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Soldier's Humiliation

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Bearing the Strikes

The cat grunted, forced down to his knees before the enemy lines, clustered in the barracks and yet still maintaining some kind of formation as if they were expecting to march out into battle once more. A scar lay over his left eye from earlier wars fought but a samurai like Miller knew that the real battle lay within.

The sky slashed through with blood red, though he could not remember whether it was the eve or the dawn of the day. Either was an ill-omen in his line of duty. Yet the ranks of his soldiers had fallen, one by one, scattering and retreating before an enemy that was too powerful for even them.

Miller breathed slowly and evenly, though that did not soften the tightness in his chest in the slightest. He tipped forward, imagining himself somewhere else, but before the enemy barracks and the tribes, the flashing swords, he knew when he didn't have a chance.

Some of his own that had been captured stood behind him, though they were bound, forced to their knees also. He knew he could do no more for them and his cheeks burned with shame, ears sliding back. To be a feline samurai reduced to nothing more than a prisoner was the greatest humiliation of all.

At least, that was what Miller thought.

"You thought you could outsmart us."

The bull sneered down at him, turning his head to spit, though Miller only counted himself fortunate that the bull had not spat on him. That would have been something crude and something demeaning that he would have expected from their enemy lines, though he did not know whether the bull was a sergeant or some other rank of soldier. In the grand scheme of things, paws roughly tied behind his back, the feline knew that it did not matter.

He didn't have to say anything, his green eyes downcast, though not out of respect. That seemed to frustrate the bull more than ever, his white horns pointing to the sky as he snorted and scraped a hoof through the dirt, eyes blazing with ill-intent.

"Small minded warrior... Where is your pride now? Where is your sword?"

He grabbed Miller by the scruff of his neck and hurled him down over a rock that could have been used for seating at some point, hauling and hefting him bodily while the cat yowled. Yet there was nothing that the cat could do to get out of such a position, blood roaring in his ears, fear rising, nothing that he did quelling it to an extent that even he could pretend that it did not exist.

The warriors roared, bellowing for his blood. He feared the end had come, a dull bellow rearing to a buzz of white noise in his head. Miller gasped, panting hotly, sweating so much that it was a wonder that it did not reek even through his armour.

His outer armour was stripped from him, the layered plates rippling over his shoulders, though the recognition of his strength would no longer be borne through them. The under layers were thick and yet moulded to his body, damp in places with sweat, Miller's chest heaving with the need to drag more air into his lungs. The bull shoved his head down, grinding him further over the rock, eyes glittering with evil intent.

"See how far he has fallen! This is your leader! Reduced - to this!"

He thought that was the end for him but Miller jolted as pain seared through him. He didn't know what had happened at first, preparing for the end and a flash of a sword, but the pain radiated out from his backside, pounding through his body. Again, the bull's paw descended, slapping his haplessly raised backside, his tied paws nowhere near enough to get the bull away. A knee pressed to the back of his neck, forcing his head down and in place, his arse on show to all - his own soldiers and those that had opposed him. Everyone was there to see his debasement, jeers rolling forth, though he didn't want to think about what those that had followed him, as their leader, were thinking as he was spanked publicly.

That was not something for even cubs anymore, treating them better than they had in older years, times long gone by. The cat clenched his jaw, trying not to scream, trying not to yowl out anything at all, a howl broken behind his lips. No, no! He shouldn't cry out, shouldn't break before them, had to maintain his composure, shaking in place, his tail clamping down. Of course, the bull, whose name he didn't even know, did not care for that, crudely shoving his tail up and out of the way, ensuring that there was nothing at all that he could do to protect himself.

"See how he falls? This is his fate, the fate of all of you! Our slaves, our prisoners! You shall never see the light of day in a fate that you will want ever again!"

Miller groaned, a cry breaking his lips ever so slightly, twisting his head back and forth, striving to contain his humiliation, the burning embarrassment coursing through him. His cheeks flared up with warmth, heat creeping down his neck, though he could not even imagine himself somewhere else, the pain keeping him there and present, where he needed to be.

End preview.

Thank you for reading! This re-published story is 2,000 words long and a taste of my longer works. It is available to purchase, worldwide, via Smashwords and Commissio!

Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1503468

Commissio:https://commiss.io/listings/D8Ew

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this story, please take a look at my website, where similar stories are listed by kink!

https://alismitsy.wordpress.com/

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I am also available for custom stories, tailored to your preferred nuances and characters. Please e-mail the following address for further information.

arianmabe@gmail.com

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