Ranger Training
Warning: Extreme content, including torture.
Sequel to Unseen, Unheard, Unknown and The Enemy Within.
"...p, now."
Vicky yawned lazily. She'd never been a morning kitty, and despite having joined the military, the pantheress had yet to break her habit of waking slowly.
Of course, her lazy morning mind had also forgotten where she had fallen asleep last night - on the tent of a wolf, her owner now that she had been captured and enslaved after failing her scouting mission. She was reminded in short order. The wolf was not one to ask twice. Instead, she felt pure, primal pain radiate through her body from her neck. Her eyes fly open, but she is otherwise unable to move aside from slight twitches. The wolf is holding the end of her leash, pressing the button controlling her collar's special feature, a set of shock probes.
He finally relents after several seconds of this, a wide toothy grin across his muzzle... and his 10" of blood red cock out and throbbing, poking through the gap in his button down shirt. She gasps, her lungs finally working again; the pain is enough to make her vomit... except it had been nearly a day since the pantheress had last eaten. Instead, she crawls to her knees and coughs between gasps. "There you go, Kitten. Was starting to think you were almost too perfect to be real, but I got a chance to use our little toy after all. Remember that next time you want to sleep in. You sleep or wake at my will, to do as I say. On the plus side, I'm feeling pretty good right now, so I'll be generous. You've got thirty seconds until I jam myself under your tail. It's entirely up to you how hard or easy that is."
The dazed cat keeps coughing, recollection coming slowly. She finally realizes what he means, and spins around to face him, mouth opening to wet his cock. It's too late - before she can get there, he grabs her by the scruff and throws her down on the ground, before grabbing her by the tail and hauling her ass into the air; she loses her balance and falls, her face hitting the floor. "Well, that was thirty, so hard way it is!"
Her eyes go even wider. She's never so much as played with herself back there, let alone had a partner. "No... please don't..."
She receives a second shock from the collar, thankfully much briefer than the first. "What did I tell you about talking without permission?" Without waiting for her to recover from the electric treatment, he lines himself up and shoves with all his strength. Her formerly virgin hole is tight as a vice. Even with his strength, he can barely wedge 2" in his first thrust as she yowls in pain from her hole, as well as her tail being used as a handle. Her tail is soon spared - it provides poor leverage, and without removing himself from beneath it, he shifts his hands to her hips.
He pounds her ass mercilessly. Each thrust is barely deeper, but it's enough that's he's able to gradually wedge her open. Her cries of pain only get louder with each inch. The wolf's tongue is lolling out of his mouth; he's enjoying her, both the tightness and her discomfort. "This'll teach you - next time, when I tell you to lube things up, you'll lube them up."
After several minutes of this, he's about halfway in; he finally smells blood, his assault on her tight ring apparently having finally torn something. Tears fall from the cat's eyes, but mercifully, the blood actually helps, the little bit of fluid providing lubrication to her abused tunnel. He's also able to slide in and out more easily, and is soon pounding the entire length of his rod into her ass, his knot kissing the dark ring of its opening.
"That's it, Kitten. You're nothing but fuckmeat now, so take my rod, and take... my... KNOT!" With those last few words, he does much as the feral wolf did the night before - slow his rapid pounding and instead settle for a series of much harder, more insistent thrusts, intent on typing the pantheress' ass. Her yowls intensify even more when she realizes what he's doing, and she tries to scramble forward, digging her claws into the dirt and skins scattered around the floor of the tent. She barely even slows the wolf down, and on his third thrust, she hears an audible squelching pop as his knot passes through her barrier and her entire length settles in. Moments later, she feels his warm, sticky seed coat her guts. She goes completely limp, simply hanging from his cock and the hands on her hips.
"Thaaaat's it, Kitten. This is your place, hanging from my cock, and it will be for the rest of your life. Or at least until I'm tired of you. You'd best perform well and avoid that. There's a few masters I know who make me look like a saint, and they like to buy thoroughly used bargain meat since they go through it so quickly." A whistle sounds in the distance; the wolf perks up at the sound. "Seems like it's time to go kill your friends, although maybe I'll bring a few back with me. Unfortunate that I don't have time to hang around and enjoy the afterglow." With that, she feels him start pulling her forward; her cries catch in her throat and fresh tears roll down her cheeks as he pulls his fully engorged knot out of her hole, then unceremoniously drops her on the ground.
