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Hybrids and humans have coexisted for centuries, like knowing there's a rabid squirrel in your garage and ‘deciding’ never to enter that garage again, giving up your spacious would-have-been mancave to the vermin.
A new initiative to further integrate these beasts into society found them excellent in high-stakes, high-pressure jobs like the military and construction sites. Meanwhile, the more civilized ones take part in paleontology and other academic fields.
All that to say, it's no surprise you’ve found yourself in the Special Forces. You had amazing skills: fast on your feet, and even better with a gun. The only thing holding you back from steady employment was your nasty temperament; You were stubborn as a mule and just as violent towards your peers. It was a wonder you hadn’t been put in a shelter yet. The person you had to thank for your current gig was Kate Laswell.
You were grateful, of course, and promised her you wouldn’t screw it up. But it's getting harder to stick to your word now that you've seemingly been put on a team of knotheaded men. You did best on missions. You listened best on missions, and you got along relatively well with everyone else on missions. It was the space in between missions where you found yourself in a base-bound limbo, itching for that fast-paced action.
There was no point in playing buddy-buddy with your peers when there was no looming threat of getting shot up or losing valuable intel. Because of that, you had no issue snarking back at Price, biting Soap when he got too daring and tried to touch your tail, or going harder than you needed to when sparring with Ghost, ripping the fabric of his balaclava and drawing blood. The only member of 141 who seemed to dodge your ire was Gaz, the only normal one on the team. Needless to say, you were less than an optimistic presence on base.
As much as you were a pain off-mission, you were damn good on them, way too good to toss to the pound. So, Price kept you, even if his frown deepened every time you were around. It was getting to the point where the team’s synergy was off. How were his men supposed to be the best they could be when they had a mutt biting at their ankles and pissing all over their gear?
All good teams get along both on and off duty. A unit couldn’t exactly build trust if one member was such a live wire, constantly waiting to be set off.
That line of thinking has Price heading to the mess hall, spotting you among the others by your floppy ears, hunched in on yourself, taking big bites of a sandwich. Walking closer to the table, he catches bits of Soap’s drabble, something about recruits being big lugs and how they were doomed if that's the best the military could do. John paid no mind to it as he tapped your shoulder. He’s met with your eyes boring into him, your face already twisted up in distaste at being caught mid-bite.
“Come with me, Sergeant.” As amicably as it was spoken, he meant it as an order. Price raised an eyebrow when you stayed glued to your seat, going right back to eating your sandwich as if he didn’t say anything.
John was at his wit’s end with you. He briefly thought about embarrassing you, snatching you up by the scruff and dragging you off. Instead of wrapping his hand around your neck, he clamped it roughly on your shoulder. Your immediate snarl is cut short by the glare he leveled back at you.
“With me. Now.”
You reluctantly get up, but not without making a show of shaking his hand off your shoulder. You stormed ahead of him, exiting the mess hall and marching straight into the hallway. You don't notice he's caught up until that brutish hand of his grips the back of your head, encasing your skull the same way one might a football, fingers digging into your hair and just barely touching your ears. Dragging you by your scalp to his office, you can't help but let out a yelp at the harsh treatment.
As soon as Price gets the door open, he’s tossing you to the floor, carpet digging into your poor-quality cargos. He's standing over you, the sound of his belt clinking while you attempt to scrabble away. When the rustling of fabric stops and you get from under him on your knees, ready to get up and bolt, he’s grabbing your ankle, pulling your knees from under you and making you fall face forward in his mangy carpet.
“Where are you going, mutt? After all the shit you pulled today, I outta chain you up to my desk .” You turn back at him to snarl, but it falls short when you catch sight of him working his cock.
Even while soft, it's thick, and it only seems to get wider as he shallowly fucks his fist, eyes watching you like he’s the animal and not you. You're staring, and he’s got a smug look on his face, hand never leaving his dick as he takes his right boot and flips you onto your back, before you can complain you're letting out a surprised yelp at his sole slotting against your crotch, boot digging into your clothed-covered cunt as he watches your face, his hand squeezes his cockhead. Ears pinned to your head, you shudder at the friction, panties getting damp as he smears his boot into your labia and clit.
“Yeah, that's all you needed, Luvie, huh? You just need your pussy touched?”
You're biting your lip, drool seeping from the corners as you try not to hump up into that boot. Leather and cheap fabric paired with the cotton of your soaked underwear creating sparks in your head at each upward stroke towards your clit.
“Stupid dog, acting like she’s in heat.” He’s grinding his boot into your clit, you're getting so slick you wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to cum from this.
Price seemingly senses you're nearing orgasm and instead removes his foot to bend down and grab you by your arm with the same hand that was choking his cock. You're grunting and attempting to struggle, wiggling in his arms, tail and ears pinned; you try to bite at the hand dragging you, and he swiftly smacks you with his left hand. Your head is absolutely spinning, and you can feel the bruise already forming as he roughly tosses you on your back onto his desk. You watch his cock, red and angry, bob as you grapple for purchase on the desk, knocking things over in your wake.
