashed into her skull and she buckled into the sand. Viper Company signing off was her last thought as the blackness took hold.

Sierra awoke to a splash of water across her face. The water was warm from the desert heat, but it was life-giving water all the time. She sucked it off her dry lips. Only then did she begin to process her situation.

Her body was bare down to the last item. The storm was gone, the anvil rampaging away from her position. The wolves stood around her, their gray faces sneering at her. Sand caked their fur as though they were pups who had just rolled in the dirt.

"Stand up, you murdering whore," a voice commanded. It surprised Sierra that the voice was female.

"So I did kill one of you fucks," the mare said in defiance. A sneer was just beginning on her snout. She was afraid, but refused them the satisfaction. No point in showing fear or begging, not when you know they're gonna put a bullet in your brain. Sierra couldn't remember who had said that to her. Somebody from basic. Suddenly she wondered if they were still alive somewhere. She pulled herself up to her all-fours, still feeling shaky from what she guessed to be dehydration and exhaustion.

A booted foot smashed into her abdomen and lifted her, breaking her spell of rumination. Her sturdy equine bones did not break, but her flesh was still just that. The pain spurred her reflexes back into play and she grabbed the boot, lifting it and its owner's leg with all her strength. The wolf flopped into the sand and Sierra lunged onto him. Her face emotionless but her heart racing, she wrenched the leg backwards and the wolf shrieked in his native tongue, "It's going to break! Stop her!"

Four shots cut the air, slinging sand near Sierra. Common sense told her that the sights were on her back and the next burst would be for her.

"Off of him," the female voice commanded. "And stand."

Rebelliousness was Sierra's final right as a soldier captured by the enemy but she knew when to obey. She clambered off of the wolf whose face was drawn into an agonized snarl. She stood up, unshy of her naked, muscular form. Her back faced the vehicle.

"If you're gonna kill me, do it now," she said. "Not a whole lot you can learn from torturing someone like me."

"Turn around," the voice instructed.

Sierra did so. Three wolves were nearby counting the one she floored. A corpse lay in the sand covered with a ragged cloth tarp. A fourth wolf sat up in the turret of the vehicle, resting on the frame with an AK-47 trained on the mare. Her livery indicated that this small squad answered to her.

"Last man of the squad turns out to be a woman," the lady wolf said, snickering. "Were you a man, we'd have executed you by now."

The mare grunted. "I'd hoped those rape-gang rumors were just the usual propaganda. You really sink that low?"

Fingers crusty with sand closed around Sierra's breasts. Sierra thought, you only feel bold enough for it when there's a gun pointed at me. He squeezed until the flesh began to dimple and bruise. The horse closed her eyes, fighting back the pain. Give these pricks no satisfaction, she demanded of herself.

"Fight it," the lady wolf said, her cadence bordering on lustful. "You must be a tough woman to make it this far on your own, Sierra. Your courage and luck have both brought you here," she smiled, "to the point in time where my men make breeding stock of you."

The other two males closed in. The one on her left was older, more grizzled. Scars lined his snout, telling Sierra that he had been restrained at some point with a muzzle strapped on too tightly. Muzzling was a common way to torture prisoners without getting too physical. The wolf on her right, whose leg she had attempted to snap, was practically still a pup. Outside of combat, she found his face handsome. In a different time and place, Sierra might have welcomed such a good-looking young man into her bedroom. With she the prisoner and he a captor, the way his fingers explored the exposed lips of her cunt provoked feelings only of loathing.

"Who gets pussy?" the scarred wolf asked. His English was broken, his tone coarse.

"Me. She almost broke my leg," the young wolf said, and pinched one of the dark, smooth lips of Sierra's vulva. He grinned in a fashion which caused Sierra to rethink his handsomeness. "She will need one in her mouth," he said suggestively.

A chuckle came from the scarred wolf. "Mouth is mine, so it seems. Long as she does not bite."

The captain, whose English was the clearest of them all, pulled herself out of the turret and sat on the edge of the vehicle's roof. She laid her rifle across her lap as though it were a pet. "She won't bite. Not unless she'd like to be splattered across the sand like poor Gennadi," she said, and glanced at the tarp-covered corpse. "Men, do your worst to this murdering American. Nothing is too depraved, I feel."

Still one other wolf lingered nearby, his appearance more plain. His smile appeared pleasant, but Sierra had doubts. He justified her concern immediately. "That leaves her anus. I gladly accept it when you two have finished."

