Interview
This story is written as a first draft in the submission box without any prior outline or drafts. It's a creative experiment and a short story to show that I'm still alive and that one day there will be another real story.
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The room was cold and wet. The walls looked like brick painted a thousand times with cheep olive drab house paint. The thick globs of green, frozen forever and drooling from the once rough surface were themselves topped with dust, cobwebs, and unidentifiable filth that had the look of flaking rust. The floor was hard packed dirt. The ceiling was a bowed and rotted collection of boards holding back even more dirt that looked like it wanted nothing more than to sift through the gaps and now-empty knot holes until it had filled the dark place forever. There was one door - metal, huge, and coated in patches of rust like scabs over more olive drab. There was a chair and a desk - both made of the most angular and uncomfortable metal ever imagined. They would've shone with a kind of brushed metallic brilliance if not for the fact that the only light in the room was an antique bulb with a thick dimly glowing filament and soot all over the glass. It hung under a metal cone - also olive drab. The pair dangled from the power cord that kept them lit, which ran tacked to the ceiling with rusted and bent nails over the door, where it seemed to wriggle up into the dirt and into parts unknown. As it was, the light only made the desk and chair - and the girl sitting in the chair - look sickly yellowish red.
She turned her hands over, looking at them. She was a soft-spoken and shy ferret. Everyone she had ever known had just run right over her personality and used her for what they wanted, but she was proud that she wasn't like other ferrets. She saw them as vapid and flighty. She had a rich inner life. She also had the most brilliant and pure white fur. The boys used to love furrowing their cocks through it, leaving equally white strands along her thighs and ass cheeks. They would paint her body with rivulets of pearly sheen. She felt sad thinking about it. She would've preferred to have gone her whole life used and forgotten like that rather than go through what she was facing. In recent days, she realized, she'd been forced to open her mouth and use a voice she thought she'd forgotten to gasps and raspy mornings after deep-throating. She had a reputation as easy, and she had had a lot of sex, but she didn't deserve this, she thought. She had always had her pure white fur and her innocence, she thought. As she looked at her palms, though, and the backs of her hands, she was a sick yellow with a bloody tinge, she thought.
She jumped in her seat as a tall, muscular doberman opened the heavy door easily and slammed it shut with a clank. The lock that kept her inside now kept him too, and the latch clicked and tinkled such that she felt she could imagine freedom crumbling away from her.
He opened a manilla folder and thumbed through some papers as he walked to the desk, sitting on the edge so that there was an uncomfortable lack of space between him and her. His uniform was smooth and lacked any trace of starch or pressing or wrinkles. It had simply been worn so long that it had given up the will to hold a shape. His belt buckle and the buttons on his shirt were all made of what looked like tarnished brass. Little threads peaked out from seams and his face wore a tired kind of resolve. His boots were dusty and gave no impression of fitting snugly. Rather, they were like leather turned cotton, wilted and themselves as close to threadbare as tanned dumb animal hide could be. The only tight fitting part of his outfit, and she blushed for having noticed, was his crotch. Surely, he had been doing something more exciting before coming to see her. He was thick. He wasn't erect, at least, not all the way, but anyone who had ever sucked a cock could tell that what was pressed against his zipper could choke you or make you scream.
"I want you to tell me what happened."
Her shoulders slumped and she looked like she was about to cry. Her nose wrinkled up and she had a little rise of pitiful rebellion pushing her face forward and so that it looked into his eyes.
"I've told the story I don't know how many times! I've given every detail! They keep asking me to- to- to tell it... like something will change! They ask me what color everything is because they think I'm lying and wont be able to remember so I tell it like a story and then they don't believe me because it sounds like a story and they say I'm lying!" She sobbed a little, three tears falling into her lap.
"This is what you wore that night?" He looked more annoyed at her crying than anything else. He was very serious and businesslike about his questioning, and resented her failure to follow simple commands.
She sniffed, "Yes, you haven't given me anything else to wear."
He slipped off the desk and walked around her, pulling her chair away from the desk and turning it so it no longer faced it's furniture companion. She gripped the seat and went rigid. She had been questioned over and over, and accused of all kinds of things, but nobody had ever done anything like this.
