The water in the white tub is tinged pink from blood. It’s warm, almost too warm. Your skin tingles, prickling with the heat. You can’t say anything.

The shock is still rendering you useless.

Fingers bite into your arms, squeezing tight across your chest, almost as if you might hide it from sight. Nudity is not something to be ashamed of in your culture, but now it feels almost violating to have one of them looking at you.

Your eyes are locked on your knees in the water, the claw foot tub just deep enough for the water to cover the joints. One of them is swollen, the right leg already dark with bruising. Your ankle is just as bad, and between the joints teeth marks leak red into the water. It stings and throbs but no words leave your lips.

There’s a slow drip of blood, sliding over your lips to your chin before it plops quietly into the water. It’s a steady stream from your nose, has been since it hit the floor.

Screaming, body flailing in a weak attempt at breaking free. Nails rake across skin, the smell of blood. Falling headfirst, face smashing into the wood. A crack, blood seeping. Stunned, unable to see.

A hiss leaves your lips as the rag is pressed against your nose. Broken, you think. Ragged nails bite into the skin of your arms, chipped and broken.

Hands on ankles, dragging. Nails digging into wood grain. Pulling, pulling. A pop. More pain.

“Sorry.” His soft voice reaches your ears over the screaming in your head. His hand is gentle, dabbing softly at the inflamed cartilage. Beta, you think, the only ones capable of such a gentle touch. His words are just as soft, but there’s still an edge to them.

Are you? You think bitterly.

The blood slows its dripping, already healing. The rag passes over your mouth and chin, wiping away the rest of the blood. It’s dropped with a wet plop into the pile, the white stained pink with your blood. A fresh one is dipped into the water, already taking on a pinkish hue thanks to the bloody water.

He doesn’t hold back as he presses the rag against the wound on your shoulder. You whimper, jerking away from him, but his hand grips tightly, keeping you still. It burns, the pressure against the raw, open wound. It’s steadily seeping blood, staining your white hair pink.

Struggling, weight pushing, hot breath. The sharp burn of breaking skin, the deep ache of teeth sinking into muscle. Screaming, blood pouring.

“Took a chunk out.” He says, applying pressure to the aching wound. “Must’ve hurt.”

If you’d had the energy, you might have said something. Now you can’t even manage a glare. You’re nothing but a shell, being bathed by a stranger in a strange house, watching the bath water turn pink with your blood.

The wash cloth dabs at the mutilated skin, tears blurring your vision in pain from the pressure against such an injury. It’ll heal, just like the rest, leaving a scar in its wake.

A scar that represents the finality of your situation.

Tears slide down your cheeks, dripping into the water as he finishes, pulling the plug. Slowly the water starts to drop, gurgling as it’s sucked down into the drain. There’s a pink line on the side of the tub, stained by your blood. It’ll be easily cleaned, just as easily as you were. Evidence wiped away leaving a blank slate in its wake.

A towel is draped over your head, blocking out the world for just a moment. Just a quick moment where you can forget everything that’s happened and imagine yourself back somewhere safe.

***

The fire is warm, logs cracking as they burn. The side of your body, the side facing the fire is hot but you refuse to move. Your leg has been propped up on a folded blanket, elevated to help the swelling. A white fur pelt has been draped over you, giving you a modicum of modesty among prying eyes.

Your broken nails have been trimmed, blunted down to almost nubs. You can’t hurt yourself, you can’t hurt them. Your face no longer hurts, but there’s an intense throbbing in your shoulder, matching in time with the throbbing of your knee.

You’re not going anywhere. Not in this state.

Not that you’d really try. Not with them sitting right there.

Two of them. They’re sitting there, scarily still as they watch you. You refuse to look at them, to acknowledge them. Acknowledging opens too many doors, doors you’d prefer remained closed.

That’s not your choice anymore.

Instead you lay there, listening to the thumping of your heart, feeling the pulsing aches in your body in time with that steady ba-bump. Ba-bump. Slow, even breaths to keep yourself from showing any fear. You’re not sure you have any left to show. You’ve gone numb inside, your brain a blank space to push the trauma aside for now. It’ll come back later, but for now, there’s nothing.

You’re not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

The two on the couch stiffen a bit, the first movement you’ve seen from them since they sat on the couch. You can feel the shift, your breath hitching as the strong scent of alpha fills the air. It’s the volatile one, the big one with tattoos. He moves to stand behind the couch, between the two betas sitting there watching you. They know how helpless you are. They left you in the care of betas. His sharp eyes fall to you, piercing through your skin like he’s trying to see the muscle beneath.

Goosebumps prickle your skin under his gaze, your eyes still glued to the wood beams on the ceiling. You won’t look at him, you won’t give him that satisfaction. The last act of defiance you can manage in such a vulnerable state. Left that way on purpose to make you feel weaker, smaller, more helpless.

You’ve felt what those hands can do, the destruction they’re capable of bringing. Guiltless, soulless, merciless.

The executioner.

The three of them turn their heads, seamless and consecutive as they glance at the hallway behind you. You don’t need to see yourself. You already know.

You refuse to lower your gaze, refuse to move as he approaches, footsteps heavy on the creaky wood. Tension brews in the air, suffocating like the heat starting to prickle painfully under your skin. You’re too hot under the fur but you won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you move, exposing yourself to their eyes more than you already have been.

The creaking wood gets closer and closer to you. You can almost feel the floor shifting, rocking with every step. They’re not stealthy, instead meant for brute force. Big and heavy and relentless.

The floor cracks beside you, nearly making you jump. Your hands close into fists under the blanket, fingers clenching into your palms. A hand closes around your jaw, forcing your head down and to the side.

The grizzled face comes into view, thick beard peppered with grey. Bright, icy eyes stare into your soul, seeping past the front of indifference you’ve put up. The attempt at being strong and defiant against them. His eyes gaze into yours, boring holes in your skull as he forces his way past your defenses. A battle of wills and you have little will left. Not with him around.

His eyes leave yours to rove your face, burning a trail across your skin.

“You’re healing well.” His voice rumbles in the quiet, paired with a cracking of a log in the fireplace. It makes you flinch, pushing against his fingers which offer no give. Steel limbs holding you in place.

Those limbs let up, a big paw of a hand sliding down your throat. Your breath freezes in your lungs, body tense as his hand pushes the soft fur down slightly until his hand rests against your chest. He can feel the racing of your heart against his palm, the rush of blood through your limbs, the throbbing pain in your knee and shoulder. You’d wish this pain, this discomfort on him if only to bring him to your level, lower him on his pedestal just a bit.

You could only be so lucky.

“Bit warm under there.” He murmurs, fingers curling around the edge of the fur blanket.

The protest dies on your tongue as he rips the fur from you, shame heating your body as you’re suddenly exposed to the room, naked and vulnerable. It’s not like they haven’t seen you already, but this is so different. Here they can look, they can criticize.

He sits back on his heel, dragging his eyes across your body. Goosebumps prickle at your skin under his gaze, muscles flexing as you tense. You dare not move, hide yourself from his gaze. There would be no use in fighting, no matter how much your brain screams at you to retaliate.

The inhale catches in your throat as his palm comes to rest flat against your stomach, fingers dimpling the skin as he tags weight into the press of his hand against you. It’s possessive, tagging you like a fresh kill. He sits there, staring down at you with his hand pressed against your womb. It’s silent in the room, the three others watching the exchange curiously with rapt attention. Waiting, seeking the answer to the question of what’s going to happen next.

He’s dismantling you, breaking down those last few barriers of self control. He wants you angry and humiliated, broken down and malleable. You’re waiting, clinging to those last few shreds of sanity, hands still curled into fists as you prepare yourself for what’s going to happen next. What his next move will be. He’s the one in control, he’s the one they’re all looking to for direction.

He could do it now, while you’re in a weakened state. Invoke that right, partake of that offensive ritual. Strip you of the last of your decency, your resolve, your humanity. You’re trembling under his hand, breaths shallow as you wait, you anticipate.