"You perverted fucks," Sierra hissed, and felt an urge to cry. It was that third wolf with his clean and concise premeditation to sodomize her which had struck the hardest at her resolve. She wanted to fight them off. Bite a dick like it was sausage, tear a scrotum off like a sheet of paper towel. Something to defy these rapists before the end.

But their paws roamed her body freely and she did nothing to hinder them. For a moment they were gentle, savoring her forbidden American body. They stroked her breasts, tweaked her nipples, palmed the taut but round cheeks of her ass. She remained tense through their appraisal, ready to spring and attack in a way better associated with felines than equines. Paws on her shoulders thrust her against the battered vehicle, her impact shaking sand off its roof. The young wolf pressed up against her, found himself too short to enter her, and pulled her into the sand with no small amount of disdain. She caught herself with her hands but a boot kicked her squarely on the ass, knocking her down regardless of her efforts. A reddening stencil of the boot's waffle sole ached on her buttocks as she lay in the scorching sand.

"Stay," the young wolf hissed. He shed his trousers but kept his boots on. Sierra would have mocked his penis if she had glimpsed it but such mockery would have been a lie. The wolf was impressively hung. His knot promised to gouge even her sturdy equine loins. Behind her, he knelt. Under a sky which was now blue and cheerfully cloudless, he pounced and stabbed his throbbing red rocket into her cunt. His knot socked against her plump lips and Sierra hissed, fighting back the tears which tried to sprout from her eyes.

"That looks painful," the commander dryly said. She watched with naked amusement as her youthful private went to work on Sierra. Sex was among the rarest commodities for soldiers in the dunes, pussy arguably more precious than potable water. The young wolf snarled and panted, wild with lust he rarely sated. His knot pounded her folds, balls slapped her thighs. The grizzled and the plain wolf lingered around, the former bottomless and latter fondling himself through his fatigues.

"It's-, hardly anything," Sierra forced her dry tongue to speak. "No problem. Not at all."

"No, no. It doesn't work like that, American whore," the Russian commander said. She made a point of checking the magazine in her AK, taking it out before slamming it back into place. Sierra flinched at the metallic snap this action produced. "You do not have half the strength of a Russian. You are afraid and you are in pain. You are thinking at this very moment that you may be incubator to - in your mind - a mongrel of the enemy."

"Shut the fuck up," the mare snapped, gnashing her teeth. Grains crunched between them. The young wolf went on and on like a machine, but not a very steady one. He slavered and yipped, tongue dangling slack. Foamy drool slung from his jowly lips. Sierra could not ignore his unhinged lust.

"Cry out for me, tell me how you truly feel, show me your fear," the female wolf commanded in slow, careful enunciation. "Or I will split your skull with a bullet. I believe the sun will keep you warm enough to keep my men happy for a while."

Sierra squeezed fistfuls of sand so tightly that her palms grew raw. "You sick fucks," she cried, but kept her tears bottled up. Perhaps, she thought, she was too dehydrated to shed even one. "It's not enough that my squad is gone! Some of those men were like family to me! Now this!"

"Good!" said the commander, delighted. Her two idle men were smiling. "At last, the true Sierra reveals herself - and she is nothing more than a terrified filly."

The mare's rational mind struggled for discipline it could not furnish her with in the current situation. Emotions ran high, glands filling her with primal terror and hatred. Sierra was not used to emotional extremes like this, but she had never been the victim of an atrocity. The wolf raped her, taking not only his fill of her vagina but the security she had believed in. She was capable and intelligent, and this was how she died? It was enough to make a fatalist out of anybody. The mare began to cry. Lone droplets squeezed from the corners of her eyes and she groaned through sandy lips, "I hope you bastards burn in Hell."

"We'll save a chair for you," the pounding wolf said, his inflection hoarse, breathing rough from rabid desire. "You deserve it, murdering American whore!" Then he bit her on the neck, chomping the thick cords of muscle under her brown fur so powerfully that Sierra yowled with pain. Blood wept around the neat rows of punctures his teeth punched. Upon tasting blood, he hunkered down and quickened his pace. The bulb of his knot smacked into her vulva like a fist beating on a door.