A couple of minutes later, and the wolf is gone - his armor and gear donned with military speed and precision. Vicky simply lays on her side, recovering from her ordeal.
She comes to an hour later. While she dozed, she heard sounds that were distinctly military - men moving, sergeants forming up companies, weapons being checked. The wolf had not lied to her, the battle was soon to reach her people.
She looks across the tent, and her yellow eyes meet green - the vixen is awake, and staring. Vicky opens her mouth to start talking, but her words catch in her mouth; taking a breath, she tries again. At barely above a whisper, she stammers, "S... sorry... about last night... about helping him..."
The fox shakes her head. "It would have been worse for both of us if you'd resisted. It's obvious you're no friend of the wolf's."
Vicky nods, happy the vixen understood. "Um... I'm Vicky."
Blinking for a moment, the red-furred captive seems to need to think about this. "I was... I was called Elaine. But it's best to forget that. Those memories just bring sadness..."
The pantheress sits up and looks around the tent. "There must be something we can do. He'll be gone for hours."
"It'll just be worse. He'll catch you, he'll... you don't want to make him angry. You still haven't seen really angry."
Vicky doesn't respond, in thought. Armies were slow. If she could get away, maybe she could get ahead of them, still give enough warning to rally a defense. Elaine was shackled down, couldn't move... but the pantheress was only secured by a leather leash. The wolf apparently thought fear would be enough to keep her in line. The hook the leash is attached to is bolted to the tent post - the edges are rough enough that she begins vigorously rubbing the handle of the leash over the exposed bolt heads, gradually fraying it.
She looks to the vixen as she works, who is staring at her wide-eyed and nearly hyperventilating. "He's... he's going to kill you. Slowly. I saw it, the last one before me... he made it last hours before she bled out. He'll probably do me next for not stopping you... the wolves have no shortage of slaves..."
"I'm going home, or I'm going to die fighting."
A coarse, wolven laugh comes in through the tent's opening, following a moment later by the flap being pulled aside. "Going to fight, little kitty?" She drops the leash and spins around in fright at the voice, and sees a massive and heavily muscled wolf, covered in scars and wearing nothing but a pair of linen shorts. Her new master was strong, but this wolf was a complete beast of a man, easily twice Vicky's size. She had not seen much of him the night before, but the voice is unmistakable - it is the blacksmith who had fitted her collar, Vance.
He looks at the frayed handle of the collar, her work having gotten nearly halfway through the leather. "I'm disappointed. Here I go arranging something special, and you have mess up my work. On his way out of camp, your Master said I could borrow the two of you for a few hours. Said his little kitten had been a surprisingly good girl. But what do I find here? The kitten trying to escape, and the fox he so regularly complains about trying to talk sense into her."
Overwhelmed, the feline cowers as the wolf steps up to her. He reaches down and grabs her around the neck, just below the collar, his hand large enough that his fingers nearly touch over her spine. He lifts her off her feet, although the top of her head is still below his chin, and begins squeezing. Vicky wheezes, then her breathing is completely cut off. Eyes opening wide in panic, her hands come up and her claws extend, digging in to the flesh of his arm and drawing blood. Grinning, Vance just laughs at her. "Your master is going to be gone for a few hours, but a slave's punishment shouldn't wait too long. Too stupid to remember what they did wrong if you don't punish them right away. So I guess I get to take care of it today. Before that - do you know what's involved in declawing a cat? Because unless you'd like to find out first-hand, I'll give you one chance to let go."
Vicky's hands slump to her sides. Declawing is something she would most distinctly not want to learn about, and he barely noticed her attack anyway, even when her strength wasn't already drained by lack of air. Danging from his fist, her eyes start rolling back, and she falls into the dreamless blackness of unconsciousness.
Awakening for the second time of the day is even slower than the first. Her eyes slowly open, dazzled by brilliant daylight. She tries to bring her hands to her face to rub away the grogginess, but finds it impossible. Her arms are sticking straight out to the side, and seem to be bound to something hard. Wiggling some more, she finds this to be generally true. She's laying on her back on some hard surface - one of the mess tent benches? - and her legs are also tied up, spread-eagle. Aside from her head and tail, she is completely immobilized.
"Ahhh, finally awake." The gruff voice of the blacksmith wolf greets hear ears. "If we were back home, there are proper ways to deal with disobedient cats, but since we're in the field I had to improvise."