You’re helpless, completely helpless. 

He removes his hand, resting it on his bent knee. He rocks back onto his heels, pushing himself up to stand. You shift for the first time, sweat making the blanket under your back soggy. 

“What?” You ask, your resolve beginning to come back now that the direct threat is gone. Anger is starting to bubble inside of you, the last bit of your honor still intact. “Not going to rape me in front of them? Not going to let them take turns?”

A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth, his chest shaking in a chuckle. “Not yet.” 

The words strike a chord of fear in you despite your attempts to remain indifferent. Not yet. He would sink so low as to partake in such a ritual. He's already taken you, stripped you of your freedoms and your pride. He's dangerous, they all are, and they've made sure you know that.

***

“C’mon lass. Don’ make me do it.”

The one with the god-awful hair is speaking to you. You had decided not to take him seriously because who in their right mind has a mohawk willingly? Deep down you know you should take him seriously. Big, stocky, meant for power not speed. You might have thought him an alpha, if it wasn’t for the playful glint in his eye. He doesn’t hold himself like an alpha, no domineering scent overpowering your senses.

His scent is surprisingly soft. You’re getting a strong whiff of it with your close proximity.

He’s pulled you up so you’re sitting, the fur pooled at your waist. He’s trying to get you up, but you’re trying your best to make it as hard as possible. You could probably get up on your own if you had to, even with one and a half usable legs. You’re being stubborn on purpose. Not out of hope he’d give up and let you lay there, but instead you do it in your weak attempts at defiance. They probably find it amusing, but to you it’s the only shreds of your hope and sanity you have left.

The situation hasn’t quite registered yet. It still feels very surreal. Despite the painful reminders your injuries conjure up, there’s still a delightful cloudiness in your brain when you think about your new reality. It still feels temporary, like your parents will walk through the door at any moment to take you back to your home, your pack.

You’re not stuck in this nightmare, you’re just waiting for the moment when it all gets revealed as some kind of sick joke.

It’s not a joke. It’s very real.

The hand groping your chest brings you back into that nightmarish reality.

“Stop.” You say firmly, trying to bat his hand away where it squeezes your bare breast.

He doesn’t stop, not like you expected him to. Instead he grips you harder, his fingers pinching your nipple. You swing at him, hitting his bare chest but it doesn’t phase him in the slightest.

“Stop!” You shriek, and he finally does let go, only to catch your hands.

He grips both of your wrists in one of his hands, the other closing around your jaw, cheeks squished as he holds your face. That playful glint has been replaced by an intensity in his gaze, the back of your neck prickling as the sense of danger rolls through you.

“Yer our omega.” He grits out through his teeth, baring them at you. “I can damn well touch ye if I please.”

“Ease up, Johnny.” The rough voice of the big alpha cuts through the tension.

Johnny.

It’s the first of their names you’ve heard. It fits him, you have to admit. You wonder what the others’ names are. They won’t come easily, you don’t think. They’re not likely to do a meet and greet with you.

“I don’t want no sniffling bird at the table.” The big alpha says, continuing on his path into the kitchen.

Johnny releases you slowly, lowering his hands. Your chest is heaving from the adrenaline that had coursed through your body. Your poor adrenal glands are probably exhausted and it’s not even dark outside yet. There’s tears in your eyes, but the words of the big alpha come back to you. The last thing you want to do is anger him. Your knee throbs as a reminder as to why.

“Can I get a shirt?” You ask quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The fire is hot against your back and you know as soon as you’re away from it you’ll be cold.

“No.” Johnny says before tugging the blanket off you completely.

Tears prick behind your eyes, tears of shame as you’re lifted off the floor and into his arms. You refuse to look at him, refuse to hold on as he begins to move, carrying you from the living area over to the table.

The light is on above the table, casting a bright, warm glow around the nook. You’re placed in a chair on the far side of the table facing the door. The way out so close, but yet so far. There’s no way you could get out. You can’t run, not in this state.

It feels so cruel.

The others join you, the other beta and the big alpha bringing steaming bowls of soup to the table. They’re all still bare chested, clad in only bottoms of varying sorts. The big alpha sports jeans, the other beta having chosen sweatpants. Johnny wears a pair of basketball shorts, and the head alpha sports a pair of cargo pants. You can’t help but wonder if they’re wearing them simply for your comfort, if they’d otherwise be walking around naked.

No, they wouldn’t have given you such a comfort.

If nudity was the norm for them, they wouldn’t have stopped it on your behalf.

The don’t seem to hold the same care for you, though.

The wood of the chair is cold against your skin that had been heated by the fire under the fur. It has your nipples pebbling, your arms still crossed in front of your body as a bowl of soup is placed in front of you. It’s brothy, and you can see various vegetables floating in it. There’s a biscuit on the side, butter and jam placed on the table.

You watch them sit, the big alpha taking the lone seat on the right side of the table, the two betas taking the chairs on the left, Johnny sitting closer to you. The head alpha takes the seat at the head of the table, directly across from you. It’s a purposeful placement. Second alpha to the right, the beta closest to the alpha on the left, the omega across at the other end of the table. Positions based on rank of power.

You doubt you’ll be allowed such power in this pack.

“Something wrong?” The head alpha says, and you quickly realize you’ve been staring. You’re tired, your brain exhausted from fighting. It’s purposeful. It’s all so purposeful. Put you through the ringer until you’re exhausted and forced to submit.

“I’m cold.” You say quietly, arms still wrapped around yourself as you hunch in the chair, trying to give yourself some modicum of modesty.

“Soup’ll fix that.” He says simply, picking up his spoon.

The others follow, the clinking of silverware starting to fill the quiet cabin. You continue to stare at the soup, your eyes filling with tears. You’re not hungry, but you know they’ll force feed you if you don’t eat. It’ll only heighten the shame already burning through you. You feel violated, embarrassed, vulnerable. The worst part is none of them seem to even care. Not one of them seem bothered by this treatment of you.

There truly is no mercy to be found here.

You pick up your spoon, one arm still across your chest as you stir the soup. Chunks of meat kick up to the surface. You wonder if they grow and hunt themselves, or if they go into town for food. You’ve never seen them in town, but then again, you never get to go to town often. Too many eyes, too many possibilities. You were to be hidden away, kept secret and protected.

Now look at you.

You try not to cry as you lift a spoonful of soup to your mouth. I don’t want no sniffling bird at the table, the big one had said. You don’t want to test him, scared of what he might do. Instead you shove the emotions down, focusing on the soup. You are hungry. You can feel the beginning pangs deep in your stomach as the savory scent of the soup fills your nose. You haven’t eaten since this morning.

How long ago that feels now.

The soup is good. Decent flavor. The biscuit is a bit dry, but that’s what the soup is for. It’s quiet at the table, though, no conversation to drown out the sound of silverware and chewing. You wonder if that’s normal, or if no one really knows what to say in this situation. They all eat, none of them looking at each other. None of them look at you either. It’s a small relief.

Your hand is shaking by the time you finish your soup. Nerves are still eating away at you, your brain still hypervigilant of the danger you’re in. You’re sitting with an unknown pack in an unknown place, injured and frightened. You can’t overpower them, you can’t even outrun them. They had proven that. They’re bigger, stronger, faster than you. You’re just an omega, forced to be at their mercy.

You wrap your arms around yourself again, trying to seem as small as possible in your seat. All you want to do is lay down and sleep but you’re too aware, too afraid. You don’t want to know what kinds of things they might do to you as you sleep. Nothing would stop them anyway, but the prospect of you being unaware has your skin crawling.

You’re shaking as you sit there, wrapped in your own arms. Your knee is throbbing from the position it’s been forced into. You can’t wait for that to heal. It’s a nuisance and it’s inhibiting your ability to run. If you’re going to escape and get back home, you need to be able to sneak around and run when you get the chance.

You don’t know when that chance will be.

