FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

After a bit of an absence I have written something very long and pretty specifically tailored to a lot of my (and hopefully your) deepest, darkest kinks. A great big thank you to a friend (you know who you are) for giving this idea and waiting patiently while I procrastinated a bunch before actually writing it.

WARNING: This story is filled with rape and the subversion of authority. Read at your own risk.

On the evening before she was shot down, Colonel Petra Green was kissed by her co-pilot, a vixen named Starr. They'd been having drinks in Petra's room, which was half of a converted storage container set close to the air base's main helicopter pad. Petra had known on some level that Starr liked her, but she'd assumed that professionalism would hold sway. Alas, duty had been defeated by a fifth of cheap vodka and the vixen had ended up in her lap, lips pressed softly against Petra's.

It had felt...nice. Starr, of course, had come to her senses almost immediately and simultaneously apologized and explained the whole thing away as a bad joke. Petra, for her part, had played along. Starr was only a lieutenant, barely twenty years old and almost certainly too junior in both rank and age for an equitable relationship to be possible.

Petra herself was thirty five, a stern black wolf who had been in the service for half her life and felt only a little bit bad about putting her career ahead of intimacy...even if she did have to admit that she might have reciprocated Starr's advances had she been a little bit drunker.

She was clear headed the next morning, and maintained a professional bearing when she met Starr for an early breakfast ahead of their overflight, which would take most of the day. The vixen was doing her best to hide a hangover and spoke only of work and pre-flight checks as they made their way to the helicopter.

Petra flew one of the heavier models of attack helicopter employed by her nation's air service, and did not think much of the route they were supposed to fly. A portion of it took them over enemy held territory, but all the intelligence said that the enemy possessed no sophisticated anti-air capabilities. If they saw any large groups or vehicle convoys they were to report them rather than directly engaging.

All in all, the day was to be quiet.

Take-off was smooth, the familiar roar and thrum of the engine and rotors putting a lovely vibration through Petra's center. They climbed away from the air-base, which had been carved into the top of a jagged ridge and was reachable only by helicopter, and then curved off and away, heading due north. It was windy in the hills, and Petra felt the tug of a few thermals and air pockets, but she maneuvered her gunship and let Starr handle communications, just so the vixen would have something to do other than fidget and do largely mundane backup stuff.

Most of being a pilot was performing routine maneuvers again and again, but Petra had never gotten tired of flying, especially in helicopters. It was magnificent to be able to hover and turn and spin upon a fixed point in the air, girded against a crash by ten million dollars worth of finely engineered aircraft.

They kept fairly low, at the edge of what was considered proper reconnaissance altitude. Rules of engagement said that she was not to fire unless fired upon, and part of Petra always insisted that she tempt the enemy into an ill considered shot. With the junk they had, it was one in a million they'd actually hit anything. Their weapons were old Soviet stock, duds often as not. Hers were laser guided and backed by the exorbitant spending of a very heavily lobbied government.

The hills passed and the land flattened below them, evening out into a river valley speckled with pistachio groves and little villages surrounded by stone walls. Irrigation ditches criss crossed the valley, and along them ran narrow dirt roads just barely wide enough for a single vehicle. It was all very pleasant and sedate when viewed from above.

An alert began to blare. For a half second Petra thought that maybe her hydraulics had sprung a leak, for the alarm was shrill and terribly urgent, but then she placed it. Something had just locked onto her.

Starr looked at her, the vixen quietly startled, then she looked straight ahead and was all business. Petra began to report her situation, voice calm and level. All the while her mind ticked away. She couldn't tell which direction the fire was coming from, her sensors weren't reporting that just yet, but she knew that whatever the enemy was using was line of sight. Her aircraft was advanced enough that it could tell when it was being painted with an IR beam.

She dipped low, letting the gunship fall. The nose dipped forward and for a split second the alarm skipped out, only to resume almost immediately. Directional sensors began to shriek as well. Again, Petra felt a frightened glance from Starr heat the right side of her face.

"Deploying flares." She said, cool and calm. Clips of old movies flickered nonsensical through her head, fighter pilots stone faced and absolutely unflappable. A shiver rolled through the cockpit, flares kicking off by their dozens, lighting the space around them in a welter of white smoke and magnesium haze. If the enemy's system was heat seeking then the flares would baffle its direction and send the missile spinning off into nowhere.

Again the alarm flickered, then there came a tremendous bang and a tooth rattling jolt from behind them. The dashboard ahead of her lit orange and red and white. Her tail rotor had just been shot out. Distantly, Petra supposed this was better than losing her main engine. The missile had been distracted a little, but not enough.

Then, slowly at first, the helicopter began to spin.

"We're going down," Petra said calmly to Starr. "Aim for that open field at two o'clock, if we hit the trees it'll rip us to pieces."

Starr, though her eyes were huge with terror, snapped to the task with admirable speed. The vixen heaved at her set of controls and together they worked to keep the spin flat. So long as they slide into a landing at a sufficiently shallow angle, the crash probably wouldn't be too bad. Her communications were beginning to fizz in and out of static, so Petra simply repeated her location again and again. She'd been hit and was going down. A map of the country had opened in the back of her mind and she was plotting out all the nearest garrisons and air bases. None of them were too far away, though at the same time she was also worryingly close to the hills where the enemy kept their strongholds.

If they landed flat enough and were able to walk away from the crash, she figured they'd have a pretty decent shot at running into one of the nearer pistachio groves and hiding there until friendly troops arrived.

A garbled response came through the comms, then they were dead. The ground was spinning beneath them, a whirl of golden green earth and then cloudless sky. A pinkish spray of hydraulic fluid spattered against her side window, then they were alarmingly near, slicing towards the ground. Petra didn't need to say a word; together, her and Starr heaved up and to the side, and the gunship responded just enough to keep from plowing hard into the earth. Instead they skipped once, twice, each brief kiss against the ground rattling the entire cockpit, then the tail hit up against a crumbling stone wall and bent entirely in half with a shriek of tearing metal. Petra was slammed back into her seat, hard enough that she nearly had the wind knocked out of her, and then everything was still. In front of her, the dashboard blinked discordantly before shutting off with a low whine of failing electronics. The cockpit smelled unpleasantly of burning plastic.

Petra made herself check her limbs and back before moving. Nothing seemed broken, though she'd hit her head against the side window during their descent and felt dazed even through her helmet. She took it off and looked to Starr, who was staring at the dead dashboard, mouth slightly agape.

"Lieutenant, you alright?" Petra asked.

The vixen stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then slowly nodded and began to work at her harness.

"Get the survival kit and the fucking beacon." Petra ordered, the profanity coming almost as a surprise to her. She tried not to swear at subordinates, and Starr had really done nothing wrong, but it was beginning to dawn on her, truly now, that she'd been shot down.

First time in her entire career too.

If anything necessitated a little bit of coarse language...

Starr tugged the survival kit, which was a pair of submachine guns and some glorified camping gear, out from its place under the gunship's dashboard, then shouldered her door open and tumbled unceremoniously out of the downed bird.

They'd settled at an awkward angle and Petra stumbled as she stepped out, the ground swooning strangely beneath her feet. She had to bend over and ride out a wave of nausea before her bearings settled. There was smoke beginning to leak from the main engine casing and she stepped away from the helicopter with a grimace. She checked her right hip to make sure her service pistol was still holstered.

Starr stepped around the front of the helicopter and joined her. Together, they examined their surroundings, the both of them trembling with adrenaline and shock.

The helicopter had collapsed a low stone wall bordering a dry irrigation ditch, beyond which lay a flat, untended field which seemed to grow nothing but wispy tufts of yellow grass and tangled thickets of thorny scrub. Examining her memory of what the area had looked like from the air, Petra thought she recalled there being a village perhaps a kick or two to the south, then a little reservoir off to the west. Pistachio groves hazed the horizon past the helicopter's battered nose, but they were far enough away that Petra didn't want to justify making for them over open country.

She'd begun to look again at the thorny, abandoned field when she saw something. A puff of dust rising to the north. A vehicle (or vehicle_s,_ more likely) had just started up and were advancing towards them at speed. Petra gritted her teeth, knowing there was only one likely conclusion: whoever had shot her helicopter down was coming to investigate. Almost certainly they would have recognized the crash as being controlled, thus they'd know to search for survivors.

Turning, Petra took Starr by the arm and led the vixen towards the irrigation ditch. It was shallow and didn't offer much cover, but with a little luck they'd be able to run down it, away from the oncoming vehicles, being hidden from the road by the little stone wall.

Starr's legs were shaky under her and she toppled into the ditch with a grunt, the survival kit spilling from her grip. Petra took it and tugged it open, even as she examined her new surroundings. The ditch was barely more than a dimple in the landscape, choked with nettles and thorns. Worse, still, the survival kit had been packed with only one gun, an MP5 with two spare magazines.

"You take it, ma'am." Starr said, looking up from the predicament. Her paws had already dropped to her holstered pistol.

