Underdog 4
DISCLAIMER! Read This: This story will undoubtedly be too explicit for children to read. If you are under the age of 18, please navigate away from this page. This story deals with rape, physical, mental, and sexual abuse, bondage, domination, submission, and contains a description of a female getting the shit kicked out of her. Unlike in pornography, between two consenting adults, or in writing, it is not acceptable to do anything like this to a partner who does not consent. It is cruel and malicious, and if you honestly want to do this to a loved one, or anyone for that matter, you need to seek professional help. * * * My hands are covered in blood, and I'm shaking. I don't quite hear the driver speak to me as we rumble off into the night, but I know we're going home. It's all sinking in, little by little, like water into soil; my reason for moving on, the reason I used to get up in the mornings to lead our people, she's dead. Slipped through my fingers, or crushed in them; if you hold a rose too hard, it'll die. How long has it been since I lost my girl? It could only have been a few weeks, maybe even a month; the exact date, I can't remember. I know, however, somewhere in my mind, that it's been a little over a year and a half since we escaped our bonds. What was that bears name? Did he ever tell us? I wonder what he's doing... Despite the horrible suspension, the loud diesel engine rumbling at my feet, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I manage to fall asleep beside this beast who keeps trying to talk to me. My mind wanders back, just after we had escaped and found a burnt out asylum to squat on for the time being. It scared me to stay there; every noise or creak caused me to jump. Shadows would follow me everywhere I would go, and I felt like I was being watched by an ever-present being. I'm sure back when this sanitarium was brand new, it was beautiful and felt like home to the patients residing in it. Now, though, hundreds of years after the tuberculosis outbreaks, this place scares the shit out of me. Sasha, she is with me, she holds me and makes me forget where we are. She's big and dominant, beautiful and strong. I, however, am wiry and small, submissive and adoring; this woman, this brute, is my savior and hero. I would die for her. I wish I had died instead of her. She's on top of me, pinning me to a ragged mattress we've cleaned off. Holding me down, she's grinding her body into mine ever so passionately. Suddenly, I'm awake again as I hear my name called by a different, more apprehensive voice. "Ma'am? I... I need to see your I.D. or you can't cross the checkpoint!" I look out across the driver and down at the wee little badger holding his clipboard, pen in hand and a group of heavily armed guards at his flanks. Reaching into one of my vest pockets, I produce a wallet sized flap of leather holding my identification and rank inside. Flipping it open, all he can make out aside from my picture are the five stars in pentagon formation. "I assume this is what you wanted to see, private?" He nods, shaking a bit. He must be new. "Has the private shipment arrived?" Another quick nod and coy smile. A nod is all the acknowledgement I give him as we drive off into our compound. Everything is bustling with life now, unlike when we first arrived. No longer a bomb shelter meant for a small army in the side of a mountain, this place, this thing, is now alive. It is sweating and breathing as everyone fulfills some form of job crucial to our mission. A sergeant readies a group of ten able-bodies for an upcoming raid to free a group of beasts about to be sold off at auction to humans for use as sex labor and prostitution. We pull into the cavern to unload all our precious cargo loaded deep. No sooner have we stopped than beasts swarm the truck to unload the back, like ants swarming a picnic. Crates of assault rifles, light machine guns, handguns, and various sorts of ammunition are unloaded and filed away with other such crates. We're gearing up for peace, which usually comes right after a massive war of heavy casualties. We're preparing so our side isn't the one taking those casualties. I get out, my hands and attire still covered in the blood of that man I just beat to death. I find a separate shipment, one addressed directly to me; I know it's for me because the name of the recipient is void, replaced only with a crude drawn picture of a wolf. I whistle as loud as I can, calling for everyone to file in right in front of me. "Fall in! On the double! Move! Move! Santa has come early!" I see them, my soldiers, my friends and comrades, at attention because I barked the order. I'm almost sorry I have