You’re not sure it will ever come. You’d have to get past all four of them, which you doubt they’ll make an easy task for you. One of them will always be hovering, always near the door. A window is a possibility, but you haven’t seen much else of the house besides this main area. There have to be windows you could possibly climb out of if you can just get a moment alone.

You don’t know when that will be either.

First you need your knee to heal. Then you’ll deal with creating an escape plan.

Sweat is beading on your forehead from the deep throbbing in your knee. You try to shift, straightening it as best you can even as the edge of the chair bites into the back of your leg uncomfortably. You’d love to lay back down, but you’re not sure what their next move will be, what their plan is.

The head alpha is staring at you, no doubt having sensed your discomfort. He doesn’t say anything, his elbows resting on the table as he watches you. Maybe he’s waiting, testing how strong your resolve is, how far he can push you before you break. You refuse to give in that easily, refuse to let him win. It’s what he wants, your full submission. You’re not going to give him that pleasure.

Your skin prickles as his gaze darkens, his eyes trailing down your front to where your breasts peak out above the table. The urge to cover yourself is strong, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t give him any satisfaction.

You’re going to make this as hard for him as possible.

“We’re going to lay down some ground rules.” He finally says, breaking the tense silence around the table. All eyes flicker to him, waiting, ready to obey. “You’re not to leave this house.” He says, staring pointedly at you. “The world is a dangerous place for an omega. You never know who’s lurking out in the woods.”

He’s taunting you.

“We’re nowhere near civilization, and I won’t have you getting lost in the woods.”

You doubt he’d let you go far enough to even touch the door, much less pass through it.

“You’re part of this pack now, so you’re going to pitch in.” He continues. “I know you have skills. Cooking, cleaning, mending. You do your part, we won’t have any problems.”

He speaks as if you’re going to be here forever. Well, in his mind you are.

“You’re the lowest rank in this pack. You’re here to serve. My boys ask something of you, you do it.” He says. You ignore Johnny’s smirk. “There’s punishment for making trouble. I’d hate to have to enforce that upon you.”

No you wouldn’t.

“This is your home now.” He says. “The sooner you accept that, the easier this all will be.”

You doubt it.

Your gaze leaves his as Johnny stands, your eyes flickering to watch him as he starts to gather bowls. He does so wordlessly, the other beta standing to join him. The meeting is adjourned, the conversation over. He takes your empty bowl, the spoon clacking as he drops it inside before taking it from in front of you. Your eyes flicker back to the alpha, his eyes still on you. You feel more exposed now without the safety of the bowl before you. How strange that such a little thing could offer so much security.

The other alpha pushes his chair back before standing. You can’t stop your gaze from lifting to stare at his hulking form. He’s not any taller than the head alpha, but he seems bigger. He carries himself differently, with more power. If you hadn’t known, you would have assumed he was the head alpha just by looks.

The head alpha stands as well, looming over the table. You lower your gaze to the wood in front of you, not wanting to stare at him as he slowly approaches you, stalking towards you like a predator hunting his prey. You suppose you are his prey. He hunted you down like you were.

How stupid you were going so far into the woods.

Tears prick your eyes as his hands slip under you, arms looping under your knees and around your shoulders. He lifts you easily, hoisting you up into his grasp. He doesn’t even seem to struggle with your weight, a show of power. How easily he can control you. If he can’t break you mentally, he will break you physically. His words had bordered on that threat, the double meaning not lost on you.

He had proven that to you already.

He lays you back down in front of the fire, head pillowed on the cushion, his hands propping your knee back up on the stack of pillows and blankets. That hand drags slowly down your thigh, rough skin catching on yours. A worker’s hands. He pauses for a moment, big hand gripping your thigh before he removes it, grabbing the white fur and draping it back over you.

****

It’s the head alpha that carries you to bed. You hadn’t slept any, even as the night crawled on. It’s late, the moon already up and drifting through the sky. How you wish you could see her, beg her to fix this, to take you away from this nightmare. Instead you’re met with a small window above the bed reflecting the light fixture on the ceiling in the inky blackness.

You’re laid down on the bed gently. Wood framed, hand-made you think. The mattress is soft, the pillows fluffy. Feathers, you think. He’s nice enough to tuck one under your knee, moving the blankets down out of the way. The white fur has come with you, draped over your form as you lay there on the bed. You wish you were home, you wish you were being tucked in and kissed by your mother. You were too old for that but she still insisted. You’re her baby, her only child.

Does she think you’re dead​?

They’ll be looking for you. All night they’ll search. Maybe they’ll find the blood, maybe they’ll assume the worst. Or maybe they’ll know. Maybe they’ll come looking. Maybe you won’t have to escape at all.

The alpha moves away from the bed, heading towards a door on the far wall. It opens, a light switching on inside. A bathroom. He doesn’t close the door as he goes in, your eyes floating to the ceiling as you listen to him. Running water, a toothbrush, a stream of piss into the toilet, the light switch flicking as he comes back out. Your eyes dart to him before quickly jumping back to the ceiling.

He’s nude.

It’s not unusual, but this feels different. It’s intentional. Degrading.

You continue to stare up at the ceiling as he approaches the bed, cock swinging between his legs. If you had the strength you would have stared at him, fighting that dominance he’s engaging by presenting himself in such a state. He’s testing you, showing you where the boundaries lie. There are little boundaries between the two of you. You’ve been claimed, a shackle of ownership placed around your throat where his teeth dug into your skin and tore out a chunk. You’ll wear that shackle for the rest of your life, a constant reminder of who you belong to, who you answer to.

He turns on the lamp beside the bed before turning off the overhead light, bathing the room in the soft glow of the yellow light bulb.

Tears prickle your eyes as he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Your leg twitches as his hands touch your skin, pressing against your bruised and throbbing knee. You hiss, your eyes squeezing closed at the pain as he pushes lightly against the swollen joint.

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow night.” He says, releasing your leg to lay against the pillow again.

You keep your gaze up, fighting tears as he settles onto the bed next to you with a sigh. He pulls the blankets up, covering you with them before he settles on his side facing you. He’s staring at you but you’re not brave enough to stare back. All that strength you held at the dinner table is gone, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. You’re too afraid to sleep, laying next to a stranger. A stranger who attacked you, forced you to be his mate, forced you here into his home, into his pack.

Why did you stray so far from home?

His fingers close around your jaw, forcing your head to the side. A tear slides down your cheek as you stare at him, his eyes lidded. “You’ll be happy here.”

It’s not a question, not even a suggestion. He’s telling you what you’re going to feel. You’ll be happy here because you have no choice. This is your home, your family now. These men who stole you away and forced you to be one of them, these men whose hands only know violence.

The rough grips on your body, hands pinching and twisting and breaking, teeth sinking in deep, ripping and tearing you apart.

His thumb wipes the tear that slides down our cheek. Such a soft, tender caress compared to what you know he’s capable of. He stares deep into your eyes, digging, searching, reaching in to find your very soul tucked safely away. That’s one thing he can never have. He can take your body and your mind, but he can’t touch your soul, no matter how hard he tries.

He pulls your head forward, leaning close to you. Your breath hitches, your heart racing hard in your chest. There’s a moment of stillness before he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. It’s shockingly soft and gentle, a small peck of the lips, but it does nothing to quell the fear rising in you. How contradicting his actions are. The tight grip on your jaw keeping you in place, the soft almost tender press of his lips.

Danger! Your mind screams. He’s dangerous and he’s only further proving it right now.

He pulls back, holding you there for a moment before he releases you. He rolls over onto his back, laying there in the bed next to you. In bed with a stranger, wounded and claimed. Not an ideal situation, and certainly not how you expected your night to end. You want to be back home, back in your bed, back safe with your parents. You’ll never see them again.

More tears cascade down your cheeks as you lay there, the reality of your situation hitting you.

“Can I ask you something?” You speak quietly, your voice trembling.

“Hm?” He hums, already half asleep.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

He’s silent for a moment, and you’re worried he might have fallen asleep already. Instead he speaks, giving you his name in the darkness.