"You haven't showered since then?" He stood in front of her and looked down, still uncomfortably close.
At this, she felt a little more angry. "Of course I haven't nobody has let me leave this room in two days!" She was a bit of a mess. She smelled of fucking. She smelled strongly of fucking. Her hair, though she had tried to fix it, was still as tangled as it was long, a matted mess down just past her shoulders. Her top was a black t-shirt, stretched at the collar so bad that a hint of cleavage showed. One sleeve was also upset such that it seemed to drape off her arm uselessly. She had a short black skirt that when she sat ended mid thigh. It was a thick cotton but softer than a denim, pleated and pretty.
He cleared his throat and dropped the manilla folder on the desk. He pressed two fingers to his crotch so that they straddled the tip of his thick sheath, showing it off. He seemed to start speaking unsteadily, but quickly found his confidence.
"The reason we keep having you tell the story, Ms Felps, is that we want to fuck you. We want to fuck you silly. We want to fuck you so hard you forget about the rape and everything else and die in a puddle of cum 'cause there's nothing left for you to accomplish on earth after having been fucked so hard and so thoroughly."
She sat, shivering, in shock. He stepped closer and crouched between her legs, her short stature and his tall frame leaving them face to face. He leaned in so she could feel his breath.
"We caught the men who raped you later that night. They died when they tried to escape. We just love the way you talk about them fucking you."
While he spoke he forced the middle finger of his right hand between her legs and stabbed blindly for her cunt, missing and causing her to jump in pain. The jump helped him find her cunny and his finger dragged her flesh as it sank all the way in.
"We're going to let you go today. Everyone's had their fun listening to you tell the story. But I think I can have more fun with you than just hearing you talk about how some punk guys came in you one after the other from sun down to sun up..." He curled his finger so that it rubbed at her g-spot "I could just rent a porno if I wanted to be teased and turned on. I want to feel what as so amazing about your cunt that they committed a crime punishable by death for it." He pulled his finger out and licked it clean in front of her. "That crime, however, can't be committed by an officer in the armed services. They felt it inhibited our ability to interrogate female suspects."
She gulped and began crying again. She was silent as the tears rolled down her face. She was motionless as he bent down and lifted her skirt. She nodded to his questions without hearing them as he asked if the stains on the inside of her skirt were from the boys that raped her. Her mind was swimming in some ether of pure, distilled sorrow. She was an ugly yellow-red... thing. She was garbage. She wondered if those boys raping her, and the two days of questioning... she wondered if she looked to all these people exactly how she looked to all the men she let use her over the years. Bricks and a chair or a bar and a bathroom. Dirt and a dangling light or her bedroom and a bottle of champaign.
He examined her skirt and her inner thighs, marveling at how soaked it had once been with cum. Now it was a matted and dried mess, but once... once it must've been fucking incredible. It must've been so easy to grab her legs and fuck blindly, the thick coating of cum slipping your dick in her ass or her cunny, both already stretched and soaked and slippery - burning hot and waiting. He couldn't take it anymore. He began suckling the dried cum from her skirt.
She looked up at the ceiling and watched little grains of dirt creep through the wood and fall into the air. The larger bits would hit the floor while the smallest particles would fade into the still, cold air. It was very cold, she kept thinking. Her nipples hurt they were so hard. They must be nearly cutting through her t-shirt. She heard his slurping and felt his head between her legs. She assumed she had become numb from the neck down.
"This is finally it," she thought, "I was raped, and now I'm dead... I can't feel human touch... they stole it from me."
He moved from the fabric, now wet with his saliva, to her thighs. He pressed his mouth to the insides of her legs like an open mouth kiss and slowly licked her clean.
The cold damp air filled her lungs in a gasp, which left in a soft moan. No, she hadn't lost feeling, he just hadn't started touching her. His lips... his tongue... his... cleaning her? She felt something she thought was fucked out of her. She found passion and lust. She found a deep, yearning desire. She bit her lip so hard that when she let up a spot of blood trickled into the fur of her chin. She wanted to bury - to kill these feelings forever. Why, she kept thinking, would they come to her when she was being raped.