Petra didn't bother arguing, there was no time. She could already hear the rumble of truck engines, and definitely more than one. In the back of hr mind, she wondered who exactly was coming for them. The enemy wasn't exactly unified, and some groups were far worse than others. Seeing as how the people who'd shot them down had been equipped with advanced anti-air weapons, Petra supposed they were moderate enough to have been in contact with legitimate governments somewhere...though that still didn't mean too much.

Starr stuffed the rescue beacon, already transmitting, into her pocket, and left the rest of the survival kit behind. Either there would be friendly assets rushing in to help them or they'd be shot to death, Petra couldn't imagine an in between.

Crouched low, they hurried along the stone wall, thorns ripping at the thick fabric of their flight suits. Petra glanced behind herself and saw a golden haze of dust rising above the downed hulk of her gunship, brakes screeching. More trucks raced ahead, passing parallel to where they were running, and then suddenly there was gunfire.

The enemy had, just the same as her, sized up the lay of the land and seen the only proper way forward. Petra turned and threw herself flat behind a tiny rise in the soil, barely enough to hide herself. A pair of men had appeared along the section of broken stone wall behind her gunship and their rifles cracked in unison, the hot wind of a passing round swallowing the space just past Petra's left ear with a sharp little _pop. _

It hardly felt real, the same way the crash had. Her tremors and shivers and fear vanished, and a curious colorless border seemed to constrict the world down to just her and the two enemies. They were perhaps thirty yards away, and Petra had not checked the sights on her weapon, but she extended the wire stock, chambered a round and then returned fire. Dust kicked up ahead of her weapon, blurring the world, but she saw her first rounds kick splinters from the wall. One of the men sagged like a broken puppet and the other looked at his companion with a hint of shock before her second burst put him down as well.

Then Starr was tugging at her shoulder and shouting. The vixen had her pistol out and was gesturing along the wall in the other direction, where the gleam of a dented pickup truck had suddenly appeared, navigating a treacherous little gap in the stone wall to cut their escape route off entirely.

There were more men rushing forward, and more rifle fire, but somehow none of it reached them, though a spray of sand was kicked up between Petra's feet even as she rose. Petra fired the rest of her magazine at the truck and shattered its windshield, then dragged Starr into a low divot bordered by thorn bushes. Her heart was hammering and the weird, almost numb feeling she'd had earlier was entirely gone. Everything seemed to be moving far too quickly now.

She changed magazines with trembling paws and looked to Starr, who looked all but stricken with terror.

"I love you." Starr said, loudly, impulsively.

Petra felt the most intense urge to kiss the vixen, anything to smooth some of the fear out from her lieutenant's eyes...but then there was shouting and the gunfire suddenly quieted.

Petra didn't dare glance above the rim of her shelter. She listened very carefully but could not hear anyone sneaking up.

Then, a single voice rose from the direction of the gunship.

"Throw down your weapons and come out, we have your position surrounded!" It called, echoing over the field. "You will be treated fairly, we promise!"

"Fairly..." Starr muttered, voice shaky. "Fat fucking chance."

Petra couldn't say she disagreed, but the voice was right. Their position was pretty fucked. If they kept fighting then in all likelihood the insurgents would put a grenade or a rocket right into the divot and blow them to vapor. If they tried to run...Petra glanced at the thorns behind her, iron hard and impenetrable.

Suddenly she felt terribly uncertain. Her gaze dropped to Starr's hip pocket, where the beacon was. Hopefully, there would be friendlies inbound at any moment, though the sky remained frustratingly sedate and blue. With trembling paws she took the beacon and buried it in the dirt, so that the enemy wouldn't destroy it.

Again, the voice sounded, a bit closer now.

"This is your last chance, I will give you another minute...after that we'll open fire."

Petra risked a tiny peek, glancing along the wall. There were perhaps a half dozen men crouched low around the nose of the downed gunship, another one standing cautiously a few paces ahead of them. He wore dark clothes and had his face covered, but Petra could tell from the dusty brown tail that swished behind him that he was a fox. In the other direction, men were dug in around the truck. A cold squirm of alarm rolled through her at the familiar sight of an RPG tube poking up from the other side of the truck's hood.

She slid back down next to Starr and let out a slow breath.

"They've really got us pinned," she said. "Probably won't get more than another burst or two off before they blow us up."

Starr's ears had pinned tightly back, the vixen's tail making tight little swings across the dirt.

"What are we gonna do, ma'am?" She asked.

Petra wanted to tell the vixen that they would fight it out, but the words froze even before she could open her mouth. Had it just been her then she would have opened fire without a second thought...but Starr was with her, and the thought of consigning the vixen to certain death made her heart skip a beat.

"We aren't under any obligation to fight to the death." She said carefully, hating that this was the only other option.

Starr blinked.

"They might hurt us." She said, voice dropping to a frightened whisper.

"But we'll be alive," Petra said. "You'll be alive."

For a moment it looked like the vixen might protest, or jump up and start firing her pistol, but at last she sagged against Petra's shoulder.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you, lieutenant." Petra said, then immediately regretted making such a promise. The look in her subordinate's eyes, one of warmth and love and relief, hurt her even worse. Starr had to know that this probably wasn't something she could actually do, Petra figured, but she said nothing to take it back.

She tossed out her submachine gun and then her pistol, each weapon making a dull thump in the dirt. Starr followed that with her own weapon, and then Petra stood slowly up with her paws raised and a grimace curling her lip.

"We surrender." She said, looking to the fox. He had to be the leader.

The fox looked at her with sharp amber eyes and for a moment seemed surprised. His men had begun to exchange small glances. Petra supposed that none of them had ever seen a woman in uniform before, let alone two.

She forced herself to feeling of eyes upon her, and even as the insurgents moved cautiously forward to take her prisoner, she looked along the road and counted the vehicles in their convoy. There were at least eight, two with mounted machine guns and another with an odd hunched thing in its back that was covered with a gray tarp.

That had to be what they'd shot her down with. If she had to guess, it was probably something the Chinese or Russians had 'accidentally' lost.

The first two insurgents to reach her were felines, a sandy furred caracal and a golden wildcat with a ragged ear. They approached her cautiously, seeming intimidated by her height. Petra hadn't noticed before, but she was at least a head taller than every one of her capturers. She took some small scrap of satisfaction from this, even as the wildcat bound her arms behind her back with plastic ties, then produced a black fabric hood.

"Thank you for surrendering," the fox said as the hood went over her head. "You'll have the honor of being the first fliers our group has captured."

Petra said nothing. Her mind began to work again, eliminating the various splinters and enemy coalitions that she knew for sure had taken prisoners. That left...quite a few groups, actually. The fox's outfit was clearly well connected, and reasonable enough not to murder its enemies on sight, but...

Fuck.

Petra thought for a moment about just asking them who they were, but that would break protocol and also encourage her enemies. The wildcat hadn't put the hood on tightly enough and by tilting her head back she could see a sliver of Starr's side, the vixen being similarly bound.

She nodded slightly at her lieutenant, but a moment later someone, the caracal perhaps, tugged the hood down more firmly and then grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and began leading her to the left, back towards the gunship. Petra expected Starr's group to follow, but instead she heard a shuffle of footsteps moving to the right instead.

She tried to stop, turning blindly to where she was being separated from her lieutenant, but the insurgents snarled and yanked her forward. Someone hit her in the stomach and Petra flinched, but her flight suit was thick enough to pad the blow somewhat and it only stung a little.

Perhaps it had been naive to assume that the enemy wouldn't separate them at the first opportunity, but she still felt a gnawing sensation of worry as her captors forced her back over the broken stone wall and then into one of the trucks. The scent of blood was sharp in the air and one of the men nearby muttered angrily and kicked her in the thigh. Petra shut her eyes behind the darkness of the hood and told herself not to react. To show ant sort of fear would only goad the enemy on. Better she become something dull and inanimate, that way they'd lose interest and leave her alone. She was forced into the center of the rearmost row of seats, a man seated on either side of her so she wouldn't try to leap from the door.

Petra couldn't tell exactly who was sitting with her and so tried to recreate the group based upon what she'd seen before being hooded. There had been the fox, the wildcat and caracal, and...

She'd seen a jackal, or at least something tall with pointy canine ears. There'd been a cheetah, she'd seen the spots, and then another few foxes and assorted felines. The group had been small, a strike force. She could only assume that they'd been intending to test their anti-air system and then leave in a hurry if it didn't work out.

Alas, it had.

The truck started up and they bumped back onto the road. Even with her vision obscured Petra became suddenly aware that she was being looked at, an unpleasant energy thrumming within the truck. One of the men said something and the others laughed. There was a tense, almost angry edge to the noise.

She'd killed two of their comrades, after all.

Someone else said something, his words blurred to nonsense by the rattle of the truck going over a bump, then Petra felt the hard press of a pistol barrel against her temple, the man on her right pushing it against her almost playfully. Petra couldn't help but flinch. The man with the gun (she thought this had to be the wildcat) laughed. The others did too.

