The New Tales: Seventeen
#1 of The New Tales
I just write this thing in one night. I am dead tired and I am very, very sure, it's full of mistakes. If you spot any, send me a PM or just ignore them. I mean, my english is generally bad. Warning: This story contains rape,bondage and very, very graphic violence. Who can't stand this should scamper away now! Also, I'd really love comments. If you read it, leave a comment, no matter if you liked or not. * * *
"Fourteen." The vixen twitched at the loud bang, followed by the noise of a body falling over. "And fifteen." "Please, I will..." Another bang. One shot right into the forehead. The vixen was not shivering. It wouldn't help a thing. She was not afrad, she was not crying, she was not begging. It wouldn't help. Right next to her was a ten year old girl, naked and tied up just like herself. They will shoot her too. They have already shot the little girl's mother and father. "Sixteen," the soldier sighed, as if bored. Bored shooting a bunch of slaves on a farm. The vixen had no idea why they had decided to show up here and shoot them. They just did. Tough times. The little girl sobbed. A moment later, her body fell over, falling against the vixen's shoulders. The vixen moved a bit so the girl would hit the ground. Her dead, empty yes pierced through the vixen's head. Blood touched the vulpine feet. So this was it. Nice life. Eighteen years of slave work and abuse, and then some soldiers show up and just shoot them all. They didn't even betray their masters. In fact, they were treated quite well, so there was no reason to rise up. She never did anything wrong. "Seventeen," the soldier said. The vixen stared into the gun. Would she see the bullet coming out? She just hoped it would be too fast to feel any pain. A single tear dropped from her face, but she did not close her eyes. The noise made her jump. Silence. She was not dead? She kept staring at the gun. It clicked again. No bullet. "Aw, balls," the soldier exclaimed. He cocked the weapon and patted its side. Then he aimed for the vixen and pulled the trigger. "Aw, come on now," he mumbled and checked the ammunition. "Private, have you got spare ammunition for me?" "No, sir," another soldier replied. "You used it all up at Belleforte, serge." "Have I? Well, I must have." The sergeant looked into the vixen's eyes. "Funny, though. Had exactly sixteen bullets left." He made a tiny chuckle. "Sir, do you require my rifle?" "Hm?" The sergeant still stared. The vixen stared back. "Er, no. I don't think so." He patted his gun again. "All must be in order, private. We can get a new magazine later. We'll take her with us." He put the gun into its holster. "Yes, sir!" the private shouted and saluted obediently. The sergeant squatted down. "Looks like seventeen is your lucky number," he mumbled. Then he hit the vixen's muzzle hard, making her fall over. He stood up and walked away. "Let the medic put her to sleep and her on the truck." The last thing the vixen saw was a wolf in white clothes. He yanked a needle into her arm, and just moments later she was unconscious.
As she woke up, all her muscles hurt. Even the eyes betrayed her, refused to open at first. She heard noises. Screaming? No, laughing. Music. Accordion music, laughter and drunken singing. More than a dozen man without any sense for tune or melody, let alone for lyrics, but full of alcoholics. An unique sound. She felt cold. A breeze made her shiver. She was outside. Slowly the vixen felt able to open her eyes. It was night. And she was outside, naked and tied up. Her back was leaning to some kind of pillar, or a wooden post. Her paws and feet were bound behind it. She had to kneel in the mud. Steps. There were steps. Boots in the mud. Towards her. They had taken her with her, but she was bound out here. Why? Because it would be more humiliating for her. Or to break her resistance? She never had put up any resistance! The steps stopped before her. She let her head hang, trying to look as if still asleep. A boot touched her stomach, softly, trying to provoke a reaction. She opened one yes, staring down. There was the sound of a zip. Some ruffling. And then, a warm liquid hi her shoulder, flowing down. A man sighed in relief. Was she being peed on? The vixen shuddered in disgust. As the stream hit her head, she could not stand it any longer and moved out of the way. She lifted her head and stared up to the urinating male, who stopped urinating. But only for a moment. He finished, trying to his her chest instead. "So you're awake," he said in a deep voice. It was not the one of the sergeant. "Say, do you know what this is?" He let his penis touch the vixen's face. He made it lie on her muzzle. Then he cocked his rifle. The vixen felt a bit of cold steel touch her temples. "I'm very sure you know what it is. And you know what to do with it." He pressed the rifle against her skin. The vixen clenched her eyes. "Do it," he whispered. Very slowly she opened her mouth. The penis was slowly getting hard, just was turned on just by the thought of forcing her to take it. It smelled of urine, sweat and beer. But she really did not feel like giving this drunken soldier a reason to hit her. He would not shoot her, but being beaten up was actually worse. It'd hurt longer. She let the penis slip into her mouth, licking its underside. He was right, she knew how it was done. Get him hard, first. Licking it, moving head back and forth. She just kept her eyes closed. She wouldn't stand this with open eyes. Just imagine it was... candy! Her lips enclosed it tightly. The man moaned a bit and moved the rifle off her skin. She slowly worked on the hot piece of male meat, licked alongside it. The man suddenly grabbed her head with one paw and moved his hips, back and forth, shoving and pulling his penis. The vixen tired to give as much stimulation as possible. The man grunted louder with every thrust, she heard him close to his climax. Then he twitched, almost shoved his penis into her throat and came. He pulled out and hot, white semen flowed all over the vixen's face. It was quite a load, this soldier had not have any of this for some time. He panted loudly for a minute, then he put his tool back into his pants. "See? Wasn't so hard." With that, he turned and went back to the party. A breeze made the vixen shiver. Semen dropped from her face onto her chest. Damn boy should have cum into her mouth. She was really hungry.
