A Bitch, Just a Bitch
If I'd have introduced myself, he at least would have known my name. But he was already getting up before the cell door door closed. He was smiling, and naked, but I remember he was smiling and that was the first thing I noticed, and I didn't like his off-white teeth, the way they seemed to fit together like rusted cogs. And I didn't like how he smiled, not in any real way, just the fact that he was smiling.
I'd told myself, when this moment came, the first thing I'd say would be "I'm Tarrok." I had my reasons. I never had much self-respect, I never had much confidence. How was I supposed to win some here? It was my first stand, my statement of purpose. But the heavy cell door banged closed louder than it had in any of my waking nightmares, just like how that last gavel seemed so much more crisp and authoritative than the ones before it. And I forgot.
He put a hand under my arm, against the side of my chest, and that was when I realized I was quivering, I was really quivering, that I was so short so small and just quivering, and I shrunk back from the feeling of claws through the fabric of my uniform, and as if I had triggered the trap, his burly arm swung and tore the front to shreds. He swung again, he tore some more. An ashy grey paw, somehow darker than the pure black of my own exposed fur, shoved to turn me around against the door. With my eyes shut and my teeth gritting in acquiescence, I felt every scrap torn off my body, and I gasped softly to myself. It didn't sound like crying, it didn't feel like crying, but the tears came just the same. I choked on my efforts to breathe, and my cheeks swelled with tears. The uniform was rags on the cold cement floor, and I was crying, looking out through the thin slit in the door onto a sterile white tile wall and a sterile white tile floor, and a sign reminding all guards not to leave utensils in the cafeteria. He was done now, and my wide tail did all it could to hide my shame. I felt the presence of the wolf behind me, knowing that he was there, confident that he was still smiling. And what I did, the first thing I really chose to do on my own in my new confines, was collapse on the floor.
I wiped my wet cheeks with my paws. I'd stopped gasping, but my eyes hadn't stopped watering. The vision of the wolf was waterlogged and blurry, but I could see he was simply standing there. I might have mistaken the dark figure for a distant shadow-washed corner of the lonely room, but denial was the first thing I was going to avoid, if there was anything I was going to avoid. I wiped my eyes to bring him into sharper focus. His legs stood like courthouse columns after a fire, and that's all I had to see to know he was a man of pride. I looked up at him, followed each boldlined curve of his silhouette, and he was still smiling. I wiped my eyes, naked and trapped in front of him.
He was a first. I looked at him and I knew why I had no self-respect. He stood in front of me and I knew why I had no confidence. I never could have said the words, I never could have constructed an image as appropriate as a skunk sitting in the remains of his only modesty, his legs crossed over this manhood, gazing through watered eyes at a dick that hung comfortable under the trial of its own weight like a beast of burden in its prime, and a pair of balls like loyal attendants to its labor.
"It takes them a couple days to replace a uniform, bitch." His voice had a casual power to it, like a big man who's grown to be most comfortable when drunk. "Usually an extra day or so each time. Eventually they get the picture." He kneeled down to where I was sitting with my back to the door, my knees up and curled against my body. He grabbed them and spread my legs.
"What's this little fella?" he said with satisfied surprise. A dread clouded my senses, seemed to drip through my tail and made my balls tingle, like they knew they were being talked about. "You got a little gift for me, skunkbitch?" he taunted, and I blushed. I knew what he was talking about. And I was hard, my unimpressive dick at its best. I'd always been embarrassed by it, and the crushing sense of self-realization when the wolf teased me for something I'd only teased myself with before, my dick seemed to waken with the excitement of a revolution, like a coup. It wasn't hard, it was pulsing, it was twitching as the wolf and I both looked down on it. I whined, and I blushed. "Looks like we got ourselves a little piece of skunk meat-" and I winced and stifled a moan as he flicked the head of my dick "that's just twitching in anticipation of the next-"
He stopped. I felt my cue, and the meekness in my voice didn't surprise me: "Five years."
"Five years, a bitch skunk." He gave my dick a flick. "Them judges think cumrags last five years now?" He give my dick another flick, it pulsed as if trying the limits of its own size. He flicked it again, tried for the same response. He'd noticed it, too. And he got it. "Five years," he repeated it like a chorus, and the words singed my ears. "Five years is a long time, bitch. We're going to pass you around like a 50's Playboy and gett every fucking hour out of that ass." I nodded, and he gave my dick a flick. "And I can promise you, bitch, that ain't nobody gonna get one minute of use out of that dick."