"Are you ready to die, invader?" The wildcat asked, prodding her with the pistol again. The barrel ground into her ear this time, but though it hurt Petra still said nothing.

"It's that uniform, making her brave." The man on her other side said, jabbing an elbow into her ribs. He was talking about her flight-suit, camouflage patterned and made to withstand almost everything. It was done up in only one piece, with a broad plastic zipper running from throat to groin.

A paw found the flag emblem on her shoulder and tore it away. The wildcat laughed and then was shifting in his seat, pressing hard against her side. His pistol jammed against the underside of her chin and Petra felt her head forced back against the rear window of the truck. The vibrations and tremors of the road seemed to jitter into her skull like input through the tines of a tuning fork.

For a moment she thought that he was about to shoot her, prisoner business be damned, but then his other paw found the zipper of her flight-suit and began tugging it down with rough, uneven jerks.

Instinctively, Petra began to squirm, but found her shoulders pressed back by the other man. Through the tiny gap at the bottom of her hood she saw a flash of sandy fur and knew her other assailant to be the caracal. Not that it mattered, she figured bleakly, then sat back and tried to focus on turning herself away from what was happening. Resisting would probably only encourage the enemy. She'd have to endure some groping and humiliation and whatever else, then hopefully they'd get to wherever they were going and perhaps she'd be shut in a cell somewhere and left alone.

The wildcat finally tugged her zipper all the way down and spread her flight-suit open. Petra had an olive green shirt and briefs on underneath, but still felt horribly exposed, especially with her arms bound and the cold press of a gun at her chin.

The wildcat and caracal tore her shirt open, fabric shredding like paper. Petra hadn't worn a bra, it tended to chafe underneath all the rest of her flight layers, and she ground her teeth, feeling both furious and humiliated as her assailants laughed. She was well endowed, especially for a wolf, and could feel her breasts bouncing with each bump in the road they went over. The wildcat pressed harder against her, and so did the caracal, the two cats trying to force her into a strange sideways position. A rough paw, she wasn't sure whose, slid between her legs. Petra tried to squeeze her thighs shut, but the man in the front passenger seat grabbed her and helped lever them back open. The hood slipped up an inch and then the pistol was gone, replaced by the wildcat's mouth as he kissed her neck. The hardness of a feline erection rubbed insistently against her thigh.

It was all she could do not to shiver with disgust. This was too much to focus on, too much to bear, and Petra found her thoughts turning instead to Starr. She felt a momentary horror at the thought of the poor vixen going through anything like what she was, then Petra insisted to herself that her lieutenant was just fine. No matter the actual case, she needed to believe that.

She wasn't sure how long the drive lasted, but after a while the truck slowed and they began to advance up a slope. They were in the hills now, probably heading for a secret base somewhere. Petra kept her eyes forward and her mouth shut, feeling eternally grateful that the back of the truck was too cramped for her assailants to do anything more than fondle her.

She'd long since learned not to tense or wince. If she did that the wildcat put his gun back on her. A dull pressure persisted between her legs, where the caracal had pushed a pair of fingers into the silken heat of her lupine pussy and was working them slowly in and out. But even this was preferable to the attentions of the wildcat. He kneaded her breasts roughly with both paws, horribly intimate kisses lavished upon her neck and throat.

Petra had begun to tremble, despite herself, and wished badly that she could stop.

At last, the truck came to a halt amidst a whine of ill maintained brakes and her assailants withdrew from their unwelcome attentions. The wildcat growled, low in his throat, then pinched her left nipple and tugged the hood up just enough to bare Petra's muzzle. Before she could react he pushed his tongue into her mouth, lips pressed roughly against hers.

Petra made herself be still and let the wildcat have his fun. He groped her for another few moments, then withdrew. She could see the satisfied smirk on his face for an infuriating moment before the hood was yanked back down. The caracal zipped her flight-suit back up and then the truck doors were opening. Petra couldn't think of what she'd seen past the wildcat during her brief glimpse of the outside world. Everything had been too bright.

The caracal tugged her from the truck and she staggered forward on trembling legs.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, slut." The caracal hissed, clearly pleased with himself.

Petra took a deep breath and managed to steady her gait. She was hurried forward, her head pushed down so she would make it through a low doorway. The noise of outside, truck engines and wind and the excited chatter of other insurgents watching a prisoner be taken in, was quickly muffled. It smelled like gun oil and tea and cordite where she'd been taken, but then the caracal handed her off to someone else. Petra bumped up against her new captor, trying to get a sense of his height. He wasn't much taller than the cats had been, but was clearly stronger. He gripped her arm hard enough for it to hurt, and bore her down a hallway. Petra stared at the sliver of floor she could see from out the bottom of her hood. Polished concrete. It wasn't old enough to have accumulated many stains or cracks.

They went down a flight of stairs, narrow enough that her unseen captor had to push her ahead of him, and then they were passing through a room where the floor was embroidered carpet rather than concrete. The man leading her laughed, but Petra wasn't sure why. Then he pushed her through a new doorway and left.

For a moment she thought that he had delivered her to a cell, but almost immediately new paws were upon her and Petra was pushed into a chair. The hood came off and she squinted, wincing at the brightness of an overhead LED, its glare muted by a frosted glass shade.

The fox was standing before her, smiling easily and flanked by a pair of his fellows. Their faces were hidden but Petra could see sinuous feline tails twitching back and forth. One was a cheetah, the other a scruffy little leopard, his spots still coming in. Behind them, placed centrally, was a strange wooden table, shaped almost like an X, or perhaps a person with their limbs outstretched. Leather restraint cuffs were bolted to the wood at the point of every 'limb' in the X. A video camera on a tripod stood nearby, though the lens was tilted down towards the floor.

Petra looked away, forcing her bearing to be casual. All the same, she tensed her core muscles, just in case she was about to be sucker punched.

Yet, no violence was forthcoming.

"This isn't typically where we take prisoners," the fox said, and surprised Petra by sounding almost apologetic. "...At least not foreign ones. I hope the drive was not too unpleasant."

Petra released a slow breath. She couldn't keep her eyes from flitting, however momentarily, to the ominous table and its well worn restraints.

She gave them her name, rank and serial number, then was silent again. The cheetah stepped forward, but though Petra readied herself to be struck, he simply cut the plastic ties binding her wrists, then stepped back to cover the door.

The fox leaned casually against the table, arms folded.

"I want you to make a statement for us," he said. "Condemning your country's illegal occupation of mine."

Petra stared, trying hard not to glance back at the cheetah. He was smaller than her, built leanly. Now that she had some open space to work with, If there was anyone she could probably wrestle a gun away from...

The fox sighed.

"I will only ask once more--" He began to say, then Petra twisted in her seat and lunged back, leading with her shoulder as though she were performing a rugby tackle. The cheetah had just enough time to start raising his rifle and steel jarred painfully against her ribs, then Petra rammed him into the door and was grabbing for his weapon. A shot went off, deafening in the room's enclosed space, and Petra felt splinters of broken concrete patter against the left leg of her flight suit.

The cheetah's grip slipped and she saw a flare of dark panic in his eyes, but before she could tug the rifle fully away, the leopard tackled her from the side. Petra crashed to the ground, both felines hissing and cursing. The cheetah, badly winded and wheezing, fell atop her legs. Petra rammed the top of her head against the leopard's nose and nearly knocked him away from her, but he only grunted and forced her onto her back. He raised a fist, ready to pummel her, but then the fox was next to him, one paw held calmly up, like a referee calling a fight.

"Enough," he said. "Put her on the table."

The leopard stared wildly up at his commander, breathing hard. The fabric covering his nose had begun to darken with blood and Petra could see one of his eyes beginning to narrow as it swelled shut.

For a moment he hesitated, shivering with rage, then snarled to himself and went to work obeying his commander.

Petra didn't make it easy for them to get her onto the table, and by the time they'd fastened the last restraint both felines had acquired new bruises. The leopard lifted his mask, blood dripping from his whiskers, then limped from the room with a discomforted mutter. The cheetah had collapsed into one corner and still seemed to be nursing his bruised sternum.

The fox, in contrast, seemed greatly amused. He smiled at her, showing a great many sharp teeth. Petra curled her lip at him, but could not ignore a cold swirl of terror as it percolated at the bottom of her heart. She was well and truly trapped now, her position terribly awkward. The table was made in such a way that her arms and legs splayed outward, only her head able to turn with any degree of freedom.

"You could still make that statement," the fox said, sounding only gently insistent. "We'd sit you down, give you a piece of paper. No further harm would come to you or your comrade."

Petra forced herself not to react to the fox's mention of Starr, though questions bubbled up within her. She wanted badly to know where the vixen was, where she had been taken...what was being done with her.

She spat at the fox, and succeeded in hitting the front of his shirt. He gave her an unamused glance, wiped away the spittle, then shrugged.

"I suppose we shall have to make a different kind of statement now." He said, then made a brisk motion towards the cheetah, who had recovered himself a little.

Obediently, the cheetah hurried towards the camera upon its little tripod and quickly set it up. Petra stiffened and looked back towards the fox, who tucked a hand into his pocket and came back out with a multitool.

