prawnstar

"Gotta do 'em in stages," he says, as Soap kneels down in front of the first girl. She must be new still, she's gagged and bound with her eyes wet with tears, pussy swollen where it's exposed between her thighs. The latex suit she's wearing only bares her face, tits, and cunt- perfect to break her down, reduce her to parts.

She squeals around the gag as Soap pinches her clit. "Oh, she's a sensitive one," he comments, and fresh tears trickle down her cheeks. "What are you using on her?"

"Right now, nothing. Letting the boredom get her, and the fear. She still flinches when something touches her holes, so every little while I stick something up there to stretch her out." Ghost pinches the new girl's nose, closing it, as her hips jerk. Soap rubs harder over her clit. Her eyes roll. "She's fresh enough we're still introducing the liquid diet too. Between pissing herself all day and crying all night it's a bitch to keep her hydrated. But she'll get there, she's tough," and Soap smirks in triumph as her pussy clenches, folds all quivering, a shy thing trying to hide away from him.

"The other good part about doing it this way, is they see what's coming next," Ghost explains, releasing the new girl's nose. She pants, sobbing, and Soap gives her clit a last twist before letting go. "The collar keeps her looking right at her future," and the middle girl is moaning up at Soap.

She's less bound, head held up with a stiff collar but more of her skin exposed, tits hanging loose, and she wriggles her hips at Soap, feet flexing where they're bound behind her head. There are old tear stains on her cheeks, but her pussy is wet and slick, swollen like it's been recently fucked, asshole winking around the shiny plug filling it.

Ghost pulls out his cock, and smacks it against her cheek. She flinches, the cute face falling away before she drags it back on. "See? Middle ground, she wants it but hates it. I don't let her suck my cock without the ring gag yet, but she comes easy now, and begs for it." The head of his cock bumps over her lips, and she grunts, tongue sticking out, lapping.

Soap likes this middle girl, this work in progress. He's always been a fan of the underdog and this little thing is right up his alley, struggling and breaking all at the same time. He shoves a finger into her pussy, smiles at her, all charm and sweetness, and gets a cute little moan, hips rocking. Her tits are gorgeous, big heavy things with huge nipples, and Soap indulges himself in sucking on one as he fingers her.

"LT, you've been holding out on me," he scolds, popping off, and thumbs her clit. She whines, wordless. "Do you always have more than one going?"

"Eh, depends. Sometimes I want to focus on a project more. That's how I got my doll," and there's the third girl. Soap sees it immediately, the vacant look in her eyes, the drooling, dozy headspace of a pretty girl turned into a toy, and he slaps at the work in progress' pussy to make her moan as he shifts his attention away. "Sorry, love, this is more interesting," he says, and sees the way her eyes fill with tears, self loathing for it.

Ghost sees it too, and laughs. "Don't worry lovie, I haven't forgotten you," he croons, and Soap hears her choked moans and gags as Ghost shoves his cock into her mouth, squeezing past the gag, though he doesn't fuck her mouth- instead she squeals, garbled, around the heavy stream of piss, Ghost playing with her clit. "Drink or drown, you know the rules," he says, and Soap kneels down in front of the doll.

She's fucking beautiful, drooling, head lolling in the soft collar Ghost has her in. Nothing else, just miles of soft flesh all primed for the taking. Tits soft as silk, nipples so swollen and sensitive she moans when he thumbs over one, and her pussy is leaking steadily against her thighs. A right proper doll, perfect hot holes to fuck, and Soap takes his own cock out and touches it to her lips.

She sucks him down right away, sleek and smooth, trained up to swallow him without gagging, and Soap groans when her nose hits the base of his dick and stops, blinking up at him with dark cheeks and wet eyes, holding him in her throat.

"She won't move unless you say she can," Ghost comments. The doll shifts on her knees, ass raised up and head down. "I like making her pass out. She's a good fuck when she's blue," and fuck if that doesn't hit Soap right in the belly, a bolt of heat filling his cock, so the doll has to swallow around the thick throb of it, her face getting redder.