“John.”

You swore you weren't normally like this, and part of you was flaring in humiliation at letting a stranger do this to you, to fuck you raw in your own bed and bend you in ways you felt for days after. He spewed nasty filth in your ear, but was gentlemanly enough to heed your warnings and pull out to paint his cum on your lower back.

He didn't stay the night, and you were a little thankful he didn't. But now every time you and your friends went back to that bar he was always there, sometimes alone sometimes with friends but always staring daggers at you. The hulking freak never approached you, despite having already fucked you. Your friends encouraged you to talk to him, and while he did give you the best sex of your life...you were honestly a little annoyed. If he wanted you so bad why the hell was he being so weird about it? 

Tonight was another one of those nights, where you were earnestly trying to have a good time despite the holes being burned into your back by Simon's eyes. You had pulled out all the stops tonight, low cut top and push up bra to shelf your tits pleasantly below your collarbone. A tiny excuse of a skirt, so tantalizingly short it was practically screaming to be pushed up to reveal your black lace panties. And he still hadn't moved an inch. 

So when you stood up to head to the bar, dizzying a bit as the alcohol rushed to your head, you were surprised when you were intercepted by another man that hung around Simon sometimes. He was handsome, not as big as Simon but still dwarfing you, and had a mohawk buzzed into his hair. He sidled right up next to you and purred a bit in your ear as he introduced himself as Johnny.

At first his pushy flirtations were a little disarming, and you fought back the urge to place a hand on his big chest and push him back where he came from. But then it dawned on you as you looked over at Simon, perched on the edge of his barstool and ready to pounce. 

Simon had sent his friend to bother you, so he could fake an intervention and take you home again. Coward.

You interrupted Johnny's rambling by grabbing his face tight, your hand barely able to fit across the broad expanse of his jaw. He shut up immediately, looking at you with a glint in his eye as his legs shifted, clearly chubbing up in his pants.

"You know that guy?" you asked, nodding to Simon. Hopefully Johnny was drunk enough that he forgot any script Simon had put in his head. He halfway glanced back at Simon, who narrowed his eyes at the Scot.

"Ye, thas my Lt." Johnny said, a grin breaking out on his face when he saw that the answer he gave had satisfied you. 

"Mmm." you hummed, "And he sent you over here to bother me, is that right?" 

That made him pause, clearly not wanting to tattle on Simon, "Uhhh..."

You pulled his face in closer to yours, giving him your best bedroom eyes as he breathed in the smell of your perfume, "If you tell me the truth I'll let you fuck me." 

His expression went blank for a second, clearly wanting to get his cock in you more than he cared about any plan his friend had concocted. 

"Ye. He did." he nodded, his pupils had swallowed up the bright blue of his irises as you pulled his squished face to yours and placed a light kiss on his lips. 

"Good boy." you smile at him, appreciating the way his lids flutter a bit. You shot Simon one last look, and if looks could kill you and Johnny would both have evaporated on the spot. His body language remained as stoic as ever, but even from across the bar you could see his dark eyes swirling with anger as he watched you drag Johnny out of the bar.

Johnny on the other hand, was following you like a puppy, hot on your heels as you led him by hand down the few block to your apartment. Once the two of you were inside he was looking at you like a cannibal, practically drooling at just the sight of you. Before you could get a word out he was on you, pushing you back until you both tumbled onto the stairs where he mounted you and pressed a wet kiss on your lips. You moaned into him as his big hands roamed over your clothes, his body heat already making sweat prick at your hairline.

He pushed your panties to the side and groaned when he found you already wet and sticky for him, pushing a finger inside without any warning. Your back arched up into him as he sped his hand up, his big thumb rubbing mean and irregular circles on your needy clit. 

"Johnny," you gasped the second his lips unlocked from yours, "Upstairs, now." 

He grinned and obliged, removing his fingers and wrapping his arms around your back to lift you as if you weighed nothing, trekking his heavy boots up your stairs and heeding your guidance to your bedroom.

Given his reactions to being called a good boy, and the fervor with which he was following your commands, you foolishly thought you'd be in control. Figured that be was probably more submissive than his friend who had rearranged you, and that you'd be able to ride him until he was begging you for a break. But the second he tossed you on the mattress all his pretenses were gone as Johnny stared at you, his bright blue eyes holding something dark behind them. The dynamic had shifted in a fraction of a second, the air thick with the anticipation that was oozing from your pores.

You were frozen in place as he stripped you, then himself, revealing a strong broad chest carpeted with a layer of dark hair, hair that led all the way down to the base of his thick cock and covered the heaviest set of balls you'd ever seen. You mouth watered at the sight, eyes flickering up to his again as you licked your lips in a silent plea to please let you get your mouth on him. In a mirror image to what you had done to him at the bar, he reached down to clasp your face, not a hint of submission in his eyes as he squeezed the fat of your cheeks. 

"You want 'im in yer mouth?" he crooned, voice low and dark. You nodded as best you could in his grip, limply letting him pull you up and force you down on your knees in front of him. His other hand came down to cradle the other side of your face as his cock rested heavily on your face, making him smile at the sight. 

"S'pretty." he grinned, "Balls first, love." 

Your body was on autopilot, your only goal to please him. So you opened your mouth for him to shift a bit and let his sack fall on your tongue. He groaned as you let your tongue wet both of them, before sucking one in your mouth as you palmed the other. They were warm and full, and his musk was egging you on as you tentatively reached a hand up to grip his shaft. He eyed you, but allowed you to stroke him slowly as you moved to the other ball. You batted your eyelashes at him and he hummed, pulling you off and guiding his tip past your lips and across the muscle of your tongue. 

His hands found their purchase in the hair at the base of your scalp, lazily fucking into your open mouth as he let you adjust. Simon was big, but Johnny was thick, and your throat had no room for air flow as he pulled your face all the way down to his base. You coughed around him, the thick hair tickling your nose and making him laugh at you. He thrusted once to test you, and laughed again when you gagged around him, a string of spit leaking out and falling onto your bare breasts. 

Johnny pulled out and let you get a quick breath of air before he was fully inside again, and again and again. His pace was borderline relentless now, not paying any mind to the tears that were falling down your face as you sobbed around him. Your body kept trying to expel him, but his strong hands held you in your place as he fucked your throat. 

Finally, he pulled out completely, a mess of saliva, snot, and precut all mixed together in a string that connected your lips to his tip. 

"Can see why he wanted ye so bad," Johnny said, using his cock to smear the mess all over your face, "Pretty bird." 

You whined as you felt yourself leaking out onto the floor below you, and once he was done defiling your face he tossed you back up onto the bed and flipped you onto your stomach. You barely had time to get your bearing before you felt his hands on your ass, spreading you wide open as he pressed his face directly onto your cunt. You let out a long, drawn out moan as his muffled voice told you how good you tasted. He lapped at you like a dog, eventually adding his fingers back in. He brought you right to the edge, before cruelly pulling off and standing up behind you. 

Now a whining mess, you begged him to let you cum, only to have him tut at you. Rough hands moved your legs into the exact position he wanted before cramming half his cock into you with zero warning. A brief shot of pain rocketed up your spine and you yelped out, only to have his thick fingers enter your mouth and gag you. As he pulled back and sheathes himself into you again, your walls finally spasm and relax, allowing him to slide all the way in with a grunt. 

"Thought Simon woulda stretched this cunt out," Johnny groaned, snapping his hips up and making your whole body jiggle, "He's losin' his touch." 

You couldn't muster anything more than a moan in response, the stretch from Johnny burning in the pit of your stomach as he fucked down into you. His thrusts were nonstop, setting a brutal pace that left you drooling into the duvet beneath you as grey matter oozed out of your ears. His hand was putting a delicious pressure on your back, keeping you pressed in place beneath him. He suddenly gathered your hair in a fist and pulled you upright so your back was flush against his chest. 