John borderline rips your pants and underwear with the force in which he shucks them off, pussy open to the cool air of the room, glistening under the lights, he tosses your clothes on the floor and swiftly slaps your cunt making you wail. The wetness from your slick and the precum on his hand makes the stinging heat of the slap last longer. He doesn't give you a moment of reprieve as he smacks you again, and again, and again. You squeal at the contact, tears welling in your eyes as your body trembles. You try to bend away from the contact, but he suddenly grips your hip with his left hand. Sucking his teeth, he looks up at you from under his hat.
“Stop fighting and take your punishment like a good mutt.”
That just makes you whine even louder. Before you can complain, he's shoving two thick fingers in your cunt. You go rigid on the desk, a howl lost in your throat at the stretch; he does nothing but chuckle at the blissful pained expression on your face, snatching his fingers out of your snatch with a *shluck*. You do a full-body twitch at that, trembling and groaning at the suddenness of it; you're absolutely soaking. And when his hand connects with your cunt again, you squirt. Forming a puddle on the desk that seeps into the carpet below.
This only encourages Price more, so he runs his fingers up your clothed tummy while you shake like a leaf. Smiles sweetly at you while you catch your breath. And then he's winding back his hand and slapping your pussy, poor cunt weeping at the treatment, creating a larger puddle on the desk, and a further wet spot on the carpet. You’ve lost balance, leaning on your elbows and collapsed back onto the desk, panting and sobbing as he massages your warm, wet cunt.
“Shshsh poor girl, you're doing great, just a little more alright? Just some more until I think you’ve learned your lesson.” That doesn't console you at all, and you sob harder, tail coming between your legs to hide your poor pussy from the abuse.
This makes John smile as he takes a step back and works his cock with the hand he’s been spanking you with. John lets you catch your breath and quiet down on his desk while he drops his cock to get some whisky from his desk. Pouring himself a finger, he drinks half and leans over your teary-eyed, fucked out face to dump the rest on your cunt. You jump like you’ve been electrocuted, a shrill shriek leaving you as you curl inwards at the sting.
“Hush now,” he mutters while he sits in his chair and watches you writhe, fingers stroking his cock at the sight of your pained expression.
He's content just watching you squirm, pinching his cockhead when he feels an orgasm rising. When the feeling subsides, he’s swiftly grabbing you by your ears and cutting your pained whines short with his dick down your throat. Smacking you in the face when your teeth graze too close to his dick skin. He's got his back curved as he lets his cock rest in your mouth, groaning as you suckle pitifully at the intrusion, grinding into your face hole, the fabric of his jeans roughly grinds into your forehead, his balls rest heavy on your nose, tickling your eyes and making you squirm from under him.
Losing interest in your mouth, he unceremoniously slides out. A string of spit and precum connects him to your lips. He's letting your head go to sit back in his chair, grabbing your arm to drag you off the desk, you land on the floor with a thud wet pussy grinding into the carpet as he holds you awkwardly by the arm, your face inches away from his bowing cock, foreskin hiding the tip away. His dick leaves a wet trail on your face as he bends over to spin you around, your clit making delicious contact with the fibers of the carpet, leaving a snail trail and making you jolt as he picks you up, back rubbing against his cock, tail on his thighs; you shudder at the coolness of the room.
He angles you more towards the desk and hooks his forearms around your knees, baring your winking cunt to the room as he puts you in a proper full nelson. Cockhead kissing your soiled pussy, you shudder and squirm; should anyone come into the room, simply bending over or walking around the desk will give them full view of your erect clit and sopping, twitching folds. Looking further down reveals your pulsating asshole between your cheeks. Absolutely nothing is hidden, and that makes you shudder even more.
“Your poor pussy must be all tuckered out, huh, Mutt?” He doesn't wait for a response from you, just moves his hips, resulting in his cock bobbing at your entrance. “Let Captain kiss it better, okay?”
All you can do is whimper as he’s suddenly pushing his cock into you, slick with precum; your wetness eases the way for him to bully it inside. He groans at the feeling of your walls squeezing him, cock so big and wide it nudges against that gummy spot inside you and makes you squeal like a pig.
Your noises encourage him to start moving, and so he slides a bit further into the chair and pistons his cock inside you, your feet wag at the rough pace and your ears flop as you groan. His fat balls clip your clit with every motion and make your eyes roll back in your head. You're drooling onto your shirt, and your breasts wag despite the bra and the position. He's grunting like a dog at the effort, and the chair creaks with the force. There's a violent slapping sound filling the room paired with the wetness of your cunt, you’d be embarrassed if you could think about anything other than the dick in your guts.
You're so out of it you don't notice when there's a knock at the door, so cock drunk you don’t notice Ghost, Gaz, and Soap filing into the room.