The new girl is squealing behind her gag, crying, though she might be having trouble breathing as well, all that snot. Middle one still gagging and coughing from Ghost's piss, and now the doll's lashes fluttering as she moans around his cock.

"You've really been holding out on me, mate," Soap says, and pulls the doll off, standing to wipe his cock off across her cheeks as she gasps. She moans in disappointment, fucking Christ, and Ghost cups her cheek gently. He's almost fond, looking down on her, the slick shine of her bare cunt and the drool on her lips and chin, and she wriggles up to him in delight when he tucks his cock into her throat, easy as anything, and holds her there.

"She's my first," he says warmly, "spent weeks breaking her, remaking her, training her up for myself. She's earned it all, done so good," the doll moans, "yes, love, so good. Showing off so pretty for my friend," and she looks over at Soap with big wet dumb eyes, like a cow walking to the slaughterhouse. Soap has to grip the base of his cock, Jesus fuck.

Soap gets an idea. "You know, LT, that new girl, you ever think about using the doll here to break her? Give her a proper taste of what's coming," and Ghost looks at him with a gleam in his eye.

It takes a bit to get the ropes and harnesses worked out, but the doll keeps them entertained, suffocating herself on Ghost until she can't stay upright anymore and slides off, eyelids closing, lips blue; then she sucks Soap off with her hands tied at her back, moaning, each flick of her tongue so eager it's obscene, until he gets too close and kicks her off to crawl back to Ghost and start again.

"She allowed to come?" Soap asks, as she moans around his balls; Ghost nods, working on a tricky knot around the new girl's neck, and Soap grips the doll at the base of her throat and spanks her pussy as she shudders and wails around him, coming almost instantly- she's so wet there's a puddle, and Soap pulls out of her throat with his own come leaving milky trails across her tongue and lips.

Sated, he can properly focus now, and helps Ghost get the new girl tied down- flat on her back, head lower than her hips, a wide band of rope across her throat to keep her from thrashing around. More ropes and cuffs keep her in place, knees bent and elbows locked to them, the soft vulnerable flesh of her pussy in range for any number of delights.

Ghost keeps the heavy gag on, and helps the doll stand up. She's wobbly like she's not normally upright. "Alright love, up you go," he urges, and the new girl's shrieks are muffled as the dolls sopping cunt lowers right over her face.

Soap grins. Perfect, two pretty things all tied up together- Ghost locks the cuffs around the dolls wrists to the new girls, puts her legs up as well so she's got most of her weight in the harness and the rest perched right onto the squealing little face between her thighs, no leverage to lift up or away, just grind- and glows inside at the warm approval in Ghost's gaze.

"Not a bad idea, Soap," he says, and strokes his cock as the doll's pussy does the work for him- the new girl can't move away, only cry and endure, as the doll moans and grinds over the leather gag, the bumps of the girl's lips and nose, her clit swollen and fat. "Good for her to see what I expect of 'er," and the new girl wails, sobbing.

"Enough of that," he scolds. "This is a good lesson. Learn from your betters," and behind him the middle girl moans, twisting around in her bonds. Her pussy is slick as well, and she begs with big eyes up at Ghost.

"Oh, you want some?" He asks, and she fucking nods, tongue drooling out past the gag. "Thought you'd had enough, the way you bitched about getting a drink before." Soap laughs.

"Maybe she's just jealous of the new girl," he jokes, and Ghost's low chuckle is mean and dark.

"No need to be jealous, sweetheart," he says, and drags the wet tip of his cock over her cheek. "Wanna have a taste of what the doll gets?"

Soap grins, and leans up against Ghost as he fits his cock into the girls throat, working it in- not as easy as his doll, but she takes it, eyes bulging as she tries to wriggle away. Too late for that, love, Soap thinks, and kneels down to play with those tits.