"Y'wanna cum, pretty girl?" he asked, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as you nodded frantically. "Earn it then."

His voice was blunt as he pushed you back down, pulling his cock out from your hole and once again snuffing out your building orgasm. At this point you were not above begging, now turned into a blubbering mess of please please please and I'll be good I promise. 

He hummed, not satisfied with your pleas as he manhandled you onto your back with your legs spread wide for him. One hand guided his cock back into you while the other gathered your wrists and held you down, forcing you to lay still and take him while he fucked back into you. 

Despite the mess still on your face, he leaned down and pressed a searing kiss on your lips, licking it off your lips as you whined into him. Your hips were aching as he kept pounding, his grip on your wrists only releasing when he moved to hike one leg up over his shoulder. The new angle hit something inside you, and he grinned at you knowingly. 

You felt like you were going to perish right there underneath him if he didn't let you cum, begging him for you release. He smiled through the sweat on his face, pinching your clit and making you sob again.

"Good girls cum when they're told, aye?" he said, your voice coming out in a blubbering yes yes yes!

You clenched down on him, trying to stave off your release as he built you back up once again. His fingers were exploring ever inch of your wet cunt that wasn't occupied by his own cock, his hand suddenly pressing down on your lower belly as he felt himself bulging inside you. Your hands were clawing at his wrist begging and pleading with him silently.

"Use yer words," he urged, applying more pressure to your already taught abdomen.

"P-Please, oh fuck," you said, "Please Johnny, I wanna cum so bad please." 

"Ya gonna let me fill this pussy up? Hmm?" he asked, smirking at the immediate YES! that escaped your lips at the promise of an orgasm.

"Should record this, show Lt. how it's done." he growled, leaning to the side to quickly grab his phone from your bedside table. Both of you knew that you'd agree to just about anything at this point, delirious as you could see the cliffs edge right in front of you. So you put up no resistance as he pressed record on his phone, aiming the lens right at where his cock was bullying your hole, a sticky white ring around his base proof of your want and arousal. 

"G'head baby," he croaked, close to his own release, "Show Daddy how good ye feel." 

Once the words left his lips you let go of the tension you had been holding, letting your core relax as the rubber band in you snapped. You threw your head back and screamed out his name at the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls as they pulsed, milking him as he finished deep inside of you. Acutely aware of the camera now pointed at you, your hands moved to grope your hard nipples as you squirted a bit around Johnny's base. 

"Fuuuuuck." Johnny moaned out, shifting back and pulling out of you, focusing the camera on where his cum was messily leaking out of you. One more push down on your belly had it spilling out of you in one go, your thighs shaking at the feeling of it running down along your ass. 

Simon had fucked you good, but Johnny had fucked you dead. 

Your one orgasm felt like three all at once, and your muscles were absolutely spent. Johnny chuckled to himself as he left your room, coming back with a warm washcloth after finding your bathroom down the hall. He started with your face, cleaning up the mess he had made, half of which had been wiped off on your duvet when he pressed your head into it. He cleaned the sweat off your chest, and most importantly he wiped away the stickiness between your legs, shamelessly cleaning every inch of you. 

After he went back to the bathroom to clean himself off, Johnny came back in the room yawning as he stretched his arms dramatically. He picked you up, tucking you into bed as he crawled in next to you, maneuvering you to drape you over his chest as he rubbed your back.

"Y'did so good, baby." he said softly, getting a small mewl in response from you. Your throat was going to be sore tomorrow. Hell, your whole body was going to be sore tomorrow. His warmth and the gently rise and fall of his chest lulled you to sleep in a matter of moments, too exhausted to tell him he didn't need to stay the night.

The morning after your night with Johnny, you woke up to an empty bed. You sighed, figuring he probably woke up before you and saw himself out. Tentatively testing your muscles, you stretched and laughed as your body protested. Every inch of you was delightfully sore. 

Sighing into a pillow, you were prepared to drift back to sleep when you smelled coffee. Your brows furrowed in confusion, surely he wasn't in your kitchen...

That is exactly where Johnny was. Happily cooking up eggs, toast, and some breakfast sausages he found in your freezer. He was too busy whistling to himself that he didn't hear you pad into the room behind him, only seeing you when he turned to plate the food in the pan. 

"There she is!" he beamed at you, "Mornin' beautiful." 

"Morning..." you said slowly, trying to piece together why the hell he was still here. He raised a brow at you expression, rounding the counter to walk up to you with his head cocked to the side. 

"I got two heads or somethin'?" he asked quizzically.

"I just wasn't expecting you to...be here." you gestured around the kitchen, offering him a small smile to let him know it wasn't an unwelcome sight. He nodded, stopping short for a second when he asked you something.

"Simon didn't stay?" 

His question made your cheeks burn a bit, remembering you had now fucked two men on the same military unit. You shook your head, not wanting to make Simon seem like a bad guy, it truthfully wasn't a big deal...was it?

"Didn't see the need." you said, not sure whether you were indicating to yourself not needing Simon to have stayed, or that Simon clearly didn't see the need to stay. Johnny frowned at that.

"Shame." he tutted, "Gonna have'ta teach that boy a lesson." 

He shook his head while he said it, and something about his tone piqued your interest. Maybe you had Johnny's rank mixed up in your head? But you could have sworn he had mentioned being a sergeant, a lower rank than lieutenant, so what the hell could he possibly do that would teach Simon a lesson?

You didn't push the issue, opting to just sit down and eat a much needed meal. Johnny watched you carefully, encouraging you to eat all of it. Even just eating with him you felt the need to submit under his gaze. He insisted on getting your phone number, assuring you that your performance last night already had him itching for more. So he gave you a light kiss and a wink as he left out your front door. 

While you remained at home resting up on your couch, Simon was waiting at the base with sweaty palms awaiting Johnny's return. He hadn't accounted for you wanting to fuck Johnny instead of him, and when he checked the sergeant's location early this morning he was still at your flat. He also awoke to a notification from Johnny, a text containing a shaky video of his cock splitting you open as you moaned like a pornstar in the background. Blood rushed to his cock as he watched the camera pan to your face, sweaty and covered in what looked like spit and mascara. His grip on the phone tightened as Johnny finished inside you, his cum leaking out of your gaping hole as if to taunt him for what he was not allowed to do. 

So now he was lifting weights in the base gym, waiting for Johnny to arrive and regale him with how much better he fucked you or whatever stories he wanted to boast about. Then again, maybe he'd have more videos to share...

"She sniffed ye out, Lt." he heard from across the room, Johnny's grin plastered on his features as he made his way over to Simon's bench. "Figured out yer whole plan. Sorry but she was too pretty to pass up."

"You came inside her." Simon said flatly, making Johnny's grin just a tad more smug.

"She was beggin' for it." the man shrugged. "Heard ye didn't stick around after ye were done with her." 

Simon's back straightened a bit at Johnny's change in tone. He was all too familiar with that.

"She didn't ask me to." he gruffed, scratching behind his neck. 

"Not how you treat a lady Simon." Johny chastised, turning to walk out of the gym, "Come on Lt." 

Simon sighed, dick chubbing up in his boxers as he followed Johnny to an empty barrack room. 

So as you were in your apartment, settling into a warm bath to ease your muscles, you had no idea that Simon was enduring exactly what you had hours ago. Ass up in the air he groaned into the rough bedding on the sorry excuse for a mattress as Johnny pounded into him relentlessly. 

"Not nice to leave a lady high and dry, aye?" Johnny said, eliciting a whine from Simon's lips.

"M'sorry." he muttered into the bed.

"No yer not." Johnny said, snapping his hips up and making Simon's aching cock dribble out as it was left unattended. "Next time we see our bird yer gonna apologize like a man." 

Simon's brain went fuzzy as Johnny's hands gripped the flesh of his ass, spreading him open so he could spit down onto his hole. He reached a hand around to grasp at his own cock, but Johnny swatted it away. Tears formed at the corners of Simons eyes as he begged Johnny for just one stroke. Johnny did not budge, leaving Simon's cock aching and soaked. 

