Another scream rips out of my raw, burning throat as the sting of John's lash strikes me in the back. I can do nothing to avoid it – my arms are extended up and to the sides, the shackles at my wrists connected to the pine trees on either side of me by short, thick chains. The smell of sap and dirt and sweat fills my nose, and I'm only now picking up the coppery scent of blood mixed in with it. My head hangs as I cry openly, shoulders rolling as the burning lick from his bullwhip welts and bleeds and splits in places. Beyond the dirty ropes of brown hair hanging in front of my face, I lift my bowed gaze up to look at the fireflies off in the night time woods. They float around so serenely, not seeming to care that I'm suffering without any chance of rescue. My vision blurs, and I can hear his foot shift in the leaf litter. He's pulling back for another strike, and I tense, waiting for the fire to come again.
This scream is louder than the last, as all the others were louder than their predecessors. I can hardly stand anymore. My skinny, naked body sags in its bonds, and I hear John start complaining as he strides over and grabs me by the hair, forcing my head back.
"God damnit, Bitch, get on your feet!" he snarls.
"I'm Annie, you disgusting fuck" I insist, spitting up at his cheek. Even so I have to get my feet under me as he lifts me up by the hair. It's that or have a chunk of my scalp torn out.
"It's Bitch until I say it isn't." A solid, wet, meaty thud echoes through the black tree trunks as he slams the handle of his whip into my torn back. The impact more than the sting makes me tug on my bonds and choke off a sob just as it's leaving my throat. He hits me again, and again, and again until I jerk backwards towards him and something happens to my left shoulder. I cry out in shock at the feel of it, like the joint popped in a big way, and he just rumbles his approval. "Thatta a girl." Again he hits me in the back, and then again, and I throw my head back as my spine arches and makes a disgusting sound. If you've ever snapped the joint of a chicken wing, you'll know what I mean.
My body contorts, tenses, pops, and changes as he keeps hitting me, but the pain grows less and less. My mouth moves and I try to speak, but the words just come out as noise. Nothing makes sense. It's like things are getting smaller and changing shape. It's getting lighter out very fast, and the smells of everything, even John, are so strong that I cough and splutter, trying to stop them from bombarding me all at once. And everything is so loud! My heart thunders in my ears, and every squeal of muscle and crackle and pop of my joints and bones sounds like the mortars and artillery fire I had witnessed during my service as an airman. It's like the world's coming to an end all around me, and all I can do is scream past pointed teeth and wait for it to collapse.
\\\
"Name. Rank. Service Number. Date of birth."
My eyes open up reluctantly, and through my bleary vision I see the tall, imposing figure of John looking down at me from maybe ten feet away. I'm on the floor, so I can only see his legs. Even so I know it's him. His voice just pisses me off that much that hearing it causes a Pavlovian response. I begin swearing.
"Fuck off, Fuckwit. Go-fuck-yourself, first class. Fuckity-fuckity-fuck-fuck-you. Nineteen-Eighty-Dick-Fuck A.D." My words are slurred, but I'm sure the message gets through.
I'm positive that it does right at the moment when he turns the valve on a pressure hose and blasts my naked body with icy water. Now I'm awake and spluttering, trying to get to my feet and finding myself unable to get further than a kneeling position while straining against the steel manacles at my wrists, ankles, and the heavy collar around my neck. The edges of the metal rings are beveled, so my struggles are ones of bruises and not bleeding.
"Let's try that again. Name. Rank. Service number."
My back hurts like a motherfucker, and as I reach behind it I can feel the angry flesh welted in a crisscross pattern of lash marks. "Baker, Annie. Senior Airman." I give up straining against the chains and kneel, glaring up at my host. "Three-six-six-four-one-five-five-eight-two, January tenth, nineteen-ninety." John knows I'm a veteran, so the Geneva Convention regarding prisoners of war doesn't really hold any water in this particular situation. I don't think it matters to him.
I've known John for a few years, ever since I met him at Creech Air Force Base in Nevada while I was serving as maintenance. The guy was on his way towards retirement at the ripe old age of fifty-five. And that was maybe two years ago. He'd been a chief master sergeant. An enlisted guy like the rest of us, and not some butter bar asshole. He took the time to talk with some of us, breaking up the monotony of all that hurry up and wait bullshit, and we liked him. I liked him. Which was why, when I finished my six-year service and went back home to Flint, Michigan and he sent me an email to ask how I was doing, I actually told him the truth.
I was doing shitty. My family's in Flint, rotting just like the cars in our yard. Even with all the training I had, there just weren't any jobs. Feeling like I was about to drown in the drama of my siblings, parents, and extended family fucking their lives into the ground with stupid choices and even stupider excuses, I leaped at the chance that John offered when he said he had a ten-day pass to a resort, all expenses paid, up north in the beautiful wilderness of the upper peninsula. I'd been up there camping when I was a kid, and I remembered it being a paradise compared to the town I called home. I accepted his invitation, and caught a bus two weeks later.