She turns her head in his direction, and finally realizes where she is. It seems that while she was unconscious, he had brought her back to the blacksmith's section of the camp. The anvil where her collar was attached was just a few feet away.
Unlike when he entered the tent earlier, Vance is now heavily dressed, wearing his blacksmithing gear, with a heavy leather smock, shirt, and gloves to protect his body from the hot metal. She can smell smoke, one of the makeshift furnaces the wolves had assembled for repairing their equipment in the field up at a full blaze.
"So, first thing's first. It apparently hasn't clicked in your little brain yet that you are now property. Property to do with as we please."
Finally snapping, Vicky can't help but to retort. "Fuck you, wolf. We're people, just like yo..." Her words are cut off as a leather covered fist connects with her muzzle, and she sees stars.
"Speaking out of turn? That will just make things worse. I was expecting it, however." He reaches behind him and picks up a small pile of metal and leather. Grabbing her face, he forces her muzzle open, then jams part of the device - a horse bridle bit - into her mouth, before wrapping the leather straps around the back of her head and fastening them, effectively muzzling her. "There we go. No more back talk. Now as I was saying, you are property, but you currently aren't labeled. If you were to get loose, we need to know where to return you. So I'm going to do your Master a favor and fix that oversight."
She watches as he starts moving around, picking up a long piece of metal and placing it just in the entrance of the furnace. "Normally, cats get marked with a tattoo. But everyone who would normally do that is currently busy, so we're going with plan b. For livestock..." he extracts the piece of metal from the furnace and holds it above her head. "... we use branding irons." The heated end of the metal is red hot, the rod bent in the shape of a howling wolf's head - the symbol of the wolf nation.
Shaking her head desperately, Vicky starts trying to speak, to beg the wolf not to do this, but her restraints keep her from speaking. The wolf moves down her body, waving the scalding stick around. "We normally brand livestock on the buttocks - but I don't feel like flipping you over to get there. So where should we brand you?" He holds the iron directly over her left breast. "Here? I imagine you would make some really interesting noises." He waves the stick down between her legs, the heat against her labia causing her to start crying even without the piece of metal making contact. "I'd REALLY like to get you here... but your Master might object, since he still has so much more use for that spot."
He pauses for a moment, then grins wider. "I know just the place!" He moves the iron up a few inches, about halfway between her belly button and the top of her slit, then unceremoniously jams it into her skin. The pantheress wails into the bit, her tail going stiff as a board. The smell of singed flesh and fur rises to her nose as the wolf holds the iron against her for a couple of seconds, before finally pulling it away.
The wolf tosses the branding iron in a bucket of water, sizzling as it cools down. "Much better. Now, your body itself will remind you of your place. You are nothing but a wolf fuck toy. You will take a thousand cocks, and if you know what's good for you, you'll take a thousand more." He starts pulling off his leather smithing gear, tossing it onto the anvil, and revealing that he was wearing nothing underneath. His dick is already fully extended from his sheath and dripping, and is if anything a bit longer than Master's. "Of course, it takes a while to get up to a thousand, so no point in wasting time."
Climbing up on the table on top of her, the wolf is straight to the point. He lines up and thrusts hard, his heavily muscled body giving him all the leverage he needs to press straight through her tunnel, cervix, and pound the end of her womb in a single stroke. With a grunt, he immediately sets a grueling pace, pounding her like a jackhammer, nearly his entire length going in and out of the feline.
He doesn't last long, his knot quickly starting to inflate. He keeps pounding her, each thrust taking a bit more effort to get the knot in or out until if finally locks inside the squealing pantheress. With a grunt, he unloads straight into her womb, his tip pressing through the cervix tightly capping the chamber and making sure all of his seed stays inside, the pent-up canid giving her enough cream to make a small but visible bulge in her belly.
"That's a good cat. Wish I could stick around to do some more, but I've got work to do." With that, he reaches down and grabs her thighs, then pulls, popping his full knot out of her strained cunt. "However, there's still a few hours left until your Master gets back, and it would be a waste to have you just laying around. I'll get you back to him before he returns... but until then?" He looks over his shoulder and calls out, "Boys! Get out here!" She looks down and sees a couple more wolves approaching, with a similar build to the blacksmith, but looking younger - apparently his apprentices. "You two have been doing well, so I've got a reward for you - an afternoon off, and a cat whore you can borrow. Don't do anything too permanent to her, but otherwise, have fun."