Five years, the weight began to pile onto me. It wasn't a date on a calender now. It wasn't anniversaries missed, anymore. It was a debt of service I didn't have the assets to pay. It was a trial of humiliation I didn't have the security to judge. It wasn't a number of days. It was a promise of failure. I wouldn't last five years. It was a test of endurance not to see how much it would take, but when I would break down. God help me, if I could last five years.
I looked at the wolf's dick. It seemed impossible in its cruelty, it seemed impossible in its demands. The wolf was in the right spot. A cock like that could only punish. A wolf who matures into a dick that swings like a hanged man couldn't delude himself into seeing anything in its purpose but cruelty. The wolf was in the right place. I couldn't have met him at a sports bar and followed him to the bathroom, asked him through a bit lip and affected urgency to let me suck a straight guy's dick like a good little faggot. I couldn't have come across his profile on another generic adult website and sent him messages begging him to fuck my wife, to give her the real Man's dick a real Woman deserves, praying the account was abandoned and my girlfriend didn't come home until I came. I couldn't have found him in the escort ads I answered just to have someone attractive at the other end of the table, someone by the end of the night I'd be too nervous to ask to even look at my naked body. This wolf could have only been here. I could have only found him in this cell. For all I know, he could have only been waiting for me.
I remembered the statement of purpose I'd rehearsed, as if it'd be difficult. "I'm Tarrok." It seemed so silly with the wolf kneeling over me, a simple but gruff laugh like a series of knowing snorts as he flicked my dick, made me feel smaller and smaller. He'd never know my name. I'd never tell it to him. I'd never have the courage, I'd never have the purpose. His name was Sir, and figuring that out was the first smart thing I did on that floor.
My body seized again, just as it had when he first put his hand underneath my arm and I felt the claws against the side of my chest. His claws were out, but he tapped only the tip of a finger against the head of my prick. Just that slight touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through my body, up my spine, to the tip of my tail, like a loaded spring that creaks in want of release. He got a drop of pre on his finger. He held it up to his scarred face, as if he were going to eat it. He was still smiling. I remember he was still smiling, and I had just realized that he hadn't stopped smiling, and I didn't like it.
He really enjoys this, I thought. He really does love this.
He stood up without a huff and let his dick dangle in front of my nose. I felt like I should have been licking my lips, like I should have wanted to stuff it into the back of my throat. I didn't feel like that, but the sense of duty was already blooming. Already I was gauging what this man wanted, how I was expected to satisfy it.
"Grab my dick, skunkbitch." I tried to wrap a hand around its heft. I absently stroked it, slowly, out of a confused sense of obligation. The wolf sighed, and his dick started to gush. I blinded myself with his mark, turned my head and gagged, but none of it missed. The wolf didn't handle me, didn't make sure I faced it upright with pride. He simple wrangled his dick out of my grasp, and painted me himself. I whimpered as he splashed my cock, the surprisingly powerful stream washing the dollop of pre off my head. "Open," he said, and I didn't. I just didn't. "Open, you fucking bitch," and I didn't, I just didn't, I didn't do it. He grabbed the bottom of my jaw, pried it open, and stuffed his dick into my mouth. He gagged me, and even soft the wieldy meat burrowed into my throat. He pushed his body against my head, held me still against the solid door while he unloaded into me like a burst dam. I struggled to swallow, and for the most part couldn't, coughing and gagging and feeling the wolf's piss bubble up into my sinuses and drip out of my nose. When he yanked his dick out of my mouth, I collapsed onto the floor, my body heaving as I spit piss among the orange rags. My soaked dick wasn't hard anymore.
"This is how you'll start your mornings, skunkbitch, you got that?" I connected the words with effort as I was still heaving on the wet floor. The taste started to register, a musky taste, a personal taste. I didn't smack my lips, but let my tongue loll out as if for air. "Did you fucking hear me, toy?" I nodded weakly where I laid.
The wolf put his foot into my body, he rolled me around on the wet floor. He made me to soak up everything.
"When you get to the shower after breakfast, bitch," the wolf began, "There won't be doubt who your ass belongs to." He rolled me onto my back, stood over me, peered into my eyes like aligning the sights on a B-52. He dropped twin bombs onto my shattered body. "You're mine, first. You're theirs, second."