to let them down. "I've got two announcements; one good, one bad. Which do you all want to hear first?" As if they would say anything different than what I expected. In a loud, single yell, they all call out together; "The good, ma'am!" I tear off the tops of a line of crates. "Sergeants, to the front!" About forty men and women come pouring out of the lines and race to form a smaller group before me. I hand them over bottles and boxes filled with whiskeys and rums. "For the troops; raise morale. Everyone's been on edge since the raid. Let them know things will be going forward as planned, security has been stepped up. Nothing to worry." They're all smiling. Bottles upon bottles flood down the ranks as every soldier, big and small, is given their own bottle. "Savor every drop, troopers. This reserve of liquor was stolen from the heart of the bourgeoisie humans who are trying to keep us as slaves and bitches." They break ranks for just a moment to holler and hoot, laughing and cheering at this small victory against the financiers of our oppression. "But still, I have a few words of news that will affect how this operation is run from the highest standings." I take a deep breath, I know this won't be easy to tell them. "As I'm sure you all have met your Generals in passing or in conversation, or at least I hope you have, you will no doubt know General Padilla. He's a good beast, and we see eye to eye on most subjects. We feel the direction he wants to take us is best. And as I'm sure every single one of you know, we lost a lot of good people during the raid. One of whom was my mate, the reason we have come this far. Until such time as I have overcome my bereaved status, I am stepping down as your commander." I can hear a loud groan of disapproval amongst them. "I know, I know; but I need to put what is best for us as a race first. And right now, an alcoholic ready to snap isn't the best. Once we're fully prepared for war, maybe." A bit of sporadic laughter, I smile. "Until then, I'm assuming the rank of Staff Sergeant and will be leading a few raid parties into hostile territories. God have mercy on them when I lay my hatred upon them." I bow my head quickly and step down. As I walk off with a few boxes of my own, the troops call off in a unanimous voice. "Hooah." I lay the boxes with the troops too busy to fall in, the ones sorting out the shit we just bought of the mercs. "Merry Christmas, gentlemen. Bring me what's marked as mine to my quarters on the double, understood?" They nod and get to work. I meander around the complex for a bit, hands in my pockets and try to clear my head of all these thoughts. These things, these horrible memories I thought were blocked out for good are now coming back with a vengeance. I no longer have someone to chase them away and hold me as I cry in my sleep. My heart constantly aches as of late, and I've begun to drink heavily. While I do not deny that giving that liquor out to the troops was meant to raise their spirits, my hidden delight is that there is enough for me to have my own as well. By the time I make my way back to my quarters, I find boxes upon boxes lined at my door. Shuffling them inside, I shut the door and lock the multiple deadbolts, chain latches, and crossbeams. To my own surprise, a few of the boxes are of mail to me from the troops, cards wishing me well and letters saying how sorry they are for my loss. I feel selfish, somehow; Sasha wasn't the only one to die, but for some reason she's the only I miss. I push the boxes of cards and letters under the bed and open what I've been waiting for so anxiously. A new Kevlar vest to replace the one I've worn constantly since we formed the Revolutionary Army of the Beasts, a sidearm I've been searching for, and bottles of Wild Turkey bourbon. I left the good stuff to the troops, bottles of Macallan whiskey, aged nearly 230 years and worth a hundred thousand apiece. I remove my clothes, my body armor, my firearms and my underwear as I sit on the edge of the small bed I now own. I traded the large king bed I shared with Sasha to a newlywed trooper for this small one he wanted to get rid of. It had too many good memories to keep, too many painful ones. I don't hesitate to peel off the aluminum wrapper, nor pry to cork from the bottle with my teeth. Spitting it across the room, I hang my head in shame with my forearms resting on my thighs. What would she think if she could see me now? How ashamed would she be? I'm rotting away physically, but I don't see the problem as I feel so dead inside. The first pull is always the worst; bourbon has a way of shocking your stomach and burning just a bit. By the time I collapse on the bed, the