She blinked. It had occurred to her, distantly, that her captors might execute her on camera. This sort of thing happened to prisoners quite a lot. But was the fox really going to do it with a miserable little folding knife?

Petra almost laughed, then felt horribly frightened. But the fox made no attempt to come around to the head of the table. Instead, he stopped at her left side, so that the camera had a good view of him.

"Ready?" He asked the cheetah genially, and received an eager nod in return. There was a dreadful easiness to all of this, the insurgents settling into familiar roles. Petra made herself think back to what the fox had said to her right as she'd entered the room. Prisoners weren't usually taken to this place...wherever (_what_ever) it was.

The multitool clicked open to reveal the glint of a blade, and Petra tensed, gaze focusing straight ahead. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't react. If she showed any fear or terror at all, that would only be helping the enemy.

At the bottom of her vision the blade came down and Petra felt a curious, painless tug at her neck. The fox, rather than cutting her, was working instead at cutting away the front of her flight-suit. He'd left a cuff of velcro and zipper at her throat, so that the garment wouldn't fall away, but beneath that was a gradually widening hole in the fabric, running from collarbone to groin.

It clicked into place, the statement the fox was planning to make.

Petra wanted to kick and writhe and shout, but the internal calculus of the situation remained the same. If she went to pieces on camera then that would be fine propaganda for the enemy, especially if they were doing something awful to her in the process. She stared up at the ceiling of the room, mottled concrete interrupted by an air vent and the single glass shaded LED. All that she allowed for herself was to clench her fists, claws digging into her own palms.

Other than that, she wouldn't make a sound. She wouldn't look at the fox but for what she could see in her peripheral vision. Petra repeated that mantra to herself, even as the fox's blade completed its journey. He'd cut a broad hole into the fabric covering her groin and laughed as he took it away and saw the rumpled, torn state that her underclothes were in.

"Very popular with the men, I see." He teased, and it was all Petra could do not to snarl at him.

He cut away her panties and the cheetah came around to get a closeup of her body, panning possessively over the ebony folds of her pussy and up to where her breasts sat, heavy and round, the space atop their cleft capped with a puff of soft black fur. Impulsively, he reached out and squeezed her left breast. Petra ground her teeth and did her best not to squirm. The sensation of being caught by the camera's gaze was so intense that it felt nearly physical. Her tail twitched, but the fox stepped between her legs, blocking any chance she had to pull it up and cover herself.

He shuffled his pants down, a pointed canine cock bouncing free. Its pre slicked tip brushed against the lips of her pussy for a moment, then the fox drew back just a bit and was instead spreading her snatch with a pair of fingers, admiring the supple elasticity of her hole.

The cheetah continued to fondle her, though his camera was focused between her legs. A pronounced bulge had begun to tent the front of his pants. Petra shut her eyes and tried to empty her mind, but all that she could think about was Starr. Starr and the absolute humiliating horror of what was happening to her.

It would have been one thing if they'd just assaulted her, like the men in the truck...but this was calculated. She was being filmed. Even if she somehow got out of this, there would be video of terrible men enjoying her with impunity, while she was bound and helpless to do anything about it.

The fox's fingers disappeared and then she felt the hot press of his cock. She made herself relax, there was no point in getting hurt over something that was going to be done to her no matter what, and felt a confused ripple of sensation within herself; muscles stretching and reacting to the sudden girth of the fox's invading length. He let out a slow breath as he pushed into her, paws resting upon her thighs as he used the full of his body weight to hilt his shaft into her silken depths.

It didn't physically hurt, Petra was experienced enough to know how to take even a very rough lover, but she felt a ripple of horror all the same. Between her legs, the fox began to thrust, paws traveling up to grip her waist as he pumped into her. His tail was wagging, Petra noted, and a new squirm of disgust nearly unseated her stoicism. Spurts of slick vulpine pre washed into her womb and Petra thought back to her room at home, where her latest box of birth control tablets remained unopened. She'd been busy enough with flights and briefings that she'd entirely forgotten to keep herself up to date.

Shit.

The worry of that shuffled along to join a thousand other fears and horrible feelings, battering insistently at the foundations of her resolve. She'd begun to tremble again, and prayed that it wouldn't show up on camera.

"Now, if only your country would send more soldiers like you, with tight cunts and big tits," the fox panted, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. He flicked a meaningful glance to the camera. "We might finally get some use out of this war."

His knot was beginning to swell and Petra could feel the fox's cock beginning to throb as he neared his peak. He leaned over her, hips grinding against hers, heavy vulpine balls slapping wetly against the pre soaked fur between her legs. Petra kept her eyes stubbornly on the ceiling, doing all she could to ignore the fox as he hammered away, hilting his cock again and again into her sodden snatch. Even so, she couldn't keep a few low grunts and unhappy gasps from leaking through her teeth. Her heart was racing, and the presence of the camera remained as omnipresent as ever.

The fox's grip tightened, claws drawing painful little lines through her fur, and then Petra wince as she felt his knot, throbbing with lust, push into her, the snug, velvety confines of her pussy molded around his eager length. He ground against her, hips pushing a half dozen more times before Petra felt the fox's balls tighten and his cock twitch as he filled her with heavy pulses of warm seed.

"Fuck..." The fox breathed, then slid his paws upward to cup Petra's breasts, gently pinching her stiff black nipples. She took a deep breath and continued to stare at the ceiling, teeth clenched. Her tremble had become apparent, she thought, and hated that it might be making her look afraid. The space between her legs felt intolerably wet, trickles of warmth pooling at the base of her tail, even as the fox continued to soak her womb with slow spurts of cum.

The cheetah filmed everything, grinning like a jackal. Petra glared when he got a closeup of her face, then took deep breaths and tried to be calm when he happily filmed between her legs, showing where the fox's knot had tied her pussy.

The camera went off and the cheetah set it back onto the tripod, his paws trembly and his expression alight with lust. Petra let out a slow breath and at last allowed herself a proper emotion. She growled at the fox when he leaned over her, pushing his hips slowly forward to try and make his afterglow last.

"Remember, this is only the beginning." The fox said, continuing slowly to fuck her, though by now his knot had started to soften. Trickles of cum dripped to the floor.

Petra said nothing, only continued to snarl, the noise a balm against her helplessness. Infuriatingly, the fox only smiled and massaged her breasts. The cheetah stood, playing the footage back, and when he was done looked up and nodded enthusiastically at his commander.

"Get a shot of me pulling out." The fox said as he straightened up. Petra hated how casual he sounded, like a film director asking for B-roll. Then he was pulling back, the girth of his knot leaving her with a pop and then a small flood of white seed. Petra shivered at the sensation, then quickly curled her tail in between her legs before the cheetah could think to grab it. He glared at her, but the fox hardly seemed bothered, stepping away with a low whistle.

He looked at her with something akin to contempt.

"You might try to look defiant right now, but I'll break you." He promised, then shuffled his pants back up and turned around. He said something to the cheetah, too quiet for Petra to hear, then opened the door and left the room. Petra got a quick glimpse of a thickly carpeted space with...

She'd seen furniture of some kind, and some sort of electrical equipment, but...

She laid her head back and focused on her breathing.

The rasp of a zipper sounded and almost before she could react the cheetah was between her legs, pushing his pants down. A barbed feline shaft bounced free and Petra immediately squirmed back as best she could, though the cheetah's grin did not falter. He pressed her down, guided the pointed head of his length to her freshly fucked pussy, then was shoving roughly in.

His barbs weren't sharp, thankfully, but that was the only good thing Petra could find about the situation. The cheetah did not bother with artfulness and rammed into her hard enough to rock Petra where she was bound to the table, gasping and grunting as he enjoyed the reflexive tightness of her spasming cunt.

Her eyes went back towards the ceiling, for there was really nothing she could do to stop this, though Petra couldn't keep herself from scoffing contemptuously at the cheetah's efforts. Her rapist didn't seem to notice, only kept pumping jaggedly away, paws gripped tight to her thighs. He watched her breasts as they swayed and bounced with each new thrust and lustful push.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, the cheetah groaned and then pulled sharply out of her, cock jerking in the open air. He stroked his twitching shaft with one paw, the other still clasped upon Petra's upper thigh, then sprayed her sable pussy with a half dozen ropes of hot feline cum.

Petra grimaced at the sensation, though couldn't help but feel relieved that he hadn't finished inside of her.

The cheetah was still stroking the last of his seed onto her when the door to the room opened and the fox returned, flanked by the wildcat and the caracal. Petra's ears flicked back at the sight of them, and she felt newly humiliated. Glancing back, the cheetah quickly tugged his pants back up and stepped sheepishly away. The fox snickered, then pointed casually at the door.

"Go get some water, you're cleaning her up." He said.

The cheetah's ears twitched unhappily, but he still obeyed.

The fox, Petra saw, was carrying a white plastic medical kit. Her eyes lingered upon it, even as her feline tormentors stepped closer, the two of them wearing identical grins.