"Stop! Stop!" Sierra screamed, thinking she had as much luck of them listening to her as she did of God intervening personally. She bucked her strong body, tried to throw the wolf off as if she were a bronco, but all it did was excite him. Her efforts shoved her cunt into his loins and for the first time his wide knot popped into her. A scream left her body as her vulva split wide for the entirety of the wolf's penis. She bucked again, kicking up furrows of sand with her hooves. Her singular tears were joined by more, wetting her cheeks and the sand which speckled them. "God damn you, no! Get off me!" she roared in a voice dangerously near a shrill crack. She thought in a moment of frenzy, he's only the first one, can't take all three of them, I'll go goddamn crazy.

The wolf yipped in sexual delirium. The grizzled wolf knelt down, putting his balls in the sand, something he enjoyed given the smile that formed on his lips. His red phallus dangled in view of Sierra. Her tears bent the light, turning his presented meat into pointless blurs. "Crying as Americans do. Believe this means she enjoys it?"

"She hates it," the plain wolf said. His own cock made quite an impression in his fatigues. "Though perhaps she hates that it is giving her some pleasure, hm?"

"No pleasure, not from you fucks!" Sierra snapped in a voice on the verge of a crack.

The most youthful wolf brayed with pleasure. His tail wagged above his taut bottom, grains of sand flying out of its fibers. His teeth dislodged from Sierra but his knot remained plugged. He pulled at it, huffing and crooning as Sierra's vaginal walls gripped him in place. "Oh, she is tight, so very tight," he whimpered. Sierra hated how sounded like a giddy teenager popping his cherry rather than a rapist. "Ooh, good, very good for an American!" said the wolf, tugging his knot until finally it popped loose. Sierra snapped her jaws together and screamed through her teeth. Then the wolf pumped her, pushing the bulbous base of his penis against her with obvious intent.

"When you ejaculate," the commander spoke, "make sure it is inside of her. I would love nothing more than to have you put a bastard child in this American whore."

"Aye, sir," the young wolf grunted, then put his lips near Sierra's ear. As if he intended to tell her sweet, tiny declarations of love, he cooed, "I will impregnate you, American. How does that sound to you?"

Sierra grinned hatefully. She wiped her wet eyes with the back of her arm. "I'll stick a coat hanger up my cunt without a second thought, you red son of a bitch," she said as coldly as she could manage.

The young wolf laughed. It was too happy a sound, just as his earlier cries of ecstasy had been. "Your body tells me another tale, American!" said the wolf, and the sound of his sexual labors thumped flatly in the hot, still air. He kissed her neck where he had left his punctures. Seeping blood smeared across his jowls like a clown's makeup. "Mmm. I am going to breed you, Sierra," he moaned. "You will return with us. Our captive - and the mother of my mongrel child."

The mare let out a frustrated groan. She looked at the grizzled wolf with his exposed, fat cock, remembered how he had already claimed her mouth, and thought again of inflicting penile gore on all of these depraved creatures. The fantasy kept her from losing all hope. "Not-, not one goddamn chance of that," she hissed.

No words came from the wolf, but he grumbled and huffed for her in a brief symphony of lustful delight. His knot battered the plump folds of her vulva before the bulb popped into her again. The pain was less severe than the first accidental entry, but still not mild enough that Sierra held in her scream. She would say years later that the violation hurt more than the physical aspect of the rape, but she would be lying. Knot fucking was pure agony, and the thought of that third, most cold wolf doing this to her asshole was something even a hardened soldier could not comprehend without terrible apprehension.

"Mm, mmh-hmm," grunted the youthful wolf, fucking Sierra with the short strokes this deep penetration left him with. His balls were already tight with an oncoming climax and he didn't want to risk taking the knot out when getting it into the American whore was such a task in the first place. He dimly wondered why a whore, as all Americans were, would be so incredibly tight in the first place.

His anti-American ruminations were subsumed by his orgasm. He hunched over her like a feral as the climax hit. From his lips came a short, giddy howl which evoked thoughts of an eager pup capping off his first time. Thick and fruitful Russo semen slopped into Sierra's accommodating body. She clenched her eyes shut and only the most determined tears oozed past her lids. Not a drop of the young wolf's slop escaped the plug of his knot. As afterglow replaced the sublime pleasure of orgasm, he said in a bedroom voice, "You are a fine woman, Sierra. Easily a match to the finest of my country."

"Go fuck yourself," Sierra said, forcing steel into her voice and forcing out the lame whimper she wanted to sound off.