Johnny played with his own balls, squeezing the sack and rolling them in his hand as he reached his peak, shooting his load deep inside of Simon as he groaned out. He stilled, placing a hand on Simon's sweaty lower back to steady himself. 

"Ahh," he sighed as he pulled his cock out of Simon's gaping hole, "Only good boys get to cum, Simon. Remember tha'." 

The empty feeling of his hole and the taught, full feeling of his balls was torturous, and Simon twisted slightly to look up at Johnny.

"Please." he croaked before pulling out a card that always worked in his favor, "I'll be a good boy, I will." 

"Prove it." was all he got. Johnny stuffed himself back inside his cargo pants and left Simon to clean himself up. 

Simon groaned to himself, collapsing on the soiled sheets as Johnny's cum leaked out of him. He should have known better than to involve his sergeant. 

                                                 ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

None of your friends were available to come to the bar with you, but Johnny had texted you asking if you'd be there so you were dolled up anyway. Walking in, Simon was already in attendance, and for once he actually stood up when you walked in. He hurried over to you before you could even get to the bar to order a drink.

"Hey!" you protested as he grabbed your elbow, dragging you through the mingling crowd and towards the bathroom. He remained silent as he dragged you into a stall in the men's room and locked the door.

"Enjoyed making that little movie huh?" he spat, pressing you up against the grimy wall. You sputtered for only a moment before realizing that Johnny must have shown the video he recorded to Simon like he said he would.

"I did." you spat back, "He fucked me real good, Simon." 

"You let him come inside you." he growled, clearly upset that you had held up that rule for him but not Johnny.

"He cooked me breakfast." you shrugged, knowing it was a bullshit excuse.

"I fucked you first." 

"He fucked me better." 

"Bullshit. I know he's not bigger than me." 

You raised a brow at that. Sure, it was probably because they'd seen each other in the showers or something, but the corners of your lips turned up as your brain went somewhere else. Surely teasing a big macho military man about having gay sex wouldn't lead to any kind of retaliation.

"How would you know? Huh?" you teased, "He fuck you too?" 

You expected a snarl, a biting comment, hell maybe even a hand around your neck. But before he grunted out a simple "no", something flashed across his dark eyes, something truthful. 

"Oh my God." you said, grinning, "He does. He fucks you like he fucked me, doesn't he? I bet you're a whiny bitch when he-" 

"Enough." Simon said, his hand coming up to grab your neck as he shoved your head back flush with the stall wall.

"Oh God if you're listening please let me watch that." you laughed, looking up tp the ceiling and lifting your hands in a mock prayer. 

Before he could get another word in, the door to the bathroom opened, and a familiar set of boots walked up to the locked stall, easily turning the lock open with a knife. Johnny swung the door open, bumping it into Simon's shoulder as he had you pinned against the wall.

"What did I say about apologizing?" Johnny said flatly, making you blink in confusion. Simon faltered, and when you looked back at him he was staring wide-eyed at Johnny. The air was thick, tension brewing between all three of you as Johnny's eyes moved from yours, to Simon, and back to you again. Simon only moved when Johnny nodded towards the door, dragging you with him. 

You thought the car ride to Johnny's would be dead silent, especially since Johnny had banished Simon to the back seat. But he made sure the big man sat directly in the middle seat so he would have a good view for when Johnny reached over and stuck his hand up your skirt and into your panties. He lazily fucked his fingers into you, barely looking your way as he unraveled you with just one hand. You could feel Simon's eyes on you, watching every twitch of your facial muscles as you moaned quietly. 

While stopped at a traffic light, Johnny sped up, angling himself to pump further into you and bring you up and over the edge, letting you cream all over his fingers as you gripped his wrist and keened out for him. Once he pulled his hand out from between your legs, he sucked his fingers clean and turned around in the seat to look at Simon.

"See what good pets get?" he questioned lowly, making your breath catch. 

Your mind was spinning with the fact that you had been correct about their dynamic. You had meant it just as a jab to what you thought was Simon's hyper-masculinity, but that clearly wasn't the way it landed. Can't always judge a book by its cover, sometimes the giant hulking behemoth who fucked you to so hard you cried also enjoys being submissive to big hairy men. You kept your giggle to yourself, wanting to stay in Johnny's good graces for tonight, but you couldn't help give him a dopey smile. He winked at you and pinched your cheeks as the light turned and he continued driving, Simon crossing his arms and pouting like a child in the backseat. 

Simon was still pouting when Johnny finally got you in bed. You could barely register where in the room he was, Johnny had you folded so intensely you couldn't decipher left from right anymore. But when he flipped you onto your stomach, you were facing where Simon was sat, relegated to a chair in the corner of the room, forced to watch as his sergeant bullied his cock into your already sore pussy with double the ardor he had a week ago. Johnny pulled your face up so you were staring directly at Simon, and leaned his face down next to yours with a big grin on his face.

"Boy's conflicted, pet." he said, loud enough for Simon to hear. "Doesn't know if he wants to be in my place or yers." 

The thought of that drew a long moan from your lips, and Johnny laughed in your ear. His thrusts had slowed down, just enough so that Simon could hear everything that Johnny spoke to you.

"What do you say?" he cooed at you, "Should I let him take my place? Hmm?" 

Though you would love for them to both take turns on top of you, there was something you wanted to see more. You whined and shook you head, a little to Johnny's surprise.

"No? What do you w-" you cut him off before he could finish the question.

"Me." you said, unable to form a full sentence.

"You? Tell me what you want baby, use your words." he urged, rolling his hips once to encourage you.

"Want him- ah - t'replace me." you croaked out, and you felt his brows raise as he laughed again.

"Dirty girl." he murmured into your neck before sitting up and pulling his cock from you. He pushed you to the side, rolling you onto your back as he beckoned to the man in the corner.

"Yer lucky day big guy. Birdie wants to see how I taught you your lesson." 

If being fucked by Simon was good, watching him come undone under another man was heavenly. Johnny was a bull, and when he got into a rhythm fucking Simon on his back, you clambered over Simon's chest and peppered his face and neck with kisses as he let out the sweetest moans you'd ever heard. Looking to Johnny for permission, you glanced at Simon's leaking cock, hard and red as it went unattended once again. 

"Not yet." Johnny grunted, making you frown. 

"Please?" you whined, getting a shake of his head in response as he pushed Simon's legs apart farther, earning a groan from the man. 

"Sit on his face." Johnny said, making you freeze. "He can cum if he can get you off."

You swung your leg over Simon's chest, still facing Johnny at his request. Simon's arms came up and gripped you around your hips, pulling your cunt down onto his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed as he suctioned onto your clit, and you felt Johnny's lips on yours as hen leaned in to kiss you. The three of you had formed an erotic triangle, hot and sticky as the you all moaned in tandem. 

Soon enough, you lost control of your lower half, you hips rocking along Simon's nose and face at their own pace. He was eating you with a fervor, knowing that when you came on his face Johnny would allow you to service his cock finally. A light yelp escaped you as he gently teethed at your clit, applying pressure that made you leak out so he could lick you clean. Your shaky arms were reaching out for Johnny who was lost in a cloud of his own pleasure and the sight of you. 

You looked at him, silently asking for permission to cum before you did anything out of line. He nodded at you, and the sight of his cock stretching Simon and making his cock bounce ripped an orgasm from your abdomen that surprised even you in its intensity. You felt a small stream flow out of yourself and Simon greedily lapped it all up, and you were unsure if that was to please you or Johnny. 

"Good lad." Johnny said, reaching out and slotting his hands under your arms and dragging you closer towards him. He guided you down onto Simon's cock, making Simon jump a bit at the sudden sensation. 

Johnny moved you up and down, almost as if you were a flashlight for Simon, and your poor cunt had no time to recover from your orgasm before the veins in Simon's cock were rubbing all the perfect spots deep inside you. The two you you moved in sync, and Simon was a mess under the two of you. 