As I kneel here, wet, freezing, naked, and ruminating about how on earth I ended up in this situation, John sets the aluminum bucket beside him as he crouches in front of me. He's not a bad looking man – he's still fit, with the rugged, weathered face of a native Michigander who's been through too many frigid winters without bothering with a hat. The man's hair is still cut short to regs and has streaks of white in the otherwise coal-black scruff. Even though I'm twenty-four, I find the prospect of kneeling naked before this man, who happens to be more than twice my age, disgustingly hot. He probably knows it already.
"Airman, do you know why I chose to invite you to this place?" He still has that particular officious-yet-homey tone to his speech, like every superior I've ever had used as a prelude to chewing me out for a fuck up.
With a shiver and a held breath as my nipples tighten up to points, I swallow. "Because you're a f..." he gives me a look, and I stop that train of cussing at the station. "No, I don't know why you invited me here, Sir."
"Airman, I'm giving you a unique opportunity to cash in on some valuable skills. Skills that are just going to sit and stagnate in Flint. Skills that were neglected during your service."
What skills? Kneeling naked before him? Fuck, why does that thought appeal to me?! I don't say anything, though I do give him an obedient posture and a Fuck-You glint to my eye.
He chuckles. "All this cat and mouse bullshit's got you about ready to snap my dick off, doesn't it?"
"Yes Sir, it does."
"You think I've got you up here to fuck you, don't you." It's not even a question.
That catches me off guard, and I flush hotly. I fucking hate that I can't control that. "Uh... no, Sir."
"I've got you chained up, naked, in the basement of a hunting lodge... and you have no reservations?"
"You could have fucked me last night, Sir, but you didn't. Something happened." Why is it hard to remember what happened? I frown and try to lift a hand to my face, but the chain is just barely too short. That pisses me off, but I say nothing. Launching into another bitch fit won't get me anywhere, satisfying though it might be.
"It did. Your first step into a new and better life. I chose you, Airman, because you can handle this. You're tough as fucking nails. You got a lot of shit sent your way at Creech and you just took it and still came in to work every day."
"Just doing my job, Sir." God, if he launches into 'The troops are heroes' I'm going to lose my shit. Maybe it's a good thing I'm chained up.
"Like I said. It's second nature to you to just deal with pain and bullshit, and somehow just keep on going. You made it through last night. You can make it through anything now." There's respect in his voice, and he looks at me a little differently. I like how he looks, but I can't quite make my eyes meet his.
"So... why am I chained up and naked in a basement, Sir?" I finally ask, feeling oddly okay with being naked in front of him.
"For your protection." He shifts closer, and before I realize it his mouth is at my neck, kissing and sucking on it. I gasp as his calloused, thick-fingered hand reaches down between my parted thighs to start rubbing my pussy firmly. "Yes, good" he rumbles as I shudder and lean against him, closing my eyes. "Accept me."
I don't have much of a choice as his finger begins to push inside me. I haven't gotten laid in a long time so I'm tight, and my cunt is on fire because it's getting touched by someone that's not me. My hips rock on his digit, and I hiss as his teeth press against my throat, gripping my windpipe just beneath my jaw. Breathing becomes something closer to a privilege than a right, and as I gasp for air I can feel his finger drowning in my wetness. I don't even know how, but he finds just the right spot and starts finger banging me hard and rough. God, it feels like my heart's in my mouth, just behind his teeth, and I pull at the chains uselessly.
Just before I cum he stops, pulling away and leaving me empty. "No, no!" I moan hoarsely in between gasps for air. I struggle at the chains as he stands up, but I quiet down when I see the bulge in his slacks. My mouth waters as I wait for it, wanting him to pull it out. I want to suck the life out of it, because maybe in this sick, twisted game he'll reward me at the end. As he unzips and reaches a hand in, I realize that I should be horrified. How has this happened? How am I okay with being forced to accept all this? But I just... do. I accept it, like he said I should. I want to please him and I can't explain why.
When I see his fat, hard cock, flushed and already gleaming with the precum he's stroking on it, I lean forward to the limit of my chains. My shoulders ache, and I vaguely remember something fucked up happening to them last night. None of it matters when he shifts forward and lets me lick a drop of white pre from his slit. God it's good, salty and musky. I want more of it, and I strain harder, whining with pain and distress before he presses his shaft against my lips. With a soft groan I breathe him in, sliding my tongue and lips along his heated skin and tasting the salt of his lust. The vein along the underside of his prick pulses as he grunts and slides his hand through my hair. "Thatta girl. Suck'm."