"My good man has given you the greatest gift a woman can ask for and you tell him he must fuck himself?" asked the commander, and pulled back the bolt of her AK. The two successive snaps it made as it socked a round into the chamber shook a flinch from Sierra. "Thank him."

You're doing this just to get out alive. You're not gonna have his kid. Not gonna happen, girl. Play along. Sierra braced her elbows on the sand. Grains scraped through her fur and seemed to bite her flesh like ants. She hardly noticed the small pains. "Thank you," she said in an even tone. Even she was surprised by the clarity of her voice. "Thank you for this-, this gift. You're a good lover."

"What generous praise," the commander said, and her men laughed. She nodded at the oldest of her men, who appeared to be enjoying warming his balls on the sand. "Fuck her mouth. If she causes you any discomfort, I shall remove her teeth."

The wolf waiting for her ass grinned. "Why not remove them now, sir?" He watched, unabashed delight in his eyes, as Sierra tensed and silently cried. He rubbed his penis firmly, which by then had made a stain of precum in his fatigues. "They would make a good necklace, strung together like - what is it called? Popped corn?"

"I won't-," Sierra choked back a fearful sob. Dental torture was among the most dreadful things she could imagine, and she had imagined and seen enough in war zones to break a civilian's mind in half. "I won't bite. Please don't touch my teeth. Please. I swear."

"I believe her," the grizzled wolf said in a sickeningly kind voice. "We should not do that. She shall behave."

Sierra eyed his penis as he brought it near her. Its shape was canine, color a healthy pinkish-red, and precum dribbled from its tip, sometimes shooting as the flesh throbbed. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth. He slid past her teeth which were flat and equine, but which could still crush and grind. Sierra forced a vengeful thought out of her mind. It was replaced with a vision of her teeth on a necklace, the roots dangling and drizzling blood. That would not happen, not to her. She was smart enough to play their game if it meant getting out alive and with the same number of parts she came in with.

Foul musk assaulted Sierra's nostrils. The flesh was worse, tasting of sweat and grime from perhaps weeks of unwashed service in the desert. She tried to draw back her tongue but the wolf seemed to want it and he pressed his penis down into the surface of her tongue. The bitter precum was marginally better than the sweaty musk. She made herself think of a rescue party racing across the dunes because No Man was Left Behind and she was sure somebody had to have heard her pleas over the radio just before the wall of sand turned everything upside-down.

Rough paws closed around her ears, treating them as handlebars. The older wolf said, "Good mouth. Americans like this sex, yes?"

Not with fucks like you who don't know what soap is, the mare thought.

"Americans are depraved," the commander affirmed. "Make sure she swallows, as well. I want not a drop of semen wasted on the sand," she glanced at the ass-hungry wolf, "from any of you."

Still buried in Sierra and watching his comrade sink into the American whore's mouth, the young wolf replied, "Not a problem for myself. My duty is done. A shame the child will be half American, eh?"

The wolf with the grizzled fur and abhorrent musk moved his hips slowly from his awkward squat. He held onto the sides of Sierra's long head and made her move along with him. The soft texture of her tongue brought him the greatest pleasure, but her lips were plush and fine despite dehydration which left their surface cracked. His fingers traced through her fur, rubbing her, petting her as a lover would and Sierra hated this touch. She found herself thinking in a direction of opposite of logic, believing that it would be better if her mouth were being viciously fucked. Then she would have been able to demonize the wolf and hate him even more.

Thick squirts of precum shot into Sierra's mouth, spreading across her tongue in all their foulness. Revulsion churned her stomach but it was the smell more than the taste which made her so ill. Sierra worked hard and played harder with the big boys. She was no princess, but certain standards of hygiene were followed even in adverse conditions. And you've never had to gobble a man's cock when he's been keeping it in his piss-stained shorts for a week, either.

The mare kept her eyes closed, kept her tongue busy on the wolf because it was what he wanted most. She thought about each step involved in the disassembly of an M-16 and broke down the rifle in her mind, putting it back together step by step. She thought about the mundane, the routine, not about the good and the joyful because she knew that was a quick way to make herself crave her freedom enough to be stupid. Let him bust his nut. Ignore the taste, try to ignore the stench, just let him-.