Each pluck and pinch makes her pussy clench, his mouth on them makes her moan, but Soap can see the way she's getting desperate as Ghost shows no sign of pulling back, letting her breathe. It's like the stages of grief- the brief flash of anger, the denial, the way she blinks up and tries to suck like that'll help her, as her air grows thin and eyes grow dark. Her pussy still craves it, still clenches and pulses around his finger, but the brain is still in charge, still a girl trying to fight when she needs to give up.

The girl's belly heaves, and Soap moans as she makes a gagging noise, slimy bile bubbling at her nostrils, eyes rolling back as the attempt to heave Simon's cock from her throat fails. Her clit throbs, and Soap pinches it as she spasms, Ghost moaning, stroking his balls as her spit and bile foam out around his cock.

When she goes limp in the cuffs, Ghost pulls out, bending her forward as much as possible and slamming his fist into her back, her sides, and she chokes and heaves and gasps, breathing, as Soap shoves his cock in and fucks her hard, making her take it, pussy going from soft to tight in a heartbeat.

"Fuck, oh fuck LT," he gasps, close to coming, and Ghost puts his hand on Soap's neck and squeezes.

"Gonna come, Johnny?" He rumbles. "Gonna fill her up for me? Never had a pregnant pet before," and oh fuck, yes he's gonna, gonna breed up this little thing until she's fat with his baby, break her on his cock and hand Ghost the shining results, the cock-slave drooling after him with milk-heavy tits, and Johnny comes with a groan, cock pumping, Ghost's own rubbing against his lips, sharing the taste of his precome and the girls spit like a kiss between them.

Soap takes a minute before he pulls out, admiring the wet gleam of his come in her hole. Poor little work in progress, still limp and gasping, and Soap almost wants to cuddle her a bit, suck on her tits more, but Ghost is going to check on the new girl and the doll, so Soap only pats her cheek with a smile and leaves her.

The idea he had is working well, new girl straining to breathe around the slick that's puddling on her face, her cheeks and nose, as the doll moans and comes again, using the girl's face like a toy herself. There's even evidence of a little slick in the new girl's pussy, and Ghost scoops it up and offers it to Soap.

He takes it from both fingers, sucking, holding Ghost's wrist so he can flick his tongue at the space between them, clear as day, and Ghost laughs.

"You want what I'm offering? I'm not going to take it easy on you," he warns, and Soap always has loved a challenge.

It is a challenge, getting his throat open enough for Ghost's cock, but he manages, blinking away tears as Ghost cups his cheeks, strokes his hair, more tender even than with the doll; Soap's chest burns from more than lack of air. There's plenty of that too though, the oxygen in his blood falling off, and he can't even swallow around Ghost, the weight and girth too much. Soap's cock drools a little, soft and hanging over his balls, as he heaves and clenches on his knees.

The middle girl had fought it, had begged, but Soap feels more in line with the doll, so pleased to be pleasing, so at peace with the existence Ghost had remade her into. Pain and pleasure, deprivation and overstimulation, and Soap keeps his lips tight around Ghost's cock as he moans.

"Fuck, Johnny, you've been gagging for it for a while, yeah?" He pants. "Didn't know you were this eager or I'd have brought you home sooner. There we go, fucking- yes, come on," and Johnny's body wants to heave off and breathe, but he doesn't, he locks his arms around Ghost's thighs and chokes and suffocates as black spots dance across his eyes. "Look at you. Choking yourself dumb on my cock. Do this enough and we'll kill off enough brain cells this is all you'll be good for," oh fuck, "turn you into another toy, fuck your hole until it's so loose and sloppy you can't even keep a plug inside," oh fuck, oh, he can't, he needs to breathe and come and let go, he can't let go, not with Ghost's hand on his head, the other thumbing at the tears on his cheeks.

"Gonna come, Johnny," Ghost croons, "gonna make me come with that tight little throat." His hips jerk, grinding more than thrusting, but enough that Soap gags around it. His pulse pounds in his ears. Fuck his chest hurts. "Don't think I don't see that little cock leaking. You gonna come from suffocating on my dick? Do it," and the brain really must be the biggest sex organ, because that sharp command blows right past the burn in his throat, his lungs, down to his cock and balls and punches the orgasm out of him, Soap's eyes rolling and body heaving as Ghost pins him between his thighs, moaning, spurting come so thick and hot it comes back up from his throat and out his nose as Ghost pulls his cock out to jerk the last few spurts over Soap's face.