"Is this standard issue?" The wildcat asked, tugging at a corner of her cut up flight-suit.

Petra turned her head pointedly away, but that only made the wildcat laugh.

When the fox brought out a syringe from the medical kit, somehow Petra wasn't surprised. After everything else, it seemed almost...quaint. He carefully measured a dose from a vial of transparent liquid, then showed it to her. Petra rolled her eyes.

"You aren't even curious?" The fox asked.

Petra knew she shouldn't speak, but the thought of remaining silent for even a moment longer suddenly seemed unbearable. She needed something that would let her resist, even if that resistance was tiny and meaningless.

"It's something to drug me, so I don't kill you when you let me off this table." She said, doing all she could to look bored. Unimpressed. Unfazed by everything he'd done to her.

The fox made a seesawing gesture with his free paw, then tapped the air bubbles from his syringe and was stepping forward. Petra began to tense, but the wildcat stepped forward and braced her arm. Once again, it was all worryingly well choreographed, everyone conforming to a familiar role.

It was all Petra could do not to demand they tell her what was coming. A tiny cold sting came, the fox injecting the syringe's contents into one of the big veins on her wrist, and then he was stepping back.

"Why bother?" She asked, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt. "You already have your fucking statement."

The fox blinked, halfway startled, then began to laugh.

"You thought that was the statement?" He asked, then shook his head and went to put the syringe away.

Petra made herself focus on being calm, though she was fluttering ever closer to panic now, the weight of the day threatening to crash down and take her with it. But even as she took deep breaths and kept a wary eye on the caracal and wildcat, she became suddenly aware of a dull, floating sensation behind her eyes, as though she was being slowly buoyed up by some unknowable force.

She blinked hard, searching for some edge to the sensation, so that she might not fall prey to its influences, but even doing so made her feel unpleasantly dizzy. She blinked. The fox exchanged a small, pleased glance with his comrades.

"Give it another few minutes," he instructed. "Then we should be ready to begin."

Begin? Begin what?

Again the fox left, and this time Petra was sure to carefully catalogue all she could see of the next room when he opened the door. It was plushly carpeted and had what looked like a wooden bench made of wood and leather, then...

Petra blinked. Across the opposite wall of the room were cameras and router boxes and computers, a whole careful array of expensive looking equipment. But this wasn't the sort of room meant for filming propaganda or executions. She looked to the single tripod in the corner, with its single camera, and suddenly felt ill.

This had been a private thing, the video probably meant only for the fox's personal viewing.

All of these thoughts, these dreadful conclusions, had acquired strange trailing ends, as though they could not be properly concluded. Petra tried to squirm, as though physical activity would cut through the effects of whatever the fox had just dosed her with, but even that felt swimmy and weird. Her internal conclusions were all the same, but she could not properly express them anymore.

Petra kept herself still when the cheetah came back and cleaned her up. It was a relief to have the most apparent evidence of her despoilment washed away, but at the same time she knew that far worse was coming. The odd, floating sensation had come to caress her limbs as well, and Petra couldn't help but blink and twitch her ears. It felt like if she turned her head too far to any one side that she'd tumble over, regardless of how firmly she was bound to the table.

Her captors were talking, she realized, but the noise floated in a middle ground that she could only focus on if she put effort into it. The cheetah leaned against a nearby wall and was bragging to his comrades, talking about how tight she was. How wet.

Their eyes roved across her form and the wildcat stepped close, one paw dropping to his groin.

"Leave it alone, you'll get your chance in a little bit." The caracal protested, but even as he spoke he too had begun to drift over, as though drawn by a magnet.

"It always takes him forever to gather everybody up, and then they need to sync the streams and arrange encryption and..." The wildcat flapped a paw, leaving the rest of the inconveniences unsaid as he positioned himself between Petra's legs. His paws stroked along the insides of her thighs, then finally came to where her pussy sat between them, vulnerable and slick with moisture.

Petra forced herself to think beyond the simple physical sensation of what was happening to her. So the fox was in charge of live-streaming this stuff. She could only imagine the number of people out there eagerly awaiting the next installment. A sick feeling twisted at the bottom of her stomach, but was swept away by an unexpected tugging sensation around her left ankle. The wildcat was undoing her leg restraints.

It was a struggle not to immediately kick him in the face, but Petra forced herself to wait, to see if he'd move to free her arms as well. And indeed, the caracal came around the side of the table and unlocked her there as well, though the cheetah was quick to keep a hold of her, no doubt remembering her brief flare of resistance.

It hardly felt as though that had happened on the same day...though the fox's drug had done something odd to her perception of time. Petra tried to kick anyway, even though she knew she had no real chance of escape, and was horrified to see her leg flop weirdly out. She caught the wildcat across the shoulder and perhaps startled him, but then he caught her and was grinning, the expression flat and devoid of any joy but a savage love of conquest.

He forced her legs up and pushed between them, one paw fumbling down to undo his pants. Petra snarled and tried to throw herself from the table, but the cheetah and caracal had her arms and pinned them down.

The wildcat's cock, hot and thick, pressed hard against the inside of her left thigh, but before he could readjust and push into her, the door opened and the fox stepped back in. He flashed an unamused glance to the wildcat, who stepped silently away, shuffling his pants back up.

"You can't control yourself for ten minutes?" He asked, then shook his head and smirked, some of the sternness shed in an instant. "...Can't suppose I blame you."

He clapped the wildcat hard on the shoulder, enough to make the other man wince, then jerked a thumb to the open door and the other room, where Petra realized she could see a buzz of activity, cameras being attended to and computers typed upon. An eager, terrible tension had settled over everything.

The cheetah and the caracal tugged her from the table and Petra took an uneasy step forward on watery legs. She could probably walk unassisted, she knew, but it would be difficult and she wouldn't be able to go anywhere at speed. As she was borne into the carpeted room, Petra looked around herself, trying to size up the situation, but there were no tactical considerations to make anymore. It was all too far gone.

The room was filled with odd contraptions; benches designed for people to bend over so they could be fucked from both ends at once, metal frames for suspending people from...

Petra had to look away.

The fox drew close, seeming pleased with himself. He slid a paw under her chin and forced her to look at him. She felt too swimmy to even contemplate trying to bite his fingers.

"This is the statement," he said. "...I originally thought we might just do this to your lieutenant, but since you refused to read our statement, I guess we get you too."

Petra blinked and felt a cold chill of horror that nearly cast the effects of the drug aside. And at that moment, as though choreographed, Starr entered the room, trembly and frightened. The front of her flight-suit had been cut away as well and her underclothes taken away. The fur along her chest and stomach was snowy white and Petra could see her lieutenant's chest heaving in and out, Starr frightened beyond words. She hadn't been drugged, perhaps because she wasn't big enough to put up a serious fight, perhaps just because they wanted to hurt her...

Petra tried to yank herself free, but though she nearly jolted the cheetah off his feet, the caracal put a boot to the back of her knee and forced her down. Starr made a low whimpering noise at the sight of her and Petra looked to the fox, all thought of protocol completely forgotten.

"Don't hurt her," she blurted. "You have me, you...I'm higher ranked, I'm...just take her away and I'll do anything you want." Her words tumbled forth in a disorganized torrent, Petra all but babbling. Between the drug and her own terror and fear and guilt, she couldn't hope to simply sit and say nothing.

She'd promised her lieutenant that she wouldn't let any harm come to her, and if that meant throwing herself at the mercy of the enemy...

The fox quickly blinked back an expression of surprise. He looked to Starr, then back to her, silently weighing something.

"Anything?" He asked.

Petra, teeth gritted, slowly managed a nod. A narrow, carnivorous smile spread across the fox's face and he put a thumb beneath her chin, slowly pushing a pair of fingers into her mouth. Petra trembled but didn't bite.

On the other side of the room, Starr made a small, despairing noise. There were tears leaking from her eyes and the two men holding her arms tightened their grip, guarding against an attempt by her to rush to her colonel's aid.

Yet the vixen stayed put, though it clearly hurt her to do so.

"Your friend stays to watch," the fox said, withdrawing his fingers. He wiped them dry on the shoulder of her flight-suit. "Now get to your knees, the show's about to start."

The cheetah and wildcat forced her down and as Petra watched others filed in along her sides, leaving her front and center for the cameras. A paw, she wasn't sure whose, slipped between her legs, fingers rubbing eagerly at her lupine slit.

On the other side of the room, Starr was tugged into a corner, next to the row of cameras, still held tightly by her two guards. Her mouth had fallen slightly open but she didn't seem to know what to say.

Petra looked away. She couldn't bear to see Starr, to know that her lieutenant would have to look at her and see what was coming. She tried to stare into middle space, away from the present reality of her situation. Her heart had adopted an uneven, sickly cadence.

Then, finally, the cameras whirred to life, little green lights flickering on above their dark, glossy lenses. People all across the world were looking at her now, Petra realized, and turned her gaze to the ground.

The fox stepped behind her and stroked a paw along one ear. Petra shivered but manage to keep her expression blank.