They had given her some army pants for the transport. It was a simple truck, loaded with supplies and some soldiers guarding them. It shacked it's way through a landscape the vixen could not see. There were no windows, just the exit in the rear, and there was a constant cloud of yellow-brown dust. The three soldiers were staring at her almost all the time. Sometimes they whispered and laughed. She was not trying to hide her chest, why would she? As far as she had overheard this morning, she was not the sergeant's toy and plaything. What this actually meant, she'd find out when they reached their destination. "Oi, slave girl," one soldier suddenly shouted. "Do you have a name?" "They have no names," another answered. "They have numbers." "Yeah, slave girl. What's your number?" The vixen did not answer. She stared at some crate in front of her. Tomatoes. Concentrate. Tinned sardines. Army rations. Best before December 2020. "You know, my father's got a pig farm. His pigs got names. What's this tell ya, slave girl? Even pigs got names. And yer kind don't." "I know her number's on her shoulder. Brand mark." The soldier got up from his seat and went towards the vixen. "I'm talking to you." "Prolly can't even talk our language." "Just needs to know simple commands." He punched the vixen's shoulder, but not hard. "Like bow down, and suck!" He laughed at his own brilliant joke. Then he put a paw on her shoulder and yanked her forward so fast she fell from her seat and banged her head on the crate. "Serge wanted to shoot her as the seventeenth of her flock." "Yeah. That'll do it." He pulled his knife from its sheath and pushed the vixen down. "Hold 'er," he said. The vixen screamed in pain as the knife cut her skin at her shoulder. It was ignored, or rather, the soldiers were amused by her cries. It did not cut deep, but blood flowed from the wound. "There," the soldier said after a minute. He wiped the blood off his knife, using the vixen's fur. "Seventeen." "Looks good, Harry." She was left to sit and sob quietly.
At the evening, they had stopped by a tiny village. Nobody was around, it was abandoned. The troop annexed the local saloon for their uses. Sergeant up in the second floor, the main room made a good place for the others. He made them move the furniture. There was lots of alcohol in the cellar. Seventeen was led upstairs, into the only guest room. The furniture was mostly broken. There had been a fight, probably related to the entire state of this town. Just what kind of fight? The vixen didn't care. After all, she never wanted to be part of this. But it's just the way of her kind: They are born unfree, there is no choice. They are sold, there is no choice. They have to work, there is no choice. It just happened to her people. And her entire life she just tried to play along, giving them least reason to hit her. This was not her war. How could those people dare to just start an uprising? She was thrown onto the floor. The soldier bound her paws behind her back, very tight. Her shoulders were aching already from the pose. The her ankles were bound together. So Seventeen was left. Downstairs, the usual noise began, pouring through the walls like a kind of slime. Shouting, laughter, drunken lullabies. Outside, she heard shots, but just a few. Exercises. In case unarmed unfrees show up to be bravely shot. The vixen looked around. Bed was untidy, but looked comfy. So what would he do? Probably rape her. He's an army man, that's what they do. But maybe let her sleep in that bed. Okay. No problem. She'll play along. For food and a comfy bed she will let him have his fun. She noticed the mirror was broken. Shards on the floor. She could see her own face, a dozen times, staring back. It looked... tired. Exhausted. She looked afraid. And also, dry semen was still on her face. A dozen faces looked at her, telling her how she had been used. It was not her fight, of course. She just wanted to live. To live. Like this? Oh, he will rape her. But she'll be dead. She was already dead. Seventeen looked at all the faces that were herself. She was dead, just still kicking. A zombie. Waiting to be finished. A dozen faces narrowed their eyes. A dozen faces became serious. It was not her fight, but she could make it her fight. She let herself fall to her side and tried crawling forward. The private had done a pretty good job tying her, she could hardly move. But the vixen hadn't to move very far, she just tried to reach the shards... Slowly, inch by inch. Now she tried to turn her body. Her back was aching so hard from the cut and her position. But she could almost reach it... The door opened loudly. The wolf barged in, the sergeant. He was not really happy. And unlike his troop, he did not seem drunk and tired. He stomped in, closed the door and looked at the vixen for quite a time. Without a word, he stepped closer and undid the knot around her ankles. Then he turned and took off his shirt and trousers. The wolf did not say a word, but jumped onto the bed. He sighed in relief as he felt the silk against his grey fur. He had missed it at least as much as Seventeen had. He turned on his back and lay there for a while. Then he looked at the vixen again. "Well? What are you waiting for?" He began stroking his penis. Slowly it grew from its sheath. Seventeen stood up, in a complicated manner and went over to the bed. The wolf's other paw began stroking her between her legs. "You know, try to get yourself wet. It could hurt otherwise." The vixen nodded slowly. She really was trying. Trying to think something sexy to arouse herself. She