He collapses, wishing he had a collar or harness to hold him up, but the concrete floor is nice and cool away. The little room reeks of sex, the doll still moaning and coming on her toy, middle girl half-passed out with Soap's come leaking from her pussy, and Soap feels amazing, feels like he could fly, because Ghost is kneeling down with him and smiling, eyes crinkled up under the mask, proud and pleased.

They peel the doll away from the new girl eventually, leaving her in the bonds with slick on her face, crying steadily, and put her back into her soft collar. She smiles up at them both, sucking at Ghost's fingers in thanks, pussy so hot and wet Soap can barely touch his fingers to her clit and she moans, shuddering; the middle girl whines as they step past her, Ghost ignoring her entirely- let her feel the ache, the need for more attention, so that when he comes back she'll rage at herself before crawling over and begging to be abused again.

"Doing what?" Your tone was ice.

"This." He gestured vaguely between you. "Whatever this is."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just standing here."

"Right. In front of every drawer I need."

"Maybe you should've packed earlier."

"Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with you instead."

That landed like a punch because it was true. You felt your jaw tighten. You moved away from the dresser, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall. Simon didn't say anything else, just continued packing with that methodical calm that made you want to scream.

Usually, you helped. Usually, you'd already have his gear laid out, would be tucking protein bars and some snacks into the side pockets, would be fussing over whether he had enough socks, enough shirts, enough everything to keep him safe and comfortable and alive out there.

But you couldn't do it tonight. Couldn't make this easier for him, for either of you. If you helped him pack, you were helping him leave, and you–

You just couldn't.

"You need to take snacks," you said abruptly.

Simon glanced up. "I will."

"No, you won't. You always forget."

"Then I'll grab something on base."

"Base food is tasteless."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine, it's–" You cut yourself off, turning away. This was stupid. You were being stupid. "Forget it."

Simon straightened, a shirt in his hands, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"Whatever you're actually pissed about."

"I'm not pissed."

"You've been in a mood for three days."

"I don't have moods."

"Love." His voice was soft, careful. "I know you're–"

"Don't." You held up a hand. "Just.. pack your bag. I'm going to get ready to sleep."

You left the room before he could respond, padding down the hall to the bathroom and shutting the door harder than necessary. In the mirror, your reflection looked tired, eyes too bright, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Get it together, you told yourself. He always comes back. He promised.

But the fear sat in your chest anyway, heavy and cold, because promises didn't stop bullets. Didn't prevent accidents or explosions or any of the thousand ways you could lose him.

You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and went through the motions. When you came back to the bedroom, Simon was zipping up his duffel, movements precise and final.

You wanted to argue, to pick a fight, to do anything that would make him stay just a little bit longer. Instead, you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up and turning to face the wall.

The room was quiet for a long moment. Then the light clicked off, and you felt the mattress dip as Simon got in behind you. He didn't touch you, didn't pull you close like he usually did, and the space between your bodies felt like miles.

You squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself to sleep.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂‪♡ ₊ ⊹

The Next Morning - 4:00 AM

When you woke, it was still dark.

The alarm hadn't gone off yet - you could tell by the quality of the silence, that particular stillness that existed in the hours before dawn. But you were awake anyway, hyper-aware of Simon's presence beside you, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He wasn't asleep either. You could tell by the tension in him, the way he was lying too still.

Neither of you said anything.

Minutes passed. Five, maybe ten. The alarm would go off soon - 4:30, like always - and he'd get up, get ready, and leave. The thought made your chest constrict.

You shifted slightly, and immediately Simon's arm came around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You went willingly, desperately, pressing yourself into him as his other arm slid beneath your neck. His face buried in your hair, and you felt him breathe you in.

"Hi," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

"Hi."