Suddenly, Johnny pulled you off and himself out, hauling you up and over his shoulder as you watched Simon's legs shake as he nearly sobbed. 

"You said-" he started, only to be cut off by a look from Johnny.

"Clean me off before I go back inside her." Johnny demanded, and from your position dangling upside down you couldn't see Simon licking and cleaning Johnny's cock but you could hear all the wet, needy sounds his mouth was making. You wiggled a little, desperate for a better view, but Johnny swung a palm around and sharply smacked your ass to make you stay still. 

Once he was satisfied with Simon's work, Johnny told the man to lay back against the headboards as he let you back down onto the mattress. He gave your ass a little tap, encouraging you to climb back onto Simon but the other way around. Johnny let himself rest for a moment, enjoying watching Simon fuck up into you while you straddled his wide frame in a pathetic attempt at cowgirl.

Just as you and Simon were both nearing your peaks again, you felt the bed shift behind you as Johnny loomed at your backside.

"Let's see how far she can stretch, huh Lt?" Johnny said, the smile evident in his voice. Simon chuckled and it became very evident that it was no longer Johnny fucking you and Simon, rather Johnny and Simon were fucking you. 

At first you thought the Scot was going to try and press into you ass, so you squirmed a bit only to be met with Simon's big hands holding you in place as Johnny mounted you from behind. He told you to relax, and your brows furrowed as you felt his tip press at the entrance of your cunt rather than your ass. Simons massive length was already buried inside of you, and Johnny was trying to join?

"No, no, no, Johnny please," you sobbed as he pressed harder, his wet tip burning the edges of your hole as he stretched you further and further until he finally notched it inside you.

"Shhh," Johnny shushed in you ear as you begged him to have an ounce of mercy on you, "Just relax baby you can do it." 

Not like you had a choice. There was no where to run with Simon's wide waist keeping your legs perfectly spread and Johnny's weight now anchoring you in place. So you sat there, trembling and unable to breathe as Johnny pressed further and further inside of your already occupied hole. Once he forced in as much in as he could, the two of them moved as a team, one fucking in while the other pulled out. Your brain was completely fried, absolutely no thoughts in your skull as the overwhelming feeling between your legs was making your vision go white. 

They were speaking to each other, but you couldn't decipher what they were saying as they sped up, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as they allowed you to collapse forward onto Simon's chest while they fucked you. As you felt another orgasm building it felt so close yet so far away, almost as if you were looking down at the scene instead of taking an active part in it. All your nerves were so overstimulated you might have missed your own orgasm if you didn't feel a river flowing out of you and onto Simon's pelvis.

The scream that left your lips was sure to cause a neighbor to call 999, a loud sound that felt foreign to your ears. They are fucking in time with one another now, and they both had their massive mitts on your hips as they released inside of you.

Simon was first, letting out a guttural noise that vibrated the entire bed as his hips snapped up into yours one, two, three times as his seed finally met your walls. Johnny wasn't far behind, adding his own spend to the mess between your legs as he rutted into you. They both fucked their cum into you, letting it spurt messily out around their bases. 

You were totally limp laid across Simon's chest as Johnny eased out of you, coaxing Simon out after him. He let the two of you lay there while he sat back and caught his breath again, Simon's hand coming up to stroke your back. You had never felt so utterly ruined in your life, and a part of you wondered if one cock was ever going to be enough again. You groaned as you tried to move, both men shushing you and telling you to stay still. 

Johnny was the first to get up, leaving the room while you lay strewn across Simon like a throw blanket. Eventually, Simon swung his legs around with a small huff, standing and carrying you into the bathroom where Johnny had run you a warm bath. 

They let you soak as they cleaned themselves off, before Johnny reached into the water to clean you himself. 

"Ye did so good." he said softly, a small smile cropping up on your lips as he gazed at you, "Did ye have fun?"

Your voice was completely shot, so you gave him a nod in response. He told you Simon was getting the bed ready, so he helped you out of the tub and toweled you dry. It was so interesting to watch them working as a team to take care of you, and it made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

And it really is sloppy. Wet, messy. Your poor cunt swollen and dripping, leaking so much that it starts to puddle on the starchy sheets below. His Lieutenant is a big man, and he feels a pinch of sympathy swell at the fuckin' sight of you—limp, like a doll; wrists bound above your head, skin inflamed and chaffed from struggling to get out.

On the end table, he spots a water bottle and scattered tablets. Sleeping pills, he's sure. Something to keep you docile and quiet while he's called away from the divine split of your lax thighs, and sent halfway across the city by Price. Leaving you all alone, unattended. Unable to do anything except wait for him to get back so he can stretch that sore, messy cunt on his cock all over again, fill you right back up—

Poor thing.

But he can't really deny that the modicum of sympathy he feels is scrapped together from the sludge at the bottom of a dry well. Just droplets in the palm of his hand, and honestly—it's more jealousy that Simon got to you first instead of real pity because he'd be lying (hand on a Bible, fingers gripping the beads of a rosary—i shall not lie) if he said that the sight of you hasn't been haunting him since the moment they wandered into the diner. His mind spinning debauched thoughts of you—dressed up pretty in soft pink and chocolate brown—from the moment you wandered over to his table, looking like a dream. Like a cutout from a porno magazines his dad hid inside the shed in an old shoebox.

Just the sweetest little thing.

And he's not the only one.

They've all been prowling around you a little bit since landing in your sleepy-eyed town—asking for more coffee even though it tasted like shit and was burnt to hell, just to keep you close. To keep you coming back to their table as they soak in their fill.

Price dropping rasping sweetheart's and love's and thank you, darlin's that they all pretended not to hear. And Simon—

Well. He sees now where all those lingering stares, the ones that made Johnny's hackle raise, hair standing on end, led his Lieutenant, and what they meant. He thought it was wariness at first—or maybe that's just what he told himself late at night when he pulled his shirt up his navel, fingers grazing the thick trail of course hair to the soft, sensitive patch of skin at the base of his cock. Thinking about the way his Lieutenant looked at you. A whisper in the back of his head that screamed wrong and no and look away, she's fucking mine; little bites, nips, he couldn't hold back even when his hand curled around the base of his thickening cock, drawing twisted, ugly fantasies of what Ghost might do with a pretty thing like you.

And fuck—

What that did to him. Does.

It would be another lie if he said he's never thought of it before. Got off on the idea of it. Something that started as a cut—just this little papercut that he kept scratching and scratching until it tore, splitting further apart. Opening wide, like a chasm. This gaping hole that pulsed around the thought of his Lieutenant. A sick little thing that throbbed around the shape of him. The absurd width and the way he moved—like a mean, old dog Johnny would sometimes find prowling corners on the outskirts of town. A grizzled tiger with broken teeth, snapping it's maw at anything that got close enough to eat. Just this awful, mean looking thing in size and shape and temperament. Hard, jagged lines. Solid like a brick. And then—

You. Recoiling when he curled a massive paw around the cup of coffee. His palm swallowing it whole when you could barely get your fingers to meet around the thick of the base. The size difference clicking in a way it sometimes did when pretty, feisty things would try to step toe to toe with him and have to glare up, up, because they barely even reached his chin.

The urge to overpower. To claim. To tuck something smaller and softer than himself beneath the bulk of his body, hiding his kill from view.

He's always been the driver, not the passenger. The one in control. The main character, not the one watching from the sidelines, though—

But he really can't get the thought of Ghost swallowing up someone the way he did with the cup. A stomach-churning thought. Just a sick obsession burning in the back of his head—the massive brute rutting against you. The juxtaposition between the big, nasty beast and the pretty thing beneath him crying out because he's just too big burns him sometimes.

And he should help you.

Wants to, too. Really, he does. Wants to be your knight in shining armour, rescuing you from the big, scary man who tied you to his bed and ravaged you like this, made that poor, little pussy ache when he stretched you on his fat cock. Wants to so bad—

But he wants a taste even more.