He leaned down, pulled me out of the puddle, dragged me across the floor next to my bed. He took a spot between my legs, getting onto his knees to lower himself as close to me as he could. Leaning over me, he laid his dick across my body. "Look, skunkbitch," he ordered. I looked, a sense of genuine dread beginning to seep back into me after the shock of being choked. I was bitter. I knew what he wanted me to look at, but he said "Look, skunkbitch," again. I was looking. My face was drawn in a pained expression, and I'd become almost too hoarse to whine anything but a faint, rasped whisper. It wasn't complicated, but he asked again, said "What do you see, you bitch?"
What did I see? I saw that he had a huge punishing cock, and I had a pitiful little prick. I could see that he was about to fuck me, and I was about to get fucked. I watched my soft cock begin to spring up in its wet fur with its traitorous intent. I could see the glued-on grin on his face, while I knew that mine was absent of hope. My dick started to stand up, arcing back toward my stomach under its slight weight. For that matter, I could smell him, and only him, my own scent overwhelmed by his, the scent of anything around me colored by it. My dick was stiff, then, and I watched as the wolf slapped his fat cock against it, battering it, teasing me, making sure I felt the power, the bulk that I'd already accepted was going to pry me open. I saw five years, and his dick grew. I saw the walls of the room and the heavy door, and his dick grew. I saw a pair of unhelpful eyes peeping into the slot of the door, and they stayed there even when I met them with my own. They disappear from my view only when the wolf suddenly turned me over onto my stomach, propped my ass up, spit on his dick, and made me cry out like a wounded slut.
He was in no rush. He wasn't proving no point. His lightly lubed dick hadn't even pried my ass open yet, but I was bitching. "Stop bitching," was what he'd said, actually. I'd never associated that word with the groans of having your ass pried open, before. It had always seemed so understandable. "Stop fucking bitching," he told me, though, when just the head of his dick stuffed under my ass made me cry out.
"You want to know your life for the next five years, Bitch?" My ears perked up. My expectations had given me terrors during my waking hours, then had woken up in the middle of the night with my pajamas sticky. My imaginations of worst case scenarios, of abuses and humiliations, had been vivid, uncontrollable, and so secretly intriguing. He was pressing his dick under my tail, the pressure even but forceful, keeping me on the edge of expectation like a knife suspended by a single fraying thread. And I wanted to know what the next five years of my life were going to be.
"Tonight I'm going to stretch your asshole wider than your fist could. Tomorrow morning you're going to wake up with my cum leaking out of your ass, and, if I go easy enough tonight that you can still limp, you're going to parade it and your little dick down to the cafeteria for breakfast. But not after I've marked you as my property, and the property of everyone I let share my things."
He heaved forward, apparently having grown impatient with the steady pace he had been setting, as if recognizing it were impossible. His head like a hand grenade split me open, plunged inside, and I squealed like a pig at slaughter, uncontrollable and effeminate. I wanted already to beg him to stop, but I composed myself. I wanted a pillow to bite, anything but begging.
"In the cafeteria, you'll take your spot under the table at your Master's feet, and your Master will make a meal for you, if it amounts to nothing more than a slice of bread and Master's piss." He pushed deeper, somehow nothing stopping him. No force could restrict his will. The words barely registered in my ears while all of my body strained to let the wolf's cock into me.
"In the yard..." and I wasn't hearing it. I heard his voice intone with the authority of narration, catching only bits and pieces while his cock burrowed into my ass. He spoke louder, over the sounds of my cries and shouts, of the mumbled "stops" and "pleases" I'd lost too much dignity to withhold, but had too little composure to pronounce. I let my voice rise with his, and I felt his balls rest against mine, and he started to draw back to drill me again. I caught my breath, hissing through my teeth as the meat slid out of me, and picking up the din of fevered authoritative barks when it began its descent much faster and and determined. "...you hear me? Every drop." And I nodded stupidly, my fists clenched.
"You hear me, Bitch?" he asked. I didn't answer.
"Bitch, did you hear me?" He punctuated this one by stuffing the last few inches of his cock into my ass. No, I hadn't heard it. I was breaking and not hearing much of anything. I was nearly limp on the floor, the wolf towering over me, leaning over me, his meaty hands holding my wrists fast. Thoughts came to me in snaps of disjointed ideas, no two really connected but all painting the same portrait. Five years. Marked. Bitch. Hear me? Five years. Every drop. Tiny.