The pup of the trio pulled slowly out of Sierra. His penis had gone mostly soft and the egress of his knot was embarrassingly painless to her. A thin runnel of semen oozed from her, glazing the hood of her plump clitoris, but the rest was safe inside of her where her fertile body was already dispassionately at work. He patted her hip, saying nothing as he stood up. The heat of the sun beat down on her back and she found herself missing the shade his body provided.

But Sierra knew what his withdrawal meant. She kept her eyes shut, closing them even tighter with a childlike instinct to shut out the world. Vision was the only thing she could shut out; she heard the most plain but depraved of the wolves undress. His fatigues made a soft sound as they hit the sand. The commander jovially said, "How pleasant it shall be to see this American whore's anus ruined. Sodomy seems a fitting fate for her."

"I agree, sir," said the plain wolf. He knelt behind Sierra much as the youthful pup had. He looked into the gray eyes of his grizzled compatriot and said, "Perhaps you would like to pull out before I enter her." He smiled, and Sierra could tell despite not seeing it. "This will be tremendously painful and she may bite down."

The thought that she might involuntarily bite down horrified Sierra. Her thoughts were on herself alone, not an ounce of worry spared for the grizzled wolf. A bloody mess and a yowling, freshly-castrated Russki was nothing, but she thought about her teeth on a string. She opened her eyes and looked at the wolf pleadingly.

In his native tongue, the grizzled wolf pissily agreed and pushed Sierra back instead of moving his hips. The effect was the same and the mare thought about dragging her tongue across the sand just to scrape away the taste.

The most plain of the wolves hawked and spat a fat wad of drool on her anus. The sudden wet warmth was actually pleasant. Sierra's anal muscles tensed, but she knew they would have to relax if she wanted to get through the coming ordeal. She thought about routine again, disassembling her mental M-16 to busy her mind. Muscles relaxed. Her breathing slowed along with her throbbing heart, but neither neared their resting state. No soldier could be so cool in situations of torture.

The wolf let his penis rest on Sierra's bottom, and its great size and shape made it look like a rocket ready to launch from a vehicle-mounted ramp. Sierra guessed its size just from the way it rested on her ass crack and her mind made it bigger than its admittedly impressive true size. Now her attempts to think of only duty brought to mind rockets ready to implacably punch their way into the sky.

A smile on his face and paws on Sierra's large, loving ass cheeks, the wolf scooted back and pulled Sierra up to her all-fours. The curves of her bottom popped in this position and he said with cold pleasure, "Few Russian women have a bottom as curved as this. It pleases me that American women have some uses."

"You don't have to do this to me," Sierra bleated, and hated herself for saying it. Her voice was weak and feminine. This was what they had reduced her to. If help was coming, it would have been here by now. She was going to be a brood mare and the worry bent her mind like a vinyl record, pulling it further and further into the shape of a taco until it would eventually shatter. "Please. God. You don't have to do this."

The commander sneered. "Why would you mention your lord now? I believe He would have kept you from ever ending up here."

"She is only terrified. It will pass, eventually," the plain wolf said. Then he pressed his tapered cock tip into the pucker of her asshole, spreading its muscular ring slowly but unrelentingly. The glob of saliva spread thinner, pushing into her anus under the spear of his penis. It decreased the friction just enough that the pain was tolerable, but flesh still dragged on flesh and the moisture rubbed almost completely away before the wolf was three inches buried.

Sierra clawed her way through the sand, digging under loose grains until she found more compacted sand. She fought for something to distract herself with. The pain of the slow anal penetration forced tears out of her eyes and she showed them freely now, no longer capable of caring.

A familiar cock, still wet, bumped her nose. "Open," said the grizzled wolf in his stunted English. "Open, American."

The horse's lips parted. Again her maw was occupied by the unwashed phallus of the graying wolf, his knot against her lips and nostrils close to the stink of his musky pelvis. The slow way he gyrated into and out of her mouth was a pain far easier to bear than the deepening sodomy, which the plain wolf conducted in one slow push with no deviation. Sierra's drying anus tensed, seeming to gulp on the wolf's shaft as it slid inward. Every squeeze sent waves of agony up her spine, waves of pleasure up the wolf's. He said with his cold smile spread wide, "The American whore is so tight! I am tempted to think she has not done this before."

"Impossible," the youngest wolf laughed. He reached in and palmed one of Sierra's sand-specked breasts. The mare felt as if she were a beast on display, free to be petted and patronized. "She is a degenerate, just as all American women are. Have you forgotten?"