His other hand is busy slowly stroking his dick, which leaves his nuts. He's shaved smoothly, and his left nut is easily sucked past my lips and gently toyed with. Somehow I manage the other as well, and I close my eyes as my tongue rolls them slowly against each other. His rumbling hum of pleasure flows from his body to mine by the mouth, and I hum against his flesh with pleasure for a while, lavishing his sack with adoration. The hand at his cock pumps faster and I can tell he's close. I'm not surprised when he pulls me away and holds my head still to shoot his load over my cheek and nose. I close my eyes and feel his molten spunk drip down over my lips and chin. When my lips part, strings of semen stretch and tremble as my hot, shaky breathing wafts by them.
"Oh Annie... you're always so willing, aren't you?" His words are kind and affectionate, and as his hand slides through my hair I take a moment to soak it in.
To say that John and I had merely chatted back in Creech would be a lie. I think. There'd been a lot of alcohol, and I vaguely remember insisting that I could blow him better than anyone ever had. I'm fairly certain that beneath the clear desert night I'd sucked him behind the dorms at 3am. Fraternization's a big deal, but I wasn't thinking clearly and neither was he, so I never brought it up. It's not like the guy took advantage of me; I'm insistent when I'm drunk. And I was blisteringly drunk that night.
\\\
The next few days are a blur of pain at night and waking up to chains and sex during the day. I like it, oddly enough. I'm granted periods of downtime to eat and rest and do what I like, and as the days pass I'm granted more freedom to wander around the hunter's lodge, and then out on the grounds. Usually I hated running, but now I love it. I can go so much farther, and it's almost like I have to work extra hard to even be tired. At night I remember more and more of what happens. The pain, the beatings, the anger, and the changes in my body, transformations that I can finally control. Sometimes I even remember being unchained and allowed to run, and John runs with me, both of us speeding along on four legs. I love running with him.
Near dawn one day, we come back to the lodge and change back. It's normal now to think that I can do this on my own. To change from a beast to a woman again, and for John to change from a beast to a man, it's just part of my life now. After we shift into human beings again, he likes to pin me to the floor face down and bite my neck. I squirm and gasp every time, accepting it and him on top of me. Of course I'd let him do that. I'd let him do anything. I'm his.
He's on top of me now, his weight pinning me to the warm, dusty stone by the dark fireplace. We're naked and warm from running, and as his teeth press into the back of my neck I can feel his cock grow hard against my ass. I cry out as his nails rake along my thighs and flanks, leaving angry red welts that begin to fade immediately, thanks to what I've become. After a few passes of his nails on my skin to get me ready, he hooks a hand beneath my hips and pulls me up, his own hips lifting up to let me move. With my chest still firmly pressed against the stone, I part my knees and offer myself. I'm glistening and soft and waiting, and I moan hotly as the bulbous head of his cock grinds against my lips in gentle bucks of his hips. John doesn't bother using his hands to guide himself in, instead using them to hold my shoulders down as I wait impatiently for him to find the right angle.
But oh, when he does I howl with pleasure. His cock spears into me until his flesh slaps against mine, grinding my tits and nipples over the stone. My fingers curl, nails digging against the rock beneath me as he fucks me hard and loud. My toes curl and my knees scrape as he claims me as his. It doesn't take long for him to crush his hips against mine and pump his seed deep into me. In this shape we don't have to worry about being tied together afterward, and so he's able to slip out of me immediately and fall to all fours behind me. Within moments I feel him covering my aching pussy with his mouth to clean me, ensuring that I cum too.
This morning, like every morning, he escorts me to the showers and helps me clean myself, using a sponge to get spots I can't reach. The lash marks on my back are gone, healed after only a few days. Even as he's soaping me up, I know today will be different. I try to ask him what's on his mind, but he remains silent, determined to have me very clean indeed. When we head back into the main room of the lodge I find out why. There are four other men waiting there.
I'm dressed in a terrycloth bathrobe, and I clutch it a little tighter around me as John greets each of the men with a smile and a handshake. I notice that he looks each one in the eye, and each of them look away first. I'm not quite sure how these things work yet, but it comforts me regardless. I get the feeling that John is still in charge here, and so I relax. It lets me look at each of the new comers and size them up. One's a younger man, about my age, slender and fit. The sort of guy who gets through basic and never stops looking that way. Another man in his thirties has the seething petty bitterness of an officer straight out of college who's known for what he is. The third man is about John's age but looks like a gentler sort of person who'd be content to hike his life away, and the fourth is a taciturn motherfucker, mid-thirties, who makes all the other intense black guys I've ever seen look like boy scouts. That guy makes me weak in the knees, and I can tell he knows based on the way he smirks at me.