"Meet Colonel Petra Green," the fox said, his other paw dropping to tap at her rank insignia. "Formerly of her nation's air service, she was--until this morning--enlisted in strafing civilians and terrorizing the people of an oppressed country. She has since fallen into our paws and shall now be put to work repaying some small part of her crimes. And she will continue to do so until all foreign armies have left our lands. But don't fear, the Colonel understands her role and will perform it willingly. Isn't that right, Colonel?"

Petra could feel the weight of the fox's gaze upon the side of her face, and the terrible pressure of the cameras ahead. She felt even more distant now, though still not nearly enough to erase the awful, roiling guilt and humiliation burning in her center. An urge rose, more powerful than anything, to shake her head and roar defiance. The cameras were live, anyone watching would see her actions without delay...

But Starr was right there.

Slowly, Petra looked at the cameras and managed a stiff nod, hating herself even for that simple motion.

Satisfied, the fox stepped back and the men around Petra began to move, animated by hungry intention. Petra stayed where she was and tried to focus on cataloguing the people she'd have to deal with. If she could reduce everything she was about to go through down to a simple set of soulless actions, then perhaps she wouldn't break down.

Things moved very quickly from there. In an instant Petra found herself sandwiched between the wildcat and someone new, a coffee furred rabbit who grabbed her hips from behind and shamelessly groped the taut roundness of her ass. It seemed as though there were paws everywhere, squeezing her breasts and rubbing possessively at the slick black folds of her pussy. Petra couldn't imagine why, perhaps it was some side effect of the drug, or simply her body instinctively getting ready for what was coming, but she was suddenly wet, a damp heat present between her legs.

The wildcat kissed her hard on the mouth and Petra just barely managed not to flinch away, suddenly reminded of her awful journey to this place, and the eager way she'd been groped and fondled, her captors limited in their brutal attentions only by a lack of space and opportunity.

Well, they had everything they'd been lacking back then, and Petra made herself stay still even as a rough feline tongue pushed into her mouth, the wildcat's paws squeezing her breasts. Around her, clothes were being shed, the energy in the room hovering on the edge of a frenzy. Everyone had put together what was happening. They wouldn't need to pin her down or force her...at least not too much. There were all kinds of potential in that.

At last the wildcat broke his forceful kiss, but before Petra could even hope to feel relieved, she was forced onto all fours, the wildcat sitting back to press her face into his groin. His barbed cock throbbed against her cheek, a heated pulse of sticky pre soaking through her fur.

"Be a good girl and open your mouth." The wildcat ordered.

Behind her, Petra felt the tip of the rabbit's smooth, tapered length spread her folds and then was pushed forward by the weight of an eager thrust. It was disappointingly easy for her to let momentum press the wildcat's cock between her lips.

He hilted into her muzzle with a single shove push of his hips and let Petra linger there for a long moment. She squirmed, discomforted and humiliated, her nose pressed into the tuft of golden fur that sat just above his sheath. Another pulse of pre drooled down her throat, slick and slightly creamy.

A paw found her ear and gripped lightly, but the wildcat made no attempt to guide her head, only stroked the fur there. It was all Petra could do not to snarl at him, her stomach shriveling with shame as she slowly began to move her tongue. There was a twisted sort of logic to playing along, she supposed. The more active she was, the quicker her unwelcome partners would get of and leave her alone.

The fact that all of this was being captured on camera...

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to ignore that aspect of the whole nightmarish situation. This had to be viewed tactically, everything reduced down and her options judged by what would get her and Starr out of the room in the least amount of time.

With that new ethos decided, Petra took as deep a breath as she could, then pushed her hips back, meeting the rabbit at the height of his next thrust. She clenched down as she did so, working her muscles from the center out. The rabbit's cock jerked inside of her and Petra felt his paws tighten on her hips. She'd always kept herself in excellent shape and felt a confused sort of satisfaction at her own capabilities, especially when the rabbit hunched over her back and began pumping into her even faster, warm puffs of eager breath ruffling the fur between her shoulders.

Doing her best to ignore the rabbit's impending climax, Petra turned her attention to the wildcat and accelerated her own pace, one paw coming up to cup his heavy feline balls. He blinked at her, momentarily startled, then sat back and smirked, content to enjoy her mouth.

It didn't take the rabbit much longer to cum. He tensed, firing a few quick spurts of lapine seed into her depths before shuffling back, breathing hard. His cock slipped from her pussy with a wet pop and Petra couldn't suppress a disgusted shiver when she felt thick dribbles of liquid warmth begin to drool down the insides of her thighs.

She could only focus on that for a moment, however, before someone else was using her. Rough paws grasped her hips and a pointed canine cock stretched her tight pussy once more. She was serving an ochre furred jackal now, larger than her previous assailants, and Petra forced herself to regulate her own breathing as he pushed the growing swell of his knot into her, wasting no time in establishing dominance. Then, sudden but inevitable, she felt the slick warmth of wetted fingers press at the tight black pucker of her unspoiled tail-hole.

Petra had to work very hard not to immediately jerk away from the unwelcome intrusion. She'd already been humiliated in so many ways...

But of course there was nothing she could do to resist that wouldn't also get Starr dragged into this same situation, and so she let the jackal do as he wanted, pushing his fingers deeper and deeper into her ass, in perfect time with his thrusts as he fucked her pussy.

The only saving grace was that she felt so floaty and distant, removed from the terrible immediacy of what she was being subjected to. Petra knew that this was part of why the fox had drugged her in the first place, but couldn't decide if it was even worth hating him more than she already did.

Before her, the wildcat had begun to pant and Petra massaged the head of his cock with her tongue, doing all she could to get him off so that her loathsome chore would be done. And, though he was clearly trying to hold back, she could feel his cock jerking against her tongue, the wildcat's hips pushing instinctively forward as he tried to cram the whole of his length down her throat.

The jackal was too excited to last much longer and came with a strangled grunt, knot pulsing ever larger as he drenched her womb. His load was larger than the rabbit's had been and Petra shut her eyes as heat filled her stomach, seeming to burn with dreadful potential. Again, all she could think of was her unopened birth control back at the air base.

"You knotted her?" Someone asked, voice sharp with annoyance.

The jackal laughed, the noise shaky, and Petra felt a sense of mild relief as his fingers slipped from her tail-hole.

"You should feel how she's clenching down on me," he panted. "Bitch wants to be bred."

Petra slid her tongue along the underside of the wildcat's cock one last time, desperate to distract herself from what was being said behind her, and again felt a confused satisfaction when his hips bucked and she felt hot pulses of feline seed flood the back of her throat. The wildcat groaned, paws tightening on the sides of her head, but she was already pressed up against his groin, the whole of his spasming length enveloped by wet, velvety heat. She swallowed, knowing he wouldn't let her do anything else.

The wildcat withdrew with a little gasp, cock still drooling pearly streamers of cum, then wiped his member clean on her cheek.

"Good girl." He purred.

Petra kept her gaze focused on an undefined middle space and was only barely able not to glare. Behind her, the jackal was still pushing his hips against her, milking every last bit of seed from his knotted length.

She expected another eager male to take the wildcat's place and start pumping into her mouth, but instead a new set of paws took her shoulders. The jackal lay back and Petra sat atop him, gravity ensuring that his cock was snugly pressed into her thoroughly bred pussy.

The sudden shift in orientation was dizzying enough that Petra had to be steadied by the men who'd moved her, paws coming in to squeeze her breasts and stroke her ears. Hard cocks pressed at her face and Petra, resigned, let her mouth fall open. A barbed feline length, smaller than the wildcat's slid along her tongue and Petra was relieved to find that she could handle it quite easily, even as its bearer tried to ram his cock down her throat.

Her paws were soon occupied as well, a pair of sandy furred fennecs pressing in close, knotted lengths throbbing against her palms. Her fur was soon dappled with splashes of musky pre, the whole room alight with arousal. It smelled nearly like the moments before a lightning strike, and Petra felt no less overwhelmed than if she herself had just been electrocuted, her world both hazily distant and immensely present.

The cat using her mouth came after only a few more hard thrusts and gripped her ears hard enough to make Petra whine, pumping a few thin spurts of bitter seed down her throat.

A sable furred rabbit took her next. He was shorter than the cat had been and pushed his tapered length between her breasts instead, pinching her nipples as he ground against her chest. Petra was distantly relieved by this, as she could simply push her chest against the rabbit rather than actively working away with her tongue.

Beneath her, the jackal's knot had softened and he slipped out from under her with a sigh. Petra began to sink down, legs shivery, but before she could there was a flash of sandy fur and Petra realized that the caracal had maneuvered himself to be the next one between her legs. His cock, slick with pre and anxiously throbbing, pressed hard at the entrance to her tail-hole. Petra gritted her teeth, knowing there was no way to avoid what was about to happen, and made herself relax. The caracal gripped the base of her tail and guided her down, forcing her to help spoil the last unclaimed hole in her body.