bottle is three quarters of the way empty. I curl up on the bed, pulling the sheets over me. Darkness engulfs me, swallows me; it crashes down on me like an angry wave and pulls me away. I'm not here anymore, leave a message. The fortification is thousands of miles away. The prison is a spec on the horizon, so small that it can't be seen. Even the battlefield of my dreams is a world away from where I am. Everything is dark, and I can hear laughter around me. It's not the kind of laughter you hear in the normal world, people enjoying each others good company. No, this is the kind of laughter you only hear in back rooms hidden from the world, where unspeakable things happen. I'm naked and cold, chained to a metal chair and my tail taped to my back to keep my most intimate of places exposed for whoever cares to look at them. I'm blindfolded and gagged, but my mind is wired and wide awake and I can feel every hand touching me, prodding me, groping me. "She seems like good stock; she'd make a great fucktoy." "Nah, if I wanted to fuck something that skinny, I'd nail your wife." "Hah. Funny. Hey, is that a Vacancy sign I see on your ass? My foot's looking for a room. What then, prostitution? Make her pay for the money I'm going to waste on her?" "That's more like it! See? Ways to get your money back on an investment. Still, no. Why not put her into bear baiting? If she wins even one fight, you'll recoup your losses. If she loses, I'm sure you could get maybe half back on selling her for meat." "Maybe. But look at those markings. That tattoo. She's military, isn't she? That's what her charts say. Sold off by one of her fellow soldiers? I'm going to need her broken so she doesn't use any of that MacGyver shit they teach 'em to escape." I hear fingers snapping and people bartering over the cost of me, what I should be used for. I feel a hot iron cut across my flesh, over the outside of my shoulder. Somehow, I know they're burning off my tattoo; erasing my past. "What's your name and occupation, bitch?" I hesitate a moment and I feel a strong hand connect with my muzzle, knocking me senseless for a moment. "Answer the fucking question!" "Andrea BlackMoon. Cavalry Scout for the New Allied Forces, operating currently in the Middle East theater. I am a scout and a sniper, my rank is Staff Sergeant. I command a unit of twelve." "Just like I thought, military. How many men do you have that you're willing to part with for a while? Possibly up to a month." "I'm going to go out on a limb and say I can loan you ten of my finest. I'm sure none of 'em will complain at a shot at free pussy... even if it is from a beast." I can almost taste the disdain in his mouth as I hear him call me that disparaging word; beast. I'm not sure what just happened, maybe chloroform or morphine; either way, I'm out cold again. The world is black and mysterious like when I was a child. Was I ever a child? Weak and small, unable to stand and fight? The only thought I can muster as I wake, is "what fresh hell is this?" I feel bonds holding my feet and legs outstretched, leaving me vulnerable and to their sick desires. Strange voices surround me, echo in my ears, taunt me as I pull and kick in a desperate bid to escape. I can't speak, the ball gag shoved deep into my mouth does little more than act as a chew toy to bite on in the ensuing pain. I can feel myself upright, drawn outstretched like a large X. I hear them clamoring behind me, "Me first! Me first!"; I figure they're arguing over who gets to rape me first. If only I were so lucky. My mind, dulled to the world and grayed over with indifference at this point, suddenly becomes alive with pain and surprise as I hear a crack and feel something tear into my back. Something thin and flexible, like the end of a whip. My jaw locks tightly around the bit they've wedged into my mouth as I feel the whip crack and tear across my back for the better part of an hour as they take turns, seeing who can elicit the loudest scream of pain. The energy flees from my body as I go slack in the bonds. I can't hold myself up anymore, I can't struggle or strain. It's right here where everything gets so much worse. They lower me, untie me, and I fall limp into their arms. I can hear them laugh at how pathetic I am, I can hear familiar voices, people I used to fight with. People I used to consider family. From one restrictive position to the next, I'm now laid down on my back on two crossed wooden planks and tied up again. This time, however, my head fur is gathered up and tied with rope, forcing my head to look up, to see a group of naked men leering at me, their thick cocks right at eye level. Right above eye level; right at mouth