Wants to lick your messy, abused cunt until his Lieutenant isn't dripping from you anymore. Until the only thing glistening on your folds is his spit and your slick. Maybe—if he has time—slide inside your poor pussy and fill it up again, like he wasn't even there in first place. Ghost wouldn't even know the difference, would he? Would come back to you leaking all over the sheets, just like he left you. Ready for seconds (or fifths, sixths, considering the fuckin' mess between your thighs, and goddamn, if that isn't one of the hottest sights he'd ever seen—); pretty little cunt ready for that fat, thick cock to split it apart again, stuff it full of cum all over again—

He palms his cock, thoughts of calling for help dissolved into a keening in the back of his head; just this unignorable, urgent need to eat. Hunger like he'd never felt before, strong enough that just looking at you splayed out like the helpless little victim you are, leaking and messy and full of fucking cum that isn't even his, is making his belly growl. He'd cut his own arm off at this point for just a fucking taste—

And he gets it. Drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, wrapping his hands around your thighs before he pulls you into his mouth for that first, scorching lick—

And it's salty, bitter. Thick. Ghost's cum tastes pretty fucking gross, really (something he isn't too surprised by considering the man's diet mainly consists of barely cooked red meat, Marlboros, and bourbon)—or maybe he just doesn't have the acquired taste for it—and he winces, a little, thinking about the dried remnants of it around your mouth, how many times you had to drink down the same, briny taste; but it's not—

It's not enough to make him stop.

Underneath the brine of it, the fuckin' smell of you and his Lieutenant dense in his nose, he can taste you. Sweet. Earthy. Slightly metallic—like the first lick of a papercut, and it makes him whine in the back of his throat, rasping out a muffled, slurred, poor baby before laving his tongue over your abused cunt, soothing the ache Ghost must have left behind. The stretch that was probably on the wrong side of too much, turning his milky cum a pretty strawberry pink.

You poor fucking thing—

He can feel just how swollen you are when he splits your bruised folds apart with his fingers, peeling them away so he can dig his tongue into your tender, chaffed hole to scoop out a mouthful of pink-tinged cum that pools inside of you. Salty and bitter and so fucking perfect, he could almost weep. It spills down his chin, stains his shirt, and despite the several swallows he takes, feeling the slimy, thick cum oozing down his throat, there's still so much of it. A thought that makes him whine, that has him rutting against the side of the bed like a dog because god, you're so fucking full, aren't you?

His hand presses against your pelvis—fingers pushing into the space between your lower belly and mound to push more cum from your cunt, sitting like an eager fucking thing between the split of your thighs, mouth open, tongue out to catch anything that spills from you. Fingers pushing and pushing. Swallowing it down, one mouthful after the other—

Ghost, when he'd changed after a mission that got him a little too messy, was just this jumble of scar tissue and thick pelt, and that's where it should have ended. Eyes politely averted, maybe a crass joke at his Lieutenant's expense (handsome, my bloody arse), but he couldn't stop looking at the thing dangling between his gnarled thighs. The way it hung there, swaying between his legs. Thick and fat and uglier than anything he'd ever seen before. The urge to ask—fuck, LT, how do you ever get pussy with a hideous thing like that?—crawling up his throat as he stared and stared and—

got harder than he'd ever been in his entire life, coming so fucking hard, that his belly ached after

—and he thinks of it now. Almost the width of his wrist soft, and how much bigger it must have gotten when he peeled your panties away, unveiling the pretty, slick split of your cunt. His hand slides up your belly, resting above your belly button where he knows the tip of Simon's cock would reach by memory alone, and how deep he'd speared it into you. Stretching you out around his fat cock, making this pretty pussy swallow every fuckin' inch—

He cums, then, rutting against the side of the mattress, head fuzzy with nothing but the thought of Simon ruining your cunt, coming inside of you over and over again, the taste on his tongue—sweet, wrecked pussy, and bitter, cherry-tinged cum—

He grunts, groaning into the swollen mess of your cunt before shoving his tongue as deep inside of your fluttering, swollen little hole as he can get, and still, somehow, finding the taste of Simon even after his belly feels stuffed full with it.

A dream, he thinks, rubbing his mouth and chin over your messy, wet folds; the silken, swollen split of a tender, well-fucked cunt the most heavenly thing he'd ever felt against his skin. And the fact that all that pink-tinged cum soaking into his stubble belongs to his Lieutenant is something that just wrecks him more than he thought it ever would. A fantasy spinning behind his eyes as he imagines the way you'd have cried and thrashed and screamed when slid that hideous fucking cock inside of your tight cunt, balls slapping against your seam hard enough that he feels the irritated, burning skin above the plush dents of your ass cheeks. How terribly he must have treated you, such a sweet little thing, as he heaved above you, hands curled around your hips, maybe digging into your waist, as he pulled you back into each thrust just to make sure this sweet cunt he risked so much to fuck, to ruin, took every, hard earned inch. Rutting into like a beast, a man starved. The way he looked down at you probably taking on the same shape and colour of that look Johnny saw in his eyes when you turned your back to the table, shoulders tensing like you knew there was a tiger hiding in the bushes behind you.

Pretty, dumb little prey too bracket by the idea of safety indoors and the cellphone inside your pocket to notice the behemoth of a man luring in the shadows after you clocked out for work, following you to your car before he scooped you up and slaked his hunger on this little cunt Johnny can't stop fucking with his tongue either, too eager for another sip despite how sore he knows you must be. Stretched wide around something thicker than his own wrist, insides feeling like the same papercuts he itched to madness in the back of his own head.

Poor thing, he thinks again when you stir, letting out a sluggish little whimper. But it's a muted sense of sympathy. Like the oooh and ahhh of an ambivalent crowd; humming along in obligation instead of real pity because despite how tight your little hole gets around his tongue when he curls it inside, and the darkening of that pretty, pink-tinged cum to rose-red, he's too hungry to stop.

This is the first real meal he's had in years, and no matter how much you wince and whine, he knows he has to take what he can before the predator returns to finish off your bones.

Later, with his belly full and his lips sticky with dried cum and slick, he finds his way back to the diner with the document in hand, ignoring the piercing look Ghost sends him and offering up an easy grin.

Lax and nonchalant because the man will find nothing amiss when he gets back to his room because Johnny had no reason at all to go into the bedroom at all. He'll open the door and see you splayed over the mattress, pussy wet and messy and still leaking cum—

(pink-tinged, of course, because Johnny got a little carried away himself by that sweet clench of you around the thick of him. something he'll coo about and apologise for later when he sneaks back inside for another taste—)

But what he forgot was the keen eyes and sense of smell on an apex predator, and when Simon snatches him up by the scruff of his neck before shoving him against the wall with a hungry, snarling, teeth-clacking kiss (that's more of an eating, really; a devouring that makes Johnny's cock throb and his stomach whine in longing), all he can say is whoops when Simon growls out,

"yeah?" he replies. "that's sweet, angel."

confessions spill out easy from your lips, and he comes to hear, crouching by your feet with big hands splayed atop your thighs. he taps with the pads of his fingers and listens and wants desperately to nuzzle his face in some warm place of you.

"your teeth are pretty," you blurt next. "i daydream about kissing them."

something foreign and fuzzy settles in the pit of his heart.

"i'd let you, baby. you want to?"

you nod. so he lets you. flushes a smooth, blushed velvet. you pull his pink lip up with a gentle thumb and kiss his canines just to kiss.

there are many little details about you, that he admires just the same. the faint hairs that trail in a tiny rivulet down your navel, the delicate swell of skin above the waist of your jeans, the curve of your ears. how you speak, and blink, and your puffed under eyes after waking.

"d'you think i'm weird?" you question, when his cheek is to your chest and his bones are warmed jelly. you pet his hair. he tries to shake his head against you, but doesn't move at all. the ball of his palm rubs circles into a small divot in your back.

"a little," he whispers. "i like it."