A dull, strange sort of pressure resonated within her and Petra couldn't help but squirm as he adjusted to the feeling of having something pushed into her tail-hole. She felt distantly grateful that at least the caracal didn't have a knot.

"Ride me." He ordered, and Petra rolled her hips, making sure that the whole of the caracal's cock was inside of her. His grip tightened as she did that, a low exhalation betraying the pleasure he felt at claiming such a tight, wet hole.

Once she was sure that she wouldn't hurt herself, Petra began to ride the caracal. Her legs trembled beneath her, and she could no longer ignore the eager attention of the cameras, some of which had moved in to provide closeups of what she was doing, but she shut her eyes and let herself be used

The up and down motion of her servicing the caracal also worked to pleasure the sable rabbit, and he ground his cock eagerly against her chest, the fur at the hollow of her throat soaked by little spurts of pre. The fennecs who she was stroking off had begun to whine and hump her paws, and Petra squeezed their knots. She'd been with enough canine males to know the effect this had and when the fennec on her left groaned and squirted a few thick ropes of seed across her forearm, she felt glad that another of her assailants was no longer a problem

...At least for the moment. Petra could see the wildcat and some of the others she'd already pleasured lingering, watching the proceedings with great relish.

Her gaze shifted to where Starr was still sitting. The vixen was trembling, eyes bright with tears, but her attention was rapt. She couldn't seem to believe what she was seeing. This put a dark feeling into the pit of Petra's stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it. She was doing this for Starr's sake. Nothing else mattered.

Time again seemed to blur. Petra turned her head and let the second fennec finish in her mouth, then was freshly occupied by the rabbit, who had begun to grind jaggedly against her chest, cock freely drooling clear spurts of pre. Petra, her paws newly freed, pressed her breasts together and lowered her chin, letting the rabbit push the tip of his cock between her lips.

"Fuck..." He grunted, then was fountaining cum across her tongue, a few stray dribbles of white staining the fur atop her breasts.

The caracal didn't last much longer, Petra riding him with stern, businesslike shoves of her hips. She couldn't see his face but could only imagine that he was struggling to maintain composure, especially if the desperate grip he maintained on her tail were any indication.

His load was thick and hot, a half dozen long spurts of feline cum that filled her tail-hole with a peculiar warmth. Petra clenched down upon the caracal's cock as he came, and took some pleasure in the grunts and strained huffs of breath that came as he rode out a too-intense orgasm. It took him some time to recover himself, and by that time Petra could feel his barbed cock beginning to go soft inside of her.

He stepped shakily away, but though Petra expected to be newly inundated, the only people to step forward were a white cat with a high definition camera...and the fox. It took everything Petra had not to curl her lip at him. But she kept her expression neutral and her eyes away from the camera lens, even as the cat slowly panned up and down her half naked form. Her flight-suit was disheveled and Petra was suddenly very aware of each and every spot where white cum stained her black fur.

"You've been at it for a while," the fox noted with faux surprise. "Are you enjoying yourself, Colonel?"

Petra knew how she was supposed to respond but still had to gather every scrap of patience and calm she could muster before managing what she hoped was a convincing nod.

"Yes." She said.

"Spread your legs," the fox ordered. "Let everyone see just how much fun you're having."

Petra had fallen to a kneeling position on the floor, her legs pressed tightly together, and the thought of exposing herself even a single time more seemed anathema. The fox, taking note of her hesitation, let his gaze track to the corner of the room, where Starr was.

That was enough. Petra sat back and let her legs fall open. It was all she could do not to tremble as the camera showed her off. She'd almost been able to ignore it while she was being used, but now it was just her and the black, glossy swell of the lens, broadcasting her cum streaked tail-hole and freshly bred pussy to the entire world.

The fox made a spreading motion with a pair of fingers and Petra, burning with humiliation, obediently spread her pussy open, then slipped a few fingers inside, again at the fox's silent instruction.

"Is that your favorite hole to get fucked in, Colonel?" He asked. "Or did you have the most fun giving up your tail-hole?"

The fox was not directing her on a preferred answer anymore and Petra suddenly felt terribly lost, her stomach in knots. She wanted badly to cry, but knew that would not be permitted.

"My...my pussy." She mumbled.

The fox, eyes gleaming, gave the cat a small look.

"If you asked her, I bet the Colonel would give you a demonstration." He said.

Petra felt too drained even to look up at the camera and the cat, whose whiskers had begun to twitch. Instead, she simply nodded, as though agreeing to what the fox had said. It was easier than speaking any words.

The camera stayed on as the cat shed his pants, revealing a thick feline cock and a pair of heavy, full balls. The cat looked spectacularly pent up and wasted no time in having her kneel before him, mouth held obediently open.

He pushed slowly into her mouth and Petra massaged his balls with one paw, all too aware of the camera's steady presence. She wished that he wouldn't show her face, that he would just get it all over with rather than extending such a humiliating moment.

The cat enjoyed her mouth for long enough that Petra began to taste the saltiness of pre, then he lay back upon the carpet and had her straddle his groin. He wanted her to ride him, Petra realized, and felt slightly ill at the thought of having to perform such an act again. Her legs had begun to grow sore and she had to brace her paws on the cat's chest as he slid his cock into her pussy. This pushed her breasts together, she realized a moment too late, and then had to endure the cat groping and fondling her with his free paw as she began to ride him.

Still the camera remained steady. The cat, if nothing else, was regretfully good at his job.

Petra rode the cat as quickly as she could without seeming as though she were actively trying to get rid of him. Her hips rolled and her tail swayed, and she squeezed down upon the length of his invading cock, wringing gasps and groans and tiny ecstatic exclamations from her unwanted partner. Sometimes his hips came up to meet hers and Petra hated that those moments felt almost pleasant, for at least the cat wasn't being rough.

"Fuck..." He groaned, trying hard not to pant. "Clench down on me again."

Petra gritted her teeth, embarrassed that he'd said it again, like this was something she was doing specifically for his benefit. But the situation remained the same, and so she squeezed his cock, the tight, well practiced muscles between her legs clamping down, massaging the cat's barbed length.

An ecstatic shiver rolled through her partner's body and his paw finally left her breast. His hips had begun to push against hers more quickly now and at the height of each thrust Petra could feel his balls jerking, eager to release their load.

"Gonna breed you," the cat panted. "Keep milking me...show me how much you want my kittens."

A cold spasm of disgust raced through Petra, enough that she nearly jumped off of the cat entirely, but it was too late for that now, and she simply shut her eyes and ground herself down atop the cat, who squirmed beneath her, camera gone momentarily unfocused as he flooded her womb.

It was a terribly familiar sensation by now and Petra rode out this new bloom of warmth with resignation. At last the cat seemed to relax and lay back, panting and trembling with the effort of having just bred her. The camera was still focused upon her, panning up and down, as though cataloguing a valuable conquest.

It took a minute more, but finally the cat pulled out of her, allowing a trickle of his seed to follow. He squeezed her breast fondly, then stood and had her clean his cock, which was still leaking a last few drops of cum.

Petra performed this task with her eyes downcast and the camera burning a hole at the left side of her vision. Then, at long last, her 'demonstration' with the cat was over.

The fox stepped close, fondly stroking her left ear. Petra shivered at his touch, bit the fox, thankfully, made no move to use her himself. Instead, he smiled benevolently down.

"Very good, Colonel," he said. "You're well on the way to atoning. But first, there are a few more men in need. Would you be so kind as to take care of them?"

Petra looked to the side of the room, filled with what seemed like an ocean of hungry eyes and hard cocks.

She forced herself to nod.

From there it was a long time before they finished with her. Nobody had to force her into position anymore, nor lift so much as a finger to request something new. Petra knelt and sucked cocks when ordered, and bent over approached again by the fennecs, who wanted to try her holes. She winced at the eager press of their cocks as they took her, one spreading the silken black lips of her pussy, the other stretching her tail-hole, but still could not do anything but ride it out, even when another man claimed her mouth and pushed his cock into the back of her throat with hard, uncaring thrusts.

Time again seemed to pass unconventionally. One moment she was sandwiched between fennecs, shivering as a hot load was squirted into her rear, the next she was being laid down upon a padded bench with men on either side of her, chattering eagerly as they groped her breasts. A rabbit gathered her legs and pushed his length into her pussy, gasping at the sensation of fucking a wolf. She groaned and looked away, only for a brown cat to begin using her mouth.

Her thoughts had gone to splinters and when the cameras came close Petra did what they asked without hesitation, for she knew this was the only way to keep Starr safe. A white spotted mink carrying a camera undid his pants and had her service him with her breasts. Petra obeyed and felt relieved that this was all theming wanted. Letting her attackers fuck her tits didn't hurt, or involve them being inside of her.

The mink shot his load across her face and didn't let Petra try to wipe it away. She could see herself darkly reflected in the lens of his camera, streaks and strands of white dappling her fur.

Eventually the fox came out again, this time with a poster-board sign. Upon the sign was a list of demands. Petra tried to shake her head when the fox offered it out, but again he looked to where Starr was trembling in the corner and Petra caved. She accepted the sign, feeling sick at heart, and then stood upon shivery legs and allowed the fox to speak.