He panted heavily against her slit, but didn't touch it with his mouth. He cleaned every inch between her legs but he wouldn't touch her cunny. Instead, he lightly bumped against her clit with his cold canine nose and stood up.
"If you want to leave, ask me to leave. If you want me to fuck you, get ontop of that desk face down and lift your tail, and I will fuck you until I cum."
She spat at the ground beside her. "fuck." it was an expletive, not an answer, and she said it under her breath to herself.
"What did you say?" He seemed ready to laugh, terribly happy.
"Fuck!" It didn't dawn on her that he thought she was answering his question.
"Well then get the fuck on the desk and let me fuck you."
"I- I mean!" She suddenly looked shocked and terrified, realizing what she'd said. "I didn't mean it like that!"
"So what do you want"
She sat there as emotion drained out of her. The little bits of food and water they gave her left her feeling lightheaded now that her heart was racing. She couldn't think of anything. She had no self, no inner dialogue, and no intentions of her own.
He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was hard now. It was huge. It curved and glistened like a dog's dick tends to, but it was just a little curvier, a little slicker, and a lot bigger. He wrapped his hand around it and started to stroke. "We don't have a lot of time, little slut."
She shakily stood up and walked over to the desk. She closed her eyes and leaned down, reaching out and gripping the far end of the cold metal surface with every bit of what little energy she had left.
He looked down and drooled. He let his spit slide from his broad tongue down between her ass cheeks. He spat into her tail and laughed to himself as the slimy fluid was lost in the fluffy fur. He furrowed his cocktip through her fur and left glistening clear traces. She winced at the familiar feeling. Guys seemed unable to resist doing it to her, and she loved it.
He pressed the pointed tip of his cock against her cunny and let it slide steadily to the root. She held her eyes closed as he rocked the desk across the floor. She winced and cried when he fucked her and the desk against the wall and her fingers were caught, but she couldn't free them, and what was a little pain. The throbbing feel of the metal holding her fingers against the brick and the rhythmic pounding of all that force at her cunny drove her instincts for life and survival and happiness away and left her as a thing to be fucked.
He growled as he pulled out slowly and let his pre spitting tip drag up to her ass. He knew from the story she had told of the rape that she could take a hard fuck up the tailhole, and he wanted to see how tight such a slut could be, so he dug his claws into her hips and pounded with reckless abandon.
Her toes curled and she shivered. Her mind and body had surrendered and she shook violently through orgasm after orgasm. She clenched her ass around his cock as he fucked and he pulled out and went back to her cunny. Her cunny rippled and milked his dick while he fucked and he pulled out and yanked her tail, holding her body up by it while fucking her ass again. He seemed to fuck without ceasing and without cumming.
When she felt she may as well just die or be fucked for the rest of her life he took a step back, yanking the desk from the brick. She lifted her hands and opened and closed her fists, testing to see if her fingers would still work. She was racked by she didn't know how many orgasms, and her mind was clouded by... by everything. Her eyes struggled to focus and he saw his hand stroking his cum covered cock. She felt a warmth all over her ass and between her legs like fire. She realized just how big his dick was and her holes ached from abuse. She was drenched in cum from the stomach down to the knees. He was saying something, but she had a hard time hearing.
"Where do you want the tenth load, bitch"
She didn't understand... was he joking? No man fucks for ten loads. She shook her head and looked around. Every military uniform that had heard her story in the last two days was standing around with a hard, cum soaked dick, stroking it idly. She fell against the metal desk and lay on her back, reaching out with her eyes shut, gesturing for the men waiting for their second or third turns to just come over to her. They had gone one at a time before, and she hadn't realized it.
"I can't tell who is fucking me... I can't tell when they start or when they stop..." she thought somewhere deep in her mind as a cock slid in her mouth and her hands each found one of their own. Her ass was soon filled and a thick load of the dog's cum hit her breasts and face before he wiped his dick clean in her tail. "It doesn't matter... I'm just here to be fucked..."