"This is true," the commander gave her input. "I believe I should put it to a vote. This American whore's fate, that is."

The red bulb of the plain wolf's knot rested against Sierra's pucker, wedging apart the hemispheres of her ass cheeks. He leaned over her, resting sandy paws on her shoulders. It seemed marvelous to him how large and sturdy this woman was. "A vote, sir?" he asked without his full attention.

"Yes. A vote. When you are all through with her, shall I put a bullet in her skull or will we take her back with us?" Sierra tensed. A fresh surge of pain in her tightening anus wrung tears out of her eyes. Then the plain wolf started to move, grinding his hips, and she imagined the pair of them were sawing her in half with their filthy dicks.

The young wolf said with idealism, "I vote not to kill her." His paw caressed her stomach and Sierra tried to arch herself like a cat to pull away. She failed to do so. "It would be a waste of life." He chuckled, adding, "Half of one, at least. My seed is worth something."

All of them enjoyed a quick laugh, save Sierra. She pictured a rescue party coming for her. Not just one squad, but a battalion kicking up so much sand that it rivaled the grainy anvil that had nearly buried her and these monsters. For God's sake, just let somebody have heard that fucking radio blast, please.

The plain wolf, whose knot bumped Sierra's plump and dark anus monotonously, was much less kind. "Do you truly want a mongrel child with this whore?" he asked with a withering glare at the youthful wolf. To the pup's credit, he leered back and kept his ground. "This mare is good for our current needs. I vote we kill her when we are through."

Sierra felt a chill in her blood, shivered despite the dry heat of the desert sun baking her body. She had faced death more times than she could count but now she was at the mercy of the enemy and had been forced into obedience. The plain and the grizzled wolf raped her with their firm movements and musky penises, making her asshole raw and her mouth more foul than the worst morning breath she had ever known. And even that was something she believed she could slough off with enough time back in friendly company, maybe after a few sessions with a shrink to really dig into the recesses of her mind. But these fuckers were going to kill her. She knew that the commander wanted her dead and the plain wolf only cared about her insofar as he could knot her ass and be done with her. All the grizzled wolf could do was make a tie of the vote - and how would the commander settle it?

Paws gritty with sand rubbed down Sierra's head and snout. The grizzled wolf's rhythm was speeding up but becoming jerky. He bumped his knot against her lips and her nostrils unsteadily and the smell of his musk had heightened. Sierra hoped that meant he was about to pop and get it over with.

"What use is American girl to us?" he asked in his broken English, and Sierra again felt the chill. "She has no use. But she is no danger."

The youngest wolf put his shoulder blades in the sand and pushed himself under Sierra as if sliding under a car to work on it. He brushed the sand off a tit and then loped his tongue over its nipple. The mare had a shiver of pleasure which she hated herself for. He said coyly, "It would be a waste to kill her, sir. She is lovely for an American."

"For an American," snorted the plain wolf. His paws moved off of Sierra and planted in the sand, leaving his breast on her back. The firm, dry sex hastened. Sierra's anus, naturally plump and dark, grew thicker from swelling and its inner flesh progressively turned from pink to an angry shade of red. That the mare weathered the pain so well affirmed that she was a whore whose fate should be to have her brains blown out in the sand. He looked at his older compatriot with scornful eyes. "No danger to us? Does one of our fellow men not lie under a blanket with the flies because of this woman?"

"Enough arguing. I see we have two against one," said the commander. "My vote is that we kill the American, and so we have a tie."

The young wolf played with Sierra's tits as if he had never touched a pair before. The mare wondered. "How shall we settle the tie, sir?"

There was a grunt from the older wolf. His paws gripped the mare's head and he pulled her into his thrusts. Saliva rolled down her chin, wetting the fur. A coating just as thick covered the wolf's penis, the shaft completely damp but the knot wet in weblike patches. Sierra was thankful for small things right now, among them the fact that he had not tried to put his knot in her mouth, but now he was pushing it against her teeth and the intent was obvious. He grumbled and huffed, tail swaying. A grin cleaved his face to bare yellowed teeth wet with spittle. He said sharply, "Swallow, American!"