Your legs tangled with his, and you grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together and pulling his arm tighter around you. Like if you held on hard enough, he couldn't leave. Like you could keep him here through sheer force of will.

Simon's thumb traced patterns on your stomach, slow and soothing. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, strong and steady, and you wanted to stay in this moment forever. Before alarms and goodbyes and the empty space in the bed that would stretch out for weeks.

"Gotta get up soon," he said quietly after a while.

"No."

"I need to shower and get ready."

"No." Your grip on his hand tightened.

"Love."

"Stay here with me."

He was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "You know I can't."

"Five more minutes."

"Already past that."

"Then ten more."

You felt him smile against your skin. "Alright. Ten more."

You lay there in silence, wrapped around each other, and you counted each second like it mattered. Because it did. They all did.

When the ten minutes passed - you knew it was more than ten, knew he was giving you extra time - Simon stirred.

"I really need to get up now."

"No, you don't."

"Love, I really need–"

"I need you here." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

Simon sighed, not frustrated but understanding, and settled back down. His arms tightened around you, and you felt his lips against your temple.

"I know," he said softly.

You turned in his arms so you were facing him, immediately pressing yourself closer, your face finding the space between his neck and shoulder that felt like it was made for you. He smelled like sleep and home, and you breathed him in, trying to memorize it.

"I don't want you to go," you whispered against his skin.

"I know."

"I hate this."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

His hand stroked down your back, slow and gentle, and you felt the tears building behind your eyes. You blinked them back furiously. You'd cried enough about deployments. You were supposed to be better at this by now.

But you weren't. You never were.

Another five minutes passed. Maybe ten. Time felt both too fast and too slow, each second slipping away while simultaneously stretching into eternity.

Finally, Simon shifted. "I have to get up now. For real this time."

"No."

"You know I have to."

"I know." Your arms tightened around him anyway. "I know, I just..I hate it. I hate that you have to go, hate that I have to stay here and wait and worry, I hate–" Your voice cracked. "I hate all of it."

"I know." He cupped the back of your head, holding you close. "But I always come back. Every time."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. I have something to come back to now." His thumb stroked through your hair. "I have you."

The tears came then, hot and unwelcome, and you pressed your face harder into his chest to hide them. But your shoulders shook, gave you away, and Simon's arms banded around you tighter.

"Hey," he murmured. "I've got you."

But you didn't want him to have you. You wanted to have him, wanted to keep him here where he was safe, where you could touch him and hear his voice and know he was alive.

Eventually, your grip loosened. Not because you wanted to let go, but because you had to. Because he had a job, had people counting on him, had a duty that existed long before you came into his life.

You pulled back with a shaky exhale, and Simon pressed a kiss to your forehead before sliding out of bed. You watched him head to the bathroom.

The shower turned on, and you lay there in the dark, staring at nothing.

When the water shut off, you sat up, pulling your knees to your chest. The bathroom door opened, and Simon emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel around his waist. He saw you watching and paused.

"You okay, love?"

“I’m fine.” You answered in a sad tone while looking at him, memorizing the way water dripped from his hair, the scars that mapped his chest, the steadiness in his eyes that you'd come to rely on.

He got dressed efficiently - tactical pants, belt, shirt. Each piece of clothing felt like armor going on, like he was becoming someone else. Someone who belonged to the mission, not to you.

When he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, you turned away, facing the wall.

You heard him pause. He exhaled softly, then the boots hit the floor with a dull thud. He rose, his footsteps moving slowly around the bed.

A moment later, he was kneeling on the floor in front of you, eye level, too close to ignore.

"Look at me."

You kept your eyes closed forcefully.

"Look at me, sweetheart"

Slowly, your gaze slid to his face. He was watching you with that expression - the soft one, the one that was just for you, the one that made your chest ache.

"I can't leave without saying goodbye," he said quietly.

"Sure you can. You have legs. You can walk right out that door."

"I won't."

"Why not?"

"Because you matter more than being on time."

That cracked something in you. Your face stayed neutral, blank, but something in your eyes must have shifted because Simon reached out, cupping your face with both hands.