I didn't have an answer. I didn't have anything to say, and I didn't say anything. He stopped waiting, he bit into my shoulder as if anchoring himself, and fucked me. He never could get all of it out, so he battered the same sore spot deep inside a space he'd made for himself, each powerful thrust giving my sustained cries a staccato beat.
"You fucking bitch," he rasped. "My fucking bitch." Now he growled the words into my ears without cleverness, without affectation. Like he was meeting me where he knew I'd gone.
"You're nothing but a bitch to me, skunk."
"You're nothing but a bitch to anyone."
"You're nothing but another set of holes to fuck." the words sounded like whispered gravel. He dropped them right into my ear, as if they were private, while I screamed loud enough for the entire wing to hear. While he made me scream loud enough for the entire wing to hear.
"You're nothing but a toy, skunk!"
"You're nothing but property in here, bitch, you're mine!"
"You're nothing but the dick that's in you, and your tiny cock ain't worth shit to anyone else, you skunk bitch!" and I could already sense the routine in it. Like it had already been a week, a couple months, a few years. Like the suffering had already become familiar, like the words already had all the weight of longevity behind them.
"Tell me to fuck you harder!"
"Fuck me harder, oh God, fuck me harder - harder!" I blurted without thought..
"Louder, bitch, for the guards to hear! Tell the guards you need that big cock"
"FUCK ME!" I shrieked. "FUCK ME HARDER! OH, FUCK SIR I NEED THAT BIG COCK! OH FUCK - FUCK!"
There were three or four quick taps on the door, and something muttered not in earnest.
"You hear, that, bitch?"
I yowled, a sharp and soulful yowl, from the reserve of energy I had left, and that remainder was vented. My body collapsed, my nerves relaxed, my mind cooled. The wolf was just as determined in putting me in my place, and I could feel already the difficulty I'd walk with after. But I was depleted.
The taps came again, a little harder, a little faster, the demand still inaudible.
"You hear that, bitch?" he teased me again. But I couldn't. His dick now slid easily between my cheeks, and he drilled me fast and deep, as if tapping out the corners for anything I'd stolen away. I moaned if only to show my defeat, that I wasn't dead, just beaten. Just broken. He plowed away, teasing me still, the vicious words pulverising the remnants of my ego.
He found a spot that sent a livening pulse up my melted spine, that seemed to reignite my pilot light. The monster cock beat against the tender spot with ferocity, like bellows to a spark, and even then I gave soft little titters, the sudden rush of energy into my little dripping dick like a guilty secret. I gave no indication of the growing sensation, I asked no favor to help it along - and I couldn't have. If this surprising swell was going to crest, only the wolf could do it.
I felt the urge to mute it, to snuff it. To grab my dick and squeeze, to keep myself humble, or at least, what I thought humble was. But the pleasure now was so personal, so intimate. Beaten down, I didn't have the energy to celebrate the growing sensation, the magnificent victory of my cock's mutiny over myself that was so close. I laid almost dead on my stomach, my ass in the air in the wolf to abuse, the tingling under my fur rolling in rivulets along my limbs and swelling where my little dick had gone from dripping to leaking without the wolf's notice. Covert inside my body, the very secrecy of it giving me a distinct thrill, one last thrust made my frustration bloom. My little prick - my humiliated, beaten, maligned little nub of a cock - burst into a chorus of electric sensation as it spilled jets of cum onto the floor, one after the other, my hips rolling forward with only the slightest of indulgence for the moment. It seemed to go on forever and ever, every thrust of the wolf's mammoth cock making my dick spit like a mugger rummaging through a victim's pockets, always finding where a little more was kept. And when it passed, when it finished and the numbness rose back up to the surface of my skin, the wolf was still fucking me, still growling in my ear.
He bit my shoulder and plumbed my ass deep to let loose a deluge of his cum. I'd never had a man cum in me, and I didn't know how special the sensation was. It must have been a lot. Nothing else on him was insufficient, and he fists squeezed my wrists too hard and too many times for him not to have filled me to the brim. He let his weight fall on top of me, pushing me against the floor, into my own spunk, as he drained his heavy load.
"That's what I want to hear," he cooed to me as he granted himself a few final thrusts, squeezing out every drop. "That's what I want to hear," and I was saying nothing.