John's saying something to me, and I snap my attention away from War Machine's understudy to listen. My host and mentor gives me an impatient look and I wilt a little, waiting for him to repeat whatever it was he said.
"Annie, pick one of our guests."
"For what, Sir?" I'm at once concerned and excited.
"You'll find out. Just choose someone." With a small smile, he adds "And you can't pick me." The other men chuckle and shift, and I get the impression that I'm picking one of them to fuck.
Okay, I can work with this. I look over each of them, studying them from boots to brows and back again. I mean, it's a complete sham; I just want to give myself a little time before throwing myself at the gorgeous black guy in the crowd and begging him to wreck me. The inevitable choice is made, and John tosses Mr. Intense a key with a tag on it. In about five minutes we're both in that room and naked, and Mr. Intense shoves me onto the bed and pushes my knees hard against my chest. The position makes me curl up with my ass pointing up, and before I can say anything his mouth is buried in between my cheeks. I'm loud in my surprise and I struggle and squirm, but his hands clamp down beneath my knees and forbid me from going anywhere. It's disgusting and amazing how his tongue prods, slides, and penetrates, moving from hole to hole, back and forth. It drives me crazy – I've never experienced this sort of oral before, and I'm so on edge that when I suddenly cum hard, I squirt.
The jet gets him in the cheek, and at first I'm worried that he's going to be offended. Yet he rises up above me, his brilliant white teeth shining out from his dark lips in a smile. One of his hands lifts to his face to wipe away the majority of it and rub it onto his dick, making it slick so that when he pushes it against my star he doesn't stick. The fit is tight and just barely doesn't hurt, and I pant as he sinks into my ass, inch by inch. The man says nothing as he keeps me pinned, and his hips saw his fat dick in and out of my ring.
My hands have nothing to do, so I try and reach down to rub at my clit, but he slaps my wrist. With a whimper I fold my arms beneath my head, biting my lip as he starts plowing my ass in earnest. The bed squeaks in time with his thrusts, and I feel myself getting hot and wet all over again when the door to the room opens.
I blink and flush hotly as John walks in, locking the door behind him. He gives Mr. Intense a cursory glance, looking over the man's gorgeous dark body as he takes me. Mr. Intense, for his part, glances at John but doesn't stop, not receiving any sign that he should. Of course, when John spots the glistening splatter zone on my partner's cheek, he turns the man's head towards him to get a better look. Only then does Mr. Intense stop and wait, his eyes cast downward.
"Oh, she likes you, Reginald" John rumbles with pleasure. "Carry on. I'll take care of her."
Reginald nods and starts fucking me again, and John undresses to be completely naked too. Perhaps seeing how John shifts to sit comfortably at the head of the bed, Reginald pulls out and moves me onto all fours. This puts my face inches from John's cock, which is quickly hardening. I give him an inquiring look and he nods, and with that permission I wrap my lips around his shaft, bobbing slowly until I can swallow at his crown. Hot wads of saliva are spit onto my star, Reginald's fingers spreading it around before he mounts me again from behind. The man's meat sinks into me faster this time, and in this position he ruts me hard and fast.
I can't help but time how I suck John with how the man behind me fucks me, and I feel like I'm just a conduit between them. The thought is dirty as hell and makes me drip down my thighs, and I use my right hand to start stroking the base of John's cock quickly as I suckle and twist my tongue around his head. He's getting close, but instead of cumming in my mouth, he lifts my head and draws me forward to straddle his lap. Reginald slides out of me and waits as John has me lower my pussy over his own cock and sink down onto it. It fills my neglected cunt fatly and I groan, clutching his shoulders and shivering as I stretch. Yet he holds me still even when I try to ride him, and his hands spread my ass cheeks wide in obvious invitation. Reginald, evidently, isn't going to be left out.
I'm held tightly as Reginald guides his cock slowly back into me. I can feel them both inside me now, their shafts so close, separated only by a few membranes. The fit is so tight that I breathe heavily and wince and whimper, though when John kisses me I relax and the pain goes away. I even enjoy it as my hips are moved to service them both. I can feel Reginald kiss along my shoulders even as John moves his mouth down to my throat. With their mouths at my nape and windpipe, I gasp and shudder, gripping John's shoulders tightly as I tense hard throughout my body. My holes clench like vices around both men, who then jerk and bury themselves deeply. They both spurt and fill me, their cocks pulsing thickly as the cum flows through them and into my body. It only occurs to me now that John's never used protection. Perhaps he'll get a child on me. I don't particularly mind that outcome.
And that's that. The stay at the resort ends, but I don't go back to Flint. I arrange to get my things delivered, and from that day on I live with John and Reginald in the woods. We live as we like, passionate and wild, just the three of us.