"Come here," he murmured, and you couldn't resist anymore.

You leaned into his touch, and he stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs, gentle and careful. Like you were something precious. When you nuzzled into his palm, seeking more contact, more warmth, more him, you felt wetness on his fingers.

You were crying again. Silently this time, tears sliding down your cheeks and over his hands.

"I don't want you to go," you whispered, voice breaking. "I don't want you to go. I'm going to miss you so much, and I'm going to be here alone, and I–"

Simon stood abruptly, and before you could process it, he'd lifted the covers and climbed into bed with youl. He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped tight around you, and you clung to him, fists grabbing his tactical vest.

"I've got you," he murmured into your hair. "I've got you, love. I'm right here."

"You're leaving."

"Not yet" He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then your temple, then your cheek. "Right now, I'm here."

You burrowed closer, and he shifted so you were practically on top of him, your full weight pressed against his chest. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other stroked up and down your spine in long, soothing motions.

Your crying slowed gradually, reduced to occasional hitches in your breathing. Simon just held you through it, patient and steady, pressing kisses to your hair, murmuring quiet reassurances that you only half-heard but fully felt.

When you finally went still, just breathing against him, he shifted slightly.

"Better?"

You nodded against his chest.

"Can I see your face?"

Reluctantly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His expression was impossibly soft, eyes searching yours, and when you met his gaze, he leaned down and kissed you.

It was slow, achingly gentle, like he was trying to pour everything he couldn't say into it. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"I will come back to you," he said, quiet and certain. "I always do. I always will."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He kissed you again, briefer this time. "You're stuck with me, remember? 'Til I'm dead and buried."

"Don't joke about that."

"Not joking. It's a threat. You'll never get rid of me."

Despite everything, you felt your mouth twitch. "Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You took a shaky breath. "But you still have to text me. And call when you can. And FaceTime."

"Every chance I get."

"And you have to send me pictures. Even if they're just of your terrible base coffee."

"It's terrible coffee."

"I know. That's why I need photographic evidence that you're suffering appropriately."

His mouth curved. "There is my girl."

You managed a weak smile, then sighed, your hand coming up to rest over his heart. You could feel it beating, steady and strong, and you pressed your palm flat, trying to memorize the feeling.

"You should go," you said softly, even though it killed you. "You're going to be late."

"I don't care."

"Simon."

"Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago."

"And I'll say it again in five minutes." But he was already shifting, carefully extracting himself. "But you're right. Price will have my head."

You let him go, watching as he stood. He looked down at you, something complicated passing across his face, then leaned down and kissed your forehead.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you too." You caught his hand before he could pull away completely. "Be safe. Please."

"Always am."

"Simon."

He squeezed your hand. "I'll be safe. I promise."

You held his gaze for another moment, then nodded. He kissed your lips one more time, then straightened.

At the door, he paused, looking back at you. You were still in bed, covers pooled around your waist, his shirt drowning your frame, eyes red but dry now.

"I'll call tonight," he said.

"Okay."

"And I'll be home before you know it."

"Three weeks is not before I know it."

"It'll fly by."

"For you, maybe. You'll be busy getting shot at."

"I don't plan on getting shot at."

"You never plan on it. It just happens."

His mouth quirked. "Fair point." He tapped the doorframe twice. "Lock the door behind me?"

"I always do."

"I know. Just–"

"I will. I promise."

He nodded, held your gaze for one more long moment, then turned and walked away.

You listened to his footsteps down the stairs, heard him grab his duffel from by the door, heard the front door open and close. Heard the lock click.

Then silence.

You sat there for a while, just breathing, staring at the empty doorway. Eventually, you got up, padded downstairs, and double-checked the lock like you'd promised.

The house felt too big without him. Too quiet. Too empty.

These goodbye mornings never got easier. The fear never lessened, the ache never dulled. But somewhere over the past years, you'd learned to carry it differently - not as a burden, but as proof. Proof that you had something worth missing. Someone worth waiting for.

And when he came home - when, not if, because he always did - you'd be right here.