She'd done a very good job, he explained, and was well on the way to becoming a proper ally to the cause. She'd already made up for the pain and terror of at least some of her previous actions, and would be considered well atoned when she bore the movement its first healthy sons.

A few paws stroked across her stomach when the fox said that and Petra was just barely able to suppress a miserable groan.

Then the camera shut off, the livestream ended, and the fox took his sign back. Petra thought that perhaps she'd be taken to a cell, but the fox made no move to dismiss her. Instead, his gaze turned to Starr.

"It's well past time we broke her in too." He said, then made a motion towards the white cat, who quickly readied his camera, eyes gleaming.

Petra's stomach dropped and she tried to jump forward, to put herself between the fox and Starr, but she was too weak to move very fast and simply stumbled over, trembling upon the ground. Anger and fear rose in equal measures.

Starr yelped as she was brought forward and forced to her knees. Aside from the two men who'd been in charge of detaining her, Petra could see only another three others who weren't too drained to take interest...but that was still a lot.

Petra squirmed forward.

"You promised you wouldn't hurt her!" She shouted, then felt immediately foolish for having trusted the fox at all.

The fox shrugged amiably. He looked very content, knowing perfectly well that he'd had his cake was getting to eat it too.

"I'd like you to help us with her, Colonel." He said.

"Fuck you," Petra snarled, her rage cutting through some of the druggy haze she was enveloped in. "If you touch her I'll kill you all!"

Her captors laughed at the empty threat. Starr's face was blank with terror. Her tail had curled between her legs. Yet, nobody was moving to hurt her just yet.

The fox stepped forward. Petra tried to grab him but he forced her onto her back, then straddled her stomach. It was horrible just how weak she'd become.

"How about this," said the fox. "If you don't help us with your friend, I'll cut her throat."

Petra blinked, but of course the fox was dead serious. She looked to Starr, watching as the men holding her wrists pushed her to the ground. They were awaiting a final order concerning what to do.

Tears boiled to the corners of her eyes, a sour feeling coiling in her stomach, but finally Petra nodded. If she said no, the consequences were unimaginable. At least this way Starr would continue to live. They'd find a way to escape. She...

The fox stepped off of her, smirking, and then made a gesture to his men.

Starr was forced to her knees, tears sliding silently down her face as the fox approached.

"If you fight back, if you do anything at all that we don't like, the same consequence applies." The fox said, slicing a pair of fingers under his chin.

Starr managed a tiny nod, her eyes darting to Petra.

"I'm sorry." Petra blurted, but if her lieutenant had been about to say anything, it was cut off in the midst of a flurry of motion.

Starr was pressed onto her back and Petra found herself brought forward, suddenly very close to her lieutenant, even as the fox, still alight with pleasure over his victory, spread Petra's legs. It seemed that he wanted to be the first to take her as well. The lieutenant began to whimper, and Petra leaned impulsively forward, sealing Starr's lips with a deep, desperate kiss.

The fox pushed the pointed tip of his knotted cock into Starr's unspoiled pussy and she jerked in place, crying out softly. But she didn't break the kiss, and Petra held her close, hoping she was doing something to remove her lieutenant from the horror of what was happening.

Starr put her arms desperately around Petra and they huddled together, even as the fox shoved his knot into her spasming cunt, even as he flooded her womb with spurt after spurt of vulpine seed.

"Might be a little easier for me to knock this one up," he said, and Petra knew that he was speaking to her. "...With any luck you'll both be showing in a few weeks."

Starr shivered in Petra's arms and Petra herself had to bite back a snarl of anger. Behind her, a paw gripped the base of her tail and she reluctantly allowed herself to be put on all fours, a thick feline length pushing slowly into her.

"Just do what they say," Petra whispered into Starr's ear, suspecting that the intensity of the abuse was about to ramp up again. "I'll figure a way to get us out of here. I promise."

Starr began to say something, but then the fox pulled his softening knot out of her and she whimpered instead, tears gleaming at the corners of her eyes.

"Get her on all fours," the fox ordered as he stood. "I want them facing each other as they're fucked, that way they can still kiss."

It felt awful, their closeness being profaned by this, but Petra couldn't help but feel a bit relieved that at least she'd still be there to comfort the lieutenant.

A rabbit took position behind Starr, and to Petra's relief the lieutenant only grimaced when she was taken once again. Her eyes, still wet with tears, met Petra's, and Petra kissed her again, with desperate intensity.

She didn't know when their chance at escape would come, but she hoped it would be soon. There would be a time limit built into their ability to move effectively, especially if...

A gasp sounded from behind her and Petra felt a new wet heat spread within her, womb freshly soaked with eager spurts of unwelcome seed.

She'd figure something out.

Hopefully.

Later...

The President and his closest staff had all crowded into a secure room and were watching, stone faced, as foreign enemies did terrible things to an air service Colonel. Nobody seemed to know how to respond, and as the President looked around himself, he saw that more than a few of his staff and cabinet ministers were shuffling uncomfortably in place, ears pinned and tails uncertainly waving.

"So," The President said, breaking the silence. "What are we doing about this?" It was hard for him to take his eyes from the screen. The video was distractingly well produced compared to the typical terrorist fare, and, more worryingly, the poor Colonel appeared to be acting willingly.

She wasn't, of course, but everyone in the room knew that this was going to be awful for morale. Worse, it was humiliating. Even if the Colonel was rescued (there didn't appear to be any sign of her co-pilot just yet) this would likely hang over her for the rest of her life. Certainly her career was over.

The Security Minister leapt to answer the President's question. He was a wolf, like the Colonel, and his shuffling was perhaps most pronounced. He didn't stand to speak, instead leaning anxiously forwarding his chair, both paws below the table.

"We've scrubbed the video from most clear-web sites," he said. "And I think we could justify criminal charges for anyone who downloads it, but..."

"But?" The President echoed.

"It's proliferating across the dark-web. We've shut down some nodes already, but if those are representative of download numbers then it's been shared and seen by several hundred thousand people already."

"Shit." The President said mildly. He'd already known on some level that this was the case, but the scale of the spread was still startling.

"Might give us cause to shut down some problem websites, if they host the video." One of the security sub-ministers, a collie, suggested.

The President ignored her. Upon the screen the Colonel was rolling her hips, accepting the fat swell of a vulpine knot. Her breasts, heavy and round, bounced with each push of her hips she made. Paws reached out to squeeze them and again the Security Minister shifted in his seat, ears fluttering back.

"Do we need to keep this on the screen, sir?" Someone asked, very delicately.

The President sighed.

"Do we know where this was filmed?" He asked, but was already sure that they didn't. The one certainty about technology, it seemed, was that it could only very easily be used for bad purposes.

At that moment the door opened and a grim faced security staffer poked her head through.

"They've uploaded another video," she said, then seemed to lose her words. It took her a moment to find some way to describe the contents. "...It has the co-pilot too."

There was a scramble to put the video on and immediately a groan of mingled displeasure and shock circulated through the room. The Colonel and her vixen co-pilot were kneeling before a chair in which a fox sat, both obediently licking his knotted shaft. Dribbles of pre fountained from the pointed tip and were quickly lapped up by one or another of the captives.

The Security Minister stood quickly up, expression stricken and a sheaf of documents held firmly over his groin.

"Apologies, sir, I really must go, um, speak with the, um..."

The President dismissed him with a wave and the minister exited the room at high speed. Any other time somebody might have laughed, but everyone was too transfixed by what was on the screen.

After another few minutes the fox came, pushing his cock into the (apparently) willing mouths of both the Colonel and her co-pilot in turn. Then, seed dripping from their lips, they turned and kissed, paws dropping to squeeze breasts and frame the curve of well defined hips. The vixen's tail began wagging the moment she kissed her commander, the President noted.

"Is there any possibility of rescuing them?" He asked, tearing his gaze from the screen.

A great many answers were provided, but they were all long on hypotheticals and short on specific fact.

Frustrated, the President cleared the room. Someone went to shut the video off, but he stopped them.

"Start it again," he ordered, then glared at the security personnel as they lingered in the doorway. "And study this as closely as you can. See if you can pick out any background details or...something."

The cabinet and their staffers seemed discomforted being banished from the room, but they knew better than to contradict their commander in chief and so slipped quietly away.

The President started the video again, then, once he was absolutely certain nobody was about to walk in, he undid his pants to free a stiff, knotted vulpine length, and began to stroke himself in rhythm to the Colonel's sucks and long, lavish licks, enjoying the stiffness in the wolf's motions and the barely concealed rage in her eyes.

It made him feel guilty to do this, somewhere deep down, but he was simply too turned on to care. In the back of his mind he began wondering just how many videos of the two captured fliers there might be. It was a rich propaganda subject, so at least a few dozen.

Then, if they did rescue the Colonel and her slutty little co-pilot, the President wondered if he might find out what their mouths felt like for himself.

He was the leader of the country, after all. It would only be a proper way for them to say thank you.