Sierra tensed, aggravating raw anal flesh all over again. The bulb of the grizzled wolf's knot passed her lips and locked open her jaws, making her feel like a roasted pig with an apple wedged in its maw. Her flat teeth rubbed on the flesh but the soldier was evidently more pleased than concerned. He yowled in bliss, tossing back his head for a howl better suited to a full moon than a desert sun. Ropes of semen slopped across Sierra's tongue, hitting the back of her mouth in a way she found indulgently pleasurable in the right company but sickening in the present. She swallowed, but not out of obedience. She swallowed because there was nowhere for it to go and she wasn't about to drown on a rapist's slop.

The plain wolf grinned at his comrade's orgasm. His own tail wagged as his hips smacked Sierra's wide, brown bottom and his knot compressed the pucker of her asshole. "Just one more hole to be seeded," he said ominously. "And then we decide your fate, whore. How terrifying this must be for you."

For one ironic moment, the horse was not terrified. She felt hatred for the wolf and it burned out the worry for a few precious seconds. The fear returned when she could not muster up the image of a rescue again. Sierra acknowledged, though she knew she should not, that she was going to die out here.

"How is her asshole?" the young wolf asked. He was watching the mare's tits bounce while he enjoyed the shade of her body.

"It is dry," the plain wolf flatly replied. "I would much rather have the pussy. But I will finish."

The commander noisily checked her magazine again. Every click the weapon made drove lances of fear into the mare's heart. "It is not too late to change your decisions, men. Will she live or die?"

Nobody spoke, but the wolf in her ass huffed and grumbled as he alone made use of her body. His scrotum hung low in the heat and it swung like a pendulum, the sweaty mass hitting her vulva in a way she could have found enjoyable. But actually enjoying herself was impossible.

The grizzled wolf watched his younger friend dutifully buck against Sierra. He dislodged his knot from her jaws, wincing from some minor pain her teeth now caused him. He pulled back completely and dropped his bare ass in the sand. "We should kill her," he said.

Sierra looked at him with massive, unbelieving eyes. A part of her brain said in a coy voice detached from the worry of the verdict, typical man, stops loving you as soon as he busts his nut.

"No, please no, no," Sierra said, softly at first. "For God's sake, please. I'll blow you whenever the fuck you want. Don't do this."

"American whore," the plain wolf said, huffing as he picked up his pace. His hips made a soft noise against her ass and the impacts made her cheeks jiggle. "Faced with death, she offers to debase herself even further. Commander, I look forward to her execution!"

The mare put her head down and commanded herself not to beg anymore. It just wouldn't do for an American soldier to beg for mercy from these creatures. Even if nobody would remember it but them, she wanted to go down with some dignity. But the pain was making it hard to keep her grasp on her composure, and the fear threatened to drive her as wild as a rabid raccoon. She cried, but that was all she did for the time being.

"Yes, yes," the plain wolf breathed, speaking to nobody, only to his own libido. The rhythm quickened again, the force behind the thrusts growing more firm. His knot was pushing open the reddened ring of her black asshole, spreading it by pressing into its concave shape. Each buck threatened to bury the knot and the pain rose so sharply that Sierra cried out.

Eventually the dam broke and the wolf's knot popped into her ass. A burst of sharp pain gave over to prolonged agony as her anus spread wide to accommodate the bulb and then closed around the narrower base of the shaft. She lay in the sand whimpering, her tits pushing into the young wolf's face. She was unaware of his slobbering and suckling. Her anus throbbed, her inner walls rubbed raw.

The wolf at her backside crooned and grinned wide. The pink velvet of the mare's anal passage milked him with its struggling muscle and it coaxed him into his orgasm, tipping him over the edge into bliss. Ropes of semen shot into her ass, violating her in perhaps the worst way possible, but the mare could still hardly believe this had all happened to her. She was in no position to choose who had raped her the worst.

"There you are, Sierra," he whispered into one of her ears. "Your final act has been one of sodomy. I find that fitting for an American, do you?"

"I hate you," Sierra hissed. "I hate all of you. I'll haunt all of you fuckers."

His rape of her ass concluded, the plain wolf ripped his knot out of her. The knot had hurt her going in, but it made her scream coming out. Semen rolled from her gaped anus, loping over her vulva and into the sand. It was just one more indignity to suffer.

The three males forced her to her knees. The youngest of them said with a rueful smile, "I am sorry, Sierra."

"The fuck you are," she snapped. "I'm glad I won't have to carry your pup. I would've thrown myself down the stairs just to kill it."