level. Almost like a wave, they descend around me and begin groping for my attention. A hand clamps down on my throat as one of them whispers something into my ear. "If you bite, little doggy, we'll have to rip out those pretty teeth of yours. And if you don't learn your lesson after that, we'll have to kill you." His breath is horrible; it reeks of rum and cheap liquor. I try to contain my gag reflex; it's rotten like his soul, no doubt. I cry out in pain as I see one of them approaching me. "Please! Stop torturing me!" It falls on deaf ears, except for one, their commander. A man sitting in the back reading a book while his subordinates work me over. I'm stifled, silenced, hushed, by this massive cock rammed deep into my throat without mercy or pity. It's nearly impossible to breath, and I have to control my gag reflex or else they'll rip my teeth out. I hear him from the back, a little sick laugh escaping him. "Dear... we're not torturing you. Let me quote. Under the terms of Article one of the United Nations Convention against Torture, "Any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity. It does not include pain or suffering arising only from, inherent in or incidental to lawful sanctions." Shall I reiterate? A person. You, bitch, are neither human nor a person. You were never a soldier. You were a service dog. A glorified, speaking, thinking, self-aware, fucking service dog. All this amounts to, bitch, is animal abuse." I'm crying now as I feel my body violated. Strong fingers squeeze at my chest, pull at my nipples, worm their way inside me. They're doing whatever they can to amuse themselves while they wait for my mouth. I'm not an animal, I think to myself. I am a creature of the gods, and I have a name. My name is... Oh gods! My name! Have I forgotten it already? No. It's just the pain. My memory is a blur... it'll come back to me... won't it? For the better part of two hours, they work over my throat and mouth until my jaw aches and my belly has stretched just a little. I hear one man complain to his commander that he has to piss like a race horse, and I already know where this is going. I don't even have to see him to know that he's just pointed at my mouth. One by one, they take their turn again. This time, they're emptying their full bladders into my maw, ordering I swallow or else there will be a beating, a bruising, some fresh hell they've yet to subject me to. The first few aren't so bad; I can take it. But the third one, I lose it. I can't handle it anymore. I vomit up urine and semen, and I can hear them all disgusted and laughing at me. I hear one of them justify why I can't handle this, it's because I'm a dog. Is that my name? Dog? They untie me, they drag me and throw me around and into a shower, only it's not a shower. It a room covered in tile with a pressure washer bolted to one wall. The engine hums and whirrs as they turn it on; the first blast of water hits me like a bucket of ice, and I'm wide awake and screaming. It's so cold it burns, and I'm trying to cover the sensitive areas of my body. My breasts, my face, my groin. As hard as I try, I can't stop the water from hitting me in the face, the mouth. I hear a voice, the commander again. "Hold the fucking bitch down! I've always wanted to try this..." Suddenly, they're upon me and holding me in place. I'm on my back, pinned down by four strong men. Their commander, I feel him place his boot right against my cunt. He turns off the power washer and now just has the hose spitting water. He douses my face, my mouth; I can't breathe, I can move to get away. I'm going to die, right here on this bathroom floor. My body will be violated and then sent off for processing; I'll be a meal for some family, I know it. I thrash under them, trying to pull away, trying to escape. I can feel my muscles ripple just beneath my fur and skin, and then I hear the most vile noise in my life. It sounds like nothing I can describe to you; I've literally just pulled my right arm out of the socket. The hose suddenly turns off, and I'm left gasping for air. I can feel the commanders boot press down hard on my shoulder, and I scream loudly. "Animal abuse, and nothing more, bitch. Remember that." He pulls his foot off and goes to leave. "Fix her, or don't... do what you want. I'm done breaking her spirit... It's up to you fine gentlemen to break her mind." A burning pain races up my arm as I feel them pop the shoulder back into place, I can only guess what plans they have for that hand later. Again they swarm in around me and begin jockeying for position, for which hole they get. I'm unable to scream, either my body is too tired from complaining, or it's the throbbing