focused on the sergeant's crotch. Well, admittedly, it was quite a package. A big package of throbbing male meat, just waiting to pound inside her, to fill her completely. "Atta girl," the wolf smiled and wiped his wet paw on the vixen's fur. She got over the wolf's hips and lowered herself. The wolf ushered his penis and let it slip inside the vixen's body. Seventeen shivered at the sudden wave of pleasure flooding her body. Her nipples swelled and she breathed heavily. Her entire body tried to enjoy this as much as she could. The penis filled her good. It almost touched her cervix as she had lowered completely. The wolf played with her breasts for a moment, before he lost interest. He put his arms behind his head. "Move," he whispered. So Seventeen moved, up and down, rhythmic movements with her pelvis. It was rape, sure, but she actually didn't have had any sex for a long time she had been able to enjoy as much as this. The feeling of the hot flesh moving around in her insides turned her on. And the hot waves of pleasure made her longing. She moaned and panted with every movement. She tasted every drop of pleasure, working focused. Seventeen worked and moved her pelvis. The wolf had his eyes closed, enjoying her insides. Big mistake. Without a sound, she cut the last bit of the rope. Her paws were free, and while still moving her pelvis, she prepared. The wolf opened his eyes. The last thing he saw was a shard, a broken piece of mirror. It showed his own face. A face with a scar, a face, frozen in last shock. Then the glass slit into his throat. Blood gushed. His claws dug deep into the silk, he made a gargling noise trying to cry for help. His struggling movements were what Seventeen needed for her orgasm. While man died under her paws, she had an orgasm, an exploding one. It felt hot, red as blood and deep as the ocean. The best one she ever had. As it had faded, the vixen took a look at her blood red paws. He was now dead. The shard was stuck in his throat. Seventeen grinned broadly. That hadn't been so hard. She got up and let his penis slip out of her. Who would have thought, the wolf had sprayed his semen inside her as he died. Nice to know he'd enjoyed it as much as she had. Seventeen climbed off the bed. As she stared at the dead man on the bed, she wondered why stopping there. Those were sadist idiots, they all deserve death. A growl escaped her throat. And she was the deliverer. The messenger. Angel of death. There was no weapon among the sergeant's belongings. He hadn't been as stupid as Seventeen had thought him, but that was no problem. The vixen got another big shard from the floor. That would do. The vixen took a deep breathe. Then she yanked the door open. There was one guard. The young soldier was too surprised as the vixen suddenly hugged him from behind and stabbed his chest with a piece of broken mirror. But in his last moments, he grabbed his knife and put it where he could get it. Then he tried to cry for help, but Seventeen had already slit his throat with the shard. She slowly put the body on the floor and clenched her teeth. That son of a bitch hat stabbed her leg. She pulled the knife out and pushed it forcefully into the private's heart. Automatic rifle. The private had an automatic rifle hanging around his neck. Sure, Seventeen never had any kind of weapons in her paws, but how difficult could it be? You point one end at the enemy and pull the trigger. Even those morons could do it. It was heavier than it looked. A lot heavier. She put it around her neck and humped through the corridor. The wound on her leg was pretty deep, but her brain was drowning in adrenaline. Revenge. She just wanted to see the blood gushing. She was longing for it. Every death an orgasm. She needed it so badly. She humped to the stairs. A dozen pair of eyes stared up at her. There was a moment of silence. And then she just laughed. The vixen laughed and pulled the trigger. The sudden force was unexpected, and she had trouble to hold the rifle straight, but she didn't have to. She just had to aim it into their direction. Bullet after bullet perforated the air, pierced through wood, clothing and flesh with a deadly force. They went through the soldiers and furniture. Seventeen's laughter turned into a long drawn cry. She let the bullets sieve air and bodies until the magazine was empty. Silence fell over the room. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. Seventeen stood there as if frozen. She threw the rifle away. It was done. Oh, how good she felt. How relieved and light. Every step was like on a cushion, every movement like through a thick liquid. Honey. She was moving through honey, she was feeling it, she was breathing it. Something moved. She went over. Not quite dead, her little angels of death had missed his important organs. She recognised him. Seventeen took his knife, cut open his shirt and then slowly wrote "Murderer" on his back, with a steady hand, line for line. The man sobbed. Seventeen threw the knife away. Very well. She was done here. Better go somewhere else. Oh she felt good. She was sweaty and a bit sore, like after a night full of love. The vixen opened the front door and sucked the night air in. Freedom tasted like honey, who would've guessed. A little bulled moved through her, entered her at the shoulder, took the way through her heart and left her body right under her collar bone. Her legs bend, and the vixen fell over. Seventeen was dead before she hit the floor. There was no pain. "Stupid bitch," the last private mumbled, dropped the gun and curled up to die.