The butt of a rifle hit the back of her skull, dazing her but not knocking her out. A lapse in motor control sent her sprawling into the sand regardless. Before she could right herself a boot came down between her shoulder blades, and then the cold circle of an AK-47's barrel touched the back of her head.

"Goodnight, American," the commander said.

"Go fuck yourself," Sierra said, almost sniveling.

The crack of a rifle cut through the dry air, rolling like thunder across the dunes. Sierra flinched and thought, at least it was painless.

The commander yowled in pain and staggered off of the mare. She pulled the trigger on her AK and it belched a quintet of rounds into the sand, kicking up rooster tails. She fell into the sand clutching her arm and screamed, "Get to the mounted gun! Get to the fucking mounted gun!"

A whirlwind of lead raised itself around Sierra. The males in assorted stages of undress reached for their rifles and ripped off volleys of rounds in the direction of the incoming fire. The grizzled wolf made it to the mounted gun. He fired off ten rounds before a .308 round entered his skull under the left eye socket and left an exit wound the size of a grapefruit, evacuating most of his brains across the hood of the vehicle.

The plain wolf knelt in the sand near Sierra, genitals dangling in the hot grains as he fired off frantic blasts at the coming Americans. Sierra rolled away from him just as a rip of .50 caliber fire blasted its way up the sand and rose right through him, ripping massive chunks out of his body and exposing splintered bone and shredded gore at the same time as it hurled him back. His mouth was agape in a scream but his lungs and throat were obliterated, rendering his last moments silent.

Sierra dived on the commander's AK-47 and swung it like a bat at its owner, crashing the stock of the rifle into her face with such force that teeth shattered and blood flew from her nostrils as she flopped over, unconscious. Then she wheeled on the young wolf who had found Sierra's sidearm and let off a round. He was unprepared for the recoil of a 1911 and after his missed shot left the gun high. Sierra emptied the magazine of the AK-47 into his chest, ripping a line from crotch to throat before he fell back, sputtering blood and pawing at stained sand. The mare stepped over to him, feeling as if time had slowed to a crawl. She dropped the exhausted rifle and picked up her sidearm from the grains. Sierra was hateful of these wolves, but she was not a monster as they were. She put a round between his eyes and ended his suffering.

The horse's rescuers came to a stop at the periphery of the combat zone. They all came near with M-16s ready and wary eyes on Sierra.

"That's all of them," the mare said flatly. "Except for her."

The medic of the group, a red fox, came near the naked mare with supplies in hand. She shrugged him off, pointed him to the bloody commander. "You'll want to check her out. I just need some clothes."

The squad's captain came near, while his men fished through their supplies and came up with some ill-fitting civvies for her to make herself decent with. The captain, a tiger with a bulky frame but sympathetic eyes, said to Sierra, "We got a fragmented distress call. Honestly figured we wouldn't find anybody at the other end, but..."

"I'm glad you came," Sierra said quietly. "Thanks." She took a pair of plastic cuffs from a soldier with the simple excuse of, "I'd like to do this myself." Then she knelt down beside the commander who was just coming to. The medic pulled back to let Sierra put on the zip tie-like cuffs.

"You-, you should have killed me," said the commander, looking at Sierra with dazed eyes. Blood streaked her mouth. Inelegant gaps showed through a formerly flawless set of teeth. "Why did you not?"

The mare smiled. It was a cold smile, devoid of niceness or humor. "Didn't have time. Can't shoot you now that you're subdued. But believe me, I'd love to just cut your fucking head off right now." She stood up, dusted herself off. "You'll be tried as a war criminal for this, I imagine. Probably end up executed. Firing squad's too good for you, but that's America."

Sierra stood by, silent as the soldiers lifted the commander's restrained body into their Humvee. She looked at the captain. "Think you boys can give me a ride back to base? I need a drink." And a coat hanger, she blackly thought.

"Climb aboard, soldier. I'm sorry about your company. I knew Viper Company, those were good men." He looked at the two wolves lying in the sand, noting their lack of pants. Then he looked at Sierra, but did not say what he was thinking. "Let's go. These boys," he nudged the young wolf's corpse with his boot, "can feed the vultures, far as I'm concerned."

Sierra watched silently as the dunes rolled past the open windows. Another woman might have wanted to retire after an ordeal like this. Sierra just wanted to get her clearance to get back in the field. There was a lot more work to be done.