member shoved into my maw and partially into my throat. Whatever it is, I'm almost grateful that I can't shriek or howl as I feel another, larger cock pierce my tailhole, stripping away my virginity. I can only imagine the painful howl that should be pervading the air. It's only another moment or two before a third cock worms its way into my cunt, stripping away the last shred of decency I have left. After that, it's fighting over what is left of me; my hands and my chest. "Scrawny bitch hardly has any tits! Look at 'em! I can hardly press 'em around my cock. How fuckin' pathetic." I can feel them, inside me, around me, rubbing themselves back and forth as hard as they can. They grip my head fur, and pull tightly as they yell at me. "Fuckin' jack me off, you filthy whore, or so help me God I'll snap your neck like a fuckin' chicken bone!" Hours fall off the clock. Every time I open my mouth, all I can see is the ball sack of another sweating male, his scent flooding my nostrils. I can smell him, as I can every other male in the room. Even their seed fills my nostrils, but it's not the scent anymore. Too undignified, they said, to let me swallow their cum, they pull out of my mouth and blast me in the face with a massive, thick, gooey wad of cum. It coats my muzzle, my eyes, even up my nose. My eyes burn, but it feels good; my body begins to betray me. I can feel myself grip them tighter, tug on them harder, more fervently, more desperately. My hips grind up to them, moving along in their uncompassionate rhythm. I can hear them laughing at how easy I was to break into my new role as their fuck toy. I clench my tailhole tight around one, flexing my stomach muscles to tighten up around the one in my cunt. I can feel them, one by one, empty their seed in my holes, across my throat, across my chest. They pull out, leaving me sopping wet and full of cum. Their replacements step up. "Nah, I don't mind sloppy seconds. All you did was loosen her up a bit! And with this pure specimen of Alabama Blacksnake, she'll need all the loosening she can get!" It's enough to make me gag, as hard as I fight it; it feels like a stallion has just invaded my throat, my ass, and my cunt. I feel every part of me stretch to accommodate them and their thrusting. I open my eyes, and I don't see a dark skinned human, I see a Mustang, his hands around my jaw and prying it open with such force that I couldn't bite even if I tried. My own kind? Beasts, just like me? I can feel them shoving themselves all the way in, with inches to spare. My body can't stretch anymore, but part of me wishes they could fit themselves all the way inside of me. I'm pawing them off shamelessly, taking in the musk of the Mustang in my mouth, loving it when he rests his sack right against my nose. I'm lapping at his shaft, rubbing my tongue as hard as I can. Bodies are rocking and rubbing, grinding away against one another. Their massive sacks are slapping against my body, causing me to moan and shiver at every thrust. Almost in unison, I can feel them bulge and throb inside of me and in my hands, letting go their heavy loads all about me. They drop me to the floor, and it's time for the hose again to keep me disoriented. I'm awake, slowly, curled up by the side of a line of pillows that I have to take the place of Sasha, and I'm holding them tightly and the one by my face is covered in tears. I can smell the bourbon I'm still gripping tightly. Letting the empty bottle fall to the floor, I sit up and wipe away what tears remain. I slowly go through my morning motions. Underwear, Kevlar, uniform, firearms, cover. I take two aspirin and guzzle a pint of water, trying to kill the dull throb that has greeted me every morning since she died. It's a miracle I can get any sleep, and a blessing if it's free of nightmares. A knock at my door as I begin to undo all the locks I have to keep people out. As it swings open, I see a fellow soldier in front of me. I look at his nametag stitched over his right breast, Rojinra. It sounds vague to me, like a memory long since past. My eyes are bloodshot, I can feel them burning; it's too early for this. "Ma'am? Do you remember me? I'm sorry I left you behind." Before he can say anything else, I already know his first name is Raijin. I know everything about him, right down to the size of his cock. Yet I can hardly remember how it is I know all of this. * * *
And so there's the introduction of a new character. The only person I think is actually reading this crap. God bless him for humoring me. We'll get into him in Number Five. Might be taking a break from this arc to do a bit for Vixentamer. Never been one for fanfiction, but gods know I'll do my best.